Twenty minutes later he came strolling back, singing happily. The part had not been ready so he had nothing to carry. His gaze took in the fishing trawlers bobbing at their moorings, the ripples of the outgoing tide, the seagulls ..... the bullies!
Burford, Harvey and Macnamara were standing on the boat ramp next to the dinghy. They had just dumped their bicycles and were fiddling with fishing gear. Graham faltered in his stride. “They haven’t seen me. I can go back and hide,” he thought, the heat of his shame scorching his self-respect as he did. His stomach turned over. “There’s no chance of launching the dinghy and getting away without trouble.”
Shamefacedly he turned and walked quickly back to a nearby shed and hid behind a stack of boxes where he could watch. For several minutes he stood there, biting his lip and despising himself.
More minutes ticked by. At last the three bullies moved, but not far, only twenty- or thirty-metres, onto some rocks at the mouth of the creek. They had their backs to him.
After a few more minutes they began casting. “I’d better go now,” Graham thought, looking at his watch. “11:30. I’ll be in trouble with the old man otherwise. Talk about the devil and the deep blue sea!” he muttered.
With his heart beating fast from anxiety Graham took a deep breath and walked out of hiding. It was only fifty paces to the dinghy but he knew that would be the easy bit. “I’ve got to launch her and start rowing!” He kept his eyes on the three tormenters.
With a little gasp of relief he reached the dinghy unseen. In a flash he untied the painter and tossed it inboard. Then he grasped the bow, lifted it and began slewing the boat around. Normally he would have slid her in stern first and scrambled over the bows, trying to stay dry, but not this time. “Speed is what matters,” he decided. “I’ll just have to get wet feet.”
So he splashed into the water, still hauling the boat around. But the grating of the keel on the concrete was his undoing. Macnamara turned his head and called to his friends. “Hey! Here’s that little turd Kirk. And he’s got a boat.”
By this time Graham was in knee deep water and had the dinghy almost afloat. He felt rising alarm as the three bullies turned, put down their fishing lines and headed towards him.
“A boat eh!” Burford said. “That’s just what we need. Hey Kirk! Don’t try and run you little shit.”
Which was exactly what Graham did try to do. The dinghy was afloat by this so he sprang aboard, picked up an oar and tried to insert the rowlock in its hole.
This made the three bullies shout and break into a run. As they came leaping over the rocks Graham panicked. He fumbled for the second oar. In his haste the rowlock nearly slid off into the water. He snatched at it just in time. With fingers all thumbs he urged it into the hole.
Too late!
Burford had reached the dinghy. He seized the stern and pulled hard. Graham lost his balance and tumbled over. As he fell he struck his knee a painful blow on a thwart.
“Let me go!” he yelled shrilly.
Burford laughed and clambered aboard. Macnamara and Harvey arrived to help him. Graham cried in fear and tried to fend Burford off. “Help! Leave me alone you bully!”
“Don’t call me a bully you little snot!” Burford snarled, cuffing him. Graham found himself dragged to his feet. Next moment he was pushed backwards. The back of his knees caught the side and he pitched into the water.
This was so cold it was a double shock. Luckily it was just deep enough to cushion his fall so he didn’t crack his skull on the concrete boat ramp. He floundered for a moment before finding his feet.
As he stood up, water streaming off him, he saw that the dinghy had drifted out a few metres. Macnamara and Harvey were standing on the shore laughing. Burford was also jeering.
“Give me back my boat,” Graham cried. “My dad’s expecting me back.”
“I’m just going to borrow it for a little while,” Burford answered.
Graham was now standing in waist deep water on the sloping ramp. Already the boat had drifted under the combined impetus of their struggles and the tide so that it was a good five-metres from the shore. He began wading towards it.
“Grab him Harvey!” Burford yelled, when he saw Graham’s intention. Burford seated himself and groped for the oars.
Harvey hesitated. He obviously didn’t want to get his joggers wet. Nor did Macnamara. Graham reached the side of the dinghy and grabbed it. Burford swore and swung the oar to hit at him. Graham seized this and hung on.
