by Sofie Laguna
At breakfast the next morning, Declan watched Danny ease himself carefully down onto the bench. The last time Declan had been flogged was on the Lady Kennaway, for swearing at a guard, and the birch had left his skin red raw. ‘You okay, Danny?’ he asked.
‘It was nothing,’ answered Danny, spooning gruel into his mouth. ‘I could do it again.’
Declan smiled.
‘I didn’t hear you begging for more,’ teased Col.
Danny grinned back. ‘Didn’t you? I told him you’d like a flogging yourself, Col.’
‘Ah yes!’ joked Col. ‘I miss my old friend Master Birch!’
The boys all laughed. No matter what they do to us, thought Declan, they’ll never break us.
It was the morning leisure hour and Declan was on the beach alone when he saw Striker and Tom Draper coming down the path. They were talking so intensely they didn’t see him sitting on the rocks. Declan crouched down, the water lapping over his feet, and listened.
‘Only got twelve days until the Captain is back,’ he heard Tom say.
‘Has to be done before then,’ said Striker.
‘When?’
‘The day before the trial. Friday.’
‘What were you thinking?’
‘Knock him about a bit.’
‘More than a bit. You know how sharp those rocks are.’
‘I do. Cut myself up many a time.’
‘Then what?’
‘Drown him.’
‘The only time when his brother’s not around. On his way back from shoemaking.’
‘I can say I saw him trying to swim away. My record’s clean enough.’
‘He can keep Johnny’s ghost company.’
Declan heard laughter that sent shivers down his spine.
Then the voices receded. Declan wanted to be sick.
A short time later, Seamus and Declan were in the quarry dragging the heavy stones from the entrance-slope down to the pit. Declan made sure the guard on duty was on the far side of the quarry before taking a deep breath. ‘Seamus,’ he said. ‘I have to get Danny out.’
‘What are you talking about?’ asked Seamus, digging his shovel into the mud. ‘The Commandant won’t let him transfer from leather.’
‘I don’t mean out of shoemaking.’ Declan swallowed. ‘I mean out.’
Seamus frowned, shaking the mud loose from his spade.
‘Striker’s got a plan to get Danny.’
Seamus looked shocked. ‘What?’
‘The day before the trial,’ Declan continued. ‘He’s going to get to him when I’m not around.’ He could hardly bear to say the words. ‘He’s going to drown him off the rocks – make it look like Danny was trying to escape.’
Seamus shook his head; Declan could see he didn’t want to believe what he was being told.
‘Why is Striker so scared of Danny testifying? The Commandant would never believe anything Danny said. Nobody here would.’
‘Striker can’t be sure of that. He’s going to do it, Seamus. He’s got nothing to lose. If he’s found guilty, he’ll hang,’ said Declan.
‘Dec, you can’t be thinking straight. We can’t get out. There’s nowhere to go.’
Declan looked across the bay. ‘There’s Hobart Town. We can hide in the crowds. Get some things together – weapons, food – then head for the bush, like Brady and his gang.’
Seamus heaved one of the stones onto the barrow waiting by the stacks. ‘Dec, this place has gone to your head. We’ll be caught and shot if we try to escape. We just have to keep Danny away from Striker. Col can help. He’s in workshop with him. Nobody gets away from here.’
Declan felt a surge of anger towards Seamus. ‘Col won’t be able to stop this, Seamus. You know he won’t. It’s up to me. I got to do something! I thought you would want to help. I thought you were a brother . . .’
Seamus shook his head and kept silent as he worked. Declan turned away from his friend. In less than two weeks, Striker was going to get Danny on his own and kill him. He’d proven that he was capable of it. And now I don’t even have Seamus on my side, thought Declan hopelessly. What can I do?
‘You dirty English beggars!’
From halfway down the wash-tub line, Declan heard Seamus’s cries cut through the dark of the early-morning wash. Usually they stood together, but since their conversation at the rocks the day before, Declan had kept his distance. It felt strange to fight with Seamus, and Declan had been angry and alone ever since.
