In a Great Southern Land

by Mary-Anne O'Connor

  After months of being rocked by the sea, at times terrified they’d sink as storms lashed in the night, it would be reassuring to stand with solid land beneath their feet once more. The soldiers were whistling as they worked and the other women around her were peering up at the cracks around the hatch that allowed a tiny amount of light into the dark, almost like an offering of hope but not quite. For it never actually touched them, that sunlight. Yet another comfort denied.

  ‘It’s calm,’ noted one, a dark woman called Stella. She spoke only rarely and her voice was barely a rasp.

  ‘That’s because we’re coming into the harbour,’ Shirley said. She knew quite a lot about ships, having spent time on them in her youth as part of a large fishing family, although she feared the water itself, having never learnt to swim. Perhaps that’s why she spoke about it so much, to reassure herself with logic as they made their perilous way across the ocean.

  For whatever reason it was, Eve had clung to her knowledge these past months like she was the only voice of reason left in the world, which to Eve she was.

  The waves are building because the storm is at its peak.

  The swell is receding so the worst of the danger is over.

  The water is calm because we are in shelter now, never fear.

  Without Shirley Eve doubted she would have maintained any sanity at all on this voyage but she’d never got around to telling her so, having lost the will to speak long ago. Perhaps one day she would find it again and be able to thank her, maybe even tell her own name and story. If such things ever mattered again.

  Suddenly the hatch was opened and the tiny light exploded into a blinding force of white.

  ‘Alright, you lot. Time to get your miserable souls up and out.’

  Keys were being turned now and iron fell away as they formed a line, legs aching in fleeting, terrible pain from wasted muscles experiencing unexpected use. Faces blinked up at the white sails in the sun and Eve climbed with the rest to take in her first glimpse of Sydney, not that it would be her home. Convicts were no longer transported to this port, according to Shirley, and the ones that currently lived here, either independently or rotting in the gaols and hospitals, would be the last.

  She and her pitiful inmates were merely stopping over for a few days before continuing on to a place called Tasmania. Eve was terrified even at the mention of the name. Apparently it was at the ends of the earth and so wretched a place actual devils lived there, snarling black beasts that bit you in the night, or so one woman had told her back on the Thames. But at least this ship had taken the east coast route and they would likely get there alive. Many perished when approaching from the south, navigating along what was terrifyingly termed ‘the Shipwreck Coast’.

  ‘Get a move on,’ one of the soldiers said, shoving Eve along, and she stumbled as she reached the deck and took her place. The first thing she noticed was the air, sweet with the scent of land but still salted by the sea. The sun was warm and overly bright but her eyes were adjusting now and she could see the town at last, a bustling, sprawling port filled with sand-coloured stone dwellings on one hillside, great houses and parks on the other.

  That old feeling of non-reality suffused her as her senses tried to adjust to so much detail after so little, for so long. Colours she’d forgotten existed fed her eyes as humanity moved about, a purple dress here, a crimson jacket there. And green. So much of it as the land spread before them. How she loved green, Eve realised. How clean and alive it now seemed when you hadn’t seen it for such a length of time. And what an odd colour to take for granted, the shade of so much life. She supposed it took death and despair to really notice such a thing.

  Movement was mesmerising her too, after continuous stillness and shadows, and this busy port was filled with it as industrious Sydneysiders moved about. The centre seemed all about shipping and sails whipped in the breeze as men busied themselves furling and unfurling them, tying ropes and moving cargo about. It was reassuring to see the ships come to rest and unload, marking the end of seemingly impossibly vast journeys. She wished with what was left of her might she’d never have to step on a boat again, but it was a pointless wishing. Supported by very little might.

  Steamers were in the mix as well and one was pulling in nearby, a fairly small vessel that the soldiers were pointing at and discussing. Eve wasn’t interested in its capabilities. She was simply staring at one of the crewmen. He was eating a sandwich. A humble, brown bread, miraculous sandwich.

