H.M.S. –

"Who is it for, signalman? Anybody hurt?"

"No, sir." The man looked at his signal-pad again. "Send despatch officer to Admiralty House instantly."

"Help!" The surgeon turned to Rainer. "There's only one available to-night, and he's at the Boxing. It's probably only stuff to be brought back here. What about – ? But I forgot, you're tired, aren't you? They'd better telephone."

Rainer picked up his cap. "I'm not supposed to join till to-morrow night, and I'm going even if it means another filthy railway journey. 'Night, Doc!"

The door banged decisively, and the surgeon chuckled at some deep jest of his own.

Vice-Admiral Sir Charles Woodcote grunted ferociously as a knock sounded at his study door.

"Come in!" he barked. "Who is it?"

He looked up to see a tall clean-shaven lieutenant enter – a broad-shouldered athletic figure with a heavy jaw and twinkling grey eyes.

"Eh – Rainer, how are you, my boy? I was expecting the despatch officer."

"Yes, sir; but as I was at a loose end at the barracks I came myself. I'm joining the – "

"The Great Harry– yes, so you are. Well, it's a long time since I saw you. You must come and dine with us before you sail. Now, you'd better get off with these. I'm going to send you in the car." He pressed a bell and a seaman entered. "The big car at once, and the headlights. Tell Thompson to hurry up."

"Please, sir, Thompson's hurt his wrist, sir. Starting the – "

"Confound Thompson – he's always doing it. Why does he do it? Eh? Eh? You can't tell me? Tell Miss Ruth to get the other car round at once, d'you hear?"

"Now, Rainer," said the Admiral, "here's the despatch. Take it to Shortholme aerodrome, and bring a receipt back, d'you hear? and keep that girl of mine out of mischief. Come in!"

The door opened, and a slim leather-coated figure appeared. Rainer tried to keep his eyes on the Admiral, but failed dismally, his efforts resulting in a distressing squint. His flapper of two years ago was now a calm, self-possessed, and extremely pretty girl, who, in her rôle of amateur chauffeur, did not seem even to be aware of his presence in the room.

"The car is ready, father," she said, and vanished, leaving the startled Rainer gaping at a vision of neat black gaiters beneath her short skirt.

"Well, you'd better get on then," said the Admiral. "But, by the way, tell Forrest – Wing-Commander Forrest – to keep an eye on his machines. There are three German prisoners loose near here – two pilots and a mechanic from their Flying Corps. They may try and steal a machine to get away on. Tell him to lock up his hangars, or whatever he calls the things, and – all right – get on – get on. What are you waiting for?"

Rainer, nothing loath, took his dismissal. He hurried across the hall, cramming the despatch, in its stiff parchment envelope, into the inside pocket of his overcoat as he went. The car was standing purring at the door, a leakage of light from the side-lamps shining on a demure little face behind the screen, and showing him also that the back near-side door was standing invitingly open.

"You little darling," he thought, "as if you didn't know what you are in for." He firmly closed the back door, sat down in the vacant front seat, and reached over to pull in a rug from behind him. As he did so the clutch was gently engaged and the car slid quietly down the drive.

"It's jolly nice your driving me like this, Miss Woodcote," he said. "Do you drive many despatch officers?"

"Why, yes, Mr Rainer; Thompson and I take turns at it."

"Are you an official chauffeur, then?"

"I have been for some time now."

"Always here?"

"No, I was at Portsmouth a bit."

"Indeed? How far is it to Shortcombe?"

"About twenty miles, by this road."

"You didn't seem surprised to see me in your father's study."

The car dodged round a tram and began a louder purr as it felt the open road ahead.

"Well, Hickson told me you had come."

"Oh! he did, did he? Did Hickson tell you anything else?"

"Yes; and I don't think it's quite nice for an officer to bribe a butler to write and tell him things about his master's daughter."

"Well, I'm damned. Hickson is a scoundrel. I told him he wasn't to."

"Well, he did tell. I made him. And I think it was very wrong of you."

"But I'd always looked after you before, and it's only natural I should like to hear you weren't getting into trouble after my eagle eye had left you."

"Never mind about eagle eyes. It was very rude, and it mustn't go on."

"It won't. I promise you."

Miss Woodcote, a little piqued at such easy acquiescence, drove in silence for a few minutes, then, unable to restrain her curiosity, fell into the trap.

