Tommo and Hawk

by Bryce Courtenay

  ‘I have asked Mr Rawlings to speak on behalf of the prisoners,’ Captain O’Hara now says, ‘there being no one in their midst who can do so.’

  ‘Me brother Hawk can, Cap’n, sir!’ I shouts. ‘If I may translate for him?’

  The crew shouts their agreement. O’Hara has seen that the crew is of a contrary mood, and knows he’s got to make his authority felt. ‘We have heard sufficient of thy translations, boy!’ he snaps. ‘Thou and the nigger have not the sagacity to make a case for the defence!’

  ‘Sir, I speaks only that me brother might speak. He is not without wit and is well learned at books. Has he not the right to defend hisself? May he be allowed to decide if Mr Rawlings be his defence or if he would speak for himself and the Maori?’ I trembles at me boldness. But I must speak for Hawk, or die in the attempt.

  ‘Oh, yes, thy brother we know already to be an expert at judging the whale after three months at sea, and he is a ship’s surgeon too. Perhaps he is to be the judge and jury as well?’ O’Hara says sarcastic.

  ‘Cap’n, sir, it be one o’ the rules of the sea that a seaman may speak in his own defence if he be accused.’ I braves the mongrel once more, not knowing if what I says be true. But it becomes clear from the men’s cheers that it is.

  O’Hara’s face grows red as I speaks and he begins to shake. ‘Silence!’ he roars. ‘I am the captain of this ship and the law is mine to make while we are at sea! And make it I shall!’ He draws breath. ‘There is none amongst the kanakas who can speak English. Thy brother could accuse any of the crime and they could not defend themselves! Mr Rawlings will speak for all!’ He turns and points to me. ‘As for thee, boy, I will tolerate no damned sea lawyers on my ship! Another word from thee and it will see thee stretched to the mizzen mast. Thou art naught but a trouble-maker!’

  The men is silent after this outburst. What shall become of Hawk? I despairs to meself. Then suddenly a weak voice is heard.

  ‘Ork speak,’ Hammerhead Jack croaks. He is being supported by the two younger Maori, for he is too weak to stand on his own feet. ‘Him speak me!’ He slowly raises his good arm and touches the two men on either side o’ him, then points to the old man. ‘Ork speak Maori all!’

  O’Hara turns angrily to Seb Rawlings. ‘What’s he say? What’s the savage say, Mr Rawlings?’

  ‘He wants Hawk Solomon to speak on their behalf, Captain,’ Seb Rawlings answers quietly, plainly gobsmacked. ‘Perhaps, sir, it be best so done?’

  O’Hara slaps the Bible to his knee. ‘In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, have I not made it abundantly clear how we shall proceed! Thou shalt defend them and I prosecute.’ He holds the Bible above his shoulder so that all may see it. ‘The Lord God Almighty will be the judge!’

  There is much murmuring and shuffling of feet among the crew but nothing further can be said. It be clear to all that Hawk and the four Maori is doomed. Me stomach grows cold. The mongrels is winning.

  ‘I shall read from the book of Jonah,’ Captain O’Hara thunders, opening the Bible. ‘"And God created great whales, and every creature that moveth, which the water brought forth abundantly.”

  ‘God hath himself given us this abundance. The sperm whale is God’s gift to us if we should observe His ways and be true to His faith. This we see to be near His first pronouncement in the book of Genesis, chapter one, verse twenty-one.’ Captain O’Hara raises his head to look over us, for he stands on a small platform surrounding the mainmast what makes him taller than any man standing ‘cept for Hammerhead Jack and Hawk, what’s at eye-level with him.

  ‘It is here we see that Jesus Christ our Lord created a special dispensation for those who hunt the whale. The great fish is His gift to mankind from the abundance He hath brought forth from the waters. He gave not permission to the fisherman to hunt the skipjack or the mackerel, nor to the hunter to hunt the deer or the mountain lion. But to the whaleman He gave the greatest creature upon the face of the earth, for hath He not made man in His image?’

  O’Hara pauses and looks about, holding the Bible aloft. ‘If you need proof of this, I shall give it you!’ He has the Bible marked with a bookmark made of whalebone and he flaps it open and begins to read. ‘"And the Lord spake unto the fish and it vomited up Jonah onto dry land.”’ The master looks up and says with deliberate quiet, ‘The book of Jonah in the Old Testament, chapter ten, verse two!’

