What Became of the White Savage (10 page)

The meeting took place early next morning in the governor’s office. Captain Rowlands was a small man, shifty and astonishingly ill-tempered. He scarcely greeted me and made it clear that he felt he was wasting his time. But his delicate relationship with Her Majesty’s Customs and Excise left him in no position to dismiss me out of hand, which he would undoubtedly have done with great pleasure, had he been able.

Like all sea-faring men he proved to be taciturn, and the governor’s presence together with the questioning from an unknown Frenchman did little to elicit confidences from him. It was not without many false starts that I managed to wrest from him the details I desired and to establish the following account:

“On the 19th February I had some repairs to make to the masts. I needed calm waters to send the carpenters to repair the upper rigging and I had heard of the bay in question on the north coast just south of Cape York. The
John Bell
entered the bay early in the morning and work began.

I gave permission to a few hands not involved in the repairs to go ashore. They did so and walked around on the beach for a while. From the top of the mast, one of the crew spotted some savages looking for shellfish on the rocks. He whistled to the men ashore to draw their attention to this, and signalled to them to go over and take a closer look.

It is always entertaining to see these infernal savages – and it makes quite an impression on the new lads. And if it so happens that a man isn’t put off by the smell, or the colour of their skin, well I wouldn’t stop him going into the bushes for a romp with one of their women. You take what you can get, don’t you agree?

So off they went. As my men drew closer to the savages they saw a white man in their midst, stark naked and covered in tattoos. When they asked what he was doing there, the man didn’t understand and answered in the savages’ gibberish. They couldn’t even get him to tell them his name.

The men’s reaction could not be faulted. They immediately realised that he was a castaway, and without a moment’s hesitation, they decided to bring him aboard. The question was, how to go about doing so.

The man was nervous and agitated; he kept on coming up to them and touching them, and then going back over to the natives. They’d stopped their fishing and my men offered them tobacco, nails, beads, but they didn’t seem interested and my men calmly headed back to the dinghy. The white man followed them, the savages behind him.

One of the men blew the whistle three times to give the alert. Seeing the strange procession I decided to take precautionary measures and gave the order to get out the rifles and prepare the armoured launch.

For the moment things were calm on the beach. There didn’t seem to be any immediate danger, but you never know in a situation like that. I was informed that the repairs were almost completed and immediately gave the command to prepare to set sail with all haste, but to do so unobtrusively so as not to draw attention to our intentions. The naked white man carried on walking to and fro between my men and the group of savages who stood back about twenty paces away, not daring to come any closer. With the aid of the telescope, I could see that the group was made up mostly of women and children, but I checked to be sure they weren’t carrying any sticks or clubs.

First one, and then another of my crew climbed casually into the dinghy. They made a friendly gesture to the white savage, who followed them into the dinghy and sat down on one of the thwarts. Without a moment’s delay, the other crew members pushed off and rowed as hard as they could towards the
John Bell
. When the white savage stood up they forced him back down again.

When they drew up alongside the ship, they all hauled themselves up the rope ladder, the white savage proving to be quite adept at this. I stared at him in amazement. He looked around and sized up the bridge – with some emotion, it was clear to see.

With the second mate directing manoeuvres, the sails were loosed. A good breeze was blowing and as the sails billowed in the wind the trusty
John Bell
began to pick up speed to leave the bay. The white savage realised we’d set sail and became extremely agitated, jumping up onto the gunwale and running around all over the place. It looked like he was going to hurl himself overboard and I was ready to tie him up: I was afraid he might provoke an incident, disturb the setting of the sails, or perhaps attack one of the crew.

Once we were out at sea however, he calmed down, found a spot to sit, parked himself there and didn’t move an inch, all the time burbling something or other in that gibberish he speaks. I sent someone to go and find him a loincloth and something to eat. He let himself be covered up without making any attempt to resist. Then he sniffed gingerly at the soup but didn’t touch a drop of it, much to the annoyance of our cook. He showed no more interest in bread or ale, and even refused one of our few remaining bananas. When evening came, I brought him a blanket, which he used neither to cover himself with nor to lie on. He just slept where he was, sitting upright.

He stayed there, not saying a word and hardly moving a muscle until we got to Sydney. After we docked, I went to tell the whole story to the gentlemen of the Admiralty. I had to keep him on board for one more night – I can tell you, my men aren’t usually expected to act as prison guards. The next day, a detachment of soldiers came to take him off my hands.”

That was all I could extract from this unpleasant man. The governor dismissed him and he left without bidding me farewell.

It was also on this occasion of my brief visit to Sydney that I was to appear before the Colonial Court judge in order for him to give me official responsibility for Narcisse.

I was ushered into the chamber where the portly bewigged judge was seated at his dark wooden bench, ostensibly asleep. I can make no sense of English law at the best of times, and in the colonies it seems to be even more incomprehensible. I was expecting to find advocates, witnesses, a prosecutor and court officers, but of these there were none. The affair was concluded in a matter of minutes. The judge gave the official report a cursory reading, after which he asked me to give my name and confirm that I agreed to become Narcisse’s guarantor. Without even listening to my answers, he signed the document drawn up in advance, handed me a copy, and left.

In the dinghy on the way back, I read through the ten pages of script, written no doubt in the hand of a convict employed as a clerk, and understood more or less that I was now the guardian of the “unidentified person known as the ‘white savage’, who disembarked in Sydney on the 25th February 1861”. The governor had kept his promise.

When I arrived back at the residence, Bill was waiting for me at the landing stage with the news that Narcisse had disappeared. It seemed that on the day of my departure, he and Bill had dined together, or rather side by side, and since then, Narcisse had not been seen. There had been no sign of him the next morning. Bill claimed to have become more and more concerned with every hour that passed, although I found this difficult to believe. Anxious to avoid a reprimand, he insisted that I had not asked him to guard Narcisse, and I reassured him on this point and told him he had done well not to inform the guard at the gate.

