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

by Lance Morcan

  Armed marines watched over any felon permitted on deck. They were more concerned about preventing their charges from throwing themselves overboard than causing harm to others. So desperate were some prisoners to escape their hellish situation that several tried to dive overboard. That only one would succeed on this particular voyage would be a tribute to the alertness of the marines guarding them.

  Day and night, the bodies of dead prisoners were removed from the hold, carried above deck and thrown overboard without so much as a word let alone a prayer. The surgeon always checked the bodies first to confirm they were in fact lifeless. Sometimes, the doomed men were ill, not dead. And sometimes they were feigning death. Oftentimes, the surgeon was so drunk, he failed to detect a pulse, and a live prisoner was consigned to a watery grave.

  Jack survived by willing himself to overlook the pain and discomfort of life below deck. The twenty-two-year-old Cockney dreamed of his mother and the home-cooked meals she was famous for; he thought of his brothers and sister; most of all, he thought of his many female friends and the intimate moments he’d shared with each of them. Just thinking of his latest love interest – the local butcher’s wife – was enough to transport him to another place.

  While others around him died or fell ill, Jack remained staunch and more determined than ever to survive.

  #

  The Journeyman was the last of the convoy’s surviving convict ships to arrive at the thriving port settlement of Sydney Town, in New South Wales. Of the seven ships that departed England, only five had made it; of the fourteen hundred prisoners aboard those seven ships, only seven hundred and eleven had survived.

  Jack was one of the survivors. Like the other prisoners, he was weak, skinny, unshaven and almost unrecognizable as he filed down the gangplank and onto the wharf at Sydney Town. A sorry-looking lot, the new arrivals were chained together and shackled in leg irons for good measure. Escape, for the moment, was clearly not an option.

  The prisoners squinted to protect their eyes from the sudden glare of daylight. Despite the glare, the hot, mid-morning sun was a welcome relief to men who had spent seven months in a ship’s hold. Some were unable to walk, so weak were they, and had to be supported by their fellow prisoners.

  Jack took in his surroundings. He observed the red-coated British soldiers and armed guards who made up the official reception party on the wharf. They formed a barrier between the new arrivals and a large gathering of curious onlookers for whom the arrival of convict ships was always a source of entertainment and a welcome break from everyday life in the colony.

  “Welcome to paradise!” a beefy soldier yelled by way of greeting to the new arrivals.

  This caused some mirth among the soldier’s comrades.

  More like a sunburnt hell-hole, Jack thought as he surveyed the sun-baked land that was now home to him and the others. First impressions were this was an inhospitable land. Jack and his fellow prisoners would soon find out just how inhospitable it could be.

  A stone came flying through the air and struck a felon standing two places ahead of Jack in the line. It had been thrown by a young laborer.

  “Send the sorry-arses home!” the laborer shouted in a distinctive Liverpudlean accent.

  “Aye, send the bastards home!” a sailor shouted in an equally distinctive Welsh accent.

  Further abuse was hurled at the convicts. It came from the onlookers whose ranks comprised residents and seamen of various nationalities – many of them already drunk on rum even though it was not yet noon. The prisoners didn’t know it, but rum was fast becoming a major currency of the new colony, so sought-after was it. Drunkenness was already a problem in all strata of the colony’s white population at least. Later, it would all but decimate the native population.

  When the last of The Journeyman’s prisoners had disembarked, a distinguished-looking Army officer addressed them. “My name is Captain Arthur Shorthall,” he announced pompously. “You apologies for men are to be immediately dispatched to various parts of New South Wales where you’ll be consigned to certain duties for the duration of your stay.” Captain Shorthall then read out a lengthy list of rules. He concluded, “The slightest infringement of any of these rules will result in a flogging or worse.”

  From within the prisoners’ ranks, a rebellious Irishman shouted, “Bugger the English and bugger everyting dey stand fer!”

  Captain Shorthall, already red from the sun, was so angered he turned several shades of crimson. “Who was that?” he bellowed.

