Wairata.

By Jonathan Firth

April 1890.
Shipwrecked and orphaned on New Zealand's wild west coast, eleven year old David Campbell is taken under the wing of a kindly widow on her rugged, remote sheep station, where he grows into a strong, quiet young man. He flourishes in the idyllic community of Wairata, where he finds friendship, love, and belonging. But war has raised its ugly head in the British Empire and David finds himself dragged unwittingly into the South African conflict, known as the Boer War, where all of their lives will be forever changed.

Brutal and realistic, Wairata is a story of early New Zealand and the people who made the country what it is today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jonathan Firth
• Release date: Dec 29, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465994837

Jonathan Firth

Jonathan Firth was born and raised in New Zealand and left school at 15 years of age to train as a chef, but soon found that working indoors was not for him. The great outdoors were calling and he left his job to become a fur trapper in the Urawera National Park in New Zealand's central North Island (Possums are an introduced environmental pest in NZ.) He spent the next six years involved in trapping and exporting furs, living in tent camps and huts, and enjoying the solitude of New Zealand's wilderness.At 23 he met the love of his life and married, and he and his wife became dairy farmers, farming for 25 years and raising their three children, before moving to the beautiful Coromandel on the East coast of New Zealand's North Island, where he now enjoys fishing and diving, and drinking cheap wine!The author is an avid reader of historical books and novels and is something of a history buff, happily spending hours in old buildings and museums reading all the exhibits, and driving his long suffering wife round the bend.The author writes, "I am proud of my New Zealand heritage and culture, and seek to incorporate this into my writing. My first book, Wairata, (pronounced Why-rah-tah) covers the latter part of the 1800's and early 1900's. This was a time when New Zealand became a nation in it's own right, and the 'can-do' Kiwi spirit was born.I have really enjoyed writing this novel, and I hope you enjoy the story.Cheers.

Book preview

Part One

‘Till back is bent and hand is raw,

tis the labour of the poor.

To fresher fields and brighter skies,

tis the labour of the wise.’

chapter one

PROMISED LAND.

Even before he opened his eyes David knew that the weather had changed for the worse. Rain was seeping through the deck timbers above him, dripping onto his bedding. He could hear his mother throwing up into her chamber pot, as she seemed to do most mornings now. She had started almost the day they had set foot on the Venus. And that in itself was strange, as she had become quite a seasoned sailor over the previous months.

On leaving Scotland five months earlier she had lain on her bunk and been ill for weeks, but eventually she had found her sea legs, as their captain had assured she would, and she’d been perfectly fine ever since. Perhaps this new ship made her ill. The Venus was a shabby little twin-masted vessel of barely 90 feet and compared to their previous ship, she was dirty and smelly and damp, and didn‘t so much sail, as wallow through the seas. But the weather had been good all week and David had felt fine himself, so long as he spent plenty of time up on deck in the fresh air.

For a boy of eleven he had become quite a seasoned sailor himself considering he had never set foot on a boat until they had set out from home on this journey. And as he lay in his hammock on this particular morning, he was instantly aware of the marked change in the movement of the ship. He tried holding the blankets over his nose to block out the smell, but a lump was developing in the back of his throat, and he rolled out onto his feet, eager to escape to the fresh air before he started to gag.

He pulled on his heavy jacket.

‘Don’t get in the way up there, David. The crew will be workin’ hard.’ His father looked up from tending to his pale wife. ‘I’ll be along presently to get breakfast with ye.’ He gave his son an apologetic little smile and screwed up his nose to silently communicate that he wished he could escape the nauseating confines of their cramped quarters as well. The boy grinned back as his father turned and continued to quietly fuss over his wife. They hadn’t told their son yet, but Mary was four months pregnant.

David held his breath and tried to avoid seeing the contents of the chamber pot as he squeezed past his father and slid out the door.

For the past 24 hours the wind had been backing to the southwest and steadily strengthening, and they had hoped they would make port before it got any worse. But April was a month when the weather could produce anything from oily dead calms, to tropical cyclones, and it appeared that they may be in for quite a blow. The Venus was rolling and pitching heavily, and when the boy stepped out on deck it was a very different scene that greeted him from what they’d had the previous day.

