Sara Dane

by Catherine Gaskin

  Brooks spoke again. ‘Sentenced twelve months ago, you say? Then I should be surprised if she isn’t dead. The gaols are filthy, and crawling with vermin ‒ and the dogs in the street wouldn’t eat the food the prisoners are given. When gaol-fever gets going the poor wretches die off like flies.’

  Captain Marshall looked round at his guest. ‘I once visited a gaol, gentlemen ‒ not, of course, of necessity.’ Here he waited for the laughter which dutifully followed. ‘The place was in a state of ruin and the gaoler hadn’t received any money for repairs. So what do you think the fellow did? He simply chained the prisoners to the good walls, and let the others tumble down about them!’

  Andrew listened with interest. He had never seen the inside of the gaols where the gaolers acted as a kind of landlord, and the prisoners were treated according to their means.

  ‘The sight you saw was not an unusual one, sir,’ Wilder put in. ‘It often happens. After all, what else can these gaolers do? They’ve got to live on what the prisoners can pay. They can hardly be expected to run their places like inns.’

  ‘Inns!’ Brooks laughed. ‘There’s not much chance of that! Believe me, gentlemen, you’ve seen nothing until you’ve been inside a women’s prison. Sometimes they cram thirty or forty women into a ward scarcely big enough to hold ten. I’ve seen them almost naked, and the few rags they do have are crawling with lice. Most of them haven’t even the money to treat the gaoler to a pot of beer, so they’re simply left to rot ‒ and rot they do!’ He added quickly, ‘If I ever have the bad luck to be sent to prison, I trust it will be after I’ve stolen a large enough sum of money to let me pay my way out again!’

  No one spoke immediately; they seemed content to let Brooks’s words sink in. The trouble was, Andrew thought, they were all, excepting James Ryder, half-asleep ‒ the heat, the heavy, drawn-out meal and the plentiful wine were not conducive to purposeful conversation. But Wilder bestirred himself. Andrew, glancing at him, noted the nonchalantly raised brows, the slow, studied smile, and wondered if Ryder allowed himself to be irritated by this young man.

  ‘In view of what we’ve just heard, Mr. Ryder, do you really think it’s a good idea to have one of these creatures to wait on your wife and children?’ Wilder eyed the company with a slight smirk. ‘We all know what these women are. It’s no secret that they pay their gaol fees by prostitution.’

  Ryder was immediately on the defensive. ‘I’m quite satisfied that my idea is a sound one, Mr. Wilder.’

  ‘Inadvisable, sir, surely,’ Wilder murmured. ‘These women are felons.’

  Andrew looked quickly at Ryder. Here was a man of solid worth, a farmer of considerable wealth and education, and the Georgette’s officers still passed time amongst themselves wondering at the nature of his attraction to the struggling colony for which they were bound, why he should choose to drag his wife and children on this interminable voyage to set them down finally among savages and convicts in a penal colony.

  ‘These felons are what the Governor will assign to me as servants when we reach New South Wales,’ Ryder replied, regarding Wilder coldly. ‘I am prepared to take a risk on whatever type of woman I choose from this ship. My wife must have someone to take care of the children.’ He turned to the captain. ‘Captain Marshall, have I your permission to see if this woman is aboard?’

  ‘Oh, certainly, Mr. Ryder! Certainly!’ the captain answered, scarcely taking the glass away from his lips. The top of his head, bald, and ringed in greying fuzz, was as pink and shiny as his cheeks.

  The old fool, Andrew thought. Captain Marshall was more than half drunk, and not at all concerned with the problem Ryder faced. But, to merit his passenger’s generosity ‒ for the madeira was indeed excellent ‒ he would give all the help he could. The unwelcome job of routing the woman from the stink-hole between decks would fall to one of his luckless officers. Andrew felt it likely that Brooks would be chosen; it was the surgeon’s duty to visit the convicts’ quarters each day on a tour of inspection. And then it suddenly occurred to Andrew that he himself might be the one for the task. God forbid! He desperately hoped the captain’s wandering glance might finally pause on Brooks.

  But the captain was leaning towards Ryder again. ‘Yes, my dear sir, I quite agree with you. If you must have one of these women as a nursemaid, better to put her into service now ‒ get whatever good you can out of her while you need her most.’

