Retribution

by Beverley Elphick

  I sat myself on a reel of crusty rope and hidden from prying eyes turned my gaze to the darkening skies. Gradually pinpricks of light brightened into stars and a sliver of moon emerged through ragged clouds. The clamour of the boat receded as I managed to focus on my own thoughts; and as I watched the night deepen, I knew that those I had left behind could see the same moon as me, which was comforting. I had been through so much, yet I was still alive, still functioning and, surprisingly, still capable of normal behaviour: I laughed, cried, chatted and gossiped with Jones, Prickship and Sarah. Nevertheless, I wished so much to be at home in Lewes with my lovely Beth. I constantly prayed that she was back in Cecilia’s care. Every hour, every day, she was in the foreground of my mind, yet, in order to function, I had to suppress these images.

  But it was an altogether different type of vision that haunted my nightly dreams: I saw her as she might be - in the Coad household - and then I woke with a terrible sense of dread, my face wet with tears and my heart thudding at what might be. Sometimes, I let these visions play out in my head during the daytime, as if to punish myself for all the mistakes I had made. During those moments I looked inside myself and lost all hope.

  As I keened for Beth, rocking back and forward on my rope seat, I caught sight of a small face peering in at me. Tears obscured my vision until some moments later, I was lifted out of my hiding place by Seaman Jones who carried me back to the cabin and placed me gently into the chair before producing a rag to dry my tears. The young lad who had fetched Jones slipped his fingers into my hand whilst patting my arm with the other, trying his best to console me. I swallowed down my sobs and tried to smile.

  ‘There, there, Miss, don’t fret yourself,’ said Jones. ‘Young Sam here thought you was a ghost when he caught sight of you in amongst the tackle. He said you was wailing like a banshee.’

  Wiping my eyes with the heel of my other hand, I squeezed his fingers. ‘I’m sorry, Sam, if I frightened you,’ I said. ‘I was just a bit unhappy, but I am alright now.’

  They both looked greatly relieved and once Jones was satisfied that I wasn’t going to break down again, they left me to return to their own quarters and I climbed up into my hammock. My pain had not gone away but, yet again, I needed to suppress it.

  ***

  The following day, once my mood was restored, and despite the misery I had succumbed to, I had to admit there was something small within me that was relishing this adventure on the high seas and the people I shared it with. I was so lucky to be of value, whether it be to the crew, the guards or the convicts, and fortunate not to be cast down on the ’tween deck with the other women. They really never knew how they would get through each day: whether taken with illness - another woman convict was dropped into the sea this very morning, having died of the mysterious fever-like condition; tormented by the likes of the red-head and my aunt in their endless struggles for control (Aunt Tilly was still causing havoc, even though she was ironed); or, worse still, ravished or beaten by some sailor or guard who took a fancy to them.

  Prickship told me we were likely to dock in the next day or two and I was filled with anxiety as to what to do. Should I run and cast myself on the mercy of the authorities, or jump ship and hide until the ship went without me? Should I just accept my lot and travel on to Australia, hoping against hope that my letter would find its way to Cecilia and Farmer Elwood who might be able to influence the course of my life from afar?

  I clutched a shawl around my shoulders as a fitful wind ruffled my hair and it occurred to me that I could at least try and improve my appearance so that I didn’t still look so much like a convict. Sarah had supplied me with a comb and a clip for the mess that my aunt’s shears had created. I had the means to improve myself and perhaps bring back the person I was, rather than the drab I had become. It was with this thought that I hurried back to my cabin. I had no mirror but there were some shiny bowls and with a bit of alcohol and buffing I would be able to see how dreadful I looked and how I could improve. This plan of action cheered my spirits and I set about my preparation.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Whooping Cough……Bleeding is indispensable. The alimentary canal to be evacuated with Calomel which I find answers better for children than any other medicines. Emetics are also to be given and a nausea kept up with small doses of tartaric…. Antimony and lastly blisters which I have found decidedly advantageous. Treatment was used with occasional variations in 22 cases which occurred amongst emigrant children. Many improved once the ship met warmer weather but two of the youngest, still at the breast, appeared to succumb with further complications.

