The Riddle of the Sands

by Erskine Childers

  II. The _Dulcibella_

  THAT two days later I should be found pacing the deck of the Flushingsteamer with a ticket for Hamburg in my pocket may seem a strangeresult, yet not so strange if you have divined my state of mind. Youwill guess, at any rate, that I was armed with the conviction that Iwas doing an act of obscure penance, rumours of which might callattention to my lot and perhaps awaken remorse in the right quarter,while it left me free to enjoy myself unobtrusively in the remoteevent of enjoyment being possible.

  The fact was that, at breakfast on the morning after the arrival ofthe letter, I had still found that inexplicable lightening which Imentioned before, and strong enough to warrant a revival of the prosand cons. An important pro which I had not thought of before was thatafter all it was a good-natured piece of unselfishness to joinDavies; for he had spoken of the want of a pal, and seemed honestlyto be in need of me. I almost clutched at this consideration. It wasan admirable excuse, when I reached my office that day, for aresigned study of the Continental Bradshaw, and an order to Carter tounroll a great creaking wall-map of Germany and find me Flensburg.The latter labour I might have saved him, but it was good for Carterto have something to do; and his patient ignorance was amusing. Withmost of the map and what it suggested I was tolerably familiar, for Ihad not wasted my year in Germany, whatever I had done or not donesince. Its people, history, progress, and future had interested meintensely, and I had still friends in Dresden and Berlin. Flensburgrecalled the Danish war of '64, and by the time Carter's researcheshad ended in success I had forgotten the task set him, and waswondering whether the prospect of seeing something of that lovelyregion of Schleswig-Holstein, _[See Map A]_ as I knew from hearsaythat it was, was at all to be set against such an uncomfortable wayof seeing it, with the season so late, the company so unattractive,and all the other drawbacks which I counted and treasured as proofsof my desperate condition, if I _were_ to go. It needed little todecide me, and I think K----'s arrival from Switzerland, offensivelysunburnt, was the finishing touch. His greeting was 'Hullo,Carruthers, you here? Thought you had got away long ago. Lucky devil,though, to be going now, just in time for the best driving and theearly pheasants. The heat's been shocking out there. Carter, bring mea Bradshaw'--(an extraordinary book, Bradshaw, turned to from habit,even when least wanted, as men fondle guns and rods in the closeseason).

  By lunch-time the weight of indecision had been removed, and I foundmyself entrusting Carter with a telegram to Davies, P.O., Flensburg.'Thanks; expect me 9.34 p.m. 26th'; which produced, three hourslater, a reply: 'Delighted; please bring a No. 3 Rippingillestove'--a perplexing and ominous direction, which somehow chilled mein spite of its subject matter.

  Indeed, my resolution was continually faltering. It faltered when Iturned out my gun in the evening and thought of the grouse it oughtto have accounted for. It faltered again when I contemplated themiscellaneous list of commissions, sown broadcast through Davies'sletter, to fulfil which seemed to make me a willing tool where mychosen _r?le_ was that of an embittered exile, or at least acondescending ally. However, I faced the commissions manfully, afterleaving the office.

  At Lancaster's I inquired for his gun, was received coolly, and had topay a heavy bill, which it seemed to have incurred, before it was handedover. Having ordered the gun and No. 4's to be sent to my chambers, Ibought the Raven mixture with that peculiar sense of injury which theprospect of smuggling in another's behalf always entails; and wonderedwhere in the world Carey and Neilson's was, a firm which Davies spoke ofas though it were as well known as the Bank of England or the Stores,instead of specializing in 'rigging-screws', whatever they might be.They sounded important, though, and it would be only polite to unearththem. I connected them with the 'few repairs,' and awoke new misgivings.At the Stores I asked for a No. 3 Rippingille stove, and was confrontedwith a formidable and hideous piece of ironmongery, which burnedpetroleum in two capacious tanks, horribly prophetic of a smell of warmoil. I paid for this miserably, convinced of its grim efficiency, butspeculating as to the domestic conditions which caused it to be sent foras an afterthought by telegram. I also asked about rigging-screws in theyachting department, but learnt that they were not kept in stock; thatCarey and Neilson's would certainly have them, and that their shop wasin the Minories, in the far east, meaning a journey nearly as long as toFlensburg, and twice as tiresome. They would be shut by the time I gotthere, so after this exhausting round of duty I went home in a cab,omitted dressing for dinner (an epoch in itself), ordered a chop up fromthe basement kitchen, and spent the rest of the evening packing andwriting, with the methodical gloom of a man setting his affairs in orderfor the last time.

