English passengers

by Matthew Kneale

  That was a woeful moment. I went outside, sun low but warm still, and I walked, going nowhere, and feeling I was some foolish ruination. Didn’t I ever learn anything? White men never would help some black-fellow against other white men. They never did before and they never would. Why, they had all the world now and could keep any mystery to confound they wanted, being like a wall, some parts hating, some parts lazy, but all hiding other white scuts’ heinousness. Even kinder ones, like Forbes and whale-cutting men, never would help me against their ones.

  It was thinking of Forbes made me ponder. So I recollected him that morning before, coming to my cottage to ask if I wanted to do work, and giving his heinous news. Didn’t he say he knew it from story told by NEWSPAPER? I only looked at newspaper once and it seemed just white men’s stuff but now I supposed it was mine, too. Also newspapers were many, so they couldn’t be hidden, while I surmised white scuts never cared what was in them, as they didn’t think our ones never would see. So I asked stranger num till they pointed to house of COLONIAL TIMES.

  This was just rooms, quite dusty, with so many shelves going high up the walls. Just one white man was there and he wondered at me, but finally he went into another room and got that newspaper, showing me PAGE that told Mother’s woefulness. So he watched, too surprised, as I sat and read, which num supposed was too clever for our ones. Page was hateful, yes, as I could see newspaper never cared about Mother at all, as if her cutting was their joke, but still it was useful, and better than I hoped. Fruitful things were as follows. First, that some DOCTOR did it, almost sure. Second, about watching man, THOMAS PERCH, and fellows he saw, who were driver, short but strong, and other, tall with beard. This gave me ponderings, yes, but still it was not enough. So I decided I must go to watching man’s inn, that newspaper told me was called ANCHOR TAVERN.

  Anchor Tavern was loud with white men’s singing because tomorrow was CHRISTMAS, but though barman was suspecting, by and by he answered yes, watching man Thomas Perch is here, and he pointed to small fellow with foolish face sitting by window. So I asked him if there was anything he saw that NEWSPAPER never told. He scratched his arm, not sure if he should answer, but then he said yes, he could recollect some such. First he said cart was yellow, which I hardly cared about. Then he told me something that was interesting. In truth I did wonder this already. After all, who was there when poor Mother died, and said she must get taken to hospital?

  Thomas Perch said taller man’s beard was a RED BEARD.

  Dr. Thomas Potter

  DECEMBER 1857

  25th December

  Self just dressing for lodging house Christmas dinner when heard Wilson loudly shouting, ‘‘Praise be to God,’’ ‘‘Let us thank the Lord,’’ etc. etc. Self supposed = he merely sermonizing re Christmas, but when stepped into sitting room found he = with half-caste aborigine (name: Cromwell) who = at gov’s tea party. Self at once saw trouble. Surely enough Wilson excitedly explaining that half-caste had changed his mind + now = willing be our guide.

  Self considered this = entirely absurd. He not even pure aborigine, i.e. primitive nature further corrupted by conflicting influence of opposed Types (estimate development in womb arrested after approx. twenty-eight weeks, i.e. eleven fewer than Saxon, two fewer even than other blacks). Analytical faculty = entirely absent. Beyond all understanding to place selves in such hands. Before self could object half-caste asking (in v. primitive English) if self knew anything re theft of body of aborigine Mary, saying she = his mother. Regarded self with strangest look: searching + malevolent. Confess this caused self momentary unease. Self stoutly insisted had no knowledge re matter, then struck back, questioning Wilson as to whether = wise to engage guide at this late stage, suggesting this may = great strain upon stores etc. etc. (half-caste scowling). Wilson = wholly deaf to reason as per usual: insisting = of greatest significance that half-caste appearing on Christmas Day, as this means he = ‘‘gift of God,’’ ‘‘sign of divine blessing,’’ etc. etc.

