by Lance Morcan
Keen to dive into the water before Sparrow, or anyone else, caught him, he removed his boots and prepared to run at the rail and dive over. Before he could move, a sinewy arm snaked through the doorway and a strong hand grabbed him by his shirt collar. It was Sparrow.
The bounty hunter had sensed someone had arrived on deck and, when that person hadn’t shown himself, had assumed it was Jack. Realizing he couldn’t get to the rail in time to prevent Jack diving overboard, he’d pretended he wasn’t onto him. As soon as he was out of sight, he’d doubled around to the starboard side and had snuck up on the young Cockney.
Sparrow pulled Jack through the doorway so forcefully that the younger man ended up in a heap on the deck. Before Jack could recover, the bounty hunter kicked him in the ribs, winding him.
When the would-be escaper looked up, he saw Sparrow had drawn his knife. Even in the dark Jack could identify it as a Bowie knife. Its wickedly sharp blade glinted in the moonlight.
“Well, well,” Sparrow murmured. “What do we have here?”
Jack looked around desperately hoping to see a tool or something, anything, that he could use as a weapon. There was nothing handy.
The bounty hunter seemed to read his mind. He reached down, pulled Jack to his feet and threw him back hard against the bulkhead. The force knocked the wind from his lungs, winding him a second time. Before he could recover, Sparrow held the Bowie knife to his throat.
“Now why don’t ya give me an excuse to slit yer throat?” Bowie murmured.
Jack could see his assailant meant it. There was murder in the bounty hunter’s eyes. The young Cockney bowed his head in surrender.
“That’s more like it,” Sparrow smiled cruelly. He pushed Jack along the deck ahead of him. “Now we’re gonna go below, and you ain’t gonna give me any more problems, right?”
Jack nodded vigorously, indicating he’d comply. Sparrow chuckled and pushed his prisoner toward the same open doorway he’d not long arrived at. As they walked, the bounty hunter sheathed his knife and drew out the pistol that was tucked into his belt. Jack hadn’t seen him do that. If he had, he may have thought twice about what he was planning to do next.
Just before reaching the doorway, Jack pretended to stumble. At the same time, he spun around and caught Sparrow with a thudding right hand that struck him just below the ear. The force of the blow felled the bounty hunter to his knees and sent the pistol he’d been holding flying across the deck and overboard.
Jack let fly with a kick. It was intended for Sparrow’s face, but even in his stunned state the bounty hunter had the presence of mind to turn his head away and roll with the blow. Jack’s foot connected, but the impact was lessened by Sparrow’s evasive action.
As quick as a snake, Sparrow was on his feet. He drew his Bowie knife and brought it up savagely. Its tip was aimed at his opponent’s heart. Jack managed to parry the blow, but the knife still slashed the right side of his chest open to the bone.
The young Cockney didn’t feel it at first. The only sensation was a warm, sticky feeling as blood flowed from the wound. Then a searing hot pain confirmed the worst. I’ve been stabbed! He hadn’t a clue how serious the wound was. All he knew was if he wanted to live, he had to act now.
Sparrow came at Jack, slashing at him with his knife. Jack had to back-peddle to avoid the flashing blade. He ended up with his back hard against the near rail and had nowhere to go.
As Sparrow prepared to finish him, the young Cockney brought his foot up between the bounty hunter’s legs. Sparrow grunted in agony as his testicles compressed beneath the blow. As the bounty hunter doubled over, Jack punched him on the side of the face. Sparrow went down, and this time he stayed down.
The exertion of the past minute took so much out of Jack he had to bend over, hands on knees, for several seconds to regain his breath. His slashed chest hurt like hell and blood dripped onto the deck. He glanced at the Bowie knife, which Sparrow was still holding. Its blade was streaked with blood – My blood! – confirming what he already knew.
Almost without thinking, Jack prized the knife from Sparrow’s fingers. His eyes flicked from the blade to Sparrow’s throat. Jack knew he should kill him. If I don’t he’ll come after me. He bent down and prepared to do the deed.
