English passengers

by Matthew Kneale

  ‘‘Perhaps we should just drop all three of them over the side,’’ suggested Brew, smooth as milk. Sometimes I hardly knew if that one was joking. We didn’t have to make up our minds, neither, as it turned out. The breeze was a southerly, which did with tacking, while Maldon wasn’t far, and just that next afternoon we put a sight on the Blackwater. I had the boys drop anchor at the river mouth, thinking it just near enough to the town for us to look into our certain arrangements, while still handily out of view. Our passengers never liked this little surprise at all, of course, and the moment the Reverend heard the roar of the anchor chain go he was moaning and complaining.

  ‘‘Maldon? But what on earth for? I’ve told you we can’t afford any further delay.’’

  ‘‘It’s the ship’s clock,’’ I told him, as this seemed as good a reason as any. ‘‘We can’t go sailing around the world with a broken clock, as we’d never know where we were. Why, there’d be nothing to stop us sailing clean into some part of Africa or Australia on a dark night that we’d never so much as guessed was there.’’

  That quietened him. If there’s one thing to settle passengers I dare say it’s a bit of shipwreck talk. Besides, it was true enough, apart from a couple of little tiddling particulars that I’d forgot, such as that we had no intention of sailing anywhere further than Peel City, and the ship’s clock worked nice as nip.

  Next Potter, the surgeon, started up. ‘‘If it’s so very important, then shouldn’t we return to London and find a clockmaker of quality? We’re still near, after all.’’

  For just one moment I almost wondered if he was suspecting us. It hardly seemed likely, for sure, but you never did know, while exactly the very last place I wanted to put a sight on now was that London. I hardly could fathom that surgeon. He was a different pair of oars entirely from our friend the vicar, that was certain. If Reverend Wilson was skin and bones, Potter was purest meat, and likewise if Wilson was all talk and fuss and getting in everyone’s way, then Potter was quietness, like a big badger you wouldn’t quite trust.

  ‘‘Maldon’s a tidy little port,’’ I told Potter. ‘‘Don’t you worry, we’ll have no trouble finding a good clock man there.’’

  There was little enough they could do in any case, as it was my vessel. I had the boat lowered into that Blackwater, to go and find cousin Rob. Not that that turned out easy. I knew he lived near Maldon, but, as any fool will tell you, there’s near and there’s near, and the two are different as pigs and parakeets. ‘‘You can’t miss it,’’ he’d told me when he last visited Peel City. ‘‘It stands all alone by the shore, straight over from Northey Island.’’ That had seemed clear enough at the time, but then directions usually do when you’re still months and miles off from needing them. We’d written to each other once or twice since, making our certain arrangements, but I never thought to have him send us a map. Now that we were perched on the Blackwater, and Northey Island was dead ahead—looking like nothing but so much more mud—I wished I had.

  ‘‘What about that over there to larboard?’’ called out Parrick Kinvig, the second mate. ‘‘That looks like a house.’’

  It did too, fairly much. The weather was a touch misty and it was a good way off so it was hardly more than a tiny speck of white above the mud. ‘‘I suppose it could be,’’ I answered him.

  ‘‘But I’m sure it is, Captain,’’ insisted Kinvig, all huffy that I’d only said could be. Kinvig always was a scrowly one, being the kind that could stir trouble from angels themselves. There were persons said this crabbi-ness was on account of his father, who was a useless old body, and famous for drinking his horse and his cart in one summer at the inn, this being one of those things that nobody ever forgot. Other persons disagreed, saying Kinvig’s rage came from his own tallness—which was no tallness at all, as he was a tiny mhinyag of a body, hardly higher off the ground than a child—there often being trouble in midgets, as was shown clear as glass by Emperor Bonaparte himself I hardly cared, if truth be told, as it’s the proper job of a second mate to be always in a rage, yelling and scelping at the boys to keep them from slacking. Why, the sign that a second mate knows his work is that he’s hated worse than the devil himself and here Parrick Kinvig was beauty as could be.

  But I’m getting away from where I was, which was this house or such that he’d seen. Up to now I’d planned going to the right of Northey Island, as that looked the wider stream, but a building is a building and this was the only one that showed. ‘‘Very well, larboard it is,’’ I said, adding, just to stop him getting too high, ‘‘and if it’s no good then we’ll know who to blame.’’

