The Devil's Eye (15 page)

Willie plunged his feet over the side of the dinghy, flakes of grime floating free under the small waves that pushed up with a hiss onto the long beach.

It was calm here, deserted except for another dinghy on the sand with its barrel waiting to be filled with water. Willie looked back out into the bay, at the tangle of luggers and schooners.

‘Someone else has the same idea,’ he said to Sam, who was whistling some hymn that Willie almost recognised.

Sam sent Charley off with an axe to search for wood for the galley, and then strode down a path through the casuarinas. They each carried two empty kerosene tins. Sam also carried the rifle.

They struggled through the loose sand up the wooded dune and down the other side, where they found flat ground. Thin, hard trees were nailed into the earth and the heated air throbbed with insects.

‘We shouldn’t have let Charley go off alone,’ said Willie.

‘He doesn’t have to go far to find wood. Anyway, no bushmen here. They’ll all have gone to the hills. They know when a storm is coming.’

Willie looked up at the black boulders, not that far away.

‘Maybe Thomas will come back today,’ said Sam. ‘It’s a good day to do some pearl buying.’

‘Joe Harry says Thomas isn’t coming back.’

‘Joe Harry is a thief.’

‘Of course he’s a thief. So are we. We have to get rid of that pearl.’

Flies came around as the men began to sweat. Willie hated coming shore.

‘Where did you hide the pearl, anyway?’ said Willie.

‘The safest of places.’

Willie held down his anger. They walked in the heat. Ahead, the dry ground gave way to the thick green jungle that flanked the waterhole.

And coming the other way was a group of men, bare-chested, with wet shirts hung over their heads, bent under poles from which kerosene tins full of water swayed.

Willie and Sam stood back to let them past, but the lead man, not seeing them, or perhaps stumbling, swung his pole towards Willie, who raised his hand to fend it off.

Even as he did so, he could see what was about to happen, how that little dance of the man and his tins would end. The hand hit the tin and the tin swayed,
spilling a little water, the end of the pole rose, the other end dipped. All might have been saved, but then the tin on the far side suddenly slid off, thumping to the ground, the water vanishing, the pole rising at that end—and the second tin landed at Willie’s feet, the water gone in a moment.

The man dropped his pole and looked at the empty tin at Willie’s feet, unable to believe it.

‘Clumsy,’ said Sam.

‘I’m going to kill this boy.’ The voice was Joe Harry’s.

The shirt came off his head and Joe Harry’s insane smile was for Willie.

The other three men put their loads down and stood behind their wide grinning skipper, all sweating and panting. Willie was sure then that they would happily kill him.

‘It’s just a tin of water,’ Willie heard Sam say.

Joe Harry looked at Sam. ‘You,’ he said, but his eyes widened when he noticed the rifle. ‘You creeping up on Joe Harry, Kanaka?’

Willie saw in the corner of his eye Sam pointing the rifle at Joe Harry’s chest.

Sam said, ‘You should be more careful.’

Joe Harry hissed, ‘This Kanaka knocked over Joe Harry’s water.’

Willie said, ‘Sorry.’

Joe Harry slowly drew a long thin blade, and Willie knew he was surrounded by madmen.

The barrel of the rifle came up to point at Joe Harry’s smile and Sam said, ‘I think it’s Joe Harry who should say sorry.’

Willie groaned. Joe Harry was speechless with rage. Willie could see that the man was trembling and might be mad enough to lunge regardless of the gun.

Joe Harry took a step forward, but one of his mates grabbed his arm. He stood for a while, and then suddenly put the knife away, stooped and picked up his empty cans. He walked away opening and closing his mouth, the others following and looking over their shoulders.

‘Next time I see you, Kanaka,’ Joe Harry eventually managed to call back, ‘I will cut you up for the blacks. You keep your friend and his rifle close.’

‘You want to buy another pearl, Joe Harry?’ Sam yelled at them. ‘I have a big one. Come back and I show you. You thief!’

Joe Harry started to come back, but his men pulled him away and they disappeared over the dune.

Sam screamed, ‘
Howl ye. Woe worth the day
,
for the day is near!
’ It echoed around the hills.

‘Jesus Christ, give me that thing,’ said Willie, snatching the rifle away. ‘Isn’t murder a mortal sin?’

‘Not if it’s God’s will,’ said Sam. ‘Anyway, there’s no bullet in the gun.’

Willie passed a hand over his face and said, ‘What if he didn’t back down?’

But Sam didn’t answer.

Willie, feeling weak in the legs, slumped onto the hot sharp ground and cradled the rifle. It was heavy and recently cleaned. It smelt of oil. The breach-loading barrel seemed as thick as an air hose.

