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

by Lance Morcan

  On board Intrepid, Captain Dawson was on deck, having been alerted minutes earlier by the commotion ashore. His heart sank at the sight of armed warriors launching canoes in pursuit of his crewmen in the longboat. Dawson’s thoughts immediately went to Nathan. He felt momentary elation when he spotted his nephew’s head amongst the longboat’s passengers.

  Recognizing the danger to his men and ship, Dawson shouted, “Weigh anchor!”

  The crewmen aboard Intrepid raced to their respective posts and readied the vessel for a rapid departure from Neah Bay. Sails were unfurled and the anchor raised in double-quick time. The crewmen were well rehearsed for such departures. Dawson had made sure of that.

  As the longboat closed with Intrepid, Bates and another sailor hoisted their Makah hostage overboard. Elswa sank beneath the surface of the water and for a moment the crewmen feared the chief may not be able to swim. Seconds later, Elswa’s head broke the surface. He gulped in a lungful of air then began swimming for all he was worth away from his captors.

  By the time Elswa had been rescued by his braves in one of the pursuing canoes, Nathan and the others had safely scrambled aboard Intrepid and the longboat had been hoisted aboard. Moments later, the ship was sailing north out of Neah Bay.

  Only now did the survivors celebrate. They expressed their relief by slapping each other on the back and shaking hands. Many sought out the first mate to personally thank. They knew Bates’ quick thinking had saved their lives.

  Nathan wandered away from the others. He stood at the ship’s stern, looking back at the Makah braves who had now ceased their pursuit. Those who had muskets shot at Intrepid even though she was out of range. Ignoring the musket-fire, Nathan looked straight at Tatoosh.

  The chief’s son stood in the bow of the nearest canoe and looked back at Nathan.

  As the two young men stared at each other, feelings of regret flooded through Nathan. He knew the Makah had been wronged that day, and he sensed the actions of his fellow crewmen had made enemies for life. In better circumstances, he sensed he and Tatoosh could be friends.

  5

  Kensington, England, 1841

  Susannah had blossomed into a beautiful fifteen-year-old, so it was somewhat inevitable – to her clergyman father’s everlasting consternation – that there was a steady stream of suitors arriving at the Drake family home in Kensington vying for her attention.

  Drake Senior had to admit his daughter was stunning. Certainly there was none more beautiful in the district, and perhaps not even in greater London. Susannah’s wavy, red hair shone like gold in the sunlight and framed a determined yet still-angelic face, and not even the modest dresses she wore could hide her shapely figure or her toned, slender legs. But it was her hazel eyes that set her apart: alert, intelligent and full of the eternal hope of youth, they were flecked and sparkled like diamonds. Those eyes had the ability to reduce a normally confident, even arrogant, suitor to something akin to a quivering lump of jelly.

  The number of suitors had grown so alarmingly of late, several parishioners had been prompted to comment on the fact to Reverend Drake. One had even been so moved to say the rectory was in danger of becoming better known as a meeting place for Susannah and her admirers than as a place of God.

  Drake Senior had often tried to broach the subject with Susannah, but she’d always laughed it off before he could get anywhere. Not for the first time, he wished his dear Jeanette were still alive to take their willful daughter in hand and dispense some motherly advice.

  One handsome young suitor proved more determined than the others. Blake Dugan was an apprentice chimneysweep and would-be poet who supplemented his meager earnings by hiring himself out as a poet-for-hire at weddings and other such functions around the district. His life’s dream was to become a full-time poet, reciting his own poetry to whoever was prepared to pay for the privilege.

  Blake and Susannah met one evening during a stage play in the local theatre. They were seated near each other in the audience. The young man saw her and couldn’t take his eyes off her. He stared at her throughout the play’s first act. By the start of the second act, Susannah was aware of the young man’s interest, but pretended not to notice.

  So taken was Blake with Susannah that, there and then, he produced a pad and pencil and penned a poem about her.

