DISPATCHING THE SECRET MESSENGER
Evans now lived aboard the battleship _Delaware_, Admiral Johnson’s
flagship; and here the life was different, indeed, from that on the
mother-ship of the destroyer flotilla. He found himself one of a large
number of warrant officers, some real old-timers, but most of them
much younger men than himself. To his great delight he found on board
the _Delaware_ his old friend Lindsay, erstwhile radio officer of the
cruiser that had taken him to England. Lindsay had now risen to the
rank of lieutenant and was in command of a turret on the great
superdreadnought, but the same sunny disposition and cordial
informality were unchanged; he still was not too proud to associate
with a warrant officer.
Lindsay knew how to enjoy himself on an evening ashore; he had a
faculty for finding out when there was any merry-making going on, and
for being there. Evans, having little time or inclination to join in
the crude pleasures which most of his fellow warrant officers sought
in the town, now found real refreshment in knocking about on shore
with Lindsay, the natural geniality of the youth being of a compelling
sort. He managed to get Lindsay talking more than once about his own
affairs, and learned that in his home in the Middle West his widowed
mother depended on his savings as her chief means of support.
Now there are haunts in Punta Delgada where a visitor may find a
roulette wheel spinning merrily of an evening. The scraps of paper
representing Portuguese money fly hither and thither on the long
table, and ever like a Nemesis the treasurer rakes them in as a man
rakes in the autumn leaves that strew the road. He who frequents the
roulette wheel often becomes poorer—else there would not be roulette
wheels.
Now this game had a fatal fascination for Lindsay, who was one of
those individuals that love to take a chance, and can always persuade
themselves that next time they’ll make a pile. Once he had won a
surprising sum of money at roulette and had sent it home to his mother
before the opportunity to lose it again had beset him. Since then his
earnings had nearly all fallen into the hungry maw of the spinning
wheel. The most pathetic feature of the case was the way his eagerness
to send more money home kept luring the incautious youth into taking
another chance at the losing game.
Once on the evening before the fleet was to put to sea for some
maneuver, Evans, dead tired from his arduous toil, was planning to go
to bed early and get a long sleep. As supper-time drew near, Lindsay,
making for the gangway to catch the last boat taking a liberty party
ashore, chanced to meet Evans on deck.
“Are you coming ashore? It’s going to be a great night on the beach,”
he said.
“I guess I’ll stay aboard and turn in early.”
“Oh, come on, be a sport, old man,” said Lindsay genially. “Lord knows
where we’re going on this cruise or when we’ll get back; there’ll be
all kinds of fun in town to-night.”
“You’ll have to break out a pile of excitement to get me ashore
to-night.”
“Why, what’s the matter with you?”
“I suppose I’ve been hitting too hot a pace,” said Evans with an
enigmatic look on his face.
“Oh, quit your kidding, and come ashore,” said Lindsay.
Evans hesitated a minute.
“The fact is, I’m kind of tired and don’t seem to feel like hunting
all the hilarity there is,” he said, “but there’s a little restaurant
that you may not know of where you can get a good supper and hear some
rather good music; it’s a quiet place and most of the men don’t seem
to know it. If you’d like to go and have supper there on me and have a
good heart-to-heart talk, that would suit me as well as staying on
board.”
“All right, I’ll go and try your quiet restaurant with you, for a
starter, anyway.”
So off they went and took their places in the motor-sailer at the
gangway. Once ashore, Evans led the way through the crooked streets to
a picturesque little building where a modest restaurant served a few
familiar patrons. A small orchestra consisting of a piano, a
double-bass ’cello, and one or two other instruments, ensconced in a
nook by some potted palms, beguiled the supper hour for such as sought
the little hostelry. Evans and Lindsay, alone save for two natives of
the town, chose a table from which they could look out over the
harbor, and just near enough the orchestra to get the full benefit of
the music. Lindsay at first felt a little dismayed at the lack of
gayety which seemed destined to characterize the celebration of his
night on shore, but soon the appetizing food and the melodious strains
of a Portuguese air put him in a mood for the enjoyment of a quiet
evening chatting freely with his friend. Evans was more than ten years
his senior, but of that Lindsay had no suspicion. Their talk drifted
easily from the personnel of the flagship through a wide range of
human affairs. The orchestra, after a brief rest, struck up a Strauss
waltz, once familiar to all, now known only to those of Evans’s age
and older. Evans stopped talking and listened, a far-away look coming
into his eyes, and his hand unconsciously beating time on the table.
