The Empire Trilogy - J. G. Farrell [717]
‘Glad you made it. There are some other people about so we’d better be quiet. They may be Japs or other escapers. You just got here in time, as a matter of fact, because we’re about ready to leave. The boat’s out here.’
Ahead of them a shaded light appeared for a second or two on a gang-plank. Matthew glimpsed the Australian corporal he had seen that morning with Williams; behind him it was just possible to make out the shadow of a boat against the water. ‘Come along, the sooner we shove off the better.’
Matthew and Vera said goodbye to Dupigny and they wished each other luck. They shook hands. Matthew and Vera crossed the gang-plank followed by Williams. Dupigny waited to help them cast off and was just stooping to do so when a powerful beam sprang out of the darkness and played over the launch, then fastened on Dupigny. The figures on the deck froze. The Australian corporal who was holding a lamp switched it on. It illuminated a ragged party of soldiers wearing Australian hats. One of them had a revolver, another a tommy-gun. There were about a dozen of them.
‘Sorry, sports, we’re taking the boat,’ the man with the torch on Dupigny said. ‘Hop it.’
Nobody moved or spoke. Dupigny, however, reached down for the mooring-rope to cast off. There was a shot and he began to hop about like a wounded bird, clutching his leg.
‘Why don’t you find your own bloody boat?’ shouted the Australian corporal in a sudden rage.
‘Hop it. You, too, cobber.’
‘There’s nothing for it, I’m afraid,’ said Williams. One by one they came back over the gang-plank.
‘Right now. Clear off and take him, too, before we do him in.’
They picked up Dupigny who had now fallen over and was struggling to get up again. He said he was not badly hurt but Matthew and Williams had to take his arms over their shoulders and support him; one leg of his cotton drill trousers was already soaked in blood. Speechless with anger and frustration they made their way wearily back across the aerodrome in the darkness.
From elsewhere on the Island other parties bent on escape were also groping about in the darkness. General Gordon Bennett found himself at the docks searching for a boat in which he might sail to Malacca in search of a bigger boat which in turn might carry him to Australia and freedom; he had thought it best not to mention his departure to the GOC and had left an inspiriting order for the Australian troops under his command to remain vigilantly at their posts … but in the meantime, where was that damn boat he needed?
As for Walter, he was making his way along a quay at Telok Ayer Basin where the Nigel, a handsome motor-yacht, was waiting for him and his companion, W. J. Bowser-Barrington. Poor Bowser-Barrington had fallen some way behind and was gasping under the tarpaulin-wrapped burden he carried on his shoulders. Bowser-Barrington was feeling anything but pleased, for his intention had been that Walter should carry this burden which consisted of his deceased Chairman who, though not a heavy man, was not a light one either. Walter, however, had flatly refused to have anything to do with carrying old Solomon’s remains and had even gone so far as to recommend that Bowser-Barrington should simply throw his Chairman away somewhere. This, naturally, was altogether out of the question.
‘Well,’ thought Bowser-Barrington uneasily as he struggled along the quay in Walter’s wake, ‘once we’re out at sea I’ll show him