The Tailor and the Shipwright

by Robert Westphal

  ‘Excellent,’ Hunter said as his eyes quickly scanned the document. ‘There is a great need for men with skills and motivation. Report to my adjutant at Government House when you are finished here.’

  The officials continued assessing the prisoners. The unskilled were either to be sent out to the farmlands further west or would be engaged in government projects around the town.

  Tommy felt blessed he would not be one of them, and could see he had a great advantage in being skilled. He allowed himself a little feeling of optimism about his new life.

  All were told to stay for now within the confines of the town and to report to the government stores for their meal allocations.

  Hunter was impressed by the good health and attitude of the convicts and later wrote to Reid commending him for the exemplary treatment of all on board. No blame was attributed to Reid for the high death toll related to fever.

  It was a surprise to all the convicts when at the conclusion of this inspection they were allowed to walk around the colony. There seemed to be no difference between settlers, freed convicts or the convicts themselves. The convicts realised they would have to find their own accommodation and most headed off towards the rocky area on the western side of the cove where more than 200 small huts and tents clung precariously to the hillside.

  The crowd was dispersing when one of the onlookers stopped Tommy to ask if he was from Dublin. Tommy said yes. The man was keen for any news of home, even old news. After some discussion, Tommy brought the conversation around to living in the colony.

  ‘There is no prison, in that sense, here,’ said the man, whose name was Bernard. ‘The sea and the bush are our walls. There is no food in the bush. Only the Aboriginals can survive out there. They’ll spear you if you try an’ join them.’ Tommy was convinced Bernard was telling the truth about this.

  ‘You being educated, a tailor and all, will have no trouble. Just have to keep your head down an’ nose clean. Oh an’ you’ll need a pass on the streets after dark else the galloots might get you.’

  ‘What sort of creature is that?’ asked Thomas.

  Bernard laughed. He lowered his voice to almost a whisper. ‘No, Tommy,’ he said, as he gave Thomas a friendly thump on his back. ‘A galloot, or swaddy, is the name we’ve given to the soldiers. Mate, it’s part of our “flash” language.’

  ‘Flash language?’

  ‘Words we use the guards don’t understand, mate. We can talk in public, arrange things, if you know what I mean. The Corps soldiers are corrupt. They’re bloody ruthless in their treatment of us. Don’t trust any of ’em. Bastards, they are!’

  Tommy thanked God there were no prison cells. His stint in the New Geneva Barracks and on Friendship had been more than enough time to spend in confinement. He exchanged goodbyes with Bernard and was walking towards Government House when his friends Barney, Darby and James came up.

  James Dixon was still absorbing the news that there was no church in Sydney. Two years earlier convicts had burnt down the wattle and daub building that had served as a church and now services were held either at the Orphan School or outdoors. James could not believe he was the first Catholic priest to arrive in the colony. A convict at that.

  The four friends agreed that, for now, they were in the hands of the system and would try to keep in touch wherever they were sent. They said their goodbyes and Thomas walked up the hill, carrying his few belongings over his shoulder.

  The Adjutant offered Thomas a room towards the back of the House from which he could work during the day. He was told work hours would be Monday to Friday, dawn until 2 pm, with a breakfast break, and on Saturday, a 10 am finish. However, assigned tasks had to be completed within that time, or he would have to work longer hours, the Adjutant said. He added that the rest of the week was free time. In free time he could rest, drink rum or start a business and earn some money.

  Thomas’s workplace did not include accommodation so he walked over to the area of houses and tents he had seen earlier. He asked up and down the narrow laneways for somewhere to lodge. Eventually he found a bed in a shared household of men and women. He was agreeably surprised at the quality of the house. Made of newish rough timber and stone, it looked impervious to the wind and rain he assumed would come with winter. He bought bedding at the local market. There was a chest at the end to hold his belongings.

  The first night, lying at full stretch in the bed, his thoughts turned to his time off. Could he start a tailor’s shop of his own? Probably. He would need an income soon as his money would not last too long, especially since he had to pay rent for his room.

