‘What does it matter? They’re dead. I told you it was a waste of time dragging me down here.’
‘We’re supposed to know the cause of death to put on the death certificate for the register.’ The policeman had reached the doctor’s side. He towered over him, hands twitching as though he would lift the doctor and carry him down the beach.
‘It’s smallpox. What else? And I haven’t had it yet. Nor do I intend to catch it from … from a boatload of corpses!’
The doctor was almost dancing with rage. Tad caught his breath as he realised at last what was going on. What if he was too late? What if his father had caught the disease? What if he was one of the dead men on the boat? Cautiously Tad edged forward, trying to get a better look.
‘Only one of them is smallpox. There’s a sailor died of gangrene. Accident on board ship coming over. His leg got caught in a rope and the ship’s doctor had to amputate his foot to free him. The poor sod never had a chance after that. And one of the passengers died of a bellyache. Wasn’t allowed off for treatment, and died of it. So you’ll not put smallpox on their death certificates, doctor.’
A bellyache? Fear washed over Tad as he remembered how his father had complained of stomach cramps on the voyage over. ‘Indigestion,’ the ship’s doctor had laughed, and given his father syrup to take before meals. Tad tried to comfort himself with the thought that the doctor had never suggested the cramps might prove fatal. He strained his ears in case there was any more information about the passengers, but the doctor was now busy cursing the policeman who stared at him, unmoved. Unexpectedly, the doctor moved briskly towards the small wooden building where Tad was hiding.
Tad shrank backwards, knocking his elbow against the sharp edge of a wall as he went. He drew in his breath at the sudden pain of it.
‘Who’s there?’ the doctor shouted.
Tad didn’t reply and bent his head so his pale face wouldn’t betray him amongst the dark shadows.
The doctor pulled out a knife. It had a thin, wicked-looking blade. Tad cowered back, praying the doctor hadn’t seen him. The light glinted on the silver blade as the doctor raised it, then struck down with a savage thrust, slicing through the sturdy stem of a bush nearby and whittling off the leaves to fashion himself an impromptu walking stick. Armed with the stick he turned and, to Tad’s relief, walked off down the beach towards the boat once more.
The dark shapes were laid out on the sand. The doctor kept at a distance and, using the stick to raise the edge of the blankets covering the faces, made a quick inspection, then dictated something to the second policeman who had produced a notebook.
Tad wondered just how accurate the records of the Quarantine Station would turn out to be. He edged closer, trying to keep under cover of the shadows.
Other men had come down to the beach, wheeling handcarts, to fetch the coffins and take the bodies for burial with quicklime.
Tad felt sick. He was torn between wanting to follow the handcarts, just to make sure his father wasn’t among the dead, and waiting quietly until everyone had gone. Only then could he swim over to the Faraway and find out what was going on.
He decided to wait. If the sailors with their grisly burdens caught sight of him, he’d be sent back to the hospital ward immediately, possibly under guard. Tad doubted if they’d tell him what he wanted to know. Better to wait. But just as the sounds of the burial party died away, Tad caught sight of the lights of a boat from across the water. He listened to the faint hum of an engine getting louder, and shivered, wondering if he had time to make a break for it. As he dithered, the lights came closer. The boat was travelling at a fair speed. Resigned, he settled himself back into the shadows.
The boat pulled in at the long jetty. Tad could hear voices, wails, cries of protest, curses as the passengers were herded off the boat onto the gangway. They stood on the beach in groups and waited to be told what to do. In the pale moonlight, Tad could just make out the name of the motor boat, Pinafore. It must have come across from Sydney.
Tad stared with interest at the new arrivals. They must have been dragged from their beds. The women and children wore nightgowns, with blankets and coats over their shoulders, while the men, too, wore night attire or were roughly dressed.
They looked tired, bewildered and angry. Some were obviously sick, with the telltale flush of pink blisters across their faces. But others looked quite healthy as they strode around, called out questions, demanded answers.
The doctor returned but took care to keep his distance from the new arrivals. ‘Everyone in a line for inspection,’ he shouted. ‘I’ll take your names and then you’ll be told where to go.’
