Port William, 3rd July 1873
Ships of all Sorts call here, for the Harbour provides safe anchorage. Cutters from the settlements at Half Moon Bay, south of here, wait for suitable Weather for Crossing the Straits to Campbelltown or Invercargill. Foreign ships often anchor inside the Headlands. Already this week we have had an American Whaler here. The Captain spent time ashore with Bill Manners, and it seems they are Well Acquainted. This morning an Excursion Steamer anchored for some hours, sending a Party ashore. We proved the subject of much Curiosity, they were mostly scientific Gentlemen of some sort and full of searching questions. I felt resentment for we are not Specimens in some zoological garden for their interest. I heard Father say we are well satisfied with our Prospects. Pride must have stopped him admitting to the many Difficulties that plague us.
The Barracks remain damp and draughty. The guttering promised by the Immigration Officer has not arrived, and rainwater still seeps inside to soak the kitchen floor, despite the Ditch the men have dug round the building to improve the Drainage. The weather is drear and chill, with westerly storms keeping them away from the Fishing for days on end. It is too dangerous to fall trees in the wet, and they are often Idle.
They have sent two loads of Fish to Campbelltown with Bill Manners, but we have yet to see any Payment for them. Henry Shewan has been experimenting with the smoking and drying times, but the fish does not hold its shape well and he is not sure of its keeping Quality. With no Return yet, it is hard for the menfolk to retain enthusiasm for fishing even when the weather permits.
The Shewans have remained in the Officer’s Quarters, and we are resigned to their being aloof from the rest of us except for matters that Henry considers his Responsibility. Both Gibbie Johnston and Magnus Sutherland are now working on the oyster beds with Bill Manners, and we see little of them.
Every new Task undertaken becomes the cause of Dissension and argument. No-one will be Told what to do. There is little Harmony amongst us.
* * *
The winter continued to turn bad on us. Father came home from a trip to Campbelltown, weighed down by that black mood I thought left behind on board ship. The agent who had taken the fish has no money for us, and there is nowt likely to be coming.
‘He said the fish had rotted in the barrels,’ Da reported. ‘No-one wanted it, even the second lot, which he admitted were better quality. He canna get a price that gives him any return, let alone us.’
Even worse, the agent was no longer prepared to lease us the cutter the Immigration Officer had arranged with him, seeing our fish are worth nowt to him.
‘We’re wasting our time fishing for Campbelltown,’ said Willie. ‘We need tae try elsewhere for a market.’
‘And how will we do that?’ asked Da. ‘We lack the cutter that would allow us tae fish further out and catch bigger loads. How are we tae find other markets?’
No-one had an answer for him.
‘The fishing can go down Devil’s throat for all I care,’ said Robert Leslie, one of the single men with us. I heard the self-pitying whine in his voice. ‘I’ve a mind tae move to Campbelltown. Yon Bill Manners reckons there be work on the wharf there.’
‘Aye – work,’ Willie drawled. ‘And why would you choose that, Robert, when you do well enough here without?’
Unlike Gibbie Johnston, who is a willing worker and cheerful with it, Robert has done as little as possible since we arrived. The others laughed at his discomfiture, which perhaps firmed his resolve. A few days later Robert Leslie packed his belongings and left on a cutter bound for Invercargill.
That night, the new absence at table made us despondent, although Robert is no great loss in my opinion. Rain drummed on the leaky shingle roof and the kitchen was chill despite the fire burning on the hearth. Father and Gibbie fetched their fiddles and struck up the merriest tunes they could. We danced all the reels we knew to express our defiance against the ill luck that besets us. The fiddle music still has the power to drive the Devil back from our door and restore our good humour. The light in Gibbie’s eye stirred a reckless mood in me. Taking courage from what I’d learnt from Jessie O’Dea, I seized him boldly by the hand when he put down his fiddle to quench his thirst.
‘Tis time you took a turn with me,’ I said gaily. ‘Da can fiddle alone for now.’
