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Authors: Caroline Vermalle, Ryan von Ruben
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his cabin to repair the damage that had been done. Most of his drawings, as well as the bedclothes and anything else not locked away, had either been soiled with excrement or ripped to pieces. He spent the next few hours battling nausea as he scrubbed out the cabin, but at the end he suspected that the cabin had never been cleaner, even if all the dirt that was once inside now coated him instead.
Plastered in sweat, lime and filth, Masson stood wearily to survey his handiwork before restoring his remaining belongings to their rightful place. But before he could cross the threshold, Captain Cook appeared there with a man Masson had not seen before. The stranger was very young, and Masson could tell from his clothes that he was someone of means. In addition to a brand-new hat and shoes that sported silver buckles, he wore a full suit of clothes that looked made to measure and even a little dandyish. Spotless stockings, faun-coloured breeches with intricate green stitching and a starched shirt and stock made it seem like the newcomer had just come from church. Unlike the rest of the men aboard, he was wearing a navy-blue, buttoned-up waistcoat underneath a heavy overcoat, which Masson thought odd given the sweltering heat outside.
“Mr Masson, this is Mr Burnette, a botanist sent by Sir Joseph to meet us at Cape Verde. Mr Burnette was unaware that Sir Joseph was not sailing with us, but has decided to join us nonetheless. In light of today’s events, I have decided to give him the use of your cabin for the rest of the passage to the Cape. You will take a hammock in the midshipmen’s mess instead.”
Cook turned and left, leaving them to examine each other awkwardly.
“I suppose I should thank you, Mr Masson,” Burnette said, holding out a gloved hand.
“Oh, don’t thank me, Mr Burnette,” muttered Masson as he slung his valise over his shoulder and stormed out. “You can thank that blasted monkey.”
C HAPTER 9
C ANADA , 21 N OVEMBER , 1805
The old man paused in his tale and looked around at his mostly rapt audience.
The old lady, her face still partially obscured by the poor light and the shadows cast by her bonnet, was sitting so still with her head drawn down towards her chest that Masson would have thought her asleep were it not for the teacup that she kept raising to her lips to take the smallest of silent sips.
Robert looked up and whispered to his brother, “I hope we get to the lions soon.” But Jack had been surreptitiously scribbling in a small notebook and was too engrossed in his writing to pay attention to Robert’s question.
“I heard it mentioned that you worked at the Gazette , Mr Grant,” the old man said innocently, “and I see that you are taking notes. Do you have a column?”
“No,” Jack replied with a sheepish look that implied he felt caught out. “Not yet. I just write the obituaries,” Jack said too quickly without thinking.
“I see. Well, I am rather flattered that you would think me worthy, but hopefully my time has not come just yet,” the old man said.
“Oh, but you’re not — I mean, I wasn’t –” Jack’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “What I mean to say, Mr Masson, is that at the moment I write obituaries, but I have in mind to write a column. At this formative time in our young nation’s history, I wish to write about the inspiring deeds of great men so that we might also be inspired to great things.”
“That’s a noble wish, certainly.”
“When you mentioned Sir Joseph Banks and Captain Cook, I must confess that I thought that perhaps there might be some material that could get me started — after all, it isn’t every day that you hear firsthand of men such as these. Would you mind if I took notes? Nothing would be published unless you approved, of course.”
The old man glanced around the room at his audience before smiling. “I don’t mind if nobody else does.” He waited some moments for anyone to object, but Robert only squirmed
Plastered in sweat, lime and filth, Masson stood wearily to survey his handiwork before restoring his remaining belongings to their rightful place. But before he could cross the threshold, Captain Cook appeared there with a man Masson had not seen before. The stranger was very young, and Masson could tell from his clothes that he was someone of means. In addition to a brand-new hat and shoes that sported silver buckles, he wore a full suit of clothes that looked made to measure and even a little dandyish. Spotless stockings, faun-coloured breeches with intricate green stitching and a starched shirt and stock made it seem like the newcomer had just come from church. Unlike the rest of the men aboard, he was wearing a navy-blue, buttoned-up waistcoat underneath a heavy overcoat, which Masson thought odd given the sweltering heat outside.
“Mr Masson, this is Mr Burnette, a botanist sent by Sir Joseph to meet us at Cape Verde. Mr Burnette was unaware that Sir Joseph was not sailing with us, but has decided to join us nonetheless. In light of today’s events, I have decided to give him the use of your cabin for the rest of the passage to the Cape. You will take a hammock in the midshipmen’s mess instead.”
Cook turned and left, leaving them to examine each other awkwardly.
“I suppose I should thank you, Mr Masson,” Burnette said, holding out a gloved hand.
“Oh, don’t thank me, Mr Burnette,” muttered Masson as he slung his valise over his shoulder and stormed out. “You can thank that blasted monkey.”
C HAPTER 9
C ANADA , 21 N OVEMBER , 1805
The old man paused in his tale and looked around at his mostly rapt audience.
The old lady, her face still partially obscured by the poor light and the shadows cast by her bonnet, was sitting so still with her head drawn down towards her chest that Masson would have thought her asleep were it not for the teacup that she kept raising to her lips to take the smallest of silent sips.
Robert looked up and whispered to his brother, “I hope we get to the lions soon.” But Jack had been surreptitiously scribbling in a small notebook and was too engrossed in his writing to pay attention to Robert’s question.
“I heard it mentioned that you worked at the Gazette , Mr Grant,” the old man said innocently, “and I see that you are taking notes. Do you have a column?”
“No,” Jack replied with a sheepish look that implied he felt caught out. “Not yet. I just write the obituaries,” Jack said too quickly without thinking.
“I see. Well, I am rather flattered that you would think me worthy, but hopefully my time has not come just yet,” the old man said.
“Oh, but you’re not — I mean, I wasn’t –” Jack’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “What I mean to say, Mr Masson, is that at the moment I write obituaries, but I have in mind to write a column. At this formative time in our young nation’s history, I wish to write about the inspiring deeds of great men so that we might also be inspired to great things.”
“That’s a noble wish, certainly.”
“When you mentioned Sir Joseph Banks and Captain Cook, I must confess that I thought that perhaps there might be some material that could get me started — after all, it isn’t every day that you hear firsthand of men such as these. Would you mind if I took notes? Nothing would be published unless you approved, of course.”
The old man glanced around the room at his audience before smiling. “I don’t mind if nobody else does.” He waited some moments for anyone to object, but Robert only squirmed
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