Trouble in Tristan

By Duncan Watt

The three boys are still aboard the St Valery with Barry when she gets hijacked after leaving the Namibian port of Luderitz. The hijacker is a young German, by the name of Gustav Stoltenhoff, who has just joined the yacht for the final leg of the journey to Cape Town. He is desperate to reach the tiny South Atlantic island called Inaccessible in the Tristan da Cunha Group.
Gustav is a descendent of one of the few people ever to live on Inaccessible Island, and he has recently learnt that a German U-boat put into the island late in World War Two on its way to find refuge in Argentina. Aboard the submarine was a treasure of artworks looted by Hermann Goering.

After the treasure has been loaded aboard the St Valery in a secret cave, following their hazardous ocean crossing, the three boys and Barry are marooned on the island. In their attempt to get rescued, they encounter most of the island’s amazing bird population - albatrosses, spectacled shoemakers, the tiny Inaccessible rail, rockhopper penguins and the vicious skua.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Duncan Watt
• Release date: Jan 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465785633

Duncan Watt

I was born in Africa where I grew up; but I have lived in countries like England, America, Papua New Guinea and Japan. I have now lived in Singapore for 35 years.When I was teaching in Zambia I wrote a couple of books in simplified English for my students and these were published by Oxford University Press. Since living in Singapore, where I have, among other things, appeared on the TV News for nearly twenty years, I have written 20 books in my Wallace Boys Series - 11 of which were published here in Singapore.Please visit The Wallace Boys Web Site to find out more about the books, and there is more about me too.

Book preview

Trouble in Tristan

An Adventure of the Wallace Boys

Duncan Watt

_

Copyright 1991 Duncan Watt

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved

License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Illustrations by Joha Hassan

Cover and additional illustrations by Paul O’Shea

Maps and diagrams by Duncan Watt

Acknowledgements

The author would like to express his appreciation and thanks to Denstone College, Uttoxeter, for the ready help given concerning Inaccessible Island, and especially to Mr Michael Swales, leader of the expedition to Inaccessible, and Mrs Swales, for their kindness and hospitality.

ISBN 978-1-4658-3063-0

First published in 1991 by Tynron Press, Stenhouse, Thornhill, Dumfriesshire DG3 4LD, Scotland

and reprinted by Graham Brash, Singapore

Dedication

To those distant Islanders in the wastes of the South Atlantic Ocean.

And to Mr Michael Swales and Denstone College.

Table of Contents

1. A Stranger Joins the St Valery

2. A Rude Awakening

3. Hijacked!

4. Speculation

5. The Brothers Stoltenhoff

6. Further South

7. The Storm Strikes

8. Man Overboard!

9. The Death of Berlin

10. U-467

11. The Cave

12. The Tables Are Turned

13. Inaccessible Island

14. Double Trouble

15. Castaways

16. Our Feathered Friends!

17. The Final Chase

18. Requiem for the St Valery

The St. Valery

Tristan da Cunha

End Notes (At the back of the book there are notes referring to the numbers in the text. By clicking on the numbers you should be able to view the notes.)

1

A Stranger Joins the St Valery

"Hey, Barry, this hatch is jammed! I can’t get it open and the for’ard[1] hatch is bolted. What’s happening up there? What are you playing at? Let me out!" Bruce pounded on the teak panels with his fists.

There was no answer from the wheelhouse and Bruce suddenly felt afraid. What was happening aboard the St Valery? he wondered, and he cast his mind back over the past few days. He recalled the day he first met the stranger ...

*

"Hi! I’m looking for the owner of the St Valery. Is he around?"

Bruce glanced up from where he was applying a coat of grey paint to the winch unit in the bows. He’s not around at the moment. Can I help you? he asked.

He looked across the narrow gap between the St Valery and the wharf. Standing on the wide wooden beams was a young man. He was darkly tanned but his short hair was very fair and he had pale blue eyes.

I don’t know, but you may be able to, came the reply. I would really like to talk to the owner.

As I said, he’s not around at the moment. He’s gone to do some shopping in the town. Would you like to come aboard and wait? Bruce indicated the gangplank amidships and the stranger came on to the deck. He walked up to where Bruce was tidying up.

Let me give you a hand.

Bruce swept up the flakes of rust round the winch, while the stranger cleaned the paintbrush in the jar of turps and tapped the lid back on the paint tin securely.

That won’t come off in a hurry, he said. By the way, my name’s Gustav. He put out his hand.

Mine’s Bruce, Bruce Wallace. Nice to meet you. Let’s go down to the galley. I need a drink.

Bruce slid back the for’ard hatch just near where he was working.

