Force and Fraud (25 page)

But it is impossible to preserve order; most of the women will degrade themselves by screaming in a most insane manner, and a great many of the men continue to curse and clamour, even when threatened by a terrible death. Some of these rush to a boat, the tackle of which had been loosened, though not cut adrift, as the captain explains
that
is not at present necessary; and he begs the passengers to keep quiet, but very few heed his advice.

Suddenly a grating sound is heard. It is echoed by a shriek of “She has struck!” There is another rush on deck; women and children are trodden under foot by big burly men, who think of nothing but their own preservation. One amongst these, more brutal and animal in his instincts than the rest, cuts the tackling of the boat; she is hastily lowered by powerful fellows, who leap into her. A few minutes afterwards she is swamped, and the greater number of those she contained are either sucked under the vessel, or dashed upon the rocks.

Had they waited, they would have found their alarm useless. The vessel had not struck, but her escape was most providential, for her keel did actually grate on a sunken rock; so lightly, however, that she received no injury. And now the summit of the reef appears lower, presently it slants downwards till it can scarcely be seen close to the water's edge; rocks still remain, but soundings are taken, the water is deeper and deeper, and the ship can now ride clear of the rocks that threatened her with destruction. She stands off from the land, and a hearty cheer announces that the
Robespierre
is again on her course in the open sea.

 

“I say, Captain, there's a boat with some poor fellows rowing for their lives,” said Mr Manners, one of the cabin passengers of the
Robespierre
, as he perceived in the moonlight a boat following the track of the vessel. It was the one that had been so rudely lowered, and which, having drifted on a flat part of the island, had afterwards been regained by the survivors.

The captain swore at the insolence and insubordination of the men, but eventually he ordered a rope to be thrown to them. Had the small boat proved seaworthy, she would have been safely towed to the ship; but a plank in her side having been stove in, she leaked to such an extent that the greatest exertions were required to bail out the water. This was not immediately perceived on board the
Robespierre
, and although within hail, the men were too much exhausted to make themselves heard. Guessing how matters stood, the captain, after venting a few oaths upon them, put about, as much as the close vicinity of the island would permit. Another boat was also lowered, as that containing the men was observed to be sinking. This second boat was greatly endangered by the eagerness of the occupants of the foundering one to regain the ship, which quite equalled their former impatience to leave her.

Brute force and selfishness alone seemed to sway the minds of the greater number, but there was one amongst them in whom these qualities predominated to a greater degree than in his companions. As a couple of poor fellows were endeavouring to climb the ship's side, he stepped on their shoulders and caught at the rope which they were unable to reach, finally regaining the deck; whilst his frail supporters were plunged into the sea, and one of them (a mere stripling) was never recovered.

“You confounded ruffian,” said the captain, in greeting to his unruly passenger. “It's you that cut the boat adrift, and now you've drowned a better man than yourself.”

“That's as it may be, captain; one man's life is as good as another's and my maxim is, first come first served, either afloat or ashore,” replied the fellow, in a tone of indifference.

The captain called him a “…selfish scoundrel,” and a great deal more swearing followed, in which it must be confessed the captain played the principal part; his antagonist being either too apathetic, or too much exhausted, to speak with much fluency. He pleaded the latter cause, but apparently as an excuse to get that sovereign remedy – brandy. After his submersion, his efforts in rowing, and in bailing out water, brandy would naturally be administered by most ship surgeons. After draining the bottle, he rolled into his berth, saying “drowning was a death only fit for a rat or a blind puppy”.

“Never trouble theeself about it, lad, drowning won't be thy lot,” exclaimed one of his acquaintance; but the fellow was already in a swinish sleep, unmindful of the lives his selfishness had sacrificed, and ungrateful for his own preservation.

There was mourning on board the
Robespierre
, as several of the unfortunate beings who had been drowned by the swamping of the boat had relatives behind them. Amongst these were a father and a brother of the youth on whose shoulders that strong man had mounted when he regained the vessel.

“Where is that brute, Jarvis?” asked the brother of the poor boy as he entered the cabin where the ruffian lay sleeping off the effects of the brandy. A man, occupying an adjacent berth, begged him to “go away or there'd be more mischief”.

“No, I won't, till I've had my revenge on that scoundrel,” replied the youth, who was immediately followed by the aged father exclaiming, “Nobody shall screen that scoundrel from me; it is he who pushed my poor boy into the sea, and he shall answer for his death.”

The conversation at length roused the speaker who, with a great oath, told them to be off, and that he wanted to sleep.

“Sleep? And after sending him to his cold grave,” exclaimed the father, approaching the ruffian with a menacing gesture.

“Come none of your gammon, or I'll send you both after him,” said Jarvis, springing out of his bunk.

High words followed, and to these succeeded blows. The hand of the ruffian grasped the white locks of the aged man, and the youth lay bleeding at his feet.

The disturbance increased, till all classes of passengers came rushing towards the steerage, where the scene of strife was enacted. At length the captain interposed, and quelled the disturbance by putting Jarvis in irons, in which manner he passed the remainder of the voyage.

A fortnight later the
Robespierre
cast anchor in Hobson's Bay. As the sun shone on her white sails, and the deep blue waters of the Australian main reflected her tall masts and graceful outline, she seemed too bright and fairy-like to be the abode of violence or of evil passions.

