THE SKIPPER OF MINE-SWEEPER 1113
Thomas Maclure, the big, grizzled skipper of Mine-sweeper No. 1113, looked deep into the eyes of his two friends, and emphasized his solemn words with gentle thumps of his mighty fist on the cabin table.
“I'm tellin' ye both—you, Lucky Jack, an' you, William Ward—an' maybe ye'll mind my words when the time comes—I'm tellin' ye there'll be mair nor the puir droondit folk raised oot o' the sea on the Day o' Judgment!”
The mate and engineer exchanged hasty glances, as much as to say, “What's the old man drivin' at this time?” Then they turned respectful looks of inquiry upon him. They were not scoffers, though they preferred the after-supper conversation to be as cheerful as possible. Both had volunteered for the mine-sweeping soon after the outbreak of the war, and Lucky Jack, the mate, at any rate, had thereby sacrificed something material as well as risked his life, for he had been master of a notably successful trawler whose catches were then beginning to fetch record prices.
“We're listenin', Thomas,” said the engineer at last. “Ye look as if ye was seein' one o' yer visions.”
“Maybe. But I've been seein' it for a while back, an' noo there's naething ye could say wud change the belief I've got in it—naething!”
“We aren't sich idjits as to try for to change any belief in that mind o' yours, Captain,” said Lucky Jack. “We knows ye better 'n that. But now, what was ye goin' to tell us?”
The old man lost his autocratic bearing.
“Weel, lads,” he said, “does it no' seem likely that certain ships'll be raised oot o' the sea on the Day we was speakin' o'?” His calm gaze met their stares. “For to bear witness afore the Lord,” he added.
“Aha!” cried Lucky Jack. “I begins to see something!”
“More'n I do,” growled the engineer.
Thomas cleared his throat.
“I mean the ships—the unarmed ships that ha'e been torpedoed, wi'oot warnin'.”
“Oh—now” began the engineer.
“Man, 'tis a great idea!” Lucky Jack exclaimed. “And so when the German Admiralty has bluffed all it knows, an' lied itself into knots, an' blamed it all on America, an' so forth, the blessed ship herself 'll speak up. Is that what ye meant, Thomas?”
“Ye're no' that far off it, Jack,” the skipper allowed, starting to fill his pipe and smiling gravely the while, “though ye ha'ena the gift o' tongues for a great subjec'. Anither time, maybe, I'll expound the thing fully to you an' Weeliam. Noo, I'll tak' a bit smoke an' a wee think, an' then I'll turn in. Keep yer e'en open the nicht, Jack, ma lad, for it's a nicht for queer happenin's on the sea.”
Presently Lucky Jack went on deck, where he would be in charge until midnight. The mine-sweeper was at anchor for the night, as were her five sister ships and the old destroyer known as the “A” ship, whence the little fleet received instructions. From the deck of 1113 you might have discerned one or two faintly glimmering lights and a couple of ships so ghostly in the haze. It was very dark, very still, very cold. Once in a while the whistle of a locomotive reached the ear, for the invisible land was not far off. Yonder lurked a town wherein night was really night, also a light house gone blind.
“'Twill lift afore long,” remarked the mate to the man he relieved on the bridge. “Nothin' doin', I s'pose, Johnny?”
“Nothin' at all. Was wonderin' what we're all keepin' watch for,” said Johnny, yawning and beginning to descend. “What's likely to happen hereabouts?”
“'Tis what's unlikely to happen that keeps us on the look-out,” returned Lucky Jack.
He was not alone a couple of minutes before the engineer joined him. For a little while the two men kept silence, smoking and peering around. Then the engineer made the observation:
“Got a goodish dollop o' religion in him, has old Thomas.”
“He has that,” the mate agreed, “though 'tisn't the regulation Scotch brand as I knows it. 'Tis too soft an' dreamy-like. Has he always been like that, William?”
“More or less—that's speakin' for the last six years, which time I've been sailin' wi' him. Maybe he's got a bit dreamier since the war started.”
“Has he no bad language at all?” inquired Lucky Jack, who had been barely five months on 1113.
