It was the strangest procession. The motor launches, courteously pushing aside the water before them, proceeded through the ranks of the antagonist armies who remained completely still and composed, sitting in the dug‑outs like invalids in wheeled chairs. Only their dark native eyes moved.
Sir William in the way of a general astride a military vehicle, inspecting an array of troops, cruised very slowly through the blue corridor of the sea. He stared to either side and met the same impassive masks of the islanders. 'They've really got to stop,' he grumbled almost to himself. He spoke to Cooper: 'Give me the megaphone.' He took the trumpet and, swinging slowly from side to side addressed simultaneously the warriors of both sides. As he did so his boat proceeded, bumping several times against the drifting bodies of the natives who had been killed in the earlier combat.
Sir William raised the megaphone as majestically as a boat‑race umpire. In his imperfect Pidgin‑English he called to the tribes. 'You fellas no kill. Fellas go home Mama. Good things they come.' He repeated it, first to one side and then the other, to the impassive and unimpressed natives. The Governor, worried that he might be boring them, varied the sentences. 'Fellas go home Mama. Fellas no kill. Good things they come.'
Everyone in the white man's flotilla watched Sir William's performance with sharp interest and differing reactions. Cooper gazed at his chief with loyalty and admiration, Conway smirked, Davies looked respectful, Abe folded his rubbery face as though he felt a deep ache. M. Martin looked across at his co‑govemor with one eyebrow, slim and dark as his moustache, accented above the level of the other. Pollet smiled affectionately at the Governor's attempt. Mr English, Mrs Flagg, and the other councillors remained at their instinctive attention and merely inclined their heads. Mr Kendrick looked at the others and down at himself, and wondered how many British in history had died like this, hands smartly at their sides.
The motor boats, pushing their creamy arrows through the sea, moved powerfully on through the passage between the rival tribes. No movement had come from either assembly of islanders. Then, when the four white launches had reached their extremity of the open channel dividing the natives, from each set of warriors came a long growl, thickening as it sounded, full of threat, full of the eager challenge of battle again. The citizens of Sexagesima were already looking over their shoulders. They saw the left‑hand formation of each tribe start forward through the silk water, the canoes thrust energetically towards the battle area, the deep‑throated noise becoming more insistent with each dip of the paddle. The craft went irrevocably towards another collision, another fight, another slaughter.
They met with a grinding and a strange patient sighing from the canoes, as though they, anyway, were tired of the game, and then the men were upon each other again. To Davies watching horrified, propped against the cabin of the Governor's launch, it seemed the black men were like furious crocodiles threshing in the water, all wet sinew and muscle, each entangled in the others.
Once more the clubs crushed and the spears were jabbed and turned. The remainder of the tribes sat, again impassively, witnessing the deadly display.
The second engagement was fought in the same strange half‑quiet as the first. Only the grunts and the uncanny infant whimpers came from the canoes. The canoes bucked like protesting horses, turned, were overturned. Everywhere jet‑black men were fighting, swimming, drowning, dying.
Sir William angrily raised the megaphone to his mouth. 'Halt!' he shouted. 'Halt! Stop it, I say! In the name of Her Majesty's Government I order you to stop.'
Some of the natives paused in their conflict to look briefly at the gaunt man calling to them. But they returned to the fight immediately. Another canoe capsized into the disturbed waves and the prow of one of the St Mark's dugouts reared into the air as though it were pawing in pain. The men in the water who were unhurt, when they could recognize members of the opposite tribe, continued the grappling fight. There were heads, and oddly, legs projecting from the sea.
'Stop!' bellowed Sir William desperately. 'Stop, I tell you!'
Joseph of Arimathea squatting in the prow of his boat, waiting for his final squadron to join the battle frowned with annoyance at the British Governor, the frown of a disturbed spectator in a cricket pavilion and then turned to watch the maul in the ocean again.
