The World Duology (World Odyssey / Fiji: A Novel) (7 page)

9

North Atlantic
Ocean, 1838

J
ack and two hundred other convicted men wondered if they’d survive as their floating prison, a brig named
The Journeyman
, pitched violently in heavy seas. Many of them were too ill to care. Some had developed serious health problems; others, like Jack, were just plain seasick.

A month out from Engl
and, there was still another three months’ sailing ahead before they would reach their destination, the distant Colony of New South Wales at the bottom of the world where they would serve their time doing hard labor.

The convict
s had already been incarcerated for three months in the brig’s hold when she’d set sail from the London docks. Friends and loved-ones, including Jack’s mother and siblings, had been at the docks to wave them off, but they hadn’t seen them for the convicts had been permanently confined below deck.

The Journeyman
was one of a convoy of seven vessels undertaking the arduous voyage. The vessels had all been converted for the purpose of transporting felons to serve time in the notorious penal institutions of the new colony that would one day be known as Australia.

The need for such institutions in far-off places was seen by
some as an indictment on Britain. Crime was now so rampant at home that Britain’s jails were overflowing. Petty crime was so prevalent that a gentleman couldn’t venture outside after dark without fear of being mugged; and murders, rapes and other serious crimes were increasing by the day.

Hangings had become an everyday occurrence – so much so that the populace was now protesting against the increasing use of the death penalty. People were being hung for
offences as minor as stealing half a crown – ostensibly to deter them from committing crimes, but in reality to help ease the problem of overflowing jails.

Afraid of a backlash, the authorities knew they had to come up with another solution. Setting up penal institutions in
New South Wales and elsewhere around the world was seen as the best option.

Skeptics questioned the purpose behind the penal institutions of
New South Wales. They claimed the real purpose behind them was to help develop the new colony by feeding in a never-ending supply of able-bodied men and women. As a result, those who would normally be hanged for committing often minor offences were now being shipped off to the bottom of the world. In theory, they could return to England after serving out their sentences. In practice, few ever would.

Aboard
The Journeyman
, conditions below deck were so bad some ten felons had died just waiting for the ship to leave dock. Chained together, the prisoners lay shoulder-to-shoulder on wooden bunks. When it rained, the rain poured through the open portholes, drenching the inmates, and in rough seas, seawater also poured in, adding to their misery. It was no surprise that most of the deaths so far had been from pneumonia. Starvation had contributed to the deaths of two others and one man had died after a savage beating at the hands of over-zealous guards.

Sea-sickness and diarrhea were
rife. Jack and the others lay on a permanent bed of vomit, urine and shit. In the heavy Atlantic swells, the vessel pitched violently, causing felons and sailors alike to continuously fear for their safety. All were very aware of the numbers of Her Majesty’s vessels that sank or otherwise foundered en route to the various far-flung British colonies around the globe.

As the convoy of convict ships sailed down
Africa’s west coast, an especially violent storm resulted in the loss of two of the seven vessels. During the storm,
The Journeyman
was separated from the others. She continued to New South Wales alone, her master and crew unaware whether any of the other vessels in the convoy had survived the storm.

#

Half-way to New South Wales, conditions below deck had deteriorated to the point where the prisoners’ numbers had dropped by nearly a third – to one hundred-and-forty-one. While accustomed to losses on these voyages Down Under, the ship’s master knew he’d be blamed if there were too many more deaths. He insisted the ship’s designated surgeon lay off the booze and conduct two daily rounds of the prisoners instead of one.

The surgeon, a drunkard who in civilian life also doubled as a barber – and not a very good one by all accounts – re
luctantly inspected the felons twice daily. His inspections were perfunctory to say the least. He prescribed extra bread and water rations for those who appeared most likely to die of starvation, and an hour on deck each day for those suffering from dysentery or sea sickness.

Armed m
arines watched over any felon permitted on deck. They were more concerned about preventing their charges from throwing themselves overboard than causing harm to others. So desperate were some prisoners to escape their hellish situation that several tried to dive overboard. That only one would succeed on this particular voyage would be a tribute to the alertness of the marines guarding them.

Day and night, the bodies of dead prisoners were removed from the hold, carried above deck and thrown overboard without so much as a word let alone a prayer. The surgeon always checked the bodies first to confirm they were in fact lifeless. Sometimes, the doomed men we
re ill, not dead. And sometimes they were feigning death. Oftentimes, the surgeon was so drunk, he failed to detect a pulse, and a live prisoner was consigned to a watery grave.

