English passengers (15 page)

I left Vartin Clague in the boat to keep watch and across that mud we went. I gave a little knock at the door—just in case—and then, when nobody answered, we went round the side and played tugging at windows, till we found one that opened nicely, and there we were, in the sitting room.

Strange it is how just being in another man’s house will set a body to mumbling, even though you know there’s nobody there. ‘‘There’s some choice stuff here,’’ said Kinvig in a whisper.

He was right enough, I saw, as my eyes adjusted to the gloom. There was a fine table and chairs, and some grand pictures on the walls, of foreign boats with square sails and fellows sneaking about in strange hats carrying baskets on poles, looking like Chinamen. On the mantelpiece
was a couple of model warships, neatly done too. This couldn’t be just from catching eels. I reckoned Rob had been doing some trading on his own account, and doing nicely, too. There should be some jink to be found, for sure. We set to work, pulling open drawers and such, but mostly all we found was old papers and other uselessness. Finally, in the kitchen, I lit upon a stash of silver cutlery. It looked quality to me, while he’d hardly be needing such fuss croaking away his breath in Colchester.

‘‘This’ll have to do,’’ I told the others. ‘‘Fill your pockets. And one of you take that clock while you’re about it.’’ A pretty little thing this was, sat on the mantelpiece next to the ships.

‘‘Look here,’’ said Kinvig as he scooped up some more spoons. ‘‘They’ve got some kind of letters on them.’’

‘‘These too,’’ agreed China, holding up a fork.

‘‘HH,’’ I read, this being more than the others could manage.

‘‘And there’s a little mark underneath,’’ noticed Kinvig. ‘‘It looks like an anchor.’’

It hardly seemed worth paying much heed over. There was no telling where Rob would have got his things from, after all. ‘‘Never you mind about that. Just get it back to the boat.’’

The fact was I still hadn’t quite given up hope of finding some actual jink, so while the others shuffled their way back over the window, clanking with heavy pockets, I took myself upstairs to have a little look. It was mighty dark up there, but I could just make out a door and find the handle, so open it I did. Inside I made out a bed, being a big jumble of blankets as if it hadn’t been made since Rob had jaunted himself off to Colchester. There was no sign of any chest or such, which was a disappointment, but I spied a couple of fine candleholders on the mantelpiece, and it was one of these I was taking a look at, in fact—trying to see if it was solid silver or just plate, which would hardly be worth troubling over—when all of a sudden a most curious thing happened. Over from the bed a voice called out, being a snapped, military sort of voice, and it said, ‘‘What the devil are you doing, Phillips?’’

Just seven words, that was all, but what a lot seven words can tell a man. First of all these seven told of how that bed wasn’t quite so empty as it had looked. Second they put me nicely in the know about a fellow named Phillips, who sounded as if he was some rat of a servant, and, as
far as I could guess, must either be having his night off or was a very sound sleeper. Lastly, and sweetest of all, there was the little gem of a discovery that I wasn’t in cousin Rob’s house at all, and never had been.

All in all I thought it best to leave the candleholder, whether it was silver or not. Out through the door I went and behind me I heard what wasn’t any kind of word at all, but a kind of well-spoken howl. Well, given the right day I can be swift enough on my feet. Down those stairs I went, leaping three at a time, then through that sitting-room window clean as a ball through a barrel, and till I was dashing away towards the river. The rest of them hadn’t yet reached the boat and were taking daintiest little steps to keep from slipping in the mud. They stopped and looked round when they saw me coming in my chase, and looked like they were about to start asking foolish questions—which I was in no mood to stop and answer—but fortunately just that moment there was a bright flash from the upstairs window of the house, and also a mighty bang, that settled their curiosity nice as nip. Mud and speed are never a good match, I dare say, and it cost us a few nasty slips—as well as several forks and spoons—but finally we got ourselves into the boat and pushed off from the shore.

After that we just rowed fast as devils, too busy for chatter. Nobody said a word when, just a little further round the island, we passed a wretched-looking cottage, standing all alone, with an old rowboat sat upside down and eel nets draped from posts. But I gave a good hard stare at Kinvig, seeing as he’d been the one who asked at the inn.

