English passengers

by Matthew Kneale

  The writing, though it appeared to be Nicholas’, was more a scrawl than his usual neat hand, and it was a moment before I could decipher the words. He wrote that someone in Dr. Potter’s lodgings had been taken suddenly ill, and that it might be some time before he could return.

  Returning to bed, I found myself more alarmed even than before. Why was it, I wondered, that this ailment, that he did not trouble to name, took so long to treat? Also why did it require the presence of not one but two doctors? I cursed myself for not having thought to detain the messenger so I might question him further. Thus hours passed and still no sleep came, as I tossed and turned. The dawn broke and I was still wide awake, indeed, when I finally heard the familiar rattle of the carriage returning.

  Nicholas was quite pale as he walked into the room. ‘‘I’m so sorry, Emily. I had no idea it would all take so long.’’

  I knew his looks so well, I knew his every mood, and now, as I watched him, a terrible coldness seemed to creep upon me. I saw it in his eyes, as clear as if he spoke aloud: a lie. All at once, in that briefest terrible instant, everything in the world seemed spoiled, and I could not even say how or why this had happened. To my own surprise my voice sounded still calm. ‘‘Who was it who was taken ill?’’

  ‘‘Some woman staying at Potter’s lodgings.’’

  ‘‘What was the trouble?’’

  ‘‘An infection.’’

  The patient and illness were both far too vague. ‘‘Why did it take so long?’’

  He sensed my suspicion now, and a wary look appeared in his eyes. ‘‘We had to perform a little operation.’’

  ‘‘What sort of operation?’’ I would trap him with detail, even though it would destroy me also.

  ‘‘Does it matter?’’ His voice was growing angry. ‘‘I’m sorry, Emily, but I’m very tired. I’m going to have a wash.’’

  He left the room but he did not escape. Pulling on my dressing gown, I followed. The door to the bathroom was already closed and I could hear his splashing from within. Cook would certainly be listening after a night of such curious goings-on, but I hardly cared. ‘‘Tell me where you were,’’ I demanded in a lowered voice.

  ‘‘I’ve already told you,’’ he answered from within.

  ‘‘You’re lying.’’

  ‘‘For goodness’ sake.’’

  I would not let him hide from me. The lock had never fastened properly, and lifting the door a little, I pushed it open without difficulty. Stepping inside, I found Nicholas had removed his shirt and was stood beside the washing bucket, as he stared at me in surprise. The garment was rolled up in his hand and he was clearly about to plunge it into the water. Darting forward, I grabbed at the thing. For a moment we both tugged, but then he faltered and it was mine.

  ‘‘Emily, what are you doing?’’

  There would be rouge and face powder. There would the smell of cheap perfume, cheap flesh, harlot’s flesh. Most of all there would be the scent of betrayal.

  But, strangely enough, there was none of these. The shirtsleeves were a little marked, brown, with what looked like dried blood. As for smells, I could detect nothing but a faint odour of surgery.

  Colonial Times DECEMBER 1857

  ABOMINABLE INCIDENT AT HOBART Hospital

  REMAINS OF ABORIGINE FEMALE STOLEN

  A MOST DREADFUL and horrific occurrence took place during the early hours of Tuesday morning, when three men made away with the bodily remains of an aborigine female from Hobart Hospital. Suspicions were first aroused when a passerby, Mr. Thomas Perch, who was returning home from the Anchor Tavern, observed two men outside the hospital, who were engaged in placing what appeared to be a human form onto the back of a cart. When he called out to them to stop they did not answer but jumped into the vehicle, while a third man, who was acting as their driver, cracked the reins and drove off at great speed.

  Much alarmed, Mr. Perch alerted the Hobart constabulary and Police Officer Richards was quickly upon the scene. Examining the ground-floor windows of the hospital, he discovered that one of these was partly open and that the surrounds were stained with blood. Climbing into the room within, he found a most awful spectacle, with skin and bodily remains lying in profusion upon the ground, suggesting some terrible murderous struggle had taken place. When the establishment’s principal, Dr. Lionel Gifford, arrived, however, he explained that the room was used for the storage of cadavers, and that the ghastly discoveries almost certainly belonged to an aborigine female by the name of Mary, who had been brought there only two days previously. Further investigations suggested that the intruders had been able to open the room’s window only partially, as it had become jammed with paint, and that they had mutilated the corpse—which was of generous girth—in order to remove it from the room. As to the motives for this bizarre and gruesome theft, it is assumed that the thieves’ interest lay in the female’s skeletal remains. The aborigines of the colony being so greatly reduced, their bones are known to attract the interest of museums and scientific institutions within Europe.

