First Fleet

by M Howard Morgan

  She and the other women were making shirts. The ship’s master had purchased a large quantity of material before leaving England for his personal business and intended that the government stores would buy his stock. It was a common arrangement and one by which he intended to profit handsomely. Other prisoners grumbled at being used so in this way, for private profit, but for Mary it was to be preferred to wasting away in a cramped cage below decks, away from fresh air and the warming sun.

  The last ten days she had spent learning cutting and stitching from a girl, Ann Yates, who had worked in Lambeth as a seamstress. Basic skill she had, but under Ann’s tutelage, she improved finding the work satisfying. When she was not sewing, she spent her time cleaning. The sailors and even more so the marines, she discovered, were more concerned with cleanliness than the labourers in her father’s mill. That had surprised her.

  The fleet was passing through warmer latitudes and she found herself enjoying the work. Other convicts would talk to her; but at times, like now, she could let her mind wander. Inevitably, she found herself thinking of Jack. She sighed audibly at the memory.

  ‘Now my girl, dreaming again, eh?’ Lizzie broke into her daydream.

  ‘I cannot help it, Lizzie. Try as I might, he is ever in my thoughts. He must be suffering because of me.’

  Lizzie snorted her disapproval, ‘Nonsense my girl – he left you soon enough if you ask me. `Tis you what is the prisoner, not `im. If he cared for you half as much as you do for `im, he would have stayed and fought for your liberty.’

  Lizzie thought that Mary’s ‘gentleman’, was little more than a charlatan, but would not wish to hurt her friend’s feelings with her opinion. She even questioned the fact of his very existence, allowing the possibility that the man was merely a fiction, a device to hide Mary’s guilt.

  ‘If you take my advice, you’ll forget about `im.’ She continued kindly, ‘he’ll be off to India or the Americas, an` like as not, you’ll not see or hear from `im again.’

  She knew that Mary would not, could not forget about her officer. Mary had told her that he was her first love, that she had fallen helplessly for him and that she could never hold the same feelings for another. The girl had fallen for him but it was a familiar tale and she would have to make a life in Botany Bay, same as the rest of us, she thought. None could expect a knight on a silver charger to provide rescue.

  Her memory recalled her own crime; a house burglary where she had stolen an old coat, valued at six shillings. Of course, she had kept quiet at her trial, for she had taken more than that, but the silver cutlery she had hidden before capture. Seven years she was given, and thankful that a kindly gent had limited the value of the coat, or she could have faced a scaffold. No, Botany Bay could only be a better place, somewhere to build a life; find a good man, that is what she should do. Ned Pugh seemed to like her, and was kindly, but there was not love between them. She shook herself free of her own private dreams and resumed her sewing.

  The watch changed and a marine ordered them below. Mary smiled at him. He smiled too, and she looked closer. He was young, probably about her age. Quite handsome. Uniform made men look handsome. He appeared sober too, which was unusual. Many of them were drunk.

  ‘Come along now. Time to get below. Don’t yous be gettin` me in trouble’, he said kindly.

  ‘We won’t be doing that, Ned Palmer, don’t worry.’ Mary gave him one of her brightest smiles.

  Ned Palmer melted. His face crimsoned, and he turned to hide his embarrassment.

  Mary giggled as Lizzie nudged her and rolled up the material she had been cutting. As she stood she noticed the flagship was signalling and she asked the master’s mate what the flags said.

  ‘Dunno yet love. Can’t make `em out. Wait a mo’ – Land! They’s seen land to the Southwest. That must be Tenerife.’ The man became animated. ‘Boy, go tell the cap’n. ‘Land to the Southwest’. We should be in Tenerife on the morrow.’

  Instantly, the man’s excitement infected Mary. A surge of anticipation made her eyes shine. Staring out to the direction indicated, she could see nothing; she knew nothing of Tenerife, the name meaningless, but the chance of being off the ship gladdened her. She hurried below to tell her friend.

  ‘Mary luv, don’t you be gettin` too excited now. They ain’t goin` to let us loose ashore, in case some make a bolt for it, you just see.’ Lizzie’s words dampened her happiness, but proved prophetic.

