Matthew Flinders' Cat

by Bryce Courtenay

  ‘No, sir, as you are well acquainted, we are not seamen, but armourer and marine and myself a cook,’ one of them replied. ‘I have a good mind to tip thee overboard and let thee drown,’ Matthew Flinders said, greatly annoyed at this new inconvenience. The delay in getting them back on board the Porpoise would be too great and so he was obliged to take this useless human cargo along with him.

  With Matthew Flinders himself manning one of the inadequate oars, they made for the surf, and were fortunate to catch an incoming wave which swept them on to the clear water. The only problem being that, in the process, they had taken enough water aboard to nearly sink the gig.

  ‘You must bale or we are sunk,’ Matthew Flinders told the three stowaways.

  ‘There is no baling bucket, sir!’ said the useless marine.

  ‘For God’s sake, man! Use thy hat and shoes, but get to it lively if you wish to save your miserable hides!’

  Baling furiously with hat and boot and keeping sight of the Bridgewater’s lights, they rowed towards the rescue ship. The ship was standing to the leeward and Flinders soon saw that any attempt to get near her before she tacked would be fruitless, with two oars not working as well as they might, and in the now overloaded boat, even when the Bridgewater tacked, the seas would be too strong to reach her on the windward tide.

  Matthew Flinders turned furiously to the three stowaways, his frustration plain. ‘Your presence has denied what chance we had to make this rescue, you are scoundrels and have much to answer for!’ Although, when daylight came he realised that the attempt to reach the Bridgewater had been prompted more by the desperation of their circumstances than by the practical application of seamanship.

  Matthew Flinders decided they would see out the night between the Porpoise and the Bridgewater. This he decided for two reasons, in morning’s light he would be in a position to guide the boats from the merchant ship towards the stricken vessel or, if the Porpoise should break up, he was ready to take what crew he could to the distant shore beyond the reef. He observed how Lieutenant Fowler burned blue lights every half hour from the Porpoise so that the Bridgewater would not lose sight of their presence, but at around two o’clock in the morning the lights of the Bridgewater were lost to them. The young lieutenant put this down to a slight shifting of the other vessel’s position and thought no further of it. The Porpoise was in calm conditions and there now seemed little chance that she would break up before daylight came.

  In the time available until dawn and in case a further flooding was to come, Fowler had worked his crew hard to fashion a large raft from the spare topmasts and yards and any timber he could employ for this purpose. To it, he attached short lengths of rope so when the raft was launched it would carry a full load while dragging members of the crew along by means of holding fast to the ropes. On the raft was lashed a barrel of water and provisions enough to see them through until the Bridgewater effected their rescue and then he added a sextant and the Investigator’s precious logbooks.

  Matthew Flinders had also seen the lights of the Bridgewater fade from sight, but his mind was not as easily put at rest as had been the case with Lieutenant Fowler. He started to plan a rescue that did not take the Bridgewater into consideration.

  The men in the small gig were drenched and miserable, a fresh wind blew from the south-east and they became very cold. Matthew Flinders, despite his growing doubts but observing their consternation, assured them of their rescue by the Bridgewater in the morning. He pointed out that from the decks of the Porpoise he had seen several breaks in the reef where the water seemed deep enough to allow the rescue vessel to run to the leeward, and there anchor or lie. After this it would be a simple matter to send her boats to their rescue. The three oarsmen were considerably cheered by this prospect and while the stowaways were not consulted, they too sat with backs straightened and baled with renewed energy whenever a wave splashed across the sides of the gig.

  The story of the unfortunate Cato that had so narrowly escaped collision when approaching the Bridgewater on opposite tacks was to come out later. As it happened, it was Captain Park of the Cato who, by means of astute seamanship, had avoided the prospect of the two ships colliding and being carried together onto the reef. By not continuing to set his mainsail, he bore away to the leeward, allowing the Bridgewater to tack and avoid the impending breakers. But the Cato herself was then placed in mortal danger. Unable to tack herself, she struck the reef upon the point of a great rock that drove in under the larboard chess tree.

