GENOA
Somewhere about four in the afternoon Start Point showed away on the
starboard beam; and with the dark the Eddystone light, sixteen miles or
so away, winked at them just within the range of visibility.
The wind had shifted a bit towards the south, and the nip had gone out
of the air, but no clouds showed. St. Luke's little summer held the
Channel, and the warm dark night was full of lights--lights talking to
one another through the great silence that was broken only by the creak
of block and spar and the whisper of the bow wash. Bolt Head and the
Eddystone and the red and green lights of shipping were all domed by
the stars, against which the great spread of the mainsail showed black
beneath the truck, writing its tale of adventure on the heavens. They
passed Ushant next morning, carrying the fine weather with them into
the Bay; they passed the Bay and the Barlengas Islands handed them on
to Cape St. Vincent, and then, one day never to be forgotten by Martia,
far ahead before them stood Africa facing Europe in a blaze of sunshine
across the narrow straits.
* * * * *
The wind was with them--the west wind is generally blowing through the
gut of Gibraltar. They passed the Rock, a great P. & O. boat homeward
bound giving them her wash and a string of coloured flags that wished
them a pleasant voyage. And then, through days of blazing sunshine
and nights of stars and winking sea lights, they coasted the southern
shores of Spain till the Balearics showed like a cloud on the starboard
bow and sank astern like burning ships in the blaze of a sunset never
to be forgotten.
Then one morning, just as Martia was dressed, a hail from above brought
her on deck, and there across the sea lay Genoa. Genoa terraced and
glittering in the early sunlight, above the crowded harbour and
the foam-washed breakwater. Genoa throned on her hills facing San
Fruitiossa and the tombs of the Dorias across the glittering sea. Genoa
_la superba_, yet a trader at heart now as in the past.
A pilot-boat ran out to meet them, and as the pilot came on board Sam,
his work and responsibility finished with for the moment, turned to
the rail and lit a pipe, whilst the girl, standing by him, watched as,
passing the eastern end of the breakwater, they came into the outer
harbour and from there into the inner, beside which lay the great Silos
de Genoa.
Genoa is the Southampton of Italy, and here were ships the form and
lines and names of which the girl had never imagined or heard of; ships
of the Nederland Line and the Holland-Oast-Azie Line; the great South
American liner _Conte Verde_, close to which the pilot moored them; a
turret boat of the Clan Line; coasters from Savona, Leghorn, and Naples
that seemed to have been built by Noah; an old green ship rotting
at its anchorage, and a fruit boat from Sicily full of bronzed men
graceful as Apollos.
Then the port authorities came off in their launch, gave them
_pratique_, examined their papers, threw up their hands at the mad
English who had come all the way from England in such a small boat just
for fun, and departed, smiling--at Martia.
"And now," said Sam, "let's get ashore. Bowler will look after the
ship. We can have breakfast at the _Mirimare_--that's that big hotel up
there you can see to the left of the Silos--and then we can go for a
cruise round the town."
Martia's mind jumped at the idea, and yet, strangely enough, something
held her back. Women have their premonitary warnings that come from
nowhere. But her doubt lasted only for a moment.
"Why not have breakfast here and then go ashore?" said she. "It's only
half-past eight, and we have the whole day before us."
"I want to stretch my legs," said Sam. "And as we'll be off to-morrow
morning, we may as well make the most of our time. Unless you'd rather
breakfast here."
"Oh, I don't mind," said she. "If you want to, let's go."
Bowler rowed them ashore, and landing at the quay by the Silos they
took the lift that brings passengers from the lower level right into
the premises of the great hotel. Here they breakfasted, surrounded by
all the nations of the world in the form of tourists. Sam was in the
highest of spirits, laughing and talking and self-congratulatory on the
success of the voyage up to this.
This was a new Sam. Bobby had never once seen him like this since the
Oxford days, and was pleased at the change, little dreaming of the
newer Sam he was to see before nightfall.
There is a hairdressing shop for men and women attached to the
_Mirimare_, and after breakfast the skipper of the _Lorna Doone_,
lighting a big cigar and leaving the others seated in the lounge, went
off to be barbered.
"I won't be a minute," said Sam.
He was half an hour, and it was ten minutes to eleven before, delivered
from the hotel and the lift, they took a tram for the Piazza Differari.
Modern Genoa is divided into two parts, the harbour town and the
eastern town of fine shops and business houses.
