Remember Me (33 page)

‘Bill, what do you think?’ Sam asked.

‘Go on,’ he growled, glowering at William Moreton as if to warn him not to try to take command.

Samuel Bird still had a blank expression.

‘Mary! Where d’you stand?’ William asked her.

Mary hadn’t expected to be asked and she hesitated, not wanting to oppose her husband. Yet William Moreton had been the most outspoken about the foolishness of taking a woman and her children with them. If he cared what she thought, then she had a duty to voice it.

‘I agree with Nat,’ she said. ‘We should press on, but stop if the weather changes.’

‘So we’re to listen to a bloody woman now, are we?’ Will exploded. ‘What does she know.’

Jamie Cox looked up in astonishment. Bill narrowed his eyes, looking daggers at Will. Sam bristled visibly.

‘I’d say she knows more than all of us,’ James remarked in a languid drawl. ‘But for her we’d be fish food now. But let’s have no more of this. Put it to a vote.’

William Moreton looked at Will, perhaps expecting
him to make some kind of speech to regain the loyalty of his former followers. But either Will believed he didn’t need to do that, or he knew the outcome already, for he folded his arms sullenly.

‘All those in favour of going on tomorrow, raise your hand,’ William said.

Only Jamie Cox and Will kept theirs down.

‘Motion carried,’ William said, and smirked with self-importance.

‘Don’t cry to me if the boat don’t make it,’ Will said with a shrug. He then turned to Mary with a look of pure malice. ‘And don’t you blame me, girl, if the babbies die!’

There were times after they left White Bay when Mary was tortured by the memory of Will’s words, for there were many more terrific storms which came on so suddenly they had no chance of getting ashore. Each time she saw her children’s stricken faces and heard their shrieks of pure terror, she asked herself what had possessed her to gamble with their lives.

Yet the need to protect them gave her the strength to fight back when she saw the men weakening. Jamie, Samuel Bird and Nat were the worst. They were all small men, with much less muscle than the others, and they couldn’t swim either, which made them even more frightened. In turn she praised, implored, bullied and goaded them. She swore at them from her position at the tiller, screamed that they were to bail and keep bailing if they didn’t want to die.

But just when she was beginning to think, as the men
clearly were, that it was just a matter of time before death claimed them all, they came into calmer waters. On their left was the shore, to their right a huge reef, and the sea between was calm as a mill-pond.

‘Thank the Lord,’ William Moreton shouted in an unexpected display of emotion. ‘I really thought we were done for.’

Yet even this new calm sea wasn’t without hazards, for there were dozens of tiny islands and coral atolls to run aground on. They went ashore on one of the islands, only to find no fresh water, but they cooked up some rice with the remaining water, and when the tide went out set out across the rocks to look for more.

To their astonishment they saw dozens of giant turtles going up on the shore to lay their eggs. The men quickly killed some of them, and as the tide came back in, they hauled them back to their island.

That night they dined well on the first fresh meat they’d eaten since setting out from Sydney. As they fell asleep with full bellies for once, they were rewarded further by the sound of rain filling the upturned shells they’d hopefully left out.

In the days that followed, as James and Will caulked up the boat again with soap, the others caught more turtles and smoked the meat over the fire to take with them.

Bill had done a lot of poaching in his youth, and when he saw a kind of fowl that nested in the ground, he set out to catch them, with Nat as his accomplice. Mary
found herself laughing as she watched them, for they certainly made the oddest partnership. Pugnacious, muscular Bill with his bald head glistening in the sun crouched down on the ground making hand signals to pretty boy Nat to drive the birds towards him. But they made a good team, and caught many birds, and Bill taught Nat the art of plucking them too.

Mary found more cabbage leaves, and fruit. She didn’t know what it was, but it tasted wonderful, and the children, who were both in a poor, listless condition, began to revive.

After six days’ rest they took off again, stopping every now and then to search for more turtles. They didn’t find any, but there was shellfish and plenty of fresh water.