"Well, I'm glad to hear you say so. It was a silly thing to do."

"Yes, it was, perhaps. But the necessity for it has gone now, so I don't mind."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, I'm going to marry you now you're grown up, so – "

"Will you please stop talking nonsense?"

"Will you marry me?"

"No."

"Well, that's one proposal over. I think a girl can't be very distant with a man who's proposed to her, can she? It implies a certain intimacy, so to speak…?"

"No."

"It means, you see, a secret shared together, and that should…"

A stony silence.

"Of course – it's not the only secret we've had together. There was the matter of the fire in the kitchen, when we were making toffee and upset the paraffin…"

Still silence.

"You know two years ago I was going to marry you if I could, and I knew that you – "

"What did you know?"

"Well, you knew I'd never let you marry any one else."

"Mr Rainer – will you please be quiet? I don't want to speak to you."

"Damn," said Rainer, leaning back sulkily.

"And don't swear, please."

Rainer sat up again. "Haven't I got cause for swearing? We've come ten miles and I wanted to kiss you before we'd done twenty. You're wasting time, you know."

"I don't want to kiss any one, and certainly not you."

Rainer's confidence began to evaporate slightly. This was not quite the flapper he had known. He sighed heavily, and, leaning back again, turned slightly away from her, wishing that he had eyes in the back of his head.

Miss Woodcote, secure in the knowledge that he was not so favoured by nature, had glanced three times in his direction before the trouble started. The car whirled round a corner, its speed regulated more by the state of the driver's temper than by good judgment, and the headlights shone full on a heavy farm cart which lay right across the road. There was a grinding of brakes, a lurch and skid, and Rainer had just time to throw a protecting arm across Ruth as the collision occurred. The screen went to pieces as the headlights went out, and the frightened Rainer and the extremely angry chauffeuse stared at each other in the dim glow of the side-lamps.

"Are you hurt? Are you all right? Ruth…"

"The beasts, the beasts. I've never hit anything before. Oh! Just look at all the glass."

The tone of her voice reassured the trembling lover beside her, and rising to his feet, he began to shed his overcoat.

"Cheer up," he said. "There mayn't be as much damage as you think. We'll have a look at it. Hullo!"

Two dark figures showed by the near side of the bonnet, and a harsh voice rasped out: "Out of the car and put your hands up. Quickly, now, or you'll get hurt."

Rainer obeyed part of the order with startling alacrity. This was a straightforward and simple problem to deal with compared with the attempt to instil sense into an unreasonable, albeit delightful, girl. His overcoat dropped to the floor-boards and he landed on the road at the same moment. Two to one in a bad light was very fair odds, he felt, and he only regretted that he had not got his gloves on, as he foresaw broken knuckles for himself by the morning.

He shuffled forward a few feet and went in for his left-hand adversary. The left feint was only a concession to orthodoxy, but the right hook which followed it was delivered with a grunt and twist that meant business. He sprang back at once behind the side-lamp, perfectly satisfied that the recipient of the blow was going to be a sleeping partner for some minutes at least. The second man came forward a little doubtfully, swearing in excellent German. Rainer heard a cry from Ruth and turned half round. A third opponent had appeared from behind the car, and a club or heavy stick was whirling over his head. For an instant Rainer hesitated, then tried to jump in under the weapon. He felt as he did so that it was too late, but he arrived safely on his man's chest, clutching for the upraised arm. The left hand seized something it had not expected to find – a girl's hand in a leather glove. The club-man roared with rage, swung round and struck savagely behind him. Rainer had a glimpse of a white face going down, and a little moan of pain from the ground sent him berserk. An arm came around his throat from behind, and he knew that what he had to do must be done quickly. He tripped the club-man and hurled himself sideways and back. The three figures, swaying and straining together, struck the car and came down. Rainer felt the arm round his neck slip and change to a hand. The owner of the hand instantly began to regret this, as Rainer's teeth were not only in good condition but had a grip like a bull-dog's. The club-man began to scream, and not without reason. To be held against a car-wheel by a twelve-stone rough-and-tumble expert who doesn't mind being killed if only he leaves his mark on you, is a bad position for any man to be in. Rainer's hands were on his throat, the knuckles working and straining upwards for the carotids, and Rainer's legs were quietly but surely engaged in breaking his left ankle.