  The last of those airless nights passed. The astonished Withers sawme breakfasting at eight, and at 9.30 I was vacantly examiningrigging-screws with what wits were left me after a sulphurous ride inthe underground to Aldgate. I laid great stress on the 3/8's, and thegalvanism, and took them on trust, ignorant as to their functions.For the eleven-shilling oilskins I was referred to a villainous denin a back street, which the shopman said they always recommended, andwhere a dirty and bejewelled Hebrew chaffered with me (beginning at18s.) over two reeking orange slabs distantly resembling moieties ofthe human figure. Their odour made me close prematurely for 14_s_., andI hurried back (for I was due there at 11) to my office with mytwo disreputable brown-paper parcels, one of which made itself sonoticeable in the close official air that Carter attentively asked ifI would like to have it sent to my chambers, and K---- was inquisitiveto bluntness about it and my movements. But I did not care toenlighten K----, whose comments I knew would be provokingly envious orwounding to my pride in some way.

  I remembered, later on, the prismatic compass, and wired to theMinories to have one sent at once, feeling rather relieved that I wasnot present there to be cross-examined as to size and make.The reply was, 'Not stocked; try surveying-instrument maker'--a replyboth puzzling and reassuring, for Davies's request for a compass hadgiven me more uneasiness than anything, while, to find that what hewanted turned out to be a surveying-instrument, was a no lessperplexing discovery. That day I made my last _pr?cis_ and handedover my schedules--Procrustean beds, where unwilling facts werestretched and tortured--and said good-bye to my temporary chief,genial and lenient M----, who wished me a jolly holiday with allsincerity.

  At seven I was watching a cab packed with my personal luggage and thecollection of unwieldy and incongruous packages that my shopping haddrawn down on me. Two deviations after that wretched prismaticcompass--which I obtained in the end secondhand, _faute de mieux_,near Victoria, at one of those showy shops which look like jewellers'and are really pawnbrokers'--nearly caused me to miss my train. Butat 8.30 I had shaken off the dust of London from my feet, and at10.30 I was, as I have announced, pacing the deck of a Flushingsteamer, adrift on this fatuous holiday in the far Baltic.

  An air from the west, cooled by a midday thunderstorm, followed thesteamer as she slid through the calm channels of the Thames estuary,passed the cordon of scintillating lightships that watch over thesea-roads to the imperial city like pickets round a sleeping army,and slipped out into the dark spaces of the North Sea. Stars werebright, summer scents from the Kent cliffs mingled coyly with vulgarsteamer-smells; the summer weather held immutably. Nature, for herpart, seemed resolved to be no party to my penance, but to beimperturbably bent on shedding mild ridicule over my wrongs. Anirresistible sense of peace and detachment, combined with thatdelicious physical awakening that pulses through the nerve-sicktownsman when city airs and bald routine are left behind him,combined to provide me, however thankless a subject, with a solidbackground of resignation. Stowing this safely away, I couldcalculate my intentions with cold egotism. If the weather held Imight pass a not intolerable fortnight with Davies. When it broke up,as it was sure to, I could easily excuse myself from the pursuit ofthe problematical ducks; the wintry logic of facts would, in anycase, decide him to lay up his yacht, for he could scarcely think ofsailing home at such a season. I coul
d then take a chance lying readyof spending a few weeks in Dresden or elsewhere. I settled thisprogramme comfortably and then turned in.

