SETTLING DOWN.
“NOW then, kiddie.”
Jim’s hand touched her arm, and Norah looked round. They had passed the
Gellibrand light and were heading towards the wider spaces of Port
Phillip Bay. Across the water the sunlight lay golden on the beaches and
the wooded shores. To the right a little steamer was coming lazily in
from Geelong.
“Do you want me, Jim?” Norah tried to make her voice steady.
“Well, I think you might as well come and get your cabin ship-shape,”
Jim said. “You’ve got two or three hours of daylight and smooth water;
and once you get outside the Heads there may be any sort of weather, and
you may be any sort of sailor. Not that I believe any of us will be
sea-sick—this huge old ship can’t toss about much, unless she meets a
hurricane.”
“Well, you never know,” said Norah, prudently. “And if I’m going to be
ill I won’t feel like getting ship-shape then, I suppose. All right,
Jimmy, I’ll go down. How do I get there?”
“Haven’t an idea,” said her brother, laughing. “We’ll ask a steward if
we get bushed—meanwhile, I know it’s down a flight of stairs, and not
up; and that’s something. Come along, and we’ll find our way, in time.”
They plunged down the nearest companion, and by dint of studying the
numbers of the cabins, finally arrived at Norah’s, which looked much
larger than it had appeared when full of people an hour earlier. Jim
surveyed the berths with a twinkle.
“Apparently every one who knows you has sent you small tokens of
regard,” he said. “Better get them unpacked while I unstrap your boxes.
Got your keys?”
Norah handed over her keys and began the work of investigation, suddenly
immensely cheered by the friendly packages. Flowers first, in boxes and
dainty green tissue-paper packages: boronia, sweet peas, carnations, and
early wattle. Their fragrance filled the cabin, and even Jim exclaimed
at their beauty.
“You can’t possibly keep them all here,” he said. “I’ll ring for the
steward and tell him to put some on our table in the saloon, don’t you
think? Vases not supplied in cabins—lucky for you this is a
three-berther and you’ve got three tooth-tumblers!”
The flowers disposed of, the work of unwrapping the other parcels went
on swiftly. Chocolate boxes of every shape and size; books; warm
slippers; three cushions; bags to hold everything, from shoes to
sponges; a work-board, fitted with pincushion, thread, scissors, and
other feminine necessities; an electric torch; and a fascinating
wall-pocket of green linen, embroidered in shamrocks, with compartments
for every toilet requisite.
“Now, that’s an uncommonly jolly thing,” said Jim, surveying it. “Keeps
things all handy-by, and saves ’em rolling about in rough weather.
Whoever sent you that had sense. Come, and we’ll fix it up.” He dashed
away to his cabin, returning with a pocket hammer and some brass tacks.
“Where will you have it?”
“Oh, here, I suppose!” said Norah, indicating a favourable site. “But
are you allowed to put in tacks, Jim?”
“Can’t tell till I’ve tried,” said Jim, hammering swiftly. “I’m not
going to ask, anyhow—they’re very decent tacks. There, that’s up, and
it looks topping. Now for shoe-bags.” He fixed them in a neat row on the
wall, while Norah arranged her other small belongings.
“Gorgeous clearance!” Jim remarked, surveying the cabin with pride. “How
about unpacking now? If I haul these trunks out for you, can you
manage?”
“Rather!” said Norah, gratefully. “You’ve been a brick, Jimmy, and I
feel much better. I’ll stow away my things in the wardrobe and drawers,
and then I won’t have to haul my trunks often from under the berths.”
“Don’t you do it at all,” commanded Jim, sternly. “Wal or I will always
be somewhere about, and anyhow, what’s a steward for? Well, I’ll leave
you to fix up your fripperies, and go and fix my own. Call me if you
want me.”
