by Jack Dey
A sudden thought hit Warrammarra.
Nirrimi has rejected Jesus!
Jesus saw his thoughts. “Rest assured, dear one, Nirrimi is mine. I have shown you these things to explain a life lost, without me, will be in a painful eternity that never ends. You are now my shepherd, Warrammarra, among your people and those who live around you. Bring my sheep home.”
He was just about to ask more questions when the scene changed again.
*~*~*~*
Warrammarra’s head began to hurt and his vision blurred. His back and arm went out in sympathy with his head, as he stiffly lifted himself from the seat he had slumped over. He peered around at the tiny boat; outriggers still where they should be, sail and mast still usable and the inside was dry and orderly.
“Aark, aark, aark,” a bird circled over head.
Where am I? he thought.
Things came into focus. The canvas sail was flapping in the breeze and the sail tether whipped at him. The sea was calm and the little boat drifted lazily in the hot, humid sunshine.
I must have hit my head when I blacked out, he thought.
He searched the horizon.
Land!
He recognised the sweet coastline immediately... home! Filled with new vigour and hope, Warrammarra grabbed the teasing sail tether and pulled it tight. The sail caught the wind and the tiny boat sped towards his home.
*~*~*~*
CHAPTER 13 - MARCH 1855
Nirrimi climbed the grassy hill behind the village expectantly, a daily ritual she had performed for the past week. Warrammarra had been gone two and a half weeks and she ached for the return of her soul mate. It had been only four days since she had met Jesus and the incredible vision. She had been on such an emotional high and knew Warrammarra was coming home.
As the days dragged on, her doubts began to nag at her, her faith colliding with her fear. She spent time walking alone around the deserted places on the island, talking with Jesus as she walked. She felt His presence so close and yet when she asked about Warrammarra, His silence was deep and stony.
Aunty Rosa had told her, “When our faith is being tested and strengthened, Jesus is always silent.”
Her eyes scanned the sea in all directions from the hill.
Nothing.
Crestfallen, she made the descent back to her hut.
Merinda met her at the door. “Don’t worry, Mummy. Aunty Rosa and I prayed for Daddy last night and I just know he is coming home.”
She ran her hands through her daughter’s dark locks and kissed her on the forehead. “I know, darling. Mummy is silly, isn’t she? Let’s go and see Aunty Rosa.”
Nirrimi and Merinda walked hand in hand the short distance to Aunty Rosa’s hut. Aunty sat on the porch and waved at the approaching couple, her door open as usual.
“Hello, Aunty,” Nirrimi greeted.
“Hello, child,” Aunty replied. “Have you been up the hill again?”
“Yes,” she said, sounding just a little sadder than she intended.
“Come and sit with me, child,” Aunty welcomed.
Nirrimi pulled up beside Aunty, while Merinda climbed onto Aunty’s lap and wrapped her arms around her.
“Sometimes when we want something so bad, Jesus deliberately holds it back from us. It is not to make us sad or some cruel thing on His part. It is to teach us patience and faith. Sometimes, what we want so bad can become an obsession or an idol, and these things stifle the Holy Spirit in us. When we intentionally die to that thing we are holding onto, that is when He will often give it back to us. Not always, mind,” Aunty stressed.
“What do you mean by... die to it?”
“When we trust Jesus enough to completely hand it over to Him and tell Him, Lord I give it all to you and trust you with whatever You decide, then go about our lives not worrying about the result,” Aunty explained.
Nirrimi pondered what Aunty had just said. ”So if we can trust Jesus with whatever is bothering us, then nothing will bother us.”
Aunty laughed. ”You getting the idea, child.”
Nirrimi stood up, leaned over Aunty and kissed her. “I need to talk to Jesus for a few minutes, Aunty.”
“You take your time, child,” Aunty responded.
“Merinda, stay here. I'll be back soon.”
Merinda nodded.
“Let’s pray for Mummy, child,” Aunty suggested.
*~*~*~*
Nirrimi climbed the grassy hill again and dropped to her knees and prayed. “Jesus, I give you my husband and lay him down at your feet and I will trust You for whatever You decide. I gave you my heart, but now I see, it was only half of it. Warrammarra has the other half. So now, I give you all of my heart.”
