At the Three Brothers

Press, Volume LXXV, Issue 22661, 16 March 1939, Page 7 (Supplement)

At the Three Brothers

“Where? Where?” bawled Captain Dunton. “You ask me where! I’ll show you.” He swung round in his chair, and standing up, flung open the door of his own private den. “Come in,” he said huskily. As Philip Dawson came round the table and joined him the captain resumed something of his old paternal manner. "My dear boy,” he said, for no apparent reason. Then he walked across the room to where a large map of Port Moncrieff hung on the wall. He pointed to the three islands that lay in a line off the coast some miles from the harbour mouth, tapping his finger on each in turn. “The Three Brothers,” he said, and half turned to Phil. “You know them?” “Of course.” The captain slapped his right fist into his left hand. “Well, that’s where they leave the stuff,” he said. “And that’s where you’ve got to go if you’re going to catch them.” He seemed to brood a little. “And they've got to be stopped soon,” he went on moodily at last. “If I were a younger man—” “Leave it to me, captain,” Phil interjected. “You say they’re due again to-night?” “Yes. Late to-night.” “Good. We’ll be there to meet them.” Tall and wiry and only 22 years of age, Phil Dawson was generally reckoned the most foolhardy young man on the waterfront. His father, old Captain Dawson, had been even more wiry than his son; and when he had died at 75, leaving the best part of £BOO to Phil, there had been more than one surprised scandalmonger on the wharves who whispered to his neighbour that the old man had done a tidy bit of smuggling in his day. Whether this was true Phil did not know —nor did he care' very much. But he had lived most of his life on the wharves and the ships that berthed there, so the sea was in his blood; and what did. matter was that he saw an opportunity to realise some rather longstanding dreams. The Raha, an up-to-date 32-foot launch, was for sale, and he bought it. Since then, with her crew of four, she had been everything from a picnic launch to a lifeboat. Ordinarily this rather wild young man was the last whom conservative old Captain Dunton, one-time harbourmaster of Port Moncrieff, would have approached for help. But now the honour of his beloved harbour was at stake. The, rumour that Port Moncrieff was being used by-smugglers had become far too generally talked about on the eastern coast for any but the deaf to ignore it. Yet that was what the Port Moncrieff authorities appeared to be doing. It was typical of Captain Duntoif’s ways that he should set about making his own inquiries, and with his mind made up summon young Philip Dawson and ask him to undertake the trapping of the smugglers when next they sneaked in, on their unlawful occasions, to the Three Brothers. It was dark when the Raha reached the islands that night, but the stars gave a little light. Every inlet in the Three Brothers was familiar to Phil, and he had chosen as the best place to keep watch a small creek that ran' into a bay facing the sea in the middle island. He#uau£ht if likely jtocw that the

(By F. A. Jones)

smugglers’ unloading place would be somewhere nearby. The Raha was berthed against a natural jetty of rock just beyond the open bay. She showed no lights. Phil had given himself the last watch, for it was then that he expected to sight the ship. Now he reminded his second-in-command: “You’re first watch. Berry. The rest of you had better get some sleep.” Berry took his stand in the front ol the cabin looking onl io sea. The others lay on their bunks. Fifteen minutes passed. Phil satisfied himself that his men were asleep, then stood up quietly and went over to Berry. “Hopeless,” he said with a grin. “Too much of that is enough. I’m going on deck.” He went out and sat facing the sea forward, sheltered from behind by the wall of the cabin. The sea breeze soothed him; he must have dozed. The next thing he was aware of was a cold, commanding voice that sounded from behind: "You can all stay just where you are.”

