Matthew Flinders' Cat

by Bryce Courtenay

  As they drew closer they could see a smile on the face of the leading Indian. ‘They seem friendly enough,’ Mr Whitewood remarked. ‘It is the captain’s wish that when the natives appear docile we must return their goodwill and encourage them to visit the ship to receive trinkets.’

  The foremost Indian held his wooden spear in such a manner as to suggest that it might be a gift for Mr Whitewood, though Trim did not care for the look in his eye and took a cautionary step to conceal himself behind a clump of spinifex. As the master’s mate stretched out his hand to receive the spear, the ‘friendly’ Indian ran the spear into his breast. Mr Whitewood, with the spear embedded in his chest, raised his firelock and aimed it at his assailant. Though the weapon fired and the range was point-blank, such was the shock of the spear in his chest that the officer missed. Pulling the spear from his chest he retreated, only to receive three more spears to his back and thigh. The men, hastily retreating, and Mr Whitewood, still able to run, attempted to fire upon the natives, but the marines, charged with the protection of the party, had paid scant attention to the preparation of their weapons. It was only after some little while that two were made to fire and the natives fled, taking with them a cabbage-tree hat dropped in haste by one of the crew.

  Still, some among them were able to witness how Trim, seeing the spear pierce the chest of Mr Whitewood, flew from where he was hidden and leapt to the shoulders of his assailant, his claws striking lightning blows to the Indian’s eyes from behind. The native gave a howl of pain and fell to his backside, clutching at his eyes as Trim made good his getaway. This astonishing act of bravery was to be seen the next day, in circumstances I will shortly tell you about.

  Mr Whitewood was carried aboard and the prompt attention of the ship’s surgeon saved his life. It was most fortunate that the Indians, unlike those of South America, applied no poison to the tips of their spears and thus his life was saved. But not so lucky was a marine by the name of Thomas Morgan, who had foolishly left the ship without his hat and suffered what at that time was known as coup-de-soleil, but which we call sunstroke, and he died in a frenzy that same night.

  It was not in the nature of the British navy to tolerate such a mischievous and unprovoked attack, so a party was sent out to hunt for the Indians who had wounded Mr Whitewood. Trim was most severely told to remain on board, Matthew Flinders having heard somewhat of his derring-do, though privately putting this down to the exaggeration normal to members of the crew when talking about Master Trim.

  At sunset they came upon three Indians who immediately took to a canoe at the water’s edge. Wasting no time to inquire whether they belonged to the same group as those involved in the attack earlier in the day, they fired on the natives who were paddling furiously for the mainland. One of the Indians was seen to drop while the other two dived from the canoe and swam strongly for the distant shore.

  ‘Hooray!’ shouted a seaman, ‘It is my shot that got the bugger!’ Whereupon he immediately plunged into the water and swam for the canoe. Reaching it, he boarded to find a dead Indian and also the cabbage-tree hat that had been lost earlier. By some strange circumstance it proved to be the seaman’s own. He placed it on his head and standing up in the canoe hailed the shore, ‘A dead Indian and my hat returned to me!’ he yelled with such enthusiasm that he capsized the canoe, tipping the dead native into the water as well as himself.

  The canoe was later rescued, but they had to wait until morning when the tide washed the body of the dead Indian to shore. It was then that they all witnessed proof of Trim’s courage on the previous day. The seaman’s musket ball had passed through the native’s heart, a neat hole that left him otherwise undamaged. The man lay with one arm across his face and when this was lifted there was a gasp from the men, the dead man’s eyes were greatly damaged, the lids scratched and torn as were the eyes themselves. This was the testimony of Trim’s bravery for all on board to witness and it became part of a legend, a tale seamen still tell whenever the merit of a ship’s cat is raised.

  The body was taken to the boat for scientific purposes, the ship’s surgeon wishing to dissect the corpse for anatomical reasons. The shipboard artist, Mr Westall, wished also to record the body and features for comparison with the natives found in other parts of this vast and primitive land. In his sketch he was most careful not to show the wounds to the chest and neck or the scratching to the eyes, although he showed the eyes closed whereas in death they should have been wide staring open.

