Blackbird

By David Crookes

The early wealth of Queensland depended on slavery, known in Australia as Blackbirding. South Sea islanders were tricked or forced aboard slave ships, then sold to the highest bidder and forced to cut cane on the northern sugar plantations.
Beautiful young Kiri, destined for slavery is rescued from her fate by half-breed Ben Luk, a prospector who plans to become a respectable businessman in Brisbane after acquiring wealth in the Palmer River goldfields.
However racial prejudice runs high in the colony and Ben and Kiri make ruthless, unforgiving enemies who will stop at nothing to bring them down. Ultimately their refusal to bow to tyranny, and their love for each other, carry them though their many turbulent adventures.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Crookes
• Release date: Dec 12, 2010
• ISBN: 9780980825206

David Crookes

David Crookes self-published his first novel BLACKBIRD in 1996. It was quickly picked up by Hodder Headline, now HATCHETTE GROUP, and became a best seller in multiple editions, as did THE LIGHT HORSEMAN'S DAUGHTER and SOMEDAY SOON and other titles. Now most of his many novels are available as ebooks. David was born in Southampton, England. After living in Canada for twenty-three years he moved to Queensland, Australia with his wife and children. He has worked in many occupations, as a farm hand, factory worker, lumber-mill worker, costing surveyor, salesman, contractor, oilfield and construction industry executive and as a small business owner. He now writes fulltime. His travels have taken him to many parts of the world and his particular passion, apart from writing is single-handed ocean sailing.His novels include:BlackbirdThe Light Horseman's DaughterSomeday SoonChildren of the SunRedcoatBorderlineGreat Spirit ValleyThe Bookkeeper's Daughter

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Something was wrong.

There was no sign of life on the island's pristine long white beach and no sound from the jungle beyond. Except for the tiny wavelets gently lapping against the shore, everything was absolutely still. The whole island seemed too silent to be real.

A ship's boat splashed noisily into the sea. From his position at the rail of the brigantine Faithful, Captain Isaiah Cockburn looked on apprehensively as the oarsmen of the small craft dipped their blades into the crystal clear, turquoise water of the anchorage.

Moments later, a second boat, followed quickly by a third and fourth, pulled away from the vessel. When the small flotilla passed over the island's fringing reef, the leading boat made directly for a coconut grove on the long white beach.

At Bougainville, Cockburn's task had been easier. As soon as the Faithful arrived at the island, scores of friendly natives paddled out in canoes loaded with yams, fruit and shells. His crew had shown them brightly coloured cloth, rolls of calico and knives and indicated their willingness to trade.

When the eager islanders clambered aboard, crewmen led them down to the ship's hold where all kinds of goods and trinkets were displayed for trade. Then the hold hatches were slammed shut and hastily locked and yet another hapless group of Melanesians were destined to cut cane in Australia on the sugar plantations of the British Crown Colony of Queensland.

The captain drew a bulky silver timepiece from a waistcoat pocket and held it as close to his eyes as its restraining chain would allow. It was two minutes to noon and oppressively hot in the lee of the island which sheltered the Faithful from the persistent southeast tradewind blowing over the Solomon Sea.

Cockburn stretched his tall frame and cursed the heat. Even in July, the middle of the southern winter, the sun was merciless in the offshore islands of New Guinea. He put the timepiece away and raised a well polished brass telescope to an ageing but clear blue eye. Ever so slowly he scanned the entire length of the beach. Still there was no sign of life.

The captain shook his head. He had been expecting more.

Just three months earlier, in April, 1883, the self-governing colony of Queensland had assumed Imperial powers and annexed the eastern half of New Guinea, including these outlying islands, for the purpose of ensuring a plentiful supply of black labour for the colony.

The smell of stale sweat and molasses assailed Cockburn's nostrils. Without taking his eyes off the ship-boats, he knew Ned Higgins, the Queensland Government agent assigned to the Faithful, had finally awoken and found his way up to the deck.

Higgins joined Cockburn at the rail. He cleared his throat noisily, then lazily spat what he had gathered over the side of the ship.

Cockburn tolerated the repugnant drunk aboard his otherwise tightly run ship, only because of the certainty of Higgins turning a blind eye to breaches of the regulations supposedly governing the labour trade, providing his appetite for rum and women was suitably satisfied.

