Affection, p.3
Affection, page 3
And then two names jumped out at me. If they weren’t one after the other on the list I might not have noticed.
‘Oh damn.’
‘Eh?’
‘It appears we have the Honourable Members for Charters Towers aboard.’
‘That’s not amusing.’
I jabbed him with my elbow and held the list under his nose. Humphry snatched it from my hand and held it at arm’s length.
‘Dear God,’ he said. ‘How many plagues can one ship bear?’
‘Maybe it’s not plague.’
‘Maybe. I’ve never seen a case before. Have you, Lin?’
‘No. But it could be cut and dried. Buboes, high fever, lethargy, blood poisoning.’
‘Ah, happy days.’ But Humphry was suddenly more animated. He slapped me on the knee and stood. ‘Well hurry up, we haven’t got all day,’ and marched out of the office.
I stepped out into a world of aching light. Humphry’s horse drooped in the sun, too miserable to fight the flies.
‘You drive,’ said Humphry, putting on his hat. I collected my bicycle and put it carefully in the back of the buggy, the front wheel and handlebars hanging off the tray like a corpse. I gave it a shake and it seemed secure enough.
‘You should get yourself a bicycle,’ I said.
‘Ha!’ said Humphry as I climbed up beside him and took the reins. ‘Why should I push pedals around when I can ride a buggy without expending any energy? I’ll wait for a combustion engine.’
He proffered his flask again. ‘Hair of the dog?’
‘Not the dog that bit me.’
‘How long have you been in this town?’
‘Six months.’
We’d had this conversation many times before. We set off for the wharves.
The Customs launch SS Teal slid from the tidal grasp of Ross Creek and flopped across Cleveland Bay chased by gulls. Our destination was moored at the Fairway Buoy and I could see a few becalmed clippers anchored well away from it, sitting on a sea so brittle it might crack under their weight.
The sun was high and I pulled the brim of my hat further down, gathering the world to within a few feet. My boots needed a polish, the wooden deck had been scrubbed grey, Humphry’s silver flask appeared under my nose again and I pushed it away again. It was a short trip and, frankly, I was a little anxious now.
A rope ladder dropped as we came alongside and Humphry was on it and clambering up immediately. I followed, looking up past his swaying arse to the faces looking down, who perhaps were hoping we’d fall. But then we were on deck and a man greeted us with a hand like a rope and said he was Captain Thompson.
Humphry introduced us and flapped a copy of the Health Act under the captain’s nose.
‘We’ve been waiting all morning,’ said Thompson, brushing it aside. He gestured with his chin to the crowd, which was dressed for town and watching us. A few women stood stoically under sunshades. They were all gathered behind two men in shirt-sleeves chomping cigars and cutting such a presence they had to be Dawson and Dunsford.
‘Some of these gentlemen have business to attend to,’ said Thompson.
‘I hope they haven’t been out too long in this heat. It’s not healthy.’
‘Well, what kept you?’ said Thompson.
‘Business. Anyway, they must be keen to get the medical examination out of the way. The sooner the better, eh? Let’s not dawdle,’ and Humphry asked the captain to have all hands on deck, except for the sick steward of course.
‘Is it necessary? We went through this at Mackay.’
‘It’s the law,’ said Humphry and we stood back as the captain reluctantly got the stewards to round up all the passengers and crew.
When it appeared they were all there, Humphry addressed them, asking them if they would be so kind as to line up, as best they could, so he and his colleague could ask them a few questions and conduct a medical examination. They did as they were told and weren’t happy about it.
They all looked tired, some looked a little frightened and I felt sorry for them, but Humphry was jovial and in no mood for mercy. He had them form a queue around the smoking saloon and we sat with our backs to it on two deck chairs, in the shade. We opened our bags and began.
We asked each to open his mouth and say ‘ah’, took his temperature and asked if he had any aches or pains. The first dozen were polite in answering questions, but they were otherwise quiet and I had a sense of brooding resentment.
Then it was the turn of the two cigar men. They were a pair in their dress and manners; they both wore bowlers and smoked cigars. I had the shorter one first.