“Lord! how that takes me back to old times!” he said.
Their talk drifted back to the States, and into speculation as to what
people were thinking and doing at home. The orchestra paused again,
and then began to play a song once popular in all modern cities, now
long since out of fashion, a song whose melodious sweetness had made
it a favorite in its day and commended it now to the little Portuguese
orchestra, guided more by melody than by vogue. As Lindsay recognized
the tune, vivid memories of his childhood rose before him; and as the
rich, deep tones of the double-bass ’cello vibrated with the appealing
spirit of the melody, the long-forgotten past swept over him like a
flood; his eyes became moist, and he sat in silence till the music had
ceased for some time. Then he spoke, and told Evans of the early
memories awakened by the song. He felt that he could speak to Evans of
things he couldn’t mention to his other shipmates, for Evans
understood. And so it was that the youth poured out his heart to the
older man, giving vent to feelings long deeply repressed within him.
He told of his concern about his mother, his zeal to bring her no
shame, his hopes and ambitions, his temptations and struggles. And in
all this he found what without knowing it he had craved since leaving
home—the confidence of a friend on whom he could lean as on an older
brother.
Evans in his turn found in this intimacy with the younger man
something that satisfied a long-felt want; and he thanked his stars
for it. With a deepening bond of sympathy they talked till the players
had packed up their instruments and gone. All thoughts of seeking the
usual pleasures of the town had now evaporated, and it was only when
the time came to catch the last boat returning to the flagship that
they left the little restaurant and walked down to the landing.
Next day Lindsay’s monthly pay, which had been lying restless in his
pocket the night before, was dispatched intact to his mother in the
Middle West.
About the middle of November, a few days after Evans and Elkins
arrived at Punta Delgada, Commander Barton also arrived from
Washington and took charge of the Naval Intelligence service at
Communication Headquarters on shore. Before leaving Washington he
interviewed an officer who rendered notable service in finding men for
unusual duties. If a man was needed to make a corner in glue for the
Government, or to deliver a consignment of homing pigeons in Northern
Russia, he would find just the man for the job. To this officer Barton
made the request that as soon as possible a man, with experience as a
spy in enemy territory and with some knowledge of radio, be chosen for
important duties at the Azores and elsewhere. He was to be enrolled as
a chief petty officer and sent to Punta Delgada to report at
Communication Headquarters.
Barton’s parting injunctions were, “Much will depend on him; look him
over well, and be sure he’s a real man.”
About three weeks after this, while Evans was in the radio room of the
flagship busily engaged in the congenial task of rehabilitating this
vital nerve center of the fleet and undoing the damage wrought by
Brigham, he received a cryptic message from Commander Barton
intimating that a friend had arrived from home whom he would like
Evans to see.
Evans obtained permission for shore liberty and proceeded to
Communication Headquarters. There he learned that the man requested by
Barton “for important duties” had arrived, a man of thirty-six named
Kendrick. He had been an army spy, who, being sent by aeroplane behind
enemy lines, had been for some weeks performing valuable duties in
Spain, and had just returned successfully to Washington. By some
maneuver of which very few are master, great masses of red-tape had
been cut, and he had been transferred to the navy, enrolled as a chief
radio electrician and sent at once to Punta Delgada. He had as yet
been kept completely in the dark as to the nature of the duties for
which he had been sent.
Evans opened conversation with him informally and questioned him
concerning his experiences in enemy countries, then as to his
knowledge of radio. After a somewhat prolonged interview in some of
which Barton took part, Kendrick was still quite in the dark as to the
real object of his mission, although given clearly to understand that
it had to do with radio communication.
During their talk Evans watched closely the play of Kendrick’s
features, and said to himself, “He looks like three or four men in
one; I guess he’s what we’re after.”
But along with this reflection came the disquieting thought—“What if
he’s one man too many?”
Perhaps there was more in his performance in enemy country than was
known to the Army Intelligence Service. Cases were by no means unknown
in which the most valued spies had been really in the enemy employ.
Keenly Evans sought to sense all that lay beneath this mobile exterior
as they talked. But this was a task for some one other than a
scientist. He longed for the power of a master sleuth.
We are all quite accustomed to trusting our lives to the nervous
coördination of a taxicab driver, and thinking nothing of it. But when
the fate of the world may hang on the sensory impressions, the
resulting nerve impulses in the brain and the emotional responses
thereby aroused in one individual by barely perceptible motions in the
features of another, we may well consider the great importance of
little things, especially if those little things be nerve impulses.
