Published: 27 Nov 2017

During the late afternoon Lachlan once again joined Simpson on the foredeck, as young Toby was about to take his turn for the first dog watch. The sun had dipped towards the distant western Dividing Range while to the east white capped waves seemed to dance above a hidden reef.

“How’s Chow going in the kitchen?” Simpson asked of Toby as he managed the ratlines.

“He’s bloody minded as usual.” Toby mumbled.

“You take care, some of the top ratlines need replacing.” Simpson turned to Lachlan as Toby disregarding his captain’s warning, scampered upwards like a rhesus macaque climbing some giant forest tree.

“Why don’t sailors wear footwear?’ Lachlan asked, noticing Toby’s bare feet as he climbed effortlessly towards the top yard.

“When above you don’t get the same feel with shoes and bare feet don’t slip on wet decks but I’d say as many do wear shoes as don’t.”

“Oh I see, I guess have a lot to learn about sailing.”

“Do you really wish to?” The captain asked.

“To be truthful Len no, I prefer to have my feet firmly planted onto the earth, a horse paddock preferable and my arse firmly planted in the saddle.”

“See that rough water ahead?” Simpson asked, nodding towards the white caps less than half a mile ahead. Lachlan agreed.

“That is the reef.”

“Where is the gap?”

“We’re in it; we’re in Cook’s Passage.”

“How far is it to the other side?” Lachlan asked, taking on the concern of his captain.

Simpson cast his gaze to the top mast where Toby anxiously surveyed the water ahead. “All clear to starboard.” He called back to his captain.

“We’ll be through before sundown but that isn’t what worries me, it’s this lack of breeze, we’re commencing to drift.

“Is that bad?” Lachlan displayed his lack of marine knowledge.

“Too far to Port and you hit the reef,” he paused, “too far Starboard and more reef, I’ll be buggered how Cook found his way through, especially with a crippled ship.” There was an uneasy pitch to the Captain’s tone as the ship slowly progressed, then relief as Toby called, “all clear ahead.”

“Why do you take the Passage at this time of the day?” Lachlan enquired.

“Easier to depict the deep water; white water means reef and with the declining sun the white caps stand out but in general we just happen to be here at this time of the day.”

As the Captain spoke a reef of coral became tensely visible a short distance from the ship’s hull and just below the water’s surface. Simpson pointed to the reef and called to Toby, who gave confidence they were well within the passage and quite safe. “Sorry boss I didn’t see that one.” Toby apologised, “that’s the last for a while.”

“So you haven’t been to sea before?” Simpson asked somewhat rhetorically while turning away from the ships progress to entertain his vision with the white tips in their wake. There was an anxious beauty in their gentle breaking on the reef and Simpson used the spectacle to calm his disposition.

“No and I don’t agree with my father’s resolve in this enterprise.”

“Nor do I.”

“Then why did you agree to it?” Lachlan asked surprisedly.

“Your father owns the controlling interest in the Capricorn, so I don’t have a choice.”

“What doesn’t he have interest in?” Lachlan shook his head and took a deep breath as once again the dolphin’s returned to run beside the port side, diving in and out of the water in joyful play, until once again passing under the bow only to disappear into the darkening water and the distant reef.

“You know you can be gaoled for blackbirding?” Lachlan advised showing genuine concern.

“Yes young fellow, I am well aware of the consequences.”

“Again, so why agree with my father demands?”

“Umm your dad has agreed to a once only expedition, besides he has also promised to become a more silent partner on our return.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath on that one.”

“He promised – what have you heard?” Simpson took on a worried tone, believing the word of a man of such a standing in the community would be sacrosanct.

“Nothing, father doesn’t let anyone know what he’s up to and never myself.” Lachlan smiled then continued. “Besides I’m just the family’s Runt and of no use to anyone.”

“I wouldn’t put yourself down, you are worth ten of those brother’s of yours, besides I have already noted your merit.” Simpson commended with much confidence.

