“How did you fare, Mr. Wentworth?” asked Major Ross, who had listened without a word.
“Unpleasantly, but at least I could get up on deck. After the MacArthurs left I was able to put my woman in their cabin—a vast improvement for her.” He looked suddenly nasty. “I have important relatives in England, and I have written to demand that Trail be made to answer for his crimes when Neptune gets home.”
“Do not hope for it,” said Captain George Johnston. “Lord Penrhyn and the slaving group carry more weight in the parliament than a dozen dukes and earls.”
“Tell me more about what happened to these poor wretches at Port Jackson, Mr. Murray,” Major Ross commanded.
“His Excellency the Governor ordered a huge pit dug well out of town,” Murray went on, “and there the dead were placed for Mr. Johnson to conduct a funeral service. A dear man, Mr. Johnson—he was very good to those who still lived, brave in going below Neptune’s deck to fetch men out, and tender in his last rites. But the pit cannot be closed. The corpses have been piled over with rocks so that the natives’ dogs cannot get at them—they will scavenge anything—and bodies were still going into it when Surprize sailed for Norfolk Island. Men were still dying by the score. Governor Phillip is beside himself with grief and anger. We carry a letter from him to Lord Sydney, but I fear ’twill not reach the Home Department before the next lot of convicts are sent—under the same slave contractors and on the same terms. Paid in advance to deliver corpses to Port Jackson.”
“Trail liked to see everybody die early,” said Wentworth. “Neptune lost soldiers too.”
“I take it that most of the thousand-odd aboard Neptune, Surprize and Scarborough were male convicts?” asked Ross.
“Aye, there were but a handful of women, in Neptune, in that filthy corridor. The women were sent earlier in Lady Juliana.”
“What was their fate?” asked Ross grimly, seeing in his mind’s eye 157 walking skeletons being landed at perilous Cascade.
“Oh,” said Surgeon Murray, brightening, “they fared very well! Mr. Richards—he who contracted for your fleet—victualled Lady Juliana. The worst one can say about that ship is that her crew—she carried no troops—had as good a time as they would have in a rum distillery. A cargo of women? Little wonder that her passage out was exceeding slow.”
“We can be thankful for small mercies, it seems,” said Ross. “No doubt our midwives will shortly be busy.”
“Aye, some are with child. Some already have babes.”
“What of the forty-seven men? Are they old Port Jackson men, or are they off these ships from Hell?”
“New arrivals, but the very best of them. Which is not saying much. But at least none is mad and all can keep food down.”
The local rum was in evidence, but from the beginning canny Robert Ross had disguised it by mixing it with better spirit and calling it “Rio rum.” He was also stockpiling Richard’s product in empty oaken casks adulterated by some good Bristol rum off Justinian to see what happened when it aged a little. This cache he, Lieutenant Clark and Richard had hidden in a dry place where no one would find it. The still would continue until he had 2,000 gallons—by which time, he estimated, both the supply of sugar-cane and casks would be exhausted. Then he would dismantle the apparatus and give it to Morgan to hide. Conscience appeased, he made a mental resolution to use the bit of barley the island managed to grow to make small beer; Justinian had brought hops among its cargo. That way even the convicts would occasionally get something better than water to drink.
Jesus Christ, what kind of trade was this one in convicted men and women? Handed by the King’s own government to worms and snakes. He had hanged men and he had flogged men, but he had fed them and cared for them too. Does Arthur Phillip realize yet that the wickedness of slavers has saved him from starvation a second time within a twelvemonth? What would have happened if all the 1,200 convicts who arrived in June had been landed in as good a condition as those off our own fleet? Minus Guardian, what food Justinian carried would have lasted scant weeks. God has saved New South Wales through the agency of soulless slavers. But who, when God calls this debt in, will be asked to pay?
* * *
On the morning of August 10th before any convicts had been landed from Surprize, Major Ross assembled every member of his community under the Union flag and addressed them.