Higgins pulled a flask from his coat pocket. He took a long swallow, then wiped his mouth with a dirty hand.

'You'll be sure to take aboard a Mary for me, won't you, Isaiah?' The agent's face broke into a near toothless grin. `Some say the Kanakas of these islands are the best looking of all the islanders of the Solomon Sea. There are no blue-blacks here Captain, like the savages of Bougainville. These people, I am told, are the colour of creamed coffee and some of the females are uncommonly handsome.'

Cockburn turned an unappreciative eye to the little agent beside him. Higgins had neither washed nor shaved in the four days which had passed since the Faithful left Bougainville with three quarters of her licensed quota of living cargo—seventy five terrified and now half-starved islanders, packed like sardines below decks in the brigantine's stinking coal-black holds.

'Yes Ned,' Cockburn growled. `We'll get you a Mary if we can, but as you can see, it looks as if this island is deserted.'

`May I Captain?' Higgins held out a bony hand.

Cockburn handed him the telescope. Higgins screwed up his ferret-like face and peered through the glass.

The boats were almost at the shore now. Higgins focused the lens on the first boat just as it reached the island. He watched as two figures in flowing robes and wide-brimmed hats stepped over the gunwales onto the sand. He laughed out loud `Got Bates the recruiter and Geddes the interpreter in missionary frocks, eh! Isaiah? he said. 'It's an old trick, but it usually works well when the savages are afraid to show themselves.'

*

Kiri crouched low in the undergrowth just a few yards behind the palm trees lining the beach and watched the white men pull their boats up onto the sand. The villagers had first seen the brigantine at dawn, when she appeared on the horizon to the south. They had ample time to plan for the arrival of the ship while she nosed her way slowly up the shore-line, carefully avoiding the profusion of coral heads close to the island.

Eventually, the ship had anchored off a rocky point close to a deep channel between their island and a smaller neighbouring island. Since then, Kiri had just watched and waited. She began to tremble. It hadn't been long since a similar ship had visited her island. The young men who had paddled out to greet it had never returned, and their families had wept when their empty canoes were washed up on the beach.

A parrot screeched in the bush behind the palms. It was the signal from her father, the village headman. Kiri rose to her feet and walked out onto the sand. She was a sight to behold. She was naked, which was the way of all her people, but her sheer beauty and loveliness had always set her apart from even the most attractive of the other island girls. Her features were exquisite, almost regal in their perfection, and her skin was a rich golden brown, smooth and unblemished.

As she walked, she raised her arms and ran her fingers through her hair, smiling provocatively at the wide-eyed, unkempt group of ruffians now assembled on the beach. She stopped about twenty yards from where they stood and their eyes feasted on her tantalizing supple brown body, the upward sweep of her firm young breasts, and the promise of delight in the darkness between her thighs.

Two of the men whom Kiri took to be headmen, had their bodies completely covered with long flowing robes and wore wide-brimmed hats over their heads. Kiri had seen similarly dressed men come peacefully to the islands in the past. Some had even stayed for periods of time on the island and tried to teach the islanders the ways of their white God. But such men had never taken any islanders away in their giant canoes.

`Bless you my child.'

The words were spoken by one of the men in robes in a tongue Kiri didn't understand.He held out his arms and walked towards her.

The parrot screeched again and Kiri turned and ran down the beach. As she ran she looked behind her. The two men dressed as missionaries were in hot pursuit with their skirts raised up to their waists. Underneath their habits they wore sea-boots, and had long barrelled American revolvers stuck into wide seamen's belts. The rest of the men were close behind, laughing and shouting, clearly enjoying the chase.

Nearly a hundred yards down the beach, Kiri was still well ahead of her pursuers who were making heavy going in the loose sand above the tide-mark. She deliberately slowed, then turned and ran through the palm trees into a clearing where several upturned canoes lay in the sand. Then she stopped and waited.

It was a few moments before Tom Geddes, the Faithful's interpreter, who in truth had a scant knowledge of only a handful of the hundreds of languages of Melanesia, came panting into the clearing. During the chase he had cast off his long grey habit in the interest of speed.

When he saw Kiri standing still and smiling again, his face broke into a wide grin. He knew he had won the race and he moved toward her, anxious to collect the prize.

