by Lance Morcan
#
On August 8th, four days after colliding with the whale and just over five weeks after departing Cape Town, Minstrel limped in to port at Hobart Town. The wounded brigantine had been reduced to around three knots after sustaining damage, and it was the first mate’s assessment she wouldn’t have lasted more than a few more days in the Southern Ocean.
Christians aboard Minstrel swore that it was their prayers that had delivered her safely to port. Although not a God-fearing man himself, Paxton was prepared to believe that God had intervened for until the hills of Van Diemen’s Land had been sighted off the bow, he hadn’t been convinced they’d reach their destination.
As Minstrel berthed at Hobart Town’s main wharf, the Drakes and other passengers emerged above deck – some for the first time in weeks – to view the new land that would one day be known as Tasmania.
Those passengers who were informed knew Van Dieman’s Land was an island that was officially part of New South Wales. Several would be leaving Minstrel in Hobart Town to join other vessels bound for Sydney Town or Botany Bay, on the mainland, several hundred miles to the north.
For other passengers, like Miss Finch, Hobart Town would be their final destination. In Miss Finch’s case, she was taking up a position as head nurse at Hobart Town’s penal settlement; in other cases, a Scottish couple were starting a new life managing a boarding house while the Irish troublemaker John Donovan had decided to stop over on a whim. Few of the remaining passengers would miss him. Especially not Susannah.
For the young Englishwoman, the miseries of the last five weeks were forgotten in an instant as she took in her new surroundings.
Situated as it was in a picturesque bay, Hobart Town was already a thriving port city of some twenty thousand people. Ships of every description were in evidence for this was one of the finest deep water ports in all the Southern Hemisphere. Whaling and sealing ships were predominant, reflecting the economic importance of those activities in this part of the world.
“Look!” Susannah implored her father. She pointed to green fields of potatoes and yellow fields of corn that extended all the way to the tree-line of the hills beyond the town.
“Beautiful,” Drake Senior agreed. He smiled, pleased to see his daughter so happy after weeks below deck in a tiny vessel which, he knew, could have sunk at any minute.
As Susannah surveyed the spectacular view, she decided the only blot on the landscape was the penal settlement the town had been built around. Its moss-covered stone walls and forbidding towers cast a shadow, metaphorically at least, over the town. Susannah didn’t know its history, but she’d heard stories about the harsh treatment of convicts sent to such places throughout the colonies, sometimes for as little as stealing a loaf of bread. And she’d often prayed for wellbeing of those same convicts.
39
Mana Island, Fiji, 1841
Two days after the shark incident, Beseiged arrived in Fijian waters. Her ultimate destination was Ovalau Island, further to the east, but first she had a scheduled call to make at Mana Island, a favored stopover in the picturesque Mamanuca Group west of the main island of Viti Levu.
Besieged crewmembers were looking forward to shore leave, so it was with much disappointment they received the captain’s announcement they would only be staying at Mana Island as long as it took to unload a small consignment of supplies for a whaler anchored there. Shore leave would have to wait until Besieged berthed at Ovalau Island.
None was more disappointed than Jack. Every day he remained free – if free was the right word – was a day he could try to engineer an escape from his present situation. On arrival at Mana Island, he even considered diving overboard and swimming to the island. However, he dismissed that when he realized the island was far too small with too few hiding places for an escapee to remain at large for long. That plan would have to wait.
As it turned out, the whaler Captain Jones had been told would be waiting here was nowhere to be seen. In such an eventuality, the required supplies were to be left at the residence of a local chief on the island. That residence turned out to be a bure, or thatched hut. Larger than the others around it, it occupied a prime location overlooking a turquoise lagoon.
Crewmen not involved in the ferrying of supplies ashore lined the near rail to watch the activity on shore and admire the fetching Fijian maidens who could be seen wandering semi-naked along the beach and between the huts of their village. Several maidens responded with uninhibited smiles and friendly waves to the wolf-whistles being directed their way from the sex-starved seamen aboard Besieged. That only served to further encourage the men who began competing with each other to attract the attention of young women who had taken their fancy.
