The Shadow of the 'Boyd': Aotearoa Classics

By Diana Menefy

One Tree House brings this much-loved, award-winning and historic children's book to a new generation of readers.

 

Based on a true story ...
This is a powerful story in which the bitter clash of two cultures is explored from the point of view of a young boy who describes the horror that led to the massacre of those on the sailing ship the Boyd. A handful of pākehā were left alive, and it is their enthralling story which unfolds in this tale of tragedy.

 

Finalist in New Zealand Post Children's Book Awards 2011 & Winner of the LIANZA Esther Glen Medal 2011. First published 2010.

 

Our new Classic e-collection supports our literary history, classroom learning and reading for pleasure. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: OneTree House Publishers
• Release date: Nov 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9781990035982

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

January 10th, 1810, on the ‘City of Edinburgh’ –

anchored in the Bay of Islands, New Zealand.

They are all dead. All the crew are dead except for me.

And I’d probably be dead too if it wasn’t for Mr Berry rescuing us – Mrs Morley, baby Ann, little Betsy, and me. We’re safe now on the City of Edinburgh and soon we’ll sail for home.

The City of Edinburgh is a barque and smaller than the Boyd – a lot older, too, and not in such good condition – before the fire, that is. There are already two apprentices on board; Mr Berry says I’m to share their duties, but he also said that whenever things are quiet he expected me to report to the great cabin and write my account of what happened.

I don’t like writing, but he wants my story for Mr Brown, the owner the Boyd. Mr Berry writes every day, and he reckons if I do it like that, a bit at a time, it will be easier. I wrote those two sentences – and then I couldn’t think what to say next. I was still staring at the blank page an hour later when Mr Berry came back.

‘Start at the beginning with your name,’ he said. ‘Tell me about the voyage – just the important bits until you get to when the trouble started.’

So that’s what I’m doing.

My name is Thomas Davidson. I come from Romford, London. I went to sea as an apprentice on the brigantine Boyd early in the summer of 1809. Da paid my indenture to the Boyd’s owner, Mr George Brown, and I promised to faithfully serve him while being taught the business of a seaman. I was proud to belong to the Boyd. She was a fine ship, a three-decker with two masts, Thames built and top-rated.

There were three of us apprentices: John Bowen, who was in his second year; and me and Will Green, both new. John took us down to the fo’c’sle to stow our sea chests. The air was musty, the light dim. I was to share a hammock with John, who was on the opposite watch. He must have noticed the dismayed expression on my face because he laughed. Then John showed us around the ship, starting with the empty hold and finishing on the quarter-deck where we were put to work caulking the deck. That’s pushing lumps of tarred cotton fibres between gaps in the planks, then thumping them into place with a sort of hammer to stop the seawater leaking through.

That night I lay in the hammock and stared up at the thick wood beams that stretched across under the decking, and for the first time noticed the stains. In the dark they looked like water marks. I reached out and slid my fingers across one – smooth and oily. I sniffed my fingers but all I could smell was tar. The hammock rocked ever so slightly as the ship moved with the river and I soon drifted into sleep.

We sailed from London on the full tide early next morning. It was the 3rd of March, 1809. Will and I were on the larboard watch under Mr Strunk, the first mate. As the ship moved down the river, I stopped work to watch the buildings slip by.

‘Stop slackin’ there.’ Bo’sun’s voice caught me by surprise.

I dropped back down to the deck and carried on pounding the caulking cotton into the seams with the iron.

Will was using the mallet not far from me. As Bo’sun moved away Will looked up and grinned.

‘Do you think we’ll ever get the tar off our fingers?’

‘Better tar than ink. I’d hate to be cooped up inside all day like Da is.’

‘Yeah – me, too. I want to see the world.’ Will looked up at the sailors on the foot ropes by the yards. ‘I wonder how long it’ll be before we get up there,’ he said.

I caught the words drifting down: ‘Yo! Ho! Away to sea we’ll go …’ and with the wind flicking my hair, the slap of the water against the hull, the adventure started.

My good mood lasted until we hit open waters, when the heave of the ocean had me clinging to the side.

Over the next two days I retched until my throat was raw and my ribs ached. At night, between watches, I lay on my hammock longing for the quiet comfort of my own bed. The ship never stopped shouting – the timbers creaked, the wind boomed in the canvas, and the blocks on the deck rattled.

