Numb with cold and weakened by loss of blood, Emma held out her arms to take the child which Nelly had wrapped in a piece of muslin torn from her own petticoat. When she saw the rich dark hair that was the very same as Marlow’s, a warm happiness spread though Emma’s heart and, holding the small bundle close to her breast, she cried bitter-sweet tears and gave thanks that the child had been delivered. ‘Oh Nelly, she’s got the look of Marlow.’ Emma was half-laughing, half-crying as she ran her finger along the small, still face. But, suddenly, her deeper instincts were aroused as she realized how still the child was and that it had not yet cried out.
‘Come on! We’ve lingered too long! In the waggon with you!’ The officer had come to the end of his patience.
But Emma took no notice of his gruff instruction. Instead she asked the other girl in a fearful tone, ‘Why isn’t she moving, Nelly? Why won’t she cry?’ When, leaning forward, Nelly examined the child and, seeing the worst, murmured, ‘I’m sorry, Emma. It was too much of an ordeal for the little ’un,’ Emma’s heart froze inside her. ‘No!’ she protested, hugging the small bundle tighter and pushing Nelly away, ‘Leave me be! My baby’s all right, I tell you!’ Fearing that the shock would be too much for Emma in the face of what she had already endured, Nelly looked appealingly at the waiting officer, shaking her head and drawing his attention to the child in Emma’s arms.
‘No, I tell you!’ Emma had caught the look which passed between them and she clung desperately to the defenceless infant that was hers and Marlow’s, all the while fighting off the weakness which threatened to rob her of her senses.
‘In the waggon, the pair of you! The brat’s dead as ever I’ve seen. Leave it!’ ordered the officer, the compassion which Nelly had hoped to see never materializing.
Afraid that he might snatch the child from her arms, Emma began struggling to get up and when Nelly gave a helping hand, she took it gratefully. Yet, neither were prepared when the officer lost patience altogether, raised his leg, put his booted foot square on Emma’s back and sent her sprawling towards the waggon, with Nelly stumbling also and the child rolling from Emma’s arms across the cobbles and into the gutter, where it came to rest, silent and still.
Struggling to get to her feet, yet not having the strength left in her, Emma’s frantic cries echoed into the darkness. Quickly, Nelly half-pushed, half-carried her into the waggon, both of them urged on by the prisoners there who, despite their renowned hardness of heart, were deeply moved by Emma’s plight. But, being streetwise and familiar with the rudiments of self-survival, each and every one knew, as did Nelly, that the sooner Emma was whisked away from that poor lifeless little creature, the sooner she would mend.
Of a sudden, the cage doors were slammed shut and bolted. Both officers clambered up next to the driver, one of them cracking a horse-whip into the air above the geldings and causing them to jerk forward. ‘Move away, man!’ he instructed the driver. ‘Move away!’
Behind him, the prisoners fell quiet, Nelly softly cried and Emma’s haunted eyes remained transfixed on the spot where that tragic little bundle lay, until, like her, it became engulfed by the darkness.
As the waggon trundled away, only Nelly saw the shadow as it appeared beneath the solitary gas-lamp at the prison gates. The stooped, beshawled figure came out of nowhere, creeping along on unsteady legs made even more unsteady by the small limp which caused it to dip in a peculiar manner. At its heels was a great, thick-set and fearsome-looking dog that ran ahead and began sniffing Emma’s blood which still bathed the child. The shawled figure called out to the dog and hurried to the spot where it began pawing the ground. Then, as the waggon lurched its way round the bend in the cobbled road, the pair were lost to sight – but not before Nelly heard a sound to make her ears prick. There was no mistaking that thin, distant wail which only a newborn could make – that demanding, persistent cry which seemed to tell the world, ‘I was warm and now I’m cold. I was safe and now I’m afraid.’
Of a sudden, Emma was stirring, for she had also heard something. ‘My baby!’ she cried, pulling herself round so that she could see behind. But the streets were dark and strange and she saw nothing to console her.
