(What on earth happened? he wondered, and what will happen now? How long will it be before they realise I was swept overboard? The ship will be in confusion. They may not notice that I’ve disappeared.)
A crate floated by. It was a big square crate which Tom remembered having seen on the upper deck of the ship. It was empty, so it floated tipsily upon the rolling waves. Tom swam to it and got hold of the rough wooden side … if only he could get on to the crate, out of the ice-cold water! He tried to pull himself up but the crate rolled over and over … and then he found a rope-handle attached to the side of the crate and heaved himself up. His weight sank the crate so that it was barely above the level of the sea, but it still floated. Tom spread himself upon it face downwards gripping the sides with his hands.
He was safe — or at least temporary safe — but the effort had been frightful and he was so exhausted that he was suddenly engulfed in a roaring cloud and lost consciousness.
It might have been a few minutes or it might have been an hour before the blackness lifted and Tom came to his senses. He sat up very carefully, balancing his crazy craft and looked round for the ship. There was no ship. There was nothing to be seen but the starry sky and the heaving waves. There was not even a piece of wreckage floating upon the water, not even a patch of oil. Could a ship go down and disappear completely? It was too ghastly to think of. It must have been a mine, thought Tom. One of those devilish mines that float beneath the surface — it couldn’t have been anything else. The ship had run straight on to it and the thing had exploded … and then … and then the ship had either steamed on … or else … gone down.
Tom began to shout at the top of his voice, half in a sort of panic and half in the hope that somebody else might have survived the disaster. He shouted until he was hoarse but nobody answered. Then he lay back, cold and shivering, pounded by feelings of misery and despair. If the ship had gone down — if they had all gone — all those good fellows he had lived with for months and loved like brothers — he did not want to survive. Why should he, and he only, be saved?
The stars were paling now and the sky was filled with a grey ghostly light. Tom watched it spread and brighten. After what seemed years the sun rose out of the sea amidst grey and silvery clouds. The light was cheering after the long dark night and Tom’s courage began to return; he even began to hope. Although he had declared to himself that he did not want to live the instinct to fight for life is strong and persistent. He knew nothing about the currents in these parts but there was a gentle breeze blowing from the east and the tide was making. The tide had been at its lowest ebb when he and Dennis had seen the Bell Rock. All this was in his favour. If he could just hold on he might be washed ashore. How long could he hold on? He tried to sit up again, for perhaps he might see the shore, but he was too weak and dizzy; he was so cold that his teeth were chattering and there was no feeling in his limbs. It’s no good — I’m done, thought Tom.
2
There was a queer sort of rumbling in Tom’s ears. It cleared gradually and became the sound of a deep voice talking.
“Dinna take on, Bob,” the voice was saying. “The lad’s no deid yet. See he’s coming roond! We’ll lift the blankets an’ gi’e him a wee rub. The great thing is tae get the circulation gaein’. Mind that, Bob. It’s a useful thing to ken. There’s some folks would pour whusky doon his gullet — an’ mebbe choke him. Niver dae that, Bob. It’s a rideeculous thing tae dae.”
The blankets were removed and Tom was rubbed and pomelled vigorously by hard, knotted hands. It was painful and unpleasant but he had enough sense to realise it was doing him good so he bore it without a murmur. When his attendants had finished the job they rolled him up again in the rough brown blankets.
By this time Tom was able to look about him and saw that he was lying in a wooden bunk in the small dirty cabin of a fishing-boat. His two companions were fishermen; one was old, with a brown wrinkled face and a grizzled beard, the other was a mere boy with a smooth brown face and dark hair. Tom tried to speak to them but he could not.
“He’s better,” declared the old man.
“Wull I gi’e him a drink noo, Granfer?” asked the boy.
“Aye, but mind an’ raise him up a bit — here, lad, ye’d best let me help ye.”
They raised Tom’s head and held a mug of steaming liquid to his lips. It was strong tea and condensed milk, laced with whisky. The warmth flowed through his body and the fumes dulled his brain. He drifted off to sleep.
It was pitch dark when Tom woke and he could not think where he had got to. He was not in his cabin in the Starfish.
