by Jim Haynes
From Gags, and Cats, and Chains, and Traps, and Cruel Tyranny.
There are no signposts in the sea.
Vita Sackville-West
Cecil Rhodes and the shark
MARK TWAIN
I HAVE A TALE to tell now, which has not as yet been in print. In 1870 a young stranger arrived in Sydney, and set about finding something to do; but he knew no-one, and brought no recommendations, and the result was that he got no employment. He had aimed high, at first, but as time and his money wasted away he grew less and less exacting, until at last he was willing to serve in the humblest capacities if so he might get bread and shelter. But luck was still against him; he could find no opening of any sort.
Finally his money was all gone. He walked the streets all day, thinking; he walked them all night, thinking, thinking, and growing hungrier and hungrier. At dawn he found himself well away from the town and drifting aimlessly along the harbour shore. As he was passing by a nodding shark-fisher the man looked up and said—
‘Say, young fellow, take my line a spell, and change my luck for me.’
‘How do you know I won’t make it worse?’
‘Because you can’t. It has been at its worst all night. If you can’t change it, no harm’s done; if you do change it, it’s for the better, of course. Come.’
‘All right, what will you give?’
‘I’ll give you the shark, if you catch one.’
‘And I will eat it, bones and all. Give me the line.’
‘Here you are. I will get away, now, for awhile, so that my luck won’t spoil yours; for many and many a time I’ve noticed that if— there, pull in, pull in, man, you’ve got a bite! I knew how it would be. Why, I knew you for a born son of luck the minute I saw you. All right—he’s landed.’
It was an unusually large shark—‘a full nineteen-footer’, the fisherman said, as he laid the creature open with his knife.
‘Now you rob him, young man, while I step to my hamper for a fresh bait. There’s generally something in them worth going for. You’ve changed my luck, you see. But my goodness, I hope you haven’t changed your own.’
‘Oh, it wouldn’t matter; don’t worry about that. Get your bait. I’ll rob him.’
When the fisherman got back the young man had just finished washing his hands in the bay, and was starting away.
‘What, you are not going?’
‘Yes. Good-bye.’
‘But what about your shark?’
‘The shark? Why, what use is he to me?’
‘What use is he? I like that. Don’t you know that we can go and report him to Government, and you’ll get a clean solid eighty shillings bounty? Hard cash, you know. What do you think about it now?’
‘Oh, well, you can collect it.’
‘And keep it? Is that what you mean?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, this is odd. You’re one of those sort they call eccentrics, I judge. The saying is, you mustn’t judge a man by his clothes, and I’m believing it now. Why yours are looking just ratty, don’t you know; and yet you must be rich.’
‘I am.’
The young man walked slowly back to the town, deeply musing as he went. He halted a moment in front of the best restaurant, then glanced at his clothes and passed on, and got his breakfast at a ‘stand-up’. There was a good deal of it, and it cost five shillings. He tendered a sovereign, got his change, glanced at his silver, muttered to himself, ‘There isn’t enough to buy clothes with,’ and went his way.
At half-past nine the richest wool-broker in Sydney was sitting in his morning-room at home, settling his breakfast with the morning paper. A servant put his head in and said:
‘There’s a sundowner at the door wants to see you, sir.’
‘What do you bring that kind of a message here for? Send him about his business.’
‘He won’t go, sir. I’ve tried.’
‘He won’t go? That’s—why, that’s unusual. He’s one of two things, then: he’s a remarkable person, or he’s crazy. Is he crazy?’
‘No, sir. He don’t look it.’
‘Then he’s remarkable. What does he say he wants?’
‘He won’t tell, sir; only says it’s very important.’
‘And won’t go. Does he say he won’t go?’
‘Says he’ll stand there till he sees you, sir, if it’s all day.’
‘And yet isn’t crazy. Show him up.’
The sundowner was shown in. The broker said to himself, ‘No, he’s not crazy; that is easy to see; so he must be the other thing.’
Then aloud, ‘Well, my good fellow, be quick about it; don’t waste any words; what is it you want?’
‘I want to borrow a hundred thousand pounds.’
‘Scott! (It’s a mistake; he is crazy . . . No—he can’t be—not with that eye.) Why, you take my breath away. Come, who are you?’
‘Nobody that you know.’
‘What is your name?’
‘Cecil Rhodes.’
‘No, I don’t remember hearing the name before. Now then—just for curiosity’s sake—what has sent you to me on this extraordinary errand?’
‘The intention to make a hundred thousand pounds for you and as much for myself within the next sixty days.’
‘Well, well, well. It is the most extraordinary idea that—sit down—you interest me. And somehow you—well, you fascinate me; I think that that is about the word. And it isn’t your proposition— no, that doesn’t fascinate me; it’s something else, I don’t quite know what; something that’s born in you and oozes out of you, I suppose. Now then just for curiosity’s sake again, nothing more: as I understand it, it is your desire to bor—’
‘I said intention.’
‘Pardon, so you did. I thought it was an unheedful use of the word—an unheedful valuing of its strength, you know.’
‘I knew its strength.’
