Work Text:
"Antipodes, the ends of the earth," Stephen wrote in his accustomed cipher, with his diary resting on his knee as he sat under a twisted gum tree. "To follow him so far, and to what purpose? JA exerts an insuperable force, not unlike the magnetism which draws a compass needle towards north - a nautical simile well suited to the occasion, I believe - and yet like the compass needle I am hardly aware of the forces which act upon me.
"I am blue-devilled, I admit, and although such a voyage might try any man, one would presume that my triumph over Wogan and her masters might outweigh the months upon months of hardship. To touch land, especially such land as this with its natural wealth and diverse distractions for a man of philosophical bent, should have been unalloyed joy; and yet I find myself questioning my very passion for natural philosophy, wondering if it is not in fact a mere facade to account for this otherwise inexplicable urge to follow him around the globe."
With this he paused, and gazed with knitted brows upon the wombat, vombatus ursinus, which dozed in its makeshift cage. He had placed it in the shade of a large outcrop of shale, and provided it with water and some foliage to eat, and listened with interest to the pidgin explanation, delivered by a malnourished black boy with sandy-coloured hair, of the wombat's mythical origin.
"And yet it is no mere excuse, since my passion and dare I say talent for natural philosophy has been with me since many years before I knew him. But passions change with the years, as experience has shown me of late. My passion for Diana is attenuated (if not entirely eliminated) by distance and laudanum. My passion for liberty, which led me into the intelligence service, is beginning to leave a bitter taste in my mouth the more I see the machinations and manipulations necessary to achieve its ends. Is my passion for science now attenuated, become a mere habit?
"I appear to have succumbed to a lasting melancholia. Sir Joseph sent me here to clear my head, yet it feels no clearer than when I lost those papers in the hansom cab. The shell of the naturalist has been resurrected, but not his soul. What, then, shall bring me to a more sanguine humour? Nothing but the extreme excitement of battle, which is to be avoided at all cost in a ship with no guns and almost no crew, or the consolation of music played in harmony, which is unlikely to bring much solace with my cello in such a damaged state. The men have donated their pigtails to string our bows, and yet we produce nothing but a tuneless scraping, which is only tolerable when the alternative is no music at all.
"How I long for a new instrument, a long voyage with no hardship, and a sheaf of freshly transcribed music to fill our evenings. Instead I have a wombat, and a long walk back to that wretched town."
With that he snapped his diary shut, gathered up his black boy and their many encumberances, including vombatus ursinus, and set out towards the harbour.
* * *
He found Aubrey sitting on a small promontory just east of Sydney town, looking down on the meagre arrangement of wood and men that passed for shipyards in this port.
"Not a spar to be had, nor even so much as a bucket of paint," Jack grumbled as Stephen approached. "We shall reach the Indies in even worse shape than we are in now. See that?" He pointed at a wagon laden with rough-cut lumber, toiling up from the harbour. "All that wood going to that damned Macquarie's new house on the hill, and never a topgallant yard to be seen."
"Surely there are species of eucalyptus that would serve? I have seen some uncommon tall and straight specimens --" At which, the Captain interrupted with an explanation of shipbuilding so arcane that Stephen was lost at once, and began to gaze around at the panoramic view. When at last Aubrey tailed off, he found his friend staring into the middle distance and utterly engrossed in thought. He sat back against the rock, shoulder to shoulder with him, and lapsed into companionable silence.
The sun was setting over the western hills when they stirred and stood, stretching their limbs after long inactivity. The sounds of the town and harbour were faint, and the smells even fainter. "Macquarie's wife has the right idea, coming up here," said Jack.
"I beg your pardon, my dear?"
"Mrs. Macquarie. This is her spot. She showed it to me last week, when you were off on one of your expeditions. You mustn't give Bonden the slip, by the by: he was most anxious for your safety."
Stephen doubted that the coxswain's anxiety had much to do with Jack's rebuke, and answered the former statement. "I perceive that you find Mrs. Macquarie less objectionable than her husband."
"Oh, as for that, she cannot be so objectionable unless she puts on a red coat, and that will not happen. Macquarie may be a good enough sort underneath, but I cannot help but dislike him for not being a Navy man. No, no, his wife is a very pleasant woman, and extremely well-looking."
With this the conversation turned to the little society of officers and the very few gentlemen to be found in the colony, and in the lengthening twilight they scrambled back down to the harbour and their inn.
"What's this?" cried Jack, spying an enormous mountain of wooden cages in the yard, and two grey wallabies shuffling in a constrained fashion on the end of rope tethers.
"Specimens, joy, what else? A prodigious number of undescribed species, which I shall be taking home with me to present to the Royal Society."
"Oh, I thought perhaps we would have wallaby stew for dinner again, ha, ha!" said Jack, delighted with his own feeble witticism. "Well, we shall at least have plenty of room for them aboard the Leopard, and I am sure you will have time to study them, if the weather and the --- pirates leave us alone." Jack fell silent a moment, then said with half a smile, "Stephen, I cannot decide whether you should be admired for your dedication to philosophy, or whether you are disturbed in your mind. To come all this way for a handful of nuts and a pair of great hopping rats! If I did not love you so dearly, I would tell you to stay in England."
"And did I not love you so dearly," thought Stephen to himself, "I should stay."