Halfhyde Outward Bound

by Philip McCutchan

  “I think I do. What are your intentions?”

  Halfhyde said, “I see a situation developing somewhat similar to a situation I’ve been faced with before. I believe I can handle it.” He paused, then asked again, “Have I your permission, sir?”

  Graves nodded and stepped away from the binnacle. Halfhyde looked around, bent to the azimuth circle and took quick bearings of all three ships. Then he passed an order to the helmsman, taking the ship a little to starboard. It was an almost imperceptible movement, but he knew it would show up in their wake. A few minutes later he altered a little more to starboard. On his port beam, the Potsdam began to follow, moving herself to starboard. As she did so, Halfhyde rang down to the engine room for reduced speed. Soon the Stuttgart on his starboard bow slowed in order to hold her position vis-à-vis the British ship. Halfhyde repeated his manoeuvre; the German slowed still more, and as she did so Halfhyde increased speed to full and ordered his wheel ten degrees to port, thus swinging his how fairly sharply over to starboard. From the Stuttgart it would have looked as though he was attempting a break-out by cutting across the cruiser’s bow. The reaction was fast: the Stuttgart swung inwards and the water boiled up below her counter as her Captain put his engines astern to take avoiding action. At the same time the Potsdam, altering to keep close to the Tacoma’s beam, came across from the British port side, just as Halfhyde swung his wheel again and passed the order to the engine room to go astern. The Tacoma began to slide out backwards, leaving the slowing Stuttgart exposed.

  Halfhyde gave a shout of laughter. He said, “Now there’s a very nice inevitability about what’s going to happen! The Germans, as always, have minds like slugs.”

  Inevitable it was: the cruisers were now too close for avoiding action to be taken in time. The Stuttgart was in the position of a sitting duck, her port side all ready to take the heavy rain on the Potsdam. There was a shattering crash, and both ships heeled violently as the ram smashed into the Stuttgart’s bow plating. Almost at once, the latter ship went down by the head, forcing down the bow of the Potsdam as well. The confusion was total; a lamp began flashing furiously from the flagship, and aboard the Stuttgart and the Potsdam the air was blue with frantic shouts from the officers and petty officers. Hands ran in all directions, and as the Tacoma, clear now of danger, put her engines ahead, the collision mats were seen to be being dragged out and manhandled for’ard with all speed.

  Graves, grinning with relief, said, “Well done indeed, Mr Halfhyde–but what now?”

  “On course for Sydney, sir—or the Aysgarth Falls as I hope.”

  “But von Merkatz—”

  “Oh, he’ll not follow—not yet at all events. He must stand by his ships in distress. Not even he would face his Emperor with less! You’ll see, sir. But that’s not to say he won’t try to pick us up again later. I suggest all possible speed short of rattling the paddles off her!”

  Graves was in full agreement. With joy in his heart, Halfhyde waved what he hoped would be a long farewell to von Merkatz who, as forecast, did not attempt to follow. Within the next hour, the German ships were out of sight, vanished beneath the eastern horizon. The seas ahead were clear, and now all attention could be turned to the finding of the Aysgarth Falls.

  Chapter 11

  WITH CAPTAIN Graves, Halfhyde examined the chart, poring over it thoughtfully. By this time they were, by Graves’ reckoning from the noon sight, a little over a thousand miles out from Arica. That left nearly eight thousand miles to cover to Sydney Heads.

  “It’s a lot of ocean,” Graves said. “Too much to hope for a sight of any individual ship. It’d be the sheerest chance if we picked her up.” He was less confident now.

  “Yet some intelligent guesses might do the trick.”

  Graves laughed and straightened from the chart-room table. “It would need an intelligence bordering on genius, Halfhyde! The vagaries of wind and sea, of individual masters even…no two masters think alike, you know, and no two masters take precisely identical tracks. Nevertheless, we’ll do our best. I don’t like to see fellow captains made into tools for evil-minded men, and this passenger of yours sounds criminal enough.” He paused. “Deserter, you said.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And diamonds. Well, now, I wonder.” Graves bent to the chart again, then pushed it aside and took another from the drawer beneath the table, the chart for the ocean approaches to the Australian coast. Frowning, he perused it for some minutes without saying anything further. Halfhyde waited. Graves ran a pencil along the New South Wales coast, and further until the tip was running up towards Queensland and the mouth of the Brisbane River, and on again, not far short of the numberless coral formations of the Great Barrier Reef. Then down again to the Brisbane River.

