The Discovery Of Slowness (8 page)

When he was lying in his hammock in the morning, pondering, having been awakened sometime before by the thuds of the holystones, he experienced moments of intoxicating clarity. He sensed that something new was beginning, still very slowly. Even his back sensed what the sea looked like that day. It would not be long before he was a seaman through and through.

T
he
Investigator
soon leaked again despite repairs, and more than ever. ‘Now she takes as much as five inches per hour, that old souse!' said the boatswain's mate. ‘If we don't get some caulking done again at the Cape, we might as well make ourselves at home in the lifeboats. One storm and we'll need no doctor.' But this was one of the few pessimistic sentences that were spoken. Mr Colpits had taken to meaningful silences, and the rest of the crew thought: we'll make it as far as the Cape.

The summer kept advancing, and it grew warmer and warmer. The season for shorts seemed to have stood still. Now it was October, which here was the beginning of summer. With its incessant heat, the perpetual summer changed people. Nothing on board was unimportant: everyone received a hearing. All this gave John the feeling that he was no longer as slow as he had been only a few months ago. Moreover, Trim couldn't shame him any more. John gave the tomcat a little morsel before he could use his claws to get it.

Matthew was irked because he couldn't find an island named Saxemberg. A certain Lindeman was supposed to have sighted it a good hundred years ago – he had given precise coordinates. But though three men had looked out for it day and night, no Saxemberg was seen. Perhaps Lindeman had been mad, or his chronometer had belonged to the devil. Or the island was too flat and so had remained below the horizon. Possibly they had sailed past it by a mere fifteen sea miles. ‘If it isn't found by anyone, it belongs to me,' Sherard said. ‘I'll build a house on it that no one can take away from me.'

At the Cape of Good Hope, a squadron of British warships
lying at anchor helped out with carpenters and materials. Fresh caulk was squeezed into the damaged seams of the
Investigator
. Nathaniel Bell, more homesick than ever, was sent back on one of the frigates. To take his place, another midshipman came aboard, Denis Lacy, a fellow who talked a great deal about himself because he decided that the others had to know whom they dealt with. For the present, John could keep out of his way.

Since the astronomer had to be taken into Cape Town because of violent attacks of gout, Lieutenant Fowler and John had to set up an observatory. As their telescopes scanned the sky, they noticed that the road from Simonstown to Companies Garden led directly past their station. Whoever moved on it – gentlemen on their morning ride, slaves with firewood, sailors from ships in False Bay – they all stopped and asked if there was something interesting to see. Good thing Sherard was there. He made a fence out of posts and ropes, drawing all questioners to himself, and told them, with innocent eyes, such sensational news about the sighted heavenly bodies that the gentlemen resumed their rides and the slaves took up their burdens again.

After three weeks they resumed their voyage. The last European warships disappeared from view. ‘I think I always want to be where human bodies aren't at stake or, if they are, where they're treated with respect,' John told Matthew.

The other knew what he meant. ‘Where we're going, a war can be stifled as long as it's small.'

The
Investigator
sailed due east at six knots. In about thirty days they would reach Terra Australis at a point already known – Cape Leeuwin. John imagined the natives. ‘Are they all naked?' Sherard asked. John nodded absent-mindedly. He thought what a wondrous person a white man must be for the natives because he came from so far away. They would always listen to a white man at length, even if they didn't understand a word. Also, John was curious to see whether there were actually fish and crabs that climbed trees in order to spy for the nearest body of water. Mockridge had told that story, and one could usually rely on him. Of course, he did not yet know his way about Terra Australis.

John's new tormentor turned out to be Lacy.