Willie suddenly broke open the breach. White cloth was stuffed into the barrel.

‘I told you the pearl was safe,’ said Sam.

‘Christ!’

Sam bent down and said into Willie’s ear, ‘Do not blaspheme, Willie Tanna. Your Saviour also knows where the pearl is. We need Him on our side.’

When they reached the beach, they found Charley holding the axe and sitting on the sand. They placed their loads of water gently down beside him. Their dinghy was drifting away. Charley spoke in fast Malay.

Willie said, ‘He must have chased them off before they could sink it.’

‘Well, why didn’t he swim out and bring the dinghy back?’ said Sam.

‘You know that Charley can’t swim,’ said Willie, and he stripped and swam out to retrieve the boat. Reaching it, he saw the water barrel was gone.

When he returned, Sam was looking at the eastern sky.

‘The storm’s coming, Willie.’

It had not rained on Thursday Island, but the grass was wet, the trees dripped flowers, and cocoa-nuts lay damply where they fell.

It was with some effort that John Douglas had left his front door and turned down towards the port. Curry and roasting beef mingled their smells with that of damp earth. Outside Satow’s store a Japanese boy swept away the beetles.

The thick air deadened all sound, but a bird piped a few sombre notes from a mango tree.

Douglas had the letter from Maggie in his pocket. It had arrived after breakfast on the daily steamer from the south, delivered by a panting ship’s steward. His hand kept straying to it. Maggie was pregnant. The news had dazed him.

He felt breathless and he stopped, looking about. Where was everyone? Perhaps they slept.

Anyone who happened to see the Government Resident in his white suit and hat, standing alone in the
middle of the street, would have been alarmed. He looked lost.

Douglas swivelled on his cane to get his bearings and then continued down to the port.

He had that morning sent a note off to Bennett at the Shipping Office asking about the man Joe Harry, but had received no reply. The arrival of the letter from Maggie had distracted him.

Now, he decided he needed a walk and would pay Bennett a visit, but halfway down he wasn’t entirely sure whether he’d sent the note to Bennett or to Mr James Clark’s offices.

He took a stab at it, but found the Shipping Office shut. Of course. It was Saturday. Even a steamer at the wharf didn’t seem to rouse the Customs men.

He knocked on the door nonetheless and then peered through a grimy window, but there was no sign of life.

The packing sheds, the wharves, and the few boats creaked in the heat. He took out a handkerchief and dabbed his forehead. Then he turned in the direction of Clark’s offices, and strode off again.

He knew that business, any human endeavour he supposed, tolerated a level of deceit. But there were social standards, there were laws. If a man was killed, society needed to satisfy itself, as much as it could, as to the circumstances.

Had Thomas died, there would have been embarrassment, the man having no paperwork and
everyone vague about their dealings with him. But as it had transpired, Thomas’s ‘shop’ had proved to be the small front room of a house where he apparently bought and sold pearls—and the police had discovered that it had been cleared out. There was no safe, and upon further investigation his room at the boarding house had revealed no personal items either, except for a few shirts. No letters; nothing.

Thomas’s survival was a great relief to the police, and happily he seemed well on his way to never having existed in the first place.

A dead pearler, on the other hand, was routine. It became an administrative matter. The man Joe Harry was articled, but Douglas wanted to be sure this time that the paperwork was in order. The Cooktown police, though, appeared not to care any more, and after the initial flurry even Dr Roth was not returning telegrams.

Halfway down Douglas-street, he felt someone tugging at his sleeve. It was the clerk from the Post Office.

‘I beg your pardon your Honour, but Mr Beach sent me to find you. There’s a message.’

‘Well?’

‘He says he’s very busy.’

‘Is that the message?’

‘No sir. He says he has a telegram.’

‘Where is it then?’

‘If you can spare a minute.’

‘I believe I can spare a minute, Mr Murphy,’ said Douglas, sighing. ‘It’s days that I appear to be running low on.’

The Post Office was closed to customers, but two clerks with ink to their elbows were thumping stamps and scratching paper.

Mr Murphy led the Government Resident down the corridor to Beach’s office.

Beach was in front of his window with a ruler in hand, a chart, and a book that slid off his lap when Douglas walked in.

‘So sorry, your Honour,’ said Beach.

‘Quite all right.’

‘Did you find Mr Thomas? I understand that he’s not dead any more.’

‘Dead or alive, Mr Beach, he doesn’t appear to exist.’

Beach nodded as if he knew from personal experience many people who didn’t appear to exist. He picked the book off the floor and held it up for Douglas’s inspection.

