by John Harris
‘I don’t know,’ she replied, not wishing to alarm the child. ‘It looks as though we might be.’
Teresa gave her a flashing smile. ‘Think we’ll get shot at?’ she asked.
‘It doesn’t look like it.’
‘Could they sink us if they did shoot at us?’
Grace stood up abruptly. ‘I don’t know,’ she said sharply.
Teresa’s smile vanished and her eyes opened wide. ‘You’re not scared, Grace, are you?’ she said.
Grace turned, vaguely ashamed of her agitation. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m not scared. Not really,’
‘I’m not,’ Teresa said confidently. ‘Not if Mr Ash’s fixing it.’ She smiled again, borne up by a complete faith in Ash’s ability to achieve anything he set out to do, a faith that was still undimmed by his failures.
Grace forced a smile. ‘It’s just not knowing what’s going on,’ she said, ‘It makes me nervous. That’s all.’
‘Oh, you shouldn’t be nervous,’ Teresa said. ‘You’re upset, that’s the trouble. It’s because he hasn’t been to see you yet, isn’t it?’
Grace swung round, startled by the child’s perception, shocked that the cause of her agitation was so obvious, and Teresa gestured. ‘He’s busy,’ she said. ‘That’s all. He’s not forgotten you.’
Grace was still staring at her, at a loss words, when the ring in the door handle clinked. She swung round eagerly to face Ash.
He looked tired, but excited and cheerful.
‘Hi, Grace,’ he said. ‘Hi, Tess! Just come to shut the deadlights down.’ He reached across the bunk and, removing the scoop that funnelled the air into the stuffy cabin, closed the porthole and dropped the iron cover over it. Grace watched him silently from the door, while Teresa kneeled on the bunk and helped him to screw the nuts into place.
‘That’s all,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Smelled a bit cold when I came in. Might be a bit of a blow. Got to keep the rain out.’
As he stepped back into the passage, Grace moved to follow him, then she turned and glanced at Teresa. The child had picked up her comic again and was reading calmly.
‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘You can go. I’m OK.’
Grace’s smile at her was fleeting and nervous, then she was in the alleyway with Ash.
‘Harry–’
He turned and looked up, his expression preoccupied.
‘Scared?’ he asked.
‘Only for Tess.’ She dismissed the question with a faint irritated flick of her hand.
Ash slipped into the saloon and dropped the deadlights there with a series of heavy thuds. ‘Nothing to be scared about,’ he said as he reappeared. ‘There won’t be any shooting. Nothing bigger than a rifle anyway. There’s been no sign of lights on the point so they obviously haven’t come back yet. I expect they’re still occupied with celebrating their victory over those poor bastards at the convent.’
‘Harry, listen to me–’
He ignored her. ‘You’ll be all right,’ he went on. ‘So long as you keep your head down. Keep the deadlights tight, and don’t let Tess try to see what’s going on, just in case. If it gets fierce, lie on the floor. Thank God old Dainty’s on our side at last. He’s got the boilers roaring fit to bust.’ He reached out a long arm and unhooked the alley door. ‘Only Grundy’s still whining. I swear Dodgin’ll fetch him one with the sledge-hammer before long.’
He grinned at her, enthusiastic, energetic, uninhibited, and she knew it was useless to try and stop him before he had finished.
‘You’ll know when we’ve started,’ he went on. ‘You’ll hear the bridge telegraph. It’s right up above. We’ll move up on the anchor cable and when its hanging vertically, Dodgin’ll knock the pin out of the shackle. It’s a piece of cake really, when you think about it.’
He turned away and slammed the alley door and she knew that if she didn’t stop him now he’d be away again before she could speak.
‘Harry – Harry – for God’s sake, stop dodging around like that. Stand still for a minute, can’t you?’
His grin vanished and he looked sober and she knew then he’d been trying to avoid answering too many questions.
‘We’re going soon, Grace,’ he said.
‘Surely you can spare a coupe of minutes?’
He paused, staring at her, then he took her hand and pulled her into the little cabin he’d been occupying. She stood by the door, silently, her arms to her side, while he dropped the deadlight.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, turning to her at last. ‘You want to go, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do.’