Only then did Jack become aware he was being observed. He looked up and saw first mate Quincy Adams staring at him from the shadows. How long he’d been there was anyone’s guess.
“Don’t do it, Jack,” Adams warned.
The young Cockney hesitated. A moment earlier, he’d been convinced killing the bounty hunter was the sensible thing to do. Now he wasn’t so sure.
“It would be murder,” Adams added, stating the obvious.
Against his better judgment, Jack decided to spare Sparrow. Now he had another decision to make – whether to risk attempting to swim ashore in his wounded state or to give himself up. To hell with it! Jack grinned at the first mate, turned and staggered to the portside rail. Only now did he drop the knife. He half expected Adams to try to apprehend him, but the first mate remained where he was.
Clambering painfully over the rail, Jack jumped into the sea. The cold water was a shock to his system. As he surfaced, he looked back and saw Adams staring down at him from the deck.
“God go with you!” Adams called out to him.
The young Cockney replied with a wave then started swimming toward the reef. He was quickly swallowed up by the darkness.
#
Jack didn’t know how long he’d been swimming, but it felt like hours and the reef seemed no closer. In the water, he couldn’t even see the reef. He could hear it though, and it was the noise that guided him to it.
The pain from his chest wound was worsening and Jack could imagine every shark in the South Pacific would soon smell his blood – if they hadn’t already. This drove him to swim harder. He’d heard the reef acted as a barrier to sharks and other ocean predators. I must get to it! Gradually, the booming thunder of the waves crashing on the reef grew louder.
Jack knew enough about the reef to know it could kill him as easily as it could save him. He’d heard there were openings in the reef big enough for canoes and sometimes even ships to pass through. He prayed he’d find such an opening.
That proved wishful thinking. There were such openings, but they were few and far between. For the most part, the reef was one long, uninterrupted mountain of razor sharp coral whose base began on the seabed and whose summit protruded above the surface of the sea – sometimes by a matter of inches, often by several feet, depending on the tide.
As luck would have it, Jack had struck it at high tide. Even so, the sharp corals and shells that adorned the reef tore at his flesh as a wave carried him across it. The wave dumped him into a placid lagoon on the other side of the reef, leaving him cut and bruised from head to foot, and almost unconscious.
Using his last reserves of strength and endurance, he struck out for shore. He was so weak he could only dog-paddle. Thankfully, the flickering lights he’d seen from the schooner were a lot closer now. Even so, the swim seemed to take forever.
Bloodied and battered, and beyond exhausted, Jack wasn’t even aware he’d reached the sandy shore that lined the lagoon. He lost consciousness soon after crawling up onto the sand.
#
Jack thought he must be in heaven when he woke. Three beautiful Fijian girls were hovering over him. Their dark eyes sparkled and they beamed smiles his way when they realized their white guest had returned to the land of the living.
The girls were sisters – daughters of the chief of Koroi, the Coral Coast village whose beach Jack had been washed up on. They’d helped nurse him and care for him after a villager had found him unconscious at the water’s edge. Jack didn’t know it, but five days had elapsed since then. He’d been in a critical condition and had nearly died. The knife wound had done some damage, but it was the cuts he’d received after being smashed against the reef that had caused most problems. They’d become infect
ed, as coral cuts often do, and that’s what nearly killed him.
Jack recalled none of this as he struggled to focus on his new surroundings. He could see he was on the verandah of a large bure hut. It was surrounded by other smaller bures. A thatched canopy kept the tropical sun at bay, and a fresh sea breeze kept the temperature down.
Word had spread that the white stranger had regained consciousness, and villagers were appearing from everywhere to stare at him. There was much chatter and laughter, and somewhere, someone was singing. Bright-eyed children stared at Jack in awe, giggling shyly whenever he looked at them.
Fighting against the tiredness that threatened to overwhelm him, Jack tried to make sense of everything. It gradually dawned on him. I’m free! Not legally perhaps, but free all the same. It felt wonderful and yet strange at the same time.
