Coast of Tears

By David de Haviland

Nobody knows why the founder of Namaga made his suicidal dive on a wreck out to sea from the settlement. A civil engineer, his son Andrew returns to build the jetty his father designed to make the town a viable port. The financier who provided equipment for its construction arrives on his liner with daughter, Adelaide, who is engaged to Frederick Carnivon - presently exploring what lies inland. Adelaide's father must leave but she lingers to await her fiance's return from the wilds. His expedition has been reduced to a grim trek over harsh terrain while pursued by desert warriors who want him dead.
In Namaga,an old man is bent on its destruction. Fierce passions,never far from the surface,and dramatic events drive Adelaide and Andrew into each others arms as they resolve the mystery of his father's death and stumble on the fate of the town's original inhabitants before they are caught up in a desperate bid for survival.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David de Haviland
• Release date: Jun 27, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465995827

David de Haviland

David de Haviland was a jackeroo in the Kimberley;a a jug-hustler in the Canning Desert,and worked in other parts of the Australian outback. After two years on patrols in Papua New Guinea he made his living as an actor and entertainer about the world before putting down roots (literally) in Queensland. When not tending rainforest orchards in the Noosa Hinterland, he writes. Presently, he is polishing another novel: FRIEND BEYOND DEATH. Watch for it on Smashwords.

Book preview

Her sails spread wing-on-wing, the lugger entered the sound to make for the pearling settlement. The black pennant flapping at her fore-mast was clearly visible against a sky turning crimson with the approach of sunset. The moment folks in the settlement glimpsed this harbinger of grim news, they set aside what they were doing to hurry down to the quay.

The ever-swelling crowd was comprised mostly of women. As they gathered on the quay an aura of tension settled over them while they watched and waited and worried if it was their father or brother or uncle or son who was the cause of the black pennant—and how he met his fate.

In these latitudes night comes on swiftly. The sky deepened and darkened and soon, only the lanterns aboard the lugger were visible.

On a knoll overlooking the strip of beach that abutted the waterfront an ancient squatted, his chant to the Ancestors floating on the tropic night air. He wore a faded sari about his bony hips and in the light of the rising moon his bald head looked like a skull

A peculiar clicking of the tongue issued suddenly from the deeper darkness about the knoll. His chant came to an abrupt end.

‘What brings you here?’ he demanded.

The spirit-woman stepped from behind a tree.

‘You said you would rid us of the gardeeya,’ she rasped.

‘They are many,’ he pointed out.

‘Find others to help you.’

‘Like who?’

‘The men at Three Mile.’

He spat in disgust. ‘They trade their wives and daughters with the gardeeya for a mouthful of rum. They will not lift a finger.’

‘What of the prisoners in the compound?’

‘They have no stomach.'

‘You must use whatever the spirits send your way!’

‘The spirits have no interest in an old man whose only wish is to die.’

His lament earned a sharp rebuke.The spirit- woman snapped, ‘Before you can join the Ancestors, you must make amends for what you brought down on us.’

‘I was merely a boy,’ he protested.

‘It was you who showed the gardeeya where to find water. Without it, they could not have stayed and inflicted their evil magic on us. They must be punished. I have done my share. You must finish what I have begun.’

She pointed at the lugger down on the moonlit sound now approaching the quay.

Its arrival was greeted with a tense silence. Neither the skipper nor his crew wanted to be the first to break the grim news. And no woman on the quay wanted to hear she had become yet another shell widow in this pearling settlement on the wild Kimberley Coast.

The coast of tears.

*****

Part One

Chapter 1

Frederick entered the telegraph station at Port Darwin to find it deserted. The chatter of a Morse key issuing from the inner office assured him there was an operator on duty. He rang the hand-bell on the counter. While waiting for someone to respond, Frederick removed the wide-brim hat and contemplated his reflection in the mirror that was over the inner doorway.

Beneath the line where his hat usually rested the face was tanned from constant exposure to the sun. The tan emphasized the penetrating gaze from his tawny eyes. His thick copper mane matched the recently trimmed moustache and goatee. Despite the cloying humidity, Frederick’s khaki shirt and trousers were immaculate. His boots boasted a high shine and his erect posture betrayed Frederick’s military past.

The key operator emerged from within. ‘I should have known it was you,’ he grumbled. ‘Who else in Darwin would show his face here at sparrow fart on a Sunday morning?’

‘Is there any word yet on the Capricorn Maiden?’

The key-operator shook his head.

‘But she was due weeks ago.’

‘So you keep reminding me, major. I do have a message for you.’

