His ruminations were interrupted by the ship’s master, calling on us to shorten our sails. The ship anchored. Our work done, Richard and I were escorted back to our cell to await the morning. I drifted off to sleep full of curiosity for this strange new land.
We woke in sharp sunlight to the cries of unfamiliar voices.
‘Who has come?’
‘Who brings letters?’
‘Who hails from Somerset?’
The names of any one of twenty other towns or counties were called out. The Euphrates was surrounded by little boats, each with two or three occupants. After six months passed among the same faces it was strange to see so many new ones. Casewell leaned over the side of the ship, accompanied by marines.
‘Be off with you all, before I order my men to open fire.’
Bright and early the Euphrates was boarded by a Naval officer and surgeon. They marched past our cell, inspecting the ship and its passengers for any sign of disease. Much to my surprise, it was announced that the Governor of the colony, His Excellency Philip Gidley King, was to come aboard.
A tall, noble-looking man, with the hint of a Cornish accent, he talked to us with genuine concern. He was obviously a decent fellow, if a little worn down with the cares of the world. He seemed interested to know if our journey had been a good one, and whether any of us prisoners had any complaint against the men and officers of the ship.
As we prepared to go ashore, Captain Casewell came over to Richard and me. He quietly gave us each a small bag of coins. ‘I couldn’t let your efforts go without reward boys,’ he said. ‘It’s not much, but it’ll start you off.’ We had some money, of course, carefully hoarded throughout the voyage, but this was a welcome addition.
We were taken by boat to a supply ship over the bay. As we left the Euphrates I noticed goods from England piled up on the deck ready for unloading. There were boxes of nails, perhaps hundreds of thousands of them, axes piled in bundles, women’s petticoats, leather shoes and even a printing press. We were importing our civilisation to this untamed land, lock, stock and barrel.
Once aboard the supply ship we washed ourselves and were given new clothes. Then we were taken to the shore. Milling around on the quayside was a large crowd of men, women and children curious to see who would be joining them. I expected to see a collection of sickly, ragged scarecrows, but I was wrong. They were a brown and weather-beaten lot for landlubbers, but they seemed to be in good health and looked well fed. Their clothes were no better or worse than those you would see in any English town.
As we grew nearer, the cries began again.
‘Who is from London?’
‘Who is from Lancaster?’
‘Does any man have news of William Sharrock?’
Most often of all: ‘Who has letters?’
This was what exile did. Left you desperate for news of home. Now, all of a sudden, I felt desolate and very far from Norfolk.
Our boat pulled up to the quay and we were hustled ashore, placing our feet on dry land for the first time in maybe seven months. It was a peculiar experience, especially for those among us who had never been to sea before. Some of them staggered around as if drunk, and could not stop themselves swaying. Some were so befuddled by the change they began to vomit.
As we assembled on the quay, a strange ritual was being enacted on the other side of the harbour, where women from one of the other convict ships were disembarking. They were lined up along the waterside, and hundreds of men flocked to see them. The bolder among them would approach a girl and then drop a handker chief at her feet. If she picked it up, he would take her off with him.
‘That’s what passes for courtship round here,’ said Joseph Swales, who had come to the quay with Daniel, Richard and I. ‘The finest women have already been picked up by the officers and officials on board. They’ll have taken them as housekeepers and nurses for their children, but it’s always the prettiest that get chosen rather than the sturdiest and soberest. Then six months later, half of them are with child and get cast out into the street to fend for themselves.’
If it was true, then Sydney was a place where those who held power could be just as wicked as the villains they were charged to mind.
Those of us from the Euphrates were marched up a small hill. We assembled in a courtyard in front of the Governor’s office and were surrounded by ranks of marines. Away from the cooling breeze of the bay the sun burned fiercely on our heads. Governor King appeared with another official who proceeded to give us a well-rehearsed sermon.
‘Many of you here will be feeling a deep sense of melancholy as you contemplate your exile from family and friends in your homeland. But, although it may not seem like it at the moment, your first day here in the colony is the start of a considerable opportunity. Sydney is not a prison, it is a town. You may come and go within its boundaries, conditional upon your duties, and with some degree of freedom. Instead of walls and bars you have the forest and ocean to keep you here. Sharks patrol the seas around you and any man foolish enough to venture into the bush that surrounds our enclave will soon die of thirst and hunger. The natives are out there waiting with their spears to kill and eat you.’
I heard Swales snort to himself. ‘Now that’s a pretty tale,’ he said quietly. ‘I never heard of no native eatin’ one of us.’
I strained to hear the rest of the speech. ‘Any man who can call himself a craftsman or has skills that constitute a trade may step forward now and declare himself.’
This was the moment we had been waiting for. Captain Casewell had spoken of it to Doctor Dan, and we were well prepared for what would happen next. Dan, Richard and I stood forward. So did several other men from the Euphrates who had been carpenters, blacksmiths, wainwrights and the like. We were ushered into a side room in the barracks by the house.
As we walked away I heard the speaker continue, ‘Some of you here will be assigned to work on the farms of officers, government officials and free settlers. They will provide you with shelter and sustenance. Some of you will also work for your new masters as servants.’
