Published: 4 Dec 2017

Slowly the light returned to the new day and the outlines of the simple native huts stood out against the dawn and towering forest trees beyond. The village was small, a dozen huts gathered under coconut trees some distance from the beach head, with a larger group further inland towards the forest.

Smoke rose lazily from some of the huts, yet there was a lack of industry within the village or along the beach, giving belief the ship’s presence and intention had been well advertised and the native had fled to the safety of the forest.

Once the light was strong enough, Simpson had the boat lowered and this time with much trepidation he led the party of five well armed sailors towards an empty shoreline. As the little band anxiously clambered into the boat Lachlan commenced to join them but Simpson blocked his way.

“You remain here with Toby; I don’t want your demise on my conscience; your old man wouldn’t forgive me.”

“If it were to happen he would most probably reward you.” Lachlan assured but with silent relief remained behind to watch as the party pulled away from the Capricorn and without speed or planned intent made its way to the sandy beach below the native village.

“What will they do once ashore?” Lachlan asked Toby.

“Offer useless gifts, rant in English to natives who won’t understand a word, suggest they work in your old man’s fields for a pittance, which will be as equally incomprehensive and attempt to entice them into the boat. If that doesn’t work, grab whoever is the closest.” Toby explained.

“Won’t the natives be awake to that?” Lachlan asked.

“In general I believe so but sometimes greed gets the better of them and bright coloured trinkets or anything that would improve one’s standing in the village makes some take extra risk.” Toby explained.

“That all seems somewhat inept.”

“Maybe so but I believe it often works and it isn’t called slavery because they are offered payment and sent home when no longer needed.” Toby answered without confidence in their repatriation.

“I haven’t heard of any returning home, well not of the few that are around McBride’s Point.”

“No that is the wool you lot pull over the government’s eyes, usually they are left to their own devices and wander about looking for work anywhere between Cairns and where ever, or trying to beg free passage from any ship that maybe travelling their way.”

Once again Toby’s slant was against Lachlan’s family but he chose to resist denial. “How many times has Mr. Simpson done this?” Lachlan asked.

“Only for your old man but you hear plenty from other captains, especially Captain Smith from the Gorgon, he’s an old hand at it and somewhat brutal with his captives.”

Within a few oar strokes of the beach it was noticed that the village was void of life. Not a man, women or child could be seen. Even the village dogs were missing. It appeared their observation from the Capricorn’s deck was correct and the entire population had taken to the jungle to avoid being captured.

Once on the beach the crew lined along the sand, their fingers nervously hovering on triggers, while Simpson held position behind the line and close to the landing boat. Once assured there appeared not to be any danger he took to the front, leading his crew into the deserted village.

“Where have they gone?” Simpson asked rhetorically.

“They are awake to what we are about.” Arthur Rutland, the ships carpenter answered, bringing his firearm to shoulder he pointed it towards the forest and crying bang. The others laughed more to break the tension than from humour.

“That will do a lot of good.” Simpson rebuked.

“Breaks the tension captain, I have a nasty feeling about this.” Rutland presupposed and lowered his gun but his finger remained nervously close to its trigger.

“I don’t want anyone firing at the blacks unless they attack, even then only above heads, understood?” Simpson demanded as they entered the deserted village.

Outside a number of huts fish hung from stakes drying in the hot tropical sun, while their breakfast fires remained alight, with pots of food slowly cooking in the coals but no one attending to the cooking.

Nothing appeared to had been removed from the village except for their hunting bows and weapons. Their comfort possessions remained where they were stored, with the knowledge that it was their bodies in demand not their goods, being of little use to the white man and without capture the raiders would soon return to their craft and sail away to try elsewhere.

As for blackbirding ships, the natives had become expert in distinguishing the difference between those and war ships or traders, as they lacked canon and without cargo in their holds sat higher in the water, also blackbirders usually had a more scruffy appearance and hovered like crows around a decaying corpse.

The landing party searched around the Native huts for some time, also the vegetable gardens and palm coves without success. At the edge of the jungle they halted. Simpson felt wide frightened eyes peering out of black faces from behind every tree. He sensed long spears and hunting arrows aimed and waiting for him to advance within range, even believed he could smell their fear and went no further. He had heard that some tribes tipped their arrows with poison that even a gentle scrape one one’s skin would cause a long and agonising death.