“Don’t worry Mr. Simpson, I don’t and as soon as I’m of age, I’ll be off. I have a good mob of horses now and the North needs horses.”

“Wise lad.”

With the morning the Capricorn was in deep water and well east of the reef, heading in a North East direction towards New Guinea and the Solomon Islands. It had been decided to try their luck amongst the northern islands closer to the New Guinea mainland, as there they would be unlikely to encounter the British Navy.

It had recently been reported that two frigates were working out of Honiara but mainly patrolling the southern islands, while in New Caledonia the French had a navel presence and unlike the British they fired first in the presence of suspected blackbirders and if a ship were boarded and natives found, the vessel was confiscated without recourse. It was also reported that on one occasion, the French put the crew of the offending vessel into their long boat and put it adrift before setting fire to their ship.

It was past midday before anyone realised the ship’s mate Simon Jenkins was missing and past mid afternoon before he was discovered curled in a cat like circle behind a stack of sails in the lazarette and dead drunk and was well past first dog watch before he was sober enough to, although in a greatly depleted manor, attend to his duties. As for his supply of alcohol, that remained undiscovered even with a thorough search of the ship. When asked how he obtained his supply, he declared he smuggled it on board in the base of a crate of cabbages right under Chow’s nose, when asked where the rest of his cache was hidden he promising there wasn’t any more.

Satisfied Jenkins was truthful, Simpson declared that once back in port he would discharge the errant hand from his payroll but knew well it to be an empty threat, as the man was much too skilled to be released and a few drunken episodes over the span of a year could be overlooked. Besides Simpson owed the man his life, as once while working on the water line of a ship, a large shark had approached and Jenkins had pulled his captain from the water as the jagged and lacerating jaw of the monster bit down on the platform where only seconds earlier he had been sitting.

When it was Jenkins turn at the watch, the Captain decided it wise to have Toby join him in case he fell asleep or passed out from some alcoholic relapse and fall to the deck or into the sea. Fortunately Jenkins’ constitution was solid enough for him to remain at his post without further incident.

Two days from Cooktown the Capricorn encountered the trader Gorgon, out of Fiji via New Caledonia. The two ships hove to, while Simpson crossed over to luncheon with its Skipper, Harrison Smith. Both captains were old acquaintances from a youthful service in the British Navy and Smith was well experienced at blackbirding, thus capable in giving pointers where to try their luck and what to avoid.

There was one difference separating the captains and that was basic honesty. Simpson acted out of necessity, while Smith was as corrupt as one could be, – then one could say, a little more. Below his decks was a cargo of black faces from the island of New Caledonia, enticed aboard with promise of gifts and almost under the very nose of the French.

One of Smith’s favourite tricks while in French waters was, on approach to land he would raise the French tricolour, giving his quarry a false sense of security. His ploy was mostly successful but on one occasion when he was legally trading and boarded by a French contingent of marines, the man had to act quickly and sank the tricolour over the stern of his ship attached to a large iron cogwheel. The flag quickly disappeared from sight and only moments before the French crew came aboard.

During the Gorgons latest escapade it was discovered but managed to out run a French Frigate but not before receiving a shot taking away a portion of the Taffrail and one of his crew who was lost overboard and because of the French closing in, had to be left behind to flounder and drown, or if lucky picked up by the French to spend his future years in some rat infested prison.

“Where are you heading?” Smith enquired as the two checked over the Gorgons cargo of human souls, a miserable bunch of ten or so frightened natives of questionable use for working cane but there was always some farmer on that northern coast, willing to pay his price.

“The Solomon’s,”

“Umm lately the natives there have become much too aware of visiting ships and have become hostile. You have to work hard at it, a few strings of beads and blankets and promise of good money for hard work won’t work anymore,” Smith continued, “Why don’t you try New Guinea?” He advised.

“I’m heading to the north Solomon’s and then if necessary on to New Guinea but for what I’ve heard the New Guinea natives seem a little too savage for my liking.” Simpson admitted.