‘Name?’ I asked.
‘Andrew Dunsford,’ he said. ‘Member of Parliament.’ He made it sound like a threat.
I asked Mr Dunsford to remove his cigar so I could take his temperature and I thought for a minute he was going to refuse. I had no idea what to do if he did. But after a few savage chomps he took it from his mouth and tossed it over the side and I heard it sizzle when it hit the water. I replaced the cigar with the thermometer before Dunsford said anything.
Next to me I heard Humphry say, ‘Please open your mouth and say “ah”, Mr Dawson.’
Dawson hesitated just long enough for Humphry to say, ‘Come now, that’s surely not difficult for a politician.’
Dawson took a long pull on his cigar and threw it after his colleague’s. He exhaled slowly and then opened his mouth for Humphry.
‘Have you experienced any pain in the joints, headaches, sleeplessness or fondness for any kanakas in the past two days?’ asked Humphry.
‘Is that your bedside manner, Dr Humphry, or the whisky?’ Dawson had drawn himself up. His moustache cast a shadow.
Humphry didn’t seem to care. ‘I’ll take that as a yes and have you quarantined then, shall I?’
There were a few titters from the queue. Dunsford was looking daggers at me so I let him go. He pulled a new cigar from his pocket, lit it, and walked off through a cloud.
Dawson was telling Humphry, ‘You and your apprentice forget who you’re speaking to.’
‘No, I don’t.’ Humphry pretended to be aggrieved. ‘You’re most definitely Anderson Dawson, one of a pair of Honourable Members for Charters Towers. Or at least you’re a fair impression of him. And this is Dr Row and he’s not an apprentice. He’s the Townsville municipal medical officer and he deserves your respect. He has as much authority as I to carry out whatever is necessary to protect this town from plagues and rats. Isn’t that right, Dr Row?’ Humphry looked over to me and winked, before turning back to Dawson. ‘Dr Row is from Brisbane and a champion pugilist so I wouldn’t upset him if I were you.’
Dawson was staring at me now. ‘Does McCreedy approve of this interrogation, this abuse of ratepayers?’
‘I’m actually here on behalf of the Townsville Joint Epidemic Board,’ I said.
Dawson considered this and turned back to Humphry. ‘You seem to think this is amusing.’
‘No, I don’t, but you seem to be in your usual robust health, Mr Dawson. Congratulations. Next.’
Humphry had to look around Dawson to call the next passenger and the MP turned slowly and walked off to join Dunsford and the captain.
‘They’re plotting something,’ Humphry said to me. ‘I hope you’ve been practising on that punching bag lately.’
I wiped the sweat from my forehead and dipped the thermometer in alcohol for the next person.
After the parade, the captain took us below to see the sick steward, Storm, whose cabin was near the stern. Captain Thompson opened the door and stood by it. Storm lay on his bunk with a blanket about him looking wary and feverish.
‘After you, Dr Row,’ said Humphry.
There was a strong smell of sweat and onions. I looked over my shoulder before entering and saw that Dawson had followed us and was now standing behind Humphry in the hallway. Behind him smoke and passengers were filling the narrow corridor.
The cabin was small, hot, dank and airless and I couldn’t stand straight without knocking my head on something. One wall, which I assumed was the hull of the ship, had a large suppurating brown sore. A single lamp hung from the ceiling and spread a sickly yellow light.
I wondered how the man had stayed alive in there for the three or four days he’d been laid up. His eyes had withdrawn into two black pits, but his face turned towards me as I stepped into the cabin. I reached for the blanket.
‘Not here,’ I heard Humphry behind me say. ‘Captain? Can we move this man to a larger cabin?’
‘There are no larger cabins that aren’t occupied.’
‘What about Mr Dawson’s suite?’ said Humphry. ‘He’s for the working man. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.’
Captain Thompson hesitated and looked back down the corridor, perhaps wondering if Dawson had heard. He asked, ‘How long is this going to take? Can’t you tell what’s the matter with him here?’
Humphry poked his head further inside the cabin. ‘I don’t know about this gentleman, but I’d suffocate if I had to spend a minute in here.’