  I thought that Quakers didn’t sermonise but said their prayers silent amongst themselves, but O’Hara is just like a preacher in his pulpit.

  ‘Thus spake the Lord God,’ he continues, ‘proving that He places God-fearing man above the whale, that He hath given them dominion over the whale, causing the whale to vomit up upon dry land that which hath been taken against the will of God, the creator of heaven and earth!’

  Captain Mordechai O’Hara glares at us for some moments. It’s as though he wants one of us to challenge his Bible learning. ‘Would any amongst thee dispute the word of God?’ he asks.

  Only Hawk among us would be able to do so, for he read the Bible twice-over on his voyage to England, it being the only book on board other than the Apothecary for a Ship’s Surgeon, what he read five times. But he has his back to me so I cannot translate for him.

  ‘Now comes the case for the prosecution,’ O’Hara announces. He looks up to the top gallant as though for inspiration from on high. ‘It is plain for all to see that God favours His Christian children in the contest between whale and man, or why else would He command the whale to vomit the prophet Jonah back onto dry land?

  ‘I have been the captain of a whale ship a full twenty years and in that time have lost many a whaleman to the sperm, but only this once a Christian man! At all other times they have been heathens,’ he points to Hammerhead Jack, ‘like this kanaka! Niggers, cannibals and savages, or Papists from the godless South American ports or the Portugee, or men from Dublin. If not them, then heathen from the East Indies and godless Limeys.’

  O’Hara points again to Hammerhead Jack. ‘The Lord hath clearly shown His direction in this when He took the arm and the eye of this hapless savage, intending him to drown— the arm which is used to throw the harpoon and the eye to aim it. God’s message is abundantly clear. He took this heathen as the whale’s sacrifice, knowing well that there is a Christian gentleman aboard!’

  The master pauses. Well warmed-up to his mad notions, he looks about him, then points to Hawk. ‘Thou rescued from the sea this heathen kanaka, and so did clearly transgress the will of God Almighty, Who had consigned him to his watery grave by removing his arm so that he could not swim!’

  There is a grumbling among us what understands what the captain be saying, for many will be wounded in some future battle against the whale. Now we is being told that we won’t be rescued ‘less we is a Quaker Christian like our master. O’Hara takes no heed o’ this muttering and mumbling from the men and continues to thunder at Hawk, shaking his finger at him.

  ‘And then, when it behove God’s servant, Mr Crawlin Nestbyte, to point out thy disobedience against the will of God, thou didst kill him with his own knife and throw him to the sharks!’

  O’Hara speaks as though he himself has witnessed every part o’ what took place. He snaps shut the Bible and with his free hand takes Nestbyte’s bowie knife from his coat pocket, holding it high. ‘This was the very knife used! The blood of human sacrifice is stained on the blade for all to see!’

  There is a gasp from the crew, though most has long since lost the thread of O’Hara’s reasoning.

  ‘I rest my case,’ Captain O’Hara says, most satisfied.

  Seb Rawlings argues in Hawk and the Maori’s defence. He tells Hawk’s story as it were told that fateful night in the skipper’s cabin, the version cooked up by yours truly. This he does most credibly, not missing much of the detail.

  The men already knows the tale well and they nods in agreement as they hears it. Seb Rawlings be a plain speaker and it’s clear they believes what he says to be true. They has all
known danger while hunting the whale, and they knows the peril of bein’ on his windward side. At the end of the mate’s speech, the crew claps.

  But their support has no effect on the captain. He steps forward. ‘So be it,’ he says, most abrupt. ‘Now to the judgment of the Lord, who looks into all our hearts that He may find the truth!’

  O’Hara drops to his knees on the deck and, clasping the Bible to his chest, raises his head towards the topmast and begins to pray, his lips moving silently. The men stands awkward, heads bowed, caps in hand, waiting, none daring to move, ‘til a full five minutes later when O’Hara opens his eyes and rises, still holding the Bible to his chest.

