‘Now, sir,’ said Bonden, ‘if you will lay aft just a trifle, I’ll cast off – no, sir: aft, if you please.’
All was well. The rats had scorned the treasure-chest, and by some happy atmospheric chance the elegant Bank of England
notes, the only paper money that looks worth twopence, he thought, had retained or regained their pristine crispness. He was counting it with a certain voluptuous glee (the ghost of former poverty) when Oakes came below to say that ‘there was a gentleman for him on the quarterdeck, if you please, sir.’
‘A civilian or a soldier, Mr Oakes?’
‘Oh, only a civilian, sir.’
It was Mr Paulton, come to return their visit. Stephen took him into the cabin, sent to tell Martin, and they all three sat drinking madeira until Jack returned, worn, dusty, and very willing to eat his dinner. He at once invited Paulton. ‘We keep strangely unfashionable hours in the Navy, sir, but I should be very happy if you would honour us.’
‘Pray do,’ said Stephen. ‘It being Friday we have laid in a noble haul of fish.’
‘They have asked the shabby gent,’ said Killick to his mate. ‘Go and tell the cook.’
Paulton was troubled – had he known the ways of the service he would never have called at such an hour – he had had no intention whatsoever of imposing himself.
His scruples were overcome in time, however, and a very pleasant dinner they had of it.
With so much shore-leave there were no other guests, and they talked quite freely about music, discovering a shared devotion to the string quartets of Haydn, Mozart and Dittersdorf, and about New South Wales, which
Paulton obviously knew much better than any of them. ‘It may well be a country with a great future,’ he said, ‘but it is one with no present, apart from squalor, crime, and corruption. It may have a future for people like- the Macarthurs and those infinitely hardy pioneers who can withstand loneliness, drought, flood and a generally ungrateful soil; but for most of
the today’s inhabitants it is a desolate wilderness: they take refuge in drink and in being cruel to one another. There is more drunkenness here than in Seven Dials, and as for the flogging. . .’ Feeling that perhaps he had been talking too long he fell silent for a while, but when the plates had been changed and they asked him about Woolloo-Woolloo he described it in some detail: ‘At the moment,’ he said, ‘it is at the limit of free settlement along the coast northwards, and the uncleared part shows the country as the wretched First Fleet of convicts saw it. No one could possibly take it for Eden, but in certain lights it has an austere beauty; it is not without interest, and I should very much like to show it to you when I go back to take charge at the end of the month.
Although the journey is quite long on horseback, because one has to skirt a number of lagoons, it is no great way by sea: the brig that comes up for our wool and corn takes no more than three or four hours, with a good south-east breeze. If I may show you on the chart there on the window-seat you will see that the entrance to our harbour is quite clear.
Here, marked by a cairn and a flagpole, is the channel through which the tide flows in and out of our particular lagoon, bringing the brig with it; and here is the mouth of our stream, which flows into the lagoon through the lamb pastures. There are often kangaroos among the lambs, and I believe I could point out the water-mole, which is thought very curious.
And no doubt there are countless nondescript plants. It would give me the greatest pleasure.’
‘I should like it of all things,’ said Jack, to whom these words were chiefly directed, ‘if we do not sail before the end of the month and if the ship can spare me: but even if she cannot, I am sure the Doctor and Mr Martin would like to go. They could have one of the cutters at any time.’
As soon as they had drunk their coffee, two bells struck and he excused himself – he was obliged to go up to the Parramatta River with his carpenter to look at some spars, but he begged Mr Paulton not to stir; and it was clear to Stephen that Jack, in spite of his worn, somewhat bilious face, thought Paulton an agreeable acquaintance.
After he had gone Paulton became more confidential. He was ashamed not to ask them before the end of the month, but he did not think it would be the happiest of visits. His
cousin Matthews had many virtues: although he was a severe master he was a just one, and he never punished for trifles or from ill-nature as his neighbour Wilkins did; and he was on good terms with the Aborigines, although they sometimes took a sheep and although a related tribe along the coast harboured
a group of escaped convicts; but he never entertained and he allowed nothing but water or at the most weak green tea to be drunk in his house. He had many virtues, Paulton repeated, but his enemies might call him a little rigid and unsociable.
‘Is the gentleman married?’ asked Martin.
‘Oh no,’ said Paulton, amused.
‘I dare say there are a great many waders on the shore of your lagoon,’ said Stephen, after a moment’s silence.
I am sure there are,’ said Paulton, standing up. ‘I often see clouds of birds rise when I go down there to play my fiddle, and they may well have been wading. But now, with my best thanks for a delightful afternoon, I must bid you good day. Oh, and just one last word,’ he added in a low voice, ‘is it usual to give vails in the Navy?’
‘No, no, not at all,’ they both replied; and this being nearly the time for Stephen to take Sarah and Emily to be shown to Mrs Macquarie, Martin alone walked back with their guest.
The little girls were quite stiff in their new frocks, and they looked very grave: plainer, poor dears, and even blacker than usual, thought Stephen. ‘We are going to see a most amiable lady, at Government House. She is both good and kind,’ he said with a somewhat exaggerated cheerfulness.
The four of them made their way up the hill in something near silence, Stephen holding Sarah’s hand and Jemmy Ducks Emily’s. As ill-luck would have it they passed two iron-gangs. ‘Why are those men chained?’ asked Sarah as the first clanked slowly by.
‘Because they have behaved ill,’ said Stephen. In the second a man had fallen and a soldier was beating him. Because of the frigate’s peculiar status and her unusual ship’s company the little girls had never seen a flogging aboard the Surprise nor yet a starting with bosun’s cane or rope’s end. They shrank away, and their grasp tightened, but they said nothing. Stephen hoped that the carriages (which made them stare), the horses, the people passing by, particularly the redcoats, and the buildings would distract their minds; and he pointed out the kangaroo on the lawn. They said ‘Yes’, but neither smiled nor followed it with their gaze.
Mrs Macquarie received them at once. ‘How glad I am to
see you, my dears,’ she said, kissing each as each made her curtsy. ‘What pretty frocks!’
A servant brought in fruit-juice and little cakes, and Stephen saw with relief that they were growing less tense. They ate and drank; and when Mrs Macquarie had talked to Dr Maturin about their hope of a ship from Madras quite soon and about the Governor’s journey she turned to them and told them about the orphanage. There were many little girls of their age in one part of it, and they played games, running about in a park with
trees. They looked quite pleased, accepted more fruit-juice, more cakes, both saying
‘Thank you, ma’am’, and Sarah asked ‘Have they pretty dresses?’
‘Not prettier than yours,’ said Mrs Macquarie. ‘Come with me and I will show you.’
She walked them round to the stables, where her carriage was waiting, and they seemed reasonably happy until Stephen, standing by the step, said ‘Jemmy Ducks or I will come to see you tomorrow. Be good girls, now, till then. God bless.’
‘Ain’t we coming back to the barky?’ asked Emily, and the wild look returned.
‘Not today, mates: you got to see the orphanage,’ said Jemmy Ducks; and as the carriage moved off both little girls stood up, looking at him with faces of alarm, distress and woe until it turned the corner.
The walk down was as silent as the walk up, with only Jemmy’s involuntary exclamation
‘And in such a country as this, God love us.’ At a corner Stephen paused, took his bearings, and said ‘Jemmy Ducks, here is a shilling. Go along that way for a couple of hundred yards and you will find a tavern, a decent house where you may have a drink.’