Matthew Flinders' Cat (47 page)

As might be expected, there was great joy among the shipwrecked crews when Flinders returned, and the men on the sandbank immediately fired a salute of eleven guns from the cannonades salvaged from the wreck of the
Porpoise
. On seeing his master return, Trim was overjoyed, though also somewhat concerned at the prospect of telling him that he had failed miserably in the task of enlivening the emotions of his younger brother.

However, Trim was completely vindicated by the following incident. The
Rolla
’s topgallant was first seen by a seaman when they were out at sea testing the new boat they had built to effect their rescue should Matthew Flinders fail to return. ‘Damn my blood, what’s that?’ the man shouted, seeing the topgallant and at first mistaking it for a bird, but, moments after confirming it as a sail, they saw the
Rolla
and the two accompanying schooners moving towards them. Overjoyed, they hastily returned to inform Lieutenant Flinders of their imminent rescue. At the time he was in his tent, calculating some lunar distances, and even though he must have heard the clear sounds of excitement as the men rushed to give him the news, he didn’t look up from his work.

‘Sir, sir, a ship and two schooners in sight!’ the senior man among them shouted, his eyes bright with the joy of being the first to tell of the good news.

Silence followed as the younger Flinders thought for some time. ‘I suppose it must be my brother returning,’ he said in a dispassionate voice. ‘Please inform me when they anchor.’ Whereupon he dismissed them and calmly resumed his calculations.

Once out of sight, Trim saw one of the men grunt, then spit to the sand at his feet and say, ‘He be a cold sod, that one. He hath no joy in him.’

There is just one more thing of interest to talk about before Trim and his master sailed for England. In Matthew Flinders’ absence, the men, not knowing how long they might be stranded on the reef, planted oats, maize and pumpkin seeds. Men who go to sea are not of an agricultural mind so they planted seed in the sand where the salt spray was prevalent. The seeds did come up, especially in the inlet where the soil was of a more nourishing nature, but ultimately all were doomed to die well before harvest time.

Seeing the attempts to grow sustenance in such poor conditions, Matthew Flinders made a promise to himself: If he should return to the Great Ocean and Indian Sea, he would take aboard ten thousand coconuts and these he would distribute amongst the numerous sandbanks of the two oceans. ‘This will be my gift to all the maritime nations and to every sailor, no matter whether friend or foe or what his colour or creed, whether Malacca captain or Chinee boatman,’ he told Trim, looking up from his journal. ‘If there had been a stand of the coconut on the sandbank we would not have struck Wreck Reef; they are an excellent beacon, the mariner’s guide and friend in these treacherous seas. Moreover, if there is a shipwreck, they will provide a nourishment which will keep a man alive and healthy as a supplement to his fish catch.’

There remained a final task before they sailed. The
Cumberland
moved to the eastern extremity of the reef to collect seabird eggs and hopefully a turtle for its succulent meat. Such fine fare was rare while in the process of a voyage and it seemed a good omen when they caught a large specimen for the ship’s larder and, with Trim’s help, discovered all the nests they needed to fill a great cabbage-tree basket with eggs.

At noon on the 20th of October, with the breakers in sight, they fixed their latitude to check their position with respect to Murray’s Islands before entering the Torres Strait on their voyage to England.

The next thirteen days at sea were without mishap but it was becoming apparent that the indifferent sailing of the schooner was against making a quick passage and Trim had not resolved his apprehension concerning the little vessel. By the time they had sailed through the Timor Strait and reached the Dutch settlement at Coepang Bay, it was clear that the schooner was in trouble. She was leaking badly when the wind caused her to lie over on her side and one of the pumps was by now near useless. Matthew Flinders was hopeful that the pumps might be re-bored and fitted and that pitch could be procured to pay the seams in the upper works after they were caulked. But neither was available in the tiny settlement and he had to settle for fresh water and provisions. The only compensation was that they managed to stop a leak in the bow and were warned that the Malay pirates had become the scourge of the straits between Java and Timor so the
Cumberland
was fitted with netting to prevent the pirates from boarding.

