English passengers

by Matthew Kneale

  All in all it had been a tiring morning. As the Sincerity began her slow progress down the little river, I felt no wish to remain on the deck, where Potter was instructing his new servant as to the shipboard arrangements, which he did in a quite unnecessarily showy fashion, so I retired to the cabin to rest. By the time I returned to the deck the ship was already several miles out to sea and the town was nothing more than a jumble on the shore. It was as I stood thus, wondering how long it would take us to reach Tasmania, that I observed a most curious thing. The crew were engaged in some commonplace adjustment of the sails, but what was far from ordinary was the manner in which this was being performed. Glancing up at the rigging, I saw that where I would have expected to see ten or more men at work, I could count no more five, one of these being the chief mate, Brew, who never normally ventured aloft. More surprising still, when I looked back to the quarterdeck I saw the wheel was not being operated by one of the crew at all, but by the Captain himself

  ‘‘Whatever has happened?’’ I asked him. ‘‘Have some of the crew been taken sick?’’

  ‘‘Not sick.’’ Kewley frowned, seeming quite out of temper. ‘‘We left some behind.’’

  It seemed a most astonishing remark, and far from adequate. ‘‘Whatever do you mean?’’

  He peered past me at the horizon. ‘‘They weren’t needed.’’

  ‘‘Whyever not?’’

  The Captain shrugged. ‘‘The ship carries spare ropes and timbers and canvas, does she not? Well, these were spare crew.’’

  CHAPTER TEN

  Peevay 1831-35

  THE FIRST TIME I heard about the white man’s God, who was called GOD, was when we were walking through the forest with Robson. It was interesting, yes, to have some white man here, so close I could even touch him with my fingers, when before the only num I ever saw before was getting speared or killing us. There he was, Robson, leading the way. He was a little fat, and dirty in his white man’s dead-skin clothes, but laughing as he took us hither and thither, on and again, fast like there was no waiting in him. All the while he would tell us about God.

  ‘‘Who made you?’’ he’d ask, with special watching in his eyes. If I didn’t answer he’d say it for me, looking just a little sad, so I felt like I was some rogue and bad fellow. ‘‘God made you.’’ Even then he wasn’t done. Another few walking steps and he’d start all again: ‘‘Who made you, Peevay?’’ This time I’d answer and quick, just to stop him from getting woeful.

  ‘‘God made me.’’

  That would make him smile.

  Of course, I knew it wasn’t really this fellow God who made us. It was other ones who are secret, like everybody knew. I never did say this to Robson, though, as I didn’t want to grieve him when he was kindly saving us. Besides, those things weren’t for telling to some foreign stranger. Truly Robson’s God was one puzzle to confound. Everybody knew where our real ones were, as they could see them every night shining in the sky, but when I asked Robson where God was, he just said, ‘‘He is everywhere.’’ He even said he was three people, which seemed some grievous mystery to confuse. Also he told that if we didn’t believe God was everywhere, then God would get angry and send us to some piss-poor place to get burnt, which was heinous, I did ponder. Our real ones never did care if you knew they were in the sky. They were just in the sky.

  Except for God, though, those were better days. Three died from coughing sickness, which was a hateful thing, but after this dyings stopped, so most were still alive. Best of all, Mother was, though she was still too weak, needing others to lean on when she walked sometimes, so we must go slowly. Mother did hate Robson still, which was lamentable, and always she wanted us to spear him to death, urging this as often as she asked for water for drinking. Probably she would kill him herself yes, if she was stronger and us others did not watch her carefully, making sure she never got spears.

  The rest of us were pleased with having him, as he was hardly like a num white man at all. His smell was strange, yes, and so were his dead-skin clothes and his ‘‘Who made you?’’ talking, but otherwise he was almost like one of ours. He could speak proper language, and though he made stupid mistakes so it was hard not to laugh, he was the first white scut we ever met who did. He even joined our dancings in the night and played his whistle, which he called FLUTE. He told us he walked two whole summers finding our ones to save, and already he got plenty away to his fine place, where they were safe. Strangest still, when he talked about num he was often angry as piss, as if they were not his ones at all but worst grievous foes. He said they were cruel and hating, with killing in their hearts—which was true—and I pondered this must mean he was ours.

