Salting the Wound (25 page)

‘It’s your hair, Red. I doubt if they’ve seen hair that colour before. They seem to be in awe of you, and we can work that to our advantage. Here, Sam, and try and look confident. Nick handed him the stick.’

Nick and Red took up a threatening stance as Sam reluctantly made his way to the rock and placed the meat there. Sam spread it out in the position they’d come across it, with its legs sticking out the sides, but looking odd without its tail, which they’d eaten. He gazed at it, then placed the stick where the tail should have been.

The aborigines began to point at it and laugh and Sam turned and grinned at them.

‘I’m glad they find it funny,’ Nick whispered.

While Sam waded back to them, the lizard was divided up and eaten with lip-smacking appreciation.

The light was beginning to go, and the natives waded across to stare at Red. They jabbered to each other, then one of them reached out and touched his hair. Before too long they were all laughing and pulling at it.

‘Enough,’ Red said sharply, and they drew back.

The aboriginals withdrew across the river and melted into the bush.

‘We’d better keep watch tonight. Sam, you can take first watch, Red, you do the graveyard, and I’ll take the dogs.’

Nick gathered some firewood before the shadows consumed the light. The fire was a friendly warmth in the rustling and impenetrable darkness that consumed them all. The mountains loomed densely into the stars, which were reflected in the river. When he woke to do his watch he felt at one with it, like he did sometimes at sea. He was an insignificant part of something bigger, especially when the primitive sounds of the aboriginal men singing came drifting across to him.

Red snored loudly until Nick put a foot in his back and shoved him on to his side. Sam was restless and towards morning, made little moaning noises. When Sam woke he was fevered. Nick gazed at his arm, it was red and swollen around the site of the bite.

‘It’s infected, Sam.’

They bathed it, then Red ripped the tail from Sam’s shirt and bound it.

‘Can you walk?’ Nick asked him.

‘Yes, Captain,’ he said with more bravado than conviction. ‘It’s only my arm.’

But he didn’t last long before he collapsed, his body beset by shivers.

Nick forced some water between his chattering teeth. When they looked at the wound again it was festering and red streaks had escaped from the site. He took Red aside and said unnecessarily, ‘We’ll have to set up camp and wait and see if he gets over it.’

Red shook his head. ‘Poor lad.’

Both of them knew it would only get worse. They rigged the sail to give him protection and prepared to wait it out, since leaving him to fend for himself wasn’t an option. Red caught some of the small lobsters and boiled them in the small can they used for everything. Sam had no appetite, though they managed to get water into him, which offered a little hope.

While they were eating an aboriginal appeared silently from the bush and squatted on his haunches beside Sam. It was obvious that the man had been shadowing them. Nick made no move that could be mistaken as threatening, for the man’s spear was tipped with a sharpened stone arrowhead. ‘I don’t think he means us any harm.’

The native looked at the wound, then gazed at Nick, his eyes both primitive and wise.

Nick touched a hand against his chest. ‘Me Nick.’

The man stared at him from a moment then placed his fist against his own chest. ‘Gunjinni.’

Nick pointed towards the cook. ‘Him Red,’ then to Sam. ‘He’s Sam.’

Gunjinni nodded. Going to the river bank he brought back some flat leaves, laid them on the wound then packed wet mud over them. He pointed to the sail, then made a motion of placing Sam in it and nodded towards the mountain.

‘He wants us to follow him.’

Red nodded. ‘They might be able to help Sam, and show us the way out of here.’

They began to pack up camp again, and soon they were heading after the native, Sam swinging between them in the sail, wandering between confused consciousness and sleep. Just after noon they reached the native camp, a clearing at the base of the mountain.

Several naked children rushed forward to stare wide-eyed at them.

When Nick smiled at them they began to giggle.

Gunjinni pointed to them all one by one. ‘Meenick . . . Himred . . . Hesam.’

Nick exchanged a grin with Red.

The man said something and a woman indicated a rough hut a little way off. Nick lifted the lad gently in his arms and carried him there. Sweat covered him and his eyes were glassy with fever. He whispered, ‘Am I going to die, Captain?’

‘Certainly not, I’d consider such an act to be mutiny. And if you think I intend to face up to your mother and sisters with such news, you can think again. The ladies of the tribe intend to nurse you back to health, so make sure you cooperate.’

