For what seemed a long time they flew on through rough weather and they were all heartily, glad when at last the plane circled and came down in the harbour of Horta, the capital of the Azores.
The navigator told them that the weather was too bad to attempt a further ‘hop’ that day, so they were taken ashore to an hotel, and as they had had only a few hours’ sleep since leaving England they all went to bed for the afternoon.
When they met again for dinner they found that the shortage of food caused by the Nazis’ massacre of shipping was having its effect far beyond war-torn Europe. After a somewhat meagre meal they went into the lounge for liqueurs and coffee, and Philippa, who had already learnt that the others were going to Haiti, wrote a question on her tablet asking if they knew anything about the Black Republic.
It was De Richleau who replied. ‘I know only the rough outline of its troubled history. It was, of course, one of the first islands to be colonised by the Spaniards under Columbus, but the French turned the Spaniards out, and for the best part of two hundred years it was rich and prosperous.
Then, inspired by the French Revolution, the population rose and, having butchered the wealthy planters, succeeded in getting some sort of independent constitution for themselves from the National Assembly in Paris.
The French aristocrats who had escaped the massacre called in the English to their assistance but a slave named Toussaint l’Ouverture led another revolt in which most of the Whites were murdered. Napoleon made a half-hearted attempt to bring the island back under French rule and l’Ouverture was arrested and taken to France; but I suppose the Emperor was too busy in Europe to bother much about his West Indian possessions, and the Revolution had already played the devil with all law and order in the island. Anyhow, in 1804 the slaves rose again and the Europeans were finally slaughtered or driven out. Ever since it has been a Negro Republic.’
‘I had no idea that the slaves had had their freedom there for so long,’ remarked Richard. ‘It’ll be interesting to see what a coloured race has done for itself in the best part of a hundred and fifty years of self-government.’
Rex grinned. ‘If you’re looking for innovations you’ll be mighty disappointed. As the Duke says, when the French had it that island was one of the richest in the Indies, and it’s still got all its natural capacities for producing wealth, but the Blacks have just let the place go to rack and ruin.’
‘Have you ever been there?’ asked Marie-Lou.
‘No. But a friend of mine in our Marines was stationed there for some years and he told me a heap about it. Their Negro presidents made our crook politicians look like kindergarten kids at the graft game. Not one of them held down his office for a four-year term, and with every buckaroo who elected himself with a knife gang it was a race as to whether he could grab enough dough in six months to get out to Jamaica or if he got his throat cut by a would-be successor first. That’s why the States took it over for a while and put in the Marines.’
‘And what were we doing to let you?’ inquired Richard with a smile. ‘I thought it was Britain’s exclusive privilege to do that sort of thing. I’m afraid the old country must be losing its grip after all.’
Rex laughed. ‘It so happens that you had a war on your hands; it was in 1915 that we went into Haiti; but, in any case, you land-grabbing Britons wouldn’t have been allowed to muscle in there. Maybe you’ve heard of the Monroe Doctrine? And, as a matter of fact, you were glad enough for us to intervene. For years past the Germans had been lending these Black four-flushers money in the hope of getting a grip on the island and being able to play bailiff one day, but the United States scotched that idea and gave British interests a fair deal—which is a darned-sight more than the Germans would have done. For nineteen years we kept the peace among our poor black brothers, then we handed them back self-government and sailed away.’
‘It was only quite recently you cleared out, then?’
‘Yep. During Roosevelt’s first administration, as a part of his good-neighbour policy. The Blacks wanted their island back and said they’d be good children, so we let ’em have it. But, ever since, all but the politicians have been mighty sick that they asked us to quit. They miss the dollars that our boys used to spend around the towns. Those coloured bums have just no powers of organisation at all and it’s like one big tropical slum. If it weren’t for the climate and the masses of fruit that can be had just for the plucking the whole darned lot of them would have starved to death long ago.’