The sky was a sullen grey sheet, with rain squalls cutting visibility to only a few hundred yards in any direction. And for as far as David could see around them, the inky black ocean was strewn with white caps and spume knocked off the peaks of a deep rolling swell by the howling wind. Occasionally the ships bows would dip into a deep trough that sent a shudder through the vessel and a wall of water would surge across the gunwale and crash over the decks before washing out through the scuppers. It was not a good place for a young boy to be on his own and he turned and staggered across the short open space to the main deck cabin, clawed open the door, staggered in and sat near the galley where it was marginally warmer.

His father came up on deck a while later and they ate a half cold breakfast with a handful of other passengers and crew.

There wasn’t much to do after they had eaten except sit and play cards, or try to read, wedged in a corner of the saloon. But it soon became obvious that the weather was worsening and by midday the sea had become a tortured, foaming tempest, with waves as high as the decks, breaking in raging white avalanches that continually dashed themselves against their little ship as the howling wind and rain beat relentlessly upon them.

They spent the rest of the day below decks and ate only a little dry bread and cheese, with nothing to drink but a few sips of brackish cold water. Few of the passengers were even able to stomach that. By evening the storm had worsened, if that was at all possible, and there was hardly a soul on board who had not become violently ill. The stench in the belly of the ship was unbearable, but to venture out on deck was suicide.

David lay in his parents’ bunk, crushed between the side of the cabin and his father’s rigid body, as they tried to brace themselves against the pitch and roll of the shuddering vessel. He could hear his mother’s fear-filled sobs and his father muttering under his breath whenever the ship lurched violently as it slammed into a trough, and David wasn’t quite sure whether he was praying or cursing. He buried his face in his father’s chest and tried to block out the howling scream of the wind. In his short life he had never been so afraid as he was right then. And he had never hated anything as much as he hated this filthy smelly little ship. No longer able to handle the stench and fear that knotted his stomach, he too began to vomit, emptying his stomach where he lay.

Delirium began to take over as he drifted in and out of consciousness and the hours rolled on, dreaming he was back in Sydney, hot and thirsty, then suddenly jarred back into the shrieking hell of reality.

Sobs wracked his body. How he wished they had stayed in Sydney. They had been so happy for those few short days. Or even in Perth where everything was hot and dusty and covered in flies. But more than anything else he wished he was back on their old ship, the Star of Dundee. She had been big and solid and safe, even when huge storms had come at them. In all the months they had been at sea in her, he had never been afraid of anything. Ever.

As the long grey afternoon faded into darkness and the endless night hours began to drag on, fear and exhaustion started to take their toll on him, as he fought the constant jarring roll of the ship. With no escape from the howling fury of the storm he lay under the wet blankets and cried.

Towards morning he began to drift in and out of a delirious nightmare sleep, no longer sure of where he was or what was happening, but one thought running through his exhausted mind. He hated this ship more than he had ever hated anything in his life, and he would have given anything to be back on the old Dundee.

************

The Star of Dundee was without a doubt one of the most beautiful ships ever to sail the ocean. Her long sleek hull was freshly painted pure white from Plimsoll line to gunwale. Her topsides and decking timbers were scrubbed and oiled until they glowed like liquid honey. In the early light of dawn, with her three great masts shrouded in curling mist, she lay rocking gracefully and gently against the waking docks of Newcastle-upon-Tyne.

However, she hadn’t always looked so lovely.

Constructed from the finest Indian teak, she was one of the fastest English-built tea clippers ever to be launched, and for more than 40 years she had plied the Indian tea-trade routes with legendary speed, bringing the coveted drink to thirsty throats from England to America and everywhere in between. However, times change, and progress is never very kind to old ships.

The development of the steam ship and the opening of the Suez Canal had rendered the grand old lady largely redundant from the tea trade. And with the wear and tear of all those years at sea finally catching up with her, she had eventually been sold and put into service as a collier along the English coast, dragging coal from the mines of Newcastle to the shipyards and ports along the coast. Finally, through lack of profit, she had fallen into total disrepair. And, like hundreds of other fine old ships of her day, she had been in mortal danger of being pushed into a backwater to be used as a floating coalbunker or, worse still, to await the final indignity of being beached and broken up for her valuable timbers.

But underneath the dirt and grime she was still as solid as the day she was built, and when Captain John Smithfield had set his eyes upon her one dreary November morning, it was truly love at first sight. He had been searching for an old tea clipper to use on the Australian wool run and he knew a good ship when he saw one. The Star of Dundee’s reputation was well known, so he’d scraped together every last penny he could find, and together with a few other private investors, had set about having the old clipper restored to her former glory.