Then he remembered the bounty hunter. Are you coming for me? He suspected he hadn’t seen the last of Sparrow.
Jack felt himself drifting off to sleep again. Before he did, he became aware of a warm, soft touch against his check. It was Namosi, the oldest of the sisters caring for him. Beautiful beyond words, she smiled down at him. And then everything went black.
43
Apia, Navigator Islands, 1848
Nathan was up at dawn to experience Rainmaker’s departure from Apia. Two days had elapsed since he’d joined the rough-and-tumble game ashore with the island youths – coconut bash he’d called it – and he was still stiff and sore even if his bruises had faded. The painful after-effects reminded him not to be so impulsive in future.
Other passengers were on deck to join with Nathan in bidding farewell to Apia. All, it seemed, had enjoyed the brief stopover.
As crewmen readied Rainmaker for departure, a small crowd of villagers gathered on the jetty to wave her off. Nathan spotted a statuesque island woman amongst them, wearing a white silk dress. He thought she could have been Sally, but wasn’t sure. Memories of his night with the young woman came flooding back. He’d considered looking for her ashore, but had decided against that after the battering he received playing coconut bash. He didn’t think he’d be up to any more exertions for a day or two yet.
Calm seas beneath blue skies greeted Rainmaker as she left the harbor. Ahead was a ten-day voyage to Fiji. First, the schooner had to stop some twenty miles along the coast to collect an English missionary from Opolu’s Wesleyan mission station. The missionary was also Fiji-bound. He was being transferred to boost numbers at an understaffed mission post on one of Fiji’s outer islands.
As the schooner followed its westward route along Upolu’s northern coastline, a cataclysmic event occurred beneath the seabed several hundred miles to the north. A mile below the ocean’s surface, the earth’s tectonic plates moved, causing a massive earthquake whose effects were felt throughout the Navigator Islands and beyond. In Apia and elsewhere on Opolu, huts and other structures were destroyed within seconds, though there was little loss of life. Not yet at least.
The passengers and crew aboard Rainmaker were as yet unaware of this event. They only learned there had been an earthquake hours later when the schooner anchored offshore, opposite the Wesleyan mission station, to pick up the missionary.
Even from a mile distant, the earthquake damage the station had sustained was very visible. One wall of the main building had collapsed and the entire structure had been left on a lean. Surrounding European-style houses had sustained similar damage while the thatched huts of the islanders had been completely destroyed. Missionaries and islanders could be seen assessing the damage and salvaging possessions.
Then a strange thing happened: the tide slowly but steadily withdrew. Where there’d been a mile of ocean a few minutes earlier, now there was only the exposed seabed. Rainmaker was left sitting high and dry along with hundreds of flapping, gasping tropical fish, which looked as confused as the humans who were gawking at them.
“What the hell’s going on?” an incredulous Earnest Featherstone, the first mate, asked.
No-one had any idea. They’d never seen anything like it.
Finally, the tide returned and all seemed back to normal.
The small wave that passed beneath Rainmaker a few minutes later was so small it wasn’t noticed by anyone on board. But it was traveling fast. Faster than a man, or even a horse, could run.
It wasn’t until the wave reached shallow water it became noticeable. Passengers and crew stared in disbelief as the wave grew rapidly in size. It showed no sign of slowing as it reached shore.
“Tidal wave!” someone shouted.
Nathan had already identified it as a tsunami. Though he’d never seen one before, he’d heard about them. Johnson Senior had witnessed one in the Philippines. It had claimed many lives, he’d said.
By this time the wave was higher than a two-storied house. Only now did those ashore notice the approaching danger. Although they were little bigger than ants in the distance, the terror they were experiencing at that moment could be imagined. The missionaries and islanders began fleeing inland, dragging each other and their children with them.
“They’re doomed!” a male passenger cried out.
The man wasn’t exaggerating. Those unlucky enough to be on shore at that moment, had nowhere to run. The mission station was hemmed in by high cliffs. Even from this distance, it was obvious the cliffs were too steep to climb.