  Diary of a Ship’s Surgeon

  The first thing to do was ask Jones to fetch Sarah so that together we could find the real me, and that is exactly what we did. I washed my hair as well as scrubbed my body to remove the grime and she wielded the scissors. Salt water was not the best thing to use but it sufficed; we had a happy time before my first patient appeared. Sarah promised to give me something pretty to wear which had been bought by her man. Eventually, she returned with a dress that had obviously had a few owners but with a bit of sewing here and there, I would have a colourful and pretty dress. It was clearly a dress chosen by a man and not really suitable or proper for someone plain like me but I thought to borrow it until I could repay her. She also brought a mirror, so I could see how attractively she had dressed my hair. I was shocked by how short it was but curls framed my face nicely, and with a bit of pinching and some grease I anointed my cheeks and lips.

  ‘You looks the part, Essie!’ said Sarah, standing back to admire her work. ‘You’ll just ’ave to watch out for those horny sailors who’ll pretend to be ill just to get a moment alone wiv yer.’

  I heard Jones coming down the corridor and hastily threw the hessian sack that I used as a work apron over my new dress.

  ‘Wha’s thee up to, then, ladies? You look like a pair of cats ’as got the cream?’

  Sarah giggled and sidled past him before giving me a wink.

  I enjoyed what was left of the morning, with stolen glances at the borrowed mirror to glimpse my new self but came rapidly down to earth when the captain appeared at my door looking quite dreadful, his face pinched and drawn.

  ‘Miss Coad, my wife requires your attendance. Now. I will escort you.’

  He gave me no time to question what was wrong, so I scurried after him. As we approached their cabin, I could hear a deep, anguished moaning and though the noise prepared me I was still shocked by what I saw. Mrs. Campbell was on all fours with her hair hanging lank and unkempt about her face. She saw me and bared her teeth, a trace of blood on her lips. The cabin looked like it had been ransacked and I dreaded to think what she and the captain had endured before she’d agreed for me to be called. Together we tried to lift her onto the bed, but she was too heavy and not co-operative.

  ‘Fetch Prickship,’ I ordered the captain.

  ‘Who?’ he asked, bewildered.

  ‘Mason, I mean Mason. Fetch him quick.’

  He was gone only a minute, but during that time she collapsed, all the fight gone out of her. The three of us managed to hoist her onto the bed before I pushed them out of the door, saying to Prickship, ‘Go back to my cabin. I need water, scissors, a sharp knife and a needle and thread. You will find most of them in some sterile solution in a container near the desk. Also, clean cloths, and ask cook to boil plenty of water and keep it boiling until I say otherwise - and stay nearby in case I need you.’ I looked at the captain and saw that he was not going to be of any use or comfort to his wife.

  ‘I am not having this brat now, it is too early,’ cried Mrs. Campbell. ‘Stop it, will you! Please.’ The last word was squeezed out of her pursed mouth with as much reluctance as you can imagine.

  ‘I need to examine you again, I can’t do anything until I know what is happening. Let me help you,’ I begged, fearful for her and the child’s safety.


  ‘What happened?’ I asked. ‘When I last saw you, the baby’s head was not fully in position. Did you fall?’

  She didn’t answer as at that moment we both looked down at her heavy gown which showed a creeping stain.

  ‘Your water’s have broken, Ma’am,’ I said firmly. ‘Your baby is coming, and it is best that we get you into a comfortable position for the birth. Let me help you undress.’

  I struggled to remove her clothing, leaving just her shift. Someone knocked on the door and I rushed to prevent anyone entering. Gathering all the essentials that Prickship had brought, I said, ‘I will call if I need you but don’t go far. Perhaps a tot of brandy in hot water with some sugar would be welcome to Mrs. Campbell.’

