The Love Beach (33 page)

'But they do have a how‑do‑you‑say‑it,' he was not often lost for English, '... a charge for the deeps!'

'A depth charge,' suggested Cooper brightly. 'For submarines, you mean, your Excellency.'

'Correct,' said M. Martin without looking at the aide.

Abe said: 'All we have to do now is to get those natives into a submarine and drop a depth charge on them.'

The French Governor afforded him no attention. 'Unfortunately it is all that is available. The warship is on a courtesy visit,' he said stiffly.

'Pity about the twenty‑one gun salute,' said Cooper nastily. 'You were looking forward to that, your Excellency.'

Abe said: 'Have a twenty‑one depth charges salute.'

The Frenchman said evenly to the British Governor, 'If they launch the depth charge wide of the natives it will throw up a great reaction ‑ a big explosion, and a wave which will upset their boats. That should result in the solution of your problem.' Incensed by the remarks of Cooper and Abe, he was immediately more formal.

Sir William regarded him kindly. 'I am most grateful, M. Martin,' he said. 'It will terminate this silly conflict. Please ask them to use the depth charge.'

'Signaller,' said M. Martin. The Melanesian jumped like a performing doll. His flags went through their gymnastics. The French Governor watched for the reply. The signaller spoke to him.

'They will manoeuvre around us, as far to the right as is possible,' he announced. 'They will fire the charge about two hundred yards from the natives.'

M. Martin hesitated, obviously uncertain whether to add something. He decided to cover himself. 'There is a possibility, which I am sure you will ~ appreciate, that the depth charge will not explode. It is very ancient. From the war years. They have never practised with the real thing since this particular one is the only one they have.' He glanced at Sir William as though seeking understanding in a fellow sufferer. 'These islands, as you know, Governor, are not always the top priority with our Governments.'

Sir William waved his hand. 'Your Excellency, I am grateful for your assistance, and of course I understand perfectly. Not only do we not have a depth charge, we have no ship capable of firing a depth charge. I am most grateful, particularly as it is your only one.' He seemed embarrassed. 'We shall reimburse you for it of course,' he added.

The ramshackle warship tottered to within a couple: of hundred yards of the launches. A klaxon was sounding and on deck the crew could be seen running to their action stations around the useless gun under the bridge and to the depth charge launcher at the stern. The captain could be seen on the bridge issuing orders and clearly taking a cine film of the battling natives.

M. Martin coughed. 'I see our captain is using the sextant,' he observed. No one argued.
They
watched the warship curve, old but menacing. In the other boat Mrs Flagg began to call out in distress. 'Don't shoot! Don't shoot! They must not bombard! The United Nations will hear about this, Mr Governor!' She shook her plum fist at both Sir William and M. Martin.

'Mrs Flagg!' called the Governor sternly. 'There is no call to distress yourself. No one will be hurt.'

'The thing might not even go off,' said Conway under his breath.

It seemed that the tribesmen were unable, now, to quit the combat without damaging their honour. As they fought they looked over their shoulders at the circling warship with apprehension, but then returned to the fighting again using greater strength, each side seeking to conquer before they were both attacked by the white men.

The captain of the gunboat turned his vessel so that the stern faced the wide area over which the natives were now fiercely engaged. He backed it up like a driver backing an unwieldy lorry. Around the depth charge, sitting like a prize egg on its mounting, the crew waited. From the bridge came the order. They let it go. It flew high and wide like something thrown by a boy and plummeted into the sea two hundred yards short of the natives.

'I think I'll sit down,' said Conway on the launch. He sat down quickly on the deckboards. No one followed him. Nothing happened. The little barrel had been swallowed up and digested by the big ocean. The natives fought on eagerly like two football teams in the closing minutes of a goal‑less match. The Sexagesima people stood grouped together in the manner of evangelists awaiting a sign. Nothing happened.

'A dud,' decided Abe loudly. 'What we going to do now, spit?'

The answer came from the belly of the ocean. It burped up in a huge wet explosion, like a submarine mountain vividly erupting; a hundred feet high, sea green and blue, feathered at the edges, plumed at the crest, rumbling with power from the inside, sending great storm waves running over the surface.

