The Pythagoras Curse Part XIV
In Search Of Gerung Brandt
After a month and a half at sea, the prospect of disembarking the Zealandia at Hobsons Bay became a much larger ordeal than Long Feather and I expected.
The first week on the ship, our stomachs remained in constant agitation, unable to even hold down water. But we soon were able to adjust to the constant swaying motion beneath our feet.
As Long Feather and I staggered down the gangplank, we were overcome with the same dizziness and nausea we’d experienced on the initial leg of our journey.
It was difficult to walk and the multitude of wharf rats unloading ships on either side of the pier did not aid our dispositions. Nor did a locomotive bellowing noxious clouds of smoke from its chimney stack in the center of the pier.
At the end of the pier, we saw several wooden shacks, a steady stream of men going into and out of each. Walking into the nearest we waited as a seaman leaned against a counter while an elderly gentleman sitting behind it examined a sheaf of papers. With a quick motion, he stamped all the papers then stacked them and handed them to the seaman.
As the seaman passed by us the gentleman gave us a curt nod then said, “papers please.”
“We have no papers sir, but rather need information.”
“American? Don’t quite recognize the accent, but then all you Americans sound a bit dodgy to me.”
“If you please, sir. We are looking for the penal colony.”
“Which one mate?”
“There are many?”
“Well, there’s Fremantle, Norfolk Island, and Port Arthur just to name a few.”
“Then I suppose we shall begin with those three.”
“Norfolk closed back in fifty-five so that should narrow the pitch a bit.”
“Can you give us directions to the two remaining?”
“Not that I’m trying to intrude into your business sir, but it’s not every day a body comes in asking where we keep our convicts.”
“I seek a brother. He ran afoul with the sovereignty several years ago. My wish is to find him.”
The elderly man gestured at Long Feather.
“That a Murri child ya got there? Damned Aborigine heathen. They should just herd all of them up and ship them in country. Every last one of them.”
“This young man is of the Choctaw Indian Nation, and my travel companion.”
“Is that so. A genuine American Indian?”
“I am Falaya Talako. Mean Long Feather.”
“Nice to meet you Long Feather.”
“Back to my question sir. Perhaps you can provide me the locations of the penal colonies?”
“Why don’t you try Port Arthur first since it’s the closest. There’s a ferry a half-mile east of here. Runs once daily. Though most of the rouges have been moved out of there. We’re hearing rumors they plan to close the place next year. Once you reach the ferry dock you’ll be wanting to go to the Law Court building. They should be able to tell you if your brother is there.”
It was late afternoon when we stepped onto the dock of the Port Arthur Penal Colony. The ferry captain informed us he would wait only for an hour as he had no desire to make his journey back to the mainland in complete darkness.
We made haste to a large house to the right of us and after a brief discussion with an official were escorted by carriage to the Law Courts building which housed administrative staff.
At the Law Courts building a corpulent gentleman who during the course of our conversation continued to mop his brow with a kerchief he tucked into the cuff of his blouse, assisted us.
He procured several ledgers from a chest and stacked them on his desk, pushed his inkwell aside, and stared across the desk at us.
“You say the name of your brother is Gerung Brandt?”
“Yes.”
As the man mopped his face once more he opened ledger after ledger muttering to himself as he scanned each entry.
“Let us see, Brandt, Brandt…no…wait. Gerung Brandt. Consigned to us fourteen May year of our Lord eighteen hundred seventy-two. Gained his certificate of freedom just last year.”
Despite all the challenges of late it appeared fortune had chosen to smile upon us.
“He was released?”
“Aye.”
“Do you know of his whereabouts?”
The man gave his sweat laden forehead another foppish wipe and tucked the stained kerchief into the cuff of his blouse.
“Tis’ not the responsibility of the government to track whereabouts of a free subject. I suggest you continue your search elsewhere. Now good day sir. I am overdue for my repast this evening.”
As quickly as it had come our good fortune yet again managed to slip away. On the way back to the mainland I remained silent, pondering my next step.
We had sailed halfway around the world to find Gerung. A daunting journey based on a small entry into a newspaper. Although I had been offered trace evidences of his existence I still had no proof he was still alive.
“Shaman you are quiet.”
“Yes, Long Feather. I am at a loss as to what direction to take.”
“This fellow warrior. Was he as the one you were forced to kill?”
“No, nothing like Johannes. Gerung’s heart was filled with joy. He sought to help those less fortunate at every turn. Though fierce in battle he never resisted an opportunity to give of himself to those around him friend and foe alike.”
“Then his soul is blessed by the Great Spirit. He not like many I have seen in my travels with you Shaman.”
“Speak what it is on your mind son.”
“Shaman, we all share sun and moon, the wind blowing across land, water falling from the skies. We own nothing but what the Great Spirit provides us. We drink of rain and eat foods Mother Earth provides. But not white man. Since I remember, white man has chosen to claim the land for his own. White man has pushed my people from our homes. They have punished us, killed us, and said we not good to live beside them.”
“I am not of that way Falaya Talako. You know that.”
“Yes, but white man here do same. Man at house after we get off big canoe just like all other.”
I tried to remember the conversation with the elderly gentlemen from this morning. What was it he’d said?
“About the Aborigines? About herding them all up and shipping them in country. Every last one of them?”
“Yes.”
The revelation of Long Feather’s observation chilled the blood in my veins. How was it this boy saw what I could not? I knew the answer and yet I did not want to admit it. My own skin color had made me blind to what was happening in the world.
“If your brother warrior is how you say would he not wish to help these people?”
“I believe he would.”
“Then we must seek to find those the white man here punish. We will find him with those he seeks to help.”
“Son, you are wise beyond your years. We go in country then.”
READ ON — THE PYTHAGORAS CURSE PART XV
Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII, Part XIV, Part XV, Part XVI, Part XVII, Part VIII, Part XIX, Part XX, Part XXI, Part XXII Part XXIII, Conclusion
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