In a Great Southern Land

by Mary-Anne O'Connor

  Kieran followed Dave through the throng, laughing at his friend’s comical greetings and grabbing a beer for them both at the bar. It went down better than he expected, although his stomach made some noises of objection, and by the time he was on his fourth the inebriation had overrun the hangover at last and he was rather enjoying himself.

  ‘Where’s this sorry bastard about to get a whippin’ by our lad Brick?’ Dave asked Jock.

  ‘On his way, on his way. You’ll be eatin’ your words soon enough though,’ Jock told him.

  Jock was betting on Brick’s opponent, Big Pete, a Welsh convict with a fierce reputation, and Dave had squeezed a sizeable bet out of his optimistic friend. Kieran wondered if the man had any idea just how rarely Dave ever lost a wager. He was also wondering if McCock was really his surname.

  About ten minutes later the boxers arrived and as they moved through to the centre of the floor Kieran was beginning to doubt Brick’s chances. Brick worked with them at the docks and was heavyset, certainly, but Big Pete turned out to be a monster of a man, towering over the crowd with his enormous shoulders and seemingly non-existent neck. Last-minute bets were flying fast and Dave was taking full advantage, committing himself to a big payout should he lose.

  ‘Y’sure you want to make that one?’ Kieran questioned him as he agreed to yet another large wager.

  ‘Course I am – the man’s pure fat. I’m reckoning he couldn’t swing an ale let alone a fist with those pudgy arms o’ his.’ Big Pete heard and Kieran swallowed hard as he stared over at them, his eyes narrow above a crooked nose. Unfortunately the look only encouraged Dave. ‘The bigger they are, the smaller the willy I’ve heard too. This one’d be lucky to find his among all that lard. Maybe we should send ’im over to the Women’s Asylum to see if they have any luck.’ There was a lot of laughter but Kieran was hiding behind his beer now, hoping the man wouldn’t recognise them afterwards.

  Not that Big Pete would be able to do much. He was flanked by several troopers, all armed with bludgeons, and they looked mean enough to use them unsparingly.

  ‘Go on then, and mind I’ve a fiver on ye,’ said one, unlocking Big Pete’s manacles and pushing him forward.

  ‘Wait,’ said another, and Kieran recognised the pock-marked face of Sergeant Toovey, a well-known and much disliked man. Kieran watched as he whispered a few things to Big Pete on the side and whatever it was it caused the convict to narrow his eyes even further. Kieran wondered what kind of threat or reward was on offer. Then he wondered what crime Big Pete had committed to be under such heavy security, a sobering thought.

  The two boxers squared up and someone rang a bell that caused the crowd to erupt in excited cheering and jeering. Big Pete looked dangerously determined, landing his first punch with a resounding thump, and Brick reeled back, shaking his head before lifting his fists higher. Big Pete punched again and this time it hit Brick’s shoulder, which he took quite well, but there were plenty more to absorb and by the time five minutes had passed Brick’s lip was bleeding profusely and Kieran was seriously doubting his ability to come back. Dave seemed unperturbed, however, merely smiling and shrugging at the jibes thrown his way.

  ‘I hope you’ve brought a full pocketbook with you,’ Jock yelled over the din.

  ‘It’ll be full o’ your money when I leave,’ he yelled back.

  Sergeant Toovey heard and sent Dave a derisive sneer before turning back to watch the fight. It looked set to arrive at a violent conclusion now as Big Pete drew back to deliver what would surely be the killer punch.

  ‘Shite,’ Kieran whispered to himself. He could barely stand to watch as the big fist flew but somehow it met with air as Brick ducked faster than a man his size should be able to, then, seemingly out of nowhere, his own fist landed in Big Pete’s sizeable stomach. It shocked the Welshman, that much Kieran could see, but the next one shocked him more, landing straight on Big Pete’s nose, which cracked loud enough for the room to hear before he fell backwards in a heavy heap. The pub erupted and Kieran jumped up and down, clapping a smug Dave on the back and joining the chant with several other lucky punters. Brick! Brick! Brick! Brick!

