by Rosa Jordan
“No, I swear!” Pip grabbed hold of Scrapper’s hands and tried to disentangle them before the hair detached from his head.
Then a shout from Cox. “What the hell? My knife was in the log, right at my hand. I know; I felt it in the night. And now it’s gone!”
James looked around sharply. “The abos must have come back for their stuff, and picked up a bit of ours in the bargain.”
“They wouldn’t have the nerve!” Matey retorted.
“I saw them,” Mary said, holding out a johnnycake to her husband.
“Saw them?” Will snatched the food from her. “Why the hell didn’t you wake us up?”
“They were many,” she said quietly. “I thought it better they come and go in peace, for if they had set upon us, who knows what might have happened? We might have driven them off, but some of us, sleeping as we were, might have been wounded. I thought you would not want to risk that, when we’re needing every man at the oars.”
Will chewed on her words and on the johnnycake for a moment, then, as she went back to cooking, turned away. She heard him order the others to pack up, saying that they would not spend any more time in this blasted place, but would sail on.
That was not a decision Mary would have made, for she believed the aborigines desired conflict no more than she. Although there would have been some risk to remaining, she saw by the sky that a squall was coming, and thought it the greater risk. But by then they were on their way, as Will had commanded.
It soon began to rain, no longer the light drizzle it had been the night before, but hard now, accompanied by a rising wind. Mary forced the children to stay in the cramped but covered space under the bow of the boat, for, in a continuing rain such as this, she knew how quickly one could become chilled. Emanuel cried and Charlotte fretted but Mary was firm, only allowing them out when the baby needed to nurse, or Charlotte had to be held over the side to relieve her bladder and bowels. Then she dried them as best she could, and tucked them back into the covered bow. As the squall worsened they sailed close to shore, looking for a place to shelter. But it was a wild, rocky coast, and each time they approached, they saw it would be dangerous to attempt a landing. On the third such attempt, rocks loomed up so sudden and close that no one had to tell the crew to veer seaward.
But the sea, in this squall turned to gale, was hardly less threatening. The boat rose and plunged over range upon range of watery mountains. The men at the oars struggled to keep it headed into the waves, while the rest bailed for all they were worth.
The storm raged for nearly a week. The men rowed, fought the mountainous waves, and bailed out the water that poured in on top of them. Before the ordeal was half over, they had become like mechanised skeletons, barely able to lift the oars and keep up with the bailing.
It was on the morning of the seventh day that Mary awoke to sunshine glittering on a still-choppy sea. She took out the compass. The boat was drifting south. Now it was possible to set a course and sail, but who had the strength? The men lay collapsed over their oars or curled in the stern, sleeping the sleep of the utterly exhausted.
“Will!” she called out. “Luke! Scrapper! James! Come on, Coxie. Here, Matey. Pip? Would you row to your last breath, or die without trying?”
Of all the crew, Pip was the frailest, yet his eyes opened first. Responding to Mary’s voice, he dragged himself up and took an oar in hand. One by one, five others moved to the oars. At Mary’s direction, they brought the boat around and headed it in the north-westerly direction. Will and Matey set the sail, which allowed the men to spend more time recovering as the wind pushed the cutter forward.
After sailing northwest for a full day, and still no sighting of land, Mary realised that the storm had blown them far out to sea—how far, she could not calculate. She only knew that they must make landfall soon. Despite days of drenching rain, they had little water in reserve, for the simple reason that most of their containers were unlidded. Whatever fresh water they had collected had either been spilled or had been contaminated with salt water in the heavy surf. She lifted a slim brown arm and reset their course due west, hoping that they would strike land by the following day.
They did not sight land, not that day nor the next. From the chart and others Mary had studied in Smit’s cabin, she knew that there was a point at which the eastern coast of the continent bulged out. Beyond the bulge, it angled toward the west. If they had been blown past that bulge then the distance to land was even further than she supposed. The coastline had been mapped by both Captain Cook and Dutch sailors before him. But the treacherous Coral Sea, which they must sail through to get there, was as yet uncharted.
Another day passed and still no sight of land. Beneath the light of a crescent moon, Mary picked up a whimpering Emanuel and put him to her breast. He nuzzled, sucked, and nuzzled. The whimper became a weak cry. Mary laid him back in the bow, knowing he would soon fall asleep.
A little while later, Will crawled forward and curled up against her.
With tears in her voice but not her eyes, for she was too dehydrated, Mary told her husband, “I have no milk.”
Will clutched her hand, and laid his head on her breast. Perhaps she should have been comforted, but all she felt was one added burden. What she sensed in his embrace was not the strength of a man aiming to console but a frightened boy needing consolation. Perhaps the warmth of her body did console him, for he soon fell asleep. Mary did not sleep. How could she, when she knew that in the bow of the boat two emaciated children lay, not sleeping but dying?
Mary woke to find the children silent and men collapsed all along the length of the boat. She hardly felt it worthwhile to move herself. They had been out of sight of land nigh onto two weeks, she calculated, first with days of storm, followed by more days of endless blue sky and sea. However, after lying there a few minutes, she forced herself into a sitting position and scanned the horizon.
