Morgan’s Run (94 page)

Atlantic arrived
on the 2nd of November with news that came as a bolt from the blue to all save Major Ross himself. She brought the mail and parcels Gorgon had carried from Portsmouth: yes, Gorgon had finally arrived. Atlantic also brought a new Lieutenant-Governor for Norfolk Island, Commander Philip Gidley King, who had returned from England on Gorgon and brought his bride, Anna Josepha, with him. By the time they quit Atlantic at Norfolk Island she was in the last stages of pregnancy, coddled and cossetted by young William Neate Chapman, King’s protégé and (officially) his surveyor. To a community used by now to the reign of Major Ross, it was hard to tell which of the two, Anna Josepha or Willy Chapman, was the sillier; they called themselves “brother” and “sister,” giggled a lot, eyed each other archly, and drew everybody’s attention to the similarity of their facial features. King’s two boys by Ann Innet did not come, though rumor said that Norfolk, the elder, was being cared for—in England—by Mrs. Philip Gidley King’s parents. King’s own parents were more rigid, which led some to speculate that Anna Josepha’s family was more accustomed to bastards, so perhaps Anna Josepha and Willy Chapman
were. . . .

Also disembarked from Atlantic were Captain William Paterson of the New South Wales Corps and his wife—Scotch, of course—and the Reverend Richard Johnson, who had come to bless, marry, and also to baptize 31 Norfolk Island babies. Some of the visitors were staying a short time only. Queen, newly arrived in Port Jackson, was to bring the island yet more convicts—genuinely Irish convicts this time, embarked in Cork.

All of which spelled an end to the marine presence. Major Ross, Lieutenants Clark, Faddy and Ross Junior, and the last of the enlisted marines were to depart the island on Queen. They would spend time in Port Jackson to await the return of Gorgon from a food voyage to Bengalese Calcutta, the home of a sturdy, hardy kind of cattle. The years had gone by in Port Jackson, but of that vanished Government herd no sign had ever been seen.

So confusing! So upsetting! It all seemed to happen in the twinkling of an eye—ships and commandants coming and going, yet more mouths to feed. The old inhabitants of the island walked around in a daze, and wondered whereabouts it was all going to end.

Commander King
was horrified at what he saw in his beloved Norfolk Island. Dammit, the place was no better than a wooden version of that den of iniquity, Port Jackson! As for Government House—! How could he ask a new bride to live in such a run down, ramshackle, hideously small residence?
And
under the aegis of a vulgar trollop like Mrs. Richard Morgan, who had donned all her finery to greet him and usher him through the premises? She would have to go, the sooner the better.

King’s mood was not improved by the knowledge that the large supply of livestock that he had acquired on his own initiative at Cape Town had not thrived during Gorgon’s onward passage; a tiny remnant only came with him on Atlantic—a few sickly sheep, goats and turkeys, not a cow left alive.

Oh, the whole place was so dilapidated and slipshod! How
had
Major Ross allowed his jewel in the ocean to sink to this? Yet what else could one expect from a boorish Scotch marine? A trifle full of his own importance and with the Celtic side of him uppermost for the moment, King itched to do great things even as he despaired of Norfolk Island’s ability to give him the opportunity. Ever the romantic, he had genuinely expected a settlement of more than 1,300 people to look exactly like a settlement of 149 people. The only cheering fact apart from his darling little Anna Josepha was that his supply of port was wellnigh infinite.

He and Major Ross, thrown together for a number of days at least, eyed each other as warily as two dogs debating which would win a possible fight. With characteristic bluntness the Major made neither excuses nor apologies for the awful condition of the island, merely confined himself to clipped summaries of what his papers and records said at more length. What might have developed into a brawl over dinner in the sadly overcrowded Government House did not, thanks to the tact of the Reverend Johnson, the presence of the twinned Anna Josepha and Willy Chapman, the delicious food served by Mrs. Richard Morgan, and a number of bottles of port.