Having bought some things, they had luncheon at a café on the Piazzo
Aqua Verde, and here, after luncheon, they lost Sam. They lost him in
a crowd caused by a big Fascist demonstration marching with drums and
banners, and they could not find him again.
"He'll be all right," said Bobby. "He knows the place better than we
do, and he'll go back to the boat when he's tired. Come on. We haven't
done the Campo Santo yet, nor a single church. Which shall it be?"
"The Campo Santo," said Martia. "I've often heard of it, and would like
to see it. But are you sure Mr. Hackett will be all right?"
"Absolutely," said Bobby; "and it serves him right being such a fool as
to lose himself. We can't hunt for him all day."
He hailed a taxi-cab and drove to the great cemetery, but Martia's
interest in the marble tombs, the family groups, the widowers in marble
frock coats, and the enormousness and enormity of the whole place was
marred by the vision of Sam, lost and maybe still hunting for them,
wandering like a stray dog. She felt that they had deserted him, and it
was a relief to her when they reached the quay at last and took a shore
boat to the _Lorna Doone_. Sam had not returned.
Bobby looked at his watch.
"It's only half-past five," said he. "He's sure to be back soon. If he
isn't, I'll go ashore and have a hunt for him."
"He couldn't have got into trouble or anything?" asked the girl.
"Not he. He's just amusing himself. He'll be back by six."
But six passed without the return of the missing one, and seven. At
eight o'clock, as much disturbed as the girl, Bobby put ashore and
landed at the Silo quay, told Bowler to stick by the landing-stage with
the boat, and started on his hunt. He had not far to go. On a bollard
near the shore end of the quay, conversing jocularly with several
Italian boatmen and punctuating his remarks with hiccoughs, was seated
Sam.
"Hallo," said Sam.
"What on earth have you been doing?" asked Bobby, shocked by this new
development and scarcely believing his senses. "Where have you been?"
"All over the place," said the skipper of the _Lorna Doone_. "Give's
your arm."
Now the funny thing was that Bobby, who knew Sam's Oxford record for
brightness and liveliness, and who had not seen him for years before
their meeting in the restaurant, was shocked by his present condition
almost as much as though Samuel had been a rural dean, shall we say.
Yet perhaps the thing was not so funny after all, for the skipper of
the _Lorna Doone_ had up to this shown no deviation from the normal.
Furthermore, he was not of the type that produces drinking men.
As a matter of fact, Sam did not care for drink in the least in the
ordinary way.
"I know," said he, in reply to Bobby's comment, and taking the other's
arm. "It's silly of me to get like this. Let's take a walk round. I
want to swing my compass before going on board. Not fit to meet _her_
like this."
"Shall I get you a bed at the hotel?" asked Bobby.
"No," said Sam.
They left the quay and walked along the road that leads to the station.
"No," went on the skipper after a long pause, and as if in reply to
a repeat of the invitation. "I don't want beds at any hotels. I'll be
all right presently, and all the better for it. I meant to do it when I
started this morning. I had to get her off my mind."
Bobby felt unhappy. He did not want to hear the confidences of a
man whose intellect was under a cloud, and he tried to turn the
conversation.
"Forget it all," said he. "You'll be as right as rain when you've had a
sleep."
"Forget it all? If you'd got a girl in your head--if you'd gone the
mucker I have--if----"
Again Bobby tried to stop him, but Samuel Hackett, taking the bit in
his teeth, broke into open confession and spun a yarn--so wandering,
however, and so confused that all Bobby could make out was that
deponent, sometime in the past, had loved a girl, became engaged
to her, broken off the engagement owing to a mutual quarrel, and
sacrificed his brilliant future, whatever it was, for the life of a
small-yachtsman. He had five hundred a year of his own.
Presumably the girl was Martia Hare, though he mentioned no names, and
the close proximity in the _Lorna Doone_ life had brought about this
crisis.
* * * * *
This was a nice complex in an affair already complex enough. If Sam,
the hub of this expedition, were to be subjected to crises like this
every time Martia became too much for his feelings, what might not the
upshot be?
It came into Bobby's head just then what Martia had said, in his
first interview with her, about editors and their predilection for
stories with a female interest, a predilection born of nothing but the
business instinct telling them what the public wants. It seemed to him
that the public was not far wrong, and that if the interest of any
story depended upon its complexity, elements of surprise, and possible
dramatic developments, a woman was absolutely necessary in it. All the
same, he wasn't writing a story, but engaged in a deal that might lead
the whole lot of them into unknown trouble, should any hitch occur.