  #

  Walking home alone after the play, Susannah became aware she was being followed. She turned to see it was the same fellow who had been staring at her throughout the play. Judging him on his bohemian attire, she considered him untrustworthy and so quickened her pace.

  Blake ran up beside her, startling her. “Please don’t be frightened, Miss,” he said. “My name is Blake Dugan. I mean you no harm.”

  Sensing he spoke the truth, Susannah relaxed and slowed her pace.

  Blake continued, “I have been watching you, Miss.”

  Susannah feigned surprise. “Me?”

  “Yes. I wrote a poem for you.”

  Blake pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and prepared to read his poem aloud. He positioned himself beneath the arc of a street lamp so that he could see the words. So taken was Susannah that she stopped to listen.

  The young poet began reciting:

  Dear English princess

  unconscious and unaware

  of your angelic beauty.

  Are there no mirrors where you live?

  Didn't your mother ever tell you,

  you've been born with a face,

  that men would fight wars over,

  just to be able to touch?

  So forgive me if I stumble

  and stammer to find the words

  to ask you for,

  a slow dance at midnight.

  As Blake recited his poem, Susannah found herself falling under his spell. She was taken by his good looks and bohemian charm, but most of all by his spontaneity. When he finished reciting, Blake looked at her expectantly, as if for approval.

  Susannah immediately applauded. “Bravo, kind sir. You have a way with words.”

  Visibly relieved, Blake folded the sheet of paper he held and handed it to her. “Please keep this…in memory of tonight.” Susannah took the note from him. Blake then surprised her by asking, “Will you do me the honor of this dance?”

  Susannah looked around, confused. “What dance?”

  Smiling, Blake took her hand in his, placed his arm around her slender waist and led off in a slow waltz. Embarrassed but intrigued, she complied.

  Susannah soon noticed their display was attracting bemused smiles and a few strange stares from other theatre-goers making their way home. Giggling, she whispered, “Tis a pity we have no music to dance to.”

  “Ah, but we do.” Blake immediately began humming a classical tune.

  Susannah giggled again. Encouraged, Blake held her tighter. She snuggled into him and allowed him to press his cheek to hers.

  As they danced, Susannah snuck furtive glances at the young man in whose arms she found herself. Although they’d only just met, she felt totally at ease in his presence. It was as if she’d known him all her life.

  #

  In the days and weeks that followed their first meeting, chimneysweep and would-be poet Blake Dugan called on Susannah at every opportunity. Both of them lived for the moments they could spend together – much to the annoyance of Susannah’s father.

  Ever-critical Drake Senior was strongly opposed to Blake Dugan’s interest in his daughter. He referred to him as an apology-for-a-poet, sparking several rows with Susannah. His opposition to Blake only served to increase Susannah’s ardor for the young man.

  A serious romance developed and it wasn’t long before the two were very much in love. He was Susannah’s first love and she had never been happier.

  Out of the blue, on a crisp Autumn day, Blake proposed to Susannah. Crying tears of happiness, she accepted his proposal, but suggested he seek her father’s blessing for their union. She warned him that would be no easy feat.

&
nbsp; The couple spent the next few hours devising a plan of attack.

  #

  Later that day, in the confines of the Drake Senior’s study in the old rectory, a nervous Blake approached Susannah’s father. “Reverend Drake,” Blake stammered.

  “Yes, what is it?” Drake Senior snapped. The young man had interrupted his preparations for his next sermon. The chosen topic was a difficult one and Drake Senior was annoyed his train of thought had been broken.

  “I…I would like to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage, sir,” Blake ventured.

  Drake Senior suddenly forgot all about the sermon he’d been sweating over. He eyeballed the young man critically. Don’t shout at the little toad, he instructed himself. You’re a man of the cloth after all. Taking a deep breath, he asked, “And what can you offer my daughter, Master Dugan?”

  “Offer? Your daughter?”

