English passengers (58 page)

Skeggs = 1st to voice selves fears aloud: suggested this place = further S along coast than supposed, so could be many miles of wilderness between here and nearest settlement. All knew what this meant. Selves have neither strength nor food for further journeying, while also = danger of further attacks by half-caste. Hodges trying voice optimism: claiming some ship might visit but self had no patience for such foolish
delusions. Told he: ‘‘What sort of captain would ever bring a vessel into quiet + empty bay like this, where = nobody and nothing?’’

Dismal calm descended. Selves drifted back to trees behind beach to prepare for night, more from habit than hope: finding flat ground, building fire (6 matches remaining). Self feeling awful premonition that this shall = last camp and that all selves shall perish in this place. Brewed hot water. Opened final tin Aberdeen hotchpotch: ate ½ teaspoon each (just makes selves feel far more hungry). 7/8ths tin left. This = total food remaining. Stored carefully in last mule bag.

Deeply asleep + dreaming about to eat feast of beef, roast potatoes, turnips, carrots, peas, onions, gravy, etc. etc. when suddenly woken by screaming and rifle shot. Jumping up saw Tom Wright (on watch: asleep?) with spear through his chest, and half-caste aiming spear at self. Just managed twist out of way so it struck tree just behind. Self reached for pistol but he already fleeing though darkness.

Wright struck clean through heart. Soon coughed his last. This savage act serving to banish selves’ lethargy + rouse all to furious anger. Even if selves = to die in this vile spot, at least might now revenge selves re savage murders and deal with this devious and hateful primitive. Must hunt he down like verminous freak he is. Hooper, Skeggs, Hodges + self began search, using firebrands to light way. Followed footsteps through trees but these vanishing on harder ground. Awkward. Selves = wary spreading out in case suffer further attack. Also faint shuffling sounds in undergrowth (birds? mice? half-caste?) = v. distracting. Hodges panicking, tried fire rifle into dark (hammer not cocked) so self had harshly scold he (only 2 pistol + 1 rifle rounds remaining, while if selves fire all then will have no defence vs. half-caste’s spears).

Finally returned to fire. None thinking of sleep. Agreed should bury Wright to prevent he being worked upon by birds, wild beasts etc etc. In truth little flesh left on him—just some on calves, thighs, neck + shoul-ders—but still creatures v. likely be tempted. Took he to beach where sand = softer + set to work digging by light of firebrands. Difficult, as had no spade, so had pull away sand with hands. Soon reached layer roots beneath, so had make do with shallow grave. Placed Wright within + just finishing covering he, when Hodges calling out, ‘‘Look. There’s someone by the fire.’’

Self indeed saw man, silhouetted vs. dwindling flames. Appeared = scooping at something with hand. All ran, guns ready. But was not half-caste. There, in full view selves = Wilson, tin in hand, gouging out last mouthful of Aberdeen hotchpotch. Our Aberdeen hotchpotch! Self ran to strike he down but Hooper quicker: knocking away tin, trying recover food from Wilson’s mouth (too late, as he already swallowing). Tin = quite empty. He eaten all 7/8ths! Could hardly believe eyes.

Told he, ‘‘You vile thief.’’

He = wholly unrepentant. Claiming this = his ‘‘right’’ as food = given him by ‘‘the Lord my father.’’ Claiming it is his ‘‘duty’’ to eat so food will not go to ‘‘agents of the devil.’’

Hooper declaring simply, ‘‘Let’s hang him.’’

Self considered this = excellent notion. Could use old rope by jetty. Believe selves would have done so there and then except for Hodges. He whining selves have no legal right hang Wilson. Self less troubled, as considered selves would all be long dead before any lawyers might stray here. Besides, all saw he eating hotchpotch. But for sake decorum self suggested selves hold own trial. Said he must be ‘‘tried by his peers’’ (selves) just like a Lord. All agreed (except Wilson).

Began at once, in broken rowboat. Wilson put in stern, rest facing he on oarsmen’s benches. Self = magistrate. Hodges = defence. Hooper = prosecution. Skeggs = watching for half-caste. All = jury. Hooper began questioning: ‘‘Did you eat our last tin of Aberdeen hotchpotch and so intend to starve us all to death?’’ etc. etc. Wilson insisting this not proper legal process but the ‘‘devil’s law’’ + saying this whole court = in the dock of ‘‘greater court, court of angels,’’ where selves shall receive ‘‘higher judgment,’’ etc. etc. Claiming that God gave him hotchpotch ‘‘with His own hand.’’

