The World Duology (World Odyssey / Fiji: A Novel)

by Lance Morcan

  Intrepid was heading toward an inlet Dawson estimated was about ten miles west of Neah Bay. He inwardly cursed that he hadn’t changed course earlier. The rapidly strengthening northerly was a clear sign they’d been sailing into danger. If he’d responded sooner, they’d have reached safe anchorage by now. After he’d changed course, he’d been tempted to re-enter sheltered Neah Bay, but had resisted that temptation as he knew the Makah would have attacked them in force.

  Those not required on deck were hunkered down in the crew’s quarters below. Nathan was among them. The young Philadelphian was quietly relieved he wasn’t among those who had drawn the short straw and ordered to manage the sails and attend to other life-threatening duties above deck. He wasn’t alone. All those below deck were happy to be inside at that time.

  A mighty cracking sound was the first warning they had that the mainsail mast had split in two. With that, Intrepid keeled over. In those terrifying few seconds, Nathan and the others below deck weren’t to know that above deck another six crewmates had perished. Three had been killed by flying debris and the other three flung overboard. Those still alive when they hit the water quickly drowned.

  Shouts of alarm rang out throughout the ship as the realization set in that Intrepid was going down.

  Nathan and his crewmates scrambled to save themselves. It was every man for himself as they jostled to be the first to reach the deck and launch the longboat. When they finally emerged from below deck, any thoughts of salvation were dashed when they saw the longboat and the two dinghies had been lost overboard.

  On deck, it was mayhem. Torrential rain was blown sideways by the howling wind, thunder rumbled overhead and lightning lit up the sky every few seconds. Intrepid lay over at a forty-five degree angle, and Nathan and the others had to hold fast to whatever they could lay their hands on to stop from being swept overboard. Those who couldn’t hold fast were promptly consigned to the sea.

  A flash of forked lightning lit up the rocky shoreline. To Nathan’s eyes the shore seemed only a few yards away. In reality it was a good two hundred yards distant. However, the distance between shore and vessel was diminishing rapidly. Under these dreadful circumstances, Intrepid was entirely at the mercy of the wind and the current.

  That was the last thing Nathan remembered. A spar from the last remaining mast fell and struck him a glancing blow. He lost his grip on the port-side rail he’d been clinging to and was swept unconscious overboard.

  #

  When Nathan awoke, he couldn’t remember where he was or what had happened. The storm had passed and a new day had dawned.

  The young Philadelphian had been washed up, still unconscious, onto a pebble beach. He’d lain there all night, teetering between unconsciousness and sleep while the storm continued to rage around him.

  Now, as he shielded his eyes from the early morning sun, memories of what he’d survived started coming to him. At first they came in snippets; then they flooded back.

  Bruised and battered, every joint hurt and he had a bad headache. Dried blood caked his face, a result of the head wound he’d suffered.

  Nathan’s thoughts went to his crewmates – and to his dear uncle. He tried to sit up. It took two attempts, so weak was he. He looked out to sea, hoping to see Intrepid at anchor. Nothing! The sea was flat and empty. Then some flotsam caught his eye. Among it were shattered timbers. They could only be from Intrepid. Slowly, the realization set in that Intrepid had been consigned to the ocean depths and, in all likelihood, he was the only survivor.

  The thought of being alone, separated from his uncle and crewmates, suddenly terrified him. He struggled to his feet and shouted. “Hellooooo!” It was a long, plaintiff cry. To his dismay, it went unanswered.

  #

  Ten miles to the east, at Neah Bay, an elderly Makah fisherman speared fish from the rocks not far from his village. Flotsam in the water nearby caught his eye. He waded out to inspect it. Among the foreign items was Intrepid’s distinctive bowsprit.

  The old man pulled the bowsprit up onto the rocks then hurried back to the village. There he sought out Elswa and described what he’d found. Elswa ordered Tatoosh to inspect the bowsprit and confirm whether it was in fact from Intrepid. The chief prayed that it was for he had murder in his heart and yearned to avenge the previous day’s actions of the white traders.