‘Yes, Captain.’ Sam’s eyes closed again.

As Nick laid Sam on a bed of dried rushes and bark he hoped his words had taken root.

Outside, the women had lit a fire in a small pit. In it they burned nuts, twigs and leaves that gave off a strong, piquant smell, scraping the ashes out to cool before adding more fuel. An elegant bronzed girl with small tilted breasts, fanned the smoke into the hut, while an older one mixed the burned ash to a paste. It was rubbed all over Sam, the women giggling and making soft exclamations over his naked body. One of them tended to the lad’s wounded arm.

Nick could smell Sam from outside the hut. He had the same aroma as a joint of lamb, all spiced and ready to go into the oven – one that his Aunt Daisy had prepared. He had a sudden, nostalgic longing to be home, where everything and everyone was familiar. He liked his job well enough because he was competent at it, but he was not cut out to be an explorer, and he’d always known it was temporary. Just how temporary being a seaman could be, had been driven home forcibly of late.

One of the women had brewed a drink. Another knelt behind Sam and acted as a support. Her thighs were splayed either side of his lifted shoulders and she pillowed Sam’s head between her comfortable brown breasts. His fevered eyes displayed his embarrassment, but he didn’t have the strength to protest. The brew was fed to him drop by drop, by another woman with a shell to use as a scoop.

Nick grinned when Red muttered under his breath, ‘He’s a bit old to be breast fed, isn’t he?’

‘I reckon he’s just the right age, but the lad’s too ill to enjoy it.’

They pitched their sail under a tree, and the young women came to touch Red’s hair and his pale skin, and to smile at him. An older women scattered them with harsh scolding. One of Red’s admirers sat a little way off and began to weave a basket from reeds, sending Red sidelong glances from time to time.’

‘Seems you’ve stolen a heart, Red.’

‘My hair’s a curiosity to them, that’s all.’

‘Be careful. She seems to be one of the elders’ wives.’

But the elder didn’t seem to mind the woman’s attraction to Red. She was the only woman without a child hanging from her teat . . . and was kept apart from the others.

That night they ate around the campfire with the men. Then it was time to retire. The girl who’d fanned the healing smoke went off with the women while the other two lay down one either side of Sam.

During the night, Nick woke briefly to realize that Red had sneaked off somewhere. The woman, he guessed.

Once, the thought of having a woman to share his bed would have been given top priority. Now he could only think of Aria, who had trusted him, and was waiting for his return. The fact that one feisty scrap of a woman could grab him so firmly by the balls astonished him. He grinned, not knowing whether to be pleased by the fact, or ashamed of himself for allowing her, just by being alive, to dictate the course of his physical comfort.

It was a week before Sam’s fever broke, and his strength needed building up, so it would be another three before he’d be fit to travel.

To Sam’s dismay he wasn’t allowed to hunt with the men, as Nick and Red did, but was sent with the women to dig roots from the surrounding bush and to gather firewood while he recovered some strength.

They were treated as part of the tribe, except for Red, who came in for special treatment. Because of Red’s glowing hair, Nick thought that the natives looked on him as a god or a spirit of some sort. They didn’t seem to mind his liaison with the chief’s young wife.

The day inevitably came when Nick took up a sharp stick and drew a map of Port Philip Bay in the earth with the picture of a sailing ships floating on the water and buildings around the outside.

A meeting of the old men was called, where the matter was discussed. The elder came to squat before him, and he made several marks in the earth.

‘What is it?’ Red said.

‘A number of days, and a full moon. That’s when we’ll leave, I think.’

‘The full moon is two weeks away.’

‘I know, but it will give Sam some time to fatten up. He hasn’t got his full strength back yet and we don’t want him to have a relapse.’

‘What’s that mark he’s doing now?’

‘The sail we brought with us. It seems they want payment for their hospitality. Still, we won’t need it any more, or the other stuff.’ Nick nodded. Taking up the stick he drew the stone jar, the billy can and the other few objects they’d saved from the ship.’

Then it was the elder’s turn again. He drew a man’s head with corkscrew curls.

‘They’re not having my head,’ Red said in alarm, and shook it vigorously.

