‘Russians!’ echoed James. ‘But they are soldiers, and the Russians own no islands in the South Pacific. What are they doing here?’
‘Ask me another,’ Gregory shrugged, although he had already conceived a possible explanation. He was too wet and weary to wish to talk, and would anyhow not have speculated on the matter in the hearing of their escort, even though it was unlikely that any of the men understood English. But he did take that small chance by adding, ‘If you have anything on you that will give away your identity I’ll distract our escorts’ attention for a moment while you throw it into the bushes.’
‘No, I’ve nothing,’ James murmured. ‘I left everything behind at….’
‘In the launch,’ Gregory cut in loudly. ‘So did I.’
After trudging about a mile the ground sloped up and they came to a mound crowned by tall bushes. In the uncertain light it was not until they were quite near that Gregory realised that it was actually a low building, but so well camouflaged that even in daylight it could not have been detected from the background of jungle at more than a hundred yards. Apertures in the otherwise solid front showed it to be a small fort that commanded the bay. Hidden behind it were some storehouses and an open space in which stood two jeeps. A sentry who was on duty there shouted something and an officer emerged from the fort. The Sergeant reported to him. They held a brief colloquy; then the prisoners, prodded with machine pistols, were herded into one of the jeeps.
After half an hour of bumping along a dirt track they came down into a valley in which there were a number of lighted buildings, evidently forming a base camp. The jeep drew up in front of an office block. The Sergeant went inside, came out again and called to his men. The prisoners were taken up on to a veranda which ran the whole length of the building, marched some way along it, then put into a room furnished only with two tables, a few chairs and some filing cabinets. One of the soldiers went in with them, then the door was locked.
Wearily, Gregory sat down on one of the hard chairs. Looking up at James towering above him, he gave a just perceptible wink and said with apparent severity, ‘Well, Johnny Olourna, what have you to say for yourself? Before we left Suva your father told me that you were to be relied upon. He assured me that you could take me in safety for a fortnight’s cruise among the islands and were much too knowledgeable ever to leave port when there was a threat of bad weather.’
For a moment ‘Johnny’ looked surprised, then he got the message and replied, ‘I am sorry, sir. But such storms do blow up quite unexpectedly.’
The soldier who had been left with them growled something, which Gregory knew to be an order not to talk; but he had no intention of giving away the fact that he knew even a little Russian, so he went on:
‘And where are we now, I would like to know? What island is this?’
‘It must be Yuloga. A solitary island that lies about halfway between the Loyalties and the Nakapoa Group.’
Angrily their guard stamped a heavily-booted foot, put one hand over his mouth and with the other waved his machine pistol; so they accepted his demonstration and fell silent.
After a wait of twenty minutes the door was unlocked, the Sergeant reappeared, and they were led along to a larger and much-better-furnished office. Behind a desk was seated a square-jawed Russian who, by his rank badges, Gregory knew to be a Colonel. Beside him stood a French officer wearing the uniform of a Captain of Artillery. Poker-faced, the Russian threw the questions and the Frenchman interpreted.
Actually, owing to their hurried flight from Noumea, it was there that the two prisoners had left their passports and other papers, so there was little chance of their being identified; but Gregory took the precaution of choosing a false name for himself, the initials of which would tally with the monogram on his silk shirt. Showing great indignation at the treatment they were receiving, he said that he was George Simonds, a British subject who had come on a winter holiday to Fiji. At home he owned a motor launch, and spent several weeks each summer cruising across the Channel or North Sea. Thinking that it would be pleasant to cruise among the islands, he had hired a launch from a Mr. Olourna in Suva, with his son Johnny to pilot her. They had been caught in a storm, etc. He requested a passage back to Fiji as soon as possible.
James substantiated Gregory’s story. But the Russian did not appear interested. He was concerned only with security. At length the French Captain said, ‘No-one is permitted to land on this island unless he carries a special permit. That you should have been wrecked on it is your misfortune. You will have to remain here during the pleasure of the Commandant.’
At that Gregory blew up, declaiming on the Rights of Nations and the Freedom of Individuals. But he was only making a demonstration which he hoped would lead his captors to regard him as a person of some importance. He knew only too well that, even could he have communicated with Whitehall, the days were gone when the British Government could protect her nationals the world over, and, should they be unjustly imprisoned, send a warship to secure their release. The birthright of Britons had been sold for a few sacksful of dollars and a Socialist mess of pottage, based on liberal fantasies that in the sacred name of Independence all peoples were now entitled to kill their political enemies and imprison foreigners whenever they wished.