Tad remembered the scarce rations, the overcrowded ward and lines of tents. Where would the authorities find room for the new people? Then he remembered the pile of coffins, and he knew.
He watched as a straggly line formed, as the passengers rolled up their sleeves, shivered in the cold night air and walked slowly past the doctor. He wondered how accurate the doctor’s diagnosis could be as they were herded into groups. There were shouts of protest as women and children were taken off through the gate, while the men, in small groups, were rowed across to the hospital ship.
Tad did not dare move for a long time. He grew colder, more tired and desperate by the minute. He listened to the night rustles of birds and other horrific things he did not dare to think about. His skin itched and he scratched furiously, even though he knew it was probably just his imagination.
At last he could bear it no longer. Cautiously, he wriggled forward once more. The beach was deserted, save for the pale glimmer of a tent – headquarters of the constable on duty. There was no sign of him now. Tad hoped he was asleep. Keeping to the shadows he edged along the jetty, peering at the dark shape bobbing at the far end.
Tad’s eyes gleamed. It looked like he wouldn’t have to make a midnight swim after all! But the rope that tethered the rowboat was thick, hard and wet, and his hands too cold and slippery to untie it. Tad slipped his shaking fingers into his pocket and found his knife. Frantically, he sawed at the rope, fearing discovery with every protesting creak of the boat. But at last it was free!
Tad climbed in and pushed off. He felt the water at the bottom of the boat seeping icy through his boots, freezing his toes. But he was too excited to care. The oars lay ready waiting for him. He slipped them into the rowlocks and started to row. At last he was going to see his father!
6
Tad was glad there was hardly any moon as he rowed across to the Faraway. There was less chance of his being seen or heard. He was careful to slide the oars quietly into the water, trying not to splash. Halfway across he paused, rested for a moment and gazed about him as he listened to the night sounds. The Faraway loomed ahead, a darker bulk against the oily black sea, the two lanterns on board glowing like eyes in the dark. The mooring ropes squeaked a protest as the boat shifted uneasily on the swell. It sounded as though it was trying to break free.
The frosty air drove Tad on. He shivered as he fumbled with the oars, his fingers too numb and cold to grasp them properly.
‘Here, I’ll help you. Catch this!’ A voice hissed through the night silence as Tad came towards the landing platform. He looked up in alarm. Someone had seen him after all! But at least the voice sounded friendly.
Gratefully, he took the end of the rope that landed with a thump in front of him and tied it to the rowlocks to stop the boat floating away.
‘It’s all right. No-one keeps watch around here at night and they’ve taken all the dead people off now.’
The stranger leaned over the side. A hand came over and caught him. With a rush and a flurry Tad was jerked up and onto the Faraway, scraping his arm as he scrambled over and fell onto the deck. His nose wrinkled at the stench from the water closets nearby. It was an effort not to gag as he leaned forward to peer at his helper in the light from a kerosene lantern.
A boy not much older than Tad, but very thin, was busy securing his end of the rop
e to the Faraway. He wore a frayed shirt and torn, dirty trousers that were held precariously in place by a piece of old rope. He seemed rather a common sort of fellow.
The boy saw Tad looking and chuckled. ‘My name’s Ralph. What’s yours?’ He stuck out his hand and Tad took it warily.
‘Thaddeus, but I’m usually called Tad.’
‘Well, Tad, I can tell you’re not impressed with how I look, but maybe you can help me out?’ Ralph said cheerfully. He dug a coin out of one of his pockets and held it out. ‘Want to sell that nice belt of yours?’
Tad could see the boy more clearly now. He was older than he looked, maybe fifteen or sixteen. His eyes seemed too big for his face, which was pale, starved and pinched with cold. He wore no boots, his clothes were ragged and yet the coin he held out to Tad gleamed a dull gold in the light.
Tad looked at him curiously.
‘I’ve got money to pay, see? And you look like the sort of fellow to have clothes to sell. I don’t want to leave here in these rags. I’ve got plans for when I get out of here and I want to look like a gentleman.’