  Of immediate interest to Captain Flinders himself was that the body had been circumcised and had lost the upper front tooth on the left side whereas with the natives of Port Jackson it was the upper tooth on the right that was knocked out at puberty.

  My dear Ryan, you are probably finding much of this tedious, it happened such a long time ago and the dangers present today are so very different to those faced by Matthew Flinders and the inestimable Trim. But as you grow older you will see that danger is an element in our present lives that has very little to do with an outcome decided by musket ball or spear. The danger we face today is that we lack the confidence or even the permission to act bravely by listening to our consciences. The real bravery in today’s world is doing for each other what is right and proper. In the end, this courage is far more powerful than the spear or the musket, the stealth bomber or the nuclear weapon.

  Billy was conscious that in writing to Ryan about bravery he was the perfect example of the cowardice he was showing. He didn’t quite know how to tell the young lad that he was aware of his gutless behaviour and that Ryan should see him for the unreliable and cowardly creature that he was. More and more, he was recognising his own shortcomings and his own lack of the virtues he was writing about. He wondered if he should quit writing for he was increasingly feeling the hypocrisy behind his moralising. The letter had taken a turn he’d never intended and it was as if it was being dictated by some inner self with whom he needed to make contact. After some thought he decided to continue, though not without real misgivings.

  At your age, the lack of loyalty and bravery of conscience may be as difficult to understand as it was for Trim when he was shipwrecked. Trim was a seagoing cat and his first loyalty was always to his crew and then to all the sailors afloat. They were a fraternity of brothers, men who faced the same hardships, cast asunder from the land, they placed their trust in each other when in distress. This is the law of the sea and it has ever been so.

  But now of the shipwreck. The Investigator, worn out and no longer reliable for the purposes of circumnavigation, had returned to Port Jackson for lighter work. As there was no suitable vessel to replace her it was decided that Matthew Flinders would leave for England to obtain another ship to complete his work of charting Terra Australis. He was to sail under the command of one of his own officers, Lieutenant Fowler, and with many of his former crew, to England where he would report to the Admiralty. The vessel chosen for Lieutenant Fowler was the Porpoise, a ship well overdue for a refit. It had been brought from Van Diemen’s Land where it had been employed in coastal work. The sailor in Trim wasn’t at all happy with this arrangement and thought the Porpoise ill-suited for the voyage to England, having seen out the best of her days at sea. He made his opinion known to Captain Flinders by rushing ahead of him while the inspection of repairs took place and pointing out with much meowing those parts of the old tub which were not to his liking.

  Matthew Flinders shared Trim’s anxiety and on one occasion had thrown up his arms, ‘Trim, thou art correct in thy survey, but we have no choice, England prepares for war against France and all His Majesty’s seaworthy warships are gathered in England, this old gunpowder trap is all they have available for us to use to sail back home. Alas, if the war were to take place in these antipodean lands, then the use of my charts would allow us to command the latest man o’ war, but the coast of Europe is well charted and we must be happy with this mended old bucket well past her fighting days.’ He had stro
ked Trim to reassure him, ‘There are much worse sailing the seven seas, my friend. The Porpoise, at the least, is not leaky nor crank and, given fair weather, will do us well, what say you, eh?’

  Trim, with a cat’s instinct for survival, wasn’t too keen to put another of his nine lives to the test but he had no choice, he was obliged to go wherever his master went. But he was not a happy pussycat. He had climbed the Porpoise’s mast to find it was too short and thought her beam too narrow and she creaked to his ears like the bones of an old lady.

  On the 10th of August 1803, the Porpoise sailed down the harbour and through the heads accompanied by two merchant vessels, both bound for Batavia as their first port of call. They had asked permission to sail with the Porpoise as they were anxious to test the Torres Strait, a shorter passage first charted in the Investigator. Flinders was only too pleased to have them along, as it would give him the opportunity to prove the advantages of this new route and so bring it into general use. Captain Palmer was master of the Bridgewater, a ship of 750 tons, and Mr John Park commanded the Cato, a smaller ship of 450 tons.

