The machine guns barked again, the sound coming sharp on the night air. Harker came running in. 'The Tommies! he cried, 'd'you hear them? and they're corning down the street.'
Then Kenyon, craning out of the window, saw the first lorry. It was packed with khaki figures, their bayonets glimmering in the uncertain light as they stabbed at the boldest of the rioters who were trying to cling to the sides and back of the van. It rumbled below the window. Ann, Veronica, and Kenyon leaned out and shouted. 'Help! Hi! Help!'
One soldier looked up and grinned, but they did not stop. At a steady pace the big grey wagon thrust its nose into the crowd and pressed on. A second appeared, apparently loaded with supplies; half a dozen Tommies sat on the top and back systematically prodding with their rifles at any member of the crowd who tried to gain a foothold.
Next to the driver sat an officer, and Kenyon saw at once that he was no ordinary A.S.C. lieutenant, but a member of the General Staff; the peak of his cap bedecked with golden oak leaves and the red tabs on his tunic proclaimed it from the house tops. He lolled back puffing at a cigarette, but a riding crop lay across his knee, and he used it without hesitation on the faces of anyone bold enough to climb on to the step.
'Help!' they yelled again. 'Help!' But although the officer must have heard them he took not the slightest notice. Then the driver looked up casually at the window, his face changed suddenly, he spoke to the officer and brought the lorry to a halt. The latter glanced up and muttered a quick order, the lorry reversed and bumping its rear wheels on the kerb, pulled up with a jerk on the pavement beneath them.
The crowd welled up against the now stationary vehicle, and brickbats began to fly again, but a third lorry had come into view carrying another load of troops; and a machine gun was mounted on the driver's seat.
The officer stood up and waved his crop. There was a sudden spurt of flame, and a horrible clatter echoed through the narrow street. For a second the crowd hesitated, but even as they did so the watchers at the window saw the front ranks drop, mown down by the blast of flying lead into a horrible shambles. The gun rattled and coughed, spluttering forth its message of death; the third lorry had drawn up beside the second now, and Kenyon could see the face of the man crouched behind the gun; it was a mask of malicious glee; he was shooting to kill and glorying in the fun, as mad with blood lust as any of the crowd he was executing.
The street cleared with extraordinary rapidity, but in every direction bodies lay huddled in grotesque attitudes, or wounded strove frantically to drag themselves clear of this hellish tornado.
'Come on, cried one of the Tommies..'What are yer waitin' fer Christmas Day 'an a well filled stockin'? Jump, an' we'll catch you.'
Bob led the way, landed on his feet and tripped on the uneven surface of the load under the tarpaulin. The soldiers pulled him to his feet. Then Ann and Veronica were lowered by willing hands until their ankles were on a level with the heads of the troops below.
The officer had climbed down and stood on the pavement superintending the evacuation. The Greyshirts followed one another out of the window; then Kenyon, his eyes smarting abominably from the smoke, looked at the American. Only the two of them remained.
'Go to it!' called Harker, flinging a leg over the window sill. I felt certain we'd get out of that jam some way!' then he let himself drop.
Kenyon was perched on the ledge of the other window, below him on the pavement stood the officer. 'Coming,' he shouted, and jumped. He landed with a thud, the officer caught him with a quick grip of the arm, and as he pitched forward, his nose came in sharp contact with the crossed sword and baton of his rescuer's shoulder.
'Brigadier General in full war paint,' flashed into his mind, then he heard a quiet voice say: 'I hope you've brought the promised magnum of champagne,' and looking up, found himself staring into the amused face of Gregory Sallust.
10
The Mysterious Convoy
'Keep your mouth shut,' snapped Gregory with a sudden change of face, 'and thank your stars that Rudd spotted Ann at the window; up you go.'
As Kenyon was hauled up he recognised Rudd, under the thin disguise of a khaki uniform, grinning at him from the driver's seat, and suddenly realised that the loaded lorry was the same that he had seen in Gloucester Road that afternoon. Silas Harker was perched on one side of him and Ann on the other.