It took a good while to make our way back down the Blackwater, and all the while I was sat at the tiller, staring at the boys with their bulging pockets that clinked as they rowed, and the more I looked, the less happy I was. By the time the ship came into view I’d already made up my mind, at least half anyway, while the other half was soon settled by the passengers. I’d hoped they’d be all abed, you see, dreaming their clever Englishmen’s dreams, and that we’d at least get ourselves aboard nice and quietly, but no, they never would make themselves so convenient. There they were, all leaning on the rail to watch. It was the Reverend had the quickest eyes.

‘‘A clock!’’ he called out when we were still fifty yards away. ‘‘They’ve found a clock. Hurrah! Our troubles are over.’’

Renshaw, the plants boy, was more doubtful. ‘‘Are you sure that’s the right kind?’’

If there was one thing I didn’t want to be just then it was interesting, but interesting we were. As we clambered onto the deck, they were all eyes.

‘‘But, Captain, how did you get so covered in mud?’’ wondered Dr. Potter, in that watching way of his.

I just shrugged.

‘‘And you’ve found some new cutlery for the ship’s table,’’ observed the Reverend. ‘‘I must say I’m very glad. I didn’t wish to complain, but the rest was rather poor.’’

Bad luck? Why, we had enough of it to fill up half the ocean. It wouldn’t be long before our friend with the gun had the whole neighbourhood started, and once they found our footmarks in the mud they’d be racing down that river Blackwater fast as dogs that have smelt rabbit. If we hurled the clock and every knife and fork clean over the side we still had three witnesses against us, and all of them respectable as royalty. The more I thought on it, the worse it looked. Even fleeing wouldn’t be safe, as this sort of foolishness was sure to catch the eye of newspapers. It’s not every day, after all, that a house is tidied up straight out from the ocean, Viking style. All it would take would be for one of our Englishmen passengers to put a sight on the wrong page of the wrong paper and we’d be cooked as herrings on the fire. Running a bit of contraband was one thing, but housebreaking was quite another. That was gaol, or even transportation. That was ruin, for sure.

Not that we were finished yet. Nobody could find us guilty if we weren’t here, and one little thing, at least, was on our side. The wind. There was a lovely sea breeze pulling clear away from Maldon and out towards the ocean. If we could just keep away long enough, then who’d remember or care about a few soup spoons? As to where, well, I never even had to choose, as it had been chosen already. ‘‘Brew,’’ I called out. ‘‘We’re weighing anchor.’’

‘‘Maldon?’’ he asked. ‘‘We’ll never get up river in this breeze.’’

‘‘Tasmania.’’

For once Brew lost his smooth look.

W
HEN THE SEALING SEASON
was done I set off for George Town in the whaleboat just like usual, and all the way I was wondering if I’d find a small rowboat as good as the one I lost to that gin, which had been a handy little thing. The tide was going out nicely when I arrived, so I beached the boat and took myself across to that penny-pinching bugger Bill Haskins. Haskins loaned me his cart to bring over the skins, which I needed what with Ned being gone, and once I had them all on his floor we started our money talk, which went sweet enough, too. He said he knew of a rowboat going that was a tidy vessel and had just had a fresh bit of varnish. His offer for the skins was better than I’d hoped and was enough for the rowboat and the stores I needed with even a little keeping money on top. He couldn’t get hold of the silver till the next day, so he said, nor the man who had the rowboat to sell, but he gave me a Spanish dollar and a couple of French coins to keep me floating till then, which seemed only right.

After sitting alone on that island nearly a full twelvemonth I was feeling more than ready for a bit of company. By evening I’d had a good fill of rum at the inn and a taste of that Lill, besides, in the room at the back. I won’t say Lill was anything special, being ripe past her best, and sour of temper too, making a proper fuss if I got a little rough, but she was a fair bit of leather and after so long I was in no mood for complaining. I was just thinking of having myself another turn, in fact, when those redcoats bastards burst in, all boots and muskets and calling me escaped. I gave them what trouble I could, dropping one against the wall
so his head got a crack, and giving another a bloody mouth, but they were too many and had me in the end.

