Sailing the Canoe
‘I reckon it’s the best canoe we’ve ever built,’ I said as we carried it to the water’s edge. Sand scraped the bottom as we set it down in the shallows, but the tar sealing the ends looked pretty watertight. The flag we’d made, with a skull and crossbones drawn in charcoal on an old tea towel, hung off a bamboo mast.
We pushed the canoe over the small waves breaking against the shore and scrambled in. The bamboo poles we’d lashed across the top like outriggers and the two kerosene drums tied on either side with binder twine held firm, the drums bobbing up and down in the swell.
‘Stroke! Stroke!’ yelled Banjo, like he was a scull captain in the head of the river.
‘Go stroke yourself,’ I yelled, but we paddled like fury with two old floorboards. Within minutes we were beyond the small breakers and out into the channel.
We should’ve noticed the weather. Clouds like huge black bruises rolled up from the horizon and as we cleared the headland the strongest north-west gale I’d ever seen whipped over us. It happened in almost an instant. One moment the water was calm and the next we were soaked and the wind was blowing so hard we could hardly hear each other.
‘We’d better head back,’ I cried above the roar. Banjo nodded. We’d be swamped any second if we stayed in this.
‘Paddle harder,’ yelled Banjo. ‘We’re not getting anywhere.’
Instead of getting closer to shore we were being blown along the coast, parallel with the settlement but further out to sea. Saltwater splashed over us and dripped from our eyelashes, stinging our eyes. The cold wind whistled round our ears.
‘Banjo! In the water,’ I yelled. With the overcast sky there were no reflections and we could see straight to the bottom. A huge dark shape loomed directly under us. ‘A shark!’
‘No, it’s a dolphin. I saw some out here yesterday,’ he said, hopefully.
‘There is no way that’s a dolphin,’ I cried. I pulled in my paddle and gripped the sides of the canoe tightly.
More and more water sloshed into the bottom of the canoe and huge drops of rain began to fall. We’d sink before much longer or be capsized by the increasingly furious waves. And it was growing dark. Soon no-one on the island would even see us out here.
‘Keep paddling, Jack. You’ve got to keep going. We’ve got no choice. We paddle or we die.’
Someone must have seen us. In the distance by the jetty the lights on the Valkyrie suddenly lit up. Several men ran down the jetty towards the boat and then puffs of thick black smoke blew out from the chimney. They’d started the engine.
I pointed to the shore. ‘Look, Banjo, the ferry’s coming out. Where’s the shark? Where’d it go? I can’t see it.’
‘I can’t see it either. Keep aiming for the shore.’
Above us our flag whipped in the wind and the bamboo pole twisted and bent like a longbow.
The Valkyrie grew closer, its bow rising up with the waves and crashing back into the troughs. It didn’t seem to be moving. I could see the men on the foredeck shouting but their voices were carried away by the wind. And back at the island, barely visible through the driving rain, I could just make out a single figure on the beach. I knew it was my father standing there, alone, looking out to sea. The rain cleared for a second and I saw he had a pair of field glasses trained on us. I raised my hand to wave and instantly he did the same. And in that second, somehow, I knew we would be all right.
It felt like hours but the Valkyrie finally came close. Little Eric stood on the bow, gripping the rail with both hands. He was drenched to the bone and trying to wipe the rain from his face. The bow still bucked and heaved and waves crashed over him but he didn’t move. As the boat drew closer he stripped off his shirt. He had a rope tied round his waist. He was about to dive in.
‘No!’ I screamed, pointing at the water. ‘Shark! We’ve seen a shark!’
He heard me, thank God. He paused and shouted something back towards his father in the steering house. Red Eric immediately spun the wheel and the Valkyrie pulled even closer. I thought we’d be swamped or smashed under its crashing bow as it swung wildly on the waves.
Little Eric looked down at the water again, grabbed another line, put it between his teeth, and without hesitating dived in. He disappeared in the spray and foam. I couldn’t believe he’d dived in. He’d be eaten for sure. He swam straight to us, overarm, faster than Johnny Weissmuller in Tarzan ever did, and pulled himself onto the outrigger.