  It only took Tatoosh a few minutes to reach the bowsprit and confirm to his own satisfaction it had come from Intrepid. He sprinted back to the village and relayed this to his father who immediately deduced the vessel had foundered in the storm. Elswa ordered his son to lead a search for survivors.

  Tatoosh quickly rounded up twenty armed braves. They split into two groups and headed out of the bay in separate canoes. At the entrance to the open sea, Tatoosh’s canoe headed west while the other headed east.

  #

  The morning sun was high in the sky before Nathan had decided what to do. It had taken him an hour to accept that he was the only survivor of the storm; it had taken another hour to decide what he should do. It hadn’t been an easy decision.

  The young Philadelphian knew he had two choices: to return to Neah Bay and risk torture or death at the hands of the angry villagers or to follow the coast west in the hope of finding a friendly tribe who would give him food and shelter. While the second option was tempting, he realized its success would depend on reaching a village before he succumbed to starvation or exposure, or both. As he had no idea how close the nearest village was to the west, he dismissed that option.

  So it was with some trepidation he headed east.

  Nathan estimated he’d been walking a couple of hours when he had to rest. He literally stumbled across a small, sandy beach – one of the few on that stretch of coastline – and within minutes had fallen asleep.

  The next thing he knew was rough hands were shaking him awake.

  Nathan opened his eyes to see half a dozen angry Makah braves standing over him, weapons raised. He recognized one or two of them. Their ranks parted and the chief’s son Tatoosh appeared in their midst.

  Tatoosh looked down at Nathan. A young brave next to him raised his tomahawk and prepared to deliver a death blow to the captive. Tatoosh grabbed the brave’s arm before he could lower the tomahawk. “Let the White-Eye live,” he said.

  To Nathan’s great relief, the young brave reluctantly lowered his tomahawk.

  Tatoosh ordered the others to bundle their captive into the canoe. This they did without ceremony, throwing Nathan into the stern of the craft.

  As he was paddled back toward Neah Bay, Nathan wondered what fate awaited him.

  8

  Kensington, England, 1841

  Drake Senior learned of Susannah’s plans to elope two weeks after his confrontation with her. The news came courtesy of an observant parishioner who had overheard Susannah and Blake Dugan discussing their plans whilst picnicking at nearby Hyde Park just the previous day.

  The clergyman immediately made his way on foot to the Kensington boarding house, which was Blake’s last known residence. There, the proprietor informed him the apprentice chimneysweep and would-be poet had moved to another establishment. Conveniently for the young lovers, it was closer to the rectory.

  On arriving at the second boarding house, Drake Senior found Blake was indeed in residence there. “Tell the young man I wish to talk to him,” the clergyman advised the boarding house proprietor.

  “Certainly, Reverend,” the proprietor said, respectfully eyeing Drake Senior’s telltale clergyman’s collar before hurrying upstairs. The proprietor returned almost immediately and ushered Drake Senior upstairs to Blake’s first floor room.

  The young man did his best to hide his shock at seeing Susannah’s father, but failed miserably. Speechless, he stepped aside and allowed his visitor to enter.

  Inside a room scarcely big enough to swing a cat, Drake Senior ignored Blake as he studied numerous sheets of paper that lay strewn over the unmade bed and on top of a bedside table. Finished an
d unfinished poems, and other musings, were scrawled over them.

  Drake Senior picked up one of the sheets and read it. “Shakespeare?” he enquired at length without looking up.

  “No sir, I wrote that.”

  The older man concealed his surprise. After a few moments of silence, Drake Senior put his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope, which he handed to Blake.

  “What’s this?” Blake asked.

  “Open it and see.”

  Blake tore open the envelope and was surprised to find it contained a bank note. His eyes opened wide as he read the amount.

