Colleen McCullough - Morgan’s Run

“I only found out because His Excellency Governor Phillip has managed to purchase ten thousand cartridges here in Rio.”

“So they could not have contained a serious mutiny on any one of these ships-I have seen how our Alexander marines care for their pieces and ammunition-there would not be one cartridge worth a man’s spit.”

Mr. Donovan glanced at Richard sharply, opened his mouth to say something, changed his mind and squatted down near the parcels. “Here are some of your things. I will pick up more tomorrow. I also heard talk of sailing.” He piled the bundles into Richard’s arms. “Oil of tar, some ointment from a crone so hagged and ugly that she cannot help but know her craft, plus some powdered bark she swears cures fevers. And a bottle of laudanum in case aqua Rio spreads the dysentery-the surgeons are suspicious of it, Lieutenant King sanguine. Lots of good rags and a couple of fine cotton shirts I could not resist-got a few for myself and thought of you. For coolness and comfort in hot weather, cotton has no equal. Malt is proving elusive-the surgeons got to the warehouses first, damn their eyes and cods. But dry some of your orange and lemon peels in the sun and chew them. ’Tis common sailor talk that citrus prevents the scurvy.”

Richard’s eyes dwelled upon Donovan’s face with affection and gratitude, but Donovan was too wise to interpret what they held as more than it actually was. Friendship. Which was to die for with this man, who must surely have loved, but was not willing to do so again. Whom had he lost? How had he lost? Not the woman who had opened the gates of sexual heaven. That, from the expression on his face, had revolted him. Not any woman. Nor yet any man. One day, Richard Morgan, he vowed, I will hear all of your story.

As he went to leave the ship the next morning, he found Richard waiting for him by the ladder.

“Another favor?” he asked, looking eager to do it.

“No, this I must pay for.” Richard pointed to the deck and bent down as if something of interest lay there. Donovan hunkered down too; nobody saw the seven gold coins change hands.

“What is it ye want? Ye could buy a topaz the size of a lime for this, or an amethyst not much smaller.”

“I need as much emery powder and very strong fish-glue as it will buy,” said Richard.

Mouth slightly open, Donovan looked at him. “Emery powder? Fish-glue? What on earth for?”

“It would probably be possible to buy them at the Cape of Good Hope, but I believe the prices there are shocking. Rio de Janeiro seems a much less expensive place,” Richard hedged.

“That does not answer my question. Ye’re a man of mystery, my friend. Tell me, else I’ll not buy for ye.”

“You will, you know,” said Richard with a broad smile, “but I do not mind telling you.” He looked out across the bay toward the northern hills, smothered in jungle. “I have spent a great deal of time during this interminable voyage wondering what I should do when finally we reach Botany Bay. There are hardly any skilled men among the convicts-we all hear the marine officers talking, especially since arriving in Rio, what with all the visiting goes on. Little Lieutenant Ralph Clark never shuts up. But sometimes our ears glean a useful item between his whines about the drunken antics on Friendship’s quarterdeck and his fond moans about his wife and son.” Richard drew a breath. “But do not let me start on marine second lieutenants! Back to what I began to say, that there are hardly any skilled men among us convicts. I do have some skills, one of which I will certainly be able to use, as I imagine there will be much tree felling and sawing of timber. I can sharpen saws. More importantly, I can set the teeth on saws, a rarer art by far. It may be that my cousin James managed to get my box of tools somewhere aboard these ships, but he may not have. In which case, I cannot do without emery powder and glue. Files I imagine the fleet must have, but if it has been as sketchily provided with tools as it has been poorly victualled, no one will have thought of emery powder or fish-glue. Hearing the news about musket cartridges has not exactly cheered me either. What did they expect us to do if the Indians of New South Wales are as fierce as Mohawks and besiege us?”

“A good question,” said Stephen Donovan solemnly. “What d’ye do with emery powder and fish-glue, Richard?”

“I make my own emery paper and emery files.”

“Will ye need ordinary files if the fleet has none?”

“Yes, but that is all the money I can spare, and I will not encroach further on your generosity. I am hoping for my tools.”

“Getting information out of you is like squeezing blood out of a stone,” said Mr. Donovan, smiling, “but I am a little ahead. One day I will know all.”

“It is not worth hearing. But thank you.”

“Oh, I am your servant, Richard! Were it not for having to search high and low for your medicaments, I would never have found half the fascinating sights I have seen in Rio. Like Johnstone and Shairp, it would have been coffee houses, sticky buns, rum, port and smarming up to Portuguese officials in the hope of being dowered with precious little keepsakes.” And off he went down the ladder with the careless ease of someone who has done something ten thousand times, whistling merrily.

On the last Sunday in Rio the Reverend Mr. Richard Johnson, chaplain to the expedition and noted for his mildly Methodical view of the Church of England ( very Low!), preached and gave service aboard Alexander to the accompaniment of blatantly Catholic church bells clanging and cascading all over town. The decks were being cleared, a sure sign that sailing time was imminent.

They beganthe business of getting eleven ships out of Rio de Janeiro’s island-littered harbor on the 4th of September and completed it on the 5th, having remained at anchor for a month of oranges and fireworks. Fort Santa Cruz and Sirius outdid themselves with a twenty-one-gun salute. Water rationing to three pints a day had already been instituted, perhaps an indication that the Governor concurred with the surgeons about the quality of Rio’s water.

By nightfall land was out of sight; the fleet headed out to find its eastings in the hope that the 3,300 land miles to the Cape of Good Hope would be a swift passage. From now on it would be eastward and southward into seas charted as far as the Cape, but not populous. Thus far they had encountered a Portuguese merchantman occasionally, but from now on they would see no ships until they neared the Cape and the route of the big East Indiamen.

Richard had his replenished stocks plus emery powder, glue and several good files; his chief worry was the dripstones, of which he still had two spares but his five friends had none. If Cousin James-the-druggist was right, they had to be nearing the end of their usefulness. So with Mr. Donovan’s help he rigged up a rope cradle and trailed one dripstone in the sea, praying that a shark did not fancy it. One shark had fancied a pair of marine officer’s trowsers being towed behind for a good bleaching, snapped the line in half, swallowed the trowsers and spat them out in disgust. As it would a dripstone. But once the line was gone, so was the item attached to it. After one week he pulled it out and screwed it to the deck to get plenty of sun and rain. A second one went in for a long bath. He hoped to get through all of them before any started showing signs of deterioration.

As they drew farther south, still waiting on the great current which would assist them to cross from Brazil to Africa, they began to see groups of spermaceti whales, also heading south. Massive creatures, they had snouts which in profile looked like small cliffs, beneath which sat ludicrously slender lower jaws armed with fearsome teeth. Their tails were blunter, their flukes smaller, and they were less acrobatic than other whales they had seen. The usual marine life of porpoises, dolphins and sharks were there aplenty, but edible fish were harder to catch because they were sailing faster and into heavy swells. Sometimes a school came along to provide fish-chowder, but the fare was mostly salt meat and hard bread seething with weevils and worms. No one had much of an appetite. The convicts did have a large sack of dried citrus peelings, however, and shared it out to chew on, a small piece every day.