“Keep it down to a dull roar!” first mate Adams growled.
The men quietened, but only for a while.
Jack, who had been on deck since the schooner had arrived in the Mamanuca Group hours earlier, watched with interest as a tall stranger emerged from amongst the huts on shore and walked out onto the jetty. Too far away for his features to be discernible, the man was clearly European.
The stranger approached the oarsmen aboard the longboat that had been used to ferry the supplies ashore. They were about to return to Besieged. To Jack’s surprise, the stranger boarded the longboat, which then began heading back to the schooner.
Jack had a bad feeling about the stranger. He didn’t know why, but he trusted his instincts.
Minutes later, the stranger boarded Beseiged. Now that Jack had a close-up view of him, the bad feeling he’d had earlier intensified.
The stranger had a menacing look about him. Taller than most at close to six foot five, he had a hard, wiry frame that reminded Jack of a coiled spring. His lean, tanned face sported a day-old stubble, and his gray, gun-sight eyes were never still. They continuously surveyed everything and everyone around him, resting for a moment on Jack before moving on. The stranger traveled light, his only luggage being a leather satchel which hung from his shoulder on a strap – unless the pistol he wore tucked into his belt should be counted as luggage. And the way he carried himself signaled to one and all he wasn’t a man to fool with.
In the thirty seconds that had elapsed since the stranger boarded, Jack’s opinion of him had changed. He’s not menacing. He’s dangerous. Bloody dangerous! The Cockney hadn’t yet determined how the stranger presented any danger, but he suspected that would be revealed in due course.
First mate Adams approached the stranger and engaged him in earnest conversation. Jack moved closer to eavesdrop, but aside from detecting an American accent heard nothing that could tell him who the stranger was or what he was doing on board before Adams escorted him away to the captain’s quarters.
The young Cockney didn’t have long to wait to learn who the stranger was. Less than ten minutes had elapsed before the second mate advised Jack the captain wanted to see him.
When Jack entered Captain Jones’ cabin, he saw the stranger and Adams were with him. The stranger was the only one seated, his long legs stretched out before him. As he’d done earlier, he ran his eyes over Jack – only more slowly this time. Jack returned the other’s stare, his mind racing. Who the hell are you?
“Jack, this is Frank Sparrow,” the captain said. “He’s a Government agent.”
The Cockney instantly knew who Sparrow was. In this part of the world, Government agent was a euphemism for a contractor employed by the British Government to round up escaped convicts and return them to whichever penal colony they’d fled. Back at Parramatta, the convicts had referred to such contractors as bounty hunters. One convict who had had personal experience of such people, said bounty hunters had the authority to use force, deadly force, if necessary. And they’re not slow to use it, he’d warned.
Looking at Sparrow, Jack had no doubt he’d use deadly force if required. His estimation was he wouldn’t need much of an excuse.
Captain Jones continued, “It’s Mister Sparrow’s job--”
“I know what Mister Sparrow does,” Jack interjected. He looked coolly at Sparrow who hadn’t taken his eyes off him since he’d entered the cabin. “Mister Sparrow’s a bounty hunter.”
Sparrow smiled at that. He’d been called worse and it didn’t faze him.
Captain Jones continued, “It’s his job to return escaped convicts to where they came from.” The captain took a deep breath. He clearly wasn’t enjoying this. “He asked me if I had any stowaways on board, and of course I was duty bound to--”
“You had to tell him,” Jack said, finishing the captain’s sentence for him.
Captain Jones had the good grace to look embarrassed. Memories of Jack’s actions in saving his nephew’s life were still fresh in his mind. He continued, “Although I am master of this vessel, the law demands that I immediately hand you over to Mister Sparrow. He will accompany you to Ovalau Island, and there…” He tapered off and looked at the bounty hunter. “Perhaps you’d like to explain.”
“There you’ll be interned as a guest of the Government until I can arrange a berth for ya on a British vessel bound for Sydney Town,” Sparrow said without preamble. His deep voice was as cold as the expression in his gray eyes, and he spoke in a monotone that was devoid of any expression.
