He was inclined to discount her victorious preservation of her virtue to some extent, on the grounds of temptations and rewards connected with immorality being in direct ratio to the good looks of the young women concerned, until he remembered that an embryo-doctor friend of Cambridge days had told him that it had been proved through scientific observation in clinics and police courts that professional prostitutes were plainer as a class than either shop girls or factory workers, and that looks had no relation at all to morality. It seemed, therefore, that Gloria must be given full marks for her refusal to be bullied into following her mother’s and sister’s example, and when she asked him what he was thinking about he frankly said so.
She laughed and, after a moment, replied: ‘ ’Tis an old saying that vice does not pay. An’ believe me ‘tis a true one, as you’d know if you’d seen all that I have. ‘Tis a fool’s game for a girl that’s ambitious, an’ how would I ever get one of me paintin’s in the Salon if I wasted the best years of me life anglin’ for men?’
‘How long is it since you got this great urge for painting?’ Philip asked.
‘I guess I’ve had it all me life. When I was only a wee thing playin’ around with chalks an’ the like me poor ould dad said that one day I’d make a name for meself. But it’s hard to become real good when you have your living to earn. Evenin’s an’ weekends is all the time there is, an’ ‘tis steady work that gets results in art, same as in everythin’ else.’
Going over to the bunk she had chosen for herself, she pulled from beneath it an old suitcase in which she began to rummage, as she went on: ‘ ’Twas terribly difficult to know what to bring. Not that I’d be tryin’ to fool you that me wardrobe rivalled the Queen of Sheba’s. I have me warmest suit on me back already and me only dacent dance frock is right here. I mean, in the way of me drawin’ an’ paintin’. I’ve left albums and albums back home but maybe you’ll think these few not too bad.’
Philip knew nothing about the technicalities of art, but it was obvious to him that the girl had talent. She had brought only two small canvases, one a painting of a negro’s head and the other a street scene; but there was a folio with the best part of a hundred drawings in it. The street scene was done in a very modern style, and he thought it rather messy, but the head had a tremendous vitality about it, and the drawings, most of which were anatomic studies, were, he felt sure, of a very high standard.
As he looked slowly through them he made a number of admiring comments, before he finally remarked: ‘I think they’re terribly good. I only wish I could discuss them with you properly, but the trouble is that I know practically nothing about art. These last few years I’ve spent practically all my time studying engineering.’
‘Why, that’s interestin’ too,’ she smiled kindly. ‘Gettin’ somethin’ yourself has conceived in your mind done jus’ the way you wan’ it is creation sure enough, whether ‘tis a bridge built in steel or a still-life on paper.’
‘That’s right,’ he said eagerly. ‘And that’s exactly how I feel about crossing the Atlantic with these rafts. You see, I first thought of the idea nearly two years ago. I’ve spent thousands of hours planning the job, and I’ve dreamed about it for months. It’s never been done before, you know; and now that it looks as if another world war is inevitable it’s terribly important that it should be done.’
She shrugged. ‘ ’Tis nonsense you’re talkin’ now. There’ll be no world war. A little bit of a scrap in Europe maybe, but we Americans are wise to things now and we’ll not be drawn into your muddles a second time. But will you be tellin’ me how driftin’ across the ocean at the pace of a tortoise is goin’ to help any sort of a war?’
Philip asked nothing better. He told her the whole history of his struggle and did his utmost to impress upon her the fact that if their voyage were successful it might enable him to save his country from starvation, should the war, that so many people in Europe now considered as certain, actually break out.
She listened to him patiently and asked several quite shrewd questions, and it was clear that she was considerably impressed; but, as she appeared to have little more interest in Britain than in any other European country, it was scarcely to be expected that she would become really enthusiastic about the object of the voyage. After a little, she sighed and said:
‘ ’Tis a great patriot you are, Mr. Vaudell; but ‘twas a black day for me when I picked on your boat back in the harbour there. This day the blessed Saints have been kind an’ the sea like a mill-pond, but what of tomorrow an’ all the days after? One puff of the wind an’ I’ll be as sick as I was the time I got plastered on hooch at the Art Students’ dinner-dance. Sure I’ll be dead of sea-sickness before we’re half of the way over.’
