But the savage took as little notice of us as had the porcupine-pig. Instead he spoke sternly to the girl. She hung her head. It was clear that he was chastising her for being with us. I felt very sorry for her.
They all disappeared into the bush as silently as they had come.
Then my heart nearly jumped into my mouth.
A man! This one white and hiding in the bushes behind us. How long had he been there? Then I realised that it was only Simple Sam. The poor man is so lonely he must be looking for friends. If I had been alone, I might have paused to chat with him awhile. Instead I yelled, ‘Off with you, Sam,’ and he crashed through some bushes and disappeared.
After all this excitement, Emily was very tired. Though she protested that she wanted to walk, I piggybacked her home and made her rest on her pallet until sunset.
Friday 30th April
Spent all day catching up on household tasks and teaching Emily to write her first words. EMILY, she wrote in the dust. Then CAT and DOG.
I told her how pleased I was with her and added that soon she will read and write as well as her papa.
But even this small activity tires her. Though I force her to eat wild spinach in the hope that this will bring more colour into her cheeks, too often her breathing turns shallow and raspy. Purple shadows circle her eyes, and her cheeks seem pale as death.
Winston did not appear for supper. My Master tells me that he must spend most nights in the barracks. The militia oversees those convicts working in the fields to ensure none run away to China. But there is a twinkle in my Master’s eye as he tells me this. Perchance he is not serious.
Where exactly IS China? I am sure that we would not have been quite as hungry if our fleet had landed there instead of Botany Bay.
My Master has instructed me to make soup out of wild spinach, salted pork bones and rice. He said, ‘It would probably not hurt to throw in some hard tack. Our aching teeth will enjoy the softness.’
I did as he suggested. After we settled at the table, he prayed, ‘For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful …’
We ate the soup very quickly. And loudly wished that there was more.
Sunday 2nd May
Emily’s lessons go well. She can now read many words starting with the letter B: BAR, BIRD, BONE, BELL, BOLT.
As a reward, and this being Sunday, I took her to visit Sarah.
Sarah was pleased to see us, though very busy. She has another girl to help her look after Master Dodd. The girl’s name is Jane, and I thought her a plain Jane indeed as she could barely smile us a greeting. Sarah says that she performs well enough. It seems that Jane has not enough sense to question directions, but that she has enough to follow them.
‘What do you hear from Sydney Cove?’ I asked as soon as we arrived. Because Master Dodd was, and still is, close to Governor Phillip, they get the latest news very quickly.
Sarah has only contempt for the militia. However, in her eyes Governor Phillip can do little wrong. She likes to remind me that it is a rare governor who insists that everyone, both freeman and convict, share equal rations when there is not enough food to go around.
‘Little to report, though Lieutenant Ross is no longer with us,’ she replied. ‘The Master reports that Governor Phillip says he was a most disagreeable deputy. Always whining and bad tempered, so it’s a good thing that he’s gone to Norfolk Island where he can do less harm than here. Only I pity those poor souls that have gone with him.’
Outside the window, two greyish-brown birds with large beaks were setting up such a cackle she had to wait for them to stop. ‘And one more thing,’ she added. ‘The Governor thinks he must cut our rations further.’
‘Surely not,’ I cried. ‘How will we survive?’ Not even Sarah handing me four pullet eggs—one for each of us—could make me smile. I was very careful to thank her. I am not sure if Sarah should be giving them to us. If she is found out she may be severely punished. At Rose Hill we are not restricted to such harsh rationing as those in Sydney Cove. But there is still hardly enough to fill our bellies.
Again I have been dreaming about the rich milk and cream our mama’s cow, Daisy, used to produce. Also I like to imagine that I am eating slices of oven-fresh bread smothered in butter and gooseberry jam. Rich meat pies with lashings of mashed potato and gravy. New season peas, beans and apples. Wild strawberries and berries plucked from the hedgerows.
My poor belly. How it cries out for more food.
Tuesday 4th May
This morning Emily asked me why I would not play with her.