  The unfortunate vessel, unlike the Porpoise, fell over to windward where her decks were exposed to the thundering waves driving hard and fierce onto the reef. In a short time her decks were ripped and thrown about and her hold torn open so that everything was washed away. The only place left for the crew was the larboard fore-channel where they crowded together to survive against the furious sea.

  Of the two wrecked ships the Cato was in the greater predicament, for every time the sea struck her she was twisted about on the unpitying rock with such violence that all who clung to her expected the stern, already below the waterline, to part and they would be thrown into the waves. Furiously they clung to whatever remained of the vessel, some lashing themselves to the timber heads so if the next wave should carry them away, the roaring surfs would drive them to some distant shore. Others clung to the chain plates and the dead eyes, and even some, the one to the other, so that as shipmates they might drown together. And always the thin thread of their hope remained attached to the chance of res cue by the Bridgewater, which they had so gallantly saved at their own expense.

  And so Captain Park, a religious man, prayed vehemently that the Almighty, who controlled both the firmament and all the creatures below it, would show them mercy.

  At dawn’s light Matthew Flinders faced the spumeflecked waves again and, with a frantic baling from his three stowaways, crossed the roaring surf to reach the Porpoise. Here, he and his crew clambered across the fallen masts to find themselves once more on board. Despite the despair at being wrecked, there was a great deal of rejoicing, for all had thought the gig lost.

  ‘See there, sir!’ shouted one of the oarsmen, a man named John Robertson, who, having climbed from the gig and mounted a fallen mast, pointed to where an albatross, its great wings lazy in the pewter-coloured morning sky, circled the stricken ship, ‘We have the wings of good fortune above us!’

  Trim was among the first to welcome his master’s return by leaping into his arms. His normally glossy fur was wet and much bedraggled, but he made up for this with the loudness of his purring, which warmed the cockles of his master’s heart.

  Daylight revealed that the Bridgewater, though now under sail, still stood towards the reef. It also showed a sandbank beyond the reef no more than a half-mile distant that was large enough to receive them all while they waited for rescue. With the water and provisions saved, it was thought no great task to achieve the safety of its beach.

  Matthew Flinders found himself well pleased that he had agreed to the suggestion that the two merchant vessels accompany the Porpoise. While the Cato, like the Porpoise, was lost, they would nevertheless be saved by the presence of the Bridgewater. He silently castigated himself for his unseemly thoughts regarding the intentions of Captain Palmer. And then, unaccountably, the Bridgewater disappeared across the horizon. Waiting only for daylight, she had sailed away, leaving them to their fate.

  The crew watched as the Bridgewater dipped below the horizon and they could scarcely credit their eyes. Surely she would tack and then return? The wreck of the Porpoise as well as that of the Cato was not the work of a fierce storm where all was clearly lost in the fury of an angry and destructive sea. They had foundered on a coral reef, which would always suppose that some might survive such an encounter. Any master in charge of a vessel at sea would find himself beholden to make an attempt at rescue if such should save but one life.

  Daylight showed
quite clearly that Captain Palmer would not place his ship at risk by crossing or circumnavigating the reef. Once crossed, the water beyond was calm and deep. Such an action did not call for extraordinary valour nor even seamanship of a high quality. The weather was benign and the Bridgewater was sturdy, well canvassed and so easy to sail, not so large that she would risk striking the sides of several available channels that breached the reef. After which, rescue would have been a matter of routine.

  However, there was no time for consternation, at that time of the year the weather could turn quickly and the sooner they reached land the better. Unless Palmer had returned to Port Jackson to report their mishap, they were in a great deal of trouble. Though, after only a moment’s reflection, it became obvious that he would not do so. The first question the governor would ask was the most obvious, ‘Why, sir, did you not effect the rescue yourself?’ Furthermore, the Torres Strait was a seagoing passage only just charted and not yet used by other vessels, so there was no likelihood that they would be discovered by a passing ship. Palmer had knowingly left them to die.