Those eyes flashed at me, but he followed me willing enough amongst the dancers. He proved fleet of foot as well as a fine fiddler, and I were loath to let him return to the music-making when at last he put me aside. My heart seemed for a moment to beat faster and I could feel the heat in my cheeks, but I put that down to the exercise.
The short dark days of winter dragged on. With no apparent market for their fish, the menfolk concentrate on falling trees whenever the weather eases. Their efforts let more light in around the barracks, but the tree clearance does not extend beyond a narrow belt of land on the terrace above the beach. The ground is too wet for digging, that will have to wait until the weather warms in the spring. Besides, they are not sure which land is ours to work. It seems no survey has been done or plots allocated us.
Yon American whaler is back at anchor, her crew cutting up several blackfish on the beach. The captain is free with his supplies of rum, and the men are in the habit of going up to Bill Manners’ place of an evening to help him drink it. The drinking bouts have widened the rift with the Shewans, for they are not the type of Session they had proposed. Henry is teetotal of course, which does not help. I were not happy either, for the drink seems to bring on Father’s black moods. It does not matter what Annie says to him, he will not listen. She has grown quieter than ever, placidness her only way of dealing with difficulty. It has always exasperated me. There are moments when I long for Jessie O’Dea and her feisty ways with a fierceness that catches at my heart.
The drinking were only a forerunner. With time lying heavy, it were no surprise that Willie and Gibbie succumbed to temptation when Bill Manners approached them with a proposition. It seemed he were in cahoots with the captain of the whaler, planning a smuggling run to the Middle Island to deliver a load of contraband spirits taken on board at Hobart.
‘And why not?’ said Willie, when Father tried half-heartedly to remonstrate with him. ‘Bill Manners needs a crew he can trust, and who better than Shetlanders with smuggling in their veins? Besides, we will get a cut o’ the profit.’
Both he and Gibbie saw nowt but the adventure and there were no gainsaying them. In truth, I would have given much to shed my skirts and womanhood so that I could go with them. It were surely an escapade Jessie would have approved – and the men willing to take part. I were further drawn to the spark that glints in Gibbie’s eye.
We learnt that the cutters from Half Moon Bay were in on it. The whole fleet left at dawn, bound for different destinations along the south and east coasts of the Middle Island. Meantime, the whaler stayed at anchor here with her crew at work processing their catch, nowt but pretended innocence.
The cutters returned, one by one, over the next few days, each carrying legitimate goods of various sorts for the folk at Half Moon Bay. Willie and Gibbie were in high spirit, full of some tale of a close-run thing with a Customs Officer at Fortrose. I were envious of their adventure and eager to hear all they would tell us of it.
‘Yon Bill Manners were more than a match for the likes o’ him,’ Willie told us that night, unable to hide his grin. ‘What we offloaded at Fortrose were nowt but barrels o’ whale oil. Not a sign o’ liquor!’
‘Aye, you should’ve seen the Officer’s face,’ added Gibbie. ‘He’d been tipped off, so he were full o’ confidence that he’d caught us in the act.’ His eyes flashed with laughter, then he winked at me, and I blushed with the attention.
‘We were a decoy,’ explained Willie. ‘The tip-off were deliberate, tae set them chasing after Bill Manners’ cutter to Fortrose while the contraband went ashore elsewhere, on the south coast.’
In one sense, this smuggling escapade improved things for us at Port William, for it signalled a better relationship with the other settlers on the north coast of Stewart’s Island. Hard men, all of them, with minds of their own and little liking for authority. Some of them come from Shetland like us, or from Orkney, but up to now they have kept their distance, our status as assisted immigrants the cause of much resentment. After the Fortrose success, our menfolk were increasingly welcomed at evenings spent at Manners’ place over bottles of rum and whisky, kept back as profit.
There were talk of help with timber for the spring when we would be able to start on building our own houses, and offers of more work on the oyster fleet. One of the women from Half Moon Bay sent us a nanny goat to give milk for the bairns, and already it follows Janet everywhere she goes. Father says we are still not accepted entirely, but it were a start.