There was more shouting and Declan broke from the line to see Seamus fighting the Draper boys. It was rare that Seamus lost his temper. Declan gasped as he watched him ram Hugh Draper against the wash tub. The whole thing tipped over, spilling water across the ground. Declan was too stunned to move as Seamus grabbed Tommy Draper and shoved him headfirst into the empty tub. Hugh jumped onto Seamus from behind, pulling him to the ground. Before Declan could help his friend, a guard had Seamus in a headlock and was dragging him towards the time-out cells. Declan saw blood streaming from Seamus’s nose. What was going on?
‘Seamus!’ Declan called out, but Seamus was too far away to hear.
He’ll get solitary for sure, Declan thought gloomily. He pictured Seamus sitting alone in the stone coffin, aching from the fight, and wished that he could be there with him. Maybe Declan had put too much pressure on him. Seamus was right; it was stupid to think of escape. I shouldn’t have said anything, he thought. We’ll just have to come up with some other way to keep Danny from Striker. They were a gang of four and that’s the way it would stay, no matter what.
Twenty-four hours later, Declan was at work with a group of other boys clearing scrub when he saw Henry Bench leading Seamus out of solitary. ‘Seamus!’ he called.
Seamus, one hand over his eyes, waved weakly back. Henry led Seamus to Declan’s work group, where another guard passed him a hoe. It didn’t matter how exhausted and starved a prisoner was after solitary, it was straight back to work. For once, Declan was glad.
‘Seamus – I’m sorry . . .’
‘Declan,’ Seamus interrupted him, his voice croaky. ‘Do you know why I was fighting with the Draper boys?’
Declan shook his head.
Seamus looked around him, then said, ‘Because when I told them to leave Danny alone, that Booth won’t believe his testimony, they said Striker was going to kill him anyway, just to make sure. They said there was nothing I could do to stop it.’
Declan felt the blood rush from his face. ‘I know,’ he said quietly. ‘I heard Striker talking to Tom Draper down by the beach. Oh, Jesus, Seamus.’
‘Solitary gave me time to think, Dec,’ continued Seamus. ‘You’re right about what we have to do.’
‘Are you saying what I think you are?’
‘I am,’ answered Seamus.
‘But Seamus,’ Declan said. ‘You were right, too – anything could happen to us out there. Like you said: If they catch us, they’ll kill us. No boys have ever made it.’
‘There’s always a first time,’ said Seamus, grinning suddenly.
‘We’ve got to move fast. There’re only ten days left now until Booth gets back.’
‘I’ll tell Col we’re on the move,’ said Seamus. ‘You tell Danny.’
Declan felt his heart leap.
That evening at supper, under the table where it couldn’t be seen, Col showed a small piece of wire to Declan.
Declan shrugged. ‘So what?’
‘Seamus spoke to me,’ said Col mysteriously.
‘And?’
‘Declan,’ whispered Col, ‘do I need to remind you what brought me to the shores of Van Diemen’s Land?’
Declan still didn’t understand.
‘I got into houses. I got in anywhere.’ Col turned the piece of wire between his fingers. ‘Got out of places, too . . .’
Declan nodded slowly at Col. Finally he understood. Col grinned back as their gruel was set before them. Declan watched as Col threaded the tiny piece of wire through the cuff of hi
s sleeve. ‘Good work, Col.’
The next evening, in the hour before sleep, Col came to Declan holding two shiny boots by the laces. ‘Recognise these?’ he said.
Declan turned his boots over and noticed the neat patches sewn over the holes. He ran his hand over the smooth new soles. Declan could see how well-stitched the boots were. ‘These are great, Col,’ he said admiringly. ‘Just like new. Better than new.’
Col looked proud. ‘Thanks, Dec. I didn’t know I could do it. Even my own mother said I’d never be anything but a chancer and a thief. Turns out I’m a bleeding bootmaker.’
Declan pulled on his new boots and wiggled his feet.
‘See my new boots?’ said Declan, when Seamus and Danny joined them. He stuck out his foot.
‘You still look like a skinny caffler,’ teased Danny.
‘A skinny caffler with good-looking boots,’ said Declan, grinning.
‘Nice work, Col. Will you do mine next?’ asked Seamus.
Col grinned. ‘For a pound a boot, I will.’
‘No more shoe talk,’ said Danny. ‘I’ve seen enough leather to last me a lifetime.’ He dropped his voice. ‘Are we going to talk about the plan, Dec?’
