English passengers (34 page)

In a few moments they were trussed nicely. I didn’t want to set
Bowles against us any more than was needed, so I had them dragged back to the shelter and leaned against a wall, where they’d be out of the sun. Even that didn’t seem quite enough, though. ‘‘Fetch them a cask of water from the boat, and some ship’s biscuit too.’’ So we arranged these in front of them, all tidy, like a poor man’s picnic. Lastly I wrote a note-unsigned—telling how it wasn’t us who had their gold, but the body that had run off which I put in Bowles’s pocket. Then we clambered back into the boat and rowed away for all we were worth. Brew and the rest were leaning over the side with their rifles as we pulled near.

‘‘You’ve been so long, Captain. Whatever happened?’’

‘‘We’re raising anchor.’’

My hope was that Bowles wouldn’t think to kick up a fuss, seeing as he’d been cheating himself My fear was he’d be so riled at us that he’d be past caring (I did wish we’d not thought to douse him with seawater so). Either way it could do us no harm to put a few hundred miles between him and us, and as fast as we might. I dare say there’s nothing to make a journey feel slow than knowing a handful of minutes may mean the difference between gaol and freedom, but still it did seem as if everything that might think of holding us back did just that. Raising anchor can be a troublesome business on the best of days, but this time it was as if we’d dropped it into some hole half as deep as hell, and it took an age and a half of shouting and heaving at the capstan before the
Sincerity
was finally freed. Then there was the breeze to fight, this being less friendly to us now we were journeying back the other way. Finally even the moon left us, skulking away behind a cloud, and it got so dark that we were using lead lines to keep from running clean aground. It was nearly dawn before the boats hauled us back up the river. Luckily Melbourne seemed still sleeping, and I saw nobody watching us as we tied up at our berth of the day before. I had half been expecting a crowd of customs and police and such waiting there to shout us hello.

I called over to Kinvig. After his fine cleverness with the oars he’d be catching every piece of rotten dogsbody work that was in, from finding passengers to polishing the pigs’ backsides. ‘‘Go over to the Englishmen’s hotel and catch them back here. Wake them from their beds if need be.’’

Away he crept, cowed as could be.

After that there was nothing to be done but wait. Having been
awake all through the night, I thought I might as well go below and try and catch a few moments’ rest. Not that it was easy. The sun was up now, heating the air dank so my clothes clung, while there’s nothing like needing sleep to chase it away. Mostly I just lay there, rolling and twisting like a herring landed on the deck. I must have slipped off in the end, though, as I was woken by a loud banging that sounded like something being heaved over the stairs away forwards. There was a good murmuring of voices spilling down from the deck. At first I was well pleased, supposing the Englishmen and their luggage were coming aboard. It was only when I’d got up from the bed and had myself a stretch that I got to wondering. The banging shouldn’t have been coming from forwards, you see, as that was the fo’c’sle. I thought I’d best take a look. It was as well I did. The first thing I saw as I clambered onto the deck was Ritchie Moore, the sailmaker, and three others of the crew besides, all stood on the old wrecked vessel we were tied to, with their sea chests at their feet, all set to go. It didn’t take book learning to know what was going on here. Like so many rats they were, fleeing away at this little scran of trouble we’d found. What was worse they were cooing at the rest to follow.

‘‘Don’t be scared. Come along with us, why don’t you, and dig yourselves a fortune of gold.’’

‘‘Get back here,’’ I shouted.

Ritchie Moore just cackled.

That was when I got another little surprise, which was chief mate Brew. There he was, on the quarterdeck, looking on smooth and calm as if he was the emperor’s uncle, and doing not a thing to help. ‘‘Why in seven heavens didn’t you wake me?’’ I called out.

He never even looked shamed. ‘‘I was just going to, Captain.’’

I guessed his thinking well enough, besides. The little sleetch was weighing up whether to join the others and run. Here was a fine little prospect. If I wasn’t careful I’d lose the whole lot of them, and find myself stranded completely, to be hurled by Australian Englishmen into some gaol, while the
Sincerity
slowly rotted away like all those other vessels.

Not that I was one to give up without a fight.