  He said, “We can take it for granted, I think, that McRafferty won’t be taking this man into Port Jackson—that’s to say Sydney harbour.”

  “A Sydney arrival is Captain McRafferty’s intention, sir.”

  “Perhaps, but it won’t be the passengers’. Too many nosey authorities, police, customs, immigration. I think you’ll find McRafferty will be overruled. I believe you said his First Mate—”

  “Is inclined to take charge—yes. Also that it was he who arranged the passage—”

  “Hand in glove, then, with Cantlow?”

  Halfhyde nodded. “I believe so; indeed I know that to be the case.”

  “Then the passenger will not be put ashore in Sydney and McRafferty will find he has to make the best of it. The First Mate will have the whip hand. From the sound of it, McRafferty is already too deeply in his grasp.”

  Halfhyde nodded. What Graves had said was probably true enough; by nature McRafferty was a hard and determined man, but already Halfhyde had noted those signs that Bullock had a hold over him. Moreover, McRafferty, whether or not any deviation interfered with his cargo schedule, would be bound to take what action was open to him to keep Cantlow well clear of the Australian port authorities for his own preservation; but before McRafferty was able to appreciate that, Bullock would need to reveal the truth about Sergeant Cantlow—and once that had been done, McRafferty would be one hundred per cent committed. Halfhyde asked, “Where, then, will Cantlow be landed, Captain?”

  “Ah! That’s what we have to ponder.”

  “So that we’ll be better able to assess McRafferty’s course?”

  “Well, yes, to some extent. But chiefly for another purpose, Halfhyde.” Graves tapped the chart. “I think it would be better if we could decide where a landing is most likely—and then be there ahead of the Aysgarth Falls.”

  “But we could be wildly out,” Halfhyde objected. “Then it would be too late.”

  “True. But I happen to know the Australian coast well, very well. Before I joined PSNC, I sailed in the windjammers…Iredale and Porter, out of Liverpool for South America and Australia, with many voyages along the coast between Adelaide and Brisbane. Before that, I’d spent my time wholly on the coast, as far north as Rockhampton and Cairns in Queensland. I know it as well, almost, as any aborigine knows his own part of the interior. A lot depends, of course, on how well McRafferty knows it—or his First Mate. Have you any observations on that point?”

  “None. I’ve no idea, beyond the fact they’ve both sailed to Australia for many years past.”

  Graves nodded. “I’ll assume the First Mate, whats-isname—”

  “Bullock.”

  “I’ll assume Bullock’s taken pains to find out what he didn’t already know. And if I wanted to land a man secretly along the east coast, it wouldn’t be anywhere south of Brisbane.”

  Halfhyde asked, “What about the south coast—west of Sydney?”

  Graves shook his head. “Nowhere between Sydney and the Bight—if it was me, that is. None of the coastal areas apart from the towns and settlements are exactly populous down that way, certainly, but they’re all too close to what passes for civilization in Australia and would in my view be hazardous. Queensland is differ
ent, so are Queenslanders. I’d hesitate to say they’re lawless; but they certainly don’t give a jigger for authority when authority gets uppish—if you follow. Also, Queensland does happen to hold more bad eggs than any other part. So that’s where I’d make for.”

  “Brisbane,” Halfhyde said reflectively. “It was founded as a penal settlement, wasn’t it?”

  Graves chuckled. “Yes, back in ’25. The dust hasn’t really settled yet—the feel’s still there. It’s a living illustration of what I’ve been saying, Halfhyde. Not that I’d suggest Brisbane itself. It’s a very busy port, handling meat, hides, wool, tallow and country produce for export, cereals, soft goods and hardware for import. The mail boats run a monthly steamer service to Vancouver and Sydney, and the British India boats run an intermittent service to London, via the Torres Strait. No, I wouldn’t choose Brisbane.”

  “Where, then?”

  Graves put the tip of his pencil on the chart and said, “There, See? Walsh Island, in the lee of Cape Manifold. It’s scarcely an island at all—the water’s wadeable to the mainland. And it’s very remote, totally uninhabited, yet at the same time, your passenger wouldn’t have all that far to go to reach the railway at Rockhampton. There’s only one snag, one that shouldn’t deter a good seaman too much—when the price is right!”