The air was warm and stuffy and smelt of fish and tar and paraffin. The motion was unusual too, it was an unstable sort of pitch and roll; quite unlike the purposeful surge of the ship.
Where on earth, thought Tom — and then suddenly remembered. He remembered standing on the bridge of the Starfish with Dennis; he remembered the explosion; he remembered floundering in the sea; he remembered lying on the crate for hours and hours, shivering and hopeless. All this was quite clear in his mind, but at the same time far away as if it had happened months ago. The ghastly shock and the horror of his experience had faded.
Presently the boy came in with a lantern and hung it upon a hook in the beam.
“Are ye feeling a wee bit better?” he asked anxiously. “Granfer said ye could have a boiled egg.”
“I just — want a drink,” said Tom feebly. But when the boy had propped him up and brought him some food he found that he was hungry.
“That’s grand,” said the boy, watching every mouthful with delight. “That’ll dae ye guid. D’ye ken this — I thocht ye was deid. It was me that saw ye. We was fishin’ off the rocks. Granfer pit a rope roond ma waist an’ I went over an’ pulled ye in. I thocht ye was deid,” repeated the boy earnestly.
“Did you see the ship?”
“There wus nae ship — just you, floatin’ in the sea on a boax. It was lucky I saw ye.”
The boy’s eyes were very friendly, they surveyed Tom with a proprietary air — and Tom suddenly understood. He feels I belong to him, thought Tom, and so I do. If it hadn’t been for Bob’s sharp eyes I’d be dead by now.
Tom stretched out his hand and seizing Bob’s hand shook it firmly. For a few moments the boy looked bewildered, and then he smiled shyly, showing a mouthful of strong white teeth.
“Could ye eat anither egg?” he asked eagerly. “I could get it in a minute, honestly I could. I would be nae bother.”
Tom could not — not even to please Bob — but he accepted another cup of tea and drank it gratefully.
The old man came in while Tom was finishing his meal.
He was so big and burly that he seemed to fill the little cabin to overflowing. He sat down at the little table and folding his arms upon it looked at Tom thoughtfully.
“Are ye feeling weel enough for a wee crack?” he inquired.
“I’m all right,” said Tom hoarsely. “I just feel a bit — done. I want to thank you and Bob. If it hadn’t been for you —”
“Och away! We did naethin’, naethin’ at all.”
“Saved my life — that’s all.”
“Hoots! We did naethin’. But I’ll need tae ken whaur ye came frae, if ye’re feelin’ weel enough tae speak. Glaister’s my name — Robert Glaister. The lad’s my grandson.”
Tom told Mr. Glaister his name and explained what had happened. He found it very difficult to talk for his throat was sore and he felt weak and dizzy but as a matter of fact there was not much to tell.
“Could it have been a mine?” asked Tom. “And if it was do you think the ship could have sunk — with everybody on board?”
“It would be a mine,” said Mr. Glaister. “But I canna’ believe the ship would ha’ gone doon sae quick an’ left no wreckage.”
“You’re hopeful?” Tom asked.
Mr. Glaister nodded. He reminded Tom that it was not rough, so even if the ship had been damaged by the explosion she
might not have sunk at all. If the worst came to the worst there would have been time to-lower the boats. There were strong currents off the Bell Rock (explained Mr. Glaister in his slow deep voice) and Tom might have drifted some distance from the scene of disaster before he was missed. Mr. Glaister was so large and solid and so sure of his opinion that Tom was comforted.
“It’s Leith we’re makin’ for,” said Mr. Glaister at last. “We’ll be in before dark gin the breeze haulds. I’ll need tae report tae the authorities —”
“I’ll have to do that,” said Tom wearily.
“Ye’ll dae nae sich thing,” declared Mr. Glaister. “Ye’ll gang straight tae the hoaspital, ma lad. If they’re wantin’ tae see ye they’ll need tae send some buddy doon tae the hoaspital — but that’s their beesness, no mine.”
“I think I ought to —”
“There’s tae be nae argument aboot it,” said Mr. Glaister firmly.
Tom was much too weak to argue with Mr. Glaister; he decided that you might as well try to argue with a rock, besides he had an uncomfortable feeling that he was going to be ill. His chest felt tight and talking to Mr. Glaister had made him cough — and coughing was extremely painful.
