Shute, Nevil (19 page)

The speed-boat sheered away and went to intercept a little rowing-boat. Corbett turned the vessel from the creek and stood out to sea; in silence they got up the mainsail and jib again. He laid her to the wind for the beat back to Hamble, and sheeted the mainsail home.

Phyllis asked: ‘Aren’t we going to Seaview, Mummy?’

‘Not to-day,’ said Joan quietly. ‘We’ll go another day.’

Beating against the March wind, the children very soon became cold. Joan took them both below and wrapped them up in blankets in their berths with toffee to suck. Then, working under difficulties in the reeling forecastle, she heated milk over the Primus stove and gave a bottle to the baby. She came on deck after three-quarters of an hour feeling dazed and sick, glad to take the helm, up in the open air.

Night was falling; they were about half-way back to Southampton Water. From time to time a sloop or destroyer passed them in the fairway; once three motor torpedo-boats coming from Portsmouth passed them at a great speed, travelling in the direction of the Needles. Apart from these occasional ships, the Solent was completely empty; there were no liners or cargo vessels to be seen at all. The wind was cold enough, but not unbearable; they huddled in their oilskins and mufflers in the cockpit.

Joan said: ‘Where are we going, Peter?’

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’m not particular. Do you want to go back to Hamble?’

She shook her head. ‘It gives me the willies, now.’

‘I know. But I don’t want to go to that quarantine anchorage-not tonight, anyway. We might not be able to get out again, once we got in. We might have to stay there, whether we liked it or not.’

‘Being bombed all the time? They couldn’t do that to us, Peter.’

‘I’m not sure. Anyway, I don’t want to go there tonight.’

‘We could just anchor somewhere for tonight and think about it, couldn’t we?’

He nodded. ‘We’d be all right anywhere on the west side of Southampton Water, in this wind. We’d be in the lee there.’

‘We’d be out of the way of the bombs there?’

‘ I think so, if we didn’t go too far up.’

They beat up to Southampton Water in the failing light. It was pitch dark when he dropped anchor in two fathoms a mile or so above Calshott. Below them the flying-boats swung at their moorings; a flare path was laid out on floats upon the surface of the water. There was much going to and fro in motor-boats to the aircraft at their moorings; now and again one of the machines slipped away, taxied to the end of the flare path, and roared off into the night.

Corbett stayed for some time on deck, stowing the sails and making all secure. Then he went down into the lamp-lit cabin. His wife was in the forecastle, busy over a stew upon the Primus stove; his children were sleeping quietly in their bunks. He had a great feeling of security, of domesticity.

He began to lay the table for supper. ‘I tell you what,’ he said. ‘If we find we’ve got to go into quarantine, I’d rather do it in some other port. If we could get down to Weymouth, now-or even Plymouth. We might be able to do it there without being bombed all the time.’

She did not answer.

He asked: ‘What do you think about that?’

She said: ‘Supper’s ready. Let’s eat this while it’s hot. We can talk about our plans afterwards.’

They were both very hungry. Half an hour later, full gorged, Joan leaned back against the cushioned settee and blew a long cloud of cigarette smoke.

‘Peter,’ she said, ‘where are we going to from here?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, we were going to the Isle of Wight. We can’t get into the Isle of Wight now unless we go into quarantine at Southampton for a good long time, and I’m not stuck on that. You said we might sail down to Plymouth to do quarantine. But when we’ve done it, you wouldn’t suggest that we sail back here again with our Bill of Health and get into the Isle of Wight?’

He rubbed his chin in perplexity. ‘Seems sort of silly to do that.’

‘Do you think the Isle of Wight is a very good place to go to? I mean, it’s all right now. But with all this disease just over the water on the mainland, do you think they’ll be able to keep it out of the island?’

He said: ‘They’re making a good stab at it. But-no. I think they’ll fail.’

‘Well, then, its not such a good place to go to.’ That seemed to be unanswerable. She said: ‘I mean, it’s not much good going to another place we think will be all right, and then having to turn out again in a week’s time and move on. We’re on the move now, and so far the children have kept well. I’d rather move to some place where we know we shall be safe, and get it over.’

He nodded slowly. ‘I don’t know where that would be.’ There was a silence. Presently she said: ‘Have they got these diseases down in Devon, or Cornwall? I mean, we might get a cottage there, somewhere.’