It was not altogether easy to remain cheerful over the boxes Brownie had
packed so lovingly. The memory of the parting at Billabong was still too
sore; in everything Norah touched she found reminders of the kind old
face, struggling against tears, on that last morning when she had said
good-bye to her. To say good-bye to Murty and the men—even to Black
Billy; to the horses and dogs; to Billabong itself, peaceful and dear in
its fringe of green trees; it had all been hard enough, and she ached
yet at the thought. But Brownie was somehow different, and loved her
better than any one on earth; and she was old, with no one to comfort
her. Norah’s heart was heavy for the dear old nurse as she took out one
neat layer of clothes after another, packed with sprigs of fragrant
lavender that brought the very breath of the Billabong garden.
Then came a tap at the door, and a neat stewardess looked in.
“Your father sent me to see if I could help you, miss.”
“I don’t think so, thank you,” Norah answered, sitting on the floor of
the cabin and looking up at her. “I’ve unpacked nearly everything.
However do people manage when there are three in a cabin this size?”
“Why, I’ve known four,” said the stewardess, laughing. “Four—and grown
up. Oh, they fit in somehow; the worst of it is if they all happen to be
sick. That is rather hard on them—and on me. You’re very lucky, miss,
to have so much room to yourself.”
“I suppose I am,” Norah assented, meekly. “It’s a little hard to
realise. Do you ever get sick yourself?”
“Stewardesses aren’t supposed to—and they haven’t time,” said the
other. “We wouldn’t be much good if we weren’t hardened sailors.
Dinner’s at half-past seven, miss, and the dressing-bugle goes half an
hour before. Shall I come in to fasten your frock?”
“Yes, please,” Norah answered. “I suppose we’ll be outside the Heads by
then?”
“Oh, a long way! We’ll be through the Heads at half-past five, and will
have dropped the pilot. The steward will come in at dusk, miss, to shut
your port-hole.”
Norah looked up in swift alarm.
“My port-hole? But need I have it shut? I always have my windows open at
night.”
The stewardess shook her head.
“You could always have it open, in ordinary circumstances, so long as
the weather wasn’t rough; but not now. It’s the war, you see, miss.
We’re under the strictest regulations not to show any lights at all; so
as soon as it is dusk every window on the ship has to be fastened and
shuttered. We don’t have any deck lights either—not even the port and
starboard lanterns and the mast-head. Coming out, there was a German
warship looking for us, and we got past her in the dark and gave her the
slip; she wasn’t more than ten miles away. She’d have had us, to a
certainty, if we had been lit up.”
“Good gracious!” said Norah, weakly.
“You see, miss, when the _Perseus_ has all her lights showing she’s like
an illumination display—any one could see her glow miles away. Our only
chance may lie in slipping by in the dark. And just now the Germans are
keeping a very close look-out on the Australian tracks, because they
hope to cut off the troopships. It makes the voyage very dull, but it
can’t be helped.”
Cheerful voices came along the alley-way as the stewardess, with a
friendly smile, disappeared.
“Well, are you fixed up?” Jim asked. “Can Wal come in? Here, we’ll put
these trunks out of your way.”
“I’m just finished,” Norah said. “How do you think it looks?”
“Jolly!” said Wally, emphatically, casting glances of approval round the
bright cabin, already homelike with photographs, cushions, flowers and
other dainty belongings. “Why, it might be a scrap of old Billabong,
Nor. Here’s Jimmy with the final touch.”
Jim had a grey, furry bundle in his arms.
“It’s only a little ’possum rug,” he said. “Your travelling rug may
often get damp with spray, and it’s rather jolly to have a spare one for
your bunk. Dad and I got it for you.” He spread it out on the berth.
“Will it do, kiddie?”
“Do!” said Norah, and put her cheek down into the grey softness. “It’s
just a beauty, Jim—you and Dad do think of the loveliest things!
They’re splendid skins; and I’m so glad you had the tails left on.
Doesn’t it make my bed look nice?”
“You mustn’t say a bed, on board ship,” Jim said, severely. “Beds are
shore luxuries, and this is merely a bunk.”
“It’s good enough for me,” said his sister happily. “It looks a jolly
place to sleep. I’m ready, Jim; can’t we go on deck? I want to see the
Heads.”
“We came to bring you,” Jim said, “though there’s half an hour yet. Has
the stewardess been saddening your young mind about your port-hole?”
