Dennis Wheatley - Black August

' 'Ow abart a nice cup of corfie, sarg?' one of them called cheerfully to Rudd.

' 'Ow abart it, son! Like me ter bring it up to yer bedroom, eh?'

A little ripple of laughter went round the boat.

Kenyon looked across at Veronica, who was cheerfully attacking the iron biscuits with her sharp white teeth. 'How are you feeling this morning, long legs?'

'Grim, my sweet, grim! But I suppose this early rising is good for one, it's the first time I have eaten any breakfast for years.'

He nodded and turned his attention to Ann. There were dark shadows under her eyes, and her face looked pale and drawn, but she caught his glance and smiled.

'Well, I've always hated getting up in the morning but I'd rather be here than on that beastly ship. Hello, Gregory's awake!' she added as she caught his quick eye examining their faces from the bottom of the boat.

'Have been for some time,' he murmured.

'How is the leg?' she asked, bending over him.

'Aching like hell, but my head's better and that's what matters. Where's Rudd?'

' 'Ere we are, sir.'

'Right. Give me a hand up on to the seat.'

With Kenyon's help he was lifted up and made comfortable by the tiller.

While they were finishing their meagre breakfast they discussed the situation, and then for a time sank into silence, each one privately considering the unpleasant possibilities which might arise. They were adrift in the North Sea, perhaps many miles from shore. If the mist failed to lift all day and night came on before they could sight land, winds and tides which they had no means of assessing might carry them a hundred miles from their assumed position off the Suffolk coast, and then it might be days before they were picked up. Their supplies were extremely limited and another night at sea without proper food or warmth was a thing to dread. The fog showed no signs of dispersing. It clung and pressed about them, muffling even the sounds of their voices as it hemmed them in.

The forenoon dragged by, each hour seeming the length of half a day. They talked in subdued voices, or dozed again between the thwarts. Veronica displayed a marvellous cheerfulness and kept Gregory amused by her witty chatter, but Ann, chilled to the marrow and shaken occasionally by slight shivering fits, could only assure them that she was quite all right, and hug her frozen limbs in silence. Kenyon and Silas chafed her hands, arms, and feet between them, but the shock of Brisket's assault the night before in the wardroom seemed to have sapped her vitality and left her body temporarily incapable of resisting the rigours of their situation.

At midday Kenyon suggested the issue of a further ration but Gregory would not have it. He pointed out that they had breakfasted less than three hours ago and that it was essential to conserve their limited supplies. At one o'clock he made the same reply to Rudd who had been in the bows talking to Sergeant Thompson and came aft with a similar suggestion. Every one of them was hungry now, having had nothing but a few mouthfuls of dry biscuit and a wedge of cheese since the previous night, but he stuck to his decision.

A little before two Sims pointed to the heavens. 'The sun, sir, or I'm mistaken.'

'Where?' asked Kenyon quickly? The vague chill grey ness above and about them did not seem to have altered, but Gregory nodded.

'You mean the lighter patch: are you sure?'

'Certain, sir. The mist'll clear in about half an hour I should say, but it's enough to give us a rough direction now. It'll be near four bells, won't it?'

'Yes.'

'Well, it's on the port beam so we must've been on a north westerly course unless we've been going round in circles. Shall I take over the tiller now, sir, being more used to this sort of thing?'

'Do.' Gregory moved further along. 'Whose spell is it?'

'Mine,' said Silas getting out his oar. 'And now we've got something to go on we'll put some ginger into this pocket Ark. Come on, boys.'

The course was altered by about forty five degrees towards the bearing of the sun, and the Greyshirts cheerfully enough put their backs into the rowing. Half an hour later Sim's prediction was fulfilled, the mist broke into banks and patches, the sea began to sparkle and the sun came through.

'ln Out, in Out,' Harker urged his crew, and now that they had had rest and a little practice they managed to shift the boat along at quite a decent pace.

Gregory had himself inspected their scant provisions and now ordered the issue of a small ration of meat and biscuits to all hands with about a quarter of a mug of water. He still felt it necessary to exercise the strictest economy, and so with this frugal late lunch, chewing the tough cold meat to extract its goodness and spitting out the residue, they had to be content, but now the sun was shining everybody felt more cheerful.

The men roused themselves from their lethargy and began to crack jokes; the others in the stern discussed the possible places at which they might land, from Scarborough to Southend, and speculated vaguely once more ass to what might be happening in London.

By three o'clock all traces of the mist had vanished. A wide expanse of shimmering sea lay all about them still rising and falling in a gentle swell. Of land there was no sign, but Sims cheered them with the statement that it might not be very far away since their low level on the water gave them such a limited horizon. No masthead or smudge of smoke, above the grey green wash and where the waves melted into one another, broke the skyline, and for all indications of other human life they might have been a thousand miles out on the wide wastes of the Atlantic.

'What about a bit of a sing song, sir?' suggested Rudd.

'Fine, just the thing. Go ahead,' Gregory agreed.

'Come on, mates.' Rudd waved a grimy hand. 'All ter gether now.'

'Pack up yer troubles in yer old kit bag, an' smile boys smile, Pick up yer troubles in yer old kit bag, an' smile boys that's the style,

Wot's the use o' worryin', it never was worth while, So o o o o Pack up yer troubles in yer old kit bag,

an'Smile! Smile!! SMILE!!!'

A hesitating support greeted the first line, the second was taken up more generally, and by the last everybody had joined in to the full extent of their lungs.

'Na, then, let's 'ave it again. All ter gether now!' and at the second attempt the rolling chorus thundered out across the seas.

After that the self appointed master of ceremonies kept them going without ceasing, varying his programme from the bowdlerised edition of Mademoiselle from Armentieres to the sobbing sentimentality of Roses of Picardy.

The sun was high in the heavens, glaring from a bright blue sky, and soon the men at the oars began to feel the heat. Then to everybody's astonishment, Ann, who felt better since the coming of the sun, suggested a swim.

'You can't,' said Kenyon, 'you've got no bathing dresses.'

'Never mind. Rig us a shelter at the back of the boat and Veronica and I will undress behind that.'

'But how will you dry yourselves?'

'Sunshine and knickers,' said Ann promptly.

'No, it can't be done, if you cling on behind it will stop the way of the boat.'

'Don't make yourself out more of a fool than you are, darling,' Veronica chipped in with acid sweetness after a swift glance at Ann. 'Do as you're told."

'Oh, I see,' he said lamely, and with a collection of rifles and coats he proceeded to erect a small partition shutting off the last few feet of the whaler. Ann and Veronica disappeared behind it and when they emerged again some twenty minutes later they both looked considerably more cheerful.

In the meantime the troops had relieved the Greyshirts and were pulling with a will. Sims had gone forward in the hope that they might soon descry the first glimpse of the coast, yet Kenyon's spell came to an end and Harker took over once more, but still no trace of shipping broke the horizon and no clouds ahead suggested land.