Trustee From the Toolroom

  Presently Dick King came out and he went in and tried the shower experimentally. He found it strange but not unpleasant and he stayed under it for a long time, gradually reducing the temperature of the water and washing away his fatigue with the sweat. When he came out he was cool and refreshed.

  He would have to have some money in his pocket, and they used dollars here, it seemed. He had never cashed a travellers’ cheque before and consulted Dick, who showed him where to sign it and told him they would cash it at the desk. He followed this advice when they went downstairs. Then they went to the verandah bar.

  ‘Beer’s the cheapest,’ said Dick. ‘Not like the English beer - a kind of fizzy lager. But it’s what we mostly drink here, on account of the dollar allowance.’

  In the bar most of the rest of the aircrew were already gathered, with Captain Davies of the Cathay Princess, the chief engineer, and the third engineer, a lad called Alec Bourne. Captain Fielding turned to Dick and Keith to introduce them. ‘This is Mr King, flight engineer,’ he said. He smiled. ‘This is Mr Keith Stewart. We call him flight engineer under instruction, which means he’s come along with us for the ride. He writes for a model paper in London. Were hoping that he’ll give us a good spin when he gets back.’

  The third engineer’s jaw dropped, and they all shook hands. The Third said, ‘It wouldn’t be Keith Stewart of the Miniature Mechanic, by any chance?’

  Dick King said, ‘The very same. You read the Miniature Mechanic?’

  ‘I’ve read it every week, ever since I was a little nipper,’ said the lad. ‘I’ve got every copy since 1948 at home, and a lot on board. Ma sends it to me every week. Fancy meeting you, sir. I never thought I’d do that, except maybe to see you opening an exhibition.’ He hesitated, and added, ‘Would you like a beer, sir?’

  A beer was just exactly what Keith Stewart needed, and while it was coming he talked models to the third engineer. ‘I made a Hornet about two years ago,’ the young man told him. ‘I’m working on a Gannet now.’

  ‘Did the Hornet go all right?’

  ‘It went fine. I had a bit of difficulty getting it started at the first go off, but then I got a bottle of American fuel, and she goes fine. I got a little airscrew on her for the load.’

  Keith nodded. ‘They generally put more ether in the American fuels. If you’re using that, I think I should wash out the cylinder with a light oil after each run. I’ve heard that the American fuels are more corrosive than ours. Put in a drop or two of Three-in-One, or something like that.’

  The young man nodded gratefully. ‘Thanks for the tip, Mr Stewart.’

  ‘Where do you work?’

  ‘Oh, in the engine-room workshop,’ the Third said. ‘We’ve got a six-inch lathe there, and a shaper. It’s quite well equipped, really.’ He paused, and added a little shyly, ‘If you’ve got the time to come on board and have a look round, Mr Stewart, there’s one or two of the lads would like to meet you.’

  ‘I’d like to do that very much,’ said Keith. ‘I’d like to see your workshop.’ Twelve beers arrived upon a tray carried by a very pretty Asiatic girl in a cheongsam of figured silk. These were distributed around, and the talk became general. Alec Bourne turned to his captain. ‘I’ve just asked Mr Stewart if he’d like to come on board and see the engines and the workshop, sir.’

  ‘Of course.’ Captain Davies turned to Keith. ‘There’s more model engineering done in that workshop than was ever done on bits for the ship. You should see the commotion when Alec here was trying to get his little engine started up. They had to use the main engines as a starter motor for it, so the Chief was telling me.’

  The Third flushed uneasily. ‘Mr Stewart designed it sir. It was the fuel that was wrong.’

  There was general laughter. ‘Come on board any time you like, Mr Stewart,’ said the captain.

  ‘That’s very good of you, sir,’ said Keith, ‘I thought perhaps I’d stick with the rotor and lend a hand unloading that tomorrow morning, and perhaps come down with it to the dock.’

  ‘Fine. What are your movements, Mr Stewart? Are you staying here a bit, or going back to England with the aircraft?’

  Keith said, ‘Well, that’s just the point. I really want to get to Tahiti, but I asked Mr Yamasuki and he said he didn’t know of any service from Honolulu to Tahiti. He was going to find out this evening and let me know.’ He hesitated. ‘I suppose you don’t know of any service, sir?’

