The World Duology (World Odyssey / Fiji: A Novel) (24 page)

39

Mana Island, Fiji, 1841

T
wo days after the shark incident,
Beseiged
arrived in Fijian waters. Her ultimate destination was Ovalau Island, further to the east, but first she had a scheduled call to make at Mana Island, a favored stopover in the picturesque Mamanuca Group west of the main island of Viti Levu.

Besieged
crewmembers were looking forward to shore leave, so it was with much disappointment they received the captain’s announcement they would only be staying at Mana Island as long as it took to unload a small consignment of supplies for a whaler anchored there. Shore leave would have to wait until
Besieged
berthed at Ovalau Island.

None was more disappointed than Jack. Every day he remained free – if
free
was the right word – was a day he could try to engineer an escape from his present situation. On arrival at Mana Island, he even considered diving overboard and swimming to the island. However, he dismissed that when he realized the island was far too small with too few hiding places for an escapee to remain at large for long. That plan would have to wait.

As it tur
ned out, the whaler Captain Jones had been told would be waiting here was nowhere to be seen. In such an eventuality, the required supplies were to be left at the residence of a local chief on the island. That residence turned out to be a bure, or thatched hut. Larger than the others around it, it occupied a prime location overlooking a turquoise lagoon.

Crewmen not involved in the ferrying of supplies ashore lined the near rail to
watch the activity on shore and admire the fetching Fijian maidens who could be seen wandering semi-naked along the beach and between the huts of their village. Several maidens responded with uninhibited smiles and friendly waves to the wolf-whistles being directed their way from the sex-starved seamen aboard
Besieged
. That only served to further encourage the men who began competing with each other to attract the attention of young women who had taken their fancy.

“Keep it down to a dull roar!” first mate Adams growled.

The men quietened, but only for a while.

Jack, who had been on deck since the schooner had arrived in the Mamanuca Group hours earlier, watched with interest as a tall stranger emerged from amongst the huts on shore and walked out onto the jetty. Too far away for his features to be discernible, the man was clearly European.

The stranger approached the oarsmen aboard the longboat that had been used to ferry the supplies ashore. They were about to return to
Besieged
. To Jack’s surprise, the stranger boarded the longboat, which then began heading back to the schooner.

Jack had a bad feeling about the stranger. He didn’t know why, but he trusted his instincts.

Minutes later, the stranger boarded
Beseiged
. Now that Jack had a close-up view of him, the bad feeling he’d had earlier intensified.

The stranger had a menacing look about him. Taller than most at close to six foot five, he had a hard, wiry frame that reminded Jack of a coiled spring. His lean, tanned face sported
a day-old stubble, and his gray, gun-sight eyes were never still. They continuously surveyed everything and everyone around him, resting for a moment on Jack before moving on. The stranger traveled light, his only luggage being a leather satchel which hung from his shoulder on a strap – unless the pistol he wore tucked into his belt should be counted as luggage. And the way he carried himself signaled to one and all he wasn’t a man to fool with.

In the thirty seconds that had elapsed since the stranger boarded, Jack’s opinion of him had changed.
He’s not menacing. He’s dangerous. Bloody dangerous!
The Cockney hadn’t yet determined how the stranger presented any danger, but he suspected that would be revealed in due course.

First mate Adams approached the stranger and engaged him in earnest conversation. Jack moved closer to eavesdrop, but
aside from detecting an American accent heard nothing that could tell him who the stranger was or what he was doing on board before Adams escorted him away to the captain’s quarters.

The young Cockney
didn’t have long to wait to learn who the stranger was. Less than ten minutes had elapsed before the second mate advised Jack the captain wanted to see him.

When Jack
entered Captain Jones’ cabin, he saw the stranger and Adams were with him. The stranger was the only one seated, his long legs stretched out before him. As he’d done earlier, he ran his eyes over Jack – only more slowly this time. Jack returned the other’s stare, his mind racing.
Who the hell are you?

“Jack, this is Frank Sparrow,” the captain said. “He’s a Government agent.”

The Cockney instantly knew who Sparrow was. In this part of the world,
Government agent
was a euphemism for a contractor employed by the British Government to round up escaped convicts and return them to whichever penal colony they’d fled. Back at Parramatta, the convicts had referred to such contractors as
bounty hunters
. One convict who had had personal experience of such people, said bounty hunters had the authority to use force, deadly force, if necessary.
And they’re not slow to use it
, he’d warned.

Looking at Sparrow, Jack had no doubt he’d use deadly
force if required. His estimation was he wouldn’t need much of an excuse.