  There’s faster ways to travel than rowboats, I dare say, and even with China Clucas the ship’s giant at the oars, still we were slow as snails. Little by little, as the afternoon snuffled off towards dusk, the building grew, from just a speck to a speck with edges, then to something like a matchbox with a roof, till finally there it was ahead of us with its sign swinging in the wind, a full-grown inn. That wasn’t the best news, for sure, but it could have been worse, as if there’s one place that’s good for finding where somebody lives then it’s an inn. We beached the boat, Kinvig went off to ask and a moment or two later he was squelching his way back. I guessed from his look that it was nothing good.

  ‘‘They know him, right enough, and his house is just further along. But we’ll not find him. He took himself off to Colchester, so they said, just a few days ago, and got himself murdered half to death in some knife fight. He’s still there.’’

  It was as if bad luck was following us about, like an old dog that won’t be chased off. All at once I had no buyer, nor any way of finding one. I was low on jink and had three passengers expecting to be taken to the ends of the earth. The fact was if there was one thing I’d relied upon in this whole adventure it was cousin Rob. Not that I’m one to go hurling blame, but he was hardly making things easy for us. He’d known well enough that we were on our way, after all, and if we were a little late that was hardly our fault. All he’d had to do was sit quiet and wait like any sensible body, but no, he’d had to go dallying off to Colchester and tempt some passing knifeman to stick a blade into him.

  ‘‘Perhaps we should go up to this Colchester and have a quest for him,’’ said Kinvig.

  I was in no mood to start chasing about, making ourselves noticed. ‘‘Even if we found him he’d probably only go and die on us.’’ We could go straight on to Maldon and try our luck asking questions, in the hope that I’d find those certain bodies Rob had said were interested, but I could see trouble there. We didn’t have a single name—Rob had been too canny to tell, I suppose for fear I might make a deal without him—while the customs knew we’d been going to Maldon, and might well be keeping watch. But there was something we could do. ‘‘Where did they say Rob’s house was?’’

  Kinvig looked puzzled. ‘Just further round the island.’’

  ‘‘Then let’s be on our way.’’

  Now, cousin Rob was hardly the kind to go collecting servants, while his Englishwoman wife would be away in Colchester at his bedside, so, as I saw it, his house was sure to be empty. Not that I want to seem unkindly, but we’d had an agreement, and he’d been the one to break it and drop us into blackest trouble. Why, we’d have been right as rain if the silly slug hadn’t chosen to get himself stabbed. No, this was simple compensation. Why, if he made up his mind not to die after all, we might even think about giving him a few pennies back, if we felt kindly.

  China and the rest put themselves to the oars and round Northey Island we went. It was a relief to have made up my mind and even the land seemed to give us the nod, growing cheerier as we went along, a distant Maldon spire or two peering out over the mud. After a time the shore became lined with a fine bank of trees, and just after there was a house, sitting all alone just like it should. It wasn’t a bad size, neither.

  ‘‘Where’s his boat?’’ wondered Kinvig.

  I guessed that quick enough. ‘‘He must’ve take
n it to Colchester.’’

  I left Vartin Clague in the boat to keep watch and across that mud we went. I gave a little knock at the door—just in case—and then, when nobody answered, we went round the side and played tugging at windows, till we found one that opened nicely, and there we were, in the sitting room.

  Strange it is how just being in another man’s house will set a body to mumbling, even though you know there’s nobody there. ‘‘There’s some choice stuff here,’’ said Kinvig in a whisper.

  He was right enough, I saw, as my eyes adjusted to the gloom. There was a fine table and chairs, and some grand pictures on the walls, of foreign boats with square sails and fellows sneaking about in strange hats carrying baskets on poles, looking like Chinamen. On the mantelpiece was a couple of model warships, neatly done too. This couldn’t be just from catching eels. I reckoned Rob had been doing some trading on his own account, and doing nicely, too. There should be some jink to be found, for sure. We set to work, pulling open drawers and such, but mostly all we found was old papers and other uselessness. Finally, in the kitchen, I lit upon a stash of silver cutlery. It looked quality to me, while he’d hardly be needing such fuss croaking away his breath in Colchester.

