English passengers

by Matthew Kneale

  More troublesome still was the question of a guide. I knew from the start that this would be a cause of difficulty, the interior of the island being all but unknown, and yet I had hoped that there might be somebody who, if he had not traversed the western wilderness, would at least have ventured a little about its fringes. It was not to be. The few men who answered my advertisements all proved to be charlatans, while my new tradesmen friends informed me that the only significant exploration of that part of the colony had taken place more than twenty years previously, and that the government officer who had undertaken it—a man named Robson—was now living comfortably in England, while even he had rarely strayed from the coast. It seemed this was indeed Terra Incognita. Accepting that there was little more that could be done, I resolved to cast the matter from my mind, and rely upon the benevolence of Him whose will this expedition was intended to serve. If there was no one to guide us, then I would simply have to guide us myself.

  Days passed and several times I found myself taken aback by the sight of a gaudy shop display, or by an overheard conversation concerning methods of cooking geese that reminded me that this was December. A spell of unusually hot weather caused the streets of Hobart to shimmer and the men and beasts that travelled them to slow and sag in discomfort, so it was hard to believe that thousands of miles distant—and quite beneath my very feet—Englishmen were lost in midwinter darkness, struggling to keep themselves warm against the elements, as they made their seasonal purchases. I was not so remiss, however, as to forget the governor’s approaching party. This was an event to which I had been greatly looking forward, indeed, if only as an opportunity to further the interests of the expedition.

  Even as we approached Government House I could see, from the large number of guests arriving, that it was a most grand affair, and sure enough, when I entered the garden it seemed as if all Hobart society was assembled before me, every one of them quite splendidly attired, despite the day’s warmth. At the centre of the throng stood a group of singers, red of face as they stolidly braved the sun, who regaled the guests with carols, while behind them a mighty tree, of some curious local variety, had been prettily decorated with candles and angels. Tea was to be found in abundance, and fine cakes too. The only element that might have seemed a little lacking, indeed, was a sense of the spiritual. Though Christmas was still a few days distant it was the true reason we were gathered thus, and, while I learned that a little Nativity drama was to be staged, it would have been pleasing to have a few words spoken, to remind us of the importance of the approaching feast day. It being the purpose of our expedition to discover a Christian significance for this wild land, I would even have been prepared to offer a little discourse myself had such a thing been suggested.

  Such thoughts did not of course prevent me from cheerfully entering into the occasion. I wasted no time but endeavoured, with patient perseverance, to press my way through the throng assembled about the governor, that I might offer my greetings. He in turn displayed his usual graciousness, introducing me to several eminent Tasmanians before taking himself away to attend to further duties of hospitality. Thus I found myself conversing with a government servant concerned with tax collection, the owner of Hobart’s leading purveyor of ladies’ undergarments and the colony’s foremost offal merchant. All, I was delighted to find, were greatly interested in my expedition.

  ‘‘It’s just what the colony needs,’’ the offal merchant declared, with a prophetic air. ‘‘We want to catch a few eyes right now, to pull us from these doldrums.’’

  ‘‘If anything is found, that is,’’ added the shop owner more cautiously.

  ‘‘You may have every confidence of that,’’ I informed him cheerfully.

  ‘‘I would hardly have come all this way if I did not believe we will find success.’’

  It was then that my glance lit upon a most curious-looking party passing behind them along the edge of the lawn. The group, which was being led by none other than the governor’s charming wife, was composed of black aborigines, a dozen or so in number. Their presence seemed all the stranger as they appeared to have little connection with the event occurring all about them: as I watched, they vanished behind a row of large plants in pots. I had heard that a very few of the native race of the island still survived; even so their presence seemed more than a little mysterious.

  ‘‘There’d be visitors aplenty, that’s certain,’’ continued the offal merchant. ‘‘Why, we’d be a place of pilgrimage! A new Holy Land. That’d help trade, for sure.’’

  All at once there occurred to me a most wondrous thought. We needed a guide. What if we were to employ one of these aborigines? I found myself recalling to mind North American Indians who were used by Europeans to help in their explorations of that vast continent. I was surprised, in truth, that I had not thought of it before. Though most of the aboriginal party had looked unsuitable for such work, comprising females advanced in their years, I had observed at least one able-bodied male.