  Mary spent the next week staring at the port of Santa Cruz at every opportunity, as the fleet obtained fresh provisions. The colour of the harbour and the island struck her as beautiful. She saw boats from the island bringing a variety of goods to the anchored fleet, and a regular flow of boats between the flagship and the transports.

  Once, a boat hooked on to the Lady Penrhyn and an elderly midshipman came aboard to take an inventory of stores and a list of those on board listed as sick or injured. She watched the marine guards that came with him, saw they were surly and several of them drunk. They abused her with lewd suggestions until the sergeant in charge berated them, and she went below to escape. The crew was no better – at least they left her alone in the main, but other women happily traded their bodies for drink or money.

  Even Lizzie. At first, Mary had been dismayed when she had discovered the full extent and the frequency of her friend’s activities with the crew and the guards. She had found her by chance in the sail-maker’s locker with a marine guard. Lizzie had just laughed at her, and carried on, the guard grunting like a pig, as his buttocks rose and fell.

  She had run from the scene, Lizzie yelling that he would ‘do `er for a shilling’.

  Later, in the cage eating their supper, she had tackled her about it.

  ‘Listen to me, Mary. Don’t be so `igh an` mighty. I’ve a kid to feed an` the extra cash `elps. How d’ye think we been gettin` better grub these last weeks? Because of your fair looks an` charmin` ways? No my sweet, it’s a bit of the other that keeps the men happy, the gin flowing, and extra rations for you and me.’

  Lizzie looked away at baby Annie and spooned the broth into her eager mouth.

  Mary fell quiet. Not once had she realized the extra and better food she was eating had been earned by such immoral behaviour. She thought of the wine that she drank, in place of the dark beer that upset her so, or the rum she had tasted and disliked. Her own morality she valued highly, from some deep-seated sense of right and wrong, probably the result of her father’s words over the more formative years of her young life. Dear father she thought, never able, nor wanting, to stop thinking of him. She sighed deeply and turned to her friend.

  ‘I’m sorry, Lizzie – I didn’t think. I should be grateful, and I am, but ...’

  Lizzie Parker looked at her. Selling her favours never caused her a moment of regret. She had done so before, and frequently not just to feed her younger brothers and sisters, but because, if she was honest, she enjoyed it. She also enjoyed the odd bottle of gin or wine she earned from it, and she pulled a bottle from under her mattress.

  ‘`Ere, `ave a drink and forget it. S’pose I was a bit sharp. In truth it’s never bothered me, but I can see `ow you would be. I tell you Mary, we may `ave a lot worse to do, if we’re goin` to make a go of it. Look here, the way I sees it, we got two choices; we either gets a man to take care of us, or we starve. Who’s goin` to give tuppence for us when we get there? Answer me that. Them lot ain’t goin` to be givin` free `andouts. We’re the bottom of the bleedin` pile, an` we got to take every chance we can. We’ve been lucky on this ship. I heard they lost another two last night on the Alexander.’

  She knew that Lizzie spoke a good deal of common sense. They had indeed been lucky on this ship. So far none had died, although a number were sick, but the fresh food brought on board had been welcome. Mary settled onto her bench and pulled the thin blanket up to her chin. She lay there a long time, before deep, dreamless, sleep removed some of her fears.

  JACK VIZZARD LOWERED himself into the boat and lo
oked at the marines in front of him. More than half of them were showing the excesses of last night, with red eyes and sour expressions, although Joe Packer for one looked awake and alert.

  The midshipman in command of the boat, George Raper, gave an order and the sailors pulled away smartly enough. In truth, he was glad to be off the ship, and the interminable routine. At least he had a job to do.

  Overnight the Alexander had reported a bolter. One of the convicts had bribed a guard and had made his escape in one of the jolly boats. Ross had ordered him to take a party and bring the escapee back to face punishment. The guard responsible was flogged at first light, on the peremptory order of the Major. One of the carpenter’s mates had visited the island before and knew of a small isle off the east coast where the man may be in hiding. It was a hard pull for the crew; the sun was rising and growing in strength, the men soon sweating. Jack loosened his neck-cloth and checked his pistol.

