CHAPTER XI
THE CREW OF BLIND MEN
During the next ten days Bobby Lestrange was busy--busy doing things under the orders of Sam.
They camped in the _Sandfly_, and to the labours incident on the fitting out of the _Lorna Doone_ were added the labours of cooking their own food and washing-up. Bobby wanted to stop at the inn, but Sam would have none of that.
"You've got to get used to a boat," said Sam, "and you'll be thanking me before you've got through the Gut of Gibraltar."
They had to take the auxiliary engine down, examine it in all its parts, put it together again and run it. They had to renew several ratlines that were doubtful, fit a new mainsheet-buffer and bobstay, and devise a boom to carry a watch-tackle necessary for their work at Hyalos. They had to look to the ballast, fill the water-tanks with five hundred gallons of water, make out the list of stores, receive them and stow them.
Whenever Bobby ventured to ask about the crew and captain, Sam made the same reply:
"That's all right; leave it to me."
But on the evening of the tenth day, as they sat smoking after supper, he broke the silence.
"Everything is ready to put out the day after to-morrow," said he, "and I propose to get the crew to sign on to-morrow. I've got four chaps, not including Glastonbury, the diver, and they're all blind and dumb."
"Good lord!" said Bobby. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking sense. You said you want men who won't come home and chatter about what you are doing. These chaps won't. First there's Glastonbury. He never talks about anything. He's a diver and nothing else; silent as a seal when he's out of the water, same as when he's in. Then there's Bowler, brother of that longshoreman who rowed you off first day you were here. He's a Christchurch man whose one idea is the salmon fishing; his head wouldn't hold two ideas. Then there's Longley, Church, and Atherfield; they are all small-yacht sailors out of jobs. I know them all, and the whole crowd are blind--not the way you mean, but the way I mean. They take no interest in anything but their grub and their pay, and the sea qualities of the boat they are in. You say you expect to fish up Greek statues and things? Well, if you were to fish up the great god Pan, alive and kicking, you wouldn't interest these chaps. They are blind to everything but just the things that matter to them, and it's only those things they talk about. Now, a deep-sea sailor is different. There's a lot of intellect of sorts in a fo'c'sle. They are always talking in the fo'c'sle, and a lot of them read books. But this longshore crowd is different."
"I see," said Bobby. "But how about the skipper?"
Sam laughed.
"I've been looking round for a skipper," said he. "It has given me an awful lot of trouble to make a decision, but I've got one."
"Where is he?"
"Here," replied Sam; "and he won't cost you anything but his grub."
"Do you mean to say you'll come yourself?"
"Unless you have any objection. I can't keep off it. It's not me; it's the _Lorna_. She's got me in her grip. I've never had her out, but I know she's good. Lines can't lie."
"Well, that's the best news you've given me yet," said Bobby. "I've always been funky of a skipper; some chap that would, maybe, barge in with objections to what we were doing, or maybe try to grab a big share in the deal. But, Sam, you aren't going for nothing. You've got to have a pull out of it some way."
"I've money enough of my own," said Sam, "and I'm going for my own fun. I don't take any interest in your archæological business. You can fish up what you dashed well please, so long as you don't bother me to admire it or hand me out any mythological junk. Well, that's settled, isn't it?"
"Yes," said Bobby.
Suddenly into his mind had come Martia Hare. He had never told Sam that a girl was to be one of the party, simply because he had never looked on Sam as having anything to do with the business except as regards the outfitting. He remembered Martia's inquiry about Sam, and then how she had closed up as though the subject were distasteful to her. Heavens, if there had been anything between these two, anything that would make one not want to sail with the other, what a complication would ensue!
"I didn't tell you," said he, "but there's a girl going."
"Going where?"
"Going with us."
"A girl? But for heaven's sake, man, what are you taking a girl along on an expedition like this for?"
"She's not a girl of the ordinary sort. She's ready to rough it and lend a hand. She told me she could do cooking."
"Who is she?"
"She's a friend of Behrens. He's known her since she was a child, and she's not strong and wants a change. She's my literary agent, and she introduced me to Behrens, and but for her this affair would never have come off."
He spoke hurriedly, keeping back the name and hoping Sam would forget to ask it. There might be nothing in his fears, but it was just as well to risk nothing. The expedition was due off the day after next at the first of the ebb; that is to say, six o'clock in the morning. Martia would not come down till the night before, and there would be no time for Sam to kick, even if he wanted to.
Bobby did not take into account the possibility that there might be some deep misunderstanding or family feud between these two people, making it impossible for them to be messmates. His whole suspicions were based only on the manner of the girl when she closed her inquiries as to Sam. There might be nothing in it. He determined to leave it at that and keep dumb until the critical moment, unless Sam pressed him. But Sam was not bothering about the name of this girl who had suddenly been foisted on him and would be sure to want the after-cabin, which he had mentally reserved for himself as skipper. Sam was not the sort of skipper who sleeps in the chart-room to oblige a lady. He looked on women as a bore and a nuisance in the main business of life--that is to say, small yachting--and his back now was all bristles.
"We've got cooks," he said. "Bowler and Church will take it in turns. And it doesn't seem the thing, taking a girl on a show like this with nothing but men on board."
He was perfectly honest in saying this. Sam was Victorian in a lot of ways--a fact that was no discredit to him, however it might limit his ideas or the range of woman's activities.
"She's driven an ambulance in the war," said Bobby, "and she's the sort of girl who could go anywhere. Doesn't make you feel as if she was a girl, you know."
"All the same," said Sam, "she's outside this job. It's absurd. You are going on an important and risky business and you take a delicate girl along for her health. You said she was delicate. You'll be wanting to take a cow next, I suppose, so that she can have fresh milk every morning. And I suppose she will be wanting the after-cabin?"
"Yes, of course. But the bunks in the sleeping cabin are quite comfortable--you told me that yourself--and there's only you and me, so we won't be crowded."
"I know, but I reckoned on the after-cabin as skipper. I reckoned to keep my charts and things there."
"Well, keep the after-cabin," said Bobby. "Let her bunk in the sleeping cabin and I'll shake down in the galley. I don't mind."
"That's clear nonsense," said the other. "If she comes, she'll have to have the best, naturally. I may be old-fashioned--thank heaven I am--but I have a feeling of respect for women. I suppose it's a part of my make up. A woman's a woman--all the same they're a dashed lot of nuisances."
He tapped his pipe out and the conversation dropped.
* * * * *
An hour later, when they had turned in and the _Sandfly_, moving to the tide ripples, was rocking them to sleep, Sam's voice came through the darkness.
"What did you say that girl's name was?"
"Which girl's name?"
"The girl who's coming on this show."
"Hare."
"What's her other name?"
"Which other name?"
"Her Christian name."
"March."
"March Hare? Who on earth ever labelled a girl with a name like that?"
"I don't know. Girls are called after the names of months--May and so on--why not March?"
He heard the other snorting and turning in his bunk, and then the even breathing that proclaimed sleep. But Bobby could not sleep for a long time.
Why was Sam so anxious to know the other name? Had he done wrong in not telling him the truth? Might Sam and she have been in love with each other once, or anything like that? He remembered with relief that she had been in love with Isaac Behrens and engaged to him. Still, who could tell how many love affairs and engagements she might have had? On this question, which had no answer, he fell asleep.