Where The Flag Floats

By D C Grant

Living in docklands of Sydney in1863 means that nimble fingers are of more use to Sam Galloway than being able to read, until his mother dies, leaving him with a watch on which is engraved words he cannot read. Her dying words entreat him to use the watch to find his dead father’s sister in New Zealand. The quest leads him to board HMS Orpheus as a stowaway, little knowing that the royal navy corvette is doomed, destined to be caught in a sandbank at the entrance to the Manukau Harbour. As the ship breaks apart, Sam is thrown into the tumultuous seas with the crewmen, many of whom perish. Will Sam survive to recover the precious watch that connects him to his father and the family he never knew he had? Following the events of New Zealand greatest maritime disaster, this adventure story for children gives insights into the shipwreck of HMS Orpheus on the Manukau Bar on 7th February 1863.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D C Grant
• Release date: Oct 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301140541

D C Grant

D C Grant was born in Manchester, England but she didn’t stay there for long as the family moved to Lowestoft, Suffolk when she was four. She didn’t stay here for long either, moving to South Africa with her family when she was thirteen. This is where she found that she liked words to string words together and create a story out of thin air. Just when she thought her inter-continental moving days were over, she moved to New Zealand with husband and two daughters. Here she was first published by Scholastic NZ Ltd.Since then she has proceeded to write and publish books, expanding into digital ebooks as the format became more popular. While her first few books are set in New Zealand, later books expand into other parts of the world, drawing on her experiences whilst living in other countries.Her favorite authors are Lee Child and Bernard Cornwell and, while she reads diversely, she leans towards the mystery/thriller and historical fiction. So it is only right that she writes in these genres for children and young adults.D C Grant lives in a New York loft style apartment in Auckland, New Zealand with a slightly psychotic cat called Candy and drinks lots of coffee to power her through the late night writing sessions – because she’s a night owl!Find D C Grant at:www.dcgrant.co.nzhttps://www.facebook.com/dcgrantwriterhttps://www.goodreads.com/D_C_Granthttps://dcgrantwriter.wordpress.com/

Book preview

Prologue

Auckland, 22 January 1866

My tutor, Mr Griffin, said that I must write an essay for English composition, but I do not want to write an essay. Instead I wish to go down to the sea and play in the waves with my friend Maki.

I look up from my desk, and through the study window I can see the ships at anchor in the Waitemata Harbour. They strain against their anchors as if they wish to break the bond that holds them, just as I desire to break the invisible bond of Mr Griffin's discipline that holds me fast to the desk. But if I close my eyes, I can imagine the lurch of the deck beneath my feet and hear the reef points fluttering against the canvas sails. I can feel the shudder of the ship as she moves through the waves and the smell of brine in the wind that blows across the deck. I sigh – how I wish to be at sea again.

I have come a long way in three years. In January 1863 I was an illiterate petty thief, but now I can read and write and I no longer steal to feed myself. I should celebrate that and write my essay. I shall write about the sea and my journey across it, and the search for the family I never knew I had. I shall start at the beginning: in Sydney in the dead of the night as I watched my mother struggle to breathe.

Sydney, 30 January 1863

Early Morning

My mother was dangerously ill. She had stopped coughing but blood was on her lips and in her mouth, and I wiped her face with a damp cloth and listened to her wheezing. It was all I could do as we had no money for a doctor, though even a doctor could do little to stop the consumption eating away her lungs. She had become worse during the preceding day and I wondered if she would see the morning.

Beside her the single candle cast a flickering light over her face. The rest of the room was in darkness. There was not much but the single bed on which she lay, the table in the middle and the utensils upon it. The fire in the grate had gone out a few days ago – I’d not been able to get the wood to feed it. Since Mother had become ill, she had not been able to earn the few pennies she received as a laundress and I had sold what I could for food. That, too, had run out some days ago and I had been unable to roam the streets and pilfer food for I had not wanted to leave her, in case she died while I was gone.

She stirred and grimaced with pain. Her eyes opened and fixed on me.

Sam, she said.

Hush, Mother, rest.

I’ll rest in heaven. Her words soft – I had to lean close to hear.

I don’t want you to go, I said. What I am to do without you? Panic closed my throat and tears sprung to my eyes. I used the cloth in my hand to wipe them away; I did not want her to see me cry. I was trying to be strong for her but my blood was running cold in my veins – I was scared. I could not think of the future, could not think of life without her. I would be motherless, homeless and penniless. I had grown up on the streets, but the streets could be brutal and I did not know how I could survive the savagery of the older boys who ran the gangs. I would be swallowed up, churned up and spat out – alive or dead, I did not know.

