Jim laughed.
“I might have known you wouldn’t be sensible,” he said. “Come on, then, you obstinate old Irishman!” He picked up a coil of rope and some sacking and marched off into the water, followed by his henchmen.
The big shorthorn seemed to understand that the new arrivals were bent on helping him, for he showed no sign of fear as they waded across, stumbling in the boggy mud and tripping over Murty’s unseen and uneven pavement of logs. To stand on logs hidden under water is never the easiest of pursuits—the log possessing an almost venomous power of tipping up; and when such action on the part of the log renders its victim exceedingly likely to be dogged by plumping him violently into mud, the excitement becomes a trifle wearing. Norah, left alone on dry land beside Nugget, who slumbered peacefully, was divided between mirth and anxiety. To the looker-on there was much that was undoubtedly comical.
“Scissors!” ejaculated Wally, making a mis-step and losing his balance altogether. A violent splash resounded as he struck the water, disappearing momentarily in a cloud of spray that half drenched his companions. Mr. Meadows arose like a drowned rat, amidst unfeeling laughter.
“Can’t you stand up, you old duffer?” queried Jim—and promptly lost the use of one leg, which sank so far into the yielding mud that it was all its owner could do to avoid sitting down in the water. Prompt action rescued him, amidst jeers from Wally.
“Of all the evil places for a stroll!” ejaculated Jim. “What on earth possessed you to come in here at all, you owl?” This to the bullock, who very naturally made no reply.
“Contrary they do be, by nature,” said Murty, picking his way from log to log. “You’d wonder, now, what he’d expect to be finding; and any fool could have towld it’d be boggy. Well, he has his own troubles coming, an’ serve him right.”
The bullock snorted uneasily when he found himself the centre of attraction: a matter brought home to him sharply by the fact that Jim slipped on a log near him, and fell against him with a violence that would have disturbed anything less firmly bogged.
“No good trying to move him by ourselves, I suppose, Murty?” queried Jim, recovering himself.
“Not a bit—we’ll help the ould horse, but ’tis Nugget that’ll pull him out,” rejoined the stockman. “I doubt if we’d shift him in a month of Sundays. Let ye be catching that rope, Mr. Jim, when I pass it under him.”
To adjust the tackling was a matter requiring care, in order to avoid injury to the bullock. They padded him with sacking wherever a rope was likely to cut when the strain came upon it, with due regard that no knots should press unduly. It took time—standing as the workers were on slippery hidden logs that moved and squelched under them like living things, and in icy water that chilled them through and through, and numbed their fingers as they wrestled with the hard rope. When it was done Norah led Nugget in to the edge of the boggy mud, and the trace-chains attached to his collar were joined to the tackling on the bullock.
“Lead him on, and we’ll see if he can shift him, Nor,” Jim called.
“Come up, Nugget,” responded Norah. She took the black horse by the head; and Nugget, suddenly realising that great things were demanded of him, woke up and went forward with a steady strain. The bullock, finding himself more uncomfortable than he had ever dreamed of being, bellowed indignantly. But nothing happened. The prisoner did not budge an inch.
“No good,” Jim sang out. “Back, Nugget,” and Nugget stopped and backed with thankful promptness. “We’ll have to rig up some more tackling.”
The broad leather saddle-girths made an excellent foundation for side-ropes. Jim and Billy took one, Murty and Wally the other. They waded out until they were on firm ground. The bullock stood glaring at them, wild-eyed.
“Now, Nor—and all together!”
The tackling tightened. On either side, the rope-holders threw their weight on the stiffening cords, like men in a tug of war. Norah, stumbling on the hoof-printed mud, urged Nugget by voice and hand. There was a minute’s hard pulling.
“Slack off,” Jim commanded. “Back him, Norah.” Men and horse panted in unison, getting their breath anew.
“I believe he came a little,” Wally said.
“Something came,” Jim agreed. “Let’s hope it wasn’t the tackling giving. We’ll know this time, anyhow. Ready, boys?”
Once more the strain came. The four rope-holders struggled together, their muscles standing out like knotted cords. Nugget, knowing his business just as well as they, put his head down and leaned against the strain, gaining foot by foot. An anguished bellow broke from the bullock. There came a sucking, squelching sound.
“He’s coming!” Norah gasped. “Pull, boys!”
A final struggle, and the strain eased suddenly. The mud gave—the bullock, feeling himself freed from the horror that had gripped his legs, plunged stiffly forward, tripped, and fell bodily into the water. They dragged him out on his side, a pitiful, mud-plastered object. It required considerable coaxing to get him upon his feet, and then he stood still, too numbed and confused to move, while the tackling was removed.
“There you are,” Jim said at last, dealing him a hearty blow with a girth. “Move on—you can’t stand there all night, you know.” But it was only after repeated blows that the rescued one obeyed, stumbling across the mud to the safety of the bank, where he stood, trembling with cold.
“We can’t leave him here,” Jim said. “He’s too cold altogether—he’ll have to be housed to-night. Billy, you bring him in slowly—hitch old Nugget to him if he won’t travel.”
“Plenty,” said Billy, lugubriously. He also was cold, and the prospect of tailing in behind the numbed bullock was anything but pleasant. He began his slow journey as the other four cantered off across the paddock.
Mr. Linton came out to the stable yard to greet them. He had been watching for some time before he heard the beat of far-off hoofs, and the echo of young voices, singing in the dusk.
