Black August

by Dennis Wheatley

  When full daylight came they suffered the illusion that the mist was lifting, since from the stern it seemed that they could see several lengths ahead, but they soon realised that they had only discovered the general density of the fog, and their length of vision did not alter as they advanced into the curtain of chill greyness which shut out light and sun. A dree, eerie feeling of loneliness and uncertainty stole over them, engendered by the silence and mystery of these seemingly impenetrable yet opaque walls of gloom. Even Harker’s resilient cheerfulness was temporarily damped and all of them were cold, hungry, and exhausted from lack of sleep.

  Those who were not rowing crouched, dejected and miserable, in the bottom of the boat. The man with the injured leg groaned now and again. Gregory tossed in an uneasy sleep. Ann and Veronica, huddled together on one of the seats in the stern, sought to conserve what little warmth they could under a tarpaulin which had been found for them, and the oarsmen were half-asleep as they swayed monotonously backwards and forwards at their task.

  They had been rowing for the best part of an hour and a half when Silas leaned over to Kenyon:

  ‘What about a spell?’

  Kenyon nodded wearily. The boat rocked a little as they ceased to ply their oars and the crews changed over, then the men who had been relieved settled down as comfortably as they could on the hard bottom boards and nodded into sleep.

  Rudd thought of examining their supplies and suggesting breakfast, but two-thirds of the grey, drawn faces about him were sunk in deep slumber. It seemed no kindness to rouse them from their brief oblivion to a knowledge of the cheerless and uncertain prospect. Next moment the thought had drifted from his mind and he too was asleep.

  Ann woke from a fitful doze as Kenyon sat down beside her. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked softly.

  ‘Pretty miserable—I’m so wretchedly cold,’ she whispered, but she gave him a sleepy smile.

  Very gently he slid his arm along the gunwale behind her shoulders and her head slipped down on to his chest. As he drew the corner of the covering more closely round her she closed her eyes, and wriggling into a more comfortable position dropped off again. Exhausted as he was and aching in every limb the moments were too precious for him to lose them in unconsciousness, and he remained, half-dozing but never lapsing from the joyous knowledge of her nearness to him, all through Harker’s spell.

  With the idea of warming up his Greyshirts, Silas set a quicker stroke, but soon he found it necessary to ease down and teach his squad to regularise their swing from Kenyon’s example. Time wore on, and as the sun rose higher in the heavens the greyness lightened, but no rift appeared on any side in the all-pervading murk.

  Kenyon was recalled from his half-dreaming state by Silas placing a large hand on his shoulder, and saying amiably: ‘What about it? Your turn now, I reckon.’ Another hour or more passed.

  He shivered, the damp chill of the mist seemed to have penetrated to the very marrow of his bones, then he pulled himself together and gently resettling Ann, who was now sleeping soundly, took the oar. The crews were already changing places and soon his party had settled down again into a long monotonous stroke. Almost unconsciously he noticed that his men were rowing better for their short training, then the thought of food came to him, but it was too late to think of that for the moment now. He could not leave his oar, and Silas was already curled up in the stern sheets next to Petty Officer Sims, his broad chest rising and falling in the long respirations of deep and healthy sleep.

  Rudd sat huddled at the tiller again, his blue eyes alert and watchful. He grinned at Kenyon, showing his uneven teeth. ‘Tike yer ’oliday on the Broads this summer, eh, sir. Travel by Moonshine Line—kids under six travels free—an’ if yer got a dozen yer get a cokernut.’

  Kenyon’s lips parted in a quick smile. ‘I only wish we were on the Broads. Ever been there?’

  ‘No, sir, but me uncle’s brother-in-law were drowned there, so I knows a bit abart it.’

  ‘How was that?’

  ‘Well, ’e were a read ‘eaded man, sir—an’ beggin’ yer pardon, with no reference to yerself—’e were apt to fly off the ‘andle a bit quick if yer know what I mean.’

  ‘Yes,’ Kenyon agreed, slightly mystified.

  ‘An’ ’e ’ad an upsydisy wiv a lock-keeper wot wouldn‘t let ’im through ’is lock.’

  ‘Why—did he refuse to pay?’

  ‘No it weren’t that, but George were a bit of a Socialist, more fool ‘im—tho’ we shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, an’ ’e couldn’t see why ’e should wait fer a private yacht ter come through from the other side—that’s wot started the argument. Then the lock-keeper starts gettin’ personal abart ’is missus—my uncle’s sister as was—an’, they bein’ on their ‘oneymoon that properly riled poor old George, so ’e ups in the boat to give the lock-keeper a piece of ’is mind when unfortunate like ’e steps on the end of ’is oar.’

  Kenyon quickly suppressed a rising chuckle and looked appropriately grave.

  ‘An’ the oar come up like a jack-in-the-box an’ ’it poor old George on the ‘ead.’

  ‘Dear me!’

  ‘Yuss—knocked ’im arse over tip, if you’ll pardon the words, an’ ’e never come to the surface no more.’

  ‘That was appalling luck, especially on his honeymoon.’

