First Fleet

by M Howard Morgan

  It was the need for water that had driven her to seek out the young marine, Ned Palmer. She had noticed him before. A shy man, but he liked her; she sensed it. He was quiet, but not submissive either. She was sure he was not a drunkard, not like his comrades. He had given her small beer before, and wine. He was kind, of that she was sure. She found him that evening after sunset, by the marine walk at the stem of the ship, just behind the bow. He was alone. Good, she thought. He sat facing the bowsprit, idly carving a length of wood, smoking a long-stemmed pipe.

  ‘Ned,’ she said, causing him to jump in alarm. ‘I have need of water. Desperate I am. Can you help me please?’ Her voice sounded low in her throat.

  He offered his bottle, staring up at her in wonder.

  ‘No. It’s water,’ he said, seeing her shy away. ‘It aint wine this time.’

  It was warm, and tasted of wood, but it was water. She drank fully, spilling some on her chin, the drops glistening by the starlight. She sat down beside him.

  ‘They are beautiful.’ Her head back, she stared at the heavens, surveying the myriad of stars.

  ‘The master says that group up ahead be the Southern Cross.’ He was pointing over the starboard cathead. ‘Brighter than them at home.’ He looked wistful.

  ‘Where is home for you, Ned?’ She knew nothing of him, but that he had been gentle and kindly.

  ‘Dorset. I comes from a village near Poole. Lytchett Minster, but you would not have ‘eard of it miss. Used to walk there an’ look at the ships, then one day I didn’t go home.’ He turned to look at her. ‘ I ‘ad a sister there, I did. Just like you she was. But she died, and there was none else for me to worry about, so I went to sea. Did two years on an Indiaman then I took up soldiering. The grub’s better.’ He laughed at his speech. He had not spoken so much to the beautiful girl from Gloucester throughout the whole voyage.

  She sat closer to him, as the warm night breeze rose, tugging at her hair.

  ‘How d’ye come to be on this slaver then, Mary?’ Using her name, he felt shy again.

  ‘Slaver! Yes, you speak the truth. How we have fared on this floating hell is a wonder.’ Her mouth pinched firmly, as she glanced astern.

  ‘The wonder is that so many of us have survived. The cages are foul. The deck is often awash with water and nothing stays dry for long. There is never quite enough food, our cages are invested with lice and other crawling creatures, the children fall sick and the crew treat us as whores!’ Some of her anger spilled out. ‘You at least have been considerate.’ She smiled kindly at him. ‘I stole some books belonging to my employer. Leastways, I was convicted for the theft of them. The judge was against me from the first.’

  Mary paused, wondered if she should tell Ned the truth. She decided she would. ‘He tried to rape me, the drunken bastard. He was a bastard right enough, `scuse my language, but he had violated a lot of women in Stroud and Gloucester.’ She raised the bottle to her lips once more, and drank two or three mouthfuls of the tepid water. ‘I fought him but got seven years from a judge who had no interest, that or he had been bribed.’

  Silence. Neither spoke for several minutes. Watching the sky, listening to the slap, slap of the bow wave beneath them.

  ‘I believe you.’ He spoke with sympathy. ‘A lot here will plead innocence, but most are thieves and cheats, and hardened cases too. No rapists that I knows of, though I hear tell as `ow the guv’nor don’t know who done what, nor `ow long they got. My officer says the papers for all the convicts ain’t come wiv us.’

  She settled closer to him. He stirred at the sight and closeness of her, the loose fabric of her shirt. The pipe no longer glowed in the darkness. He placed it on the deck. His hand found hers. Not pulled away. Perhaps she will. Uncertain, he put his arm about her shoulders. Expectancy rose in him, and his mouth opened to speak.

  ‘Hush now, Ned. I know you like me. I have seen it in your eyes. My man left me after my trial, and until now I’ve not... needed another.’ She felt a need rising quickly, lust I suppose, she thought. God help me, is this right? Oh Jack, where are you when I really need you, she anguished over her confusion. Her eyes seemed to him to shimmer, reflecting the starlight.

  His arm tightened about her. She laid her head into his shoulder and responded by stroking the inside of his duck breeches, and their lips came together in heat. His hands explored her, the thin Indian cotton of her shirt parting with the urgency of his need.

