_Chapter_ XXV The Rescue
The news of their success had gone on before them by radio. At theairdrome they were given a royal welcome. Congratulations were the orderof the day. The entire crew was invited to the Squadron Commander’s homein a near-by village for dinner.
Somehow the word that Alice had been on the bomber at the moment of itstriumph had got about. Ignoring every precedent, the commander’s wifeinvited her to the dinner and fitted her out with a dress suited to theoccasion. She was quite the queen of the occasion.
For all her gayety, deep down in her soul the girl was broken-hearted. Ahalf hour before they went in for dinner the young Lord had told her insteady, even tones that only served to reveal his hidden emotion thatthe invasion of their land seemed near at hand, that the R. A. F. wassadly in need of heavy bombers for breaking up troop-concentrations onthe other shore. “Five powerful bombers are waiting, all equipped, onAmerican shores,” the young Lord had said. “My orders are to pick upcrews for these bombers—they are waiting for me at a Scottishairdrome—and to fly these crews across the Atlantic.”
“No—no more search?” Alice’s tongue had gone dry.
“Perhaps a little coming and going,” he replied, striving to ease herpain. “We shall sail over those same waters.”
“Then I shall go with you,” she flashed.
“That is as the Commander may decide.” Once before the young Lord hadtried refusing her. Never again.
“He can’t deny me that much.” Alice’s words were steady and sure. Norwas she wrong.
As the plane took off next day for its long hop across the Atlantic, itcarried twenty-six men and Alice. Perhaps she had been commissioned toprepare and serve hot drinks for the long journey. No one knew or seemedto care. She was there. That was all that mattered.
Every man of the company knew her story. When the time came to sail overthe waters close to the spot where the Queen Bess went down for a fullhour every eye was on the sea. Nothing showed, so at long last theysettled back for the hours that were yet to come.
One hour out of every three Alice busied herself serving refreshments.She slept a little and thought a great deal. Long, long thoughts thosewere. Then they were at their secret destination, a cold, bleak shoresomewhere in North America.
A few hours of sleep, then again they were away. This time six powerfulships zooming away toward the distant skies that are England’s own.
After weary hours of waiting they found themselves once more above thewaters from whence had come the last S. O. S. of the good ship, QueenBess. There were five of them now, Alice, Dave, Brand, the Lark and theyoung Lord.
As Alice studied first the compass, then the chart, she looked at theyoung Lord who was at the controls and he understood.
He wanted to say, “Alice your hopes last too long. Forget the boat. Itcan’t be there.” But “forget” he knew full well was one word not to befound in the girl’s vocabulary. So, pointing the ship’s nose toward thesea, then stepping down its speed, he sailed close to sparkling waters.It was midday. The sun was bright. They could see for miles.
A half hour passed. Hope seemed all but gone when, of a sudden, Alicegripped the young Lord’s arm.
“Harm!” she screamed in his ear. “Off to the right! See! There’ssomething white!”
The young Lord saw nothing. He did bank away to the right.
Then they all saw it, a white spot. It seemed to move backward andforward. Every muscle tense, they waited. The spot loomed larger.Beneath it appeared a dark form.
“A boat!” Alice cried. “It is a boat! There are people, living people!They are waving something white!”
“Steady, girl.” The young Lord framed the words with his lips.
Yes, she knew. Other ships had been lost, other life-boats had wanderedaway. And yet. It just must be true. It must be the boat from the QueenBess.
As they dropped to the surface of the sea, she found herself holding herbreath. On the prow of the life-boat was a name. Two words. It must be‘Queen Bess.’ The first letter of each word was large.
“Yes!” she cried at last. “Q. B.—Queen Bess!”
Above the sound of the taxiing motor someone heard her cry. That someonestood up in the life-boat and screamed,
“Alice! Alice! I know your voice! Oh, thank God we are saved!”
Three minutes more and the girls were in one-another’s arms.
“See what a haul we made,” the young Lord exclaimed sometime later.“Seven children, one young lady and fifteen able-bodied seamen.”
“And all because one little lady named Alice would not give up,” Davereplied huskily.
Having watched them as they made their search and noted their landing,the pilot of a huge four-motored bomber came circling back. By codemessages they made contact with their headquarters. Plans were made andorders given. The big bomber that had turned back was to supply theyoung Lord with extra gasoline, then was to pick up the seamen and bringthem to England. The young Lord and his crew were to carry Cherry andthe seven children to America.
