It was strange that they were going into Talang, he thought. Porcupine was the senior ship, the flagship in fact, and from what he could gather Talang was a pretty remote outpost compared with Kuantan to the north.
He frowned. It was useless to keep on thinking about Corbett’s systems and motives for anything. He thought back over the previous day, when under a blazing sun the gunboat had moved inshore and then followed the coastline, sometimes with the nearest beach less than half a cable clear. The ship’s shallow draught took a bit of getting used to. On several occasions the water had been so clear he had seen large, isolated rocks which looked as if they were lying merely inches below the surface. But the gunboat had pushed above them with complete indifference, her own stubby shadow moving along the sandy bottom to mock at his fears.
The scenery had been breathtaking. Rolling banks of green jungle, broken here and there by small clustered villages. There were craft in plenty, too. Fishing boats and sailing coasters which looked like something from another century.
It was not surprising that people failed to comprehend that other war, Trewin thought bitterly. Given time he might even begin to feel the same.
Corbett had spent most of that day on the bridge, saying very little, but apparently seeing everything that went on about him. When a watch was relieved he would make a point of glancing at the bridge clock. If there was too much noise on the main deck he would crane forward and make some crisp comment about slackness in discipline. Trewin decided that if that was the worst Corbett could do he could learn to live with it.
Routine aboard the Porcupine was formal and regular. Trewin took every available minute to familiarise himself with the ship’s company, and his good memory for faces and names was already proving useful. The petty officers seemed a very capable bunch. Most of them were a breed apart from the Navy Trewin had come to know. Old “China hands,” they showed none of the whimsical nostalgia for Chatham or Devonport, Portsmouth or Scapa, which he might have expected. Like the ship, the men who served her seemed to belong to a navy within a navy. Some of the other British ratings were already forming personality and meaning, too. They made up the bulk of the ship’s key men, gunners, communications and the like. But the Chinese seamen, or natives as Corbett chose to describe them, were still a mystery. They looked alert and happy enough, but it was impossible to know what they were thinking.
The Porcupine had originally served on the Yangtze, so it was quite likely that some of her Chinese crew had once lived in that part of the world. The homes of some of them were probably suffering the agony of Japanese occupation or worse, yet there was nothing to show either worry or apprehension on their smooth faces.
Trewin wondered how his own parents were getting on in Dorset. His father kept a small boarding house near Lyme Regis, and Trewin had often spent his summer holidays helping to run their hire boat for the benefit of the carefree visitors. Now the boarding house was used for military billets, and the beach lay enmeshed in barbed wire. It was a different world again.
Petty Officer Kane stepped up on to the gratings and held out a large mug of tea. “Char, sir.” His eyes glittered in the masthead light as he watched Trewin cradle the cup in his hands. “I expect you’re finding all this a bit strange, sir?”
Trewin smiled. “A bit, but I hope it doesn’t show too much.”
Kane relaxed slightly. He was testing the new officer. Feeling his way. “The old Porcupine seems to have taken to you, sir.” He grinned. “She can be a right little tartar when she has a mind.”
Trewin asked suddenly, “My predecessor. Where did he go?”
Kane looked away. “Lieutenant Foley. A nice gentleman he was.” He said awkwardly, “There was a spot of trouble. He ran the ship on to a sandbar off Dungun. No damage, of course, but it didn’t look too well.” He studied Trewin thoughtfully. “The admiral was aboard at the time.”
Trewin pondered on these bare details. The admiral. He had a quick picture of the headquarters with its green lawn and deserted offices.
Kane added, “The admiral is an old shipmate of the captain’s. In the thirties that was, of course.” He shrugged with the indifference of one who is not involved. “Still, you can’t always choose your mates in this regiment.”
A look-out called, “Light buoy on the port bow, sir!”
Trewin lifted his glasses and then checked the flashing light against the chart. “Very well. Report when it comes abeam.” He turned back to the tall petty officer. “Have you been aboard long?”
“Three years, sir.” He seemed to read Trewin’s thoughts. “The captain joined us early last year. We’ve been senior ship ever since.”