I felt a surge of pity for the men we were leaving behind. Swales had told me how some masters were kind but most were heartless, treating their men and women as little better than slaves. He knew of one fellow from his time before here, who served out his seven-year sentence on a farm. The man was from Somerset and well used to agricultural work, unlike many of the other convicts, most of whom were townies from London or Lancashire. As this man’s sentence came to an end he was told he would be given his own plot of land to farm. The master didn’t want to lose this man so he accused him of theft, almost on his last day. He was flogged and sentenced to a further seven years’ labour on the farm. The story took an even darker turn when the man murdered his master and went on the run. By the time they caught him he had killed two of his pursuers.
‘Hung he was,’ said Swales, ‘on the edge of town, overlooking the fields he should have been farming for himself. You keep out of any assignments with farmers, boys. They’ll feed you gruel and work you to death.’
My thoughts were interrupted by a marine calling me into a small room with a desk on which was placed a large leather-bound ledger. Behind it sat a slight, bespectacled young man two or three years older than me. He had about him a raffish air and seemed faintly amused by the whole proceedings. His hands were so soft he had obviously never done a day’s hard work in his life. We were left alone. He nodded at me to sit and gave a friendly smile.
‘So, my friend, what’s your line of business?’
I recognised that accent at once. Ordinarily, I would not be so forward with officials but this fellow invited an easy intimacy. ‘You’re from Norwich, aren’t you,’ I said with a grin.
‘I certainly am, sir,’ he laughed. ‘James Lyons at your service. And whereabouts in Norfolk might you be from?’
I was taken aback. I had expected a stern officer accompanied by an even sterner marine, ready to enter me into a muster book with sca
nt ceremony. Certainly not this good-natured fellow.
We went through the usual questions, date and place of birth, previous occupation. James was most interested in the fact that I could read and write.
‘Now I need to ask you the date of your trial, the nature of your offence and the length of your sentence.’
I told him. ‘April of this year. Cowardice. Death commuted to a life sentence of transportation.’ I thought to myself, ‘What a story.’
Rather than writing this all down, James pulled his seat forward and leaned closer. ‘Did you know the Euphrates arrived with no record of the crimes and sentences of its convicts?’
I was astounded. Then I felt despair sweep over me for giving so much away.
James could tell what I was thinking. ‘Let’s ask these questions again, shall we? But before we proceed, I have to tell you there’ll be an administrative fee for the processing of the records.’ He was still smiling, but his manner had turned more weaselly. Perhaps he was not quite as nice as I had thought.
‘Er … What sort of fee would we be looking at?’ I said, searching his face for any clue.
His mouth turned down, revealing his teeth as he sucked in air sharply. ‘Hmmm. From life to seven years. Can’t do you any less than that, but you’ll have prospects when you’re done. Especially as you’ve a trade in your sailing skills, and you can read and write. What’s that worth, Sam?’
I resented his familiar manner, but he was offering me an extraordinary opportunity. My mind raced with fear and excitement. Could I trust him? What if I said the wrong thing and he changed his mind about helping me? What if he was found out? But then, when would I have another opportunity like this? I reached for my mother’s ring on the ribbon around my neck and placed it on the table.
‘Oh, no,’ he said in an oddly patient way, and shook his head. ‘That’s quite inappropriate.’
I began to panic. Was it not enough? It was the most valuable thing I owned.
‘I’m just looking for a few shillings, you dolt. You could almost buy a house for that round here.’
I couldn’t believe my luck. This James wasn’t so bad after all.
I took the ten shillings Captain Casewell had given me and placed that down on the table. James counted out seven coins and gave me back three.
‘You can buy me a beer with some of that down at the Sailor’s Arms. I’m sure to see you in there one night soon enough. It’s down by the Rocks. That’s where all of us government men live.’
‘Government men?’ I was puzzled.
‘No one likes to be called a convict round here, Sam,’ he said. ‘Best learn that right from the start.’
I was taken aback. ‘You’re a convict?’ I had expected the clerks to be marines or officials of some sort.
‘Government man. I am, yes. Now let’s see,’ he began to write in the record book. ‘Seven years, for – What d’you fancy? Banditry? Coining? Treasonable conduct? Being overfamiliar with a sheep?’ I looked horrified. He laughed. ‘Had all that lot in from one of the other boats just now. They came with their records, more’s the pity for them.’ After a brief pause he said, ‘Let’s go for theft. Most of them are here for theft, so that won’t stand out as anything unusual. Now, your next stop is the Navy office. They’re particularly keen to see fellows like you.’ He gave me directions and our meeting was over.
Richard joined me out in the sunshine. I could hardly keep the grin from my face. He seemed in good spirits too. As soon as we could talk I told him what had happened.
‘Me too, me too!’ he laughed, no longer needing to conceal his delight. ‘Thank heavens. I couldn’t have borne it if they’d not done this for you too.’
I told him about James Lyons. ‘Mine was called Randall,’ said Richard. ‘Older man than yours. Big stout fellow. Obviously keen on his spirits.’
‘How much did you have to give him?’