Self feeling weary. Sky = growing light, selves had been awake through nearly all night. Also cold breeze now blowing, stirring mist. Self eager hang he quick so could rest, and permitted only short summing-up + discussion. Defence (Hodges) proposing selves should not do anything now but wait. Prosecution (Hooper) answering that = no purpose in delay + he must be hanged ‘‘as example to others.’’ Then self stood and called out, ‘‘The court will now rise and declare its verdict.’’ Asked each one by turn.

Hooper: ‘‘Guilty.’’

Skeggs: ‘‘Guilty.’’

Self: ‘‘Guilty.’’

Hodges: ‘‘I still say we should wait.’’

Self declared verdict = guilty, as agreed by majority + announced sentence, that ‘‘the Reverend Geoffrey Wilson shall = hanged by the neck until he = dead.’’ Wilson actually smiling + saying he does not mind, as he knows he shall soon be lodged ‘‘safe upon the kindly breast of my father,’’ etc. etc. Self examined rope but realized this = too thick for fine work. Also none selves = sure how make noose. Further difficulty = platform to push he from. Hooper insisting selves can simply tie rope round his neck, sling over tree branch, pull he up, secure other end + let he swing. ‘‘It may = less tidy but will work nicely enough, just you see.’’ Hodges, as ever, insisted all = done correctly. Self then proposed constructing simple platform from planks of rowboat, stand Rev. atop, attach noose, then kick away. Selves still examining planks, wondering how do this, when Wilson suddenly crying out, most strangely.

‘‘A miracle! A miracle! Thank you, O Lord! Praise be the Lord.’’

Self supposed he finally turned quite demented. But then Skeggs shouting, ‘‘A ship.’’

Self turned to follow line of he arm. Mist now much dispersed by breeze. Sure enough, there, at far end bay, beneath cliff self could just discern faint vertical + horizontal lines. No mistaking these = masts. In fact seemed not one vessel but two.

Self still v. tempted complete matter at hand. Unfortunately already = too late: Wilson jumping from boat, Hodges, Skeggs + even Hooper all = staggering away in direction mysterious vessels. Self had little choice but to follow.

T
RULY, A MAN
never knew such slowness. First there was Parrick Quine, the Hobart landing waiter, who seemed like gold dust itself being a Manxman in the customs, but proved a fussing, greedy sort of gold dust
at that, being scared that once he gave us the name of that certain kind of trader we were seeking, we’d just do our deal and sail away, and he’d never get his share. Then there was the buyer he finally found, Jed Grey, who was a giant, stooping, worrying sort of fellow, looking as if he’d been bitten by too many low doorframes and was slower even than Quine. His fear was that we were all just some clever policemen’s surprise, and that he’d find himself waking up in Port Arthur gaol one bright morning. When he was finally set and had paid a little jink down, there was a good deal of store loading to do, as I was taking no chances this time, our luck being what it was, and I wanted plenty of food and water aboard just in case we got beached on some piece of wilderness, or had to turn tail and flee across oceans. When this was finished there was that southerly breeze that wouldn’t stop blowing—cold so it had all the Tas-manians mewling and whining about the rottenness of their summer— and sealing us in Hobart as neat as bottle stoppers. I was even getting to worry the Englishmen might stroll back from their jaunt and thwart us once again, but then the breeze came about to a westerly, which would do, and we set sail that noon, with Quine settling the customs documents tidy and quiet, and one of Jed Grey’s men playing pilot.

The wind kept fresh, giving us an easy passage, and the next evening we sailed into the bay we’d picked from the charts, dropping anchor in the shadow of a good-sized cliff. We had to wait another couple of nights for Jed Grey to arrive, as it wouldn’t have done for both of us to be setting out on the same tide, but finally his vessel drifted into sight and we started our work, which should have been done at some quiet spot near Maldon, seven months back. Truly, there’s nothing like the running trade to murder a man’s back. I even had to lend a hand myself, there being so few bodies aboard, though it was hardly proper labour for a ship’s captain. First we had to drag the goods from their hiding places and drop them in the main hold. Next we put a rope around them and, tugging at a pulley rigged to the foreyard, we heaved them skywards, swung them out and dropped them down into the longboat that was waiting. Then we did it all again, and again, and more besides, sometimes rowing over to the shore to catch some stones as ballast. It was hard going and we were only half done when the light went and the fog blew in and we had to call it a day. We started the next morning as soon
as the mist lifted, and we’d got going nicely, too, when I noticed Brew peering landwards, with a frown bigger than Peel City stuck on his face.

