Harry Heron: Midshipman's Journey

by Patrick G Cox

  “Sergeant, is it?” the Lieutenant snapped, rightly pleased when the inferior officer blanched at his tone. “You are a disgrace to any uniform, and certainly no credit to the one you’re wearing. Who is your commanding officer? He shall hear of this behaviour, of that you may be sure.” He glared at the rest of the squad. “So you are the Rum Corps.” His expression reflected the distaste he was obviously feeling. “You fetch an officer immediately, and you, Sergeant, remove your hands from the women or taste my steel.”

  For a moment, it looked as if the sergeant might defy him, but the arrival of a subaltern broke the tension. Even so, Lieutenant Rae left him in no doubt as to his opinion of the sergeant or his men’s behaviour.

  Clearly angry, the Lieutenant snapped orders to the boat crew and the Marines. Complying immediately, the oarsmen swiftly heaved the boat out into deeper water and, with Ferghal scrambling aboard, backed then turned the boat and swiftly propelled it down the long reach toward the ship. Behind them, the women sat or stood huddled in a group with the children under the watchful gaze of the Lieutenant and the Marines.

  THE BOAT RETURNED TO SHORE AN HOUR LATER to find that Lieutenant Rae had been joined by a foppish Captain of the New South Wales Corps. Clearly put out by the Lieutenant’s summons and discomfited by being unable to dismiss the naval officer and his objections, the officer looked sulky. The boatload of new arrivals was obviously a welcome distraction, though yet again, the Lieutenant made clear his objections to the guards’ attempts to take liberties with the women. He knew he could not prevent their being abused once he had departed, but he would not countenance the blatant abuse of authority by these men he regarded as little better than their unfortunate charges.

  “Damme, sir,” the Captain objected as the Lieutenant ordered one of his soldiers to remove his hands from an older woman. “The governor shall hear of this forthwith!”

  “Indeed he shall, for I shall convey you to his residence myself and make my complaint to him in your presence,” Lieutenant Rae said in a level tone. “We did not risk our lives to spare these women and their children from certain death so that you and your—” he raised his chin in disdain “—ruffians could use them as you please. Their sentence to this godforsaken place is sufficient, and if you’ve a mind to object to my naming your troop greater felons than those we have conveyed here, then I am content to name my seconds.”

  Momentary silence followed this rebuke as everyone waited to see how the Captain would respond.

  Knowing he had been put in his place, the Captain looked away. “Oh, very well,” he conceded, unable to suppress a note of disdain. “Sergeant! See that these convicts are housed, and do not take liberties, or you will feel my displeasure and that of the major.”

  There were repercussions from this confrontation, though they were not direct. Food suddenly became more expensive or unavailable when the purser attempted to secure fresh supplies. Requests for assistance in other matters also met with excuses or went unanswered, the usual response being that this or that officer had to give approval, and the officer concerned was never available.

  Finally, Captain Blackwood had had enough. He demanded an interview with the governor and named names. He also pointed out that all of the obstructive behaviour would be duly noted in his reports, which would be copied to Madras, Bombay, Calcutta and most importantly, to London.

  Governor King was incensed. Himself a post Captain in the Royal Navy, he knew full well what this meant for the ships, and the matter was very swiftly resolved.

  As a conciliatory gesture, Captain Blackwood invited the governor and his senior officers to dinner aboard Spartan, and there, for the moment, matters were left. A pragmatic man, Captain Blackwood had no doubt that the abuse of the convicts continued unabated. As he told his Lieutenants, “There is little we can do, gentlemen, however we may feel on this matter. Nor must we forget that the courts have determined that this is a suitable punishment for the felonies these convicts were charged with.” He held up a hand. “Do not mistake me; our own people have as harsh if not a harsher life in some circumstances. At least these felons have a future to look forward to. Harsh as it may be to carve out a living here, they do have the right to settle and even to send for their families once their sentence is expired.”