  A sergeant identified the Irishman, unshackled him from his companions and frog-marched him over to the captain. Keen to make an early example of troublemakers, Shorthall ordered that the Irishman receive an immediate flogging as punishment.

  Two soldiers promptly tore the shirt off the man and tied him to a whipping post conveniently positioned for such occasions. Another soldier stepped forward holding that most feared of all whips, a cat-o’-nine-tails – feared because each of its nine leather strands contained knots designed to strip away the flesh from a man’s back. It was common knowledge that after a hundred lashes, the victim’s flesh was usually so shredded that his bones were exposed. Punishments of two to three hundred lashes in the new colony were not uncommon. Being flogged to death wasn’t unheard of either.

  “Twenty lashes,” Captain Shorthall ordered.

  The soldier with the whip removed his red jacket, rolled up his sleeves and, at a nod from the captain, proceeded to dispense justice. Each swing of the whip was accompanied by a mighty crack as it struck the Irishman’s exposed back.

  Even though this was the first time Jack and most of the other prisoners had witnessed a flogging, they were all familiar with the sound. Floggings had been a regular occurrence on board The Journeyman for sailors who got out of line, and the sounds had carried to those incarcerated below deck.

  After twenty lashes, the Irishman asked, “So when does me punishment begin?”

  This prompted laughter from the convicts’ ranks.

  Captain Shorthall became so angry he looked like he was ready to have a coronary. “Another twenty lashes!” he ordered.

  As the additional lashes were delivered, the victim’s back became raw and streaked with blood. Jack prayed the Irishman would hold his tongue. Thankfully, he did. After the full punishment had been delivered, the Irishman was untied and frog-marched back to the prisoners’ ranks. Jack noted he looked subdued now and was clearly in pain.

  “Anyone else want to test my patience?” Captain Shorthall asked. The prisoners remained silent. “Load them up!” the captain ordered.

  Soldiers supervised the loading of prisoners onto horse-drawn carts lined up nearby. Jack soon learned that he and some fifty others had been consigned to a penal center at Parramatta, some fifteen miles inland. They were loaded on ten to a cart. As soon as the carts were full, they set off, escorted by armed soldiers on horseback.

  As the small caravan of horse-drawn carts followed the well-worn track from Sydney Town to Parramatta, Jack and the others didn’t realize it, but many of them would spend the duration of their sentence converting this very track into a road – a hellish task that would cost many lives.

  10

  Makah Nation, West Coast, North America, 1838

  Since his survival of the shipwreck and his subsequent capture by the Makah a fortnight earlier, Nathan had been relegated to living as a slave, performing all sorts of mundane chores ranging from collecting shellfish and firewood to repairing his new masters’ lodges and anything else that needed fixing.

  All but one of his fellow slaves were from neighboring mainland tribes. The odd one out was a bald-headed Mowachaht, appropriately named Baldy, from nearby Vancouver Island.

  Considered different to the other slaves, Nathan and Baldy formed an unlikely alliance, backing each other up when the others picked on either one as they were prone to doing.

  Why his captors had spared him, the young Philadelphian couldn’t even begin to guess. God knows t
hey had every reason to kill me. What he didn’t know was that Tatoosh had made a case to his father for sparing him. He’d argued persuasively that Nathan would be useful teaching them the ways of the White-Eye and acting as interpreter with European traders when the need arose.

  Against his better judgment – and contrary to the wishes of the villagers who lusted for revenge – Elswa had relented.

  Nathan constantly relived in his mind the events that had brought him here – the ill-fated trading expedition to Neah Bay, the escape that followed and the shipwreck that claimed the lives of his uncle and all his crewmates.

  After that fateful day at the village, the head of the drunken rigger who assaulted the Makah headman had been left hanging from one of the village totem poles, serving as a constant reminder of the violence that had occurred. Nathan had thrown up at the grotesque sight – a sight that would be with him for the remainder of his days.

  The rigger’s head had remained recognizable until the bald-headed eagles and other birds of prey picked it clean of flesh. That had only taken a few days.

