Close to the Wind

by David B Hill

  ‘I don’t doubt that for a moment, sailor. Let’s get to it.’

  As the news passed through the wider group, there were no dissenting voices, only quiet congratulations accompanied by deep-felt wishes for success.

  ★ ★ ★

  Throughout the day the sailors prepared for the work ahead, assembling tools, materials and rations of food and water for those who were to undertake the rescue mission. On several occasions enemy aircraft flew by, and observers on the hill reported heavy maritime traffic, troop transports and escorts, heading south-east. Johnny and his crew assessed the state of the prahu, noting its rotting caulking and any of its planking that had deteriorated. The old Arab-style lugsail had long since degraded. They had calico to make a new sail, and all the ropes could be replaced. They also had the tools to replace rotten timbers and apply suitable caulking. By dusk the ML’s dinghy was filled with everything necessary, and the prahu had been patched sufficiently to make the short voyage to Katjangan: about three miles.

  It was intended that Johnny and the rescue party would continue on from Katjangan without returning to Tjibia. Accordingly, Admiral Spooner invited all the men to write a personal letter to loved ones. These were placed in an oilskin folder and put into the small case that Johnno used to carry his personal items.

  The moment of departure arrived. Those who were to remain, thirty-nine men in all, formed a line, and the five who formed the rescue party passed along it shaking hands. Len found it difficult to look these men in the eye.

  ‘Good luck, mate.’

  ‘Good luck, laddie.’

  ‘God bless you boys, and good luck.’

  ‘Good on you, mate.’

  Finally, Len faced Jackie Hayward. ‘I’ll see you, Lenny,’ he said.

  Len focussed.

  ‘Not if I see you first, Jackie.’

  Having pulled the boat down to the edge of the water, Johnny joined Richard Pool and the other three in the prahu, and they pushed off from the beach. Two men in the Fairmile’s dinghy were to accompany them to Katjangan. One had been an upholsterer before the war, and the other a carpenter, and it was intended that these men would assist the others in restoring the prahu and then return to Tjibia once the rescue party had embarked.

  They didn’t look back. By the time they had come to terms with the characteristics of the prahu and reached Katjangan, it was dark. The wind and tide had been against them in the crossing, and it had taken longer than they’d anticipated. The tension of recent events meant that fatigue had hit them faster than they’d expected. They dragged the boats up the sand and withdrew into the trees, deciding to rest early and start work at first light. They tried to settle into the sand as best they could, ignoring the still oppressive heat and humidity of the night and the mosquitoes, which had discovered a new and rich source of sustenance. Against the sound of buzzing and swatting most lapsed into fitful sleep.

  ★ ★ ★

  A light breeze had risen; it shushed gently through the palm leaves overhead. Len again found sleep beyond him: his mind was too busy. He was preoccupied with the idea that Tim and Jack Kindred were gone. Why was it that he was still alive? Or was he? What were the chances of sailing a decrepit boat across several hundred miles of open waters safely? Would they avoid the enemy? Could they even make the prahu seaworthy? His mind buzzed as he fought these demons, and a familiar chant began to crowd his thinking.

  Ka mate! Ka mate!

  Ka ora! Ka ora!

  A wave washed up: swish.

  Ka mate! Ka mate!

  Ka ora! Ka ora!

  Swish.

  The breeze had all but abated, but now the jungle croaked, whirred, chirruped and occasionally squealed instead. It was the waves collapsing metronomically on the sand that eventually lulled Len to sleep.

  ★ ★ ★

  Before he knew it, he was being roused by Johnno. After a breakfast of tea and a biscuit, they started work, as the eastern horizon began to glow. It was the morning of 18 February. They had dragged the prahu out of the water and into the shadows of the palms. Helped by the two men who would remain behind, they set about their work.

  The fourteen-foot prahu would offer little room and no comfort for its five passengers. The vessel’s hull was strengthened by lengths of timber stretching across it from one gunwale to the other. It had a flat bottom, about five feet across, and sides about three feet high, double-ended, with a narrow transom where the steering oar was attached to a rusting gudgeon with a piece of wire.

