Barney and the Secret of the Whales (9 page)

At last we levelled out, and hung, not moving, for seconds. And then we dived, crashing down a mountain slope. All I could hear was the thunder of water; I felt the spray as the wave crashed down on us, and into the hold. The fire steamed and spluttered and went out. The world was water . . . water . . . water . . .

And then it wasn't. For the water drained away, down into the hold. We must have escaped the worst of the swell. I waited for us to climb the next one, but when we did it was a tiny hillock compared to the giant before.

‘B#*?#*#!'
said Peg-Leg Tom, using words I'd promised Mr Johnson I'd never write. (I didn't even know what half of them were.)

He felt under his oilskin and came out with tinder, dry, like a miracle. I wondered how many fires Peg-Leg Tom must have seen put out by massive waves crashing down onto the ship, to ensure that he always carried tinder next to his body. He pulled a flint and striker out of his pocket and got the fire going again.

I heard Captain Melvill shouting orders above. I couldn't make them out, with the noise of the wind and creaking timbers and the crash of water on the hull only a few feet from where I sat. I glanced at Peg-Leg Tom as
the ship shuddered, changing direction so suddenly that I almost spilled the last of my stew.

‘Turning back to Sydney Town,' muttered Peg-Leg Tom to the stew pot, still not meeting my eyes. ‘Won't catch no more whales in this wind. Best be safe in harbour afore we crack a mast, if we ain't lost one already.'

Sydney Town! I wondered if they'd let me go ashore to see Elsie and the Johnsons. I even missed Sally. And the garden, the feel of the soil in my fingers. The bean seeds I'd planted would be a foot high now, and the potatoes coming on, and the carrots and cabbages . . .

I bit my lip hard to stop the tears. A minute earlier I thought I'd never see them again. And now I would — but I would still be bound to the
Britannia.

I wanted to ask how long we might stay in harbour. Only a few days, I supposed, or even less, till the wind died down. It would be hard, looking out at the trees and rocks on the shore, looking up at our house and garden above the convict huts. Surely Captain Melvill would let me visit the Johnsons once. There was no way I could escape my indentures in the colony, and he must know I knew it.

Three years of hunting whales and fighting waves, far from the song of the trees that I now knew I loved.

A bell clanged. Time for my watch. I climbed the companionway, my body aching, up to the deck. The main mast was still there, Charlie Three-Tooth climbing down. He looked shaken, as well he might. That monster wave must have stared him in the face. It was a miracle — and the strong leather belt — that he hadn't been swept into the dark sea. He must have breathed spray for long minutes, before there was air to gasp again. I climbed the mast, clumsy in my oilskin. The wave spray bit my face like tiny icicles. I buckled myself to the mast and wondered what it would be like to see a wave like that coming at you, with nothing to hold you to the ship but two buckles and your cold hands and legs. I imagined the ship sinking to the bottom of the sea, with my skeleton, picked clean by sharks, still tied onto the mast.

I hoped I'd meet Ma in Heaven. I hoped there'd be gardens there too.

But we met no more giant waves, though the seas crashed and bashed and tore at us. The wind filled our sails and we sped north, faster, ever faster than we had gone south. I watched the mountains pass and the green trees on shore as we scurried back to the safety of the harbour, our cargo bobbing in our hold.

The headlands of the harbour were like two giant arms, welcoming us back. We even left most of the wind behind us once we passed through them, and the chop of the waves. But there was enough breeze to keep our sails filled all the way up the harbour.

I stood by the gunwale. You could hardly see our tiny settlement at first, just smoke rising from the fires, lots from Port Jackson and more scattered smaller puffs around the coves, where there were huts or Indian
camps. An Indian woman in a bark canoe almost level with the water laughed up at us, grilling fish on her tiny fire for the children who swam next to her. The women in other canoes paddled out of our way in case our wash capsized them.

And then the harbour curved and there was Sydney Cove, just as I'd left it. But why should it have changed? I'd been gone weeks, not months or years.

I was the one who'd changed. I felt like a soldier who'd been to war and seen a valiant enemy destroyed. The whale though had been no enemy. We had taken it for money, for things like women's corsets and lamp oil that didn't smoke. I'd eaten lamb and beef a thousand times, and wrung the necks of chickens too. I couldn't tell you why killing that whale was different. Not then at any rate. But I knew it was.

Mud-and-wattle huts, and the fine white governor's house, and the big splodge of the barracks and parade ground, and the long snake that was the Tank Stream, and rowing boats coming to meet us already, maybe hoping we might be from England, with news and stores. But all we had was oil. Would it stay here, for the lamps of the colony? I didn't think so.

‘You want to go ashore, don't you, lad?'

It was Captain Melvill. It was the first time he'd spoken to me since we'd caught the whale.

‘Please, sir. May I visit the Johnsons?'

‘And will you come back, if I let you go?' The captain looked at me, his blue eyes thoughtful.

‘Yes, sir.' I hesitated. Would I get a whipping if I told the truth? I'd risk it. ‘I haven't got a choice, have I? I signed the papers. I'm bound to you for three years.'

‘Unless I tear them up.' His voice was so calm it took me a moment to realise he was offering me my freedom, a way to leave the whisper of hell I'd seen on this ship.

‘Can you do that, sir? Would you?'