  ‘‘This’ll have to do,’’ I told the others. ‘‘Fill your pockets. And one of you take that clock while you’re about it.’’ A pretty little thing this was, sat on the mantelpiece next to the ships.

  ‘‘Look here,’’ said Kinvig as he scooped up some more spoons. ‘‘They’ve got some kind of letters on them.’’

  ‘‘These too,’’ agreed China, holding up a fork.

  ‘‘HH,’’ I read, this being more than the others could manage.

  ‘‘And there’s a little mark underneath,’’ noticed Kinvig. ‘‘It looks like an anchor.’’

  It hardly seemed worth paying much heed over. There was no telling where Rob would have got his things from, after all. ‘‘Never you mind about that. Just get it back to the boat.’’

  The fact was I still hadn’t quite given up hope of finding some actual jink, so while the others shuffled their way back over the window, clanking with heavy pockets, I took myself upstairs to have a little look. It was mighty dark up there, but I could just make out a door and find the handle, so open it I did. Inside I made out a bed, being a big jumble of blankets as if it hadn’t been made since Rob had jaunted himself off to Colchester. There was no sign of any chest or such, which was a disappointment, but I spied a couple of fine candleholders on the mantelpiece, and it was one of these I was taking a look at, in fact—trying to see if it was solid silver or just plate, which would hardly be worth troubling over—when all of a sudden a most curious thing happened. Over from the bed a voice called out, being a snapped, military sort of voice, and it said, ‘‘What the devil are you doing, Phillips?’’

  Just seven words, that was all, but what a lot seven words can tell a man. First of all these seven told of how that bed wasn’t quite so empty as it had looked. Second they put me nicely in the know about a fellow named Phillips, who sounded as if he was some rat of a servant, and, as far as I could guess, must either be having his night off or was a very sound sleeper. Lastly, and sweetest of all, there was the little gem of a discovery that I wasn’t in cousin Rob’s house at all, and never had been.

  All in all I thought it best to leave the candleholder, whether it was silver or not. Out through the door I went and behind me I heard what wasn’t any kind of word at all, but a kind of well-spoken howl. Well, given the right day I can be swift enough on my feet. Down those stairs I went, leaping three at a time, then through that sitting-room window clean as a ball through a barrel, and till I was dashing away towards the river. The rest of them hadn’t yet reached the boat and were taking daintiest little steps to keep from slipping in the mud. They stopped and looked round when they saw me coming in my chase, and looked like they were about to start asking foolish questions—which I was in no mood to stop and answer—but fortunately just that moment there was a bright flash from the upstairs window of the house, and also a mighty bang, that settled their curiosity nice as nip. Mud and speed are never a good match, I dare say, and it cost us a few nasty slips—as well as several forks and spoons—but finally we got ourselves into the boat and pushed off from the shore.

  After that we just rowed fast as devils, too busy for chatter. Nobody said a word when, just a little further round the island, we passed a wretched-looking cottage, standing all alone, with an old rowboat sat upside down and eel nets draped from posts. But I gave a good hard stare at Kinvig, seeing as he’d been the one who asked at the inn.

  It took a good while to make our way back down the Blackwater, and all the while I was sat at the tiller, staring at the boys with their bulging pockets that clinked as they rowed, and the more I looked, the less happy I was. By the time the ship came into view I’d already made up my mind, at least half anyway, while the other half was soon settled by the passengers. I’d hoped they’d be all abed, you see, dreaming their clever Englishmen’s dreams, and that we’d at least get ourselves aboard nice and quietly, but no, they never would make themselves so convenient. There they were, all leaning on the rail to watch. It was the Reverend had the quickest eyes.

  ‘‘A clock!’’ he called out when we were still fifty yards away. ‘‘They’ve found a clock. Hurrah! Our troubles are over.’’

  Renshaw, the plants boy, was more doubtful. ‘‘Are you sure that’s the right kind?’’

  If there was one thing I didn’t want to be just then it was interesting, but interesting we were. As we clambered onto the deck, they were all eyes.

  ‘‘But, Captain, how did you get so covered in mud?’’ wondered Dr. Potter, in that watching way of his.