  There was a modest toolkit, enough for the job, including rope and grease to more substantially caulk the seams and erect the very basic rigging that the prahu needed. Johnno worked on the hull with the carpenter, replacing rotten timber, stepping a new mast and plugging or hammering heavily greased rope into the gaps. Len and Jock beavered away organising ropes and binding rowlocks for the oars and fitting the rigging, while Pool and the upholsterer set about stitching together a decent sail. The short voyage of the previous day had already proven that the seams of the modest vessel leaked badly, and needed decent work if they were to stay watertight.

  Their fear of the Japanese returning was not misplaced. More than once during the day they watched across the water as stray fighters strafed the stranded Fairmile and attacked it with bombs, and observed with satisfaction that the ML emerged apparently unscathed. Perhaps they were to be lucky after all.

  Johnny had drawn enough rations for ten days. There were twenty green coconuts, and meat, milk and biscuits in tins. Each man was allowed a small bag of personal possessions, while Johnny also carried a white ensign and a bottle of liquor. There were three revolvers and ammunition, and the letters, wrapped in waterproof canvas. When the prahu was fully loaded with these, there was only about eighteen inches from the waterline to the top of the gunwale. There were oars – one to steer with and two for rowing – and two paddles, fashioned from materials scavenged from the ML.

  At dusk the two who were to remain behind took to the water to return to Tjibia. With their final farewell, the prahu crew’s last connection with the main body was terminated. The five men treated themselves to a hot meal of boiled rice and cocoa and turned in early. The repairs to the prahu had progressed well, and Johnny intended they should embark at the earliest opportunity the next day.

  ★ ★ ★

  On the early morning of the 19th, the five men were in the final stages of preparation when Len happened to look across the water towards Tjibia, and saw the dinghy making its way steadily back towards them. He pointed it out to Johnny. ‘Looks like a visit from home, gentlemen.’

  It wasn’t long before they were joined by Malcolm Henderson, and two ratings.

  ‘The Admiral wants to see you,’ Henderson told them.

  ‘Really? Any idea why? We were just about to set off,’ Johnny said.

  Henderson looked away. ‘No idea, sorry. Something to do with the Commandant, I think.’

  ‘The Commandant?’ Richard Pool repeated. ‘What’s he got to do with things?’

  ‘We’d better go and find out,’ Johnny said.

  Fully prepared and careful to leave nothing telltale behind them, the group left Katjangan and rowed back to Tjibia. Len and Jock took the oars and rowed, while Johnno sat in the front. Richard Pool was offered the steering oar. He still seemed to favour his hand, but if the others nurtured any doubts about his inclusion, they did not show it. They did not hoist the sail for fear of making themselves conspicuous, and the prahu seemed to be in good order during the brief voyage.

  They beached with help from their comrades. As Johnny swung his leg over the side to disembark, Ernest Spooner eased his way to the front of the group of men who had met them. The Admiral took Johnny’s elbow and steered him away from the crowd. Richard Pool made as if to accompany them, but the Admiral spoke to him. ‘No, Richard. I have something I want to address with Lieutenant Bull. A change of plan.’

  ‘A change of plan? May I ask, what change?’

  �
��Not now, Lieutenant. Not here.’

  Chastened, Pool was forced to watch while they walked away. Len cast an eye towards the two men, who were soon locked in conversation.

  ★ ★ ★

  When Johnny came back, most of his crew were in small groups, still involved in sorting through material that might be useful to their survival. A group of soldiers were putting the finishing touches to the latrines being dug at the far end of the beach. Len and Jock were both standing by the prahu with Johnno, discussing the little boat’s sailing tendencies.

  They could smell wood smoke as Charlie the cook stirred embers and began preparation for a meal. Johnny called to Len, Jock and Johnno and to Malcolm Henderson. The men huddled around Johnny while he quietly spelled out his dilemma.

  ‘There’s been a change of plans. The Dutch commander has persuaded the Admiral that we’d be better off if he and one of his men accompanied us on the voyage. And I have to say, it makes sense to me too. They know the region; they know the boat; they know the language. If we get into difficulties, they’ll be a great help.’

