The World Duology (World Odyssey / Fiji: A Novel) (19 page)

32

South Atlantic, 1848

E
merging on deck, the sea air washed over her, providing a welcome relief from the heat and ever present stench of bilge water below deck. Looking around, Susannah was disappointed to find she was alone.
Where are you?
She wandered to the near portside rail and looked out to where she knew Angola lay somewhere behind the darkness.

Susannah took Goldie’s no-show as a sign she shouldn’t transgress and go against everything her father had taught her. Feeling slightly relieved, she was about to return to the stateroom when she became aware of a shadowy figure beside her.
It’s him!
Her feelings of a moment earlier were replaced by feelings of yearning and lust when she realized it was Goldie. “You came,” she said without thinking.

“Of course,” he whisper
ed.

Before she could resist, he drew her to him and kissed her full on the mouth. She resisted, but only for a moment. As he pressed his lean, hard body against her, she could feel all resistance melting. She wanted him like she’d wanted nothing else before.

Footsteps behind them alerted them to the presence of someone approaching from the stern.

“This way!” Goldie whispered urgently. He pulled Susannah away from the approaching footsteps.

Together they ran, laughing softly, toward the brigantine’s bow.

Goldie pulled up alongside
Minstrel’s
longboat, which was chained to the starboard rail. It was covered by a canvas tarpaulin. The rigger began pulling the tarpaulin aside. “In here,” he said.

Susannah was about to clamber into the longboat when something distracted her. It was a red light directly ahead of
Minstrel
. At first she thought it was a star.

“Hurry
!” Goldie urged her. He needed her as much as she needed him and was anxious they hid beneath the tarpaulin before someone saw them.

Still the red light intrigued Susannah. It seemed closer now. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing at the light.

Now Goldie saw it, too. “Holy mackerel!” he exclaimed.

“Is it a star?” Susannah asked.

Goldie had immediately identified the light as the warning light on the bow of an approaching ship. He estimated it was less than a hundred-and-fifty yards away and the gap was closing fast. “Ship ahoy!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “Approaching vessel straight ahead.”

Only now did Susannah recognize the danger. She co
uld now see the other ship. Darkness prevented identification of the vessel’s name or type, but her silhouette was huge and her three masts were visible. Now only thirty yards separated the two vessels and a collision seemed inevitable.

“Quick!” Goldie urged. “This way!” He dragged Susannah along the deck toward
Minstrel’s
stern.

Goldie’s cries of alarm had galvanized the crew into action. Within seconds, the first mate and half a dozen crewmen had appeared on deck. More followed. Even Captain Mathers made it on deck, albeit inebriated, before the two vessels collided.

At the time of impact, the mystery vessel’s hull towered over
Minstrel
, blocking out the sky above, and the sound of timbers splintering was deafening. Susannah screamed and sailors shouted in fear for their lives as the other vessel tore
Minstrel’s
portside rail from its hinges.
Minstrel
leaned alarmingly to starboard and then back to port and back to starboard again.

How
Minstrel
stayed afloat, Susannah couldn’t begin to guess. That she and the others were still alive seemed like a miracle to her.

Goldie checked Susannah to confirm she was okay. Satisfied, he said, “I’ll have to leave you now.” He had to shout to make himself heard above the uproar. “I suggest you get below deck.”

Susannah nodded and Goldie ran off to assist his fellow crewmembers. She prepared to return below to check on her father’s wellbeing when she saw him emerge on deck with Kemp and several other alarmed passengers. “Papa!” She ran to his side.

“What on earth is happening?” a shaken Drake Senior asked.

As Susannah explained the chaotic events of the last minute or so, the other vessel had slowed and was executing a turning manoeuver with the obvious intention of returning to
Minstrel’s
side.

While this was happening, first mate Fred Paxton barked orders at the crew. He made it clear their priority was to discover what damage, if any, had occurred below deck. They scampered below to inspect the damage. Meanwhile,
Captain Mathers wandered the deck in a befuddled gaze, half empty rum bottle in hand.

