"O mort, vieux capitaine, il est temps! levons l'ancre!
Ce pays nous ennuie, O mort! Appareillons!"
I
Claire de Wissant, wife of Jacques de Wissant, Mayor of Falaise, stood
in the morning sunlight, graceful with a proud, instinctive grace of
poise and gesture, on a wind-blown path close to the edge of the cliff.
At some little distance to her left rose the sloping, mansard roofs of
the Pavillon de Wissant, the charming country house to which her husband
had brought her, a seventeen year old bride, ten long years ago.
She was now gazing eagerly out to sea, shielding her grey, heavy-lidded
eyes with her right hand. From her left hand hung a steel chain, to
which was attached a small key.
A hot haze lay heavily over the great sweep of deep blue waters. It
blotted out the low grey line on the horizon which, on the majority of
each year's days, reminds the citizens of Falaise how near England is to
France.
Jacques de Wissant had rejoiced in the _entente cordiale_, if only
because it brought such a stream of tourists to the old seaport town of
which he was now Mayor. But his beautiful wife thought of the English as
gallant foes rather than as friends. Was she not great-granddaughter to
that admiral who at Trafalgar, when both his legs were shattered by
chain-shot, bade his men place him in a barrel of bran that he might go
on commanding, in the hour of defeat, to the end?
And yet as Claire stood there, her eyes sweeping the sea for an as yet
invisible craft, her heart seemed to beat rhythmically to the last verse
of a noble English poem which the governess of her twin daughters had
made them recite to her that very morning. How did it run? Aloud she
murmured:
"Yet this inconstancy is such,
As you too shall adore--"
and then she stopped, her quivering lips refusing to form the two
concluding lines.
To Claire de Wissant, that moving cry from a man's soul was not dulled
by familiarity, or hackneyed by common usage, and just now it found an
intolerably faithful echo in her sad, rebellious heart, intensifying the
anguish born of a secret and very bitter renunciation.
With an abrupt, restless movement she turned and walked on till her way
along the path was barred by a curious obstacle. This was a small
red-brick tower, built within a few feet of the edge of the cliff. It
was an ugly blot on the beautiful stretch of down, all the uglier that
the bricks and tiles had not yet had time to lose their hardness of line
and colour in the salt wind.
On the cliff side, the small circular building, open to wind, sky and
sea, formed the unnatural apex of a natural stairway which led steeply,
almost vertically, down to a deep land-locked cove below. The irregular
steps carved by nature out of the chalk had been strengthened, and a
rough protection added by means of knotted ropes fixed on either side of
the dangerous descent.
In the days when the steps had started sheer from a cleft in the cliff
path, Jacques de Wissant had never used this way of reaching a spot
which till last year had been his property, and his favourite
bathing-place; and he had also, in those same quiet days which now
seemed so long ago, forbidden his daughters to use that giddy way. But
Claire was a fearless woman; and she had always preferred the
dangerous, ladder-like stairs which seemed, when gazed at from below, to
hang 'twixt sky and sea.
Now, however, she rarely availed herself of the right retained by her
husband of using one of the two keys which unlocked the door set in the
new brick tower, for the cove--only by courtesy could it be called a
bay--had been chosen, owing to its peculiar position, naturally remote
and yet close to a great maritime port, to be the quarters of the
Northern Submarine Flotilla.
Jacques de Wissant--and it was perhaps the only time in their joint life
that his wife had entirely understood and sympathized with any action of
her husband's--had refused the compensation his Government had offered
him; more, in his cold, silent way, he had shown himself a patriot in a
sense comparatively few modern men have the courage to be, namely, in
that which affected both his personal comfort and his purse.
* * * * *
After standing for a moment on the perilously small and narrow platform
which made the floor of the tower, Claire grasped firmly a strand of the
knotted rope and began descending the long steps cut in the cliff side.