Captain Smithfield had never married. The sea was his mistress, and sailing, his life. And with a hand-picked crew of men like himself − older men for whom there was no place in the busy, belching world of the steamship − they had sailed the great clipper across the oceans of the world carrying freight and passengers far cheaper, if perhaps a little slower, than their steam driven competitors could afford to. And on their return, bringing tons of valuable Australian wool back to the bustling mills of Europe. In the eight years since they had re-launched her, the big ship had circled the globe four times, following the trade routes and returning to Dundee at the end of each voyage for a full refit, ready to sail again.

She had arrived in Newcastle four days previously to top up her cargo with a load of bagged coal destined for far-flung colonial outposts, and was now in the final throws of being made ready to sail.

Like a lord surveying his realm, Captain Smithfield stood proudly on the polished teak deck at the head of the gangway waiting to welcome the handful of paying passengers who would be sailing with them on this new voyage. He hummed happily and wiped the railing to remove a deposit left by a gull.

As the watery rising sun began to show its face from behind the mist, James Campbell led his wife and young son along the busy docks toward the Star of Dundee.

They had left their home near Duns in the Scottish border country the previous day, leaving behind their friends and family, their sweat and blood, and 25 years of hard, thankless grind on the tenant farm they had leased to run their few scraggy sheep. But even then, leaving had not been an easy decision for them to make.

James was a naturally cautious man and took a dim view of anyone who would take a gamble with hard earned money to chase after a pipe dream. But tales of prosperity and success had filtered back, even to their distant little valley, from the far side of the globe where many of his fellow countrymen had emigrated to start new lives. And as time had passed he had begun to question that if perhaps, he wasn’t missing out on a huge opportunity to better himself.

He had read one week, an article in the Farmers’ Gazette about sheep farming in Australia in which a man had arrived there from Aberdeen with nothing to his name, and within 12 years had taken over a pastoral lease on which he ran 12,000 sheep.

Twelve thousand! James couldn’t even comprehend a flock of that size. But as he toiled month after month on the windswept moors, struggling just to make his little farm survive, his cautious mind had been busy, analysing all his options, and eliminating all the obstacles.

His wife, Mary, had not been easily convinced of the merits of voyaging into the unknown, and while her husband had slowly begun to dream of wealth and success and opportunity, the stories that she had heard (largely from travelling missionaries who visited their village church with a view to raising donations) were of piracy, and fever, and of naked murdering savages in the South Seas who quite unashamedly feasted on human flesh.

While her life on the high moors had been filled with terrible hardship, she had known nothing else. Her entire world lay within a five mile radius of her grey stone cottage. And in the little graveyard on the hill behind their church lay the bodies of her grandparents, her parents, and two of her three children. And it would take a lot more than rumours and fairy tales to get her to leave them behind.

But in the end the decision had been made for them. A particularly savage winter the previous year had seen them lose a good number of their flock to cold and starvation, and James had attempted to re-negotiate their lease to help them get through the season, but their landlord would have none of it. He had laughed in their faces and refused to even consider the matter, and after a short and heated debate, James had stormed home, red-faced and shaking with rage, and declared that he had had all he could take. Australia had become the Promised Land for James Campbell, and it was time for him to get out of Egypt!

Within a few short weeks they had sold what was left of their flock and their few possessions and set about preparing to leave. Mary had been won over on the condition that they would work their passage home again if they didn’t like what they found on the far side of the world.

Ten-year-old David had watched in bewildered and fearful excitement as his parents were transformed before his eyes. He had never seen his normally dour parents display any open signs of affection, and he had never known them to look anything other than tired and care-worn and defeated. Their whole existence had been one of grim daily grind.

Then, quite suddenly, their home had been filled with an air of nervous excitement. James and Mary appeared to grow years younger, as if a huge weight had been lifted from their shoulders, and on several occasions, David had even witnessed the unusual sight of his father kissing his mother, squeezing her about the waist and laughing like youngsters as she blushed and scolded him.

Friends and family had gathered to see them off on the train, overwhelming them with a small purse of money as a departing gift − which had surely represented a huge sacrifice on their part − and amidst tears and laughter and promises to write regularly, they had left for the coast.

Their journey had taken them across the border into England and down to the busy port of Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and as he stepped sleepily down from the train that morning, David’s senses had been assailed by their first sharp taste of the open ocean. It had filled his lungs with icy vigour and his mind with the promise of waiting adventure.