  I began making my excuses to my three new acquaintances. It was just as I was setting forth through the crowd that I noticed, with some annoyance, that Potter—who had been loudly conversing with a party of doctors—was doing just the same.

  Peevay DECEMBER 1857

  TWO CARRIAGES WENT to Oyster Cove to get our ones, stopping at my COTTAGE to get me too. On their roof sat num COACHMEN and also SUPERINTENDENT ELDRIDGE with his cheating eyes. Those two carriages were too small for us, yes, so I hardly could get inside and that was a heinous journey. Finally we arrived and I could get air to breathe, and governor’s wife came hurrying, smiling too much, and saying, ‘‘Ah, dearest Eldridge, ah, dearest blackfellows, how fine to see you.’’ Then she was looking round us into carriage to see. ‘‘Did you bring crafts and spears like I asked?’’

  Pagerly told me that Eldridge said we must do these for her, but still nobody did, so I answered, ‘‘We don’t make those things anymore.’’

  This made her frowning in her smile as if I was hateful. ‘‘That is a pity.’’ Then she made us wait a long time outside the door while servants went to find some other white scut called JABLONG, who she told was our happy surprise, but servants never could find him, so her mouth went thin like she ate something bad, and she said we must go into garden. I never went to a num PARTY before and it was a little interesting. This was for Jesus getting born, whose name is CHRISTMAS, and it had singers—looking red and crook in that sun—and also CHRISTMAS TREE, which had candles and shiny stuff as if it was wearing clothes. Mostly, though, party was just white men, plenty of them, all talking loud and smelling hot in their many shirts and jackets and giant dresses and so, some drinking tea if they got any. When they saw us they gave their looks like always, some hating, some laughing, some just watching. Yes, already I wished I never let Pagerly make me come here. It was just fruitless, besides, as I never would end hatings with Mother like she said. Mother was in my same carriage when I came, you see, and I observed she never even looked hello when I came inside, but just stayed watching through her window at any other things.

  Still, it was too late now. Governor’s wife and Eldridge took us to a table which was hidden behind plants, and in truth this was better, as it meant white scuts couldn’t give us more looks. BENCHES were there for sitting, and CAKES and CUPS on the table. Governor’s wife stayed standing, looking as if she was eager to go to some other place right this instant, and she sent another servant to find our surprise, Jablong. We sat down and Mother started eating with hungry craving, so I surmised this was the reason she came, and not anything told by Pagerly about ending hatings with me. Mother always did dearly adore cakes, you see, and she said they were the only good thing about white scuts. Then, just as other servants with grey face like dirty water brought tea in TEAPOTS, bushes moved and here came a tall thin white man, nobody I ever saw before, with his small head and too much smile.

  ‘‘Mr. Wilson,’’ said governor’s wife, looking like she was trying to tell him good
bye. ‘‘What a fine surprise.’’

  Looking at this Wilson, who was a vicar, I did recollect Smith and Robson from our slow-dying island days. Yes, he feigned his eyes kindly, just like they did. From his twitching I divined he had some greedy wanting from us really, though it was hard to think of anything we had, unless he desired spears and so, like governor’s wife. Other one, Potter, was heavier like a fighter, with red hair and beard.

  ‘‘I wonder if I might be introduced to your charming guests,’’ was Wilson’s desire. Thus Eldridge must tell him all our white men’s names so Wilson could give us each his little smile, as if we were smallest children, which I hated very much. ‘‘The fact is I have some questions I want to ask.’’

  Now red beard Potter started too. ‘‘As do I.’’

  Governor’s wife gave her hating smile. ‘‘I must tell you that I am expecting Mr. Jablong any moment.’’

  So it seemed all these white scuts wanted us now, which was some puzzle to confound, as for years they just wanted to forget us. Vicar Wilson asked to know if we were from the world, which seemed just some foolishness and no mystery to conceal, as where else could we come from? When I answered, ‘‘Yes, of course we do,’’ d’you know he was pleased as if this was his greatest good fortune, and his hands went clap as if he was trying to get some small fly, which was praying, like Robson and Smith often did. ‘‘Thank thee, Lord, for this tiding of joy,’’ he told God, his face all blissful. ‘‘Mr. Cromwell, I must tell you that we are going to that western wilderness. My wish, you see, is to discover Garden of Eden there.’’

