First Fleet

by M Howard Morgan

  ‘Don’t you fret girl. You helped us in Gloucester, and on the way down country,’ she said looking at her child, ‘and wore yourself out doin` so. As I said, we’ve got to look out for each other, otherwise what’s going to `appen to us.’

  They talked for a while, mostly about Gloucester, the time spent in gaol and the journey to Portsmouth, but also about their fear of the voyage ahead of them. Lizzie talked of her hopes for her baby, who she adored.

  Mary still ached, but now she felt revived. She started to concern herself with her appearance, and wondered when, indeed if, she could wash herself. She wished now for a bath of hot water, and a piece of soap. It had been so long since she had done so. The sailors were rough and crude, but not overtly cruel, and she began to believe she was safer than she had been for months.

  Somewhere a bell rang, and she heard a voice call out an order. The marine guards outside the cage extinguished the lanterns, and the entire deck became cast into darkness. She listened to the groans from the ship’s timbers and the water gurgling past the hull, inches from her head.

  As the cages fell silent and with the lanterns turned off noises from the forward part of the ship intruded and shadows began to appear from the foc’s’le. Women stirred as the men sought out partners for the night, even for the entire voyage. Terms quickly discussed and agreed in whispered, murmured tones; sometimes a bottle of gin sufficed, for others a few coins clinked, signifying agreement. Having paired off, the shadows moved quietly forrard and into the darker corners.

  From the gloom, a large shape appeared in front of Mary.

  ‘Are you all right now my pretty?’ The man was the sailor who had hauled Mary aboard earlier. She looked at him coldly. ‘Come now, you could do worse on this ship, and I can protect you.’ In the gloom of the `tween decks, the man, although he spoke gently, looked more menacing than he did when she first encountered him, with glowing eyes and sweat beads running down his face. His open mouth, below a bulbous nose, smelled strongly of rum, and belied his promise of protection.

  ‘I have no need of your protection – and no desire for your hammock. Leave me alone.’ Her voice a rasp, a warning.

  ‘Now don’t be takin’ on so. It’s a bloody long way to Botany Bay and `tween here and there you will have need of a man.’

  ‘If I do then be sure it will not be you. I say again, go and leave me be!’ She spoke more sharply this time. Still he did not move. He opened his mouth and lifted a hand, but stopped as a blade touched the back of his neck.

  ‘You heard the lady, now piss off before this knife tickles your neck a little closer.’ Lizzie was capable of using the knife; she knew that. The sailor was not prepared to take a chance, and raised his arms in submission.

  ‘All right, all right then, no harm meant. I’ll leave you both. There’s more fish in this sea, and there’s another sweeter catch to be havin` elsewhere, I’m thinkin`.`

  The man stole away into the shadows, searching for company that was more pliant, and Lizzie put away the knife.

  ‘As I said, we got to look after each other, `cause these bastards won’t.’

  Mary started to tremble and shake. Tears welled in her red-rimmed eyes and Lizzie knew that she was remembering the night of the attack at The Vicarage; so long ago now it might have been in another world, as indeed it was.

  She put her arms around her and rocked her as she did her own child. They slept uneasily that night, huddled closer together, entwined as lovers might, listening to the sounds of rutting in the shadows and of babies crying as their mothers bought protection and, perhaps, some extra food; anything to make their misery more tolerable.

  22

  Ordnance

  The following morning Jack woke to the unfamiliar sound of the ship’s bell, as it clanged above his head. He shaved uncomfortably in cold water before a mirror the size of a saucer before dressing, finding it difficult to do so while his small rectangle of deck rolled and yawed beneath his feet. This will require some practice, he judged, spreading his feet.

  The flap of his canvas cabin parted and Tom entered. ‘Mornin’ Mister Vizzard, sir. Sorry I’m late, sir. Mister Ross says you are to report to his cabin at once, sir. He seems very out of sorts, if I might say.’

  ‘What? Oh very well, I will come at once, Tom. Thank you.’

  Irritated by the early summons, he finished dressing; perhaps he wants me to count the stores again, he thought, or some such nonsense. Breakfast will have to wait he decided. Hell and damnation.

