As Mary started work on his lank, thinning hair, he thought of the developing problems faced by the infant colony. He was troubled, by the growing indiscipline, the frequent abuses by the marines, and the increase in thieving by all sections of the small community.
‘Mind that blade my dear, you nearly removed my ear!’
Mary laughed; she cut again, this time more carefully, humming a light tune. The swelling of her abdomen was now evident, and he gently placed the palm of his hand on her belly. She smiled down on him.
‘I will boil up some rice and some of that salt beef – I removed as many of the weevils as I could find while you were washing. You must keep your strength up. I fear you work too hard.’
Jack had secured some lighter duty for Mary, to protect her from the labour of gathering and grinding shells; nor was she working in the hospital with the surgeons, where she might contract dysentery or worse. Now the surgeons had just diagnosed an outbreak of smallpox. Several had died and the toll grew daily. Sadly, many of the bodies discovered about the settlement were of the local tribe, and that caused Arthur Phillip great distress and anguish. The Governor had kindly agreed to provide Mary with work as assistant to Deborah Brooks, his bosun’s wife as his housekeeper. It was undemanding and clean work, for which Mary was grateful.
‘I must do my share, Jack. I will not have it said that because I am now an officer’s lady that I have become high and mighty. Besides, I am still a convicted felon.’
Jack’s shoulders dropped. He had had letters of commendation written to the Home Secretary by his company commander, by the Reverend Johnson, even by Governor Phillip himself, all seeking clemency and a review of Mary’s case. They were en route to England in the care of the master of Lady Penrhyn, but he knew that it would be a year and a half before even a reply would come. Then he thought, unless some small miracle took place, it was unlikely that Mary would earn any reprieve. She had years of her sentence to run and would remain a convict, subject to the hard discipline of the colony. He did all he could to protect her and in the main her life was as comfortable, and her position as safe, as he could ensure. He had said nothing of this to Mary of course.
His own life had become dreary and humdrum beyond his imagination. Endless days of duty; supervising work gangs clearing the land and almost daily now sitting as clerk of the court, advising the Attorney General. Captain Collins had, very reluctantly, agreed to keep Jack’s true profession from the governor. In return, he leaned heavily on Jack’s knowledge.
The colony was in a legally unprecedented position; in law, the colony was a military establishment, subject to military law. The Judge Advocate, David Collins, was responsible for chairing all proceedings. His was the responsibility of advising the tribunal on matters of law; he also acted as prosecutor.
In military courts martial, he could have no say in determining judgement however. Criminal offences though, were tried before him under the Mutiny Act and the Articles of War. In such matters, Collins prepared the case, prosecuted it and had a vote in the judgement. It was a difficult position to hold, and Captain Collins was acutely aware of the conflicting interests. He relied on guidance from Jack.
Complicating the difficulties he faced, many of the marine officers objected to sitting as members of a criminal court. Jack understood this, and discreetly assisted the Judge Advocate in the preparation of trials and charges, the gathering of evidence from witnesses, and in advising him on points of law. He studied Order Books and regulations, sometimes late into the night, burning candles that were expensive and which were charged to his allowances.
However, he had no wish to acquire any position of prominence in the colony. Here he was simply a junior officer in an all but forgotten dominion over the seas. He was content with that, for the present.
ON SATURDAY 11 OCTOBER, the Governor felt older than his fifty years. Progress had been slow, far too slow for his design. He toured the settlement, inspecting various works, and was saddened to see so little that had been achieved. Before leaving England, he had advised the sending of preceding ships with artisans on board, to have facilities for the convicts and marine guards in readiness for arrival of the fleet. That advice too had been ignored.
The convicts worked reluctantly without directed, knowledgeable supervision, and the lack of experienced supervisors required him to use marines, with much opposition from the officers. He had imposed rationing because of the shortage of supplies. His planning and recommendations had not always received support, and that distressed him. He entered his house that evening in despondent mood.
