Halfhyde Outward Bound

by Philip McCutchan

  “Little enough and don’t want to learn more. Stuffed shirts, full o’ bloody bull.”

  “And dangerous to murderers, Float. Bear in mind that I was present when that man was knifed—”

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  “I say you did, Float.” Halfhyde’s voice was harsh, overbearing, and the look in his eyes matched his tone. “Now I’ll tell you something else,” he went on, tongue in cheek. “The Captain of any of the Queen’s ships has full authority to carry out the death sentence summarily if he believes it to be in the best interest of the service. Did you know that, Float?”

  Float’s eyes were wide, scared now. “No. I reckon that only applies to mutiny.”

  “Then where I am concerned you reckon wrong. A word to the Master and I shall have you hoist to the fore royal yardarm with a slack rope about your neck and a long drop to follow. Think about that, Float. I give you ten minutes.”

  Halfhyde turned and stalked from the cabin. Climbing to the Master’s deck, he found Captain Graves pacing up and down. Graves halted. “Well, Halfhyde?”

  Halfhyde grinned. “A little softening-up, sir. I believe it will work.” He told Graves what he had said to Float. “He may or may not believe my terrible exaggerations of a Captain’s powers, but something tells me he believes that I personally am capable of anything—and he’ll shrink from taking the risk!”

  Chapter 13

  FLOAT, THE hands said, had got no more than he deserved. The feeling in the ship was lighter now; no one had liked a murderer aboard, a man destined only for the gallows. Better, as old Finney said, to let the sharks have him and put a quick end to it.

  “They tears good,” he said to Althwaite. “All them teeth. Mate o’ yours, though…maybe I should ’old me tongue, eh.”

  “No partic’ler mate,” Althwaite said. He was avoiding the taint: questions would be asked in Sydney about the disappearance of the steward and they might, just might, be directed towards any known friends of Float’s if any suspicions were cast towards the man presumed drowned. “We just come aboard together in the Pool, that’s all. Chance, like.”

  Finney said nothing further, just got on with his dinner: cracker hash, a foul enough mess but it stayed the hunger pangs with its crushed ship’s biscuits, weevil-free with any luck, and its stewed bully beef. In the saloon, Bullock sat and ate the better fare of the afterguard along with the passenger and Miss McRafferty. Jesson kept eyeing the girl; he’d been at the bottle as usual, Bullock knew, maybe a little more than usual. Bullock hoped he would contain his nature and wait till he found an Abo woman on the coast. There wasn’t all that long to go now, and they didn’t want any trouble on the last stretch. But Jesson would know that too; there was far too much at stake. As the meal drew to an end, attended by the cook acting as a makeshift steward, Fiona McRafferty, self-effacing as ever, excused herself and went to her cabin.

  Jesson gave a belch. “Pardon me. I held it in while the girl was here…always the gentleman. Right, Bullock?”

  Bullock nodded.

  Jesson fixed the cook with his eye. “You. Get out.”

  “That,” the cook said, “is not the way a gentleman gives ’is orders. Not that you give orders to—”

  Bullock interrupted. “All right, Slushy. I’ll give the orders instead. Back to the galley.” As the cook went out of the saloon looking murderous, Bullock looked at Jesson. “Careful,” he said. “Don’t let the booze take charge. You’re not in the clear yet, you know. It’s still all up to McRafferty.”

  “Talking of McRafferty…have you told him where I want to be put ashore?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s agreed?”

  “Yes. He doesn’t like it. That’s why I’m urging caution. He could change his mind. Put a foot wrong and he will.”

  “Meaning?”

  Bullock said, “I saw the way you were looking at the girl—”

  “That’s my business, Bullock.”

  “Mine, too. I got you the passage…as you’ve reminded me more than once already. We’re in this together, anyway till you’re off the ship. And my advice is, lay off the girl.”

  Jesson smiled nastily. “Thank you for your advice, Bullock, but I don’t need it. In fact, I bloody well object to it.” He lifted a bunched fist and brought it down on the table, hard. “From now on, keep your advice to yourself, do you understand?”