As the prisoners, still protesting, were led away, Gregory shouted to the Captain, ‘We have not fed for over twelve hours; so at least send us food and something passable to drink.’
They were taken a few hundred yards on foot to an enclosure of one-storey buildings. There the Sergeant handed them over to a Sergeant of Military Police, who led them across a compound, then locked them into two adjacent cells, each of which was furnished with a truckle-bed, a chair, a slop bucket, a rack that held a tin jug of water and a mug. But at least the prison had been built recently, so the cells were clean and hygienic. Above head level the walls on all four sides consisted of iron grilles covered with fine-gauge wire mesh, to provide through-currents of air and protect the prisoners from mosquitoes. There were no lights in the cells, but illumination from a great arc-lamp in the middle of the compound came through the grilles, giving enough light to see by, yet not sufficient to prevent sleep.
The island being forbidden to ordinary citizens, Gregory felt sure that the prison must be a military detention centre, so it was most unlikely that the cells were ‘bugged’. Owing to the solid partition that separated them he could not see James, but they were able to talk to each other through the open-work iron grille above it. As Gregory did not feel like talking, he called out, ‘We’re in a fine mess, Johnny; but we had best sleep on it and discuss what can be done tomorrow.’
The thin clothes he was wearing had already dried out owing to the warm tropical night air, and were only a little stiff from salt. He was about to take off his trousers and get into bed when the door opened and an orderly thrust in a mess tin holding some pieces of meat, a yam, two bananas and what Gregory rightly took to be a mug of strong tea. The meat was tough and the yam unpalatable; but after his long fast he ate the greater part of them and the bananas with pleasure, then drank the dark brew of tea, comforted a little to think that their captors were not altogether inhuman. Partly undressing, he lay down on the bed, pulled the rough blanket over him and, utterly tired out, soon fell asleep.
When he woke the big arc-lamp had been switched off and instead the pale light of early morning filtered into the cell. Recalling the events of the past night, he endeavoured to console himself for having been made a prisoner by the fact that he was lucky to be alive at all. His waterproof watch was still going, and a glance at it showed the time to be a little before six.
Both he and James had been frisked for weapons, but not searched, and none of their few belongings had been taken from them. He put that down to their having been imprisoned not for any criminal act, but simply as detainees. His wallet had fallen out of his pocket when he had been thrown from the wrecked launch, but that did not particularly trouble him, as he still had plenty of money on him. During the long spells he had spent on secret missions abroad during the war he had always worn a money belt containing a hundred or more gold coins as well as wads of bank notes of the country in which he was operating. More recently, since he had been travelling further afield, he had resumed his practice of wearing the money-belt as a precaution against pick-pockets and hotel thieves. Now it had in it a considerable sum in dollar bills and Swiss franc bank notes.
Had he been searched, the money might have been taken from him; and he was still congratulating himself on having the wherewithal to bribe his way out of prison, should an opportunity arise, when his cell door was unlocked and a guard beckoned him out. James had already been released and, as they wished each other a rather gloomy ‘Good morning’, the guard led them along to a wash-house.
In it there were already two men who, from their light skins and only slightly crinkly hair, looked to Gregory like Polynesians. Soon afterwards they were joined by two white men and two fuzzy-haired Melanesians. The two white men were both fortyish, lanky, fair-haired and blue-eyed. Surprised and pleased at the sight of Gregory, they introduced themselves as Willy and Frank Robertson, Australians who had long been in the copra trade. Two months earlier their schooner had been driven on to a reef by a hurricane. They and the two Melanesians, who were members of their crew, had succeeded in getting ashore in a boat, only to be promptly arrested and imprisoned. The Polynesians, they said, had been there for considerably longer, but for quite how long was uncertain, as neither of them spoke any English.
The guards, who stood by while the prisoners washed, did not prevent their talking, so ‘George Simonds’ and ‘Johnny Olourna’ duly told their story, then obtained as much information as time allowed from the Robertson brothers about conditions in the prison.
