The Mystery of the Mud Flats

by Maurice Drake

  I got behind the wheel and peered out through the darkness—dark as the inside of a bag, it was—but not a sign of any steamer’s lights could I see. The breeze had freshened, and we were slipping along at a good rate, and the sea just lively enough to give a pleasant rise and fall here aft. Shoreward a blur of light on the sky showed where Brighton lay, but the town itself was below the horizon and not another light was visible.

  ‘Are you sure you saw her?’ I asked.

  ‘Positive. Overhauling us, she was. I could see all three of her lights not ten minutes ago.’

  I stared again, but could make out nothing, and turned on Voogdt, rather annoyed.

  ‘What d’ye want me to do?’ I asked.

  ‘That’s for you to decide. I called you on deck for instructions. I tell you I saw her as plainly— My God, she’s on us! Shout! Shout!’

  She was right on top of us, no lights showing, and ploughing through it like a liner. My heart went into my mouth, and we shouted at the top of our voices, hoarse with alarm, dragging at the wheel like maniacs. For one moment despair succeeded despair, for Voogdt lost his head and was shoving the wheel hard-a-port, to luff, whereas I saw our only chance was to wear ship. He being at the wheel had the start of me, and the Luck and Charity’s bows had commenced to swing shorewards before I could tear the wheel from his hands and jam it over hard-a-starboard with all my force. We were just in time: the steamer went by us at a good ten knots, actually grazing our stern as she passed.

  ’Kiah and Rance were on deck shivering in their shirts by this time, and Voogdt cut short my abuse for his stupidity.

  ‘Never mind that now. We aren’t out of the wood yet. Tell ’Kiah and Rance to pull on some clothes quick and come on deck again, top speed.’

  ‘What d’ye mean?’ I asked.

  ‘That was deliberate, man,’ he said, excitedly. ‘Didn’t you see their look-out? He was crouching in the bows. I saw his figure against that patch of light in the sky. They were trying to run us down; and they may be back any minute, and here we are with all our lights to guide ’em.’

  He flung his coat over the binnacle and ran forward, extinguished the side-lights, and was back in less than half-a-minute. ‘We must get the dinghy overside.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘To save my skin, since you don’t seem to care about your own. Here’s Rance. Take the wheel, Rance. Your look-out, ’Kiah, and keep your eyes open. There’s a foreigner with his lights doused trying to run us down. Watch out, ’Kiah, for God’s sake. You watch too, Rance. She may come round and have another try at us astern. Come on, West, bear a hand.’

  ‘You’re mad,’ I said.

  ‘Very likely. Move, all the same.’

  I made some other foolish protest, but he wasted no words in answer, only disappearing into our cabin. When he came out he had a bundle of blue lights and rockets in one hand and the little rifle in the other. The bundle he threw into the dinghy, then brought the rifle to his hip, pointing straight at me.

  ‘Mad am I,’ he said excitedly. ‘Call it so, to save time. I tell you straight, I’m mad enough to shoot even you, Jem, if you don’t help all you can. You’ll be dead, anyhow, if that boat comes back. Come, help me with the dinghy. That’s better. Overside with her. Half-a-minute—a match. Now, over she goes.’

  The dinghy floated away behind us, a mixed heap of rockets and coloured fires sputtering and blazing on her bottom boards.

  ‘Now shout,’ said Voogdt. ‘Shout like fury—at the top of your voice. Rance—’Kiah: shout, men! Come back to the wheel, Jem. We may want to be extra nippy there in a minute or two. Now shout again.’

  We shouted together, again, and yet again—poor attempts to wake the appalling emptiness of the night. The wind caught our voices from our very mouths and whirled the cries ineffectually away to leeward. Astern the dinghy blazed fainter and fainter as we left her farther behind, and then suddenly went out. Her last flare showed distinctly the bows of the darkened steamer that cut her down, and I admit I felt as sick as a man could feel.

  ‘There goes our last chance,’ said Voogdt despairingly. ‘Stop shouting. It’ll only help them to find us and when they do, the game’s up.’ He picked up the little rifle again. ‘I’ll give that look-out a flea in his ear, though … What’s that?’

  Away to the southward a rocket leaped, pricking into the night like a red-hot needle.

