A Ship's Tale (30 page)

“Done,” Harris shouted and seized his hand for a hearty shake. Johnson was game but I saw him wince. The sub's executive officer or second-in-command was one of those conscientious types, taking care of every eventuality, but even he couldn't find anything to argue about in such a simple arrangement. Johnson told us that his executive officer had been stationed in England during part of the War and was glad to be back at sea. Apparently his time there hadn't left him with a very good opinion of our green and pleasant land.

Looking about, Johnson was fascinated by everything he saw. “You have a real young crew,” he observed.

“These boys have been training hard on this ship,” Harris said with pride.

“I'd love to be sailing with you,” Johnson said. “I have a picture of the old
Cutty Sark
on the bulkhead of my cabin.” We saw him off and his crew cast off the lines. As they disappeared into the darkness and eventually from sight, we congratulated one another, for we knew we'd made a valuable friend. We made sure of getting his radio call sign, for we'd acquired another ally.

Chapter 18

THE TUG REACHES PORT

Once the excitement died down aboard the
Bonnie
, the boys got back to their routine with a yawn, as they headed for their bunks in the fo'c's'le. I took Katherine back to her cabin. She needed sleep more than I did as she had the harder day's work.

“I know just how you feel,” she sighed, “but between work and the need for sleep, we haven't had much time to spend together. The only good thing about it,” she murmured, “is that it's only going to last a few days. Then we'll have a lifetime to catch up.” We held each other a little longer, not wanting to let go. With a final kiss, she went in and closed the door.

I could have slept, but it kept nagging me that we hadn't heard anything about a possible pursuit or other repercussions we might be held accountable for. Martin wasn't in an ideal position to hear about it, even if the police were still around asking questions. There was a chance they might let slip about what their officials were up to. Harris told me a little of his wartime experiences with Bob and felt he would contact us should anything came his way. If this developed into a full-scale affair, it was good to have Johnson as another outside contact.

Arriving at the chart room, I found it full of smoke and people. Martin's donations had included a few cigars. Harris and Edward were nicely ensconced in the only two comfortable chairs, each with a cigar in one hand and a brandy in the other. Bowman was doing the Edward bit, immersed in charts spread over the table, with one or two on the floor as they argued over details. Robert was leaning against the door and had to move as I came in. He was the officer of the watch but was keeping a weather eye open from inside the chart room, out of the wind. Boris wasn't a part of this snug company, for he was at the helm. He appeared to enjoy it, always giving a smile and pointing upwards as one passed, as if to say look at those sails. See how we fly.

As I moved through the room, there were one or two technical remarks about ports and storms and such like, which I ignored to have a word with Bowman.

“What do you think?” I asked him, “I just wish we had some way of knowing what's been happening in the Admiralty. Those two officials on the tug must surely have got back to Whitehall not long ago. If we're lucky, the decision to send out a pursuit craft has to be made by a committee and so there'll be a delay of at least until tomorrow morning, that's my best guess. However, it may just be the decision of the Admiral on duty and a boat is already after us.”

“Never ye fret, laddie,” Bowman replied, “and don't buy trouble. 'Tis my experience it comes free. We'll be finding out soon enough. But just now, see if you agree with me by looking at this chart. Edward is not being too helpful at the moment.” From what I could see, Bowman's calculations were correct and that meant we had passed through the notorious Straits of Dover late last night without a headwind and without seeing the night ferry from Dover to Calais. The wind was still steady, but I'd heard Boris ordering the boys to man the braces once or twice as the wind veered and backed, almost a sure sign of change coming.

Suddenly the radio came to life with its usual whines and crackles, which quickly developed into a voice: “
Calling Harris, calling Harris. Are you receiving me? Calling Harris
.”

Everyone had gone still except Harris, who was having difficulty getting to his feet, so I grabbed the handset. “We're receiving you. Is that the
Grouse
? Harris is unavailable at the moment. My name is Flynn and I'm the radio officer. He's a little under the weather at the moment, although we are having good weather here, if you know what I mean, over.”

