by Sofie Laguna
It’s as if he understands me, thought Declan gratefully.
‘Make sure to take the lamp,’ said Violet as Declan got to his feet. ‘And don’t get washed away as you go.’ As she passed the lamp to Declan, she took his hand and squeezed it. ‘You’re a brave boy, Declan Sheehan.’
Declan felt his heart go tight, as if it was growing.
As he was going out through the kitchen door Hilda came to him. ‘Declan,’ she said, and hugged him tightly. ‘Thank you.’
Declan wasn’t used to being hugged, and he felt a bit embarrassed, but at the same time he was glad she’d done it. It was as if something had been settled between them.
That night nobody locked Declan into the loft, and for the first time it made no difference. In the morning he was going back to his brothers.
Declan didn’t dream of Col and the ocean. He didn’t dream at all. He slept on until early the next morning when Mr Fitzpatrick woke him with a loud banging on the door. ‘Time to get moving, Declan!’
In an instant, Declan was wide awake.
Mr Fitzpatrick drove the horse hard. The storm had passed, though a soft rain still fell. The roads were muddy and wet but Mr Fitzpatrick didn’t slow down. He steered the horse around fallen branches and huge puddles. Declan sat beside him, and they barely spoke. Mr Fitzpatrick gripped the reins as he managed the dangerous road.
As the horse’s hooves pounded against the wet road Declan thought about his gang: about Col, who was gone, and Seamus, who would soon be alone. Declan knew he had to ask. ‘Sir . . .’
‘What is it, Declan?’
‘I have another brother. Seamus . . . not by blood . . . But he’s part of me.’
‘I don’t know if I can feed another worker, Declan,’ said Mr Fitzpatrick, keeping his eyes on the road.
How can I betray Seamus? thought Declan. But he knew it was hopeless. He was lucky just to be able to save Danny.
Then Mr Fitzpatrick turned and looked at Declan. ‘Sean has spoken of needing help. I’ll talk to him about your friend. What was his name?’
‘Seamus Flynn, sir.’
‘Another one of the escapees?’ Mr Fitzpatrick asked.
Declan looked at the floor of the wagon. ‘Yes.’
‘But there were four of you, weren’t there?’
Declan felt his throat tighten. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘What happened to the fourth?’ asked Mr Fitzpatrick, water spraying up beside the wagon as they charged through a deep pothole.
‘You didn’t hear, sir?’
‘I don’t listen to all the colony gossip. What happened?’
Declan swallowed. ‘He was killed.’
‘How?’ Mr Fitzpatrick asked.
‘The night they caught us, they shot him.’ The words hurt Declan to speak out loud. ‘We were in the water. Col was with me.’
‘I see.’ There was a quiet between them. ‘Where is he buried?’ Mr Fitzpatrick asked.
‘I’m not sure.’ Declan struggled to speak. ‘I don’t know what they did with him.’
‘What was his name?’
‘Colin, sir. I don’t know his other name.’
‘If you would like, you can make Colin’s final resting place at Kilcullen Park.’
Declan was glad Mr Fitzpatrick was watching the road too closely to see the tears on his cheeks. ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘I am sorry for your loss, Declan. I will find Daniel, and Seamus too. We will try the prison first.’
‘Thank you, Mr Fitzpatrick.’
‘You can call me Michael. And it is I who have you to thank. If not for you, I would have lost one of the most important things in the world to me – my son.’
Declan watched Michael bringing the reins down onto horse’s back. ‘Get up there!’ he called out.
I hope one day I can be like him, thought Declan.
This time they made the journey in a single day, only stopping to feed and water the horse. Declan barely felt the cold, and how stiff and sore he was. Please let Danny be all right, he thought over and over. Please let him be here and not dying in a hospital bed.
It was late in the day when Mr Fitzpatrick stopped the wagon outside the Superintendent’s house. As Declan went to jump down, Mr Fitzpatrick placed his hand on his shoulder. ‘Stay in the wagon,’ he said to Declan, ‘while I go and talk to Mr Badley.’
‘Yes, sir.’ As much as Declan wanted to charge into the barracks, he knew he had to respect Mr Fitzpatrick’s wishes. Hurry, hurry, he thought, his eyes trained on Mr Badley’s door.
It wasn’t long before Michael came back out of the house with Mr Badley. ‘You are to wait here while Mr Badley and I collect Daniel and Seamus,’ said Michael.