  But taste was one sense she really couldn’t bear to ruminate upon so she went back to focusing on sight instead. She drew her eyes from humanity and back to nature, tracing the harbour’s coastline. It was surprisingly beautiful with its thick bushland, golden beaches and inviting blue water, unexpectedly paradisiacal, although the bushes themselves were strange looking. As were the birds, she noted, watching some brightly coloured ones flock onto a tall, silver-coloured tree. The sun was directly above and still brilliant; in fact it seemed brighter than anywhere she’d been, and hotter too. Eve grew parched as she stared at the clear water now, longing not only for a drink but to bathe and be clean once more. Perhaps they would allow it at some point. She’d gladly go in fully clothed and wash the stench out of her garments as well.

  Rowboats were arriving and Eve felt suddenly overwhelmed by the sight, almost disbelieving that they’d be letting her off this wretched ship at last. But sure enough she and the others soon climbed down and were rowed to the dock where they were directed onto the steamer that had been under discussion. The walking and climbing soon took its toll and by the time Eve sat to make the journey to somewhere called Parramatta her whole body felt exhausted. And that thirst wasn’t going away. Her tongue was so dry it felt like paper and the scenery seemed to mock her distress, those strange bushes appearing thirsty now too, their pale greenery alike to shrubs underwatered.

  The soldiers were drinking, ale from a barrel in fact, and Eve longed for a cup although she’d never even tasted the stuff. She was so tempted to ask she had to bite her poor dry tongue, but better that pain than one they would surely inflict.

  By the time they drew into Parramatta she was almost faint and the others looked so too, then Shirley dared to ask if they would drink when they disembarked.

  ‘Drink this!’ the soldier said. He was well in his cups by now and swaying as he picked her up and to Eve’s horror threw her overboard.

  The water looked fairly shallow but Shirley was very short and she struggled immediately.

  ‘Help!’ she screamed. ‘I can’t swim!’

  No-one moved to help her and Eve watched in horror as the woman who’d kept her sane for so long fought for breath, her face falling below the water, eyes terrified.

  ‘She…she’s…’ Her voice came out a whisper after months of disuse and she went to try again but Shirley’s screaming silenced her. A terrible gurgling sound followed as she fell beneath once more, her hand the only part of her left above water. Drowning, she’s drowning, Eve’s mind screamed.

  ‘Give her a wave then, lads,’ said a drunk soldier, and the sound of their laughter twisted something in Eve’s chest. Before she really had any time to consider it she lifted herself up and over the ferry wall, jumping overboard to land in the river, the cool water coming as a shock to her overheated skin. Eve dragged herself towards Shirley, her skirts an instantly heavy weight, and used her old swimming experience and comparative height to help her to the shore. The soldiers didn’t seem to mind her rashness, still laughing and jeering as they watched Eve settle the woman on the sand, patting her back as she coughed up brackish sludge and calming her as best she could.

  ‘A drink, I need…a drink,’ Shirley gasped, ‘…please.’

  Eve pulled herself upwards and stumbled towards another woman selling ladlefuls of water from a pitcher, finding her voice at last.

  ‘A drink, I beg of you.’

  ‘One penny,’ she said, her tone gruff as she looked Eve over. Eve pushed back wet strands o
f hair and rubbed at her face, trying to appear more composed.

  ‘I apologise, madam, that I have no way to pay you,’ Eve told her, forcing the words through a painfully dry, disused throat, ‘but surely you could find it in your heart to help this poor soul,’ Eve said, pointing over at the distressed Shirley who had collapsed on the sand.

  ‘One penny,’ the woman said firmly, as the soldiers continued to jeer.

  ‘Ask her to take off that dress and I’ll pay ye!’ called one and Eve looked around in despair, tears threatening now at the cruelty on display. Non-reality back in play.

  ‘She’s…she’s so thirsty…’ Eve said, her strained voice beginning to fail. ‘Please…’

  Then someone spoke from behind, an Irishman with a lilting brogue.

  ‘You seem to be in a spot of bother there, miss. I’d be honoured if you allowed me to assist you.’

