Read Online Dead and Alive by Hammond Innes - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Hammond Innes
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“She’s no sails and she’s without lights.”
I took the glasses. It was a schooner all right, of the type that do much of the coastal trade round Spain and Italy. As I watched her a froth of white appeared at her stern. She had got her auxiliary going. Sails fluttered up clothing her bare masts and drawing fitfully in thelight breeze. She began to move across our bows as we bore down on her.
I edged the wheel up and the bows came round until we were heading straight for her again. “I am closing her to see why she is without lights,” I told Stuart.
He nodded, but made no comment. He was tapping his teeth with his pipe and gazing for’ard at the rapidly looming shape.
When we were about a cable’s-length away the schooner suddenly stopped her engine. Her sails dropped limply from her masts leaving them bare as they had been before. “Stop both,” I ordered the engine-room. In the sudden quiet the sound of the water creaming before the thrusting bows was very loud. I switched on the loud-hailer. “Ahoy, there!” I called. “What ship is that?”
Back came the reply in Spanish. The voice was the voice of a man who was very excited.
“ Perchè non avete luce? ” I asked, trying him in simple Italian.
There was no reply.
We were close alongside now and I switched on the bridge spotlight. The deck of the schooner was littered with wine barrels below the fallen sails. The captain, short, dark-haired and thin-faced, stood at the rail watching us intently. “ Che e vostra —what’s the word for cargo?” Stuart asked me.
“ Cosa portate nella barca? ” I called out.
There followed a stream of Spanish which was quite unintelligible. It ended with the words, “ Vino, caballero, solo vino. ”
“ Perchè non avete la luce? ” I demanded again.
Another flood of Spanish from which I gathered his dynamo had broken down. But there was a gleam of electric-light from the companion way.
“Better push on, David,” Stuart said. “He’s up to no good. I’ll bet it’s not wine in those barrels. But it’s none of our business and even if it were we couldn’t do anything about it.”
“Okay,” I said. I put the microphone of the loud-hailerto my mouth. “ Accendete luce ,” I said menacingly, and then to the engine-room, “Slow ahead both.”
As we gathered way the sea creamed at his stern and the little schooner made off in the opposite direction. Obviously he thought we were a naval ship.
“What do you reckon he was up to?” I asked Stuart. “He was lying about his electric light being out of order. Anyway, he had oil storm lamps which he could have lit.”
Stuart shrugged his shoulders. “Contraband,” he said. “Possibly arms. There must be a lot of that going on round the Mediterranean. Think of the vast quantities of arms and equipment we lost in North Africa and Italy. Incidentally,” he added. “I didn’t tell you, but we had an offer to go into the arms running racket ourselves.”
“How do you mean?” I asked.
“It was whilst I was up in London that first time—about the fourth day I was there. A little man came to see me in the evening. He had a bald shiny head and square features. He looked what I have no doubt he had been—a Fascist profiteer. His opening gambit was: Would we be interested in a profitable cargo? I said, yes, but it depended on the cargo. He talked for a long time then about the advantages of the type of ship we had. ‘You don’t need to worry about ports,’ he said. ‘A firm beach, your door down and your cargo, if loaded on lorries, is away.’
“I said the matter had not escaped our notice, and his belly shook with silent laughter. I asked him what he was suggesting. He looked at me out of his little pig eyes as though calculating the best line of approach. Then he said, ‘You realise, Mr. McCrae, that there is a lot of unrest in Italy—under the surface. The unruly elements of the population are intent upon destroying the new Italy that is
I took the glasses. It was a schooner all right, of the type that do much of the coastal trade round Spain and Italy. As I watched her a froth of white appeared at her stern. She had got her auxiliary going. Sails fluttered up clothing her bare masts and drawing fitfully in thelight breeze. She began to move across our bows as we bore down on her.
I edged the wheel up and the bows came round until we were heading straight for her again. “I am closing her to see why she is without lights,” I told Stuart.
He nodded, but made no comment. He was tapping his teeth with his pipe and gazing for’ard at the rapidly looming shape.
When we were about a cable’s-length away the schooner suddenly stopped her engine. Her sails dropped limply from her masts leaving them bare as they had been before. “Stop both,” I ordered the engine-room. In the sudden quiet the sound of the water creaming before the thrusting bows was very loud. I switched on the loud-hailer. “Ahoy, there!” I called. “What ship is that?”
Back came the reply in Spanish. The voice was the voice of a man who was very excited.
“ Perchè non avete luce? ” I asked, trying him in simple Italian.
There was no reply.
We were close alongside now and I switched on the bridge spotlight. The deck of the schooner was littered with wine barrels below the fallen sails. The captain, short, dark-haired and thin-faced, stood at the rail watching us intently. “ Che e vostra —what’s the word for cargo?” Stuart asked me.
“ Cosa portate nella barca? ” I called out.
There followed a stream of Spanish which was quite unintelligible. It ended with the words, “ Vino, caballero, solo vino. ”
“ Perchè non avete la luce? ” I demanded again.
Another flood of Spanish from which I gathered his dynamo had broken down. But there was a gleam of electric-light from the companion way.
“Better push on, David,” Stuart said. “He’s up to no good. I’ll bet it’s not wine in those barrels. But it’s none of our business and even if it were we couldn’t do anything about it.”
“Okay,” I said. I put the microphone of the loud-hailerto my mouth. “ Accendete luce ,” I said menacingly, and then to the engine-room, “Slow ahead both.”
As we gathered way the sea creamed at his stern and the little schooner made off in the opposite direction. Obviously he thought we were a naval ship.
“What do you reckon he was up to?” I asked Stuart. “He was lying about his electric light being out of order. Anyway, he had oil storm lamps which he could have lit.”
Stuart shrugged his shoulders. “Contraband,” he said. “Possibly arms. There must be a lot of that going on round the Mediterranean. Think of the vast quantities of arms and equipment we lost in North Africa and Italy. Incidentally,” he added. “I didn’t tell you, but we had an offer to go into the arms running racket ourselves.”
“How do you mean?” I asked.
“It was whilst I was up in London that first time—about the fourth day I was there. A little man came to see me in the evening. He had a bald shiny head and square features. He looked what I have no doubt he had been—a Fascist profiteer. His opening gambit was: Would we be interested in a profitable cargo? I said, yes, but it depended on the cargo. He talked for a long time then about the advantages of the type of ship we had. ‘You don’t need to worry about ports,’ he said. ‘A firm beach, your door down and your cargo, if loaded on lorries, is away.’
“I said the matter had not escaped our notice, and his belly shook with silent laughter. I asked him what he was suggesting. He looked at me out of his little pig eyes as though calculating the best line of approach. Then he said, ‘You realise, Mr. McCrae, that there is a lot of unrest in Italy—under the surface. The unruly elements of the population are intent upon destroying the new Italy that is
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