"Aye, that she does, Master Harry – and who should blame her," responded Ferghal. He glanced to where the Master and crew of the Maid of Selsey were gathered with Lieutenant Evans. "Yet some, at least, of our guests, may not be quite so content with our Captain's arrangements for them."
Following his gaze Harry laughed, "Aye. It seems we have filled a few vacancies – I'm sure Mister Billing and his mates will soon have them used to our ways." He indicated the screen beneath the fo'c's'le. "But our other passengers will have to go to the other ships as soon as we find them. Some may find that harsh."
The lookout's cry drew their attention. "Land ho! Fine on the Larboard bow."
"That will be Desolation Island – Kerguelen as the French call it," remarked the Master. "No shelter there – a forsaken place frequented only by whalers. We are further south than is desirable."
"Indeed," replied the Captain, "But it is good to have that marker – we are making good time with these winds."
The lookout's cry interrupted them again. "Deck there – three sail hull down ahead. It's the convoy."
"Well, Thomas," the Captain remarked. "The ship has done well. I shall go below – have them call me when we rejoin our flotilla."
***
Harry watched as his Captain left the deck. He had watched and marveled at everything he had seen in the last few hours. He was aware that he was chilled to the bone and the wind seemed to find no cause to go past him. He grinned tiredly. 'And so is everyone else,' he told himself. His stomach complained at its lack of food as the galley chimney released a drift of smoke. Food and then sleep, he thought – his journal would have to wait. The bell chimed seven times from the fo'c's'le belfry and he realised with a shiver that it would be another half hour before he could be relieved of his watch. He sighed, and noted the time and the course on the slate in his hand. It had been a long and exciting watch.
-
Chapter 18 — Botany Bay
The packet of letters was received with delight by Mistress Heron in the old farm at Scrabo. She gladly paid the two shillings demanded by the carrier, an enormous sum for any letter, but she considered it a small price for this battered package. She bustled through to her husband's study with them announcing as she entered, "A packet of letters, my dear, from Harry."
Receiving the packet the Major smiled, replying, "By the weight he has spent all his stipend in posting it." He cut the twine binding the package and slit the wafer sealing the stiff wrapping of oiled paper to extract the neatly folded letters. Handing them to his wife, he said, "I shall read them when you have done my dear. I see he has included some excellent illustrations of their voyage and the places he has seen. I shall content myself with those for the moment."
"Thank you, my dear, it has been so long since we last heard from him." She stared at the pile of numbered and folded sheets of paper in her hand and said, "I wonder where these were dispatched from? Surely they must be almost in the Antipodes by this time?"
Picking up the discarded packet the Major studied the various instructions and endorsements with a frown. "If I read these right," he said slowly. "This was put aboard the Indiaman Lord Canning at the Cape. From there it has taken a journey to London, thence by packet boat to Bristol and by another to Dublin before reaching the posting office here in Belfast."
"Small wonder then that I had to pay two shillings for the delivery," his wife remarked absently, already engrossed in reading the first of the precious letters.
Major Heron scanned the small bundle of sketches and watercolour illustrations Harry had included, and hesitated over one. It showed a part of the battle with the Xebecs and he read the annotation Harry had made of the various features. He was about to put it aside when his wife exclaimed in distress.
"Harry has been engaged in a seafight with slavers and says they were almost overwhelmed! Surely not on so large a ship as Spartan?" She continued reading, then said, "Oh, I see he was not on his own ship, but on a transport – they were sent to assist in defending them."
"Unusual I would have thought," the Major remarked calmly wishing he could see for himself what the letter contained. "Though I expect the circumstances required it." He reached for the first of the letters and read it and the following one through quickly, taking note of the mention of the Spanish Fleet and the tardiness of the convoy transports. Finally his wife relinquished the third letter and he was able to read for himself the account of the fight, though he suspected that Harry was not telling the whole story. He frowned again over the mention of Harry's encounter with Cormac Murphy and his having arranged for his being taken onto Spartan's books. But the frown deepened as he read of an accusation made against Ferghal by the Barclay pup. Once again he reflected that Harry had not told all, merely mentioning that the Second Lieutenant had resolved it and that Barclay had had an interview with the First over the incident.
The letters amounted to a journal as Harry wrote a little each day whenever he had the opportunity. Now his parents could follow the events of the voyage, picking up the interest of the Parson and his pursuit of the sciences. They read of the visit to Ascension and the arrival at the Cape with Harry's impressions of the Castle and the town growing around it at, to them, the southern tip of the African continent. Ferghal featured in the letters too, with many mentions of the little things he had done for Harry or some kindness shown to the other boys and, of course, the music he made. There was even a brief mention of the fact that he was now teaching some of the other boys the art of playing the fife and the fiddle, something that made the Major laugh out loud.
Mrs Heron stared out of the window for a moment, the sketches in her hand. Softly she said, "I hope the voyage to Botany Bay is without mishap. I miss his mischief and starts so."
