Pride and the Anguish (17 page)

T
HE FIRST INDICATION
of the dawn showed itself in a soft purple glow which threw the hillside into deep shadows while the sea below the headland seemed to come alive in the growing light. Across the centre of the Inlet, moving like swamp gas above the swift current, a low haze drifted seaward, momentarily blotting out the shape of the
Porcupine
's hull but leaving her funnel and masts disembodied against the far shore.

Trewin lifted himself to his feet and peered at his watch. He had intended to tell Phelps to use his semaphore flags to call up the gunboat, but the haze made that temporarily impossible. Above and around him he could hear the growing twitter of birds and the drowsy murmur of countless insects. Otherwise it was very still, and he felt his eyes drawn back to the hut as its shape re-formed in the hardening light. The radio had mercifully fallen silent, and he tried not to think of the two mutilated corpses behind the closed door.

He looked across the small clearing where Hammond sat unmoving on an upended crate, his revolver cradled on his lap. He was hollow-eyed and pale, and the least sound from the dense scrub made him jerk as if he had been touched. Phelps was further down the slope facing the sea, his bright ginger hair making a patch of colour above the swirling water at the foot of the hill. On either side of the hut the Chinese seamen lay with their rifles pointing towards the trees, their faces grim but intent, their dark eyes showing nothing of their thoughts.

Phelps called quietly, “The
Porcupine
's shiftin' sir!” As Trewin tugged his glasses from their case he added glumly, “She's settled again!”

Trewin peered at the distant ship and tried to see some change in the angle of the masts. It would be soon now. He could see a steady wisp of smoke from the funnel, the masthead
pendant whipping occasionally in some freak breeze. He thought of Corbett pacing his bridge and watching the river entrance. He would be expecting some sign of Trewin's mission. Maybe even some boats from the settlement to lift off part of his cargo.

Phelps suddenly jumped to his feet, his hands around his ears. “Sir! There's a ship comin'!” He turned slightly to the right, his body craned forward as if willing the sounds to reach him.

Then Trewin heard it too. A steady swish, swish, swish, echoed and distorted by the tall sides of the Inlet.

Hammond clambered over the bushes and stood at his side. He listened for several seconds and then said in a strained voice, “I know that noise. It's the old
Nonouti.
” He shaded his eyes and added, “She's a clapped-out paddle steamer which does the coasting run from Talang to Singapore about once a week.” He screwed up his eyes as if to clear his thoughts. “She shouldn't be here now!”

At that moment the ship in question appeared around the sharp bend below the headland. She was a very old ship indeed. On either beam she was powered by a huge paddle wheel, and her low hull was bare of superstructure but for a tiny, boxlike bridge and a long, spindley funnel from which poured an unbroken trail of black smoke.

Trewin watched her churning past, shocked by the packed humanity which filled the deck from rail to rail. There must have been hundreds of them. Men, women and children jammed together shoulder to shoulder in a tight, unmoving mass. He could see crates of chickens, even livestock lashed around the bridge, and the ship was so obviously overloaded that it was only her wide beam which prevented her from capsizing in the offshore current.

Hammond said dully, “She's the deepest draught vessel which can get into the Inlet.” He lifted his revolver and pointed towards the horizon. “She has to use the main channel. It runs almost northeast for about two miles before she can make her turn.” He shuddered. “It's also the worst channel. She'll have
to pick her way like a blind man with all that weight aboard!”

As he spoke the
Nonouti
swung around a darker patch of water on to her next course, and Trewin saw the packed masses of figures sway sideways in unison, like an uncontrolled crowd on a cup final terrace.

Through the thick haze across the Inlet Trewin saw the intermittent blink of light and guessed that Corbett was trying to warn the other ship of the possible danger. Either her captain did not see the signal, or he had got beyond the stage of reason and order, but the paddle steamer maintained her zigzagging course with no reduction of speed.

He recalled the crowds of refugees at the settlement. The air of hopelessness and despair. They must have looked upon the
Nonouti
as a last chance to escape from the war. He could see the ship's port side swaying to within inches of the frothing water, and imagined even more wretched refugees crammed below her decks in total darkness.