They stood facing each other, remembering what had passed between them the previous night. ‘Harry,’ she pleaded, ‘you said last night we knew how many beans made five, you and me. For God’s sake, be honest with me if you’re never honest again, because I can stand it. Truly I can. Do you really love me or was that just a lot of moonshine last night?’
They looked at each other for a moment longer, both of them aware of the difference that had sprung up between them that didn’t allow for bantering any more.
Ash stared at her without blinking, his face expressionless. ‘So help me God,’ he said soberly. ‘I meant every word of it.’
She flung herself into his arms, her heart melting with relief.
‘Oh, my God,’ she said despairingly, ‘I never thought I’d make a fool of myself over a man like this. Especially a damn villain like you.’
He was laughing softly now, his lips in her hair. ‘God, what a trusting lot women are,’ he was saying.
‘I was scared. All day I’ve been scared. Especially when I heard all that shooting in the town while you were ashore. I’ve a right to be scared, haven’t I? Especially now.’
‘You don’t think I’d let that shower come between me and you, do you?’ he asked.
She looked up at him, her eyes bright with happiness and pride again. ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Why? Why me, Harry?’
‘Do you want it chapter and verse? Perhaps it’s because you’re the first woman who’s ever offered me a clump on the ear in exchange for my promises – I don’t know. You can’t get out of it now, whatever you do. Your family’ll just have to get used to the idea.’
She was laughing too now, unable to imagine the impact of Ash on her family, thunderous, colossal and outrageous, and he thought for a moment she was laughing at him.
‘Between us, we’ll make that hotel of yours hum,’ he said.
‘Damn the hotel!’
‘Have it your own way. I’ll find a job then.’
‘I thought work was for mugs.’
‘I’m a mug. It’s your fault. Yours and the kid’s. She trusted me too much and you’re too bloody honest for me. I told you once, I can’t cope with honesty. It’s not natural.’
She stared at him, tears starting in her eyes, hardly hearing what he said. ‘You’re a fine one to talk,’ she said. ‘I’ll bet you’ve said all this before to all the other girls.’
‘I suppose I have,’ he admitted. ‘But I never meant it before.’
He kissed her again, hungrily, and she held him to her, clutching him passionately, until he pushed her away.
‘God,’ he said with a grin. ‘We’ll fair make the sparks fly. See if we don’t.’
He pushed open the door of the captain’s cabin and thrust her gently inside. ‘We’re going now,’ he said. ‘Keep your head down, for God’s sake. I’m going to need you later. All of you.’
Four
Up on the bridge, they could feel the darkness surrounding them, thick and velvety and damp with the smell of the river. In the wheelhouse, the Lascar helmsman’s face shone in the faint glow of the binnacle lamp.
Ash stood just in front of him, one hand on the engine-room telegraph. On the foredeck ahead, he could see a small group of men and the faint glow of the anchor light. Then Grundy appeared in the doorway, licking his lips nervously. In his hands he held the chart.
‘Ever
ything’s ready,’ Ash said. ‘It’s all yours, chum.’
The guitar was still tinkling softly in the launch at the side of the ship. Up ahead of them they could see the winking red light that marked the Punta de las Rosas and the fainter spark of the channel markers beyond in the mainstream.
‘What about those blokes in the launch?’ Grundy asked in a dry suffocated voice. ‘They’re still made fast to the ladder.’
‘That’s their rotten luck,’ Ash said cheerfully.
Grundy swallowed and looked at the Lascar on the wheel. ‘I still think–’
‘–that we ought to have signed their paper,’ Ash finished. ‘For the love of God, son, forget it!’
Grundy hesitated a second longer, then he eased his collar with one finger and stepped out on to the bridge. For a moment, he seemed to be having trouble with his voice then he managed at last to speak.
‘Slow ahead,’ he said softly.
The engine-room telegraph’s clang seemed unbelievably loud in the stillness, and Ash felt the faint throb of the engines as the ship began to glide ahead almost imperceptibly. Over the side, the launch which had drifted away from the side of the ship, moved inwards and bumped softly against the iron sides.