Nirrimi stood to leave and as she stood, she glanced out over the sea out of habit. On the horizon, far out to sea, a small, white dot appeared. She squinted her eyes to see, butterflies churning in her stomach. It came closer and closer.
It’s him! It’s him! I know it. It’s him! A scream echoed out off the hill and around the village. Worried villagers stopped, pondering the grassy hill.
Aunty smiled as a tear slipped down her round, ebony face. “Thank you, Jesus... thank you.”
Nirrimi ran down the slope, tears streaming down her face. “Aunty, it’s him! It’s him!”
“Yes, child, I know!”
Merinda ran to her mother and was scooped up in a hug. “Your Daddy is coming!”
They hugged and danced and hugged, running down to the bay while the small boat came into view.
Warrammarra saw his family waiting and waving, excited to see him. Nirrimi waded out to the boat and he jumped overboard. They embraced, kissed and embraced, holding onto each other for a long time. Merinda was jumping up and down on the shore, waiting for her turn to greet her dad. Warrammarra ran with Nirrimi and scooped Merinda up in his arms.
She held onto her daddy tightly.
By this time, a crowd of villagers had gathered on the shore. Aunty made her way through the crowd and bear hugged Warrammarra.
“Jesus bring you home, praise His name,” Aunty glowed.
*~*~*~*
CHAPTER 14 - PRESENT DAY
Damon stared at the frayed rope lying on the deck. His mouth hung open and he could hear his own heart beating loudly in his ears. Somewhere close by, someone was screaming... hysterically screaming, muted as if it was a long way down a deep tunnel. People were moving around him in slow motion, yelling without making any noise. Someone was standing in front of him, talking, but not making sense... an old man, an old Japanese man with deep concern in his eyes was speaking to him. What was he saying? His heartbeat grew louder in his ears, while the hysterical screams echoed down the tunnel.
“P-o-o-o-o-c-h! P-o-o-o-o-c-h!”
Someone was lying on the deck curled up in a ball. A woman... screaming.
Charlie... Charlie... Charlie! His senses were dragged out of the tunnel, back into reality, while his heartbeat quietened in his ears. The tunnel suddenly disappeared and Charlie’s screams amplified in his ears, making his eardrums distort. Everyone was talking, trying to calm Charlie down.
Damon strode over to the fire cabinet, grabbed out a fire bucket and dipped it into the sea. He stood over Charlie and threw the water in her face. She quietened, shocked by the cold liquid and the suddenness of his action. Damon picked her up, limp like a doll and carried her through the galley, into their cabin and laid her on the bed. He reached into the medical cabinet behind the door and removed two high powered sedatives, while Johnny had a glass of water waiting at the door.
“Here, take these,” he gently instructed her.
Her hands trembled as she took the sedatives from Damon and swallowed them, then emptied the glass of water. Damon stroked her wet hair and pulled the blanket up under her chin, but Charlie just stared at him through vacant, bloodshot eyes, all the while her breathing becoming slower and deeper. She blinked, straining against the power of the sedative, holding his
gaze with hollow, empty eyes, then they shuttered closed and she was blissfully unaware... for now.
Damon felt a bitter stab at his heart, and the memory of Charlie’s haunting stare burnt deeply into his mind. Damon had to think and shake off the thoughts of what had just happened with Pooch and Charlie. He was the skipper and responsible for the survival of the remainder of the crew. There was little doubt that Pooch was dead and whatever took him must have been huge. Damon climbed the ladder through the hatch and into the wheelhouse, then threw the hatch closed with a bang. He tried to unravel his traumatised thoughts into a rational plan, but this was proving more difficult as he tried to think.
First thing, to get Annemarie under power again.
He searched around the familiar instruments and controls as if it was the first time he had seen them, then with some recognition, turned the key and started the engine and let it warm up, checked his position and recorded it. His mind began to settle and rational thought returned.
“The police will be involved now and they will want to carry out a search; most likely they will need the coordinates to search with,” he spoke to himself.
He noticed the absence of noise in the wheelhouse.
This was a good thing... wasn’t it?
