Surviving Sydney Cove

by Goldie Alexander

  A Marine must have seen us coming and warned her papa, for he came rushing out to meet us.

  Taking no more notice of me than if I were a horse or a dog, he picked up the child and rushed her inside. At first I was sad that he did not even bother to thank me for rescuing his child. But then I thought how his concern showed that he must be a very caring papa indeed.

  I went into the kitchen to tell Sarah all about it. She said, ‘Did you expect him to give you a reward?’

  I shook my head. ‘The little girl was very frightened. Maybe even frightened enough to cause an injury.’

  Sarah raised herself from where she was crouched over a pan of vegetable peelings and rubbed her aching back. ‘Your trouble, Lizzie,’ she said firmly, ‘is that you think you’re good as gentry. You’re only a convict girl and don’t you ever forget it.’

  Edward, I must accept this. Though for some reason—even though it is four years since I last saw Cranham—it still pains me each time I think of it.

  Tuesday 20th April

  Tonight Sarah filled a cauldron with warm water. We took turns sitting in it. I wallowed in the water like a fish. Using a milk ladle, I poured water over my hair to rid it of dust and knots. It feels good to wash myself all over. In prison I was so lice-ridden and dirty, I swear that if our poor mama had been alive, she would not have recognised me. In the eight and a half months we sailed on the Lady Penrhyn, the only washing we knew was during a storm when the sea came flooding into the night-dungeons.

  ‘I would as rather be dead than as dirty as we once were,’ I said to Sarah.

  ‘Would you now?’ She chuckled. ‘What if you have no kettle?’

  I laughed back. ‘There is always the river.’

  ‘Too cold for me,’ she cried, her smile vanishing. Ever since she nearly fell overboard during a storm sailing out from Cape Town, she has had a deep fear of water.

  We dried ourselves on the ends of an old sheet, and I brushed my hair using the back of a metal pan as a mirror. All the time we were on board, I never saw my own reflection. Even now this face that looks back at me seems unfamiliar. Sarah says it is changing because I am growing into a woman.

  ‘You’d have pretty pink round cheeks if you got enough to eat,’ she said, watching me untangle my hair. ‘And a decent kind of nose.’ She stared at me thoughtfully. ‘Also, your eyes are the same blue as calm waters. But you need to grow more.’

  ‘One day I will,’ I insisted. ‘Mama and Papa were not so short.’

  ‘Maybe you will.’ But her tone was doubtful. And as we settled ourselves on our pallets, she went on to talk about other things.

  Sleep comes slowly where there are flying beetles, mosquitoes, river rats and possums (squirrel-like furry creatures with wet noses and long tails) racing across the roof. Still, I felt better for losing all that dirt.

  Sarah has given me a tiny piece of candle all my very own to write by.

  Wednesday 21st April

  All my bathing was undone this morning when Old Tom asked me to rake out the pigpen. Because Old Tom knows our papa was a farmer, he likes me to help with country tasks.

  Raking away stinky pig droppings is not to my liking, and I loudly sent all pigs to the devil. A large black and pink sow glared evilly back. To add to my dislike, Old Tom told me Governor Phillip had planned to send those very pigs into the bush to increase their numbers.

  I paused in my raking. ‘Why didn’t he?’

  Tom’s one good eye winked at me. ‘Wouldn’t those darned Indians eat every one?’

  I have been waiting for him to tell me that someone had stolen two onions. So far he has said nothing. Perchance he has decided to forget them.

  Midday, Sarah and I had settled down to scraps of salt-meat stewed with turnip tops when Uriah Small came to tell me to go to the barracks.

  Uriah lives in one of the family huts with his mother and brother. Hair spills over his eyes so he can hardly see and his face is covered in grime. When I asked him who was calling for me, he said, ‘Surgeon asks to talk with you,’ and took off down the muddy track that leads to the barracks.

  I settled my cap, wrapped myself in a shawl and hurried to catch up. ‘Many surgeons sailed with us from Portsmouth,’ I said to him. ‘Which one is it?’

  He mumbled something under his breath and raced ahead. When we got to the barracks, he ran inside. I was too scared to follow. Has not Sarah always warned me to stay away from where men gather?

