To Touch the Clouds : The Frontier Series 5

by Peter Watt

‘You tell me where the dame is and I might just let you escape – so long as you are on the next ship back to Australia,’ Amos said.

  ‘I can honestly say that I do not know where Miss Macintosh is,’ Randolph replied, glad that he had not yet booked his passage to the United States. ‘I was intending to return empty-handed to Sydney anyway.’

  ‘Too bad,’ Amos answered. ‘Looks like you will have to do your time here, before you return.’

  Randolph knew that all he had to do was inform the American police detective of the letter in his cabin and he might just be freed. But to do so would also put the police on her trail. It had been too easy and now he was forced to decide between his freedom and Fenella’s.

  ‘How long do you reckon I will get?’ Randolph asked. But he did not receive a reply.

  A cutter, similar to that owned by the Schumanns, had been employed by the Imperial German Navy to retrieve Matthew and Alex. Aboard the sailing ship the two prisoners were shackled hand and foot and guarded by a small contingent of Tolai police under the command of an officer neither man knew from their time at the Rabaul Club.

  As they sailed away from the plantation Alex noticed that the Schumann cutter was no longer at its jetty. Sitting on the deck in their chains Alex gazed across the water to where it had been moored the night before. ‘I can see it has gone,’ Matthew commented quietly beside Alex. ‘That is kind of unusual.’

  ‘What do you think is going to happen next?’ Alex asked, not wishing to dwell on the last twenty-four hours, especially the pain of betrayal on the part of the woman he still loved.

  ‘Well, I don’t think we are going to disappear at sea again,’ Matthew replied, watching a flying fish hover between two waves rolling off the starboard rail. ‘I figure that we will be taken to Rabaul where the Germans will decide what to do with us. I think it is all going to depend on what is happening in Europe.’

  ‘So, what alternatives do you think the Germans have?’

  ‘Maybe our chances are good if the Germans want to stay in with the English,’ Matthew replied, juggling what they had last heard of the European crisis. ‘I truly think that the Germans feel more at home with their English cousins than the English do with their old enemies, the French. Maybe we will be forgiven and released.’

  ‘What do you, as a well-travelled Australian, consider will happen to us if for some reason Germany finds itself at war with England?’ Alex asked, respecting his cousin’s knowledge of international affairs.

  Matthew did not reply immediately but continued to gaze at the gently undulating Solomon Sea. Above them the rigging creaked and the soft splash of the bow ploughing through the waves belied the situation they were in. ‘Do you really want to know what I think will happen to us?’ he asked.

  Alex instinctively tugged against the manacles around his wrist. ‘Then we cannot waste any time in planning our escape,’ he said in a whisper.

  Matthew glanced sideways at the younger man. ‘How in bloody hell are we going to make an escape under the current circumstances?’ he asked with a frown.

  ‘Not now,’ Alex said. ‘But when we get to Rabaul we have the Italian priest up in the hills. He might be able to help us. All we have to do is escape the Germans in the town and head for the mission.’

  Matthew did not comment. At least his cousin had not given up but he doubted that the Germans would allow them any chance to slip from their custody. Their fate was in the hands of those faraway emperors, kings, kaisers and tsars currently fighting what could be seen as a very vicious family war but for the moment they were being treated well. They had not been beaten or starved in the custody of the German police and navy.

  Patrick first saw the awful news in his morning paper – the Austro-Hungarian Empire had declared war on Serbia.

  ‘You have seen the news, Colonel,’ Angus said over his shoulder. ‘I have laid out your uniform.’

  ‘Thank you, Angus,’ Patrick replied, appreciative of how his valet instinctively knew what and where he would be on this day after reading the headlines.

  ‘Sir, could I be mentioning something?’ Angus asked in a way that Patrick knew was more a question from a friend than a servant.

  ‘Speak whatever is on your mind, Angus,’ Patrick replied, turning to face the big Scot standing in the dining room.

  ‘I think we are going to be in a war,’ he said with conviction. ‘When we are I want to serve alongside you again. We were always a good team back when we was fighting them Fuzzy Wuzzies in the Sudan. You were the best officer we lads had.’

