The Man who Missed the War (9 page)

‘The answer to that one lies in what you’re prepared to pay. Maybe it’ll need double, or treble, the normal wage to tempt five shell-backs into standing for six to ten weeks in what’s hardly more than an open boat. But as you need only five of them what are such wages but a bagatelle compared with your outlay on building and insurance?’

‘That’s true,’ Philip concurred, ‘and I’d naturally anticipated having to offer high wages. The thing is how’s the best way to set about finding takers?’

‘I’ll have a word with Thorssen. He’ll find you five squareheads from one of our lines. They’ll be tough guys but I think you should not mind that. It’s better so for such an undertaking.’

‘So long as they are decent fellows I don’t mind how rough they are.’

‘Leave it to me then. But it’s early yet, and there’s no point in your paying retainers for longer than you have to. Towards the end of July will be time enough to get your crew together.’

The next few weeks slipped by very quickly. During the
daytime Philip was busy buying the miscellaneous cargo which he intended to ship on his Number One raft, and arranging for such supplies as oil for the launch and beacons, additional sails, medical stores and food for the voyage; all of which were to be shipped in the Number One raft owing to the launch’s limited accommodation. In the evenings and over week-ends he continued to enjoy a hectic time with Jean and Lexie and their friends. New York was now stiflingly hot, so he often slept out at the Foorde-Bilson house, and at the beginning of July they at last persuaded him to move out there permanently. Jean was the prettier of the two girls, but Lexie was more fun. She also took much more interest in Philip and was making him into quite a passable dancer. Not unnaturally, this propinquity with an attractive young woman was having its effect, and Philip found himself devoting much more time than ever before to thinking about red lips, dark curling eyelashes and the graceful curve of long silk-stockinged legs; yet he did not allow his mind to be distracted from any essential preparation for his voyage.

There was one bad hitch over the construction of the cargo containers which prevented the completion of the rafts by the promised date; but they were delivered a week later, on July the 27th, and, after Philip, Eiderman and Thorssen had given them a very thorough inspection, declared to be satisfactory.

Thorssen had in the meantime secured a crew, which he presented to Philip down at the dock. Their leader, Hans Auffen, who was to act as bo’sun, was a huge man with a cast in one eye. A small, scrawny-necked man called Dirk had been taken on as wireless operator and cook; a third, Jan Schmaling, admitted to being an engineer who had lost his ticket, and there were two others, both big, bovine-looking men with cropped heads and china-blue eyes.

They all spoke some English and appeared willing enough, but they were as tough a looking bunch as could have been found on any dockside. As he surveyed them, Philip wished that he had taken the trouble to go down to the British Seamen’s Mission and try his luck there, before appealing to Eiderman. It was only now brought fully home to him that he would have to share extremely cramped quarters with five such habitués of the fo’c’sle for many weeks and, since that had to be, he would have much
preferred them to be men of his own nation. However, he felt that it was too late to alter the arrangement that had been made for him, so, having satisfied himself that all the men fully understood for what they were signing on, he took them over one of the rafts, explained the sails and the beacons and gave instructions as to how the cargo was to be stowed.

It was August the 8th before the loading was finally completed, and now it only remained to await a suitable wind. Thorssen had arranged that one of the ships in which he had an interest, the S.S.
Regenskuld
, then in New York harbour, should tow the launch and convoy down the Hudson and out to sea, releasing it only when there was no longer any danger of its fouling other shipping, or being driven back on to the shore through a sudden veering of the wind. Philip and Eiderman’s company were the only people interested in the venture, and Eiderman said that he was greatly in favour of keeping the whole thing quiet in case other people should muscle in on it; so, as there was to be no special send-off, Philip agreed that there was nothing to prevent his sailing the moment conditions were considered favourable.

For three days he waited with an impatience that even Lexie could not banish; then, on the afternoon of the 11th Eiderman ‘phoned to say that he had just had a report in from the ‘Met’ people, who predicted fair to strong winds from the southeast for the next four to six days, and Philip agreed to sail that night.

