First Fleet

by M Howard Morgan

  As had been predicted, he and David Collins worked closely together. Collins had received a commission as Judge Advocate of the new colony and Jack found that increasingly he was called on to assist with drafting correspondence dealing with the supplies and the convicts selected for transportation to the new settlement.

  Collins was a good officer, and a competent administrator. He tried hard to select men with skills thought to be of use in the colony. He tried to point out in some instances, certain convict’s sentences would expire during the voyage, or shortly after arrival. He attempted to reject others that were too old, unskilled or considered beyond redemption, but often his advice, sound as it was, went ignored or rejected. London would frequently send new lists of transportees, requiring additions to the supplies, causing confusion and frustration.

  Late one afternoon, having completed yet more lists Collins announced, ‘At last, Jack. Finally, we have orders to board ship. It is time to collect your things, for we are to quit Albion’s shores at last.’

  ‘From Albion's shores, to the last southern isle, Prosperity extend, and Nature smile!’ Jack pronounced with a laugh. ‘Forgive me, sir, what I intended to say was ‘Not before time!’ Jack replied with a sense of relief. He had waited long and grown impatient to be gone.

  ‘Poetry? From my classics scholar? I fear your skills will be wasted, Mister Vizzard. Our gallant major has no need of poetry and will not thank you for it!’

  ‘Quite so, sir. I noted it from some recent pamphlet and it has stuck in my mind, as I thought it apposite to our venture. However, I will heed your advice and resist inflicting it upon Major Ross. With your leave, sir, I will see to my equipment.’

  He found Tom in the barracks receiving musketry instruction at the hands of an older marine. He gave the boy the news and left him to make ready his equipment and effects.

  Many of the officers and men at the barracks were to be part of the garrison, most having volunteered for the duty. None really knew where they were going. The officers had expectation of grants of land, alternatively promotion on completion of the commission. For the private soldier, there was little to provide comfort.

  Abraham Hands was one such marine in Jack’s company. An experienced soldier, he was thirty years old, with near fifteen of those spent in the service.

  ‘Mister Vizzard, sir, where is this ‘ere Botany Bay we’re goin’ to?’ he asked the next morning.

  ‘It’s a bloody long way away, Hands, a very long way, on the other side of the world. You worried about it are you?’ His men singled out Jack as an approachable officer who was sympathetic to their needs.

  ‘Me, sir? Nah. I ain’t got nobody but meself to worry about. Just curious like, about the place.’

  ‘Well, we really do not know much about it. Captain Cook, who found it during his first voyage to the Pacific, has described it in his journal but none have been there since that I know of. You can read about it if you wish, I have a copy of his account.’

  ‘Me, sir? God bless you, I can’t read nor write, sir. I knows how to load an’ fire my musket and kill rebels. That’s all I needs to know really.’ Abraham Hands was a simple soldier, but generally sober, kept clear of trouble and well regarded.

  ‘Look here, when we are aboard I will get the men together and I will give you a talk about Botany Bay, and our voyage there, how would that be?’

  ‘The lads would like that, sir, or some of them would, any hows.’

  Abraham Hands stiffened as Major Ross approached. ‘Right sir, thank you, sir.’ He said crisply, giving the two officers one of his smarter salutes, and marched off.

  Jack could see that Ross was looking at a paper as he walked. It crossed his mind to continue on his way to his quarters, but the expression on the Major’s face made that impossible.

  ‘Vizzard, a word if you will.’ Ross was not smiling, and he was anything but friendly.

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘It seems that you are to be favoured young man. You are to accompany us on Sirius, the flagship. What do you make of that, heh?’

  ‘I shall be most honoured, sir.’ He would have preferred not to share a ship with Ross.

  ‘Be damned if I think so. Should have you put aboard one of the transports where you could use your charm on the felons. Ensure you do your duty Vizzard, for I shall be watching out for you. Report on board 24th February. These are your orders.’ He thrust a sheet of paper at Jack and strode away in the direction of the officers’ mess, obviously intent on giving further orders to other officers.

