CHAPTER XVII.
DARKNESS still hung over the sea when the little company on thePerseusmet at breakfast. Most of them were heavy-eyed and pale; but they made a brave effort at cheerfulness and tried to eat—never had a meal seemed so unreal and horrible. It was quickly over, and they trooped on deck.
Dawn was breaking. The German ship, no longer ahead, but a little to the starboard, seemed like a grim watch-dog. No signals had come from her as yet, and thePerseuswas still under orders to go at full speed. No one knew where they were heading—their course had been peremptorily changed, and the passengers could form no idea of direction. They were like sheep driven in unfamiliar ways; over them all the sense of utter helplessness.
The grey light, creeping over the sea, showed them watching in groups—with all available wraps on, and rugs in readiness. In a corner Mrs. Field sat, one hand in her husband’s. He was holding their baby, his cheek resting against the soft little face. Major Edwards and his wife walked up and down a lonely deck-space, not speaking.
An officer made a tour of the ship presently, to see that no passengers were absent, and that all possible preparations had been made. He knew nothing, he said; they had kept by the German ship all night. Now they merely awaited the order to take to the boats; the enemy’s boat would, of course, come over to secure the prisoners, and probably to sink the ship by means of explosives placed in her hold, and setting her on fire. “Cheaper than torpedoes,” said the officer, “and less noisy. They’re shocking bad shots, too, on those armed merchantmen; and it would take a heap of shells to sink the old ship, because of her water-tight compartments. Much easier to blow her up from within.”
“Wretches!” said the old lady who knitted. She was still busy at her khaki muffler.
“It’s war,” said the young officer, hurrying off. On the lower deck the stewards and crew were mustered, awaiting inspection. After answering to their names they took their usual boat-stations, without the ordinary signal. The chief cook was cheery.
“No luncheon to cook!” quoth he, pleasantly. “And no need to abuse any one for not having cleared up properly after breakfast! Well, I’ve always heard that every dog gets a holiday one day in his life; it’s an ill wind that blows nowhere!” He rallied the butcher on his downcast mien.
“Think of all the good meat that’s going to the bottom!” said the butcher, gloomily.
“Wot I think is, that I won’t have to ’andle any of it,” said the gay cook. “Don’t you never get fed-up with the very thought of meat, butcher? Sometimes I dreams of it all night!”
“Ijjit!” said the butcher. He withdrew himself, and sat on the edge of a boat, wrapped in melancholy.
Slowly, faint streaks of pink showed in the eastern sky, and a pale flush crept upwards. The sun came out of the sea, as if reluctantly, unwilling to bring such a bitter morning.
“They’ll stop us soon, now,” Jim said. “Sure you’ve got all your wraps, Norah?” He had asked the question three times already, but Norah smiled up at him.
“Yes—and my nice old ’possum-rug,” she said. “Won’t it be a comfort in the boat, Jim?”
“It ought to help you to get a sleep,” Jim said. “Air-cushions packed? You’ll have to get Grantham to blow them up for you, since I won’t be there; he’s in your boat.”
“I can do them, thanks, Jim,” said Norah quickly. No one else should touch the cushions he had given her.
“Old duffer!” said Jim, very low—understanding well. They smiled at each other.
“I wish they’d end it,” Major Edwards was saying to his wife. “This waiting is worse than the actual saying good-bye!”
“I wonder why they don’t come,” she answered. “They only wanted daylight, didn’t they?
“Yes—and the sooner the boats get away, the better, I should imagine,” he said. They resumed their hard walk, up and down—up and down.
Overhead, on the bridge, there seemed a mild stir. The captain could be seen, watching the German ship through his glasses. Then he directed them to another point of the horizon, astern. Presently he disappeared, returning almost immediately with a telescope.
John West came round a corner at full speed.
“Smoke astern!”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know—another catch for the enemy, very likely. What luck for her if she gets two liners in one day!”
Everybody rushed to see; and made but little of the smudge of smoke, far on the horizon. They came back to watch the enemy. Only the Fields had not moved; Tommy was asleep, his face against his father’s.
On the German ship things were stirring. They could see hasty movements of men. Smoke began to pour from her funnels.
“They’re coming, I expect,” Jim said. He tightened his grip on Norah’s arm.
Mr. Dixon left the bridge, and came hurriedly aft. The passengers flocked round him.
“There’s a ship in sight,” he said, “and we think she’s a British cruiser. The enemy evidently think it, and they’re getting up steam.”
“Not going to stop?” a girl cried wildly.
“It doesn’t seem like it.” He hesitated. “We trust you to show no panic. It is quite possible that they may try to sink us without taking off the passengers—will you all get to your boat-stations quickly and put on the life-belts the stewards will serve out?”
There were white faces, but no panic. Men and women trooped to their stations, the former stooping to pick up children, and taking babies from their mother’s arms—arms that took them back hungrily as soon as the life-belts were adjusted. The boats were swung outward from the davits, their crews in their places; and for a few minutes a very agony of suspense held the ship silent. Every eye was glued to the German ship. People held their breath, watching the guns—each moment expecting a flash and an explosion.
A line of flags fluttered into place on the enemy’s rigging, and simultaneously the passengers glanced up at the bridge of thePerseus, where alone the message could be understood. They saw Captain Garth put his glasses down hurriedly and grip Mr. Dixon’s hand. Then he caught up a megaphone and turned to them, speaking through it.
