Account Rendered

Manawatu Standard, Volume LVII, Issue 72, 24 February 1937, Page 5

Account Rendered

Jon c£. Jdriess

AUSTRALIA’S MOST POPULAR WRITER

The location of this story is correct. Deep within the mangroves, large beams of a wreck were found. The tolling of the bell was described by superstitious Japanese pearl fishermen.

SNORES came from the sprawling blackboy crew on the deck for’ard, deep breathing from the two white men astern. A star-beam slanting off the polished mainmast rested steadily across Reynolds’s brow, its pale light appearing to divide the strong brown face. But the sleeper neither knew nor cared. No water gurgled along the cutter’s sides. The tide was at its height, stationary and silent. Nearly three miles across the channel loomed the two conical peaks of Howick Island. Above, the stars smiled down upon the sleeping waters of the Great Barrier Reef. Beyond the water hut touching it, was an indistinguishable smudge like an immense patch of spilt ink—the mangrove forest sucking its life from the black mud of the ocean. Clear and distinct came the eight sharp clangs of a ship’s bell. Before the musical notes had toned away the white men were sitting up inquiringly. The black crew tossed aside their blankets, slumber-dazed. But no big ship loomed above them, no towering maze of lights, no throb of engines. "'What on earth—- —” began Reynolds. "Did you hear it?” "Yes,” answered Harris. "Eight bells! A steamer.” "Where?” They stood up, searching the waters. But there was no steamer; only tiny Coquette Island beside them; silver j water all around. ! The two men wore soon breathing i deeply. The boys, reassured by the white men’s unconcern, yawned, coiled again in their blankets and noisily went to sleep. The tide, now on the turn, sent a low, rippling laugh from . bow to stern of the cutter. Night again, and the stars, and the quiet of the Barrier Sea. A smell of opened pearl-shell front the cutter’s deck mingled with the faint scent of tobacco smoke. Reynolds opened questioning eyes. "Can’t sleep,” explained Harris softly. “Thinking of that bell. It was about this time last night ” Across the waters clanged the strokes of a ship’s bell. The men, white and black, sprang up, eyes wide, breath short, listening. "Seemed to come from the heart of the mangroves on Howick Island,” said Harris incredulously. “But it can’t. Impossible! There’s not a living soul on that speck. And there’s noo a ship in sight.” The crew shuffled close together for’ard. Uneasy gluneps were shot towards the white men. Reynolds yawned unconcernedly. “Mine been thinkit ship’s bell wash in longa mangroves,” he spoke aloud; “catch up longa tree. Wind blow him about.” Sudden relief spoke in the quick laugh for’ard. Making fun of tlicir own fears the crew turned in.

“I can’t make it out,” said Reynolds thoughtfully. “To-morrow when I go out with tlie fishing boats, you slip off in the dinghy and look over the island. There may, just possibly, he someone there. There must he. But why ring a ship’s hell at midnight the Lord only knows!” “There’s not a sign of a living soul on the island,” whispered Harris that evening. “I examined every inch of the place, walked over it all day. All except the mangroves, of course. There are a hundred acres of them, a forest of mud and crooked trees, with a few creeks from the sea running through. When tlie tide is out it’s soft mud and water-pools. When it’s in, the water rises up among the tree-branches. No human being could possibly live there.” “Of course not,” said Reynolds. “I only thought some beachcomber might have squatted between, the two little hills.” “The place is absolutely uninhabited,” answered Harris with conviction. All hands were unusually late that evening at turning in. Seemed unwilling. But, before midnight, all hands seemed sleeping. A dead quiet hung over the little vessel. Up for’ard a blanket was cautiously raised, a woolly head emerged. Presently the head jerked hack under the blanket. “That’s had,” whispered Reynolds; “they’re listening, too. They’ll want, to clear out of this just as we’ve located a payable patch of shell. I hope that ’’