  Jack read his orders. His appointment was as an assistant to the Judge Advocate of the new settlement for a term of three years. So indeed he would be working for Captain Collins. It was a position of some responsibility, but not a fighting job. He would be a uniformed clerk. A clerk to an officer appointed to deal with legal matters, but who had no legal training or education. He smiled to himself at the irony. We shall see what adventure there is to be had there, he thought to himself. The colony would have need for men with spirit and ability, he felt sure of it.

  20

  Sirius

  The morning of the 24th dawned cold but clear, a thin sun causing the grass to sparkle, as Jack presented himself at the assembly point as ordered. He saw Tom in the ranks of the soldiers detailed to the flagship and half-smiled. He would speak to him later and see him settled.

  The battalion’s baggage was on carts behind the men and Major Ross took them out of the barracks for the short march to The Hard where boats would take them out to Sirius and the rest of the fleet, to be their new home for the long voyage to New South Wales.

  In the cold morning, Jack’s breath formed small balloons of mist as he marched behind Ross, who at least had the comfort of a horse. He took a last look at the barracks, wondering when he would see this place again. They marched across the common towards the port with lightness in the pace of the men, anticipation amongst the ranks and for Jack, a soaring sense of an adventure beginning. The new beginning that he had longed for. He felt enormous relief. He had escaped, without the feared arrest, and God willing would be free of the risk of humiliation and prosecution. He would not have to defend himself before an English judge for his very life.

  Several men waved at ladies walking along the common heedless of the cold stares from the men-folk of the town. This was no flag-waving farewell by the populace however; Britain was not sending its men off to war, but disposing of some of its criminals, the unwanted, unskilled, disruptive members of its society. It was a thankless adventure and received appropriate inattention from the few bystanders who silently watched them march past.

  On arrival at The Hard, Midshipman Ferguson was waiting with ship’s barges and a crew of sailors to ferry the marines on board the Sirius. More boats were waiting to ferry the soldiers out to the transports, either the Lady Penrhyn or the Scarborough.

  ‘Good morning, sir.’ James Ferguson addressed Ross with a polite smile and eyes steady. He was a confident young man, and not in the least put off by the scowl Ross was wearing. Father is Lieutenant Governor of Greenwich Hospital and I already have five years sea-going experience, and a Major of marines was not that intimidating, he thought. Another year and he would have the sea time required to pass for lieutenant. Then he was firmly on the ladder reaching up for command. Not that there would be the prospect of a promotion board on this commission he knew. There were only two Captains in the expedition and precious chance of sitting his examination until the colony was established, with a full complement of officers.

  ‘Are you ready to get us out there?’ Ross pointed to the flagship. He was anxious to be going.

  ‘Aye aye, sir. Ready as ever.’

  ‘Then let’s be about our business, Mister Ferguson.’

  The marines trooped onto the barges and the midshipman and the mates pulled away smartly out into the harbour facing a long pull to the Motherbank.

  Jack grinned as Ferguson gave him a wink, Major Ross looking intently at Si
rius as she rose and fell on the gentle swell, the growing sun dancing across the waters.

  As the senior officer of the detachment, Ross was the last to scramble aboard.

  Lieutenant Philip King greeted him. ‘Welcome aboard, Major Ross. Philip King, sir. I am the second lieutenant, sir. Mister Bradley, the first, is below with the captain. Delighted to have you and your men with us at last.’

  King was a Cornishman, born in Launceston and an officer with already some eighteen years experience. ‘Ferguson will show you to your quarters, sir.’

  Ross muttered an acknowledgement and made for the companionway.

  Jack, following behind, looked at Lieutenant King. ‘Good morning. Vizzard, Jack Vizzard. She seems a fine ship, sir.’ He said looking around him.

  ‘Only a sixth rate now, Mister Vizzard. She’s five hundred and forty tonnes. She used to be the Berwick, an armed store-ship with the Company on the East Indies trade. We will have to see how she sails in deep water, but she is pretty enough I’ll grant you that. She’s a short, beamy tub of a thing, and the yard has done well to increase her cargo qualities. We need that Mister Vizzard, for I have rarely seen so much loaded aboard one of His Majesty’s ships!’