Taking backward steps while still facing the thick jungle the captain again placed himself behind his men and once there found the courage to turn towards their landing craft and issued order to depart. Yet even with his fear and attempt to deprive the islanders of their freedom, he performed a single act of charity. As they departed from the island, Simpson issued a small number of trinkets, axes, metal cooking pots and other trading items to be left on the beach.

This goodwill was duelled in purpose, if he returned to port without success and McBride were to enforced a third attempt, at least the offering may soften the natives’ resistance and in future may come forward with expectations of gifts.

“We’ll try Bellona Island; it’s smaller and less populated and I believe hasn’t had many visits.” Simpson suggested as they once more set sail travelling north along Rennell Island.

As they departed they could clearly see the villagers return to the beach, bravely banishing their spears as they threw stones into the shallows towards the departing ship, calling, cursing in some unknown language, using words the white man could only envisage meaning, while all the while poking tongues and making lolling sounds of defiance.

“Didn’t you say Captain Smith saw the British Gunboat was up that way?” Jenkins suggested cautiously while looking back on the angary natives, now gathering in greater numbers along the beach, thinking, if some of them had just been too slow or stupid, his work would be over and he could return home.

“According to Smith’s reckoning it should be well away by now.” Simpson advised hoping his words were truly spoken. Looking to the heavens he noticed storm birds heading to land. It was an omen of a coming storm but the horizon was as clear as the sky above. Toby noticed the birds and spoke.

“Storm birds Mr. Simpson.”

“Yes Toby I have noticed.”

“I think this time they are telling fibs.” Toby forced a smile more out of hope than confidence.

“One hopes so lad, one hopes so.”

“They were correct last February.” Toby assured and cleared a tangle of ropes someone had carelessly forgotten.

“That they were Toby.” Simpson agreed, remembering the event and having to shelter for two days in a bay behind Hinchinbrook Island, near the settlement of Cardwell. They were lucky then as a number of ships caught on the open sea were greatly damaged.

“Storm birds,” Toby repeated without elaboration.

The travel along the northern shore of Rennell found more deserted villages. It appeared that blackbirding in the South Pacific had run its course and Queensland Cane farmers would have to bend to the will of the Federation Fathers or as did Smith, try their fortune farther east and take their chance with the French.

“Why not try Guadalcanal?” Jenkins suggested as they sailed past the most northern point of Bellona Island, without seeing a single villager.

“Don’t think so, that’s home island.”

“New Guinea?” Jenkins continued but Simpson fell silent on the matter and looked to Lachlan for instructions.

“It’s your father’s business, what is your advice?”

“Sorry Mr. Simpson, you’re the Captain, I don’t have any experience in these matters.” Lachlan again apologised while wondering what his roll in the expedition was, reaching the opinion it was observation but what was it he had to observe.

Within sight of Guadalcanal the cry of sail astern brought fear to the heart of Simpson as he quickly took himself aft. Using his telescope he pointed it in the direction of the approaching sail.

“It’s a British Frigate!” came loud and clear from the watch.

“Which one? – Can’t be the Prince of Wales!” Simpson asked of the watch, seeing that Captain Smith had told him he had seen the Prince of Wales heading north, therefore it was belief it hadn’t time to complete its run back to the south, so it must be the slower Victoria.

“Dunno the Victoria I think! And she’s coming fast!”

“Send up all sail and steer north by north west, we can out run her then double back north of Guadalcanal,” Simpson quickly directed to the helm. Then as if having a life of its own the Capricorn received the breeze and pulled away from the slower Victoria.

“That was close.” The watch called down as the Victoria fell further back. Simpson turned to Lachlan, standing nervously by his side.

“What was your opinion of all that?” the captain asked, his telescope remaining on the Victoria.

“Pleased they didn’t catch up with us I guess.”

“Pleased, that is putting it simply, if they had you would have found yourself in a Solomon Island goal for quite some time, they don’t repatriate you back to Queensland you know.”

