First Fleet

by M Howard Morgan

  From Leith near Edinburgh, he had been at sea since he was seventeen and was now nearly fifty. He put a finger to his hat to acknowledge the marines, and then started on his rounds of the ship.

  Jack watched him walking forward, noting the state of the rigging and then making his way to the foc’s’le, before disappearing down the companionway to the `tween deck.

  Jack bade his friend goodnight, made his way to inspect the guard at the marine walk between the foremast and bowsprit, and prepared for what he suspected would be a sleepless night.

  23

  A Muster

  Captain Hunter was back on deck shortly before the watch changed.

  ‘Mister Bradley – the wind is in the south east I believe.’ He addressed the first lieutenant.

  ‘Aye, sir. It has shifted half a point and seems steady.’ Bradley stood still, anticipating the next order.

  ‘Then I think we should weigh and be gone. Please prepare the ship.’

  Bradley sniffed, dismissively. The ship is as prepared as she always should be, he thought, but decided against any comment. The entire crew had been waiting for this moment. From the wardroom to the lowliest boy aboard, all were ready, waiting. The word had passed the instant Hunter had donned his hat to go on deck.

  Instead, he checked his watch and nodded at the boatswain, Tom Brooks, who rang for the change of watch, and immediately blew on his pipe the order for ‘All Hands’, passing the word loudly, pleased his mates quickly echoed the order along the ship. He expected nothing less; the crew were trained and expectant.

  Arthur Phillip appeared on deck shortly after and stood next to Captain Hunter.

  ‘I have waited a long time for this day, John.

  ‘Yes indeed, sir, Hunter agreed. ‘It has been long enough coming.’

  ‘Is my signal to the fleet ready?’

  John Hunter looked at Midshipman Waterhouse, who was tying off the last of the signal flags onto a halyard. ‘Hoist it if you please, Mister Waterhouse.’ He smiled as the young officer hauled on the signal halyard, deftly breaking out the general signal to weigh anchor.

  The only ship to acknowledge was the flagship’s tender, HMS Supply, an armed Thames trader of 175 tons, commanded by an old friend of Phillip’s, Lieutenant Henry Ball. He had the acknowledge signal tied on in readiness.

  ‘At least Ball is awake this morning, John.’

  Arthur Phillip smiled at his second captain. He looked up at the mizzen top, feeling pride in a broad, swallow-tailed pennant flapping there. Its presence was an act of minor protest by Arthur Phillip. Commanding two of His Majesty’s warships, with transports and supply ships, he had requested the right to fly a commodore’s pennant. Lord Sydney had denied the request, a decision that irked him. This commission must surely mean he would eventually advance to flag rank, and after years as a half-pay captain, that was a matter for rejoicing. But one day, he thought, one day I will fly a rear admiral’s ensign.

  ‘He has pestered me daily for the last two weeks. I believe he is more anxious than you or I are to be gone.’ Hunter could not prevent a wry grin.

  ‘He is a good officer, and will be kept busy on this voyage I fancy.’

  Phillip was a slightly built, dark-complexioned man of below medium height, quick in manner, self-controlled and courageous. The task assigned to him was to make a settlement in a wilderness on the far side of the globe, with a host of mostly broken men and women. He had the determination that enables men to achieve in the most arduous of conditions. Like many men of his profession, he had a strong sense of duty, allied to a belief in the humane treatment of all in his charge. It was these qualities, which would be tested to the limit if this venture were to be a success, and Phillip was resolute: he would make a success of this commission.

  They watched in the growing light as the other vessels of the fleet acquired spectral form and slowly made ready to sail, although none had acknowledged the order.

  Sirius’ crew was aloft on the yards, unfurling the topsails of the fore and main masts, as a gentle breeze slowly filled the sails. The deck-men and landsmen started the capstan that dragged the anchor slowly from the muddy seabed of Spithead.

  ‘Signal Prince of Wales to hurry please, John, she seems reluctant to join us.’ Captain Arthur Phillip scanned the sea quickly through, checking on the transports and store-ships that constituted his command. He snapped the brass telescope closed.

  Hunter gave an order to the midshipman who picked up a trumpet and shouted across to the transport, receiving a raised hand in acknowledgement from someone unseen on her deck.

