WILLIAM WAS AS far forward as he could get in the boat. He could smell and taste the earth on the air. The colours of green to the edge of blue, and broken by the trunks of silver trees. The tents and stores of the landing party, the fires on the beach, and the chaplain’s marquee were separated from this world by the line of the perimeter guard; but which side was the guarded, William could not see.
He jumped the instant he felt the keel grate. He disappeared, but rose again to his waist and began to labour for the shore. He swung from side to side with his chains; then he was in foam, and his step reached land. Though it heaved under him in its stillness, he kept himself firm.
“I’m coming. Not long now, Het. I’m here.”
The others were behind him in the water. Some had to be pulled up from drowning. Some moved as though drunk. Some crawled onto the sand. Some lay, too dizzy to move, until kicked to their legs.
Men went down from the camp and waded out to unload the boat. The new men were formed up to have their chains unlocked. William stood in his chains, and felt them, one by one, taken from him.
I’ve bested you. You bugger.
Yet they still held him. He had to force his arms apart, and there was no weight to them. He took a step, but could not raise his foot from a shuffle.
He made himself lift, and the leg that had worn the long chain, now without its heaviness, jerked upwards and out, and he fell. On hands and knees, he tried to stand, but he had no balance without iron, and fell again.
“Easy does it, Crank,” said Pad, and kept him steady while he teetered upright. “You’ll soon be in fine twig. Just keep on the go till you find yourself.”
“Get. Me. Home.”
William walked. The heavy chain leg strode too far each time, so that his knees bent at a square angle and he sank at his hips. Pad gripped his upper arm and elbow and forced him along the beach. They turned back at the guard line, and walked again. His legs straightened and the rise and dip of his head grew less, until Pad could let go of the arm, and William’s stagger became a slow, but even, pace. They came to a fire. “Good as caz,” said Pad. “He’ll be good as caz.”
Renter and Jeremiah were sitting by the smouldering wood, and Eggy Mo was waddling up and down, without his leg irons, trying to stride, but he, too, was thrown by the missing long chain.
“Welcome to New Holland,” said Jeremiah; “or to that part of it that is now Sullivan Bay, for such has been its nomenclature for the past week. It strikes me as remarkable how those in authority seem to be unable to recognise a place until they have named it, though there can be no doubt of its existence before our coming.
“Now. Take meat and drink, William; but I suggest that you remain standing until you are in full command of your limbs, for I consider it essential, since you are determined on your leaving, that you do not delay, but go while there is still some disorder in the camp. To which end, always be sure to carry something and to move as with purpose, then no one will distract you from your true errand of seeking provender. Why have you not yet been issued with clothing?”
“There was none as would fit,” said William. “The quarter-master says it’ll have to be made special.”
“Then you must go as you are,” said Jeremiah. “And you may be the better for it. The new cloth does scoriate the tender parts most grievously, and hampers movement.”
“But it doesn’t eat the night out of you,” said Pad. “And we’re well rid of our old togs, eh?” He laughed with Renter.
“It was the best Adam Tilering I’ve seen in a long while,” said Renter, and pointed to Jeremiah. “Don’t let them binnacle words fool you. That one could make his fortune.”
“I’m fit,” said William. “Let’s be off.”
“Wait while I tell you, won’t you?” said Pad. “Oh, it was beautiful. It was gorgeous. You see, Bobby isn’t the one to live in a tent. Oh no. There’s no room for his dining table. So he ships out his own marquee, and there’s no rest for us till it’s up and to his liking. Then there’s himself, standing over his goods and chattels on the shore, and me toing and froing with his comestibles, as he calls them. Now there’s a word.”
“Are you with me, or aren’t you?”
“Festina lente, William,” said Jeremiah. “All in its season.”
“Eh! I’m walking proper!” said Eggy Mo.
“So I takes four bottles of his liquid comestibles, and wraps them in a bit of old sacking; and there’s meself out of the marquee with it, past the guard, when who goes by but this old reprobate, with a sack of his own, not looking, and knocks right into me. ‘Arrah,’ says I, ‘do you squint like a bag of nails, that you can’t see a man before you?’”
“And I says, ‘Hold your mag, frig pig,’” said Renter, “‘or your glims’ll be shining like a shitten door.’”
“Frig pig, he calls me! ‘Who, you, you moving dunghill?’ says I. ‘You piss more than you drink!’ Well, the guard knows trouble’s on the way, so he’s quick to send us packing, and on I goes with me little bundle.”
“And I’m shouting, ‘I’ll mill your glaze for you!’, said Renter, “when round the corner of the marquee, slap bang, this one steps; and he’s got his bundle, too.”
“I can run! I can run!” cried Eggy Mo.
“Anyway,” said Renter, “out come the binnacle words. ‘Oh, Charles!’ he says. ‘Charles! My sincere apologies!’ he says. ‘I was the cause entirely!’, or some such. And he starts turning me round, and making me tidy; and I shove him off, and he goes one way, and I goes t’other.”
“I can’t eat any more,” said William.
“Put it in your shirt, and take my drinking can, and do not part with it,” said Jeremiah.
“And there’s me, down the beach with Bobby,” said Pad, “and him standing over his furniture like it was a saint’s bones.”
“But these britches is giving me jockam some gee up,” said Eggy Mo.
“So do it in your hands and rub it in,” said Renter.
“‘Oh,’” says Bobby, ‘what’s that you’re carrying, McAllenan, from my marquee?’”
“‘Oh,’” says I, “‘it’s me old togs, sir, for the fire. There’s no wear left in them, and besides, they’re walking. Indeed, I don’t know why I carry the idle creatures.’ And I throws the bundle on the fire, and up it goes in flames, with the creatures crackling in it. ‘Well,’ I says, ‘I promised them hell fire, and now they’re there straight, and no purgatory.’”
“Choice,” said Renter. “Very choice.”
“The long and the short of it, William,” said Jeremiah, “is that, having ascertained which of the marines can least hold their liquor, I have persuaded them, by letting them see what is in my gift, that they should stand guard together this evening on the eastern perimeter, where I shall visit them an hour or so before sunset. And you and your companions shall happen to pass that way in the gloaming, when we shall see whether yet again the peculiar ability of the Irish to wage war with brandy wine has been successful.”
“Ah, it’s only four bottles of red tape I could get,” said Pad. “With two of me granny’s poteen, they’d not see a hole in a ladder.”