VAGABOND VOYAGE

Wairarapa Times-Age, 1 June 1938, Page 10

VAGABOND VOYAGE

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT COPYRIGHT

BY

ALROY WEST

(Author of “Stratosphere Express”)

CHAPTER VI The crossing of the Bay was far from pleasurable. The breeze freshened considerably and there was a heavy sea running. The Lucky Lady seemed to be buffeted from wave to wave. Everything moveable shifted from side to side as the trawler rolled At times her screw raced wildly out of the vzater and seemed to jar every inch of the deck.

Wicks had picked up his supplies off the coast of Brittany and had wasted time there. The actual crossing of the Bay took three days. They were important days, marred by a tragedy which put an end to the scheme which Peter had been evolving. He kept on perfectly amicable terms with Gallop, who did not seem to be at all worried about the gold. His only anxiety in the world seemed to centre round his engines. The only thought which he voiced was that Gordon was clumsy and might do some damage which could not be put right quickly. When it was safe to do so, Peter walked to Wellings, who was clearly becoming more and more uneasy as the hours went past. They sighted plenty of ships, and Wellings invariably watched them with longing eyes. Drew was not the only one to notice this, because he overheard Howe chipping Wellings over it.

Howe was the cook. When he had any time to spare he left the galley and lent a hand with the other work — but he was a little man with bird-like eyes, just the type who would make certain that there was no time to spare. All the same he was quite satisfactory as a cook and very willing—so long as he thought he would benefit by good behaviour. Wellings became so gloomy that Peter decided to have a word with him about it.

“Do try and cheer up!” he urged the man. “Thing will be all right.” Wellings shook his head. “I’m not so sure, Mr Drew,” he moaned. “There’s so many things I don’t like. I’d give my right arm to be aboard one of them tramps, or that oil-tanker which passed on the starboard bow about an hour back. I cannot see what’s going to become of us. The men are talking about going all the way to America. I don’t want to go to America. I’ve got a girl I want to see again pretty soon. Like as not if we do get back we shall all be chucked into prison.” “You’ll be quite safe if we can get back,” Peter assured him. “You' were forced into this.”

“But they wouldn’t believe me!” Wellings complained. “They only believe you if you’ve enough money to pay a smart lawyer to tell lies for you! I shouldn’t stand a chance. Maybe they’d send me to Dartmoor without so much as bothering to give me a trial!”

Peter laughed at him. “Cheer up man!” he cried. “You just try to keep calm, and be prepared to obey my orders implicitly. I think I’ll be able -to get you away from the Lucky Lady. Only don’t get talking too much to the others. They’re not your friends, you know.” “I know they’re not,” Wellings complained. “They ought to call this old hulk the Lucky Lady. Maybe she is lucky—but not for me.” Drew realized that Wicks was watching, and moved away from the man as quickly as possible without rousing suspicion.

Wellings still stared out to sea and shook his head.

“What’s wrong with that man?” Wicks wanted to know. “A bit off colour, I think,” Peter told him..

“He’d better get well again as quickly as possible. I can’t have invalids on board. We’re going to have trouble before long. Look at those clouds!”

Trouble did come. The wind increased to a moderate gale. There were one or two fishing boats, and they started to make for shelter.

Wicks remained on the bridge, although it was not his watch.

“See them?” he asked, pointing to the fishing craft. “They’re running for shelter. Evidently they expect something Worse." t “Shouldn’t think it could get much worse,” Peter declared, as a giant wave seemed to fling itself at the trawler. The water swept forward like a solid wall and then crashed down on the deck. Spray spattered against the foremast and reached the briddge. Wicks hurried away to shout instructions. The deck was more than ankle deep in water. The trawler lurched from side to side and then seemed to shake herself free.

The onslaught of the long waves became monotonous. At first there was a wild sort of joy in fighting against the storm. The sight of the water crashing down on the deck inspired awe. But these feelings passed. It became a monotonous reiteration of misetry and dampness. Every second or so the ship dived down into what seemed a bottomless abyss.

The sky became darker and soon little was visible except the driving rain and the spray. Wicks came on the bridge and took the wheel. “You go below,” he said. “It is my watch now.”

“Wouldn’t you like me to remain?” Drew asked.

“Don’t bother. You’d better have some rest so that you can relieve me.” “Very good." As Peter left the bridge, Crockett hurried up to join Wicks. Once in his cabin, Peter flung himself down in his bunk and rested. He felt as though the seas had been tugging at his body instead of at the trawler.

