English passengers (24 page)

We were still sitting round the cider gum when Cordeve, who was keeping watch that time, called out. ‘‘Look there. It’s my sister!’’

Cordeve was Tommeginer and I never even knew he had any sister, but there she was, yes, walking through trees, with two other women I never saw before. That was great good fortune, truly, as we never saw any but white scuts all this long while, ever since we became Mother’s tribe, so it was joyous to find others like us were still alive. Usually Cordeve was just quiet but now he was gleeful and tidings of joy, running to these new ones. He got near, too, when suddenly his friendliness turned to a fighting run, and he raised his spear for throwing. ‘‘Watch out,’’ he shouted. ‘‘Behind you.’’

There coming after his sister, you see, was one white man. He was a puzzle to confound, yes. He had no gun or killing knife, and just stood there, short and fat and easy to hit, and smiling too. I think Cordeve would spear him, too, but then his sister didn’t go away like anyone would expect, but ran back to stand before this num and be his guard. ‘‘Stop!’’ she called. ‘‘He’s my friend.’’

Yes, that was strange, but strangest thing came just after. All at once that num white scut shouted to us, and d’you know he never shouted to us in white man’s talk at all, but in Tommeginer language. He didn’t speak very properly, truly, as his words were wrong and stupid, like baby’s, but still, whoever did hear of some white man speaking like us? ‘‘Don’t be frightened,’’ he told. ‘‘I only want to help you. My name is Robson.’’

‘‘You must listen to him,’’ said Cordeve’s sister, very beseeching. ‘‘He can save us.’’

This Robson was smiling now, as if we were foolish children. I suppose we were staring in mighty surprise at his knowing our own words. ‘‘She’s right. I know of a place where you’ll all be safe. A fine place where there are plenty of kangaroo to hunt and no bad white men can hurt you. I can take you there.’’ He reached into his dead skin, which was dirty, and pulled out some shiny round things of different colours, like flat stones. ‘‘These are for you. They’re called buttons.’’

His words were interesting, yes, as in truth I was too tired of always hurrying and fighting and being cold and hungry. Besides we were not many now and probably we would all be killed quite soon. Cordeve was going up to take one of the coloured things that were called buttons, and I thought I might too, as they were pleasing, but then Mother gave her hating look.

‘‘Don’t go near,’’ she told. ‘‘No white pisser brings anything but killing.’’ So she turned to white man Robson. ‘‘Go away and leave us alone or I’ll kill you.’’

Robson never seemed to hear her words at all, just smiling as if he never believed her. I suppose he never did know Mother. ‘‘We have meat for you if you are hungry,’’ he said, just smiling. ‘‘Plenty of it. And a fine warm fire to sit beside.’’

‘‘And there are many others with us who you’ll know,’’ said Cordeve’s sister.

All of a sudden Mother just raised her gun and fired. I never did surmise if she wanted to miss that fellow or if she was just confounded. Probably she was confounded. Though he wasn’t killed, still he was mightily fearful, and I recollect he went like some spider, crouching, running away and holding up his hands to stop anyone hitting him— though nobody was—all at the same time. Cordeve’s sister and the other two women went with him, running away into bushes, and then Cordeve went too, calling out his sister’s name. I suppose he was sad to lose her so quick after she got found.

‘‘We must go away from here,’’ said Mother.

So we went away. I did ponder, as we walked, that maybe this white man could save us like he said. Probably some others wondered too. Still nobody said anything to Mother, as no one ever did. All the while she was looking angry and calling us to go faster, as if she was more fearful of
this one white scut with his smile and speaking Tommeginer language than all those others in the great creeping, with their guns and killing knives. By and by we reached a high place, and when we stopped and looked back there were tails of smoke from fire sticks, so we knew he wasn’t scared by getting nearly killed, but was coming after us still. Those smokes were several, too, so we surmised there must be plenty of our ones with him, just like Cordeve’s sister said.

