by Peter Watt
‘I wouldn’t have cared that she was carrying Wilkes’ child,’ Randolph said, but knew inwardly it had torn at him as a betrayal of love.
‘She fell pregnant to Wilkes before she met you,’ Arthur said as if anticipating the tall American’s feelings. ‘But she is a woman who puts great stock in life and felt that she must go away to have her child. What she planned after that . . . I do not know.’
‘Have you been in correspondence with Nellie since she left?’ Randolph asked, attempting to put his pain aside.
‘No, nothing since our meeting,’ Arthur answered. ‘But I may have information that might help you find her – if she has somehow escaped to the USA.’
‘Anything,’ Randolph said.
‘I gave her papers to give to a friend I have in the industry in California,’ he said. ‘She was hoping to have an introduction into their studios when she arrived. She was travelling under the name of Fiona Owens. Don’t ask me how she organised her documents but she had them. If you do not locate her in Hawaii I would strongly suggest that you continue on to California and go to Los Angeles and look up my friend there. It’s the place they appear to be making most of their films out of these days.’
Randolph pocketed the paper with the contact details Arthur had given him just as he heard his name called from the deck of the ship. He turned to Arthur, extending his hand. ‘Thanks for the information,’ Randolph said.
‘I wish that things could have worked out a little better than they have for you and Nellie,’ Arthur replied sadly, shaking his hand. ‘Just find her and bring her home. She means a lot to more people than just her father and brothers.’
‘I know,’ Randolph said, bending to shoulder his swag. ‘Take care, Arthur,’ he said, preparing to walk to the gangplank up to the ship’s deck. ‘Your secret is safe with me.’
Arthur nodded gratefully. It had eaten away at him that he had sworn not to tell his friend, Patrick Duffy, what he knew of his daughter’s disappearance. At least now one other he could trust knew the truth. As he turned to walk away he could hear the coal-fired engines of the ship thump into life. Arthur felt like the loneliest man on earth.
20
Matthew had just the vaguest impression that he had seen Bob Houston’s body shredded into pieces when the explosion went off below. Much of the shock wave had exited itself through the hatch that Bob had been climbing through and his body had taken the full impact of the blast.
Matthew found himself slammed against the railing and fought to remain conscious. His hearing had turned to a ringing in his ears, and as he slid into a sitting position, he could taste blood in his mouth. The light from the bridge was still on, casting enough illumination on the deck below for Matthew to see the Scottish engineer attempting to rise to his feet. Blood poured down his legs and when Jock McLeod turned away Matthew could see that the man had terrible injuries, probably caused by flying metal. Matthew had seen shrapnel wounds before and knew that Jock required urgent medical treatment if he were to live. Staggering to his feet he stumbled towards the engineer who was in a state of shock. Matthew could hear the screams of other wounded crew members who had taken the brunt of the explosion.
‘Jock,’ Matthew shouted at the wounded man, ‘you have to sit down and let me fix you.’
The tough Scotsman heeded Matthew’s order and buried his head between his knees. Matthew tore his shirt off and quickly ripped it into bandage strips to stem the bleeding on Jock’s lacerated back. Then he glanced around to try to locate Alex. The ship was listing to one side and with its engines silent wallowed helplessly. The captain appeared on the deck beside Matthew.
‘Mr Macintosh went over the side,’ he shouted at Matthew. Already the captain was holding a lifebuoy and peering over the railing into the dark, rolling sea. ‘Mr Macintosh!’ he roared at the top of his voice. But to Matthew it sounded almost a whisper. ‘Mr Macintosh!’
Satisfied that he had done as much as he could for the engineer, Matthew turned his attention to the wounded crew members.
‘I see him,’ Matthew heard the captain call and Matthew immediately looked to the railing, where the captain was leaning towards the sea with the lifebuoy in hand. With some difficulty Matthew staggered along the listing deck to the railing. He peered over. For a second he thought that he saw something in the water.
