To Hell or Melbourne

by Flora Kidd

© copyright by Flora Kidd, Oct. 2000
Cover Art by Eliza Black
First Printing by The Marco Polo Project Inc., 1994
ISBN 1-58608-160-8
Rocket Edition 1-58608-292-2
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com

Also available by this author from NCP
Until We Meet Again

1

The first time I heard of the ship MARCO POLO was on April 16, 1851, the day before before she was launched.

After spending all morning at the offices of Maxwell and Jackson, the family trading
company, helping my mother make out lading bills for cargoes of lumber and salted fish
bound for the West Indies, I rebelled against such tedious work and whiled away the hours
of early afternoon at the Exchange Coffee house on the corner of King Street and Prince
William Street, drinking coffee and rum and yarning with captains and officers off ships
recently arrived from Europe.

Sitting in that noisy, smoky atmosphere, listening to men who had followed the sea for
the best part of their lives, I had a vision of what my future could be like and I decided the
time had come for me to take control of my life. I remember I stood up suddenly, startling
my acquaintances. I left them without a word and walked out of that place.

Outside an ice-cold wind, straight from the Arctic, blew into my face. Turning my
back on it, I hurried home. On reaching my grandfather's house I leapt up the steps, opened the front door and entered the central hallway. A gust of wind followed me. It
made the brass ceiling lamp swing and the braided rug ripple on the shining wood floor.
Slamming the door shut I strode across the hall and into the study where my grandfather,
Elias Maxwell, was bending over from the chair he was sitting in.

He was trying to pick up scattered papers from the floor. Smoke had billowed out
from the fire and hung about the room like fog. I crossed the room, collected up the rest
of the papers from the floor and put them on the desk in front of Grandfather.

" I'm leaving port next Monday morning, " I announced bluntly." On the Orion. Deals
and lumber to Liverpool. Captain Brophy is short of a mate. I can sign on to-morrow."

"Gadzooks, Edwin, you're like a hurricane blowing in here." Straightening up in his
chair Grandfather scowled at me. "Can't you close a door without slamming it? Or knock
before entering a room? Where are your manners, lad? Where are your manners?"

"Lost at sea, I guess," I said with a grin. "Don't worry, I'll soon be gone again and
peace and quiet will reign once more in your house."

Grandfather turned away, pushed his papers about with fingers that were bent crooked
with rheumatism.

"Well, that's as may be," he muttered, a vague remark he used when he was discomfited by something.

I took off my cap, tossed it on to the nearest chair, unwound my long woollen scarf and unbuttoned my reefing jacket. Going over to the log fire that sputtered in the grate I squatted before it and held out my hands to the heat.

"Why take ship to Liverpool ?" Grandfather asked abruptly.

Now I'm not given naturally to debate or discussion. I prefer to act rather than talk or
argue. Years ago, when a boy of thirteen I had gotten into mischief and my mother had
punished me by locking me in my bedroom in the attic of the house. I would stay there,
she said, until I could explain why I had done what I had done and apologize to her for
causing trouble. She should have known me better than that. She should have saved her
breath.

I knew that my father would soon be going aboard his brig to wait for the tide to turn
so he could weigh anchor and set sail for Antigua and other West Indian Islands to trade
lumber for sugar. I decided I preferred to go with him rather than make explanations or
apologies to Mama. So I climbed out of the dormer window, made a precarious and
dangerous descent to the street, and ran down to the harbour. I was just in time to join
Papa as he stepped into the dory that was going to take him to his ship. He did not send
me back home or argue with me. He understood how I felt and let me go with him.

Since then I'd been one of the roving kind, sailing the Atlantic Ocean, mostly to the
West Indies, and twice rounding Cape Horn into the Pacific on an American ship carrying
manufactured goods to San Francisco, California. I'd served on my father's brig as ship's
boy, at the beck and call of everyone. As I grew older and stronger and more experienced
in the ways of sailing ships I shipped before the mast as a seaman, then as an able seaman
and steersman and later as bo's'n. For the last three years I'd signed on as third or second
mate.

A month ago I'd returned from my last voyage to San Francisco and in the way of most
sailors, who have been many months at sea, I'd been glad to come back to my homeport
of Saint John, New Brunswick, in British North America, to enjoy the comforts of my
grandfather's house on Germain Street, to attend various social events, and to walk out
with a certain young woman who had taken my fancy.

But now such pleasures had begun to pall. When I was at sea I sometimes longed for
home. Now I was at home I longed passionately to be at sea; to be aboard a fine ship
sailing across deep waters, using my wits as well as my physical strength to keep the ship
on course, in spite of contrary winds or storms, and deliver its cargo intact to its
destination. A risky trade to be in but one that suited my adventurous temperament.

"Edwin." Grandfather was sharp, irritable, no doubt suffering from gout that day. I
stood up with my back to the fire and looked over at him.

"Yes, sir," I said.

"Don't expect me to read your mind. Tell me why you want to go to Liverpool."

"I want to be a Master Mariner and every sea captain I've met and talked to lately tells me Liverpool is the place to be for an ambitious ship's mate wanting to climb the sea- going
hierarchy."

"Can't you climb the hierarchy here? You could command of one of the brigs we
charter to carry goods to the islands, I'm sure. You've been that way often enough," he
suggested

" I'm aiming higher and looking to the future," I replied, forced into explaining the
logic behind my sudden decision to leave home after being ashore for so short a time.

"There's going to be a demand in Britain soon for qualified captains to command ships
taking emigrants to Australia. I want to be one of them but 1 have to obtain a Certificate
of Service first, issued by the British Board of Trade."

"You mean one of those pieces of paper that are supposed to be a proof of
competency?" Grandfather growled sceptically. "You wouldn't need one to command an
American ship and from what I know of such certificates all you have to do to get one is
produce evidence of adequate experience. It would be easy enough for you to supply the
information the Board requires."

I'd guessed he would oppose my plan and wondered what was the best way of showing
I was determined to go my own way without offending him.

"I need more than experience," I said at last. "I need to know more about the latest
theories of navigation, about Great Circle sailing and the use of winds and currents too.
Liverpool is a good place to learn and to apply for the ticket. I can sign on here as mate on
the drogher Orion and be in Liverpool in a few weeks. The ship leaves port on Monday
morning."

"Hoot- toot, man." He was given to using some Scottish phrases. He had learned them
from his father Robert Maxwell whose own father Simon had been born in Scotland.
"Hold your horses a wee bit. The Orion leaks like a sieve. She's top heavy and not fit to
take a deck cargo."

"What drogher that sails out of here isn't top heavy and unfit for a load of timber on
deck?" I retorted. " The wonder to me is how it's possible to hire crew for such dangerous
work. Hundreds of good seamen have been drowned off the coast because their ships
were not seaworthy or they carried too much cargo."

"Aye, well that's as maybe," he concurred. "We do what we can with what we have."
He pulled his lower lip between finger and thumb. "But never mind that. Think how upset
your mother and sister will be if you leave home on Monday. You've not been long at
home."

"Upset? I doubt it. They've their own work to do and they'll be glad to have me out of
the house. My return home is already an old story to them. So is my birthday celebration.
Now they're beginning to order me about and arrange my life for me."

"Aye, I know what you mean," he said with a heavy sigh. "They tend to be officious,
both of them. Then what about the young women whose hearts you always set aflutter
whenever you're ashore? Isn't there one among them who takes your fancy?"

I didn't answer that probing question and, after a few moments, he went on with the
lecture I had been hearing on a daily basis for the past three weeks, not only from him but
also from my mother.

"It's time you stopped your fancy-free ways, Edwin, and started courting seriously.
You're twenty four and you ought to be thinking of marriage, of building a home of your
own. But you can't do that while you're sailing the high seas. Could you not stay ashore?
Work for us as a shipping agent?"

"But I don't want to be a shipping agent or a trader," I protested. "As for marriage I'll
get spliced when I've found the right woman, one who won't be forever complaining about
my absence from home or pleading with me not to leave her."
"If that's the case you'll be searching forever," he remarked dryly.

" Then I won't marry," I asserted.

"By God, you're a stubborn lad. Rebellious, too." His grey eyes bulged and glared at me.

"No more than you were," I retorted. "No more than your father was. No one was
ever able to force either of you to go against your own desires or ambitions. You both
seized opportunities that came your way, made the most of them. Well, I'm the same. And
the opportunity for me to seize is not here. It's in Liverpool. So I'm going there as soon as
I can."

"But we need you here, Edwin," he said, his voice softening persuasively. "The gout
won't let me get about like I used to. Your mother carries most of the burden of the
business now."

"I know that. And I've done my best to help by acting as the company's agent on
various voyages to the Islands and the States. But it's time I concentrated on what I want
to do with my life. I'd like to be in command of a ship, a real ocean-going passenger ship
before I'm thirty."

"Aye, well. Just so," he said again. "Did I tell you we've contracted to send a load of
timber and deals to Liverpool?"

Trading in lumber had been the family business ever since Robert Maxwell settled on a
large expanse of forested land that was granted to him in the year 1784. He was offered
the land for his services to King and country as a Colonel in His Majesty King George the
Third's Loyalist Army during the American War of Independence.

Driven from their farm in New York State by plundering and rapacious
revolutionaries, Robert and his Dutch wife Helga sailed east with several thousand
Loyalist exiles and refugees to settle in the fertile and beautiful valley of the Saint John
River. He'd taken one look at the forest of pine trees on his land and, canny entrepreneur
that he was, he decided to turn them into cash by felling them and selling them as masts
and spars that were much needed by the ships of the Royal Navy at that time.

The second son of Robert, Elias left the valley estate and moved to Saint John to
become a shipping agent. He supervised the exports of timber and the imports of British
manufactured goods and West Indian sugar and molasses. He married Helen Warren
whose grandfather, Alexander Warren, a merchant trader from Boston, Massachusetts,
came north in the year 1760, long before the War of Independence. With other traders
from New England, Alexander settled in the colony of Nova Scotia, of which New
Brunswick had then been a part. An educated, versatile man he brought with him
carpenters, coopers and tanners, and obtained land on the shores of Saint John Harbour.
not far from the ruins of the French fort of La Tour.

Tough, pioneering North Americans, they all were, always working and struggling to
improve their way of life. They would fight each other, if need be, to preserve individual
freedom of speech and thought and deed and I was proud their blood ran in my veins.

Now over seventy years of age and long a widower, my grandmother having died when
my mother was scarcely a year old, Elias was still contracting to sell timber to Britain
refusing to listen to the arguments that he should retire, sell the business and spend the
rest of his life at ease on the half of the Maxwell estate he had inherited, where my eldest
brother Sam lived and supervised the felling and preparing of logs for transportation.

"Deep snow in the woods and the late break-up of ice in the river has slowed down the
sending of logs downstream to the port," Grandfather continued, when I didn't speak.
"And Sam has been having trouble with the lumberjacks. I wish you'd go and help him
Edwin. You're good at handling men."

And you're not bad at it yourself, you old schemer, I thought to myself. His appeal to
my sense of family duty and his subtle flattery of my ability to manage and organize labour
was nothing new.

"You make me wonder how you all manage to run the business while I'm away at sea,"
I remarked dryly.

"Aye, well now, we don't find it too easy," he said with a sly grin.

"The last time I saw Sam he told me he's more interested in farming the land and
making it productive than he is in felling trees," I said, hoping to divert him.

"Humph. Then he's got less sense than I give him credit for," he growled. "First I've
heard of it? What's he hoping to grow?"

"Potatoes, vegetables, fruit. He's already planted an orchard of apple trees."

"Why? For God's sake, why?"

"He says that since the British Government removed the tariffs on Baltic timber the
trade in timber between here and England has been dying. And I think he's right. It's time
New Brunswick broadened its economic base, moved away from the old industries of
exporting lumber and building ships. We could manufacture more of our own goods, grow
our own food. We could be self-sufficient and less dependent on Britain."

"Dammit," he roared, his face flushing red. "Now, you're talking like one of those
cursed liberals of the Colonial Association. Diversify, diversify, they chant. They want to
trade more with the States. Some of them are even saying we should build a railway
between Saint John and Boston to make trading easier. I say be damned to such schemes."

He thumped the desk with a clenched fist. The brass oil lamp rocked and its glass globe
rattled. The flame within it flared and flickered. Shadows shivered and danced around the
room.

"So when is the timber supposed to be shipped to Liverpool?" I asked, changing tack,
hoping to calm him. I'd been warned by my sister Eliza that any sort of excitement caused
his heart to beat too fast and his blood pressure to rise.

"Middle of May. We've contracted to send it on the new ship the townspeople call
James Smith's Folly. She's being launched to-morrow. Captain Thomas will be her Master.
You know him?"

"I do," The old devil had caught my interest. "He's a member of the vestry at the Stone
Church and often acts as an agent here for Liverpool shipowners."

"He's also an examiner of ships' mates," he said, with another sly, knowing glance at
me. "I'm sure you wouldn't object to serving under him on a voyage?"

"No, I'd be glad to. I could learn much from him."

"And since he knew your father, I expect he would be glad to take you on as a mate."
Grandfather looked suddenly complacent as if he had settled the matter. "You could
oversee the loading of the lumber here, sail with it to Liverpool, act as our agent there and
sell it for a good price. Do that and you'll please both your mother and me and at the same
time pursue your ambition to become a Master Mariner."

"But Nathan is our agent in Liverpool," I argued. Nathan, was my youngest brother,
four years younger than myself. He had been sent the previous summer to learn the
shipping business with the firm of shipping agents that for years represented the Maxwell
Trading Company in Great Britain.

"That is so," Grandfather agreed. "But he's not good at the work. Too absent-minded.
He's a dreamer, more interested in books and history and writing poetry than he is in being
a shipping agent. Martha would send him to that King's College in Fredericton to be
educated. Now she's worried about him again, because we haven't had a letter from him
for more than two months."

"His letters could have been lost," I pointed out. "The February mail packet from
Liverpool went down in a storm off the coast. And a fellow I know, who has come from
England to live here, hasn't received the furniture and books he was having sent over."

"You could be right. I hope so."

"And if, as you say he's not good at being an agent, Nathan might have left Liverpool to
come home. He might sail into the harbour on the next ship from England?"

"I suppose he might."

"Unless he's gone on a tour of the rest of the British Isles and Europe. You say he's
interested in history."

"That's so. He was helping me set down the story and adventures of my grandfather
Simon Maxwell who came to America with the British Army to fight the French and was
granted land in upstate New York."

"Have you written to Owen and Hughes and asked them where he is or why he hasn't
written?"

"Your mother has. But they haven't replied yet. I tell you, Edwin, in all confidence, if
anything unpleasant has happened to him it will be the end of your mother. She won't be
able to stand another loss. Even though it's almost six years since he was lost at sea, she is
still grieving for your father." Now he was sad and serious. "She slips often into terrible
depressed moods and we can do nothing with her. She cries all day when the mood comes
on her and cannot do anything but take to her bed."

"Then let's hope she receives a letter soon from Nathan. Or one from Mr Owen telling
her that Nathan is safe but lazy about writing home. I promise that when I'm in Liverpool
I'll give him a good talking to about writing home regularly," I replied, attempting to cheer
him up.

"But you'll wait a while and think about going on the new ship?" he asked.

"Tell me more about it. Why is it called James Smith's Folly ?"

"You know how the townspeople are? Always criticizing or mocking anything they
don't understand. The ship is longer and a different shape from any ship built in the
province to this date."

"How long?"

"About a hundred and eighty four or five feet."

"And the breadth?

"Over forty feet. I haven't seen it myself but I'm told it rears above the flats at Marsh
Creek like a huge black monster. It has three decks and will have three masts."

"A full ship, then."

"Aye. But it's still a lumber drogher and will carry a big cargo. If it floats."

"You have doubts?"

"Not I. But many others do. The ship suffered accidents while building. Late last
summer, before they started planking, a freak gale wrecked some of the frames. Smith's
workmen and even his financial backers pleaded with him to give up and build a smaller
ship. Some of the workmen left his employment. They said the ship was ill-fated, governed
by evil spirits. Smith refused to listen to them and started building again, strengthening the
frames so they wouldn't crack in a wind again. You must know he is an important member
of the Methodist Chapel at Queen Square where your mother attends every Sunday
evening? Martha tells me he has great faith in God and in himself. He believes in working
hard and in self-improvement."

I thought I detected a note of scorn in his voice. Like most of the Tory elite of Saint
John he was an Episcopalian and always attended Trinity Church, not far from the house
on Germain Street. My mother had always worshipped there too, taking my brothers, my
sister Eliza and me with her when we were young. She had been married from that church
to my father, Captain William Jackson, an English merchant adventurer who had sailed
one day into the harbour on his own schooner with a load of rum and molasses from
Antigua, and had sailed straight into my mother's heart.

But when Father's new brig, named after my mother, Martha Jackson, had been
wrecked in a storm off the coast of the Carolinas on a return trip from the islands and he
had drowned, Mother had been devastated and had stopped going to church. Soon
afterwards she had been persuaded by some of her female acquaintances, who had become
concerned for her mental health, to attend the meetings of the followers of John Wesley.
Grandfather had been furious. He felt she had betrayed the Maxwell family and their
Loyalist and Tory traditions and had refused to speak to her for months. Only intervention
by Eliza had healed the breach between father and daughter.

"There's no harm in Methodism or hard work if they produce good ships," I said
non-committally. I didn't want to get involved in an argument with him about religion
which, with politics, tended to disrupt and divide the Saint John community. "I know Mr
Smith has made a fortune selling ships to owners in Liverpool, Glasgow and Belfast, as
well in the States. He must be doing something right."

"You'll go to the launching then?" he asked leaning forward eagerly, fixing me with
what Sam and I used to call his eagle stare. Old age and ill health had reduced his
authority in his home as well as in his business, yet still he hoped we would jump to carry
out his commands.

"I'll think about it, " I said and left the room before he could think up any more ways
of persuading me to stay ashore a while longer.

He had known only too well what bait to trail before me to prevent me from signing
on as mate on the old and leaky Orion, I thought as I went upstairs to my bedroom.

A new ship. On her maiden voyage. The possibility of shipping aboard her as a mate under Captain Thomas, a well- known and respected Master Mariner, offered a far better
opportunity to further my career than a voyage on an old ship under Captain Brophy who
was notorious for losing both men and cargo overboard.

2

I woke next morning to the bright light of the sun streaming into the east-facing window of my bedroom in the attic. For a brief moment of idleness I lay watching motes of dust dancing in the shafts of light and considered the day ahead of me.

Another day on shore. Another day of tedium, attending to the mundane tasks of accounting or inventory my mother considered to be so important to the trading company. I knew they were important too, but I found them depressingly dull. The job of shipping agent was not for me. I must get me back to sea as soon as possible.

On the new ship!

In an instant I was out of bed and pulling on my sea- going togs, loose-fitting grey trousers made of homespun wool, a white singlet and over that a checked woollen shirt. Under the collar of the shirt I knotted a black cravat leaving the long ends to flow free, sailor-fashion, down the front of the shirt.

I leapt the stairs two at a time down to the second floor, then to the first floor and the front entrance hall. I was on my way to the kitchen at the back of the house when someone called to me from the first floor landing.

"Edwin?" My mother's voice seemed to clang a warning, sounding like a navigation bell out in the harbour. "Where are you off to in such a rush?"

"Out," I yelled back and went on towards the kitchen.

"But Edwin." She had started down the stairs so I hastened my steps. "I want you to...."

"Another time, Mama. To-day 1 have a lot to do."

She began to object again but I shut the kitchen door, cutting off the sound of her voice.

Crossing the kitchen I grabbed the mug of coffee and freshly made -muffin held out to me by the diligent, cheerful and helpful housekeeper, Bessie Malloy, who had always had a soft spot in her heart for me. In the back porch I pulled on boots and my heavy reefing jacket. Double-breasted, almost thigh length and made of thick wool, I wore it on board ship in cold weather and for going aloft to reef in sails. It was also my favourite jacket for wearing ashore.

Hearing my mother's voice in the kitchen complaining to Bessie, I swallowed the rest of the hot coffee, stuffed the muffin in my mouth, grabbed my cap, opened the outside door of the porch and ran down the steps to the slope of Duke Street.

I ran towards the harbour. Before I reached the wharves I turned right along Prince William Street and walked briskly to Exchange Corner. There I stood for a while watching the buggies and carriages coming down Dock Road and turning into King Street. It seemed that all the inhabitants from the outlying parishes of Portland, Carleton and Lancaster, as well as the citizens of Saint John, were on their way to Marsh Creek and the launching of James Smith's new ship. A launching was always considered a good excuse to take a day off work for a family outing and celebration.

The wind that day was blowing steadily from the Northwest. It whistled in the rigging of schooners tied up at nearby Market Slip and flurried the sky-reflecting water of the harbour. It whisked wood-smoke from chimneys, whined in dark alleyways, rattled at windows and sent shadows of clouds chasing across red brick and grey shingle buildings. From Market Square, where only a few slovens waited their horses standing hip-shot, heads drooping, it funnelled up King Street snatching at women's long skirts and twitching men's top hats from their heads to sail and soar through the air then roll down the muddy pot-holed street.

I did not stand for long in that biting cold blast of air. Joining a lively group of young men, apprentices to some trade or other, I walked up King Street. James Smith's shipyard was situated on a muddy inlet of Courtenay Bay, on the eastern side of the peninsula where the city of Saint John had been laid out in a neat gridiron of streets. Exchange Corner was on the western side of the peninsula. To reach Smith's yard we had to walk over the hill, a distance of about two miles.

At the top of the hill we crossed the winter-bleached grass of King's Square. In summer it was a pleasant place to linger and feed the pigeons, but that day we were glad to hurry on towards Sydney Street. In the Loyalist graveyard windswept leafless trees patterned grey headstones with dark shadows. But we didn't stay to pay our respects to founding fathers and mothers, long dead and often forgotten. We were more interested in celebrating the present and future. We raced on to Union Street and turned east.

Before us, in the distance, the mud flats at the head of Courtenay Bay shone in the bright sunlight and the trickle of water known as Marsh Creek glittered amongst sandbanks, dead- looking bushes and grasses, as it wound its way to the bay. Along the shores of the creek the skeleton frames of ships being built towered as high and sometimes higher than the shingled roofs of shipyard sheds. In one of the yards the finished hull of a big black vessel was still on the ways. Flags flew from its lower masts, already in place and supported by rigging.

Seeing the ship, my companions couldn't control their excitement any longer. Leaping and whooping they rushed down the slope of Albion Street, some of them throwing their caps in the air and shouting "James Smith's Folly, James Smith's Folly".

A sudden blast of wind swept across the stunted grass of the marshes. It whipped the top hat from the head of a man walking in front of me and sent it rolling down the street. The man cursed colourfully. I ran after the hat. Hardly had I stretched out a hand to pick it up when the mischievious wind snatched it away from me and sent it rolling in another direction. I swooped after it. It eluded me, skittered across the rough surface of the road and came to a stop. Again I dived after it right in front of an approaching buggy.

The chestnut mare reared and whinnied when the driver pulled on the reins. The vehicle jolted to a stop. I scooped up the hat and ran back to its owner.

"I'm most grateful to you, sir. My hat is new, as you can see, and was a gift from my mother and sisters before I left Ireland." The owner of the hat was a small man with a head of black curls and bright black eyes under heavy black eyebrows.

"You're welcome," I said and would have walked on if he hadn't stepped in front of me and held out his hand.

"I'm Patrick Dunne," he announced.

"I'm Edwin Jackson." I shook hands with him.

"Are you going to the launching?' he asked.

"Isn't everyone?" I gestured to the walking citizens, the buggies and carriages, all

going in the same direction.

"Then I hope you won't object to my company along the way," he said. It seemed pointless to object because he had already fallen into step beside me. "You see, I've been sent to report on it for a Saint John newspaper," he continued, "And I've never seen a ship launched before and know little about shipbuilding."

We walked on side by side, facing the full force of the icy Nor'wester. When we reached the corner of the lane leading into Smith's yard, Patrick would have stepped in front of a carriage that had turned off the road into the lane leading into the yard. 1 grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"Now let that be a lesson to me. It seems I'm in your debt more than ever," he said, laughing at himself. "Sure, and this is a grand house we're standing by and it built so close to a shipyard. D'you know who owns it?'

The house, foursquare and sturdy, built of pitch pine, was on the corner where the lane joined the street. Behind it a garden, with a lawn of brown grass and leafless shrubs, stretched down to a narrow beach of shingle.

"James Smith. Most ship builders live near their yards," I replied.

In the shipyard wood shavings danced about our feet and long planks in piles rattled together. All work in the yard had stopped for the launching. No smoke issued from the chimney of the steam shed. No teams of horses dragged huge timbers across the hardened mud of the yard. No tradesmen were at the saw pit, one in the pit and one above, working with a whipsaw through a timber placed over the mouth of the pit.

Instead, women in shawls and bonnets, with young children hanging on to their skirts, and men in top hats or working caps, stood about gossiping, waiting for the speeches. Children ran about playing tricks on each other or climbed the piles of timber. Refreshment tables had been set up in front of the yard's cookhouse by a women's voluntary organisation. There was no liquor or beer on sale, in keeping with the temperance views of the shipbuilder and his family, so Patrick and I bought ourselves steaming mugs of coffee.

"This Marsh Creek is a Godforsaken place," Patrick Dunne observed with a shiver,
clasping both hands around the mug to warm them.

"The last place on earth, some call it," I remarked. I noticed his shabby green
frockcoat was threadbare at the elbows. "You should have worn a top coat or a cloak,"I
added.

"This is the only coat I have," he said with a rueful grin. "I came here only last October
and I haven't made my fortune yet. Now why would anyone in his right mind choose to
live here let alone build ships here?"

"Who knows why an Irishman chooses to do anything he does?" I mocked.

"James Smith is from Ireland, too?" He sounded surprised.

"His family belong to a place called Monaghan, I believe, and he emigrated here from
there. Do you know it?"I said.

"No." He looked sad and shook his head from side to side, as if regretting some
calamity. "You see it is in the north of Ireland and I'm from the south,"

"And never the twain shall meet," I mocked again.

"Aye, well that is an uncomfortable fact of life," he said, acknowledging my mockery with a good-humoured grin. "The north was settled by Scottish Covenanters and I expect your James Smith is descended from one of them. My family has always lived in County Cork and we belong to the Roman Catholic church."

"What made you leave Ireland and come here?"

"I was in trouble with the British authorities. I was learning to be a lawyer in Dublin and I fell in with a group of radicals." His whole face seemed to light up with excitement and enthusiasm. "We took part in the Rebellion of 'Forty-nine. We marched with the Chartists. We agitated for Home Rule for Ireland and we demanded votes for everyone, for all men and all women, not just in Ireland but in all of Britain." The light faded from his face. He looked suddenly sad again. "Ach, we were so sure we would win.," he added bitterly.

"I've met many a Briton who was in that rebellion and had to run away to sea to avoid
being hung or thrown in jail," I said.

"Aye. That's the truth of it. We didn't get the support from the ordinary folk we'd hoped for," Again he shook his head. "And you're right, many of us had to escape on ships coming here or to the States or the West Indies. Some even went to Australia, willingly and not as convicts. But that's all behind me. Now I'm in the New World p'raps I'll be more successful and make my fortune like James Smith. When did he arrive here?"

" About thirty years ago. He worked for a while in the woods, cutting timber then
apprenticed himself to a shipwright in Saint John. This ship is the biggest he's built to
date."

"To me it looks more like a huge bath tub," Patrick remarked critically.

I looked past him at the big ship which squatted on the stocks close to the brown water that was now swirling up the creek and spreading across mud flats and grassy marsh, as the flood tide swept in from the bay. The red, white and blue Union Jack and the Red Ensign fluttered from two of the ship's three lower masts, adding festive colour to the scene. The hull was black except for a band of white below the bulwarks. Against the white, painted black squares gave the illusion of a Royal Navy's frigate's gunports.

The bow was tilted up higher than the stern making the waterline of the hull parallel to the flat level flooring beneath its keel. The wooden scaffolding that had surrounded the ship, while the steamed planks had been curved to fit the frames, had been taken away. Now the huge hulk was supported on slides, flat timbers laid across the ways and held in place by strong flanges. Beneath the slides wooden wedges had been inserted. When they were driven in they would take the weight of the vessel off the blocks beneath the keel. Long thick logs called shores slanted up from the ground to the underside of the ship above the keel and kept it upright.

"I hope it's going to be worth it, walking to this desolate place. Do you think they'll launch in a wind like this?" Patrick asked. His face was blue with cold. He looked underfed and miserable and I felt sorry for him.

"Nothing will stop James Smith from launching to-day," I said. "To-morrow is Friday and both shipbuilders and sailors believe it's unlucky to launch a ship or to put to sea on that day of the week."

Pushed and elbowed by another wave of spectators entering the yard, we moved on to stand closer to the ship and I heard nothing more of Patrick Dunne's over-critical and negative remarks about the ship. I could only stand and stare up at the black hull and marvel at the massive strength of the timbers that had been hewn and shaped to build it.

Scanning the stem downwards from top to bottom, from bowsprit to foot, I noticed a difference from the drogher shape. Although the bow was rounded at the top deck level, with the usual beak of the lumber carrier supporting it, at the foot of the stem, where it would enter the water, the huge squared timber was straight up and down, almost vertical.

It was a construction 1 had seen only in the clipper schooners of Chesapeake Bay, so-called because they clipped lightly over the waves rather than ploughing into them. 1 stood back from the bow and studied the stern. It was different too. Instead of going straight down and plum into the water it was cut away under the hull. I looked around me for someone belonging to the shipyard to ask why that had been done, but there was only Patrick, close at my elbow, still giving his un-informed opinion of the ship.

"By God, she's downright ugly." he said.

"But likely to be a fast and sturdy sailer," I argued. "You see that cutaway stern? The waters parted by the straight stem will come together behind that and make a smoother wake that won't drag the ship backwards, thus making its progress forward easier and faster. She has a good clean run aft."

"Bejabers, I see and yet I don't see," he said vaguely then nudged my elbow with his and jerked his head to the left, away from the ship. "But I do see Louise LeBlanc, over there," he added. "She's an attractive lass, don't you think? I often meet her at Mass in St Malachy's Chapel on a Sunday morning. I think I'll go across and join her. She and Joe Paton are in the best place to watch the launching. Coming with me?"

I looked in the direction he was pointing. Standing on a raised bit of ground, her shapely bosom shown off by a close-fitting purple velvet jacket trimmed with white lace, Louise was silhouetted against the bright sunlight. The skirt of her suit, also purple velvet, hung in folds to her booted feet. An elegant purple satin bonnet, its brim edged with stiffened pleated lace, sat well back on her head to reveal the white parting between two smooth loops of her brown-black hair. She was looking up and smiling at one of the men in the group of captains, mates and sailors standing about the portly figure of her stepfather, Joseph Paton, the notorious owner of a tavern and seamen's lodging house at Reed's Point.

Before he had come to Saint John, Paton, an ex-seaman, had worked in the woods on the Miramichi River. There he had met a widow with three children, an Acadian called Therese LeBlanc, and had married her. Louise was the eldest of those three children. She was just eighteen years of age and already considered the most attractive flirt in Saint John.

She was the one who had caught my fancy most since I'd come home. I'd been meeting her regularly, in the evenings, mostly when her stepfather was busy in the tavern and we had the parlour in his lodging house all to ourselves. Now we were more than friendly, we were ardent lovers, indulging whenever we could, the physical passion that overwhelmed both of us at every meeting. The last time we had lain in a close embrace on the chesterfield in the parlour, Louise had hinted that she would like to marry me one day, perhaps when 1 returned from my next voyage, or maybe before I went to sea again, if it could be arranged, if Joseph Paton would give his consent. Aroused by her subtle and seductive caresses I had been tempted to agree and I had nearly promised to ask Joseph's permission to marry her. But something had held me back from making a verbal commitment.

"Coming?" Patrick said and nudged me again. He was watching me closely with a grin on his face that was almost a leer.

"No."

"Why not?"

I thought of how un-reserved in her behaviour Louise could be, how she was given to embracing a person in public, in the French fashion. I guessed that if I approached her now she would show her liking for me by flinging her arms around me and I didn't want Patrick to see her doing that. He would be sure to jump to conclusions and spread gossip about us that would reach the cars of my family before I wanted them to know of my liaison with Louise.

"I'm going to ask Mr Smith if I can go aboard the ship," I said. "It's the best place to be when it takes the water."

"You prefer to do that than dally with the delightful Miss LeBlanc? Shame on you." he exclaimed. "Then therein lies your attraction for Miss Louise, I would guess. You are not forever buzzing around the honeypot, like some others I know."

"You're entitled to think that, if you want," I replied coldly, disliking his suggestion that I might not be the only young buck who visited Louise in the lodging house at Reed's Point.

Without excusing myself I turned and walked away towards the platform that had been rigged before the ship for the attending dignitaries and speechmakers.

James Smith, a fine-featured man with sad eyes and a sternly compressed mouth, was on the platform that had been erected before the ship. He was talking with the mayor. He was dressed for the occasion in a black suit and a white shirt with a high stiff collar instead of his homespun working clothes. He recognised me as a son of Martha Jackson, who was so friendly with his wife Margaret, and willingly gave me permission to go aboard the ship. Soon 1 was climbing up the last remaining ladder before it was removed.

From the high bow of the ship there was an excellent view of the yard and the spectators crowding about the platform to hear the speeches. A cheer went up when workmen started to grease the ways down which the ship would slide into the water. The buzz of voices died down. The mayor was speaking. Men doffed their hats and bowed their heads as a minister of religion offered up a prayer for the safety of the ship.