“And after that,” the Squadron Commander’s voice boomed over the air,“the young Lord Applegate and his crew are to have a two-weeks’ leave inAmerica. Good-luck and fine flying!”
“Cherry,” Alice teased, when their supreme moment was at an end, “youhave your voice now. You should go straight back to England.”
“Oh, no!” Cherry threw up her hands. “I—I started to America. I’m stillon my way. Beside,” she added soberly. “There are the children.”
Ah, yes, there were the children, Tillie, Peggy and five others. Howbrave they had been through all the long hours, only Cherry could tell.As they climbed aboard the plane, all undaunted, Peggy, the little alleyrat from the London slums, struck up, “Roll out the Barrel.” And theyall joined in.
“But, Cherry,” Dave asked when once again they were headed for America,“how did your voice come back?”
“Oh!” Cherry laughed. “It was the night our ship was attacked. We hadbeen fired upon, the ship was sinking. Boats were being swamped by thewaves. But through it all we must keep the children calm and in line.There’s nothing like singing in a time like that. I thought of a song, asilly, terrible, glorious song. Its words were on my lips. I opened mymouth. The words came out, “Roll out the Barrel.” ‘And we’ll all havefun.
When we roll out the barrel.’
“The children sang. We all sang. We all remained calm. And we got away.
“Some of us got away,” she added soberly. “But my voice, that was amiracle, I guess. God knew I needed it so very, very badly for thattrying hour.”
A week later Cherry sat in a great easy chair before a broad window. Shewas looking out upon a scene of matchless beauty, the broad lawn toDave’s big old-fashioned, New England home in winter. The first snow.They had decided upon this spot because there, of all places, they couldreally find rest and peace.
As if dressed for a party, the hedge and great evergreen trees weredecked with white. “It is beautiful! Glorious!” She murmured. “And yet—”
Beside her on a small table lay a letter just finished. She had writtento her mother. Among other things she had said, “Mother, don’t betroubled. We are going to win the war. We are not alone. More and more,everywhere I go in America I am told that people are coming to feelstronger about this war. They will send us guns, ships and planes. Weshall win. We are not alone.”
For some time she sat there quite alone looking away at the winterlandscape. Their journey to America had been a glorious adventure. Theywere being royally entertained. Just now Alice was in the kitchen withthe children popping corn. Brand, the young Lord and the Lark had gonehunting.
Yes, they were having a grand time. But her thoughts were far away. Onlythat morning she had received a letter from her mother. It was full ofnews. A flying repair squad had put their house back, good as new. “Wenow have a home again,” was the word. “How good tha
t seems! They areasking for you at the subway. All England calls for their SingingAngel.”
“All England,” she whispered softly.
Slipping in from another room, Dave took a seat beside her.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” He spread his arms to include all out-of-doors.
“Yes,” she agreed. “So beautiful it makes your heart ache. But, Dave,I’m eager to be back in England. I—I just can’t stand the silence.There’s no excitement, no great cause. It—it’s strange. War is terrible!But when you belong in it you want to be there. You just ache to bethere. It—it is very strange.”
“You’ll be on your way in a week. Your subway crowd will be waiting foryou. But a week, that’s soon enough,” he insisted.
“And you?” Her voice was low.
“I?” He looked into her eyes. “What do you think?”
“I have no way to know.”
“There are many people here in America,” He spoke slowly, thoughtfully,“who say this is not our war. Perhaps it is not. Who knows? Thatquestion must be decided by older, wiser heads than mine. But as forme,” his shoulders straightened, “this _is_ my war. And I’m going back.”
“I’m glad,” she whispered.
“You’ll come to America again sometime,” he whispered after a while.
“Yes, I hope so.”
“Perhaps for good and all?” His voice was low.
“Who knows?” She was staring dreamily at the lovely landscape. Perhapsshe was seeing into the future. If so, what did she see? Dave dared notask.
Had he but known it, at that moment words from a very old book wererunning through Cherry’s mind, “Whither thou goest, I will go; and wherethou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy Godmy God. Where thou diest, I will die, and there will I be buried.”
And so that bright day grew dim with the shades of night.
Transcriber’s Notes
--Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public domain in the country of publication.
--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and dialect unchanged.
--Left unchanged the hopelessly confused quotation marks around the quoted song on page 237.
--In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the HTML version reproduces the font form of the printed book.)
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