  It seemed a bit rich that he had to pay for his own imprisonment; especially since Tommy had never been tried for whatever crime he was supposedly guilty of. Tommy felt a brief flare of anger for the injustice of it. Grief for the old life to which he would not be returning and the loss of his children. The idea of not seeing his daughters again was at the forefront of his mind. He felt like giving in but knew that was not the answer to his situation. He needed to stay motivated. If he could make his time in the colony work and try to make money then possibly at some time in the future he could bring his daughters to New South Wales. As he drifted off to sleep he felt his body swaying to the gentle rhythm of the ship. He slept well.

  The next morning, on his walk to Government House, Thomas sighted Barney walking along the road with his belongings. Thomas quickened his pace to catch up to him.

  ‘Kicked out of your lodgings already, old mate? What did you do?’

  Barney laughed half-heartedly and told Thomas he’d been indented to a farm west of Sydney at a place called Portland, near Windsor. He hoped the farmer, Henry Lamb, a freed convict, would be a good boss. ‘I bet you he is sheep farmer to boot,’ laughed Barney. ‘Guess I’ll be stuck out there for a few years. See you when I get back. Stay well,’ he said loudly, and with a broad grin he moved off to the dray waiting to take him to his new home.

  In his new role, Thomas was soon inundated with demands from the officers for repairs to existing uniforms. His reputation grew, mainly due to the fine quality of his work, and so did the demands. He was often unable to keep up, not helped by the lack of supply of basic items such as thread, needles and buttons. He cleverly managed the limited supplies he had but knew they would not last. His requests for further supplies were sent to London via the Adjutant. However, with the extended time delays between sending a request and receiving a shipment, Tommy knew he could be waiting longer than a year. He was sometimes able to augment his supplies when trading ships and other convict transport vessels dropped anchor in the colony.

  Tommy thought often of his family in Dublin. His girls were growing up without him and he hoped his sister was taking good care of them. Was she finding this responsibility, added to running the business, too much? He had written a letter to her from St Helena but it was six months since then and he had not yet received a response. But even when he did eventually get his sister’s letter of response, he knew any news in it would be old news. The pain and grief of separation from his daughters was something he carried with him daily. He had sent them more letters from Sydney.

  Every time a ship arrived in port his heart leapt, and there was great excitement among the entire population. It was an excuse to down tools and inspect the new arrivals, wait for the mail and news from home, and to watch the cargo being emptied from the hull.

  It was on 15 April 1800, two months after Thomas’s arrival, that a smallish ship, named Speedy, sailed into the harbour. A rowboat was lowered and held against the bow of the ship. A naval officer descended the ladder to the boat and stood at the bow as it was rowed ashore. Long-term settlers recognised the officer as Phillip Gidley King. He was well known in the colony, having arrived with the First Fleet, and having served as Governor on Norfolk Island, but he had left in 1796 for London after suffering health issues arising from gout. Now he was back. Why?

  The assembled townsfolk watched King, with papers under his arm, c
limb the hill to Government House. Once there he was greeted by Governor Hunter, a man well known to him from the First Fleet and the early days of the colony. They were both Royal Navy men. Included in the official paperwork was Hunter’s recall notice. The notice also stated that King would assume the role of Governor as soon as Hunter left the colony.

  Hunter was not ready to hand over to King immediately. It would be another six months almost before he left the colony on the supply ship Buffalo.

  Thomas continued to work at Government House, where his excellent workmanship soon came to the attention of King. He was summoned to the home that King now shared with the Lieutenant-Governor Paterson. King had brought with him general uniforms and dress uniforms for his new role as Governor. He had also had the forethought to include extra material and attachments for new uniforms for his governorship. He commissioned O’Neil to undertake the work of making them.

  Tommy felt the pressure of this extra task. The tailoring needed to be superior and finished in a timely manner. This was a chance to substantially improve his status in the colony but to achieve this, he would need to work every daylight hour and refrain from any temptations such as liquor.