  Kieran knew he was being worse than foolish. He and Dave were lying as low as they possibly could as they loaded their wagon with illegitimate cargo in Parramatta today and certainly putting himself in the eyes of some rowdy, drunken soldiers here was bordering on insane but he just couldn’t seem to help himself. He’d been about to go in to help the near-drowning woman when this mad girl jumped off the boat and he’d felt instant admiration for her bravery. Not to mention the fact that someone refusing to give the lass water for the shaken, parched woman she’d rescued was just plain wrong.

  But now, as she turned and he saw her up close for the first time, there was additional motivation to aid this damsel in distress: she was, quite simply, beautiful. Her wet hair was drying in fair strands and it framed a face filled with features so exquisite the grime and mud simply couldn’t hide it. And her eyes…well, they were hazel, he supposed, but seemed a hundred shades of brown and green and were so wide with surprise at his small offer of assistance that Kieran could have wept for her. How could such a lovely girl ever have ended up here?

  ‘A spot of bother…’ she echoed.

  ‘Aye, and I won’t take no for an answer now. Two please,’ he told the now disgruntled seller and she dipped her ladle as Kieran handed over the tuppence. With the commotion over, the soldiers had lost interest and Kieran handed the girl the water without interference. ‘Drink yourself first, lass.’

  ‘No,’ she said, seeming to collect herself. ‘I’ll drink after her.’ Kieran watched, his admiration growing, as she took the water over to the other convict who drank so desperately it hurt to watch.

  ‘Now you,’ he insisted, holding up the second ladle. She returned and drank thirstily herself although her eyes were drawn to the other poor wretches who watched on from the steamer. She frowned and Kieran immediately turned back to the woman, asking her how much to give them all a drink. She looked over at the soldiers hesitantly at first but they were so absorbed in their ale consumption it was obvious they wouldn’t care. The woman took Kieran’s money then, moving over to the steamer’s edge and ladling water up to the convicts above.

  Eve watched on, relieved, and he felt rather ridiculously pleased when sudden shallow dimples flashed in her cheeks.

  ‘That was very kind of you, sir.’

  ‘Well, it’s worth it now, to see such a pretty smile.’

  The girl touched her fingers to her face at his words, as if surprised. ‘It’s been so long since anyone showed kindness…I was starting to doubt anyone ever would again.’ She spoke in a soft, well-educated tone, still watching the convicts drink, and Kieran took in more tiny details of her while she was thus distracted. There was a small scar on her chin and her wrists were red and chafed, and she was painfully thin, her graceful neck reed-like, her wet clothes hanging off her frame. ‘Anyway, you’d be best not to risk speaking to me any longer, sir,’ she said, turning her face back towards him, those wondrous eyes finding his once more. ‘I’ve put you to too much trouble as it is, I’m afraid.’

  Kieran looked over at Dave near the wagon, frantically motioning him to move away, then at the disinterested soldiers and shrugged. ‘I’ll take me chances,’ he decided. ‘It seems you need a better welcome to Parramatta than the one you’ve received so far. Where are they taking you?’

  ‘I’m…I’m not sure…’ she replied, looking around with trepidation now as her gaze took in the government buildings lining the streets. ‘They don’t really tell us much.’

  She looked ashamed at the admission and Kieran chastised himself for asking an uncomfortable question, but it wasn’t an easy thing, trying to charm a convict girl while in the middle of committing your own criminal activities. In front of a bunch of inebriated soldiers.

  ‘At least it will be on land anyway,’ he pointed out. ‘I’m guessing you’re fresh off the ship.’

  She nodded. ‘Only just arrived.’

  ‘Well, you should get at least a few days in to get your land legs back. Do you know where you’re headed after?’ Kieran asked before cursing himself for his own stupidity again. There was only one possible, terrible answer to that question.

  ‘Tasmania.’

  She said it with a lowering of that graceful neck and she appeared to Kieran like a swan then, a beaten one. But he could understand why. Tasmania was the last place in Eastern Australia to still be taking convicts and it was home to some of most notorious gaols on earth, which spoke volumes about the extent of her crimes. Perhaps he really should move away. But he didn’t.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said instead. ‘I shouldn’t pry.’