That this man had been a consummately successful spy there could be no
doubt. But the question whom he had fooled, Evans dared not consider
settled to his satisfaction without further scrutiny. He imparted his
wonderings to Barton when they were alone, and, though the latter at
first inclined to regard the suspicion as fanciful and too improbable
for serious consideration, he finally agreed that they had better
scrutinize their man for a few days before revealing to him much of
his real task.
During the next week Evans spent a good part of his time training
Kendrick in the use of certain radio apparatus, and at the same time
striving to assure himself as to his loyalty. Gradually the conviction
grew in both Barton and Evans that Kendrick was a man they could trust
without fear, but still they said little to him of his mission.
About this time there arrived from the States a long, narrow crate
addressed to Evans. The supply clerk who handled the shipment
remarked—“That’s some box, Gunner; what do you expect’s in it?”
“Looks like an eight-day clock,” was the answer. “Still, my watch
keeps pretty good time,” he added with a puzzled look.
“Do you want to open it here?” asked the clerk.
“No; it will litter things up to scatter the crate round here. I’ll
get it lugged down to the shore where I can turn it adrift.”
So some hands were summoned and, having moved the crate down to the
shore, were dismissed. Evans then opened it by himself. The wildest
guess which the supply clerk could have made as to its contents would
have been far from the truth, for never in his life had he seen such
an object. It contained a sort of narrow, decked-over canoe built
essentially on the lines of an Eskimo kayak. To the unfamiliar
observer it would give the impression of frailty such that he who
would venture beyond easy swimming distance from shore in such a craft
must be foolhardy to the verge of madness. In point of fact, as the
Eskimo well knows, this type of boat is so seaworthy as to be safe in
almost any gale that blows.
Evans had a friend who had traveled much among the Eskimos and studied
their ways, and especially the handling of their kayaks. This man had
built himself two or three of these light craft, patterned in the main
on the lines used by the Eskimos, and in years gone by had taught
Evans to handle them in rough water. It was one of these that he had
now placed at Evans’s disposal.
As he ripped off the last of the crate and brought to view the
graceful lines of the little craft, Evans smiled at the memory of
pleasant hours spent paddling off the rough New England coast. He
fitted together the two halves of the double-bladed paddle which came
with her, then lifted the kayak on his shoulder, carried her to the
water’s edge and launched her. Then, getting in and sitting in the
bottom, Eskimo-fashion, he paddled away along the shore. With a thrill
of joy he felt the familiar responsive motion as the light and buoyant
little craft sped forward. Skirting the shore line, he came in a few
minutes to a secluded and unfrequented spot where the contour of the
rocks afforded a sheltered and convenient place to land. Lifting the
kayak out of the water, he concealed her well above high-water mark.
The next day he took Kendrick to the spot where the kayak lay hidden,
dragged her out into view, and said:
“Do you think you could make a landing on an exposed seacoast in
that?”
Kendrick stared at the delicate-looking craft and answered, “Well, if
you asked me if I thought I could swim over Niagara Falls without
inconvenience, I should about as soon say ‘yes.’”
Evans laughed. “Oh, it isn’t as bad as that. I’ve a friend who used to
play in that kayak by the hour in the ocean surf where it breaks on
outlying ledges, just for the fun of it, and I’ve done it more or less
myself. I’ll teach you the game; I expect we shall want you to do
something like that pretty soon. It’s surprising how little violence
there is in big waves if you float freely on them in a small boat. A
tennis ball suffers little violence in a sea that pounds a battleship
with a stress measured in tons. It’s only rough if you resist it. If
you stay just outside where the waves actually break, their motion is
all up and down; you can sit there at your leisure and study the
situation farther in. Let me show you how it works. I’ll paddle round
the point to where there’s a moderate sea breaking; you can follow
along the shore and see for yourself how simple it is.”
So saying he launched the kayak and paddled out round the rocky point
to where he felt the heave of the ocean swell. Kendrick followed along
the shore watching him curiously. Evans paddled close to the shore
keeping just where the waves curled up before they broke on the rocks.
