Not for some time he thought, there is more to see and do; Mary yet to be reprieved from her sentence and with a family to think of, he would have to look for some advancement. That was unlikely to come in this part of the world or for some time, but it would surely come, one day.
GOVERNOR ARTHUR PHILLIP was very distressed. He surveyed the farm, concerned to see that vermin and insects had attacked the crops again during the night, and wishing, not for the first time, that he had more men skilled and knowledgeable in husbandry.
Henry Dodd, his personal assistant, was the only man with farming experience, and he had created the first crops at Farm Cove. Phillip had farmed in Hampshire. All those years on half-pay and the struggle to live the life of a country gentleman. It had not been successful. The house had to be maintained, without the luxury of full staff and a constant drain on his limited resources. There were attendances at various functions, donations to the church, his wife’s family. All had conjoined to deplete a modest income.
He had been delighted when selected for the command. Not merely a ship at last but a small fleet. Prison ships of course, but his first pennant, and a governorship. If his health lasted, then he could expect to raise his own flag on return to England. Oh but this had become a challenging command. Young Vizzard was right in that. A challenging commission, with credit, approbation and promotion from the Admiralty at the end of it, was that their Lordship’s plan for him? Or was he merely another expendable Post Captain, no longer of use, one to be discarded and sacrificed at their whim. A regular sea-going command is what he had truly desired.
Here at Rose Hill, or Parramatta as the natives called it, the cabbage had been struggling to flourish and the maize sowed was barely at tilling stage but was already looking withered and gnawed.
Captain Collins arriving by his side, breathing heavily from his rapid ride, as he mentally composed another despatch to London, interrupted his thoughts.
‘Your Excellency, I bring dreadful news, sir. Two convicts have been found dead; most cruelly murdered, sir. It is clear that natives are responsible.’
Phillip was momentarily shocked, and for once allowed his emotion to show, albeit briefly, on his countenance. This was news he had long feared. All his energy, his great care to cultivate harmony between the settlement and the natives was now, in an instant, shattered. His immediate fear was for the camp.
Collins anticipated the question.
‘The camp is secure, sir. Major Ross has a company stood to with arms, and prepares to make an expedition, sir.’
No, this is not the answer, he thought. Certainly those responsible must be identified if possible, and made subject to British justice, but Ross was raising, had made ready, a substantial force. That was not the way. A show of force, but at company strength would be seen as too threatening to these simple savages.
‘Very well, David, we will return to the camp. I had feared this day would come and am much saddened by this news.’
There had been one previous murder of a convict, thought by most committed by an aborigine, but Phillip had been reluctant to take action. He had been criticized for that, not least by Major Ross. Not only did his orders require him to cultivate harmony with the indigenous peoples, but also it was in his nature to do so.
He understood that the survival of the small colony depended on peaceful subjugation, securing their cooperation and on bringing these people under the protection of the Crown. He was acutely aware of how such incidents could quickly escalate leading to large-scale military action. That was something he could not risk or manage, or afford.
He started back to Sydney with gloom in his heart.
37
Survival
The New Year of 1790 found the nascent colony in a struggle for survival. Stores were running low, rations reduced further, and convicts, marines and officers were ragged shadows. Uniforms once proudly worn hung limp and faded on emaciated bodies. Supplies of equipment were all but exhausted, most of the detachment now being bare-footed. Drunkenness and brawling were commonplace. Officers were complacent or heedless, and struggled to maintain any sense of discipline. Theft from government stores and private gardens had again increased. Seeds had rotted in the ground and grain infested with weevil.
The settlement was facing starvation. Convicts and marines alike endured each day under a cloud of despondency as people sought sustenance by any means possible. Tragedy had touched the small hut; Mary had miscarried and lost the child, causing both her and Jack great anguish.
Major Ross continued to bully Jack. Any expedition beyond the camp was given to Jack; any additional duty caused by the illness or absence, or lack of will of another officer, was given to him. The duty roster showed the name of Lieutenant Vizzard for night duty far more than any other junior subaltern, this in addition to his work with Captain Collins, and supervising gangs of convict labour. Paperwork completed by Jack, was returned by Ross, for amendment; or became lost or mislaid, or challenged as inaccurate. Anything, it seemed, that might provoke him, or cause him extra work, or keep him from his hut and his wife.
The Governor finally lost patience with Major Ross after yet another confrontation. His secretary, Captain Collins, privately expressed sheer hatred for his commanding officer. He had suggested to the Governor that the Major would be more usefully employed in seeking to develop Norfolk Island. There his particular sense of discipline might be more appropriate to the particularly troublesome convicts that Arthur Phillip had dispatched to that remote island, under the direction of Lieutenant Philip King, in March 1788 shortly after the fleet had arrived.