His steward, the Frenchman Bernard de Maliez, greeted him with a smile. ‘Monsieur bonsoir. Vous semblez épuisé si je peux dire ainsi.’ He took the Governor’s hat and said, ‘Mai où je suggère vous prise monsieur de siège, et moi vous versera un verre de vin enrichi.’
‘Vous pouvez Bernard, vous pouvez. J'ai eu assez des affaires officielles pour un jour.’
Arthur Phillip’s education in languages was from his father, and in private, he often spoke in French with his steward.
He walked through to the room that served as his living quarters, to be greeted by Captain David Collins, at the head of a group of officers. His face was impassive, but he had expected a deputation.
‘Sir,’ began Collins, ‘we have collected here this evening to offer our sincere appreciation of the close attention you give to your duties, the unflagging optimism that you bring to our small community, and not least to wish you the happiest of birthday anniversaries!’
He had all but forgotten. Today was his fiftieth birthday. His normally unruffled expression broke into the broadest smile. ‘Well I thank you, David. I am most touched that anyone should remember.’ He accepted the proffered glass of Madeira wine. ‘Thank you all, this is quite a surprise.’
He moved further into the room, conversing easily, and welcoming each guest personally. He noted the absence of Major Ross, but was delighted to see that several other marine officers were present, including young Vizzard.
‘Good evening, sir and my warmest congratulations on your birthday.’ Jack raised a glass.
‘Thank you, Jack. I have spent a disheartening day inspecting the works. We really must find ways of progressing matters more – I had hoped to have barracks erected for your men, and better facilities for the sick and hurt.’ He studied the young officer.
‘Sir, it is not for want of effort by the men. They wish to be in barracks. The convicts, in the main, are poor labourers, and we have no skilled artisans to assist. Much is by trial and error, I regret to say.’
‘Indeed so, Vizzard. I have been at pains to impress that point upon my superiors in London, but fear it will be some time before we are supplied with all that we need. In the interim, we must do the best we can.’ Phillip paused to sip his wine. ‘It is the way of things in the King’s service, as you will have now come to understand. I am gratified that you have played no small part in this business, Jack. Your enthusiasm is not shared by all in the battalion.’ He said pointedly. ‘Your commander for one believes I expect too much of the troops.’
‘Sir, the Major is, perhaps, disappointed at the lack of more martial activity. I fancy he expected to be campaigning in the hinterland.’ Jack tried, but failed, to keep the sarcasm from his voice.
‘Lieutenant Vizzard, I would counsel you to tread carefully. Major Ross is your superior officer, and entitled to your obedience, if possibly not your respect.’ The Governor’s eyes smiled and his comments lacked conviction; most officers in the camp well knew that he and Major Ross endured a deteriorating and hostile relationship. There was support for Ross, but it was dwindling.
‘I trust that I am always aware of such, sir, and will continue my efforts, but I fear I am unlikely to ever earn the Major’s respect.’
The Governor looked at him kindly. ‘I understand your difficulty, Lieutenant. Try to understand mine. Excuse me, I really think I should talk to your charming wife, and rescue her from t
he attentions of Captain Collins.’ His eyes showed a hint of bemusement at Jack’s reaction.
The evening became convivial and Mary found herself enjoying the social occasion more than she would have expected. The wife of another marine officer, Sophia Cresswell, befriended her. They engaged in small talk for much of the evening. Conscious always of her history, the stigma associated with her circumstances, Mary was diffident, wary of revealing too much of herself. Sophia seemed alert to that, not probing, but gently, subtly enquiring.
Talking readily of matters domestic, of the hardships in building a home in such a hostile environment, she gained confidence and began to believe that she had a place here, one of some respectability. That night she slowly wrote a long letter to her father, the first of many that were to follow.
36
Work Party
Lieutenant Jack Vizzard was supervising another work party constructing another sawpit. ‘Mister Vizzard, sir, we need another shovel here, sir. Mine’s blunt as a cow’s arse!’