Presently he found a place to his liking and, turning the bow of the
kayak toward the shore, rested as he studied the action of the
breaking waves between him and Kendrick, who stood watching from a
high rock just above. Some thirty feet from the actual shore line was
a barrier of rock, the highest part of which rose clear above the
water, while even the lowest part was barely uncovered in the trough
of the largest waves. Over this ledge the seas broke, each wave
sending a torrent of frothy water into the deeper pool beyond, which
seethed like a cauldron streaked with shifting patterns of foam; and
as each wave receded another torrent would flow out over the ledge
till, balked by the crest of an incoming wave, it was lost in a
smother of white foam. As the kayak rose and fell on the waves, its
pointed bow barely beyond the edge of this dangerous-looking reef,
Kendrick wondered that it was not caught by the inward rush of water
and dashed on the rocks. Presently, just as a good-sized wave came
rolling in and curled right under the kayak before breaking, he saw
Evans give a few quick strokes which carried him forward on the crest
of the wave. It broke, and in the midst of the great mass of white
water pouring in over the ledge came the kayak, floating lightly till
well within the pool where on the agitated waters she bobbed up and
down like an eggshell, while Evans rested his paddle on the cockpit
combing as if taking his ease on a millpond. Then looking at the shore
line he chose a gently sloping shelf of rock which was half-submerged
when the pool was filled by the larger waves, but which each receding
wave left bare, and, paddling swiftly forward on the crest of a large
wave, grounded, and thrusting his paddle firmly into a niche in the
rock held himself there as the water poured back off the shelf. Then,
jumping out, he seized the kayak and ran with it up to the dry rocks
above without even wetting his feet.
Sitting down beside Kendrick who felt as if some miracle had brought
him safely ashore, he said: “You see, if you find a place like this it
really isn’t hard at all; and you can almost always find a place as
good as this, if you hunt for it. The main thing to remember is that
the waves aren’t all alike. Sometimes a small wave will recede so
quickly that you’ll be caught on the rocks just when you think you’re
going over them. You must take your time and watch a lot of them till
you know what sort of thing they do; then choose your wave as you see
it coming.”
“I suppose you’ll want to take the boat back overland,” said Kendrick.
“You couldn’t very well get out again through that, could you?”
“Quite easily,” said Evans. “I’ll show you how that works. After a big
wave there’s a lot of water going out, enough to float you over the
ledge.”
“But wouldn’t the next wave coming in swamp you?”
“Not at all. That’s the beauty of a decked-in boat like this. It
doesn’t matter if she buries her nose well under water, she’ll ship
very little over the cockpit combing. Another thing—the main secret of
her seaworthiness is the fact that you sit in the bottom; your center
of gravity is so low that you have enormous stability. Big waves can
break on you broadside without tipping you over. If you watch her
closely and see how she behaves in breaking waves for a while, you’ll
get the idea of the thing better than I can tell it to you.”
So saying, Evans carried the kayak down to his landing-place on the
sloping shelf, and, watching his chance, put her down as a wave
receded, climbed in, and waited for another to come and float him off.
On the next large wave, foamy and tumultuous though it was, he floated
gently off the rock and shoved himself out into deep water. Kendrick
watched intently as he paddled out till the bow of the kayak was just
over the inner edge of the rocky barrier. A big wave came rushing in
and as it broke seemed to engulf the sharp bow of the kayak, then
lifted it high into the air as if to turn her over backwards and throw
her across the pool. But instead she rose gracefully as the crest
passed under her, and the next moment Evans was paddling her swiftly
into the stream of water already starting to pour out over the ledge.
Gliding smoothly out, he plunged into the next wave just as it broke
on the outer edge of the reef, and almost disappeared from view in the
white froth. But again the kayak rose as the crest passed under her,
and now she was riding like a duck on the heaving waters beyond the
reef. Several times Evans rode this buoyant craft in and out of the
pool in order to familiarize Kendrick with her behavior under such
conditions, and incidentally, it must be admitted, for the sport of
the thing. Then he paddled back round the point to the hiding-place of
the kayak, where he explained to Kendrick what he was there for.
“We want you to go to Gibraltar,” he said. “And the quickest way of
getting you there from here unobserved seems to be to have you land in
this thing somewhere near Cape Trafalgar. You can’t land where there
are people; that’s why it has to be on an exposed coast instead of a
snug harbor, although you might work the mouth of a small stream. I
suppose you can manage to get to Gibraltar without exciting suspicion,
once you get ashore, can’t you?”
“Once I get ashore, yes,” answered Kendrick. “Once I get ashore, I can
manage the rest easy; it’s getting ashore in that damn thing that
worries me.”
“If I were in your shoes it would be the other way round,” said Evans.
