English passengers (59 page)

I could only suppose they’d had no great luck finding paradise after all.

The Reverend hardly glanced at the commotion of contraband as he came aboard, being interested only in his own ranting, but Potter was all eyes at that brandy and tobacco, opening his mouth as if he was about to say something, only to think wiser and close it again. There was trouble, as I’d known there must be. They all of them looked weak and tame as babes, but still I was in no mood for taking chances. I took the pistol that was sticking out from Potter’s pocket.

‘‘Mylchreest’ll take you below and get you something to eat and drink.’’

You’d have thought the offer of a good feed would have settled them nicely, but no. ‘‘I won’t be put in with them,’’ the Reverend quite screamed. ‘‘They’ll murder me.’’

The doctor just rolled his eyes as if he’d never heard such nonsense. Still it seemed simpler to let Wilson have his way, and so I put him in the galley. The other four were too many for the sleeping cabins, so they went in the carpentry workshop. I had Chalse Christian take away his tools, especially the sharp ones, and had him fit a bolt to the door, just so they wouldn’t go accidentally straying. Mylchreest took them some biscuits and beef and when he came back with their plates—which were picked clean—he said they were sleeping like kittens. The Reverend was the same, judging by the snores spilling out from the galley. I didn’t trouble putting a lock on him, seeing as he was pure fool, but I gave Mylchreest the revolving pistol, and told him to settle down on the stairs and keep watch on the lot of them, just to be safe. In the morning, when
they were better rested, I’d have a stab at winning them round. I’d have to admit to our trade, there being no use denying it now, and then appeal to them to keep quiet. It might do no good, to be sure, Englishmen being the kind that love laws sooner than their own flesh and blood, but there was no harm in trying, especially seeing as we’d saved their skins.

What with all this fussing, the goods took longer to shift than I’d expected, and it was late afternoon before it was all finally gone and we had our jink. I counted this out three times and every penny was there, right enough, which was some joy at least, as a tidy sum it made, and more than we’d have seen from that Melbourne customs cheat. Jed Grey didn’t linger, having his boys weigh anchor and flee away straight off, but we stayed, having agreed to wait another day to keep us looking like strangers. Brew found a cask of brandy that Grey’s boys had missed— though it had been paid for with the rest—and it seemed only right to wet the hour when—seven months late and half a world off course—we were finally rid of that certain cargo.

Self never thought ship’s biscuit + cask beef could taste so good. Felt quite faint from craving satisfied, though could have eaten thrice as much. As selves ate, ship’s carpenter fitting bolt to outside door. He claiming this in case selves = disease. Self = too tired to worry. Fell into deepest sleep among wood shavings on floor.

Dark when self awoke. Others still snoring on bunks. Now self = rested found selves’ situation seemed greatly perturbing. Tried door + found bolt poorly done, so able push open few inches: could just see steps to deck, where = legs of sitting crewman. Though could not see head, looked like steward, Mylchreest, while on lap = revolving pistol, confirming own suspicion that selves = captives. Had no doubt as to reason. From sheaves tobacco + casks liquor that self saw on deck before, quite clear Sincerity = deliberately contrived smuggling vessel. This surely also = explanation re other mysteries during voyage, e.g., sudden
departures etc. etc. (wombat?). Manxmen using selves all this while to disguise their crime. Own concern = their intentions re selves. They planning cut selves’ throats + hurl all overboard to preserve them from discovery, imprisonment etc. etc.? Who would ever know? Would explain presence armed guard on stairs.

Other problem = Wilson. Clear he determined cause ruin to self (wish had not dallied so with trial). Will certainly accuse selves of attempting his murder. If matter ever reached court of law all would rest on his word vs. selves. Could prove perilous re self as he = churchman, while Skeggs + Hodges could = unreliable witnesses. V. perturbing. Little to be done presently, however, as 1st concern = Manx.

Self woke others + told them of own alarms. They also v. concerned. Did what little selves could: removed legs of carpentry stool so have some small means to defend selves if Manx murderously burst within. Then listened carefully for any of their talk that might give clue re their intentions. Heard nothing but faint chatter (useless, as all in Manx). Then heard singing.