  Brick was hoisted in the air and there was general mayhem as bets were paid up and celebratory drinks were purchased but little attention was paid to the bleeding man on the floor. Kieran watched as he slowly found his feet and Sergeant Toovey gave Dave a filthy glare before angrily grabbing Big Pete’s wrists and locking the manacles once more. The giant convict seemed pitiful now with his face covered in blood, his expression beaten too as he looked over and noticed Kieran staring. It made Kieran want to say or do something to help but there was nothing to be done, so he did the only thing he could think of: he tipped his cap.

  Some kind of reaction flashed in Big Pete’s eyes but Kieran had no more time to consider what it was as an oblivious and jubilant Dave stood on a chair and announced that the drinks were on him.

  It was a merry afternoon that followed as Dave did his best to mollify his less fortunate mates.

  ‘Just couldn’t see it coming,’ muttered Jock for the umpteenth time.

  ‘Aye, I’ve heard the ladies sayin’ that about you,’ Dave replied.

  By the time they left Kieran’s insides were sore with laughter and the beer had added to the Scotch the night before to render him very wobbly indeed. Dave was equally the worse for wear and the walk to the ferry in the cold night air seemed far further than it had that morning.

  ‘Piss stop,’ Dave declared, pausing to relieve himself against the asylum wall. ‘Wonder how lonely those poor lasses are up there?’ he added as he stared blearily at the barred windows above.

  ‘Some wouldna seen a man for years,’ Kieran said, leaning on the wall to steady himself and peer too.

  ‘Seems a shame not to drop in and say hello. Just to be friendly, like.’

  Kieran swayed, considering. ‘Can’t just walk…walk on in.’

  ‘Can’t just walk on by neither.’

  ‘True,’ Kieran said. ‘It’s just rude.’

  ‘It would be rude, wouldn’ it? You know those walls look pretty climb…climbabable. That’s a word,’ Dave said.

  ‘Surely,’ Kieran agreed.

  ‘I’m gonna have a go,’ Dave said.

  ‘Fortune favours the brave if…hic…sometimes foolish,’ Kieran declared, and they stumbled over to the wall, hoisting themselves up with varying success before somehow reaching the top.

  ‘Wonder why no-one’s ever done this before?’ Kieran whispered as they peered over at the main building. ‘Seems stupid not to.’

  ‘It does seem stupid,’ Dave agreed. ‘Now all we have ta do is get down…easy now…arrghhh.’ Dave had attempted to crouch down to climb and promptly fallen arse first to the prison ground, which made Kieran laugh so hard he fell too.

  ‘Shite,’ Dave said, ‘I think I’ve broken me old fella.’

  ‘Well that…that kinda defeats the purpose of being here, now doesn’t it?’ Kieran said, laughing so much he could barely get the words out. ‘Oh shite, are those dogs?’

  ‘Oh for fecks’ sake,’ Dave said as they got up and grabbed at the bricks to climb out. A snarling mongrel came around the corner and lunged towards them in the dark as they clambered up and Dave swore again as it ripped at his pants. ‘Argh, he’s got me! Feck off, you hellish beast.’

  ‘Get off him!’ Kieran told the growling dog, still laughing to the point that he could barely climb but somehow he made it to the top with Dave and they jumped over to the other side, landing just as a policeman’s rattle sounded.

  ‘Shite, shite, shite,’ they both swore, crawling at first then somehow managing to stand and make a run for it.

  They twisted their way through backstreets until the rattles faded and Kieran figured they were in the clear as they rounded a corner near the docks, but unfortunately someone had piled a bunch of crates on the path. Both men fell over them with an almighty crash and the ruckus earned the attention of a group of troopers n
earby, the absolute last ones Kieran and Dave needed to see right now.

  ‘Hello then, what ’ave we here?’ Sergeant Toovey said, a dangerous grin spreading across his face as he sauntered over. The others followed, obviously intoxicated themselves, with Big Pete still in tow. No-one had bothered washing off the blood from the fight and it was darkening and crusting on his face. How he felt about that fact was impossible to discern, especially now that he was being shoved to the back as the sergeant began to circle Kieran and Dave, taking out his bludgeon and stroking it threateningly. It gave Kieran flashbacks of a white cane and fear began to pool in his stomach as the adrenaline pumped through.

  ‘You’ve had a busy day, ’aven’t you, boys? Winning money on y’dirty ol’ Brick and drinkin’ y’selves senseless…then again, you are only Irishmen. We can’t expect too much from them, can we, mates?’ he addressed his men and they sniggered, each taking out their own bludgeons.

