A timeless period later he turned a bend in the creek and the outcrop of rock towered above him, almost hidden by the rain. Concentration was a constant struggle. Why had he come here? Why was this rock area important? Shelter! That was it.
He clambered on his knees along the downhill side, dragging his bundle. Now he was between two rock faces and the gale had vanished. He crawled to another opening and collapsed onto a pile of dry wood — firewood! He felt for the cave wall on his right and his hand closed on a tinder box of dried moss.
It took him an age to find and light the tinder by feel, feeding it with shaking hands until flames caught the sticks then the thicker pieces. His arms seemed to be disconnected from his brain. By the glow of the fire he found two blankets rolled, with more clothes in a groundsheet, and a box of food with precious bottles of water beside a billycan.
At the same time as the rescue boat returned to Ripapa Island with wet and weary guards, disheartened by their failed search, Southern was huddled by the fire, wrapped in the blankets and sipping hot sweetened tea as if it was the finest whisky.
By the time another team of guards had searched the rocks under the cliffs of Pile Bay and reached the beach by the derelict hut, Southern was in an exhausted sleep beside the dowsed fire.
Chapter
– Eleven –
Father placed the government letter on the table and looked at our shocked faces. For a moment no one spoke.
Then Mother whispered, ‘Oh no! They must find his body or we’ll be forever frazzled that he’ll return here.’
I felt a wave of shock run through my body. Southern … drowned! I opened my mouth to beg that it was a mistake but, as happened during my nightmare, no sound came out.
Father tapped the terrible document and read part of it again. ‘They say he was terrified of the sea, having an unbalanced fear of drowning. The sentry heard the man cry out, then he disappeared, failing to resurface. He must’ve drowned, it being a winter sea.’
‘But why was he on that island and not in Lyttelton Prison?’ asked Mr Winchester.
Father turned to the introductory part that he had only skimmed through and said, ‘I’ll read the introduction.’
We learnt that Southern’s good behaviour had meant that he could work on Ripapa Island on the far side of Lyttelton harbour; that prisoners were building a fort and gun emplacements to protect the settlement from a possible foreign invasion.
‘He should never have left that prison — never!’ whispered Mother.
At this point I gasped and cried, ‘Oh, how could they? They must have known he would escape. I saw …’ I met Bess’s wide-eyed warning, and at that point Sean swore and thumped the table, saying, ‘A man who can ford Westland rivers has no fear of drowning in a harbour. Surely they would know that!’
‘Those connected with his past would suspect that, but not the prison authorities. There was a gale blowing and the seas were high. He may have been dragged under or taken out to sea.’
I found that I was clasping and unclasping my hands, so held them tightly in my lap. Mother was frightened enough without seeing my agitation. I remembered Southern’s icy gaze and knew that he had no fear. This was what he had planned. His escape … his escape! Perhaps he was already on his way here. I felt paralysed in mind as well as body; hunted like an animal.
White-faced, Bess met my stricken gaze, beseeching me to remain silent. She was right. No one would believe in the power of a mere dream nor want to be further agitated my mine.
She gave me time to adjust, saying, ‘They’ve searched the coastline and walked dogs along the foreshore as far as Little Port Cooper, yet not found him. If he is dead, why don’t they find his body?’
‘It may be caught in kelp. We can only hope that he’ll surface when the body inflates. That could be days … weeks away.’ Mr Winchester had come to share the discussion after receiving the same letter.
‘Why have they written to us?’ asked Mother. ‘Dear Lord, they don’t think he’ll appear in these parts, do they?’
‘No, Fiona,’ Father reassured her. ‘But when a man disappears from prison, they ask all people connected with the trial to watch for him. As it says here, a police representative will be coming south to visit us if no body is found. The man had no relatives and no friends asked to visit him in prison.’
‘And the gold … our gold, could be his one security,’ said Sean. ‘Though it’s doubtful he could cross Canterbury and Westland unrecognized. Remember he’s in prison clothes. If he did get ashore, who would dare help him?’