Narcisse must have been gone for several hours: I surmised that he had left at dawn, or perhaps even the night before. Why had he fled? Where had he gone? I was at a loss to explain this mysterious turn of events.

I wondered what course of action to take. Should I raise the alarm, call the soldiers camped at the end of the road and send them to patrol the area? I had no reason to assume they would do as I requested, and I doubted they would be able to catch up with an experienced bushman like Narcisse. A thorough and widespread search, possibly lasting several days would be required. Narcisse already had a considerable lead, and he was surely capable of concealing himself. The soldiers could walk right by without seeing him. And when convicts escaped, dogs were employed, animals trained to hunt down runaways and attack them with great savagery. Was this the price I wanted to pay to see Narcisse brought back?

No, he has returned to the forest. I feel strangely hurt by this departure and realise that I am beginning to become attached to this young man. But what right do I have to prevent him from doing as he wishes? Bill has been nosing around everywhere and informs me that Narcisse discarded his clothing before disappearing. By running off completely naked into the wild, has he not indicated his desire to return to whence he came? Could he make it any clearer that he does not wish to live as we do?

His family have long believed him to be dead, I have no means of finding them without a surname, they will never know that he is alive and has no wish to return to them. What purpose would it serve to search for him at great expense?

Narcisse is a free man, at liberty to do according to his will. He disappeared while I was absent. Is it possible that my absence was a cause of his departure? Did he think I would not come back? Does he feel any friendship or affection for me?

My only obligation is to the governor who conferred upon me the responsibility for Narcisse. I know full well that if I were to tell him that Narcisse had died, he would make no attempt to express any regret. As far as the governor is concerned, Narcisse is no more than a source of annoyance and trouble. It is my responsibility to inform him, but if I am not too hasty, I can give Narcisse the chance to disappear, if such is his wish.

I feel it is reasonable to wait until tomorrow morning. By the time the dinghy has arrived and taken me to the governor’s office, almost two full days will have elapsed before the search begins. If there is to be a search. And with this much delay, it will have little chance of success. This will be my parting gift to Narcisse.

All day long, my mind was filled with these dark thoughts. I took my lunch late and ate with little appetite. Bill served me as usual, aware that with Narcisse gone, he would surely be returned to hard labour. But my only concern is Narcisse’s future. Will he encounter other savages in the bush? Will he be welcomed by them? Will he speak their language? Will he have the strength to go through the experience of accustoming himself once again to tribal ways, three or four hundred leagues to the south of his former clan’s home?

I shall never know. The adventure on which I embarked two months ago ends thus, an ultimately insignificant event with no conclusion. My speculations as to how the adventure might develop have all come to nought.

As I was recording these reflections, I was interrupted by a horseman bearing a despatch from the governor, informing me that he had learnt of Narcisse’s departure. There was no indication as to how he knew, but I suspected that Bill, thinking of his own future, had disobeyed my orders and prevailed upon the linen girl, or the skipper of the dinghy, to deliver a message. The governor informed me that he would not try to recapture Narcisse from the dense forests that covered the area all around Sydney. He noted somewhat coldly – or perhaps to be humorous – that Narcisse was a French subject, in possession of no documents and without the right of abode in the colony. Although Narcisse was in breach of the law, the governor did not feel that this in itself was grounds for a manhunt. Narcisse had come from nowhere and thence he had returned. The case was closed.

I perceived with astonishment that I was quite distressed by this. The messenger enquired as to what he should do next, and accordingly I sent him off to spend the night with the soldiers in the encampment just outside the grounds of the residence. This would afford me until the next morning to compose a response. All I had left of Narcisse were some sketches of his tattoos. I needed time to reflect.

And so ends my already overly lengthy epistle. I leave you to draw your own conclusions on this matter. Was this task that I accepted so readily too onerous for me? Would it have proven so for anyone in my position? Was I mistaken in my approach to Narcisse and in my chosen methods of inculcating him once again with our ways? What exactly did I do wrong? What did I neglect to do? What was the meaning of his resigned indifference towards our world?

The experiment has failed – it little matters for what reason. Narcisse has chosen. I shall return to France, occupying myself on the return voyage in the composing of a report on this venture, which I shall submit to the Geographical Society Review. I ask you in advance not to judge this piece too harshly and to moderate your judgment of my endeavours, which have the bitter taste of being unfinished.

I remain your faithful servant…

Post Scriptum

It is now dusk, and as I come to the end of this missive, Narcisse has returned. He has no notion of the dismay his absence has engendered, and is proudly carrying a beast that resembles a large fox by the tail.

My first instinct was to reproach him sharply. But I am neither his schoolmaster nor his sergeant – it is not my place to castigate him and he would not understand my remarks. He would see only my anger and would not have the means to fathom its cause.

Narcisse is squatting on his heels, clothed once more, watching his game roasting in the fire that he has dug near the river and covered with flat stones. Seeing that Narcisse has rejected his cooking for this evening, Bill is aggrieved and plagues me with his prattle. He complains that he will have none of the meat from this beast he believes to be some sort of cat or polecat.

Our singular family has been reunited.

The day dragged on. The savages had lost interest in him. They’d attacked him and mutilated his ear, and now they were ignoring him.

He spent the morning in dejected vigil on the other side of the water hole – not that the stagnant pond would provide any means of defence, but at least he’d be able to see them coming. At this distance, he felt less ashamed of his nakedness. Sitting on the muddy red earth he ran his left hand mechanically from his temple to the back of his neck in an unthinking gesture that calmed the stabbing pains from the wound. At least the bleeding had stopped, thanks to the old woman’s ointment.