by Lance Morcan
As one day became two and then three, Jack started to believe he may have dodged a bullet. The storm was showing no sign of easing and conditions remained far too dangerous for Besieged to enter the harbor. Equally, it was too dangerous for any craft to leave the safety of the harbor to approach the schooner.
Jack had overheard crewmembers saying the captain was under pressure to continue the voyage to Fiji. Apparently, whalers there were depending on Besieged for urgently needed supplies as the whaling season was fast approaching.
Captain Jones was torn between fulfilling his obligations to Norfolk Island’s penal settlement authorities and to the anxious whalers awaiting their supplies in Fiji. It wasn’t an easy decision because the penal settlement needed supplies also, and the next supply ship wasn’t scheduled for another two months.
As the fourth day dawned, Jack received a big scare when the wind eased sufficiently for the island’s residents to send a large, covered longboat out to try to connect with Besieged and transfer some of the most urgently needed supplies back to shore. The boat, which was manned by ten hardy oarsmen plus another man on the tiller, reminded the stowaway of a similar craft he’d once seen used by Marine Lifeguard personnel in a rescue mission off England’s southern coast.
On the orders of Captain Jones, Jack was brought out on deck to await the longboat’s arrival. First mate Adams took great delight in informing his prisoner the authorities were more likely to intern him on the island than send him back to Parramatta. To rub it in, he accepted a one guinea wager from the second mate over whether Jack would ever see New South Wales again.
The stowaway held his breath as the longboat edged closer to Besieged’s side. Its task was made easier as the wind eased for the first time since the storm had struck. Just me luck! Jack cursed his misfortune.
While the wind had eased, the swell hadn’t. A huge wave picked the longboat up and smashed it against the schooner’s hull, snapping oars and damaging the smaller craft.
That was enough for longboat’s captain. He immediately ordered his oarsmen to heave to and return to shore. As if to reinforce that he’d made the right decision, the wind chose that moment to increase and the longboat was dashed against Besieged’s hull a second time.
Looking on, it took all Jack’s will power not to cheer loudly and break out into a jig. Instead, he celebrated quietly, contenting himself with a smile. Reprieved!
The smile wasn’t lost on Adams. “Lucky bastard!” he cursed, realizing he’d just lost his wager with the second mate. Turning to a crewman, Adams snapped, “Get him below!”
“Yes chief,” the crewman said. He grabbed Jack by the arm and marched him below deck as ordered.
#
After five days of being assailed by unrelenting gale-force winds and heavy seas, Captain Jones made the difficult decision to resume the voyage to Fiji. As he explained in his log, The whalers were afforded priority ahead of the Norfolk Island penal settlement because their entire season depended on receiving the supplies. The captain just hoped his employers would agree with his decision. If he’d got it wrong, he knew his job could be on the line.
Jack was emptying a latrine over the schooner’s side when he heard first mate Adams give the order to weigh anchor. As usually happened the wind blew the urine and crap, and other unsavory contents of the latrine, back into his face. Jack didn’t mind this time. In fact, he didn’t even notice. He was elated. Fiji here we come! His prayers had been answered.
The stowaway had been hoping against hope the storm would be his salvation. And so it had transpired. Ahead of him now was another two-week voyage – this time to Fiji.
While he’d undoubtedly bought himself some time, Jack was under no illusions that his problems were over. He’d simply replaced one set of problems with another. The voyage to Fiji would pass soon enough and then he’d be handed over to the British authorities there and transferred back to Parramatta. However, he’d had a stay of execution and, for the moment, that’s all that mattered to the irrepressible Cockney.
A day out from Norfolk Island, Jack received further good news when the captain ordered that the stowaway could bunk in with the men and dine with them in the mess. Until now, he’d been confined to sleeping and eating alone in the hold. At least now he’d have some company for the remainder of the voyage.
Furthermore, Captain Jones decided to put Jack’s blacksmithing skills to good use, and ordered that he assist the schooner’s carpenter with general on board repairs as required. The promotion was timely as Beseiged had suffered damage to its timber structures in the continuing storm, so Jack was kept busy – too busy to empty the latrines. That thankless task fell to an ordinary seaman.
So began a new routine for the stowaway. By day he put his smithing skills to good use and at night he bunked in with the crewmen. He now enjoyed full rations and most of the privileges of a normal crewmember. Almost inevitably, his friendly demeanor and cheeky personality endeared him to the crew and they quickly accepted him as one of them.
While Jack appreciated his new status, the fate that awaited him was never far from his mind.
Three days out from Norfolk Island, the storm finally passed by, leaving in its place calm seas, blue skies and balmy temperatures. The temperature rose steadily as Besieged ventured deeper into tropical waters.
#
Two days out from Fiji’s outer islands, the wind died and Besieged was becalmed. Captain Jones allowed the men some rare free time. Some took advantage of this by fishing for any one of the numerous tropical fish varieties found in these waters while others caught up on lost sleep or lounged around above and below deck, playing cards or reading.
Though the free time didn’t officially extend to Jack, not even the first mate objected when he set his duties aside to try his luck with a spot of fishing.