  “It’s only in your own interest. You’re a rich man, once you’ve landed all that stuff.” Bullock jerked a hand in the direction of Jesson’s cabin. “All the women you want, they’ll be yours for the asking. Don’t throw it all away. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Bullock got to his feet, picked up his peaked cap from the settee, and left the saloon. He went to his cabin for a couple of hours’ sleep before taking over the watch from McRafferty. He found sleep didn’t come easily; there was too much on his mind. All those diamonds…Float back there eastwards, disseminated into many sharks’ stomachs. He’d got clean away with that, no questions asked thanks to the parting stuns’l halliard. Then there was Halfhyde, who could now be presumed dead thanks to the clearing house in Iquique. No one could ever fix that on him, that was sure. Halfhyde and his perishing Queen’s ships…he would never come between him and his handout from Sergeant Cantlow, the handout that even McRafferty was in blissful ignorance of.

  Sleep at last drifted down on Bullock’s eyelids, and they closed. He came awake again on the instant as a girl’s scream tore through the bulkhead of his cabin.

  ABOARD THE Tacoma, which was gradually overhauling the windjammer but passing well north of the latter’s course, Float had suffered torment. He had taken his allowed ten minutes and then Halfhyde had come for him, together with four seamen, one of whom carried a length of rope over his shoulder. Halfhyde stood in the doorway, looking down at Float.

  “Well?”

  “Sod you,” Float said viciously. He stared at a blue-covered book in Halfhyde’s hand. “What’s that you got there, then?”

  The book’s title could not be seen by Float: it was, in fact, the Admiralty Sailing Directions for the north-east coast of Australia. Halfhyde said coldly, “The Articles of War, Float.”

  “What’s them?”

  “A summary of crimes committed aboard Her Majesty’s ships—and their punishments. It’s the custom to read them to the defaulter before the death sentence is carried out.”

  Float’s face was as white as a sheet now. “Sod you,” he said again through clenched teeth. “You won’t do it!”

  Halfhyde didn’t argue further. He moved from the cabin doorway and the seamen came in. Their faces were set, as white as Float’s. Float looked at them in mounting fear: they, at any rate, looked convinced. Looked as if they didn’t like what they were going to have to see. Float shook, had to be dragged to his feet. His unshaven cheeks were a dirty grey now, rather than white. He was taken up on deck, and the procession made its way for’ard. Float hung back at the foremast shrouds. He looked up; it was a long, long way to the royal yard. A long drop.

  “Climb,” Halfhyde said, “or you’ll be flogged up. With a cat o’nine tails, Float. I shall send for it if necessary.”

  Float gave a whimper and climbed. He was shaking so badly that he had to use the lubber’s hole rather than scale the futtock shrouds to the foretop. There was a formal grimness about Halfhyde that was terrifying, and belief was fast settling into Float’s mind. He clung on, stuck fast, feeling faint.

  “Climb,” Halfhyde said behind him.

  Float climbed on again. He was halted at the heel of the royal mast, and the noose was placed about his neck; he felt the bulk of the hangman’s knot as it fell against his chest.

  “Climb,” Halfhyde said grimly. “Not far now, Float.”

  Float reached the royal yard and clung desperately to the narrow mast.

  “Out along the yard to starboard.”

  Float whimpered and looked down. He met Halfhyde’s eye, saw the men below him. Tears streamed
down his face. He said, “God, you bloody mean it! You bloody mean it, don’t you!” He clung to the mast’s safety, grovelling now. “Christ, take me down, I’ll tell you what I know, just take me down!”

  GRAVES LOOKED at Halfhyde in some awe; the face was still formidable. Graves asked, “Tell me, Halfhyde: would you have done it?”

  Halfhyde laughed. “Not unless I’d wished for a court-martial, to which even a half-pay officer is still liable! That’s the truth of it—now. Up to the time he broke, I meant it. I had to mean it in order to convince.” He shrugged. “If it had come to the point…I wonder!”

  “I think you may have been in danger of convincing yourself and could not have drawn back in time.” Graves was himself in a sweat of relief; as Master, he had been in some danger himself and wondered now if he would have stopped the terrible charade in time by a shout aloft. He mopped at his face. “However, it appears to have worked, I gather. Where’s the landing place to be?”

  Halfhyde said, “A look at the chart, sir, if you please.”

  “Of course. Was I right?”

  “Not entirely, sir. Cantlow’s bound for Queensland, but not as far north as the Gemini Channel.” Halfhyde smiled as he followed Graves to the chart-room. “As it is, we have the landfall very precisely now.”

