Territory (15 page)

As the women engaged briefly in baby discussion, Paul Trewinnard started to drift away in search of a waiter, his wine glass was empty. But Aggie wasn't about to let him off the hook.

‘Paul has agreed to play chauffeur when I go out to the boat which arrives the day after tomorrow, haven't you Paul?' She stopped him in his tracks.

‘Glad to help,' he replied, as he tried unsuccessfully to catch the attention of a waiter who was too far away to notice them.

‘I have trouble getting down to the wharf,' Aggie explained, ‘so Paul always drives me when a boat comes in.' Henrietta hadn't noticed that Aggie was lame, but she nodded politely wondering where the conversation was leading. ‘If you could make yourself available, Henrietta—you don't mind if I call you Henrietta do you?' Before Henrietta had time to nod, Aggie continued, ‘I think it would be an excellent idea for you to accompany us. The boys love to see women on their return, and one as pretty as you would be a special treat.'

‘What boys?'

‘She means the POWs,' Paul explained, waving frantically at the waiter. ‘Aggie goes out to the boats and planes to meet the returned prisoners, they've been coming back in droves for several weeks now.'

Aggie Marshall had been working closely with the Australian Women's Army Service and had made it her job not only to greet the returning men, but to search for news of husbands, fiancees and relatives who had been enquired after through the AWAS.

Henrietta hesitated.

‘I told you she'd try to bulldoze you into something,' Paul said. ‘Leave Mrs Galloway alone, Aggie, she has a young baby for goodness' sake.'

‘Henrietta please,' Henrietta corrected him.

‘Bring Malcolm along, he'd be more than welcome.' Aggie wasn't about to give up.

‘Dear God, woman, you're a bully.' Paul's frantic waves had finally caught the waiter's attention.

‘No, really, I'd love to help,' Henrietta said, pleased to have been asked. ‘But I'll have to check with my husband.'

‘Excellent,' Aggie grinned enthusiastically. ‘Let's say the foyer of the Hotel Darwin, shall we? Two o'clock, Tuesday afternoon.'

The waiter had arrived. Paul insisted they all top up their glasses, and he proposed a toast. ‘To new acquaintances,' he said.

The crowd was then called to attention by a spokesman of the official party who had now gathered on the verandah. The Government Administrator, Charles Lydiard Aubrey Abbott, was about to give his address. Paul and the two women wandered back up the terrace to join the throng and it was only then that Henrietta noticed Aggie's severe limp. She saw the carpet slipper protruding from the grey slacks and noted the heaviness of Aggie's gait. Did the woman have a false leg, she wondered.

Following the administrator's address, there was a brief but boring speech from an army general about ‘the fine job our servicemen have done in the defence of Darwin'.

‘They've done a fine job looting the place too,' Paul muttered to Henrietta. He'd been disgusted at the damage his beloved Hotel Darwin had suffered. The jewel of the southern hemisphere, as she was so often referred to, had survived the carnage inflicted by the Japanese, but she hadn't escaped the violation of her own protectors. ‘It's a downright disgrace,' he added, this time just a little more
loudly. The military were not popular amongst the locals.

Foong Lee was then called upon to speak on behalf of the Chinese community. He stood on the verandah, a penguin-like figure, dwarfed by the general and the administrator, and spoke his King's English with an Aussie twang, and yet his were the words which carried the most dignity and meaning.

He said that although he'd been asked to speak on behalf of the Chinese, he preferred to speak on behalf of all those present who had a love of Darwin. ‘The rest of Australia doesn't know what we've been through,' he said, ‘and we've acquitted ourselves well in a war which nearly destroyed us. We must now acquit ourselves well in peacetime.' He glanced at the general.

Paul gave a ‘bravo' under his breath, Foong Lee's words were a direct dig at the military. Charles Abbott nodded his agreement, he too had no doubt as to where the blame lay for much of Darwin's destruction.

‘We must rebuild our fine city, and we must do it together,' Foong Lee said. ‘Our strength lies in our unity. On behalf of my own community and all those who love Darwin, let us work together in raising her from the ashes.'

