by Téa Cooper
Mumbling a string of enraged curses he flung himself back up the ladder to the deck.
‘Well?’ Charlotte said.
A red haze of fury swept his body. ‘Henk!’
‘Capt’n.’
Through his swirling anger he groped for an explanation of the cargo his ship carried and why he, the captain, was ignorant. God only knew what else was aboard.
‘Henk! What the bloody hell is going on? The manifesto stated convicts, two dozen bound for Port Albert. Where are they? I told customs they were boarding and signed the paperwork. Where have they gone?’ The words tumbled out of his mouth as he grasped Henk around the collar pulling him close.
Henk shrugged his hands away and stood, arms folded, a knowing grin plastered on his face. ‘Come on. Don’t play the innocent with me. I’ve done no different than we’ve done before.’
‘What are you talking about? We’ve never carried blackbirds before.’
‘Just because you didn’t see it didn’t mean it didn’t happen. ‘Twasn’t only whaling paying the bills. How do you think you inherited the Zephyrus free and clear? Did the old man hit a gold seam out in the ocean on one of those idyllic islands?’
Henk’s words acted as a bucket of freezing seawater and the haze cleared from Christian’s mind as quickly as it had descended. ‘I think you better tell me what is going on. I do not condone slavery.’
‘Pouf.’ A large derogatory gobbet of spit issued from Henk’s flaccid lips and landed slightly to the right of Christian’s left foot. ‘Fine words from someone with your history.’
Christian sucked in a lungful of air, blinked and ignored Henk’s jibe. He’d been guilty of accepting the offers of the South Sea women more than once, but they’d come willingly and he suffered no qualms of conscience. This was different.
‘The arrangement is we deliver the women —’
‘Women!’ Christian’s temper flared anew. ‘They’re little more than children.’
‘We deliver the women…’ Henk repeated, ignoring his outburst, ‘to The Whaleman’s Rest in Boyd Town, then we pick up more whale oil to refill the hold and make for Sydney. Believe me, it’s much more profitable than an empty hold.’
‘The hold wasn’t meant to be empty. We had a government contract to carry convicts. And while we are on the subject, where are they?’ If the Dutch idiot had come to some arrangement and released them there would be no more government contracts for him or the Zephyrus.
‘Don’t you worry, Capt’n.’ Henk gave a mock tug of what remaining hair represented his forelock. ‘Convicts are safe and sound, we’ve portioned the hold. You won’t be picked up for breaking the contract or doin’ anything illegal.’
‘Illegal! There’s enough illegality in this hold to ground us forever.’
‘Then maybe you should’ve taken me advice, done what the crew wanted. Stuck to whaling. Leastways we’d turn a legal profit.’
‘I don’t give a rat’s arse what the crew or you want and I don’t want you or anyone else near this hold. Stay right away while I decide how I’m going to handle this.’
‘There’s nothing to handle. Deliver ‘em to The Whaleman’s Rest, take the money, load the extra whale oil and get the hell out of Boyd Town.’
‘Zephyrus is not a slave trader. I won’t be responsible for those children ending up in some den of iniquity servicing bloody whalemen. They won’t be going ashore at Boyd Town. You can forget lining your pockets.’
Charlotte recognised the stench. Fear, unwashed bodies and urine filtered up through the hatch. No matter how hard she tried she’d never completely eradicated it from her memory. The reek of despair and desperation — everything Marcus saved her from when he’d come aboard the Atwich in the unholy rush of officers and so-called gentlemen permitted to inspect and choose any female taking their fancy. Why Marcus had chosen her she’d never truly understood. After months of sickness she’d been nothing more than skin and bones and despite having attained her sixteenth birthday as they crossed the equator, she’d looked more like a twelve-year-old child.
In an attempt to follow the heated interchange between the Captain and his first mate Charlotte crouched behind a neatly coiled pile of rope. The timbre of Christian’s voice cut through the clanking and rattling of the rigging. The voice of command, and every man on the ship moved to do his bidding — except one.
‘Now tell me how you got them aboard. I saw the barge bring the convicts out to the ship. They had a guard with them.’