  Captain Davies shook his head. ‘I never heard of one. There must be an odd tramp or two, of course. It’s got to be Tahiti, has it? You’ve got some business there, or something?’

  ‘That’s right.’ These merchant service officers would probably be understanding and sympathetic about events following on a wreck. He pulled out his wallet and took the cutting from The Times from it. ‘My sister and my brother-in-law were sailing out here in a yacht,’ he said. ‘They got wrecked on an island in the Tuamotus. I’ve got to get down there and see about things - the grave, and salvage, and anything that might need to be done.’ He gave the cutting to the captain.

  The officers were very interested, and asked a number of questions about the yacht, and about John Dermott. Captain Davies had been an officer of the Royal Naval Reserve in the last war. ‘I’m almost sure I remember him,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘At Invergordon … or was it Scapa? An R.N. two-and-a-half, in one of the Tribal class. Wait now. The man I’m thinking of had a broken nose, boxing or something.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Keith. ‘He had a broken nose.’

  The captain dropped his eyes again to the cutting. ‘He was a good seaman,’ he said. ‘Better than most R.N. It’s curious it should have to end like this.’

  The three merchant officers turned their minds to Keith Stewart’s problem, and discussed it carefully. ‘There’s a fortnightly air service from Fiji through Samoa to Tahiti,’ said the captain. ‘You can probably fly from here to Samoa, but it’s the hell of a long way round.’

  ‘How far would that be?’ Keith asked.

  ‘I’d only be guessing. Might be four thousand miles. I’ll work it out for you tomorrow when you come on board.’

  ‘Sounds like it might be a bit expensive for me,’ said Keith, a little ruefully. ‘I was hoping there’d be something more direct - and cheap. Something like a cargo steamer taking a few passengers.’

  Captain Davies shook his head. ‘I don’t know of anything. But I’ll find out for you, Mr Stewart.’ He handed back the cutting, and Keith put it back into his wallet.

  They all turned to the beer. In the buzz of conversation the chief engineer said to his captain, ‘There’s always Jack Donelly.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Captain Davies said shortly. ‘The man’s mad.’

  It seemed to be an unwelcome subject and Keith did not pursue it, but he noted the name. They set to work upon the beer and to a consideration of the unloading and the handling of the rotor from the aircraft to the ship, the air officers being principally concerned to avoid damage to the aircraft by the crane reaching into the fuselage through the door, and the marine officers being principally concerned to get the rotor undamaged into its field magnets and bearings in the engine room. Keith stood a round of beers and was concerned at the inroad that it made into his small store of dollars, and presently they all went to dinner in the hotel dining-room.

  All who had flown from England went to bed early that night. In the bedroom that Keith shared with Dick the moon was bright upon the mountains, the palm trees rustled continuously, and a warm wind hardly cooler than in daytime blew steadily through the room. Keith unpacked his thick woollen pyjamas and eyed them with distaste. ‘You’ll boil in those, in this place,’ said Dick King. ‘I don’t sleep in anything, these tropical places. Look, put the sheet over your middle and tuck it in, like this, so you don’t catch cold. Then you’ve got your shoulders, arms, and legs out in the cool.’ Keith followed his example, fell asleep at once to the murmur of the palm trees, and slept like a log all night.

/>   Next morning he was up with the aircrew and out on the aerodrome with them at seven o’clock. Mr Yamasuki said, ‘I have asked about the ships or airplanes to Tahiti. There are no ships on regular service, no airplanes. The next Norwegian freighter is due here on March 3rd.’

  That was seven weeks ahead. ‘Nothing before that?’

  ‘I am so sorry. It is possible to go to Tahiti by air through Samoa, or else perhaps by Los Angeles. I think either way would be expensive. Pan American can tell you what the fare is, and the services, at the passenger terminal.’

  Keith nodded. ‘I’ll go and ask them presently.’ He knew quite well that the answer would be far beyond his means. ‘You didn’t hear of any irregular service - a trading schooner, or anything like that?’

  Mr Yamasuki said, ‘I have no news of one. Sometimes with a trading schooner there would not be any advance news. She would arrive one day, and stay perhaps three or four days, and let it be known that she was calling at Papeete and other places. One might come today, or perhaps not for six months.’

