Black August (28 page)

He smiled up at her a little grimly in the darkness. ‘Lucky to be alive, I suppose. The shellburst knocked me out, but miraculously I escaped further damage except for a twisted leg.'

Crowder's husky voice broke in behind them. ‘Now if it's all the same to you I'm going to drop you here. See over there? That's the Sunk Lightship winking now—an' that's the direction of 'Arwich. Nigh on fifteen mile it 'ud be, but if the men put their backs into it you should be there for breakfus'.'

‘Right, carry on, Crowder,' said Gregory tonelessly.

The lurching form of the stoker disappeared in the shadows. Silence fell on the little group by the capstan while the thresh of the screws sensibly diminished and the destroyer eased down. The periodic flash from the Sunk appeared, a friendly note in the darkness, but as the ship heaved to in a gentle swell they felt a moderate breeze which had sprung up from the southeast, and Petty Officer Sims remarked that he thought it heralded a threat of fog.

The sailors were busy turning out the whaler. The falls ran easily, and at a curt order from Crowder she was slipped with a barely perceptible splash. The party collected with their rifles at the ready, and marched aft with Harker leading. Sallust and a man who had a bullet through the calf of the leg were supported on each side, and followed the girls in the centre of the remaining troops; Kenyon brought up the rear.

Harker and Sims climbed down into the boat which was gently tossing alongside. They made a rapid survey of the stores and reported all satisfactory. The girls, the wounded, the ammunition and the Lewis guns were lowered, then the rest of the party went over the side, Kenyon remaining alone for a moment with Crowder at the rails.

He pointed past the lightship and said: ‘You are certain that is the direction of Harwich?'

‘Sure of it—I got a wife and kids in 'Arwich,' the stoker added thoughtfully.

‘Have you?'

‘Yes, an' I'm real anxious about them—not that the old lady can't look after herself—but still—'

Kenyon glanced at the man curiously. A few hours before he had been prepared to murder anybody—he had in fact shot his own Commander, for what Kenyon supposed he considered his rights and principles; now, he was just as human as anybody else and anxious about his wife and children.

‘Well, I hope they're all right,' he said. ‘So long.'

‘So long,' repeated the big man. ‘Best o' luck,' and Kenyon slipped over the side into the waiting boat.

As the boat shoved off, the oars were got out by the soldiers and Greyshirts who were sitting amidships, and pulling slowly, they passed under the stern of the destroyer, being momentarily caught up in the wash from her powerful screws as she forged ahead again.

From the low altitude of the boat the flash of the Sunk did not show so plainly. A tenuous mist seemed to be rising from the sea and borne on the south-easterly breeze, wisps of fog began to obscure their vision.

‘I don't like the looks of it,' muttered Sims who had the tiller.

Gregory, seated next him in the stern, glanced back towards the ship, but with amazing swiftness it had already been swallowed up in the rapidly rising mist. The men were pulling as well as their inexperience allowed towards the flash of the Light Vessel, but it was only visible hazily now, for great banks of chill grey fog seemed to be closing in all round. Ten minutes later that too had disappeared.

Rudd relieved Sims at the tiller in order that the Petty Officer might get out the compass. For some minutes he fumbled with it and muttered to himself anxiously, then setting it down he said in a low voice to Gregory: ‘I'm sorry, sir, but this compass has had a biff; it's out of action.'

Gregory nodded quietly: ‘I see; we're out of the frying-pan into the fire then—adrift in the great North Sea?'

‘I fear that's so, sir.'

Suddenly the hideous wail of a banshee echoed out over the desolate waste of the fogbound waters. It was Rudd who had broken into his other aria: ‘A Life on the Ocean Wave,'

‘Oh, shut up,' moaned Gregory.

‘Sorry, sir,' Rudd ceased his serenade abruptly. ‘I forgot you were '
ors de combat
.'

‘This compass,' said Kenyon, ‘can't you make it work, Sims?'

The P.O. had just unscrewed the top and removed the card. He shook his head. ‘'Fraid not, sir, the pivot's broken.'

‘What'll we do then?” Harker asked.

‘God knows. Let the men row gently but don't tire them. When daylight comes we'll get our direction from the sun. For the Lord's sake let me rest till then.' Gregory closed his eyes wearily.