Jack survived by willing himself to overlook the pain and d
iscomfort of life below deck. The twenty-two-year-old Cockney dreamed of his mother and the home-cooked meals she was famous for; he thought of his brothers and sister; most of all, he thought of his many female friends and the intimate moments he’d shared with each of them. Just thinking of his latest love interest – the local butcher’s wife – was enough to transport him to another place.

While others around him died or fell ill, Jack remained staunch and more determined than ever to survive.

#

The Journeyman
was the last of the convoy’s surviving convict ships to arrive at the thriving port settlement of Sydney Town, in New South Wales. Of the seven ships that departed England, only five had made it; of the fourteen hundred prisoners aboard those seven ships, only seven hundred and eleven had survived.

Jack was one of the survivors. Like the other prisoners, he was weak, skinny, unshaven and almost unrecognizable as he filed down the gangplank and onto the wharf at
Sydney Town. A sorry-looking lot, the new arrivals were chained together and shackled in leg irons for good measure. Escape, for the moment, was clearly not an option.

The prisoners squinted to protect their eyes from the sudden glare of daylight. Despite the glare, the hot, mid-morning sun was a welcome
relief to men who had spent seven months in a ship’s hold. Some were unable to walk, so weak were they, and had to be supported by their fellow prisoners.

Jack took
in his surroundings. He observed the red-coated British soldiers and armed guards who made up the official reception party on the wharf. They formed a barrier between the new arrivals and a large gathering of curious onlookers for whom the arrival of convict ships was always a source of entertainment and a welcome break from everyday life in the colony.

“Wel
come to paradise!” a beefy soldier yelled by way of greeting to the new arrivals.

This caused some mirth among the soldier
’s comrades.

More like a sunburnt hell-hole
, Jack thought as he surveyed the sun-baked land that was now home to him and the others. First impressions were this was an inhospitable land. Jack and his fellow prisoners would soon find out just how inhospitable it could be.

A stone came
flying through the air and struck a felon standing two places ahead of Jack in the line. It had been thrown by a young laborer.

“Send the sorry-ar
ses home!” the laborer shouted in a distinctive Liverpudlean accent.

“Aye, send the bastards home!” a sailor shouted in an equally distinctive Welsh accent.

Further abuse was hurled at the convicts. It came from the onlookers whose ranks comprised residents and seamen of various nationalities – many of them already drunk on rum even though it was not yet noon. The prisoners didn’t know it, but rum was fast becoming a major currency of the new colony, so sought-after was it. Drunkenness was already a problem in all strata of the colony’s white population at least. Later, it would all but decimate the native population.

When the last of
The Journeyman’s
prisoners had disembarked, a distinguished-looking Army officer addressed them. “My name is Captain Arthur Shorthall,” he announced pompously. “You apologies for men are to be immediately dispatched to various parts of New South Wales where you’ll be consigned to certain duties for the duration of your stay.” Captain Shorthall then read out a lengthy list of rules. He concluded, “The slightest infringement of any of these rules will result in a flogging or worse.”

From within the prisoners’ ranks, a rebellious Irishman shouted, “Bugger the English and bu
gger everyting dey stand fer!”

Captain Shorthall, already red from the sun, was so angered he turned several shades of crimson. “Who was that?” he bellowed.

A sergeant identified the Irishman, unshackled him from his companions and frog-marched him over to the captain. Keen to make an early example of troublemakers, Shorthall ordered that the Irishman receive an immediate flogging as punishment.

Two soldiers promp
tly tore the shirt off the man and tied him to a whipping post conveniently positioned for such occasions. Another soldier stepped forward holding that most feared of all whips, a cat-o’-nine-tails – feared because each of its nine leather strands contained knots designed to strip away the flesh from a man’s back. It was common knowledge that after a hundred lashes, the victim’s flesh was usually so shredded that his bones were exposed. Punishments of two to three hundred lashes in the new colony were not uncommon. Being flogged to death wasn’t unheard of either.

“Twenty lashes
,” Captain Shorthall ordered.

The soldier with the whip removed his red jacket, rolled up his sleeves and, at a nod from the captain, proceeded to dispense justice. Each swing of the whip was accompanied by a mighty crack as it struck the Irishman’s exposed back.

Even though this was the first time Jack and most of the other prisoners had witnessed a flogging, they were all familiar with the sound. Floggings had been a regular occurrence on board
The Journeyman
for sailors who got out of line, and the sounds had carried to those incarcerated below deck.

After twenty lashes, the Irishman asked, “So when does me punishment begin?”

This prompted laughter from the convicts’ ranks.

Captain
Shorthall became so angry he looked like he was ready to have a coronary. “Another twenty lashes!” he ordered.

