The Firing Line - ebook

Contents

CHAPTER I. A SKIRMISH

CHAPTER II. A LANDING

CHAPTER III. AN ADVANCE

CHAPTER IV. RECONNAISSANCE

CHAPTER V. A FLANK MOVEMENT

CHAPTER VI. ARMISTICE

CHAPTER VII. A CHANGE OF BASE

CHAPTER VIII. MANOEUVERING

CHAPTER IX. THE INVASION

CHAPTER X. TERRA INCOGNITA

CHAPTER XI. PATHFINDERS

CHAPTER XII. THE ALLIED FORCES

CHAPTER XIII. THE SILENT PARTNERS

CHAPTER XIV. STRATEGY

CHAPTER XV. UNDER FIRE

CHAPTER XVI. AN ULTIMATUM

CHAPTER XVII. ECHOES

CHAPTER XVIII. PERIL

CHAPTER XIX. THE LINE OF BATTLE

CHAPTER XX. A NEW ENEMY

CHAPTER XXI. REINFORCEMENTS

CHAPTER XXII. THE ROLL CALL

CHAPTER XXIII. A CAPITULATION

CHAPTER XXIV. THE SCHOOL OF THE RECRUIT

CHAPTER XXV. A CONFERENCE

CHAPTER XXVI. SEALED INSTRUCTIONS

CHAPTER XXVII. MALCOURT LISTENS

CHAPTER XXVIII. HAMIL IS SILENT

CHAPTER XXIX. CALYPSO'S GIFTCHAPTER I

A SKIRMISH

As the wind veered and grew cooler a ribbon of haze appeared above the Gulf-stream.

Young Hamil, resting on his oars, gazed absently into the creeping mist. Under it the ocean sparkled with subdued brilliancy; through it, shoreward, green palms and palmettos turned silvery; and, as the fog spread, the sea-pier, the vast white hotel, bathing-house, cottage, pavilion, faded to phantoms tinted with rose and pearl.

Leaning there on his oars, he could still make out the distant sands flecked with the colours of sunshades and bathing-skirts; the breeze dried his hair and limbs, but his swimming-shirt and trunks still dripped salt water.

Inshore a dory of the beach guard drifted along the outer line of breakers beyond which the more adventurous bathers were diving from an anchored raft. Still farther out moving dots indicated the progress of hardier swimmers; one in particular, a girl capped with a brilliant red kerchief, seemed to be already nearer to Hamil than to the shore.

It was all very new and interesting to him–the shore with its spectral palms and giant caravansary, the misty, opalescent sea where a white steam-yacht lay anchored north of him–the _Ariani_–from which he had come, and on board of which the others were still doubtless asleep–Portlaw, Malcourt, and Wayward. And at thought of the others he yawned and moistened his lips, still feverish from last night’s unwisdom; and leaning forward on his oars, sat brooding, cradled by the flowing motion of the sea.

The wind was still drawing into the north; he felt it, never strong, but always a little cooler, in his hair and on his wet swimming-shirt. The flat cloud along the Gulf-stream spread thickly coastward, and after a little while the ghosts of things terrestrial disappeared.

All around him, now, blankness–save for the gray silhouette of the _Ariani_. A colourless canopy surrounded him, centred by a tiny pool of ocean. Overhead through the vanishing blue, hundreds of wild duck were stringing out to sea; under his tent of fog the tarnished silver of the water formed a floor smoothly unquiet.

Sounds from the land, hitherto unheard, now came strangely distinct; the cries of bathers, laughter, the muffled shock of the surf, doubled and redoubled along the sands; the barking of a dog at the water’s edge. Clear and near sounded the ship’s bell on the _Ariani_; a moment’s rattle of block and tackle, a dull call, answered; and silence. Through which, without a sound, swept a great bird with scarce a beat of its spread wings; and behind it, another, and, at exact intervals another and another in impressive processional, sailing majestically through the fog; white pelicans winging inland to the lagoons.

A few minutes later the wind, which had become fitful, suddenly grew warm. All around him now the mist was dissolving into a thin golden rain; the land-breeze freshened, blowing through distant jasmine thickets and orange groves, and a soft fragrance stole out over the sea.

As the sun broke through in misty splendour, the young man, brooding on his oars, closed his eyes; and at the same instant his boat careened violently, almost capsizing as a slender wet shape clambered aboard and dropped into the bows. As the boat heeled under the shock Hamil had instinctively flung his whole weight against the starboard gunwale. Now he recovered his oars and his balance at the same time, and, as he swung half around, his unceremonious visitor struggled to sit upright, still fighting for breath.

“I beg your pardon,” she managed to say; “may I rest here? I am–” She stopped short; a flash of sudden recognition came into her eyes–flickered, and faded. It was evident to him that, for a moment, she thought she had met him before.

“Of course you may stay here,” he said, inclined to laugh.

She settled down, stretching slightly backward as though to give her lungs fuller play. In a little while her breathing grew more regular; her eyes closed for a moment, then opened thoughtfully, skyward.

Hamil’s curious and half-amused gaze rested on her as he resumed the oars. But when he turned his back and headed the boat shoreward a quick protest checked him, and oars at rest, he turned again, looking inquiringly at her over his shoulder.

“I am only rowing you back to the beach,” he said.

“Don’t row me in; I am perfectly able to swim back.”

“No doubt,” he returned drily, “but haven’t you played tag with Death sufficiently for one day?”

“Death?” She dismissed the grotesque suggestion with a shrug, then straightened up, breathing freely and deeply. “It is an easy swim,” she remarked, occupied with her wet hair under the knotted scarlet; “the fog confused me; that was all.”

“And how long could you have kept afloat if the fog had not lifted?” he inquired with gentle sarcasm. To which, adroitly adjusting hair and kerchief, she made no answer. So he added: “There is supposed to be a difference between mature courage and the fool-hardiness of the unfledged–”

“What?”

The quick close-clipped question cutting his own words silenced him. And, as he made no reply, she continued to twist the red kerchief around her hair, and to knot it securely, her doubtful glance returning once or twice to his amused face.

When all had been made fast and secure she rested one arm on the gunwale and dropped the other across her knees, relaxing in every muscle a moment before departure. And, somehow, to Hamil, the unconscious grace of the attitude suggested the “Resting Hermes”–that sculptured concentration of suspended motion.

“You had better not go just yet,” he said, pointing seaward.

She also had been watching the same thing that he was now looking at, a thin haze which again became apparent over the Gulf-stream.

“Do you think it will thicken?” she asked.

“I don’t know; you had a close call last time–”

“There was no danger.”

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