Read Online The Devil's Eye by Ian Townsend - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ian Townsend
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fool.
‘After all that song and dance between you and your father,’ he said, ‘here you are.’
She nodded.
‘Well, what did you tell him?’
‘I told him I wanted to be with you,’ she said. ‘And that I’m going to go down to Cooktown to visit Hope.’
He looked at her steadily. ‘You’re going to Cooktown …to persuade Hope to go home, aren’t you?’
‘Of course I am. It’s all so childish, William. Cooktown’s not the place for Hope, and Father needs her.’ She put a hand on her stomach. ‘So do I.’
‘You should both damn well listen to your father.’
‘If I did, I would not be here,’ she said, and she leant into his chest. She felt his arms go around her and she bit her lip trying to hold back the tears.
‘Damn it, Maggie, you do know, don’t you, that you make all the other captains nervous.’
‘You mean that my father makes them nervous.’
She stood back from him and admired his solid form. There was great comfort in being in his presence, she thought, and she was absolutely certain at that moment that this really was where she wanted to be.
‘He is the one who approves their licences,’ Porter was saying, putting on his coat. ‘He’s the one who sits in court when their cargoes are seized on some trumped-up political charge, or when their crews complain that they’re being treated like slaves. He’s the Government Resident, for God’s sake, and everyone knows he doesn’t want you down here.’
‘Do you want me down here?’
He drew in a deep breath. ‘Of course I do.’
But none of the other wives lived with their husbands when the fleets went to sea. They all retired to their verandahs and played cards.
She said, slowly, firmly, ‘You are my husband.’
His shoulders slumped and he reached for her hand. ‘And your father will never forgive me for it.’
CHAPTER 9
Off Cape Melville, Wednesday 1 March 1899
The sun held a pale-blue enamel lid over Cape Melville, and around the luggers the sea boiled. With the helmet outlet valve fully open, Willie Tanna had sunk slowly. Diving in the great suit was a sensation he never got used to; a confusion of senses a caged bird might feel if it was dropped in its cage from a cliff. Now a trail of bubbles beside the Zoe marked his march along the sea floor.
It was Willie’s idea of freedom to be confined in this fat grey suit and tethered like a dog to the lugger above. He was alone with his thoughts, which, apart from the occasional nagging tug on the line, were uninterrupted by Sam.
He wore stockings and a woollen jumper, partly to keep out the cold and partly to cushion the pressure. At this depth, the suit was so tight it could cut off the blood to his arms and legs.
The day before, he’d barely been able to see his own feet. The water today was clearer and had a lightness; itfairly skipped over the bottom. He looked down between his legs and saw the current kicking up small eddies. With every step a cloud of silt rose around his leaden boots and streamed away in front of him.
The sea floor was opaque, but he could see at least twenty feet around him before it vanished into a grey-green haze.
To his right was a mound of shell grit and sand, with a field of seagrass on the other side, and a forest of coral around which fish flew like flocks of gaudy birds.
The whoosh of the air pump and the happy escape of the bubbles played a brisk tune as he walked, tilted slightly forward by the current pushing at his back. He simply had to follow the current, the lugger would follow him, and the world would take care of itself.
Willie Tanna had been a pearler since he arrived on Thursday Island one steamy March day in 1892. He’d stumbled off the deck of the Roderick Dhu into a colourful confusion of languages and faces. He never quite believed such a place could exist, that there could be so many people in one place, or that their skins could be so different, one from the other. Not one was even related to another.
He
‘After all that song and dance between you and your father,’ he said, ‘here you are.’
She nodded.
‘Well, what did you tell him?’
‘I told him I wanted to be with you,’ she said. ‘And that I’m going to go down to Cooktown to visit Hope.’
He looked at her steadily. ‘You’re going to Cooktown …to persuade Hope to go home, aren’t you?’
‘Of course I am. It’s all so childish, William. Cooktown’s not the place for Hope, and Father needs her.’ She put a hand on her stomach. ‘So do I.’
‘You should both damn well listen to your father.’
‘If I did, I would not be here,’ she said, and she leant into his chest. She felt his arms go around her and she bit her lip trying to hold back the tears.
‘Damn it, Maggie, you do know, don’t you, that you make all the other captains nervous.’
‘You mean that my father makes them nervous.’
She stood back from him and admired his solid form. There was great comfort in being in his presence, she thought, and she was absolutely certain at that moment that this really was where she wanted to be.
‘He is the one who approves their licences,’ Porter was saying, putting on his coat. ‘He’s the one who sits in court when their cargoes are seized on some trumped-up political charge, or when their crews complain that they’re being treated like slaves. He’s the Government Resident, for God’s sake, and everyone knows he doesn’t want you down here.’
‘Do you want me down here?’
He drew in a deep breath. ‘Of course I do.’
But none of the other wives lived with their husbands when the fleets went to sea. They all retired to their verandahs and played cards.
She said, slowly, firmly, ‘You are my husband.’
His shoulders slumped and he reached for her hand. ‘And your father will never forgive me for it.’
CHAPTER 9
Off Cape Melville, Wednesday 1 March 1899
The sun held a pale-blue enamel lid over Cape Melville, and around the luggers the sea boiled. With the helmet outlet valve fully open, Willie Tanna had sunk slowly. Diving in the great suit was a sensation he never got used to; a confusion of senses a caged bird might feel if it was dropped in its cage from a cliff. Now a trail of bubbles beside the Zoe marked his march along the sea floor.
It was Willie’s idea of freedom to be confined in this fat grey suit and tethered like a dog to the lugger above. He was alone with his thoughts, which, apart from the occasional nagging tug on the line, were uninterrupted by Sam.
He wore stockings and a woollen jumper, partly to keep out the cold and partly to cushion the pressure. At this depth, the suit was so tight it could cut off the blood to his arms and legs.
The day before, he’d barely been able to see his own feet. The water today was clearer and had a lightness; itfairly skipped over the bottom. He looked down between his legs and saw the current kicking up small eddies. With every step a cloud of silt rose around his leaden boots and streamed away in front of him.
The sea floor was opaque, but he could see at least twenty feet around him before it vanished into a grey-green haze.
To his right was a mound of shell grit and sand, with a field of seagrass on the other side, and a forest of coral around which fish flew like flocks of gaudy birds.
The whoosh of the air pump and the happy escape of the bubbles played a brisk tune as he walked, tilted slightly forward by the current pushing at his back. He simply had to follow the current, the lugger would follow him, and the world would take care of itself.
Willie Tanna had been a pearler since he arrived on Thursday Island one steamy March day in 1892. He’d stumbled off the deck of the Roderick Dhu into a colourful confusion of languages and faces. He never quite believed such a place could exist, that there could be so many people in one place, or that their skins could be so different, one from the other. Not one was even related to another.
He
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