First Fleet

by M Howard Morgan

  Tom half turned and grinned back at the tall soldier, ‘Well, it’s the bloody truth an` all, corp. Mister Vizzard didn’t warn me about the grub in the army when he had me join up!’ He thrust another piece of wax-like meat into his mouth, with a spoonful of greasy rice to accompany it.

  ‘Talking of your lord and master, I just seen `im hurry into his tent after the parade, with a very `andsome wench clingin` to him for dear life. One of the wimmin off the Lady Pen I reckon, bleedin` cracker of a wench...’

  The words tailed off as Tom’s young brain made a connection and his eyes widened and drilled into those of the tall marine. He dropped his platter and started running towards the officers’ tents.

  ‘Now what you `spose he’s up to lads?’ The corporal’s puzzled look was entirely genuine.

  Tom covered the rough ground as though pursued by the devil, reaching Lieutenant Vizzard’s tent breathless, his young heart thumping a staccato in his chest. He pulled to a stop, remembering his duty, and shouted at the tent, ‘Sir, Mister Vizzard, sir! `Tis me, Tom, sir. Is it true, sir?’ He panted and a moment later the tent flap opened, Jack beaming and looking happier than Tom had ever seen him.

  ‘Aye lad. You have heard then? Come in boy, come in.’

  Mary stood slowly, pushing her hair back from her face, and opened her arms as Tom rushed in to her embrace. The boy’s face buried itself in her shoulder and he felt his eyes fill with the moistness of pure joy, such as he had not felt in a year or more.

  ‘Mistress Mary,’ he choked when the air returned to his lungs. Gently she held him away from her and stared into his tear-streaked, grimy face.

  ‘Well now, look at you. My but you have filled out. Nearly a man and a fine soldier too. She started laughing. ‘I am so very happy to see you again, Tom Clutterbuck.’ Her gaze moved toward Jack, then back at the boy. ‘Mister Vizzard has told me of the help you have been to him. Yes, I know it all now.’ She answered the question unspoken in his eyes.

  Mary sent Tom to find a pot of boiling water, and prepared to brew some tea. Jack, mysteriously she thought, ‘suddenly recalled’ an urgent appointment with Major Ross, and swept from the tent with a promise to return with no more delay than necessary.

  She sat on large chest, studying the few possessions Jack had scattered about the tent, handling the shaving brush and silver-handled razor. A matching brush and comb lay side by side, engraved with the initials JHV. It struck her that she had not known of any name other than Jack. That omission must be rectified later she decided.

  There was, however, another matter she had to attend to, one equally important if not more so. She had to speak to Ned, had to explain. Understanding he had made assumptions, she would have to hurt him.

  Tom escorted her to a work party, clearing ground by the head of the stream. Sensing her need for privacy, he stood by while she took Ned Goodall to the shade of a spreading flame tree, and then gently broke his heart.

  She and Tom walked back to the officers’ tents, without a word passing between them.

  LIEUTENANT VIZZARD stormed from Major Ross’s tent his expression showing barely contained rage. His stride took him unintentionally in the direction of Governor Phillip’s large pre-fabricated temporary home and administrative rooms. He turned and glanced back but Ross had not followed. In frustration, he kicked at a rock, sending it with a splash into shallow pool of muddy water. He strode into the Governor’s residence and snapped to attention before Captain David Collins.

  ‘Good afternoon to you, Jack Vizzard. I see you have some cause to add to the interminable list of troubles I have to wrestle with.’

  Jack felt deflated. He knew this officer had more problems than any other, save for Arthur Phillip, and instantly recognized that his own needs were as insignificant as a grain of sand on the white beaches he had seen. He hesitated. Collins spoke. ‘Jack... I do not have the luxury of time. Please be brief.’

  ‘Sir, I wish to marry,’ he blurted, ‘and Major Ross has declined to approve. I wish to seek the Governor’s permission as the senior officer. I believe he has the authority.’

  Captain Collins indicated a velvet, button-back chair, and Jack pulled his turn-backs and sat as requested.

