Came the Dawn

by Roger Bax

  Joe, returning stare for stare, waited until we were safely out of earshot and then said: “She’s certainly built for speed. She could make rings round us.”

  Denny said: “That little man gives me the creeps. He’s got eyes like a lizard.”

  It seemed ages before we rounded the end of the island and lost sight of Neva. Even our spinnaker hardly drew. There was a slight heat haze, but nothing like enough to cover an escape. For hours we idled up the coast. There were no indications that Neva had moved yet, and indeed she had no need to. The Russians could probably see our tall mast. I had no doubt that the little man wouldn’t let us get far without following, and that at the first sound of our motor he’d be after us like a stoat after a rabbit. It would be an understatement to say that we resented him. Any one of us could cheerfully have wrung his neck at that moment.

  Denny kept looking across to the south, where with a little better visibility we might almost have seen the impressive silhouette of Tallinn. I knew just what he was thinking—so near and yet so far! It was maddening to be thwarted like this at the last moment. I avoided his eye, for I somehow felt as though he relied on me to produce a miracle and was disappointed that I showed no sign of doing so. Our nerves were all getting a bit frayed.

  In the early evening I launched the dinghy and began to tow the yacht at a snail’s pace towards a suitable anchorage. We had to be close in to an island, otherwise the water would not be shallow enough for our anchor to get a grip on the bottom. But we must also find a spot free from surrounding hazards, so that if during the night an opportunity came for us to leave we could do so without fear of running into some obstruction.

  Denny lay on his stomach in the bows, keeping a lookout for rocks awash and shouting occasional directions to me. Joe kept the lead going as we felt our way towards the shore. Finally we let go in four fathoms, after Joe had reported that the lead brought up gravel. There wasn’t even enough wind to tauten the anchor cable, and with her sails furled the yacht lay absolutely motionless on a glass-smooth sea, her every detail reflected in the water. I rowed up and down in the dinghy on the seaward side of Dawn, looking for rocks and taking soundings with the small lead. The results were satisfactory. As far as I could judge there was deep water and a complete absence of obstructions between Dawn and the open sea. It would be quite safe to set sail in the dark—if we were allowed to.

  There was still no sign of Neva, and after a while I began to wonder whether it was our own sense of guilt which had made us so certain that we should be followed. Perhaps, having had converse with us, and watched us harmlessly amusing ourselves all day, the little man had decided that we weren’t worth pursuing. It was a pleasant fancy, but I didn’t really believe it, and of course I was right. After we had been at anchor for a little over half an hour we heard Neva’s engine starting up and in about fifteen minutes she came into sight round the tip of one of the islands. She was moving quite slowly and appeared to be heading rather aimlessly out to sea. I would have liked to watch her through binoculars, but I was afraid that the rodent would be watching us in the same way, and I didn’t want to appear interested in what Neva was doing. Complete unconcern was our best attitude. We saw her steam a couple of miles or so parallel to the shore and then turn in towards the land. After that we lost sight of her for about half an hour, though we could still hear her engine’s powerful beat. The little man was undoubtedly playing with us.

  Presently the engine note grew louder again and the launch came into view from the east and slowly approached us. The lieutenant was at the wheel and the little man was sitting nonchalantly in the cockpit. In a few minutes she was alongside and the lieutenant shut off his engine. The little man stood up. “You are not staying here?” he asked. He seemed very assured and his tone was insolent.

  I felt like telling him it was none of his business and giving him a poke with the boat-hook, but decided reluctantly that tact was still called for. I offered him a cigarette, which he refused, and said we thought of doing so. Joe and Denny were listening, but saying nothing. They appeared to be playing a card game on the cabin-top.

  “It is much better inside the islands,” said the little man. I shrugged. “We happen to like it here.”

  “It is not a good place,” he insisted. “Bad anchorage.” He said something to the lieutenant, whom he addressed as Stepan Ivanovitch, and the lieutenant dutifully shook his head. “There is rock beneath—goddam rock,” the little man went on. He would have been very funny had his appearance been less repulsive. He looked again at Stepan and the lieutenant nodded. “Rock,” said the lieutenant, or something that sounded very like it.