Burford tried to hit him again. “Harvey! Grab the little bastard or I’ll belt you!” he yelled.
Reluctantly Harvey waded in, swearing and cursing. Graham had to let go to turn and face him.
“You come any closer and I’ll wet you!” Graham shrieked.
That made the bullies jeer and laugh but Harvey replied. “Big deal! You do and I’ll pulp you. Now come here.”
Clearly he didn’t relish a soaking. Graham remained waist deep a few metres from him. By this time Burford had positioned the oars.
“No!” Graham cried as Burford began to row. He turned to lunge at the boat. Harvey went to grab him. Graham swerved and threw himself into deeper water towards the side of the dinghy. Harvey gave up.
Graham found himself close to the side of the dinghy, near the starboard oar. To his surprise his scrabbling feet found no bottom and his head went under water. Opening his eyes he found that he could only see dark green murkiness and fear hit him. Terrified he struggled to the surface.
By now Burford was rowing hard and the dinghy was moving away. Graham began to swim after it.
Burford was no oarsman. His blades struck oncoming waves with their flat, throwing up showers of cold droplets. Graham quickly caught up again and reached out to grasp the stern. He was aware that the boat was now a good ten-metres out from the shore and getting into the main channel. He could feel the waves and the grip of the current on his legs.
“Let go you little slime!” Burford shouted as Graham began to haul himself aboard. When Graham ignored him Burford swivelled an oar to hit him. Graham blocked the blow and grabbed the oar. Burford let it go, lifted the other out of its hole and raised it to strike at him.
Graham let go of the first oar and ducked. The second oar struck his knuckles and it hurt. He cried in pain, let go and slipped under water. He came up spluttering and frightened, treading water.
By now they were twenty-metres out and in the grip of the outgoing tide. Harvey and Macnamara were having to scramble along the shore to keep up. Graham dodged another wild swipe. The oar hit the water with a splash. This time Graham seized it and held on.
Burford swore and stood up to better grip the oar. He tried to push it at Graham but Graham held on tight. Then Burford tried to wrench it free. He hauled back hard. Graham sensed his moment. He stopped pulling and pushed.
The unexpected move caught Burford off balance. He stumbled back, let out a yell and pitched headlong over the other side of the dinghy. For a moment Graham was too delighted by his success to react. Then he struck out for the dinghy which had begun to drift rapidly away from him.
He ignored Burford, who had surfaced spluttering and gasping nearby. Graham knew he had to catch that boat or he was in trouble. “If I lose that dinghy Captain Bligh will keelhaul me,” he thought. He swam as fast as he could, hampered by his shoes and clothes.
To his consternation the enormous slab sides of a massive bulk carrier loomed up twenty-metres to his left. He glanced at it and realised he was already opposite the bulk sugar terminal. With a spasm of fear he realised that, even if he gave up trying to catch the dinghy, he could not swim ashore until he was past the enormous ship.
“I’m in the middle of the Inlet!” he thought. “Christ there might be sharks!”
Fear gave Graham strength. He struck out for the dinghy, dimly aware of men, made tiny by the height, yelling and pointing from the deck of the bulk carrier.
“Strewth the current is fast!” Graham marvelled. The massiv
e rusty sides of the ship seemed to be sliding past at a rapid rate. “I’m gaining,” he gasped. The dinghy was closer, only a few metres away. But he knew he was winded and tiring. His arms were starting to feel like lead.
He rested for a moment, treading water while he gathered strength.
And then he hit something in the water.
It was large, and hard, and all rough and knobbly.
Thoughts flashed through Graham’s panic-stricken mind. “Shark! No - too rough - Crocodile!” He knew it couldn’t be a rock or a wharf piling or anything like that because he was in the main shipping channel where it was twenty- or thirty-metres deep.
Sheer terror drove him into frantic activity. He lashed out with his feet and arms and swam frantically for the dinghy. “It’s my only chance!”
Fear lent him strength. Suddenly the dinghy was there next to him. Graham reached up and, in a spasm of utter terror, hauled himself over the stern, to sprawl on the thwarts and bottom. He ignored the bumps, scratches and bruises which resulted.