  Mrs. Gerald Denton, the governor’s wife, who had been entertaining all the surviving aborigines at Government House when the woman Mary passed away, and who declares herself a great friend of the unfortunate blacks, expressed her distress and anger at the crime, while her husband insisted that those responsible would be discovered and punished. The location of the woman’s corpse being not common knowledge, there has been speculation that members of the hospital staff may have been involved, and while Dr. Gifford insisted that this was most unlikely, he confirmed that any physician found to be implicated would be dealt with most harshly.

  A full investigation has been promised by Superintendent McBride of the Hobart police. The witness, Mr. Perch, though he saw the thieves only briefly, described the driver as being short but of strong build, while one of those carrying the body was taller and bearded. The third man he did not observe clearly.

  Dr. Thomas Potter DECEMBER 1857

  19th December

  S= worse than useless. Quite panicked at vital moment. Self only managed quiet him with strong slap to cheek. Self had little doubt selves only saved from catastrophe by Hooper’s quick actions on cart. Most alarming. Consequences re discovery = v. serious re own future prospects + also re prospects of notions. Only hope = interloper = some too far away to see selves clearly.

  Endeavoured cast such worries from thoughts. Drove out from Hobart (streets fortunately empty) to quiet area seashore. Built driftwood fire for boiling water, then began, throwing waste into sea. Work = tiring + much slower than self supposed (not helped by S= mewling throughout) so self obliged send Hooper with note to Mrs. S to prevent she falling into panic re his long absence, making enquiries etc. etc. When Hooper returned self had he assist with task. He proved excellent assistant + by end of night he = quite a little surgeon (+ altogether more useful than S). Self growing ever more impressed re his character. He = little educated yet not unintelligent + shows greatest interest re notions, which he understands quite well.

  Finally finished at dawn. Self pleased to see specimen = excellent + far better than those from Flinders, which all = damaged or incomplete. Self even able discern faint yet observable characteristics (lack of firmness + proper fibre etc. etc.: cf. hardy Saxon Type). Also found amulet round carcass’ neck, made from animal skin + containing some form bones. Good instance savage superstition. So hope all may = worth effort, despite all. Had brought storage materials + placed new specimen within these with greatest care. First wrapped larger pieces specimen in cloth. Then rolled all in several blankets for padding. Next put all in cotton bag on which self wrote Type, name, gender etc. etc. Tied amulet to neck of bag. Finally placed in packing case.

  Gave S good scare before sending him home (v. easy): warned he must tell nobody re matter, including even his foolish wife, as = certain to invite disaster for he. Hope + believe he shall do as instructed.

  Reached port 7 a.m. Manx showed little interest as = v. preoccupi
ed re own affairs + self had no difficulty taking specimen aboard Sincerity. Returned to lodgings, washed + took well earned rest.

  20th December

  Weather continuing fine and warm. Purchased copy local newspaper, Colonial Times. Worried to find incident = of much concern from foolish sentimentalists etc. etc., some even in highest positions. Most aggravating. If self once brought specimen to England am sure nobody would care from whence it came. Here, though, matter threatens real difficulty. Fortunately description by interloper = poor.

  Peevay

  DECEMBER 1857

  IN THE MORNING white man MR. FORBES came on his horse, like he did sometimes, to ask if I would work cutting whales again that day for MONEY, and when I told him no, Mother is dead now, you see, he looked surprised and said yes, he was so sorry, he read this in NEWSPAPER. Then he looked down, gravely frowning and told a thing that was interesting: ‘‘I didn’t realize she was your mother. I’m very sorry. I hope they’re caught, whoever they are.’’

  This was some puzzle to confound. So I asked him, ‘‘Who must be caught?’’