S
O
I
FINALLY
got my killing war against num, thirty summers late. As I went following and watching, waiting my chance, taking it quickly, I often recalled Mother, and pondered how she would feel tidings of joy if she ever knew what I did now. It was easy, yes, as white scuts were stupid here, never finding roots, and too loud and clumsy to catch game, though food was plentiful with no Palawa left, and I could get fat if I liked. As they got piss poor, I got cleverer, recollecting old ways I knew long before. All I must do now was spear Potter and Hooper and others. Potter was hardest as he was careful, always keeping gun in his pocket, and never straying, but I would get him in the end, I did suppose.

Then, when I was so nearly finished, SHIPS were there and took them from the shore. That was some hardship to endure. It is lamentable when something that you think is in your hand, so simple, vanishes away. Yes, it was hateful to think those heinous buggers, Mother’s cutters,
were escaped after all, and could just go away somewhere for their fine times, and never get their just spearing at all.

Time passed and I sat so on the shore, getting woeful feelings deep inside my breast. I could not divine what I should do, no, as there was no use in anything. I only came here to get those scuts and now they were gone. By and by day got older, other ship put up SAILS and flew away, but I could observe Potter’s still stayed. Even when dark came it was still here. That was a surprise, yes. So I became hoping once again, and I divined one last endeavour I could do. I must try this, yes, even if it was just some piss-poor foolishness, as there was nothing else. So I got fire stick and made new fire, small and hidden behind trees. Next I began making my canoe, in the old way, from tree bark tied with twine I did. This was my first canoe in all these many summers and it went strange, pointing rightwards as if it was trying to go round some corner, but it was done, and when I pulled it into sea it floated, yes. Fire stick I stuck in bark, which held it like fingers, behind me so it would keep secret. Spears went longways under twine, just so.

Thus I went, going carefully, leaning forward and pushing the water backwards with my hands. I never was alone in the sea before, even in day, and it was strange. Moon was down, stars were hiding behind clouds, so only seen things were flickers on water from my fire stick and light from lamps on ship’s DECK, swinging hither and thither, first just tiny, then slowly getting bigger. It was as if I was in some huge nothing, with only felt things to know, like cold water on my legs, and little wind on my face. As I went, I could hear white men’s noises getting louder, and these were scraping music that is called FIDDLE, and singing too, though words were nothing I could surmise.

Waves got bigger by and by, and though these were not giant, finally there was one that was too big for my canoe that was trying to go round his corner. So I was in the water and trying to know what way was up, which was hard, as everything was the same dark. Then I felt canoe against my back and I pulled till I could climb up and get saved after all. Only then did I see my downfall. My pulling broke those spears, you see, while fire stick’s fire was finished, of course. So I pondered if I should just go back to land now, as I was some piss-poor ruination now, you see, and not dangerous, going to fight all that ship full of white men without
any killing weapon. But going back to shore, where there was nothing, was too hateful. No, I could not sit and watch Potter’s boat taking him far away, happy and gone, winning again, just from my accident. I must try something, though I never knew what.

So I put my hands in water once more, pushing to go onwards.

I
WOKE WITH
a start, almost as if I had been shaken awake by some mighty hand. Sitting up, I paid no heed to the stiffness I felt from sleeping on the hard galley floor, having but one thought. The Manxmen must be
made
to understand. Evil was come amongst them, and they must know it as evil, look it in the eye as evil, raise their arms and strike it down as evil.

It was dark but a glow shone beneath the galley door and, gently pulling this open, I took in the scene upon the deck, though this was hardly a reassuring one. One crewman was sitting at the top of the stairs they had been taken down, but this was the steward, Mylchreest, who was no candidate for such important work. Even as I watched he left his place to walk over to the rail and slowly spat into the water, though I could clearly see by the light of his lamp that he had left his pistol behind him. Had they not heard my warnings? They should every one of them have been there, keeping guard with every weapon they could find. Instead they were rather at the rear of the ship, drunkenly singing. Should I endeavour to warn them once again? I wondered. The Captain had ignored my alarms when sober, and was even the less likely to do so now, in a state of intoxication.