“I see.”
“Light abeam to port now, sir!” The look-out sounded bored.
“Very good. Starboard ten.” He listened to Jardine’s voice from the wheelhouse and peered down at the shaded compass repeater. “Steady. Steer zero one zero.”
Kane said, “You sound as if you’ve been doing it all your life, sir, if you’ll pardon the liberty.”
Trewin grimaced. “That’s how it feels, too!”
A telephone buzzed and he groped his way across the gratings. “Bridge. Officer of the watch speaking.”
Corbett’s voice scraped in his ear, distorted and edgy, as if the captain had just emerged from a deep sleep. “You just altered course!” It sounded like an accusation. “Is everything all right?”
“We’ve just passed Rompin Light Buoy, sir. We are on the new course now.” There was a long pause and he could hear Corbett’s heavy breathing.
“I see, Trewin. Very well. But watch out for other shipping, fishing boats and so on.”
Trewin waited and Corbett added sharply, “Did you hear what I said?”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Well answer, dammit! And if you’re not sure of anything, anything at all, for God’s sake call me, d’you understand?”
The phone went dead and Trewin stared at the handset for several seconds before dropping it on its hook.
Kane coughed. “He’s a light sleeper, sir.”
Trewin relit his pipe with quick, savage movements. “In the English Channel you won’t see any damn lights at all, and if you meet another ship the chances are it’ll blow the bloody guts out of you!” He sucked hard on the pipe. “Fishing boats indeed!”
Kane grinned. “I’ll be off on my rounds, sir. I’ll call the captain myself when it’s time.”
Trewin glared at the slow-moving bow-wave and felt angry with himself for his outburst. It wouldn’t help anything if Kane told his cronies that the new number one was ruffled by what the captain had said. After all, the captain, any captain, could say what the hell he liked!
Another hour went by, and the ship regained her personality from the shadows as the masts and upperworks were bathed in pale sunlight. The hands were called, and soon the calm air was filled with the mingled aromas of eggs and bacon and the sweeter, more alien smells from the Chinese galley.
Corbett appeared on the bridge, freshly shaved and dressed in crisp new whites. He checked the log and peered for several minutes at the chart. He shaded his pale eyes to stare at the haze-shrouded shoreline.
“First of December today, Trewin. It’ll be Christmas before we know it. My boy’ll like that.” He looked hard at Trewin’s unshaven face. “He’s six, you know. Got his name down for Dartmouth. A fine boy. You must meet him.” He nodded sharply. “Yes, next time we’re in harbour.”
Trewin eyed him carefully. Perhaps he had not seen Corbett through the right eyes before. He asked, “Does your wife like it out here, sir?”
Corbett stared at him as if he had uttered some terrible obscenity. “That’s none of your damn business!” He swung on his heel and almost knocked Mallory off his feet as he entered the bridge from the chartroom.
Mallory watched him go and said thickly, “I told you, didn’t I? Round the bloody twist!” He ignored Trewin’s expression and began to unroll a fresh chart.
; RIGHT ON TIME the Porcupine altered course yet again and headed towards the Talang River Inlet. From the seaward approach it was difficult to see any break at all in the long, undulating bank of green jungle which in some places appeared to come right down to the water’s edge.
Trewin stood tight against the screen as the growing sunlight glinted on a bright arrowhead of water, which even as he watched seemed to open up across the ship’s bows like a gateway. The river mouth was well hidden, and at its widest part was less than a quarter of a mile across. The northern side of the entrance was marked by a low, lopsided hill, which with the sun filtering across the water looked for all the world like a crouching beast.
Mallory was busy taking bearings, his tanned face creased with concentration as he passed one course after another, while the gunboat snaked amidst the scattered sandbars without reducing speed. It was a hazardous approach, Trewin agreed with Mallory’s earlier description. At any second he expected to feel the ship shudder helplessly across the waiting humps of pale sand, as had once happened to the luckless Foley.
But as soon as the gunboat was past the entrance the river opened up on either beam, so that the ship was dwarfed by the high banks and the rolling, impenetrable jungle beyond. At reduced speed they pushed further and further upstream until the crouching hill and the open sea were lost around several wide curves.