'Did you see,' she gasped. 'Gregory! What can it mean?'
'God knows!' He shook his head. 'But better say nothing.'
'Wasn't that just marvellous luck?' The American slapped his enormous thigh and then waved cheerfully to some of his men who were climbing into the rear lorry. The leading vehicle had halted a hundred yards further along the street and its complement of troops were out in the road dragging the wounded and killed on to the pavement so that the convoy could proceed.
Except for a few of the mob who had crowded back into the scant protection of the doorways, Jamaica Road was almost deserted now. Gregory jumped up into his place, waved his crop and the three lorries got under way again.
A woman on the opposite side of the street hurled a chamber pot from a second floor window. It crashed harmlessly to pieces in the road but without waiting for any order a soldier raised his rifle. There was a loud report, a scream and the woman disappeared. One of the men laughed.
'That was pretty brutal and unnecessary,' said Kenyon angrily to the sergeant who was sitting back to back with him.
'Can't blame them, sir,' the man replied. 'If you'd been standing by for days on end, while the blighters chucked things at you and not allowed to raise a finger, I reckon you'd do likewise. It's made a power of difference to the boys, having an officer who believes in tit for tat. They'd follow the General anywhere already.'
'Already.' Kenyon turned the word over in his mind. Evidently Brigadier General Sallust had not been in command of the detachment long; and what the devil could he be doing with them now, anyway? Could he have been posing as a journalist while actually employed by the Military Intelligence? The term journalist could be made to cover a multitude of strange activities. Perhaps that was the explanation, and now that the balloon had gone up he had come out of his chrysalis into his natural splendour of scarlet and gold. But where were they off to convoying Mr. Gibbon's store of groceries under the protection of a platoon of troops? It was all so strange and mysterious that Kenyon had to give up the riddle.
'If only I was not so thin,' Veronica moaned, 'my chassis will be black and blue,' and the hard edges of the cases upon which they were sitting allied to the jolting of the spring less lorry was already proving the acme of discomfort.
' 'Alf a sec', miss, we'll soon make you comfy.' A grinning soldier folded his greatcoat into a cushion and utilised those of his comrades as pillows for her back.
'Oh, thanks thank you most awfully. But are you quite sure you don't need them yourself?'
'Not me, miss; and maybe we're in for a longish run.'
'How too thrilling. I adore motoring at night, but do tell me, where are we going?' Veronica stretched out her slim legs and wriggled comfortably down into her khaki nest.
'Ah! Now you're askin' something.' The man closed one eye with a knowing wink. 'I can't say fer certain but '
He settled himself beside Veronica and they continued the conversation in low voices. Kenyon, knowing her so well could imagine the grave face with which she hid her amusement while she led the soldier on to talk.
The lorries rumbled down Union Road but at the corner where Albion Street leads off to the docks and the Blackwall Tunnel, they were forced to slow down. In front of the low dilapidated houses where the street market is held there was a dense mass of people.
Harker touched Kenyon on the shoulder and pointed to the opposite side of the street. 'That's a cheery poster, isn't it?'
'PREPARE TO MEET THY GOD' stood out in letters a foot high on a great hoarding. For the moment it looked as if the crowd meant mischief. They booed and cat called, but the set faces of the soldier
s as they trained their rifles on the mob, obviously only waiting for an order to open fire, overawed even the boldest roughs, and they passed the danger point without a clash.
In the long length of Evelyn Street there were fewer people, only huddled groups gathered here and there on the steps before the dilapidated but still lovely Georgian doorways; yet when they reached its end, it seemed that the whole population of the neighbourhood had gathered in the open space at the entrance of Creek Road. The crowd had evidently broken into the public house on the corner earlier in the evening, and now they reeled about the pavements, fighting drunk after their unaccustomed orgy of strong spirits.
A black mass of people packed the street from side to side making it impossible to pass, and immediately the leading lorry appeared one or two youths began to throw broken glasses and beer bottles. Without hesitation Gregory Sallust blew his whistle and the machine guns started their horrid stutter again.