  From Flushing eastward to Hamburg, then northward to Flensburg, I cutshort the next day's sultry story. Past dyke and windmill and stillcanals, on to blazing stubbles and roaring towns; at the last, afterdusk, through a quiet level region where the train pottered from onelazy little station to another, and at ten o'clock I found myself,stiff and stuffy, on the platform at Flensburg, exchanging greetingswith Davies.

  'It's awfully good of you to come.'

  'Not at all; it's very good of you to ask me.'

  We were both of us ill at ease. Even in the dim gaslight he clashedon my notions of a yachtsman--no cool white ducks or neat blue serge;and where was the snowy crowned yachting cap, that precious charmthat so easily converts a landsman into a dashing mariner? Consciousthat this impressive uniform, in high perfection, was lying ready inmy portmanteau, I felt oddly guilty. He wore an old Norfolk jacket,muddy brown shoes, grey flannel trousers (or had they been white?),and an ordinary tweed cap. The hand he gave me was horny, andappeared to be stained with paint; the other one, which carried aparcel, had a bandage on it which would have borne renewal. There wasan instant of mutual inspection. I thought he gave me a shy, hurriedscrutiny as though to test past conjectures, with something ofanxiety in it, and perhaps (save the mark!) a tinge of admiration.The face was familiar, and yet not familiar; the pleasant blue eyes,open, clean-cut features, unintellectual forehead were the same; sowere the brisk and impulsive movements; there was some change; butthe moment of awkward hesitation was over and the light was bad; and,while strolling down the platform for my luggage, we chatted withconstraint about trivial things.

  'By the way,' he suddenly said, laughing, 'I'm afraid I'm not fit tobe seen; but it's so late it doesn't matter. I've been painting hardall day, and just got it finished. I only hope we shall have somewind to-morrow--it's been hopelessly calm lately. I say, you'vebrought a good deal of stuff,' he concluded, as my belongings beganto collect.

  Here was a reward for my submissive exertions in the far east!

  'You gave me a good many commissions!'

  'Oh, I didn't mean those things,' he said, absently. 'Thanks forbringing them, by the way. That's the stove, I suppose; cartridges,this one, by the weight. You got the rigging-screws all right, Ihope? They're not really necessary, of course' (I nodded vacantly,and felt a little hurt); 'but they're simpler than lanyards, and youcan't get them here. It's that portmanteau,' he said, slowly,measuring it with a doubtful eye. 'Never mind! we'll try. Youcouldn't do with the Gladstone only, I suppose? You see, thedinghy--h'm, and there's the hatchway, too'--he was lost in thought.'Anyhow, we'll try. I'm afraid there are no cabs; but it's quitenear, and the porter'll help.'

  Sickening forebodings crept over me, while Davies shouldered myGladstone and clutched at the parcels.

  'Aren't your men here?' I asked, faintly.

  'Men?' He looked confused. 'Oh, perhaps I ought to have told you, Inever have any paid hands; it's quite a small boat, you know--I hopeyou didn't expect luxury. I've managed her single-handed for sometime. A man would be no use, and a horrible nuisance.' He revealedthese appalling truths with a cheerful assurance, which did nothingto hide a na?ve apprehension of their effect on me. There was a checkin our mobilization.

  'It's rather late to go on board, isn't it?' I said, in a woodenvoice. Someone was turning out the gaslights, and the porter yawnedostentatiously. 'I think I'd rather sleep at an hotel to-night.' Astrained pause.

  'Oh, of course you can do that, if you like,' said Davies, intransparent distress of mind. 'But it seems hardly worth while tocart this stuff all the way to an hotel (I believe they're all on theother side of the harbour), and back again to the boat to-morrow.She's quite comfortable, and you're sure to sleep well, as you'retired.'

  'We can leave the things here,' I argued feebly, 'and walk over withmy bag.'