There was little packing left to be done, but Lexie insisted on going upstairs to help him with his bag and, when it was done, collapsed on the bed in floods of tears. Sitting down beside her, Philip somewhat awkwardly put an arm round her shoulders and drew her dark, curly head towards his. This was the first occasion on which he had ever held a weeping girl in his arms, and he felt considerably embarrassed, but he told her that he liked her much better than anyone else he had ever met, that he was not really going into danger, that he would send her a cable the very moment he arrived in England, and that, as soon as his business there was settled, he would be coming back to New York to arrange another convoy.

She cheered up a little then, and after she had dried her eyes they kissed and hugged each other, and both agreed that they
had been the most frightful fools to waste such countless opportunities during the past three months when they might have done the same thing. He said how wonderful her hair smelt, so she gave him the ribbon from it which he put away carefully in his pocket-book. Then Lexie bathed her eyes and they went downstairs, slightly pink of face.

Jean was away from home dining in the country that evening; but Mrs. Foorde-Bilson produced, as by a miracle, three of Philip’s favourite dishes for dinner. Then she and Lexie accompanied him in their car, through the late dusk of the summer evening, across Jersey City and the river-ferry to the dock where the S.S.
Regenskuld
was moored.

Eiderman was waiting for him with an apology for Thorssen’s absence. It appeared that the Norwegian had been prevented at the last moment from coming to see Philip off. Eiderman then announced his intention of going on the
Regenskuld
to see the Raft Convoy actually cast off in the ocean, and after Philip had made his farewells to Lexie and her mother the two men went on board.

The ship’s master, Captain Sorensen, received them on the quarter-deck and took them to his own day cabin, which he placed at their disposal; then he showed them two sleeping cabins in which bunks had been prepared for them, as it was proposed that the
Regenskuld
should not cast off her tow until six o’clock the following morning, when she would be well out in the open sea.

It was just after ten o’clock when she left the dockside, drawing the launch after her, while five tugs followed in procession, each towing two of the rafts, the port authorities having stipulated that this arrangement should be followed, as a reasonable precaution against the rafts fouling other shipping in the crowded harbour.

While still in the dock Philip and Eiderman had been standing in their shirt-sleeves on account of the torrid heat, but after passing the Statue of Liberty they struck a light breeze which forced them to put on their coats. Captain Sorensen remarked as they did so that to him it smelt like rain. Philip assumed that he was thinking of a thunderstorm, as the night was extraordinarily sultry, but otherwise clear, and looking back he could discern the molten silver of the foam churned up by the tugs
glistening in the reflected glow of the million lighted windows of Manhattan’s skyscrapers.

Eiderman had attended to all the clearance papers on Philip’s behalf, and for the best part of an hour they were busy in the cabin while these were being checked and handed over. When they came out on deck again the
Regenskuld
had passed the Narrows and was slowing down so that the tugs could come up with her and begin the complicated procedure of stringing the rafts into a single line. Though there seemed to be endless fussing to and fro and almost continuous hooting for a long time, they actually made a good job of it and had the whole convoy lined up ready to put to sea in just over an hour. Soon after midnight the tugs gave hoots of farewell, the
Regenskuld
replied and, taking the full strain on the towing cables, headed in a north-west by westerly direction, with Coney Island on her port quarter and the light of Sandy Hook flashing almost dead astern.

They were going slowly now, not much over four knots, owing to the great weight they were towing. For another half-hour Philip and Eiderman strolled up and down the deck, then the latter suggested that, as they had to be up very early next morning, they might as well turn in, so they said good night and went to their respective cabins.

Philip undressed and got between the sheets, thinking as he did so that these might be the last few hours of carefree rest he would enjoy for a long time to come; but for some time he could not get off to sleep. It was over-excitement, perhaps. The little scene with Lexie that afternoon had awakened in him long dormant emotions, and now there was the stupendous thought that, after all these many months of waiting, planning and disappointments, he was at last really setting out to prove his great idea, which might mean so much to Britain in her hour of need.