It emerged that it held two types of prisoner: themselves—castaways who were being held illegally on security grounds—and a number of Russian soldiers serving sentences for various derelictions of duty. The two groups were never allowed to mix and were exercised at different hours. There was no common dining hall, probably as a precaution against the detainees being together long enough to plan a mass attempt to break out. Food was brought to them three times daily in their cells. It was not too bad, but very monotonous. The heat was one of the worst afflictions, although they were allowed morning and evening to use the showers adjacent to the washroom. Another disadvantage was that no books or radio music were provided to help while away the intolerable monotony. And, last but not least, there was the terrible uncertainty about when, if ever, they would be restored to liberty.
Back in their cells they were given for breakfast bowls of maize porridge and tea. At eight o’clock they were let out for an hour’s exercise, being made to walk and run alternately in single file round the compound. The midday meal consisted of a hot stew containing both meat and vegetables, a pancake for pudding and two bananas. At five o’clock they were again let out, this time for a game of volley-ball, then, after taking a shower, they were brought their evening meal—cold pork, yam, and a sort of fruit salad consisting largely of diced coconut.
In the intervals between exercising and meals Gregory had plenty of time to contemplate the possibility of escape. An attempt to suppress and overcome the guard who brought the meals was out of the question. Even if that could be done there were plenty of others about, all of them armed, and he had no doubt at all that they would not hesitate to use their weapons. An attempt at bribery appeared equally hopeless, as none of those to whom he had spoken understood English, French or German, and his Russian was so limited that he could not have put up a proposition to one of them. Even when he had tried to get them to fetch the French Captain, so that he could ask him for the loan of a few books, as a lead in possibly establishing regular communication with him, they had only shaken their heads, not in refusal but clearly because he had failed to make them understand his request.
Short, therefore, of some unforeseen development, there remained only the possibilty of finding some way to break out of his cell during the night. As the prison was a modern one, the lock on the cell door was prisoner-proof, a steel plate covering the whole inner side, so that no keyhole offered any opportunity to pick the lock from within. The floor was solid cement, making it impossible to dig a tunnel; so were the walls. The ceilings were corrugated asbestos, so could not be broken through without some heavy tool. But the grilles …?
Gregory’s keenly searching eye had lit on the sector in which the prison architect had slipped up, and he smiled to himself. The wire mesh-covered grilles on all four sides of the cell were each kept in place by from eight to twelve fair-sized screws. They had only to be removed and the grilles could be lifted out. Fortunately, too, the cell on his other side from James was unoccupied; so if he could get to work on the screws there was no-one there who might give away what he was doing and, as the guards never made a round of the cells after midnight, no fear of interruption.
But had the architect really slipped up, or had he simply settled for the cheapest way of securing the grilles? The prison would have been originally designed only for defaulting soldiers. Should a Russian private or N.C.O. show the initiative to break prison, which in itself was unlikely, what chance would he stand of escaping from a tropical island? That, and the harsh punishment he might expect if caught, were the real deterrents; and Gregory had no illusions about the difficulty of getting away from Yuloga. But, regarding himself as considerably more resourceful than the average Russian peasant in uniform, he comforted himself by recalling Napoleon’s saying, ‘It will be time to talk of the Vistula when we are over the Rhine.’
As James was in the next cell there was nothing to stop their talking and if they stood on their beds they could even see each other through the grille above the dividing wall. That night, adopting this means of coming face to face so that they could keep their voices low, Gregory told James of his plan and that the first thing needed was something with which to loosen the screws. Neither of them had anything in his possession that would serve, but they agreed to keep their eyes open.
On the third evening James was lucky. While they were playing volley-ball he saw on the ground a small half-moon of shining metal. It was the worn-down part-heel with which Russian soldiers’ boots are reinforced, and this one had come off. Pretending to slip and fall, he palmed it; then, a few minutes later, bumped into Gregory and passed it to him.
The cells were longer than they were broad, so the grille in the outer wall had only eight screws in it; but, having only a small implement which was awkward to handle and, even standing on his bed, only being just able to reach the top three screws near the ceiling, it took him several hours’ work during two nights before he had all the screws loosened.
The following day he passed the worn metal heel to James so that he could start work on his grille, but he had no intention of waiting until his friend could accompany him on a first reconnaissance. Gregory had always maintained that, in inverse ratio to the old saying ‘one boy working in a garden is a boy and two boys only half a boy’, two operatives working together doubled the danger to each of them, so, whenever possible, he had played the role of a lone wolf.
That night, having waited until well after midnight, he removed the grille. Standing on his bed, he peered cautiously out. Having made certain that no sentry was patrolling outside the prison, he had no difficulty in straddling the exposed top of the wall and dropping down on the other side.
