English passengers (12 page)

Hardly had we begun to retrace our steps towards the settlement, however, when there rang through the air an unmistakable sound: gunshots. They seemed to be coming from the northwest, from the direction of the sea, and, judging from their faintness, were some distance away. Their regularity indicated nothing less
than a battle, and as I listened there came into my mind an awful vision, of men fighting for their lives against a gang of murderous natives, hurling clouds of those light, needle-sharp spears. Mr. Pierce said not a word but simply turned about, looking pale, and began marching towards the din. Thus we hurried onwards, my heart pounding, my gun at the ready, and my thoughts much troubled by how little practice I had had in the use of weapons.

We were still far off when, all at once, the shots ceased. ‘‘I hope we’re not too late,’’ I remarked.

Mr. Pierce nodded grimly.

Without the sound to guide us it was harder to be certain of our direction, but we proceeded as best we could, through a stretch of woodland and alongside a little stream, until finally we found ourselves on a little grassy headland above the sea. All was as calm as could be, with no sound besides the wind and the cries of the birds. I was quite wondering if we had reached the wrong place, or even if the gunshots might, after all, have some quite innocent explanation, when Mr. Pierce, who had reached a cluster of rocks near the edge, gave a shout: ‘‘Over here.’’ As I grew near, I saw that on one of the stones, looking strangely neat, was what looked like the painted outline of a human hand, shining red. It wasn’t yet dry.

Mr. Pierce was already clambering over the rocks beyond, and I heard him utter a kind of groan. I followed him, and suddenly all about me was blood. It glistened on leaves and blades of grass. It lay collected in scarlet rock pools. In a moment I was quite covered with the stuff, sticky on my hands and clothes. Only when I reached the cliff’s edge did I discover its source. There, far below at the bottom of the precipice, they lay, lapped and tugged by the waves. I had never seen such a sight. Smashed limbs. Smashed heads. Insides spilled. All was brightest redness, as if from some scarlet spring bubbling up from the beneath.

Every one of them was a native. Together they must have formed half the tribe I had seen.

I will confess that, apart from the very horror of the discovery, my first feeling was a kind of weak relief that they were not, after all, men I knew. It may seem callous, but in a remote place such as this a man does feel strong loyalty to his fellows. The feeling was short-lived, however, quickly turning to greatest disgust, as I began to contemplate what had been done.

Mr. Pierce, needless to say, was greatly distraught, sobbing openly, in a manner that was painful to behold, as he attempted to descend the cliff, though
there seemed little enough purpose now, as there was no sign of life below. The tide was coming in, and I could see that some of the dead were already being gently lifted from their places by the waves. After several attempts, and my own urgent appeals, he finally acknowledged that the way was too steep, and he sat beside me, very still, murmuring to himself again and again, almost in the manner of a chant, ‘‘They shall be punished for this. ’’

I could see now that, unlike myself, he had been fearing exactly such an occurrence from the first, as we had hurried towards the sound of gunshots. He had never for a moment supposed that it was company men who were in peril. I felt ashamed. Why, at that moment I do believe I felt almost as strongly as he. In a curious way the sight of the poor creatures bleeding and broken made them seem all the more pitiably familiar. Smash a man to pieces and he will look much the same, regardless of his skin or manner of speech.

If any faintest doubts remained in my mind as to who was responsible they were dispelled soon enough. We were barely halfway back to the settlement when we came upon them, ambling home without hurry: ten stockkeepers, Sut-ton at their head, and all of them carrying their guns with a kind of bravado. Some wore wet clothes, that I guessed had been hastily cleansed of the stains of their killing. I could hardly believe these were the same men that I had thought I knew and with whom I had joked.

‘‘Murderers!’’ Mr. Pierce quite screeched. ‘‘Cowardly murderers. ’’

They denied the deed, though such was their tone that it was hardly a denial at all. ‘‘Must be those convicts, busy again, ’’ Sutton declared, throwing a wink to Higgs.

‘‘Then what, may I ask, are you all doing here?’’ Mr. Pierce demanded.

Sutton merely shrugged. ‘‘Off for a little bird hunting, we were. Shooting crows and such. ’’ Crows was a slang term for the aborigines, and this evoked a foul laugh from the rest.