Captain Smithfield welcomed the Campbell’s aboard, bowing slowly to kiss Mary’s hand, and sending her into a pink flutter, blushing at such unaccustomed chivalry.

David stood open-mouthed beside his mother, staring up into the vast rigging of the massive ship where dozens of men as small as ants were clambering along the yardarms high above his head preparing the sails.

As he stood watching a wizened old man with bandy legs, bare feet and a face like a wrinkled brown prune came hobbling along the deck, looking upwards, checking to see how his shipmates were doing.

He gave David a sly wink and a wicked toothless grin,

‘'ow do, lad?’ he croaked in a gravel voice.

David didn't answer; he thought the man looked like one of the pirates his mother was afraid of, and he instinctively moved towards the safety of her skirts.

The old sailor stopped and shading his eyes against the rising sun, peered upwards again. Then calling out some instruction-or-other that David didn‘t understand, he grabbed hold of the rigging and scuttled upward like a little brown monkey. The boy watched in amazement. He had never seen anyone do anything quite like that before, and this man looked old enough to be his grandfather.

He was so in awe of the ship that Mary had to grab her son by the arm and drag him away as Captain Smithfield led them off towards their accommodation.

They were shown into a surprisingly airy cabin near the stern of the vessel that gave them both privacy, and room to move. Spotlessly clean, and very comfortable, it was more than they had ever expected for the money they had paid.

James had not been able to bring himself to pay the huge price to buy passage on one of the new steamers. The journey would certainly have been a lot quicker, but with their very limited funds they were forced to spend their money carefully. However, they were on their way and that was all that mattered.

That afternoon, the little family stood together on deck, watching their homeland slip away as their ship cleared the Tynemouth on the outgoing tide. James and Mary were silent and pensive, their throats suddenly tight and eyes pricked with tears. The reality of leaving their old lives was suddenly upon them and much harder than either of them had imagined. And the fear of the unknown momentarily weighed heavily on their minds.

David wasn’t interested in looking behind; his gaze was towards the open sea. The big ship’s sails had caught the breeze and she was healing to the wind as she broke clear of the river mouth. He pointed excitedly towards a large paddle steamer that had overtaken them and was quickly disappearing towards the horizon belching great clouds of black smoke from her twin stacks.

‘Humph!’ snorted the old bosun with utter contempt when the boy made a remark about it. ‘There's only one sort o’ fire that the good Lord intended for the belly of a ship, and that's in the galley fer cookin’ ye dinner. Anything more’n that, an’ yer just askin’ for trouble I says! Now a ship like this,’ he ran his hand lovingly along the polished rail and his tone softened, ‘she don’t need n’more ‘n a breath o’ wind and she will take you wherever you could wish t’ go in the world!’ He smiled, turned his face into the breeze and began to hum tunelessly to himself.

There were no other children David’s age on their voyage. In fact, there were only a handful of other passengers, as most people were taking the faster routes on steamships now, but he soon made friends with just about everyone on board. It became quite an effort for his poor mother to get him to sit still long enough even to eat his meals and finish his school lessons.

When he wasn't pestering the helmsman to let him help hold the wheel, he was down in the hold helping the crew check the cargo for rats and water damage. The old sailors seemed pleased with his youthful enthusiasm and were happy to let him tag along. But it all came to a head one day after they had been at sea for a little over a week, when his father found him 30 feet up the main mast rigging, dangling dangerously out by one hand watching the water rush past the sides of the ship. He wasn't sure which hurt more, the whack on the backside that his father gave him, or the sight of his poor mother wailing loudly at the thought of her only remaining child disappearing over the side never to be seen again. However, for the rest of the voyage he was made to stay firmly planted at deck level and not an inch higher.

Ever inquisitive, they had not been at sea very long before he became aware of a strange ritual that took place each day.

The wheelhouse was high up on the rear deck with a commanding view over the whole ship, and it quickly became one of David’s favourite places since he was no longer allowed any higher. But what caught his curiosity was the withered, almost skeletal little man, in a low cane basket chair and dressed in an impressive naval uniform, who was carried up each morning from somewhere below and was placed on the sheltered side of the aft cabin where he sat completely motionless, gazing out across the ocean through yellow, watery eyes. He never moved or spoke, he just sat and stared.

Mr Rhodes, who was the ship’s doctor, dentist, barber, surgeon and chaplain all rolled into one, would come by every half hour or so to check on the old man. Then, on the stroke of midday, a couple of sailors would come and lift the cane chair with its passenger and cart him away down below again.

