The Man who Missed the War

by Dennis Wheatley

  ‘Well, you amaze me!’ Philip ran a hand through his unruly fair hair. ‘I’ve always thought the story of Atlantis was a complete myth.’

  The Canon stood up and, going over to a corner cabinet that held a small collection of jade and soapstone carvings, brought back from it a curious piece which he handed to Philip with the question: ‘What d’you make of that?’

  Philip turned the bluey-green stone carefully from side to side in his hands. It was about seven inches long, roughly the shape of a conch shell, with a row of holes bored in it increasing in size from the thin to the thick end. The whole was most elaborately carved to represent a man with a conical cap on a head much too big for his body, and a fish’s tail. After a moment Philip shook his head. ‘It’s a lovely thing, but I haven’t the faintest idea what it is—unless it’s some sort of musical instrument that you blow through.’

  ‘That’s right. It is a very early example of the Pipes of Pan, and the carving, as you see, is as exquisite as anything ever done by the Chinese, although it bears no resemblance to Chinese art of any period.’

  ‘No, the face looks like that of a Red Indian, doesn’t it? And the design reminds one of the bits of old Mexican stonework that one sees in museums—except that it’s much simpler and altogether more delicate.’

  ‘Yes. The art of the Incas and Aztecs was, in fact, a debased version of the art of the people who made that—and inherited from them. That is far older than any civilisation of which we have a record. It was given to me by an American friend of mine who is a professional geologist. He found it when he was examining some mountain caves in one of the Lesser Antilles, and he vouches for the fact that it cannot be less than ten thousand years old, owing to the deposits under which he found it. The only possible explanation of the finding of such a gem in such a place is an acceptance of the existence of Atlantis as an historical fact. If there had been any other civilisation ten thousand years ago that had advanced to a state of culture in which its art equalled, or perhaps even surpassed, the Chinese, there could hardly fail to be innumerable traces of it.’

  ‘How absolutely fantastic!’ Philip murmured. ‘Just to think that this thing was played by a chap who actually saw the Flood—one of the Noahs who didn’t get away with it, eh! One who died in the mountain cave where he had sought refuge from the terror of the rising waters!’

  It was now close on midnight, and soon afterwards Philip reluctantly left the restful, book-lined room with which he was destined to become so familiar.

  Yet he was not to see his new friend again for some months. A week after his first visit to the Rectory he went up for his last term at Cambridge, and on coming down, as soon as the Christmas vacation was over, he went into a Southampton aircraft factory. There, the excitement of new work, new surroundings and new people kept him entirely absorbed for quite a number of weeks.

  It was on a blustery day in March that he ran into the Canon—a short tubby figure with his cassock billowing about him like a tent. He was crossing the road from the church to the Rectory, an incongruous form as he battled against the wind which blew his thin, dark hair in wisps about his bullet-shaped head. When they had exchanged greetings, he said:

  ‘I want to talk to you, Philip. Come and dine with me—come tonight.’ And, as Philip accepted, he added: ‘We can hear all each other’s news then.’

  That evening, before and during dinner, he encouraged Philip to describe his reactions to the type of people he was meeting in the factory, but immediately afterwards, when they had settled down, he asked:

  ‘Well, what do you think of the news?’

  ‘You mean, about Hitler marching into Austria two days ago?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Philip shrugged. ‘I suppose it was almost inevitable, since we took no steps to stop him reoccupying the Rhineland. Every time you give way to a people like the Germans it simply encourages them to demand something else.’

  ‘Where do you think his eyes’ll turn next?’

  ‘I don’t know enough about international politics to say, but I wouldn’t mind betting that he’ll grab quite a lot of territory before those old fossils at Westminster pluck up the courage to set a definite limit on his expansion. Still, sooner or later, they’ll have to.’

  ‘Have you any ideas when that is likely to be?’

  ‘Yes, I think it will be when Germany makes a formal demand for the return of her colonies. The Admiralty would not stand for that. To allow Hitler to establish air and submarine bases in the Cameroons and Tanganyika, South-West Africa and various other places, would virtually be to surrender the Empire without even a fight—and their Lordships know it. At that point, the Government will be forced to say “No” to Hitler, even at the risk of war.’

  ‘You still think that war is inevitable?’

  Philip gave a quick nod. ‘Every month Germany is growing more powerful. I know for certain now, from people in the works, that her Air Force already far exceeds ours. She may have a dress rehearsal with one of the smaller European Powers, just to gain actual experience in the new technique of co-operation between great air fleets and armoured spearheads on the ground. But it is the war of revenge which will bring about the downfall of Britain that every German is now living and longing for.’

  ‘And what progress have you made?’

  ‘Progress? I don’t quite get what you mean.’

  ‘Surely you’ve not forgotten Admiral Jolly’s challenge to you that night we all dined at your home last September?’

  ‘Oh that!’ Philip put up a hand and stroked his lean jaw thoughtfully. ‘As a matter of fact, I did put in quite a bit of time thinking about it; but when I got back to Cambridge I had to buckle down to my final exams, and since then I’ve been up to my eyes getting the hang of things at the works.’