“In that case Len – ecstatic.”

“We all can be thankful the British Navy doesn’t employ any of their newer ships out this way.” Simpson gave gratitude as he watched the Victoria fall further behind to become a speck towards the horizon.

“Why run, we haven’t done anything unlawful as yet?” Lachlan asked as the fortunate breeze sped them onwards.

“True but what are we doing here and with a hold full of trinkets to entice the blacks and no true cargo or bill of collection from some island port? I’d rather not take the chance.”

Slowly the Capricorn placed distance between itself and the frigate Victoria, then realising it couldn’t overtake the faster Schooner the British ship turned towards the islands. Once out of sight Simpson ordered a change of direction back towards the coast of Guadalcanal but before they had travelled any distance another sail was sighted coming fast from the north east. It was the much faster Prince of Wales returning from its northern run. With the sighting Simpson gave his final command and that was to abandon the Solomon Islands and head for New Guinea.

That night there was a more relaxed atmosphere on board the Capricorn, with Simpson inviting Lachlan to dine with him in his cabin. Although neither Simpson nor any of his crew knew little about New Guinea they did know that the southern portion was under the control of Queensland while the northern was German territory and the west Dutch. It was also fact that Papua lacked any real naval presence from any of the colonial overlords.

“What do you think of our chances in Papua?” Simpson asked from behind a cloud of cigar smoke and a tumbler of his best cheap port. Simpson only smoked when he was totally relaxed and after being chased away from the Solomon Islands by the British Navy and almost assured that the blackbirding was to be a failure, he felt he had excuse enough to abort the enterprise and honestly face his benefactor. Without waiting for Lachlan to answer he continued. “What I thought, we could spend some days sailing along the Papua coast before heading back south ahead of the cyclone season commencing,” he paused, “would you back that?”

“Sounds promising to me but why bother at all?” Lachlan with much relief agreed.

“I’ve never been to New Guinea and I guess it will be like taking a vacation.”

“I don’t know much about New Guinea.” Lachlan admitted.

“Nor I but my thought being at a later date I may be able to trade there.”

“Reverend Marsden had been in Papua and said the island is populated with head hunters and cannibals.” Lachlan offered, being one of the rare snippets of information he had heard from the reverend that wasn’t browbeating the natives or accusing his congregation of unchristian acts.

“What do you thin your old man will say?”

“He’ll rave and curse both of us but I believe he will eventually accept the situation, besides the Commonwealth Committee is due in the north soon and I don’t think he will create too much fuss with them around.”

“Then why does he want the Kanakas?”

“I guess he doesn’t believe federation will go ahead.”

“Do you believe he’ll still give me the control of the Capricorn?”

“To be truthful Mr. Simpson, no – and once more I don’t believe he had any intention in doing so. I have noticed with others, once he has his way he disregards opinion or verbal contract.” Lachlan honestly answered but not the answer Simpson wished for.

“What is your purpose with your horses?”

“I guess breed up a good mob and sell them at profit, I may even branch out into cattle.” Lachlan proudly inspired.

“Do you know cattle?” Simpson asked drawing deeply from his cheap cigar and filling the cabin with its foul smelling aroma.

“Enough I think, at least to get started, father has a small herd and one picks up a few pointers but William is the expert on cattle.”

“Sounds like a good idea lad, maybe I should give up the sea and do likewise,” Simpson unconvincingly suggested, “or I could grow potatoes.”

“Why grow potatoes?” Lachlan asked.

“No reason, it was something Toby said.”

“Would you do that?”

“I doubt it, I don’t know anything about horses or cattle,” he laughed, “I do ride when I’m home and eat meat – and eat potatoes.”

“A good friend of mine has gone out west to try his luck rearing cattle.” Lachlan related as concern for Stephen once again returned. With the excitement of their failed attempt at blackbirding and out running the British Navy he had all but forgotten Stephen and his western adventure.

“Who would that be?”

“Stephen Henderson, do you know him?” Lachlan asked.

“Henderson, now there’s a lad with a good head, I know the family well,” the captain praised.

“Yes but being alone out beyond the divide does concern me,” Lachlan drew an anxious sigh from the thought, “I will have to give him a visit when I return home.”