  ‘Thank God!’ he said fervently. ‘Somebody’s seen the flare. ’Send it’s a King’s ship. Get another blue light to show when we see ’em close, Jem.’

  It was a King’s ship—four King’s ships, in fact—torpedo boats at night exercises. They came up hand over fist, and Voogdt answered their inquiries through our megaphone.

  ‘Just been run into by a steamer goin’ down Channel … Leakin’ streams … One o’ you stand by us so far as the Nab, will ’ee? … We’m in a sinkin’ condition … No, us don’t want t’ leave ’er.’

  The might of England, speaking through another megaphone, was reassuring, if scornful.

  ‘What do you expect if you go barging about all night without lights?’ queried a clear voice with acerbity. ‘You slovenly fishermen are the curse of the Channel.

  Voogdt whipped his coat off the binnacle, and set about relighting the side-lamps. Since we were sinking, the voice went on, a torpedo boat would stand by us, and did, taking no notice whatever of our shouted thanks when we parted company at the Nab light-vessel.

  ‘A nice cheery trade, this,’ Voogdt grumbled, as we bowled along past Spithead. ‘When they can’t shoot you ashore they try and run you down at sea. I saw that look-out man against the sky as clearly as I see you now. And I’ll tell you another thing: that indecision of ours at the wheel saved us. When that chap saw our bows swing shorewards, theirs swung after us. If you’d wore ship as you wanted to without a hitch they’d have followed us in that direction and cut us in two, sure as fate. Next time the Luck and Charity goes to sea she goes armed. I’ll see to that. I tell you that was a carefully schemed plot to wipe us out. Why were they waiting for us at Dungeness else?’

  ‘What d’ye mean?’ I asked.

  ‘Why, you blind mole, that steamer was the one you drew my attention to as being an old tug. Pilots be hanged! She was chosen for her old-fashioned build. “What narrow beam you’ve got, grandmamma.” “The better to chase you with, my dear.” But what a noble service is the King’s Navee, Jem, eh? I’ve never fully appreciated it before.’

  CHAPTER IX

  OF CURIOSITY REWARDED

  VOOGDT kept his promise about going armed when next he went to sea, and when he spread his purchases out upon the cabin table the place looked like an artillery museum. There was a condemned Mauser rifle, its barrel drilled out smooth to convert it into a cheap shotgun; a Martini; two clumsy great navy revolvers; and a little Browning repeater with a clip of cartridges in its handle and a long-heeled barrel that suggested some snarling beast with its ears back as it lay across the top of the fist that held it. As for ammunition, I should think the heap of packages on the table would have filled a bucket. I laughed at the array.

  ‘What on earth are you going to do with those things?’ I asked.

  ‘Bust somebody if we get any more funny business,’ he said grimly. ‘Fifteen pounds that lot’s cost me, and I don’t spend money like that for nothing. Happen the next boat that tries to run us down may get her paint chipped.

  ‘Don’t kill yourself or any of the rest of us, that’s all,’ I said, and left him stowing away his weapons out of sight.

  The cargo awaiting us was of pig-iron this time. There were only twenty-five tons of the stuff, but neither Voogdt nor myself were moved to offer any remarks about it, only setting mechanically about the usual business of emptying and refilling the hold, our minds still full of our recent experiences. Knowing no one ashore, neither of us said anything about the matter to any outsiders, and if Rance and ’Kiah talked they were probably disbelieved, sailors’ tales not going for much in
seaport towns. At all events, no reporters called on us for information, and by the time the monotonous business of loading was over I felt rather inclined to be ashamed of the warlike preparations concealed below.

  The breeze still held, and leaving Southampton on the morning tide we reached Dungeness about two in the afternoon. The steamboat was still there, steaming round and round at half-speed in a five or six mile circle, three big pilot-cutters cruising up and down to keep her company.

  ‘We’ll give them an exhibition,’ Voogdt said to me. ‘Can you shoot, Rance?’

