Mary's Guardian (2 page)

The air was still crisply cold and there was drizzling rain all morning, but by the middle of the day there were signs of sunshine. They might even be able to enjoy the sight of green hills as they drove south, William thought, and it warmed his heart. Guards rode up front and stood on the board behind, guns held aloft, a ready warning to any prisoner who thought about escape, though that seemed unlikely seeing as they’d all been fitted with leg chains. Twice now they’d been ordered out of the carts to help push it through bogged parts of the road. The iron clamps on their legs rubbed cruelly as they struggled to keep their balance. It would be a mad man who’d think he could get away.

William had noticed that the women had their hands chained together in front of them. As they were shoved back on the cart after the last bog hole, he heard a screech.

‘Touch me again, an’ I’ll be usin’ yer eyeballs fer marbles!’

He knew it was her. He strained to see the faces of the women in the cart behind as it bounced and dragged across the rough ground. The tone of her voice was deeper but the same boldness was clear. He cringed as he saw a guard lash out with his baton, beating into the back of a woman trying to scramble on to the cart. There was no crying out in pain, just a torrent of cursing that further convinced William that it was Mary Groves he’d heard. It seemed there were some things she still hadn’t learned. She’d never been content to keep her head down. She always had to have the last word; a scathing retort which outraged those chasing or chastising.

So many years ago, he thought, but now it seemed likely that he might soon come face to face with her again and the thought both pleased and intrigued him.

They’d have six or seven more days in the carts before they reached Portsmouth, where they were to be held on hulks till the fleet was ready to sail. He’d heard it said they’d be put to work for the next few months, helping to ready the boats. No doubt the men and women would be kept apart, likely shipped separately, but surely eventually their paths might cross. Some of the men were already counting down the time till they’d be able to return to England but William had no such thought. He was being transported for seven years. And that on top of the eleven years he’d already served in prison. It was a long punishment for picking pockets, for surviving the best he could and trying not to hurt anyone in the process. He’d not been like some, who would slit a man’s throat to secure a loaf of bread or a few oranges from the stalls. No, he owed Britain nothing. He had no inclination to pine for his return.

The place they were headed was untouched, he’d heard, needing strong backs and willing workers to build it from the ground up. The idea pleased him, gave him hope. If it worked out, he’d be keen to stay on. And, if Mary could keep her head, he believed it might be just what she needed to bring out the best in her as well. Would she recognise him? Would she care that he was still concerned for her? He could never really understand why she touched his heart all those years ago, why he’d made the effort to try and keep track of her throughout their prison years. It could hardly be said she was more vulnerable than others. In fact she was far more able to take care of herself than many, as reckless as she’d often been. Perhaps it was that he saw more potential in her. Such a fighting spirit. If anyone was going to survive this journey and make the most of the opportunity, it was Mary Groves.

Portsmouth, England, March, 1787.

On their arrival in Portsmouth William was assigned to the Alexander. The ship’s master ordered the convicts onto the deck where they were inspected by the surgeon, doused to rid their hair of lice, washed down, and given clothes considered necessary for a year.

‘Two jackets, four sets of woollen drawers,’ the officer drawled, piling clothes onto William’s outstretched arms. ‘One hat, three shirts, four pairs of worsted stockings, three frocks, three trousers, three pair of shoes.’ He made a mark beside William’s name in the ledger and tipped his head, indicating that William should move on. ‘Store these at the head of your bunks. And guard them well. There’ll be no more.’

William nodded, hiding a grin. He had no allusions there would be less fights over their meagre belongings than he’d always had, but at least now they were starting out with a few new things. How he would keep them from the greedy hands of others was a challenge yet to be faced.

That night, when they were led below decks, assigned in fours to small cells and chained together, he realised it was going to be a struggle just to lie down all at once, let alone worry that his bundle of clothes was secure. The first few nights he barely slept but, as each morning broke and they were roused and set to work, he began to feel the tiredness that would ensure a reasonable night’s sleep regardless of the cramped conditions.

‘Are we to paint, mend and scrub the whole of this tub before we set sail?’ James Freeman whined after a month of long working days. He threw down his brush, leaving a large swath of paint across the deck.

‘Best she’s in good condition, I say,’ William grinned. ‘She has a long journey ahead and if I’m in the hull I’d rather she be seaworthy, wouldn’t you?’

James sighed heavily and took up his brush. ‘I’m exhausted every night with all this. I’ve never worked so hard in my life. And then I can’t sleep for the screaming in my muscles. I’m used to paper work, I am, not this kind of lackey work.’

‘If you had a job doing paper work, James, or any other kind of job, then you might have avoided this altogether.’ William tried not to sound judgmental.

‘Yeah, well, there’s always the temptation to have a little more, isn’t there?’ James’ face twisted into a sly sneer.

‘And now you have a little more than you expected, eh?’

‘A lot more…and a lot different…and I’m not sure I can survive it.’

‘Set your mind to it, James. You’d be surprised what you can survive.’