“I reckon this will be my last go with the blacks but I reckon if Queensland joins the federation there will be plenty of work taking them back to the islands.” Captain Smith perceived.

“True and I think regardless of McBride’s wishes, it will also be my last attempt.”

“So you’re working for McBride? Well I wish you luck and I did see the British Frigate Prince of Wales heading north, so you better be careful.” As Smith guided his visitor along the deck he could see much concern in his friend. “Why are you doing this trip anyway, it’s not your usual cargo?”

“I have too. Jock McBride has directed me to get him a number of Cane workers and he has controlling interest in the Capricorn.”

“That bastard!” Smith spat his words into the hot tropical air, displaying years of frustration and anger with the man. “He still owes me for cartage on a load of lumber for that monstrosity he calls a house.” Smith paused and in a lighter frame continued, “Said the timber had borer holes all through it,” another pause and an all knowing so called shit eating grin, “some of it did but in general it was good timber.”

“He has promised once this trip is over he will hand over the controlling interest to me at a fair price.” Simpson declared.

“I wouldn’t bank on it mate!” Smith sighed, removed his tatted Captains Cap, while scratching at the scraggy strands of ginger grey hair that dangled all around his round alcohol reddened face. Once satisfied with the scratch he moved to his stubbled chin. “Tell you what I’ve some fine Scotch below – want to join me?”

Simpson agreed and neither surfaced until the sun commenced its dip towards the western horizon, with Simpson being so drunk he had to be strapped into the Bosuns Chair and transferred back to the Capricorn then after giving charge to Jenkins, disappeared into his cabin, clumsily slamming his door.

Sail Fish were seen skimming under the surface of the water beside the Capricorn for some time, while the horizon hung heavy with tropical cloud and still Simpson had not brought himself up on deck and wasn’t until the first dog watch before he showed himself and obviously still feeling the effects of Smith’s rough scotch. Jenkins joined him on the foredeck and together they gazed vacantly onto the sail fish in their flight.

“Do you know why they jump?” Simpson asked his voice flat and emotionless, his head dull and fuzzy.

“Just for fun I suppose.” Jenkins answered showing a total lack of interest in his Captains question or the fish as they appeared to be at play.

“Look under the water behind them.” Simpson pointed at a school of large dark forms travelling at almost the same speed as the Sail Fish. “They are sharks and the Sail Fish jump to escape them.”

“Yea I see them.” Jenkins admitted.

“You know some people are like those fish.”

“What makes you say that?” Jenkins asked.

“Some jump to escape,” then Simpson paused and sighed, “while others chase like hungry sharks.”

“Which one is you captain?”

“Both I guess, I’m being chased on land and at sea I’m chasing the poor dumb blacks. Which is the worse?”

“I couldn’t say, I guess that is why I’m not captain.” Jenkins answered.

There was a lack of understanding within Jenkins; he could not appreciate his Captain’s allegory, nor had he any wish to. Simpson saw himself in the flight of the sail fish, with Jock McBride close behind him, demanding, bullying and squeezing his very existence into an essence of depression.

To add to Simpson’s melancholy was the hypocrisy in his treatment of Jenkins drinking. Still he knew there wasn’t any substance in his threat to dismiss the man. The two had been sailing these tropical waters for so long that they had become two sides of the one coin and to dismiss him would be as if casting off one’s right arm.

Feeling somewhat uncomfortable with his Captain’s deep discussion Jenkins made excuse and departed for his duty of watch. Leaving Simpson to gaze vacantly through blood shot eyes at the dark menacing horizon, until Toby arrived with hot black coffee. “Who made the coffee?” he asked.

“I did why?”

“The last time Chow made me coffee I think he added curry powder.”

Simpson accepted the beverage and smiling weakly nodded towards the distance stormy horizon.

“What do you think?” He asked belching from too fast a gulp from his brew.

“Na it will be gone by the morrow.” Toby answered with assurance far beyond his years.

