She cried out at the burst of pain.
A chain of men began to pass buckets through the hatch to the deck. They needed help. She should help. Instead, she curled up tight, shivering as the cold water soaked through her clothes, her teeth rattling in her mouth. The ice water sloshed backwards and forwards, carrying straw and animal dung with it.
‘The surgeon—has anyone seen the surgeon?’ a voice called down the line of men swinging buckets to one another.
‘Renard, the surgeon, is he here?’ Lieutenant Rossel waded through the swamped deck.
Girardin struggled to her feet, balancing on her good leg. ‘Check the longboats,’ she called, grimacing against the pain in her knee. ‘What has happened?’
‘It’s the General,’ Rossel grunted.
Chapter 22
Eddystone Point, Van Diemen’s Land, 20 April 1792
A NIGHT AND A DAY HAD PASSED SINCE THE STORM AND GIRARDIN was still forbidden to see the General. Renard had restricted his visitors. She made broth as instructed by the doctor for the General’s breakfast, lunch and dinner, but she was not allowed to serve him. Renard delivered his meals. She realised she missed her time with him. One of the pleasures of her day was sitting with him while he took his breakfast. She missed watching him plot their course on the map with careful precision. Each day she could check for herself how far they had come. She liked to see the chronometer, the brass clock held in its wooden box, ticking the time in Paris like a heartbeat. It reminded her that her son was waiting for her on the other side of the world.
Renard assured her the General was recovering, but she wanted to see for herself that he was not grievously harmed by his fall. Surely his health would improve with the care and attention of those who loved him? She saw the barrel organ being splintered into kindling for the galley ovens. The General had been thrown against it in the storm and his ribs broken.
Her knee ached. It had swollen to twice its normal thickness and the cold had stiffened it, forcing her to walk with a swinging gait. The westerly gales continued to push them hard and fast towards Adventure Bay in Van Diemen’s Land. The wind whistled in a constant whine and chilled her through. The old sailor, Armand, scared her with tales of the savages who threw rocks and spears at Marion du Fresne’s ships and would not let them drop anchor. Their ship needed urgent repairs after the storm. What if they too were turned away?
If only she could speak with the General.
He would hate this enforced confinement. Each day without fail, he had taken a turn about the deck and loved to see the crew busy in their occupations. It was his motto: no man should be idle.
On the third day after his accident, she watched Renard leave the General’s cabin to take his own lunch and she seized her chance. She had expected to find him confined to bed, but was relieved to see him at his desk, surrounded by his charts. He turned, smiled, and looked pleased to see her. And pleased to see the meat upon her tray.
‘Thank the Lord above! No more soup. Renard must think me quite recovered.’
Girardin flushed.
The General rose with difficulty. It made her sad to see him so reduced, shuffling towards her with his hand clamped to his side. He looked his age and more. She turned to fill his brandy glass from the sideboard.
Behind her, the General set about cutting through the salt pork, wincing with every twist of his torso. His face was pale and droplets of sweat had formed along his upper lip. Girardin felt shame. She had defied Renard for selfish purposes and now she had caused the General harm. She went to him, reaching for his knife. ‘Let me.’
The General flicked at Girardin’s hands. ‘Stop fussing. I do not need a nurse to cut my food for me.’
‘The surgeon—’ she began.
‘Yes, the surgeon.’ He nodded. ‘He confines me to my cabin while our ship is slowly torn to pieces by this interminable wind, but he does not say that I should be treated as a child!’
She bit her lip, knowing his words were born of pain and frustration. She should not have come. A twinge stabbed her knee and she gripped the edge of the dining table.
The General looked into her face. ‘You have been injured,’ he said. ‘Please sit.’
Girardin hesitated.
‘Sit!’
She sank into a chair, easing her leg straight out in front of her. Together they listened to the whine of a fresh squall. She felt the ship tilt beneath her. The sensation was nauseating.
The General pushed his plate away, abandoning the stringy meat.