  He made his way to the wardroom, offering a greeting to the officers off watch, and knocked on Ross’s cabin door. As commander of the marine detachment, Ross had the luxury of his own small cabin, although he felt aggrieved at that, believing he had an entitlement one of the two cabins below the upper deck. Captain Phillip had denied him that, explaining that the stern cabins were properly allocated as Sirius had two Naval captains to accommodate, and they out-ranked a Major of Marines.

  ‘Enter!’ The grating voice again. Jack adjusted his tunic and crouching between the beams, entered. Major Ross was unshaven, a fresh pot of coffee steaming on the small table next to his bed. His eyes were ruddy, and his breath smelled of alcohol. He held a crumpled sheet of paper in his left hand.

  ‘Vizzard, morning to you.’ Manners? Jack was surprised. ‘I have a duty for you. It seems that our stores are deficient.’ He looked embarrassed. ‘The Q.M. tells me that the stores of ball and armourer’s tools for our muskets have not come aboard. How we are supposed to guard a fleet of scum without our ordnance defeats me. You will have to go ashore and find it. I want our munitions on board before supper; is that clear? Another thing... nobody is to know about this.’

  ‘Yes, sir, I understand.’ He did not understand. The supplies of muskets and ammunition had come down from Woolwich weeks ago; he had personally seen them into the stores at barracks. He knew that muskets and carbines had been loaded onto wagons and taken to the dockyard, for he had witnessed that with his own eyes. ‘I will go at once, sir.’

  ‘See that you do, Vizzard and find my ammunition, or there will be hell to pay.’

  Jack took two men with him, including Sergeant Packer. He was in a black mood by the time he reached the Yard Commissioner’s office.

  Jack, as a newly commissioned marine, was not familiar with the administration of His Majesty’s Naval dockyards. He had reported first to the Controller’s office, who had sent him on a goose-chase to the Surveyor’s office, where he had been sent away by a very angry retired Naval captain, before finally reaching the Yard Commissioner’s rooms.

  ‘No young man, I cannot help you. I know nothing of your missing ordnance. I suggest you take it up with the storekeeper.’ Samuel Farmer was not an unkindly man. He had reached his position through years of hard work, and taken the post of Yard Commissioner when it had become clear that he was not to be offered flag rank. Passed over for promotion twice now to that coveted rank, he resented the fact that he would have to mark time until seniority delivered the prize. Portly and florid, he filled the chair before his untidy desk. He was used to dealing with demanding young officers.

  ‘But, sir, our ordnance should have been aboard yesterday. I know it is here as I saw to the delivery myself. With respect, it is your responsibility.’ Jack was at risk of a firm rebuke and knew it.

  Farmer took a long breath, and with patience born of long experience said, ‘Lieutenant Vizzard. I will excuse your impertinence this once, because of your undoubted inexperience and ignorance of the Navy. I take my orders from the Navy Board, and you must take your ammunition from the Ordnance Board, for which, thank heaven, I am not responsible. You must see the storekeeper. I wish you bon chance. Good day to you, sir!’

  Nothing he could say would sway this officer. He saluted and turned quickly to hide his face. ‘Come along, Packer. We are clearly wasting time here.’

  They strode down Long Row, past the rope-maker’s sheds, until they reached the ordnance stores. Crates of all ki
nds were stacked everywhere, barrels of powder of differing sizes and quality, sacks of fuses and garlands of ball for every calibre of gun in use in the Navy. Jack stared in awe at the volume of munitions held in the storeroom. He found an office at the other end of the building. A thin-faced man of middle years appeared to be the senior, with two younger men working from high stools in a corner.

  The clerk was busy, scratching notes on a list with a large pile of paper on his desk. He tried a cheery greeting and when that was ignored, his tone hardened.

  ‘I am looking for the marines’ ordnance for Sirius. It should have been brought aboard yesterday, where is it?’ Jack waited for a response.

  Eventually the man looked up, his eyes noted the fresh single epaulette, and looked back at his papers, all in a single, slow movement. ‘I am very busy, come back later.’

  ‘I will not. You will please find my supplies now or give me an explanation as to why they have not been loaded. I would prefer the former.’ His patience was now evaporating.

