Halfhyde Outward Bound

by Philip McCutchan

  Halfhyde lowered the telescope, snapped it shut and turned to Graves. He said, “I believe you may be standing into danger, sir.”

  Graves cocked an eye at him. “You don’t mean navigationally, of course.”

  “Yes.” Halfhyde put forward his anxieties about the area of the Brisbane River and the southern fringes of the Great Barrier Reef. “I would put nothing past Admiral von Merkatz—that’s where the danger lies. If it suits his purpose, he’ll not hesitate to put your ship in hazard off the Reef.”

  Graves laughed. He said in mock reproof, “You, of course, never once thought of doing the same thing to his ships!”

  “Touché!” Halfhyde returned the smile. “But at least I’m British!” he added, tongue in cheek.

  “A somewhat chauvinistic sentiment, surely?”

  “Yes. It’s a legacy from one Captain Watkiss under whom I served on a number of different occasions. Captain Watkiss was a very patriotic officer, one who often expressed his view that it was unfortunate that foreigners couldn’t all be British. I confess I often found myself appreciating his point.”

  BULLOCK HAD had a word with Jesson. Jesson was not going to be taken to Sydney; he was putting his head into no noose. “Try McRafferty again,” he said. “I’m willing to pay more.”

  “I’ve told him that. It’s no use. He’s made up his mind and that’s that. There’s no one more obstinate than McRafferty when he wants to be.”

  “Right, then,” Jesson said harshly. “There’s only one thing we can do, isn’t there?”

  Bullock looked at him narrowly. “What’s that?”

  “You take the ship north for Queensland.”

  “How?”

  Jesson snapped, “By taking over command.”

  “I can’t do that!”

  “You can if I say so,” Jesson said.

  “Only by using force on McRafferty. And once I do that, I’d never get another berth. No, you can count me out.” Bullock spoke with determination. “I’m not taking part in anything that involves actual force, so help me God! You’ll have to think of another way.”

  Jesson sneered. “You’re yellow, Bullock.”

  “Just prudent. You’re not paying enough to keep me the rest of my life, you know.”

  “Why not come in with me, leave the sea?”

  Bullock shook his head. “You’d not stick to that sort of bargain once we were ashore. I’m no use to you after that and I know it. So do you. Anyway, without McRafferty we might never make it. They’re tricky waters off the Barrier Reef.”

  “Lost your self-confidence, Bullock?”

  Bullock shook his head. “It’s not that. It’s that you need more than just one man who knows what he’s about, aboard any ship, anywhere, let alone off the Reef. McRafferty’s needed and you’d best not forget that. To put it at its simplest…we’ve a while yet to go, and I can’t do watch on, stop on all that time and still be wide awake when it comes to a difficult job of navigation and ship handling.”

  Jesson nodded, slowly and thoughtfully. “That makes sense, I suppose. Well, there’s got to be another way, that’s all. And there is. And this time I don’t want any of your damned objections, Bullock. Because if you don’t go along with me, I just might decide that I can’t stand the sight of you any longer.” He reached into a pocket and brought out a revolver. “McRafferty doesn’t know I carried two guns, Bullock. I’ll use this the moment I see the need. Now, just you listen to me.”

  THERE WAS no knock at the door of the girl’s cabin: a man entered, grinning, with a revolver aimed and Fiona McRafferty gave a sharp cry.

  “Keep your mouth shut,” Jesson said in a low voice. He was across the cabin in an instant and had pressed a hand over the girl’s lips, tightly. With his free hand, he pushed the snout of the revolver into her side. “One sound and I’ll shoot. Then I’ll shoot your father when he comes down from the poop.” He paused. “I hope you’ve got that, Miss McRafferty, because I’m going to let go of you now and by God, if you don’t do as I said and keep quiet, you’ll make the last sound you’ll ever make. Understood?”

