“Sir,” Mate replied, in a trembling voice, “every day I have thought about Jean. I am so very pleased for Jean and now my life too can move on. You have given me the release I very much needed. But I would very much like to make contact with them all.”
“Well enough said, young man. Now let’s see what I have that might suit you for this big day in your life.”
“It is by far the biggest day, sir,” said Mate. The judge brought out the biggest outfit he had. In time, with a few more sherries and a lot more laughter, Mate was clad in a well cut outfit, which was only a few sizes too small for him.
“Sir, I look like my father in this outfit!” He was now fitted out in breeches, waistcoat and topcoat, though he refused the judge’s wig.
“You certainly do, old boy. Dashed fine figure you make too. Well done, young chap.” The judge went to a small safe in the back of the cabin.
“My late wife would have loved to be here. Take this from me and her as a wedding gift. No bother, don’t make a fuss.” Into Mate’s hand, he dropped a sapphire and diamond encrusted ring that would have taken five years’ salary on a whaler ship.
Mate stared at it. “Sir, I am humbled. Your generosity will always be remembered.”
The Judge harrumphed and blustered a little, but it had pleased him to make the gift. Mate now sent word for Matthew who, after getting over his awe at being in a first class cabin, consented to sit on a fine brocaded chair. Mate spoke to him in kind tones, man to man.
“Matthew,” he said, “In shipboard life you make very few real friends. It is hard and usually very lonely. If anything, an officer has it even harder.” He paused to collect his thoughts.
“You are a fine wee chap and have some very respectful qualities. I believe that someday you will go far. I also see that you are a bit of a loner. Perhaps we share those qualities.” Matthew appreciated the compliments, but wondered what he had done really wrong this time. He was sure something serious was about to fall on his head and he tried to brace himself for it.
“Matthew, I need a best man for my wedding. Would you like to be him?” Matthew did not react for a moment. It was as if the flailing end of a rope had caught his brain, knocking him senseless.
“M-me, sir?”
“Indeed, Matthew, if you would care to help me out here, I would be most obliged.”
Matthew couldn’t get any words out, he just sat there with a beaming smile on his face.
“That settles it then. Judge Littlewood, could I ask one more favour. Could I purchase one of your linen shirts for my best man?” The Judge laughed fit to burst and when Matthew tried on a shirt they could all see why. The shirt reached down to below his knees and his hands had totally disappeared in the sleeves.
“Matthew, please go find Miss Jessica and ask if there is anything suitable belonging to Douglas that we might borrow.”
Matthew scarpered, with strict orders to be back by 5.30 pm, while the men continued to share the sherry. When they had drained their glasses the Judge made a happy proclamation.
“I think today has been a very fine day for us all, young man - and it is not over yet!”
The bride and groom were confined to their respective cabins till 5.30pm. Food and wine was brought to them and all the passengers and crew were given a light meal.
The ship rested on a glassy sea, and out to starboard lay an enormous glistening blue/white iceberg. Though the look-outs were detailed to watch it, at no time did it present a danger. It appeared rather more to be an interested bystander watching the proceedings. On the main deck, the capstan became a table with seating fixed around for the party to come.
At 5.30 pm on the dot, a drum roll on fife drums began and amidst laughter, Mate and his best man were summoned by heavy knocking on the door. Somewhat nervously, they came out into the late afternoon sunlight. On the main deck, the entire complement of passengers was assembled, while crew seemed to be hanging from every available scrap of rigging.
A cheer went up and a very motley collection of musicians, including a drummer, bagpipe player, tambourine man, flautist and trombonist, put together a terrible rendering of ‘Hail to the King.’ A path was cleared as Mate made his way, very self-consciously, to the capstan, where the Captain was waiting. They chatted, while the crowd turned their attention to the door of the Captain’s cabin. The door opened and the band struck up the Bridal March. Jessica stepped out into the sunlight, radiant as an angel in a dress of white satin. One of the cabin passengers had a bridal outfit and had no hesitation in lending it. Jessica Hooks was simply stunningly beautiful and many men’s hearts skipped a beat, with a pang of envy. She glowed with health and joy and her smile as she saw Mate at the capstan touched every heart on board.
The Captain read a service and at the critical juncture, Matthew ceremoniously fished in the top pocket of his shirt. Actually the ring was tight in his fist, entrusted only thirty minutes earlier. He would have given his life ten times over before he could erroneously be made to part with it. He passed it over and Mate slipped it over her third finger. It fitted perfectly, as it is supposed to do in all romances. Jessica let out an audible gasp. This was the first time she had seen the beautiful ring. Startled, she looked up at Mate. He just smiled enigmatically and said nothing.
When the Captain said, “Mate Olsen, you may now kiss your bride, Mrs Jessica Olsen,” a spontaneous cheer went up and the second kiss ever in their lives was more thrilling and perfect than the first.