Handy Book of Meteorology
, it said.

‘Mr Alexander Buchan,’ said Beach.

He went to his table with the book and ruler and motioned Douglas towards a chair. He searched the desk and produced a telegram from under the chart.

‘It must be urgent,’ said Douglas, almost kindly.

‘Yes, it is. It’s from Mr Clement Wragge, from the Weather Office.’ Beach looked excited. ‘He reports a new tropical disturbance south of Sudest.’

‘Yes?’

‘You said this morning you wanted to hear Mr Wragge’s predictions.’

‘Oh yes. I see. Sudest you say?’

‘Yes. And that would explain the lightning.’

‘But Sudest must be a thousand miles away.’

‘Five hundred and forty. But south of Sudest is anywhere in the Coral Sea. In any case, the previous night’s phenomenon wasn’t actually lightning itself, but the
reflection
of lightning. You’d have noticed last night that it was generally south of east.’ He tapped the book that lay in front of him on the desk. ‘Silent lightning. The reflection of lightning from distant storms from the vapour of the upper reaches of the atmosphere. The storm, you see, is too far away for any sound to arrive.’ He leant forward. ‘Silent.’

‘And when Mr Wragge says “tropical disturbance”, Mr Beach, does he mean a hurricane?’

‘Yes. Well, not necessarily, but at this time of the year, as you know, a cyclone with hurricane-force winds is the likely outcome of a tropical storm.’

‘If we can see the lightning from here, what does that tell you about where the storm is?’

‘Well, the direction is undoubtedly south-east. The distance? One or two hundred miles is possible, if you
consider the height of the upper atmosphere and the angle of reflection.’

‘What does that mean for shipping?’

‘Wragge has put out an alert.’

Douglas felt a rising anxiety. ‘And the pearling fleets down the coast?’

‘They would be advised to take shelter,’ said Beach. ‘But I’m sure they know that. The masters read their barometers constantly. They know the signs better than even I.’

Douglas looked out the window into the unbearable glare of the port. His fears had a foundation.

‘A hurricane,’ said Beach, following his gaze. ‘What a sight for a scientist. How I wish I was down there to see such a phenomenon up close.’

The crowds around the schooners had retreated. Willie was nosing the
Zoe
through parked luggers, ignoring the calls and curses, Sam similarly casting a blank stare about. Perhaps their run-in with Joe Harry was news already.

Sam ran his hand under his chin. ‘I need to shave.’

Boarding the schooner made Willie nervous, too. He didn’t want Tommy de Lange asking about Joe Harry again, and he dreaded his interview with Captain Porter. He had the pearl in his pocket at last, but what to do?

They came alongside and tied up.

As they stepped onto the deck, Sam dug his elbow into Willie’s ribs and pointed to a small black cloud scurrying across the sky to the north-west. ‘Look how fast it flies,’ he said.

‘For heaven’s sake,’ Willie told him. ‘Don’t go scaring Mrs Porter.’

Maggie Porter saw Willie come aboard. He wasn’t the last of the fleet, but the
Zoe
would be the last to unload for the day. The light was fading fast as a lowering haze blurred the horizon. She could smell the rain.

Porter was pacing the deck and occasionally yelled over the side. He came across and surprised his wife by kissing her on the forehead. ‘Won’t be much of a party tonight, I’m afraid,’ he said, before stalking off.

He glanced wearily at the sky and spoke in a low rumble to Daniel Jones about tackle, fathoms and cables.

Tommy De Lange paced the deck too, but well away from the captain. The confusing news about the mysterious Thomas had unsettled him, but the dirty weather had spared him the trip to the other side of Princess Charlotte Bay.

He’d also begun to think, against all logic, that Joe Harry might be dead after all. The failure of the
Vision
to appear gave that rumour some weight, if not substance. It was as if news of his death had made it so and seeing him in the flesh a day earlier might be easily explained, somehow.

Poor Tommy stopped his pacing to roll and light a cigarette. His foot tapped against the deck as he looked out into the bay. The air seemed full of dark whispers that flittered like bats between the luggers.

Keeping an eye on Willie, knowing that he’d soon have to approach Tommy, Maggie said, ‘Any more pearls, Tommy?’

‘Not really, Mrs Porter.’

‘How many?’

‘Hardly any to speak of.’

‘Any at all?’

‘No.’

When Tommy saw that the Kanakas from the
Zoe
were aboard, he left Maggie and walked up to Sam, asking if he’d seen anything of the
Vision
in the bay.

Sam said, ‘She not unloaded yet?’

Tommy grunted.