“The enemy is leaving us,” came the shout. “They signal, ‘We will not destroy your ship on account of the women and children on board. You are dismissed. Good-bye.’ ”
A burst of cheering broke from the passengers. One girl fainted; men turned and wrung each other’s hands. Captain and Mrs. Field did not stir for a moment; then they rose, moved by the same instinct, and disappeared within the ship. Mrs. Field staggered as they went and her husband’s free arm caught her to him. Tommy had never stirred—his little face lay against his father’s cheek.
David Linton put his hand on his boy’s shoulder, speechless. Norah had laid her head on the rail, and her shoulders were shaking. Wally patted them hard.
“Buck up, old girl!” he said.
Flags had shot up on thePerseus, in courteous answer to the Germans. Mr. Dixon, appearing, was overwhelmed with congratulations and questions.
“It’s a British cruiser, right enough, and our friend the enemy has got to show a clean pair of heels,” he said. “We’re only keeping her back—her speed is knots ahead of ours. We’ll know more when we get the wireless going again—Grey is hard at work on the spare outfit already. We’ll hold on as we are for the present, to give the British ship any information we can.”
“There is no further danger?” queried the old lady with the khaki muffler.
“No, ma’am—none at all, that I know of.”
“What a good thing!” said she, placidly. She knitted on, without any pause.
“The captain sends you all his thanks,” Dixon continued, gazing at her in bewilderment and awe. “He says you can shed life-belts and, as the Germans put it, dismiss—it’s ‘as you were,’ in fact. There will be another breakfast in an hour’s time—I don’t fancy any one ate much of the first one. We’ll let you know any news we can,” and he hurried back to the bridge.
Already the German ship had forged far ahead of thePerseus.
“Aren’t her stokers having a time!” uttered Wally, as the smoke poured from her. “It’s going to take her all she knows to get away from that cruiser of ours.” He was unfastening Norah’s life-belt as he spoke, while Jim removed Mr. Linton’s. “Are you all right, Nor?”
“Oh, yes,” said Norah, turning a strained, white face. She looked up at Jim, and met his eyes, smiling at her. “It’s—it’s a bit of relief, isn’t it?”
Every one was trying to speak calmly, although, now that the long tension had been so suddenly relaxed, there was more appearance of emotion than in the moment of greatest danger. Two or three women had become hysterical, and the stewardesses and doctor were busy reducing them to common-sense. Mrs. Edwards had not spoken at all since the megaphone had cried their reprieve from the bridge. She rose after awhile and slipped away.
The British cruiser was coming up astern, at full speed. Already they could see the grey hull, business-like and determined.
“I expect we’ll signal to her as soon as the enemy is a bit further away,” Jim said. “I hope to goodness we’re going to see the fight!”
“Will there be a fight?” Norah asked, excitedly.
“Why I should think so. She isn’t out for her health,” Jim answered. “It will be a heartsome sight if she sinks the German, won’t it—and great Scott, how annoying it will be for Mr. Smith!”
“Whew-w!” Wally whistled. “I clean forgot our friend Smithy!”
“I doubt if he’s as happy now as he was on thePerseus,” said Jim, laughing. “That British ship is a flyer and no mistake. Nor, old girl, why don’t you go and get out of six or eight of those coats before the fun begins? You can’t wear them all day.”
“No, nor this hat,” said Norah, who was dressed for emergencies. “I’ll hurry back.”
Her way to her cabin led her past the Edwards’ and she glanced in, at the sound of sobbing. Mrs. Edwards, who had no children, had borrowed little Tommy Field. She was kneeling before the couch on which she had placed him, her face buried in his frock, her whole frame shaking with sobs. Tommy regarded her doubtfully—and then, finding her hair soft under his little hands, began gleefully to pull it down, gurgling with joy. Mrs. Edwards did not seem to notice—even though they hurt her; it may be that she found a comfort in the touch of the little hands. At the sight, Norah suddenly found that she, too, was sobbing. She ran on into her cabin.
When she passed, a little later, on her way back, she heard the murmur of voices, and saw Major Edwards bending over his wife. Somehow Norah knew that she was better, though she went by quickly, averting her eyes. Dimly within her, though she had not learned to put the thought into words, Norah knew that the world holds few women whom a baby cannot help—even a borrowed baby.
“Norah! Norah! Hurry up!”
Jim’s voice came ringing down the alleyways.
“I’m coming!” Norah shouted, beginning to run. “What’s the matter? Anything wrong?”
“No—only the British ship is coming up hand over fist, and signalling like mad. And the German is just tearing away, but I don’t believe she can do it.” Jim’s face was flushed and his eyes dancing. “Losh, but I wish I was on that cruiser! Isn’t it the mischief that our wireless isn’t ready! Come along—I was afraid you’d miss her.” He raced up the companion-ladder, Norah at his heels.
At the top Wally was prancing with excitement.
“Oh, hurry up, you two!” Each boy grasped one of Norah’s hands, and they tore along the deck. Every one was hanging over the rail, watching the British ship approaching. Beside the great bulk of thePerseus, or of the German ship, she seemed small. But she was built for speed and armed to the teeth.
Mr. Linton offered Norah his glasses—but she found that her hands were shaking too much to use them. The change from despair to relief had, indeed, affected every one; ordinarily grave people laughed and talked excitedly, and the younger passengers were like children released from school. No one would go down to the second breakfast. Stewards wandered round with trays of beef-tea, and people took cups absent-mindedly, and forgot to drink them. The decks, generally so spic-and-span, were littered untidily, since rugs and wraps had been flung down wherever their owners happened to be standing—and the stewards were themselves far too disorganised to perform ordinary duties. For one morning at least, the soberPerseuswas “fey.”
“I’d give something to understand what she’s talking about,” John West exclaimed, watching the cruiser, which was exchanging rapid signals with thePerseus.