‘‘Captain, look over there on the shore.’’

Across on the narrow stony beach below the cliff where there should have been nothing worse than gulls and seaweed, was stood a little group of bodies, ragged as marooned sailors, and each of them waving their arms and shouting as if their lives depended on it, which I suppose they did, too. Well, here was a rotten little piece of surprise. The whole idea of this spot was that there would be nobody here. ‘‘Who can they be?’’

‘‘Escaped convicts?’’

That would be just my luck, to be pestered by runaway dirts. ‘‘Get my telescope.’’

That was when I got my second little shock of the morning. These weren’t just any old lost articles, you see. These were our passengers. There was no mistaking them, for all their hair and rags and thinness. There was the Reverend, waving fit to bust, and Potter too, his red beard long and wild as any madman’s. There was his servant Hooper, and a couple of others, besides, though there was no sign of Renshaw, nor of that army of mules they’d had. This was far worse than convicts. Why, it was almost as if they’d done it deliberately, just to be awkward. All these months we’d managed to keep everything tidy and quiet—though it hadn’t been easy—and now, just when I thought we were finally settled, here they were, plaguing us with some disaster they’d dropped on themselves.

In a moment I saw Jed Grey was having himself rowed over in the next boat, his face worrying fit to burst. My news didn’t cheer him one jot, neither.

‘‘They know you? But that makes them even more dangerous. There’s no question, Captain. We cannot bring them aboard.’’

Brew was just as kindly. ‘‘It’d hardly be clever to let them put a sight on all of this.’’ He cast a glance to the casks of brandy and sheaves of tobacco being hauled up from below.

They were right enough. To take that gang of fools aboard would hobble us nicely. Whatever they might promise us today they were sure,
as Englishmen, to go blabbing to the customs tomorrow, hurling us into all manner of trouble.

Grey was searching for ways to make himself feel easier, looking almost angry, as if they’d done him some wrong. ‘‘It’s not our fault that they’ve stranded themselves here, after all.’’

Brew added a touch of legal neatness. ‘‘Besides, the agreement we made never said anything about picking them up from their expedition.’’

All we had to do was nothing. By the look of them they’d only last a day or two more, at the most. Why, a fellow couldn’t have looked for a more perfect bit of murdering. If anyone found them afterwards—which I doubted—there’d be not a thing to say we’d been near. No, it would be easier than spilling milk, with nothing to fear. Apart, that was, from my own recollection of the five of them stood here on the shore, starved and waving and screaming for our help.

I took a breath and called out to Kinvig. ‘‘Have the boat go over to the shore and pick up those men.’’

Grey’s voice jumped high at that. ‘‘I won’t allow it. You’ll get us all thrown in gaol.’’

‘‘He could be right,’’ mumbled Brew.

One of the handsomest things about being Captain of a ship is that you don’t have to give anyone a reason for. It’s your vessel and that’s the end of the matter. ‘‘If you don’t want them to put a sight on your face, then you’d best get yourself rowed back before they’re brought,’’ I told Grey. ‘‘I’ll put them off at some nowhere spot, to give us a little time, but I’m not leaving them here.’’

He scowled but there was nothing he could do, and so he slunk away to his ship, to keep his pretty face hid.

Brew was no happier. ‘‘Shouldn’t we at least wait till the wares are all cleared from sight and we’ve closed the hatches?’’

I couldn’t see much point. ‘‘They’ll have seen enough already from the shore. We may as well just take them aboard and be done with it.’’

It wasn’t long before the longboat was rowing our passengers back. I’d expected them to be all gushing gratitude—which they should, too, considering the trouble I’d be catching saving their skins—but no, they
never so much as dropped me a ‘‘Thank you, Captain,’’ being far too busy yelling mad accusations at one another. Truly, I’d never have imagined Englishmen could turn so crazed. The Reverend was the worst, and when he was fifty yards distant I could already hear that piping voice of his screeching across the water.

‘‘You must arrest these men, Captain. They just tried to murder me. They’re evil, nothing less. You must put them in irons this instant.’’

Potter was no less sweet. ‘‘Wilson’s nearly killed us all ten times over, and now he’s trying to throw the blame on me. Don’t listen to him, Captain.’’