To Touch the Clouds : The Frontier Series 5 (32 page)

‘God almighty!’ Matthew exclaimed in his relief. ‘They did it!’

Jock scrambled out of the hatch and walked unsteadily towards them. Behind him, Bob Houston’s head appeared as he clambered up from below.

‘We beat the wee beastie,’ Jock shouted victoriously. ‘It had a timing device we . . .’

His words were never completed. Simultaneously the men at the bow felt the deck shudder under their feet and heard the ear-splitting explosion of metal and timber tearing apart in the bowels of the ship. In a split second Alex realised that a second mine must have been planted in case the first failed to explode. The heat and shock of the blast hurled him off his feet and he was thrown violently through the air and into the raging sea below.

She was not a pretty sight as she rocked at her moorings in a dock in Sydney’s harbour. Rivulets of rust ran down her hull like dried blood from a wounded animal, but the Macintosh ship was due to steam out of the harbour at first light.

In the early morning chill Randolph Gates lit a cigar.
He was standing alone on the wharf with his swag at his feet, awaiting permission to board. Only a few hours before he had been lying on his bed in the hotel room when he received the call. At the other end of the telephone had been Patrick Duffy briefing him on Fenella’s disappearance in Hawaii and the colonel’s urgent request that Randolph take a berth on a Macintosh steamer heading for the Pacific islands.

Hasty arrangements had been made to finance the American in his search and the berth booked. Randolph did not hesitate in accepting the task, packed his few belongings and made his way to the moored ship.

As Randolph puffed on his cigar, he became aware that a man huddled against the chill was approaching him along the dimly lit timbered wharf. When the man was a few feet away Randolph recognised him as Arthur Thorncroft.

‘I didn’t want you to leave without a farewell party,’ Arthur said, producing a silver hip flask.

Randolph accepted the gesture and took a swig of what proved to be gin. He passed the flask back to Arthur. ‘How did you know I was leaving?’

‘Patrick telephoned me,’ Arthur replied, swigging from the flask. ‘He told me that you would be away for some time and not available at the studio. He was kind enough to tell me when you would be leaving and from where.’

Randolph gazed at the ship. ‘I suppose you have heard how Nellie was located in Hawaii and has again disappeared,’ Randolph said quietly. ‘I guess the colonel suspects that she may have done something terrible to herself.’

Arthur shook his head. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Patrick is still haunted by the death of Nellie’s mother. I have known him for many years and feel that my friend is at the end of his tether. I fear more for his welfare than that
of Nellie, who I know is a strong and very capable young woman. She would never consider harming herself, no matter how bad the situation became. No, I suspect that my Nellie has simply slipped from the hands of the Yank police.’

‘I think so too,’ Randolph responded.

‘I have to make a confession,’ Arthur said, staring at the ship. ‘I knew about Nellie skipping Sydney as she came to see me on the eve of her departure. I helped her with papers for her visit to the USA. At the time of our meeting neither of us were aware that Guy had been killed. Nellie is innocent of what the police here want to charge her with.’

‘God damn it!’ Randolph exploded. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? You must know how I feel about her. I would have kept your confidence.’

‘She was pregnant,’ Arthur said. ‘You did not know?’

For a moment Randolph was at a loss for words. ‘No one told me,’ he said in a strangled voice.

‘I am sorry,’ Arthur said. ‘She told me it was Guy’s baby, and that she was leaving so as not to bring shame on the family. I also think she ran away because she did not want you to know she was carrying another man’s child – and not just on account of the scandal she thought might be brought down on her father’s name.’

‘I wouldn’t have cared that she was carrying Wilkes’ child,’ Randolph said, but knew inwardly it had torn at him as a betrayal of love.

‘She fell pregnant to Wilkes before she met you,’ Arthur said as if anticipating the tall American’s feelings. ‘But she is a woman who puts great stock in life and felt that she must go away to have her child. What she planned after that . . . I do not know.’

‘Have you been in correspondence with Nellie since she left?’ Randolph asked, attempting to put his pain aside.

‘No, nothing since our meeting,’ Arthur answered. ‘But I may have information that might help you find her – if she has somehow escaped to the USA.’

‘Anything,’ Randolph said.