  That made him shy, I did observe, but I made him tell, asking every question, one jumping from another, till he said it all, every heinous part. So I learned of hospital room, of watching man, of thieves, who were three, and their CART. I learned of window that would not open, and of skin that got cut. This was some discovering. So it was everything in all the world got changed. All those shootings and chasings and babies dropped in the fire, all that waiting on death islands with sand blowing in your eyes, and getting cheated with God, none of this was so bad, you see, as what they did to Mother. Killing was better, yes, as that is being hateful and afraid, which is some esteem, while this cutting and playing was just a scornful thing, odious as could be. That was making her small, into nothing at all, not even dirt. Truly, I thought I got to the end of white scuts’ badness but no, there was no end I did now surmise.

  Forbes went away, looking worriful, as if he thought I might hate him now, just because he was white like those others who did Mother, which I did a little, yes. So I was alone and my blood ached and I did not know where to go or what to do, as everything was gone bad. I started walking, going towards Oyster Cove, thinking I will see Pagerly and others and talk with them, but what-they-did-to-Mother came with me every step, till I felt shamed, thinking it was all my fault, because I let them take poor Mother away. So I could not after all, as I feared their eyes, and I turned back to cottage. I took and sat outside, watching river and sun going lower, hungry for some quiet thing, but no, it never came, as what-they-did-to-Mother was sitting just beside, so I hardly could perceive any river there. When it got cold, and biting insects hummed, I went inside, but what-they-did-to-Mother got in faster. It was still there when I went to sleep, and in the middle of the night, when all was quiet except for mouses scuffling, suddenly it woke me up and said HERE I AM, as if it was new again.

  It was in this dark that I got my first thought. This was THAT’S WHAT WHITE SCUTS THINK OF OUR ONES. That thinking was just quite small, yes, and only took some briefest instant to complete, but little things can grow, like when wind makes tiny hole in hut’s roof and then blows ever and again, till hole gets wider and wider and suddenly whole roof flies away. So it was. As I lay there in the night my next thought was I WAS A FOOL TO LEARN WHITE SCUTS’ WORDS AND GOD, AS THEY NEVER WERE ANY PISS-POOR USE IN FIGHTING THEM. After, there was I SHOULD HAVE JUST SPEARED SOME AND GOT KILLED WHEN I HAD THE CHANCE. Worst was last, and this was MOTHER WAS RIGHT, I WAS WRONG, AND IT’S ALL MY DOING WE ARE LIKE THIS.

  After I had these different thoughts I got up and went to work. First I lit candles so I could see. Then I took TEAPOT and made it fly like a bird to wall and go in many small brown pieces. Next I broke legs off STOOLS and TABLE and hit these against SHELVES, so they fell down, very loud. After, I put pieces of TABLE and STOOLS, together with BOOK and TOP HAT, all in a big PILE, just beside CURTAINS.

  Finally I took CANDLES and lit PILE, so it became a fire, very beautiful, that burned down COTTAGE.

  When COTTAGE finished burning it was morning. So I sat, smelling ashes smell and watching little smokes climbing up, and I pondered what to do now. It would be blissful to burn more—in fact everything— but rain fell in the night, so I surmised nothing much would catch. Then I thought of killing white scuts—any would do—and though this hardly felt like a real thought, still I walked to Hobart town, as if it might be real after all.

  Streets were hot and dusty that day, I recall, and it was interesting going hither and thither, just me amid these white men, thousands and hundreds, all walking in their hurry, or giving me looks as if I was wrong and this wasn’t my place. So I tried to divine which day the world became theirs, and I thought probably it was when Mother got sick in the forest, and I burned that tree and showed Robson where we were. Yes, yes, I should have just killed him with my spear, and others too, as it would be easy. Now it was too late. Why, if I killed some it would make piss-poor difference, I did surmise, as there will be so many left.

  So I decided to drink RUM. I never drank this till then, no, because I knew it would be my ruination and the end of all enduring. I saw Palawa who did, you see, and it was as if their life got tired and went to sleep, till all that was left inside was getting mad and staggering and wanting more rum. But now I didn’t care about enduring as I just wanted to get finished quick, so rum was correct I could divine. Thus I went to INN. This was interesting, too, as I never looked inside any such before. Sun was shining, making smoke from tobacco pipes a pretty thing, floor was wooden and creaking, and on walls were so many bottles, very beautiful, all different colours. White scuts sitting there looked at me as if I was some humour to amuse, but I never minded, and when man in front of beautiful bottles was suspecting I showed money that I got from cutting whales, and he gave me rum just like I asked, in a glass, small and heavy.

