It was tempting just to say no, and put a hole in his cleverness. The truth was, though, that it wasn’t such a bad idea.
The Reverend Geoffrey Wilson JULY 1857
THE FIRST SIGN that anything might be amiss was the large cart that drew outside my sister-in-law’s house, its burden concealed beneath a thick tarpaulin. I was busily engaged upon my correspondence and took little notice at first, assuming it must concern one of the neighbours, but then the housemaid called me.
‘‘There’s somebody asking for you, Mr. Wilson.’’
Waiting outside the door was the cart’s driver: one of those dour London types who seem to be forever at work with their mouths, whether it be chewing, spitting, smoking a pipe or all three at once. ‘‘So where’s it to go?’’ he asked, pointing to the cart.
I was pondering a suitably discouraging reply when his assistant pulled away the tarpaulin and revealed, neatly stacked, every one of our stores for the expedition. ‘‘But this is quite wrong,’’ I told him sharply. ‘‘These belong aboard the Caroline.’’
The driver was still fumbling for documents when I saw Jonah Childs drive up in his carriage. As he clambered out, I saw the dejected look upon his face, and all was soon painfully clear. ‘‘I only heard myself this morning,’’ he explained. ‘‘The Admiralty are sending her with munitions to Bombay.’’
We had no ship! As if this were not already disaster enough, he then shocked me with more bad news.
‘‘Major Stanford has also been taken from us, I’m afraid. His regiment is sailing for Calcutta within the week.’’
Only two days more and we would have been already at sea, safe from any such misfortune. I felt the greatest sympathy, naturally, for the military in this, their hour of grave crisis, and yet still I could not help but wish they had not found another vessel to requisition, and another major. Was not our venture, after its own fashion, every bit as important as their campaigns against murderous rebels? If they were attempting to defend the rule of civilization, we were endeavouring to defend the very rock upon which was built that civilization: the Scriptures themselves.
It was a terrible blow. An expedition deprived of both leader and means of transportation was no expedition at all, but mere wishfulness. In the event I had little time to consider the problem, being faced with the practical matter of where the displaced stores were to be placed, as the cart driver was showing signs of impatience. While I had no wish to make a warehouse of my sister-in-law’s home, where I was myself a guest, they could hardly be left in the street, and so there seemed little else to be done. ‘‘Put them in the parlour,’’ I told him, seeing as this was the largest and least cluttered room.
Mr. Childs had sent word of the crisis to Renshaw and Dr. Potter, and they appeared soon afterwards. I suggested we all gather in the parlour, so we might keep an eye on the two workmen. It was a sad moment. The constant arrival of our stores, which soon began to form a small mountain in the centre of the room, provided an awful pertinence to our discussion, seeming almost to taunt us with their thwarted promise: the tents, the hammocks and horse saddles, and, not least, the seemingly limitless number of mule bags, which appeared plentiful enough for a small army.
‘‘I’m afraid it won’t be easy to find another vessel,’’ declared Childs glumly. ‘‘I understand the Admiralty is requisitioning everything it can lay its hands on.’’
‘‘What if we went by steamer?’’ suggested Potter. ‘‘I believe they now go as far as the Australian mainland.’’
I could not help but find it a little trying that this man, who had been a member of the expedition barely a week, was already lecturing us as to how it should be conducted. ‘‘It is essential that we have a vessel of our own,’’ I told him firmly. ‘‘We may need it to transport us to some part of the Tasmanian wilderness, or to bring us supplies.’’
Renshaw yawned. ‘‘How about a foreign ship? They won’t have been taken.’’
It was typical of the fellow to come up with so disloyal a notion. Childs, who is of a keenly patriotic disposition, gave him a reproving look. ‘‘Better to have no vessel at all than that. This is an English Christian expedition and as such it should not have to rely upon men of false belief No, if nothing else is obtainable, then I am afraid we must simply consider postponing departure.’’