  ‘She looks big enough to me.’ Jack replied. ‘But then, this is my first ship.’

  ‘In that case you had better follow me and I will show you around.’ King was a cheerful, kindly man of about thirty years, and of a benevolent nature. Small, pale blue eyes were set in a somewhat rounded but fresh, tanned and handsome face. He wore his hair short and his uniform hung loosely on his shoulders. He moved slowly, stooping between the decks, as he pointed out the various parts of the ship.

  Jack followed trying to take in all that the lieutenant described and looked in wonder the strange new wooden world of which he was to become a small part.

  He was struck immediately by the cramped space allotted to the crew, the lack of light below deck, and by the odours that reached out to him. His face wrinkled.

  ‘She can take one hundred and eighty souls, Mister Vizzard, but I doubt we will have that many, even with all your redcoats!’ King smiled, ‘Apart from myself there are two lieutenants and we should have nine ‘young gentlemen’ or midshipmen. With luck we will have a full complement of seamen, about eighty or ninety of ‘em, and all the warrant officers of course.’

  King ducked as he passed along the deck. ‘Now, to our guns. Of course Major Ross will detail some of your lads to work at least two of them. We have no heavy artillery on Sirius – sixteen 6-pounder carriage guns, six 18-pounder carronades and twenty-four small swivels. You will note those about the deck as we go.’ King halted to direct a sailor, ‘Steady with those carbines Buddle, or Mister Vizzard here will be after your hide!’ Turning to Jack he continued, ‘they are your small-arms; should have two hundred short muskets and a dozen sergeant’s carbines. We are to receive two field pieces as your shore artillery, but when and where, I have yet to be informed.’

  King moved to follow the sailor down into the hold, the stench of the bilges reaching Jack’s nostrils, and he put his hand to his face.

  ‘You will get used to it.’ His guide smilingly informed him, noting his reaction. ‘She has had much work done for this voyage, Vizzard. As a lobster-back you will not observe it, but I am informed that the Admiralty has expended nigh on seven thousand pounds on this ship.’

  A young boy ran past him, followed by one of his own lads. In the gloom, he did not recognize Tom Clutterbuck, who caught him a glancing blow as he ran.

  ‘What the devil!’ Jack shouted.

  ‘Sorry, Mister Jack - I mean, sir.’ Tom called back, as he scampered after his new friend and made for the companionway leading to the lower deck.

  ‘One of your boys I take it?’ Lieutenant King enquired.

  ‘Yes, I brought him into the service with me. He has only his grandmother and she is not well. Otherwise, he is an orphan. I find him useful.’ Jack had no desire to elaborate further.

  King decided against a tour of the hold and instead led him along the gun deck, pointing out the ship’s armaments and explaining that in the event of action, Jack’s station would be on the fore-deck, with his marines, directing musket fire against the enemy.

  ‘Of course, we should not encounter any as we are not at war, but we may cross with pirates and your chief duty on this expedition is to guard the prisoners, but it is as well to know these things.’ He continued.

  They worked their way aft, and King showed him a screened area on the port side that was to be his berth.

  ‘No cabins for subalterns on this ship, Vizzard.’ He remarked, seeing Jack’s expression. ‘Only the Captain, the first lieutenant and the Governor have that particular comfort. And your own commander of course.’ His teeth showed in the dim light.

  ‘Then I must make the best of it.’ He grinned in response.

  Around them seamen were carrying stores below to the hold and cursing with each breath. They lowered their eyes as they passed the two officers, for fear of attracting unwelcome attention.

  Lieutenant King stopped a seaman on his way up the companionway, and instructed him to erect a screen at the aft end of the deck and to collect Jack’s trunk. He ducked below a beam towards the stern, and King turned to ask, ‘Do you have a cot, or will you take a hammock, Vizzard? Your space will hardly allow a cot I fear.’

  ‘I hear a hammock is a greater comfort at sea. That will soon be proved, I hope?’ Jack was eager for news of the fleet’s departure.