“Easy enough to guess,” Jim said. “They want to know anything we can tell them, that’s all. Look at us”—he glanced aloft—“flag-wagging our hardest. This is beginning to make up for last night!”
“Yes—you chaps must have had a pretty bad time,” West said. “I’m jolly glad rescue came—it wasn’t any too soon.”
“Oh, a miss is as good as a mile,” said Wally. “I’m too cheerful to think of last night. By Jove, I believe they’re coming near enough to talk! Isn’t it gorgeous!” He seized Norah, and they executed a wild polka down the deck—a proceeding which would ordinarily have attracted some attention, but just now drew not a single glance, except from the knitting old lady, who beamed over her muffler, and said, “Bless them, pretty dears!”—which remark filled Wally with wrath beyond anything he had manifested for the German ship. They came back to the others, outwardly sober, but still bubbling within.
“She’s theSealark,” the second officer told them. “Light cruiser—about 6,000 tons; and her armament is a dream. I saw her in Portsmouth Harbour last July. I guess she’ll make things warm for the beggar.”
“How did she come—was it just luck?” Wally asked.
“Luck?—not it! She caught our ‘S.O.S.’ signals yesterday; a jolly good thing for us young Grey stuck to his wireless as long as he did. Watch her—she means hailing us, I think.”
From the bridge, a voice through a megaphone demanded perfect silence on the decks—and every voice was hushed as the cruiser came rapidly alongside, so close that greetings could easily be exchanged. Rapid questions and answers flashed from bridge to bridge. TheSealarkwas ready for action; they could see the cleared decks, and the guns trained in readiness. Bluejackets swarmed everywhere, cheery-faced and alert, and waved jovial greetings to the big liner. Norah found her heart thumping. War! this was war, indeed!
The cruiser drew away, exerting her utmost speed. Mr. Dixon came down to the passengers.
“She wants us to stand by to help with the wounded,” he said. “She’ll be engaging the German soon. No, I don’t think it will be much of a fight; the German is more than twice her size, but she’s only an armed merchantman, and theSealark’sguns outclass hers hopelessly. We’re not going to run risks of shells, of course, but you’ll get some sort of a view.” He favoured Norah with a special grin. “I shouldn’t wonder if you got your friend Smith back, Miss Norah!”
It was half an hour later that the first dull roar of a gun echoed across the sea. ThePerseushad altered her course, so that she should not be in the line of fire, and the three ships formed an irregular triangle. They saw the puff of smoke from theSealarkand then another, and another; but the German held on her way, unchecked, although theSealarkwas rapidly overhauling her. Then she began to return the shots, and the watchers on thePerseuscould mark by how much they fell short by the splashes as they fell. The British cruiser answered, her superior range giving her an immense advantage.
“Ah—she’s got home!”
Mr. Linton’s quick exclamation came just before a shout from the bridge. One of the funnels of the German ship had tilted suddenly, and remained looking curiously helpless, like a child’s damaged toy. TheSealarkhad found her range. Shot after shot crashed; another funnel fell sideways, and a great black stain showed near the stern where a shell had hit its mark. The ships grew nearer together.
“The German’s having engine-trouble, I believe,” Grantham hazarded. “Her speed is falling off.”
“By Jove, she’s hit theSealark!”
Almost simultaneously with two vicious puffs of smoke from the German guns there came a commotion on the deck of the British cruiser. Through the glasses could be seen marks of damage, and one gun spoke no more. But, as if in swift retaliation, a series of crashing shots from theSealarkshook the air—and the enemy ship seemed to shiver and pause. A gaping hole showed in her side. Again the British guns roared across the water.
“She’s done,” Mr. Linton said.
The German ship was quite done. She listed slowly, more and more of her hull becoming visible as the deck, with its litter of wreckage and broken funnels, sloped away from them. Gushes of vapour that might have been either smoke or steam poured from her; and then, as the watchers held their breath in suspense, blue wreaths of smoke curled lazily upwards. She was on fire and sinking.
“TheSealarkis signalling to us,” the second officer said. “We’re wanted—it’s full steam ahead. But she won’t last until we get there.”
The guns of the British cruiser had ceased. A moment before she had been nothing but a death-dealing machine; now she suddenly became an instrument of mercy, dashing forward to save life. ThePerseuswas no less ready. The water foamed from her bows, as she bore down upon the sinking German.
“She’s going!” A score of voices raised the cry.
The German warship tilted still further. Then she gave a long, lazy roll, like a sea-monster seeking rest; her stern lifted, and she dived down, head-first. So quickly was it done that it seemed a dream; one moment the great ship held every eye—the next, and she was gone, and scarcely a ripple marked the place of her sinking.
As she went, black forms dropped from her, looking, at that distance, like a swarm of flies. They could be seen faintly in the smooth water, tiny dots upon the surface of the slow swell.
“Oh—hurry! hurry!”
Norah did not know that she had spoken. Her eyes were glued to those helpless black specks.
The boats were already swung out. As theSealarkand thePerseuscame near the broken wreckage and bobbing heads, both ships slackened, and the boats shot down to the water. There was a moment’s delay as the ready oars came out and they drew away from the side; then they leaped forward, every man bending in real earnest to his work. Once among the wreckage, all but two oars were withdrawn, and the rowers leaned over, intent on their work of mercy. They lifted out one dripping form after another. Their cries of encouragement drifted back to the ships.
“I don’t think one other head is showing,” said Jim at last. “Poor beggars—what a crowd have gone down!”
They scanned the sea with keen eyes. There was nothing to be seen but spars and littered wreckage.
