A Ring Through Time

by Pulman, Felicity

  ‘Why are you so dressed up anyway?’ Susannah asks.

  I am annoyed then for calling attention to myself. ‘I was planning to pay a call on Mrs Butler,’ I lie.

  Susannah looks instantly suspicious. ‘Without Mother? Why?’

  I shrug. ‘Just somewhere to go, something to do.’

  ‘Well, you will probably see Mrs Butler at the picnic. Everyone is going — the officers and their wives, and all the children. Even William is to come.’ Susannah claps her hands in glee. ‘It will be just like our picnics in Van Diemen’s Land!’

  I doubt it. Not with the possibility of seeing Cormac at stake. But I say nothing, and rush to my room to change. Another gown? A skirt and blouse? Finally I settle on a cream-coloured dress with long fitted sleeves, patterned in stripes of royal blue, the same colour as the ribbon on my bonnet. Is it too dull? I pirouette anxiously in front of the small mirror, taking comfort from the fact that the full skirt emphasises my small waist. As I decide it will have to do, I hear Susannah call me. I snatch up my sketchbook and leave the room.

  We climb into the carriage and Mother gives instructions to the convict driver to move on. Father is not with us, preferring to travel to the site with his men. I wonder if Mother feels some relief at being outside too, for there is colour in her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. Next to our feet is a large basket. My mouth waters as I imagine the feast within, but then I feel ashamed as I recall the salt meat and maize porridge that make up the convicts’ daily rations. I imagine their food is almost inedible but, judging from the men’s skeletal appearance, I suppose it would be squabbled over and gobbled up, no matter how unappetising. A thought strikes me: if Cormac is there, perhaps I can slip him something to eat.

  ‘Do you like being here on Norfolk Island, Mother?’ I ask, yielding to a sudden impulse. I have the notion that perhaps it is not only the prisoners’ spirits being squashed here.

  She settles William more comfortably on her lap, and rubs her cheek against his soft bright hair. ‘It is your father’s duty to be here, dear.’

  ‘But what about you?’ I persist. ‘Do you miss your home in Kent? Your family?’

  Mother’s eyes mist over. I have the horrible feeling she is going to cry. I have never seen her weep before and regret that I ever started this conversation.

  She gives a little sniff and regains her composure. ‘Yes, I miss my family. And I miss the misty mornings and the gentle light; the beauty of spring daffodils and bluebells, the deep green of summer, and the golds and reds of autumn. Most of all …’ She hesitates, glancing quickly at the convict who is driving us and the guard who sits beside him. ‘Most of all, I miss the freedom I used to have, being able to go shopping along the High Street, or call on friends, or ramble through the countryside picking berries and wildflowers,’ she says quietly.

  ‘Why don’t you ask Father to give this up and take us home?’ says Susannah. ‘I should like to go back to England.’

  ‘You were only a baby when we left, you can’t possibly remember what it was like!’ I say.

  Even I, four years older than Susannah, have only a dim recollection of our old home. The memory of our nightmare voyage to Australia is far more vivid: months cooped up on a stuffy boat that heaved and tossed upon the sea; feeling sick and worried in case we caught one or other of the diseases that raged below deck. My most pleasant memories are of our home in Hobart Town and our life there.

  My mother gives a weary sigh. ‘Your father will not leave the island. He is on a mission to save these lost souls.’

  ‘By beating them into submission?’ I say.

  ‘What gives you that idea?’ She frowns at me. ‘Your father knows best how to treat the convicts. You will do well to keep your opinions on these matters to yourself, Alice. You have already displeased him with your behaviour at the dance.’ Her mouth thins into a tight line.

  I wonder if she is blind and deaf that she cannot see for herself what is going on here. And yet, I realise, I had managed to ignore the situation quite as successfully as my mother until I heard the convicts talking.

  ‘Oh, phooey,’ Susannah pipes up. ‘Must we talk about these sorry men when we are on an outing and supposed to be enjoying ourselves?’

  ‘You are quite right,’ Mother says. ‘Look around you, girls. See how beautiful this island is.’