“I’m of the opinion young Henderson will be alright – are you sure I can’t tempt you with some port? One should never drink alone.”

“No thank you.”

“One day you will agree, anyway best you don’t it’s only one step from vinegar.” The captain swallowed the cloudy dregs in his glass and again filled it.

“Why drink it at all?” Lachlan asked somewhat bemused by Simpson’s reply. The Captain drew a long breath, took a long swig and became most serious.

“You know lad, I was once like you in many ways.”

Lachlan listened silently.

“I had the world before me and believed I was going far.”

“Then what happened?” Lachlan asked.

“What happened? The world happened, life happened, your father and many like him happened. I lost my first boat in a storm off Sydney Heads. She was a fine ship, beautiful from bow to stern and fast. On the New Zealand route she could out run all the opposition and I couldn’t fill all offers of contract.”

“How come you ended up with the Capricorn?” Lachlan asked.

“Ah how come the devil wears black? I was insured but not enough to buy another ship outright and on hearing of the Capricorn I came north and Jock McBride agreed to partner its purchase.” Simpson’s mood digressed from bad to worse before taking a defeated attitude. “At first your old man was all smiles and full of promise but once the contracts were finalised the real Jock McBride rose to the surface.” The Captain paused his telling. “All I can say Lachlan my lad don’t loose your innocents, don’t let other’s drag you down to their level. If you do so you will realise why I drink this rot gut.”

On the morning of the third day they reached the shores of New Britain and a more contrasting land could not be found, here the dense jungle came down to the very water, joining with the ocean in its own sea of green tangled mangroves, while the air filled with fragrance and a cacophony of bird calls, loud even at the vessels distance from land.

As they travelled they did discover many villages honed out of the jungle with natives running to the water’s edge, shouting, displayed their weapons and private parts in defiance, giving a most grievous attitude towards foreigners in their tall canoes, wishing to deprive them of their freedom and their lands. Even with this in mind the coast was so congested there was no clear beach to land the Long Boat.

Finding New Britain most unsuitable, Simpson gave order to head south to the north Papuan Coast, eventually sighting land close to the village of Salamana. Here the natives appeared to be numerous and more civilised, living in large structures on stilts with thatched palm-frond rooves, surrounded by bountiful gardens where pigs and fowls appeared to be abundant. If paradise was on earth, then this was surely it, as well fed villagers appear content as their children ran and played, while women sat about weaving baskets or preparing sago. Their daily labour seemed not to be so, as everything was done to rhythm and song, reaching across the water to entice the crew of the Capricorn.

It was decided not to go ashore even with the natives beckoning from the beach and paddled out with gifts of food and offers of mats and dilly bags platted from reeds.

“What do you think?” Simpson again asked of Lachlan as a canoe came close to portside and the native at the canoe’s bow caught hold of a rope to hold his craft firm to the ships hull, while his companions offered up copious amounts of fruit and vegetables in woven baskets, going as far as offering a live pig, its terrified squealing humouring the ships crew.

With the baskets now empty, Simpson gave orders to refill them with the trinkets they had to entice natives. Seeing it had been decided to abandon the blackbirding the goods would be no longer needed, so they may as well be used as payment for the fresh food.

“I guess there is no way we could grab a few workers here.” Jenkins asked while smiling back at the happy black faces.

“Not without receiving a spear between the shoulder-blades.” Simpson answered as the crew waved frantically at the bare breasted woman, their piccaninnies held tightly to their thighs, while they lined along the narrow strip of white sand. As Simpson spoke Lachlan arrived with Toby.

“They seem to be a happy lot.” Lachlan perceived.

“Not like the miserable black lot behind McBride’s Point.” Jenkins said and left the deck to go about his work.

“I guess here they have more to be happy for.” Lachlan perceived as he also joined in with the waving.

“Why would that be?” Simpson asked before giving command to set about.

“For a start they don’t have a lot of white buggers telling them what to do while rooting their women and stealing their land.”

“You sound as if you have first hand information there lad, have you anyone in mind or is it a general perception?”

“I guess its qualified information.”