It broke up once more as magically as it had done the
first time. The combatants disengaged themselves, those canoes still upright turned their snouts away from the arena and the sea settled down patiently to its normal rhythmical swell. The canoes and the bodies from the first encounter were now floating far south with the ocean current, bobbing like debris from a flood. The new casualties occupied the water between the two tribes. They began moving away obedient to the tidal flow, washing around the hulls of the four Sexagesima motor boats.
Mrs Flagg was crying quietly into a tartan handkerchief which Mr English had considerately passed to her. 'There go my friends,' she sobbed as the dead warriors floated by. 'There go my friends.' Rob Roy English himself was pinchfaced and sick. Culloden must have been like this he thought, apart from the colour of the antagonists and the presence of the sea.
The other councillors stood in ashen apprehension, stupefied by the callous violence of these people they lived among but could never know. When the second squadrons from the islands had withdrawn there was quiet again, a full, rich, awful quiet over the easy waves. Mr Kendrick and Mr Livesley watched the canoes on both sides and the pale sweat gathered on their British brows. Pollet, pale too, repeated: 'Nothing will stop them. Nothing will stop them.'
In the police boat everyone was sitting down, unmoving, constables and officers both French and British, all gratefully impotent, merely watchers. M. Martin in his launch was at his composed stance, wondering what he would have done in Sir William's place. He was glad that, by virtue of the fact that St Paul.'s was an Australian Dependency, only half the responsibility for St Mark's was his, and the added factor of an impending royal visit, the worry was squarely on Sir William's back. He felt sorry for Sir Williarn.
In the Governor's boat nobody spoke for some time after the second engagement had been broken off. Conway broke the clammy silence. He watched some bodies floating by. 'Mr English ought to collect a few of these,' he mentioned casually to Davies. 'Store 'em up in case he needs any more Unknown Soldiers.'
'You ought to be floating by with them,' said Davies but low enough to be out of the Governor's hearing.
'I might be yet,' said Conway without anger. 'You too, son. Our friend the Governor's getting ideas. Look at that British chin sticking out. He's not going to sit on his bum and watch any more.'
Davies felt cold in the hot afternoon. He tried to quickly work out the correct time in Newport. How did he get here, in this boat, in this ocean, with these mad people, and a good chance of being stuck through with a poisoned arrow? Why couldn't he have stayed at home like everybody else, gone to the Odeon on Saturdays, watched Newport County football team, played with the kids in the park, and gone down to Barry Island on fine Sundays?
'Everybody sit tight,' said the Governor squarely.
Conway said: 'I told you.'
Strangely Abe had said and done nothing. He lounged over the wheel, resting his strange monster belly on it, making shapes with his mouth as though he were chewing something particularly tough, looking with his brimming eyes at the natives. Cooper was suffering from the weight of the binoculars. Abe said to him: 'Too big, too cumbersome. I've got a pair of Hilier Supers at my place. Austrian, but very good. I think. you ought to have them. I'll do you a part exchange deal.'
'These are perfectly all right,' said Cooper loftily.
'Okay, I'll sell you a nice tripod then. Something to take the weight. Pearl‑Swinneton, made in the States, but very good.'
'When the bargaining is finished,' said Sir William testily, 'I will tell you what I propose to do.' He looked around, particularly hard at Conway and Davies. 'This is it. At the first sign of th
e third attack we in this launch and the police boat, and M. Martin if he cares to join us, but leaving Mr English and his party behind ‑ we will go forward and place ourselves between the two groups of canoes and attempt to keep them apart. I have a pistol, so have you, 233
haven't you, Cooper?' Cooper nodded miserably. 'And Mr Conway has one tucked under his shirt. So that will help. But ‑ and this is most serious ‑ all tiring will be above the heads of these tribesmen. There must be no shooting at them. Do you understand'?'
'I haven't got a gun,' said Abe. 'What do I do? Spit?'
'I shall take the wheel,' said Sir William sternly.
'It's your boat,' said Abe, unwilling to argue. He stepped down.
