VII + 

We were none too soon. People had been reconnoitring us, the telegraph had been at work, and we were not four hours at sea before we ran against the gunboat that had been sent down the coast to look for us and that would have caught us behind the island like a beast in a trap. It was a night of driving cloud that gave intermittent gleams of moonlight; the wind and sea were strong and we were rolling along through a drift of rails and mist. Suddenly the world was white with moonshine. The gunboat came out as a long dark shape wallowing on the water to the east. + 

She sighted the Maud Mary at once, and fired some sort of popgun to arrest us. + 

The mate turned to me. + 

“Shall I tell the captain?” + 

“The captain be damned,” said I, and we let him sleep through two hours of chase till a rainstorm swallowed us up. Then we changed our course and sailed right across them, and by morning only her smoke was showing. + 

We were clear of Africa⁠—and with the booty aboard I did not see what stood between us and home. + 

For the first time since I had fallen sick in the Thames my spirits rose. I was seasick and physically disgusted, of course, but I felt kindly in spite of my qualms. So far as I could calculate then the situation was saved. I saw myself returning triumphantly into the Thames, and nothing on earth to prevent old Capern’s Perfect Filament going on the market in fortnight. I had the monopoly of electric lamps beneath my feet. + 

I was released from the spell of that bloodstained black body all mixed up with grey-black mud. I was going back to baths and decent food and aeronautics and Beatrice. I was going back to Beatrice and my real life again⁠—out of this well into which I had fallen. It would have needed something more than seasickness and quap fever to prevent my spirits rising. + 

I told the captain that I agreed with him that the British were the scum of Europe, the westward drift of all the people, a disgusting rabble, and I lost three pounds by attenuated retail to Pollack at ha’penny nap and euchre. + 

And then you know, as we got out into the Atlantic this side of Cape Verde, the ship began to go to pieces. I don’t pretend for one moment to understand what happened. But I think Greiffenhagen’s recent work on the effects of radium upon ligneous tissue does rather carry out my idea that emanations from quap have rapid rotting effect upon woody fibre. + 

From the first there had been a different feel about the ship, and as the big winds and waves began to strain her she commenced leaking. Soon she was leaking⁠—not at any particular point, but everywhere. She did not spring a leak, I mean, but water came in first of all near the decaying edges of her planks, and then through them. + 

I firmly believe the water came through the wood. First it began to ooze, then to trickle. It was like trying to carry moist sugar in a thin paper bag. Soon we were taking in water as though we had opened a door in her bottom. + 

Once it began, the thing went ahead beyond all fighting. For a day or so we did our best, and I can still remember in my limbs and back the pumping⁠—the fatigue in my arms and the memory of a clear little dribble of water that jerked as one pumped, and of knocking off and the being awakened to go on again, and of fatigue piling up upon fatigue. At last we ceased to think of anything but pumping; one became a thing of torment enchanted, doomed to pump forever. I still remember it as pure relief when at last Pollack came to me pipe in mouth. + 

“The captain says the damned thing’s going down right now;” he remarked, chewing his mouthpiece. “Eh?” + 

“Good idea!” I said. “One can’t go on pumping forever.” + 

And without hurry or alacrity, sullenly and wearily we got into the boats and pulled away from the Maud Mary until we were clear of her, and then we stayed resting on our oars, motionless upon a glassy sea, waiting for her to sink. We were all silent, even the captain was silent until she went down. And then he spoke quite mildly in an undertone. + 

“Dat is the first ship I haf ever lost.⁠ ⁠… And it was not a fair game! It wass not a cargo any man should take. No!” + 

I stared at the slow eddies that circled above the departed Maud Mary, and the last chance of Business Organisations. I felt weary beyond emotion. I thought of my heroics to Beatrice and my uncle, of my prompt “I’ll go,” and of all the ineffectual months I had spent after this headlong decision. I was moved to laughter at myself and fate. + 

But the captain and the men did not laugh. The men scowled at me and rubbed their sore and blistered hands, and set themselves to row.⁠ ⁠… + 

As all the world knows we were picked up by the Union Castle liner, Portland Castle. + 

The hairdresser aboard was a wonderful man, and he even improvised me a dress suit, and produced a clean shirt and warm underclothing. I had a hot bath, and dressed and dined and drank a bottle of Burgundy. + 

“Now,” I said, “are there any newspapers? I want to know what’s been happening in the world.” + 

My steward gave me what he had, but I landed at Plymouth still largely ignorant of the course of events. I shook off Pollack, and left the captain and mate in an hotel, and the men in a Sailor’s Home until I could send to pay them off, and I made my way to the station. + 

The newspapers I bought, the placards I saw, all England indeed resounded to my uncle’s bankruptcy. + 