Whenever Denis Lacy watched John Franklin he became impatient. ‘I can't watch that,' he said, and smiled apologetically. He was the fastest, and he showed it to everyone, not just to John. From his greater speed he assumed the right to take out of other people's hands whatever they were doing. ‘Let me do that.' He had scrutinised every action that took time and divided it into smaller time segments. The longer a person talked, the more often Denis interrupted him to assure him he had understood. In between, he leaped up because he had to do something – straighten a mug that might otherwise fall off the table, scare Trim, who might be about to sharpen his claws on a uniform jacket that was lying about, or peer out of the porthole to see if by chance land might be in sight. Also, he seemed to be in love with his own legs, and he liked to skip playfully back and forth or pound down the companionways in a manner that made the sound of a drumroll. He ran along the main-yard, without seeking a hold on the footbard, free-handed, out to the yard-arm. Everyone was waiting for him to leap from the top of one mast to another. When he actually stopped to lean against something, he secretly admired his muscular legs. He didn't intend to be mean to his more deliberate fellows. At one point he even promised to do better. ‘Still,' said the geologist, ‘he's a pain in the neck!' Compared with Denis Lacy, everyone felt like a turtle.

‘Land ho!'

The drumroll called the whole crew on deck. Matthew pretended to be grim, but his eyes sparkled with satisfaction. After a thirty-day voyage he had made it to Cape Leeuwin precisely by the mile. ‘From now on we'll explore unknown shores. The man in the foretop is vital. Reefs may be anywhere.'

Matthew lowered his voice. ‘We'll also meet natives. I promise here before the mast that anyone who starts a quarrel with them won't get away with fewer than thirty-six lashes. We're explorers, not conquerors. Besides, the guns are stowed below deck.'

The gunner raised his eyes to the heavens and moved his chin back and forth as though something were rubbing his
neck. Matthew went on: ‘You can also start quarrels by getting involved with their women. Don't let me catch anyone! Besides, Mr Bell will now examine everyone for venereal disease. Orders from above. But that doesn't mean by a long shot that you may do what I forbade you to do. Anyone who steals nails or other means of payment will be placed on watch till he drops. Nobody will shoot without an order. Any questions?'

No questions. Bell could start his medical examination.

Matthew didn't introduce the Australians with much fervour, but he had sailed too long with Captain Bligh and had also heard too much about Cook's and de Marion's bad experiences to be careless.

Judging by the expression of the examining surgeon, John and Sherard concluded that they probably didn't suffer from veneral disease. They were very glad about that.

First trip ashore on Cape Leeuwin. The lieutenants remained on board and cleared a carronade to cover any flight of the boats back to the ship. At first Matthew started a search for a bottle that Captain Vancouver was supposed to have left here about ten years ago. ‘Was anything in it?' asked Sherard. They discovered an abandoned hut and a garden grown wild, a devastation. A copper sign hung in the fork of a tree. ‘August 1800. Christopher Dixson. Ship
Elligood
.' While they stuffed themselves with oysters, which were to be found in profusion among the rocks, Matthew remarked, ‘This place seems to be a bit overcrowded. In ten years' time we're already the third ship. Never heard of Mr Dixson.'

In the gentle ruffled water of the bay, the
Investigator
lay like a completely strange ship, full of majesty. From a distance her seams looked watertight. The young painter William Westall was making a drawing of ship and bay, and, chewing, the captain looked over his shoulder. ‘But one can't see that she's got two anchors. I'd prefer to see both chains in the picture.' That was Matthew. He wanted to be sure that all the work they'd been through could be seen.

When they started their land exploration, they suddenly heard
loud clapping which sounded like applause. But it was only two black swans taking off from a pond. And there were no crabs climbing trees.

Then they saw the first native, an old man. He approached with uncertain steps, took not the slightest notice of the white men, but conducted a long conversation with invisible friends in the forest. When Mr Thistle shot a bird, the old man didn't seem the least bit startled. He was surprised only briefly and continued his exchange. A little later ten brown men, naked like the old man, came toward them carrying long staffs. Matthew told his men to stand still, and he held out to the Australians a white handkerchief with the hunted bird on it. But perhaps this kind of bird was a bad omen. The men turned unfriendly and began to wave them back toward the ship with fanning arm motions. They also rejected the handkerchief. When they saw the
Investigator
lying there, they pointed at her again and again and said things in imperious tones. They couldn't be misunderstood. ‘It means, “Go home,”' surmised Mr Thistle. Matthew thought it possible they might want to visit the ship and made inviting gestures, whereupon the brown men signified that he should bring the ship to them. So dealing with the natives became somewhat troublesome. A missionary would have produced a cross and intoned prayers, and that might possibly have been better than a handkerchief and the wrong kind of dead bird. Women were nowhere to be seen. They were surely kept hidden. John thought of Mr Dixson of the
Elligood
. You couldn't possibly know how he had behaved. The Australian men peered from under their thick brows with serious expressions, like masters of the house being introduced to somewhat dubious visitors. Their beards and hair stood on end, perhaps also a sign of suspicion, just as with Trim the tomcat. ‘They look as much alike as animals,' Olof Kirkeby said to his twin brother after examining them closely.