“Our critical situation has been alleviated by the arrival of sufficient supplies to last us for some time!” he roared. “I hereby announce that the Law Martial is repealed! Which does not mean that I grant any of ye license to run amok! I may not be able to hang, but I can still flog ye within an inch of your lives—and flog ye I will! Our population is about to increase to seven hundred and eighteen persons, and that is not a prospect can be viewed with complacency! Especially given that the new convicts are mostly women, while the few men among them are sick. Therefore the new mouths we have to feed are not attached to bodies which can do hard labor. Every hut and house will have to take one additional person, for I am not about to build a barracks for women. Only those who will act as superintendents of convicts—Mr. Donovan and Mr. Wentworth—are given dispensation in this respect. Be ye sailors, marines outside the barracks, pardoned convicts or convicts still under sentence, ye will take charge of at least one woman. Officers may participate or not, according to their choice. But I warn ye, so hear me well! I will have no woman beaten or disgraced by becoming the plaything of a number of men. I cannot stop fornication, but I will not condone conduct that brands ye as savages. Rape and other sorts of physical abuse of the women will earn ye five hundred lashes from Richardson’s meanest cat, and that goes as much for marines and sailors as it does felons.”
He paused to frown direfully at the silent ranks, eyes resting on Captain John Hunter’s smug countenance; there was one who fully understood that His Excellency’s abolition of the Law Martial gave him a great deal more latitude in defiance.
“Excluding those naval persons who do not wish to remain here and settle once Supply arrives to take them off the island, from now on I am going to thin Sydney Town out by putting as many of ye as I can onto one-acre lots, provided that ye are supporting a new man or a woman. The contents of your lots will not be subject to any Government garnish, but rather must serve to lessen your need for the Government’s stores of food. Ye are, however, at liberty to sell any surplus to the Government, and ye will be paid for all such surpluses, be ye free or felon. Those of convict status who work hard, clear their lots and sell to the Government will be freed as soon as they demonstrate their worth, just as I have already freed some of ye for good work. The Government will dower each occupant of a one-acre lot with a breeding sow and provide the services of a boar. I cannot extend this to poultry, but those of ye who can afford to purchase turkeys, chickens or ducks will be let do so as soon as poultry numbers permit.”
There were low murmurs in the crowd; some faces beamed, others glowered. Not everybody liked the idea of hard work, even in his own interests.
The Major continued. “Richard Phillimore, ye may take up one acre of the lot ye fancy around the corner to the east. Nathaniel Lucas, ye may regard the one acre behind Sydney Town whereon ye presently live as yours. John Rice, ye may take up one acre above Nat Lucas fronting on the stream which flows between the marine barracks and the inner row of houses. John Mortimer and Thomas Crowder, ye’ll go to the same locality as Rice. Richard Morgan, ye will remain on your present piece at the head of the vale. I will be notifying others as soon as Mr. Bradley gives me his plan. The crew of Sirius will go to the big clearing midway along the Cascade road. The flax workers, including the retters and weavers I believe have come in Surprize, will settle at Phillipburgh and establish a proper canvas factory there.”
Run out of things to say, he simply stopped. “Get ye gone!”
Richard returned to his sawpit up the vale, his mood a blend of exhilaration and gloom. Ross had given him his own acre right where his house stood—a wonderf
ul boon, as it was already cleared and growing. Nat Lucas and Richard Phillimore had been similarly gifted, whereas Crowder, Rice and Mortimer would have to fell trees. His gloom revolved around his solitude, which Ross definitely intended should end. Though Lawrell might occupy his own hut, Richard knew that he could not so banish a woman, any more than he could hand her over to Lawrell. Lawrell was decent enough, but would certainly expect to enjoy her body whether she wished it or not. No, the wretched creature would have to live in his house, just one largish room. That canceled his plans for the coming weekend, which had consisted of fishing with a hand-line from the rocks west of the landing place and taking a long walk with Stephen. Instead, he would have to start adding a new room onto his house for the female. Johnny Livingstone, wise enough not to ask why he needed one, had built him a sled on smooth runners to which he could attach himself by canvas harness and draw like a horse. He had needed it to cart the ingredients for mash to the distillery, deeming that a task only he should perform, and under darkness. It held about as much as a good big handcart, and it was invaluable. Now he would have to use it to lump stone from the quarry for more foundation piers. Damn all women!