Frederick read the cable from Henry de Longe whose instructions were terse and explicit. VITAL YOU JOIN SURVEY PARTY BEFORE IT HEADS INLAND FROM NAMAGA.

‘I would like to send a reply.’

‘Forms are on the table over there.’

Filling in the London address where the cable was to be sent, Frederick wrote, ‘WILL PROCEED NAMAGA ASAP STOP PLEASE CONVEY MY FONDEST REGARDS TO ADELAIDE SIGNATURE CARNIVON.’

Frederick handed the key operator twenty pounds and waited while his change was scraped from a drawer beneath the counter.

‘See you tomorrow, major.’

‘Not if I can help it,’ Frederick vowed silently.

Henry had cabled Frederick back in early November to proceed to Port Darwin where a package containing appropriate documents and more detailed instructions were awaiting his collection upon arrival. The cable said Frederick would require enough camels and an extra saddle for a companion to assist in his attempt to map a route from Western Australia's Kimberley coast to the Overland Telegraph line in the Northern Territory.

Frederick was not happy about having some unknown companion foisted upon him but had little choice since the financier was funding his coming expedition. As promised, the package was at the post office when he arrived in Darwin after his long trek from Alice Springs. That was back in December. It was now January. Thankfully, the wet season had yet to begin but Frederick was growing axious. The moment the rain began he would not be able to go anywhere. Damned if he was going to wait another day in Port Darwin for a vessel now weeks overdue.

****

This early in the day there were only a handful of Chinese merchants up and about to glimpse what, to them, must have been a strange procession: a tall white man riding in the vanguard of five burdened camels as they plodded in single file along deserted thoroughfares on their way down the hill to the harbour.

Frederick spotted a vessel berthed at the wharf. The sign ‘For Charter’ hung from a rail. Tethering his camels under a banyan tree he went to investigate.

Paddle wheels jutted prominently to either side of the craft. The wisp of smoke issuing from the chimney pipe implied somebody was aboard. On the lower deck he could see cords of wood stacked convenient to the furnace. Irish Princess was daubed on the blunt bow.

‘Top of the morning to ye.’

The Irish lilt came from the man in the wheelhouse peering over the top of his newspaper.

‘I saw your sign,’ Frederick told him. ‘Would you be willing to take me out to those vessels anchored in the harbour? I’d pay for your services, of course.’

‘There’s a dinghy over there. You can row yourself.‘

‘I was hoping you'd ferry me around so I can find a skipper to take me where I wish to go.’

’Why would ye be asking one of them when I’m right here?’

‘Because I have to travel some four hundred miles by sea and my camels will be coming with me.’

Blue eyes, bright and shrewd beneath the bosun’s cap, flicked from Frederick to his camels. ‘You must be that explorer fellow.’

‘How did you know?’

‘I’ve been reading about you in this rag.’ The Irishman raised the newspaper and let it fall again. ‘Lord Fred, is it not?’

Frederick blinked. ‘Lord who?’

‘The photo doesn’t do you justice.’

‘What photo?’

‘Right here on the front page. The ramp’s out so come aboard. Maybe we can work something out. Where is it you’re wanting to go?’

Frederick removed the wide-brim hat but still had to duck his head to enter the wheelhouse. ‘A pearling settlement on the Kimberley coast,’ he answered.

‘That’s a lot of coast. Would it be near the depot at Cambridge Gulf?’

‘If you would just ferry me out to a vessel that can take me there – ‘

‘You won’t find any skipper willing to make the trip this time of year.’

‘Why not?’

‘T’is cyclone season. That’s why all those vessels you’re looking at are riding their anchors in harbour. You’re fortunate I’m here.’

‘If it’s too risky for them,’ Frederick challenged, ‘what chance does this paddle-barge —‘

‘She wasn’t designed for the open sea,’ the Irishman granted. ‘When I brought her across the Arafura she pitched and tossed like a cork. But she has her advantages.’

‘She does?’

‘With her shallow draft and flat bottom my Princess can run for shelter where no one else would dare to go.’

‘I see no room for my camels.’

‘Sure and there’s plenty in the open hold up for’ard. Would there be fodder in those sacks they’re carrying?

Frederick nodded.

‘So bring them aboard!’

‘Right now?’

‘The tide’s at the full. We’d be wise to leave while it’s going out.’

‘What about provisions?’

‘I have all we need: firewood, food, and drinking water. I’ll stoke the furnace while you get your camels. By the way, folks call me Paddy.’

The Irishman shot down the steps to the after-deck.