After several days of this David’s curiosity got the better of him.

‘Who is that old man?’ he finally found enough courage to ask the helmsman one morning as they were steering the ship together.

The sailor looked down at the wasted little figure wrapped in its thick blankets. ‘That, my good lad,’ he spoke in a quietly reverent tone, ‘is Commodore Sir Rodvers Smithfield, Commander of the Royal Navy frigate Golden Arrow, and a much-decorated veteran of the Crimean War. A very famous man indeed.’

David, of course, had no idea what this meant, but it all sounded very grand and important.

‘He is also the elder brother of our Captain, and part-owner of this ship.’ continued the helmsman, ‘and one of the most heroic and noble gentlemen you could ever wish to meet.’ He sighed and raised his bushy eyebrows in a look of inevitability. ‘But he’s a very sick man I‘m afraid,’ he added, shaking his head sadly, ‘…and I think that this may well be his last voyage, bless ‘im.’

His words proved to be true, and they had only been at sea a few weeks when the old man breathed his last.

Always an early riser, David woke one morning to feel the ship wallowing in a way that suggested that she was no longer under sail. He made his way up on deck and stepped out into the silent dawn to find the entire ship’s company gathered at the railings on one side of the vessel, heads bowed, as Mr Rhodes read from his ship’s Bible. A flag-draped body lay on a plank in front of him, one end on a trestle and the other balanced on the railing over the side of the ship and, as the first rays of the rising sun appeared above the horizon, the entire crew stood to attention and silently saluted as the ship’s cannon was fired. Two sailors stepped forward and slowly raised the board sending the old man’s shrouded body sliding to its watery resting place. Then each man on deck took a small glass of black rum from a tray on the hatch cover and drank a solemn toast to departed friends.

David watched all this from the shelter of the cabin doorway and, as the men turned slowly to get on with the day’s work, he scuttled back to his hammock, fearful that he might be scolded for having witnessed the private ceremony. But when he ventured up on deck later that morning, everyone was as pleasant as ever, although perhaps a bit more sombre than usual.

For David’s parents the journey was not nearly so exciting. Mary was seasick almost the minute the ship left port and the first few days were an absolute misery for her. But by the time she had been at sea for a week she was coping a little better, although the thought of being so far from dry land was something she never did get used to. And anything more than a gentle swell would send her reeling to her bunk.

James, on the other hand, didn’t mind the sea at all, but his cautious nature had suddenly given way to a new-found impatience. Now that they had made a start to their journey the slow progress of the sailing ship began to frustrate him, and he spent many hours pacing up and down along the decks like a caged lion. He began to develop a gnawing fear that he may be missing out on some great opportunity if they didn’t get to Australia with as much haste as possible and he wished he’d had the money to travel by the faster route. It was a silly thing to worry about, he knew, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. And when he wasn’t pacing, he spent much of his time grilling the other passengers and crew, trying to glean every bit of information possible on where each of them was going, or had been, what they had seen and experienced, and what they were planning to do when they reached their chosen destinations. He poured over maps and charts with the captain, asking about places he had visited and where he thought were the best places a man like himself should go. And in this way, he managed to keep himself occupied as the days rolled into weeks, and then into months.

If he had spent less time worrying and pacing, he may well have enjoyed the journey a lot more. On their voyage down the coast of Spain, Portugal and Africa, they passed by the most beautiful islands one could imagine. David, who was never far from the wheelhouse, saw pods of dolphins and whales and great shoals of fish that stretched as far as the eye could see, churning the surface of the sea to foam as they fed. The variety of things to see was almost endless.

The day they crossed the equator was a day of great hilarity. The bosun dressed up as King Neptune and held court on the main deck, where he judged the worthiness of each new voyager to see if they were allowed across the line. If he found them wanting, they were made to perform tasks that had them all rolling with laughter. One young man was told he couldn’t cross and they threatened to make him walk the plank, prodding him with wooden swords towards the ships rail. But it was all in jest, and after agreeing to climb the rigging to the first spar and sing the national anthem, he was allowed to come down and re-join the party.

The day ended with a picnic and drinks on the deck, filled with laughter and happiness.