The spear came from nowhere. It passed clear through Geddes' sweaty neck, just as the rest of the runners burst into the clearing. Geddes drew his pistol an instant before a second shaft pierced his heart, and the weapon discharged harmlessly into the air as he dropped stone-dead to the ground.

In the mayhem that followed, some thirty or forty howling islanders, all strongly built young men, leapt from the bushes throwing spears and swinging clubs. Many found their mark before the surprised intruders were able to defend themselves. But when the sailors drew their pistols, they fired rapidly and indiscriminately, killing and wounding islanders with almost every shot.

Kiri had hidden behind the canoes the moment the first spear had been thrown. She heard a sound behind her. She spun around and saw Bates, the recruiter, also seeking shelter from the melee. He still wore his missionary's habit and blood poured from a gash in his forehead. He lunged at Kiri and smashed his pistol across her face, then drew her body in front of his own as a human shield.

Two islanders bounded toward him. Bates shot them both at point blank range, then screamed at the top of his voice:

`To the boats lads, before they kill and eat us all.'

*

`Make sail.'

The crew of the Faithful jumped to it when Clancy the mate roared the command. Mainmast halyards raced through clattering blocks as canvas fell from the forward yards.

Isaiah Cockburn's eyes squinted into the sun as he peered aloft to assess the strength of the wind. The Union Jack fluttered lazily from the forward masthead. On the mizzen-mast, a catspaw caught the flag of the Faithful's owner, the Stonehouse Shipping Company. The small gust caused the pennant to stream out momentarily displaying the company's emblem: a medieval greystone tower emblazoned with the letter S, in red ,set against a solid black background.

Cockburn cursed the light air and moved to the rail. He raised his telescope. Just two boats were returning to the brigantine. Both were fighting a running battle with war-canoes which had put out from the shore after them.

He counted four men and a Mary in one boat, and five men in the other, seven short of the sixteen who had gone ashore. Cockburn waited until the boats had passed over the reef, then signalled to the mate.

Clancy's voice roared again: 'Weigh anchor.'

Crewmen bounded to the capstan. It spun around freely at first, then creaked and groaned in protest when the slack came out of the hawser. Strong backs bent to the task and the anchor broke free just as the boats bumped against the ship's hull.

As the Faithful began to make way, the survivors of the landing party scrambled from the boats under a hail of spears and frantically climbed up rope-webbing draped over the side of the ship. Up on deck, Cockburn, Clancy and Higgins, leaned over the rail and fired revolvers at the war-canoes in the water below.

Half-way up the rope-webbing Kiri tried to jump into the sea. Bates angrily slammed her head hard into the side of the ship, then dragged her unconscious body by the hair up behind him onto the deck.

Crewmen hastily sheeted home the brigantine's sails and gradually the Faithful left the island of Kiriwina behind her.

CHAPTER TWO

It was raining in the diggings. For over a week Ah Sing had suffered alone. He lay huddled between filthy blankets in his tiny humpy dug into a hillside above the Palmer River. In daylight, the hut provided a clear view of the Palmer. But it was night now, and Ah Sing knew his old eyes would never see the river of gold again.

The old Chinaman had panned the Palmer for over eight years. He had been one of thousands of his countrymen to arrive at the far northern Queensland port of Cooktown from southern China in 1875 to join the great goldrush.

Ah Sing coughed and brought up blood. His frail body shook incessantly from the fever which for weeks had just refused to go away. He lay on a dirt floor which during the rain had slowly turned to a spongy mud. The dampness only added to his misery. First it had seeped though the blankets and then into his clothing.

Ah Sing's body convulsed in yet another coughing spasm, and when it eventually subsided, he closed his eyes and prayed that when death came he would not be alone.

*

Ben Luk was born in the colony of New South Wales. He too had worked the Palmer diggings for years. He had come with his father from the well worked southern goldfields, lured northward by tales of the incredible wealth of the Palmer—a place where Chinese greatly outnumbered white men.

Ben's father never saw the Palmer goldfield. He was one of hundreds of diggers murdered by marauding Aborigines on the long and dangerous road from Cooktown to the Palmer River. Somehow Ben had escaped, and it had been Ah Sing who had taken in the fifteen year old son of a Celestial father and a long since dead European woman, when all others of both races rejected him.