Marie-Lou made a face. ‘You don’t draw a very attractive picture of our destination. I thought it would be something like Cuba; not as grand as Havana, of course, but decent hotels run by half-castes; whereas it sounds as though we’ll have to pig it in some bug-ridden boarding-house.’
He nodded. ‘That’s about all we’ll find there. The niggers live in little more than tents made from tying a few banana palms together, and in the towns most of the houses are falling down. To compare it with Havana is like putting up a hick town in the Middle-West against New York.’
‘Naturally, Havana is very different,’ cut in the Duke. ‘It’s a great city, where we could live as comfortably as we could in peace-time in the South of France, but I had no idea that Haiti was quite as primitive as Rex suggests. Still, no doubt property and labour are very cheap, so, if necessary, we’ll take a house and have the place scrubbed from top to bottom by a dozen native women.’
Philippa had written something on her tablet and showed it to Simon, who read out her question: ‘Do any of you speak Creole?’
The others looked hopefully at the Duke, who was a linguist of quite exceptional powers, but he shook his head.
‘No. I’m afraid Creole is beyond me; it’s a kind of bastard French; but I imagine there must be plenty of people in the island who speak proper French or English.’
Philippa wrote another sentence, ‘Very few. Only a year or two before the Americans took over they had a President who couldn’t even read or write.’
‘Dear me,’ murmured De Richleau, ‘what a bore; but I’ve no doubt we’ll be able to hire a French-speaking Mulatto as our interpreter.’
They went to bed early that night as, if the weather improved, the Clipper would be making an early start again the following morning. As they went upstairs Marie-Lou asked the Duke if they ought to take any precautions against being attacked on the astral while they slept, but he shook his head.
‘No. As I told you in London, since we left Cardinals Folly in daylight it is a million to one that the enemy has lost track of us. Doubtless he’s wondering where we’ve got to and he may by now have traced us as far as my flat; but there’s nothing there which would give him any clue as to our intentions so he might roam the world for a hundred thousand nights and still be no nearer finding us. We should continue wearing our charged amulets, but I’m confident that we haven’t the least cause to worry.’
They were called at half past four so knew that their journey was to be resumed, and soon after dawn they were on their way once more. Hours later they came down at Bermuda, where they were glad of the opportunity of stretching their legs for half an hour while they went ashore to have their passports examined and the usual formalities seen to. That evening without any untoward incident they arrived safely in New York harbour.
Rex had cabled his father from Lisbon to expect them, and when they were still two hundred yards from the dock they could easily make out the huge, white-haired figure of old Channock Van Ryn towering head and shoulders above the rest of the little group who were waiting to meet passengers from the Clipper. He and the Duke were friends of many years standing and they greeted each other with the enthusiasm of long-lost brothers. Rex introduced the rest of the party to his father, then the banker drove them all off to his great mansion on Riverside Drive.
When Rex broke the news that they were only passing through New York on a mission connected with the war and would have to leave on the next day’s plane for Miami, the old man’s face fel
l. He told them that he had arranged a big party for the following night to celebrate Rex’s having been awarded the D. F. C. for his gallantry in the Royal Air Force; but De Richleau explained that, sorry as he was, their visit could only be a flying one; it was of the utmost importance that they got down to the West Indies without an hour’s unavoidable delay.
With that immediate resilience to circumstances for which the Americans are justly famous, the old man said at once: ‘All right, then; seems we’ll have to hold the party tonight,’ and directly they arrived at his house he got his two secretaries and his butler busy on the telephones ringing up all his friends to gather in as many of them as possible for an informal occasion after dinner.