After listening intently for a few minutes, he made his way slowly round the perimeter of the military establishment, watching every step and, instead of walking toe and heel, putting his feet down flat. A few lights were on here and there, but no-one was about, so he edged his way between some buildings until he could get a view of the office block in which he and James had been interrogated. In front of it a sentry was patrolling. Satisfied now that provided they kept outside the area of buildings there was nothing to stop their getting away into the jungle, he returned to the prison, climbed back into his cell and, while replacing the grating, told James, who had been anxiously awaiting his return, what he had so far discovered.
Next night he went out again. On his first reconnaissance he had seen that, while several tracks led out from the settlement, all except one were dirt roads. The exception was metalled. It led uphill out of the valley and he followed it until he reached the crest of the ridge. From there he could see down into another valley. A rising moon now lit it quite clearly and, as he had expected, he was able to verify a supposition he had formed on finding that the island was garrisoned by Russians. The moonlight revealed blocks of hutments, tall gantries and a number of great launching pads from several of which there rose giant rockets. Clearly the French had allowed the Russians to take over Yuloga as a base for launching inter-continental missiles. It was no wonder that the Russians were taking such extreme precautions to ensure that no-one landed on the island without their knowledge and to protect the secret of their presence there by arbitrarily detaining anyone who came ashore.
Cautiously advancing further to get a closer look, Gregory disturbed a parrot roosting on the branch of a nearby tree. The bird flew off with a squawk. A moment later a challenge rang out from only twenty yards ahead. Instantly Gregory froze and held his breath, his heart hammering wildly. The challenge came again, then heavy footsteps advanced towards him. He felt a terrible urge to turn and run, but fought it down. The footsteps stopped. There fell an utter silence. For ten minutes that seemed an age he remained absolutely motionless. The sound of footsteps came again, but this time they were moving away. For another ten minutes he stayed completely still, breathing gently but evenly. Then he turned and, placing each foot with the greatest care, slowly stole away, blessing the bird that had saved him from running slap into the sentry. Three-quarters of an hour later he was safely back in his cell.
By this time, James’ greater height having enabled him to loosen more easily the top screws securing the grille in his cell, he had freed it. Now they could both leave the prison any night they liked; but, as they were quite reasonably treated there, to leave it for the jungle would have been pointless, and they were still faced with the much more difficult problem of how to get away from the island.
James produced the idea that the solution was to get in touch with the natives. It seemed certain that an island of that size must have long been inhabited and, although the dialect of the natives in each island differed, he felt confident that he would be able to enlist their help.
Gregory agreed, and it was decided that James should explore the surrounding country until he came upon a village of some size where the headman could put him in touch with the High Chief. But Gregory would not allow him to start on his quest for the time being, because the moon was waxing and during its bright period he feared that James would run too great a risk of being spotted by a Russian sentry.
From time to time it rained and on three nights in the next ten the sky was overcast, which enabled James to sally forth without undue danger; but total darkness proved a severe handicap and he did not succeed in finding a native village.
When the moon began to rise later, James went out every night. On one expedition he found a village up in the hills, but it was deserted. Then, three nights afterwards, having followed the valley for three miles to the sea, he came upon half a hundred or more bures sited on the estuary of a small river. But they, too, had been abandoned. The size of the place seemed to indicate that it was the principal township of the island, so, when he discussed his findings with Gregory, they came to the conclusion that, to make certain of guarding their secrets, the French had evacuated the whole native population of the island.
This was a sad setback, as they had hoped the natives would provide them with a canoe in which to get away. It then occurred to Gregory that they might not have taken all their canoes with them. So James went again to the township and returned to report with no signs of satisfaction that, some way up a creek, he had come upon a boathouse in which a large canoe was chocked up.
When Gregory asked why he showed no pleasure in his find he replied, ‘Because she is a thirty-foot war canoe, and much too heavy for the two of us to launch. What is more, her great sail is half rotten and without a sail we could not possibly get more than a few hundred yards in her.’
This gave Gregory furiously to think. The Robertson brothers had proved likeable fellows and very pleasant to exchange snatches of talk with while in the wash-house or during exercise periods; but, adhering to his sound conviction that the more people there were privy to a plot, the greater the danger of its discovery, he had strictly forbidden James to say anything to the Australians about their nightly excursions. However, now that their help was necessary to carry out his plans he was by no means sorry that circumstances forced him to give them this chance of joining in an attempt to escape.