“
Hi there, this is Bob. Tell Harris I have no sympathy for him. It's all his own fault. I thought you'd like to know the latest that I heard here. You lot are really hot news. I'm getting no end of have-you-heard calls. You'd better tell Harris he's a celebrity with his picture in the paper no less
!”

Then it struck me; the newspaper reporter and photographer. We hadn't remembered them. We'd been so wrapped up in our plan that this hadn't entered into our calculations at all. Now Bob was talking about us like we were celebrities.

Bob continued, “
I haven't seen the London evening papers yet, but I'm told that one picture shows Harris with the evidence in his hand. Apparently you pinched the radio handset, you bad boy! There you are in the paper, waving it about in the air
!”

Harris had sobered up enough and now took the handset. “Now then, funny man, stop your noise for a while and tell us what else you've been hearing.”

Bob came straight back, “
Oh Harris, so good of you to join us
,” he chuckled. “
Caught red-handed at last
!” As Harris started growling, Bob said hurriedly, “
All right, just a joke. I got a call from my Gravesend friend about two o'clock, telling me that your tug had returned. As you know, George Wiley is not the most popular character around, he's a scoundrel of the first water, so everyone was quite cheered by the way he arrived.

“
Apparently he'd been travelling a lot faster on the waterway than he should, because he was so angry at what had happened to him and that he'd have to file a report with the authorities. As he came to the dock he put the engines in reverse, gave the wheel to his crewmen, and jumped off while the boat was still moving quite smartly. This merely added momentum to his steps. He tripped over his feet, lost his footing, tried to grab one of the pilings, and ended up going straight over the other side of the dock. He was going so fast that he managed to miss the water entirely and land in a dinghy that was moored on the other side of the dock. He landed neatly—but rather heavily, for his feet went straight through the bottom
.” Bob was laughing fit to burst at all this.

“
My friend got the news direct from one of the crew. The crewmen said the dinghy sank with George standing bolt upright in the middle! Eventually he got out and hared off to the dock office to complain about everything, desperate to use the telephone.

“
Meanwhile
,” Bob went on, “
the government men got off in a hurry and ran for their car, while the reporter and his photographer took their time asking for names and other details
.”

Harris sat silent for a moment and then asked, “Did your friend hear why the tug had taken so long to get back?”

“
Oh yes
,” said Bob, “
the crewmen had become very talkative by then, having been sitting in the pub for quite a spell making up for loss of good drinking time of the night before. My friend heard it all. You were a very naughty boy, Harris, cheating a poor honest man like George in that way. A magnet, no less! I'm not letting you on my boat in a hurry again
!” Harris again started growling, so Bob moved on, “
Still, you had to give him credit. George discovered it—about four hours too late
.

“
Apparently his language was spectacular, and the threats of mayhem against you and Bowman were flying thick and fast. After you got away, George had sat off by himself for quite a while, leaving the wheel to our informant, who followed the compass without thinking too much about it. Eventually George started to use his binoculars, looking for landmarks, and came in to look at the compass. By the time they did see some landmarks, which no one recognised, it was nearly dark. It was about then that George discovered the magnet. He was on an unfamiliar coast, without a radio to tell others his position, or to find out were he was. He was, you might say, between the devil and the deep blue sea. Apparently they realized that they were north of Southend, and for a while they headed south. After a near miss with a small fishing boat, George decided to heave to and throw out a sea anchor
.

“
They had a very uncomfortable night, having to maintain a good lookout the whole time. The government men were not happy either, swearing they were going to get you all for piracy. Our informant says he wasn't happy to hear that and suggested that the old boat was going to be sunk anyway. He pointed out that if someone should take the rubbish that another was throwing out, it could hardly be called piracy. But they weren't having any of that and it seems obvious that they're out for your blood, whoever they are. One of the funny parts is that George wasn't sure who to call, but he knew an admiral and tried to track him down. Someone told him he was in the Cabinet Room at 10 Downing Street and gave ol' George the number. Imagine, ringing up number 10! The admiral was extremely annoyed because you know how George tries to fit an entire story into one long run-on sentence. Anyway, I suspect they will talk at Whitehall because of the potential embarrassment this could cause the Prime Minister's Office. The admiral didn't wish one word leaked
.” Bob concluded, “
So there you have it: fame of a sort—and a price on your head
!”