Jack looked at the man, not recognising him. He had been standing for two hours or more, and the pit was still only three feet deep.
‘Stand down, and let those idlers get to it.’ Jack motioned to two other men who were on their haunches, to get into the pit.
‘But these men are ill sir, by your leave. They ain’t fit for work, sir.’
He looked at their haggard faces; their beards matted with vomit and thought he detected symptoms of scurvy, and felt again the frustration of his duty.
‘Very well, report to the surgeon you two. Leave the shovel. You, get back to work.’
Jack was left with but one man. ‘Corporal Jenkins, get some of your men in there. Use the bloody bayonet if you must, but I want this pit finished.’
The corporal, a surly rat-faced man, spat from the corner of his mouth, giving Jack a sullen look.
‘Not our duty to be digging bleedin` holes.’
‘Enough of your insolent talk, man. I gave you an order, now get on with it!’ He snapped. The man moved lethargically into the hole, and with obvious reluctance commenced to dig.
Jack was fast losing his patience today. There were not enough tools and the ones he had were wearing out fast. He wondered again, how this new town was ever to be built, if the men and tools needed were not provided. He felt hopeless.
‘Sergeant Scott,’ he called to the approaching sergeant, ‘take over here and keep the men working. I will be back later to check your progress.’ He wanted to be away from the heat, the dusty and tedious work if only for some minutes.
He strode off towards his hut, noting how his left boot now seemed to be loose. On closer inspection, he saw that the heel was parting from the upper. ‘Hell and damnation’, he muttered. I have no other boots he thought. The temperature was falling this afternoon and the night promised to be a cold one. It did nothing to improve his mood. He found the cobbler at work in a crude timber shed behind a pile of shoes and boots.
‘I have need of your skill mister cobbler.’ He spoke affably to the stout old man bent over his work.
Without looking up, the man grunted and pointed to the pile. ‘Leave `em there and I’ll do `em when I can.’
‘I had hoped to wait while you did the repair, if it is all the same to you.’ Jack waited.
A pair of sunken, blood-shot eyes looked up at him, and the mouth below them broke open revealing a broken row of carious stumps.
‘As it’s you, Mister Vizzard I will of course. Slip your foot up `ere and I’ll do what I can.’
Jack raised his foot and the cobbler pulled at the boot until it slipped off his leg.
‘That will be no difficulty, Mister Vizzard. A couple of tacks and she’ll be as right as rain.’ With that, he slipped the boot over an iron horn and quickly hammered three short nails into the heel.
Jack pulled a small purse of coins, but the old man’s raised hand stopped him from handing over a coin.
‘That’s not needed, sir. You helped me out a couple of months past. Don’t you recall now? Besides, what use be coin to me `ere in this paradise!’ The old man broke into a wheeze-laden laugh.
Jack looked more closely, with vague recognition of the face. He had appeared in court, one of a long list of miscreants charged with some petty and unsubstantiated offence. He had advised the President of the Court that day not to proceed because Major Ross had brought the case with no witnesses to support the charge. Ross had been furious.
He pocketed the purse, recalling that currency had no value in Sydney Town. The only currency was food or drink, or for the women, their bodies.
‘Well, I thank you for that. A kindness I am sure.’ He took a cup of water from the cobbler’s bench, and drank it down thirstily. With that, Jack returned to the sawpit to find Sergeant Scott very subdued.
‘What’s afoot Scottie?’ asked Jack. ‘You look dismayed.’
‘Sir, nothing amiss, sir. Major Ross wishes to see you immediately, sir.’ Scott, with almost parade ground precision, brought his right hand to his head in a salute.
Jack was instantly alert. Sergeant Scott was not one for idle chatter, and thought by all in the detachment to be the model marine. It occurred to Jack that he had fallen foul of the Major.
He found Ross in his tent at a table made of rough planks stretched over a pair of tea chests.
‘Good of you to join me laddie. I have been waiting for you for...’ Ross glanced at the half-hunter on the table in front of him, ‘ten minutes now.’