Then the man with the prisoned hand began to talk rapidly, and Rainer threw his reserve strength into his hands. He knew what was coming. His first opponent had awakened. He felt the man behind him wriggle his body clear, and then came a smashing concussion. With a feeling of regret that he had not been allowed another ten seconds' grip he sank into oblivion.

Two men rose from beside him and leaned panting and gasping against the car. One of them subsided and sat on the running board, his breath rasping and tearing in his throat. The man who had felt Rainer's punch dropped the club, took off a side-lamp and made a hasty examination of the front of the car. Returning, he spoke in short abrupt sentences to the others, and assisted the seated man to his feet with a kick. The three stood and listened for a moment, then broke through the hedge and vanished into the night.

It seemed to Rainer in his dreams that his ship was coaling. He could hear the crash and rattle and roar of the winches, and there was a gritty taste in his mouth as if he was working in the collier's hold. He spat out a mouthful of dust and lifted his head. No – they weren't coaling. He was lying against a very hard and nobbly car, and he had a devil of a headache. He considered the situation a moment, and then woke up suddenly with a cold feeling of fear. He rose and steadied himself by a wing, then looked round. Yes, there she was, a few feet away, and at the sight of her his strength came back. He knelt down and lifted her shoulders. She moved a little and moaned. With trembling fingers he felt the top of her head and found that the cap was gone, and that there was a suspiciously sticky lump on her forehead. He felt for his handkerchief, but remembered that it was in his overcoat. Lifting the girl in his arms he tottered to the car and sat down in the front seat, while he searched the coat pockets. He found the handkerchief, and noted, as a side-issue, that the despatches were still there. Unscrewing the filling cap of the petrol tank he plunged the handkerchief in, but turned his head at a voice at his elbow.

"Jim! What are you doing?"

"Thank God! Ruth, lie still. I'm going to put some petrol on your head."

"Ooo!" The lady had straightened up in her seat. "My poor head – it does hurt. Jim! if you put petrol on my head I'll never marry you."

"But, darling – I – "

"Don't do it. Have you got the despatches?"

"Yes. I don't think they were after them. Ruth, d'you know that chap would have brained me if you hadn't tackled him?"

"Why did you kiss me just before I woke up?"

"I didn't. I swear I didn't."

"You did. I know you did."

"I – I – Ruth, were you angry?"

"Don't you think you might see if you can move the car, or do something useful?"

"Ruth, were you? Ruth, I say – "

"Jim, there's a car coming. All right, be quick. That will do. There, you old brute – now go and meet that car. Give me your hanky."

Rainer reluctantly dodged round the farm cart, holding a side-lamp in his hand. The headache was forgotten, and the world seemed a remarkably pleasant place in spite of bruises and stiff joints. The car pulled up and a group of figures came towards him. "Hullo," said one, "what's all this?"

Rainer recognised the speaker. "That you Deane?" he replied. "Three escaped Huns have attacked us. They've gone now. I was bringing despatches for the Wing-Commander, but they didn't get them. Miss Woodcote's in the car. She's smashed – the car, I mean – and she's had a blow on the head from a club."

"Lord! Those are our men. They walked out to one of our machines at dusk just after it landed, but they ran when they were challenged. We're after them now."

"Well, they can't get far. One's groggy and one's lame. What about Miss Woodcote? She'll have to be sent home. She's got a nasty crack on the head."

"We'll send her to Admiralty House in this lorry. Give me the despatches and you go back with her. I'm going to spread my men out and hunt the fields. They must have been after your car."

Rainer walked back as the air-mechanics began to move the farm cart out of the road. "Ruth," he said, "we're going back on this lorry. I've handed the despatches over, and I'm going to take you home."

"Only ten miles, Jim, and you expected forty, didn't you?"

"I did, but I hoped to have kissed you all the last twenty of them, you little angel."