  Patrick was touched by the Scot’s commitment. ‘How old are you now, Angus?’

  The Scot bristled at the question. ‘I’d be around fifty-four,’ he replied defensively. ‘But I’m as fit as any man younger than me. Besides, I’ve seen more wars than all of them young whipper-snappers put together.’

  ‘No dispute about that,’ Patrick answered. ‘I will see what I can do – if we go to war.’

  ‘Beggin’ your pardon, Colonel, but I would appreciate you considering my offer pretty quick, because if we go to war it will all be over by Christmas.’

  ‘I think that England will show some sense and stay out of any European war,’ Patrick replied, knowing through his friend, John Hughes, that the English government was actually seeking a way to remain out of the impending conflict. Were not the German Kaiser and English King cousins?

  ‘Will you be returnin’ home this evening?’ Angus asked, switching the subject.

  ‘I am not sure,’ Patrick replied. ‘It will depend on my duties today with the regiment.’

  ‘I will tell the cook to put aside some of the lamb cold cuts for supper if you make it home tonight,’ Angus said. ‘Don’t forget that you will be needin’ a batman when we go to war, Colonel,’ Angus said in parting as he returned to his duties in the big empty house. There had been no news on the fate of Captain Macintosh since he had heard from the colonel that the young man and Mr Duffy were being held at a German plantation in New Guinea. If war was coming he fully realised that the lives of both men were in dire peril.

  Matthew and Alex were brought up on deck as the German cutter manoeuvred to make anchorage in the deep water port of Rabaul. As the anchors clanged down the cutter’s hull to splash into the placid waters both men could see a large open launch motoring out towards them. Alex was able to make out Hauptmann Hirsch in the bow of the launch and when the motorised boat swung alongside the cutter, a rope ladder was lowered over the side. Hirsch was the first aboard and received a salute from the German officer assigned to escort the two Australian prisoners back to Rabaul. He then walked over to Matthew and Alex, still manacled hand and foot.

  ‘Captain Macintosh,’ he said stiffly, ‘I deeply regret that we should meet this way again, but you must realise that you are prisoners of the Kaiser, and it would be my duty to shoot you if you attempt to escape.’

  With a wry grin, Alex held up his manacled hands. ‘I doubt that I will be attempting to escape in my present condition.’

  ‘I have been informed that you have broken your parole to Herr Schumann so I can no longer accept your word that you may not try to do so again.’

  ‘I am sorry that I broke my parole, Hauptmann Hirsch,’ Alex said. ‘I know it was not becoming of my commission.’

  ‘I doubt that you would have been privy to the latest news out of Europe,’ Hirsch said in a less formal tone. ‘Germany is now at war with Russia and it appears that France has mobilised its forces against us. It is inevitable that we must declare war against the French.’

  ‘What about England?’ Alex asked.

  Hauptmann’s face brightened only a little at the question. ‘So far England has remained silent,’ he replied. ‘I pray that she will stay out of any war between us and the alliance we must face of Russia and France.’

  ‘Do you know what our fate will be?’ Matthew asked.

  Hirsch turned to him. ‘I have been led to believe the governor will release you both as soon as h
e returns to Rabaul as a goodwill gesture towards the English, despite your attempts to spy on us.’

  ‘When will that be?’ Alex asked eagerly.

  ‘I am not sure,’ Hirsch sighed. ‘He is currently touring the islands on the Komet. However, you will be well looked after until then, albeit that you are still prisoners of the Kaiser.’

  Inwardly, Matthew groaned at the delay. The world was about to explode in Europe and anything could happen in the Pacific. His dream of testing the idea of aircraft as active weapons of war seemed a lifetime away.

  ‘In the meantime, I will have your shackles taken off,’ Hirsch said, turning to the officer who had acted as their escort aboard the German cutter.

  The officer stepped forward and released the locks. The shackles clanked away and both men massaged their ankles and wrists.

