“Yes,” Cherry thought. There was a tightness in her throat. “Yes, some day perhaps it will. And then—”
Yes, she would go with those children to America. She must. It was her duty.
Chapter XVIII
Dave’s Strange Craft
That boat-like affair on which Dave climbed after a short swim from the spot where his plane had sunk was strange indeed. Some sixteen feet long by eight wide, it rested on the surface of the sea. It was not a boat, for though it had a small cabin above and a large one below, it was provided with no form of propelling power, not even oars.
The fact that struck the boy with the force of a blow was its unquestioned Nazi origin. On its side was painted the hated cross. The cabin below was fitted with all manner of articles for comfort and convenience, blankets, towels, boxes of biscuits and chocolate, bottles of soda water, all that a man could ask. Yet even here was the dreaded swastika. It was woven into towels and blankets and stamped into the biscuits.
“A Jerry hotel of the sea, a one man’s paradise,” he thought.
Then, of a sudden it came to him. It was a float. He had heard of them. They were for the benefit of Nazi airmen who fell into the sea.
“Well,” he sighed, “I’m no Nazi, but I am cold and wet. So here goes!”
After stripping off his water-soaked garments he slipped into a coarse, heavy shirt bearing the hated insignia, a pair of blue trousers, coarse wool socks and heavy shoes. The shoes were too large, but that did not count.
“Now,” he sighed, “what next?”