Harry Heron: Midshipman's Journey

by Patrick G Cox

  Batavia

  Ferghal’s fiddle played a lively shanty as the cable was brought in.

  “Cable’s hove short!”

  “Topsails, lively there! Sheet home. Another pull on the larboard braces there!”

  The orders flowed as the ship gathered way.

  “The breeze is as yet light, but yon high cloud promises more later, sir.” The master watched the helmsmen as the ship steadied. The high cloud catching the early light showed long steamers of pink, changing rapidly to gold and then white.

  Already the three larger boats were pulling strongly in a broad line across the ship’s intended course. The flash of the lead as it soared up and forward with each cast from the three boats signalled the care that was being taken to avoid some underwater obstruction.

  Harry rested the big telescope on the top of the fo’c’s’le nettings and wedged himself between the bulwark and the big carronade. His instructions were to watch for any signal from the boats that they had found a dangerous shoal. Aloft, doubled lookouts scanned the sea ahead and around them, seeking the tell-tale sign of any obstruction. It was slow work, but the great ship lumbered after her boats, the sea changing hue as the sun rose, the golden fire running down her rigging and lighting up her topsails as she used the breeze to advantage. Suddenly the leading boat, the launch under the command of Mister Rogers, changed course, turning to starboard and working its way northward.

  Harry raised the glass and focussed on the figure in the sternsheets. He caught the signal and called to the quarterdeck. “Mister Rogers signals, sir. Reef ahead and to larboard.”

  In response, the ship heeled slightly as the helm went down, turning to starboard and putting her on a more northerly heading as she settled on the new course. From aft Harry heard, “Very good, Mister Heron. Keep a sharp watch on the others.”

  All three boats had now adjusted their course, maintaining the interval between them as they worked their way clear of the reef Mister Rogers had marked.

  An hour dragged by, and suddenly they were entering a narrow passage marked out by the boats. Tension increased as the passage narrowed further and the leadsman began to call the depth in ever decreasing numbers. On either side, the coral showed its presence through the changing colours in the clear water.

  The boats swept ahead, Harry calling the changes of direction they signalled as the ship picked her way through the narrow passage. From the deck, they could see the reefs the boats had skirted as they eased into a broader stretch of water in which the leadsman’s chant changed to, “By the deep six, by the mark nine,” gradually increasing steadily until he finally began to call, “No bottom, no bottom with this line!”

  To starboard, several low-lying islets were plainly visible in the distance, and the reef exposed by the sea colour gave warning of the vicious coral lurking beneath the surface. To larboard, the end of the huge reef betrayed its presence in breaking surf and a string of jewelled shallows that stretched away to the south.

  Then, the narrow passage gave way to the Arafura Sea.

  “Recall the boats.”

  The order was a welcome one, and flags danced aloft to signal the distant launches. The telescope showed Harry that the furthest, Mister Rogers’s boat, was already resting her oars, evidently planning to allow the ship to close the distance and lessen the pull for the oarsmen. He trained the glass to starboard where the distant coast of the island of New Guinea stretched across the horizon and noted native canoes evidently keeping their distance from the ship and its boats.

  “WE’LL ANCHOR OFF THAT BEACH.” CAPTAIN BLACKWOOD indicated the beach as the ship eased into the lee of a large inhabited island. The anchor was still being secured when native canoes began to approach cautiously, their scantily clad occupants offering fruit, fish and strange-looking vegetables.

  Watching the brisk trade warily the first Lieutenant remarked, “Seems they are at least familiar with visitors from Europe. I wonder who they usually encounter here?”

  “Zis is an area ve frequent, Mijn Heer,” said Captain Te Water, watching the approach of another canoe. “Small traders wit’ brigs, skuits, some dhows—Ja, no’zink of zis size.”

  Captain Blackwood joined them. “Easy to see why that passage through the reef is not to be recommended.” After the briefest pause he added, “Though Mister Wentworth thinks there is a deeper and safer channel further north.”

  “At least the purser seems to have acquired the fruit he was seeking.” The third Lieutenant joined them. To the first Lieutenant he said, “With your permission, sir, it would be convenient to land and scrub some of the water casks so we may refill them from the stream we have marked at the beach.”