There was a warm round of applause as he finished speaking and, after a series of photographs taken by the
Northern Standard
photographer for inclusion in Paul's forthcoming article, the official business of the afternoon was over and done.

Paul sought out Foong Lee and his family and brought them over to meet Henrietta.

‘How do you do, Mrs Galloway,' Foong Lee said. ‘My wife, Lin Mei, and my son, Albert.' He introduced the young man at his side with great pride. Albert Foong was very good looking and towered a full five inches over his father.

‘Good heavens above, Albert,' Aggie said, ‘I'd barely have recognised you.' Foong Lee's family had returned to
Darwin only the preceding week, and Aggie hadn't seen Albert for four years. ‘How old are you now?'

‘Twenty-one,' Albert replied, with an accent as Australian as his appearance was Chinese. ‘Had my twenty-first in Adelaide last month.' He grinned at his father. ‘I told Dad he missed out on a beaut party, it went on all night.'

The group of them posed for the
Northern Standard
photographer who was taking shots for the society page. From time to time Henrietta looked about for Terence to make sure he wasn't annoyed by the fact that she was mingling. But he was getting so happily drunk with his air force mates gathered around the beer table, that she'd probably be in the way if she joined him, she decided, so she relaxed and enjoyed the company of her new-found friends instead.

She'd forgotten how pleasant it was to socialise, and she suddenly realised how isolated her life had been over the past three years. Aggie was talking about her plans for socials and fundraising events, and saying how much she'd love to include Henrietta on her planning committee and, as she chatted on, Henrietta would dearly have loved to have accepted every offer there and then. She wanted to do something useful and productive, certainly, but most important of all, she wanted to have a friend. A friend like Aggie Marshall. She decided, however, to take it in easy stages. One never knew what Terence's reaction might be, he was so unpredictable.

‘I shall be at the Hotel Darwin next Tuesday at two, Aggie,' she said, feeling that was bold enough to start with.

Paul Trewinnard, whose main pleasure in life was the study of human behaviour, had been watching Henrietta closely. He observed the anxious looks in her husband's direction, and he observed her relax and enjoy the company of others as she realised she was not under threat. Was her husband violent towards her, he wondered. There
was something at odds in Henrietta Galloway. A woman as generous in body and features as she was should be vivacious, confident of her femininity, but he sensed she was not. Whatever the situation, Galloway had certainly kept his wife out of circulation. Paul hoped Henrietta would join forces with Aggie Marshall. Aggie would work her mercilessly, but it would do the young woman good.

The rain had obligingly held off for the afternoon, despite the gathering clouds, but at seven o'clock, as the proceedings were winding down, the deluge started and people fled for the verandahs. Aggie gave Foong Lee a look which said ‘so much for your wireless and the long-term weather forecast', and Henrietta sought out Terence to suggest they go home.

At first he was loath to leave, he was having too good a time and there was plenty of beer left, he said. But when Hans and two more of his mates accepted the offer to come home to Bullalalla, Terence couldn't wait to go. The men unashamedly grabbed armloads of beer from the ice crates by the serving table, and Terence happily allowed Henrietta to drive whilst the others followed in Hans' Landrover. The boys were going to make a night of it.

Henrietta drove slowly through the pouring rain, glancing from time to time in the rear-vision mirror to make sure Hans hadn't driven off the road, the man really was far too drunk to be behind a wheel.

Well, she thought, now was as good a time as any. ‘You know Aggie Marshall?' she said, broaching the subject with care.

‘The school teacher? Yeah.' Terence took a swig from the beer bottle he'd just opened. ‘Met her when she first came to Darwin. She had her foot blown off by a bomb, I heard.'

So that's how it had happened, Henrietta thought. ‘Yes, she was there today.'

‘Oh?' He didn't appear particularly interested. ‘I didn't see her.'

Henrietta smiled, he hadn't seen anyone except his mates. ‘She seems very nice.'

‘Yeah, she's all right, bit of a busybody.'

‘She does a lot of good work. Community stuff. Fundraising and things.'

‘Oh yeah?' Another swig.

