me. 'Sebastian scrambled to his knees.
The engines roaring in reverse pulled the torpedo-boat back off the log-boom, her plywood hull crackling and speaking, but she was mortally wounded. She was sinking with a rapidity that amazed Sebastian. Already her cockpit was flooding.
'Abandon ship, 'shouted the commander.
'You damned tooting,' said Flynn O'Flynn and leaped in an untidy tangle of arms and legs into the water.
Like a playful seal the torpedo-boat rolled over on its side, and Sebastian jumped. Drawing his breath while he was in the air, steeling himself against the cold of the water.
he was surprised at how warm it was.
from the bridge of HMS. Renounce, the survivors looked like a cluster of bedraggled water rats. In the dawn they floundered and splashed around the edge of the balloon of stained and filthy water where the Rufiji had washed them out, like the effluent from the sewer outlet of a city. Renounce found them before the sharks did, for there was no blood. There was one broken leg, a fractured collar bone and a few cracked ribs but miraculously there was no blood. So from a crew of fourteen, Renounce recovered every man including the two pilots.
They came aboard with their hair matted, their faces streaked, and their eyes swollen and inflamed with engine oil. With a man on either hand to guide them, leaving a trail of malodorous Rufiji water across the deck, they shuffled down to the sick bay, a sodden and sorrow-full looking assembly of humanity.
'Well,' said Flynn O'Flynn, 'if we don't get a medal for that, then I'm going back to my old job and the hell with them.'
'That,' said Captain Arthur Joyce, sitting hunched behind his desk, 'was not a roaring success.' He showed no inclination to whistle 'Tipperary'.
'It wasn't even a good try, sir,' agreed the torpedo-boat commander. 'The Boche had everything ready to throw at our heads.'
'log boom!'-' Joyce shook his head, 'good Lord, they went out with the Napoleonic War!' He said it in a tone that implied that he was a victim of unfair play.
'It was extraordinarily effective, sir.' Yes, it must have been.' Joyce sighed. 'Well, at the very least we have established that an attack up the channel is not practical.'
'During the few minutes before the tide swept us away from the boom I looked beyond it, and I saw what I took to be a mine. I think it certain that the Boche have laid a minefield beyond the boom, sit.'
'Thank you, Commander, 'Joyce nodded. 'I will see to it that their Lordships receive a full account of your conduct.
I consider it excellent.' Then he went on, 'I would value your opinion of Major O'Flynn and his son do you think they are reliable men?'
'Well the commander hesitated, he did not want to be unfair, they can both swim and the young one seems to have good' eyesight Apart from that I am not really in a position to give a judgement.'
'No, I don't suppose you are. Still I wish I knew more about them. For the next phase in this operation I am going to rely quite heavily on them.' He stood up. 'I think I will talk to them now.'
'You mean you actually want someone to go on board Blitcher!' Flynn was appalled.
'I have explained to you, Major, how important it is for me to know exactly what state she is in. I must be able to estimate when she is likely to break out of the delta. I must know how much time I have.' Madness, whispered Flynn. 'Stark raving bloody madness.' He stared at Joyce in disbelief.
'You have told me how well organized is your intelligence system ashore, of the reliable men who work for you. Indeed it is through you that we know that the Germans are cutting c(rdwood and taking it aboard. We know that they have recruited an army of native labourers and are using them not only for wood-cutting, but also for heavy work aboard the Blucher.'
'So?' Into that single word Flynn put a wealth of caution.
'One of your men could infiltrate the labour gangs and get aboard Blucher.' And Flynn perked up immediately; he had anticipated that Joyce would suggest that Flynn Patrick O'Flynn should personally conduct a survey of Blitcher's damage.
'It might be done.' There was alengthy pause while Flynn considered every aspect of the business. 'Of course, Captain, my men aren't fighting patriots like you and I. They work for money. They are...' Flynn searched for the word. 'They are...'
'Mercenaries?'
'Yes,' said Flynn. 'That's exactly what they are.'
'Hmm,' said Joyce. 'You mean they would want payment?' 'They'd want a big dollop of lolly and you can't blame them, can you?'
'The person you send would have to be a first-class man.'
'He would be,' Flynn assured him.
