by Beth Camp
Mac wondered over and over if he had made the right decision. Each day, he worked. Each night, Banks locked him in the forecastle cabin. Finally, a surge of activity told him departure was near. Soon they would face the Indian Ocean.
Captain Sinclair hoped for an easy sail nearly 7,000 miles due east to Australia, but strong winds and heavy seas, larger than any seen before, terrified the passengers and crew alike. Steerage was locked down for several days as the Brilliant teetered and skidded through mountainous waves. Waves battered the ship and would have washed the crew over board had the men not been roped to the ship.
Captain Sinclair hoped to avoid the worst of the gales. He resolved not to go further south than 40 degrees. Strong breezes with some rain ensued, interspersed with a few days of sun. At the first sign of good weather, Captain Sinclair ordered all bedding and clothes on deck. The crew cleaned cabins and berths, sprinkling vinegar and oil of tar where the air had not circulated freely. All were thankful to spot a humpback whale at sea, its spout glistening in the sun.
Cape Town might have been a million miles away. No land at all was in sight.
Deep in the Southern Ocean at the end of the second week, dark clouds lay again on the horizon, and a second severe storm hit.
Deidre could hardly stand as waves battered the ship, each more fierce than the one before. A hurricane force gale again terrorized the ship. Half the passengers huddled in bed, incapacitated as the ship trembled and shuddered. Those who were able did their best to empty slops buckets for the sick. Those who were locked below decks suffered greatly. In the cabins, chests, boxes, and dishes slid and scattered on the floor. Amalie crept into Deidre's bunk, and they huddled under the covers, braced against the ship's swaying.
The next day was calm. Grateful and weak-kneed, crew and passengers carried buckets of water out of cabins with bilge pumps working below decks and in steerage. Two from steerage had died in the night. Reverend Baxter led a small group in prayer as their bodies were tilted over the side into a now quiet sea.
Following services, First Mate Banks announced, “We're cutting the daily ration. Our food stores are soaked.” A thin gruel was issued to all, despite angry protests. Deidre and Amalie couldn’t eat the gruel after Mrs. Miller said the little bumps were weevils and not oatmeal. Kate Dallow disappeared once again. She said she knew where there was better food, and they’d come with her if they knew what was good for them.
The next morning, they spotted the Alexander. After exchanging signal flags, the Alexander sent a small boat over to the Brilliant. Captain Sinclair was able to replenish ship’s stores. He immediately issued an extra allowance of biscuits, pickles, raisins, and suet to the passengers and crew. All were pleased, and the transportees were once again allowed on deck twice a day.
Mac kept an eye out for Deidre. He was still amazed they were on the same ship. If only the storms weren't so intense, the ship less crowded, and fewer passengers were sick. When he thought of the trial and all those back home, if he hadn’t been filled with humiliation and sadness, this would be a grand adventure.
Mac met Deidre midmorning, by the stairs that linked the main deck to the foredeck. “How fare you this impossibly beautiful morning?”
Deidre laughed, but fatigue marked her face. “Mac, you are the one who’s impossible. Don’t you see those clouds?”
“Banks thinks another storm is coming, but the ocean is behind us. We're close to land.” He held her hand, taking comfort from just these few moments together.
“Did he say how much longer,” asked Deidre.
“Maybe another week before Hobart Town.”
“I’ll be grateful to feel land under my feet again. Are you getting enough to eat?
“I’m fine. Remember, Musa slips me an extra bit now and then. If the storm’s bad, stow everything away and lash yourself to your bed and stay there.” Mac shook his head. “I worry about what’s next, Deidre.”
“Hush. Don’t worry about what’s to come. The worst may be handled when it’s known. Even after we land, ‘tis only a matter of time before we’ll be on our own and together again.”
“Dinna count on us being together,” said Mac. “’Tis best to be prepared.”
For a few minutes they watched the swell of the waves lift to whitecaps as the Brilliant skirted along the southern coast of Van Diemen’s Land, nearly at the mouth of D'Entrecasteaux Channel.
