Nevil Shute - On The Beach

"I’d say they’d have got them," the radio officer replied. "It’s autumn there, and not too many electric storms."

The captain dismissed him to get dressed, and turned to his executive. "We’ll stay right here tonight," he said. "It’s seven o’clock, and dark before we reach the mine-fields." With no lights he could depend upon he did not dare to risk the navigation through the minefields of the Juan de Fuca Strait during the hours of darkness. "We’re out of the tide here. Sunrise is around zero four fifteen—that’s twelve noon, Greenwich. We’ll get under way then."

They stayed that night in the calm waters of the harbour just off Santa Maria Island, watching the shore lights through the periscope. At dawn they got under way on a reverse course, and immediately ran aground upon a mud-bank. The tide was ebbing and within a couple of hours of low water; even so there should have been a fathom of water underneath their keel according to the chart. They blew tanks to surface, and got off with ears tingling from the pressure reduction in the hull, reviling the Survey, and tried again to get away, twice, with the same result. Finally they settled down to wait irritably for the tide, and at about nine o’clock in the morning they got out into the main channel and set course northwards for the open sea.

At twenty minutes past ten Lieutenant Hirsch at the periscope said suddenly, "Boat ahead, under way." The executive jumped to the eyepieces, looked for a moment, and said, "Go call the captain." When Dwight came he said, "Outboard motorboat ahead, sir. About three miles. One person in it."

"Alive?"

"I guess so. The boat’s under way."

Dwight took the periscope and stood looking for a long time. Then he stood back from it. "I’d say that’s Yeoman Swain," he said quietly. "Whoever it is, he’s fishing. I’d say he’s got an outboard motorboat, and gas for it, and he’s gone fishing."

The executive stared at him. "Well, what do you know?" The captain stood in thought for a moment. "Go on and close the boat, and lie close up," he said. "I’ll have a talk with him."

There was silence in the submarine, broken only by the orders from the executive. Presently he stopped engines and reported that the boat was close aboard. Dwight took the long lead of the microphone and went to the periscope. He said, "This is the captain speaking. Good morning, Ralphie. How are you doing?"

From the speaker they all heard the response. "I’m doing fine, Cap."

"Got any fish yet?"

In the boat the yeoman held up a salmon to the periscope. "I got one." And then he said, "Hold on a minute, Cap—you’re getting across my line." In the submarine Dwight grinned, and said, "He’s reeling in."

Lieutenant Commander Farrell asked, "Shall I give her a touch ahead?"

"No—hold everything. He’s getting it clear now."

They waited while the fisherman secured his tackle. Then he said, "Say, Cap, I guess you think me a heel, jumping ship like that."

Dwight said, "That’s all right, fella. I know how it was. I’m not going to take you on board again, though. I’ve got the rest of the ship’s company to think about."

"Sure, Cap, I know that. I’m hot and getting hotter every minute, I suppose."

"How do you feel right now?"

"Okay so far. Would you ask Mr. Osborne for me how long I’ll go on that way?"

"He thinks you’ll go for a day or so, and then you’ll get sick."

From the boat the fisherman said, "Well, it’s a mighty nice day to have for the last one. Wouldn’t it be hell if it was raining?"

Dwight laughed. "That’s the way to take it. Tell me, what are things like on shore?"

"Everybody’s dead here, Cap—but I guess you know that. I went home. Dad and Mom were dead in bed—I’d say they took something. I went around to see the girl, and she was dead. It was a mistake, going there. No dogs or cats or birds, or anything alive—I guess they’re all dead, too. Apart from that, everything is pretty much the way it always was. I’m sorry about jumping ship, Cap, but I’m glad to be home." He paused. "I got my own car and gas for it, and I got my own boat and my own outboard motor and my own fishing gear. And it’s a fine, sunny day. I’d rather have it this way, in my own home town, than have it in September in Australia."

"Sure, fella. I know how you feel. Is there anything you want right now, that we can put out on the deck for you? We’re on our way, and we shan’t be coming back."

"You got any of those knockout pills on board, that you take when it gets bad? The cyanide?"

"I haven’t got those, Ralphie. I’ll put an automatic out on deck if you want it."

The fisherman shook his head. "I got my own gun. I’ll take a look around the pharmacy when I get on shore—maybe there’s something there. But I guess the gun would be the best."

"Is there anything else you want?"

"Thanks, Cap, but I got everything I want on shore. Without a dime to pay, either. Just tell the boys on board hey for me."

"I’ll do that, fella. We’ll be going on now. Good fishing."

"Thanks, Cap. It’s been pretty good under you, and I’m sorry I jumped ship."

"Okay. Now just watch the suck of the propellers as I go ahead."

He turned to the executive. "Take the con, Commander. Go ahead, and then on course, ten knots."

That evening Mary Holmes rang Moira at her home. It was a pouring wet evening in late autumn, the wind whistling around the house at Harkaway. "Darling," she said, "there’s been a wireless signal from them. They’re all well."

The girl gasped, for this was totally unexpected. "However did they get a signal through?"

"Commander Peterson just rang me up. It came through on the mystery station that they went to find out about. Lieutenant Sunderstrom was sending and he said they were all well. Isn’t it splendid?"

The relief was so intense that for a moment the girl felt faint. "It’s marvellous," she whispered. "Tell me, can they get a message back to them?"

"I don’t think so. Sunderstrom said that he was closing down the station, and there wasn’t anyone alive there."

"Oh..." The girl was silent. "Well, I suppose we’ll just have to be patient."

"Was there something you particularly wanted to send?"

"Not really. Just something I wanted to tell Dwight. But it’ll have to wait."

"Darling! You don’t mean..."

"No, I don’t."

"Are you feeling all right, dear?"

"I’m feeling much better than I was five minutes ago." She paused. "How are you getting on, and how’s Jennifer?"

"She’s fine. We’re all right, except it’s raining all the time. Can’t you come over sometime? It’s an age since we met."

The girl said, "I could come down one evening after work, and go up again next day."

"Darling! That would be wonderful!"

She arrived at Falmouth station two nights later, and set herself to walk two miles up the hill in a misty drizzle. In the little flat Mary was waiting to welcome her with a bright fire in the lounge. She changed her shoes, helped Mary bathe the baby and put her down, and then they got the supper. Later they sat together on the floor before the fire.

The girl asked, "When do you think they’ll be back?"

"Peter said that they’d be back about the fourteenth of June." She reached out for a calendar upon the desk behind her. "Three more weeks—just over. I’ve been crossing off the days."

"Do you think they’re up to time at this place—wherever they sent the wireless signal from?"

"I don’t know. I ought to have asked Commander Peterson that. I wonder if it would be all right to ring him up tomorrow and ask?"

"I shouldn’t think he’d mind."

"I think I’ll do that. Peter says this is his last job for the navy, he’ll be unemployed after they come back. I was wondering if we couldn’t get away in June or July and have a holiday. It’s so piggy here in the winter—nothing but rain and gales."