Five minutes later, the other vessel, a barque whose nameplate read
Northern Skies
, heaved to alongside
Minstrel
. Before the barque’s crewmen had even thrown ropes down to their opposites aboard
Minstrel
to secure the two vessels and keep them together, Captain Mathers had begun abusing
Northern Skies
and every man aboard her.

“A damned cur
se upon you all!” he shouted at the crewmen who now lined the barque’s near rail. “I demand to know what flag you sail under, and who is your master?”

“I am maste
r of Northern Skies and we sail under the flag of Mother England!” a gruff voice responded in the strongest of Devon accents. “Captain Philip Jamieson at your service.” The captain, a short stocky man almost as broad as he was tall, waved down to his opposite.

Mathers eyeballed him and, using the foulest of seafaring language,
proceeded to berate him uninterrupted for a good two minutes. In that time he told Captain Jamieson he was an apology for a captain and had no right being master of a floating bathtub let alone a three-masted barque.

When Mathers finally ran out of profanities and ceased his tirade, Captain Jamieson asked, “Did you not think to post a lookout aboard Minstrel, sir?”

“Of course we had a lookout posted you bloody idiot!” Mathers saw red and hurled his now empty bottle in Captain Jamieson’s direction. The bottle fell short and smashed against
Northern Skies’
hull. “Yours is the bigger, faster vessel,” he shouted. “The liability for the collision is yours and yours alone, sir!”

That was the last straw for Captain Jamieson who proceeded to direct profanities at Mathers.

Looking on, Susannah thought Mathers looked so angry he was about to have a heart attack. He was red with rage and appeared ready to dive over the rail and attempt to board the barque.

When Captain Jamieson had had his say, he ordered his crew to prepare to dep
art. The securing ropes were disconnected and quickly pulled in, and
Northern Skies
was soon on her way.

As the barque sailed off into the darkness, the two captains continued to hurl insults at each other.

Mathers, who was now standing at
Minstrel’s
stern, got the last word. “You could have caused the deaths of scores, nay hundreds, of passengers and crew!” he shouted, seemingly oblivious to the exaggerated utterances that spewed from his drunken lips. “Little do you care, I now have a hundred weeping women below deck in need of comfort!”

At that, several passengers and crew aboard
Minstrel
burst out laughing. Mathers continued his tirade until only the barque’s stern light was visible. Having finally run out of steam, the captain weaved his way forward and disappeared below deck.

At the same time, s
everal crewmen emerged from below deck and reported to Paxton that, aside from superficial damage to the exterior of the hull, all was well below.

“Who was on lookout tonight?” Paxton asked.

Goldie stepped forward. “I was, Chief.”

“Did you not see the barque, Mister Archibald?”

“Not until she was a hundred-and-fifty yards off the bow, Chief,” Goldie replied.

“Then I would contend you were negligent in your duty,” Paxton
grumbled. “If this was a naval vessel, you’d be hung, drawn and quartered for that.”

Goldie bowed his head in shame. Looking on, Susannah felt badly for him.

The first mate turned to the two nearest crewmen. “Escort Mister Archibald below and intern him in the store room tonight.”

“Yes Chief,”
the crewmen said in unison.

“And he’s to remain there until we reach Cape Town.”

The two crewmen led a chastened Goldie below deck. As he was led away, Goldie was too ashamed to look at Susannah.

Susann
ah turned to Drake Senior. “I need to go below, papa.” She felt ill – and not because of anything she’d eaten or because of the smell of bilgewater that wafted up from below deck.

“Of course, my dear.” Drake Senior led Susannah below deck.
The clergyman thought it understandable his daughter had been left shocked by the near miss. He didn’t realize there was more to it than that.