‘Danny’s here?’ Declan asked, scared to believe the good news.
‘Yes,’ said Mr Fitzpatrick. ‘It won’t be long now. Wait here.’
Declan was flooded with relief. ‘Yes, sir.’ He watched as the men headed towards the barracks. It felt strange to be sitting in Michael’s wagon waiting under the cold, grey skies. Was he really going to see the boys walking up the path towards him, about to leave Point Puer forever? ‘Come on, come on,’ he whispered.
Declan didn’t know how long it had been when at last he saw Michael return with Seamus. His heart raced with joy to see his friend. Danny must be following with Mr Badley, he thought. Declan leapt from the wagon and grabbed his friend, hugging him hard. ‘Seamus!’ But as soon as Declan looked to Michael’s face he knew something was wrong. ‘What is it, sir? Where is Danny?’
‘They couldn’t find him, Declan,’ answered Michael. ‘Mr Badley has sent out two guards to track him down. He can’t be far – there have been no sightings from the demarcation line so he will be somewhere on the peninsula.’
Fear rose in Declan’s throat. Couldn’t find him? What were they talking about?
‘He was at workshop this afternoon,’ broke in Seamus, sounding worried. ‘I saw him go there with my own eyes. But then he never came to the barracks for supper.’
‘Declan, the guards will find him. Please wait here, while I go into Badley’s house and sign the papers he has left for me,’ said Michael. ‘I am sure your brother will be all right.’
‘Y-yes, sir,’ Declan managed to stammer.
‘What do we do?’ Seamus asked, when Michael had gone into the house. ‘I’ve managed to hold Striker and his boys at bay, but I knew I couldn’t keep it up . . .’
‘We go and find Danny,’ answered Declan.
‘I was hoping you’d say that,’ said Seamus.
Declan began to run towards the prison, with Seamus right behind him.
As they drew close, Declan noticed how quiet the prison was. All the convicts were inside the barracks.
‘The guards will be looking for Danny on the shores on the western side, below the line,’ said Seamus. ‘In case he’s trying to run.’
‘Mother of God,’ Declan whispered. And suddenly he knew where Danny would be. He’d seen it so often in his dreams. ‘We’ll look on the eastern side,’ he said. ‘Above the cliff.’ He took off, with Seamus just behind him.
When they broke through the trees, Declan saw the very thing he feared most. Striker and Danny were at the cliff’s edge, twenty feet away, standing opposite each other, a short distance apart. Both boys had their fists raised. But Danny is so much smaller, thought Declan.
‘Leave me alone!’ Danny was shouting.
‘I’ll leave you alone when you’re a corpse at the bottom of the cliff.’
As Declan ran towards them, Danny hit out with his fist. But Striker grabbed him by the arm and they struggled.
‘Get away from him!’ Declan shouted. In the instant that Striker looked towards Declan, Danny caught Striker off guard. He pushed him back.
Striker stumbled.
And then Declan watched in shock as Striker disappeared over the cliff.
It was only then that Danny noticed Declan. ‘Declan! Wha–’
‘Danny!’
Danny looked as if he had seen a ghost. ‘Oh God, what have I done?’
When Declan peered over the side, he saw Striker clinging to a branch just below the edge.
Striker’s face was white, his eyes bright with terror as he stared back at Declan. Declan thought of Col and Johnny Briggs, who were dead, and the boy in the hospital, whoever he was, who was fighting for his life, and of all the boys in prison struggling to survive. We deserve more, he thought.
Declan threw himself across the ground and reached for Striker. ‘Take my hand!’
Striker was straining with the effort of holding onto the branch.
‘Take his hand!’ shouted Seamus, lying beside Declan.
Striker shook his head.
It’s as if he wants to die, thought Declan. As if he’s given up. ‘Come on, Striker.’
‘Let me go,’ said Striker. ‘I don’t need another seven years in this hell.’
‘Take my damn hand,’ said Seamus, reaching for Striker.
Striker let go of the branch with one hand and Declan and Seamus grabbed hold of him. Together Declan, Danny and Seamus dragged Striker up over the cliff’s edge. The four lay in an exhausted heap.
At that moment, Michael appeared running through the trees with two guards. ‘Declan! What’s going on?’ he shouted.