A speck? A speck! Could it be land?
“Land!” she cried hoarsely.
“Land?” Will whispered, staggering to his feet.
Suddenly the boat was alive with shouts of, “Land!” “Dear God!” “Land ahoy!”
There was a scramble for positions, and six oars smacked the water. With what strength each rower had left, he pulled for the saving shore.
The speck Mary had sighted proved to be not the mainland but a mere spit of sand. It supported a few scraggly bushes but, as far as they could see, no animal life at all. They paddled around the tiny island, seeking a break in the reef where they could ease the boat through into protected water. Once anchored, the men crawled out of the cutter and dragged themselves to shore.
The children lay crumpled in the bow and did not move. Will started to lift them out but Mary stopped him. “Leave them here where they have a bit of shade. I’ll bring them out later, when we’ve found water and something to feed them.”
Will staggered to shore and fell onto the sand alongside the others. Mary, barely able to stand herself, caught hold of him and urged him up. “Please, Will! Look for water!”
As he stumbled off to do her bidding, she went from one man to the next, pleading. “Matey, do you want to die of thirst? Get up and help Will search for water! Luke, go see if you can find some small animals to snare. Come on, Coxie, we need food. A bird’s nest would be right handy. Bados, won’t you throw out a line and see if you can catch some fish? Pip, Scrapper, be good lads and see what you can net. James, do find some driftwood and make a fire. We’ve a bit of rice left, and if water’s to be had, there’s soup at least.”
One by one the men rose and began to stagger about the tiny island, so small that the whole of it could easily be viewed from end to end. James found enough driftwood to build a fire, but Mary was loath to use their last sips of fresh water to make the promised soup.
Will and Matey, who had circled the island in oppos
ite directions and then criss-crossed it, returned with discouraging news. “There’s not a drop of sweet water to be had.”
“No cabbage palms, nor any other edible plant neither,” Cox offered on his return.
“Not one of these bushes got a bird’s nest in it,” Luke announced gloomily.
“I saw some small bright fish, but they scooted away,” Pip reported.
“I seen ‘em, too,” Scrapper added. “We got no net fine enough to catch them.”
Suddenly there was a shout from Bados down on the beach. Heads turned to see him half in the water, half out, struggling with something. The men rushed to his aid and, in a few minutes, they returned carrying a turtle so large that it took both Bados and Will to lift it.
“Here you are, Mary,” Bados grinned. “Work your magic!”
Will let go of his side of the turtle so suddenly that Bados, who was holding it by the opposite flipper, was almost jerked off balance.
“Since when do you call my wife by her given name?” Will snarled at the black man.
Bados dropped the turtle and walked away. The eyes of the men slid past Will uneasily. Then they did what men do: they turned their attention to the turtle to prevent its escape, and pretended the incident had never happened.
Mary handed Will a knife. “Catch the blood,” she said coldly.
She walked down to the shore and past Bados, who stood staring moodily out to sea. She climbed into the boat and lifted Charlotte from the bow. “Give me a hand, please, Bados,” she called in a weak voice which revealed how little strength she had left.
Bados hesitated, then waded out to the boat. As he took the starving child from her, she said softly, “If my babies are to live, Bados, ‘twill be your catch that saved them.”
Without looking at her, Bados replied, “I think that turtle come on the beach to lay eggs. Same as they do back in Barbados.”
“Pray you find some,” Mary said. Then she lifted Emanuel from his nest, slipped over the side, and splashed through the water to shore—a woman so emaciated that she seemed no more than a child herself, carrying a small, limp doll.
Bados laid Charlotte in the shade of a bush and walked away. Mary put Emanuel next to his sister, and collapsed beside the children.
When she next opened her eyes, James was kneeling beside her, holding a wooden bowl. “It’s the blood. Here, Mary. Drink.”
“The children—” she began, but he interrupted.
“I have already given them as much as they can take. Here. You must.”
Mary closed her eyes and forced herself to drink.
She wondered, later, whether Will had deliberately sent James with the blood, rather than serve her himself. Not that it mattered. What mattered was that they had food, some part of it in liquid form. Within the hour, all had eaten as much as they could manage after coming so close to starvation.
Mary fell asleep. When she woke, she saw that the children needed to be moved in order to keep them in the skimpy shade cast by the bush. Both woke and, although they did not become active at once, it was clear that they felt revived.
Glancing round, Mary noticed that Will and the men were cutting strips of turtle meat and laying them out to dry in the sun. Will must have noticed her moving about, because he soon wandered over.
“Is that smiles I see on them little faces?” he asked jovially.
“They’re ever so much stronger,” Mary agreed. “And in so short a time! Turtle blood must agree with them.”
Beyond Will, she saw Bados approaching. He did not come near, but called out, “I find them eggs. They yonder, by the fire.”
Will whirled sharply, but Bados had already turned away. This time the black man had not used Mary’s name, but neither had Bados directed the report to Will by name. Will scowled after him, then stalked off in another direction.