  “Yes. What security can you offer? How do you make your living? Can you support her in the manner to which she has become accustomed?”

  With each question, Blake became more depressed. He realized, as an apprentice chimneysweep and struggling poet with little money coming in and no property or assets, nothing he said would satisfy the clergyman who was looking at him as if he were the least suitable husband for his daughter in the entire world. Nevertheless, he knew he had to try. “I love her, sir,” he said simply.

  “Oh, so you love her,” Drake Senior said sarcastically. “And love is going to feed and clothe her, is it? And feed and clothe the children you no doubt hope to sire? And--”

  “And she loves me,” Blake added hurriedly.

  Now, Drake Senior lost his temper. Jumping angrily to his feet, he growled, “Don’t be silly, you young fool! My daughter doesn’t know the meaning of love. She’s far too young for that nonsense.”

  “She’s nearly sixteen, sir.”

  “I’ve heard enough!” Drake Senior shouted. Pointing at the door, he said, “Find your own way out, Master Dugan. And don’t let me catch you here again.”

  Blake departed, defeated.

  Minutes later, Susannah stormed into the rectory. Her father had been expecting her, so hadn’t even bothered returning to his planned sermon. Instead, he’d sat motionless, staring at the door through which he’d known his strong-willed daughter would burst through any minute.

  Flushed and looking ready for a fight, Susannah confronted her father. “Why do you oppose my happiness?” she asked bluntly.

  “Where do you want me to start?” Drake Senior responded defensively. “He has no money, no career--”

  “He is a poet…and a good one.”

  “Ha! He’s a good-for-nothing chimneysweep with no family that I know of, no permanent abode and no prospects. In short, my dear, he is not good enough for you.”

  Susannah was not prepared to back down. She planted her hands firmly on her hips and said, “I love Blake and I’m going to marry him, with or without your blessing.” She turned and stormed out.

  As she departed, her father’s last words were ringing in her ears. Over my dead body will you marry him!

  #

  Despite Drake Senior’s opposition, the young lovers continued their courtship, albeit clandestinely. Blake called into the rectory when Drake Senior was away visiting parishioners, and Susannah snuck out to see her beau when her father was closeted in his study preparing for his next sermon.

  Predictably, Blake put pressure on Susannah to give herself to him sexually. Out of respect for her father, and for her mother’s memory, she resisted his advances although she was sorely tempted.

  Drake Senior’s opposition to their courtship only served to strengthen their resolve. They made plans to elope.

  6

  Central London, England, 1837

  At the Central Criminal Court, it was standing room only as Jack Halliday was led into the courtroom by a bailiff. The young smithy sported a shiner and various cuts and bruises following his run-in with Henry Sullivan, his employer, or more accurately his former employer.

  His hands chained together, Jack took the stand and waited to be sentenced. While he waited, he searched the faces of people seated in the public gallery. His eyes rested on his mother, Jessica Halliday, who was sobbing at the sight of her favorite rascal of a son standing in the dock. She managed a strained smile.

  Although only fifty-two, Jessica looked all of sixty-two – not unusual for working class mothers of the day. Sitting alongside her were Jack's two brothers and his sister. The young Cockney acknowledged them with a cheeky grin.

  Henry Sullivan was sitting immediately behind Jessica. The big man caught Jack's eye and glared at him. Jack glared right back. I shoulda flattened you when I had the chance, Sullivan. The Cockney flashed a defiant wink at Sullivan who visibly grimaced at the brashness of his former employee.

  A hush fell over the courtroom as the judge entered.

  The court bailiff commanded, “All rise for Judge Simpkins.”

  The assembled stood as the judge sat down behind a large desk at the front of the courtroom.

  Looking more like an undertaker than a judge, Judge Simpkins surveyed all through critical, world-weary eyes. He quickly referred to handwritten notes on a pad before peering at Jack over the top of horn-rimmed glasses. “Jack Halliday,” the judge intoned, “you have been found guilty of stealing six pounds worth of hemp from your employer. Do you have anything to say?”

