He said, “You told me once about responsibility, sir. To the ship and all that she represents.”
Corbett slammed his hand on the back of a chair. “My God, Trewin! Don’t you think I’ve thought of all this?”
Trewin continued, “Well, what about responsibility to your people, sir?” He saw Corbett’s lip tremble and persisted, “Young Hammond, for instance. His father could have got him away long ago. But he stayed with the ship, because he thought it was his duty.” He took another step towards the desk. “And Tweedie, what has he done to be left to rot in some prison camp? He’s given his whole life to the Navy!” He was speaking quickly now, if only to prevent a rebuttal. “They’re all good men! They deserve a chance!”
Corbett replied slowly, “I’ll not prevent their leaving. I wish to God I had told them to go with Prawn.”
Trewin leaned on the desk, his eyes fixed on the captain’s drawn face. “They don’t want that, can’t you see? They’re not running away like the others! They want to go as a company, as your ship’s company! God in heaven, don’t take away their pride now!”
He dropped his eyes briefly and saw that the envelope was addressed in Corbett’s scrawling hand to his wife.
Corbett stared at the carpet. In a small voice he said, “You mean well, but you don’t understand what you’re suggesting.”
“Yes, I do. I’ve been thinking. At first I thought as you do. But if it is only a chance, we will have tried, and that’s what matters now.” He shot Corbett a quick glance. “We could make for Batavia in Java, sir. We’re bound to find some of the fleet there.”
Corbett shook his head. “It’s impossible. Even if the first part of your plan proved likely, I don’t think you understand what you’re asking. Five hundred and fifty miles through waters patrolled and dominated by the enemy. Our supporting ships have pulled back by now. We’d be quite alone. A crippled ship, too.” His voice shook with emotion. “Gunboats are designed for rivers and inshore waters. Even Prawn will have great difficulty in getting away, in spite of leaving earlier.” He controlled himself with obvious effort. “No, Trewin, it would be madness to give our people false hope and endanger their lives to no purpose.”
Trewin stepped around the desk and swept some papers on to the deck. Shining coldly on the blotting pad was a cocked and loaded revolver. He said harshly, “Isn’t this madness, too?” He saw Corbett’s jaw drop open as he added, “What good do you think it will do the ship and the rest of us by killing yourself?”
He expected anger or another controlled attack, but Corbett seemed to collapse into the chair, as if the muscles and sinews of his body had at last given out.
Trewin said gently, “I’m sorry, sir. But I couldn’t just stand here and let you…”
Corbett’s head was hanging over his hands. “It’s no use, Trewin. I can’t go on. You don’t understand. I tried to do my duty as I saw it. I thought I was getting a second chance.” His shoulders shook. “My wife was right after all. She always told me that I was a failure, but I didn’t care then. I had the ship, and Martin.” His voice trailed away, then he said, “And there’s something else I didn’t tell you.”
Trewin replied quietly, “Your eyes?” He could hardly bear to watch the astonishment on Corbett’s face as he stared up at him. “Yes, I knew all about them, sir. Dr. Massey told me.”
Corbett spoke with real difficulty. “And you stayed quiet about it?”
“I had a lot of time to think. Time to remember. Like the time you ran the ship aground when we were entering the Talang Inlet. You knew there was a danger of grounding in the dark, but you were too stubborn and too…” Trewin sought for the right word, “too honest to allow me to take the ship in. You knew that if anything went wrong I would be blamed. And your sense of justice would not allow that, even at the expense of this ship!”
Corbett stood up and walked back across the cabin, so that his head and shoulders were framed in the scuttle in silhouette. “I’m going blind, Trewin!” The words seemed to break from his lips. “It’s been coming for months. There’s nothing I can do.” He spread his arms. “I’m finished! But I will write you some fresh orders. You take the ship. I’ll not try and stop you this time!”
There was a tap at the door, and Trewin thrust the pistol into a drawer before calling, “Enter!”
It was Tweedie, his face set and apprehensive. “Any orders, sir?”
Trewin stepped in front of Corbett and replied, “Prepare to lay out an anchor for kedging ship, Guns. The tide’s on the turn, so we’ve not much time.”