On another day, as the great ship lay wallowing in the doldrums off the equatorial coast of Africa, David was drawn to the stern by a great lot of shouting and laughter. There he found the ship’s mate and the cook hauling on a length of strong sail cord that disappeared over the railing into the sea. The cord was jerking and leaping in their hands as they heaved on it, and David rushed to the rail to see what was on the other end. All around them the smooth, oily sea was churning with feeding fish, flashing beneath the water and bursting in waves of spray and foam as they drove their tiny prey to the surface and fed on them. And as he peered down into the water he suddenly saw a flash of silver behind the great rudder. The two old men continued to haul at the line, and finally, with a great splash, they lifted their catch from the water, up the side of the ship, and onto the deck, where it leapt and thrashed about until the cook drove his long knife through its brain.

‘What is it?’ David cried. ‘Is it a whale?’ He crouched down and carefully touched the great shimmering fish. It was the most vivid silver and blue, about three feet in length.

The two old men laughed. ‘It’s a tuna fish,’ the cook told him, ‘We’re right in the middle of a huge shoal of tuna. They’re feeding on smaller fry.’ He bent and began to bleed and gut the fish, as the mate unhooked the lure from its jaw and prepared to throw the line out again. He looped several yards of cord in one hand and dangled the lure in the other. It was a fearsome looking thing, made from coloured chicken feathers bound to a heavy barbed steel hook about three inches long. With a quick flick, he sent it sailing off the back of the ship out into the clear blue water.

Although the Dundee had all her canvas up, she was hardly making any headway and the lure drifted along lazily just under the surface about 20 yards behind them. David could see it quite clearly, and for a couple of minutes nothing happened, but just as he was about to look away there was a flash of silver and the coloured feathers were gone. With a shout the two men were back pulling on the plunging cord again, and a few minutes later a second fish was flapping on the decks.

Their excitement soon had nearly everyone on board crowded at the stern rail watching. And for the next 20 minutes the two old sailors repeated the cycle, losing three fish before they could bring them up, but landing another four before their luck ran out, and, with a great leap, a huge fish snapped their line, taking the coloured lure and ending their afternoon’s fun.

That night they all dined on baked tuna, which David decided tasted very much like chicken. And after eating nothing but salted pork and beef for weeks on end, the change was greatly appreciated by everyone.

Fishing was the thing nearest to the first mates heart and talking about fishing was the second most. In David he discovered he had a tireless listener and a budding pupil, and the next time they made port he went off and bought himself enough bits and pieces to make some more lures, and he showed David how he went about making them up. The two of them spent hours sitting under the wharves whenever they were in port, catching buckets full of whiting and herring on baited lines, which the cook took away and cleaned and smoked to supplement their diet on the voyage.

The Star of Dundee made several stops down the coast of Africa on their way south, picking up barrels of wine in Madeira, delivering farm machinery and bagged coal in the Canary Islands and the Ivory Coast, and dropping off mining equipment in Cape Town. Then they rounded ‘The Cape’ on ‘one of the calmest days you could ever wish to see,’ according to their captain (although the ship was still tossed so violently about at the meeting of the oceans that most of the passengers were seasick).

The next stage of their journey was altogether different. The great ship dipped into the Southern Indian Ocean, and driven by strong westerlies, she heeled over and raced for the distant coast of Australia.

James had to laugh at the change in the mood of the crew. After the endless hot days of drifting through light seas in the Atlantic, the gnarled old seamen seemed to come alive with their ship. Captain Smithfield was almost dancing a jig as he walked his watch, stopping now and then to stare up at the drum-tight sails. He found David and his father up in the forward deck watching the waves foaming off the bows as they sped eastward.

‘Now this is real sailing, Mr Campbell!’ he laughed, as they picked their way along the sloping, spray-washed decks. ‘You can keep your smelly steamers, I’d much rather travel like this any day!’

With almost miraculous speed compared to the previous leg of their journey, came the morning when a shout went up from the lookout, and they tumbled out of bed and onto the decks for their first glimpse of the vast southern continent that was Australia.

James stood hugging his family at the ships rail in eager anticipation as the faint grey outline of Western Australia drew slowly nearer. This was what they had waited months to see, the very realisation of all their hopes and dreams. But their enthusiasm was short-lived, for as they surveyed the approaching coastline their excitement quickly turned to alarm, and then to total dismay. For, apart from a few splashes of blue-green scrub and trees, their Promised Land was nothing but a great, shimmering, red dustbowl.