  FERGHAL, NOW A REGULAR MEMBER OF THE BARGE CREW, watched as the banks drew inwards toward the head of the great harbour. The current was against them as the boat nosed its way into the river that disgorged itself into the headwaters of the vast sea lough, as he and Harry thought it. Reed banks marked the shallows, and the rhythmic buzzing of insects made their slow progress seem positively languid in the stifling heat of the day but for the painful and annoying bites those insects inflicted.

  Aft, a party of officers, including Captain Kriesler of the Royal Marines, sat at their ease. The wealthier among them carried sporting guns, Captain Kriesler having a fine Purdy rifle as well as a brace of pistols from the same manufacturer. Others, Lieutenant Bell among them, made do with a solid Brown Bess, albeit these were somewhat modified and refined to their use.

  A small cove opened to the north and the boat swung in toward the muddy beach.

  “Stand by in the bows there, Fergie lad,” called the coxswain. “She’ll take ground a ways out hereabouts.”

  Ferghal acknowledged the instruction and prepared to jump overboard to steady the boat and ensure it did not become stuck. He recalled that this river was named by the natives as the place to catch eels. As he judged his spot and swung himself over the side, he suddenly remembered the name: Parramatta! With that, his feet hit the muddy bottom, and he yelped as the mud erupted with eels swarming around his feet and legs. He lost his balance and fell with a splash as the boat almost rode over him, with only his desperate grip on the stem saving him from being forced beneath it.

  Around him, the water boiled with eels as he hauled himself back into the boat with a desperate heave. The stem slid into the mud and the boat embedded in the ooze and came gently to a halt. The expressions on the officers’ faces aft showed amusement at Ferghal’s mishap as he stood before them panting for breath. He was coated in thick mud from head to toe and felt a right fool. Lieutenant Bell was hardly able to contain his laughter.

  “Well, Coxswain, it seems we have taken ground, but we have also found ourselves a rich supply of eels, or young Fergie has, rather.” He guffawed. “I suggest you and the boat crew do your utmost to catch as many as you can. Keep them in water, mind, or in this heat they will soon be poison to eat.”

  He glanced at the distance between boat and shore and again at the mud-streaked Ferghal. To the others he said, “I think we seek another landing place. I don’t fancy getting either my shoes or my powder wet wading here. The place is obviously aptly named.”

  Lieutenant Beasley indicated an outcrop. “There is a deep channel there; perhaps we could take the boat and use that as a landing stage.”

  “Good idea,” said Lieutenant Bell. He turned to the coxswain. “Make it so.”

  The boat had to be rocked free of the mud, the oars backed and then the barge gently nosed itself closer to the outcrop. Ferghal stepped onto the bank and secured the painter to a tree. He was cautious as he did so, not wanting a repeat of his last escapade. This land seemed to be filled with strange animals, many poisonous, and worst of all, there were snakes in plenty and his own special nemesis: spiders.

  The officers stepped ashore, and several of the boat crew accompanied them as gillies. Once they had gone, the coxswain set out a small kedge anchor from the stern and then set about making an eel trap with the help of several others including Ferghal. Soon a canvas tank made from the boat’s sail held a writhing mass of eels, and the conversation revolved around the best manner in which to prepare them for a feast.

  The sun was setting when the officers returned, satisfied with a good day’s hunting with some of the strangest looking animals Ferghal had ever seen and several large birds that resembl
ed black swans.

  “We dine on kangaroo, men,” the first Lieutenant told the crew. “A cross, they say, between rabbit and mutton.”

  “Bloody big rabbit that be, sor,” joked one of the older hands. “Too big fer Tom the Poacher’s pot, I’m thinking.”

  Chapter 26

  Heat, Rum and Unrest

  The confrontation with the Rum Corps had other repercussions for the ship. Seamen sent ashore on ship’s business met with one of two receptions from the members of the Corps: false camaraderie and being plied with drink, then robbed and thrown in the clink on the grounds of unruly or disorderly behaviour, or obstruction and being prevented from carrying out their tasks. Sometimes this led to scuffles, and Captain Blackwood once more found occasion to discuss the state of affairs with Governor King.