I dipped the cloth into a bowl of water and again wiped the blood from her lips. They moved and I thought she spoke but if she did, I could not hear. Her eyes closed and she was very still apart from her shallow breathing. I jumped up and started to pace the room, wanting to do anything but watch her struggle for each breath. Death was a constant event in The Rocks and every day a cart rattled its way to the cemetery, but I could not think of my mother on one of those carts; no, not my mother. I sank down to my knees next to her again and wiped the damp cloth across her forehead.

Her eyes opened and looked up at me so I tried to smile.

Sam. There was urgency in her voice. Look under my pillow. It’s for you.

Me? I asked, wondering what she was saying. Was she delirious?

Yes … quick … there’s no time left.

I put my hand under the pillow, feeling around under her head, until my hand touched something small and round. I pulled out a small leather pouch tied with a drawstring. Cautiously I loosened the string and tipped the contents out onto my hand. I gasped; in my palm lay a man’s gold pocket watch with a fine gold chain.

Where … what … did you take it? I stammered.

Not me, she said although I knew this already. My mother never stole anything, although the other women kept whatever they found in the pockets of the laundry they washed.

Whose is it?

Your father’s.

My father? I had never known my father. I turned the watch over and found words engraved on the back but, as I could not read, I did not know what they said and I felt inadequate. This angered me and I let my fear direct my anger at my mother.

This would have bought us food! I said. Paid for the doctor, got proper care. Why didn’t you tell me? You kept it hidden from me. How could you?

My mother didn’t answer. Her fevered eyes looked into mine and my rage left me as suddenly as it had come. I laid my head gently on her chest as I used to do when I was young and needed the comfort and strength of my mother. But my mother’s chest trembled and I could hear the fluid in her lungs. I lifted my head.

I’m sorry, Mother, I didn’t mean it. It’s all right now. I’ll sell it and get the doctor and he’ll make you better.

No, and she laid her hand on mine. I could see in her face the effort it took for her to draw in breath. Her voice was soft and I had to lean forward to hear her. Take it to New Zealand.

New Zealand?

To Auckland … to your father’s sister. She paused while she struggled for air. She has to take you in. You are kin.

How will … where …

There was a rattle in my mother’s throat and she gasped, Her name is on the watch.

She did not take another breath.

I wept then, taking big shuddering gulps that shook my whole body, and I made no attempt to stop the tears that flowed down my face. I was both angry and scared; angry at God, and scared of being alone. With a shaking hand, I closed my mother’s eyes, but I had no pennies to place on them. I had no shroud, no coffin, and no money for a cart to take her to the church. I looked down at the object in my hand. What use was a watch to me? I could not tell the time nor could I read the words on the back. Its value lay in how much I could get for it and whether that would be enough to pay for my mother’s funeral. She deserved that one dignity at least.

First Light

I sat in that dark room alone, weeping until exhausted while I waited for the morning. I held my mother’s hand as it grew cold and, in my other hand, I held the watch, rolling it slowly over and over in my palm. I wondered about my father’s family and his sister, my aunt, about whom I knew nothing. I hardly knew anything about my father either for my mother scarcely talked of him, just saying he was a soldier and had died before I was born. They had never married, which made me a bastard, but so were most of the other boys on the streets. As far as I was aware we had no other family – it had been just Mother and me for as long as I could remember.

As the morning sun began to cast its dim light through the small window, I thought of going first to the pawnbroker and then the undertaker. But thinking was all I could do, for my eyes swelled with tears and my chest hurt and I couldn’t bear to move from my mother’s side.

A loud thump at the door startled me and I almost dropped the watch. Had the undertaker come already? But how did he know my mother was dead?

The door rattled as whoever was on the other side tried to open it.

Come on, Mrs Galloway, I know you’re in there!

It was Mr Hagman, the landlord. I had no money for the rent so I quickly put the watch back into its leather bag and dropped it into my pocket while the man pounded on the door. I drew back the bolt and the door flew open, knocking me off my feet and I could do little but lay still on the floor while Mr Hagman looked down at me in contempt. Two other men were with him, one of whom I recognized as the bailiff.

Where is your mother? Mr Hagman asked.

I struggled to my feet and pointed to the bed. Pushing me aside, Mr Hagman strode to the bed and said, Come on, Mrs Galloway, where is that rent you owe me? If you cannot give it to me, I’ve got the bailiff here to throw both you and your bastard out!

He stopped by the bed and looked down at her, waiting for an answer. Perhaps in the darkness of the room, he could not see that she was dead.