After a time Gallop came in, his clothing saturated. “We’ve just lost a man,” he anounced. Peter shot out of his bunk. “Who?” he demanded. “Wellings. He was swept overboard by a wave that pretty nearly flattened the entire ship out. I felt the wave, but I didn’t see him go.” Peter bit his lips. "Poor old Wellings,” he muttered. “No chance of lowering a boat, of course?” “Not an earthly. The wave rocked the ship so much that I came up to see what damage was done. I was just in time to see something mighty interesting.” “What?” Peter demanded. “Crockett was dropping a belaying pin over the side. I did wonder why he did it. Then, of course, I realised. Wellings was. becoming rather difficult, I imagine.” Peter’s mouth went dry. “You mean they—they murdered him?” he asked. Gallop yawned. “I expect so. It’s bad enough for Wicks to have to watch you. I suppose he found that two were too many. Anyway, if I were you, I shouldn’t let anybody get too near with a belaying pin.” Saying that, he clambered into his bunk. CHAPTER VII. Deprived of the possible support from Wellings, Drew had to make fresh plans. He attempted to establish more friendly relations with the captain, and also to keep in the good books of the engineer. The storm blew itself out, and on the third evening they picked up the white flash of the Cape Finisterre light. Wicks stood out more to sea and completed the first thousand miles of his voyage when he was about a third of the way down the Portugese coast. The non-intervention patrol was still in force, and this prevented him from trying to make one of the smaller ports in order to replenish his supplies. Howe, the worst sailor of the crew, began to grumble and quickly infected both Crockett and Gordon with the desire to get ashore for a short space. Wicks, realizing the unrest, kept them hard at work making a few repairs. The heavy seas had done a fair amount of damage, although there was nothing of a serious nature. Gallop, however, was the cause of an alteration in the plans Wicks had made. He started to complain in no uncertain manner of the low-pressure cylinder. Something had to be done about it. His technicalities were a little difficult to follow, but Wicks listened to him in silence and then abruptly nodded his'head. “We’ll make land so that you can put it right,” he said thoughtfully. The days went past without incident. The weather was calm and everything was bathed in sunlight. The longcoastline of Morocco appeared in the distance like a low-lying streak of cloud. “We shall make the coast tonight,” Wicks declared. “I hope, Mr Drew, that you will not consider it an unfriendly action on my part, but I propose to lock you up in your cabin. Being young and romantic you might have the wild idea of joining the Foreign Legion. It’s really a miserable life, so I’ll save you from it.” Peter took the first dog-watch and when Wicks relieved him was taken to his cabin and fastened in. Peter guessed that Wicks was not going to let him know at which part of the coast he was calling. At eight bells Gallop came into the cabin.

“The worst of this sort of life,” he complained, “is that the only man who knows anything at all concerning machinery doesn’t get his fair share of rest.”

“Isn’t Gordon shaping well?” Drew asked.

Gallop lit his pipe and sprawled out in his bunk.

“Not too badly,” he said grudgingly. ’ “But he can’t be trusted when things are complicated. Wicks expects to make land by two bells, so I’m to be called in order to help him. I don’t see why he should be so confounded careful. It seems to me that he’s in league with every rascal on both sides of the Atlantic seaboard. Look how he managed to get that last lot of supplies! He’ll be after some more tonight. I believe he’s going to visit some of his pals.” “Where’s he landing?” Peter asked. Gallop shook his head. “I’m not a navigator,” he said ungraciously. “It wouldn’t do for me to be curious, anyway.” “He can’t have you knocked over the head,” Peter remarked. “Not now or any time,” Gallop declared. “He’s • taking good care that you don’t slip ashore. Pretty good swimmer, aren’t you?" “Moderately good, I suppose.” “I can’t swim a stroke. Don't see why I should be able to, either. Precious little chance of getting up from the engine room in the event of the ship sinking. There come a time when a man has to die, so he may as well drown as spend several weeks lying on a bed in a hospital. I can’t bear the sight of a hospital. I don't know why.” Peter thought the conversation uninteresting. “Maybe you’d better get some sleep,” he suggested. "Precious little chance of that. I'm worried about that cylinder. I spoke to Wicks about it and he’s promised to drop anchor somewhere along the Spanish coast. It’s not exactly a health resort, so we shall be free from inquisitive observers.” “Rio de Oro?”

The movement of the ship rendered sleep more or less impossible. At any moment he expected to receive a call to go on deck and lend a hand.