It flung the white people down on the boards of their boats, jarring them and swinging the boats about like fairground contraptions. Conway, already sitting, found M. Martin lying across him. With stunned apologies the French Governor freed himself. The others lay criss‑cross246

ing each other, arms flung out, trying to regain a balance that, once regained, was immediately lost again as the boat plunged the opposite way and then was struck by the next hammer wave.

Davies, after rolling like a tumbler to the edge of the boat, could hear Mrs Flagg crying from the other craft. 'The poor dears! Oh, the poor dears!' Her call was swallowed by the belated roar from the depth charge; it sounded like the world splitting at its seams, deep, then loud, the sound breaking out into the sunlit day and exploding over the sea. It was a full two minutes before the boats stopped staggering. When they had settled the Governor, Sir William, was first to his feet. He looked out to where the battle had been joined.

'Done it!' he exclaimed hoarsely. 'Done it, by heavens!'

The others crept up and looked. The canoes appeared as though a hurricane had been loose among them. They were scattered and capsized, floating with the running shock waves. All round there were stunned natives in the water, swimming by instinct most of them, no weapons in their hands, no breath in their chests.

'Signaller,' ordered M. Martin, looking over the heavy ribs of the sea. 'Tell the captain to lower boats to pick up these men.'

'Well done indeed, sir,' breathed Sir William. 'Always rely on the Navy.' He added.. 'No matter whose it is.' M. Martin smiled generously. The warship's lifeboats began picking up the islanders from the sea. St Paul's and St Mark's natives sat obediently along the wooden seats like cowed children on school benches.

The bodies and debris of the battle were still floating by the launches. Mr English watched them and felt a chill.
'They
are floating due south.' he said to Pollet.

'I had noticed the direction,' said Pollet. 'I wonder has the Governor also noticed.'

They looked across. They could not tell whether he had noticed. But he had.

Sixteen

It was night before they reached the harbour again. Sir William went to Government House, bathed, changed, and had a stiff double scotch. He spent the rest of the night with George Turtle at the radio station. When he returned by car to his house on the headland the early crowds were already beginning to congregate in the streets of the shabby town ready to welcome their Queen. Sir William felt like shouting to them 'Go home, go home,' but he realized how inadequate that would be. His heart was heavy for the poor little place and its hopeful, hopeless people. He saw their flags with sadness and their new flowers loaded him with humility. The Melanesian children from the mission school were sweeping the area in front of the quay and dusting down the rows of chairs. He turned the windows of the car up so that he would not hear their happy singing. He felt old and shapeless and unable to cope with life.

At eight o'clock he sent for Mr English, who arrived at Government House arrayed in a fine swinging kilt, smiling a pinched smile. The Governor knew him too well. He could see his optimism was forced.

'Hie, it's a gran' day for it, your Excellency,' said Mr English. 'A gran' day for two Scots like o' us.'

'It's a gran' day for nothing and nobody,' returned Sir William, lapsing into a little soft Scots for the sake of his council chairman. He looked sadly at the pathetic dwarfishness of the man, listened to his hooting voice, until now a bane, only with a sort of pity. These people, after all, he had thought, had so little here.

'Nothing and nobody?' queried Mr English. But he knew what the Governor meant. 'Yc've called it off, then?'

Sir William put his face into his big fingers. 'Aye,' he

said. 'Aye, it's off, Rob Roy. I had to do it. You know that.'

He thought Rob Roy was going to weep. The little man shuddered. 'There's the whole thing ready,' he said. 'The chapel at The Love Beach, the procession and the band, and all the people. The wives and the schoolchildren.'

The Governor went from habit and looked out of the window. He could see all the coloured activity on the quay, the boats busy, the bunting floating and flying, and the gay people. 'I saw them,' he said, 'putting up the flags and the fresh flowers. Aye, it's sad. Especially for a place like this. It might have given it just the something it needs. A little bit of
...
well, pride, I suppose. That's it. Pride.'

'It'll be a long time before she's back this way,' said Mr English. He fiddled at his crutch. 'God damn,' he muttered. 'This new sporran is full uncomfortable.' He adjusted it. 'Aye, Governor, I think it might have done a wealth o' good to the Apostles. Just to see the
owner,
as it were. That's always a good thing in a firm. See the owner now and again.'

The Governor turned from the view of the lagoon and the harbour. 'I thought you'd be angry, Mr English,' he said. 'I'm surprised. Thank you.'

