First Fleet

by M Howard Morgan

  Again, a slight giggle, but Jack, strangely, was drawn to the lieutenant. They were of similar age, although Dawes appeared of slighter build. He imagined him to be about 24 or 25 years of age, perhaps a year or two his senior. He had a studious expression and Jack saw that the papers on the table contained many mathematical calculations, notes, sketches and neatly drawn diagrams. A large book on astronomy was next to them.

  Dawes noted the glance and looked at the papers on the table. ‘My passion is mathematics.’ He shrugged. ‘It is the basis of all science.’ He smiled, and Jack shook his head.

  ‘Mine was law, and it is the basis of all mischief.’

  Dawes laughed again and asked, ‘Which company?’

  ‘The 55th, and yours?’

  ‘32nd, but I am to join the 11th, according to orders.’

  ‘Ah, so you have some orders.’ Jack was immediately curious.

  ‘Yes. I am to join Captain Phillip’s expedition to colonize Botany Bay. You have heard of this, have you not?’

  Indeed he had not. He of course had heard of Botany Bay, having read James Cook’s accounts of his voyages, but he had not heard of plans to form a colony there. Now he understood, his interest aroused. The broadsheet papers had been calling on the government to do something about the growing prison population, and the hulks off Portsmouth and in the Medway were adding daily to their populations. The newspapers were calling it a scandal, which it was.

  He had been out to one with John Long, a second lieutenant, only last week, delivering some wretched convicts received from Tyburn gaol to one of the hulks. He had not liked what he had seen, and his thoughts had gone to Mary, his anguish reawakened.

  It had put him in a black mood for days and again he had been troubled with renewed guilt. He had thought of Gloucester and when he might return there, knowing only that he was probably now wanted in that county, in connection with the murder of a man of the church. Probably could never return there.

  What he desired now, and as soon as possible, was an assignment to a ship, bound for the Americas, India or the Caribbean; and the chance of action and honour, and to forget his past. The expedition needed soldiers, and marines would form the garrison for the new colony. He knew that this was an opportunity for him, there had to be prospect of adventure in the south sea, and the chance to distinguish himself. He had to join that expedition. The notion of novel experiences, of lands unseen and people unknown struck a chord within him.

  Dawes talked of little else during lunch. He explained how he was to work as military surveyor and engineer in the new colony. He talked of astronomy and how he was to map the stars of the Southern Hemisphere, of the observatory that he would one day build, and of the native people there he wished to study. Dawes had the support of the Astronomer Royal.

  Jack found himself listening to this quietly spoken, slightly pious young man, who showed such passion for his subject. This was no warrior, but a scholar in a uniform, he decided.

  He learned from him that the Navy was to escort a number of ships of convicts to Botany Bay and that the marines would form their guards. Dawes did not know the strength of the guard but Jack thought a sizeable force would be required, particularly to deal with the native Indians, and to explore the hinterland of the country.

  This was a task that he would relish, and he resolved to see Major Ross that evening and seek permission to join the expedition.

  17

  Garrison

  ‘Tell me, Giles, please I beg of you, tell me what he is about.’

  Giles was as distressed as Henry. He knew only that Jack had obtained a marine’s commission from the Admiralty, but as to the division, or ship to which he may have been assigned he knew nothing. He thought that if he admitted to what he knew, Jack would be traced, brought back probably under arrest, to face an ignominious trial and suffer sentence of death. He decided, for better or worse, to keep his own counsel.

  ‘I am very sorry, Henry, but he never took me into his confidence. I can only imagine he has fled to the continent, or perhaps in truth he has joined the Navy. It looks bad for him, does it not?’

  ‘It does, Giles, it does. I cannot help thinking that Jack knows something of this awful business. It seems to me a remarkable coincidence that Barnwood should pass on in his sleep, on the very day that Jack leaves us. He wanted him dead you know, Giles. He really had hate in his heart. I truly fear the worst. I cannot believe that he too has gone.’

  Henry’s tremulous voice betrayed the emotion he was feeling, his shoulders sagged and tears formed in the corners of his eyes. He blew his nose loudly, to cover his face. Giles was lost for some words to comfort him.

