An Old Captivity (18 page)

The pilot blew a cloud of smoke and laughed, a little awkwardly. “Nothing at all to this cylinder. I want to take another one off as a check, but it looks as if it’s all a mare’s nest, sir.”

Alix said: “Have you had any breakfast, Mr. Ross?”

“Not yet. I wanted to see how matters stood down here.”

“Won’t you leave it now, and come and have your breakfast?”

He shook his head. “I’m quite all right, Miss Lockwood. I’d rather take another pot off right away, and make sure. I’ll be through by lunch time. Then if everything’s all right, I can start reassembling this afternoon.”

Lockwood said: “Can we help you at all, Mr. Ross?”

“I really don’t think there’s anything that you could do, sir. I may want a hand this afternoon, but I can get a chap from the garage.”

Alix said: “You won’t be able to talk to him.”

He smiled. “You’ll have to come and translate for me again.”

They went away after a little time, and he went on with his work. An hour later another cylinder lay dismantled on the table; it was in similar condition to the first. There was no damage to the engine at all.

The pilot lit another cigarette. With the relief from the tension of anxiety he now felt curiously tired; it was as if all energy had been drained from him. He now felt that he had been foolish. He had been worrying himself unnecessarily, scaring himself with the bogies that did not exist. He should have been able to set his mind at rest and have a good night’s sleep, instead of worrying himself crazy all the time he was in bed. It was no good going on like that. Great flights were made by men who kept their heads.

He reassembled the valve gear of both cylinders and put
the cylinders and the tools carefully on the floor of the cabin. It was nearly time for lunch; he locked the cabin door and went up in to the town. He found a chemist’s shop without much difficulty, and asked for aspirin.

The man shook his head. “I have not aspirin. I have others, better. But not aspirin. You have pain?”

Ross said: “I wanted it to help me sleep.”

“Ah, you cannot sleep! I have here what is good.” He went to a drawer and produced a little bottle of tablets. “This good for you if you cannot sleep.”

Ross took it doubtfully, and examined it. It was the product of a German firm at Hanover, and was called Troxigin. “It is like aspirin,” the chemist said. “For sleep it is better.”

“All right,” said Ross. “I’ll take some of these.” The bottle held twenty-five tablets. “But I shall want more than this. Have you got a bigger bottle?”

The man looked at him doubtfully. “One only,” he said. He held up one finger. “One each night. It is not good to take more.” He took the bottle and showed Ross the instructions, printed in German. “One only.”

The pilot nodded. “I understand. But I’d better have some more. There are two other people with me, and we are going on to Greenland.”

“Ah—to Greenland.” The words explained everything to the chemist; he made no further demur. He sold Ross a bottle of a hundred tablets; the pilot slipped it in his pocket and went back to the hotel for lunch.

He met the Lockwoods in the lounge and had a tomato cocktail with them. Alix said to him:

“At half-past four there is a meal called tea, Mr. Ross. I’d like you to remember it.”

He smiled: “All right. I’m a good deal happier now than I was this morning.”

“It’s all right, is it?”

He nodded. “Quite all right. I’ll get those pots put back this afternoon and finish off to-morrow morning. Then we can take her up for a short test flight to-morrow afternoon,
fill her up, and get away next day if the weather’s decent. Have another crack at it.”

They lunched; he had a good appetite, and ate well. He was not surprised to feel sleepy as he left the dining-room; he had to force himself to go and work.

Alix said: “I’ll come along this afternoon, Mr. Ross, if I may.”

He said: “That would be very nice, Miss Alix. But don’t if you’ve got anything else to do. I’ll have to get a man from the garage.”

“What sort of help do you want?”

“Oh, only somebody to hold things for me. I wouldn’t let a garage hand do any work upon the engine.”

“Well, I can hold things.”

He looked doubtful. “I’m afraid you’ll get very dirty.”

“I don’t mind.”