  He nodded and strode rapidly to where I could see the captain slumped against the door of another cabin. I believed it to be their sitting room. They muttered a few words and within minutes Prickship reappeared with a bottle of brandy, then went away again. The captain picked himself up and disappeared in the direction of the galley and I hoped he was off to get a flagon of boiled drinking water. I tried to prepare Mrs. Campbell for what was to come but she just moaned and swore at me as if I was one of the sailors.

  Prickship was back again promptly, knocking at the door. ‘Miss Coad,’ he said, ‘cook has made up some refreshments and sent some sugar for the brandy, also some biscuits that Mrs. Campbell is partial to. And something for yourself.’ Prickship was most definitely a useful man in a crisis and I was grateful for his thoughtfulness. I was sure cook wouldn’t have thought of this on his own.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, taking the tray, and then shut the door firmly. We toiled relentlessly through the afternoon and the night, and as the contractions wandered, I doled out the brandy as I thought fit. It might not have been what Dr. Grieve would do but the poor woman was suffering, and I had nothing else to ease her. I tried not to compare my actions with those dreadful Mother Midnights that I was so fond of denouncing. I didn’t dare give her much of the laudanum from the medicine chest as it might have affected the delivery. Her screams were painful to my ears and the language of abuse can have left no-one on board that ship unaware of what was going on and whose fault it was. Once again, I longed for my herbs and teas; they might not have the strength of brandy or opium, but they were natural and some were pacifying. When she wasn’t shrieking, the boat was still and deathly quiet as if everyone was willing the child to come, and as time dragged on and the force of the contractions waned again, Mrs. Campbell fell into a fitful and drunken sleep. I laid my head on my arms and prayed.

  I awoke to the sunrise poking its rays through the porthole and before Mrs. Campbell awakened fully, I took the opportunity to examine her again and was much relieved to see that she was further on in her labour. Gently I bathed her face and neck before giving her a fresh rolled cloth to bite down on. I could have given her a piece of leather, but her mouth was already sore and bleeding.

  I opened the door looking for Prickship who was slumped outside on the floor under a blanket, with a pillow at his head. He was fast asleep, so I prodded him gently with my foot before asking for some coffee and breakfast for us both as there was a way to go and Mrs. Campbell needed her strength for the final push. He told me that the captain had passed out in their stateroom; normally an abstemious man, he had taken to the bottle and was now unconscious.

  While I waited, I watched her face. She looked so much older. I had thought she was about 37 but in the harsh morning light I could see she must be at least 39 and possibly 40. She was not in a good state to have a first baby.

  Prickship returned with dishes cook had prepared for us both and by the time Mrs. Campbell’s contractions became more forceful, we were ready for the final throes of labour. I was greatly relieved to find that she seemed to have had a change of attitude and, instead of screaming her outrage, had determined on her part to put everything she had into birthing, with me doing everything I could to ease the safe passage of the child, rather than having to confine myself to the well-being of a resentful, angry mother.

  Eventually, after what seemed like hours of torment and pain, a tiny scrap of a girl struggled into the world amidst a great deal of baying and cussing from her mother. I was so thankful that the child was small; any bigger would have been even more brutal. I couldn’t help noticing how bruised my hands and arms were, as Mrs. Campbell had clamped on them like a vice. I cleaned the baby who was alert and wailing before I put her into her mother’s arms while waiting for the final delivery, the afterbirth. Once I had cleaned us all, refreshed the bedding and selected a wrap for Mrs. Campbell from the trunk at the bottom of the bed, I thought it time to welcome the captain back into the cabin to meet his daughter. I had seen him in the passageway, looking dazed and quite unlike himself. I thrust an armful of stained linen out to Prickship before the captain arrived, and just as I was about to open the door fully to him, she called me.

  ‘Esther,’ she whispered, ‘be sure to remember that this is an early birth.’