Since the newspaper was right there on the chart table, Frederick could not resist drawing it toward him. The photo on the front page was taken the morning he left Alice Springs nursing a blinding hangover. Frederick winced. The caption beneath was even worse: Lord of the Vast Unknown. The article began by mentioning the man in the photo was the son of an English lord who arrived in these colonies two years ago with a contingent of camels and handlers from Afghanistan.

‘With his Ghans and dromedaries, Lord Fred has hauled supplies and ventured on expeditions into remote parts of the Northern Territory. Now he is about to launch another expedition into unmapped terrain where the natives are reputed to be hostile. When I asked why he was willing to risk his life on so dangerous an enterprise he said he merely wants to see what is out there. His frivolous answer left this journalist wondering over the true purpose of a trek that courts disaster—even for our Lord of the Vast Unknown’.

Paddy returned to the wheelhouse.

‘What the hell are you waiting for?’

Frederick flung the newspaper aside in disgust.

Abdul, Sinbad, Samantha, Diogenes and Aphrodite crossed the ramp without fuss to settle themselves in the forward hold. Their feed, packs and the equipment stowed, Frederick helped secure the ramp. Then, at Paddy’s bidding, he released the spring-line. Two sharp blasts from the hooter announced the Irish Princess was leaving the wharf.

****

‘You said the place is about four hundred miles from Port Darwin?’

‘That is what I was told,’ Frederick answered.

‘What’s it called?’

‘Namaga.‘

‘It isn’t marked on the chart.’

‘It isn’t?’

‘See for yourself.’’

Frederick’s eye went first to the Mariners Warning that stated shoals, reefs and the phenomenal tides in these waters rendered them hazardous to navigate. The chart was incomplete and traced only portions of the coastline extending south from Port Darwin. The depot at Cambridge Gulf was marked. So was the settlement much further south, at Roebuck Bay. Namaga was not marked anywhere.

Paddy tapped the chart with a callused finger. ‘It must be somewhere between Cambridge Gulf and Roebuck Bay.’

Frederick stared at the Irishman. ‘Are you telling me you don’t have the slightest notion where we are going?’

‘All we have to do is follow the coast until we find the place. It’s simple.’

‘Simple? I’m the one who’s simple—for bringing my camels on a paddle-barge operated by an Irishman taking me where it plainly states his vessel should not go.’

Paddy wagged his head in mock dismay. ‘When I read about you in that newspaper I said to myself, now there’s a man after my own heart. He goes where angels fear to tread and to hell with them who say he can’t. Would I be willing to make this trip if I didn’t think I could get you there?’

Frederick told himself to relax. After all, the Irishman had brought the paddle-barge across the Arafura Sea. He went to check how the camels were faring. Finding them content, he paused on the for’ard deck to admire the charming display of ibises and herons stalking along the mudflats fingering out from shore.

‘We’ll anchor before nightfall,’ Paddy said, when Frederick returned to the wheelhouse. ‘What do you fancy for a meal?’

‘What do we have?’

‘Rice.’

‘And?’

‘And more rice. How do you like your rice?"

‘With curry. And onions.’

‘The curry is in the jar over the sink. The onions are hanging at the galley window. The galley is below.’

‘You expect me to cook?’

‘There’s only the two of us and one has to take care of the incidentals.’

‘In short, you are the captain and I am the crew.’

Slipping a leather thong over the helm to hold the Princess on course, Paddy led Frederick down the steep ladder to the galley. Frederick eyed the stove warily. ‘I’m not much of a cook.’

‘By the time we get to where we’re going,’ Paddy assured, ‘I’m confident you’ll have come up with a splendid recipe for curried rice.’

‘If we have any rice left by then,’ Frederick quipped.

‘T’is a dry sense of humour you have, Lord Fred.’

‘Don’t call me that.’

‘Sure, and what else should I be calling you?’

‘My name is Frederick.’

‘That’s too much of a mouthful. The curry is in that cupboard level with your chin.’

As Frederick pulled open the cupboard door, the Irish Princess juddered to a halt. Plates, pots, pannikins and cooking utensils tumbled to the floor. Paddy shot aloft to disengage paddles thrashing uselessly in shallow water. Frederick scooted up the ladder after him.

‘What happened?’

‘We’ve run aground.’

‘So what do we do now?’

‘What would you suggest?’

‘Me?’ Frederick took a deep breath. ‘You’re the captain of this –‘

‘I’m glad you remembered that, boyo.’

‘Are we just going to sit on this mud bank?’

‘Sure and why not? The paddles are fine. Your camels are fine. The tide will lift us off the mud when it comes in again. And I doubt we’ll find another opportunity like this until we get to where we’re going.’