All through the afternoon, Mary gave the children such sips of blood as she could persuade them to drink, and allowed each a sip or two of water as well. On the morrow, she judged, their tiny shrunken bellies might be able to tolerate eggs. She herself drifted in and out of sleep, not bothering, for once, to busy herself with cooking for the men. Let them get hungry enough, she thought with grim satisfaction, and they’d be perfectly capable of feeding themselves.
The sun was near to setting when she woke to find Charlotte gone. She looked about and saw her sitting at the edge of the gentle surf. Will lay dozing nearby. Mary went to the child, who was playing in the sand. Charlotte looked up at her with bright blue eyes, much too large for her tiny face.
“I make a house,” she informed her mother.
Mary sat down beside her and took a handful of wet sand, which she dribbled onto Charlotte’s heap, giving it turrets. “Now we have a castle, like they build in England,” she said.
“Is this England?”
Mary smiled at the absurdity. “No, precious. This is not England.”
“Where is this?” Charlotte wanted to know.
“Very far from England, my love. And far from Botany Bay.”
Mary and James had exchanged few words on the voyage thus far, and then only when a task at hand required it. Mary might say, “I will have the fire built here, if you please, Mr. Brown.” Or he, “Thank you, Mrs. Bryant,” when she doled out his share of the food. So James looked up quickly from writing in his journal when she approached him next morning.
“Mr. Brown,” she said stiffly. “I wonder if you might possess a timepiece.”
“Regretfully, Mrs. Bryant, I do not.” He smiled ruefully. “And have not since the day of my arrest. Have you need of one?”
“Aye, sir. For you see, I have a quadrant, and some slight knowledge of its use, but no means of determining high noon.”
“And none of the others in our company have a timepiece either?”
“Indeed, several do.” Mary’s eyes slanted with humour. “But as in your case, I expect their timepieces are being maintained by jailers or some other they have encountered since they were taken into custody.”
James smiled, and then ventured, “You could use a stick.”
“A stick?” Mary gave him a blank look.
“Stuck into the sand. When its shadow reaches the shortest point—or ceases to exist—there would be your exact midday.”
“Ah. I was not aware of that!” Mary exclaimed. “Would you be so kind, Mr. Brown, as to tend to this for me, and to inform me of the moment? I shall be ready with the quadrant, and perhaps can determine our latitude.”
“I should think our longitude would be more important,” James remarked. “That we might know how far we are from the coast.”
Mary gave a small shrug. “Of course. But the instruments I have do not provide that information. All we can know for sure is that the mainland lies to the west. If we sail in that direction, I hardly see how it can be missed.”
James did promptly inform her of high noon, as near as could be determined by stick and shadow. When Mary had finished calculating the latitude, she saw, as she had suspected, that they were north of the bulge in the continent’s eastern coast. This was a favourable thing, indicating that, due to the storm, they had travelled much further north than she would have imagined possible in so short a time. But being so far north was also a disadvantage. The mainland now angled away from them, so it would take even longer to get there.
They left the sand spit the following day, for little good it did to have a bounty of food when there was not a drop of water to drink, apart from a few sips Mary had held back for the children. There was no doubt in her mind that the tiny atoll where they had rested was indeed in the Coral Sea, or as Captain Smit had called it, “the impossible sea.” Her calculations as to latitude confirmed it, and coral was often in evidence, either as small islands like the one that had saved them or, more ominously, as ree
fs just below the surface. She stood in the bow, her eyes constantly skimming the water. Occasionally she raised an arm to signal a turn to left or right.
“Starboard,” she would say quietly, and behind her Will would echo loudly, “Starboard!” The rhythm of the oars would shift to change direction, then steady again. Mary’s eyes never left the water.
There was no reason for Will to resist the instructions she gave, but as was his wont, he could not long abide being directed by someone else. This Mary knew, but knew not how, with coral all about, things might be done differently. She only hoped that when the moment came that he must rebel, it would not cost them too dearly. But of course, it did.
She had just spoken, as she had dozens of times before, “Port.” But instead of passing the instruction to the rowers, he leaned forward, squinted over her shoulder, said, “I don’t see—”
“PORT, HARD!” she screamed.
The boat spun at her command. Too late. There was a scraping noise against the bottom.
“Goddamned thing came out of nowhere!” Will exclaimed.
“I heard some splintering,” Cox called from midship.
Mary turned around. “Jump over and take a look, Coxie.”
The carpenter hung his head shamefacedly. “Ah, Mary. Big old ox like me, I’d sink right to the bottom.”
Mary grasped that the man couldn’t swim, and said, “You then, Scrapper. Swim under and see what the damage is.”
“I ain’t no fish, and I don’t float, neither!” the young tough called back indignantly.
James lifted his hands with a smile that said sorry, but he was also a non-swimmer.
“I can paddle about a bit,” Luke offered, “but doubt I can hold my breath long enough to see the bottom.”
Pip’s petrified expression said he would take the plunge if Mary required it of him, but he did not expect to survive the ordeal.
Will said nothing, nor did Mary turn to him. Truth be told, she did not know whether her husband could swim, and she thought it unwise to humiliate him again if it happened that he could not.
