A Ship's Tale (29 page)

Here was a man in an official position, receiving government funds, openly admitting to a police officer that he doesn't know how many boys were in his care. Although I laughed at how ridiculous it sounded, I knew from what I'd seen of the boys that he'd neglected them shamefully. Several boys were seriously malnourished, and I didn't like that one little bit.

“
Later
,” Martin went on, “
the police came down to ask me some questions, and I started to sweat a bit not wanting to get caught in any lies. The inspector found Mrs. B. still in a tiff about her barmaid and the gardener who had vanished without a trace. He looked at me and made the comment that this was not making a great deal of sense to him. It was too much of a coincidence. If the disappearances were connected, he couldn't see why these two people would run off together with a whole lot of young boys. Still, he asked Mrs. Beasley to show him your room and Katherine's, but that told him noth—
” The radio started to fade and whine, but after a few crackles Martin's voice rang out again, “
then things got a bit unpleasant when he asked me if I'd seen anything unusual that morning.

“I told him that any activity early in the morning would be unusual. I went on rubbing down the bar and polishing glasses as if I hadn't a care in the world. Then the inspector asked what I meant by unusual. I told him that I would consider it odd if I'd seen a number of boys strolling about with mattresses and such, but that I hadn't seen anything. He finally said very well and walked out
.”

I could hear the relief in Martin's voice that he'd not had to lie to the police. Of course, he had told the truth. He never saw the boys at all. The only people he'd seen were me and my mates down at the ships. He volunteered nothing. It's an old adage of mine learned painfully in the Navy: don't answer what you're not asked!

“
Anyway
,” Martin continued, “
the police talked among themselves, then O'Connell turned up again and went straight to the inspector, and said he'd had an idea. ‘That damned boat down on the shore! They were supposed to be towing it out today. Maybe everyone went down to watch it.' I got a bit of a shock, I can tell you. Where could he have got an idea so close to what actually happened? Then Mrs. Beasley added her bit about always seeing lots of people going down there and talking with those dreadful people.
” Here Martin broke off to imitate Mrs. B. “
‘Oh! You dreadful, dreadful people, you!' I could guess that she and O'Connell will enjoy a good gossip, after whatever else they get up to behind closed doors.
”

We were all riveted to our seats by Martin's story. “Have the police decided to alert the ports and Coast Patrol?” I asked.

Martin's next words seemed to confirm it. “
Well, things started to get interesting, because at that very moment, the CID from Scotland Yard walked in! The inspector seemed a nice friendly man compared with the grim-looking pair who came with him. These two introduced themselves as Detective Inspector Weaver and Detective Sergeant White.

“
After they'd had a conference in the corner, Inspector Weaver said, ‘Let's go down and have a look at the shore. Perhaps you, Mr.—?' ‘O'Connell,' says the old rogue. ‘Yes, Mr. O'Connell, if you could show the way, I can ask you more as we drive.' I didn't hear any more until midday, when O'Connell came back with the inspector and sat with Mrs. Beasley in the bar
.”

There was a long pause and the radio went quiet. I began to fidget, when Harris reminded me that talking on the ham radio was different from proper radio protocol and not to worry.

Martin continued, “
Sorry about that, but all this talking is thirsty work. So, the inspector and O'Connell started going on about your funeral pyre, and he'd told the police that scuttling the ship had been planned long ago. He knew, because he got to know those black-suited bureaucratic vultures. O'Connell lowered his voice as he told Mrs. B. that the police had asked him what time he'd discovered the boys missing. ‘I told them that it was about seven a.m., and that I hadn't heard anything unusual.' Weaver then said he'd go back to the station and write up what they had so far in his report. Customers started arriving and I didn't hear what else was said
.”

I pressed the switch and said, “Martin, thank you for taking the time to help us. It's really appreciated here I can tell you. I hope you can continue to keep us up to date.”

He responded, “
No problem for me, as I can get free with advance notice in the morning or afternoon. I'll work something out with Dick, but now I must get back to the Inn
.”

I nearly forgot about Dick. After all, it was his house we were crashing in on, so I quickly called out, “Hi there, Dick, my name's Flynn, and of course you deserve a good deal of thanks from us. We'd be very grateful if Martin can carry on bothering you and use your radio to get through to us for a few days, so we can plan for eventualities.”