  ‘We will learn soon enough. Now, if you will excuse me, I must see to my other duties. I will see you at dinner in the ward-room.’ King went below to supervise the men in the hold and Jack decided to see to his own quarters and equipment.

  The sailor was busy fixing lengths of sailcloth to the beams on the starboard side of the deck as Jack approached. A young midshipman was standing in the shadow of an oil lamp, watching the work.

  ‘Morning, sir.’ He said. ‘Waterhouse sir, Oliver Waterhouse, at your service. Mister King instructed me to assist you. My station is on the weather deck, forrard. With your marines, sir.’

  The youth was about sixteen, stocky and broad-shouldered, with hair the colour of coal, and dark eyes, that seemed to smoulder with restrained emotion. He had already some four years of sea service. He was also hoping to pass examination for lieutenant at the end of the voyage.

  ‘Let me show you how to stow your hammock, sir.’ He rolled a blanket in the stiff canvas, deftly rolling it tight and binding it with cords. ‘It must be able to pass through this hoop when you are finished, sir. Mister King usually instructs me to check the men’s hammocks with it.’ He passed a wooden hoop over the end of the roll pulling it along the length of the hammock.

  ‘There, a perfect fit, if I do say myself.’ The boy seemed pleased with his work. ‘Now I must show you where to stow it when we are called to quarters, `though I fancy we will see little action on this cruise.’ Waterhouse looked rueful.

  ‘Do you not think we will see any action then?’ Jack smiled.

  ‘An unlikely prospect in my opinion, sir. My father wanted me to accompany Captain Phillip on this expedition, but I was hoping for the Mediterranean this time. The ladies are so, how shall I say, well, accommodating in Spain and Naples.’ The boy led the way to the quarterdeck, carrying the rolled hammock over his shoulder, dropping it neatly in to the nettings just above the entrance to the Captain’s cabin below the poop.

  ‘There, now you have it. May I show you to your station now, sir?’ The midshipman did not wait for an answer, but led Jack along the larboard deck towards the bow, where some of his company were already drilling under the watchful eye of Sergeant Packer.

  A young marine was handling a boarding pike, and coming under a good deal of abuse from Packer’s sarcasm.

  ‘You stupid pillock, Bates! Carry it properly, or it’ll be up your arse an’ I aint larfin’ boy!’

  The marine quickly shouldered the pike; his face colour
ing as the others about him stifled their own laughter at the sight of their officer.

  ‘Afternoon, sir.’ Packer stood straight, facing Jack. ‘Just thought I’d get the lads working with these things, get them familiar with the ship like. Any word yet, sir?’ Everyone was now keyed up and wanting to get to sea as soon as possible.

  ‘Governor Phillip has yet to take me into his confidence Packer, but rest assured, I will ensure that you are the first to know, the minute he does.’

  Private Bates quickly turned his laugh into a cough and Jack climbed onto the foremast ratlines to look at the constant stream of small craft ferrying supplies and people to a variety of ships anchored in the harbour and at the Motherbank.

  In the quiet times his mind would take him to Gloucestershire and to the life he had left there. He was guilty, he knew, of capital crime. He had also deserted a girl. A lovely, sweet-natured and innocent girl. The knowledge caused him endless sorrow and distress. He felt ashamed, but knew once she was convicted, and he had resolved on revenge, there could be no future for them. He had risked all but had run away, and the thought haunted him. In his bag was a letter written weeks ago now, but never sent. Perhaps now was the time to do so, he thought. They cannot reach me at sea.

  ‘I am to show you the foretop, sir.’ Waterhouse broke into his privacy, instantly dispelling the ghosts that haunted his inner mind. ‘You will be expected to be familiar with it, sir.’ Oliver Waterhouse started quickly up the ratlines, not waiting to see if Jack followed, although he did, with a great deal more caution than his young guide.

  He reached the lubber’s hole some minutes later, struggled to pull himself through and felt very uneasy as he looked at the deck seventy feet below.

  ‘This is where some of your men will be positioned in action, sir.’