‘I am not about to scrape barnacles off the hull if that is what you have in mind.’

‘Now that you mention it,’ Paddy observed, ‘she could use a good scrape. What I was thinking was,’ he grinned, ‘we could break out a bottle.’

‘What bottle?’

‘One of those I heard clinking in your bag.’

‘Did anyone ever tell you – ‘

‘Many times, Major Carnivon.’

Frederick stiffened. ‘I don’t recall telling you my surname. Nor, that I was a major.’

‘You did not,’ Paddy acknowledged. ‘But gossip travels faster in Port Darwin than any cable from overseas. Like the one from the Capricorn Maiden you were waiting for but never arrived. Am I right?’

****

Frederick restored order to the galley, fixed a passable meal on the gimballed stove and opened a bottle of whisky. The dishes dealt with, he eased back in the seat behind the chart table. The tide raised the paddle-barge—as Paddy said it would. The Irish Princess chugged on over a glassy sea.

At the helm, Paddy asked, ‘So what is this expedition you’re going on, major?’

‘Have you heard of a man called Henry de Longe?’

‘That’s like asking if I’ve heard of the Bank of England.’

‘He is wealthy,’ Frederick conceded.

Paddy roared with laughter. ‘Now there’s an understatement if ever I heard one. De Longe has companies all over the world! Del Mining, Del Pastoral, Del Haulage, Del Foundries…’

‘He’s paying me to map a stock route inland from the Kimberley coast.’

Paddy turned his head to contemplate the dark smudge that was the coast a mile or so to port. ‘Inland to where?’ he asked.

‘The Overland Telegraph line.’

‘I hear the blacks are mighty savage, inland.’

Frederick sipped some whisky. ‘Utter nonsense. The blacks I have encountered in the Australian bush were far less savage than many white men it has been my misfortune to meet.’

Paddy conceded, ‘According to that article in the paper, you’ve trekked over more than enough so you must know what you’re doing. But you wouldn’t get me risking a spear in the gut in that wild country. And you’re doing it to map a stock route?’ Paddy wagged his in disbelief.

There was, of course, more to Frederick’s forthcoming expedition than that. Fearing too much whisky might loosen his tongue, he returned the bottle to his saddle bag. The former major in Her Majesty’s Expeditionary Forces had learned from harsh experience when to keep his mouth shut. And, to be very careful where he placed his trust.

****

The whirlpool struck while Frederick was in the toilet. About to buckle his belt, he flew head first through the doorway and landed face down on the deck. The camels complained loudly while the Irish Princess whirled around and around at a giddy rate.

‘Get up here!’ Paddy shouted from the wheelhouse.

Clutching trousers about his waist, Frederick made it to the upper deck just as the whirlpool skittered away. Paddy greeted him with a roar of laughter. Frederick was not amused. ‘We’re lucky we’re still afloat.’

‘That we are, major. They say whirlpools in these waters suck vessels under.’

‘Then what do you find so funny?’

‘Your face,’ Paddy laughed, ‘when you flew out of the shit house.’

Frederick looked down at the swinging toilet door and he, too, burst into laughter.

When he was not stoking the furnace or occupied in the galley, Frederick filled in the passing of the days by reading the volume of Shakespeare he had acquired in Port Darwin, or sitting at the chart table jotting entries in his journal. He was penning an entry the morning Paddy spotted the splendid schooner.

‘Now that,’ Paddy declared, ‘is a glorious sight.’

The Irishman’s gaze was fixed on the majestic display of sail some three nautical miles to seaward. The schooner was on a parallel course to their own and overhauling them rapidly. When sails billowed suddenly from her masts, Paddy announced, 'She's changing course.' Moments later, the sleek vessel was reaching to westward. ' I need to check the chart.'

Frederick put his journal away so Paddy could make use of the table.

‘That ship is swift and pretty but she can’t risk the shoals.’ Paddy stabbed his finger at the hazards that were marked. ‘My Princess can and will.’ He slapped the helm with pride. But his envious gaze lingered on the magnificent vessel until she was finally gone from view.

It seemed that Frederick was always in the midst of some mundane activity when the unexpected occurred. The following day he was hanging out his laundry on the foredeck when he saw the rock that scarcely broke the sea's mirror surface. He shouted a warning. Paddy responded instantly, water broiling under them as he reversed the paddles to bring the Irish Princess to a halt. Since this maritime hazard was not shown on Paddy’s chart, he took bearings on the mainland to fix its position. Frederick made a note of them in his journal.

