Upon a certain jetty above the mud-dyed water of the Tyne, a dozen of such women were waiting for the torpedo-boat-destroyer as she neared the shore. They were members of the Women's Emergency Corps, dressed as hospital nurses, who had come prepared for anything, but most of all to welcome back to Tyneside those who had helped to keep the flag of England flying on the seas.
Arrangements had been made for the casualties sustained by the Navy, but no one had reckoned upon the arrival of a score of seriously injured men of the crew of a small tramp steamer. However, there was one there--a lady in some position of authority--who took the matter into her own hands, with a degree of common-sense and promptitude that stands much to her honour.
"They must go to the American hospital," said she. "They have plenty of accommodation there, and are simply crying out for patients."
Accordingly, it was to this American hospital that the crew of the "Mondavia" were conducted, some on stretchers and some of the more seriously wounded--such as Captain Whisker--in motor ambulances which had been sent down to meet them.
It was a sad procession that passed through the streets that famous evening, when men could do nothing else but talk of the North Sea fight, and no one showed the smallest inclination to go to bed. When it became known what the fate of the well-known cargo ship had been, the eyes of these slow-thinking, stubborn people were opened at last to the full meaning of the war. That a powerful battle-cruiser like the "Blücher" should deign to direct her guns upon a defenceless merchant ship, proved only too clearly once again that the German Empire, thwarted in her senseless ambition, was prepared to stick at nothing.
It was conduct such as this that had turned the sympathies of the whole world towards the Allies; and it was by means of field hospitals and various Red Cross institutions that a large section of the American public had been able to give practical expression to their feelings.
Crouch, accompanied by the medical officer himself, who had come down to the jetty, was the first to reach the hospital. The little sea-captain was so accustomed to hardships, and possessed of such great vitality, that the terrible ordeal through which he had passed did not seem to have had the slightest effect upon either his physical strength or his nerves. He walked briskly, though with his usual limp, carrying on an animated and somewhat one-sided conversation with the doctor.
It was hardly possible to mistake the American hospital--by reason of the enormous "Stars and Stripes," which, day and night, floated from above the portal. Within was everything that human ingenuity, modern science and the generosity of a great and charitable nation could devise. Captain Crouch was not the least surprised at that; but, what caused him to stop stone-dead, like a man struck, and stand gaping like a yokel at a fair, was the slim figure of a young girl, dressed in the white cap and apron of a trained nurse, who was the first person he set eyes upon the moment he entered the door.
Captain Crouch had a good memory. Besides, not so many weeks had elapsed since he had had his little confidential chat with Peggy Wade in the New York offices of Jason, Stileman and May. He remembered nearly everything Peggy had told him, even the story of the lucky sixpence that had once belonged to Admiral "Swiftsure Burke." He remembered, as well, the strange coincidence that had come to light in the "Goat and Compasses" hotel, on the night when he and Jimmy had deciphered the mysterious message.
"My lass," said he, holding out a hand, "my lass, we've met before."