'What's the use. Ye've done it, so what's the use. I guessed anyway, yesterday.'

'You can't have a tribal butchery one day and a visit from the Sovereign the next,' shrugged the Governor. 'It just cannot be. I'm disappointed too, of course, just as much as the littlest schoolchild will be. It would have been nice, just before I retired. A fine thing to recall in the years when I have time to think.' He gave a half laugh. 'Look, I even got the plumes fixed properly on my show bonnet.' He took his white cockaded hat and displayed it to Rob Roy. 'I've never worn it yet, you know. I don't suppose I shall now. Looked good on me too.'

'Put it on,' suggested Mr English kindly.

'Aye, I will,' agreed the Governor. He placed the big hat carefully on his head and regarded himself in the far mirror. 'That's grand, don't you think?' he smiled.

'Aye, gran' it is,' said Mr English. 'Like my new sporran.'

'That's fine too. Have a drink.'

'It's early, but today I will,' said Rob Roy. 'I've kept that sporran for twenty years, you know, your Excellency. Stored it up for a moment like this. Well, a moment like we thought it would be. '

Sir William poured two double measures. They stood, one in his outrageous kilt and the other in his outrageous hat, and lifted their glasses.

'The Queen,' toasted Sir William with a smile.

'Aye, Her Majesty,' responded the wan Mr English. 'May she pass this way again.' Then he added. 'And stop.'

They went together to the pier where Abe had provided an emergency ferry to replace the launch now lying three miles outside the lagoon. Abe had scrubbed and painted his craft, removing the debris of the wrecked cabin. Patriotic silks and streamers hid the dent in the bulwarks. Abe was wearing one of the rosettes purchased from the firm in Tahiti. He offered one each to the Governor and Mr English, and they accepted with a smile. Then he knew the Queen would not be coming. He mentally decided to refund half the ticket money he had taken for the trip out to the harbour. Then he decided to refund two‑thirds of it. Then, hell to it, he thought, all of it. It was a pity because he quite fancied seeing her himself. He had never managed to see a King or a Queen even when he was operating in London because at such times as Coronations or royal funerals he was always too busy running some concession.

Neither the Governor nor Mr English spoke during their crossing of the lagoon. It would have been a perfect day for it: the sun round and firm now, looking over the higher palms, the island rising green and proudly, the sea striped with all its colours. The embellishments that the people had made, the flags and all the other decorations, and the people themselves, waiting and bright, filled the town. As the Governor and Mr English stepped ashore from Abe's boat the steaming spectators, lined behind the barriers, ushered by shining policemen, hot in the sun, began to cheer. Sir William had retained his fine white hat, and to this he had added his smart, smooth uniform with his modest medals like a coloured keyboard across his chest.

The cheers from the Governor's landing were heard along the street, lifted and carried on to the quayside, where the police band, really in tune, played in the waiting moming.

Those who knew the form the programme was to take that important day were surprised to see the Governor and Mr English make such a premature appearance. Sir William, for all his white starch and graceful feathers, walked tiredly, without lilt or enthusiasm. Mr English looked down studying the pendulum movement of his sporran. The band performed, but on a suddenly puzzled slightly wandering note. The police conductor growled, gave more authority to his baton, and they rallied, but now the Governor followed by Cooper and Rob Roy English were on the dais where it was planned that Her Majesty would stand that day. Cooper gave a flat wave to the band and they trailed to silence.

All the area about the Sexagesima quay fell to silence with them. The sun‑touched colours of the children, the older citizens, the yellowing houses, and the other poor buildings became at once a fixed pattern. There were hundreds, black and white, waiting in that enclosed place. Sir William looked out on the stilled scene and felt his heart further weighted. A small child cried out behind the school's barrier but there was no other noise the Governor could hear except the breathing of the high palm trees and his own bumping heart. They must have known it was something bad for all the flags, the Union Jacks, the Tricolours, and the ill‑proportioned miniature flag of the Apostles, which had already been held and waved a million practice times, were all at once drooping, held listlessly by those who had shown them. All the faces, from the black tribesmen to the pale English maidens in flowered print dresses of dated fashion, seemed to be turned on him and watching his every expression. Nervously he reached for the microphone.