“I wish you’d come out of that and get dry socks on,” said Jim, laughing. “You look like an old pelican, wading round there! Here’s Scott—he’ll fix it up.” They fled, leaving the flood to the much-enduring steward, who had probably grappled with such emergencies before.
The evenings were the worst time. By nightfall the closed-up ship was unbearably airless; rather than remain below, it was better to face the dripping decks, to find a comparatively sheltered corner in the inky gloom, and there to sit, wrapped in mackintoshes and rugs, until bedtime—when the keen salt wind would have effectually made every one sleepy. They woke up heavy-headed, and fled back to the deck as soon as dressing could be hurried through. No one could possibly call the deck comfortable, but at least it was airy—though, perhaps, too airy.
News came now each morning by wireless; unsatisfactory news, for the most part, since it told but little and spoke only of the long winter deadlock just commencing. Still, it was something, and the passengers clustered round the notice-board after breakfast, reading the scrawled items hungrily. Daily the feeling of tension increased, as the ship ploughed her way to the end of her long journey. It was harder than ever to be cooped up in idleness when so much was happening just ahead; so much waiting to be done.
They saw no warships, yet they knew that the watch was all round them, vigilant and sleepless. Daily the wireless operator heard the echo of their signals, telling nothing except that the grey watchdogs of the seas were somewhere near, hidden in the veil of mist through which they went. It was hard to realise, so lonely did the Perseus seem, that her position was known—that, somewhere, preparations and plans were being made, of which she was the centre, although even her captain knew nothing. Three days off the English coast the invisible Powers-That-Be spoke to her.
“Orders!” said Jim, dashing into his father’s cabin, where Mr. Linton and Norah were endeavouring to pack his belongings. “No London or Liverpool for us, thank goodness! We’re all to be landed at Falmouth. It means a day less at sea.”
“That’s the best news I’ve heard for a good while,” said Mr. Linton. “Six weeks at sea during war-time is enough for any man. Wireless orders, I suppose?”
“Yes—the captain won’t disclose whether they’re from Government or from the agents—but the officers believe it’s Government, and that the ship is going straight to Brest or Cherbourg with her foodstuffs, as soon as she gets rid of us. We get in at daylight on Monday.” He rushed off to find Wally.
They could, indeed, have got in on Sunday night, but for the war regulations—that no ships should enter an English port between sunset and sunrise; so, from evening on Sunday, the Perseus dawdled along, knowing that she must kill time, and preferring to do it in the safety of open ocean rather than off a rock-bound coast. Then, as if the sea wanted a final diversion with them, a fog came up, and the officers spent an anxious night, “dodging about” in the mist and looking for the unfamiliar entrance to Falmouth Harbour—all the time in dread of hearing breakers on a near shore. Two days before, they found later, a ship had gone on the rocks during the night. The Cornish coast stretches harsh hands to trap the unwary.
Fortune, however, befriended the Perseus. Towards morning the fog lifted, and the harbour entrance showed clearly. Norah, lying awake in her berth, saw through her port-hole a rugged headland—and almost immediately a blinding flash filled her cabin with so bright a light that for a moment it seemed on fire. It passed away as quickly as it had come; and Norah, springing to the port-hole, saw a dim coast and powerful searchlight that went to and fro across the entrance. Not even a fishing-dinghy could have slipped in unperceived by its white ray. Then a black funnel came so close to her face that she jumped back in astonishment. Looking down, she could see, below, the deck of a little gunboat, where were men in blue uniforms. A curt voice was hailing in tones of crisp authority.
“What ship are you, and where from?”