She went down with him, and they worked together all afternoon upon the engine. Each cylinder in turn was cleaned with loving care and smeared internally with oil. Then Ross got up upon the trestle, undid the rags, cleaned and oiled the piston. Then Alix handed up the heavy cylinder to him; he held it while she got up on to the trestle by him. Then she held it while he delicately persuaded the piston to enter it, and slid it down gently on to its seating on the crank-case. Bolts were put on finger-tight; then the whole process was repeated with the other cylinder. Finally the engine was turned over with the propeller, and the bolts were tightened down and locked.

In the end, Ross got down and offered her a dirty cigarette. She took it with dirty fingers. “I don’t smoke much,” she said. “But then, I don’t do this much, either.”

He lit it for her. “Do you know what time it is?”

She blew a cloud of smoke, and shook her head.

“Five o’clock. We’re late for that tea you were talking about.”

“It doesn’t matter. Daddy’s gone to the Cathedral with Herr Sorensen.”

The pilot stretched himself. “I don’t feel like doing any
more to-night. I’ll finish off in the morning. Let’s pack up.”

“All right. Have you written to Aunt Janet?”

He looked at her, startled. “How did you know about Aunt Janet?”

“You told me about her.” She was amused. “Yesterday, when we were flying back.”

“So I did. I had such a lot to think about yesterday, I’d quite forgotten that. I told you all about her, didn’t I?”

She nodded. “I think you might write and let her know how we’ve got on.”

He said: “I’ll send her a cable to-night.”

“Write her a letter, too. She’ll like to have that, and there won’t be any opportunity in Greenland.”

“All right.”

He locked up the machine and saw that everything was snug for the night. They walked back to the hotel, tired and dirty. Lockwood had not returned; presently they were sitting together in the lounge for tea.

The girl got up presently and went and fetched a pad of cable forms. “Here you are,” she said. “Write it out now, and we’ll walk out and send it off.”

He smiled, and took the forms. “Anyone would think she was your aunt, not mine.”

“Well, if it wasn’t for me she wouldn’t be getting a cable to-night, Mr. Ross.”

“Shall I tell her that?”

She laughed. “If you like.”

Two hours later the messenger delivered a telegram at the little house in Guildford. Aunt Janet took it into the kitchen, put on her spectacles, and opened the buff envelope. The message read:

She read this in silence with pursed lips. It was good news that all was well, and they had got to Iceland safely.
But why did the lassie send her regards, and above all why did Donald waste good money in saying so in a cable at sevenpence or eightpence a word, maybe more? It seemed a wicked waste. She put the cable on the mantelpiece, and set about making a little milk pudding for her supper. Presently she picked the cable up again, and stood it up so that she could see it.

“He never was one for saving money,” she muttered to herself presently. “I doot he’s getting fond of her.”

That night Ross went to bed early, soon after dinner, having posted a short letter to Aunt Janet. He opened the bottle of Troxigin in his room and took one of the tablets with a glass of water. He got into bed, not feeling very sleepy, but within ten minutes he was sound asleep. He slept quietly and well the whole night through, and did not wake until the morning call.

He lay awake for a few minutes before getting up, luxuriating in the feeling of freshness that he had gained by his sleep. He really had had a wonderful night, the best night’s sleep that he had had for months. He realised that it was wholly due to the Troxigin, and was grateful to the drug. These German chemists knew their stuff all right …

That day was not a hard one. He was down at the machine by half-past eight; by eleven o’clock he had finished his assembly work, put in a hundred gallons of fuel, and sponged out the bilge-water that had leaked into the floats. Then he started up the engine with the seaplane still lashed down upon the slipway, ran it for twenty minutes, stopped it, and made a careful inspection. Finally he put on the engine cowling and made all ready for flight. Then he went back to the hotel for lunch.

“I’ll take her up for a short test this afternoon, sir,” he said to Lockwood. “Then I’ll put her back on the mooring and fill her up with petrol. Would you like to come up with me?”

“I think Mr. Sorensen has something that he wants to show me at a place called Keflavik.”

Alix said: “I’d like to come with you, Mr. Ross. I don’t want to go to Keflavik.”

“All right.”

They got the seaplane down into the water at about half-past two, and took off shortly after that. Ross did a short test of the wireless with the Reykjavik station, then reeled in his aerial again.

Alix asked: “That lever that you’ve got your hand on is the throttle, isn’t it?”

