Le Saboteur: IX.

Chapter IX.

Le Noir et le Blanc



“Gone? Gone where?”
“Gone West, that’s where. He was shot down during escort duty this afternoon.”
There was silence for a minute.
“But perhaps he made it down all right,” said Allison. “It happens lots of times, you know.”
“No,” said Hayes.
“Why not?”
Hayes made an impatient gesture.
“His ‘plane was on fire. I saw it burning as it went down.”
Allison looked at Woodward. Woodward looked away.
The door banged as Allison hurried outside. Out on the landing field the mechanics were going over the ‘planes just come in. There were four SPADs from “C” flight and one, Ross’s, from “A”. Randolph’s was gone.
Allison stared for a minute and then quickly turned and strode away from there. Crossing the yard, he met up with Perkins. Perkins looked embarrassed. “Did you hear the news, Allison?” he asked.
“Yes, I heard it.”
“Sorry for you.”
“For me?”
“Well—he was your friend.”
Perkins never knew why Allison looked at him so strangely nor why he turned and walked away without a word.
Allison entered a deserted hangar and sat down on the wing of a ‘plane. A mechanic was working at something outside. Another joined him and Allison heard their conversation through the thin board wall.
“’lo, Dobson.”
“Hello, yourself. What are you looking for?”
“Alan wrench. Did you hear the captain got his number called?”
“No, which?”
“Captain Randolph.”
A whistle. “Sorry I am to hear it; he was a good chap. One of the best.”
“That he was. Well, there’s one comfort—he made it to heaven if ever anybody did.”
“I’d say!”


Allison shook his head and tried to ignore the voices. Funny that he should be so cut up, he thought. He’d avoided Randolph for the past few days and suddenly he didn’t know what to do without him. Well, what of it? Men died all the time. They’d lost half a dozen men since Allison had first come to 11 squadron, and it hadn’t bothered him much. Randolph had just been unlucky, that’s all. Anyway, everybody dies sooner or later.
No, Randolph wasn’t so unlucky. After all, he was in heaven, wasn’t he? If there were such a place as heaven Randolph had surely gotten there. "Allison, you should be glad." But he wasn’t. Suddenly—too late—a hundred questions arose that he longed desperately to ask him.
In an instant there flashed to Allison’s mind the remembrance of Randolph as he stood in the road looking after Allison as he’d driven away that morning. What was it about the picture that made Allison abruptly bury his face in his palms and clench his hair between his fingers?
He got up at last and left the hangar. He walked aimlessly, not caring particularly where he went. His steps led him by force of habit to the barracks and up the stairs to the sleeping-quarters. Randolph’s bed was the one at the far end of the room under the window and the dim afternoon light shone down on it. Woodward had packed all Randolph’s personal effects in his rucksack to send home to the family as the last service he could do his friend.
Allison opened his wallet and took out the photograph he had picked up in town. The mother who had written that letter would like it, he thought. He took Randolph’s logbook from where it lay at the top of his rucksack and opened it to put the picture inside. There on the flyleaf was printed in Randolph’s neat handwriting, THE JUST SHALL LIVE BY FAITH.
* * *
There was a sharp rap on the door and Farnsworth put his head in.
“We go up in fifteen minutes, Allison,” he said. “See that you’re ready.”
Slowly Allison put on his flying togs and laced his boots, still struggling over the thoughts in his mind. The verses he had paid no attention to that Sunday he had knocked his chair over came back very clearly for some reason and went round and round in his head.
“For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ…bootlace is torn again. Ought to have bought new ones today in town. Can’t hardly even tie a knot, my hand’s so stiff. The joke’s on me if I can’t fire my guns….the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth…would it have made any difference if I’d gone on that flight? Of course not; don’t even think about that. What could I have done, anyway?…therein is the righteousness of God revealed from faith to faith…There’s the boots. Now for my flight helmet…THE JUST SHALL LIVE BY FAITH…Dash it all! Why can’t I get that out of my head? What does it mean? And what’s the use, anyhow?
The last of the sun was tipping the horizon as the evening patrol set out. There were two battles waged on that flight. One of them nobody but Allison ever knew about—a battle between good and evil which had him by both sides of his soul just as Randolph and Renhard had once had him by both sides of his collar.

