An Old Captivity (14 page)

In the hotel the girl came down to the lounge; her father showed her the weather report. “We’ve decided to stay here to-morrow, anyway,” he said.

She nodded. “I think that’s a good thing, from every point of view. I want to go to Inverness and get some more clothes.”

“Have you made up your mind, then?”

“I want to come on, if you’ll let me, Daddy.”

“All right.” He did not refer to the subject again.

Presently she asked: “What’s happened to Mr. Ross?”

Her father said: “He went out with the boatman to do something to the moorings of the seaplane.”

“He’s out there again? It’s very nearly dark.”

He glanced at her. “He’s a very responsible young man, Alix. I think he’s taking his work very seriously.”

She stared out of the window. “He’s certainly working very hard.”

“A day’s rest won’t do any of us any harm,” said her father.

Ross came back to the hotel at about eleven o’clock and went to bed. He had an alarm clock with him which he set for half-past three in the morning; by a quarter to four he was walking down to the jetty in the darkness. He rowed out to the seaplane in a little dinghy belonging to the boatman; the wind was fresh and the machine was pitching in the waves. He had a good look at the mooring and the machine generally, but there was nothing to be done; she was coming to no harm. He rowed back to the jetty, returned to the hotel, and went to bed again in the grey light of dawn.

He got up late, and went down to breakfast tired and stale. The Lockwoods had nearly finished the meal.

“What are you going to do to-day?” he asked. “I’m afraid Invergordon isn’t a very exciting place to have to wait about in.”

Alix said: “I want to go to Inverness—I’ve got to get another pair of shoes. And I’ll see if I can get an overall. Will you come with us, Mr. Ross?”

The pilot shook his head. “I’d rather stick around here with the seaplane till the wind goes down,” he said. “I’ve got one or two little jobs I want to do on her, too.”

Lockwood said: “Is there anything I can do to help you, Mr. Ross?”

“No, thanks, sir. I’ll only just be pottering about.”

He spent the morning out on the machine, moving the pilot’s seat a little and fashioning a pocket for his maps. He came back to the hotel to lunch alone; in the afternoon he took a newspaper upstairs and stretched himself on his bed to read it for a few minutes.

When next he opened his eyes it was five minutes to seven. He got up dazed with sleep, washed his face, and went downstairs. He found the Lockwoods in the lounge.

He ordered sherry for them, and a tomato cocktail for himself. Alix said: “I got myself an overall, Mr. Ross.”

He smiled. “Good enough. A white one?”

“Yes, and a pair of sand-shoes.”

“That’s fine. I’m sorry to say I’ve been asleep all the afternoon.”

She eyed him seriously. “I’m very glad to hear it.”

“I’m not—it makes one feel like death to sleep in the daytime.” His sleep had not refreshed him; he was feeling stale and ill. He did not eat much dinner.

He rang up the Air Ministry again while the Lockwoods took their coffee in the lounge, standing about for half an hour and waiting for his call. When the report came he scribbled it down hurriedly.

“O.K.,” he said. “I’ll ring again at 04 hours to check that before I take off.”

He put up the receiver and went through to the lounge, envelope in hand. He showed the report to Lockwood. “We’ll never get a better one than this, sir,” he said. “We’d better reckon that we’ll go.”

“Very good, Mr. Ross.”

Alix got up from her chair. “I’d better tell them to cut us some sandwiches to-night, hadn’t I?”

The pilot turned to her in surprise. “Why—yes, if you would. It’s a good long way. We ought to have something with us.”

“What time ought we to have breakfast?”

He hesitated. “I want to make a very early start. Could you manage breakfast at half-past four, do you think?”

“Of course we can. I’ll tell them that. I’d better pay the bills to-night, hadn’t I?”

“Don’t bother. I can see to that.”

She eyed him for a minute. “I think you’d be much better in bed, Mr. Ross. You’re going to have a long day to-morrow. You’d better let me do the little things I can do.”

He smiled. “All right—if that’s the way you feel about it.”

She nodded. “That’s how I feel about it, Mr. Ross. Have you got anything else to do?”

He hesitated. “I’ve just got to go down and tell the boatman that we’ll want him in the morning. That’s all.”

“What time do you want him?”

“Five o’clock at the jetty.”