‘You two sure get into some scrapes,’ he panted as he pushed his hair from his forehead. ‘Grab this rope and tie it round your waist, Jack. You too, Banjo. Quick as you can now.’
On the bow of the Valkyrie four men gripped the ropes, ready to pull us through the green water.
I quickly tied half a dozen granny knots round my waist and got ready to leap into the sea. But not that ready. Where’d the shark gone? How could we jump into the water after we’d just seen a shark?
‘But the shark...’ I said to Little Eric.
‘Don’t worry about that. We’ll have you onto the Valkyrie before he knows you’re missing. Over you go.’ He stayed calm even though he must’ve known that at any second his legs could be bitten right off.
With a sudden dip, the canoe sank even deeper in the water. We had no choice.
‘Go! Now!’ shouted Little Eric. Banjo and I leapt at the same time, and jeez, did I do an impression of Jesus. I hit the water and just about bounced straight out again onto the deck of the ferry. Constable Campbell hauled me aboard, the rope round my waist cutting into me and scraping my skin.
He pushed back the hood on his oilskin. ‘Welcome aboard, Captain Kidd,’ he said with a hollow laugh. ‘The artillery plotters up at the Kingston guns saw your flag. Lucky for you, eh?’
He quickly turned to help haul Banjo and Little Eric on board. ‘Well done, Eric.’ Little Eric didn’t reply. He lay face down on the deck, puffing, unable to get his breath.
Mr Merson, Bess’s dad, came out from the cabin with grey army blankets and wrapped them round our shoulders. ‘You three could use some tea, I bet.’
I didn’t like tea too much but after a mug full my arms and legs stopped shivering slightly. The warm liquid burning my throat felt wonderful.
‘We’ll be a while getting back,’ shouted Captain Jansen from the wheelhouse door. ‘Need to keep well clear of the reef in this sort of sea.’ He turned the wheel to run parallel with the shore for a while. The wind roared across the deck.
Banjo and I sat against the wheelhouse wall trying to keep upright as the ferry jumped and crashed down with each wave. A shudder ran the length of the old boat with each sudden dip. I pulled my blanket tighter round me and looked out at the dark sea and driving rain. The drops sounded like machine gun bullets pelting against the canvas awnings. We weren’t out of danger yet. The old ferry might still be dashed on the reef or shudder itself to bits in the huge waves.
‘Jack?’ Banjo nudged my arm. ‘Look over there. There’s a light. Like a fire. In the cave near the beach. Way over there. See, below the point?’
‘How can you see anything in this?’
‘Look!’ he commanded. ‘Do you reckon it’s the Jap whose helmet we found? Who else’d be camping there under the cliffs? Maybe he got left behind.’
I tried peering through the spray and the rain, but to me the shore stayed almost invisible.
Eventually the roaring of the gale eased as the ferry crossed behind the headland of Bathurst Point and chugged into the bay. The rain still pelted down but the jetty grew closer. One man stood on the end waiting for us. I knew who it was.
Christian edged his way out onto the deck and threw over the mooring line. ‘Take this, Rob. Second bollard,’ he yelled as the coiled rope with a large loop on the end fell straight at my father’s feet.
Dad Thanks the Jansens
I opened my eyes and looked about. The smell of bacon drifted into my bedroom. We always had a good fry-up on Sundays whenever the rations allo
wed, which hadn’t been too often lately. Mum banged on my door and walked straight in.
‘We’ll be off to church after breakfast,’ she said. ‘But you can stay in bed this morning if you like. Just this once, mind.’
Wow, that’d never happened before. I’d have to try and get killed more often.
‘When we get back we’re all going to see Captain Jansen,’ she continued. ‘I’ll leave your breakfast in the oven.’
Little Eric and Christian sat on the wall at the front of their house idly chucking rocks at a tin can on the other side of the road. They were pretty good shots. They slid off the wall when they saw us coming.
‘Christian, Eric,’ Mum said, smiling at their manners. They were obviously well brought-up young men, unlike her rebellious, badly behaved son.
‘Mrs Jones. Hello, youngster, feeling better?’ asked Little Eric. He nodded at Dad. ‘Mr Jones. Dad’s out the back. I’ll just get him.’