“Give it time Lachlan, give it time it will come, there is already a German settlement on New Britain at Rabaul and a Queensland port at Moresby.”

“Maybe we should follow the coast then return home and leave this lot to the little time they have left.” Lachlan suggested, being convinced that imprisonment and slavery was criminal to such a happy and friendly people.

“I believe so and we can face your father together.”

The waters of the North Solomon Sea were calm with a light breeze reaching from the North West, giving good speed along the Papua coast, while passing the villages of Buna and Tufi, which lay under the protection from the D’entrecasteaux Islands to their north.

Passing Milne Bay and Samarai, they were once again within the Coral Sea and charting South West for home, with Simpson apprehensive towards what would be his reception on his return. His heart sunk with the image of a raging bull, face red and language that would shock a bullock driver, while once again broadcasting his failure to anyone in earshot. That in itself would be bad for business, yet face McBride he must and whatever the consequences maybe, just possibly, the old man may forgive his failure and not foreclose on the Capricorn.

Some hours past Tagula Island the Capricorn was caught in calm. The sea became as flat as a mill pond and the hot tropical day was without relief. Soon the ship’s decking became so hot one could not walk upon it bare footed. While the barometer on the Captain’s cabin wall warned of extreme weather, even if the horizon in every direction was contradictory.

Jenkins had been moody all morning, grumbling to himself in his undistinguishable tongues, a custom he mostly produced when drunk or when the weather was about to turn nasty. It was at breakfast when Toby suggested Jenkins may have a stash of alcohol but a search through his belongings, also a quick sniff to his breath found nothing, bringing the Captain to the conclusion that with the barometer and Jenkins in agreement then a change must be imminent.

Toby wasn’t satisfied; alcohol or weather, whatever the cause he believed the man was not fit for his duties, which he indicated to Simpson.

“It is a calm day; he should be alright.” Simpson assured.

Still Toby wasn’t convinced, so he kept a watch on the watcher during Jenkins’ shift, being careful his scrutiny wasn’t noticed, as while in such a mood the man could become aggressive and on occasion, usually after a night on the piss, would lash out at anyone close at hand.

With sun-up on the following morning a slight breeze built from the north-east but was soon gone. In its place stickiness, giving the impression one was bathing in treacle, while the northern horizon turned black and heavy. Jenkins mood had also changed this time for the better and after a hearty breakfast he went about his work with a spring in his step, leaving Toby free from concern and surveillance, with a false sense of security in relation to the incoming weather.

Midday brought the black horizon overhead, spreading like spilt ink southwards and still without relief from the heat or sign of a breeze. The captain had his crew go about their work as if it was a normal day to keep them from worry but it was there. Frequently they would pause, cast their eyes to the blackened heavens and concernedly shake their heads, then look towards their Captain for direction, while wait and see was the only directive he could give.

Simpson thought of breaking out the rum to calm their nerves but realised that in a crisis it was nerves that would drive his crew, so that idea like the rum barrel was firmly nailed shut. The man was not religious so prayer wasn’t offered, nor was he brave but did hide his worry with skilled experience. As for Lachlan, he was oblivious of their situation or the impending elements. On land when the weather changed, he would simply close the door and windows and read a book, being thankful for rain to improve the crops, yet he did perceive the silent fear leaching from the ships crew. “Is it going to rain?” was all he could ask of the Captain.

“Rain?”

“Wind?”

“Who knows; I’ve never encountered weather quite like this.” The Captain admitted without enthusiasm.

“Is it a Cyclone?”

“It’s more a tropical low without the cyclone but there will be wind when it brakes, that is most certain.”

“What is the difference between strong wind and a cyclone?” Lachlan asked.

“Strong wind is just strong wind but worse when its squalls, that can take the rigging out without question, a cyclone has an eye, the winds come in a clockwise direction and once the eye has passed the wind returns in the opposite direction.”

Lachlan’s perception of the sea and its moods remained innocent as he questioned the reluctant Captain but Simpson as were many mariners in such a situation, was unwilling to converse in length on the matter. It was as if talking about bad weather was capable of bringing it on.

“Should we do anything?” Lachlan asked after exhausting the willing limits of Simpson’s knowledge.