Now Ben was a grown man and the Palmer was all but played out. He had scoured the length and breadth of the goldfield over the past two years and found barely enough gold to provide food and supplies.

Most of the white men had gone years earlier, leaving behind them a fortune in gold to the Chinese who had the patience and determination to methodically work every inch of the entire goldfield and river bed. But now even Chinese on the Palmer were few and far between. Ben knew it was time to move on.

At twenty three, Ben Luk stood six feet tall and was powerfully built with a strong honest face. He wore his long black hair in a pigtail like a Chinese, but wore European clothes. He rode a fine chestnut mare and carried a carbine and stock-whip for protection, not only against Aborigines, but also against those Chinese and Europeans alike, who made no secret of their hatred for his mixed blood. Over the years in the wild Palmer country, Ben had become proficient in the use of both the rifle and the whip.

Ben urged his horse through a swollen creek, just upstream of the point where it gushed into the Palmer River, then continued along the river-bank in the darkness towards Ah Sing's shack. Soon he would tell Ah Sing of his plans to move on and encourage the old man to leave with him.

Ah Sing's humpy appeared through the deluge. There was no light shining. Ben quickened his pace. When he pushed the door open and called out Ah Sing's name, there was no answer. He rummaged around and found an old miner's lantern and lit it. When the glow fell on Ah Sing's face Ben thought he was dead.

Ah Sing lay perfectly still, his eyes closed and his mouth hanging wide open. But when Benlifted him from the pile of wet blankets and laid him in a dry place, the old man's eyelids fluttered and he tried to speak.

Ben fetched a flask from a saddle-bag and put it to Ah Sing's lips. At first Ah Sing gasped when the brandy seared his throat, but soon he felt its warmth and spoke.

`Stay close to me Ben Luk. I have little time to say what I must say before I pass on...'

`I will not leave your side again,' Ben said softly and took Ah Sing's frail hand in his.

`I have told you before, Ben Luk,' Ah Sing wheezed, `I was once a successful merchant in Hong Kong, but foolish gambling led to the loss of all I possessed and my creditors sent me in servitude to this awful wilderness to repay their due in gold.'

`Yes, yes.' Ben said softly, `but surely the many shipments of gold you sent to Hong Kong must have more than repaid your indebtedness.'

Ah Sing began to cough again.His little body shook violently as he retched and gasped for air. His bony fingers clutched at Ben and drew him closer. `Some time ago I happened upon many large gold nuggets...more than enough for me to return to China with dignity...'

Ben felt Ah Sing's grip weaken. He watched as the old man's eyes closed again and he began to slip away.

`The large nuggets I found are buried deep in the ground directly beneath where I lie.' Ah Sing's thin lips barely moved when he spoke.

Ben knew the end was near.

`Take them,' Ah Sing murmured softly. `They are my dying gift to you. Leave this miserable place. Go to the capital of this colony, and take your place in it as a merchant, as I did in the colony of Hong Kong. Your mixed blood gives you the patience and frugality of the Chinese, and the forcefulness and tenacity of the English. Use these things to your advantage, Ben Luk. Remember all I have taught you. Do not allow yourself to become indebted to anyone, and you will surely succeed.'

Ben felt Ah Sing's body relax. The old man's wrinkled face looked at peace now. Ben took Ah Sing into his arms and comforted him long into the night.

The rain had cleared by morning. Ben laid Ah Sing to rest in a deep grave beside a large flat rock on the hill overlooking the river. Immediately afterwards he started digging up the floor of the humpy.

It was late in the day when Ben uncovered two Chinese earthenware jars. They lay side by side nearly three feet below the surface. Each jar contained gold nuggets, all much larger than any he had ever seen before. Ben estimated there were at least a thousand ounces of gold in each jar. For a long time he just sat and stared in wonderment. Later he returned one of the jars to the ground and carefully re-buried it.

The next morning Ben stood beside Ah Sing's grave, and with his head bowed he paid his last respects:

`I leave you now Ah Sing, where your spirit may watch the river from this great rock as I have so often seen you watch in the past. I shall not waste what you have given me.Should I fail as a merchant because of my ignorance of business matters, or should I somehow lose the wealth with which you have entrusted me, then I shall return for the second jar of gold which I have left with you for safe keeping. In this way, if necessary, I shall have a second chance to fulfil your wish that I use your gold to become a successful merchant.'