  ‘Just on our way home t’sleep it off, Sergeant,’ Dave said, almost succeeding in his attempt at sounding cheerful.

  ‘Oh, I think we can be of assistance there, can’t we, boys?’

  ‘We can make ’em sleep orright,’ agreed one.

  ‘Can’t guarantee they’ll wake up but,’ said another, smiling with a row of crooked, yellowed teeth.

  Kieran tried to focus through the alcohol distortion, looking for a sudden punch, a flash of a bludgeon, a lunge. It came all at once, in a blur, and he and Dave were next to useless in defence as the troopers rained blows upon them, laughing as they grunted, ridiculing as they groaned.

  Dave fell to his knees and they began to kick him, taking turns. Kieran tried desperately to help his friend but the troopers held him back.

  ‘Nuh, you just watch,’ the sergeant said. ‘’Bout time he learnt his lesson.’

  Another kick landed and Kieran winced as Dave cried out in pain.

  ‘Gutless bastards,’ Kieran yelled, unable to hold the words back as he fought to free himself.

  ‘What did you say, Irish?’ the sergeant said, coming close to his face.

  ‘I said you’re gutless. Easy enough to hurt a man when he’s down.’

  ‘How about one who’s standing up then?’ Sergeant Toovey struck Kieran with his bludgeon then, straight on Kieran’s chin. Kieran reeled but he wasn’t done.

  ‘Can’t fight…a fair…fight, can ye?’ Kieran countered, too drunk and angry to care about caution anymore. ‘I suppose you don’t even know how to fight man to man, y’yellow Pommy bastard.’

  Toovey’s face contorted at those words. ‘Oh, I know how to fight man to man, only you’re an animal, aren’t ya? A filthy bogtrotter. Good for nothing but this.’ He drew his bludgeon back to strike again and Kieran closed his eyes against the impending pain, only this time it didn’t arrive.

  Crack.

  Kieran opened his eyes once more to the sight of Sergeant Toovey reeling backwards, instantly unconscious from the force of an enormous fist.

  ‘What the bloody hell do y’think you’re…’

  Crack, and another man fell. Big Pete was fast with his fists, even with manacles on, and the inebriated troopers were slow to react, dropping before they could even think to raise their bludgeons. In what seemed like a matter of seconds they all lay in a defeated pile and Kieran and Dave straightened on shaken legs to stare at them in stunned silence.

  ‘Well,’ said Dave, still holding his guts. ‘That was…right nice of you. Dave’s the name. Dave Tumulty.’ He held out his hand to shake Big Pete’s but the effort seemed to cost him.

  ‘And I’m Kieran Clancy,’ Kieran said, turning to face Big Pete, rubbing his jaw that was painful from the effort of speaking. ‘You must have been…agh…wanting to do that for a long time, I’m guessing. Why’d you choose…’ But then rattles sounded again and the three men took off at once, not wanting to be found anywhere near that pile. Down to the docks they went as best they could manage, keeping to the shadows along the river and trying not to stumble and make too much noise. As luck would have it the ferry was pulling in and Kieran and Dave turned to Big Pete, wondering what to do with him. Big Pete assisted by nodding at a loose steel spike on a fence and placing his wrists either side of a rock. The task of breaking the chain was done wordlessly as Kieran obliged until they stood back, at a loss at what to do once more.

  ‘So…do you want to come with us to The Rocks?’ Kieran offered, not knowing what else to suggest.

  ‘I don’t think that’d be in ye best interests,’ he replied. It was the first time Kieran had heard the man speak and the gentle tone of his voice surprised him.

  ‘I know the captain. I’m sure I could smuggle you on board,’ Dave said, still nursing his stomach, his expression pained. ‘It’s the least we can do.’

  ‘No, I’ll make me way west now. I’ve heard plenty of talk about the goldfields and I think it’s me best shot for hiding out now. Nuggets the size of apples, they say; streets paved with the stuff.’

  ‘Aye, I’ve heard that,’ Dave said, ‘but I think some of the stories are a bit tall.’

  ‘Ye hear a lot of things when people forget you have a brain. There’s gold out there alright, and I know just where to find it.’

  ‘That so…?’

  ‘But if they find you you’ll be shot,’ Kieran interrupted Dave.