  The first Lieutenant looked dubious. Finally he said, “Very well, but take a party of the bullocks with you and warn them to be vigilant.”

  THE PARTY LANDED EARLY THE FOLLOWING MORNING, and the casks were rolled ashore. An hour’s scrubbing with fine sand taken from the riverbed where the water was sweet and clean rendered the interiors fit to receive the fresh water.

  “T’ casks is clean an’ filled, sir,” the reported.

  “Good, let’s have them in the boats then,” the Lieutenant replied. He swatted at a persistent insect. “These insects are worse than the Jamaican mosquitoes!”

  The Marine corporal indicated the watchful natives, their exotic hairstyles and body decorations strange to behold. “I’ll keep m’ squad ready jus’ in case them lot tries anything whiles we’m loading, sir.”

  “Do that, Corporal,” the Lieutenant replied. As far as he was aware no visiting sailor had been attacked here, but he was mindful of Captain Cook’s fate as he glanced at the small group of strangely attired and decorated natives.

  “PUSH US OFF,” MISTER ROGERS ORDERED, and the seamen heaved the boat deeper. Suddenly one of the men let out a yell of pain and fell splashing into the water. A second man went to help him and screamed as he made contact with something unseen that sent excruciating pain through his limbs.

  Several men in the boat grabbed those in the water and dragged them aboard. The first man seemed to be in some sort of rigour, and the exclaimed, “Jim’s ’avin’ a seizure, sir.”

  The second man lay in the bottom of the boat whimpering and nursing his leg. “Jaysus,” he gritted through clenched teeth. “It burns worsen a powder burn. Some stinging beast, a sort o’ jelly wi’ long stingers, sor.”

  With the boat now backing water, the Lieutenant peered overside and saw what appeared to be several smallish jellyfish floating about the boat. The creatures had a square appearance, but their trailing appendages seemed much longer than any he had noted before this. He looked down at the man first attacked and frowned. “We’ll have to get him to the surgeon quickly,” he said. “Put your backs into it, lads, lively now!”

  Already the man seemed to be suffering further convulsions and his face was suffused with blood, yet his lips had a bluish tinge to them. On his legs, the trailing tendrils had left livid welts as if the cat ’o nine tails had been applied. He looked at the second man, now showing similar symptoms.

  “What about you, Martin?”

  “It be worsen t’ sawbones tekin’ a leg, sor,” the afflicted man croaked, his face ashen.

  One of the men helping the first man let loose an oath and nursed his hand. “T’ bugger’s still got poison on ’im!”

  “Strip his clothes then.” Lieutenant Rogers was thinking fast. “But take care, the venom comes from those tendrils; take care not to touch them.”

  Despite the warning, a fourth man was stung before they managed to strip the clothes from the victim. In falling he must have wrapped several of the tentacles around himself, for his body showed numerous welts where the venom had made contact with his flesh. The shadow of the ship fell across them as the boat drew alongside and the Lieutenant scrambled up the tumblehome calling for the surgeon.

  “I’ve not seen anything like it, sir,” he told the first
Lieutenant as Thomas Bell appeared to see what had happened. “He cried out then fell into the water. When Martin went to his aid, he too was stung, and those who stripped Jim were also stung though the animal itself was long departed.”

  The surgeon hauled himself to his feet from where he had been kneeling to examine the fallen seaman. “Aye, this seems to be the result of contact with a species of Cubozoa jellyfish of a particularly venomous type. The tendrils may have become detached and adhered to his clothes. Handling them will account for these others with their hands stung. Take them to the sick berth and wash the wounds,” he told his assistants. “Use the lye soap in my chest.” He shook his head in doubt but said, “It may help. I was warned in Port Jackson that there were such things as these and that they have been known to kill. I will do my best.”

  Mister Bentley the parson joined them. Overhearing the doctor’s last comment, he added, “Ah, the Cubozoa, Chinorex fleckeri, I believe. I studied some in Port Jackson. They are reputed to have killed a number of convicts. Washing the area touched by the tentacles with lye is said to help, though I did not find it so when I tested the sting by touching one.” He considered and then said, “It was said that washing the sting with vinegar helps negate the poison. Perhaps the purser may have some from a cask.”