  Rance pronounced himself something wonderful as a marksman, and Voogdt fetched up a couple of empty bottles and all the contents of the armoury. The weapons were handed out, the bottles thrown overboard, and we woke the sandy flats of Dungeness with a noble banging. I think one bottle got away, and the other must have cost several shillings’ worth of ammunition before it was sunk, but the noise and splashing of the bullets were impressive. The people on the steamer took no notice whatever of us and we saw no more of her; but whether she feared our artillery, or whether there were too many craft about for her to have another try at us, or whether perhaps Voogdt was mistaken in her altogether, it was impossible to say. Whatever the cause, she left us alone, and we made a quick and uneventful voyage, arriving back at Terneuzen inside of four days.

  The first thing we noticed was that the German settlement was in a state of great activity. No less than three barges lay at their half-built wharf, one of them spritsailed after the Medway pattern, and the other two clumsy Scheldt pontoons, only fit for towing. Thirty or forty labourers ashore were building a second embankment inside the first, and another cargo of deals and corrugated iron was being unloaded from the river barges. When we reached our own wharf Cheyne was waiting for us, cheerful as a cricket.

  ‘Busy times down yonder,’ I remarked.

  ‘They’re going in for explosives,’ he said. ‘That’s the factory coming ashore in pieces. They’re going to put up the sheds between the two embankments.’

  He was very full of their business, and on the best of terms with himself and all the world. ‘Decent chap that Van Noppen—their manager. Generally has grub with me evenings;’ and he went on to describe the German company and their trade as though he were a partner.

  ‘They’re doing a bona-fide business, then?’ I said, surprised.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ he answered casually, and then paused. I could have bitten my tongue off as I saw him gradually realising what my words implied. ‘Of course they’re doing a bona-fide business,’ he said slowly. ‘What the—do you mean by saying that?’

  ‘I didn’t mean anything,’ I said lamely.

  ‘Then what d’ye say it for? D’you mean to imply that we’re not doing a bona-fide business as well—you? Haven’t you been told off once already about that?’

  I tried to wriggle out of it by assuring him I believed the Axel Trading Company to be the soundest of concerns, but nothing would pacify him. He was scared, or had lost his temper, or both, and like a fool went on bully-ragging me when he had better have held his tongue. At last my temper wore thin, too, and I blurted out the truth.

  ‘Since you want to know, I reckon you’re doing very fishy business,’ I said angrily. ‘I didn’t mean to let it slip, and I don’t mean to mention it outside. I owe some sort of duty to my employers, even whilst you’re one of ’em. So you can reckon on my holding my tongue so long as I’m drawing your pay—and that’ll be just as long as you keep civil, I tell you straight. I know these voyages don’t pay, and I know you’re making money. I know Ward invested ten thousand pounds in a Japanese loan recently. In fact, I know a lot more than you think, and the best thing you can do is shut your head and thank heaven I can keep mine shut as well.’

  He tried to answer, but literally he couldn’t speak. It was strange to watch him lick his lips and twitch about the mouth trying to get the words out. He just mumbled something inaudible that might or might not have been an apology, and then turned on his heel and went back to his office without a word.

  ‘What d’ye make of that?’ I asked Voogdt.

  ‘Isn’t he in a funk? “Fishy business” is right, anyhow. I never saw a man look so sick. As to the Germans’—he shrugged his shoulders—‘either legitimate business is their line, or they’re cleverer rogues than our lot. The explosive manufacture wheeze is a great idea—accounts for choice of position and everything else, besides keeping inquisitive strangers away.’

  I had to go to the office within the hour and Voogdt insisted on accompanying me. ‘It’s no time to play with a bear, just after you’ve been stirring him up with a pole,’ he said, so we walked up the wharf together, and he waited outside the office whilst I went in.

  Cheyne, writing letters, looked up as I entered, and I stated my business briefly and cleared out. All through the interview neither of us said a word more than the business required; and Cheyne’s manner might be described rather as cowed than merely civil. All the starch was gone out of him; you could scarcely recognise in him the cheerful, easy manager who had greeted us an hour or two before.

  ‘He’ll go on the loose,’ I said to Voogdt on our way back.

  ‘Not till he’s come and had another talk with you,’ he said. ‘You’ve frightened him too much. Is Ward here still?’

  ‘I forgot to ask.’

  ‘Then run back and ask now. I’ll wait.’

  I stuck my head in round the door. ‘Mr Ward still here?’ I said.

  ‘He went back three days ago.’

