by Larry Stuart
Both Stewarts’ thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the appearance beside them of a bearded, ruddy-faced seaman.
‘Beggin’ you’re pardon. Captain would like all ’tween-deck passengers to proceed to the fo’c’sle as we’ll be getting underway soon. Please follow me.’
Mary’s shock and fervent desire that the last few days were all some kind of bad dream had been futile. Finally, her thoughts returned to the present, and the reality of her situation took over. For the first time, she noticed the overwhelming odour of rotting fish and seaweed, and the continuous background din of halyards banging on masts. Seabirds shrieked overhead, while hawkers on the quayside yelled at everyone in sight, in their last ditch attempts to sell fresh fruit, for the scurvy, whisky, for medicinal purposes only, and firearms, for protection against savages and wild animals.
Cameron was not impervious to all this, but his main sense was still of anxiousness. Had he planned well enough? Would they get away in time? Had his subterfuge worked and how long would it last?
Making their way up the starboard side of the ship, they passed the stairwell descending to the second-class passengers’ living quarters – a place they would get to know all too well over the next few weeks. Continuing forward, they moved through the amidships area where they had first stepped on board. To their left was the roped-off section, signposted Private Deck - Cabin Class Passengers only and both could only imagine what comfort was afforded the well-heeled occupants of that part of the ship. In due course, they arrived at the spacious raised area at the bow, now filled to overflowing with their companions for the voyage.
‘All hands on deck! Make ready for sea!’ boomed a voice from somewhere aft. Men appeared, almost magically, from hidden steps, hatches and doors, each one proceeding to a different location before busying himself retrieving and coiling large hemp ropes.
Unexpectedly, a small damp cloud rose over the bow of the ship, indicating the position of a steam tug as it took up its towing station under the bowsprit.
‘Single up,’ cried the same deep voice.
The lines at the middle of the ship dropped into the water, to be pulled on to the quayside by willing dockhands.
‘Secure the gang plank!’
For the first time, the reality of what the passengers were about to embark on was brought home, as their bridge to the shore was swung away.
‘Let go aft!’ followed ten seconds later by, ‘Let go for’ard!’ The deck then canting slightly as a second tug yanked them away from the quayside.
The cloud of steam at the bow now belched skywards, as the tug at their head took up the strain and began to haul the huge ship out into the current of the river; the hubbub on shore quickly fading astern, to be replaced by more bellowed commands and the muffled drumming of the crews’ feet hurrying to complete their tasks.
The emigrants crowded towards the right side of the ship, staring silently at the docks and buildings on shore as they began to merge into one, most realising this would probably be the last time they would ever see their birthplace.
‘Stand by port mooring line!’
A large yellow buoy now appeared slightly ahead and to the left of the bow. A line arced over the rail, to be instantly grabbed by a member of the tug’s crew. With practiced ease he looped it through a ring on the buoy, and then threw it back to one of the seamen on board. Without hesitation, it was fastened off around a large metal cleat on the deck; and after a quick wave from one of the crewman, the tug was sent on its way. The ship now began a slow turn to the left, and once the line to the buoy had straightened and the current took hold, the ship stopped moving facing up the Mersey.
Like most passengers, Cameron knew very little about ships or how they left port. But it did seem a bit odd to be tied up again in the middle of the river. As he pondered this latest development, two crewmen appeared carrying a large table between them. Placing this at the edge of the raised forecastle, they then moved off to be replaced by various other crewmen, who between them arrived with three chairs and two large boxes of paperwork.
The loud din created by hundreds of people aimlessly milling about in a confined area suddenly ceased. Cameron gazed to his left, and to his consternation, not ten feet away, the bosun could be seen, quietly giving instructions to six armed men. To make matters worse, Cameron could now see a large pinnace, containing two uniformed men, making its way towards the right side of the ship.
‘Ow! ... Cameron, stop it!’
Mary’s sudden cry drew his attention for, unknowingly, he had begun to squeeze her arm harder and harder.
With a sigh of resignation, Cameron turned to Mary, wrapping his arms tightly around her and giving her a kiss on the cheek.
‘I’m sorry I put you through all of this. I will try to make sure you be taken care of…and I hope one day you may find a way to forgive me.’
‘Here it comes,’ he murmured, as over Mary’s shoulder he watched the armed men beginning to spread out in all directions.
‘Would you give me your attention please? My name is Fisher…and I’m the First Mate on this ship. I’m sure you’re probably wondering what’s going on.’
Cameron stiffened in anticipation.
‘As part of our preparations for departure, we shall now be making a final search of the ship for stowaways. While this takes place, the purser will be calling out the names of those who have not yet paid their full fares. On hearing your name, please line up by the table to make the necessary settlement. On completion of this task, all passengers have to be assessed by the port medical officer. Any persons not deemed to be fit, or failing to clear their account, will be immediately escorted ashore.’