The Australians at first talked little among themselves, then more and more, and eventually some of them began to laugh. Soon all of them did except for one; they talked and laughed. Matthew supposed that they had gained some confidence after all. Mr Thistle opined that their present manner was their normal
behaviour, which had given way to fearful astonishment only briefly when they saw the white men. Sherard said, ‘They laugh because we're wearing clothes.' John stared at them for the longest time before he said anything. His answer came when they all thought the question had been disposed of – so late, as usual, that only Matthew and Sherard were listening. ‘They know by now that we don't understand their language. That's why they deliberately talk nonsense and laugh about it.' Matthew was taken aback and slapped his thigh. ‘Right!' he shouted, and said the whole thing once again, a little faster for the others. Now they all looked very closely: he was right. Then they all looked at John. Sherard spoke into the silence. ‘John's clever. I've known him for ten years.'

Meanwhile, Mr Westall had finished drawing his view of the bay. Every hill, every tree was drawn accurately; so was the ship with her anchor ropes, and the open sea. In the foreground stood a gigantic tree that didn't exist anywhere. Its branches framed everything, and in its shade a young native couple, beautiful to look at, were leaning against it, gazing at the ship with admiration. ‘I'll paint the girl more exactly once we've seen some women,' remarked Mr Westall. John sensed rising doubt but didn't know yet how to define it.

Something was wrong with the whole situation. John felt as though he should shout ‘Stop!' immediately, but he didn't know what to stop. Something was out of the ordinary about his own people. What was there in them that had been altered by the natives' presence? John now observed the Englishmen as closely as he had watched the Australians before.

The Kirkebys remained silent. They gaped incessantly at the savages and appeared dumb. But others walked over to the natives far too closely, gesticulating far too rapidly. Perhaps they wanted to soothe them, perhaps even only show them that they had new thoughts about the situation, but that did not moderate their obtrusiveness. They wanted to disconcert them, as they all had wanted to disconcert John before they knew him well. The sailors who put their heads together and laughed about the natives were especially embarrassing. ‘Greater respect, gentlemen,' said
Matthew in a dangerously quiet voice. ‘No more jokes; not even good ones, Mr Taylor.'

Suddenly John knew what it was: they all believed that the natives had not been taught sufficiently whom they were dealing with. The white men believed they were not being given proper respect. They expected the mistake to be corrected.

When the Englishmen were back in the boats, John was too preoccupied with himself to continue watching the others closely. Then he heard Matthew's voice saying sharply, ‘I won't wait for long, Mr Lacy.' It concerned a rifle that Denis had wanted to fire out of sheer high spirits.

John noticed that Matthew moved more slowly than usual, more cautiously than anyone else at this landfall. Among the Australians there was also a man who behaved that way. He, too, sat quietly, laughed rarely, and noticed everything – his eyes were constantly in motion.

Then there was a shot. The brown men fell silent. Nobody had been hit. One of the marines had pulled the trigger of his weapon by mistake.

But why did this happen just as they were leaving? And why did it happen to a man who had been expertly trained in the use of a rifle?

After a few more days they met an entire tribe along another section of the coast. This one included women and children, who, however, were soon taken to safety. John could tell the Australians well apart, for he looked at them long enough. Not even Dr Brown could do this equally well, though he was, after all, a scientist, who measured the natives from head to toe. He entered in his log: ‘King George Sound and environs. A. Men. Average samples – 20; Height – 5′7″. Thigh: 1′5″. Shinbone: 1′4″.'