The Mudskipper Cup Read online

  THE MUDSKIPPER CUP

  CHRISTOPHER CUMMINGS

  ALSO BY

  C. R. CUMMINGS

  THE GREEN IDOL OF KANAKA CREEK

  ROSS RIVER FEVER

  TRAIN TO KURANDA

  *THE MUDSKIPPER CUP

  DAVY JONES’S LOCKER

  BELOW BARTLE FRERE

  AIRSHIP OVER ATHERTON

  THE CADET CORPORAL

  STANNARY HILLS

  COASTS OF CAPE YORK

  KYLIE AND THE KELLY GANG

  BEHIND MT BALDY

  THE CADET SERGEANT MAJOR

  COOKTOWN CHRISTMAS

  THE SECRET IN THE CLOUDS

  THE WORD OF GOD

  THE CADET UNDER-OFFICER

  THE SMILEY PEOPLE

  THE MUDSKIPPER CUP

  CHRISTOPHER CUMMINGS

  © Copyright C. R. Cummings 2003

  This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealings for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without permission. The right of C. R. Cummings to be identified as the moral rights author has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000 (Commonwealth).

  National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry

  Cummings, C. R.

  The mudskipper cup: a north Queensland story about Navy cadets.

  For teenagers

  1st Edition Seaview Press 2003

  ISBN 174008 230 3.

  1. Sailing- Queensland- Juvenile fiction. I. Title.

  A823.3

  This eEdition 2012

  Doctorzed Publishing

  www.doctorzed.com

  eISBN 978-0-9872061-5-2

  Map 1: The Coral Sea

  CHAPTER 1

  THE MODEL SHIP

  Graham Kirk carefully lowered the ship model into the pond. Even though he had tested its stability in the bath several times during construction he was apprehensive about the model’s stability as he released his grip. A gentle sigh of relief escaped his lips. The sailing ship floated perfectly. The fore-and-aft trim matched the green painted waterline. Then she heeled slightly as a gentle breeze filled the sails.

  Quickly Graham adjusted a knotted string to hold the tiller at the desired angle. Then he eased the yardarms slightly around and slipped small loops knotted at the end of the ‘tacks’ over nails protruding from the deck. She was ready. He looked around and gave an embarrassed smile to the girl sitting on the lawn nearby.

  Secretly he wished Margaret wasn’t there. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her. She was a nice kid; and plucky. And she adored him and made no secret of it. In fact, as he had said angrily to his friend Peter a few days before: “She is a bloody little pain. She follows me round like a pet dog!”

  It wasn’t that so much though. It was the fact that she was just a little kid. Why, she was only in Primary School - Year 7! She wasn’t even twelve. It was a real shame-job to be seen with her because he was thirteen and in Year 9 at High School. The only reason he suffered her was because she was his sister Kylie’s best friend.

  “Well, perhaps not the only reason,” he thought to himself. He did think she was a nice person.

  A light shove sent the sailing ship out from the bank. The breeze caught her and she began to move. Tiny ripples spread from her bow. The pond was almost like glass. It was late on Saturday afternoon. Graham had specially chosen the time so there would not be any strong winds. He had learnt to his cost with previous models that the wind strength had to be scaled proportional to the model. The normal South East Trades which blew through Cairns were like a gale to a model.

  Happily he stood up and watched. The model glided along making a faint gurgle. His whole being seemed to fill with satisfaction at having created such a lovely little ship which actually sailed. ‘And she is lovely,’ he thought as the afternoon sun lit up her sails and made her new paintwork shine.

  She was a model of a British sailing Frigate of the Napoleonic Wars, HMS Artemis of thirty-eight guns. Her building had been initially inspired by reading the ‘Hornblower’ books by C.S. Forester. To this had been added a challenge from his friend Peter that he could build a better model which would sail faster. Construction had gone on intermittently since February. The date of the race had been set for the school holidays in June, now only a few weeks away.