  'Oh, I shall have to go aboard anyhow,' he rejoined; 'I _never_ sleepon shore.'

  He seemed to be clinging timidly, but desperately, to some diplomaticend. A stony despair was invading me and paralysing resistance.Better face the worst and be done with it.

  'Come on,' I said, grimly.

  Heavily loaded, we stumbled over railway lines and rubble heaps, andcame on the harbour. Davies led the way to a stairway, whose weedysteps disappeared below in gloom.

  'If you'll get into the dinghy,' he said, all briskness now, 'I'llpass the things down.'

  I descended gingerly, holding as a guide a sodden painter which endedin a small boat, and conscious that I was collecting slime on cuffsand trousers.

  'Hold up!' shouted Davies, cheerfully, as I sat down suddenly nearthe bottom, with one foot in the water.

  I climbed wretchedly into the dinghy and awaited events.

  'Now float her up close under the quay wall, and make fast to thering down there,' came down from above, followed by the slack of thesodden painter, which knocked my cap off as it fell. 'All fast? Anyknot'll do,' I heard, as I grappled with this loathsome task, andthen a big, dark object loomed overhead and was lowered into thedinghy. It was my portmanteau, and, placed athwart, exactly filledall the space amidships. 'Does it fit?' was the anxious inquiry fromaloft.

  'Beautifully.'

  'Capital!'

  Scratching at the greasy wall to keep the dinghy close to it, Ireceived in succession our stores, and stowed the cargo as best Icould, while the dinghy sank lower and lower in the water, and itsprecarious superstructure grew higher.

  'Catch!' was the final direction from above, and a damp soft parcelhit me in the chest. 'Be careful of that, it's meat. Now back to thestairs!'

  I painfully acquiesced, and Davies appeared.

  'It's a bit of a load, and she's rather deep; but I _think_ we shallmanage,' he reflected. 'You sit right aft, and I'll row.'

  I was too far gone for curiosity as to how this monstrous pyramid wasto be rowed, or even for surmises as to its foundering by the way. Icrawled to my appointed seat, and Davies extricated the buried scullsby a series of tugs, which shook the whole structure, and made usroll alarmingly. How he stowed himself into rowing posture I have notthe least idea, but eventually we were moving sluggishly out into theopen water, his head just visible in the bows. We had started fromwhat appeared to be the head of a narrow loch, and were leavingbehind us the lights of a big town. A long frontage of lamp-lit quayswas on our left, with here and there the vague hull of a steameralongside. We passed the last of the lights and came out into abroader stretch of water, when a light breeze was blowing and darkhills could be seen on either shore.

  'I'm lying a little way down the fiord, you see,' said Davies. 'Ihate to be too near a town, and I found a carpenter handy here-- Thereshe is! I wonder how you'll like her!'

  I roused myself. We were entering a little cove encircled by trees,and approaching a light which flickered in the rigging of a smallvessel, whose outline gradually defined itself.

  'Keep her off,' said Davies, as we drew alongside.

  In a moment he had jumped on deck, tied the painter, and was round atmy end.

  'You hand them up,' he ordered, 'and I'll take them.'

  It was a laborious task, with the one relief that it was not far tohand them--a doubtful compensation, for other reasons distantlyshaping themselves. When the stack was transferred to the deck Ifollowed it, tripping over the flabby meat parcel, which was alreadyshowing ghastly signs of disintegration under the dew. Hazily therefloated through my mind my last embarkation on a yacht; my faultlessattire, the trim gig and obsequious sailors, the accommodation ladderflashing with varnish and brass in the August sun; the orderly, snowydecks and basket chairs under the awning aft. What a contrast withthis sordid midnight scramble, over damp meat and litteredpacking-cases! The bitterest touch of all was a growing sense ofinferiority and ignorance which I had never before been allowed tofeel in my experience of yachts.

  Davies awoke from another re
verie over my portmanteau to say,cheerily: 'I'll just show you round down below first, and then we'llstow things away and get to bed.'