  ‘Better off dead than a circus act,’ Big Pete said, bending over to dip his sleeve in the water and wiping at the blood on his face.

  ‘Here,’ Kieran said, handing him his handkerchief. ‘Take me cap too; might make you less recognisable…and some coins while I think about it.’

  Dave reached in his pocket and pulled out some of his winnings, adding it to the pile. ‘Glad you didn’t fight like that earlier today or I’d have nothing to give you.’

  Kieran put it all in the cap and held it out but Big Pete stared for a long moment before accepting, his expression difficult to read. ‘Ye asked before why I chose now to give those bastards what they had comin’…truth is it’s because o’ ye.’

  ‘What did I do?’ Kieran asked, surprised.

  ‘Ye gave me somethin’ today no-one’s bothered to offer me in years.’

  Kieran looked at the cap and thought back to the fight and the moment he tipped it at the convict. ‘You mean pity?’

  ‘No,’ said Big Pete, putting the cap with its contents hidden within on his overly large head. ‘I mean respect.’

  He shook hands with them both then before walking away, disappearing into the darkness as the ferry docked nearby.

  ‘Reckon he’ll be alright?’ Kieran asked, looking back as he and Dave limped towards the steamer.

  ‘Him wearing your cap for camouflage is about as useful as putting a tin cup on a watermelon but aye, he’ll be right enough.’

  Kieran laughed, wincing as it hurt his aching jaw, but by the time they reached Kieran’s place back in Sydney both men fell mercifully asleep, practically unconscious from alcohol and injuries.

  Next morning it took Kieran a while to remember what had transpired the night before as flashes of brick walls, rattles, bludgeons and something to do with a watermelon passed through his mind. No, he couldn’t quite recall everything but looking at Dave’s naked arse exposed by a dog-ripped pair of breeches nearby he knew one thing for sure: it really was time to get the hell out of Sydney.

  Eighteen

  Sydney, September 1852

  Eve had never considered that darkness had multiple personalities before. It had always just seemed like a gentle friend that lulled her to sleep at night; a welcome purveyor of rest. She knew better now. Darkness could be insidious, hiding truths; ugly inconvenient facts that offended the eye, like bodies covered in faeces and filth, weeping sores. Phlegm and infection. Vomit.

  For the most part this was welcome; one could almost pretend they weren’t chained here, in the dank depths of a convict ship, surrounded by the sorriest souls ever born to earth. Yes, it could almost be done if the other senses could be so easily
fooled, but there was no way to trick her sense of smell, her hearing, her taste and her touch. If she survived she was sure the stench of this place would never leave her, the pitiful moans would never quite be silenced, the constant rising bile would never be far away. And the pain of shackles would weigh upon her wrists and ankles forevermore.

  This new, wicked darkness hid other truths too: violence and fornication. Danger. The human soul found new shades of depth when the light was gone. They’d come for her too at first, the soldiers, but blood had soaked her skirts and Eve knew it was more than a monthly discharge. A baby had been formed during those last days of her freedom but of course a child was too pure a being to come into this dark world. It was a blessing and she hadn’t mourned it. They’d even allowed her a short stay in the infirmary and she’d been given new clothes before being transferred from the hulk on the Thames to this transport ship.

  The soldiers had no interest in any of them now, as putrid and skinny as they all were. For her own part, Eve had become so weak she supposed she might die, and these past few weeks she’d begun to wish she would. No care for her own existence – yet another sin to stain her soul. But who would want to live on such terms? Who would want such an unnatural life?

  Others had died along the way. Martha, an older woman who had tried to beg for more food and was thus denied any for days. Mercifully she’d gone in her sleep and no-one even questioned why. Ginny had died too, a young girl Eve supposed no more than sixteen or so. She’d been sick from the start and so small Eve knew she’d never make it, although the sadness of her passing still clung. It wasn’t easy watching someone fit then die, her eyes open as she lay on the deck, blue as the cloudless sky above and just as empty.

  They’d stopped taking the women above deck now as they approached Sydney at last. The soldiers seemed otherwise preoccupied and Eve supposed they were watching for the coastline and getting the ship ready to dock. Shirley, the only woman here who spoke very much, swore she’d heard one of them say it was today. Eve supposed she should be grateful for that: an ending to one phase of the horror her life had become.