  The project required several fittings and adjustments until Thomas was satisfied with his work. During these sessions King asked Tommy about his life and how he came to be in this situation. Tommy spoke the truth. King appreciated his honesty and work ethic and was dismayed, although not surprised, to find that he was trying to do extra work on Sundays, for payment, from the bedroom of his shared accommodation.

  Tommy had noticed that the general population, on weekends, made a big effort to dress in the latest fashion. They bought fancy hats and shoes and tailored dresses and coats with their savings.

  ‘I’m lucky,’ he told King, ‘there’s a ready market for my skills.’ When all the commissioned work was finished King was more than pleased with the results.

  It was late September 1800 before Buffalo was ready to depart. The day before he was due to leave, Hunter wrote a last letter to the authorities. In it he told London that during the past eight years the number of male convicts who had been discharged of their sentence was equal to those arriving, which had led to a drastic shortage of cheap labour in the colony. The added cost of hiring settlers had exceeded the cost of government stores. Further, the number of convicts arriving in Sydney Cove had declined, somewhat due to the Napoleonic wars, which allowed convicted men to trade their sentence to enlist in the military or the navy. Hunter had improved the gender imbalance, which by the time he left stood at 5,000 men to 1,300 women having arrived since settlement.

  In the first five months of 1801, only one convict ship, Luz St. Anna, arrived in Sydney Cove. The ship had sailed from Cork and arrived in February with more Irish rebels – 127 men and 24 women, all without Indent papers. Thomas and the other residents waiting on the new government wharf found out that on this journey there had been an attempted mutiny. It had failed.

  As usual, the onlookers were waiting for news and letters from home. The arrival of women always created a deal of interest at the wharf. Tommy, while observing the women that had arrived, knew that being a relatively new arrival he was well down the pecking order in claiming one for himself. He would have to bide his time. Perhaps the next ship?

  The next day, the government store put a notice on their wall with a list of those who had mail. Thomas’s name was there. At last he had a letter to open. It was from his sister. It was more than a letter it was a parcel. His sister had sent a long and news filled letter, saying she had received his letter and telling him of the progress of his daughters. They were happy and slowly growing up. She also provided some local gossip and said that everything was well at the tailor shop. Tommy reread the letter a number of times, soaking up the news and not wanting to let go of the fleeting contact.

  And a gift. He had never seen such a thing. A tape measure, she had written. It was a flexible ruler made of stiff cloth, divided into increments of inches, feet and yards. His sister explained this would be the new standard of measurement. No more pieces of string or notched sticks. He was excited to begin using it.

  From the arrival of Luz St. Anna until the end of 1802, being some 22 months, only nine more convict ships arrived. Of the 1,218 prisoners aboard these vessels, only 234 were women. The gender imbalance had worsened.

  Towards the end of 1802, King told Thomas that the convict ship Perseus would be arriving with more than 2,000 sets of clothing. There was a shortage of uniforms for the military and clothing in general, which this shipment would help alleviate. Tommy did not go down to the dock to watch the newly arrived prisoners being paraded but waited until the cargo was on the wharf. He observed each crate as it was placed on the dray to be carried to the government stores. He read the label on each and was disappointed that there were no rolls of fabric he could use. Needles, thread and a new thimble would be all he would take from this consignment.

  Tommy’s life had become routine. The Governor’s work filled his days and paid weekend work allowed him to stay independent. He was grateful to King for publishing the fixed value of the coinage circulating in the town. This had made it easier for him to negotiate a price for his work. However, payment for work was most often in the form of goods, usually spirits. A lot of the young men and women in the colony drank their entire wages and went into debt in order to drink more. Tommy enjoyed a good whisky but he realised his need for steady hands and a clear head, and above all he wanted nothing to stain his record and get in the way of a potential early pardon. Because of his age, and because most people knew he was a devoted father, Tommy was respectfully not pressured by others to join their drinking sprees.