Dick's voice came over clearly, “
No worries here. This sort of situation is just what we hams love to get mixed in, and we're committed to helping when we can. However
,” he began laughing, “
if you're really a desperate kidnapping mob of crooks, they'll probably take my licence away!
”

Harris joined in, taking the handset from me. “No need to worry about that, Dick, we're just a bunch of average blokes—plus one lady,” he added hastily, as Katherine looked on. “All we're trying to do is save a bit of our heritage against the wishes of our so-called government, and we certainly aren't out to hurt anyone.”

“
I'm naturally agin the government ever since that twit Chamberlain and Churchill thought they could treat Hitler like a human being. But let's not get on to that! Just to say that Martin can come here any time, even when I'm not here. I'll give him a short course on how to call you and how to close down. I'll be ready to pass along any messages
.”

Harris was impressed. “I couldn't have asked for more. We really owe you, and I look forward to meeting you sometime. Just for now though, it's goodbye to you both.”

We all added our thanks as the connection faded out.

For a few moments we sat and digested what we'd just heard. I thought Katherine hit the nail on the head when she summed it up. “The police may think they know where we are but they can't do anything about it until they get confirmation from an independent source, which means the tug first thing tomorrow at the earliest.” After thinking that over, we all agreed that there was no sense trying to get more information at this point, as we might give ourselves away by doing so.

It was late afternoon, about twenty-eight hours since we'd cut loose from the tug, and we surely would hear something soon. If the tug had done as Harris guessed, then she should have reached the dock within the last few hours. I pictured the government men looking the worse for wear—unshaven and blowsy—haring off up to London, where they might very well be in the middle of a meeting trying to get someone to decide what action to follow.

We were just about to get back to our posts when the radio let out a loud squawk and began wailing up and down the scale. In its usual way the speaker suddenly blasted out, “
Calling Harris, calling Harris. Are you receiving me? Over.
”

“It's Bob on the
Grouse
,” Harris said and shouted for Edward, who came crashing in nearly knocking Harris over as the ship heeled over in the wind.

“Get back your sea legs there, old man,” Harris teased.

“Oh piss off, why don't ya!” Edward snapped indignantly. “What d'you want, anyway?”

“Here's the
Grouse
. She's waiting to talk to us.” Harris took the handset and shouted into it, “Harris here, Harris here, I am receiving you clearly. Hello, Bob, you delinquent. How are things?”

The tinny voice crackled forth, “
I'm travelling due north away from home with a hold full of herring, so you could say, middling. I haven't had a challenge or even a sighting since I started on this course, and I should really be getting back with this catch. But the reason I'm calling is that I've got a bit of news for you. Among my friends are a couple tug captains based in Gravesend, and one of them was on to me for a bit of chat earlier this morning. He, of course, knows nothing of my arrangement with you, but he happened to mention in passing that George Wiley seemed to be missing from a routine tow job. Not only missing, but also the ‘subject of enquiries by the police'! Apparently several of the skippers were waiting near the dock office, when up drove a police Wolseley, a flying squad car no less, and out got two men, who introduced themselves as CID from Scotland Yard
.”

Bob continued, “
The CID wanted to know who had the tow job for that seconded derelict sailing ship on the Thames, when they'd departed, and who was on board. The Gravesend captains managed to piece together the information and were very interested to know that you and others were on board. They also asked about a group of boys, but you know George can't abide kids. There you are. I thought you'd like to know. Over
.”

“Bob, you're a prince!” Harris cried. “And by all means head home now. Before you go, can you give me the name of the other ham you know and his call sign? This way, I can get in touch with him directly.” After exchanging information and a few more words of thanks and banter, Harris signed off.

After thinking about Harris having that additional call sign, I thought I'd better sound a note of warning. “Harris,” I said, holding up a finger, “you start calling too many people on the radio, and you won't know who's on our side. For now, let's chat with the people we know and no one else.” After thinking about this for a moment, he reluctantly agreed.