Porter had come over to Willie and had taken him to the stern. Maggie saw Willie look at at her as her husband spoke to him.

The net went over the side and unloaded the
Zoe
’s shell. Jones arranged the stores that would return by the same net. The manoeuvre was done quickly and nervously.

Maggie heard Tommy say, ‘I’ve heard that the
Zoe
is a lucky lugger. How lucky you been this week?’

Sam shrugged.

‘We’ll see, then,’ said Tommy. Look, yesterday you said you saw Joe Harry. Are you sure it was Joe Harry?’

‘Oh yes.’

‘Good. Good. But you said that fellow Thomas was there.’

‘No, no. Long time ago. I heard Thomas dead.’

‘Eh?’ Tommy went to the railing. He tapped his hand nervously. ‘Oh no. That’s old news. Haven’t you heard? Everyone else seems to be talking about it. Thomas is now alive.’

Sam looked around the deck as if Thomas might suddenly appear. He glanced up at the sky and didn’t appear to like what he saw. ‘Praise the Lord. A miracle.’

‘Quite. But he’s in Cooktown so it couldn’t have been Thomas that you saw. The curious thing is why they think it’s Joe Harry,’ said Tommy, drawing deeply on his cigarette, ‘who’s now dead.’

Sam’s eyes widened and Maggie heard him say, ‘The devil.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Tommy. ‘The police think that that devil Joe Harry has been dead for some time. I don’t suppose you’ve seen him today? He talked about the lucky
Zoe.
’ Having repeated this, Tommy whispered, ‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’

But Sam was looking around the bay. ‘
Be sober, be vigilant
,’ he said, ‘
for the Devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour
.’

‘Is that right?’ said Tommy, looking at Sam suspiciously. ‘Well, maybe he’ll turn up tomorrow morning.’ And he walked away shaking his head.

Alice crawled after Poor Tommy, and Maggie was left alone with Sam. She noticed Tommy fish into his pocket when he thought no one was looking and bring out a sweet.

Sam said to Maggie, ‘Mrs Porter. There is a great devil out there. A willy-willy. It’s coming.’

The sky was yellow, a few black clouds hurried over the cape. ‘Captain Porter did say there is a storm somewhere,’ she said.

‘Can you hear it?’

There
was
something in the air. Maggie listened. Some of the crew nearby were also looking east.

‘We should pray,’ said Sam, but Willie at that moment left Captain Porter and hurried over.

The loading and unloading was finished and Willie’s torture had nearly ended. He grabbed Sam by the shirt, glanced at Maggie and said, ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Porter, we must leave now.’

‘I must ask you something,’ said Maggie, and pulling Willie away she spoke to him in an urgent whisper. ‘I must know about you and Hope.’

‘I don’t think I understand, Mrs Porter.’

‘You like Hope?’

Willie nodded.

Maggie was wondering how to put it. ‘Have you kissed her?’

Willie’s mouth hung open and Maggie said, ‘I will keep it a secret Willie, but I must know.’

Willie shook his head slowly. ‘No. And I will kill the man who said I did.’

Maggie took a step back and examined Willie’s face. ‘I don’t think that will be necessary, Willie.’

Porter was within earshot now, yelling for those luggers that had anchored too close to get the hell away and make sure they let out plenty of damned chain.

Willie felt in his pocket for the pearl, but then Sam stepped between them and took both of Mrs Porter’s hands, pumped them fervently, and said with a disturbing finality, ‘Goodbye, Mrs Porter.’

Willie dragged him down the ladder to the deck of the
Zoe
and hissed, ‘Are you crazy? I told you not to scare them.’

‘Willie?’ Captain Porter called down after him as the
Zoe
cast off. ‘Find an anchorage beneath the cape over there. It’s better protected. Run out your chain and stay clear of the others. And double-lash that damned dinghy. If you lose it, it’ll come out of your wage.’

‘What did Captain Porter say?’ asked Sam.

Willie was watching the other luggers closely as they weaved through the throng. ‘He wanted to know about Joe Harry and Thomas.’

‘Did he say Joe Harry was dead?’

‘He didn’t believe it.’

‘He’s the devil.’

‘It’s the pearl,’ said Willie. ‘It’s a curse.’ He felt drained by the interviews with Captain and Mrs Porter, but continued, ‘Captain Porter was asking me about pearls.’

‘The
Vision
must be here somewhere,’ said Sam, ignoring him.

‘He said that if I knew of anyone who had pearls, I should tell him. He’d consider it a favour. Said he’d flog any skipper who tried to steal pearls.’

Willie waited for Sam’s reaction.