  Keith thanked him, and went on working with the aircrew to get the rotor out of the aeroplane without damaging either. It took about two hours to get it on the truck. Most of the aircrew then went back to the hotel to rest and swim and shop on their small dollar allowance for the next two days before beginning the long flight back to England. Mr Adams and Dick and Keith rode on the truck through the streets of Honolulu to Kapalama Basin, where the tanker was berthed.

  There was nothing he could do to help the dockyard engineers get the rotor into the ship, and he went on board with Dick King. The third engineer met them and invited them below to see the main engine room and the workshop and, more particularly, the Gannet engine of Keith Stewart’s design, which was half finished, a little box of carefully machined unassembled bits. ‘Half the engine room have had a hand in this,’ the lad from Dartford said proudly. ‘Whenever somebody gets tired of reading Peter Cheyney he comes and asks if he can machine one of the pistons. I sometimes think that I’m just managing the job, not making it.’

  He was in trouble over the crankshaft machining jig. ‘You said to make it of high tensile steel in the serial, Mr Stewart, but I can’t seem to lay my hands on just a little bit anywhere in Honolulu. The smallest I can find is four-inch bar. Would it be all right to use mild steel instead?’

  Keith had had this one before in letters from Andover to Auckland. He picked up the Miniature Mechanic from the bench and turned to the jig drawing that he had made in the basement room in Somerset Road, Ealing, with Janice sleeping in the room next door, eight thousand miles away. ‘I’ve got a mod for that,’ he said. ‘You’ve got to retain this eighth-inch thickness, here, because of the tool clearance. If you’re going to make it in mild steel, make it an L section, like this.’ He added swift pencil lines to the printed drawing. ‘It’s just a little bit more complicated. You’d have to get out this bit with an end mill - about three-sixteenths. Have you got a mill like that on board?’

  The Third nodded. ‘That’s easy, Mr Stewart. I could do that in the drilling machine best, I think. Thanks a lot.’

  Presently Keith pulled a small box from the pocket of his blazer. ‘I’ve got a little thing here that might amuse you.’ He unwrapped the little Hornet-engined generating set from the rag that wrapped it round, and put it on the bench. ‘Gee,’ said the Third reverently, ‘that really is something!’ He studied it carefully. ‘What’s the engine, Mr Stewart? It looks a bit like a Hornet.’

  ‘It’s a Hornet with a different cylinder and piston, cam gear and valves, to run on petrol, and a governor in place of the reduction gear,’ he said. He picked it up, shook it to check that there was still petrol in the little tank, turned it upside down to prime the carburettor, and flipped it into life with his thumb. The little engine caught with a crackling roar, speeded up, steadied as the pea bulb glowed with light. The noise attracted other engineers from the engine room, and soon the workshop was crowded. Somebody said, laughing, ‘Has Bill Adams seen this?’

  ‘No - I don’t think he has,’ said Keith.

  ‘Cor! - that’ll give him something to think about. Anyone can build a big generator set that you can get your hands around inside. Fetch him along, Bert, and ask him how he’d like to service this one!’

  Mr Adams was fetched and stood in reverent awe till the little motor ran out of petrol and stopped, and almost at the same time the dockyard hooter sounded for twelve o’clock, knocking-off time for dinner. Keith wrapped his generator set up again and put it in the box in his pocket; later he filled the tank with an egg-cup of petrol provided for use in the ship’s launch, strained carefully through a piece of chamois leather. The officers escorted Mr Adams and Dick and Keith up into the wardroom for lunch.

  After lunch, as they were sitting smoking at the table over cups of tea and coffee, Captain Davies said, ‘I’ve been making some enquiries about your journey to Tahiti, Mr Stewart. Not very satisfactory, I’m afraid. I can’t find out anything about a cargo boat in the near future, and there’s no regular service.’

  Keith nodded slowly. ‘Mr Yamasuki said this morning that a trading schooner might come in at any time. No one would know beforehand she was coming.’

  ‘It’s a possibility,’ the captain agreed. ‘We’ve been here for four and a half weeks now. There was one just after we came, but she was going to Palmyra. I don’t know where she was going after that.’

  ‘Where do they tie up, in case one did come in?’ asked Keith.

  ‘This one berthed just inside the harbour, just the other side of the Merchant Officers’ Training School,’ the captain said. ‘I think they like to sail in and out if there’s a fair wind, save the cost of a tug.’