  Hirsch indicated they should board the launch and as the boat puttered towards the township’s wharves Matthew felt the wind in his face. Maybe Alex was right, he mused. They might yet have a chance to escape. He did not want to take the chance that their neutral situation might not change given the way things appeared to be developing in Europe. As they approached the shore Matthew could see an officer standing with his hands behind his back, obviously waiting for the boat to land.

  ‘Ah, Major Pfieffer is expecting us,’ he heard Dieter Hirsch comment to Alex. ‘But not an expected pleasure,’ Hirsch added.

  Matthew felt an instinctive fear for what was ahead. Please God, he prayed silently, keep England and hence us out of this war in Europe. Around him onshore the world remained in an idyllic tropical peace.

  Through the bars of his cell Randolph Gates heard the news that Germany was at war in Europe. He was still reeling from how fast he had been brought before a judge without the opportunity to ask for legal representation. The judge had glowered down at him from his bench and declared him a low life for avoiding the judicial system in the country of his birth. Randolph realised that he was already judged and attempted to throw himself on the court’s mercy as a man who had served his country with Teddy Roosevelt’s Rough Riders on the slopes of San Juan Hill. The judge was obviously not of the former American president’s political persuasion and sentenced him to six months in prison with hard labour for the old charge of assault against members of the American navy.

  When Randolph turned around in the court he could see the detective smirking at the sentence. Handcuffed, he was returned to the gaol to await transport to the island’s tough prison.

  ‘You’re damned lucky not to be back in Australia,’ a fat, sweating gaoler said when he pushed Randolph’s meal under the bars to him. ‘If them Limeys get mixed up in what’s happening over their way you might have got yerself shanghaied into the army. Isn’t Australia one of their colonies?’

  ‘Not anymore,’ Randolph replied, retrieving the tin plate with a slice of stale bread and some kind of cold stew. ‘The Australians got their independence from the British back in ’01.’

  ‘Never heard that,’ the gaoler replied, waddling away from Randolph’s cell.

  Randolph had been informed that they would come for him that afternoon to take him to the island prison where he would be forced to serve out his time. He sat down against the rough concrete wall with the plate in his lap and dipped at the cold stew with the piece of bread. He ate slowly. The stew was mostly water and gristle and he expected he would be dining in a similar fashion for the next six months. As he ate, his thoughts drifted to Fenella. Where was she and was she thinking of him? How could he get the opportunity to convey to Colonel Duffy what had happened? Hopefully the American detective had not searched his cabin and found the incriminating letter. He doubted that he had, so Fenella’s secret was still safe for the moment.

  Randolph had hardly finished his meal and gulped down some brackish water when he heard his name called. ‘Prisoner Gates, Randolph.’ It was time to commence his sentence.

  George Macintosh paced his office. He was agitated but not because of the news arriving from Europe that the continent was on the verge of a major war and massive armies were being mobilised. The telegram from Randolph Gates addressed to his father lay on his desk. So, his sister was apparently alive and well and possibly already in the United States. His attempts to discredit Fenella had failed. In a sense, his sister’s tragic situation had only endeared her more to his father who had rallied to provide love and support for her.

  George had been informed that his brother was also alive, albeit in the custody of the German authorities in New Guinea. There was still a hope that he just might be found guilty of spying and dutifully executed. George could only live in hope.

  But his sister was still a problem and George continued to pace the office. He stared out the window at the busy street below where people went on with their business, untouched by what was occurring in far-off European cities. George knew that Fenella would never be found guilty of murder if she returned to Sydney but rather would fall into her father’s arms as the prodigal daughter.

  Frowning, George returned to his desk and considered the single sheet of paper from the American. The world might be facing horrific times ahead but still George felt desperate about wanting sole claim to the Macintosh empire after his father’s death. If anything should happen to Fenella in America who would know of her fate? She had so carefully concealed her flight from Sydney. But now he had a clue as to where she might be and when all traces of the telegram were destroyed he alone in Sydney would know where to find her.

