by Juliet Wills
He climbed out of the Dakota and called to the crew, ‘We’re going back to the boat!’
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‘There’s no moon tonight, boss!’ Tinker said. ‘Can’t see the boat, or the crocodiles.’
‘Get in the bloody boat!’
The three of them rowed in the black of night to where
they thought the lugger was anchored, but it was so dark they couldn’t find it. Jack was agitated, desperate to verify his hopes of finding a treasure. After rowing around in circles for a while they gave up and returned to the beach, where they slept on the sand not far from the graves dug only days before, where two men, a woman and a small child lay buried.
The next morning, in the light of day, they made their way back to the Eurus. Jack kept the wallet concealed from the two Aborigines in case they got any ideas. He climbed below deck and put the ornate Javanese basket on a shelf in the cabin. He yelled to Bonnie and Tinker to lift anchor and sail north for Beagle Bay. Then, sitting down, he opened the brown leather wallet. He again pulled out a small package wrapped in pale blue tissue paper and carefully unfolded it. Inside were hundreds of glistening, finely cut diamonds. He opened another packet and then another, pouring out the contents and watching them clatter onto an enamel plate. He gazed, spellbound, as the lights of a king’s ransom blazed back at him. Thousands and thousands of diamonds lay before his eyes. It was a salvage like no other he had ever known.
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‘ I’ll be buggered!’ he exclaimed, gathering up handfuls of the stones and holding them up to the light of the morning sun streaming through the hatch. At first he had wondered if they were real, but as he watched the many facets of the jewels glisten in the sunlight he had no doubt. Some were as big as shirt buttons. ‘I’ll never have to work again,’ he said out loud.
Poking his head out the cabin door he yelled to Bonnie and Tinker, ‘I’ll never have to work again!’ He grinned jubilantly and went back to admiring his booty.
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Beneath the billowing canvas sails of the old lugger, Jack Palmer’s tobacco-stained fingers gripped the wheel of his craft. A broad grin was hidden by his bushy moustache as the wind carried Jack and his treasure northwards.
Beagle Bay was only a short trip by lugger from Carnot Bay.
Palmer sailed into the bay and up the creek, anchoring not far from the mission. He let off Bonnie and Tinker and took on two other Aboriginal crewmen, Stephen and Peter. He had no intention of stopping, and moved out quickly before the tide subsided to leave him high and dry in the mud. Jack Palmer sailed north towards the lighthouse at Cape Leveque. The lugger sat flat in the mostly calm waters; the only sounds were the waves lapping against the hull, the ropes flapping against the sails, and the creaking of the wooden mast, the calm lull occasionally broken by a sharp order from Palmer to his crew.
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At the entrance to Hunter Creek, just south of Cape Leveque on the tip of the Dampier Peninsula, he passed two pelicans who appeared to be standing guard. Curlews and other marsh birds waded along long white sandbars. Ibises called out as they flocked from the dark green mangroves whose aerial roots
provided a haven for a nursery of marine animals. The fishing was good at Hunter Creek. As the tide receded a feast of fish, including trevally, Queenies, barramundi and mangrove jacks, became trapped in the holes and were easy fare.
Jack spotted Christy Hunter poking a sharp stick down a
crab hole in the mangroves. Hunter was a Broome resident
whom Jack knew well. A crab clung to the stick and Hunter pulled it off—careful where he put his hands, as the crab’s huge claws could easily break a finger—and threw it into a bucket.
Jack rolled up his trousers and waded on to the sandbar.
Hunter, who’d come off a lugger moored further upstream,
came over to trade a mud crab for tobacco. ‘Come over to the lugger later on and I’ll get you some,’ Jack said.
On the beach, Jack Palmer boiled up a pot of water and
threw in the mud crab, watching until it turned orange. Pulling it out, he waited for it to cool, then ripped off the huge claws and smashed them open with a rock, extracting the succulent white meat inside.
Later in the day Hunter came to the Eurus for the promised tobacco. When Palmer went into the cabin to get it, Hunter looked in and noticed the ornate bamboo basket that Palmer
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had retrieved from the crashed Dakota. Palmer explained he had found it on the wrecked plane at Carnot Bay.
Hunter had helped transport some of the survivors from the plane when the spring cart had become bogged on its way to the mission at Beagle Bay. He remembered their distress vividly.
‘Those men were in a bad way,’ he told Palmer. ‘Barely said a word the whole trip—a couple of them had bullet wounds,
too. They reckon the Japs kept strafing them, even after they’d crashed.’
‘Apparently four or five of ’em died,’ Palmer added.
‘Brother Richard told me there was a woman and baby on
board that didn’t make it,’ Hunter said.
‘Poor buggers!’ Palmer said, shaking his head. During the conversation Hunter continued to stare at the unusual basket.
