Into White Silence Page 2
Despite Smythe-Davis ordering his men on without him, Downes put himself at considerable risk by insisting on carrying his Captain to the relative safety of a nearby bomb crater and then holding that position for almost two hours until another Australian squad was able to assist in extracting them from the battlefield. For his efforts, Downes was mentioned in dispatches and later decorated.
I find it hard to look at that photograph nowadays, knowing what I do about Downes’ eventual fate, and trying to reconcile in my mind the enormous injustice of the whole affair. To have returned unscathed from such a hideous experience as Bullecourt, to have demonstrated that sort of strength of character and leadership, only to perish in the icy darkness of an Antarctic winter because of the petty ambitions of another man is a travesty of justice I find difficult to come to terms with.
But I digress. As far as this book is concerned, our relationship with Downes begins not in the muddy battlefields of France but a world away and several years later, aboard the stately steamship Loongana as she eases her patient way up the Derwent in the calm twilight of a Tasmanian October afternoon. Downes, now at the age of twenty-four, leans upon the teak railing, absorbing the passing vista of Hobart with a cigarette clutched loosely between the fingers of his right hand and a pensive expression on his face. Beside him, a battered brown suitcase contains his other suit, several shirts, his good shoes and his shaving gear. Tucked beneath his left arm is a copy of yesterday’s Melbourne Age and in the pocket of his jacket is a new journal, covered in red leather and inscribed inside with the words:
TO WILL. FOR SAFE TRAVELS, WITH LOVE, ELSIE. WEATHERLY, 1921.
Inside this as-yet-unblemished token is a single sheet of paper, folded once, and it is this which has brought the Lieutenant down here to Hobart from his parents’ farm outside Ballarat. Though the letter is typed, the signature at the bottom is crabbed and spidery, suggesting a hand more concerned with efficiency than aesthetics.
Perhaps, as the Loongana steams past Kingston and Sandy Bay, Downes reaches into his pocket, retrieves the letter and re-reads it for the hundredth time, turning over in his head the enigmatic invitation. Perhaps he wonders again at the odd circumstances that have brought him once more from the peaceful security of Weatherly and tempted him into the unknown. Perhaps, in removing the letter from his new journal, he notes the inscription from his sweetheart and wonders if the price of this undertaking is too high.
Or perhaps he does none of these things, but simply continues his quiet observation of the banks of the river as they slip past.
One thing he would certainly have seen, though I imagine its significance escaped him at the time, was a particular vessel, moored among the many smaller ships and boats in Sandy Bay. The two-masted, brigantine-rigged shape of the Polar Exploration Vessel Raven would have dwarfed most of the smaller boats lying at anchor around it, but its tar-black hull probably blended somewhat into obscurity against the darkening waters of the river, overshadowed at that time of day by the surrounding hills. As best I can discover, by the time Downes arrived in Hobart to consider fully Edward Rourke’s extraordinary offer, the Raven had been afloat and on her mooring for almost six months. Having completed her sea trials the previous autumn under the command of Captain McLaren, she had been laid up at anchor for the duration of the winter with only a skeleton crew of watchmen aboard.
As the Loongana made her stately way towards Battery Point and Sullivan’s Cove beyond, her wake would have taken a few minutes to reach the Raven and, as heavy as the polar vessel was, it is unlikely that the passing of the larger ship would have made much impact, except perhaps to set the masts swaying slightly. If Downes did indeed notice the dark ship, who can know what his thoughts might have been? Certainly he could not have imagined that he was looking at his tomb.
* * *
From the Journal of Lieutenant William Downes
2nd October, 1921
Hobart, Tasmania
Having arrived in Hobart this evening aboard the SS Loongana, I have established lodgings for myself in a respectable boarding house, run by a Mrs Pilkington, a widow who happily accepts ex-servicemen of good character, who are of clean appearance. Though I had not written ahead to reserve a bed, she was, after some discussion, happy to accept my military credentials and my record in France, which she held in good regard.