  Nathan had learned the skull would soon be consigned to a nearby cave that housed the countless skulls of former enemies. He prayed that would happen sooner rather than later as he just wanted to forget the recent ghastly events.

  The young Philadelphian lived in hope Intrepid’s owners, or someone at least, would start searching for the missing vessel as soon as it was realized she was missing. Realistically, that wouldn’t be for another month or two, so he was resigned to surviving as best he could until then. One day at a time, Nate, he told himself. One day at a time.

  #

  Life as a slave of the Makah was a trial for the hardiest and most resilient of slaves. For Nathan it was considerably harder. As the only white at Neah Bay, he was looked down on by slaves and villagers alike, and often treated with disdain.

  He’d quickly discovered there was a pecking order amongst the slaves. The biggest and toughest – and those with the most allies – had first choice of discarded clothing and food leftovers the villagers sometimes threw their way. And they had first pick of the female slaves if they were so inclined, as most were.

  The female slaves, who lived in separate lodgings, were outnumbered three-to-one by the males. Consequently, they were in constant demand, and a major cause of infighting amongst the male slaves.

  Nathan’s lot changed for the better one fine day. He’d had his eye on a new arrival at the village – a shapely young maiden who had been captured and enslaved following a raid on the inland village that was once her home. She was one of a dozen slaves the Makah had brought back to Neah Bay after that raid.

  The young maiden had caught Nathan’s eye immediately. He found her very sexy and instantly desired her. So, too, did a number of his fellow slaves.

  It came to a head during a work party which saw a number of male and female slaves working together, gathering berries for a potlatch their Makah masters were planning. They were watched over by two bored Makah braves who filled in time by chatting about their latest sexual conquests.

  With some clever maneuvering, Nathan found himself working alongside the young maiden. What a goddess! He caught her eye and smiled. She returned his smile and he felt his pulse race. “Hello,” he stammered in English. He inwardly cursed that he hadn’t even learnt how to say hello in the native tongue.

  The young maiden responded with something unintelligible to Nathan’s ear, but she said it with a smile and he imagined she was also saying hello.

  It was that moment that Sasqua, the self-proclaimed leader of the slaves, chose to interpose himself between the two youngsters. A big, raw-boned bully who stood even taller than Nathan, Sasqua elbowed the white aside and leered all over the young maiden who shrank from him as he gazed at her with undisguised lust.

  By now all the slaves were watching. Even the two Makah braves had stopped chatting to see what happened next.

  Sasqua wasn’t concerned about the two lookouts. They were only there to ensure the slaves didn’t try to escape. Besides, the slave boss looked after them on occasion, supplying them with the prettiest of the female slaves, and they were only too happy to look after him. It was a secret arrangement that suited both parties.

  Nathan knew he needed to assert himself if he was ever to gain the respect of his fellow slaves. He’d been looking for the right moment and sensed this was it. It’s now or never. Looking around, he caught the eye of his ally Baldy, the bald Mowachaht slave. Baldy nodded almost imperceptibly. It seemed the Mowachaht had anticipated what Nathan was planning and was indicating he was ready to back him up.

  Sasqua began fondling the young maiden and wasn’t expecting what happened next. Nathan caught him with a king hit that landed just below the big man’s right ear, felling him. The slave boss looked up, stunned, as the young white rained punches down on him. Somehow, Sasqua managed to roll away and scramble to his feet.

  The other slaves immediately crowded around the pair as they went at each other hammer and tongs. Both Makah braves joined the spectators, keen to see the slave boss deal to the White-Eye. To everyone’s surprise, Nathan was giving as good as he got.

  One of Sasqua’s henchmen ran forward to assist his boss, but was tripped up by Baldy who had been waiting for just such an eventuality. Baldy kicked the slave full in the face, almost knocking him out and leaving him minus several front teeth. This served as a warning to the other slaves not to intervene.