Veronica made a pillow for his head with some coats and they laid him out at full length on the bottom boards in the stern, while Kenyon and Silas checked up the occupants of the boat.

Besides themselves, the girls, Gregory, Rudd, and Sims, there were Sergeant Thompson with a lance-corporal and six of his men, one of whom had a head wound, and another a bullet through his leg; also five Greyshirts, including Rudd's henchman, Bob, who sat in the bow of the boat with his arm in a sling. The party numbered twenty all told, therefore, of which four were disabled and two were women.

The boat was a long, five-oared whaler so they were not unduly overcrowded. Sims had the tiller and Sergeant Thompson acted as look-out in the bow. The pulling was jerky and uneven owing to the men's lack of experience with boats, but one or two had done a little sculling and Kenyon and Silas decided to take turns at stroke.

Counting out the wounded and the women there were just enough of them to form two complete crews; Kenyon with the Tommies, Rudd for steersman and Sergeant Thompson as lookout
making one watch; and Silas with his Greyshirts, Sims and the lance-corporal the other. Once these arrangements had been made, Kenyon's party took first turn at working the boat.

It would have been stupid to exert themselves, since they only had a very vague idea where they were or in which direction they were going, and Kenyon did not attempt to do more than keep the whaler gently moving. Instead, by a monotonous repetition of ‘In-Out—In-Out' as the men dipped their oars he endeavoured to coach his crew into keeping some sort of time.

Gradually the darkness lightened but the mist lay heavy and thick about them, not even a glimmer of sun penetrated to the sea and no sound of sirens, indicating other shipping in the vicinity, reached them. With slow and wearisome regularity the oars rattled backwards and forwards in the crutches while the wavelets lapped and chuckled under the stern. The heavy seas of the night before had subsided into a gentle swell and the grey-green waters seemed to rise rhythmically before them in huge low mounds, only to slip away again and mount to fresh heights in their wake.

When full daylight came they suffered the illusion that the mist was lifting, since from the stern it seemed that they could see several lengths ahead, but they soon realised that they had only discovered the general density of the fog, and their length of vision did not alter as they advanced into the curtain of chill greyness which shut out light and sun. A dree, eerie feeling of loneliness and uncertainty stole over them, engendered by the silence and mystery of these seemingly impenetrable yet opaque walls of gloom. Even Harker's resilient cheerfulness was temporarily damped and all of them were cold, hungry, and exhausted from lack of sleep.

Those who were not rowing crouched, dejected and miserable, in the bottom of the boat. The man with the injured leg groaned now and again. Gregory tossed in an uneasy sleep. Ann and Veronica, huddled together on one of the seats in the stern, sought to conserve what little warmth they could under a tarpaulin which had been found for them, and the oarsmen were half-asleep as they swayed monotonously backwards and forwards at their task.

They had been rowing for the best part of an hour and a half when Silas leaned over to Kenyon:

‘What about a spell?'

Kenyon nodded wearily. The boat rocked a little as they ceased to ply their oars and the crews changed over, then the men who had been relieved settled down as comfortably as they could on the hard bottom boards and nodded into sleep.

Rudd thought of examining their supplies and suggesting breakfast, but two-thirds of the grey, drawn faces about him were sunk in deep slumber. It seemed no kindness to rouse them from their brief oblivion to a knowledge of the cheerless and uncertain prospect. Next moment the thought had drifted from his mind and he too was asleep.

Ann woke from a fitful doze as Kenyon sat down beside her. ‘How are you feeling?' he asked softly.

‘Pretty miserable—I'm so wretchedly cold,' she whispered, but she gave him a sleepy smile.

Very gently he slid his arm along the gunwale behind her shoulders and her head slipped down on to his chest. As he drew the corner of the covering more closely round her she closed her eyes, and wriggling into a more comfortable position dropped off again. Exhausted as he was and aching in every limb the moments were too precious for him to lose them in unconsciousness, and he remained, half-dozing but never lapsing from the joyous knowledge of her nearness to him, all through Harker's spell.

With the idea of warming up his Greyshirts, Silas set a quicker stroke, but soon he found it necessary to ease down and teach his squad to regularise their swing from Kenyon's example. Time wore on, and as the sun rose higher in the heavens the greyness lightened, but no rift appeared on any side in the all-pervading murk.

