by Nevil Shute
She was amazed. “But surely they’d take you?”
He smiled down at her. “I’m not such a wizard as all that, Miss Alix. You’ve got to be good to get into Imperials.”
“But you are good. I should have thought anyone who could fly out here like this was good enough for them. Doesn’t a flight like this make any difference?”
He glanced at her, flicking the ash from his cigarette. “It all helps. If we get through this job with the seaplane in one piece they might take notice. After all, not so many people come this way in aeroplanes.”
She nodded. “I don’t think Daddy ever knew what sort of trip it would turn out to be.”
The pilot said dourly, “Well, he knows now.” And then he turned and smiled at her.
She said quietly, “You must have thought us beastly people when you met us first of all.”
He glanced sideways at her. The sun shone on her fair, short hair, her lean serious face not quite unlike his own, her slim figure in white overalls. Quite suddenly he knew exactly what he wanted. And being Scotch, he let the moment go.
“Why, no, Miss Alix,” he said. His voice was a little unsteady; he was feeling tired and depressed again. “I just thought you didn’t know much about aeroplanes.”
He ground out the stub of the cigarette beneath his heel.
“Suppose we get on back,” he said. “I want to do those spools of film before we go to bed.”
SEVEN
NEXT DAY, AT ten o’clock, the ship arrived and anchored off the settlement. She had come down from Godthaab and was only due to stay for a few hours before leaving for Reykjavik and Copenhagen. There was a great state of excitement in the settlement. All boats were launched and everybody crowded on board her as soon as the anchor dropped. The Lockwoods and Ross followed the first rush.
Jameson was lying in his berth with a weight hanging over a pulley to stretch his thigh. “I can’t say how bad I feel that this has happened,” he said. “Letting you down and all. I wouldn’t have had it happen for the world, Mr. Ross.”
The pilot said, “Never mind — we’ll talk about that later. Just take a look at these, because we haven’t got a lot of time.”
The photographer took the spools and passed them quickly through both hands, stretching the film and looking through it at the light from the porthole. Ross told him briefly what they had been doing. “Not bad,” he said. “This is the first one — the over-exposed one, I see. These other two seem quite all right. But they’ve all been overdeveloped, Mr. Ross. You got them much too thick.”
“Right,” said the pilot. “Now you tell us how to do it properly.”
Alix settled down beside the bunk with a pencil and pad. Outside the winches clattered and groaned as bales of pelt were taken on the ship; all round the little cabin was a turmoil of shouted greetings and orders. Two hours later Alix stopped writing; she had covered seven or eight pages with her pencilled notes.
“Well,” said Jameson wearily, “I think I’ve told you everything I can. Don’t forget what I told you about the hardening. I wish I could stay with you, in the house. I could help with the processing, anyway.” He looked up wistfully. “I suppose you couldn’t get around the governor?”
Lockwood shook his head. “I’m afraid he won’t consider it.”
The man sighed and lay back. “Well, I don’t suppose I’d be much good to you, really. You’ve got the hang of it all right, now. Don’t worry to do much developing out in the field — it’s always a risk of spoiling stuff. Just do one from time to time, to satisfy yourself that it’s all going on all right. Take all the duplicates you can. . . .”
They made him comfortable, provided him with what small luxuries they could arrange, and saw that he had all the money that he needed. Then it was time for them to leave the ship; her loading was completed. They were bundled on shore with the crowd of Danes and Eskimos, and stood on the beach with them and watched her get up anchor, watched her steam away. The little crowd about them dispersed quietly, silent and morose. There would be no other ship at Julianehaab till the following June.
They spent the remainder of the day in making arrangements for their camp. Lockwood and Alix were to leave early next morning in the motor boat, with Ajago and Mayark and all the camping gear. It was doubtful if they would be able to cover the seventy miles to Brattalid in one day; more probably they would camp somewhere for the night. It was arranged that Ross should stay at Julianehaab with the seaplane, and fly to Brattalid on the following day.
“That suits me,” he said. “I don’t want to get there before you do and have to beach the machine alone. There’s always a risk of trouble in that sort of game. In fact, if I don’t see you at Brattalid when I get there, I shall come back here and come along again the next day.”
Lockwood said, “There’s another thing, Mr. Ross. I want you to use this time to have a real rest. This gives you a day and a half free while we’re getting there. I know this flight has been a strain on you. Take that time off and have a lazy day.”
The pilot smiled. “I could use that,” he said. “I’ll just sit around and smoke.”
The girl said, “Mind you do.”
It took them all the evening to get their stores packed and sorted, ready to be carried down to the boat in the morning. They planned to start at six o’clock. It was eleven o’clock at night before Ross was satisfied that everything was ready, before they got into their sleeping bags. He lay for some time in his bag, awake. He knew that both Lockwood and Alix were inexperienced in camping, and he had no real confidence in the Eskimos. He ran over all the items of their camp equipment in his mind again, searching for items that he had forgotten. They ought to be all right. It was only for one night. It would be lonely in the shack without them, without Alix.