“Think so?” but Toby refrained from answering. He had studied the oceans moods with keen interests since Simpson first took him to sea. Besides the Captain had been a good teacher.

“Suppose you’re right.” Simpson concluded with a sigh and took himself away from the view.

“Be a good lad and call Lachlan to my cabin.”

Lachlan knocked lightly on the cabin door and was quietly invited to enter. The door creaked open escaping his grasp caused by a sudden ships rolling, then violently slammed closed behind him, bringing a cringed shudder from the suffering Captain.

“Would you like a Port?” Simpson offered nodding towards the decanter ensconced firmly in its table top cradle.

“No thank you.”

“That’s right you don’t drink?” Simpson wryly stated.

“I do on the occasion but in general no.”

“It is said never to trust a man who won’t drink with you.” Simpson somewhat generalised.

“I’ve met a lot of blokes who will drink with you and can not be trusted.” Lachlan compensated.

“I guess so you’re nothing like your father or those brothers of yours.”

“We have already had this conversation and as I said, I hope I’m not.”

“You know I don’t have any stomach for this so called enterprise.” Simpson complained as once again his ethics bothered him and his nerve began to fray. The captain was in need of support but at no quarter could he find any and felt quite isolated. There was another element with Lenny Simpson, being a tendency to drift away from conversation, drawing inwardly while displaying an almost moronic appearance, moments later he would become as normal as any man and ready to take on the responsibility of his position.

“Nor do I,” Lachlan agreed at length.

“We will be nearing Solomon waters late tomorrow.”

“Is that what is worrying you Mr. Simpson.” Lachlan asked.

The captain disregarded Lachlan’s question, “we’ll give it a go as soon as we reach the first of the western islands.”

“It’s not too late to abort.” Lachlan suggested.

Simpson laughed and sadly shook his head.

“It’s alright for you – you’re family. As for myself, I would be out of a job and your old man would sell the boat from under me.”

“And I would more than likely be out of the family.” Lachlan contradicted.

“I guess we have had this conversation before and there is nothing more to do than your father’s bidding.”

“Did you call me for some other reason?” Lachlan asked.

“No, I suppose I was looking for a way out and hoped it would be in you Lachlan but I assume we are both looking for the same exit.”

“I expect so.”

Simpson half reached for the Port decanter then as quickly reneged, defiantly folding his arms across his chest against the urge.

“Captain Smith gave me some pointers how to entice the blacks into the boat but I don’t see how anyone would fall for such tricks, even for the trinkets we offer. I know I wouldn’t, not for a pot of gold.”

“What happens if you catch anyone?” Lachlan asked.

“I guess quickly chain them and bring them aboard, I believe in the past many came willingly and trusting, especially when famine was afoot on their island.”

“And if others fight back, I heard Jenkins talk of spears and poison arrows.” There was a measure of dread in the lad’s question.

“Smith said firing a few shots over their heads usually did the trick.”

“I don’t want to be part of any killing.” Lachlan strongly protested.

“Nor I lad, I guess we simply go with the tide and maybe with an ounce of luck we can both come out better off at the other end.”

The watch call from the main mast advised there was land to starboard as a string of green dots became visible along the eastern horizon. Simpson took a deep breath while joining Lachlan and Toby, who were showing a glimmer of excitement at the sighting but not for the pending activity.

“Well we seem to be there.” Simpson sighed placing both hands firmly on the bulwark, tightening his grip until his knuckles showed white through a lifetime of salt and sun. Then like a wind that comes up upon a calm sea out of nowhere, his mood changed. No longer was he broody and depressed, filled with self doubt but one possessed with renewed vigour, firing his command along the planking, bringing the crew into action and the ship to a sudden jolt as it swung sharply towards the first of the green dots charted as Rennell Island.

“What do you reckon lad?” He asked of Lachlan and pointed to the larger of the green dots, “that’s Rennell; we’ll try there this time.”