‘No, you won’t,’ he tried to reassure her. ‘However good the weather a small boat like this always tosses about quite a bit; so the fact that you haven’t been sick yet proves that you’ll be a good sailor. If you do have a bout you’ll soon be all right again.’
‘ ’Twas all of a week before I recovered from the hooch, an’ two-three months is a real terrible time. I doubt if there’ll be two-three days together in all of it that we’ll be free of the wind, so it’s murderin’ me you’ll be by forcin’ me to come with you.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Philip. ‘Really I am, but I’m afraid there’s no alternative.’
‘Ah, but that’s just where you’re wrong.’ She bent forward quickly. ‘It come to me all of a sudden this afternoon. I was lookin’ out of a porthole an’ I saw a ship. Then I sez to meself, sez I: “We’ll be passin’ lots more ships an’ if we signal one that’s headin’ for New York it’ll stop to ask what we be wantin’. Then himself can be asking them to take me on board an’ be rid of me; an’ I’ll be blessin’ him all the days of me life.
Philip shook his head. ‘No, I hate to disappoint you, but it can’t be done. As a matter of fact, the main reason why I kept you down here all day is because I was afraid that if a ship came within hailing distance you might try to attract the attention of someone in her.’
‘But, merciful Saints, why shouldn’t I?’
‘Because I don’t want anything to do with any ships on the way over, particularly vessels going into New York. I want to keep my, er—I mean, the whereabouts of the convoy secret as far as possible. That may not sound an awfully satisfactory reason to you, but I’m afraid you’ll have to be content with it.’
For a moment she sat silent, then she looked up with a faint smile. ‘So you’re scared of that Hitler an’ his Nazis already, eh? For shame, man! He’s only a great bag of wind and so near as this to America not one of them would dare to touch a hair of your head.’
Philip resisted the temptation to enlighten her and give his real reason for being so anxious to avoid the attention of all New York-bound shipping. Instead, he took her taunt with a smile, and said: ‘Perhaps. Anyhow, this show means a lot to me and I’m not taking any unnecessary chances.’
‘Well, if that’s the way you feel …’ She left the sentence unfinished, and went on: ‘I’ll be doin’ the washin’-up. There’s a cloth there for you to be dryin’ the things on.’
Together they cleared away the débris of their meal, and shortly afterwards Philip said: ‘I expect you’d like to be turning in soon. I’m going to have a look at the engine.’
‘O.K.,’ she replied laconically and, humming a little tune to herself, she walked over to a small mirror that she had hung above her bunk and began to pull the pins out of her flaming red hair.
The engine-room was situated forward and reached by a separate hatch, which necessitated going out on deck. The night was fine and starlit. One glance at the pointers of the Dipper carried his eye to the Pole Star, and he saw that they were still heading in the right direction, although the speed of the launch was so slow as to be almost imperceptible. As he listened to the note of the engine, he smiled. His long days of work upon it had been well worth while. It was purring like a Rolls. Having checked the g
auges and made a very slight adjustment to the fuel supply, he whiled away half an hour looking over his stock of spare parts, then returned to the main cabin.
Only one light was now on, and Gloria was tucked up in her bunk with her face turned to the wall. It took him only two minutes to undress, switch out the light and slip into the bunk opposite. He began to think about his strange and exciting day, which had started with the appearance of Gloria. It seemed extraordinary to think that this time last night he had still believed Eiderman to be his good and helpful friend, and that he had not even known of Gloria’s existence. And now Eiderman was dead and Gloria sound asleep only a few feet away from him on the other side of the cabin. He wondered how long it had been before they had discovered Eiderman’s body. He wondered too what would happen when he reached England. Would there be a warrant out for his arrest? Probably, and, as Eiderman had been killed in United States territorial waters, it was quite on the cards that the United States Police would apply for his extradition. That was a most unpleasant thought to sleep on, and it would be quite time enough to worry about it when he was nearing England.