She no longer gazed out to sea, instead she looked straight down into
the pale green, sun-flecked waters of the little bay, where seven out of
the nine submarines which composed the flotilla were lying
half-submerged, as is their wont in harbour.
A landsman, coming suddenly upon the cliff-locked pool, might have
thought that the centuries had rolled back, and that the strange sight
before him was a school of saurians lazily sunning themselves in the
placid waters of a sea inlet where time had stood still.
But no such vision came to Claire de Wissant. As she went down the
cliff-side her lovely eyes rested on these sinister, man-created
monsters with a feeling of sisterly, possessive affection. She had
become so familiarly acquainted with each and all of them in the last
few months; she knew with such a curious, intimate knowledge where they
differed, both from each other and also from other submarine craft, not
only here, in these familiar waters, but in the waters of France's great
rival on the sea....
It ever gave her a thrill of pride to remember that it was France which
first led the way in this, the most dangerous as also the most
adventurous new arm of naval warfare: and she rejoiced as fiercely, as
exultantly as any of her sea-fighting forbears would have done in the
terrible potentialities of destruction which each of these strange,
grotesque-looking craft bore in their narrow flanks.
It was now the hour of the crews' midday meal; there were fewer men
standing about than usual; and so, after she had stepped down on the
sandy strip of shore, and climbed the ladder leading to the old
Napoleonic hulk which served as workshop and dwelling-place of the
officers of the flotilla, Madame de Wissant for a few moments stood
solitary, and looked musingly down into the waters of the bay.
Each submarine, its long, fish-like shape lying prone in the almost
still, transparent water, differed not only in size, but in make, from
its fellows, and no two conning towers even were alike.
Lying apart, as if sulking in a corner, was an example of the old
"Gymnote" type of under-sea boat. She went by the name of the _Carp_,
and she was very squat, small and ugly, her telescopic conning tower
being of hard canvas.
To Claire, the _Carp_ always recalled an old Breton woman she had known
as a girl. That woman had given thirteen sons to France, and of the
thirteen five had died while serving with the colours--three at sea and
two in Tonkin--and a grateful country had given her a pension of ten
francs a week, two francs for each dead son.
Like that Breton woman, the ugly, sturdy little _Carp_ had borne heroes
in her womb, and like her, too, she had paid terrible toll of her sons
to death.
Occasionally, but very seldom now, the _Carp_ was taken out to sea, and
the men, strange to say, liked being in her, for they regarded her as a
lucky boat; she had never had what they called a serious accident.
Sunk deeper in the water was the broad-backed _Abeille_, significantly
named "La Pétroleuse," the heroine of four explosions, no favourite with
either crews or commanders; and, cradled in a low dock on the farther
strip of beach, was stretched the _Triton_, looking like a huge fish
which had panted itself to death. The _Triton_ also was not a lucky
boat; she had been the theatre of a terrible mishap when, for some
inexplicable cause, the conning tower had failed to close. Claire was
always glad to see her safe in dock.
Out in the middle of the bay was _La Glorieuse_, a submarine of the
latest type. Had she not lain so low, little more than her flying bridge
being above the water, she would have put her elder sisters to shame, so
exquisitely shaped was she. Everything about _La Glorieuse_ was made
delicately true to scale, and she could carry a crew of over twenty men.
But somehow Claire de Wissant did not care for this miniature leviathan
as she did for the older kind of submarine, and, with more reason for
his prejudice, the officer in charge of the flotilla shared her feeling.
Commander Dupré thought _La Glorieuse_ difficult to handle under water.
But he had had the same opinion of the _Neptune_, one of the two
submarines which were out this fine August morning....
An eager "Bonjour, madame," suddenly sounded in Claire de Wissant's ear,
and she turned quickly to find one of the younger officers at her elbow.
"The _Neptune_ is a few minutes late," he said smiling. "I hope your
sister has enjoyed her cruise!" He was looking with admiring and
grateful eyes at the young wife of the Mayor of Falaise, for Claire de
Wissant and her widowed sister, Madeleine Baudoin, were very kind and
hospitable to the officers of the submarine flotilla.
