In a Great Southern Land

by Mary-Anne O'Connor

Thirty-Nine

  Melbourne, December 1854

  ‘Come on, lass, ye’ll be right as rain,’ Arthur assured Eve but as she stared at the gangplank terrible memories assailed her of chains and that old cloak of darkness where unspeakable acts were hidden from sight. Even the sound of sails unfurling whipped through her ears in a terrifying rush. Arthur was the right person to have beside her, however, and he steered her elbow gently along until she was on board. It felt disconcerting to have the sway of water beneath her feet once more, unsteady like everything else in her world, and she held onto the rail tight, trying not to think about seasickness lest the nausea of pregnancy get the better of her.

  Amanda was escorted next and she made quite a fuss of making sure all her luggage was carried with care. The captain paid scant attention. He was too busy marching about deck, issuing orders and looking every inch at home in his smart naval uniform.

  ‘Look sharp there, Stevens! Nolan, tie that rope again…and someone fetch me my blasted eyeglass. We can’t set sail without seeing where we’re damn well off to.’

  Eve would have been amused to watch had she not felt so wretched. This journey could only end badly for her and the clean bunk she would sleep on these next few days could well be her last nights of comfort. Already her stomach was beginning to expand and Eve knew she wouldn’t be able to hide her condition much longer. Each day her desperation grew to find a way to avoid ending up back in gaol but her options were narrow. The only possible hope was that the captain and Amanda would take pity on her and allow her to stay on with her child but she doubted they would. She’d learnt first-hand that the world of the gentry held little tolerance when it came to servants and promiscuity. Even a young life of service hadn’t saved her the last time she’d been caught out.

  ‘Take yer things downstairs, Eve,’ Arthur said, interrupting her thoughts and she followed his direction to a small cabin on the left. It was bare, save a water stand, trunk and narrow bunk, but it was clean and it had a porthole, which seemed an extreme luxury compared to what she’d endured at sea before. Eve stared at the blue water extending all the way to the horizon, trying to believe that some twist of fate would save her once more.

  But the kindest man in the world wouldn’t appear with his charming words this time. He was no longer even a part of this earth.

  Eve touched the pane, wondering if that was the option to take now, to choose the gravest of all sins and take her own life. It would be easy enough to throw herself overboard in the night, to see Kieran again, perhaps, in an afterlife. But that was a mortal sin, if the Catholics had it right, and she would be doomed to hell while her good man resided in heaven, separated for eternity by God himself. Besides, it would also be murder, she realised, touching her hand to her womb in protection, even though this child would be better off without living its life. The baby of a convict, at best left to the streets when it should have been playing by a river, cherished by loving parents and blessed beneath those southern stars.

  The ship began to move away from the land and shouts could be heard as mooring ropes fell, and she acknowledged that this journey was inevitable, as was her wretched future.

  ‘Read to me,’ Amanda was saying and Eve reluctantly picked up the well-worn volume of Shakespeare. Her mistress had been amusing herself by dressing Eve up in her gowns to pass the time, teasing her that she’d put on weight of late. Eve had hidden her dread at the words and even now she was blanching as the seam strained at the narrow waist of the blue muslin, digging in hard as she leaned over. It seemed to add to the farcical aspects of her life right now, that she must don a costume and prepare to play a part, but at least the truth remained hidden. For now.

  It was blustery, the air invigorating after hours indoors, and Eve breathed it in gladly, hoping it would bring the colour back to Amanda’s cheeks. She was proving a poor sailor. Her disposition, although much improved these days due to the tonics, was ill-suited to the constant motion of the open sea.

  Eve was used to it again and she’d managed to push aside the earlier memories of her convict experiences, for the most part. In fact, despite all the turmoil within her, the ocean itself surprisingly offered some comfort. It was vastly different being able to see the waves that rocked you and smell the sea salt fresh on the wind. And the crests of white upon the blue fairly danced, hypnotising her as the great ship plunged its way through, cutting a fanning pathway of residual spray that drifted around them, cooling their faces.