Henrietta took a deep breath, she hoped her timing was right. ‘She wants me to go with her to welcome home the prisoners of war, there's a boat coming in on Tuesday.'

‘Oh that's nice.'

She looked sideways at him. Was he drunk enough that he might not remember in the morning, she wondered? But he wasn't falling about or slurring his words. She went one step further. ‘I enjoyed her company, I'd like us to be friends.'

‘Good idea,' he said affably. ‘You could do with some friends, you should go into Darwin more often if it makes you happy.'

It had been that easy.

 

Henrietta was shocked. Aggie had warned her, but she was still shocked. The returned prisoners of war were in a dreadful state. Emaciated, skin hanging from bones, eyes huge in the sunken sockets of gaunt faces. She was glad she'd left Malcolm at home in Nellie's care instead of bringing him with her as Aggie had originally suggested.

She found the experience harrowing, but also very uplifting. One thing every man had in common, whatever his physical state, was his happiness to be home. Each and every one of them was ecstatic.

‘Jeez, will you look at that,' a voice would croak, ‘a real Aussie sheila,' and men would laugh, wheezy laughs that turned into coughs, and they'd feel the cloth of her dress in pleasure, as if paying homage.

Henrietta wanted to cry, but she flirted instead. ‘We have to be careful, I wouldn't want my husband to find out about us,' she warned with a twinkle in her eye as she held a man's hand or lit his cigarette.

Aggie was thrilled with the success of her enterprise as she and several members of the AWAS went about the boat conducting their enquiries, seeking out the missing. Henrietta was a Godsend, she thought. And Paul Trewinnard, who had come out with them on the pilot launch, stood to one side watching, enthralled. Was this the real Henrietta Galloway emerging, he wondered? She was glorious.

There was a dance on that night as there always was, courtesy of Aggie and her organising committee, for those POWs fit enough to attend, and the men were disappointed when Henrietta said she couldn't be there. ‘You'll be the belle of the ball,' they said, which had a familiar ring somehow. She declined but, even as she did, she wondered whether, next time, she might not arrange to stay the night in town.

Henrietta had found a purpose in life and she blessed her new friend Aggie Marshall.

When Lucretia van den Mylen had been discovered by the night watchman in a dark corner of the deck, defiled and whimpering with terror, Commandeur Francisco Pelsaert had been beside himself with rage. The whole ship must suffer, he decided, every blackguard aboard must be flogged.

It was his interview with Lucretia herself the following day which would alter the direction of his thinking. Amazingly enough, Lucretia was lucid—the event should surely have been enough to drive any woman insane, Pelsaert thought—and she even named the one person whose voice she had recognised. That of Jan Evertsz, the High Boatswain. It was his words she'd heard amongst the general mutterings of the others.

As Lucretia had scrubbed her body throughout the night, with sea water and rags so harsh that they abraded her skin, refusing all help apart from the delivery of more water, she had pondered the facts. The relentless cleansing of her body had helped keep her mind clear, and some instinct told her that Evertsz had been acting under orders. If he and the rest of the rabble had wished to have their way with her, then they would most surely have done so.
The object of the exercise had been her humiliation, Lucretia thought as she scoured the filth from her flesh. But why?

Commandeur Pelsaert now assured her that strong disciplinary measures would be taken, that men would be flogged and Jan Evertsz slapped in irons to await trial. Lucretia found herself interrupting.

‘No, Francisco, that is not the way.' He stopped mid-sentence. Surely the woman wished to seek vengeance. ‘It is what they want, I am sure of it. Cause to rise against you. It might well be why certain rumours were set in place from the outset.'

He knew of a sudden that she was right. The two of them had never spoken of the slander which abounded with regard to their relationship, but each had known that the other was aware of its existence. Who was setting about to cause such dangerous mischief, Pelsaert wondered, and to what purpose? But Lucretia was right. In the light of his illness and his estrangement from the crew, Pelsaert knew that if he brought further and heavier punishment down upon the men he would risk a revolt.