  She felt his weight on her as she rolled over, her own hands reaching and squeezing as the desire in both their bodies rose. Hands tugged at her skirt, one of them her own, and her undergarments tore as she pulled him to her, his strength growing as he entered her. Animal instinct had overwhelmed her and she wanted him. Her moistness exploded as he went deeper, and deeper, penetrating her soul, her conscience and her spirit, raising a ghost, an image she had not seen for a long time.

  They rolled on the deck, hard and warm beneath their aching, sweating bodies, all care gone for a few moments in the need to satisfy the lust each had. She surprised herself with the force of her demand for him. As her tongue explored his mouth, her hands gripped him, pulling him deeper in. Her nerve ends screamed, her voice also as she felt an energy course through her body, rushing like a wind through a forest. A sharp pain. The night exploded as the stars reeled across the sky, and she pulled away from him, guilt pulling her away, panting, her chest heaving, rising and falling like the sea.

  Then she wept. She wept for her lost innocence. She wept for the love won and lost. She wept for Jack and her own act of betrayal.

  27

  The Malay

  Vizzard put the glass back in the rack, but continued to gaze with longing at the sharp, flat-topped mountain that dominated the sky above Cape Town. His shirt hung loose on his damp back, yet he remained oblivious to the heat of the sun.

  The fleet had been at anchor for over a fortnight and only now were supplies coming on board the transports. He longed to be ashore, to feel solid earth beneath his feet, to walk without rolling as though drunk. He had not been permitted ashore even in Rio de Janeiro. Each request to Major Ross was refused, adding to his ennui. A month the fleet had remained there and all he could do was stare at the foreign city and all its colour and vibrancy, and vicariously enjoy the pleasures experienced by the other officers. Even Joe Packer had been granted leave ashore, on his return making a gift to him of local wines. It was small consolation.

  Captain Phillip had kept the officers busy, mostly with maintenance of the ships, watering and obtaining fresh stores. He had even procured armourer’s tools and 10,000 musket balls for the marines, greatly to Jack’s amusement.

  Seeds too he had purchased and local beef, which was excellent. Other officers had bought a locally distilled spirit; aguardiente the Brazilians had called it. Jack had shared a bottle with another marine officer, Captain Tench, now deployed on the transport Charlotte, and both had found it unpalatable.

  He enjoyed the captain’s company, finding this senior officer at least to be cultured and educated, a man of humour and wit. Tench was fluent in the French language, a skill of which Jack had only rudimentary knowledge and wished to improve. He spent many hours with Tench, learning from him, making use of his French grammar and dictionary.

  Here now in Cape Town, friends had returned to Sirius extolling the delights, and horrors, of this last contact with civilized society the fleet would have before crossing vast oceans to whatever destiny awaited them. He was restless and fatigued at the same time.

  He climbed the fore-mast, and sat cross-legged staring out over the bay of cerulean blue to the curious mountain behind the town, and felt the breeze run through his hair as the ship swayed, once more alone with his private thoughts. Ross hardly spoke to him, but issued his orders through others, relentlessly requiring him to undertake more, yet more, meaningless tasks. Finding fault in everything he did. Drill in everything; ‘spit and polish’ was the way young Tom described it. Endless lists, double checking of s
upplies, and drilling the men.

  The fleet continued to take on provisions, many of the officers hoping to augment their personal supplies. Arthur Phillip invested in seeds, plants and much needed livestock. He bargained hard with the obdurate Dutch traders, but also took the opportunity of ensuring the convicts, the ‘human cargo’ he was responsible for, ate well with extra supplies of meat, soft bread and fresh fruit and vegetables.

  This morning, as he had searched his chest for some writing paper, he had found the letter from his father, long forgotten. He pulled it from his pocket and read it once more.

  Lampern House

  Woodchester, Glos

  12th April 1787

  My dearest Jack.

  I know not when or indeed if, this letter will reach you, but have this desire to reach out to you. I pray daily for news of you, to little avail. Our parting caused me such unhappiness, such deep sorrow, that much you will have understood. You did have the grace to speak to me before leaving, for that I am grateful, and spared me the wound that your dear brother caused me some years ago. I still have no word of him and wonder at my circumstance, a father with two sons, but neither by my side.