Palmer took it off the shelf and handed it to him, and Hunter admired the intricate design. If Hunter was impressed with the basket, Palmer couldn’t wait to see his reaction to the other surprise he had found in the wreck of the plane. Opening up his suitcase, the beachcomber took out the leather wallet and opened it. He removed one of the blue tissue paper parcels and, cupping it in his hand so as not to spill the contents, carefully unwrapped it, revealing the diamonds. Reaching into the pile he took out a diamond the size of a button and placed it in Hunter’s hand for him to admire. ‘I don’t have to work now, I’ll just sit down and smoke,’ he bragged. Hunter had never before seen anything like the beautiful gemstone he held
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in his hand. But after a few seconds Jack snatched it back, placing it inside the tissue paper, and returned it to the wallet.
Later in the day, Hunter told Jack he’d come across some
Dutchmen who had fled Timor on a boat. ‘These blokes are
in a really bad way. You should see the state of their lugger.’
‘All the way from Timor, you reckon?’
‘Apparently they started on a power boat but it ran out of fuel. They found this wreck of a boat on an island and managed to make it here.’
‘Shit, eh! It’s a bloody long way,’ Jack replied.
‘Lucky to be alive,’ Hunter said. ‘Ginger and I are going to sail with ’em up to Cape Leveque. Check their boat doesn’t sink. They can get water and make radio contact with Broome from there. Better get going. We’re heading off as soon as we’re rigged.’
‘I’m heading up there tonight. Maybe I’ll see you there,’
Jack said.
The lighthouse at Cape Leveque stood like a sentry, tall and white atop huge sand dunes, guarding the entrance to King Sound and warning ships of the dangerous rocks and reefs
nearby. The lighthouse keeper’s cottage was a regular meeting place for the pearlers and fishermen who sailed the Dampier Peninsula. Nearby was the Catholic mission of Lombadina,
which was, like the Beagle Bay Mission, run by the Pallotine
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Brothers and the Sisters of St John of God. Another Aboriginal community lay a short distance away at One Arm Point.
Pirate, navigator and explorer William Dampier had landed in the area near Cape Leveque more than 250 years earlier, in 1688. William Dampier and Palmer shared many traits. Like Dampier, Jack Palmer possessed the same indomitable spirit that led him to search for adventure beyond the familiar world.
He was a rebellious character, who loved the freedom of life at sea away from the watchful eyes of authority. Both the buccaneer who stepped ashore so long ago and the beachcomber Palmer had long dreamt of finding great treasures.
Dampier spent the summer months of 1688 around Cape
Leveque and King Sound, but he was not keen to stay, despite wanting to find a place to escape the clutches of the crew whom he feared would kill him. (He later published a damning report on his visit to the Australian mainland.) Dampier was destined for greater things, circumnavigating the globe three times and later recording his voyages and mapping part of the Western Australian coast and New Guinea.
Dampier was not the first Englishman to land on Australian soil. Sixty-six years before, in 1622, the Tryall was wrecked on the reefs of the Monte Bello Islands off the north-west coast.
The captain and forty-five crew made it north to Batavia in two longboats, leaving ninety-five men behind to perish. Since the Tryall more than a thousand ships have come to grief on
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Western Australia’s 10,000-kilometre long coastline. Some contained treasures—silver coins and gold sovereigns or legendary pearls. The cursed Roseate Pearl is said to lie at the bottom of the sea on board the ill-fated steamship Koombana, which sank in a cyclone in 1912.
Hunter and Palmer caught up with each other again at Cape Leveque.
‘So they made it around without sinking,’ Palmer remarked, pointing up the creek to where the Dutchmen’s lugger was
moored.
Hunter nodded. ‘They don’t speak any English, so it’s a bit hard to work out what’s going on. It’s a bit like charades trying to communicate with ’em.’
‘Too hard, I reckon,’ Palmer quipped.
‘About the diamonds . . .’ Hunter had done a lot of thinking about the diamonds and become increasingly concerned about the repercussions if Jack kept them. ‘The men from the crashed plane at Carnot Bay are alive. They probably passed on a list of what was on the plane to Gus Clinch. And if they have, the army will be out looking for them and they’ll find out the diamonds are gone. You gotta hand ’em in.’
Palmer looked dismayed. It was a fair find, but if the military were out looking, trading the diamonds might be difficult. The thought of discovering so much wealth and treasure only to hand it in was too much to bear, but then again he wasn’t sure
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he had much choice. ‘Give ’em to Gus,’ Hunter urged. ‘The army will know what to do with ’em.’ In the end, Palmer agreed with Hunter and sailed out the following day for Beagle Bay.
Palmer clutched the wallet closely as he disembarked and
headed towards the white spire of the church at Beagle Bay.
He was told that Clinch was off on army business and would be away for days. Ironically, Clinch was at that time looking for the very diamonds Jack had brought to the mission.
The place was teeming with people and resources were clearly stretched. Saying nothing about the diamonds to anyone, Palmer headed back to the Eurus, hauled anchor and headed north again. Just before Pender Bay, he sighted James Mulgrue and Frank Robinson’s Aumeric anchored on the western side of Middle Lagoon. Palmer, despite knowing any number of points where he could anchor, selfishly moored right in front of the Aumeric. Before heading to shore he looked for a container to conceal some of the gems. Removing the broad round bases
from a pair of chunky blue plastic salt and pepper containers, he emptied the contents and placed the diamonds inside. Lighting a lantern, he held the leather wallet over the flame, watching as it blackened, sending acrid smoke into the air. The wallet was too distinctive. He then hid the salt and pepper containers among his belongings on the boat.