  The surgeon grimaced. “Aye, it is worth an attempt, sir. We’ve little else will have any effect at all.” He frowned. “If the lye does not work and the purser has no suitable vinegar, I shall try rubbing alcohol.” He and the parson descended the companionway to see what could be done for the suffering patient.

  THE JELLYFISH DISCOURAGED ANY FURTHER ENJOYMENT to be had from swimming, and the ever present sharks visible from the chains or any other vantage point that permitted a view into the clear water beneath the ship confirmed it.

  “A pity these waters are seemingly infested with such voracious predators and such unpleasant things as the jellyfish,” Harry remarked to Kit Tanner. “The water is so pleasant and refreshing. I had hoped to learn to swim better without risking a severe chill.”

  “Yes, I too….” Kit said as he leaned outboard and stared at a shadow drifting beneath them. “But not if I’m to share the water with a beast such as that one.”

  Harry followed his gaze. “You are right—it is a brute indeed.” He gestured to a hovering canoe. “I wonder how they can be so casual in their canoe knowing that such a monster could pull them from it in a trice.”

  A commotion forward drew their attention and they watched as the cook’s slops were devoured by four or five of the large brutes. Kit Tanner asked rhetorically, “I wonder if the beasts have learned that our ships provide all they want in food? Perhaps it is the casting overside of the offal from our slaughter pen that draws them to us.”

  “You may have the right of it,” Harry replied as the frenzy died away. “I should not like to fall into the water just now and put it to the test, though.”

  Once the Captain was satisfied that the charts were sufficient to take them on the next stage of the journey, the ship resumed her passage.

  “We’ll follow the coast of New Guinea until we can enter the Banda Sea and thence into the Java,” the master told Harry and Kit as they studied his chart. “Captain Te Water’s knowledge of these waters is invaluable.”

  “Aye,” Lieutenant Beasley added, joining them. “And if these winds remain light, it will be a slow passage, I think.”

  It proved to be a very slow passage, but now they began to encounter local trading craft, many of whom flew the flag of the Dutch Republic.

  Harry filled his journal with sketches of the strange craft. As Kit watched Harry annotating a new drawing one evening, Harry said, “Mister Wentworth says these craft are local. Catamarans, he calls them.”

  Kit studied a detailed drawing of the large catamaran Harry had recorded. “The sails on these canoes seem most inefficient. How can they work to windward?”

  “They change the set of the masts, and the sails are a light matting. Captain Te Water has offered to show me one in Batavia.”

  Captain Te Water’s presence meant they had news of events at their destination and in the region in advance of their arrival some three weeks after leaving the anchorage in the Coral Sea.

  THE APPROACH TO BATAVIA WAS A CHALLENGE, but the Dutch Captain’s knowledge meant they were able to stand into the wide bay with its guardian islands and reefs with some confidence.

  Captain Blackwood studied the shore with interest through his telescope. He remarked to Lieutenant Bell, “Plenty of local shipping here, Thomas, and several fat Indiamen too. Rich pickings they would make if we had a hostile intent.”

  Intent on his own telescope, Thomas Bell replied, “Aye, sir. I mark a battery at the end of that point, and there is a large frigate anchored to the western side.”

  “Yes, I have him,” the Captain acknowledged. “A thirty-six-gun ship, I make her.” He lowered the glass as Captain Te Water joined them. “An interesting place, Captain. We shall make our salute as we anchor. I trust your people will be able to read our intent.”

  The Dutch Captain smiled, “Ik is zeker….” Seeing their baffled expressions, he switched to English and said, “I am certain zey vill.”

  “Boat putting out from the shore, sir,” called a lookout. Moments later, a second call came from the fo’c’s’le: “Boat putting off from the frigate.”

  “It seems we will shortly have two visitors, Mister Bell. Man the side if you please.”

  Through the signal telescope Harry studied the ships gathered in the anchorage. His eye lingered for some time on several queer looking ships with bluff bows and high raked sterns carrying strange fore and aft rigs of slatted sails.