  I said, “No, gravel.” I picked up our heavy lead and showed the bits of gravel sticking to the tallow. It didn’t mean a thing to the little man, but there was a gleam of professional approval in the lieutenant’s eye. He knew it was a good anchorage as well as we did, but he knew his duty also. He went on shaking his head.

  Pressing our advantage I said coldly: “You have no objection to our staying here, I suppose? We are, of course, in Finnish waters, and shall be only too happy to obey any Finnish instructions. But you’re not Finnish.”

  The little man looked angry, but he answered softly enough. “Of course we have no objection,” he said. “If a guy wants to stop here, sure he can. We only wanted to help.” He gave a sharp order to the lieutenant, who started Neva’s engine. In a moment they were roaring out to sea.

  Denny threw down his cards and watched Neva’s departure with a scowl. “I bet they’ll soon be back,” he said. “I suppose they’ve gone off to work out the next move.”

  He wasn’t far wrong. They were away for about an hour, but never far away, for we could hear their engine clearly all the time. They seemed to be stooging around quite pointlessly. Finally they returned and came alongside again. I had expected them to anchor near us, but the next gambit fairly took my breath away. The little man said calmly: “Would you mind if we also used your anchor? My damfool man has let ours fall overboard, the son of a bitch.”

  It was about the coolest and clumsiest lie I had ever heard, in spite of the fact that the launch’s cable hung uselessly over her bows, quite anchorless. I had no doubt whatever that the anchor had been deliberately unshackled and was safely stowed away in their boat. Unless the lieutenant was about a million times less competent than he looked, there was not the remotest chance that they could have lost their anchor. I looked at Joe, who winked broadly. Denny was making awful faces, which I hoped the little man couldn’t see.

  It was all very well for Denny to make faces, but what was I to say? Our job was to behave as an English holiday yachting party would be expected to behave, and so far I thought we had done so. We had faintly resented busybody interference, which was certainly in character. But we had no excuse for not being obliging, even if someone had been idiotically careless. On our own admission we were in no hurry, and we had already brought up for the night. If we now flatly refused to let them tie up to us they would assume the worst and would keep a closer watch on us than ever, if that were possible.

  I tried to stall. I said mildly: “It won’t be very safe for two of us on one anchor. But we can lend you a spare anchor.”

  That, however, didn’t suit the little man at all. He was now quite certain that we were over a very good anchorage and that it would hold a liner in a gale. At least, that was the impression he gave. He settled the matter for us with an arbitrary order to Stepan. In a couple of minutes the lieutenant had a warp fastened to our cable with a most businesslike and convincing knot.

  “There,” said the little man with satisfaction, “now we shall be buddies for the night. Do not fear—the weather is good, there will be no storm. Now I have a proposition to make. We will have a party tonight. You will come on board our ship and we will show you what is Russian hospitality.”

  Denny had climbed down into the cockpit and was hacking at my ankles, but I knew that our only hope was to play along for the time
being. I said: “That’s very nice of you. Very nice indeed. At what time?”

  “Oh”—the little man threw out his hands—“whenever you like. Say at nine o’clock. We will have a helluva party.”

  I tried to look enthusiastic. “Have you got any vodka?”

  He said quickly: “Do you like vodka?” I suppose he’d been trained to set traps like that.

  I said, “I’ve never tried it, but I’d like to.”

  “Very well, you shall try it. At nine o’clock, then.” Now that he was having his own way he had become much more amiable. He let go of our cockpit and very gradually Neva swung away from us until she lay idly at the end of her warp about twenty feet away.

  “Well,” said Denny, throwing himself gloomily on to one of the bunks, “that’s torn it. Tied up for the night and invited to dinner! We’ll never get away now. Why didn’t you tell them to go to hell?”

  I explained, as patiently as I could, that there hadn’t really been any alternative for us, and in the end Denny saw my point of view and became more reasonable. He said: “At least we’ll be able to get at them now we’re asked aboard. I don’t see how we can avoid a fight.”