‘Well, I must say—but look here, let me walk the floor a little, my mind is getting into a sort of whirl, though you don’t seem disturbed any. (Plainly this young fellow isn’t crazy; but as to his being remarkable—well, really he amounts to that, and something over.) Now then, I believe I am beyond the reach of further astonishment. Strike, and spare not. What is your scheme?’
‘To buy the wool crop—deliverable in sixty days.’
‘What, the whole of it?’
‘The whole of it.’
‘No, I was not quite out of the reach of surprises, after all. Why, how you talk! Do you know what our crop is going to foot up?’
‘Two and a half million sterling—maybe a little more.’
‘Well, you’ve got your statistics right, any way. Now, then, do you know what the margins would foot up, to buy it at sixty days?’
‘The hundred thousand pounds I came here to get.’
‘Right, once more. Well, dear me, just to see what would happen, I wish you had the money. And if you had it, what would you do with it?’
‘I shall make two hundred thousand pounds out of it in sixty days.’
‘You mean, of course, that you might make it if—’
‘I said “shall”.’
‘Yes, by George, you did say “shall”! You are the most definite devil I ever saw, in the matter of language. Dear, dear, dear, look here! Definite speech means clarity of mind. Upon my word I believe you’ve got what you believe to be a rational reason, for venturing into this house, an entire stranger, on this wild scheme of buying the wool crop of an entire colony on speculation. Bring it out—I am prepared—acclimatised, if I may use the word. Why would you buy the crop, and why would you make that sum out of it? That is to say, what makes you think you—’
‘I don’t think—I know.’
‘Definite again. How do you know?’
‘Because France has declared war against Germany, and wool has gone up fourteen per cent in London and is still rising.’
‘Oh, in-deed? Now then, I’ve got you! Such a thunderbolt as you have just let fly ought to have made me jump ou
t of my chair, but it didn’t stir me the least little bit, you see. And for a very simple reason: I have read the morning paper. You can look at it if you want to. The fastest ship in the service arrived at eleven o’clock last night, fifty days out from London. All her news is printed here. There are no war-clouds anywhere; and as for wool, why, it is the low-spiritedest commodity in the English market. It is your turn to jump, now . . . Well, why, don’t you jump? Why do you sit there in that placid fashion, when—’
‘Because I have later news.’
‘Later news? Oh, come—later news than fifty days, brought steaming hot from London by the—’
‘My news is only ten days old.’
‘Oh, Mun-chausen, hear the maniac talk! Where did you get it?’
‘Got it out of a shark.’
‘Oh, oh, oh, this is too much! Front! call the police bring the gun—raise the town! All the asylums in Christendom have broken loose in the single person of—’
‘Sit down! And collect yourself. Where is the use in getting excited? Am I excited? There is nothing to get excited about. When I make a statement which I cannot prove, it will be time enough for you to begin to offer hospitality to damaging fancies about me and my sanity.’
‘Oh, a thousand, thousand pardons! I ought to be ashamed of myself, and I am ashamed of myself for thinking that a little bit of a circumstance like sending a shark to England to fetch back a market report—’
‘What does your middle initial stand for, sir?’
‘Andrew. What are you writing?’
‘Wait a moment. Proof about the shark—and another matter. Only ten lines. There—now it is done. Sign it.’
‘Many thanks—many. Let me see; it says—it says oh, come, this is interesting! Why—why—look here! Prove what you say here, and I’ll put up the money, and double as much, if necessary, and divide the winnings with you, half and half. There, now—I’ve signed; make your promise good if you can. Show me a copy of the London Times only ten days old.’
‘Here it is—and with it these buttons and a memorandum book that belonged to the man the shark swallowed. Swallowed him in the Thames, without a doubt; for you will notice that the last entry in the book is dated “London”, and is of the same date as the Times, and says, “Ber confequentz der Kreigeseflarun, reife ich heute nach Deutchland ab, aur bak ich mein leben auf dem Ultar meines Landes legen mag”—as clean native German as anybody can put upon paper, and means that in consequence of the declaration of war, this loyal soul is leaving for home to-day, to fight. And he did leave, too, but the shark had him before the day was done, poor fellow.’
‘And a pity, too. But there are times for mourning, and we will attend to this case further on; other matters are pressing, now. I will go down and set the machinery in motion in a quiet way and buy the crop. It will cheer the drooping spirits of the boys, in a transitory way. Everything is transitory in this world. Sixty days hence, when they are called to deliver the goods, they will think they’ve been struck by lightning. But there is a time for mourning, and we will attend to that case along with the other one. Come along, I’ll take you to my tailor. What did you say your name is?’
‘Cecil Rhodes.’
‘It is hard to remember. However, I think you will make it easier by and by, if you live. There are three kinds of people—Commonplace Men, Remarkable Men, and Lunatics. I’ll classify you with the Remarkables, and take the chances.’
The deal went through, and secured to the young stranger the first fortune he ever pocketed.
‘Sharks Are (Relatively) Harmless’
Jim Haynes
Some folk are scared of spiders
While others hate the dark . . .
Nightmares, childhood scares,
Often leave their mark.