‘I don’t know how far the disease has spread. I think we’ve got to reckon that the whole of the south coast will be unhealthy. You see, it’s the evacuation of the towns does it… .’

‘You mean, it’ll be like Swanwick? People mucking about in cars, all over the place?’ ‘It may be.’

‘It doesn’t look so good, Peter.’ ‘It doesn’t.’

‘Let’s have a drink.’

He poured out whisky and lime-juice for them both; they sat smoking in meditative silence. Presently he said:

‘There’s always Canada.’

‘I know.’

They sat there very still, immersed in their own thoughts. Over their heads the wind sighed through the rigging of the little boat, the water lapped on the top-sides. He had a married sister in Toronto.

He said: ‘Monica would love to have you and the children. And we’ve got a little bit of money in Canada, too-those railway shares.’

She said very quietly: ‘I know.’

‘It’s the only really safe thing for the kids.’

For the third time she said: ‘I know.’

She raised her eyes to his. ‘You’d come over with us, Peter?’

He hesitated. ‘I think I’d have to stay and do something in the war.’

She nodded. ‘I know… I’d want to be nearer you than Canada, Peter. Toronto’s such an awful long way away.’

He leaned across the table and took her hand. ‘You could take the kids over there and come back again when they were settled in. Monica would have them-I know she would. Especially at a time like this.’

She shook her head. ‘It wouldn’t be fair on them,’ she said slowly. ‘They’re too little to be left. They’d be awfully unhappy without either of us.’

There was a long, thoughtful silence.

‘There’s no need for us to settle anything tonight,’ he said at last. ‘Let’s sleep on it.’

‘All right.’ She got up and went through into the forecastle. And then she said: ‘I do want to get some more water, if we can, tomorrow. There’s a whole heap of the baby’s things here to be washed out.’

He went on deck and looked around. There was still activity around the seaplanes; but for that, the night was quiet. It was heavily overcast, but no rain”was actually falling. Over in the direction of Portsmouth there were searchlights playing in the sky.

He moved back to the hatch. Joan was there, standing and looking out into the night.

‘Peter,’ she said in a small voice. ‘If we were to go to Canada, where would we go from?’

He rubbed his chin. ‘I don’t know. I don’t believe there are any ships at all coming to Southampton now. They must have been diverted-farther west.’

‘You mean, to Plymouth or Falmouth, or somewhere like that?’

‘I imagine so.’

‘We’d sail down there, would we?’

‘I think that would be the best way to go. I don’t much fancy trying to go by land.’ He turned to her. ‘What’s in your mind?’

‘I was thinking: it would take some time to get there. We wouldn’t be sailing for Canada at once. And something might turn up… .’

‘Of course it might. We don’t need to make our minds up yet.’

He went below, and they turned into bed. ‘I don’t know what to do about the water,’ he said sleepily from his berth. ‘I don’t want to go back to Hamble for it.’

‘Not much,’ said Joan. ‘They’d give us some at Yarmouth, wouldn’t they? Even if we are unclean.’

‘I don’t know. We might try.’ They slept.

Soon after midnight the raid began. They woke to the sharp crack of guns; there was an antiaircraft battery located on the edge of the New Forest, not very far from them. The guns went on incessantly, monotonously; the guns had a sharp, piercing crack that hurt their ears. The children woke up, and began to cry.

‘Hell,’ said Corbett. ‘Where’s that cotton-wool?’ They pressed wool into the children’s ears, and into their own. They could not get any wool into the baby’s ears, so they put pads of wool on top and bound the little face round with a bandage while the child yelled and struggled. Then they had done all they could do; for a time they lay in their bunks listening to the detonations of the bombs. Presently, exhausted by the whimpering of the children and the screaming of the baby, they got up and made tea, and sat in the saloon in the darkness with the children, drinking it.