“Well, you seem cheerful enough,” he said. “Job tough?” The light from the stables fell on his mud-covered son, and he laughed a little. “It was as well you put on dungarees, Jim.”
“Just as well,” said Jim, laughing. “Got him out, anyhow.”
“You’ve had a long day,” said his father.
“Have I?” Jim asked. “Oh, I suppose I have! Nothing to growl at, at any rate.” He straightened his broad shoulders as they walked across to the house. “Billabong days never do seem long, somehow. I wonder if——” Whatever the conjecture was, it went no further. His hand fell on Norah’s shoulder as they went in together.
“ ‘He’s coming!’ Norah gasped. ‘Pull, boys!’ ”
“ ‘He’s coming!’ Norah gasped. ‘Pull, boys!’ ”
CHAPTER V.
PORT Melbourne pier was a scene of hurry and bustle.
Along every yard of its great length lay mighty ocean-going steamers: mail-boats, Orient and P. & O., big White Star cargo-ships, French liners, and all the miscellaneous collection of ships that ply from up and down the world to Australia. Trains were coming and going along the railway lines running down the centre of the pier, piercing the air with their shrieks of warning, while people moved hastily out of their way, stumbling over the intricate network of rails. A motley crowd they were: passengers from the steamers; officers—sunburned men in blue uniforms; wharf labourers; sailors in blue jerseys, bearing the name of their ship across their breasts; dark-skinned Lascars from the P. & O. ships; Chinese; well-dressed city people tempted out by bright sunshine and blue sea; and the never-failing throng of children to be found on every great wharf, drawn to “the beauty and mystery of the ships.” Amidst the crowd dock hands worked at loading and unloading cargoes; the shrieks of steam-cranes sounded as great wooden cases were lifted from the trucks, to be poised perilously in mid air over the pier before being swung in-board and lowered into the gaping holds. Each ship bore on its mooring-ropes wide discs of tin, to discourage the rats which would otherwise have found the rope an easy track into the steamer.
It was the usual Australian wharf scene; but there was another factor in it, by no means so familiar. Among the crowded ships were several painted in neutral colours, bearing no name, but only the letter A and a number. They were alongside the wharf, and on their decks men in uniform were working with a feverish activity quite unlike the ordinary movements of the dock-hand in Australia. At each gangway stood a sentry; and other men in khaki went up and down swiftly, some of them receiving salutes from the men who worked—not always, because the new Australian soldier was a free-and-easy person, and, having much to learn, did not easily see that saluting is a mark of respect to the King’s uniform, more than to the man who wears it. The privates did not mean any disrespect to the uniform—they only knew they were busy, and that it seemed to them foolish to stop and salute a man whom they had perhaps known for years as “Bill” or “Dick,” who might have been the fag of one of them at school, or perhaps worked for another for wages on a farm. There are all sorts of queer ups and downs in the composition of a Colonial volunteer force, and social distinctions are apt to collapse altogether before military ability; so that the man with a big property and more money than he knows what to do with may find himself a mere private working under a martinet of a captain who possibly delivered his meat in the piping times of peace. Moreover, he will do it cheerfully. But he will find the saluting hard.
There was a steady hum of preparation on all the grey troopships with the white numbers. Stores and kit were being loaded into them rapidly, each item checked by an officer; on some, the decks of which were boarded up, soldiers, stripped to shirt and breeches, were working with great bundles of compressed hay and straw, emptying truck after truck in readiness for the horses that were to be the chief passengers. From within these could be heard the sound of hammering; they had been stripped of all their inside fittings, and every available inch of space was being turned into stalls and loose-boxes, made with due regard to the comfort of the puzzled four-footed occupants whose homes they would be for so many weary weeks.
All the quay-room was taken up; and besides, out in Port Phillip Bay, the ships lay thick: troopships; cargo-boats waiting their chance to unload, or busy discharging their goods into lighters; sailing vessels, tramps from every harbour in the world, with towering masts and rusty sides; and a host of smaller craft that nosed in and out among the big ships. Near some steps leading to the water a motor-launch tossed in the wash of a paddle-steamer leaving for some Bay port.
A large party, variously laden with hand-baggage, came rapidly along the wharf from the railway-station, and down the steps. At sight of their leader one of the men in the launch steadied her, while the other busied himself with the engine.
“We’ve sent all our heavy things on board, and this is quite the most comfortable way to get over to Williamstown,” David Linton was saying. “No, it’s quite unusual, of course, to be sailing from there; but war has upset everything, and there’s simply no room for any more big ships at this pier. Williamstown is a fearsome place to embark from; it’s bad enough to get there, to begin with, and when you have done so, the pier is miles from anywhere, and you traverse appalling tracks in finding your ship. Much simpler to run across the Bay from Port Melbourne by launch.”
Edward Meadows, a tall, lean man, very like Wally, nodded assent.
“I’ve never seen the fascination of travel,” he said lazily. “To me it’s only bearable with the maximum of comfort—especially when you go to sea.”
“Well, there’s not much maximum of comfort about your back-country trips in Queensland,” said Wally, rather amazed. “And you have plenty of those, Edward.”
