Free Jack's Island by Norman Jorgensen

rope round my waist cutting into me and scraping my skin.
    He pushed back the hood on his oilskin. ‘Welcome aboard, Captain Kidd,’ he said with a hollow laugh. ‘The artillery plotters up at the Kingston guns saw your flag. Lucky for you, eh?’
    He quickly turned to help haul Banjo and Little Eric on board. ‘Well done, Eric.’ Little Eric didn’t reply. He lay face down on the deck, puffing, unable to get his breath.
    Mr Merson, Bess’s dad, came out from the cabin with grey army blankets and wrapped them round our shoulders. ‘You three could use some tea, I bet.’
    I didn’t like tea too much but after a mug full my arms and legs stopped shivering slightly. The warm liquid burning my throat felt wonderful.
    â€˜We’ll be a while getting back,’ shouted Captain Jansen from the wheelhouse door. ‘Need to keep well clear of the reef in this sort of sea.’ He turned the wheel to run parallel with the shore for a while. The wind roared across the deck.
    Banjo and I sat against the wheelhouse wall trying to keep upright as the ferry jumped and crashed down with each wave. A shudder ran the length of the old boat with each sudden dip. I pulled my blanket tighter round me and looked out at the dark sea and driving rain. The drops sounded like machine gun bullets pelting against the canvas awnings. We weren’t out of danger yet. The old ferry might still be dashed on the reef or shudder itself to bits in the huge waves.
    â€˜Jack?’ Banjo nudged my arm. ‘Look over there. There’s a light. Like a fire. In the cave near the beach. Way over there. See, below the point?’
    â€˜How can you see anything in this?’
    â€˜Look!’ he commanded. ‘Do you reckon it’s the Jap whose helmet we found? Who else’d be camping there under the cliffs? Maybe he got left behind.’
    I tried peering through the spray and the rain, but to me the shore stayed almost invisible.
    Eventually the roaring of the gale eased as the ferry crossed behind the headland of Bathurst Point and chugged into the bay. The rain still pelted down but the jetty grew closer. One man stood on the end waiting for us. I knew who it was.
    Christian edged his way out onto the deck and threw over the mooring line. ‘Take this, Rob. Second bollard,’ he yelled as the coiled rope with a large loop on the end fell straight at my father’s feet.

Dad Thanks the Jansens
    I opened my eyes and looked about. The smell of bacon drifted into my bedroom. We always had a good fry-up on Sundays whenever the rations allowed, which hadn’t been too often lately. Mum banged on my door and walked straight in.
    â€˜We’ll be off to church after breakfast,’ she said. ‘But you can stay in bed this morning if you like. Just this once, mind.’
    Wow, that’d never happened before. I’d have to try and get killed more often.
    â€˜When we get back we’re all going to see Captain Jansen,’ she continued. ‘I’ll leave your breakfast in the oven.’
    Little Eric and Christian sat on the wall at the front of their house idly chucking rocks at a tin can on the other side of the road. They were pretty good shots. They slid off the wall when they saw us coming.
    â€˜Christian, Eric,’ Mum said, smiling at their manners. They were obviously well brought-up young men, unlike her rebellious, badly behaved son.
    â€˜Mrs Jones. Hello, youngster, feeling better?’ asked Little Eric. He nodded at Dad. ‘Mr Jones. Dad’s out the back. I’ll just get him.’
    Mrs Jansen came to the door and ushered us into the front parlour, as she called it. At Gran’s it was the drawing room but at our house it was just the front room. We all sat on the lounge while the two boys collected chairs from the kitchen.
    Red Eric stepped into the parlour. He had on a grubby turtleneck sweater just like U-boat captains wore.
    My father