  The realisation of what Johnny was saying began to dawn on his men. To Len it arrived as a profound sense not of despair, but of frustration. If he was desperate for anything, it was for action, and this was a backward step. He felt sympathy for Johnny, who was being asked to decide which of his sailors to drop. Not least, Johnny had to be seen to be fair-minded. Morale was paramount if they were going to succeed. There was a heavy silence now, as the three sailors came to terms with the fact that two of them were about to be left behind.

  Johnny held out his hand. The sailors saw that their Commander was holding three twigs.

  They were to draw straws.

  So it wasn’t to be choice, but chance.

  Escape, or otherwise.

  Life, or death, perhaps.

  ‘Johnno, you first.’

  Johnno reached out and drew a straw, followed by Jock, and then Len. When they opened their hands to reveal which of them would stay with the prahu, the die was cast. Jock had won. Johnno and Len would stay behind.

  Elsewhere, Admiral Spooner was apprising Richard Pool of the new situation. Pool was struggling with its implications.

  ‘This will mean rearranging the crew, sir.’

  ‘Yes, it will, Richard.’ The Admiral looked at his Sub-Lieutenant.

  Pool himself knew that the loss of two sailors would expose his own frailty. He could hardly bear to close his right hand, the fingers hurt so much, and every time his heart beat, the fingers throbbed painfully in unison. He had relied so much on using his thumb to compensate, he thought he had sprained it. In short, he knew his continued presence in the rescue group would be an impediment to its success. It took him only a moment before he realised that here might be a way to avoid contempt and gain redemption. He hesitated only for a moment. ‘Admiral, I should like to stand down from the mission. I’m not sure I’m fit for the task after all, sir.’

  Strangely, the relief he felt in saying so was immediate. He no longer had to pretend.

  ‘Thank you, Richard. Given the state of your hand, I do think it wiser for you to give up your place to someone more able-bodied.’

  For the second time, Admiral Spooner sought out Johnny to explain a change.

  ★ ★ ★

  Johnny did not think Pool fit for purpose either, and in turn he called his original choices together. Len had been sitting on the beach alone, no longer frustrated but despondent, coming to terms with remaining on the island. When Johnny explained that Pool had dropped out, and that he and Johnno were to compete again for selection, Len shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, at the mercy of factors that were now beyond his control.

  9

  Hope

  At sunset on 20 February the escape party finally left Tjibia. A spontaneous gathering occurred as the reconfigured group dragged the heavily laden prahu back into the water, and as they began to clamber on board, there were words of encouragement and shouts from those remaining. The Admiral called for three cheers. At the rear sat Johnny on the steering oar, and his Coxswain sat beside him. In the front of the boat were the two locals, Nicolaas, the Commandant, and Dawi, his radio operator. In the middle sat Len, taking first turn at the oars.

  It was Johnno who had given him his reprieve, saying to Johnny, ‘You’ll need the young lads on this journey, sir. They deserve the chance.’ He had taken the change of circumstances on the chin, surrendering his little brown case filled with the letters to Len for safekeeping. He was the last to push them off, standing up to his waist in the water and shouting his encouragement to the rescue party until he couldn’t be heard any more and Len was left listening to nothing but the sound of his own effort on the oars and the creak of the rowlocks. Here he was, the last of the Reservists who had left Auckland, God knows how long ago, rowing off to God knows where, while Johnno and the others stayed behind on the island, left to their indefinable fate.

  Len considered his own fate as indefinable too, until he looked over his shoulder at the grey mass that was Bangka Island vanishing into the night, and decided to make it his first goal. After Bangka, there would be other milestones to measure progress. The headwind dropped away and the tide also shifted, enough that the prahu was able to break free of the Seven Islands’ captive grip.

  ★ ★ ★

  They began eagerly at first, before slowly settling into a steady rhythm. Len rowed easily, mechanically dipping his blade and drawing it effortlessly through the water. He remembered something Haami Parata had told him; something they had discussed in relation to the image of the waka that decorated the hall in Mount Eden. He slipped into a pattern: one, two, three, four strokes, then he held the oars above the water and rested. One, two, three, four strokes, and a rest again. Between strokes he remembered the chant Haami had invoked – Kōkiri hī – and began to include it in his rhythm: One, two, three, four – kōkiri hī!