‘‘You shall be punished for what you have done, and well punished too, ’’ Mr. Pierce warned. ‘‘I will see to it, believe me. ’’

Sutton gave him a foul look. ‘‘I’d say it’s lucky you’ve got the Little Preacher with you. ’’

Hearing my nickname spoken in such circumstances was strangely shocking. ‘‘My name is George Baines, ’’ I told him coldly, ‘‘and I will not have one such as you calling me anything else. ’’

I dare say it was foolish to provoke them. I was answered with threatening
stares, and one of the quieter of their number advised us to take ourselves back to the settlement directly, as he put it, for your own good. ’’ Though it was hard to walk away with so much anger still inside one, there seemed little wisdom in lingering, as even Mr. Pierce acknowledged.

‘‘Our fight is better fought elsewhere, ’’ he urged.

When we reached Company House we found Mr. Charles away, and his wife explained he was out inspecting some of the company lands. This was unfortunate and the hours that followed were difficult indeed, as we sat in the dining room, being sometimes brought tea by Mrs. Charles, listening to the clock tick, our thoughts still filled with horror. We both spoke hardly a word. Mr. Charles, when he finally arrived, seemed to divine our mood at once, his face turning grave. He listened patiently as Mr. Pierce recounted his terrible narrative.

‘‘We should go there without delay,’’ Mr. Pierce declared impatiently when he reached his story’s end. ‘‘The tide was rising but there may still be some left there for you to see. ’’

Mr. Charles frowned. ‘‘It will soon be dark. ’’

‘‘We can take lamps. ’’

‘‘John, ’’ urged Mr. Charles, raising his hand to calm him. ‘‘I know you feel most strongly about these poor people. I understand you are greatly distressed. ’’ His voice sank to a sad murmur. ‘‘Yet I will ask you to do one thing. Try, if you can, to cast this from your mind, just for the moment. There is the whole establishment to consider, and it cannot be managed without men. Believe me, I will ensure that this matter is dealt with most fully. ’’

Mr. Pierce fell into blinking. ‘‘You mean to let them go unpunished?’’

Mr. Charles gave him a thoughtful look. ‘‘I said no such thing. I am merely asking that you let me attend to this in my own way. ’’

‘‘Mr. Charles, I am afraid you leave me little choice.’’ Mr. Pierce stood, a little shakily, so his chair scraped behind him, then gave my arm a tug, so I was obliged to stand also. ‘‘As of this moment I resign my post with the New World Land Company. If you will not enforce justice, then I will simply find it elsewhere. George and I will go to Hobart directly and bear witness to all we have seen, including, Mr. Charles, your own reluctance to do your duty. ’’

His sudden announcement quite took me aback, and I confess my feelings were quite a storm. I shared his anger, most certainly, and likewise I shared his determination that something must be done, feeling no little disappointment at
Mr. Charles’s cautious suggestions. To resign his post with the company, however, seemed premature, even rash. It was most awkward that, merely by my very standing beside him, I seemed to have joined him in this action. Barbarous though the stockkeepers had been, had I not journeyed halfway across the world to be part of this venture? Somehow, almost by accident, I appeared to have turned my back upon these hopes. Much though I respected Mr. Pierce, I could not help but wish he had at least waited a while so we might discuss the matter.

Mr. Charles seemed aware of my predicament and threw me a brief sympathetic glance. ‘‘I hope we may talk of this again, ’’ he said as we passed towards the doorway, ‘‘when you have both had a chance to rest and reflect. ’’

Rest and reflection could hardly have been further from Mr. Pierce’s mind, and he fairly marched away from the settlement. ‘‘We must be gone from this place, George, ’’ he urged me. ‘‘When a body of men gives itself to evil, as these men have, then to remain with them is to join their wickedness, nothing less. ’’

I tried to moderate his view. ‘‘They’re not all them evil. Mr. Charles is not evil. ’’

The remark seemed only to fortify his conviction. ‘‘Is he not protecting the murderers? It is like a malady. Every one of them is infected. ’’ All in a rush he was forming plans as to what we must do, and wild plans they seemed. ‘‘We must create our own wholly separate settlement, and remain there until we find transport away. If there are any untainted men, as you suppose-and which I doubt-then they can join us there. ’’ Abruptly he stopped and glanced about him. We had reached a stretch of empty land, just out of view of Company House and the rest of the settlement. ‘‘This will do, ’’ he declared abruptly. ‘‘We should begin by building a hut. ’’

