Edith's Last Journey
: The Coming Conquest Of EnglandSkipper Brandelaar had given Edith the name of the inn near the harbour,
where he expected a message from Heideck in the course of the night; for
he felt certain that the Major would be anxious to speak to him as soon
as possible.
But he was considerably surprised when, instead of the messenger he
expected, he saw his beautiful disguised passenger enter the low,
smoke-begrimed taproom. He went to meet Edi
gallantry, to shield her from the curiosity and importunities of the
men seated with him at the table, whose weatherbeaten faces inspired as
little confidence as their clothing, which smelt of tar and had suffered
badly from wind and weather.
Utterly surprised, he was going to question Edith, but she anticipated
him.
"I must get back to Dover to-night," she said hurriedly, in a low tone.
"Will you take me across? I will pay you what you ask."
The skipper shook his head slowly, but resolutely.
"Impossible. Even if I could leave again, it couldn't be done in such
weather."
"It must be done. The weather is not so bad, and I know you are not the
man to be afraid of a storm."
"Afraid--no! Very likely I have weathered a worse storm than this with
my smack. But there is a difference between the danger a man has to go
through when he cannot escape it, and that to which he foolishly exposes
himself. When I am on a journey, then come what pleases God, but--"
"No more, Brandelaar," interrupted Edith impatiently. "If you cannot, or
will not go yourself, surely one of your acquaintances here is brave and
smart enough to earn a couple of hundred pounds without any difficulty."
The skipper's little eyes twinkled.
"A couple of hundred pounds? Is it really so important for you to leave
Flushing to-day? We have hardly landed!"
"Yes, it is very important. And I have already told you that I don't
care how much it costs."
The skipper, who had evidently begun to waver, rubbed his chin
thoughtfully.
"H'm! Anyhow, I couldn't do it myself. I have important information for
the Herr major, and he would have a right to blame me, if I went away
without even so much as speaking to him. But perhaps--perhaps I
might find out a skipper who would take the risk, provided that I got
something out of it for myself."
"Of course, of course! I don't want a favour from you for nothing. You
shall have fifty pounds the moment I set foot in the boat."
"Good! And two hundred for the skipper and his men? The men are risking
their lives, you mustn't forget that. Besides, they will have to manage
confoundedly cleverly to get past the German guardships unnoticed."
"Yes, yes! Why waste so much time over this useless bargaining? Here is
the money--now get me a boat."
"Go in there," said Brandelaar, pointing to the door of a little dark
side room. "I will see whether my friend Van dem Bosch will do it."
Before complying with Brandelaar's suggestion, Edith glanced at the
man whom he had indicated with a movement of his head. Externally
this robust old sea-dog was certainly not attractive, but his alarming
appearance did not make Edith falter in her resolution for a moment.
"Good--talk to your friend, Brandelaar! And mind that I don't have to
wait too long for his consent."
. . . . . . .
The gallant Brandelaar must have found a very effective means of
persuasion, for in less than ten minutes he was able to inform Edith
that Van dem Bosch was ready to risk the journey on the terms offered.
He said nothing more about the danger of the undertaking, as if he
were afraid of frightening the young Englishwoman from her plan, so
profitable to himself. From this moment nothing more was said about the
matter. It was not far to the place where the cutter lay at anchor,
and Edith struggled on bravely between the two men, who silently walked
along by her side, in the face of the hurricane from the north, roaring
in fitful gusts from the sea. They rowed across to the vessel in a yawl,
and when Brandelaar returned to the quay he had his fifty pounds all
right in his pocket.
"If the Herr major asks after me, you may tell him the whole truth with
confidence," Edith had said to him. "And greet him from me--greet him
heartily. Don't forget that, Brandelaar."
. . . . . . .
The skipper's two men, who had been lying fast asleep below deck in the
cutter, were considerably astonished and certainly far from pleased at
the idea of the nocturnal passage. But a few words from the skipper in a
language unintelligible to Edith speedily removed their discontent.