The hush continued when workmen moved forward to knock the keel blocks and shore timbers away so that only the massive stern supports were left in position.

"I name this ship MARCO POLO. May she always be an adventurer like her

namesake. God bless all who sail in her," announced a woman's voice. I guessed she was

Mrs. Smith.

There was another burst of cheering. A carpenter knocked out the last block. I walked along the flush deck, past the yellow-painted hatch covers, to the stern. I could see a few scattered houses on the other side of the creek and beyond them, in the distance, the curves of low hills. Clearly etched against the sky on that day of crystalline light, they were fringed with sunlit cedars and the delicate, pinkish twigs of birch trees.

I looked over to the right, at the wide expanse of Courtenay Bay stretching into the Bay of Fundy. Specks of golden light danced on the moving sea. Against the bright dazzle the dark shape of a steam tug sidled on the flooding tide, its black smoke befouling the clear air. It would take the Marco Polo in tow after the launching. Behind the tug the distant horizon was a mysterious purple line. It beckoned to me, as it always did, to go and find out what lay beyond it.

A strident hoot from the tug's horn drew my attention to the little steamboat. Paddles thrashing the water, it was backing away downstream. The Marco Polo was still on the ways and the workmen and apprentices who had come aboard to catch towlines from the tug once the ship was afloat were looking over the bows and shouting to the crowd below. 1 went forward to look over the bow rail.

"What's stopping her?" I asked the nearest youth.

"They are not sure." He spoke English with a strong French accent and I recognised him. He was Denys Leblanc, Louise's brother, and was apprenticed to James Smith and had probably helped to build the ship. "They've knocked out all the wedges but she hasn't moved. They're going to ram her. Hold on."

The ship shuddered from stem to stern. Three times it happened as workmen battered at the front of the keel with long rams of heavy logs.

"If they don't hurry she'll miss the high tide," Denys said. "We can only launch a big one like this on a high Spring tide. If the tide starts to ebb there won't be enough water and she'll go aground. And that might be the end of her."

The ship shuddered again, violently, and she began to move. Then what had been an inert mass came alive, rushing stern first down the ways, urged on by a burst of cheering from the crowd. With the other onboard spectators, some of them workmen from the yard, some of them prankish light- hearted city boys out for a day of adventure, I raced back along the deck with Denys, helped on by the slope of the deck towards the stern.

"She's going too fast," Denys shouted. "She's out of control. We'll all be thrown in the water."

The stern crashed into the narrow creek, sending up a huge wave that swamped the afterdeck. Then the bow bounced sharply off the ways. Men and boys on board yelled and shrieked as they were hurled against masts, bulwarks or hatch houses. The ship, free from all restraint at last, its broad beam exposed to the full force of the wind, rushed recklessly across the creek and came to a jolting, shocking halt when the stern hit a mud bank still hidden by wind-rippled water.

Seagulls cackled mockingly. Injured men moaned in pain. The ship shook and rattled like someone close to death. Then she listed sharply to her port side. Unable to stop myself I slid across the slippery painted planks of the deck. Stretching out a hand I caught hold of the port shroud of the mizzenmast and held on, watching Denys slide by me in a headlong rush.

Yelling for help at the top of his voice, he went over the side and was sucked down into the swift-flowing water of the creek.

3

Still clinging to the slackened portside shroud of the mizzen mast, my eyes shaded by the brim of my cap against the dazzle on the sea, I scanned the mud-coloured water swirling past the ship and saw Denys' head bob up.

He opened his mouth to shout. It filled with water and he sank. Caught in the fast-flowing current of the ebb tide, he was being swept down to the deeper waters of Courtenay Bay where he would surely drown. The steamer, whose crew might have seen him and tried to rescue him, had gone back to the harbour.

I kicked off my boots, shucked off my jacket, took off my cap and placed them behind one of the hatch covers, so that they would not slide into the water if the ship tilted over even farther when the tide drained away completely. My feet slipping on the damp deck I went back to the shrouds, took a deep breath and jumped overboard.

The water was ice-cold. For a moment I thought the cold would stop my heart when I went under. Then I surfaced, felt the sun warm on my head and face, and knew I would survive if I kept moving. Gulping in more air, I struck out towards a round object I could see bobbing like a big cork on the water. Denys was still afloat. The swift kick of my legs and swing of my arms propelled me towards him. He was floundering and choking, trying desperately to keep above the surface by beating the water with his arms. Before I was able to grab him I saw horror and panic staring at me from his eyes.

"Help me." Once again he foolishly opened his mouth to cry weakly and sank again almost pulling me down with him.

"Keep your mouth shut," I panted. "Put your arms around my neck and kick out with your legs. I'll keep us both afloat."

Looking over my shoulder I saw we were being swept close to a ridge of gravel that was never covered at high tide. Behind it was a shallow pool and a stony beach stretching in front of the shipyard next to Smith's and owned by the Wright brothers. A few more kicks and we were both able to tread water. Over the ridge we climbed into the brackish pool. We began to wade towards the shore, our clothes, sodden with salt water, flattened against our bodies by the wind.

"Denys, Edwin. Come quickly, this way," Louise shouted.

She was standing on the edge of the pool, holding up her velvet skirt with one hand and leaning forward reaching out her other hand to her brother. The triangle of her face, framed by smooth bands of dark hair and the lace-trimmed bonnet, shimmered with reflected sunlight. For a moment I saw it as a beacon shining out from a shore, luring me towards uncharted beauty and possibly into danger. I slipped on a slimy underwater rock and sat down suddenly in the smelly dirty water. The illusion of light and beauty was abruptly shattered.

"Edwin," Louise screamed, her voice strident and unrestrained. Patrick laughed loudly and heartily at my predicament. The few townsfolk, who had come to find out what had happened to Denys, tittered slyly amongst themselves. Sitting there, soaking wet and an object of ridicule, I could now see Louise's face clearly; the finely cut angle of her jaw, the pout of her red lips, the neat tilt of her small nose, the arch of her plucked eyebrows. She was very pretty so I sat and stared my fill of her attractions.

"What is the matter? Why are you sitting there?' she demanded. "Are you hurt? Do you feel faint? You will freeze to death if you don't come ashore."

"Shall I be coming to help you, Edwin?" Tall hat aslant on his black curls Patrick was standing a few feet astern of Louise and as far as 1 could make out he was making no effort to come and help me.

Louise turned on him.

"You will ruin your good boots if you step into that sludge," she said practically. He made no further move forward but stood there grinning. It was clear to me then that she had him trapped under her thumb or wound round her little finger. In other words, he was so enamoured of her he would always obey her orders.

After hugging Dennis affectionately, Louise spoke to him sharply in French. He was shivering and I guessed she was telling him to go to the cookhouse, where the apprentices lived, to get dry and change his clothes. With a word of thanks and a nod to me, he set off at a run along the shingle beach in the direction of Smith's yard.

"I am coming to help you, now, Edwin," she said in an imperious way I had never noticed before. She hitched up her skirt and petticoat tucking a corner of the hems into the belt at her waist. Taking off her bonnet she handed it to Patrick and, holding on to his arm for support, she began to unlace one of her boots.

Guessing that she was going to wade out to me and create a scene before the watching

townsfolk I floundered to my feet.

"I don't need any help. Put your boots on. Pull down your skirts," I yelled.

She hesitated only a moment then obeyed, eyeing me resentfully, her lips set in a wilful line.

"Then hurry," she called. "Before you drown."

"I'm not going to drown. There isn't enough water in this dirty pond to drown me," 1 shouted back. I would be damned, I thought, before 1 let her order me about in the way she ordered her brother and Patrick about

I managed to pull my left foot out of the mud but overbalanced and fell flat on my chest when I tried to get my right foot out. Louise screamed again and began to shrill orders at me. I stood up. With hair hanging in dripping rat's tails into my eyes, I sloshed through the water and squelched up the bank, my feet in their thick wet socks, slipping at every step. As I made one last lunge forward Louise flung herself against me and hugged me.

"I was so afraid for you when the ship tipped over," she whispered. "Then, when you jumped into the water after Denys, I thought both of you were going to be swept out on the tide. Thank you, thank you for saving Denys' life. Oh, thank you, thank you."

Her arms around my neck, she stood on tiptoe and her lips brushed mine. Then she squeezed me in a hug that had become very familiar to me during the past few weeks. Through my wet clothing I felt the pressure of her breasts against my chest, the thrust of her thighs against mine. The temptation to hold her even closer and return her kiss almost overwhelmed me. Then I looked over her head at Patrick. He was still grinning broadly and the few spectators of our little drama were whispering amongst themselves.

That was enough to jerk me into action. I freed myself from Louise's embrace and pushed her away from me.

"You'll spoil your pretty suit against my muddy shirt," I explained. I looked at Patrick. "Why did the ship go down the ways so fast?" I asked.

"Who knows?" he replied. "The workmen were resting after ramming her when suddenly all hell was let loose and, as if driven by some force within her, the ship roared down the ways. Several persons were injured by the restraining chains which fetched away suddenly on the leeward side. It was as well we were standing a little way off or we might have been hurt too. Now, everyone is saying she's finished, unlucky, and that no one will sail in her."

I looked at the black hull. The flags that had fluttered bravely from the lower masts were now hanging listlessly, as if in mourning for the death of someone important.

"Come next high Spring tides, she'll float," I said confidently. "And she'll sail in May and I aim to be on board her, bound for Liverpool."

"Oh, never mind the silly ship." Louise was petulant. "You are cold, Edwin. You need a hot tub and a good rub down."

"Or a swig of rum. Here take this. It will warm you up. It's come all the way from the tropic isle of Jamaica," Patrick held out a small silver flask.

I had good long swallow of the fiery liquid then coughed and spluttered, almost as much as Denys had when he had been in danger of drowning.

Patrick slapped my back, took the flask and tilted it to his lips for a swig.

"Would you be liking me to walk home with you?" he offered kindly, as he screwed the top back on his flask.

"I'm not going home yet. I'm going to find out what James Smith plans to do about the ship. Will you kindly escort Miss LeBlanc back to her stepfather? I expect he is wondering where she is."

Louise's full skirt whirled about her as she spun to face me.

" I will not go without you," she asserted. " With the wet clothes drying on you and no boots on your feet, you could catch pneumonia. We'll go and steal Pa's buggy, while he isn't looking, and I'll drive you home.'

"You'll do nothing of the sort," I retorted bluntly. "I don't want to be seen riding with you in your stepfather's buggy for all the townsfolk to see and gossip about. Have more sense."

Her bosom heaved, her lips thinned and her eyes glared at me. Realising belatedly that I had offended her I tried to make amends.

"You forget I'm used to being wet on board ship. I'll come to no harm. A run back to the yard will help dry my clothes. I must find out what is going to happen to the ship," I added.

"There, wasn't I after telling you, Miss Louise?" Patrick intervened smoothly. "That monstrous black ship has caught his fancy. He's fallen in love with her. She will carry him away across the wide oceans; away from his native heath, from you, from his family. He may never come back, so come, take my arm, and I'll escort you back to your father."

Handsome in his black Irish way, educated no doubt in all the social graces as well as having the gift of the gab, he bowed to Louise and held out his arm for her, but she ignored him and continued to glare at me.

" I think, I think you are...." She stammered, her English failing her.

"A boor," supplied Patrick with the suspicion of a laugh. She swung round to frown at him.

"I do not understand," she said.

To my surprise Patrick answered her in fluent French. Comparing me with him she must have seen me, at that moment, as a rough, uneducated sailor with few gracious manners.

"Ah, I understand now," she said and nodded as if in agreement with him. She stepped right up to me, her head tilted back so she could look into my eyes. "I think you are a boor, Mr. Jackson, for preferring to go with a ship when you could go with me."

With a swirl of her braided velvet skirt she turned away from me and slid her gloved hand in the crook of Patrick’s offered arm. I watched them walk away amongst discarded planks and other debris of Wright's yard, moving together gracefully, her head on a level with his shoulder.

A well-matched couple, I thought with a touch of acid, then put them out of my mind and set off at a run along the beach to Smith's shipyard.

In front of the deserted launching platform, close to the ways down which the MARCO POLO had hurtled, a group of gesticulating and arguing men was standing around James Smith. I stopped on the outskirts of the group and listened to them.

"How are you going to pay off your debt to the bank now you've no ship to sell?" cried one voice.

"The ship has been ill-fated from the start. You should've stopped building her when the frame was blown down last year. A bad omen, that was. A warning to ye. " shouted another.

"Folly, that's what it is to build such a big ship. You can't launch a ship that big in this creek. She'll never float. You built her too long, too wide."

"You were too greedy. You weren't satisfied with one fortune so you had to build bigger ship to make more money. Shame on you, Smith."

I recognised some of the most vociferous critics in the group. They were well-fed merchant-bankers, lawyers and local politicians, some of them friends and business associates of my grandfather.

"What are they shouting about?" Patrick said beside me. I turned to look at him in surprise.

"Where's Louise?" I demanded.

"Sure, dinna fash yeself, laddie," he jeered. "I escorted her to Paton's buggy and she is now on her way home with Joe. I came back to find out what was going on here. There could be something for an article or an editorial."

"They're still berating James Smith for having built such a big ship. I guess some of them have shares in her or have lent him money to build her. Listen to them? What a mean, jealous lot they are. They make me feel sick to my stomach."

"It seems they make James Smith feel that way, too," Patrick remarked.

The shipbuilder had stood silent while others ranted and raved at him. Now, suddenly, he lost his temper.

"It was you, all of you, who said we need to build bigger ships for the Liverpool

market. You let greed get the better of you," he shouted.

Immediately more voices were raised and, some of the townspeople who had come to watch the launching purely for the purpose of entertainment, to enjoy themselves cheering or jeering at the show, began to chant.

"James Smith's folly. James Smith's folly."

"Enough of this bull-baiting. Give the man a chance to speak his mind. Everyone in this country is entitled to fairplay and justice, so shut your mouths for a while and listen to what Mr. Smith says." Patrick yelled. He had pushed to the front of the critics and was standing, arms akimbo, facing the shipbuilder. "Go to it, Mr. Smith," he urged. "Tell us your plan."

The critics were temporarily silenced, craning their necks to peer at the man in the shabby frock coat and top hat. James Smith seized the opportunity to announce his intentions.

"In another hour or so the tide will have ebbed away from the ship," he said, his voice loud and confident. "We'll go over to the mudbank, start to dig a trench around the keel. If we can dig deep enough at high tide the ship might float. I'll need all the help I can get so if any of you gentlemen would care to get your hands dirty?"

The hecklers began to move away, the better dressed among them muttering,

"Mad, that's what he is. Stark staring mad. That ship will never float. Too big, too heavy. Stubborn, stubborn as a mule. Always was and always will be. Never admits to being wrong. Thinks he always has God on his side."

"One day he'll make a mistake he won't be able to rectify, you mark my words."

"It will take days, weeks to dig a trench, not a few hours."

They drifted away to gigs or carriages, slovens or carts or to trudge on foot, back up the hill to the city, each one with his own story to tell about the disastrous launching, embellishing the truth, creating a legend they would pass on by word of mouth and through newspaper articles and letters, to their children, their grandchildren, and the generations not yet born.

"To-day was the highest of the Spring tides but to-morrow won't be much less," James Smith explained to those who stayed to hear him. They were mostly shipwrights, labourers and apprentices who worked at the local yards. "She might float to-morrow. If she doesn't, if she's still fast in the mud, we'll keep on digging until the keel is uncovered, make sure that she floats as soon as low Neap tides are over and the Springs are on their way up the creek again. But, with God's help, raise the ship we will and she'll sail out of the harbour, bound for Liverpool at the end of the May. Now let's all get over to the cookhouse for some grub and afterwards we'll go over to the ship."

The men standing around him cheered albeit rather faintly as if they were not thoroughly convinced.

"From jeering to cheering in a few short minutes. How fickle is the human race," Patrick remarked. "Are you ready to walk back to town with me?"

"Not yet. I'll stay and help with the digging."

"Not my kind of work, would ruin my fair lily-white hands and I have to keep them in good condition for holding a pen." he said, mocking himself. "I'm off to write a report of the launching for to-morrow's edition of the paper,"

"Well, put in a good word for the ship," 1 urged. "And would it be much out of your way to call in at my grandfather's house, on Germain Street? It's the Maxwell House and not hard to find. White clapboard and green shutters. You can tell Bessie Malloy, the housekeeper or whoever answers the door to you, that I'll not be home until late this afternoon."

"I'll do that with pleasure," Patrick looked across at the grounded black ship, at the shining umber mud surrounding it. The corners of his mouth turned down in an expression of disgust. "You're going to stink when you've finished delving in that stuff. Rather you than me. "He turned to face me. "I did not think Miss Louise was so angry with you that she would actually call you a boor," he said apologetically. "I hope you won't hold it against me. I was just making fun of both of you."

"I guess I gave her plenty of reasons to be angry with me. I'm not what you would call a courtier. I have a tendency to speak my mind without thinking of the consequences," I admitted. "But I bear no grudge against you."

"Good." He flicked the brim of his hat with a forefinger. "Pleased to have made your acquaintance. " he added politely. "Good day to you. "

In the warm and steamy cookhouse there was hot fish chowder and newly baked bread for those who had promised to help dig out the ship. After the meal, armed with one of the shovels that were handed out, I joined a group of shipyard workers under the command of Jimmy Tommy Smith, James Smith's eldest son. At the age of twenty one Jimmy had just finished his apprenticeship as a shipwright and had helped to build the MARCO POLO.

We floated out on a punt to the bank from which the water was still receding. We stepped out into the smooth wet mud sinking into it above our ankles and floundered towards the beached hull. On the port side, under planks of black- painted pine we started to dig close to the partially buried keel.

Out of a clear blue sky the sun shone down and steam rose from the slimy mud. For about an hour we dug willingly and fast, piling the mud behind us. More men appeared on flat wooden drays pulled by horses across the flats. They attacked the heaps of mud and shovelled it on to the carts. When each cart was full it was dragged away and the mud was dumped far from the ship.

The wind died down. The afternoon sun was hot. I took off my shirt and singlet and so did others. Sweat poured down our brows and bare torsos. Digging became slow drudgery and we took longer rests, leaning on our shovels and yarning about ships.

Listening to the men who had helped build the Marco Polo I learned much about her.
James Smith had taken the lines of a successful drogher he had built the previous year and
had widened and lengthened them. He had personally chosen the trees, that had provided
the massive oak timbers used in the keel, stem and stern, from the woods near Swan
Creek in Sunbury County. There had not been large enough crooked timber and that was
why the stem was straighter than usual. For the frames he had used tamarack and pitch
pine and some pine, tamarack and oak for the planking.

At last we stopped digging. I collected my boots, jacket and cap from the deck of the ship and we returned to the shipyard. After washing the mud and salt from my hair and face in the cookhouse, I had a few words with Captain Thomas, who was introduced to me by Jimmy Tommy. He promised to sign me on as second mate for the ship's maiden voyage, when the ship was ready to have its upper masts rigged. Then I hitched a ride back to town on a sloven that had been delivering goods to the yard and, within half an hour, was entering my grandfather's house the way I had left it that morning.

There was no one in the kitchen so I slithered on bare feet along the polished maple strips of the floor to the front hall, hoping to make it up the stairs to my room without meeting anyone. Lamplight streamed out through the open door of the study. I could hear voices talking within the room. Hand on the newel post of the banisters I stepped on to the bottom stair. It creaked noisily.

"Edwin? At last."

I stepped down and turned. My sister Elizabeth was standing in the study doorway. Five years my junior she was tall and long-legged like myself. Her abundant hair was the same colour as mine, reddish-brown. She called it chestnut. We both had dark blue eyes and resembled our father more than our mother. We were even-tempered, too, not given to much introspection, preferring to laugh at and joke about any personal problems than to brood about them. Sam and Nathan were more like the Maxwells, black-haired, grey-eyed Celts, short in the leg. They tended to have violent swings of mood like our mother. There was no middle way for them as there was for Eliza and myself.

"Mother has bad news from Liverpool," she whispered.

"About Nathan?" I gave up the idea of going upstairs to change out of my soiled shirt and trousers and moved towards her.

She nodded and together we went into the study.

4

"What a terrible day this has been," Mama moaned.

She was sitting in a high-backed wing chair by the fire. Her thin face was pale and looked even more lined than usual, her grey eyes held a melancholy expression and her lips drooped at the corners. She was wearing a gown of black wool with a neat frill of white lace at the neck. A black widow's cap was perched on her grey hair which was pulled back into a tight bun at the back of her head.

"You've heard from Mr. Owen?" I asked.

I stood in front of the fire and looked down at her. Grandfather was in his chair at the desk and Eliza was at a small side table pouring tea. Since dusk was rapidly falling all the oil lamps had been lit, their warm yellowish light reflected back from polished mahogany and oak, glass--fronted cabinets and silver and brass ornaments. The red plush drapes at the two long windows had been drawn, making the room a cosy haven.

"I have a letter from a Mr. Hubert Owen, writing on behalf of Stanley," Mama replied, her voice shaking a little with her distress. "He worked with Nathan and lives in the lodging house where Nathan stayed. He says Nathan went out alone on the evening of March tenth and never returned, yet all his clothes and other belongings are still there in his room as if he had intended to return."

She paused and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. Then she burst out angrily, in a much stronger, less-shaken voice.

"Oh, I should never have let him go to Liverpool and you should not have insisted he go there, Papa. It is an evil place. I remember it well from the time I visited there with William. The streets were dark and always wet. Smoke hung over everything. There were crowds of beggars always pulling at your clothes and whining for alms. There were numerous taverns. One at every street corner, I believe. It was a breeding ground for vice of every sort, full of drug addicts, drunkards, and prostitutes. To think of Nathan in such a place. He is such an innocent, lacking in worldly wisdom."

" And whose fault is that, I'd like to know?" Elias grunted. "You've always clucked around him like an over-protective hen. Don't do this, Nathan. Don't do that, Nathan. You'll hurt yourself, Nathan." Grandfather mimicked her in a falsetto voice.

"Try to look on the bright side, Mama," Eliza suggested. "You might get a letter from Nathan telling you he is in Scotland and has been too busy searching for Simon Maxwell's birthplace to write to us."

"If he decided to go to Scotland he would have informed Mr. Stanley Owen," I pointed out. "Surely it's customary in business to inform your employer when you want leave of absence to attend to personal matters?"

"But Nathan isn't business-like," Eliza retorted. "He's impulsive and romantic. And it's possible he's fallen in love and eloped with an English heiress."

"Heaven forbid," Mama exclaimed.

"Better to elope with an heiress than be kidnapped or done away with," Grandfather grunted. "Now what about that ship Edwin. I hear she's aground. Much damage done?"

"James Smith thinks the keel is a little higher in the centre than it should be."

"Hogged is it?"

"Could have happened when she ran aground. Or because she wasn't supported properly in the stocks. She's a heavy ship. Captain Thomas has promised me the position of second mate. He hopes to set sail on her at the end of May."

"Ye hear that, Martha?" Grandfather raised his voice to interrupt the whispered argument Mama was having with Eliza. "Edwin will be able to supervise the loading of the timber on to the ship and make sure it's sold for a good price in Liverpool."

"If we don't get the timber out of the woods and down the river we won't have any to load,' Mother complained. She was obviously in one of her more negative moods, seeing only dark side of everything. "I wish you'd go and help Sam, Edwin. The woodboats are getting through now. You could go upriver to-morrow."

"But Mama, if Edwin goes to Sam to-morrow he won't be here for our usual Friday social evening and the Macleans are coming. Mary is back from Halifax and she is so looking forward to seeing him again," Eliza said.

"I'll be glad to go to Sam," I said quickly. "I'll do anything to avoid having to make conversation with the simpering Mary."

"How horrid you are about her," Eliza complained.

"She has buck teeth," I said. "And lisps."

"Mama, please tell Edwin not to be so rude about one of my friends," Eliza complained again.

"He's not rude. He's telling the truth," Grandfather said with a laugh.

"You should not be so outspoken or critical, Edwin," Mama cautioned me rather absent-mindedly. "Mary Maclean comes from a very good family. You could do worse."

"Do worse what?" I enquired, pretending I had not understood her.

"Find someone worse to marry, you dolt," Eliza jeered.

"Enough of this," Mama spoke sharply. "I hope you'll get a good price for the timber in Liverpool. We need to make a profit to pay off debts to the banks."

"It's Nathan's job to sell it," I objected.

"Yes, I know, but he ... he... isn't there," her voice faltered.

" I’ll do my best to do what you ask," I hastened to re-assure her. "But this will be the last time I act as an agent for the company. Grandfather knows I have other plans for my future. I won't be coming back here for a while."

"All the more reason why you should see Mary again," Eliza persisted. "She'll be very disappointed if you're not here to-morrow evening."

"Seems to me Edwin isn't too disappointed about not seeing Mary, again," Grandfather said slyly and winked at me. "And if what I heard about the shenanigans at the launching this morning is true, he's already got a sweetheart."

"What shenanigans?" Mama exclaimed. "What have you been up to now, Edwin? Why am I always hearing second-hand about any mischief you've been in. It was the same when you were a boy."

"Edwin risked his life to rescue one of the apprentice boys, who was in danger of drowning. The boy's sister was so grateful she hugged and kissed Edwin in front of half the townsfolk," Eliza explained then laughed and clapped her hands in delight. "Oh, how 1 wish I'd been there to see."

"Who told you?" I demanded, turning on her.

"That young Irish fellow you sent to tell us you'd be late," Grandfather said. "He spins a good yarn. So when are we going to meet this Miss Louise LeBlanc, eh? And when is she going to be invited to one of your Friday evening parties, Martha?"

"Louise LeBlanc? Do I know her?" Mama looked puzzled. "Is she French?"

"She's an Acadian, Mama. I helped nurse her mother when she was sick and dying from cholera three years ago. Remember? Joseph Paton's wife?" Eliza answered.

Eliza was a volunteer nurse. To learn as much as she could about disease and how to cure or prevent it she went around with Dr Jones when he visited patients. She also helped at the Kent Marine Hospital where sick or injured sailors were cared for.

"Oh, now I can place her. She's stepdaughter to that terrible man," Mama exclaimed. "I do hope you haven't been walking out with her, Edwin."

"I've walked and I've talked with Miss Leblanc many times, since I came home," I replied. "But if Grandfather really wishes to meet her I don't see why you shouldn't invite her to one of your social evenings. I'm sure you'd find she is very good company. I expect Patrick Dunne, will be only too pleased to escort her."

"You mean the young Irishman who is a newspaper reporter?" Mama said.

"You know Mr. Dunne, Mama?" Eliza exclaimed.

"I have met him. He's a friend of Mr. Timothy Anglin, editor of the Catholic newspaper. They both come from the same part of Ireland. He's also a member of the Roman Catholic Total Abstinence Relief Society. Our Protestant Temperance Society has a very congenial relationship with the Abstinence society. We're all in favour of improving
the lot of our fellowmen and women by teaching them about the dangers of alcohol. I hear

Mr. Dunne has a very fine singing voice."

"Never mind all that," Grandfather interrupted her testily. "Am I going to meet Miss
LeBlanc?"

"If Eliza would like to ask Mr. Dunne to escort Miss LeBlanc to-morrow evening, when we have our weekly soiree, I suppose it would be all right. If she comes with him none of our temperance friends would dare object to her presence. They know he is in favour of temperance."

`"On account of her stepfather's business, the selling of liquor, of course, Papa," Mama explained patiently.

"What's wrong with that? Always enjoyed grog myself. Could do with a glass now instead of this wishy-washy tea. I expect Edwin would like a tot too. His father, your husband, did. Never knew a sailorman who didn't."

"You know very well Joseph Paton is a crimp," Mama said sternly. "He used to entice seamen to desert from the ships and then, when they owed him money for lodgings, he would sell them to ship masters at a profit. He's a wicked man. And cruel too, so I hear. Beats his maids and possibly his stepdaughter. It's high time we had laws to protect women from that sort of treatment."

"I agree," Eliza said fervently. "Joseph Paton should be put in jail or fined. He's nothing but a criminal."

"He's also an astute businessman," Grandfather argued, refusing to be silenced. "And though crimping is illegal now, he still supplies seamen to the government shipping agent who is an old crimping crony of his. They're hand in glove. And what's more Paton owns and rents out much property so he has a vote and can influence other voters. That gives him considerable political clout in the city so be careful what you say about him. He's one of the biggest customers for the rum we import."

"It's because you drink rum that you suffer from gout and apoplexy," Mama snapped back. She looked much better now, her face slightly flushed, her eyes sparkling. "Drinking liquor destroys the brain, drives people mad. The selling of it must be prohibited by law and places like Paton's tavern must be closed down. Everywhere. "

"Now there's an idea I can't support," Grandfather roared. "Prohibition of the sale of liquor would injure our staple trade with the West Indies. But even if a Prohibition Bill is passed in the Assembly at Fredericton the City Council will never be able to enforce it in Saint John. There'll be more riots, you'll see, every bit as violent as the riot between the Irish Orangemen and the Irish Catholics a few years ago."

Taking advantage of the political argument that suddenly blazed up between father and daughter I walked across to Eliza.

"There they go again, the Smasher versus the Rummer, Liberal against Tory," I whispered to her. "Don't you ever get tired of their arguments?"

"I think they sharpen their wits on each other and that is good for both of them. It stops Mother from falling into one of her depressions. And it stops Grandfather from dwelling too much on his aches and pains." She glanced over her shoulder at Mama then said in a whisper, "Would you delay going to see Sam if I did what Mama suggests and invite Mr Dunne to bring Miss LeBlanc to-morrow evening?"

" I would not. And stop matchmaking on my behalf. I'll find my own wife sooner or later."

"With your bad manners it will probably be later," she quipped and swung away to get the tea tray before I could think of a retort.

After supper, I walked out to Paton's lodging house.

"I'm so happy you have come," Louise said. "After what I said to you this afternoon I thought I would never see you again. Do you really mean to sail to Liverpool on that black ship?"

"Yes."

"I wish I could go with you, leave this terrible house and get away from Joseph. He treats me like a slave," she cried, twining her arms around my neck and pressing against me. I held her closely and stroked her hair, suppressing, for a moment, the more urgent desires aroused in me by the warmth and softness of her body. "Take me away with you, Edwin, " she whispered. "Take me with you, across the sea. Smuggle me on board ship."

"You know I can't do that. Captain Thomas would demote me at once, as soon as you were found on the ship. He would ruin my reputation as a ship's officer."

"You could take me with you if we were married," she said, lifting her head from my chest and looking up at me, her dark eyes widened in appeal.

"But we're not married," I murmured.

"We could be. There is time before the ship leaves."

"No, there isn't. I'm going away to-morrow to help my brother Sam and when I come back I'll be helping rig and load the ship," 1 said, "But I'm here with you now, sweetheart. Let's make the most of being together."

"Oh, la, la." Freeing herself from my arms she whisked away from me and sat down on the chesterfield. "The ship, the ship. Always the ship. You do not care for me. You care only for a ship," she accused petulantly. "I hate ships and I cannot understand why you like them nor why you want to go to sea all the time."

"I do care for you," I said, sitting beside her. I stroked her cheek, slid my fingers round her neck to caress the nape and then took the plunge. "I’11 marry you when I come back from Liverpool," I whispered against the scented softness of her cheek. "Promise me you'll wait for me?"

She did not answer immediately so I applied pressure by kissing her cheek and then her neck until she turned to me passionately and whispered, her lips close to mine,

"I will try to wait for you, Edwin. I will try. Oh, please kiss me."

I was only too ready to do as she bid me. For the rest of that evening there was no more serious talk between us as we made the most of being alone in the dim parlour in the quiet house.

In spite of not returning home until well after midnight I was up early next morning and on my way to Indiantown before eight-o-clock. There, with other passengers, I boarded a sturdy woodboat that carried us up the wide and shining Saint John River. Hawks hung in the calm air above the wild forest that in some places crowded down to the edge of the river. At Evandale, where the spring freshet had flooded the shores, trees stood with water a quarter of the way up their trunks, their reflections wavering in the ripples.

When the boat tied up at the Maxwell jetty Sam was there to meet me and we drove in a cart straight to the logging camp. The situation on the estate was not as bad as Mama and Grandfather had painted it. Most of the timber had already been cut and all that remained was to get it hauled to the river by teams of oxen or horses. The logs were cut square ready for rafting downriver.

The woods smelled of spruce and pine resin. Snowmelt swelled tiny tinkling streams into rushing torrents and flooded marshes and riverbanks. Time passed quickly during the next two weeks as it often does when you are working hard every day. But it wasn't all work. There was pleasure too. Sometimes at the end of each day's work I joined in the social activities of the loggers, dancing and singing to the music of fiddles, concertinas and wooden flutes. Other evenings I sat with Sam in the parlour of the house he had built for himself, his wife Delia and their two children. We sipped grog, smoked pipes and I listened to Sam talking about politics, agriculture and his plans for his future. One evening we talked about Nathan.

"We used to see a lot of him, Delia and I, when he was at college in Fredericton," Sam said. "He came here rather than go to Saint John for a change from his studies. He didn't want to be a shipping agent any more than you or I. He had his heart set on being a teacher at the college. Grandpa wouldn't hear of it. Said it was time Nathan did something to earn his living."

"You know Nat much better than I do," I said. "Would he rebel once he found out what being an agent is like, leave Owen and Hughes and try to find different work in England without telling Mama and Grandpa?"

Sam puffed at his pipe staring into the flames.