“Never heard him use a strongish word what wasn't in the Good Book, an he didn't use it unless the thing was big an' serious. No, his cussin' isn't anything to smile at. 'Tis noble an'—an' dignified. I bet Moses an' Aaron couldn't ha' done it grander. No silly, rotten abuse, ye understand, but something solemn an righteous. Makes a chap squirm, I tell ye, an' leaves him wi' never a word to answer back.”
“I'd like fine to hear him at it,” said the mate.
“Doubt if you would, Lucky Jack. 'Tisn't funny. A man 'ud ha' to be dotty or drunk to smile. Still, if 'twas the Kaiser he was goin' for, I allow I'd like to be present.” The engineer paused and said: “'Tis a hijjus thing to be called William nowadays, isn't it?”
“I wouldn't let that hurt ye, if I was you,” replied Lucky Jack, kindly. “Think o' all the good chaps which has worn an' wears the name. Takes more'n one bad egg to spoil the hundred. Now, tell me, what took old Thomas to the mine-sweepin' last year?”
“I s'pose 'twas just because he couldn't get a job on a battleship. He's an old-time gunner, didn't ye know? Wanted to fight, he did. All his four sons doin' their bit, afield or afloat. All his four daughters, 'cept one that's busy bringin' up a few young gladiators, makin' munitions. He don't brag about it—oh, no! And his old woman was terrible against the mine-sweepin'. She did her best to stop him from it. He got letters an' wires an' then she come herself.”
William put his head into the wheel-house in order to light a cigarette. He gave a short, rueful laugh and resumed.
“We was lyin' at Quay that day, an' she spoke first to me, knowin' as I was his close friend, but forgettin' how I was likewise a married man an' accordin'ly in the same boat, though, to be sure, my wife had took it calm enough, as was her nature to. Still, I was vexed for the old woman when I took her below to surprise the skipper. I s'pose her tears was the first that ever that old cabin knowed. Of course, I cleared out quick.”
“Well, well,” murmured Lucky Jack. “'Tis, no doubt, a bachelor's job—the fightin', I mean.”
“Ye don't do it any better for bein' a bachelor,” rejoined the engineer. “'Sides, there isn't enough bachelors to go round, as is becomin' visible to the blindest eye at last. However, I'll finish my tale, for I'm writin' home to-night. I should reckon she was in the cabin wi' her man the best part o' an hour, an' I couldn't help wonderin' what was happenin', though I was pretty sure old Thomas 'ud never cave in.
“Well, I was hopin' he was givin' her words o' comfort—not too many texts, ye understand, but something soothin' off his own bat, so to speak—when cook comes along an' says I'm wanted in the cabin. An' there I found them drinkin' tea an' her smilin' considerable. An' she poured me a bucket an' asked after the wife an' kids as if nothin had happened. But old Thomas he was sorter subdued an' not for sayin' much, an' I couldn't but think he had somehow let hisself be won over, which would have been a sure tragedy for the pair o' them in the long run.
“Then she gets up to go, mentionin' that her an' Thomas was for a small walk afore she caught her train, for their home was a goodish way down the coast. An' still she was smilin', ay, almost merry. But when she was shakin' hands, she gives me a look an' whispers so soft I no more'n heard it—'Be kind to him an' help him if ye can.' An' then she was away, an' I knowed she hadn't won him over after all, poor thing. But what he had said to her to make her brave an' all that I never heard, an' don't suppose I ever shall. Of course, you bein' a bachelor, Lucky Jack”
“Bein' a bachelor don't make a man stupid nor heartless,” said the mate rather quickly.
“Well, not heartless, any way,” the engineer admitted. “Dare say 'tis sometimes the opposite. But look here, Jack, why, d'ye fancy, I've told ye all this most unexcitin' tale? Firstly, 'cause we knows each other fairish well now, an' I've never seen ye laugh at the old man. Secondly, I want ye to take what the, old woman said to yerself, for Thomas is—well, he's changin', leastways it seems so to me—an' maybe times are comin' when one could help him, as she asked. But what could I do down there in the engine-room an' him up on the bridge? We're kept apart. But you, Lucky Jack, ye're always within hail, more or less. Also, he likes ye well. See what I'm drivin' at?”