Adverse tides and currents had impeded the paddle-barge’s rate of progress. Anxious to get to Namaga before the survey party headed inland, Frederick insisted they bypass Cambridge Gulf and press on directly to their destination. The thin veil of overcast now visible to the north was worrying. The wet season might be upon them at any moment. Paddy too, was becoming apprehensive about the weather. And soon, he would have to replenish the diminishing stack of firewood on the after-deck. To save fuel and shorten their voyage, he decided to make directly for the tip of a cape to the south instead of hugging the coast.

As the sun dipped beyond the empty horizon the paddle-barge pitched and rolled over deep swells beyond sight of land. The motion would have driven Frederick from the galley when they began the voyage but now, it scarcely troubled him. He made coffee on the gimballed stove and delivered two pannikins safely to the wheel-house without spilling a drop.

Paddy grimaced at what he tasted. ‘Christ, what did you make it with? Dish water?’ He tossed the coffee overboard. ‘Take the helm. Wake me only if you must.’

****

Paddy sat up with a start. ‘What the hell is that stink?’

Frederick could also smell the stench. He peered into the night.

‘There’s a boat of some kind out there.’

Paddy swung off the bunk to reach for his telescope.

On the open boat a mast had been jury-rigged to carry a patch of sail. The sea glittering in the bright moonlight, it was difficult to focus on whoever was at the tiller. The others in the boat looked as if they were fast asleep. Paddy yanked the hooter. Two sharp blasts failed to gain any response.

‘Perhaps they can’t see us?’ Frederick ventured.

‘On a clear night like this?’

‘Can we get to them? They might need help.’

‘Toss some more logs in the furnace.’

Frederick hurried below. Paddy pushed the paddle-barge to full speed but the fitful breeze kept whisking the boat away. Exasperated, he cried, ‘Why doesn’t that fellow at the helm heave to?’

Frederick returned to the wheelhouse. ‘Can’t we go any faster?’

‘We’re at full speed now.’

The breeze died as suddenly as it had sprung up, allowing Paddy to approach the craft.

‘Oh, Jaysus.’

The man at the tiller stared back at them through unseeing eyes, a spear protruding from his hassock. Young blacks lay sprawled about the coffin that was in the whaleboat. They too, had been speared. Their attire—shorts and shirts—implying the young men were the priest’s acolytes. The stench overpowering, Paddy began closing windows.

‘I’ll check the boat,’ Frederick volunteered.

‘What the hell for?’

‘We can’t just leave them to drift.’

‘Why not?’ Paddy demanded. ‘There’s nobody in these waters but us.’

‘The man is a priest!’

‘So? I’m not about to tow that stench ashore to give him a Christian burial. Let the sea have the dead. It can have the boat too.’

‘At least allow me to make sure all of them really are dead before we push on.’

‘You must be joking!’

Frederick’s tone turned icy. ‘I do not make jokes about men’s lives.’

Muttering under his breath, Paddy brought the paddle-barge alongside. ‘I’m staying right here in the wheelhouse.’

Frederick clambered into the whaleboat and what he saw confirmed Paddy’s surmise: they were all very, very, dead. The priest, he noticed, was lashed to the tiller. All that remained of limbs dangling over the side were their stumps. Sharks had taken the rest.

‘Water!’

The cry whipped Frederick around to eye the only place it could have come from—the coffin. The lid slightly ajar, he inched it up to peer inside. A pair of eyes blinked up at Frederick. He jumped, swallowed, and got a grip on himself. ‘You’ll have water soon. Understand?’ He was rewarded with a weak nod. ‘Good. First, I have to get you out of there.’

Paddy poked his head out the wheelhouse door. ‘What the hell’s keeping you?’

‘I’ll be there in a minute!’

One shoulder holding the lid open, Frederick reached down with both hands to gain a grip on the coffin’s occupant. As he heaved, their combined weight tilted the boat. As it capsized, both Frederick and the man he was heaving from the coffin were tumbled into the sea.

‘Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph, what are you playing at?’ Paddy shouted from the wheelhouse. ‘This is no place for a dip. There are sharks in these waters.’

‘Don’t you think I know that? Throw me a line.’

Paddy scampered to the deck and hurled a line. With his free hand, Frederick grabbed the end that fell in reach. ‘Haul me in.’

Paddy obliged and gaped when Frederick heaved the young black up on deck.

'Where the hell did he come from?'

Scrambling out of the sea, Frederick panted, ‘He was in the coffin.’

The Irishman rolled his eyes.