“The boats are coming back,” Norah said, her voice shaking. Not to look had been impossible; but it would be as impossible ever to forget what she had seen.
They came back with their burden of flotsam and jetsam; it was pitifully small, compared to the number who had been on the ship. Some were wounded, many exhausted from shock and immersion. These were busy times for the doctor and his assistants on thePerseus. TheSealarkhad but little room for prisoners and the sick, and was glad to turn them over to the great empty liner.
“We’re practically a floating war prison,” said Mr. Dixon. They had exchanged final greetings with the British man-of-war, and thePerseushad resumed her course to the Canaries. “The two officers who called yesterday are with us, bless their jovial hearts! They aren’t wounded—and they’re not so supercilious either. An exceedingly wet and cold man can’t very well be supercilious, even if he’s a German—and those chaps were half-drowned rats when we pulled ’em in.”
“What about Mr. Smith?” Wally asked.
Mr. Dixon shook his head.
“No sign of him—gone down, poor little man. It’s just as well, I suppose; he’d have hated not getting back to his Fatherland. And I, at least, am devoutly glad that I haven’t to give up some of my leave to a trial in England.” Mr. Dixon gave a cavernous yawn. “I haven’t had any sleep since the night before last, and I’m going to turn in; and people who look as tired as you, Miss Norah, should do the same.”
“I don’t think I’m tired,” said Norah vaguely. The chief officer laughed.
“Put her to bed, Jim,” he said, nodding his head. “We’ve enough German patients without a good Australian as well. And you might turn in yourself, by way of experiment—you look as if you could do with a sleep. I’m going to dream that I’m a prisoner on that beastly German boat, for the pleasure of waking up and finding I’m not—I advise you to do the same!”
CHAPTER XVIII.
“IT’S the heartsomest sight ever I seen!” said the quartermaster.
They were steaming slowly in to the big harbour of Las Palmas. Jim and Wally were great friends with the quartermaster, although he had once fallen over them bodily, an awkward occurrence that had produced a temporary coolness. He had forgiven them since discovering that their knowledge of knots was beyond that of the ordinary land-lubber passenger, and that Jim carried good tobacco, and frequently had some to spare.
The harbour was gradually opening up ahead—and they were looking at a sight of which theSealarkhad warned them. Dotted all over the land-locked stretch of dancing blue were ships, great and small; idle ships, with no smoke coming from them except the little trail from the cook’s galley. Many bore names well known in the big cities of the world where passenger steamers go. ThePerseuswent so close to some that they could scan their decks, where idle sailors lay about, playing cards and smoking—or leaned over the rail to watch the great British ship come slowly into port. Never had the Australian boys seen such sleepy ships.
“That one looks queer,” Jim said, indicating a vessel close in-shore; and the quartermaster grinned.
“She’s strolled ashore, an’ broke her back,” he said, cheerfully. “Good enough for her, too—and for the lot of ’em. Don’t it do your heart good to see ’em, miss?”—to Norah, who came up at the moment. “Lyin’ there with their dinky little black an’ white an’ red flags trailin’ out over their sterns, afraid to move; an’ the barnacles a-growin’ on ’em. They grow quick, too, in this nice warm water!”
“Are they the German ships?” Norah asked.
Jim nodded assent.
“Thirty-one of them,” he said, an unusual note of pride in his quiet voice. “Most of them have been there since the first fortnight of the war, when all the German merchant-shipping scurried for cover.”
“And there they sit,” said Wally, happily, “afraid to show their noses out, because they know they’ll be caught—and a little British cruiser comes and counts them now and then, like an old dog rounding up a mob of sheep.”
“They’ve sold all their cargoes for food,” said the quartermaster. “Ate ’em up, like—an’ much them Spaniards ashore gave ’em for the lot! Them Las Palmas dagoes must be pretty wealthy these times. An’ the beggars can’t get away, nor do nothink. Must make ’em feel pretty savage, seein’ ships like us come strollin’ in an’ out.”
“By Jove, it must!” Jim uttered. “Here are we, worth a million and a half of money—and just the cargo England wants—meat and wool and foodstuffs; and they’ve got to watch us go out safely! Wouldn’t it make you permanently sour!”
“Well, it brings home what sea-power means,” Mr. Linton said. “Not a bad thing to remember, this harbour, when things go wrong at the Front—and to realise that the same state of affairs is going on in many harbours. I’d like to know how many German ships are bottled up, all over the world; she can’t have much trade left.”
“Why, you won’t find the German merchant flag afloat, sir,” said the quartermaster, “unless it’s sittin’ tight in a neutral port like this. As for her trade——!” He snapped his fingers. “Well, she’s a long way off beat yet; but she ain’t doin’ any business!”
They had been running for some hours in sight of the Grand Canary, the chief island of the group—its rugged hills and headlands had been a welcome sight after the long stretch of unbroken sea. Since their escape from the German warship there had been a feeling of unrest all over thePerseus: the time seemed interminable, and the old sense of security in which they had lived contentedly had altogether gone. People were apt to jump at unusual sounds; books and games languished, for there was a painful fascination in scanning the sea for a smoke-trail that might or might not be another enemy cruiser. Above all, the hunger for news of the war became more and more intense, blotting out all lesser interests.