  This was most curious of all. Yes, num will think any demented thing if they desire, so I knew, but still this was some great puzzle to confuse. I knew Genesis, IN THE BEGINNING GOD CREATED THE HEAVEN AND THE EARTH, and so and so, but this was nothing of ours.

  The one who was interested of our ones was Mother, which was strange too. ‘‘Who is Eden?’’ she asked. Mother didn’t know any Bible things, as she never would go to Robson’s school.

  Vicar Wilson gave her a look as if she was just some humour to amuse, and was going to give his answer but I hated him making her his joke, so I was swifter. ‘‘Eden is not a man. Eden is a place. Eden Garden was made by white men’s God long, long ago, to put two white men inside, till he got hateful and made them eat special fruit and go away.’’

  Vicar Wilson smiled at me as if I was his best joke now. ‘‘That is a most unusual account.’’

  Now Mother was laughing her loud laugh. ‘‘But this cannot be. You say God made Eden Garden long ago? Well, everybody knows God never came here till you white men brought him in your boats.’’

  ‘‘God was here before us,’’ Vicar Wilson told her in his cleverness. ‘‘You see, God is everywhere, and always was.’’

  It was a mystery to confound why Mother was so interested. Now she got PIPE and TOBACCO from her pocket, for smoking, which was a thinking thing with her. ‘‘He is everywhere?’’

  Wilson was surprised by her pipe, but he smiled still. I could see he never surmised Mother at all. ‘‘Everywhere. God is in sky and deepest places of the sea. He is in mountains and trees. He is in birds and animals and fishes too. Most of all, he is in us.’’

  Mother lit her pipe. ‘‘Then he is in you?’’

  This he liked very much. ‘‘Of course. And he is in every one of you too.’’

  Mother gave her dangerous look. I suppose I divined she must do something heinous soon. ‘‘And he is everywhere inside you?’’

  Wilson nodded. ‘‘Most certainly.’’

  ‘‘So he must be in your dirty stinking arse, Vicar? Poor old bugger God, isn’t he, stuck inside there?’’

  ‘‘Mary!’’ shouted Commandant Eldridge, but it was too late. Vicar Wilson was strange. First he went staring, eyes wide as if they might go pop, but then he put his chin in the air and tried to smile, as if Mother never said anything bad after all but just kindly words. Of course his blinking, quick quick quick, told everything. Governor’s wife went just white in her face, as if she might get sick soon. In truth they were funnier than Mother’s saying her magic words, and it was them made me laugh.

  So a strange thing happened. Mother heard my laughing and now she looked at me, which was the first time that day. Then she smiled. This was sudden, almost as if it was just some mishap she never did intend, but still it was interesting to me, because it was the first smile I got from her in all those many years. D’you know I think it was the first even since I burned those spears she made to kill Robson, when governor came to our dying island, all those many summers before. I was so surprised that I smiled too. So it was I felt as if some hateful ache stopped, at long last.

  The only num who looked like he never cared about Mother’s words was red beard Potter, who looked as if he was quite pleased. ‘‘Could one of you tell me,’’ he asked, rude in his voice, ‘‘how long is it that your females carry babies in their bellies? Also do you know what a number is?’’

  These were stupidest questions, and some impudence, too. He never got any answer, though, even just scornings, as then another num stranger came. This one looked cross as if ants bit him, and was carrying a thing I never saw before, which was a box made from wood with a blanket on top. Now he put it on the ground so it stood on its long legs like sticks.

  ‘‘At last,’’ said governor’s wife, as if someone gave her food after she was hungry for days and days. ‘‘Mr. Jablong has brought a special machine to make lovely pictures of you all. Isn’t that splendid?’’

  Pictures? I didn’t know if this was splendid at all. Mother was quickest, though. ‘‘You never told us this before.’’

  ‘‘But how could I?’’ answered governor’s wife with her laugh. ‘‘I never met you till today.’’