  Afterwards, however, self reconsidered. Considered own alarm re half-caste’s accusing look = wholly irrational as = quite impossible that he possesses logical faculty required to reach such conclusion. Must merely = some random instance of his barbaric behaviour. If his guidance = deplorable (as self = sure it shall) this will = poor reflection on Wilson, not self.

  Self now see his employment could = of some usefulness as he certain to provide v. interesting study re notions. May even lead self to further specimens in wilderness.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The Reverend Geoffrey Wilson

  JANUARY 1858

  FINALLY, ON THIS the third day of the new year 1858—a date that would, I had no doubt, be well remembered in future ages—our expedition was ready to depart. What joy was within me as I climbed into the saddle and gave out a cheery shout of ‘‘Away!’’ What wonder I felt as my call was answered with a mighty creaking of packs and the sound of two hundred hooves ringing out, as this Christian venture, of which I humbly found myself leader, bravely set forth upon its way.

  Our departure from Hobart was, I confess, a little restrained. I had made no secret of the day and time, and expected quite a crowd would be gathered to bid us farewell, but it seemed the earliness of the hour—I had been determined to make a prompt start—was too much for these lazy Tasmanians. The only people to be seen through the morning darkness, indeed, were a group of fisherman, who seemed mostly concerned with carrying their catch onto the quay, and also a couple of tavern drinkers still remaining from the night before, whose attentions, in truth, we could happily have done without. As we passed through the city streets, however, I was pleased to see our great party was the source of no little interest, causing curtains to twitch and faces to stare out in surprise.

  Before long we left the town behind and had conquered our first mile, then our second, our fifth, and the early morning sun was rising above the Derwent River—already I could think of this only as the Ghe Pyrrenne, or Euphrates—that stretched away to our right, so broad and majestic. The land was rich with farmhouses, and often their inhabitants would step forth to ask who we might be, and whither we were journeying. What looks of amazement appeared upon their faces when I answered with a cheerful shout, ‘‘We are going to find the Garden of Eden.’’

  Having never taken part in any such enterprise till now, I must confess to being agreeably surprised by the swiftness with which I found I became accustomed to rough travelling ways, as, after only a few days, I felt quite as suited to this outdoors life as any native aborigine. In the morning I would wake with the dawn and wait, with an explorer’s patience, as the mule drivers brought the fire to life, so they might prepare a rude breakfast of sugared tea, porridge, biscuits and freshly cooked eggs. As soon as they had cleaned the cooking pots, taken down the tents and packed all away, I would climb into the saddle and lead us fearlessly forth once again. Soon after midday we would stop for the very simplest of meals, this being little more than bread, potted ham or beef and perhaps a few pieces of sugared fruit, and at four we halt again, so we might endeavour to restore ourselves with biscuits and cold tea. Finally, after still more miles had been dispatched, we would choose a place to make camp—hardly caring how wild and remote it was—and, in a triumph of weary limbs, I would sit with my colleagues about our sturdy portable dining table and await a well-earned dinner, composed of boiled rice and Aberdeen hotchpotch or preserved salmon. Renshaw and Potter would quite insist on completing the day with a glass of brandy, and though, needless to say, I took none, I saw no harm in making a little allowance in such circumstances.

  A matter on which I was less inclined to show leniency was that of our devotions. Ours being a Christian expedition, it was essential that it should be conducted in a properly Christian spirit, and yet, to my distress, I found that the others showed a lamentable reluctance in this respect. As we walked, I would often break into a rousing hymn, to voice my faith and also to speed us upon our way, only find myself answered with a mo
st ragged and dismal reply from the rest.

  More troubling still was the question of our worship. I had, from the very first, endeavoured to arrange an orderly spiritual routine for each day. I conducted a full gathering for prayers before breakfast, as well as after the midday meal, following afternoon tea and also upon any occasion when a short rest was taken from our walking—perhaps after an especially steep ascent—while a lengthier outdoors service was held each evening once we had made camp. These arrangements seemed exactly as was fitting, and it was distressing indeed to observe the hesitancy with which they were regarded by the other members of the party. I was obliged to rebuke the six mule drivers with regularity for their habit of suddenly vanishing away to perform some chore at the very moment when I was about to begin our evening service. Renshaw I had to censure for, among other things, continuing to eat his eggs during morning prayers. The worst of all, however, was Dr. Potter, whose undisguised yawns during morning prayers (despite my reproving looks) were so frequent that they seemed nothing if not deliberate.