"Well, Jim, it looks a very dark lorry, doesn't it? But as for kissing me in the other car – Well, you may have decided on the last twenty miles, but I had arranged for the last hundred yards up the drive. Why? You silly old thing. I can't do two things properly at once, and I made up my mind when we started I was not going to be kissed when I was driving. Carry me across carefully, Jim, dear. I'm feeling rather fragile now…"

LOOKING AFT

I'm the donkey-man of a dingy trampThey launched in 'Eighty-one,Rickety, old, and leaky too – but some o' the rivets are shining newBeneath our after-gun.An' she an' meself are off to seaFrom out o' the breaker's hands,An' we laugh to find such an altered game, for devil a thing we found the sameWhen we came off the land.We used to carry a freight of trashThat younger ships would scorn,But now we're running a decent trade – howitzer-shell and hand-grenade,Or best Alberta corn.We used to sneak an' smouch alongWi' rusty side an' rails,Hoot an' bellow of liners proud – "Give us the room that we're allowed;Get out o' the track – the Mails!"We sometimes met – an' took their wash —The 'aughty ships o' war,An' we dips to them – an' they to us – an' on they went in a tearin' fuss,But now they count us more.For now we're "England's Hope and Pride" —The Mercantile Marine, —"Bring us the goods and food we lack, because we're hungry, Merchant Jack"(As often I have been)."You're the man to save us now,We look to you to win;Wot'd yer like? A rise o' pay? We'll give whatever you like to say,But bring the cargoes in."An' here we are in the danger zone,Wi' escorts all around,Destroyers a-racing to and fro – "We will show you the way to go,An' guide you safe an' sound.""An' did you cross in a comfy way,Or did you have to run?An' is the patch on your hull we see the mark of a bump in 'Ninety-three,Or the work of a German gun?""We'll lead you now, and keep beside,An' call to all the Fleet,Clear the road and sweep us in – he carries a freight we need to win,A golden load of wheat."Yes, we're the hope of England now,And rank wi' the Navy too;An' all the papers speak us fair – "Nothing he will not lightly dare,Nothing he fears to do.""Be polite to Merchant Jack,Who brings you in the meat,For if he went on a striking lay, you'd have to go on your knees and pray,With never a bone to eat."But you can lay your papers downAn' set your fears aside,For we will keep the ocean free – we o' the clean an' open sea —To break the German pride.We won't go canny or strike for pay,Or say we need a rest;But you get on wi' the blinkin' War – an' not so much o' your strikes ashore,Or givin' the German best.

GRIT

The Captain of H.M. T.B.D. Upavon was in a bad humour. He had decided when he left harbour that this patrol was going to be an uninteresting one, as the area allotted to him covered no traffic lane, and was therefore unlikely to hold an enemy within its boundaries. The dulness of a blank horizon had continued to confirm him in his opinion since the patrol began. He spoke from his arm-chair as the First Lieutenant struggled into his oilskins preparatory to going on deck for the First Watch.

"I don't care what courses you steer so long as you work along to the west'ard and keep the alterations logged. Beat across in twelve-mile tacks, and tell your relief to do the same. I'll be keeping the morning, and I'll turn round and work east at six. Got it?"

The First Lieutenant intimated that he had "got it," and, pulling his sou'wester well down over his ears, passed out: he was none too cheerful at the moment himself. The rain had been beating down in heavy streams since dusk, and the long oily swell that had been with them since leaving harbour had, although it had not wetted their rails, made the steady rolling rather monotonous.

The big tramp steamer might have had a fighting chance if it had not been for the torpedo. It hit fairly abreast her bridge, and two boats at the port-davits broke to splinters above the explosion, while the wireless instruments developed defects that would have taken a week to cure. The Chief Mate never saw the periscope. The explosion, and the sight of a hard white line stretching away to port at right angles to their course, were impressed on his brain simultaneously. It was a few seconds later when he rose shakily to his feet and mechanically set the engine-room telegraphs to "stop." As he did so, the Captain arrived with a rush on the bridge and released him from his post. He hurried below to examine the damage, and to fight, by every means possible to seamanship, the great Atlantic waters that he knew must by then be flooding nearly half the hold-space of the ship. Ships have reached harbour with worse damage than she had received, and she might have added another name to the list of tributes to good seamanship had not the enemy risen astern of them to complete his work. A shell hummed over them, skimming the tilted deck from two thousand yards away. The second shell arrived as the tramp's stern-gun fired, and the steamer quivered to a dull rumbling shock that told of a well-delayed fuse and a raking shot.

