“Oh—just worry through another old day!” said Norah, laughing. “There isn’t any special plan, I believe.”
It was a week since they had seen land. They had said a final good-bye to Australia after a brief stay at Adelaide, spent in scampering round the bright little city lying at the foot of the Mount Lofty Ranges, and in a motor-car run through the hills themselves, seeing exquisite panoramas of plain and sea far below. The almond-orchards were in blossom; over the plains their wide expanse was like a mist of shimmering opal. Above, on the foothills, golden wattle blazed for miles. But South Australia was in the grip of the worst drought in its history, and the hills were dry and bare, and scarred with the marks of great bush-fires; it hurt to see the happy country so worn and tired. They were not sorry when the time came to rejoin the ship, and to steam down the Gulf and out to sea.
Somewhere ahead, rumour said, were the Australian transports; the first contingent of troops had slipped away from Melbourne silently, under cover of darkness, and no one seemed to know definitely the day of their going. Rumour went further, saying that they were to coal at an unfrequented southern port of West Australia; so that the Perseus would probably draw ahead, without catching sight of the fleet—which was disappointing. After that, rumour became speculative and varied. One report stated that the troops were to go to South Africa, to help the Government there, hard-pressed between rebellion and the enemy; another gave India as their destination, and another, Egypt; while the majority still held to the belief that they would be sent direct to France. And as no one knew any more than any one else, and nothing definite was known in any quarter, the Perseus buzzed with conjectures and arguments, the natural result of which was that no one got any “forrarder.”
Australia was now far behind them. They had not touched any western port, but had headed straight for the Indian Ocean, and now were swinging across it towards South Africa, apparently the only ship afloat upon its wide expanse. The outward and homeward routes vary, according to ocean currents, so that ships going and coming rarely meet; and, in addition, the Perseus was running many miles off her course, in the hope of eluding German cruisers, of which several were known to be prowling about, any one of their number ready to pounce upon the Perseus like a hungry dingo upon a large and very fat lamb. It was, however, unlikely that any would be so far south as their present position, and the passengers had been quite unable to stir themselves to any degree of nervousness. War precautions were observed in obedience to Admiralty instructions rather than from inward convictions.
Meanwhile, the voyage was not exciting. To put thirty passengers on board a ship capable of carrying three hundred and fifty is to produce an effect similar to that of a few small peas in a large pod. And these passengers on the Perseus were mostly anxious and pre-occupied people: full of anxieties connected with the war, and longing so keenly for the voyage to be over, that the ship and its population held but little interest for them. A sprinkling of South African settlers were hurrying homewards; some to fight, and all concerned for the safety of their properties. There were wives whose husbands were already fighting in France; grave-faced women, who did not talk much, but counted each slow day that must elapse before they could obtain news of their dear ones. Half a dozen young men were on their way to England to enlist there—ready for any job, so that it only meant business; hoping for a commission, but quite willing to join as rankers if necessary. One had his motor-car on board; another had left a vast property in New South Wales; a third had been pearl-fishing off Port Darwin, and had made his way right across the desert in the centre of Australia to join the Expeditionary Force at Adelaide—and finding himself just too late for the first contingent, had been too impatient to await the formation of the second, and so had caught the Perseus at the last moment. Two or three retired British officers, recalled from Australia to the colours, were on board—with stories, half-comical, half-tragic, of homes broken up at a moment’s notice on receipt of a curt cable from the War Office. The cloud that lay upon the whole world rested also on this one atom of Empire, lonely in a wide sea; there was no topic but War.
“It’s maddening to be so long without news,” Jim said, leaning over the rail to watch the white curl of foam breaking away from the bow. “It seemed long enough to wait for one’s morning paper in Melbourne, even after you’d seen every ‘special extra’ the day before; and then suddenly to drop into silence!”
“You’ve only had a week of silence—and there are eleven days yet to Durban,” Wally remarked. “No good in worrying yet. I wish they’d let us use the wireless.”
“They won’t,” Jim said. “Orders are awfully strict; no wireless except in case of absolute emergency. Oh, it wouldn’t be good enough; a German could locate a ship by her wireless to within a few miles. You might as well put a bell on your neck.”
“Inventions are going too far nowadays,” said Wally, with deep disfavour. “Old Marconi had done very well without a further refinement like that—it’s only lately that they have been able to harness sound-waves so completely, and I don’t see any real use in it. It’s a jolly nuisance, anyhow.”
“Did you ever see any one look so miserable as the sentry?” asked Norah, laughing.