VAGABOND VOYAGE

Wairarapa Times-Age, 30 May 1938, Page 10

VAGABOND VOYAGE

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT COPYRIGHT

BY

ALROY WEST

(Author of “Stratosphere Express”)

CHAPTER 111. —Continued.

Fog is a fickle element. Peter moved over to leeward and looked gloomily at the grey curtain which concealed everything in view. Suddenly it appeared to draw back a shade and he gave a gasp of surprise. There was the dark shadow of the land visible for a second or so. Then it was once more enveloped in the fog. Peters eyes narrowed. The course they were steering was taking them nearer to the land. Howe was in the bows using the lead, while Crockett stared into greyness. Wicks was intently watching them. He had charge of the wheel. That accounted for three. Gallop, of course, was below. Gordon and Wellings were in the cabin. There was no particular reason why they should be called on deck unless there was some emergency like the trawler striking a Pete moved nearer to the side and strained his eyes trying to pick out once more that dark patch which might mean security and freedom. It was cold, so he was wearing his heavy coat, but he slipped his arms out of the sleeves so that he could cast it aside the instant the moment came for him to dive over the side. The breeze strengthened slightly and one more the fog lifted a shade. The land was much nearer. “Land on the port beam!” yelled Crockett* As he shouted, Peter flung his coat down and leapt over the side. The water was icy cold, and the sudden shock of it made him gasp. It was impossible to tell whether he had been observed or not. He struck out vigorously for the land. There was an t awkward current which carried him further over to the left than he had anticipated and for a few seconds he felt the utter blackness of despanr as it seemed to him that he would be swept right out to sea once more. In desperation he exerted himself to the utmost. This final effort evidently carried him across the difficult portion, because it suddenly became' much easier. The land was definitely in front of him.

It towered up like a great mountain the summit of which was lost in fog. His first warning of the beach was when he knocked his knee against a jagged boulder. The sudden agony mde him go under. He came up again, spluttering and gasping for breath. The capacity for thinking seemed to leave him. Instinctively he splashed through the shallow water, pursued by waves which attempted to drag him back. Once the beach was reached he flopped down and lay as one senseless. “This won’t do!” he muttered.

He struggled to his feet and forced himself to move across the beach as quickly as possible. His teeth began to chatter with cold. He looked anxiously about him, but could find no trace <sf any houses. There were no boats drawn up on the long, sloping beach.

Once his brain starter to work properly he looked out to sea. From his position it was not possible to look in the direction of the trawler because of some jagged rocks which invaded the beach at one portion. These effectively screened a section of the sea from him.

Still wondering whether Wicks would assume that he had been drowned, Peter started to trot towards the cliffs, where he could see a break which looked like a path. As he reached the bottom of the cliffs he glanced over his shoulder and his heart sank. The Luck Lady’s dinghy was just round the rocky outcrop. CHAPTER IV. The dinghy came to the beach. One of the men sprang over the prow in order to haul her in as the next wave slung her forward. Peter Drew was scrambling up the cliff as fast as he could go. Jagged rocks tore at his clothing. His hands were soon bleeding and his feet sore and bruised with the struggle. As soon as he reached the rocky shelf he paused to rest. Immediately before him was a rough break in the cliffs. It was strewn with huge boulders and a mass of stones. He knew that it would be heavy going and wanted to recover somewhat from the part of the climb before , tackling it. Looking down he could see the thin yellow strip of the beach and the small boat drawn well out of reach of the waves. There was no mistaking one burly figure. It was Gallop. Evidently Wicks felt that he could not leave the bridge and so had sent the man on whom he could place the greatest reliance. There were two others with Gallop. Out at sea, Peter could make out the Lucky Lady as she rode up and down on the long waves. Beyond her was the grey immensity of the fog. Gallop was crossing the beach. Peter jumped up and started the second portion of his journey. The loose stones slipped away from under him and rolled down the slope with a clatter which seem loud enough to be heard on the trawler. Gasping for breath Peter struggled onwards, once or twice coming near to falling as stones slipped away and caused him to lose his balance. The sides of the col were too precipitous for him to attempt to scale them, so the only thing he could do was to set his teeth and struggle forward in the hope of reaching a path or a road. The slope of the col became less noticeable and at last he was able to round a bend and come to a valley between the hills. This was grass covered and he was able to make good time in crossing it. The ground was uneven, and in many places boggy from recent rain, but it was a decided improvement on the col. Fog still veiled the surrounding hills and spread like a mist over the lower

patches of ground. Breathless, Peter stopped in order to rest himself and to listen for any sounds of pursuit. There was absolute silence, broken only by the distant blare of a fog-horn. Apart from that reminded of ships he might well have been scores of miles inland. He did not dare to rest for longer than five minutes. His wet clothes clung to him and his teeth began to chatter. He started to move forward again.