Mother gave a sigh of relief. ‘And he’d find it hard to sell the gold without questions asked, even if he did come back for it, and he would be knowing that.’
‘Where was his cap found?’ asked Sean.
‘Past an inlet called Camp Bay.’
‘How far is that from that island?’
‘It’s well down the harbour, and was a quarantine station once,’ said Bess, being familiar with Banks Peninsula.
‘And the hills of the harbour are barren mountain slopes with bush in the valleys … cold, rugged country in winter,’ pointed out Mr Winchester, who remembered arriving in Lyttelton for the goldfields in the 1860s. ‘He’d most likely die of starvation or exposure.’
I cleared my throat but my voice had an uncontrollable tremor in it. ‘If he hasn’t drowned then he’ll be sure to adopt another disguise, so long as he can obtain a change of clothes.’
‘Which no one would give him and, if he stole them, the police would be on his heels within a day.’ Father ran fingers through his greying hair and added, ‘All we can do is pray that the man has drowned and that his body is found. There’s no sense in looking for him to appear like a ghost.’
I gasped, but everyone seemed numbed by shock and unaware of my strange behaviour.
‘I agree with you, Gareth,’ Father continued. ‘Those hills in winter could as easily kill him as the sea. The prison authorities don’t expect to find him alive after a week of searching.’
He gave Mother a rueful smile. ‘Of all the convicts at Lyttelton Prison, why did it have to be Southern who fell into the sea?’
‘God alone knows,’ she sighed, and I longed to reassure her but could find no words.
Bess and I discussed the devastating news later that evening when we could be alone. We agreed that the time had come to confide in one member of the family about the premonition that came with my nightmare.
‘But who?’ I asked, at a complete loss to name one. ‘Mother would be terrified that he plans to take me with him. Father has enough to cope with and I doubt would place importance on a dream. Sean would think I was making it up.’
‘Rowan?’ asked Bess.
‘She would believe me but wouldn’t see it as a premonition.’
‘Then I think Nikolas should know.’
I hesitated, and Bess looked surprised. ‘Why not?’
‘I don’t think he’ll take it seriously.’ I sighed as I added, ‘And what could he do if he did? He can’t be with me twenty-four hours a day, or even appoint someone as a guard.’
Bess gave a slight smile. ‘I hadn’t thought of that though I daresay Nikolas would love the suggestion.’
I laughed for the first time in hours. ‘Imagine Father’s face! No, Bess, I can’t tell anyone. I’ll just have to take great care to keep with other people as much as possible. So much depends on whether he would risk losing the gold by taking me and being hunted down.’
As the days passed I was amazed to observe how seldom I was alone during the routines of each day.
PORT LEVY
Southern stayed four days in the rock shelter, building a small fire at night just to boil water for tea and to cook dried meat with rice. He was fearful that the smell of smoke might waft out and reach the track on the hillside above him that connected the bays. Most of the long hours he spent in sleeping to regain his strength, but each day he exercised his stiff and bruised body.
By the
morning of the fifth day he was ready to travel to the cave above Port Levy — there to replenish stores and spend a few weeks becoming proficient in his plans for the next disguise. That was the challenge he enjoyed most — the perfecting of a new disguise.
He packed his belongings, after burning his prison clothes bit by bit, and slipped out of the cave in the greyness of dawn. He followed the watercourse, vanishing into light mist as he crossed the track linking the bays.
When daylight came, he dropped down to an outcrop of rock fringed with low shrubs, and waited there for evening. He cursed at not being able to find his bearings in the dark but it was better to be cautious than break a limb. So far he had seen no one, but near midday he heard a horseman on the track far below, his whistling carrying clearly on the still air. Southern’s body ached from the unaccustomed climb and he still felt physically and mentally exhausted after the slightest effort.