“Still, so far so good,” Harris said confidently. “I think you're right about protecting our call sign. George Wiley's tug must be back by now. I reckon that we've got a real head start. Even if they send someone after us tonight, they'll have a job catching up, even if they knew where we are. They'll be searching east for sometime, for no one would think we'd run such hazardous waters.” Harris should have touched wood after such talk because, within twenty-four hours, we would be in the middle of a small but annoying storm. The wind was blowing directly from the west, and forward movement was gained only a mile at a time, after doing two long legs of a tack.

For now though, we were travelling sou'sou'west. The sails were thrumming, the shrouds whistling, and all was right with the world. A late sun was catching the starboard beam, glancing off the spray as the bow rose and smacked back into the water. The clouds were touched with red and pink as night slowly gathered in. Boris was on every mast and yard to double-check everything. Once satisfied, he moved off to arrange the navigating lights. He showed the boys the mysteries of the huge navigation lights on the fo'c's'le head. The two big copper and brass bell shapes were now lit, and the lookout posted. From below, the smell of fine cooking came up the passages and companions, promising more comfort. The world was all right indeed, and I was prepared to take it at its fairest face.

Chapter 17

THE UNKNOWN OBSERVER

After as good a dinner as one could hope to meet anywhere on the seven seas had been tucked inside us, I made Katherine leave the skivvying to the kitchen helpers. “You're now the official Cook,” I said, “and aren't expected to do the cleaning as you were at the Inn. Get your lovely self out of the galley, and we'll find a quiet spot with one of the bottles Martin donated.”

Soon we were safely huddled in a lee on the poop deck, warmly dressed and snuggled under a large blanket. I'd found two glass tumblers, and Martin's brandy was warming inside. A quarter moon shifted between scudding clouds as the
Bonnie
Clyde
ploughed her way through the dark sea, with only the sound of fluttering sails and the splash of the thrown bow wave as she met each seventh swell.

I said, “There's a belief that the sea runs quite deep for six waves, and the seventh can catch you out if you're not careful, throwing twice as high with an occasional twist in it. I tried counting many a time during my training days, but I had enough trouble with the six in between for me ever to find out if that story was true or not.”

Katherine's voice was drowsy. “The only thing I know about the sea is that it tastes bitter and salty. When I was little, I remember going to Sandymount Beach at Howth near Dublin with my brothers. It was usually raining and the wind was cold and I hated changing under a towel.” Her voice drifted off as she nestled deeper into my arms, her head pillowed on my chest. Her fatigue wasn't surprising when I thought of how much work was involved in feeding twenty-six people. She deserved the sleep, and I was perfectly content to feel her cradled against me.

I don't know how long we were sleeping, but I was woken by a rough shaking of my shoulder. An excited boy's voice shouted, “Wake up, Mr. Flynn, wake up! Mr. Harris wants you in the forepeak straight away. Oh! You'll never believe…” but seeing us awake, he rushed off without finishing.

I could hear a lot of voices coming from forward as I left Katherine and made my way over the flying bridge to the forepeak. Harris spotted me and boomed out, “Flynn, I hope your Morse is better than ours so you can translate what we're getting here.” I stepped up to the rail near the bowsprit and looked ahead into the darkness where Harris was pointing.

The moon had gone and the night was completely black. Without some sort of reference, it was difficult to judge distances, but I would say that a light was flashing about a mile away. I tried to make some sense out of the irregular pattern. Harris was telling me the light had been flashing since the lookout spotted it ten minutes before and had immediately called the alarm to the bridge. Even Bowman had come, leaving Boris at the helm. After watching closely for a minute, I determined that this wasn't any type of real communication. Try as I might, I couldn't make sense of it.

“That's not Morse, nor any kind of message. I'm pretty sure it's a fixed light on some kind of vessel, but the light is close to the water so I don't think it's a large one. The light looks as though it's flashing because it's being swung about by the wind and movement of the boat,” I concluded.

Bowman growled, “So, now ye're one of those magician chappies with x-ray eyes, are ye? Still, I hae tae agree with ye, it's not a signal lamp, it's too fluttery and the beats aren't regular.” Our course was taking us past the light. I was wondering if it represented someone who needed help when Bowman spoke up again, “Harris, bear away two or three points to starboard. We must go to see if anyone is in trouble.”

Harris turned and called the order to Boris, who turned the wheel to line us up with the light. Luckily it was not so big a change that we needed to close-haul the sails any further. The move lost us a little of the wind, but this was all to the good. If there was trouble, we'd have to heave to, and the slower we went the easier that would be.