  Preparation was now made to launch the raft and the boats to get to the safety of the sandbank as soon as possible. Matthew Flinders had earlier gone out in the gig once again and returned to say that the bank, though free of any vegetation, had the eggs of sea birds scattered upon it with some close to the waterline, so that it must be safe and its major parts above the high-water mark.

  The two cutters and the gig were then sent to check what had happened to the Cato. They were seen by the crew of the second wreck while some distance off and greeted with loud cheers. The men still clung to the masthead and other convenient appendages but now they launched themselves willy-nilly into the sea. Swimming or clinging to any piece of plank or spar they could find, they made their way to the rescue boats. Captain Park was the last to climb aboard, having ascertained that all his men, but for three young lads who were drowned in the attempt, had been safely rescued.

  Captain Park later spoke of one of these unfortunate lads, a boy named Tom Turtlewood. The Cato had been the fourth voyage he had made to sea and he had been shipwrecked on each occasion. Throughout the night he had declared his presence that of a Jonah. He was, he lamented, the reason for their misfortune.

  The master of the Cato had tried to comfort the poor lad, who was beside himself with grief. ‘Steady, lad, thou art no more Jonah than I. You must ask yourself, “Is there another Tom Turtlewood aboard the Porpoise?” For she too is wrecked. Many a calm voyage you shall have before you hang your hat beside some quiet hearth. Dame Fortune, like all her female kind, both smiles and frowns, each is a part of every sailor’s life. Cheer up, boy, you have had an over-share of the bad, henceforth thou can expect more than a fair measure of the good.’ And then, to cheer the lad, he sang to him a ditty much loved by the costermon gers of London which he had learned from a servant girl when himself a child.

  Duck-legged Dick had a donkey

  And his lush loved much for to swill.

  One day he got rather lumpy,

  And got sent seven days to the mill.

  His donkey was taken to the green-yard

  A fate which he never deserved.

  Oh! It was such a regular mean yard

  That alas! The poor moke got starved.

  Oh! Bad luck it can’t be prevented,

  Fortune she smiles or she frowns,

  He’s best off that’s contented,

  To mix, sirs, the ups and the downs.

  Soon the entire crew had learned the words and throughout the night someone would begin the chorus and others would join in, the men singing as they clung for their lives. So when the cutter from the Porpoise was seen approaching, Captain Park turned to Tom Turtlewood, ‘Lad, you shall come with me, we will share the same broken spar and whatever fortune holds, it will be the same for each.’

  They had jumped into the sea together and were immediately overcome by a wave that broke over them, the spar swirling about and dipping briefly beneath the thunderous sea and then shortly resurfacing, but minus Tom Turtlewood, who had lost his grip and was never seen again. Of the two other young lads, the sad story of their final moments was never witnessed.

  At low water, about two o’clock in the afternoon, the reef was dry and the able-bodied men from both crews worked feverishly to get all the provisions and water they might onto the reef and then to the distant sandbank. By five o’clock in the afternoon, with the men weary beyond all possible belief, they had transported five half-hogsheads of water, some flour, salted meat, rice and a half-hogshead of spirits to the safety of the sandbank.

  With no ship to command, the seniority fell to Matthew Flinders who took control, though with the willing consent of Captain Park and Lieutenant Fowler. A most tricky question had arisen. While the men from the Porpoise belonged to the British navy and so remained under the command of the senior officer present, this did not pertain to the crew of the Cato. When a merchant ship is lost, the seamen not only cease to be paid but they also lose all wages due to them after leaving their last port of call. Matthew Flinders was now faced with men over whom he had no legal command and who could do as they wished without fear of prosecution or punishment.

  However, it was a problem to be embraced in the morning, for the ninety-four men saved, many of them bruised and cut by the coral, were too tired to stand much less think of a reason to revolt, and they fell asleep on the beach, even though some had not eaten for a night and a day.

