The World Duology (World Odyssey / Fiji: A Novel) (25 page)

41

Kororareka, New Zealand
, 1848

S
usannah felt decidedly nervous as she accompanied her father the short distance from the wharf to the main street of Kororareka, a thriving port settlement on the east coast of New Zealand’s North Island. The town was widely recognized as
the hell-hole of the Pacific
. Looking around, Susannah could see why: it had, in her opinion, attracted the biggest collection of lowlifes, riffraff and undesirables who had ever walked the earth, and there was no sign of law enforcement of any kind.

As the only white woman in
the township at that moment – and as one of the few white women to have ever visited the district – she was attracting considerable attention. The sailors, whalers, sealers and others of their kind openly leered at Susannah as she and her father walked along the dusty street. A symphony of wolf whistles followed them both. More reserved were the local Maoris who congregated in small groups on street corners and who seemed to be minding their own business. They appeared surly and resentful of the presence of pakeha, or whites, on land that was theirs not that long ago.

Shop
keepers appeared to be doing a roaring trade, but the busiest establishments by far were the brothels. Although still only early afternoon, queues of men lined up outside the seedy establishments. Some of those queuing jostled to maintain their position and sporadic fighting broke out.

Susannah caught sight of several prostitutes inside one of the brothels. The
y were all Maori and appeared to range in age from around fifteen to fifty. The older women wore the moko, or Maori tattoo, on their chins. None of the prostitutes – young or old – seemed remotely attractive.
I guess for men who have been at sea for months on end, they look like beauties
. Susannah quickly looked the other way. It saddened her to see women selling their bodies to whoever was willing to pay.

“Not far to go now, my dear,” Drake Senior murmured to reassure his daughter.
He could sense her unease.

“It can’t come soon enough, papa,” Susannah said.

They were heading for a recommended boarding house whose hoarding could be seen some fifty yards ahead.

The Drakes had just arrived in Kororareka after a three-week voyage from Hobart Town. Drake Senior had secured berths for them aboard another brigantine,
Sea Mistress
, after they’d learned that
Minstrel
would be laid up in for three weeks in dry dock for repairs after her run-in with the whale. Rather than wait, the Drakes and several other passengers had decided to take up an offer of berths on
Sea Mistress
, which was departing for Kororareka just a few days after their arrival in Hobart Town.

Thankfully, the trans-Tasman crossing had been uneventful after the dramas of the previous leg from Cape Town to Hobart Town. The often dangerous Tasman Sea hadn’t lived up to its reputation, and
Sea Mistress
completed the voyage without incident. Even so, the Drakes hadn’t yet had time to find their sea legs, and the ground beneath their feet seemed to be rising and falling as they walked.

The boarding house they were heading for would be home until Drake Senior could organize a berth for them aboard a vessel leaving for Fiji. They’d been assured Fiji was on a major shipping route and they shouldn’t have long to wait.

“We’re here!” Drake Senior announced, stopping outside the boarding house they’d been heading for. The hoarding above its front door read:
Jensen’s Boarding House
.
Vacancies
.

Looking up at the sign, Susannah noticed a smaller sign beneath it. It read:
Welcome to Kororareka
. The town’s name had been crossed out by some wag. In its place he’d scrawled
the hell-hole of the Pacific
, confirming what Susannah had heard earlier.

In no time, the Drake
s secured adjoining rooms on the establishment’s first floor.

Susannah had no sooner started to unpack
when there was a knock on her door. “Come in, papa,” she called. “It’s not locked.”

Drake Senior opened the door and looked in. “I’m heading back down to the waterfront now,” he announced. “I suggest you keep the door locked while I’m away.”

“Of course, papa.” Susannah needed no encouragement on that score. Apart from her father and Mister Jensen, the boarding house proprietor, she hadn’t seen one trustworthy looking individual since arriving in town.

Drake Senior said his goodbyes and headed off. He was returning to the waterfront to enquire about berths to Fiji.

Susannah locked her door then recovered her diary, quill and ink bottle from her travel bags. She had some writing to catch up on.

