English passengers

by Matthew Kneale

  As to what followed, even now I could not say if it bore any connection with what had just occurred, or if it was merely a coincidence of timing. It seemed to follow, certainly, but the mind will sometimes play tricks at such a moment of excitement, seeing unconnected events as so many links in a chain. In truth I could not even say if sea creatures possess the power of hearing, let alone if they concern themselves with sounds emerging from beyond their watery domain. The fact remained, however, that hardly had the pigs been stilled when there was a momentous watery crash from somewhere beyond the port bow. We never saw what ocean acrobatics the beast had got up to, on account of the fog, but the consequence was clear as could be. The ship, which had been still as land, began suddenly and violently rolling.

  For a moment I thought we had suffered nothing worse than surprise. A ship, after all, is well used to a bit of tipping. Then, though, I became aware of the excited chattering in Manx on the further side of the boat, and realized they were all looking at Clucas’ arm, which he was holding with his hand in a curious way, and I saw blood was spilling out between his fingers. The pig he had caught had toppled clean against him when the ship rolled, and he must have caught his wrist against a jagged corner of the creatures’ water tub. Clucas himself looked pale as a ghost.

  It is curious how swiftly a mood can alter. One moment we were engaged upon what was, if truth be told, an unkind joke. Half an instant later all were grave faces. The greatest change, though, came to Potter. All at once he was transformed from dupe to hero.

  ‘‘Have my case brought,’’ he commanded. So he set to work.

  The sea creatures did not stay long after that, and the fog was gone by the next morning. As for Clucas, within just a day or two he was recovered enough to sit quietly on deck in the cool sunshine, offering respectful greetings to his saviour whenever he came near. It was perhaps hardly a surprise that, from that afternoon, nobody, including Brew, tried to make a joke of the doctor. Potter even treated us to another lecture the next Sunday—this one on the benefits of vegetarianism—and, much to Wilson’s annoyance, his audience stood through the whole thing quiet as lambs.

  The Reverend Geoffrey Wilson OCTOBER 1857

  FINALLY, AFTER nearly three full months at sea, we made our first landfall at Cape Colony, upon the most southerly point of Africa. This, I am glad to say, proved a most delightful spot, lodged prettily beneath the wide massif of Table Mountain. The streets are wide and the white-painted houses are charmingly decorated with pot plants and creepers, whose colourful flowers quite dazzle the eye. As to the population, though the native Africans seemed somewhat shy, and the Boers were a little rough in their manners, those colonists who hailed from English shores displayed a cultured gentility all the more creditable in this distant place.

  Among my first undertakings was to visit the post office. Before we left London it had caught my notice that the steamer service to this corner of the world would generally outpace any sailing vessel by several weeks, and so I had told my dear wife that she could write to me here, considering that this might bring her some comfort in her loneliness. I had anticipated quite a little library of letters awaiting me and was, I confess, a little surprised to find only one envelope in her hand, though there were no fewer than four from busy Jonah Childs. His missives were full of helpful notions, reporting of how he had had word from an old friend of his by the name of Rider, who was now a colonel in the Cape Colony militia, and who had insisted we call upon him. It was pleasing to know that I would be received by one of the highest of the colony’s society. I was further flattered to hear that our arrival in Tasmania was now warmly awaited by none other than that island’s governor, who it seemed was an acquaintance of one of Mr. Childs’s many cousins. As to my wife’s news, her single letter was somewhat brief, concerning itself mostly with a new dress shop in Highgate that she had discovered. Any slight disappointment I felt, however, was quickly dispelled. She was, I realized, simply endeavouring not to worry me with her own distress, brave little poppet that she is.

  It was as I was about to leave the post office that I saw, striding in through the door, Dr. Potter. It was hardly a happy meeting. He offered me only the curtest reply to my greetings, while I could not help but notice that he was holding a letter, whose address he seemed to be trying to conceal, though I could clearly see between his fingers the words ‘‘Mr. Jonah Ch…’’ I dare say it was his right to communicate to whoever he wished, and yet I felt it would have been only courteous to consult myself, as leader of this expedition, before writing to our patron. As it was, I was left wondering what such secrecy could signify.

  I sent my card to Colonel Rider the next morning. A note arrived at the lodging house by return, addressed to myself, and inviting ‘‘the Reverend Geoffrey Wilson and any members of the Van Diemen’s Land Expedition who may be agreeable’’ to dine at the castle, where the colony’s militia were stationed. I mentioned the matter to Renshaw when he finally emerged from his sleeping, and if I did not also tell Potter this was only because, as had so often been the case since we arrived, he was nowhere to be found, being away on some mysterious business of his own. The colonel’s words ‘‘and any members of the Van Diemen’s Land Expedition’’ seemed, besides, hardly to require the presence of us all, while I had no wish to overwhelm him with our numbers. The whole matter would have ended there had not Renshaw—quite needlessly—spoken of it to the doctor that evening. Potter’s reaction was hardly to be credited. One moment he was whining like a spoilt child and the next he was blustering like a bully, insisting that he should have been asked too, and insinuating that I had somehow conspired to have him excluded. I was wholly satisfied with my own conduct, naturally, and yet, faced with this display of near-hysteria, I considered it wisest to have him to join us. I wrote to the colonel informing him we would now be three.