ThePerseusdropped anchor in the outer harbour—so crowded with shipping were the inner waters, that the huge vessel would have had difficulty in finding room to turn. Almost immediately the agents’ launch was seen hurrying out from the shore. In its wake came a huge flotilla of dinghies, containing every saleable article known to the bumboat-men of the Islands—lace, alleged to be Spanish, fine linen embroideries and drawn-thread work, silks, “sandalwood” boxes—made of any wood that came handy, and soaked in sandal oil to tickle tourist nostrils—roughly carved ivory, Canary knives and ebony elephants—probably of Birmingham manufacture—and a host of other “curios,” equally reliable and valuable. In addition, there were boats loaded to the gunwale with oranges and others with vegetables; and some that were top-heavy with an unwieldy cargo of basket-chairs. Until the medical officer of the port had granted pratique to the ship, no one was allowed on board; so the boats clustered thickly on each side, and the men held up their wares, shrieking their prices, and managed to conduct quite a number of sales by the simple expedient of passing the goods up in a bucket lowered from the deck.
Spanish medical officers are generally full of their own importance, but devoid of any inclination to hurry. It was some time before the impatient passengers saw the official boat coming leisurely across the harbour; and a further delay ensued before the pompous Spaniard had satisfied himself that thePerseuswas sufficiently free from any disease.
“They had small-pox brought to them by a ship once,” Mr. MacTavish told Norah; “and ever since they’ve been so scared that they’d refuse to let any one ashore if we had as much as a case of nettle-rash on board! Judging by the smells of the place when you get there, I should think they bred for themselves all the diseases they’d need.”
“He’s going back to his boat,” Norah said, looking over the rail at the gorgeous, gold-laced official.
“Then I expect it’s all right,” said the officer. “Just watch those bumboat-men.”
Some one had communicated to the boatmen the fact that thePerseuswas free ground, and the boats were crowding to the gangway in a struggling mass, each striving for first place at the steps. There seemed no rules of the game; they shoved each other aside furiously, edged boats out of the way with complete disregard of the safety of their crews or cargoes, and kept up a continuous babel of shouts and objurgations, coupled with wild appeals to the passengers to wait for the bargains they were bringing.
“Look at that chap!” Wally said, chuckling at a man whose boat had just reached the steps when a well-directed shove from the stern sent it flying lengths ahead. The man subsided in a heap on his wares, which were of a knobbly character and not adapted for reclining. He protested, in floods of fluent Spanish, while his wily ejector, who had promptly taken his place, proceeded to get his own goods on board with much calmness.
“They’re awful sharks,” said Mr. MacTavish. “Generally they bring on board about three decent things, in case of striking any one who really knows good stuff; the rest is just the scrapings of the Las Palmas shops—all the things they know they’ll never sell ashore. You want to be up to their tricks—and, whatever you do, don’t give them more than a quarter of the money they ask.”
The Spaniards were pouring on board in a steady stream. Some, without wasting time, dashed to vacant spaces on the deck and began to lay out their wares; others rushed up and down, thrusting goods, fruit, and post-cards almost into the faces of the passengers and asking fabulous prices for them. Norah, who had no wish at all to buy a fan for which the vendor demanded five shillings, said, “I’ll give you ninepence,” and expected to see him disappear in wrath. But the Spaniard smiled widely and said, “Thank you, miss!”—and Norah found herself the embarrassed possessor of the fan, while the seller as urgently begged her to buy an elephant.
“Oh, take me away, Wally!” she said, laughing. “Can’t we go ashore?”
“There’s a launch coming off now,” Mr. MacTavish said. “They’ll take you, and bring you back. But don’t go unless you’re a good sailor, Miss Norah—there’s a cheery little lap on in this harbour.”
“I’ll risk it,” Norah declared, laughing.
“Well, it upsets quite a few,” said the junior officer. “However, you’re ashore in a quarter of an hour, so the agony isn’t prolonged.”
The launch bobbed cheerily across the harbour, and the “lop” of which Mr. MacTavish had spoken proved quite sufficient for several of the passengers, who were both green and glad when the little boat arrived at the stone steps of the wharf. At the head of the steps enthusiastic drivers proffered their services. The Billabong party, by the Captain’s advice, had engaged a guide—a bustling gentleman, speaking very imperfect English, who hurried them to the quaint little carriages of the town—two-wheeled, hooded erections, capable, when rattling over their native cobblestones, of inflicting innumerable contusions on the human frame. They dashed wildly up a long, ascending road, the drivers urging their raw-boned steeds with whip and voice.
Las Palmas, to the hurried tourist, offers but little in the way of sight-seeing. To the leisured, with time to drive away from the white town, up the mountain, to Monte and Santa Brigida, there is opportunity for seeing the best of the island—rolling country with deep little cleft glens running to the sea, banana gardens, and the vineyards among which Santa Brigida nestles—vineyards where the Canary wine of old days was made. Motor-buses run there to-day—unromantic successors to the gay old adventurers who sailed the Spanish Main and drank Canary sack.
The majority of ships, however, stay in the port but a few hours, making the call only for mails and vegetables and a shipment of fruit for London; so that the average tourist can but put himself in the hands of a guide and make a meteoric dash through the city, seeing what the guide chooses to show him, and no more.
“Did you ever see such unfortunate, raw-boned horses!” gasped Norah. “I do wish our man wouldn’t beat him so continually.”
The guide smiled widely. “De horse she not mind de beat,” he said.
“I expect they’re used to it,” Jim remarked; “it really seems part of the show. Anyway, they all do it.”
They hurried through the great Cathedral, seeing vestments three hundred years old; through the fruit and fish markets; and then to the place which the guide plainly regarded as the champion attraction of the town—the prison. It was a gloomy building, entered through a big courtyard where snowy-white geraniums bloomed in startling contrast to the grim stone walls. Within, they glanced at the room where trials were held; and then were conducted along dim corridors and into a cell where an unpleasant iron framework was fixed above a bare iron chair.