For a minute or so he just lay in an uncomfortable heap, trembling with shock and exertion and gasping for breath.
“Burford!” Graham gasped. “What happened to him? I hope he is alright.”
He hauled himself into a sitting position and looked around. With a shock he saw that he was already passing the naval base. A pair of grey painted patrol boats and a white-hulled survey ship were tied up there. He looked astern and could see no sign of anyone in the water. This caused him deep concern.
“I hope Burford made it to shore. If he drowned then it will be my fault. I pushed him over the side.”
With these gloomy thoughts Graham stood up, shielded his eyes against the glare from the dancing wavetops, and looked around. There was no sign of anybody in the water.
“He must be alright,” Graham thought, trying to re-assure himself. But he was unable to rid himself of the feeling of sick dread.
“The Oil Wharf!” he gasped. “This current is really moving me along. I’d better get back and see if Burford is alright. In fact I’d better get back to the ship or dad will get real cranky.”
So he looked around for the oars.
They were gone.
Both of them.
“I knew one must have gone because I pushed Burford with it. The other must have slipped out of its rowlock,” Graham muttered in dismay.
His eyes fastened on the empty steel loop of the remaining rowlock. His heart seemed to sink even deeper into his stomach. He looked at the water around the boat, hoping to see at least one of the oars. There was no sign of them.
Only then did the true nature of his predicament strike him. “Strewth! I’m being taken out to sea on the tide!” He measured the distance to the shore, noting that he was now approaching the main wharves. It was a good fifty-metres.
But Graham was reluctant to yell out for help. That would be very embarrassing. So he looked in the boat for something to use as a paddle. There was nothing. Nor did he relish trying to paddle with his hands.
“That’s the sort of splashing which attracts the predators,” he told himself. For a moment he considered hopping over the side and trying to push or tow the dinghy. The thought of what might lurk in that murky green water ensured that idea didn’t last long. For the same reason, he was too scared to abandon the dinghy and swim ashore.
“Perhaps I could anchor?” he thought. He tried that. It had no effect. “Too deep,” he muttered, hauling in the wet anchor rope. He shivered, the wind chilling his wet clothes.
A motor launch came past from the other direction. Graham gave it a half-hearted wave but was ignored. “What can I do? I’ll be swept out to sea!”
CHAPTER 12
HARDER THAN IT LOOKS
Graham sat in the dinghy shivering. He felt frightened and miserable. There wasn’t a single person visible on the main wharf or on the vessels berthed there. No small craft were moving anywhere on the inlet as far as he could see.
By this time the current had carried him as far down the channel as the end of the main wharf. He began to get panicky and finally stood up and began waving his arms and yelling at the apparently deserted shore.
Suddenly a sailboat shot into view. It came out of the shelter of the yacht club basin, heading down-channel.
“Help! Help!” Graham yelled, waving both arms.
To his embarrassed relief he saw heads turn in the skiff. It suddenly went about and lay head to wind with sails shivering. Graham sighed with relief and sat down. He felt weak at the knees and the cold wind was making his eyes water.
The skiff’s jib stiffened and it steadied on a slow upwind reach towards him. Graham looked at it anxiously. “Yes, it is heading for me. I can see the faces....Oh no!” He groaned as recognition came to him. “The navy cadets!”
It was Andrew, Carmen, Jennifer and a boy he had never seen. They wore sandshoes, blue jeans, blue work shirts, orange life jackets and berets. Graham felt a wave of shame. “Of all the people to see me like this! Jennifer! She will think I’m a real dill. Adrift with no oars!”
The skiff surged by, to pass just upwind of the drifting dinghy.
“Hello,” Andrew called. “I thought it was you. What’s the matter? Spot of bother in the propulsion department?”
Graham went redder still. He reached over and grabbed the skiff’s stern. Andrew looked into the dinghy. “You’ll never get to America like this,” he quipped. “Where are your oars?”
Graham told him.
Andrew nodded. “Burford! That mongrel. He’s been at you all week,” he commented. “Didn’t he pinch your duds the other day; and lock you in the dunny?”