Tweedie swallowed hard and peered towards the captain. “Really?”
Trewin repeated, “Lay out an anchor.” He stood quite still until Tweedie had left. Then he turned and said, “We may make a hash of it, sir, but at least we’ll have had a bloody good try!”
Corbett was looking at him, his face in deep shadow. “The amateurs have become the real professionals.” His voice was shaking badly. “If you are sure, then I…” He broke off as a wave of cheering echoed along the Porcupine’s upperdeck.
Trewin tried to grin. “They think you can do it, sir. I think that is your answer.”
Corbett sat down again, his head on one side as the cheering continued. “They don’t know what they’re asking!”
Trewin moved towards the door. “I think they do.” He turned away, feeling guilty at sharing Corbett’s private grief. “You tell us what to do, and we’ll get the old Porcupine to Java, or bloody Australia if necessary!”
He stepped out on to the bridge wing and into the smoky sunlight, and looked down at the busy figures on the gunboat’s deck. Then with a deep breath he climbed down the ladder where Unwin and the others were waiting for him.
The coxswain said gruffly, “Well done, sir. You must have put a good case to the captain.”
Trewin felt the infectious excitement all around him. “Well, let’s hope the idea works!” He thought of Corbett’s pistol and the sudden enormity of the responsibility which lay ahead. Then he said harshly, “We sail tonight. Or not at all. So let’s get to it!”
IT TOOK THE BEST PART of an hour to move the gunboat into what was considered to be the best position. Using one anchor and the power on the capstan, she was jockeyed this way and that while Trewin hovered nearby in the motor boat, one eye on the work and the other on the tide, as on either side of the ship the long sandbar lifted above the water like some surfacing sea monster.
At last the Porcupine was settled firmly astride the bar, and even before the last of the falling tide had swirled clear of her plates Nimmo and his assistants were floundering in the thick yellow mud, their naked bodies soon caked from head to foot.
Trewin climbed back on board and walked aft to watch the frantic preparations. Everybody but the anti-aircraft gunners was employed doing something, and even the cook and his mate were slithering in the mud and ooze beneath the stern, helping to carry away the thick sand from the rough trench which was being dug around the rudders.
So intent were they on their desperate preparations that each man appeared oblivious to the distant shell bursts beyond the town and the curtain of smoke overhead.
Nimmo stood knee deep in the mud and shaded his eyes to look up at Trewin. “The port outer is okay, sir. The starboard outer has gone completely, sheared off at the rods.” He wiped a smear of slime from his forehead. “The centre one is badly buckled.”
Everyone had stopped work to listen, like patients around a doctor at some mass diagnosis.
Trewin rubbed his chin. “What d’you think, Chief?”
Nimmo shrugged. “I can remove the centre one. If I could use it to replace the starboard outer rudder you would have a fair purchase on your steering. Of course, it wouldn’t be as good as having three, but it would see you all right.” He knelt down again. “Trouble is, the rods are badly sheared. Even if I could straighten the rudder, I’d need a welding kit. And that we don’t have, sir.”
There was something like a sigh from
the watching men. Then Nimmo added, “Still, we’ll get on with the job. No point in looking at it.”
Trewin replied tightly, “High water is at 1400, Chief. If we can’t do it by then we won’t do it at all.” He looked at the distant pier. “There may be Jap soldiers standing there this time tomorrow!”
He turned away and saw Mallory staring at him. Mallory asked calmly, “Anything I can do?”
“If we can get clear of here we shall need all the charts for sailing south via the Berhala Strait and on to Banka Island.” He kept his tone formal. “Just check your stores and see if you’ve got them.”
Mallory stepped closer and dropped his voice. “Look, Number One, I’m damn sorry about the kid, but how was I to know?”
Trewin eyed him coolly, “If the captain’s wife had done as she was told that boy would be alive today.”
“Hell, you’re laying it on a bit thick! You know what she’s like. If it hadn’t been me it would have been some other joker!” He shrugged vaguely. “She was a tart. She was fine in bed, but I don’t see her as the faithful wife.”