His thoughts turned again to Gloria. What a strange little person she was; in some ways so young, in others so sophisticated. He began to wonder whether, if given the choice, he would rather have her or not with him on the voyage. It would have been terribly lonely cooped up in the launch for six, eight, perhaps twelve, weeks, without a soul to whom he could talk, and, provided Gloria did not become permanently either sullen or ill, she promised to be much better company than the crew of five roughnecks he had left behind, even if it had not been their intention to murder him. Gloria, too, seemed quite a passable cook, which was an unlooked-for blessing. True, the violence of her temper was apt to make her dangerous at times, but he felt that things had now more or less sorted themselves out. The fact that she had refrained from making a fuss when he had refused her request after dinner to put her on a ship, and had gone quietly to bed without locking him out of the cabin, or some nonsense of that kind, showed clearly that she had accepted the situation, and he did not think he would have any more trouble with her.
Having reached this happy conclusion, he drifted off to sleep. Later he dreamed that he was in a toboggan, then that he was in a speed-boat. The waters were rushing past, and he was going faster—faster—faster. The dream ended in a terrific crash. The launch stopped with a shuddering jerk. Next second he was flung violently from his bunk to come smashing down on the floor of the cabin.
7
The Bad Companions
For a moment he lay in pitch darkness, wondering if he were awake or still dreaming. Then the navigational lights flickered and went on again. Their faint glow coming through the portholes showed him that he was lying full length on the cabin floor, which was now tilted at a sharp angle. In the brief but violent process of being hurled from his bunk his head had come into collision with the beam above it, and now ached intolerably.
Putting a hand to it he tried to concentrate and realised that the launch must have piled up on something. His next thought was of Gloria, and he shouted her name. There was no reply. He staggered to his feet and slithered down the sloping floor to her bunk. It was empty; and her clothes had gone from the next bunk on which she had laid them.
With a sudden fear that the launch might be holed and in danger of sinking, he grabbed his dressing-gown and pulled it on as he stumbled up the short companionway. He saw at once what had happened. The starlight was quite sufficient to show that the launch had piled up on one of the rafts. But how, in God’s name, had it managed to do that, Philip asked himself? A moment later, he knew. The engine was still running. Clambering forward to switch it off, he swung himself over the edge of the engine-room hatch and came face to face with Gloria.
The light was still on there. By it he saw that there was a slight cut on her forehead, from which the blood was trickling. Her eyes were dilated, and her face was very white. Otherwise, she appeared to be unhurt and in full possession of her senses.
‘What the hell have you been up to?’ he snapped.
‘What the hell would you think?’ she snapped back. ‘Since it’s the lousy heel you are an’ won’t take me back to New York, ‘tis meself an’ the blessed Saints I must rely on to get me there.’
He grabbed her by the arm and shook her. ‘Tell me what you’ve done this instant!’
‘I undid the cable an’ turned the boat around. How was I to know that in less time than it takes to powder me nose ‘twould go crashin’ into a rock?’
‘You little fool, it’s not a rock we’ve hit but one of the rafts. Get out of my way!’
Thrusting her aside, he took over the controls of the engine, which was still throbbing rhythmically, and put the gear lever into reverse. There was an ominous grating for a moment, then the action of the screws took effect; the stem of the launch drew away from the raft and suddenly fell back into the water with a loud splash.
Stopping the engine, Philip waited for a few moments tense with anxiety. As a precaution against rough weather, he had had watertight compartments built into both the bow and the stern of the launch, so he did not think there was any great danger of her sinking under them; but he was afraid that she might have been holed forward which would cause the compartment there to fill and make the future handling of her most damnably difficult. If she were badly holed, the weight of the water would soon cause her to go down at the head and give the deck a new slant; but, as it remained level, he knew that the damage could not have been very serious.