The passage from Melbourne across Bass Strait is one which, I will admit, I approached with some trepidation, remembering well the awful weather which greeted us our first three nights at sea when we shipped out for Egypt. This time, however, Neptune was much kinder and the Loongana, which is clearly a well seasoned vessel and used to this particular ocean, handled the swells with aplomb. I can only hope this bodes well for whatever journeying this strange expedition will involve.
From the dormer window of my small room I have a view out across the wide expanse of the Derwent River. The city of Hobart stretches along its banks, and from what I have seen in my brief walk up from the docks, it is a pleasant enough place, though many of the buildings are of heavy grey stonework, a legacy of its convict heritage, I imagine, which lends the town a distinctly sombre air. As we steamed upriver towards our berth, the distant peak of Mount Wellington dominated the landscape, hunching black against the sunset with its summit shrouded in cloud. I hope for some clear weather in the next few days so I can take in a full and unencumbered view of the mountain, which certainly seems impressive, especially in comparison to the farmlands I am used to.
I am looking forward to presenting myself at the expedition offices tomorrow morning, to finally meet the enigmatic Mr Rourke and investigate his curious proposal more fully. Considering his letter, which I have carried with me against the possibility that I might have been somehow deceived, I confess that I find myself somewhat at a loss as to precisely why I have decided to come here.
Mother is of the opinion that the war has left me ill-equipped to deal with the more pedestrian aspects of life and perhaps she has a point. Certainly, from the few scant facts that Mr Rourke was willing to commit to the page, this ‘great undertaking’ of his promises some form of adventure at the very least. In the couple of years since my return from Europe, life has acquired a certain monotony which I am glad to break. In France, in the midst of that maelstrom at Bullecourt, I remember wishing fervently for nothing more than one last evening sitting with my parents on the verandah at Weatherly, watching the sun set over the house paddock. Now though, having fortuitously managed to return from Europe with both my limbs and reputation intact – the latter indeed somewhat improved as a result of my actions – the gentle pace of home has lost a deal of its lustre.
Whatever my reasons, whether they be the craving for further adventure, or simply an inability on my part to settle down, it is fruitless to dwell upon them now, for here I am, safely in Hobart and, while I am not yet completely decided on my position as regards Mr Rourke’s odd invitation, I am determined to investigate it further.
It strikes me that this journal, which Elsie was good enough to give me as a parting gift, may stand as my sole record of the events of this adventure and so for the sake of completeness I will relate here the circumstances which have brought me to Hobart, seemingly, as my mother describes it, ‘on a whim’.
When Captain Smythe-Davis offered my name to Mr Rourke as a ‘young man of suitable discretion and admirable fortitude’, I am certain he thought himself to be doing me a favour. Indeed, when the Captain wrote to me, explaining that an associate of his was seeking a particular type of man for an undertaking which he was not at liberty to set to paper, I was flattered. Certainly I can think of a number of other lads in our company who would have served to meet Mr Rourke’s requirements just as well as myself; good blokes, all of them.
For reasons best known to himself, the Captain recommended me and it was with a great deal of anticipation and more than a little curiosity that I soon after received Mr Rourke’s invitation to join him and his company here in Hobart to, in h
is words, ‘prepare for, and then embark upon, what will doubtless become known as one of the greatest undertakings of adventure and exploration of recent times.’
This in itself piqued my curiosity – as the Captain no doubt attested, I have always had something of a hankering to step outside the normalcy of my everyday life and challenge myself against the wider world; indeed, it was this peculiar aspect of my nature which encouraged me to sign up so readily in the AIF and which, I believe, served me well on the battlefield.