  ‘ “I am not mocked, sayeth the Lord,”’ he says in a deep, slow voice. Then he turns to Hawk. ‘The Lord Jesus Christ hath spoken to me in a clear voice and I am commanded to say to thee: Thou, Hawk Solomon, and thou, Hammerhead Jack and your fellow kanakas, have received the sanction of the Lord Christ Jesus who hath sentenced each of thee to fifty lashes. Furthermore, from each of thee shall be confiscated that portion of the lay, the profit from the oil rendered from both whales most recent caught, when the final disbursement shall take place. This is the will of the Lord, till ye may be judged by temporal justice, the will of courts ashore.’

  The men break into hubbub and O’Hara waits for them to quieten. The sentence is harsh, but those what stands before the mast of a whaling ship are brutal men. If they cares to give credit to a God at all, they counts His bounty by the number o’ barrels contained in the hold. They praises Him if there be many and curses Him if there be few.

  O’Hara now turns to the three mates. ‘Mr Stubbs, Mr Hollowtree and Mr Rawlings, ye shall each administer fifty lashes upon the three Maori men and I shall fulfil my Christian duty by doing the same,’ he points to Hammerhead Jack, ‘to this damned kedger.’ Then he pauses and looks over the heads of the men gathered about him. ‘Bob Jenkins, where art thou? Come forward if you please,’ he commands.

  Jenkins, the blubber cutter what Hawk has forked to the mincer, steps out of the crowd.

  ‘Yes sir, Cap’n,’ he says, touching his cap.

  ‘Thou shalt take the lash to the nigger!’

  Jenkins grins widely. ‘I shall do me very best, Cap’n.’

  It be agreed that the mates shall go first, then Jenkins and finally the captain. The lashings is terrible and there is much yelling and groaning from the three Maori, what collapses to the deck sobbing when they is cut down. They are brave lads and the crew does not reckon them cowards for this. Fifty lashes with the knotted rope has been known to kill a man and there’s very few like Billy Lanney, what be strong enough to accept such punishment in silence.

  Then me brother’s blouse is removed and he is tied to the mast. Jenkins steps forward, holding the bloody rope with a great grin upon his ugly gob. I vows that if ever we be ashore and I discovers where he is, I will take with me axe no less than three fingers from the very hand what holds the lash with such pleasure.

  Jenkins flogs me brother, and Hawk jerks with each violent blow. Hawk makes no sound but, because he is dumb, the men don’t see this as courage under the lash. Many winces though at the force Jenkins puts behind every blow. The blubber man grunts with each lash he places, and Hawk gets much the worst of the four beatings. My eyes smart with tears and I tremble with anger. The sod will pay for this.

  At last it ends. They cut Hawk loose and he stands bleeding, though his head is not bowed. Slow tears squeeze from his eyes as he looks at me and sees that I too am weeping. Meanwhile, poor Hammerhead Jack is being lifted to his feet by the two mates, Tom Stubbs and Timbin Hollowtree. He is too weak to stand alone and when the Maori were beaten he was left to lie upon the deck. Now he struggles to rise with the support o’ the two ship’s officers. There is no fear in his eyes, though it’s clear he has no strength left in his great body, and has lost much weight since the whale hunt. Through me tears I see that Hawk is talking to me with his hands and wants to address the captain.

  I brush me eyes and step forward. ‘Permission to speak, Cap’n, sir,’ I says respectfully.

  O’Hara stares at me. He has already taken the blood-soaked lash from Jenkins. ‘What is it, boy?’

  ‘Sir, me brother Hawk wishes to address you.’

  ‘Hast thou not had enough then, nigger?’ O’Hara scowls at Hawk.

  Hawk speaks to me rapidly with his hands and I translates.

  ‘Me brother wishes to accept the lashes on behalf of Hammerhead Jack.’

  A murmur of shock passes through the crew and only then I realise what me lips have said. ‘Hawk, no,’ I protest, but he fixes me with such a look that I has no choice but to go on.

  ‘The Maori is much weakened,’ I hears meself say. ‘He will die if he receives the knotted rope!’

  ‘It is God’s will that he should die!’ O’Hara thunders. ‘The Devil hath taken possession of thy soul, nigger! Thou hast once before disobeyed the Almighty in this matter, now, damn thee, thou wouldst do so again!’ O’Hara is shaking all over, his fury risen to a pitch. The lash in his hands drips bright red onto his boot.

