Remember Me

by Lesley Pearse

  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. Wi
lliam 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!’

  His cry, whether actually understood or not, had a galvanizing effect on the bystanders. One man came forward with a hooked pole and guided the boat into a berth. A small, half-naked brown man leaped down on to the boat, taking the rope and throwing it back to his companions on the wharf. Then, miraculously, a wooden bucket of water was passed down.

  All the men lunged at the bucket, rocking the boat furiously. But Will filled a mug and passed it to Mary. She let Charlotte have the first drink, and she glugged it down so fast that much of it ran down her chest. Emmanuel was almost unconscious, so Mary had to coax him by dipping her fingers in the water and getting him to suck them until he rallied enough to drink. Finally Mary got some, and nothing in her whole life had ever felt so good as the sensation of cool water running over her parched, swollen tongue and throat.

  Although she couldn’t understand a word of what the crowd were saying, she sensed by their frantic gesticulating and the tone of their shrill voices that they were in total sympathy with her, her children and the men. She tried to stand but she was so weak she fell back, and from then on everything became disjointed and hazy. She sensed rather than felt arms lifting her. It seemed to her she was laid down on solid ground, and then more water was given to her. Something pungent-smelling was thrust close to her face. She could hear a babble of voices around her, then she was lifted again, to be put down on something softer, and she could no longer see the sky above.

  ‘Charlotte, Emmanuel,’ she called out in panic.

  A brown-faced woman was leaning over her, wiping her face with a cool, damp cloth. She spoke in a foreign tongue, yet whatever the words meant they were as soothing and kindly as the cloth, and Mary felt that at last she was safe enough to sleep.

  She woke some time later to find herself lying on a mat, Emmanuel on one side of her, Charlotte on the other. A candle was burning on a low table, and she raised herself slightly to see a woman with glossy dark hair and brown skin asleep on another mat across the room.

  Although the candle shed little light, Mary sensed by the peaceful way the children slept that they had been fed and washed. The room appeared to be a hut, larger than the one she and Will had lived in back in Sydney Cove, but similar. Tears of gratitude welled up in her eyes. A stranger had taken them in and cared for them, and she wished she knew this woman’s language to be able to thank her.

  The following days were something like being lost in a fog, which now and then cleared enough for Mary to know she was being fed drinks and soft, mushy food. Through the fog she heard voices and dogs barking; she smelled food cooking and sometimes she even thought she heard Charlotte laughing. But she couldn’t quite manage to open her eyes and look around her.

  She was finally brought out of it by Will. She heard his voice and that of James Martin.

  ‘She must get better,’ she heard Will say. ‘Wanjon wants to see her.’

  ‘She’s just worn out,’ James said. ‘There’s no hurry, he’ll wait.’

  Mary had no desire to see or talk to anyone, she was happy in her little twilight world where no pain and anxiety could touch her. But Will’s voice struck a chord somewhere inside her, reminding her that she had responsibilities.

  ‘Will?’ she muttered, trying to focus her eyes and see him.

  ‘That’s my girl,’ he exclaimed, and knelt down beside the mat and took her hand in both of his. ‘You’ve been scaring us all. We thought you were lost to us.’

  His hands were rough and callused, but the tenderness in them touched something dee
p inside her. ‘Charlotte, Emmanuel, are they dead?’ she asked.

  ‘Would I be sitting here grinning at you if they were?’ he replied.

  She saw his grin then, the same cheeky one which had made her smile on the Dunkirk, but it was a minute or two before she realized what was different about him.

  ‘Your beard,’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s gone!’

  He rubbed his bare chin. ‘A change was in order,’ he said.

  He looked much younger without it, and although his face was very bony and gaunt, he looked much better. His eyes had regained the sparkle she had noted so often in the early days, and apart from flaking skin, he looked none the worse for their ordeal.

  ‘Where are we?’ she asked.

  ‘In Kupang, where else? Aren’t I the wonder boy getting you here?’

  Mary smiled weakly, for his bragging assured her she wasn’t dreaming. ‘Where are the children, and the others?’

  ‘All close by, nothing to worry about,’ he said. ‘Emmanuel’s still weak, but he’s getting better by the day. You’re the one that had us in a spin.’

  Mary sat up gingerly. She looked down at herself and found she was wearing a kind of shirt, long, loose-fitting and striped.

  ‘How long have I been here?’ she asked in bewilderment.

  ‘Ten days now. You’ve been waking and taking food, then going off again. But you’ve got to take notice now. The Dutch Governor, Wanjon, wants to see you.’

  Will and James helped her up and took her outside. Mary stared around her in utter surprise. Although she hadn’t consciously formed any picture of the surroundings beyond the walls of the hut, she’d assumed by the amount of noise that she was in a town. In fact it was just a group of round huts, the roofs made of broad leaves. They were encircled by tall trees and thick bushes, like nothing she’d ever seen before. Around a dozen or so small, naked, brown-skinned children were playing together, and a few chickens, a couple of tethered goats and a group of old people sitting together completed the picture of a peaceful village.