  It was soothing to Eve but it wasn’t enough for Amanda who groaned as they dipped quite firmly now and the captain spun the ship’s wheel and called out orders to his men.

  ‘Read,’ Amanda demanded again, ignoring him.

  Eve opened the book to a random page and began, a part of her aching that it should be that old familiar verse from Romeo and Juliet.

  ’Tis but thy name that is my enemy;

  Thou art thyself though, not a Montague.

  What’s Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,

  Nor arm, nor face, norxs any other part

  Belonging to a man. O! be some other name:

  ‘Hold to port!’ the captain yelled but Amanda waved her on.

  What’s in a name? that which we call a rose

  By any other name would smell as sweet;

  So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d,

  The ship veered again and they both had to hold fast to right themselves.

  ‘Best get below decks,’ Arthur yelled, approaching awkwardly with his one good leg. ‘Storm’s brewin’.’

  He nodded towards the horizon and Eve gasped at the sight of dark clouds building like a wall against the blue summer sky. They were notorious, these storms from the south. Eve remembered then that this was the shoreline many termed the Shipwreck Coast but she’d been so preoccupied with her grief, her predicament and her fear of ships themselves she’d not considered it. However, one look at Arthur’s face was enough to convince her that the threat of danger was very real indeed. Then the captain came over to briefly reassure Amanda, telling her to ‘hold fast’, which only reminded Eve of the last time he’d said those words, to her in fact. On her wedding day.

  Below in Amanda’s quarters it didn’t feel any safer, and Eve was starting to feel the terrible creep of imprisonment by the time the storm truly hit an hour later. And no amount of Shakespeare could help them ignore its ferocity. The great ship lurched and groaned as waves crashed against it, tossing it like a toy in a giant tub. Shouting could be heard between the ocean’s roar, and water lashed angrily at the porthole glass where all visibility had been lost. It was growing darker too and Eve held onto the lantern in a desperate attempt not to panic. Amanda, however, was far beyond that point by now.

  ‘Oh, God help us, God help us,’ she cried out between screams, gripping onto the wall near the bench.

  ‘By…by any other name…’ Eve was still trying to read to comfort her but the dwindling light and terrifying noise were against her and now furnishings were sliding and falling to the floor. A plate crashed and Amanda screamed again as Arthur came stumbling into the cabin, his grey hair plastered by rain, water running in rivulets from his clothing onto the floor.

  ‘There now, miss,’ he said as Amanda grasped for his arm.

  ‘What’s happening up there? How much longer?’

  ‘There’s no way of saying, although I think we’re near the eye of it. Captain says if we can only…’

  But he was interrupted by an enormous sound of falling masts above them and splintering timber. Men cried out and wet sails could be heard drumming on the deck above.

  ‘Shite,’ Arthur said, clambering back out and Amanda stared at Eve in shock.

  ‘Is it…is it falling apart?’

  ‘No, ma’am, surely not,’ Eve reassured her but pure fear was flooding through her now as the reality of the situation began to hit. ‘Perhaps I should go and check…’

  ‘Yes, hurry!’ Amanda agreed.

  Anything was better
than sitting and imagining the worst, or so Eve thought until she reached the top of the stairs. She struggled to open the hatch but then she was met by winds so ferocious she immediately stumbled and fell back against the wall, eyes wide as lightning irradiated the horrifying scene.

  The mizzenmast above the captain’s cabin had broken in half and the sails lay drenched and useless, flapping among a tangle of ropes and broken timber. Eve pushed back blinding strands of hair to see men running about frantically, falling on the wet deck and battling against waves that loomed like black giants before crashing across the deck, pounding them into the sea. The captain stood at the wheel, straight-backed and focused as he tried to read what the ocean would do next, like David before an almighty Goliath. Eve prayed for him. She prayed for them all.

  There was another scream from Amanda below, barely discernible above the cacophony of storm and sea, and Eve tried to get back to the hatch but the wind was driving her back. It held impossible force and it was inciting the ocean to swell and smash. To pound them all into submission. How foolish it seemed suddenly, to face such might. How small and defenceless they were in their flimsy vessel of wood, rope and sail.