I was sweeping the hut with my brushwood broom. ‘As you see,’ I said impatiently, ‘I have too much else to do.’
‘Cannot the animals do this for you?’
I paused in my sweeping. ‘Maybe they could. Back home, some housewives would clean a chimney by throwing a fowl into it.’
Her eyes grew large. ‘Did not the fowl protest?’
I giggled. ‘Surely it did. It would stalk out of the house most indignantly, even though it was covered in soot.’
But Emily is right. I am much too busy, though not half as busy as if I was home. This is because I have no dough to set, no milk to churn, no poultry to chase away from under chairs and tables, no fruit and vegetables to preserve. Instead, I use a branch to swat insects away and wonder where our next meal will be coming from.
Wednesday 5th May
Last night Winston turned up saying he had two days leave and would spend them with his family. We sat around the fire, the Surgeon smoking his pipe, Emily resting on her pallet.
Soon as the sun fell into the horizon, Winston asked for more of my story.
‘Indeed, Lizzie, you must,’ said my Master. ‘It does my children much good to hear how others manage their misfortunes.’
Winston is so prickly he took immediate offence. ‘Papa, you think I do not know?’
My Master merely smiled and shook his head. He took a stick from the fire to light his pipe and puffed on it.
One of his stockings—the toe is vanished completely—must be patched. First I settled myself to my sewing. Then I began by telling them how I had left all Mama and Papa’s possessions with Aunt Flossie who was to be your new mama …
Edward, should this journal reach you, please make sure that our aunt returns Mama’s four chairs, two beds and our table. Also, many of the kitchen pots, pans, mugs and plates belong to us, as does our plough-horse’s almost new bridle. Do not forget to take the two milking buckets, Papa’s spades, hatchet, wheelbarrow, cart and grindstone, and Mama’s spinning wheel.
Edward, I do not know what has happened to our parents’ house. Nor the land that Papa ploughed. Before I left for London I made our uncle promise not to let anyone else move in. But four years later, perhaps he has forgotten. Like our papa and his papa before him, you are now that farm’s tenant and the land is yours to work.
I told the Russells how I had journeyed to London with my few clothes, six shillings in my pocket & a small packet of bread and meat. It took the chaise nearly a week to arrive. Then the streets seemed filled with so many drunken folk and beggars, I was fearful to dismount and very sorry I had ever left home.
My new Mistress had sent a man to bring me to her house. He led me through a warren of lanes and alleyways, all made dark and filthy with soot and animal droppings. There was so much noise from carriages rolling past and street peddlers, I was sure that if I stayed, I would very shortly become deaf.
Winston’s cough was disbelieving. ‘Truly that bad?’
‘Truly that bad,’ I said indignantly. How can Winston question me when I know that he has never been to London? ‘Even at night the streets wear a pall of smoke from too many coal fires. Only the main streets are lit by oil lamps. The streets have so much refuse and so many open sewers, a person could die from the stench. I had to hold my nose so I could manage to arrive at my new Mistress’s house without vomiting.’
I paused for breath. In the silence, I
noticed that the wind had dropped. I said, ‘Did I tell you that I was apprenticed to a milliner?’
Winston cleared his throat. ‘That you did.’
I glanced around the room. Emily had fallen asleep. How much of my story had she heard? The Surgeon puffed his pipe and sat behind a fug of smoke. The fire cast strange shadows. Outside the window, the southern sky was ablaze with stars.
‘Mistress Mary Clarke,’ I went on, ‘hated to spend a penny if ever a farthing would do. She used her apprentices as domestics as well as seamstresses. I slept on a narrow mattress in the attic. This bed I shared with Nancy Parke, the other apprentice.’
‘Two girls and one bed?’ said my Master.
‘From what I saw in London, I was lucky to have even that,’ I replied.
He puffed on his pipe and motioned for me to continue.
‘We rose at dawn, worked hard all day and did not see our bed until late at night. For this we were given a little bread and sometimes a mutton chop.’