  I just shrugged.

  ‘‘And you’ve found some new cutlery for the ship’s table,’’ observed the Reverend. ‘‘I must say I’m very glad. I didn’t wish to complain, but the rest was rather poor.’’

  Bad luck? Why, we had enough of it to fill up half the ocean. It wouldn’t be long before our friend with the gun had the whole neighbourhood started, and once they found our footmarks in the mud they’d be racing down that river Blackwater fast as dogs that have smelt rabbit. If we hurled the clock and every knife and fork clean over the side we still had three witnesses against us, and all of them respectable as royalty. The more I thought on it, the worse it looked. Even fleeing wouldn’t be safe, as this sort of foolishness was sure to catch the eye of newspapers. It’s not every day, after all, that a house is tidied up straight out from the ocean, Viking style. All it would take would be for one of our Englishmen passengers to put a sight on the wrong page of the wrong paper and we’d be cooked as herrings on the fire. Running a bit of contraband was one thing, but housebreaking was quite another. That was gaol, or even transportation. That was ruin, for sure.

  Not that we were finished yet. Nobody could find us guilty if we weren’t here, and one little thing, at least, was on our side. The wind. There was a lovely sea breeze pulling clear away from Maldon and out towards the ocean. If we could just keep away long enough, then who’d remember or care about a few soup spoons? As to where, well, I never even had to choose, as it had been chosen already. ‘‘Brew,’’ I called out. ‘‘We’re weighing anchor.’’

  ‘‘Maldon?’’ he asked. ‘‘We’ll never get up river in this breeze.’’

  ‘‘Tasmania.’’

  For once Brew lost his smooth look.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Jack Harp 1821–24

  WHEN THE SEALING SEASON was done I set off for George Town in the whaleboat just like usual, and all the way I was wondering if I’d find a small rowboat as good as the one I lost to that gin, which had been a handy little thing. The tide was going out nicely when I arrived, so I beached the boat and took myself across to that penny-pinching bugger Bill Haskins. Haskins loaned me his cart to bring over the skins, which I needed what with Ned being gone, and once I had them all on his floor we starte
d our money talk, which went sweet enough, too. He said he knew of a rowboat going that was a tidy vessel and had just had a fresh bit of varnish. His offer for the skins was better than I’d hoped and was enough for the rowboat and the stores I needed with even a little keeping money on top. He couldn’t get hold of the silver till the next day, so he said, nor the man who had the rowboat to sell, but he gave me a Spanish dollar and a couple of French coins to keep me floating till then, which seemed only right.

  After sitting alone on that island nearly a full twelvemonth I was feeling more than ready for a bit of company. By evening I’d had a good fill of rum at the inn and a taste of that Lill, besides, in the room at the back. I won’t say Lill was anything special, being ripe past her best, and sour of temper too, making a proper fuss if I got a little rough, but she was a fair bit of leather and after so long I was in no mood for complaining. I was just thinking of having myself another turn, in fact, when those redcoats bastards burst in, all boots and muskets and calling me escaped. I gave them what trouble I could, dropping one against the wall so his head got a crack, and giving another a bloody mouth, but they were too many and had me in the end.

  By then I was thinking, and my thoughts weren’t pretty, neither. I gave Lill a stare but she looked all surprise, so I reckoned it wasn’t her. As they started hauling me away, I called out to that redcoat officer, ‘‘Who was it then? What bastard sent you after me?’’ He never said a word, of course, but he sort of blinked, which told me enough. All at once I knew who it was had snitched on me, clear as daylight.

  It was rough being back in convict clothes when I thought I’d got free of them for good. Being escaped, and violent too, I was put on the roads, which was bad, especially in the cold weather. That was two years and then I got into a fight with an officer with too much mouth on him, and I was sent to Hobart on the warehouses they were building, which was bad too. The talk going round was it would get no better, as there was a new governor come, Alder, who was known for being a proper martinet, and wanted every one of us flogged into quietness. That sounded trouble, no denying. Not that I gave it much thought. What I did think about, and often too, was my old friend Bill Haskins and what a clever cove he’d been to catch himself a whole boatload of sealskins for just one Spanish dollar and a couple of French coins.