This being winter, the senior officers messed together at one o’clock for the hot main meal of their day, and did so with Major Ross in the dining room of Government House. Mrs. Morgan, as Lizzie Lock insisted upon being called, was a superb cook now she had a few ingredients. Today she served roast pork in honor of the arrival of Surprize and Justinian, though no officers from either ship had been invited to eat it any more than had Messrs. Donovan, Wentworth and Murray. Lieutenant Ralph Clark was not present either; he had taken Little John to dine with Messrs. Donovan, Wentworth and Murray. His own table was notoriously meager, had been ever since the voyage from England. When it came to spending his own money, Clark, whose circumstances were financially shortened, was extremely frugal. Nor was Lieutenant Robert Kellow present; he was still in Coventry after fighting a ridiculous duel with Lieutenant Faddy.
Present were Major Robert Ross, Captain John Hunter, Captain George Johnston, Lieutenant John Johnstone and, alas, that shocking gossip, Lieutenant William Faddy.
The Major served a before-dinner drink of “Rio rum,” reserving the bottle of port Captain Maitland of Justinian had given him for an after-dinner tipple. The meal was a little long in coming; the Major served a second before-dinner drink. So when they sat down to do justice to Mrs. Morgan’s haunch of pork, its skin beautifully crackled, the gravy delicious and the roast potatoes perfectly crusted with meat juices, the five men were a little too light-headed to banish the effects of the rum by eating; a situation not helped because more rum accompanied the feast.
“I see ye’ve replaced Clark as head of Government Stores,” said Hunter, finishing off the last of his baked rice pudding, swimming in treacle.
“Lieutenant Clark has better things to do than count up numbers on his fingers,” said Ross, chin shining with crackling fat. “His Excellency sent me Freeman to be of use, and I will use him thus. I need Clark to superintend the building of Charlotte Field.”
Hunter stiffened. “Which reminds me,” he said, voice quiet, “that during your memorable address this morning, ye implied that my seamen are to be moved out of Sydney Town—along the Cascade road, I think ye put it.”
“I did.” Ross wiped his chin with one of the napkins dear Mrs. Morgan had hemmed out of an old linen tablecloth—a gem of a woman! What had possessed Richard Morgan to repudiate her, Ross could not guess with certainty, but he suspected it had to do with activities in bed, for Morgan had been right: she was definitely not a temptress. Folding the napkin, Ross looked straight at Hunter, sitting at the far end of the table.
“What of it?” he asked.
“Ye’re not the Lord High Executioner any longer, Ross, so what gives ye the right to make decisions about my crew?”
“I am still the Lieutenant-Governor, I believe. Therefore it is my right to shift pillars to posts and the Royal Navy to the Cascade road. With a half plus one hundred women about to descend upon us, I do not want Sydney Town crawling with ruffians who will not work yet expect to be fed.”
Hunter shoved his pudding plate aside with a force that toppled his empty rum mug and leaned forward, the bases of his palms against the edge of the table. “I have had enough!” he shouted, lifted one hand and banged it down. “Ye’re a perfidious dictator, Ross, and so I will inform the Governor when I return to Port Jackson! Ye’ve hanged my men, ye’ve flogged my men, and I curse ye for it! Ye’ve made seamen of the Royal Navy work at tasks I’d not give to Judas Iscariot—gathering flax, risking their lives moving stones on the reef”—he rose to his feet, glaring at Ross with teeth bared—“and what is more, ye’ve enjoyed every minute of your Law Martial!”
“I have indeed,” said Ross with deceptive affability. “ ’Tis wonderful good for my liver and lights to watch the Navy work for a change.”
“I tell ye now, Major Ross, ye’ll not banish my men!”
“Fuck I won’t!” Ross got up, eyes blazing. “I have suffered ye and your privileged lot for five months—and from the sound of it, I have to keep suffering ye for the next six months! Well, not at close quarters! You Royal Navy bastards think ye’re the lords of creation, but ye’re not! Not here, at any rate. Here ye’re a pack of leeches sucking blood out of other persons. But here there is a marine in charge—this marine! Ye’ll do as ye’re told, Hunter, and that is the end of it! I care not if ye bugger every ship’s boy silly, but ye’ll not continue to do it close enough to me to smell the farts! Go and push your turds on the Cascade road!”