Don’t slip; the ladder’s quite steep. The two of them passed through a small cabin with two bunks. This is where I sleep, Bruce said, patting the neatly-made top bunk. He slid the door open and the stranger found himself in a trim little galley. Go on into the saloon and take a seat.

Bruce put two glasses down on the well-polished, fold-away table and slid along the seat. It was cool in the saloon; the curtains were pulled back and the portholes were wide open to catch any little breeze. The St Valery rocked gently at her moorings.

Lovely boat, said the visitor. How many of you are on her?

Four of us. There’s the owner, Barry Jones, then my elder brother, Nigel, and a guy from St Helena, Jimmy - Jimmy Fowler.

I heard in the town that you are leaving to go to Cape Town fairly soon.

Yes, we only put into Luderitz to get some supplies and fuel. We’ve just come across to Namibia. We were in the north, on the Skeleton Coast, for a short time. We certainly had some fun and games up there, I can tell you! But what about you? What are you doing in Luderitz? You don’t come from here, do you?

I come from Germany, Coblenz on the Rhine. My surname is quite a German mouthful - Stoltenhoff; Gustav Stoltenhoff.

Quite a mouthful, as you say. Another drink? Bruce refilled the glasses.

Where are the others?

They’re with Barry. They should be back fairly soon. Bruce leaned back in his seat and squinted out of one of the portholes. I think that’s them coming now.

The sound of a vehicle trundling slowly across the wooden beams of the wharf came to their ears.

Bruce and Gustav left the saloon and climbed up the four steps into the wheelhouse and then up onto the flying bridge. They ran down the gangplank just as Nigel and Jimmy lowered the tailboard of the small truck.

Good, we need a hand. And a spare pair will be ideal, said Nigel, looking at Gustav. Hi! I’m Nigel and this is Jimmy.

And I’m Barry.

Our revered captain, Bruce put in.

Gustav introduced himself and while he was helping with the unloading he examined the others. Bruce, he noticed, was slightly shorter than his brother, and he was decidedly much stockier. Bruce was fair and Nigel dark, and they both were deeply tanned and they both had vivid blue eyes. Jimmy was about the same age as the brothers and his colouring told of the mixed ancestry of the St Helenians; he had a ready smile. Barry was in his mid-thirties, bearded and looking extremely fit.

I’ll get some lunch, said Barry when everything had been stowed away. They were now sitting on the flying bridge under the awning. Would you like to join us, Gustav?

They ate a leisurely salad lunch, sitting in the shade of the striped awning, with a gentle breeze blowing over the St Valery. The small port of Luderitz lay behind them. Beyond the rocky bay lay the Atlantic Ocean and they could see the waves rolling towards them. The St Valery rose and fell on the swell, her tyre fenders grinding against the timber piles of the wharf.

Now, Gustav, what can I do for you? You wanted to see me about something. Barry took a sip at his cup of coffee.

I’ve been travelling round Namibia and I’ve been just about everywhere I want to and now I want to go down to Cape Town and, rather than go by bus, I thought I might be able to hitch a ride on a boat. Gustav smiled and looked across at Barry.

We’re probably not leaving for a day or two yet, Barry said.

Does that mean I can come along?

I suppose it does. You can have the small cabin next to mine, astern. Barry pointed to the hatch and doors near the stern of the St Valery.

But I’m not putting anyone out, am I?

Oh no, said Jimmy. Bruce, Nigel and I sleep in the cabin by the galley and on one of the seats in the saloon.

Well, that’s settled then, said Barry. An extra pair of hands is always useful, and if Gustav doesn’t mind, the four of us, he indicated himself, Jimmy, Bruce and Nigel, "could do a spot of sightseeing round Luderitz tomorrow. Gustav could look after the St Valery and perhaps arrange for the last of the supplies to be brought aboard."

That’s fine, Gustav agreed. And if there’s any more painting to be done, I can do that.

When do you want to move your things on board? Barry asked. "Why not this afternoon? Stay aboard tonight and get the feel of the St Valery; tomorrow the rest of us will head off for a trip round Luderitz and inland a bit."

How long will we be away, do you think? Nigel asked.

A day, we’ll be back in the evening. We can’t stay away too long. You three boys should be getting back to Cape Town soon - haven’t your university terms started by now?

Just about, said Jimmy. Cape Town University reopens very soon.

And it’s just about time for us, too, agreed Bruce. The two Wallace brothers were studying at the university in Harare, the capital of Zimbabwe. We’ll have to get back pretty soon.