Rex tried to stop him. He pleaded that he would only feel an embarrassed fool if he were lionised, and that it was the very last thing he wanted. But the huge old man, who was even taller than his giant son, turned round and said in a voice which had made Secretaries of State quail:
‘Listen, son; no nonsense. I know that no decent man wants to talk about what he’s done; but in this case you’ve darned-well got to. It’s no matter of showing off, but aid for Britain. By half past ten we’ll have half a hundred really influential folk here, most of ’em as pro-British as we are, but some who’re waverers. You can do more tonight than shooting down half a dozen Messerschmitts if you’ll just tell these people in your own simple way, without any frills, what’s happening on the other side: how you’ve seen it all, been right in the thick of it, and know how those splendid English folk are carrying on—and mean to carry on whatever hellish tricks those darned Nazis bring against them. Maybe you noticed the Statue of Liberty standing up there out of the water, south of Manhattan, as you flew over Ellis Island an hour ago. Forget it, son. That statue doesn’t stand there any longer; it stands today in the Straits of Dover; and it’s up to you to bring that home to our friends in a way that only a man who’s been fighting for Liberty on the other side can do.’
Rex squeezed his father’s arm. ‘Sure, Dad; I get the idea and I’ll do just as you say.’
Since she had been stricken dumb Philippa had naturally avoided even such parties as were going in wartime London, and after they had dined she asked to be excused. But Simon pleaded with her to reconsider her decision.
‘Look here,’ he said earnestly, having got her to himself in a corner; ‘I think you’re being wonderfully brave about what’s happened to you. You must feel it like hell, but you never complain; and if there’s really no way in which you can get your speech back you’ll have to try to be even braver. I mean—you thoroughly enjoyed yourself with us the other night at the Metropole in Lisbon—didn’t you? So what’s it matter if there are a few more people? Surely you don’t mean to cut all parties for the rest of your life? You’ll have to face a crowd some time—why not start now?’
She wrote on her tablet: ‘With friends who know about me I’m all right, but I couldn’t bear to be stared at and pitied by a crowd; I might break down.’
‘Ner,’ he shook his head violently. ‘You’ll be all right. And this is work for Britain. You said you hated running away from England while there was a war on. Now you can prove it, if you want to. The old man asked Rex to do some propaganda for us by telling the people who’re coming what the Nazis have done to London, but you can do much more by staying with us and not saying a word. I hate to be seeming to use the awful thing that’s happened to you, but if only you can stand up to their stares, think what an effect it will have on these Americans! The word will go round: “That beautiful girl over there is English. She was a nurse in a hospital which the Nazis bombed, and when they dug her out of the ruins it was found that she had been struck dumb. That’s what these swine do to women, and they’d be doing it here in New York if they had the chance.” ‘See what I mean?’
Philippa went a shade paler, then she smiled and wrote on her tablet: ‘Thanks for the “beautiful”. I shall hate it but I’m game if you promise not to leave me.’
‘Grand.’ Simon suddenly took her hand and squeezed it.
‘And of course I won’t leave you. Never meant to—not for a second.’
The party proved a huge success. With the Duke’s encouragement Rex soon got over his embarrassment at having to talk about his exploits, and the fact that he was an American made every one of his father’s guests feel something of reflected glory in the thought that one of their own people had shared in that epic defence of Britain and had been decorated for gallantry by England’s King. But Philippa’s presence, as Simon had so shrewdly foreseen, carried even greater weight. He had tipped off Marie-Lou, Richard and the Duke so that all three of them told Philippa’s story to the people they met when they were out of her hearing; and what Channock Van Ryn’s guests said they would like to do to Goering’s murder-pilots in consequence was just nobody’s business!
On the following morning their host motored them out to the New York airport, and having taken an affectionate leave of the old man they set out on their journey South in a big American air-liner. The trip was much more interesting than those of the previous days; the plane was not blacked out and for the major portion of the time they were flying over the coastline and could watch the changing scenery through Maryland, Virginia and North and South Carolina, until they crossed the great bay east of Florida and came down at Miami.
Rex had suggested that since they had no idea how long they would have to stay in Haiti it would be better to charter a plane, without a pilot, as he would fly them over and they could then retain the plane there so that they could return in it at any time they wished, and Channock Van Ryn had that morning promised that he would make arrangements for an aircraft at Miami to be placed at their disposal for that purpose.