“I’ll go and tell him. You go up to bed.”

“All right.”

He went up to his room and undressed slowly, wondering at the turn that things had taken. It was going to make an enormous difference to him if the girl carried on like this. When they reached Julianehaab and connected up with Jameson his work would be much relieved; until that time he wanted all the help he could get. He was grateful to her.

He put on his pyjamas, turned out the light, and got into his bed. She had a lovely figure, when her things were wet. If only she’d wear decent clothes she could be really beautiful.

He slept.

Alix paid the bills for all of them, arranged for them to be called, for their breakfast, and for their sandwiches. Then her father joined her, and they strolled together down the wide main street of the little town to the boatman’s cottage, and gave him his instructions. They sauntered back to the hotel in the warm evening.

Lockwood said: “Well, we’re off on the big hop to-morrow. Six or seven hundred miles over the sea to Iceland. Are you still glad you decided to come?”

“I think so, Daddy.”

They walked on in meditative silence. “So am I,” the don said at last. “But there’s much more in this trip than I thought there would be.”

“I know. I thought it would be just like going somewhere in a train.”

“I didn’t think it would be quite like that …” He glanced down at the girl. “We’re absolutely in the pilot’s
hands. If he makes a mistake, we’ll be done for, Alix. How do you feel about that? Have you got confidence in him?”

She met his eyes. “I have. He’s so wrapped up in his work, I don’t believe he could make a mistake.”

Her father said: “I feel like that myself. I think we’re going to be all right.”

They went back to the hotel and to their rooms.

Next morning before dawn Ross was standing in the chilly, deserted hall in his pyjamas, talking to the Air Ministry from the telephone box. The weather report was unchanged. He went back to his room and dressed, and brought his slim kit-bag down to the hall again. Alix was there before him.

She was wearing the white overall and her fur-lined flying boots; she was bareheaded. He met her with a smile. “Good morning,” he said. “We’ve got a decent day for it, I think. Is your father getting up?”

“He’s just coming.” She hesitated. “Do you think this is all right?”

He looked her up and down. “It’s very serviceable. You’ll be able to get your flying suit on over it all right.” He felt the texture of the material on her arm. “It’s good stuff, too. How much did they stick you for it?”

“Nineteen and six.”

“It ought to be a good one for that.” He smiled. “It looks nice, too.” The girl was unreasonably pleased.

Lockwood joined them, and they breakfasted. Then, carrying their small personal luggage, they left the hotel and went down to the jetty. The boatman was waiting for them, and in the clear light of the dawn they were carried swiftly to the seaplane. The sun was just rising at the entrance to the firth; the sky was clear, the water a deep indigo blue between the heather-covered hills. The air was fresh, and crisp, and invigorating.

The Lockwoods got up into the cabin, and for twenty minutes Ross busied himself about the machine. Finally they signalled to the boatman to cast off. A light wind was blowing down the firth from the west; the pilot turned and
taxied down towards Cromarty till he had a run of several miles before him. Then he swung round into the wind and opened up his engine. The heavily laden floats were sunk deep in the water; the seaplane ploughed along with a great wash, gathering speed very slowly. After nearly a mile she rose on to the steps of the floats and gained speed more rapidly till she was skimming from wave-top to wave-top, cracking down heavily on each. In the seat the pilot sat tense and anxious, trying everything he knew to get her off. Once she was bumped up by a lucky wave and made a long hop in the air, but she sank back again; he could not keep her flying. Finally he throttled back.

“We’ll have to dump ten gallons of our fuel,” he said. “She’ll never make it with this load.”

He taxied over to the motor boat and stopped his engine; they passed a light line to the boat. Ross got down on to the floats and busied himself at the sump of the big tank beneath the fuselage; presently a stream of petrol poured away into the sea. He made the cock secure and got back into the cabin; with Lockwood to help him he started up the engine again, and cast off from the motor boat.

This time he chose a run slightly more under the lee of the land where the waves were not so high. Again she ploughed along a long way before getting up on to the step, but after that it went better. She left the water after a run of about a mile and a half, touched again lightly; then she was clear and climbing slowly from the firth, her floats dripping and drying quickly in the rush of air. The pilot let her climb straight ahead for a time; at three hundred feet he put her in a wide turn and relaxed.