  ‘It’s more that you shouldn’t bother,’ she whispered, her eyes darting over to the soldiers, fear there now as they laughed loudly and made obscene gestures over some dirty joke. Kieran was afraid for her too – already they were beginning to look over. She was wet, her dress clinging, and he knew they would order him away soon, leaving her vulnerable and alone once more. The thought made him want to grab her, run over to Dave and hide her in the wagon, before kidnapping her out to Orange where he was finally headed to on the morrow, after this one last, lucrative job.

  Just then a carriage drew up and people paused to watch as a naval officer alighted. He spied the convict women and soldiers nearby and strode over. Kieran listened as he addressed the soldiers.

  ‘Who’s in charge here?’

  ‘I am, sir,’ said one, trying his best to stand upright and salute but doing a rather poor job of it. ‘Sergeant…Sotheby.’

  ‘Captain Cartwright,’ the officer said, pausing to look Sergeant Sotheby up and down. ‘For pity’s sake, man, have you been drinking on duty?’

  ‘No, sir, I mean, yes, sir, but we were told to wait here until dismissed and we figured a little…er…refreshment after so long at sea wouldn’t do no harm.’ Sergeant Sotheby managed to sound coherent but then belched and ruined the effect.

  ‘Look at the state of you,’ Captain Cartwright said, shaking his head in disgust. ‘Have you even bothered feeding and watering these convicts?’

  Kieran bristled at the way the women were referred to like horses but at least the man was taking some interest in their welfare.

  ‘They’ve had water, sir.’

  The captain looked over and scowled at Eve and the other wet woman. ‘It seems you’ve thrown it all over some of them.’

  ‘They…er…fell in the river, sir.’

  ‘Humph. I won’t even ask how you managed that! Get them all down on shore; I want to inspect them at once.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Sergeant Sotheby gave the order, and the women were shuffled off the steamer as the officer spoke in quieter tones.

  ‘I’ve just been down to the asylum and I’ve never seen a sorrier bunch of women in my life, not that my hopes were high. All I need is one half-decent wench to act as a maid for my wife down near Melbourne but so far I wouldn’t let any of them within ten feet of her.’

  ‘Aye, sir. I’ve heard most are bloody mad…er, I mean, beyond help.’

  Kieran listened on as the captain further described his needs, probably little realising that Sergeant Sotheby was
unlikely to know one convict from the other, even if he were sober, and it spurred Kieran on to make his second rash decision of the day.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he whispered to the girl who was still beside him.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m very grateful to you, sir, but you should go, please. You’ll get yourself in trouble,’ she urged.

  Dave was motioning desperately now as a crowd of curious onlookers gathered and Kieran knew he really should move away, but not until he had his answer.

  ‘Your name, love. Hurry.’

  The girl looked surprised at the endearment but the words slipped out. ‘Eve Richards.’

  ‘Grand,’ he said, moving off into the crowd now.

  ‘What game are you playing at now, you daft bastard?’ Dave hissed as soon as he could get close. ‘Why don’t you just put a sign around our necks while you’re at it?’

  ‘I couldn’t just stand by and watch.’

  ‘Aye, you could and you should have! Anyway, let’s get out of here before any troopers recognise us.’

  ‘Not yet,’ Kieran said and Dave threw his hands in the air in frustration.

  ‘You realise we could go to gaol if they check the cart?’

  ‘Aye, we could.’

  ‘And you’re consorting with a convict.’

  ‘Aye, a lovely one, don’t you think?’

  Dave gaped now in disbelief. ‘I suppose you’re planning to just kidnap her then? Should I make room in the wagon next to the contraband?’

  ‘Thought crossed me mind.’

  ‘Are you…?’

  ‘Shhh.’

  The women were lined up now, a sorry, starving bunch, and Captain Cartwright marched along, inspecting them.

  ‘I am in need of a maid,’ he announced in a loud clear voice. ‘Someone without lice or disease who can string two words together is becoming my only criteria. Can any one of you meet it?’