As we wore round there was a sudden change ahead. The light was still there but was now joined by a bigger one, higher out of the water. In fact, this was a proper signal lamp and it started to flash its message immediately:
What ship is that? Identify yourself
.
We need assistance
. Now I could understand the meaning of the first light's erratic movements and why we'd not been challenged before. Under repair, they would still have lookouts posted but our heading had kept the navigation lights out of sight. Turning towards them had brought an instant response. Our Aldis lamp was kept near the generator that operated the pumps, plugged in to keep its batteries fully charged. A boy was sent to bring it up.

Meanwhile, the ship in front of us, not receiving a reply, was again flashing:
Identify yourselves immediately, or we'll take action
.

Bowman and Harris could read well enough to understand this message, and Bowman shouted, “Action? What do they mean, action? I'll tell ye what they—” but Harris cut across him.

“Come on, Uncle Billy, just think what you'd be doing if you were stuck out here under repair and some stranger comes along who doesn't reply as per international rules. You'd also be ready to—” He broke off for a moment and said, “Of course, it's a warship. She's got a forward deck gun.” Harris started yelling, “Where the bloody hell is that lamp? Hurry up or we'll be blown out of the water!” The boy with the lamp had just come from below and streaked across the forepeak passing it up to Harris.

Harris swung round, and supporting the lamp on the rail, started to spell out a message. I spoke over his shoulder. “Be careful what you say. Just tell them we're a private boat out of Dover, and can we approach to try to help?”

Again, the signal lamp from the other boat chattered:
Come ahead, slow
.
We are low in the water. Keep a good lookout
.

As we got within hailing distance, a powerful searchlight suddenly caught us in its beam, and a loud hailer came to life. “
My God!
” were the first words forced out of the speaker at the sheer surprise he must have felt in seeing us looming out of the dark—a sailing ship straight out of the past.

Then a voice came over, “
This is Captain Johnson of the
USS Shark's Tooth.
I presume you are not the
Flying Dutchman
. Please identify yourself
.”

Both Harris and I said it together, “It's a submarine!”

In the meagre light, the mention that the vessel was a United States Navy ship was certainly surprising. We could now see the long black rounded shape of a submarine in the reflected glow of the searchlight.

Harris took our hailer and replied. “Captain, you signalled for help. What is your situation?” I noticed an inflatable dinghy and a figure in a frogman's wetsuit and pointed this out. Seeing that, before Captain Johnson could respond, Harris called out, “You've a screw problem?”

Surprised by this accurate assessment, the captain replied, “
Yes, we have a fouled screw. How did you know?
”

“I'm First Mate Harris, ex-Royal Navy. My bo'sun and I have a fair amount of experience with tangled fishing nets and gear, some of it strong enough to take the true out of the shaft. Maybe we could come over and have a word with your people.” There was a silence and I could picture the executive officer reading the book at him about not allowing civilians aboard a US Navy warship, especially alien civilians.

The other's loud hailer came again, “
I can't let you below decks, but if you would have a word with my men, it would be better than nothing
.
It's taking a coon's age to clear
!” All this time, we'd been drifting down towards the submarine. As Boris turned the ship more into the wind, the sails slapped against the yards. Understanding the submarine captain would need our help, Boris asked Edward to ready the stern and the forward mooring lines to await his further gentling of the ship closer to the other vessel.

Bowman now picked up the hailer. “This is Captain Bowman of the
Bonnie
Clyde
. Stand by to receive lines fore and aft.” Two clunks on the submarine's hull followed as our boys threw down the lines. They were picked up and used to haul us closer in.

Harris was now able to call directly to the captain, “I'll lower a ladder and we'll come down.” After a brief conversation, Harris and Boris went quickly down to the submarine's deck and immediately went to talk with the crew at the stern. They looked in awe at this incredible apparition, a vessel seldom seen except in photographs. And those sub sailors were probably thinking the same about the
Bonnie
Clyde
.

“Captain Johnson,” Bowman called with the hailer, “I've nae doot that my men can put yer trouble right even if they have to go into the sea themselves. And I'd like to invite ye to come aboard for a dram or two when they've finished.”