Graham saw Jennifer’s eyes widen with curiosity. Carmen shrilled with laughter. He scowled and felt even more embarrassed.
“Yes,” he snapped gruffly.
“What happened?” Jennifer asked.
Graham didn’t want Andrew to tell the stories and certainly didn’t feel like recounting them himself. “Tell you later. Can you please give me a tow? I want to get back to see if Burford is OK.”
“Bugger him,” Andrew replied.
Carmen silenced him. “Graham’s right. Have you got a line you can use as a tow rope?”
Graham passed over the anchor. This was wedged under a thwart and the rope paid out. Then, on Carmen’s command, the mainsheet was hauled in. The skiff began to move. It didn’t tow very well but once they adjusted the balance, the trim of the sails, and the setting of the towrope, it worked OK.
They did a long starboard tack right across the inlet to the rows of moored pleasure craft. Graham sat glum and cold and looked back morosely at the half dozen yachts and motor boats which had suddenly appeared from various places. “Why couldn’t one of them rescue me,” he muttered. “Why Jennifer and the navy cadets?”
Another long tack took them back across the inlet to the Sugar Terminal. The skiff went right in close to the slab sides of the bulk carrier there before going about. Graham looked up to where several men leaned over the railings. One of them yelled down speaking with a Swedish or Norwegian accent. “Hey boy! You dom lucky. There was a dom beeg shark here a little while ago.”
Graham shuddered and glanced into the water. Then he yelled up, “What happened to the other boy? Is he alright?”
The man pointed to the muddy shore astern of the ship. “Ja. He swam in there. He very angry.”
The skiff drew the dinghy out of earshot. Graham waved thanks, then turned to watch the cadets working the skiff. They made a good team it seemed. That further depressed him. “How can we possibly hope to beat them in a race?”
A large white launch foamed into view from Smiths Creek. POLICE said the blue letters on its side. “I wonder where they are off to in such a hurry?” Graham wondered.
He soon found out. The police launch rounded to and came alongside. A policeman called down at him.
“You the kid who was swimming in the Inlet?”
That gave Graham a real jolt. He f
elt even more humiliated and miserable. Almost overcome by shame he nodded his head, quite unable to speak for a moment.
The policeman nodded. “OK, we will take over the tow thank you navy,” he called. The skiff eased her sheets and lay to, Andrew hauling the dinghy up to her hand over hand. He tossed the anchor over. Graham thanked them and passed it up to the policeman.
“You come aboard,” the policeman ordered.
Graham clambered onto the launch, dreading the trouble he might be in. The skiff wore away to port, the navy cadets all waving. Graham waved back but could hardly see for tears misting his eyes.
The policeman eyed him curiously. “Ok kid, what’s the story? You OK?” he was asked. Graham told them what had happened, feeling very foolish as he did. He pointed to the boat ramp which was now on their starboard beam. There was no sign of Burford or his cronies.
“Can you take me back to the Malita please,” he asked. He felt like throwing himself over the side. “What will my dad say when the police bring me back? And I’ve lost the oars.” he thought miserably.
“Lost the bloody oars!” his father roared when he had been deposited on board the Malita. Capt Kirk turned to the Water Police sergeant. “How did you blokes get involved?”
“That Swedish bulk carrier, the Kristiansholm, they saw the lad go past swimming after the dinghy and saw that it had lost its oars. There was a second boy in the water as well who couldn’t swim very well. They threw him a lifebuoy but it missed him. He made it ashore alright though. We had better go and look for that before a powerboat runs into it.”
“And my bloody oars,” Capt Kirk snorted. “We will help. Get in the runabout you kids, and put a bloody life jacket on this time. Sorry to cause all this trouble sergeant.”
Graham did as he was told. Soon they were skimming down the inlet in the wake of the police launch. Graham felt very small and unhappy and didn’t want to see his father’s angry face. Instead he looked outboard, hoping to spot one of the oars. He ignored the spattering of cold spray which rapidly soaked him through.
The Mudskipper Cup Page 10
