Mary's Guardian (3 page)

‘They’re usin’ you, girl. For their own wants,’ Mary accused, hissing at her bunkmate. ‘How can you sink to that? Have you no pride at all?’

‘Pride!’ Sarah leaned over to face her accuser and cackled. ‘What’s wrong with you? Somethin’ not right in your head is what. There’s naught wrong with a bit o’ slap an’ tickle. Gives a bit o’ relief all round, I say.’

‘Relief from what? There’s no comfort in the hands of a man for my part. I’d not trust a one of ’em. They’re out for themselves an’ I’ll not go willing. They can all die starvin’ for it.’

Mary drew her legs up to her chest protectively and wrapped her arms about her chest. Something deep within her stirred. A memory washed over her: one that had on more than one occasion caused her to ponder her deep distrust of men. There had been one man who still stood out in her mind; a kind smile, warm eyes, hands that had only ever pulled her from danger. A man who spoke softly, urged her to hope. Of course she’d only been a child then, not likely to incite the lecherous desires of most men. But still, she’d seen something different in William Douglass, something almost noble, at least in her understanding of what noble might be. She wondered if he was still alive, if he had survived the beatings, the imprisonment, and the defeat she herself had brought upon him as a child. For moments she was lost in her memories, but then roused from them by more moaning from Sarah beside her.

‘Oh, shut up, girl.’ Mary pushed her elbow into the woman’s side.

‘I will not,’ Sarah pushed back. ‘I’ll moan if I want and by God, I’ll shout blue murder when I get off this rotten ship.’

‘Well, that’ll not be for a while yet, so you might as well save yer breath. I heard we’re only stoppin’ here for repairs. God knows how much longer…’ Mary stopped speaking as Sarah spewed across the skirts and feet of those beside her. They all drew up their legs and held their mouths, holding back the contents of their own stomachs as the already putrid air of their cell intensified.

There was hardly a female prisoner who hadn’t been sick for most of the last leg of the trip, many wishing death to come quickly as they thrashed about, bruising themselves on the confines of their cells. The prisoners lashed out at the women beside them, screaming at the guards who had no mind to make their horror any more bearable. The guards themselves suffered as much sickness as the prisoners. Each had a growing fear that this adventure would likely lead to their own demise; if not on the seas, then in their unknown, uncivilized destination.

A month passed at the Cape as ships did repairs and took on livestock. The sounds and smells of poultry, sheep, goats and horses did nothing to help the condition of the prisoners. Those on board the ship were past longing for the feel of solid ground under their feet, no longer able to imagine the sight of green fields, and had no hope left for anything that resembled normal life again.

***

It was the first day of the new year when the fleet reached Van Dieman’s Land and headed up the east coast of the continent. From the deck of the Alexander William could hear the crack of a whip as it sounded across the water. Someone was being lashed on one of the other vessels.

‘Another mutiny attempt.’ The guard by the rail seemed weary. ‘They’ll never learn, these roughnecks. They might well have hanged them in Britain. Saved us all the bother of doing so here. Waste of rope if you ask me.’

‘They’re desperate,’ William could hear the sadness in his own voice. ‘I suppose now that we’re this close they thought they might take over the ship and make their own new colony.’

Shaking his head, the man looked at William. ‘Not a brain between ’em. Governor Phillip’s warned over and over that any man or woman who tries anything foolish when we land will be treated without mercy. He’s a fair man but he’s not about to let anyone stand in the way of the success of this venture.’

‘He counts it a success then?’

‘We’ve come fifteen thousand miles with less than forty deaths. That’s a mighty effort in the Governor’s mind. In anyone’s mind, I reckon. And he’s determined that the rest of the mission will be just as successful. Anyone who thinks he can get in the way of that will find he’s a formidable man.’

‘So the deaths?’ William remembered Mary. ‘Any women amongst them?’

‘I’m not sure. One small girl, I’ve heard. A couple of babies that were born along the way. Doubt they were known about when we left. The rest of the deaths were men, I think. Some say it’s men who’re the weaker sex, don’t they? Maybe they’re right, eh?’ He chuckled lightly.

‘In some cases for sure.’ William nodded. In his mind was a bright young face, red curls and a cheeky grin. ‘Let’s hope there’s plenty amongst us as determined to succeed as the Governor.’