‘I found Danny, sir!’ Declan shouted back, clambering to his feet.
But as he stepped towards his master, he felt someone knock him to the ground from behind.
Before Seamus or Danny had time to stop him, Striker dragged Declan to the cliff. Declan struggled against Striker’s hold, dimly aware of the guards running towards him, of Michael shouting, of the ocean behind him.
‘Your turn, Irish,’ the older boy said cruelly. Striker tried to push Declan over the edge, his hands on Declan’s shoulders. As Declan pushed back against him, he looked down at the sea crashing against the rocks below. His feet were losing their grip; Striker was strong. Declan was so close to the edge, he could hear the wind in his ears, taste the salt in his mouth from the water below.
Suddenly Declan heard his mother’s voice in his ears. ‘Promise me, Declan, promise me.’
With all his strength Declan pushed Striker and swung him around so his back was to the waves. Striker stumbled – and fell.
‘No!’ shouted Declan as he heard Striker scream.
‘Away from there!’ Michael shouted. ‘All of you!’
Declan stood at the cliff’s edge, too shocked to speak. Striker had fallen; this time to his death.
Declan only came to his senses when he saw the guards trying to drag Danny away. ‘No! Not Danny! Let him go!’
‘Leave that boy!’ Michael shouted. ‘He is in my care.’
‘And who are you?’ sneered one of them as Danny squirmed in their grasp.
‘I’m their guardian. And these two almost died defending themselves from that bully. The one who fell is the one you should have locked away.’
The guards, mouths agape, released Danny.
Declan looked to Michael. ‘We belong with him now,’ he told Danny.
‘Belong with who?’ asked Danny, confused.
‘With Mr Fitzpatrick. Michael.’ He looked towards the older man. ‘He is our new master.’
‘But you are no longer prisoners,’ said Michael. ‘You will work for me on my farm as free men.’
‘Mother of God,’ said Danny, amazed. ‘Is he Jesus?’
‘Not Jesus,’ said Michael, grinning. ‘Unless Jesus was a hard workin’ Irishman. Come with me, you lot.’
‘Yes, sir,’ answered Danny and Seamus.
But still Declan couldn’t seem to move from the cliff, as if Striker’s death held him spellbound.
‘Time to go, Dec,’ said Danny.
Seamus placed his hand on Declan’s shoulder. ‘You didn’t have a choice, Declan.’
Declan knew that Seamus was right, but still his heart was heavy and he felt sad. He had seen too much death. Poor Col . . .
As Declan looked out at the endless moving sea, a picture of Harry, the small boy he had saved from the river, came to him. Declan thought, then, of Harry’s sister, Hilda, of his kind new master, of sweet May and Violet, and of the gardens full of flowers and fruit he was helping to grow at Kilcullen Park. And beautiful Kilcullen Park itself, like a piece of home. He realised that the heat of anger was no longer in him, like a fire that had burnt out.
Maybe Seamus was right – maybe he didn’t have a choice about Striker. Perhaps it was always going to end that way. But there are plenty of things I do have a choice about, he thought.
‘Coming?’ Danny asked.
‘Coming,’ Declan answered, stepping back from the cliff. Then he turned and walked with his family through the trees that had always brought him so much peace, away from the prison forever.
My mum and dad came from faraway countries when they were children. They weren't convicts like Declan; their parents had come looking for a fresh start in a new land.
When I was Declan’s age I lived on a farm in New South Wales, a long way from Van Diemen’s Land. I loved exploring our property and the feeling of freedom it gave me; swimming in the dams, making shelters in the tree belts that bordered the paddocks, and galloping my horse along the dirt roads.
I didn’t see Tasmania until I was an adult visiting Port Arthur for the first time. It was surrounded by beautiful trees and sea, but to me it seemed haunted. I wondered about the convicts who built the settlement there, and I hoped that they had been able to make fresh starts in a place far from home.
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First published by Penguin Group (Australia), 2014
This digital edition published by Penguin Group (Asutralia), 2014
Text copyright © Sofie Laguna, 2014
Illustrations copyright © Guy Sheild, 2014
The moral right of the author and illustrator have been asserted. All rights reserved.
Cover and internal design by Tony Palmer copyright © Penguin Group (Australia)
Colour separation by Splitting Image Colour Studio, Clayton, Victoria
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ISBN 978-1-74253-849-5
THE BEGINNING
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