  Yes, I did like Robson in those walking-to-the-sea days, better even than Heedeek, though he was like my old brother. Robson would pat my head—I still was quite small then—and say, ‘‘Hello, little fellow,’’ and by and by I did like to think perhaps there was some great error long before, and he was my real father, which was some blissful thought. I even had dreamings that one day Mother would stop wanting to kill him, and that they would stand side by side and give me their cherishings both together.

  There he was as we walked, now telling us, ‘‘Go faster,’’ now asking, ‘‘What do you call that tree?’’ now laughing loud at some muddy place where he slips, just to show he never minds. All of this to save us. Truly he was tidings of joy. Sometimes I was so pleased I wanted to tell others it was me who made this happen, when I burned the forest so he could find us.

  It was great good fortune that I never did, of course.

  First troubles started at the white men’s town. None of us had ever been into any such till now, except those who were with Robson before, like Cordeve’s sister, and even they seemed fearful as we stood on some hill looking down at those white men’s giant houses, plenty of them.

  ‘‘What if they don’t remember you?’’ asked Heedeek.

  Robson laughed like this was some funniest thing. ‘‘They’ll remember me.’’

  So we walked in. Well, if those white scuts knew Robson they never knew us, and they stood outside their houses watching as if we were some heinous foolishness, though in truth this was not us but them, with their empty hating eyes and voices screaming like birds. Even Robson looked fearing then, I did observe, and I was glad when we got into a big house made from rocks, whose name was GAOL, where we could be away from those staring buggers. Robson did not stay, leaving us with other num we didn’t know, but he did return by and by, looking so pleased, and that was when he said his strange thing.

  ‘‘You must stay here some more days, I’m sorry, as the ship’s not quite ready.’’

  The strangeness, which we did all observe, was that YOU’LL. Where was WE’LL? I did ponder. Heedeek asked at once, ‘‘Aren’t you going with us?’’

  ‘‘But of course I can’t.’’ Robson looked at us as if we were some puzzle to confound not to know this already. ‘‘There are all your brothers and sisters still to be rescued, plenty of them.’’ Then he gave us his kindly look. ‘‘Don’t worry. I’ll come back as soon as I’m able. Then we’ll have tidings of joy.’’

  So he went away, which was troubling, especially in that num town. There was nothing we could do, though, as our room, which had walls like thin sticks, was strong and the door would not open. Besides, that place with its staring scuts was too fearsome to walk through without spears ready. So we stayed for some days in that house named gaol, eating white men’s heinous food, which was hard biscuits and old meat that was salty like seawater, and by and by we pondered if Robson had just tricked us all, ready for killing, though this was so terrible a thinking that nobody spoke it except Mother, who said it often.

  Finally other white men came whose name was SOLDIERS, all coloured red and carrying one gun, and they took us past the shouting white scuts to a large white men’s boat like I had seen sometimes far away on the sea, that had huge skins to catch the wind. It was fast, that boat, and by and by we w
ere far from the land so we hardly could see it anymore. The boat’s white men had guns, plenty of them, and they stared at us like enemies, so we did wonder if this was some trick still, and if they would come quietly in the night to kill us, and then throw us into the sea so nobody ever would know. We did keep watchful. In the end, of course, that boat was no trick at all, and nobody came in the night. Those white men never did any killing to us, just climbing up high to move the huge skins bigger or smaller. No, the cheating trick was ISLAND where we went.

  Truly, that was one woeful thing, hateful to behold. I knew most num were bad scuts better speared dead, yes, but I never did think Robson would tell us piss-awful falsehoods. Robson, who said he was our friend and even spoke to us in our own talking to make us love him. Didn’t he say we’d go to a fine land? As soon as I saw ISLAND I discerned it was much too small, with only one hill, like it was no place at all. There could be no room for kangaroo to hunt there, or rivers to cross, I did surmise, nor even just walking, which is almost the first thing for being alive. As boat went round I saw a place with huts that was crowded with our ones, more than I ever did see before. Then we got put in a small boat with sticks to push it, and as we stepped onto land our ones watched us like we were some most interesting thing, and their eyes were empty, while even those who knew us from before were quiet in their greetings. So I did guess the whole truth. This was some dying place.