Richard paused. ‘He took a guinea. I told him it was all I had. The fool!’
He wasn’t so pleased when I told him James had only taken seven shillings from me. But he soon cheered up.
‘I think I’m going to like this place,’ he said as we neared the Navy office.
Chapter 9
On the Rocks
Richard and I were greeted warmly in the Navy office, and immediately set to work repairing and maintaining the colony’s vessels. ‘You won’t be doing any sailing, boys,’ said an officer tartly. ‘We don’t want you sailing off over the horizon on your own.’
As convicts, we were expected to work from daylight until three o’clock in the afternoon, Monday to Friday. Six hours on a Saturday. Sunday off. In return we were given a ration of food, clothes and paid a small sum of money. After our day’s work we could make more money hiring ourselves out to free settler and emancipists, as the ex-convicts were called.
With our wages we were to find lodgings. Before we were separated, Doctor Daniel suggested we three find a place together.
‘What’s happened to Johnny Onions?’ I asked, when we met up later that afternoon.
‘Saw him being marched off by a parson and his wife,’ said Dan. ‘Let’s hope they have better luck with him than we did.’
I felt relieved of a burden. I didn’t like Johnny, but would not have wanted to abandon him here. I hoped the parson was a good man and that he would not beat the boy too severely when his household goods started to go missing.
We went down to the Rocks, a ramshackle part of town facing over the bay, and made enquiries in the Sailor’s Arms. The landlady introduced us to one of her customers who swiftly agreed to rent us a two-room house with a small garden close to the hospital where Dan was to work. It was a humble dwelling, with a thatched roof and walls of hardened clay. But it would be enough to keep the weather out and provide us with more space and privacy than we ever had on a Navy ship. Doctor Daniel had one room, Richard and I the other. Up the road from us was a windmill. That night the sound of its flapping sails reminded me of life aboard a ship.
The paths in this part of town were too narrow for a horse and cart, and the buildings stood among dead and dying tree stumps, hastily cleared when the Rocks were first settled. The houses snaked along rock ledges and into any nook or cranny where there was a flat surface large enough to place down posts and build walls and a roof.
Along with the pub there was a bakery and other shops. There was also a ramshackle prison, recently built on the same spot as a prison which had been burned to the ground. Some of the locals had turned their own houses into little shops or drinking dens. Close to the bay were market stalls selling fruit and vegetables. The Rocks was full of people trying to make a living, honest or otherwise.
Further down from the Rocks at the southern end of the bay were government stores and houses. Here flags fluttered over barracks, a school and a church. A small shipyard nestled at the water’s edge, the skeleton of a hull propped up on the slipway, waiting for its strakes to be hammered in. Here too were the grander houses and gardens of senior officers and government officials. The Governor’s house sat at the top of a hill, looking down on the town. Further to the south, towards the outskirts of Sydney, were neatly laid out houses for soldiers with families.
It took twenty minutes to walk from the northern tip of the Rocks to the edge of town, where there were farms and fields of cultivated land. Thick green forest lurked beyond. Here also was a road leading to Parramatta, another settlement further west.
We may have been free to walk around but the threat of retribution hung heavy in the air. Floggings were frequent and our overseers were the marines and an army division called the New South Wales Corps. By the side of the Parramatta road were two sets of gallows, often with bodies left to twist in the wind. Further away from town, I heard, fear of rebellion led masters to punish the convicts who worked for them more harshly. Any answering back or neglect of duty would result in twenty-five or fifty lashes with the cat. The cats here were crueller instruments than those used in the Navy. �
��Six foot long with nine knots in each tail,’ one convict told us. ‘Each one tipped with wax. Horrible things. You can hear a man being whipped half a mile away. Stand nearby on a windy day and flesh and blood’ll fly in your face.’
But along with the daily threat of punishment, there was also some hope for a better life. Those who behaved well, and showed themselves to be reformed, could prosper. All our fellow residents on the Rocks were convicts or ex-convicts, and many of them owned the house they had built there and the little patch of land that went with it.
‘It’s a funny business here, isn’t it?’ mused Richard, after we’d been in our new home a couple of days. ‘We could just choose a patch here and put up a hut. No one to buy land off. We’d just build and have it. Imagine that – from condemned men to men of property in less than a year. Not quite the punishment the Navy had in mind.’
Being able to build your own hut was not all Sydney had to offer. We heard stories of men on the earliest fleets who had come over as convicts and now had their own thriving farms.
On our first Sunday off Richard and I set off to explore our new domain. Close to the western edge of town we spied the most extraordinary creature I had ever seen bounding through the fields. It had a face quite like a dog, but with large, pointed ears. Its trunk had two short limbs, like arms, and it stood upright on two huge and powerful hind legs. These it used with fantastic effect to bounce, rather than run, at great speed. As it leaped forward it used its long thick tail as a kind of balance to the upper part of its body.
‘Look, it’s got a head half way down its body,’ I shouted. It did too. A smaller head poked out of its belly.
‘What on earth is it?’ said Richard. It was easily the same height as the two of us, although its small mouth suggested it would not be dangerous to man. It saw us and backed away, so we moved under cover to watch it some more.
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