Lucky Jack nodded.
“Ye can count on me, William.” he said simply.
“I'll tell his wife that,” said William, in a tone of relief. “She'll be glad. The mate afore ye was no good—thought hisself too funny, the blighter! Well, I'll step below an' write that letter.”
He stopped short, peering down at the deck aft.
“Wonder what's brought him up?” he muttered.
“Maybe his mind's uneasy 'bout something,” Lucky Jack replied. “What was it he said just afore we left him? A night for queer happenin's on the sea.... Why, I believe he was right. There's something—something—don't ye feel it, William? Something—somewhere that”
“Sh!” breathed the other. “Don't be tryin' to give me the creeps—nor him neither!”
The skipper was approaching the ladder to the bridge. He halted, his foot on the first rung, like a man making up his mind. Then he ascended in his usual heavy, deliberate fashion. For a minute or so he stood at the end of the bridge peering eastwards. Then he joined the mate and engineer.
“Fog's no' as thick as it was,” he remarked.
“An hour'll see us in clear weather,” said the mate.
“Ye think that?”
Lucky Jack was struck by the eagerness in the question, and wondered as he answered—
“Why, yes, Captain, 'twill be as clear as ye could wish for by ten o'clock.”
Apparently the old man did not detect the increased respect in the other's tone.
“Ten o'clock,” he muttered, as though to himself. “Man, it's queer ye should ha'e said ten o'clock, Lucky Jack.” He strode to the end of the bridge and came back. “I suppose ye hear naething?” he asked them both. “Of course ye dinna,” he replied for them. “It's ower far awa' yet.”
Mate and engineer glanced at each other.
“Lucky Jack,” said Thomas abruptly, “ye're a skipper like masel', an' I ken ye didna tak' a mate's berth for ony reason except duty. Answer me this—Since ye cam' on board this boat did ever ye doobt ma—ma sanity?”
An hour ago the mate might have been amused by the question and have answered it lightly, but now, in the uncanny darkness and with all his loyalty stirred, it was with firmness and gravity that he uttered the word:
“Never!”
Thomas drew a long breath and slowly said:
“I'm gaun to trust ye as I've aye trusted Weeliam here—trust ye wi' ma reputation—wi' a' ma future. Gi'e me yer han's, the twa o' ye. There! I believe in ye, ma lads, an' whether ye can believe in me or no' efter I've spoken, I ken ye'll no' betray me. Noo, listen!” His arm rose—his finger pointed into the veiled east. “There's something oot yonder!” he solemnly declared.
Lucky Jack gave a slight start, but he and William held their peace.
“I canna tell ye everything.” Thomas proceeded. “I fell asleep at the table efter ye gaed on deck. I slep' for maybe five minutes—nae mair. Ten o'clock, ye said, Lucky Jack, an' ten o'clock was yin o' the things I learned in ma sleep. It was queer to hear ye say it, lad, but it was comfortin' likewise, for it'll maybe help ye to believe in me.” He lowered his voice still further. ”I'm tellin' ye there's something oot yonder, an' it's a German submarine. It's waitin'—bidin' its time till the fog lifts. Then” He cleared his throat. “At ten o'clock it'll creep in an' dae its wark. Dae ye believe me?”
Possibly in order to gain time the engineer said:
“It'll be the first U-boat that has come hereabouts, Thomas, an' I must say I never thought o' one”
“Ye doobt me!”
Lucky Jack did better.
“What's to be done about it, Captain?” he briskly inquired.
“To be sure,” said William hastily.
“There's jist the one thing I can dae,” Thomas said. “Report to the lootenant on A ship.”
“Right-o,” cried the mate.
“Ay,” sighed Thomas, “but hoo am I to get him to believe?”
It was Lucky Jack who ended the silence.
“Try him and see,” he said cheerfully. “'Tis yer dooty to report, though 'tis an odd business. I'll back ye up.”
“So ye believe in me, Lucky Jack. What mak's ye believe?”
“God knows, but I do, Thomas, an' there's my hand on it.”
“Thank ye, lad. An' you, Weeliam?”