“Landing in the kayak is play. But to smuggle myself into a stronghold
of the enemy as one of them; ye gods! I’d be paralyzed at the start
and wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“It’s all in what you’re used to,” said Kendrick. “I’m so used to
knocking round Spain and bluffing my way along, it’s more or less
second nature.”
“Your game is very different from ours here at Headquarters,” said
Evans, musing. “We can play our game something like chess, taking our
time to think out the next move. Your game is more like tennis. You’ve
got to hit the ball when it comes and place it where the other fellow
can’t get it, and your time to act is measured in hundredths of a
second.”
He then went on to explain to Kendrick the purpose of his mission, and
told him how Heringham was established in Constantinople with radio
operators in enemy stations for the purpose of communicating with the
Allies. But the distance from Constantinople to the Azores hampered
direct radio communication, and it was therefore important to install
another radio man at Gibraltar to relay messages between
Constantinople and Punta Delgada. His problem was to get himself
established as an operator in the main radio station of the enemy at
Gibraltar. In the art of making himself acceptable and trusted by the
enemy he was a master, almost if not quite unsurpassed. How to proceed
to do this was to be left to him.
“Commander Barton will give you points about establishing
communication with Heringham,” said Evans. “My job is to show you how
to adapt their apparatus to your needs, once you get your hands on it,
and how to superpose your messages to us on their regular traffic;
also to teach you how to get ashore safely in this kayak.”
It was planned, he explained, to have a seaplane take him and the
kayak at early dawn to a point within easy paddling distance of the
Spanish coast and leave him to find a landing-place where he could
approach with the least risk of detection, landing preferably at dusk.
“With the help of our weather experts,” said Evans, “we can choose a
day when the sea will be calm. And now why don’t you get into the
kayak and start getting the feel of her as soon as possible? Paddle a
few miles in smooth water before you try landing where it’s rough, and
you’ll be surprised to find how quickly you get a sense of stability.”
So Kendrick began a series of lessons in a form of seamanship which
till that morning he didn’t know existed. At first it was with some
nervousness that he stepped into the narrow craft and, when seated,
anxiously pushed off from the shore. But before long he was quite at
home in her and paddling a good stroke; and then Evans began to
initiate him into the art of handling her in the surf, which he soon
learned was largely a matter of “watchful waiting” and then letting
the waves do the work.
But during these days exercises in the surf were incidental; the
principal task was teaching Kendrick all he needed to know of radio
apparatus and methods, and the special ciphers he was to use for
weaving his messages into the enemy traffic.
He might not gain access to a transmitter of sufficient power to reach
the Azores, even if the best receivers then in use were ready to pick
up his signals. With this difficulty in mind Evans had been
experimenting with a new device which had occurred to him for making
the receiver on the flagship more sensitive and at the same time more
selective, that he might pick out the desired signal, though
incredibly faint, from all those abroad in the vibrating ether. As
soon as Kendrick had learned his duties and a suitable day should come
he was to go, for his services in Gibraltar were much needed. Evans
felt sure his device would work, but it must be installed in the
flagship and tested in actual use, and this if possible before
Kendrick’s departure, lest its failure should entail some modification
of his instructions. For this, quick work was required.
About this time a new batch of ensigns, recruited from civil life and
put through a four months’ course at the Naval Academy, arrived at
Punta Delgada and were distributed to various billets in the fleet.
Among them was a youth named Coffee, alert, smartly dressed, and truly
a marvel for etiquette. By the caprice of fortune, this ensign was
assigned to the communication force on the flagship as an assistant to
the fleet radio officer. As soon as he was thus established, he took
occasion to make it clear to all the radio personnel of inferior rank
to himself, including Evans, that their duties came under his
jurisdiction; there was to be no misunderstanding about that.
One Saturday morning when the work of installing the new device in the
receiver was nearing completion, Evans asked the chief radio
electrician if he could spare one of the operators to assist him with
the job.
“It’s almost time for captain’s inspection, sir,” said the chief. “The
boys ain’t supposed to be in their dungarees then.”
“Oh, well,” said Evans, “I can manage about as well by myself. There’s
not much room for more than one pair of hands on this job, anyway.”