What I needed was evidence: an irrefutable proof of Potter’s evil. There must surely be something that would prove the truth of my claims. My thoughts darted back and forth over our voyage, recalling our life in the between decks with poor murdered Renshaw. A thought occurred to me. His notebooks. He had been constantly scribbling in these, and secretively, too. Here, surely, would be something. He had, as I
recalled, worked his way through several volumes, so there must be one in his luggage that had been stored aboard the ship. Peering forward, I saw the hatch to the hold was still open from whatever unloading the crew had been busy with before, and the top of a ladder was visible. Mylchreest had returned to his place at the top of the stairs and had his back to me, as he fiddled with his pipe. Carefully opening the door, I crept outside.

Self suddenly heard loud commotion from deck: voice shouting (Wilson?) + loud crashes of objects crunching on deck timbers, frequent almost like rain. Bottles? Stones? Some form contraband? But why falling on deck so? Finally heard boots thumping, Manxmen shouting. Hodges growing fearful, suggesting Wilson = being murdered and we = next.

Self not prepared sit + wait. Also continuing crashing of mysterious objects could = useful, as would drown any noises made by selves. Self pushed at door + peered out, to see Mylchreest = now gone from stairs. This = v. encouraging. Self + Hooper managed to wedge stool legs between door + frame, then levered these, till finally bolt prized away. Door swung open. Selves = free! Began advancing up stairs, v. cautious. Peered carefully through hatch, fearful would find Manxmen waiting above, armed + murderous.

Scene = wholly unexpected. Deck = littered with objects. Sticks + bowls? Hard to see in darkness. Manx = forwards by main hatch to hold. Kewley calling out (sounding alarmed), ‘‘What’s the meaning of this?’’ All at once two round objects flying out from hold, dropping onto deck, breaking open, followed by three more. Wilson’s voice shrieking from below. ‘‘See! See! The devil’s work! The devil’s work.’’

All at once self realized terrible truth. Objects = own specimens. Deck strewn with valued instances, ruinously damaged ! Large part whole collection! Months of hard + careful work = all smashed.

Self shouting out, ‘‘Stop this at once!’’

Manx turning to see. Kewley demanding, ‘‘What are you doing here?’’

Before self could answer Wilson appearing at top of ladder into hold, clutching further specimen, screeching like madman, ‘‘Catch him, catch him! Lock him up!’’ Then raising specimen to hurl at self!

Own reaction more instinctive than considered. Simply could not permit further vandalism. Observed nearest Manxman, Mylchreest, regarding self with foolish look, mouth hanging open, while in his pocket = revolving pistol. Self jumped forward, pushing he back, seizing weapon. Then holding up gun for Wilson to see, calling out, ‘‘Stop that this moment.’’

Wilson lowering specimen. But Kewley now regarding self with harshest look. ‘‘You’d best give that to me, Doctor.’’

Self had not been thinking of he but Wilson. Awful silence. Hooper, Skeggs + Hodges stood on deck beside me, v. unsure. Self felt curious sense of matters slipping away from control. Had never intended matters follow this course. Told he, ‘‘I’m afraid I cannot, Captain.’’

Kewley frowning. ‘‘Think again, Doctor. There’s some, don’t you know, who’d call this mutiny.’’

Could not go back, so must go on, wherever this may lead. Had crossed own Rubicon. Declared in firmest voice, ‘‘I am taking charge of this vessel.’’ Why? Must have cause. ‘‘Because I have reason to believe it = being used for smuggling contraband.’’

Hooper at my side, fidgeting nervously, murmuring, ‘‘Are you sure about this?’’

In truth self = far from sure. One difficulty = too many Manx. They = 9 (+ Wilson = 10). We = only 4. Also they = ship’s crew, we = powerless operate Sincerity. Situation = impossible, yet inconceivable do anything else. All self could do was endeavour alleviate circumstance. Turned to other Manx. ‘‘I know you have nothing to do with this crime, rest assured. This = entirely work of Capt. Kewley and Mr. Wilson.’’