The day had been so terrible and now it felt somehow unreal. I looked about me at the place that he had chosen. The ground was damp underfoot, this being, I supposed, the reason for its remaining unused. ‘‘But how can we? We have no tools. We do not even know how to construct one. ’’

‘‘I have a knife, ’’ Mr. Pierce insisted, holding this up, though it was a small thing, better suited to peeling fruit than building huts. ‘‘Come along. We’ll find some wood and cut it into shape. ’’

We found logs, but most were rotten through with damp and fungus, while those that were not were far too irregular of shape to be easily assembled together. We had, besides, not a single nail. When I pointed this out, Mr. Pierce began carving a number of wooden pins with his knife-whistling with a kind
of desperate cheerfulness as he did so—though I could not see how these would help. By then it was growing dark, and a cold wind was beginning to blow.

‘‘We should have started by building a fire,’’ I declared, suddenly angry.

Mr. Pierce seemed taken aback. ‘‘We will build one tomorrow.’’

I looked at the mess of branches we had assembled, which more resembled a bonfire than the elements of a hut, and suddenly I was filled with impatience. ‘‘This is all pure madness.’’

He looked hurt. ‘‘Then what do you propose?’’

All at once I found I had made up my mind. My thoughts were all of my own hut, of food and warmth. ‘‘I’m going back.’’

I was quite taken aback by his reaction. He regarded me with the most profound astonishment. I suppose, having confided in me so often—though I had never wanted him to do so—he saw me as the one fellow to share, unquestionably, his own opinion. His face turned to fury. ‘‘Go then. As if I care whether you go or stay. Go and join the rest of them, and don’t ever think of coming back.’’

I returned to my bark hut, feeling quite wretched. I was also very hungry and so lit a fire in the hut’s little hearth, that I might begin preparing myself some tea and flour damper to eat. I had made only a little progress when Mr. Charles knocked upon the door.

‘‘Mr. Pierce is still gone?’’ he asked.

I nodded, a little coolly.

‘‘I had hoped to invite you both up to the house,’’ he explained. ‘‘Mrs. Charles thought you might be hungry and has roasted some lamb.’’ He cast an eye over my poor food. ‘‘Of course you may prefer to eat your own meal here.…’’

I went. I was not sure why I did, but I know now. Before long I was sat at that fine wooden dining table, my stomach filled with meat and brandy. It was not Mr. Charles who raised the subject of Mr. Pierce, it was I. Mr. Charles merely sat in his place, kindly nodding and frowning at my words. Mr. Pierce, I insisted, simply would not listen to anyone else. He was too much the outsider, forever failing to work with his fellows. He had no sense of moderation, of loyalty. I do believe I hated him. It may seem strange to you, Father, seeing as he had done no wrong, and now, when I reflect upon the matter, I suspect that it was this very fact that lay at the heart of my anger. It was as if I hated him
for being so right
, and so forcing me into wrongness.

Mr. Charles listened quietly all the while, smiling thoughtfully at my words. Only later, when the meal was finished and the brandy bottle was nearly empty, did he cast me a thoughtful look and offer an opinion of his own. ‘‘Of course you’ll be aware, George, that if Mr. Pierce has his way, and these men are tried in court, then the only thing that shall suffer is the company itself, which will be destroyed. ’’ He lit his pipe. ‘‘The men deserve punishment, most certainly, but not once in the short history of Van Diemen ’s Land has any white man been hanged for killing a black, regardless of what laws may say. What will result is a mighty outcry in England, and especially from our enemies. The hard work that has been done here will be of no account. Newspapers will shout. Shares will lose their value. From there it will be but a short step to bankruptcy. Of course all that is of no consequence to Mr. Pierce.’’ He puffed at his pipe. ‘‘How much better if it could only have been left to me. As chairman I could easily make those men regret what they have done-nearly as much as if they were taken to Hobart-and I could do it quietly. ’’

‘‘Will you do so?’’ I asked.

‘‘Not now. I will, though, once the
Champion
arrives, and we have hands to spare. ’’