‘I gave her papers to give to a friend I have in the industry in California,’ he said. ‘She was hoping to have an introduction into their studios when she arrived. She was travelling under the name of Fiona Owens. Don’t ask me how she organised her documents but she had them. If you do not locate her in Hawaii I would strongly suggest that you continue on to California and go to Los Angeles and look up my friend there. It’s the place they appear to be making most of their films out of these days.’

Randolph pocketed the paper with the contact details Arthur had given him just as he heard his name called from the deck of the ship. He turned to Arthur, extending his hand. ‘Thanks for the information,’ Randolph said.

‘I wish that things could have worked out a little better than they have for you and Nellie,’ Arthur replied sadly, shaking his hand. ‘Just find her and bring her home. She means a lot to more people than just her father and brothers.’

‘I know,’ Randolph said, bending to shoulder his swag. ‘Take care, Arthur,’ he said, preparing to walk to the gangplank up to the ship’s deck. ‘Your secret is safe with me.’

Arthur nodded gratefully. It had eaten away at him that he had sworn not to tell his friend, Patrick Duffy, what he knew of his daughter’s disappearance. At least now one other he could trust knew the truth. As he turned to walk away he could hear the coal-fired engines of the ship thump into life. Arthur felt like the loneliest man on earth.

20

M
atthew had just the vaguest impression that he had seen Bob Houston’s body shredded into pieces when the explosion went off below. Much of the shock wave had exited itself through the hatch that Bob had been climbing through and his body had taken the full impact of the blast.

Matthew found himself slammed against the railing and fought to remain conscious. His hearing had turned to a ringing in his ears, and as he slid into a sitting position, he could taste blood in his mouth. The light from the bridge was still on, casting enough illumination on the deck below for Matthew to see the Scottish engineer attempting to rise to his feet. Blood poured down his legs and when Jock McLeod turned away Matthew could see that the man had terrible injuries, probably caused by flying metal. Matthew had seen shrapnel wounds before and knew that Jock required urgent medical treatment if he were to
live. Staggering to his feet he stumbled towards the engineer who was in a state of shock. Matthew could hear the screams of other wounded crew members who had taken the brunt of the explosion.

‘Jock,’ Matthew shouted at the wounded man, ‘you have to sit down and let me fix you.’

The tough Scotsman heeded Matthew’s order and buried his head between his knees. Matthew tore his shirt off and quickly ripped it into bandage strips to stem the bleeding on Jock’s lacerated back. Then he glanced around to try to locate Alex. The ship was listing to one side and with its engines silent wallowed helplessly. The captain appeared on the deck beside Matthew.

‘Mr Macintosh went over the side,’ he shouted at Matthew. Already the captain was holding a lifebuoy and peering over the railing into the dark, rolling sea. ‘Mr Macintosh!’ he roared at the top of his voice. But to Matthew it sounded almost a whisper. ‘Mr Macintosh!’

Satisfied that he had done as much as he could for the engineer, Matthew turned his attention to the wounded crew members.

‘I see him,’ Matthew heard the captain call and Matthew immediately looked to the railing, where the captain was leaning towards the sea with the lifebuoy in hand. With some difficulty Matthew staggered along the listing deck to the railing. He peered over. For a second he thought that he saw something in the water.

‘Give me the buoy,’ he shouted to the captain who passed it to him. Matthew took the buoy and, without hesitating, leaped from the deck into the sea. He hit the surface with a splash and with one arm commenced swimming in the direction that he had last seen what he thought was Alex. Matthew was a strong swimmer and was rewarded for his
efforts by reaching his cousin within seconds. He reached out and gripped Alex by the hair, rolling him as best as he could onto his back. Alex struggled weakly, gasping for air and vomiting sea water. Matthew thrust the lifebuoy between them.

‘Get a hold of this,’ he said to Alex who responded by grasping one side of the flotation device.

‘I’m okay,’ Alex spluttered as a great wave swept them upwards only to thrust them down into a trough, obliterating the ship from sight. ‘That you, Matt?’ he asked.

‘Yeah,’ Matthew answered. ‘We have to get back to the ship, so start swimming.’