So saying, he clambered and squirmed in behind a varied assortment of
apparatus constituting the vitals of the radio room, and in his old
dungarees sat down on the steel deck. With knife and pliers he swiftly
fashioned the labyrinth of wires which was to put his new receiving
device to the test of actual use, the tar of the insulation rapidly
turning his hands a dark brown. As he worked away with the joy of one
in his native element, he whistled a tune of his early childhood, and
soon was quite oblivious of his surroundings. The door of the radio
room opened and footsteps approached, followed by more footsteps. For
a while Evans continued to scrape and bend his wires, still whistling
as he worked. Presently he looked up. There stood the captain of the
flagship, and beside him Fraser, chief of staff; behind them was
Lieutenant-Commander Elkins and his new assistant, Ensign Coffee. The
radio chief and his force of electricians stood at attention for the
formalities of the captain’s inspection, but the captain, attracted by
the sound of whistling, was peering with a look of mild surprise
through the maze of electrical gear at the unusual sight of a man who
had failed to stop working for inspection. Evans caught Fraser’s eye
and saw there the suggestion of a smile which bespoke enjoyment of the
contrast between this unwonted spectacle and the rest of the ship
during inspection. But Coffee was glaring at him with a terrible look
of affronted dignity, and this in turn provoked the suggestion of a
twinkle in Evans’s eye.
The captain glanced around the room and passed on, followed by the
other officers. But in a moment Coffee returned and in a sharp voice
called—“Gunner! Come out here, I wish to speak to you.”
Evans crawled out through the interstices in the gear.
“What do you mean by being in dirty dungarees at captain’s
inspection?” said Coffee.
“There were changes to be made in the apparatus; they’re needed rather
urgently,” answered Evans. “Some captains would rather see work going
on than idleness; I rather thought our skipper was that kind.”
“There’s a time for work of that sort,” answered Coffee stiffly, “and
there are persons assigned to do it. Didn’t you know that an
officer—even a warrant officer—isn’t supposed to do the manual work of
an electrician?”
“I’m afraid I didn’t,” answered Evans; “in fact, in the war with
Germany, I heard the skipper of a destroyer rebuking a junior
lieutenant for saying just that to an ensign.”
Coffee bit his lip and gulped, then drew himself up straighter than
ever and said: “Well, understand hereafter that at Captain’s
inspection you are to be in full uniform standing at attention.”
With these words he turned and marched out of the radio room.
But Coffee was not wholly satisfied with the success of his effort to
improve Evans’s morale. Therefore, early in the afternoon he sent a
message to Evans commanding his immediate presence in his room. When
the messenger arrived and delivered his message, Evans, pliers in
hand, was racing against time. If he could complete the installation
of his new device in half an hour, he would be in time to test it by
listening in on a schedule of signals from a distant station, and in
his eagerness to see if it would fulfill his expectations he worked at
a feverish speed.
On receipt of Coffee’s message he seized a piece of paper and wrote on
it: “Am hastening to complete installation in time for J X Z schedule.
If you approve, please give me written instructions to continue till
job is completed.”
Handing it to the messenger he said: “Take that to Commander Elkins in
the Flag Office, and wait for an answer.”
Then he continued to cut and fit the wires, handling them now and then
with an almost vicious aggressiveness. Soon the messenger returned
with the desired instructions.
“Please tell Mr. Coffee,” said Evans, “that Commander Elkins has
instructed me to continue at this installation till it is completed.”
Soon the job was done. Hot and grimy, Evans seized the head-phones,
made his adjustments and listened. The schedule began and the signals
continued for some time, during which a variety of tests and
measurements were needed to determine the success of the new device.
In part these tests were satisfactory, but they revealed the need of
further study and modification. The schedule over, Evans went to his
room deep in thought, and was cleaning up preparatory to a session of
slide-rule calculations, when again a messenger came from Coffee
demanding his presence. Coffee had seen him walking slowly toward his
room, and the installation was therefore no longer an “alibi.” To
Coffee’s room he went and presented himself meekly at the door.
“Gunner,” said Coffee with great dignity, “you are not taking your
duties in the right spirit. You excuse yourself from observing the
amenities on board ship on account of a wiring job. You must
understand that discipline and morale are more important than
apparatus.
“Now I want to see if you are up to standard in the matter of those
things we expect all of you to know. I’ll just ask you a few
questions. Can you tell me what is meant by the cadence?”
“The cadence?” answered Evans. “The only kind of cadence I know of is
the concluding phrase in a piece of music.”
“Music!” echoed Coffee. “You’ll have to face more music than you like
if you don’t look out. The cadence is something which every
second-class seaman is supposed to know, as you will see if you
consult your Blue-Jacket’s Manual,” and he held up a copy of this book
to give emphasis to his words. He then tried one or two more questions
about infantry maneuvers, unearthing in Evans a woeful degree of
ignorance, which in no wise eased the outraged state of his mind.