Deciding not to rise to the bait, he clenched his jaws tighter.
‘I have made my opinion clear to His Excellency, that my battalion is not here to play overseers to convict labour, Vizzard. Now that is a thing he and I are not in agreement with, but I have my duty. We are directed by Mister bloody high ‘n’ mighty Governor to get the swine working, so work they damn well will.’
Ross coughed, cleared his throat, and continued. ‘Yon saw-pit of yours, Lieutenant Vizzard, is a disgrace. It should have been finished hours ago man. I have enough to concern me doing the Governor’s work for him without having to chase young pups like you. This is but another example of your laziness and inattention to duty. We’ve lumber coming in and how are we to cut it do ye think?’
The Major was well aware of the problems facing the working parties, but had obviously decided to make a point, and make it against Jack.
He had crossed the Governor many times over this business. The damned convicts should have proper overseers to watch and instruct them, not his men, even useless juniors such as Vizzard.
‘Sir, begging your pardon, but the Major is sensible of the shortage of suitable tools, and these wretches have no will to work.’ Jack made an effort to courtesy.
‘And a poor workman will always blame his tools, heh? No excuses man, I need that pit ready to work by morning. See to it. And in future, Vizzard, you do not leave your post without permission of a senior officer. That boy, is a court martial offence.’
Jack took a step back and half turned to leave.
‘Have you forgotten the little ye have learned already boy!’ Ross snapped. ‘You are expected to salute a superior officer, even in this God forsaken land.’
Jack gave a casual salute and turned sharply leaving the tent with a mind to call Ross out. The man was self-centred and arrogant to an intolerable degree. ‘Laziness and inattention’. Jack fumed at the insult.
He walked back to where Sergeant Scott was sitting on a rock, his head lowered. He leaped to his feet on hearing Jack’s approach.
‘I was not sleeping, sir, just resting my bones.’ Scott was a decent man and a good soldier. He was friendly with Sergeant Packer, but Jack had not known him before landing at Port Jackson. He respected the man’s experience. Scott had over twenty years service in the Corps, and knew his business well.
‘Yes, Sergeant. You know that Major Ross is displeased with us?’
‘With respect, sir, that’s always the case, sir. `Tis common knowledge in t
he camp that he wishes to quit this place. Begging your pardon, sir, but `tis also well known that he don’t like you, sir. Sorry for speaking out of turn, but most of the officers have little time for him. Some say he should go and good riddance. Said too much again, sorry, sir.’
‘I must confess I didn’t think service in the Corps would be quite like this Sergeant.’
‘Well to be fair, sir, this ain’t what you might call usual, regular garrison duty. `Tis far better aboard a man o’ war, or in a garrison like Gibraltar, but we must be makin` the best of things I reckon. I might even settle here if the gover’ment gives us a decent grant, sir. What about yourself, Mister Vizzard? D’you think you might stay when your time’s up?’
He took a flask from inside his tunic, and offered it to Jack, who shook his head. The Governor had no authority yet to grant land to marines, but only to convicts earning and deserving of emancipation. He chose not to speak of that. Morale amongst the marines was low enough, without that knowledge adding fuel to the growing discontent.
‘No I do not believe so, Scottie. I did have hopes for more adventurous duty than that which we have here; or as you say, some decent sea time. Or perhaps Africa or India. I doubt I shall stay. Nevertheless, you are right in one thing and that is that we must make the best of things. That includes finishing this saw-pit, so best we get the men moving a bit faster!’
Jack turned aside, pulled a small clay pipe from within his now faded tunic, and broke into a pouch of tobacco given to him when on board Supply. He had not smoked before but had recently found it to be a tasteful pastime during quiet times. He pulled at the stem and lit a match on a nearby rock, watching as Sergeant Scott chivvied the gang to make more effort. He thought of Ross and the man’s boorish behaviour, and of Scott’s thoughts of settling in this country.
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