****

The mission black said his name was Timothy. He did not know his age. Frederick put it between twenty and twenty-five. Timothy intoned grace in perfect English when they sat down to lunch in the wheelhouse. He was wearing the khaki shirt and trousers Frederick had provided. Having slept the clock around, he had yet to inform his rescuers what had occurred on the boat. They watched and waited with growing impatience while Timothy consumed yet another helping. Frederick's patience snapped when there was no curried rice left on the plate.

'So what happened?' he demanded.

‘There was magic in the coffin… bad magic.‘

The bad magic was a sick woman who staggered into the mission and died. The priest wanted to bury her immediately but Timothy cautioned him the evil spirit that caused her sickness would frighten away those who came to the mission to learn about Jesus. 'I told Father Dietz, the evil spirit can not travel over water so the woman must be buried on an island. So we put the coffin in the boat.'

‘Then what happened?’ Frederick urged.

The whale-boat had been loaned to the mission to collect mail and supplies from passing ships.Neither the missionary nor his acolytes knew anything about sailing nor how to make good use of the sail they rigged. Pushed on by a powerful current, the boat drifted toward an island where warriors raced from the trees intent on seizing the craft. A volley of spears was launched.

‘Tie me!’ the priest cried. ‘I am steering the boat. I must not fall.’

Spears rained down while Timothy lashed the priest to the tiller. As warriors began wading toward the boat, Timothy heaved back the lid on the coffin.

"Mein Gott! What are you doing?’

‘The evil magic will drive them away.’

‘Nein! Is verboten!’

‘Father, we’ve got to do something!’

Tied to the tiller, the priest could only shout protests as Timothy hauled the woman’s body into plain view of the warriors closing in. Then a spear slammed into the priest. Another volley rained down. Acolytes screamed. In the open boat there was no place to evade the spears. Timothy did not hesitate. Jumping into the coffin he pulled down the lid.

The disease-ravaged body sprawled across the boat's prow was enough to drive the warriors away but Timothy was too frightened to risk raising the lid. He fell into a stupor while the boat drifted on…

****

The chapel, its walls lime-washed, stood out prominently atop the bluff at the tip of the cape. Frederick surmised the two buildings nearby were the priest’s residence and a dormitory. Paddy steered his paddle-barge toward the small landing jutting from the bottom of the bluff.

‘Was it Father Dietz who taught you to speak English?’

Frederick and Timothy were standing on the fore-deck. In the open hold, camels milled about, restless in their confinement.

Timothy said, ‘Father Dietz could not speak much English. He only came to the mission a year ago. I was taught by the Brother who found me in a dugout when I was a child.’ Timothy pointed across the gulf that separated the cape from the mainland. ‘The canoe drifted from over there.’

The afternoon haze obscured that distant shore. Frederick swung his binoculars back to the mission buildings where he now spotted a coach-and-pair standing in the shade of a solitary tree. A man was walking from the coach toward the path leading down the cliff. Frederick asked, ‘Who might that be?’

It took Timothy a few moments to accustom himself to using the binoculars. Then he sucked in his breath. ‘That whitefella is Boss Tug.’

‘A missionary?’

Timothy shook his head emphatically. ‘Boss Tug works for Mister Duggan.’

‘Do you mean the pearler, Bull Duggan?’

Timothy nodded. ‘Mister Duggan loaned the boat to Father Dietz. Boss Tug will be very angry when he finds out what happened to the boat. I had better hide.’

Timothy handed back the binoculars and hurried from the fore-deck.

The man was now coming down the hill to the landing. After another sweep of the mission with his binoculars, Frederick returned to the wheelhouse. Paddy said Timothy was down in the galley and jerked a thumb over one shoulder to the band of dark cloud looming across that horizon.

‘The weather is closing in and the landing is on a leeward shore. No place for my Princess in a storm.’

****

The man Timothy called Boss Tug was waiting on the landing when the Irish Princess drew alongside. He wore a waistcoat buttoned over the cotton shirt tucked into his rough serge trousers. On his head was a Derby hat.

'I'll take the line,' he offered.

Catching it deftly, he slipped the line over a bollard. After lines had been secured and fenders placed, Paddy stepped down to the landing.

‘Where did you come from, Guv’nor?’ he was asked, in a thick cockney accent.

‘Port Darwin,’ Paddy answered.

The cockney’s astonishment was obvious.

Feigning ignorance, Paddy asked, ‘What is this place?’

‘It’s a mission.’

‘No offence, but you don’t look like a missionary to me.’

‘I bloody hope not,' was the indignant reply. 'The Bible-basher isn’t here. He took off in my whaleboat. Did you happen to see it on your way down the coast?’

‘We did—and we didn’t.’