“Oh, yes, but that’s different! You don’t expect comfort, and you’d be rather surprised if you got it. And the Bush is different, too,” replied his brother, a trifle vaguely, yet conscious that his hearers understood. “You can live on corned-beef, damper and milkless tea for weeks in the Bush, and sleep in the open, with your saddle for a pillow, and on the whole you quite enjoy it; but you’d feel quite injured if you had to do it on board ship. Possibly it’s the clothes you wear—I don’t know.” He looked round, as if expecting to find enlightenment. “Let me help you in, Miss Norah.”
The launch held them all comfortably, though they were a large party: the travellers themselves, various relatives who had come to see them off, and a sprinkling of school friends who were openly envying Norah and the boys. They included a couple of lads in khaki, fresh from the camp of the Expeditionary Force at Broadmeadows.
“Well, you’re lucky to be getting straight to the middle of things,” said one of these. “Here we are, tied up week after week, waiting to get away, and nobody quite knows why we don’t start—they talk about German cruisers, of course, and there are stories of warships not being ready to convoy us, and a dozen other yarns. Every now and then comes a rumour that we’re just off, and we say good-bye wildly—and then we don’t go. I’ve made all my fond farewells four times, and I believe my people are beginning to feel a little less enthusiastic about it than they did. It must be jolly hard to keep on regarding one as a departing hero!”
“And when we do start, it’s going to be slow enough,” put in his companion. “There will be such a crowd of us—and we’ve got to make the pace by the slowest ship.” He jerked his hand towards a troopship round the stern of which the motor-launch was chug-chugging slowly. “That’s one of them. She was a German tramp steamer that strolled in here after war broke out and was collared; she didn’t know a thing about the war, and her captain said most unseemly things to the pilot who had gone out to bring them through the Heads and held his tongue about war until he had the ship covered by our guns at Queenscliff.” The soldier grinned with huge enjoyment. “I wish I’d seen him! But she’s not much of a tub, anyhow; I expect the Orient boat that has been turned into the Staff troopship has just about twice her pace, but she will have to accommodate herself to the slowest.”
“Yes, it will be a deliberate sort of voyage,” said the other. “No ports; no news; just dawdling along for weeks, packed like herrings. Hope they’ll keep us busy with drill; it will be something to pass the time away.”
“And you don’t know when you are to sail? Edward Meadows asked.
“For all we know it may be a case of strike camp to-night. There are too many German warships in the way—it wouldn’t be healthy to let the news leak out. Wouldn’t theEmdenlike a chance of meeting a crowd like ours!—a lot of transports like helpless old sheep, with a few men-o’-war to protect the whole mob. TheEmdenwould not mind going down herself if she sank some of us.”
“Well, at least you’ll have the men-o’-war” Norah put in. “We won’t have anything at all to protect us.”
“You don’t seem very troubled about it, either,” grinned the soldier lad.
“Why, it would be an experience. I don’t suppose they would hurt us, even if they sank the ship. And our luggage is insured,” said Norah, practically.
“The danger of a hostile cruiser does not seem to weigh heavily on the minds of the insurance companies,” remarked her father. “It cost me a good deal more to insure against pilfering than against war risks!”
“You don’t say so!” said Edward Meadows, staring.
“I do, though. It’s a queer state of affairs, but I suppose they know their business. There’s the old ship.”
They had nearly crossed the narrow portion of the Bay that lies between Port Melbourne and Williamstown, and the docks were coming into view. Everywhere the wharves were crowded with shipping, mostly of a smaller character than the vessels they had seen; but towering above everything else, larger than even the Orient liner, lay a great ship. She had but one funnel, painted a vivid blue; it loomed vast above them, a mighty cylinder—large enough, if it lay on its side, to drive a coach-and-four through it.
“Whew-w! She’s a big one!” ejaculated the young soldier.
“Yes; there’s only one larger ship in the Australian trade,” Jim answered.
“Many passengers?”
“Hardly any, I believe. But she’s enormously valuable; she’s carrying a huge cargo—the richest, with the exception of gold, that ever left Australia. And it’s just what they want in England—frozen meat, wool, tallow, and things like that, and a huge consignment of food the Queensland people are sending to the troops at the Front. They say she’s worth a million and a half!”
“By Jove, what a prize she’d make!” said the soldier. “I should think the German cruisers will be keeping a pretty sharp look-out for her.”
“Yes—and I believe theEmdenis particularly anxious to get a Blue Funnel ship before she goes under. ThePerseuswould make a pretty good scalp, wouldn’t she?”
The engineer shut off the motor, and the little launch came to rest beside a gangway under the lee of thePerseus—whose bulk, seen close above them, seemed like that of a mountain. A sailor ran down the steps to steady the launch and offer a helping hand as its passengers climbed out. In a moment Norah stood for the first time upon the deck of a ship.
It gave her a queer little thrill of exultation. Everything about her was new and unfamiliar: the long lines of the deck, the hurrying officers and sailors, the creak of machinery, punctuated with crisp commands; and over all, the smell of the ship and the salt air blowing up from the wider spaces of the Bay. It seemed to mount to her head. Instinctively she put out her hand to her father.
“Well, my girl,” he said. “It’s a bit different to the old wind-jammer that I came out in.”
“It’s—it’s lovely, Daddy!”
He laughed. “I hope you’ll continue to think so,” he said. “Come and we’ll find our cabins.”