"No. I think he would write and ask if he could return home before he did anything like that." He paused again in his thoughtful way then added grimly. "Like Mama I suspect foul play. And you are the only one of us able to go to Liverpool to find out what has happened to him. What's more to the point, you're the only one of us capable of finding him. Beggars and crimps won't scare you off any more than rough, tough lumberjacks or seamen do."

"Well, thanks for that great testimonial. Seems to me that the family thinks I'm only fit to rescue my brothers from some disaster or other," I retorted.

When the rafts of squared lumber were ready to float downriver I boarded one of the two woodboats which had been contracted to take sawn timber and planks to Saint John. Two-masted and gaff-rigged, it was a solid craft, wide of beam and shallow drafted with a blunt bow and stern. Its foremast was stepped well forward to leave plenty of room for cargo, usually piles of sawn timber from the woods, sometimes hay and even passengers.

A brisk wind filling the sails, we glided along Long Reach, past Woodman's Point and Harding Point and across the wide wind-ruffled expanse of Grand Bay. From the bay the boat was swept into the narrows between craggy cedar-covered cliffs and on to Indiantown, and then was dragged into a seething mass of water, the Reversing Falls, where the river was forced through a rocky gorge. Bow plunging and rising it surged on, kept on course through the foaming waves and swirling whirlpools by two strong men holding the tiller. They had shot the rapids many times and knew how to avoid the half-submerged rocks as the swift current sucked their boat forward.

From the turmoil of the rapids the craft slid into calm water, reflecting dark cliffs and trees. Carried by the swiftly ebbing tide, it glided past the low cliffs of what was known as the Straight Shore. We anchored off Portland Point and furled the brown sails. The dory was lowered from its davits and I was rowed ashore.

As soon as I stepped on land I turned and looked back across the harbour. Black hull towering above the schooners and fishing smacks, three lower masts and their web of rigging silhouetted against sunlit water and sky, the MARCO POLO was being towed by a steam tug towards the rigging wharf.

Humping my seabag over one shoulder I hurried up the hill to York Point, ran down Dock Road and dodged slovens and carts in Market Square. At the rigging wharf the ship was already tied up and being boarded by tradesmen; riggers, chandlers, blacksmiths, carpenters. I found Captain Thomas and told him the rafts of timber were on their way downriver. He produced the papers I had to sign to become second mate. I signed them and we shook hands.

A second mate worked as an ordinary seaman but was expected to excel at all jobs. At sea he was always first up the mast to bring in or set sail, always working in the most dangerous position, setting an example to others. In harbour he supervised the rigging of a new the ship on behalf of the captain.

Captain Thomas ordered me to work immediately and for the next week or so 1 saw little of my family and nothing of my friends while I watched derricks, ropes and pulleys heaving up the topmasts. They were fitted and fastened in place by men standing on ledges at the top of the lower masts, about sixty feet above the deck. Then the topgallant masts were hoisted up and the work of fastening them in position went on at an even higher position. Lastly the shortest part of a total mast, the royal, was stepped in place and, when all three masts were up the intricate work of supporting them with futtocks, stays and shrouds was begun.

Splicing, worming, parcelling and serving, we used miles of rope and risked our lives balancing far above the deck as we attached ropes to masts, while other workmen below threaded them into deadeyes or blocks attached to the chainplates on the outside of the hull.

We swung up the yards and bent on sails of new stiff canvas. At last everything was in place, the pulleys, buntlines, clew lines and other numerous fittings to keep the ropes controlling the yards running and the great sails flying. The ship was towed away and anchored in the harbour to wait for the cargo of timber she had been designed to transport across the ocean.

Once the ship was safely moored in the harbour and I'd been home to bathe and change my clothes, I decided to walk out to Reed's Point to visit Louise.

Fog hovered in the harbour, blotting out the western shore and hiding Partridge Island. Navigation bells clanged dolefully. On such a night it was easy to imagine they were tolling for the many Irish immigrants, who had died from cholera and typhoid fever before they had ever set foot in a land that promised them freedom from hunger and fear.

At Reed's Point 1 could not see the end of the land but I could hear waves washing the shore. Light spilled from the tavern windows. Within raucous voices sang a lewd ditty about a sailor who roamed from coast to coast and had a wife in every port.

Behind the tavern the shingled building of the lodging house loomed, three storeys high. I pulled the bell handle by the front door. After a while, Bridget, the maid employed by Paton, opened the door.

"Oh, Mr. Jackson, sir," she said quickly before 1 could ask to see Louise "Miss Louise isn't here. She's gone."

"Gone where?"

"I'm not supposed to say, sir." She looked over her shoulder into the passage behind her, then pulled the door partly closed. She hissed in a harsh whisper. "She left in a right tear. Said she wouldn't stay longer in the house with herself ."

"Herself?" It was the Irish way of referring to the mistress of the house. "Are you telling me Mr.Paton has another wife?"

"Ach, no sir. Leastwise not a legal wife. Living in sin, they are." Bridget crossed herself swiftly. "I'd leave too but there's nowhere else I can go. And I don't have a young man to elope with like Miss Louise."

"She's eloped?" I seemed to be repeating foolishly everything the maid said, as if I couldn't believe my own hearing.

"So they were saying at St Malachy's last Sunday, sir. They said she's gone with Patrick Dunne to Montreal...." She broke off, pushed open the door and shouted. "Coming in a minute, missus." She looked back at me. "Herself is calling me. I must go, sir."

She slammed the door shut in my face.

"I'll go no more aroving with you sweet maid.",

The bawdy song, sung with fervour by a drunken sailor, issued from the nearby tavern. It seemed I would certainly not go roving with Louise again. She had fallen for Patrick's good manners and Irish blarney.

I walked back towards the town, thinking to find better entertainment than Joseph Paton's tavern had to offer. On the way I stepped into the house on Germain Street to leave a message for my mother. She was not at home but Eliza was sitting in the parlour stitching a shirt. I told her of the rumour and asked her if she had heard anything about Louise and Patrick.

"No. But I've tried to see both of them, to invite them to a social evening so Grandpa could meet Louise. At the newspaper office I was told Mr. Dunne had left and gone to Montreal. At the lodging house the maid just said Louise had gone away."

"When did Patrick leave?"

"I'm not sure. But 1 could find out. You must be heartbroken."

"Me? Heartbroken?" I laughed at such a notion. "Why?"

"Because your sweetheart has run away with another man."

"Heartbroken, no. Disappointed, yes. I'd hoped to spend a pleasant evening with her before leaving port, that's all. I'll soon find someone else." I turned away to leave the room.

"You could visit Mary MacLean."

I swung round in the doorway to look at her. She looked back at me, an expression of counterfeit innocence on her face.

"Mary MacLean can go to...."I began.

"Be careful Edwin about what you say. She is my friend. And she would be faithful to you forever, wait patiently for your return from your travels," she said.

"In that case, in all kindness, you should tell her to forget me. I could never be faithful to her," I replied. "You might tell Mama the ship is ready for loading timber."

I have to admit I couldn't help feeling a little bitter about Louise for a while. For the first time in my adult life I had believed myself to be in love with a woman. And she had told me many times she was in love with me. But I soon found an antidote to bitterness in hard work.

Loading a ship with timber at that time was physically exhausting and dangerous. Light rafts, piled with the squared timber that had been collected in the mast pools, were steered out to the ship. On board stevedores hauled up the huge slimy logs with ropes and pulleys hanging from the yards on the main mast. Other stevedores, balancing on the rafts, slammed the logs through the open ports in the bow and the stern. In the wide, long lower hold more crewmen received the logs and shoved them into place with bare hands, pikes, and peavies. The upper hold was stuffed full of planks. Spruce deals were stowed on the flush deck between the masts and hatches.

The MARCO POLO sank lower in the water. The ugliness seemed to disappear. The hull took on a streamlined look. She was still the longest ship in Saint John harbour but there was powerful rakishness about her now and the time for her to leave had almost come.

On the evening before departure I went ashore to say good-bye to family and friends. The house was quiet. I looked in the study. My grandfather wasn't there. Mama sat at his desk busily writing. She looked round when she heard me enter and told me Grandfather had gone to bed.

" Weather permitting we leave in the morning on the ebb tide. Any letter from Nathan yet? Or any news of him?" I asked.

"None. You will look for him, won't you? Find out who his friends were and ask them. Leave no stone unturned, Edwin." she said, looking at me sternly.

"I might not have much time to search for him, especially if the MARCO POLO is chartered to transport cargo or people from Liverpool."

"You will do what I ask," she insisted. "I've already written to Mr. Owen to tell him you'll be on the MARCO POLO, when it arrives. I've also asked him to report Nathan's disappearance to the police. Now promise me before you go you'll stay in Liverpool as long as it takes you to find out what has happened to him. Promise, Edwin."

"I promise to do all I can, Mama," I said. What else could I say?

In the morning pearl-grey mist slowly drifted away from the masts of ships. On the MARCO POLO seamen tramped the deck as they pushed on the heavy spokes of the windlass on the fore deck. The anchor chain clanked and groaned as it came up and was wound round the central bollard. Mud-caked and slimy the big iron hook appeared and was hauled aboard. Smoke puffed out from the funnel of the steam tug already attached to the ship by thick hawsers.

When we were clear of Partridge Island, Captain Thomas ordered us to unfurl sail. I was first up the rigging of the main mast. New canvas crackled as it cascaded down from the yards. The sails filled with wind pulling the ship forward until it began to overtake the tug. The towing hawser was cast off. More sails were shaken out. The ship heeled a little to port, its sharp bow cutting through the water, long ripples sliding along its hull.

The Martello Tower on the western shore of the harbour was the last familiar landmark I had time to notice. The wind from the south freshened and the ship had to beat down the Bay of Fundy. In the late afternoon, near Gannet Rock, off the island of Grand Manan, the sheets were eased, the yards swung and the sails became less taut. Then, like a hound released from its leash, the ship bounded forward across the waves towards the rolling swells of the North Atlantic Ocean.

5

It was the best time of the year to cross the North Atlantic. The wind was fair from the Southwest. The ship did not have to beat and sailed fast on the reach and the run, often under full canvas, sometimes logging as many as fifteen knots a day. The hull did not leak. The heavy cargo did not shift. The masts stayed up and the running rigging ran smoothly. No member of the crew fell from the yards to the deck and smashed himself up. No one fell over board. In fact we experienced none of the usual disasters that often befell timber droghers.

Even the food was good and tasty, thanks to the culinary skills of the cook, Nick Carter. He was a black man from Saint John and I'd often had the good luck to sail with him. His forebears came to New Brunswick from what was now the United States with other freed slaves and disbanded British troops, after the War of Independence had ended. The British Government had promised them good land and a better life, but the promises had not been carried out very satisfactorily so many of the black people had left and gone to Africa to found a new homeland in Sierra Leone. But some families, such as the Carters stayed and, like the many other migrants who came to the city, they settled and became part of the community, working in the shipyards and on the ships and often in the woods and on the farms.

Going on watch at eight-o-clock one morning I saw a high, dark shape looming through a miserable drizzle of rain. We had arrived off the island of Anglesey in North Wales, fifteen days after leaving Saint John, and the ship lay hove-to in Liverpool Bay, where other merchant ships of all shapes and sizes were lolling on the waves.

We flew the signal flag for a pilot. At that time it was a Union Jack from the forestay.

He did not come until early next morning, on a lively cutter, gaff-rigged with a large figure nine on its brown sail.

Once on board the pilot stood behind the steersman with the captain. We hoisted more sail and, for the first time in her life, the Marco Polo began to make her way on the flood tide towards the bar of the River Mersey. The wind died away. More delay. We flew a signal flag for a steamer tug. The message was picked up by the telegraph tower on Bidston Hill on the southern Cheshire side of the estuary. It was transmitted to the port of Liverpool on the northern Lancashire shore. Belching smoke, churning up the calm mud-coloured water, a steam tug came out and took us in tow.

I watched the northern shore slide by. Furrowed fields, divided neatly by green hedges; the curves of low hills blurred by the rounded shapes of trees; all a greenish grey colour, dull, placidly rural, not as dramatic as the rocky headlands and dark woods of spruce, cedar and birch that welcomed the sailor to my native land.

Nearer the city rows of houses took the place of fields, slanting down to the river. After the houses, warehouses, several storeys high, built of brick darkened with dust and smoke, windows small and grey with dirt, looking like prisons. In front of them, edging the murky water, was a wall of granite. Behind the wall, spikes of masts and webs of rigging showed, belonging to ships already safe and hidden in the new docks.

The heavy cargo she carried deepened the already deep nineteen-foot draft of the MARCO POLO. She could not get over the sill of Brunswick Dock where the timber ships were unloaded, not even at high tide. We anchored her in the middle of the river. Lighters and barges came out to us and the deck cargo was unloaded on to them and taken ashore, an expensive business. It would put up the price of the timber when 1 sold it to the importer but there was nothing else that could be done.

Three days later the ship was floating high enough out of the water to be hauled into the dock. Enclosed by massive granite walls, protected from wind and from the strong currents of the Mersey, in water that would always stay the same height, she joined other droghers from Quebec and Nova Scotia and was tied up.

The dock was owned by the Liverpool Dock and Harbour Company which provided everything for unloading - men, blocks and tackle. The ship's crew of ordinary seamen was not needed any longer and was paid off. Captain Thomas retained the first mate, myself, the cook, a ship's boy and a carpenter to take care of the ship, to repair damaged sails and rigging and keep the paint in good condition. According to the Dock Company's regulations no one was allowed to stay on board a ship at night. The dock gates were locked at five in the evening and unlocked again at six in the morning. We all had to find lodgings ashore.

I packed a seabag with a change of clothes and went up on deck, ready to leave the

ship

"Edwin Jackson? I'm Hubert Owen."

He was standing on the afterdeck. With his long thin legs clothed in tight grey trousers, his grey frock coat hanging loosely on his lean frame, he reminded me of a grey heron. The starched points of his shirt collar supported a long pale face and a grey stovepipe hat topped it. Under heavy eyelids slanting down at the outer corners his eyes were the same colour as the muddy grey of the River Mersey. They twinkled with good humour and a smile curved his lips upward at the ends.

"I'm much pleased to meet you." He held out a long bony hand.

"And I'm much pleased to meet you, Mr. Owen," I gripped his hand. "I hope you've good news for me and that my brother Nathan has returned to Liverpool to take over the job of selling this load of timber. I'm acting as agent for it and it isn't a job 1 like particularly."

"No news of Nathan. But I can help you with the cargo. Find a buyer for it. Organise transport of it and storage. What price do you hope for?"

He spoke with a strange accent, his voice singing the words. I liked the way he didn't waste time and answered my questions without fuss. I told him the price my mother expected for it. He nodded and said,

"We'll work on it to-morrow. Now I'll take you to Ben Williams's lodging house. Ben says you can have your brother's room so long as you pay up the rent that is owing."

"That suits me fine."

It was another grey afternoon and I was beginning to wonder if the sun ever shone in that part of the world. We skirted transit sheds over-flowing with piles of timber, sacks of sugar and barrels of molasses, cargoes already brought there by other ships from Saint John or Quebec. Leaving the dock through a gateway, we stepped into a wide street. At once we were surrounded by a horde of ragged dirty boys. They swirled around us, jigging up and down and shouting in high nasal voices.

"Carry yer bag, yer'onour. Get ye a coach yer'onours. Take ye to a good lodging house, sir. Spare a few pennies for a poor lame boy what can't get no work, yer'onour."

"Follow me," ordered Hubert and settled his tall hat firmly on his head. Raising the knobbed stick he carried he strode into the crowd of beggars. I was close behind him. Their dirty bare feet pounding on the wet smoke-grimed sets of the street the boys jostled and shoved us. One clutched hold of my arm and held on grimly, swinging off the ground and yelling in the singsong Liverpool accent. When I shook him off he came at me with his puny fists.

They followed us across the street, a rough yelling retinue. A line of horsedrawn drays and carriages waited in front of grimy brick warehouses, chandlers' shops and taverns. The drivers held up their whips to attract attention and added their own shouts to those of the beggar boys.

"Over'ere, Mr. Owen. Over'ere, Mr. Jackson, yer'onour."

A man, dressed in a black frock coat and a round black hat with a brim, stood up on one of the drays and waved to us. We ran towards him.

"Thank God you're here, Ben," Hubert said. He took my bag and heaved it up on to the dray. "Edwin, this is Ben Williams, my landlord."

Ben Williams thrust a hand in a coat pocket, brought out a handful of copper pennies and threw them far and wide. At once the small army of boys and adults behind me scattered in the direction of the money. Then Ben held out his hand to me.

"I'm mighty pleased to meet you, Mr. Williams." I shook hands with the round-faced, squared-bodied Welshman. "But you mustn't "your honour" me. I'm plain Edwin Jackson and don't have any title."

"Not even Captain?"

"Not even Captain. But I hope one day to be in command of a ship."

"It is what your brother Nathan was always saying about you, so it is. Come now, sit yourself besides me and we'll be off. Are you all right back there, Mr. Owen?" Hubert had swung up behind us to sit on some freight that was covered by a tarpaulin.

"I'm all right, Ben. Let's get away from here before those beggars come back for more of your lucre."

"You haven't heard from Nathan at all, then?" I asked as soon as I was settled beside Ben.

He lifted the reins, clucked to his horse and told it to walk on. With a twitch of its ears it started forward. The dray followed on its creaking wooden wheels, rattling over the sets.

"Not at all, not all. Vanished 'e has. But I’ave me theories, Mr. Jackson, yer 'onour. I ’ave me theories about what was after 'appening to ’im."

"I hope you'll tell me what they are, Mr. Williams,"

"I'll be doing that, just as soon as we're sitting down together after supper and are smoking a pipe of 'baccy. Come on now, Peg. Git up there, git up there."

"I hope you haven't come out of your way to meet us and drive us to the lodging house," I said.

"Not out of me way. I collect linen from the ships and take it home to be washed and ironed. Me and Mam, that's my wife, are in the business together. Doing well too. Employ several young women now. Got contracts for many of the American ships. Them Americans do like to be clean."

Jolting and jerking over cobbles the dray turned into a long street of stone buildings that sloped uphill, away from the docks. With the handle of his whip Ben pointed out the porticoes and domes of the new Customs House. Elegant though it was, it had not escaped the grimy soot that decorated every other building.

Duke Street slanted off to the right and uphill. Soon the dray slowed down and turned into a lane that led to the mews or stables at the back of some three storey Georgian houses. Leaving Ben to unhitch Peg and put her in a stable, Hubert and I crossed a soot-soiled patch of grass and entered a house through a door at the back. The smell of cooking wafted up stairs going down to a basement kitchen.

We went along the passage and up two flights of stairs. Hubert showed me into a small attic bedroom and left me there.

"So here I am sitting in the room where Nathan must have sat often enough and written to us," I wrote a little while later to Mother and Eliza, to let them know I had arrived safely. The letter was nearly all about the voyage over and the way the ship had behaved, how fast she was, how comfortable compared with other droghers I'd sailed in.

I paused, chewed the end of the pen. 1 seemed to be obsessed by the ship. "He's in love with her", Patrick Dunne had said to Louise. "You care only for a ship," Louise had declared. No wonder she had given up waiting for me so soon, before I had even left port. No wonder she had preferred Patrick to me. He had shown more interest in her, had helped her get away from Joseph Paton. I had been more interested in a ship and done nothing to help her. My short-lived affair with her was over, done with. Forget it, forget her. Yet I was finding it wasn't always easy to forget someone I had loved.

"No news of Nathan so far," The pen's nib scratched and sputtered as I wrote. "I'll write you as soon as I have learned anything different from what we know already. Meanwhile please write me care of Owen and Hughes."

There was a tap on the door. It opened a crack. Hubert looked in.

"Come for supper, Edwin." he said.

"I'm coming."

I ended the letter abruptly but in affectionate terms, signed it and leaving the room clattered after Hubert down three flights of uncarpeted stairs to the basement kitchen.

In many ways it was similar to the kitchen in Grandfather's house. Flames leapt in a cast iron grate in a wide fireplace. Over the fire black pots and a kettle hung from a slinging crane. Tempting smells issued with steam from the cooking pots making me realise how hungry I was. The walls were whitewashed brick. From the ceiling two brass oil gas lamps hung, their light flickering over the blue and white Willow pattern dishes arranged on the open shelves of a huge dresser. Two windows at the front end of the room, high up in the wall, let in what was left of afternoon light.

Three young women chatted to each other as they set the long wide table with plain forks and knives and spoons. They pulled long benches up to either side of the table and set two rush-seated ladder-backed chairs at each end.

"Come and meet Mam Williams," Hubert said and led me to a small plump woman who was lifting an infant into a high chair. "Here's Mr. Edwin Jackson, Mam," he announced.

The woman made sure the baby was safe in the high chair then turned to inspect me with bright inquisitive eyes set in a pink-cheeked face.

"Goodness gracious me," she exclaimed. "What a tall fellow, strong -looking too, and handsome. But not at all like your brother. No, not like Mr. Nathan Jackson in any way whatever. Blodwen, Eira, Gwyneth this is Mr. Edwin Jackson. He isn't like Mr. Nathan Jackson, is he?"

The three girls left the table and came over to be introduced to me. Braids of long blonde hair hung down their backs and their cheeks were also plump and pink. They were very different from the poverty-stricken children 1 had seen down by the docks.

Smiling and showing surprisingly good teeth they nodded at me and said in unison,

"No, Mam, not at all like Mr. Nathan Jackson."

"Will you all be sitting down at the table now," Ben Williams shouted. "Here, Mr. Jackson. Sit by me at this end of the table."

Ben sat on one of the ladder-back chairs and faced his wife down the length of the table. I slid on to the bench to the right of him. I was opposite to Hubert who was sitting next to a young woman with smooth dark hair and an oval face. Her eyes were hidden by heavy downcast lids. The Williams family, of whom there seemed to be many - I had counted four boys besides the three girls and the baby - ranged themselves on the benches, taunting each other verbally in nasal singsong voices.

"Quiet now." Ben banged on the table with a spoon. "Settle down there, Gwyn, Dylan. Yer Mam is ready to say grace."

They all bowed their heads, the younger children putting their hands together in front of them, tips of fingers touching chins. The grace was long, involved and made up by Mrs Williams. I discovered later she was a Quaker. From under my brows 1 looked across the table and encountered the dark brown eyes of the young woman sitting next to Hubert. A faint smile curved her lips before her eyelids drooped and she murmured Amen and crossed herself when the prayer ended.

"Be fetching the plates now, Blodwen. Be bringing the stew, Eira." Ben ordered and the two girls climbed over the benches and went to the fireplace obediently.

"I am Anna Fischer," The young woman with the dark brown eyes spoke with a guttural accent. "I am also a lodger in this house. I am pleased to meet you, brother of Mr. Nathan Jackson, like whom you are not."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Fischer."

"Anna is from Austria. She came here with her father to get on an emigrant ship for the United States," Hubert explained..

"But my father was taken ill, is still very ill, upstairs in bed. The Williams let us stay here," Anna said. "I work for them, mending the clothes that they wash and iron for the ships. I also do sewing for a dressmaker in the city. It is to make the money for another passage on an emigrant ship, perhaps to New York. I talk much with your brother, about books, ideas and beliefs. He visited my sick father often, entertained him with stories about New Brunswick and his family. He is a kind person, sensitive and imaginative."

When the meal was over Blodwen and Gwyneth washed and dried the dishes and Eira took the baby off to bed. The boys went out to play in the street. Mrs. Williams spread a blanket on the table, covered it with a coarse white sheet and, taking a flat iron that had been warming at the fire, began to iron shirts which she took from a basket on the floor beside her. Anna Fischer left the room, presumably to go and sit with her father.

With everyone else occupied it was the time for Ben to take his ease at the fireside. He drew his ladderback to one side of the fireplace and instructed Hubert to pull one of the benches to the other side. Producing two pipes and a pouch of tobacco he offered them to Hubert and me. We sat side by side on the bench. Soon pale fragrant tobacco smoke was added to the steamy atmosphere of the kitchen.

"Look-you-now, yer'onour, Mr. Edwin Jackson," Ben said, leaning forward elbows on his knees, after he had enjoyed a few silent ruminative puffs of his pipe.

"If you're going to call me yer'onour, Mr. Edwin Jackson, every time you speak to me we won't get very far with our discussion," I said bluntly. "We're equals, you and I, at least we would be where I come from."

"Right, then. But you must call me Ben. It's only fair."

"Ben it is. What do you want me to look at?"

"Look-you-now is a Welsh idiom of speech," Hubert whispered behind his hand. "Doesn't mean anything."

"About your brother, Edwin, Mr. Nathan Jackson. Very fond of ’im we were, all of us. Aren't I right in saying we were all very fond of Mr. Nathan Jackson, Mam, Blodwen, Gwyneth?"

" Very fond," the two girls repeated.

" Like a son he was to us," Mrs.Williams added. "Upset we were, very, when he left without letting us know he was going or where he was going." She pounded a shirt with an iron. "All of us. We didn't think he would treat us like that. Go off without a word, without paying his rent."

"That isn't to say 'e told us everything," continued Ben. "Wouldn't you say 'e was secretive, Mamma?"

"Sometimes,"

"In what way?" 1 asked.

"Didn't always tell us where 'e'd been in the evenings. Went out often in the evenings, did Mr. Nathan. Wouldn't you say 'e went out often in the evenings, Mr.Owen?" Ben jabbed his pipe stem in Hubert's direction.

"No more than I do myself," Hubert said. "No more than any other single young man. He liked going to the music concerts. And to the theatre. Didn't care much for the races or gambling. Liked Shakespeare's plays. Was always writing poetry. Never understood the stuff, myself. I'm not a great reader of poetry."

"Mr Nathan's trunk upstairs is full of writings," Ben added. "Many scraps of paper scrawled upon. And letters from other people, I don't doubt. We 'aven't touched them. All 'is personal possessions are up there for you to look through Mr ... Edwin. We saved everything in case there's a clue amongst it all?"

"A clue to what?"

"To where 'e's gone. Now hit's my opinion 'e's been made off with, kidnapped and shipped off to sea. There are still a lot of those crimps about, even though crimping is illegal."

"And don't be forgetting the press gang, Benjamin," Mam Williams joined in. "Remember how they took my brother Rowland. Pressed him into the Royal Navy, they did. A terrible thing, the press-gang. Should be done away with, taking poor unsuspecting boys and subjecting them to a life that isn't much better than slavery." She pounded another shirt with an iron as if she wished she could punish the press gang in that way.

"Is there any way I could find out if that is what has happened to Nathan?' I asked.

"Only by asking around the port, people in the know, like lodging -house-keepers, seamen back from foreign parts, captains and mates," Ben replied. "I ask questions of the people 1 meet off the ships all the time. So far ... nothing. It's going to take time, Edwin. 'Ow long are you going to be ashore?"

"Depends on when the ship is either sold or is chartered to transport cargo," I said. "Have you told the police about Nathan's disappearance?"

"Aye. I told me brother Alun Williams, Sergeant of Police. Looks for missing persons. Catches thieves and murderers. Alun showed me some of the bodies they took out of the river. They were not pretty sights. Not pretty at all. Could only identify persons by their clothing or by contents of pockets. Alun will let me know if they find a body that could be Mr. Nathan."

"Thanks Ben, for what you've done already. I know my family will be grateful for your efforts," I said.

Later, when we walked along the street for a while, before going to bed, I asked Hubert if he knew where Nathan had gone visiting when he'd gone out in the evenings or at the weekends.

"He didn't tell me. He visited my Uncle Stanley's house often, seemed to like my aunt and my twin girl cousins."

"How old are they?"

"About eighteen, I think"

Gas lamps fizzed and spluttered in damp misty air. Shadows were thick and dusky blue and yellow squares of light hung in the dark shapes of the houses we passed.

" My sister Eliza wondered if Nathan had become romantically involved with a woman. What do you think?" I asked next.

"He might have been. Often dreamy-eyed. Head in clouds. Made mistakes in lading bills. Uncle would tell you that. I'll take you to meet him to-morrow, at the firm's offices on Cook Street."

I thanked him; we entered the lodging house and parted in the hallway. On the second landing Anna Fischer appeared in a doorway.

"Mr. Jackson, I can tell you something about your brother," she said. "A few days before he disappeared I was asked to give him a letter."

"Who asked you?" I demanded.

"A giant black man. I was frightened of him."

"Was he off a ship?"

"I do not think so. He did not wear seamen's clothes but was dressed in a grey frock coat and wore a round black hat with a brim all around it. He asked me if I stayed in the house where Mr. Nathan Jackson lived. When I told him I did, he gave me a sealed letter addressed to Nathan. He also pressed a gold coin into my hand as payment for making sure it would be delivered. Then he walked on."

"You have no idea who wrote the note or what was its message?"

"None at all but I do know that after he received it Nathan behaved in a strange way. He would not come in to see my father, would not stop to talk to me. He had something on his mind that made him blind and deaf to everything else."

"That is all you know?"

"Yes. You think it important?"

"I do. You've have been very helpful. I hope you soon find a way to leave Liverpool."

"I cannot leave while my father is so ill. They will not let him on to a ship. I shall have to stay here until he dies. It is a hard, lonely life."

I said goodnight to her and went up to the third landing. In the room that had been Nathan's I knelt before his brassbound wooden chest and lifted the lid. Clothes, all neatly laundered and pressed, were packed into it. Underneath them was a bundle of creased sheets of paper tied with a ribbon. I took it out. Sitting on the bed close to the side table, where the flame of a candle in its candlestick glowed and occasionally flickered, I looked through the papers.

There were letters from the family, bits of a journal he had kept on the voyage over from Saint John, and several poems or verses. There was no letter from a stranger. I collected them together, tied them up again and put them back in the trunk, deciding to search the pockets of the jackets and trousers left in the chest in case the next day, in case he had pushed the note Anna had delivered into a pocket and forgotten about it.

I thought I would sleep instantly but the lines of one of Nathan's poems kept returning to torment me. It was a love poem and it praised the unusual physical appearance of the poet's beloved.

"Eyes purple-dark as deep waters, inviting me to drown in unplumbed depths
Dusky-pink skin kissed by a southern sun, tresses of spun gold.
In you nothing is as it seems. You are a paradox haunting my dreams.
Call to me and I will come.
Call, like the sea calls to a sailor, I will come."

Who was the woman in the poem? Had she anything to do with Nathan's disappearance? Had he eloped with her? To France, to Italy, perhaps. Or to Scotland. Wasn't there a place called Gretna Green where eloping couples could be married by a blacksmith? Had the woman, whoever she was, called to Nathan and had he gone to her?

Was the poem the clue Ben Williams had suggested I might find amongst Nathan's belongings? Or had the unknown woman sent the note Anna had delivered to Nathan and was that the real clue to his whereabouts? If only I could find it.

Tormented by such questions I sat up and lit the candle again and went to open the trunk. Carefully I searched every pocket in Nathan’s clothing, investigated thoroughly every scrap of paper, every printed book of poems, and every novel he had left behind him. I found no note addressed to him from anyone but members of our family.

But though my search proved to be fruitless, it quietened my mind and I fell asleep soon after I’d blown out the candle.

6

No one bought the MARCO POLO and no agent chartered her to fill her holds with cargo for distant lands. She was towed out of the dock and anchored in the river. Captain Thomas found another command. James Smith sent him instructions to find two caretakers. The first mate and I offered our services and were signed on. We were to be paid a pound a week. Nick Carter, the cook, agreed to stay on with us, much to my relief. At least we would be well fed while we were doing the tedious work of caretaking.

The first mate and I came to an arrangement to work alternate weeks. This suited me very well because it meant I could stay ashore at the Williams's lodging house every other week, attend classes on navigation given by Mr Towson and try to find out what had happened to Nathan.

Whenever I had time to spare I walked the streets where Nathan had walked, visited theatres and other places of entertainment he had visited, called at taverns, seafood stalls and restaurants where he had drunk ale, swallowed raw cockles and mussels, ate roast beef. Everywhere I went I asked for him hoping that amongst the many seamen, ships' mates, shipping agents and brokers, stallholders and other business proprietors, I would find someone who remembered him and would know if he had gone to Scotland or somewhere else.

I had been in Liverpool a little more than a month when I received a letter from my mother, full of instructions about how and where I should look for Nathan. It also contained a draft on a Liverpool bank for a hundred pounds to help me, she said, to look farther afield for Nathan if that should be necessary. I was pleased to receive the money and invited Hubert to dine with me that evening. We indulged in a heavy meal of roast beef, batter pudding, and roast potatoes, accompanied by French wine, and followed by Lancashire cheese and a glass of port. I asked Hubert if he would accompany me on other evenings when I roamed the city's more dubious streets and neighbourhoods asking for Nathan.

"Be delighted to, old chap," he said. "I don't have any more information about your brother at the present time but I do have an invitation. From Stanley Owen. You're invited to dine with him and his wife on Wednesday this week. There'll be other guests. Some of them knew Nathan and might tell you something about him."

Wearing my best suit, cursing all the time the tightness of its fit - I seemed to have developed new muscles since I had last worn it - I walked with Hubert on Wednesday evening through the purple dusk of a summer evening, up Duke Street and along Great George Street to St James's Place. He explained to me that it was the new fashionable residential area of Toxteth where many businessmen from the city had come to live. The Owen's house was one of a row of Georgian houses. There was a flight of steps up to the front door. Ionic columns supported the portico.

A maid showed us to the parlour. The room was furnished with new over-stuffed armchairs and couches, glossy mahogany cabinets, a rosewood concert pitch piano, Chinese ginger jars and Benares brass tables and other ornaments. Richly coloured oriental rugs covered the floor and one of the new gas chandeliers hung from a fancy plasterwork rose in the ceiling. We were welcomed by Stanley and his wife Gertrude and presented to their twin daughters, big red-haired jolly looking girls. Neither of them matched the description of the woman in Nathan's poem.