  “The Rum Corps are a damned mutinous crew, I’ll tell you,” the Governor admitted. “They have nothing but their own profit in sight and see the wretched convicts as no more than slaves sent for their use.”

  Captain Blackwood was pensive for a moment. “Did you not have some trouble with the Corps while Lieutenant Governor of Norfolk Island? I seem to recall some complaints were made, and you despatched some of theirs to this place for Court Martial.”

  “You have the right of it,” the governor rejoined with a grimace. “And the scurvy crew have not forgot it either.” He frowned. “Worse than the wreckers from ’round Penzance. Far worse than the Brotherhood along the Channel shore. Tell your people to have a care in their dealings with them; they think nothing of stirring up mutiny where they can and where it will profit them.”

  “So I have discovered,” said Captain Blackwood, his wry expression unmistakable. “With your permission I intend that any of my parties sent ashore from now on will be accompanied by a detail of my bullocks and some of my more senior s.” He smiled at a sudden thought. “Perhaps you could spread the word that my ship is short handed and that I have an active press. The master of the Maid of Selsey will certainly confirm my penchant for taking seamen where I may find them. Several of his crew are now on my book.”

  The governor laughed. “I shall do so and with pleasure. It will be interesting to see how many of their thugs remain within your reach once the word spreads. Mind, you may find many of the convicts volunteering, and that I may have difficulty explaining.”

  “The rum they ply in this place seems unlike our normal issue, though it is imported, they tell me, for the settlers and convicts but requisitioned almost entirely for the troops who then sell it to the convicts and settlers at exorbitant prices. My purser has recently acquired some at a premium price, yet the purser thinks it had been watered. Where do they acquire it?”

  “Officially? From the West Indies, of course. In fact, however, much of it is locally brewed. The best quality is certainly comparable with that from Jamaica, but the worst? Well, it will send a man mad at best and kill him at worst.” The governor paused before continuing. “Robert, I tell you there are many here and in London that profit hugely from this unhappy traffic in convicts, and it will sow the seeds of rebellion unless London curtails the worst excesses of the Corps. I do my best. I have sent their leader to London for Court Martial, but there he is lionised and feted. I am presented as an ogre, a friend of criminals and the enemy of order. The Court Martial has not been held for want of evidence, it is said.” He snorted in anger. “My despatches, and all the evidence accompanying them, have mysteriously vanished from the Captain’s strongbox. And the scoundrel is being permitted to return.”

  “It was ever thus,” Captain Blackwood sympathised. “A man with a powerful patron can escape any charge, no matter how serious. Is not Lord Camden the patron of this MacArthur?”

  “So he is, so he is,” said the governor, nodding. “Mark my words, the scoundrel will arrive here with some new grant in his hands giving him half the colony and appointing him governor!”

  “So it seems. Now, you asked my assistance on a matter of surveying. What do you require? It will be good to have my people engaged in some real tasks in this place and away from the provocations that this corps of adventurers and cut throats seem to be so eager to engage in.”

  IN THE GREAT CABIN ABOARD THE SPARTAN, Captain Blackwood watched his officers as they studied the papers he had brought back from the governor’s residence. “As you can see, gentlemen, the task is a large one, but we may play a small part. This harbour has been surveyed in its entirety, but a possibly greater one lies to the north, and that we are asked to examine and map as soon as an expedition may be sent there. It will require a passage in the boats to the entrance and then much work within to produce a suitable map from which further work may be carried out. I propose to send you, Mister Rae, with three boats and midshipmen to assist you.”

  The Lieutenant nodded his assent and the Captain continued. “While Mister Rae is thus engaged, you, Mister Beasley, will take another party overland and conduct a survey of the coast to the south of Botany Bay itself. You, Mister Rogers, will take a party inland to a river reported to the west, which we are informed runs through a mountain chain. You will survey a route both to that river and then of the river itself as far as you are able, reporting your findings back to me.” He hesitated. “Both Mister Beasley and Mister Rogers will have the escort of a number of your Marines, Captain Kriesler. The natives here are not reported to be violent toward us, but I trust not our friends in the New South Wales Corps.”