CHAPTER THREE

Charles Worthington-Jones rose from his bunk at dawn. The cabin floor seemed unusually steady under his feet. He dressed quickly and left his cabin door swinging open behind him as he bolted up to the deck, taking three stairs with each bound. And there it was, lying in every direction but astern—land.

One hundred and three days out of London, the English Rose, one of the great migrant sailing vessels on the Australia run, neared the end of her outward voyage. Her decks no longer creaked and heaved as they had for so long on the great swells of the open ocean. Now as the morning sun lumbered up over the horizon, her crew made the most of a light north-easterly as she sedately manoeuvred her way through the sandy shoals of Moreton Bay toward the mouth of the Brisbane River.

Charles picked his way around a group of steerage passengers who still lay sleeping on the hard planking of the deck and took up a position at the ship's rail.

In London he had made exhaustive inquiries into all aspects of life in the Colony of Queensland. By all reports it appeared to be an exciting place, which enjoyed a warm year-round climate, a rapidly growing population, and a thriving economy. The more enquiries he made, the more determined he became to start a new life in the colony.

There had been nothing to hold Charles in England. He had no close family ties.His parents had died when he was seven years old, leaving just enough money for their only child to be raised by a distant relative, and to provide for a sound education.But the overriding factor in his decision to leave his position in London, in favour of an offer of employment from the Stonehouse Shipping Company in Brisbane, was a salary nearly double that which he could expect anywhere in the British Isles.

It was after midday before the English Rose had passed through the idyllic waters of Moreton Bay. When she reached the mouth of the Brisbane River, a small steam tug stood waiting, ready to assist her in making the last few miles up the winding muddy waterway.

Charles was taken immediately by the sweet smell of the land and the beauty of the lush vegetation after so long at sea; and he found the bright flowering shrubs and plants on the river banks a sight to behold. Eventually the ship rounded yet another bend in the river and the settlement of Brisbane came into view.

The scene changed abruptly. Now deeply rutted dirt streets lined with dingy little dwellings appeared on the river banks.Unlike the graceful outlying properties the ship had passed earlier, these buildings were huddled closely together, almost one on top of the other, and the odours of urban civilization wafted onto the ship.

Charles left the deck and returned to his cabin to prepare to disembark. An hour later, when he stepped off the gang-plank onto the wharf, he saw his name written in chalk on a small board held high in the air by a messenger boy.

The boy gave him a note and disappeared immediately. The message was brief.It stated that a senior staff member of the Stonehouse Shipping Company would call for him at eight o'clock the following morning at the Migrant's Home.

It was late afternoon when the customs procedure had been fully complied with. It was dark when an immigration official led the ship's weary passengers to the Immigrants Receiving Depot—or Migrant's Home, a large barracks type building at nearby Kangaroo Point, where newcomers to the colony were initially housed.

Charles rose at dawn again the following morning. It was not so much in order to prepare himself for his first day at Stonehouse's, but rather to escape the confines of the Migrant's Home where rats and cockroaches had tormented him all through the night.

Outside the dreary building he was greeted by a glorious sunny September morning. After a brisk walk in the fresh air his spirits rose again, and he returned to wash and change his clothes in readiness for the day ahead.

At eight o'clock, Charles stood waiting at the gate of the Migrant's Home. He cut an impressive figure in an immaculately tailored English suit which made him appear taller and thinner than his average height and weight.

He was twenty four years old, with a smooth-shaven square jaw, and wide blue eyes.A thick shock of curly light brown hair tumbled down over a high white collar, drawn tightly around the throat, and still stiff with the starch of a London laundry. When the two-horse carriage pulled up beside him his boyish face broke into an easy smile.

`Mr Worthington-Jones?' A voice called out from inside.

`Yes, sir.'

The door of the carriage swung open and a thin man in his mid forties beckoned him inside. `Get in boy, get in. My driver will take care of your luggage.'

Charles climbed inside and sat down opposite the thin man who reached out and shook his hand with a firm bony grip.