Minutes later, she commenced
drafting her first diary entry in several days.

August 31
st
, 1848

It is with some relief I can write that we have arrived safely in New Zealand.
Having survived the Roaring Forties, we were nervous about the trans-Tasman crossing for it has doomed many ships and claimed many lives. Our prayers must have been answered for the weather was kind and the seas calm for most of the voyage.

Sailing into Kororareka, on the east coast of New Zealand’s northernmost island, early this afternoon was a sight I shall never forget. I swear it is the prettiest coastline I have seen. Bush-covered hills, h
orseshoe-shaped bays and inlets, and golden sand beaches. The harbor was filled with craft of every description, and we saw a Maori war canoe being paddled by fierce-looking, tattooed Maoris.

The township itself is something I shall never forget also. It seems a lawless place and I am grateful I am here with my father for it is no place for a
single white woman.

Papa and I still miss those traveling companions we parted company with in Hobart Town. Dear Miss Finch and Colonel Kemp and the others we forged lifetime friendships with. We miss them all. I shall write to them of course, but it isn’t the same.

We learned before departing Hobart Town that John Donovan, the Irishman whom we suspected was an escaped felon, drowned trying to save an Aboriginal boy who fell into the Derwent River. Fortunately, the boy survived. The boys’ relatives planned to give Mister Donovan a decent burial. He deserved that much. His bravery has reminded me there is good in everyone. ‘Tis a lesson I must bear in mind for the trials that surely lie ahead in Fiji.

Susannah was suddenly overwhelmed by tiredness. Lengthy voyages had that effect on her. Even though she napped whenever she could, the sea air tired her and she never seemed to be able to get enough sleep. She wasn’t alone. Her father and other passengers had the same complaint.

Yawning, the young Englishwoman pulled the curtains across to block out the sunlight then stripped off and crawled between the sheets of the room’s single bed.

Sleep wouldn’t come immediately. As happened with increasing frequency these days, whenever she tried to sleep she thought about Goldie, the young rigger she’d been so attracted to during the voyage to Cape Town. And then when she finally drifted off to sleep, she would dream about him.

Today was no different. When she closed her eyes, Susannah could see the golden-haired rigger so clearly it was as if he was in her room. He was working bare-chested half
way up
Minstrel’s
mast. His lean torso glistened with sweat and gleamed in the sunlight as he climbed down the mast and joined Susannah on the deck.

At this moment, Susannah didn’t know whether she was asleep
and dreaming or awake and fantasizing. She didn’t care. Goldie took her by the hand and led her along the deck to the same raft they’d planned to make love in before
Minstrel
had almost been sunk by the barque. They climbed into the bottom of the raft and pulled the tarpaulin cover over so they were hidden from prying eyes. Before she knew it, they were both naked. Goldie kissed her and she responded with urgency. Unable to delay the moment, she gave herself to him.

A knock at the door brought Susannah back to the present. She r
ealized she hadn’t fallen asleep and immediately felt guilty that she’d been fantasizing whilst awake.

“Are you there, Susannah?”

The voice that came from the other side of the door was her father’s.

“I was just sleeping, papa,” Susannah replied. “Give me five minutes will you?”

“Certainly, my dear.”

Susannah listened as Drake Senior entered his own room next door. She lay w
here she was for a minute to two to catch her breath. The fantasy she’d just had was so vivid it was as if she really had made love. She was aware such thoughts and fantasies were sinful – the scriptures told her that – but her sexual desires seemed like an avalanche of inner lust that seemed impossible to stop no matter how often she prayed they’d go away.

Determined not to dwell on her des
ires, Susannah climbed out of bed, quickly dressed and joined her father in his room. She soon learned Drake Senior had had had mixed fortunes during his waterfront visit. He’d met the master of a trading schooner that was Fiji-bound, but wasn’t departing Kororareka for another three weeks. Subsequent enquiries revealed other vessels were departing for Fiji earlier, but they were whalers or sealers and not suited to fare-paying passengers. So the clergyman had booked berths aboard the trading schooner for Susannah and himself for three weeks hence.

