OUR PRICES ARE LOWER THAN IN ALL AUSTRALIA.
‘‘What of it?’’
Brew took on one of his clever, knowing looks. ‘‘Perhaps we should take some for ourselves. It might make us a tidy few pennies. Besides, it seems a rotten waste sailing all that way with nothing in the hold but ballast and such.’’
‘‘Except,’’ I answered, surprised at the man’s foolishness, ‘‘that we’ve no spare money to pay for it, and we’re never going to Victoria at all, but to Tasmania.’’
The fact was Brew was the sort of fellow who did think a thing through, and it was rare to catch him out stupid. ‘‘Why shouldn’t we go to Victoria, though? We could make up any old story to tell the Englishmen and they’d never know the difference. They’re saying Victoria has gold popping out of the ground like rabbits in springtime, so it would be just the place to get a good price for our cargo.’’
‘‘What of the money we’d need? After stores and port fees and a few pennies for the crew we’ve nothing to spare to go purchasing mining gear.’’
‘‘That’s easy. We just peddle those forks and such that we caught back in Maldon. They’d sell well enough in a town like this.’’
The awful fact was that it wasn’t a bad idea. I made a play of shrugs and playing doubtful, just to keep him from getting too high, but I came round in the end. So we went back to the ship to get a few pieces of silverware as samples, and then started looking for a shop. If it was cheapness we’d been wanting with charts, now we were after dearness itself, and we settled on a place that was all silver candlesticks and dainty little tables in the window, with a snurly sort of a fellow peering out from behind the counter. I could see he was interested when we showed him the wares, though he tried to look as if he never cared.
‘‘I might find use for these, I suppose,’’ he said, peering at the spoon and fork I’d handed him. ‘‘D’you have the full set?’’
‘‘All but one or two,’’ I answered, remembering those that had dropped in the Blackwater mud when their owner had started shooting his gun at us. ‘‘But they’d hardly be missed, the many that there are. Why, there’s half a crate of them back aboard the ship.’’
‘‘Indeed?’’ He gave the pieces another scrutiny, and it was then that his eyes turned sort of narrow. ‘‘Where did you get these?’’
If there’s one thing sets a Manxman careful it’s questions. ‘‘One of those London markets.’’
‘‘Which one?’’
I shrugged as if I could hardly trouble myself to remember. ‘‘Does it matter?’’
‘‘It might.’’ All at once he was all beady eyes and cleverness. ‘‘It may be purest coincidence, yet I read something in the English paper only the other day about an unfortunate gentleman who was robbed of his silverware. Unless I’m mistaken his name was Howarth, Admiral Henry How-arth.’’ He held up the spoon, pointing with his finger at the letters HH. ‘‘His home was not far from London, I believe, being somewhere by the sea.’’
I managed to keep my smile burning nicely. ‘‘Is that so?’’ I was all lost in mystery. How could he have seen any such thing? Then it came to me clear as glass. The steamers. Hadn’t I seen them myself cluttering up the harbour, all belching out their nasty smoke? They’d have been rushing past us in their hurry for all these weeks, bringing their mail and newspapers and trouble. ‘‘Of course there’ll be fellows by the thousands and millions with names starting HH.’’
‘‘There’ll be some, certainly.’’ The shopman gave a careful sort of look. ‘‘It was a most unhappy business, as I recall. According to the Times he had been a commander in the last Chinese war, while the cutlery that was taken had been forged from silver from a captured Chinese vessel. It was a great loss to him.’’
As if we’d not had enough rotten fortune already, now it turned out we’d been tricked into robbing some hero.
‘‘Do you have any proof of previous ownership? A document of sale, perhaps?’’
There are times to linger and this was not one. I threw a look to Brew. ‘‘Have we now?’’
Brew was cross with himself for being so foolish. ‘‘D’you know, I clean forgot to bring it.’’
I was all forgiveness. ‘‘Ah, then we’d best go back and find it now.’’ I threw the shopman a broad Manx smile and reached out to take the fork and spoon he had. ‘‘We’ll not be long.’’ For just a moment, and a bad moment it was, too, he looked as if he might try to keep hold of them, but finally he let them go.
