The Passion for Life

by Joseph Hocking

  XVII

  THE PHANTOM BOATS

  It came about in this way. One morning in the early spring of 1915, itwas unusually fine. For more than a week the weather had been cold anddismal beyond words, then suddenly, as if by magic, the cloudsdisappeared, the sun shone brightly, and it seemed like summer.

  So much effect did the weather have upon my health that no sooner did Ifinish my breakfast that day than I made my way towards a high point onthe cliffs, and having ensconced myself in a sheltered spot, where Icaught the warmth of the sun and at the same time had a glorious view ofsea and coast, I gave myself up to pure enjoyment. I felt very happy, Iremember. A letter had come to me from Hugh Lethbridge, telling me hehad received a commission, in recognition of services he had rendered,and that he was well, and almost happy. The winter had about come to anend, and while I certainly was not so strong as when I had come toCornwall, I did not feel like dying. The bright sunshine and pure airseemed to give me a new lease of life, and at times I caught myselfwondering whether I had not enough vitality in me to overcome the maladyfrom which I was suffering, and which I so much dreaded.

  I had not been there more than a few minutes when I heard the sound ofvoices. A man and woman were talking in the most casual way about thewar, and I gathered that something had appeared in that morning's paperwhich promised well for our arms.

  "It is splendid, isn't it?" It was the woman who spoke. "A number oftrenches taken, and the Germans driven back nearly half a mile."

  "It won't be long now," said the man. "We shall soon begin to work ingood earnest. Did not Lord Kitchener say that he did not know when thewar would end, but he knew it would really begin in May? This is only aforetaste of the good news which will come presently."

  "The Germans are such brutes," said the woman. "There doesn't seem to bea shred of honor in the country."

  "They are not sportsmen," said the man. "I was talking to a man theother day who had been to school there, and he told me that no Germanboy knew the meaning of 'playing the game.' All they have done is arepetition of that which commenced the war. 'It is only a scrap ofpaper,' said the German Chancellor. 'Of course we signed the treaty, wegave our promise; but necessity knows no law.' That is Germany all over.Could anything be more devilish than to bombard those defenseless townsup north? As for their treatment of the Belgians--well, it is all a partof their gospel of frightfulness."

  "It fairly makes me feel murderous," said the woman. "I am ashamed ofhaving been friendly with Germans."

  "That is exactly what I feel," said the man.

  I heard every word they said plainly, although I was hidden from theirview; and as everything they said agreed so perfectly with my ownfeelings, I felt like shouting "Hear, hear." Of course, I said nothing,but remained in the shelter of the great rock, basking in the sun andrejoicing in the soft spring air. A little later both the man and womancame within my view. Evidently they had not been conscious of mypresence, for they started when they saw me.

  "Excuse me," said the man, "but the sight of you was so sudden that italmost gave me a shock. You have discovered a delightful spot."

  Then I remembered having seen the man before. He had come to see meimmediately after my arrival, and I had had some little talk with him.

  "Have you seen the good news this morning?" Apparently he was in acommunicative mood.

  "No," I replied. "I never get a paper until hours after other peoplehave read and digested theirs."

  "Ah!" he said. "Haven't I seen you before? Yes, I remember now. You liveat yon little wooden hut, don't you? I saw you last summer, and yourservant was good enough to give me a glass of milk. Have you not felt itvery lonely through the winter?"

  "Somewhat," I replied, "but I have got used to it now. Besides, such aday as this atones for a score of dreary ones."

  "The news this morning is splendid," he said. "My sister and I have justbeen talking about it. I think we shall soon have them on their kneesnow, don't you?"

  I did not reply. I was at the moment too much interested in watching thelady, at whom I am afraid I stared rather rudely. She was, perhaps, myown age, or it might be two or three years my junior. According to everystandard of beauty I know, she was one of the most handsome women I hadever seen. Magnificently proportioned, simply dressed, a fine carriage,and a brilliant complexion, she would be noticed in any crowd. Iwondered who she was; wondered that even I, living the secluded life Idid, had not in some way heard of her. Her eyes, too, were verystriking--large, lustrous, brilliant.

  "I don't know," I said, turning to the man. "With such an enemy asGermany, we have all our work cut out."

  "Ah, but surely," and he laughed gaily, "you are not what the paperscall a 'dismal Jimmy,' you are not a pessimist. The Germans are nofighters, they are only boasters. I admit they are very thorough intheir preparations, and there is no doubt about it, they have preparedfor this war to the minutest detail; but when it comes to hand-to-handfighting, they are nowhere."

  "You think so?" I queried.

  "I am sure of it," said the man. "I have been in Germany a good deal,and they are blusterers, boasters, cruel if you like, but not brave. Mysister and I were talking about them a few minutes ago, and we bothagreed about it. Of course, they are mean and treacherous, they have nosense of honor. There are no depths to which they will not sink, inorder to gain their own ends."

  "Yes, you have had evidence of that," I replied. "But what angers memore than their treachery, is the treachery of our own people who havegiven them information. I saw in yesterday's paper that only Englishpeople could have given them signals on the Yorkshire coast whereby theywere able to do their baby-killing."