Next day they were guardedly let into the secret, and Willy was slipped the metal half-heel so that the brothers could unscrew the grilles in their cells. It took them four nights and on the fifth they accompanied James down to the boathouse. When they got back James passed on to Gregory the views of these seasoned Pacific copra traders. They were confident that, with rollers, the four of them could launch the big canoe, but the sail remained a problem. It was useless as it was, but could be repaired if tapa cloth was available; and they had found that there was plenty of that in good condition to be had from some of the larger bures, where it had been used for decoration. However, only men skilled in such work were capable of making good the great sail. The brothers were not, but they said that their two Melanesian crew men, Woggy and Punch, could do the job if Gregory was willing to include them in the party.
Reluctant as Gregory was to do so, he saw no alternative; so, on the Robertsons’ vouching for the loyalty of their two Melanesians, they were in turn lent the precious steel half-heel that was the key to liberty.
By the time they had both got their gratings unscrewed, the bright period of the moon had come again and for the ten days that followed Gregory would not allow any of them to risk leaving the prison. At length this tiresome wait was over, but even then Gregory was averse to more of the escape party being absent from the prison on any one night, in order to minimise the risk of their all being detected should the guards at any time become suspicious and make a night inspection. So Willy alone took the two Melanesians down to the township.
That night they first inspected the canoe, then spent two hours collecting tapa cloth from the bures. Woggy and Punch had pointed out that needles and fibre twine would be needed to mend the sail. The former they could soon cut from bamboos, but if they had to collect the right form of tough liana, then shred it to make the twine, that would take a considerable time. However, on their second night down there with Willy they were lucky, as they came upon a long coil of twine in the back of the boathouse. Nevertheless, as between going and returning they could not safely work for more than two hours each night, it was six nights before they finished patching the great sail to their satisfaction.
Gregory’s next concern was how to plan their get-away. According to James, Yuloga was not a large island. It therefore seemed probable that the Russians had posts and searchlight stations covering every sector of the coast; so there was a very considerable risk that, as the big canoe emerged from the mouth of the river, it would be spotted and their attempt to escape brought to nought. In order to estimate their chances Gregory decided that, on the last night that the Melanesians were working on the sail, he and James should carry out a reconnaissance.
A quarter of an hour after Woggy and Punch had set out, Gregory and James left the prison together and walked in company down to the deserted town. There, while Gregory remained on the right bank of the river, James swam across to the left. They then set out to explore their respective sides of the coast.
Working his way through the fringe of jungle, Gregory had gone no more than a quarter of a mile before he came upon a searchlight party. Fortunately, the sound of men talking warned him in time to halt, then go down on his hands and knees and cautiously worm his way forward until he could get a view of the Russians. Near a searchlight on a tripod, four of them were seated round a small fire, quietly smoking and making an occasional remark. Gloomily he noted that the searchlight was in a position to sweep the estuary of the river and that it was well within range of a machine gun which had been set up nearby.
Withdrawing with equal caution, he walked back to the creek up which the canoe house lay. Willy and Frank Robertson had been taking it in turns to accompany the Melanesians, in order to take charge should these simple men run into a Russian on their way to or from their work, or be surprised at it, and Frank was with them that night. From the amount of patching that had been required, Gregory saw that they must have worked hard; but, as with any of the party who went out at night, there were many hours each day when, locked in their separate cells, they could make up for lost sleep.
He was just about to praise them for their work when he caught the sound of distant shots, then the rattle of a submachine gun. That could only mean that James had run into trouble. Gregory’s heart missed a beat. He had become very fond of the cheerful young Ratu, and the thought that he might now be lying dead in the jungle or on the beach distressed him terribly.
At the same moment Frank exclaimed, ‘That shooting must have been at Johnny Olourna! Hope to God they didn’t get him.’
Gregory moved quickly towards the entrance of the canoe house. ‘I must go and find out. He may have got away but be lying wounded in the bushes and need help.’
‘No!’ Frank caught him by the arm. ‘Don’t go yet, George. Maybe he’s got away unhurt. If so, in half an hour he’ll be back here. If you go after him you can’t shout his name or they’ll be on to you too, and you may easily miss him. Besides, you’re our leader. ‘We’re relying on you to get us away from this damned island. ‘Twouldn’t be fair to the rest of us to risk yourself while there’s a chance that Johnny will get back all right.’