It’s part of being human
We all have secret fears,
A memory from infancy
Hidden many years.
Some say we inherit them
In a different way,
A sense of evil, fears primeval,
In our DNA.
Most of them irrational,
Or planted long ago,
When our forebears all had more cares
Than we’ll ever know.
Fear of darkness makes some sense,
If you want the truth,
When waiting there might be a bear
Or a sabre-tooth.
But now there’s the electric light
And science says, ‘Face facts,
It’s a condition called superstition,
How the primitive brain reacts.
‘Everything can be explained!
We have the facts and data
Whatever you fear, we are here
To explain it to you later.’
But, when you’re on the beach in summer
(Having found a place to park)
About to brave a curling wave
Your mind may whisper ‘. . . shark’!
450 species,
Of sharks live in the ocean
Out in the deep sharks never sleep
They’re constantly in motion.
But we know our fears are baseless,
For scientists have said,
Only three can ever be
The type that make you . . . dead.
The Tiger Shark, the Bull Shark,
And one they call Great White,
You will find, are the only kind
That have a fatal bite.
Recorded deaths each year worldwide
Number only four,
Be realistic, that statistic,
Means you’re safe for sure!
Six billion on the planet,
Say swimmers are one billion,
The chance you’ll be a Great White’s tea
Is one in a thousand million!
Sharks are mostly harmless
So, be slow to condemn.
They eat I hear, four people a year,
We eat millions of them!
You can conquer all your fears.
Once the facts are told.
You will find the irrational mind
Can easily be controlled.
So I’m off to enjoy the ocean,
No more doubts and fears,
I will be at one with the sea,
First time in many years.
I’ve convinced myself with all the facts
I’m really on a roll,
But the mind plays tricks, there’s one thing to fix
Before I’m in control.
My mind must have a jukebox
And it worries me because,
While swimming today, it started to play
That’s right . . . the theme from JAWS!
Eternal Father, strong to save,
Whose arm doth bind the restless wave,
Who bidd’st the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep:
O hear us when we cry to thee For those in peril on the sea.
William Whiting, ‘Eternal Father’ (hymn)
Passage to Melbourne
JIM HAYNES
Liverpool, 6 February 1846
Secretary to the
Colonial Land and Emigration Board
Sir,
It is our painful duty to communicate to you, for the information of Her Majesty’s Land and Emigration Commissioners, the total loss of the ship ‘Cataraque’, Captain Finlay, and we grieve to add, that out of the entire number of passengers and crew, only one of the former and eight of the latter were saved. The accounts which appear in the papers, and which you have no doubt seen, correspond in every particular with those which have been transmitted to us, and render it unnecessary for us to detail them. The ‘Cataraque’ was only 100 days out when this melancholy loss occurred. The emigrants were all in excellent health, and five infants only had died during the voyage.
We are informed that the reef of rocks on which she struck is a most fearful one, rendering it impossible
for any vessel which unhappily was driven on them to escape destruction in a gale of wind. Captain Finlay was a well-educated, steady and experienced person, who was strongly recommended to us by his former employers, Messrs. Brooke & Wilson, of this town. Both the first and second mates were also steady, experienced men, fully qualified for the duties they undertook.
Deeply regretting the melancholy nature of this communication,
We have, &c.
(signed) W. Smith & Sons
The ‘Cataraque’, more correctly known as the Cataraqui, was carrying assisted migrants to the relatively new settlement of Melbourne in the colony of New South Wales.
It was just eight years since Melbourne had been surveyed and named, and the arrival of some 369 new citizens would have added substantially to the population of the town. There were 13,500 settlers already living in Melbourne in 1845, so the 62 families, 33 unmarried women and 23 single men aboard the Cataraqui would have added 3 per cent to Melbourne’s population just by reaching the dock—but it was not to be.
The colonial administration in Sydney had long been reluctant to allow other settlements to develop, for fear these would be outside their control. While there was some apprehension about other European powers—especially France—settling parts of the continent, it was feared that other settlements springing up could stretch their administrative and military capability to breaking point and threaten the very existence of the colony.
Much earlier, in 1797, necessity had driven Governor John Hunter to send ships and men south. The ship Sydney Cove, carrying rice and supplies from Calcutta, was run aground on Preservation Island in Bass Strait after rounding Tasmania. The ship had been slowing sinking for weeks, and her captain thought that grounding her in a sheltered cove was his only chance of preserving the cargo and the lives of the crew. Seventeen men set out for Sydney in the longboat, but it was driven ashore and wrecked by massive surf in a storm on the south coast. The group set out to walk to Sydney, but hunger, exposure and attacks by hostile Aborigines had reduced the number to three when they were found just south of Sydney by a fishing boat on 15 May 1797.
Governor Hunter immediately sent the government schooner Francis and her tender Eliza to rescue the rest of the crew and the precious cargo. Sadly the Eliza—along with her crew and eight survivors of Sydney Cove—was lost on the return journey, but the Francis made two more trips to the wreck, in December 1797 and February 1798. On the latter occasion, one of the officers on board happened to be Matthew Flinders.