A DAY ON DARTMOOR
"SAY, Greenwood, I feel an odd man out with this little crew. Nip in
and come along to keep me company. While these young people are
roaming over the moors, we'll try our luck with the trout."
The speaker was Dr. Cardyke. A week had elapsed since the "Merope"
had put in to Dartmouth. The court of enquiry was a thing of the
past, and the surviving officers and men of the "Heracles" had been
given leave.
Tressidar had gone home, having first given young Greenwood a ready
promise to put in a day or two at the Greenwoods' house, and now the
sub. was fulfilling his obligations.
On the morning following Tressidar's arrival the genial doctor had
given the Greenwoods and their guest an invitation for a "spin in
the car." Cardyke's "spin" meant a whole day on the breezy uplands of
Dartmoor. Mrs. Greenwood, still feeling the reaction of her prolonged
suspense, was unable to go. Her husband, having to report himself
that night for duty with the National Guards, also "cried off,"
though not without regret. Yet, he argued proudly, work in the
service of one's country that does not entail self-sacrifice isn't
worth being called patriotism.
Consequently the doctor's guests were Doris and her friend Norah
Ward, Eric and Ronald, and, in view of the possibility, nay
probability, that he would have to commune with nature while the
youthful picnickers roamed the moors, he again threw out an
invitation to his old crony with the alluring prospect of
trout-fishing thrown in.
"Duty, Cardyke, duty," protested Mr. Greenwood, although the doctor
saw that he was wavering. "Must report at Ferncoombe Reservoir at
eleven-thirty to-night."
"We'll be back long before then," said the doctor tentatively.
"I know what your motor spins are, my dear fellow," rejoined Mr.
Greenwood. "It's a good hour and a half's tramp from here to
Ferncoombe, remember."
"Look here, slip into your uniform. A trout won't fight shy of a fly
any more for that, you know. We'll have a topping time, and I'll drop
you at Ferncoombe on the return journey."
Greenwood senior figuratively hauled down his colours. With great
alacrity he donned his uniform of the National Guard, deposited his
rifle and fishing-tackle in the car, and took his seat alongside the
doctor. The rest of the party were already in occupation of the
remaining "crew-space," together with a well-filled hamper and
Doris's Irish terrier.
Over the hilly road the car sped, until it gained the outskirts of a
little village on the fringe of the wildly majestic Dartmoor.
"She's running badly," remarked the doctor to his companion.
"Deucedly strange. I never knew her to act like that before and on a
day like this."
He slowed down and pulled up. An examination revealed the fact that
the radiator tank was empty.
"Not a serious matter," declared Dr. Cardyke. "I'll ask for a can of
water at yonder cottage." A comely, sun-bonneted Devonshire
countrywoman willingly complied with his request. While engaged in
refilling the tank the doctor casually noticed that two men were
passing.
"Joy-riding in war-time," remarked one to his companion in a tone
that was obviously intended for the motorists' ears. "Pity those
young fellows haven't anything better to do."
Tressidar and the A.P. smiled. They regarded the remark as a joke.
Being in mufti, they had been taken for a pair of young slackers.
Not so Dr. Cardyke. Setting the can of water on the ground, he strode
resolutely up to the man who had uttered the uncalled-for remark.
"Allow me to inform you," he said cuttingly to the somewhat
astonished fellow, "that these gentlemen are naval officers. Both
have been in action, and on two occasions their ships have been mined
or torpedoed. The young lady [indicating Doris] is a nurse at a naval
hospital that has been under hostile fire. Her companion is a
voluntary Red Cross worker. My friend here, in spite of his years,
is, as you see, a member of the National Guard; while I, a medical
man, am engaged in purely voluntary work at three military hospitals
in the district. If we choose to take a well-earned holiday, is it
any concern of yours? Now, since you have interfered with our
business, perhaps you will not object if I meddle with yours. What
are you doing for your country?"
"I am engaged on the registration of women workers on the land,"
replied the man airily.
"Should have thought that the registration part was essentially a
woman's work," rejoined Dr. Cardyke drily. "But is that all? Surely
you have made an effort to serve in His Majesty's forces?"
"I'm over age," declared the man.
"Then that accounts for it," said the doctor triumphantly. "I noticed
that those who are so keen upon urging others to 'do their bit' have
good reason, or think they have good reason, for backing out
themselves. Yes, sir, I said backing out. Allow me to inform you that
no recruiting officer would question your statement if you said you
were under forty. Try the experiment or perhaps you haven't the
pluck."
The busybody slunk away, and the triumphant doctor returned to
complete his task.
The journey was resumed. Up and up climbed the car 'twixt frowning
tors and across stretches of wild moor clad in yellow gorse, through
which trickled numerous mountain torrents on their way to feed the
silvery Dart. Frequently a startled rabbit would rush across the road
and dive for safety into the brushwood. Wild birds, alarmed by the
purr of the motor, fled with strange cries to seek a more secluded
ground. Once a red fox, caught napping, bounded frantically across a
stream. These were the only signs of life visible from the car. Of
human habitation, not a vestige in the wild expanse.
At length the doctor drove the car very gently on to the side of the
road and stopped. This precaution was hardly necessary, since passing
vehicles were few and far between.
"Now, you young people," he exclaimed, "it's a couple of hours to
lunch time, unless you are ravenous already. Come along, Greenwood.
Where's your tackle? A cloudy morning like this ought to make the
trout rise. There's a capital stream less than a quarter of a mile
away."