  It is indeed beautiful, I concede, as we wind our way north along the rough convict-built road that threads around and between the green folds of hills. We enter a patch of dense forest. Sunlight sifts through the branches of the giant pines that grow everywhere on the island, sending shafts of light to dapple pools of gold on the needle-strewn earth. Twining vines lace through trees and tall ferns in the cool, dense undergrowth. There is a scent of moss and moisture in the air. A soft cooing comes to my ears. I look about and spy two emerald doves scratching through the leaf litter in their hunt for grubs. Above our heads, white terns flit among the tree tops like small, elusive angels. I close my eyes for a moment, breathing in peace and serenity.

  From the forest we emerge into rolling pastureland where cattle and sheep are grazing. A large dewpond shines like a silver mirror in the sun, providing water for the animals. I marvel at the tranquil scene, so different from the tumult of Kings Town.

  We have not travelled this way before, and from our vantage point I look with interest upon the three long prisoners’ barracks, weatherboard cottages and other buildings that comprise part of the settlement at Cascade. I spy a well with troughs beside it, presumably for the men’s ablutions.

  Like Longridge, Cascade is an agricultural settlement, set up to grow cereals and vegetables to help feed the colony. Elizabeth told me that flax was once cultivated here, for the manufacture of cloth and canvas, but the plants had proved unsuitable for the purpose. Flax still grows wild around the island, but there are also lime, lemon and guava trees in abundance, along with Cape gooseberry bushes and sugar cane — food that augments the diet of those convicts who tend the sheep and cattle here and who have earned the privilege of being entrusted with this extra freedom.

  We begin to wind our way down through the green hills, the road ahead now affording the occasional glimpse of sea shaded in colours of turquoise and blue. The water sparkles with diamond-bright lights in the sunshine. As we near the coast, I see the brig. It is moored beyond a rocky ledge that juts out of the sea. There is a crane fixed at one end, with men swarming all around. The brig’s crew is unloading the cargo while convicts and their keepers cart the sacks and crates across the wooden bridge that connects the landing rock to the shore. A line of open carts stands by on higher ground, transport for the goods that will be taken to Kings Town. The bullocks shift restlessly within their yokes.

  I try to make out the men’s faces as our carriage turns, but we are too far away to see them clearly. To my dismay, our horse and carriage does not stop, the driver whipping the horse onwards.

  I turn to my mother. ‘I thought we were going to watch the ship being unloaded?’ I am trying hard to hide my disappointment.

  ‘And so we are, but we are going to view the waterfall first,’ Susannah answers. ‘Don’t worry, Alice. They will be hours unloading that old ship. You won’t miss anything.’ She pokes me in the chest and laughs. ‘Are you hoping they will unload you a handsome beau from Van Diemen’s Land?’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ I say, but I blush under Susannah’s keen scrutiny. She cannot know how close she has come to guessing the truth. ‘There are beaux aplenty already on the island, but I don’t care for any of them.’ I am anxious to keep my secret from both my mother and my sister.

  ‘You have not had enough time to get to know anyone properly,’ Mother soothes. ‘Do not be too quick to dismiss future prospects, Alice. It is time you settled down to being a wife … and a mother.’

  Susannah and I both groan in unison.

  ‘If I were a wife, I should make sure my husband found employment anywhere else but a penal colony,’ I retort.


  Mother’s mouth tightens and I’m immediately sorry that I spoke so thoughtlessly, even though I meant every word.

  Susannah is oblivious, more intent now on looking for the first glimpse of the cascade that gives the bay its name. ‘Where is it?’ She is bouncing on the seat in impatience as the carriage finally comes to a stop.

  The guard indicates a tract of marshy ground ahead, bound on both sides by green hills. ‘This is the course of the waterfall, miss.’

  ‘But I can’t see anything!’ Susannah scowls in disappointment.

  ‘You’ll see the waterfall if you cross over here and follow that track, miss.’ The guard points in its direction, before jumping down to unfasten the steps.

  Susannah accepts his helping hand and, without waiting for us, hurries towards the stream that threads through bands of rushes, straggling ferns and vines bedecked with large purple flowers. I follow more slowly with Mother, leading William by the hand. He squirms in my grasp, wanting to run after Susannah, but I keep tight hold, fearing that he might decide to run along the water course and disappear right over the edge.