Mallory pushed his cap to the back of his head and joined Trewin by the screen. “It’s easy from here on, Number One. There’s a long pier around the next bend where we tie up. That’s Talang settlement. We drop a few stores and drink tea with the gentry and then go back again.” He chuckled. “A hard life.”
Trewin lifted his glasses as the Porcupine rounded the bend of the river and watched the rickety pier reaching out towards him like a gnarled finger. There was a good clearing in the jungle and several neat wooden buildings beside a rough dirt road which vanished inland into the trees. A line of brown-skinned Malays were already on the pier pointing and waving, and several more were paddling small boats out to meet the gunboat as she edged towards the rotten-looking piles.
Trewin saw Corbett gripping the edge of the screen and said sharply, “Slow ahead together.” He watched Hammond in the bows and two seamen with heaving lines. The sun lanced up from the clear water and almost blinded him as he stooped to gauge the last approach.
Corbett shouted, “Be careful, Trewin!”
“Stop together!” Trewin did not look at Corbett but watched the narrow sliver of water between the hull and the pier. “Slow astern together!”
The bows squeaked against the bunches of old motor tyres which were strung along the pier like blackened fruit, and first one then a second line snaked ashore to be seized by several chattering natives.
“Stop engines!” The telegraphs jangled and the ship shuddered comfortably as the mooring lines took the strain. Then Trewin said, “Shall I ring off main engines, sir?”
Corbett stood up and adjusted his cap. He seemed agitated and did not reply for several seconds. “Yes, yes, Trewin. Carry on.”
He walked to the rear of the bridge as the deck gave one more quiver and then fell motionless and still.
Trewin watched Corbett through narrowed eyes. If the captain was so worried about his handling of the ship on a difficult approach under entirely unfamiliar circumstances why did not he take over as most captains would have done? Trust in training was one thing. But Corbett’s attitude could have ended in real disaster.
Corbett stopped by the ladder. He appeared to have regained his composure. “Not a bad effort, Trewin. Just be careful, that is all I ask.” He glanced at Mallory searchingly. “I shall be going ashore in five minutes. Turn the hands to unloading the medical stores for the hospital.” He blinked rapidly. “There’ll be a drink at the club for anyone who needs it, I expect.” Then he was gone.
Mallory stuck his pencil in his shirt pocket and straightened his back. “Club!” he said scornfully. “Flaming hut on sticks!”
Tweedie clambered on the bridge and said harshly, “Duty watch is swaying out stores, sir. Sub-Lieutenant Hammond is O.O.D.”
Trewin picked up his cap. “Is he? I thought he was duty in Singapore, too?”
Mallory nudged him. “He was a naughty boy. Let the awnings get slack. So Father got angry with him.” He grinned unfeelingly. “Still, it’ll do him good. He’s only a kid!”
Trewin looked quickly at Tweedie. “You can carry on here then, Guns. I’ll go and stretch my legs for an hour. I’ll stand you a drink when I get back.”
Tweedie’s red face remained unsmiling. “I never drink on passage, sir.” He saluted and clumped back to the main deck.
Mallory sighed. “Lying bastard!” He followed Trewin down the ladder. “Has it in his bloody bunk just in case he has to buy someone else one!”
The two officers stepped on to the pier and pushed through the cheerful crowd of onlookers. Trewin remarked, “Quite an event it seems.” Then he asked, “Where did the captain say he was going?”
“The hospital.” Mallory gestured to the road. “It’s up there. Built for a big rubber plantation some years ago. But the place went bust and the jungle moved in again. The hospital has been kept on because of,” he tapped his nose, “the International Situation!” He quickened his pace and pointed towards the tall, ramshackle house which was indeed built on stilts. “The club!”
It was a dreary place, filled with small cane tables and battered chairs to match. The walls were open to the river and covered with mosquito netting, and the fan which churned the humid air back and forth across the threadbare carpet was hand-worked by a wizened Malay who sat on an upended beer crate as if he had been there since the place was built.