T
HE
C
APTAIN
was developing a most unwelcome habit of demanding we leave port at only a moment’s notice. On this occasion his messenger was the little second mate, Kinvig, and a most uncivil sort of messenger he was, too, banging rudely on our doors to rouse us. This may have been merited with regard to Potter—and it certainly was for Renshaw—but it was hardly necessary for myself as, being always an early riser, I was already dressed, and even writing an entry in my diary.

‘‘Another unmissable wind, I suppose,’’ I told the fellow, with some coolness, in answer to his impatient demand that I make myself ready to leave.

‘‘That’s it. You’re all to come at once.’’

‘‘What about breakfast?’’

‘‘There’s no time for that.’’

A man of gentleness I may be, but there are some matters on which I simply will not be bullied, and breakfast is one such, especially when, as in this case, I would be required to pay for the meal in full whether I had it or not. I dug in my heels, informing Kinvig that I was not prepared to throw good money away merely because of some shipboard whim, and when he continued to protest I settled the question—rather neatly, as it seemed to me—simply by taking my place at the dining table, and letting him know that if he did not leave me in peace I would order extra eggs.

If truth be told the prospect of departure was, for all its suddenness, not entirely unwelcome. Though we had been in port only three days I felt already impatient to leave. The detour caused by the difficult sea currents had been no small one and, in view of Dr. Potter’s scheming, I was much concerned by the thought of how many days, or even weeks, might have been lost to us. Nor was it as if our halting place held much charm. I do not believe that I had ever found myself in a spot so wholly lacking in any sense of the spiritual as Melbourne town, where there seemed only one subject that attracted men’s attention. When, at dinner in our lodgings, I thought it might be of interest to our fellow guests to tell them of our expedition, their only response was to wonder why I was
not remaining in Victoria, so I might apply my knowledge of geology to a search for gold. As if there is not greater wealth to be found than mere mineral. When I endeavoured to explain that my purpose was of an altogether higher kind, they displayed little less than rudeness, turning to one another so they might renew their dismal chatter about prices and diggings.

My two colleagues, astonishingly, appeared to like the town. Ren-shaw, as ever, vanished on the first evening, and the next (I attempted to have words with him, though he insisted he had merely been enjoying the town’s sights, while there was nothing I could prove). As for Potter, he too was rarely to be seen, except impatiently hurrying in or out. I had little notion as to what he was preoccupying himself with until that same morning when the second mate Kinvig came banging on our doors, demanding that we must hurry back to the ship. My breakfast had just been brought when Potter and Renshaw came clumping down the stairs, both looking pale and peeved at being roused from their beds (though I felt full of brightness). The doctor was arguing with Kinvig as he approached.

‘‘But this is quite impossible. I have half a dozen packing cases still to collect, all paid for. Also there is Hooper, my manservant. It will take an hour at least to fetch him.’’

‘‘Your what?’’ I must confess to feeling more than a little annoyed. It was typical of Potter to arrange such a thing, without so much as consulting myself though I was the chief of this expedition. It had been clearly agreed in London that we would all of us forgo the comfort of servants during the sea journey, as neither the size of the ship nor the funds available to the expedition would permit such a thing, and yet, when I reminded him of this fact, he was quite unabashed.

‘‘We’ve reached Australia, have we not? The sea journey is all but over. You needn’t worry, Vicar. Hooper’s wages shall be paid from my own pocket.’’

If I had known he was planning such a thing I would certainly have hired a servant myself if simply to maintain the dignity of my position as leader. Now there was no time. ‘‘That’s as may be,’’ I told him firmly. ‘‘There may not be quarters for him aboard the ship. No, I will certainly have to raise this matter with Captain Kewley.’’

That brought a scowl from the doctor, but there was little he could do, being so plainly in the wrong. In the meantime a cab had been sent for the man, and to collect the doctor’s packing cases, all of which took no little time, causing Mr. Kinvig to fidget greatly. I had assumed the packing cases would be nothing more than simple luggage containers to ease his travel, but instead no fewer than six wooden boxes appeared, each of them of the bulkiest dimensions.

‘‘What on earth are these for?’’ I asked.

‘‘My medical specimens.’’

My patience was wearing thin. ‘‘You should have sought my permission before you purchased them. The ship’s hold may be full.’’

Do you know, he even stamped his foot. The man simply lacked all sense of respect. ‘‘But we all know it’s empty.’’

I would not be browbeaten. ‘‘That we shall have to wait and see.’’

