Brother Fish (103 page)

‘
Janthe
thirty-nine degrees, thirty-five minutes south by 144 degrees, five minutes east puts you eight miles due east of Cape Wickham light. Please confirm. Over.'

‘Melbourne Radio,
Janthe
, romeo. Over.'

‘
Janthe
, this is Melbourne. What is your situation? Over.'

‘Melbourne, this is
Janthe
. Badly injured crew member. Currently experiencing hurricane-force winds. Caulking in fo'c'sle planking leaking and repaired temporarily. Our dinghy is floating and attached. Over.'

‘
Janthe
, this is Melbourne. We have your position and situation. We will be listening out for you and will activate search-and-rescue procedures if you fail to make contact by 1400 hours. Over.'

‘
Janthe
, Melbourne Radio. Thank you. Over and out.'

‘Romeo,
Janthe
. We'll be listening out for you . . . Good luck for now. Over and out.'

At least they would be looking for us in daylight. But even if a spotter plane found us, always presuming they could get one into the air, it might take several more hours before they could get to us, unless they could get a passing ship to come to our aid. But it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. At five p.m. I turned on the radio to get the evening ‘sched', which was far from encouraging. The low had moved in a nor'easterly direction and joined forces with another low-pressure system that had formed over the Tasman Sea and, in turn, this had merged with yet another just south of Lord Howe Island. It was the recipe for the perfect storm. The wave heights were now reaching over one hundred feet, with the wind sounding like all the tortured souls of purgatory and hell combined. Jimmy was out on the deck, possibly freezing to death. God knows whether or not the Countess was safe, even strapped in – the knocking-about of the waves could easily tear the bunk from its bolts, and she could be badly injured.

The top of our mast was forty-six feet from the deck and the average wave was at least two and a half times as high when we lay in a trough. Normally in big seas you see seabirds, from gulls to mallemucks, with an occasional albatross. They sweep and dive or simply stay right beside your boat, the sheer wind speed passing over their stationary wings sufficient to give them the lift they need. When they're there, particularly the albatross, you feel somehow in contact. But here there were no seabirds to be seen, which is never a good sign.

The methedrine was beginning to wear off and I could feel myself nodding off. I swallowed another ‘Bex' not knowing what the effect might be. What the hell, we were gone if I fell asleep at the helm and I had to take the chance. It didn't take long for the white crystals to kick in. I knew I was injured – the little and third fingers on my left hand were standing at right angles to the others, but I couldn't feel a thing.

It was now almost six p.m. and I'd been in constant contact on the radio but there was no sign of an aircraft and they hadn't been able to locate a big boat that could get to us. We were fucked, even though the voice on the other end stayed calm and said they were doing all they could.

I continued as the light faded with no sign of a spotter plane. I'd come almost completely around Queen Island when at around eight that night the wind started to drop from about 120 knots to eighty knots. An hour later it was down to forty. The mountainous swells were still raging, but the birds were back – gulls, mallemucks and gannets, with two albatross, which I took to be a good sign. At last I was able to leave the helm and check Jimmy and Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan. At first I thought Jimmy was dead. The bandage around his head had unwound and disappeared, and the crack in his skull had been washed clean by the waves breaking over the deck. He stirred when I touched him on the hip. ‘You okay, mate?' I asked, which was ridiculous, of course – he was unconscious. But I told myself he was still alive.

I then made my way down to the fo'c'sle. The bunk was still intact but, even with the strapping, Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan had taken a beating. Her head was bleeding and she, too, was unconscious. There wasn't anything I could do for her so I grabbed a blanket and went on deck and wrapped Jimmy up as best I could, undid the rope and retied it around his waist to take the pressure off his shoulders. There was simply no way I could get him into the fo'c'sle. The boat was pitching badly in the huge swell and I had to get back to the wheelhouse. Freak waves are not unknown in these conditions.