Damon realised the engine alarms were quiet and then checked the chart plotter. They were still in the shipping channel, but only just. He pushed the transmission lever forward, engaging the transmission and Annemarie gently moved forward. He glanced back over the instruments once more. All was normal. Reaching for the switch, the wheelhouse lights blinked off and the room fell into darkness, except for the instrument lights.
Waiting a few seconds until his eyes adjusted to the dark again, he checked the horizon... nothing but darkness all around. Damon felt strangely alone and hollow, his mind still balancing on the edge of a dreadful nightmare. He held his breath and waited. If Annemarie's prop was going to foul again on the remains of the net, it would do so in the next few minutes. Damon pushed the throttle open to about half and waited again as Annemarie picked up speed. He checked the horizon and blinked to clear his tired vision, then scoured the same area again. He wasn’t seeing things. A small white light shone in the darkness, about half a mile to starboard. It was too small to be a craft of any size.
Then a thought hit him. Could it possibly be?
Damon pushed the throttle wide open and Annemarie surged forward as she headed for the light. He glanced over the gauges again... still normal. The light came into view and it was floating in the water.
Knots had spotted it too and was on the aft deck with a scoop net. Damon throttled back and Annemarie slowed; the bow plunged down and she rocked on her own wake. Annemarie drifted alongside the small torch and Knots reached out with the scoop net and plucked it up, then withdrew it from the net. He threw open the galley doors, flinging them against their stops, causing them to crash heavily against the wall, and ran up the ladder, three steps at a time, then pushed through the galley hatch and into the wheelhouse.
Damon stared, trancelike and recognised the small light held in Knots’ hand immediately. It was the torch Pooch had worn on his belt; one end of the lanyard still attached to the light... the other, frayed and missing!
*~*~*~*
Damon gazed intently at the torch in his hand, the last known object to touch Pooch’s living body. Forcing himself to come to terms with the implications of this find, his logical thoughts conceded it was time to report in to the authorities and there was no longer any doubt in his mind.
Pooch was dead.
He wrestled the handset of the vessel’s VHF radio out of its cradle, while his hands shook and he struggled to gain composure. The radio was already tuned to the emergency channel 16. Damon struggled to recall radio protocol and had to concentrate hard. It wasn’t because he did not know it; his mind was still clouded, making decisions very difficult, like trying to run through knee deep mud.
It was fast approaching midnight and Queensland Transport would be monitoring the emergency channel, doing the graveyard shift from 1800-0600 in the morning. He knew they were listening, but they did not transmit. He would expect a reply from the police at any moment, knowing his message would be forwarded to them from Queensland Transport, immediately. Though the situation was horrific, it wasn’t an emergency anymore, so the Mayday call was inappropriate. It was an urgency call, so he would use the Pan-Pan protocol instead.
Damon’s voice quavered, as he pushed the transmit button. “Pan-Pan, Pan-Pan, Pan-Pan. Hello all stations. Hello all stations. Hello all stations. This is Lima, Zebra, One, Seven, One, Nine, Quebec. M.V. Annemarie. Repeat. This is Lima, Zebra, One, Seven, One, Nine, Quebec. M.V. Annemarie. Repeat. This is Lima, Zebra, One, Seven, One, Nine, Quebec. M.V. Annemarie. Current position: 13 degrees, 28 minutes south; 143 degrees, 51 minutes east. A crew member is missing, believed dead. Requesting assistance from the Queensland Water Police. Will monitor channel thirty for reply. Over.”
Damon set his radio to automatically monitor channel 16 and 30, placed the handset back in its cradle and blew out a big nervous breath, waiting for a reply. He was tired and weary and felt like the last sixteen hours had aged him twenty years. Pooch’s cheery face crossed his mind and the words he had spoken only hours ago came back, as if he was still standing in the wheelhouse. Better luck next time, mate. Then Charlie’s screaming and her blank, expressionless stare haunted him again. He reached for the consol to steady his buckling knees and forced back the biliousness threatening to escape his throat.
The radio broke into his thoughts. “Calling, Lima, Zebra, One, Seven, One, Nine, Quebec. M.V. Annemarie. Repeat. Lima, Zebra, One, Seven, One, Nine, Quebec. M.V. Annemarie. Repeat. Lima, Zebra, One, Seven, One, Nine, Quebec. M.V. Annemarie. This is Queensland Water Police. Please respond. Over.”