The life of both officers and men who volunteer for this branch of the
service is grim and arduous. And if this is generally true of them all,
it was specially so of those who served under Commander Dupré. By a
tacit agreement with their chief, they took no part in the summer
gaieties of the watering-place which has grown up round the old port of
Falaise, and out of duty hours they would have led dull lives indeed had
it not been for the hospitality shown them by the owners of the Pavillon
de Wissant, and for the welcome which awaited them in the freer, gayer
atmosphere of Madame Baudoin's villa, the Châlet des Dunes.
Madeleine Baudoin was a lively, cheerful woman, younger in nature if not
in years than her beautiful sister, and so she was naturally more
popular with the younger officers. They had felt especially flattered
when Madame Baudoin had allowed herself to be persuaded to go out for a
couple of hours in the _Neptune_; till this morning neither of the
sisters had ever ventured out to sea in a submarine.
And now 'twas true that the _Neptune_ had been out longer than her
commander had said she would be, but no touch of fear brushed Claire de
Wissant; she would have trusted what she held most precious in the
world--her children--to Commander Dupré's care, and a few moments after
her companion had spoken she suddenly saw the little tricolor, for which
her keen eyes had for long swept the sea, bravely riding the waves, and
making straight for the bay.
The flag moving swiftly over the surface of the blue water was a
curious, almost an uncanny sight; one which never failed to fill Claire
with a kind of spiritual exaltation. For the tiny strip of waving colour
was a symbol of the gallantry, of the carelessness of danger, lying
under the dancing, sun-flecked ripples which alone proved that the
tricolor was not some illusion of sorcery.
And then, as if the submarine had been indeed a sentient, living thing,
the _Neptune_ lifted her great shield-like back up out of the sea and
glided through the narrow neck of the bay, and so close under the long
deck on which Madame de Wissant and her companion were standing.
The eager, busy hum of work slackened--discipline is not perhaps quite
so taut in the French as it is in the British Navy--for both men and
officers were one and all eager to see the lady who had ventured out in
the _Neptune_ with their commander. Only those actually on board had
seen Madame Baudoin embark; there was a long, rough jetty close to her
house, the lonely Châlet des Dunes, and it was from there the submarine
had picked up her honoured passenger.
But when Commander Dupré's stern, sun-burnt face suddenly appeared above
the conning tower, the men vanished as if by enchantment, while the
eager, busy hum began again, much as if a lever, setting this human
machinery in motion, had been touched by some titanic finger.
The officers naturally held their ground.
There was a look of strain in the Commander's blue eyes, and his mouth
was set in hard lines; a thoughtful onlooker would have suspected that
the exciting, dangerous life he led was trying his nerves. His men knew
better; still, though they had no clue to the cause which had changed
him, they all knew he had changed greatly of late; to them individually
he had become kinder, more human, and that heightened their regret that
he was now quitting the Northern Flotilla.
Commander Dupré had asked to be transferred to the Toulon Submarine
Station; some experiments were being made there which he was anxious to
watch. He was leaving Falaise on the morrow.
Claire de Wissant reddened, and a gleam leapt into her eyes as she met
the naval officer's grave, measuring glance. But very soon he looked
away from her, for now he was bending down, putting out a hand to help
his late passenger to step from the conning tower.
Smiling, breathless, a little dishevelled, her grey linen skirt
crumpled, Madame Baudoin looked round her, dazed for the moment by the
bright sunlight. Then she called out gaily:
"Well, Claire! Here I am--alive and very, very hot!"
And as she jumped off the slippery flank of the _Neptune_, she gave
herself and her crumpled gown a little shake, and made a slight, playful
grimace.
The bright young faces round her broke into broad grins--those officers
who volunteer for the submarine services of the world are chosen young,
and they are merry boys.