They were within a week of land and they no longer needed to ration their foodstuffs quite so severely, so the settlers brought out every delicacy they could find. A long table became crammed with mouth-watering treats; tins of jellied eels, preserved fruits, tins of Scottish shortbread and English jams. The Captain had earlier arranged the slaughter of the largest pig in the pens and a feast of roast pork, potatoes and mint jelly was shared by passengers and crew alike. For the first time in three months, all passengers mingled and while social barriers were not broken down, some divisions were eased. Mate and Miss Jessica stood on the poop deck holding hands and gazed at the setting sun.
“It has been the most perfect day of my life,” she said.
“And it is not over yet.” He was looking at her with a distinct air of lust.
“Oh, dear,” She leaned her head closer so that no one could hear her words, nor see the blush that now simply flamed on her face.
“We, um, we can’t!” she said firmly, though the heaving of her chest under the slightly too tight wedding dress made her even more irresistible.
“I confess that this morning, having this sort of problem was as far away as the man in the moon,” he said, “but my beautiful, beautiful wife, there must be a way or I shall go mad with need.”
“So will I,” said she, her cheeks flaring.
He grew remorseful as the practicality of the dilemma set in. On a ship under 150 feet long with 200 Passengers, that meant there was a passenger less than every one foot, which didn’t leave much room for romance.
“Find a way, I beg you please, Mr Olsen.”
“Do call me Mate; that is my proper name.”
“I will, Mr Olsen,” and never once in their years together did she call him Mate, save for moments of passion, when his name hissed out between clenched teeth.
He sat highest on her pedestal, she bowed low to his image, she already loved the man with a joy like no woman had ever experienced before; she knew that for her there would never be another. The party went long into the night and though they clung together, that night Mr and Mrs Olsen slept apart and continued to do so till the voyage ended. No opportunity came their way and though they talked whenever they could and shared love and lust in their eyes, the despair of unrequited love made life an intense misery for both of them. The remainder of the voyage would prove to be both a trial and a discovery as they shared moments of intimacy, personal history and long held plans.
Chapter Nineteen
Matthew Confesses
“Matthew, I am aware that you are Miss Jessica’s nephew and that you have been taken under her protection. I have given some thought to it and I would like to offer to pay your passage back home. Have you given thought to your returning to England?”
Matthew went rigid. He turned his head away and tried not to look at the big man.
“It… it… it’s just not possible for me to go home, sir,” he managed.
“But - your mother and father, can you imagine how they must be worrying about you?” Mate shook his head. “You must go back.” With that, Matthew ran to the bulwarks and was sick over the side. When Mate turned him around, silent tears were running down his cheeks. They were the first tears in four months, for in truth these times on board had been the happiest he had ever known. Not once had he contemplated or even given a thought to the possibility that he might be made to return to England. There was a look of horror on the young face that chilled Mate.
“Mmm, something is very wrong here,” Mate said. “Come and sit on this barrel, and if you trust me I will listen to your story.”
Matthew sat for some moments, his head down, body slumped. Here he was at another pivotal moment in his life and the wrong words could send him off into an abyss of pain and disaster, even death. Could he tell the real story about his mother, how some animal had beaten her to death and then he had killed the animal? It would be possible that Mate would have to report him, in which case he would have to go back to England and stand trial and probably be transported out again, he thought fearfully.
But Mr Olsen was a special person and there seemed to be only one path open: to tell him the truth and all of it and have faith that he would not be reported. So he told the complete story, about the death of his father, killed by lead poisoning in a factory, his mother struggling with a brutal landlord and an un-caring society, the brute that robbed the house and never left and the two eventual murders.
He admitted he was not Miss Jessica’s nephew and that it had been an unspoken secret between them. Mate sat without speaking a word and when Matthew had finished, they sat together, side by side, both looking ahead, deep in thought.
Mate fetched out his clay pipe and for some time a comfortable silence, held together by wreaths of smoke, surrounded them.
Matthew liked being with this big man; he felt safe in his presence. Mate, in return, enjoyed the company of the boy whom perhaps intuitively he was seeing as a substitute for his own son, so far away and who was never to be part of his life. Eventually Mate tapped out his pipe and turned to Matthew.
“Miss Jessica and I have been talking about you,” he began, “Now I have heard you tell your story, I think without doubt that if you were to go back, you could face prison. Even at your age you may face hanging, deportation, or at the very least, a juvenile home or an orphanage.” He paused, collecting his thoughts.
“That seems to me grossly wrong and unfair, but I am limited in what I can do to help.” Matthew couldn’t help himself and gave a small cry of alarm but sat rooted to his seat, his eyes on Mate’s face trying to guess his next words.
“On the positive side we are many months travel from England, news travels slowly and it seems to me very unlikely that murder charges would ever be brought against you. However, the cross that you are going to have to bear all your life is that you will effectively be a fugitive from justice.”
Mate smiled. “Don’t panic, all is not lost. Miss Jessica has agreed to my proposal that we adopt you and that you live with us.” Matthew’s mouth dropped open.