I radioed through to Hobart to tell them we looked like making it, and after giving them our position they told me that I was three to four hours north of Tussock. We'd come right around the eastern side of Queen Island, approaching Tussock, and miraculously were nearly home. At a few minutes to one o'clock in the morning we came into Tussock Harbour where it seemed dozens of people had come the twenty miles across the neck of the island from Livingston to meet us, along with all the Tussock locals. Cheers from hundreds of people rose, car hooters blasted out and motorbike engines revved as I pulled in beside the dock, hitting it rather too hard. Hands from everywhere grabbed at the side of the
Janthe
to steady her. I switched off the engine, and it was only then that I started to weep.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Scapegoat for Opium

The three of us were in a fair mess. Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan received several stitches to her forehead – a future scar she would wear rather proudly. The two fingers I thought I'd broken turned out to be merely dislocated, but to add to my injuries I had several cracked ribs, a cut to my head that required half-a-dozen stitches and a bung knee that, as I grew older, would sometimes trouble me in cold weather.

The moment the
Janthe
had docked Dr Light had come aboard to find Jimmy still unconscious and tied to the stern post. ‘Miss Lenoir-Jourdan is below,' I said in between sobs. He rushed below deck with Sue, and two fishermen carrying a stretcher, while I remained helplessly beside Jimmy blubbering like a baby. When he re-emerged he hurried over to Jimmy and untied him carefully, checking that he didn't have a neck injury. I was now wrapped in a blanket trying to control my crying, with Gloria weeping beside me and Steve and Cory hanging onto either arm. ‘Is he gunna be okay?' I sobbed, unwilling to move from beside Jimmy. Moments later Sue emerged from the fo'c'sle, followed by the two men carrying Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan on a stretcher.

‘Come on, mate, yer goin' ter hospital,' Steve said gently.

‘Yeah, you're buggered, mate,' Cory added, as usual stating the obvious.

But I wouldn't budge. ‘Is Jimmy okay?' I wailed again, needing their support to stay on my feet.

Sue came over, and in a businesslike voice said, ‘It's all right, Jacko. Doc's examining him – taking his blood pressure, checking his airway is clear and examining his pupil dilatation. If they're all okay we'll move him and do the rest when we get the three of you to hospital in Livingston.'

Of course I didn't understand what she was talking about, but the sound of her calm voice brought a measure of comfort. Doc Light got up from where he'd been kneeling beside Jimmy. ‘Righto, let's move him.' He supervised while the two fishermen returned to place the still-unconscious Jimmy on the stretcher and carry him off the boat.

Later I learned that Hobart Radio had called Jack McGinty to say we'd survived the storm. They'd given him the estimated time of arrival at Tussock and informed him that we had an injured member of the crew on board and to get a doctor to the small town. Sue, who was now assistant matron at the cottage hospital, together with Doc Light, had driven across the island in the Dodge war-surplus ambulance, and they were waiting with Gloria and the twins when we came in.

All three of us were placed in the ambulance and driven the fifteen bumpy miles across the southern neck of the island to the cottage hospital. Not that I recall the trip – I passed out moments after they strapped me into the stretcher, and was still asleep when we arrived. I woke up just after eight o'clock that morning with Sue standing next to my bed. Everything hurt, but in particular the ribs on my left side, which were excruciatingly painful every time I breathed in. The effects of the methedrine had long since worn off and I was paying the price.

‘How are you feeling, hero of the hour?' Sue asked me, smiling.

‘Bloody terrible. How's Jimmy and the . . . Nicole ma'am?' I corrected.

‘They've both regained consciousness and are out of theatre. They're going to be fine, Jacko – it's you we're worried about.'

She pointed to my hand. ‘We were going to wake you and set your fingers but Doc Light examined you and said your pupils were dilated. We were afraid that, like Jimmy, you may have taken a bad knock to the head. But we couldn't see anything, so decided to wait until you woke up.'

‘Methedrine.'