  They were sitting in the drawing room at Lampern House. They had eaten a simple supper of cold meat pie, bread and cheese, Henry eating with little appetite. Giles and Henry had again talked of the time that Eliza Clutterbuck had found Barnwood dead in his room. She had not found him until nearly mid-day, thinking it strange that he had not risen to visit the mill, as he often did. Giles learned later that young Tom Clutterbuck was missing but had not thought there was any connection between the two.

  He worried for his friend. Although Doctor Steele had not suggested any foul play, Giles could not help feeling that Jack was in some way implicated, had perpetrated an awful deed. He also knew of his friend’s threat. His thoughts went to the night he tried to follow Jack, still puzzled and offended that Jack had evaded him.

  The kindly doctor had also let slip that Barnwood had contracted a disease, some unpronounceable Latin term, but what Giles would term a dose.

  He thought Jack would have headed south and probably to Plymouth, or possibly to London and from there, to Chatham. He resolved to travel to Plymouth to seek out his friend, but gave no voice to his thoughts.

  ‘I rather suspect that he has gone in search of his brother. They were quite close, of course.’ He spoke quietly.

  ‘Then I will pray that they find each other.’ Henry whispered.

  Giles had seen the coldness in Jack’s face when he had left the court. He was now certain that his friend had been involved in the demise of the cleric in some way. He would have to see Mary, to see if he had said anything to her before leaving.

  The curious thing was the disappearance of young Tom. His grandmother had reported that his meagre possessions had gone and suddenly he understood. They had left together. The boy was a younger version of Jack; he was quick-witted, spirited and always in one scrape or another. He was just the kind of lad to be tempted, and lured, by tales of adventure and fighting the King’s enemies. That is it, he thought. By God yes!

  Henry sat quiet for a long time. His eyes fixed on the portrait on the wall. Giles could offer no comfort to this caring, generous, but now senescent man, and thought he looked his age today. He rose from the armchair putting a reassuring hand on the older man’s shoulder then left him to his melancholy thoughts.

  THE MESS WAS NEAR FULL that evening. Jack attired himself in dress uniform, as required by daily orders, as dinner was a formal affair in honour of Colonel Wilde who was retiring. Groups of officers stood in animated conversation. The scarlet of the Corps dominated, with the occasional dark blue of Naval coats.

  A mess servant served him a glass of sherry wine. He wondered idly if it was from Harvey’s warehouse in Bristol. Taking a sip, he gazed around the room and saw Major Ross by the fireplace, talking to Lieutenant Dawes, and strode across to join them.

  ‘Good evening, sir. I wondered if I might please have a moment of your time?’

  ‘What is it, Vizzard?’ The intrusion irritated Ross, his eyes unfriendly.

  Dawes made an excuse and made for another group of officers.

  ‘My orders, sir. I have yet to receive any, and now understand that you might be commanding a certain expedition. I believe I would be interested in volunteering, sir.’

  ‘The damned sergeants’ been talking out of turn again have they? Big mistake this, Vizzard; didn’t want the commission, don
’t mind telling you that. It is doomed to failure. The Corps will do their duty of course, the best men for the task and I will prove it, but the venture is foolhardy and will fail, for the purpose is flawed. Have no part in it laddie – nursemaid to the dregs of society! Marines to provide escort duty; to guard thieves, cutpurses, cheats, liars and murderers? I tell you, forget the whole business.’

  Ross was belligerent at the best of times, and his present demeanour showed his contempt for his current orders. He did want promotion however, and substantive promotion; that is why he had in fact sought the commission. He had immense pride in his Corps, knew the men he commanded were superior to the scum of the army; Colonel Robert Ross would sound more impressive, his own independent command. Every officer ached for that, and he had need of the pay. Lieutenant Governor of a new colony; that would impress too. His was an extended family, with constant demands on his resources. He took a large mouthful of wine, emptying the glass, and waving to a mess servant.