Kearns was packing up his rucksack the next morning and whistling “Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit Bag”.
“Going somewhere, Kearns?” asked Ross, entering the barrack-bedroom.
“To visit my brother in hospital.”
“Oh, that’s right; you told me that before, didn’t you? Well, I’d like several days out of here. It seems like ages since my last leave.”
“I’m sorry you’re not coming too,” said Kearns, trying to cheer him up. If he had known a thing or two, he would not have been so sorry.
“How soon do you have to leave?” asked Hayes, who was wondering how he would get along without his best friend for several days.
“In ten minutes. Hadley’s going to take me to the station. Anything you want while I’m in town?”
“I’ve a letter you can mail,” said Hayes, “and I think Allison may be out of cigarettes. At any rate I haven’t seen him smoking lately.”
“That explains why he’s so sulky,” said Ross, looking around to see that Allison wasn’t nearby to overhear. “I’ve never seen such an ill-tempered fellow!”
“He feels badly about the captain, I think,” said Hayes. “I would never have thought he cared so much for him.”
“Does he really?” asked Kearns. “He didn’t seem like that sort of chap.”
And Allison was elevated in the men’s opinions forthwith.
“Hullo, Finny,” said Renhard cheerily, coming in just then. “I brought a present for your brother Michael.”
“A box of cigars! That’s kind of you, Renhard; Michael will be indebted to you, but how did you know he smoked?”
Allison was walking past the door just then in a brown study. He glanced up sharply as he heard the last part of this conversation.
“Renhard always knows everything,” remarked Ross wisely.
He was interrupted by a whistle in the distance.
“That’s the train,” said Hayes. “It must be early. You’ll have to hurry if you want to make it in time.”
Kearns snatched up his rucksack and dashed out. Hadley was waiting in the barrack yard with the squadron motorcycle. Kearns climbed into the sidecar and made himself comfortable.
Just then Allison came up.
“I’ll drive him,” he said.
Hadley relinquished the motorcycle without protest. Kearns, however, wondered at Allison’s sudden friendliness. They drove along for a time keeping their own counsel, for the engine was too loud to talk over.
“It was good of you to drive me over, Allison,” said Kearns when they were obliged to stop at a crossroads to let a truck convoy pass.
“Oh, that’s all right,” said Allison.
Silence.
“By the way, Allison, I’m sorry about the black eye I gave you the other day.”
“Never mind that.”
“And I’m sorry about the soda-water too.”
“Forget about it. Mind if I have a cigar?”
“Cigar? Of course, if you want one.”
Kearns dug up his rucksack and began rummaging.
“Funny,” he said, “they got down to the bottom somehow. Go ahead,” he said, as the last truck passed. “I’ll look while you drive.”
Allison reluctantly started off again. The road to the decrepit station had never seemed so short before. Before Kearns, hampered by the bumpy road, could locate the cigar box among his uniforms and socks they had reached the station platform and the train was pulling out.
“No time, terribly sorry!” shouted Kearns as he dashed forward and swung himself onto the engine. Allison was left, watching the train cars rolling past.

Lusitania: III.

Chapter III.
Sunk!!!