  ‘How far did you get with your speculations?’

  ‘I had what might be the germ of an idea—that’s all. You see, the obvious answer to attacks by great numbers of U-boats on our shipping is more escorts and more anti-submarine vessels. But as the Admiralty has squandered the best part of its money on these absurd battleships—huge things so vulnerable that they each have to have more escorts than a convoy before they dare move out of harbour themselves—there’s not the least prospect of our getting the small fast craft we’ll need. The only alternative safeguard against a German undersea blockade of the British Isles proving fully effective, that I could see, seemed to be some method of increasing shipping space from the United States quickly and at comparatively little cost. I’ll go fully into the whole thing again and get something down on paper. Then I’d very much like to have your opinion on it.’

  ‘Splendid!’ beamed the Canon. ‘Is a week long enough for you?’

  Philip nodded. ‘Yes, it shouldn’t take me more than two or three evenings to draw a diagram of the thing I have in mind.’

  ‘Right then! Come and have dinner with me again today week.’

  A week later, after they had dined, Philip collected a long roll of stiff paper from the hall and, clearing a space among the books scattered all over the big table in the Canon’s library, spread it out. At the top there stood out in bold letters the words ‘ATLANTIC RAFT CONVOY’.

  ‘By jove!’ exclaimed the Canon, as he peered over Philip’s shoulder. ‘Rafts, eh! That’s a darn’ good idea—if only it’s workable. But surely it will take as much steampower to tow loaded rafts across the ocean as it would to transport the goods in the holds of ships?’

  ‘Yes, ordinarily it would,’ Philip agreed. ‘That was just the snag I had to get over. My first idea was that every ship coming from the States should tow a large raft behind it. But I soon saw the objections to that. A raft of any size would act as such a drag on its towing vessel that it would increase the time of each voyage to a degree at which we’d almost certainly lose rather than gain on our imports. In addition, during storms, the strain on the cables would become so severe that they’d snap; then we’d not only lose the cargo on the r
aft, but the rafts themselves, drifting wild, might prove a serious danger to our other shipping. Nevertheless, it was that last thought about a raft drifting loose in the Atlantic that really put me on the right track. Do you realise where it would land up?’

  The Canon thought for only a second, then he cried: ‘Why, somewhere on the coasts of the British Isles most probably—on account of the Gulf Stream.’

  Philip nodded, his blue eyes shining. ‘That’s it. The Gulf Stream, and the prevailing winds, would bring it slowly but surely north-east, until it beached in England, Ireland, Scotland or Norway. The next step was to find a way of harnessing those god-given forces of nature, because the danger to shipping remained if the Americans just launched scores of these big rafts on to the open ocean, and a percentage of them would be bound to be lost through being dashed on to rocks or washed up on the coasts of the Azores, Eire, Ireland and Scandinavia; so this is the scheme I’ve worked out.’

  They both bent over the diagram as he went on to explain it. ‘My idea is that a hundred square wooden rafts should be connected together in ten strings of ten by strong cables, and that the first raft in each string should be similarly connected to its neighbours. Those lozenges marked A and B are sea-going tugs attached to the two outermost rafts in the front line.’

  ‘But two ocean-going tugs would never have the power to tow that number of rafts, if they were of any size,’ objected the Canon.

  ‘Of course not,’ Philip replied impatiently. ‘For power we must rely entirely on winds and current, but two fair-sized tugs would have enough pull in them to influence direction, and provided they were not required to steam against the current they would be able to some extent to check drift to south or north of the shortest course between the United States and Northern Ireland. The pull they would exert should also be just sufficient to keep the lines of rafts strung out and prevent their fouling one another.’

  ‘In calm weather perhaps, but not in a storm.’

  ‘No. In a storm any attempt to influence the direction of the raft convoy would be hopeless. The towing cables would snap, and these big rafts would become a serious danger to the tugs, particularly in a following sea. In the event of bad weather, the tugs would cast off and cruise at a safe distance from the rafts, then pick them up again as soon as the storm had abated.’

  ‘If the storm lasted for two or three days, the tugs might easily lose touch with your raft convoy. In the course of one rough, pitch-black night it might be swept scores of miles away from them.’

  ‘I’ve provided against that. Every fourth raft will have a small automatic beacon in the centre. The captains of the tugs ought to be able to keep in view a group of twenty-five lights spread out over an area of four square miles, even in the roughest sea.’

  ‘Will your convoy cover as much space as that?’ asked the Canon in some surprise.

  ‘Yes. Each raft would be a hundred feet square. That gives a diagonal from corner to corner of a hundred and forty feet. Then I think we should allow a thousand feet interval between each raft and its neighbours, to lessen the chance of their fouling one another in rough weather. Though, actually, I don’t see why they should, because, provided the load of each is equal in weight and distribution to the others, the stress of tide and wind should be exactly the same on them all. So, theoretically at least, they should keep station automatically. Anyhow, as I was saying, the frontage of the raft convoy when it was fully extended would be just under two miles, and, of course, it would be the same in depth.’