Winter darkness was closing in when he recrossed the track above Port Levy, circling a small farmlet on the skyline to avoid alerting the dogs. He dreaded to find the bush felled around the cave, for the mills were clearing timber well up the valleys. He almost missed the creek that tumbled thinly to the bay, but now he had his bearings and reached the bushline. In five minutes he came to the rock face, swearing as his hand touched the tree nettles guarding the entrance to the cave. He eased his way past and crawled into a crevice that widened into the remembered hiding place that he and Sam had used all those years ago. The air smelt clean of animals or intruders, but the tension as he felt for the provisions was almost tangible.
His fingers touched a canvas bundle, and he knelt there in the darkness, relief flooding through him as he breathed, ‘Me mates! I’ll see you right one day, my bloody oath I will.’ Then he hesitated. ‘Perhaps I will, and perhaps I won’t. Best to start life somewhere else with what I can rescue.’
Chapter
– Twelve –
I remember vividly the weeks that followed the prison governor’s letter because conversation always turned to the subject of John Southern. His body was not found and even if he had survived drowning, the police thought it impossible for the man to reach South Westland all of 300 miles away over two alpine passes. Their verdict was ‘death by drowning or exposure’. No constable rode south to discuss what to do should he appear in the settlement, so obviously they did not fear for our safety.
Yet so often I felt that chill of fear as if a cloud had covered the sun, and for the rest of the winter months and all of spring we would stop in our work when strangers approached, and each time my heart would skip a beat if a man resembled Southern in size. Those living inland were likewise alert, but gradually we began to relax, and when December arrived we became so engrossed with thoughts and plans for Brendan’s arrival home and for the celebration of Christmas, that life became almost normal again.
‘Your brother Brendan means so much to you, doesn’t he?’ smiled Bess as we collected dried fruits for the Christmas cake. ‘I wish I’d been one of a large family, especially when my parents died. There was no one to share the shock … no one close to support me.’
I put my hand on hers and said warmly, ‘You do realise that we’re your family now, don’t you?’
‘Oh indeed! And I love the teasing and the laughter … and the Irish feuding, though I try not to show it.’ Her cheek dimpled.
‘Father with Sean?’
‘And Ged with Kerry … and you and Bridie.’
‘Me! But I’m not …’ And then I collapsed with laughter knowing full well I enjoyed a spat with Bridie as long as I could hold the upper hand.
In early December, Rawi and Whistle were taken up the valley to see all the progress made on the houses, and they came back full of building terms and talk of pitsaws and piles; hammers and ladder-climbing.
In mid December, the day Brendan was due to arrive, all of us seemed able to find jobs outside or beside open doors, heads turning frequently towards the track from the ferry. Brendan was to meet with Paddy who was collecting stores from Okarito, taking a spare horse for him to ride. We knew the tides by heart, knew the times riders could round the headlands and that they would spend the last night at Gillespies. The packhorses would be heavily laden, so none of us imagined that he could arrive at nine in the morning.
I had just shaken the mats from Mother’s room and was rolling the last one to carry inside, when the quick beat of a cantering horse reached my ears. I held a hand to shade my eyes. I saw not a boy, but a man, a man in a hurry. My heart lurched in shock. My dream rushed back at me: Southern had said I’d be alone when he came … but the others were at the house. I must warn them and load the rifle.
I dropped the mat and fled in terror for the door, then I heard a wild yell and Bren’s voice rose above the thunder of hooves.
‘Mary! Mary!’ The horse plunged to a halt beside me just as Mother and the family emerged. Through a fuzz of tears and relief, I watched him jump to the ground, then I was hugged by a stripling a whole head taller than me. ‘Oh Bren, you’re a man.’
He laughed happily. The same dear Brendan. Eyes alight, he set me aside to enfold Mother in his arms, lifting her off her feet. Oh, the happiness on everyone’s face.
I doubt we stopped talking until the midday meal. Everyone gathered on our front verandah to ask questions about city life and what it was like to be a scholar, and to hear about the long distance he had travelled. Paddy and the pack team arrived at noon and people helped unload the stores and feed the horses before we parted ways to eat a light meal.