This fact had been developing in his mind during the voyage, helped,
maybe, by the sea air and the absence of all other worries.
Behrens, it seemed to him, had not fully gauged the possibilities of
this business if it went wrong. Behrens was an old man whose life had
been spent in auction-rooms and the atmosphere of shady deals. He was
absolutely to be trusted as a friend, but as a business antagonist he
was a bandit pure and simple. He would not cheat a customer or sell
faked goods as real stuff, but he would take any and every advantage
conferred upon him by his knowledge of business and the length of his
purse.
The sacking of Hyalos, to Behrens, was a perfectly legitimate
undertaking. To Bobby, during the last fortnight or so, the
question had been steadily recurring as to whether Behrens had not
underestimated the seriousness of it, should the Greek Government step
in by any chance and find them at work.
Bobby had no doubt as to the morality of rescuing for personal profit
stuff that had been lying for long centuries under the sea, whenever it
might be found. All the same, he had grave doubts as to what the upshot
might be should they be detected. The situation was serious, and this
grave defect that had suddenly shown itself in Sam made it more so.
After half an hour's walk up and down the vile street by the wharves,
the skipper's compass seemed to be coming into order again, and he
declared himself fit to return on board.
Martia was on deck when they drew alongside, and she seemed to notice
nothing as Sam, on the dark deck and controlling himself, explained
that he had "been to the pictures." Then he went below and the girl and
Bobby were left alone.
The night was warm as a night in August, and Genoa, spangled with
lights, looked down upon her harbour, where the great ships lay with
their ports and anchor lights spilling amber on the water. A Dutch
boat, ripping up the night with her syren, was putting to sea from the
outer harbour, and the tangling of a mandoline came across the water
from where the fruit boats lay, beyond the great bulk of the _Conte
Verde_.
Bobby was greatly exercised in his mind. To speak about Sam's recent
condition, if he were really in love with Martia, seemed an act of
disloyalty, considering that he--Bobby--was also in the same condition
as regarded her. Still, it was unfair to the girl to keep silent. She
was sharing the risk they all ran and she ought to know everything.
"I'm rather worried about Hackett," said he at last. "He's the best of
good fellows, but I think his mind is upset a bit about something, and
he's been dining on shore--and----"
"I know," said Martia.
"The bother is," said he, "this isn't an ordinary pleasure cruise. We
all want our heads screwed on tight. It's risky, and I'm worried about
you."
"Why me?"
"Well, if anything goes wrong, I don't want you to be let in for it.
I'm not saying anything will, but, all the same, one never knows. You
know how I bothered you to come. Well, I almost wish I hadn't."
"That's nonsense!" said Martia. "I don't mind risk. We are doing
nothing wrong. I went into the whole thing in my mind before I
decided to come. What we are going to do is no more harm than picking
blackberries--blackberries belonging to no one. These things you hope
to get belong to no one. That's the whole thing in a nutshell."
This feminine logic seemed to Bobby all right in its way amongst
themselves, but dubious as an argument to advance before the government
at Athens should fate land them at the Piræus in charge of some
wretched tin-pot man-of-war.
"There's still time for you to think twice of it," said he. "You could
go home from here."
"Do you want me to go?"
"I do and I don't," replied Bobby.
"Then I won't," said she. "I'm not that sort of person. Mr. Hackett is
a splendid sailor, and I have no fear of the sea with him. And if he
did behave stupidly to-day, men sometimes do stupid things. I am sure
he won't do it again. Besides, he won't be on shore again till we get
home. Go back and not see that wonderful place under the sea and have
all the fun of fishing for those things? I'd rather die than go back!"
"I'm glad you feel like that," said Bobby. "I felt that I ought to put
the thing before you. You don't think it mean of me, peaching on Sam? I
just had to tell you, seeing the position we are in."
"Oh, he peached on himself," said Martia, laughing. "I knew at once
when he spoke. I'll say nothing and he'll never know. He'll be himself
again to-morrow."
She was right.
The skipper of the _Lorna_ was on deck at sunrise next morning. He had
remembered the water tanks. They were filled by eight, and at nine
o'clock the _Lorna_, under her auxiliary engine, cleared the port of
Genoa, and spread her wings for the Isles of Greece.