Declan had been thinking of nothing else. He huddled the gang in close. ‘We wait for Henry Bench’s next shift. Every time he’s on night duty he falls asleep. As soon as he nods off we get rid of the lights . . .’
‘And we crown him,’ joked Col.
Declan laughed. Crowning was when the prisoners tipped the urinal bucket over a guard’s head as he slept. Once it happened to an overseer, he never fell asleep on duty again. But no one had yet seen it happen to Henry.
‘No,’ said Declan. ‘We don’t crown him. Col unlocks the door and . . .’ He ran his fingers through the air as if they were two feet.
‘But Dec,’ said Seamus nervously, ‘what if Henry’s not on duty this week? Or the next?’
‘He will be,’ said Dec. ‘He has to be.’
‘But – if he’s not . . .’
‘He will be, all right?’ said Declan fiercely. He couldn’t bear to think about what would happen if he wasn’t.
‘What do we do once we get out of the barracks?’ asked Seamus.
‘We can’t go along the track or we’ll be seen by the men guarding the cells.’ Declan drew a map on the floor with his finger as close to the map on the doctor’s surgery as he could make it. ‘We have to get down to the beach here . . . And go along the rocks as far as we can, then make our way through the bush back up the hill. That way we’ll be hidden all the way to the demarcation line.’ Declan knew it was going to be tricky to get across the line but there was no other way to reach the port. He kept his fears to himself. ‘Once we get across it’s about a mile and a half to the Port. Should be a clean run.’
‘Then what?’ asked Col.
‘Then it’s thirty miles to Hobart Town. We’ll make our way through the bush.’
‘Thirty miles? Jesus . . .’ Col shook his head. ‘Wish I had a horse like Matthew Brady.’
‘It might be more than thirty,’ said Declan, ‘since we can’t take the road in case we’re seen.’
‘How do we get across the Neck?’ asked Seamus. ‘And them dogs.’
‘I was getting there,’ said Declan. ‘We’ll take to the water long before the dogs know anything about us. We’re going to swim out at least a mile west of the Neck itself. We can all swim, can’t we?’
At home in Ireland, when they weren’t working the field, he and Danny had spent summer days swimming in the Liffey. ‘If I can’t bleeding walk properly, then show me how to swim,’ Danny had said after the long months he’d spent in bed with polio. And soon Danny was just as strong as Declan in the water. It was one place where his leg didn’t slow him down.
‘Of course we can swim. The Dodder might not be the Indian Ocean, but after the rains it gets deep and fast,’ said Seamus. ‘I got across no problem.’
‘What about you, Col?’ asked Declan.
‘Sure I can swim,’ answered Col. ‘Probably faster than the lot of you.’
‘Save as much of your meat and bread as you can,’ said Declan. ‘We’ll need it out there,’ he said, looking towards the bush. ‘And stay out of trouble until then. No fights – it doesn’t matter what the Newgate boys do to us.’
‘Just remember, soon they’ll be eating our dust,’ said Seamus.
Declan put his arm around Seamus’s shoulders. ‘And it’ll taste like dung,’ he grinned.
On Saturday the prisoners were inspected one by one to make sure they were well enough for the week’s duties. While the doctor checked his tongue and throat Declan kept his eyes on the map high on the wall above him; it was his last chance to try and memorise the route they would soon have to take. We need to keep the sea to our right, he thought, on the way out of Port Arthur. Then we’ll leave it behind us as we head through the bush for Eaglehawk. Looks like it won’t be more then a mile or two before we need to get in and swim.
When the doctor examined Danny’s backside, Declan overheard him comment on the raw and damaged skin. ‘Best thing for that is salt water, boy,’ he advised. ‘It’s a shame it’s cold enough to catch pneumonia.’
The next morning at the beach, Declan surprised the gang by racing down to the ocean. ‘You heard what the doctor said, boys!’ he shouted, tearing off his clothes. ‘Salt water is the cure for wee Danny’s arse!’ When he plunged into the icy water it took his breath away. For the first time he felt light and happy. ‘Come on, you Irish upstarts!’ he shouted. ‘Do you dare?’