Mr Rourke’s letter continued thus:
At present, and without some form of informed commitment from yourself, I am unable to divulge to you more than the barest details of this undertaking, but suffice to say that I am seeking a young man, physically able and with good strength of character, who will be able to endure the privations and hardships of an extended sea voyage in often difficult circumstances while maintaining a sense of leadership at all times. This man shall work closely with Captain Smythe-Davis and be in charge of much of the logistical planning and the day-to-day running of the expedition, and in a position to step into my shoes should something unforeseen occur.
Lieutenant, make no mistake, should we succeed in this we shall achieve a great deal of recognition and regard for both ourselves and, indeed, our nation. I have committed a large proportion of my personal wealth to ensuring that our success is assured. If you see fit to accept my offer, and things proceed to my satisfaction and expectations, I am certain that many future opportunities will present themselves to you as a direct result of your involvement.
I would welcome the opportunity to meet with you at our expedition offices in Hobart, Tasmania, to discuss this great undertaking. Should you wish to further investigate my offer, please inform me by return post and I shall gladly book you passage from Melbourne at the earliest possible convenience.
Sincerely yours,
Edward Rourke
Reading back over it, there is something about the letter that I find vaguely unsettling, but difficult to express. It is always hard to gain any true sense of a man from a letter but, despite its general nature, Mr Rourke’s correspondence leads me to imagine him as being particularly focused – for want of a better term – and this is a trait I have often observed in other men, both for better and worse. It was my experience in France, that those men most afflicted by this type of peculiar intensity either survived unscathed like myself, or were the first to fall under German bullets.
Whatever the specifics of Mr Rourke’s character, I am certain that I will gain some understanding of him once I have at hand more information about this expedition. Given that he has chosen Hobart as his base of operations, I can only assume he intends to voyage south to the polar ice cap, but for what reasons I cannot even hazard a guess.
It is getting late and I need to find a place to dine, as Mrs. Pilkington informs me she is unable to provide an extra meal for this evening, so I shall end this entry here.
* * *
TWO
THE OPTIMISM OF YOUTH. THE LIMITED DINING CHOICES OF HOBART IN 1921. A CHANCE ENCOUNTER. MR EDWARD ROURKE. A REUNION OF SORTS. LESSONS ON THE GEOGRAPHY OF THE EAST COAST. A VERY STRANGE PROPOSAL.
Several aspects of this first entry from Downes’ journal always strike me, no matter how often I read them over. First and foremost is the sense of quiet confidence imbued in every word; this is a young man who, having survived so dramatically the horrors of war, has every reason to be sure of himself, cocky, even. And yet there is none of that at all. Certainly, Downes is secure in the power of his youth and his own ability to deal with whatever the world might throw at him, but there is nothing of the boastfulness which so often shortens the perspective of men of that age.
The other feature that never fails to impress itself upon my thoughts is his optimism. Many people reading Rourke’s bizarre invitation would see immediately his obsession with secrecy, note his references to glory and future fame and would judge his ‘great undertaking’ with some reticence. Not Downes, though. He saw those words just as Rourke had intended him to – as a promise of high adventure, as an opportunity to better himself and his country – and he responded accordingly.
And so, the following morning, he dressed himself in his best suit and a tie he’d bought especially. He polished his shoes to a military shine, left his boarding house on Battery Point and walked down past the Salamanca Wharfs and along the waterfront, where he found the expedition offices towards the bottom end of Elizabeth Street. It is easy to imagine him there. Making his way between piles of cargo and past all manner of vessels, from fishing boats to large passenger ferries. No doubt the Loongana was already preparing to put to sea again, to begin the return voyage to her home port of Melbourne. I like to think that perhaps Downes stood there watching for a few moments and that the option of reboarding and returning to Weatherly and to Elsie crossed his mind, but in all honesty I doubt such a course of action would even have occurred to him just then.
At Elizabeth Street he turned left, consulted the letter in his hand to check again the address, and a minute or two later arrived at his destination, on the eastern side of Elizabeth Street, between Collins and Liverpool Streets.