  Halfhyde lifted an enquiring eyebrow and Graves said, “The entry’s tricky. Dangerous, in fact—very. McRafferty would need to pass through the Barrier Reef—here, through the Gemini Channel. It’s not one of the recommended entries through the Reef, which is why I’d consider it suitable for a man who doesn’t want his arrival known.”

  Halfhyde pursed his lips. “It makes sense, sir, but it’s a long shot.”

  “Oh, certainly, I’d agree. Bullock and his friend may have totally different ideas. All I’ve tried to show you is what I would do. But I’d take any wager you like that the man will be put ashore well north of Sydney and the closer to the Barrier Reef the more likely.”

  “A large enough area! A large enough choice as well, for those who don’t see with your own eyes, sir.”

  Graves nodded. “Yes. That’s why I don’t go so far as to suggest lying off outside the Gemini Channel and waiting for the Aysgarth Falls to sail up to us. What I do suggest is this: we make all possible speed direct for the coast, and then, having overhauled McRafferty by a wide margin, we steam to and fro across the track he’ll most likely take for the whole area I’ve indicated. He’ll have to start along that track when he’s, let’s say, two hundred miles off the coast, and I fancy I can narrow him down to no more than ten to twelve miles either side of the line. Now, what do you say, Halfhyde? It’s a far better prospect—though I don’t deny the long chance—than trying to seek McRafferty out through eight thousand miles of the Pacific!”

  IN THE dark confines of the sail locker at night, Float ruminated long and hard. He’d got away with it this far; he’d even got away with the murder of the steward. That had been neat; a quick upward thrust with the knife and Goss hadn’t had time to utter a word before he died. The disposal of the body—if there was no body, murder couldn’t be proved, and Goss could be considered to have fallen overboard, perhaps—had been easy enough. Goss was a small, skinny man; and McRafferty, on the poop, had stayed right aft throughout. The slight splash, no more than always resulted from the jettisoning of the ship’s waste, had been covered by the hiss of water along the side and the rattle of blocks and other deck gear. It hadn’t been the first time a dead man had gone unnoticed over the side of a ship at sea, after all…Float didn’t rate it as anything big. Now the future loomed, and the turning of his night’s exploit to the intended advantage to himself.

  He had to find means of approaching the wealthy passenger: that was the next thing, the most important thing now. Float had no doubts in his mind that the passenger would prove amenable; he would have to be. Of course, there were dangers. Afterwards, Float would have a strong need to beat it fast. He didn’t want to die at anyone’s hands, the hangman’s or otherwise.

  Meanwhile he bided his time. No pushing things too far now. There were many days ahead; let fate decide unless it looked like taking too long. In the event, it didn’t take too long. Two more nights, and then the Aysgarth Falls met winds of gale force and the watch below, which included Float, was called out a little before midnight. McRafferty was tacking, and the hands were required constantly to man the braces and haul the heavy yards round. When the force of the gale increased, the Captain decided to take the royals and topgallants off her and Float was one of those despatched aloft to the mizzen topgallant yard. Here he suffered a misfortune, as it seemed at the time: he missed the footrope and fell, screaming in terror. Grabbing wildly for a handhold on any rope that offered itself, he contacted one, slowed his fall but ripped the skin from his palm, and came down heavily, belly first, on the cro’jack yard just as the brace was hauled round. Float was dislodged, fell again, but managed to grab the shrouds on the starboard side just in time. He had fallen head first; his head took the bulwarks, but not too hard since his fall was to some extent broken by his grip on the shrouds, but enough to cause him to lose consciousness and drop, luckily inboard of the bulwarks, to the deck of the poop.

  McRafferty dragged him to his feet. The head lolled, but McRafferty didn’t think the neck was broken. Cursing, McRafferty opened up the door at the head of the saloon ladder and bawled for his daughter. “Float’s injured,” he shouted. “You’ll not come up for him yourself, girl, but I have no hands to spare. Send Mr Jesson up. It’s time the man had something to do—tell him it’s an order, and he’s to waste no time.”