By then I was thinking, and my thoughts weren’t pretty, neither. I gave Lill a stare but she looked all surprise, so I reckoned it wasn’t her. As they started hauling me away, I called out to that redcoat officer, ‘‘Who was it then? What bastard sent you after me?’’ He never said a word, of course, but he sort of blinked, which told me enough. All at once I knew who it was had snitched on me, clear as daylight.

It was rough being back in convict clothes when I thought I’d got free of them for good. Being escaped, and violent too, I was put on the roads, which was bad, especially in the cold weather. That was two years and then I got into a fight with an officer with too much mouth on him, and I was sent to Hobart on the warehouses they were building, which was bad too. The talk going round was it would get no better, as there was a new governor come, Alder, who was known for being a proper martinet, and wanted every one of us flogged into quietness. That sounded trouble, no denying. Not that I gave it much thought. What I did think about, and often too, was my old friend Bill Haskins and what a clever cove he’d been to catch himself a whole boatload of sealskins for just one Spanish dollar and a couple of French coins.

M
OTHER
’
S HEARTFELT DESIRE
deep inside her breast was that we should go out from the world to kill Father. It seemed woeful, yes, and scaring besides, to go away into some heinous unknown place, where stories in rocks and hills were not ours. Some of mine, such as Grandmother and Tartoyen, said they wouldn’t go, which was ruination, as it meant we must get cut in two, like some tree chopped by lightning, and everyone must choose staying or going. Mongana and his mother were keeping there, and Grandmother said I must stay too, as I was too young for fighting and she and Tartoyen would look after me, but still I wanted to go with Mother. I did believe I could win her tender cherishings, you see, as they were my own deserving. Hadn’t I waited for her all those
summers, and dreamed her walking so pretty from the sea? Worst, if I stayed I would be giving her to Tayaleah, my little scut of a never-guessed brother.

Tayaleah means owl but in truth he never was like any, as that is some strong, swooping thing while he was weakly, with his thin legs and looking always fearful. It was a mystery to confound that Mother could give him her adorings, but so she did. When Tayaleah tried to make a spear and it was piss-poor blunt and wouldn’t throw, Mother said it was the best spear. Also when Tayaleah climbed some easy tree hunting possum—who probably wasn’t even there—Mother said he was bravest boy. Even at night by the fire she did cradle his little snivelly head and keep him safe from cold and dark. This made me frenzied, yes, as that cradling was mine not his. That little pisser should be vanished, killed to nowhere, and it was my heartfelt desire deep inside my breast to spear him dead. He was so weakly that I surmised this would be easy, too, except for Mother. She stayed with him always and gave me hating looks if I went near. Tayaleah knew I had revilings for him and I could see his fright of me, and yet he never was hateful back, which was some puzzle to confound. Why, I never even heard him say heinous lies about me to Mother, though she would believe anything he told. I suppose there was just no wrath in him, even for enemies. No, I think I would almost have liked him better if he was raging, as then we would be fine foes.

Finally the time came to go away. That was lamentable. It was hard to leave so many of my ones, even ones I hated, like Mongana and his mother. Roingin were cut in two also, and goodbyes were long and slow, while even dog animals Mother brought went quiet, like they knew this was some mournful thing. Then Mother said we must go now and we began, some walking almost backwards so they could look still. By and by that big mob cracked and became two, like fingers unsticking. Shouts got loud and wavings bigger as we went further. Then suddenly we were in trees, others were getting hidden and all I could see was this new mob, that was Mother’s mob.

Mother did try and kill Father before, of course, but she was confounded. Years before, when I was just some new baby, she went back to the shore near Father’s island, but then she couldn’t find Father’s boat,
which she hid before. Probably sea took it. That was some grievous blow for Mother, as Father’s island was far and even with a bark canoe she couldn’t go just alone. So she walked beside the sea by and by, making spears and hunting game, and watching for some other boat, though she never found any. Once she got chased by white scuts, and later she slipped and hurt one leg in rocks so she couldn’t hunt game, so she got hungry and sick. By then she walked so far she was beyond Roingin world, and reached some place which we hardly knew even in stories. I think she would be dead, too, except that she met another mob, whose name was TOMMEGINER, who were eating muttonfish by the sea.