Here I had to intervene. ‘‘But that would mean we’d not arrive in Van Diemen’s Land in time for the southern summer, which is the only suitable season to journey into the interior. The venture would have to be delayed by a whole year.’’
At this point the discussion faltered. The fact was, we had reached an impasse. It was essential we leave at once yet none of us could think of a means of doing so. For a time we stood thus in the parlour in unhappy silence, watching the arrival of ever more stores. By now the cart driver and his helper had finished with the bulkier objects and, perspiring from their exertions, were at work on consumables Major Stanford had purchased.
‘‘There’s some choice stuff here,’’ observed Renshaw.
It did seem that Major Stanford had selected his supplies with an eye for both quantity and quality, not to say luxury. I found myself wondering if he might have been unduly concerned by a reluctance to repeat his unfortunate experience with the Mesopotamian mule. Before us appeared, variously, best potted ham, hermetically sealed salmon, hotchpotch from Aberdeen, and whole cases of sherry, whisky and champagne. Nor was there any danger that these would be consumed in discomfort, either, as the next stores included folding tables and chairs, table linen, crockery and some finest Sheffield silver cutlery. To complete the arrangements there was a large box of finest Cuban cigars.
‘‘No wonder there were so many mule packs,’’ murmured Renshaw.
Jonah Childs seemed little pleased, which was understandable seeing as it was he who had paid for it all. ‘‘I had no idea Major Stanford felt a need to be so commodiously supplied.’’
‘‘Perhaps it’s not entirely unfortunate that he has been called away,’’ suggested Potter. ‘‘After all, he has no knowledge of Australia.’’
It struck me as more than a little impertinent of this new arrival to begin criticizing long-serving members of the venture, and yet, rather to my own surprise, Childs made no attempt to discourage the man. He even seemed to concur with his view. ‘‘That’s certainly true. Mind you, I’m doubtful we would be able to find an Australian expert now, at such short notice.’’
Thus we passed on to the question of the leader, though the discussion remained of necessity rather tentative, the expedition itself being nothing else.
‘‘Then again, do we need an explorer at all?’’ suggested Potter radically. ‘‘Such persons will be ten a penny in Tasmania itself I’m sure. Perhaps we should be looking simply for a someone who possesses the right qualities of character. A man of determination and vigour. Of energy and decision. Of strength of body and mind.’’
It was perhaps my imagination, yet all at once I had the distinct sensation that the doctor was not drawing some abstract profile of suitable leadership, but was subtly trying to recommend his own self. This might seem unfair, and yet in the short time I had known him I had observed he was a man of lively, even pushing nature. It was hardly a prospect I could welcome. The fellow was doubtless admirable in his own way and yet I was far from convinced of his fitness for this most important task. Ours was no ordinary expedition, after all, but something like a holy quest, in search of wonders of limitless significance. It would be quite wrong to place at its head a man about whom almost nothing was known, least of all his moral understanding. My concern, and it was no small one, was that Mr. Childs, unpredictable enthusiast that he was, might simply suggest the doctor as leader there and then.
‘‘Surely,’’ I proposed, ‘‘we should be looking for someone with a proven commitment to principles behind this venture. Someone of known moral purpose.’’ I should make it clear that I had no wish to suggest myself. To do so, would have been agai
nst my very nature, which abhors any kind of self-advancement. The thought, indeed, had not even occurred to me. I was simply concerned to define the correct qualities of leadership, for the sake of the expedition.
‘‘A geologist perhaps?’’ murmured Renshaw, quite unnecessarily, glancing from Potter to myself with a provoking look.
Jonah Childs turned in my direction, seeming faintly surprised, as if some notion had occurred to him for the first time. ‘‘Perhaps you yourself would be willing to take up the task, Vicar?’’