  ‘I, guessed that,’ Voogdt said, when I told him. ‘Cheyne’s writing him now, reporting your conversation and asking for instructions.’

  ‘You know a lot, don’t you?’ I said, inclined to be sceptical.

  ‘Ward’s the controlling brain of this show. If he was in Terneuzen Cheyne would have been up there by this time. I’ll bet anything you like a code wire meaning “Be on your guard,” or “Suspicions aroused,” precedes the letter.’

  We had reached the ship and were going aboard over the sloping plank gangway, which, having been used as a platform for ballasting, was caked with mud. A little rain the night before had made it very slippery to walk on, and it was necessary to tread delicately.

  ‘You’re good at guessing,’ I said, picking my steps with care.

  ‘Up to a certain point,’ said he, putting a foot on the plank behind me. ‘But every time I get past these elementary questions I stumble—’ There was a scuffle and a bump, and I turned round to find him sitting on the planks. The fall had startled him. His mouth was open and he stared in a strange, set way.

  ‘Hurt?’ I asked.

  ‘Hurt? No. I stumbled over something, I was going to say. And I did—I stumbled over something … Good Lord! Good Lord, I say.’

  ‘Well, get up, if you aren’t hurt.’

  His face made me nervous, he looked so queer. I thought perhaps he’d injured his back.

  ‘Are you sure you aren’t hurt?’

  ‘No, I tell you. Of course I’m not hurt. Shut up. You worry me.’

  ‘Get up, then.’

  ‘No hurry.’ He slid his hands over the planks on which he sat and then looked at his muddied palms like a man stunned, or waking from a sleep. I felt sure he must be seriously injured, and got back on the gangway to help him to his feet.

  ‘Here, let me help you up.’

  ‘I’m all right,’ he said. ‘All right. All right. All right. Sound in wind and limb. Can’t you understand English?’ He jumped up and ran lightly aboard. ‘Does that look like serious damage?’

  ‘You looked funny.’

  ‘You’ll look funny when I’ve done with you. My sainted aunt! Jem West, I’ve tumbled.’

  ‘I saw you.’

  ‘You blithering precisian. Don’t you know what a double entente means? I stumble, I said, and I stumbled. I’ve tumbled, I say. In my tumble I tumbled.’ His eyes were dancing, his speech was jerky with excitement, half hysterical. ‘You s
imple-minded, one-idead old thickhead. Let’s see how much I can tell you without your comprehension. Did you see me tumble?’

  ‘Not actually. You were behind me.’

  ‘Well, I did, didn’t I? You know I’ve tumbled?’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘You saw me actually sitting on it, didn’t you?’

  ‘On that plank. Yes.’

  ‘On that muddy plank. That’s what I mean by it. It. See?’

  ‘Look here,’ I said, ‘you’ve jolted your spine, or something, and it’s made you a bit silly. You go and lie down for a spell.’

  He literally lay down on the dirty deck and rolled roaring with laughter. Then he got up and looked at his filthy clothes.

  ‘And now no more of these revels,’ he said. ‘I won’t deny I felt a bit hysterical for once. Now let’s get about it—our cargo, in ballast—and hey for England, home and beauty!’ And not another word could I get out of him.

  He worked like a demon, but his fit of silence never left him. When we got away it was just the same: a grunt for yes or no, and not a word of any kind beyond. The voyage was longer than usual, to Yealmpton, in Devonshire, where the Luck and Charity was launched; but he made no answer to my remarks on that or any other subject, and ’Kiah and Rance were the only company I had on the voyage.

  When we reached port, and almost before we tied up in the Yealm River, Voogdt came on deck in his shore clothes.

  ‘I want a run ashore,’ he said. He hadn’t spoken as many words in five days.

  ‘Are you going to desert again?’ I remembered that a fit of silence had preceded his leaving us at Guernsey.

  He shook his head. ‘Back tomorrow,’ he said shortly. ‘Perhaps tonight. For certain by tomorrow night.’

  For once I was almost glad to be rid of him, and got about my business ashore, glad to have someone to talk to for a change. Night came, but no Voogdt; he was missing all next day, and I was reading in my bunk late at night before he returned. Then I heard him come aboard, cross the deck and descend the companion, and put down my book to see him enter.