  FLOAT WAS not badly hurt; he was soon conscious again, left with a nasty headache, and the Captain’s daughter soothing it with cold water and a sponge. She smiled at him; he gave her a grin and a wink. He’d never been so close to her before. Someone saw the wink: Jesson. Float became aware of him standing by the table.

  “That’s enough,” Jesson said. There was a smell of whisky, but Jesson, drunk or sober, was evidently the watchdog. Of course, the Old Man wouldn’t risk his daughter alone with a murderer…Float said, “Didn’t do nothing, mister.”

  “Keep it that way, then. You’re scum. The lady’s not to be insulted.”

  The voice held authority, truculent authority, bullying, Float kept silent; then, as he began to feel better, he realized he had a kind of opportunity, one that had been handed to him on a plate, one that might never occur again. It was better to use it rather than have to force the issue later on when it might not be so easy. He thought for a while longer with his eyes shut; then he opened them, stared at the girl, and said, “Diamonds.”

  He could almost feel the tension coming from Jesson. The passenger moved towards him, face suddenly white behind the beard. “What was that you said?” he asked roughly.

  “Diamonds, mister.”

  “Why, you—”

  “Eyes,” Float said dreamily, staring at Jesson. “Miss McRafferty’s eyes, like diamonds, shining in the light. Isn’t that right, mister? Diamonds, worth a mint o’ money. A real mint.”

  “Shut your mouth,” Jesson snapped. There were red patches on his cheekbones now, just above the beard’s growth. For a moment he stood in silence; the ship creaked and groaned around them, the decks canted sharply, the howl of the wind audible beyond the closed hatch and skylight. Jesson’s mind had got there fast: Float, having just been warned not to get familiar with the Captain’s daughter, would be unlikely to pay such compliments about eyes in Jesson’s presence. Jesson had never had any reason to doubt his sergeant’s ability to instil fear or to see to it that no order was disobeyed. Staring down at Float on the settee, he turned abruptly to the girl. He said, “Leave us, Miss McRafferty.”

  “He’s still in need of attention,” she said.

  “He’s a murderer. He’s wandering in the head—he may be dangerous, and I stand in for your father. Leave us.”

  “Very well,” she said quietly and went ou
t of the saloon door. Jesson padded across after her and stood for a moment listening. When he heard her cabin door shut, he came back to Float. He said in a low voice, “So it was you after all. You pried into my baggage. I thought as much, you dirty little scum.”

  “Hard words break no bones, mister.”

  “I wouldn’t bank on not getting more than bloody words, Float.” Jesson breathed heavily, his hands clenching and unclenching. “So it was you that killed Goss. You’ll swing for that the moment I report to the Captain.”

  “You’ll report to no one,” Float said insolently, “and me, I’m going to swing anyway, so it makes no difference, does it? But it’s the swinging I mean to avoid, mister, see?”

  “You—”

  “I opened one o’ your cases,” Float said. “Diamonds…talk about a bloody fortune, talk about fleshpots o’ the East an’ all that! Too much for one man, mister. Me, I got nothing.”

  Jesson took another pace towards him, his face contorted, Float held up a hand and rose to a sitting position. “Watch it, mister,” he said. “One touch and I’ll yell for the girl and the Old Man. I’ll tell ’em what you’ve got in your cabin, in them lovely cases. And then McRafferty, ’e’ll tell the peelers in Sydney, McRafferty won’t go much on it. McRafferty’s straight, so I ’eard back in the Pool. I’m not, that’s why they warned me.” Float gave a cackle of laughter. “Don’t you try nothing, mister, I bin done for GBH I ’ave and I’ll bloody mince you up.”

  He produced his knife and held the blade towards Jesson, his eyes narrowed, as watchful as a rat.

  “What do you want?’ Jesson asked furiously. “How much?”

  Float said, “That’s not the main point. Maybe enough to help me on my way after—”

  “You’re not going anywhere, Float. Just to the gallows in Sydney, no further.”

  Float grinned. “That’s just the bloody point,” he said. “I’m not going to Sydney. I reckon you’re not either—too many peelers an’ that, too many questions. And I’m coming with you, see? Up to you to fix it with the Old Man. If you don’t, then I opens me mouth like I said. Best see sense if you want all them diamonds to stay with you. And not go inside for hard labour the rest o’ your life. Or swing yourself, maybe, but only you know about that.”