Show Me the Sky - Nicholas Hogg [36]
I’ve stopped because something has happened. Someone is in the creek. They must be. I’m still a kilometre from the bike, but I know someone’s there because a line of black smoke is rising above the bank. Maybe a rescue party making camp? Calling out to the missing with a fire?
But what rescuers? No one’s expecting me. I’m not late because I’m not yet due to arrive. I must crawl on. It’ll be dark by the time I get there. And I’m lonely and wretched enough to shake the dead reverend by the hand. Even if he’s risen from the grave to warm his bones before the fire.
Show Me the Sky
26 November 1834
The voyage was gliding, the waves and wind carrying us effortlessly onward, a toy boat on the breath of God, when the Caroline ran aground on a broken commandment: Thou shalt not steal.
At an extraordinary meeting of the voyage committee, called for by Rev. Thomas, the steward of the supplies, it was announced that the depletion of the cheese stock could only be explained by thievery. Capt. Drinkwater was immediately informed, and on news of a villain on-board, assembled all men above deck. The crew listened in silence as their master requested the guilty man to step forward, promising a sparing of the whip, and also the wrath of his shipmates, for if no culprit put up his hand there and then, their quarters would be vigorously searched, ‘as though a legion of Viking horribles had thundered through their beds’.
When no man volunteered his guilt, the capt., accompanied by his second officer, stampeded through the stinking billets, slashing hammocks and clothes with his swishing cutlass. We were quite a crowd gathered for this spectacle. Even the sabbath service does not congregate the population of the Caroline so excitedly.
When the capt. appeared from below, shining with sweat after his furore, I wondered whether the vim of his search was simply a performance to display his authority and lack of tolerance for thievery.
But no. With dramatic swagger the capt. took the forecastle and held aloft his shining cutlass, dangling from its glinting point a muslin bag of cheese. Gasps were followed by a deathly hush. The capt. called forth his second officer, a man almost wider than he is tall, and gave the command to his ears only, dismissing his executioner to the lower deck with a look of solemn satisfaction. The crew parted before this arbiter, as did the Red Sea before Moses, all in silent apprehension until finally the accused wretch was hauled across the deck to the feet of the captain.
Never have I seen a man protest his innocence so vehemently, even in the eyes of living ingredients before a Fijian oven, begging clemency from a hungry chief. He even continued to shriek his truth after the butt of a musket was jammed against his nose, and it was only when the flogging commenced did his protests turn to yelps. The capt. dismissed the wives below, deeming the flogging ‘a sight not fit for the eyes of a lady’. Once the unfortunate was tied to the mast and stripped of his shirt, the Rev. Lilywhite gave up pleading for the punishment to be delivered in ‘a fashion more Christian than savage’.
The burly second officer was no stranger with a cat-o’-nines, and blood was quickly drawn. I am long immune to the cruelties of man to man, but the missionaries quickly averted their eyes and descended to their quarters. Only the Rev. Thomas remained, craning his neck to peer over the shoulders of the crew.
2 December 1834
It was the punishment of the seaman, rather than his crime, which has cast a long shadow upon our sunny voyage for the last few days. The whole episode has been declared a taboo subject among the chatter of the dinner table. Last night the Rev. Lilywhite had to chastise the Rev. Thomas and cut short his graphic recount of the flogging. If I am not mistaken – bearing in mind a Fijian is skilled in reading the countenance of his company, for we live in a land where bad manners and poor