It sent a chill down Jack’s spine. The distinctive American drawl also reconfirmed the man’s nationality.
Sparrow was in no doubt Jack had escaped from the Parramatta penal settlement. Just a week earlier, he’d received an official written report drafted by a Parramatta official – delivered courtesy of another supply vessel – on the Cockney’s escape. It was one of several such letters he’d received from various penal settlements in the past month.
Jack had come across many hard men in his time, but Frank Sparrow was on another level. A stone cold killer if ever I saw one, he told himself.
The Cockney wasn’t to know Sparrow was one of three agents contracted by the government to scour the Pacific for escaped convicts. Sparrow’s territory covered a triangle that spanned hundreds of thousands of square miles and extended from Fiji in the west to the Cook Islands in the east to the Navigator Islands in the north. He’d been doing the job for five years and had never failed to get his man.
It was the captain who broke the silence. Turning to Sparrow and Adams he said, “Gentlemen if you’d give me a minute alone with young Mister Halliday.”
The bounty hunter and the first mate departed without a word, leaving the captain alone with Jack.
Captain Jones looked earnestly at the young man. “If there was any other way I’d have taken it, Jack. You know that, don’t you?”
Jack wasn’t sure he did know that, but he nodded all the same.
Relieved, the captain continued, “He identified you as an escaped convict as soon as he stepped aboard.”
That surprised Jack. He’d thought he could easily pass as a crewmember.
Captain Jones noted his surprise. “He’s been doing this job so long they say he can smell an escapee a mile away.” The captain waited for a response. When there was none, he continued, “Anyway, you are formally under Mister Sparrow’s authority now. He is insisting you serve the duration of the voyage in the hold, under lock and key.”
“And you agreed to that?” Jack asked.
“I had no choice.”
Jack understood, but he didn’t want to make this any easier for the captain, so he said nothing.
There was nothing more to be said. Captain Jones opened the door to find the bounty hunter and first mate waiting. “He’s all yours, Mister Sparrow,” he said.
Jack avoided looking at Captain Jones when he joined the two men awaiting him. As he accompanied his escorts along the passageway toward the hold, he could feel the captain’s eyes boring into his back.
#
Later, in the semi-dark of the hold, Jack had plenty of time to rue his misfortune as Besieged sailed steadily eastward toward its destination. A sympathetic Quincy Adams had told him the estimated arrival time was two days hence; the totally unsympathetic bounty hunter Sparrow had told him any escape attempt wouldn’t be tolerated. Sparrow had tapped the butt of his pistol as he’d delivered the warning to the would-be escapee.
It was only after he’d been interned in the hold that Jack had wondered what an American was doing on the British Government’s payroll. He guessed he’d never figure that one out.
Jack had lost track of time when a key rattled in the hold’s door, and the door opened. Able Seaman Jonty Price, a young Cornishman, entered holding a tray that contained Jack’s dinner.
“You okay?” Jonty enquired.
“As well as can be expected,” Jack replied as cheerfully as he could as he took the tray from his visitor.
Jonty hesitated before departing. “I have a message from some of the lads,” he murmured conspiringly.
That got Jack’s attention.
“Later tonight we’ll be sailing close to the Coral Coast,” Jonty said.
Jack had heard crewmembers talking about Viti Levu’s scenic Coral Coast. It stretched west to east along Viti Levu’s southern shoreline between the main settlements of Nadi and Suva. “Carry on,” he whispered, his interest growing by the second.
“Our route will take us to within a mile of the coast.” Jonty let the statement hang in the air for a moment.
It was evident to the Cockney that Jonty was suggesting he could swim for shore. This was confirmed when the young seaman next spoke.
“Someone will unlock the door to the hold when the time is right,” Jonty added.
Footsteps alerted them to the arrival of Sparrow. The bounty hunter stuck his head through the open door. “What’s the delay?” he asked Jonty.
“Nothing,” Jonty said a little too quickly. He hurried to the door, but Sparrow blocked his path.