At the end of the valley he was forced to climb one of the hills. There was a small stream at which he drank sparingly. It refreshed him and he made his way upward with a greater feeling of confidence. Gallop and the men were evidently a considerable distance behind him. Very possibly the difficulties of the col had cooled their ardour and they had returned to the beach, although it was difficult to imagine Gallop giving up once he had started a thing. On the other hand it was possible that they had lost the trail in the valley and were wandering up the difficult slopes of one of the many hills. So Peter Drew tramped onwards, feeling more hopeful with each step, despite the misery of soaked clothing and the cuts and bruises he had sustained. He reached the top of a slope, looked eagerly ahead of him, and then gave a little moan of despair He was looking out fat the sea! His first thought, while some remnants of hope persisted, was that he had unwittingly circled round in the fog. But the shrill whistle of the “Lucky Lady’s” siren dispelled this. It quite definitely came from behind him. He was either on a peninsula or an island. The latter seemed far too probable. It was not surprising, considering his recent trials, that he should lose heart. He searched for a comparatively sheltered place and sat down. His tobacco, in a skin pouch, had not suffered much from the immersion. His pipe was on the damp side, and his matches were in a hopeless condition. He spread one or two of them out in the hope that they would dry. In the meantime there was some slight comfort in filling his pipe and gripping it between, his teeth.

He considered his position. It was not an enviable one. The attempt to escape would convince Wicks that his mate could not be relied upon. It would make him all the more determined to give one of the hands a rapid course of instruction in navigation in order that the services of the mate could be disposed with. That meant a very sudden end —an unpleasant prospect even for a man wearing sodden clothes and suffering from the cold.

To attempt to get back to the ship meant death, to remain on the island —even if such a thing could be accomplished—would probably mean much the same thing, only in a more lingering fashion. So much would depend on whether the fishing craft came anywhere near. It was, just possible, of course, that land might be in sight and that attention could be attracted by a fire. “Always assuming,” Peter muttered, “that it’s possible to find any wood on this confounded island.” He felt certain that it was an island. After a time his hands and feet became numbed, so he struggled up and started to hobble about in the hope of getting warm. He tried two of the matches but neither of them would strike.

At length, miserable beyond endurance, he collected his things together, replaced the pouch in his pocket, took the few matches in his hand, and started to retrace his steps. The fog was becoming less dense and as he reached the valley he was able to make out the enormous figure of the engineer. For a second or so he hesitated, then he cupped his hands to his mouth and hailed.

Gallop turned round quickly, saw him, and came lumbering across to him. Peter went out to meet him.

“Led us a tidy dance,” Gallop grumbled. “It’s over now,” Peter said bitterly. “Getting more sensible, maybe. Could you do with a match?”

“I could. Had I been able to smoke I probably shouldn't have come back.” Gallop shrugged his shoulders. “Wouldn’t have helped you,” he commented grimly. “It was a fool trick. I suppose you're realized that this is an island?” “Yes.”

“You’re right. I’ve been here before. It’s a wonder Wicks didn’t leave you. Maybe he was afraid you’d be picked up by some of the fisher-folk. He doesn’t want any talk about that gold of his yet awhile." “I can understand that,’ Peter remarked drily. “I suppose you have no objection in joining with him in the venture?”

“Why should I? One place on the land is much the same as another.”

“You haven't been an engineer all your life,” Peter said. “Of course I haven’t! But I’ve been with Wicks nearly all my life. He’s a good seaman. Knows his way about. Pretty keen, too. You're not over-wise in turning down his offer. He could make good use of you.”

“I don't relish the idea of finishing up in prison.”

“You wouldn't have to. There isn’t going to be any prison for any of us. I suppose you know where we’re bound?’’ “The other side of the Atlantic.” “That’s right—or near enough We’ll get to a place where we can spend some of the money without there being any questions asked. I expect we shall sell the trawler. It’s a pity, her- engines are moderately good. Best part of fier.”

