After that episode life went on for some little time much on the former lines, except that there was shown to us a suspicious consideration which did not augur well for our comfort on the passage home. Indeed, I received a broad hint from the mate. “Bill,” he said, one day, “if I were in your place I should skedaddle and get a moke,” his idea for my future being some sort of a costermonger’s business, then very popular amongst the runaway Jacks. That scheme, however, had no fascination for me; I had gone to sea to become a skipper, and nothing was going to spoil the idea though there might be many obstacles. However, we finally resolved that we would bolt and get up-country, our objective being a place on the Murray River called Port Mannum. We laid our plans with care, for if we went too soon there would be the more time to catch us, and also it was necessary that we should have as many hours’ start as possible in order to escape immediate recapture. What we did with the clothes in our chests I have no very clear recollection. I should think we sold them, for we had to go very light for travelling; but certainly from that time I was not overburdened with clothes until my return to England.
On the fateful night Fred Wilkes and Bob Walters were the two to pull the skipper on shore, and having done so returned on board with instructions to fetch him off at 11 p.m. It was clear they would have to wait until that time or the hue and cry would be raised too soon, so it was settled I should go first and make arrangements for them to pick up their bundles. These were placed in a round washing-tub with my own apparel, and lowered over the side, followed by me. I swam on shore to the peninsula side of the river, pushing the tub before me, and gave a cooee. Then I dressed and, taking the bundles, left the tub for the enlightenment of those on board in the morning, and set off to the house of a town boy friend, who, with his mother, were aiding and abetting us. That was an evening of many incidents, some pleasant, all to be remembered, and I wonder if these words will meet the eye of any of the actors. If they do they will know that the waters of Lethe have not obliterated for me the memory of their kindness and help.
About midnight Fred and Bob duly arrived. They told me that when they had taken the skipper off they intentionally left the oars in the boat. This he noticed and had them taken on board as usual. When he had turned in they quietly replaced them and pulled on shore. As there was no other ship’s boat in the water, the presumption was that we were safe from pursuit until the morning, but had the skipper had the imaginative faculty at all developed, the first omission to remove the oars might have provided him with the opportunity for a dramatic surprise. I always feel regret that I never met any one afterwards who saw what went on the next morning when it was discovered that the birds had flown. The skipper’s face must have been a study when he was told that the ship’s boat was to be seen made fast to the steps and the three apprentices missing. There was a fourth one, who stayed behind, but as he was delicate, and more or less used as a cabin-boy, our actions had not been any guide to him. These words are in no way intended to convey a reproach to you, Jim Powell, of Pimlico, for you were a sportsman, although you could not go quite the pace of your more athletic comrades.
Well, away we went, tramping through the hours of darkness, and when the sun rose we took shelter under a haystack and slept until awakened by the pangs of hunger. We had arrived at a place called Golden Grove, and, knowing the hospitality that was extended to travellers, had no hesitation in going to the house and asking for food, which was freely given. I cannot remember the name of the owner of the house, but he saw his opportunity of securing a useful hand on the estate and persuaded Bob to stay with him. Bob accordingly drops out of this story. Fred and I, after our appetites were satisfied, continued our journey, and I quite think we made a good time of it. The next night we spent in a place called Gumeracha, and experienced the hospitality of a landowner named Randall. I expect it was pretty clearly seen what we were, but there was always a great deal of sympathy ready for runaway seamen, and we certainly met it in this instance. The next day we started on what we meant to be the final stage of the journey. It was, but well do I remember the interminable white hills of that road. From the top of each one in succession we hoped to see the water of the River Murray, and this kept us going. Other characteristics of the road were trees and fields of water-melons. I also remember being struck with the appearance of great worn boulders perched on hilltops, and the soil turned up showing fields of white shells something of the nature of oysters. At length, however, we climbed the last hill and came in sight of our destination, a small cluster of huts by the side of a wide white river, fringed by great trees, and conveying to the mind an idea of vastness and grandeur.
Here we had reached a place where one could exist by one’s own exertion, and where, if you did not like the job you had, you could leave it and find another more to your liking.
As it happened Mannum was the head-quarters of a Captain Randall, who commanded one of the steamers that plied on the Murray. They took up all sorts of merchandise for the towns on the river banks, and towed down barges laden with wool. I did not make one of these trips, but I was told they were at times fairly exciting, for what with shallow water at one time and overhanging branches of trees at another, there was usually plenty of incident. There were five carpenters there building a new barge for Captain Randall. These men were accommodated in a large tent, and in a very short time it was explained to me that I could have a pound a week and my tucker if I could do their cooking for them. The offer was gratefully accepted, especially as it transpired that there was a shot-gun at my disposal, and that I was expected to replenish the stores from the sources of wildfowl that were to be found in the lagoons on the other side of the river. I do not well remember what occupation Fred found at first, but eventually he went as a deck hand in a river steamer, and thus he also drops out of my story. I heard afterwards that he took up his quarters at a town higher up the river. Good luck to him, wherever he may be, for he was a good fellow, although we had many a scrap together at odd times.
Left by myself I waited for the time I might safely return to Adelaide, but my life in the meantime was by no means a bad one. The Murray is an exceedingly beautiful river, running as it does, almost a milky white colour, between banks thickly wooded with splendid gum trees. Of course its volume depended upon whether there was a wet or dry season, but I saw no sign of drought while I was there. On one occasion two men and myself were towed some hundred miles up in a barge, and then cast adrift to drop down the stream, with instructions to stop at intervals and cut branches of trees that would be suitable for using as knees for the new barge. I regret to say that our success in this matter was not commensurate with our expectations. The life, however, was an ideal one, the weather all that could be desired, warm and beautiful, with a bright moon at nights. Life by the camp fire, with plenty of tea, damper and beef, was an excellent stimulant to high spirits, and a night passed in Swan Reach was especially noticeable in this matter.
If we were not as successful in our wood-cutting as we might have been, we certainly had a most enjoyable time, and when at last we got back to head-quarters I found a newspaper which gave me the information that the Alwynton had duly sailed for home.
Well, with the least possible lapse of time I gave up my job, got a cheque for my wages, duly cashed it, and took my passage back in a sort of coach. I have no very clear recollections of any incidents in that trip, but I got to Adelaide all right and learned that a warrant was out for me as a deserter. That was no more than I expected, for it was the ordinary thing. The police, however, were not over zealous in worrying runaway seamen, for they themselves had mostly once been in the same category. The thing was to find a ship, and for that purpose I was advised to consult a certain boarding-house master, Jack Hanly I think his name was, and not a bad sort by any means, but it was rather an eye-opener to be fitted out with a discharge that had belonged to some other seaman of about my own age, and it further involved a change of name which I saw might lead to complication when it came to producing papers for the Board of Trade. The first trial showed me that it would not do. There was in the harbour a big American ship called the Borodino, and when Jack and I went to the captain the following conversation took place. Said Jack: “Captain, I’ve brought you a hand, wants to learn to be a captain.”
“No, thank you,” said the skipper, “looks too white about the gills for me, no deal.”