Before returning to the boarding house, he’d visited a Wesleyan mission station on the outskirts of town. It was run by George and Shelly Bristow, a missionary couple from Newcastle, in the north of England. They weren’t surprised to see Drake Senior as the London Missionary Society had previously alerted them of his likely visit.

The Bristows ha
d insisted the Drakes stay with them until their departure. Drake Senior had readily agreed to accept their hospitality, but only on condition they allow Susannah and himself to assist them with their work at the mission station. This they’d readily agreed to for they were understaffed and overworked.

So began a busy but enjoyable stay for the Drakes at the mission station. It provided
a dress rehearsal of sorts for what lay ahead. More importantly, it provided them with their first contact with the native people of the Pacific – the local Maoris. An experience they would never forget.

42

Coral Coast, Fiji
, 1841

J
ack jumped involuntarily when he heard the faint sound of a key in the keyhole of the door to
Besieged’s
hold. That was followed by the faint sound of footsteps as someone hurried off.

The young Cockney
didn’t know how much time had passed since his dinner was delivered. He guessed it was around three hours, which would make it about nine o’clock in the evening. Jack had spent all of that time deep in thought. He’d had to make one of the toughest decisions in his life: whether to risk drowning by trying to swim ashore or accept his punishment and resign himself to being shipped back to Sydney Town.

In the end he’d decided to risk it all.
Better to die trying than live like a slave
, he’d reasoned. Now that the time had come, he wasn’t so sure.

Jack wasn’t sure he could swim
half a mile let alone a mile – especially not at night in shark-infested seas. Worse, he wasn’t even sure the schooner was a mile off shore. He only had Jonty’s word for that. For all he knew,
Besieged
could be ten miles from the coast. And then there was the reef to worry about. He’d been told a coral reef separated the open sea from the shore right along the length of the Coral Coast and, indeed, around much of Viti Levu. It had been the cause of many a shipwreck and he didn’t fancy being hurled into it by the ocean waves.

Even if he could survive the swim, Jack knew that first he must contend with the bounty hunter. He sensed that Sparrow would be waiting for him on deck
– as he’d promised he would be – and wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if he had half a chance. While Jack could handle himself, he wasn’t sure he could take Sparrow.

Aware that time was ticking, Jack stumbled through the darkness toward the door.
His mind was made up. Fumbling for the handle, his hand closed around it.
Here goes. No turning back now
. He turned the handle and was relieved to feel the door open.

Now in
semi-darkness, Jack walked as quietly as he could toward the steps that would take him topside. Already he could hear the
boom
of waves that crashed against the offshore reef. The sound filled him with dread and he tried not to think about what lay ahead.

At the first landing,
the sound grew louder, like rolling thunder. Then he heard something else.
Footsteps!
The footsteps came from the deck above him. Someone was pacing up and down. He guessed it was Sparrow.

When Jack reached the open doorway
leading out onto the deck, he paused and cautiously looked outside. He was just in time to catch a glimpse of a tall, shadowy figure as it moved toward the stern.
Sparrow!
There was no doubt it was him.

The steps had fortuitously delivered Jack to the portside rail. Beyond it, through the darkness, he could see the luminescent white of the waves as they broke over the reef, which appeared to be around half a mile away. Jack had always found distance over water hard to judge, so he knew his estimate could be well out.
And beyond the reef he could see the flickering lights from native villages and huts along the coast.

How far the shoreline was beyond the reef was anyone’s guess. He just hoped it was closer than the reef was to the schooner.

Keen to dive into the water before Sparrow, or anyone else, caught him, he removed his boots and prepared to run at the rail and dive over. Before he could move, a sinewy arm snaked through the doorway and a strong hand grabbed him by his shirt collar. It was Sparrow.

The bounty hunter had sensed someone had arrived on deck and, when that person
hadn’t shown himself, had assumed it was Jack. Realizing he couldn’t get to the rail in time to prevent Jack diving overboard, he’d pretended he wasn’t onto him. As soon as he was out of sight, he’d doubled around to the starboard side and had snuck up on the young Cockney.