  Another huge wave rode towards them and she gripped on tightly as it exploded and obliterated everything from sight, dwarfing them into nothingness until all she could see was churning, running water. Then there was another almighty noise as the mid-deck collapsed under the pressure and Eve knew then, without any doubt, they were going down.

  Amanda.

  Eve fought desperately to get back to her mistress now, knowing she would be terrified, but the ship was beginning to keel as the ocean dragged them downwards, and she fell again, sliding towards the edge where men were horrifyingly, sickeningly, being thrust overboard. She grabbed onto a rope but it slipped from her grasp and the surging water drove her helplessly towards the scuppers that ran along the bottom of the side walls, spaces where her feet could become dangerously stuck. Eve knew if they did she would surely drown.

  Eyes landed everywhere now as she fought for survival, something she wasn’t sure she even wanted only this morning. But as Arthur pushed his way down to Amanda and the captain bravely stood his ground Eve knew with certainty she would fight for life too. It was purely primal, when it was real.

  The ship began to sink in the middle and she knew she would have to make the jump off the side to avoid being sucked under when the great weight went. And so she stood and braced herself, with one last look at the helm where the captain now stared straight across to an emerging Arthur and Amanda. He locked eyes with his wife, whose dark strands of hair were plastered against her stricken face, and Eve could read the love there as the lightning flashed. Then he called something out just as the boat lifted high at the stern, and as she jumped the words rang in Eve’s ears.

  ‘Hold fast, my love. Hold fast.’

  Forty

  Warrnambool, December 1854

  He was writing again, this time a letter to a lawyer called Lincoln Ellis that Parsons had recommended in Melbourne, but it was already his third of the day and Liam yawned and stretched as the morning light streamed through the window. He’d been at it since well before dawn, unable to sleep as the mystery of Kieran’s whereabouts plagued at him. His best hope was that Kieran had hidden out from the law then gone in search of Eve, although it didn’t seem much like Kieran’s style to hide, nor did it seem likely he would have let Eve worry for the days in between their missed wedding and her departure.

  There were other possibilities, of course, each thought a sickening one. He could be badly injured somewhere or imprisoned, although some wild ideas of his brother being taken by bushrangers had also occurred to Liam, as far-fetched as that sounded. It wasn’t unheard of these days. He could also possibly be dead but Liam felt, deep down, his brother was somewhere on this earth still. He’d survived miraculously before and Liam still believed he was destined for great things. To even contemplate otherwise felt impossible.

  Eileen was putting the kettle on and she called out to ask if he’d like a cup of tea.

  ‘Aye, that’d be nice thanks, Eiles.’

  His sister had that drawn look about her again and Liam knew she was just as worried about Kieran as he was. He walked out onto the porch and she joined him with the tea as he lit his pipe and stared out at a wet world that was drying in the sun.

  ‘Quite a storm we had last night,’ Rory commented as he rounded the corner from the barn, carrying the milk from their new cow, Backy. The boys had named her, although in truth it had been a compromise from them wanting to call her Mrs Backside. ‘I thought the roof might come off at one point.’

  ‘Roofs can be fixed,’ Eileen said quietly, sipping her tea.

  ‘That they can, love,’ Rory said gently, kissing her cheek and producing a single red rose from behind his back. ‘Grown just for you.’

  That earned him a small smile and Liam marvelled at the gentle patience of his brother-in-law. It couldn’t be easy to live with a wife who worried like that.

  ‘Got some good milk from Backy today. I think we may have enough for you to make me some cream and scones.’

  ‘And I suppose you’re expecting I wait on you too. Set out the good china while I’m at it.’

  ‘That’d be mighty fine of ye,’ Rory said, grinning now.

  Liam smiled too but that lonely feeling was surfacing once more at their banter and with it that now-familiar ache.

  ‘I think I may head in to town and see if Parsons has the papers in yet,’ Liam told them, finishing his tea. ‘They should be…’

  But he was interrupted by a sound dreaded in these parts as the faint peal of the emergency bell echoed in the clear morning air.