Tad’s fingers touched his belt. It was leather, embossed with brass studs. It had belonged to his father, along with his other clothes which Mary-Anne had cut down and stitched so that he might have something to wear during the long voyage. He had hidden the belt when the authorities had taken away all their clothing. The rumour was that everything taken would be destroyed. He wanted to keep something of his father’s. What Tad stood up in – this clothing ration – was all he had.
‘It’s not for sale,’ he said shortly and started walking along the deck.
‘So, Tad, how about selling me your shirt then? And I could do with a warm jersey.’ Ralph followed him along the deck. As he saw Tad’s nose turn up in disgust he added quickly, ‘I’ve got money to pay and those clothes are too big for you, anyway.’
‘This is all I have and I’m not going to swap or sell them.’
‘Bleeding toffs. You’re all the same.’ Ralph stopped and confronted Tad, his jaw stuck out like an inquisitive turtle. ‘Won’t give anyone a helping hand, will you? Keep the lower classes in their place.’
‘It’s not like that,’ Tad muttered. ‘Look, I’m in a hurry. I haven’t got time for this! I’ve got to find my father.’ He tried to push past, but Ralph stood squarely in front of him.
‘What about your boots then? Want to sell your boots?’
Tad looked down at his boots, now leaking puddles onto the deck. He remembered the barefoot lady on shore and wondered why Ralph didn’t just steal the things he wanted instead of trying to buy them? But then a thought struck him. Where had Ralph found the gold coin he was still holding out?
‘Look …’ he tried to edge past Ralph, ‘all my other clothes were taken away. I’ve got nothing to sell. Please, I have to find my father. You know your way around here. Will you help me?’
Ralph blinked at him curiously. ‘Your father? He’s here? On board?’
Tad leaned forward, trying to ignore the stale, sour smell of Ralph. ‘We were split up when the ship arrived. I have to find him now.’ And he started off down the deck once more.
Ralph grabbed his arm. ‘Not that way. That’s where the Chinamen are.’ And he picked up the lantern, turned and walked purposefully in the opposite direction.
‘What’s your father’s name, anyway?’
‘Charles. Charles Dearborne?’
Ralph’s footsteps checked. ‘Charlie Dear? Tall, dark hair, small scar on the side of his chin?’ He wouldn’t meet Tad’s eyes, and in that moment Tad knew. He tried to swallow the sudden lump that came into his throat, but it was too big and too terrible. He nodded dumbly.
Ralph started to walk again, his footsteps dragged. ‘You … you do know some people have died on board?’ He still wouldn’t look at Tad.
Tad thought of the bodies being loaded onto the rowboat; how the doctor had lifted the blanket with his stick to identify the cause of death. It was the closest he’d been to his father in days. And now it was all too late. He felt the bile rise in his stomach and tear at his throat and he ran to the side of the boat, gasping and retching.
Once his stomach was empty he felt a bit better, but not much. He turned to find Ralph still beside him, watching gravely. Beyond Ralph’s shoulder he saw something move, and he gasped and pulled Ralph down into the shadows.
As the figure came nearer, Tad could see that the man was naked, his body rough with angry weeping sores. All his attention was concentrated on scratching at the fire on his skin. He was moaning, delirious with pain and fever. His eyes stared forward at nothing and he grinned horribly as he scratched and scratched, tearing his skin so that blood ran in trickles down his face and arms.
Tad cried out, but Ralph ran forward, grabbed the man’s arm and turned him around.
‘Come with me,’ he called to Tad. Then Tad heard him murmur: ‘Here you go, Ernie. Back to bed now. Try to get some rest. You’ll feel better in the morning,’ as he led him away.
Tad followed them aft through a door and down into the ship’s interior. There was a familiar smell – carbolic acid mixed with stale air, and something else so putrid that Tad snatched a handkerchief from his pocket and stuffed it over his nose.
Some partitions had been set up near a gangway, with several iron beds squashed into each partition. Passing by, Tad could see most were occupied. Only two were empty, blankets folded neatly on top of the mattresses. The smell from the compartments was overpowering and Tad saw why, as Ralph pulled back a blanket and gently pushed the naked man down onto the bed. The mattress was soiled. The man had been lying in his own mess. The whole place stank of it.
