Alan Evans - Thunder at Dawn

Smith asked, “This Jim Bradley — you’ve met him?”

“I’ve met him in the way of business. That was part of my business, meeting people like him, strangers.”

“What is he like?”

Sarah shrugged again but this time when the robe slipped she was self-conscious in her quick adjustment of it. “Tall. Six feet two. Broad shoulders. Brown hair, brown eyes, small scar on right cheekbone, ‘go-to-hell-and-I’ll-come-with-you’ expression. He’s a good man.”

She met his gaze straight-forwardly but he remembered that would be part of her stock-in-trade. He felt she was holding something back. “Anything else?” The girl’s cool look was stiff-faced now. “Anything else?”

“He has several other scars on his upper body, the result of a flying accident, and one on his lower abdomen. He’s tried to get me to bed but I didn’t go. I learned this from somebody who did. Anything else ?”

Smith was embarrassed. The girl had been holding back but only to save herself and him from embarrassment.

She said, “Why, Commander, I think you’re blushing under all that dirt.”

He felt a fool and knew that she knew it. He mumbled some apology. There would be a British ship at Malaguay and then he would be free of her. Soon. He held on to that thought as he stood up, rubbed at his face and smiled stiffly, blearily at her. “I’m grateful for your help.” And he was, his awkwardness could not hide that.

“You’re welcome, Commander.” The door closed behind him and she stared at it, fingering the medallion that hung on her breast. She said softly, “You’ll need all the help you can get.”

Smith tried to put her out of his mind and concentrate on the information she had given him. Bradley — a good man. Then as he climbed to the upper deck he met Garrick, who said, “Young Wakely had a sack of stuff he brought aboard from the Gerda , sir. He’s in the Captain’s — your deck cabin with it, sir.”

Smith ignored the slip but it was a sign of the newness of his command; he was a stranger here still. “Right. You’d better come along and give a hand with it.” And as they went: “I will mention them in my report. Manton, Wakely, Somers, Kennedy, Burton. They all did well.” He did not mention Somers particularly but the boy impressed him. He said, “And I’ll mention your loyalty and the objections you raised.”

“Sir?”

Smith paused outside the cabin and his smile was lopsided. “Just in case. It will keep your nose clean if it turns out I have been a bloody fool.”

Half-an-hour later the law of probabilities insisted he had been just that. The sack held the Gerda’s log, her master’s diary, copies of manifests, letters from owners and agents and his wife, personal papers. Smith, Garrick and Wakely sifted through it painstakingly and Albrecht was sent for because there was a great deal of German in the papers. The master of the Gerda had been born in Argentina but as Albrecht explained, “No doubt he spoke German at home and with his friends.” He shrugged. “There’s nothing at all in that. We often spoke German at home.” And there was nothing at all to cast doubt on Gerda’s neutrality.

Nobody wanted to look at Smith. He dismissed them. Later Aitkyne asked Garrick, “Well? Anything?”

Garrick shook his head worriedly. “Nothing at all. As far as evidence goes that collier was as neutral as a Swiss hospital ship.”

Aitkyne said, “The general opinion is that he’s mad as a hatter.”

“Nonsense!” Garrick snapped it, but he peered uneasily at the navigator.

Aitkyne smiled wryly. “Don’t jump down my throat, old lad. I didn’t say it was my opinion. But it could be his salvation.”

“What?”

“If he’s lucky they’ll decide he’s mad — and they won’t shoot him.

They made Malaguay in the late afternoon, Thunder trudging in over a slow, leaden swell under a grey and lowering sky. There was a strong, gusting wind that snapped the crests from the waves in spitting spume. The weather was worsening.

Thunder came to anchor in the bay but before she was stopped the boat carrying the Consul ran alongside and he jumped for the dangling ladder, clawed at it desperately and clambered up. He was obviously in a hurry. Smith spoke to the bridge messenger. “My compliments to Miss Benson and I would be grateful if she would spare me a few minutes of her time.” And then he added, turning the seeming request into a command, “Immediately.” He might also have added that the lady was right forward in the bow but there was no need. The messenger was as aware of it as everyone else on the bridge and no doubt as appreciative. The wind moulded the dress to her body and whipped at the skirt around her ankles. Looking for her American?

Thunder rode to her anchor. Garrick said, “Can’t see any Maria , sir.”

Smith had already made his inspection of the vessels at anchor. “No. She must be up-river.” Ships lined the wharves in the river that ran into the bay, a small forest of masts but it was impossible to pick out a particular ship at that angle and that distance. He could see two British ships at anchor, one a commonplace tramp but the other bigger, smarter. They called for another decision.

Garrick said, “That’s Ariadne , sir. Commodore Ballard. This is her regular run, right up the coast to Vancouver. Usually around forty or fifty passengers and cargo.”

“And the other one.” Smith lifted his glasses and read the tramp’s name. “The Elizabeth Bell ?”

“Don’t know, sir. She’s a stranger to me.”

“My compliments to both of them as well. I want someone to explain the situation to them and that I request neither will move without my protection.” He paused. That smacked of arrogance. He added, “I will go myself if I can, but if not then Aitkyne shall go. Tell him to be tactful.”

But Aitkyne was behind them, looking pensive as well he might because the explanation would be difficult and they wouldn’t want to believe him when they heard what Smith wanted; that might mean delay and time was money to both skippers. And Aitkyne did not believe it himself. He said unhappily, “Aye, aye, sir.”

Smith said, “Be tactful.” But he finished definitely: “But firm!”

He left the bridge and Aitkyne muttered, “They’ve had the news from Guaya, that’s sure. See the Consul come aboard? Like a scalded cat. This is where the sparks start flying.”

Smith met Sarah Benson and the Consul on the upper deck. Thackeray was a thin man, thin-lipped. He eyed Smith severely. “You’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest, Captain, if reports are correct.”

“I don’t know what reports you’ve heard. The truth of the matter is that there was a German collier lying at Guaya, masquerading as a neutral. I sank her.”

Thackeray jerked as if struck and glared at Smith. “You can prove she wasn’t neutral?”

“I can’t prove it, but she wasn’t neutral. You know about the cruisers? Wolf and Kondor ?”

Thackeray did because Cherry had telegraphed to him and Smith went on to explain why he had sunk Gerda . Thackeray listened impatiently, lips pursed. At the end he shook his narrow head. “They’re outraged and I’m not surprised. It will get worse, I’m sure. The Germans are playing it up with all their might, of course. They’re bandying around phrases like the wolf sneaking into the fold to murder the lamb.”

“An unusual lamb — fitted with brand-new wireless!”

“So you say. Did you know they’ve had a gunboat, the Leopard , interned here since 1914? Now they’re demanding her release or the internment of this ship.”