‘Give me the buoy,’ he shouted to the captain who passed it to him. Matthew took the buoy and, without hesitating, leaped from the deck into the sea. He hit the surface with a splash and with one arm commenced swimming in the direction that he had last seen what he thought was Alex. Matthew was a strong swimmer and was rewarded for his efforts by reaching his cousin within seconds. He reached out and gripped Alex by the hair, rolling him as best as he could onto his back. Alex struggled weakly, gasping for air and vomiting sea water. Matthew thrust the lifebuoy between them.
‘Get a hold of this,’ he said to Alex who responded by grasping one side of the flotation device.
‘I’m okay,’ Alex spluttered as a great wave swept them upwards only to thrust them down into a trough, obliterating the ship from sight. ‘That you, Matt?’ he asked.
‘Yeah,’ Matthew answered. ‘We have to get back to the ship, so start swimming.’
On the deck the captain knew his ship was taking in water at a faster rate than any of his sea pumps were capable of dealing with. He had watched as Matthew Duffy dived into the ocean with the lifebuoy and now he could only return his attention to the welfare of his crew.
‘Mr McLeod,’ he called to Jock who was attempting to regain his footing. ‘Organise to get the lifeboat over the side and get the crew in it.’
Jock looked at the lifeboat which was now dangling against the side of the ship. It had been a good decision to have it swung out in anticipation of an emergency.
‘All you heathens get into the boat,’ Jock barked at the frightened crew members who did not need a second warning to abandon ship. They scrambled up the tilting deck to the side and slid over into the dangling lifeboat.
‘You coming, Captain?’ Jock called to Ernest Delamore who was making his way like a crab on sand towards the stairs to the bridge.
‘As soon as I get a distress call off,’ he called back to Jock. ‘Just get the boat adrift with yourself and crew, Mr McLeod.’
Jock turned to claw his way up the sharply sloping deck towards where the lifeboat dangled against the ship’s hull. When he reached the railing he clambered over painfully and with some difficulty slid down the hull and into the lifeboat, slamming into an unlucky crew member.
‘Cut the ropes,’ he bellowed to a sailor who swung a hatchet at the lines securing the boat to the ship.
With a heavy jerk, one side of the boat collapsed, hurling all its occupants into the water. The second rope gave way, bringing the boat down on the men floundering below, killing one of them with its heavy weight as it smashed into the sea, bobbed and then crashed against the hull, revealing the exposed keel. Jock felt the captain had little hope of joining them in the lifeboat. The ship groaned and creaked, keeling over to begin settling into a death dive below the waves.
Matthew stopped swimming when he saw the ship keel over. He calculated that he and Alex had been washed a good hundred yards away from the stricken vessel by the heavy seas but now the little light they had to guide them had disappeared, leaving them alone in a dark and angry ocean.
‘She’s gone,’ Alex gasped weakly, hugging the lifebuoy.
Matthew did not respond. The pain from the injury he received when he had been thrown backwards was now making itself known.
‘Thanks, cobber,’ he heard Alex say. ‘Thanks for coming after me.’
Matthew ignored his cousin’s gratitude. Perhaps it would have been better if they both had suffered the same fate as their New Zealander friend – one minute alive and within a split second obliterated. As far as Matthew knew, no radio call had been made regarding their situation and they were now adrift in seas infamous for the sha
rks patrolling the channels. That could possibly be a better death than dying of thirst, Matthew thought grimly.
‘Anytime, old chap,’ Matthew finally answered. ‘Just hope that you are a good swimmer and know which way is west.’
The rain came in a tropical squall and then the sun over a suddenly placid and warm sea. When Matthew and Alex gazed around all they could see was ocean. They were well and truly alone. There was no sign of the rest of the crew – nor the ship’s lifeboat. Then they spotted the first fin slicing through the water towards them.
Angus MacDonald awoke Patrick and summoned him to the telephone.
‘Colonel Duffy,’ Patrick said, accepting the call.