  Andrew put in good-humouredly, ‘You might not find her so bad a proposition, Mr. Ryder. They’re not all desperate criminals, you know. We have poachers and dissenting preachers down in the holds. One could hardly call them criminals.’

  ‘Then what is one to call them?’ Wilder asked.

  ‘Well …’ Andrew began. ‘I wouldn’t call a man a criminal simply because he preaches another way to worship ‒ or because he steals a chicken or two.’

  ‘Rash words, Mr. Maclay!’ Harding said with a smile. ‘An odd preacher here and there ‒ what does it matter? But think of hundreds of preachers and thousands of poachers and poultry thieves, and it becomes a different story altogether. Why, if these people were left unpunished they’d soon fancy themselves as good as their masters. It’s that same feeling which produced the revolution in France. From what I can make out, it all started because the King was weak enough to call these fellows together and give them the idea that they had something to contribute to the Government. They, of course, seized power the first opportunity they got ‒ and now the Royal family is imprisoned in the Tuileries, and from the temper of these Frenchies it looks as if they might all end up on the guillotine.’ He paused, and then said firmly, ‘And where did it all begin ‒ with nothing more than letting an odd poacher off punishment, and permitting a few men to roam about the country stirring up trouble!’

  Ryder nodded his agreement. ‘I like to see justice done. Sometimes the laws are severe on the poor. But rebellion breeds in the masses ‒ and they must be taught that they can’t break the law and expect to go unpunished. These agitators are dangerous men. Given half a chance they’ll pull down King and Government. That rascal, Tom Paine now … His Rights of Man is as treasonable a document as ever yet hung a man.’

  Brooks, risking a rebuke for Jacobin sentiments, said, ‘All Tom Paine wanted was representative government and old-age pensions.’

  ‘Tom Paine wanted to see the monarchy and House of Lords abolished,’ Harding said. ‘He wanted the poor educated above their stations ‒ and he’d be happy to have us ruled by a gang of labourers, as they are in Paris.’

  ‘Look at the effect Paine’s gospel and the French Revolution have had in Ireland,’ Ryder said. ‘Wolf Tone is a mad hothead! And the Irish have far from finished with rebellion yet, believe me!’

  Andrew said thoughtfully, ‘I don’t think it’s altogether fair to blame the French for the agitation in Ireland. In my opinion the Irish simply don’t like having their country ruled by English soldiers. And, as for England herself ‒ wouldn’t you say, Mr. Ryder, that the Enclosure Acts, driving the peasants out of the land into the factories, is the real cause of the trouble? Many of them who were happy and contented before, can’t even earn a living wage. So they steal and poach.’

  The captain roused himself at that. ‘Yes, they steal and poach ‒ and are very rightly sent to Botany Bay for their trouble. Once give them the idea that they can do that sort of thing and get away with it, and it’s the end of decency and order.’

  ‘True enough, sir,’ Andrew said. ‘I don’t say they ought not to be punished. But I can’t see the decency and order in laws that hang a murderer, or give him life transportation to Botany Bay, and then deal out exactly the same sentence to a man for poaching a rabbit or two. It just doesn’t make sense.’

  Harding chuckled softly. ‘You talk like a Whig Member of Parliament, Maclay! Will you speak for Law reform when you’re sent to Westminster?’

  There was general laughter among the group. Andrew answered amiably. ‘I only become a reformer over a bottle of w
ine, gentlemen. I’m afraid at other times the state of my fellow-man doesn’t worry me much.’

  ‘Well,’ Wilder drawled, ‘one can’t really expect much in the way of politics ‒ or reform ‒ from a Lowland Scots farmer-turned-sailor.’

  Andrew, not in the least put out, turned to him. ‘Perhaps Scottish farmers don’t know much about politics ‒ at least according to Westminster standards. But that doesn’t make me altogether wrong in saying that not every man among the convicts is a criminal and not every woman is a slut. I think if Mrs. Ryder is prepared to take a chance with one of the women, then it’s more than likely she’ll find someone to suit her.’

  Captain Marshall seemed to think they had spoken long enough on an unpleasant subject. He rose to his feet. The others followed.

  ‘Excellent wine, Mr. Ryder,’ he murmured, bowing.

  Ryder also bowed.

  The captain gazed round his assembled officers. He was smiling slightly. The tips of his fingers rested on the table as he leaned forward.

