Published: 20 Nov 2017

It was much for Lachlan to comprehend. He was his mother’s son, with her moral fibre, her humanity and understanding of right from wrong. He may not have had his father’s flawed belief in religion, choosing what scripture suited his situation best but Lachlan understood the commandments and attempted to use them as a base for his life, besides most were common sense and nowhere in the old man’s religion was thou shall enslave your fellow man.

Lachlan also had a high sense of egalitarianism, regardless if you were a native black or island Kanakas, they were all the same and all in his mind had a right to make their way through life without having their liberty deprived by another. So why was he agreeing to travel to some distant island beyond his comprehension and enslave its inhabitants, only to make his father more wealthy? Was he so frightened of his father he found it necessary to set aside all that was good, all that was right? It was an epic quandary and as he stood on the deck of Simpson’s ship his conscious troubled him greatly.

Out there in a wide tropical ocean were islands populated with free minded people, happily going about their daily fishing, food gathering, laughing making sons and daughters to carry on their traditions and Lachlan had been commanded to distress everything they thought good and right and he hated himself for doing so, no he hated his father and sooner or later he would say so.

“How are you feeling young fellow?” Simpson, shielding the afternoon sun from his eyes, called from amid ship. He made his way towards where the lad was standing.

“No worries” Lachlan answered while holding tight onto a larboard ratline to prevent him from falling to the deck, “I haven’t found my sea legs yet but my gut is holding out.” The words came freely but Lachlan didn’t believe what he proclaimed. He was fighting hard to keep down his last meal and they had not yet reached the open sea.

“Not like those brothers of yours, they spent most of the trip heaving over the rail.” Simpson grunted sarcastically, scratching at the long strands of thinning yellow hair that struggled beneath his battered captain’s cap, as he pointed to white breakers some distant off to the east. “That’s the reef – see how you go when we hit the real water.”

“What do you mean by real water?” Lachlan asked with much trepidation.

“Most of the swell is subdued by the reef, once on the outer the swells can be as high as the mast heads.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Never fear, it isn’t all that bad and not in this weather.”

“When will that be?” Lachlan anxiously enquired as the heaving of the ship disrupted his sense of balance. He held tightly. Placing one foot forward the decking was no longer where he had anticipated, the second step met the woodwork sooner than he assumed but he held his stand.

“Not until after visiting Cooktown.” Simpson released a conceited smirk towards one more land locked farmer given over to his care.

Simpson pointed a long bony finger to the North West, where a haze of lazy smoke hung over a headland.

“That way off to the north is the new aboriginal settlement of Yarrabah and around the point is Cairns, we will hold to the coast until we reach Cooktown, I have some cargo to off load there.

Simpson took a long deep breath of the sea air and felt at home. For a moment he had forgotten his nemesis and his mission, once again he was sailing the high seas in control of his destiny with a fair wind, a true cargo and contented crew.

“Do we pass through the reef at Cooktown?” Lachlan asked. The lad’s voice brought the captain back to his reality.

“No we need to come back somewhat to pass through into the Coral Sea but even there it isn’t the real ocean, the Coral sea is somewhat protected by New Guinea to its north and a string of islands reaching down through the Solomon’s to the east, you should be alright.”

Satisfied with the ship’s progress the captain invited Lachlan back to his cabin for a drink.

“I can offer you cherry or would you like port?” Simpson offered, “I’m afraid it’s only cheap rotgut, you can’t get much more up this way and unlike your father I can’t afford imported scotch.”

“Neither Mr. Simpson; I don’t usually drink alcohol and at this stage I think it wouldn’t be wise to do so.”

“How is your stomach holding?”

“Just,”

“Don’t concern, most have trouble on their first sea experience, you take Reg Dwyer, he’s been with me for a good ten years and still suffers from maladie de la mer.”

“I’ll survive.” Lachlan put forward without certainty.

“You’re not like your father and his imported scotch, or come to think of it William doesn’t mind a dram of scotch either.”

“I guess I’m not like my father in a number of ways.” Lachlan forcefully assured.

“No lad you’re not, I’m beginning to realise that more each time I meet you. More like your mother and there’s a fine woman. What about that young Cameron?” Simpson asked; “he appears to be lost in William’s shadow.”

“Cameron is alright once you get him away from William’s influence.”

“Do you have a sweetheart?”

“No one to speak about – I’m still looking I guess,” Lachlan answered being sure not to make eye contact with such a lie.

“A handsome young man like you and you’re father’s wealth should have the girls lined up.”