Sir William looked a granite look at him but swallowed his comment. 'I don't want there to be any civilian casualties,' he said instead. Abe nodded in agreement. Davies found the hundred pound promissory note from Conway folded in his pocket. Christ, he thought, the quicker I get the rest of the money for a ticket back to the rain and the muddy River Usk and all the rest of it, the better.
The Governor revolved and raising the megaphone with style addressed the other boats. He told them what he proposed to do, instructing the police boat to follow him, an order received with no enthusiasm whatever by the policemen, and inviting M. Martin and his pom‑pommed sailors to join if they wished. The French Governor bowed a courteous acceptance, also to the plain disappointment of his crew, and loosened the bright lanyard of his pistol again.
'I propose to move forward imniediately either of the St Mark's natives or the St Paul's tribe begin to do anything further,' said the Governor. He wondered how his dear late wife would have handled a situation like this. Probably by distributing woolly sweaters from the women's guild or something. Still he had to do the best he could. 'I would like to emphasize that if we have to open fire then all shooting will be above the heads of the tribesmen. That order will be in force until it is countermanded. Iseveryone quite certain of that?'
Heads were nodded in the boats. 'Everyone's sure,' said Abe, as though he had been asked to cheek. The Governor ignored him. Cooper glared at him. Conway grinned. Davies wiped the back of his mouth with his hand. 'Maybe we really ought to try a chorus of Jesu Lover of my Soul,' he suggested wryly.
'Why not,' said Conway. 'Offer 'em a free packet of butter and fats at the same time.'
'Get stuffed,' answered Davies quietly. 'Your ideas don't look so good to me any longer.'
Conway stared at him. 'Now shut up,' he whispered. 'Don't try anything or you will end up floating off with the rest of the bodies.'
Davies had no doubt he meant it. 'Thanks for reminding me,' he said. 'Do you think when, and if, we get back to Sydney your government department would help me with my fare back home to Newport?'
'Gladly.' said Conway. 'We want men in Australia.'
'Good, I'll keep you to that. Oh God, here they go.'
With their ghostly winding‑up sound, like the starting of an eerie engine, the tribes were swaying in their boats. The third echelon, spectators until now, began to slide through the sea. In the leading St Paul's boat was the impressive figure of Joseph of Arimathea, Bermuda shorts clad, wooden cross swinging like an anchor around his thick neck, with a tassled spear held in his left hand. The St Mark's boats moved off at the same instant, avidly eating their way through the water, the ancestral skulls bobbing on the bows, the chief, Tom Ya‑Ya, a bulging in
man with his banana‑husk sheath ' tied like a heavy burden around his middle, astride the foremost boat. They made their war noises as they converged and to the choral ears of Davies it seemed they achieved a rare harmony, chorus from one side, descant from the other, far more musically acceptable than the hymn singing of the St Paul's Christians.
The canoes moved fiercely through the sea, the noise of the warriors going with them like a propelling wind. For a moment Davies, with relief, thought the Governor had changed his mind. But Sir William then raised his arm, like a cavalry major of old, and motioned his little white fleet forward. He had taken Abe's place at the wheel and stood thin and with traditional bravery, pistol in one hand, heading his launch for the diminishing channel between the
warring tribes. Abe sat in the stem of the vessel, sheltered, and shutting his eyes in the sun, letting it rest on his big face, occasionally squinting to look at the reluctantly following boats.
Sir William looked behind too and saw that the police launch was dragging its feet behind him, then M. Etienne Martin's smart boat, the French Governor standing theatrically hand on pistol, and then, to Sir William's surprise and worry, Mr Rob Roy English and his boatload of civilians. He thought of waving them back to the safety of the sidelines, but he realized it was too late and if he did perform any waving movement it was more than possible that the police boat, thankfully mistaking the signal, would beat a retreat. He did not want that.
The pretty pinnace went at a steady rate for the gap.
Cooper stood inwardly shaking but with required external
fortitude beside his chief, Conway crouched on the port
side and Davies sat down resignedly by Abe. He was glad it
was Conway who had the gun.
'Why pick on that lot,' said Davies to Conway, nodding towards the St Paul's army. 'Why not have a shot at the others.' He nearly added 'for a change' but prudently changed his mind.