A day with nothing definite to do would be acceptable. It would give him a chance to get around all sorts of little odd jobs that should be done. He could get the seaplane beached at high tide and work on her for the rest of the day in comfort, clean the plugs and check the tappets. He’d feel happier when that was done, especially before going out into the blue . . .
Presently he looked at his watch. He had been in bed for an hour, and he was as wakeful as ever. For two nights now he had slept without his Propylin, and he had slept very badly. There were only five hours of the night left before they must get up. He reached out and took a tablet; within ten minutes he was sleeping with the others.
He was up and about by five o’clock, feeling thick in the head and with a stale taste in his mouth. They had breakfast and carried the remainder of the camping gear down to the motor boat. Ross said good-bye to the Lockwoods and helped them into the boat; by half past six he was standing on the shore alone, watching the boat as it headed out from the harbour.
High tide that morning was at nine o’clock. He went and looked at the beach that he had selected for the seaplane and removed one or two large stones; then he hung about irritably till the tide rose. At high tide he went with the boatman to the seaplane and towed her in towards the beach. He put her carefully ashore at about ten o’clock; presently the water left her beached upon the sand and he could work on her in comfort and security.
He worked on her all day without a break. He took the covers off all the watertight compartments in the floats, sponged out the water that had entered, and sealed the covers up again; this took him about two hours. He removed the engine cowling and took out the eighteen spark plugs, carried them to the hut, took them to pieces and cleaned them, and put them back again. He removed the eighteen tappet covers, checked clearances, and adjusted one or two. He checked the contact breakers on the magnetos. He drained the oil tank, and refilled it with fresh oil. He cleaned out all the filters and the sumps, reassembled everything, and ran the engine on test. With an Eskimo to help him he carried a hundred and ten gallons of petrol a quarter of a mile from the store, and poured it can by can into the big tank. In the fading evening light, with water lapping round his fee
t as the tide rose, he went round all the flying control joints accessible by traps under the fuselage, grease gun in hand.
At nine o’clock she floated, and with the help of the Eskimo boatman he towed her out to the mooring again. He made everything secure, and went back on shore; it was nearly ten o’clock when he got back to the hut.
That was his day of rest. He had eaten nothing since the morning.
The hut was cold and deserted. He lit the Primus stove and made himself a cup of tea; he opened a tin of bully beef and ate that with some biscuits. It was lonely and desolate in the hut, and very cold. The pilot was depressed, and he knew it. He sat at the table alone, munching his cold, unappetising food, and he knew exactly what was wrong. He missed Alix very much. He had come to depend on her as an alleviation to fatigue; it didn’t seem to matter being tired when she was there. He knew quite well that he was coming to be very much in love with her.
Still, that was by the way. The work came first. He had a job to do. He had to carry out this survey and get photographs that could be used; then he had to get the seaplane down into the States where she could be sold. That was the job he had engaged himself to do; it would take every ounce of energy that he had in him. He knew that very well by now. Everything else must be subordinate to that. Later, perhaps . . .
Presently he got into his sleeping bag and lay awake for a considerable time, worried and confused by his reflections. Then he took a tablet of his Propylin, and before long he was sleeping heavily.
He slept late next morning, and awoke from a heavy sleep that left him unrefreshed. There was no reason to hurry; he lay in his sleeping bag for a time, and got up at about nine o’clock. He made himself some breakfast but ate little; he waited till about eleven before going to the seaplane.
By noon he was flying above Brattalid. The motor boat was beached in one of the little coves he had selected as a camping site; he swept low over it and saw Lockwood and Alix with the Eskimos. He turned and landed in the fjord; the boat came out to meet him and took him in tow.
The Eskimos in the boat towed him to a little sandy cove, sheltered from the north and east. Presently the floats grounded gently on the sand; he stepped on shore to meet the Lockwoods, leaving the machine to strand upon the falling tide.
The others had not been there very long. “We camped about ten miles away last night,” said the don. “Oh — very comfortable, thanks. Ajago looked after us very well. As a matter of fact, we could have come on here quite easily, but the men didn’t want to.”
Ross wrinkled his brows. “Have they been being difficult?”
“Not a bit. They’ve been very good. But I couldn’t make out why they wanted to camp so early.”
Alix said, “Ajago said they wanted to get here while the sun was up. I couldn’t understand why, because it’s quite light all night through up here.”
The pilot turned and looked about him. To the east the rough, tussocky grass mounted into a low hill strewn with basalt rocks; more to the south there was a little stream running down into the cove. The cove itself was sandy and protected from all winds except the west. “Well,” he said, “we couldn’t have picked a better spot for a camp. The machine will be as safe here as she could be anywhere, and we can put our tents up by the water.”
The don nodded. “We can make a good camp here. We aren’t the first, either.”
Ross looked at him enquiringly.
Lockwood explained. “You see that stony line in the turf there? And that other one at right angles? There.”
The pilot followed his direction. “I see what you mean.”
“Well, there’s been a house there.”
“How long ago?”
The don shrugged his shoulders. “I haven’t really looked at it. Back in the Brattalid time, I daresay.”
“Well, they picked the best place. We’d better put our camp there, too.”