  Billy was becoming increasingly aware that if Ryan had been present and seated on his skateboard while he told the story, he would have omitted some of the detail which might prove tedious to the youngster. Billy, a keen sailor in his better days, had sailed in the Sydney to Hobart yacht race on six occasions and, like all serious yachtsmen, found it almost impossible to leave out what others might think of as superfluous detail. It was, he knew, self-indulgence and he told himself he intended to make a clean copy and would leave out the nautical bits ’n’ pieces.

  All went to plan for the first two days and on the morning of the third day they sighted a sandbank but continued on all day and by nightfall were thirty-five miles (50 km) from it with a good depth of water under them. Lieutenant Fowler decided they were well clear and, rather than lose sailing time, they would run through the night under easy working sail. With the topsails double-reefed and a fresh breeze blowing, all seemed well enough. The night was cloudy and visibility slightly down, though not too badly so there was no cause for concern. The Porpoise, with the two merchant ships on either side a good distance away but with their lights clearly showing, was making steady progress when suddenly the master of the watch shouted from the quarterdeck, ‘Breakers ahead! White water!’

  Trim rushed to the quarterdeck rail to confirm the sighting. There it was, a surf crashing in the half-light against an invisible shore. The helm was immediately put down, the intention to tack away from the crashing waves, but with the topsails double-reefed they lacked the canvas to pull the vessel around. ‘Oh my God!’ thought Trim, ‘there goes another one of my poor lives!’ For he was too good a sailor not to know what would happen next.

  And happen it did, the sails were shaking in the wind with the ship being pulled towards the huge breakers fifty metres away and in less than a minute the Porpoise was among them. Then came a mighty thump as the ship hit the coral reef and immediately heeled on her larboard beam ends. Men clung on desperately and there was a great deal of yelling out. ‘Fire a gun! Fire a gun to warn the other ships,’ Matthew Flinders shouted. But the surf roared over them and threw men every which way so that the firing of the small cannon was impossible. Then the foremast crashed down and was carried away, another bump followed and the bottom stove in and the Porpoise started taking in water.

  ‘Bring up the lights!’ shouted Lieutenant Fowler, ‘We must warn the other vessels with our lights!’ But before the lights could be brought up, Trim saw that the two merchant ships, the Bridgewater and the Cato, had both realised the danger to themselves and moved each on the opposite tack, ‘Holy puss ’n’ boots!’ Trim meowed, ‘They’re going to collide!’

  The men on the Porpoise, drenched from the spume and spray as the breakers broke over the ship’s beam, watched as the two merchant vessels drew closer to each other. If they collided, as it now seemed they must, there could be no rescue for the men on the Porpoise. Even Trim held his breath and closed his eyes as the two ships were about to ram. By some miracle of the deep they passed each other, their hulls lightly touching but moving each away from the other. ‘Hooray, we are saved!’ someone shouted, but moments later they saw the Cato, the lighter of the two merchant vessels, caught in the breakers two hundred and fifty metres away. She fell onto her broadside and her masts immediately disappeared in the white water. With her profile no longer set against the sky, she was now too far away to be seen in the darkness.

  Trim was drenched but unafraid, he could swim if he must and beyond the breakers there would be a shoreline. The Bridgewater is still safe, she will rescue us, he thought, she’s big enough to take us all if we should survive. Just then the Bridgewater’s lights came on at her masthead, this to show she had cleared the reef. ‘Hallelujah, we are saved!’ the bosun, a religious man, shouted ‘Praise be to the Mighty Redeemer, we have been snatched from the darkness of the sea!’ It was thought by all that it was only a question of time before the Bridgewater would tack and send boats to their rescue.

  In the meantime Matthew Flinders was in a fine pickle, he had missed Trim and thought he might have been washed overboard. ‘Trim! Trim! Where art thou?’ he shouted, looking wildly about and making inquiry of all. Whereupon Trim hurled himself from the quarterdeck, a wet and soggy pussycat, landing with a lightness of tread precisely on his master’s right shoulder. ‘The Bridgewater is not coming to our assistance!’ he meowed into his master’s ear.