  ‘I have half a dozen vessels to deal with. You may wait or return later as you please.’ The man returned to his list.

  The sword rasped as it swiftly flew from its scabbard, and the point hovered over the pile of papers as Jack leaned forward and whispered, ‘You will deal with my request now or your damned lists will be given to my sergeant to clean your arse with!’

  The clerk put down his quill and stood up. ‘I am accustomed to dealing with gentlemen and will not be threatened in this way!’ he spluttered, his pomposity quavered in the face of Jack’s sword point.

  ‘I can always find alternative means, even as a gentleman.’

  The clerk looked at the cold eyes that Jack showed and decided that his co-operation was justified on this occasion. He called an assistant over and whispered to him. The man ran off down the warehouse as though the devil was after him.

  Jack sheathed his sword as Joe Packer showed his

  broken teeth in a wide grin. ‘There’ll be the devil to pay, sir, when that little weasel reports you.’

  ‘Then he can take his complaint to Major Ross, I am not much concerned.’

  Jack pulled a silver flask from inside his boat cloak and took a swallow. He offered it to Packer who shook his head.

  ‘I will take a drink with you later if I may, sir, when this business is done.’

  The clerk’s assistant returned and whispered a lengthy explanation to his superior.

  ‘It seems lieutenant, that an error has occurred. Your ordnance has been, how shall I say, misplaced. Ned here believes it may have been sent to the Albany by mistake. I will cause enquiries to be made and send word. What ship did you say?’

  ‘The Sirius, Captain John Hunter. Major Robert Ross commands the marines.’

  ‘Then I will see your supplies are with you by Monday forenoon, sir.’ Obeisance now played across the clerk’s face; his hands clasped together at his chest. The clerk smiled and gave the smallest nod of the head.

  Vizzard ignored the shallow compliment and, satisfied he had done his duty, turned smartly away. They made their way back to the ship’s jolly boat.

  It was Saturday 12th May 1787.

  AS JACK APPROACHED the flagship, he could see a stream of seamen scurrying along the weather deck and a flurry of signal flags hauled up to the mizzen top. Looking about him, he could see similar activity amongst the other ships assembled at the Motherbank.

  ‘Somethin’s a happenin’, Mister Vizzard. Buggered if I knows what all those signals mean though.’ Packer was perplexed. Jack equally so, and he immediately resolved to spend time with the signals midshipman and master the Navy’s signalling system.

  ‘Whatever it is we had best get aboard quickly. Smartly now you men.’ He shouted to the crew of the lighter ferrying them from the harbour into the swell of Spithead.

  ‘Looks as you’ll be leaving us then, sir.’ The ferryman said, spitting overboard.

  ‘What are you saying, man?’ Jack snapped.

  ‘The flagship’s makin’ ready for sea, sir. I reckon you be off with the tide first thing in the mornin’, if you ask me.’

  Jack swore. The ferryman started in alarm.

  Sergeant Joseph Packer pulled his hat down over his eyes and exhaled slowly through teeth gritted tight, understanding coming to him only a moment or two after the same realisation had struck Jack.

  ‘Hold off mister ferryman. I need to go to the Albany. Where is she moored?’

  ‘Ah, now sir, I can’t be doing that. You see, she sailed this mornin’, sir. She been waitin’ for a good easterly for a couple o’ days now.’

  Jack’s shoulders sagged. There was nothing for it then but to report to Ross and inform him that the ammunition for the marines’ muskets was on another ship; that the marine guard, on the first fleet of convicts to Botany Bay was without the ammunition needed to do its duty. In the event of any attack on the fleet, or rebellion by the convicts, the marines would be unable to defend themselves. He did not relish giving Major Ross the news.

  The ferryman took them back to the Sirius and Jack and his men climbed the nettings up the ship’s tumblehome. Lieutenant King had the watch and greeted Jack with good humour.

  ‘Welcome back redcoat, and what are you so glum about? Looks as though you lost a guinea and found a shilling!’

  ‘Sorry, sir, but I can’t discuss it at present. I must see Major Ross. What’s all the bustle about?’

