The sight that met them — burnt-out launches and smoking oil tanks — was far from cheering

The serial: Largie Castle, A Rifled Nest Day 92

Taking the lighthouse keepers’ advice, they headed for the estuary where they found a launch, the Mutiara, had run aground.

It had on board a number of employees from the Singapore Asiatic Petroleum Company, who were unable to restart their launch’s engines, as it required the expertise of a marine engineer.

They warned the Celia passengers that as Kateman was a small fishing village, it would be of little help and suggested they continue farther south towards the mouth of the Djambi where the town of the same name had an Asiatic Petroleum Company Depot from which help could be sent to the stranded Mutiara.

Having dissuaded the Celia from heading up the Kateman river, it appeared that the Mutiara crew were asking a lot from the party to proceed far farther south than they needed. After Kateman, the best route was up the Indragiri with provision at varying stages of the journey for transport, fuel, food, and accommodation.

On the other hand, the Djambi estuary was 40 miles south of the Indragiri and offered no direct route to Padang.

The Celia agreed to contact the depot at Djambi, taking on board Mr Faber who, being Dutch, could act as an interpreter, a Mr de Souza, a 65-gallon drum of diesel fuel and a chart for Djambi to ensure they reached their destination. On course They followed the coast closely as far as Tanjong Datok on the equator, and from there across the open sea (60-70 miles) until they reached the estuary. All they possessed to keep them on course was the pocket compass, and for this task, navigators Angus and Michael Blackwood applied intense concentration.

At 3am on February 16, they approached land and anchored. When dawn came, they were delighted to find themselves only ¼ of a mile from a buoy marking the entrance to the Djambi river, which was a triumph, for Angus’s and Michael’s navigation skills!

Two small coastal trading vessels hove in sight, heading for Djambi; the Celia followed them upriver. Passing through a small town with a custom house and a water boat anchored mid-stream, they meandered up the broad river through mangrove swamps, keeping a watch out for water snakes.

Each passenger was exhausted, having spent over 48 hours crammed in the launch. Many were suffering from insect bites and all were thirsty. However, they soon found fresh water and drank it with relish as it had been strictly rationed during the voyage.

At dusk the Celia tried to moor mid-stream but her anchor failed to hold against the strong current, so they tied up alongside a larger ship and made more room for themselves by transferring half their men onto it.

The next morning, February 17, the Celia pressed on to Djambi, which they reached in three or four hours. The sight that met them – burnt-out launches and smoking oil tanks – was far from cheering. The cause was not enemy bombing but allied demolition as they feared the worst.

Sure enough, they learned that Singapore had fallen and the Japanese had taken Palembang, the next big Sumatran town to the south. The men had no other choice but to head north-west to Padang, the chief port on the west coast of Sumatra. Anxious Cars, vans, and lorries were unavailable as they had been evacuated and all petrol stocks were destroyed. But the District Officer suggested they steer the Celia upriver as far as Moearatebok to a military camp there, a journey of at least two or three days.

He gave them plenty of tinned food and biscuits and even allocated them a paddle steamer.

These were particularly welcome as a number of Australians had swollen their number to 81.

Approximately 50 boarded the paddle steamer while the 23 volunteers with Paris’s group remained on the Celia. Anxious to waste no time and use the remaining hours of daylight, they navigated upstream, mooring by the river bank for the night.

The next morning at daybreak, they departed and spent the entire day following the innumerable bends in the river until they reached Moeara Tembesi at 5 pm.

On that day, they made better progress than they expected because the water was high, which helped them to keep to the inside of the bends where the current was less strong.

Realising they were in imminent danger of being captured or having their route blocked, they pressed on anxiously. But it began to rain and the night was dark and moonless.

A barrage of logs, branches, and other debris brought down by the floods presented more risk in the dark. The men were glad to find a deserted rest house to shelter in until the next morning.

They rose early the following day and found navigation easy; the current was weak but as the day advanced, it became stronger and they made little headway.

The fugitives found the upper reaches of the Djambi fascinating. “There was a feeling,” wrote Geoffrey Brooke, a young naval officer and evacuee who took a similar route across Sumatra, “of unreality engendered by this unholy alliance of danger and beauty that was so often with us.”

Sumatra’s interior was wild. On their approach pigs retreated into the jungle. Large birds (possibly a species of crane) flew overhead.

In the water close to their bow swam fish with fins the shape of rabbits’ ears, and by the riverbank lurking in the slime were crocodiles. Well after dark, at 9.30 pm, they saw the first sign of human life. Transport A light flickered ahead but it was extinguished as soon as the Celia’s ‘searchlight’, an old car lamp, bought at Moeara Tembesi and rigged in the bow so they could dodge the logs and debris floating down river, was seen.

“Who are you?” a voice called from the darkness. This was Moearatebok with its small garrison of Sumatran troops and a half dozen Dutch NCOs, who made the fugitives welcome.

That night, before Paris’s group went to sleep on board, the Sumatran soldiers cooked them a meal of vegetables and rice.

The following morning, February 20, Paris, who had gone ashore immediately on arrival to find transport for the journey’s final stage, told the evacuees of the Celia that he and his staff were taking the last available car for Padang and that on arrival he would send transport for them.

Not long after Paris’s party left Moearatebok, Lieutenant Ian Forbes, RM, one of the survivors of the Prince of Wales sunk by the Japanese in early December 1941, bumped into them. More tomorrow © 2017 Mary C Gladstone, all rights reserved, courtesy of the author and Firefallmedia; available in hardcover and paperback online and from all booksellers.