Trewin heard Hammond gasp, and as he swung his glasses he saw a tall waterspout rise like a spectre, far out, but in line with the
Nonouti
's present course. Almost simultaneously he heard a sharp, abbreviated whistle, but nothing more. The gun, whatever it was, was firing at very high trajectory. The shell had fallen almost straight down, like a bomb.

He watched coldly as a second shell fell within a minute of the first. It must have struck a sandbank just below the surface, for it exploded in a bright flash, throwing up a great wall of water and mud which seemed to take an age to fall back to the sea. When it did, the explosion left a wide yellow stain and a growing circle of dead fish.

Hammond said hoarsely, “That was closer, and still in line!”

Trewin turned towards him, their eyes locking with sudden understanding. He said quietly, “That means they must have a spotter! No battery could track a ship otherwise!”

Together they looked up past the hut towards the deep green of the hillcrest.

Behind them another shell exploded with a dull roar, and they heard the distant scrape of steel splinters against the
Nonouti
's hull.

Hammond swallowed hard and said bitterly, “At least our ship will stand a better chance now. She can slip into the Inlet while those poor devils are being massacred!”

Trewin did not reply. He was thinking of the two murdered soldiers. Not as people any more, but as parts of a puzzle. The Inlet had been under fire for some time, yet the enemy had not bothered to interfere with this solitary signal post before. He glanced at Hammond meaningly. “These shells, Sub? What do you make of them?”

Hammond lifted his glasses and watched as another tall waterspout rose about fifty yards from the
Nonouti
's starboard quarter. “Not all that big.” He looked at Trewin. “Five-inch maybe. The Japs do have a five-point-nine field piece, I believe.”

Trewin nodded. “Exactly. Well, it isn't firing ten bloody miles, is it?” He waved his arm towards the hill. “They must have infiltrated a battery behind the lines for some special purpose. And near enough for their spotters to keep contact.” He winced as another shell exploded in shallow water, and he tried not to think of those packed refugees.

Then without a word he walked into the darkened hut, and pausing only long enough to throw a groundsheet over the body by the door he began to pull the litter of wreckage from the radio set. He shut his ears to the distant shell bursts and the sounds of buzzing flies from the other corpse. It was all beginning to fit. Some of the batteries were missing. The Japs must have come in the night to take some replacements from this hut.

As he walked out into the clearing he heard Phelps call, “The
Porcupine
's floating off, sir!” His voice was trembling with relief. To him the ship meant order and safety, and her survival represented something more precious even than the lives of the refugees.

Hammond said slowly, “The
Nonouti
's getting to the narrowest
bit of the channel. It's like a funnel there. If the Japs can hit her there she'll block it completely. Then only the gunboats'll be able to get upstream!”

But Trewin ignored him. He was staring at the
Porcupine
's masts above the surface haze. He had seen them go astern. The ship was off the sandbar at last. Then, just as he had been about to take the others back to the dinghy and return to the gunboat, he had noticed with something like shock that the masts were slowly turning into line. As he blinked to clear his vision he saw the
Porcupine
's blunt bows nose from the mist, her forecastle shining faintly in the first hint of sunlight.

Hammond said in a strangled tone, “She's going about! Corbett's heading for the
Nonouti
!”

As one they turned their glasses back to the paddle steamer. The paddles were still churning bravely, and there was a drifting cloud of cordite smoke almost alongside. But there was no bow-wave under her battered stem, and the water around her was yellow with silt and mud.

“She's gone aground!” Hammond spoke between his teeth. “She's struck!”

Trewin turned back to the gunboat. He could see tiny white figures on her quarterdeck, the gleam of sunlight shining briefly on the big towing swivel.

No more shells fell, and Trewin could imagine the sudden consternation caused by the
Porcupine
's appearance. The invisible spotters would just have to wait until the gunboat was harnessed to the other ship and then…Half to himself he muttered, “You poor, brave bloody fool!” Then in a calmer voice he said, “Take Phelps down to the foreshore, Sub. Tell him to call up the ship on the double!”