Kenyon was recalled from his half-dreaming state by Silas placing a large hand on his shoulder, and saying amiably: ‘What about it? Your turn now, I reckon.' Another hour or more passed.

He shivered, the damp chill of the mist seemed to have penetrated to the very marrow of his bones, then he pulled himself together and gently resettling Ann, who was now sleeping soundly, took the oar. The crews were already changing places and soon his party had settled down again into a long monotonous stroke. Almost unconsciously he noticed that his men were rowing better for their short training, then the thought of food came to him, but it was too late to think of that for the
moment now. He could not leave his oar, and Silas was already curled up in the stern sheets next to Petty Officer Sims, his broad chest rising and falling in the long respirations of deep and healthy sleep.

Rudd sat huddled at the tiller again, his blue eyes alert and watchful. He grinned at Kenyon, showing his uneven teeth. ‘Tike yer 'oliday on the Broads this summer, eh, sir. Travel by Moonshine Line—kids under six travels free—an' if yer got a dozen yer get a cokernut.'

Kenyon's lips parted in a quick smile. ‘I only wish we were on the Broads. Ever been there?'

‘No, sir, but me uncle's brother-in-law were drowned there, so I knows a bit abart it.'

‘How was that?'

‘Well, 'e were a read ‘eaded man, sir—an' beggin' yer pardon, with no reference to yerself—'e were apt to fly off the ‘andle a bit quick if yer know what I mean.'

‘Yes,' Kenyon agreed, slightly mystified.

‘An' 'e 'ad an upsydisy wiv a lock-keeper wot wouldn‘t let 'im through 'is lock.'

‘Why—did he refuse to pay?'

‘No it weren't that, but George were a bit of a Socialist, more fool ‘im—tho' we shouldn't speak ill of the dead, an' 'e couldn't see why 'e should wait fer a private yacht ter come through from the other side—that's wot started the argument. Then the lock-keeper starts gettin' personal abart 'is missus—my uncle's sister as was—an', they bein' on their ‘oneymoon that properly riled poor old George, so 'e ups in the boat to give the lock-keeper a piece of 'is mind when unfortunate like 'e steps on the end of 'is oar.'

Kenyon quickly suppressed a rising chuckle and looked appropriately grave.

‘An' the oar come up like a jack-in-the-box an' 'it poor old George on the ‘ead.'

‘Dear me!'

‘Yuss—knocked 'im arse over tip, if you'll pardon the words, an' 'e never come to the surface no more.'

‘That was appalling luck, especially on his honeymoon.'

‘Yuss,' agreed Rudd philosophically, ‘but me uncle's sister ‘ad twins all the same.'

‘Did she get the King's bounty?'

‘No fear, sir—that's triplets.'

Kenyon swayed backwards and forwards at his oar while Mr. Rudd, having discovered in him a willing and intelligent listener, entertained him with a variety of those views which a close acquaintance with men and things had impressed upon him.

At nine o'clock Kenyon woke Silas, who opened his enormous mouth in a gigantic series of yawns and then demanded a cigarette before he took over, his own supply being exhausted.

‘Cigarette, sir,' exclaimed Rudd, ‘why, 'ere you are, I got enough to larst us even if we goes ter China,' and he produced a tin of a hundred from one of his bulging pockets.

‘Thanks, boy—where did you get these?' Silas puffed at the Balkan Sobranie contentedly.

‘I made 'em out of the Officers Mess in the ship, sir; ‘tisn't right them Bolsheviks should be left wiv decent cigarettes although I prefers gaspers meself. Still, I thought they might come in handy. Mr. Gregory's a rare one for 'is Turks.'

‘What about some food?' suggested Kenyon when he had been relieved of his oar.

‘Righto, sir. If Mr. Sims'll take charge of the
Mayflower,
I'll ‘ave a look at the eats.'

Sims took over the tiller again but he leant forward towards Kenyon. ‘I'm afraid we're a long way off our course, sir.'

‘Are we? Well, that's not surprising in this wretched fog.'

‘You see it's this way, sir,' the Petty Officer lowered his voice. ‘The Sunk isn't more'n twelve miles from the shore and so we ought to have sighted land a couple of hours ago if we was makin' dead for it, and even if we was swept out of our course a bit by the current, we ought to have made landfall by now.'