  Firstly, let me assure you of a father’s love. I struggle each day to understand your decision, and pray that one day you will return safe and well, to Lampern, and to your rightful place with me. Your dear sister joins with me in that sentiment.

  Next, I must relate the most unwelcome and distasteful tales that have been circulating since your departure, concerning the demise of our Revd. Barnwood. The suggestion is made by some malicious tongues, that you, in some measure, and by unknown means, and for reasons unknown, caused his early and regretted death. Now, my good friend, Doctor Stee

  Whatever else it was that his father had written was spoiled by mildew and mould, with the remainder of the letter completely illegible. No amount of peering, including the use of a magnifying glass, had revealed the final contents of the letter. He sighed. Probably there was news of Mary, but whatever his father’s words, it was beyond him to decipher. In exasperation, he tore the note into several pieces, and cast them to the breeze, now fluttering about the masts and causing the stays to whistle and hum.

  A shout from the deck brought him back to the present. The midshipman of the watch called that his presence was required in the Captain’s cabin. More competently than the first occasion, he descended the rigging and hurried to find his uniform coat. He fastened the final button as he stood at the door of the main cabin. The marine sentry, sweating in the growing heat of the day, opened the door and stood aside for him.

  ‘There you are, Mister Vizzard. Thank you for being so prompt.’

  Arthur Phillip was pacing a small semi-circle about his desk. Major Ross was standing by a table littered with charts and papers, drinking coffee from a china cup. He feigned interest in one document in particular.

  ‘Sir?’ Jack asked, wondering why he had the summons to the Commodore.

  ‘Doubtless you are curious as to my summons, young man.’ He glanced sideways at Ross, who ignored him. ‘The Governor of the Cape, Mynheer Van Graaffe, has been - how shall I put this - not the most pliant of men to deal with. Hospitable, but inclined to obduracy. I am obliged to pay the most outrageous of prices for... well, no matter, Vizzard.’ Phillip paused in his pacing, and looked directly at Jack, seeking and receiving full attention.

  ‘However, this morning he related to me a tale of some misfortune, and I have offered such assistance as His Majesty’s Marines are capable of, to ah, encourage his further cooperation. Major Ross and I have discussed the matter, and he, that is we, feel that you may be the man needed for the occasion.’

  Jack tried, but failed to conceal the look of bewilderment on his face.

  Phillip smiled. ‘I am not explaining myself at all well.’ The Commodore continued. ‘He tells that a very dangerous man is loose in the town, and it would benefit our expedition if this man could be caught and dealt with expeditiously. He is a Malay, banished here from Batavia for some crime in his own country, and who has been refused permission to return.’

  Captain Phillip cleared his throat and drank some water from a glass on his desk.

  ‘The man has been smoking opium and is reputed to be in a frenzied condition. He has already murdered upwards of a dozen men in the town, sorely wounded many more, taken refuge, and fled to Table Mountain. He even attempted to assassinate the Governor himself. The authorities here are anxious to secure his confinement.’ He looked directly at Jack, his intention clear. ‘I could of course command you, however...’

  ‘That will not be necessary, sir,’ Jack replied. ‘I am honoured to have the opportunity to be of service. How am I to be involved, sir?’

  ‘Major Ross wished to have command of the detachment, but I believe a small force only will be most appropriate. A dozen men should suffice I would have thought. I leave the selection to your judgment, however if you could be ashore within say, the hour? Regrettably, the Dutch Governor is unable to spare any of his own troops but willing to provide a guide.’ Commodore Phillip clasped his hands behind his back, as he waited on Jack’s response.

  ‘Certainly, sir. I have the men well drilled. Major Ross has been most particular about drill, sir.’ Jack kept his eyes on Phillip.

  ‘Very well then. I am content to leave the detail to you, but must caution you; this man is heavily armed and is obviously extremely dangerous. He will not succumb to an arrest and force will be required. You have authority to kill him if you or your men are at risk. However, the Governor would doubtless welcome the prospect of applying his own form of justice on the man, should it prove possible for you to take him captive. He has killed a number of prominent citizens in his murderous spree.’

