The Governor, still in his office, is moving objects around within the miniature world of his model. He rubs his chin, pondering the placement of some future ambitious construction. Casts his eye absently about, allowing it to linger for a moment on his own painted image high on the wall.
My predecessor might not have had the stamina to endure here, he thinks – poor chap lasted a mere two years before succumbing to a weak heart fuelled by an excess of liquor. I, however, I am most assuredly made of sterner stuff. I will show them. Subconsciously he draws himself up straighter.
A knock is heard. Sir Henry frowns at this intrusion into one of his increasingly rare quiet moments.
“Enter! Ah, Bascombe.”
Major Geoffrey Bascombe, the Governor’s Adjutant, enters. He wears the red coat, white breeches and crossed sashes of His Majesty’s Army Corps. He carries a sheaf of papers and a set of enormous sideburns. Well, he’s not so much carrying the sideburns – they have, in fact, more of the appearance of carrying him.
He takes a few starched steps forward and salutes stiffly, chin thrust prominently forward as if to provide a base for the sideburns. The Governor returns the salute perfunctorily.
“The ship has come in,” Blythe informs him, “with, I trust, our new surgeon aboard. Make sure his quarters are in readiness at the barracks, would you.”
“Sir.” Bascombe thrusts some papers under the Governor’s nose. Blythe signs them without appearing to look at them. His tone carries a quiet but firm warning, eyes engaging the direct gaze of the Major.
“And Bascombe … try and keep him out of trouble, would you?”
A slight grimace crosses the face of the Major as he retrieves the signed papers. Just what I need, he thinks – more work. As if my list of duties was not already sufficiently onerous, without having the Governor’s babysitting added to them. “I shall do the best I can, sir”, he undertakes with the requisite evasive respectfulness. He salutes again and heads for the door.
“Mmm. Not sure I find that particularly reassuring,” mutters the Governor. He runs a hand over his thinning pate and swivels back to the relative security of his model colony.
Glancing back in the direction of the jetty from the top of the sand dune, I could see the unloading of the ship proceeding languidly, if noisily.
A number of people had emerged onto the jetty and appeared to be taking a proprietorial interest in the various items being unloaded.
Most prominent among these observers, I noticed one very grand-looking couple, of whom the lady, a statuesque woman carrying a parasol - appeared to be exuding a most commanding presence. She was issuing instructions to sailors and labourers as to the transfer of livestock and other goods
with the imperiousness of an army general.
A great many boxes and barrels marked FLOUR and SUGAR – and many more marked RUM - were being hauled ashore; also visible were cages of pigs and goats, together with pots of plants labelled GORSE, LANTANA, PRICKLY PEAR and something called “BITOO BUSH”.
I noticed now what appeared to be a number of large rats which came scurrying out of holes in boxes or bags and darting off into the bush. They were pursued by several domestic cats of various shapes and sizes. These in turn were chased half-heartedly by shouting men making cursory attempts to recapture them among the impossibly dense foliage, before returning with resigned shrugs to their unloading.
I half-slid down the sand and into the gap between the trees marking the base of the rough stony track which wound upwards into the strange coastal forest. Turning to either side I beheld, at close quarters now, the strange forms of the local vegetation.
As sand gave way to rocks and soil, there emerged low clumps of reeds and grasses, among clusters of succulent groundwort, clinging to the rear of the dunes. Further into the forest were scattered an assortment of sprouting palms and ferns, some erupting like bright green volcanoes from stumpy black bulbs. The effect was altogether prehistoric. Exotic birds screeched and squawked overhead. One of these was a ragged greyish one with a large bill. Alighting upon a nearby bough, feathers standing erect upon its head like an American Indian headdress, it gave me a roguish, one-eyed appraisal and proceeded to emit as I passed what I can only describe as the deranged cackle of a fiend from Hell.
As I made my way up the track and further away from the beach, from the greenery on either side of the track rose the trunks of several varieties of tree - some of them quite unlike any that I had ever seen. Smooth of bark but wantonly crooked, apparently shunning a direct climb toward the daunting sunlight which their scrappy foliage failed to shield fully. These ghostly grey-white apparitions instead twisted and turned vaguely upward in a variety of sinister shapes, seeming at times to extend great gnarled claws over my head.
In amongst these were smaller, darker trees in which nestled the most alarming seed-pods, enormous, bulbous blackish things looking for all the world like deformed heads with bulging eyes and bloated lips, seeming to stare and leer at me from between the fronds of shaggy foliage.
Looking up at these hideous heads amongst the spectral visions stretched out against the baking pale blue sky did nothing to assist the recovery of my internal functions. Nor did it help my still-shaky legs to negotiate the irregularities of the stony path. Feeling now distinctly giddy, I focused my eyes instead upon the rough track before me as it meandered slowly up the rise through the coastal forest, which became more overgrown the further I advanced.
After several minutes the path emerged onto flatter terrain. The trees fell away mercifully to either side and I found myself emerging onto cleared ground.
Before me was an open, crudely mown lawn, before a two-storied building made from rough bricks and blocks of pale stone. Surrounding this were other, smaller brick and timber buildings stretching away across the clearing, some surrounded by small plots and gardens. These were connected by tracks and pathways, leading away towards clusters of rather meaner shacks across a small gully. Some of these ramshackle shelters appeared to be rudely cobbled together from mere leaves and sticks.
I approached the large stone building uncertainly, walked around the pathway until I found a portal beneath a large sign saying “Government House, HM Colony of Port Fortitude”. I rapped cautiously upon what was apparently the front door.
After a moment it was opened by a young servant woman of plainish and rather pinkish appearance.
“Yes?” she inquired brusquely, wiping her hands upon her apron and blowing a strand of sandy hair aside which had loosened itself from her cotton bonnet.
“Oh. I … could I see the Governor, please?”
The girl appeared for a moment unable to answer, mouth half open and eyes wide as she scrutinised uncertainly my still damp and no doubt highly dishevelled form.
Attempting to correct what I admit must have been constituted a fairly poor visual first impression, I cleared my throat and demanded “This is, er,