“I don’t get the time for stepping out and I guess if I were to marry, the old man will choose the bride as he did for William.”

“And William accepted that?” Simpson asked being most surprised that such archaic nonsense existed in their remote part of empire.

“William didn’t have choice as he expects to inherit, so he does our fathers bidding without argument.”

“Inherit? There should be more than enough for all to inherit something.” Simpson suggested somewhat amazed with McBride’s treatment of his family.

“No William will get the lot, father has made that quite clear and truthfully he can have it all.” Lachlan answered without malice or hesitation.

Simpson released a rye smile, “I guess you will get by without your father’s wealth. All I inherited from my old man was a razor strap he used on us kids and a hand full of bills.”

“Where are you originally from Mr. Simpson?” Lachlan enquired.

“Hobart in Tasmania, it was Van Diemen’s Land back then and my grandfather was deported from Ireland, for stealing bread during the potato famine.”

“Our foreman, Mr. Price had convict parents but father’s lot came directly from Scotland, I don’t know much about mother’s family.” Lachlan offered.

“It matter’s not, many who were sent here were on the whole upstanding citizens down on their luck, some even made their fortune after receiving their ticket of leave. Now it is even becoming fashionable to find a convict in the family line, something like the Pilgrim Fathers in America.”

“I guess it doesn’t concern me one way or the other.” Lachlan admitted.

“I guess it doesn’t.” Simpson concurred.

The Capricorn was a two mast schooner built in Scotland some thirty years previously and becoming too old and slow for the north Atlantic trade was sold to Colonial Traders out of Sydney, then after the bust of the eighties was purchased by Simpson and McBride for a song.

The Capricorn’s crew was eight including Simpson himself, although designed for eleven if trading intercontinentally. Around the coast a crew of eight was sufficient but if she were to run into trouble the problem may become compounded by a lack of manpower.

Seeing the Capricorn was a coastal trader, with the occasional short dash across to the closer islands Simpson chanced his luck on the smaller crew with a mind to increase his profit margins, besides McBride insisted to keep the crew as few as possible and if he had his way he would have Simpson sail the vessel by himself.

The Captain was a man of two distinct characters. On land he was meek and indecisive but once his feet were firmly planted on the foredeck of some ship, his confidence spiralled, while his voice grew to a boom, directing his crew into a frenzy of activity.

He was a private man who never married, or appeared to show interest in women. When the Capricorn was docked he would remain on board and while the ship was being careened or recalked, would billet himself with a married sister Roslyn, who lived in Townsville.

Simpson did have one confidant, his cabin boy, Toby, a lad of seventeen, who as a baby had been dumped at Roslyn Simpson’s doorstep without note or name. With the child were a tattered rug and a chipped and badly stained Toby Jug, so for no other reason the child earned the name Toby but lacked a family name.

For schooling and social need the lad was given the family name of Simpson, otherwise it was simply Toby, although throughout his boyhood other children called him Mr. Jug, or Jug, even when the playground became tough and tumble, Jug-head.

The lad lacked any great height and was a bean pole with a long but handsome face, whose chin bristled with blond stubble, while his grey eyes gave him a saddened character. His head was adorned with a mop of dirty blond dreadlocks that his benefactor continually threatened he would shave away.

At seventeen, Toby had ship knowledge of a seasoned merchant marine and confidence well beyond his years but seldom spoke unless spoken to, even then it would be a simple answer, a yes or no. If a lengthier response was necessary, he would minimise his words and clip his sentences into simplistic form, while removing most superlatives and adverbs. However he did identify with the ship’s cook, a middle-aged rotund Chinese man with limited English and a foul temper and a dubious understanding of western cuisine.

Chow Mein as the cook was known to the crew could make a banquette out of leftovers and with the help of a shovel-full of Monosodium Glutamate, bring life to any culinary invention but no matter how he tried, his meals would appear Chinese. Sweet and sour stews, fish and chips even simple damper was tempered with some unknown Asiatic concoction.

It was said of Chow, as he was mostly known, when the Capricorn was in port, it was prudent for town’s folk to chain their dogs and lock-up their cats to avoid them becoming ingredients in his stew. His favourite saying when complemented on some meal and with a forceful belly laugh was, ‘yesterday a puppy plenty – today a puppy none.’ But was he joking.

Many believed Cooktown in the Eighteen-nineties had more exclusive shopping than in Sydney or Melbourne and of its four thousand plus population, no other Australian settlement was as cosmopolitan, with a high number of Chinese, who had come to New Gold Mountain, their title for Australia and after failure as gold prospectors became market gardeners, laundered clothes or opened opium dens that were little better than brothels.

