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have hung fire or died out totally. He slapped his thigh and issued a
muffled curse. A few seconds later the little squib the train led to
popped.
Damn, he growled, it must be the niter! It is not even in its
effect. What am I to do?
M CHAPTER N
12
THOMAS groaned and opened his eyes. The morning light entered
the hole in the gable end, and by its dull illumination he could make
out the sooted thatch of the roof and the strips of dried meat hang-
ing from the ridgepole. It was a little early, and he realized it was a
dream that had awakened him. In flailing his arms about he had
thrown off his fur cover and the chill air had awakened him. He
reached and pulled his cover over his upper body again. A confused
and repetitious nightmare in which he was building a canoe had dis-
turbed his rest. He could never finish anything on it. Its rigging would
unravel as soon as it was set up. Lashings came unknotted and the
booms fell away. Then he would doggedly start again, retying every-
thing. Sometimes he had to begin wholly anew, burning out another
hull. In a better dream, he managed to finish his vessel and sail to the
Middle Island, but he dared not land for the beach was lined with
savages dancing wildly, waving clubs, and wrenching their mouths into
grimaces. Each of their faces was covered with a blue-black scrollwork
of tattoos. He would head offshore, only to have the wind force him
back again and again.
From the other side of the partition came the sound of someone
stirring. Thomas could be sure it was the mate, for he always awak-
ened before the captain and made it his first duty to reach up and
strike another mark on the ridgepole with a piece of charcoal. That
mark Mr. Morgen so faithfully made would be the two hundred and
eleventh made since their first morning. It was now July. July of 1821.
Had the barque not struck upon that rock they would most likely be
on soundings near the New England shore.
Enough of the hides had been unhaired for a sail and there was
234
MOTOO EETEE 235
rope and marline to rig everything on their canoe. All that was left
was to burn and scrape out their hull, but the first favorable time to
set off from the island would be no sooner than four months. The
start of 1822 would be nearly upon them when they reached the Mid-
dle Island or Cook Strait, and if they did not fall in with a sealer or
a whaler there, it might mean weeks of coasting before they arrived
in the Bay of Islands.
Birds outside burst into their usual songs, and he listened as he
lay under his fur. More joined the morning s chorus each minute, and
he imagined that was because the sun s light was now striking the trees
behind the hut. It was a good beginning for the day, he thought, to
hear all the diverse chirpings as the birds and little parrots flitted
through the bushes and treetops. Slowly he stretched his arms over
his head and arched his back.
Chill this morning, Harrison said suddenly.
Thomas, not expecting that the carpenter was awake, turned and
saw him peeking from under his covering.
Aye, the coldest yet. Do you think it will get worse? Thomas
asked.
Perhaps a mite, but it will be better than it was on Macquarie.
The Fish will rise, then the Whale, and it will be warm again.
Chris, you go to the lookout this morning and I will stir up the
fire and warm the breakfast. Agreed?
Agreed, Harrison replied and sat up in his bed, smoothing his
mussed hair and beard with his fingers. He rose and went to slide the
door aside. On my way lad, he said as he turned to leave.
Thomas arose and wrapped the fur around his shoulders, then
slipped out the door. He raked a stick through the ashes and found
a few embers buried in the ashes. With a handful of twigs on the gath-
ered coals and a few puffs of his breath, the fire was going again. He
placed a few limbs on it, meaning to let them burn and die to a bed
of coals as usual. Earshells of potatoes placed close by would warm
in half an hour, and each man could cook his meat to his own taste.
The fire blazed and Thomas added his fuel piece by piece. While it
236 MOTOO EETEE
burned, he went into the hut and brought out the potatoes that had
been steamed in the cooking hole two days before. He laid out strips
of bear flesh with the sticks to hold them when the coals were ready.
Mr. Morgen peered out the door and inquired, Where s Harrison?
Gone to the lookout, Thomas answered.
Ah, good, the officer said and ducked back inside.
The fire was turning into a fine bed of coals for cooking. Thomas
crowded all the ends of the unburned sticks into the center, knowing
once they were consumed, there would be no annoying smoke to burn
their eyes. He placed the shells around the perimeter, tilting them
inward to allow the potatoes to take up the heat more readily. With
everything prepared, he stood near the fire with his hands open to
take off the chill of the morning air. It had become comfortable on
the island, more comfortable than being aboard the barque and far
more livable than the miserable and stinking rookeries. He looked up
when he heard an odd noise from the path to the fall. Suddenly, the
bushes were thrust aside. Harrison burst through onto the barrow and
staggered to the hut. He grabbed the thatch with both hands and
leaned his left cheek against the wall. The carpenter s face, hair, and
beard were wet with perspiration, and he gasped desperately for air.
Chris! What s happened? Thomas shouted.
Harrison s right hand released the thatch and pointed north. Then
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