CAPTAIN WARRELL'S DREAM.

Auckland Star, Volume LXVII, Issue 106, 6 May 1936, Page 22

CAPTAIN WARRELL'S DREAM.

By Stanley Brotherton.

(SHORT STORY.)

THE number of times that Captain Warrell, glancing aft occasionally from the bridges of the various liners he had commanded, had watched the New York Harbour lights dwindlp away to pin-points probably went into the hundreds.

Now, noting their slow disappearance for what would almost certainly be the last time, he watched as an ordinary passenger. True, he had an excellent view from the topmost deck on which passengers were permitted to stand, but well, those lights didn't look as they would have looked from the navigating, bridge.

Sixty, he was. The company, following their hard and fast rule, had just retired him. The rule had to be, of course, and it was merely bad luck that he had reached the age limit when on the wrong eide of the Atlantic and must travel home in another man's ship.

He was glad that it was nearly four o'clock in the morning, that an icy wind blew searchingly round every corner and angle of the vessel's superstructure, and that —for these reasons—the promenade deck was deserted.

Somehow, it made it easier. For instance, he could hunch his broad shoulders, exactly ae he had always done on the bridge. He could stand quite motionless, without any interruption of bobbing heads and chattering voices. And he could think back over the years.

At last the lighte faded until even his sharp and long-sighted vision could see nothing more. He straightened up, and turned away in search of his stateroom. His gaze was still thoughtful, but now he was pondering another matter than the end of his seafaring career. Thero was a new quiver about the Moratah. He guessed that the "Full Away" had been rung. In less than 15 minutee his son would be on the liner'e bridge, on watch.

Ho entered his stateroom, moved about restlessly, taking oddments of clothing from a suitcaee. He felt the beginning of a slow roll; half an hour since, he had decided that there would bo a nasty sea outside. A tap came. Answering his gruff voice, a slim youngster in uniform entered the stateroom. Like tho older man, ho had clear, steady eyes, the same feattires, except that they were more finely moulded, the same straight and decisive mouth. Jack Warrell looked at the father he did not know very well, thought the lined and weather-beaten face seemed tired, and said awkwardly: "You all right, eir? Comfortable? You look fagged. I'd turn in if I were you."

"I will," said his father, almost as awkwardly. They had been together for perhaps six weeks in the last six yeare. They didn't know each other—one of the penalties of seafaring. He looked back keenly at a tall young man, scarcely tanned as yet, and at the beginning of his career —untried. "My watch in a few minutes," said the other. The father thought: "He . sounds nervous. Hope he's all right, sure of himself." Aloud, he said: "Blowing up a bit. You'll have the sea slapping her plating pretty soon» How d'you find you like Captain Craddock?" "Oh, he's, all right," came the careless answer. "I say, sir," he added, "I'll have to push along now. Good night." " 'Night, my boy," said Captain Warrell and closed his door. "Doesn't talk much," he muttered, and then: "Wish I'd been able to have him under me for a year or so—to see him. shape, teach him a few of the many things a seaman has to learn. He's not been tested yet. I'd like to have seen him past that." He yawned suddenly, a long yawn telling of utter exhaustion, and realised the truth of his son's comment about his tiredness. "I am getting old," he thought resignedly, and began undressing. In the bunk, he lay for a while listening to the multifarious sounds of a labouring ship, and switched out the light,. Although his thoughts wandered occasionally to past episodes, to severe storms, and other anxious moments of his life, they still centred mainly about his son.

Presently he dozed. His thoughts became disconnected. Fantastic situations developed, changing swiftly to impossible crises until, finally, his mind slipped into complete unconsciousness. He began to dream. There was a liner, unknown but vividly real.. He was on the bridge, his bridge. Grey dawn was breaking through skies heavily racked with etorm cloud. They were rolling violently in a welter of seas. There was crisis. Through the murk could be glimpsed a tramp steamer, helpless, sinking , . Steering gear smashed, boats gone! Another North. Atlantic tragedy ? One boat, and those 26 men could have been rescued from that low etricken hull. The liner's boats? She had 39, ranged along a deck 70ft above the water. The fortieth was splintered wreckage, halfway down her towering wall of plating. One dizzying roll had decided Hβ fate. Rope ladders, hazardous descents . . . luckily, most of the crew had been grabbed to safety. Launch another, risk more lives? Or, confessing impotence, let the liner's very presence add irony to the tragedy; already therel '