Christian rolled up the sleeves of his shirt above his elbows, exposing his tightly muscled arms. The cords of power beneath the golden tan of his skin rippled as he took the wheel and steered his ship into the wind.
Henk stood beside him, his arms folded and his chin jutting. ‘They’re below decks with the potatoes. The women came across from one of the other ships in the harbour. They’d been picked up in the South Sea Islands while we did the refit.’
Even from her hiding place the sound of the long slow puff of air Christian exhaled reached Charlotte’s ears.
‘And what will happen to them once they’re there?’
‘The convicts’ll go as intended. And the women — it’s not slave trading. They’ll enjoy it once they’re there. You know what those South Sea women are like.’
A cold rivulet of sweat traced a path down the length of Charlotte’s spine as the women’s fate became clear. Her sister, and Jamie, might well still be alive if it weren’t for the pimps and prostitutes controlling the laneways of the city of London. These men were no better.
‘Right now you’re going to get down there and make their life a bit more comfortable.’ Christian’s voice cut into her thoughts. ‘Get them out of the lockup and give them some clothes from the slops chest. I’m not having half-naked children on my ship. I want enough hammocks slung too. Then speak to Cookie and arrange some rations.’
Charlotte stared at Henk’s retreating back and then her gaze returned to the man at the wheel. Unable to resist she stepped from her hiding place. Christian made no move but he was conscious of her presence.
Undoubtedly Christian was the captain of the ship and the crew followed his command. Henk, however, thought otherwise. At least the women would be comfortable until they arrived in Boyd Town, but what then? Back in London prostitution was a way of life. Her sister, Elizabeth, had worked the streets, a way to keep body and soul together. The safety of Marcus’ employ had shown her another side of life and she had no intention of seeing these young girls dragged off against their will to service the crews of the ships in some portside brothel. Worse than transportation — it was slavery. The Captain was right.
‘We must help them. I must help them. I am a woman. I should go down there and comfort them. Let me do it. And what will happen when they get to Boyd Town?’ A wave of nausea washed over Charlotte as the picture of her sister lying in a pool of her own blood in the dirty laneway behind St Martin’s filled her mind. ‘Nothing good.’ Her fingers clasped the chain hanging around her neck. ‘You can’t sell them as prostitutes. You’re the captain. You have to stop it.’
His eyes raked her slowly from head to foot, travelling with appreciation over her body and lingering with an odd look of confusion on the bottle hanging around her neck before coming to rest on her face. ‘I don’t think it is any of your business and I’m certainly not allowing you to go down there. Henk will sort it out.’
Christian slipped his hand under her elbow and without a second thought she rested her hand on the large spoked wheel, his presence strangely comforting.
‘If the Zephyrus is your ship how could you not know what was going on?’
He turned his sable gaze on her and a flash of indecision lit his eyes. Sweat prickled her neck beneath her chain and even the sea breeze failed to cool her cheeks.
‘Zephyrus is my ship and this is her maiden voyage as a trader. There are bound to be some teething problems. I have everything under control.’
Charlotte looked a
round at the ship, acknowledging his words. Zephyrus appeared as neat and clean as a new pin yet beneath the pristine deck lay an ugly and sordid secret. ‘Why did you decide to switch to trading?’
Swinging the wheel with remarkable force Christian eased onto a new tack. ‘The old man, Jonas, owned the Zephyrus. She’s been a whaling ship for many years. We used to fish the waters of the Southern Ocean and the South Seas. Times are changing and when we came into Hobart Town for a refit I decided it was time to take a new path.’
‘You decided? What happened to Jonas, the captain?’
Christian pressed his lips together, clearly intending to say no more. He stared out across the water. ‘He died.’
Was Jonas Christian’s father? The silence hung heavy as the sun sank and streaked the horizon blood red.
With the increasing darkness Christian’s shoulders slumped and his hands relaxed; he gazed down at her and sighed.
‘Jonas died, the whale took him and almost the Zephyrus as well. We couldn’t do anything for Jonas. He lies beneath the sea. That’s what he would have wanted.’
Questions flitted left and right through Charlotte’s mind but she bit her lip and waited, sensing a change in his mood.