It was also common knowledge, local natives had a liking for human flesh and the flesh of the Chinese, they being mainly vegetarian was sweet, while the flesh of the white man stank and any self-respecting native would think twice before placing European flesh on the cooking fire.

Cooktown’s short but dynamic history commenced with William Hann’s discovery of gold on the Palmer River back in the Seventies, now after twenty years of outright war, the white man’s guns and diseases had all but extinguished the once bright glow of the native tribes, yet enough remained and ready to retaliate revenge and havoc whenever the opportunity arose, especially in the less settled arrears north of Cooktown or the Palmer River gold fields.

Simpson’s stay in Cooktown would only be for the best part of two days and one night. Once he had delivered his cargo, there would be a quick dash east to the islands to fulfil McBride’s bidding. As for Chow once the Capricorn docked he would disappear into the opium dens of China Town, where he would remain until once more being dragged in a drugged stupor back to his ship.

For Lachlan the bustle of Cooktown was overwhelming, not knowing which way to look first. There was the havoc of the forty seven bars and hotels and the many Emporiums selling everything from fine bone china to farming equipment and mining tools, while other establishments peddled sex and opium. All mixed with the voices of Americans, Italians, Scandinavian and British without exempting that of the Japanese Pearl divers and Chinese market gardeners, as they peddled their product from baskets carried high on shoulder yokes.

Cries in high pitched broken English came clearly above the drunken din from the crews of the many visiting ships, also miners in town for a little recreation, after months of hard digging for little gain. If by chance one was to strike some yellow metal the shout was on and the drinks lined along the grog house bars for all to share, until their newly found wealth became exhausted.

“I go now.” Chow declared with much excitement as he rushed from the ship like a scurrying possum and was down the gangway and onto the wharf before Simpson could give him fair warning.

“Hey Chow, you be here with tomorrow’s tide right!” Simpson loudly enforced, his voice booming after the disappearing cook but Chow was gone, vanishing down a narrow lane between rows of roughly built store sheds.

“Christ; that will be the last we see of the little bastard for days!” Simpson growled as Lachlan joined him beside the gangway. “Are you going ashore?”

“I may have a look around but a town as busy as this doesn’t hold much interest for me.”

“Would you do me a favour? Follow the little yellow bugger and see which den he ends up in, so it will be easier to find him when we sail.”

Lachlan found the fellow easy. Except for the vegetable vendors there were no Chinese walking the dusty streets and the sight of Chow’s bobbing pigtail stood out amongst the diggers as he shuffled along the narrow lanes before disappearing into a string bead covered doorway between a bakery and the Northern Gold Luck Emporium. As Lachlan parted the strings of shiny glass beads, his nostrils filled with smoke and the pungent smell of incense but darkness blocked his sight and apprehension his advance.

Satisfied, Lachlan took himself away from the seamy end of town towards the business section, where many items held his interest but none brought coin from his pocket. Soon he became exhausted with the pushing and noise and was pleased to be away.

Taking a longer return to the ship he travelled through the living quarters of the more to do folk and their English styled gardens failing in the tropical heat, with rows of gaily painted stones sufficing for colour amongst the quickly growing weeds and tropical vegetation. It appeared if one was to leave their home for a week south in Cairns or some other destination, plants grew so quickly on return it would be almost necessary to cut the way through the growth with a jungle knife.

On his way back to the ship Lachlan’s interests become centred on a hill to the south of the town and having a full afternoon to imbue, decided to climb to its naked grassy crown and survey the settlement below. With difficulty he found a way up its steep ascent.

Once on the summit he happened upon an old man who introduced himself as Harry, simply Harry, or Harry from Toowoomba. Lachlan didn’t know where Toowoomba was but not wishing to appear ignorant introduced as Lachlan from near Tully, without enquiring further where the stranger’s home town may be discovered.

“Tully eh;” Harry said while screwing his already lined face into deeper disapproving furrows. Scowling he shook his head, “I worked for a fellow near Tully once.

“I’m actually from McBride’s Point.” Lachlan extended.

“That’s the bloke, Jock McBride and never a meaner bastard have I encountered. He still owes me for a fortnight’s work.” Harry shook his head despondently, “I don’t rightly think you would know the man.” He added.

“I just work on a farm.” Lachlan offered not wishing to end a pleasant afternoon in a quarrel to which both sides were in agreement.