Governor Phillip agreed. It would enable him to relieve Lieutenant King and send him onward to England with urgent dispatches. Sirius carried Ross and another small party of convicts and marines to Norfolk Island in March. Jack was delighted, and settled to a more relaxed, if arduous existence. Then HMS Supply brought the news of tragedy; Sirius, the flagship of the fleet, had foundered and sunk on the treacherous southern coast of Norfolk Island. Fortunately, all souls aboard had been saved and the men had rescued much of the additional supplies needed for the small settlement on the island. Phillip was privately devastated. He had now only the busy armed tender, Supply, as his link with the world beyond the Heads.
No word had come from England.
THE HUT LEAKED DURING wet weather although Jack continuously worked to keep it dry. The wind lifted the shingles, and rainwater percolated down the walls, such that in winter they were often damp. He kept a fire burning, to add warmth and to dry the walls. And hunger had come to their home. The rationed food was poor and there was never enough. He very carefully managed the meagre allowances issued, frequently pretending to Mary that he had eaten during the day, so as to ensure that she had just a little more.
He was sallow of face and Mary fretted constantly, worried that he too might be struck down with the flux that was rife in the colony. He likewise worried for her, troubled by her shrinking frame and bowed shoulders, still brushing her copper hair each night as they sat by the fire, tarnished now by the sun, and no longer glowing as it did when first he had seen her.
Never did he allow his duty to falter. The convicts were fewer now; death having come for many of them and work had slowed so that very little progress was to be seen. Men were beaten, women too, and the court sat almost daily, such that Jack became heartily sick of the ritual punishment of lashings to which all seemed almost immune.
Men walked about with leaden feet and soulless eyes, each introverted and consumed with their own thoughts and dreams of release or escape from perpetual hunger. None had a care for any other. None showed compassion. Even amongst the marines there was a lack of camaraderie.
During free time he had taken to joining the watch at the look-out by South Head, waiting for the day a sail should appear, showing that England had not forsaken the most distant outpost of hers. Three marines had the duty of manning the lookout, disturbed by the claims that the land was sacred to the
local tribe, and haunted by the ghosts of their ancestors. A fire was permanently alight, to ward off those spirits. The weeks and months passed in a laggard way, each day much as the preceding, challenging mind and body to function, to exist, to survive.
This morning he and Mary were working in their garden, pulling weeds and grubs from the maize that rose slowly towards the sun. Jack had made a shallow trench around the garden, and dribbled lamp oil and salt along it. He was gratified that those defences had deterred many insects although the rats had not.
Mary had successfully grown some fruits, with the help of the Governor. An orange tree, some figs and a lemon tree had flourished and Mary jealously protected them and harvested them, adding slowly to her store.
‘We may be hungry my dear, but I doubt we shall starve to death,’ she said.
He smiled at her, again comforted by her optimism, and finding renewed strength in her.
‘I pray daily that the supply ships will bring good news my love. I know that whatever my part is considered to have been, or not, it is my fervent hope that you will become pardoned and be free of the stigma you have.’
He sighed and lowered his head, feeling the shame that had followed him half way around the globe for having fled, leaving behind the woman he loved.
She sat on a log, and had him sit with her, taking his hand softly in hers.
‘My own dear man. I have forgiven you. Can you not forgive yourself?’
His voice was full of emotion when he answered.
‘No Mary, not yet at least. Mea culpa – ‘I am guilty’ and cannot be at peace with myself until I have secured your freedom. That I swear to you, one day, I will do.’
He laid his head on her shoulder and she caressed his hair and murmured softly in his ear.
‘Dearest Jack. It will come one day. I have faith and your father will do his best for me, of that I am certain. He came often to Gloucester, after you had gone, as if through me he could find you. He was much saddened I know, but bade me never to abandon hope for my ultimate liberty. He was a great comfort to me, and to my parents, during those months.’
Without outward sign, she shuddered at the memory of that gaol, grateful that she at least had a home and was free of the shackles that had ulcerated her ankles, and scarred her soul.
They sat together for a long time, each taking comfort from the other.
38
Second Fleet
As the months passed, the struggling community sank further into an abyss of hunger, deepening despair and a sense of its isolation. There was no contact with an outside world and even the most robust soul was now convinced that England had abandoned the entire expedition. It was over three years since they had departed from Portsmouth and hope had all but disappeared. Very few now held out prospect of survival.
Governor Phillip carefully examined the crops. He did every day. The cabbage plants had once more struggled to flourish and the wheat sowed was already looking feeble, with black spots appearing on the tillers. Even the damned wheat has the flux, he thought. He removed his hat and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. It was the last thing Margaret had given him; a stock of hand linen, and this was the last of them. He felt very tired and weak.
The colony had received one other ship; it was not the promised store-ship, but the Juliana arriving on the third day of June, bringing limited food stores but, ironically, more mouths to be fed; another two hundred and thirty seven. A ship full of women, mostly petty thieves and London prostitutes, intended to increase the breeding stock of the new colony.
Governor Phillip wondered if he was ever to receive the relief he so desperately needed from his masters. More mouths to feed; Arthur Phillip had been unable to contain his disappointment as he, and the entire colony waited for fresh supplies. The news from the world beyond Sydney included a severe blow to the entire population of the colony with the report of the loss of the Guardian; the supply ship dispatched to provide much needed, vital replenishment. She had struck ice and foundered, returning after many trials to the Cape, with the loss of all the stores aboard.