‘Patrick, I have some disturbing news,’ John Hughes said. ‘A radio station up north picked up an SOS from your ship. Not all the message got through but from what could be ascertained the captain was able to give his position and say that the ship was sinking rapidly, that they had lost at least two men. He transmitted that an explosion had holed her and then the communications with her were lost. That was about two o’clock our time last night. I have contacted the navy and requested their nearest ship make haste to the last reported position to see if survivors could be found.’
‘What was her last position?’ Patrick asked.
‘From what I could see on the charts she was just off the Schumann plantation. At least that is a good thing.’
‘You don’t know who the dead were?’ Patrick asked, feeling a tightness in his chest.
‘I’m sorry,’ Hughes replied. ‘Not at this stage.’
‘I will get dressed and see you at the barracks,’ Patrick concluded. ‘I feel that the Germans were somehow behind her sinking.’
Patrick returned the telephone to Angus who stared at his boss intently. ‘I gather we have bad news about Captain Macintosh, sir,’ he said sympathetically.
‘I’m not sure, Angus,’ Patrick answered. ‘We will have to wait for developments.’
Angus nodded his head. He was not a praying man but he prayed that the young militia officer was safe and well. The colonel had suffered enough for one man.
The black fin drew closer and it was followed by many others. Both men clinging to the lifebuoy braced themselves for the inevitable attack.
‘A bloody dolphin!’ Matthew burst into laughter. ‘Wallarie has sent a fish to guard us.’
‘It’s not a fish,’ Alex rebuked. ‘The dolphin is a mammal – and what do you mean about Wallarie sending us a guardian?’
‘You must know the stories about the old Nerambura warrior,’ Matthew said, relieved at the presence of the guardians of stranded sailors now circling them. ‘It was he who warned me of the danger and now he is continuing to protect us.’
Alex shook his head. ‘I find that a bit hard to swallow, old chap,’ he scoffed. ‘I thought that the old bugger was long dead.’
‘I made a visit to him some weeks ago when I was up in Queensland,’ Matthew replied. ‘I was able to visit him at the cave.’
‘You really believe that Wallarie has magical powers?’ Alex quizzed.
‘I know it may sound like lunacy but there are some strange things in this world that we do not understand,’ Matthew replied. ‘Just say that Wallarie can be both a guardian angel and an avenging demon – depending on the orders he receives from his ancestor spirits.’
Alex did not pursue the subject and the two men watched as the dolphins rolled and turned playfully in the clear tropical waters around them.
They had scanned the surrounding sea for any sign of the rest of the ship’s crew but had been unsuccessful. The heavy seas the night before had swept them apart and they had no way of telling if the crew had been successful in abandoning the sinking ship as the lifeboat had been on the opposite side of the hull to where they had been in the water.
‘Look at that and tell me I am not dreaming,’ Matthew suddenly said. Alex turned his gaze in the direction his cousin had indicated.
‘I see it,’ he said excitedly. ‘It looks like land on the horizon. And the current is taking us in.’
‘Time to start swimming,’ Matthew said, kicking out in the direction of the bobbing strip of green they could see.
Escorted by the pod of dolphins, it took them the better part of the day to reach the beach. Exhausted, dehydrated and burned by the sun they crawled ashore. Grateful to be alive, both men lay on the hot sand, attempting to regain their strength.
Matthew heard the soft clop, clop, of a horse’s hooves on the sandy beach. Someone had found them! Now they would have some desperately needed water. With a great effort, Matthew raised himself onto his knees. Behind the approaching horseman trotted three Melanesian workers carrying machetes. Matthew recognised the horseman immediately as being the foreman from the Schumann plantation and raised his hand to wave. ‘We are truly saved,’ he croaked to Alex who lifted his head to observe the party of men.
The German plantation foreman brought his mount to a halt a few yards away, dismounted and drew a carbine from the scabbard attached to the saddle. Alex and Matthew watched in amazement as he levelled the rifle at them.
‘You are not to attempt to escape,’ he snarled. ‘You treacherous English are my prisoners.’
Alex rose unsteadily to his feet. ‘Could we have some water?’ he asked.
The foreman said something to the man nearest him who fetched a water canteen from the saddle attachments and handed it to Alex who immediately passed it to Matthew. Matthew took a long swig before passing the canteen back to Alex.