The days passed quickly and the end of the voyage drew near. Avis wondered how she would ever say goodbye to Professor Holbourn; the two of them had become fast friends, although he was a grown man and she only a little girl; but that was Avis’s way. She rarely ever made friends of children her own age. The two of them roved all over the ship, but their favourite place was up on the boat deck. Here there were not quite so many people and they might talk uninterrupted about all sorts of things—from the War to motion pictures. There seemed no end to the things the professor knew and could talk about.
“You ought to write a book,” said Avis. “Not just a storybook—a real book for grownups.”
“I’m writing one now,” he said. “I’ve been working on it in my spare time while travelling in America.”
“Have you really? A real book?” asked Avis with interest. “But perhaps you would rather be working on it now. I’m sorry if I’ve kept you away from it.”
“Oh no,” said the professor with a smile. “I’m taking a holiday from it right now.”
“What is it about?” asked Avis.
“Oh, archaeology—dull things, you know.”
“Oh, that is dull. But grownups ought to like it. They like those sorts of things.” Avis took up a newspaper someone had left on a deck chair. “There’s a picture of the president, again. Oh, it’s an American newspaper, that’s why,” she said with evident scorn in her voice. “I suppose he is going to send another note to Germany to keep America out of the war.”
Professor Holbourn held out his hand for the paper and she gave it to him. “ ‘May 1st’,” he read, looking it over. “You can’t blame him too much, you know,” he said, his natural generosity extending even to the recumbent Americans. “America is a large country to plunge into war. It’s his duty to be cautious. It looks as if relations between America and Germany are getting bad anyway.”
“Why?” asked Avis.
“Germany doesn’t like them selling arms to the Allies.”
“I don’t see that it matters who they sell them to, so long as we pay for them.”
“Neither do I, and anyway, Germany sold arms to the Boers in the last war.” He handed her back the newspaper, which she took and looked at in a way that showed she was not really seeing it.
“My father fought in the Boer War,” she said.
“Tell me about your father, Avis,” said the professor.
Avis hesitated. She had never spoken about her father to anybody since he’d died and she was not certain she could do it without making a baby of herself. She drew a deep breath.
“He died a year ago,” she said. “Mother had to keep a nursing home to make ends meet, but she is so busy with it now that she hasn’t any spare time, and that is why I have to go to boarding school. I don’t mind so much really, besides missing Mama. I’ve never gotten used to not having Papa there.”
“No,” said the professor. “I suppose that would be hard.”
“I have a picture of him,” said Avis slowly. “Would you like to see it?”
Of course he did, so she took a little frame from her pocket—it was the kind that springs open when you press a button on the side—and opened it to show a little photograph of a man with a kind face and merry eyes.
“He used to call me his little bird,” explained Avis. “That’s because I used to sing for him, and because Avis means ‘bird’, you know.”
“Do you like to sing?”
“I used to. I hardly ever sing now.”
Professor Holbourn fell silent and gazed out over the railing at the sparkling water. Avis thought he felt sorry for her, which was a nice thing and a rather embarrassing thing at the same time—she didn’t like to feel like a little child. But he said no more on the subject and Avis could not tell after all what he thought about it.
The next morning she was awakened early by a banging sound on the boat deck. She jumped out of bed, thinking about submarines, and ran up the stairs and out onto the deck. There she saw sailors moving the davits from which the lifeboats were suspended so that the boats might be lowered quickly in case of an emergency. The captain had decided to take this precaution, as they were nearing the war zone.
“Does that mean we may be sunk?” Avis asked one of the sailors.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “This ship is too fast to be hit by a submarine.”
That was what everyone was saying. But the very fact that they were saying it made it seem as if it were a real possibility.
That evening was the traditional passenger talent concert which was used to raise money for seamen’s charities. Some people sang; some told jokes; some did magic tricks. The famous Welsh singers performed to everyone’s enjoyment.
At the intermission the captain got up to remark as he always did. He told the passengers that they were now in the danger zone, so to keep their portholes covered and for the gentlemen not to smoke on deck. That was so the ship could not be spotted by submarines.
After that everyone was on edge and the evening wasn’t so pleasant anymore. Avis and the professor went out onto the promenade deck and walked slowly up and down it in the cool night air as the music from the band played softly.
“Do you really think we’ll be sunk?” asked Avis.
“Probably not,” said the professor. “It would be very wicked of the Germans to kill so many innocent people because they’re angry with our country.” But Avis could see that he was worried.
“Avis,” he said, after they had walked the deck in silence for several minutes, “Why is your mother sending you to England?”
“I’m going to go to school there,” said Avis.
“I know, but why not send you to a school in Canada, closer to your family?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you have relatives in England?”
“Yes, my grandmother and grandfather, but I haven’t seen them since we left for Canada.”
Professor Holbourn was silent again. He stopped and leaned over the rail, gazing out over the dark water. Avis stood beside him.
“Supposing we should be sunk,” she said.
Professor Holbourn looked at her. “I’ll look after you if we do,” he said. “Don’t worry.”
Before she went to bed, Avis made sure her lifebelt was in its usual place above her bunk.

The next morning a dense mist rolled in. The Lusitania’s foghorn blared out every so often and she was obliged to go slowly lest she should run into another ship. Avis found Leslie Morton busy about his sailor’s duties on the boat deck.
“Well, we didn’t sink yet,” she said cheerfully.
“Not yet,” he said with a grin.
“Did they even see any submarines?”
“If they did they didn’t tell me. Don’t worry. I’m on lookout duty this afternoon, so if I see any I’ll tell you.”
Avis skipped away to find the professor.
Around noon the fog lifted and the Irish coast could be seen off to port. It made Avis feel safer to have land in sight, but at the same time it reminded her that the lovely voyage would soon be over.

Several kilometres away, a submarine sat idly on the ocean’s placid surface. The captain was looking through his binoculars at a shape gradually gaining definition as it came over the horizon—the shape of a Cunarder. A pack of grease-soaked and five-o’clock-shadowed seamen stood about, waiting expectantly for orders.
In a moment the order to dive was given and the men rushed down the iron ladder into the coffin-like space below. The hatch was pulled to and fastened and the diving bell rung. With a hiss, the U-20 submerged itself beneath the water and pursued her course unseen by her unsuspecting victim.
The captain, with his face glued to the periscope, gave orders to his pilot.
“Forward at nine knots.”
“Forward at nine knots,” came the reply.
“Two points to starboard.”
“Two points to starboard.”
“Up one degree.”
“Up one degree,” again came the answer.
Through the periscope the captain saw the ship change course.
“Teufel!” he cried. He could never catch her now. Then, changing course once more, the liner turned, presenting a beautiful shot.
“Ha ha! We’ll do them yet! Prepare torpedo.”
“Don’t you mean to give them warning, Kapitän?”
“Do as I say!”
A young Alsatian electrician glanced up in amazement. “A passenger liner—Kapitän, you cannot mean it!”
“Shut up!” said the captain. “Range, 700 metres.”
“There are women and children on board, you must not sink it without giving them a chance!”
“Shut up, I say!” cried the captain. “I know what I’m doing! You’re nothing but a scurvy Frenchman* who will be drummed out of the service directly we make port.”
“I will not be party to this!”
“Very well. I’m arresting you on a charge of insubordination. Lock him up!” Then he turned again to the work at hand. “Range, 660 metres.”
“Range, 660 metres,” came the reply.
“Fire!!”