‘We have travelled the whole breadth of New Holland in just three weeks,’ he said. ‘They have sighted the Eddystone this morning. We shall soon be in Van Diemen’s Land.’
‘What should we expect?’ she asked. ‘I mean, by way of resupply.’
The General winced, and pressed his hand to his ribs. ‘Not much by way of trade. The natives here are reticent.’ He paused. ‘We know little of them.’
‘What if we are chased away, not allowed to make our ships’ repairs?’
‘You think of Marion du Fresne?’ He swallowed his brandy. ‘Do not trouble yourself.’
Girardin chewed her lip.
They were interrupted by a messenger. ‘A signal from the Espérance, sir. Captain Kermadec requests an audience with you.’
‘What is the problem?’
‘We are having difficulties locating Adventure Bay. He doubts our direction.’
The General muttered beneath his breath. He groaned and pushed himself upright. As Girardin rose to take his elbow, he slapped her hand away. He took a chart from his desk and pulled the cabin door open.
Girardin followed him to the quarterdeck, shivering and wishing she had thought to bring her greatcoat. Misty clouds touched the ocean and then swirled away like the legs of grey-stockinged ballerinas. If Van Diemen’s Land was ahead, she could not see it. There was no sun, no horizon, no means to tell where they were in the world. The sea and sky were grey. Behind them she caught a glimpse of the Eddystone, a tower of rock stained white by the mess of birds. Albatross and gannets careened around it. This chimney of rock was their only point of reference, and the clouds dipped and swirled like a veil across it.
Lieutenant Rossel put down his spyglass. ‘We thought we had Tasman Head a moment ago, sir.’ Lieutenant Saint-Aignan held the logbook and compass while Captain d’Auribeau had the helm.
‘Surely you capable men do not need the assistance of an injured old man to find your way?’
A gust of wind blasted through the ship. Ahead the mist lifted to reveal fluted cliffs soaring up into the cloud. Waves roared as they crashed against rocks and boomed in the sea caves. The veil of mist fell once again to conceal the treacherous coast.
‘Adventure Bay lies ahead,’ said Rossel with certainty. ‘We have seen the passage.’
The signalman rushed up the steps of the quarterdeck. ‘Sir! Captain Kermadec does not think this is Adventure Bay! We are east of the Eddystone.’
Captain d’Auribeau uttered a disparaging snort. ‘He cannot read his maps. We are west of the Eddystone.’
The General took the logbook from Saint-Aignan. ‘The last bearing had the Eddystone south of us at nineteen degrees to the east, not west. Kermadec is correct.’ He raised an eyebrow to Captain d’Auribeau.
‘The lieutenant may have written east, but he called the bearing to the west!’ d’Auribeau snapped.
Saint-Aignan turned pink. He blinked rapidly. ‘I—I misspoke, perhaps. I do not remember.’
‘We are here,’ the General interrupted, jabbing the map. ‘South Cape.’
To Girardin, it seemed that the sea lifted them on ever-higher swells, ever closer to the obscured cliffs. The southerly blew hard behind them. The mist parted and Girardin saw the passage, an opening in the rock, perhaps the entrance to a bay, perhaps not. It was impossible to know what lay ahead.
Silence.
After so many weeks in violent storms, the soundlessness of the bay stuffed her ears with wool. It stol
e the words from men’s lips.
The quiet bay was domed by mist, a massive cathedral vault that demanded hushed voices.
The plop of the lead line as it hit the water’s surface broke the silence. The line reached the end of the reel with a snap. ‘Still no bottom, sir!’
D’Auribeau ordered the longboats to row the Recherche deeper into the bay.
Girardin watched the men bend their backs to the oars and the rope between the ship and the boats grow taut. The thought of having to turn back out into the wind and waves if they could not find anchor here made her feel sick to her stomach. The Espérance, still under sail and catching the last of the breezes in the middle of the bay, sailed boldly past them. Girardin saw d’Auribeau snarl as her stern disappeared in the mist.
‘Twenty-five fathoms! We have found the bottom!’ A cheer rang out as the sounding was called.