Banks was right. Another storm darkened the sky above them lashed the ship with rain and strong winds. They could no longer see the shore. The Brilliant ran before the wind, picking up speed, her sails taut.
“Secure the deck,” cried Banks. “All below ‘til this is past.”
CHAPTER 60: THE STORM
“Batten the hatches.”
Mac heard the voices overhead. He dreaded that moment when the sailors nailed the hatches shut once more, leaving those below in absolute dark. All lights had been doused. People fell out of their crowded bunks and mumbled curses. A child’s high-pitched scream cut through the dark. Many were sick again and again through the long night, for the waves pitched the Brilliant around as if she were a moth in a high wind.
Mac could no longer tell what hour it was. Finally, he slept, braced against the wall, prayers for Deidre and a safe passage on his lips.
Mac woke when fresh, cool air filled the hold.
“Hey,” called Banks. “I need a few men.”
Mac lurched from his berth as several men rushed to the ladder.
“Easy now. Robert and Mac, you come up. Grab the ropes and tie yoursel’ good,” said Banks, as he threw two ropes down the open hatch. "Tis a bastard of a storm."
Thomas shoved past Mac and climbed the ladder, only to be washed down the sharply listing deck by waves the moment he lifted himself off the ladder.
“Grab that man!” Banks shouted. “You below, tie up tightly and come up now.”
Cold sea water splashed down the ladder as Mac knotted the rope around his waist. The transportees shouted and screamed as the ship rolled, and a few more men tried to climb the ladder behind him.
Mac climbed up out of steerage, close after Robert. They were instantly knocked to the deck by a fierce wave, chilling Mac to his bones. He scrambled to his feet, struggling to keep his balance as the deck listed sharply to starboard.
“Close her up,” cried Banks.
Mac helped to pound the wooden hatch shut as more waves sluiced over them.
“Hold on! Hold on to the side,” shouted Banks. “Go forward now. Go fast and hold on.” His shouts were lost in the wind as the men crawled toward the front of the ship as best they could. The waves heaved and pounded around them, breaking over the deck and over their backs.
“Thomas, go to the helmsman. Simpson, take Robert and Mac forward. Make sure all hatches are secured and report back,” cried Banks over the rising wind. “God help us, we’ll get through this."
Mac's stomach churned. He could barely see in front of him as the waves came one after the other, rising up like mountains around them. The Brilliant wallowed and tipped, most of her sails tied tight to lessen the wind. The waves crashed over her and drenched the decks. Water streamed from the scuppers as the Brilliant shuddered.
"Bring her around," screamed Banks. "God, bring her around."
With a slam, the Brilliant struck the rocks, aground at the mouth of the channel. She rocked once as if her very bones were undone, settled and dipped slightly at each wave. The wind whipped white spray over waves that crested as fast as they were formed, and jagged black waves crashed onto the decks.
Mac fell to the deck, his breath knocked out. He felt the ship shudder as the waves battered her. He crawled forward.
Banks clung to a guy rope on the poop deck, close to the captain. “We need to let out the sails. We've got to try to float her off, or the wind will batter us to death on these rocks. We’ll lose her.”
"Pull the rest of the sails in, and send the men up to cut away the foremast and mizzen,” Captain
Sinclair shouted over the wind. “If we cut away, she’ll hold. She'll stand the wind.”
Banks yelled. “We don't have a chance unless we float her off."
"Do you not hear that groaning, man,” cried the Captain. “She's got a hole in her belly. I don't know how big. We’ve got to hold on. Our only hope is the wind will ease.”
Captain Sinclair waved to the sailors waiting by the rigging, and they went up, locking their feet in the ropes as they climbed. The ship swayed and the wind howled as the sailors struggled to pull the remaining sails in and tie them to the masts.
Mac felt the beams of Brilliant shudder with each wave. She held still in one spot, while the waves and wind from the southeast buffeted her steadily. A mighty crack and the main mast broke, crashing down to the deck, bringing sailors and sails with it.
“Cut away as quickly as you can,” Banks shouted. “Move it, lads.”