He climbed down the rope ladder and waded through the
shallow water, walking across the beach and over the dunes looking for the owners of the Aumeric. Mulgrue and Robbie were sitting down to a billy of tea at the old pearler’s shack
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when they heard a voice over the sand hills calling, ‘Are there any white men here?’ Robbie stood up and waved. Palmer ran over gleefully, shouting, ‘It’s great to meet up with a couple of white bastards!’ Mulgrue was taken aback by the enthusiastic greeting. He had seen Palmer at the store, but did not know him personally. Jack was the type of person he normally tried to steer clear of—the kind who meant trouble.
Robbie made Palmer a cup of tea, which he slurped enthusiastically from beneath his walrus moustache, pausing only to ask if they had a rifle they might sell. Robbie and Skipper had a machine gun, three rifles and a double-barrelled shotgun but not much ammunition. They offered Jack a rifle, which he took gladly. These days everyone wanted to be armed in case the Japanese arrived—besides, a gun was always handy to protect against a hungry crocodile, or to hunt bush turkey or dugong.
It was late afternoon, and by the time Jack had set up camp about fifteen metres from Mulgrue and Robbie, the sun was setting. Robbie had caught a good-sized barramundi and invited Palmer to join them for dinner. Mulgrue had the feeling that Jack was in the habit of skiving off others, but it wasn’t his fish so he didn’t protest.
That night Mulgrue went to bed early and Jack stayed up
talking with Robbie by the firelight, trading stories they’d heard about Broome and the war. They were bitter about the minimal military support that had been sent to defend their region.
‘The bastards down south have deserted us,’ Palmer said.
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‘Bloody idiots have no idea,’ Robbie added, drawing back
on his cigarette. ‘I could imagine the bloody fuss if it was Sydney or Melbourne that was attacked. Then they’d bring
every bastard back from helping the bloody Pommies.’
‘That’s for sure,’ Jack agreed.
‘They sent Major Gibson, but he’s only got a dozen or so
soldiers. Fuckin’ may as well give the bloody place to the Japs for all we matter.’
‘Tried to join up a couple of months back,’ Palmer said.
‘Got knocked back because of me ulcer.’
‘I didn’t know belching and farting was a good reason to
knock you back!’ Robinson laughed.
‘You wouldn’t be laughing if you had a bloody ulcer.’ Palmer looked hurt.
‘I was only joking. I reckon they’d take you now. Spoke to Gibson before I left. He’s bloody desperate, mate! He even asked me and I can barely walk.’ Robbie was rifling through his bag as he spoke, searching for aspirin to ease the pain of his arthritis.
‘Is that right, eh?’ Jack replied. ‘I might just do that. Reckon I’d like to give those Japs a whipping.’
Robbie found the aspirin bottle and swallowed a couple of tablets. He shifted from his seat and lay down in the sand where it was more comfortable. ‘What about those poor buggers at Carnot Bay? Did the Japs get stuck into them, or what! Poor bastards. Spoke to Gus when we stopped in at the mission a
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few days back. Reckons there’s a packet of missing jewels out there somewhere.’
It was t
he opening Palmer had been waiting for. ‘I found
’em,’ he said.
‘Bullshit!’ Robbie replied, sitting up suddenly. ‘We were going to take Gus out there but the tide was out. You’re not bullshitting me, are ya?’
‘Wait here,’ Jack said, getting up and jogging back to his boat. He returned moments later. Pulling over a camp stool and placing an enamel plate on it, Jack slowly began pouring the diamonds from their unlikely plastic homes.
Robbie picked up a particularly large diamond and held it up in awe, watching the flames dance through its many facets.
Mulgrue always rose early. He had a billy of tea boiling and damper cooking by the time Jack got up, but there was no way Mulgrue would be inviting the beachcomber to share them.
His infected eyes and his mood had not improved much.
Jack set about boiling his own billy and baking his own
damper, and when he finished he pulled out the salt and pepper shakers and again poured the diamonds onto the enamel plate.
Mulgrue walked past, lifting his bandage a little to see where to step, and Jack called him over.
‘What do you think of these?’ he asked.
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Mulgrue squinted down from beneath his bandage, his face
close to the plate. Thousands of tiny gems came into focus.
He was stuck for words.
Jack enjoyed Mulgrue’s reaction and tried to stifle a laugh.
‘What are you going to do with them?’ Mulgrue asked when
he finally found his voice.
‘Don’t know. Maybe give them to the Dutch and collect a
big reward,’ Jack replied.
The old man walked away. He needed to gather his thoughts.
A big thundercloud threatened overhead but it turned out to be what the local girls in Broome called a ‘male storm’. It approached belching, threatening, full of bluff and wind before only spitting and then leaving grumbling.