***
***
It seemed to Ferghal that the Great Southern Ocean had done its utmost to hinder their passage and he wondered what the return voyage would serve up. Even the Gunroom had suffered – Mister Midshipman Hereford had fallen to his death from the main yard during yet another gale south of the New South Wales continent. A pity, he reflected, as he was one of Harry's allies, though considerably older in years. He shuddered as he recalled the sight of the youth's body swirling away from the ship, evidently lifeless as the gale carried the ship onward without hope of turning or rescue. Yet, despite the hardships and the tragedies, he had heard the Master telling the Fifth Lieutenant that the passage had been made in record time due to the almost constant gales. Even so he was glad of some warmer and quieter seas now they had left Van Diemen's Land behind them and could hope for some brief respite in harbour. Now the weather was warmer and clothes, long damp and salt laden so they chafed the skin, were drying. The southerly breeze was almost a soldier's wind as it pushed the convoy up the eastern seaboard of this great island at an easy pace. The memory of the cold and the harsh winds, driving spray, rain and sometimes sleet into a man at every opportunity, lingered.
With his fifteenth birthday now behind him Ferghal had been promoted from Powder Monkey to a junior position on the number eight gun on the Lower Gundeck. His place had been taken by Cormac; no longer a frightened, half starved and cowed convict, but a useful member of the ship's company. The boy was popular among his peers, a dancer of some repute and one of Harry's staunchest defenders among his peers, always alert for skulduggery which he conveyed to Ferghal. Ferghal's new Rate meant he accepted the charge and then the ball or shot and placed it in the muzzle to be rammed home by another member of the crew. He was quick witted and nimble and the Gunner had told him that he could one day look forward to being entrusted with his own gun and crew if not to higher things – as long as he kept all his limbs and fingers and didn't get killed in between.
He finished his latest task of splicing some replacement lines for the Boatswain and began to gather his tools, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his back.
The Dutch boy who had attached himself to Harry watched with interest and asked, "What is't uwe m
ake?"
"Why, Mister Billing required that I splice these, then whip and parcel the splices, Master Pieterzoon, they are for some falls which must be rerove."
The boy looked blank for a moment, so Ferghal pointed to the lines supporting the yardarms and explained that these and several other lines used for hoisting or suspending items were called falls. This seemed to satisfy his curiosity for the moment and after a pause he asked, "When we go to zis Botany Bay, ve leave zis ship, ja?"
"Perhaps, to be sure I do not know," Ferghal smiled. The boy was good at the music and had been permitted to join Ferghal and the other seamen whenever they were able to enjoy a 'make and mend' - few and far between in the last months.
"Zen I do not want to reach zis place." Pieterzoon frowned. "I do not want to leave zis ship - mijn vriende is allemal hier bij."
Ferghal laughed. "To be sure you'll have to be discussing that with the Captain," he said kindly. It was very evident to everyone that encountered him that this Dutch boy was as determined and as quick witted as his apparent hero. He had taken to copying Harry's mannerisms and even his way of dealing with the men in his charge. It had become something of a joke in the Wardroom and on the lower deck.
Midshipman Barclay and his cronies had rapidly discovered that the child was also very quick to spot any underhanded action. He had several times saved Harry from their machinations and, once, Ferghal from yet another attempt by Barclay. It was strange, Ferghal reflected, that they knew very little about him. He seemed to have some authority over the other Dutch children and yet there was no suggestion that he was accompanied by a parent. In fact the only adult he seemed to answer too was Captain Te Water, yet he was not the Captain's son. The only person he seemed to hold in high regard, beside the Dutch Captain, was Harry and would have followed him everywhere had he not been forbidden to do so or to interfere when Harry was on watch.
Ferghal would have been surprised to learn that Pieterzoon was in fact the son of an officer of the Dutch East India Company, or VOC as it was better known in Holland, a frigate Captain currently based in Batavia. So would Harry, though Captain Blackwood knew this well enough and the reason for the boy's apparent lack of adult companionship. His mother having died shortly after their arrival at the Cape, he had been entrusted to Captain Te Water to be delivered to his father.
"Mister Wentworth's compliments, sir," Harry stood just inside the Captain's temporary quarters. "The entrance to Botany Bay is in sight, but he recommends that we stand on to Port Jackson, about another hours sailing with this wind."
"My compliments to the Master, I shall come on deck," the Captain acknowledged. "Notify Mister Bell if you please."
By the time Harry returned to the Quarterdeck the Captain was already in conference with the Master. Harry resumed his previous task overseeing the preparation of the launches for hoisting out even as Mister Bell joined the Captain.
"Here, Heron, what's afoot," Eamon Barclay demanded. "Botany Bay is abeam, what is the Captain intending? You're always in his confidence," he sneered.
"Sadly you are mistaken this time, Mister Barclay," Harry replied quietly, annoyed at the insinuation, but wary of some trap. "All I know is that the Master has suggested we continue to Port Jackson. It is but an hour's sail further."
"What? Are you not privy then to the Captain's thoughts?" Barclay laughed and Midshipman Peterson, as ever in attendance, sniggered. "Well, well, we shall soon be rid of these convict scum – should have let them sink with that rat infested transport," he snarled turning away. "What are you staring at scum?" He demanded of one of the seamen who had turned to watch the exchange.