Despite this, amongst our own small group the smuggling has caused nowt but trouble. If the drinking were a sign of our deteriorating standards in the Shewans’ eyes, the smuggling is a sign the men are under the thrall of the Devil himself. Henry worked on revenue cutters back home, and this were enough for him to see himself as a revenue man and on the side of the law. His stiff reprimands are much resented by the menfolk. As a result, we see even less of the Shewans.
To my mind the absence of Elspet’s thin-lipped disapproval more than compensates for the loss of her help with the work, but I keep such thoughts to myself. Only Catherine really misses her sister. Janet and Annie are still sure Elspet will relent in the end. As for Barbara Manson, like her husband, she has no opinion to call her own. Pale and weak as skim milk, she be, and timid with it. She has not improved on closer acquaintance.
In rebellion against such lack of spirit perhaps, whenever I can find sufficient excuse I have taken to putting myself in the path of Gibbie Johnston when he returns after a stint on the oyster boats. I tell myself his lightness of heart is a much needed antidote to the dourness of the women about me. He seems willing enough to accommodate me, and expresses no surprise that we chance upon each other so frequently. Yesterday we strolled on the beach for half an hour or more, taking advantage of a dry evening to admire the fiery sunset that blazed beyond the hills behind Port William. He took my arm and tucked me against his person, to keep me warm, he said. I did not tell him the beating of my heart at such closeness were sufficient to warm me.
* * *
It were not much more than a week later that Magnus Sutherland became unwell. For a day he dragged about, grumbling about pains in his head. We put it down to the drink and no notice were taken of his complaints. Father took his place on Bill Manners’ cutter, going out to the oyster grounds. He were happier being occupied, and Magnus out of sorts was his good fortune.
By day’s end, Magnus seemed to be coming right, but that night he rose from his bed and went outside. Catherine reported him missing in the morning, and the menfolk, half-joking, went off to look for him. It were Bill Manners who found him wandering in the forest, mazed in his head and no idea of where he was. Manners brought him back to the barracks and left him with us. He sat there in the kitchen staring into space, mumbling. We could get no sense from him, and Catherine grew increasingly distressed. No-one knew what to make of it.
As the day wore on, Magnus became restless and it were all we could do to stop him from wandering off again. His skin was hot with fever, his eyes glazed. He complained again of pains in his head and took to hitting his forehead against the wall. Father and Willie tried to stop him, but he threw them off with a strength that took them by surprise. It took all the menfolk to restrain him. They bound him to his bed with fishing line, and left Catherine and Janet there to watch over him as he strained against the bindings. They debated what should be done. There were no doctor closer than Invercargill, and none of our small group has any learning in medicine or herbal remedies.
The pains in Magnus’s head rapidly grew worse. He started screaming, begging for respite. His screams echoed in the high spaces of the barracks until I was forced to flee outdoors for I could not bear to hear such pain. In the end they forced whisky down his throat until he passed out with the drink. Father then went with Bill Manners in his cutter to Half Moon Bay to seek help.
Subdued and worried out of our minds, we waited for their return, the adults taking turns to sit with Catherine beside him. I paced the kitchen, nursing her fretful babe, the lad born on the ship a bare six month ago. Even from the kitchen I could hear the raw snoring of his breath as Magnus lapsed into unconsciousness.
Night fell before Father and Bill Manners returned, with two of the older women from Half Moon Bay. Well-used to setting broken limbs and purging stomachs, they could do nowt for Magnus. It were beyond them, this illness that had seized him.
Nevertheless they stayed with us, taking over the kitchen and looking after the wakeful bairns as we sat out the long night. We found some small ease in their presence, but I have never felt the absence of old Howdie Goudie so keenly, nor the Minister with his words of comfort.
Just before dawn, the rasping sounds coming from the Sutherlands’ room stopped suddenly. Between one breath and the expected next, nowt but a silence that continued. We stared at each other, numb. It were some moments before Janet emerged. Her white face, hollowed with shock, confirmed what we already knew, even before she spoke.