  I drew figures in the dust with my toes. Soon a man emerged from the barracks. He came over to where I stood, and I recognised him as the papa of the child I had rescued. Tall and with a military bearing, I think that he must have once been quite stout because his jacket hung on him like a scarecrow’s. His complexion was leathery from too much sun, his red hair flecked with grey, his eyes steel-blue, and his square chin covered in reddish stubble.

  I bobbed a curtsey and waited for him to speak. He looked me up and down. ‘Are you the convict Elizabeth Harvey?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ I said. How did he know my name?

  The gentleman chewed his lower lip awhile. ‘Do you know who I am?’

  ‘No, sir.’ I shook my head. Then it came to me in a rush. Those onions! Wretched Winston Russell must have confessed. I was as good as dead. Strong men could barely survive a hundred lashes. Much less someone as small and weak as I am.

  He said, ‘Surgeon James Russell, at your service.’

  Winston Russell’s father! Again I nearly fainted. Only this time with relief.

  The Surgeon was saying ‘… wish to thank you on two counts. Firstly for saving my daughter …’ He shuddered slightly. ‘This last year in Port Jackson, already two small girls have been attacked.’

  I pulled myself together. Someone must defend poor Sam or for certain he would be flogged. ‘Sam is stupid,’ I cried. ‘That is why he is called Simple Sam. But there is no harm in him. He was only trying to help the little girl back onto her feet …’

  ‘Possibly you are right.’ But his shrug was unconvinced. ‘As for that other business with my son …’ He cleared his throat behind his hand. ‘Best if that is quickly forgotten.’

  Just then the little girl limped out from the barracks. Now she was no longer crying, I could see that she was as pale-skinned as her father and brother. But where they have gingery hair, hers is almost white. She has pale grey eyes, and the most dainty arms and legs I have ever seen. She is so delicate, she reminded me of a china figurine.

  ‘This is Emily,’ her father told me. ‘As you can see, she has a badly sprained ankle.’

  I glanced down. Sure enough, a rag was tightly wrapped around her right leg.

  Her papa said, ‘My children lost their mother at sea. Now I must be both mother and father to them.’ He stood back to consider me. ‘Where are your parents?’

  My eyes filled with tears. ‘Sir, all I have in the world is one brother, and I was forced to leave him in Cranham.’

  ‘Cranham,’ he mused. ‘Where might that be?’

  ‘Sir, the Cotswolds in the west of England.’

  Dearest Edward, as soon as this came out of my mouth, I had a sudden vision of soft green hills and misty rain. Homesickness leaves an ache in my stomach that I am sure no surgeon, no matter how clever he might be, can ever cure.

  The Surgeon said, ‘Elizabeth Harvey, how old are you?’

  ‘Thirteen, sir. And most folk call me Lizzie.’

  ‘Lizzie,’ he murmured, sounding my name so sweetly I hardly recognised it. ‘Lizzie … Lizzie … Lizzie.’ To my surprise his mouth turned down as if recalling something sad. Then he sighed and said more sternly, ‘Lizzie, you must be very wicked to be brought here. You are very young to be transported.’

  I kept my gaze on the ground. I would have liked to tell him that the judge who sentenced me to seven years in Botany Bay did not think that I was too young. But it is said that the Old Bailey judges sup every night with the devil.

  He mused, ‘Perhaps you are better off
in Sydney Cove. London is full of children crippled by those who should care for them.’

  I nodded, not quite agreeing about things being so much better here. But Edward, in the two years I lived in the city, I had seen such wickedness: children apprenticed to men and women and used so cruelly, they would be crippled for the rest of their days. Others who would die of cold and starvation if it were not for what they managed to steal.

  I waited for Surgeon Russell to say why he had sent for me. He still seemed to be thinking aloud. ‘Dean Jonathan Swift offers an interesting solution to dealing with unwanted children.’

  ‘What would that be, sir?’ I asked, hoping that he would not mind me asking.

  Surgeon Russell cocked his head to one side. ‘Why, in a tract he calls “A Modest Proposal” he suggests that we farm our poorest children as meat.’