A passing steward, to whom they gave their numbers, took them in charge and piloted them below. They went down a winding oak staircase with rubber treads that were soft to the feet, and passed through an open space invitingly furnished with lounge-chairs. Thence a passage led a little way until their guide turned sharply to the right.
“This is yours, sir,” said the steward. “The young lady’s is opposite.”
The cabins were alike—roomy ones, each containing three berths, and lit by wide port-holes. ThePerseushad accommodation for over three hundred passengers, and at an ordinary time went out with every berth taken; but war had made people disinclined to travel, and on this voyage her passenger-list held only about thirty names. Therefore there was room and to spare, and each passenger could have had two or three cabins had he been so disposed.
Already Norah’s luggage was placed in readiness; and scattered on one of the berths were a number of parcels and letters, to which so many were immediately added that the bunk looked like a jumble-stall, but very interesting.
“No, you mustn’t open them now,” said her special school-chum, Jean Yorke; “they will keep, and you’ll have loads of time going down the Bay. Come and explore the ship.”
At the entrance to their alley-way they met Jim and Wally, returning from inspecting their cabin, which was near-by and “very jolly,” said its owners; and then they all trooped off to find their way about the steamer, discovering big drawing-rooms and lounges, a splendid smoking-room panelled in oak, with a frieze of quaint carvings running round it, and the dining-saloon—a roomy place, furnished with swing-chairs and small round tables, on which ferns and tall palms nodded a friendly greeting. Everything was big and spacious and airy. Smart stewards, white-jacketed, darted hither and thither. They passed the galley, catching a glimpse of rows of bright cooking-ranges, gleaming copper saucepans, and busy cooks, with snowy aprons and flat caps—all so spotlessly clean that Norah wished audibly that Brownie could see it—Brownie having expressed dark doubts as to whether her belongings would be decently fed on board, coupled with unpleasant allusions to cockroaches. Then they came out on the decks, of which there were three—roomy enough for a regiment to drill, and with pleasant nooks sheltered from the wind, no matter from what quarter it might come. In one of these the deck steward had already set up their long chairs—made of Australian blackwood and dark green canvas, with “Linton” painted on each of the four.
“I ran you in as one of the family, Wally,” said the squatter.
“Thanks awfully, sir,” said Wally, gratefully.
People were coming aboard quickly; though there were so few passengers, thePerseuswas a popular ship, and many came to see her off. The first of the three warning bells clanged out sharply above the din.
“Come and have tea,” said David Linton. “I told them to have it ready at first bell.”
They crowded round the biggest table in the saloon, while the stewards brought tea. Every one was becoming a little silent; there seemed suddenly a great many things to say, but no one could remember any of them. No one wanted tea at all, except the soldier boys, who drank immense quantities, and did their best to keep the conversation going. Aunts and cousins heaped on Norah good advice about the journey. Edward Meadows stared at his young brother’s bright face—a sudden fear at his heart lest he should be looking at it for the last time.
“He’s such a kid,” he said inwardly. “I wonder if we ought to be letting him go.”
On the deck, after the second bell had brought them up from the saloon, he drew David Linton aside.
“You’ll take care of him, if you get a chance, won’t you, sir? He’s only a kid.”
“To the utmost of my ability,” said Mr. Linton, gravely. “He is like my own son to me.”
Then came the final bell, and with it a sudden gust of good-byes. Telegraph-boys came racing up the gangway with belated messages. Every one was trying to say twenty farewells at once.
“Good-bye, you chaps,” said the soldier lads. “Expect you’ll be in Flanders before we are—but we’ll meet you there. Keep Australia going!”
“Hope we’ll get a chance,” Jim said, “and not mess it up if we get it. We’ll try, anyhow. Good voyage. Don’t be sea-sick!”
“Same to you. Write to us if you can.”
“You too. Say good-bye to all the chaps we knew at school.”
“Good-bye, Norah, dear,” from an aunt. “Remember you’re growing up—you can’t be a Bush girl in England.”
“I’ll try,” said Norah meekly. “I expect every one will be too busy with the war to notice me.”
“I’m sure you’ll be a credit to us,” cried the aunt, inflicting a damp embrace. “If only you have a safe voyage!” She kissed Jim with fervour, and showed such signs of beginning on Wally that that timid youth retired precipitately into the crowd.
“All visitors ashore!” sang out a stentorian voice. People flocked down the gangway.
“You’ll write, won’t you, Norah?” asked Jean Yorke, a little shakily. Jean was a silent person, but Norah was very dear to her.
“Of course I will,” said Norah, hugging her. “And you—lots! Oh, won’t we want letters when we’re right away over there!”
“It’s awful at school without you,” said Jean. “Oh, and everybody sent you their love—even Miss Winter! And they say, ‘Come back soon.’ So do I.”
“Just as soon as ever we can. Oh, I don’t want to go a bit!” said poor Norah. “There can’t be any place as good as Australia.”
“Of course there isn’t. But you’ll come back.”
“Any more for the shore?”
“Oh, I must go!” cried Jean, and fled, after a final hug. Edward Meadows wrung Wally’s hand hard, and went slowly down the gangway—in his mind a helpless feeling that perhaps they had not done as much as they might for the little brother who had known neither mother nor father. On the last step he hesitated, turned, and went back.
“Remember you needn’t ever go short of money,” he said. It seemed such a foolish thing; and yet it was all he could find to say.
“Thanks, ever so much, Edward. I’m sure I’ll have plenty.”