“That’s right. The little one is the mixture.”

“And then you steer it with the wheel?”

He shook his head and explained the rudder to her; for a time they flew erratically round the sky as she felt the controls. “Beautifully balanced, isn’t she?” he observed.

She did not know exactly what he meant. “It must be rather fun flying her,” she said, relinquishing the wheel.

He glanced at her quizzically. “Nasty, noisy things. Particularly when they’re flying over Oxford.”

She flushed. “They’re beastly in Oxford. But it seems more suitable up here. I mean, they’ve got some purpose.”

He nodded.

They landed after about forty minutes’ flight; the motor-boat met them and towed them to the mooring. They spent the rest of the afternoon filling up with fuel, hot and stifled by the fumes.

In the evening Ross went up alone to the broadcasting station. The report for the next day was good, with a light following wind and probably good visibility. He went back to the hotel and found Lockwood in the lounge, and told him about it.

The don looked at him keenly. “How do you feel yourself, Mr. Ross? I know you haven’t had a lot of sleep recently. If you’d like to stop another day and have a real rest, I think we’ve got plenty of time.”

The pilot smiled. “That’s very kind of you, sir. I appreciate it. But I’m quite all right now. I had a fine sleep last night—nearly twelve hours.” It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Lockwood about Troxigin, but he did not do so. “I’d really rather get along, if that suits you. The
weather’s very chancy in these latitudes. I think we should go while the going’s good.”

“You wouldn’t make a final decision to-night?”

Ross shook his head. “I’ll go up to the wireless station in the morning, before we take off.”

“All right, then. We’ll all go to bed directly after dinner.”

“That suits me.”

They did so. Ross was not particularly tired as he undressed; in fact, he was less tired than he had been for many days. That, he thought, was because they had had a relatively easy day, and because of the long sleep that he had had the night before. To-morrow would not be so easy; it would be prudent to ensure another good night’s sleep before they flew back to Angmagsalik. He took another tablet of his Troxigin, set his alarm clock for five, and got into his bed.

He slept beautifully, a quiet, dreamless sleep till the alarm woke him in the morning. He got out of bed at once, feeling well and strong; as he shaved in the morning sunlight he was humming a little tune. He dressed and went down to the dining-room, and began his breakfast.

He had nearly finished by the time the Lockwoods joined him, the girl in her white overall. “I made a start,” he said. “I thought I’d just nip up to the wireless station while you’re eating your breakfast, and get the weather report. It’s a grand morning for us, here. If it’s like this at Angmagsalik we’ll be all right.”

Alix said: “You’re very full of beans this morning, Mr. Ross. Did you sleep well?”

“Never better in my life.”

Lockwood said: “It’s fine here, but we may run into cloud again in Greenland, like we did before.”

The pilot nodded. “I’ll get off with every pound of fuel we can lift. But it’s going to be all right this time, sir—you see.”

He got up and left the room confidently. Lockwood turned to his daughter. “He seems a different man,” he said mildly.

“I know. I believe he was terribly worried about his engine; although he didn’t say so.”

Her father said: “Of course, it’s a very anxious time for him.”

The weather report was still good. They took off at about half-past seven from the outer harbour, having drained off fifteen gallons of fuel after an unsuccessful run. There was a thin layer of nimbus cloud at a great height; the day was cold but visibility was good.

Again they climbed to about three thousand feet, and went droning over a grey, unpleasant sea. After a time Snaefell sank below the horizon; an hour later they came to the first pack ice. Ross had been in touch with Angmagsalik on the wireless since the take-off; the weather report there was clear weather and little wind.

There was a cloud over the pack, a thick mist that went right down to the water. In spite of his previous experience, Ross chose to fly above it, depending on his wireless reports of clear weather ahead. For an hour they flew on at about four thousand feet over a sea of cloud; then suddenly the clouds came to an end. Before them, a great distance off, they saw a long line of jagged mountains running down into the sea, with glaciers winding down the coast in furrows, and a mass of pack ice at the foot.

Ross caught his breath. “Well, there it is, sir. It looks a pretty ghastly place.”