  The thought came to George as he heard in the distance a paperboy calling the headlines that Germany had declared war on France. If only he could despatch an assassin to America to kill his sister her death would be swallowed up in the over-riding international events. George leaned back in his leather chair, considering how he might go about organising such a thing. With a grim smile, he sat up and leaned forward. Of course he had the means to make that happen, he gloated. All he had to do was make his contacts and the matter of his sister’s demise would be assured. The only obstacle was Randolph Gates. So the job would also entail disposing of the American but the financial cost would be worth it.

  George picked up the telegram from his desk and reached for a box of matches. Carefully he held the edge of the paper until it burned away. He dropped the ashes in a waste paper bin and reached for his telephone to make a call.

  23

  Matthew and Alex found themselves secured in the town’s gaol for the first night. They were still being treated with courtesy but they both knew that they were also considered as spies. The German police had not bothered to separate them and they had the opportunity to discuss matters.

  ‘What is the date today?’ Alex asked, having lost track of time since the Macintosh ship had been sunk.

  Matthew thought for a moment. ‘I think it’s the fifth of August. Why would you ask?’

  ‘It is Fenella’s birthday, today,’ Alex sighed. ‘And I don’t have a clue where she is – or even if she is well.’

  Matthew stared at a translucent gecko high on the wall above their heads but was distracted by the sound of cheering coming from the streets. A bugle was blasting out discordant notes and somewhere someone was beating a drum. He turned to Alex with a puzzled look.

  Already Alex was straining to hear what the people outside were shouting but could not pick up any words in the background of what appeared to be celebrations. Eventually the noise subsided and Hauptmann Hirsch appeared at the door to their cell.

  ‘Good afternoon, Captain Macintosh, Mr Duffy,’ he said with a grim expression. ‘I gather you would have heard the celebrations a moment ago.’

  ‘What is going on?’ Alex asked. ‘Are you celebrating the Kaiser’s birthday?’

  Hauptmann Hirsch shook his head. ‘I am afraid that England has declared war on us,’ he said sadly. ‘You can now consider yourself as our first prisoners of war as I strongly suspect that your country will quickly follow in the footsteps of your mother country.’r />
  ‘What do you intend to do to us?’ Matthew asked, gripping the bars on the cell door. ‘I gather you will put us on trial.’

  ‘I am afraid so,’ Hirsch answered. ‘We have enough evidence to support a charge of espionage against you both, and the fact that you are a civilian matters little in this case, Mr Duffy.’

  ‘And if we are found guilty?’ Matthew persisted. ‘What then?’

  Hirsch looked away. ‘The penalty for spying is death. But you will receive a fair hearing by authorised German officers. I have volunteered my services as your defence counsel and I promise that I will do my best to have you both acquitted.’

  ‘Can a military court try Matthew?’ Alex broke in.

  ‘Yes, in time of war it can,’ Hirsch replied. ‘I am sorry, my friends, that it has come to this, that we should be enemies.’

  ‘So am I, Dieter,’ Alex said sorrowfully. ‘Why can’t the rest of the world just leave us alone out here in the Pacific?’

  ‘I echo your sentiments, Alex,’ Hirsch said. ‘I dread the thought of Rabaul being turned into a war zone. This is a paradise – not intended to become a hell. I must go and speak with Major Pfieffer; he is arranging the military court for your trial.’

  Hirsch left the two men frowning at each other.

  ‘You realise that the Germans have enough evidence to convict us,’ Matthew said. ‘Between the security leak in Australia and the aircraft stashed at the Schumann plantation they will be able to make a case. I doubt that it will even have to be beyond a reasonable doubt.’

  ‘I know,’ Alex said, squatting in a corner of the cell. ‘If only we had got away when we could. I am sorry, Matthew, for getting you into this situation.’

  Matthew was tempted to remind his cousin that it had been his beloved Giselle who had betrayed them, but bit his tongue. He could see that Alex was on the point of despair. ‘Don’t worry, old chap,’ he said. ‘I believe that the tradition is that before we are either shot or hanged, our executioners grant us a good meal and a smoke. I could do with both right now.’