  He had seen action at Louisburg, Quebec and had been at Bunker Hill. This was not his idea of an honourable commission, even though he was to be Lieutenant - Governor and commander of the new garrison at Botany Bay. The rank had attracted him, that and the prospect of substantive promotion on return to England, dispensing with a brevet rank. He considered it beneath him to provide guard duty to miserable convicts, transported to the other side of the globe, because England had too many criminals.

  ‘No, sir, with respect this is important to me. I would consider it a personal honour to have your support to join this expedition. I am confident that I could be of service.’ Jack had no patron in the Corps and Ross, as garrison commander, was likely to be a man of influence.

  He did not know Ross was to be commissioned Lieutenant Governor of the new colony. There was surely to be some action and the chance of distinction. The voyage would be an adventure itself, he thought. No ships had travelled so far, not since the days of James Cook.

  ‘Your enthusiasm at least, does you some credit, Vizzard. I will consider your application and let you know when I have done so. However, you would be well advised to think again. There will be honour for the Corps only in this, none for mere subalterns. Now excuse me but I have to speak to the Colonel.’

  Jack was considering Ross’s words as another officer caught his arm and interrupted his thinking.

  ‘Now, Jack, what are you about, hmm. Didn’t have you marked as a toady to the Major!’ He grinned at Jack’s reproachful expression. ‘Sergeant Packer tells me that you might accompany me on the morrow for a little press duty. What do you say?’

  John Long was a second lieutenant in the 55th Company. An experienced officer, Long had already impressed Jack with his capabilities as an organizer. He had been surprised to learn that he had instructions to assist the Navy in recruiting more hands and had agreed to take a section of men to assist a young midshipman in seeking some able seamen.

  ‘Of course, be delighted to help.’ He replied.

  ‘I propose to visit The Duke of Clarence with young Ferguson, catch ‘em early afore the buggers are out of their beds, what!’

  ‘In that case we had better not be drunk ourselves, John.’

  ‘Good, I’ve given orders to that boy of yours to call you at five o’clock and we’ll meet the Navy there at a quarter to six. Should have some sport, heh?’

  Jack felt a moment of anxiety. Still, he thought, why not. It may be a problem for the Navy, but we are part of the Admiralty, part of the Navy, so such duty is to be expected.

  They enjoyed a good dinner of roast beef and guinea fowl, followed with a plum pudding and a custard sauce. Poker-faced mess servants served the wine generously. Jack was looking at the regiment’s crest, displayed on the wall above the fireplace. A laurel wreath and the Admiralty fouled anchor. Beneath the wreath and anchor, the regiment’s motto; ‘per mare per terram.’ By sea and by land. He knew that the Corps had first used that following Bunker Hill, during the war in America. He felt proud to belong.

  Several places away, on the opposite side of the long table, Major Ross was discoursing to anyone prepared to listen of his experiences at Bunker Hill. Jack tried to listen, but was too distant to hear it all.

  ‘Bloody disaster ‘twas. Shameful, if ye ask me. Never should have attacked at all, least not against tha’ bloody hill. Breeds Hill it were, not Bunker Hill, but nae bugger would listen. Clinton was right, and I was right, but my lads were ripped to pieces by them bloody rebels.’ He rambled on, becoming more incoherent with every glass that emptied swiftly, as he talked.

  ‘Lost over a thousand men that afternoon, one thousand bloody corpses. Grenadiers and Light Infantry of course but they murdered my marines.’ He was flushed with wine, but enjoyed the attention of a small audience of younger officers. ‘I told they damned popinjays to land my marines to the north side of the neck, then we could ‘ave taken the buggers from the rear, but nay, bloody Navy landed us at the bloody tip and so we had tae march in ranks up the bloody hill, like the Duke of York’s toy soldiers!’ Ross looked grim as he recounted his story.

  ‘Three times we attacked, each time a slaughter. I was one of the first into their redoubt of course; ‘bayonet the Yankee bastards’, I yelled – and we did. Needed some leadership, and that’s why I was given credit by General Howe. Poor bastards dinnae have a chance once we were in among ‘em. Run out of powder and ball, ye see. Fought like tigers with anything they could; rocks, sticks and rifle butts. But we had ‘em, got them running all the way back to Cambridge.’ He stretched back in his chair, waiting for favourable comment at his story.