  “You will see it’s made out to you,” Drake Senior said.

  Staring at the bank note, Blake was under no illusions what it was for. It was a trade-off: he was being asked to choose between the bank note and Susannah.

  “You can see it is not an inconsiderable sum of money,” Drake Senior pointed out. “It’s yours if you leave here and never contact my daughter again.”

  The young man couldn’t tear his eyes from the note. The handwritten amount of Two Hundred & Fifty Pounds Sterling had a hypnotic effect on him. It represented a small fortune.

  As Blake stared at the figure, a myriad of conflicting thoughts collided in his head. He loved Susannah and would die for her, but he had only ever known hard times and yearned to rise above his lowly station. This money would change his life. It would enable him to travel the world and pursue his love of poetry; it would allow him to bring comfort to his dying mother; most of all, it would enable him to escape his poverty-stricken past and make a new life for himself.

  Blake’s eyes filled with tears as he looked up from the bank note. Without a word, he folded it and placed it inside his shirt pocket.

  Drake Senior hid the relief that he felt course through him. He eyeballed his opposite. “I have your word?” he asked.

  Blake nodded solemnly. The two shook hands. Drake Senior didn’t immediately release the younger man’s hand. He applied none-too-gentle pressure until Blake winced.

  The clergyman’s eyes bore into Blake’s. “You understand you must leave immediately and never go near my daughter again?”

  Defeated, Blake nodded once more.

  Drake Senior slowly released the other’s hand. “If you break your word, be aware the wrath of God will be visited upon you.” These final words were spoken softly, but the malice behind them was crystal clear to Blake.

  Drake Senior departed, leaving the young man alone with his thoughts.

  Blake sat down and proceeded to pen the most difficult prose he’d ever attempted to write. It was a goodbye letter to Susannah. He told her he would have left by the time she received it. Blake lied, saying he had never loved her and his departing was for the best. The young man made no mention of his private arrangement with Susannah’s father.

  #

  Later, at a pre-arranged meeting place near the rectory, Blake secretly observed Susannah from behind a hedge. She was pacing up and down, waiting for him.

  Blake spied an urchin walking along a nearby lane and hurried to intercept him. “Do you want to earn five pence, son?”

  The urchin nodded enthusiastically. Blake opened his closed fist to reveal he was holding five pennies. The boy’s eyes widened at the sight of the shiny coins.

  “They’re yours if you deliver this note to that lady,” Blake said, handing the urchin the letter he’d written and pointing toward Susannah who could just be seen through the hedge.

  The lad took the letter from him, squeezed through the hedge and ran up to Susannah. Blake watched from his hiding place as Susannah took the letter from the urchin and proceeded to read it. She suddenly began sobbing and had to place her hand on the boy’s shoulder to steady herself.

  Susannah’s distress was like cold steel through Blake’s heart. Unable to witness her pain any longer, he ran back to his boarding house where he collected his pre-packed bags and headed into central London.

  Blake remained true to his word and never contacted Susannah again. However, fate had as much to do with that as any good intentions on his part.

  Despite his newfound fortune, the young man still gave his chimneysweep employer the required fortnight’s notice. He was well on the way to completing that notice when he was killed in an accident at a foundry in the East End.

  It was by chance that a busybody Kensington parishioner spotted the death notice in The Times newspaper a few days later. Aware of the relationship that had existed between Blake and Susannah, the parishioner conveyed the news to Drake Senior.

  The clergyman wrestled over whether or not to pass the sad news on to his daughter. In the end, after much prayer and internal debate, he relented and advised Susannah of Blake’s passing.

  Susannah took the news harder than he’d expected. Coming on top of the passing of her mother, the loss of Blake was a double blow.

  #

  Any thoughts Drake Senior may have had that Susannah’s first love was more a case of girlish infatuation than true love were dispelled when she plunged into grief mode and didn’t come out of it for six months or more.