On top of that, the bell rang every half hour, starting at the beginning of the watch with one ding and building to eight at the end. I would doze off, then jerk awake with the ring. At eight bells when the watch changed, I’d stagger up on deck while John headed for the hammock. He slapped me on my shoulder as he passed, told me the sickness would go and I’d get my sea legs soon. I didn’t believe him.

By the time we dropped anchor at Yarmouth on the Isle of Wight, two days later, I was ready to abandon ship. Will insisted that I’d feel better once I’d eaten. He was right.

We’d stopped at Yarmouth to load a contingent of soldiers with their gear and supplies. Will and I watched as they marched on board – thirty-three of them, their buttons shining, all wearing tall, black hats and long, grey coats and carrying knapsacks. Will sniggered and the soldier at the back turned to glare at us. He didn’t look much older than me. The officer in front bellowed orders, and the soldiers halted on the quarter-deck and stood at ease.

‘Looks like a stovepipe to me,’ Will said, as some of the men removed their hats.

‘With a feather on top.’ I grinned, happy to be feeling better. We were close to the young soldier and he obviously heard our comments. He swung around to face us.

‘Awa’ an’ bile yer heid, Sassenach!’

‘Just jokin’,’ Will said, taking a step back. We looked at each other and laughed at the soldier’s accent.

‘Did you understand a word?’ Will asked.

‘Boil your head. He told you to go away and boil your head,’ I laughed.

‘Good to see you lads making friends.’ Mr Strunk had come up behind us. ‘Green, Davidson, you can give a hand to stow some of this gear.

‘Captain Cameron and Lieutenants Pike and Wright will be in the spare cabin below the quarter-deck. You can deliver the trunks there.’

‘Yes, sir.’

It took a day to load and store all the supplies. The rank and file soldiers were bunked ’tween decks, their equipment stashed in every available space there. I thought it was strange that the hold was left empty until John told me our next stop would be to pick up a load of convicts.

By the time we sailed again my stomach had settled and the heaving of the ship, the noise, even the ship’s bell had dropped into the background. Walking around the capstan singing a shanty as we weighed the anchor I felt like part of the crew for the first time.

‘This is the life,’ I said to Will who was next to me. Will nodded. His face was red with exertion, his black hair blowing to the side in the breeze. That evening while we sat on our sea chests in the fo’c’sle, eating a boiled mush of beef, potatoes and turnips, we found out that the soldiers were there to act as guards, to keep us sailors safe.

CHAPTER TWO

January, 1810, on the City of Edinburgh – crossing the South Pacific Ocean.

The weather had been perfect for sailing all the past week, with warm days and a fair wind. The sea was a deep blue as far as I could see, and the glare of the sun sparkling on it made my eyes water at times. I was not crying. Even though New Zealand was well out of sight, when I shut my eyes at night I kept hearing the sounds of the massacre in my head and seeing the bodies. I must have called out one night, because Macduff thumped me and threatened to toss me out the next time I woke him up.

Macduff was the most experienced seaman on our watch and did more tricks at the wheel than the other seamen. He went around with a stained clay pipe clamped in the corner of his mouth. When he took it out I saw that it fitted through the dark hole of a missing tooth.

I was now on the starboard watch with Duncan, the younger apprentice under the second mate. Duncan seemed friendly enough. His voice had the same soft accent that Mac, one of the soldiers from the Boyd, spoke with. The older apprentice, Kee, had a bullying manner that made me clench my fists. His face was pitted, he had tattoos on both his arms, and his hands were stained with tar. Most of the time I had little to do with Kee – he was on the port watch under Mr Russell. Mr Russell might be an old man, but he was spry and took no nonsense. Kee had almost finished his apprenticeship, so he took his turn at the wheel. He wasn’t as good as the others and got yelled at when the sails shivered. I heard Mr Russell tell him it takes a while to get the feel of the ship. I can’t wait until I’m allowed to try.

The third mate, Mr Barton, had given up his cabin for Mrs Morley, Ann and Betsy, the only other survivors. Mrs Morley always had a cheerful word and smile for me now. She said I looked grand in my new clothes. I knew she was making fun, because the trousers were too short in the legs and bagged around my waist. I’d kept my own shirt. It just needed washing.

It didn’t take long for me to get used to being back on board. The ringing of the ship’s bell, the creak of the rigging and the flap of the sails at night soothed me to sleep. The only