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Authors: Ian Townsend
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my sister refuses to use it.’
At that moment a gunshot cracked up ahead and Kenny drew his revolver, telling Roth, ‘It’s loaded,’ and leaving him in a cloud of dust.
When Kenny reached the troopers, they were off the track and looking at something in the grass. Corporal Bruce dismounted.
Roth galloped up holding the shotgun upside down. Bruce raised a large and bloodied bird from the grass.
‘Dinner,’ said Kenny.
CHAPTER 8
Bathurst Bay, Wednesday 1 March 1899
The whaleboat pulled Maggie Porter, Alice Field Porter and poor Tommy de Lange across the glassy sea towards the Crest of the Wave. There was hardly a goodbye from the Admiral , where Perez and the crew were busy making sure of its anchorage.
The Admiral shared Bathurst Bay with the three other, larger schooners of the Clark pearling fleets: the Crest of the Wave , the Sagitta and the Silvery Wave.
The setting sun showed their masts and shrouds pink against the towering black rocks of the cape. It might have been a glorious sight, but Maggie was apprehensive. She could see Captain Porter at the railing with his spyglass on her and she smiled for him. But of course she couldn’t see his expression.
Tommy smoked and fidgeted, but the crossing was smooth, the wind having again died to nothing as they glided into the bay from behind Flinders Island.
A net was lowered for the trunks, and strong, sure hands passed Alice up from the boat and she vanishedabove the bulwarks. Maggie rejected the hands and climbed the rope herself, to step, with as much dignity as she could muster, onto the deck of the Crest of the Wave.
Her husband stood in front of her holding Alice, who had her arms around her father’s neck. Maggie noticed that his beard needed trimming, but he had on a clean white shirt and pants, as if he was dressed for dinner.
‘So you were expecting us, William,’ she said. ‘I was beginning to wonder.’
‘Maggie,’ he said. ‘What the devil are you doing here?’
The sea, Maggie had been told by William’s father on her wedding day, was as good a nursery as it was a grave, as if this was a good recommendation to a captain’s new wife and potential mother. But it was true: the water in the bilge and the rhythmic creaking of the hull and the ropes were more soothing than any cradle and lullaby.
‘She’s asleep now,’ said Maggie, looking down on Alice in the cot that had been made especially for her, in the main cabin.
‘There’ll be a land breeze towards morning,’ said Porter, struggling with his tie in front of the mirror. ‘The trouble with being behind the cape is that the wind dies every damned evening.’
Maggie put a hand to Alice’s hot and slick forehead. The baby wore a nappy only and her skin was shining, her hair matted, but she appeared content.
Alice slept, even when Porter yelled, ‘Damn,’ and threw the tie down. Maggie picked it up.
‘You don’t have to come, you know,’ he said.
‘You said that Captain Murray insisted.’
‘And you’d think he was expecting Melba.’
‘Instead of someone who’s just your wife.’
‘There,’ he said. ‘You are your father’s daughter. They will all try to charm you and you’ll snap their heads off.’
She slapped him on the shoulder, but he was looking over her head and probably didn’t feel it. ‘And they’ll make you drink some god-awful champagne,’ he said.
‘I’ll stay here then.’ She tugged viciously at his collar.
‘No. I want you to come. It’s not that.’ But he didn’t say what it was.
‘Done,’ she said, standing back, the tie tied.
Captain Porter was a conspicuous consumer of space even on deck, but in the cabin he displaced all the air and Maggie found it hard to breathe.
‘Let’s go up.’ She was annoyed now and just wanted the night over with, but Porter grabbed her by the arm.
‘Maggie. Tell me the real reason why you came?’
‘To be with you.’ She felt like crying, then, and cursed herself for being such a
At that moment a gunshot cracked up ahead and Kenny drew his revolver, telling Roth, ‘It’s loaded,’ and leaving him in a cloud of dust.
When Kenny reached the troopers, they were off the track and looking at something in the grass. Corporal Bruce dismounted.
Roth galloped up holding the shotgun upside down. Bruce raised a large and bloodied bird from the grass.
‘Dinner,’ said Kenny.
CHAPTER 8
Bathurst Bay, Wednesday 1 March 1899
The whaleboat pulled Maggie Porter, Alice Field Porter and poor Tommy de Lange across the glassy sea towards the Crest of the Wave. There was hardly a goodbye from the Admiral , where Perez and the crew were busy making sure of its anchorage.
The Admiral shared Bathurst Bay with the three other, larger schooners of the Clark pearling fleets: the Crest of the Wave , the Sagitta and the Silvery Wave.
The setting sun showed their masts and shrouds pink against the towering black rocks of the cape. It might have been a glorious sight, but Maggie was apprehensive. She could see Captain Porter at the railing with his spyglass on her and she smiled for him. But of course she couldn’t see his expression.
Tommy smoked and fidgeted, but the crossing was smooth, the wind having again died to nothing as they glided into the bay from behind Flinders Island.
A net was lowered for the trunks, and strong, sure hands passed Alice up from the boat and she vanishedabove the bulwarks. Maggie rejected the hands and climbed the rope herself, to step, with as much dignity as she could muster, onto the deck of the Crest of the Wave.
Her husband stood in front of her holding Alice, who had her arms around her father’s neck. Maggie noticed that his beard needed trimming, but he had on a clean white shirt and pants, as if he was dressed for dinner.
‘So you were expecting us, William,’ she said. ‘I was beginning to wonder.’
‘Maggie,’ he said. ‘What the devil are you doing here?’
The sea, Maggie had been told by William’s father on her wedding day, was as good a nursery as it was a grave, as if this was a good recommendation to a captain’s new wife and potential mother. But it was true: the water in the bilge and the rhythmic creaking of the hull and the ropes were more soothing than any cradle and lullaby.
‘She’s asleep now,’ said Maggie, looking down on Alice in the cot that had been made especially for her, in the main cabin.
‘There’ll be a land breeze towards morning,’ said Porter, struggling with his tie in front of the mirror. ‘The trouble with being behind the cape is that the wind dies every damned evening.’
Maggie put a hand to Alice’s hot and slick forehead. The baby wore a nappy only and her skin was shining, her hair matted, but she appeared content.
Alice slept, even when Porter yelled, ‘Damn,’ and threw the tie down. Maggie picked it up.
‘You don’t have to come, you know,’ he said.
‘You said that Captain Murray insisted.’
‘And you’d think he was expecting Melba.’
‘Instead of someone who’s just your wife.’
‘There,’ he said. ‘You are your father’s daughter. They will all try to charm you and you’ll snap their heads off.’
She slapped him on the shoulder, but he was looking over her head and probably didn’t feel it. ‘And they’ll make you drink some god-awful champagne,’ he said.
‘I’ll stay here then.’ She tugged viciously at his collar.
‘No. I want you to come. It’s not that.’ But he didn’t say what it was.
‘Done,’ she said, standing back, the tie tied.
Captain Porter was a conspicuous consumer of space even on deck, but in the cabin he displaced all the air and Maggie found it hard to breathe.
‘Let’s go up.’ She was annoyed now and just wanted the night over with, but Porter grabbed her by the arm.
‘Maggie. Tell me the real reason why you came?’
‘To be with you.’ She felt like crying, then, and cursed herself for being such a
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