  “Chineemen they be,” the master said. “Handy, so I’m told, and weatherly. Secretive lot they are. Keep themselves to themselves and call us for’n devils. Heathen they are.”

  The master stumped away to the helm, and Harry gave his attention back to the halyards for the great ensign as the ship prepared to render honours to the Dutch.

  THE FRIGATE’S BOAT REACHED THE SIDE FIRST, its occupant the frigate’s Captain, resplendent in his dress coat. He swung himself easily through the entry port and raised his hat in salute as the Marine band played their way through the Dutch anthem.

  As it finished, Captain Blackwood stepped forward and extended his hand. “Welcome aboard, Captain.”

  “Thank you.” The visitor responded in flawless if slightly accented English. “I welcome you to Batavia. I believe you were instrumental in a rescue in the Southern Ocean on passage to Van Diemen’s Land.” Accepting Captain Blackwood’s proffered hand he introduced himself. “Frigate Captain Hendrik De Ruiter at your service.”

  “Indeed we were.” Captain Blackwood introduced himself. “We had the good fortune to see the distress signal and rendered assistance. Captain Te Water and the remainder of his people are waiting to greet you on the quarterdeck. If you will forgive me, I see the shore boat is about to arrive, and I must greet the officer it carries.” He beckoned to Harry. “Mister Heron will show you to Captain Te Water.”

  Captain de Ruiter nodded his assent. “Of course. I have inconvenienced you by my impatience. My son was aboard the Oliphant, and I am eager for news of him.”

  Harry stepped forward and touched his hat. “If you will accompany me, sir,” he said as the side party prepared to greet the new visitor. He led the visiting Captain to the companionway and across the wide quarterdeck toward the knot of passengers watching the shore.

  Captain Te Water saw them and walked to meet the visitor. “Groete Kaptein, ik is blijwe om uwe te groet.”

  The two men shook hands and Harry was about to leave when Pieterzoon intercepted him and said in a loud whisper, “Harry, dat is mijn Papa!”

  “Een nuwe vriend, Pieterzoon?” The Captain’s smile was a mix of pride and sadness as he surveyed his son. Harry found himself being studied by the Dutch Captain while Pieterzoon introduced
him in an excited torrent of Dutch. When he finally stopped, his father enfolded him in a hug that made Harry long for a similar greeting from his parents.

  Over the boy’s head, the Dutch Captain said to Harry, “Thank you, Mister Her’n, for befriending my son.” He smiled and ruffled Pieterzoon’s hair, adding, “You have made quite an impression on him, for he speaks very highly of you.”

  The arrival of Captain Blackwood and the new visitor brought an end to further conversation. A flurry of orders brought the ship ’round to anchor, the saluting guns banging out as the anchor splashed to the seabed. Her sails vanished into a harbour stow before she had even settled fully on her cable. It was no sooner accomplished than the visitors and the Oliphant’s survivors followed Captain Blackwood beneath the poop.

  Harry found himself swept up with his division in spreading and setting the huge awnings over the quarterdeck and poop and swinging out the boats. Once these were in the water, more awnings had to be rigged above the gangways and fo’c’s’le, and by the time all the work was complete, the visitors were preparing to depart.

  PIETERZOON STOOD A LITTLE APART FROM THE OTHER BOYS who stood with their mothers and families. He waited for his father, his small bundle of personal things packed neatly into a seaman’s bag of sailcloth provided by the ship’s sail makers. Ferghal was standing nearby, ready to assist in the loading of the survivor’s possessions into the waiting barge. The boy looked both excited and a little lost as he stared around the deck of the Spartan.

  “So it’s farewell, my friend,” Harry said. “I trust you will think kindly of us when you are with your father.”

  “I vill always sink af uwe, Harry.” Pieterzoon looked close to tears. “And af Fergie.” He held up a small, carved model of a ship. “Sien, hij’t voor mij….” He switched to his broken English. “He haz made zis voor me. I vill keeping it wit’ your picture.” He said this in reference to the watercolour Harry had given him of the Spartan in Port Jackson.