As the additional lashes were delivered, the victim’s back became raw and streaked with blood. Jack prayed the Irishman would hold his tongue. Thankfully, he did. After the
full punishment had been delivered, the Irishman was untied and frog-marched back to the prisoners’ ranks. Jack noted he looked subdued now and was clearly in pain.

“Anyone else want to test my patience
?” Captain Shorthall asked. The prisoners remained silent. “Load them up!” the captain ordered.

Soldiers
supervised the loading of prisoners onto horse-drawn carts lined up nearby. Jack soon learned that he and some fifty others had been consigned to a penal center at Parramatta, some fifteen miles inland. They were loaded on ten to a cart. As soon as the carts were full, they set off, escorted by armed soldiers on horseback.

As the small caravan
of horse-drawn carts followed the well-worn track from Sydney Town to Parramatta, Jack and the others didn’t realize it, but many of them would spend the duration of their sentence converting this very track into a road – a hellish task that would cost many lives.

10

Makah Nation, West Coast, North America, 1838

S
ince his survival of the shipwreck and his subsequent capture by the Makah a fortnight earlier, Nathan had been relegated to living as a slave, performing all sorts of mundane chores ranging from collecting shellfish and firewood to repairing his new masters’ lodges and anything else that needed fixing.

All but one of his fellow
slaves were from neighboring mainland tribes. The odd one out was a bald-headed Mowachaht, appropriately named
Baldy
, from nearby Vancouver Island.

Considered different to the other slaves, Nat
han and Baldy formed an unlikely alliance, backing each other up when the others picked on either one as they were prone to doing.

Wh
y his captors had spared him, the young Philadelphian couldn’t even begin to guess.
God knows they had every reason to kill me
. What he didn’t know was that Tatoosh had made a case to his father for sparing him. He’d argued persuasively that Nathan would be useful teaching them the ways of the White-Eye and acting as interpreter with European traders when the need arose.

Against his better judgment – and contrary to the wishes of the villagers who lusted for revenge – Elswa had relented.

Nathan constantly relived in his mind the events that had brought him here – the ill-fated trading expedition to Neah Bay, the escape that followed and the shipwreck that claimed the lives of his uncle and all his crewmates.

After that fateful day
at the village, the head of the drunken rigger who assaulted the Makah headman had been left hanging from one of the village totem poles, serving as a constant reminder of the violence that had occurred. Nathan had thrown up at the grotesque sight – a sight that would be with him for the remainder of his days.

The rigger’s head had remained
recognizable until the bald-headed eagles and other birds of prey picked it clean of flesh. That had only taken a few days.

Nathan had learned the skull would soon be
consigned to a nearby cave that housed the countless skulls of former enemies. He prayed that would happen sooner rather than later as he just wanted to forget the recent ghastly events.

The young Philadelphi
an lived in hope
Intrepid’s
owners, or someone at least, would start searching for the missing vessel as soon as it was realized she was missing. Realistically, that wouldn’t be for another month or two, so he was resigned to surviving as best he could until then.
One day at a time, Nate
, he told himself.
One day at a time
.

#

Life as a slave of the Makah was a trial for the hardiest and most resilient of slaves. For Nathan it was considerably harder. As the only white at Neah Bay, he was looked down on by slaves and villagers alike, and often treated with disdain.

He’d quickly discovered there was a pecking order amongst the slaves. The biggest and toughest – and those with the most allies – had first choice of discarded clothing and food leftovers the villagers sometimes threw their way. And they had first pick of the female slaves if they were so inclined, as most were.

The female slaves, who lived in separate lodgings, were outnumbered three-to-one by the males. Consequently, they were in constant demand, and a major cause of infighting amongst the male slaves.

Nathan’s lot changed for the better one fine day. He’d had his eye on a new arrival at the village – a shapely young maiden who had been captured and enslaved following a raid
on the inland village that was once her home. She was one of a dozen slaves the Makah had brought back to Neah Bay after that raid.

The young maiden had caught Nathan’s eye immediately. He found her very sexy and instantly desired her. So, too, did a number of his fellow slaves.

It came to a head during a work party which saw a number of male and female slaves working together, gathering berries for a potlatch their Makah masters were planning. They were watched over by two bored Makah braves who filled in time by chatting about their latest sexual conquests.

With some clever maneuvering, Nathan found himself
working alongside the young maiden.
What a goddess!
He caught her eye and smiled. She returned his smile and he felt his pulse race. “Hello,” he stammered in English. He inwardly cursed that he hadn’t even learnt how to say
hello
in the native tongue.

The young maiden responded with something unintelligible to Nathan’s ear, but she said it with a smile and he imagined she was also saying
hello
.