  I stared at him in horror. Could these men be serious?

  The Surgeon smiled grimly. ‘I think this is mostly to bring the problem to our government’s attention. Grave problems deserve grave answers.’ Recalling why I had been brought to him, he said briskly, ‘You should know that I intend to ask Mister Dodd to release you from his service. I need someone to care for Emily. She must have someone with her night and day. My medical duties take me away too often. Also,’ he frowned a little, ‘Winston tells me that you can read and write. If we had stayed in Sydney Cove, Emily was to attend a school run by Isabella Rosson—a good woman, though she is a convict.’

  While we were talking, a platoon of soldiers in grubby red coats and white trousers emerged from the barracks. They gradually moved into two lines. One soldier beat a drum. Another played a merry tune on a fife. The drill sergeant shouted, ‘Left, right, left, right. Eyes … right!’ Soldiers marched up and down.

  Surgeon Russell’s voice rose over the noise. ‘While we are in Rose Hill, Emily must not neglect her lessons. I will ask you to read with her every day for one hour and to see that she practises her letters.’

  Taking in my bewildered face, he nodded lightly, and stalked back inside.

  I turned to Emily who merely giggled. She popped me a curtsey and limped after her papa. They left me as gawky-eyed and amazed as poor Simple Sam himself.

  Eventually I pulled myself together and returned to Sarah’s kitchen. There, I repeated the conversation as well as I could remember it. To Sarah’s credit she made it seem as if she was delighted at my change of fortune. But I could see that she was upset at being separated from me.

  ‘Never mind, Sarah,’ I cried. ‘I will sleep with you every night.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ she said tartly. ‘The Surgeon won’t want his daughter sleeping here. He’ll expect you to stay with her night and day, won’t he?’

  ‘I suppose you are right,’ I said wistfully, for this will be the first time in two years that we have been apart. ‘But I will visit you every day,’ I promised and though she growled that it would make little difference to her—and that she had far too much to do than to bother with visitors—she seemed a little happier.

  Thursday 22nd April

  Uriah returned this morning to tell me to move my belongings to one of the larger family huts about a hundred yards down the track.

  Sarah watched me collect my linsey-woolsey petticoat, my cotton shift, my two cotton stockings and my woollen jacket. All are sadly frayed. Then this quill, a bottle filled to the top with ink and my most precious diary. These few possessions I stowed inside the raggedy sheet we used to dry ourselves on the other night.

  Sarah hated to see me go. At the last minute she placed one of her own precious caps in my package, saying that mine was too shabby to be respectable. She reminded me how I must always keep away from places where men gather and to be prudent where I went and with whom I spoke. She finished off with, ‘If you venture out of the hut after dusk by yourself, then surely you’ll be sorry.’

  I promised her to be extra careful now she was no longer around to protect me. We hugged and kissed, both weeping at being separated. I said that I would return as soon as I could. But she thought that I would have little time for visiting.

  Mindful of her warnings, I walked past the huts where the convict men live. They greeted me with the usual bad language and gestures. I gazed straight ahead and pretended to be deaf.

  When I reached the Russells’ hut, both the Surgeon and Emily were waiting to greet me. Surgeon Russell took me aside to say very gravely, ‘My daughter Emily suffers from a weak heart and extreme shortness of breath. She could die if she overexerts herself. It is your task to keep her as quiet as possible. You understand?’

  I told him that I did. Then, telling me that he had many duties to attend to, but that he would be back before dusk, he hurried away.

  Emily showed her delight by constant chatter. She showed me all her clothes and her toys. She has managed to bring with her a wooden hobbyhorse and a cloth doll. That poor thing was sadly in need of stitching. I promised her that if she was good and learned her lessons very quickly, that I would fix this doll and maybe sew her another.

  I can see that she is very excitable. Edward, it will be a great effort on my part to keep her as quiet as her papa insists.

  So far things go well. The Surgeon seems kind, if a little absentminded. But when he is home I keep out of his way. I must not do anything to irritate him. A convict’s existence can be so unfair. Long ago I learned that a master has total power. Even if he is the gentlest of souls, he can make my life a misery.