“She’s pretty good. First time I looked over her I wondered what I’d arrived on. It struck me that there was far more room for crew than there was for fish.” Gallop laughed. “She was never seriously intended for fish,” he said. “Wicks has had an idea of pulling something or other off and getting clear for quite a time. The idea of him trawling is pretty funny. When you know him, that is. Do you realise why I came to look for you? ’ “Because there had to be somebody in charge, and the old man was wanted on the bridge.” Gallop shook his head. “We’ll stop for a minute,” he said. “It's right enough that Wicks had to stay on board. I left Gordon in charge of the engines. Then ■ I left Crickett and Howe with the dinghy. What we’re going to talk about doesn’t concern them.” Peter frowned. “What are you getting at?” he demanded. “Just this. Wicks isn’t all that modest when it comes to giving himself a share in the profits. There are going to be pretty good pickings so far as this gold is concerned. I wasn’t going to appear too interested. But money always has interested me to a certain extent. Only I’ve never believed in making a song and dance about it. Much better for people to think I’m surly.” “Why don’t you come to the point?” Peter asked impatiently. “I’m coming to it fast enough. You can guess what is going to happen to you—can’t you?”

Peter nodded. “I’ve got some brains,” he reminded the engineer.

“Exactly. You’ll help to take the “Lucky Lady” across and then you’ll be knocked over the head and be give to the sharks. I know Wicks. He can get rid of you —but he can’t do without me. Leastwise, not until the last minute. Suppose we look after our own interests? That gold divided into two is going to be a better pay off, isn’t it?”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “Seems to me you intend to knock a few heads in,” he said, trying to keep a tremour out of his voice.

Gallop placed a powerful hand on his shoulder.

“That’s the idea,” he said. “We dispose of the lot of them and then slip ashore at a nice, quiet spot. We’ll let them take us right the way across, of course. That’s my proposition. You can think it over. And it isn’t going to help you it you tell Wicks. He will not believe you, and it will only mean that your head will be knocked in along with the others. Get the idea?” Peter puffed at his pipe. “I get the idea, right enough,” he said thoughtfully. “Just consider it,” Gallop said. “It means that I shall be looking after your safety. In return for that you will help me. I can’t quite manage things on my own. That’s the only reason that I’ve come to you. Now we might as well be getting to the dinghy.” “It would be advisable,” Peter said slowly. CHAPTER V. Apart from the main cabin where the hands slept, there were two small cabins on the trawler. The larger of them belongs to Wicks, the smaller was shared by Drew and Gallop. It was in this cupboard of a place that Drew was kept a prisoner after being brought back from the island. Wicks managed to spare one of the hands to act as a warder. It was Wellings who was generally detailed for this task. He was not required at such times as the engineer was off duty. Evidently Wicks considered that a sleeping Gallop was quite an efficient guard. Gallop was an exceptionally light sleeper. The slightest change in the rhythmical noise of the engines was sufficient to make him climb down from his bunk. “You’ll soon be free,” he assured Peter. “Wicks doesn’t fancy giving you the opportunity of doing any more swimming. We’re keeping fairly close to the French coast for some reason or other. I gather it’s not unconnected with the question "of supplies. I pointed out to him that the engines aren't much good without oil. He just nodded his head and didn’t seem to be worried in the slightest. Maybe he has some sort of a scheme.” “I should mind some exercise.” Peter remarked.

“I might feel inclined to put in a word for you,” Gallop said thoughtfully “Maybe you’ve been thinking over what I said to you on the island?” “Think is about the only recreation left to me,” was Peter’s diplomatic answer.

Gallop yawned. “I’m too tired to talk now,” he announced. “But you might as well remember that I’m quite prepared to be your friend. I’ll see to it that you don’t get knocked over the head and dropped over the side one of these nights when there isn’t a moon.”

If Gallop knew Wicks’s plans in detail he was careful not to give them away. Peter tried to pump him, but with little success.

At the end of the second day of his imprisonment he felt more satisfied with affairs. Wellings was likely to prove useful. He was a slender, rosycheeked man, with yellowish hair. During the day he hadn't seemed too happy about things, and Peter had managed to get into conversation with him. At first Wellings was reticent, but after a time he unburdened himself The things which worried him were surprisingly numerous. In the first place he didn’t like being the only trawler man on board. The other hands were sailors, right enough, but they didn’t know all there was to know about trawling, not by any manner of means. (To be continued).