The sailors and the men from below swarmed over the main mast. They dragged the men who’d fallen to safety and tore at the wooden mast with axes. As fast as they cleared the mast, they heaved chunks overboard. Mac and Robert hacked at the sails and ropes, all hopelessly twisted and useless. The deck shifted beneath their feet and the wind howled.
Mac shivered as he realized they might all drown, but he kept pulling the sails away from the mast. The Captain was in their midst as well, throwing parts of the mast overboard. He stopped finally and cried, “We’ve got to get ashore. Now. Bring the passengers on deck. All of them.” He pointed to land just visible as the sky lightened around them. But along the southern horizon, the sky and the ocean remained entirely black.
“What’s he saying,” Mac asked a sailor near him. “He canna bring the women and children out on deck, can he?”
“Martin, take three men and ready the longboats,” cried Banks. “We’ll link ropes to the shore, and we’ll offload that way. I need a few of you to go below and bring up every rope you can find.”
The sailor nodded, for he had seen this before, but Mac cried out, “We can’t bring the passengers up. We don’t have enough rope. They’ll be swept overboard.”
“They’ll die if we don’t bring them up. They’ll die if we don’t get them off the ship,” yelled Banks in Mac’s face. “Go below and bring that rope up now.”
Mac’s stomach lurched. Deidre, he thought. God help us. He turned and went with the small group of sailors. The ship heaved beneath their feet at every step as they made their way down the small entryway into the forward hold.
Some of the cargo had come loose. With each wave, heavy boxes slid across the bottom of the ship with a crash. Water sloshed around their feet.
“Go on,” cried the mate. “Get the ropes. We’ll need them all.”
Robert climbed on top of the cargo and began throwing coiled ropes over to the men who looped the ropes around their bodies and one by one, went above, back to the deck.
The ship wobbled and the cargo shifted. Robert slipped.
Before the crates and boxes had a chance to shift back and crush him, Mac climbed the crates and grabbed his arm.
“Out of here, man,” he cried, giving a mighty pull.
The ship jerked and settled. The cargo shifted back, missing Thomas by inches.
“This is the last of it,” cried Robert. He thrust a line at Mac, keeping one for himself. They crawled up out of the hold, the ship tipping the cargo behind them. They raced up the ladder to be greeted by still howling winds.
“Tie it like them.” Banks pointed to the other sailors. Mac and Robert watched closely. They crisscrossed the rope around their shoulders and looped the ends around their waists. When they were done, they stood by the railing.
“Go two at a time,” said Banks. “Make for that shore.” He pointed to a bit of land marked by heavy surf, some two hundred feet from the Brilliant.
Two of the seamen plunged over the side of the ship into the roiling icy water. They swam toward shore, one end of their rope tethered to the ship. They got ten feet out and then disappeared beneath the waves.
"Pull them back. Next,” cried Banks, as the sailors pulled the nearly drowned men back. “Robert, Mac, go ahead. Swim as if the very devil were after yer bones.”
Mac heard ominous cracks behind him as he leaped into the sea, and then it was cold, colder than any water he’d ever felt. He swam, his arms and legs aching. He swam against the waves, and then with the waves. His arms ached with cold. The salt stung his eyes as he fought through the waves, the rope pulling him down.
For Deidre, he thought. For Deidre. He willed his arms and legs to keep moving and then he felt it, the hard rocky beach under his feet. He scrabbled toward shore, and a final wave pushed him onto the beach, face down.
Mac turned to see Robert beside him in the shallow water on the beach. They both had made it. They stumbled up the beach, looking to tie the other end of their ropes to anything.
Their ropes secured to a large rock, four more sailors quickly came to shore, clinging to the ropes as they came. They uncoiled the ropes wrapped around their bodies and tied them down.
At once, men began to make their way off the ship. Waves and the cold sea swept a few off the lines, but they continued to swim ashore, a few at a time, using the ropes as guidelines. The captain's launch and two longboats carried heavy loads of women and children to the beach, the surf near swamping them. As soon as the boats were emptied, the sailors turned back to the ship, their bodies shaking with chill.