 

Nowhere is human nature exhibited with more truth than amongst the mixed community of a crowded ship; amongst people who embarked for the most part in amity towards each other, but who are now aroused from their better feelings by petty animosities, by the inconvenience attendant upon limited space or by want of occupation, and who jostle one another, and strive for pre-eminence – just as in the wider world, where every trade and calling illustrates the jealousy between man and man. But when they part at length, probably to meet no more, a kind of forgiveness of the past – a desire to obliterate all remembrance of the injury – generally takes the place of ill-will. It is as if they were making their peace with the dying, and (to continue the simile) after our fellow passengers of a voyage have been gone from the vessel a few weeks, they become as entirely forgotten as fellow-passengers through life who have gone to their graves.

The passengers of the
Robespierre
formed no exception to this prevailing rule. When
they
parted, those who bid each other farewell at all, did so, for the most part, without any ill-feeling; indeed, they had very little feeling excepting for themselves, which, it will readily be imagined, was not an ill one.

Landing in Melbourne, there is another resemblance to human nature at large; for how varied are the interests of the motley groups which, liberated from the confinement of the ship, are now turned loose upon the shore.

First of all comes the old colonist, who naturally feels himself at home, though he may express some surprise at the additional improvements, the handsome buildings, and the tall trees that meet his eye. But this surprise will be proportionate to the length of his absence, as well as to the expansiveness of his temperament. It may be that there are certain old colonists who think that the place did quite as well when there were no buildings, excepting some inconvenient wooden constructions, and very little verdure to be seen; for their memory reverts to a time between the periods of felling the trees planted by the hand of nature and of replacing them by that of art. Some of these very old colonists have been absent long enough to be as much surprised at the sight of a railway carriage near Hobson's Bay, as any of the aborigines could possibly be. And, perhaps, they almost fancy they can't be in Melbourne at all, since it is possible to land without sticking fast in the mud, and especially as an Albert car now waits to bear them to a handsome hotel, instead of a bullock-dray, to cart them to a wretched shanty. And thus the ancient colonist goes on his way, half proud of the improvements, and half resentful that more recent comers are better lodged than he was in his former days.

The man of progress comes next, and being about the most rational amongst the throng, he will probably rejoice at the aspect of the gay city; that is, unless he should be greeted with some unpleasant intelligence, respecting insolvencies, absconding debtors, failures in mining speculations, bush-fires, or any other ill of colonial life.

After him the new chum is seen tripping jauntily along, quite proud of his superiority, and looking with such condescension at the benighted beings he has come to civilise. But he nevertheless wears that uncomfortable aspect which, no matter in what part of the world, is peculiar to the Englishman
depayse.

They are not all Englishmen though, for there is a friend from the Emerald Isle, who is more at his ease because he is confident of some big man's patronage; and, on the strength of this security, he makes acquaintance with half a score of Government officers, waiting about their doors, as his forefathers have done out of mind, in the Old Country.

And there's the North Briton too! But he, having calculated his chances beforehand, though he may be lost sight of for a while, is still thought to be getting on; and, if it is not known where he is gone, the general conclusion is that it will not be back again.

Then we have the honest artisans – poor men! How you will be disappointed, for you won't get half the wages (or in accordance will Colonial usage, the
salary),
you so fondly anticipated. Very likely indeed you won't get any at all, as a number of works have been stopped, and the
old hands
turned adrift.

“But how are we to live?” ask the disappointed mechanics. “Things are twice as dear in the colony as at home!”

“You should have thought of that sooner, my friends; but as you
are
here, you must live on your wits – if you possess any; or on those of your friends – always supposing that you
have
friends, and that they will let you exist in such a manner. But, lest I should embarrass myself with these suppositions, I must leave you to take your chance, with the sincerest regret for your plight.” (I
can
afford pity.)

Well, the passengers of the
Robespierre
have landed – half of them never to see the other half again; and the other half not caring whether they do or not. But they are not
all
selfish. There is Charles Manners, Esq., for instance, who, though he
has
resided twenty years in the colony, is as fine a specimen of an English gentleman as anybody in the world; even as his own brother who inherits the paternal mansion of Castle Manners. But Mr Manners having been absent from the colony for nearly a year, is now warmly welcomed by his friends, who have come to meet him on the wharf.

As he was leaving the vessel, the man Jarvis – now released from his irons – came to ask if the gentleman could help him to any light employment, as his money was out.

“Go and break stones at once, or
faith
you'll be forced to do so one of these days. If ever I catch you in my district, and you don't mind your behaviour, I'll send you to the lock-up – you confounded ruffian!”

Now Mr Manners being a gentlemanly sort of person, this phraseology appeared rather strange to his friend, who had gone to meet him. But as Mr Manners was also a man of determination and a P.M. (though very different to O'Twig), it was quite evident, if the occasion should offer, that he would put his threats into execution. The conduct of Jarvis having been explained, Mr Manners' friend naturally turned to take another look at the unprepossessing countenance of the individual who had provoked such language. The scrutiny was concluded by the remark, “I've seen that fellow somewhere before.”

The light employment demanded by Jarvis was given, together with a moderate salary to the father of the poor lad who had been so roughly pushed into the sea; and furthermore, a letter of recommendation to the brother. Mr Manners then went to pass his first evening on shore, in the society of his friends.

Amongst the guests was Mr Argueville, the barrister who had so ably defended Herbert Lindsey, and as he was slightly acquainted with Mr Manners, the conversation eventually turned towards the recent trial.

“In my opinion, young Lindsey is an honest honourable man, his very countenance would go far towards acquitting him,” said the barrister. “As for Miss McAlpin, she is the most spirited girl I have seen this long time.”

“It would appear that she is sincerely attached to him,” interrogated Mr Manners.

“
I
should think so. She admitted the engagement in the first interview I had with her, though I was afterwards informed that she regarded it rather as a point of honour; as a contract entered into at the suggestion of her mother, and one that she felt called upon to regard as sacred – the more so, since her betrothed had fallen into trouble.”