The building in which Rourke had established his headquarters has long since been demolished, however an old photograph, available at the State Library of Tasmania, shows it in the background. A largely unremarkable three-storey stone building, fronted at street level by a plain, unmarked door, the structure is no different from any of the others that made up Hobart town centre during the 1920s.
Entering through the front door and climbing two flights of wooden stairs, Downes must have felt more than a tremor of anticipation as he knocked at the door of suite 7, wherein he would discover the truth of his unusual invitation, and at last lay eyes upon Edward Rourke.
* * *
From the Journal of Lieutenant William Downes
3rd October, 1921
Hobart, Tasmania
Having presented myself at the expedition offices early this morning, I am pleased to report that my meeting with Mr Rourke has in many ways exceeded my expectations, and that I have accepted without hesitation his offer of a place on his expedition.
Before I describe this turn of events, however, I should like to document another instance, which occurred last night while I was having my evening meal, and which I feel is worthy of recording here.
Leaving Mrs Pilkington’s at around 1830, I made my way to the waterfront, seeking a place to eat and perhaps indulge myself in a quiet beer. Unlike Melbourne, however, Hobart is quite small and sleepy, particularly on a weeknight. My choice was limited to one venue, The Imperial Arms Hotel, which brought to mind some of the less reputable drinking establishments that the lads and I would frequent during leave in London.
The meal itself was a homely affair – steak and kidney pie with potatoes and beans – and having consumed it with relish, I withdrew to the attached public bar to while away half an hour or so. The room was quiet and largely deserted apart from a group of three men, all sailors by the look of them, gathered at one end of the bar. Having established a place for myself midway along the bar, I was drifting into a sort of reverie over my beer when a name mentioned by one of the sailors caught my attention: that name being Rourke.
Though I am not prone to eavesdropping I must confess that, the ambience of the pub being decidedly quiet and my attention so diverted, it proved impossible not to listen to the men’s conversation. At first, I thought to introduce myself, so as not to give offence should they realise I could overhear them, but after a moment or two I decided that discretion was the better course.
The man who’d first mentioned Mr Rourke was the shortest of the three, a rough looking character with a shock of bright orange hair.
‘Bloody Rourke’s good for nothing, if you ask me,’ he’d said.
To this, his two companions mumbled their agreement and the taller of the two replied.
‘His money’s as good as
anyone else’s, though.’
‘True. And he pays regular, not like a few I’ve sailed for.’
‘But still. That ship …’
At this, all three men nodded.
‘Never seen a thing like it in my life.’
‘Any idea what he’s planning to do with it?’
At this, the third man, a leather-faced character with narrowed eyes, spoke for the first time, inclining his head briefly in my direction as he did so.
‘That’ll do, youse two. Rourke’s not paying us to bandy his plans all about the place.’
Clearly the man had noticed that I was paying more attention to them than was strictly necessary and I could feel my ears reddening. In order to make amends and perhaps encourage the men to further discussion I offered to buy their next beers, but to my surprise all three declined. The leather-faced one seemed to appoint himself spokesman for the group.
‘We’re just in for the one, and Jim here has watch tonight.’
At that, the three finished their drinks quickly then slipped out into the night. The onset of evening had brought with it some sporadic showers of rain and after their departure I took advantage of a break in the weather to make my own way back to Mrs Pilkington’s. Down at the waterfront, the lights of the city reflected off the gleaming black harbour, mirror-still in the aftermath of the last shower. Aside from the faint whisper of water against wood and stone, and the odd scurrying scuffle of rats or other waterfront dwellers going about their nocturnal business, the evening was largely silent. Walking past the docks I could see a small skiff, unlit and carrying three men whom I took to be my reluctant drinking companions, casting off from a jetty and being rowed out towards Battery Point. The rhythmic splash of their oars dwindled into silence as they drew further from my vantage point; I watched for as long as I could, hoping to get some idea which vessel they were bound for, but it was only a minute or two before they vanished into the darkness.