Captain Jones continued,
“It’s Mister Sparrow’s job--”

“I know what Mister Sparrow does,” Jack interjected. He looked coolly at Sparrow who
hadn’t taken his eyes off him since he’d entered the cabin. “Mister Sparrow’s a bounty hunter.”

Sparrow smiled at that. He’d been called worse and it didn’t faze him.

Captain Jones continued, “It’s his job to return escaped convicts to where they came from.” The captain took a deep breath. He clearly wasn’t enjoying this. “He asked me if I had any stowaways on board, and of course I was duty bound to--”

“You had to tell him,” Jack said, finishing the captain’s sentence for him.

Captain Jones had the good grace to look embarrassed. Memories of Jack’s actions in saving his nephew’s life were still fresh in his mind. He continued, “Although I am master of this vessel, the law demands that I immediately hand you over to Mister Sparrow. He will accompany you to Ovalau Island, and there…” He tapered off and looked at the bounty hunter. “Perhaps you’d like to explain.”

“There you’ll be interned as a guest of the Government unt
il I can arrange a berth for ya on a British vessel bound for Sydney Town,” Sparrow said without preamble. His deep voice was as cold as the expression in his gray eyes, and he spoke in a monotone that was devoid of any expression.

It sent a chill down Jack’s spine.
The distinctive American drawl also reconfirmed the man’s nationality.

Sparrow was in no doubt Jack had escaped from the Parramatta penal settlement. Just a week earlier, he’d received a
n official written report drafted by a Parramatta official – delivered courtesy of another supply vessel – on the Cockney’s escape. It was one of several such letters he’d received from various penal settlements in the past month.

Jack had come across many hard men in his time, but Frank Sparrow was on another level.
A stone cold killer if ever I saw one
, he told himself.

The Cockney wasn’t to know Sparrow was one of three agents contracted by the
government to scour the Pacific for escaped convicts. Sparrow’s territory covered a triangle that spanned hundreds of thousands of square miles and extended from Fiji in the west to the Cook Islands in the east to the Navigator Islands in the north. He’d been doing the job for five years and had never failed to get his man.

It was
the captain who broke the silence. Turning to Sparrow and Adams he said, “Gentlemen if you’d give me a minute alone with young Mister Halliday.”

The bounty hunter and the first mate departed without a word, leaving the captain alone with Jack.

Captain Jones looked earnestly at the young man. “If there was any other way I’d have taken it, Jack. You know that, don’t you?”

Jack wasn’t sure he did know that, but he nodded all the same.

Relieved, the captain continued, “He identified you as an escaped convict as soon as he stepped aboard.”

That surprised Jack. He’d thought he could easily pass as a crewmember.

Captain Jones noted his surprise. “He’s been doing this job so long they say he can smell an escapee a mile away.” The captain waited for a response. When there was none, he continued, “Anyway, you are formally under Mister Sparrow’s authority now. He is insisting you serve the duration of the voyage in the hold, under lock and key.”

“And you agreed to that?” Jack asked.

“I had no choice.”

Jack understood, but he didn’t want to make this any easier for the captain, so he said nothing.

There was nothing more to be said. Captain Jones opened the door to find the bounty hunter and first mate waiting. “He’s all yours, Mister Sparrow,” he said.

Jack
avoided looking at Captain Jones when he joined the two men awaiting him. As he accompanied his escorts along the passageway toward the hold, he could feel the captain’s eyes boring into his back.

#

Later, in the semi-dark of the hold, Jack had plenty of time to rue his misfortune as
Besieged
sailed steadily eastward toward its destination. A sympathetic Quincy Adams had told him the estimated arrival time was two days hence; the totally unsympathetic bounty hunter Sparrow had told him any escape attempt wouldn’t be tolerated. Sparrow had tapped the butt of his pistol as he’d delivered the warning to the would-be escapee.

It was only after he’d been interned in the hold that Jack had wondered what an Ame
rican was doing on the British Government’s payroll. He guessed he’d never figure that one out.

Jack had lost track of time when a key rattled in the hold’s door, and the door opened. Able Seaman Jonty Price, a young Cornishman, ent
ered holding a tray that contained Jack’s dinner.

“You okay?
” Jonty enquired.

“As well as can be expected,” Jack replied as cheerfully as he could as he took the tray from his visitor.

Jonty hesitated before departing. “I have a message from some of the lads,” he murmured conspiringly.

That got Jack’s attention.