  Rory and Liam were quick to react, grabbing their coats and tethering their horse to the cart before setting off fast to provide whatever aid they could. But as they reached the small town and the handful of people staring out at the cove there seemed little hope they could help the poor souls involved now. There had been a shipwreck alright, the rocks were strewn with debris, but it was mostly at the bottom of the headlands with little reaching the calm beach below.

  ‘I’ll go down and look,’ Liam offered.

  ‘Aye, I’ll come too,’ Rory agreed, and Parsons and a few more joined them as they descended down the narrow track. It was a magnificent morning with the sun blazing across the pristine scene: cresting sapphire waves, golden sand, stunning jewelled colours wet on the cliffs, but it was eerie to think of how it would have seemed hours ago, in the darkest ink of night. How terrifying to be tossed by mountainous waves only to sink to a watery grave, or, worse still, float for hours then be devoured by the great white sharks that patrolled these deeper waters. It was incongruous, this beautiful, terrible place.

  The searchers spread out, some moving along the rocks, others walking in the shallows and peering out. Liam and Rory searched the beach and the caves that ran underneath the ledges, although Liam really felt that they were wasting their time. The likelihood of survival past those treacherous heads was low. The smell of seaweed was strong and the occasional human article reminded him of another search, long ago. A boot here, a broken bottle there. Splintered polished wood from what was once, perhaps, fine furniture. If only he could find Kieran now as quickly as he had in Kilrush, but this game was a slow one; drawn out and more painful with each growing day.

  The last cave was deep and Liam walked all the way into it, bending to a crouch. He supposed he owed the victims that much: a proper search, but then something caught his eye. It was a dress, blue and covered in sand, and there was a white hand. And a face.

  ‘Rory!’

  He rushed over to check her pulse. She was still alive but it was thready and her skin was like ice. Liam immediately took off his coat as Rory arrived and stared in disbelief.

  ‘Shite, let’s get her out of here,’ he said, collecting himself, and they both picked her up to carry her up the hill.

  The irony wasn’t lo
st on Liam that the last time they’d done this it was Kieran’s life they were saving. Perhaps that was a good omen, he supposed, looking at her properly now. A beautiful sign.

  ‘How is she?’

  Eileen washed her hands and came out to sit heavily on her porch chair. ‘She’s clean and she’s warm but I don’t know if she’ll make it. Certainly a fever would do her in.’

  Liam knew she was merely being practical but he didn’t like the offhand way she said it.

  ‘Poor girl,’ he said softly.

  Eileen frowned. ‘Aye, sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. It’s just that there’s another complication; I’m fairly sure of it anyway.’ She paused to pick up her tea cup thoughtfully. ‘She’s with child.’

  Liam gaped, understanding now.

  ‘I wonder…I wonder if her husband perished at sea?’ Rory said, shaking his head slowly.

  ‘We’ll find out soon enough, I suppose,’ Eileen said. ‘That was an expensive dress. She’s a wealthy lady, which means someone will come looking for her eventually.’

  ‘Aye,’ Liam said, ‘I suppose so.’

  But pregnant, married or no, he sat by her bed all afternoon and slept in a chair nearby, all through the night.

  It was dark and cold, colder than anyone could ever imagine, and the water clung to her, pulling her down; demanding she give in to the deathly world below. But all the while Eve held fast, gripping her numb hands around the broken piece of deck that was keeping her afloat and forcing her exhausted body and mind to stay awake lest she pass out and let go.

  ‘It’s alright now, you’re safe, lass.’ It was a man’s voice, talking in a gentle Irish brogue.

  Kieran.

  But no, he was gone from her now. Beyond the reach of the living.

  So let go.

  But she clung on.

  Warm hands were taking hers, unclenching her fingers that she realised weren’t gripping the wood at all. They held onto sheets instead, clean and dry, and Eve opened her eyes to stare into a face she’d never seen before but was somehow familiar, just the same.