‘What's that supposed to mean?’

‘We saw a boat.’

‘Where?’

‘Not far from some islands to the north.’

‘Was anyone in it?’

‘A priest and some blackfellows.’

‘That would be my boat all right. Where are they now?’

‘That’s hard to say.’

‘You mean… they’re dead?’

Paddy nodded. ‘Speared.’

The cockney took off his Derby to scratch his scalp. It was covered by a thatch of wiry hair. ‘So what happened to my whaleboat?’

‘It sank before we could run out a line to retrieve her.’

‘Damn. Mind you, I’m not saying it’s your fault. I’m Tug.’

Paddy took the extended hand. ‘Folks call me Paddy. And this,’ he added as Frederick stepped to the landing, ‘is Major Carnivon.’

Tug’s gaze flicked over Frederick and then to the camels in the forward hold. ‘Major... we were expecting you on the Maiden.’

‘I waited in Port Darwin for the Capricorn Maiden but the vessel failed to arrive. Nor did I receive a message to say it ever would,' Frederick added.

‘There’s no telegraph in Namaga.’

‘Of which I am well aware,’ Frederick returned. ‘I doubt any lugger could carry my camels, anyway.’

‘The Maiden’s no lugger,’ the cockney shot back. ‘She’s the finest schooner under sail from Namaga to the Azores. Six hundred tons deadweight, ninety seven feet bow to stern: room enough on her decks for fifty camels.’

Paddy snapped his fingers. ‘Would she have three mains’ls, tops’ls, top gallants, and three jibs?’

‘That’s the Maiden.’

Frederick realized what they were talking about. ‘You mean I could have been on board that beautiful ship we saw?’

‘Ah, but think of all the fun you’d have missed,’ Paddy said—meaningfully.

The cockney nodded to seaward. ‘There’s a storm building. If you move your paddle-barge around the point and tuck her into the mangroves she’ll be safe enough. Is there anything you need?’

‘Firewood and drinking water,’ Paddy answered promptly.

‘There's a well on the other side of the hill. Now you've told me the priest is dead I’m closing up the place. So help yourself to those cords of firewood behind the chapel.’ He turned to Frederick. ‘After the storm blows over, major, you might as well go back to Darwin.’

Frederick bristled. ‘Who are you to tell me so?’

‘I manage Duggan Pearling Company.’

‘The man I am to deal with is Bull Duggan—not his manager.’

‘That won’t be possible.’

‘Why not?’

‘Bull’s dead.’

The news jolted Frederick. ‘In that case l will have to conduct my expedition without him. I gather the survey party arrived?’

‘It did,’ Tug acknowledged. ‘And it left.’

‘Without me!’

‘When you didn’t show up on the Maiden the bloke in charge figured you weren’t coming so he headed inland.’

The cockney turned on his heel to tramp back up the hill.

****

Timothy was still hiding in the galley when Frederick stepped back aboard. ‘Did you hear what that fellow said about closing the mission?’

Timothy nodded.

‘So what do you want to do?’

Timothy answered without hesitation. ‘I want to go with you.’

‘Ever ridden a camel?’

‘I never saw a camel before now.’

‘Then you had better learn how to handle them.You’ll have to if you are coming with me.’

Frederick told Paddy the camels would haul the firewood and water he needed.

The Irishman asked, ‘What then, major?’

Frederick rummaged in his saddlebag. ‘I did not travel from Alice Springs to Port Darwin and then down this coast to be shooed away by that fellow up the hill.’ Frederick found what he was looking for. ‘I shall be back shortly.’

The cockney was inside the mission residence stowing the priest’s personal items in a battered chest. Frederick thrust out the document he was holding. ‘This is my copy of the agreement between De Longe Enterprises and Duggan Pearling Company. It states clearly that I must be furnished what accommodation and supplies I may need upon arrival in Namaga.’

‘Major, I know what that Agreement says. I signed it.’

‘Then we have no cause for dispute over its terms.’

‘You still plan to make the trek inland?’

‘I do.’

‘But I just told you, the survey party left days ago.’

‘I should be able to follow its trail.’

‘Providing you don’t get speared.’

‘A risk I am prepared to take. You drove up from the settlement in that coach?’

‘I did.’

‘How do I get there on a camel?’

‘I’ll draw you a map.’

‘Thank you.’

****

After Frederick left the residence an old Malay came to the door.

‘You want me to unload the coach, Boss Tug?’

‘Not much point unloading when we haven’t got a boat to take the stuff where it has to go.’

The Malay pointed to the landing. ‘Boat down there, boss.'

