The Widow & Her Hero Read Online Free PDF Page A

the falling tide until just
before noon the next day. There were actually men welding on
the wharf, and the guards in their tin hats were discussing
the previous year's Melbourne Cup which they'd attended
baksheesh, for free. Jockey held us good and steady, as I leaned
and reached, putting my own arms deep in the water. There
was a metallic sort of gargle when the limpets attached. It is a
wonderful thing to have an art, as my father used to say when
he made my mother laugh. When I had done it, I put my hand
on Jockey's shoulder so we could go.
    We had an effortless row out of harbour on the tide. The
moon had gone somewhere behind Mount Louisa, and our
boats were pretty light now with all the mischief taken from
them. Outside the boom, we turned south to the picnic ground
near the mouth of the Ross River, pulled up our folboats there,
and sat eating a breakfast of compo rations, and we would
suddenly laugh, remembering something from the night's
business.
    The Boss organised accommodation for the men at the naval
barracks. He's insisted that he take Mortmain and me to the
officers' club. So a truck arrives for everyone – the same that
dropped us off to the north the other day – how long ago I can
barely tell. And so that's what happened – the officers' club. I
got a very good room with clean sheets – wonderful. And I was
so absolutely done in that I didn't hear all the alarms of the
town nearby go off at ten o'clock, as the three highly placed
fake mines we'd put along the length of a Dutch freighter rode
up out of the water. The area near the wharves was immediately
evacuated, I believe – various kids got a day off school.
But I slept through all that, and I imagine Doucette was only
mildly disturbed.
    Sometime after three o'clock in the afternoon, a truck pulled
up outside the same officers' club where we were resting up.
There was a lot of loud yelling and officious orders given, and
boots in the corridors and noise of the kind of soldierly drill
provosts are good at. I got up and looked out my door and saw
guards and a provost officer at the door of the room where the
Boss was getting a rest. Mortmain emerged from his room
wearing a singlet and khaki underpants and – I swear – his
bloody monocle in his eye.
    Boss, he called into Doucette's room.
    I've just been arrested, cried the Boss from within. These
gentlemen thought I'd slept long enough.
    I told you the girl wasn't legal age, Boss, Mortmain yelled
and winked at me, his eye without the glass in it. Could I be
arrested with Major Doucette? he asked the provost.
    The provost told Mortmain there wasn't any warrant for
him, and Mortmain said he understood that, but they'd missed
out on arresting him so many times in the past.
    Lieutenant Mortmain is my second, I heard Doucette say.
He'll accompany me. Mortmain looked over at me. And you
can come too, Dig, he told me. (He always called me Dig or
Digger in an exaggerated British way.) I got dressed. I have to
say I didn't want to miss out on being arrested either.
    I have transportation room only for two prisoners, said the
provost.
    We'll squeeze up, said the Boss.
    They took us to the harbourmaster's office under Castle
Rock. There were a collection of ship's captains in there, and an
American colonel. One of the captains was a very angry
Dutchman. We should not have dared to touch his ship. He had
recently been attacked in New Guinea waters by Japanese
aircraft, and he was very jumpy. When he stopped talking,
Doucette apologised and said that he wanted to alert people to
the vulnerability of Australian ports. (I think he'd earned the
right to tell that slight untruth.)
    And the thin-lipped old Scot who was harbourmaster
asked him in a brogue that could have ground wheat if he
was saying he wanted this outrage reported in the scandal
sheets?
    There were some naval officers in the harbourmaster's office
and they all seemed calm, laughing now and then. But the
Boss, Mortmain and myself were careful not to