Finally he summoned a messenger and sent him for a rifle. When it was
brought he handed it to Evans and said:
“Now let me see you demonstrate the maneuvers in the Manual of Arms as
you would to a raw recruit.”
Evans took the rifle and examined the mechanism of the breech for a
moment, then looked up at Coffee and said:
“Really, it’s no use my trying to do that. It’s so long since I had
anything to do with that sort of thing that I’ve forgotten the whole
of it.”
With these words he handed the gun back to Coffee, who received it
with a gesture of contempt and said:
“And you a gunner! How, in Heaven’s name, did you ever get your
rating?”
“Perhaps you’d get that best from the officers that enrolled me,”
answered Evans mildly.
“Don’t you ever say ‘Sir’ in speaking to a superior officer?” asked
Coffee sharply.
“Not often; in fact, come to think of it, I don’t know that I ever do.
Most officers I talk with don’t seem to care much whether I do or
not.”
Coffee returned to ground on which he felt more comfortable.
“You have shown,” he said, “a degree of ignorance which would shame a
third-class electrician; in a warrant officer it is appalling; you
deserve to be demoted. Go to your room and study your Blue-Jacket’s
Manual till you know the things every seaman should know; and don’t
let me catch you again giving such answers as you’ve given to-night.
That will do.”
As Evans retired, he muttered to himself: “What a jolly chap to have
about the ship. Well, I trust he’s through jawing at me for the
present.”
The next morning Evans, having with the aid of his trusty slide-rule
arrived at a decision as to the method of correcting the remaining
weak points in his new receiving device, was making his way to the
radio room to apply the results of his calculations. On deck he met
Commander Elkins.
“Well, Evans,” said he, “what was the matter yesterday? I never knew
you to worry about written authority when it came to tinkering with
apparatus.”
“I guess I must have had a fit of conscience,” answered Evans
absently.
“Conscience! What made you want to break out a conscience?”
“I just wanted to be sure I wasn’t getting insubordinate.”
“Who’s been putting that kind of idea in your head?” said Elkins.
“Not you,” answered Evans.
Commander Elkins looked off over the blue sea with a puzzled
expression and watched the speed launches dashing to and fro on their
errands among the ships of the fleet. Then, as the truth dawned on
him, he turned to Evans and said, “Has Ensign Coffee been bothering
you?”
“Since you ask me,” said Evans, “he was rather a nuisance yesterday.”
“He’s young yet,” said Elkins, “and takes himself a bit seriously.
Then there’s another thing; he told me when he came that Commander
Rich had spoken to him before he left Washington and told him to keep
his eyes open for insubordination or unmilitary conduct on the part of
warrant officers or chief petty officers with whom he had to do, and,
if he found such, to deal severely with it. I don’t know why Commander
Rich should have said that; it looks as if he had heard some rumors of
things being too free and easy and unofficial here in the fleet.
Anyway, the fact that Commander Rich saw fit to say that to him has
doubtless increased his sense of importance. It will probably wear
off; but remember, his rank is above yours, and respect for rank has
to be maintained as part of the system. So be as tactful as you can,
and try to avoid rows with him, even if it involves a little sacrifice
of your working time now and then.”
Before the next schedule the remaining defects had been eliminated,
and that night Evans felt ready to trust the receiver for the
performance of its delicate task. Soon Kendrick’s training was
complete and all was ready for him to start on his adventurous errand.
A few days after Kendrick’s departure, Evans was to listen in at
stated times every day, and at these times Kendrick was to make a
special effort to establish communication.
With the aid of Jeremy at the weather station, a calm spell was chosen
in which to send him off. A scout cruiser equipped with the necessary
gear for launching a seaplane was ordered to prepare for the voyage,
and a fast seaplane was tuned up for a long flight. When the weather
conditions were pronounced favorable and the day was set for
departure, Evans and Kendrick went as soon as it was dark to the
hiding-place of the kayak, Kendrick carrying a nondescript bundle
containing his personal effects for the voyage, including the means of
effecting a wonderful array of disguises. Evans helped him launch the
kayak, and exhorted the little ship to do her best; then Kendrick,
stowing his bundle under the deck, stepped in and paddled off into the
darkness, now quite at home with this mode of locomotion, and in a
moment was lost to view. In a few minutes he came alongside the scout
cruiser, at the foot of a ladder hanging over the ship’s side, where
he was met by an officer. No enlisted men were in sight, for it had
been arranged by this officer that none should be where they could
witness the arrival of this peculiar-looking craft. The officer
lowered a rope which Kendrick secured around the kayak before coming
up the ladder. These two then hoisted her on board and stowed her in a
prearranged hiding-place. A few minutes later the cruiser let go her
mooring and slipped out through the gate in the net, which was opened
as she approached, and closed at once behind her.