“Yes. I don’t expect he'll keep you cooped up. I’ve always been told that

the Aras have a lot of unpleasant habits. So it’s not likely that you’ll go to them for assistance.” Peter laughed. “I should say not,” he said, hoping that his voice would carry conviction. Arabs certainly presented a difficulty, but he was determined to avoid the crossing of the Atlantic if he could possibly do so. “I suppose Wicks—strange how I can not get into the way of calling him any other name; maybe it’s because we were rivals at one time —hasn’t said anything much about Wellings?” “Nothing important. He did drop a hint that the man was acting queerly during the two days prior to the storm. Maybe he wanted to create the impression that Wellings deliberately threw himself over the side.” Gallop chuckled. “Smart man, Wicks,” he said thoughtfully. “I shall have to watch my step when we reach America. I suppose you haven’t tried to warn him that the engineer is a black-hearted, treacherous dog?” “Of course, I haven’t. I’m not concerned with what happens to him. I prefer to think that he’ll finish up inside a prison—and an English one at that.” Gallop shook his head. “They won’t catch him,” he declared. “Well, I’ll close my eyes for a few minutes. It won’t be long before they have me out again.” It was just after three bells that Crockett came to the cabin to arouse Galop. The big man grumbled and swore, but clambered down from his bunk and lumbered away to take charge in the engine room. Peter smoked his pipe and listened to the medley of sounds. He heard the engine reduce to half-speed and then slow down preparatory to stopping. There were shouts, and then the running out of the anchor chain. Shortly afterwards the dinghy was launched. Peter expected Gallop to return, but there was no sign of him for over two ’ hours. At last, he came to the cabin and turned in without a word. It was not until morning that Peter knew what had taken place. He was released to take the forenoon watch, and Wicks stayed on the bridge with him for a time. “I had a very interesting time last night,” the captain said. “At Saffi, I suppose.” “Correct. I don’t like the place, but I met an old friend there. I have an astonishing number of friends who frequent these places on the coast. They regaled me with an account of the gold which was lost. It’s an amusing story. “There was a rush on the gold shipments to Paris, so a new company transported some. Not being accustomed to dealing with such valuable cargo they rather lost their heads, and left two boxes behind. As soon as they discovered this, they sent a light aeroplane over with the boxes.” He chuckled. “We know what happened to them,” he continued, “but it seems that nobody else has very much of an idea.” “I should have thought the pilot would have known the rough position where he landed in the air-pocket,” Peter observed. “He declared that it was the worst crossing he’d ever known. The machine did nothing’ but bump up and down. It was very fortunate for us.” “Had your friends heard any news concerning the ‘Lucky Lady’?” Peter asked. \, Wicks cocked his head slightly on one side and his eyes twinkled with amusement. “Reported as missing, of course. There’s a ‘stunt’ story going round that Captain Wicks may have been making for a Spanish port in order to land something for the Government to help them in their struggle. One. of my friend read this and thought that it meant I was going to join the International Column!” Wicks thrust his hands in his pockets and laughed. “The only person I would fight for is myself,” he added. “As shipping will be looking out for us,” Peter reminded the captain. “What if they are? You don’t think that I expected to be able to slip away without somebody saying something, do you? I’m getting the men busy today on improving our appearance. We’ll have a fresh coat of paint and a different coloured funnel We might as well paint out our number as well.” “What about the name?” Peter asked. Wicks thought for a minute or so. “We’ll have a new name,” he decided: “I’ll think of one while I’m having a rest.” He turned to squint at the distant shadow which indicated the

position of the land. “It’s a shade too far for you to swim ashore,” he commented. “And I don’t think you’ll be so foolish as to edge in closer. I am not too familiar with the coast, but I believe there are some nasty sands dotted about. Maybe a few more than are marked on the chart.” “I shall keep her on her course,” Drew promised. “You’d better,” Wicks growled, as he left the bridge. He rested in his cabin for four hours, and then supervised the painting. The weather gave them no anxieties, and the three hands raised no objections, to the programme of brightening up the ship. Only Crockett had been ashore with Wicks, but they had brought back with them several things which contented Home and Gordon for the moment. They didn’t think much of the wine and declared that the beer was abominable, but this did not prevent them from drinking it. By the end of the day the trawler looked very different, and by noon on the following day she was hardly recognizable as the “Lucky Lady." Her funnel, instead of a drab red band on a grimy brown stack, rejoiced in two brown ones on a green stock “Do these colours belong to anyone else?” Peter asked. “Don’t care if they do!” Wicks exclaimed. “It’s my trawler—or partly mine.” “I wonder what your partners think of you." Wicks laughed. “I don’t care what they think!” he declared. “I own a third, and I shall do what I like with my third. It’s my partners’ misfortune that their shares have to go where my share goes. I’m

not so sure that they’ll suffer, though. It all depends. It’s a pity we’re not equipped with wireless. I was going to do something about it, but my partners refused to grant me the extra money and I was rather tight myself. “If it seems that we’re given up for lost, I might hang on to the ship and make some more definite alterations. On the other hand I might sell her. Then again, I might wreck her. She’s insured, so they may be a chance of my partners getting something back.” “Anyway, that’s their worry, not mine.” Wicks was satisfied that everything possible had been done to alter the appearance of the trawler. So it came about that, under the name of “Valdivia,” the trawler made her way along the lawless coast of Rio de Oro. (To Be Continued)