Colleen McCullough - Morgan’s Run

The harbor was alive with bum boats, most of them paddled by near-naked negroes, each craft sporting an awning painted in bright colors. Richard could see the spires of churches crowned with golden crosses, but of other tall buildings Rio had few. No one had forbidden the convicts access to the deck, nor had they been ironed, even John Power. A patrol of longboats rowed constantly around the six transports, however, and turned the bum boats away.

The weather was fine and very hot, the air still. Oh, to be allowed ashore! Not possible, all the convicts understood that. When midday came they were served with huge pieces of fresh beef, pots of yams and beans, messes of rice and loaves of strange-tasting bread made, Richard was told later, from a root called “cassada.” But all that was as nothing when the boats arrived and laughing negroes threw hundreds upon hundreds of oranges up onto the deck, making a game of catchings out of it, white teeth flashing in ebony faces. Richard knew of oranges, as did a few others; he had read that some great houses contained “orangeries” and had once seen an orange displayed by Cousin James-the-druggist, who imported lemons to obtain their oil. Lemons were less perishable.

Some of these oranges were six and seven inches in diameter, deep and rich in color; others were almost blood-red and had blood-red flesh inside. Having discovered that the unpalatable skin peeled off easily, the convicts and marines gorged on oranges, ravished by their sweetness and juiciness. Sometimes they ate fat, bright yellow lemons to cut the saccharine taste of so many oranges or sucked at less juicy limes, which lay somewhere between the astringency of a lemon and the syrup of an orange. They never got tired of the citrus, could not get enough. Finding that the palest fruit had been picked before it was fully ripe, Neddy Perrott began at the end of their third week in Rio to stockpile any succulent globes he thought might last a few days; once made aware of it, more convicts followed suit. And a number of men, including Richard, saved orange and lemon seeds.

Every single day they got fresh beef, fresh vegetables of some kind, and fresh cassada bread. Once the marines found out that Rio rum might be poor in quality but was almost as cheap as water, discipline and supervision of the convicts was close to nonexistent. The two lieutenants were hardly ever on board, nor was Surgeon Balmain, who took himself off on country expeditions to look at enormous, brilliant butterflies and flowers of waxen glory called orchids. Hungry for pets, the crew and marines often came back bearing quite tame parrots of gorgeous colors; only two of the dogs were left, the rest, as Donovan had predicted, bait for sharks. Rodney the cat, his wife and rapidly growing family were thriving. Alexander might be more sanitary now, but she was full of rats and mice.

There was a less attractive side to Rio; it was a cockroach paradise. England did own a very small and meek creature in the roach, but these things were giants that flew, clattered, and oozed the same kind of evil intent that sharks did. Aggressive and clever, they would charge a man rather than run away. From Sirius’s top echelons all the way down to Alexander’s most picked-on convict, men were driven to the verge of dementia by cockroaches.

Most shipbound people slept almost nude on deck, though not as peacefully as at sea. Rio never went to bed. Nor did it ever grow dark; the churches and other buildings were illuminated all night. As if the few Portuguese and their innumerable black slaves feared what lurked amid the nocturnal shadows. After hearing some creature emit a bloodcurdling sound halfway between a shriek and a roar in the small hours of one night, Richard began to understand why they kept darkness at bay.

At least two or three times a week there were fireworks, always in honor of some saint, or the Virgin, or an event in the life of Jesus Christ-there was nothing sober or toned down about Rio’s religious life. This offended Knoxian individuals like Balmain and Shairp, who regarded Catholicism as immoral, degenerate and satanic.

“I am surprised,” said Richard to John Power as they watched colored sparks and tendrils float down from a skyrocket, “that ye’ve not tried to escape, Johnny.”

Power looked wry. “Here? Not speaking Portuguese? I would be snabbled in a day. Apart from Portuguese slavers and cargo snows, the only ship in port is an English whaler having her bottom scraped. And she is to take a party of naval invalids from Sirius and Supply home with her.” He changed the subject, obviously too painful. “I see that Esmeralda is neglecting his ship as usual. He never makes any attempt to scrape her.”

“Didn’t Mr. Bones tell ye? Alexander is copper sheathed.” Richard flicked his chest, sticky with orange juice. “I am going over the side to wash.”

“I did not know ye could swim.”

“I cannot. But I dunk myself in the water and hang on to the ladder. In the hope that sooner or later I will be able to do without the ladder. Yesterday I let go and actually kept afloat for two seconds. Then I panicked. Today I might not panic.”

“I can swim, but dare not,” said Power ruefully. Slack discipline or no, Power had his own guard.

Richard wasin the water one day when Stephen Donovan returned in a hired boat. He had not succeeded in swimming; as soon as he let go of the ladder he began to sink. With a boat coming in he had to get out, and was ready to when he saw who stood in its bow.

“Richard, ye idiot, there are sharks in this harbor!” said Donovan, gaining the deck. “I would not continue were I you.”

“I very much doubt that any shark would fancy my stringy frame in the midst of the bounty Rio harbor offers,” grinned Richard. “I am trying to learn to swim, but so far I am a dismal failure.”

Donovan’s eyes twinkled. “So that if Alexander goes down in an ocean gale ye can swim for Africa? Fear not, Alexander has a good tumblehome hull and she’s shipshape in spite of her age. Ye could lay her right over on her beam until her spars went under or poop her in a following sea, and she’d not sink.”

“No, so that when we get to Botany Bay and perhaps buckets are in short supply, I can at least bathe in sea-water without needing to worry about being over my head in a hole. There may be lakes and rivers there, but Sir Joseph Banks does not mention them. In fact, he indicates that fresh water is exceeding scant-just a very few small brooks.”

“I understand. Look at yon dog Wallace.” He pointed to where Lieutenant Shairp’s Scotch terrier was striking out for the ship alongside a hired boat, encouraged by a laughing Shairp.

“What about Wallace?”

“Watch him swim. Next time ye go down the ladder to brave the sharks, pretend that ye’ve got four legs, not two. Tip yourself onto your belly, stick your head up out of the water and move all four of your limbs like a duck’s paddles. Then,” said Donovan, bestowing a silver sixpence upon a beaming black man after he put a heap of parcels on the deck, “ye’ll swim, Richard. From Wallace and four legs ye’ll go easily to treading water, floating, all the tricks and treats of swimming.”

“Johnny Power swims, yet he is still with us.”

“I wonder would he have come so tamely in Teneriffe if he had known what I found out today?”

Alerted, Richard put his head to one side. “Tell me.”

“This fleet sailed from Portsmouth with what cartridges the marines had in their pouches and not a grain of powder or a single shot more.”

“Ye’re joking!”

“Nay, I am not.” Donovan began to chuckle, shaking his head. “That is how well organized this expedition is! They forgot to supply any ammunition.”

“Christ!”