  Another source of dissatisfaction was our native guide, Mr. Cromwell. I had had no great expectations as to this man’s sense of godliness, seeing as he was partly of native stock, but I had supposed he would prove of usefulness to the expedition. Sad to say this was far from the case, and as days passed, he grew ever stranger in his behaviour. From almost the first he quite refused his sleeping quarters—though his tent was easily large enough to accommodate him and two mule drivers in comfort—and insisted on passing his nights in the open air, upon a kind of dreadful nest of branches and leaves. Next, as we progressed further, he became fussy as to his food, quite refusing to join us in our hearty meals, in favour of sustenance of his own discovery, though this could hardly have been less appetizing. I would sometimes observe him digging some mud-covered root from the ground, which he would scrape clean and devour there and then, raw though it was, while in the evenings he would often make himself a fearsome-looking spear or two and then vanish, returning later with some ghastly native rat or ferret, which he would cheerfully skin and cook for himself upon the fire.

  If this were not already worrying enough, there was the matter of his attire. The way being sometimes thorny, especially going down to the river to wash or gather water, all our clothes began to suffer a little, but while the rest of us endeavoured to repair them as best we could, our guide seemed wholly untroubled if his shirt became reduced to merest rags. Worse still, as days passed, I observed he acquired a curious odour— something like old meat—and had a faintly gleaming appearance, all of which mysteries became unhappily clear when Renshaw reported seeing him smear himself with fat from one of the animals he had speared. Though I rebuked him strongly he was quite unrepentant, claiming the substance kept him warm, though this seemed no excuse.

  By then I had begun to doubt even his competence as a guide. How many times I attempted to have him cast his mind back to his childhood days and recall any geological curiosities of landscape he might have observed. Remembering the words of Genesis that tell of how the Lord placed a sword of fire to the east of Eden to guard the way to the tree of life, I asked if he had seen some bright beam of light. I am not a man given to suspicion and yet his responses were so obstinately unyielding that I could not help but wonder if he really had journeyed all across the colony, as he had claimed.

  Fortunately it soon became apparent we might have little need of his advice. After several days riding along a broad dirt track—the river beside us gradually narrowing from a grand estuary to a wide stream, thence to a hurrying torrent, till the further bank was hardly more than a stone’s throw distant—finally we reached a tiny settlement that marked the very edge of civilization, beyond which lay naught but harshest wilderness. As we dismounted, an old man emerged to ask our purpose, and this fellow proved more knowledgeable than any map. Though he had not ventured further up the river himself, he knew a huntsman who had done so and who said it sprang from a distant lake. What was more, it seemed this was not especially difficult to reach, as an old aboriginal path followed the river all the way. Here was a blessing indeed! It seemed only likely that this lake was the source of the Ghe Pyrrenne, and the other three rivers mentioned in Genesis. If we could reach it, then Eden would surely be close indeed, and perhaps even discernible—to a trained eye—from its very shores.

  We set forth into the wilderness the next morning.

  Peevay

  JANUARY 1858

  FIRST MY INTENT was just to kill them in some swift rush. How sweet that would be. RED BEARD POTTER, yes. And SERVANT HOOPER. And also MULE MEN, who were hateful at me in their house of cloth, that was called TENT, kicking and giving me magic words, and promising some dread thing would occur to me in the night, so I went away to sleep by the fire. Truly, they must be dead, every one.