“De garotte!” announced the guide, proudly. “Where dey put to death de murderers!” He sat down in the iron chair, and obligingly put his neck in the clutch of the grisly collar, to show how it worked—whereat Mr. Linton uttered an ejaculation of wrath, and hastily removed his daughter.
“Do they really kill people there?” Norah asked, wide-eyed. It did not seem easy to realise.
“They do—but there’s no need for you to look at the beastly place!” said her father, indignantly.
“Well, it looked awfully tame,” said Norah. “I suppose I haven’t enough imagination, daddy. It was rather like the arrangement they put to keep your head steady in a photographer’s!”
Jim and Wally came out, followed by the guide, who looked rather crestfallen.
“Unpleasant beast!” remarked Jim. “He’s been showing us a collection of knives and scythes and other grisly weapons, with dark and deadly stains—says various ladies and gentlemen used them to slay other ladies and gentlemen! First you see the garotte, and then what brings you to it. It puts you off murdering any one, at all events in Las Palmas!”
“It makes me feel like murdering the guide!” said Wally. “I never saw any one gloat so unpleasantly!”
They left the prison and rattled back into the main streets of the town. Spanish girls in graceful mantillas looked down upon them from upper windows; and once Norah declared that she saw a Spanish cavalier serenading one, with guitar all complete—which seemed unlikely, even in Las Palmas, in broad daylight. The streets were narrow and dirty, the cobblestones unbelievably rough. At top speed the little carriages bumped over them, their occupants bouncing hither and thither, and suffering many things. They rejoiced unaffectedly when at length they halted, and set out on foot to explore the business part of the town.
The shops were full of fascinating things, to unaccustomed eyes, and their owners did not wait for people to enter, but came to the doorways, or even out into the streets, begging them to buy; each pointing out how much more excellent was his shop than that of his neighbour. Whether they succeeded or failed in making a sale, they were always exquisitely polite.
“You feel,” said Wally, “that even if they don’t manage to sell you a pennyworth, they’re amply rewarded for their trouble, by the pleasure of having seen you!”
In a restaurant overlooking the sea they procured very bad coffee with cakes of startling colours and quite poisonous taste; after which refection every one felt rather ill, and formed a high opinion of Spanish digestive powers. There were German sailors in the restaurant evidently from the ships in the harbour; they looked sourly at the cheery little party of English-speaking people, and muttered guttural remarks that clearly were not pleasant.
“It’s hardly to be expected that they should feel good-humoured at the sight of us,” said Jim. “Poor beggars—here since war broke out, with nothing to do, and practically no money; and their ships rotting in the harbour. And they have to watch us go in and out just as we please. It wouldn’t excite one’s finer feelings, if one were a German.”
“Have Germans got any?” queried Wally.
“They’re not overstocked, I believe,” Jim said, grinning. “But one wouldn’t develop many in Las Palmas, anyhow. I’ve seen more villainous faces here than in the whole course of my previous existence. Our Zulu friend in Durban was a beauty, compared to some of them.”
“Yes, one wouldn’t care to wander about here alone on a dark night,” said his father. “Half of the populace look as though they would quite cheerfully and politely assassinate any one for sixpence. Come on, children; the guide seems to be getting excited—it’s time we went back to the ship.”
ThePerseussteamed away in the twilight—the crowd of boatmen chattering and shouting round her until the last moment, and attempting to sell for a few pence articles for which, earlier in the day, they had demanded many shillings. Past the imprisoned German ships they went, seeing the sullen crews watching them, envying them the freedom of the seas. The captain came along the deck as they watched the sunset and the slowly fading white town under the mountain.
“Well, we didn’t get much news out of Las Palmas,” he said. “One never does. It’s all deadlock, anyhow, at the Front; winter has shut down on a lot of activities.”
“Judging by my papers, most of the battle area seems water-logged,” said Mr. Linton. “It wouldn’t give much scope for movements.”
“No,” the captain agreed. “Personally, the agents have left me completely undecided; we’re scheduled to go to London, but they say we may be sent to Liverpool—or anywhere else.” He laughed. “Time was when a man was master on his ship—but in war he’s not much more than a cabin-boy. There’s a hint that the Government want our cargo of meat to go straight to France.”
“What—would we go there?” Norah queried, much excited.
“Not much!” said the captain, with emphasis. “Too many mines and submarines about, Miss Norah, to take passengers on cross-Channel excursions. No, I guess I’d have to land you all at some Channel port. They say we’ll hear by wireless—meanwhile, I wouldn’t advise you to label your luggage.”
Mr. Linton looked anxious.
“I’ll be just as glad if we don’t have the trip up the Channel,” he said. “There would be no further danger of cruisers, I suppose; but one does not feel encouraged by the idea of floating mines—not with daughters about.”
“Indeed, you catch me letting you meet a mine alone!” said Norah hastily. “Me, that can hardly trust you to change your coat when it’s wet!” Whereat the Captain chuckled and departed.
CHAPTER XIX.
PERHAPS the last week of the voyage was the longest of all.
From Las Palmas thePerseusran into bad weather, and the Australians were sharply reminded that instead of their own hot December they were coming to English winter. Ice-cold gales blew day and night; the decks were constantly swept by drifting showers of sleety rain. It was often impossible to keep cabin port-holes open, even in the day-time, since the waves were high; and at night they were definitely closed. Wally, who had opened his on a night that was deceptively calm, was found by Jim “awash,” a wave having entered and deluged everything. Wally was equally apologetic and wrathful; he paddled in the chilly flood, rescuing damp boxes from under the berths.