  Soldiers took us across, windy sand jumping in my eyes, to meet their chief, whose name was SERGEANT WILKES. He looked old and hating like he had poison in his blood, and was holding one dog animal, very small, so it was like some rat. Sergeant Wilkes never even greeted us hello, but just told soldiers to take us to huts with dirty smell in them. All the while soldiers stared at our women like they were just fresh new food for tasting.

  Truly there is nothing more hateful than feeling cheated to death. Worst of all it was me who let Robson find us in the forest, and I did revere him, even till I dreamed him as my own father. Robson, whose name was now FAT SCUT ROBSON. Robson, who was back in the world right now, seeking more of our ones to catch and bring to this heinous dying place. Robson, who I could not even tell to him, YOU ARE SOME LYING BUGGER.

  Every one of us of Mother’s tribe wanted to go away that day, that very hour, as even being chased and killed was much better than this place, where there was nothing to do but sit and wait for more heinous white men’s food, or watch others to guess who got coughing sickness next.

  ‘‘I told you we should spear him,’’ told Mother, who was pleased by our sad lamentings, as this meant she was right. Mother always loved being right. ‘‘You should’ve listened to me when you had the chance.’’

  That great good fortune about Mother, though, was that she never did despair. No, our new ruination even seemed to make her stronger. When we were woeful and deploring I could see from her eyes that she was already thinking up some new intent. Sure enough, as soon as she was strong again she started going into huts of others who spoke our language, for secret talkings. Several times I asked what was her design, though she would not tell me one word.

  ‘‘White scuts are your friends,’’ she would taunt. ‘‘Go and talk to them.’’

  But it was my craving to join, as after Robson’s cheating falsehoods it was some heartfelt desire deep inside my breast to spear that Sergeant Wilkes with his poison eyes, and any of the other white scuts besides. Yes, I dreamed, do those pissers and be away from this place.

  It was Heedeek who made her let me join after all. ‘‘I need Peevay’s help,’’ he said, though really this was just talking.

  Mother scowled and said, ‘‘If he ruins us then it’ll be your fault,’’ but she did permit me. So I learned who was with Mother of our ones—or Palawa as we named ourselves now—and it was plenty of us, as almost everyone she asked did join. Some were hateful of this dying place, others were angry at soldiers and their lustful appetites, as they were always trying to lure our women into their huts with food, or even just pushing them within when Sergeant Wilkes did not see. That was heinous.

  Next day Heedeek took me and some others over to other side of the island and I saw how Mother’s intent would go. Some others were there already, making spears round a secret fire, put where the wind was blowing away from soldiers and Sergeant Wilkes, so they never would smell smoke. So I started making spears too. Later when the sun was low we buried fire’s ashes in sand so there were no signs and came back towards the settlement, holding spears close by our legs so white scuts would not see. Then we put them in a secret place hidden by bushes, where there were already others, plenty of them. Heedeek told that when the next boat came, with more num heinous food, we would have enough spears ready, and could go out quietly in the dark and kill those white pissers, every one. After, we would take their boat and go back to the world again.

  Of course the trouble with a hidden intention is that it is fragile like some old dry stick, and just one mishap can snap it broken.

  Next afternoon was hot. Soldiers were in their huts, playing with flat painted cards which made them shout loud. Of ours, some were on the other side making secret spears like usual, but Mother said we must not go too many all at once, as we would get observed, and it was my day for staying. So I sat in that dirty hut by and by, throwing some stone at the wall or making dreamings of myself as a brave hero who saved Mother from twenty white scuts with guns. Flies buzzed there, making shapes like sticks in their flyings, and by and by I lost that throwing stone and even my dreamings got tired, so sometimes I got shot or Mother speared me. Finally I got angry with that hut and so I went out and walked up that little hill behind, so I was nearer the fire for making spears, which was exciting to ponder. I was still in that place when Sergeant Wilkes came walking with his dog animal.