As she gazed at Emma’s weak and sorry countenance, Nelly was afraid that her new-found friend would be taken from her all too soon. ‘No, Emma,’ she said in a comforting voice, ‘Your baby is gone. You must think of yourself now, darlin’.’ She made no mention of what she’d heard, nor did she give Emma the smallest hope that her daughter might be alive. To do such a thing would only make the hard years to come that much longer and more difficult to bear. It was better for Emma to go on thinking the child had gone forever, because what she didn’t know couldn’t cause her any pain.
Emma felt herself raised to a sitting position as Nelly’s strong arms cradled her close. But Emma could not be consoled and, despite her strong character and normally resilient nature, in her aching heart she cared not whether she lived or died.
‘Well, I’m buggered! What we got ’ere then, Jake, eh?’ Sal Tanner peered down through bloodshot eyes acquired from a night of revelry following the occasion of a hanging; and bending closer to see what it was that the dog was frantically licking, she suddenly sprang back, startled by the piercing cry which even took the dog unawares. ‘It’s a young ’un!’ she cried, kicking the excited animal aside and stooping nearer to take another look. ‘It bloody well is, Jake,’ she said in an astonished voice, ‘it is a young ’un!’ She looked furtively about, sensing it might be a trap of some kind – a temptation put there as an excuse to clap her in irons. When she saw nothing to alarm her, she bent to pick the infant up, saying in a softer tone, ‘Who d’yer belong to, eh? What in God’s name are yer doing lying in the street in the cold, eh?’ As she drew the muslin cloth round the tiny thrashing child, her foot kicked the boot which Emma had lost in her struggles and the tiny bright silver watch that had been secreted there spilled out, its dainty facets sparkling in the light from the street lamp.
‘What’s this, eh?’ Holding the child securely in one arm, Sal reached down with the other and picked up the watch. ‘Well, I’m buggered!’ she cackled. ‘It’s a time-piece – an’ worth a bob or two, I’ll be bound!’ Turning it over and over in her fingers, she was surprised when the back sprang open to reveal something tucked inside. At once, she crossed to the street lamp and, standing in the yellow stuttering light, she juggled with the bundle in her arms so that she could dip a finger and thumb into the small cavity of the watch. When its contents were laid reverently in the palm of her hand, she was at once struck by the four-leaf clover, so lovingly put there by Emma and now shining a brighter green in the garish circle of light from above. ‘By! See that?’ Sal asked the dog, who was busy sniffing and licking at the child’s muslin shawl. ‘D’yer see how bright an’ green it shines, eh? Now that’s a sure sign if ever I saw one.’ She now looked from the clover to the fretful child and back again. ‘’Tis the little people as belongs this bairn! Oho! . . . I ’ad half a mind ter leave the wretched bundle where I found it, for I don’t know what to do wi’ no infant, do I, eh? What do ol’ Sal Tanner know of fotching up an infant, eh?’ She gazed once again at the rich green colour of the four-leaf clover and then, with round, fascinated eyes, she examined the dark hair and pleasing face of Emma and Marlow’s child, indeed her own kith and kin if only she’d known it. ‘Yer a pretty little thing an’ all,’ she said in a gentle voice, ‘but what sort are yer, eh?’ Here she peeked into the muslin shawl. ‘A lass! It’s a little lass,’ she told the dog, ‘sent to me by the little people, to watch o’er.’ Raising her face to the dark sky above, she said more loudly, ‘I’ll do me duty, yer can depend on that. Ol’ Sal won’t let yer down.’ As she reverently returned the clover to its place, the tiny lock of hair which had been with it was taken by a small gust of wind. Sal paid it no mind, for she was concerned only that the infant and the clover were safe. ‘C’mon, Jake,’ she told the dog, ‘this little lass is ’ungry. There ai
n’t nothing in my withered old tits ter satisfy it . . . so we’ll mek our way back ter Blackburn and Derwent Street. Hildy Barker’s not long lost a young ’un, and there’ll ’appen be enough milk there ter keep this bundle thrivin’ eh? That’s if it can keep breathin’ long enough to mek the journey back!’
