Show Me the Sky - Nicholas Hogg [40]
With the benefit of hindsight I feel that this were a saving interjection. Only now do I see the trap of conversation that the Rev. Thomas had laid – by accident or intent I am not decided. Beyond dolphin and turtle, the only flesh more prized by a Fijian is that of his brother. A subject more abhorrent to the white man I have not yet discovered.
28 January 1835
During the course of last week, most commonly in the dying heat of late afternoon before dinner, as I took my stroll to the quieter corners of the Caroline, I was joined by a most unlikely conversation partner – the Rev. Thomas. This man, who has treated me as some underling stowaway, seems to have actively sought out my company, broaching subjects from the creation myths of Fiji, to the wedding-night rituals of newlyweds!
I have to confess that despite his idiosyncrasies, he is a most engaging speaker, for unlike the Rev. Stevens, he is not fearful of the more devilish aspects of my culture. On the contrary, he seeks out the darker corners of my kingdom and, though a little worryingly, takes some secret thrill from the details of debauchery, as well as macabre interest in the practice of cannibalism.
2 February 1835
We are all grateful for this steady wind that blows us east, as many on-board the Caroline long for a glimpse of terra firma, a comfortable cabin becoming no more welcoming than a floating gaol.
The Rev. Thomas seems to have tired in his investigations of Fiji, but I presume he has offices to prepare before his arrival in Port Jackson, where he will take over a parish of convicts. He has been elusive during the afternoons, and noticeably withdrawn from proceedings at the dinner table in the evening. When Rev. Stevens joked with his fellow passengers that they had seen so little of him they considered shouting ‘Man overboard!’ the Rev. Thomas snapped like a tired dog. ‘Writing sermons for the damned, brother Stevens. The condemned men of New Holland need the words of the Lord like a desert does water. Are you mocking my labour with God?’
The wife of Rev. Stevens, usually a woman mild of manner and slow of tongue, defended her husband by sharply retorting that the library study, with its double porthole, may leave the Rev. Thomas more refreshed than being shut away in his gloomy chamber. Rev. Thomas took a mighty breath to utter a ‘Thank you, Mrs Stevens,’ before Rev. Jefferson lightened the mood by saying grace.
4 February 1835
Moderate wind has slowed the Caroline to a crawl, and the midday sun noticeably fags the bodies of the sailors, those who have no choice but to toil as we lounge in the shade. I fear again that our ship will be no more than an ornament on a millpond by morning.
6 February 1835
What a drama today has devised for tomorrow! It began after dinner when I startled the capt. in the library, causing him to flutter like a trapped bird. Once he regained his composure, and had looked into my eyes enough to deem they were true, he confessed that he owned some books ‘not fit for Christian readers, that may have been shelved next to the very words of our Good Lord’.
I quickly eased his conscience by confirming that I had discreetly removed his bawdy books from general perusal, sealing them away in the oak chest that lay behind the door. Alas, when I took the key from inside a scroll on the bottom shelf, assured that on opening the chest the capt. would be relieved, I was shocked to find it empty, the books gone! The capt., usually a man of lofty and stern countenance, blushed like a teenage maiden. ‘But only the reverends and their wives can read!’
When his manner calmed, the capt. placed his hand firmly upon my shoulder and hushed his voice. ‘It would be of great embarrassment if any