“Later tonight we’ll be sailing close to the Coral Coast,” Jonty said.

Jack had hea
rd crewmembers talking about Viti Levu’s scenic Coral Coast. It stretched west to east along Viti Levu’s southern shoreline between the main settlements of Nadi and Suva. “Carry on,” he whispered, his interest growing by the second.

“Our route will take us
to within a mile of the coast.” Jonty let the statement hang in the air for a moment.

It was evident to the Cockney
that Jonty was suggesting he could swim for shore. This was confirmed when the young seaman next spoke.

“Someone will unlock the door to the hold when the time is right,” Jonty added.

Footsteps alerted them to the arrival of Sparrow. The bounty hunter stuck his head through the open door. “What’s the delay?” he asked Jonty.

“Nothing,” Jonty said a little too quickly. He hurried to the door, but Sparrow blocked his path.

The bounty hunter stared hard at Jonty who looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else in the world but where he was. Finally, Sparrow let the young seaman past. Jonty scampered off into the darkness.

Sparrow turned his attention to Jack. In the gloom of the hol
d, the Cockney could only see the bounty hunter’s imposing silhouette and the whites of his eyes.

“Don’t try anything silly tonight,” Sparrow warned. “I’ll be on deck all night.
And I’ll be wide awake.” He was aware of the route
Beseiged
followed, and he knew if Jack was going to try anything it would probably be tonight. Sparrow closed the door, locked it and then tested the handle once to ensure it was locked.

Now alone and in total darkness, Jack turned his attention to his dinner. He
quickly realized he wasn’t hungry and set the tray aside.

The Cockney had much to think about
before the door was next unlocked.

40

Apia,
Navigator Islands, 1848

T
he sun was high in the morning sky before Nathan emerged from below deck aboard
Rainmaker
. He’d not long sent his overnight bedmate Sally on her way, having parted with an expensive pair of silk sheets in return for her companionship. Nathan would see the Polynesian beauty once more before
Rainmaker
departed, and that would be on Apia’s jetty as she and her friends waved the schooner off. Sally would be wearing a European-style dress fashioned from one of the silk sheets she’d acquired. 

On deck, the young Americ
an was greeted by the sight of Apia in all its scenic glory. Located as it was on the northern coast of Opolu, the second largest island in the Navigator Islands group, Apia was a sizeable village strategically sited at the mouth of a river. The thatched huts of its residents hugged the riverbanks and lined the sandy shore of the sheltered bay that currently provided safe harbor to a mix of local and visiting craft. At a glance, Nathan counted three other sailing ships at anchor besides
Rainmaker
.

Behind the village, to the south, was the sacred Mount Vaea, and between it and the sea pandanus and breadfruit plantations stretched east and west along the narrow coastal plain – interrupted only by glades of the perfume-laden hibiscus and, of course, groves of palm trees.

For Nathan, the voyage thus far had more resembled a vacation than a trading venture. His work wouldn’t begin until
Rainmaker
reached Fiji in about ten days time. Until then he was determined to take it easy.

Taking it easy was something he hadn’t done
since foregoing his partying and whoring lifestyle in Philadelphia after escaping the Makah. Trying to keep Johnson Traders afloat, and then reinventing himself as a sole trader, had taken their toll. The past year had been especially taxing, keeping American troops supplied with arms in the Mexican-American War, which continued to this day.

If living with the Makah had taught him one thing, it was to listen to his body and recognize the signs. In recent times, the signs had been telling him he needed to e
ase up or he’d end up having a breakdown, or worse. So, he’d heeded the signs and booked a leisurely passage to Fiji aboard
Rainmaker
.

N
athan was under no illusions. He knew he’d be working very hard, very soon. However, until then, he was determined to relax and enjoy himself. So far, he’d been doing just that.

“Ah, good
afternoon
, Mister Johnson.”

Nathan recognized the voice even before he turned arou
nd. It belonged to Captain Jonathan Marsden, the schooner’s New Orleans master and an old sea dog to boot. Despite his grizzled appearance, he was friendly and accommodating, and always up for a joke.

“I hope my men didn’t wake you from your slumbers to
o early this fine day,” Marsden enquired, a twinkle in his eye.

“Not at all, captain,” Nathan responded in g
ood humor. The young American noticed crewmen were preparing to launch the schooner’s longboat in preparation for a shore excursion. “Is there room aboard the longboat for this weary traveler?” he asked.

“I’m sure t
here is,” Marsden said. “Let me check.” The captain wandered over and spoke to his second mate. The second mate nodded and Marsden waved Nathan over to join them.