  Nathan knew he needed to finish Sasqua quickly if he was to prevail. He was keeping the bigger man at bay by firing out jabs like the accomplished boxer he was, but he knew he needed a knockout.

  Sasqua, and indeed all those watching, seemed mesmerized by Nathan’s demonstration of the pugilistic arts. Boxing was foreign to them. Like all the natives of the Northwest, they resorted to wrestling when fighting unarmed. Fighting with fists apparently hadn’t occurred to them.

  By now Sasqua had taken so many punches, his face was black and blue. He had two black eyes, a split lip and a nasty cut on his forehead. With every blow, his anger and hatred toward the White-Eye intensified. He threw himself at Nathan, grabbed him in a bear hug and lifted him up off the ground.

  Nathan felt as though his ribs were breaking as Sasqua increased the pressure. His vision blurred and he felt himself losing consciousness. Do something! He brought his head down hard against the bridge of his opponent’s nose, breaking it. Sasqua yelped in agony and released his grip on Nathan long enough for him to wriggle free. Blood now flowed freely from Sasqua’s broken nose, which had swollen to twice its normal size.

  Breathing hard, the two antagonists began circling each other, each looking for an opening. By now the spectators were urging both fighters on. They seemed divided in their support. Nearly half those watching were supporting Nathan. The gutsy white slave was giving the slave boss a run for his money.

  Nathan could feel his energy slipping away. The bear hug had damaged his ribs, his lungs felt as though they were on fire and he feared he couldn’t last much longer.

  It was now the boxing lessons his father had given him came flooding back. Johnson Senior had been a bare knuckle fighter in his day and had passed on his skills to Nathan. All too often, those skills had been passed on in the course of a beating, but that was irrelevant at this point in time. Nathan could hear his father’s voice. Feint with the left then bring down the hammer. Johnson Senior always referred to his right hand as the hammer. It was something he’d used in anger on Nathan more than once.

  Despite the animosity Nathan felt toward his father, he decided it was time to take his advice. Feint with the left then bring down the hammer. He fired out two quick jabs. Both landed flush on Sasqua’s broken nose, causing the big man to blink back tears of pain.

  Sasqua shaped up to throw himself at Nathan. He knew if he could just grab the young white once more, he could crush the life out of him.

  Nathan feinted with his left hand. As Sasqua tried to avoid the phanto
m punch, he didn’t see the big right hand that came from nowhere and landed flush on the jaw. The slave boss was out to it before he even hit the ground.

  Seconds later, Nathan found himself surrounded by his fellow slaves. They were laughing and jostling as they congratulated him. Even Sasqua’s allies joined in. It seemed Nathan had earned the respect of the slaves at least.

  The young man looked around for Baldy. He owed him one. Baldy was standing a little to one side. The two stared at each other and nodded. Each had done well that day and they knew it.

  Then Nathan looked for the maiden who had caught his eye. Finally, he saw her. They smiled knowingly at each other.

  11

  Kensington, England, 1847

  Susannah, now twenty-one, sat talking to her father in his rectory in Kensington. He’d summoned her to discuss something he said had been on his mind for some time.

  As they talked, Drake Senior studied his daughter’s face. She’s more beautiful than ever, he decided. The clergyman never tired of Susannah’s company. She reminded him so much of his dear departed Jeanette.

  Since his wife had passed away nine years earlier, Drake Senior had watched with pride as Susannah developed into womanhood. His parishioners loved her. So, too, did the young children she’d been teaching at Kensington Public School since securing a position there as a teacher a year earlier.

  Apart from her dalliance with would-be poet Blake Dugan, Susannah had never given him any cause for concern. She’d been a loving daughter and friend, and her presence had helped fill the void left by his wife’s passing.

  After Blake’s shock death, Susannah had moped about, pining for her lost love. Her school marks suffered and teachers commented she seemed to have lost her old spark. Time rectified that, as Drake Senior hoped it would. A progressive young female teacher – the first woman to teach at Susannah’s school – took the clergyman’s daughter in hand and inspired her to apply herself to her studies.