Clear across the waters clanged the first sharp stroke of a hell. j The crew were instantly on their feet. “l’ou boys go to hunk,” ordered Reynolds, "iiliat daiulool rot this!” “W'o fright alonga bell,” answered the head boy softly. ‘‘Him only bell washed ashore longa mangroves,” said Reynolds confidently. “Wind blow him.” “No wind,” replied the blackboyj quickly. - I “Tide shaken branches,” answered Reynolds instantly. i “Tide no turn yet,” said the hoy. ! The two white men made a pretence of turning in. Rut the crew, creeping down from for’ard drew nearer to the white men and crouched against the j mainmast, blankets drawn tight around their shivering shoulders, | frightened eyes peering out across the ! water. j “This is serious,” . whispered Rey-j nolds, “All fishing is off now until we solve this mystery. There is someone tolling a bell among those mangroves, ! otherwise it could not occur always exactly at midnight. There’s never a steamer visible, and the bell can’t toll from the bottom of the sea!” I “Only one way to find out,” an- 1 swered Harris. “It is nasty—and risivv too. When the tide covers both , reel and mangroves, I’ll take a boat and row up o.ie oi tiie sea-creeks be- j tween the trees.” “We’ll both go,” said Reynolds decidedly, “and take two of the boys. 1 When we come back they can explain j to the others what will turn out to be j some simple explanation of this uncanny business.” That evening, with the incoming tide, they rowed across to the black smudge that was Howick Island. The boys at the oars, shivering quietly, i cast longing" glances astern at the . black outline of the cutter lying by Coquette Island. Harris signalled to i cease pulling while they were yet out in the channel, some little distance i from the gigantic coral reef that on- : circles the island. A low wailing of ; tortured waters was rising from far in ; there among the trees. i “Better wait until the tide is sta- - tionary,” advised Harris lrom the bows. “The water is still rushing over the island from every side of the sea. If we venture into that waterlogged forest we’ll simiily be sucked into the i mangroves. And we are early yet.” ; U hen the waters had quietened, the dinghy crawled forward. Over the broad coral reef now lisped five feet of water. Behind them, the sea f stretched away to- merge quietly with -i the night. But in front, they peered i at a dim outline of twisted trees behind which was blackness. Harris, ; peering ahead from the bows called i instructions, quit kingly obeyed by the i boys at the oars. They crawled for- 1 ward into the barely perceptible mouth of .a crook in the black wall j ahead. Tile dinghy timidly entered, j i and vanished, walled in by a million j 1 trees whose branches readied out over-! head like a ceiling in the Pit. 'I A hissing stream of fire whizzed 11 from beside the boat. Sheeny green l ana yellow flame ran up the oar-,< blades and dropped as brilliant huh-; t hies into the dinghy. Streaks of criss-ji cross fire stabbed the blackness of the i creek where fisli darted to escape the j 1 vicious rushes of the shark. I “A man would soon be mince-meat i if he slipped overboard,” growled Rey- i nolds. i “Yes,” answered Harris from the i

hows,' “hut we’re not going over—unless these frightened fools capsize us on a root. But keep a look out for these branches; I can’t guard against all of them.”

Big fishes had followed the little fishes into this luscious feeding-ground and were fighting and feeding in a riot of harry and slaughter before the waters swirled them out to sea again.

For half an hour the dinghy crept on its twisty way, a ghostly visitant in this water-logged place of the night, its bow nosing in among the trunks, its keel grinding with eerie scrunch on . roots. A blackboy whimpered. “Shut your noise!” hissed Harris.

The creek abruptly twisted and presently widened slightly, ! space grew broader among the trees. The' darkness lightened. As gaps appeared among tlie branches overhead a glimmer of skv showed a spray of stars far up. Harris rested his tired arms.

“Thank heaven!” breathed Reynolds; “at last we can see, if only in patches. This job is getting on my nerves.” “Clang! Clang.”

That hell tolled from the very sky, it throbbed among tlie wet tree-trunks, its tones thrown to the water and up again to echo among tlie trees and, whispering, die far out at sea. “Clang!, clang!” “Clang, clang!” “Clang, clang!” The night trembled to the vibrations. The hlackhoys thew themselves face down into tlie dinghy and the white men jumped for an oar just in the nick of time ns, almost imperceptibly, the dinghy swung around. Cursing in the quick relief after fright, the white men kicked the terror-stricken hoys. But death itself could hardly have loosened their grip of the boat’s bottom.

