Black August (29 page)

‘Well, what's the best thing to do?' inquired Kenyon.

‘Give the men a spell, sir, they can do with it, and we may be rowing further out to sea for all we know. We can keep a sharp look-out for shipping—an' the sun may break through later in the day.'

‘That's sense,' agreed Silas. ‘Come on, boys, ship your oars.'

Rudd had pulled an oblong box from under the seat and was examining its contents critically, ‘My! this ain't the larder of the
Aquitania
,' he said softly. ‘Where's that ruddy Bob—Bob where are yer?'

‘Here I am, sergeant.'

‘What d'yer do wiv them stores I give yer ter take care of?'

‘I left them on the ship, Mr. Rudd. I put them down when the lady was bandaging my arm, and I forgot to pick them up again.'

‘Streuth,' muttered Rudd to Kenyon. These kids don't arf make yer sick. Anyone ud think ‘ed lorst 'is blooming 'ow d'yer does instead of ‘aving a blighty in the arm. Any'ow we'll ‘ave to make do wiv what they give us.'

‘What is there then?'

‘Biscuits, a lump of meat, some tea wiv nothin' ter cook it on, an' a bit of cheese.'

‘All right, the biscuits and cheese will do for the moment.'

They were hard, unsweetened ship's biscuits and the cheese was mouse-trap cheddar. Not a particularly appetising breakfast for people whose nerves had been stretched to the utmost limit of endurance all through the night, and who had then spent some five hours crouching in an open boat chilled to the marrow by sea mist; but the men put a good face on it and gnawed away at the broken bits of flour and water.

‘'Ow abart a nice cup of corfie, sarg?' one of them called cheerfully to Rudd.

‘'Ow abart it, son! Like me ter bring it up to yer bedroom, eh?'

A little ripple of laughter went round the boat.

Kenyon looked across at Veronica, who was cheerfully attacking the iron biscuits with her sharp white teeth. ‘How are you feeling this morning, long legs?'

‘Grim, my sweet, grim!, But I suppose this early rising is good for one, it's the first time I have eaten any breakfast for years.'

He nodded and turned his attention to Ann. There were dark shadows under her eyes, and her face looked pale and drawn, but she caught his glance and smiled.

‘Well, I've always hated getting up in the morning but I'd rather be here than on that beastly ship. Hello, Gregory's awake!' she added as she caught his quick eye examining their faces from the bottom of the boat.

‘Have been for some time,' he murmured.

‘How is the leg?' she asked, bending over him.

‘Aching like hell, but my head's better and that's what matters. Where's Rudd?'

‘'Ere we are, sir.'

‘Right. Give me a hand up on to the seat.'

With Kenyon's help he was lifted up and made comfortable by the tiller.

While they were finishing their meagre breakfast they discussed the situation, and then for a time sank into silence, each one privately considering the unpleasant possibilities which might arise. They were adrift in the North Sea, perhaps many miles from shore. If the mist failed to lift all day and night came on before they could sight land, winds and tides which they had no means of assessing might carry them a hundred miles from their assumed position off the Suffolk coast, and then it might be days before they were picked up. Their supplies were extremely limited and another night at sea without proper food or warmth was a thing to dread. The fog showed no signs of dispersing. It clung and pressed about them, muffling even the sounds of their voices as it hemmed them in.

The forenoon dragged by, each hour seeming the length of half a day. They talked in subdued voices, or dozed again between the thwarts. Veronica displayed a marvellous cheerfulness and kept Gregory amused by her witty chatter, but Ann, chilled to the marrow and shaken occasionally by slight shivering fits, could only assure them that she was quite all right, and hug her frozen limbs in silence. Kenyon and Silas chafed her hands, arms, and feet between them, but the shock of Brisket's assault the night before in the wardroom seemed to have sapped her vitality and left her body temporarily incapable of resisting the rigours of their situation.

At midday Kenyon suggested the issue of a further ration but Gregory would not have it. He pointed out that they had breakfasted less than three hours ago and that it was essential to conserve their limited supplies. At one o'clock he made the same reply to Rudd who had been in the bows talking to Sergeant Thompson and came aft with a similar suggestion. Every one of them was hungry now, having had nothing but a few mouthfuls of dry biscuit and a wedge of cheese since the previous night, but he stuck to his decision.

A little before two Sims pointed to the heavens. The sun, sir, or I'm mistaken.'