"Got to be risked," decided Captain Warrell, and toned to a knot of uniformed men. Who to send? His chief officer stepped forward. "You'll lower another boat, sir," he said. It was a statement more than a question. "Let me take it," he added quietly. Captain Warrell looked into a lean, taut face. He thought of the second, lucky to be alive with, a broken leg. This man had a wife, four children. "Not you," he muttered, and added, jerkily: "Job for a single man." There, it was said. His gaze travelled back to the others, fastening upon the one unmarried officer, hie son. But, couldn't he plead his inexperience ? What! With four years' apprenticeship the lad. He ought to have learned his job. "Mr. Warrell," he called gruffly—odd, addressing your own son like that — "you'll take the boat. Wait for my signal—and, here, good luck, lad." Perhaps he shouldn't have clasped his hand? Still, couldn't help impulses, and he was certain there'd been a hint of pride in the tight-lipped face. Minutes passed. Conflicting thoughts hammered in hie brain. Was he justified in demanding so much of the youngster? Yes, by heaven, he must pull his weight, prove himself, or ... His hand fumbled for a lever. Their siren blared; a harsh command,f.tQ his son, perhaps tbo last order' receive. "Launched, anyway," whispered? the captain through dry lips as. the'boat, having dropped neatly to a wave crest, was sucked away in the pother of/white. His thoughts ran on, visualising- the danger ahead—a danger that would not have been there if only the tramp had one single boat left.

His gaze followed the lifeboat, his own seamanship coming to him automatically. The liner's motion, the feel of the wind, the sting of ealt spray on his cheek —all these rather than anything he saw prompted hie terse commands in manoeuvring the liner.

The lifeboat neared the tramp. They were embarking the crew. A cheer came from tho liner's paseenger decks. "Fools!" thought Captain Warrell angrily, "they think it's done—with the worst to come."

Now, the real peril, the real seamanship test. Twenty-six extra men in the lifeboat had brought its gun whale dangerously low —the danger Captain Warrell had visualised. She wouldn't lift easily, needed expert handling.

He held his breath; more in this than the actual rescue. Would his eon emerge triumphant, a proved seaman, equal to the sea's emergencies? Or would ... "Sack your oars, boy," he gritted, as a huge wave bore down on the lifeboat. "Back 'em to help her lift." Somehow the boat lifted. ' More by the grace of God, thought the anxious watcher. His youngster hadn't backed oars to help the boat ride that waive. He ought to have done. More waves; the boat slewing badly. The father decided that much of the slewing could have been prevented. "A nasty one," he gritted savagely, "and she's swamped, i I shouldn't have sent him." Suddenly his thoughts were swept away.- The boat was fighting other odds than mishandling. The gun whale was lower. Something was wrong. A tremendous wave curled over . ... he heard the beginning of a thunderous crash. '

Captain Warrell awakened from his dream with a violent start. Events had seemed so real and .vivid that, returning .to consciousness, he still heard the pounding waves.

His brain grasped at reality. Lord! Waves were pounding.. Movement, too— the Mora tali was rolling violently. "But it was a dream," he whispered nervously. He heard a voice, felt relieved and yet alarmed when he saw the Moratah's chief officer in his doorway. The officer spoke.

"Captain Craddock' thought you ought to know, sir ..."

"That wave smashed the boat? They were lost?" interrupted tiic other, fear and anger mingling in a harsh inquiry. The iMoratahV chief stared a little, and continued: " . . .your son has just done some damn' fine rescue work. Tramp steamer's crew. Boat overloaded —leaking where she spiked herself on the tramp's wreckage. Looked hopeless, but he did it. They're safe on board again." The terse sentences ended, the officer muttered, "Must get along, sir," and wae gone.

Blinding relief was followed by an odd twinge of remorse. (Did he know a seaman who could handle properly a leaky boat?) Why, the youngster had done this thing while he slept! An old man's foolishness, he thought a trifle sadly, and thought so until about an hour later, when Jack Warrell said to him awkwardly:

"Queer thing was, sir', I-kept thinking that it was you, and not Captain Craddock, wlio'd scut me in the boat, and I —I. swear your voice kept telling me what to do with the leaky, thing." Old Captain- Warrell hadn't any words. . . . Anyway, it seemed a fitting moment-for two seamen to clasp hands.