  This was usual, yes, as he walked with that dog many times every day. He did love that dog animal, which he called FERNANDO, and all of his cherishings went right into it, as he hated us and he hated his soldiers too, shouting at them often. Why he loved that dog was some mystery to confound, as it was too small like a rat and always barking, or feigning to be dangerous, even just at doors banging in the wind. Us Palawa ones never called him Fernando, but MOUSE TURD, and we would kick him too except that Sergeant Wilkes might see. There he was as I watched from the little hill, back and forth, running hither and thither, barking at flowers.

  This I did not mind. No, what I minded was where these hithers and thithers were going. All of a sudden he was very near that secret place, with Sergeant Wilkes walking after. That was some worrisome thing. Now he stopped just near, raising leg for pissing. Now he was running back to some other spot for growling at sand, which was quite fine, but tidings of joy were short, as now he was running back, for sniffing where he pissed just before. Worse, now he went further, right to secret bushes themselves. So my heart went pounding deep inside my breast and I hardly could look. Sergeant Wilkes stood waiting, very patient, as Mouse Turd had his shittings right on that very place, on our clean spears. But even this would be all right if he just stopped then, but next he was sticking his arse into leaves for scratchings. Then suddenly I heard that yowl, and Sergeant Wilkes was stooping, peering, then reaching down. All at once he was looking raging and hurrying back to the huts, shouting to soldiers.

  I just had enough time to go and wave to those by the fire to get away. Still it was one lamentable misfortune. Sergeant Wilkes made all us stand still for a longest time in front of huts, with soldiers pointing guns at our eyes, and him calling us MURDERING SAVAGES or DIRTY CHEATING BLACKS. After, we must watch as spears that we made so carefully were all put together in some pile and burned. Then Sergeant Wilkes walked very near, staring at our faces for a long time, and asking, ‘‘Which of you is the leader of this?’’

  I suppose he thought we would all say nothing but he was wrong. Mother stepped towards him straightaway, looking like she never cared, and saying, ‘‘Me, you bugger,’’ in words of his own white men’s
language.

  That made him turn redder colour with hating, and next he made four soldiers take her to the shore, touching her bubbies and cheeks as they went, so she tried to hit them, and they pushed her in the small boat, very hard, so I could see her leg was hurt, though she never shouted. That was too hateful and I wished I could run out and spear every one of those scuts, dead and dead and dead, like in my dreams in the hut. Afterwards Sergeant Wilkes chose four other of ours to put with her, though one wasn’t part of Mother’s intent at all but just talked to her sometimes. That was mournful watching boat go away, and pondering they would shoot her and throw her in the sea. What they did was almost worse. When the boat was far, so its skin to catch the wind looked small like some leaf, it reached a big rock that I did notice before sometimes, and that was all alone with no trees or any other thing. That was where Mother and others got put. It was a saddest thing to see them there after the boat left them, looking like tiniest crawling creatures, too far almost to see us wave, though we waved still. That did grieve me and give me woeful feelings deep inside my breast.

  That next day Sergeant Wilkes was as if he just forgot them. He never looked towards the sea at all but just shouted at his soldiers, making them walk and stand and twitch with their guns, ever and again. All the while we were watching that rock, hot in the sun. Finally Heedeek and some others went to ask Sergeant Wilkes to fetch them back but he just got angry and shouted that they must go away or they would get put on that rock too. So all day passed, which was mournful. Now I knew Sergeant Wilkes just wanted them killed in this slow, hating way. Being shot was better, yes, I did surmise. They would be dead, too, except that same next morning the boat came from the world with more white men’s heinous food. It stopped by Mother’s rock, I suppose thinking there must be some accident, and dropped a boat to get them up. When it reached us and Mother and those others were back, Sergeant Wilkes said nothing, but he looked hateful. Poor Mother and those others could hardly walk, being cut like they fell down rocks, eyes huge and closed, skin all broken from sun, and mouths heinous with white stuff from having no water.