As the weeks wore on and the men adjusted to a physical regime most of them had never known, they began to feel better for it; stronger, fitter, less inclined to bicker with each other over minor differences, more ready for sleep at night and better prepared to rise each morning and get on deck, breathing deeply the fresher air, letting the sun’s rays warm and tan their flesh.

***

Captain Arthur Phillip’s arrival in Portsmouth in May was the signal that the time had come for the fleet to set sail; six transport vessels, three store ships and two men-o-wars, carrying around five hundred and fifty officers, mariners, their wives and children, the ships’ crews, and seven hundred and fifty convicts. There was an enthusiastic, almost cheerful mood on board the ships as they slowly headed towards the ocean.

But the harsh reality of what was ahead hit the prisoners once they were at sea. Though they were still taken on deck regularly for exercise, they spent much more time in their cramped cells and the rolling motion of the ships soon began to sort out those who would not do well on the long sea voyage. Many spent much of the first leg moaning, vomiting and rolling about, much to the disgust and discomfort of those who were chained to them. When they arrived in the Canary Islands, three weeks after their departure,some were already praying for a quick death.

‘Are we there, then?’ Peter Bond knew what he was asking was nonsense, but it was the only thought that enabled him to believe he might yet live through this nightmare.

‘Sorry, lad.’ William shook his head. ‘It’s some island off Africa, to get fresh supplies. You need to try and keep down some vegetables or you’ll be even sicker.’ He encouraged the younger man to his feet as they were led onto the decks. ‘Come on, some fresh air will do you good.’

‘If I’d known this would be the end of stealing those bits an’ pieces, I’d ’ave let me family freeze. They probably will anyhow.’ Peter struggled up the rough plank stairs, his face blanched and drawn.

‘Take heart, son. You’re only twenty. You’ll likely survive this and get home to take care of your family.’ William wasn’t as hopeful as he sounded but in his mind it was far too early for young men to be giving up.

The prisoners were allowed to spend much of that week on deck, exercising their limbs, which were missing the daily round of physical activity they’d become used to in Portsmouth. When the fleet set sail again, the break from the rolling seas had heartened some and convinced others that any fate would be preferable to spending the next seven or eight months of their miserable lives on board the ships. The moaning and whining from the cells increased night after night, the mood became more and more bleak. Men snapped at each other and snarled their hatred for their mother country. Eight more weeks passed before the ships dropped anchor at Rio de Janeiro off the coast of South America.

‘There’s been an attempted mutiny on the Scarborough.’ William's face was grave.

‘How do you know that?’ John Roger’s eyes flew open. He was hanging over the deck, watching birds soaring freely through the air.

‘One of the officers told me. Stupid fools tried to take the first officer of the ship prisoner. Beats me how they thought they’d gain control of the vessel. Or what they planned to do with it if they did. They were easily overpowered by the guards, and then lashed as an example to any others foolish enough to try such a thing.’

‘I can’t imagine having the gall.’ John shook his head.

‘Stupidity is what it is, lad, and I pray no one on this ship even thinks of attempting such a thing, or we’ll all be paying the price.’

‘Perhaps it’s the scurvy, Will,’ John sighed. ‘Half of us are out of our minds with the sickness. We’ve got bleeding gums and look at this.’ He pulled at the skin on his arm. ‘All but dead, it is.’

‘I know, but I hear they’ll get some more vegetables from this place. That’ll help some, eh?’

‘Will it help with the dysentery as well? I’m not sure I can go back down in that hull. The smell’s enough to kill a man off.’

‘Just breathe in plenty of this fresh air while you can.’ William patted the younger man on the shoulder, himself not wanting to think about the stench below. ‘We must keep our spirits up, John. It’s what’ll get us through.’

***

A month later, with sails repaired and seeds and plants collected to be grown in the new colony, the ships were made ready to leave port again. The prisoners, however, were not so well prepared. William worried about the rising tension amongst them. Frustrated with their conditions; suffering physically; and fearful about resuming the endless rolling and rocking of the vessel, they began to turn on each other.

‘Hey, darkie.’ James Freeman shoved the last of his gruel-soaked bread into his mouth. ‘You can do with less of that slop, can’t you?’ He pushed his face into the bars of his cell and sneered at the black skinned man in the adjacent cell. ‘You could take a piece of the boy beside you, couldn’t you? Isn’t that what you Africans do? Eat each other?’

Silas Jordan stopped eating and looked around, the whites of his eyes expanding, the blackness of his skin appearing to turn purple. His expression was thunderous and William, watching from his own cell, wondered if they’d get through the day without blood being shed. He had himself been quite surprised to see the mixture of people chosen for this first fleet to the new colony. There were many men sentenced in England but born in Europe, America, Canada, Africa or Egypt. There were men with the whitest of skin through to those who were black as night. Until now they’d had some sense of their common plight and ignored the differences in their background but now they were beginning to use anything to pick a fight. And, somehow, it didn’t surprise William that James Freeman was one to hold prejudice. He’d made it clear from the start that he thought himself a cut above most other prisoners.