Everyone had long ago stopped asking Will when they would come to the end of this gigantic land mass. Where they would make for in England was a subject of the past too. They were all suffering from apathy now, not really expecting ever to find any kind of real civilization. When they saw the Straits ahead, as marked on Will’s chart, they looked at each other questioningly, then as it slowly dawned on them that they were actually there, they began to laugh hysterically.

Once through the Straits, they found the gulf beyond was dotted with small islands, and they knew they must go ashore to refill the water cask before the last leg of the journey across the open sea. But as they tried to land on one of them, a group of natives watching them from canoes brandished spears and began paddling out to them.

The men were forced to fire their muskets to warn
them off, but then to their consternation they saw the natives pick up bows and fire arrows at them. Mary blanched as several of these eighteen-inch arrows with a barbed point landed right in their boat, and the men had no choice but to row like mad to get clear of them.

These natives were bigger and blacker than any they’d met before, and they came roaring after them in their canoes. But just as it looked as though they would catch them, enough wind came up to fill the sails and they escaped, all very shaken.

‘We have to get water before we go across the gulf,’ Will said later. ‘It’s some five hundred miles at least, and even with a full cask we’ll still have to ration it.’

He was obviously right, and Mary was glad to see him taking charge again.

The following day they took a chance and moored at an island, despite a sizable village close by. They filled the water cask and left hastily, then returned to an uninhabited island to spend the night.

The following morning, elated by their success the previous day, they decided to go back for more water and to look for some fruit and cabbage leaves too.

The village looked as peaceful as it had the previous day, but as they sailed closer into shore, all at once two huge war canoes, with thirty to forty warriors on each, came hurtling out of nowhere, making straight for them. They had never seen boats like this before: they were sturdily made, with banks of paddles, sails made of some kind of matting, and a platform which was clearly for fighting.

Will swung the boat around. ‘Row like buggery,’ he yelled to the men, and quickly pulled up the mainsail.

Mary’s heart was in her mouth and she hardly dared to breathe. The natives’ faces and bodies were painted with a white pattern, they were chanting something, and she had no doubt it was their intention to kill every one of the intruding white men. They were so close now that she could smell their sweat and see the hatred in their faces. Even worse, there were more canoes coming out to join them.

Will showed them all then what a first-class sailor he was. He tacked back and forth to catch the wind, and once he’d got it, the boat sped forward just in the nick of time before the natives were in range to fire more arrows.

‘We’ll go straight across the Gulf now,’ he shouted. ‘Hold on to your hats. We’re leaving this Godforsaken country for good!’

The natives followed them for some miles, until they knew they couldn’t outstrip the cutter. As they finally turned to go back to land, Will cheered loudly. ‘We’ve beaten the bastards,’ he yelled, his smile as wide as the stretch of water in front of them.

Mary joined the men in complimenting Will on his expertise. She was proud of him, not just for his skill, but because she saw he had his old spirit back.

‘You did so well,’ she said, moving to sit beside him at the tiller.

‘Couldn’t have done better yourself?’ he said, raising one salt-encrusted eyebrow.

‘None of us could,’ she said truthfully, and kissed his cheek.

‘We’ll be a bit light on water and food,’ he said warningly.

‘Then we must ration it,’ she said. ‘Have you any idea how far it is now?’

He shook his head. ‘It’s all uncharted now. You’d better start praying, my girl.’

Three weeks later, in the middle of the night, Mary gazed up at the stars and prayed. The many prayers she’d offered up previously, that they should find land soon, had not been answered. Now she was begging God to let her children die before she did, so at least she could hold them to the end.

Emmanuel was in her arms, Charlotte was lying with her head in her mother’s lap. They were so thin and weak that they could no longer cry. They just lay there with their dull eyes constantly fixed on her. Mary had thought she was familiar with every kind of suffering, but knowing that she was responsible for her children’s slow and terrible death was new and far worse.

The last of the food had gone several days before, and the water ran out at noon the previous day, when Emmanuel and Charlotte were given the last drops. No one had spoken today, for they had all lapsed into a kind of torpor, their eyes fixed on the horizon. They weren’t even scanning it for land any longer, just avoiding looking at one another, for the sight of how weak they all were was too distressing.