  She nodded. Jesson let go, then indicated the bunk. “Lie down on it,” he said. She did so. From beneath his jacket Jesson produced five lengths of codline, thin but strong. Looping a length round ankles and wrists, he tied the girl down to the bunk; the fifth length went round her mouth and a twisted curtain that Jesson had removed from his cabin port. It made an effective gag. This done, Jesson stood back. He said, “Just behave, that’s all, and you’ll be all right.” She stared up at him, and he laughed at the fear in her eyes. “Don’t worry…I won’t be having the opportunity for what you’re thinking, Miss McRafferty. There’s other business afoot for now, and I’ll not be taking any chances. If you’re worried about your father, well, he’ll be all right too, so long as he does what Bullock tells him.”

  Jesson sat down, on a chair near the bunk. He kept the revolver in his hand. He waited. Up top on the poop, by the fore rail, Bullock was talking to McRafferty in a quiet but threatening voice. McRafferty, finding difficulty in believing his ears, nevertheless held himself in check. Bullock was convincing. And what Bullock said had struck at the very roots of his being. Everything he possessed was under threat. Bullock said that if he uttered a word out of place to the crew, or if the crew got wind of the facts and acted in a way Jesson didn’t like, or if McRafferty didn’t take the Aysgarth Falls up towards the Barrier Reef…if he didn’t act naturally as a shipmaster in full command…then his daughter would suffer. So would his ship, his home. It would be the easiest thing in the world to pile her up along the Reef, with Jesson already away in one of the ship’s boats, and let her smash to matchwood in the seas that would pour across the coral in the first bit of bad weather to hit the Queensland coast. It had, Bullock said, to be a case of best foot foremost, all the rest of the way.

  “You’re scum, like Jesson, Bullock.”

  “I have to think of myself, Captain.”

  “What do you get out of it?” McRafferty asked bitterly. “Beyond a bullet in the back the moment you’re ashore with Jesson?”

  “I shan’t go with him,” Bullock said.

  “Because you know the risks. What about me? Do I land Jesson and then sail on for Sydney as though nothing had happened? Do I let you get away with it, or do I turn you in the moment we make the berth at Sydney? Do you see no risk in that…or do you intend to kill me once your filthy business with Jesson is finished?”

  Bullock didn’t answer directly. He said, “Just do as you’re told. Do that, and no one’s going to get hurt. You won’t make matters better for yourself by doing anything that Jesson doesn’t like. One more thing: when you go below, keep clear of your daughter’s cabin. And I want the key of your safe—I’ll come down with you.”

  “You mean you want my revolver.”

  “Yes,” Bullock answered. With McRafferty he walked aft for the saloon hatch. McRafferty seethed but knew when he was beaten; his daughter couldn’t be put at any further risk. Nor could his ship. There was nothing at all that he could do. After handing his revolver to Bullock, he went back to the poop, doing his best to appear normal in the view of the helmsman and the fo’c’sle hands working about the deck. He paced, long training and his seaman’s instinct ensuring that he kept a sharp eye on the set of the sails and the proper handling of the wheel. As he paced, he tried to make some assessment of the fo’c’sle crowd, tried to see which way they would go if they got the word that the Master was no longer in control of the ship. If he could have trusted them, he might well have mustered help. A rush below could possibly catch Jesson out in time for Fiona to be saved from harm; on the other hand, the ladder and the alleyway were narrow and the men wouldn’t be able to advance on a broad front, no hope of surrounding Jesson. In any case, old Finney apart, the trusted men were gone: the bosun, the carpenter, the steward, Halfhyde. As for the rest, they were a ragbag, some of whom had sailed with him before, some of whom had not. Of those who had
not he knew little beyond their seamanship abilities or lack of them as revealed on passage from the Mersey. But McRafferty knew seamen, as such, well enough: apart from a few solid hands whose honesty and integrity shone from their faces, the men who sailed before the mast would take any chance to do down an owner so long as it looked profitable to themselves; and were always basically against authority in the shape of the afterguard. When it came to the point they might turn to Jesson—certainly would if the man shared his spoils with them.

  But Jesson wouldn’t want to do that. Wouldn’t want them to know too much of his business.

  McRafferty’s only hope, as he saw it, lay in that.

  Broodingly, he paced on. In due course Bullock came up to take over the watch, and McRafferty went below to the saloon. Meaning to break his own rule of abstinence at sea, he took a key from his pocket and approached the locked cupboard containing the Dunville’s whisky. He found the lock broken and the whisky gone: Jesson had been there before him.

