Codes of Survival -Scripts - a series of short factionalized stories based on historical events in the Subantarctic Islands written by Lloyd Godman to accompany the exhibition and installation - 1993 - © Lloyd Godman

Codes of Survival - Scripts

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1815 - FOR THE PLEASURE OF

I don't know 'ow the swine 'ad done it. Sure had us baffed. Some 'ow that bastard o' a captain 'ad managed ta a 'ave a convict woman released into 'is
care ta take ta sea with 'im as personal  company.

Right into 'is tender lovin hands. And we'd all knewed what that company was up ta. We could hear him every night with 'er in 'is cabin for we'd take turns with an ear and a glass at tha door ta hear tha sounds  of 'is tricks. Right ol' fool. She's a screamer o' a wench, we'd all hear that, for she'd cry out strong an long from 'is bed  when the 'r in tha midst. But he's nought but a dog we thought, from 'is grunts and the thumps 'ed make at tha time. They'd go for hours at a time  and 'end start again. Night af'er night, e'r since we'd left tha seaport those months ago. He'd even dared during tha daylight hours if tha waters were calmer an' he's got a mind, or ther's nought land insight. Tha sounds they made 'ad us all the more envious o' the scoundrel, for we'd all 'ad  dreadful wants o' a woman in t'ese lonely waters and he's tha only un ta 'ave 'is need satisfied on t'is sea. We'd  'ave ta wait till we reached the dock o' some port before we'd be  in with a  chance. T'en only if our wage was a good un
from our cut o' tha catch and ther's un that's a'willing on the dock at tha time that we'r in. He had nought to wait, nor nought to want.

He'd told us 'ow it was all above the boards, an' he was ta be 'er escort for
tha journey from Australia ta  New Zealand. Said "she'd finished 'er term
and was af'er a new start way from tha penal colony town. 'Is job was ta deliver 'er  safely and in good 'ealth. God knows  what she'd did ta be thar in that penal  colony any 'ow. Could 'ave killed a man  or worse, for alls we'd knows.

We'r  'ere out of Melbourne in tha southern seal grounds af'er as many as we could till April by which time we'r ta sail ta New Zealand and land tha convict woman as a free soul. It seemed a dubious arrangement ta us. We'd never seen 'er escorted ta tha ship, she'd just appeared when we'd lost sight o' tha big land. And our guess t'was that tha old fool had brought 'er for tha pleasure o' tha journey from an unscrupulous prison warden and as long as she's willing ta 'is pleasurable antics she'd go as a free woman  when we'd reached a new colony far from Sydney town. If she'd not do at all, in tha play of 'is games, he'd turn 'er in ta tha prison wardens again on our return. At tha rate she was at she'd be well free by tha voyages end and we'd no doubt of that; that's if
our guess was right in what he's up ta.

Whiskery Jock, we'd called 'im that because  o' 'is beard and love o' a spot, 'ad heard o' it before on another ship 'ed sailed on, but tha captain on that un would share 'er round with tha crew. Tha captain  one night, a crewman tha
next. T'was a amiable arrangement for all concerned, that's what we'd thought. We'd 'ave 'ad a share if an offer's made, no doubt about it. If she's aboard we'd 'ave a right to a share, a man could think, and you couldn't blame nought for that. 'T should be like tha  kill where we'd allot it out ta a mans worth on tha trip and 'ow he'd done on tha voyage.  We'd got a right greedy un 'ere and from what we knewed, he was a right randy one  too for we'd knewed from 'is time ashore and tha company he kept he liked 'is women ta 'imself. 

We'd spend our long nights on the ship with a pipe of bacco, a small jug o' tha grog and tha songs o' tha sea with a jig or a three, while he 'ad ample brandy and ample woman ta 'imself. We'd sometimes joke about what tha dirty old bugger was up to in tha dark light o' 'is cabin with 'is frolicking and guess at tha noises they made, god knows there's enough. The blighter would jam tha door shut in a wink and we'r sure he'd filled all tha cracks in tha walls, for nought we'd see at a try, even in tha bright of day. 'e  must'a thought we'd be dumb ta 'is hoax, if  that's what it was, for  'ed look at us straight in tha eye with nought a wink nor a smile at tha few times he'd surface on deck. 

E'en when at anchor in tha bays of tha  seal islands, tha old oaf would barely 
leave 'is cabin when she'd be inside. Then only ta dish out tha orders o' 'is 
command for us lubbers ta carry out.  Probably did'nt trust us ta get near 'er 
for a span. T'was tha first mate who's a running the ship we all knewed that and  he's a good un. We'd follow what he'd say without a gripe. He'd never talk  about tha captain or tha wench. Just say 'twas no place for our nose and ta keep it out', so we'd learn nought from 'im. 

T'was t'is time though when tha two o' 'em left tha cabin for a trip ta tha shores o' one o'  'em islands o' Bristows land. We'd ta put 'em ashore in a secluded bay out o' sight from tha ship and not go near if we'd feared our life. God dam 'em, they probably had a right go there on tha  forest floor, while we'r engaged
in tha tasks o' tha ship. Swabbing tha decks t'was what I had ta do while tha lubb was 'way  with tha madam. From tha few times that we'd  tha time ta gaze upon 'er, she's a well bossomed wench, tallish with short blond hair from tha
prison as they did 'at to 'em all and she'd  have done any or all of us at once we'r sure. The prison 'ad taken nought away, she'd all of it there. She'd a big round buttocks that I'd 'ave a yearn to touch on any a day on tha sea. Ay, but t'was not ta be while we was crew and he's  captain on 'is wicked boat. 

They'd taken a packed picnic lunch and we'd 'eard tha bottles o' grog clink as tha picnic crate was lowered into tha long boat below. Shit we'd all been ta sea for times before, and talked o' 'aving a woman aboard for our fancy, 
as a joke it was said more than once. For there was'nt a voyage when we'd not want o' a  wench o' a kind in tha cold o' tha night. But now we'd un on board, t'was worse. 'ere she's so close and none of us could lay  hand on 'er, not even a finger for a day. T'were enough ta make a man cry o' tha pain. Well tha picnic went on till t'was nearly dark in tha sky. All o' tha day they'd been
on tha land. He'd signal us to get 'em, we'd  heard 'is cry and knowed he's finished for tha day. Then af'er they's aboard, we'd  'ave ta clean up tha long boat and 'is picnic mess in tha dark. 

We'd looked in tha crate ta see what he'd 'ad and t'was all tha best of tha store from below. We'd knew they'er there from tha days that we'd left, but we'd had few for fact. We'd loaded  'em in ourselves, everyone had laid a hand,  we had. The bottles they took o'er, they never came back, he'd left 'em behind,  so we'd never know what he'd had ta drink with tha wench. But we can  guess, finest brandy,  could smell it on 'is breath.