  ‘It is the governor’s declared desire that there should be marriages, and as soon as possible; but from amongst the convicts, Jack, not from the garrison officers! Perhaps you had best relate your tale, and I will discuss the request with my master – he is grappling with the commissary returns and will not be disturbed with such a matter this morning.’ David Collins leaned back, meshing his fingers together and resting his hands on his chest.

  Jack described a succinct and highly edited account of his relationship with Mary, saying nothing of his involvement in her trial or conviction, but ensured Captain Collins understood that a crass, incompetent and probably corrupt judge had betrayed his oath and performed an injustice on an innocent, gentle, person.

  Collins listened attentively, his expression not changing until Jack had retold his tale. Then he stood, ‘I will raise the matter with His Excellency at the first opportunity. Do not be offended if it is declined, Jack. Our master has enough cause for acrimony with Ross without seeking further trouble.’

  Jack thought it significant that Captain Collins omitted to name Ross by his rank. He understood that there was already rancour towards Major Ross. He spoke his thanks quickly and left.

  On Sunday 10th February, the Reverend Richard Johnson performed several baptisms and marriages. When those of the several convicts had been disposed of, Mary George married Lieutenant John Howard Vizzard in a simple ceremony, witnessed by Lizzie Parker and Lieutenant William Dawes.

  Governor Phillip hosted a modest luncheon for the couple, accompanied by a few officers of the official party. Mary’s friend, Lizzie, excluded of course from the occasion, but that did not trouble her greatly, it being a surprise to her that the Governor was morally obliged to accept an officer’s wife at his table.

  Mary felt more confident in the society of the officers, and the stigma of her convicted status, while a matter of obvious curiosity to the officers, was not to cause her any embarrassment. She spoke, when addressed, with courtesy and without the soft Gloucestershire burr that had characterized her speech before. She chose not to initiate any topics of her own, happy to leave the conversation to Jack and his friends.

  The meal was frugal and consumed without the jollity that Jack might have wished for; the officials of the new colony now fully apprehending of the mammoth task ahead. However, the Governor proved a charming host, and William Dawes had arranged a gift of linen and wine to be presented to the bride and groom, which delighted them both. Each acutely felt the absence of their respective parents, especially Mary, who showed her emotion during the ceremony itself, and which none present, save Jack, fully understood.

  THAT AFTERNOON, THE camp was again wet from the thunderstorms that doused the settlement. Later, the summer evening had seen the sun setting over the distant hills, edging them with a soft shade of blue. Jack and Mary Vizzard had walked amongst the still dripping eucalypts and sat on the rocky foreshore, gazing at the harbour as a sea mist rolled slowly inland. They spoke of their families and of their hopes for the colony, until the humid evening brought the biting insects and he took her hand and led her to the canvas field tent that would be their first home.

  The cot, at one end, had been set with some petals, placed there by Lizzie, and two candles burned, giving the space a soft glow. Jack lay beside her, and kissed her again, and again, caressing her hair, her shoulders and her thighs. She responded to his lovemaking with a gentleness that endeared her to him all the more. His hands explored her tenderly, and his lips sought her breasts, as her hand guided him into her. She gave herself completely, utterly and without restraint or inhibition, feeling more love for him than she thought possible, finding a completeness of being she had never before experienced.

  34

  Insubordination and a death

>   Major Robert Ross paced before the governor. His mood was sour and his language reflected that.

  ‘By God, Arthur, my men are getting angry. You deal with them in harsher terms than your damned convicts and they resent it man! I will have you know, I do too. Now you want to charge them, put them in your damned court, and reduce them to the level of the vermin we are here to guard! I will nae stand for that! You will release them to my pleasure. I will deal with them in my own way.’

  Governor Phillip sighed, but fixed Major Ross with a firm glare, rising slowly and with some pain. Of late, he had increasing pain in his side, years of a salt diet to blame.

  ‘You will address me as Sir or His Excellency, Major Ross. Reflect on your manners and remember to whom you speak. Yes, by God I do intend to prosecute them. Most certainly I will. A thief is a thief sir, even though he wears a red coat, Major Ross.’

