When she grows tired, or begins to wheeze, I carry her on my back. Thankfully these last two days she has been well enough to walk. The furthest we have gone is the observatory at Point Maskelyne.
I had heard that Lieutenant William Dawes was given the task of studying the southern stars. I think that he must get rather lonely, because no sooner did he glimpse us, than he raced outside to invite us in to admire his delicate instruments. He told us how Governor Phillip thought this project so important he even spared the Lieutenant some of his own precious nails. The Lieutenant made the octagonal roof revolve—they are panels made of white painted canvas—explaining that this was so every part of the night sky might be studied.
Emily demanded to know if he had built this observatory himself. He smiled and shook his head. ‘A gang of marines and convicts helped me complete this in just four months.’
‘Why such a rush?’ I asked.
His smile grew broader—he seems very proud of all he has achieved. He said, ‘Very shortly a comet is expected to streak over the southern skies.’
We thanked him and set off towards the cliffs nearby. Looking down at craggy rocks covered in spindly salt bush made my head spin and I quickly moved away.
We turned back towards the Tank Stream. We smelt it long before we reached it. Even in Blackfriars or East Smithfield in London it is hard to find such a mess of garbage and human excrement. People have emptied their chamber pots along the banks and into the stream. The air is black with flies. My Master has instructed me to only collect water from upstream. Though this water is sweeter, it means that I must walk nearly a mile both there and back.
Last night I dared question my Master’s instructions. I said that it would be far easier for me to collect water from where others go.
His gaze grew inward as he sucked on his empty pipe. At last he said, ‘I have noticed that those who drink that water often become sick. Best that you walk a little further.’
One more task to add to all my others. He has also instructed me to carry enough water to bathe Emily. At first I objected, saying that the sea soaks her well enough when we go looking for oysters.
‘But she is still in her clothes,’ he replied, ‘and so much salt cannot be good for her delicate skin. I think a bath would do us all good.’
I have calculated that I must bring home at least four buckets of water and then set about heating them. When I reminded my Master that we had no soap, he said that we could scrape ourselves with a tin spoon, and add crushed tea-tree leaves to the water. He says that this will soothe our chapped skins.
More and more he reminds me of my own father. Papa was also a hard, though very fair, taskmaster. Lately if I try to recall what he looked like, instead my Master’s face comes into my mind. Edward, is your memory any better than mine? If ever I try to picture your face, you stay constantly six years old. Do you have fair hair and blue eyes like myself? Are you tall—I mean as tall as a ten-year-old boy can grow—or are you short like me? No matter how often I tell myself that one day we will be together, when you are half a world away, it is too hard to believe this.
Tonight, preparing that bath tired me immensely. Perchance it is hunger that weakens my body and sinks my spirits this low.
Sunday 23rd May
This morning I went upstream to fetch more water. Emily was wheezing too much to walk so I piggybacked her most of the way. My Master instructs me to never leave her alone, not even in the hut, as some very strange folk roam this colony.
Emily has long wanted to visit the school. So after our midday dinner of a little rice and pease pudding, we set off in that direction. We heard the children long before we saw them. Camped under a copse of river gums, they were reciting ‘The Lord’s Prayer’.
We introduced ourselves to their teacher Mistress Isabella Rosson—a matron in her mid-twenties with a gaunt face and a longish nose and chin. Her smile is kind. I think that she would be quite pretty were she not half-starved.
She brought us to a raggedy group of about a dozen children aged between five and ten. All with watery eyes and snotty noses, hair that has never known a good brushing and protruding bellies. They were as interested in Emily as she was in them. They have no chalk or slates. These children write with sharp sticks in the dust. Mistress Rosson set them all, Emily too, to writing ‘The cat sat on the mat’ & ‘God bless our new home’.
As the children worked, we gossiped awhile. She spoke of the children in her class, saying, ‘True, they are hungry. But the air is fresh. There are no dangerous wild animals and they are not forced into becoming chimney sweeps or thieves. These children have a far better chance of surviving than if they had stayed in England.’