Seeing the sense of the argument, Gregory reluctantly agreed. With Frank, he walked along to the big cluster of bures on the river bank and, standing in the shadow of one of them, they waited anxiously. For the first time Gregory regretted having backed James in his project of salvaging the gold from the Reina Maria Amalia. He had done so in the first place simply as a new interest to relieve his boredom. Then it had developed into an exciting intrigue in which he had found himself up against Lacost and later de Carvalho. But in Noumea, owing to James’ passion for Olinda, things had suddenly taken a shockingly bad turn, and already landed them for seven weeks in prison. De Carvalho was probably dead, so James, if caught, was liable to be charged with murder. The Brazilian had said that he did not mean to hurry about exercising his licence to salvage the gold, because he was confident that the French Resident would prevent the Colons from raising it illegally and that, fed up, they would abandon the idea, leaving him a free field. During the interval Lacost might have decided to ignore the Resident and by now have made off with it. Or, if de Carvalho had died and Lacost had learned of it, by this time he might somehow have acquired the licence. So, after all these weeks, the chances of James’ securing the treasure seemed extremely slender. Instead, as had so often happened in other cases, it might well be that the pursuit of gold would cost the charming young Ratu his life.
After twenty minutes Frank’s keen eyes detected a movement on the far bank of the river. Next moment there was a splash and a glitter of phosphorus in the churned-up water made them feel sure that it was James swimming across. Running forward they helped him up the steep bank. Grinning and unwounded, he panted:
‘That was a nasty one. They nearly got me. There is a searchlight party a mile or more away, round the end of the point, covering the next bay. They were dozing and I nearly walked right into them, but I pulled up in time and dashed back into thicker cover.’
‘Thank God you’re safe!’ Gregory exclaimed. ‘But they’ll know now that either a prisoner has escaped or that someone has landed on the island without their being aware of it; so the hunt will be up.’
James shook the glistening drops of water from his big pouffe of hair. ‘No, I don’t think so. None of them could have actually seen me, and there are wild pigs on all these islands. As I crashed away through the jungle, I made the loud grunting of a startled old boar.’
‘Good for you, Johnny!’ cried Frank, slapping James on the back. ‘Then we’ve not been rumbled and can still make our bid for freedom with a good chance of success.’
On their way back to the prison they decided that the three of them, with the addition of Willy, would meet the following night, to agree a detailed plan for their escape.
At one o’clock in the morning the four met at the rendezvous they had selected—a group of tall breadfruit trees a quarter of a mile from the prison. As Willy and Frank occupied adjacent cells, they had, during the day, spent a considerable time discussing the venture. Now Willy spoke for them both:
‘Seeing where those searchlights were located last night, getting clear out to sea without being spotted is going to be near impossible. Of course, on leaving the river, we’ll head east—that is round the coast to the left of the estuary—so we won’t actually have to pass the searchlight party near the village; but the moment we hoist our big sail, it’s for sure they’ll see us.’
‘Then we must not hoist the sail,’ Gregory replied. ‘About direction you are right. Fortunately, the searchlight party that Johnny ran into is well over a mile away and round the point; so we should be able to work our way along the coast for half a mile or more without attracting their attention. By then darkness will have hidden us from the hoodlums near the village, and ….’
‘But, George,’ Frank interrupted, ‘you haven’t got Willy’s point. That war canoe is a twenty-seater and as heavy as a ton of bricks. It’s going to be hellish hard to get her out of the creek to start with. Then it’s quite a stretch before we’re clear of the river mouth. The six of us could never paddle her as far as you suggest. Without the sail, come dawn the odds are we’d still be inside the reef and a sitting pigeon for those Russian bastards.’
‘Well, what do you suggest?’
‘Neither Willy nor I think much of the idea, but we might get by if we took in the two Polynesians. Two extra paddles in the canoe could just make the difference.’
Gregory did not like the idea either. The Polynesians had shown by their grins and gestures that they were friendly enough, and James had succeeded in establishing a sketchy form of communication with them, but sufficient only to learn that they were father and son and had come down from Samoa. The reason for their adventurous voyage remained unknown. After a moment Gregory said:
‘I’m afraid that’s not on. I don’t doubt that they would be willing enough to join us, but how could we possibly explain to them about unscrewing the grilles in their cells? And no-one can do it for them. Besides, even if during the next few days Johnny could manage to put them wise, we can’t afford the delay. Two nights hence is the darkest phase of the moon. Then will be our best chance and we’ve got to take it.’