  "Well, we are safe down here, at all events," was the man's reply."There is nothing for which they need come to Cornwall."

  "I am not so sure," replied the woman, and her voice startled me, it wasso clear, so musical. "They seem to have a hundred deep-laid schemeswhich are apparently innocent, so nobody suspects them. Even in adistrict like this there may be spies about."

  Both the man and myself laughed merrily. Looking out over the bluewaters, which glistened in the sunlight, we could see three greatwarships evidently patrolling the coast.

  "We have no fear for what they can do here, Rachel, with those steelmonsters about," laughed the man. "The Navy has been our salvation, andwill be our salvation."

  "I have heard," said the woman, "that Germans know this country to itsminutest detail, that there is not a lane, nor a creek, nor a cave alongthe whole coast from Land's End to John o' Groat's House, but what theyare aware of it."

  "Nonsense, Rachel. I think you are like the rest of the women, carriedaway by fairy stories. How long have you been living here, sir?"

  "More than nine months," I replied.

  "The war must have broken out soon after you came?"

  "Yes," I replied. "I came in May."

  "My sister is awfully frightened, and is constantly manufacturingschemes whereby the Germans can invade us, and she fancies that everystranger is a German spy. Have you, living so close to the cliffs formore than three-quarters of a year, ever seen anything of a German spy?"

  I shook my head.

  "Never seen a sign of a German spy, have you?"

  Again I shook my head.

  "There, Rachel," laughed the man, "surely that should quieten yourfears."

  A few minutes later they passed on, leaving me alone. I watched themfollow the pathway which led close to my house, then they mounted thehill at the back, and were lost to my sight.

  That night I went to bed early. I had exercised myself more than usualduring that day, and felt rather tired, yet I could not sleep. I couldnot tell why it was, but my mind seemed abnormally active. Perhaps itwas because the time allowed me by Dr. Rhomboid was fast drawing to aclose. If he were right, I had not more than three months to live. I gotup and lit a candle and looked in the glass. My cheeks were certainlypale and hollow, my hands and arms painfully thin, and yet I did notfeel like a dying man. I r
emember blowing out the light and puttingaside the curtain and looking out on the sea. There was no moon, but itwas a wonderful night of stars, and I could see the long line ofbreakers as they rolled against the cliffs. The night was as still asheaven, not a breath of wind stirred. The very thought of war, oftumult, of the roar of big guns, seemed infinitely removed from me. Thenight contained the very genius of peace. I went back to bed again, andstill I could not sleep. Hour after hour I lay restless. Why it was Icould not tell, for on the whole I slept well.

  I yielded to what seems now a mad impulse, and putting on my clothes, Iwent out into the night. Soon my heart beat wildly, for coming round theheadline I saw several boats. They made no noise, and yet, in the lightof the stars, I was sure I saw them. How many there were I could nottell, but there seemed to be many. Each cleared the corner silently, andthen, passing near to the cliffs, was lost to my view.

  As I have said, the night was windless, but not a sound could I hear. Nosplash of oars, no throb of machinery, and yet, I felt sure I had seenthe boats pass. Of course, I might easily be deceived; for, although itwas a night of stars, nothing on the sea showed clearly--the boats werelike so many phantoms. Once, as I crept closer towards the cliff, Ithought I heard a rustling noise, but I was not sure. No matter howstill the weather might be, the murmur of the waves was always heard,and my mind, excited as it was, could easily conjure up foolish fancies.How long I stood there, I do not know. It might have been an hour, for Iwas unconscious of time. Presently I felt myself shiver, then, realizinghow foolish I had been, made my way back to my little wooden hut. I hadbarely reached my door, when I was certain I heard a rustling in thebushes, just above the spot where a spring of water gushed out.

  "It was a hare or a rabbit, or it might be a fox," I said to myself, andyet, in the excited state of my mind, I was not satisfied. I had afeeling that something was happening around me. I called to mind thestory of Father Abraham. I remembered, too, the repeated visits of theidiot lad called Fever Lurgy. What had become of him? I had neitherseen nor heard anything of him for months now. What lay behind thisfeverish warning? Why had he told me to leave? I went back to bed, andin a few minutes was asleep.

  When I awoke, it was broad daylight, and hastily dressing myself, I wentto the spot in which I had stood the previous night. All was quite calmand peaceful. The day was wondrous in its glory, even although the sunwas yet low in the heavens. Sea-birds floated overhead, utteringmournful cries. Out at sea the great steel monsters ploughed their waythrough deep waters, ever watching our shores.