On the deck the captain knew his ship was taking in water at a faster rate than any of his sea pumps were capable of dealing with. He had watched as Matthew Duffy dived into the ocean with the lifebuoy and now he could only return his attention to the welfare of his crew.

‘Mr McLeod,’ he called to Jock who was attempting to regain his footing. ‘Organise to get the lifeboat over the side and get the crew in it.’

Jock looked at the lifeboat which was now dangling against the side of the ship. It had been a good decision to have it swung out in anticipation of an emergency.

‘All you heathens get into the boat,’ Jock barked at the frightened crew members who did not need a second warning to abandon ship. They scrambled up the tilting deck to the side and slid over into the dangling lifeboat.

‘You coming, Captain?’ Jock called to Ernest Delamore who was making his way like a crab on sand towards the stairs to the bridge.

‘As soon as I get a distress call off,’ he called back to Jock. ‘Just get the boat adrift with yourself and crew, Mr McLeod.’

Jock turned to claw his way up the sharply sloping deck
towards where the lifeboat dangled against the ship’s hull. When he reached the railing he clambered over painfully and with some difficulty slid down the hull and into the lifeboat, slamming into an unlucky crew member.

‘Cut the ropes,’ he bellowed to a sailor who swung a hatchet at the lines securing the boat to the ship.

With a heavy jerk, one side of the boat collapsed, hurling all its occupants into the water. The second rope gave way, bringing the boat down on the men floundering below, killing one of them with its heavy weight as it smashed into the sea, bobbed and then crashed against the hull, revealing the exposed keel. Jock felt the captain had little hope of joining them in the lifeboat. The ship groaned and creaked, keeling over to begin settling into a death dive below the waves.

Matthew stopped swimming when he saw the ship keel over. He calculated that he and Alex had been washed a good hundred yards away from the stricken vessel by the heavy seas but now the little light they had to guide them had disappeared, leaving them alone in a dark and angry ocean.

‘She’s gone,’ Alex gasped weakly, hugging the lifebuoy.

Matthew did not respond. The pain from the injury he received when he had been thrown backwards was now making itself known.

‘Thanks, cobber,’ he heard Alex say. ‘Thanks for coming after me.’

Matthew ignored his cousin’s gratitude. Perhaps it would have been better if they both had suffered the same fate as their New Zealander friend – one minute alive and within a split second obliterated. As far as Matthew knew, no radio call had been made regarding their situation and they were now adrift in seas infamous for the sharks patrolling the
channels. That could possibly be a better death than dying of thirst, Matthew thought grimly.

‘Anytime, old chap,’ Matthew finally answered. ‘Just hope that you are a good swimmer and know which way is west.’

The rain came in a tropical squall and then the sun over a suddenly placid and warm sea. When Matthew and Alex gazed around all they could see was ocean. They were well and truly alone. There was no sign of the rest of the crew – nor the ship’s lifeboat. Then they spotted the first fin slicing through the water towards them.

Angus MacDonald awoke Patrick and summoned him to the telephone.

‘Colonel Duffy,’ Patrick said, accepting the call.

‘Patrick, I have some disturbing news,’ John Hughes said. ‘A radio station up north picked up an SOS from your ship. Not all the message got through but from what could be ascertained the captain was able to give his position and say that the ship was sinking rapidly, that they had lost at least two men. He transmitted that an explosion had holed her and then the communications with her were lost. That was about two o’clock our time last night. I have contacted the navy and requested their nearest ship make haste to the last reported position to see if survivors could be found.’

‘What was her last position?’ Patrick asked.

‘From what I could see on the charts she was just off the Schumann plantation. At least that is a good thing.’

‘You don’t know who the dead were?’ Patrick asked, feeling a tightness in his chest.

‘I’m sorry,’ Hughes replied. ‘Not at this stage.’

‘I will get dressed and see you at the barracks,’ Patrick
concluded. ‘I feel that the Germans were somehow behind her sinking.’

Patrick returned the telephone to Angus who stared at his boss intently. ‘I gather we have bad news about Captain Macintosh, sir,’ he said sympathetically.

‘I’m not sure, Angus,’ Patrick answered. ‘We will have to wait for developments.’

Angus nodded his head. He was not a praying man but he prayed that the young militia officer was safe and well. The colonel had suffered enough for one man.