He saw the uncertainty in Hammond's eyes and added sharply, “There is a Very pistol in the hut. If I can mark the spotters' position with a few flares, maybe Tweedie's howitzer can hit the bloody thing!”

He turned to go but Hammond clutched at his arm. “You'll
get killed! It's impossible!”

“We don't know till we try, do we?” Somehow he forced a grin. “You get that signal off, Sub! The ship'll find her way through the channel before you can say whistle!” He turned and ran into the hut, hating the smell of the place, hating himself for pretending to Hammond that there was room for hope.

He wedged the fat cartridge into his shirt and rammed one into the pistol. As he left the hut he felt a fresh pang of alarm. The others had already gone and he was momentarily tempted to follow them. Then with a quick glance at the ship he started to push his way through the clinging brush towards the top of the hill.

The sun was hardly clear of the sea yet already his chest and legs were streaming with sweat and his breath was hot across his parched lips. At the foot of a rotting tree he found a shaded runnel of black mud left from some recent downpour. Gratefully he sank on his knees and dipped his handkerchief in it. The sodden rag felt cool across his face, and as an afterthought he tore off his shirt and kneaded it in the mud before dragging it back across his shoulders. It stank, but Trewin knew it would be harder to see than a white shirt. As he replaced the heavy cartridges against his skin he thought suddenly of the girl, Clare Massey. What was she doing at this moment? Would she ever hear what he had done, and if so, would she care?

He lurched to his feet and hurried on up the slope, ignoring the stinging thorns and the cruel whips of low branches across his shoulder. Not far now, he thought dazedly. They had to be near. To be in a safe place from which they could see seaward and back inland at the same time.

He tried not to think about the dead soldiers and how they had died. He looked at the revolver in his hand. They would not take him alive, he was quite sure of that.

A lance of weak sunlight glittered momentarily through the trees, and instinct made him drop to his stomach in one quick movement. Then, holding his breath, he began to drag himself forward through an unbroken carpet of gorse. It tore his hands
and knees, but each second took him closer to the place where he had seen the light. The light made by the sun shining on glass.

Flies buzzed around his streaming face and other insects explored his thighs and chest, but he dared not move. Suddenly, muffled by the trees, he heard the dull bang of a shell burst. They had started again. Within minutes they would have the exact range and the
Porcupine
would be detonated like a giant bomb.

He thought of Corbett's sudden impulse and wanted to bury his face on his arm as he had that day in Talang hospital. Shut it all out. Forget Corbett and his hopeless determination to prove himself and his ship.

He was shaking badly, and he knew that he was only waiting to hear that one final explosion.

Then he looked up. They were so close that for an insane instant he imagined that they had seen him and were already closing in on his hiding place. As the mist cleared from his eyes he saw the whole position like a small picture. There was a camouflaged hide made of reed thatch in which they had laced loose branches to disguise it from any aerial survey. In front of it was a long telescope mounted on a brass tripod, and almost hidden beyond the thatch roof was a signal lamp pointing towards the next ridge of hills. And grouped around the telescope, intent and motioness, were the Japanese spotters.

They were dressed in filthy, camouflaged uniforms and tight-fitting jungle caps. One, who appeared to be in charge, wore glasses and was calmly smoking a cigarette. Across his knees was a long, curved sword, and Trewin had a sudden stark picture of this calm, composed officer slashing at the pinioned soldier in the hut.

The man at the telescope moved his sighting bar and spoke quickly from the corner of his mouth. Another soldier's head and shoulders appeared behind the hide, and Trewin saw him crouch behind the signal lamp. It was a very small light, but no doubt it was being watched by a powerful telescope from the distant hills. Trewin heard the brief whistle of a shell passing
overhead and the distant roar of an explosion.

The officer stood up and snapped something to the man at the telescope. The latter nodded violently and pressed his eye to the sight once more.