They now readily set to work to set sail and weigh anchor. The skipper's
powerful hands grasped the helm; the small, strongly-built vessel tacked
a little and then, heeling over, shot out into the darkness.
It passed close by the Gefion, and had it by accident been shown up
by the electric light which from time to time searched the disturbed
surface of the water, the nocturnal trip would in any case have
experienced a very disagreeable interruption. But chance favoured
the rash undertaking. No signal was made, no shout raised from the
guardship, and the lights of Flushing were soon lost in the darkness.
Since the start Edith had been standing by the mast, looking fixedly
backwards to the place where she was leaving everything which had
hitherto given all its value and meaning to her life. The skipper and
his two men, whom the varying winds kept fully occupied with their
sails, did not seem to trouble about her, and it was not till a suddenly
violent squall came on that Van dem Bosch shouted to her that she had
better go below, where she would at least be protected against the wind
and weather.
But Edith did not stir. For her mind, racked by all the torments
of infinite despair, the raging of the storm, the noise of the rain
rattling down, and the hissing splash of the waves as they dashed
against the planks of the boat, made just the right music. The tumult
of the night around her harmonised so exactly with the tumult within her
that she almost felt it a relief. The close confinement of a low cabin
would have been unbearable. She could only hold out by drinking in
deep draughts of air saturated with the briny odour of the sea, and by
exposing her face to the storm, the rain, and the foam of the waves. It
was a kind of physical struggle with the brute forces of Nature, and
its stirring effect upon her nerves acted as a tonic to a mind lacerated
with sorrow.
She had no thought for time or space. Only the hurricane-like rising
of the storm, the increasingly violent breaking of the waves, and the
wilder rocking of the boat, told her that she must be on the open sea.
In spite of her oilskin cape, she was completely wet through, and a
chill, which gradually spread over her whole body from below, numbed her
limbs. Nevertheless, she never for a moment thought of retiring below.
She had no idea of danger. She heard the sailors cursing, and twice the
skipper's voice struck her ears, uttering what seemed to be an imperious
command. But she did not trouble herself about this. As if already set
free from everything earthly, she remained completely indifferent to
everything that was going on around her. The more insensible her body
became, paralysed by the penetrating damp and chill, the more indefinite
and dreamlike became all the impressions of her senses. She seemed to
have lost all foothold, to be flying on the wings of the storm, free
from all restrictions of corporeal gravity, through unlimited space. All
the rushing, howling, rattling, and splashing of the unchained elements
seemed to her to unite in one monotonous, majestic roar, which had no
terrors for her, but a wonderfully soothing influence. As her senses
slowly failed, the tumult became a lofty harmony; she felt so entirely
one with mighty, all-powerful Nature that the last feeling of which she
was conscious was a fervent, ardent longing to dissolve in this mighty
Nature, like one of the innumerable waves, whose foam wetted her feet in
passing.
. . . . . . .
A loud sound, like the sharp report of a gun, was heard above the
confusion of noises--a loud crash--some wild curses from rough sailors'
throats! The boat suddenly danced and tossed upon the waves like a piece
of cork, while the big sail flapped in the wind as if it would be torn
the next minute into a thousand pieces.
The peak-halyard was broken, and the gaff, deprived of its hold, struck
with fearful force downwards. With all the might of his arms, strong as
those of a giant, the skipper pulled at the helm to bring the vessel to
the wind. The two other men worked desperately to make the sail fast.
In these moments of supreme danger none of the three gave a thought
to the disguised woman in the oilskin cape, who had stood so long
motionless as a statue by the mast. Not till their difficult task was
successfully finished did they notice that she had disappeared. They
looked at each other with troubled faces. The skipper at the helm said--
"She has gone overboard. The gaff must have hit her on the head. There
is no more to be done. Why would she stay on deck?"
He cleared his throat and spat into the sea, after the fashion of
sailors.
The other two said nothing. Silently they obeyed the orders of the
skipper, who made for the mouth of the Schelde again.
They made no attempt to save her. It would have been a useless task.
More
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