Landfall (27 page)

Presently the destroyer began signalling to him with a lamp. “What ship is that?” Viewing him from the bow, she could not see the letters painted on his side.

He answered; there was nothing else to do. Back came the signal: “Request you proceed to Weymouth for examination.”

Angrily he signalled back: “Have navicert, therefore no examination necessary.”

Curtly the answer came: “Proceed to Weymouth.” The destroyer took station on his quarter and accompanied him in. Her bow guns trained on him discouraged argument.

At half-past two the anchor rattled down in Weymouth Bay; the throbbing of the Diesel engines died away to rest. The captain stood on the bridge, staring angrily at the motor tender coming towards them from the harbour mouth. He nursed a sense of grievance. His ship carried a cargo of general merchandise, most of which was quite genuinely destined for consumption in Holland.

He gave an order, and a pilot’s ladder rolled down the vessel’s side. The tender drew alongside and made fast; he went down to the head of the ladder to meet the officers of the Control.

The first to come over the side was a lieutenant-commander in the R.N.V.R., that he remembered from his previous examinations. “Well?” he said coldly. “What is it that you want?”

The other said: “We shan’t keep you longer than an hour or two, Captain. May I see your papers?”

Jorgens shrugged his shoulders. “It is no business for you,” he said. “Nothing whatsoever to do with you—you understand? Still, you are here, and I have nothing to conceal. You may see the papers—alle, alle, including the navicert which is supposed to make me free from these delays.”

Another officer climbed over the bulwarks, wearing the brass hat of a commander in the Royal Navy. The first officer said: “Captain Jorgen—may I introduce you to Commander Rutherford.”

“So.” The Dutchman bowed stiffly. “You are also of the Contraband Control?”

Rutherford said: “No—I belong to another branch of the Service.” He looked around. “Could we go into your cabin, Captain? I shan’t keep you long.”

“As you like.” He turned and led the way to the deckhouse.

The commander laid his hat and muffler on the table. He took out his wallet and extracted a small piece of newspaper. “Would you take a look at that, Captain, and tell me if you’ve ever seen it before?”

The Dutchman opened his eyes a little wider. “Ja,” he said. “I have this in my book also. My book of cuttings, you understand. So, exactly the same. It comes, from the
Star
at Norfolk, in America.”

“That’s it,” said Rutherford. “Tell me, is this account of the submarine correct, Captain? Did you really see a submarine destroyed like this?”

“Truly. I have written it in the log.”

The commander said: “My business is with submarines, Captain. May I see that entry in your log? We are anxious to find out everything we can about that sinking.”

Jorgen reached down a volume from the shelf above his head and opened it upon the table. He turned the pages rapidly to December 3rd. “You are able to read Dutch?”

“No—I’m afraid I can’t.”

“So.” The captain laid his finger on the page. “There—the date. The time, 1415, two hours and one quarter after noon—you understand? I will translate. It says: ‘Strong detonation distance two miles on starboard
side with indication of wrecked submarine. Sea moderate. Departure Point bears north thirty-six degree west.’”

Rutherford pulled an envelope from his pocket and noted on the back of it the time of the explosion and the bearing from Departure Point. “That is the bearing of the ship, I take it. Not the submarine?”

“Ja. I will show upon the chart the position of the submarine, if you wish.”

“We’ll have a look at that later. Tell me first, what do you mean by ‘indication of wrecked submarine’? Did you see the submarine before the explosion?”

Jorgen shook his head. “It was sharp storm—what do you say?—a squall. With rain and a little wind. It may be that the submarine was up on the top of the sea, but we did not see because of the rain—you understand?”

The commander nodded. “Then passed the squall, all over. And at once we hear the explosion, that rattles the whole ship, very strong. We look, and we see a very big tower of water, and then we see the two ends of a submarine both at the same time above the water—like this.” He indicated with his fingers.

Rutherford nodded slowly. “Did you see the ship that sank her?”

The captain said: “There was no ship at all. Not one in sight.”

“What did you think made the explosion then?”

The Dutchman eyed him narrowly. “How should I tell you what made the explosion?” he said. “You know already everything about it.”