  ‘Well, Mr. Maclay, you seem determined to champion the convicts. In which case, I think you’d probably be the best person to find out if this woman, Sara Dane, is on board with us.’

  Andrew stiffened, and his face was suddenly hot. ‘Yes, sir!’

  ‘And in the event of her not being with us,’ the captain went on, ‘I’m quite sure we’re safe in entrusting the choice of a female to you. Isn’t that right, gentlemen?’

  Andrew saw the covert grins and heard the chorus of assent.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ he said.

  The captain bowed again towards Ryder. ‘My compliments to your wife, sir. I’m sure Mr. Maclay will do everything possible to accommodate her.’ He pushed aside his chair and stepped back from the table. ‘Good afternoon, gentlemen.’

  An hour passed before Andrew sent one of the midshipmen for the list of the women convicts aboard. He was in the wardroom, a litter of maps and papers spread on the table before him. He was busy, but the captain’s order couldn’t be kept waiting any longer, no matter how he cursed his luck in being the one to receive it. Damn old Marshall!

  The door opened and he looked up. The youngest of the midshipmen entered, a leather-bound book under his arm.

  Andrew reached out for it. ‘That’s right, Williamson. Thank you.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir!’

  The boy went out again.

  The other two occupants of the wardroom, Brooks and Wilder, came over to the table.

  Andrew pushed aside the maps and opened the book reluctantly.

  ‘I wish to hell the old man had picked anyone else but me to do this.’

  Wilder smiled. ‘I’ll be interested to see what you produce ‒ to see your idea of a virtuous woman.’

  Discipline on board the Georgette was strict. Captain Marshall had never turned a blind eye to fraternization between his crew and the convicts. Andrew had little doubt that Wilder would be one of the first to consort with the women if the rule were relaxed. He recalled tales of other transports where the captain was lax, and the crew and convicts mixed riotously, making the voyage one long carousal. Wilder, he felt, was airing his contempt from the safety of his position on the other side of Captain Marshall’s fast and set codes of conduct.

  Andrew turned the pages distastefully. Feeling ran high among the officers of the East India Company that it was beneath their dignity to accept the contract to transport convicts to Botany Bay. The Company had of late made a number of contracts of this kind, and Andrew, at times, was doubtful that he would ever be transferred to a regular India-man run again.

  Wilder leaned across his shoulder, looking down the list. He said idly, ‘Can’t imagine why Ryder should want to go out there. And taking his wife … You know, she’s a damned pretty woman! And the fool proposes to set her down among a bunch of savages!’

  ‘Ryder will probably make a fortune for her in New South Wales,’ Brooks remarked. ‘That’s good enough reason for any man to want to go there.’

  ‘A fortune, he says!’ Wilder nudged Andrew. ‘I shouldn’t think there was a hope in the world of that! What’s to be gained from a penal colony? It hasn’t any trading advantages like China and India. It can’t export anything, and the natives are savages. It wouldn’t have been settled at all if the war with America hadn’t stopped the Government from sending convicts there. From all accounts Botany Bay is nothing more than a clump of huts ‒ it’ll never be other than a dumping-ground for the overflow of the prisons.’

  Brooks’s brows were lifting slowly while Wilder spoke. He put his hands in his pockets, and threw one leg lazily across the corner of the table.

  ‘Your opinion is interesting, Mr. Wilder,’ he said. ‘But I have a different one.’

  From Brooks’s expression, Andrew knew that he was about to enjoy turning Wilder’s second-hand views inside out. Brooks had sailed as surgeon with the second fleet of convicts to Port Jackson. He was a quiet man, and didn’t talk much about any previous voyages he had made. Andrew looked at him enquiringly.

  ‘It’s like no other place I’ve ever seen,’ Brooks said, half to himself, not looking at the other two. ‘And I’ve spent quite a few years of my life in ships, and there aren’t many ports that I haven’t seen. It’s a mystery, the whole place ‒ it’s desolate, but it’s fascinating. Captain Cook charted the east coast first about twenty-two years ago. He made only one landing, at Botany Bay. But when the First Fleet went out five years ago, Governor Phillip found Botany Bay impossible to settle. He moved his fleet to Port Jackson, a few miles along the coast. What a harbour that is! He landed and settled at a place he called Sydney Cove.’