‘What must you do in exchange?’ Winston asked.
I glanced up from my sewing. His gaze was fixed on the fire. Right now Mistress Clark’s house felt like a very bad dream from which I had thankfully woken.
I explained how I had to empty the slops into the street and the fireplaces of ashes. I fetched water, laundered clothes, dusted, swept, and helped the cook prepare my Mistress’s dinner. Between those tasks, I learned how to cut, shape, sew and iron various fabrics. Then I would carry the finished bonnet to whoever had ordered it. This way I saw much of the city.
Winston said, ‘What d–did you think of London town?’
I paused to think. ‘A bigger place of contrasts would be hard to find. Gentlefolk wear coats and dresses made of fine silk and satins. Their powdered wigs are so high they make the wearer seem twice as tall. Once they are clad in their best, they walk London’s great streets and squares and meet in the pleasure gardens of Ranelagh and Vauxhall.’
‘So much for the rich,’ he said. ‘And the poor?’
‘Why, they live in a wilderness where there is always the threat of death from gangs of ruffians and general lawlessness. The poor only stop themselves from cutting their own throats by drinking too much gin.’
‘Surely the Runners keep this in check?’
I shook my head. ‘The Runners are only permitted to carry lanterns and wooden batons. They are poorly paid. To survive, they must take bribes. Thieving is so common, it is whispered that the King himself was robbed while walking in his gardens in Kensington.’
‘That has long been coffee-house gossip,’ the Surgeon butted in, ‘and hardly worth repeating.’ A log slipped out of the fire. He carefully replaced it. Then he said, ‘Tell us more about your work.’
I looked up from my stitching and said, ‘I was quick to learn and my Mistress was pleased with me. As time went on, she found more and more for me to do.’
Winston said, ‘Why did not the other apprentice take her share?’
I picked up another stocking, and leaned towards the fire for more light to thread my needle. ‘Her sewing was not as skilful. And she was lazy. From certain looks she sent me, I soon learned that it was not beyond her to hate her fellow servants. And it did not take long before her hatred took solid form.’
At this my Master roused himself with a start. He patted my shoulder somewhat awkwardly, then decided that it must be bedtime. ‘Lizzie, you will tell us more tomorrow.’
Winston helped me lay the pallets on the floor and we settled down to sleep. Soon my Master’s snores rang through the hut. But I was so tired nothing short of a tempest at sea could have kept me awake.
Thursday 6th May
This morning I laundered Emily’s linen in lye and hot water. Her clothes are so worn, I fear that with another washing they will shred too far to patch.
While I worked, I let my mind wander over all that has happened to me. Relating my story brings up so many memories. Many are so horrid, I wish I could forget them. But when Emily asked me what my parents looked like, I found that I could hardly remember. Lately Mama’s face has become confused with Sarah’s. And Papa begins to look like Henry Dodd and sometimes Surgeon Russell.
Edward, how different if we had been rich. Wealthy folk hire artists to paint them so they cannot forget what their loved ones look like. I remember our mama telling me that when Lady Grainger was young she was so beautiful, artists clamoured to paint her portrait. The Surgeon wears a locket on his heart. Inside the locket is a miniature of Mary Russell, his dead wife. When he showed it to me, I examined her very carefully. Her hair was yellow, and she had blue eyes, pink cheeks and a mole on her left cheek. Her children look like her in that both are fair-skinned and delicately built.
My eyes are sore, and I am very tired. Enough writing for tonight.
Sunday 9th May
This morning Master Henry Dodd called everyone to join him under a stand of red gums. He began the service with ‘The Lord’s Prayer’ & then ‘Rock of Ages’. The militia’s drum and fife accompanied our singing. But many felt too low to join in.
Halfway through ‘Rock of Ages’ the skies opened up. Soon our clothes were drenched. Leaves and twigs squelched under our feet. Streams trickled into puddles.