At length he fell asleep, but only to become the subject of a most vivid dream. He was back in the Rectory library talking to the Canon. His fat little host was not seated, as was his wont, in his favourite armchair but walking agitatedly up and down.

‘You’re behaving like a blind fool, Philip,’ he said angrily. ‘Unless you rectify your mistake in time you’ll be dead in twenty-four hours. For goodness’ sake get up on deck immediately.’

Philip woke with a start. Insistent, commanding, the Canon’s
voice was still ringing in his ears, ‘Get up on deck immediately.’

For a moment he lay still, trying to argue with himself that to leave his warm bunk on account of a dream was really the height of absurdity; yet he could not get rid of the feeling that something must be wrong with the string of rafts and that he ought to go up to have another look at them. Perhaps he had overlooked some vital factor which might yet be rectified at this eleventh hour before he entrusted himself and his crew to the launch and the ocean next morning. Getting out of bed he slipped on his dressing-gown and slippers and went up on deck.

He found that the night was darker than before. There was no moon, and swiftly moving clouds now obscured most of the starry sky. When he reached the stern rail he could no longer see all the rafts and could only count five ever smaller streaks of foam where they ploughed up the sea; but, thousands of yards away, he could clearly sight the last beacon, although the raft that bore it was hidden from him.

All seemed well, so after a moment he turned and began to make his way back to his cabin. It was then that he caught the sound of voices coming through an open skylight. He paused because there seemed something unfamiliar about them. Suddenly he realised what it was: someone down below was talking German!

Kneeling down, he peered beneath the raised, glass-filled mahogany frame and found that he could see one wall of a cabin. Against it leant his bullet-headed bo’sun, Hans Auffen, next to him stood the scraggy-necked Dirk, and then came one of the big, doltish-looking squareheads. But none of them was talking. They were listening with evident respect to someone else whom Philip could not see, yet whose voice he now recognised as Eiderman’s.

Philip had been on the Modern side at his public school, so knew enough German to understand the gist of what was being said; but as he first concentrated on catching the words he got only the end of a sentence which had something to do with being able to reach Boston by Friday.

‘
Jawohl, Herr Kapitan
,’ Hans Auffen replied in a guttural voice, and every muscle in Philip’s body seemed to go rigid as he heard Eiderman go on:

‘It is important that you should all tell the same story on your return. While inspecting a raft, he slipped, struck his head, fell in the sea and went under, disappearing before you could get close enough to help him. Without a Captain you were not prepared to face the trip to Europe, and you could not tow the rafts back against the current; so you decided to abandon them and make for the nearest port. This is a very simple task so I shall accept no excuse for bungling. You have only to hit the young fool on the head and throw him overboard. I care nothing what happens to the rafts so long as he is prevented from carrying out this dangerous experiment.’

‘Heil Hitler!’

The night was still warm but suddenly Philip was gripped by cold. In these last few minutes a chill seemed to have run right through him, turning his blood to water. He rose from his knees a trifle unsteadily and made an effort to grasp the full implications of what he had overheard. At first he could hardly believe his senses. It seemed impossible, unbelievable, that Eric Eiderman, whom he had come to know and like, could really have just given orders for his cold-blooded murder.

Yet, even as he was beginning to doubt the evidence of his own ears, fresh sounds reached him from below. A sudden shuffling, a click of heels; then, like a rumble of doom, came the voices of the five who had been chosen to murder him raised in a baleful, unquestioning acknowledgment of their orders:
‘Heil Hitler!’

Those menacing, fanatical syllables were, Philip realised, the key to the appalling situation in which he found himself. Eiderman was not a Norwegian born, but a German; and whether he was a naturalised American or not he was a secret agent of the Nazis. Having seen the article about the proposed Raft Convoy, he had been shrewd enough to realise at once that this was no mere attempt to undercut current shipping rates by the introduction of a new method of sea transport, but a device which, if successful, might in war-time defeat the blockade of Britain by submarines. Obviously, no price could be too high for Hitler’s secret representative to pay, if it would strangle such a scheme at birth, before the slow-moving British Admiralty became interested in it.