  After breakfast I clambered down the rugged footpath towards the beach.I felt a feverish desire to see the cave I had visited on first comingto St. Issey. The day was like summer; the sea rippled on the yellowsandy beach, and its music to me was like a long song. Everything causedmy wild fancies to appear foolish. I looked carefully on the sand, butthere was no sign of a foot-mark, no suggestion of a boat. Presently Ifound the fissure which led to the cave. This I entered, thinking as Idid so of the quaint brooch of barbaric design which I had found theremonths before, and which I still possessed. Lighting a match, I lookedat the sandy floor, and my whole body quivered with excitement. I sawmany footmarks, and what seemed to me more important still, a piece ofpaper which had evidently been used as a wrapper of a bottle. On it wasprinted, in German, these words: "_Bremen's Special Whisky, Manufacturedin Dusseldorf_."

  What seemed suspicious was, that any one in Cornwall should be drinkingGerman whisky nine months after the war had commenced. Not even inpeace-time had the English people been in the habit of patronizingGerman whisky distillers. In war-time it was unthinkable. More thanthat, I was absolutely certain that this paper did not lie here when Ilast visited the cave. Moreover, the footmarks were fresh. They had beenmade within the last few hours. I felt as perturbed as Robinson Crusoewas, when, walking on the beach of his lonely island, he had seen aman's footprint on the sand. What did it portend? I ransacked my brain,but could think of nothing. What could Germans be doing here? Whatadvantage could it be to them? And yet, what I had seen troubled me.Leaving the cave, I carefully examined every portion of the cliff, butcould discover nothing. No footmarks appeared. No place seemed to existwherein anything could be hidden. I spent hours thinking, wondering,watching, all to no avail. When I reached my cottage it was lunch-time.

  That afternoon, I remember, the sky became cloudy, and the sea, insteadof a wondrous blue, became dark and forbidding.

  "I will not go to bed to-night until I feel sleepy," I reflected. "Iwon't have such a restless time as I had last night."

  I undid the wrapper of a new novel which I had ordered to be sent to me,and prepared to read. Simpson had gone to bed. The night was chilly, sothrowing some fresh lumps of wood on to the fire, and drawing up achair, I made myself as comfortable as possible. The book was by one ofour younger novelists who, as it appeared to me, struck a new vein. Hepossessed what very few novelists have--namely, vision. He looked deeperinto the heart of things than any man I had read for some time. I becameso interested that I forgot the lapse of time, until, looking at mywatch. I found it was past midnight. I had scarcely noticed this when Iheard stealthy footsteps outside. I sat up and listened. A moment laterthere was a knock at the door--not loud but cautious. I waited a fewseconds, and the knock was repeated. Standing close to the door I spoke,not loudly, but sufficiently clearly to reach any one who might beoutside.

  "Who are you? What do you want?"

  "Let me in, and I will tell you."

  "Tell me who you are before I do that," I replied. "It is a strange timeof night to come to one's house, and I shall not open the door until Iknow who you are."

  "I mean only your good," was the answer.

  "That is easily said," was my reply. "As it happens, my man is sleepingonly a few yards away, and I have a loaded revolver close beside me. Iam a good shot, too."

  I scarcely know why I said this. Perhaps it was because I thought if theman were there on evil intent I might frighten him.

  "I have something to tell you, something vastly important."

  "Who are you? What is your name?"

  "One name is as good as another. I mean only your good; let me in."

  "Very well," I said, "I will open the door. If you do not play the gamefairly, expect trouble."

  Whereon I opened the door, and saw an old, white-bearded man. He wore along ulster and a soft, broad-brimmed hat which partially hid hisfeatures. He came in without invitation, and I shut the door and lockedit, putting the key in my pocket. He looked at me steadily,questioningly. He appeared like a man trying to form an estimate of me.

  "Won't you take off your ulster?" I said.

  Without a word, he divested himself of the heavy coat, and placing hishat upon it, looked at me steadily again.

  He might have been Adam in _As You Like It_. He was doubtless very old,but he was ruddy and hale. His eyes were bright and piercing, and Inoticed that they were largely shaded by heavy white eyebrows. His hair,also, was thick and white and glossy. A kindly-looking old man he was,but alert, capable, strong.

  "There," I said, pointing to a chair. "Sit down, and tell me what youhave to say."

  "Do you know you are standing on a powder magazine?"

  The words came from his mouth like a shot, so tersely, so suddenly didhe speak.

  "Do you speak literally or metaphorically?"

  "Maybe both," was his reply.

  "Anyhow, it hasn't exploded yet," was my answer. "Won't you sit down?"

  "You are very cool."

  "I see no reason to be excited."

  He chuckled, as though he were amused.

  "Since you are so kind," he said, "I will sit down. Ah, that is a goodcigar you have been smoking."

  "Yes," I replied. "Won't you have one?" and I pushed him the box.

  He lit the cigar with a steady hand, and seemed to be enjoying it, but Inoticed that he gave me several quick, searching glances.

  I was beginning to enjoy what seemed like a
n adventure. Although mystrength had ebbed away considerably during the past few months, mynerves were still steady, and I saw no reason for being afraid. I knewthat Simpson was within call, knew too that, at his oft-repeatedrequest, I had obtained a revolver, which was within easy reach. But Ihad no thought of using it. The man's visit was evidently of a friendlynature, and I believed he had something of importance to tell me.