There had been more changes at Swag & Tucker since our last letter to Brendan. Katie Ross and Beanpole had moved to Longridge in November and we missed them greatly. Katie would now be over five months pregnant and we all wondered if she was happy with only Agnes for company. Their empty cottage on the rise by the bush looked so lonely that Buzz left his old shack and moved his belongings and his bees there.
Bess, Father, Ged and I rode inland to show Brendan the progress on the farms, leaving Mother and Rowan to keep the young ones occupied in our absence. It was still strange to see Brendan and Father carrying guns and to know that armed men were with the women at the beach.
To my delight, the timber was being pit-sawn for our cottage, though Nik would have a few months alone there before our marriage. Oh, how unfair! My Irish impatience set me to wondering if I could write to Father McManus and beg him to come earlier … but the April birthday meant an April wedding — as long as Father McManus could come then, and as long as Father himself didn’t make us wait until October. He still hadn’t given the final word. I tried to hide my impatience.
The four of us and Nikolas rode a short distance along the inland track that followed the foothills to Fox Glacier and north, finding it rough but passable. Paddy and Buzz would have a big task to clear it for the Council next February. Before long that would be our route for stores — a strange thought. No more depending on the three-monthly steamer coming into Bruce Bay.
When we returned to the bay, Mother confided that Little One had been found crying in the night and this happened again two days later. I woke at the child’s sobs and cuddled her, while Bridie mumbled at her to be quiet.
‘What’s wrong, Little One? Please tell me,’ I whispered in her ear.
‘I … I want Pennyweight. Oh, Mary, she’s … she’s gone.’
‘But not forever. We’ll have to visit her, won’t we?’ I promised rashly. ‘After Christmas. We’ll ask Mother.’
A wet kiss landed on my cheek and we whispered about such an exciting event until she slept.
Mother was enthusiastic for the outing and announced her decision to come with us, before mentioning the matter to Father. This was most unusual and I hid a smile.
‘She’s sore missing the only child near her age,’ she said. ‘We’ll go in January. I’m sure Father will be sparing us for the two nights. I don’t know when I last had a holiday.’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘And we’ll be seeing your cottage start
ed and Katie’s new home, and how she’s coping with the coming child. Her mother arrives in March and is to be the midwife again.’
Father scarcely tried to dissuade her once he registered her happy excitement. I watched his gloomy expression and realized that this was the first time that Mother had planned a visit away from the bay without him. It was hard to keep a straight face when he announced at dinner that Sean had offered to look after the work on the paddock in early January so that he could check the stock condition at Longridge. Our group increased in size with Mrs Kozan, but sadly Bess would be needed to look after the other children.
I remember only one important happening of that Christmas though, for me, the whole season seemed blessed with Brendan’s presence. Two days before Christmas, a missionary priest and his brother arrived at Swag & Tucker on the way to Gillespies and offered to celebrate Holy Mass for our community. We so seldom had a priest visit that this was indeed a perfect Christmas gift.
I caught my breath at the oh-so-slight chance that Father might be persuaded to arrange for him to marry Nik and me. Of course I knew at heart that this was impossible but it might pin Father to name a date.
While the two brothers visited the Winchesters, I put my request to Father who looked as astonished as he had at Mother’s planning a holiday. ‘Indeed not!’ He snapped. ‘A marriage requires much preparation.’
‘But I’ll be eighteen in just four months now, and …’
‘I’ll hear no more on this … not one word.’
Mother turned from the hearth in one frustrated movement. ‘Oh, Michael, for the love of God, put the lass’s mind at rest by setting the date for her. If not, we’ll have her eloping with young Nikolas.’
‘Oh!’ I gasped with an innocent expression. ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’
One glance at Father warned me to quell the bubble of laughter that was rising inside me. Just as well, for he thumped the table with a clenched fist, saying, ‘The agreement was for her reaching eighteen years, so it will be April or thereafter… and not before!’
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