English passengers (52 page)

So I decided to drink RUM. I never drank this till then, no, because I knew it would be my ruination and the end of all enduring. I saw Palawa who did, you see, and it was as if their life got tired and went to sleep, till all that was left inside was getting mad and staggering and wanting more rum. But now I didn’t care about enduring as I just wanted to get finished quick, so rum was correct I could divine. Thus I went to INN. This was interesting, too, as I never looked inside any such before. Sun was shining, making smoke from tobacco pipes a pretty thing, floor was wooden and creaking, and on walls were so many bottles, very beautiful, all different colours. White scuts sitting there looked at me as if I was some humour to amuse, but I never minded, and when man in front of beautiful bottles was suspecting I showed money that I got from cutting whales, and he gave me rum just like I asked, in a glass, small and heavy.

Rum was my surprise. I thought it would be like juice from cider gum tree, but no, it had no colour and little sweetness and tasted like metal, or some burning thing. It made me cough, so white scuts laughed, and one of them, with a fat belly, shouted, ‘‘Too strong for you, is it, Jack?’’ but I didn’t answer and just drank more, as though it was heinous I
wanted to learn it, just like I learned Smith’s LETTERS and SUMS and GOD before. So I began to understand rum. I did suppose it would make me feel happy but no, this was never so. It made me feel NOTHING, and this was great good fortune, too, as NOTHING was just what I was seeking. By and by I got another and then another, as I was hungry to get all the NOTHING in the world. But then I learned this rum was more difficult than I knew, as suddenly I was dizzy and feeling crook, so I had to go away, legs leaning like I was on some ship, and white scuts laughing, and when I got outside I was sick and all my beautiful NOTHING was gone.

After, I felt so bad and sat by a wall for a time. That was when I grew shamed, and suddenly dying seemed some piss-poor fearful thing, like fleeing in fright, which I never did before. How could I do this when that what-they-did-to-Mother was still here? No, I did divine, dying was not mine to get. Mine was finding poor Mother and giving her fine goodbyes, like she must have. So it was that this became my intent. It was no easy thing, of course. Num white scuts took her so the only way I could find them was to get help from other white scuts, while I didn’t know any except a few, like Forbes and whale-cutting men, who were quite kindly but no usefulness. So I surmised I must try strangers.

First I washed my face and cleaned my coat where it got dirty from the wall, and then I went to Government House, to see governor, who I supposed was the best one, as he was white men’s chief. Servant told that governor was busy but governor’s wife could see me, which I surmised must do. He took me to some room, very large with flowers here and there, and governor’s wife sitting down on her long chair, red and beautiful. She made female servant get tea and then she got tearful, telling how woeful she was that Mother got stolen so. This gave me hope, yes, but only for a short time, as when I asked if governor would seek Mother’s stealers she got cross in her tears, saying, ‘‘Dear Gerald’s doing everything he can,’’ as if I supposed he was doing nothing much, though I never said this. Then she told how she felt so woeful about Mother that she was suffering hardship, and could not sleep well in the night, and thus I divined that governor’s wife’s tears were not about Mother after all, but were about governor’s wife, and what a wonder to behold she was getting so sad. See, now she was looking away through
her window and telling, ‘‘I’m sorry, Mr. Cromwell, but this terrible thing really is more heinous than I can endure,’’ as if it was her mother, not mine, that got taken and cut. Then she told that I must go and see some fellow called POLICEMAN MCBRIDE, and I knew this meant AWAY NOW, BLACKFELLOW, AS I HAVE OTHER THINGS TO DO.