'If I'm going I want it to be a poisoned arrow shot by a Christian,' grunted Conway.
'Good thinking, boy,' agreed Abe. 'If they get me from either side it's no consolation. I told you, didn't 1, a long time ago, we should have a Jewish island around here.'
Both native tribes had read the Governor's plan with ease and accuracy even before the boat moved. They were now racing powerfully to get there first, to close with each other before the white man's vessels arrived. Their chants had ceased now, as they had before the previous engagements, and they grunted as they pushed the canoes forward straining, each side in an ironic harmony of purpose, to get there before the launches, lunging and plunging to close the gap in the sea.
But Sir William now gave the boat more power, three‑quarters, then full, and, coughing in protest, it tore into the gap, its bow wave flying like a pair of feathered wings, its following boats close behind. It was a magnificent strategy. The substantial hulls of the motor boats, made a wall between the native craft, beating each fleet by a hundred yards. Then Sir William slowed his vessel. The canoes hesitated, then lost way. The grim purpose of the silent warriors was abruptly replaced with frenzied anger. They shouted and jeered and gesticulated like schoolboy footballers when someone has confiscated the ball.
Then arrows began to fly. Abe heard them whistling first. 'Down! All get down!' he said in a sort of muttered shout. 'Down you come sir.' He pulled at Sir William's thin elderly leg and the Governor almost collapsed on him. Cooper followed.
'Damn you,' swore the Governor at Abe. Abe looked hurt. 'Only thinking of you, sir,' he said. 'Those poisoned arrows can give you a nasty sting.'
'Open fire!' ordered the Governor, ignoring Abe now he crouched and fired his pistol at an angle so that the bullet would fly harmlessly at the blue sky. A sagging sort of volley followed from Cooper and Conway, both of whom were keeping their heads well down, and from the police boat and the sailors in the French boat. Davies felt himself tighten with fear. The arrows sang like bees. He could not see a single head sticking up from the police boat behind them. Its course had become a ragged zig‑zag which seemed to indicate that the helmsman was lying down at the wheel. The boat rolled and pitched like some ghost ship.
Abe saw it too. 'Why put your head up if you're shooting to miss?' he asked logically. The guns continued to sound, ragged and stammering. The arrows, by contrast, flew in formation. The natives howled and pulled their bows.
'They haven't hit us yet,' said Davies to Abe. 'I haven't heard one hit.'
Abe turned his big creased face to the Welshman. 'That,' he said with the air of a great s
trategist, 'that, boy, is because they're not shooting at us. They're all over the top. See, look at that lot.' He pointed up as though sighting a flight of birds. 'Right over. And now that lot's going the
other way. There, see.'
'By Christ, that's good,' said Davies, relieved. 'I thought they were rotten shots.'
'They're playing ping‑pong,' grunted Abe. 'Why waste
good poisoned arrows on a few white men. Right over the top, look, there's another lot.'
'Like King Harold and the Normans at Hastings,' said Davies, suddenly comforted by the lack of immediate danger.
'Yea,' said Abe. 'Could be they read that up.'
Sir William, realizing that his boat was not the target for either side, slowed the engine and stood up behind the wheel. He watched the symmetrical flight of the arrows curve high above him, saw the men firing and falling on either flank. Looking behind he saw the apparently riderless police boat wallowing through the swell and then, beyond that, M. Martin standing aloof and observing the battle while smoking a long cigarette. The French Governor waved encouragingly. Doubtfully Sir William waved back.
At least, he thought, the two tribes were still separated. He had driven a wedge between them. Hopefully he picked up the loud hailer and called once again: 'Stop! In the name of Her Majesty's Government stop I You fella go home Mama!'
At fifty yards he presented an easy target and Joseph of Arimathea, aiming casually, put a long arrow straight through the tin skin of the megaphone, through one wall and out the other, while Sir William still shouted into it. The Governor looked angrily at the arrow and then towards the bowman, who waved.
The Love Beach Page 24