“I do believe that you will be safe here, particularly if we go ashore as a family. I am proposing to take you under my wing and we will not tell anyone anything, other than that you are my adopted son. I think that the secret should be shared with Douglas and then be forgotten by everyone. Would you like to think about it for a while?”
There was no question about it. Matthew’s eyes lit up with joy and when Mate extended his big hand in a grown up handshake of friendship, he grasped it with two hands.
“I promise to try to never let any of you down, ever,” was all Matthew could say, his eyes now brimming with tears of a different kind.
“Let’s go and tell the others then, shall we?”
They were now at longitude 150 degrees east, or only twelve hundred miles from New Zealand. All were hoping they would land in New Zealand within a week. It was going to be wonderful, if only to see hills and land once more.
Chapter Twenty
Finally – Aotearoa New Zealand
By mid-November, the excited talk was that finally they were nearing the most northern part of New Zealand. Mate told Jessica it was called Cape Reinga and was sacred to the Maoris. They believed when the spirit leaves the body it goes north to this place, before travelling back to Hawaiki, the Maoris’ original homeland.
On 17th November, Jessica joined many of the passengers on deck. Most were there at dawn, shivering in the cold, to get their first sight of land. Mate was working up on the masts, but it was one of the passengers at the crow’s nest lookout who saw land first; the cry went out that New Zealand was in sight. As the sun rose the mere smudge on the horizon took definition and the cheers were long and loud. Many of the braver passengers took turns in climbing to the lower crow’s nest to see for themselves. Matthew scampered up there but could not see it and soon went back aft to the transom of the ship, where finally some fish had been caught. Three barracouta, with nasty teeth and beautiful silver bodies were brought aboard.
The sailors were busy all day cleaning the outside of the vessel, prior to going into harbour. Meanwhile, most of the passengers spent the day about the poop deck and main deck, regularly feasting their eyes on the sight of land. There was an auction on board, to clear away things they had little or no use for. Everyone began to pack up their cooking and culinary utensils. It took another twenty-four hours and a course alteration before the welcoming arms of the Bay of Islands began to reach out to them.
Months at sea had created a thirst that only green hills could satisfy and all were ready to drink their fill, young and old, rich and poor alike. It was a special day, the first day in the new lives of so many hopeful migrants. Gradually land began to take form, first an undulating line on the horizon, changing over the last few miles to a landscape swathed in tall trees.
The day was the 18th of November, and Matthew told Jessica that he thought that this day was his birthday, but he wasn’t sure. She hugged him then stood with her arms around him as the vessel headed into the beautiful harbour. She told him that arriving today was a very good omen for his future, and to show him how his luck would grow, she presented him with a silver shilling.
He said nothing for a long time, just looking at the coin in his small hand, for it was more money than he had ever owned in his short life. He then solemnly told her he would never spend or lose it because it was going to be the start of his fortune. She was so touched there was a tear in her eye. Mate was standing at her elbow and heard the discourse but said nothing, yet a warm smile was on his face as he looked straight ahead across the water.
“Matthew, Matthew!” A girl’s voice called out, making him turn.
It was Little Jenny. Though they met every day for schooling, both Little Jenny and Matthew were caught up with their duties, and spent very little time socialising. He smiled at seeing her. Now about twelve years old - she too, didn’t know her own birthday - she was pretty, with a snub nose, freckles and a lively wit and like Matthew had become a favourite on board. Her dark hair was held back in a bonnet and she was bubbling with excitement.
“Hello, Matthew! Doesn’t New Zealand look beautiful?”
Matthew said, “I went u
p to the crow’s nest this morning, but I couldn’t see it at first. It is wonderful to be here, but I have something to tell you that is even better.”
“And I have something to tell you too. Oh, let me tell first, Matthew. You will never guess, Mrs Mertons has taken a real shine to me and wants me to stay with her, and she will continue my schooling and pay me wages too.” Jenny was beside herself with excitement. In all the hard years in the mean streets, no one had ever given her such a chance.
Mrs Mertons was a lovely, if lonely and vaguely eccentric wife of a senior government official and the changes in her and Little Jenny had been noticeable from the beginning of the voyage. They had taken to each other immediately. Mrs Mertons was seen to smile often, even to laugh out loud at some of the girl’s tales. Jenny now had clothes, food in her belly, and something worth more than gold: she felt she had made a real friend. They suffered the hardships together, the cockroaches, the rats, the weevils in the food. They spent most nights reading or sewing, while on the clear nights lately, they had a star-chart and went star gazing together - with Little Jenny being able to identify thirty stars by the end of the voyage. They had cried together at the funerals and rejoiced at the wedding.
In the brief time of knowing each other, a bonding like that of a loving granddaughter and grandmother had entered them both. In their mutual joy and wellbeing, they both now eagerly looked forward to the future. Little Jenny had been saved from the sordid back street life that was the lot of many a young orphan. In return, the mature woman now had company, rather than suffering in silent anguish the long, bleak monotonous days of colonial womanhood. Matthew was delighted for her and the ship’s gossip already knew that a pleasant surprise had been planned for Jenny. He then told her his news.
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