"You may well laugh, messieurs,"--she threw them all a lively
challenging glance--"when I tell you that to-day, for the first time in
my life, I acknowledge masculine supremacy! I think that you will admit
that we women are not afraid of pain, but the discomfort, the--the
stuffiness? Ah, no--I could not have borne much longer the horrible
discomfort and stuffiness of that dreadful little _Neptune_ of yours!"
Protesting voices rose on every side. The _Neptune_ was not
uncomfortable! The _Neptune_ was not stuffy!
"And I understand"--again she made a little grimace--"that it is quite
an exceptional thing for the crew to be consoled, as I was to-day, by
an ice-pail!"
"A most exceptional thing," said the youngest lieutenant, with a sigh.
His name was Paritot, and he also had been out with the _Neptune_ that
morning. "In fact, it only happens in that week which sees four
Thursdays--or when we have a lady on board, madame!"
"What a pity it is," said another, "that the old woman who left a legacy
to the inventor who devises a submarine life-saving apparatus didn't
leave us instead a cream-ice allowance! It would have been a far more
practical thing to do."
Madame Baudoin turned quickly to Commander Dupré, who now stood silent,
smileless, at her sister's side.
"Surely you're going to try for this extraordinary prize?" she cried.
"I'm sure that you could easily devise something which would gain the
old lady's legacy."
"I, madame?" he answered with a start, almost as if he were wrenching
himself free from some deep abstraction. "I should not think of trying
to do such a thing! It would be a mere waste of time. Besides, there is
no real risk--no risk that we are not prepared to run." He looked
proudly round at the eager, laughing faces of the youngsters who were,
till to-morrow night, still under his orders.
"The old lady meant very well," he went on, and for the first time since
he had stepped out of the conning tower Commander Dupré smiled. "And I
hope with all my heart that some poor devil will get her money! But I
think I may promise you that it will not be an officer in the submarine
service. We are too busy, we have too many really important things to
do, to worry ourselves about life-saving appliances. Why, the first
thing we should do if pressed for room would be to throw our
life-helmets overboard!"
"Has one of the life-helmets ever saved a life?"
It was Claire who asked the question in her low, vibrating voice.
Commander Dupré turned to her, and he flushed under his sunburn. It was
the first time she had spoken to him that day.
"No, never," he answered shortly. And then, after a pause, he added,
"the conditions in which these life-helmets could be utilized only occur
in one accident in a thousand----"
"Still, they would have saved our comrades in the _Lutin_," objected
Lieutenant Paritot.
The _Lutin_? There was a moment's silence. The evocation of that
tricksy sprite, the Ariel of French mythology, whose name, by an
ironical chance, had been borne by the most ill-fated of all submarine
craft, seemed to bring the shadow of death athwart them all.
Madeleine Baudoin felt a sudden tremor of retrospective fear. She was
glad she had not remembered the _Lutin_ when she was sitting, eating
ices, and exchanging frivolous, chaffing talk with Lieutenant Paritot in
that chamber of little ease, the drum-like interior of the _Neptune_,
where not even she, a small woman, could stand upright.
"Well, well! We must not keep you from your _déjeuner_!" she cried,
shaking off the queer, disturbing sensation. "I have to thank you
for--shall I say a very interesting experience? I am too honest to say
an agreeable one!"
She shook hands with Commander Dupré and Lieutenant Paritot, the
officers who had accompanied her on what had been, now that she looked
back on it, perhaps a more perilous adventure than she had realized.
"You're coming with me, Claire?" She looked at her sister--it was a
tender, anxious, loving look; Madeleine Baudoin had been the eldest, and
Claire de Wissant the youngest, of a Breton admiral's family of three
daughters and four sons; they two were devoted to one another.
Claire shook her head. "I came to tell you that I can't lunch with you
to-day," she said slowly. "I promised I would be back by half-past
twelve."
"Then we shall not meet till to-morrow?"