Late in the morning, they dropped anchor in the lee of Rottnest Island, where a flotilla of small luggers and lighters waited to ferry passengers and freight across the bar and up the Swan River to Fremantle town. The Campbell’s were visited by a customs official and after a few preliminaries, were given permission to disembark. They climbed down into a small cutter that took them past the treacherous reefs and into the wide river estuary that wound its way inland to Fremantle and beyond to the new town of Perth. The banks were pleasantly green and cool, but even from their boat they could feel the searing heat blowing off the parched landscape behind the green band of trees. In the middle of the afternoon they climbed wearily off the cutter and set foot for the first time on Australian soil.

The little family stood huddled, silently on the side of the street opposite the wharves, trying to come to terms with what their eyes were seeing. Everything, literally everything, was covered with a fine red layer of dust. Houses, shops, horses, even people. And on top of the dust were the flies. They crawled into their eyes and ears, the corners of their mouths, their noses; everywhere. They kept waving them away with their hands, but it made no difference, the flies just came right back again. And in the mid-afternoon sun, the whole scene shimmered and swam in an overpowering, choking heat. For this was high summer in the Southern Hemisphere and to the Campbell’s, clad in their heavy woollen clothing and accustomed, not only to cold Scottish weather and cool green grass, but also to shipboard life, where the sea breezes and shady cabins had tempered even the hottest days, this was nothing short of a scene from hell.

They struggled across the dirty street and into the shade of the shop verandas, which proved to be only marginally cooler and clutching on to each other more for emotional support than anything else, they staggered along the footpath until they found a shop where they could get a cool drink and sit out of the heat.

‘Why does the ground keep moving?’ asked David, breaking the uneasy silence at last. ‘Does it always do that here?’ He’d spent so long aboard the ship that he was unused to the feel of solid ground beneath his feet, and everything seemed to be constantly swaying.

His mother forced a smile and tried to explain.

‘Is your ground moving too, Daddy?’ he asked his father.

‘Aye, mine is too,’ replied James vacantly over the rim of his glass and lapsed back into grim silence.

They found rooms that were cheap but comfortable and settled in for the five days the ship was to be in port. James found it very difficult to look Mary in the eye. He knew what she must be thinking. He had dragged her halfway around the world in pursuit of a dream, and what they had found was a nightmare. But Mary said nothing. She was never one to complain. The scene outside their window was heart-breaking for both of them. This was not the place they had dreamed of all these months, but she wasn't about to give up hope just yet. Perhaps things would get better as they travelled further east.

They had paid their passage to travel as far as Sydney if they needed to, but as they sat in their room that night fanning themselves against the evening humidity, they both wrestled privately with the same thoughts.

Where were the thousands of acres of cheap land they had heard about? Was the rest of Australia going to be like this? And how were they ever going to survive this atrocious heat? They could hardly breathe in it, so it defied imagination how anyone could go outside and work in it.

They boarded the ship again at the end of the week and set sail for Adelaide. Even Mary said she was pleased to be back at sea.

‘Why, Mrs Campbell,’ Captain Smithfield smiled at her admission. ‘I do believe we’ll make a fine sailor of you after all!’

Where Fremantle had been a nightmare, Adelaide was simply paradise. The air was much cooler. There were parks with green grass and shady trees and beautiful ponds. Just the sort of town they could happily live in. And everything looked so colourful.

‘It’s because there isn't half an inch of red dust covering everything,’ pointed out James, who had brightened up considerably upon coming ashore. ‘This is a much nicer part of the country. I’m sure we could find somewhere to live around here.’

They made enquiries at the colonial land settlement offices in the town centre and were given an appointment with one of the clerks. After introductions were made, they were escorted into a side office and offered seats. They talked for some time as James laid his ideas on the table, in the hope of getting his grand plan under way.

The property clerk wore a kind but impassive expression on his face. Unfortunately, he had had to sit and listen to these same stories almost every day from immigrants, dreamers, and fortune hunters. And every day he had to give them the same answer.