  ‘There, sir, just before the point, I can see part of the jolly boat.’ Raper had good eyesight. Jack raised a field telescope and saw the stern of the boat, crudely camouflaged with branches of palm trees. The dark sand had been freshly disturbed, reflecting the light.

  ‘Silence in the boat!’ Jack spoke harshly as some of his men started growling. ‘Sergeant Packer, check weapons. I don’t want some clump-head giving warning before we get there.’

  Joe Packer set his jaw and scowled at three privates, who promptly lowered their heads.

  Raper directed the boat onto the beach and left two of the able seamen to guard it, as Jack led his men to the hidden boat. ‘Spread out – he may be armed.’ He commanded, wary of stalking even a hunted convict.

  A quick inspection revealed that the ship’s boat was empty. No provisions were to be found and Jack concluded that the man had sought out somewhere to hide until the fleet had sailed, before making for Santa Cruz, and possibly a merchant ship to America.

  The island was small, that much he knew. So small it was not shown on any chart, and was little more than a long spit of black rock and sand with a small hill on the western side. There was a range of sand dunes, formed of the dark, volcanic sand, through which a few palms and halophyte shrubs reached for the sun, and struggled for life.

  He led his party toward the hill, reasoning that to be the most logical refuge for an escaping prisoner, Packer following at the rear with the seamen and the midshipman.

  He was pleased with this section of men. Packer had trained them well; Corporal Munday, the Welshman, a man with a voice for a song. Abraham Hands, the quiet but competent soldier. George Winwood, the tough Cumbrian. Morty Lynch, the Irishman who enjoyed a drink and a scrap; and who had earned and lost his corporal’s stripes because of it. Tom Bramage, the former tin miner from Cornwall. Jack had watched him load and aim one of the ship’s guns as though born to it. The elderly marine, Tom Cornwall, had carried a mortally wounded friend from Bunker Hill and did not put him down until both were back aboard their ship and a surgeon had pronounced his friend dead. They were his men now, and he respected them, had grown to admire their spirit.

  It took nearly an hour to reach the hill, the men making hard work of the alternately soft sand and sharp, rocky terrain. They rested at the foot of the hill, and Jack ordered them to take a small drink of water before they commenced the ascent. He had them spread out, in open order, as they climbed. Some thought it strange, preferring to keep closer together.

  The marines were sweating hard, the sun nearing its zenith as they approached the summit. He gave a hand signal, pausing the climb, while he used a telescope to view the rocky summit.

  Jack felt, rather than heard, the shot. The ball passed his left shoulder as he spotted the smoke from a large rock, just below the summit.

  He dropped to one knee to take aim, ‘Just to the right of that large rock, Joe.’ He shouted to Packer. ‘You and Munday move round to the right, divide his fire.’

  ‘I’ve got him, sir.’ Packer moved quickly. ‘C’mon Ed, let’s `ave that bugger.’

  The muzzle of a musket appeared from the side of the rock and Jack fired. His shot hit the rock, spitting dust and fragments, and the musket disappeared.

  ‘Now, Joe! Move!’

  If the man was any good he would take at least half a minute to reload, and by then, they could be on him. He started to race uphill, pulling his sword from its scabbard. Packer and Ed Munday obviously had the same thought; he saw they were running too. His chest hurt, and slowed his run, Packer and Corporal Munday now just ahead of him, twenty or thirty feet to his right.

  With a yell, he was at the rock. Swinging the blade down, he realized the man had moved a yard or two to his right. The musket was up to the man’s shoulder and his aim was towards Packer. He fired as Jack’s foot hit him hard on the side of the head, spinning the musket from his grasp. His sword point stopped at the man’s chest, as he lay on his back, his hands outstretched seeking clemency.

  ‘I could stick you now, you little shit, and be thanked for it,’ Jack snarled at the ragged little man before him.

  ‘Please sir, no – I beg you. They’ll hang me soon enough anyways,’ he whimpered.

  Packer appeared at his side, panting hard. ‘He hit Ed, sir. I should do him for that.’

  ‘Where is he?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Back down the hill, sir.’

  ‘See to him, Joe. I doubt he will be any trouble now.’