The elder brought his errant woman over, and questioned her. At first she hung her head, and then she gazed scornfully at Red, then her hands went to her stomach and she began to scold him. The other women began to scold him too and they pelted him with sticks and hooted.

Standing, the elder waved his spear at the women and shouted, and they ran off in all directions into the surrounding bush. The elder drew a woman with a baby. He smiled, gently squeezed Red’s penis, then tugged Red’s hair.

Red sounded nervous when he said, ‘Which part of me do they want, Captain, my dangler or my hair? I don’t want to part with either.’

Giving a soft chuckle, Nick told him, ‘He wants recompense for the use of his youngest wife. The gift of your seed has taken root, if I read the signs right.’

Red’s eyes widened, then he managed an ashamed little grin. ‘The woman was giving me the come on, Captain. You saw her. That doesn’t equate to cutting my head or dangler off.’

‘On the contrary, the elder considers what has happened to be an honour.’ Nick laughed at the alarm in Red’s eyes. ‘And it’s not your head he’s after, it’s your hair. They’ll wear it for good luck.’

Nick smiled at the elder, nodded and pointed to Red. ‘Himred agrees.’

‘Do I like hell agree.’

Nick kept a pleasant smile on his face. ‘Don’t be difficult about this, Red. Just feel lucky he didn’t demand your scalp.’

Nick marked the day before the full moon in the dirt, then he and the elder shook hands. The business was concluded whether Red liked it or not – and if needed, Nick would hold him down while they helped themselves to cook’s red locks.

The woman stayed away from Red from then on, but there was much wailing going on when it was time for them to leave. Each of the men had a lock of Red’s shorn hair attached to their spears, and the women wore red hair bracelets with nuts woven through them.

Sam had his cheeks pinched so many times by the women that his face went red. The elder’s plump wife drew him between her breasts again in a farewell hug and the women crowded round to pat his head and shoulders, as if he were their favourite pup.

‘Damn me if them women don’t want to keep you here,’ Red called out. ‘You’d better leave him with them, Captain, else we’ll never get away.’

The men began to laugh when Sam struggled to free himself.

When the women finally let him go, Nick teased him with, ‘What did you get up to while you were gathering food.’

‘Nothing, Captain. Honest!’

‘Are you still intent on searching for gold with Red?’

‘Reckon I will for a year or so, now we’ve learned how to look after ourselves a bit. Begging your pardon, Captain, but I’ve had enough of the sea. That wave fair gave me the frights. It wasn’t natural, and I don’t want any more adventures of that sort.’

Two weeks later the scruffily, bearded shipwreck survivors were looking at Melbourne town in the distance.

‘Civilization, gentleman,’ Nick said and turned to thank their hosts, who would not go any further, and waved to them as they began to descend.

They had lost track of time, but Nick’s calculations determined it might be heading towards the end of April.

They headed straight for the shipping agent’s office, where the astonished agent informed him. ‘We’d understood
Samarand
had gone down with all hands.’

‘Not quite. Four jumped ship to join the gold rush, and these two were saved along with me. I’ll leave you a list of survivors and a letter for my uncle. I don’t want to wait for the
Daisy Jane
. I’d rather get home as soon as possible.’

‘If you want to work your passage there’s a ship sailing short-handed for Southampton, via Wellington in a few days. She’s carrying wool and passengers. She needs a first mate.’

‘Who’s the master?’

‘Cunningham.’

Nick nodded. ‘A good man by all accounts. He’ll do me.’

Nick borrowed some money on account, shopped at the local gentleman’s outfitter, and took a hotel room. The three of them visited the bathhouse, dressed in their new clothes and had their photograph taken together to celebrate their survival. Red shopped for mining gear and Nick bought them a handcart and a couple of blankets as a parting gift.

‘Are you sure this is what you want, Sam? It’s not too late to change your mind.’

The lad nodded . . . though he was no longer a lad, Nick noticed. Sam was beginning to grow his muscles and was as sinewy as his former hosts.

‘You can sit down and write your mother a letter before you go off mining. The hotel clerk will give you some paper, pen and ink. And make sure it’s more than a dozen words. Tell her about the shipwreck, and how you heroically saved the life of the ship’s master and cook by launching the dinghy. That way she’ll feel justified in taking the reward I’m going to offer her, and bragging about you after church.’