I said, ‘Will all the children born in this colony attend your school?’
‘Who knows,’ she said softly. ‘It is hard to learn when there are no books, no slates, and no roof. Whenever it rains, I have no choice but to send them home.’
Then she very politely told us that it was time to go, as the children still had much to do. As I walked away, we could hear them repeating an old counting rhyme I had learned back home:
One, two, three, four,
Mary at the cottage door.
Five, six, seven, eight,
Mary at the cottage gate.
We were almost home when a man darted out from the scrub. I was piggybacking Emily, and we had such a fright, she nearly fell off my back. To my astonishment it was Simple Sam, and he was smiling as if delighted that he had finally found me. He was followed by a small group of children who were busy throwing stones and copying his strange gestures.
He gave them as much attention as he would a swarm of flies. ‘Sam hungry,’ he cried and made lots more sounds that made little sense. In the end I realised that he has been expelled from Rose Hill. He is now wandering around Sydney Cove without a morsel of food to bless himself.
‘If you jump out on people like that,’ I scolded him, ‘they will think you are trying to steal from them.’ But I do not think that he understood because he kept on smiling, his arms and legs moving like cartwheels.
Emily was so frightened she started to cry. I hurried her away, praying that he would not follow. I looked back, and he was still talking and waving his limbs while the children poked him with sticks and threw more stones.
I cannot understand my Master. He is so caring for the sick yet he has no tolerance for Simple Sam. What is it that turns my Master against him?
Back home I boiled a small fish with the last of the carrots for supper. Even Emily—and she eats very little—is hungry. I wish that I owned a fishing-net. Perchance I could find some string to use as a line. What if I fashioned a hook from one of our nails? To this I could attach a chicken feather as bait.
Chicken feathers! When Mama was alive, she would dye them with vegetable peelings to decorate Lady Jane’s splendid hats.
Edward, how far away England seems. How I hate this dull bush that surrounds us. What I would give to see soft hills, misty with rain, and the little cottage with the thatched roof where we were born and I grew up.
I tell myself that Mama is in Heaven, and Papa too. That they keep watch over you and me and this is why I am still alive. But sometimes it is hard to believe this.
My Master is watching me write. He asks me every day for a full report of our activities. He wants to know where we have walked and what we have seen. I am careful to tell him everything. But I have not mentioned Simple Sam. I know that he will order me to keep Emily well away from someone he thinks is dangerous.
Tonight I have a toothache and it is hard to concentrate on my journal. I had asked my Master to look into my mouth. He says that a left back tooth is totally rotten. He will have to pull it out. I asked him to leave this for later, but he says that the longer this tooth stays, the more painful it will be. Before the extraction, he has promised to give me a tot of rum to lessen the pain.
Monday 24th May
Winston has borrowed one of the rowboats. He te
lls me that he intends to spend all day fishing. He did not invite anyone to go with him. I thought this most selfish of him, but was hardly surprised. Mostly Winston only thinks about himself. Yet it is a shame that he did not take Emily, even for a little while. Surely the boat’s gentle movement would bring more colour into her cheeks? Even if he does catch a fish, it will be tasteless as we have no salt.
I hear that there is no salt in this colony and that the Governor has ordered two large vats of seawater to be boiled into crystals.
This morning, the fireplace needed brushing. As I was sweeping the hearth, soot fell down the chimney onto my face so that I looked like an Indian. I was sorely annoyed but Emily giggled so much, in the end I had to smile, even though the cap I wore had been clean and my other was not yet dry.
Emily had demanded another holiday from schoolwork. As she was breathing more easily and seemed willing to walk, we set off along the coast. Hoping to find more shellfish, I carried a knife and our oldest bucket. This bucket is no longer waterproof, but works well as a basket.
A mild day with a light wind, and we wandered further east than we had intended. Soon we were met by a terrible stench. We kept on walking and eventually we reached a low hill entirely composed of empty seashells. Suddenly I thought that perhaps we were standing on the end result of thousands of dinners.