As for Harry from somewhere near Toowoomba, Lachlan could not recollect the man being on his father’s farm. Concluding it was when he was a boy, as workers came and went at steady intervals. He did remember some who only lasted a month, a week. Others not making sundown before being told they didn’t reach the required standard.

“Never mind young man, what goes around comes around and one day even a man like McBride will meet his match.”

Harry’s expression changed. He ran a ropy hand through his grey matted beard, stroking out the knots as his washed out eyes appeared to grow bright. “History is my forte.” He cheerfully announced in a well educated tone, “I was once a teacher of history back in the old country but out here in the Antipathies, there doesn’t appear to be much need to know of English monarchs.”

“I don’t know much bout history.” Lachlan freely admitted.

“If you don’t know history lad, you are likely to make the same mistakes of those who went before you.”

“In what way would that be?” Lachlan asked.

“Well for example did you arrive by ship?”

“I did but will be leaving tomorrow; we will be trading with the islands.” Being a small lie but feeling wise not to divulge more than necessary of their intention.

“Then you will need to transverse the outer reef and history gives you safe passage.” Harry was most proud of his knowledge.

“I don’t understand.”

“Have you heard of a certain sea captain called Cook?” Harry asked.

“Sort of, I guess this place is named after him.”

“Firstly he wasn’t a sea captain but a lieutenant in the army surveying corps and he surveyed the St Laurance River so Wolff could capture Quebec for the British.”

“Where is Quebec?” Lachlan asked; he could have asked who Wolfe was or what an army man was doing in charge of a ship but one point of ignorance could be forgiven, too many may prove him uneducated.

“Never mind all that lad but when you go off to trade with your islands, most likely it will be Cook’s Passage that gives you progress. If it weren’t for Cook hitting the reef and finding the only passage for a good hundred miles in any direction you would not be standing on this hill hearing about it today.”

“I see what you mean but I never thought of history being anything more than a bother at school.” Lachlan admitted.

“Also young man that very same Cook was the first European to stand where you are standing right now, and see that break in the mangroves down there near the wharf.”

“I do;”

“That is where he beached his ship the Endeavour to repair it after hitting the reef and almost being lost at sea.”

“I hope we don’t hit any reef.” Lachlan gave a shudder.

“Who is your captain?”

“Lenny Simpson why?”

“Simpson will see ya right; he’s a little flighty and first to disappear when there’s trouble but at sea he knows his stuff.”

“He’s a friend of my father.” Lachlan let slip.

“And young fell who is your father?” Harry asked, believing he knew most of what there was to know about Lenny Simpson.

“James Smith.” Lachlan lied using his mother’s family name. It was too late in the afternoon to end in a row and he had in a short time grown fond of the old man, so why create havoc as he prepared to depart company.

“I’m afraid I don’t know the man.” Harry answered curiously.

“I guess he’s a land friend of Mr. Simpson and has never gone to sea.” It was almost true, Jock’s sea voyage was along the coast on his way north and that could hardly be considered going to sea.

After some time and a host of facts, points and explanations about the local area, what lay to the interior and how to avoid being speared by blacks the history lesson concluded and Lachlan returned to his ship.

True to statement, Chow had to be collected from his den of inequity before the tide and carried aboard, continuously complaining, while frequently passing wind from every known orifice. It was the following day before he recovered enough to return to his chores, leaving poor Toby the unenviable challenge of creating something palatable for the crew.

Toby wasn’t untrained in the art of running a kitchen and was most basic with his meals. A stew was everything he could find dumped into a stewing pot, vegetables without peeling, meat in great chunks, followed by an overdose of salt and boiled until palatable. As for bread, his dough failed to rise, its crust burnt and contents soggy but he was willing to learn if the infuriating Asian was willing to teach.

Eventually Chow stumbled deliriously into his Galley, demanded that Toby evacuate immediately, while upsetting a stack of pots and a large container of flour to the Galley floor, giving its oily oak surface an ashen pale nature. .Soon the flour became scattered by the clumsy footwork of the still drug affected cook.

Now it was on and coming down from his opium induced state was never a pretty sight; Chow’s eyes were bloodshot, clothes dishevelled and voice even more shrieked than usual. Coming up to the lad he drew breath, removed the skillet from Toby’s hands and gave him a lengthy verbal tirade.

“You no Cook!” The excitable Asian shouted, firstly in Mandarin then translated almost into English, before pushing Toby to one side and taking what the lad was preparing from the stove. He unceremoniously sniffed at it, placed a finger into the concoction then spat violently to the floor.

“Too much salt!” Chow squealed, “you English can’t cook.”

“But Chow someone had to do so.” Toby protested.