Mary pushed Cameron away.
‘What you be doin’? People be lookin’ at us!’
‘Sorry.’
‘So you should be... And I expect you to be lookin’ after me…no somebody else. As for forgiveness, we shall just have to see.’
Ten minutes later, a commotion towards the rear of the ship drew everyone’s attention. A man and woman appeared, being roughly herded in manacles towards the accommodation ladder on the right hand side near the bow. Both wore shabby clothing and were impossibly thin – their hollow cheeks and dark, sunken eyes a testament to their desperation. Undoubtedly, most of the people watching this sorry sight felt an affinity towards these two, knowing full well that they were themselves only one step removed from this selfsame plight.
Without further ado, the poor souls were manhandled over the side and into the waiting boat.
‘Stuart…Cameron and Mary!’
‘Here…just here,’ Cameron announced, easing Mary by the arm towards the table.
‘Would you just spell your name please?’
‘Certainly…S.T.U.A.R.T.,’ Cameron replied, at the same time applying gentle pressure to Mary’s elbow.
‘There’s four pounds and ten shillings still to pay on each ticket.’
Cameron reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and extracted some notes.
‘Paid in full, thank you… Move along please.’
While Cameron and Mary waited their turn to see the doctor, the wind freshened and swung around to the North West. At the same time, the beautiful blue sky was now under-cut by thin, wispy streaks of white cloud. Cameron sensed a change in the weather would soon be making its presence felt. And with any luck, he thought, might just help to speed them on their way.
All at once, everyone’s attention was drawn towards the head of the queue.
‘It’s not possible. It’s just a cold,’ said the obviously agitated man standing at the head of the line.
The doctor listened again to the chest of the young girl standing beside the man, and then peered down her throat before placing a hand on her forehead.
‘I’m sorry, but we have to be certain. If it’s measles it will spread like wildfire.’
In a rage, the father turned to the purser. ‘I’ve paid our fares! I’m not getting off this ship! He doesn�
��t know what he’s talking about.’
‘Master-at-Arms!’ yelled the purser. ‘Remove these three as well.’
Once the commotion had settled down, the line slowly began to move forward again; and not long after, Cameron and Mary reached the head of the queue. Their medical examination took only a few minutes, and shortly after, the pre-departure checks had been completed. The table and chairs were removed, and the passengers were once more left to their own devices.
‘Why has the spellin’ of our name suddenly changed? Is this another of your big secrets that you’re tryin’ to hide from me?’
‘Shush. Keep it down, Mary…’tis nothin’. I’ll explain later.’
A subtle vibration in the deck, like some giant heart beginning to beat, announced the firing of the ship’s boilers, and second’s later smoke spewed from the exhaust stack mounted just behind the forward mast. Once more, seamen began to move purposely about, unmistakably well versed in what was required. And this time, there was no mistaking the fact that they were actually about to get underway.
The bosun’s voice boomed out once more.
‘Hoist the Blue Peter!’
At that moment, the question likely foremost in the minds of most of the passengers was suddenly answered by a loud crack, as a blue and white flag unfurled on its way to the top of the forward mast. It was only later, Cameron discovered from talking to a member of the crew, that it was a signal required by nautical convention, warning ships nearby that, they were about to set sail.
The ship slowly swung around, before starting to move down the river towards the open sea. The three hundred or so people on board spread out all over the ship, gazing over the rail and excitedly pointing out various landmarks; while at the stern, the ship’s wake began to mark their passage from the old world to the new.
After a bone-jarring, cold and interminably long ride, the two policemen’s journey finally came to an end outside the post office in Campbeltown. Having been reliably informed by the driver that the harbourmaster would have the information they required, they hopped down from the coach and hurried along the rutted road leading towards the town’s wharf.
The harbour master was a man who looked exactly as one would have imagined. He wore an old, dark-blue, double-breasted jacket, with six brass buttons down the front. His head was covered in a mass of white, straggly hair, matching his bushy white beard. His face was old and looked tough as leather, while his hands were wrinkled and worn. As he moved out from behind his desk, he donned a tired-looking, peaked sailor’s cap, and then, shoving a pipe in his mouth, briskly headed towards the door.
‘Come outside,’ he said, leading the sergeant out the door of the harbour office and along the quay. On reaching the end of the pier, the cold north westerly breeze whipped the harbour master’s hair about under his cap, as he extended his right arm and pointed with his finger.
‘Can ye see that there lighthouse o’er yonder? Just to the left of it, if ye look real careful, ye’ll be able to make out some sails about to pass behind the Mull of Kintyre. That be the “Lady Elgin”. She weighed anchor wi’ the tide some four hours ago an ’tis headed down-under so, Ah reckon we no be seein’ her ag’in for at least six months.’
