The Clay Dreaming by Ed Hillyer Read Free Book Online Page A

Warrnambool, where they were very attentive, and when the collection plate was presented, each gave a little help. Evening prayers on board ship had continued in their Christian education…
     
    ‘You remember, boys,’ Lawrence said, ‘the excellent Captain Williams.’
    ‘Oh, yes , Lawrence!’ the Aborigines unanimously agreed.
    The captain of the Parramatta had proven very popular with them. During their lengthy voyage both he and Lawrence had taken it upon themselves to instruct their charges in the Scriptures. It helped overcome their fears of the endless sea. Captain Williams’ leading of the prayers inspired confidence in their safety aboard his vessel: if the captain was so good, then they should never sink ( Matthew 8:23–27). When the time came for good Captain Williams to take his leave, a few days prior to their landing at Gravesend, the Aborigines had become greatly distressed.
    ‘You remember, then, his warning to you,’ said Lawrence, ‘when he came to your bunks to say goodbye?’
    For the duration of their sea voyage, rather than be assigned the relative luxury of their own private cabins, all had crammed into intermediate berths situated between first and second class.
    ‘He said, “Now, boys, I have to thank you for your good behaviour during this passage, and to give you a little advice. In England you will meet with as many thieves and vagabonds as hairs on your head, and they will tell you that you are very clever, and then ask you to have some drink and then rob you. So don’t have anything to do with them, but do just what Mr Lawrence wishes you to do!”… You remember he said that, don’t you?’
    Emotions ran high concerning the early departure of Captain Williams, and there had been a good deal of crying. Fresh tears fell in the train carriage, so, clearly, the Aborigines well recalled. Lawrence, not for the first time, doubted the wisdom of what he had started.
    Praying for the understanding heart of Solomon, he elaborated on his theme. ‘He was afraid,’ he said; ‘he was afraid you might be led astray in England.’
    Dick-a-Dick spoke up.
    ‘You can trust us, Lawrence,’ he said. ‘We be careful.’
    Dick-a-Dick, a natural performer who often played the clown for any sort of audience, was, at the same time, sober and wise, a highly respected member of his clan – and often an inspiration to them all. Amiably, he turned to his team-mates. ‘Captain Williams and Mister Lawrence, they know Jesus Chrise,’ he said. ‘Jesus Chrise and the little pickaninny they tell us about that we saw in the picture.’
    ‘ Uah! Ne ! ’ The others approved, nodding vigorously.
    Lawrence joined in. Upturned faces all around wore expressions of calm and rapt attention. Bless you, Dick.
    ‘They kill him,’ said Dick-a-Dick.
    The train lurched violently, and Lawrence almost fell.
    Damn you, Dick. Lawrence shot the blithe trickster a filthy look. Was he being sincere, or sly? His mind raced.
    ‘Jesus is in heaven now,’ galloped Lawrence, unsure how to recover. ‘And we pray to him to keep you all safe in England.’
    Their train slowed to a crawl, beginning the final approach into London Bridge station. The stop-start motion took on the lulling tempo of a rocking cradle. The barest sliver of a low moon, still visible near to the horizon, loomed large.
    A sulphurous taint as if from the ashes of a great fire billowed into the carriage. The Aborigines crowded at the windows for their first glimpse of the vast, smoking metropolis. Narrow streets swung by below the viaduct – mud, and stone, and soot. Following the wet, black Sunday just gone, all colour had been drained from the view: everywhere appeared lifeless. No longer green fields, for miles in every direction stretched only grey rooftops. It seemed as if they sailed once more an immense and unending ocean. One would have to be mad to leap into it.
    Sound asleep, only King Cole remained in his seat. He grumbled somnolently, farted and