It was soon afterwards that his new servant, Hooper, finally arrived. Though Potter attempted to sing the man’s praises, claiming that he had been in the employ of an eminent doctor colleague of his living in Melbourne, I found him hardly prepossessing. His clothes were poor, while he was possessed of a coarseness, and an aura of thwarted discontent, that led me to assume he had been lured to Melbourne in search of gold and had met with little success. I had found a cart to convey us to the ship, though the packing cases being so oversized, this proved hardly adequate for our needs. Hooper, the driver and second mate Kinvig struggled to load everything aboard, but I’m afraid they did a poor job, and I had to endure a most uncomfortable journey, one of the boxes digging painfully into my back. All in all I was more than a little stiff by the time we finally drew up beside the
Sincerity.

The ship, I was surprised to see, was entirely prepared to depart, with two boats already lowered, waiting to pull her from her berth. Curiously enough, the wind, which Kinvig had said was so unmissable, was not strong at all, blowing in light gusts. I could only suppose that the Captain had been concerned it might die away altogether. He seemed, certainly, in a most impatient and distracted frame of mind. When I tried to raise the matter of Potter’s manservant and packing cases, and make clear my own grave reservations, he seemed hardly even to hear, simply
waving me away and ordering his men to load the boxes aboard, which seemed hardly proper. Potter, needless to say, quite beamed.

All in all it had been a tiring morning. As the
Sincerity
began her slow progress down the little river, I felt no wish to remain on the deck, where Potter was instructing his new servant as to the shipboard arrangements, which he did in a quite unnecessarily showy fashion, so I retired to the cabin to rest. By the time I returned to the deck the ship was already several miles out to sea and the town was nothing more than a jumble on the shore. It was as I stood thus, wondering how long it would take us to reach Tasmania, that I observed a most curious thing. The crew were engaged in some commonplace adjustment of the sails, but what was far from ordinary was the manner in which this was being performed. Glancing up at the rigging, I saw that where I would have expected to see ten or more men at work, I could count no more five, one of these being the chief mate, Brew, who never normally ventured aloft. More surprising still, when I looked back to the quarterdeck I saw the wheel was not being operated by one of the crew at all, but by the Captain himself

‘‘Whatever has happened?’’ I asked him. ‘‘Have some of the crew been taken sick?’’

‘‘Not sick.’’ Kewley frowned, seeming quite out of temper. ‘‘We left some behind.’’

It seemed a most astonishing remark, and far from adequate. ‘‘Whatever do you mean?’’

He peered past me at the horizon. ‘‘They weren’t needed.’’

‘‘Whyever not?’’

The Captain shrugged. ‘‘The ship carries spare ropes and timbers and canvas, does she not? Well, these were spare crew.’’

T
HE FIRST TIME
I heard about the white man’s God, who was called GOD, was when we were walking through the forest with Robson. It was interesting, yes, to have some white man here, so close I could even touch him with my fingers, when before the only num I ever saw before was getting speared or killing us. There he was, Robson, leading the way. He was a little fat, and dirty in his white man’s dead-skin clothes, but laughing as he took us hither and thither, on and again, fast like there was no waiting in him. All the while he would tell us about God.

‘‘Who made you?’’ he’d ask, with special watching in his eyes. If I didn’t answer he’d say it for me, looking just a little sad, so I felt like I was some rogue and bad fellow. ‘‘God made you.’’ Even then he wasn’t done. Another few walking steps and he’d start all again: ‘‘Who made you, Peevay?’’ This time I’d answer and quick, just to stop him from getting woeful.

‘‘God made me.’’

That would make him smile.

Of course, I knew it wasn’t really this fellow God who made us. It was other ones who are secret, like everybody knew. I never did say this to Robson, though, as I didn’t want to grieve him when he was kindly saving us. Besides, those things weren’t for telling to some foreign stranger. Truly Robson’s God was one puzzle to confound. Everybody knew where our real ones were, as they could see them every night shining in the sky, but when I asked Robson where God was, he just said, ‘‘He is everywhere.’’ He even said he was three people, which seemed some grievous mystery to confuse. Also he told that if we didn’t believe
God was everywhere, then God would get angry and send us to some piss-poor place to get burnt, which was heinous, I did ponder. Our real ones never did care if you knew they were in the sky. They were just in the sky.