‘How can Ah get a passenger list of them on board?’
‘Ye could go an ask the Eastern Star Line’s agent. But, he normally goes home as soon as the ship sails…so he no be here ag’in until tomorrow, when their next ship is due.’
The following morning, after a pleasant night at the Swallow Inn, the two Bobbies stood at the front desk in the Eastern Star Line’s office. Having ascertained that Cameron and Mary Stewarts names were indeed on the passenger list, and as far as the agent was aware, they had sailed with the ship, Sergeant Boyd started to put away his notebook, when another thought struck him.
‘Ah don’t suppose ye know of any other ships that may be departin’ for Australia, soon?’
‘In fact, Ah do. The “Eastern Flyer’s” due in later today…an she leaves ag’in in three days’ time. She’s a clipper and our fastest ship, an will no doubt beat the “Lady Elgin” to Sydney.’
‘Greet,’ the Sergeant said under his breath, while writing down the details.
Later that afternoon, two rather subdued looking policemen stood in front of D.I. Jamieson’s desk. They had again spent all day travelling, and had just walked in the door ten minutes before. Having related the details of their failed mission, they now awaited the reaction of their rather over-bearing superior.
‘Well, men…Needless to say, I be very upset that you missed them. However, you did
show a certain amount of initiative in finding out about the next sailing, so I’ve decided there will be no further action taken against you. You be both dismissed, and can go home…as soon as you’ve written out a full report that is. In the meantime, I shall try to work out how we be going to get our two suspects returned to us.’
It took two hours for the two men to write out their individual reports, and both were totally fed up by the time they got home. But that was nothing compared to the indignation Sergeant Boyd felt the following day. In his absence, D.I. Jamieson had written his report to the Chief Constable of Scotland. In it he had taken full credit for sending a request via the “Eastern Flyer” to the Australian authorities, requesting the immediate detention of the Stewarts on their arrival, and their return to Scotland on the next available ship.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The orders from the bosun had become just background noise as the ship took on a sound of its own. Spars swung when their sheets were loosened until, with a resounding crack, the billowing canvass filled. More and more sails were hoisted, and as the pressure on the masts increased, they too began to creak and groan in protest.
Underlying these intermittent, but nonetheless startling sounds, a continuous low hum, like the sound of a poorly played bass fiddle, enveloped the ship, as the upwind shrouds supporting the masts vibrated under their ever increasing strain.
The Isle of Man passed quickly down the right-hand side, to be replaced by the coast of Ireland, just visible as a brown, wavy smudge on the horizon. On the left, the coast of Wales, which only a moment ago was jagged and frothing at its base, rapidly withdrew, as if yanked away by some leviathan just out of sight. As more sails cracked open the ship’s speed increased, and a sizeable bow wave now accompanied their progress, doing its best to swamp any small boats daring to stray into their path. The colour of the sea changed from a dull, brownish colour to dark blue, marking their progress into deeper waters; while at the same time, the previous straight line of the wake now seemed off-set towards the north, as the invisible force of the wind attempted to push them from their desired course.
Cameron and Mary stood gripping the rail on the starboard foredeck, both unconsciously licking their drying lips as the salt in the air made its presence felt. And as the temperature began to decrease, Cameron put his arm around her, and then lowered his mouth close to her ear.
‘I do love you Mary, and I’m sure our new home will prove to be good to us.’
Mary was not convinced she shared his confidence, but nonetheless snuggled closer as her mind drifted back over the previous twenty-four hours.
The first part of their journey had been a revelation, as Mary had never even been to Aberdeen, let alone any further. They had left the snow-capped mountains behind, winding their way down the descending landscape, blooming with patches of pink-flowered heather. Before long, the rough, rolling landscape became grassy hills which, as they descended lower, transformed into fertile green dales.
At the start, sheep, still sporting their thick winter coats, were the predominant animal in sight, but were soon joined by shaggy, long-horned Highland cattle. Then, as the terrain became less formidable so too did the animals and the fierce-looking, shaggy, brown steers were replaced by black Aberdeen Angus, with shorter, less dangerous-looking projections on their heads.
Once again, Cameron reverted to
long silences, staring almost forlornly, out the panoramic windows. Mary assumed that he, like her, was having second thoughts, so left him to his musings.
Her first surprise, and in hindsight the first indication of the lies that were to unfold,
took place when they stepped off the train in Glasgow and Cameron enlisted the help of a porter.
‘Which gate be ye goin’ to?’
‘Whichever platform the two o’clock to Liverpool leaves from,’ Cameron replied, taking Mary’s arm and turning to follow their luggage.
‘What do you mean Liverpool? I thought we be goin’ to Campbeltown?’
‘Och...did I no tell you?’ They changed our port of departure.’
Mary had thought that a little strange, but in the end she shrugged it off, assuming he had simply forgotten to mention it.