  Friday 23rd April

  Edward, I must describe my new home for you. This hut is little different from the others, though perhaps slightly wider. The walls are twigs plastered with mud. The roof is a thatch woven from reeds. The floor is hard packed earth. If a fire came through, all that might survive is the stone hearth.

  The Surgeon’s family sleeps on straw pallets no better than us convicts. During the day we pile these pallets into a corner. Like all the other huts in Rose Hill and Sydney Cove, we are plagued with rats and biting insects. Possums nest in the thatched roof. They sleep during the day and look for food only at night. Our furniture is a rough table and some benches. I have two large boilers or cauldrons for heating water and cooking.

  As for my duties: Surgeon Russell expects me to collect water and firewood, cook, clean, wash, care for Emily and supervise her lessons. I shall scarcely find time to catch my breath. Still, I am better off than many others. I have a roof over my head, a kind Master, a pretty young charge to care for, and a little food to fill the empty spaces in my belly.

  Emily has few clothes, but what she shows me has been lovingly worked. Seems that her mama did all this fine embroidery. She says that though her mama is dead, that she keeps watch on both her children from Heaven.

  Winston has yet to appear. Emily says he is sleeping in the barracks with the other Marines. She assures me that he knows that I am now part of their household. I wonder what he makes of this?

  I asked Emily why they left Sydney Cove. She says that her papa had been commanded by the Governor to bring certain messages to Master Dodd. After packing their belongings, the Surgeon hired a soldier’s horse to bring them to Rose Hill. ‘And your brother, Winston?’ I asked. ‘Was he, too, given permission?’

  Emily’s gaze was unblinking. ‘Papa asked the Governor if he could come with us. The Governor said he could help Papa deliver his messages.’

  ‘Oh.’ I tried not to look curious. ‘How did you happen to sail to Botany Bay?’

  ‘Oh, Winston had always wished to be a Marine. Then Papa said that as we had lost all our money, that now he must be a ship’s Surgeon.’

  ‘Was your mama pleased?’

  ‘She didn’t say,’ the child said gravely. ‘But I heard her crying when she thought Papa wouldn’t hear.’

  Last night, as we sat over our small supper, my new Master told me that he is a great believer in certain vegetables and herbs as a cure for many illnesses.

  I would have liked to question him further, but he see
ms to expect silence. If Emily chatters too much he can be quite curt with her. If I irritate him, he might send me away.

  Saturday 24th April

  I cannot believe how busy I am. Every waking minute seems filled with a new task that cannot wait until tomorrow.

  Emily’s lessons have started well. This morning we drew letters in the dust. She can easily tell A’s from C’s. But she has trouble distinguishing D’s from B’s. When she started to cry, I assured her that tomorrow she would do better.

  Hardtack and pease pudding for dinner. I saved some for tomorrow. I must, I will, find time to visit Sarah. Perchance she can persuade Old Tom to part with a few vegetables. Also, I am sure Emily would do well if she ate wild spinach. This vegetable will bring colour into her cheeks. I know where this grows. Tomorrow I will go to this place and fill a basket.

  Winston turned up this morning. He pretended to Emily that we had never met. He is polite, though not at all friendly. I am always mindful that he is a soldier and thus my gaoler. But I like the way he occupies Emily without tiring her. They sit on the floor and play knuckles. With me he is always guarded. He never discloses much about himself or what he is thinking.

  Earlier on, I overheard a conversation between them that saddened me more than I can say. Emily had asked Winston if he was as fond of me as she is.

  ‘As much as I can be,’ he dryly answered. Then he added, ‘Emily, do not get too attached to Lizzie. She is a convict and has been sent here for a crime. Whether she admits to b–being guilty or not.’

  In spite of his distrust, or maybe because of it, I later plucked up courage to ask him how he spent his time in the barracks.

  He raised those thick orange eyebrows as if surprised at my question. ‘Why, we march up and d–down.’

  ‘Is that all you do?’

  He reddened. ‘Some of our soldiers find this life most tedious. They drink too much rum and gamble. While some grow rich, others lose everything they own.’