He pushed back from the rail and took a deep breath, the misty stretch of land in the distance raising his hopes for a new life.

On the 18th January 1788, the fleet arrived at Botany Bay, so named by the explorer, James Cook. Prisoners on deck looked out at the large bay, its circle of sand and bush, mysterious and quiet. The unknown frightened some, excited others. The longed for stillness of the ship was enough to rouse relief in some and it was all they cared to think about. Others were quite certain they’d be put ashore to die of starvation if not at the hands of ferocious natives.

‘Why aren’t we getting ready to go ashore?’ John Rogers looked desperately to William.

‘The word is the Governor’s not sure this is the best place to set up. Not a good water supply it seems. He’s been ashore in one of the long boats.’

‘Lucky him, eh? I’d be pleased to get ashore, no matter what the water supply.’

‘Not for long, John. From what I hear the Governor’s going to make sure this colony has what it needs to succeed. He’ll not settle for less. And surely we’re to benefit from that.’

‘If we don’t die while he ponders it all.’

‘You’ve made it this far, John. Look across there. Land as far as you can see. It’s a big country we’ve come to. We’ll find our place in it.’

‘Our new prison, you mean.’ John slumped onto the side rail and stared into the inky waters.

***

After his brief exploration Governor Phillip decided the bay was not a suitable site for the settlement. Water supply appeared limited and the soil around the bay looked poor. The bay itself was too shallow and too open to the sea, making it unsafe for the ships. So the fleet slowly moved north, continuing to journey along the coast. Eight days later, the ships came to rest in a deeper, more suitable bay, which Arthur Phillip named Sydney Cove in honour of Lord Sydney, the Secretary of State for the Home Office. The port, which he called Port Jackson, allowed the ships to anchor very close to the shore, providing easy access for unloading.

Men on the Alexander were amongst the first party to be taken ashore. William and others, still assessed to be in reasonable health, were assigned to carrying supply boxes, passing them from arm to arm through the shallow waters and onto the sandy banks. Sailors yelled orders and pushed the prisoners about.

‘Come on, you lot. No more lying about. We’ve work to do. There’s no palace here to move into, you know. And mind those boxes. Let ’em be dropped and split open and it’ll be your rations cut.’

‘Hey, you’re not ’ere to swim,’ came a loud command, directed to a prisoner who paused to douse his face with sea water. The sun beating down on the line of men was hotter than they’d ever felt and some were sure they’d fry before they made it to the shade of the trees.

Gradually long boats emptied men, stores, supplies and building materials onto the beach. The landscape, once golden sand trailing away to grassy banks and odd shaped, spindly trees, became a moving mass of men, loaded with boxes, planks, drums and tents. Animals were landed from the boats; their bleating, grunting objections echoing across the bay. More and more men halted in their tracks as they noticed the darting black figures of natives amongst the trees, their movements jerky, their spears waving.

‘See that?’ James Freeman dropped the tent he’d been dragging towards the tree line. ‘Blacks.’ He swallowed loudly and turned to William, averting his eyes from their observers. ‘This could be the end of it all, right here. Fine place for the Governor to choose. Has he no sense at all?’

‘Calm down, James. We always knew there’d be natives. I’m sure the Governor has a plan to befriend them. From the look of it they’ve little established here. Perhaps they’ve only come to see what’s going on, from wherever their village is. Maybe they’re curious. We’re a strange sight for them no doubt.’

‘And let’s hope they’re not sizing us up for their cooking pots.’ James stole a glance back in the direction of the slim figures, barely visible amongst the tree trunks.

‘It doesn’t do any good to always think the worst of men.’ William frowned at James. ‘We’d best be working at getting along with whatever people already inhabit this place, just as we’ll have to work at getting along with each other.’ He inwardly scoffed at his own words for he’d seen little evidence yet that James Freeman was inclined to work constructively with anyone. He’d be thinking of saving his own skin and nothing more if William’s summation of him was anywhere close to the truth.

‘You men,’ came a shout from one of the mariners. ‘Get those tools up on that bank and start clearing some of that bush. An officer’s up there overseeing the marking out of the encampment. Get to. No waiting about. The lash is gettin’ hungry and those who loiter will feel it soon enough.’