  McRafferty’s fears for his daughter mounted. He remained wakeful in the saloon, dreading to hear a cry from the girl’s cabin. He heard nothing and found the total lack of sound as unnerving as a cry would have been. After half an hour he could stand his inactivity no longer. He got to his feet and went through the door of the saloon, into the alleyway, moving softly towards Fiona’s cabin. Still no sound. McRafferty reached out for the door handle and very slowly turned it. He pushed. The door didn’t move. Of course, Jesson had locked himself in, that was to be expected. But locks could be broken by the impact of a heavy shoulder. McRafferty hesitated; one blow might not do it, and before he could smash the door open his daughter might suffer.

  Looking defeated, he turned away. Then he heard the door come open behind him, and he turned back. He stared into the muzzle of Jesson’s revolver. Jesson was grinning like a devil. “You move about like a rhinoceros, Captain. Try the handle again and you know very well what’ll happen. Now vamoose before the girl gets it.”

  DURING THE next few days, the Aysgarth Falls met adverse winds; all hands were kept busy on deck and on the footropes, and progress through the water was slow. By now McRafferty, in obedience to Jesson’s wishes, was bringing his ship up northerly to make the new landfall between the Barrier Reef and the mouth of the Brisbane River. The windjammer’s slowed progress was allowing Halfhyde aboard the Tacoma to steam well ahead, and by the time fifteen days had passed since the renewed sighting of von Merkatz, the steamer had raised the Queensland coast ahead, with the Brisbane River and its busy shipping routes well to the south.

  When the report was sung out by the masthead lookout Graves and Halfhyde were on the bridge. Both looked ahead through telescopes; it was a while before the coast came into view from their lower level; and shortly after it had done so, Graves said, “That’s it.” He waved a hand towards the starboard bow as he lowered his telescope. “Do you see it, Halfhyde?”

  “See what in particular, sir?”

  “Breakup Island.”

  Halfhyde took a long look; the forebodingly named Breakup Island had been the place reported by Float as Jesson’s disembarkation point. The landfall had been a splendid one. Graves had once again brought up his telescope. “No sign of the windjammer, Halfhyde. She must be astern of us, as I expected.”

  “Yes. The auguries seem a shade better!”

  Graves nodded. “So long as our presence doesn’t drive McRafferty away when he gets here.”

  “We shall give chase, sir. And no one aboard the Aysgarth Falls will be expecting me to be aboard, with full knowledge of Jesson—nor will they suspect the presence aboard us of the good Float.”

  “True enough, but what about von Merkatz?”

  Halfhyde swore. The German was still in attendance, still keeping his station as the Tacoma made in towards the distant coastline. “As ever, the Hun fly in the British ointment—but one that has to be accepted.”

  “What do you propose to do about him?” Graves asked again.

  Halfhyde gave a short, hard laugh. “At this moment, I have no idea. I suggest a masterly inactivity in regard to von Merkatz until such time as I’m struck by a stratagem.”

  Graves said, “Somehow I doubt if he’ll be prepared to be disregarded. I think we’d do well to enter Australian territorial waters, Halfhyde. The protection may be slight enough, but it’s all we can do.”

  Halfhyde nodded thoughtfully. “It’s a desolate coast. No one to witness anything.”

  “Which is why your passenger chose it.”

  “Yes, indeed! It’s admirably suited to von Merkatz’ purposes of attempting to remove me—”

  “You think he’ll really do that?”

  “I’m certain he will, sir, and we shall need to take evasive action, with your permission. If he opens fire, I shall quit your ship—but I’m hopeful he won’t do that at any rate, once we enter Australian waters.” Halfhyde paused. “Suppose, then, we run for Breakup Island, so as to be on station when the Aysgarth Falls makes her landfall—and that we remain hidden from her around the inshore side, and chance what von Merkatz may do? A look at the chart—”

  “Shallow water on that side—”

  “Exactly, sir. Enough for us, not enough for von Merkatz and his heavy cruiser. Shall we proceed inwards, sir?”