  Despite the Captain’s precautions, some of the illicit rum found its way aboard, and there were several instances of drunken behaviour resulting in punishment ranging from a dozen lashes to a much more serious award of three dozen. Captain Blackwood and the first Lieutenant were concerned at this outbreak of indiscipline and the rise in the need for punishment. Tempers flared at the least provocation among the men and sometimes blows were exchanged.

  Into this tinderbox stepped Mister Midshipman Barclay.

  The day had been long, hot and filled with much boat work besides the moving of stores and the work of repairing some rigging the boatswain and the first Lieutenant were convinced required it. Eamon Barclay had driven his men hard, as was his usual manner, and towards evening they were tired and tempers were short. A man, one of the convicts recruited after the brush with the corsairs, tripped carrying a pair of buckets just filled with water from overside, and the contents of one struck the midshipman, drenching him from the thighs downward.

  “Damned scum,” Barclay snarled. “That was deliberate! I’ll see you flogged for that. , take his name. And the rest of you, get on with your work. I’ll have no slacking or mutiny from you.”

  “It was an accident, sir,” the responded carefully. “Garstead tripped on the ring bolt, sir.”

  “Taking his part now, are you?” Barclay’s face was like thunder as he rounded on the . “I’ll have your rate for it as well. Get this mess cleared away. I’m going to report this to the first Lieutenant; then we’ll see about insubordination.” He turned and stalked off, the water dripping from his trousers as he progressed.

  “Get this mess cleared up,” the snapped. “Garstead, you clumsy dolt, you’re in for it now. Pray that the First takes a lenient line. He don’t like floggin’, an’ Mister Barclay….” He left the sentence hanging, realising he was saying too much.

  “Bleedin’ bastard,” growled one of the others. “He weren’t so big an’ bold when we ’ad to get the people off’n t’ Maid in that storm, but way he tells it now….”

  He stopped when the snapped, “Shut yer gob. That’ll get you a spell on the gratings if’n you’re not careful!”

  MISTER BARCLAY’S COMPLAINT PUT HIS SUPERIORS in an awkward position. Discipline had to be upheld and, more importantly, it had to be seen as being upheld. Captain Blackwood was far from pleased when Thomas Bell advised him of the complaint.

  “Damme, Thomas,” the Captain said. “Has the fellow no sense at all? Garstead is young and a good man despite his conviction.
Tirley, the , is an experienced and reliable man as well. He is adamant it was an accident and yet Mister Barclay has complained that he failed to keep proper discipline among the men. The ship is a tinderbox as it is with the damned illicit rum finding its way aboard. We simply do not need any further provocation. A full third of our people should be serving sentences in this godforsaken place as it is.”

  “If you’ll pardon my saying so, sir, this has been brewing for some little while. Mister Barclay is very free with his accusations, and you are aware of his bullying of the juniors and playing his favourites.” The first Lieutenant considered a moment and added, “Perhaps if he were given some task that takes him out of the ship for a time, that may encourage him to think more carefully about his future.”

  “I shall consider that, Thomas.” The Captain looked thoughtful. “For the moment, though, I see no alternative to making an example of young Garstead, but will make the sentence as lenient as I can. A half dozen lashes, I think, will satisfy Mister Barclay’s honour and serve to warn any others who may be tempted.” He hesitated. “And send Mister Barclay to me in the dog watch. It is time I reminded him of my strictures when he joined the ship.”

  The punishment was performed with all the ceremony the Navy had devised as a means of imposing discipline and instilling fear of the lash. Captain Blackwood confirmed the sentence and read the Articles of War to a silent and sullen crew assembled beneath the awnings. The seaman was lashed to a grating shirtless and spread-eagled by the s. Then the six lashes were administered by the boatswain’s Mate accompanied by a rattle of sticks on the Marine drummer’s side drum.