By now the stink was so bad we had to hold our nostrils so as not to vomit. On the far side of the hill a horrible sight greeted us. A score or so of dead natives lay there, all covered in terrible sores. Their arms and legs were bent into unnatural positions. Black flies swarmed over the bodies. One corpse—this was a female—held a baby in her arms.
Aghast, I clapped my hands over Emily’s eyes and hurried her away.
My Master had mentioned that smallpox, cholera and influenza have swept through the Indians. This is the result. It would seem that the poor things are too sick to even bury their dead.
All thoughts of gathering shellfish forgotten, we rushed back along the track that led to our house.
Tuesday 25th May
Today while we were out walking, we were met by more upset.
Simple Sam. This time surrounded by more than teasing children. An angry crowd had gathered around him. ‘Where’s the child?’ someone yelled.
‘Tell us what you did to her, or we’ll string you to the nearest tree …’
‘He’s a kidnapper an’ a murderer. He only pretends to be simple …’
‘String him up on Gallows Hill …’
I could sense Sam’s distress. Even someone as foolish as Sam can grasp hatred when it is solely directed towards him.
I approached an old crone—she seemed one of the ringleaders—to ask what was happening. Her witch’s chin bobbed up and down. ‘Mistress Mullen’s child, a girl of less’en four years, has disappeared. She was seen talking with him,’ and she pointed accusingly at Sam.
I said, ‘Has no-one gone to look for the child?’
The crone shook her head. Just then I glimpsed Winston edging around the crowd. Pulling Emily by her hand—she protesting mightily—I set off after him.
We caught up with him outside our hut where I quickly explained what was happening. Then I pleaded with him to help me rescue the poor fellow.
He shook his head and went to walk away. I clung to his arm, hotly insisting, ‘But you must. Sam is totally harmless. It is only his speech and the way he cannot control his limbs that make folk think he is dangerous. You always talk about how people are judged unfairly. How they are transported and even hanged for the crime of being poor. Now you will let them murder Simple Sam for no fault of his own? Actions must suit brave words,’ and I burst into angry tears.
He flushed scarlet and stammered, ‘Are you accusing me of cowardice?’
But I had gone too far. I would gain nothing from making Winston angry. ‘No,’ I cried. ‘But you cannot let them hang an innocent man.’
I pushed Emily into his arms and ran back to where Sam was facing an increasingly hostile crowd.
There being no way I could protect him without turning the crowd’s anger onto myself, I followed Sam. They dragged him all the way to Gallows Hill. Here we were met by a terrible stink of rotting corpses. Several bodies swung in the wind. Black crows wheeled lazily around them. While I watched in dismay, the crowd pushed Sam towards an empty spot on the gallows.
Suddenly a slight figure, hat hiding his hair, handkerchief tied over his face and carrying a musket, walked towards the crowd. I thought that I recognised that slim build. Then I decided that this must be my imagination. Had not Winston refused to help Sam in any way?
The masked figure pointed his musket at the ringleaders. They came to an abrupt stop. The masked man shouted, ‘First this villain must be p–properly tried in a c–court of law.’
That stammer! Winston? As I stared in disbelief, someone in the crowd yelled, ‘We tried him enough.’
‘D–Do not make me fire,’ Winston threatened.
‘Ignore him,’ someone yelled from the sidelines. ‘He ain’t got no shot. There ain’t no shot in all o’ Port Jackson.’
Winston swung his musket around. ‘Shall I prove to you otherwise?’ And amidst much muttering and cursing from a crowd after blood, and not too choosy as to whose it might be, he grabbed hold of Sam. Then he led Sam to me.
Still pointing his musket at the crowd, he helped me pull Sam behind a clump of trees. Then we took off towards home, dragging Sam behind us.