But she was there and, when I saw her, I didn't hear the names or see the faces properly of the other guests. I could only stare at her.

She was sitting alone on a love seat. Her pale gold hair was parted down the middle of her head and drawn up from her face and neck into a knot on top of her head. Tantalising wisps of it hung over her forehead and her ears. In contrast to her hair her skin was surprisingly dark, a sort of rosy brown. "Sun-kissed by a southern sun, " Nathan had described it in his fanciful way. I could not quite see the colour of her eyes but they looked dark and were set under level dark eyebrows. In her stylish, off- the-shoulder evening gown of pale pink satin and white lace, she gave an impression of delicacy but when, she stood up to be escorted into the dining room by Stanley Owen, I could see she was tall and her bare sun-tanned shoulders were straight and square. She walked confidently, her head held high. She was no timid mouse or shrinking violet.

I was pleased to find her sitting opposite to me at the long dining table set with white damask, heavy silver plateware and sparkling crystal. Nathan was right, I decided. Her eyes were purple-dark, the colour of the sea when a cloud hovers over it on a day of bright sunlight.

"Mr. Jackson, I don't think you were introduced to my sister Julia before dinner."

Charles Ashton spoke to me. He was sitting on her left. I had been introduced to him by Hubert one day, when we had attended the steeplechase races at Aintree, outside the city. Unlike his sister's his face was very pale, dissipated looking, and his features were different from hers. His nose was thin and finely chiselled whereas hers, though straight, had wide nostrils. His mouth was small, the lips thin and bloodless. Her mouth was wide, the lips full and dark red. Although his hair was fair it was as straight as straw and under drooping lids and pale lashes his eyes were a very light grey. He looked disdainful and cold. She looked friendly and warm.

"How d'ye do," she said smiling at me without any coyness or affectation. "Where are you from?"

"New Brunswick."

"Oh." Her eyes opened wide. "Are you related to Nathan Jackson?'

"Nathan is my youngest brother."

"He was often a visitor to our house. He and I played many a game of backgammon together. And we went riding. He loved riding but not to hounds. He couldn't abide that way of hunting the fox. Do you ride, Mr. Jackson?"

"I can ride, but not in the English style. And I've never hunted the fox."

"Mr. Jackson goes to sea. He's an officer on a timber trading ship," Charles drawled. "I doubt if he gets much opportunity to ride horses. More likely spends his time riding a donkey. Eh, Jackson?'

I sensed an attempt on Ashton's part to belittle me, make me out to be no more than a labourer or navvy. The donkey he referred to was an engine used to lift deck cargo either ashore or aboard ship. The man on Julia's right laughed. He was Leonard Stiles. I had also met him before, at the offices of Owen and Hughes. About fifty years of age he had a heavily jowled red face and small shrewd blue eyes. He owned several cotton mills near Manchester and was reputed to be extremely wealthy.

"I love the sea," Julia said. "And sailing. I owned a sailing skiff when I lived in the islands. I wish we still lived there. I miss the sea and the sun so much."

"Which islands?" I asked.

"The West Indies. We lived on St Kitts."

"I was in Basse Terre two years ago, trading lumber for sugar." I said.

"Oh, this is wonderful." Her eyes sparkled, her teeth shone in a smile of delight. "At last I've met someone who knows about St Kitts. Charlie. Did you hear? Edwin has been to Basse Terre." She looked at me again. "I may call you Edwin, mayn't I? Like me you're a colonial so you don't have to be formal all the time and follow the stuffy manners of this old country. You and I can use first names with each other."

" We can do that." I returned her smile. " And I agree with you about the stuffy manners."

"When did you arrive in Liverpool?" she asked.

"Just a little over four weeks ago, on a ship called the MARCO POLO."

"That's the ugly brute the builder James Smith wants to sell," Leonard Stiles said. "I went to look at her with James Baines. He's looking for ships for the Australia run. We both agreed Smith is asking too much for a ship that's only an enlarged timber drogher."

"Don't judge her by her looks. She's a well-found fast ship," I asserted. "Good enough for any cargo. She could bring back a fair-sized load of cotton from Georgia or Alabama for you, sir, if you would like to charter her."

"Ha, ha." Leonard laughed good-naturedly. "You North American colonials don't miss a chance when it comes to doing business," he remarked.

"Most of us are but chips off the old British block," I retorted. " Trading is in our blood."

"Aye, I agree with you there." Leonard said. "And I'll bear in mind your suggestion that the MARCO POLO is suitable for transporting cotton. I assume her owner has an agent over here?"

"Owen and Hughes will be pleased to act for Mr Smith any time," Hubert said.

"Now, listen to them. Taking over the conversation and talking business," Julia said with an exaggerated sigh. "I'm sure you didn't come here this evening just to talk about shipping and trading, Edwin."

"No, I didn't," I looked into her eyes thinking about Nathan's unplumbed depths in which it was possible to drown. "I came to meet you."

"Me? Someone has been talking to you about me? Who? Nathan? You have seen him." She glanced sideways at her brother. He was talking with the guest sitting opposite to him. She leaned forward, across the table towards me to speak more quietly. " Nathan hasn't been to visit us for weeks, not since March. Where is he now? Back in New Brunswick?"

"I don't know where he is but I'm hoping to find out while I'm in Liverpool." I looked around the table and said loudly. "My brother seems to have disappeared."

The conversations stopped. Everyone looked at me.

"Do any of you know anything about Nathan Jackson, who used to work for Owen and Hughes?" I asked.

There were mutters of denial and apology. I looked at Julia again. Her face had lost its animation. She was looking down at her empty dessert dish and fidgeting with her spoon.

"Did he say anything to you about returning to New Brunswick, Miss Ashton?" I said sharply.

The return to formality startled her, as I intended it should. She looked up, quickly, nervously, her eyes dilated. The next instant she was laughing a little and turning to Charles.

"Did he, Charlie? You know how bad my memory is. Did Nathan ever tell us he was going back to New Brunswick?"

"Not that I remember. Not to New Brunswick." Charles picked up his wineglass and sipped, set the glass down again "But I remember him saying something about wanting to go to Scotland. Mentioned it to Leonard too, I believe."

At this point there was an interruption. Gertrude Owen stood up and suggested the ladies leave the gentlemen for a short while to their port or brandy and to go with her to the parlour.

"I'll look forward to seeing you later, Edwin," Julia said as she stood up and Leonard Stiles pulled back her chair. "We'll play backgammon and talk about the West Indies."

She followed the other women from the room, her fashionable bell-shaped skirt swaying about her neat white slippers.

"Did Nathan ever say why or when he would like to go to Scotland," I shared the question between Charles and Leonard once the door had closed behind the ladies, the glasses had been filled and cigars had been lit.

"He told me he wanted to find out more about his maternal grandfather's family. Maxwell is the name, he said." Leonard drew on his cigar to get it going. "He didn't know where to start looking so I suggested he visit the Dumfries area where the name is common enough. Maxwelton Braes, where the well-known Annie Laurie lived, is near the borough of Dumfries. He may have taken my advice and gone there. But surely he wrote to tell your family what he intended to do?"

"We've heard nothing from him since February." I looked at Charles. "You said he mentioned Scotland to you, too."

"Yes, several times," Charles frowned as if it was a great effort to remember anything Nathan had said. "A simple soul your brother," he drawled, his long white fingers fiddling with the stem of his brandy snifter. He did not look at me but watched the topaz-coloured liquor swaying in the globular glass. "He used to go to Farnworth."

"That's where my father, William Jackson was born," I interrupted him. "Where is it?"

"It's up the river from Liverpool. Nathan went there several times. He couldn't get over being able to trace his father's family back to the reign of King Henry the Eighth through Farnworth parish church register of baptisms. He said he wanted to do the same for his mother's family, the Maxwells and asked me the best way to get to Rassel, the village on the Solway Firth where his great, great grandfather Simon Maxwell was born."

"He knew the name of the village where Simon was born!" I was surprised. "That's more than I know. More than my grandfather knows. I wonder who told him?"

"I have no idea," Charles said with a touch of impatience. "But he did say it's on the Scottish side of the Solway. I'd never heard of the place but I knew that Jess Hartley, the Liverpool dock engineer, brought granite from that part of the world to build the new docks. When I saw how eager Nathan was to visit Rassel, I asked amongst the crews of the coastal schooners and actually found a mate on one of them who had been born near Rassel. To cut the story short I told Nathan and he was able to arrange to sail on one of the schooners to the Solway."

"He arranged to go, but did he actually arrive in Rassell?" I asked.

Charles looked at me directly for the first time.

"Would you like me to make sure?" he said.

"If you can."

"I'll try to find Ellis, the mate who arranged everything for Nathan. I'll invite him out to Broadacres where I live. You can come and meet him there," he said. He took his watch from the pocket of his waistcoat and opened it. "Time to take Julia home," he murmured and snapped the watch case shut. "She isn't very strong you know," he added.

This piece of information surprised me because comparing her with him I would have guessed she was the sturdier of the two of them, not as finely made, possibly not as highly bred, as he was. "She gets very homesick for the islands and the sunshine and the plantation where we were both born."

"When did you come here?" I asked.

"About three years ago."

"Why did you leave the island?"

"Once the slaves were freed it became impossible to grow and sell sugar at a good profit," he replied. "And after my father was killed and I inherited the plantation they let us know in many unpleasant ways that we weren't welcome there, that we didn't belong to the island even though, unlike many of them, Julia and I had been born at the plantation and knew no other home."

"Who let you know?"

"The black people." His lips curled and his pale eyes glittered strangely. "They got up to all sorts of tricks, voodoo and the like to get rid of us. They were scaring the life out of Julia. I had to bring her out of that place, away from their evil practices. And now we're here in this miserable place and not wanted here, either. I tell you, Edwin, it is hell on earth not to belong anywhere."

His bitterness, the twist of his mouth and the queer light in his eyes made me uneasy. What right had he, I wondered, to control his sister's life? What right had he to bring her away from the island where she had been born and which she loved? And, coming from a family that had always supported the abolition of slavery, I couldn't approve of his overbearing attitude towards the black people of the West Indies. I wondered what Nathan had thought of him.

"Ahem. Gentlemen. Shall we join the ladies?' Stanley Owen said and we all stood up.

As soon as I entered the parlour Julia beckoned to me. She was sitting at a small table and had set out a backgammon board.

"Please play with me, Edwin," she said. "I'm sure you are just as graceful a loser as Nathan is."

"Not at all," I laughed. "I play to win."

"How very American of you," Charles drawled at my elbow. I sensed that he was trying to belittle me in front of her, again, as if he did not want her to have too good an opinion of me. "But there is no time to play this evening, Julia. It's late and you know how easily you tire in this weather." He turned and smiled charmingly at me. The strange glitter, the bitterness had been wiped from his face like writing from a slate. He was a completely different person. "Sorry old chap," he added. "We have to leave. Leonard has offered to take us home in his carriage."

"What a bother you are, Charlie, always trying to organise my life for me," Julia protested. "Edwin, you have a sister. I know you do because Nathan told me about her. I'm sure you don't try to organise her life for her."

" Eliza is very strong-willed and goes her own way. I doubt if the man lives she would allow to organise her life and I try not to. Live and let live is my motto when it comes to dealing with brothers and sisters."

"I wish it was Charlie's motto," she said. "But you will come to tea on Saturday afternoon?'

"Yes, do come, Edwin," Charles was extremely affable now. "I promise I'll have Ellis there to meet you."

"Then you can certainly expect me," I replied.

Hubert and I decided to leave soon after the Ashtons. For a while we walked in silence towards the glow of the city lights. Then Hubert said in his abrupt way:

"I gather you had some of your questions about Nathan answered by the Ashtons."

"Yes. It was good of Stanley to invite me to meet them. I hope to find some more answers on Saturday afternoon. I've been invited to tea at their house. What do you know about them?'

"Only that Charles Ashton inherited the Broadacres estate and the title of baronet from Sir Darcy Ashton, a great uncle of his who had no children of his own. Inheritance should have gone to Charles's father but he was killed before Sir Darcy died."

"So he is Sir Charles Ashton. He really is an aristocrat."

" He really is one of them," Hubert, whose own father had been a coal miner in North Wales, did not have much time for the British upper classes. "It's an old title, I'm told. Goes back to the battle of Bosworth, when Henry Tudor went around knighting anyone who had been on his side in the fight against Richard the Third. "

"But does the fact that Charles Ashton is a baronet give him the right to organise his sister's life? "

"No, but the fact that he is her guardian and trustee until she is twenty five does. That's why he keeps such a close watch over her. She never goes anywhere without him in attendance."

"How dull for her. Nathan wrote a poem about her. I found it amongst his things."

"Good lord." Hubert laughed outright. He made no other comment and I guessed

he was thinking as I was that my brother was a sentimental romantic ninny and not fit to be a shipping agent. Yet, now I had met Julia Ashton, I was beginning to understand why Nathan had been fascinated by her different sort of beauty and attracted to her easy friendly manner.

Broadacres, I learned from Stanley Owen, was situated near Mossley Hill, a village of cottages clustered about a square-towered church on higher land outside the city. Saturday was a fine sunny day so I walked out there along a road that took me through green parkland, past lush meadows where cattle browsed, and between fields of potatoes and cabbages. Following Stanley's instructions when I walked straight through the village and out into the countryside again. Hedges of wild rose and hawthorn gave way to a stone wall covered with ivy and other creepers. When I reached two stone gateposts I stopped. Between the posts, wrought-iron gates, eaten by rust, stood open and a gravel-covered avenue stretched before me between two rows of beech trees.

I walked up the avenue past a small cottage with dusty cobwebbed windows and a garden overgrown with weeds. After about half a mile the avenue widened into a courtyard before a large house, built of grey stone. Over the front door massive stone pillars supported a portico. Before it was a flight of shallow steps. There were long sash windows on either side of the doorway and in a row on the second storey. A stone cornice, above which enormous brick chimneys showed, hid the roof.

While I was standing and staring at the house the front door opened and Charles Ashton stepped out. He looked cool and elegant in a light summer suit and his fair hair shone in the sunlight.

"I was looking for you and beginning to wonder if you would come," he said pleasantly. "Everyone is out on the terrace because it's such a warm day. Come up and we'll go through to join them."

I went up the steps and followed him into the huge entrance hall. A staircase with a handsome carved balustrade curved up to the second floor. The high ceiling was painted with fat, nude boys and half-dressed women playing by a stream.

The parlour was furnished with rather shabby chairs and sofas, a few glass-fronted cabinets. Their shelves were mostly empty as if they had been robbed of their more valuable silver and porcelain ornaments. On the smoke-darkened wood panelling of the walls there were some lighter patches where paintings had hung once. The whole place was decrepit and dusty, not at all as well kept and shining as the Maxwell house in Saint John.

Charles led the way out through an open window to a stone terrace where there was more evidence of decay and neglect. No flowers grew in the ornamental stone flowerpots, only weeds. Beyond the terrace what had once been a lawn, sloping down to a miniature lake edged with weeping willows, was now a field of hay flecked with wild poppies and cornflowers.

About a dozen people were on the terrace. Julia was sitting near a table covered with a cloth and set with a tea service and plates of pastries. When she saw me she jumped up and came towards me, her hands outstretched in greeting as if I was an old and much-missed friend. I took her hands in mine.

"Welcome, Edwin " she said. "I hoped we'd be alone but..." She looked past me. Her smile faded. She pulled her hands free of my grasp. "Never mind," she added. "Come and meet my friends Letty and Maryanne."

I looked quickly over my shoulder. Charles was watching us. With a shrug I turned my back on his obvious disapproval and followed Julia.

I was introduced to Misses Letitia and Maryanne Price and Mrs Dora Atkins, to Captain John Beverly and Lieutenant Jeffrey Atkins of Her Majesty's Life Guards, and then sat down next to Julia on the blue cushion of a white-painted, wicker love seat. She offered me tea.

"No thanks. Like my grandfather I think it’s wishy-washy stuff," I said and she laughed.

"Nathan often talked about you," she said. "He told me you have a way of coming right out with what you think, never mind if what you say will offend. Did he never write to you and tell you about me?"

"He and I have never written to each other. In fact I don't know him very well. I ran away to sea when he was ten and I haven't been at home for long periods of time since."

"Then what about your sister, Eliza. Did he say nothing in his letters to her?"

"She'd have told me if he had."

"But you said you went to the Owen's dinner party to meet me."

"Not you in particular. Not you by name," I tried to explain. "Nathan wrote a poem
about a woman. I found it amongst his papers and I've been looking for her. When I
met you on Wednesday my search for her came to an end. I knew he had described
you."

She looked vaguely troubled and was silent for a while. I wanted to ask her if she and Nathan were in love, but it was hardly the time or place with her friends listening in and watching us and possibly jumping to the wrong conclusions.

A shadow fell across me. I looked up. Charles was standing in front of us. Leonard Stiles was with him.

" I apologise for having to break in on your cosy chat with Julia, " Charles drawled. " But Ellis has arrived and I know you’re eager to question him. He’s by the open French window."

I glanced over at the thickset bearded man who was leaning against the wall of the house. I stood up.

"There you are Leonard. Now you can sit beside Julia," Charles sounded triumphant as if he had played a trump successfully in a game of cards.

Leonard and I exchanged greetings and he sat down. I would have excused myself to Julia but she had turned away to pour tea for him.

"Let's leave them to their billing and cooing," Charles said jovially, taking my arm in a friendly fashion to guide me away from the couple on the love- seat..

Albert Ellis was dressed in the wide trousers and reefing jacket of a ship's mate. Above his beard his cheeks were bronzed accentuating the clarity of his grey eyes.

"Pleased to meet you Mr. Jackson," he said shaking hands with me. "I hear you're looking for your brother."

"He hasn't been seen or heard from since he left the Williams's lodging house on March tenth."

"March tenth, eh? That's the day he came aboard the ARIEL. Set sail, we did, for the Solway. Very keen, he was, to get to Scotland to find his Scottish cousins and going by schooner is the fastest way with a fair wind. Two days out of the Mersey and we were putting him ashore on the pier at Scaurport. Off he went up the path to Rassel with ne'er a backward look."

"Haven't you seen him since then when you've gone there to fetch granite?" I asked.

"No. I haven't been to the Solway lately. Been working on a Welsh schooner bringing slate into port. I never gave your brother another thought until Sir Charles asked me yesterday if he'd sailed on the ARIEL."

" I’d like to sail up to Scotland myself and look for him," I said " Could you arrange for me to ship aboard a Solway schooner? I’d work my passage or pay for it."

" I’ll ask Captain Griggs of the ARIEL," Ellis replied. " He’ll be glad of an extra hand. Where can I find you to give you an answer?"

"At Williams's lodging house on Duke Street. Or leave a message if I'm not there."

"You can depend on me," Ellis said amiably." I'll be on my way now, Sir Charles."

"I'll see you out," Charles said politely.

Alone I leaned against the stone balustrade of the terrace. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves and taking no notice of me. I looked across at Julia. It was hard to see her because she was half-hidden by Leonard's bulk. I felt thoroughly frustrated because I had walked all that way hoping to talk with her privately about Nathan and had managed only a few words before Charles interrupted us. I wondered how I could meet her again.

" I’m hoping Leonard will propose to Julia soon." Charles spoke beside me. He had returned from seeing Ellis off the premises and he had a self-satisfied look on his face that irritated me.

I pushed away from the balustrade and stood straight to face him.

" It would be an excellent match, " he added in the same complacent way and looked right at me as if daring me to disagree with him.

An excellent match for that middle-aged bladder of lard? Or for Sir. Charles Ashton, who would gain a wealthy brother-in-law and would be able to restore his house to its former glory, buy back the paintings and other valuables he had pawned? But what about Julia? Does she think it would be excellent for her? Or isn’t she allowed to have an opinion?

The questions raced through my mind, but I had the sense, for once, to hold my tongue.

" I must go," I said. " I’ll make my excuses to your sister and the other guests."

" I’ll do that for you. " Charles blocked my way." Leonard won’t take kindly to you interrupting his courting of Julia. Can you find your own way out?"

He doesn’t what me to speak to Julia again, I thought. Why? Is he afraid she will tell me something about Nathan he doesn’t want me to know?

He was shorter and slighter than I was and I could have swept him out of the way and gone to interrupt Leonard at his courting, but his eyes looked strange, blood was beginning to suffuse his normally pale face and a muscle had started to twitch in his cheek. He looked like a seaman I had once seen go berserk on a ship. If I opposed him in any way he might lose control altogether and throw a fit. So I didn’t push him aside and go to Julia. I didn’t want to cause trouble for her.

" Thank you for introducing me to Ellis," I said with forced politeness.

" Come again. We’re always at home to our friends on Saturday afternoons," he replied.

I strode into the house, through the parlour and the hall and let myself out through the front door. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t been able to talk more with Julia, I thought. I’d met Ellis and was a little closer to finding Nathan. With luck my search would be over soon and I would be able to get me to sea again.

7
I went aboard the MARCO POLO next morning and relieved the first mate so that he could have his week ashore.

Being caretaker of a ship nobody wants to buy or use is not the most exciting or demanding of jobs. At least not for a lively character like myself. I found it very tedious sitting out in the middle of the river and spent many an idle moment, when we had finished the painting jobs and had tightened all the rigging, standing in the shrouds watching other sailing ships leaving the port. I longed to be aboard one of them, heading out towards the ocean, hoisting and setting the sails and possibly putting to the test the new theories of navigation I had been learning recently from Mr. Towson.

I could have obtained a berth as an officer easily, had been approached several times by captains I'd met in the port, but I had resisted their tempting offers. First I would do as my mother and grandfather had asked. I would wait until I had found out what had happened to Nathan.

At the end of the week I went ashore eagerly, hoping that Albert Ellis had found me a berth on a schooner bound for the Solway Firth, but he had left no message for me at the lodging house nor with Hubert at Owens and Hughes' offices. For the next four evenings, impatient to go to Scotland, I searched waterfront taverns and hotels for Ellis. Hubert accompanied me.

On the Wednesday evening, we visited a certain hotel on Mann's Island, where sailors from New Brunswick, Quebec and Nova Scotia often met to exchange news and gossip. After spending a few convivial hours there we walked back to the lodging house on Duke Street. We took a short cut along an entry, a narrow alley between the high walls and entrances of row houses. It was raining and very dark. I was carrying a cane, a wooden stick in which a blade of steel was concealed. I had bought it after Alun Williams had warned me I might be attacked.

We were half way along the alley when a man's voice called out behind us.

"Hey, Mr. Jackson, I have news for you."

I turned swiftly, hopefully.

"I'm Jackson," I said. "What news do you have? A message from Albert Ellis?" There were two of them, bulky figures. It was impossible in that dark place to see their faces. They didn't answer my query but came on towards us. Behind me Hubert whispered, "Watch out. They're going to rush us."

I raised my cane. One of the men charged forward and grabbed the end of it. I tried to pull it away from him and the blade came partly out. The man gave the cane a twist hoping to jerk it from my hand complete with the knife. I held on with all my might and behind me Hubert gave the alarm.

"Help. Help. We're being assaulted," he shouted.

The second man sprang forward then and hit Hubert, knocking him to the ground. Still trying to keep possession of the cane I grappled with my attacker. I managed to get a knee behind his leg intending to throw him backwards, when the other man came at me and struck me on the head. I fell down. Both men began to kick me in the ribs.

I rolled over in the muddy slime and scattered garbage in the alley, out of the way of their booted feet. My cap had gone; it hurt to breath and my hair was streaming into my eyes. When I tried to stand up they came at me again, beating at me with their fists.

Raising my right arm I feinted with my fist at the nearest one and, when he ducked, I dodged away towards Hubert, who was groaning with pain but trying hard to stand up. 1 had no idea where the cane had gone and didn't attempt to look for it. I grabbed Hubert by one arm and cried in a rallying tone,

"Come on, lad, come with me. Let's run before the gale."

Pulling Hubert after me, I set off knowing it was not far to Revenue Place, where there were lights and people. As I'd hoped the men who had assaulted us didn't follow but stayed in the shadows of the alley.

Not until we reached the Williams' lodging house and were in Hubert's room bathing our cuts and examining our bruises did we discuss the incident.

"I'm beholden to you, Edwin. You gave a good account of yourself out there, wrestling with your attacker," Hubert said. He had lost his hat and his thin fair hair straggled about his long face. He held a hand against his jaw.

"I like to wrestle. And to box with my fists,"I said. "Both are useful on board a ship when you're in charge of unruly riotous men. But I would have run before if one of them hadn't called my name. They weren't poor starving immigrants. They were strong, well-fed bullies. They knew we walk that way to Duke Street most nights. I'm guessing it was a planned ambush. There's someone in this city who doesn't want me here poking about asking for Nathan."

"You think so? But why not attack you when you're out alone? Why choose to do it when you have company?"

"Maybe they don't want you here, either. It has to do with Nathan. I'm sure it has. Someone in this city, perhaps someone we have already talked to about Nathan, doesn't want us to find out what happened to him in March. We'll talk about it to-morrow. Both of us are knocked about and need some rest. Thanks for standing by me, Hubert. I shan't forget."

The attack didn't stop me from looking for Ellis during the next couple of days. I didn't find him and so, on Saturday afternoon, I went to Broadacres, hoping that Charles Ashton might have a message for me. I also hoped to talk with Julia again.

I walked the two miles or so to Mossley Hill. Soft September sunlight tinted the pale sky with gold. The leaves were turning yellow and brown. Hay was cut and stooked and vegetables were being gathered. Red hips and haws decorated the hedgerows and fallen leaves and beechnut casings strewed the driveway up to the big house.

The door was opened by a black man. He was over six feet tall and broad-shouldered and his face, with its flaring nostrils and broad lips, looked as if it were carved from ebony. His eyes were large, their expression gentle. He was wearing a grey morning suit. Anna's description of the man who had given her a note to deliver to Nathan sprang into my mind.

"Sir Charles is not at home," he said politely.

"Miss Julia, then. She invited me to come for tea on Saturdays. I'm Edwin Jackson."

His head with its greying close-cropped curls wagged from side to side.

"No tea to-day, Mr. Jackson. Miz Julia not here. They gone away."

He was standing just outside the wide-open front door, on the threshold and I was close to him, on the broad top step. In the silence that followed his announcement I was sure I could hear voices raised somewhere in the house, angry voices, a woman shrieking, a man shouting.

"What's going on in there?" I stepped forward to enter the house only to find my way blocked by his massive chest as he side-stepped. I looked up. His big eyes were blinking rapidly, nervously. A freshly made welt, the blood hardly staunched, crossed the dark skin of his right cheek. He had been whipped recently and was scared stiff. Compassion for him flooded through me. I stepped back and saw relief slacken his features.

"It's my Missus," he said and smiled as if making a joke." She's shouting at a tradesman who is doing work in the house. That feeler don't do his work good enough for her."

I didn't believe him but I didn't want to be the cause for him being whipped again, either, so I accepted his explanation.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Moses, uh, Moses Brown."

"You are from the island of St Kitts?"

"That's where I belong, suh."

"You must find it cold and damp living here after the islands," 1 said.

"My wife Bella and me, we happy to be with Miz Julia. We look after her since she was born. We do anything for her. She's a good, kind lady."

"I'm sure she is," I murmured, wondering if there was a message for me in what he was saying. "Has she ever asked you to deliver a letter by hand to a Miss Anna Fischer to be passed on by her to a Mr. Nathan Jackson?"

His eyes widened and began to blink frantically again. He glanced over his shoulder as if someone might be in the hallway behind him and would overhear what was being said. Then he looked back at me.

"I don't understand, suh, what you saying. I never hear tell of no Miz. Anna and no Mr Nathan. No suh, I never was asked by no one to take a letter to those people. Good afternoon, suh. I go help my Bella."

He began to swing the heavy door forward to close it.

"Wait," I put a foot on the sill to stop the door from closing. "You'll let me know if you remember anything about my brother Nathan. I'm staying at Williams's lodging house on Duke Street. Or you can leave a message with Miss Fischer in Bold Street."

"I know nothing, suh, remember nothing. Good afternoon, suh. Please go. You not wanted here." he replied in agitation.

I withdrew my foot. The door closed quietly and I went down the steps convinced he had lied to me because he had been too frightened to tell the truth. As I started down the driveway I thought I heard a banging sound behind me. I turned and looked back, scanning first the lower windows then the upper. A strange shock tingled along my nerves when I saw Julia standing at a window on the second floor, to the left of the portico. She was waving to me and seemed to be shouting, but 1 could not hear her. She had not gone away after all. She was there in the house. A prisoner in her room? Locked in by Charles? Or by the servants? While I stared up at her, trying to make out what she was shouting, she was dragged away from the window back into the room behind her and someone pulled a blind down. I leapt up the shallow steps, tugged at the bell handle and banged on the heavy oak door with the flat of my hand.

No one answered my summons. I ran down the steps and turning looked up at the second floor windows again. No figure at any of them. Only the reflections of clouds and the tops of trees in panes of glass.

I thought of climbing up to the window where she had appeared but there were no footholds or handholds on the smooth facade of the house. I thought of breaking in through one of the lower windows then discarded the idea quickly. I would be heard and probably accused of breaking in and entering and hauled off to face a justice of the peace.

Perhaps I could slip in by the windows that gave on to the terrace? I walked round to the back of the house and went up the steps to the stone platform. All the long windows were locked and covered by drapes so that it was impossible to see indoors.

Leaving the terrace I tried the back entrance to the house, pulling the bell handle several times, then lifting the latch and pushing on the door. It did not open and I guessed it was bolted on the inside.

A sudden gust of wind soughed through the trees. A few leaves wafted down. Heavy grey clouds rolled overhead. Drops of rain fell. The weather was turning foul. My common sense re-asserted itself. I gave up all idea of getting into the house to rescue Julia from danger. What danger? 1 asked myself, scornfully. Members of the same family often argue and fight but that didn't give an outsider the right to interfere in their quarrels. What went on between brother and sister was none of my business.

On my way to the driveway I looked up once more at the front windows. All of them were blanked out by blinds, now. Maybe I had been mistaken and the woman at the window had not been Julia at all. Maybe she had been a housemaid behaving mischievously by waving to a man she recognised as a sailor and had been dragged back by the housekeeper or even by Moses.

Given the dilapidated state of the house and grounds, the stormy weather and the hunch I had that Julia knew more about Nathan than she had been able to tell me, it wasn't surprising I had let my imagination run away with me and imagined myself involved in a gothic tale of a damsel in distress, such as was told in one of the novels I had found packed in Nathan's trunk.

"Come down to earth, Edwin Jackson," I muttered to myself. "No one here waits to be rescued by you."

Turning up my jacket collar, I shoved my hands in my pockets, bent my head against the driving rain and set off at a good clip along the road to Liverpool.

At the lodging house Eira Williams gave me a sealed envelope on which my name was written. In my room I slit it open and found inside a terse note from Ellis.

"Captain Griggs of the ARIEL is willing to take you on as a working passenger. Leaving port on the tide early to- morrow morning. Suggest you come aboard to night. With me. I've signed on with him as mate, so I can put you on the right road to Rassel. Will wait for you at the entrance to the Coburg Dock until nine-o clock. Ellis."

Action at last. All thoughts of the Astons gone from my mind, I packed my teabag with a change of clothes, scrawled a letter to Eliza and a note to Dick Harding, the MARCO POLO's first mate. Hubert was in his room getting ready to go out to a social evening at the home of a business acquaintance whose daughter he was courting. I gave him the two letters.

"I'm going to Scotland to-morrow morning. I might not be back until the end of next week so I've asked Dick Harding to stand my watch while I'm away and suggested he come to you if he has any problems," I said.

"Of course, I'll do what you ask, old chap." he replied. "But be careful. Wouldn't like it if you disappeared without trace like Nathan. Wouldn't like it at all. Take very great care on the schooner. Keep a good look out, fore and aft."

As he had promised Ellis was waiting for me. The ARIEL was moored out in the river, ready to go. It was a strong ship, about a hundred feet long with a wide beam and a blunt bow. We went out to it in a sailing gig. The weather was still wet and gusty and the schooner was rocking and swaying on the short-crested waves. Aboard I was introduced to Captain Griggs. We all turned into our bunks early.

Looking forward to being at sea again, I slept soundly and was up early to help with departure. The little storm had passed through. The skies were clear and a cool brisk wind was blowing when we slipped the mooring cable and set sail for the bar.

Decks slippery with wet, weather shrouds taut, lee shrouds sagging and curved, tan sails full and bellying with wind, the top-sail schooner fled up the North West coast of England before a strong south-westerly breeze. Above the points of the two swaying masts ragged grey clouds raced, threatening rain that never fell. Behind the stern of the ship grey white-crested waves followed menacingly, looking as if they would swamp the after deck, but never quite catching up with the Ariel.

Darkness came. A light flickered, high up. Below it loomed a mass of land, St Bee's Head marking the entrance to the Solway Firth. Two hours before midnight, twenty hours out of Liverpool, the sheets were freed and the schooner's long bowsprit pointed into the wide estuary. By midnight the wind had died and, with sails slatting, sheets slapping and blocks knocking, the vessel crept furtively eastwards on the last of the flood tide.

When the tide turned and the ship began to drift back in the direction of the sea, the captain gave orders to anchor and furl the sails. A crewman was put on anchor watch. I volunteered for the next watch at four-o-clock in the morning and lay down on the bunk that had been allotted to me, hooking up the canvas lee-board that prevented the occupant from falling out if the ship rolled from side to side.