“Yes—isn’t it awful! How on earth is one to sleep with one’s window
shut?”
“Well, it isn’t quite so bad as it seems—though it’s bad enough,” Jim
answered. “As long as there’s a light in your cabin the shutter must be
up; but as soon as you switch it off, it can be opened, only of course
you’re on your honour not to light up again. So I can come in after
you’re in bed and open it for you.”
“Oh, thank goodness!” Norah said, fervently. “Will it bother you much,
Jim?”
“It will not. And if you want a light in the night, your little electric
torch won’t matter, if you pull the curtain across the port. We’ve been
asking the purser about it, and he says it will be all right; only they
have to make the regulations very strict, because so many people are
fools about it, and disobey rules altogether if they get half a chance.
A man always has to be on duty, keeping a watch over the side to make
sure that no window is showing an unlawful beam.”
“Funny, what idiots people can be!” Wally commented. “You wouldn’t think
any one would want to be caught by the Germans.”
“Oh, there are always people who think they know more than the
authorities,” Jim said, “and who like to show how brave they are. As the
purser says, the owners wouldn’t a bit mind their being exceedingly
courageous with themselves, but they object to their taking chances with
a ship worth a million and a half. Anyhow, there will be trouble for
transgressors on this voyage. Come up on deck.”
There was a fresh breeze blowing as they reached the head of the
companion; and Wally dived back again for Norah’s coat. The _Perseus_
was nearing the twin Heads, Point Lonsdale and Point Nepean, that form
the entrance to Port Phillip Bay. On the right lay the little town of
Queenscliff; on the left, barren heights, sparsely covered with scrub,
where, through the glasses, they could see soldiers moving about,
keeping a close watch. A detachment of the Light Horse could be descried
on a rocky point.
“A ship tried to slip out without her proper clearance papers the other
day,” Wally said.
“Did she get out?”
“Not much. The fort at Queenscliff fired a blank shot first, by way of
friendly warning; then, as she didn’t take any notice, they put a shell
just across her bows. Then she paused to ruminate, and came back. She
really wasn’t up to any mischief—it was only a disinclination on the
part of her captain to regard war restrictions. I hear they made him pay
the cost of his own bombardment.”
“Serve him right,” said Norah, laughing. “Wally, is that the Rip?”
Outside the Heads could be seen a flurry of broken water—great green
waves that came charging hither and thither, without any of the
regularity of breakers dashing upon a shore. Now and then one broke in a
wild “white horse” that was hastily engulfed in the mass of swirling
green. Sometimes the mass would pile itself up and up in broken hills of
water; then, as though sucked under by some mighty, unseen power, it
subsided, tumbling into fragments and dashing away furiously. A little
steamer was coming through it, rolling so terribly that momentarily it
seemed that she could not recover herself, but must go under. As they
watched, a great wave reared itself up and hit her squarely, burying her
in a cloud of foam.
“Yes, that’s the Rip,” Wally answered. “My aunt, isn’t that boat having
a lively time!”
The little steamer emerged—her bluff black bows coming out of the spray
much as a dogged mastiff might emerge from a ducking. She rolled, in the
same whole-hearted fashion, as the next wave slid from under
her—plunging down into a wild gulf of tumbling sea, to struggle up
again on the further side, white foam dashing from her bows. The dense
smoke from her funnels trailed behind her in a solid cloud of black.
“But she’ll sink!” Norah gasped.
“Not she!”
“But—why, she was nearly over then!”
“She’s used to it,” said Wally, laughing.
“I never saw such a thing,” ejaculated Norah. “Do you mean to tell me
we’ll be doing that in a few minutes?”
Some one behind them laughed cheerfully.
“We’re much too big to dance such jigs as that,” said a friendly
voice—and they turned to see a man in blue uniform smiling at them.
“Don’t you worry—we’ll go through the Rip as though it wasn’t there.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” said Norah, relieved.