“And—come back safe,” said his brother. He gripped his hand again, and went down. Already sailors were busy with the gangway ropes.
At the last moment, just as the cumbrous ladder began to be drawn up, a figure came racing down the wharf, uttering shouts that were incoherent through breathlessness. Behind him puffed a couple of porters, staggering under a leather suit-case and a Gladstone bag. The sailors above the gangway hesitated, and the newcomer sprang upon it.
“What are you up to, sir?” came the sharp voice of an officer. “Are you a passenger?”
“Certainly I am,” responded the breathless one—a short, stout individual by no means fitted for violent exercise. “Kindly send some one for my baggage.”
A couple of sailors ran down the gangway and took the burdens from the panting porters. The late arrival puffed up the steps.
“You cut it pretty fine,” was the comment of the officer.
“Who ever heard of a ship being punctual before?” was the reply. “Extraordinary—almost ridiculous!”
The officer laughed in spite of himself.
“It’s never safe to bank on thePerseusbeing unpunctual,” he remarked. “Lucky you caught us. Haul away!”
The gangway came up slowly. Three piercing whistles shrilled from the siren. Down on the wharf, the people who had seemed so many on the ship now appeared dwindled to a little huddled crowd, with faces upturned; it was hard to pick out individuals.
Norah leaned on the rail, looking down—suddenly realising that it was indeed “good-bye.” The ship was drawing out slowly—foot by foot the water appeared between her side and the pier—unpleasant, dirty water, full of floating rubbish. A little way out it sparkled to meet them, a dancing mass of foam-flecked blue. But Norah could not see that side now—only the little widening strip of brown water, and the wharf with its wistful faces. Her own, as she looked, was very wistful. Beyond, sea and sky might be blue, calling to her—but on this side lay Australia.
“At each gangway stood a sentry.”
“At each gangway stood a sentry.”
CHAPTER VI.
“NOW then, kiddie.”
Jim’s hand touched her arm, and Norah looked round. They had passed the Gellibrand light and were heading towards the wider spaces of Port Phillip Bay. Across the water the sunlight lay golden on the beaches and the wooded shores. To the right a little steamer was coming lazily in from Geelong.
“Do you want me, Jim?” Norah tried to make her voice steady.
“Well, I think you might as well come and get your cabin ship-shape,” Jim said. “You’ve got two or three hours of daylight and smooth water; and once you get outside the Heads there may be any sort of weather, and you may be any sort of sailor. Not that I believe any of us will be sea-sick—this huge old ship can’t toss about much, unless she meets a hurricane.”
“Well, you never know,” said Norah, prudently. “And if I’m going to be ill I won’t feel like getting ship-shape then, I suppose. All right, Jimmy, I’ll go down. How do I get there?”
“Haven’t an idea,” said her brother, laughing. “We’ll ask a steward if we get bushed—meanwhile, I know it’s down a flight of stairs, and not up; and that’s something. Come along, and we’ll find our way, in time.”
They plunged down the nearest companion, and by dint of studying the numbers of the cabins, finally arrived at Norah’s, which looked much larger than it had appeared when full of people an hour earlier. Jim surveyed the berths with a twinkle.
“Apparently every one who knows you has sent you small tokens of regard,” he said. “Better get them unpacked while I unstrap your boxes. Got your keys?”
Norah handed over her keys and began the work of investigation, suddenly immensely cheered by the friendly packages. Flowers first, in boxes and dainty green tissue-paper packages: boronia, sweet peas, carnations, and early wattle. Their fragrance filled the cabin, and even Jim exclaimed at their beauty.
“You can’t possibly keep them all here,” he said. “I’ll ring for the steward and tell him to put some on our table in the saloon, don’t you think? Vases not supplied in cabins—lucky for you this is a three-berther and you’ve got three tooth-tumblers!”
The flowers disposed of, the work of unwrapping the other parcels went on swiftly. Chocolate boxes of every shape and size; books; warm slippers; three cushions; bags to hold everything, from shoes to sponges; a work-board, fitted with pincushion, thread, scissors, and other feminine necessities; an electric torch; and a fascinating wall-pocket of green linen, embroidered in shamrocks, with compartments for every toilet requisite.
“Now, that’s an uncommonly jolly thing,” said Jim, surveying it. “Keeps things all handy-by, and saves ’em rolling about in rough weather. Whoever sent you that had sense. Come, and we’ll fix it up.” He dashed away to his cabin, returning with a pocket hammer and some brass tacks. “Where will you have it?”
“Oh, here, I suppose!” said Norah, indicating a favourable site. “But are you allowed to put in tacks, Jim?”
“Can’t tell till I’ve tried,” said Jim, hammering swiftly. “I’m not going to ask, anyhow—they’re very decent tacks. There, that’s up, and it looks topping. Now for shoe-bags.” He fixed them in a neat row on the wall, while Norah arranged her other small belongings.
“Gorgeous clearance!” Jim remarked, surveying the cabin with pride. “How about unpacking now? If I haul these trunks out for you, can you manage?”
“Rather!” said Norah, gratefully. “You’ve been a brick, Jimmy, and I feel much better. I’ll stow away my things in the wardrobe and drawers, and then I won’t have to haul my trunks often from under the berths.”