I was wakened four hours later by a touch on my shoulder. It was eight bells, time for my watch. Pulling on my reefing jacket I went up on deck, going straight to the bow to check on the anchor chain. Satisfied that the anchor was not dragging I lingered on the bow, looking around, noting the tide was still ebbing. The water glinted with that strange luminosity known as phosphorescence as it swirled about the straight up and down anchor chain. I could hear a gurgling sound and realised that mudbanks were not far away. They could be sinking sands. Captain Griggs had told me that the shallow Firth was a treacherous place and the banks were shifting all the time. Many an unwary crew and ship had gone aground on them and had been sucked down and seen no more.

Feeling an unusual tingle of premonition I looked over my shoulder. Was someone standing behind me, in the deepest shadows behind the mast? I began to pace slowly aft, all the time peering about me. By the time I reached the afterdeck I was sure there was no one on deck except myself. I continued to pace knowing that a moving target is harder to hit than a stationary one.

Pale light began to streak the eastern sky. Dawn at sea is not the best of times. Self-confidence is at its lowest ebb and self- doubt floods the mind. I felt again that strange shiver down my spine. I darted down the companionway. Ellis and the seamen were in their berths, snoring or grunting. I listened at the door of the captain's tiny cabin. Snores came from in there too. I went back on deck.

I would not have been so suspicious if the crew had been different. A sullen, surly lot they were, from the squat, black browed, pipe-smoking captain to the squint-eyed wizened cook. And they all spoke English with an accent that was mostly incomprehensible to me, all of them being Lowland Scots.

All except Ellis. He was something of a puzzle. He spoke English without much of an accent and was pleasantly yet not overly friendly and, he seemed to be more in command of the schooner than the captain, even though he was serving as mate.

The boat swayed gently, alerting me to a change. A faint breath of wind touched my cheek. The anchor chain creaked as the boat began to swing slowly. The tide had turned. Striding aft I slid down the companionway again and banged on the captain's cabin door.

"Tide's making, sir. Wind about three knots, from the sou'west," I shouted then set about waking the rest of the crew.

The anchor was weighed. Blocks and mast rings creaked and squealed as we hoisted the main and mizzen gaff-rigged sails. Stealthily the schooner slipped forward and across the widening channel.

The sun was up but hidden. Light silvered distant shining sands. Hills, hump-backed and craggy, were silhouetted against the sky. Dark green pines lifted wind-blown branches above scrub oaks and birches turning yellow. A rocky island slid by. It was topped by green grass dotted by sheep. The mouth of a river opened up, a wave of the tide chuckling across its bar. Cocks crowed lustily on the island and screaming terns dove in the wake of the ship.

Into the inlet the schooner crept, tide-born only now, between mud banks on which waders, red-legged with black and white wings, stalked about and prodded the wet sand for winkles. Fishing boats in the inlet, tilted upright by the incoming tide, rocked at their moorings.

The banks of mud and the fast swirl of the flood tide reminded me of the inlets at home in New Brunswick, where ships were also at the mercy of the high rise and low fall of tide but everything else, the bare rock of the hills, the shape of the trees, the grey stone cottages huddled along the eastern bank of the tiny estuary, was unfamiliar, a foreign land.

The ship's boat was lowered. Ellis and the bo's'n, a foul-mouthed character who walked with a limp, climbed down into it. Collecting my seabag I said farewell to the surly Captain Griggs and stepped into the small rowboat. Ellis rowed and soon we were sidling up to the end of a pier built of rocks. The bo's'n climbed up an iron ladder set into the end of the pier, taking the painter with him and making it fast round a bollard. I followed him, then came Ellis.

The bo's'n stayed with the rowboat. Ellis and I walked along the pier. Pools and channels of water gleamed amongst tall marsh grasses. Two ran along the pier but there were no buggies, full of granite. In fact there was no sign of any of the activity usually associated with the transporting of rock from quarry to ship.

The pier ended at a bend in a narrow road. To the left the road curved up a hill, between rough fields. To the right it was straight between the few houses and the marshes that edged the river. Ahead the rail tracks crossed the road and disappeared behind low bushes. High above the bushes a wall of exposed rock was crowned with a thick forest of pine and birch.

"There's the way your brother went," Ellis said. "He followed the rails into the quarry. When you get there you'll see a path going up the side of the quarry and along the rim. It goes through the woods and is a short cut to Rassel. Seems like only yesterday I stood here with your brother and said farewell to him. I hope you find him in good health."

"Are you going to start loading granite to-day," I asked.

"Not here. We won't be loading here at all. We're off upriver where there's another, bigger quarry. Good luck to you. I'd best get back to the ship. Skipper will be wanting to go upriver while the tide is still flooding."

Touching his cap Ellis went back along the pier and after another glance at the schooner, I crossed the lane and began to walk up the narrow track he had indicated. It led straight into the quarry, a deep hole in the land with slanting walls of grey granite.

There was no sound in that place save the soughing of the pine trees. Two buggies with iron wheels stood on the rails. In the misty air the roughly hewn walls of grey granite glistened. Somewhere a bird called, a forlorn note on that grey silent morning.

I found the path that led up out of the quarry and over the hill. The gradient was steep. When I reached the top of the bank, I stopped to get my breath and looked over the quarry to the far shore of the estuary. Beyond low-lying scrubby marsh the land sloped up, green and yellow to the purple heights of two hills, dark against the cloudy sky. Suddenly a gauzy curtain of fine rain drifted across the hills blotting them from view.

I thought I heard a sound in the undergrowth behind me and looked over my shoulder. At that moment something hard hit the back of my head. Red sparks danced before my eyes. I tried to keep on my feet but I was hit again and fell to the ground. I passed out but came to hazily when I felt something cool against my neck. Someone's fingers were feeling for my pulse.

Eyes closed I stayed as still as I could, thinking I would be hit again if I tried to get up.

"You clouted him good this time," The voice belonged to Ellis.

" Better make sure and slide a knife between his ribs," the bo’s’n growled. " He’s a tough nut to crack. Got a hard head."

" I want no blood shed," Ellis said. " We’ll make it look like an accident by pushing him over the edge into the quarry."

" That should finish him off." The bo’s’n agreed with wicked glee.

Gritting my teeth I resisted an urge to lunge up and hit out at both of them with my fists. I let myself go limp when I felt fingers probing in my pockets; I was learning the hard way to think first and act later in order to survive.

" Whist, man. Someone is coming," the bo’s’n warned.

Leaves rustled when the two men dived into the undergrowth. I lay still. Hammers banged at the back of my head. Then something wet touch my nose, my lips even my eyelids. There was a strong smell of dog. A sniffing snorting sound was followed by several sharp barks. I opened my eyes and raised my head.

I looked straight up the shining barrels of a shotgun.

8

"Can ye move, laddie?"

The owner of the shotgun was a short red-faced man. He was dressed in a brown tweed jacket, grey woollen breeches and brown leather boots laced up to his knees. A knitted tam-o-shanter covered most of his ginger-coloured curls.

I raised myself on my elbows carefully. The trees, the man and the gun blurred before my eyes and then did a slow swaying dance around me. The dance stopped. Everything stood still but the muzzle of the shot gun was still there, pointing right at me. I was relieved to see that the hammers had not been cocked back.

"Did you see them?" I asked. My voice creaked like a rusty hinge. " The men who set upon me? They heard you or the dog coming. Did you see them?"

"Aye, I did that. I shouted after them too when I saw them scampering away down the path,"

His accent was not as thick as that of Captain Griggs and other members of the ARIEL’S crew.

"One of them was a thick-set fellow with a beard. The other ran as if he were lame," he added, and swung the gun down so that it pointed at the ground.

"You saved my life, sir," I croaked. "They would have murdered me if you hadn't come. I'd be glad know your name, sir, so I can thank you properly."

"Well now, lad, I haven't done anything much for ye, yet. I'm Ian Maxwell."

"Maxwell?" I could hardly believe my ears. "Then you know Nathan. Is he staying with you?"

In my excitement I turned over on to my hands and knees and struggled to stand up. Ian Maxwell came to help me. On my feet at last, I swayed and groaned, clutching at my head.

"Here, lad, lean against this tree until ye get your bearings," he said. "I have to tell ye, I know nothing of a Nathan."

The tree trunk was solid and steady against my back. I closed my eyes and drew in several deep breaths. When 1 opened my eyes again I was able to focus on Ian's face. He was still looking at me with an expression of puzzled concern.

"But you are a Maxwell," I said.

"Have been all my life," he replied with a touch of humour. "Lived here all my life too. I own the quarry and a good-sized bit of land. I sell granite to those who want it and own two schooners to transport it. Then I have the rents from the farms. From the way ye speak, lad, I'm thinking ye're not from these parts yerself."

"And you'd be thinking right. I'm Edwin Jackson from New Brunswick. It's one of the North American Colonies. "

"I've heard of it. And of Nova Scotia. Trading schooners and brigs from hereabouts are always carrying goods and people across to the ports over there. Ye're a long way from home, laddie, and in a bad way judging by the whiteness of your face. The colour of my Meg's pastry, so it is. If ye're feeling steadier now I’ll help ye along to my house and Meg can have a look at ye. She's awful good at the nursing, so she is. Here's yer hat, laddie,"

"Thanks. I guess if 1 hadn't been wearing my it my skull would have been smashed in," I said, pulling it down over my hair. The action set the hammers knocking again inside my head.

"Ye're right. There's an awful big dent in it. Broken right through the varnish. I ken by it and yer clothes ye're a sea-going man. Did ye come here on the schooner I saw down at the pier?"

"You saw it? Didn't you recognise it?" I said. "It was the ARIEL. She comes here sometimes to pick up granite from your quarry. She was going upriver on the flood tide to another quarry."

"She's never been here before, not to my knowledge," he replied.

He stepped away from me to the edge of the quarry, shaded his eyes and looked out to the pier, then looked southwards and down the river estuary.

"She's gone, but not up the river. Tide's turned and she has all her sails set and is making way over the bar into the Firth," he said.

The most terrible feeling of bitterness swept over me as I realised how Ellis had tricked me into coming to this place and had tried to kill me. I'd always prided myself on being quick-witted and a match for any cheat or impostor, and I had met many during the past years on the high seas. But now I felt no less naive than Nathan had been, an innocent abroad, and I was furious with myself for having been led astray so easily.

"What is it lad?" Ian Maxwell was back at my side. "What's troublin’ you?"

With his shot gun in the crook of his arm, his dog sitting quietly at his feet, he was looking at me in a kindly fatherly way and, in my weak state, I was only too glad to respond to his concern.

"I guess I'm not as clever as I'd believed myself to be," I grumbled. "The man with the beard is called Albert Ellis. He led me to believe he brought my youngest brother, Nathan, here on the ARIEL last March. He said Nathan came ashore here and intended to walk over the hill to the village of Rassel to visit the Maxwell family. You see, my mother is a Maxwell and my great, great grandfather Simon is supposed to have come from this part of Scotland. Nathan was hoping to find distant cousins here, but we haven't heard from him since March and I thought if I came here I would find him. I believed all of them. I believed Charles Ashton and Leonard Stiles and Albert Ellis." I swore, seaman's language, and Ian Maxwell look shocked. "By God, what a fool, I've been. A blind fool," I ranted on. "If I could just get my hands on Ellis I'd wring his neck. And Charles Ashton's."

"Steady on lad, steady on," Ian cautioned. "Cursing willna' make the situation any better. It willna' bring back your trust in them, either. What's done is done. Just be glad ye found them out and leave the rest to the Lord. He has a way of punishing all wrong-doers sooner or later without you or I having to do anything about it."

Ian Maxwell, it seemed, was a very pious man. He was also wise.

"I suppose you're right," I muttered. "But tell me, is there a village called Rassel near here?"

"Well now," He kicked thoughtfully at an ant hill. "There are a few abandoned cottages near here called Rassel's Holdings. But the people left there many years ago and I dinna' think they were called Maxwell."

"And you say you've never met my brother. He didn't call on you or even write to you?"

"Never. This is the first time I've heard of anyone looking hereabouts for an ancestor who went to America. But there are other Maxwells living upriver. At Drumbech. Sheepfarmers they are."

"Could you take me to meet them?"

"Aye, I could. But not while yer head needs attention. Ye'd best come home with me, laddie, and have a wee bit of a rest. Ye could have a concussion."

I looked around at the broken-down bracken ferns and beyond them.

"Can you see my seabag anywhere? I must have dropped it when 1 fell."

"One of them was carrying it over his shoulder," Ian said. Then, dropping his pious attitude, he burst out fiercely. "Och, I should have sent a shot over their heads to stop them, so I should. Murderers and robbers they were. Will we never be rid of the like?"

"They've taken my watch too," I had been feeling in my pockets and could have wept at the loss of the watch that my father had given me. "And my money. And my grandfather's memoirs that he gave me to show to Nathan when I found him. They were in my seabag." I cursed more quietly, under my breath, my feelings about Ellis growing more and more vicious by the minute.

"We'd best be making tracks through the woods," Ian said. "Meg will be wondering where I am."

I was glad of Ian's support as we walked through the woods. The throb in my head grew more and more painful and sometimes I had trouble seeing. I burned with heat then shivered with cold. By the time we reached the plain granite house where Ian lived I was close to fainting.

Dimly I was aware of being welcomed by a small dark-haired woman who fussed and clucked about me. She helped me take off my jacket and led me along a passage to a kitchen-like room where she told me to lie on a wide bed in a curtained alcove. I sank willingly into the feather mattress and pillows. Someone removed my boots and socks and unbuttoned my shirt. Quilts were piled on top of me. Cocooned in warmth I gave in, closed my eyes and knew no more for a while.

Several days went by before I was allowed to get up for longer than an hour and could walk about without black clouds returning to hover before my eyes. My strength came back and with it a fierce eagerness to return to Liverpool to search for Ellis and confront him.

"You've been very good to me and I'm most grateful," I said to Meg and Ian after announcing that I would like to be on my way the following day. "But I can't stay any longer. I promised I'd be back within two weeks of leaving. My time has run out. If I'm not back soon my friend Hubert will start making enquiries for me."

"But you haven't found out if your brother came here yet," Meg objected. She knew all about my search for Nathan and his interest in his our Scottish roots.

"I don't think he ever came here," I replied.

"Nor do I," Ian agreed. "I've asked in the village. No stranger of your brother's age or description has been seen in the district and Edgar Maxwell of Drumbech says he hasn't had any visits from overseas relatives. Also he knows of no Simon Maxwell in his family and he can trace them back to the sixteen hundreds. None of them ever went to be a soldier to fight the French in North America and stayed over there to be a farmer. But there are many Maxwells in this county and the next county. "

"Too many for me to call on in the time I have a available," I said. "I've made up my mind I was sent up here on a wild goose chase. I must leave to-morrow or the day after. How do I get back to Liverpool?"

"The way you came," Ian replied. "Jess Hartley's schooner the OAK loads with granite down at the pier. She'll be leaving on to-morrow's ebb tide. Ye can come with me now to meet her captain. I can assure ye he's no like Captain Griggs and there will be no Ellis on board."

Three days later, on Wednesday evening, I left the Albert Dock in Liverpool where the OAK had tied up. Gas lamps bloomed along the Dock Road and I was glad of their t light to show the way as I dodged amongst drays, carriages and importuning beggars until I reached Water Street. I turned right and strode uphill as far as Castle Street where I turned right again, into Cook Street.

Yellow light slanted out from the windows of Owen and Hughes. In the hallway a solitary gas lamp attached to a wall flickered. On the right was a door with a glass panel on which the name of the company was painted in gold lettering. Without knocking I pushed the door open and walked into the outer office.

Behind a counter two young men, apprentice brokers, were sitting on high stools at their desks. They looked round to see who had come in. They greeted me with polite good afternoons and then bent over their tasks. At another desk on a dais in a corner of the room Henry Braithwaite, the chief clerk, who had been with the firm for many years, continued to write busily. Possessing a vast knowledge of world shipping, marine law and tonnage rates, he was both efficient and trustworthy. Without him the firm would not have been as successful as it was.

I cleared my throat loudly. Henry looked up, peered across at me, slid off his stool and came to the counter.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Jackson. Mr Hubert is beginning to get anxious about you. He has just returned from George's Dock and has bills of lading to make out for Captain Davis to come in and sign to-morrow," he said primly. He was a small thin man with a long-chinned wrinkled face and ink-stained fingers "Captain Davis ought to have made them out himself, but it's been the custom for some time now for us to make the bills out and for the Masters of ships to come to the office, check them and sign them." He sighed disapprovingly. "It means Mr Hubert will have to work most of the evening."

"I want to see him." I said. Since finding out how easily gulled I had been by Charles Ashton's and Ellis's suave manners, believing them to be honest and sincerely interested in my quest for my brother, I had abandoned my attempts to treat people with the same smooth politeness with which the English covered up their real feelings. From now on, the forthright ways I'd inherited from my North American forebears would serve me better and if anyone was offended as a result that was their bad luck.

I could see at once that I had offended Henry. His lips pursed and his eyebrows rose haughtily.

"I'm not sure he began.

"I am. I want to see Hubert now."

Without another word he went over to a panelled door at the back of the office, knocked on it, opened it and put his head round the edge of it. I pushed open the gate in the counter and followed him.

"Mr. Jackson here, Mr. Hubert," Henry announced. "Shall 1 let him in?"

"Of course, of course,"

Turning away from the doorway Henry almost collided with me. I grinned down at him.

"Thanks for the introduction," I said and walked past him into the principal's office.

"Edwin. Good to see you, old chap. Been thinking of you, wondering when you'd turn up again. Come right in."

Hubert closed the door behind me. The room was more comfortable than the outer office. Its furnishings attested to the success of the company. The walls were panelled in oak and a blue, yellow and red Oriental carpet covered the floor. Leather-bound books crowded shelves behind glass doors. Oil lamps stood on the desk and the mantelpiece. A coal fire smouldered in the small cast iron grate.

"When did you get back?" Hubert asked.

"About an hour ago. I thought we could go out for supper. I've a lot to tell you, Hubert."

"Then sit down, sit down, make yourself comfortable." Hubert waved towards a big leather-covered armchair. "Have one of Stanley's cigars," he said, picking up a carved box from the desk and offering it.

I took one, lit it at the taper which Hubert held out and drew in the fragrant smoke. Unbuttoning my jacket I sat on a corner of the big desk behind which Hubert had sat down to light his own cigar.

"I was beginning to think I might have to start searching for you," he said. "Back at the end of two weeks, you said. What happened in Scotland? Did you find Nathan?"

" I did not. That smooth-talking Ellis tricked me and if ever I run into him again, he'll know about it. I'd give anything to lay my hands on him. And I'll tell you something else. It will be a long time before I ever trust anyone again."

"Ellis has certainly wrought a change in you," Hubert remarked. "What else did he do to destroy your good humour and that tolerance you usually show for your fellowmen?"

"He only tried to murder me." I told him everything that had happened to me in Scotland.

"I can see you're still pale, old chap," Hubert said. "But you say nothing of Nathan."

"Because there's nothing to say. The place called Rassel was but a collection of abandoned cottages. The Maxwells had never seen Nathan, didn't know of his existence. No one in that district had seen him."

"The same accident that happened to you could have happened to him," Hubert pointed out. "He could have been put ashore then knocked senseless, robbed and murdered."

"That had occurred to me and to Ian. He had his quarrymen search the woods around the quarry. And he's going to continue to search. But it's more important that I find Ellis, Hubert. He knows what happened to Nathan, I'm sure of it. And so does Charles Ashton. I can't wait to confront Sir Charles and see the expression on his aristocratic face when arrive at his house, alive and kicking."

"The Ashtons have gone away," Hubert announced.

"Where? Where have they gone? "

"To stay with friends. Anna told me. She altered a dress for Miss Ashton who told her they were going away. They won't be back until after Christmas."

"Damnation."

"But 1 have some good news for you. Your ship has been chartered," Hubert said.

"My ship?"

"The MARCO POLO. I think of her as your ship because you regard her so highly. She will sail to Mobile, Alabama next month to pick up a cargo of cotton and bring it here. James Smith has asked Captain Amos Crosby, from Yarmouth, Nova Scotia to be in command. Crosby has been asking for you."

I strode back to the desk. Disappointment because the Ashtons had gone away was suddenly blotted out of my mind by excitement. The ship was suddenly at the forefront of all my thoughts again.

" Where is Captain Crosby staying?"

" At the Waterloo Hotel."

" Then let's go now to see him. We'll have supper with him and a game of billiards."

"But I have to make out a bill of lading for Captain Davis to sign to-morrow." Hubert made his protest half-heartedly.

"Later. You can do that later, after supper. We'll come back here and do it. I'll help you,"

I took Hubert's hat from the clothes stand went over to clap it on the back of his head, then held out his overcoat so he could slip his arms into the sleeves.

"With luck I'll be able to sign on as first mate under Captain Crosby," I continued as we left the room and walked through the outer office. "It will be good experience to sail under him. He's a highly respected Master on the other side of Atlantic. Come on, Hubert. Hurry. 1 can hardly wait to hear some real sailor's talk and news from home."

We walked to the Waterloo and found Amos Crosby, a fair-faced, frank-eyed man already seated in the dining room eating his supper. He was pleased to see me.

"I've been hoping you'd turn up before we sail for Mobile," he said. "You'll sign on as mate?'

I agreed and, at his invitation, we sat down at the table and were soon drinking from pint pots of ale, after giving an order for pea soup to be followed by snig pie, the local delicacy made from eels. Captain Crosby talked of Saint John, of James Smith, but most of all about the MARCO POLO.

"I intend to have her portrait painted," he announced. "As soon as I can find an artist

worthy of her."

"Does James Smith still want to sell the ship?" I asked.

"If anyone comes up with a good offer he will,"

"Market is still slow for sailing ships," put in Hubert. "Emigrant trade with Australia not as big as should be. Government can't get people to go out there. Is thinking of re-introducing transportation."

"You mean the transporting of convicts again?" Crosby exclaimed. "I'm very much against that. It's as bad as slave trading. But I thought gold had been discovered in New South Wales, earlier this year?"

"It was. In March. Fellow called Edward Hargreaves. Was in California in '49 and saw gold rush there. Returned to Australia found gold at Summer Hill Creek. Mad rush of people from towns and farms to the goldfield. Seamen deserting ships too. More people needed out there, to farm the land, run businesses." As always Hubert knew all the details about something that had happened far away and was of great inportance to the development of shipping and trade in Liverpool.

"If gold has been discovered you'd think emigrants would be clamouring to go out there," I said. "In the same way they rushed to California."

"Number wanting to go has risen. But the voyage is long. Takes months. Uncomfortable. Puts people off. And not enough steamships." Hubert pointed out. "If only a quicker route could be found for sailing ships."

"Mr.Towson says it's possible to get to Australia faster by using Great Circle navigation," I said. "It's the shortest way to get from one place to another round the world and, if it's used with the compass courses he published four years ago and with the charts of the world's wind and currents, published by Lieutenant Maury of the United States Navy, sailing ships could get to Australia faster. Maury advocates that ships making a passage to Australia should cross the equator at Longitude 30 degrees west and then, instead of bearing up sharp towards the Cape of Good Hope, as they do now, they should sail further south then turn east about Latitude 45 degrees and run before the strong westerly winds."

"That's all right in a ship driven by steam but a sailing ship is dependent on the wind and cannot keep to a pre-destined course," Crosby argued. "And while 1 agree with the idea of using the Great Circle to go anywhere it seems a long way to go in the wrong direction just to pick up favourable winds and currents. And the weather can be pretty stormy and cold in the Roaring Forties. But now, I have a question for you to test your knowledge of navigation, Mister Mate. How would you get from here to Alabama on a sailing ship?"

"I would take the old route south from here to the Cape Verde Islands to pick up the Trade winds and run before them across the ocean to Cuba then turn north and reach up to the Gulf of Mexico," I replied promptly.

"And that's the way we'll go," Crosby agreed. "That reminds me I have a package of mail for you from home. I'll go up to my room and fetch it."

While Captain Crosby was away Hubert and I finished our meal. When he returned with my package we all adjourned to the billiard room for cigars and a game. I was sighting along a cue before making a shot when I saw a familiar burly figure in the arched doorway.

"There he is," I whispered and straightened up.

"Who?" Hubert demanded.

"Ellis. He's there looking in at the door. Damn and blast. He's seen me and is taking off."

I threw down the cue, strode across the room, out of the door and into the entrance hall just in time to see the glass panelled front door of the hotel close. I rushed towards it flung it open and stepped outside. Wet air fingered my face as 1 looked right and then left.

A woman, her head shawled against the rain, stepped out of the shadows and placed her hand on my arm. In the light shed from the lamp over the hotel doorway her grey eyes held a feverish glitter. Rouge flamed on her cheeks.

"Come with me, dearie," she whispered.

"No, not to-night." I plunged a hand into my trouser pocket, brought out the few coins I had left, lifted her hand from my arm and pressed the money into it. "Take this," I said. "A man came out of this doorway, a few minutes ago. Did you see which way he went?"

"I ain't seen no one, dearie, Not a soul come out of there but yerself." she whispered and still clutching the coins, she covered her mouth with her shawl and began to run away down the street.

I was tempted to follow her, thinking she might lead me to Ellis, but the hotel door opened behind me.

"Missed him, did you? Pity." Hubert came to stand beside me. He was holding my jacket and dented cap. "Captain Crosby has gone to bed. Says he'll see you on board ship to-morrow. There's ballast to be loaded because we don't have much of a cargo bound for Mobile only a few manufactured goods. Here's your coat and your package. Time I went back and wrote out the bills of lading for Captain Davis."

I put on my jacket and cap and took the package. We began to walk, in the direction in which the prostitute had run off.

"Did you get a glimpse of him?" 1 asked.

"I did. So did the Captain. Recognised him, too. Not a savoury fellow. A crimp's runner. Used to work for a boarding house keeper."

"Where? Where?"

"On Water Street. But not there now. It was closed down by city authorities after a couple of seamen were murdered there. He must be working for someone else. "

"How can we find out?"

"Difficult. No use going to boarding houses and asking," Hubert said. "Close lot, crimps. Stick together. Only way is to keep ears and eyes open. We could ask Ben. And his brother, the Sergeant of Police."

"Thanks Hubert. You're a good friend."

"You're beginning to think like Ben Williams, that Nathan was kidnapped, put aboard a ship? You're thinking that Ellis did the kidnapping?" he asked.

"I am. And when I turned up asking for Nathan he enticed me up to Scotland and tried to get rid of me. But what puzzles me most is how involved is Charles Asthenia with Ellis? He first told me Nathan had gone to Scotland. He introduced me to Ellis. And I'm damned sure that his butler, Moses Brown, asked Anna to deliver a note to Nathan not long before he disappeared. Can you think of any reason why Charles Ashton would have wanted Nathan kidnapped and shipped abroad?'

"No. Not at the moment." Hubert shook his head "They all seemed very cosy to me, Ashton, his sister and Nathan. Whenever they were together at Stanley's house. Very, very cosy."

It was almost midnight when we returned to the lodging house on Duke Street. Before going to bed I opened the package from Saint John. It contained a new shirt and a letter from Eliza, which had been written at the beginning of September and had crossed the letter I had sent informing her and Mama that I was going to Scotland in search of Nathan.

Lying on the bed I raised a pillow behind my head and settled myself comfortably to read the short note.

" Much has been happening here the last few weeks," Eliza had written. " You will be surprised to hear, I am sure, that Joseph Paton's tavern and lodging house were closed down because there was too much fighting and rowdy behaviour and he lost his licence to sell liquor. He has left Saint John.

You asked me to find out if Louise Leblanc did elope with Mr Dunne to Montreal. It is true, she did, and they are now settled in that city in a house they share with Mr Dunne's brother. Mr Dunne is employed by a Montreal newspaper and Louise is expecting their first child."

I thought about Louise and Patrick and the day of the launching, the last time I had seen them. It was all so long ago now and Louise's refusal to wait for me no longer hurt. I had moved on and was now embroiled in a problem that was arousing in me emotions I had never suspected I possessed before, mostly anger and a desire for revenge on Ellis for intending to murder me, it was true, but I was also feeling concern for Julia. I couldn't erase from my mind the picture of her standing at a window shouting to me. I was sure she had been shouting for help.

My thoughts veered suddenly and violently, as the wind does at sea when a change in the weather is coming. I told myself it was because she was my brother’s sweetheart that I wanted to help Julia, to keep her safe from harm until Nathan was found and they could be together again.

I was wakened next morning by Gwyneth’s knock and her shout that hot water was outside. Remembering I had to report to Captain Crosby that morning, I leapt out of bed and brought in the steaming jug. In a few minutes I had shaved off the beard I had grown in Scotland and which made me look so much like a brigand or pirate. I ate breakfast with Ben in the kitchen and told him about my adventure in Scotland. He promised he would ask his brother about Ellis and would try to find out where the man lived.

By eight-thirty I was at Queen’s Dock renewing my acquaintance with the MARCO POLO. I climbed the masts, examined both standing and running rigging. I roused up the anchor chains to make sure there were no faulty links or worn shackle bolts. I made lists of what spare equipment was needed from the ship chandlers, then went ashore to find a crew.

On a clear cool day in mid-October Captain Crosby declared the ship ready to sail. The ballast of stones and bricks was stowed in the holds and the hatches were secure. All the crew were aboard. A steam tug arrived to haul the ship out into the river. When it was anchored a lighter came aside with the rest of the cargo. By two-o-clock that afternoon, all sails set and pulling, the ship romped on the reach down the Irish Sea, on her way to Latitude 20 degrees North and the South East Trade winds.

Three weeks later the ship was running before the wind, under brilliant sunny skies, across a turquoise blue sea, past the purple mountains and glittering yellow sands of the islands of Hispaniola and Cuba, towards the Gulf of Mexico.

9

"Wuz ye ever in Mobile Bay, screwing cotton all the day? "

In the dark almost airless holds of the MARCO POLO a gang of seamen, most of them hardened and regular sea-going lads from Liverpool, sang their favourite chantey. Their voices were raucous and often tuneless. They made up their own verses to the song of Riding On A Donkey, all of them rude and unrepeatable, expressing their hatred of the brutal work.

For six weeks we were at anchor far from the flat shore, out in the wide shallow Mobile Bay. Every day flat-bottomed barges brought the bales of cotton out to the ship and we lifted it aboard. We worked in three shifts. I was in charge of one gang, the second mate had charge of another and a stevedore from the town had charge of the third.

We squeezed and mashed the stuff into every corner with big screws. Cotton dust flew about making us cough and sneeze. Heat and humidity added to our discomfort. Stripped to the waist, cotton rags tied round our heads to prevent sweat dripping into our eyes, we soon became bad-tempered. Arguments and fights broke out and I was often forced to use my fists to keep order amongst the men. Screws were dangerous weapons and many a seaman was injured badly by a blow given him by one of his fellow workers.

The town was a good distance inland and there was no jolly entertainment ashore to soothe our savage feelings about the slavish, backbreaking job. No taverns, no music or dancing, no women. Our only leisure activities were swimming in the shallow tepid bay or dragging for oysters from the ship's boats.

At last we finished in the holds and loaded the rest of the bales on to the flat deck. I reported to Captain Crosby that we could load no more and then helped him make out the bills of lading.

"I guess James Smith as owner of the ship stands to make a good profit from this cargo," I remarked.

"You're right," Crosby answered. "The amount paid to him for transporting cotton is more than a half-penny a pound and the amount of cotton to fill the holds of this ship is about a third of her tonnage, 1625 registered tons."

I did a rough calculation in my head and gave a low whistle.

"More than three thousand British pounds," I said. "The seamen earn little more than three pounds a month for a round trip - in this case about four months long. The second mate and I don't get much more and, as well as stowing the cotton the crew does all the maintenance on the ship on fine days so that costs him very little. I don't know what he is paying you for being in command, but it seems to me a shipowner makes his fortune too easily. The crew ought to be paid more for such detestable work. No wonder they get unruly and disobedient."

"I agree with you. But nothing will change until seamen can be more organised and disciplined on their own account," Crosby said and deftly changed the subject. "I think I've found an artist to paint a portrait of the ship. He's in Mobile right now and has agreed to sail with us on the trip back to Liverpool. "

Next day, January the third, we took on fresh water. Captain Crosby went ashore with the bills of lading and to get clearance from the port. He returned with a pilot and the artist, John Guy Evans. He was going to paint the portrait of the ship entering the River Mersey. The anchor was hauled up and we set the lower courses and jibs.

We arrived in the Mersey three weeks later. The weather was cold and clear. Once again the ship could not be towed over the sill of a Liverpool dock while she was fully loaded. Lighters came alongside and took off the deck cargo and some of the cargo from the holds before she floated higher and was towed into Brunswick Dock. Captain Crosby paid off the crew and discharged them, retaining myself, Nick Carter, and a ship's boy.

In the afternoon the ship was moved into Albert Dock and the next day the discharge of cotton began in earnest. The broker responsible for importing the cotton and freighting it to the mills came aboard and with him was Hubert.

"I heard the old tub was in dock," he said. "You look well. Bronzed and all that. Muscles as hard as nails, I'd say." He punched my biceps with a fist.

"So would yours be if you'd been screwing cotton for six weeks in Mobile Bay,"I said. "Hell on earth, is what that work is. God knows how the slaves stick it out, baling cotton on the plantations, day in day out, for no pay. But enough of Mobile. Any news of Nathan? "

"Nothing. Asked about Ellis and the ARIEL. Both gone. Disappeared off face of earth. But the Astons have returned and Anna's father died at Christmas."