  That was just tricks. All at once I saw my road, and it was a fine road, too. So I got up from my place on the bench and sat next to Mother. Thus it was we were two. ‘‘Why d’you want pictures of us?’’ I asked.

  Governor’s wife gave me her hating smile. ‘‘I thought it would be pleasing to you. Just wait and see. It will be your delight how beautiful pictures are.’’

  Mother hit her pipe on the table, very loud. ‘‘I won’t do it.’’

  ‘‘I won’t either,’’ I said with her. Then we looked at Pagerly and others of ours to say YOU MUSTN’T EITHER. That made governor’s wife wrathful, and she told how Jablong’s box wouldn’t hurt us, so we must. Eldridge helped her, yes, to try and get her cherishings, and in the end she could make three of ours say yes, which was sad, but at least was not many. So Jablong, who spoke num words strangely, like they went through his nose, got chairs for those three to sit on, which he put in front of STATUE, which was of white scut baby jumping and holding SWORD.

  ‘‘But I never finished talking to you, Cromwell,’’ said Vicar Wilson now. He was still raging at Mother’s magic words, I could observe, but he feigned he was joyous, so I surmised he was pulled both ways, like some dog animal that desires to steal meat from the fire though it is too burning to touch. ‘‘You see, it is my fine hope that you might be willing to join our expedition, as our guide.’’ So this was his wishfulness. He wanted me to show them the world. They would need it, too, I divined, being just num strangers, who would get lost or bitten by black snakes. Yes, that was why he came to see us so eager.

  Red Beard made a sneering look as if they were foes. ‘‘D’you really think that’s a good idea, Vicar?’’

  Wilson never looked at him. ‘‘Well, Cromwell?’’

  Why should I? They should never go there, to the world, which was ours, not theirs. Truly it was hateful to think of them stepping there with their big shoes and greedy eyes, in our own places, with secret names and stories. ‘‘No, I won’t do that.’’

  So Mother gave me another smile, which was many that day.

  Vicar Wilson looked surprised, as if this was a thing he hardly could comprehend. ‘‘You’d be paid money. You’d have food, plenty
of it, and some comfortable sleeping place.’’

  ‘‘I still won’t go.’’

  He would not stop. ‘‘Please think about it later. Also tell me this. Do you recall ever seeing some strange stones or mountains, different from any others? They might be very pale, or shining.’’

  I would not help him even if I could. ‘‘Nothing like that.’’

  ‘‘Do try, Cromwell. Think carefully.’’

  But now Jablong was ready with his picture-making box, which was pointing at our three ones sitting on chairs, and holding pipes on their knees, which governor’s wife said they must, as it looked so pleasing. ‘‘Ready,’’ he said, and he hid his head under box’s blanket. That was when I discerned a curious thing. Mother was standing just beside him, watching, very interested, even though she said just before she hated his toil.

  ‘‘Now smile,’’ said Jablong from under his blanket.

  All at once Mother reached out her arm towards the picture-making box. So I divined her great intent, which was so bold. I never did guess, though, what other thing would occur, which was the most woeful, heinous and terrible one of all.

  Mrs. Gerald Denton, Wife of the Governor of Tasmania

  DECEMBER 1857

  HOW RIGHT GERALD had been. From the very moment the half-caste Cromwell arrived he brought a malevolent influence to the gathering. To make matters worse, the rest of his party—the true aborigines—seemed greatly under his sway, none more so than his mother, Mary. Hardly had they taken their places for tea when he induced her to insult poor Mr. Wilson, the exploring churchman, who had come only to pay his respects. As if this were not already enough, when Monsieur Jablon, the daguerreotyper, finally arrived (offering no apology for his lateness beyond an infuriating Gallic shrug), Cromwell immediately sought to play upon the other blacks’ timidity and persuade them from having their likeness taken. All the while he cast me accusing looks, quite as if I were seeking to gain some advantage from the exercise, though my only wish had been to perform some small kindness towards his fellows: it being only too evident that their days were sadly limited, I had felt it was nothing less than my duty to try and preserve some touching remembrance of this most unhappy race, before it was too late.