‘Aye, I'll do that, lad.' The captain nodded at me. ‘You've been a good crewman. Worked hard and done what you were bid. I saw what you did for Peg-Leg Tom. You'd be a good man to sail with. You've got the best long sight I've known. But the
Britannia
is no merchant ship or man o' war, impressing men too drunk to know where they're going, keeping those prisoner who'd rather be on shore.' The way he said ‘on shore' made it sound as if it was a place for kittens, not for men. ‘You're a landsman to the heart, aren't you, lad?'

‘Yes, sir,' I answered honestly.

The captain nodded, not even angry. ‘Some are born to the sea. Some have no choice, if they're to see their families fed. But they grow used to it.' He grinned. ‘Me? The wind is my mother, lad, and the great waves my father. I'll take what I want from the ocean, no matter what storm or whale I have to fight to get it.' Captain Melvill reached into his pocket, and held some things out.

I took them automatically and stared. They were three silver pieces, one smaller than the rest, but all of them bigger by far than a threepence, which was the only silver coin I'd ever seen before. ‘But, sir . . .'

‘It's not your share of the oil, lad. You don't get that. No one gets a share until they finish the voyage with us. But I promised a silver dollar to the man who saw the first whale and that was you. We'd not have got any if we hadn't caught that one early.' He gave a grim smile. ‘The
Mary Ann
and the
William and Ann
were going out as well. They were to leave the day after us, and I don't see them here, but I'll warrant they'll be back soon too, with nothing to show for their voyages.'

‘But the other two coins, sir?'

‘From Peg-Leg Tom. He asked me to give them to you, from his share of the voyage to come. Aye, I said no one
gets paid till it's over, but I've sailed with Peg-Leg Tom nigh on twenty years now. An old shipmate is different.'

‘He doesn't have to give me anything, sir.' I didn't add ‘for saving his life' for no one had ever said the words.

‘Peg-Leg Tom doesn't like to be beholden. Says that if he pays you his share of the voyage, then once you're off the ship he can forget you, and good riddance.' He smiled to take the sting from the words. ‘So take our coins and good luck to you, Barney Bean.'

Captain Melvill held his hand out. I shook it.

I heard him march back up to the quarterdeck, to his whalebone captain's chair. I looked at the coins in my hand.

I wanted to fling them overboard, or give them back to Peg-Leg Tom. But Captain Melvill had been kind. I doubted many captains would tear up a boy's papers and let him go free. Nor could I shame Peg-Leg Tom by giving his money back, so he must sail the seas beholden to a boy who'd rather grow carrots than hunt whales.

So I put the coins in my pocket. I watched the shore get closer, and closer still. Trees, and rocks, and darker green gullies where I knew bats rested during the day. A wide rock ledge with two old native women resting on it, and Indian children swimming in the rippling
waves. I craned to check if Birrung might be there too, but couldn't see her.

Garden Island, with its gardens. The ship changed course slightly and there was the colony, nestled among the trees, smoke rising from chimneys and cook fires, the big scar that was the brickworks, the cleared fields. As I looked, I could see people pointing, yelling, running down to the quay. Ships' arrivals were always the biggest news of the colony, even if we'd only been away a few weeks.

The last time I'd sailed into this harbour I had been imprisoned below, and there had been nothing but trees and Indians. Now there were houses — well, mostly huts, but a few good houses among them. I had been so scared, back then, thinking the natives might murder us, or giant beasts eat us.

I had left this place to make a fortune, and to see the world. I had come back with three silver pieces and . . .

Myself, I thought. I know who I am now. I am Barney Bean, who lives in New South Wales and loves growing potatoes and carrots, and seeing lambs wave their tails in spring, and parrots screeching through the trees.

The ship sailed closer. Captain Melvill yelled an order. Sailors scrambled up the masts and out on the cross
yards to furl the sails. I heard the splash as the anchor dropped.

I leaned over the gunwale. I could see our house! The young apple trees were green behind it and there was washing on the line. And down on the shore in the crowd Elsie would be waiting for me.

I stared at them, trying to find the small figure in her blue dress. Where was she? Surely she would've come running down as soon as she heard the ship was sailing into the harbour.

I was home.

It seemed like ten years before I could climb down the ladder into a boat to take me and my bundle to the shore. The ship's boats and colony's fishing boats were filled with more important people than me. Even Governor Phillip arrived to find out how the whaling had gone.

None of the whalers stopped to farewell me. I waited my turn without a single word or wave. At last I threw my bundle down and clambered after it. The rowers pulled at the oars, taking us to shore.

Most of the crowd had gone now, as there was nothing more to see. But surely Elsie would be waiting for me. I still couldn't see her, but maybe she was under the shade of a tree. As soon as I stepped out of the boat, she'd run up to me . . .

Two of the sailors jumped out as we approached Sydney Cove, and pulled the boat up onto the sandy mud. I followed them, then nearly stumbled. My legs were as rubbery as when I'd first arrived here, after all the months at sea. It felt as if the earth was rocking back and forth just like the waves had been. I sloshed through the mud, up to the grass, then looked around.

Two toothless convicts were smoking pipes under a tree. A woman in a tight dress brought out a tray of homemade ale from a hut to a group of sailors. Call-Me-Bob was among them. He carefully didn't look at me. None of the others did either. I was a landlubber now, not one of them.