  BULLOCK CAME out of both his bunk and his cabin at the rate of knots. The scream had been desperate, terrified. It was no alarm resulting from an encounter with a ship’s rat, a tailed and four-footed one…Bullock was in time to see the passenger running from the girl’s cabin, his clothing awry. At the same time McRafferty came down the ladder from the poop, his face furious in the light of the lantern coming from the open saloon door.

  “What’s all this, Mr Bullock?” Then McRafferty saw Jesson. Nothing more needed to be said. The clothing told its own story. “Go to my daughter, Mr Bullock, see that she’s cared for. I’ll be in directly.”

  “Sir, I—”

  “Do as you’re told, Mr Bullock, and don’t delay. I shall see to this man.”

  Bullock pushed past. McRafferty and the passenger faced each other. Both were breathing heavily. McRafferty said, “You will stay where you are, and wait.” He turned towards his cabin but was halted by Jesson’s harsh voice.

  “She wanted it, you fool. You can’t keep a young girl in purdah like the—”

  “Shut your mouth!” McRafferty’s face suffused with blood, and he took a pace forward. “You—scum! You filthy scum, to say a thing like that.” Once again he turned away for his cabin, moving fast. Jesson followed, a little unsteady on his feet, banging into the alleyway bulkheads on either side as he went. As he reached the Master’s cabin door, he had his revolver in his hand. Hearing his entry, McRafferty swung round, bringing something from his safe: his own revolver, as carried by all shipmasters at sea for the ultimate preservation of discipline and authority. He saw the revolver in Jesson’s hand and fired on the instant, taking the passenger before he could react. The bullet smacked into the heavy metal of the revolver, tearing it from Jesson’s hand. Jesson stared at pouring blood, then looked up at McRafferty. “All right,” he said softly. “You’ve asked for it. Now you’re going to get it.”

  He advanced into the cabin, disregarding the gun in the Captain’s hand. McRafferty took aim. At that moment Bullock came into the cabin, took it all in, and grabbed Jesson round the body, pinioning his arms. He spoke to McRafferty. “It’s all right. She’s fine. Nothing happened.” He lurched about as Jesson struggled in his arms. “She got the best of it. Let’s just leave it be. There’s been enough men lost for one reason or another.”

  McRafferty stared back at Bullock and Jesson. In a tired voice he said, “All right, Mr Bullock.” He laid the revolver aside, then walked up to Jesson. Lifting a fist, he hit with all his strength at Jesson’s jaw. The head sagged and blood ran down the face. Breathing hard, McRafferty said, “Put him in his bunk, Mr Bullock, and leave him to sober up. From now, there will be no more drinking—it is to be locked in my cabin. And we keep our course for Sydney after all.” He bent and picked up Jesson’s revolver. “I shall take charge of this.”

  NEXT MORNING Halfhyde aboard the Tacoma was woken soon after the dawn had come up: a messenger sent down from the bridge was shaking him. The Officer of the Watch had sighted smoke on the horizon to the north-east. The smoke had grown slowly, and then the vessel herself had come partially into view and had been identified from her fighting tops as a warship.

  Halfhyde tumbled out of bed and went fast to the bridge, where Captain Graves had also arrived. Graves said, “She could be German. A German cruiser—there’s a too familiar look, though not much is visible yet.”

  “Not von Merkatz again!”

  “It’s possible. You said he was persistent.”

  “Then I was guilty of an understatement, sir. The man’s obsessed.”

  Graves laughed. “You did him some further damage, don’t forget! No doubt that alone has redoubled his feelings of revenge.”

  Halfhyde was looking through a telescope. “It’s him right enough,” he said after a while. “Presumably he’s felt able to leave his squadron to their own devices after all. The damage may not have been extensive.”

  “And us?”

  Halfhyde said, “As before, sir. All possible speed—and hope to cross into Australian territorial waters before von Merkatz reaches us!”

  “Well,” Graves said, “let’s hope your White Ensign can still hold his guns off, for he’ll be within range in an hour or two’s time.”