Tug frowned. ‘Now why didn’t I think of that?’

After stowing the priest’s few possessions in the chest, Tug drove the coach down to the landing. Paddy stepped out from the wheelhouse. ‘Hey, Irishman! The major's heading down the cape on his camels. What are your plans?’

‘As soon as the storm blows over I’ll be on my way up to Cambridge Gulf.’

‘Would you be interested in a charter?’

‘I’m always interested—if the money is right.’

‘Cash in your hand,’ Tug promised. ‘But you’ll need a man to show you where to go.’ He pointed at the Malay now standing beside the coach. ‘Bung Eye used to be a bosun. He knows these waters like the back of his hand. If it suits, hang on to him. If not, we’ll bring him back from the depot in a month or so.’

‘Fair enough,’ Paddy agreed readily.

‘All I ask is: you tell nobody where you delivered these supplies.’

‘I never discuss my private business with anyone.’

‘Then it’s a deal. I’ll give you a hand to put the stuff aboard.’

The provisions were transferred from the coach. Tug handed Paddy a wad of bills. ‘And here’s the map I drew for the major so he can find his way down to Namaga. Tell him I said he can stay at the Duggan bungalow.’

‘The Duggan bungalow,’ Paddy echoed.

Tug climbed back to the high front seat of the coach and flicked the reins. Their load lightened considerably, the two hackneys departed at a ready trot.

****

It was evening by the time Paddy had manouvered his paddle-barge around the point to the safer mooring among the mangroves. He took a bottle and two pannikins to the mission residence. ‘You were smart to camp up here on the hill, major.The mozzies are murder down in that swamp.’

‘The Malay I saw on board... How did you come by him?’

‘Old Bung Eye – ‘

‘That’s his name?’

‘One eye points to starboard while the other is looking right at you. The cockney loaned him to me to work as crew up at Cambridge Gulf.’

‘Is that where I can write to you?’

Paddy nodded. ‘And where’s your new assistant?’

‘Spending tonight in the room he used to occupy.’

Pouring whisky, Paddy asked, ‘How did he fare with the camels?’

‘Far better than I expected, to be honest.’

‘So he’s definitely going inland with you?’

‘I need somebody to assist with any survey work while I’m out there. What do I owe you for the trip, Paddy?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Now be serious.’

‘I am.’ Seeing Frederick's bewilderment, Paddy chuckled. ‘I wasn’t getting any charters in Port Darwin and I heard the depot in Cambridge Gulf was getting busy. But my crew had gone walkabout and I wasn’t about to head down the coast alone.’ Paddy took a sip from the pannikin and grinned, ‘Then you bowled along.’

‘Customer, crew, and complete idiot,’ Frederick said ruefully.

In comfortable silence they sipped whisky and watched the stars wink out as thick cloud advanced across the evening sky.

‘Something on your mind, major?’

‘How did you know?’

‘The way you’re tugging on your moustache,’ Paddy replied.

‘Do you remember asking me if I believe in destiny?’

‘I remember you didn’t give me a simple answer.’

‘It isn't a simple question.' Before Paddy could resond to that statement, Frederick declared, 'I believe Timothy and I were destined to meet.'

'You do?'

'He's young. He's bright. He's versed in various native languages and he speaks English. I can't think of a better replacement for the man who was originally intended to accompany me inland.'

Paddy's blue eyes fixed on Frederick's face. 'You’re so set on going,' he surmised, 'you’re trying to justify what you fear might be a big mistake.’

Frederick sighed. The Irishman was right. According to Henry's report, Bull Duggan was not only a competent seaman, he was a capable man in the bush. Whereas, while Timothy was ideally suited as an interpreter—should they encounter natives inland—he had been raised on a mission. How would he fare out in the bush?

Paddy added, shrewdly,'And there's more to this expedition you're about to make than mapping a stock route,' .

Frederick nodded reluctantly. Then, abruptly, he downed his whisky and set the pannakin aside to open his saddle bag. Taking out what had been stowed carefully inside, he held it up to the lamplight.

'It's huge!' the Irishman exclaimed.

'It is,' Frederick agreed readily, turning the mother-of-pearl so its silver face caught the lamplight. 'And I was told that such a splendid specimen had to come from the waters along this coast.'

'Did you buy it in Darwin?'

Frederick shook his head. 'I found it on a skeleton.'

'I should have known,' Paddy muttered dryly.

'In the Tanami.'

'The what?'

'The Tanami Desert. After a dust storm. Our camels had not sated their thirst in two weeks. Our canteens were nigh empty. And I had already decided to abandon the