Red Lead broke out again, this time through a slightly ajar window in Waller’s cabin. He was so busy preparing to leave Priok and assessing incoming intelligence that he didn’t notice her escape. She hid in one of the small rafts that had been salvaged from the dock and were stored in the middle of the main deck a few yards from the gangway.
Hidden under the canvas, she would have observed Collins hurrying down the gangway, followed by three other sailors assigned to retrieve the wayward cat before cast-off at 6 p.m. They had less than an hour.
It was still 28 February—a long day for crew members. They scoured the near dock area, including the Muslim mosque and warehouse she had gone to before.
After forty minutes, Red Lead crept from the raft and moved to the gangway. She crouched low as if stalking a rodent, then stopped. She saw four men coming up towards her. She scampered down another 10 yards, and was confronted by her would-be captors. She looked at the water, 5 yards below.
‘Don’t even think about it, Red Lead!’ Collins called. He was a few yards away. She looked back at him. Collins took a step towards her. Red Lead, ears pinned back and body and tail straight, jumped. She made hardly a splash. Collins and the three sailors scrambled for the dock. They lost sight of her. Then Collins spotted her near a ladder to the dock. He climbed down, nearly slipping into the water himself. Red Lead was swimming about 25 yards away.
‘Don’t let me go into the drink,’ Collins said, his voice calm. ‘I’m not coming in for you. Come to me!’
Red Lead seemed intent on making for somewhere else. She ignored him.
‘Fuck it!’ Collins grumbled. ‘I’m not going into that oil and muck!’
As he was fuming, Dan Bolt, the 35-year-old petty officer who had met Red Lead at the lunch on the Hawkesbury with Waller, came over. Seeing the cat, he quickly ascertained the situation. Without a word, he stripped to football shorts, jumped into the water and swam easily to Red Lead.
‘He moves like Johnny Weissmuller!’ one the sailors said. ‘Looks like him too.’
‘Who’s that?’ someone else said.
‘He played Tarzan in the movies.’
‘Dan was a lifesaver at Point Leo,’ another sailor said, as a crowd of Perth crew gathered on the dock to rubberneck.
They watched as Bolt swam to Red Lead. He tried to grab her but she resisted his efforts so he gripped her by the loose skin at the back of her neck, which her mother would have done. She did not fight anymore and went limp. Bolt held Red Lead high with one hand, and used his powerful free arm to propel them easily to the ladder. When he climbed up with Red Lead, applause broke out.
‘He’s a long-distance champion, you know,’ one onlooker said. ‘Would have been at the 1944 Olympics, but for the war.’
‘He may still get there,’ another said.
‘Fat chance. They’ve been long cancelled.’
‘Only if they’re in Tokyo or Berlin, again.’
Bolt handed Red Lead to a grateful Collins, who smiled and shook his head with relief.
‘You’ve saved me from the captain’s wrath,’ he said to Bolt, who gathered all his clothing. ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Forget it. I’d do the same for any animal, although I draw the line at elephants! Besides, I love that cat. Most of the species have warmth and grace but there is something about her courage and confidence—I’ve never quite seen it in a feline before. Dogs often have it, but not so much cats. She is so important for the ship’s morale.’ Bolt laughed. ‘I also love her because she is a terrific swimmer! She’d get gold at any cat Olympics.’
They heard the pipes and ship’s bell, indicating they had only a short time to return to the ship.
On board, Waller reserved a precious moment for his disobedient, yet strong-willed pet, now shut in the captain’s bathroom.
‘Clap her in irons!’ he told his master-at-arms, Jan Kreber.
‘What, Captain? How, Captain?’
‘Your job, Mr Kreber!’
‘Yes, sir!’
Kreber hurried around the ship. He found a large empty kerosene can. He belted some holes in it and returned to the captain’s cabin. Waller was giving instructions to Ray Parkin about the route they would take. He waved a hand at Kreber who entered the bathroom and found Red Lead pawing at a dripping tap.
Kreber got hold of her and pushed her into the can. Red Lead struggled, hissed and complained with a high-pitched cry. The master-at-arms left the cabin.
Waller took a moment to approach the imprisoned feline.
‘It’s for your own good,’ he said.