“I’ve been talking to your father,” said the newcomer; “but as he isn’t
here, I’ll have to introduce myself. My name is Merriton, Miss Linton,
and I’m a highly formidable person, being the ship’s doctor. I’ve heard
all about you from my old friend, Dr. Anderson, in Cunjee; he has sent
me special instructions to look after you. I hope you’re not going to
give me any trouble!”
“Well, I’m never ill,” said Norah, smiling at the cheery face. “I’m sure
Dr. Anderson didn’t tell you I needed looking after in that way, because
he always says he has never had the satisfaction of giving me medicine!”
“That’s precisely the sort of person I like to look after,” said the
doctor. “Patients on land are all very well, but a patient in a cabin is
a sad and sorry thing. Thank goodness, the _Perseus_ doesn’t have many
of them; every one seems to come on board in rude health, and to leave,
when the voyage is over, rather ruder. No, I look after the passengers
on the principle of prevention rather than cure; keep ’em moving, keep
’em playing games, keep ’em doing anything that will have a salutary
effect upon their livers and prevent them developing anything resembling
a symptom!”
“Don’t you get disliked, sir?” Jim asked, laughing.
“Oh, intensely! But it’s all in the day’s work. They abuse me, and they
never know how much they owe to me. Now we’re nearly through the Heads,
Miss Linton—say good-bye to old Victoria!”
The ship was just passing the long pier that runs out from Point
Lonsdale, and seems to divide the open ocean from the Bay. They could
plainly distinguish the faces of people standing on the end, watching
them. Beyond lay brown rocks, and the yellow curve of the ocean beach,
with great waves beating upon it; to the left the jagged coast-line
where more than one good ship had met her doom. Straight ahead lay the
Rip. The little steamer had come through the roughest part and was
running towards them.
Norah looked back. The greater part of the Bay was hidden since the turn
by Queenscliff; she could only see the flat shore-line beyond the town.
A haze had sprung up, obscuring everything. Melbourne was long ago
blotted out. It was as though a veil had fallen between the old life and
the new.
“Now you’ll see how she takes it, Miss Linton,” said the doctor
cheerily.
They were through the Heads, and racing outwards; already the swell of
the Rip was under them, and the great steamer rose and fell to it—so
gently that Norah forgot to wonder if she were to be sea-sick or not.
On, swiftly until the broken water was foaming round them, the _Perseus_
rolling a little as she cut her way through. Then they were out in the
smoother water beyond, with the long ocean swell heaving. A little grey
steamer rocked just beyond.
“That’s the pilot-boat,” said Wally. “Watch him go.”
They leaned over the side and watched the grizzled pilot go quickly down
a swinging rope-ladder to a waiting dinghy that had put off from the
grey steamer. It was a kind of acrobatic feat, and Norah breathed more
freely when the old man had landed safely in the tossing little boat. He
took the tiller, and the oarsmen pulled swiftly across to the steamer,
from the deck of which some one shouted last messages to the _Perseus_.
“So that’s done with,” said the doctor; “and now it’s heigh for
home!—for us, that is. When you’re feeling blue, for want of Australia,
Miss Linton, you can remember that we poor seafaring folk are going to
have the luxury of getting home for Christmas—and that’s a thing that
doesn’t often come our way.”
“I’m glad you are,” said Norah, soberly. It was easy to feel friendly
with the doctor, even though she was a rather shy person. He was not
very young, but for all that his face was like a boy’s; he had a merry
voice, and his eyes were quick and kindly. When he smiled at her she
felt that she had known him for quite a long time.
Mr. Linton appeared round a corner of the deck-house.
“Oh! there you are—I’ve been looking for you,” he said. “People on a
ship of this size take plenty of hunting; I put a deck-steward on the
trail at last, and he’s probably hunting still. Feel all right, Norah?”
“Yes, thank you,” said Norah, in such evident amazement that every one
laughed.
“Well, you’ve been through the Rip—and that is an experience that leads
many to take prompt refuge in their cabins,” said the doctor. “Not that
there’s the least excuse for any one being ill on this ship—she’s as
steady as old Time.”