Matthew Flinders decided to sail south of the Sundra Islands to make it to the Cape of Good Hope, where he knew they could effect the repairs the tiny schooner badly needed. The monsoon weather was already threatening and the winds were changeable, with squalls prevalent, so that several days out of Coepang, the jumble caused by the different movement in the water made the little schooner labour exceedingly. The starboard pump, the only one still effective, was made to work continuously day and night. Flinders’ greatest fear was that it too would soon fall into disrepair from overuse. They sailed on towards the Cape, the little vessel becoming more and more unseaworthy, so that by the 4th of December Flinders knew that they would not make their immediate destination and his only chance was to make for Mauritius, the island he had been expressly forbidden to visit by Governor King.

Matthew Flinders found himself in a great pickle. He was not aware that England was now again at war with France and, as he held a passport from the French government, he hoped for a cordial welcome to the island. His hopes were to be severely dashed and his life and that of Trim forever changed.

Marcia Trengrove tapped Billy on the shoulder. ‘Time for you to leave, Billy,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s nearly six o’clock.’

Billy couldn’t believe the time had passed so quickly and that not once during the afternoon had he thought of slipping out for a drink, though straight after the librarian had alerted him to the time the craving returned, such was the insidious nature of his addiction. Still, despite having had a sandwich for lunch, he was hungry so decided to walk down Martin Place where the Just Enough Faith food van would be waiting.

Billy decided to visit each of the food vans progressively in the hope that Ryan might be spotted. He intended asking everyone coming in for their evening meal if they had seen him, describing his looks and, in particular, his black Independent T-shirt, Vans trainers and skateboard. There were always street kids at the vans and one of them might have seen Ryan.

Billy told himself that, with the police looking for him, Ryan would be careful not to show himself too openly in public but he still had to eat. He had no money and, short of scavenging in the bins in the back lanes of restaurants, a food van was the most likely place for him to come.

Jeff Gambin greeted him like a long-lost friend. ‘Haven’t seen you in ages, Billy. What happened? Got yourself arrested, did you? Warm cell for the winter?’

It was an old joke. ‘No, I’ve been to Surfers Paradise, a place in the sun for shady people.’ This was an even older joke.

Gambin laughed. ‘I can offer you an excellent lamb chop, mashed potato whipped to a frenzy, with rich brown gravy, what say you, Billy?’

Billy had not yet reached the point in his rehabilitation where he thought to choose his food according to his mood and he nodded. While he waited for Jeff Gambin to prepare his plate, he asked him if he’d seen Ryan. ‘We know Ryan well, Billy, he’s a regular customer, has been for a couple of years, though we haven’t seen him for . . .’ He stopped to think, holding Billy’s paper plate, which now contained three lamb chops and a small mountain of mashed potato, although the gravy had not yet been added. ‘Three weeks, maybe more, not since his grandmother died.’

‘You know about his grandmother?’ Billy asked, surprised.

‘Oh yes, Ryan would always take a plate of food back for the old woman, almost always mince and mash. She also loved sausages and fried onions. We’d put it in a plastic container for him to keep it warm. When he stopped coming we asked around and someone, I forget who, said the old girl had passed on. Haven’t seen the boy since.’

‘If you do, could you tell him he’ll find me with Trim?’ Billy asked.

‘Find you with Trim? That all?’

‘Yes, thank you, Jeff.’ Billy took the plate and sat on a bench, surprised at just how hungry he was.

Billy completed his meal with a paper mug of sweet, milky tea, into which he put only two teaspoons of sugar. It was yet another tiny step forward. He had just sufficient time to walk up William Street to the Cross and the Wayside Chapel.

Carrying his briefcase in the usual way and his Wayside Chapel blanket wrapped in the plastic bag under his right arm, he appeared the derelict more than ever. His knee was playing up from all the walking he’d done but he was sober and hanging on grimly. At this moment in his life he was as far from the famous barrister as he had ever been, yet he sensed that he was slowly closing in on the human being he might some day become if he could stay off the grog.