“This is Lima, Zebra, One, Seven, One, Nine, Quebec. M.V. Annemarie. Over.” Damon struggled.
“This is Senior Sergeant William Lees, Queensland Water Police. Are you the skipper? Over.”
“Yes I am. Over.”
Damon drew strength from the official sounding voice. At last he wasn’t alone in this nightmare.
“Please explain what assistance you require. Over,” Lees requested.
Damon spent twenty minutes explaining the situation to Lees. It was obvious from the questions Lees was asking that he was taking notes and then he finally summarised what Damon had told him and read his notes back to him. Lees asked whether there was anything else.
“No. Over,” Damon sighed.
“I expect an air and sea search will be conducted from the coordinates you have given. I believe you are almost due east of Morris Island? Over,” Lees enquired.
“That is correct. Over,” Damon replied.
“Morris Island would be a good point for our police vessel to rendezvous with you and to coordinate a search. We will need to interview your crew as well. Over,” Lees explained.
“Understood. Over,” Damon replied again.
“The police vessel will leave Cairns within the hour and the estimated time of arrival at Morris Island, will be... 0900 tomorrow. Over,” Lees checked his watch.
“Understood. Over,” Damon riposted.
“A search and rescue plane will start a grid search from the coordinates you have given me at first light. It will cover an area of five hundred square miles and all shipping in the area will be notified and placed on alert. If your engineer is out there, sir, we will find him. Over and out,” Lees signed off.
Damon nodded as if Lees was standing next to him, then realised his mistake. “M.V. Annemarie, over and out.”
Damon juggled the handset, missing the cradle, then forced it into the cradle with a shove of adrenaline, angry at its apparent misbehaviour. Running his hands through his hair, he pushed the button on his wrist watch and checked the time. It was nearing one o’clock in the morning.
Just then the hatch cautiously opened, the sudden light hurting his t
ired eyes as Johnny entered with a hot coffee.
“I bring you coffee, Skipper. All others asleep,” Johnny said quietly.
“Thanks, Johnny,” Damon didn’t mean to give such a tired and defeated reply.
Johnny put his hand on Damon’s shoulder and the warmth of the old man’s hand brought reassurance to his heart, just as a large renegade tear escaped Damon’s eyes, unseen in the dark.
“You want company, Skipper?” Johnny asked.
Damon’s voice broke as he struggled to talk, “I have been talking to the police and they want us to anchor at Morris Island while they conduct a search and they will also want to interview everyone. The police vessel will be alongside at 0900 tomorrow.”
“Skipper load too heavy; I make you some food.”
“No, Johnny, I couldn’t eat it. I will get underway soon for Morris Island and I expect we will be at the anchorage coordinates in about half an hour. I will try to get some sleep then.”
Damon pushed Annemarie's throttle wide open and she immediately responded, heading for the set course due west... Morris Island. Johnny stood beside Damon and neither spoke. The things of this day would change lives forever, question was: How much and in what direction?
Annemarie's depth finder was showing the water profundity was shallowing quickly. The chart plotter alarm sounded, indicating they were within three hundred yards of Morris Island and their set destination. They had arrived and were safely out of the shipping channel. The depth finder indicated they were in twenty feet of water and the sonar showed a sandy bottom. Damon pulled back on the throttle, disengaged the transmission and Annemarie glided to a stop.
Johnny could just make out the image of Morris Island, some one hundred yards away. The clean, white sand glistened in the starlight through the starboard window and reflected off the coral sands of the tiny island.
Damon pulled a lever under the console of the wheelhouse and the chain attached to the anchor, clanked its way over the forward anchor guide roller. The anchor rope gained speed and the anchor splashed into the dark water. Damon put the transmission into reverse and Annemarie backed up, slowly pulling the anchor rope off the anchor winch drum. When he guessed he had let out a hundred feet of anchor rope, he let the anchor lever go and the rope stopped feeding out. Annemarie pulled against the rope and the anchor bit into the sand. Satisfied Annemarie was secure, he switched the engine off.