  He dived down a companion ladder, and I followed cautiously. Acomplex odour of paraffin, past cookery, tobacco, and tar saluted mynostrils.

  'Mind your head,' said Davies, striking a match and lighting acandle, while I groped into the cabin. 'You'd better sit down; it'seasier to look round.'

  There might well have been sarcasm in this piece of advice, for Imust have cut a ridiculous figure, peering awkwardly and suspiciouslyround, with shoulders and head bent to avoid the ceiling, whichseemed in the half-light to be even nearer the floor than it was.

  'You see,' were Davies's reassuring words, 'there's plenty of room to_sit_ upright' (which was strictly true; but I am not very tall, andhe is short). 'Some people make a point of head-room, but I nevermind much about it. That's the centreboard case,' he explained, as,in stretching my legs out, my knee came into contact with a sharpedge.

  I had not seen this devilish obstruction, as it was hidden beneaththe table, which indeed rested on it at one end. It appeared to be along, low triangle, running lengthways with the boat and dividing thenaturally limited space into two.

  'You see, she's a flat-bottomed boat, drawing very little waterwithout the plate; that's why there's so little headroom. For deepwater you lower the plate; so, in one way or another, you can gopractically anywhere.'

  I was not nautical enough to draw any very definite conclusions fromthis, but what I did draw were not promising. The latter sentenceswere spoken from the forecastle, whither Davies had crept through alow sliding door, like that of a rabbit-hutch, and was already busywith a kettle over a stove which I made out to be a battered anddisreputable twin brother of the No. 3 Rippingille.

  'It'll be boiling soon,' he remarked, 'and we'll have some grog.'

  My eyes were used to the light now, and I took in the rest of mysurroundings, which may be very simply described. Two longcushion-covered seats flanked the cabin, bounded at the after end bycupboards, one of which was cut low to form a sort of miniaturesideboard, with glasses hung in a rack above it. The deck overheadwas very low at each side but rose shoulder high for a space in themiddle, where a 'coach-house roof' with a skylight gave additionalcabin space. Just outside the door was a fold-up washing-stand. Oneither wall were long net-racks holding a medley of flags, charts,caps, cigar-boxes, banks of yam, and such like. Across the forwardbulkhead was a bookshelf crammed to overflowing with volumes of allsizes, many upside down and some coverless. Below this were apipe-rack, an aneroid, and a clock with a hearty tick. All thewoodwork was painted white, and to a less jaundiced eye than mine theinterior might have had an enticing look of snugness. Some Kodakprints were nailed roughly on the after bulkhead, and just over thedoorway was the photograph of a young girl.

  'That's my sister,' said Davies, who had emerged and saw me lookingat it. 'Now, let's get the stuff down.' He ran up the ladder, andsoon my portmanteau blackened the hatchway, and a great straining andsqueezing began. 'I was afraid it was too big,' came down; 'I'msorry, but you'll have to unpack on deck--we may be able to squash itdown when it's empty.'

  Then the wearisome tail of packages began to form a fresh stack inthe cramped space at my feet, and my back ached with stooping andmoiling in unfamiliar places. Davies came down, and with unconcealedpride introduced me to the sleeping cabin (he called the other one'the saloon'). Another candle was lit and showed two short and narrowberths with blankets, but no sign of sheets; beneath these weredrawers, one set of which Davies made me master of, evidentlythinking them a princely allowance of space for my wardrobe.

  'You can chuck your things down the skylight on to your berth as youunpack them,' he remarked. 'By the way, I doubt if there's room forall you've got. I suppose you couldn't manage----'

  'No, I couldn't,' I said shortly.

  The absurdity of argument struck me; two men, doubled up likemonkeys, cannot argue.