Kenyon noticed that a strange look of blank surprise seemed to come over the faces of the people who were hit, then like puppets whose limbs could not support them, they sagged and fell. With incredible speed the mob faded away, scattering in all directions. One great fat man who was evidently too drunk to stand, remained seated on the pavement, a comical air of fright on his round face as he feebly flapped his hands in a futile endeavour to wave away the bullets; with drunkard's luck he escaped destruction, and was still there hiccoughing and flapping the only unwounded person in the street when the lorries moved on again.
Ann had buried her face in the cool tarpaulin directly the shooting began. She felt that she would be physically sick if she witnessed any more slaughter, and she stopped her ears to shut out the screaming of the wounded.
Turning up Church Street and over Deptford Bridge they left the Dockland area for the quiet peacefulness of Blackheath. At a steady pace the lorries forged through the night up the long hill past Woolwich Hospital and on through Welling and Bexley Heath; yet although it was well past midnight every public house in these outer suburbs had at its doors a little gathering of people wrought to such a pitch of excitement by the events of the last few days that, obviously loath to disperse to their homes, they had forced the landlords to keep open for fear of looting.
At last when they had passed Crayford they were out in the open country, and were able for a few miles to drink in the clear night air purified by its passage through the wooded glades and Kentish gardens; but all too soon they rumbled past scattered houses again, and then down the hill into Dartford.
Here too the people seemed to have no thought of bed, but stood on the pavements eyeing them curiously as they passed, and when they reached the main street they found it crowded. From the way the men began to handle their rifles Kenyon feared that there would be further bloodshed, and when the lorry drew to a halt he peered forward anxiously.
He soon saw that it was not the crowd which caused the delay but a solid barrier of empty cars and vans drawn purposely across the street. A group of men stood near it armed with cudgels, and their leader, a plump, prosperous looking individual, came forward. Sallust got down to meet him.
'What's under that tarpaulin?' asked the man pompously.
'Supplies,' said Gregory briefly.
'Right! Drive into that yard on the left, will you?'
'What the devil for?'
'To unload. I'm on the Food Committee here, and I have orders to commandeer everything which is brought into the town.
'Hardly army rations, I think.'
'Yes, everything. The Government is down and out so it's up to each town to fend for itself now. Why should the soldiers be given preference when there are hundreds of starving families within a mile of where I stand?'
'Not to mention yourself, eh?' Sallust's tone had grown suddenly harsh.
'Now, look here, I'd have you know I'm acting on behalf of the Mayor and Corporation.'
'Ho, ho!'
'Yes, and I've plenty of people to support me.' The man jerked his head angrily in the direction of his newly enrolled Civic Guard.
Sallust raised his right eyebrow in symmetry with the left. 'You don't seriously suggest that these people would stand a chance against the rifles of my men, do you?'
'Of course not.' The pompous man drew himself up stiffly. 'But English soldiers would never fire upon law abiding citizens. If you refuse I shall address them and I have no doubt that they will agree to their food being distributed among the starving women and children of Dart ford.'
’Sorry but I've no time to argue. Tell your people to get that barrier aside at once.'
'Nothing is allowed to pass without permission from the Mayor.'
To hell with the Mayor!' snapped Gregory, and jerking out his automatic he jabbed it hard into the fat man's stomach. 'Get that barrier moved, d'you hear?'
The Mayor's representative paled and stepped quickly back, but Sallust followed. Several of the Civic Guard advanced with threatening faces, but a good humoured voice came from the lorry:
'Just a little to one side, if you don't mind, gentlemen; these things is apt to go off sudden, an' somebody might get 'urt.' Mr. Rudd leaned negligently from the driver's seat, a cigarette stuck behind his left ear and a very modern looking pistol dangling loosely from his right hand.
'This is an outrage,' exclaimed the offended citizen.
Sallust ignored him, turning swiftly to the others: 'Do I shoot this bird or do you move those cars?'
'Better let them through,' said a thin faced fellow in a bowler hat.