With his eyes fixed firmly on the dark streak of the horizon, Christian continued. ‘Jinks was up the mast, lookout. He spotted a plume and before he could call it we’d lowered the boats. We were keen to see some action. It had been a while. Henk’s boat got there first and he clobbered the whale.’
Charlotte glanced at the menacing row of harpoons lashed behind her.
‘Then with one stroke the whale stove in the boat. Henk beetled back to the Zephyrus and took the wheel. He was impatient and decided he’d be smart. He swung the Zephyrus and headed towards the other whaleboat. And then this monster came from nowhere full speed and crashed into the bows. It stunned the bugger and he took off. The Zephyrus was taking water. Henk called the boat back. The old man hung out to the last and the whale came back like there was no tomorrow. Bristol and I jumped like he told us but Jonas wouldn’t. He stood in the middle of the little boat willing the whale away from the Zephyrus. He succeeded. He saved the Zephyrus. The last we saw was Jonas going down with the whale.’
Not daring to interrupt Charlotte stood stock-still, goosebumps stippling her skin.
‘We limped back to Hobart Town. Zephyrus needed a serious overhaul — it’s taken us the best part of six months to get her seaworthy again. A whaling ship’s different from other ships. One man owns it but the crew get a percentage of the profits depending on their position. Most goes to the captain, then the mates, and so on right down to Jinks there.’ He pointed up the mainmast where young Jinks still clung to the rigging, his gaze fixed on the darkening ocean.
Christian’s eyes grew cold and hard as he studied some point beyond the ship. In the twilight he appeared older, more careworn.
‘With the old man dead the crew expected ownership of the ship to be split the same way. I thought perhaps Jonas had a wife and family who would want to know about his death so I took all of Jonas’ personal paperwork to the address in Hobart Town. It turned out it was his will right enough. There was no family. He’d left the ship to me — I was to give the crew the choice stay on the Zephyrus or leave. I was to use the money for a refit and give away the whaling. He was a strange old man. He’d made his fortune off the whales’ back yet he had such a respect for the animals. He thought it was time to leave them alone, give them a chance at survival. In some peculiar way I like to think Jonas is a whale now, free and safe if we don’t hunt them anymore.’
Charlotte rubbed her arms, trying to come to terms with the notion of a man becoming a whale, like one of the native stories told in Hobart Town — a heathen tale Marcus would say.
‘So, now you know the story of Jonas and the Zephyrus.’ Christian cleared his throat. ‘I wasn’t expecting the transition from whaling to trading to include transporting blackbirds. Henk obviously had it all planned out. I need to sort out this mess, nevertheless the crew have a right to a say. It’s the way of whaling ships.’
‘But you told me the Zephyrus was no longer a whaling ship.’ His story made Charlotte’s heart ache; beneath his bland words his sorrow was palpable, a physical entity filling the space between them like a goliath.
Christian shrugged his shoulders and the clattering of the bell broke the quiet. He relinquished the wheel to the man who’d approached from nowhere. ‘Time for us to find something to eat — will you eat with the crew or in your cabin?’
‘I must go to Mr Wainwright.’
‘Wainwright won’t be eating anything for a day or two unless his seasickness is an affectation. Come and get something for yourself in the galley and then take him some dried biscuits and water. He won’t keep it down, I promise you.’
‘Mr Wainwright needs me. It is my duty.’
Chapter 4
Christian stormed into the cramped galley to find Henk’s belligerence clearly painted on his yellowed skin and in his narrowed eyes. The crew’s gaze followed him as he shouldered his way to the end of the table where Henk stood, his heavy hands pressed flat on the top and his body angled to his audience.
One empty chair stood to the left of the table. By rights Henk had usurped his position at the head of the table. The man was holding court and he’d interrupted. Had Jonas ever relinquished his position at the head of the table? He couldn’t remember a time, not in any of the years he had been aboard. It had taken two years before he was even entitled to sit with the crew. Every one of the men around the table had earned the right to a share of the profits.
His moment of indecision passed as Cookie appeared with a steaming plate of meat and potatoes and threw it none too delicately down in the middle of the table. ‘Grub’s up! There’s more where that came from. Make the most of it. First meal out of port’s always the best.’