‘Where?' asked Kenyon quickly. The vague chill greyness above and about them did not seem to have altered, but Gregory nodded.

‘You mean the lighter patch: are you sure?'

‘Certain, sir. The mist'll clear in about half an hour I should say, but it's enough to give us a rough direction now. It'll be near four bells, won't it?'

‘Yes.'

‘Well, it's on the port beam so we must've been on a north-westerly course unless we've been going round in circles. Shall I take over the tiller now, sir, being more used to this sort of thing?'

‘Do.' Gregory moved further along. ‘Whose spell is it?'

‘Mine,' said Silas getting out his oar. ‘And now we've got something to go on we'll put some ginger into this pocket Ark. Come on, boys.'

The course was altered by about forty-five degrees towards the bearing of the sun, and the Greyshirts cheerfully enough put their backs into the rowing. Half an hour later Sims's prediction was fulfilled, the mist broke into banks and patches, the sea began to sparkle and the sun came through.

‘In-Out, In-Out,' Harker urged his crew, and now that they had had rest and a little practice they managed to shift the boat along at quite a decent pace.

Gregory had himself inspected their scant provisions and now ordered the issue of a small ration of meat and biscuits to all hands with about a quarter of a mug of water. He still felt it necessary to exercise the strictest economy, and so with this frugal late lunch, chewing the tough cold meat to extract its goodness and spitting out the residue, they had to be content, but now the sun was shining everybody felt more cheerful.

The men roused themselves from their lethargy and began to crack jokes; the others in the stern discussed the possible places at which they might land, from Scarborough to Southend, and speculated vaguely once more as to what might be happening in London.

By three o'clock all traces of the mist had vanished. A wide expanse of shimmering sea lay all about them still rising and falling in a gentle swell. Of land there was no sign, but Sims cheered them with the statement that it might not be very far away since their low level on the water gave them such a limited horizon. No masthead or smudge of smoke, above the grey-green wash where the waves melted into one another, broke the skyline, and for all indications of other human life they
might have been a thousand miles out on the wide wastes of the Atlantic.

‘What about a bit of a sing-song, sir?' suggested Rudd.

‘Fine, just the thing. Go ahead,' Gregory agreed.

‘Come on, mates.' Rudd waved a grimy hand. ‘All-ter-gether now—Pack up yer troubles in yer old kit bag, an' smile boys smile…'

A hesitating support greeted the first line, the second was taken up more generally, and by the last everybody had joined in to the full extent of their lungs.

‘Na, then, let's ‘ave it agin. All-ter-gether now!' and at the second attempt the rolling chorus thundered out across the seas.

After that the self-appointed master of ceremonies kept them going without ceasing, varying his programme from the bowdlerised edition of
Mademoiselle from Armentieres
to the sobbing sentimentality of
Roses of Picardy.

The sun was high in the heavens, glaring from a bright blue sky, and soon the men at the oars began to feel the heat. Then to everybody's astonishment, Ann, who felt better since the coming of the sun, suggested a swim.

‘You can't,' said Kenyon, ‘you've got no bathing dresses.'

‘Never mind. Rig us a shelter at the back of the boat and Veronica and I will undress behind that.'

‘But how will you dry yourselves?'

‘Sunshine and knickers,' said Ann promptly.

‘No, it can't be done, if you cling on behind it will stop the way of the boat.'

‘Don't make yourself out more of a fool than you are, darling,' Veronica chipped in with acid sweetness after a swift glance at Ann. ‘Do as you're told.'

‘Oh, I see,' he said lamely, and with a collection of rifles and coats he proceeded to erect a small partition shutting off the last few feet of the whaler. Ann and Veronica disappeared behind
it and when they emerged again some twenty minutes later they both looked considerably more cheerful.

In the meantime the troops had relieved the Greyshirts and were pulling with a will. Sims had gone forward in the hope that they might soon descry the first glimpse of the coast, yet Kenyon's spell came to an end and Harker took over once more, but still no trace of shipping broke the horizon and no clouds ahead suggested land.

All through the long afternoon the strong sun blazed down on the backs of the oarsmen. Their muscles were aching from the unaccustomed exercise, their hands were chafed and blistered, but they still swayed backwards and forwards in monotonous rhythm. The sun was causing acute discomfort to other members of the party too. ‘Jolly for sunbathing, but not like this, my dear,' as Veronica expressed it to Ann, for they had no shelter and whichever way they turned it seemed to beat down upon their bare necks; their faces, unprotected by hats, were already turning an angry red.