Sal Tanner made a strange but agreeable sight as she moved away up the street, her small limp causing her now and then to give a little skip, the child still crying in her arms, the great bull-mastiff lolloping along beside her, and she holding a long, detailed conversation with the ‘little people’. But, strange sight though it was, how it would have gladdened Emma’s heart to have seen it.
Chapter Twelve
On the fourth day of January 1863, Emma was disembarked, along with some two hundred and fifty other prisoners, at the mouth of the Swan River in the port of Fremantle, Western Australia – some thousands of miles and vast oceans between her and her beloved homeland. It was the first time the prisoners had set foot on land since boarding the ship in England; during the short stopover in Singapore they had been confined below decks. Now, the sun was so brilliant it was blinding, and the heat so intense that it sapped what little strength they had left. But, after the dark, cramped conditions they had endured the air smelled fresh and sweet and the big, open landscape gave a strange sense of freedom.
The long and arduous sea voyage was over. For Emma, it had been a terrifying experience, every detail of which would remain with her forever – from that first moment when she had seen the towering ship rising out of the murky waters in Langston Harbour, England, to this equally daunting moment as they were filed out like cattle, creating a dishevelled spectacle for those curious few who had come to watch, those whose duty it was to contain them and the privileged few who were given first choice of convict labour.
‘Keep your fingers crossed that we’ll be kept together,’ Emma now told the girl by her side. For as long as she lived, Emma would never forget what a true and steadfast friend Nelly had been. During those first few weeks of their journey, when Emma had lain close to death’s door, Nelly had never been far away. Emma remembered another who had also shown kindness and concern when she had been at her lowest ebb. She had been both embarrassed and relieved to find the voyage was being made in Silas Trent’s vessel, and he was on board. He had persuaded the captain to allow Emma the company and support of her friend, Nelly, when she needed it most; and when Emma was eventually discharged from the sick-bay, he kept a constant eye on their well-being, though he was more careful not to show undue favouritism lest it should alienate Emma and her friend from the other prisoners.
The daily routine was the same for all. The cooks were usually the very first prisoners to show themselves, usually at the early hour of five-thirty. While they were up-top preparing the first rations of the day, the prisoners below deck would stow away their hammocks before washing. Then came the surgeon’s sick round, followed by the issue of the daily ration of water and biscuits. At eight a.m. breakfast was served, usually consisting of a basin of gruel, a mug of cocoa and a few ounces of biscuits; at noon, dinner comprised of soup, salt beef or pork and a further helping of biscuits; at about five-thirty p.m., half a pint of tea and four ounces of biscuit were provided for supper. Each prisoner was allowed three quarts of water daily. There were religious services and assembly of school if needed. At eight o’clock the prisoners were sent back down below to the forward of the bulkhead, where space was severely limited and the air rank and stale. Prisoners’ berths were ranged in two continuous rows, above and below, against the hull, with a walkway down the centre.
For Emma this was the worst time of all. The air was stifling with so many bodies crammed in such a confined space, and there was the constant, dreadful fear that any minute they would all suffocate for want of air. Yet, if the night brought its nightmares, so too did the long, trying hours of the day. Security was formidable, with hatchways enclosed by stout iron bars and barricades across the entire width of the ship on deck, behind the main mast. A guard of grim-faced soldiers with guns ready remained wary night and day; loaded cannons were aimed forward, with other equally fearsome weapons kept close by. A sight to sober not only the prisoners, but all present on the voyage.
Severe punishments were inflicted for various crimes on board. Emma remembered one in particular with great horror, when a woman prisoner – known to be a ‘seasoned lag’ by many of the others – was caught stealing another prisoner’s ration. For her troubles, she was dragged away screaming, to be incarcerated in what was referred to as the ‘Black Box’, which was a dark and narrow cell erected under the forecastle. She was kept there for eight days, after which she emerged a broken, nervous wreck.
‘They’re coming, gal!’ Emma was alerted back to the present situation by Nelly’s loud whisper and, looking up, she saw two grim-faced men approaching, with an armed soldier either side and the figure of Silas Trent to their left. Some short way behind them was another group of people – one of which was a surly-faced woman of authoritative bearing.