The commander said: “If I knew everything about it I shouldn’t be here, Captain. Tell me, what did you make of it?”

Jorgen shrugged his shoulders. “Some say one thing, some say another thing. For myself, I think first it is a
mine, and then I think another submarine has fired a torpedo. Others think an explosion from inside. But who can say?”

“Did you see any sign of any other submarine?”

The captain shook his head. “It was rough weather.”

Rutherford got to his feet. “Have you got a chart, Captain? Could you show me the position of the submarine as nearly as you can?”

“Ja. That I will do now.”

They went into the chart-room, laid out the chart and drew rapidly upon it with ruler and pencil. “That is our course. There the position of the ship. And
there
the detonation.”

The commander noted the position carefully upon his envelope, with the reasoning that led to it. It was several miles off shore, but it was on a shelf of the sea-bottom. There were only fourteen fathoms of water marked upon the chart. They could get a diver down there almost any time if it were reasonably calm.

He stayed for a quarter of an hour longer, poring over the chart, questioning the captain about the colour of the submarine, the general appearance, and the nature of the explosion. He got no more information than he had already gained. Once he said:

“When the bow went up you saw the bottom of the submarine, I suppose?”

“Ja—at the forward end.”

“What colour was it, Captain? The underwater surface.”

The other shrugged his shoulders. “The visibility was bad, you understand, and it was two miles away. The bottom was dark in colour. Black, perhaps.”

“Would you say that it was rusty?”

“Who can say? It was black, I think.”

The commander nodded.

“You didn’t alter course to go and investigate?”

The Dutchman shook his head. “I have my course given to me in the Downs, to keep me clear of dangers. I cannot leave it. There may be mines.”

That was quite true. Rutherford said: “You didn’t report this to anybody?”

“Why should I do that? My country is a neutral, and your war is not our business. If I had been stopped and boarded by your Navy, then I would have said what I had seen. But I passed through your Control before that in the Downs.”

Presently they were finished. “That’s all, I think, Captain,” said the submarine commander. “We won’t keep you any longer.” He glanced at the lieutenant-commander of the Contraband Control.

“His papers are in order, sir.”

Captain Jorgen said: “You do not wish to keep me for examination?”

Rutherford said: “Not this time, Captain. We only stopped you so that I could have this talk with you about the submarine.”

The captain smiled. “So,” he said. “If my ship is not to be examined, we will drink Bols together.”

Twenty minutes later the officers climbed carefully down the ladder to their motor-boat, not in the least assisted by the Bols. The boat sheered off and made towards the shore; on board
Heloise
men moved on the forepeak and the chain began to grind in at the hawse. Presently the engines rumbled out and regular, spasmodic puffs of fumes appeared from the exhaust-pipe in the funnel: then the vessel turned away and headed eastwards up the Channel.

That afternoon Mona crossed the ferry at the mouth of Portsmouth Harbour and walked up to Haslar Hospital. In the past week she had been twice before; the first time she had not seen Jerry at all. The second time
she had seen him for two or three minutes only, a tired figure motionless in bed that smiled at her with his eyes and said very little. The sister had been with them all the time; she had left her present of grapes and come away.

She passed the gate and walked across the garden quadrangle, bright with spring flowers. She entered the hospital block and went up to the sister’s room, carrying her bag of grapes. Sister MacKenzie looked up from the desk where she was writing up a temperature-chart as the girl came in.

Mona said: “Could I see Flying-Officer Chambers?”

“Aye, he’s expecting you. Ye can see him for ten minutes today, and not one minute longer than that.”

“How is he today?”

“He had a better night, the sister was telling me. He’ll get along all right now, if he isn’t wearied with his visitors.”

Mona said: “I haven’t got a watch. Would you tell me when it’s time for me to go?”

The Scotswoman said: “Have nae fear of that. I’ll come and fetch ye oot of it.”

Mona walked along the passage and entered the room. She said: “Hello, Jerry.”

He smiled at her from the bed. “Hello. You’re looking very nice today.”

She said: “Don’t talk so soft. I brought you some grapes.”

He was much better; there was no doubt of that. He lay in bed with both arms bandaged to the shoulder outside the bedclothes: his hair had been brushed and he had had a shave. He wore a vivid orange pyjama jacket, cut short at the sleeves.