Thus it was that, sudden and unsought for, this most difficult of honours appeared before me. The suggestion was so unforeseen that I found myself quite taken aback, assailed by troubling thoughts. How could I even contemplate such a thing when there must be, surely, another far better suited? Yet where was he, though? It occurred to me that, imperfect though I might consider myself, I was not wholly without qualities that might prove of usefulness. I did have a knowledge of the Scriptures, and of geology, as well as being possessed of some poor understanding of the minds of men. So much was at stake, and so great was the urgency! The others were stood watching me, awaiting my reply. Could I? Should I? All at once I recalled my visionary dream of just a few days before, and the cry I had heard: ‘‘Come hither, sweet vicar, come hither, and make haste.’’
There was my answer. ‘‘If you require me to lead this expedition,’’ I declared quietly, ‘‘then I shall do it.’’
Dear Mr. Childs broke into a wide smile. ‘‘Bravo, Vicar, bravo!’’
‘‘We still need a boat,’’ Renshaw insisted drearily.
In the event, a solution was nearer than we could ever have guessed. It was almost as if, having overcome one great hurdle, we had now earned a remedy to the other. Our saviour was none other than my own wife, who appeared through the door just a moment later, clutching a hatbox. ‘‘What is going on?’’ she demanded, regarding, with no little surprise, the great pile of expedition stores. Hardly had I begun to explain our predicament, however, when she waved her hand in dismissal, as if there could be nothing so foolish.
‘‘But there was a ship for charter in this morning’s newspaper,’’ she declared, amazing us all. ‘‘It had a delightful name as I recall. I believe it was the Chastity.’’
CHAPTER TWO
Thirty-seven years earlier
Jack Harp 1820
IF IT HADN’T BEEN for the wind veering round northeasterly so sweet, then probably none of it would’ve ever happened and I’d still have that small rowboat. That is a thought.
The sealing season was done and supplies on the island were getting low, so it was time to take the big whaleboat over to George Town to call in on that penny-pinching bugger Bill Haskins. That whaleboat was a tidy vessel with a good sail on her and, though Ned was all foolishness at the tiller, so I even had to give him a cuffing or two, still it only took us two days.
Now, George Town is all well and good but it is taking a chance. Mostly you can trust them, as it’s a small enough place, but you never do know what strangers might be passing through and who they might go talking to, while the last thing I was looking for was getting dropped back into prison clothes after all the trouble we’d had escaping free of them. So we didn’t stop once but went straight over to Haskins. We hadn’t been for a year, nearly, and first we just had ourselves a proper good look. He had some prettiest glass marbles, all different colours, like I hadn’t seen since I was a lad back in Dorking in the old country. Also I found something for my cheek where my skinning knife had caught it a month back, leaving a proper gash of a cut that never would settle. I told Ned to stay quiet during the talk, as Ned was a fool for business, being only any use on the seals, and in the end I got us a good trade for our hides, with enough flour and tea and rum to last nicely, and the medicine for my cheek. There was a few coins over, too, and I did think of paying a call at the inn, and perhaps even take a turn with that Lill, but Ned was whining that we’d be noticed, so back in the boat we climbed.
Usually the journey back from George Town was a proper fight against the westerlies but this time we’d hardly set out when the breeze veered round to the northeast pretty as could be, which was a proper piece of luck. We couldn’t have had an easier run and inside three days we were almost home. It was then, the wind keeping sweet, that I got to wondering about something else I might get besides tea and flour and rum. Ned, being a cowardly bugger, didn’t much like the idea, having a scare of them that I was thinking of, but I won him round, calling him names and saying if we got two then he could have one all for himself. Ned was always one who could be talked along. He paid dear enough for it, too, in the end, as things turned out.
So we carried on clean past the island and then turned south along the coast that is mostly trees, till I saw smoke from one of their fires up ahead. After that we went careful. I took the sail down and took us close in to the shore to be less seen. It wasn’t easy landing there, as the surf was wild, but in the end we beached her in a creek a mile or two distant from them. It was while we were hiding the boat in bushes that Ned came over with his scares, and bad too, so he was no use even after cuffing talk, so I left him there and went off alone, keeping myself hid in the trees. A good bitch I spotted straight off, too, diving off a rock for shellfish, not an inch of clothes on her, with a good pair of racks, and her fluff and crack showing like she was just waiting for it.