  Peter was building a model of the clipper Ariel, which had won one of the Tea Races from China to England in the 19th Century. Secretly Graham was worried because, although they had agreed to have hulls of the same length and breadth and to have equal sail area, Peter’s model had the finer lines and deeper hull of the ‘clipper’.

  Stubborn pride had held Graham to his frigate, even though common sense said that Peter’s more scientific approach was better. Now, as he watched the model gracefully curving a semi-circular course across the pond, Graham felt deep pride in his own handiwork.

  The model frigate was ‘scratch built’ from pine and balsa. She had a hull fifty-centimetres long with a beam of twelve-centimetres. The bowsprit added fifteen-centimetres to her length and the mainmast was as high as she was long; seventy-five centimetres of it, in three sections. She had three masts and was fully rigged. The hull was painted dark green below the waterline. Above she was black with a broad white band from stem to stern, patterned with black squares to mark the gun ports.

  The deck was painted with a clear lacquer and on it were glued guns made from balsa wood. There were forty-four of these; thirty-eight ‘long’ guns or cannons and six carronades. Their barrels and wheels were painted a glossy black and their ‘wooden’ carriages a dark brown.

  Graham had even included other details which were quite unnecessary for the race and which he knew would be prone to damage: a mock steering wheel and binnacle, hatchways, gangways and railings. There were hammock nettings made from old mosquito net; and anchors made from wire and balsa. There were even tiny deck pumps and the ship’s bell.

  Margaret clapped her hands. “She sails really well Graham!” she cried in delight.

  “Yes, she goes nicely in this light breeze but she might need a larger rudder or a bit more helm to get her to sail straight,” he replied, using the technical term as a little needle.

  “She looks very pretty.”

  The frigate grounded in shallows on the other side of the pond. The wind began to blow it side on.

  “I’ll just get her before she broaches,” Graham called. He ran around to the other side of the pond. Once there he had to wade in to reach the model. The bottom was all ooze and slime but he ignored that and bent to slide his hands under bow and stern. With a smile of pure pleasure he lifted the dripping model from the water. He walked back around the pond, searching for any sign of water damage and half in a daydream. To be the captain of such a ship! If only he’d been born two hundred years before!

  “I’ll just give her another trial with a bit more starboard helm,” he said. Carefully he placed the model in the water and went to adjust the string holding the tiller. Drops of water fell onto the deck.

  “Oh blast!” he murmured, cursing himself for being so careless. He wiped his arms on his shorts, then pulled out his handkerchief and carefully dabbed up the drops. A few specs of algae remained. He collected these on his finger tip, then lovingly slid his hand along the smooth curve of the hull.

  Having satisfied himself that all was well he pointed the bow in the desired direction and gave the model a gentle push. He straightened up. Only then did he become aware of the three youths on the other side of the pond.

  Graham hadn’t seen them arrive. They had come from behind the ornamental rock garden. As he recognised them G
raham gave a little groan and felt a stab of concern. It was those three bullies from Year 12: Burford, Macnamara and Harvey.

  He had clashed with them several times over the last months but not in any serious way. Now he hoped they would go on their way so he pretended to ignore them, deliberately watching the model.

  The Frigate headed directly towards them.

  Burford, a solid brute with curly fair hair and squinty blue eyes recognised him.

  “It’s that jerk Kirk from Nine B,” he said to his companions. Then he called across the twenty-metres of pond. “Is little boy playing with his little boat?”

  Graham flushed but made no reply. He didn’t want trouble but as his dad said, “There are times when it’s better to meet trouble halfway.” Clearly this was one. The model was almost stationary in the middle as the breeze had dropped but it was still creeping towards the trio. Unhappily he saw that he would have to walk around there to retrieve it. He set off at an apparently casual walk.

  Macnamara, red-haired and red-faced, threw another taunt. “Perhaps he’s come here to play with his little girl?”

  Burford sneered. “Nah! He wouldn’t know how. Anyway look at her; all those freckles and no tits.”