  ‘Yuss,’ agreed Rudd philosophically, ‘but me uncle’s sister ‘ad twins all the same.’

  ‘Did she get the King’s bounty?’

  ‘No fear, sir—that’s triplets.’

  Kenyon swayed backwards and forwards at his oar while Mr. Rudd, having discovered in him a willing and intelligent listener, entertained him with a variety of those views which a close acquaintance with men and things had impressed upon him.

  At nine o’clock Kenyon woke Silas, who opened his enormous mouth in a gigantic series of yawns and then demanded a cigarette before he took over, his own supply being exhausted.

  ‘Cigarette, sir,’ exclaimed Rudd, ‘why, ’ere you are, I got enough to larst us even if we goes ter China,’ and he produced a tin of a hundred from one of his bulging pockets.

  ‘Thanks, boy—where did you get these?’ Silas puffed at the Balkan Sobranie contentedly.

  ‘I made ’em out of the Officers Mess in the ship, sir; ‘tisn’t right them Bolsheviks should be left wiv decent cigarettes although I prefers gaspers meself. Still, I thought they might come in handy. Mr. Gregory’s a rare one for ’is Turks.’

  ‘What about some food?’ suggested Kenyon when he had been relieved of his oar.

  ‘Righto, sir. If Mr. Sims’ll take charge of the Mayflower, I’ll ‘ave a look at the eats.’

  Sims took over the tiller again but he leant forward towards Kenyon. ‘I’m afraid we’re a long way off our course, sir.’

  ‘Are we? Well, that’s not surprising in this wretched fog.’

  ‘You see it’s this way, sir,’ the Petty Officer lowered his voice. ‘The Sunk isn’t more’n twelve miles from the shore and so we ought to have sighted land a couple of hours ago if we was makin’ dead for it, and even if we was swept out of our course a bit by the current, we ought to have made landfall by now.’

  ‘Well, what’s the best thing to do?’ inquired Kenyon.

  ‘Give the men a spell, sir, they can do with it, and we may be rowing further out to sea for all we know. We can keep a sharp look-out for shipping—an’ the sun may break through later in the day.’

  ‘That’s sense,’ agreed Silas. ‘Come on, boys, ship your oars.’

  Rudd had pulled an oblong box from under the seat and was examining its contents critically, ‘My! this ain’t the larder of the Aquitania,’ he said softly. ‘Where’s that ruddy Bob—Bob where are yer?’

  ‘Here I am, sergeant.’

  ‘What d’yer do wiv them stores I give yer ter take care of?’

  ‘I left them on the ship, Mr. Rudd. I put them down when the lady was bandaging my arm, and I forgot to pick them up again.’

 
‘Streuth,’ muttered Rudd to Kenyon. These kids don’t arf make yer sick. Anyone ud think ‘ed lorst ’is blooming ’ow d’yer does instead of ‘aving a blighty in the arm. Any’ow we’ll ‘ave to make do wiv what they give us.’

  ‘What is there then?’

  ‘Biscuits, a lump of meat, some tea wiv nothin’ ter cook it on, an’ a bit of cheese.’

  ‘All right, the biscuits and cheese will do for the moment.’

  They were hard, unsweetened ship’s biscuits and the cheese was mouse-trap cheddar. Not a particularly appetising breakfast for people whose nerves had been stretched to the utmost limit of endurance all through the night, and who had then spent some five hours crouching in an open boat chilled to the marrow by sea mist; but the men put a good face on it and gnawed away at the broken bits of flour and water.

  ‘’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 greyness 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 Sims’s prediction was fulfilled, the mist broke into banks and patches, the sea began to sparkle and the sun came through.

  ‘In-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 as 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 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…’

  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 agin. 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.

  All through the long afternoon the strong sun blazed down on the backs of the oarsmen. Their muscles were aching from the unaccustomed exercise, their hands were chafed and blistered, but they still swayed backwards and forwards in monotonous rhythm. The sun was causing acute discomfort to other members of the party too. ‘Jolly for sunbathing, but not like this, my dear,’ as Veronica expressed it to Ann, for they had no shelter and whichever way they turned it seemed to beat down upon their bare necks; their faces, unprotected by hats, were already turning an angry red.

  When Kenyon’s party went on again, Sims, having handed the tiller over to Rudd, leant towards Gregory. ‘There’s something wrong, sir, I’m assured of that.’

  ‘Oh, how do you mean?’ asked Sallust.

  ‘Well, I won’t say Crowder didn’t act in good faith when he said he put us off by the Sunk, but how’s the likes of him to know one light vessel from another, and their course was only guessed at anyhow. If it was the Sunk we should see land by now even allowing that we was on the wrong track this morning. If you ask me, sir, it was the Galloper Light we saw, and not the Sunk at all.’

  ‘I see, and how far is that from the shore?’

  ‘Twenty-five miles, sir, or maybe more, we was a bit to the north-east’ard of it when they dropped us.’

  Gregory nodded. ‘What sort of speed do you reckon we can make an hour?’