Minutes later,
Nathan was being rowed ashore in the company of two fellow passengers – the overweight woman and her husband – who were also intent on exploring what Apia had to offer. During the short journey from ship to shore, Nathan wasn’t at all certain they’d arrive without being tipped into the sea first. The longboat leaned alarmingly to one side until one of the oarsmen politely suggested their hefty passenger move to the middle of the bench she occupied. This she did with much fuss, almost capsizing the craft in the process.

On sho
re, Nathan quickly went his own way, keen to distance himself from the woman who, it turned out, was as garrulous as she was corpulent. He soon found himself in the village center, some distance from the beach. Everywhere he looked, he saw villagers going about their daily business. Women weaved baskets, mats and other useful items in the shade of the numerous palm and hibiscus trees while their children ran about naked beneath the hot sun.

Those men who weren’t away fishing
or hunting sat in small groups beneath the shade of awnings that extended from thatched huts. They were drinking kava, the vile-looking traditional herbal drink made from the kava plant that grows so prevalently throughout the Pacific Islands. It wouldn’t be until he reached Fiji that Nathan would drink kava, and then he’d learn the hard way that the ceremonial drink possessed a strong kick for the unwary.

As one of the few
whites around, Nathan attracted stares from the villagers. Invariably, they waved and flashed friendly smiles his way. He returned their waves and smiles even though he wasn’t feeling especially sociable.

While Nathan had no particular empathy for the islanders, or indeed for any native people, he
had to admire their resourcefulness. His reading on the voyage out had revealed the forefathers of these islanders had explored and settled much of the vast Pacific since migrating to these shores almost fifteen hundred years earlier. That they’d achieved that aboard flimsy catamarans, guided only by the stars and other signs provided by Mother Nature, made their seafaring feats all the more remarkable.

As he continued thr
ough the village, Nathan came across a group of teenage boys playing a rough-and-tumble game on a grassy clearing between the huts. The youths had split into two equal teams of around twelve aside and were fighting – for want of a better word – over possession of a coconut. There appeared to be no rules and, as a consequence, the contestants had an assortment of black eyes, cuts and bruises.

From where Nathan stood, the object of the game appeared to be to get the coconut to one end of the clearing. Which end depended on which team you played for.
It reminded Nathan of a game the Makah had played – except they’d used a human skull in stead of a coconut.

Comparing t
he islanders to the natives of Northwest America, Nathan deduced the former were a sturdier breed. In fact they were some of the biggest people he’d ever seen. At least as big as the Zulus of southern Africa. Athletic and muscular – and aggressive if the games they played were anything to go by – they would, he decided, make fearsome enemies.

The coconut suddenly ended up at Nathan’s feet. It had been jolted out of the grip of a member of the losing team,
and had rolled to within a foot of the white spectator. Only now had the youths noticed him. They waited for him to throw it back to them.

On an impulse, Nathan picked up the coconut, tucked it under one arm, and ran headlong at the members of the winning team. The youths of both teams
welcomed his involvement with cheers and laughter, and Nathan underwent a baptism of fire as he threw himself into the game.

#

Nathan was regretting his impulsive actions as he walked slowly back to the jetty and the longboat that waited there. He’d only lasted ten minutes playing with the island youths, but that had been long enough to leave him feeling battered and bruised. Weeks of enforced inactivity aboard
Rainmaker
had left him a bit soft, and he’d just been painfully reminded of that.

At the jetty, his fellow passengers and the longboat’s oarsmen greeted him with strange
looks. Little wonder – his shirt was torn and bloodied, he sported a cut above one eye and he was looking most disheveled.

“So you’ve met the locals,” one of the oarsmen observed dryly.

“Yep,” Nathan responded as cheerfully as he could.

The others waited for an explanation. Nathan offered nothing more
as he boarded the longboat and sat on the last free bench in the stern. No sooner had he sat down than the corpulent female passenger and her husband appeared on the jetty. They joined him in the stern of the craft.
This should be interesting
. Nathan hung on tight to the side of the longboat as it threatened to sink beneath the weight of the over-sized woman.

The return jo
urney to
Rainmaker
proved as hazardous as the journey to shore – possibly even more so as the longboat’s stern just cleared the surface of the water by an inch or so.

The rotund woman seemed as oblivious to the very real danger of sinking as she was to her great size. She passed the time gorging on
what was left of a pile of pre-cut sandwiches the schooner’s chef had prepared for her trip ashore.