Evening star., 1936-07-05

him queerly on hearing his name But, on
the whole, the thing did not bother John III
much, and as he rose surely through the
years without an accident or black mark
to his name, he had a right to count the
superstition dead for good.
Like old John. John III was brilliant
seaman. although he hid it under a more
modern polish and the suave, git-braid
diplomacy proper to the Commodores of lux
ury passenger craft. He was already master of
the C0lantara by the time that the Longcape
directors decided to change all their sailings
from Earlhampton to the more central
southern port of Sarum.
The first time John Farne III had to take
his fifty thousand tons of gilt gadgets and
steel homeward through the Maiden Passage
he had, even against that hard will of his,
felt thrill of dread He knew, too, that the
men on the soaring bridge with him, Nagle.
the quartermaster at the wheel, the signal
officers and the rest, had all felt it. He could
feel them watching expecting and fearing the
Fate of the Farnes.
But it had been summer then. Sun spark
ling on the water as they steamed through the
narrow Passage, visibility perfect, the treach-
erous tide drags and the wind asleep They
had come through like train running to
time table, as they had to, and again and
again the next voyages. 1t was as though the
old legend had ceased to have any meaning.
But John III knew that that thought was
false comfort. He knew that Nagle and all
fhnco nfharc in fhoir baarfc.
Wait until fog catches Farne in the Maiden,
homeward bound Wait for the fog.''
And now at last the fog had them
1t had swept onto them as they entered
the passage; fog so thick that even their own
fo'csle head became mere guess amid trail
ing shadows Fog that not only blotted out all
land close, dangerously close, though it was
on either beam, but all sky and all sea beyond
an oily lift alongside.
They had rung down to quarter speed, of
course, but they could not heave to. Luxury
liners running on schedule must not lose
time. They must 60 on, feeling their way,
relying on seamanship.
Again the ghostly bull voice of the siren
IOdIcu pcIllilu IlcIIl. ASdll JOIIl FdIIlc III
hung tense on the rail, listening.
mo land echo, yet" he said.
mo echo yet, sir" Nagle answered, and
John III knew he was thinking: There never
will be - for Farne"
John himself was thinking of that lack of
echo. Had that been the reason for those old
disasters? Was there some ground slant ashore
that would not throw sound back, especially
when blanketed by fog?
That seemed to him more sensible expla-
nation than any hoodoo story. The Passage
was wicked channel and had been devils
bone yard ever since ships sailed into history.
The double shore, only mile and half
apart at its widest, the fantastic jut of
headlands, the reef that played the old Harry
with the current and the ever shifting shoals,
made it dangerous and unpredictable place.
No man ever quite knew what the Maiden
Passage was going to serve up for him.
And there was little way of Judging. Even
in fine weather John had learnt that the
peculiar set of the land made underwater
signalling useless. There was nothing, in fact,
to help one in fog like this, save seamanship.
One had to feel or smell ones way forward
by an old sailor instinct, as old John had
invariably done.
Yes, there lay the real danger of the
Passage. His uncles and his father had put
their ships onto the reef because they had