  ‘Steady on, Master Trim, it is night and too dangerous, she will come at first light, any good ship’s master would not risk his ship in the darkness.’

  Trim knew that Matthew Flinders would not have waited for the dawn but would have set about the rescue while taking all necessary caution. He had once caught sight of Captain E. H. Palmer Esq. on the Quay at Port Jackson and had noted the shiftiness of his expression, his eyes were dull as soaked raisins and he was observed treating two of his seamen aboard the Bridgewater in a decidedly churlish manner.

  Well, what a night for one and all it turned out to be! Though some good fortune favoured them, the Porpoise had not foundered in a storm and, furthermore, had heeled towards the reef so that the incoming surf now crashed against her turned-up side and flew high over her decks and hadn’t the strength to wash anything very much off them into the sea. The boats were intact and the smooth water under the leeward side looked promising enough to attempt to launch them. Beyond the breakers there seemed to be clear water, for they had struck a reef and not the shore. In terms of good seamanship and given good light, all the Bridgewater needed to do was to sail until she found a break in the reef to move through. If no suitable passage could be found, then she could sail to the end of the reef, anchor and send her longboats into the tranquil water on the far side of the breakers. After which, it would be a simple task to row to the rescue of the Porpoise and the Cato.

  Matthew Flinders volunteered to take a gig, a light boat for rowing, with the intention of marking a possible course and then communicating it to the Bridgewater. It was Trim’s expectation that he would go along, but his master, ever fearful of his safety, denied him this passage. ‘Master Trim, I must needs swim and it is not safe, lad.’

  Trim was not amused, Matthew Flinders was aware that he could swim, for often, when a kitten, he had become so taken with playing and jumping that he’d been thrown overboard by his own enthusiasm and while the crew set about his rescue he had discovered he could swim. Once or twice as an adult cat the hawser line had jerked suddenly while Trim was in the process of going ashore and he’d plummeted into the sea, only to swim to the Quay with calm dexterity.

  Sensing Trim’s disappointment, his master said, ‘These surfs pounding upon the reef are cruel and I vouch too strong for such as me, I cannot take the chance, for your life is most precious to me, Master Trim.’ He could see Trim remained unconvinced and so he added, ‘There is responsibility suffici
ent to attempt this rescue, with thy safety added to my concerns the burden would be too great for me to bear.’

  Trim was not a cat who sulked and so he hid his disappointment, for he would rather have been consigned to Davy Jones’s locker in the arms of his master than live to a ripeness of age without him. He would have gladly sacrificed what remained of his nine lives, but must needs follow his master’s orders for Trim was a master mariner cat and lived by his captain’s commands. At first a six-oared cutter was lowered but she was immediately caught up in the roaring surf and thrown against the sheet anchor and damaged, filling with water. Flinders then proposed a four-oared gig and this was duly cast, though well clear of the ship so that the incoming waves would not also damage it.

  Captain Flinders, with four oarsmen selected by Lieutenant Fowler as able to swim, dived into the sea and swam towards the gig. Once seated in the boat, Matthew Flinders discovered that only three men had boarded. The fourth, thinking it too risky, had remained on board the ship. Furthermore, two of the four oars in the smaller boat were of the wrong selection. Then, to add to his frustration, Matthew Flinders discovered three stowaways crouched under the thwarts, the armourer, the cook and a marine.

  ‘Damn thy eyes! What are you doing here?’ Matthew Flinders cried out.

  It was the armourer who spoke first, ‘We are done for, sir! That is, if we remain on the Porpoise. She will break up soon and we cannot swim, the three of us. It is far better a chance we take to find the shore with thee than to wait for our certain destruction.’

  ‘Fools! Bumpkins! I go to find a passage past the surfs to rescue us all! There is no shore but a coral reef, we row towards the Bridgewater as it is not my purpose to save my own skin, nor yours, while others are in danger!’ Matthew Flinders was very angry, but there was no time to deal with the men at that moment and, besides, he was not master of the Porpoise. ‘Can you row?’ Flinders sighed, thinking them at least in this respect useful.