By tacit consent the party separated, Tressidar and Doris making
their way in one direction, the A.P. and Norah in another. Whence
they went and the nature of the conversation was a matter that
concerned themselves. At any rate, it was safe to conjecture that
they were engrossed in each other's company, since the sub. and his
companion returned twenty minutes after the prearranged time and the
A.P. and Norah a quarter of an hour later to find that the doctor and
Greenwood senior were still lost to time and the call of hunger and
were lingering over their rods by the swiftly rushing
mountain-stream.
At length, in high spirits, the party assembled for lunch, the
fishermen displaying with pardonable pride the successful result of
their sport.
"Now, then, Tressidar," sang out the doctor as he prepared to cut a
veal and ham pie, "make yourself useful. You might uncork these
bottles."
"Shall I dissect the pie, sir?" asked the sub.
"The pie?" repeated Dr. Cardyke. "That's what I'm doing. Why do you
ask?"
"We'll have to hoist the S.O.S. signal if you carry on," said
Tressidar, laughing. "Already you've dropped a fish-hook into the
gravy, and it looks as if there are more to follow."
"A good excuse to remove my coat," rejoined the doctor
good-humouredly. "It certainly is hot for this time of year."
According to the custom adopted by freshwater fishermen, Dr. Cardyke
had stuck his spare hooks in the sleeve of his coat, and one of them,
being insufficiently held by the barb, had fallen into the pie-dish.
After lunch the young officers and their fair companions sauntered
off, while Greenwood senior and the doctor had "forty winks,"
followed by another bout of friendly rivalry by the trout stream.
"By Jove, Doris, isn't this simply great?" exclaimed Tressidar
enthusiastically, as the pair gained the top of a rugged tor. "Just
look at the expanse of country. Looks a bit misty down in the
valleys, though. I hope it won't get too thick. Say, do you mind if I
get a pipe under way?"
The rest of the afternoon passed only too quickly. The slanting rays
of the sun cast long shadows athwart the gorse as they made their way
back to the spot that the sub. had termed the rendezvous. By this
time the mist was rising from the low-lying ground and creeping
slowly up the hillsides, until the tors looked like islands in a sea
of slowly drifting fog.
"It will be pretty thick lower down," declared Eric during the course
of tea. "Driving through the mist is jolly tricky."
"Pooh!" exclaimed Dr. Cardyke. "Not with reasonable care. We'll shake
it off before we get to Bovey Tracey."
It was not long before the doctor found that very considerable
caution was necessary, for the fog was so dense that it was hardly
possible to distinguish the narrow road from the rest of the moor.
"Can you see where we're going, Greenwood?" he asked. "Frankly, I
can't. It's the worst fog I've ever struck."
"I haven't been able to see anything of the road for the last twenty
minutes," confessed Greenwood senior. "I think I'll change places
with young Tressidar. He's used to peering through mist, I should
imagine."
The car stopped and the change was effected, but Ronald found that he
had hopelessly lost his bearings. Everything visible was grotesquely
distorted by the fog, and magnified out of all proportion.
"Hold hard!" he exclaimed after another mile or so had been covered
at almost crawling pace. "There's something right ahead."
The "something" proved to be a sign-post at the fork of two roads.
None of the party had noticed it on the outward journey. Slowly the
car was brought alongside. It was the only way to read the
directions, if such existed. Unfortunately they didn't. The
finger-post, neglected and weather-beaten, was devoid of wording.
"There's a map in that case," observed the doctor. "Would you mind
getting it out? We'll soon see where we are."
The map was worse than useless. It was a delusion and a snare, for
nowhere within ten miles of where the car was supposed to be was a
fork road shown.
"What's wrong?" enquired the A.P. from the rear of the car.
"Out of our bearings. Suppose you don't happen to have brought a
compass?" said the sub. "Unless we are going in exactly the opposite
direction to the right one, there's not a fork road anywhere about,
according to this map."
"Don't forget I'm due at Ferncoombe tonight," sung out Mr. Greenwood
jocularly. "Now, Cardyke, get a move on."
Thus rallied, the doctor took the plunge. He restarted the car and
followed the right-hand road, arguing with himself that it must lead
somewhere, and that the fog wouldn't be so thick when clear of the
moors.
An hour passed. The car had covered certainly not more than four
miles. The doctor was showing signs of the severe strain it imposed
upon his vision and mental powers, but tactfully refusing Tressidar's
offer to drive, he stuck gamely to the steering-wheel.
It was now getting dark--and the doctor never drove at night unless
it could not be avoided, and then only on roads with which he was
well acquainted. With the decline of day the fog lifted slightly, and
showed promise of dispersing.
Having stopped to light the lamps--merely a matter of complying with
the law, since the obscured glasses gave hardly any illumination,
certainly not enough to enable the occupants of the car to avoid an
obstruction in time--the tedious journey was resumed, but at a
slightly increased speed.
"Now I think I know where we are," declared the doctor; but the next
moment he found out his mistake, for the car was on the point of
charging a flock of sheep.
A turn of the steering-wheel did the trick. Missing the foremost
sheep by inches, the car mounted a slight bank by the roadside and
commenced to slide down the steeply shelving slope of a deep valley.
The doctor shoved on the brakes. Although the wheels were locked and
the momentum retarded, the car continued its involuntary glide. Then
Tressidar had a vague impression that he was flying through the air,
and the next thing he knew was that he was sitting in a most
aggressive gorse-bush.