Debris

Paul sat despondently on the rocky ledge and looked out at the water below him. The sea around Mangles Bay was usually a bright blue-green, but the day had already turned overcast and the water seemed grey and sullen, slapping up against the rocks and spraying salt water over the child.

Well damn you too, thought the boy, still watching the water as his hands worked on the end of the fishing line. Holding his breath, Paul’s fingers shook a little as the tiny metal hook punctured the rotten meat he was using as bait. In the few months that the child had been in the harsh new colony he had learnt a number of new skills to survive and whispered his most important lesson like a tiny prayer as he cast the line into the water.

“If I don’t find something to eat today we’ll starve.”

At least we’re doing better than the wretches in Peeltown, he reflected, staring out across the rocky bay and feeling for any tugs on the line. In the distance lay the tiny village of Rockingham Town, although to Paul’s cynical eye the line of rough huts and tents could hardly be dignified with the term. Nonetheless he shivered a little as he remembered the squalor of the Peeltown, where all the gullible fools who had followed Thomas Peel to the Swan River Colony had been left to rot. His family had spent three months cramped into a tiny space on board the Rockingham, listening to stories about how happy their new life would be in Australia. Instead, the vesselhad had been driven aground by a storm, crashing onto the beach and leaving its passengers stranded. The makeshift settlement that had come to be called “Peeltown” in honour of the man who had stranded them on the alien coast; with no food, shade, and barely any water, its starving inhabitants spent their days squabbling over scraps and jealously guarding the trinkets they’d brought from England.

“Have faith, son,” Paul’s father had nodded to his wife and child as they had looked over the madness of the ill-planned settlement. “I know this looks bad now, but in a few years a proper town will be established, and all of this will change.”

“God help us,” whispered his mother as she looked at the dirty gangs of settlers fighting over a bottle of spirits and scratching their scabby skin.

“God abandoned us the moment we left home,” murmured Paul.

Things had improved a little when Paul’s family had joined a group directed by Peel to set up the new village of Rockingham between Mangles Bay and a low-lying inland swamp, the ground green and fertile enough to warrant the risk of their precious seed stock. However it would be a weeks, if not months until there was any food to harvest and in the meantime Paul’s daily task was to find something the family could eat.

Every tiny chore in the infant settlements had taken on a new significance; every nail, thread and piece of wood was now more valuable than gold, for there was nothing to replace it unless you traveled all the way north to Governor Stirling’s settlements along the Swan River.

Hammers and saws are more precious than any family heirloom lying in the sand dunes of Peeltown, thought Paul sourly.

“Any luck, boy?” came a new voice, breaking the child out of his brooding.

“I’ve only just cast the line,” replied Paul, harsher than he intended. “Just give it a minute, Father.”

The boy turned to examine the main who had dragged them away from England and into the wretched wilderness of the colonies. Richard Robinson had once been a stout, brawny man; his wide callused hands and honest smile had made him a popular member of their village in Lancashire. However, the months at sea and struggle for survival in their new home had reduced him to bare bones, and with his unshaven chin and stained clothes Paul could have seen him mistaken him for a beggar.

“I wasn’t trying to rush you, lad,” said Richard, scratching futilely at one of the sand fly bites dotting his neck. “It’s been a long day for all of us – there’s barely enough proper wood for a fire, let alone to build a storehouse.”

“Why not just get Peel to send down more supplies?” asked Paul pointedly, turning back to the line stretched out over the water. “I’m sure he’s eating well, wherever he is.”

“Don’t you start,” snapped Paul’s father. “Master Peel has left for the Swan River to speak to the Governor about #the future of the new settlement, you just need to have faith.”

Paul looked over his shoulder at the dirty figure and raised a sceptical eyebrow.

“Father, he’s left to lick his wounds after losing a duel with one of the ship’s Captains,” he replied. “He doesn’t give a rat’s arse about us.”

“Mind your tongue!” said Richard, his voice rising to a snarl.

“I heard he almost lost one of his fingers,” continued Paul grimly. “It’s looks like he’s as rotten with a pistol as he is with planning a colony.”

“I will not hear this kind of talk from a child! What if there was someone around who could hear you? What if word of your behaviour got back to Master Peel?”

“I pray that could happen!” said Richard. “Then he might actually do something about our suffering! All I’ve seen of precious Master Peel is a bully who stomps through Peeltown, barks orders and pays our wages with worthless promissory notes!”

The pair were interrupted by a sudden jerk of the fishing line, and both father and son stopped their argument as they focused on the line.

“Easy does it boy, not too hard,” whispered Richard, as if loud noise alone might scare off their prey.

“I know what I’m doing Father,” grumbled the child, holding the net taught and feeling for the tell-tale tug of a fish taking the bait. The rocky beach of Rockingham had produced a wide variety of fish and crabs, and the settler families had quickly realised the sea offered their best hope for survival.

Paul held his breath and waited, and just as he was about to relax a sharp tug almost yanked the fishing line from his hands.

“I’ve got him!” yelled the boy, uncaring of the salt spray as he leaned forwards on the rocks.

“Not so hard!” warned his father, scrambling closer. “You’re going to lose him!”

“Stop telling me what to do!” snapped Paul, glaring at the older man and giving the line a sharp pull. However as the boy did so he felt the line jerk and go slack, and Paul’s father deflated beside him as he recognised their next meal had escaped.