“No good,” panted Harris, “They’re done! But the hell is straight ahead. I’ll pull. Quick! Keep a bright look out from tlie stern.”

He bent to the oars, the dinghy gurgled chokingly as she lurched ahead. Reynolds’s hand clenched the tiller as over H arris’s shoulder there shot a gleam of light, real light, shining steadily between the branches from where tlie sea-creek widened out and tall, gnarled trees stood up. Right across the creek, stretched from tree to tree, was the white bridge of a steamer; and along it walked, tall and alert, backwards and forwards, a man in the smart uniform of an ocean

boat’s captain. The rays of two liur--1 ricane lanterns, lashed high, gleamed on shiny buttons, peak cap, and the gold braid of his cuifs, as he turned in his parade. Harris’s hands hung limply on the oars as he stared over his shoulder, cold sweat heading his brow. Reynolds crouched there staring as if carved in stone. While up there among the tall trees it walked, that | sea captain, backward and forward, | spick and span, ' square-shouldered, well groomed, with greying V uruiym heard: Directly above the bridge a ! large ship’s bell was lashed to a treebranch. Secured to the bridge bcneatn a lamp was a fat, white-painted lifebelt, and the men in the dinghy below read in black letters “S.e. Tait.” ,i . 'J'be watchers’ breath eased a little as they saw that the bridge was a framework of driftwood and wreckage built from tree to tree across the creek, and fastened to it- a broad sheet of canvas formed the bridge. Close by was a whale-boat moored at stern and bows with ropes lashed t-o the branches above to allow her to rise and fall with the, tides. They understood at last. invisible, insistent hands tugged at the dinghy. Harris mechanically jammed the oars in the water to steady it. The dinghy edged away as if a great hand clutched her keel and, laughing silently, 'dragged her back. Without- looking, Reynolds stretched out an arm and clutched a twisted branch. “Harris!” (The whisper was the voice of a man afraid of himself.) “Tell me! What do you see?” Harris turned and smiled understandingly. • , . “It’s all right, old man. “I’ve , just about got it sized up. I recognise him: Captain Tersh, of the; Tait. He piled her -up on a coral reef in the Strait just as eight bells struck, one night in the big king tides.lour years ago. He raved he’d go down with liis ship; but they manhandled him into the boats. Some, however, of th: crew and passengers were lost. He was drunk. Rost his ticket, of course. l remember him weil at the inquiry.” Reynolds drew a long, relieved breath. j. “But—but—what docs this mean?” “Looks lis if he’s gone plenn mad and thinks lie’s on the bridge againas lie should have been that night, What d’you think?” “Thought I’d gone crazy,” Reynolds whispered. “But we’ll hear his version. Pull up, Harris, the drag of the tide has almost got my arm pulled out.” Harris bent to the oars, Reynolds slipped his hold. Instantly the dinghy swung viciously down-stream. Straining in intense,surprise,' Harris forced the dinghy’s head around. “Kick up those blasted boys,” he gasped. “The tide’s turned with the strength of a mill-race—it’s almost wrenching the oars out of my hands. Reynolds snatched an oar and together they tugged the boat back towards the bridge. Before they got within hail a curious change had come over the nigi silence. There was a whispering all round, as if everything had awakened to moving life. Now the water was humming and hissing; the millions of tree-trunks came to gurgling life. The vast sheet of water was quivering under the strain, it was spreading out, moving. The sea was subsiding, fall- j ing quickly many feet, and the waters

on the land were straining to get back into the bosom of the mother. Reynolds roared “Ahoy, there, ahoy!” The figure on the bridge halted, petrified} his eyes riveted on the struggling dinghy. He dropped to his knees. “It’s all right!” bawled Reynolds. “For God’s sake keep your head. We’re friends! Do you want to come off in the dinghy?” “Quick!” shouted Reynolds. “YVe can hardly hold her seconds longer. Quick, speak!” “I thought——” came a quavering