As they returned to the stateroom, Susannah experienced a myriad of emotions. She felt relieved they’d survived what could have been a fatal collision, and she felt guilty that she was as much responsible for the near-catastrophic event as Goldie was.
If I hadn’t tempted him so, he’d have done his duty and seen the barque in time
. The thought of what could have happened, and the lives that could have been lost, almost overwhelmed her. She stumbled as she walked.

Drake Senior reached out an arm and steadie
d her. “Are you alright, Susannah?”

“Yes papa,” Susannah assured him.

The young Englishwoman took the night’s events as a sign that she wasn’t meant to give herself to Goldie, or to any man, before she was married. At that moment, she was certain God had intervened, and she promised herself she would resist any further temptations the devil put in her way.

33

Pacific Ocean
, 1841

S
itting in the confines of the tea-chest in
Besieged’s
storeroom with his knees drawn up to his chest, Jack was feeling ill. He wasn’t sure if it was the overpowering smell of tea or the motion of the schooner that was causing it. He guessed it was probably a combination of the two.

Unable to take it any longer, he opened the tea-chest lid and climbed
out, gratefully sucking in a lung-full of sea air as he did so. Desperate to relieve himself, he hurried out of the store-room and made his way above deck. There, by the light of the moon, he urinated over the port-side rail. He had to stand legs astride to maintain his balance as the schooner ploughed through heavy Pacific swells. Fortunately, no-one else was around.

Enjoying his first pee since
Besieged
departed the Sydney Town docks a good three hours earlier, and breathing in the sea air, Jack was feeling exhilarated. Apart from the brief escapade down the river at Parramatta a year earlier, and the three weeks he’d just spent at the Todds’ boarding house, this was his first taste of freedom since sentence had been passed on him in London’s Central Criminal Court four years earlier. He breathed in several more lung-fulls of air. “Ah, freedom!” he sighed.

The sea air soon revived him and the feelings of nausea passed. Not wanting to push his luck, he quickly retired below deck before someone saw him.

Back in the storeroom, he searched for some food and drinking water. He soon found fruit and fresh bread, but no water. The schooner’s freshwater supplies were obviously stored elsewhere. He did find a bottle of rum, though.
This’ll have to do
, he decided none too dejected.

Next, he looked for an al
ternative hiding place. He located an empty crate that was at least twice as big as the tea-chest he’d just vacated. Crawling inside it, he was pleasantly surprised to find there was even room to lie down.

Jack p
roceeded to enjoy a three-course meal of sorts. The entrée was a fresh orange, the mains fresh, doughy bread and dessert a ripe banana. Each course was washed down with generous helpings of rum, which he drank straight from the bottle. After draining half the bottle, he fell into a contented, dream-filled sleep.

In his dreams
, he was cavorting naked with a buxom woman. In one dream the woman looked like Joan Todd; in another she looked like Mary O’Brien. Later, when he finally woke, he wouldn’t be able to recall who the woman of his dreams was. But that wouldn’t matter to him: he had equally fond memories of both.

#

Next morning, the ship’s Scottish quartermaster carried out what for him would be the first of many daily inspections of the storeroom. He had to concentrate to keep his balance as the schooner rolled in heavy seas.

The sound of a bottle rolling around inside a crate attracted the quartermaster’s attention. He pulled the lid off the crate and was surprised to find Jack fast asleep ins
ide. Having finished off the rum during the night, the stowaway was sleeping off the results. The now-empty bottle was still rolling around beside him.

“What have we here?” the quartermaster asked himsel
f. He then shouted, “Stowaway!”

Other crewmen came running.

Jack woke to find himself being pulled out of the crate by several pairs of rough hands. He was hauled above deck and half-carried to the captain’s quarters.

At the sight of Jack, the ship’s Welsh master, Captain
Jones, asked, “Who is this?

“Can’t get a word out of him, sir,” the quartermaster responded. “He’s as pissed as a newt.”

The captain could see Jack was too inebriated to respond to questioning. Turning to his first mate, Quincy Adams, he said, “Bring him back to my quarters after he’s sobered up, Mister Adams.”