Shouts alerted the men to the arrival of a school of tiger sharks off the schooner’s starboard side. Several sailors threw fish bait and food scraps down to the man-eaters and a minor feeding frenzy developed. Jack and the others watched, intrigued, as a dozen fins sliced left and right through the water. The sea in the immediate vicinity became a churning mass of foam as the sharks fought for the morsels being tossed down to them. Several sharks turned on each other, fresh blood only adding to their frenzy.
The schooner’s youngest crewmember, thirteen-year-old deck boy Thomas Brown, laughed gleefully as the sharks fought for a large piece of bait he’d just thrown down to them. In his excitement, Thomas leaned over the rail for a better view.
“Careful, lad!” a burly rigger called out.
The warning came too late. Thomas lost his balance and fell into the sea. He landed a short distance from the sharks and momentarily disappeared beneath the surface. Jack and other horrified crewmen rushed to the near rail.
As Thomas resurfaced he started panicking and thrashing about. It was immediately clear he couldn’t swim. “Help!” he spluttered after taking in a mouthful of water.
A quick-thinking sailor tossed a rope over the side. It landed next to the lad. “Grab the rope!” the sailor shouted.
Thomas grabbed hold of the rope. He tried to climb it, but lacked the strength. Crewmen shouted their encouragement to him.
Captain Jones arrived on deck, attracted by the commotion. He became distraught when he realized who it was in the water. “For God sake, someone do something!” he screamed, distressed.
Observing him, Jack thought the captain’s reaction was out of character given that he was normally very calm when faced with difficult circumstances. The Cockney wasn’t to know that Captain Jones was the boy’s uncle.
Until now, the sharks had been so pre-occupied fighting over the food scraps none had noticed Thomas. Suddenly, a big shark peeled off from the others. Its fin sliced through the water toward the boy. Thomas saw it coming and started screaming. He frantically tried to climb the rope, but kept falling back into the water.
Captain Jones shouted, “Loop the rope around you
r arm and we’ll pull you up, Thomas!”
The boy froze as the big shark nosed up to him. For some reason it veered away at the last second. The reprieve motivated Thomas to renew his efforts to climb the rope. Again, he failed.
“Loop the rope around your arm!” the captain shouted again. He looked like he was about to dive over the side.
Looking on, Jack willed the boy to do as the captain ordered. He knew if Thomas could loop the rope around his arm, the sailors could haul him on board. Unfortunately, the lad was too frightened to think clearly.
The shark returned and made a second pass. Another shark joined the first. Their fins zigzagged urgently through the water, indicating they were preparing to attack.
Jack knew the boy was on borrowed time. Help me, Lord! Kicking off his boots, he dived over the rail and landed next to Thomas. Jack resurfaced just as the nearest shark rolled over onto its side, exposing its teeth and one eye. He eyed it fearfully. The bastard’s grinning at me! The Cockney reached up and grabbed the rope, entwining it several times around his strong right arm. With his left arm he enveloped Thomas and held him tight against his chest. Looking up, he yelled, “Pull!”
The rope immediately tightened as a dozen sailors began pulling on the other end. Jack and Thomas were hauled from the water just as one of the sharks came in for the kill. The shark rose high out of the water as it tried to grab Jack’s legs. Jack swung his legs up, narrowly avoiding the shark’s jaws. In that split second, he saw all the shark’s teeth. Moments later, he and Thomas were safely on deck.
Willing hands whisked Thomas below deck while other crewmen crowded around Jack to confirm he was okay. Shaken but otherwise unharmed, the Cockney was subjected to much back-slapping as crewmembers bestowed their hearty congratulations on him. His heroic actions had earned him the respect of all – in particular that of Captain Jones.
From that day on, Jack would be treated as a fully-fledged member of Besieged’s crew, and he had a friend for life in young Thomas.
That night, Captain Jones summonsed Jack to his cabin. He greeted his nephew’s savior with a warm handshake. “That was a hell of a thing you did today, Mister Halliday,” he smiled.
“I did what anyone would do,” Jack said.
“But anyone didn’t do it,” the captain pointed out. “You did it.”
The conversation lapsed. Jack wondered what was coming next. He hoped it was a reprieve. He’s gonna tell me I’m a free man! Jack held his breath, and not for the first time on this dramatic voyage.
“I’m afraid you’re not going to like what I have to say next,” Captain Jones said somewhat embarrassed.
Jack could tell his hopes were about to be crushed.
“Unfortunately, nothing has changed as far as you’re concerned. You are still an escaped felon and I’d be neglecting my duty if I didn’t turn you over to the authorities.” The captain hated himself at that moment. He’d have liked nothing better than to inform the young Cockney he was a free man, but his sense of duty wouldn’t allow that. He hastily added, “God knows you deserve to be free, and rest assured I’ll put in a good word for you when we hand you over.”
“Thanks,” Jack said lamely. He was tempted to plead with the captain to reconsider his hard line, but that wasn’t his style.
As Jack turned to leave, Captain Jones restrained him. “One minute, Mister Halliday.” The captain went to a drinks cabinet and pulled out an unopened bottle of rum. He held it up, a twinkle in his eyes. “I understand you are partial to rum?”
