by Grant, D C
“Did you hear that?” It was a man’s voice.
“What?”
“Coming from the slops locker. I’m sure of it …”
The door opened and light streamed in. Two men stood there, one of them the officer that had drawn his sword on me back in Sydney.
“You!” he cried when he saw me. “What the hell are you doing here?”
I was too miserable to answer. He wrinkled up his nose as he reached in and pulled me out by my collar, setting me down on the swaying floor on which I could barely stand.
None too gently, he half dragged, half carried me towards the ladder that led to the deck above where I climbed clumsily with the two men close behind me. The few men about stared at me as I emerged from below but the officer was soon beside me and pushed me towards the back of the ship, towards a cabin where the door was guarded by a marine sentry.
“Lieutenant Amphlett to see the commodore,” said the officer with his hand still heavy on my shoulder.
The sentry nodded and knocked on the door.
“Enter,” said a deep voice from the other side.
I stumbled as I walked into the commodore’s cabin. I could not get used to the lurching of the ship. My stomach heaved again but there was nothing in there to come out so I doubled over in agony but was pulled upright by the lieutenant.
“Stand straight before the commodore,” he ordered.
I tried to stand as straight as I could but it was hopeless.
“Stowaway, sir,” Lieutenant Amphlett said after he had saluted. “Found him in the slops locker.”
The commodore looked up from his chart. He was a tall man with eyebrows set low over his eyes, giving him a stern, unforgiving look. He had long sideburns on each side of his face and he pursed his lips as he examined me.
“What was he doing in the slops locker?” he asked.
“Being sick,” said the other seaman beside me with a grin.
The commodore frowned at him but then switched his attention back to me.
“What’s your name?”
“Sam, sir; Sam Galloway.”
“How did you get on board?”
“Across the gangplank,” I said, holding onto my stomach and hoping I would not retch again.
“The marine sentry would have seen you.”
“I distracted the guard.”
“Why do that? What business do you have aboard this ship?”
“I want to go to Auckland,” I answered. The seaman beside me snorted in derision and the commodore glared at him.
“If I may, sir,” Lieutenant Amphlett said as he stepped forward. “I think he was looking for Butler, the deserter we arrested yesterday.”
“Why so?”
“He was with Butler when we caught him. I reckon the boy was trying to get him out.”
“Is that true?” The question was directed at me.
I hesitated and the commodore rapped his hand sharply on the desktop, so I blurted out, “He has something of mine.”
“And what would that be?”
“A watch, my father’s watch.”
“This one?” He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out the watch. I stepped forward to take it but the seaman pulled me back.
“If it is your watch, you’d be able to tell me what is written on the back,” the commodore said.
I looked at my feet and said nothing.
“I thought so,” the commodore said. “Did Butler force you to steal it?”
I was silent. I did not know what to say and besides, I was fighting rising nausea and if I opened my mouth the bile would come out.
“It matters little,” the commodore continued. “It shall remain with me.” He dropped it back into the drawer, closed it and then stood and, with his back to me, looked out of the rear windows. Australia was just a distant smudge on the horizon – I would have done anything to get back on solid land again.
The commodore faced us. “I’ll not turn back. We’ll lose a day and we’re late enough already. Governor Grey is expecting me. You’ll have your wish, boy. You’ll stay with us for the duration of the voyage and I’ll put you ashore in Auckland. What you do after that is none of my concern.”
The commodore sat down again at the desk. “Add him to the muster roll, Lieutenant. Put him with Butler for the time being. I’m sure you’ll find work for both of them eventually. Dismissed.”
The men on either side of me saluted and the seaman jerked me back towards the door.
“Wait,” the commodore said. “Who was officer of the watch yesterday?”
“Lieutenant Jekyll, with Private Gardner on the marines’ walk.”
“Have both men report to me,” the commodore ordered.
The two men led me down the ladder up which I had ascended earlier and towards the back of the ship, close to the slops locker where I had been found. Lieutenant Amphlett took a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked one of the doors. I had a brief glimpse of Fred’s startled face before I was pushed inside and the door closed and locked behind me. Once again I was in miserable darkness.
“Sam!” I felt Fred’s hand on my head. “What are you doing here? How did you get on board?”
“I came aboard in the night. I wanted my watch.”
“I don’t have it any more.”
“I know, the captain has it in his desk. He thinks you made me steal it.”
“The commodore does?”
“The captain.”
“The captain on board this ship is the commodore, Commodore Burnett.”
“He’s not a captain?”
“There’s Commander Burton as well. He’s captain when the commodore’s not on board.”
“I don’t …” I started to say but the ship slewed sideways and I wedged myself against the wall of the cabin as I clutched my stomach and retched.
“Have you ever been to sea before, Sam?” Fred asked.
“No,” I said.
“You’ll get used to it in a couple of days.”
I thought that in a couple of days I would be dead. I retched again before curling up into a corner and hoping fervently that I would die instantly.