‘Magnus is dead,’ she said, too dazed to soften the words.
Elspet and Henry went to be with Catherine, but there were nowt for the rest of us to do. It had all happened so fast. Magnus had been quite well only three days ago, and now he were dead. For the first time in many years I wished Mam were here to comfort me. Da was of no use, I could see that. Stricken he were, the other adults with him. They were like bairns, helpless and undone. I went to stand by the window, to escape the sight of their distress. As I stared hot-eyed and unable to cry into the darkness, an image of that albatross gliding across the wind-whipped waves imprinted itself on my mind.
For a week or more after Magnus died, no-one could bring themselves to work. The whaleboat lay idle on the beach, the axes in the storeroom. The womenfolk sat with Catherine day and night, for she were beside herself with grief. Only the most essential things were tackled – the fire, the cooking of food, tending the bairns. Much of this last fell to me. I kept them occupied with games and stories in the big dayroom where we were out of the way of the adults, for it were wet and cold much of that time and we were confined indoors. The bairns were a distraction I welcomed, as they were too young to understand what had happened.
The fiddles stayed silent, for we had no heart for music, no tune sufficient to ease our grief. Father were drinking more and more, the black mood often driving him out to the rocky point along the beach. There, he would sit long hours in the ceaseless rain, drinking from the bottles Bill Manners supplies him. It is a sore point with me that Annie canna stop him. She has changed from the Annie I had grown to love. So quiet and withdrawn, she shows little of the energy and cheerful good sense I once admired. I am increasingly impatient with her. She is of no use to Father like this, and I cannot reach him. I have taken to avoiding the pair of them, and refuse to feel guilt when I find Annie’s eyes thoughtfully upon me.
Whenever I can, I wrap my plaid over my head and shoulders and climb the hill behind the Manners’ house to the lookout place. The exercise helps ease my restlessness, though the walk is short and I sorely miss the long hours of striding the open hilltops of the skattald. I am still not reconciled to these endless tracts of forest that surround us, and keep my back firmly turned on the hills behind, my eyes on the windswept coast below me. Something in my spirit is drawn to that wild sea and its endless surging against the rocks fringing the headlands.
On one such walk I came unanticipated across Gibbie Johnston, leaning against a rock as he gazed down over a stormtossed sea. His hair was soaked by the frequent squalls, but he seemed oblivious to the wetness that streamed down his face. I sensed he were seeing nowt that lay below us, his heart grieving for Magnus. Without a word, I joined him, and he put his arm about me and drew me close. We leaned there together in silent companionship. A long time passed. I were beginning to think we would be frozen there for eternity when Gibbie stirred at last. He turned me towards him and cupped my face between his cold hands. Before I had time to react, he bent and kissed my cheek gently.
‘You’re a grand lass, Maggie,’ he said softly, then released me and had gone. I stared after him, a hand to my burning cheek. Despite all the sadness that besets us, my heart surged with a sudden joy.
At the end of those long weeks, although we tried to persuade her to stay, Catherine Sutherland upped and packed her belongings and went to Invercargill with her three small children. Even the Shewans held no sway.
‘You are kin,’ Elspet protested. ‘Henry is in a position tae support you.’
‘I’ll be beholden to no-one,’ said Catherine, her back stiff with pride. ‘I’m told I will find work in Invercargill.’
‘There is work aplenty here,’ said Elspet.
‘That’s as may be,’ said Catherine, showing more gumption than I had ever seen from her. ‘I canna live in these barracks forever. Nor can I take up our land grant here without Magnus tae work it with me.’
She left on the next steamer that called in to Port William. We all gathered on the beach to fare her well. Catherine endured our faltering words. I could see she had already left us behind in her mind. For that I could not blame her, for what has this journey to the other side of the world brought her but grief? A babe born on the ship, a husband lost. We watched as the steamer moved slowly out of the bay. Catherine stood on the deck, that babe in her arms and the other two fatherless bairns held close to her side. She did not look back.
Something of our spirit departed with her.