Still I went to see policeman McBride, just in hope. I could divine he would be no usefulness just from my long waiting on bench outside, with other policemen yawning or watching as if I was some humour to amuse, and surely enough when I finally got to his room he was more interested in wall behind me than my questionings. ‘‘Try not to get distressed, Mr. Cromwell,’’ he told, ‘‘we’re doing everything we can,’’ but his smile said YOU ARE JUST SOME TROUBLEMAKING FELLOW and WHAT DO I CARE ABOUT SOME OLD BLACK WOMAN’S BONES? He said how policeman who was searching was wondrous clever, but when I asked what this wondrous policeman found till now he said it was ‘‘still too soon,’’ which I surmised meant he found nothing. Finally he told I must see hospital’s chief who was called DR. GIF-FORD, which meant GO AWAY, BLACKFELLOW, just like governor’s wife said before.

Gifford was old man, very thin, and touching his head with no hair with his finger sometimes, as if he must know in case new hairs were there now. He was angry at once, as if I called him magic words—which I never did—and told that, though what-they-did-to-Mother was too lamentable, still it was nothing to do with him, but just some woeful mischief by mystery strangers. No, Gifford said, his hospital was great good fortune and num there were all tidings of joy, so I must be happy. But I wasn’t happy. In truth I was getting too tired of these white scuts telling me how they were so clever and correct. I wasn’t interested in them, I was interested in Mother.

That was a woeful moment. I went outside, sun low but warm still, and I walked, going nowhere, and feeling I was some foolish ruination. Didn’t I ever learn anything? White men never would help some black-fellow against other white men. They never did before and they never would. Why, they had all the world now and could keep any mystery to confound they wanted, being like a wall, some parts hating, some parts
lazy, but all hiding other white scuts’ heinousness. Even kinder ones, like Forbes and whale-cutting men, never would help me against their ones.

It was thinking of Forbes made me ponder. So I recollected him that morning before, coming to my cottage to ask if I wanted to do work, and giving his heinous news. Didn’t he say he knew it from story told by NEWSPAPER? I only looked at newspaper once and it seemed just white men’s stuff but now I supposed it was mine, too. Also newspapers were many, so they couldn’t be hidden, while I surmised white scuts never cared what was in them, as they didn’t think our ones never would see. So I asked stranger num till they pointed to house of COLONIAL TIMES.

This was just rooms, quite dusty, with so many shelves going high up the walls. Just one white man was there and he wondered at me, but finally he went into another room and got that newspaper, showing me PAGE that told Mother’s woefulness. So he watched, too surprised, as I sat and read, which num supposed was too clever for our ones. Page was hateful, yes, as I could see newspaper never cared about Mother at all, as if her cutting was their joke, but still it was useful, and better than I hoped. Fruitful things were as follows. First, that some DOCTOR did it, almost sure. Second, about watching man, THOMAS PERCH, and fellows he saw, who were driver, short but strong, and other, tall with beard. This gave me ponderings, yes, but still it was not enough. So I decided I must go to watching man’s inn, that newspaper told me was called ANCHOR TAVERN.

Anchor Tavern was loud with white men’s singing because tomorrow was CHRISTMAS, but though barman was suspecting, by and by he answered yes, watching man Thomas Perch is here, and he pointed to small fellow with foolish face sitting by window. So I asked him if there was anything he saw that NEWSPAPER never told. He scratched his arm, not sure if he should answer, but then he said yes, he could recollect some such. First he said cart was yellow, which I hardly cared about. Then he told me something that was interesting. In truth I did wonder this already. After all, who was there when poor Mother died, and said she must get taken to hospital?

Thomas Perch said taller man’s beard was a RED BEARD.

Self just dressing for lodging house Christmas dinner when heard Wilson loudly shouting, ‘‘Praise be to God,’’ ‘‘Let us thank the Lord,’’ etc. etc. Self supposed = he merely sermonizing re Christmas, but when stepped into sitting room found he = with half-caste aborigine (name: Cromwell) who = at gov’s tea party. Self at once saw trouble. Surely enough Wilson excitedly explaining that half-caste had changed his mind + now = willing be our guide.