  Halfhyde snapped his telescope shut, broodingly. He paced the bridge, backwards and forwards, his long jaw thrust out at a pugnacious angle. Von Merkatz looked as though he had the bit between his teeth and would not be deflected. Capture loomed. And what about McRafferty? Angrily Halfhyde wondered why he had bothered: let McRafferty stew! It was his own fault, as Graves had said. Yet Halfhyde knew he was unable to stand aside; there was always the nag of loyalty, a loyalty that he had felt even for the outrageous Captain Watkiss, RN. Watkiss, to whom all persons had been fools and idiots but who was the biggest bouncing fool of them all with his bombastic approach, his hidebound view of foreigners, his monocle, his large stomach and his short legs that on foreign service had been customarily encased in the longest white shorts that Halfhyde had ever seen; Watkiss, whose only reading matter apart from the seniorities in the Navy List had been Burke’s Peerage and Landed Gentry—and woe betide an officer who was not included in one or other of them…if Halfhyde could be loyal to Captain Watkiss, then Captain McRafferty whose ship was his whole life had every possible claim.

  Halfhyde remained on the bridge, handy in case anything should happen. After an hour’s steaming, von Merkatz had come no closer. It seemed he was simply shadowing. Halfhyde wondered what his purpose might be if that was the case. At the very least it seemed to indicate that von Merkatz was not going to be deterred by any consideration for the niceties of anyone’s territorial waters. And he was going to be an infernal nuisance to say the least if he was still there when the clash came with Bullock and Sergeant Cantlow.

  There seemed little prospect of deflecting him now. Even if the weather closed in…if it did that, then von Merkatz would close in too.

  Chapter 14

  MCRAFFERTY WAS adamant that the passenger would be landed nowhere else but in Sydney.

  “You’re already involved,” Bullock pointed out angrily. “It’s in your own interest, Captain, to avoid the law.”

  McRafferty shrugged. “As to that, I must take what comes. I shall not become deeper involved, Mr Bullock, and Jesson must take it or leave it. If he cares to go overboard when we close the coast and take his chance against the sharks, then he’s welcome to do so and good riddance to him! I wouldn’t see him go, and I wouldn’t make any report to the authorities in Australia of my suspicions. But I would report that I had had a passenger who appeared to have fallen over the side. After that, they could make what they liked of it.”

  Bull
ock looked shrewdly at McRafferty. “Jesson’s a rich man. He’d be prepared to increase the passage money.”

  “From shady sources of income. Do you happen to know anything more precise about those sources, Mr Bullock?”

  “I told you,” Bullock said truculently, “I don’t know any more than you do now.” The diamonds had not been mentioned to McRafferty; according to Bullock’s story Jesson had simply had some unknown contretemps with the law in a South American state and had needed an urgent passage out of Chile. Bullock had only been the go-between, and he hadn’t questioned Jesson too far: his money was good and it had been in cash. Bullock said, “Of course, he’s in your hands…I’ve no doubt I can put the squeeze on. After all, he’s there to be milked.”

  McRafferty said, “I’ll not help any further, Mr Bullock, after what happened. The man’s nothing but a rogue and I’d be glad enough to see him behind bars.”

  “But your involvement—”

  “I have said my last word on the matter, Mr Bullock, and our course is for Sydney Heads. As to my involvement, I may decide to meet any difficulty by ensuring that the man’s handed over to the authorities.” McRafferty turned away; the conversation had been held at the fore rail of the poop, out of earshot of the helmsman. McRafferty went aft, hands behind his back and his face formidable. Bullock stared after him with a grim expression, then moved away for’ard and began shouting at the hands to ease his temper and his frustrations. Something would have to be done, but what? Maybe Jesson would have some ideas on the point.

  VON MERKATZ remained at his chosen distance behind the Tacoma, not closing, not falling back. As the days passed towards the Australian landfall, he was ever there, their constant companion. There was no exchange of signals between the ships; they might have been total strangers, merely following the same course. Halfhyde lifted a telescope towards the German cruiser, as though even a distant sight of the ship could give him some clue as to what von Merkatz intended to do. The German would face any amount of difficulties if he continued the chase, not least among them a need to watch his bunkers. Coal didn’t last for ever; and it might be possible, if the naval authorities at Garden Island in Port Jackson could be contacted and told a thing or two, for bunkering facilities to be refused in all Australian ports. Then von Merkatz would be in a nasty jam, with much to explain away to the German naval command in Kiel. And what, in all conscience, could he hope to do about achieving his objective of getting Halfhyde aboard his ship? Most certainly the Australian authorities would not connive at that, and once the Tacoma was in port…on the other hand, if the coast of Queensland offered anonymity to McRafferty’s passenger and his haul of diamonds, then it also offered a high degree of opportunity to von Merkatz in regard to his own quarry.