His father’s agent was waiting to meet them on the airfield and took them at once to inspect a six-seater aircraft that he had hired, on instructions, for the trip to Haiti. Rex spent twenty minutes looking over the engine to make certain that it was in good order and, having satisfied himself on that point, told the mechanic to have it fuelled to capacity and ready for them at nine-thirty the following morning.
After thanking the agent they secured a taxi, and Rex, who knew the American pleasure-coast from end to end, took them all off to the Pancoast Hotel, which lies some way from the town, right out beyond the swamps, among its own palm groves and gardens, on the edge of the beach where the Atlantic rollers are for ever creaming.
It was here, for the first time, that they felt that they had at last passed beyond the limits of the vast territories affected by the war. As usual, in winter, the luxury hotel was crowded with wealthy holiday-making Americans. There was no dearth of food or drink and everyone was concerned only with the pleasure of the moment. Strong-limbed young men and lovely girls in summer raiment or smart beach attire were driving about in high-powered cars unhampered by any petrol ration, canoeing on the lake near the hotel or sun-bathing on the beach under brightly-coloured umbrellas.
For them the war was only a thing of pictures in the illustrated papers that they flicked over with idle fingers. To the Duke and his friends, having come fresh from the stark realities of the Battle for Britain, this pleasure-beach scene of pre-war colour, idleness and gaiety seemed as unreal as a stage set in a musical comedy. But when they had registered, and seen their rooms, they sat for a little in the sunbaked garden, relaxing and trying to realise that this was in fact the same world as that in which during the past eighteen months literally millions of previously free men and women on the Continent of Europe had been enslaved, beaten, imprisoned, tortured, starved, frozen, shot, and burnt or blasted by bombs, through the hideous ferocity and ungovernable lust for conquest of the fanatical Nazi hordes.
After refreshing themselves with iced drinks they decided that it would be a good idea to have a bathe, so they unpacked their swim-suits and spent a jolly hour or more racing one another and romping in the invigorating surf, then they lounged about in the lovely sunshine until cocktail-time.<
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Simon had found out for Philippa that the weekly packet-boat by which she was to sail for Kingston, Jamaica, left Miami two days hence; but the rest of them would be departing for Haiti first thing the following morning so her time with them was drawing to a close, which made them a little subdued at dinner that night. Although they had known her for only four days they had spent the whole of each of those days with her and had therefore got to know her quite well, in spite of the handicap which she suffered in having to write everything that she wished to say to them. They all admired her cheerful, uncomplaining courage under her wretched affliction, and Simon was so unusually silent that evening that when Marie-Lou was dancing with him she teased him with having fallen in love with their beautiful speechless companion.
He wriggled his neck, came as near to blushing as she had ever seen him and hotly denied it, but admitted that he found Philippa very attractive. However, when they had all said ‘good night’ and he had reached his room he was conscious of a definite thrill on finding a letter from her propped up on his dressing-table. Opening it, he saw that it was quite a long screed and he ran his eyes swiftly over the neat lines of round, firm writing. It ran:
‘Dear Simon,
‘Firstly I want to thank you for all your sweetness to me during our journey. The others have all been charming, but for natural, unforced sympathy and thoughtfulness in a thousand little ways you have excelled anything I could ever have thought possible in a man.
‘I’m used to men being attentive to me, and before the bomb I suppose I rather took it for granted that they should be; but since I’ve lost my tongue I have noticed that sort of thing much more. Not to be able to talk— when one used to be quite an amusing person—is a pretty ghastly handicap. Most people are awfully anxious to be kind, but since I left the nursing-home I’ve found that nearly all my men-friends seem to get tongue-tied themselves when they’re with me and, it has seemed to me— but perhaps I’m being unjust to them—a little bored with a wretched girl who has to write out every remark she makes. So you’ll understand how very grateful I am to you for these last few days.
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