  There is little to see here. Resolved not to miss out on her treat, Susannah heads for the track that the guard indicated. I am reluctant to follow, for the path is narrow and looks steep and slippery, and I fear for William’s safety. But at the suggestion he might be left behind, his face turns red and his lips tremble. I grab his hand once more before he can start to bellow and we set off after Susannah. I have to admit that the climb is worth it. The waterfall plummets over the black rocks of the cliff face in a continuous roar, throwing up a plume of white spray.

  ‘Oh!’ Susannah clasps her hands together and jigs around. ‘It looks just like bridal lace! Isn’t it beautiful?’

  ‘Indeed it is. Careful!’

  I take a hasty step forwards to grab hold of Susannah who has moved closer to the edge in an attempt to see the full reach of the waterfall. I drag her backwards, and together we all walk along the edge a little further, hoping for an even better view of the cascade. I stand in silence for a moment, enjoying the beauty and tranquillity of the scene.

  In the distance a pod of sleek dolphins leap gracefully through the water. How I envy their freedom to go where they will and without care. How I wish things were different and I did not have to go back to Kings Town.

  Visions of a small bark hut nestled among pine trees run through my mind. I imagine preparing a meal harvested from the small vegetable garden I have carved out of the forest. Unbidden comes the image of a tall Irishman with laughing eyes. Perhaps he milks the cows and tends the pigs and fowls in an enclosure at the back. When he comes inside, we talk and laugh, and play music together. How happy we are, alone and free in this small corner of Paradise.

  ‘No!’ This will not do. I may be of an age to find a husband, but Cormac is beyond my reach. My father would never permit such a match.

  ‘No what?’ Susannah asks.

  I hadn’t meant to say the word aloud, and I silently berate myself as I try to think of an explanation. ‘I was just wondering if this waterfall is ever a temptation to those poor wretches in the prison,’ I say. I notice my sister’s bewildered expression. ‘I mean, I wonder if they are ever tempted to throw themselves off the ledge, to bring an end to their misery. I’m sure I’d be tempted, if I was them. And then I said no. Because suicide is an offence against God,’ I add piously.

  Susannah looks bewildered, but Mother gives me a sharp glance. ‘You seem very concerned about the convicts’ welfare all of a sudden,’ she observes. ‘Why is that, Alice? You never remarked upon them while we were in Van Diemen’s Land.’

  I did not know Cormac then. And it was much easier to ignore the situation there. But I can’t do that any longer.

  ‘Don’t you ever think of the convicts and their life here, Mother?’ I ask. ‘Don’t you ever feel pity for them?’

  ‘It doesn’t do to dwell on it, Alice,’ she says severely. ‘These men have sinned, and now they are paying the price for that sin. There is no more to be said about it.’

  Yes, there is. But it is clear to me that I cannot take my mother into my confidence, nor can I expect Susannah to understand. I feel suddenly oppressed, and wish fervently that I had never stopped to listen to a conversation not meant for my ears, or played my violin with a man whose music sings to my soul. But even as I think it, my treacherous heart quickens in the hope that he might be here even now, helping to unload the ship, and that I might see him soon.

  ‘Shall we go back?’ I say. ‘I am interested to see what cargo the ship has brought. Perhaps there is something pretty that we might purchase from Mrs Shields.’

  The chief gaoler’s wife keeps a small shop in her home, which she stocks with whatever supplies she is able to glean when ships call in — pins, needles, buttons, thread, pretty fabrics and a small selection of household goods. It is one of our few pleasures to walk out with our mother and a guard to purchase some small oddment we need.

  ‘The other families should be there by now,’ Mother agrees.

  Taking William’s hand, she leads the way back to the carriage where the guard and convict driver await us. I smile at the driver as he offers me a helping hand into the carriage and thank him. Mother gives me a hard stare as she, in turn, takes the driver’s hand. She neither thanks him nor acknowledges him with any word or gesture as he passes William up into her arms. I wonder how I could have been so blind that I did not notice before my family’s treatment of these miserable wretches. Yes, my father has a position to maintain on the island — he impressed that on us when we first arrived. But surely we may still observe the small courtesies; an acknowledgment that these are men and not animals.