  ‘Prince of Wales has acknowledged, sir.’

  ‘Very good.’ The captain answered, returning to watch his crew completing the work aloft.

  ‘Take her to sea, Mister Bradley and call me before we clear the Needles. I shall take breakfast now.’ With a last look at Portsmouth, he went aft to his cabin. As his cabin door closed Jack came on deck, having had only two hours sleep. He yawned and stretched like a cat, rubbing his bloodshot eyes.

  ‘D’ye find this tedious work, Mister Vizzard? Many tides will ebb and flow afore you see Old Pompey again.’ Bradley smiled as the marine shook the sleep from his head.

  ‘Not at all, sir. I have been looking forward to this time for many months.’ Jack was also gazing at the ships in Portsmouth harbour, and looked aft to the lumbering transports taking ragged station astern of the flagship. The grey waters of Spithead coalesced with the rain clouds that hung low over the premier Naval base of England.

  ‘There is a tide in the affairs of men, which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; on such a full sea are we now afloat, and we must take the current when it serves, or lose our ventures.’ Jack smiled wryly. ‘Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, sir’

  ‘I believe I recall it. I wonder if our voyage will lead us on to fortune. Take a good look, Jack. It will be a long time before either of us see Albion’s shores again.’

  ‘I am in no hurry, sir. England will wait for me. Unlike the wretched people we are taking with us. They may never see England again. How do they feel this morning?’

  Bradley was watching the receding harbour too. ‘That is my town, Jack. I grew up there. So many expeditions and explorations have had their starting point here. Do you feel a sense of history-making, Jack?’

  ‘In a way I do. My father is the one for history, but not the history of exploration or adventure, sir. History of the country and parliament would keep him occupied. Alas, it was not for me.’

  ‘Nor I, Jack. For me it was mathematics and the sciences, but we become like our fathers it is said.’ Bradley was thinking of his father, master of mathematics at the Naval Academy, and who had encouraged him to go to sea, some fifteen years ago, when he was still only thirteen years of age. ‘Many times have I watched that harbour slip astern from an outward-bound ship.’

  ‘It is my first time, but I understand your meaning.’ Jack felt a stirring in his chest and thought again of his home and family. Not for the first time he wondered if he was doing right. He kept his eyes on the wake of the ship, not daring to look at Lieutenant Bradley, for fear of revealing the emotion in his eyes.

  The breeze increased by a knot and Hunter called for more sail on the mizzen.

  Jack shuddered and went below to report as the fleet took untidy station astern of Sirius. The transports formed a ragged line with Supply, under full sail, speeding along like a racehorse. By 10 o’clock, the fleet had cleared the Isle of Wight and started the run down the Channel. One of the transports, the Charlotte, was already falling astern and Hunter ordered Supply to chivvy her master to make more sail.

  Immediately astern of the flagship, the Prince of Wales wallowed in her wake. Blunt-nosed and round-bodied she, like the other transports, rolled in even a moderate sea.

  It took three days to sail down the Channel, collecting an escort, the frigate Hyaena, en route. Ten days after leaving Portsmouth the commodore ordered the fleet hove to, some ten miles to the
west of the Scilly Isles. He sent his first despatch back to Plymouth with the Hyaena and ordered removal of the leg irons securing all the convicts, excepting those under recent punishment. Continued restraint in fetters seemed to him a quite ludicrous situation, although Major Ross opposed the decision most vocally, fearing an increased risk of convicts attempting to take one of the transports and make an escape from British jurisdiction, perhaps to America.

  Many now experienced seasickness although the weather remained fine and moderate. Except those prisoners under punishment for some shipboard misdemeanour most were allowed to exercise on deck, making avid use of the privilege. The decks resembled a laundry, with under-garments drying from makeshift lines.

  From the deck of Lady Penrhyn, Mary and Lizzie looked across to Sirius, and the red-coated marines exercising on the foredeck and in the rigging. Lizzie waved toward them, but none noticed her. Both found the motion of the ship unsettling, and staggered and lurched uncontrollably; they decided to return below after only a short time.