“Don’t you do it at all,” commanded Jim, sternly. “Wal or I will always be somewhere about, and anyhow, what’s a steward for? Well, I’ll leave you to fix up your fripperies, and go and fix my own. Call me if you want me.”
It was not altogether easy to remain cheerful over the boxes Brownie had packed so lovingly. The memory of the parting at Billabong was still too sore; in everything Norah touched she found reminders of the kind old face, struggling against tears, on that last morning when she had said good-bye to her. To say good-bye to Murty and the men—even to Black Billy; to the horses and dogs; to Billabong itself, peaceful and dear in its fringe of green trees; it had all been hard enough, and she ached yet at the thought. But Brownie was somehow different, and loved her better than any one on earth; and she was old, with no one to comfort her. Norah’s heart was heavy for the dear old nurse as she took out one neat layer of clothes after another, packed with sprigs of fragrant lavender that brought the very breath of the Billabong garden.
Then came a tap at the door, and a neat stewardess looked in.
“Your father sent me to see if I could help you, miss.”
“I don’t think so, thank you,” Norah answered, sitting on the floor of the cabin and looking up at her. “I’ve unpacked nearly everything. However do people manage when there are three in a cabin this size?”
“Why, I’ve known four,” said the stewardess, laughing. “Four—and grown up. Oh, they fit in somehow; the worst of it is if they all happen to be sick. That is rather hard on them—and on me. You’re very lucky, miss, to have so much room to yourself.”
“I suppose I am,” Norah assented, meekly. “It’s a little hard to realise. Do you ever get sick yourself?”
“Stewardesses aren’t supposed to—and they haven’t time,” said the other. “We wouldn’t be much good if we weren’t hardened sailors. Dinner’s at half-past seven, miss, and the dressing-bugle goes half an hour before. Shall I come in to fasten your frock?”
“Yes, please,” Norah answered. “I suppose we’ll be outside the Heads by then?”
“Oh, a long way! We’ll be through the Heads at half-past five, and will have dropped the pilot. The steward will come in at dusk, miss, to shut your port-hole.”
Norah looked up in swift alarm.
“My port-hole? But need I have it shut? I always have my windows open at night.”
The stewardess shook her head.
“You could always have it open, in ordinary circumstances, so long as the weather wasn’t rough; but not now. It’s the war, you see, miss. We’re under the strictest regulations not to show any lights at all; so as soon as it is dusk every window on the ship has to be fastened and shuttered. We don’t have any deck lights either—not even the port and starboard lanterns and the mast-head. Coming out, there was a German warship looking for us, and we got past her in the dark and gave her the slip; she wasn’t more than ten miles away. She’d have had us, to a certainty, if we had been lit up.”
“Good gracious!” said Norah, weakly.
“You see, miss, when thePerseushas all her lights showing she’s like an illumination display—any one could see her glow miles away. Our only chance may lie in slipping by in the dark. And just now the Germans are keeping a very close look-out on the Australian tracks, because they hope to cut off the troopships. It makes the voyage very dull, but it can’t be helped.”
Cheerful voices came along the alley-way as the stewardess, with a friendly smile, disappeared.
“Well, are you fixed up?” Jim asked. “Can Wal come in? Here, we’ll put these trunks out of your way.”
“I’m just finished,” Norah said. “How do you think it looks?”
“Jolly!” said Wally, emphatically, casting glances of approval round the bright cabin, already homelike with photographs, cushions, flowers and other dainty belongings. “Why, it might be a scrap of old Billabong, Nor. Here’s Jimmy with the final touch.”
Jim had a grey, furry bundle in his arms.
“It’s only a little ’possum rug,” he said. “Your travelling rug may often get damp with spray, and it’s rather jolly to have a spare one for your bunk. Dad and I got it for you.” He spread it out on the berth. “Will it do, kiddie?”
“Do!” said Norah, and put her cheek down into the grey softness. “It’s just a beauty, Jim—you and Dad do think of the loveliest things! They’re splendid skins; and I’m so glad you had the tails left on. Doesn’t it make my bed look nice?”
“You mustn’t say a bed, on board ship,” Jim said, severely. “Beds are shore luxuries, and this is merely a bunk.”
“It’s good enough for me,” said his sister happily. “It looks a jolly place to sleep. I’m ready, Jim; can’t we go on deck? I want to see the Heads.”
“We came to bring you,” Jim said, “though there’s half an hour yet. Has the stewardess been saddening your young mind about your port-hole?”
“Yes—isn’t it awful! How on earth is one to sleep with one’s window shut?”
“Well, it isn’t quite so bad as it seems—though it’s bad enough,” Jim answered. “As long as there’s a light in your cabin the shutter must be up; but as soon as you switch it off, it can be opened, only of course you’re on your honour not to light up again. So I can come in after you’re in bed and open it for you.”
“Oh, thank goodness!” Norah said, fervently. “Will it bother you much, Jim?”
“It will not. And if you want a light in the night, your little electric torch won’t matter, if you pull the curtain across the port. We’ve been asking the purser about it, and he says it will be all right; only they have to make the regulations very strict, because so many people are fools about it, and disobey rules altogether if they get half a chance. A man always has to be on duty, keeping a watch over the side to make sure that no window is showing an unlawful beam.”
“Funny, what idiots people can be!” Wally commented. “You wouldn’t think any one would want to be caught by the Germans.”