Corbett said: ‘It won’t go on much longer.’ As he spoke, there was a rushing, whistling sound, and a great splash near at hand as something heavy fell into the water. What happened then was past description. The vessel seemed to rise bodily into the air beneath them, plucking at her anchor-chain with a great crack that shook her to the stern. She was lifted, and thrown bodily on to the surface of the sea on her beam-ends, with a crash. In the saloon they were all flung together in a heap on the low side, stunned and deafened with the detonation. On her beam-ends she was carried swiftly sideways towards the centre of the channel; then she seemed to strike the bottom with her top-sides, though she had been anchored in two fathoms. Slowly she rose till she was nearly on an even keel. Then a great avalanche fell upon her, smothering her down, pressing her beneath the tumult of the sea. A ton of mud and water poured down into the saloon through the half-open hatch; she was spun bodily around. Then she rose, streaming like a half-tide rock, and drifted out towards the middle of the channel. Deafened and dazed, Corbett groped his way to the hatch and clambered out on deck. By some freak of chance the dinghy was still with them; sunk to the gunwales she was still attached to the stern by her painter. The boom was trailing in the water, topping lift and mainsheet carried away. There was a tangle of loose gear at the foot of the mast that he could not stop to investigate; the glass of the cabin skylight was shattered. The anchor-chain hung straight down from the bow, broken off short; the vessel was slowly rotating out into the middle of the channel. She was much lower in the water than usual; the decks were deep in slime.

He hurried aft to the sail-locker, got a warp, and bent it to the kedge-anchor. Then he went forward and anchored her roughly with the kedge and warp; she brought up in about six fathoms. Coming aft, he saw that Joan was in the cockpit, working at the pump. ‘Are the children all right?’

‘I think they are. Look, take over pumping, Peter, and I’ll go and see to them. There’s over a foot of water in the cabin.’

He went to the pump. ‘Mark the level in the cabin, and tell me if I’m getting it down at all.’

He settled to the pump. In the cabin he could hear her sloshing about in the water, could hear her comforting the children. Presently he heard the roaring of the Primus stove. He pumped on steadily. On shore the battery was still throwing its barrage to the sky; bombs were still falling round about. At the end of twenty minutes Joan said:

‘You’re getting it down, Peter. It’s an inch lower than it was-an inch to an inch and a half.’

He rested for a minute, and began again. Presently, having soothed the children, she came to him with a cup of Bovril; he drank it gratefully while she relieved him at the pump.

He asked: ‘Do you think she’s making water?’

‘I don’t believe she is. The level’s going down all the time. I think it’s only what came into her by the skylight and the hatch.’

‘Lord,’ he said, ‘we don’t want another one like that.’

‘What about that quarantine anchorage, now?’

‘They can keep it.’

He busied himself with the boom. When that was inboard he went round the deck assessing the damage. It was not so bad as he had feared. The little yacht was injured, but she was not incapacitated; there was nothing there that he could not patch up and repair himself, given the time. He went aft and pulled the sunken dinghy up to the counter. Joan left the pump and went to help him; together they hauled it out of the water, emptied it, and put it back afloat. Then Corbett went back to the pump, and Joan went down below.

‘The water’s practically off the floor,’ she said. ‘I don’t believe she’s leaking more than usual. I’m going to change the kids into dry things.’

‘Are there any dry things?’

‘Oh yes. The things in the top drawers are quite all right.’

An hour later, the pump sucked. Corbett went below, exhausted and with a violent headache; he was amazed at what Joan had done. Regardless of the air-raid, which now seemed to be over, Joan had lit the lamp. She had the children into dry clothes and put them to rest upon the driest of the two settees; she had wiped over the floor and the paintwork. The saloon was looking almost normal, though it was smelling very bad.

He poured himself out a stiff whisky, and gave one to Joan. ‘We’ll get away from this bloody place as soon as we can,’ he said wearily.

‘Is the boat all right to get away?’

‘I think so. I’ll have to go and find the anchor. But it’s got a buoy on it.’

He made her lie down on the other settee. Then he changed into dry clothes and put on his oilskins, spread a sail doubled over Joan’s sopping bunk, pulled the wet blankets over him, and fell into a heavy sleep.

When he awoke, three hours later, it was daylight. He got up stiffly and took off his oilskins; Joan and the children were still sleeping. He went on deck, got a bucket, and started to swill away the slime that covered the vessel.

The morning came up sunny and bright. Joan heard him moving about on deck, got up, and came to the hatchway. She wrinkled up her nose at the mess on the deck; then she went back and started to get the children up. Corbett went off in the dinghy, found the anchor-buoy, and raised the anchor with ten feet of broken chain attached to it. He took it back on board and shackled it on to the remainder of the chain.