  I said: “Sh! Keep your voice down.”

  “You know what these Russian parties are,” Denny went on. “They’ll get us in there and fill us up with vodka and when we wake up it’ll be noon and we’ll wish we were dead.”

  That was true enough. I didn’t have to be told how one felt after an all-night drinking bout with Russians.

  “If only,” I said, “we could get them drunk and keep sober ourselves!”

  “If pigs could fly!” said Denny. “They’ll watch every glass. If we’re not careful it’ll be the other way round.”

  It was at that point that I had the great idea. I said: “Listen, we can use this party. There’s only one way to catch them off their guard. We’ll all get drunk. We’ll all get absolutely pickled.”

  “I suppose,” said Denny with heavy sarcasm, “that the boat will sail herself over to Tallinn while we all lie unconscious on our bunks sleeping it off?”

  “No,” I said. “Joe will sail her over. He’s the paid hand. English gentlemen don’t take their paid hand out to a party!”

  Joe grinned for the first time that afternoon, and I could see a great light dawning in Denny’s mind. He said, “Blimey, do you think we could sell that to them?”

  “We’ve got to. It’s our one chance.”

  “It’s a pity you didn’t think of it earlier,” said Joe. “They’ve seen the three of us hobnobbing all day.”

  “We’ll start making up for it now,” I said. “Seriously, if we can get them to swallow that, I’m sure the rest of the plan will work. Just put yourself in their place. All they want is to be sure that we don’t get up to any mischief during the next twenty-four hours. If they see us getting visibly tight under their very eyes at a party that goes on all through the night, do you think they’re going to worry about Joe? It just won’t occur to them that our getting tight is all part of a carefully-worked-out plot. Why should it? After all, they haven’t a single solid reason for suspecting us of anything. I bet you what you like that once they’ve got over the shock of our leaving Joe behind they’ll get matey and finish up under the table with us.”

  “Yes,” said Denny slowly. “I agree. There’s a good chance, anyway.”

  “Good. Now for the details. First, there’s Joe.”

  “What do I do?” asked Joe.

  “You,” I said, “will make yourself a nice hot cup of cocoa and read Denny’s book on maritime law.” We all laughed—it was such a relief to have even the rudiments of a plan again. Then I remembered we had to keep our voices down. I said, “Actually, Joe, you’ll have to carry the whole burden of the night on your shoulders.”

  “It looks as though I’ll have to carry you too,” said Joe.

  “That’s quite likely. Now, here’s the plan. Denny and I will go aboard Neva at nine and settle down to drink our friends into a coma—we hope. All you have to do is to keep awake. Some time before morning you may hear us shouting for you to come and fetch us in the dinghy. That’s if we can still shout.”

  “I get you,” said Joe.

  “There’ll be no play-acting, mind you. We shall be really stinking. You’ll probably have a job getting us into the dinghy, and you may have to take us one at a time. That’s your problem. If you have to drown anybody, drown Denny. If you don’t hear anything from us at all by, say, two o’clock, you can assume that we’ve all passed out and then you’ll have to come and drag us out without being called.”

  Joe nodded. “And then?”

  “If we’re not too far gone, give us lashings of black coffee and try to bring us round. If we’re dead to the world, just leave us. If you can, make sail before it’s light and slip away. When you’re out of earshot—not that it’ll matter much if our plans go well—start the engine and get right out into the middle of the Gulf. Don’t go straight across, because when they come round they’ll almost certainly look for us between here and Tallinn. Keep well out towards the entrance to the Gulf and we’ll go in to Tallinn in the evening. Okay?”

  Joe grinned and touched his forelock. “Aye, aye, sir!”

  “Come on, Denny,” I said. “Let’s get ready for the party.”