'Right! get busy then.' Gregory returned his pistol to its holster and smiled suddenly at his late victim; 'Give my love to the Mayor, will you? If I survive I must drop a line to him and recommend you for the Freedom of Dartford you'd make a good Mayor yourself.'
Veronica let out a hoot of laughter, and glancing up, Sallust gave her a quick, apprising look before clambering back on to the front of the lorry.
Ten minutes later the obstructions had been dragged aside. The convoy moved on its way; another brief sight of the open country beyond the last houses of Dartford, and they were running under the railway bridge into the single street which composes the old waterside village of Greenhithe. No one except Sallust was aware of it, but half a mile beyond the hamlet lay their immediate destination.
He had chosen it for a number of reasons. It was more or less in the direction in which he wished to go yet an oasis off the beaten track, where it was highly improbable that he would find trouble, and thus he could be reasonably certain of securing a few hours' uninterrupted sleep for his men before proceeding further; moreover, having once been a cadet on H.M.S. Worcester, which lay off the shore, he knew the country round about which might prove advantageous.
He had even made up his mind as to the quarters he meant to occupy. A large old fashioned house called Ingress Abbey, said to have been built out of the stones of old London Bridge, which stood sequestered in a dip midst forty acres of its own grounds looking out over the Thames estuary. He had stared at the house so often during the years he had spent in the Worcester, wondering who lived there and if they had cakes for tea. It would be amusing now, he thought, to eat the cakes and stare at the old wooden battleship. Of course the house might not be occupied, for who with sufficient income to keep it up would care to live overlooking the mud flats of the Thames their only neighbours longshoremen and the riff raff of the seven seas cast up by the world's shipping.
Once through Greenhithe he halted the convoy and took the lead himself up the steep hill which joins the main road, then round a hairpin bend down the curved black darkness of the Abbey drive shut in by the swaying tree tops. Out into the open again, the river shimmered dully on their left and the big square house loomed up gaunt and stark among its shrubberies to the landward side, against the pale starlight of the summer night.
The lorries turned and parked with military precision, their bonnets towards the gate, ready to set off at any moment. Gregory sent the sergeant to reconnoitre the h
ouse and told Rudd to get enough food out of the lorry to provide a good meal for the troops; then he paraded his force, numbered them off by sixes and selected a guard by making every sixth man take a pace to the front. He posted one sentry on the lorries, and one each to the front and back of the house, then sent the remainder, in charge of a corporal, up to the lodge at the entrance to the drive with instructions that another should be posted on the gate and the balance used as relief every two hours throughout the night.
The sergeant returned to make his report: The house is empty, sir, but furnished might be a school or something from the look of things; I was h'obliged to force an entrance.'
'Very good, sergeant. March the men in. They can occupy the whole of the ground floor. Pick any men you want for fatigues from the Greyshirts.' He swung quickly on Harker: 'You've no objection to that, have you? My men are doing guard.'
'No, that's fair enough,' the American nodded.
Sallust turned to Kenyon, Ann, and Veronica who were standing just behind him; 'We may as well go in. Rudd will have some food for us presently, but I will take a little time to get the fires going, I expect.'
Inside, the soldiers had already flung off their heavy accoutrements and were busy securing the best corners in the downstairs rooms for the night. As Gregory glanced about him he remembered how he used to come down by an early train on rejoining ship the first day of the term, in order to bag the softest mattress, and he smiled good naturedly at the men. One room on the ground floor, he noted, was a chapel, panelled with lovely old Flemish carving; in the left hand corner by the altar stood a War Memorial. He glanced at it and saw the long list of names, all Worcester boys, and the sight stirred a chord of memory in his mind. Of course the whole estate had been taken over years before by the Trustees of the Ship. There was a new fellow commanding too, a V.C., who had gingered up the whole concern; seeing to it that the little pink faced cadets, who were later to pass into the Navy or officer the great ocean going liners and British Airways, had, in addition to their seamanship every bit as good an education as could be offered by any public school.
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