cigarette into the sea and routed out a heap of sacking. Howard took the helm and the young man arranged a sleepy little boy on the floor beside their feet. After a time Focquet lay down himself on the bare boards and slept for an hour while the old irian sailed the boat on through the starlight.
All night they saw no ships at all on the sea. Ships may have been near them, but if so they were sailing without lights and did not trouble them. But in the half-light of dawn, at about half-past four, a destroyer came towards them from the west, throwing a deep feathery bow wave of white foam aside as she cut through the water, bearing down on them.
She slowed a quarter of a mile away and turned from a grey, menacing spear into rather a battered, rusty ship, menacing still, but worn with much hard work. A young man in duffle coat and service cap shouted at them from the bridge, megaphone in hand: 'Vous etes Francais?'
Howard shouted back: 'Some of us are English.'
The young man waved at him cheerfully. 'Can you get to Plymouth all right?'
'We want to go to Falmouth.' The whine of the destroyer's fans and the lapping of the waves made conversation difficult.
'You've got to go to Plymouth. Plymouth! Is that all right for you?'
Howard spoke quickly to Focquet, and then nodded to the ship. The young officer waved at him again and stepped back. There was a sudden foaming of the stern and the destroyer shot away on her course up-Channel. They were left tossing in the creamy effervescence of her wake.
They altered course two points towards the east and started up the engine, giving them about six knots of speed. The children roused, and in failing misery began to vomit again. They were all cold, and very tired, and desperately hungry.
Presently the sun came up and the day grew warm. The old man gave them all a little drink of wine and water.
All morning they plugged on over a sunlit, summer sea. Now and again the young Frenchman asked Howard the time, studied the sun, and made a correction to his course. At noon a thin blue line of land appeared ahead of them to the north.
At about three o'clock a trawler closed them, and asked who they were, and, as they tossed beside her, showed them the high land of Rame Head on the horizon.
At about half-past five they were off Rame Head. A motor-launch, a little yacht in time of peace, ranged up alongside them; an RNVR lieutenant questioned them again. 'You know the Cattewater?' he shouted to Howard. 'Where the flying boats are? That's right. Go up there and into the basin on the north side. All refugees land at the fish quay in the basin. Got that? Okay.'
The launch sheered off and went on her way. The fishing-boat nosed in past Rame Head, past Cawsand, past the breakwater into the shelter of the Sound. Ahead of them lay Plymouth on its hills, grey and peaceful by its harbour in the evening sunlight. Howard stared at it and sighed a little. It seemed to him that he had been happier in France than he would be in his own land.
The sight of the warships in the Sound, the land, and the calmer water revived the children a little; they began to look about and take an interest again. Under the old man's guidance Focquet threaded his way through the warships; off Drake's Island they came to the wind and lowered the brown sail. Then, under engine only, they made their way to the fish quay.
There were other boats before them at the quay, boats full of an assortment of mixed nationalities, clambering ashore and into England. They lay off for a quarter of an hour before they could get to the steps, while the gulls screamed around them, and stolid men in blue jerseys looked down on them, and holiday girls in summer cotton frocks took photographs of the scene.
At last they were all stumbling up the steps to join the crowd of refugees in the fish-market. Howard was still in the clothes of a Breton labourer, unshaven, and very, very tired. The children, hungry and exhausted, clustered round him.
A masterful woman, trim and neat in the uniform of the WVS, shepherded them to a bench. 'Asseyez vous la,' she said in very bad French, 'jusqu'on peut vous attendre.'
Howard collapsed on to the seat and sat there half in coma, utterly exhausted. Once or twice women in uniform came to them and asked them questions, which he answered mechanically. Half an hour later a young girl brought them cups of tea, which they took gratefully.
Refreshed, the old man took more interest in his surroundings. He heard a cultured Englishwoman's voice.
'There's that lot over there, Mrs Dyson. All those children with the two men.'
'What nationality are they?'
They seem to be a mixed lot. There's rather an attractive little girl there who speaks German.'
'Poor little thing! She must be Austrian.'
Another voice said: 'Some of those children are English.'
There was an exclamation of concern. 'I had no idea! But they're in such a state! Have you seen their poor little heads? My dear, they're lousy, every one of them.' There was a shocked pause. That horrible old man - I wonder how he came to be in charge of them.'
The old man closed his eyes, smiling a little. This was the England that he knew and understood. This was peace.
Chapter 12
The last bomb had fallen, the last gun had fired; over in the east the fires were dying down. Then came the long notes of the 'All Clear' from different quarters of the town.
We got up stiffly from our chairs. I went over to the long window at the far end of the room, pulled back the curtains and threw back the shutters. The glass from the window fell in on the carpet with a crash; the wind blew fresh into our faces with a bitter, acrid smell of burning.
Down in the streets below tired men in raincoats, gumboots, and tin-hats were tending a small motor- pump. There was a noise like a thousand jangling cut-glass chandeliers as men in the houses opposite poked the remains of broken windows from the frames, letting the glass fall on the pavements, going methodically from room to room.
A cold, grey light was spreading over London. It was raining a little.
I turned from the window. 'Did you get them over to the States?' I asked.
'Oh yes,' he said. 'They all went together. I sent a wireless telegram to the Cavanaghs offering to send Sheila and Ronnie, and Tenois asked if he might send Rose. I got a woman that I know to go with them, and take them to Coates Harbor.'
'And Anna too?'
He nodded. 'Anna went too.' We moved towards the door. 'I had a letter this week from her uncle in White Falls. He said that he had sent a cable to his brother in Germany, so that ought to be all right.'
'Your daughter must have had a bit of a shock when they arrived,' I said.
He laughed. 'Well, I don't know. I sent a cable asking if she'd have them, and she said she would. She'll be all right with them. Costello seems to be reorganising the whole place for them. He's building a swimming-pool and a new boat-house for their boats. I think that they'll be very happy there.'
We went downstairs in the grey dawn and parted in the hall. He went out a few steps ahead of me; I paused to ask the night porter about damage to the club. He said that they had had a fire-bomb on the roof, but that young Ernest had kicked it about till it went out. He said there was no gas or water coming to the building, but that the electricity had survived the blitz.
I yawned. 'I spent the night up in the smoking-room talking to Mr Howard,' I said.
The man nodded. 'I looked in once or twice and saw you sitting with him,' he said. 'I said to the steward, I said -quite a good thing you was with him. He's got to look a great deal older recently.'
'Yes,' I said. 'I'm afraid he has.'
'He went away for a long holiday a month or two ago,' the porter said. 'But I don't know as it did him a great deal of good.'
I went out, and the glass crunched tinkling beneath my feet.