  ‘You don’t think there’s one there now?’

  ‘Not that I know of. But that’s where you’d get news of them, if anywhere. It might be worth a walk along and talking to the longshoremen. They might know more than the harbourmaster.’

  The first officer smiled. ‘He doesn’t bother much about the small fry.’

  ‘The trouble is, I’ve got so little time,’ Keith said. ‘If there’s nothing turns up that’s within my means I’ll have to go back with the aircraft the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘More like Tuesday,’ said Dick King. ‘Captain Fielding said this morning we’d be taking off at dawn on Tuesday.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Mr Adams. ‘We’ll be having the test run on Monday. Then if everything’s all right he can take me home again.’

  ‘It doesn’t give much time,’ agreed the captain.

  The second mate said, ‘Jack Donelly.’ There was a little ripple of laughter round the table. Only the captain remained serious. ‘I wouldn’t think of it,’ he said.

  The first officer took him up. ‘Nor would I, sir, for myself. But I don’t want to get to Tahiti as much as Mr Stewart. As I see it, it’s either him or nothing. Mr Stewart’s over twenty-one. I don’t see why he shouldn’t have a look at him.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be any party to it,’ said the captain. ‘If he ever gets his ship out of hock to the harbourmaster he’ll just go off and disappear, and no more heard of him, ever. I’ve seen it all my life.’

  Keith asked, ‘Who is this Jack Donelly, anyway?’

  The first officer leaned back in his chair. ‘He’s an American from Oregon or somewhere. Maybe he’s a fisherman - I wouldn’t know. His ship’s a sort of sloop-rigged fishing boat - a sailing boat. He built it himself. Quite small. I should say that he’s a half-caste, and I’d guess that his mother was a Polynesian. He’s a big chap, though, and he must be a good seaman because he sailed here from the United States alone - single-handed.’

  ‘He’s got the mentality of a child of ten,’ said the captain.

  ‘That may be, sir. He’s so dumb that he can hardly string two words together. But he did get here from the United States, two thousand ruddy miles of open sea, found the islands. You can’t get away from that.’

  ‘Ye
s,’ said the captain, ‘and you know how he did it.’

  ‘I do.’

  Keith asked, ‘How did he do it?’

  ‘Got on the air route between here and San Francisco and followed the aeroplanes,’ the captain said scornfully. ‘There are about ten flights every day, or more. That’s a fine way to navigate.’

  ‘Never mind, sir. He got here.’

  ‘He won’t get to Tahiti that way,’ said the captain. ‘There’s no air service.’

  ‘Is he going to Tahiti?’ Keith enquired.

  The captain leaned forward. ‘Look, Mr Stewart,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to stand in your way if you want to go and talk to him. But, first of all, I’ll tell you about Jack Donelly. He came in here about a fortnight ago and sailed right in to this basin as far as he could go till his bow was practically in the street, and tied up just ahead of us. I’ll admit he handled his ship well. He came in under sail - he hasn’t got a motor - with his warps all ready fore and aft, got down his main and came in under jib, dropped the jib and came alongside sweet as anything, chucked his warps on to the quay, hopped on shore and made her fast bow and stern in two shakes of a duck’s arse. It was pretty to watch. I’ll agree with Number One here, he’s probably a good seaman.’

  He paused. ‘Now that’s as far as I go. The port authorities were after him as soon as he tied up. He hadn’t got permission to berth there, but that was the least of it. He hadn’t got any ship’s papers at all - no registration, no manifest, nothing. He hadn’t got a bill of health and he didn’t seem to know what it was. He hadn’t even got a passport. I shouldn’t think he’s got any money.’ He paused. ‘I think they were pretty kind to him, all things considered,’ he remarked. ‘They called him a yacht and towed him round into the yacht harbour.’

  ‘How did you come to know about him, then?’ Keith asked.

  ‘He came on board,’ the captain said. ‘He came on board to ask the way to Palmyra and half a dozen other places. He’s got no charts. He wouldn’t know how to use one if he had it. What he’s got is a small school atlas with the whole of the Pacific Ocean on one page, and a pretty dirty page it is, I can tell you. He picks the biggest merchant ship that he can see and comes on board to ask the course to the next place. That’s why he berthed just ahead of us. We were the biggest ship in harbour at the time.’