The bounty hunter stared hard at Jonty who looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else in the world but where he was. Finally, Sparrow let the young seaman past. Jonty scampered off into the darkness.
Sparrow turned his attention to Jack. In the gloom of the hold, the Cockney could only see the bounty hunter’s imposing silhouette and the whites of his eyes.
“Don’t try anything silly tonight,” Sparrow warned. “I’ll be on deck all night. And I’ll be wide awake.” He was aware of the route Beseiged followed, and he knew if Jack was going to try anything it would probably be tonight. Sparrow closed the door, locked it and then tested the handle once to ensure it was locked.
Now alone and in total darkness, Jack turned his attention to his dinner. He quickly realized he wasn’t hungry and set the tray aside.
The Cockney had much to think about before the door was next unlocked.
40
Apia, Navigator Islands, 1848
The sun was high in the morning sky before Nathan emerged from below deck aboard Rainmaker. He’d not long sent his overnight bedmate Sally on her way, having parted with an expensive pair of silk sheets in return for her companionship. Nathan would see the Polynesian beauty once more before Rainmaker departed, and that would be on Apia’s jetty as she and her friends waved the schooner off. Sally would be wearing a European-style dress fashioned from one of the silk sheets she’d acquired.
On deck, the young American was greeted by the sight of Apia in all its scenic glory. Located as it was on the northern coast of Opolu, the second largest island in the Navigator Islands group, Apia was a sizeable village strategically sited at the mouth of a river. The thatched huts of its residents hugged the riverbanks and lined the sandy shore of the sheltered bay that currently provided safe harbor to a mix of local and visiting craft. At a glance, Nathan counted three other sailing ships at anchor besides Rainmaker.
Behind the village, to the south, was the sacred Mount Vaea, and between it and the sea pandanus and breadfruit plantations stretched east and west along the narrow coastal plain – interrupted only by glades of the perfume-laden hibiscus and, of course, groves of palm trees.
For Nathan,
the voyage thus far had more resembled a vacation than a trading venture. His work wouldn’t begin until Rainmaker reached Fiji in about ten days time. Until then he was determined to take it easy.
Taking it easy was something he hadn’t done since foregoing his partying and whoring lifestyle in Philadelphia after escaping the Makah. Trying to keep Johnson Traders afloat, and then reinventing himself as a sole trader, had taken their toll. The past year had been especially taxing, keeping American troops supplied with arms in the Mexican-American War, which continued to this day.
If living with the Makah had taught him one thing, it was to listen to his body and recognize the signs. In recent times, the signs had been telling him he needed to ease up or he’d end up having a breakdown, or worse. So, he’d heeded the signs and booked a leisurely passage to Fiji aboard Rainmaker.
Nathan was under no illusions. He knew he’d be working very hard, very soon. However, until then, he was determined to relax and enjoy himself. So far, he’d been doing just that.
“Ah, good afternoon, Mister Johnson.”
Nathan recognized the voice even before he turned around. It belonged to Captain Jonathan Marsden, the schooner’s New Orleans master and an old sea dog to boot. Despite his grizzled appearance, he was friendly and accommodating, and always up for a joke.
“I hope my men didn’t wake you from your slumbers too early this fine day,” Marsden enquired, a twinkle in his eye.
“Not at all, captain,” Nathan responded in good humor. The young American noticed crewmen were preparing to launch the schooner’s longboat in preparation for a shore excursion. “Is there room aboard the longboat for this weary traveler?” he asked.
“I’m sure there is,” Marsden said. “Let me check.” The captain wandered over and spoke to his second mate. The second mate nodded and Marsden waved Nathan over to join them.
Minutes later, Nathan was being rowed ashore in the company of two fellow passengers – the overweight woman and her husband – who were also intent on exploring what Apia had to offer. During the short journey from ship to shore, Nathan wasn’t at all certain they’d arrive without being tipped into the sea first. The longboat leaned alarmingly to one side until one of the oarsmen politely suggested their hefty passenger move to the middle of the bench she occupied. This she did with much fuss, almost capsizing the craft in the process.