  I nodded and hoped that the question would never be asked; it was not for me to judge and I didn’t wish to speculate.

  My last job of the day before I retired exhausted to my cabin, was to ask Prickship, who was as proud as if he were the child’s father himself (and I am sure he was not), to take the baby down to see cook and thank him for his help with the demands made on his resources. He had kept me constantly supplied with tasty bites for Mrs. Campbell and myself. The ship’s carpenter had also produced a pretty cradle for the baby. Prickship took a very long time to return, stopping to show the little mite to everyone on route.

  Her name was to be Charlotte. It was a fitting name for a little girl born on the Lady Charlotte.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The Juliana sailed from the Downs and met with a series of storms. The emigrants were very terrified, sea sick and unable to take care of their children”. The deck leaked and the bedding was wet and the circumstances meant that cleanliness was not observed as it should have been. Because the Surgeon Superintendent had no power to enforce his regulations regarding cleanliness, it was very difficult to clean the decks berths and bedding. It was necessary to drive the emigrants on to deck by closing the hatches and smoking them out with fumes of sulphur or cayenne pepper.

  On entering the tropics, remittent fever became prevalent among the emigrants, generally starting with heaviness and pain in the head and pain down the spine.

  Diary of a Ship’s Surgeon

  We put into Gibraltar the day after Charlotte was born and during the morning, before the ship was secured, I returned to Captain and Mrs. Campbell’s cabin to check that all was well with both mother and daughter. I met the captain in the passageway and was sorry to have my bruised hands gripped tightly in his. The soreness would take a day or two to abate, but I didn’t want to show him that I was hurting.

  ‘My dear, I am so grateful to you, my wife is too, of course. I don’t know what we would have done if you weren’t with us. Such a shock for Charlotte to come early, but never mind, she seems hale and hearty and is feeding well. I would be grateful if you would keep an eye on my dear wife for the next few days. It is our first child and we are not experienced in what to expect. I hope you will advise her and perhaps take the child for a few hours while she rests.’

  ‘Is Mrs. Campbell of a good frame of mind?’ I asked. ‘It was a long and difficult birth for her to endure and it would not be untoward if she were a bit low of spirit for a few days. It sometimes takes women that way. She needs to rest and take a nourishing meal regularly. Perhaps you would like me to speak to cook and make sure she gets the right food for herself and to create milk for Charlotte?’

  ‘Thank you, my dear. Mason or Jones will escort you to the galley,’ he replied, with a smile. ‘We will take on stores here so there will be an abundance of fresh food available.’

  I realised suddenly that I had to
speak now while I had the captain’s attention and gratitude. This might be my only chance.

  ‘Captain, can I ask how long we are likely to be in Gibraltar and if it will be possible for me to speak to the Commander about my situation?’ I asked, trying to keep my voice even. ‘I have a letter for my patron, Cecilia Elwood, which Mason said might be taken in the military box on the next ship going to Britain.’

  For a moment, the captain looked horrified and I truly think that he had forgotten my dreadful situation, so used had he become to my presence and usefulness. But then he sighed and answered me in an uncharacteristically gentle tone.

  ‘Esther, I can’t deny you your chance, you have been such a help to me, my wife and my crew. Yes, I will be seeing the Commander later today and I will bring your troubles to his attention. Ask Mason to give me the letter, but I feel bound to warn you that he is unlikely to want to intervene,’ he said, a little sadly. ‘I will do my best, though, to put your case before him as one of wrongful identity rather than being listed as the convict you replaced. The two men who were complicit in your being on this ship are being off-loaded here and returned to Britain for further punishment.’

  I pressed him, saying, ‘Surely, Captain Campbell, if they are being returned, then I could be too? It would be so unjust to send me on to Australia when they are being sent back. I did nothing wrong but am being punished, yet they who committed a dreadful crime are being returned. And, what about my aunt? Is she being returned to stand trial and be hanged?’