‘Too deep,’ the General muttered. He winced and pressed a hand to his rib. ‘Prepare the men to turn us about. We will have to resume our search for Adventure Bay.’
D’Auribeau cast a look at the darkening sky. ‘But, sir, one more sounding, I entreat you!’
Girardin knew every man on board was wrung out and exhausted. Sailors sat on the spars above waiting for the order to furl the sails. The officers watched the General with anxious faces.
‘Very well. Row us deeper.’
The Recherche inched forwards. From the bow, a sailor tossed the lead line and counted the knots on the rope as it slid through his hands. ‘Fourteen fathoms!’ he cried, reeling in the line. ‘Fourteen fathoms and sandy bottom!’
A safe anchorage. Girardin pushed through to the bow. She couldn’t quite believe it. The sailor showed her the tallow beneath the lead weight and she touched the grains of sand with her own fingers.
That night, Girardin lay in her hammock in utter stillness. For once her bed did not swing. The timbers did not creak and moan. Peace. Here they had found a bay where no European ship had ventured before. The thought was fantastical. What would her father think if he knew? She, Marie-Louise Girardin, the girl who was once forbidden to leave her father’s house, had come all the way to the bottom corner of the world.
Chapter 23
Recherche Bay, Van Diemen’s Land, 21 April 1792
AT DAYBREAK, GIRARDIN HAD HER FIRST GLIMPSE OF THE harbour they had named Recherche Bay. The trees reached out to her, reflected in the still waters of the bay and rising above a crisp white rim of beach. After so long without the colour green she gorged herself, delighting in the myriad shades of the foliage. Shades of green tinged with grey and blue and ochre and crimson, so unfamiliar, so different from the uniform green of home. Here, even the water was another shade of dark green. She watched a ripple distort the reflection of the trees. She breathed deep, taking in the scent of wet leaves and forest floor, banishing the salt. The strangeness was enticing and terrifying in equal measure. Green was the colour of spring, of new life, hope. But it was also the colour of fear.
At the bow, she caught sight of Raoul among the queue of men at the seats of ease, those crude planks of wood extending from the bow and serving as a lavatory. No other sailor gave her the creeping shivers like this man. She did not trust his knowing smirk. In truth, he frightened her.
The General came up silently behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder. She started in surprise. She was aware of the crew watching them. Of Raoul. She heard the men laughing and turned her face to the shore.
‘Like stone columns in a cathedral, don’t you think? So straight and true, and reaching up to impossible heights,’ he said.
The trunks of the tallest trees were bare, thrusting confidently skywards, their tops lost in the morning mist. These trees looked like no cathedral she had been in. Girardin remembered the cathedral of Saint-Louis at Versailles, with its stern row of arching columns. Many years ago she had walked beneath them, about to marry Etienne Lesserteur, in a dress hastily made to disguise her belly.
‘An amphitheatre of nature,’ the General said. ‘Here at the ends of the earth, in this solitary harbour, we could be separated from the rest of the universe.’ He spread his arms wide and Girardin was relieved to feel his hand lifted from her shoulder.
When she glanced towards the bow, she saw Raoul watching her from beneath his black fringe. She stepped back, hoping to make her escape below, but Labillardière appeared from behind, trapping her between him and the General.
‘Have you ever seen trees such as these?’ the General asked him. ‘Astonishing. They must be a hundred and fifty feet high!’
‘I estimate fifty metres in height,’ Labillardière agreed. ‘Those trees look like myrtle but are a prodigious size. These are ancient forests, the like of which we no longer encounter in Europe.’
‘Raw nature in all its vigour and yet at the same time wasting away. This is life! See there, trees as old as the world, loosened by age from their roots, covered in blankets of moss and supported by the shoulders of the strong young trees beside them.’
Girardin wondered if the General imagined his captains at his side.
‘Some saplings are only waiting for the oldest trees to fall,’ Labillardière said ominously. Girardin pictured Captain d’Auribeau lurking in the shadow of a tall tree.
‘Have you ever been to the gardens of Versailles?’ the General asked Labillardière.
