January 1886
The light is growing dim. It is as though someone is drawing the curtains. Soon they will meet in the middle. Sometimes I hear the sea inside my head. The way it would roar on the southern side of the island. If only we had known what was before us. Then we would have known we were safe. We had everything but we thought it was nothing. I want to go somewhere warm and quiet, where the light is soft like a summer sunset.
King George Sound 1835, Dorothea Newell
Dorothea stood on the shore of the Princess Royal Harbour, her skins wrapped tightly around her. Looking up the hill to where they had all gone. It was late afternoon and it felt as though her life was over. They had even taken his whaleboat. But he had fought them. She had seen her brother and his friend in the crowd of people who had come to watch them arrest Anderson and Isaac when they hauled up on the sand. She had thought at first that they were merchants who had come to buy the skins.
She turned her back on the settlement and looked out over the harbour. It was a smooth layer of glass until some unseen force rippled its surface. A ship sat out in the middle, its masts stripped bare. They had sailed, all of them, between the rocks that marked the entrance to the harbour from the deep dark water of the Sound. She could see the hazy outline of Breaksea Island and the island beside it, Michaelmas. They had passed through the north channel only a few hours earlier. She thought of the black women back on Bald Island, some twenty miles to the east. What would happen to them if Anderson didn’t return?
She felt like a shell washed up on the beach. What was inside had died. It was hard to remember how she had felt when she saw the mouth of the Sound. How elated they had been that they had survived. Mary had almost forgotten she wasn’t speaking to her for she looked over her shoulder and smiled. Dorothea had thought then that everything would be alright.
It had taken them about three weeks to sail from Middle Island. God, how she regretted forcing Anderson to take them back. The fine days had come early. And the winds had turned favourable. They loaded the whaleboat so high that it sat low in the water. That was why it took so long. Anderson had to leave some skins behind. They kept close to the coast and in the lee of islands, exposed to the full force of the swell as little as possible. For most of the journey the weather was perfect and they had sailed with a brisk breeze from the east.
They had reached Bald Island three days earlier. They set up camp, erecting the tent they had brought. A small squall delayed their departure by a day and Anderson decided to unload some of the boat’s contents. He left there the tent, the pots and their bedding and the black women to look after everything.
But before then, before they hauled up on Bald Island, she remembered. The hard, tight skin of his arms around her, leaning into him, as they drifted on a sea that sparkled like a carpet of silver. The men laid their oars down. They were amongst islands of freckled granite with smooth steep edges washed white by the swell. A sea haze hung between them. Spray spouted above small rocks that broke the surface and around them churned white-laced foam over pale green ripples. Dark slippery seals ducked and weaved through the water. It felt then as though they were suspended in time but she knew it was just an illusion for she could feel the current beneath the boat as it bore them along. The sun lay warmth over them and they were carried towards an island in the shape of a figure of eight where they would spend the night.
The sun had sunk behind the hill and the settlement was in shadow. The air chilled her. She couldn’t keep standing here on the sand. A little way to her left was the pub, a two-storey timber place, painted green. She couldn’t go there either. Its doors opened and someone fell out. He scrambled upright and stumbled towards her. Before she could move, he spat at her feet. She left then and hurried through the peppermint trees and across to the road that led up the side of the hill. Conscious of people in doorways and someone with a wheelbarrow but she kept her eyes on the dirt.
By the time she reached the top of the rise it was dark. The yellow light winked through the bushes ahead. She stumbled over the rocks on the track. They were all there: her father, mother, brothers and sisters, Matthew and Manning. She was greeted with silence. But no one told her to go. She went into the kitchen and her brother William, who was playing by the fire, smiled widely, wrapping his arms around her legs. It was too much then and she sunk to the floor and cried. Her mother followed her into the room. She took the pot from the fire and spooned out a bowl of stew. As she gave it to her she took her hand and brought it to the bowl. When Dorothea grasped it, her mother smoothed the hair from her daughter’s eyes. Then she left to join the others.
Dorothea stayed by the fire with William chattering around her. He asked her many questions and she tried to answer them. But her thoughts got in the way. Eventually he grew tired and lay with his head on her knee. She looked down at his sleeping face, his soft skin and the delicate curve of his lashes. She was glad to see him.
She lifted his head gently onto the crook of her arm and curled into his warm, slight body and slept.
She didn’t go far from the fire the next day and the day after. People came and went. She didn’t want to know anything. There were visitors, people wanting to hear what had happened to them. But if they caught sight of her they looked at her strangely. She knew she looked a mess. Her hair had grown into wild irregular lengths. And she kept her seal-skin coat wrapped firmly around her. After they left, her mother would walk unsteadily into the kitchen and sit on the stool, her back against the wall. Her mouth would slacken and she’d slip into a noisy sleep.
William kept her from thinking. He took her up to the steep rise behind the hut and into the bush where black cockatoos crawled over the red bottlebrush tree, ripping the heart of the flower and tearing strips from the bark with their strong curved beaks. They would peer sideways with eyes that saw everything. She was there when Caroline called. There was someone for her at the door. Police Constable Dunn. He announced that she was required to give evidence tomorrow. It was as though small spiders crawled down the nape of her neck.
She woke in the night, cold. The fire had gone out. She set about finding more wood. It was usually by the door. But tonight there was none. Outside, the darkness was heavy and she stumbled towards the woodpile. She could see a light down the hill and to her right. That was Spencer’s farm, Sir Richard Spencer whom she would have to speak to in the morning. She wondered where they had put him. And Isaac too. For they had both been charged. She had been told to go to the old commandant’s residence on Parade Street. Perhaps they were in the old gaol. She didn’t think it had been used since the settlement was an outpost for New South Wales convicts.