"Nought – sir," the man averted his eyes and shrank back into his companions around the launch.
"Then get on with your work Hughes," Harry snapped. "And the rest of you – Master's Mate, no slacking there." To Barclay he said, "Then we should be even more short-handed. Surely you know the Captain has pressed a number of those convicted of minor offences?"
"Gaol bait the lot of them. Scum," spat Barclay stalking back to his own group.
"Hughes, Smith – get on with your work," Harry said sharply. "Your work is here, not at the foremast – pay attention now."
The man named Hughes shot Harry a grateful look and busied himself with the task of casting off the lashings on the boat. The man next to him muttered, "Don't take the Middie as soft – he ain't, but he'll give you fairness, not like the other."
"I ain't taking him for a fool neither. He's plenty of pluck all right. But that other one – he'll meet an accident if'n he ain't careful." Hughes considered Harry a moment. "Ain't Mister Her'n the one persuaded the Lieutenant arter t' corsair fight t' take some 'volunteers' from our hell ship?"
"That he be. Aks young Cormac if'n you've a mind. Grew up in the same part o' Ireland they did – an' the Mid dint hesitate."
***
The sun was low in the West, illuminating the entrance to the great natural harbour of Port Jackson with a golden path on the water as the Spartan turned her bows toward the gap in the low cliffs which flanked the entrance. The two remaining transports and the laden trader followed, shaping their courses for the opening and the harbour beyond.
To the First Lieutenant Captain Blackwood said, "The settlement was moved to this harbour from Botany Bay some years ago – there is no fresh water there, but this harbour has better shelter and an abundance of water and good soil. Put a good man in the chains as soon as we pass the entrance, Mister Wentworth's chart says there is foul ground to the south flanking the main channel and several islets between us and the settlement. I do not wish to be stranded in this entrance."
"Aye, aye, sir," Thomas Bell responded. "This breeze should hold well into the harbour, but if the Master's chart is true, the channel runs southerly and then westerly which with the wind in this quarter may be difficult. It may be advisable for us to lie too in the bay just inside the entrance and work our way in with the tide in the morning – unless we can find a local pilot to guide us in."
"There is sense in what you say, Thomas. Very well, make it so, signal the transports to that effect and make ready my gig to take me to the Governor once we are anchored."
Before the signal could be hoisted however, a local lugger appeared and made straight for them signalling that it carried a pilot. The passage through the Heads was accomplished without mishap.
"The channel leads West South West and then West and a half West Sou' West in a dogleg into the inner harbour," the pilot, an elderly lieutenant, told the Captain. The vista that opened before them was truly amazing, though the little cluster of buildings seven miles inside it hardly seemed to dignify the place. Skirting several islets the Spartan finally dropped her great anchor in a small bay near the town and in the lee of a larger island apparently used as a prison. The other ships continued further up the harbour, vanishing into another larger bay beyond the town.
"Phew, this heat is stifling," Kit Tanner commented as he and Harry watched a party rigging the awnings above the decks under the direction of the Second Lieutenant.
"It is." Harry tugged at his neckcloth. "And I think it will show us little relief now we are sheltered from the sea breezes."
"Heron." Midshipman Barclay's hectoring tones interrupted them. "The Parson wants you – be quick about it."
"Thank you, Eamon." Harry knew that his courtesy irritated Barclay more than anything else, but it was his only way of paying back some of the abuse he suffered every time Barclay had an opportunity. "Where shall I find him?"
"Where d'you think," Barclay snapped, his scowl and scarlet face betraying both his discomfort in the heat and his irritation at Harry's response. He added, "In the School Room of course."
"Of course," Harry replied with a smile. "How stupid of me not to realise. Thank you."
Barclay's face showed that Harry was skating on thin ice and in danger of provoking him into retaliation. He made his way below without further comment or hesitation, aware that his enemy was fo
llowing, though he descended to the Gunroom.
***
Ferghal entered the Gunroom to find himself witness to a confrontation. Pieterzoon was in obstinate mood and clearly upset.
"Ik zal nie!" the boy declared emphatically. "Ik zal nie hier ter lande kommen! Ik blijwen aanbord dieze schip!"
The officer to whom this was addressed responded in Dutch and a rather heated discussion ensued. Pieterzoon's protests were to no avail, though, from what Ferghal gathered, he had won a brief reprieve and would not, after all, be sent ashore immediately.
Midshipman Barclay, his timing as unfortunate as ever, chose that moment to clatter down the companionway. Catching sight of the Dutch boys he said, "What are these Dutch pests still doing here? Get their dunnage cleared and on deck, O'Connor, there's no need for them to clutter the Gunroom any longer."
Pieterzoon's face, still flushed and angry from his confrontation with the officer, darkened as he said, "Uns blijwen hier. You is nie offisier Mijn Heer. Oek niet een vriend!"
Their Lordships Request: A Harry Heron Adventure Page 15
