Night Walker
©Aaron L Speer
‘Some people like their houses
With fences all around
Others live in mansions
And some beneath the ground’
Lyrics “Give Me A Home Among The Gum Trees”
“The misery I saw amongst them is indescribable . . . their heads, bodies, clothes, blankets, were all full of lice. They were wretched, naked, filthy, dirty, lousy, and many of them utterly unable to stand, to creep, or even to stir hand or foot.” – Reverend Johnson.
– Wikipedia – “Second Fleet 1790”
“The Aborigines showed surprise and some resentment at their first sight of the new arrivals. Men brandished their spears and women and children often hid. The whites were feared as the returning spirits of the dead.”
“Other Aborigines in the Sydney district, often led by the noted warrior Pewmulwuy and later his son Tedbury, began a fierce resistance to the white invasion. For years Pemulwuy's spirited opposition disturbed European settlements. The belief even grew - until he was shot in 1802 and his head sent to England - that he could not be harmed by bullets.”
Prologue
1790 – Botany Bay
Rev Johnson looked up to the grey heavens, beginning to feel a light drizzle on his face. The dreary weather matched his mood but the atmosphere surrounding him was far darker. He gave a small shake of his head and pressed a cotton handkerchief to his mouth and nose. One by one the poor wretches were moved past him, those few that could walk, irons clinking as they shuffled along. He observed the rest, those that couldn’t move under their own power and corpses lined up before him on their backs. One after the other. He had ministered to farmers in their barns with more tolerable odours than what he was subjected to here.
The reverend despaired as he shifted along the path of bodies, the last convicts removed from the HMS Neptune’s hold. Their 159-day journey from England ended here on a makeshift port, stinking up the sea air of what was to be their new home.
Donald Traill, master of the Neptune, appeared beside him. “You wished to see me?” Traill asked, munching on an apple.
“I have heard disturbing reports, master Traill, of which I must bring to your attention.”
“Indeed?” Traill asked, sounding genuinely surprised. “By all means, proceed.”
“I have heard that you deliberately starved your captives, or fed them sour meat. That you took the money given to you by the crown for each of them as your own, in the hopes that they would die and have no need for it.”
“A wondrous tale!” Traill smiled.
“Then I wish to know how you intend to explain…” the reverend swept his hand slowly over the dead, “this.”
Traill furrowed his brows and threw the half-eaten apple over his shoulder. Moving past the reverend, he stopped, looking down at what once could have been called a man. The corpse was balding, strings of lice-infested greying hair clasping the greenish brown skin of the head. Knees and elbows bent, angled to curl up into its body.
Traill flicked the tip of his boot and nudged the body at the shoulder, before returning to the reverend. “One or two appear to be in a state of bother.” He shrugged.
“Enough of this!” The reverend could abide no more of this man’s impertinence. “Good god man, this is criminal!”
“Rather an odd choice of words. Have you forgotten what these gutter rats are? Why they are here?”
“Their past crimes do not warrant such treatment! You were charged with bringing them to this country.”
“And as you can see,” Traill said, moving out of the way as soldiers carried more bodies past him to the end of the line, “I have brought them.”
“How can you be so callous?” Rev Johnson felt the anger brewing up inside him. He knew he’d raised his voice to the point others were taking note of the argument, but could not stop himself now. He thrust an arm out toward the tents that had been erected to treat those infected with scurvy, malnourishment and other ailments resulting from the horrific conditions the convicts had been forced to endure throughout the journey from England. Protocols were such that Reverend Johnson would ordinarily not have confronted a ship’s captain so openly. Yet a colony of just under two thousand had already bunkered down in recent months as supplies ran low. Tensions with the indigenous people were rising and sickness had crept in. Now to have a shipload of people, most of whom desperately needed medical care, and many would not last the day, had caused Rev Johnson to forgo all manner of formal propriety.
“All this can be attributed to you and the scandalous way you have taken to your duties, sir! Could you not have shown even the slightest hint of mercy and let them find their rest at sea? To save others on the ship, at least?”
“Tell me, Reverend, how did you come to be at this fine colony?”
The reverend faltered, uncertain if this was really a question. Narrowing his eyes, he answered hesitantly. “I was aboard the first fleet to sail here.”
“No doubt in lavish comfort, being a man of the cloth,” Traill said, giving a deep yet condescending bow, as yet more bodies were carried past them. “Do not address me with matters of duty. These animals were to be sent to this desolate rock and they have been. The words ‘dead or alive’ were written on the parchment containing my orders. As to casting their remains to the sea, I thought you, being a man of God, might deem it more proper to perform whatever last rites you see fit to send their unholy souls to hell.”
“What is the meaning of this?”
Both men turned at the sharp tone