Sparrow pulled Jack through the
doorway so forcefully that the younger man ended up in a heap on the deck. Before Jack could recover, the bounty hunter kicked him in the ribs, winding him.

When the would-be escaper
looked up, he saw Sparrow had drawn his knife. Even in the dark Jack could identify it as a Bowie knife. Its wickedly sharp blade glinted in the moonlight.

“Well, well,” Sparrow murmured. “What do we have here?”

Jack looked around desperately hoping to see a tool or something, anything, that he could use as a weapon. There was nothing handy.

The bounty hunter seemed to read his mind. He reached down, pulled Jack to his feet and threw him back hard against the bulkhead. The
force knocked the wind from his lungs, winding him a second time. Before he could recover, Sparrow held the Bowie knife to his throat.

“Now why don’t ya give me an excuse to slit yer throat?”
Bowie murmured.

Jack could see his assailant meant it. Th
ere was murder in the bounty hunter’s eyes. The young Cockney bowed his head in surrender.

“T
hat’s more like it,” Sparrow smiled cruelly. He pushed Jack along the deck ahead of him. “Now we’re gonna go below, and you ain’t gonna give me any more problems, right?”

Jack nodded vigorously, indicating he’d comply.
Sparrow chuckled and pushed his prisoner toward the same open doorway he’d not long arrived at. As they walked, the bounty hunter sheathed his knife and drew out the pistol that was tucked into his belt. Jack hadn’t seen him do that. If he had, he may have thought twice about what he was planning to do next.

Just before reaching the doorway, Jack
pretended to stumble. At the same time, he spun around and caught Sparrow with a thudding right hand that struck him just below the ear. The force of the blow felled the bounty hunter to his knees and sent the pistol he’d been holding flying across the deck and overboard.

Jack
let fly with a kick. It was intended for Sparrow’s face, but even in his stunned state the bounty hunter had the presence of mind to turn his head away and roll with the blow. Jack’s foot connected, but the impact was lessened by Sparrow’s evasive action.

As quick as a snake, Sparrow was on his feet. He
drew his Bowie knife and brought it up savagely. Its tip was aimed at his opponent’s heart. Jack managed to parry the blow, but the knife still slashed the right side of his chest open to the bone.

The young Cockney
didn’t feel it at first. The only sensation was a warm, sticky feeling as blood flowed from the wound. Then a searing hot pain confirmed the worst.
I’ve been stabbed!
He hadn’t a clue how serious the wound was. All he knew was if he wanted to live, he had to act now.

Sparrow came at Jack, slashing at him with his knife. Jack had to back-peddle to avoid the flashing blade. He ended up
with his back hard against the near rail and had nowhere to go.

As
Sparrow prepared to finish him, the young Cockney brought his foot up between the bounty hunter’s legs. Sparrow grunted in agony as his testicles compressed beneath the blow. As the bounty hunter doubled over, Jack punched him on the side of the face. Sparrow went down, and this time he stayed down.

The
exertion of the past minute took so much out of Jack he had to bend over, hands on knees, for several seconds to regain his breath. His slashed chest hurt like hell and blood dripped onto the deck. He glanced at the Bowie knife, which Sparrow was still holding. Its blade was streaked with blood –
My blood!
– confirming what he already knew.

Almost without thinking, Jack prized the knife from Sparrow’s fingers. His eyes flicked from the blade to Sparrow’s throat. Jack knew he should kill him.
If I don’t he’ll come after me
. He bent down and prepared to do the deed.

Only then did Jack become aware he was being observed. He looked up and saw first mate
Quincy Adams staring at him from the shadows. How long he’d been there was anyone’s guess.

“Don’t do it, Jack,” Adams warne
d.

The young Cockney
hesitated. A moment earlier, he’d been convinced killing the bounty hunter was the sensible thing to do. Now he wasn’t so sure.