  “Yes, your Honor,” Jack replied. “The hemp was only worth one pound on the black market.” He pointed directly at his former employer. “Sullivan owed me wages amounting to three pounds, so he's still two pounds better off than he deserves to be.”

  Red-faced Sullivan looked ready to explode as laughter and cheers erupted in the public gallery.

  Judge Simpkins failed to see the humor. “Order!” he shouted, bringing his gavel down on his desktop with a bang. Once order had returned, the judge looked gravely at the young defendant. “Jack Halliday, you have been found guilty of theft. As this is not your first conviction, I have no option but to sentence you to seven years' hard labor.”

  Jeers and cries of disbelief came from the public gallery. Sullivan looked smug.

  The judge continued, “You will serve your time--”

  Jessica Halliday interrupted, crying out, “Dear God, show mercy for my son!”

  “You will serve your time beyond the seas in Her Majesty's Colony of New South Wales,” Judge Simpkins ordered, bringing his gavel down one last time before striding from the courtroom.

  Jessica fainted and pandemonium broke out all around her in the gallery as Jack's friends and relatives vented their feelings against the harsh sentence. Two court officials grabbed Jack and frog-marched him from the courtroom. Before they reached the door, Jack looked back at his mother. She was being assisted back into her seat. Little did he realize that would be the last time he’d see her or his siblings.

  Outside the courthouse, Jack’s ankles were shackled in irons and he was pushed up into one of several covered, horse-drawn carts that were being guarded by armed constabulary.

  Jack found the cart he’d been assigned to already occupied by half a dozen other newly-convicted felons. They were sitting jammed together on wooden seats. More prisoners were loaded on, singly and in pairs, over the next hour.

  While they waited, the felons talked among themselves. Jack quickly realized that, like him, they’d all been sentenced to serve their time in Britain's Colony of New South Wales – some for lesser crimes than his.

  “Where is this New South Wales?” the man sitting on Jack’s left asked.

  Jack shrugged. Bloody good question. Like most of his companions, he’d heard of New South Wales, but didn’t know where it was.

  “It’s at the bottom of the world,” a toothless man sitting opposite said.

  “What’s it like there?” someone else asked.

  “Buggered if I know,” the toothless man said, “but I hear there’s plenty o’ rum and plenty o’
women there.”

  Everyone except Jack cheered this good news. The young Cockney wondered how accurate the toothless man’s information was. He also wondered how far away the bottom of the world was and, equally puzzling, what lay beyond it.

  The sudden crack of a whip outside alerted the felons their cart was moving out. They fell silent as their covered cart bounced up and down over cobbled streets. Although they couldn’t see outside, it didn’t take Jack long to work out they were heading for London’s docks.

  7

  Makah Nation, West Coast, North America, 1838

  After their hurried departure from Neah Bay, Nathan and his crewmates quickly fell back into their everyday routines aboard Intrepid. Any sense of relief they had at surviving the wrath of the Makah was soon replaced by the humdrum of life at sea – except for one thing: a mighty storm was brewing.

  Captain Dawson had recognized the danger soon after setting sail. Storm clouds had rolled in from the north and a ferocious northerly whipped the sea up into a frenzy. Plans to continue north to nearby Vancouver Island had to be aborted and the captain steered a new course southwest in search of the nearest safe anchorage.

  Nathan had experienced many a storm in his years at sea, but nothing like the one that struck that night. In the first hour of darkness, three crewmembers – two riggers and an ordinary seaman – were washed overboard. Before the next hour was up, two more had been lost to the sea along with the aft mast the mighty wind had cracked in half like a toothpick.

  In the wheelhouse, Dawson murmured a seaman’s prayer as he nursed Intrepid southwards in the ever-worsening storm. The wind was approaching hurricane force and the captain was aware his vessel would be condemned to the ocean depths it he didn’t find safe anchorage and find it soon.