"The port seems busy. We saw many ships in Liverpool Bay and off the Irish coast, both coming and going."

"Everyone is off to Melbourne. Another gold discovery, this time at Ballarat, in September. City is teeming with emigrants from everywhere. Dutch, Scandinavians, Germans, Poles. James Baines, the shipping agent and shipowner wants to start his own Line of Australian packets. He's looking for bigger and faster sailing ships. James Smith will be able to sell this tub to him, if he plays his cards right. "

That day, at five-o-clock, I left the dock and walked to Williams's lodging house. In the steamy kitchen supper was ready to be served. I was greeted heartily by the Williams family and room was made for me on a bench at the table.

When the meal was over I went up to my room to unpack my seabag. I was sorting out the shirts and underwear that I intended to give to Mrs Williams to wash, when there was a knock at the door. I opened it. Anna was standing on the landing.

"I am happy you return," she said.

"I'm sorry to hear of your father's death," I replied.

"He went peacefully," she said sadly, then burst out excitedly. "So much has happened while you have been away. I am going to be married, Edwin. You know I attend the Roman Catholic church near here? There I meet Heinrich Groesh and his brother Johannes. They are from Germany. They intend to go to Australia, as soon as they can get berths on a ship."

"To dig for gold?" I asked.

"To farm the land. Heinrich is a wheelwright and Johannes is a blacksmith. Such skills are much in demand in the new State of Victoria because everyone has deserted their usual jobs to go to the gold fields. They have already paid for a tract of land not far from Melbourne. That gives them the privilege of naming five adults for a free passage on the same ship. So they have named me. Heinrich says they need a housekeeper." Pink colour stained Anna's usually pale cheeks and she added shyly "Then he say he needs more. He needs a wife."

"When will you marry him?'

"Soon. I hope before we leave. But there is such a demand for cabins. Each time an advertisement appears in the newspapers saying a ship will be leaving for Melbourne in the next month there is a long line of people outside the shipping agents offices. But that is not all I came to tell you. I was asked to-day to give you this."

She held out a sealed envelope. I took it from her, thanked her and she walked away without another word.

There was no name or address on the envelope. I slit it open and took out a single sheet of paper, closely written on one side only. Before reading I glanced at the bottom of the page for the signature. Julia Ashton. 1 felt a jolt of excitement and my heart began to thump faster than usual.

Julia's writing was well formed and easy to read.

"Moses told me you asked him about a note he delivered to Nathan at the dressmakers in Bold Street. I decided to have a dress altered. Miss Fischer is doing the work for me. I asked her about you. To-day at the last fitting she told me your ship is back in port so I wrote this note quickly for her to give to you. I would like to meet you again but Charles makes it hard for me to see you. Please try to come to Broadacres to-morrow evening at eight-o-clock. I shall be at the old gardener's cottage near the gates. No one lives there now. If I am not there when you arrive wait for half an hour before giving up and leaving."

I sat on the edge of my bed staring at the paper in my hand. Nathan had disappeared after receiving a note delivered to him by Anna Fischer. Had Julia sent that note? Had she invited him to meet her at the gardener's cottage at Brocades? Had he gone there, been waylaid by Ellis and murdered? If I went to meet her would I be attacked by Ellis again and possibly murdered?

I decided to take the risk and went out to Mossley Hill by hansom cab and just before eight-o-clock the next evening, I walked up the driveway to the gardener's cottage. The weather was frosty and clear and a half moon sailed the dark blue sky.

I rapped quietly on the cottage door. It opened and light from a lantern, held shoulder-high, slanted directly on to my face. Behind the glow I could make out the whites of two eyes staring at me. Moses' black face blended with the darkness of the room behind him.

"Come in, suh,' he whispered. "Miz Julia she here, waiting,"

Warily, ready to fend off an assailant, I edged my way into the room until 1 could stand with my back against the wall beside the doorway. There was a rustle of silk petticoats and, as Moses came in after me swinging the lantern high again, Julia advanced out of the gloom.

"Leave the lantern on the table, please Moses, and keep watch outside," she said.

He moved into the room and placed the lantern on a deal table then turned to look at me.

"Now don't you harm Miz. Julia, sailorman," he growled at me. "You have to answer to Moses if you lay a finger on her."

"Hush, Moses," Julia ordered. "Mr. Jackson has come at my request and I guess from the way he came in that he isn't at all sure whether it's safe for him to be here. Please go, now. We won't be long."

She was wearing a dark woollen dress with a white collar. A woollen shawl covered her bright hair. As Moses closed the outer door she sat down at the table on a kitchen chair. Sliding the shawl from her head and draping it about her shoulders, she looked across at me and smiled.

"Come and sit down, in the lamplight, so I can see your face," she said.

I stood still, listening for the slightest sound, probing the shadowy corners of the room. Pattering sounds came from behind the wainscoting. The mice were busy and the smell of dust, damp and decay was almost overpowering.

"There is no one else in the cottage," Julia said.

I looked at her, admiring her calmness at the same time wondering how many times she had kept a secret tryst with a man in that place. In the lantern-light her pale hair was a tangle of golden tinsel. Light was reflected back from the whites of her eyes, making the irises seem darker than usual.

"You used to meet Nathan here?" I stepped forward to the table and stood facing her across it.

"Yes, we met here several times. You see he was. " she paused then continued with a smile, " I'm not quite sure how to put it. He formed a romantic attachment to me is, perhaps, the best way."

"Well, I haven't formed an attachment to you so why have you invited me to meet you
here?"

Her eyes flashed when she raised her eyelids to look at me.

"You don't have to be sarcastic," she retorted.

"But I do have the right to be suspicious. It was after he received a note, delivered to him by Anna Fischer, that Nathan disappeared. Was that note from you?"

" It was not. I know nothing about it. Moses told me you had asked him about the note so I asked him who had sent him with it. He wouldn't tell me, behaved as if he was terrified, so I guessed the note must have been sent by Charles. Moses is afraid of no one except Charles. He does not like to be whipped."

I decided she was telling the truth. I pulled a chair out from the table, spun it round and straddled it, my arms resting along the back. Taking off my cap I tossed it on to the table.

"What were you and Nathan up to that Charles didn't like?"

"It is hard and complicated to explain." She traced with a forefinger a knot in the wood of the table.

"Begin with your friendship with Nathan," I suggested. "I guess you met first at Stanley Owens house."

" In the same way we met you. We invited him to tea. He came every Saturday. He was easy to talk to, friendly. I'd missed that sort of openness since I'd left the islands. But after a while he stopped coming."

" Why?"

" Nathan told Charles he wanted to marry me and take me to New Brunswick," she said. "Charles lost his temper and asked Nathan not to visit us again."

"I see. I guess Charles decided a colonial shipping agent and would-be poet wasn't good enough to be your husband? Perhaps you thought that way too."

"I did not. And it was nothing to do with class distinction or prejudice," she retorted.

"Then what was it to do with?"

"Money."

"Explain, please."

"I don't like you when you're like this, cold and unfriendly," she complained.

"I'm not asking to be liked," I said. "And lately being friendly hasn't helped me find my brother. Are you going to explain why Charles refused to let Nathan marry you or not?'

"I suppose so," she muttered. "Since we came to England Charles has gone through the small fortune his great-uncle left him, squandered it on gambling and horse-racing and high living. To pay off his debts I arranged for him to gain access to my trust fund, the money left me by my mother, and use it, making him promise to give up his extravagant ways. He broke his promise and now we are both penniless. You have seen the state of the house, the big spaces where valuable paintings and ornaments have been removed and taken to the auction rooms to be sold or to pawn shops to get loans. We are in debt to many businesses and Charlie has been threatened with debtor's prison if he doesn't pay. So, so...." Her voice shook slightly and she broke off.

"Go on." I urged.

"He's been arranging for me to marry a wealthy man," she said, her voice hardening.

"Leonard Stiles?" I suggested.

"Yes. Ah, I see you make a face and shake your head. You do not approve."

"No woman should have to marry for money," I declared. "No man either, for that matter. Why should you have to marry that middle-aged bladder of lard to keep your brother out of debtor's prison?"

"You are very rude about Leonard. It's true he is fat and is much older than 1 am, but he is very kind. And it isn't just to help Charlie. I don't want to go to prison for debt, either. "

"But how come Charles has the right to choose a husband for you?"

"He's my legal guardian until I'm twenty five, in three years time. He isn't my full brother. My mother was Thomas Asthenia's second wife. Her mother was a French Creole married to a Dutch trader." Julia fingered her bright hair. "I have Dutch hair and French Creole skin. Charles hates the colour of my skin."

"He seems to hate a lot of people. But go on with your story."

"My mother inherited her mother's business, making dresses for the wealthy planters wives and daughters on the island. That is how Papa met her. She made dresses for his first wife. Charles disliked my mother, partly because she usurped his mother's place in our father's affections but mostly because she had mixed blood. And he considered her to be common and ordinary, a tradeswoman. His own mother had been an English lady and mad into the bargain."

"Mad?"

" Hannah Ashton went insane and had to be locked up when she became violent. Bella, Moses' wife, told me that she remembers Hannah attacking Papa with a knife. She would have stabbed him but he overwhelmed her." Julia shook her head from side to side. "Poor Papa, no wonder he sought release from living with her elsewhere."

"With your mother?"

"Yes. In the end Hannah committed suicide. Charlie was eight at the time and I believe the shock may have deranged him a little. It could account for why he is so unstable. Two years after the suicide Papa married my mother and I was born. We all seemed to be very happy until seven years ago when Papa and my mother were killed in an accident.

"What sort of accident?"

"They were going by carriage to Basse-Terre from the plantation house which was situated half-way up Mount Misery. The road wound down the side of a steep hill. Just as they reached the narrowest and steepest part, one of the carriage wheels broke and the whole carriage tipped over and slid into the chasm. My mother and Papa were crushed to death by the weight of the carriage." She shuddered and covered her face with her hands. "It was horrible, horrible," she whispered.

"I'm sorry," I said. Nathan had probably shown his sympathy much more adequately, had perhaps taken her in his arms, stroked her hair and made all the right comforting moves.

She lowered her hands. Her eyes were full of tears, glinting in the lantern-light.

"When he heard of the accident Charlie went mad with grief and rage," she continued. "He said some of the black plantation workers had arranged the accident. He said the rim of the broken wheel wasn't cracked or splintered but looked as if it had been partially sawn through. He raved about it for days and wouldn't employ them any more."

"Was he right?"

"No, Of course not. But he suffered from a sort of delusion that the black people were all against us and wanted us to leave St Kitts. He accused me once of being in a conspiracy with them to kill him and take over the plantation."

"Were you?'

"I was only fifteen. Why would I want to do anything like that? Charlie calmed down when Papa's will was read and he learned he had inherited the plantation and Papa's fortune and had been named my guardian and trustee for the money 1 had inherited. But he was hopeless at running the plantation. Soon he was in debt. Two years after Papa and Mama were killed we heard that our father's uncle had died and left Brocades to Charles, his only surviving relative, plus a few thousand pounds. The lawyer in charge of the settlement of the estate insisted we came to Liverpool. Charles could hardly wait to leave St Kitts."

"Why did you come with him."

"I had no choice because he was still my guardian and trustee. I hoped that once we were here, in England, I would be able to get away from him, find some sort of work. But every time I found an opportunity to leave he blocked it, usually by locking me in my room and putting it about that I was ill or out of my mind."

"Couldn't you have told your friends about it, asked for their help?"

"I tried but none of them would believe Charlie could be so difficult. You must have noticed that when he is behaving normally, he can be very charming. It is when he has been drinking he falls into a depression and believes that everyone is against him. I get so worried about him. I'm afraid he might go the same way as his mother."

"What happened after Charles forbade Nathan to visit you?" I asked.

"Nathan was not easily put off. He came to the house the following Saturday, as usual. Moses answered the door and on Charlie's orders would not let him in. Nathan then arranged with Moses to meet me here that evening. Nathan wanted me to elope with him. To Gretna Green. He said he would come for me in a carriage. I refused."

"He wasn't wealthy enough. Couldn't pay your debts," I suggested.

"That isn't why at all. I wish you wouldn't speak like that. You are not half as nice
as your brother."

"Why wouldn't you elope with him?" I persisted.

"I don't run away from responsibility, that's why. I couldn't run away from Moses and Bella and leave them to the mercies of Charlie."

"You mean Charlie treats them badly? He's cruel to them?"

"Not all the time. Only when he's feeling insecure. And I couldn't abandon him either. I told Nathan why I couldn't elope with him and asked him if he could arrange passages on a ship sailing to St Kitts for Moses and Bella. They yearn to go back to the island and be re-united with their own family. Nathan said he would do what he could. It was to be done secretly without Charlie knowing. He booked the passages and promised to come for Moses and Bella in a cab and take them to the dock where the ship lay."

"He was to come for them on March tenth?" I guessed.

" The day after, March eleventh. Moses and Bella waited here at this cottage with their baggage. They waited and waited for him. He never came. They went back to the house before Charlie returned home. Nathan didn't come again even though Moses came down to the cottage several times in the evenings to see if he were here. We didn’t hear from him again. I decided he'd changed his mind about helping us. But 1 longed to know what had happened and tried to find out where he was. No one seemed to know. In the end I asked Charles. He told me Nathan had been challenged to a duel."

"You mean with pistols? But isn't it illegal to fight duels now, in this country ?"

"Yes. But men still do it when they are angry with each other or feel that their honour has been offended in some way." she said scornfully.

"Did Charles tell you what the duel was about?"

"He said it was because Nathan and the man who had challenged him were both in love with the same woman and that the challenger had found out Nathan had been visiting the woman secretly."

"You?"

"I believe so."

"Then he knew you and Nathan were meeting secretly. He'd spied on you or got someone else to spy on you."

"I suppose he could have done," she admitted. "Nathan did say once he thought he'd been followed when he walked out here."

"And Anna Fischer said that after she had given him the note from Moses Nathan seemed worried and distracted. It could have been a challenge to a duel. Did Charles ever tell you the name of the challenger?"

"No. I asked him if John Beverly had challenged Nathan. John is one of the worst rakes. He used to flirt with me at parties and dances in the homes of our friends. It wasn't very serious. But I knew he was fearless as well as being a crack shot. When I asked Charlie he looked flustered, lost his temper and wouldn't answer. Later he told me the duel had not taken place."

"Why not?"

"Because the police had been informed and arrived at the Dingle, the place where duels are often fought. They found only Nathan there and took him away in a cab. Charles said he supposed Nathan had been fined and had to leave the country. When I asked him if Nathan had gone back to New Brunswick he flew into another rage and told me to stop pestering him. I guessed then that he knew exactly what had happened to Nathan. He is hopeless at telling lies. Instead he loses his temper."

"He should be locked up. On a ship if a man goes berserk we have to put him in irons."

"That is a terrible, cruel thing to do. And I couldn't do it to Charlie. We have always been good friends. If only he would stop drinking. would try to live quietly and sensibly instead of going about with rakes and gamblers. 1 could look after him and make sure nothing upsets him."

"He could have found out Nathan was going to help Moses and Bella and possibly you to leave the country and decided to stop him," I mused. "He could have been the challenger. He could have shot Nathan and had his body thrown in the river."

"Oh, no, no, no." she cried. "He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't."

"Oh, yes, yes, yes," I mocked. "Seems to me your dear Charlie will do anything to get his own way and marry you off to Leonard Stiles. I haven't forgotten the last time I called at Broadacres. Moses told me you had gone away but 1 saw you at a window. You banged on it and shouted to me. Then someone dragged you away. Was the someone Charles?"

"He'd locked me in my room without food because I refused to say I would marry Leonard," she admitted. "I wouldn't have given in to him if he hadn't started to abuse Bella and Moses too. I cannot bear to see them bullied and he knows that."

I said nothing. I was trying to control my temper. If Charles Ashton had walked into the cottage at that moment I would have given little odds on his chances of survival.

"I said I would marry Leonard and now I am engaged. Look." She waved her left hand. A priceless emerald and diamond ring glittered in the yellow light, a cold symbol of possession.

"You could tell Leonard you don't want to marry him," I said. I was thinking of what Nathan's feelings would be when he learned of the engagement and had to put in a word for him.

"No. I couldn't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because I've given my promise to him."

"Under duress."

"What do you mean?"

"You've promised to marry him not because you love him or want to marry him but because Charles has threatened you in some way. With a whipping perhaps? Or worse?" There was a short silence. Then, not looking at me, she said quietly,

"If I was a man, a man like you, confident and courageous, free to do what I want to do, life would be much more simple. But I'm a woman and not free."

"Your mother was free to do what she wanted," I pointed out.

"She worked, was independent, could please herself. But I was born into a different class. Do you know, Edwin, that the women who work in Leonard's mills have more freedom than the daughters of aristocrats or well-to-do merchants? They don't have every luxury, but they are free to love and live as they choose. Please try to understand. Marriage to Leonard is the only way open to me. Leonard will pay our debts and take Charlie and me to live in his house. I'll be able to look after Charlie in a comfortable and stable home and, perhaps, when he does not have to worry about money he will become more tranquil. It is for the best," she repeated as if to convince not only me but also herself. She looked at me and made a grimace. "Now you know all about us. Now you know Charlie is probably responsible for the disappearance of your brother. And come to think of it so am I in a way. If I hadn't shown my liking for Nathan or asked him to help Moses and Bella get away from here, Charlie wouldn't have had him removed. Oh, you must think we are both despicable."

I made no comment because at that particular moment I was in complete agreement with her remark. I took a crumpled piece of paper from my pocket and laid it on the table before her.

"This is the poem Nathan wrote about you," I said. "Take and read it. You'll understand why I believe he did not need much encouragement to help you. He was in love with you."

"Thank you for bringing it," Her voice was muffled. She picked up the paper, folded it and slipped it into the cuff of her sleeve.

"As for Charles," I continued. "I guessed after I'd been to Scotland that he might be behind Nathan's disappearance. He's also tried to get rid of me on two occasions."

She sprang to her feet.

"Then you must go, leave at once," she ordered. "I'll never forgive myself if he finds out you've been here this evening, meeting me. He'll become violent, try to kill you or have you killed. And I couldn't bear that. Please Edwin, go. Charlie will be returning soon. I must get back to the house before he does or he'll guess I'm here. He mustn't find you here. Please go."

I quit straddling the chair, stood up and went over to her. Both hands on my arms she tried to push me in the direction of the door. She was almost strong enough to push me off balance.

"I'm not afraid of Charles Ashton," I said. "Let him find me here. I'll be happy to give him the hiding he deserves and should have received years ago."

"Go. Please go. For my sake, for the sake of Moses and Bella. Go. Go. Now you know everything there is to know about Charlie and me, please go. There is nothing to stay for, nothing you can do. Oh, why are you so stubborn?"

I laughed at this familiar description of my character, stepped back from her pushing hands and then quickly grasped them in my own and drew her towards me.

"You are a paradox with your bright hair and your dark skin," I said. "One moment you're calm like the sea on a fine day, the next you're stormy, stirred up by passion."

"Please go," she said weakly.

"Come with me," I urged.

She looked up at me.

" Where?"

" To my lodgings, You can hide there for a day or two until I can get a position as a mate on a ship bound for the West Indies. You, Moses, Bella could all come with me. I’d take you to St. Kitts."

" No. No. You don’t know what you’re saying, " she whispered and draped her shawl over her head. " I can’t let you do that. It would damage your reputation as an officer and...."

" To hell with all that," I interrupted her, conveniently forgetting I had once refused to take Louise with me because I had cared more about my career as a ship’s officer than I had for her. " Let me do for you what Nathan was going to do, help you get away from Charles and a marriage you don’t want."

" I must stay here. And so must you to find out where Nathan is. Please find him, Edwin, please find him alive somewhere and bring him back."

" Not much use me finding Nathan alive and bringing him back to you if you’re married to Leonard Stiles," I muttered. Then I urged again, " Come away with me."

" I can’t. You must see that. I have to put Charlie first. And you must put Nathan first. They are between us and always will be. Please go and find your brother."

She turned away from me, became a shadow mingling with other shadows. I did not follow her. Picking up my cap, not wanting to leave her for a reason I could not tell her, I walked out of the cottage. Neither of us said farewell.

10

Captain Crosby was well pleased with the portrait of the MARCO POLO painted by John Guy Evans. It showed the ship under full sail, flying her name pennant from the main mast and the Red Ensign from the stern jack, entering the River Mersey just off the landmrk known as the Rock Light. The Captain told me the painting would hang in the parlour at his home in Yarmouth, Nova Scotia.

Then, since the unloading of the cotton was finished and no one wanted to charter or buy the ship, she was towed out of dock once more and anchored in the river. Captain Crosby went off on another command, leaving myself and Nick Carter as caretakers.

At the end of March I was still there, weary of being in port, weary of sitting at anchor watching other ships come and go, weary of asking for Nathan or Ellis in the dockside taverns and tawdry hotels. Hours, days, weeks and months of my life were going by and I was no closer to achieving my ambition to be a Master Mariner. It was like being in the Doldrums, that area of no wind near the Equator, where sailing ships are becalmed for days and weeks, waiting for the tiniest breeze to pipe up, fill their canvas and drive them onward.

I was thinking of giving up on my mission to find Nathan, of shipping aboard as mate on a cargo ship bound for India or China, when abruptly and happily my doldrum state came to an abrupt end. The MARCO POLO was sold.

Hubert brought me the good news. He came out to the ship on one of the sailing gigs belonging to the Harbour Board and brought a bottle of rum. We sat in the Master's cabin and toasted the future of the ship in large tots of grog.

"James Baines is the new owner," he said. "You remember him? He's looked at the ship many times."

"A cocky little fellow, with blue eyes and a crop of yellow curls, about twenty eight, married to a farmer's daughter," I replied.

"Married her for money, so he could buy ships," Hubert said and poured more rum. He loved nothing better than a good gossip about the lives of shipowners and shipping agents. "Sharp businessman. Knows when to jump on the band wagon."

"And his mother has a confectioner's shop on Duke Street," I said.

"That's the chap. His mother is By Appointment."

"What does that mean?"

"One of her cake confections was served at some occasion attended by Queen Victoria. Now she can put under the name of her business By Appointment to her Majesty." Hubert soon became light-headed when he drank rum. He jumped to his feet to drink a toast to Her Majesty the Queen and insisted I did the same.

"What is Barnes going to do with the ship?" I asked when we were both sprawling in our chairs again.

"He has a new partner, Thomas Mackay. Another of those tight-fisted Scots who come to England with only a shilling their pockets and then make their fortunes," Hubert said mockingly and then had to re-fill his glass to drink a toast to the Scots. "Mackay is part owner of a dry dock and ship repair business with another fellow called Miller. Good move on Baines's part. He's now in a position to start a fleet of passenger ships to transport gold diggers and emigrants to Australia. Until now he didn't own ships big enough to accommodate the rush of emigrants applying for assisted passages. Marco Polo will carry several hundred people."

"But I thought Baines didn't like this ship. I've heard him call her names often enough."

"Changed his mind. Persuaded James Smith to reduce the price on her. And then Mackay and Miller agreed to fit her out for passengers and copper sheath her keel. Expensive business. Baines couldn't afford it on his own. He wants her ready to sail in June for Melbourne. I have instructions from James Smith to pay off you and Carter."

Though I was pleased and excited to learn that the ship had been bought I was not so pleased with the idea of being parted from her. If she was going on a voyage to Australia then I wanted to be a member of her crew. It was service that would look very good on my application for a Master's Certificate. But, until she was ready to sail, I had to earn my living somehow. The money my mother had sent me to help in the search for Nathan had all gone and I did not want to ask her to send more.

As soon as the ship was towed into the dry dock owned by Miller and Mackay, I applied to the company for a job as a rigger. Since I was intimate with every sheet and shackle, every stay and shroud, and had been present at the original rigging of the ship, I was hired immediately. Nick, who felt the same about the ship as I did, also found work as a labourer. He hoped to be taken on as one of the cooks, when she sailed to Australia.

I had been working at the shipyard for a little over a week when another piece of good luck came my way. Police Sergeant Alun Williams appeared at Ben Williams's lodging house one evening, after supper.

"I've found Albert Ellis," he announced triumphantly. "I'd like you to come with me now, Mr Jackson, to the hotel where he is staying. I want you to make an accusation in front of me. I've been looking for a good reason to arrest the bastard for some time. Are you willing?'

"I'm more than willing," I said. "You'll come with me Hubert? Be a witness to what Ellis says or does?"

"Gladly," my friend agreed.

We went in a cab to Bootle, a village on the western outskirts of the city to which the new docks extended along the Mersey estuary, where new taverns and lodging houses had proliferated, in response to the needs of seamen off the ships that filled those docks.

"One of my men spotted him," Sergeant Williams explained. "I went to the place and saw him go in there not much more than an hour ago. All dressed up he was, watch-chain and all, and with a doxie on his arm."

"Maybe we'll catch him with his pants down," I felt light-hearted at the thought of confronting Ellis again. I was sure my search for Nathan was nearly over.

The manager of the hotel looked worried when Alun announced who he was, but he gave the room number and we all trooped up to the second floor and along a narrow dimly lit passage way.

"Two of my men and I will wait outside, out of sight until you and Mr Owen have got entry to the room and made your accusations," Alun instructed us. "Once you've found out what it is you want to know from him, open the door and we'll go in and arrest him on these other charges we have against him."

I knocked twice. The door was opened cautiously by Ellis. His shirt collar was unfastened and his waistcoat was partly undone but he still wore his trousers. When he saw me surprise leapt in his eyes and he tried very hard to slam the door shut. Anticipating the move I placed my booted foot between the door's edge and the jamb. I put the flat of my hand against the upper panel of the door and slammed it wide open.

"I see you remember me, Albert," I said. Panic flashed briefly in his eyes and was gone.

"Yes, I do, Edwin. How are you? Did you find your brother?" He had recovered his usual cool and easy manner.

"You know damned well I didn't. But I heard you were back in town and thought you might have more information about Nathan for me."

"I have nothing for you. And I can't help it if you did not find your brother. I did all I could at the time. Now, if you'll excuse me."

He had got behind the door and was beginning to push it forward.

"Not until you tell me who hired you to knock me out and rob me? Was it Charles Asthenia ?" I demanded.

He swung the door violently towards me. I side-stepped quickly to avoid being hit by it. I lunged forward and grabbed hold of him. Putting an arm around his neck and under his jaw, I dragged him away from the doorway and into the room. The door swung open again and Hubert stepped into the room. He closed the door behind him.

"Turn the key in the lock, Hubert, and put it in your pocket," I ordered and flung the gagging almost-choked Ellis away. Hands at his bruised throat he staggered backwards and came up sharp against the bed. The half-dressed young woman with straggling red hair, who was lying on it, shrieked and, grabbing the quilt, draped it about her and shuffled over to the other side. I advanced towards Ellis. Unable to escape he sat down suddenly on the bed. Grasping the front of his shirt I pulled him up until our faces were on a level.

"You tricked me into going aboard the ARIEL," I accused him. "You were hired to get rid of me in the same way that you were asked to get rid of my brother. That's what you do for a living, isn't it? You're a crimp's runner and you break the law finding seamen for ships wherever you can. Only you and the devils who hire you know what other crimes you commit. It was Charles Ashton, who hired you to kill me, wasn't it? By God, you'd better answer or I'll have you up before judge and jury on a charge of assault with intention to murder me. Was it Charles Ashton who put you up to it?"

I shook him, big man though he was, as if he were no more than a sack filled with straw.

"Let me go. I can't get my breath. Let go and I'll tell you," he croaked.

"Let go of him, old chap," Hubert intervened. "He can't speak while you're half-choking him."

Reluctantly I released Ellis. He sat down on the bed again.

"Ashton knew your brother and his sister were communicating secretly through his servant, Moses. He believed they were planning to elope," he muttered sullenly. "He arranged for a note to be sent to your brother challenging him to a duel out at the Dingle. I was there when your brother arrived alone at the field. I clubbed him to the ground and carried him to the hansom cab I'd borrowed from a friend for the occasion. I drove him to the docks and shipped him aboard the old CELESTE. She was bound for Australia. Port Phillip, I think. The captain promised me he'd make sure your brother would never reach Australia alive."

"When did the ship leave Liverpool?" Hubert asked.

"March the eleventh, last year."

"Do you know if she ever returned here?"

"I haven't heard anything about her since she left." Ellis gave me an underbrowed look and, suddenly and sickeningly, he began to whine. "Don't turn me in, Mr Jackson. I wouldn't have done anything to your brother if Ashton hadn't offered me good money. Then, when you turned up and started poking your nose into the business, we were both afraid we'd be found out and hauled before the magistrate. So he thought up a way to get rid of you and said he'd pay me if I took you to Scotland and made sure you never came back. He'd paid me the first time or I wouldn't have agreed to help him out the second time. But I haven't seen the colour of his money since I knocked you down near that quarry."

"You took my watch, didn't you?" I said.

"I ... er...." He was going to lie so I stepped forward threateningly. He soon changed his tune. "Yes, yes. I did."

"I can see you're wearing the chain so it must be in your waistcoat pocket,"

Slowly Ellis undid the chain from a buttonhole in his waistcoat, took the watch from his pocket and handed both to me.

After examining the watch for damage, I pushed it into the pocket of my jacket and walked towards the door.

"You can unlock it now, Hubert," I said.

"Is that all? " Hubert asked as he turned the key and swung open the door.

"He's admitted that he kidnapped Nathan and shipped him off to Australia and that he was hired to get rid of me," I said in a loud voice. "That's all I wanted to know. You can come in now Sergeant Williams."

The Sergeant and constables rushed past me and Hubert into the room. There was a scuffle and I heard the girl shrieking again. As he was brought past me by the two constables Ellis cursed me violently in some of the foulest language I had ever heard. The red-haired girl was still shrieking. Hubert closed the door on the noise and together we followed the police and Ellis down the stairs. We left the hotel before they did.

"What now?" Hubert asked as we rode in a cab back to Duke Street.

"Go the rounds of the shipping agents and find out if the CELESTE really did sail for Port Phillip and Melbourne on March the eleventh last year. Find out if she ever arrived there. Voyage would take a few months, I guess, going the usual route and if she had to call at Capetown on the way. She might have reached Australia about the end of last August or beginning of last September."

"Plenty of time for Nathan to have written and for your family or even Stanley Owen to have received a letter from him," Hubert said.

"If he survived the voyage." I felt dour after hearing what had been done to Nathan " And after hearing what Ellis said about what our dishonourable aristocratic acquaintance paid him to do, I can hardly wait to confront Sir Charles Ashton. He's a menace to ordinary unsuspecting folk like Nathan and he should be locked up."

"Leave it to the police and the courts," Hubert advised. "Ellis is sure to incriminate Ashton when he's questioned by the magistrate."

But the desire to get my hands on Charles Ashton to give him the sort of whipping he was so fond of giving his servants stayed with me. I would go out to Broadacres as soon as I could.

It wasn't hard to find information about the CELESTE Her departure the previous March was recorded in the shipping register of the port of Liverpool. Heavily laden with iron rails and parts of railway engines for the new Australian State of Victoria, the ship had reached Port Phillip eventually. By the time her cargo had been discharged gold had been discovered at nearby Ballarat. Seamen, officers and captain had deserted the Celeste to join the rush to the Diggings, as the gold mines were called. Since then the ship, like many others, had been rotting at anchor in Hobson's Bay, unable to leave and return to Liverpool because of lack of crew.

The agent responsible for exporting the cargo had no news of anyone called Nathan Jackson, who had been shipped aboard the Celeste by a crimp.

"Possibly your brother also deserted to the gold fields," Hubert remarked. "So near and yet so far from finding out where he is or what happened to him. You'll have to go to Australia yourself to find him."

"And that's exactly what I'm going to do. The MARCO POLO is due to sail for Melbourne, June twenty-first and I'll be aboard her, preferably as a mate, if not, as an able seaman. James Baines has chosen a friend of his, James Nicol Forbes, to command the ship. He's another Scot who came to Liverpool with only a shilling in his pocket. He's only thirty one but he already has a reputation as a first rate captain, able to get the most out of his ships as well as their crews. He says he's going to need twice the normal crew and four mates if the ship is going to reach Australia faster than any other sailing ship has ever done before."

And so it turned out that way and I was signed on to be fourth mate for the forthcoming voyage. My affair with the MARCO POLO continued and, God willing, she was going to take me to Nathan.

" It will be the experience of a lifetime, one that I cannot ignore. When I reach Melbourne I will find out if Nathan was on the CELESTE when she arrived there and if he also deserted her to go to the goldfields," I wrote to my mother and Eliza. " But it has occurred to me that if he left the ship, he would surely have written to you by now, informing you of his whereabouts? Please reply on receipt of this letter and send your blessings for this new adventure of mine. I do not expect to be leaving port until June twenty first."

Time that had crawled by in March and early April now sped by in a blur. In spite of all efforts to make her ready the ship's renovations had not been finished and the departure date was postponed to the fourth day of July. As I had hoped, several days before the original departure date, I received a reply to my letter home. Eliza wrote:

" We are delighted by the news that you are off to Australia. A few days before we received your letter we received a letter from Melbourne, written by a Miss Clara Listen. She wrote to tell us that Nathan is alive but not in good health. He is being nursed by the said Clara and her mother in the home of her father, a shipping agent who supervised the discharge of cargo from the CELESTE at Port Philip. Now we know why we have not heard from Nathan for so long. He has been too ill with a fever that he contracted aboard ship. I have written him, and Clara also, to tell them you are on your way to Melbourne.