  Jack went down twenty yards to the marine, who was sitting on a fallen banana tree.

  ‘Don’t thee worry `bout me, sir. The bastard only hit my boot. Took the heel clean off, made me fall, `e did, sir.’ Corporal Munday grinned up at Jack, holding out his damaged boot for inspection. Jack laughed.

  Packer trussed the convict’s hands behind his back and with the point of his bayonet at the man’s back, started the descent to the beach.

  Jack gathered up the knapsack in which the convict, established as Daniel Smart, had used to store some biscuits, stale bread, salted pork and a bottle of wine, and followed. He knew nothing of the man, and was surprised to learn later that he was one of two brothers, convicted in Gloucester of stealing wool.

  Packer continued to mutter a variety of curses at the man, who half walked, half fell, down the track to the beach.

  ‘Good piece of work, sir.’ Midshipman Raper complimented him as they made their way back to the flagship. ‘The captain will be well satisfied.’

  ‘I suspect, George, we have done him no favour,’ he replied. ‘The poor little bastard will either hang, or else have his back-bone exposed, in return for his day of liberty.’

  George Raper pondered the marine officer’s words. He was an enigma this man. Any officer would have been more than satisfied at having discharged his duty. Vizzard seemed to regret having done so. He looked towards the small fishing village nearby.

  ‘But surely, he could have shot you. Are you not pleased to have captured the convict?’ He stared at the subject of his remarks, now cowed in the boat, chin on his chest, sobbing.

  Jack levelled his gaze at the young midshipman. ‘He could have killed one of my men, yes, and I would have shot him myself, had he done so. However, he has done well to survive the voyage this far. They are dropping like flies on his transport. I sometimes think that we are little better than slavers ourselves, George. I would be tempted to make a run, should I be in his situation. You should see for yourself how they are expected to live on these fine ships.’ Jack looked up to see the flagship appear in view as they rounded a headland, the water around them a clear, flat, blue sheet of glass, with the setting sun throwing the ships in to sharp silhouette. Yes, he had done his duty, but he felt no pleasure.

  HE WAS SURPRISED TO find Major Ross arrayed in full uniform, awaiting him as he stepped on to the quarterdeck, in contrast to the more casual wear of the Naval officers on deck.

  ‘What kept you, Vizzard? I expected you back on board this past hour or more!’ He spoke with a Scots growl Jack had come to detest. ‘Best be qui
ck man, we are invited to dine with Captain Phillip, although quite why he has requested your attendance is a matter of surprise to me.’ With that sour comment, he turned away stiffly, not expecting nor inviting any response.

  Jack watched his retreating back and turned to Lieutenant William Dawes. ‘Will, one day I will hang for that man. He is the most boorish bully. Why he is constantly berating me I do not know.’

  ‘Perhaps he envies your youth, my young friend.’ Dawes placed his hand on his shoulder in reassurance. ‘Jack, you must watch yourself with him, my dear chap. He has the power of God over us for three years or more. Do your duty and be true to yourself.’

  Jack’s mouth broke into a smile. ‘I do, and I will. But for now my friend, we must join our superiors below. At least the Captain’s table may offer better fare for one night. I must confess, I am ready for a good meal this night!’

  ON THE DECK, THE WATCH changed. Midshipman John Ferguson checked the log, turned the hour-glass and assumed command of the flagship. He imagined himself as captain of a frigate, although Sirius was no frigate. He stood with legs apart, hands resting on the rail, and considered that she was every inch the ‘eyes of the fleet’.

  He looked up at the yards and above them to the unfolding stars, thinking that one day he would have command of such a ship. He should have taken his examination for lieutenant. It was all that he wanted, ‘blind ambition’ it had been said, but by Christ, he should exchange the midshipman’s jacket for the coat of a lieutenant. But his mother had wanted him home. He had missed the commission to the Mediterranean; his lieutenancy would have been assured there. Forbes had said he was ready. He knew he was ready, at least to stand watch, if not more. He was a reasonable seaman, could navigate – the master had assured him of that, knew all he could master of gunnery, but still had to make do with a midshipman’s jacket and dirk.