  If the loss of loved-ones had any purpose, it served to teach Susannah how short life could be and how each and every day should be treasured.

  Susannah never did learn of the secret agreement reached between Drake Senior and Blake. It was a secret her father would take with him to the grave.

  9

  North Atlantic Ocean, 1838

  Jack and two hundred other convicted men wondered if they’d survive as their floating prison, a brig named The Journeyman, pitched violently in heavy seas. Many of them were too ill to care. Some had developed serious health problems; others, like Jack, were just plain seasick.

  A month out from England, there was still another three months’ sailing ahead before they would reach their destination, the distant Colony of New South Wales at the bottom of the world where they would serve their time doing hard labor.

  The convicts had already been incarcerated for three months in the brig’s hold when she’d set sail from the London docks. Friends and loved-ones, including Jack’s mother and siblings, had been at the docks to wave them off, but they hadn’t seen them for the convicts had been permanently confined below deck.

  The Journeyman was one of a convoy of seven vessels undertaking the arduous voyage. The vessels had all been converted for the purpose of transporting felons to serve time in the notorious penal institutions of the new colony that would one day be known as Australia.

  The need for such institutions in far-off places was seen by some as an indictment on Britain. Crime was now so rampant at home that Britain’s jails were overflowing. Petty crime was so prevalent that a gentleman couldn’t venture outside after dark without fear of being mugged; and murders, rapes and other serious crimes were increasing by the day.

  Hangings had become an everyday occurrence – so much so that the populace was now protesting against the increasing use of the death penalty. People were being hung for offences as minor as stealing half a crown – ostensibly to deter them from committing crimes, but in reality to help ease the problem of overflowing jails.

  Afraid of a backlash, the authorities knew they had to come up with another solution. Setting up penal institutions in New South Wales and elsewhere around the world was seen as the best option.

  Skeptics questioned the purpose behind the penal institutions of New South Wales. They claimed the real purpose behind them was to help develop the new colony by feeding in a never-ending supply of able-bodied men and women. As a result, those who would normally be hanged for committing often minor offences were now being shipped off to the bottom of the world. In theory, they could return to England after serving out their sentences. In practice, few ever would.

  Aboard The Journeyman, conditions below deck were so bad some ten felons had died just waiting for the ship to leave dock. Chained together, the prisoners lay shoulder-to-shoulder on wooden bunks. When it rained, the rain poured
through the open portholes, drenching the inmates, and in rough seas, seawater also poured in, adding to their misery. It was no surprise that most of the deaths so far had been from pneumonia. Starvation had contributed to the deaths of two others and one man had died after a savage beating at the hands of over-zealous guards.

  Sea-sickness and diarrhea were rife. Jack and the others lay on a permanent bed of vomit, urine and shit. In the heavy Atlantic swells, the vessel pitched violently, causing felons and sailors alike to continuously fear for their safety. All were very aware of the numbers of Her Majesty’s vessels that sank or otherwise foundered en route to the various far-flung British colonies around the globe.

  As the convoy of convict ships sailed down Africa’s west coast, an especially violent storm resulted in the loss of two of the seven vessels. During the storm, The Journeyman was separated from the others. She continued to New South Wales alone, her master and crew unaware whether any of the other vessels in the convoy had survived the storm.

  #

  Half-way to New South Wales, conditions below deck had deteriorated to the point where the prisoners’ numbers had dropped by nearly a third – to one hundred-and-forty-one. While accustomed to losses on these voyages Down Under, the ship’s master knew he’d be blamed if there were too many more deaths. He insisted the ship’s designated surgeon lay off the booze and conduct two daily rounds of the prisoners instead of one.

  The surgeon, a drunkard who in civilian life also doubled as a barber – and not a very good one by all accounts – reluctantly inspected the felons twice daily. His inspections were perfunctory to say the least. He prescribed extra bread and water rations for those who appeared most likely to die of starvation, and an hour on deck each day for those suffering from dysentery or sea sickness.