I'm sure you will guess that Mama's spirits have improved since we received Clara's and your letters. Grandfather also is less broody and bad--tempered. Please write us as soon as you reach Melbourne. Good luck and God bless. "

Nathan alive but not in good health. Somehow I had to get the news to Julia. Once she knew she would surely want to come on the MARCO POLO to join Nathan in Melbourne. Without telling Hubert or anyone else I walked to Broadacres next day, determined to confront Charles Ashton and to take Julia away from him.

The house was locked up, deserted. I walked all around it, tried doors and French windows, and tried to see inside without avail. The Ashtons had gone away again.

Disappointed, I walked back to Liverpool and went to see Mrs Owen in Toxteth, thinking she might have news of Julia. She did.

"She's gone to stay with Leonard Stile's sister, Agatha. The wedding will take place at Leonard's parish church."

"Wedding? So soon?"

In my mind's eye I saw myself striding into a church just in time to stop the ceremony from being completed. How did the marriage ceremony in the Common Prayer Book go? Wasn't there a part of it where a person could allege and declare an impediment to the marriage? Would the announcement that Nathan was alive and in Australia be sufficient to stop the ceremony?

"Where is Leonard's Parish Church," I asked.

"Oh, in Bolton, of course. That is where he lives."

"When?"

"To-day." She looked at her watch that was pinned to her bodice. "At this very moment the bride and groom will be saying their vows."

I took out my own watch, flicked open its cover. The fingers pointed to two thirty. I imagined Julia in white satin and lace, a veil covering her bright hair and her rose-brown face. She was standing beside a fat middle-aged man in a morning suit. They were holding hands, promising to love and to cherish....

"No." I said loudly and forcibly.

"Edwin? Whatever is the matter? You're very pale. Are you ill? Should 1 fetch my smelling salts?"

I became aware of Mrs. Owens voice squeaking with surprise. I shook my head sharply to clear it and looked up. She was hovering over me with a concerned expression on her pink-cheeked face and in her round hazel eyes. Snapping the watch closed I stood up. I had learned to control my emotions in public the hard way, in my grandfather's house and amongst rough men at sea. That control asserted itself now.

"No, thank you, ma'am. I'm all right," I said, even though I was longing to throw things and kick furniture in a frenzy of frustration.

"A cup of tea then. Sit down while I ring for the maid."

"No thanks. I don't have time. I came to tell you about my brother Nathan. He is alive and in Melbourne, Australia and I'll be going there soon to visit him."

"That is wonderful news indeed."

"Perhaps you'd be good enough to tell Julia when she comes back to Liverpool."

"She won't be coming back. Not for a while. She and Charles are going to live in

Bolton with Leonard. But I could write to her and tell her the news."

"Whatever you think best," I suddenly didn't care a hang how the news was conveyed to Julia. It was too late now to stop her marriage to Leonard Stiles.

Mrs Owen escorted me to the front door. She gasped with dismay when she saw the rain pouring down and offered me the loan of one of Stanley's umbrellas. She said I could leave it with him or Hubert before I left for Melbourne.

Too late, too late. The words rang through my mind keeping in time to my footsteps as I walked back to my lodgings along puddled streets. Too late to save Julia from a fate worse than death, a fate so many women of the English upper class were committed to: marriage to a man she didn't love; marriage for money to save her from another unpleasant fate, the debtor's prison or even worse than that, the workhouse.

I could have saved her by asserting myself and over riding her refusal to leave her brother and her servants, the night we met in the gardener's cottage. Like a knight errant in an old romance, I could have snatched her from the clutches of her monster of a half-brother, and we could have sailed together to a tropical paradise in the West Indies.

But - I forced myself to face up to reality - she had not wanted to go with me. She had refused because she preferred to do her family duty, marry for money and save Charles from debtor's prison, and she had given me marching orders to go and find Nathan and bring him back. And that is exactly what I was going to do. I could not rescue her so I would do her bidding, bring her lover back to her.

But a new thought occurred to me. It seemed as if I would never be rid of family problems. Now, instead of being able to tell Nathan his ladylove was safe, back on her native island of St Kitts and waiting for him, I would be the bearer of bad news to him.

"Hey there, lad. Look where you're going. That umbrella you're carrying is a dangerous weapon."

Absorbed in my unpleasant thoughts, within the shelter of the tipped -forward umbrella and not looking where I was going, I had walked into a labourer returning home after work. I apologised, closed the umbrella and marched on briskly towards the Williams's house.

To hell with the Ashtons, both brother and sister. And to hell with Nathan, too. I had something more important to think of. The opportunity I'd hoped for had knocked on my door and I was going to seize it. I was going to help sail a ship across the world to Australia.

Demonstrating his awareness of the value of publicity, three days before the MARCO POLO was due to depart, James Baines held an extravagant luncheon party on board the ship to which he invited eighty notable guests, an event that was reported in the Liverpool newspapers.

The guests sat around a table in one of the new additions to the ship, a dining saloon for first class passengers. Built on deck, forward of the poop, it had a ceiling of maple and was richly ornamented. The doors were panelled in stained glass designed by a Mr Frank Howard and they depicted the figures of commerce and industry.

Amongst the guests was James Smith, come all the way from Saint John. He was as excited about the forthcoming voyage of the ship as I was and most impressed by the renovations that had been made, changing the ugly duckling of a drogher into a handsome well-appointed passenger liner.

At the dinner Baines took the chair. Thomas Mackay and Captain Forbes were the vice-chairmen.

In his speech, reported in its entirety in the Liverpool Mercury, Baines mentioned his pride at being owner of one of the largest vessels ever chartered by the Government to carry the greatest number of emigrants to Australia. He said also:

" That we shall endeavour to carry out our contracts with the Commissioners of Emigration with satisfaction to them and the passengers and with credit to ourselves, I think I need not say, in which I am sure we shall be aided to the greatest extent by my friend Captain Forbes and all the officers of the ship, and I am much mistaken if the MARCO POLO does not earn for herself such a reputation for speed that, when on her return she takes her place as one of the BLACK BALL line, she will receive for herself a bumper."

Baines went on to talk about the importance of Australia as a British colony, about the beauty of its climate and the fertility of its land, most attractive to emigrants. Later Thomas Mackay responded to a toast given to the owners of the ship. He said that with such a commander as Captain Forbes and such a builder as Mr Smith, who knew every plank of the ship, he felt confident that the voyage would be most successful.

Captain Forbes also had his turn at speech making. He alluded to the MARCO POLO's previous voyages, under Captain Thomas of Saint John, New Brunswick, and Captain Crosby of Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, " in proof of her sailing qualities" and he ended by boasting the ship would be back in the river Mersey within six months.

Then Mr Mackay proposed the health of Mr Smith, the builder of the ship, praising him as being, "the noblest work of God, an honest man and above all an honest shipbuilder."

James Smith, in his reply, pointed out that he had built the ship with a view to safety as an emigrant vessel and hoped she would not only take passengers out safely but would also bring back gold for her owners.

On the fourth day of July, 1852, with a band playing and flags flying, the MARCO POLO was towed down river. There were nine hundred and thirty passengers on board and many of them swarmed about the decks to take a last look at the city and wave to those they were leaving behind. Some were crying bitterly, but some, like Anna Fischer, who was now Anna Groesh, were dry-eyed and glad to be leaving. Anna looked forward, out to the line of waves covering the bar at the entrance to the river. Her hopes were high for a future of freedom in a new land far away.

I was also glad to be leaving and looking forward to being free and at sea again, doing the work I liked best on a ship I admired.

Yet, on my first watch, standing on the fore deck, my legs braced against the pitch and
heave of the deck, I watched the quiver of the hard -sheeted foresails and felt something
quiver at the back of my mind, a fretting something like a twig or a leaf tapping against a
window at night. I knew what it was it had disturbed my sleep more than once.

I was fretting about Julia's marriage to Leonard Stiles. On Nathan's account of course, I told myself. How the hell was I going to tell him that the woman he loved was married to
another man?

It never crossed my mind occurred to me that I was frettiing about the marriage on my own account.

11

Loaded for the first time with unpredictable, ever- shifting human cargo the MARCO POLO lurched and pitched southwards down the Irish Sea, beating into the south westerly wind.

Many of the passengers were seasick and the smell of vomit below decks was everywhere. Some of them, unused to walking about on floors that sloped or heaved, fell against furniture or walked into the huge masts, cracking bones and bruising muscles. The two doctors on board, along with the stewards, were forever attending to and consoling the sick and the maimed.

And then there were the single men and women who were crammed into the cheapest berths, up in the forepeak of the lower deck. Most of them adventurers and gold-seekers, they had brought rum and whisky with them, and drank to conceal the fact they were terrified of the sea and desperately uncomfortable in their dismal, crowded lodging. As a result they became unruly and staggered about all over the ship, mouthing obscenities at captain and crew and often getting into fights with other passengers. I was not surprised when one day Captain Forbes lost his temper with two of the more riotous passengers and clapped them in irons.

"I think Forbes has gone too far and we'll now have worse trouble from the fo'c'sle class," complained Tim Walker.

He was a career sailor like myself and was hoping one day to be in command of a passenger liner. Two years younger than I was, using the influence of his father, who was a veteran Master Mariner in the Quebec timber trade and well- acquainted with Captain Forbes, he had applied to be the fourth mate on this voyage, the position I held. Instead he had to be satisfied with a job as an able seaman in my watch and he often showed that he resented the fact he had to take orders from me. He had a prissy, toffee-nosed way of talking he'd learned in one of those fancy English public schools and tended to look down on anyone who hadn't had the same education as himself.

We had just come off watch and were finishing a meal in the mess. When Walker made his complaint, most of the seamen got up and left rather than get into an argument with him.

"The Master is Captain Forbes to you, ye young whipper- snapper. And don't ye forget it," growled George Weaver, one of the older members of the crew. Another Scot he had sailed under Captain Forbes several times and thought very highly of his fellow countryman. "And what, may I ask," he continued, mimicking Walker's accent and tone, "What would you do with an unruly drunken crowd if you had command of the ship? Wouldn't you put the safety of the crew and the ship and the other passengers first?"

"I suppose I would," muttered Walker, his face reddening at George's rebuke. "But my father always says you can't treat a passenger the same way you treat a seaman."

"Listen, lad, I wouldn't be in Captain Forbes's shoes for all the gold in Australey," George said. "Not with this lot on board. " He jerked his head towards the forward berths where, judging by the sounds of shouting, cursing and thumping, another brawl was in progress. "Some of the women are worse than the worst of the men. They're no better than lot of thieves and robbers and their whores. We've got too many passengers, I'd say. Too many for one commander to control as well as an oversized crew."

"And you know whose fault that is?" Walker exclaimed. "It's the fault of the owners. The more passages booked the more profit they make. Baines, Mackay and Forbes are only interested in making their fortunes. They don't care about the safety of the ships. They just look at the numbers and tot up the pounds."

As usual I could see both sides of the argument. I felt that the crowd lodged in the forepaw had as much right to be treated with courtesy and care as the passengers in the first class cabins on the upper deck. On the other hand they could not be allowed to get out of control and run amok on the ship. I knew, from my sea-going experience, that lack of discipline amongst crew and passengers only led to disaster.

But George looked as if he was going to burst a blood vessel in angry reaction to Walker's remarks so I decided, as their superior officer, it was time to intervene.

"You've sailed under Captain Forbes before, George," 1 said. "What d'you think of his ship-handling and navigation abilities. Is he going to win the bet he's made that he'll get to Melbourne before the steamship AUSTRALIA?"

George swallowed hard, gave another fierce glare at Walker, then turned to me.

"He's a right good commander and as fearless as they come," he said. "You'll see when we get down to those Roaring Forties. You'll see his real mettle then and you'll be proud one day to say you sailed under "Bully" Forbes. He'll make this ship fly. He'll win more than a bet. He'll make good his boast that he'll do the round trip, Liverpool to Melbourne, in less than six months. But I'm warning you, me lad," he pointed a long finger at Walker. "It's not going to be all fair winds and smooth sailing and it won't be a voyage for sissies. It's going to be hell on high water, and you're going thank God you've got a commander who can keep order and sail a ship better than most, even if he is a bit rough at times."

Walker had the sense to keep his mouth shut this time and never again did he criticise the Captain in George's hearing or in mine.

At last the wind eased and off the coast of Spain the weather became warmer. More accustomed by now to moving about the passengers came up on deck and on calm days enjoyed some of the entertainment provided, dancing and singing to the band.

Then something tragic happened that upset everyone. One of the children developed a terrible cough and rash, the symptoms of measles. In the crowded conditions of the lower decks the disease spread like wildfire amongst the other children and was also passed on to some adults. The doctors worked day and night as did many of the mothers and other women, to nurse the poor mites.

Captain Forbes was particularly concerned and visited the victims and their families every day. It was, of course, a blot on what he had hoped would be the perfect voyage. He and the doctors blamed the Health Inspector at Liverpool, who had either missed examining the child who had first carried the disease aboard or had been lied to by its parents about the infant's condition. Sadly we buried fifty-two children at sea.

The Marco Polo sailed on. We sighted Madeira and then the Cape Verde Islands. We turned west away from Africa and ran before a pleasant trade wind, all sails full and pulling, the studdingsails boomed out from the masts and skimming above the sea like the wings of huge birds. Passengers made the most of the good weather. Concert parties were given, members of the crew and some of the passengers performed skits and sang the ballads they had composed. Some were cheerful and often mocking ditties about the ship, the food and the new life promised in Australia. Some were sad, sentimental tearjerkers about the countries and families they had left behind.

On the eighteenth day out from Liverpool we reached the Doldrums. The sun was vertical, pouring down heat all day. Many went swimming in the blue milky-looking water. Some found the heat too much and became sick. We sighted other ships. They were so near we were able to go visiting in the ship's boats and to pass mail for posting in England. There was more bad behaviour and several men were put in irons and deprived of food. Then rain came, falling in grey sheets that blotted out the horizon.

At last a light breeze blew up. We sidled across the Equator on the thirtieth day, without any form of celebration for crossing the Line because Captain Forbes was against the ritual. He felt it might lead to more drunkeness, theft and possibly fighting. As it was, there was much wine passed around and everyone sang or danced to the band.

The wind picked up and we steered south sou'west, a north easterly breeze behind us. We almost touched the coast of Brazil in the area of Rio de Janeiro. We were on our way to the Roaring Forties, the route suggested by Lieutenant Maury U.S.N. as well as by my navigation teacher, Mr Towson, who had also taught Captain Forbes.

The further south we sailed the colder it was. Now the passengers had to entertain themselves, the crew being too busy sailing the ship. Cash was short for the gambling games and there was no more porter or beer and very little wine.

Birds appeared. I recognised them as Cape pigeons. They followed the ship's wake, swooping for fish as we changed course and headed east for Australia. The ship flew before the strong westerlies and we sailormen were up and down the rigging like monkeys, often led by the fearless Captain himself, shortening or furling sails when gales blew, shaking them out when the wind slackened.

Pitching and tossing, rolling and swaying, the ship crossed the South Atlantic Ocean, and, when the wind was light, a favourable current swept her onwards in the right direction. Faster and faster, nearer and nearer we sailed to Australia in cold, squally weather. The crew, almost exhausted by now, was sullen. The passengers were no better. Kept below in their cabins, without natural light on the lower decks and without much in the way of entertainment to relieve the tedium, they were almost numbed by the perpetual movement and noise of the sailing ship.

On the seventieth day out from Liverpool, coming off watch, I blew on my hands to warm them and went down below. In the chart room next to the captain's cabin 1 wrote in the log the time, my observations of the course followed, the speed and direction of the wind and the performance of the ship. Then I ate some of the inevitable pea soup in the galley. It was watery stuff by that time and many of the passengers refused to eat it. But it was hot and I was glad of anything that would warm me up. When I'd finished I went to visit Anna and Heinrich, in their makeshift cabin on the second deck, in the middle of the ship.

Temporary wooden partitions separated each cabin from the next. They gave a certain amount of privacy and could be taken down to provide space for cargo. The bunks were like shallow trays and, like the partitions, they were removable.

Every corner of the Groesh's cabin was stuffed with parcels containing extra food and spare clothes. Overhead, the pots and pans they used to cook their food swung and clanged together with the sway of the ship. There was no deadlight or porthole. Candles provided the only light. To pass the time the Groesh's played chess, backgammon, card games or just read by a dim light or slept. Judging by the giggles and grunts coming from the other side of one of the partitions dividing Anna's cabin from the next, 1 guessed there were other ways of alleviating boredom, if one had a partner with whom to indulge oneself in games of love or flirtation.

Anna had recently caught a bad cold that had settled on her chest. The doctor had confined her to bed. She was coughing noisily when I looked in on her. The lack of heating and ventilation, the dampness of the blankets with which she had been covered, had no doubt contributed to the worsening of her condition. Heinrich was with her.

"How is she?" I asked. In the cramped quarters there was no room to

sit except on the lower bunk where Anna was lying with her eyes closed and there was hardly room to stand.

"We had a very bad night," the German replied. "When will this ship stop rolling and rattling?'

"When we get to Hobson's Bay. Won't be long now," I said cheerfully. "We're having a great sail."

"You would not say that if you were in our position, penned down here like cattle," he grumbled.

A good description, I thought, thinking he looked as strong as a bull, full of rude health. It was Anna with her pale wasted face I was concerned about.

"Go to my berth and have a rest," I suggested to him. "You know where it is. If anyone questions your right to be there, tell them I said you could sleep there while I watch over your wife for a while. Go on, do as I say,"

He left the small cabin, letting the curtain, which hung between the two partition walls to give some privacy, fall into place. I sat down on the side of Anna's bunk and looked around with a grimace of distaste. For this cramped space second class passengers paid eighteen pounds each, if they could afford it. If they couldn't afford it they could get assistance from either the British Government's Commissioners for Emigration or from one of the charitable societies set up by philanthropic, wealthy people, embarrassed by the numbers of unemployed persons and other poverty-stricken people in Britain who were always begging them for help. Presumably believing in the old adage of "out of sight out of mind" the rich encouraged the poor to leave the country, pointing out how much better off they would be in the promised land of Australia. They didn't care what hard times the emigrants might suffer on the voyage out or on arrival in the colony. All they wanted was to be rid of them.

There was a sudden lurch more violent than usual. Passengers yelled and shrieked as they were thrown out of their bunks or were banged against the huge timbers of the ship. Anna opened her eyes.

"Where is Heinrich?' she asked.

"Sleeping in my bunk, I hope."

"You are so good, so kind to us. But your shirt is wet. That cruel captain drives you unmercifully. Gives you no time to rest properly or to dry your clothes," she complained. "I think he is the devil and is going to drive all of us under the waves and down to hell."

"If hell is in this part of the world it's a damned cold place and not at all like we've been led to believe," I said, laughing at her. "Cheer up, Anna. Captain Forbes is taking us to Melbourne not to hell. And often he's only cruel to be kind. He knows that the faster he can make the ship go the sooner we'll all get to dry land. I'd probably behave in the same way if I were captain on a voyage as important as this and responsible for the welfare for everyone's safety."

"I suppose you are right," she sighed. "But I wonder if I'll ever see Australia. Oh, Edwin. Please hold my hand. I don't want to drown. I'm too young to die."

I held her hand between both of mine and tried to comfort her. Suddenly the ship rolled violently to port, as if the wind had changed. A few seconds later it rolled just as violently to larboard and stayed there.

Guessing that a squall had hit the ship and it had gibed unexpectedly and possibly taken a big wave over the side, I looked out from the tiny cabin. Passengers were rushing in the direction of the companionways, screaming and yelling, cursing Captain Forbes. Above their noise I heard the first mate's clear voice shouting,

"All hands, ahoy. Look lively there, me lads. All hands aloft and take in sail."

"I have to go, Anna. Try to get better. Won't be long now before we're in port and you'll be going ashore. The climate is good in Melbourne, I'm told, in the summer, dry and warm. Your cough will soon go away."

With other members of the crew and some able-bodied passengers, who were only too glad to lend a hand, I pushed my way through the crowd of foul-smelling louts who were complaining as usual about the behaviour of the ship and clambered up a companionway to the main deck.

Wind was shrieking in the rigging yet visibility was nil. The horizon and even the nearest waves had been blotted out of sight by a mixture of snow and hail that was flying horizontally, stinging the uncovered faces and bare hands of the seamen who had rushed on deck before me.

Without his cap, his black hair streaming in the wind, big and bulky in his thick, woollen reefing jacket, Captain Forbes was holding the wheel, helping the two steersmen, fighting to keep the ship on course. At the same time he was yelling instructions to the crew. The ship was tossing about on huge hissing waves, its bowsprit plunging down into a valley between waves and then coming up on a foaming crest, to point at the sky of tumbling grey clouds. Water, taken over the bow, poured along the side-decks.

Both foresails, full of too much wind, burst abruptly. Pop,pop,pop, like rifle shots. The tattered canvas wrapped itself around the rigging. High above a topsail split, and another. Boom, boom, boom, boom, like cannon firing. The crew didn't need orders. They knew what had to be done. I leapt into the rigging, climbed the foremast to the topsail yard and stepped out along the footropes to fight with the nearly frozen canvas, tearing off fingernails. The sail was badly ripped. With a struggle, a seaman and I got it unclewed, off the yard and handed it down to the deck.

All of us worked aloft automatically, without thinking, I had done it so many times. But once the sails had gone I looked downwards and wished I hadn't. The mast was tilted and lay almost horizontally. The sea not the deck was beneath me. If I lost my footing in the ropes I would drop into the greedy, leaping waves and would surely drown. I decided, like Anna, that I was too young to die. The roar of the wind and the crackle of flying canvas almost deafening me, I inched back to the mast and then down to the comparative safety of the deck where, with the seamen who were belaying the running rigging, I slid about, up to my thighs in water.

For over an hour we worked, furling sails, bringing in torn ones, squaring yards and securing ropes. The squall passed through. The ship, more steady now, the masts more upright, sailed on under double-reefed topsails and storm jibs. Soaked through and shivering with cold I went down below for the grog that was always issued to the crew, whenever they had had to reef under stormy conditions. Heinrich had gone from by bunk so I turned in and slept, until I was called on watch again.

It was the last bad squall. Next day was fine and the wind steady from the southwest. Human nature revived and many of the passengers came up on the deck. Captain Forbes announced that he hoped to see Port Phillip Head in five days time and ordered the cable out of the hold and attached to the anchors. In good humour, the seamen roared a favourite chantey as they tramped round the windlass to draw up the thick chain from the fo'c'sle, and the passengers joined in the chorus.

Slowly the skies cleared. White clouds raced across the blue. The sea glinted with golden flecks. The temperature rose and the ship bowled along at a steady pace, its sails shimmering in the sunlight. The nights were spectacular with huge stars glowing like golden lamps in the dark blue sky. The misery of the past few weeks was forgotten. The band played, the passengers danced and sang, relieved to hear Captain Forbes announce that the voyage was almost over.

A dark pillar was sighted on a green point of land. Several of the crew, who had been to that part of the world before, recognised it as the lighthouse on Cape Otway, the most westerly headland of the two that reached out into the sea to create the big bay called Port Phillip, after Australia's first Governor.

Next morning at eight o clock the pilot came aboard and guided the ship past two more low-lying, marshy headlands and into Hobson's Bay. It was impossible for the MARCO POLO to sail to the pier at Sandridge, at the head of the bay, because the water was too shallow for her deep draft. Few ships or boats ever attempted to navigate the winding and often clogged Yarra River to the site of fast-growing Melbourne.

We anchored off Williamstown, a settlement on Point Gellibrand, the southwestern headland marking the entrance to the inner, protected bay. Both passengers and cargo would be unloaded into sailing gigs or lighters and put ashore at the commercial pier that jutted out into the water.

Seventy-six days, port to port. The fastest passage ever made by a sailing ship from Liverpool to Hobson's Bay, Forbes announced proudly to all those who had assembled on deck. The passengers cheered him, and then rushed to the bulwarks to get glimpse of the land where they had come to live.

I looked out at the numerous ships. Deserted by their crews they canted over at their moorings, their masts tilted, shrouds and stays hanging loose. I wondered which one was the Celeste. A Government Inspector came aboard to examine all passengers and crew, to make sure they were free from any disease before allowing them to land, but nothing he said could dampen their spirits.

"Blue skies, a sheltered calm bay, sandy beaches, they must think they've reached paradise after being tossed about and cooped up in smell dark cabins for days on end," I remarked to George Weaver.

"Once ashore they'll soon find out they're wrong," replied George wryly. "The State of Victoria is like any other of Her Majesty's colonies, a wilderness often inhabited by some of the wildest of their own countrymen. Aye, that's what finding gold does for a place. But look at all the ships. It was the same in San Francisco Bay when I was there in 'Forty-Nine for the California gold rush. And there won't be much accommodation for this lot either." He jerked a thumb at the excited passengers. "They'll have to live in tents on the beaches. Nor do I envy them the trek to the gold fields much. Rough country, I've heard it is. Many get lost on the way or die of fever. Aye, they're welcome to dig for gold. I prefer to sail the seas in a well-found ship any day."

That evening Captain Forbes called his officers into his cabin. After offering each of us a tot of grog he complimented us on our behaviour throughout the voyage and thanked us for our support and said, as he was often fond of saying, that a ship is only as good as the captain, officers and crew who sail her and the shipwrights who built her.

"You all know how hard it's been to keep the men going on this passage," he said. "But we haven't finished yet. There's the return voyage. I'm hoping to take three weeks to turn around here, discharge passengers and cargo and take on passengers and cargo for Liverpool. Being a Scot I'd like to be back home for New Year's Eve, and I'd take a guess that many of you and the men would like to be home for Christmas. Are you with me? Can I count on your support again?"

We stared at him in silence trying to take in the enormity of what he had just said. Charles MacDonnell, the first mate, spoke first.

"To be home for Christmas we'd have to make a passage of at least seventy five days," he said. "Which way do you intend to return to England, sir?"

"Not the way we came. Let me show you on the chart which way we'll go."

We gathered round the chart table.

"We're here," he said, pointing to the lines on the chart. "This is Port Phillip Bay. Beyond the headlands is Bass Strait. Now I'm informed by fellow Master Mariners, that when they leave this port they usually go out of the eastern entrance of the Strait to the Pacific and go on to the starboard tack. If you look at this chart, the starboard tack seems to lead directly to Cape Horn while the port tack leads south and away from it. But the world is round, gentlemen, as has been proved over and over again."

He turned to the globe on the table and spun it on its axis.

"Now, if we draw a line on this globe from the Bass Strait to Cape Horn at the most southerly tip of South America, the distance is much less than the line drawn on the chart," he explained. "And where does that curved line take us? Down into the latitude of the forties and fifties. And what will we find there at this time of the year? According to Lieutenant Maury, U.S.N., we'll find westerlies and also a favourable current. But, if we follow the line drawn on the chart and take the starboard tack, we'll find ourselves being headed all the time by south-easterly winds and an unfavourable current. You must all have noticed by now our most excellent and sturdy ship is slow and sluggish on the beat. She waddles like a duck on land. But if she has the wind behind her she nearly flies. So when we leave I propose to follow the route I have marked on the globe and take the port tack down to the forties. And I promise you I'll be in Liverpool by Christmas Day, and you'll all be able to tell your friends you served under "Bully" Forbes on the fastest ship in the world. Think of what a feather in your caps that will be. Think how that will look when you apply for your Master Mariner's Certificate."

He looked at each of us in turn. As astute in his judgement of men as he was of sails, winds and currents, he knew by now that each one of us wished to be a in command of a ship some day. He knew also, that if any one of us decided to jump ship and not go with him on the return voyage, he could ruin our reputations as competent sailors and trustworthy officers.

"Well, gentlemen. Can I count on all of you to help me turn this ship around in the shortest time possible and then race back to Liverpool with me?"

Three weeks. Long enough for me to visit Nathan and persuade him to sail back to Liverpool with me. I wanted more than anything else in the world to be able to state on my application for a Master's Certificate that I had served as a mate on the MARCO POLO, a ship from my home town, Saint John, New Brunswick, the fastest sailing ship in the world.

"You can count on me, sir," I said.

The others followed suit and MacDonnell asked.

"But what about the crew, sir. Many of them had a rough time of it. They didn't like the cold and some of them were scared stiff by the amount of sail we carried."

"I always gave orders to reef in time, didn't I?" Forbes argued, his dark eyebrows meeting in a frown above his bright eyes. "Make no mistake about it, the safety of the ship comes first with me. We didn’t lose one seaman overboard. Not one."

" I know that, sir. But some of them suffered from frozen fingers and toes, sir. They were in a bad mood during the last few days. You know we had to punish them by putting some of them in irons."

" Sheer insubordination, " Forbes retorted. He paced up and down, hands behind his back. his lower lip thrust out. " If they don’t want to carry out orders that are given to improve the sailing of the ship, enhance its safety and make the voyage shorter, they should not call themselves sailors. Many of them will want to jump ship, not because they didn’t like the passage out or serving under me. They’ll be after gold. But, by God, this crew is not going to desert. I’ve trained you and them to work as a team. You all know the ship from stem to stern. You know me and how I like my sails trimmed. I’m not going to give any of you a chance to desert. As soon as the passengers have disembarked I’m going to charge every seaman with insubordination and have the lot of them locked up in jail until we’re ready to sail. And if any of you officers disagree with me, I’ll have you locked up too. Think how that might look on your application for a Master's Certificate."

Not one of us argued with him. Not one officer was prepared to risk his career by opposing "Bully" Forbes.

12

Under sunny skies the passengers disembarked. The crew was arrested and put in jail and the shoremen began to unload the cargo. I asked Captain Forbes for leave to go ashore for a few hours to attend to personal matters. He allowed me to go with a stern warning.

"If you're as much as a minute late, I'll demote you, Mr Jackson. It'll be the fo'c's'le for you on our return voyage, you can be sure of that. And if you're any later than two minutes I'll send the Water Police after you and have you locked up with the crew."

"I won't be late, sir. I swear it." I was damned if I was going to throw away more than thirteen years hard work and good behaviour aboard ship, plus no drunkenness or whoring when on shore leave, to have my career ruined now by being a minute late. I just wanted to visit the Listons, see Nathan and prepare him for the voyage back to Liverpool.

Wearing my white canvas trousers, a white open-neck shirt and a broad-brimmed hat made from Panama straw, I went ashore in a sailing gig with Tom Dorking, the Melbourne shipping agent who had been hired by James Barnes to supervise the unloading of the cargo. About the same age as myself Tom had lived in that part of Australia since his parents had emigrated there from England.

"We'll go into town on one of the freight carts,' he said when we landed at Williamstown jetty. "It's a long walk from here along the bank of the Yarra River."

"No railway yet?".

"Not yet. There will be. Plans are being made. Rails and engine parts have been shipped out. But the track won't come this way. My guess it will take the shortest route from Sandridge to Melbourne on the other side of the bay. See, over there where the sun is shining on a beach? That's Sandridge."

At the jetty we found a dray already loaded with freight and climbed up on to it. The driver urged his horse forward and soon we were lurching along a narrow roadway of hard mud. It wound beside the river through salt marsh and mangrove swamps. Buds were swelling and birds were flitting about nest building. I was "Downunder", as the Southern Hemisphere was called, where it was spring in September not autumn. Leaves were opening instead of shrivelling and falling.

"Does it snow here in the winter?" I asked.

"I've never seen any. But it rains heavily. The river floods, as you can see," Tom replied. "But then in the summer it can be hot and dry. Last summer we had drought. The grass withered and the scrub was scorched. Some fools camping in the bush forgot to douse their fire. A wind fanned the flames towards Melbourne. The smoke was suffocating and the temperature went up to a hundred and thirteen degrees. We thought everything would be burned down. But the wind veered in the evening to the south, bringing coolness off the sea as well as showers."

The dray trundled past groups of men, women and children, all footsore immigrants loaded with baggage, resting at the wayside. Feeling sorry for them 1 suggested we might pick up some of the woman and children.

"Can't be done." Tom shook his head. "Take one and you have to take them. They won't be separated from each other. And the driver of the dray would charge them too much. He wouldn't carry them for nothing. This path has been made by the likes of them. Not enough wagons or carts to carry them or their baggage up to Melbourne and anyone who does own a cart charges them as much as he can. Any settler engaged in transport is battening on the shortage and making money, including shipping agents like me."

"Have you never been tempted to go prospecting then?"

"What? Me get my hands dirty scraping or digging in rock? And possibly have nothing to show for my pains?' Tom jeered. "Not on your life, mate. I like my comfort too much to go off and live in a tent. I had enough of that as a boy when my parents brought me and my brothers and sisters to this place, before we moved up river to the town.

"Are the goldfields near Melbourne?"

"The Diggings are miles away. Immigrants believe they'll find the gold as soon as they land. They don't know they have to find transport first. Melbourne is swarming with them and smart businessmen are making fortunes profiteering on goods and buying up land and houses to re-sell again at exorbitant prices. Before gold a loaf of bread cost fourpence. Now it costs two shillings. Before gold you could rent a comfortable, four-room cottage for thirty pounds. Now the same place rents for three or four hundred. Melbourne was once a pleasant country village, built of stucco and wood. Now shanties, bark huts and tents, all put up in haste to house the thousands who have poured off the ships, are spread around it. Miners who have struck lucky in the fields lurch up and down the muddy streets. If they don't drink the gold away in the numerous grog shops that have suddenly sprung up, they spend it on dressing up their women. I warn you, it's not safe to walk the streets when they're in town on the spree."

After Tom's description I was pleasantly surprised when we arrived in Melbourne. It was far from being a mere shantytown. We drove along a wide street lined with handsome stone buildings not unlike some I'd seen in the better parts of Liverpool.