The cat’s face and meow indicated disagreement.
The ship’s log of 28 February 1942 recorded the cat’s escapades.
‘Red Lead, ship’s cat, endeavoured to desert but was brought back on board, despite protests.’
With misgivings about their plight, Perth and Houston sailed down the channel from Priok. Sailors lined the decks of both ships. They looked in silence at the idyllic palms and banana trees on the sandy shores of Java. Originally such views had conjured ideas of Pacific Island reveries and balmy nights, that they had read about. Now the vision presented a different image. Behind the beautiful façade was a hostility from an enemy whom they did not wish to engage or ever experience.
Everyone on Perth, from the captain to the fretting caged cat, was bone-tired after the previous day’s experience. But all went on with their routines, inspired by the chance to go to sea and hopefully escape the region. Even Red Lead felt better. Waller had set her free from the kerosene can and she had been fed with milk and sardines purloined from the warehouses in Priok. She ignored Waller for most of the time, and occupied herself with cleaning. Her fur had soaked up some oil and muck from the Priok swim. Waller was so busy with his duties that her coolness didn’t bother him. He had expected some reaction of scorn and distrust. Yet he looked around for her more than once. She was not meowing at all. He had always been soothed by her normal communication and purring, especially the crackling, warm utterance from deep inside her.
On Waller’s mind was an ominous, unverified report that a big enemy convoy was about 50 miles north-east of Java, and heading towards Perth. It had an estimated 50 to 60 transport ships, which would carry, according to educated speculation, around 35,000 troops, protected by plenty of destroyers. Waller felt that they had made the right move, given the sketchy data, by leaving when they did.
Intelligence kept coming in that encouraged his decision, as captain of the fleet, to leave the still simmering, smoking Priok. Keeping his calm, reassured tone, he let his crew know for the first time, officially, that they were heading for the Sunda Strait, and then Tjilatjap on Java’s south coast. He told the men about the enemy’s convoy, which helped explain his decision to bring Perth up to a second degree of readiness. He concluded by telling them he did not expect to encounter Japanese forces.
The message had a mixed reaction through the ship. The crew members had expected, hoped and prayed that he would tell them they were headed for Australia. The gossip and speculation were that Waller was really intending to go south into the safe Indian Ocean. According to Houston sailors this new destination was far worse than even Priok. They described Tjilatjap as a ‘hellhole’ and worse.
Although fatigued, Waller was determined not to return to his cabin. At 10 p.m. he went to sleep on the deck with orders to wake him if anything was spotted.
Meanwhile the Japanese, unseen in the dark, were beginning to dock their long convoy of transport ships at Banten Bay on Java’s coast, about 10 miles north-west of Perth and Houston. The first ship’s troops were being offloaded while the enemy protection force of destroyers was still lurking offshore.
Unaware of the danger, Perth and Houston were heading for Saint Nicholas Point on the north-western tip of Java, and then into the Sunda Strait. They passed the point at 10.45 p.m.
Waller couldn’t sleep. At just after 11 p.m. he returned to the bridge and asked for a mug of viscous cocoa (ky), to which he added a dessertspoon of sugar. As he was savouring it, a ship, 5 miles away and close to Nicholas Point, was sighted and challenged. It did not respond properly to two signals from Perth. Instead it made smoke, heading for them. The moonlight soon distinguished it as a Japanese destroyer.
Waller ordered the alarm to be sounded and called for action stations. Crew members who had been sleeping, dozing, or going about their routines, were rudely aroused. A buzz went through Perth, including a few choice expletives about them not expecting the enemy.
The forward turret of four guns was called to open fire with its precious few 6-inch shells. Waller worried they had wandered into a trap. He was annoyed he did not have radar, held up by ridiculous paperwork in Sydney, that would have given them fair warning of the enemy destroyers that were soon seen on the horizon. They were sailing between them and the Sunda Strait.
By 11.15 p.m. the enemy destroyers were replying to the opening salvos from Perth and Houston. The ocean was alive with the sounds and lights of a hideous battle, made ever more frightening by the darkness. The moon now seemed shrouded in smoke and was a hindrance rather than a help.
The Battle of Sunda Strait had begun.