So we were fleeing again, and this time it was from our own too, and not just num. This was much harder. When we looked back they always were close after us, so ours were watching our tracks, and seeing them even though we went carefully, which num never could. Even then I think we could evade them easily, except that coughing sickness came. I never had seen this till then, though I had heard of it as some heinous thing, and more killing even than white scuts. On that second day of fleeing it caught Cordeve’s cousin, whose name was Lawerick. After just a few hours he was hot and gasping, and by evening he was spitting out white stuff like bird shit, and was so crook he hardly could speak. That same night two others got sick besides. One was Mother.

A thing about Mother was she never would yield. If my skill was enduring, then hers was just going on by and by. Some other would know we must stop now as we were just ruination, but not Mother. Next morning her eyes were faint and her step was stiff, but still she never paid any heed. ‘‘We must go to the river,’’ she declared.

I soon saw her bold intention. First, when we got to the river, we put out all fire sticks except just one and put them in bushes, and we hid our tracks by brushing them with leaves. Then we stepped into the stream, though it was cold, and we began walking, shouting at the dog animals to try and make them stay in the water too. All day we followed that stream, though our feet got numb and were often cut by sharp stones, and Lawerick and Mother and those others got more crook all the while. Finally we came to a place where all was big rocks, smooth and flat like big shells, and Mother said we could go out onto these, as they showed no tracks. Behind was a small forest and this was where we went, wiping our footmarks so foes wouldn’t see.

I supposed we were safe now, but still we were getting sicker by and
by. Mother said we couldn’t have any campfire here, even in a hole, as enemies would smell its smoke, and that night was cold. In the morning Lawerick was very bad, moaning and such, and though his eyes were open he didn’t know anybody. He died soon after, and his dying started a big fight, I do recollect, as his brother said we must burn him, which was correct, but Mother said no even to this.

‘‘We ’ll put him in the forest now and burn him later, when they’re far away,’’ she told. Lawerick’s brother was too angry, saying animals might find that body and eat it, but he was alone in his talk, and so Lawerick got put in the forest like Mother desired.

Later that day clouds went and warm sun shone, which was better, and everyone who wasn’t bad with coughing sickness went searching for roots to eat just nearby. I went with Heedeek. We found some, and though they weren’t so many still it was more food than we had since we started our fleeing, and we ate hungrily and then gave some to the others that were crook, who were six now. It is pleasing to eat when you are hungry, and afterwards everyone lay down to rest.

Everyone except me.

I was thinking, you see, of that white man’s warm fire and his meat to eat, and how blissful these things would be. Then I was thinking of his promised place with kangaroo to hunt, where we would be safe, I did surmise. For a time I looked at those others as they slept, and then, very quietly, I went away. Nearby was a tree that was tall, and so I climbed, going high till I reached just thin branches which leaned as I held them. From that place I could see half of everywhere, so it looked. Over to westwards were mountains, sharp like cutting stones. Near to eastwards was that same cold river where we walked to be hidden. And there, to southwards, were thin lines of smoke like rope. These were never so near as before now, and as I watched, holding on to those branches till my arms ached, I saw they were moving away from us now. Yes, I could divine, Mother’s walking in the stream had worked and they had missed us. When I climbed down I went over to Mother, who was hot and coughing in her sleep. I took some root I found, which was large and just good for eating, and I put this near her hand, just as some kindly thing. Next I went over to the small fire stick that was all the fire Mother let us have now.

It was too easy. Fire stick was stuck in the ground, but stupidly, so gum tree leaves were not far above. I looked but others weren’t watching. For a time I just stood there, pondering. Then gently I moved that branch till fire took it.

That was all it did need.

T
HE SURPRISE
of nearly being murdered by pirates had a quietening effect on all aboard the
Sincerity,
myself included, and for a time even Dr. Potter and Mr. Wilson treated each other with something approaching civility. It did not last, needless to say. Once we crossed the equator our vicar began to look restless, and it was then he started praying aloud at first light, which he called ‘‘dawn godliness.’’ That drove me halfway to distraction, as his moaning came straight through the holes in the partition wall, while Potter didn’t look pleased at all. Soon after that there was the business of the mug of tea that was found on the vicar’s Bible, which was answered in turn by a new and longer list of parson’s laws. Even that wasn’t enough for Wilson, and in his next Sunday sermon he insisted on lecturing us about how we must look deep into our hearts and cast out all envy and wickedness, hurling, as he spoke, little saintly smiles in the doctor’s direction. When the sermon moved next to praising the virtue of deference, and saying how it was the God-given duty of those ‘‘of junior station’’ to obey their ‘‘natural betters,’’ Potter’s face turned quite clenched.