Everyone but Mary and Will was asleep now. William Moreton sprawled against the empty water cask, Sam Broome and Nat Lilly were curled up like a couple of dogs in the bows, the others lay sagging against each other. Nat and Samuel Bird had suffered the worst from sunburn because of their fair skin, and their faces looked monstrous – red, swollen and blistered. Bill too had his share of sunburn on his bald head, but for the last few days he’d wrapped a piece of rag round it like a turban.

Will was hunched up at the tiller, but when Mary glanced at him she saw a stranger. He appeared to have shrunk, his once fleshy face now skeletal, and his eyes and mouth appearing much too large. It was just as well the wind was favourable, as it had been since they left the Gulf, for no one would have had the strength to lift the oars, much less row with them.

Mary wondered how the stars and moon could still shine so brightly at such a time. They twinkled in the calm, dark water like candles in a shrine. It seemed to her they were telling her to let the children go and spare them any further suffering.

She lifted Emmanuel higher into her arms. He weighed so little now, and she remembered how heavy he had been when they set out all those weeks before. He was all eyes now, for as his flesh disappeared, they had become more prominent. He didn’t even turn his head towards her breast the way he used to, as if he’d finally accepted there was no food there now.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered, kissing his little bony
forehead. She wished they could have survived to see him walk, to hear him talk, to know that he would become as strong as his father when he was fully grown. It wasn’t fair that his short life should have been such a hard one. But as she turned her body slightly on the seat, intending to lower him into the water, she felt his fingers curl round one of hers.

It seemed to Mary he was making a silent plea to stay with her until the end. She clutched him tighter, bent her face to his little head and cried inwardly at her own cowardice.

‘Mary!’

She woke with a start, to find Will tugging at her dress.

The first rays of light were coming into the sky, and her first thought was that Will was expecting a storm and she must get bowls ready to catch the rain to drink.

‘Mary, are my eyes deceiving me, or is that land?’ he asked hoarsely.

Mary looked. It did look like land, a darker, wavy shape on the horizon.

A wild excitement ran through her. ‘Can we both be deceived at once?’ she asked. ‘It looks like land to me too.’

She moved along the seat, still holding the children, to be closer to him, and clutched hold of his hand.

‘Oh, Will,’ she whispered. ‘Can it be true?’

They held hands for at least an hour, watching and hoping against hope it wasn’t some kind of cruel joke of nature. But the dark shape remained constant, growing
closer with each minute, until finally they were convinced it was in reality trees.

‘Well, my girl,’ Will said, beaming at her, ‘I got you there. Today’s the 5th of June 1791, and I’ve got to write in the log that I sighted land. It’s sixty-seven days since we left Sydney, and I thank God for our deliverance.’

‘Shall I wake the others?’ she asked. ‘Or let them sleep on?’

‘Bloody well wake them,’ he said, his once powerful voice a mere husky croak, a tear running down his whiskered cheek. ‘God knows it’s something worth waking for.’

Chapter fourteen

It was late that same afternoon when Will sailed the cutter into a harbour. None of them knew or even cared if it was Kupang. It had buildings and people, which meant food and water, that was enough.

They were all in a pitiful state. Their clothes were ragged, their skin and hair stiff with salt, their skin peeling from long exposure to the elements. They sagged in their seats, too weak and exhausted even to smile at the prospect of salvation.

Mary’s tongue was swollen from thirst and she barely had the strength to hold Emmanuel in her arms, but when she saw the throng of people gathered on the wharf looking curiously at the unkempt occupants of the cutter, her mind sharpened again.

‘Whatever happens, remember to stick to the story,’ she hissed at the men. ‘If we let the truth slip we’ll be sent back there.’

She didn’t think this could be Kupang, as Detmer had said it was owned by the Dutch. She couldn’t see anyone white, they were all brown-or yellow-skinned, but at least they bore no resemblance to the savage natives back in New South Wales.

‘Water!’ William Moreton called out. ‘Water!’