  ‘Have you not heard? The Commodore wanted to weigh anchor but some of the crew on the transports refused to sail. Some have been aboard for nearly seven months without a shilling of pay, and, I dare say, want a last run ashore. Your lord and master is over yonder, aboard The Prince of Wales, with Captain Hunter, seeking a settlement to their demands.’

  ‘So, we are to go at last?’ Jack asked.

  ‘It surely appears so. The ship is ready for sea and the Commodore anxious to be away.’ King looked up at the furled topsails. ‘The wind has veered a point. If it holds we shall be off on the next tide.’

  ‘Not before time, sir. I shall go below. Perhaps you would be so kind as to send word when Major Ross returns?’

  ‘Most certainly I will, though I expect you will hear his arrival! Are you in difficulty, Vizzard?’ King asked, his voice low.

  ‘Please do not press me on this, sir. You will hear more of it later, I have no doubt.’ Jack went below and took a coffee while he waited and mentally composed his report to Ross. He did not have to wait long before he heard voices on the deck above, one of which was the unmistakable, coarse, stentorian voice of the Major. The summons to report to him arrived within minutes.

  ‘Mister Vizzard, your report if you please.’ Ross demanded immediately he entered the wardroom.

  Taking a deep breath, Jack related events of the day, concluding with the information that the division’s musket supplies were now down channel on board a ship bound for Antigua. Ross exploded with venom.

  ‘You clump-headed fool, Vizzard. Laddie, I have just quelled a near mutiny on the poxed transport astern, with no better armament than a handful of muskets, one packet of ball for each man, some bayonets and you tell me... you tell me I have no more supplies! It’s a bloody disgrace and I hold you responsible for this incompetence!’

  Jack protested. ‘Sir, with respect, this was incompetence on the part of the Ordnance Board. They delivered our ordnance to the wrong vessel. I have spoken to the clerk and obtained his assurance that our supplies will be loaded on Monday morning.’

  ‘That is simply not good enough boy! In case you have nae heard, we sail on the morning tide. What do you suggest I tell the Commodore, hey? Sorry sir, but please ask the scum convicts not to take the ship for a day or so, because I cannot defend it! Is that what I should do, Vizzard?’ Ross paced the width of the wardroom in his agitation, spilling red wine from the glass in his hand.

  ‘But surely, sir, we cannot sail until we have our ammunition. Captain Phillip must delay his departure.’ Jack tried to b
e helpful.

  ‘You’re a bloody incapable fool, Vizzard. I gave you an order and you failed. You will take watch and watch for a week, and reflect on your duties, you young pup!’

  Jack opened his mouth and quickly closed it again, realising that further protest would only bring further punishment.

  ‘Will that be all, sir?’ he said instead.

  ‘Aye, damn right it is boy. And you can report to my Q.M., Mister Furzer, at the end of each watch. I hold him responsible for this inefficiency as well.’

  Jack’s face coloured at the insult, unjustified as it was, and turned on his heel, and went up to the quarterdeck to breathe some fresh air.

  Lieutenant William Dawes was talking to the midshipman of the watch, but came across when he saw Jack on deck, gripping the side rail.

  ‘Well my lad, I see from your expression that you have had your meeting with our fearless commander. What ails you?’

  ‘The bloody man has put me on watch and watch for a week. Look Will, you must know this. We have no musket ammunition, nor cartridge paper nor tools to make any ball. It has all been loaded on to the wrong bloody ship. Ross holds me responsible, because he sent me to find it. The man is exasperating. I’ll not do it.’

  Lieutenant Dawes considered this situation. He knew that his young friend was distressed, but he had to do his duty.

  ‘Jack, listen to me. You must or he will make life decidedly unpleasant. ‘Tis only for a week and then he will have forgotten.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Will, the crew must know nothing of this. The consequences could prove very awkward, to say the least.’ Jack paced towards the stern.

  ‘Just make sure that you comply with his orders or it will be the worse for you my friend.’

  The midshipman started to take an interest in the conversation between the two marine officers and made to join them. However a voice from the cabin door behind the wheel made him stop.

  ‘Mister Brewer, see that the watch below has a good night’s sleep. I shall be weighing at first light.’ Captain John Hunter strode casually on to the deck, his experienced eyes quickly taking in the readiness of his ship.