  He glared up at the burly Scotsman. ‘All here are to obey my orders; convict, sailor, marine... or officer, and you would be well advised to remember that. It is for the benefit of all, and our marines are not favoured exceptions – far from it. And yes, I expect to punish offenders from your battalion more severely. If I cannot have discipline from them, how am I to have it from those wretched convicts? For me to do otherwise, would be to show favour to your men, simply because they serve the King. No sir, they will be prosecuted and they will feel the fullness of my wrath in this matter.’ Phillip was standing very close, more bellicose than he had been to this martinet before.

  ‘Governor, ye leave me nae choice but to report my concerns directly to London. I must have command of my own men, ye can see that, can ye not!’

  ‘Major Ross, you may do as you wish, but I warn you now, I will tolerate no interference with my orders. Your men, as much as the convicts, are subject to my authority and to military law. I had hoped for your support, I have a right to it, but I see I was much mistaken.’

  The two men stared at each other. Ross was ever at odds with the Governor. He resented that Phillip never consulted with him, nor confided his plans or the government’s orders for the colony. He resented the lack of stores and shortage of food and clothing for his detachment. He resented the convicts. He resented the flies, the crawling insects, the fleas, the lice, the heat, the natives and the very country itself and wished he had never agreed to the commission. He resented the Governor more.

  He stormed from Government House in a foul temper.

  LIZZIE PARKER WAS ON her knees, trying to extract dirt from the shirts, in the already dirty water. In the last hour, she had managed only five shirts, and the pile of laundry by her side showed no evidence of lessening. She felt nauseous and fatigued. Her head ached, her gaunt, lean body shivered in the heat, and cramps clutched at her stomach.

  ‘Hello Lizzie, how are you this fine... what on earth is wrong?’ Mary dropped the Governor’s laundry and knelt beside her friend, grasping her hand.

  ‘Oh, Mary, `tis you. Thank God. I feel so wretched this morning.’

  A spasm of pain slashed through her like knives. Her body shook and she vomited blood in disconcerting amount, mixed with the sputum. A sudden and involuntary evacuation of her bowel added to her distress.

  ‘Lizzie, oh, Lizzie’. Mary looked about her. ‘Help me, help please!’ she shouted, alarmed now, searching desperately for someone to come to her aid. She cradled her friend’s head in the crook of her arm, feeling the heat of the fever from her face. A marine came running, followed by Mister Worgan.

  ‘Please help. She is very ill.’ Mary dabbed at Lizzie’s mouth with one of the Governor’s shirts, as the marine and George Worgan lifted the limp form of Lizzie Parker and carried her to the crude makeshift hospital that the surgeons had quickly established.

  There were several beds, all occupied. People lay on the damp earthen floor, between the beds, most occupied by two or even three people each, creating foulness in the air that the surgeons could not remove.

  George Worgan placed Lizzie on a pile of coarse woollen blankets in a darkened corner, and called for an assistant to bring water. He looked at her pallid, waxy face and into her eyes. Opening her mouth, he studied her tongue, and cast a troubled look toward Mary, now kneeling on the floor beside her friend.

  A murmur slipped from Lizzie’s mouth, followed by a low groan. Mary leaned closer and heard Lizzie say, in a wheezing, shallow whisper, ‘Mary love, please take care of my baby. You’re a good `un, and I am right glad you found your officer.’

  Another spasm caused her to retch, again mucus laced with traces of blood. She coughed. ‘D`ya know girl, there was a time I didn’t believe you.’ Her voice broke and fell to a whisper. ‘Mary...you be sure an` `ave a good life my girl, you deserve it.’

  ‘Hush now Lizzie Parker, there is no need for that kind of talk.’ Mary tried to reassure her friend. ‘You will be fine, you’ll see. Mister Worgan will make you better, and you can look after your baby yourself.’ Mary’s eyes moistened over, and she blinked hard several times.

  Lizzie slowly shook her head from side to side. ‘I know I will not, Mary George, but please don’t...’ she coughed again, a deeper, rasping sound that came from her soul, ‘don’t weep for me luv. Just care for my little girl.’

  George Worgan motioned Mary to one side, as an assistant started to clean Lizzie’s face, and pass a cup of water to her lips.