“Aye, sir,”
Adams answered in a heavy Cornish accent.

The first mate escorted the stowaway
topside and ordered two sailors to throw buckets of seawater over him. They performed this task with zeal.

A short time la
ter, cold, wet and almost sober, a shivering and bedraggled Jack stood before the ship’s master once more, water dripping from his sodden clothes. 

“Your name?” Captain Jones asked
without ceremony.

“Jack Ha
lliday,” the Cockney responded without thinking. He immediately regretted revealing his name.

“Which penal institution did you escape from, Mister Halliday?” the captain asked perceptively.

Jack feigned surprise. “I’m no convict, sir. I’m a humble citizen from Sydney Town just wanting to work me passage to Fiji.”

“A humble citizen, eh?” Ca
ptain Jones glanced at his first mate. “What do you think, Mister Adams?”

“Someone wanting to work his passage doesn’t stow away, sir,”
Adams said. With that, he suddenly reached down and pulled up Jack’s trousers, exposing his ankles. The tell-tale marks left by innumerable pairs of leg-irons were highly visible. Adams looked up at his captain. “He’s an escaped convict, sir. Probably from Parramatta.”

“I’m a blacksmith,” Jack protested.

“A blacksmith?” Captain Jones asked. “How did you come by those marks?” He glanced pointedly at the marks.

“They’re caused by a rash,” Jack mumbled lamely.

The disbelieving captain eyed Jack as he decided on a course of action. Without warning, the first mate ripped Jack’s shirt from him, exposing the stowaway’s scarred back. In the cold light of day, the marks of lashings were there for all to see.

Captain Jones studied Jack grimly. Finally, he said, “Y
ou can work your passage to Norfolk Island.”

J
ack wondered if he’d misheard the captain. His understanding was the vessel was Fiji-bound.

C
aptain Jones continued, “You won’t be paid for your endeavors, and as soon as we arrive at Norfolk you’ll be handed over to the penal colony commander there.”

Jack didn’t like the sound
of that one bit. He’d heard horror stories about the infamous Norfolk Island penal colony.

As an afterthought Captain Jones added, “You’ll either be interned there or, if you’re lucky, you’ll be
shipped back to Sydney Town and returned to Parramatta, or whichever penal settlement you escaped from.”

Jack prayed it would be the latter, although the prospect of being returned to Parramatta didn’t fill him with joy either.

The captain turned to his first mate. “Get him a change of clothes then put him to work, Mister Adams.”

“Aye, sir.”

Jack opened his mouth to protest, but before he could Adams pushed him out the door. The first mate escorted Jack to stores, below deck.

As they walked, Jack asked, “I thought this ship was bound for Fiji?”

“She is,” Adams answered. “But we have supplies to drop in to the penal settlement at Norfolk Island first.”

That confirmed Jack’s worst fears.
Norfolk Island was also a British colony. Administered by the New South Wales authorities, the penal settlement had a well deserved reputation as a hell-hole – a living nightmare for its convict population. It was common knowledge convicts interned there often committed suicide rather than serve out their sentence. Jack realized there’d be a very real chance he’d be interned on the island, and if that happened it could well be a death sentence.

Down i
n stores, Jack was outfitted in standard-issue working clothes then Adams escorted him back topside. There, the first mate handed him a mop and bucket, and pointed to the deck. “See that?” Adams asked.

Jack nodded.

Adams snarled, “I want you to mop the entire deck until it’s so clean I can see me handsome face in it.” He walked off, leaving Jack to start mopping. Looking back at the stowaway, he added, “And if you’re caught slacking, there’ll be no rations for you.”

Jack
began mopping. As he did, he rued his change of fortune. Now his future looked bleak indeed. He couldn’t decide which would be worse – to be incarcerated at Norfolk Island or returned to Parramatta. The consequences of either didn’t bear thinking about. He knew he had around two weeks to rewrite his future: that was how long he estimated
Besieged
would take to complete the thousand-mile voyage to Norfolk Island.