Hammond Innes - The Doomed Oasis

David was too relieved, too dazed to speak. The Mate came in and Griffiths said, ‘Stowaway for you, Mr Evans. Have the galley give him some food and then put him to work. I’m signing him on. And see the passengers, at any rate, don’t know how he came aboard. His name is ‘- Whitaker.’ David caught the glint of humour in the blue eyes.

‘Thank you, sir,’ he mumbled, but as he turned away all he could think about was that name, spoken aloud for the first time. Whitaker. Somehow it seemed to fit, as though it had always belonged to him; it was a symbol, too, a declaration that the past was gone, the future ahead.

All down the Mediterranean and through the Suez Canal, the life of the ship, the sun’s increasing warmth, the sight of places all dreamed about and now suddenly come to life, absorbed him completely, each day bringing the promise of Arabia twenty-four steaming hours nearer. But when they entered the Red Sea, with the water flat like a mirror and the desert hills of the Hejaz shimmering to port, he knew they were getting close to Aden. And at Aden the police might be waiting for him.

It was night when the anchor was let go off Steamer Point, and as he stood on the foredeck directing a stream of water on to the hawsehole, he could see the lights of Crater and the black shape of the volcanic hills behind towering against the stars. His first Arabian port. It touched his nostrils with a breath of sun-hot oil waste. But instead of excitement, all he felt was fear.

Customs and Immigration came aboard. He stood by the rail, in the shadow of one of the boats, and watched them climb the side from a launch. His work was done and he’d nothing to think about now but the possibility of arrest. A subdued murmur came to him from the town, strange Arab cries, drifting across the water. Another launch glided to the ship’s side. The agent this time. And later two of the passengers were climbing down into it, followed by their baggage. The officials were leaving, too, and he watched the launches curve away from the ship, two ghostly arrow-tips puttering into the night. He breathed gently again, savouring the warm, strange-scented air … and then the steward called his name. ‘Captain want you in cabin.’

Slowly he went for’ard to the bridge deck housing. Captain Griffiths was seated in the leather armchair, his face a little flushed, his eyes bright, a tumbler of whisky at his elbow. ‘Well, young fellow, it appears that you’re in the clear. Nobody is in the least bit interested in you here.’ And he added, ‘Doubtless you have Mr Grant to thank for that. I’m sorry I can’t send him a message; the man must be half out of his mind considering the chance he took.’

‘I’ll write to him as soon as I can,’ David murmured.

The Captain nodded. ‘Time enough for that when you’re safely ashore. But it’s only fair to tell you that if I fail to contact your father, then you’ll complete the voyage and be paid off at Cardiff.’ And having delivered this warning, he went on, ‘I’ll be going ashore in the morning and I’ll cable Colonel Whitaker care of GODCO — that’s the Gulfoman Oilfields Development Company. It may reach him, it may not. Depends where your father is, you see; he’s not an easy man to contact. Meantime, I am instructing Mr Evans to give you work that will keep you out of sight of the passengers. We have two oil men with us on the voyage up the coast, also an official from the PRPG’s office — that’s the Political Resident Persian Gulf. See to it that you keep out of their way. If you do get ashore, then I don’t want anybody saying afterwards that they saw you on board my ship.’ And with that David found himself dismissed.

He saw Captain Griffiths go ashore next morning in the agent’s launch. All day they were working cargo, the winches clattering as they unloaded No. 1 hold into the lighter dhows alongside and filled it again with a fresh cargo. In the evening four passengers came aboard, all white, and a dhow-load of Arabs bound for Mukalla who strewed themselves and their belongings about the deck. And then the anchor was hauled up and they shifted to the bunkering wharf. The Emerald Isle sailed at midnight, steaming east-north-east along the southern coast of Arabia, the coast of myrrh and frankincense, of Mocha coffee and Sheba’s queen.

It was a voyage to thrill the heart of any youngster, but David saw little of it, for he was confined to the bowels of the ship, chipping and painting, and all he saw of Mukalla, that gateway to the Hadhramaut, was a glimpse through a scuttle — a huddle of terraced Arab houses, so white in the sunlight that it looked like an ivory chess set laid out at the root of the arid mountains. Only at night was he allowed on deck, and he spent hours, motionless in the bows of the ship, drinking in the beauty and the mystery of the Arabian Sea, for the water was alive with phosphorescence. From his vantage point he could look down at the bow wave, at the water rushing away from the ship in two great swathes is. bright as moonlight, and ahead, in the inky blackness of the sea, great whorls of light like nebulae were shattered into a thousand phosphorescent fragments as the ship’s massage broke up the shoals of fish — and like outriders the sharks flashed torpedo-tracks of light as they ploughed their voracious way through the depths. And every now and then a tanker passed them, decks almost awash, with oil from Kuwait, Bahrain and Dahran.

They passed inside the Kuria Muria islands at night, and to get a better view of them he ignored his orders and crept up to the boat deck. He was standing there close beside one of the boats when the door of the passenger accommodation opened and two figures emerged, momentarily outlined against the yellow light. They came aft, two voices talking earnestly, as he shrank into the shadow of the boat, bending down as though to adjust the falls.

‘ … the last time I was at the Bahrain office. But even in Abu Dhabi, we’ve heard rumours.’ The accent was North Country.

‘Well, that’s the situation. Thought I’d warn you. Wouldn’t like you to back the wrong horse and find yourself out on your ear just because you didn’t know what was going on.’

‘Aye; well, thanks. But the Great Gorde. … It takes a bit of getting used to, you must admit. He’s been the Company out here for so long.’

‘I wouldn’t know about that, old man. I’m new out here and as far as I’m concerned Erkhard is the man.’

The voices were no more than a whisper in the night. The two oilmen were leaning over the rail at the other end of the boat and David was just going to creep away when he heard the name of his father mentioned. ‘Is it true Colonel Whitaker’s the cause of the trouble? That’s the rumour.’ He froze into immobility, listening fascinated as the other man gave a short laugh. ‘Well, yes, in a way; the Bloody Bedouin’s got too big for his boots. And that theory of his, a lot of damned nonsense. He’s not thinking of the Company, only of his Arab friends.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. The Company owes him a lot.’

‘Concessions, yes — and a string of dry wells. The man’s a dangerous amateur. I’m warning you, Entwhistle — you talk like that when Erkhard visits you at Abu Dhabi and you’ll be out so damn’ quick-’

‘It’s Gorde I deal with.’

‘Okay. But you can take my word for it that it’ll be Erkhard who does the next tour of inspection of the development sites. And unless you’ve got something to show him-’

The voices faded as the two men moved away, walking slowly and in step back towards the deck housing. David moved quickly, slipping down the ladder to the main deck, back to his position in the bows. He wanted to be alone, for that brief overheard conversation had given him a strange glimpse of the world on which he had set his heart.