  'If you'll go out I shall be able to get out too,' I added. He seemedmiserable at this ghost of an altercation, but I pushed past, mountedthe ladder, and in the expiring moonlight unstrapped that accursedportmanteau and, brimming over with irritation, groped among itscontents, sorting some into the skylight with the same feeling thatnothing mattered much now, and it was best to be done with it;repacking the rest with guilty stealth ere Davies should discovertheir character, and strapping up the whole again. Then I sat downupon my white elephant and shivered, for the chill of autumn was inthe air. It suddenly struck me that if it had been raining thingsmight have been worse still. The notion made me look round. Thelittle cove was still as glass; stars above and stars below; a fewwhite cottages glimmering at one point on the shore; in the west thelights of Flensburg; to the east the fiord broadening into unknowngloom. From Davies toiling below there were muffled sounds ofwrenching, pushing, and hammering, punctuated occasionally by a heavysplash as something shot up from the hatchway and fell into thewater.

  How it came about I do not know. Whether it was something pathetic inthe look I had last seen on his face--a look which I associated forno reason whatever with his bandaged hand; whether it was one ofthose instants of clear vision in which our separate selves are seendivided, the baser from the better, and I saw my silly egotism incontrast with a simple generous nature; whether it was an impalpableair of mystery which pervaded the whole enterprise and refused to bedissipated by its most mortifying and vulgarizing incidents--amystery dimly connected with my companion's obvious consciousness ofhaving misled me into joining him; whether it was only the stars andthe cool air rousing atrophied instincts of youth and spirits;probably, indeed, it was all these influences, cemented into strengthby a ruthless sense of humour which whispered that I was in danger ofmaking a mere commonplace fool of myself in spite of all my labouredcalculations; but whatever it was, in a flash my mood changed. Thecrown of martyrdom disappeared, the wounded vanity healed; thatprecious fund of fictitious resignation drained away, but left novoid. There was left a fashionable and dishevelled young man sittingin the dew and in the dark on a ridiculous portmanteau which dwarfedthe yacht that was to carry it; a youth acutely sensible of ignorancein a strange and strenuous atmosphere; still feeling sore andvictimized; but withal sanely ashamed and sanely resolved to enjoyhimself. I anticipate; for though the change was radical its fullgrowth was slow. But in any case it was here and now that it took itsbirth.

  'Grog's ready!' came from below. Bunching myself for the descent Ifound to my astonishment that all trace of litter had miraculouslyvanished, and a cosy neatness reigned. Glasses and lemons were on thetable, and a fragrant smell of punch had deadened previous odours. Ishowed little emotion at these amenities, but enough to give intenserelief to Davies, who delightedly showed me his devices for storage,praising the 'roominess' of his floating den. 'There's your stove,you see,' he ended; 'I've chucked the old one overboard.' It was aweakness of his, I should say here, to rejoice in throwing thingsoverboard on the flimsiest pretexts. I afterwards suspected that thenew stove had not been 'really necessary' any more than therigging-screws, but was an excuse for gratifying this curious taste.

  We smoked and chatted for a little, and then came the problem ofgoing to bed. After much bumping of knuckles and head, and many giddywrithings, I mastered it, and lay between the rough blankets. Davies,moving swiftly and deftly, was soon in his.

  'It's quite comfortable, isn't it?' he said, as he blew out the lightfrom where he lay, with an accuracy which must have been the fruit oflong practice.

  I felt prickly all over, and there was a damp patch on the pillow,which was soon explained by a heavy drop of moisture falling on myforehead.

  'I suppose the deck's not leaking?' I said, as mildly as I could.

  'I'm awfully sorry,' said Davies, earnestly, tumbling out of hisbunk. 'It must be the heavy dew. I did a lot of caulking yesterday,but I suppose I missed that place. I'll run up and square it with anoilskin.'

  'What's wrong with your hand
?' I asked, sleepily, on his return, forgratitude reminded me of that bandage.

  'Nothing much; I strained it the other day,' was the reply; and thenthe seemingly inconsequent remark: 'I'm glad you brought thatprismatic compass. It's not really necessary, of course; but'(muffled by blankets) 'it may come in useful.'