After that I went back to the boat and Ned till the time was right. We couldn’t have a fire, of course, and that night was cold. A while before first light I went off, going quiet, finding my way by the moon till I saw their fire. There must have been thirty of them, all sleeping close to the blaze as they could without getting burned, as if they were scared of what might come out of the dark. That gave me a chuckle. I crept round to the gin I’d seen before, and hauled her up by the arm. Well, she was trouble, that piece, yelling and biting like some raw animal, and getting the others after me, too. I was expecting that, mind, and when they got close I put a bullet through the nearest, which scared the rest nicely, though it didn’t stop her from squirming and such. Even when Ned and me got her in the boat she was carrying on worse than ever, so I quite worried she might capsize us and spill our stores over the side. I said to Ned, ‘‘We ’ve got ourselves a right warrior here.’’ She was that bad, in fact, that when we finally got back to the island I wouldn’t have her in the cabin but fixed her with a chain outside, and even then she’d bite and scratch when I worked her. Ned wanted his turn but I told him no, as he’d not earned it.
Then I got a surprise. Just a few weeks later I found three barrels of the new flour were spoiled right through. That was trouble. We’d not last just on the rest, I knew, so I had to go back to George Town in the whaleboat to get my redress. Ned said he was feeling crook and stayed behind.
Bill Haskins moaned, which I knew he would, and said I must’ve let the flour get damp and that was why it had spoiled, which was never true. He did give me two barrels in the end, though, which was only part but was better than nothing and would be about enough to last us, I reckoned. What with other things that needed doing, and a night with that Lill at the inn besides—which was taking a risk, but I did it anyway— it was a ten days before I got back to the island.
I guessed something was wrong when I saw there was no smoke coming from the chimney. Sure enough, when I walked up to the cabin carrying one of the barrels of flour, what did I find lying just outside the door but Ned, with his trousers round his ankles and his head stove in like a bust pumpkin, the stone that had done it sat just nearby, all stained. He must have been there a time, as the birds had had themselves a good feed, especially his belly and face. The gin was gone of course and so was the small rowboat.
Well, it was no mystery to me what had happened. She’d tempted him. She’d learned a few words to speak, while I’d seen him watching her, and that silly sod Ned tempted easy as butter. Once she’d got him thirsting for her strong she must’ve witched him into openi
ng up her lock and letting her free, and then, while he was busy getting his rewards, she’d have given him a tap with that stone. When I was putting him in the ground I saw his tackle had been got at nasty, which I reckoned was her rather than the birds.
D’you know I never could find that small rowboat. Three days I spent searching along the coast where she must have landed but there was never so much as a splinter. I reckoned she must’ve stove her in. Well, that did strike me as an unnecessary sort of act, and mean too.
This last seal season since has been a good one, mind, being as fine almost as I’ve known, so I’m hoping I might have enough skins to trade myself a new rowboat down at George Town. If there’s one to be had, that is. I never do feel safe with just the one boat, you see, in case of accident. Who knows, if the wind’s right I might even get myself another gin afterwards. She’d have to be less of the warrior this time, though.
Peevay 1824–28
ONCE WHEN I was small and always running hither and thither, and all the world was puzzles to confound, I got myself that little surprise. Even now that bugger does stir tenderest feelings deep inside my breast. Other fellows might lose their way after that ruination, never to find it after, but not me. I did endure. Then again, enduring always was my special skill.
That was in long-ago times, many summers past, before everything got changed, so it is hard to perceive that was just the same me as now. Why, I never even knew these words to speak then. But still I can recollect. Day I got my surprise was hot, blowflies were biting and everyone was stopped by a wide pool, shallow as your foot. Bigger children were splashing to be cool and stop the flies, and suddenly all I wanted was to get some of that splashing too. Into the pool I ran, fast like the wind. But below the water it was slippery, so my feet were skidding and down I fell, hard, with a grievous blow. Then, when I pulled myself up, feeling a sore knee, that hateful thing did occur.
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