  They all soon appreciated his economy of effort and the small but regular respite the pattern provided, whereby the prahu lost nothing of its speed. Johnny ordained that the rowing would be done by all three of them, rotating in fifteen-minute intervals, thus providing a half hour of rest for each of them. In this way they settled into something of a routine.

  From the Tuju group to Bangka was thirty nautical miles. They had intended to reach the island and conceal themselves before daylight, but by the time the sun was up they were well short of their destination. Thankfully, the conditions were stable, and a useful breeze arrived, which helped their progress through the morning. They did not hoist their sail, because they did not want to expose themselves to undue attention. Instead, they rode a gentle following sea, and put their back into their work.

  Johnny sat with the compass in one hand and the sweep oar in the other, watching the drift of the prahu and correcting the way they were pointing. He watched his two crewmen, allowing himself a small smile of satisfaction. Jock, the experienced all-weather sailor, who exuded confidence on the water in any situation, having already been in most of them. Len’s uncanny ability on the water and must-win attitude. He regarded their skills as invaluable assets.

  They rowed on – one, two, three, four strokes, and rest. One, two, three, four …

  Johnny began to consider the other two on board, sitting apparently unconcerned in the front. There was something vaguely disquieting about the Dutch Commandant; the man aroused a suspicion in Johnny he could not rationalise. He had the utmost difficulty in assessing Nicolaas’s allegiance. In this suddenly changing world, to whom did his loyalties lie? Nicolaas was an agent of the Dutch government, but not Dutch. Part Javanese, he might easily be hostile to their success. He pondered this possibility, until Nicolaas noticed his gaze and obliged him to turn away.

  ★ ★ ★

  Acutely mindful of the Japanese presence around Muntok, Johnny had plotted a course away from the Strait and down the east coast of the island. There were several small towns along that coast that requi
red them to take extra precautions.

  All elements of their uniform were concealed. Their hats and tunics were wrapped in oilskins and stowed under the floorboards. Also hidden under the floorboards was their food – tinned bully beef, tinned sardines and what proved to be their most valuable source of energy: tins of sweetened condensed milk. Along with a Naval ensign and a bottle of whisky, Johnny had surreptitiously hidden three revolvers there too, when he was confident the two non-British were not watching. In plain view was their supply of water, in two large rattan-wrapped demijohns salvaged from the Fairmile and lashed to the boat, as well as fresh green coconuts from the island. They had devised clothing – sarongs made from sheeting fabric stripped from the Fairmile – that they wore over their shorts to give them the appearance of being natives. They also wore t-shirts – Chinese-made undergarments that the locals typically wore, and which provided vital protection from the sun. Johnny and Jock wore coolie hats that men on the Fairmile had souvenired from Singapore, while Len and the two locals wore the turban-like headdresses that were typical of fishermen. They didn’t want to appear anything but normal – preferably native – should they attract any interest. They were already brown from their time in the tropics and, from a distance, would give a very good impression of local fishermen out in search of a catch. And of course, they had Nicolaas and Dawi on board, who could speak the language should they be challenged. If they saw anything resembling an enemy warship, they intended to hide themselves under the floorboards. These preparations and Johnny’s briefing before the departure had given them every reason for confidence. They also had the compass and a chart.

  The breeze abated by the middle of the day, and the heat of the afternoon was suffocating, but they kept rowing, encouraged by the sight of the island getting closer. A shape they saw on the horizon turned out to be a hulk down by the bow, a small merchant vessel surrounded by wreckage, its superstructure blackened by fire. There was no obvious sign of life; Johnny ensured they kept their distance from the vessel, and they rowed on. The rescue of Admiral Spooner and the others was their paramount goal. A couple of hours later they heard a dull thump, and a column of smoke rose into the sky from near where the derelict vessel had been. The sailors all recognised the noise of a torpedo striking a ship.