William and James wiped their brows of the sweat which now poured down their faces, and picked up the tent they were carrying, hauling it further towards the trees. James’ eyes kept scanning the land ahead. His feet stumbled over small rocks and the first of the tree roots.

‘You’d best to keep watch on where we’re going, James.’ William was becoming irritated with the man. ‘You’ve more to fear from the overseer’s whip than those black men. They’re more afraid than we are, from the look of them.’

‘We’ll see,’ James huffed, righting himself as he almost tripped.

Within hours a large clearing had been established. The sound of axes faded. The tapping of tent pegs and the flapping of canvas filled the still, humid air. Officers, sailors and prisoners gradually sank to the sandy grassland, having long since stripped off their shirts or rolled up their sleeves and pants. The crowd of bodies was still far short of the fleet’s full compliment. Many were still aboard the vessels listing in the shimmering waters off the bay. William could only imagine their frustration and agitation but he wondered if, for the most part, they’d fare any better when they were brought ashore and put to work.

Governor Phillip seemed to have no such doubts. Having overseen the erection of the first symbols of settlement, he ordered the raising of the British flag in the centre of the small huddle of tents, the exhausted prisoners watching from the sidelines. A party of mariners fired off a salute, while the officers drank a toast to the King, the Queen, the Prince of Wales and the new British colony. The Reverend Richard Johnson offered a prayer of blessing for the settlement, beseeching the God of the English people to guide their endeavours in this new and unknown land and to protect His servants who had undertaken the mammoth task ahead of them.

William offered his own silent prayer, for exactly what he wasn’t sure. His myriad of thoughts and feelings were always hard to put into words, and he was not at all used to forming them into a prayer. But in his heart he had no doubt that this motley group of prisoners, soldiers and mariners would need more than human effort and vision to make the most of this venture.

The day after the landing was a Sunday but it was not to be a day of rest. However, William did take a moment from the work he’d been assigned to and squinted as he stared around at his new home. All about him men were cutting down trees, unloading stores, setting up a blacksmith’s forge, and mending fishing nets. Tents were being erected and lines for Governor Phillip’s portable house and a hospital were being marked out. The bush land around the clearing was thick and stretched as far as he could see. The sky was as bright a blue as he’d ever laid eyes on. The sun shimmered on the waters that lapped at the shore where he stood, waiting to unload another long boat. He was still hardly able to believe that he was on the other side of the world but his heart was beating with hope. And his thoughts turned again to Mary Groves. He wondered how she had survived the trip. The women prisoners had been left on board their ship during the initial setting up, so he still hadn’t seen her. But he’d thought of her often and prayed that she’d not lost her head and got herself into too much trouble.

***

It was Wednesday, 6th of February before the Governor ordered the women be brought ashore. For over two weeks the Prince of Wales had anchored in the waters off shore. The mood of the women had gone from anxious anticipation to frantic agitation in that time. The officers overseeing them were sure that most would have hardly a hair left on their heads such was their propensity to tear into each other. Keeping them below decks was no more peaceful, for their screeches could be heard echoing across the bay and the soldiers were sure they’d be lashed themselves for their inability to keep order. It was with great relief that they watched the longboats come alongside the transport ship at five o’clock that morning. There was relative quiet at that hour of the morning, for even those women who could keep up their tirades for hours through the night would have fallen into a fitful sleep in the early hours.

‘Right, wenches! Time to rise and shine!’ The guard threw open the hatch. ‘And bring all yer worldly goods with yer this morning, eh? We’ve a little surprise for yer.’ Bodies began to roll and stretch. Curses began to fill the air. Within minutes there were women pushing and shoving at each other.

‘What now?’ the girl beside Mary whined. ‘Another day to watch what we’re denied?’

‘Is that boats bumpin’ against us?’ Mary picked up her bundle. ‘That sounds promising.’ She was sure if she had to spend another night next to these whining women she’d slit her own throat. It was all she could do not to retch at the combination of body odour and stale vomit.

‘Move.’ Mary shoved the girl beside her. ‘For God’s sake, let’s get out of here before I lose me stomach altogether.’

‘So what’d be new about that?’ sneered Sarah, languishing beside her.

A bit more pushing and urging, a lot more cursing and snapping and Mary reached the upper deck where the soldiers waited, watching the women with sly smirks.