Mac watched in horror as one of the lines snapped, and the heads of the passengers and sailors went under. At the edge of the breakwater, the ship careened to one side more sharply. He knew they only had a very brief space of time. Mac ran to the water’s edge. Deidre, he thought. For God's sake, come to me now.
Several sailors came along the ropes, some with children tied around them; others with women holding tightly behind. As soon as they reached the beach, Mac helped to drag them from the surf to huddle with the wet and bedraggled survivors. He couldn’t find Deidre.
Mac heard a shout behind him. Several men on horseback raced along the beach toward them.
“Thank God,” one of the sailors said.
“Mac! Over here,” cried Deidre.
Mac could hardly believe his eyes. She was alive.
Deidre waved her arm wildly at Mac. She held Amalie in her lap, unconscious and colder than the sea itself. Amalie’s lips were blue. Her black hair streamed down, all plastered to her head. Her tiny body shivered uncontrollably in the cold.
“I can’t get her to wake up,” said Deidre. “Please do something.”
“Thank God I found you.” Mac held Deidre and Amalie close. “Are you all right?”
“Well enough. I’m a little dizzy. I think I hit my head.” Deidre pressed her forehead where a large bruise had already formed. “It hurts here.”
Mac shivered violently and pressed his lips to her cold cheek. He wished they were any place but here, even back on Foulksay Island. Tears leaked from his eyes. She was alive.
“Out of the way, man.”
Someone tried to shove Mac away from Deidre. Mac held Deidre and Amalie tightly. He didn’t move.
“For Christ’s sake, Mac, you know me.” Doc Harris said. “Let me examine her. I’ve no time to waste.”
Mac placed Amalie on the sand. The doctor quickly probed the girl’s head and limbs. He put his head to her chest and listened to her heart. “She’ll be all right. She’s just cold.”
Mac nodded, although he wasn’t sure what he could do.
“Carry her to that hollow in the dunes, over there with the others. You, Miss Scott, go along with him. Stay with her and try to keep her warm. Get her on the first cart when it comes. Mac, then you come back down here and help me.”
“Yes, sir,” said Mac.
Mac carried Amalie up the beach, holding her close to his body as if he could warm her by the strength of his will. She felt too light in his arms, lighter than air.
Mac sat on the ground
, with Deidre on one side and Amalie on his lap. He murmured in Deidre’s hair, “We made it, love. We’re on land now.”
“Mac, I can’t believe we’re here. What’s ahead of us now?”
“Hush, dear one. ‘Tis enough we are here and alive.”
Amalie opened her eyes and began to cry. "I never want to go on another ship in my life. I don’t care where we are, I’m not going on another ship.”
Mac patted Amalie. “Dinna worry, lass. Your father will be grateful to see you, so grateful he’ll build you a palace right here. Hush now. You’ll get warm. We’ll be all right.”
Amalie snuggled closer. “Let me stay with you, please.”
“Aye, you can stay.”
Someone gave Mac a drink of whiskey, fiery hot down his throat. When it was her turn, Amalie choked, but her cheeks took on a little color.
“I've got to be helping the others,” said Mac.
“Don’t worry, Mac,” called Deidre. “I’ll stay with her.”
“I’ll come as soon as I can,” yelled Mac. He ran down the sand dunes to the sea and began helping passengers up the beach and out of the wind. A great howl went up from the assembly as the ship broke in two and sank before their eyes. Mac knew full well he was one of the lucky ones. Deidre and he were alive.
Mac went from group to group, helping where he could. Less than half of those aboard and two-thirds of the sailors had made it to shore. The Captain and First Mate Banks were missing. So too were Mrs. MacKinnon and Mrs. Miller. His berth-mates, Davis and Thomas, were nowhere to be found. Mac stood on the beach and stared at the reef. People swarmed around him, crying out for their companions.
The storm clouds passed. The sun came out, and the sea sparkled blue. For the first time, Mac realized he was standing on land. He laughed and nearly fell down. No matter he was a prisoner. No matter he now faced Van Diemen’s Land. He stared at the blue sky and the blue sea. No matter anything. Deidre was alive.