Avis was in the second-class dining room finishing her dinner. Suddenly, over the noise of multiple conversations, she heard a shout. The passengers fell silent and listened.
“TORPEDO TO STARBOARD!” It was Leslie Morton’s voice, Avis was sure of it.
The next instant a horrible feeling struck her in the pit of her stomach and a roaring filled her ears. Everyone sat stunned for a second, then with one accord they started up and rushed in a confused jumble for the stairs. Avis was left alone amid a wreckage of broken china and scattered food.
The ship had been hit! A horrible terror possessed Avis. Surely it could not be real: surely it was all a mistake. She must get out.
The thought filled her mind with terrible insistence, yet Avis shrank from the idea of going out on that deck among all those terrified people. And she was all alone.
Suddenly through the doorway a man appeared. He was dishevelled, pale, anxious, but he was the professor.
“Avis!” he said, “Come quickly!” He took her hand and led her down several corridors to his stateroom. There were three lifebelts stowed above the bunks and he took one and put it on Avis.
“Wait here,” he said, and was gone.
Avis stood still in the middle of the room, not wanting to move or think. She wanted to wake up and find everything all right. The door was open and she stared into the narrow corridor. It seemed narrower and darker than it had before. Avis looked at the floor. It seemed to be moving. It was—it was slowly tilting toward the starboard side of the ship. Avis again felt the insistent impression that she must get out onto the open deck. She thought of the boat deck, high and safe, with nothing between it and the bright sky; it seemed a wonderful place—a safe place. But Professor Holbourn had told her to wait where she was. Maybe he had forgotten about her.
Suddenly the lights went out. Avis almost screamed. She glanced wildly around the apartment and hurrying to the porthole, snatched the cloth off that covered it. There was some light in the room then, if only a little.
If only she knew what to do! Should she try to get out, or should she wait for Professor Holbourn? She sat down on the bed and pressed her hands to her face, trying to think. At once the thought came to her: she might pray!
Avis had always been taught to pray. More than that, she had been taught to think of the Lord Jesus as a friend who would always be with her wherever she went. She fell to her knees beside the bunk and prayed simply that God would protect her and the rest of the people on the ship if it were His will.
Afterwards a peace came stealing into her heart and she was no longer afraid of being alone. The sound of steps coming down the dark passage reached her and in a moment the professor appeared with the two girls, Sarah and Hilda. He found a lifebelt for Hilda and tried to put the last one on Sarah, but she protested. “No, no,” she said, for he did not have a lifebelt himself. “You have a wife and children.”
“If I can get you to a boat I’ll take the lifebelt,” he said. To this she agreed.
They went out on the deck, where everything was confusion. First they made for the lifeboats on the port side, scrambling up the deck, which was tilted dreadfully. The list of the ship was so bad that the boats swung back over the sides and could not be lowered.
Prof. Holbourn saw that nothing was to be done here, so he led them to the other side. Here there was such a crowd around the lifeboats that they could not get near. Prof. Holbourn pushed his way through the frantic people, dragging the girls along behind him until they were beside a nearly full boat. The ship was listing over so much that the lifeboat hung from the davits more that five feet from the rail. Avis looked down at the water sixty feet below and knew she was too frightened to ever jump that far.
But she did not need to. Prof. Holbourn helped the two girls in and then picked Avis up, big girl that she was, kissed her, and swung her into the boat.
“Kiss my wife and children for me when you get to Britain,” he said.
Then the boat was slowly let down. Avis watched the professor working the davits with the crewmembers. He glanced once at her as the boat touched the water but the crowds closed around him and Avis saw him no more. The men in the boat fitted the oars into the oarlocks and did their best to pull away from the ship. Avis watched the dark water eddying around the ship’s iron sides and suck at their little lifeboat as if it would pull it down too.Suddenly the lifeboat lurched. Avis caught onto the side, while the others in the boat began to cry out. The boat swayed back and forth; it seemed to be caught on something; Avis watched in horror as the water crept slowly up the side. The boat was turning over!

*The French province of Alsace, together with Loraine, was ceded to Germany after the Franco-Prussian War. Although the inhabitants thereby became German citizens, their loyalties were often divided.