Douglas twisted his cane.
‘Yes, I’m sure of it. What’s happened?’ said Porter.
Douglas tugged his beard for a moment, wondering about the implications.
‘I’ve had a telegram this morning from the Cooktown police. It’s about two boys apparently speared by blacks down at Cape Melville. The one called Thomas is in hospital. Thomas has apparently recovered enough to tell them that the other fellow is Joe Harry.’
‘Oh.’
‘Dead.’
‘I see.’
Having said it aloud, and seeing Powell’s cool reaction to the news, he wondered how much he should be worrying. No one else seemed surprised.
‘Well,’ said Powell. ‘That’s a shame. I’ll get this note to Porter as soon as I can.’
‘Thank you,’ and Douglas made a small bow before saying, as if by the way, ‘Do you know my daughter? Maggie?’
Powell put his head to one side like a curious puppy, but said he did, of course. Captain Porter’s charming wife.
‘My daughter,’ repeated Douglas. ‘She’s on the Crest of the Wave. ’
Powell raised his eyebrows and mouthed, oh.
‘A private letter,’ he said, producing another envelope. He put it into Powell’s hands.
‘I understand,’ said Powell.
Douglas felt grateful.
‘Perhaps you might pass the news on to any of the other captains, of course. About the spearing. If you hear anything, perhaps you can send a telegram from Cooktown when you get there,’ and taking out the ten-shilling note again he held it out to Powell, who pocketed it and nodded, acknowledging that this was now a business matter.
John Douglas walked slowly back down the wharf. As he stepped ashore and onto Victoria-parade a breeze rustled the palms. When he looked back, the North Wales had raised her mainsail and was pulling out into the shipping channel.
CHAPTER 13
Off Cape Melville, Thursday 2 March 1899
‘What day is it today?’ asked Willie Tanna.
He was standing on the deck of the Zoe with a tin mug of coffee, looking to the east. A bank of red clouds ranged along the horizon.
‘Thursday,’ said Sam, beating the diving suit into shape. The helmet was in its bucket. He’d cooked breakfast. The crew, though, had hardly eaten and they stumbled over each other in a stupor.
They were all particularly dull that morning, except Charley, who sang in spite of their threats to throw him overboard.
The Vision had come alongside the night before, creeping up under a half moon and a close-reefed mainsail, no stern light, Joe Harry’s grin appearing suddenly, friendly enough, asking how much shell.
Sam had turned and gone below, but Willie shrugged.It was a common enough question and he’d plucked a figure from the air.
‘Ten crates.’
Joe Harry whistled.
‘Not just here,’ Willie had said.
Joe Harry’s grin widened. ‘Any pearls, Kanaka?’
Willie had laughed, as he was expected to.
Bending over the bulwarks Joe Harry hissed, ‘You still alive I see, Kanaka. Mrs Porter wanted to know today about you and your cook. You are a healthy man, Kanaka? You seem to be.’
Willie smiled, ‘Yes,’ he said.
The Zoe ’s sail flapped when Joe Harry breathed into his face and whispered, ‘That Thomas, he’s not coming back.’
‘Who?’
‘You have another pearl,’ said Joe Harry. ‘I know this. I give you a good price.’
He had handed Willie a bottle of gin and loudly asked if he minded the Vision for company that night. Willie didn’t want the Vision anywhere near the Zoe , but he said, ‘Please yourself,’ handed the bottle back and retired to the main cabin, where he found Sam.
Sam said, ‘Joe Harry looking for pearls again?’
Willie grunted and collapsed on his bunk. So Mrs Porter had come down to join her husband. But why did she ask about his health? It unnerved him more than Joe Harry’s visit itself.
Sam was saying, ‘The devil is reasonable when he wants to buy your soul.’
‘Is that right?’
‘That crocodile today was Joe Harry, I’m sure of it. He can change shape,
‘Yes, I’m sure of it. What’s happened?’ said Porter.
Douglas tugged his beard for a moment, wondering about the implications.
‘I’ve had a telegram this morning from the Cooktown police. It’s about two boys apparently speared by blacks down at Cape Melville. The one called Thomas is in hospital. Thomas has apparently recovered enough to tell them that the other fellow is Joe Harry.’
‘Oh.’
‘Dead.’
‘I see.’
Having said it aloud, and seeing Powell’s cool reaction to the news, he wondered how much he should be worrying. No one else seemed surprised.
‘Well,’ said Powell. ‘That’s a shame. I’ll get this note to Porter as soon as I can.’
‘Thank you,’ and Douglas made a small bow before saying, as if by the way, ‘Do you know my daughter? Maggie?’
Powell put his head to one side like a curious puppy, but said he did, of course. Captain Porter’s charming wife.
‘My daughter,’ repeated Douglas. ‘She’s on the Crest of the Wave. ’
Powell raised his eyebrows and mouthed, oh.
‘A private letter,’ he said, producing another envelope. He put it into Powell’s hands.
‘I understand,’ said Powell.
Douglas felt grateful.
‘Perhaps you might pass the news on to any of the other captains, of course. About the spearing. If you hear anything, perhaps you can send a telegram from Cooktown when you get there,’ and taking out the ten-shilling note again he held it out to Powell, who pocketed it and nodded, acknowledging that this was now a business matter.
John Douglas walked slowly back down the wharf. As he stepped ashore and onto Victoria-parade a breeze rustled the palms. When he looked back, the North Wales had raised her mainsail and was pulling out into the shipping channel.
CHAPTER 13
Off Cape Melville, Thursday 2 March 1899
‘What day is it today?’ asked Willie Tanna.
He was standing on the deck of the Zoe with a tin mug of coffee, looking to the east. A bank of red clouds ranged along the horizon.
‘Thursday,’ said Sam, beating the diving suit into shape. The helmet was in its bucket. He’d cooked breakfast. The crew, though, had hardly eaten and they stumbled over each other in a stupor.
They were all particularly dull that morning, except Charley, who sang in spite of their threats to throw him overboard.
The Vision had come alongside the night before, creeping up under a half moon and a close-reefed mainsail, no stern light, Joe Harry’s grin appearing suddenly, friendly enough, asking how much shell.
Sam had turned and gone below, but Willie shrugged.It was a common enough question and he’d plucked a figure from the air.
‘Ten crates.’
Joe Harry whistled.
‘Not just here,’ Willie had said.
Joe Harry’s grin widened. ‘Any pearls, Kanaka?’
Willie had laughed, as he was expected to.
Bending over the bulwarks Joe Harry hissed, ‘You still alive I see, Kanaka. Mrs Porter wanted to know today about you and your cook. You are a healthy man, Kanaka? You seem to be.’
Willie smiled, ‘Yes,’ he said.
The Zoe ’s sail flapped when Joe Harry breathed into his face and whispered, ‘That Thomas, he’s not coming back.’
‘Who?’
‘You have another pearl,’ said Joe Harry. ‘I know this. I give you a good price.’
He had handed Willie a bottle of gin and loudly asked if he minded the Vision for company that night. Willie didn’t want the Vision anywhere near the Zoe , but he said, ‘Please yourself,’ handed the bottle back and retired to the main cabin, where he found Sam.
Sam said, ‘Joe Harry looking for pearls again?’
Willie grunted and collapsed on his bunk. So Mrs Porter had come down to join her husband. But why did she ask about his health? It unnerved him more than Joe Harry’s visit itself.
Sam was saying, ‘The devil is reasonable when he wants to buy your soul.’
‘Is that right?’
‘That crocodile today was Joe Harry, I’m sure of it. He can change shape,
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