The young boy beside Silas looked about anxiously and moved a few inches towards the other side of the cell, though he could hardly have considered himself a likely meal. He was all but skin and bones.

The dark man spun towards him, his face full of accusation. ‘You ‘fraid I’ll eat you, boy?’ he boomed. ‘You takin’ notice of this pig across the way?’

‘Nnno,’ the boy stuttered. ‘Just trying to make room.’ His lip trembled as he readjusted his position, fearful of giving offence.

A little further down the line of cells William could hear another ruckus begin when one prisoner accused another of swapping their shirts about.

‘You took mine, didn’t you?’ came a bellow. ‘I marked it on the collar. See? This mark here.’ There was scuffling and groaning and William had no doubt that fists were flying.

‘No, I didn’t,’ the second man exploded, with more shoving and heaving sounds. ‘They’ve all got marks, yer daft beggar.’ The sounds of brawling continued, along with the complaints of the other men in the cell who would now be ducking fists as they yelled for the fighters to stop.

William looked about in the dim light as tiny cracks of morning sun seeped through the upper hatches which had been left ajar. There was hardly a face that wasn’t gaunt with fear and self pity. Even those who refrained from voicing their feelings were unable to hide the desperation that was etched into their expressions. William began to despair that these men would ever be able to work together to make something of the life they were headed for.

***

As the fleet headed for Table Bay at the Cape of Good Hope it became hotter and unbearably humid below decks. The prisoners scratched all night as lice reinfested their hair. They thrashed around in their cells, disturbing each other’s sleep, taking out their aggravation on those closest to them, snarling and cursing. The seas across the Atlantic Ocean were angry and mountainous with storms that stalled their progress, and at times threatened to swallow the ships altogether. During many days as well as nights the prisoners remained below decks, the lashing rains and winds preventing any possibility of exercising or even breathing in some fresh air. Some were so terrified and so fed up with their situation that they took it into their heads to end the nightmare.

***

One morning, as grey light streamed into the hull from a slightly opened hatch, William woke to see John Rogers beside him, desperately trying to strangle himself with one of his own stockings.

‘Don’t be a fool, lad.’ William sat up abruptly and dragged the stocking loose. ‘You’d not manage it anyway. Hold yourself together a bit longer, eh? It’ll end soon.’ He pulled the younger man to himself and cradled him as he wept, his muffled sobs waking only those in their cell.

‘Someone further along tried to slash his throat with a fork he’d saved from dinner yesterday.’ Peter Bond leaned in closer to John's ear, and spoke in a quiet voice. ‘It’s not the way, John.’ He patted John's back rather awkwardly.

‘Better than ending up floundering round in that wild sea.’ John was close to tears. ‘We’ll be lost, we will. I’d rather go at me own hand.’

‘I’m sorry, lad. I know it’s hard.’ William took his shoulders and held him firm. ‘But I can’t sit by and watch you give up.’

While he comforted John, William’s mind turned to Mary Groves. He’d heard nothing of how the female prisoners were coping. He could only hope that the strength and determination he’d seen in Mary ten years earlier had not diminished, and that it would see her through this ordeal which was testing men to their very core.

***

In October, the fleet finally reached the Cape of Good Hope. On the Prince of Wales forty-nine females of various ages and one male child huddled in the creaking hull. Mary Groves thought she’d not be able to control herself much longer if the woman beside her didn’t stop her moaning. It had gone on for weeks now; a plaintive whimpering as she rolled from one side to another in the cramped space, keeping Mary awake at night and annoying her all day.

‘I told yer to give over, girl,’ Mary looked at the girl who was moaning in pain beside her, and spoke through clenched teeth. ‘We’ve stopped sailin’ now, so they’re sure to take us up on deck for a bit. So quit yer moanin’ before yer throw up again. Yer bring it on worse, you do, with all that thrashin’ about.’

‘Shut yer mouth,’ Sarah Grimes snarled. ‘I’ll moan if I want for it could be the end of me right ‘ere. I’ll not go quietly, I won’t. Why should I? Blasted guards ’ave stolen half our food for all these weeks. Fed ’emselves while we’ve starved. An’ with this rollin’ about they’ve lost interest in other pastimes that at least got us out of this dungeon for a bit.’

‘No doubt they’ll be back for a piece of that soon enough.’ Mary was ready for a fight. ‘For whatever good you think you’re achievin’ with it.’ Mary shuddered involuntarily. The thought of being dragged off to some sailor’s bunk to ease his itching was no comfort to her. She had never let a man have his way with her yet and not likely to if she had any power in her to stop it. She had been neglected and ignored, pushed around, belittled, and deprived. But she had never given in to men’s sweet talk, or their pathetic attempts to beguile her. The guards at the prison had tried it often enough and she had laughed in their faces. Those who had turned to roughing her up to get their way had got as good as they’d given. And some, no doubt, still wore the scars of her scratching on their faces.