It was that moment that Sasqua, the self-proclaimed leader of the slaves, chose to interpose him
self between the two youngsters. A big, raw-boned bully who stood even taller than Nathan, Sasqua elbowed the white aside and leered all over the young maiden who shrank from him as he gazed at her with undisguised lust.

By now all the slaves were watching. Even the two
Makah braves had stopped chatting to see what happened next.

Sasqua wasn’t concerned about the two lookouts. They were only there to ensure the slaves didn’t try to escape. Besides, the slave boss looked after them on occasion
, supplying them with the prettiest of the female slaves, and they were only too happy to look after him. It was a secret arrangement that suited both parties.

Nathan knew he needed to assert himself
if he was ever to gain the respect of his fellow slaves. He’d been looking for the right moment and sensed this was it.
It’s now or never
. Looking around, he caught the eye of his ally Baldy, the bald Mowachaht slave. Baldy nodded almost imperceptibly. It seemed the Mowachaht had anticipated what Nathan was planning and was indicating he was ready to back him up.

Sasqua began fondling the young maiden and wasn’t expecting what happened next. Nathan caught him with a king hit that landed just below the big man’s right ear, felling him. The slave boss looked up, stunned, as the young white rai
ned punches down on him. Somehow, Sasqua managed to roll away and scramble to his feet.

The other slaves immediately cr
owded around the pair as they went at each other hammer and tongs. Both Makah braves joined the spectators, keen to see the slave boss deal to the White-Eye. To everyone’s surprise, Nathan was giving as good as he got.

One of Sasqua’s henchmen ran forward to assist his boss, but was tripped up by Baldy who had been waiting for just such an eventuality. Baldy kicked the slave fu
ll in the face, almost knocking him out and leaving him minus several front teeth. This served as a warning to the other slaves not to intervene.

Nathan knew he needed to finish Sasqua quickly if he was to prevail. He was keeping the bigger man at bay by firing out jabs like the accomplished boxer he was, but he knew he needed a knockout.

Sasqua, and indeed all those watching, seemed mesmerized by Nathan’s demonstration of the pugilistic arts. Boxing was foreign to them. Like all the natives of the Northwest, they resorted to wrestling when fighting unarmed. Fighting with fists apparently hadn’t occurred to them.

By now Sasqua had taken so many punches, his face was black and blue. He had two black eyes, a split lip and a nasty cut on his forehead.
With every blow, his anger and hatred toward the White-Eye intensified. He threw himself at Nathan, grabbed him in a bear hug and lifted him up off the ground.

Nathan felt as though his ribs were breaking as Sasqua increased the pressure. His vision blurred and he felt himself losing consciousness.
Do something!
He brought his head down hard against the bridge of his opponent’s nose, breaking it. Sasqua yelped in agony and released his grip on Nathan long enough for him to wriggle free. Blood now flowed freely from Sasqua’s broken nose, which had swollen to twice its normal size.

Breathing hard, t
he two antagonists began circling each other, each looking for an opening. By now the spectators were urging both fighters on. They seemed divided in their support. Nearly half those watching were supporting Nathan. The gutsy white slave was giving the slave boss a run for his money.

Nathan could feel his energy slipping away. The bear hug had damaged his ribs
, his lungs felt as though they were on fire and he feared he couldn’t last much longer.

It was now the boxing lessons his father had given him came flooding back. Johnson Senior had been a bare knuckle fighter in his day and had passed on his skills to Nathan.
All too often, those skills had been passed on in the course of a beating, but that was irrelevant at this point in time. Nathan could hear his father’s voice.
Feint with the left then bring down the hammer
. Johnson Senior always referred to his right hand as
the hammer
. It was something he’d used in anger on Nathan more than once.

Despite the animosity Nathan felt toward his father, he decided it was time to take his advice.
Feint with the left then bring down the hammer
. He fired out two quick jabs. Both landed flush on Sasqua’s broken nose, causing the big man to blink back tears of pain.

Sasqua shaped up to throw himself at Nathan. He knew if he could just grab the young white once more, he could crush the life out of him.

Nathan feinted with his left hand. As Sasqua tried to avoid the phantom punch, he didn’t see the big right hand that came from nowhere and landed flush on the jaw. The slave boss was out to it before he even hit the ground.

Seconds later, Nathan found himself surrounded by his fellow slaves. They were laughing
and jostling as they congratulated him. Even Sasqua’s allies joined in. It seemed Nathan had earned the respect of the slaves at least.

The young man
looked around for Baldy. He owed him one. Baldy was standing a little to one side. The two stared at each other and nodded. Each had done well that day and they knew it.

Then Nathan looked for the maiden who had caug
ht his eye. Finally, he saw her. They smiled knowingly at each other.