Throughout this, the sea around Rainmaker remained unnaturally calm. All the mayhem was happening ashore.
Those aboard the schooner could only look on helplessly as the wave swept over the people ashore and crashed against the cliffs. Before it retreated, it grew to the height of a five-storied building, perhaps higher, and seemed to be trying to reach the other side of the island. When it finally withdrew, the bodies of some of its victims could be seen being tossed about in its turbulent waters. There appeared to be no survivors.
#
That afternoon, after leading a search party ashore to look for survivors, a grim Captain Marsden confirmed there were none. Nor had any reports been received from up or down the coast, but the captain said he feared the worst.
Nathan thought it required little intelligence to imagine the damage and loss of life that would have occurred if the tsunami had hit Apia and other heavily populated villages along the coast.
It wouldn’t be until after Rainmaker reached Fiji that he and the others would learn that Apia had somehow missed the worst of the tsunami. The main damage had been around the mission station and the small villages to the west of it, and loss of life had been surprisingly small.
As night fell and Opolu disappeared behind a veil of darkness astern of Rainmaker, Nathan wondered what adventures awaited him in Fiji. He hoped the terrifying drama of the day just gone wasn’t a precursor to events to come.
44
Kororareka, New Zealand, 1848
The Drakes’ arrival at Kororareka coincided with a period of tension in northern New Zealand between the whites and the warlike Nga Puhi, the predominant Maori tribe of the north. Tensions, over land ownership in particular, frequently manifested themselves in violence.
Those tensions didn’t end there. Age-old disputes between tribes continued to this day. Where those disputes were traditionally settled with meres, or clubs, and other traditional weapons, these days they were settled with muskets. Understandably, the British soldiers garrisoned nearby were on continual high alert. Their twitchy mood – and that of the white settlers – wasn’t helped by rumors of cannibalism, which persisted despite the recent introduction of Christianity to these shores.
Caught up in the middle of all this were the English couple George and Shelly Bristow. The Wesleyan mission station they ran on the outskirts of Kororareka was slap bang in the middle of an area of fertile soils and ideal growing conditions – an area whose ownership was currently being bitterly contested.
White settlers who were breaking in the land for farming were being constantly harassed by Maori warriors who resented the prese
nce of the pakeha. Descendants of the great Nga Puhi rangatira, or chief, Hongi Hika, the warriors were becoming increasingly aggressive, burning down settlers’ homes and occasionally killing whites.
Atrocities occurred on both sides. The settlers and soldiers were never slow to seek retribution. Against the ever-increasing numbers of whites and the superior firepower they brought with them, the Nga Puhi were never going to prevail. However, they were going to make life difficult for these pakeha intruders.
While houses burned and people died, the Bristows and the other members of the mission station were left alone. The Nga Puhi respected the mission station and the kindly people who manned it. The pakehas’ god intrigued them, and several had already embraced Christianity.
And so it was into this maelstrom the Drakes arrived. Their hosts made them immediately welcome, affording them every hospitality and introducing them to the residents of the mission station. Those residents included the Bristows’ growing flock whose number comprised both local Nga Puhi and members of other tribes.
Susannah was fascinated by the Maoris she came into contact with at the mission station. She found she was afraid of them and endeared to them at the same time. Her hosts assured her that her reaction was entirely understandable. Though fearsome warriors whose tattooed faces made them look even more frightening, the Maoris were naturally friendly people who were generous of spirit to those they called friends.
The young Englishwoman found this out for herself on her first night at the mission station. She and Drake Senior joined the Bristows for dinner in their modest bungalow and discovered they weren’t the only guests: a new Christian convert had also been invited. He was Manu Te Whaiti, a young Nga Puhi warrior and proud descendant of the great rangatira Hongi Hika.
Manu wasn’t at all like Susannah expected. He was well educated, having attended a missionary school in his adopted hometown Auckland, and spoke excellent English. He wasn’t shy either, and he kept his white audience entertained with intriguing and often humorous stories well into the night.