'On behalf of His Majesty's Government, I could undertake to purchase a complete and competent report on the disposition of the German cruiser Blitcher, for the sum of he thought about it a moment, one thousand pounds.'
'Gold?'
'Gold,' agreed Joyce.
'That would cover it nicely.' Flynn nodded, then allowed his eyes to move across the cabin to where Sebastian and Rosa sat side by side on the day couch. They were holding hands, and showing more interest in each other than in the bargainings of Flynn and Captain Joyce.
It was a good thing, Flynn decided, that the Wakamba tribe from which Commissioner Fleischer had recruited the majority of his labour force, affected clean-shaven pates. It would be impossible for a person of European descent to dress his straight hair to resemble the woollen cap of an African.
It was also a good thing about the M'senga tree. From the bark of the M'senga tree the fishermen of Central Africa decocted a liquid in which they soaked their nets. It toughened the fibres of the netting and it also stained the skin. Once Flynn had dipped his finger into a basin of the stuff, and despite constant scrubbing, it was fifteen days before the black stain faded.
It was finally a good thing about Sebastian's nose. Its new contours were decidedly negroid.
A thousand pounds!' said Flynn O'Flynn as though it were a benediction, and he scooped another mugful of the black liquid and poured it over Sebastian Oldsmith's clean-shaven scalp. 'Think of it, Bassie, me lad, a thousand pounds! Your half share of that is five hundred.
Why! You'll be in a position to pay me back every penny you owe me. You'll be out of debt at last.' They were camped on the Abati river, one of the tributaries of the Rufiji. Six miles downstream was Commissioner Fleischer's wood- cutting camp.
'It's money for jam,' opined Flynn. He was sitting comfortably in a riempie chair beside the galvanized iron tub, in which Sebastian Oldsmith squatted with his knees drawn up under his chin. Sebastian had the dejected look of a spaniel taking a bath in flea shampoo. The liquid in which he sat was the colour and viscosity of strong Turkish coffee and already his face and body were a dark purply chocolate colour.
Sebastian isn't interested in the money,' said Rosa Oldsmith. She knelt beside the tub and, tenderly as a mother bathing her infant, she was ladling the M'senga juice over Sebastian's shoulders and back.
'I know, I know!' Flynn agreed quickly. 'We are all doing our duty. We all remember little Maria may the Lord bless and keep her tiny soul. But the money won't hurt us either.' Sebastian closed his eyes as another mugful cascaded over his head.
Rub it into the creases round your eyes and under your chin,' said Flynn, and Sebastian obeyed. 'Now, let's go over it again, Bassie, so you don't get it all balled up. One of Mohammed's cousins is boss-boy of the gang loading the timber into the launches. They are camped on the bank of the Rufiji. Mohammed will slip you in tonight, and tomorrow his cousin will get you on to one of the launches going down with a load for Blitcher. All you've got to do is keep your eyes open. Joyce just wants to know what work they are doing to repair her; whether or not they've got the boilers fired; things like that. You understand?' Sebastian nodded glumly.
'You'll come back up-river tomorrow evening, slip out of camp soon as it's dark and meet us here. Simple as a pimple, right?' 'Right,' murmured Sebastian.
'Right then. Out you get and dry off.' As the dry wind from the uplands blew over his naked body, the purply tint of the dye faded into a matt chocolate.
Rosa had modestly moved away into the grove of Manila trees behind the camp. Every few minutes Flynn came across to Sebastian and touched his skin.
'Coming along nicely,' he said, and, 'Nearly done,' and, 'Jeer, you look better than real.' Then finally in Swahili, 'Right, Mohammed, mark his face.' Mohammed squatted in front of Sebastian with a tiny gourd of cosmetics; a mixture of animal fat and ash and ochre. With his fingers he daubed Sebastian's cheeks and nose and forehead with the tribal patterns. His head held on one side in artistic concentration, making soft clucking sounds of concentration as he worked, until at last Mohammed was satisfied.
'He is ready.'
'Get the clothes,' said Flynn. This was an exaggeration.
Sebastian's attire could hardly be called clothing.
A string of bark around his neck from which was suspended a plugged duiker horn filled with snuff, a cloak of animal skin that smelled of wood-smoke and man-sweat, draped