“I don't exactly disbelieve, Thomas,” the engineer said awkwardly, “but I'm thinkin'—leastways, I mean to say”
“I dinna blame ye, lad. Ye'll believe later on.”
Thomas turned once more to the mate.
“Jack, will ye tak' ma message to the lootenant? Ye ken I daurna leave ma ship.”
“Sure I will. But ye had best put it on paper.”
“I'll dae that. Ye're sure ye can find A ship in that fog?”
“Easy. She's the third ship to starboard.”
“Then I'll gang an' write the letter.”
After he had gone aft the engineer was the first to speak, and his voice was a trifle hoarse.
“Think what ye're doin', Lucky Jack.”
“Why, I'm only tryin' to help him. 'Tis worth the risk. I never was one to believe in dreams, but”
“See here. In the first place, the lootenant'll laugh. In the second place, he'll ha' Thomas put ashore”
“If he doesn't get blowed up first.”
“What? Ye really believe?”
“I ha' said it. Now, you look at the other side. S'posin' we make Thomas do nothin', an' a U-boat does sneak in. Why, even if this ship escaped, the thing would kill the old man.”
“'Twill kill him to be sent ashore for bein' a silly dreamer o' dreams. God Almighty, what's to be done wi' him?”
Lucky Jack gazed into the gloom.
“Signs an' wonders was never much in my line,” he remarked, “but his dream said ten o'clock, an' my mouth, without me knowin' anything, said the same, which settles it for me. The lootenant shan't laugh long if I can help it.”
“'Tis a risk for yerself, remember,” began William, honestly afraid for both his friends. “When I asked ye to help him”
“Risk be dashed!” said Lucky Jack.
Fifteen minutes later, he and a seaman were pulling quietly through the thinning fog. Ten minutes after that, he was on the deck of the destroyer. Two minutes later still, he was in the tiny, far from luxurious cabin of the commander.
The lieutenant, in pyjamas, was smoking a cigarette, perhaps by way of an eye-opener, and re-reading the letter which baldly stated that a German submarine would attack at 10 p.m., and which begged the lieutenant to believe the same.
The lieutenant did not laugh, yet he was too young to be able to keep his honest face quite straight. But he pulled himself up, and looking hard at Lucky Jack, put a number of questions, not all pleasant.
“So you believe in it, too,” he said at last. “And what would you do if you were in my place?”
Very respectfully the mate replied: “Sir, I would clear for action and have my searchlights ready.”
”You would, would you? And what would you do with the skipper who raised a false alarm and” He paused at the sight of the other's distress.
“It's sink or swim for him and me, sir.”
The lieutenant considered. There is really nothing so infectious in this world as a sincere belief. Moreover, the lieutenant felt it would be a gorgeous thing indeed to bag a U-boat, while, at the worst, a false alarm would give his men some useful practice. Only, what would happen to the old skipper?
“Sink or swim, did you say?” he asked at last.
“I did, sir. An', beggin' yer pardon, sir, 'tis now or never.”
“Then tell your skipper I'm going to act.”
•••••
The three friends waited on the mine sweeper's bridge. On his return Lucky Jack had delivered his message, which Thomas had received with a nod. Since then the three had exchanged scarcely a word.
The fog had lifted from the sea but still obscured the stars. In all the darkness not even a glimmer could now be seen.
Lucky Jack felt the hands of his watch.
“Five to ten,” he muttered.
William shuddered. The skipper stood like a statue.
And all at once a great beam of light came into being. Slowly, deliberately, cruelly it swept through a wide arc athwart the bleak waters. On the bridge of the destroyer the young lieutenant followed the beam with smiling, unbelieving eyes and, perhaps, with pity in his heart until
“God!” he exclaimed.
And lo, the three watchers saw fire spout forth, and the silence was shattered by report after report.
“They've got her!” yelled Lucky Jack, fairly dancing as a silver-grey body heaved up in the pool of light. “She's divin', but, by heavens, 'tis stern first!”
When it was over, Thomas, who had uttered never a word, stepped softly into the wheel-house and shut the door.
William touched Lucky Jack's arm, whispering, “You an' me'll clear out till he's put up his little prayer.”