“Tastes like shit!” The Asian added while pouring the contents into the slop bucket.

“You take slop!” Chow demanded, pointing at the overfilled bucket. “You take slop you no cook.”

Toby quickly obeyed and was pleased to be away from the Galley and the dramatic cook, while long after Toby had departed from the Galley, Chow’s complaints echoed along the corridors of below deck.

“What sort of condition is Chow in?” Simpson asked as Toby came above deck.

“Believe me Mr. Simpson, you don’t wish to know.” Toby growled.

“I guess he’ll soon come down from his cloud.”

“I guess so but until then, I’m not going near him.” Toby gave a shudder.

“Would you fetch young Mr. McBride for me?” Simpson asked of Toby.

“Why do we need another McBride along?”

“Don’t ask such questions when I believe you know the answers.” The captain sternly warned.

“I don’t know why you bother with that man.”

“Toby you are young and haven’t yet discovered the restrictions one person can place on another.” Simpson was becoming impatient but reluctant to share his misfortune with his charge, especially his most inner thoughts on the man who was causing him so much displeasure and grief.

“I don’t think being young means I can’t understand.”

“Toby, please go below and find Lachlan.”

Within the hour and with the tide the Capricorn was once more out to sea, heading in a easterly direction towards the reef and Cook’s Passage. Simpson remained on deck, there was a cool sea breeze, filling him with calm and happy memories of past trips.

His thoughts were in the islands when he was as cabin boy on his first ship. He remembered the sound of Tahitian women as they sang and the sway of bodies in time with perfect harmony and it was always Tahiti that gave him the most pleasure. The natives there were not like those in the Solomon’s and Melanesia but more approachable and appeared to be alive and in tune with the sea and their small islands. Tahiti was like the sirens of the Ulysses saga drawing ships crew to their shore and many often remain.

“Have you ever visited Tahiti?” Simpson asked of Lachlan as he arrived on deck.

“No Mr. Simpson, I’ve never been to sea before.”

“It’s Len young man, I think we know each other well enough to be familiar.”

“Where is this Tahiti?” Lachlan enquired, watching as a pod of dolphins glide across the ship’s bow wave diving in and out of the waves. Travelling with such ease it could be naught but inspiring.

“It’s way off beyond the Solomon’s, even beyond New Zealand and the most wonderful place on earth.

“Have you been there?” Lachlan asked.

“Yes many times but only as a salt not with my own ship. One day I will return, build myself a little cottage and grow vegetables and coconuts.” The captain released a sigh as the dolphins left for the deeper ocean.

“What about yourself lad, what do you inspire to?”

“In general I haven’t given it all much thought. I guess all I know is sugar cane and horses, a little about cattle.”

“A young man of your age should have many dreams, take Toby, he want’s to have his own ship, truthfully he want’s a whole fleet but doesn’t wish to sit in some land locked office and manage them.” Simpson laughed, “I asked him how it was possible to stand on the decks of all his ships at the one time and he said he would work something out.”

“Toby appears to most capable.” Lachlan suggested.

“That he is but for yourself, hitch your thoughts to some dream otherwise you will become bitter like your father.”

Lachlan didn’t answer. He had dreams in his horse breeding and running cattle with Stephen Henderson but they were private dreams and not those he wished to share, especially someone who was affiliated with his father.

“How long have you known my father?” Lachlan asked.

“In real time I guess five years, in annoyance a life time.”

“You don’t appear to have a great deal of respect for each other, especially seeing you are in partnership.”

“I’m sorry young fellow I shouldn’t be burdening you with my woes, especially seeing you are his son.”

Lachlan laughed; “In terms William is his son and we the spare, I couldn’t guess which one that would design towards but most defiantly not me.”

“I should think that makes William a very happy man.” Simpson suggested.

“If so he doesn’t show it at all, I guess being the eldest places a deal of pressure on him.”

As Lachlan spoke the dolphins returned and with ease glided alongside the ship before diving deeply and disappearing underneath the ships hull.

“Beautiful animals.” Simpson complemented.

“They are I agree.”

“Have you heard of Cook Strait in New Zealand?” The captain asked.

“No but this Cook fellow sure got around.” Lachlan admitted.

“Pelorus Jack that is what they call him.”

“Who Captain Cook?”

“No that was the name of a dolphin that would meet ships and guide them through Cook Strait and after someone took a shot at him the government made him a protectorate of the state by law.

“Had you seen Pelorus Jack?” Lachlan asked.

“No not myself but I’ve known many who have and swore by his guidance.”

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