“I’ll have ye court martialed, Ross! I’ll have ye recalled to Port Jackson in disgrace and sent home on the first ship!”
“Try, ye pathetic old shirt-lifter! But remember that I am not the one lost his command! And if ye’ve hied me to England for court martial, I will be there to testify that ye took no notice of those present in this island who could have told ye how not to lose your ship!” roared Ross. “The truth is, Hunter, that ye could not navigate a barge between Woolwich and Tilbury if ye were being towed!”
Face purple, Hunter sucked the flecks of foam from the corners of his mouth with a hiss. “Pistols,” he said, “tomorrow at dawn.”
The Major burst into laughter. “In a pig’s eye!” he said. “I would not so demean the Marine Corps! Fight a duel with a Miss Molly granny has one foot in the grave already? Piss off! Go on, piss off, and don’t show your face in Sydney Town while I am still Lieutenant-Governor of Norfolk Island!”
Captain Hunter turned on his heel and left.
The three witnesses looked at each other across the table, Faddy itching to make his excuses and rush off to tell Ralph Clark, John Johnstone feeling sick to his stomach, and the rapacious George Johnston conscious of a delicious well-being not entirely due to rum or Mrs. Morgan’s food. That was telling the Navy! He heartily concurred with Ross’s opinion of the Sirius crew; besides which, it devolved upon him, the only captain, to keep the enlisted marines from the seamen’s throats. Not an easy task. And how very clever the Major was, to shift a part of his problem out of Sydney Town before 157 women arrived in it.
“Faddy,” said the Major, sitting down with a sigh of satisfaction, “keep your arse on your chair. I will not order ye to keep your mouth shut because not even God Himself could do that unless He struck ye dumb. George, do the honors with the port. I’ll not let this truly memorable dinner conclude before we have drunk a loyal toast to His Majesty and the Marine Corps, which one day will be the Royal Marine Corps. Then we will have equal rank with the Navy.”
On Friday the 13th, a day so inauspicious that the entire community shivered with superstitious fear, the female convicts began to be disembarked from Surprize at Cascade, for the wind stubbornly refused to shift out of the south.
Though he had ten sawpits working these days and Ralph Clark wanted one at Charlotte Field together with a team of carpenters—Ross was anxious to
get the settlement there up and running to have yet more land to grow grain—Richard still sawed himself, and still with Private Billy Wigfall. But early on Friday the 13th he was obliged to report to Major Ross that he could not persuade one man to saw on such an unlucky day.
“The thing is, sir, that were I to summon Richardson and his cat they would work, but in such a pother that there would be accidents. I cannot run the risk of having men incapacitated by injuries when we have to saw timber for so many new settlements,” Richard explained.
“Some things,” said Ross, a trifle fearful of the omens himself, “cannot be resisted. I shall give everybody the day off. They will have to work tomorrow instead. Incidentally, I have forbidden all convicts to walk to Cascade today in search of likely women.” He grinned mirthlessly. “I also told them that if they defied me and did try, they would be bound to pick the wrong ones on Friday the thirteenth. However, the useless creatures will have to be helped ashore and up to the top of the climb, and as I have also ordered my marines to stay away, that leaves the field to Sirius’s sailors.” This put a little genuine amusement into his smile. “However, I want someone there to report back to me on the conduct of Sirius’s sailors, most of whom came into the world without benefit of father or mother. Ye can accompany Mr. Donovan and Mr. Wentworth, Morgan.”
The three men set off at eight in the morning, in the best of spirits despite the date. Stephen and D’arcy Wentworth got on together famously; like Richard, Wentworth was too sensible a man to condemn a man for being a Miss Molly. The pair also shared certain characteristics, particularly a zest for new places and adventures, and both were very well read. The sea had provided an outlet for Stephen’s desire for action, whereas Wentworth had experienced the call of the road and been apprehended and tried on several occasions for highway robbery. Only those important relatives had gotten him off, but even family patience can eventually erode; having dabbled in medicine when he was not holding up coaches, Wentworth was told to take himself off to New South Wales and never come back. The lure was a small income payable only in New South Wales.
Morgan's Run Page 60