‘‘A fine piece of cleverness that was,’’ I growled at Brew as we stepped out into the street.
It was a rare thing to scrape shame out of Brew, what with his braininess, but I saw a little creeping from him now. ‘‘It was just bad luck,’’ he whined. ‘‘Besides, he won’t do anything.’’
Just wondering made me take a glance back, though I at once wished I hadn’t. There, stood like a sneak in his doorway, was the shopman, giving us a proper study. I made a little play of peering past him at something else entirely, though there was nothing much further down the street, as it happened, besides an old dog cocking its leg at a fence.
We were walking on now, and at good pace. ‘‘Even if he tells someone there’s little they can do,’’ insisted Brew, slipping back a peg. ‘‘Why, he doesn’t even know who we are.’’
He knew enough, mind. ‘‘We told him we had a ship, though, and that the silver was aboard.’’
Brew’s head fell at that. ‘‘But he doesn’t know her name. No policeman will want to go searching every ship that’s in just on a scran of a chance like that.’’
Or wouldn’t he? The shopman could tell him what we looked like, while it wouldn’t help that the business had been such a newspaper fuss, with hero admirals and Chinamen’s wars to catch the eye. That sort of foolishness might well tempt a policeman, even an African one. All at once I was thinking breezes. It was only today that the wind had swung round southerly and given us the chance to sail away from here. If it veered back to a warm northerly, which it might do any moment for all I knew, then we’d be caught tighter than the bear that tried to climb the chimney. Why, we could be stuck here for days or weeks. By the time we’d reached the ship I’d made up my mind.
‘‘I’m taking no chances.’’ I waved Kinvig over. ‘‘We’re sailing today.’’
The trouble was that it was never so easy. For a start there were still two dozen water casks waiting on the quay to be loaded, as well as a small zoo of creatures. As I watched, China Clucas and the other two boys were hauling up a trussed swiney by a pulley, which they did slow as treacle, being still in their huff at being made to stay. Aside from that, and far worse too, there was the little matter of finding the crew.
‘‘They’ll be drinking,’’ said Brew.
‘‘Or whoring,’’ added Kinvig.
‘‘Or both.’’
I doubted I’d given them enough pennies for both. Not that it helped much. ‘‘You’d better go and look for them,’’ I told Kinvig. ‘‘There can’t be many spots where they’d be.’’
He’d hardly turned to go when Brew thought up a new worry. ‘‘What about the passengers?’’
What indeed? Their lodging house was just across the quay from the ship and I’d seen them all strutting off that morning. Being Englishmen they’d never do anything easy to guess, like finding a pretty whore to soothe away the day, and they might be up to any madness. I gave a shrug. ‘‘I’ll have Kinvig ask at their lodgings. If they’re nowhere to be found we may just have to leave their stores on the quay and go without them.’’ They wouldn’t like that any, for sure, and would be fussing and shouting and calling us all manner of names, but still this seemed sweeter than to chance spending the rest of my days rotting in some African dungeon. ‘‘Now I’d best pay the port fees, or we’ll never be let out.’’
It was just as I was about to step down onto the quay when China Clucas called out, ‘‘I heard you. You want to sneak away without the Englishmen
.’’
There’s few things worse than when a fellow without much brain in his skull starts trying to play clever. He gave me a stubborn, knowing sort of look. I gave him a stern stare. ‘‘Didn’t I tell you to shift those casks? Now get to work.’’
A wounded look came into his eyes. ‘‘It’s not right going leaving the doctor behind. It’s just not right.’’