A light flashed through the cabin window above him. That would be a torch. He sat still. The cabin door slammed, and the voice went on: “Tie their wrists, Rob. Haven't time for more. Anyone gives trouble and he’ll get a bullet.” Phil knew then that this was no time for displays of reckless valour. More than his own life was at stake. So when, presently, he heard a key turn in the cabin door he had not moved. From his hiding place he watched the figures of two men cross the rear of the deck and leap ashore. He gave them half a minute. Thete was no time even to free his crew. Then like a shadow he was on their trail. The bush was fairly open, and they went quickly up the tiny hill. When, 50 yards behind them, Phil topped the slope, he stood still for a moment to gaze in surprise. Close in to the shore a small ship—a tramp by the look of her—rode at anchor. He gave it one glance, and

then was dropping down the slope behind his quarry. But in that-brief moment of relaxed vigilance one of the figures ahead of him had looked back. Phil did not know. A dark shadow still moved before him as he went on, but it was alone. Fifty yards passed. A twig cracked. That was all the warning Phil had—hardly enough. ' Something encircled his arms, and he felt himself borne to the ground. His wrists roped, he was led down to the beach, where a dinghy, waited to carry them out to the tramp. As they rowed his captors told him of their early arrival that night in their ship, the Marie, and oi Vvow they bad beard Phil’s launch and decided to act against any trouble that might come from that quarter. On the Marie Phil was hustled into a forward cabin, and the door was locked. He was glad that his prison boasted a porthole. It looked across to the island, and as he sat by it watching, he was able to make out the black shapes of the ship’s boats as they went backwards and forwards to the beach.. So this was where the contraband was landed. He prayed desperately that his crew might yet free themselves and turn the tide in his favour, but he knew that there was

little hope: the Raha’s cabin would have made a good enough prison even had his men not been tied, Then what of his own chances of escape? The crew’s preoccupation with their work seemed all in his favour. Probably they had set no one to watch him. He worked feverishly at his bonds as he paced about the cabin, his mind roving unceasingly from' one desperate and impractical plan to another. Soon his hands were free. What was there now to do? There was a cupboard, which he opened, to find unexpected inspiration. A full spit of the rough grey cloth which he had noticed the men wore hung inside. It did not take him long to don it. He pondered again for a moment, saw light. Suddenly and violently he beat his hands against the door, crying loudly for help. He paused, and when there was no response began again. This time in the pause that followed he heard running feet. Some-;

one was fumbling with the doorHe stepped behind it. _ When It burst open he had no time to think of violence, for the figure that hurtled through the doorway rushed past him across the rooiiu Madness, thought Phil; but he did not wait. The key was. still in the lock, and sliding like light round the door , he pulled it shut; and locked it behind him. He knew that any help his borrowed clothes now gave him would be slight. His escape depended on speed. He had almost reached the end of the passage and the companionway that led down to the deck when a door opened in front of him and a man stepped into his path. With a sinking heart he saw that it was one of his captors of half an hour before, and that recognition was mutual. A leg shot out. He saw the deck, turned over, and for a split second watched the Milky Way slewing round through a tangle of rigging. Then all was blotted out. When Phil awoke he knew that he was in bed. The room was in darkness. He started to roll over, then quickly lay still again. His left leg felt as if it were being torn off at the knee. His head ached. The throbbing engine and the slight pitching told that he was at sea. He began to think and to sort things out. In a few minutes a step sounded and someone came in through the curtained doorway and lighted the lamp. He was tall and slim and sunburned, about 40, with cynical mouth and eyes. He wore an officer’s cap. “Feeling better?” he asked. “Not very wonderful,” Phil said. “But—" The man laughed. “Yes—but—where am I?” he anticipated Phil’s question. “You’re on board the Marie, going home.*' “Home?” “Yes. You see, that knee of yours needs attention as soon as it can get it. Wait,” he went on as Phil again opened his mouth. “Your crew hasn’t been disturbed—it was safer to leave them. They’ll come to no harm." “But—but you’re not going to Port Moncriefl?” “Yes.” “You’ll be arrested.” “It’s possible,” the man said, and he smiled. Phil was still pondering this wheri a seaman looked through the doorway and said: “We berth in 10. minutes, captain.” The captain answered, “0.K.” and went out. The Marie tied up at Port Moncrieff just as the first all-night fishing boats were berthing. The captain rang for an ambulance from the telephone on the wharf. Then he went in to say good-bye to Phil. "We will meet again,” Phil said, and admiration mingled with the challenge in his eyes. The captain shook his head. “I think not,” he said dryly. Tm not a fool.” Then the two ambulance ' men came to take Phil away. At the hospital he would answer no questions, and it was not till two hours after they had told him that the Marie was gone that he summoned Captain Dunton and told his story.

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