“Wait, just wait and if you’re religious pray.”

“How far from home are we?” Lachlan enquired.

“I guess around three or four days.”

“When will the storm hit?”

“Cant say but it’s not the storm that concerns me. It’s our run through to Cook’s Passage.”

“How far is it to the Passage?” Lachlan asked and for the first time he felt real fear, also a growing sense of uselessness. His life was in the hands of destiny and the pending storm, all he could do was wait.

“Under normal conditions, I’d say around a day’s sailing but with this calm I’m not sure, besides we have been travelling south to avoid the reef altogether. Although there is one thing I must tell you.”

“What would that be Mr. Simpson?”

“When and if the storm does arrive, I want you to stay below.”

“Wouldn’t I be more helpful above than hiding away?” Lachlan was somewhat offended with the suggestion.

“Don’t feel cut lad but in a crisis you would only be in the way, what is needed is those who don’t have to be told what to do but run instinctively, there isn’t time to teach what a futtock is or a halyard, even port from starboard.”

“I guess I at least know my port from starboard.” Lachlan protested.

“Maybe so but I’m not asking you, as captain you are under my command and I say for you to stay below.”

Along a thousand miles of Barrier Reef there were only a few northern passages and while running a storm they could easily be missed or with the storm the ship could be driven onto the reef itself. While without the white caps the hidden s shoals would have to be navigated by chance, or not at all.

Mid-morning came and all was still. The light breeze that earlier drove the Capricorn south-west died but with its demise, a new wind was born that strengthened by the minute, bringing up the sea to boil about the ships timbers, driving the vessel onwards at an unnatural speed, even after reducing the sails. Then the heavens opened, delivering torrential rain down upon the decks as if buckets were being emptied one after another. So strong was the storm, the helms man roped himself to the wheel housing but had little control over the ships direction while he fought to steer the vessel southwards, away from the south west and the reef.

Soon a boiling sea broke wave after wave across the deck, with sail furled and nothing more that could be done to help their progress, all but those needed to keep the ship buoyant were ordered to safety, away from chance of being washed overboard or hurt from a loose brace or clew.

Two hours passed without let up, while the Capricorn tossed about like a cork upon the ocean, then a sudden gust from an opposing direction, took away the main mast, crashing it down across the helm, pinning the helmsman momentarily to the deck, until a sudden jolt removed it and the Helmsman’s body overboard to be lost forever in the surge.

With the splintered mast and sails gone the ship appeared to travel more freely and with greater speed but no longer towards the south but south west towards a certain destiny with the reef.

Lachlan chanced his head above deck but as he did so received a soaking as a wave flushed across the deck, throwing him back below.

“I thought I told you to remain below deck, Simpson shouted from somewhere above.

“I only wanted to have a look.” Lachlan shouted back but could not see the captain.

“Get below and stay there!” Simpson bellowed above the roar of the wind as he ordered those who still remained above to take cover as there wasn’t anything more they could do.

“Did you hurt yourself?” He asked thinking the lad may have injured himself when knocked backwards by the wave.

“Only my pride.” Lachlan laughed more from feeling silly.

“As I said lad even those seasoned to such storms can submit to the sea. It isn’t a game.”

“Is everyone alright?” Lachlan asked as those who remained above deck filed past him by.

“We lost Mark Sneddon the helmsman when the mast broke, he’s gone overboard.”

“What can be done for him?” It was a ridiculous question but Lachlan still put it to the captain.

“Nothing lad, all those who go to sea realise that if they remain long enough the ocean with have her way.

“How long should the storm last?” Lachlan asked as the day grew closer to evening.

“I guess by its strength probably most of the night, now get below with the rest and get out of those wet clothes.”

As Simpson spoke the ship lurched with the wind, throwing them both to the floor. “I didn’t like the feel of that.” Lachlan said as he rose to his feet.

“It was the wind pushing us sidewards but she’s strong and buoyant enough to take it; so back to your cabin.”

“I don’t think so Mr. Simpson, the cabin is soaked from a previous wave that is why I was heading up to find you.”

“Then I’ll get the rest into the mess, should be dryer there.”

Let Gary know what you think of his story.

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