“That’s awfully nice of you, Mona. The last lot were grand.”

“How are you feeling, Jerry? You’re looking better.”

“It hurts like hell when they do my arms.”

She drew a chair up and sat beside him. “It must do. Still, you’re looking better, Jerry.”

“So I ought to. I’ve had Sister MacKenzie titivating me up for you for the last half-hour. Do you like my taste in pyjamas?”

“It’s kind of cheerful,” she admitted.

He grinned at her. “That’s fine. You’re going to see a lot of them.”

“If you start talking like that I’ll go away.”

“I won’t talk like that, then. I’ll just think it.”

She laughed. “That’s worse.”

She sat with him for a few minutes, talking of little foolish things. Presently he said:

“What do you think of my hyacinths?”

She turned her head. A large basket filled with moss and growing hyacinths, white and blue and pink, stood upon a table in the window. They gave a pleasant sense of comfort and habitation to the bare furnishings of the room.

“Who sent you those, Jerry?”

He turned his head upon the pillow to look at them: a puzzled frown appeared. “It’s a damn funny thing—I can’t make it out. The wife of the C.-in-C. sent them—Lady Blackett.”

“Oh …”

He said: “I’ve never met the woman.”

Mona said weakly: “I expect she sends flowers and stuff to every officer that gets hurt.”

“I’m damn sure she does nothing of the sort. What’s more, she’s coming to see me tomorrow.”

“Coming to see you?” This was terrible. She had given herself away so utterly to Lady Blackett.

“Yes. She rang up sister about an hour ago. She’s coming tomorrow morning.”

There was a short silence. Mona said at last: “They’re
very pleased about what you done to have this accident, Jerry. That’s one thing I do know.”

“Are they? How did you hear that?”

She said cautiously: “There was a Commander Sutton talking about you. He got to know that we was friends.”

“Do they think it was a good show, then?”

“They do, Jerry—honest. They think you did terribly well.”

He said: “Well, that’s something to set off against
Caranx.”

She ventured: “They’re wondering about
Caranx
now. Commander Sutton was saying that there was another submarine sunk in the Channel that same day.”

He stared at her. “Do you mean they think that there’s a chance that the one I sank wasn’t
Caranx
?”

She nodded. “Something of that. I know they’re looking into it again.”

“Damn it,” he said, “I always knew that bloody thing was German.” There was a pause, and then he said: “I bet this Lady Blackett knows all about it. Wife of the C.-in-C.—she’s sure to know what’s going on. I’ll have to try and get a line on it from her.”

Sister MacKenzie came into the room. “Time ye were gaeing along now,” she said. “Ye’ve had more than the ten minutes.”

Panic seized Mona as she rose to go. “Jerry,” she said, “whatever Lady Blackett says, you’re Mr. Smith to me. You won’t forget that?”

He stared at her. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said. “But you’ve got that all wrong. I’m Lord Jerry and you’re the Lady Chambers. Or you’re going to be.”

The Scotswoman glowered at them in uncomprehending disapproval. It was impossible to speak freely with her in the room, nor did Mona want to. “You can call me what you like, Jerry,” she said. “But you’ll
remember what I wanted, just to be Mrs. Smith. That’s all I ever wanted to be.” She bent and kissed him; then very quickly she made her escape from the room.

Two days later, in the cold light of dawn, a trawler left the North Wall and proceeded down the harbour. Lieutenant Mitcheson stood on the bridge; as they passed
Victory
drawn up in her dry dock he called his crew to attention, as was fitting. One day in the future there would come Peace, a terrible day when they would take his ship away from him, and he would have to go back to selling haberdashery, or else to the motor trade. He put the thought away. There was, as yet, no sign of that bad time on the horizon. For months, perhaps years to come, he would have his three meals a day, his uniform, and his ship. He wished for nothing more.

On the well deck forward of the bridge a squat box with two wheeled handles was lashed down upon the hatch; by it the diver was smearing vaseline upon the screw threads of his helmet with loving care. The rubber suit was spread out on the hatch beside him with the long coils of hose and line.