After lunch, Gustav went back to the small hotel he was staying in, to fetch his rucksack. When he got back to the St Valery, he found that the little cabin next to Barry’s was all ready for him. Bruce and Jimmy had just finished making up one of the bunks.

"Thanks a lot. It’s great to be aboard the St Valery. As I said before, she’s a lovely boat."

What he said was no less than the truth. The St Valery, at eighteen metres from stem to stern and four metres across amidships, was a fine craft. Originally she had been built as an air-sea rescue launch during the Second World War but her fine lines did not show her age and the conversion to a motor yacht had been exceptionally well carried out; she had six berths: two bunks in the little for’ard cabin, with its attached toilet, and two bunks in the cabin that Gustav was using. There was a wide, double bed in Barry’s cabin which took up the entire stern section of the boat.

Amidships lay the engine room with its three powerful Perkins diesel engines at one hundred horsepower each, that could thrust the St Valery along at a steady fifteen knots, with a top speed of eighteen. These were Barry’s pride and joy; they gleamed with constant polishing, silent now but ready to rumble into life at the press of the starter buttons. Steps up from the engine room led to the foul-weather wheelhouse which was hardly ever used; it tended to be stuffy, heated by the pounding engines, and the noise soon grew unbearable even with the engine room hatch closed. Directly above the wheelhouse was the flying bridge with a second helm linked to the wheel below. The flying bridge was surrounded at the front by windscreens and at the moment a striped awning shaded the deck, but this would be removed at the first sign of bad weather. A teak mast, bearing the radio antenna and the main navigation light, held up the back part of the awning. From the crosstrees of the mast fluttered the Namibian courtesy flag, and at the stern staff was the ensign.

Two empty davits curved over the stern and Gustav had asked about them at lunch.

Isn’t there supposed to be a small boat hanging there? he queried.

Yes, we lost it up on the Skeleton Coast and I’ve got to get a new boat, but we usually use an inflatable with an outboard, Barry explained. And, as you can see, we have another lifeboat just behind the mast. We’ve only just had the starboard davit patched up temporarily; it was damaged when we piled into a rock.

Bruce and I had to chop the boat clear, added Jimmy.

During the evening Gustav took down details of what he should do while the others were away; one of the main things was that the diesel tender was coming alongside.

We don’t need to fill the tanks, Barry explained that evening. Fuel is more expensive here than in Cape Town so we only need enough to get down to the Cape.

I’ll show Gustav where the fuel tank inlets are. Bruce led him to one of the side decks and pointed to several screw caps made of brass that fitted flush with the deck. These are for diesel but don’t muddle them up with those under the matting next to that step. Those caps are for the water tanks!

A bit awkward if you mixed them up, Gustav put in. The water would taste pretty grim.

You can say that again. Barry told us about someone who started to put water into what he thought was the water tank. He had just turned the dockside tap on. He turned round and saw this flood of liquid, which he knew was certainly not water, coming from the hole because the fuel tank was already full. He whipped the hose out but the damage had been done. For the next couple of days, this poor guy spent the time on his back, wedged into the narrow space between one of the engines and the fuel tank in the engine room, draining off the water, which had settled to the bottom, into a glass beaker; drip by drip!

I bet he didn’t make that mistake again and I won’t, either, that’s for sure, Gustav assured Bruce.

At first light the next morning, Barry and the three boys set off in the truck. Gustav was left by himself on the wharf beside the St Valery. He had his duties cut out for him for the rest of the day and, as soon as the truck had rumbled off the end of the wharf, he set to work.

The three boys and Barry had already visited most of the little town of Luderitz that still showed its German roots and so they headed out of town. They visited little rocky coves along the coast, where, despite the cold sea of the Benguela current, they swam several times. On Diaz Point they took photographs of the cross that showed where the early Portuguese explorer, Bartholomew Diaz, had landed five hundred years before.

All day they drove round the area and it was a tired truckload that pulled up against the St Valery late that evening. The hire firm would collect the truck from the wharf the next morning. The three boys clambered aboard the St Valery, to be welcomed enthusiastically by Gustav.

I thought you’d be back about now. I’ve prepared you a special meal, it’s a Bavarian speciality.

Lead me to it. I’m famished, gasped Bruce. It smells delicious, but I’m so hungry I could just eat a German sausage if that’s all you’ve prepared.

When you get to know my brother better, you’ll find he’s always hungry, Nigel laughed.

Over the lighthearted meal on deck, plans were discussed for the next morning. Barry had checked the fuel gauges; the diesel had arrived and they had sufficient for the journey to the Cape.

"You looked after the St Valery magnificently. Barry raised his glass to the young German. Thanks for a wonderful meal and thanks for looking after the boat so well."

Gustav