And those stores were critical. Guardian carried all those provisions that Arthur Phillip had requested and waited so long for. Apart from personal property sent to officers by their friends and families, she also carried a new stock of animals. Sir Joseph Banks had had the deck fitted out as a garden, with hundreds of new plants, including one hundred and fifty fruit trees. There were new tools and implements, clothing, blankets, bedding, medicines, sails and cordage.
Amongst the twenty five convicts on board her were farmers, artisans and seven men chosen to act as supervisors. Lieutenant Edward Riou, who commanded her, with a few brave men, had managed to prevent the ship sinking and return her to Cape Town, after nine weeks of exhausting work.
For once, he was lost for a plan. How to keep this settlement alive, he wondered. This settlement at Rose Hill was viable, he was convinced of that, but more needed to be done. Other areas must be found and developed; but men were tired, dispirited, abandoned. Men in such condition could produce little productive, valuable work, and he could do no more.
In the years since they had left Portsmouth no fresh supplies had been sent; he had charged England’s credit by sending the Sirius back to Cape Town for fresh supplies but she had been lost at Norfolk Island; another blow to the community, and one from which Phillip had wondered if they could recover from. It had even been necessary to send the fragile brig Supply to Batavia in order to purchase supplies and to charter a ship; but she would not return for some months yet.
He had no means of communicating with the world beyond Sydney. His sense of isolation was, at times, overwhelming.
JACK VIZZARD WAS WITH a work party by the stream at the head of the small cove, when he became aware of shouting amongst the ragged marines by the huts. His curiosity aroused, he left his sergeant to continue directing the work and made his way towards a group of officers, quickening his step as he saw they were visibly excited. They were grasping each other and dancing in circles.
‘Vizzard, we are saved thank God. A ship, by all that’s blessed, a ship has been sighted off The Heads!’ Captain Watkin Tench was jumping with renewed energy. ‘It must be the supply ships, it must. I am going to tell the Governor, but please, make ready a boat. We must welcome whoever it is.’ With that, he started running towards Government House, his long legs eating up the ground.
He looked to the small jetty where a party of seamen stood gaping along the harbour. He now realized the enormity of the news, and started running towards them.
‘Mister Harris,’ he called to the figure he recognized as one of the midshipmen from Supply, ‘make the launch ready. We’re taking the Governor to meet our salvation.’ He shouted his voice now hoarse with emotion.
Governor Arthur Phillip came down the muddy street with Watkin Tench by his side, quickly joined by David Collins, who had been similarly attracted by the general commotion that was rushing around the village of tents and huts, as people realized that something very important was taking place.
Word that a sail was visible beyond The Heads spread with great speed. People were cheering, sobbing, outwardly and unashamedly with tears of relief and deep joy.
Jack felt the invigoration of the wind in his face as the launch tacked up the harbour, the same wind that was bringing salvation to the dying colony. He and Mary had survived.
THE SECOND FLEET THAT arrived from England had sailed with another twelve hundred or so souls, but in such extremely dire conditions that barely two thirds of them had survived. There had been many, many deaths during its voyage, and many more died crawling off the ships, or when literally thrown ashore in Sydney Cove, by some of the most callous masters of merchant vessels afloat. Governor Philip was outraged. The stores landed from its ships however saved the settlement.
It also brought news and fresh orders for the beleaguered Governor; a replacement force had been formed, called the New South Wales Corps, and was to
relieve the marine garrison. Phillip was to charter a Dutch ship to transport most of the marines to England, those not wishing to remain.
Governor Phillip was in a more optimistic mood by September. He had learned by then that HMS Gorgon was due to reach the colony soon, with more supplies and would retrieve the crew of Sirius, still stranded on Norfolk Island.
He had been thinking of late of erecting a monument or beacon at The Heads, to assist future vessels arriving at the colony, and decided to survey a possible site. Oliver Waterhouse and Captain Collins accompanied him. Having marked out the ground, and given preliminary directions they were returning up the harbour to Sydney Cove, when a boat intercepted them. The coxswain of the boat informed the Governor that his aboriginal house-guest, Bennelong, who had left his house some time before, was now willing to return to the settlement.
That was welcome news to Arthur Phillip, who had expended a great deal of time and patience in befriending the young man, to learn something of the language and customs of his people, as he was required, and desired, to do.
They found Bennelong with a party of his tribe collected around a whale washed ashore in Collins Cove. Phillip instructed the officers to remain with the boat while he spoke alone with the group. The discussions with the tribesmen were proceeding well, until the Governor approached another member of the tribe, with hand extended in friendship. At that, the man, becoming fearful, picked up a spear and launched it, striking the Governor in the right shoulder. The bloody tip of the spear protruded through his upper back.
He attempted to run back to the boat, clasping the spear with both hands, but it caught in the ground. Oliver Waterhouse also was nearly struck by another spear that grazed his right hand, when he stopped to help him.
First Fleet Page 27