  ‘I am very sorry, Mary, but I believe your friend has the bloody flux.’ He wiped his forehead with a soiled handkerchief. ‘We will do all we can, but...’ He left unfinished the obvious statement that he held little hope for any recovery.

  Mary shook her head, unable for a moment to form any sound. ‘She must get well, Mister Worgan, she must. This cannot be.’ Her sobs broke out of her throat and she clutched at the surgeon for support.

  ‘Hush child, hush now. I will do all in my power.’

  Lizzie Parker died during the night. She was twenty-five years old, and had been in the colony only twenty-five days.

  35

  The Hut

  With convict help, Jack had a hut built a little removed from some of the others, overlooking the rock-strewn western foreshore of the cove. A screen of eucalypts, a ship’s carpenter called them ‘maiden’s gum’ trees, provided shelter from wind and rain, but they could look on the harbour from there, and it was but a short walk to the observatory.

  He had worked with William Dawes to construct that. Built partly on a rock at Point Maskelyne, named for his sponsor the Astronomer Royal; it had an ingenious revolving octagonal roof, using canon balls as bearings. Removable panels, made of painted canvas on timber frames, allowed Dawes to view all parts of the night sky. He had most carefully installed a treble object, achromatic telescope, made by Peter Dollond of Vine Street, London, and several other instruments.

  By the time it was completed, Dawes was delighted with it. He worked during the short, humid nights, and slept during the mornings. A young aboriginal girl had taken residence with him and worked as his servant, teaching him something of the language and customs of her people. Dawes had started to compile a dictionary with her help.

  Jack and Mary’s hut was admittedly a crude construction, composed mostly of rough sawn timber, with infill of a mix of mud, sticks and dung. The exterior had a coating of pipe-clay, to act as waterproofing. A brick-maker had commenced work some time before, but the bricks were few in number and of poor quality, as none had yet discovered a source of mortar.

  Gangs of convict women, employed in gathering sea-shells, spent days crushing and grinding them to a fine powder, with which, it was thought, a lime mortar might be made, but it was poor material and there was insufficient for the needs of all.

  The hut they had made their home was small, barely ten or twelve feet square. The framework was of she-oak and used the drop-log style of construction, and with a floor of only compacted clay, covered with flax and dried grass. Mary loved it.

  At one end of the building, an obliging Sergeant Packer and Corporal G
oodall had fabricated a low bed, fitted with a palliase of horsehair. Jack had purloined some sheets and blankets, and had fitted some oiled canvas, spread over a latticework of wattle sticks, to serve as windows.

  A stone fire was at the other end, smoke passing through a simple flue, made of pipe-clay covered mud, with a simple field kitchen comprising two cooking pots, some wooden bowls and Jack’s personal mess kit. A pair of old and dented pewter tankards from Lampern House used as drinking vessels for the dwindling supply of tea which now was rationed, hung from a solitary shelf.

  A single door, about six feet high and hung with leather hinges, provided the only means of access and egress. Shingles, formed of stripped and dried bark, covered the structure, and prevented much of any rain from entering.

  The silhouette of his brother, George Vizzard, last seen by Mary in the dining room of Lampern House, hung from a nail; Jack’s boots stood like sentinels by the smoking fire, cleansed by Tom of mud and drying for renewed use on the morrow. Wisps of smoke blew back into the room, causing both to have sore, itching red eyes.

  Jack sat on the three-legged stool, shaping the leg of a new chair, using a borrowed chisel and adze. He was no carpenter, and found the work taxing.

  ‘You are in need of a hair-cut, Mister Vizzard,’ remarked Mary. ‘Here, let me cut some of those locks away, else you will find yourself charged, and in conflict with the Major again.’

  Jack smiled in spite of the growing hunger within him. It had been many weeks since he had eaten any meat other than fish. He did not like fish. He detested the flavour and the smell of it. When not on guard duty he had joined in some hunting and had shown his skill with a musket, but the kangaroos had become less frequently seen, and as ever, the stock thus acquired went to the government store to feed a growing population. He had shot some large parrots, and thought that when stewed, or roasted, they tasted a little like the pheasant he used to enjoy in England.