It was now early in December and the long nights afforded the cruiser
the cover of darkness during most of her journey. All night and all
day, and the next night till after midnight she steamed eastward. At
two in the morning she stopped about two hundred and fifty miles from
Cape Trafalgar. With none but those needed for the work to witness the
proceeding, the kayak was removed from her hiding-place and lashed to
the seaplane in such a manner that she could easily be cast loose when
the seaplane had alighted on the water. Kendrick took his place in the
plane, followed by the pilot and mechanician, and in a moment they
shot out into the air, the engine roaring in their ears.
The first red streak of dawn was showing over the eastern horizon when
the seaplane hovered and came down on the calm surface of the sea,
trailing a white streak of spray for a moment, then coming to rest.
Fifteen miles away lay the Spanish coast. Losing no time, Kendrick cut
loose the kayak from her lashings, climbed in, waved good-bye and
paddled off into the northeast, keeping the light of the dawn on his
starboard beam. The seaplane rose and flew away, and in less than
three hours was hoisted aboard the cruiser, which headed for Punta
Delgada, and not ten of all her complement of officers and men had
even a vague idea of the purpose for which their excursion had been
made.
Kendrick had a compass by which to steer as soon as it was light. He
wished to land in the twilight, and with ten hours at his disposal it
was not necessary to paddle constantly to reach the shore before dark,
so, without exerting himself, he was near enough the shore to study
its character by the middle of the afternoon. Then he took it easy,
waiting so far from shore that his tiny boat would scarcely be visible
to the naked eye, and watching land, sea, and sky for observers who
might detect his arrival. Then the sun set, and, choosing a
lonely-looking spot, Kendrick paddled quickly in shore to avail
himself of the fast-fading light in choosing a place to land. Through
the line of white foam that fringed the shore he picked out a recess
where the force of the waves appeared broken, dodged the outlying
rocks, and soon, with a vast sense of relief, was dragging the kayak
up on dry land. In the dark he studied the ground about him, and found
a place to hide the kayak so completely that he could feel assured she
would not be found, and thus give a dangerous clue to the enemy
sleuths.
On shore in Spain, he was once more in a familiar environment, one
that brought his extraordinary faculties into full play. With nothing
but his wits and the small bundle of belongings he had brought under
the deck of the kayak, he launched himself on the enterprise of
getting into Gibraltar unnoticed, and making himself desired as a
radio operator and trusted in that capacity. How he overcame the
innumerable and formidable obstacles to such a course would require a
volume in itself. But that is another story, and we must return to
Punta Delgada.
After a week had elapsed, Evans began listening every day at the
appointed hours to see if the enemy traffic showed any signs of
Kendrick’s magic touch. The excuse of testing his new device had to be
worked for all it was worth, until one operator remarked to another,
after he had gone, “He’s tested it every way he can; he seems to be so
pleased with it he just wants to listen in even if there’s nothing in
particular to pick up.”
Three weeks elapsed during which Evans and Barton met now and then and
speculated over Kendrick’s probable fortunes and the prospect of
hearing from him. At last, late one afternoon as Evans was listening
in, he picked up a pencil and began writing on a slip of paper; slowly
he wrote, only five or six words a minute instead of the usual twenty
to twenty-five at which messages are received. For nearly five minutes
he wrote, then stopped, and, after listening a moment more, he took
off the head-phones and slipped out of the radio room. Taking the
first boat ashore he hastened to Commander Barton.
“What’s the news?” asked Barton eagerly, as Evans entered his office.
“He’s there. Got an operator’s job that gives him access to a good
transmitter,” answered Evans; and he pulled out of his pocket the slip
of paper with Kendrick’s message and handed it to Barton.
“That’s real business,” said Barton with unrestrained joy, on reading
the message. A long conference ensued in which Barton and Evans
reviewed the possibilities opened by this new channel of communication
with Heringham in Constantinople, and laid their plans for making the
most of it.