Self considered this = entirely absurd. He not even pure aborigine, i.e. primitive nature further corrupted by conflicting influence of opposed Types (estimate development in womb arrested after approx. twenty-eight weeks, i.e. eleven fewer than Saxon, two fewer even than other blacks). Analytical faculty = entirely absent. Beyond all understanding to place selves in such hands. Before self could object half-caste asking (in v. primitive English) if self knew anything re theft of body of aborigine Mary, saying she = his mother. Regarded self with strangest look: searching + malevolent. Confess this caused self momentary unease. Self stoutly insisted had no knowledge re matter, then struck back, questioning Wilson as to whether = wise to engage guide at this late stage, suggesting this may = great strain upon stores etc. etc. (half-caste scowling). Wilson = wholly deaf to reason as per usual: insisting = of greatest significance that half-caste appearing on Christmas Day, as this means he = ‘‘gift of God,’’ ‘‘sign of divine blessing,’’ etc. etc.

Afterwards, however, self reconsidered. Considered own alarm re half-caste’s accusing look = wholly irrational as = quite impossible that he possesses logical faculty required to reach such conclusion. Must merely = some random instance of his barbaric behaviour. If his guidance = deplorable (as self = sure it shall) this will = poor reflection on Wilson, not self.

Self now see his employment could = of some usefulness as he certain to provide v. interesting study re notions. May even lead self to further specimens in wilderness.

F
INALLY
,
ON THIS
the third day of the new year 1858—a date that would, I had no doubt, be well remembered in future ages—our expedition was ready to depart. What joy was within me as I climbed into the saddle and gave out a cheery shout of ‘‘Away!’’ What wonder I felt as my call was answered with a mighty creaking of packs and the sound of two hundred hooves ringing out, as this Christian venture, of which I humbly found myself leader, bravely set forth upon its way.

Our departure from Hobart was, I confess, a little restrained. I had made no secret of the day and time, and expected quite a crowd would be gathered to bid us farewell, but it seemed the earliness of the hour—I had been determined to make a prompt start—was too much for these lazy Tasmanians. The only people to be seen through the morning darkness, indeed, were a group of fisherman, who seemed mostly concerned with carrying their catch onto the quay, and also a couple of tavern drinkers still remaining from the night before, whose attentions, in truth, we could happily have done without. As we passed through the city streets, however, I was pleased to see our great party was the source of no little interest, causing curtains to twitch and faces to stare out in surprise.

Before long we left the town behind and had conquered our first mile, then our second, our fifth, and the early morning sun was rising above the Derwent River—already I could think of this only as the Ghe Pyrrenne, or Euphrates—that stretched away to our right, so broad and majestic. The land was rich with farmhouses, and often their inhabitants would step forth to ask who we might be, and whither we were journeying.
What looks of amazement appeared upon their faces when I answered with a cheerful shout, ‘‘We are going to find the Garden of Eden.’’

Having never taken part in any such enterprise till now, I must confess to being agreeably surprised by the swiftness with which I found I became accustomed to rough travelling ways, as, after only a few days, I felt quite as suited to this outdoors life as any native aborigine. In the morning I would wake with the dawn and wait, with an explorer’s patience, as the mule drivers brought the fire to life, so they might prepare a rude breakfast of sugared tea, porridge, biscuits and freshly cooked eggs. As soon as they had cleaned the cooking pots, taken down the tents and packed all away, I would climb into the saddle and lead us fearlessly forth once again. Soon after midday we would stop for the very simplest of meals, this being little more than bread, potted ham or beef and perhaps a few pieces of sugared fruit, and at four we halt again, so we might endeavour to restore ourselves with biscuits and cold tea. Finally, after still more miles had been dispatched, we would choose a place to make camp—hardly caring how wild and remote it was—and, in a triumph of weary limbs, I would sit with my colleagues about our sturdy portable dining table and await a well-earned dinner, composed of boiled rice and Aberdeen hotchpotch or preserved salmon. Renshaw and Potter would quite insist on completing the day with a glass of brandy, and though, needless to say, I took none, I saw no harm in making a little allowance in such circumstances.