Jack’s eyes lit up. “I am at that, sir.”
“Good,” the captain said. “Because I’d like to share a drink with the man who rescued my nephew from certain death.”
The two unlikely drinking companions proceeded to enjoy a glass of rum together. If either thought it strange, neither said so. Given what had transpired earlier that day, it seemed the most natural thing in the world.
37
Navigator Islands, South Pacific, 1848
Nathan slowly drained a glass of whisky as he studied transcriptions of ships’ logs left to him by his father. The transcriptions recounted past trading ventures to the Pacific Islands by vessels in Johnson Traders’ fleet.
The young American, now twenty-six, was in a well appointed cabin aboard Rainmaker, a schooner that was traveling from San Francisco to Fiji, a three-month voyage allowing for stops at various island groups along the way. She’d not long berthed at Apia, in the Navigator Islands, an island group that would one day be renamed Samoa and one which Nathan had never visited previously.
Rainmaker was only scheduled to stay in Apia for a couple of days – just long enough to unload supplies for English missionaries stationed there and to load goods for her next destination. She was heading for Fiji, another seven hundred miles to the west, where Nathan intended to trade muskets to the Fijians in return for their prized beche-de-mer, exotic sea slugs which he planned to ship to China where they would fetch exorbitantly high prices.
Since he’d inherited his late father’s trading empire several years earlier, Nathan had experienced the good and bad side of business. Johnson Traders, under his leadership, had gone from strength to strength during his first year at the helm. In the light of what followed, his competitors and critics unkindly labeled that first year beginner’s luck.
Everything changed in the second year when a series of financial disasters – some related, others not – hit the company.
The first disaster was an unwise partnership Nathan struck up with a San Francisco entrepreneur who offered to represent Johnson Traders’ business interests on the west coast. A series of unwise moves ranging from bad property investments to doomed merges resulted in Nathan having to cash in personal investments and sell many of his east coast assets to try to cover the debts. The situation wasn’t helped by Nathan’s partner who helped himself to much of the company’s cash reserves and disappeared into the night.
All this coincided with a temporary downturn in west coast property values. As Nathan had invested heavily in west coast property – as had his father before him – the resulting downturn saw Johnson Traders’ net worth plummet. Although short-lived, the downturn proved catastrophic for the company and for Nathan personally.
After two traumatic years trying to trade his way back into profit, Nathan had been forced to sell his company to a competitor for a fraction of its original worth. That had been a year earlier.
Since then, he’d ploughed every cent he had into a new trading venture. This venture had no company behind it; it didn’t even have a name. Nathan had simply set himself up, quite unofficially, as a sole operator responsible only to himself. There were no senior managers, or middle managers or any employees of any kind; he didn’t even own a ship. Finances dictated that he charter vessels for his various ventures or, as he’d done on this occasion, simply secure a berth for himself and his cargo as a normal fare-paying passenger. This time, his cargo comprised several hundred brand new muskets plus shot and powder for the weapons.
Under this new modus operandi, the young man had struggled for the first six months. Then he had yet another change of fortune – for the better this time.
Two major events saw Nathan’s stocks rise.
The first was the United States’ annexing of Texas, which happened three years earlier, in 1845. The ranchers and other new settlers who flooded into Texas urgently needed supplies, and Nathan was happy to oblige. Using all his savings, he chartered a vessel to transport firearms, tools, furniture, non-perishable food and other supplies to the Texans. One profitable voyage followed another – and Nathan was back.
The second event was the bloody Mexican-American War, which had been raging for nearly two years now. It proved the catalyst Nathan needed to further improve his financial position. He used the same formula he’d used for the Texan settlers, chartering ships to transport supplies to the American soldiers engaged in the hostilities – the main difference being the supplies were almost exc
lusively firearms and other useful items for waging war.
The young American’s newfound success prompted him to relocate to San Francisco. He believed America’s west coast held more promise and, since relocating there six months earlier, he hadn’t looked back. Nathan now had sufficient resources to employ staff and purchase his own ships, but he’d resisted that temptation. If the past four years had taught him anything, it was that he operated best alone.
In hindsight, he believed his failure running the business he’d inherited from his father was the best thing that had ever happened to him. It had taught him he was, by nature, a loner who worked best alone; more importantly, the collapse of Johnson Traders had materially and emotionally cut any final link that may have existed between him and his father. Now he could truly say he was a self-made man, and he was proud of that.
Nathan had kept no reminder for himself of Johnson Senior. Much to the dismay of his sisters, he’d even refused to take the portrait painting of his father that had once hung on the wall of his study in the family home. They’d remained miffed to this day over their brother’s refusal to make his peace with Johnson Senior before his death. Reminders that their father had beaten him, not them, had fallen on deaf ears.
The siblings’ attitude to the portrait painting of their beloved mother, however, was quite different. All three had wanted it. After much arguing, they agreed to let the toss of a coin decide who would inherit the painting. Nathan’s oldest sister Alice won the toss. To her credit, she commissioned a local artist to paint two copies of the original, and a month later presented these, encased in beautiful frames, to her grateful siblings. Nathan and Sissy agreed the copies were almost identical to the original.