  It was never so easy, lamentably. They were too many for spears, you see, even if I had plenty of them, while even guns were trouble. Two rifles, new and beautiful, belonged to servant HOOPER and heinous chief mule man SKEGGS, but these could only shoot one white scut at one time. Revolving pistol was more often, but that was red beard Potter’s, and he kept it so carefully, giving me hating looks if I got too interested, almost as if he surmised my dear intent. Besides, I never knew guns properly, as I never had one in those long-ago fighting days, so even if I got it, it would just be some grievous mystery to confound. So I resolved just to be watchful by and by, and to hope for some lucky fortune.

  By and by we finished num way and went into proper world. It was strange getting back once again, yes, as I never was here since I was small, fleeing with Mother’s tribe from fat Robson all those many summers before. It was hateful, too, just me alone with white scuts, and often and again I would think how they shouldn’t be here, stamping in their big boots where my ones trod before, or smelling scents of trees and shrubs that filled my mind with strongest remembrance. This wasn’t their place, and never could be.

  They were stupid here, I could observe. In their Hobart town they always were cleverest, yes, with their sneering looks and knowing every answer, but now it was opposite, and everything seemed some puzzle to confound them. So it was with HORSE ANIMALS. White men loved these, I could observe, sitting on them so tall, but when we went into proper world they were futile, getting mad eyes and shrieking when they saw any petty stirring. By and by we came into a narrow place in rocks, that made them worriful, and when some black snake slid out from his hole, hissing-hissing, one jumped up, throwing small fellow RENSHAW against stones so he nearly got dead. Path was no better afterwards but worse, so Vicar Wilson said one mule man must take all horse animals back now, and everyone must walk, which made them too woeful. Of course I could tell them this must happen long ago, when we first started, but they never asked.

  MULE ANIMALS could go on but even they were stupid, yes, plodding tap-tap-tap with their bags. They must all be tied together with ROPES in their long line, never seeing anything except next mule’s arse, and getting whackings from drivers often, as otherwise they would just stop. Then again white scuts themselves were piss poor now they must walk, I could observe. Just mud was some puzzle to confound them, and always they were moaning and cursing it with magic words, or stepping some long way around, getting hot and angry so they smelled sour like old roots gone bad. Didn’t they know that all the world has mud, and you shouldn’t fuss but must just stride on in your quick feet, splash and away? Nor were they better with other world things, like thorny bushes, biting flies, slipping stones or cold rivers to cross.

  Truly it was a mystery to confuse how they ever could kill all my ones and steal the world, or even why they wanted it, as it was no place they could endure. Why, they couldn’t live here just alone but had to carry some HOBART TOWN with them hither and thither. Every night mule men put up TENTS for sleeping inside, though this was summer now and weather was warm. They had TABLE and CHAIRS for sitting, and CUPS for drinking BRANDY, while mule men made big fires to cook their white men�
��s food on, that came from TINS, and was heinous like usual, all salty and slippy meat. Our ones never carried anything except fire stick, lucky pouch of dead dear ones and stories to recount. Everything else we could find and make upon our way. But who was chief now? Not me, only Palawa here, but them, who knew nothing. They had guns and were many, while I was just some SERVANT. Why, they laughed when I lived in proper ways, sleeping by the fire, under stars I knew, and finding proper food to eat, roots and game and so.

  In truth they got more hateful now we were all alone in the world, away from other num. One time MULE MEN came in the night after they drank secret RUM, laughing at me that my ones were all dead now—which was some hateful joke—and telling that I would soon be likewise. When I called them magic words two held me caught while others pissed on my bed of leaves. So it was I began to ponder if I made some dread mistake coming here, and sometimes in the night woeful fears came, that I was in their clever trap, and their intent was just to kill me and get my bones, so they could make me into nothing, just like Mother. So I kept watchful. This was not easy, as I was just alone and they might jump at me any time, but I did try. In the day I kept small knife blade in pocket of TROUSERS all the while, and if someone came near I would grasp this in readiness. At night I told my sleep to be noticing, so I would leap awake at any slightest sound, and I did so, even at wind in trees or mouses scurrying again.