  Jack too, was on deck working with his men on musket drill and swordsmanship. Cirrus cloud laced the sky high above the fleet like the drifts of snow formed against the dry stonewalls of a Cotswold winter, with columns of grey cumulus building in the west, heralding a storm. The force of the Atlantic was now making its first show, and Captain Hunter ordered some reduced sail.

  ‘That will do for this morning, Sergeant Packer. Have the lads report to the armourer and get a sharp edge put on those blades. Then they can get to their dinner.’

  He had enjoyed the weapons training session. One or two of the men handled themselves well. Others lacked basic knowledge and technique with a pike, thrusting the weapon with no sense of purpose or direction. Swordsmanship was completely absent, and many of the marines had never so much as fixed a bayonet to a musket; had never used one. He intended that they should have more practice, and instruction.

  ‘Right, sir. Shall I take your sword as well, sir?’ Packer had been impressed with Jack’s skill with the weapon.

  Before he could answer, a private ran up, stood smartly at attention, and said,

  ‘Beg pardon, sir, but Mister Dawes would be obliged for your attendance in his cabin, sir. He’s had a bit of a set to with the Major, sir.’ The soldier added, leaning toward Jack in a conspiratorial manner.

  ‘Mind your tongue, Jones!’ Packer looked sharply at the private.

  The good humour that Jack had enjoyed dissipated immediately on receiving the summons, instinct telling him that there was bad news awaiting him.

  ‘Very well.’ He made his way to the stern, dropping down the companionway to the wardroom.

  William Dawes was at the small bureau in his cabin, studying some papers when Jack entered. His normally cheerful countenance was disturbed. He looked miserable.

  ‘Jack – there’s a discrepancy in the convict musters. Damned surgeons cannot seem to add up. Commodore Phillip wishes it investigated, and our esteemed commander has directed that you and I inspect all the transports and clarify the true position. Apparently you and I are ‘the scholars’ of the battalion and should be capable of such a task!’

  ‘I see, and when are we to do this, William?’

  ‘Immediately, old chap.’

  Jack laughed.

  ‘That’s preposterous, Will. Has he not seen the sea that is running? The fleet is already becoming scattered over the ocean. They are not about to escape. Surely this can wait until we reach Tenerife?’

  Lieutenant Dawes sighed.

  ‘That is precisely what I advised Major Ross. Unfortunately, and perhaps inevitably, he disagreed with me. I share your opinion entirely, but we are required to go on board each vessel and personally make a fresh muster.’

  ‘The man’s mad! This is insanity! There is no rhyme or logic to this Will, none at all’

  ‘I advise you against telling him so, Jack. He is quite adamant that the records be accurate. The truth is that his own muster has been questioned... challenged perhaps, by the commodore and he is blaming the surgeon, accusing him of incompetence. It was all very heated.’

  Dawes had not enjoyed the discussion with Major Ross. He resented the order to undertake such a task. He already had responsibility for the timekeepers, and other instruments made available to the expedition by the Astronomer Royal, and others by the Board of Longitude.

  Dawes explained how the exercise was to be undertaken. They were to take two boats and each be assisted by a midshipman. The transports were each to be visited, the convicts inspected and counted individually.

  The two lieutenants reported to the master who shook his head in disapproval.

  ‘If ye ask me, it’s a fool’s venture. The sea’s rising, and the wind keeps shiftin’.’ He looked at the sky in the west.

  ‘Thank you, Mister Morton. We may be marines but can see for ourselves.’ Dawes was anxious.

  Jack was anxious too, but not such that he would give voice to his fears.

  The boats were lowered and with difficulty. Oliver Waterhouse commanded one, Jack taking a place beside him at the tiller. A growing swell caused the boats to rise and fall against the ship’s side. Boarding called for careful judgement by each man. Sailors cursed. Lieutenant Dawes took his place in the boat commanded by Midshipman Ferguson.

  The sea now rose and fell with the swell, the boats pushed up and down like corks. The sailors were exhausted by the time they reached the first of the transports. Jack consumed more than half an hour to inspect the human cargo on board the first of his allotted ships. The master was astounded to see a marine officer clamber aboard his vessel, and made his thoughts on the matter plain, grumbling and cursing.