Mrs Jansen came to the door and ushered us into the front parlour, as she called it. At Gran’s it was the drawing room but at our house it was just the front room. We all sat on the lounge while the two boys collected chairs from the kitchen.
Red Eric stepped into the parlour. He had on a grubby turtleneck sweater just like U-boat captains wore.
My father stood and shook his hand. ‘Captain,’ he said. ‘I am a man of few words, as you know.’ He got that part right. ‘However, it’s at times like this, when a man puts himself in certain danger, like you did, to help...’ Dad didn’t seem to know how to continue. He wasn’t choked up or anything, more like lost for words. He’d never had to say anything like this before.
‘Captain,’ he tried again before reaching down and picking up the brown paper parcel he’d been carrying. ‘Mrs Jones and I would appreciate it if you would accept this small gift, this token as a mark of our thanks in saving...’
‘Mr Jones, you have no need...’ started Captain Jansen, holding up his palm.
‘Indeed I do have need. And Little Eric. Christian.’ He looked at the two young men. ‘Indeed I do. I cannot be beholden to any man and you have no idea what your actions yesterday meant to us. No-one else would have taken a boat out in those seas. No-one. And Little Eric? Diving into the sea like that...’
Captain Jansen smiled. He looked at his two big sons and said, ‘I think I just might have some idea, Rob. I think I might. I’m very proud of them.’ He ruffled Little Eric’s hair like he was just a kid and took the parcel. Little Eric looked embarrassed. He was taller than his father.
As Captain Jansen undid the paper I recognised the polished mahogany box. It contained the antique matching flintlock pistols that had belonged to my grandfather in England. They were worth a fortune. He opened the lid, blinked and stared for a long time. ‘Rob, for the love of Odin, I cannot accept these.’
Mum rose to her feet. ‘For the boys, then. For their future.’
‘But your son?’ Mrs Jansen spoke for the first time. ‘For Jack’s future?’
‘He very nearly didn’t have a future. If it hadn’t been for you and your family...’ Mum left the sentence unfinished, obviously not wanting to imagine her favourite son floating face down, or worse, bitten in half by a huge shark.
In the awkward moment and embarrassed silence that followed, everyone in the room had the same thought. Did any of us really have a future? Darwin, Broome and Onslow had been bombed by the Japs. The HMAS Sydney had been sunk just off the coast, and the Japanese invasion fleet could still appear over the horizon.
Then Dad seemed to relax. As he’d said, he hated being beholden to anyone and the pistols helped even the score. And as far as my dad was concerned, this was a big score.
Captain Jansen went to the sideboard. ‘Rob, this calls for a glass of my special winter warmer. In the old country we called it Thor’s Hammer.’
Both Mum and Mrs Jansen stared at him aghast. It wasn’t even lunchtime.
Dad sipped from the small glass and his eyes widened in surprise. He coughed several times. ‘Thor’s Hammer, eh? For obvious reasons, I see.’
‘The nights are very long and very cold in Denmark. A shot or two of Thor’s Hammer warms the blood,’ said Captain Jansen with relish. ‘And guards against trolls.’ He laughed and threw his drink back in one gulp. ‘Death to trolls,’ he said before reaching for the bottle again.
That afternoon I had to chop the wood and do extra chores because as soon as we got home Dad stumbled straight into bed and stayed there until the next morning. And boy, did he look crook.
Test-firing the Guns
Banjo and I were riding past the pilot’s house when we saw the poster on the noticeboard. It was written by Colonel Hurley warning everyone at the settlement not to be alarmed because the army was going to test-fire the huge naval guns that guarded the island. Us alarmed? He had to be kidding. We couldn’t wait.
‘When’s it going to happen?’ asked Banjo.
‘This afternoon. Two o’clock.’
Banjo looked up at the sun. We didn’t have watches and we were pretty good at guessing the time. ‘We should just make it.’
I sighed. ‘Banjo?’
‘Don’t say anything. I know. It’s in the restricted area. We’ll be shot. We’ll be arrested. Blah, blah, blah. Are you coming?’ He made me feel like a complete chicken without even saying it.