  Graves said, “I’m agreeable to that—but what about the man Jesson? When he sees a man-o’-war laying off—”

  “I’ve given that some thought too. But I think we must regard first things first, and see to our own temporary security—Captain McRafferty may be days astern of us yet for all we know. In the meantime, something may occur to help us, though I’m far from hopeful of that.”

  They watched out ahead as the Tacoma approached the coast. There was a strong on-shore wind from the east now; soon they could see the long rollers pounding the coastline, raising a heavy spray; and soon after that, they were able to hear, distantly, the booming roar of the rushing waves as they washed the lonely beaches. Behind them von Merkatz steamed on with his great turreted batteries. Halfhyde paced the Tacoma’s bridge, frowning, cudgelling his brains. Von Merkatz, thwarted by the lack of depth to take his ship close to Breakup Island, might well decide to put a landing party ashore to prevent Halfhyde’s escape to the mainland, or he might make another and easier attempt to board the Tacoma. In either event, the British seamen, unarmed but for the Master’s revolver in his cabin, would be unable to fight back against a naval guard armed with rifles and bayonets.

  Halfhyde’s face was glum as the Tacoma moved on and Graves pointed her bows towards a narrow channel that led through dangerous shoals to Breakup Island, a grim-looking place in its own right, desolate, barren, uninhabited, with some rising ground in rear that had a look as though in time it was going to be washed clean away by the action of the waves.

  AS NIGHT came down the steamer was hove-to, hidden away behind the lee of Breakup Island and Halfhyde reckoned she would be invisible from the Aysgarth Falls when the windjammer made her arrival. But the worries had by no means lessened. At any moment German attack might come if von Merkatz decided to risk entry. Even if it did not, the point made earlier by Captain Graves was a very valid one: when Jesson saw the warship, he would insist that McRafferty turned away seawards again. If the windjammer was sighted in time from the Tacoma’s lookout now stationed at a vantage point on the island’s high ground, Halfhyde could follow out to sea and make contact. But to leave Breakup Island, the Tacoma would have to steam slap into von Merkatz. It was anyone’s guess as to what might then happen.

  “Win, or lose it all,” Halfhyde murmured.

  “What’s that?”

  “Mere reflections of a harassed mind, sir. The only way to success now is to get rid of von Merkatz and his confounded cruiser. And I believe I’m beginning to see daylight. The risks will be great, I don’t deny—and it’s unfair to ask for your assistance. There will be no hard feelings on my part if you don’t wish to risk your ship.”

  “What have yo
u in mind?” Graves asked.

  Halfhyde laid a hand on his shoulder. “The chart, sir. Let us take a close look at the chart and the Admiralty “Pilot.” I noticed that there is another entry channel to Breakup Island, and another entry means another exit at the same time.”

  Graves blew out his cheeks. “Good God! Are you referring to Disaster Passage by any chance?”

  “Yes, sir, I am. Let us take that look at the chart.”

  ALL HANDS were at their stations as dusk came down. Graves had agreed to move out, though with reluctance. He had made the exit through Disaster Passage once before, when Mate of a pearling vessel that had had to sail at a time when a disabled wool ship had drifted towards Breakup Island and had gone aground in the main channel and blocked the narrow fairway. Disaster Passage was well named, he said: ships never used it if it could be avoided. So far as he knew, he and his former shipmates had been the only seafarers to use it almost within living memory. He said, and this was confirmed by the Sailing Directions, that its name derived from the fate of a barquentine that had tried to make the passage some seventy years earlier. Her master and crew had been overpowered by escaped convicts who had seen a direct run out by sea as being their best bet. There had been a government cutter patrolling out from the Brisbane River, so they had decided to use Disaster Passage to elude its attentions in much the same way as Halfhyde meant to elude von Merkatz: Disaster Passage would take them out to sea well south of the proper entry and exit channel outside which von Merkatz was lying. Those convicts had never come out from the Passage; their bodies, and those of the barquentine’s crew had eventually been found still aboard the vessel which had piled up on some jagged rocks. There had been indications that the men had prepared to swim to the mainland with such possessions as they had with them, but they had been attacked first. Their wounds had been appalling, and the theory was that they had been set upon by Aborigines in enough strength for the whole lot to be slaughtered to a man. “I can tell you,” Graves said, “we were all praying last time I went through.”