Trewin made sure no one was close by. “Listen to me, and listen good! You’ve never got on with the captain because you’ve never even tried. Ever since I came aboard I’ve heard nothing but moans and complaints from you about him and the whole Navy in general.”
Mallory said angrily, “I didn’t exactly see you hitting it off eye to eye with him.”
Trewin ignored him. “I still don’t. But just answer me this. Would you have made a point of going for his wife if she had not been married to Corbett?” He saw the uncertainty on Mallory’s dark features and added remorselessly, “Don’t bother to answer now. It’s written all over you.”
“So what do you want me to do? Go and apologise to him?”
Trewin looked away. “If he ever found out about you, Mallory, because of something you say or do, I won’t have to kill you. He will!”
Mallory bit his lip. “For Christ’s sake!”
“We’re not playing by the rules any more, Pilot, and one life more or less doesn’t count for much around here.”
At that moment the quartermaster called, “There’s a dinghy comin’, sir!”
Trewin walked to the rail and stared at the small boat with its five bronzed occupants. From their forage caps and khaki shorts he saw that they were soldiers. They were floating aimlessly with the sluggish current and watching the sailors working on the rudders, like casual holidaymakers on the Thames.
Trewin cupped his hands. “Boat ahoy! What do you want?”
The boat nudged into the sandbar, and one of the men climbed out to stare up at the gunboat’s deck. He was tall and tough-looking, and his thick arms were covered with tattooes. Surprisingly he pulled his heels together and threw a smart salute.
“Sarnt Pitt, sir!” He nodded towards the other soldiers. “Them’s four of my sappers.” He lifted his chin with a touch of defiance. “Royal Engineers, sir!”
Trewin had a sudden picture of the tall, gaunt sergeant marching back into the smoke with his small rearguard to lay the charges in the face of the Japanese advance. Of the officer dying on the beach beside his ridiculous shooting stick. Of a hundred other nameless faces.
He asked, “What are you doing out here, Sergeant?”
The man moved a bit nearer. “Nothing else to do at present. My last remaining officer is busy preparing to surrender himself, so I thought I’d bring my lads out here.” He could not hide the bitterness in his tone. “They are all I’ve got left now.”
Nimmo appeared from under the stern, his eyes peering through a mask of mud. “Engineers, did you say?” He spat on the sand. “Have you got any welding gear, you know, a portable unit of some sort?”
The sergeant smiled calmly. “I have. Matter of fact, I saw what you were doing through my glasses. I wondered if you might want a bit of professional help.”
There was a dull clang and Donovan, the stoker petty officer, shouted, “We’ve got the bloody thing off!”
Nimmo looked hard at Trewin. “This is the answer, sir. If the sergeant could bring the gear out here we might still get the job done in time.”
Trewin felt the nerves jumping in his body like live things. “Could you, Sergeant?”
The soldier squatted comfortably beside the watching sailors. “We’ve been building pontoon bridges for the most part.” He nodded. “Sure, it would be a piece of cake!”
Nimmo slapped his shoulder. “Thanks a lot, mate!”
The sergeant stood up and added, “I said that I could.” Nimmo exploded, “Now, just a minute!”
But Trewin held up his hand. “Spit it out, Sergeant. What do you want?”
The soldier looked him squarely in the eyes. “I want passage for me and my sappers, sir.” He glanced at the smoking town. “I’m not staying here to die. Not now. Not for those bastards!” He lifted his head again. “They’re my terms, sir.”
One of the other soldiers called, “We can bring some Brens, too. We’ll work our passage, don’t you fear.”
Nimmo chuckled. “You’re a cool ’un, chum.” To Trewin he added, “I’ve lost all my Chink stokers, sir. Any help will be more than welcome.”
Trewin smiled. “Take the motor boat and fetch the gear.” He returned the sergeant’s salute and continued, “I’d have taken you anyway, with or without your permission.”
The sergeant watched the motor boat muttering into life. “This is a press gang I’ll not argue with, sir!”
Hammond joined Trewin by the rail. “What d’you think? Can we complete the change-over in time?”
Trewin rubbed his chin. “Touch and go, Sub.”