1 February 1863
Morning
We spent the whole night confined below. Above me I could hear a bell clanging at regular intervals and Fred explained to me that the bell was struck to mark the passage of the hours and the watches. Each watch was four hours long and the bell was rung every half hour, beginning with one bell after the first half hour of each watch, to eight bells at the end of the watch. So we marked the time together all through the night with each half hour feeling as though it was my last, and yet I made it through the night.
It was two bells into the morning watch when the door to the cabin unlocked and light flooded in. I closed my eyes against the light.
A seaman peered in. “All men are to report to deck and that includes you, Butler.”
“What about the boy?” Fred asked.
“Especially the boy.”
I was so weak that Fred had to lift me up from the floor and carry me to the ladder. He cajoled me up the rungs and then up the next one onto the open deck where I stood swaying in the early morning light. The men lined up on the deck and I had only a brief impression of faces, grim and creased as I was thrust into line with them. I had no idea of how many men were on board at that time but I later discovered that there were over 250 seamen, officers, and marines making up the crew.
Beside me Fred grunted – a sound of shock.
“What is it?” I whispered.
“A flogging,” he said under his breath.
Up against the side of the ship was a grating, and standing next to the grating was the marine who had been on guard the night I had slipped across the gangplank. He was bare-chested and wore a baggy pair of trousers, so unlike the tidy uniform I had seen on him the night before.
“Come on, get into line,” said Lieutenant Amphlett and we were pushed into place alongside the other seamen, some of
whom muttered and spat onto the deck. Fred turned and glared at them. The ship was rising and falling all the time; I was finding it hard to keep my balance so much so that I found myself shoved back into place by those around me.
A piercing whistle cut through the air.
“Commodore on deck,” an officer announced.
“Read the charge, sergeant,” the commodore said.
“Private Richard Gardner is charged with dereliction of duty in that, while on watch, he allowed himself to be distracted and thereby allow a civilian to board the ship.”
I felt all eyes on me. I was the civilian.
“How did he plead?”
“Guilty, sir.”
“Who will speak for Private Gardner?”
“I will,” said Lieutenant Amphlett as he stepped forward. “Sir, the private has had an exemplary service to this point. The dereliction was the result of a distraction caused by the civilian himself, caused, I might add, with the express purpose of gaining the deck of this ship.”
I felt the hostility in the eyes of the seamen around me and looked down at my feet. I noticed that the toes of the men beside me neatly followed the line of planks on the deck and I shuffled into place myself. But this move alone could not hide me.
“However,” said the commodore. “It is a requirement that the marine on duty not be distracted by events on land, but has his eyes on the ship at all times. Not only do we want to prevent men from running off the ship but also, as in this case, preventing persons from gaining the ship. If this was a hostile port, Lieutenant, then the dereliction of duty would have had dire consequences.”
Lieutenant Amphlett stepped back but not without first giving me a savage glare.
The commodore spoke again. “It is my unpleasant duty to set punishment of a dozen lashes. Bosun, please proceed.”
I watched in disbelief as Gardner was pulled towards the grating. He faced it and held up his hands so that they could be tied while another man walked up with a red sack in his hands from which he pulled out a cat o’nine tails.
“But …” I tried to step forward but Fred grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back.
“Leave it,” he growled at me.
“But he…”
“This is a navy ship,” he said quietly. “And this is navy discipline.”
“Silence in the ranks!” a marine officer shouted.
I stood, helpless, as the bosun raised the whip. He hesitated as it hung at mid-point and looked over at the commodore who gave a slight nod and said, “Let the punishment begin.”
A drum began to beat. The bosun holding the whip drew it back. The drumming stopped and the whip flicked forward. I flinched as the whip landed on Private Gardner’s back as though feeling the leather thongs cut through my own skin. Gardner said nothing but I saw his hands clench tight into fists as a shudder went through his body.
“One,” Lt Amphlett called.
The whip was raised again. I tried not to look, as if I could make it go away but I could not. The lashes again landed on Gardner’s back and this time the weals raised by the first blow began to ooze blood. I began to feel sick.
“Two.”
The whip came back, flicked forward and more blood flowed.
“Make it stop,” I said to Fred.
“Sorry, can’t,” he replied.
“Silence!” Lieutenant Amphlett shouted.
After another lash, Gardner slumped. Blood flowed down his back and onto the fabric of his trousers. As the whip slashed across his back again, a groan escaped from his lips.
I felt the bile rise in the back of my throat and, as the ship gave a lurch, I doubled over and emptied the little that was in my stomach onto the deck. Men stepped back as the green sludge slid along the deck.
“Halt!” called the commodore before the next lash hit the man’s back. The bosun lowered the whip. “Stand up straight, boy! All men are to stand to attention during punishment.”
I unfolded myself and tried to ignore the cramping in my stomach. A sweat had broken out on my forehead. I felt hands grab my upper arms from behind and hold me upright.
“This’ll stop you from prolonging the poor man’s misery,” said a voice. I looked behind me into the face of boy not much more than my age. His grip on my arms prevented me from bending over again and I anxiously swallowed the nausea that rose in my throat as the punishment continued. When it was all over, the boy released me and I collapsed to the deck.