“Oh, there are always people who think they know more than the authorities,” Jim said, “and who like to show how brave they are. As the purser says, the owners wouldn’t a bit mind their being exceedingly courageous with themselves, but they object to their taking chances with a ship worth a million and a half. Anyhow, there will be trouble for transgressors on this voyage. Come up on deck.”
There was a fresh breeze blowing as they reached the head of the companion; and Wally dived back again for Norah’s coat. ThePerseuswas nearing the twin Heads, Point Lonsdale and Point Nepean, that form the entrance to Port Phillip Bay. On the right lay the little town of Queenscliff; on the left, barren heights, sparsely covered with scrub, where, through the glasses, they could see soldiers moving about, keeping a close watch. A detachment of the Light Horse could be descried on a rocky point.
“A ship tried to slip out without her proper clearance papers the other day,” Wally said.
“Did she get out?”
“Not much. The fort at Queenscliff fired a blank shot first, by way of friendly warning; then, as she didn’t take any notice, they put a shell just across her bows. Then she paused to ruminate, and came back. She really wasn’t up to any mischief—it was only a disinclination on the part of her captain to regard war restrictions. I hear they made him pay the cost of his own bombardment.”
“Serve him right,” said Norah, laughing. “Wally, is that the Rip?”
Outside the Heads could be seen a flurry of broken water—great green waves that came charging hither and thither, without any of the regularity of breakers dashing upon a shore. Now and then one broke in a wild “white horse” that was hastily engulfed in the mass of swirling green. Sometimes the mass would pile itself up and up in broken hills of water; then, as though sucked under by some mighty, unseen power, it subsided, tumbling into fragments and dashing away furiously. A little steamer was coming through it, rolling so terribly that momentarily it seemed that she could not recover herself, but must go under. As they watched, a great wave reared itself up and hit her squarely, burying her in a cloud of foam.
“Yes, that’s the Rip,” Wally answered. “My aunt, isn’t that boat having a lively time!”
The little steamer emerged—her bluff black bows coming out of the spray much as a dogged mastiff might emerge from a ducking. She rolled, in the same whole-hearted fashion, as the next wave slid from under her—plunging down into a wild gulf of tumbling sea, to struggle up again on the further side, white foam dashing from her bows. The dense smoke from her funnels trailed behind her in a solid cloud of black.
“But she’ll sink!” Norah gasped.
“Not she!”
“But—why, she was nearly over then!”
“She’s used to it,” said Wally, laughing.
“I never saw such a thing,” ejaculated Norah. “Do you mean to tell me we’ll be doing that in a few minutes?”
Some one behind them laughed cheerfully.
“We’re much too big to dance such jigs as that,” said a friendly voice—and they turned to see a man in blue uniform smiling at them. “Don’t you worry—we’ll go through the Rip as though it wasn’t there.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” said Norah, relieved.
“I’ve been talking to your father,” said the newcomer; “but as he isn’t here, I’ll have to introduce myself. My name is Merriton, Miss Linton, and I’m a highly formidable person, being the ship’s doctor. I’ve heard all about you from my old friend, Dr. Anderson, in Cunjee; he has sent me special instructions to look after you. I hope you’re not going to give me any trouble!”
“Well, I’m never ill,” said Norah, smiling at the cheery face. “I’m sure Dr. Anderson didn’t tell you I needed looking after in that way, because he always says he has never had the satisfaction of giving me medicine!”
“That’s precisely the sort of person I like to look after,” said the doctor. “Patients on land are all very well, but a patient in a cabin is a sad and sorry thing. Thank goodness, thePerseusdoesn’t have many of them; every one seems to come on board in rude health, and to leave, when the voyage is over, rather ruder. No, I look after the passengers on the principle of prevention rather than cure; keep ’em moving, keep ’em playing games, keep ’em doing anything that will have a salutary effect upon their livers and prevent them developing anything resembling a symptom!”
“Don’t you get disliked, sir?” Jim asked, laughing.
“Oh, intensely! But it’s all in the day’s work. They abuse me, and they never know how much they owe to me. Now we’re nearly through the Heads, Miss Linton—say good-bye to old Victoria!”
The ship was just passing the long pier that runs out from Point Lonsdale, and seems to divide the open ocean from the Bay. They could plainly distinguish the faces of people standing on the end, watching them. Beyond lay brown rocks, and the yellow curve of the ocean beach, with great waves beating upon it; to the left the jagged coast-line where more than one good ship had met her doom. Straight ahead lay the Rip. The little steamer had come through the roughest part and was running towards them.
Norah looked back. The greater part of the Bay was hidden since the turn by Queenscliff; she could only see the flat shore-line beyond the town. A haze had sprung up, obscuring everything. Melbourne was long ago blotted out. It was as though a veil had fallen between the old life and the new.
“Now you’ll see how she takes it, Miss Linton,” said the doctor cheerily.
They were through the Heads, and racing outwards; already the swell of the Rip was under them, and the great steamer rose and fell to it—so gently that Norah forgot to wonder if she were to be sea-sick or not. On, swiftly until the broken water was foaming round them, thePerseusrolling a little as she cut her way through. Then they were out in the smoother water beyond, with the long ocean swell heaving. A little grey steamer rocked just beyond.
“That’s the pilot-boat,” said Wally. “Watch him go.”