“It’s my belief ye’re in for pewmonia,” added Mr. Glaister looking at him with a worried frown. “The sooner we can get ye tae hoaspital the better pleased I’ll be.”
Mr. Glaister was a man who knew his own mind and was afraid of nobody (red tape had no terrors for him) and having decided that Tom was to go to hospital he accomplished his purpose with the least possible delay. He saw his charge comfortably tucked up in bed and then went off to make his report and to despatch a reassuring telegram to Amberwell.
Tom made him promise to come back when he had found out about the disaster to the Starfish and Mr. Glaister fulfilled his promise, but by that time Tom was too ill to be seen. Mr. Glaister was sorry, but not surprised. He told the ward sister to tell Tom that the ship had sunk but his friends had been saved.
“He’s a fine lad. See an’ luik efter him weel,” added Mr. Glaister sternly, and the ward sister (who was an absolute dragon) replied meekly that Surgeon Lieutenant Ayrton was being moved to a private ward and would have every care.
3
Tom was very ill; it was nearly a fortnight before he emerged from the no-man’s-land of sickness and began to take an interest in the world. Even then it was a feeble sort of interest and the news that Mussolini had been murdered and Hitler had committed suicide seemed less important than the departure of his nurse, whom he had liked, and the arrival of her successor who was much less sympathetic and did not dry between his toes.
So far Tom had been allowed no visitors, but one afternoon he was awakened from a refreshing sleep and informed that his tea was ready and a friend had called to see him.
“I’m not allowed visitors,” objected Tom.
“Oh, but you’re much better now.”
“I don’t want to see anybody.”
“What nonsense!” exclaimed the unsympathetic nurse in bracing tones. “It will do you good to have a visitor. Sit up and put on your bed-jacket.”
Tom was sitting up arrayed in the bed-jacket when the door opened and Dennis Weatherby walked in.
“Hallo!” said Dennis. “You’re a nice one! What d’you mean by deserting the ship like that?”
For a moment Tom could not speak. He was so pleased to see Dennis that tears of weakness pricked his eyes and there was a lump in his throat. He was obliged to swallow several times before he could find his voice, but at last he managed it. “Hallo,” he said. “You’re a nice one! Call yourself a sailor? What d’you mean by running the ship on to a blinking mine?”
Having greeted each other in this peculiar manner the two young men felt at liberty to show their feelings — or at least to hint at them.
“It’s good to see you, old cock,” declared Tom affectionately.
“It’s good to see yaw,” echoed his visitor, sitting down on chair beside Tom’s bed and accepting a cup of tea. “I got the wind up properly when I discovered you weren’t in the ship … but that was later, of course. At first nobody knew what had happened and there was a certain amount of confusion.”
“She didn’t go down at once?”
Dennis shook his head. “It was nearly an hour. Sparks sent an SOS and we got the chaps into the boats. The sea was reasonably calm so there wasn’t much to worry about really. The lifeboat came out from St. Andrews …”
Dennis went on talking cheerfully. He had been told to talk cheerfully so he refrained from mentioning the fact that not everybody had been saved. He also concealed his distress at Tom’s emaciated appearance.
“Why aren’t you on leave? Or are you?” asked Tom.
“Oh, I’ve got to hang about here and answer a lot of silly questions before I get my leave. I went and saw old Glaister (what a grand chap he is!) and I thought I’d have a look at you. By the way I was wondering if you’d like me to ring up your people and tell them I’ve seen you. They’ve been ringing up the hospital about you, but you know what hospitals are.”
“Oh — yes —” said Tom. “That would be Nell of course. My stepmother wouldn’t bother. Yes, you might ring up Nellie and give her my love. Tell her I’ll be coming to Amberwell as soon as they’ll let me out — probably next week.”
Dennis did not think it would be next week but he took down the telephone number and promised to give the message.
“And another thing,” said Tom. “Look here, Dennis, what could I do for that boy, Bob Glaister? If it hadn’t been for him I’d be dead. Somehow I don’t believe they’d like money.”