Mallory banged the zinc-topped bar. “Two beers!”
An unsmiling Malay brought the beer which looked better than it tasted.
Mallory slumped in a chair and said, “Dead as a doornail! It livens up a bit at nights though.”
“Who comes here, for God’s sake?” Trewin sipped the beer and watched two flies crawling on his knee.
Mallory shrugged. “Engineers mostly. They’re adding to a big fuel dump about a mile up the road. The Army are a bit cut off up here and will need a lot of stores if the balloon does go up.” He groaned and banged down the glass. “The Japs’d be nuts to come this way! The insects would eat ’em alive!” He saw Trewin was interested and added, “Ten miles to the north of where we’re sitting there’s a whole brigade dug in.” He grinned. “Aussies, of course! They always stick our chaps out in the bloody bush!”
Trewin considered the remark. Penned in by jungle away from the smell of the sea it was hard to picture the overall strategy which went to the defence of Malaya.
Mallory said soberly, “It’s a good spot, militarily speaking, of course. They’ve got the Pahang River to the north of them, which is better than any Maginot Line. And this little river down here to protect the flank. Next time we come this way I’ll take you up there. They’re a good lot of boys. One or two of ’em from Queensland, too.”
Two more beers were placed on the table and Mallory said gloomily, “We had the admiral aboard on the last visit. Hell, he nearly blew his top. He wanted to do a sort of grand tour, and old Corbett insisted on visiting the flaming hospital just when he was about to go inland.” He shook his head. “God, there’s no love lost between those two jokers!”
Trewin recalled Kane’s words. He said, “The captain knew the admiral before, I gather?”
“S’right. I don’t know what happened.” He shook his head. “But whatever it was has made Corbett very edgy indeed. He’s like a cat on hot bricks when the top man appears.”
“Oh there you are, sir!”
They both turned as Petty Officer Masters, the yeoman of signals, clattered across the rough flooring and handed Trewin a crumpled signal flimsy. Masters was very overweight and sweating badly. He added, “For the captain, sir. Immediate.” He peered at the bar and sniffed.
Mallor
y said, “Some sort of flap on?”
“Recall to Singapore, sir.” He sounded vague. “We are to assume state Medway.” He shrugged. “The captain’ll know, sir.”
The portly yeoman walked away and Mallory said slowly, “Hell, it looks like you may be right, Number One. State Medway is the bloody code for the squadron’s emergency!” He grabbed his cap. “I’d better go aboard and get things started. Will you tell the Old Man?”
Trewin was staring at the crumpled signal. “Yes. I’ll tell him.”
Leaving his second beer untouched Trewin walked out into the sun and along the dirt road. All at once the frustrations and disappointments of Singapore seemed unimportant and the green jungle walls were no longer inviting and tranquil. He quickened his pace, the sun fierce across his shoulders so that he almost walked right past a long, low-roofed bungalow building with a faded red cross painted on the roof.
Several Malay women were washing clothes in big enamel troughs on the hospital veranda, and there seemed to be about thirty children playing noisily in the dust below. An orderly in a white coat bobbed his head and smiled. “You wish to see doctor?”
Trewin nodded, and as he followed the little Malay into the shade of the entrance hall he saw rows of neat iron beds, mostly filled with native women and more children. In another ward he saw some tough-looking Malays bandaged and splinted, and he guessed that they were injured workers from the new fuel dump.
The orderly stopped by a door. “I go see if doctor is busy.”
At that moment there was a crash of crockery from the ward and a chorus of indignant yells. The orderly frowned. “I go there first! Someone make trouble!” He hurried off clucking his tongue angrily.
Trewin thought of the brief signal and without waiting further thrust open the door. The room was in complete darkness with the shutters drawn tightly across the windows. Trewin blinked, half blinded from the blazing sunlight outside, and in the few seconds which followed he got a vague impression of Corbett’s pale figure sitting in a chair, his head thrown right back and his eyes shining like blue stones in the beam of a small lamp which another man was holding barely inches from his face.
Pride and the Anguish Page 4