At the mention of the gardens, Girardin tensed.
‘Twice,’ Labillardière replied, ‘but I shall never return. They have destroyed the botanical gardens! The glasshouses, the collections, all ripped out to make way for the Queen’s latest fancy. An English picturesque garden! The loss to scientific inquiry is unsupportable.’
‘I used to think the gardens so beautiful. The avenues, the bosques, the grand canal. Hedges in fantastic patterns. Topiary in impossible shapes. But what we are missing! Raw nature offers the imagination something more imposing, more vivid than the pretty embellishments practised by civilised man. Don’t you agree?’
‘The royal gardens are nature bound and dominated by man,’ murmured Labillardière.
Girardin pictured herself removing the crumbling bricks of the garden wall. She remembered her first look at that ordered world of clipped green lawns. So different from this dark tangle of wild forest. Here each tree grew over the top of another, crowded together, their limbs entwined. The early sun caught the naked branches at the tops of the trees, exposing their sensuous bends like dancers’ arms in an exotic painting. Here there was energy, movement, but no respite, no space. She had the sense that if she were to walk in this forest she would be swallowed up.
In the bow, she saw Raoul had taken his place at the seats of ease. She edged closer to the General, hiding from his view.
The General sighed. ‘It seems a pity that it will be necessary for us to let the first axe fall in this forest.’
‘These trees will make excellent masts,’ Labillardière noted.
‘Our ship has taken a battering. It may take us weeks to repair her. No man will be idle, be they carpenters or sailors. There is much to be done.’
Girardin felt Labillardière stiffen at her side.
‘It is imperative that we have time to collect specimens and complete our taxonomical investigations,’ he said. ‘This species will likely be of great economic importance to France.’
The General held up his hand placatingly. ‘You will have time to go ashore to do your botanising. But the needs of the ship come first.’
‘And what of the needs of your geographers, Citizen d’Entrecasteaux?’ Labillardière flicked his hand at Lieutenant Rossel and Beautemps-Beaupré, who were overseeing the lowering of the yawl. The boat was being loaded with equipment to set up an observatory on land. ‘I see they have priority.’
‘They go to witness the eclipse of Jupiter’s moons. This is a unique opportunity to make measures of longitude.’ The General’s tone grew sharp. ‘There will be sufficient time for your excursions.’
Girardin sidled
out from between them.
‘But no men left to help with our surveys.’ The naturalist’s voice was sour.
‘Monsieur Labillardière, you may apply for volunteers to assist you in your endeavours as before. If no man chooses to accompany you, then that is perhaps more your fault than mine.’ The General took his leave with a curt nod of his head.
Girardin felt her buttocks press against a coil of rope. She had backed herself against the mast. The General passed by without a look in her direction. Labillardière drummed his fingers on the taffrail and watched Lieutenant Rossel as he lowered more of the observatory equipment into the ship’s boat. On shore, tents were being erected, a forge built and washing lines strung along the beach. Soon the men would be busy with repairs. Labillardière slammed his fist on the rail and turned. Too late, she dropped her eyes to avoid his gaze.
‘Steward, I trust you are not afraid of adventure.’
Girardin opened her mouth to protest but no sound emerged.
‘Good. We will journey to the interior just as soon as a boat becomes available.’
Accompany the naturalists into that forest? No, she couldn’t do it. What if they became lost and could not find their way back to the ship? Who knew what creatures might live among those tangled roots?
Labillardière left her before she found her voice.
She would have to make her excuses. She almost called out to bring him back, but she dared not draw attention to herself.
‘You won’t catch me volunteerin’ to go shooting birds and chopping trees,’ Armand leaned out from the ratlines above her head with a bucket of tar in his hand. He raised his eyelids to show the whites of his eyes. ‘Savages.’
Girardin shook her head. She promised herself she wouldn’t listen to any more of his doom tales. He had scared her witless on the crossing of the southern ocean. Last night he had told her of Marion du Fresne being killed and eaten by the New Zealanders.
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