“Money? No, I don’t see old Glaister accepting money for pulling you out of the drink. He’d just say it was all in the day’s work.”
“I’d like to do something.”
Dennis considered the matter. “I’ll sound him for you if you like. It would be easier for me. I’m off home to-morrow night for a month.”
“A month?”
“Well, we’re almost out of the tunnel,” said Dennis smiling. “There’s not much more to do in this part of the world, but we’ve still got to beat the Japs. I expect I’ll be going east.” He rose as he spoke.
“Don’t go yet,” pleaded Tom. “I’ve been dead to the world, but I’m coming alive now. Do you really think the war is over?”
“It’s just a matter of days,” replied Dennis cheerfully. “Well, be good — if you can.”
Dennis had been told not to stay more than ten minutes; he had exceeded the time limit, but his visit did Tom a lot of good. Seeing his friend had drawn Tom back to the world of men and had given him something to live for. Amberwell! thought Tom, lying and staring at the oddly-shaped cracks in the ceiling, which he had got to know so well. Amberwell — in May — with the wild hyacinths in the woods, the lily-of-the-valley in the shady corners, and the trees coming into leaf! That’s what I need.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
It was the middle of May — and the war was over — before Tom was well enough to leave hospital and travel home. He had been laid up for nearly six weeks but it seemed more like six months, and he felt like Rip Van Winkle. He felt as if everybody were staring at him, and quite possibly they were, for he was attired in garments borrowed from the doctor who was short and stout. Tom’s lean lanky figure was lost in the folds of the borrowed jacket, and the trousers displayed his bony ankles. The noise and bustle of the station dazed him and the rattle of the train made his head ache; he was thankful when at last he arrived at Westkirk and saw Nell waiting for him on the platform.
“Oh, Tom!” cried Nell, hugging him. “Oh, darling, how thin you are! But never mind, the war is over — and you’re alive — and Roger is alive — nothing else matters. We’ll soon feed you up and make you nice and fat. Where’s your suitcase?”
“My luggage is coming by special train,” replied Tom, trying to smile and not succeeding very well. “There was too much to bring with me.”
; “That was silly of me, wasn’t it?” murmured Nell, taking him by the arm, which felt exactly like a bare bone inside the sleeve of the ill-fitting jacket. “I’m rather a silly person —”
“Glad you’re better, Mr. Tom,” said the station-master. “If you wait a few moments till the train’s away you can come across the line. It will save you the steps.”
This was a great honour, so they waited and were conducted across the lines, and Tom had to shake hands with the station staff. He found it a little trying for he had had no idea that he was returning to Westkirk as a “hero” and did not feel entitled to play the role.
“Never mind,” whispered Nell. “Your bed is all ready — and Nannie is all ready to put you into it.”
“Don’t worry, dear Nellie,” replied Tom, hoisting himself into the car like a very old man. “I’m a bit tired, that’s all — it’s such a noisy world — but Amberwell will put me right. I want to lie on the ground in the woods and —”
“You’ll have to hurry up and get better because your friend is coming on Tuesday.”
“My friend? Who on earth —”
“Dennis Weatherby of course. He said you’d asked him.”
“Oh yes, of course,” said Tom in bewildered tones.
“He rang up, you know. In fact he rang up twice. The first time was to say he had seen you, and the second time was about the boy.”
“Bob Glaister?”
“Yes. He wants to be a gardener — so of course he can come to Amberwell,” said Nell cheerfully. “He’s only fifteen but Mr. Gray is delighted to have him and teach him everything. What could be better? We were only just waiting for you to come home before fixing things up. Commander Weatherby will tell you all about it when he comes.”
“Lieutenant Commander”
“No, Commander. He’s been promoted; he told me that. And then he said you had invited him to stay at Amberwell and would it be all right if he came on Tuesday. We’ll have to see what we can do about food,” added Nell anxiously.
They were both silent after that. Nell presumably was thinking about food; Tom was wondering what had happened to make Dennis change his mind. Of course he had asked Dennis to come (he remembered mentioning it to Dennis that night on the bridge of the poor old Starfish) but Dennis had given him to understand that he preferred to spend his leave at home.
Amberwell (Ayrton Family Book 1) Page 17