  ‘And out of all that, where do you get your idea that Ryder has a chance of making a fortune?’ Wilder asked.

  ‘Because I agree with Governor Phillip,’ Brooks said, studying the amused set of Wilder’s well-shaped mouth. ‘Phillip has great ideas for his prison-colony. And, my God, I don’t care what anyone says, I think he’s right!’

  ‘What sort of ideas?’ Andrew put in. ‘Is the land fertile?’

  Brooks hesitated. ‘That’s a difficult question, Maclay. At the moment they can get almost nothing out of it in the way of crops. They’re perpetually on the point of starvation. They depend solely on England for supplies ‒ and you know how precarious that is. The convicts die off in dozens, because if the ships are delayed they just haven’t enough rations to keep alive. But Phillip thinks that the place can be made to produce when they learn to manage the soil and the climate. So far there doesn’t seem to be a man among them with any real knowledge of farming ‒ and the convicts aren’t concerned for the future of the country.’ He finished earnestly, ‘That’s why I think Ryder has a fortune waiting out there. He has the right knowledge, and he has the money to push ahead.’

  Wilder’s good-looking young face wore an expression of boredom. ‘Well, all I say is that it’ll be a damned nuisance if Port Jackson becomes a regular call on the way to the East. I, for one, won’t have a care if I never see the place after this trip.’

  Andrew turned again to the book in front of him. He flicked the pages impatiently. ‘Sara Dane … Hmm …’ Suddenly he looked up. ‘God, how is one expected to tell these women apart? There aren’t even papers sent with them to tell us what crimes they’ve committed.’

  Wilder laughed. ‘Perhaps we’re consigning the gentle Mrs. Ryder into the hands of a murderess!’

  ‘The whole position is absurd,’ Andrew said, frowning down at the book. ‘The Government has sent these people to the end of the earth without papers of any description. No one has the faintest idea why they were convicted. What’s to happen to them when they reach New South Wales? How does Governor Phillip decide when their sentences have expired?’

  ‘That’s his affair, my dear fellow,’ Wilder said lightly. ‘Now, let’s get on with the problem in hand. Let’s find the fair damsel in the darkness below!’

  ‘I’ll warrant she’s not on …’ Andrew broke off, jabbing at a page
with his forefinger. ‘Here she is … Sara Dane! … and no punishments marked against her. This is a piece of luck for Ryder!’

  ‘Well, off you go, Maclay!’ Wilder said, good-humoured now. ‘I wish you joy with your task!’ He gave them a half-salute, and, adjusting his coat with care, sauntered out of the wardroom. He paused before he pulled the door behind him, looking back over his shoulder. ‘A thought has just struck me.’

  ‘Yes?’ Andrew said.

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ Wilder continued, ‘for all the wealth in the East, change places with the Governor of New South Wales!’

  Chapter Two

  Andrew was never free from his feeling of distaste whenever he was forced to visit the convict quarters. With a curt order he summoned a Sergeant of Marines to accompany him, and went quickly down the companion-ladder, trying to stiffen himself for the ordeal facing him. Service with the Navy had hardened him against undue squeamishness, but this was something quite different. This was human cargo carried in worse conditions than the livestock ‒ in fact, the livestock was cared for as something of value, while the death of a convict was of no importance to anyone. As he reached the gun deck, where the prisoners were kept, the confused babel of voices reached him ‒ the women’s voices distinct and shrill above the lower tones of the men. He felt the sweat start in a prickle all over his body, and he longed with a kind of desperation to turn again and mount the companion-ladder.

  He kept his ideas about the convicts to himself ‒ except for the few times, as at dinner today, when he had been rash enough to voice his contempt for the chaos of English law which lumped murderers and petty thieves together in a transport bound for Botany Bay. Men of his class were not expected to feel pity for these prisoners ‒ never once among the officers in the wardroom had he heard a word of sympathy for them. Listening to the way in which they talked of the convicts, he knew that he was quite alone in his feeling for them, a feeling that there was something personal to him in their sufferings, as if, even though he was completely removed from their world, they still had the right to claim his attention and thoughts. Among British ship-owners, and from the men who campaigned against slavery, he had heard descriptions of the slave ships which plied between Africa and the West Indies; it seemed to him that the position of the convicts on the Georgette was hardly less terrible.