‘You’d better get back to the cabin and bathe that cut on your head,’ he suggested to Gloria, and following her up on deck he proceeded, with the aid of an electric torch, to make as thorough an examination as possible of the launch’s bows and the smashed side of the raft. The launch seemed all right above the waterline, but one of the big metal cargo containers on the raft had been stove right in. He decided that it was better not to attempt to pick up the cable that Gloria had cast off till daylight, so, hauling the launch alongside the raft, he made her fast. On returning to the cabin he found Gloria back in her bunk and apparently asleep. It was still only a little after one o’clock, so he scrambled back into his own bunk, and, after ruminating a little on how best to deal with his problem child, fell asleep again.
When he wakened it was full day and the first thing he noticed was that his feet were now several inches lower than his head. Evidently the impact of charging the raft during the night had caused the launch to spring a leak, as she was now down by the bows. The sole consolation was that it could only be a comparatively small leak, otherwise the forward compartment would have filled much more quickly. It was annoying, but it could be dealt with, and he decided that in the process of dealing with it the unruly Gloria should be taught a lesson.
Jumping from his bunk he wrapped his dressing-gown round him and went over to her. She was lying on her back with one bare arm thrown up round her head. Her breathing came very softly through moist, slightly parted red lips, and he noticed that her dark eyelashes were long and curly as they lay fanlike on her cheeks. She looked very young, and it seemed a shame to waken her, but he hardened his heart and, shaking her by the shoulder, called out:
‘Gloria! Wake up! The launch is sinking!’
Her eyelids fluttered up and the bright blue eyes stared at him, then with a gasp of ‘What! What’s that?’ she sat up.
Turning away he ran to the hatchway, only pausing with one foot on the first step to fling over his shoulder: ‘Come on! Quick as you can! I shall need all the help you can give me.’
Her dawning realisation that the cabin floor was sloping forward did the rest. In two minutes she had pulled on a skirt, a jumper and a pair of shoes, and came clattering along the deck towards him.
When she arrived he was plumbing the forward compartment with a long wire, which showed that there was water in it up to a depth of nearly four feet. He knew that the water had now reached its level and would not
increase, but he turned a scared face to Gloria and exclaimed:
‘Good God! We’ve shipped four feet of water, and if it gets up to five we’ll sink! I must take up the floor-boards in the cabin so as to crawl along the bilge and stop the leak, but before I can do that we must get the level of the water down.’ Pointing at a small hand pump he went on quickly: ‘If you don’t want to spend the next two months on the raft you’d better put everything you’ve got into that while I get the floor-boards up and work the other pump in the engine-room.’
Obediently she grasped the pump handle and began to turn the wheel for all she was worth, while he hurried back to the cabin. But when he reached it, instead of taking up the floorboards, he unhurriedly washed, shaved and dressed, and then began to prepare breakfast for himself. He was careful not to cook anything in case the smell gave him away, but he opened a tin of ham and another of pineapple chunks, and made himself a pot of tea.
An hour afterwards he thought he would go up and see how she was getting on, but first he ruffled his hair and smeared his face and hands with some black from the stove to give himself the appearance of having been slaving in the bilge.
With aching back and straining muscles Gloria was still turning away at the wheel of the pump, but she let go of it with a little gasp, and drew herself painfully upright as he approached.
‘Well, how’re you makin’ out?’ she panted.
‘Not too badly,’ he replied, drawing the back of his hand wearily across his eyes as though he were almost dead-beat. ‘I think we’ll save her—that is, if you can manage to keep it up.’ He took the depth of the water with his dipper again, and added: ‘You’re doing well. It’s down to two feet six, but I won’t be able to fix things till the deck is level. How often have you been resting?’
‘Just a few minutes, now and then.’
The Man who Missed the War Page 11