The main gun emplacement sat carved into the tallest hill in the middle of the island. The barrel of the enormous nine-inch naval gun pointed to the horizon, and concrete bunkers covered in green-and-brown camouflage nets poked from the sandhills.
We hid our bikes and started up the path we’d made to the hole under the fence. We’d dug our way under the fence months before, when the army engineers had first started work on installing the guns, finding a way through the maze of rusting barbed wire defences.
‘The Lone Pine?’ I suggested. We’d called it that after the famous one at Gallipoli. It had plenty of branches and we’d be able to climb a fair way up it. From there we’d have a perfect view across the small valley between the sandhills, directly in line with the barrel.
The concrete gun platform was swarming with soldiers. They looked more like khaki-coloured toy soldiers from this distance.
‘Ooo-ooo-ooo! Me Tarzan, you Cheetah,’ yelled Banjo, sounding nothing like Johnny Weissmuller in Tarzan. He was several branches above me and climbing higher.
‘Shut up. They’ll hear us,’ I said.
‘Don’t be so daft. How can they? They’re miles...’
One of the soldiers on the gun platform suddenly looked our way as if he’d heard Banjo. We froze. He turned and climbed down a ladder out of sight and suddenly, within seconds, the whole area was deserted.
‘Banjo...’ I began, but then the shock wave hit me. I didn’t hear the blast straight away. I just felt like a huge cricket bat had belted me in the chest, like a gigantic Don Bradman had used me for batting practice. The shock wave threw me backwards and I felt myself falling. I hit a branch and felt it snap, and then another and another cracked as I tumbled over and over towards the ground, hitting each branch in turn. With a sickening thud I crashed to the earth. Winded, I lay there staring stupidly up through the pine needles to the sky and listened to my ears ring as pain overwhelmed my body.
‘Jack? Jack?’ I heard Banjo calling but he sounded far away. Then my head cleared slightly and I saw him. He hung from a branch high above me, his legs swinging like he was hanging from playground monkey bars.
‘Hang on, Banjo.’ I stumbled to my feet. Every part of me ached and I couldn’t get my breath. My left side felt like it was on fire. The ringing in my ears screeched and my head pounded. I jumped to reach the lowest branch and nearly passed out with pain, but I managed to haul myself up and grab the next branch. The rough bark tore at my hands as I climbed higher.
‘Hang on, Banjo,’ I pleaded again. It sounded like a cough. Somehow I managed to reach the branch where Banjo hung, staring at me, his eyes filled with fear. He co
uldn’t hold on any longer. I lunged at him with my free hand. My fingers closed on the front of his shirt as his hands slipped from the bough. I heard the fabric of his shirt rip as he dropped and then I felt my arm nearly tear from its socket. Somehow I managed to keep hold. My eyes closed and my heart pounded in my head.
‘Jack,’ he gasped.
I opened my eyes. I still had hold of Banjo’s shirt but now his legs were wound round the branch below. He had managed to grab hold of the trunk. We clung to the tree in silence, our chests just about bursting as we took in huge breaths. The smoke and stink of gunpowder drifted over to us, filling our lungs and stinging our eyes.
‘Are you hurt?’ asked Banjo after the shock had eased. ‘Can you climb down?’
‘Well, I managed to climb up here, didn’t I?’ I said, more confidently than I felt.
We slowly reached the ground and I fell back onto the carpet of pine needles. Every inch of me ached.
‘You’re really going to be in for it. Look at your clothes,’ said Banjo.
He wasn’t going to be in as much trouble as me because his dad didn’t care what he looked like. But my mother ... My shorts had split completely in half. My shirt collar had been ripped off and all the buttons down the front were missing. The jumper Mum had spent weeks knitting had come unravelled and holes gaped all over it.
‘We’d better get back,’ I said. I struggled to my feet but nearly fainted and fell back to the ground. A stabbing pain shot through my ribs and round my back. My left knee and my shoulders throbbed. Both my arms were grazed and cut and they stung like crazy.
‘I’d better go and get you some help,’ said Banjo, and I saw the worry in his eyes.
Jack's Island Page 6