Willy nodded. ‘You’re right, George, but it’s going to be one hell of a gamble.’
‘Not too bad,’ Gregory smiled. ‘We have one thing in our favour. All of us have spent quite a number of hours down at the estuary and none of us has ever yet seen those searchlights turned on to sweep the bay. I am sure they never make use of them unless they see a vessel approaching, and then simply to ensure that no-one manages to get ashore from it unseen. We’ll make an early start, though, so as to gain extra time for paddling the canoe as far as we can before we set her sail.’
Previously they had never left their cells before midnight, which doubtless accounted for the fact that none of them had ever run into a Russian when going to and from the river mouth; but on the night of their great adventure they met by the group of breadfruit trees at ten o’clock. There were many more lights in the settlement than they were accustomed to see and music was coming from one of the buildings. As they were surrounded by jungle, that made it almost certain that such amusements as the Russians provided for their troops all took place inside the buildings; but at this hour there was the danger that a few of the troops might be returning from late strolls and that relieved or relieving squads might be moving from or to the beaches, so the six escapers made their way along the jungle path with extra caution.
When they had gone some distance they caught the sound of a faint drumming. The sound rapidly increased and was coming towards them. Hastily they left the track and plunged into the rank vegetation that grew in abundance on both sides of it. They were not a moment too soon. From round the bend ahead there appeared a horseman, and a Russian officer came cantering by. In such surroundings it seemed as though they must have seen an apparition, but Gregory swiftly demolished such a fantasy by saying:
‘He has been visiting the outposts. And a jolly sensible way to do it. This track is not wide enough to take a jeep, so why walk or have yourself shaken to bits on a motor-cycle when God gave man the horse? Some of these Russians are not such fools as they look.’
At the canoe house the short lengths of tree-trunk for launching the canoe had been left in a stack on one side. Quickly they placed the first half-dozen in position, then took a grip on the side of the canoe and endeavoured to slide her forward. Hewn out of one great tree-trunk of hard, tropical wood, she seemed as heavy as lead. Their efforts failed to shift her. It was James who said:
‘Four of us must get right underneath the bottom and attempt to lift her by taking the weight on our shoulders, while the other two pull on the prow and guide her down.’
They did as he told them. The strain was back-breaking, but their third heave was well timed and they got her moving. Once the fore-part was on the rollers, it needed only their full strength, applied in unison, to get her to the water. As she splashed into it, they stood away, sweating and gasping from their exertions.
Now they had to raise her mast. At its base it was nine inches thick, and tapered up to twenty feet in height. Normally the job would have been done by a dozen men; but, somehow, they managed it and hammered the chocks home to keep the heel firm. Puffing and blowing, they took a five-minute rest.
Having got their wind back, they set about hoisting the yard, an outsize bamboo even longer than the mast on to which the great single triangular sail had already been bent. That done, James stepped into the stern of the canoe and took the steering paddle. The others grouped themselves amidships. James gave the word, they dipped their paddles and the canoe moved forward slightly.
Launching the canoe and getting her ready for sea had taken over an hour; and another three-quarters of an hour slipped by before they got her to the mouth of the river. Long before then Gregory realised how right the Robertson brothers had been. Unless they unfurled the sail, it would be impossible to get the heavy craft far enough out to sea before dawn to escape the Russians’ sighting her.
For another hour they laboured on, forcing her gradually up the east coast away from the village; but although the water in the lagoon was relatively calm, owing to the breakers that constantly rolled in, the strain of keeping her heading in the right direction was terrific.
By then it was getting on for half past two in the morning, and their efforts were clearly slackening. When they had set out, not only had it been at the apex of the dark period of the moon, but by good fortune the sky had been cloudy. Since, it had gradually cleared. A million bright stars now faintly lit the scene and Gregory could easily pick out the Southern Cross.
As this increase of light gradually came about, he had become ever more reluctant to risk drawing attention to the canoe by setting her sail. But now he and his companions were clearly near exhaustion and the canoe was barely making steerage way. Grimly he decided that their only hope of getting out of the lagoon before dawn lay in making use of the sail.
When he consulted James and the Robertson brothers they all agreed that unless the risk was taken they would either be recaptured or killed by machine-gun fire; so Gregory told Woggy and Punch to ship their paddles and free the sail from its lashings.