  Trim was glad to rub himself dry in the warm sand and set off immediately to explore. It didn’t take him long to realise that he had landed in the middle, so to speak, of the proverbial jam pot. Birds’ nests abounded and in many of them fledglings chirped and quarrelled, each of which would serve him as a complete dinner. There might also be an occasional fish to vary his diet so he knew he wouldn’t starve. He returned to the encampment about nine o’clock to find his master already asleep and, curling up into his arms, he too fell to slumbering under a fresh-risen moon.

  After breakfast Matthew Flinders stood the men to, though six of the Cato’s crew, sore and battered, their limbs stiffened from the night’s sleep, seemed reluctant to take a part in the muster and sat to one side with their backs to the rest of the men. Flinders had feared as much, he knew that the only authority he had at his command was his strength of character. To argue at this point would not serve him well and so he held back, knowing that tension was as much on his side as it was against the recalcitrant crewmen.

  The master of the Investigator knew that if they were to be saved a collective discipline was necessary and it was his duty to impose it on both crews. This was a contest of wills he dare not lose and he was aware that in such cases it is often a single moment that may count for victory or defeat.

  It was at such a moment that Trim took charge. Dried and fluffed, his obsidian coat gleaming in the morning sun, his four white paws as neat as a guardsman’s gloves, the star upon his chest equal in brilliance to a burst of shining light, he leapt within the small half-circle of resistance. With his tail held high at the vertical, his legs stiff, his chest thrust out, he paraded before the six men, inspecting each as if he were judging their merits in preparation for some reward. Then he proceeded to jump over each, twisting in the air. In passing, he flicked off the second man’s cabbage-tree hat and finally landed with all four paws perfectly balanced atop the head of the last. The men burst into laughter and, with their former resistance now trapped into laughter by this very clever cat, they joined the rest of their comrades, shaking their heads in wonder that they had been so simply charmed. Trim, congratulating them for their repentance, stroked against their legs and purred.

  ‘Aye, welcome, gentlemen,’ said Captain Flinders, then after a pause, he added, ‘We have a simple enough rule here on Wreck Reef, those from the Cato who would share His Majesty’s provisions should be willing to work with us to m
ake our predicament as bearable as is possible under the circumstances.’

  Thus, by giving his authority to Trim’s clowning, Flinders had established his leadership and added earnestness to his intention to keep them alive and ultimately effect their rescue.

  Yet he had not threatened them, allowing their stomachs to do the talking for him, starvation being a harder taskmaster than any authority Matthew Flinders might invoke in the name of the King. Though Matthew Flinders preferred to deal with his men by appealing to their intelligence, he was not afraid to exert discipline if he thought it necessary. On one occasion, shortly after they had landed on the sandbank, one of the men from the Porpoise, an ex-convict whose freedom Flinders had personally requested from Governor King, was guilty of misconduct and so he was tied to the flagstaff and the articles of war read before he was severely flogged. It became immediately clear to all that Captain Flinders, who ruled with a light hand, could also bring it down most heavily when required.

  There was little to recommend the sandbank other than that it had provided them with safety from the sea. No plant or tree or blade of grass destroyed the baldness of the seawashed sand and only a few clumps of saltbush could be observed. There was no natural shade and the sun beat down on the white sand to blind the eyes. Those who had lost their hats made new ones from scraps of canvas and all were made busy constructing tents. A spar was used as a flagpole and the blue ensign was hoisted to its top and turned with the jack upside down to indicate their parlous state.

  All this, of course, took several days, but as the weather remained mostly benign with some evening rainfall to replenish their water supply and the seine cast out to bring in a good feed of fish, mostly bream, the men felt not entirely forsaken. Matthew Flinders knew that the greatest problem they would face would be as the days wore on. With little to do, they would become despondent and thereafter quarrelsome. And so he made clear his plans to them all.