“I’m awfully sorry, old man,” he said penitently. “The cabin was so horrid stuffy—and the waves seemed quiet. I think”—hopefully—“that my things have got the worst of the mess, anyhow.”
“I wish you’d come out of that and get dry socks on,” said Jim, laughing. “You look like an old pelican, wading round there! Here’s Scott—he’ll fix it up.” They fled, leaving the flood to the much-enduring steward, who had probably grappled with such emergencies before.
The evenings were the worst time. By nightfall the closed-up ship was unbearably airless; rather than remain below, it was better to face the dripping decks, to find a comparatively sheltered corner in the inky gloom, and there to sit, wrapped in mackintoshes and rugs, until bedtime—when the keen salt wind would have effectually made every one sleepy. They woke up heavy-headed, and fled back to the deck as soon as dressing could be hurried through. No one could possibly call the deck comfortable, but at least it was airy—though, perhaps, too airy.
News came now each morning by wireless; unsatisfactory news, for the most part, since it told but little and spoke only of the long winter deadlock just commencing. Still, it was something, and the passengers clustered round the notice-board after breakfast, reading the scrawled items hungrily. Daily the feeling of tension increased, as the ship ploughed her way to the end of her long journey. It was harder than ever to be cooped up in idleness when so much was happening just ahead; so much waiting to be done.
They saw no warships, yet they knew that the watch was all round them, vigilant and sleepless. Daily the wireless operator heard the echo of their signals, telling nothing except that the grey watchdogs of the seas were somewhere near, hidden in the veil of mist through which they went. It was hard to realise, so lonely did thePerseusseem, that her position was known—that, somewhere, preparations and plans were being made, of which she was the centre, although even her captain knew nothing. Three days off the English coast the invisible Powers-That-Be spoke to her.
“Orders!” said Jim, dashing into his father’s cabin, where Mr. Linton and Norah were endeavouring to pack his belongings. “No London or Liverpool for us, thank goodness! We’re all to be landed at Falmouth. It means a day less at sea.”
“That’s the best news I’ve heard for a good while,” said Mr. Linton. “Six weeks at sea during war-time is enough for any man. Wireless orders, I suppose?”
“Yes—the captain won’t disclose whether they’re from Government or from the agents—but the officers believe it’s Government, and that the ship is going straight to Brest or Cherbourg with her foodstuffs, as soon as she gets rid of us. We get in at daylight on Monday.” He rushed off to find Wally.
They could, indeed, have got in on Sunday night, but for the war regulations—that no ships should enter an English port between sunset and sunrise; so, from evening on Sunday, thePerseusdawdled along, knowing that she must kill time, and preferring to do it in the safety of open ocean rather than off a rock-bound coast. Then, as if the sea wanted a final diversion with them, a fog came up, and the officers spent an anxious night, “dodging about” in the mist and looking for the unfamiliar entrance to Falmouth Harbour—all the time in dread of hearing breakers on a near shore. Two days before, they found later, a ship had gone on the rocks during the night. The Cornish coast stretches harsh hands to trap the unwary.
Fortune, however, befriended thePerseus. Towards morning the fog lifted, and the harbour entrance showed clearly. Norah, lying awake in her berth, saw through her port-hole a rugged headland—and almost immediately a blinding flash filled her cabin with so bright a light that for a moment it seemed on fire. It passed away as quickly as it had come; and Norah, springing to the port-hole, saw a dim coast and powerful searchlight that went to and fro across the entrance. Not even a fishing-dinghy could have slipped in unperceived by its white ray. Then a black funnel came so close to her face that she jumped back in astonishment. Looking down, she could see, below, the deck of a little gunboat, where were men in blue uniforms. A curt voice was hailing in tones of crisp authority.
“What ship are you, and where from?”
“ThePerseus—from Australia.”
“Last port?”
“Las Palmas.”
“What are you doing in here?”
“Wireless orders.” Norah smiled a little at the evident note of grievance in Captain Garth’s voice—as who should say, “I never asked to come!”
The gunboat moved on, until it was directly under the bridge. Norah could hear curt instructions as to anchoring. Then the fierce little grey boat darted away across the harbour.
She dressed hastily. Everything had been left ready overnight, and her little cabin wore a strangely cheerless aspect, denuded of all its homelike touches and with labelled and corded luggage lying about. Jim and Wally found her ready when they looked in on their way to the deck.
“Put on your biggest coat,” Jim said. “It’s colder than anything you ever dreamed of. To think they’re probably having bush-fires on Billabong!”
“I wish we had one here!” said Wally, shivering.
There were yellow lights still showing in the houses round the harbour, but daylight had come, and soon they began to twinkle out. It was a bare coast, with a grey castle on one headland—behind it, on a long rise, a dense cluster of huts that spoke of military encampment. The harbour itself was full of ships; among them, thePerseus, largest of them all, was going dead slow. The crew could be heard exchanging greetings with deck-hands engaged in morning tasks on vessels lying at anchor—question and answer ran back and forth; war news, curiosity about the long voyage, and often, “Goin’ to enlist, now you’re home?” Every one was excited and happy; the crew were beaming over their work; the stewards—most of whom had declared their intention of enlisting—wild with joy at the thought of home after their long months of absence.
The Australians drew together a little; there was something in the bleak grey December morning, in the cheery bustle and excitement, that made them suddenly alone and homesick—homesick for great trees and bare plains, for scorching sunlight and the green and gold splendour of the Bush.
“Doesn’t it seem a long way away?” Norah said, very low; and Jim and Wally, knowing quite well what she meant, nodded silently. To them, too, home was a great way off.