  I soon regretted this charity. Hardly had we been welcomed by the colonel and his officers, and taken our places at table, when Potter began behaving in a manner that I can only describe as deliberately provoking. When Colonel Rider, a stiff but gentle fellow, inquired about our journey from London, he insisted on relating, in a tone of falsest commiseration, that I had suffered greatly from seasickness, even claiming that he had quite feared for my survival. This was despite the fact that he knew full well I had suffered only from poor food. Likewise when we began discussing Tasmania, he dwelt at length on the harshness of the wilderness, which he said was ‘‘rough country even for a fit young fellow like myself to go exploring, let alone anyone else.’’ I fought back keenly enough, suggesting, over the lamb and mint sauce, how it was a great shame that he had so little knowledge of geology or theology, and so would be left wholly in the dark as we set about our exploration. I also related my experiences of walking across the hills of Yorkshire, subtly implying that I was at least as well prepared for the venture as the doctor, whose life had been spent in dank hospital rooms.

  It was only when we had returned to our lodgings, as I lay in bed, considering the evening’s events, that I suddenly grasped the doctor’s true intention. How slow can be the forces of goodness that, of their very nature, can barely perceive wicked designs. Potter’s purpose was more than mere insult, far more. The man, I realized with alarm, sought nothing less than to depose me from my rightful place as leader of this expedition. It was not Colonel Rider who was his real concern, but Jonah Childs. The colonel was sure to write to his old friend, and promptly, giving a full account of his impressions of us. What if he had been convinced by Potter’s poisonous suggestions? There was also the letter I had seen Potter about to post, whose address he had attempted to conceal. I was, I now saw, being attacked upon two fronts, as the doctor endeavoured to turn our patron against me, even from this great distance. What made this especially troubling was Mr. Childs’s own nature, that was so prone to sudden changes of mind. Had he not come close to appointing the doctor once already, I recalled unhappily, as we stood among the expedition’s stores in my sister
-in-law’s parlour in Highgate?

  I slept little that night. My mind was a frenzy of steamers. The mail service from Cape Colony to England took no more than five weeks. A letter sent directly from London to Melbourne in Victoria, as I recalled, took ten. The final journey from there to Hobart would, I imagined, require no more than a few days. Sixteen weeks in all. It was my hope that we would already have set forth into the wilderness of Tasmania before this time had elapsed, but this was far from assured. If the Sincerity suffered unexpected delay, as well she might, or we met with difficulties when organizing the expedition, there would be time enough for Mr. Childs—his mind poisoned with malicious falsehood—to write and command me to relinquish my office of leader, and to place Potter himself in my stead. It was something that I could not and would not permit.

  Dr. Thomas Potter OCTOBER 1857

  Cape Colony

  Town = of greatest interest to self re notions as possesses quite remarkable variety of types. Among world’s greatest instances? Self spent many hours carefully observing. Soon came to new + unexpected conclusions. E.g. watched Boers visiting from outlying farms and noted they = braggardly + surprisingly sluggish: ride giant wagons (oxen) that = v. slow. Cf. English colonists = quick and energetic, filled with winning confidence. New notion: Dutch not Saxon Type as self previously supposed but in fact = Belgic Celts. Would explain absence moral fortitude + history of decline.

  Races present of Cape Colony = as follows, listed by precedence:

  British: Type = Saxon. Status = natural rulers of colony.

  Boers: Type = Belgic Celtic. Status = assistants to British.

  Malays: Type = Oriental. Status = farm labourers + servants.

  Hindoos: Type = Indian Asiatic. Status = as Malays but lower.

  Native Africans = Type: Negro. Status = low.

  Hottentots: Type = lower Negro. Status = low and brutal.

  11th October

  Most satisfactory day. Began with news from India. Report in local newspaper indicates fighting continues v. fiercely, yet appears mutiny has not spread beyond Delhi + other areas of the north. British forces rallying well. Self feel certain rebellion will fail, though it may take much time, suffering etc. etc. This = quite as self anticipated.

  Visited home of Dr. Louis Clive (he = fellow surgeon, introduction given by Dr. P.). Clive = excellent fellow + v. interesting on Hottentots. Told self these = among v. lowest types, barely of mankind. Self stayed to dinner with much joking. Clive v. interested re own notions, and most encouraging. Also v. helpful re obtaining specimens.

  Wilson in sitting room when self returned to lodging house, giving self strangest + most malevolent look. Self beginning to wonder if he actually losing his sanity, especially after his scheming to prevent self joining he + Renshaw to dine with Col. Rider (though evening proved dull enough). Dementia = leading characteristic of Norman Type, indicating characteristic decadence and depravity? Matter = v. pertinent re notions. For moment, however, self have little time to study he, as chief concern = specimens.

  Captain Illiam Quillian Kewley OCTOBER 1857

  WE HEARD the bad news even before we’d stepped onto dry land. Once the pilot was safely aboard and had started guiding us towards the harbour of that Cape Colony—a showy-looking place, lurking beneath a wide mountain, flat like a piano—I thought I might as well chance a little careful asking.