Emily had been lying on her pallet, but as soon as she glimpsed Sam, she shrieked in fright. We had to pull him back outside so she would no longer be so terrified. I cried, ‘Where can we hide him?’
Meanwhile poor Sam was gibbering and shaking enough to start an earth tremor. I reached out to comfort him, but even in such a life-threatening situation it was hard to stand too close as he stank so badly.
Winston shook his head and glared at me. I could tell he was wondering why he had gone to so much trouble to save this poor scrap of humanity.
I cried, ‘He cannot stay where your papa will see him. He will surely deliver Sam back to the crowd.’
Winston wiped sweat off his face and grunted. Though this meant that we must leave Emily on her own—and this was strictly against my Master’s orders—he decided that we should take Sam upstream. Dragging the poor fellow after us, we set off into the scrub, finally coming to the place where I collect water. There we found a decent clump of river gums and told Sam to hide behind them. The poor thing’s teeth were chattering with fear. But I do not think that he fully understood the danger he was in, because when I looked back, he was in full view of anyone coming the other way. Arms and legs making windmills in the air, he was staring piteously after us.
Back in the hut, Emily had fallen asleep. Winston handed me the three small fish he had caught that morning. I set about gutting and cleaning them. After I thanked him on poor Sam’s behalf, I said, ‘Your papa is such a good kind man. Why does he show Sam no mercy?’
Winston took a long while to answer. I watched him wander around the hut, first to stare at his sleeping sister, then to peer absentmindedly through the open door. He shook his head as if it to clear it. Only then did he sigh and say, ‘Lizzie, this goes back to when I was no more than ten years old. In Cornwall, where we lived, the village idiot stole a child. This child was later found murdered.’
I asked him, ‘Who was that child?’
Tears filled his eyes. He turned away before muttering, ‘Her name was Elizabeth. They called her Lizzie. Just like you. On the fifteenth day of next month she would have turned eighteen. Lizzie was my elder sister and we loved her most dearly. She had b–blue eyes, fair hair, and she was thin and small. Some might even say that she looked a little like you.’
I felt the blood run into my cheeks. How could I have been so rude and unfeeling? Yet it was if a veil had been lifted from my eyes. This explained why my Master could not tolerate Sam.
Then I cried, ‘But Simple Sam is d
ifferent. He has not enough strength in his arms and legs to kidnap anybody. The poor fellow is just hungry.’
Winston rubbed the back of his neck and did not answer. We listened to the birds carol in the trees outside. Truly it must be easier to be a bird, I thought tiredly. Easier not to see and understand all these terrible things that are happening around us. And not to have to think about them.
My mind in a whirl, I continued scaling the fish.
I heard Winston clear his throat. I glanced up and to my astonishment he said, ‘Lizzie, I have not been kind to you. Not kind at all.’ He paused for a moment to rub his eyes. I gulped. I did not know what to say. I was not ready for such an unexpected change. But he went on. ‘I had already lost a mother and a sister. To become close to anyone else …’ He shook his head.
This explained why Winston was careful to never get close to another girl—even though she was but a poor convict and not actually related. And to add to his unhappiness, I bore the same name, even looked a little like his beloved sister. This explained so much that had puzzled me before.
At first I could find nothing to say. Then, ‘But … But you are good to Emily …’
‘Emily is too often unwell.’ He left the rest unsaid. ‘Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?’
I saw that he was waiting for my answer, so I swallowed and murmured, ‘Even though I am a girl and a convict?’
‘Even so.’ His voice was gruff. ‘So … can we now be friends?’
‘Friends forever,’ I said. I put down my knife, and we clasped hands.
Just then Emily woke and demanded to know if the fearsome man was still around. We assured her that he had gone and that she was absolutely safe. Then we made her promise not to mention him to her papa.
Shortly after my Master came home and told us that the whole colony was abuzz. A simpleton had kidnapped a girl child. Before he could be punished, he had been whisked away by a masked stranger. Now neither simpleton nor rescuer could be found.
Surviving Sydney Cove Page 9