They hurried through an early breakfast, and came again on deck to find the anchor down for the last time, and thePerseuslying at rest. An official launch was alongside; and presently all the passengers were mustered in the saloon, to answer to their names and declare their nationality and business. It was a war precaution, but a perfunctory one; as Wally remarked, the late Mr. Smith would have had no difficulty whatever in passing with full marks.
Then came good-byes, beginning with the captain, somewhat haggard after his final vigil, and ending with little Tommy Field, who insisted on attaching himself to Norah, and was with difficulty removed by his parents. A tender was alongside; great piles of luggage were being shot down to it. There were many delays before the passengers, blue and shivering, were ushered down the gangway to the tossing deck below.
Norah looked back as the tender steamed off slowly. Far above them towered the mighty bulk of thePerseus, as it had towered at Melbourne so many weeks before. Then it had seemed strange and unfriendly; now it had changed; it was all the home she knew, in this cold, grey land. She had a moment’s wild desire to go back to it.
“Well, I am an idiot,” Wally said, beside her. “For weeks I’ve been aching to get off that old ship—and now that I’m off, I feel suddenly like a lost foal, and I want to go back and hide my head in my cabin! Do you feel like that?”
“ ’M,” said Norah, nodding very hard. “England feels very queer and terrifying, all of a sudden, doesn’t it?”
“Don’t you bother your little head,” said Jim. “We’ll worry through all right.”
Ashore there came a long Customs delay, since enthusiastic officials insisted on having a lengthy hunt through luggage for revolvers, which were liable to confiscation. They waited in a huge shed, which smelt of many things, none of them pleasant. Finally they were released, and made their way through a bewildering maze of rough buildings and railway lines, until they found themselves at the station at Falmouth, where a special train awaited them.
It was all strange to the Lintons. The very accent of the Cornish folk around them was unintelligible; the houses, packed closely together, as unfamiliar as the bleak landscape and the leafless trees—trees that Norah considered dead until she suddenly realised that she was no longer in Australia, where a leafless tree is a dead tree, and where there is no long winter sleep for Nature. These trees were bare, but dense with growth of interlaced boughs and twigs; not beaten to gaunt skeletons, like the Australian dead forest giants. Norah found that in their beauty of form and tracery there was something more exquisite than in their spring leafage.
“Don’t the houses look queer!” Jim said. “We’ve been travelling for ever so long, and I haven’t seen a single verandah!”
Gradually, as the day wore on, the rain drifted up in a grey cloud, blotting out all the cold landscape. It blew aside now and then, and showed empty fields, divided by bare hedges; an emptiness that puzzled the Australians, until they realised that they were in a country where all cattle must be housed in winter. The fields, too, were astonishing: quaint, irregularly shaped little patches, tiny beside their memories of the wide paddocks of their own big land. The whole country looked like a chessboard to their unaccustomed eyes; the great houses, among their leafless trees, inexpressibly gaunt and bleak.
Then, so soon after luncheon that they exclaimed in astonishment, darkness came down and electric lights flashed on throughout the train. The conductor came in to pull all blinds down carefully.
“War regulations, sir,” he said in answer to Mr. Linton. “No trains allowed to travel showin’ lights now, for fear of an attack by aircraft—and goin’ over bridges they turns the lights off altogether. Makes travellin’ dull, sir.”
“It sounds as though it should make it exciting,” said Mr. Linton.
“Might, if the aeroplanes came, sir,” said the conductor, laconically. “They do say them Zeppelins is goin’ to shake things up in England. But they ain’t come yet, an’ England ain’t shook up. Might be as well if she wur.” He went on his mission of darkness.
The slow day drew to a close. The train made few stoppages, and travelled swiftly; but it was late before the long journey across England was over, and they began to slacken down. Peering out, Norah and the boys saw a dimly-lit mass of houses, so solid a mass, so far-reaching, that they were almost terrifying. They were gaunt houses, tall and grey, crowned with grimy chimney-pots; for miles they ran through them, finding never a break in their close-packed squares. Then came more lights and a grinding of brakes as they drew up; outside the train, raucous voices of porters.
“Paddington! Paddington!”
“London at last!” said Mr. Linton.
Presently they were packed into a taxi, whizzing along through dim streets. The taxi-lights were darkened; there were few electric lights, and all the upper parts of their glass globes had been blackened, so that hostile aircraft, flying overhead, should find no guiding beams. Lamps in shop windows were carefully shaded.
It was a weird city, in its semi-darkness of war. The streets were full of clamour—rattling of traffic, sharp ringing of tram-bells and the hooting of motors, and, above every other sound the piercing cries of newsboys—“Speshul! War Speshul!” Motor-buses, great red structures that towered like cars of Juggernaut, rattled by them, their drivers darting in and out among the traffic with amazing skill. Taxi-cabs went by in a solid stream. The pavements were a dense mass of jostling, hurrying people. And in whatever direction they looked were soldiers—men in khaki, with quiet, purposeful faces.
“Heaps and heaps of them aren’t a day older than I am!” Wally declared, gleefully, bringing his head in. “Look at that little officer over there! Why, I might be his uncle! If they are taking kids like that, Jim, they can’t refuse you and me!”
“They won’t refuse you,” David Linton said, gravely, looking at the brown faces—Jim’s, quiet, but full of determination; Wally’s vivid with excitement. There was no doubt that they were excellent war material—quite too good to refuse.
Norah’s hand closed on his in the darkness. The same thought had come to them both. The long voyage, with its comparative peace, was behind them: ahead was only war, and all that it might mean to the boys. The whole world suddenly centred round the boys. London was nothing; England, nothing, except for what it stood for; the heart of Empire. And the Empire had called the boys.