"This is Collins Street," Tom explained. "It's named after Lieutenant- Colonel Collins but he never got this far up the Yarra. He came years ago with a company of convicts and marines to explore the area around the coast of the bay. He decided it wasn't suitable for settlement because of lack of fresh water. If he'd come up the river he would have found freshwater springs."

It was easy to spot the gold diggers amongst the people who were walking about the street shopping. They were made as noticeable by their dress, moleskin trousers, red shirts and wide brimmed hats, as they were by their erratic and noisy behaviour and the jewel-bedecked, satin-skirted women who hung on their arms.

The cart turned into another wide street and stopped outside a two storey wooden house. On the wall beside the front door there was a brass plate advertising the name of the company. From a wide entrance hall we entered a room that had once been the front parlour but was now furnished as an office. It was no different from the office at Owens and Hughes, in Liverpool, and two clerks were writing busily at high desks under the supervision of an older man.

We found Mr. Harry Liston, the principal of the firm, in the back parlour behind the front office. He was about fifty years of age, short and portly. His large, watery blue eyes gazed at us through wire-rimmed spectacles and a halo of white curls encircled his pink, bald head. Tom introduced me, said he would come back later and left the room.

"I saw your ship enter the bay," Mr. Liston said. "A noble vessel, sir. A noble vessel. I love to see all the fine ships entering our bay. Like so many great birds, they are, their white wings fluttering." He smiled shyly. "I try my hand at poetry, something I have in common with your brother."

"Did you get my letter asking you about him? I wrote to you as soon as I found out you handled the CELESTE's cargo," I said.

He pointed to a wing chair on one side of a lace-covered window that overlooked a scrubby looking garden at the back of the house. He sat in the chair's twin on the other side of the window.

" I received your letter, " he said. "And I would have answered but my response wouldn't have reached you before you left Liverpool. Your brother was very, very ill when he arrived here. Delirious. I brought him home and my wife and daughter nursed him. It was a while before he was able to tell us how he came to be aboard such a disreputable ship. He was shipped aboard when he was unconscious from a blow to the head that was given him, he told me, when he went to fight a duel over a young lady." Harry's face, round and as innocent as a cherub's, beamed at me. "Such a romantic tale, well worthy of an epic poem, I think, don't you, Mr Jackson?"

"I'm sure you're right, Mr. Liston. But please tell me more about Nathan. What happened to him aboard the ship?"

"When he regained his senses, she was out in the Irish Sea. The captain and mate, thinking he was just another drunken seaman, didn't believe him when he told them he was a shipping agent who had been kidnapped. Nor would they turn back to Liverpool. He was forced to climb the rigging and furl sails almost immediately. He suffered the agonies of seasickness. Several times he went to the captain and asked to be put ashore at one of the Irish ports. His pleas were ignored and he began to believe, from the brutal way in which he was treated, that the captain and mate would have liked nothing better than to have him fall overboard and drown, or end his life by putting him in irons and neglecting to give him food or water so that he would starve to death. So, with great courage and determination, he held his tongue, knuckled under to their orders, forcing himself to become one of the more competent members of the crew, finding protection and respect amongst the seamen so that the captain and mate dared not touch him."

"Good for Nathan. I'm glad he's learned not to trust his fellow men so much as he did, to be more on guard." I said but before I could ask when and where I could see Nathan, Mr. Liston launched into another long rigmarole about my brother' experiences,

"And then," he continued dramatically as if he were on the stage declaiming some speech from a play by Shakespeare, "And then he suffered a most unfortunate accident. He fell from the main topmast yard, broke an arm and a leg." Mr Liston's white curls glinted in the sunlight, as he shook his head from side. "The crew were an ignorant lot and could do little for him. They bound his limbs to rough splints made from broken yards and tied him to a bunk. I tell you, Edwin, he was in a sorry state when the ship arrived here and the Health Inspector found him. A very sorry state. He was raving like a lunatic from a fever. He was a bag of bones from starvation. It is one of the great miracles he survived."

Mr. Lisbon's eyes watered copiously and he blew his nose noisily on a large handkerchief. That done his face changed again, was all genial smiles. His eyes twinkled with merriment.

"But we doctored him, saved his arm and legs and now he is almost recovered," he added. "You would like to see him, no doubt."

"That is why I'm here."

"Then we'll go at once to the farm. You have time to ride out there?"

"I go on watch at four this afternoon and I'll lose my rank as mate if 1’m late."

"Ample time, ample time."

Mr. Liston drove the buggy himself and we went at a good clip through the town and out to the rolling green hills. A bright blue sky arched over everything. The air was clean and dry. Tall shapes of eucalyptus trees clustered around houses and barns and 1 had an impression of limitless space. It would be a good country to settle in, I thought, and after the overcrowded ship, after the grime and damp of Liverpool, Anna and Heinrich must be thinking Captain Forbes had brought them to heaven after their suffering on the long, desperate voyage.

We turned off the narrow mud road through a gate set in a wire fence and on to a rutted track. Thick grass dotted with white sheep stretched away on either side, as far as the eyes could see. The track led to a one-storey house built of wood. It spread in all directions and had an enormous veranda. Behind it was another building, used to stable the horses that were roaming round the fenced-in corral.

We were welcomed on the veranda by Mrs. Listen, a big, strong woman in a dress of checked blue gingham, her wispy fair hair bound up into a bun at the nape of her neck. Beside her stood Clara Liston, also in checked gingham. She was about twenty years old, had fair curling hair and her father's big blue eyes.

"Someone all the way from Liverpool to see you Nathan," Clara announced as she led me to the part of the veranda that was in the shade at that time of the day. A man was lying on a wicker chaise longue. He swung down his legs and stood up when he saw me.

"Edwin. Oh, Edwin. How good it is to see you," my youngest brother said and promptly burst into tears.

As I have written in another place Nathan was more a Maxwell than a Jackson, short-legged, broad-shouldered and dark-haired. But he had always been well built and muscular. Now, seeing how thin and pallid he was, how his once bushy hair was sparse and turning grey I could have wept too at the change in him.

Instead, aware of the watching Liston family, I made light of the matter. Recalling some lines from a book of poetry by John Keats, that I had found amongst Nathan's belongings at the Liverpool lodging house, I quoted,

"So what ails you, knight-at-arms, alone and palely loitering?"

The young woman Clara laughed, then Nathan laughed, lost his balance and sat down suddenly on the wicker lounger.

"This is the brother I've been telling you about, Clara. He's always making fun, never takes anything too seriously," he remarked. He wiped his eyes with his fingers. "I knew you were coming here, Edwin, but didn't know when. And the sight of you looking the same as ever, a jaunty sailorman ashore and looking for a spree, was too much for me. You have time to stay, to talk, to tell me everything that is going on?"

"I have time. Between watches."

Clara left us alone and we talked, the way brothers and sisters do, interrupting each other, hardly ever getting the chance to finish a sentence. To anyone listening it must have sounded like a series of staccato, unrelated phrases. I told him how concerned our mother had been when she hadn't received a letter from him and had asked me to search for him in Liverpool. He told me how he had fallen in love with Julia at first sight and had asked Charles for her hand and had been thrown out of the house at Broadacres.

"She told me about that," I said. "How did you arrange to meet her again?"

"I met Moses when I was leaving Broadacres and told him to be at the gate the next evening. He agreed and we went on from there."

"Who challenged you to a duel?"

"Charles arranged for a friend of his to challenge me. He'd spied on us. He'd seen us meeting. What a strange fellow he is. I think he was jealous and he didn't want to share Julia with anyone else."

"He wanted her to marry someone wealthy who would pay of his debts," I said. "But you didn't have to take up the challenge. Surely you knew that duels are illegal now in England?"

"I guess I wasn't thinking straight at the time," Nathan said with a weary sigh. "I've had lots of time for self-examination, while I've been living out here, recuperating," His lips turned down at the corners in a bitter self-mocking grimace. "I behaved like a fool, a romantic fool. I can see that now."

"Too much poetry by Keats," I teased him. "Too many gothic novels, perhaps, in which the hero snatches the beautiful damsel from a fate worse than death and rides off with her into the sunset?"

"I guess so," he admitted with a grin. "I was the typical naive colonial when 1 arrived in Liverpool and easily deceived by appearances, I suppose. I was flattered to be invited to the home of an aristocrat like Charles Ashton and to be regarded as a friend by his sister. But I hated the way Charles treated Julia, as if she was beneath him, and I thought if I answered his challenge I would teach him lesson. I'm not a bad shot. Sam taught me how to shoot when we hunted in the forest back home. I decided to wing Charles before he had a chance to shoot at me. But I never got a chance. I was clubbed senseless before he ever arrived."

"The challenge was a trick," I said. "To entice you to a place where you could be knocked out and kidnapped by a man called Ellis, a crimp."

" I'll never trust anyone again," he groaned.

"You will. Romance will come along and blind you again," I scoffed. "You trust these people, the Listens, don't you?"

He looked up. He was cheerful again.

"I certainly do," he said with enthusiasm. "If it wasn't for Clara and her mother I wouldn't be alive. I'm very grateful to them and can hardly wait to do something for them, to return their kindness, their generosity and hospitality. I'm already trying to do something. I'm teaching their two sons to read and write good English and hope to tutor them in Latin, too. Harry, that's Mr. Liston, wants to start a school here for the children of businessmen and farmers. He says he would make me its principal teacher."

Clara came out of the house at that moment and announced that a lunch had been prepared for us. We ate on the veranda. It was a happy meal. Afterwards Mrs. Liston insisted that Nathan go for his usual afternoon rest, I promised him I would return the next day and was driven back to the pier at Sandridge where I boarded a sailing gig and was taken out to the MARCO POLO.

I got to know very well, during the next two weeks, the track to Melbourne beside the Yarra and the road out to the Liston's farm. Every day I spent some hours talking with Nathan. Yet I put off telling him that Julia was married. It was not that I didn't have any opportunity to tell him. I just kept shying away from the unpleasant task. He was making such good progress since I had arrived. He was walking now without a stick and had even put on some weight. I didn't want to upset him and slow down his complete recovery.

One day when I was riding out to the farm with Harry Liston I interrupted one of his monologues to ask him whether it would be possible for Nathan to leave with me on the MARCO POLO when she sailed at the end of that week.

"So soon?" he exclaimed. "My goodness, what will Mother say? And Clara? They have not been prepared for such a terrible wrench."

"Then you had best start preparing them," I said, thinking of how anxious my own mother had been about Nathan and all the time he had been safe here, being looked after by another mother.

To Nathan, when we were seated and sipping cool lemonade, the weather having gotten much warmer, I said,

"I'll be weighing anchor next Monday morning, returning to Liverpool. The ship is loaded now with gold, gum and bales of wool. I hope you're well enough to travel with me. I can get you a very good berth. Once in Liverpool we can book berths on the packet to Saint John."

He stared at me for a moment, then shifted uncomfortably in his chair and glanced away, out at the view. At last he stammered,

"I... I'm not going with you."

"You don't feel well enough for a long sea voyage yet? That's a pity. I was thinking you seem much improved. I wish you would reconsider, Nat. We have two good doctors on the ship. And I'd be with you. Mother and Grandfather are very anxious to have you back home."

"No, no, no," he said vehemently and hit the arm of the cane chair on which he was sitting with his fist. I looked sidelong at him concerned that he was getting too worked up and might have a relaspe. But although he was slightly flushed he seemed quite calm and determined now that he had got over his initial hesitancy. "I'm not going with you when you leave. After my experiences on that leaky tub the CELESTE I’ll never go aboard a ship again. I hate the sea and anything to do with it. I'm going to marry Clara and stay here. I've already told you Harry has promised to start a school and employ me as principal teacher."

"But what about Julia?"

"What about her?" He seemed surprised.

"You said you fell in love with her."

"I did. At least I thought I did but I've told you about that too. I was blinded by

Romance. It wasn't a real feeling. It was an imagined emotion. An infatuation. I wish you'd try to understand, Edwin."

For a few moments I was silent as I absorbed what he had said. Then I swore and sprang to my feet and walked away from him. I looked through the screen on the veranda at the serene sunlit hills, the tall drooping shapes of eucalyptus, the shimmer of light on the duck pond.

"Then you won't be upset to learn that she is married," I said.

He was silent also, for a while. The chair creaked as he shifted his weight again.

"No. I'm not upset," he said. "I would have been once. But not now. Not since I've met Clara."

"So you won't care, either, that Julia has sacrificed herself and married a man thirty years older than she is, married him for money not love, to keep Charles out of the debtor's prison?"

I paced back to him, stood over him. He looked up at me, an expression of puzzlement on his face.

" I do care. I think it's terrible that she feels she has to look after that madman," he replied. "I offered to help her get away from him. But she refused, put him and her black servants first. It was then I realised she did not love me and so I fell out of love with her. Who knows what goes on her mind? Perhaps after all she is mercenary, like so many women are, and she always intended to marry for money. But why should you be so concerned about what she has done or has not done?" His eyes widened, his mouth gaped. Then he laughed out loud and slapped a hand on his right knee. "Aha, I've found you out. Edwin, the girl-slayer of Saint John, has been slain himself, by Cupid's arrow. You've fallen in love with Julia."

His unexpected accusation hit home, right amidships, striking me off course for a few moments. It wasn't on his behalf that I had fretted about Julia's marriage to Leonard. It was on my own behalf.

" Well, thank God for small mercies," I retorted with a laugh, covering up my true

feelings. " You've just taken a load off my mind. All the long voyage out I've been worried about how to break the news to you that Julia is married and here you were, making up to your nursemaid."

"For God's sake, lower your voice," he whispered, looking around the veranda. "I haven't proposed yet. Mr. Liston suggested I wait until I've started working for him."

"And now you've burdened me with another problem," I accused. Now I had diverted him from my own interest in Julia I was determined to keep him from that subject. "How the hell am I going to tell Mama? What am I going to tell her? What is she going to say and do when she learns you are staying here and probably never returning to Saint John because you can't bear to get on a ship? By God, Nathan if you knew the time I've put in, risking assault and even murder, trying to find you instead of getting on with my own life, you wouldn't expect me to tell Mama more bad news about you."

"You don't have to tell Mama. I'm quite capable of doing that myself," he almost shouted at me. "And by God, Edwin, you have annoying way of making a fellow feel guilty."

"It's time someone did. You're a spoiled brat, selfish to the core. You've never put anyone before yourself...."

"That's not true, not true," he yelled. "Oh, for God's sake will you stop tormenting me and let me explain."

"It had better be a good explanation."

"Stop it, stop it. As soon as my right hand is strong enough to hold a pen, I'll write to Mama and Grandpa. I promise," he shouted again then went on in a lower voice, "All you have to do is write and tell them I'm getting better and will be writing. When he sent me off to Liverpool Grandpa told me it was for my own good, so I would learn to stand on my own feet. I didn't want to leave New Brunswick and the comforts of home, but now I know what Grandpa meant. In the last two years I've learned a lot about life and other people. I've grown up and know that I have to take control of my own life and not always be running back home for help or support. You know what I mean, Edwin, surely. You ran away to sea with Papa because you were being smothered at home. You know you did."

"I guess you're right. Although I didn't know at the time. All I wanted was to be like Papa and go to sea," I said. "All right, I accept your explanation and I'm glad you've come to terms with yourself."

"Then we're still friends?" he appealed.

"Sure." We shook hands. "I had to find out somehow if you're fit to leave to the tender mercies of Miss Clara. You'll pass for man instead of boy, yet, Nat."

When I left him he was threatening to throw the rest of his lemonade at me.

Towards the end of that week Captain Forbes dropped the charges against the members of the crew who were willing to return to the vessel and they were let out of jail and escorted back to the ship. We sailed next day to the western entrance of the Bass Strait. Once through the Strait the sails were set to reach on the port tack around the south of the islands of New Zealand and down to the cold winds of the Roaring Forties again. The seamen who had returned to the ship were in a remarkably good humour after their long rest in jail. They were in good health, too, not having had any chance to drink themselves into stupors. They seemed glad to be on board and to find familiar faces amongst the officers. As Forbes had predicted they knew the ship and they knew him with the result there was less grumbling and arguing. Once they learned that he planned to reach Liverpool on Christmas Day, less than six months after they had left, they went about their tasks more willingly. He had given them something work for that appealed much more than the few pence a day that they earned.

The weather was good. The westerlies blew steadily. For the next three thousand miles across the South Pacific, taking advantage of the southern summer, short nights and long days and fewer gales, the ship hardly deviated from the course Forbes set. He made many alterations to the magnetic course because of the many variations in the area that affected the compass, and he noted down the alterations in his log for use during future voyages.

We passed Cape Horn a hundred miles to the south, the yards and sails were adjusted and we began the long reach up the coast of South America, still using the westerlies blowing off the shores of Patagonia, sailing north. Off the north east corner of the continent, near Cap San Roque, the shift in wind to the south east took us perilously close to the rocks and we had to change course swiftly to avoid being wrecked.

Somehow we managed to cope with the usual Doldrums around the equator. Captain Forbes was on deck every day watching the sails and using every zephyr of wind to keep the ship moving, until the North East Trades filled the sails and carried us in a north westerly direction nearer to the Leeward Islands of the Caribbean Sea. Soon we were off Bermuda and caught in the familiar, favourable current of the Gulf Stream.

A wind sprang up from the southwest, the ship kicked up her heels and raced across the ocean as if she knew she must hurry if she was to be home for Christmas. We arrived off Holyhead on Christmas Day exactly seventy five days after leaving Port Phillips. In jubilant spirits we signalled the shore station for the message of our arrival to be signalled to Bidston Head and thence to James Baines in Liverpool. One day after Christmas Day, on December 26,1852, we were towed up the Mersey, with the pennant of the BLACK BALL line flying from the topmast. Between the foremast and mizzenmast we hung an old sail.

On this makeshift banner we had painted a slogan:

The Fastest Ship in the World.

13

The MARCO POLO was docked. Forbes paid off the crew and officers, first making sure that some of us would be available to sign on when she left on her next voyage to Melbourne some time in March.

I went ashore to find Hubert. It was New Year's Eve, and a blustery wind blew icy sleet in my face as I strode along Dock Road. I was back in Liverpool, foot-loose and fancy free, as the saying goes. No Nathan to search for, no sweetheart awaiting my return. For the next few weeks I could please myself what I did and where I went.

Hubert welcomed me with his usual good cheer. He said we would go to dinner, when he had finished work for the day, to the restaurant in Dale Street, and afterwards attend a party there to celebrate his engagement to marry Priscilla Martin, and to ring out the old year and ring in the new.

"And of course we'll celebrate the success of the Marco Polo and your safe return," he added. "We'll drink champagne by the bumperful. Straight off the fastest ship in the world, dressed as you are in your sailing togs and with that full beard you're sporting, you'll have all the girls clustering around you. You'll bring your brother to the party, 1 hope."

"He didn't come back with me. He's staying in Melbourne, going to teach the sons and daughters of wealthy businessmen and farmers. He likes it there." Having got the cigar Hubert had offered me going at last, I leaned back in the leather armchair and blew smoke at the ceiling.

"Is that ship really as good as Forbes and Baines boasts she is?"

"Don't you know, Mr.Owen, that a ship is as good as the captain and crew that sail in her?" I replied, mimicking Captain Forbes's Scottish accent.

"Serving under James Nicol Forbes has done nothing to improve your colonial manners, Mr. Jackson," he jibed back at me. "Seriously though, is she a good, well-found ship? Can we recommend her to passengers wanting to make the voyage to Melbourne?"

"Seriously she's the most gracious and comfortable ship afloat. And under full canvas, before the wind, she flies over the waves. You can recommend her."

We had glass of Stanley Owen's grog, toasted James Smith and his shipyard for having built such a wonderful ship, talked about Melbourne, the gold rush, and the demand for more ships, then toasted James Baines and Company's new BLACK BALL line of Australian packets and the MARCO POLO’s next voyage.

"Baines already has passengers lining up for berths," I said. "Captain Forbes aims to depart mid-March."

"Will you be on her?"

" I hope so. I put in an application for a Master's ticket before I left and have reason to believe I'll get it, especially when I tell the examiner I served under Forbes on that fast voyage. But I would like to do the trip to Australia as a mate two more times on the Marco Polo. Then I'll feel confident enough to take command of an Australian packet myself."

"Don't you ever feel you'd like to return to New Brunswick?"

I thought of shining rivers where salmon leap and eagles soar, of thick forests where deer and moose hide, of craggy headlands and yellow beaches, of wild orange sunsets behind the branches of leafless birches in winter, of skating on lakes and sleighing along icy roads. I can get as sentimental as the next sailor about my native heath, but I was not ready to go back yet. One day, perhaps, when I was an experienced Master Mariner with many successful voyages behind me, I would be glad to return home.

"Not yet. I'm not ready to go back yet." I said. "But enough of me. What news do you have? Start with Ellis. What happened to him?"

"Convicted of felony, kidnapping and various other crimes. Sent to a penal colony." Hubert answered promptly.

"Did he implicate Charles Ashton at all?"

"No. Your charge against Ellis was never brought up in court."

"Why the hell not?"

"The judge would not admit it. Said there was no real evidence that Ellis formed a conspiracy with Charles to kidnap Nathan or to remove you from this life."

"But Ellis confessed to me that he had been put up to both. You were there when he said Charles had paid him to kidnap Nathan," I exclaimed. "And Sergeant Williams overheard him."

"Ah, but Ellis denied everything once he'd been arrested by Williams. Pled not guilty to all the charges laid against him. And there were no witnesses to the assault on you and on Nathan, who could be called. All the police had was your word against Ellis' word, and you were out of town, so Williams dropped the charge. He had enough on Ellis to get a conviction."

"So where is Charles Asthenia now? I still hold a grudge against him and I would like to tell him to his face that he failed in his attempt to rid the world of the Jackson brothers. I'd like particularly to make him apologise for what he did to Nathan."

"Bird has flown," Hubert said, at his most laconic.

"Flown where? Come on, Hubert, tell me everything. You forget I've been away for nearly six months. The last I heard of the Ashtons they were in Bolton at the wedding of Julia and Leonard Stiles."

"Charles has gone to Georgia, U S A. Cotton plantation owner and family visiting Leonard. Daughter took fancy to Charles, insisted he go back with them when visit over."

"When did he leave?"

"Must have been in July, Not long after you left for Australia."

"After Julia and Leonard were married, I guess," I said.

"Julia and Leonard did not marry."

"What?" This piece of news brought me bolt upright my chair. "You're not joking, I hope."

"No. At the last minute she refused. Terrible rumpus at Leonard's sister's house. Charles shouting and screaming at Julia. Would have taken his whip to her if Miss Stiles hadn't interfered and threatened to call in the justice of the peace. Julia said she wasn't going to be sacrificed at the altar for him. A lot more shouting from Charles. Leonard came. Very understanding of Julia's position, but angry with Charles. Asked a friend of his, a cotton planter in Georgia, to find Charles a job on his plantation and take him away. Broadacres sequestered by bailiffs and sold to pay off Charles's creditors."

"Good God," It was the only way I could express my amazement at this turn of events. "So the devil escaped punishment for his crimes after all. Damn and blast him to hell."

"If you can call being banished to a cotton plantation an escape. Wouldn't like it myself," Hubert remarked. "Too hot. Too far away from all that's going on in the world. Would be like prison for me."

"I see what you mean. But Charles will find a lot more of his own kind in the Deep South, lording it over the slaves and living the good life out there. Won't be punishment for him. Did Julia go with him?"

"No. She is in Liverpool. Working at the dressmakers on Bold Street where Anna used to work. Living in lodging house on Parliament Street. Amazing woman. Independent. Different."

"I agree. Shall we go for dinner now?" A new and nagging thought had occurred to me. Now I would have the unpleasant task of telling Julia that Nathan had fallen out of love with her and would not be coming back to Liverpool.

The rest of that evening and night passed pleasantly, if hectically, with Priscilla, her older and widowed sister Susan Parker, and their parents and friends. We drank much champagne and danced until well past midnight and I was invited to stay the night at the Martin's house in Toxteth.

Next day I returned to the Williams's boarding house where I was given a hero's welcome. For the next week or so I attended to my own affairs. I was examined by Towson at the Liverpool Marine Board and was granted my Master Mariner's certificate. I packed up Nathan's trunk and arranged to have it sent to Melbourne. 1 wrote a letter to Grandfather, Mother and Eliza telling them that Nathan would soon be writing to them to explain why he had not returned to Liverpool with me. And then, satisfied that my duty to my family had been done at last and I was in control of my life again, I went to a tailor and ordered a new suit. After all a man in my position should look his best when he goes a-courting.

One day, at the end of February I walked up Bold Street and found the dressmaker's shop where Anna had worked. Mrs. Russell, the owner of the business, a tall woman who wore a wig of luxuriant black hair and was dressed in a dark red velvet gown, regarded me rather disdainfully when I asked if I could speak with Julia Ashton.

"Are you a relative of hers?" she asked her sharp grey eyes flicking over me critically so that I was glad I wore the new suit and looked smart, if not elegant, even though the highly starched collar of the shirt I had bought to go with it was sharp enough to cut my throat.

"No, ma'am," I said. "I'm a good friend. If you would tell her that Edwin Jackson is here and he has a message from Nathan for her, I'm sure she will want to see me."

She gave me another suspicious, raking glance, asked another woman, who was fitting a gown on a headless dummy for showing in the window of the shop, to keep an eye on me and went through a curtained doorway to a back room. Soon after she had gone I heard a woman shriek, then the curtain was jerked back and Julia appeared.

For a few seconds she stood and stared at me. I stared back. She seemed lovelier than ever in a dress of dark blue with a high neckline trimmed with a frill of lace, a dropped shoulder line and long narrow sleeves ending in deep cuffs. The skirt was loosely pleated into a deep v--shaped bodice and the blue stuff was embroidered all over with darker blue leaves and twining stems. Her bright hair was bundled up on top of her head, the usual tantalising wisps of it framing her face.

"Edwin, at last," she said and came forward, both hands outstretched. "I heard you were back in port. From Priscilla Martin."

I wondered what else she had heard about me from Priscilla? I took hold of her hands. The tips of her fingers were rough, like a nutmeg grater, like Anna's fingers had been.

"You look well," I said aware of the watching Mrs. Russell and the other young seamstress. "Can we talk privately somewhere?"

"Of course we can? Charlotte, you won't object if Edwin comes into the design room for a short while?" she said, dropping my hands and turning to the formidable Mrs. Russell. "He brings news of a very dear friend of mine, all the way from Australia."

To my surprise Charlotte Russell smiled. Apparently she had been sizing me up and I passed muster.

"Take all the time you need to talk with your friend, Julia," she said amiably.

Rolls of many different stuffs, brocades and muslins, satins, velvets and lace, bulged on shelves in the room behind the curtain. At a long table a woman was cutting some dark material to the shape of a paper pattern laid out on it. We passed through that room and into a smaller one where there were some chairs and an easel. A board with a sheet of thick paper pinned to it rested on the easel. On the paper were several drawings, different views of a faceless woman wearing a gown,

"I heard from Priscilla that you found Nathan still recovering from the injuries he sustained on his voyage to Melbourne and he was not able to return with you to England. Shall he come at a later date?" Julia went straight to the point and I could no longer put off telling her the truth.

"I doubt it. Nothing on this earth will induce him to make a journey on a ship again. He's going to stay in Melbourne, make his living there and marry the young woman who helped nurse him back to health."

Now she will break down, I thought. Now she will weep and I shall have to take her in my arms and comfort her. I waited eagerly for her collapse. But, as always, she behaved differently from what I expected. She showed her beautiful teeth in a broad natural smile and said,

"I'm so very happy for him."

"You mean what you say?" I demanded in surprise.

"Of course I do. I always mean what I say," she retorted. "Are you back in Liverpool for long?"

"I sail on the MARCO POLO on March thirteenth, bound for Melbourne again."

"So soon," she murmured and turned away from me to study the sketches on the drawing board. "When you see him again, which you will when you go back to Australia, please give Nathan my best wishes. You are not thinking, I hope, that I am upset by the news of his forthcoming marriage. I was never in love with him, you know. That is why I would not elope with him."

"It is a relief to me to know that," I said. "I've not been looking forward to telling you Nathan's affection for you had changed, ever since Hubert told me you did not marry Leonard Stiles after all."

"But aren't you, of all people, pleased I didn't marry Leonard?" She swung round to face me again. "Say you admire me for standing up for myself. It took a lot of resolve, I can tell you. But I was encouraged by you to tell him I didn't want to marry him. And then his sister Agatha Stiles was a dear. She confided in me that she didn't want Leonard to marry me. She believed Leonard was being taken advantage of by Charlie and me. And she was right. We were using him. She also told me his adult children did not approve of the marriage either and I saw quite clearly then what an uncomfortable time I would have of it if I went through with the marriage. I confessed to Agatha that I didn't want to marry a man I didn't love. She was delighted with my frankness and stood by me and held my hand when I told Leonard I couldn’t go through with the ceremony. In a way it was very amusing because Leonard was so relieved."

" Why was he?"

" Because he was released from the trap he thought he was caught in. He’d already quarrelled with his children and Agatha about the marriage. But he didn’t have the courage to jilt me. He was very understanding about my situation regarding Charles. You know that Charles is in Georgia?"

" Hubert told me."

" Leonard’s business partner Thomas Herrold came from America for the wedding and his daughter Madeleine fell for Charles like a ton of bricks. Oh Edwin, I wish you’d been here. Madeleine was as round and plump as a well-fed pigeon and about the same age as Charles. She’d never had a suitor or a proposal of marriage and was expecting to be an old maid for the rest of her life. Whenever Charles entered a room, looking his best, the typical English aristocrat, pale and haughty, she almost swooned at the sight of him. Her treatment of him was perfect. He blossomed under gaze of adoration and lapped up her attentions. They were married in Savannah, on Christmas Eve.

For the life of me I could not have said I wished Charles every happiness. The way
he had treated Nathan and me still rankled.

" And Moses and Bell are back in St Kitts, with their families," Julia continued.

" Leonard arranged that too. So you see I don’t need rescuing any more. I don’t need to marry for money to pay Charlie’s debts. I’m a working woman now, like my mother was before she married Papa. I’m no longer one of the idle leisured class of people who don’t know what to do with their empty lives."

I looked into her dark eyes and drowned. Be damned to self-restraint and propriety, I thought. I was going to follow my instincts. I seized both her hands with mine, turned them palm upwards and studied the tips of her fingers.

"Why sewing? It’s near slavery," I said.

" It was my mother’s trade. And then I’m so much more than a seamstress. I can also design clothes." She pointed to the sketches on the drawing board. " I’ve designed my own dresses ever since I came to Liverpool and Mrs. Russell has followed the patterns and made them up. She and I are good friends now and I’m designing dresses for her more wealthy customers. Bridal gowns, ball gowns, even bonnets. She is going to make me her partner soon and one day I’ll own the whole business." Her face shone with self-confidence. " I’m independent at last. I pay rent for lodgings in a house owned by Mrs.Russell’s husband." She looked up at me invitingly. " You can come to my rooms, if you like, this evening and we'll be able to talk more freely. "

"Will you marry me, Julia," I said abruptly.

Her eyebrows went up and she stared at me for a full minute before answering. Then she laughed and said,

"Are you proposing to me out of a sense of guilt because your brother fell out of love with me? Or because you feel sorry for me having to earn my living and you wish to provide for me?"

"For neither of those reasons."

"Then why? " She stamped her foot in a sudden flare of temper. "Oh, I've heard all about you making up to the pretty and lively widow, Susan Parker, and I'm amazed you dare to walk in here, handsome and jaunty as ever, and propose marriage to me without having courted me."

"You're sure you want me to court you?" I asked.

"Yes. No," she cried. "Oh, you have me all confused."

"That makes two of us," I said with a laugh. "When I came here to-day 1 had no intention of proposing to you. But everything is coming clear to me now."

"It is? Please explain."

"Standing here with you, alone in this room, I have a great longing to kiss you, to hold you, to make love to you," I said.

"But you must have experienced that with other women," she replied, still cautious, still suspicious of me.

"True."

"And satisfied your longings."

"True again."

"And never felt you had to propose marriage to any of them."

"Never." Then, I remembered Louise and decided to be truthful to the end. "Except once. I asked a woman in Saint John to wait for my return from sea so we could be married, but before I ever left port she eloped with another man."

"I'm glad she did or you would be sailing back across the North Atlantic to her," she said. Then she stepped close to me again. "Do you still want to kiss me, hold me and make love to me?" she whispered.

"More than anything else in the world at this moment," I replied and put my arms around her.

"More than going back to sea on the MARCO POLP," she mocked.

"I did say at this moment," I reminded her and put an end to her teasing by kissing her.

And so our courtship began. It was long, often stormy and often interrupted by my voyages on various liners to Australia, and it is a story best told by Julia herself. Suffice it to say we were married a year or so later when I at last achieved my ambition to take command of one of the new ships James Baines had bought to add to his line of Australian packets, and Julia became the owner and proprietor of the dressmaking establishment in Bold Street.

The MARCO POLO continued to transport emigrants and goods to Australia for many years, notably under the command of Captain James Clarke from my hometown, Saint John,

But that is also another story, told partly by my sister Eliza who sailed on the ship with Mama in 1856 to attend Nathan’s marriage to Clara Liston in Melbourne. Julia and I accompanied them. Amongst our fellow passengers were some other New Brunswickers: Sam Napier and his brother from Bathurst and, much to my surprise, Louise LeBlanc, her brother Denys and her young son Jean-Guy Dunne, and John Beverly, ex-cavalry captain and one time friend of Charles Ashton.