They leaned over the side and watched the grizzled pilot go quickly down a swinging rope-ladder to a waiting dinghy that had put off from the grey steamer. It was a kind of acrobatic feat, and Norah breathed more freely when the old man had landed safely in the tossing little boat. He took the tiller, and the oarsmen pulled swiftly across to the steamer, from the deck of which some one shouted last messages to thePerseus.
“So that’s done with,” said the doctor; “and now it’s heigh for home!—for us, that is. When you’re feeling blue, for want of Australia, Miss Linton, you can remember that we poor seafaring folk are going to have the luxury of getting home for Christmas—and that’s a thing that doesn’t often come our way.”
“I’m glad you are,” said Norah, soberly. It was easy to feel friendly with the doctor, even though she was a rather shy person. He was not very young, but for all that his face was like a boy’s; he had a merry voice, and his eyes were quick and kindly. When he smiled at her she felt that she had known him for quite a long time.
Mr. Linton appeared round a corner of the deck-house.
“Oh! there you are—I’ve been looking for you,” he said. “People on a ship of this size take plenty of hunting; I put a deck-steward on the trail at last, and he’s probably hunting still. Feel all right, Norah?”
“Yes, thank you,” said Norah, in such evident amazement that every one laughed.
“Well, you’ve been through the Rip—and that is an experience that leads many to take prompt refuge in their cabins,” said the doctor. “Not that there’s the least excuse for any one being ill on this ship—she’s as steady as old Time.”
“Why, I never thought about it,” Norah said. “The girls told me I’d be ill in the Rip, and I was feeling worried—I was thinking last night how horrid it would be. But I forgot all about it when it came—it was so interesting!”
“You’re not going to be ill at all—put it out of your head,” said the doctor. Which Norah promptly did, and had no occasion ever to revive unpleasant memories, since none of the party manifested signs of illness at any period of the voyage.
On their way to dress for dinner some one called Mr. Linton back, while the others waited for him on a wide landing. Close by was the purser’s office, where a heated altercation was going on between the chief assistant and the stout individual who had so narrowly caught the ship at the last moment.
“Sorry, Mr. Smith,” the assistant was saying. “The purser is engaged—he’s with the captain.”
“I have asked for him at least four times, and he has always been engaged,” said Mr. Smith, angrily.
“Well, he generally is, on a sailing day. Can’t I do anything? Is your cabin uncomfortable?”
“The cabin is well enough. It is about a telegram I must send.”
The assistant shook his head.
“No wireless to be used,” he said. “War regulation. You can telegraph from Adelaide, of course.”
“That is ridiculous,” said the stout man angrily. “In Australian waters——”
“Well, it isn’t my regulation,” the assistant said. “You’d better complain to the military authorities. No, the purser can’t help you; why, the captain couldn’t. It’s war precaution, I tell you.”
Mr. Linton then came up, and the rest of the conversation was lost. They could hear the stout man’s angry voice as they went down the staircase.
“Seems in a bad temper,” Wally observed.
“He’s a hasty person altogether,” said Mr. Linton. “The captain tells me that he decided only at the last moment to come on this voyage. He certainly arrived at the last moment!”
“Hadn’t he a ticket?” asked Jim.
“Not a ticket—not that that matters, of course, with so empty a ship. No trouble for them to fix him up. But he seems to expect a good deal, for an eleventh-hour passenger.” Mr. Linton yawned. “The sea is making me sleepy already,” he declared, disappearing into his cabin.
It made Norah sleepy very early that night. After the lengthy dinner was over, they went on deck, where strolling was difficult because of the absence of lights; and the rushing water overside was a mysterious mass, dark and formless. All the best of Norah’s world was with her—and yet she was homesick. Somewhere beyond the rail over which they leaned was home; they were lonely at Billabong, and here it was lonely, too.
She gave herself a little mental shake. After all they were together—and that was really all that mattered.
“I’m sleepy,” she declared.
“Then turn in,” Jim counselled. “I’ll come and open your port when I go down. Can you find your way?”
“It’s time I learned, at any rate,” said Norah, sturdily.
She found it, after a few wrong turns, and made short work of preparing for bed. The stewardess looked in to find out if she could be of any use, and went off, with a brisk “good-night.” The cabin was cheery and homelike—full of the scent of Bush flowers, and pleasant with photographs, that seemed to smile to her. She was not nearly so lonely when at last she slipped into bed, under the grey ’possum fur—and the little bunk was comfortable and quaint, and made her feel that she was really on board ship.
Jim looked in presently.
“Comfy, little chap? And how do you like it?”
“Yes, very comfy. Jim, I think it’s rather jolly.”
“Of course it is,” said Jim. “You look snug enough. Sure you’re warm? And you know where the bell is, in case you want the stewardess?”
“Oh, I’m not going to want anything!” Norah answered. “I’m too sleepy. She creaks a lot, doesn’t she, Jim?”
“Who—the stewardess?” said Jim, puzzled.
“No, stupid—the ship. If she didn’t creak, and I wasn’t in a bunk, she would be just like a hotel.”
“Not much difference,” Jim answered. He switched off the light and unscrewed the port-hole, going out with a last cheery word. And then Norah found that there was another difference—through the open port came the sound of the sea. It rushed and boiled past, splashing on the side of the ship near her; somehow there was an impression of great speed, far greater than in daylight. Norah liked the sound. She went to sleep, with the sea talking to her.