  Tommy watched this small colony grow. Sydney Town now had wharves to facilitate dry landings and to accommodate the growing number of trading vessels arriving. He watched the building of a salt works on the eastern side of Sydney Cove, along with a gun battery, installed to protect the town from foreign invasion. From the hill above his home he heard the continual sounds of stonemasons building the government windmill. The smell of baking bread and the sounds of blacksmiths at their forges, the two often sharing their ovens and fires, pervaded the air. Butchers, barbers, cobblers and dressmakers plied their trades in this lively community.

  However, there was a very wretched side to life in the colony. It was violent. There were thieves, rapists, drunkards and murderers, which culminated in regular public executions and whippings. It was not safe to go out after dark. Even though the worst days of food shortages were over food supplies were still limited. It was a town run by the Corps. There were plots against the rule of the Governor. Tommy was aware of these goings-on but had learned from his days as a United Irishman to keep a very low profile and not join such discussions.

  The Tank Stream at the southern end of Sydney Cove provided fresh water. On its muddy banks, Thomas washed his laundry and returned to his home to hang it on a line he had strung up between his small vegetable garden and chicken pen.

  Governor King decided to give some of the more exemplary convicts the chance to advocate for their ticket of leave, certificate of freedom or a conditional pardon. He had great difficulty determining the crime or term of the Irish rebel sentences, as the majority of their Indent papers were absent – such being the case with Thomas. King wrote to the English authorities seeking clarification and was offered the following advice:

  Accurate lists were made and transmitted to New South Wales of all the convicts sent previous to the sailing of the Friendship, but that a return has not been kept of the prisoners embarked on that vessel. They were composed of rebels and deserters convicted by the Courts Marshal previous to the law of 1799 and who were sent during the Rebellion to the Military Depot of New Geneva Barracks and embarked by the officer commanding there without any trace of such proceedings having been recorded anywhere. Some persons of a similar description were afterwards embarked on the Anne 1 transport to New South Wales, and
with much difficulty an account of the sentences of these persons, as far as could be learned was made out and sent to the Governor, with the Minerva transport.

  The situation of the Irish convicts was as clear as Guinness.

  By March 1802 Tommy had completed three years of his sentence. Like others who had arrived with him, he decided to plea for a pardon. He felt he had earned it. He had been independent for the majority of his time in the colony, not relying on government stores but making enough money to buy his own food and clothing. He was well known by the Governor and his behaviour had been exemplary. The skills he had were useful to the colony.

  Tommy put together a petition for consideration by Governor King.

  King took his time to deliberate.

  First Tommy’s friend the priest James Dixon received his pardon on 19 April 1803. King was looking to appease the Irish who were unhappy not being able to practise their religion so he also gave permission for Dixon to exercise his duties.

  The first public mass was held a month later. King was pleased with the beneficial effects of the services and offered to pay Dixon an annual salary of 60 pounds. However, King soon decided that sedition meetings were taking place when Catholics met to attend mass so he ceased the masses. Christenings, marriages and funerals continued and were financially supported by both Catholics and Protestants.

  It was not until 4 June 1803 that Thomas O’Neil was granted conditional emancipation. He was now a free man but was not allowed to return to Ireland, or indeed, leave the shores of this continent.

  Would he ever be eligible for an absolute pardon that would enable him to sail home? He could but wonder and remain positive. It all depended on what the authorities considered his crime – United Irishman or association with a fraudulent bank draft. The lack of a trial made this unclear and so it was to remain.

  That day Tommy eagerly bought the morning paper, The Sydney Gazette. It had published the list of those who had received their pardons. He cut the article from the paper and included it in the long letter he wrote to his daughters that evening. His mind began to imagine the possibility of bringing them out to share this new life with him. He would need to petition King and explain that he could now easily support them. Would this be in his daughters’ best interests, Tommy asked himself, or was he motivated by loneliness, or a selfish need to see his family again? A recent letter from his sister had assured him that the girls were doing well. Could he uproot them? No, indeed, they were much too young. They could not make the journey. He would have to wait until they grew up; then there may be a possibility. Years away.