When Kenyon's party went on again, Sims, having handed the tiller over to Rudd, leant towards Gregory. ‘There's something wrong, sir, I'm assured of that.'

‘Oh, how do you mean?' asked Sallust.

‘Well, I won't say Crowder didn't act in good faith when he said he put us off by the Sunk, but how's the likes of him to know one light vessel from another, and their course was only guessed at anyhow. If it was the Sunk we should see land by now even allowing that we was on the wrong track this morning. If you ask me, sir, it was the Galloper Light we saw, and not the Sunk at all.'

‘I see, and how far is that from the shore?'

‘Twenty-five miles, sir, or maybe more, we was a bit to the north-east'ard of it when they dropped us.'

Gregory nodded. ‘What sort of speed do you reckon we can make an hour?'

‘Three knots, sir, that ‘ud be good for scratch crews like this.' The Petty Officer stroked his chin and looked at the General thoughtfully.

‘Three knots, eh?' Sallust repeated. He was reckoning up quickly their probable distance from the coast. Over twenty-five miles meant an eight-hour pull at least. They had started with the break through of the sun at two and it was just on
six o'clock, so they might have covered half the distance. Daylight should last till about nine, just long enough for them to pick up the coast line before the sun went down, and another hour to pull. But that was only providing that they had not increased their distance from the land by rowing in the wrong direction for three hours or more in the early morning. If they had, darkness would close down again before they picked up the coast, then it was probable that they would row round in circles again all through the night—a grim prospect. Yet there was nothing he could do about it so he sat there in the stern massaging the muscles of his leg and puffing away interminably at Rudd's looted cigarettes.

Gradually the sun sank towards the horizon, its slanting beams lighting up the tired faces of the men. For more than twelve hours now, apart from the forenoon interval, they had been rowing turn and turn about. Their mouths were dry and parched, their palms hot and aching, their backs weary with the strain, but wherever they turned their eyes there still remained the unaltered prospect of the gently heaving sea. Long banks of cloud were gathering in the west and for a little time those in the stern were entertained by the glory of a magnificent sunset, but Gregory and Sims who were whispering anxiously together again knew that it was the last glimpse of their friendly smile. In a great ball of fire the sun sank into the restless tossing waters beyond the bow.

‘Think we'll be able to keep our course?' asked Gregory.

‘I doubt it, sir.' The Petty Officer shook his head. ‘But if it's a clear night there'll be a moon and stars. They'll help us to get back on it.'

Unfortunately as the twilight deepened, great masses of cloud seemed to be piling up from the west, obscuring what little light still remained in the sky, and half an hour after sundown black night had come upon them.

The double crews stuck uncomplainingly to the toil, relieving each other at set times, but there was no longer any strength or elasticity in their stroke. They did little more than pat the water with their oars despite Kenyon's and Silas's encouragement. The night of fighting and the long day in the boat had exhausted them utterly.

At eleven o'clock Gregory ordered a further issue of rations. More of those evil biscuits, another wedge of cheese and a swig
of water. It had turned chilly again and Veronica and Ann huddled together once more under their tarpaulin. Sallust refused to lie down, but sat, poker-faced and silent, in the stern.

Rudd started another sing-song, but jolly choruses and marching songs were conspicuous by their absence. Sad, lilting tunes followed one another with unbroken regularity.
Annie Laurie, A little Grey Home in the West
and
Mother Macree
took the place of
Tipperary
and
Three Men Went to Mow.
In an attempt to raise their spirits Rudd called for individual talent, starting off himself with a raucous rendering of
Do we love our Sergeant-Major
? sung to the travesty of an ancient and popular hymn. Veronica, who had no voice at all, surprised them by a gallant attempt at
Sur le Pont D'Avignon,
but although she could not sing herself she adored music, and she was rewarded for her pains by the discovery that one of the Greyshirts was an ex-opera singer, so after a little persuasion she had the strange pleasure of hearing a first-class baritone pouring forth the clear notes of the Toreador Song from
Carmen
into the echoing silence of a desolate sea. No one had the temerity to follow so excellent a performance and by midnight the whole party were sleeping, or silently endeavouring to still the cravings of their empty stomachs.