“Er, how is the captain?” Hammond was still watching the hurrying motor boat. “Will he be all right?”
Trewin thought of the slumped, beaten figure alone in the cabin. The letter propped on the desk, the cocked revolver. He answered, “I think so.”
“Now then, what are we all waiting for?” They turned as one, momentarily caught off guard by Corbett’s sharp voice.
The captain was standing on the battery deck beside the aft gun staring down at the lolling, mud-daubed figures by the stern. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt, and his face seemed to glow, as if from a recent shave and cold shower.
Trewin stared at him with amazement. Then he answered, “I’ve sent some men for welding gear, sir.”
Corbett nodded. “I heard that part, Number One. But what the blazes are you doing at this particular moment?”
“Well, sir.” Trewin could not take his eyes from Corbett’s neat figure. “As a matter of fact…”
Corbett nodded. “As I thought. Nothing.” He rubbed his hands. “I suggest you send away the other boat and see if there are some stokers still in the harbour. You know, the ones who worked the harbour launches.” His brow was creased in thought. “And get a few extra life-rafts, they’ll help to protect us from flying splinters if we are attacked, eh? And when you’ve attended to that, I think you ought to get that horrible object, whom I now recognise as the cook, to prepare a good solid meal for all hands.” He gave Trewin a flat stare. “Right?”
Trewin saluted. “Right, sir.” For a split second he saw a slight softening of Corbett’s stare. As if he was trying to say something, to thank him. Trewin added, “I think we’ll make it, sir.”
Corbett looked around at the filthy, breathless seamen. “Make it? I should damn well hope so!”
He walked away, and Trewin stared at the empty guardrail, half expecting to awake from a dream. Then he looked at Nimmo. “Well, you heard him, Chief.”
Nimmo bared his teeth in a grin. “Loud and clear, sir!”
TREWIN SWITCHED OFF his torch and stepped quickly into the shuttered wheelhouse. After the darkness and drifting smoke the light seemed too bright, and he had to wait a few seconds to restore his bearings. It still did not seem possible that they had succeeded in getting the ship ready for sea. Right up to the final minutes, as the rising water had lappe
d eagerly around the listing hull and slopped into Nimmo’s sand trench, the men had worked with a kind of fanatical desperation, each one conscious only of the passing seconds which measured his last chance of survival.
Then, as Nimmo had dragged himself aboard, the gunboat had tilted upright with satisfied dignity and had allowed herself to be moved back to her buoy. For the remainder of the day the work of preparation had continued, although to all outward appearances the ship was as before, her A.A. guns manned, her awnings spread and the boats tied alongside.
Trewin was surprised to find that he was not totally exhausted. Perhaps deep down he had felt like the others. He had never really expected any real success from their efforts, and now that the ship was afloat again his whole being throbbed with nervous excitement in time with the pulsating engines.
Once darkness had fallen the ship had slipped her buoy and drifted with the current until well clear of the nearest pier. Then she had dropped anchor to await the final moment of departure.
Trewin looked around the wheelhouse and tried to make sure he had forgotten nothing. He had been right round the ship. There was little time left for second chances.
Unwin was standing loosely behind the wheel, idly watching his telegraphsmen. Feet moved restlessly on the upper bridge where signalmen and look-outs waited for the ship to move, and from right forward Trewin heard the sharp click of metal as someone made an adjustment to the capstan.
He sighed and walked along the passageway to the tiny chartroom. Mallory was leaning across the table, his face screwed with concentration as he ran his parallel rulers across a chart, while Corbett stood against the opposite bulkhead, toying with the strap of his binoculars.
Trewin said, “Ship is ready to proceed, sir. All awnings stowed and boats hoisted inboard.” In the sealed stillness of the chartroom he thought he could hear his heart beating.
Corbett’s eyes flashed palely in the chart light. “Very good.” He sounded very calm. “I want you to go forrard and make sure the cable comes aboard as quietly as possible. Put as much grease as you can find on it. We don’t want some spy to report our sailing. There’ll be trouble enough later on without advertising our departure.”
Pride and the Anguish Page 24