It was that sermon that decided the next course of their little war. The moment it was finished the doctor marched across to Captain Kewley, while Wilson—who had seen his rage—followed just behind. I went too, being curious. Their feud was the nearest thing there was aboard the
Sincerity
to something happening, while, finding each party quite as annoying as the other, as I did, I suppose it afforded me some faint satisfaction to watch them assail one another.

‘‘It occurs to me,’’ Potter began, ‘‘that it might be of interest to the
crew if I delivered a few educational lectures, perhaps on scientific matters.’’

Wilson cut in before Kewley had a chance to answer. ‘‘What a generous thought, Doctor. Though I should say that such a thing would hardly be suitable for the Sabbath, when we prefer to reflect upon the spiritual.’’

His thinking, I supposed, was that Kewley would not want lectures cluttering up the ship’s workdays, and so Potter’s proposal would be squeezed nicely into oblivion. He was probably right, too. Where he made his mistake was in being so very pushing. A weary look passed across Kewley’s face. ‘‘I don’t see why we shouldn’t have room for his talk as well as yours, Vicar. After all, the doctor’s science is also part of the good Lord’s world, is it not?’’

Wilson wriggled his best but, I was pleased to see, the Captain would have none of his bullying. So it was that the ship became quite a library of scribbling, as my two colleagues worked upon their discourses like swordsmen sharpening their blades, each casting his face into the most serious expression, as if to demonstrate the superiority of his work over the other’s.

It was early that same week that the weather began to change. The wind had been blowing strongly until then, propelling us swiftly southwards, and already the sun had begun to lose a little of its strength, its light turning subtly whiter, reminding us that we were venturing towards a part of the world where the season was still late wintertime. On the Thursday the wind backed round from the southwest, feeling suddenly chilly, and troubling the crew with a good work with the sails. Then on the Saturday morning it dropped away to nothing and we found ourselves becalmed, and that night the fog came. By Sunday morning the vessel was encased tighter than a hand in a glove. The light was so dim and the air so still that it felt almost as if we were not at sea at all, but were inside some kind of murky room. When one looked out over the side, the water was visible only for a few yards, while upwards the masts and sails vanished into the whiteness.

It was around noon that we heard a loud splash off the port bow, sudden and shocking in the stillness. We all hurried to the rail, though we could see nothing but fog. Captain Kewley even called out, ‘‘Ahoy
there,’’ but there came no answer. Only when we stood, carefully listening, did we become aware of a sound from the same direction, faint and rhythmic, deep and low.

‘‘It’s creatures,’’ said Kewley in a whisper.

It seemed there were a good number of them, and as we listened their breathing grew slowly louder, until it extended all about the vessel, as if we were in the middle of some huge ocean dormitory. The beasts none of them ventured close enough to be seen, and I could only presume they must be some form of whale or grampus. It may seem foolish and yet I found their invisible presence unsettling, while even the Manxmen, who I would have expected to be used to such oddities, went about their work with furtive looks, speaking in lowered voices, quite as if the huge animals were listening.

Our two Sunday lecturers, by contrast, seemed little interested, being both far more concerned with the discourses they were to give, leafing hurriedly through their notes, or disagreeing with one another over the construction of the temporary pulpit. Dr. Potter was to speak first. He forwent Wilson’s dramatic preamble, simply marching onto the platform, from where he peered down at us with a serious look. ‘‘My lecture today concerns the process of animal magnetism, that is also known as mesmerism,’’ he declared solemnly, pausing for a moment as one of the creatures produced a faint blowing sound, eerie through the fog, ‘‘and will be concluded with a practical demonstration of this most important process, in which I hope to reveal great secrets of the soul of man.’’