A light breeze at once caught the great spread of tapa cloth. James set a course for an opening in the reef and, from having moved at a crawl, the long canoe suddenly leapt forward. As they relaxed, all on board listened with heartfelt delight to the rushing of the water alongside. James tacked once, twice, thrice, then there came a faint shout from the shore.
Within seconds a Sten gun began to stutter. Next minute the searchlight came on, swept to and fro, then fixed them in its beam. A heavy machine gun came into play. The occupants of the canoe ducked down behind her gunwale and crouched there, fearful that any moment would be their last. Bullets thudded into the hull of the canoe and ripped through the sail. But James, courageously plying his steering paddle, swung her round on a new tack. For a brief interval they were out of the line of fire, then the bullets came again, several smacking into the mast. The canoe had heeled right over, spray ran in sheets from the prow and she was now racing at twenty knots for the gap in the reef.
Two minutes later they were through it and shortly afterwards the machine gun ceased its murderous chatter. Sitting up, Gregory cried triumphantly, ‘We’ve done it, chaps! No need to worry any more. They have no boats, so can’t pursue us.’
Steered by James, the big canoe rode the seas splendidly. Having studied the stars for a few moment, he set a course for the Fijis. The Australians would have preferred to make in the other direction—for the Loyalties—but Gregory having enabled them to escape from an indefinite captivity, they good-humouredly accepted his decision. When dawn came Yuloga was only a smudge on the horizon.
For some thirty hours, against a contrary breeze, they beat to eastward. Then a storm blew up. It was far from threatening a hurricane, but the gusts were powerful. Just before ten o’clock, without a moment’s warning, disaster overtook them. There came a sudden squall, accompanied by driving rain, and the mast snapped off a few feet above the gunwale. The upper part of the mast, the yard and the great sail heeled over and came down with a splash in the sea. The canoe lurched sideways and came to a stop, tilted over at a dangerous angle.
Frantically, with two axes that had been left in the canoe by the natives, they hacked through the liana cords that held the mast and sail trailing alongside. Ten minutes later they had cut the canoe clear, and she righted herself. But they looked at one another in consternation. They had nothing they could rig as a jury mast and no spare tapa to make even a jib mounted on paddles, so were now at the mercy of the ocean.
They were, for the time at least, in no danger from thirst or starvation, as, while the Melanesians were repairing the sail, Willy and Frank had stored several dozen fresh coconuts and hands of bananas in the fore and aft parts of the canoe. But, the wind and tide being against them, they now began to drift rapidly back in a westerly direction.
On examining the stump of the mast, the reason for their calamity became clear. It had been hit by four bullets from the Russians’ machine gun, so was weakened to such an extent that, when carrying a big sail, any strong gust of wind would have been enough to snap it off.
For twenty-four hours they were swept back, more or less in the direction of Yuloga, but had fair reason to suppose that they would be carried past it. Then, shortly before midday on the third day after their escape, they sighted a small vessel steaming towards them. As she came nearer, they saw that she was a frigate, flying in her stern the Tricolor.
Gregory and James were both extremely loath to go aboard a French warship, but beggars could not be choosers. Hailed with relief by the others in the canoe, the frigate hove to alongside and took them all aboard.
While the frigate was approaching, Gregory fabricated an account of themselves which they must all adhere to, so as to conceal the danger of the French possibly returning them to Yuloga. It was that he and James had been passengers on the Robertsons’ schooner when she had been wrecked, then they had all got ashore on a desert island and found the canoe abandoned there. When they told this story to the Captain of the frigate Gregory and James had good reason to be thankful that while in prison they had retained their aliases—George Simonds and Johnny Olourna—and all the more so when they learned that, having been on a cruise, the frigate was returning to Noumea.
Two days later she put into port. The rescued crew of the canoe were paraded before the Immigration Authorities and duly interrogated. The Robertsons were known there, so they and their crew boys, Woggy and Punch, were passed through, with condolences on the loss of their schooner. Gregory and James were more closely questioned, but their story that they were British subjects from Fiji was accepted.
Greatly relieved, they were about to leave the office when into it walked the brown-faced gendarme belonging to the harbour duty squad, who had bade them bon soir shortly before they had stolen the launch. As they were standing side by side he recognised them immediately, and cried:
‘I arrest these two men. They are the ones sought in connection with the affair at the Hotel Château Royal.’