The tramp's big propeller threshed along, half out of water, as her Captain rang down for speed with which to dodge and manœuvre; but the vicious shells came steadily home into her, and it was a question only of whether the straining bulkheads forward would go before her stern was blown in. The stern-gun could hardly be depressed enough to get a clear view of its target, and Fritz knew it. The Chief Mate reckoned that it was about the twelfth shell that finished them. Following its explosion, he heard a noise that told him much, – a hissing, rushing sound of air from beneath his feet – the sigh of flooding holds.

There was little time, but they did what they could. The gun's crew, wrestling with a refractory cartridge-box lid, hardly seemed to look up as the tramp sank, carrying them down as so many British seamen have gone down, intent only on the job in hand. In five minutes' time the ocean was clear again save for a half-dozen bobbing heads clustered round a small white upturned boat.

The sea, that from the deck of the tramp had seemed to be only a long gentle swell, now appeared tremendous and threatening. With a cable's length between their smooth crests the big hills came majestically on, giving the numbed survivors glimpses of the empty spaces of the sea at intervals before lowering them back to the broad dark valleys between. For a few minutes the men simply paddled their feet in silence as they clung with unnecessary strength to the life-lines, stem, and stern-posts of the capsized boat; then the Chief Mate called to two of them by name. He gave the white-bearded, semi-conscious figure he supported into their charge and commenced diving, or rather ducking down, under the gunwale. He was blue with cold and weariness before he gained his object – a heavy eighteen-foot ash oar. The other two men came to his assistance, and between them they succeeded in passing the oar-loom across and under the boat, and in working it about until it caught and held at the far side. It took the Chief Mate a ghastly quarter of an hour before he could climb to the swaying keel, but once there he easily hauled the lighter of his assistants up beside him. With the other man steadying the loom in position, they swung their weight back on the painter clove-hitched to the bending blade. Time after time the oar slipped and had to be replaced, and on each failure the cramped workers panted and shivered a while before patiently setting to the task again. As they toiled, the send of the swell worked the boat broadside on, and suddenly as they threw back on the line she came sharply over, throwing them into the sea before they could clutch the rising gunwale with their hands. Followed an hour of heart-breaking baling with caps and hands, and then one by one the six came aboard – the old Captain, who in the face of active work was recovering consciousness, insisting on being at any rate one of the last three to leave the water.

The Chief Mate collapsed at once across the after-thwart. He had been working with the strength of desperation, and the effort had been great. The others knelt or sat on the thwarts, staring around them as they swung periodically on the crests of the waves in hungry desire for the sight of help. One man faced aft and began swearing, cursing the cold, the Germans, the war, and, in a curious twist of recollection, the ship's cook, who had died twenty minutes before, but who had done so suffering under the accusation of having stolen the swearer's sugar ration. The Captain rose, steadying himself by a hand on the gunwale: "Stop that swearing, you," he said; "lay aft here and rummage these lockers. You other hands, muster the gear in the boat and clear away the raffle. Mr Johnson, you and I will bail for an hour; the boat is leaking, and we'll take the first spell. We want warming, I think."

The Chief Mate raised his head from against the thwart – "I can't bale, sir; let the men do it. I'm done."

"Mr Johnson, I'm sixty-five years old and I'm going to bale, and I'm captain of this ship."

The Chief Mate clawed himself up to a kneeling position, and taking a sodden cap from the stern-sheets set feebly to work. As he went on he warmed a little, and the deadly feeling of despair began to leave him. The movements of men about him as they hunted for missing masts and oars roused him at length to an oath at a seaman who lurched against him.

An hour later the dusk closed down, and with two men baling wearily the boat rose and fell to what was undoubtedly a threatening sea, tugging and jerking at her sea anchor. The other four crouched in the stern-sheets, huddled together to find warmth beneath the beating rain.

"If the sail wasn't gone, sir, would you 'ave tried to make land?" A seaman spoke, his cheek against the Chief Mate's serge sleeve.

"I would, Hanson; and if we had two sound oars, I'd use those too," said the old Captain. "But even like this, I'm not going to give in or stop trying."

One of the balers dropped his cap and leaned sideways across the stern-sheets. "Tell 'em the truth, sir," he said. "I know, and both you officers know. If we had sails and oars too and a fair wind, we couldn't make land under a week. We'll not live three days in this cold and on this ration, and there's no traffic here. For Gawd's sake stop shammin', an' let's take our medicine quiet."