“Why, I never thought about it,” Norah said. “The girls told me I’d be
ill in the Rip, and I was feeling worried—I was thinking last night how
horrid it would be. But I forgot all about it when it came—it was so
interesting!”
“You’re not going to be ill at all—put it out of your head,” said the
doctor. Which Norah promptly did, and had no occasion ever to revive
unpleasant memories, since none of the party manifested signs of illness
at any period of the voyage.
On their way to dress for dinner some one called Mr. Linton back, while
the others waited for him on a wide landing. Close by was the purser’s
office, where a heated altercation was going on between the chief
assistant and the stout individual who had so narrowly caught the ship
at the last moment.
“Sorry, Mr. Smith,” the assistant was saying. “The purser is
engaged—he’s with the captain.”
“I have asked for him at least four times, and he has always been
engaged,” said Mr. Smith, angrily.
“Well, he generally is, on a sailing day. Can’t I do anything? Is your
cabin uncomfortable?”
“The cabin is well enough. It is about a telegram I must send.”
The assistant shook his head.
“No wireless to be used,” he said. “War regulation. You can telegraph
from Adelaide, of course.”
“That is ridiculous,” said the stout man angrily. “In Australian
waters——”
“Well, it isn’t my regulation,” the assistant said. “You’d better
complain to the military authorities. No, the purser can’t help you;
why, the captain couldn’t. It’s war precaution, I tell you.”
Mr. Linton then came up, and the rest of the conversation was lost. They
could hear the stout man’s angry voice as they went down the staircase.
“Seems in a bad temper,” Wally observed.
“He’s a hasty person altogether,” said Mr. Linton. “The captain tells me
that he decided only at the last moment to come on this voyage. He
certainly arrived at the last moment!”
“Hadn’t he a ticket?” asked Jim.
“Not a ticket—not that that matters, of course, with so empty a ship.
No trouble for them to fix him up. But he seems to expect a good deal,
for an eleventh-hour passenger.” Mr. Linton yawned. “The sea is making
me sleepy already,” he declared, disappearing into his cabin.
It made Norah sleepy very early that night. After the lengthy dinner was
over, they went on deck, where strolling was difficult because of the
absence of lights; and the rushing water overside was a mysterious mass,
dark and formless. All the best of Norah’s world was with her—and yet
she was homesick. Somewhere beyond the rail over which they leaned was
home; they were lonely at Billabong, and here it was lonely, too.
She gave herself a little mental shake. After all they were
together—and that was really all that mattered.
“I’m sleepy,” she declared.
“Then turn in,” Jim counselled. “I’ll come and open your port when I go
down. Can you find your way?”
“It’s time I learned, at any rate,” said Norah, sturdily.
She found it, after a few wrong turns, and made short work of preparing
for bed. The stewardess looked in to find out if she could be of any
use, and went off, with a brisk “good-night.” The cabin was cheery and
homelike—full of the scent of Bush flowers, and pleasant with
photographs, that seemed to smile to her. She was not nearly so lonely
when at last she slipped into bed, under the grey ’possum fur—and the
little bunk was comfortable and quaint, and made her feel that she was
really on board ship.
Jim looked in presently.
“Comfy, little chap? And how do you like it?”
“Yes, very comfy. Jim, I think it’s rather jolly.”
“Of course it is,” said Jim. “You look snug enough. Sure you’re warm?
And you know where the bell is, in case you want the stewardess?”
“Oh, I’m not going to want anything!” Norah answered. “I’m too sleepy.
She creaks a lot, doesn’t she, Jim?”
“Who—the stewardess?” said Jim, puzzled.
“No, stupid—the ship. If she didn’t creak, and I wasn’t in a bunk, she
would be just like a hotel.”
“Not much difference,” Jim answered. He switched off the light and
unscrewed the port-hole, going out with a last cheery word. And then
Norah found that there was another difference—through the open port
came the sound of the sea. It rushed and boiled past, splashing on the
side of the ship near her; somehow there was an impression of great
speed, far greater than in daylight. Norah liked the sound. She went to
sleep, with the sea talking to her.