  ‘Have you any idea how long it would take to cross the Atlantic?’

  ‘The speed of the Gulf Stream varies from four knots at the mouth of the Amazon to two knots off the coast of Scotland. Allowing for diversions from course, due to cross-winds, it would not be unfair to take the lowest speed of two knots as an average. It is roughly three thousand miles from Long Island to Northern Ireland, so that would take fifteen hundred hours—say, sixty-three days—about three calendar months. But I think there is a way by which we could reduce the crossing to somewhere near half that time.’

  ‘How do you plan to do that?’

  ‘By fitting each raft with a long, low sail. It would be only two feet high but a hundred and forty feet in length, erected diagonally from corner to corner of the raft, immediately above its cargo, on eight short masts. And under pressure of a fair wind two hundred and eighty square feet of canvas ought to prove pretty useful.’

  ‘Then you propose that each raft should have its own crew?’

  ‘Oh no. That would be impracticable. Apart from the loss of cargo space and the big additional expense of having to fit each raft up with living accommodation and a galley, one could hardly leave two or three hundred poor devils marooned on the rafts during a storm, and on most occasions between the first warning of bad weather and the breaking of the storm there wouldn’t be anything like the time to collect two or three men from each of a hundred rafts. Besides, for ninety-five per cent of their time they’d have nothing whatsoever to do, so it would be a most appalling waste of manpower.’

  ‘True,’ agreed the Canon. ‘But sails don’t set or furl themselves; and if you left them permanently set they would be blown to ribbons before your rafts were a hundred miles out into the Atlantic.’

  ‘I don’t think you’re right about that. Of course they would if they were ten or twelve feet high, and that’s the very reason why I’ve made them only two feet. I believe that long, low sails stretched on a stout framework will stand a lot of buffeting.’

  Philip produced another plan, showing a single raft, drawn to a much larger scale, and went on: ‘You see, steel rods connect the thick, short masts together along their tops, and the long sail will be bent to them as well as having the support of a mast every twenty feet laterally. My idea is that every raft convoy should leave the States on a favourable wind with all sail set, and it would remain so until the wind became definitely adverse. If possible, the sails would then be reefed, but if the weather became too bad they would be left to blow themselves out. As soon as the sea went down and the wind became favourable again, any sails that were torn would be replaced by new ones.’

  ‘Then you will need crews?’

  ‘Yes—servicing crews, but not men on each raft. Look, the large lozenge marked M is the mother-ship of the convoy. Her function is a dual one; to protect the rafts from sabotage by enemy U-boat crews and to house the personnel who will service the rafts. She does not have to be fast or very large. Any old hooker of eight hundred tons or so would do, provided she is mounted with a good big gun to drive off subs and a derrick capable of lifting in-board lozenges C and D—which are two large motor launches—whenever bad weather blows up. The mother-ship could carry the spare sails, extra beacons, and lengths of cable, and so on. Every day parties of the men in her would go off in the motor boats and make the complete round of the convoy, landing on each raft to inspect it. They would test the beacons, lower as many of the sails as time permitted if the wind was becoming unfavourable, or fit new ones after a storm, and keep an eye on cables connecting raft to raft, so that if any of them showed signs of chafing steps could be taken to prevent the cable wearing through.’

  ‘I see,’ the Canon drew a finger along one of the lanes between two strings of rafts. ‘I wondered why you hadn’t made the whole thing a complete network, but, of course, if the rafts were all connected to one another laterally, as in the front row, the servicing parties would not be able to get at the inner ones.’

  ‘Exactly. I would have preferred to link the whole lot up, because I believe they would keep station better if each were attached to three or four of the others instead of only two; but if I did I don’t quite see for the moment how I could prevent the propellers of the servicing launches becoming fouled by the connecting cables. Still, we may find a way to get over that.’

  ‘The whole idea is most ingenious, Philip. But I’m a little doubtful whether you’d find the wind of much assistance. The odds against i
t blowing for any length of time in the exact direction required to drive your rafts along the shortest course between New York and Northern Ireland must be pretty high.’

  ‘Oh, but that isn’t necessary,’ Philip laughed. ‘The nearer that course it is the better, naturally; but any wind from the southwest quadrant of the compass which would carry the convoy towards a two thousand mile arc—of which Cape Clare in Southern Ireland is the centre—would serve. You see, there is no way in which these raft convoys could be steered right up to a port. The tugs would serve only to help keep them going in a generally north-westerly direction. But they would have to be met and brought in. Each convoy would be able to give its position daily by its wireless and all British aircraft could be given permanent instructions to keep a look-out for raft convoys in the Western Approaches. Then a flotilla of sea-going tugs would be sent out to the place indicated, the convoy would be split into ten, or perhaps twenty, strings, and each of the tugs would tow its own quota of rafts the last few hundreds miles to whatever port or ports had at that particular time the best facilities for their reception.’