Ash grinned. ‘If any of that lot try to climb aboard,’ he said, ‘we’d better be ready to give ’em a bonk on the conk.’
Grundy nodded and glanced at the helmsman. ‘Mid-ships,’ he said, his voice cracked with nervousness. ‘Keep her midships, for Christ’s sake.’
There was a sudden shout from overside as the men in the grey launch became aware of the thrash of the propellor astern, then a chorus of protesting yells floated up.
‘They’ll start shooting soon,’ Ash said. Grundy nodded again, watching the forecastle head, and Ash saw he was sweating profusely. Then he caught the flash of a torch from the bows and heard the thin sound of Dodgin’s voice.
‘She’s straight up,’ he said. ‘Now’s the time.’
Grundy seemed to choke a little before he got his words out.
‘Slip the cable,’ he shouted.
The clang of the hammerhead on the shackle bolt seemed almost to be part of Grundy’s command. For the minutest fragment of time there was silence then the thunderous roar of the anchor chain running out through the hawse-hole echoed round the ship. Ash could see the powdery rust flung up in a cloud in the glow of the anchor light as it vanished into the mud of the river, then a series of yells rose up from the direction of the launch.
‘It’s gone,’ Grundy said, his face shocked and blank-looking, as though he were appalled at what he’d done and the responsibility he had thrust on himself. He put both hands on the open window of the wheelhouse to steady himself, and his next instruction to the helmsman came out in a dry croak.
‘Hard-a-starboard. Engine half ahead.’
As the vibration increased and the old ship moved forward again, they heard the pounding clatter of feet and Dodgin burst into the wheelhouse. ‘We’re free,’ he shouted. He seemed almost to sing the words in his excitement. ‘We’re free! We’re off!’
Grundy stared at him, his eyes wide in the glow of the binnacle lamp, and Dodgin slapped him across the back with such a violence of pent-up joy, the mate’s cap slipped forward over his eyes. Then Dodgin did a hop, skip and jump to the wing bridge and began to shout abuse down to the launch below.
‘Now, you bastards,’ he shrieked. ‘How’d you like that?’
He withdrew his head hurriedly as a shot rang out and they heard the bullet go whining away into the air. Dodgin grinned toward the wheelhouse and, unable to resist making the most of his triumph, leaned over the rail again.
‘That’s it, you bastards, shoot away! You won’t be able to in a minute!’
Another shot whined over the bridge and there was another chorus of shouts from the launch. Dodgin hugged himself gleefully, capering deliriously about the wing bridge and shouting a running commentary into the wheelhouse.
‘She nearly went over that time,’ he shrieked, ‘That’s it, you bastard,’ he yelled to the launch, you’d better cut her loose! Whoa, mare! Look slippy, mate. Or you’re under! Ha–’
He stopped dead and burst into shrill and delighted laughter. ‘It’s turned over! It’s turned over,’ he screamed in excitement. ‘The bastards are in the water! They’re swimming!’
He was limp by the time the launch had fallen behind in the darkness, and he leaned on Grundy, almost as though they had always been the best of friends. ‘Good old Clarence,’ he said, patting the mate’s shoulder affectionately. ‘You’ve done it after all. And here was me, I never thought you’d got in you.’
They were all grinning now, even Grundy managing a faint sickly smile as he found he could feel a measure of pride in himself at what he’d done. Then while they were all of them still laughing at each other, he saw a line of pink lights thread towards them in a slow curve out of the darkness beyond the winking red light on the point. It was only as they passed clean overhead that it dawned on him that they were bullets and that a machine-gun had opened up on them from the position where the battery had been stationed.
‘Here they come,’ Ash said, with a fierce indifferent grin that made Grundy immediately hate the sight of him again. ‘Any more for the skylark? Three shies a penny! Every ball a coconut!’
Grundy was staring at the threading pink lights with a horrified fascination, then one of the windows of the wheelhouse fell out in a clatter of glass. He heard the crack of bullets hitting the steelwork and saw a hole appear in the door.
Ash ducked quickly and Grundy dropped to his knees.
‘They’ve got us,’ he shouted. ‘They’ve got us.’