  No bride can ever have prepared herself for the altar with greater care than Denny and I for our own peculiar ordeal during that next half hour in the cabin. At Denny’s suggestion we started by swallowing a tablespoonful of salad oil, which he said would line our stomachs and enable us to keep sober longer. Joe said he thought it unsporting, like putting a piece of iron in a boxing glove. Actually, the oil made me feel pretty sick, but I managed to keep it down with an effort of will, and Denny said he liked it. Then we both shaved carefully, and put on the suits we’d brought with us for going ashore in respectable places, and Denny put some gluey stuff on his hair. We had white shirts and white collars, and Joe went up on the foredeck and conspicuously cleaned our shoes. When it was all over Denny looked like a Methodist sidesman about to take the collection. Joe was laughing so much he nearly fell off the ship trying to get into the dinghy, and I had to tell him sharply to remember his place.

  He rowed us over just at nine, and the lieutenant was in the cockpit of the launch waiting for us. As I clambered aboard Neva at Denny’s heels I called out, “All right, Joe, come back when we shout,” and he pushed off before the surprised lieutenant could say a word.

  Then the little man came out. He was surprised too—by everything. The transformation in ourselves must have been striking, to say the least. He stared at us open-mouthed for a moment, and then he remembered his manners and gave us what no doubt passed with him for a smile of welcome. Then he realized that Joe was missing. He looked round, puzzled, and saw Joe in his khaki shorts and shirt just climbing back aboard Dawn. He said protestingly, “But your friend …”

  It was my turn to look puzzled. “He’s not our friend,” I said. “He’s our paid hand. You understand—our servant. He has work to do.”

  The little man was right off balance. He said, “Gee, I expected him to come too.” He still stared uncertainly across at Dawn.

  I looked as shocked as I could. “Of course, if you’d said so … I’m sorry. We never thought of it. You see, in England we never take our servants out to dinner. It would be insulting to one’s host.”

  “But you eat with him on the ship,” said the little man. “You play cards with him. You all wear the same sort of clothes. You laugh and joke together. You do not treat him like a servant.”

  “That’s different,” I said. “I’ll explain. You see, a boat is very small. It would be awkward to preserve class distinctions. But an invitation—that’s another matter. It’s formal. Oh no, it wouldn’t do at all. If you wish, of course, I’ll go back and fetch him, but—well, I think he’ll feel rather uncomfortable.”

  The little man hesitated, and I trembled inwardly. But after a momen
t he shrugged his shoulders and said we knew best. The lieutenant asked him what it was all about, and Denny and I kept poker faces while the little man explained that this just showed what the exploiting bourgeoisie were really like. It was a potted political lecture, and I could see that they’d both swallowed our preposterous story, hook, line and sinker. The lieutenant kept giving us curious sidelong glances as though we were strange and slightly dangerous animals. Then the little man invited us into the cabin, and the last thing we saw of Joe was a figure up on Dawn’s cabin-top in the twilight with something like an apron tied round his middle, washing up what must have been clean crockery with every appearance of diligence.

  Chapter Ten

  Neva’s cabin was of a conventional pattern, with a long upholstered settee along each side and a table in the middle. There was a compartment forward which I guessed was the toilet, and just inside the cabin there was a small galley with a paraffin stove. I noticed that there was no provision for screwing the table legs to the floor and that the stove was not swung in gimbals, which confirmed my view that Neva was essentially a fair-weather ship.

  If Denny and I hadn’t been used to Russian ways we should have been staggered by the sight which met our eyes inside the cabin. The little man might have his defects, but like all his countrymen he believed in receiving guests royally. The cloth on the table was not as clean as it might have been, but there was an astonishing variety of food. It consisted of what the Russians call zakuski and we, for lack of our own word, call hors d’ oeuvres. There was black and red caviare, smoked salmon and sardines and tinned crab, slices of fat bacon and lean ham, chopped onions and tomatoes, a sort of vegetable salad, little green peas, olives, and a dozen other dishes besides. Somebody—no doubt the lieutenant—must have spent a busy evening getting ready for us. I caught Denny’s eye and couldn’t help smiling. The very appearance of the table took us straight back to our Moscow days, when banquets of oriental lavishness had been just part of our routine.