Captain William Hill of the New South Wales Corps did his level best to ruin the departing Major Ross’s reputation by having selected convicts examined on oath before the Reverend Johnson and Mr. William Balmain, surgeon, arriving to take the place of Denis Considen. Hill and Andrew Hume threw a great deal of dirt, but the Major fought back, establishing without much difficulty that the convicts were perjurious villains and Hill and Hume not far behind. The battle was bound to continue in Port Jackson, but for the time being the combatants declared a cessation in hostilities and set about packing or unpacking trunks and bags.

Richard remained
carefully out of the way, very sorry that Major Ross was going, and not at all sure whether he wanted to see Lieutenant—oops, Commander—King take the Major’s place. Whatever Ross was or was not, he was first and foremost a realist.

The official changeover occurred on Sunday, the 13th of November, after the Reverend Johnson had taken divine service. The entire huge population was assembled in front of Government House and Commander King’s commission read out. Atlantic was making sail and Queen was retreating to Cascade, the two ships passing in the morning. Major Ross requested of the new Lieutenant-Governor that all the convicts in detention or under sentence of punishment be forgiven; Commander King graciously acquiesced.

“We did all save kiss,” said the Major to Richard as the big crowd dispersed. “Walk a little way with me, Morgan, but send your wife ahead with Long.”

My luck persists, thought Richard, nodding to Kitty that she and Joey should proceed without him. His transaction with Ross to secure the services of Joseph Long, a fourteen-year man, as his laborer and general hand for the sum of £10 per annum had only recently been signed into effect. For after considering a number of men, he had decided that simple, faithful Joey Long was preferable to any other. As several of the recent arrivals were cobblers, Major Ross had been willing to let Joey go. This change of employment was as well for Joey too; Commander King was not likely to have forgotten the loss of his best pair of shoes.

“I am glad of the opportunity to wish ye well, sir,” said Richard, dawdling. “I will miss ye greatly.”

“I cannot return the compliment in exactly the way ye mean yours, but I can tell ye, Morgan, that I never minded the sight of your face nor the words that came from your lips. I hate this place every bit as much as I hate Port Jackson, or Sydney, or whatever they are calling it these days. I hate convicts. I hate marines. And I hate the fucken Royal Navy. I am obligated to ye for the services of your wife, who has been precisely what ye said—an excellent housekeeper but no temptress. And I am obligated to ye for both wood and rum.” He paused to think, then added, “I also hate the fucken New South Wales Corps. There will be a reckoning, never doubt it. Those idealistic Navy fools will let a pack of wolves loose in this quadrant of the globe, wolves who masquerade as soldiers of the New South Wales Corps, which I gather marine wolves like fucken George Johnston intend to join. They care as little for convicts or these penal settlements as I do, but I will return to England a poor man, whereas they will return fatter by every carcass they can sink their teeth into. And rum will be a very large part of it, mark my words. Enrichment at the expense of duty, honor, King and country.
Mark my words, Morgan!
So it will be.”

“I do not doubt ye, sir.”

“I see your wife is with child.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Ye’re better off out of Arthur’s Vale, but ye were wise enough to see that for yourself. There will be no trouble for ye with Mr. King, who has little choice other than to honor those transactions I have negotiated as His Majesty’s legally appointed Lieutenant-Governor. Of course your pardon ultimately rests with His Excellency, but ye’re out of your sentence in a few months anyway, and I cannot see why ye will not get your full pardon.” Ross stopped. “If this benighted isle ever succeeds, ’twill be because of men like you and Nat Lucas.” He held out his hand. “Goodbye, Morgan.”

Blinking back tears, Richard gripped the hand and wrung it. “Goodbye, Major Ross. I wish ye well.”

And that, thought the desperately sorry Richard as he hurried after Kitty and Joey, is one half of the work done. I have yet to deal with the other half.

It happened as Queen discharged cargo and convicts first at Cascade and then at Sydney Bay; Richard was sawing with a new man because Billy Wigfall was going, and was too busy shouting instructions to his partner below to bother looking up. When the cut was done he noticed the figure in its Royal Navy uniform aglitter with gold braid, unwrapped the rags from around his hands and walked across to salute Commander King.