“It would be murder,” Adams added, stating the obvious.

Against his better judgment, Jack decided to spare Sparrow. Now he had another decision to make – whether to risk attempting to swim ashore in his wounded state or to give himself up.
To hell with it!
Jack grinned at the first mate, turned and staggered to the portside rail. Only now did he drop the knife. He half expected Adams to try to apprehend him, but the first mate remained where he was.

Clambering
painfully over the rail, Jack jumped into the sea. The cold water was a shock to his system. As he surfaced, he looked back and saw Adams staring down at him from the deck.

“God go with you!” Adams called out to him.

The young Cockney replied with a wave then started swimming toward the reef. He was quickly swallowed up by the darkness.

#

Jack didn’t know how long he’d been swimming, but it felt like hours and the reef seemed no closer. In the water, he couldn’t even see the reef. He could hear it though, and it was the noise that guided him to it.

The pain fr
om his chest wound was worsening and Jack could imagine every shark in the South Pacific would soon smell his blood – if they hadn’t already. This drove him to swim harder. He’d heard the reef acted as a barrier to sharks and other ocean predators.
I must get to it!
Gradually, the booming thunder of the waves crashing on the reef grew louder.

Jack knew enough about the reef to know it could kill him as easily as it could save him. He’d heard there were openings in the reef big enough for canoes and sometimes even ships to pass through. He prayed he’d find such an opening.

That proved wishful thinking. There were such openings, but they were few and far between. For the most part, the reef was one long, uninterrupted mountain of razor sharp coral whose base began on the seabed and whose summit protruded above the surface of the sea – sometimes by a matter of inches, often by several feet, depending on the tide.

As luck would have it, Jack had struck it at high tide. Even so, the sharp corals and shells that adorned the reef tore at his flesh as a wave carried him across it. The wave dumped him into a placid lagoon on the other side o
f the reef, leaving him cut and bruised from head to foot, and almost unconscious.

Using his last reserves of strength and endurance, he struck out for shore.
He was so weak he could only dog-paddle. Thankfully, the flickering lights he’d seen from the schooner were a lot closer now. Even so, the swim seemed to take forever.

Bloodied and battered, and beyond exhausted,
Jack wasn’t even aware he’d reached the sandy shore that lined the lagoon. He lost consciousness soon after crawling up onto the sand.

#

Jack thought he must be in heaven when he woke. Three beautiful Fijian girls were hovering over him. Their dark eyes sparkled and they beamed smiles his way when they realized their white guest had returned to the land of the living.

The girls were sisters – daughters of the chief of
Koroi, the Coral Coast village whose beach Jack had been washed up on. They’d helped nurse him and care for him after a villager had found him unconscious at the water’s edge. Jack didn’t know it, but five days had elapsed since then. He’d been in a critical condition and had nearly died. The knife wound had done some damage, but it was the cuts he’d received after being smashed against the reef that had caused most problems. They’d become infected, as coral cuts often do, and that’s what nearly killed him.

Jack recalled
none of this as he struggled to focus on his new surroundings. He could see he was on the verandah of a large bure hut. It was surrounded by other smaller bures. A thatched canopy kept the tropical sun at bay, and a fresh sea breeze kept the temperature down.

Word had spread that the white stranger had regained consciousness, and villagers were appearing from everywhere to stare at him.
There was much chatter and laughter, and somewhere, someone was singing. Bright-eyed children stared at Jack in awe, giggling shyly whenever he looked at them.

Fighting against the tiredness that threatened to overwhelm him,
Jack tried to make sense of everything. It gradually dawned on him.
I’m free!
Not legally perhaps, but free all the same
.
It felt wonderful and yet strange at the same time.

Then he remembered the bounty hunter.
Are you coming for me?
He suspected he hadn’t seen the last of Sparrow.

Jack f
elt himself drifting off to sleep again. Before he did, he became aware of a warm, soft touch against his check. It was Namosi, the oldest of the sisters caring for him. Beautiful beyond words, she smiled down at him. And then everything went black.