“
I'll take you up on that invitation
,” was the immediate response, “
I'm really interested in having a look at your ship
.
There aren't many left
.”

“Aye,” Bowman replied, “that's part of the tale we'll like to tell ye.” Bowman put down the hailer. “I'll get back to my cabin while Harris does his bit,” he said. I walked back along with him.

“We need to keep that captain quiet about this meeting.” I said, “If he has a special feeling for old sailing ships that should be easy enough to do.”

“I hope so.” Bowman replied, “We'll have to see what he's doing out here, and whether he can keep quiet without one of his crew telling their base everything.”

I left him at his cabin and went to the poop deck where I could look down onto the sub's stern. Harris was examining some of the rope already cut away while Boris was learning how to use one of the goggle masks with a breathing tube attached. I'd heard of them, but had never seen one used before. Then I noticed that Boris had taken off his top clothes and was preparing to go down in singlet and shorts. I shouted down, “Boris, don't be crazy! In these waters, your temperature is going to drop to a dangerous level within three minutes of being in the water.”

He simply looked up and called back, “Only need one minute,” and was gone over the side. We all stood holding our breaths for him as the seconds ticked away. Within a minute he came back up and was hauled on board and a blanket wrapped round him. I couldn't hear everything, but it seemed that he and Harris had encountered this problem before on another vessel. It involved some technique they had devised to loosen the rope and netting, making it easy to cut away. Whatever was done, after the engine had been turned a few times, the frogman was able to go down and cut the whole mess loose.

On my way back aft, I told Bowman the problem was solved and to expect guests. Boris was already back on board and into dry clothes, ready to pipe the American captain aboard properly. We made quite a party in Bowman's cabin, which soon became noisy from Martin's donations. Bowman asked the sub captain what he was doing there without riding lights.

“Riding lights?” he asked, puzzled, then brightened. “Oh, running lights. Well for starters, your ship didn't show up on our radar, nor did any other ship for that matter, and we were well off the main shipping lanes. We're on an exercise of seek-and-destroy, and this involves complete radio silence and blackout except for very specific reasons. Running one of these exercises is a real pain, and I wasn't about to mess it up crying for help because my prop got tangled. So, I surfaced and you found me. Boy, I'll tell you, was
I
surprised!”

Bowman pressed for more information, “Now that ye're free, will ye radio a report anywhere?”

“Hell no! I'm going ahead with my part in the exercise and probably won't establish radio contact for the next two days as planned.” I'd only heard the expression
hell no
from some Yanks and in a John Wayne movie. I was trying to picture our guest with ten-gallon hat and six-shooter, but the image simply didn't fit. I listened as he went on, “As for my report, that's going to take some explaining as to how we got ourselves into and out of this situation, so I'm not sure what to write up. It just isn't going to look good, getting my prop fouled and an old sailing ship coming to our rescue. I can just see my C.O. looking at me like I'm nuts.” Johnson looked at Bowman enquiringly. “But why should you care about my report?”

“Oh, just curious. We've never met up with an American sub before,” Bowman said evasively, “and it calls for a special dram.” He poured out about half a glass of whisky for everyone. “Down the hatch and no heel-taps,” he sang out, and setting the best example, swallowed his drink in one go.

The sub captain could obviously tell from our behaviour that there'd been something odd about Bowman's reply, but he wasn't apt to learn anything from that quarter. The old man, having collapsed into his chair with a smile, was taking no further part in the action. So, Harris, with a last appraising look at Johnson, seized the moment and recounted our story in its true light, highlighting the stubbornness of the government and the Admiralty against the common-sense solution that we'd proposed.

“But no!” Harris roared, “The bloody twits can't tell their arses from their elbows and insisted on scuttling the ship, which is still perfectly seaworthy. We weren't proposing that the taxpayers should have any cost in preserving her. We're going to present her to the original builders in Scotland, who agreed long ago to make her into a floating museum. So, when it got too late for talk, we arranged to relocate her anyway,” and he related what had happened as the scuttling was about to take place.

Johnson was suitably impressed with this and promised that no one was going to hear anything from him about encountering any sailing ship. “You people are either smart or just plain crazy. This is one for the books. To seal it, though,” he laughed, “I'd really like a tour of the ship, and then I've got to get back to my own, damn quick!”