‘Didn’t you hear me? He knows about the damned pearl. Just like Joe Harry knew.’

‘What did you say?’

‘I said I’d let him know if I heard of any pearls being fished.’

‘Don’t worry about it, then.’

‘Don’t worry? Christ!’

After a few moments Sam said, ‘That’s the least of our problems now.’

The sky was low and dark, and an eerie light had flooded the bay as the sun sank. It did look like the end of the world.

‘Who’s that over there?’ said Sam.

‘Eh? That’s the
Kate
.’

‘You’re right. There’s George Masta.’

George Masta, the Japanese skipper, was waving both arms at them, and the crew were shouting and pointing at the water.

‘What are they saying?’ asked Sam.

‘I think they’re worried we’ll hit their chain.’

The
Zoe
slid smoothly between the
Kate
and another lugger from the
Silvery Wave
fleet, and was showered with curses.

‘Aren’t you running it a bit close?’

‘It’s their own damned fault for anchoring too close to where I want to run,’ said Willie.

Ahead were a dozen more luggers.

‘Who’s that?’ asked Sam.

Willie sighed. ‘
Little Bill.
’

‘How do you know?’

‘Two-nine-oh. On the bow. That’s
Little Bill
’s number. Two-nine-oh.’

‘Goodbye,’ shouted Sam to
Little Bill
. ‘Batten down. Good luck.’

Negotiating a route between scores of anchored luggers wasn’t easy, especially as the breeze now came in bullets over the mountainous cape, first from the south and then the south-east.

Willie had a half mainsail raised, but one bullet of wind from the south-west sent her boom sweeping the deck, collecting Charley and carrying him over the side.

Sam threw himself after him. The gust had pushed the
Zoe
towards the
Carrie
, and Willie had to let the boom go. He couldn’t avoid the collision and the
Zoe
scraped the black paint from the
Carrie
’s hull. All hands were needed to hold the two luggers apart while Sam swam back with Charley.

Fortunately, the crew of the
Carrie
were halfway drunk and didn’t seem to have noticed the white stripe down their hull. The two luggers parted on good terms.

Charley lay on the deck dazed and coughing.

Sam tried to give him some gin.

‘He’s a Mohammedan,’ said Willie. ‘He doesn’t drink.’

‘Neither do I.’

‘How long have you known Charley?’

Sam screwed up his face. ‘Two years.’

‘Have you ever seen him drunk?’

Sam shrugged. ‘Not very drunk.’

‘For heaven’s sake.’

The
Zoe
furled her sails under the cape in the company of a dozen other luggers. Crews were coming back in dinghies with water and wood, but the light was fading fast, although by Willie’s reckoning it was still an hour until sunset.

Another bullet of wind hit the
Zoe
and Sam said, ‘We should have gone around Bathurst Head and run her up the mouth of the Normanby.’

‘Too late,’ said Willie. ‘How deep are we here?’

‘Five fathoms.’

The
Zoe
felt skittish beneath Willie’s feet.

Hurricane lanterns appeared on decks. An accordion started wheezing and some men were already singing. Cooking fires had been lit. This was an unnatural peace, and many men were now getting determinedly drunk to force the party along.

Another gust came across the bay, swinging the luggers, blowing a lantern overboard, hitting the
Zoe
with force.

‘Here it comes,’ said Sam. ‘You’d better take her closer in, like Captain Porter said.’

He had three of the crew climb into the dinghy and they towed the
Zoe
between the other boats until she was so close to the cape that Willie could feel the day’s heat being expelled from the boulders. He could hear
the small waves breaking on the shore. ‘Happy?’ he asked Sam, who didn’t answer.

There was just one lugger nearby, its lanterns now ablaze in the cabin and on the deck and hanging from the rigging.

The dinghy came back. Willie ordered it onto the deck. ‘And double-lash it.’

A school of mackerel boiled near the surface nearby, and one fish slammed into the hull.

‘Christ!’ Willie looked over the side.

‘Now is not the time to take His name in vain,’ said Sam, who disappeared below and emerged a short time later with several bottles of liquor. Unseen by the crew, he took a step to the stern and dropped them all quietly into the sea.

‘You want a mutiny?’ said Willie.

‘Men who think they are about to drown will try to get drunk.’

‘Was that every damned bottle?’ said Willie.

‘I think so.’

A disturbing calm settled over the bay as the light vanished.

‘We have company,’ said Sam, pointing at the brightly lit lugger nearby. ‘Who’s that there?’

Willie stared into the twilight. ‘You should at least recognise that lugger, Sam. That’s the
Vision
.’