To a man the crew dismissed Henk and turned to the food, more interested in satisfying their hunger than listening to Henk’s ranting. Fresh bread, a hunk of mutton partially-sliced, a chicken, its legs and thighs ripped from the carcass, hard-boiled eggs and a massive slab of cheese disappeared onto their plates.
Christian waited, his gaze never wavering from Henk’s face until he flexed his fingers, making his forearms bulge, and left the spot at the head of the table vacant.
Before he’d even settled at the table Christian had a pretty good idea exactly what Henk had been talking about. ‘Was I the only member of this crew not to know the Zephyrus had become a slave trader?’
Knives dropped to tin plates with a clatter. The sheepish glances the crew threw confirmed his suspicions. Every bloody one of them knew they’d taken aboard the blackbirds — everyone except him. Except the captain. The one person supposed to know what was going on.
Henk said nothing. A sardonic grin tipped the corner of his thin lips as he studied a steaming piece of lamb he’d speared with his knife.
‘Well?’ Christian demanded, pushing himself to his feet and glaring down the table. ‘Bristol? What about you?’
Two-thirds of the way down the table the large man with arms the width of the barrels he made pushed his chair back, rocking away from the table. Bristol was one of the few who’d openly supported Jonas’ plans for the Zephyrus.
‘Well, Capt’n…’ Bristol squirmed. ‘Can’t see as how it’ll do much harm. We’ve still got the convicts aboard. We deliver them, unload the blackbirds and fill the space with Boyd Town oil. Who the hell’s going to know? It’ll make a bloody great difference to the pot at the end.’
‘Bristol — they’re children, young girls. You’ll be selling them into slavery.’
‘Not our problem.’ Bristol stuffed a boiled egg into his mouth, his eyes fixed firmly on Christian’s face. For a fleeting moment the clouds in Christian’s mind cleared and he had a vision of Bristol’s reddened face as he had first seen it, wreathed in sweat and billowing clouds as he hammered a barrel of whale oil closed. ‘I�
�m in it for the money not the women. Hand ‘em over and we’ll be on our way.’
Henk downed the remaining jug of ale and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘Think we’re all in agreement, Capt’n — all of us excepting you.’ The challenge in his voice filled the galley.
‘No!’ Christian slammed his fist down on the table sending a flurry of tin mugs skittering across the surface. The crew’s long-practised hands reached out and grabbed at the tankards before a drop spilt.
‘Good evening, gentleman.’
Christian’s head snapped back and he glared at the pale, black-clad figure in the doorway.
‘I do hope we’re not interrupting,’ Wainwright said. ‘Charlotte assured me we would be welcome and now the heaviest weather has passed I feel I am getting my sea legs.’
Dragging in a deep breath of the close air Christian flicked his fingers at Jinks and Windy down the bottom of the table. ‘Off you go, lads, make room for our guests.’ The two youngest crew members pushed their chairs back. ‘And take something up for Catz, he’s at the wheel. Cookie! More food.’
Christian sank back into his seat, ignoring the shuffling and movements around the table. No matter how profitable, Henk’s extra cargo horrified him. He would not run a slave trader and despite Henk’s insidious assertions, Jonas wouldn’t have been party to it either. If the authorities caught them with a hold full of blackbirds they’d come down on him like a ton of bricks. The inns along the Hobart Town waterfront had been full of the news of the stand the government took against the American slave trade — a stand he agreed with. How in heaven’s name had Henk managed to get the women on board without him knowing? The whole crew had to be involved. Hen frigate — he snorted. Henk’s words had been as two-faced as every other deal he dipped his dirty paws in.
‘Thank you, Lord, for this bountiful plenty.’ Wainwright’s voice droned and Christian’s gaze came to rest on Charlotte standing behind Wainwright’s chair. A ghost of a smile played around her lips and in the lamplight all evidence of Wainwright’s handprint had disappeared from her cheek. Her pink tongue traced the contours of her mouth as she passed Wainwright the plate of meat and potatoes. The man had recovered remarkably quickly from his bout of seasickness judging by the amount of food loaded onto his plate. He fell upon his meal leaving Charlotte gazing hungrily at the table.