voice. “Are you really—l thought " “It’s nil right, Tersh,” shouted Har- ■ ris. “You remember me. Harris of ' Thursday Island. We’re not ghosts! ■ We’re pearling, off Coquette Island. I Come with us to the cutter for a spell, ■ will you? But be quick.” i The man rose, tall, commanding. Fury flooded his face. He clenched a • fist at them. i “I thought you were they come up ' from the sea,” he screamed. “Curse you! Can’t you leave me alone even here? Go off into the darkness and i drown, you swine! As L saw them | drown.” 'I. “Let her go,” gasped Reynolds. [ “Swing her nose around before we’re smashed among these trees!” Both men swung on the port oars, as she plunged h.alf side-on into the darkness. The rushing waters spun her nose around as she sped away into the night. “Pull in the oars,” .shouted Reynolds, “before they’re snapped oft'. I’ll try to steer, but .1 can’t see far ahead. If we’re dashed against the trees, cling to the branches and climb up, it will be the only chance of seeing daylight again !” Straight down the black channel

sped the dinghy, bumped aside by protruding roots, thrashed by low-lying branches. All around and far away arose one frightening, wailing sob as from the island centre the waters in a- falling circle were rushing back into the sea. Dismal cries, eerie groans rose from a million tree-trunks as ttie sucking waters swirled and dragged among them. Drooping branches sucked under by weight of pulling water added their indecipherable cries

to the din. An irresistible force dragged the dinghy side-on against the trunks. Jiotli men flung desperate arms around a tree as a new note stormed into the infernal orchestra. The waters had changed direction. “It's all right,’’ shouted Harris; “the water is llowing off wherever gravitation pulls it. As the tide lowers, it will rush back into the deep channels and must carry us out along the creek back to the sea—if we’re lucky! Put life into those boys or we’re done! I’ll hold the dinghy.” .Reynolds gripped the waist of a boy. He screamed. “Billy,” said Reynolds, “I chuckem you overboard'jjHonga debil-debil fish. >\liat say you?’’ The boy sobbed, clenched his teeth in the dinghy gunwale and clawed the bottom.

“Then sit longa seat!” roared Reynolds.

“Takem oar! By-em-bye we pull out longa cutter. S’posem you no pull 1 chuckem you over! Which feller?” The boy scrambled to his seat. Reynolds treated his companion likewise. For an hour they clung there, the dinghy pressed against tne trunks as by a mighty hand. Quite suddenly the pulling waters jarred the trunks as if in indecision, while a new-toned whine rose up among the trees. The dinghy eased off, gathered way and shot forward down the creek.

Harris sprang to the bows. “Make the boys backpaddle,” he shouted, “if they can only steady her I’ll do my best to see ahead. The thickest mass of the foam will be the channel.” Reynolds clung to the tiller, peering desperately ahead as the dinghy merged into the sucking stream of wider waters.

“Port!” yelled Harris. “Port! Port!”

Reynolds threw his weight against the tiller as with his . heart in his mouth he saw a turn in the creek where the water, impatient of the restriction, screamed through the . trees striving to tear a corner of them from its path. “Keep her off the trunks,” yelled Reynolds, “and we hiight round the turn.”

Their united strength held hef off from the crash and thus, pressing her back from the trees they crept around that corner foot by foot taking every advantage of the circling overflow. As they rounded the' turn the dinghy was snatched away by the main course of the current.

Quivering like a terrified horse, the black shadow shot from out the trees and into the churning, milky haze that was splathering over the great reef. In moments only they were over the reef edge and out into the deep open waters of the sea.

Reynolds smiled at Harris. “By the powers that be,” he said in a wondering voice. “This little old world of ours holds many surprises. And life is good!” Two days later, from the cutter’s deck, they stared at a forlorn something drifting towards them with the current. “1 don’t quite sense what it is—yet,”, saicl Harris quietly. “But—you remember that night? The tidewater was right up to the bottom of the bridge. Last night saw the full height of the king tides, the anniversary, as it happens, of the night the Tait went down. Last night’t tidewaters rose many feet higher than the night we were there. I wonder—l wonder if the old fool stood on than flimsy bridge and imagined he was going down with his boat. That water would tear his bridge away as if it was a straw.” Reynolds turned towards the dinghy. “We’ll see what it is,” he said. “It” was a white-painted lifebelt carrying in bold black letters “S.S Tait.” Copyright.