‘Our ship has been sunk and I do not understand why we should be considered prisoners,’ Alex said, handing the water bottle back to the plantation worker.
‘Your plot to carry out subversive activities against the Kaiser has been revealed,’ Schmidt replied. ‘Your aeroplane has been destroyed.’
Matthew understood enough to realise that his aircraft had been destroyed and felt a rage building inside him. ‘The bastards,’ he growled in English.
Sensing his cousin’s anger, Alex placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him.
‘I do not know what you are talking about,’ Alex continued calmly. ‘The aircraft was not intended for anything subversive. We were going to see if we could use it to fly between islands seeking trade.’ He knew his story was flimsy but it was the best he could think of, staring as he was into the barrel of a rifle.
‘We received orders from Rabaul that your aircraft was to be destroyed,’ Schmidt said. ‘The orders came from our administration.’
‘I demand that we are taken to Herr Schumann to sort out this misunderstanding,’ Alex said, controlling his anger. ‘You have no right to hold Australian citizens as your prisoners.’
‘Just in case you are not aware,’ Schmidt responded with a crooked smile, ‘you are on German soil and subject to the Kaiser’s law.’
‘I still demand to speak with Herr Schumann,’ Alex continued. ‘I am sure that he would be enraged to hear of your treatment of us.’
‘Herr Schumann sent me when you were spotted by one of our workers attempting to get ashore,’ Schmidt explained. ‘He gave me orders that you were to be apprehended and treated as spies. You will be handed over to our military as soon as they are able to come here and take you off our hands. In the meantime, Herr Schumann has told me that you are to be shot if you should consider any attempt to escape. I hope you understand what I am telling you.’
‘I understand,’ Alex replied. ‘But I would still like to speak with Herr Schumann.’
‘When you are secured I will see if Herr Schumann wishes to speak with you,’ Schmidt replied. ‘Now, you can march up the beach to the plantation.’
Alex and Matthew obeyed. They had little choice, being on German territory and a long way from home. How had it all gone so wrong? Alex asked himself. Worse still, if she was aware that he was a prisoner of her father, what was going through Giselle’s mind?
‘Well, we have some good news,’ John Hughes said, gazing at the
large map on his office wall depicting the German territories in the Pacific.
Patrick stood behind him, dressed in his military uniform. He had read the report cabled in code from a northern radio station and received by the British intelligence officer. ‘It makes no mention that my son and Matthew were among the survivors,’ Patrick said. ‘Only that they were last seen in the water.’
‘Your engineer was badly wounded,’ Hughes said. ‘He was a bit vague about everything that occurred after the German mine went off aboard the ship. I know it’s hard, Patrick, but do not give up hope. The ship went down practically off the Schumann plantation and they may have been found by a native outrigger. After all, it was a coastal trader that located the ship’s lifeboat and all the surviving crew members with the exception of the captain, Alex and Matthew. What’s to say that the three are not already found but we have not yet been informed.’
Patrick stared at his friend and then the map on the wall. ‘I pray you are right,’ he said.
John Hughes turned to Patrick and gestured for him to take a chair. ‘We are in a bit of a political pickle,’ he said. ‘We cannot accuse the Germans of sabotaging your ship because we know that they will most probably counter with an accusation of us spying. It is obvious that the leak here, in Sydney, has kept them up to date on our every move. With the way things are going in Europe the subject is very touchy. I am to prepare a report for your Prime Minister and am in a dilemma as to how much I include about the whole operation. You realise that politicians will put their interests before the security of the country if it means votes and leave you and me out to dangle as renegade military men acting without orders.’
Patrick tended to agree with the British officer. ‘What happens now?’ he asked. ‘To all intents and purposes the mission has failed and it may have cost me a son.’
‘I think that we are left only with the choice of trying to find Alex, Matthew and Captain Delamore,’ Hughes replied. ‘As far as I am concerned, the operation is now called off and I will use everything within my power to bring the boys home safely. I promise you that, Patrick.’