‘Line up.’ The first officer looked the women up and down. He laughed as a couple of the women pushed down skirts that billowed with the wind.

Mary moved into line and peered around the prisoners in front of her. Three officers were grabbing at the women, rubbing their hands up and down their torsos, crouching to look under their skirts. Some of the women giggled and squirmed but clearly had no real objections. As Mary approached the head of the line, she glared into their faces.

‘Don’t get yer feathers in a flap, girl.’ One of the officers threw back his head and laughed. ‘We’ve to search yer to make sure you’ve taken nothing but your own stuff, is all. Now if you’ve not been stealing you’ve nothing to fear. And who knows, you might even enjoy it.’

Mary hissed into his face. ‘And what, in God’s name, would I be stealing from that hell hole, tell me that?’ She held out her arms, clenched her teeth and fists and endured the groping, her eyes piercing his face with threat. The moment his hands had traveled the full length of her body she pushed him off, risking a slap, but unable to tolerate another second of his touch. He laughed again and shoved her out of the way.

Mary boarded a long boat with a dozen other women, and they were rowed to shore. She gripped the sides of the boat and looked straight ahead. The skies overhead were dark grey, threatening a storm. The wind whirled about them. The boat lurched and stalled. As the rowers dipped the oars, spray splattered the women. Mary's legs trembled, her heart beat wildly. She kept her eyes averted from the dark and choppy waters. She had resisted looking down at the sea, even from the ship's deck. She had forced herself not to think about the swirling blackness below. She shielded her face from the wind. The waves slapped against the boat as she considered what lay ahead of her. The women were vastly outnumbered by men, weak from poor food and months languishing in the hull of the boat. Had a prison already been built to house them? Would they be put to work? She could see tents on the shore. She could hear voices broken up by the squalls of wind. Men carried boxes and planks, or pushed barrows. Some were wielding axes and shovels. Her attention was drawn to movement further along the bay where there was a rocky ledge with men, black as ink and naked as newborns, holding spears in the air. She tapped the shoulder of the woman next to her and pointed. The woman jumped. Her screech echoed across the water.

One of the soldiers turned and scowled. He lifted his hand to strike her but a crash of thunder distracted him. By the time the first long boat reached the shore the rain had started pelting down, lashing the women’s faces and soaking their clothes. Men dragged them from the boats and herded them up the beach. The tents were flapping in the violent wind.

‘We’ll lose these before they’re occupied.’ One man held ropes as the canvas strained against the repeated gusts.

‘Hold fast,’ another responded. ‘I’ll get more pegs.’

The women were thrust into the tents. Panic ensued as the gale heightened. Mary could see more women milling on the shore, half hysterical with fright, half delirious with freedom and a sense of solid ground under them.

Then pandemonium broke out. Men dropped tools and rushed at the women. Within a minute there was an explosion of yelling, laughing, singing, swearing and jostling. Bodies were soon rolling together behind tents. Mary was appalled. She had expected little better from the men, no doubt frustrated by the heat, wind and rain, and deprived of female company. But she'd thought the women had more respect for themselves. Yet they paid no mind to what anyone might see and made no attempt to secure any privacy.

She watched in horror. A burly soldier, reeking of rum, rushed at her and grabbed her breasts. Her fists came up and she kicked him. She screeched, as he tried to wrestle her to the ground. She bit hard on his ear. He jumped back, grabbing his ear. Mary turned to run but he launched himself at her skirt, which was heavily wet and fouling her attempt to get away. Suddenly she was on the ground, the man’s body pinning her down, his mouth seeking hers, his hands groping at her body. She stopped thrashing at his back with her fists and brought her hands around towards his face. As her fingers dug into his eye sockets, she drew up her knees and pushed as hard as she could. He rolled to the side, cursing her loudly and holding his eyes. It was enough time for Mary to scramble to her feet and run. Within moments she was behind one of the tents, where she stopped to catch her breath. She looked about frantically, readying herself for another attack. Not three feet from her a couple lay in the grass, firmly and happily in each other’s grasp. Their grunts of ecstasy caused Mary to turn away in disgust. She peered around the corner of the tent, every muscle in her body tensed and ready to fight off another aggressor. All around she could see the shapes of entangled bodies, hear the giggling and gasping of men and women, oblivious to all but satisfying their most basic and long deprived urges.