As Emma kept her eyes on the approaching party, they drew to a halt at the beginning of the line of prisoners, with quiet consultations taking place between the soldier in charge and various members of the civilian group. Much pointing and nodding of heads followed, before the one in charge was approached by Silas Trent.
Having taken off his hat some minutes earlier, he now smartly replaced it as, concluding his furtive discussion with the soldier in charge – during which Emma could have sworn she saw money changing hands between himself and the soldier – he now beckoned to two men to accompany himself and the man in charge. Together, all four came down the line at a fast, purposeful pace, coming to a halt directly opposite Emma. So shaken by it was Nelly, that she took an involuntary step backward, until Emma looked encouragingly at her, so that with a shameful face, she came back into line to stand shoulder to shoulder with Emma.
‘Emma Denton?’ the soldier in charge addressed her, continuing when she answered affirmatively, ‘Your services have been assigned. Mr Trent here will explain the formalities and due procedure, after which you’ll report to the authorities at the dock exit.’
When Emma appeared unsure as to what all this meant, Silas Trent smiled at her, saying in a reassuring voice, ‘You’ve been assigned well, Emma . . . to assist at the trading post. They’re good people and you won’t be ill-treated.’
‘And Nelly?’ Emma was concerned that Nelly should be equally ‘well assigned’.
After a moment’s hesitation, Silas Trent gave the soldier in charge a sly look. ‘I’m sure there’s work enough at the trading post for both of them, wouldn’t you say?’ he asked, surreptitiously fingering his coat above the pocket where his wallet was kept.
‘All right by me,’ agreed the soldier, immediately casting his eyes towards the other two men – the older of whom was near fifty, round and jolly looking, while the younger one, with his blue eyes and unruly fair hair seemed to Emma to be of a decidedly arrogant disposition.
Both men nodded in agreement, the older one knowing he would be paid well – and anyway two healthy young girls would take the weight of the more laborious tasks off his back, what with his wife having fallen to bad health lately – and the other, Foster Thomas – Roland Thomas’s son – in favour of having two healthy young girls about but for very different reasons! Life had become somewhat tedious of late and handsome girls the like of that one called Emma Denton were few and far between.
As Emma was led away, she gave thanks for people such as her friend, Nelly, and the caring Silas Trent, who had promised not to discuss her fate with Martha. Yet, even with what would appear to be a fair start in this strange and awesome new land, she wondered what might become of her. Through her mind raged distorted and painful images of all that had gone before, the loss of all those who were most precious – first Marlow, then Mrs Manfred, and finally hers and Marlow’s precious little daughter.
No matter how desperately
Emma tried to put these unbearable memories behind her, she could not. How could she ever forget that wonderful night when she and Marlow had lain in each other’s arms? How could she not dream of his laughing black eyes, whose cherished gaze echoed the love in her own heart? Where was Marlow now, she thought. Where was he? And the babe? Oh, dear God, how often had she thought of that dear little creature, whose colouring was so like Marlow’s and whose delicate life was so mercilessly denied?
Emma thought the world to be a cold, cruel place. Who could blame her, she wondered, for keeping those treasured memories alive if it meant her heart was warmed and revived? Of a sudden, she recalled Mrs Manfred’s last words to her. ‘When you get to those far-off shores, Emma, don’t be afraid. Be careful not to antagonize those who would hold the key to your freedom. Work hard, keep your mind busy and the years will swiftly pass. When the day comes that your life is returned to you, use it well, Emma. Cherish it, and never forget the things you were taught. Will you promise me that, Emma?’
Under her breath, Emma murmured, ‘I promise, Manny . . . with all my heart.’ And as she gave this final promise to her dear friend, she made another one to herself. Her day of freedom would come and when it did she would make every endeavour to return to the land of her birth. For there, she had old scores to settle, and an undying love to salvage. If only the Lord would keep her safe until then.
‘I’m buggered if we ain’t landed on us feet!’ came Nelly’s excited whisper. ‘We’ve been placed well, and we’ve got each other. Oh, Emma gal! I reckon we’re gonna be all right after all!’
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