Tad shuddered, wondering what had happened to his father. He was trying very hard not to cry.
Ralph touched his arm gently. ‘Your father didn’t die like that,’ he said.
‘So what happened then?’
‘Bellyache. He had a real pain in the guts. I saw him weep with it. The doctor on board couldn’t treat him, but he wouldn’t let him leave either.’ Ralph patted Tad’s arm awkwardly. ‘Your father was unconscious at the end,’ he said. ‘He didn’t suffer all that long.’
‘Where … are my father’s things?’ Tad asked, swallowing hard, trying to be businesslike.
‘Over there, by the bed.’ Ralph set the lantern down on a small wooden table and turned away.
Tad ran forward, too concerned now about the family treasure and the fact that he was all alone to wonder about the sudden lack of warmth in Ralph’s voice.
The family treasure! He could use the money to pay his fare back to England. Tad was comforted by the thought of seeing his mother again. But then he remembered Joseph, and sighed. ‘That little bastard’. That was what his mother had called him. She would never accept Joseph in the house. But he couldn’t leave him here on his own to take his chances. Joseph was too little. Besides, Tad had given his promise to Mary-Anne. He couldn’t abandon Joseph now. No, they’d have to stay here. He would use the money to get started, to make a home for himself and Joseph now that his father was no longer there to look after them.
Tad searched feverishly under the stinking garments his father had died in, but he could find nothing. He looked under the bed and under the blankets. Nothing. But there was nowhere else for his father to have hidden the family treasure. Nowhere.
And then he remembered the gold coin.
‘Where is it?’ he said fiercely, turning on Ralph. ‘You know, don’t you? You know what I’m talking about! If you don’t give it to me right now I’ll … I’ll find the master of this ship and have you locked up, just like all the other convicts who’ve come out here in the past.’
‘And how do I know you’re who you say you are?’ Ralph asked sullenly. ‘How do I know you’re really Charlie Dear’s son?’
Tad thought for a minute then slowly unlaced his boots. He took them off and wiggled his toes.
Ralph stared down at Tad’s naked feet, at the membranes of s
kin which connected Tad’s toes. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.
‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘I guess you are.’
‘Then give it to me!’ Tad hissed fiercely. ‘It’s not just for me. I’ve got a little brother. He’s only just two. I need the money to look after him.’
‘Where’s your mother?’ Ralph hadn’t moved.
‘In England,’ Tad said despairingly.
‘You’ve got no-one else here to look after you?’
‘No-one. Give it to me!’ he insisted.
Ralph thrust his hand deep into a ragged pocket and reluctantly produced a pile of coins. He let them trickle through his fingers into Tad’s cupped hand.
‘Where’s the rest of it?’
With a sigh, Ralph patted his other pocket and produced a couple more coins.
‘Where’s the box?’ Tad was determined not to let Ralph get away with any of it.
But Ralph looked genuinely puzzled.
‘The family tr … a box. Small and quite heavy.’ Tad didn’t want to give Ralph any idea of the box’s real value.
‘But that’s not …’
‘It’s got important family documents in it,’ Tad improvised.
Ralph shrugged indifferently. ‘It’s over here.’ He opened a drawer and produced a box wrapped in oilskin. ‘But I can’t find the key,’ he said. ‘Your father must have hidden it somewhere.’
Tad reached for the box, trying not to snatch it from Ralph’s grasp. ‘I’ll take it with me.’ He looked around, uncertain what to do next.
‘What are you going to do with it?’ Ralph sounded genuinely interested.
Tad thought through his options: the overcrowded hospital enclosure, the pilfering that went on there. His treasure wouldn’t be safe.
‘If you take it back with you, it’ll be stolen.’
‘Oh, you can talk!’
Ralph shuffled his feet on the deck. ‘Look, I thought your father was here on his own. I didn’t know he had a family on shore. And I figured if he had no-one to leave stuff to, then I should use it. I don’t have anyone looking out for me either. Life’s damn tough without a family. You’ll find out. I was going to use that money to set myself up somehow, do some good.’ He stared earnestly at Tad.
Ghost Boy Page 4