He turned to the men. He knew a few odd words of Eskimo, sufficient to make his meaning clear. He now told them to get the baggage up from the beach and start to make the camp beside the stream.
There was a hitch. The men consulted with each other for a minute; then Ajago came forward and said something painstakingly and clearly in Danish. Ross did not understand the words, but the objection was very clear.
He turned to Alix. “Did you understand him?”
She shook her head. “Not properly. I don’t think he wants to stop here. It’s funny, because they’ve been so nice all the time.”
Ross took the man by the arm and led him up to the flat, level site beside the stream, seamed with old walls. He made motions of putting up tents. “Camp here,” he said.
The Eskimo shook his head, and said something. Alix broke in quickly, “He said, it’s not good here.”
The pilot said patiently, “We’ll have to get down to this, Miss Alix. Ask him why it isn’t good.”
The girl reflected for a minute, and then spoke a slow sentence to the Eskimo. The man answered her in Danish. She turned back to the two men. “He says it’s not good at night. At least, I think that’s what he means.”
Lockwood said quietly, “Are they superstitious?”
Ross nodded. “Terrifically. I hope to God that isn’t at the back of it. Ask him why it isn’t good at night.”
The girl did so. “He says, because of the old people.”
The pilot sighed inwardly. As if the job wasn’t difficult enough, without this one. He forced a laugh and a bright smile. “Tell him that the old people have no power over them while they are with us. Say that we are great and strong, that we can fly in the sky, and we will throw our power over them, and protect them.”
Alix looked dubious. “I’ll have to get the dictionary for that, Mr. Ross.”
A few minutes later the reply came through. “He says, that may be all right for us, but not for them. At least, that’s what he means. He wants to make camp over on the other side of the hill.”
The pilot said patiently, “Well, let’s get up on to the hill and have a look at it.”
From the top of the hill they looked around. The tide had fallen a good way, and the seaplane now stood high and dry upon the sand. The second cove that they had seen from the air, in which the Eskimos would have liked to make camp, was now seen to have a rocky bottom quite unsuitable for the machine. Moreover, the stream that ran down to the sandy cove was the only water in sight.
Ross and Alix settled down patiently with the dictionary to talk to the men. The Eskimos were friendly and reasonable, but utterly unwilling to sleep in the sandy cove. After half an hour a basis of arrangement was made. The main camp would be in the sandy cove near the machine, but the Eskimos would take one tent and make a sleeping camp for themselves in the rocky cove, a mile away. They would take all their food at the main cove, coming there each day at sunrise and leaving at sunset.
Ross shrugged his shoulders. “It’s a perfect curse, but it’s the best that we can do. I must stay by the machine, myself. I think they’ll get fed up with it in a day or two, when they see that we get along all right.”
They went back down the hill, and on that basis they set up the camp beside the stream, among the ruins of the ancient houses. They had three tents; they pitched two by the stream and gave one to the Eskimos to put up later for themselves. They built a fireplace of loose stones, and got a fire going of the low, thin scrub that grew in patches on the moor. The biggest tree they found was a stunted birch, less than fifteen feet in height.
They lunched upon cold meat and biscuits. Lockwood went off for a short walk in the direction of Brattalid; Ross set the men to work bringing up the stores from the shore and stacking them by the tents. Then he set them to cut brushwood; presently he turned to Alix.
“If you’ve got time to spare now, let’s have a look at the survey.”
They got out the drawing board, and pinned the rough map of the district down on it. They worked for an hour together, planning the strips of photographs that would cover the who
le area. Presently Ross said:
“We’ll have to chuck this now. I’ll have to go and get the ropes onto that seaplane.”
She looked at him. “What are you going to do with the machine? I mean there’s no mooring to put it on.”
He nodded. “We’ll run her from the beach,” he said. “It’s high tide at about ten o’clock today. I’ll leave her on the beach all night. We ought to be in the air by nine o’clock tomorrow morning. Low water at four. . . . If we let her ground upon the beach at midnight she’ll be safe all night, and she’ll float again at eight in the morning, when we want her.”
It took the girl a little time to realise this way of operation. Then she said, “Does that mean that you’ve got to sit up till midnight, to see she grounds at the right time?”
The pilot smiled. “I think I’d better. I wouldn’t like to go to sleep unless I knew that she was safe. But she’ll be safe enough on the beach.”
Alix looked very doubtful. “It means another late night for you.”
He turned away. “Don’t worry about that, Miss Alix. I’ll be all right.”
They went down to the machine, now sitting on the sandy beach far from the water. Ross and Mayark set to work with stakes and ropes. They drove a stake into the ground on each side of the little cove near the mouth and led a rope from that to the bow of each float; they led two ropes from the tail of the machine to stakes driven into the ground at the head of the cove. Then they had her located in the middle of the little cove, secure against a moderate wind, and so arranged that they could move her up and down the cove on the high tide to ground her when they wished.
Lockwood came back, and watched them at their work. “You’re making very certain of her, Mr. Ross,” he said.
The pilot nodded. “She’ll be all right like this while the fine weather lasts. If the wind pipes up we’ll have to get her up on shore and fold the wings.”