‘Take it easy, cock,’ Ash said. ‘Just a lucky shot. They’ve lost us again. They can’t see us in the darkness.’
‘Get to port a bit,’ Grundy shouted to the helmsman, raising his head as he realized the shooting had stopped. ‘Port, for Christ’s sake! Get out of range!’
‘Don’t be a damn fool,’ Ash snapped. ‘You can’t play about like that now. You’ll hit the island.’
The helmsman had already swung on the wheel at Grundy’s command and he now wrestled it back again so that the ship’s bows came round once more. The breeze of their movement blew through the broken window with a refreshing feeling of freedom and life. Grundy was still on his knees peering over the edge of the wheelhouse window and Ash reached a long arm across and yanked him to his feet.
‘Easy on, kid,’ he said, his voice not unkind. ‘It’s only light stuff. How about shoving the knots up a bit?’
Grundy nodded and gulped. ‘OK,’ he said, and Ash banged the telegraph over. Immediately, they felt the old ship leap forward faster and could hear the hiss of the water overside as it raced past. Dodgin was on the wing bridge again now, staring back at the town, thumbing his nose and shouting frenzied ‘Yahs’ at it, then the machine-gun opened up again and they ducked once more as the pink trails of fire shot overhead, too high to be of any danger.
Grundy gulped again but this time made no attempt to duck, then just when he was feeling he’d gained control of his nerves at last, he saw Dodgin outlined on the wing bridge, his fingers still to his nose, by what seemed a white fire that lit up the whole ship.
‘Searchlight,’ Ash yelled. ‘The bastards have got a searchlight on us!’
Dodgin had ducked behind the bridge rail, the glee gone from his face immediately, as though he were a schoolboy caught out in the gesture of derision, then as it dawned on him what had happened, he straightened up slowly, squinting into the direct beam of the light. The whole bridge was aglow with the glare that picked out every nut, every bolt, every halyard in a starkly etched black and white. Overside, the water lit up in the spilled reflection of the beam for a hundred yards on either side.
‘I can’t see,’ Grundy said in a bleat. ‘I can’t see a thing.’
The helmsman, dazzled like the rest of them, was trying hard to stare through the glare, then while they
were all trying to make out where they were, the gun started again and this time, illuminated as they were by the searchlight, they were a sitting target. They heard the bullets spattering on the steelwork of the bridge again and they all fell flat on their faces once more. Along the foredeck and on the bows, the Lascar seamen were crouching behind the hatch covers and in the shelter of the winch.
As they climbed to their feet another window fell in on them and they ducked again instinctively, while the fragments of glass scattered across their heads and shoulders. The shooting stopped then, and as they raised their heads once more they could feel the ship swinging but, with the searchlight in their eyes, they had no idea of where they were now.
‘Where’s the island?’ Grundy shrieked. ‘I can’t see it. I’ve lost it!’
The ship’s bows swung again, then Dodgin out on the wing bridge gave a yell. ‘Look out, man,’ he shouted. ‘You’ll be on the bloody mud soon! I can see trees! I can see trees!’
‘Starboard!’ Grundy whirled and shouted at the helmsman in a cracked voice. ‘Starboard, for Christ’s sake, and full astern!’
The telegraph clanged and they felt the ship shudder as the propellor thrashed the water astern to a yeasty foam. The Lascars on the foredeck were running across the hatch cover to hang over the port side of the ship, staring in awe-stricken silence at the approaching trees of the Isla des Flores.
With the way on her, the Bullaculish was still moving through the water at speed and they could all see the tops of the trees now from the bridge, moving with a curious sideways motion past the bows as the ship’s head came round. There was another burst of firing and all the heads along the port side of the foredeck dropped out of the direct beam of the light, and on the bridge they all ducked again as the bullets flattened themselves on the steel sides, then Grundy’s voice rose above the racket.
‘Full astern,’ he yelled again. ‘Full astern, I said!’
‘I’ve got it at full astern.’
Grundy swung round to the helmsman, on the edge of panic. ‘Get her over,’ he yelled. ‘Get her over, for God’s sake!’