The Reverend Geoffrey Wilson OCTOBER 1857
I HAD ALREADY been waiting nearly an hour to see Colonel Rider. While this delay was more than a little annoying, it had at least permitted me to practise in my thoughts the discourse which I would give him. First I would endeavour to win him to my side, which I would do by telling him how I hoped to draw upon his great expertise as a leader of men. Next I would permit myself to grow troubled, relaying my doubts regarding Dr. Potter’s soundness of mind, and recounting his more strange and vindictive actions during the voyage from London, paying particular attention to his attempt to mesmerize a pig. Finally I would offer my confidence, reporting how I feared that the doctor felt resentment at not having been appointed as the expedition’s leader. This done, I would give no further opinions myself but simply request the colonel’s advice. While I have no interest in the trickery of strategies, naturally I have lived long enough to know how important it is to set forth one’s views in a form that will win others to one’s side.
Hearing footsteps and voices, I supposed I was finally to be admitted to see the colonel. Sadly it was not to be. ‘‘Mr. Brew? This is a surprise.’’
‘‘Ah, thank goodness, Reverend. Your landlady said I’d find you here. The Captain’s saying we must sail today. You’re to come at once.’’
It was a demand as unreasonable as it was unexpected. Only the morning before, the Captain had said we would remain at Cape Colony for at least several more days. ‘‘But why?’’
‘‘There’s no missing a breeze like this,’’ Brew insisted. ‘‘If it shifts back, then we could be stuck here for weeks and months or more. You wouldn’t want to be stuck here still Christmastime, now would you, Reverend.’’
‘‘The Captain never mentioned this danger before.’’
‘‘Ah, but that was before the breeze changed.’’
Infuriating though it was, there seemed little that could be done. Offering my excuses to the sergeant outside, I took my leave of the castle, quite wishing I had never informed our landlady of my destination of the morning. I had only done so, indeed, because I supposed she might find some small pleasure in knowing she had such distinguished guests.
Brew had a cab waiting. It was only as the vehicle was rumbling into motion that he asked his next question. ‘‘I don’t suppose you know where the other two may be?’’
There seemed no limit to the man. So I had been dragged from my own urgent purpose though the whereabouts of Renshaw and the doctor were still unknown. I might find myself waiting hours for them to return, when all the while I could be talking to Colonel Rider. ‘‘I have not the slightest idea,’’ I told him with some coolness.
His face fell. ‘‘That’s bad.’’
In the event the whereabouts of one of my colleagues was discovered soon enough. As the cab turned into the port I saw a straggling line of men ahead, whom I recognized as members of the ship’s crew. Thus it appeared that the vessel was far from ready to depart after all, despite Brew’s claims. The men could hardly have looked less prepared for resuming their duties, their hair and clothes wild as if they had lately sprung from their beds, while some were staggering as they walked, evidently drunk. All in all I would have more than a little to say to the Captain about this matter. It was only as the cab drew level with the men that, greatly to my own surprise, I saw Renshaw was walking sullenly alongside them. For a moment I thought he had injured his leg in some fashion, as he was walking with a limp, but then I realized he was missing one of his shoes.
‘‘What on earth has happened to you, Renshaw?’’ I called out to him from the cab window.
He merely shrugged, though one of the crewmen, giving me a curious look, called out, ‘‘Fishing, he’s been, Vicar, and at the same pretty riverbank as have we all. That’s where he lost his boot.’’
What he meant I had no idea and no great curiosity, being far more concerned with the ill-mannered way in which I had been treated. Reaching our lodgings, I saw all our belongings had already been packed and were waiting in the hall, and as soon as I had paid the bill I had the cab take me across to the Sincerity. Kewley, I saw, stood on the main deck.
‘‘Captain, I believe you owe me an explanation as to why we have had to leave so suddenly, not to say inconveniently.’’
The gall of the man. He did not answer but turned away from me, shielding his eyes to regard the port. ‘‘Ah, there he is. And about time, too.’’
Following his look, I saw another cab was drawing into view, through whose window was just visible the dour face of Dr. Potter. After his recent behaviour I would have felt no great sadness if he had contrived to have himself left behind. Seeing the frantic wavings from the ship’s crew, he directed his driver to the quay beside the vessel, where he at once clambered out and, with the help of the driver and the ship’s strongman Clucas, who had hurried down to greet him, he began unloading a number of wooden packing cases. Kewley, I was annoyed to see, seemed hopeful of using this distraction to make an escape, striding away to the quarterdeck. I had no intention of obliging him and followed.
