Part 28 (2/2)
Gorman restored us to cheerfulness by opening a parcel and handing round two enormous boxes of chocolates. One box was settled on the seat between Miss Gibson and Tim. They ate with healthy appet.i.tes and obvious delight. When we reached Southampton that box was nearly empty and neither of them seemed any the worse. The other box lay on Mrs. Ascher's knee. She and I and Gorman did our best, but we did not get through the top layer. Ascher only took one small chocolate and, when he thought no one was looking, dropped it out of the window.
The motor yacht which Gorman had hired for us turned out to be a swift and well-found s.h.i.+p with a small cabin and possibilities of comfort in a large c.o.c.kpit aft. We sped down Southampton Water, one of a whole fleet of pleasure vessels large and small. A racing cutter stooped under the pressure of a fresh westerly breeze, to leeward of us. We slipped close past a little brown sailed yawl, steered by a man in white flannels.
Two laughing girls in bright red caps sat on the coachroof cabin top.
An arrogant white steam yacht, flying the ensign of the Royal Yacht Squadron, sliced her silent way through the water behind us. Shabby boats with stained, discoloured sails and chipped paint bore large parties seaward. The stiff front of Netley Hospital shone white in the sun. The conical buoy at the entrance of Hamley river bent its head sh.o.r.ewards as the strong tide swept past it. From the low point beneath Calshott Castle a flying machine rose suddenly, circled round in a wide sweep and then sped swiftly eastwards towards Spit-head. In the roads off Cowes we could discern many yachts at anchor. One of the Hamburg-American lines crept cautiously up the Solent. A belated cruiser, four-funneled, black and grim, on her way to join the Fleet, followed the huge German steamer. The waters of the Solent tumbled in irregular white-topped waves, tide and wind opposed to each other, struggling for mastery.
Gorman hauled luncheon baskets from the cabin. He set Tim and me to open them. The look of a ham which Tim thoughtlessly asked her to hold while he unpacked the dish belonging to it, finished Mrs. Ascher. Our boat was rolling quite appreciably. She retired to the cabin. Even the gla.s.s of champagne with which Gorman hurriedly provided her failed to enable her to eat. Miss Gibson fortunately was unaffected. She ate everything that was offered to her and in the course of the afternoon finished Mrs.
Ascher's box of chocolates.
Before we stopped eating we caught our first sight of the Fleet. The s.h.i.+ps lay in three long, straight lines off Spithead; battles.h.i.+ps, cruisers, lean destroyers, submarines. A hydroplane raced past us, flinging showers of spray and foam high on each side of her. Two naval aeroplanes, their canoe-shaped floats plainly visible, hovered and circled overhead. Pleasure boats were everywhere, moving in and out among the motionless ironclads. A handsome barque-rigged yacht, some very rich man's summer home, came slowly towards us, her sails furled, using auxiliary steam power.
We swiftly approached the Fleet Already the vast bulk of the battles.h.i.+ps oppressed our spirits. We looked up from the c.o.c.kpit of our dancing pleasure boat and saw the huge misshapen iron monsters towering over us, minatory, terrible. We swept in and out, across the sharp bows, under the gloomy sterns of the s.h.i.+ps of the first line. Ascher gazed at them.
His eyes were full of sorrow, sorrow and a patient resignation.
”Your protection,” I said. ”Because those s.h.i.+ps are there, because they are black and strong, stronger than any other s.h.i.+ps, because men everywhere are afraid of them, because this navy of England's is great, your net of commerce and credit can trawl across the world and gather wealth.”
”Protection,” said Ascher. ”Protection and menace. This Navy is only one of the world's guarantees of peace, of peace guaranteed by fear. It is there as you say, and the German Army is there; that men may fear them and peace be thus made sure. But can peace be secured through fear? Will not these navies and armies some day fulfil the end of their being, rend all our nets as they rush across the seas and desolate the lands? They are more menace than protection.”
Gorman was standing with his back to us. His elbows were resting on the slide of the roof above the steps which led to the cabin. His chin was on his hands and he was staring at the s.h.i.+ps. Suddenly he turned.
”The world's great delusion,” he said. ”Hypnotised by the governing cla.s.ses the workers are everywhere bearing intolerable burdens in order to provide statesmen and kings with these dangerous toys. Men toil, and the fruits of their toil are taken from them to be squandered on vast engines whose sole use is to destroy utterly in one awful moment what we have spent the painful effort of ages in building up.”
He swept his hand out towards the great s.h.i.+p under whose shadow we were pa.s.sing.
”Was there ever plainer proof,” he said, ”that men are mad?”
Miss Gibson sat beside me. While Ascher spoke and while Gorman spoke, she held my gla.s.ses in her hand and watched the s.h.i.+ps through them.
She neither heard nor heeded the things they said. At last she laid the gla.s.ses on my knee and began to recite Kipling's ”Recessional.” She spoke low at first. Gradually her voice grew stronger, and a note of pa.s.sion, tense and restrained, came into it. She is more than a charming woman. She has a great actress' capacity for emotion.
We moved through waters consecrate, and she expressed for us the spirit which hovered over them. Here English guns raked the s.h.i.+ps of Spain.
Here, staggering homewards, shot-riddled, came the frigates and privateers of later centuries, their shattered prizes under their lee.
Through these waters men have sailed away to fight and conquer and rule in India and in many distant lands. Back through these waters, some of them have come again, generation after generation of them, their duty done, their adventuring over, asking no more than to lay their bones at last in quiet churchyards, under the shadow of the cross, near the grey walls of some English church.
Miss Gibson's voice, resonant, pa.s.sionate, devout, lingered on the last syllables of the poem.
”The imperial idea,” I said, ”after all, Gorman, it has its greatness.”
Then Tim spoke, shyly, eagerly.
”I wonder,” he said, ”if they would let us go on board one of the submarines. I should like to see---- Oh, there are a lot of things I should like to see in any of those s.h.i.+ps. They must be nearly perfect, I mean mechanically. The steering gear, for instance----”
His voice trailed off into silence.
”What a pity,” said Miss Gibson, ”that the King can't be here. I suppose now there'll, be no royal salutes fired and we shan't see his yacht.”
”All Mr. Gorman's fault,” I said. ”If he had not nagged on in the way he has about Home Rule, the King would be here with the rest of us. As it is he has to stay in London while politicians abuse each other in Buckingham Palace.”
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