  Three hours later, he was soaked through and shivering with cold, as he slowly boarded the last of his three ships, the Lady Penrhyn. The master, William Sever, took him to his cabin and shoved a large tankard in his hand.

  ‘Get that inside thee man, you look about done in.’

  ‘Thank you, captain. I am in sore need.’ Jack felt the neat rum slowly exploring his veins and sat gratefully, his body still heaving from the pounding of the sea on the ship’s longboat.

  ‘There’s some cold tongue and pork on the table yonder.’ He pointed, and added, ‘P’raps some bread, if you have a mind.’ Jack rose to reach for a plate, suddenly feeling in need of food. He was trembling a little from the exertion, the cold and a strong feeling of anxiety. He attacked the meat with some mustard and pickled cabbage with enthusiasm. He gulped more rum, coughing a little as he did so.

  ‘This be madness, Mister Vizzard. To put men in a boat in this sea, `tis asking for trouble.’ Captain Sever spoke with genuine concern. ‘My return to the commodore be accurate. There be no need to count `em again. I ain’t lost any yet, not like the Scarborough, I unnerstand.’ The master sat down heavily opposite Jack, and poured a small measure of rum and water. ‘Your other redcoats are below at their game of cards. They have approved my return also.’

  ‘I am in no doubt, captain, but I have my orders.’ He consulted a small notebook. ‘I am to inspect and count the convicts you have on board. According to the return you have 101 women and only one boy in the cages?’

  ‘That’s right. As I says, not one of them dead yet, though plenty are as sick as dogs, and we ain’t seen bad weather!’ He laughed. ‘I reck’n the gov’ment wanted a breedin’ stock for the new colony! Leastways, that ain’t my worry. I’ll take the old lady on to China when I hand this cargo over to you redcoats, and make a handsome profit from the tea I shall bring back. Me an’ old Billy Biscuit are the owners of the Lady P. As like as not you will have eaten old Billy’s sea biscuits. Tough as boots, like Billy himself!’ He laughed again, louder this time.

  The master’s words rang true. Jack had heard that the Admiralty had chartered a ship to transport a large number of women for that very purpose. She was to sail with a second fleet of convicts, to sail for Botany Bay next year, and some of the transports and store-ships were to return b
y way of China, laden with tea.

  ‘I had better see the ones you have and get back to the flagship. The light will be fading soon.’

  A master’s mate, holding a lantern in front of him, took him below. The deck was dark, with all lights out, because of the rising seas.

  He walked slowly along the side of the cages, counting heads. It needed a sharp eye to detect, among the huddled mass of humanity within the cages, the form of any one individual. The lantern held by the mate shed a cold, pale light in which tired, soulless eyes blinked in silent, resentful, confusion. They sat or lay together in their patched, ragged clothes; colourless almost shapeless forms from which gaunt and withered limbs protruded. He stared into the cages, again trying to identify bodies and count heads, halting when Lizzie Parker called out.

  ‘You lookin’ for a good time then, sir?’ she said, grinning.

  Jack stared into the cage, ignoring her, counted the sleeping bodies, and made a note in his book. He observed a mix of expressions on the faces that stared back at him; apathy, fear, intoxication and some, a few, of undisguised hatred.

  ‘Any babies in here?’ he asked.

  ‘Only two so far luv, but if you can spare a few minutes we can try an’ make anuvver.’ She giggled at Jack’s discomfort.

  ‘Hold your tongue woman, or you will meet the cat!’ He said sharply, and counting once more the featureless shapes in the cage, passed on, again making entries in his notebook. He felt nausea rising in his throat, the odours of the bilge below invading his nostrils. He now regretted the large measure of rum he had consumed, and left the prison deck quickly.

  ‘Who was that?’, Mary asked sleepily, the sharp words waking her from uncomfortable sleep, and a fragmented dream, inevitably of Jack.

  ‘Only some bleedin’ officer makin’ sure we still alive, or p’raps checking to see ‘ow many ‘ave died.’ Lizzie pulled a bottle of rum from beneath her skirt, taken as her fee from a member of the crew, and swallowed deeply. ‘Quite a good lookin’ one though.’ Lizzie murmured, more to herself than to Mary. She lay back against the bulkhead, and pulled her baby closer to her chest, cooing gently to her.