‘Yes. All right. I’ll make the smoking saloon available then.’
‘Thank you,’ said Humphry, stepping backwards into the captain and then vanishing down the corridor. I heard him say ‘Make way, damn you,’ and some other men swearing. The captain shot me a sour look and followed him.
I was suddenly alone in the cabin with Storm. The poor man was gasping as he tried to raise his head to see what the commotion was about.
‘Can you walk?’ I said.
He nodded and made a weak effort to rise, but couldn’t get himself up on an elbow. I grabbed him under the arm and pain flashed across his face. I let him fall back.
‘Here,’ said a voice behind me.
I turned and saw a man in the white linen uniform of a steward. His face was an assortment of odd angles, as were his teeth.
‘Captain said you’d need a hand.’ He held up a large and calloused hand, but didn’t move from the doorway.
‘Grab an arm and we’ll see if we can get him up,’ I said, pulling at Storm’s elbow again. The man groaned.
‘Should we be, well, touching him?’
I gave Storm his elbow back again.
‘You won’t catch it,’ I said. ‘Not like this.’
The steward looked back down the corridor, no doubt wanting to be somewhere else.
‘If it’s plague, it’s spread by fleas,’ I said.
He stared at me. I must have been a sight myself with the perspiration streaming down my face and my shirt soaked through, staggering as the steamship rocked.
‘That’s a new one. I’ve heard rats, I’ve heard Chinamen and now it’s fleas. Here’s Mr Storm sick and he’s none of those, far as I can tell.’ He nodded to himself and stood firmly at the door.
‘Well, if Mr Storm has it, it’s from a flea that bit a rat.’
The steward just stared. The stench, the lack of air, and the motion was making me queasy.
‘The ship was fumigated at Rockhampton? Mr Storm went ashore? Well, Rockhampton has the plague and he might have caught it from a flea. Do you see? No fleas on this ship because it’s been fumigated. Unless a flea bites him and then you, you’re safe. No fleas; no worries.’
I was about to gag and wasn’t going to confuse matters with a few qualifications. I had to get out of the cabin. I turned and grasped Storm’s elbow, heaving him to a sitting position and feeling the heat like a coal fire in the man. And then a white shirt sleeve reached across and seized the other shoulder and we had Storm up on shaky knees. He buckled, but between us we steered him to the door.
‘Captain orders him up on deck,’ said the steward. ‘But I hope for both our sakes you’re right, doc.’
We manoeuvred Storm into the corridor and I gulped the fresher air. Storm sagged drunkenly between us, moaning, and the steward said over the sticky back of his bowed head, ‘My name’s Gard. Walter.’
I told him who I was.
‘You really a boxer?’
‘No.’
‘You are a doctor, right?’
‘Yes,’ I gasped.
‘Need a drink,’ Storm mumbled.
‘Don’t we all, mate,’ Gard told him.
The sick steward’s bare feet made a feeble pretence of climbing in mid-air as we frog-marched him up the steps and onto the blessed open deck. I stumbled into the fresh air as if it was a lake and I was dying of thirst, and we lowered Storm to his knees. He groaned long and loud with his eyes shut tight against the glare. Passengers backed away in terror at the sight of us dripping, groaning and gasping.
‘Down here,’ said Gard, collecting Storm up again. His toes scraped along behind us, leaving a wet trail into the smoking saloon where Humphry had ordered all portholes closed. He’d set up a card table for his medical bag and had spread a tablecloth on the floor for his patient. We let Storm down and the man shuddered. Gard stood back and wiped his hands on his trousers, and I looked about for somewhere to wash.
Outside, the crowd had regathered and there was more smoke wafting into the saloon than out, which must have been a first.
Humphry, the captain, Gard, Storm and I were inside. Dawson appeared at the doorway.
‘Clear the room and close the door, please,’ Humphry told Gard. Gard went towards the door, but Dawson took two steps forward. He stood there with an unlit cigar in his mouth, his hair sharply parted as if by some newfangled machine.