‘We will avenge these terrible acts upon your person,' he assured her, ‘when we are safely in port.' He was lost in admiration for the woman's dignity as she took her leave and departed his cabin.

Lucretia credited the preservation of her sanity to one thing and one thing only. The locket. If it had not been for the locket, during those hours between the attack and her discovery, she was convinced she would either have thrown herself into the sea or gone stark raving mad. The locket was her saviour. If she could withstand the abomination of the preceding night then she could withstand anything; the locket had decreed it so.

She kept well away from the men, fetching her meals directly from the galley and eating them alone in the small alcove allotted her; Zwaantie, her maid, had long since
deserted her for the company of Adriaen Jacobsz. The only person with whom Lucretia communicated was Pelsaert, and the only time she ventured on deck was when she was in his company.

The mutineers were momentarily thwarted, their plan had gone awry. What had happened to the heavy punishments Pelsaert was expected to have meted out, the prospect of which Cornelisz had particularly relished. They had been on the threshold of taking over the ship, Pelsaert's fury had been all they needed.

But it was a force above that of their Commandeur, and above that of their own mutinous actions, which would decide the destiny of the
Batavia.
The force of the elements themselves.

It was two hours before dawn and, under full sail with the southerlies behind her, the
Batavia
cut smoothly through the slight swell, her decks deserted but for the steersman and night watch, the Commandeur and his passengers sleeping soundly below.

Two other figures leaned on the lee rail also keeping watch: the captain, Adriaen Jacobsz and Hans Bosschieter, the gunner. On the open seas, with a mild swell, the watch was relaxed, no masthead lookouts had been ordered to their posts, and the two men were chatting, enjoying the balminess of the night air.

‘Jesu!' Jacobsz suddenly exclaimed as he thought he saw white water ahead. ‘Breakers!'

Hans Bosschieter peered into the distance. The moon was fickle, appearing and disappearing amongst the clouds overhead. ‘No, skipper,' he said reassuringly, ‘it's only the moonshine on the water.'

Jacobsz relaxed. Of course, what else could it be? The dreaded Houtman Abrolhos, the reefy islands which had seen the destruction of many a vessel, lay far to the east. They were still a good 600 miles from the Great South Land, the way ahead was perfectly clear. He thought of
Zwaantie lying in his bunk, warm and inviting, he would join her at dawn.

Zwaantie was a very obliging mistress, only too willing to indulge him in any way he pleased. No longer in the service of the haughty whore van den Mylen, she had been won by his promises that he would make her a fine lady. An impossibility, Jacobsz grinned to himself, but he would keep the girl for as long as she satisfied him, and the thought of Zwaantie's huge breasts brought a stirring to his loins.

Jacobsz's lecherous musings were interrupted as he was thrown violently against the lee rail; Hans Bosschieter too was caught off balance and clutched at a mast stay to keep from falling.

With the horrifying sound of rending timbers and rudder bolts being torn apart, the
Batavia
met the reef. She staggered drunkenly forwards, crashing and lurching. Relentlessly, she struggled on, as if with all her great might she could plough her way through the object set in her path. But she couldn't. And finally, trembling with the shock of her own destruction, she heeled to starboard and settled in a mist of spray, the white water churning angrily about her hull.

Even in the instant of disaster, Jacobsz recognised his mistake. In losing the convoy he had become complacent, he had failed to keep accurate track of his ship's latitude. They were several degrees off course, too far to the south, and these were the treacherous reefs of the Abrolhos.

He cursed himself as he rounded on Bosschieter. ‘That was surf not moonlight, you fool! God's death!'

Pelsaert appeared on deck. He'd been thrown from his bunk in the collision and presented a rather ludicrous figure in his nightgown as he now hurled abuse at Jacobsz.

Jacobsz, in turn, hurled accusations at Bosschieter, as passengers, soldiers and sailors poured out onto the deck, Lucretia amongst them, terrified at the sight of their
ship in her death throes and the booming surf which surrounded them.

On 4 June 1629, little more than seven months after leaving the port of Amsterdam, the proud
Batavia
had foundered on the infamous islands of the Houtman Abrolhos.