  Rum was my surprise. I thought it would be like juice from cider gum tree, but no, it had no colour and little sweetness and tasted like metal, or some burning thing. It made me cough, so white scuts laughed, and one of them, with a fat belly, shouted, ‘‘Too strong for you, is it, Jack?’’ but I didn’t answer and just drank more, as though it was heinous I wanted to learn it, just like I learned Smith’s LETTERS and SUMS and GOD before. So I began to understand rum. I did suppose it would make me feel happy but no, this was never so. It made me feel NOTHING, and this was great good fortune, too, as NOTHING was just what I was seeking. By and by I got another and then another, as I was hungry to get all the NOTHING in the world. But then I learned this rum was more difficult than I knew, as suddenly I was dizzy and feeling crook, so I had to go away, legs leaning like I was on some ship, and white scuts laughing, and when I got outside I was sick and all my beautiful NOTHING was gone.

  After, I felt so bad and sat by a wall for a time. That was when I grew shamed, and suddenly dying seemed some piss-poor fearful thing, like fleeing in fright, which I never did before. How could I do this when that what-they-did-to-Mother was still here? No, I did divine, dying was not mine to get. Mine was finding poor Mother and giving her fine goodbyes, like she must have. So it was that this became my intent. It was no easy thing, of course. Num white scuts took her so the only way I could find them was to get help from other white scuts, while I didn’t know any except a few, like Forbes and whale-cutting men, who were quite kindly but no usefulness. So I surmised I must try strangers.

  First I washed my face and cleaned my coat where it got dirty from the wall, and then I went to Government House, to see governor, who I supposed was the best one, as he was white men’s chief. Servant told that governor was busy but governor’s wife could see me, which I surmised must do. He took me to some room, very large with flowers here and there, and governor’s wife sitting down on her long chair, red and beautiful. She made female servant get tea and then she got tearful, telling how woeful she was that Mother got stolen so. This gave me hope, yes, but only for
a short time, as when I asked if governor would seek Mother’s stealers she got cross in her tears, saying, ‘‘Dear Gerald’s doing everything he can,’’ as if I supposed he was doing nothing much, though I never said this. Then she told how she felt so woeful about Mother that she was suffering hardship, and could not sleep well in the night, and thus I divined that governor’s wife’s tears were not about Mother after all, but were about governor’s wife, and what a wonder to behold she was getting so sad. See, now she was looking away through her window and telling, ‘‘I’m sorry, Mr. Cromwell, but this terrible thing really is more heinous than I can endure,’’ as if it was her mother, not mine, that got taken and cut. Then she told that I must go and see some fellow called POLICEMAN MCBRIDE, and I knew this meant AWAY NOW, BLACKFELLOW, AS I HAVE OTHER THINGS TO DO.

  Still I went to see policeman McBride, just in hope. I could divine he would be no usefulness just from my long waiting on bench outside, with other policemen yawning or watching as if I was some humour to amuse, and surely enough when I finally got to his room he was more interested in wall behind me than my questionings. ‘‘Try not to get distressed, Mr. Cromwell,’’ he told, ‘‘we’re doing everything we can,’’ but his smile said YOU ARE JUST SOME TROUBLEMAKING FELLOW and WHAT DO I CARE ABOUT SOME OLD BLACK WOMAN’S BONES? He said how policeman who was searching was wondrous clever, but when I asked what this wondrous policeman found till now he said it was ‘‘still too soon,’’ which I surmised meant he found nothing. Finally he told I must see hospital’s chief who was called DR. GIF-FORD, which meant GO AWAY, BLACKFELLOW, just like governor’s wife said before.

  Gifford was old man, very thin, and touching his head with no hair with his finger sometimes, as if he must know in case new hairs were there now. He was angry at once, as if I called him magic words—which I never did—and told that, though what-they-did-to-Mother was too lamentable, still it was nothing to do with him, but just some woeful mischief by mystery strangers. No, Gifford said, his hospital was great good fortune and num there were all tidings of joy, so I must be happy. But I wasn’t happy. In truth I was getting too tired of these white scuts telling me how they were so clever and correct. I wasn’t interested in them, I was interested in Mother.