  ‘I understand, sir. He is to be taken, alive if possible, if not, then I am at liberty to ensure his, er, termination. In the circumstances, sir, I would appreciate a written order to that effect, should my actions be subject to any challenge by the Dutch authorities, sir.’ Jack was concerned should it be necessary to shoot the man, the Dutch might be less well disposed to the officer responsible.

  ‘So be it. Bernard will have a note ready before you leave. Lieutenant, just be sure you catch this fellow for me please. I am relying on your skill.’ Arthur Phillip wore a frown and a serious expression.

  ‘If he is to be found, sir, he will be caught. I have the best of the regiment to work with.’ Jack glanced once more in the direction of Major Ross, who pointedly ignored him.

  ‘I am certain of it, and have all confidence in you, Mister Vizzard. I know you will not fail, but I wish you good luck. This may be no easy task.’

  Taking his leave of the commodore, he was ashore within an hour of leaving the cabin. He had with him Sergeant Packer and sixteen good men collected from three of the transports; all trusted marines who were eager for a fight and who could be relied upon.

  A short, rather embarrassed young officer of the Dutch East India Company introduced their guide. As soon as Jack had proffered his written order the man made an excuse, and disappeared into an office of the Dutch Company.

  ‘Not many of them Hollanders to be seen this afternoon, sir,’ offered Joe Packer, holding a carbine casually in the cradle of his left arm. ‘Reckon they are bit scared of this renegade Malay.’

  ‘That is why we have the job, Joe. Make no mistake though; this will be hard work. First we have to climb the mountain, and that will be work enough; then we have to catch the bugger!’

  Joseph Packer looked up at the landmark of Cape Town and whistled. ‘That’s a hard climb, sir. Best we make a start, although this heat will sap us, and that’s no mistake!’

  Jack smiled. ‘Tell the lads to leave their coats with the boat. Carry only water and ammunition in knapsacks. I do not think we need show our scarlet coats today, Joe.’

  The men left their coats with the boats, guarded by a midshipman and sailors, surprised at the order.

  It was early evening by th
e time the platoon reached the summit. Their guide took them to the top through the Platteklip Gorge, directly from the town. The setting sun was throwing long shadows, and the air was cooler, but the men were sweating and breathing hard, after a climb up the cleft in the mountain, grateful to be without their heavy red coats.

  Jack had the men rest for a quarter of an hour, while he found a patch of rocks at the summit. Careful to shield his telescope, he searched the plateau. The mountaintop was at least a mile and a half in length, possibly two, he estimated. This bastard could be anywhere, he thought, surveying the craggy surface with care. Minute after long minute his eye slowly and carefully scanned the landscape. He picked out a pair of rock hyrax, on a boulder rising above the fynbos shrubland with which the mountain was covered. He took a drink of water and continued his search. Packer slid silently into position beside him.

  ‘Seen anything, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing, Joe. I begin to think we are here on a goose chase. Wait though.’ He steadied the telescope on a rock and adjusted the glass. In a cluster of rocks, about a thousand yards away, a shadow was in the wrong place. No, not a shadow, but a figure resting in a space between two rocks. For a moment or two, Jack was uncertain, and then the faintest movement betrayed the position of their prey.

  ‘There he is, Joe. About a thousand yards to the east.’ He passed the glass to Packer. ‘That crop of rocks over there. Do you see?’

  The sergeant hesitated, studying the terrain carefully. He watched for a while, not seeing anything.

  ‘I don’t see nothing, sir. You sure you spotted him?’

  ‘There, just to the right of that rounded rock. He is trying to move position slowly. He must be expecting an attempt to take him, but by now he must be tired and sluggish.’

  Jack slid back a yard and rolled onto his back. Packer followed.

  ‘No purpose in a frontal approach, Joe. Three sections of four I think. You take one to the north. I will approach from the south. Corporal Munday can take the direct line, but this has to be a stealthy move, a crawl through this rough grass. He has a good field of fire from that point. If you can keep concealed, you have a good chance of being on him before he knows you are there. I will engage him from that gully, about a hundred yards to his left and distract him from your approach.’