`My name is Silas Moser young man. I am general manager of the Stonehouse Shipping Company. I have been asked by Mr Stonehouse himself to welcome you personally to the colony and to take you to the company's office in South Brisbane. We have arranged for room and board to be provided for you at the home of our senior clerk, John Cripps.'

`Why thank you, Mr Moser,' Charles said. `I'm very pleased to be here.'

The driver cracked his whip and the coach pulled away. There was a brief silence and Charles was conscious of Silas Moser's grey eyes weighing him up.

`There is something I must make plain from the outset, Charles,' Silas Moser said at last. `As long as you are in the employ of the Stonehouse Shipping Company you will be responsible directly to me and only me, and you will always address me as Mr Moser or sir. Now is that absolutely clear?'

`Certainly Mr Moser, sir. I understand perfectly.'

Moser's thin lips pursed and tacit approval showed on his gaunt craggy face. `One thing I can say for the English. You know your station and accept it without question. I think you and I will get along very well, Charles. My father was English you know: a jailer at the old Moreton Bay Penal Colony.'

The Stonehouse Shipping Company's offices occupied a two story wooden building adjacent to a South Brisbane wharf where two large sailing ships were tied alongside.

A number of smaller boats lay at anchor in the river awaiting their turn at the wharf. The whole area was alive with activity. Vessels were being loaded and unloaded, and haulage carts were coming and going at a steady pace.

Silas Moser turned Charles over to John Cripps, an elderly white haired man with a kindly face, who showed him over the premises and introduced him to the rest of the staff.

After the rounds had been made, Cripps took Charles to his own office. It was small and sparsely furnished, with one small internal window, carefully placed to allow supervision of the clerks as they worked at their desks in the general office.

Cripps smiled and said, `I will arrange for another desk to be put in here for you later in the day, Charles. My instructions are to take you to Mr Stonehouse's office as soon as he arrives. In the meantime I will do my best to acquaint you with the procedures of the office and show you where everything is located. Should you have any questions, please speak up and I will be happy to assist you in any way I can.'

`Thank you,' Charles said. Already he had taken a liking to the affable and obliging Cripps.

It wasn't long before the messenger-boy who had been at the wharf the day before appeared at the office door. He announced that Mr Stonehouse had arrived and wished to see Mr Worthington-Jones right away.

Cripps led the way up to the second story and paused outside an immense double door with two brass handles fashioned in the shape of lion's heads. Unnecessarily Cripps straightened his collar and ran a hand over his white hair before knocking softly on the big door.

`Enter,' a voice boomed from inside.

Alexander James Stonehouse was a stocky red-faced Scot about fifty. Cripps introduced Charles to Stonehouse who pushed back his chair from a huge polished desk and rose to his feet with a large hand outstretched.

`Welcome to Queensland, and to the company, young man,' Stonehouse said loudly in a rich highland brogue.

`Thank you, sir,' Charles said as he shook Stonehouse's hand. `It is indeed a pleasure to be here in Brisbane and to meet you at last.'

Stonehouse gestured to a carved walnut occasional chair. Charles sat down in it and glanced around the room as Stonehouse had a brief word with Cripps.

A large square Brussels carpet covered almost the entire office floor leaving just a small border of polished hardwood boards around the

Reviews for Blackbird

[cameling_2 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Well researched historical fiction covering Australia's slave trade in the 19th Century. Ostensibly hired as indentured laborers in the sugar cane plantations or as housemaids in Australia, men and women were supposedly recruited from Melanesian islands by shippers through a process that came to be known as blackbirding. However, the usual practice of these ship captains were to order their crew to kidnap the men and women from these islands so that they were guaranteed payment from their employers when they arrived in Australia. Most of them were then auctioned off as slaves or sold to brothels as prostitutes. The story focuses on Kiri, a beautiful Kanaka woman and victim of blackbirding and Ben Luk, an Australian of mixed English Chinese heritage. The issue of racial prejudice is rife throughout the book as it was endemic in the colony during those times. I didn't think the characters were very well developed, nor were some themes well fleshed out. The author seems to write this along the format of a soap opera, with potential cliff hangers at regular intervals.There are a number of grammatical and spelling errors throughout the book and at least for the Kindle version, the formatting is extremely odd. I found this to be a much lighter read than I was expecting and it's raised my interest in looking for non-fiction books specific to the practice of blackbirding during this period of Australia's history.