  Graham flushed with concern and anger. He was at the end of the pond by this.

  Macnamara threw another cruel jibe. “She’s probably all he can get. When you’re desperate even the ugly ones look OK.”

  Graham gritted his teeth. Margaret could hear them and a glance showed her looking worried. “She isn’t ugly anyway,” he thought. “Plain maybe but not ugly.” Margaret had an open, honest face and gentle brown eyes. But she did have a fair sprinkle of freckles. So did he for that matter. Hoping the situation would not get worse he rounded the end of the rock garden and walked towards the three youths.

  To Graham’s consternation Harvey picked up a small stone and tossed it into the pond near the model. The hoon laughed and said something about cannon balls. The others laughed too and bent down to pick up stones from the gravel pathway. The model was almost stationary only about five-metres from them. Graham increased his pace.

  Burford threw a stone which struck the pond close to the hull. Water splashed up onto the deck and the ship rocked in the ripples. He let out a harsh laugh. Macnamara did the same. This was fun! They all bent for more rocks.

  Graham licked his lips. He didn’t want a fight, but nor did he want the model damaged. He was big for his age and fit from bushwalking but the bullies were at least two years older and bigger by five or ten centimetres.

  “Don’t hit the model please,” he said as he came up to them.

  Burford turned to sneer at him, his arm back ready to throw. “Listen to the little boy. Don’t hit the model! What d’ya think we are you little jerk? If we wanted to hit the model we would have, see!”

  He turned and hurled the stone. It went between the main yard and the foot of the main topsail. Burford grunted.

  Harvey laughed. “Hah Burford, yah missed!” he jeered. Then he threw a stone the size of an egg which thwacked into the fore topgallant sail. The force of the blow almost capsized the model and the cotton ‘sheet’ holding the corner of the sail to the yard-arm below snapped. The frigate rolled alarmingly. The bullies laughed and Macnamara threw another stone which showered drops of water over the sails.

  Graham was horrified. “Stop it! Don’t break it please!” he cried in consternation. When Burford just sneered and then went to peg an even larger stone Graham reached out to grab his arm. Burford brushed him aside and threw it. There was a splash just beyond the model and a broken cotton backstay fluttered loose.

  The model was only a couple of metres from the bank now so Graham started to wade in. As he did a stone flicked past to strike the hull with a ‘thunk’. Another struck the mizzen topsail and set the ship rocking wildly. Then one struck Graham on the back and another on the leg. They stung but he ignored the pain.

  He was knee deep in weed and mud when Harvey’s voice warned him.

  “Watch this one you guys!”

  Graham looked. Harvey had picked up one of the stones bordering a garden bed. It was the size of a football.

  “Don’t!” Graham gasped in alarm.

  Harvey sniggered and hurled it with both hands. It missed Graham by centimetres and lobbed into the pond beside the model. There was an enormous splash. A column of dirty water rose higher than the ship’s masts and deluged down on it. She rocked so violently the mainsail went into the water on each roll.

  Graham grabbed the mast just in time to prevent the model capsizing. Hoots of laughter came from the gang.

  “Get out of the way Kirk or you’ll be hit,” Burford warned.

  Graham ignored him. He tried to judge if he could sail the model back across the pond or whether he should pick it up and carry it. As he looked anxiously around he saw that Margaret was now standing on the other bank. ‘Not enough breeze,’ he thought. He bent to pick up the model.

  A stone struck him a savage blow on the buttocks. He cried out and turned. The three bullies laughed and jeered.

  “Get outa the way ya little creep or we’ll hit ya again,” Harvey yelled. He was tall and thin with a swarthy complexion. His black eyes seemed to flicker and glitter. Graham swallowed. He hesitated between facing his foes and picking up the model.

  Harvey threw his stone. It glanced off Graham’s hip and struck the water.

  “If I pick the model up,” he thought, “and they push me over it will get really scrunched. But if I push it across to Margaret they will just run around there and it’s still three to one because I don’t want Margaret hurt or involved.” Having reasoned this he knew he faced defeat either way. His throat seemed to choke up with bitterness. Water splashed over his front from a stone.