‘I’m sorry, but you're only about 60 years too late, Mr Campbell. All the best country within 500 miles was snapped up years ago, mainly by wealthy British buyers and the big land companies. There's cheap land away up north of here, lots of it, and up in Queensland, but you can’t just wander up there and start farming. You’d be dead inside a week without the right knowledge and equipment. If you’re going to live up there you need plenty of money to set yourselves up. You need black fella’s for trackers, drovers to get your stock up there, and plenty of luck to get you into the right area. She’s a big country, Australia. End up in the wrong place and all you’ll find is scrub and desert; only good for farming snakes and kangaroos, I'm afraid.’ Then seeing the disappointment on James’s face, he added. ‘Look, I’m probably making it sound worse than it is. Too many of you new immigrants come out here thinking it’s all going to be an easy ride. It isn’t. You have to learn all about this country before you go rushing into anything, otherwise it will kill you. But it is a good place. It’s a country with a lot to offer. There’s lots of other things you could try: Gold and opal mining, construction, station work on some of the big outfits back inland. Just take things slowly; get a feel for the place and you‘ll be fine.’

Back on the ship Captain Smithfield echoed the same thoughts. He sat on a hatch cover and listened to James’s story with a sympathetic ear, nodding gravely now and then, and tugging thoughtfully at his grey beard. He’d grown to like the Campbells a great deal and could feel James’s disappointment.

‘Ye know, James,’ he said at last, pulling out his long clay pipe and stuffing it with tobacco, ‘I've been plying these waters for many years now and I've seen many young men like yourself come out here, certain that they are going to strike it rich the minute they step off the boat, and for the fortunate few − and they are very few I must add − that can happen. But for the rest of us mere mortals, that sort of thing just doesn’t ever happen.’ He lit his pipe and puffed on it until he was satisfied it was going nicely before he continued.

‘You’re still a young and healthy man, James, with a good woman to look after you. Find a place you like the look of, settle for a while, and just see what comes along.’ He was silent for a while, but he was looking at James thoughtfully through the smoke curling up from the bowl of his pipe. ‘If you really want my advice, I think you should sail on to New Zealand. You would like it there. It’s a lot like Britain. The climate is much cooler and there are no snakes or flies like there are here. There are some lovely towns there. Lots of fresh water everywhere and they are opening up more country for farming all the time. And even if you can’t buy land, a good man is always in demand for fencing and shepherding,’ he puffed deeply, and a cloud of pungent blue smoke momentarily engulfed his pleasant face.

‘But whatever you do, James, don’t fall into despair. I’m sure everything will work out just fine.’

James lay awake that night listening to the creak and groan of the old ship. Australia had always been his Promised Land and the thought of going somewhere else was like giving up part of his dream, almost an admission of defeat. But the more he thought about it, the more sensible the old Captain’s idea sounded. He’d heard some very good things about New Zealand. He hadn’t had a chance to discuss it with Mary yet, but perhaps he would sit down with her in the morning and talk it over. If Captain Smithfield thought it was the best thing to do, then Mary should be happy with that. She had a lot of respect for Captain Smithfield.

He eventually rolled onto his side and drifted into a deeper and much less troubled sleep than he’d had in weeks. He was almost smiling again.

***************

‘South and East, ‘til long white cloud,

does break horizon, from the shroud.’

chapter two.

NEW ZEALAND.

By the time the ship docked in Sydney, they had already made up their minds to carry on across the Tasman. Sydney was nice; a busy, modern little city, but the heat was still unbearable, and a quick survey of the land sale’s listings confirmed what they already knew: Too expensive, or too harsh and dry and foreboding.

James half-heartedly looked about to see what work was available, but there wasn't much around that paid a decent wage, and the thought of working in the scorching heat just made him more determined to push on.

Although it was now late March, the searing Australian sun was still too much for the Campbell’s and they sought the shade of the dock-side buildings as they watched the last of their few belongings being carried off the Star of Dundee and stacked on the wharf. They were actually finding it far more difficult than they had imagined to say goodbye to the old clipper and her crew. After being together for so many months and covering so many miles, they had all become like close family.

Captain Smithfield and his bosun stood with them making idle small talk, almost reluctant to let them go.

‘A great pity we can't take you on to New Zealand, James,’ said the Captain, ‘but our course takes us on up the coast to Brisbane, then away yonder up to the Pacific Islands. However, I’m sure you'll have no difficulty in finding a vessel to take you on from here. There is a fairly vigorous trade back and forth across the Tasman between Sydney and Auckland.’

‘We’re almost tempted to sail on with ye,’ laughed James, ‘but I don't think there's much call for sheep farmers where you are heading to.’

With much shaking of hands and wishes of good luck all around, they said their goodbyes. The old captain took Mary’s hand, gravely bowed his head, and kissed it, and Mary had to take out her hanky to dab the tears from her eyes. David was so overcome at the thought of losing all of his friends that he couldn’t hold back his tears either,