  ‘‘So how is it for pennies here? Will we be rich men or paupers compared to where we’ve come from?’’

  He shrugged. ‘‘That depends on what you’re buying.’’

  ‘‘Well, let’s say a night of lodgings. Or perhaps a bottle of French brandy?’’

  ‘‘The lodgings won’t be cheap,’’ he answered cheerily, ‘‘but you’ll do handsomely on the brandy. Then you’ll know this is a free port.’’

  Ah, but I didn’t. A free port? Well there was a useless, rotten piece of news. Truly, there’s none like Englishmen to find some new way of cheating a man out of his livelihood. I ask you. What was the point of annoying the world with customs men, coast guard cutters and other trouble if you leave a mighty gaping hole in it all, with not a penny of duty demanded on anything? Not that I’m saying I missed those revenue boys, but if we had to suffer them, then we should suffer them here too, like we expected. Why, it was nothing less than a disgrace. After all the fuss we’d gone to building the Sincerity like she was, and packing her full with that certain discreet cargo, it was worth no more here than if we’d stacked every bottle in the main hold, for all the world to see, like any plodding fool of a merchant. Where was the fairness in that?

  It had us well spiked, besides. I had been relying on us slipping the Sincerity away to some quiet cove so she might open up her treasures and catch her reward. I’d reckoned this would be a handy place to do it, too, seeing as it was a busy corner of the earth, while, from the look of it on our chart of the world, that Hobart of the Englishmen would be worse than useless, being just a speck on the edge of nowhere. But now I found we’d been tricked into stopping in a land of cheap dirts.

  As the wise man says, though, there’s no sense weeping over the herring you never saw, and I tried to cast it from my thoughts as best I could, attending instead to harbour chores, which were plentiful enough to keep me busy. First there was the paperwork to settle, and then I had to order in new water casks and food that we needed, which took a good few days to arrive. All the while the boys were whining and fussing for their wages and to be let on shore to make some trouble. I held them off as long as I could, but in the end I had to give way, handing out some pennies and letting them go hurrying down the gangway with their hungry looks. I kept a couple of them back, and China Clucas too, whose arm was fairly healed after the pig, to load up the last of the water casks, and the beasts I’d bought to keep us fed for the next piece of voyaging. This they did slower than snails, being all huffy at having to stay.

  I didn’t tarry longer to watch. I left Kinvig to give them a yelling now and then, while Brew and me went off to find some decent charts, just so we’d be able to know which part of Australia we were staring at. Here, at least, we struck some luck. The first ones we saw were nothing less than robbery, being costly as if they’d been drawn with gold, but then we came across a little den of a shop, where I found a fine little map of Van Diemen’s Land—or Tasmania as they were calling it now—that was going for a quarter the price of the rest. It was a touch old, I dare say, having the year 1830 stamped at the top, but there seemed no harm in that. The coastline was clear enough, while any new roads or towns that might have happened inland were pure fuss to Manxmen in a boat. The shopman had another of all Australia, also a touch old, which would be handy too, if just to stop us sailing clean into it by mistake some dark night, and I was able to cog him down nicely and get us a good price for the two together.

  There’s cheer in a bargain and I found my spirits, which had been dropped low by all that free-port cheating, lifted nicely. I even thought we might as well put a little sight of this Africa, seeing as we were here, and so we took a stroll about the town. A skittish sort of place it was, I’d noticed. When we first arrived it had been cold as could be, with a breeze chill enough for any Ramsey January—quite the surprise for this Africa, that was famous for being hot as ovens—but then the wind had swung round northwards and all of a sudden summer had come, bright and hot as you liked. Now we were back to cold once more. Another curiosity was the fatness of the locals. Truly I never did see such a place for fellows carrying their own lard. First I wondered if it was a handy way of keeping themselves warm in this cold wind, as if they’d grown themselves coats on the inside, but then we went to a tavern for a try of some Africa food and there was the answer. Fish we had, but the poor things were half drowned to death in purest grease. When I asked the innkeeper—one of those Dutchman Africans, and as swelled as any of them—he told us proudly that it was best sheep-tail fat. A few months of that would load a man nicely.

  The Indian and bluemen Af
ricans must have been eating something else, being mostly thin as rakes. Quiet these were, too, as if they didn’t want to get themselves too noticed. Nor was this surprising, I dare say, seeing as the Dutchman and Englishman Africans treated them like proper dirts, sneering and yelling at them in a way that wasn’t pretty to watch. Man Island has its portion of snots, for sure—most of them Englishmen or Scotsmen ruined by having some foolish lordly title before their names—but this was seven times worse. This wasn’t just a few old sticks thinking themselves high, but seemed one half of the town scoffing and tormenting at the other.

  Brew was more interested in the shops. ‘‘Have you seen all that mining gear they’re selling?’’ he wondered as we had a peer round one of these, though I could hardly miss it, as there was half a room of the stuff, from bellows and buckets to tents and portable forges. High on the wall behind was a large sign.

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