  Having decided he turned his back. “Margaret. Get on your bike and go home. Quickly!” he called. A stone hit his back and another splashed near the model. Graham grabbed the model and turned it to face the far bank. There was no time to adjust the steering or sails. He just pushed as hard as he dared.

  The model surged out but in his haste he’d pushed her bow too deep and she quickly lost way and came to a bobbing standstill only three metres out. A stone splashed near it.

  “Run Margaret. Go!” Graham called again. She stood there hopping from foot to foot in agitation.

  Margaret was upset and frightened but more for Graham’s sake than her own. What to do? The park was a lonely place and it was a fair distance to anyone who might help.

  Graham saw a rock the size of a cricket ball rip away the centre jib with a savage jerk just as a breeze began to push the ships head round. The model rocked and with no headsails it turned half into the wind and was taken aback. She began to make sternway slowly back towards them.

  More stones lobbed near the model. One sent splinters flying and a jagged gap appeared in the quarterdeck bulwark. Anger flared in Graham. He turned and began to wade ashore.

  “Stop it! You’ll smash it!” he yelled.

  Burford sneered and hurled a stone at him. It struck his chest a stinging blow. The gang laughed. Graham kept on towards them. Another stone struck him.

  “Oooh! Got him in the balls!” Harvey shrieked.

  Graham felt a wave of nauseating pain which made him hunch over. Stung both in pride and body he fought the pain down and splashed ashore, fists flailing.

  Burford met him. Graham tried to punch him but Burford just brushed the blow aside with his left and smacked him in the face with a hard right. Graham saw it coming but couldn’t duck in time.

  Thump! Red spots danced amidst a sickening wave of disbelief and outrage. Graham felt more blows and strong hands pushing. He stumbled and fell. Cold, murky water engulfed him along with the ghastly emotion of defeat.

  CHAPTER 2

  WRECK OF THE ‘ARTEMIS’

  As water ran up his nose Graham rolled over in a near panic. He had to open his eyes to stop himself becoming disoriented. The water was dark
and murky but only waist deep. He slithered in mud and slimy weeds but managed to regain his feet.

  As he stood up he spluttered and clawed weed from his face. He could hardly see out of his left eye from the punch it had received. His right was gritty with mud. Blinking and torn between fear and outrage he floundered ashore. The three louts appeared as a line of laughing, mocking faces.

  As Graham reached the shore Burford punched again, striking his shoulder. Graham punched back but with more fury than skill. He missed and felt another blow to his forehead. Then he was tumbling again. He fell sideways into the shallows.

  Just before his head went under Graham caught a glimpse of the model. The frigate seemed to be surrounded by splashes and the entire foremast was a tangled wreck. Enraged Graham sprang up, spattering mud and slime around him.

  Burford pushed him hard as he tried to regain his balance. Graham staggered back and slipped. And then Margaret cannoned into Burford from behind. The bully stumbled and pitched headlong into the muck beside Graham.

  “Stop it you bullies!” Margaret shrieked, turning to pummel Macnamara. He was caught by surprise but then grabbed her arms and began twisting her wrists cruelly.

  Graham splashed ashore. “Let her go Macnamara! Let her go you bloody thug!” he shouted. Anxious to free Margaret he punched at the bigger boy. Macnamara swung Margaret between them, then shoved her hard backwards. She fell heavily in the shallow water.

  Harvey laughed like a demented hyena and hurled another large rock at the Artemis. Graham heard it ‘thunk’ into the hull and he snatched a glance even as he hurled himself towards him. The frigate rocked from side to side with a large gash visible in the bulwarks amidships.

  By now Graham was in a blind fury. He clawed for Harvey’s throat. A red-mist of rage engulfed him. But even as he tried to grab Harvey he was hit from behind and went down. His face was buried in the lawn and a bruising weight of knees and elbows landed on his back.