Harris was now quite sober and said, “Bob, you're really being more than a friend in all this and we can't thank you enough.”

At this Bob interrupted, “
Oh, yes? I'll soon think of something
.”

“Never you mind,” Harris carried on, “did you see anybody after you? Did you see a Navy ship of any kind?”

“
Nothing on the sea, but we did see a plane, looked like a small spotter plane. It didn't try to contact us, but proceeded due east at the time. I had a casual thought that he'd better not go too far out or his fuel wouldn't last him to get back
.”

Harris was quiet for a bit, apparently thinking of what to say next, then clicked the handset and asked, “Do you know anybody based in London? We've got to know what sort of reaction there's going to be from Whitehall.”

“
Whew
!” Bob said. “
That's a bit of a tall order, but I'll have a word around. Just one last bit, though. Someone's shown me the London paper while I've been talking and you needn't worry Harris. No one will ever recognise you in the photo—you look so fat
!”

Harris rumbled back, “Ha, bloody ha, but can you read? Tell me the name of the reporter who wrote the article. I suppose it's in the
Evening News
?”

Bob rustled the paper and finally spoke. “
It says that it's from the AP, so it's not the paper's own reporter
.”

Harris replied, “That's enough for the idea I have, thanks. We'll be waiting for any news you get. I'll say good night from all of us.” Bob sent the same wish to us and left the radio to its usual soft moaning.

We all sat looking at one another, not knowing whether to be pleased or worried. On the one hand, we had our answer to the tug question, but on the other, we still had no clear idea what was going on at Whitehall. It was all speculation at this point.

I had to ask, “How did we miss such an obvious thing as the reporter?”

“Well, miss it we did,” groaned Harris, “and if we'd only thought about it we could have saved ourselves a lot of worry. I don't know too much about reporters, but I think we're going to find this one very useful.”

The rest of us were doubtful, but Harris spelled it out, “Now, just think about this set of steps and see if you can trip me up. First step, we get in touch with Martin as soon as possible. Second step, we get Martin to phone up AP and find out the name of that reporter and his phone number. Third step, Martin offers to let him keep his world scoop so long as we can talk to him and answer his questions before he publishes any more articles. We're lucky that it's an AP man. Every newspaper can pick up the story and we can get a lot of publicity. If the reporter is sympathetic, there's no telling what effect he could have on the public.”

“Oh, I dinna believe ye can get much good out o' any newspaper-man,” Bowman responded sourly. “Most of them are looking for sensation and wouldn't write a fair piece about us. They never hae before. It serves them better not to upset the Whitehall types they depend on for their bread-and-butter stories.”

“That's a possibility, I grant you,” Harris went on, “but if he should do the dirt on us, by that time we'll be able to have our choice of papers—all of which I'm betting are going to see this as the small man against the system. Sort of a David and Goliath.”

“Well,” I said, “the proof of that particular pudding is only going to be in the eating. We could sit and argue it back and forth for the rest of the night, but we've got nothing to lose by making the first contact. I'm still thinking about what would really scupper us, and that's being captured by the Navy. Our side of the story would be lost as Whitehall tries to cover for letting the ship be taken in the first place.” I felt brighter as the penny dropped. “The same reporter, or another, could possibly give us information he gets out of Whitehall as part of his job, don't you think?”

Harris became animated as I've ever seen him. “Now that's clever. I hope it would work so, Flynn.” He turned to everyone, “Let's get some rest, except for those on watch, and we'll start the ball rolling tomorrow morning.”

We'd made good way thus far during the night, but the wind had freshened and veered more northerly, blowing us on a still-southerly tack. There had also been a few tears in the canvas and Boris was fetching his sail-making equipment, intending to take the job aloft rather than strike a sail to mend it. He preferred to slacken the head right down and repair it on the spot if he felt it would be easier. Otherwise they'd have to be taken down, but meanwhile the worst ones had been furled to the yards. We had one or two of the old ones in store that were in reasonable condition but didn't want to use them unless we had to.