  Now some of the crew what’s been grumbling starts to shout. There is a growing anger amongst them for they realises that Captain O’Hara means to kill the giant Maori. Hammerhead Jack be only a savage but our good captain has gone beyond what even these port rats will stand. The islanders also have realised what is afoot and they too is growling, their fists held taut to their sides. Me heart begins to pound. The pack is turning on its master!

  It is then that Seb Rawlings steps up to stand beside O’Hara. He has the captain’s Bible and he raises it up. ‘Silence!’ he shouts. ‘Be silent!’ The men quietens down a bit. ‘Silence there!’ Rawlings shouts again, pointing to a small group o’ Irishmen what still mutters angrily at the back o’ the pack. ‘Silence, you lot, or you’ll have me to reckon with!’ Finally all is quiet and he begins to speak.

  ‘Captain O’Hara has already shown much of God’s infinite mercy in dealing with this matter,’ Rawlings says. ‘I know him well enough to say that he will again put this matter to prayer so that God’s will may be done.’

  O’Hara jerks back in surprise at the fourth mate’s words but he holds his tongue, allowing Rawlings to continue.

  The fourth mate points to Hammerhead Jack. ‘If God should intend this kanaka to die, He would have done so by means of natural causes abundantly available to him in the past few days. So, if the Lord God be our judge, as the captain has told us clear, and I be the defence, then I must ask Captain O’Hara to allow the Judge of Heaven to make a decision on this new request!

  ‘I must most humbly ask, does God the Judge wish the kanaka to die at the hands of the prosecution? Or will He accept the plea for mercy from the defence? If He is the merciful judge, then I ask that He make the same judgment He made for the prophet Abraham— that Hawk Solomon, like the ram caught in a thicket near Abraham’s sacrifice of his son, be allowed as a substitute to the taking of a poor man’s life.’

  I am astonished at Seb Rawlings’ learning. His knowledge o’ the Bible is even more amazing for he does not seem religious and is the only one among the mates what ain’t a Quaker. Captain O’Hara suddenly shakes himself, as though Rawlings has called him from some sort o’ pious trance.

  ‘So be it,’ he growls. He hands the lash to Rawlings in return for the Bible and once more goes to his knees on the deck. We all holds our breath as we waits for the result o’ his silent prayer. Finally, after three or four minutes has passed, he rises and turns slowly to Hawk.

  ‘There is something of God in all of us— even in thee and the savage whom thou dost wish to spare the lash. The Lord hath spoken to me and thou shalt take unto thyself the kanaka’s punishment.’

  Hawk’s back already bleeds freely from Jenkins’ flogging, and the top o’ his canvas breeches is soaked full to his knees with blood. But he is calm as they ties him again to the mainmast. The captain takes up the lash and begins lashing me br
other.

  I can’t do nothing but watch as Hawk silently takes the savage blows. The mongrels is back, and beating me twin. You bastard, I sobs to meself. I’ll get you too, whatever the cost! You, O’Hara, and you, Jenkins, both shall taste the edge of my axe! I swear it or I die!

  O’Hara pants with the effort as he completes his gruesome task, Timbin Hollowtree counting each lash. Hawk’s once-smooth ebony back is ripped to raw and broken flesh, the runnels of one lash running into the others. The captain’s bibby is completely bloodstained, his dark coat wet to the front, and he has small scraps of red flesh caught up in his black beard. He strikes again and Hawk gives a soft moan.

  At first I doesn’t realise what I’ve heard. But another groan follows and yet a third, this time louder. I cannot believe my ears! Sobs catch in my throat. It is the first sound I’ve heard from Hawk’s mouth since the day we was kidnapped.

  Chapter Six

  HAWK

  The Pacific Ocean

  January 1857

  Tommo has spent all his gambling winnings on medicines for my back and for the Maori. This is mostly sulphur ointment and cheap enough ashore, though Tommo has been made to pay almost as much money as a whaleman would receive in wages after a successful two-year voyage. It is beyond all reckoning for the cost of medicines. Captain O’Hara has extorted this payment as further punishment and I have begged Tommo not to purchase the ointment, thinking we will heal as fast without it. But he will not hear of it.

  ‘If I spends all I has it’s in the best cause,’ he replies and then grins. ‘The lashes came hard, the winnings was easy.’

  Our ship is sailing towards New Zealand waters from our position south of the Cook Islands. Captain O’Hara seeks a new first mate, or if not a first, then a new mate with experience, who has led a whaleboat crew.