“I’ve never been on an island before.” Lachlan answered as if they were on some ocean cruise and settling on a day of sight seeing.

“It’s too late for today, we’ll go ashore tomorrow.” The captain suggested.

Darkness was quickly closing as they sailed in a southern direction along the island’s coast while searching for village life. Eventually it was decided to anchor in a large horseshoe bay on the west side of Rennell Island but far enough out too avoid, if discovered, being boarded by canoe bound natives and relate a false belief they had sailed on.

It was a well know fact, if given a chance natives would steal anything of value or not and do so right before your eyes, quickly scampering over the side, into their canoes and half way to the beach before one could shout some response. Simpson had encountered many such incidents crewing in Tahiti. It was true the Tahitians were the friendliest among islanders but they were extremely light fingered, the difference being, they smiled as they robbed you.

Being a dark night it was believed their presence some distance from shore and without navigation lighting, would not be noticed but what they failed to realise was the natives were well in tune with the sea and all its moods. Firstly there was the sound of the waves meeting the wooden structure of the ship’s hull, along with creaking of timbers all broadcasted across the still night air, all declaring its presence and suggesting its menace, like a lurking sea monster come to devour the islanders as they slept.

From the deck village camp fires could be seen some distance along the island’s shoreline, flickering specs against the blackness of the mountains behind. Then close to midnight a drumming sound came methodically across the calm dark water, followed by the wailing of women, high and pitiful, conveying a message of past loss and impending danger.

Toby choked at the sound and as he conversed with Lachlan, his words were cracked and troubled. He cleared his throat, diverting the subject away from their impending adventure and the island’s assumed sadness.

“You know, Mr. Simpson would never say so but your father is a right Bastard!” he declared angrily and to his surprise Lachlan agreed.

“Then why do you do his bidding?” Toby asked.

“Like Mr. Simpson, I don’t have any choice.”

“Unlike the dumb blacks, we all have a choice.” Toby appeared somewhat incensed and being a stranger to Lachlan wasn’t backward in expressing his thoughts.

Lachlan refrained from answering. Toby was correct, he did have a choice but fear placed a large imaginary stone wall between himself and his future, one he could not climb nor see past, only the enraged expression of his father and the loneliness of a future without his mother.

“Why don’t you leave?” Toby continued as Simpson arranged a landing party for the first light of the morning.

“I have a good mother to consider.” Lachlan now became incensed with the level of blame he was receiving, firstly from Simpson, now from Toby. As he spoke he felt the binds between himself and his family tighten, bringing wonder if they would ever loosen.

His existence had become like some clock’s pendulum, swinging from stay to leave and back to stay but never deciding without letup and always painfully against his principles. He had no choice, he needed to protect his mother in the chance his father became belligerent towards her, as with McBride’s past attitude towards any of his family, that was always a threat.

“I’m sorry but that is how I feel.” Toby concluded with a half hearted apology.

“Maybe so Toby but as I said at present I am also without choice.”

With his thoughts delivered Toby diverted his attention from Lachlan and his family to his own short life and how he had been abandoned on the Simpson’s door-step and was humorously called Mr. Toby Jug, how as a boy he had gone to sea and loved every element of the open ocean and could not see any other life than as a salt.

“One day I will own my own ship.” Toby proudly declared, filling his developing chest with as much air and pride as he could muster.

“You wouldn’t work the land?”

“I do like the land but only know the sea, Mr. Simpson has taken me with him since I was around seven years of age and it has become part of me.” He paused and smiled, “but then again I suppose I could learn to grow spuds eh.”

“Dunno Toby, I’ve never grown any.” Lachlan laughed and slapped his hand gently onto Toby’s back as they tuned their hearing to the rhythm from the distant village.

The drumming and wailing continued until the dark of the eastern horizon gave way to a line of light. Neither Toby nor Lachlan had returned to their quarters and during the night had learned much about each other, while with the new day, Toby had altered his opinion on at least one McBride.

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