“Master-at-Arms,” shouted Lieutenant Amphlett. “Get this landlubber down below.”
Strong, rough palms hauled me to my feet and I stumbled to the hatchway, just about falling down the stairs to the deck below. Soon I was back in the small, claustrophobic cabin alone with my misery, for Fred had not come down with me. He’d been led away when the rest of the crew had been dismissed.
2 February 1863
Morning
It was Sunday. I knew it was Sunday because I could hear the men singing a hymn called “Abide with me” and had reason to remember this later. I had not been taken to the service and I wondered if they had forgotten about me. I also needed to pee – badly.
Two bells after the singing stopped, the door was unlocked and a seaman I had not seen before stood in the doorway.
“The cook’s boy has gone and cut off his fingers and is in the sick berth. You’re to take his place.”
I uncurled from my spot on the floor. “Please, sir, I need to pee.”
The man laughed so loudly that the lantern he was holding shook.
“Me – a sir? Well, I never. Come on, boy. On yer feet and off to the heads.”
“The heads?” I said as I levered myself to my feet.
“In the bow, front of the boat, and just make sure you aim downwind.”
Once more the salty breeze greeted me as I stood on the deck. The men were all involved in tasks but some watched as I walked past, or more accurately staggered past, my legs still not accustomed to the roll of the ship. I copied the wide-legged stance of the seaman in front of me but I was easily knocked off my feet when the ship lurched.
The seaman led me to the very front of the ship, along the small deck where the marine had stood guard and onto the wooden pole that stuck out in front of the ship. Then I understood why the seaman had warned me to aim downwind as I hooked my arm around a rope on the leeward side and tried not to look at the rushing water beneath me as I emptied my bladder.
“Right, lad, this way to the galley amidships.”
I didn’t know what he meant by amidships but followed him towards the middle of the ship and down a hatchway, then forward to a cabin filled with a large coal range and another crewman.
“Here’s yer helping hand, George,” the seaman said as he pushed me inside.
“You can start on the tatties,” the cook said, indicating a pile of potatoes in a wooden bucket. “You put them in the pot when you’re done.” There was a big black pot on the stove. It was stifling hot in the galley even though a cool wind blew through the open hatch above us.
I braced myself against the fiddles of the worktop, took up the small knife the cook handed to me and began to peel.
It wasn’t easy work, not after the first dozen or so. My hands cramped, my back stiffened and I became dizzy while my stomach churned. I couldn’t rest for every time I tried to do so, the cook lifted whatever implement he had in his hand and threatened me with it. After that there were pots to wash, jugs to fill, buckets to carry, and slops to be fed to the pigs. At midday, I carried the food to the mess tables where the sailors waited. By this time, I realised I was no longer feeling sick but extremely hungry.
“They’ve put the landlubber to work,” one of the men called as I walked in.
“Leave him be, Henry.” It was the boy who had held me upright the previous day.
“Was a time we dropped stowaways over the side,” said another.
“Well, that was all right in your day, Pat, but we’re more civilised than that now.” It was th
e boy who spoke again.
“Civilised, John?” said Pat. “You try telling that to Private Gardner.” The man glared at me.
“Some would say he got what he deserved,” one man growled. “This is a naval ship and one commanded by the commodore of the Australian states. It’s right that it should be defended as such.”
I left quickly and returned with a pail of food for the mess tables on the other side of the ship. At one of the tables I was relieved to see Fred.
“They didn’t bring you back yesterday,” I said.
“Yes, no use keeping me confined when we’re out at sea. I’ve got nowhere to go, unless I want to drown. Anyway, I’ve given my word I won’t jump overboard.”
“I thought …”
“Thought what?”
“That they’d punished you too.”
“No, lad, not until I reach my own ship – the Harrier.”
I heard a roar from the direction of the galley and decided I would be better being there than chatting to the men. As I left I heard Fred return to talking to his messmates and wished that I could be like him, accustomed to the ship and enjoying the camaraderie of the marines.
A sharp blow to the ear as I entered the galley reminded me I was an intruder on this ship, and an unwelcome one at that.
3 February
I was roused early the next morning before the sun was up. With the cook’s boy in the sick berth, I had taken his hammock above the mess tables forward of the mast. The hammocks lay parallel to the sides of the ship and therefore swung back and forth as the waves buffeted the ship, so close together that the sleeping men bumped against each other. It had been difficult to sleep in this swinging, bumping bed and the sounds of the men moving around the ship at night kept me awake until late. The sounding of the ships bell had disturbed me too, so when I fell out of the hammock onto the wooden deck, I was bleary-eyed and disorientated.
“Come on, lad, you’ve been idling enough,” said Joe as he prodded me with his toe. I learnt that those who were not on the watches, like the ship’s cook, were called “the idlers” because they got to sleep through the night whereas the seamen, on rotating watches, did not get more than four hours sleep at a time. “It’s the start of the morning watch and time you got into the galley.”