  A dog or a cat, even a sheep or a cow, would receive better treatment, I think, and feel ashamed of my family and also of myself. I understand now that Cormac has changed my way of seeing things. Although he is a prisoner and bound by chains, he has unchained my eyes — and also my heart. It is a terrible realisation that I can never go back to my old way of seeing things. And I know also that I shall not rest easy unless I try, in my own small way, to unchain my father’s eyes in turn.

  Meanwhile, there is the prospect of seeing Cormac among the convicts unloading the ship and perhaps even the possibility of a few stolen words, for there is a question that I need to ask.

  The officers’ families are gathered in a clearing close to the line of bullock drays, looking towards the ship at anchor and the loading platform set on the rocky reef. There is a great hustle and bustle as goods are piled into nets and lowered into small boats, which ferry the cargo across to the loading platform. There the nets are picked up by a crane and swung onto the bridge that connects the loading platform to the road. Overseers unlash the nets and transfer the sacks, boxes and crates inside to the convicts, who carry the goods to the bullock drays. One of the overseers carries a whip and seems unafraid to use it. He lashes out at one unfortunate wretch, who must have dropped a crate onto his toes judging by the howls of pain emanating from him. The convicts move more slowly than their heavy loads seem to warrant and soon I realise why: they are shackled in chains. I suppose this is to stop them making a dash for the sea and freedom.

  As I accept a plate of chicken, bread and fresh greens from my mother, I keep an eye open for Cormac. I am uncomfortably aware of the hungry gazes of the laden men as they pass us by and am tempted to offer them the food from my plate. But I do not, knowing such an action would cause a riot and bring down upon my head the full force of Father’s wrath.

  I recognise Padraic and my gaze sharpens as I look around for Cormac. Two overseers struggle to lift a wooden crate out of the net. They transfer it into the arms of a waiting convict, who almost drops it. I see the strain in his arms and back as he staggers across the bridge and shuffles towards the carts. To my relief, he is not Cormac. A convict moves up in line to take his place; behind him is Cormac. I wonder how to find an opportunity to speak to him. I am determined to tr
y. I mutter an excuse about wanting to find some shade and move away as unobtrusively as possible.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Susannah says. She springs up to join me without waiting for my reply. I want to scream, but cannot. We settle in a spot closer to the track along which the men are shuffling with their burdens. There is no shade, but that can’t be helped. I wait, biding my time until the last possible moment, then I jump up and approach Cormac.

  ‘I am happy to see you here today,’ I whisper. ‘Please, tell me: what is your sentence? How long will you have to stay here?’

  ‘For life, unless your father leaves and Maconochie’s allowed to come back,’ Cormac replies, and shuffles on, bent almost double by the weight of the box on his back.

  Devastated, I stare after him. I jump when I hear Padraic’s voice. I had not realised he was next in line.

  ‘Leave my brother alone, mistress,’ he hisses, his lips barely moving. ‘You’ll only cause trouble if you draw attention to us.’

  He scowls at me, and labours on. I stare after the brothers, feeling desolate. A life sentence! How can I bear it? How can they bear it?

  ‘Why are you talking to the convicts, Alice?’ Susannah’s voice buzzes in my ear.

  I turn quickly to hush her. ‘It was a simple enquiry, that’s all. I asked what goods they are unloading and they told me they don’t know.’

  I know that Padraic is right: I risk Cormac’s safety by talking to him. But Cormac has told me it is worth the risk. I cannot give up on him; nor on my hope to intercede on the brothers’ behalf.

  Susannah pulls on my arm. ‘Let’s go and talk to the Robertsons.’

  I nod, glad of the distraction; glad also to have the opportunity to smooth things over with Elizabeth. I enjoy her dry wit and her wicked way with words, and the misunderstanding that seems to have arisen between us distresses me. The Robertson girls are some distance away, sheltering in the shade of a lone pine. Elizabeth is reclining on a blanket. She looks pale and out of sorts. As she notices our approach, she props herself up on one elbow.