The thought of everything changing, and the prospect of entering a life of sobriety, frightened Billy. He knew how to conduct himself in the world of drunks but he didn’t know how to live in that same world as a sober person. On his first night out of William Booth and still sober, he was planning to spend some of it in a dark alley behind The Sheba, acting out the accustomed role of an alcoholic, and after midnight on the bench underneath Trim’s window ledge as a homeless person accommodated in the Starlight Hotel. He was back on the street and sleeping rough, but this time without the warmth and comfort and final oblivion provided by Mr Johnnie Walker. He was going to need the affirmation he hoped the AA meeting he was about to attend would give him.

Billy arrived at the Wayside Chapel just after seven o’clock with the AA meeting due to begin at seven-thirty, so he waited outside, not sure he wanted to enter until the last possible moment. It was getting cold and he was annoyed with himself that he hadn’t thought to pick up a sweater when he’d gone for his blanket that morning. There seemed to be a lot of young people around, most of them with bits and pieces thrust through their various facial orifices, rings through their noses, eyelids, ears and tongues, not to mention the multi-ringed ear lobes. Billy wondered what it was in human beings that required this kind of self-mutilation in the name of fashion or originality. If it was a need to stand out as a different caste, what was the particular defiance they wished to articulate? A loop through the tongue seemed to him to be a very inconvenient implementation, so what was such an obvious impediment trying to say?

Men and women somewhat older than the youngsters started to arrive, some dressed much as he was, though the majority wore business suits and ties and had obviously come straight from work. Billy didn’t carry a watch, another habit he would have to take up again, but after several of the men had entered, he followed.

The meeting, which took place in a back room, was largely unstructured and it became at once obvious that its central purpose was to offer mutual support to those attending. As at William Booth, only first names were offered and no other details followed unless these were volunteered. The men sat around, talking one to one or in groups, and almost immediately a man in a suit and tie who seemed in his fifties came over to Billy and offered his hand.

‘Hi, I’m Don, welcome to AA.’

‘Thank you, my name is Billy.’

‘This is your first visit, Billy?’ Don asked.

Billy nodded. ‘I’ve just come out of William Booth, my first day as a matter of fact.’

‘Good on ya!’ Don cried, immediately gripping Billy’s shoulder. ‘You’ve come straight in, that’s bloody marvellous, mate.’

Billy could sense the sincerity of Don’s response and felt a lot more comfortable. ‘I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do,’ he ventured.

Don grinned. ‘What you’ve asked sounds like a simple question but it isn’t. AA meetings are not very structured unless you want to do the Twelve Steps, we call those “step meetings” and they take place in a separate room. Otherwise we are all here for mutual support. If I’m chairing the meeting, I’ll bring it to order and we’ll say a short prayer and then ask if there’s anyone who wants to share. Someone will stand up and tell of his experience as an alcoholic and when he’s finished we’ll give him a lot of vocal support. You will find there is a very strong bond between everyone here.’ He smiled. ‘It’s a bit like a secret society, someone can only enter if they’ve had the experience of addiction. Your paid-up membership is because we all share the same experience. We’re all alcoholics and we’re all here for each other.’ He touched Billy on the shoulder. ‘Come and let me introduce you to a few of the blokes.’

After a while, as he told Billy he would, Don called the meeting to order and said a short prayer. Then he asked if anyone wanted to share. A man stood up and introduced himself as Bryan, whereupon there was some clapping and calls of ‘Gidday, Bryan’ and other expressions of encouragement and welcoming sounds. Bryan told his story and some of the problems he was having to confront, at the end of which he sat down to the applause of the rest of the men and women. This happened on three more occasions and afterwards the meeting moved back to one-on-one and group discussions, with everyone included.

By the end of the evening, Billy had met and listened to almost everyone. He was surprised at the frankness of many of the discussions and the willingness of the members to participate. It wasn’t as much the wisdom of their thoughts, after all they shared the one experience in common, but their warmth and sincerity and their genuine need to be with each other, even though it was obvious they didn’t all belong to the same social environment outside. Billy said very little himself and nobody tried to push him into joining in, but nevertheless he felt included. Over tea and biscuits he met more of the people, all of whom encouraged him to keep attending, promising their support.