When the dark sky brightened she walked alone down the hill. There were two ships in the harbour, sitting like old ducks on still water. And the shoreline was dotted with small craft coming and going, ripples stretching wide in their wake. She wore her tammar-skin shoes but she had borrowed her mother’s dark brown gown. She had straightened her hair with oil and had parted it in the middle, holding it in place with combs behind her ears. She shivered for she was without her seal skin.
She reached the ballast brick house of George Cheyne and turned right following the road to the creek that cut the little town in half. Timber planks had been placed across it.
No one had asked her what she was going to say. But their unspoken words had hung heavy. She walked along the thin planking but her feet got wet at the other end when she stepped off into the mud.
The street was wide and dirty. On either side of it there was bush and then occasionally, where it had been cleared, a small cottage. Some were half finished: a whitewashed wall standing alone and sticks of wattle strung together in bundles. She reached the end of the street and turned up towards the old commandant’s residence, a shabby grey building enclosed by a brush fence. She noticed a group of people standing in a half-circle. She could see the wooden door to the house. She would be able to slip inside without them noticing her. As she was about to enter she glanced up and saw between two people. They were gathered around Anderson. He was in stocks. His head bowed by the wooden restraint, his big hands useless.
She grasped the side of the wall for support. His head lifted slightly and he saw her. In that moment she saw everything: the anger, the shame, the defeat and the injustice. She looked at the big solid door in front of her and she pulled it open. Three men sat at a long table at the other end of the room. In the middle was Sir Richard Spencer. On his left she recognised Captain Peter Belches, and on the other side Captain Alexander Cheyne, for they were both men who had come out on the James Pattison. She stood just inside the door, hesitant at first and then she took a deep breath, lifted her head and walked tall towards the row of seating facing the men.
Afterwards she knew what she had done was right. But it was no comfort. Not when she was to go home and look into the faces of her family. So she stayed down by the water’s edge, watching the clouds clear and the colours deepen. She overheard men who were waiting at the landing stage for flour to be taken out to one of the ships. The ship was taking female convicts to Sydney. It had been damaged in a storm and had called in for repairs. There was no sign of life on its decks for clearly the women were being kept below.
When she did go back to the house there was no need to say anything. Jem and Manning weren’t around. And Mary and Matthew had gone to enquire about a passage to Sydney. She wondered how they felt. Knowing that Jack’s life was in their hands. She had told the three men the truth. That she had gone to live with Jack after three weeks. Now everyone would know. But what did it matter?
She sat on the step at the front of the hut. There she could see the purple ranges in the distance. She heard there were grassy plains at the foothills and that men had taken sheep to them. Already she felt as though a part of her life had ended. She almost couldn’t remember what the island was like. And although she had caught a glimpse of him that morning, the memory of his face, his eyes, his mouth was fading. The way his lips moved when he spoke her name.
She sat quietly in the corner while everyone ate together. She found it impossible to swallow. Manning had said that a decision would be made in the morning. And he would be arranging his passage to the Swan River. She noticed his quick glance towards Netty when he spoke. She was pleased to see that he was ignored.
The next morning she looked for her mother and found her at the back of the house sitting on a tree stump. She could see that she wasn’t well. She seemed hollow, as though what life she had in her was leaking out. For as long as she could remember her mother’s hair had been grey. It was wrapped around the back of her head but listless strands hung about her face. And beneath her eyes lay dark shadows. She looked up when she saw her daughter. Dorothea came and sat opposite her on the fallen trunk of a tree.
After a while she said: ‘They had him in stocks.’
‘He’s a bad man.’
‘He ain’t, Ma. He ain’t a bad person.’
Her mother sighed and she shook her head wearily.
‘A black man is a bad man. Whether he is or not.’
So when Anderson appeared around the side of the house they both stared at him, speechless. He stood in front of the sun, a featureless black man against the white light of day. But when she got closer she saw it was him. Even though she spoke the truth, she hadn’t expected the three men to listen. He told them it was Mead’s evidence as well that had made them realise it was impossible to prove that he and Isaac had stolen forty-six pounds from Manning. The trial would not go ahead. She smiled and the air left her lungs easily. She glanced at her mother and read in her eyes a warning but she took no notice. She brought him food. And he ate outside under the tree.
Later they walked down the hill as the sun was setting behind them. He led her to the pub on the waterfront where he had taken a room. His whaleboat had been restored to him. Mead and Isaac had sold the skins and bought new supplies to take back with them. They would camp beside the boat that night and leave before dawn. Jack was worried about the black women.
There were about twenty people around the bar, mostly mariners. She liked the fact that when she entered with Jack they looked away. One of them didn’t for it was Church, who was seated away from everyone else by the window. She met his gaze and smiled at him for she felt strangely pleased to see him. Anderson was facing the bar when Church got up and came towards her. He didn’t look any different. He still wore his black coat but perhaps his hair and his beard had been trimmed.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, smiling.
‘Waiting for another vessel,’ he said, and he looked towards the window and in the direction of the sea. He shrugged his thin shoulders. ‘There is no place for me in this wilderness.’
‘But where will you go?’
‘I’m returning to England, to my brother and his wife,’ he said as he turned back to her, his eyes inscrutable.
Anderson looked over his shoulder at Church and acknowledged him with a nod. Church raised his hat and moved towards the door. Then he was gone and she wondered where he had got the money for his passage. She realised too that she had never felt as far from England as she did now.
The bar was nearly empty when she looked intently at Anderson.
‘I want to come with you,’ she said.
He studied her face. After a while he spoke, shaking his head slightly: ‘No, you don’t.’
She didn’t say anything. But the next day when it was time to push off from the shore and the light beneath the land cast a weak path to the east, she was standing beside him.