‘And what is your particular interest, Mr Dawson? Medical? Philosophical?’ said Humphry.
The captain swore under his breath.
‘I’m representing the passengers,’ said Dawson.
‘Political then. Is this your new constituency? Was there a vote taken?’ Humphry seemed somehow fortified and I wondered if he’d been sneaking more nips.
‘The passengers have a right to know everything is being done and done correctly to ensure they get off this tub as soon as possible.’
‘Mr Dawson, this is a private medical examination and there is a chance a very dangerous, probably lethal and highly contagious disease is aboard this ship,’ said Humphry, raising his voice so everyone heard.
Dawson took the cigar from his mouth and pointed it at Humphry. ‘That’s rubbish and we both know it.’
‘Be quiet!’ Thompson’s shout made me jump; even Storm opened his eyes and tried to sit up.
‘This is my ship. I’m in charge here. You’re both forgetting that,’ the captain said, mopping his face.
‘Right you are,’ said Humphry. ‘Let’s get on with it.’
Dawson rolled the unlit cigar in his mouth, and then turned and closed the door himself. He walked across the room and stood over the sick steward, facing Humphry.
I wondered if Dawson was armed. I knew Humphry sometimes carried a pistol for crocodiles, if he ventured to the Burdekin or to the shanties along Ross River.
Humphry opened his medical bag on the card table and Dawson brought out a tin of matches and made to strike one.
‘No smoking, Mr Dawson, if you please,’ said Humphry. Dawson looked at the captain who shook his head, and Dawson put the matches away, but kept the cigar in his mouth.
We all stood over Storm’s prostrate body, Gard a little further away. Humphry took a thermometer from his bag and gave it to Captain Thompson.
‘You can make yourself useful if you like, Captain, and take the patient’s temperature. I’ll have to wash my hands.’
Humphry held up his hands and wiggled his fingers and Gard pointed to a door that led to the galley. The captain knelt beside Storm mumbling about where to put the blasted device. Dawson was standing, his cigar bobbing violently, offering no help, staring now at me, so I followed Humphry and found him washing his face over an enamel basin.
‘Damn those politicians. If I was a vindictive man I’d wish Dawson a good dose of buboes.’ He found a cloth and wiped his beard. ‘But I’m not, so here’s to his good health.’ He fished out his flask and took a mouthful. ‘And may he avoid the painful death he deserves.’
We found some more water and washed our hands with soap.
I said, ‘Mr Dawson could be a dangerous enemy.’
‘He’s all bluster.’
‘Still. Might be best not to annoy him.’
‘He’s taken a shine to you.’
‘He thinks I’m on your side.’
‘You are, aren’t you?’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘You know,’ said Humphry, ‘I’m starting to hope now that it is plague. Might curb everyone’s insolence,’ and as we dried our hands he started whistling. I suspected then that he’d already made up his mind.
‘The other steward says Storm has had typhoid,’ I said.
‘Yes. So the captain tells me.’
‘What do you think?’
‘I think I need some air,’ he said, and then contradicted that by saying, ‘I wonder if the bar on this bucket is open yet.’
We had both read the medical papers that were being posted around the colonies since the first case of plague reached Sydney in January. A Dr William Fox had produced one of the first happy pamphlets: ‘The Bubonic Plague or Black Death: the Pestilence that Walketh in Darkness’.
The problem I noticed was that several other tropical fevers, including typhoid and particularly dengue, had similar symptoms. And as Humphry pointed out, some other symptoms of plague – slurring of speech and vertigo – could well describe half of Townsville on a Saturday night.
We went back into the saloon. The captain was standing over Storm. Humphry asked him to remove the thermometer.
‘Well?’
Thompson held it and turned his head to one side. ‘He has no temperature.’
Humphry took it. ‘You’ve put the wrong damned end in.’
Dawson let out a short explosive laugh.
Humphry ignored him and put the thermometer back in Storm’s mouth, and then undid the man’s shirt. He peeled away the sticky grey cloth from Storm’s chest and put his fingers under the armpit. He grunted, and then pulled the man’s trousers down. I could see a bruise at the groin.