He flew back over Invergordon and crossed the neck of the land to Tain, running out his aerial as he did so. Scotland lay spread out before them, purple with heather, cut with deep blue lochs, and very beautiful. The pilot turned and flew north-west to Lairg; then he followed the length of Loch Shin to the west coast. As soon as the aerial was out he began transmitting on his wireless, and was soon in touch with the Fleet Air Arm station at Evanton. He
reported his position, course and speed; then he changed his wave and tried to get in touch with Reykjavik. To his surprise he got them straight away, and tapped out a message to them in morse.

It was about a quarter to seven when he left the water at Invergordon. They were over the west coast of Scotland at a quarter to eight, flying at three thousand feet. They headed straight out to sea from the coast, passing the Butt of Lewis on their port hand at a quarter-past eight. That dropped astern. Then there was nothing to be seen except the wide disc of the sea, a grey and corrugated sea, blotched here and there with cloud shadows.

Ross abandoned the English stations and concentrated upon Reykjavik, transmitting his estimated position each half-hour. Between transmissions he peered through his drift sight at the slowly moving waves below, did little sums upon the slide rule, plotted their position on the map. He was continuously busy. Lockwood sat beside him watching these activities, bored and a little uneasy. They were so far from land, so far from any possibility of help if they should need it. In the whole crossing they only saw one ship, a trawler soon after they left Scotland.

Alix sat behind the pilot, wondering from time to time what he was doing. The tapping of the little key, she knew, meant that he was sending out a message on the wireless; she did not know to whom he was sending, and he was too preoccupied to explain. She did not know what he was looking at when he stared downwards through a hole cut in the floor, fiddling with some instrument. She did not know the purpose of the little handle above his head that he adjusted delicately from time to time, or what calculations he was doing on the slide rule. Yet it was clear to her that he knew just what he was doing, and that everything was going well. There was no uncertainty about his movements, no fumbling or hesitation. They were in good hands. Presently she relaxed and dozed a little.

They went on like that, hour after hour.

The clouds came lower as they went on, forcing them
down to fifteen hundred feet. The weather remained good, however, and the sky was never wholly overcast. At twelve o’clock Ross said to Lockwood:

“We might see land ahead any time now, sir. By my reckoning we’re about sixty miles off.”

The don peered forward, but the horizon was hazy; there was nothing to be seen. Presently the clouds came lower still; Ross took the machine down to about eight hundred feet. From that height they could see the waves; there was a long swell running, difficult to land in if they had to. The girl looked at the grey rollers pensively; she felt that she hated the sea. Any sort of land would be better than this grey stuff, with its little streaks of foam.

Suddenly she leaned forward and said: “Mr. Ross!”

He swung round in his seat. “Yes?”

“What’s the matter with the sea? It’s gone a different colour.”

He looked down quickly. The dark grey had changed to a dirty, milky hue. He said: “Good enough—that means we’re very near. Quick of you to spot that.”

“Does the sea change colour near land?”

“It does here, according to the books. It’s the glaciers or something.”

They peered into the haze ahead. In a minute or two the pilot said:

“There it is. See? Over there.”

They followed his direction. A dark lava rock was standing in the sea, ringed with white foam; then there was another, and a little island. Suddenly a rocky and forbidding coast was plain before them; the pilot pulled the seaplane up a little higher. Lockwood stared forward. “What a horrible-looking place!”

The pilot smiled. “I’ve heard of people coming to Iceland for their summer holiday.”

Freed from the strain of the last hours, Alix laughed, a little shrilly. The pilot turned in his seat. “Let’s have those sandwiches,” he said. “It’ll be an hour before we get to Reykjavik.”

The little occupation of unwrapping the sandwiches steadied the girl; the food itself refreshed them and removed their fatigue. The presence of the land raised their spirits; they began to study the countryside with interest and to comment on it cheerfully as they had their lunch. It was a land of little barren farms along by the sea-shore, with hills rising sharply to the north, lined with white streaks of glaciers running down from the ice-cap. Ross flew a little way inland from the coast, homing with his wireless upon the broadcasting station. Presently they crossed a ridge of high land by a lake; in front of them lay Faxa Fjord, and Reykjavik.