“I told you,” growled Richard, getting to his feet and staring angrily at his son. “Why didn’t you listen to me? Pull in the line and let me see what I can catch.”

“No!” yelled Paul, glaring back at his father as he yanked the line viciously. “I can do this! I don’t need your-“

As he spoke he gave the line a final sharp jerk, and suddenly felt a hollow terror as the line snapped free.

“Look what you’ve done!” bellowed Richard, holding out his arms to grey water in anguish. “That was our only hook! What are we going to do for food now?”

“I don’t know,” cried Paul, too scared and angry to face his father. “The natives never seem to go hungry, go ask them! I wouldn’t have broken it if you’d just left me alone!”

“Don’t you talk back to me, boy!” yelled the larger man, rounding on the angry child. “I’m breaking my back trying to provide for this family, and you’ve gone and lost our fish hook? Do you think I can just stroll up to the Swan River and fetch another one? Perhaps I can just pop back to England to pick up a replacement!”

“I wish you damn well would!” yelled Paul, painfully aware of how his voice squeaked in anger. Richard however stood frozen in shock, blinking as if he’d just been slapped.

“What did you say to me?” he whispered, his voice almost lost amid the waves breaking harder against the rocks.

“You heard me,” continued Paul, the words pouring from him as the anger of the last few months was finally released. “I didn’t want to come to this god-forsaken wilderness in the middle of the ocean – and neither did Mother. Right now we could be safe at home, surrounded by our friends and family and enjoying a decent meal. But instead you had to tear us from our own soil because you were stupid enough to believe that damn advertisement and dragged us halfway around the world so that we can starve to death!”

“You’ve no idea what I’ve gone through for you, boy! If someone was to hear you speaking like this, Master Peel- “

“Peel doesn’t care!” shouted Paul, scrambling to his feet. “All he cares about is whether he lands enough people at Peeltown so that he can qualify for his land grant! Or are you too much of a coward to see what he’s done to us?”

The boy saw his father’s face darken and realised he’d gone too far, but as he stepped back he felt his feet slip on the wet rocks and suddenly the world was tumbling around him.

He vaguely heard his father start to yell but a second later his body froze as he hit the cold water. The boy panicked and thrashed, trying to find a footing but as he did so another wave rolled in and swept his legs out from under him.

“Hel- ” started Paul, managing to raise his face above the waves for a second before the waves closed over him again.

The boy wildly splayed out his arms to catch something – anything, but all that he could find were jagged rocks that scraped his skin before the freezing water pulled him away.

Help me, thought the boy in terror.

The world was a chaotic mix of noise and movement and suddenly he was free, strong arms lifting him up and holding him close as he was pushed onto the rocks.

“Are you alright? Paul, are you breathing?”

Paul coughed hard and looked up muzzily at his father, dripping wet as he pulled himself painfully up onto the ledge.

“Father,” he whispered, suddenly too tired to even lift his head. Richard however crawled over to Paul and held him close, uncaring of how wet through they both were.

“I thought I’d lost you son,” he wept, and Paul could hear how fast the man’s heart was beating in his chest.

“I- I’m alright, Father,” the boy managed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things.”

Richard shook his head, sending water droplets dripping down his face.

“No Paul, you were right,” he murmured, staring out at the ocean. “Peel has abandoned us. It’s just – son, I’ve spent my entire life as a farmhand, shoveling manure for some lord. But here? Here I thought that things could be different. That my son could be his own master, and work on a farm or in a trade without tipping his hat to whoever held the labour contract over his head. But it’s all gone wrong.”

The pair sat together in exhausted silence and shivered.

“What are we going to do?” asked Paul quietly. “There’s no way this settlement can succeed.” 

Richard ran his fingers through Paul’s sopping wet hair and smiled. 

“I heard some of the others were getting together a petition to Governor Stirling,” he said. “If we’re lucky, he might free us from Peel’s contract. But who knows if it will work?”

“Have faith,” replied Paul with a wry smile, feeling the cold of the water tingling against the warmth of his father’s embrace.

Richard chuckled.

“I don’t need you to believe that,’ he answered, dragging himself to his feet. “I need you to help me believe that.”

Slowly, carefully, the pair made their way down off the rocks and headed towards Rockingham.

“What are we going to tell Mother?”

“We’ll think of something. Come on son, if we’re lucky there’s bound to be something to eat.”

The day was warm as two children ran along the beach.

“Throw the ball!” called the boy, waving at his big sister.

“Well stand closer, or the wind will blow it into the water,” replied the older girl in a very matter-of-fact tone. Behind them, a voice was calling.

“Come on kids, we’ve got to go!”

“Do we have to?” moaned the boy theatrically.

“Yes, now hurry up. What has your sister found?”

The older girl was peering at something poking out of the sand by the water’s edge.

“Mum, look! It’s treasure!” called the boy.

“It’s a broken fish hook,” replied the girl sourly.

“Well throw it back in the water, I don’t you getting tetanus,” called their mother in exasperation. “Come on – there might be an ice cream if you’re quick.”

The boy gasped and tore towards his mother as his older sister threw the broken piece of metal into the sea, where it disappeared back into the water without a trace.