“Should the supervisor of sawyers actually saw himself?” King asked, staring at Richard’s chest and shoulders with some awe.

“I like to keep my hand in, sir, and it informs my men that I am still better at it than they are. The pits are all working well at the moment and each has a good man at the helm. This one—your third pit, sir, d’ye remember?—is where I saw myself when I do saw.”

“I swear ye’re in far finer body than ye were when I left, Morgan. I understand ye’re a free man by virtue of pardon?”

“Aye, sir.”

His mouth pursing, King tapped his fingers a little peevishly against his brilliantly white-clad thigh. “I daresay I cannot blame the sawpits for the shockingly bad buildings,” he said.

The gulf yawned, but had to be leaped. Richard set his jaw and looked straight into King’s eyes, more aware these days that he possessed a certain power. Thank you, Kitty. “I hope, sir, that ye’re not about to blame Nat Lucas.”

King jumped, looked horrified. “No, no, Morgan, of course not! Blame my own original head carpenter? Acquit me of such idiocy. No, ’tis Major Ross I blame.”

“Ye cannot do that either, sir,” said Richard steadily. “Ye left this place twenty months ago, a week or two after the people in it had jumped from a hundred and forty-nine to more than five hundred. During the time ye’ve been away, the population has gone to over thirteen hundred. After Queen, more, and Irish Irish at that—they’ll not even speak English, most of them. ’Tis simply not the place ye left, Commander King. Then, we enjoyed good health—we lived hard, but we managed. Now, at least a third of the mouths we are feeding are sick ones, and we have besides Port Jackson’s leavings when it comes to utter villains. I am sure,” he swept on, ignoring King’s mounting indignation and annoyance, “that while ye were in Port Jackson ye discussed with His Excellency the terrible difficulties His Excellency is suffering. Well, it has been no different here, is all. My sawpits have produced thousands upon thousands of superficial feet over the last twenty months. Much of it ought to have been seasoned for longer than it did because the new arrivals kept coming and coming. Ye might say that Major Ross, Nat Lucas, I and many others here have been caught in the middle. But that was nobody’s fault. At least not on this side of the globe.”

Eyes still fixed on King’s, he waited calmly. No servility, but not a trace of impudence or presumption either. If this man is to survive, he thought, then he must take notice of what I have said. Otherwise he will not succeed, and the New South Wales Corps will end in ruling Norfolk Island.

The mercurial Celt struggled with the coolheaded Englishman for perhaps a minute, then King’s shoulders slumped. “I hear what ye’re saying clearly. But it cannot continue thus, is what I meant to say. I insist that whatever is built is constructed properly, even if that means some have to live under canvas for however long it takes.” His mood changed. “Major Ross informs me that the harvest will come in magnificently, both here and at Queensborough. Many acres and none spoiled. I admit that is an achievement. Yet we have to put men on the grindstone.” He gazed at his dam, still holding up very well. “We need a water-wheel, and Nat Lucas says he can build one.”

“I am sure he can. His only enemies are time and lack of materials. Give him the latter and he will find the former.”

“Aye, so I think too.” His face assumed a conspiratorial look as he moved completely out of earshot. “Major Ross also told me that ye distilled rum for him during a time of crisis. That rum also saved Port Jackson from mutiny between March and August of this year, with no rum and no ships.”

“I did distill, sir.”

“D’ye possess the apparatus?”

“Aye, sir, very well hidden. It does not belong to me, it is the property of the Government. That I am its custodian lies in the fact that Major Ross trusted me.”

“The pity of it is that those wretched transport captains have not been above selling distillation apparatus to private individuals. I hear that the New South Wales Corps and some of the worst convicts are distilling illicit spirits. At least Port Jackson can grow no sugar cane, but here it grows like a weed. Norfolk Island is potentially a source of rum. What the Governor of New South Wales has to decide is whether to continue importing rum from thousands of miles away at great expense, or to start distilling here.”