‘‘Captain, you have not explained the suddenness of this departure.’’
Luck was not on my side. He was just turning his grumpy gaze upon me when we were interrupted once again, this time by an uproarious sound of barking. The port was a popular haunt for stray dogs, that were often to be seen scavenging for food, and a pack of these were showing great interest in Potter’s new luggage.
‘‘Off with you,’’ Potter shouted angrily, waving his stick. Though the animals scampered away it was only by a few yards, and they continued to bark keenly at the boxes.
‘‘What have you got in there, Doctor?’’ Renshaw called out as the first of these was carried onto the deck.
Potter gave him a cool look. ‘‘Specimens. Specimens for my studies.’’
‘‘Not cats, is it?’’ shouted out one of the crewmen, to some laughter.
I turned once again to Kewley. ‘‘Captain, may I ask you once again to explain…’’
It is an injustice of this world that any protest, however rightful it may be, will tend to lose its potency by repetition. Kewley appeared to have lost all sense of awkwardness, quite brushing my complaint aside.
‘‘Not now, Vicar. I have to attend to the ship. If you’ll excuse me I must ask you to clear yourself off the quarterdeck.’’
Greatly irritated, I had no choice but to step down to the main deck and bide my time until the ship had been got under way. I sat upon a coil of rope, only to find myself at once moved on by the second mate, Kinvig. I had never seen the Manxmen, who were usually the slowest of creatures, displaying such lively animation. Above, some were already at work hurriedly loosening the sails, while others had lowered a boat to bring the vessel around. In a moment the Sincerity was free of her berth and had been turned into the breeze. Before long the boat was hauled up and the three topsails were being unleashed and tied into place, giving the vessel a tug of movement. The crewmen on the deck pulled the yards round till they were angled to catch the wind, and soon we were making progress towards the open sea. It was only then that I noticed a puzzling sight behind us. There on the quayside, just where the Sincerity had been berthed, there stood two fellows, both waving excitedly in our direction.
Potter had seen them too. ‘‘Who on earth are they?’’ he called up to Kewley.
‘‘Them?’’ The Captain rubbed his chin with his hand, squinting at the pair. ‘‘Ah, they’ll be well-wishers.’’
Their waving seemed somehow not quite right. ‘‘Are you sure?’’
Rather than answer he tu
rned and gave a great shout. ‘‘Come along, boys, give a wave to the well-wishers.’’ After a moment’s hesitation the whole vessel, from deck to highest rigging, became bedecked with waving arms. Curiously enough this appeared to diminish rather than add to the enthusiasm of those on the shore.
Thus it was we began our journey eastwards across the Southern Ocean towards Tasmania.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Nathaniel Stebbings, Bristol Schoolmaster, to John Harris,
Van Diemen’s Land Settler and Landowner
Rose House, Bristol 12th October 1832
Mr. Harris,
It is with more than a little sadness that I must bid farewell to young George as he returns to his native land. It seems hardly possible that he has been with Mother and myself fully two years, so quickly has the time passed.
When Mr. Grigson first came to call at Rose House and suggested the arrangement, I confess I found myself not a little uncertain. For all my experience as a teacher I could hardly claim any expertise in the instruction of wild black boys from the furthermost antipodes, and I shall not deny I came close to declining so curious a proposition. In the event, I am more than happy that I took the decision I did, as matters have turned out better than I could ever have expected. True enough, the lad was quite difficult at first. He showed an aversion to sitting still which proved hard to overcome, and would sometimes jump to his feet even in the middle of dinner, a habit which was cured only by constant reproach. He was also restless at night, often crying out in strange wild words of his own language, until he had roused all the household with his mysterious nightmares. With time, however, he grew more accustomed to his new home, and he is now a most well-behaved and likeable child. He has developed a particular affection for Mother’s maidservant, Mrs. Cleghorn—a Welsh woman of warmest character—to whom he will cling about the waist quite as if she were some tree in a gale, showing such a visible reluctance to ever let go that she finds it no easy matter to attend to her duties.
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