Sue had been among fishermen long enough to know that occasionally substances that are not strictly legal are used out on sea. Nevertheless, she looked a bit worried. ‘Jacko, you don't use it regularly, do you?' I explained the circumstances in between groans. ‘Thank God for Mr Munday,' she said. ‘It probably got you home.'

‘My left side hurts like hell – worse than the fingers.'

‘We haven't X-rayed you, but from the way you're breathing it looks like you've probably broken several ribs.'

‘So, where's Jimmy? Why am I in this little room?'

‘We're taking you directly into the theatre next door as soon as Doc Light comes in. We've both been up all night. He's gone home to have a shower and a bit of breakfast. Jimmy's in the ward demanding something to eat and Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan is asleep.'

I then noticed how exhausted she looked. ‘You'd better get home,' I said.

‘Yeah, sure. Matron's already in, but I'd like to attend to you first. It was lucky I was on night shift when Jack McGinty called – he's been at the
Gazette
monitoring your progress for two days.' She smiled. ‘You're making a habit of being a hero, Jacko.'

‘Hero? No, no, no! Jimmy's the hero!' I started to cough, and thought I was going to die. Cracked ribs or otherwise, coughing hurt like hell.

Sue held me down. ‘No more talk, Jacko – just lie still, breathing in as shallowly as you can.'

‘No,' I managed to say, ‘I have to tell you about Jimmy. I don't want people thinking I'm the hero.'

Sue could see I was distressed. ‘Take it easy, Jacko – it can wait.'

But it couldn't. So I told her about Jimmy diving in to save me with a fractured skull when I was washed overboard and was hanging onto the rope I'd used to drag in the dinghy. How miraculously he clung onto the boat when a big wave took us close to the side again, and how he dragged me back on board.

‘You sure he's okay?' I asked, suddenly suspicious. ‘Sue, don't lie to me!'

She laughed. ‘No, honestly – he's fine. But we didn't really know until about three this morning, when he finally came around. There seemed to be only an extradural haematoma and no apparent bleeding into the brain, but we couldn't be absolutely certain there hadn't been any brain damage until we spoke to him.'

I was glad I'd been out to it – with my imagination I'd have resigned Jimmy to being a gibbering idiot with it all being my fault. ‘You mean he could have been zonked in the head?'

Sue shrugged. ‘You never know. A lot of things can happen if there's an internal haematoma – that is, bleeding into the brain. But fortunately there wasn't. First thing Jimmy said when he woke up was, “How's Brother Fish?”'

I laughed, even though it hurt like hell. Sue, suddenly serious, said, ‘Jacko, I've got to get you ready for theatre. Doc Light will be here any moment.'

‘You haven't told me about Nicole ma'am. How bad is she?'

‘She cracked her forehead, which required twenty stitches. Earlier she was still in shock and kept asking about the two of you, apologising for being so useless in the crisis. I gave her something to put her to sleep.'

Doc Light arrived shortly after and examined my hand. ‘Dislocation at the knuckles. I'll give you an injection, but it's going to hurt like hell when it wears off. Sister McKenzie will have told you there's nothing much we can do for your ribs. We'll strap them, although I'm not sure that'll help much – they're going to be painful for some time. We'll need to keep an eye on you, young Jack. If your ribs play up you may have to go to Launceston to be X-rayed. But for the time being the three of you will stay here for the next few days. You're exhausted, and likely to suffer some trauma from the shock of the impacts you've taken.'

By the following morning Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan seemed quite chirpy, and made Jimmy and me go through the whole business blow by blow while she scribbled it all down furiously. By that afternoon the story had been dispatched on the wire service and was to appear as a feature article in newspapers throughout the nation. The report of the hurricane and the story of the
Janthe
had been broadcast on ABC radio. Four boats had gone down in the storm, with all their crews lost, and while we'd evidently been caught in the worst of it, we'd been the lucky ones. None of the boats lost at sea was from the island, as the local fishermen out to sea had been on the eastern side of the island and had all headed for Tussock when the one o'clock sched we'd originally missed had come through.