Master Dodd ignored the rain and stood on a log to deliver his sermon. He is a plain man with a round face, pockmarked skin hidden under coarse brown hair and a three-day beard. His blunt speech and manner remind me of our papa’s. He urged us to keep up our spirits, saying that if we neglected to pray, all would be lost. He promised us that any day more ships would sail from Cape Town into Sydney Cove. These ships will carry enough provisions to last us until more crops could be reaped.
‘What if the ships don’t come?’ someone called from the crowd.
‘What if Noah had not prayed?’ he answered right back. ‘Remember how Noah and his family stayed on their ark forty days and forty nights? Why, if Noah had lost faith, none of us would be here.’
Not everyone could accept this. Someone called, ‘Perchance Noah had enough to fill his belly, and faith to him were easier.’
Another cried, ‘Noah had all those animals to eat if he were hungry.’
‘Yes, yes. We’re starving too much to pray.’
If they thought this could silence Master Dodd, they were sorely mistaken. He reminded us of how brave we had been at sea. How in the coldest and stormiest leg of our journey we had helped each other survive. He finished off by describing all our achievements this last year in Rose Hill, telling us how we were so much better off than anyone in Port Jackson.
This year there has been little rain and by the time his sermon was over, the sky was a rich deep blue. A flock of scarlet, green and yellow Rose Hillers flew overhead. Someone shouted that this was a good omen, and we set off for our huts far more cheerfully than we had left them.
After our sparse dinners, my Master said that he would stay with Emily and he gave me a few hours to spend however I might desire. I went to visit Sarah. Over a cup of liquorice tea, she told me that there is talk in Sydney Cove that everyone, and this includes the militia and even their officers, must take turns catching fish. Picturing some of those proud men casting lines and then having to scale and gut those smelly creatures, made us laugh most heartily.
‘Not that Winston will mind too much,’ I said. ‘I think he enjoys fishing.’
She said, ‘Have you two become friends?’
‘Winston is never rude. But he always lets me know that he is militia and I am a convict. Besides …’ I frowned uncertainly, ‘perchance I imagine it, but whenever he addresses me, his stammer grows worse.’
She smiled knowingly. ‘That young man must learn how it’s often only luck that separates rich from poor.’
I hugged her. Maybe Sarah cannot read and write or say her words properly, but she is truly a wise woman. She hugged me back, crying, ‘I really miss you, Lizzie. Jane does her job well enough, but she ain’t no fun to be with.’
‘I mi
ss you too, Sarah,’ I cried, and we held each other a very long time.
When I got back to the Russells’, Emily was lying on her pallet, sobbing as if her little heart would break. ‘Where were you, Lizzie?’ she cried. ‘I thought you were gone forever.’
I placed her on my lap, saying, ‘I was only visiting Sarah. You and me are great friends and you know that I will never part from you.’
‘But my mama said that,’ she sobbed, ‘and then she went to Heaven …’ She buried her head in my chest.
She was so hot and feverish it took me an hour to calm her down. Fortunately Sarah had found enough flour to bake Emily a heart-shaped biscuit. I showed it to her and she brightened up very quickly.
Monday 10th May
A morning of misfortune. Emily is still feverish and refuses to eat. Her father tells me that I must force her to drink as much water as possible. But even water makes her throw up. I have seen this illness before. It comes from our salt meat, which is so rotten my Master thinks that we would be healthier only eating dried peas, oats and rice and whatever vegetables that can be passed our way.
To add to my distress, while laundering I dropped a full cauldron of boiling water. I narrowly missed scalding my feet. Then I had to fetch more water and find more wood to fill the wood-box. To add to my annoyance, our last sliver of soap slid into the cauldron and melted away completely. To make more soap, I need potash and animal fat. Of course I have none. I worry that if the Surgeon hears about these misadventures, he might want another servant. Someone stronger and less clumsy.
By late afternoon, I had brought all the washing inside. It looked clean enough, though with more rips for me to mend. Emily was no longer as feverish and I had her drinking a little water and nibbling on a biscuit.
Surviving Sydney Cove Page 5