  About him faces showed a mixture of expressions; some looked in awe, others with embarrassment. Jack, sitting several places away, could hear little of the Major’s words, but thought he was drinking too much, and was too showy, simply seeking attention to his own part in the action.

  After the loyal toast, a naval commander, seated on the other side of the table, asked if he was the same Captain Ross involved in the surrender of Ardent, a frigate captured just off Plymouth in ’79.

  The question was barbed with menace and those officers closest recognised it as such. They fell silent as Ross crimsoned with obvious restrained anger.

  ‘I was present, sir, on that occasion, yes!’ He snapped curtly.

  ‘Her captain was court-martialled for that, Major Ross. The Navy was dishonoured that day.’ The young officer spoke with a dangerous softness, his eyes levelled calmly at Major Ross.

  ‘Indeed, sir? It appeared to me the ship, with a raw crew, fresh out of port, and the overwhelming size of the French squadron, the captain had no alternative but to strike his colours.’ Ross had coloured further, troubled by the direction of the conversation.

  ‘There were rumours at the time, as I recall, that it was not the captain that ordered the colours be struck, but a marine officer.’ The young commander continued.

  Ross spluttered. ‘What the devil are you suggesting, sir?

  ‘I am suggesting, sir, that you, or an officer acting under your command, ordered the colours be struck, thereby bringing dishonour on the Navy, sir!’ The commander was now intent on attacking Ross, and oblivious to the consequences.

  ‘That’s a lie and a slur, sir. I demand you retract immediately or I will hear from your seconds.’ Ross was on his feet, his eyes bulging in their sockets.

  ‘With the greatest of pleasure, Major Ross, with the greatest of pleasure.’

  The entire room fell silent, watching with expectation at the confrontation between the two men.

  Colonel Daniel Wilde rose and signalled the two officers to sit. ‘Gentlemen, gentlemen please, enough of this nonsense. I will not have this. No officer of the Corps will indulge themselves in duelling, whatever the provocation.’ He said pointedly, glancing at the young commander. ‘As I understand it, this matter was dealt with at court martial and Major Ross was not required to answer any charge.’ The room was silently watching the drama.

  The Naval
officer was not to be silenced so quickly or easily. ‘That is as may be Colonel, but it is well known to those on board the Ardent what the truth of the matter is. I do not speak lightly.’

  ‘Sir, in the heat of battle many things may be said or done that later, in the calm of the day, may be regretted. However, I cannot have two senior officers behaving in this fashion in my mess. May I suggest you withdraw the imputation and Major Ross will withdraw his demand for the opportunity to draw his sword.’ Colonel Wilde waited, allowing the passions to subside in both men.

  The silence hung in the room like a sea fog. Ross was breathing hard, his face reddened, and the young man in blue uniform standing poised, ready to move quickly if need be.

  Jack watched Ross carefully, as the commander, with patent reluctance, and hesitation, muttered a curt, unconvincing retraction. Ross relaxed slightly, and similarly withdrew his words, but then suddenly kicked his chair away, swung on his heel and marched from the room.

  Jack, sitting next to John Long, let out his breath slowly. ‘Well, what in God’s name was all that?’ A loud murmuring filled the room as Ross left.

  John Long leaned toward him. ‘Back in ’79 Ross was a Captain serving in the frigate Ardent. A French squadron seized her just after she left Plymouth. It was commonly told at the time that the Arden’s commander mistakenly thought he was joining an English squadron. He hauled down his colours very quickly, but at his court martial, her captain claimed that the colours were struck on the orders of an officer of marines. Ross was the only such officer on deck at the time, so it is believed, but he was never charged.’

  Long pushed his fingers through his hair and leaned back, gently rocking his chair.

  ‘The thing is, neither did he request a court martial, which many thought he should, to defend his honour. It was an ugly business, and none benefited from it. It was years ago and I wonder why that blue-coat brought it up.’