Declan laughed when Danny, Col and Seamus tore off their clothes and ran down to the sea towards him. ‘Fighting bones! Fighting bones!’ they chanted. The four stood waist-deep in the sea and splashed each other, all freezing to the bone and laughing like wildcats. So close to freedom, thought Declan.
But on their way out of the water, Declan felt his worries return. ‘Seamus – wait,’ he said. ‘Hang back a minute, will you?’ As each day took them closer to Booth’s return and the trial, Declan became more and more anxious, swinging between bursts of confidence and doubt. Striker had been staying away from the gang the past few days, but Declan knew it was because of what he had planned. Striker was just biding his time. And there was something else on Declan’s mind, too.
‘What’s up?’ asked Seamus, blowing on his hands to stay warm.
‘Danny’s leg . . .’ Declan couldn’t shake the feeling that Danny might not manage on the run. He was slower than the others, and he tired easily.
‘Danny will be okay because you and me will make sure of it,’ said Seamus firmly. ‘We’ll travel by night and save our food, like you said. We’ll hide in the bush until we get to Hobart Town. And once we’re there we can lose ourselves in the crowds. We’re Irishmen, Dec. We survived the streets of Dublin, we made it through prison and three-and-a-half bleeding months on the Lady Kennaway, sick as dogs. We can survive Van Diemen’s Land.’
Declan didn’t think he had ever heard Seamus say so much at once. It made him feel better. ‘You’re right,’ he said.
‘We’ve nothing to lose, Dec. Don’t chicken out now.’
‘Who said anything about chickening out?’ Declan kicked water up at Seamus.
‘Out you get, you two!’ a guard shouted. ‘Back to work.’
Not for much longer, thought Declan.
That Wednesday, when Declan learned that Henry Bench was on night duty in the barracks, his heart pounded. Thank God! Just in time, he thought. The last ten days had been torture; every day that passed brought them closer to the trial. Only three more days to go! He could hardly concentrate during his lessons; the numbers in his books seemed to float off the page.
‘Sheehan!’ barked Mr Prideham. ‘Stop fidgeting and focus, please.’
‘Sorry, sir,’ said Declan. Keep it together, he reminded himself. Don’t blow it. When the lesson was finally over and he was packing up his books, Declan nodded at Seamus, Danny and Col. ‘To
night, boys,’ he said. They nodded back. Declan felt his blood race.
At bedtime, he watched as Danny and Seamus rolled out their blankets against the walls, and Col found a place on the floor as close to the doors as possible, just as they had planned. ‘Nice work, boys,’ he whispered under his breath. Declan positioned himself near Henry, near the fire. Good, thought Declan. The fire’s what puts him to sleep.
Henry dimmed the lamps that were fixed in separate intervals along the walls, and quiet soon settled over the tired prisoners. Declan rolled onto his side and watched Henry on his chair by the fire.
It seemed to Declan as though hours went by. He watched as the coal in the hearth turned from glowing orange to grey. The air outside his blanket chilled his skin. But there’s no wind or rain tonight, he thought, so that much is good news. How much longer before Henry falls asleep? he wondered impatiently. It’ll be morning by the time bloomin’ Bench nods off. At last Declan saw Henry’s chin drop to his chest. Finally!
But as he was crawling out of his bed, Henry jerked awake, looking around him with a start. Declan ducked back down under his blanket just in time. Henry got up from his chair and pushed another log into the flames. Declan held his breath, his body stiff with nerves. ‘Come on, come on . . .’ he whispered. He looked across the room to Seamus and Col. They nodded back.
Declan waited and waited, never taking his eyes off Henry. Damn! Henry Bench always falls asleep, Declan cursed silently. But Henry stayed wide awake. Hour after hour passed. Even if he falls asleep now, thought Declan, it’s too late; it will soon be morning. Though it was still dark when he looked through the barracks windows, the stars in the sky were fading. He felt bitterly disappointed. Declan looked across to the rest of the gang and saw them lying still beneath their blankets, breathing deeply. Bench awake and the gang asleep, he thought. Useless!
‘Don’t worry Dec,’ said Col, just before the morning hygiene inspection. ‘Tonight Henry will be so tired after his efforts last night, he’ll sleep for sure.’
