by Valerie Wood
He turned away and they were left alone for a few moments. ‘What did he mean’, Emily asked in a trembling voice, ‘about other punishments?’
The woman stared at her. ‘They used to give women the lash, not as many strokes as the men, but enough to mark ’em. Now they’re not supposed to, though I’ve heard some do.’ She gave a sly sneer. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve had a strap on your white skin?’
Emily shook her head. She was starting to shake.
‘They’ll all be after you then, won’t they? Officers, seamen, guards!’ She jerked Emily closer to her and whispered. ‘Stick by me, I’ll pick somebody out for you. We’ll find you an officer on board ship. Treat him right and we’ll both do well. How about it?’
Emily fell forward, retching and retching as the woman’s words brought Hugo Purnell to her mind. How would she ever rid herself of his memory?
‘You sickening for summat?’ the woman asked. ‘I don’t want you travelling next to me if you are!’
Emily wiped her mouth and looked into the woman’s face. She was pockmarked, with a grey unhealthy skin. What sickness could I give her that she hasn’t had already? She suddenly started to laugh. An hysterical, shrieking laugh as she thought terrifyingly of what was in front of her. She was to rub shoulders and share her life with whores, thieves and murderers. How would she survive?
Another guard came rushing forward as he heard the commotion and dragged them both out. ‘She’s mad,’ the woman declared. ‘Don’t put her next to me!’
Their handcuffs were released and Emily was pushed up on the front of the coach and the woman on the rear, the other prisoners were brought on board, the driver climbed up and with a crack of his whip they jerked forward. They were off, out of the city of York on the two-day journey to London.
They stopped for an hour that night whilst the horses were changed and were allowed to walk around the yard of an inn to stretch themselves, but their ankle chains and manacles were not removed and Emily kept her face hidden as customers came to the inn door to peer curiously at them. When she climbed back on board she was shaking with cold and hunger, for they had been given only a chunk of bread and water at midday, and only been allowed to step down to relieve themselves. As dawn broke the next morning only the fact that she was shackled to the other prisoners held her to her seat, for otherwise she would have fallen with fatigue, off the coach and beneath the horses’ hooves.
No-one spoke as at midday, once more, they stopped and were given bread and water and a piece of cheese and staggered in a disordered circle in order to exercise. As the coaches and wagons entered the city of London the prisoners were subdued, meek and hungry and looked with dull eyes at the capital city, which would be their final destination point for their departure to another shore.
They followed their captors meekly into the gaol which was to hold them and sank wearily on to their straw mattresses, not minding the fleas or livestock which invaded them, but only glad to rest their weary bodies on solid ground and not feel the jarring, jolting movement of the coach or wagon below them.
Male prisoners sentenced to transportation were held in Pentonville prison and served a third of their allotted span incarcerated there; then they were given hard labour in the naval dockyards before sailing to finish their sentences in Australia. Most knew that they would never return, unless they could work their passage home; some had no intention of returning to the land which had abandoned them and appealed to the authorities to allow their wives and families to follow them.
Some of the women prisoners already held in gaol when Emily arrived had been there for weeks waiting for their transportation ship to arrive and their tempers were ugly. They abused the guards with foul language or else promised all kinds of favours if they were given special treatment. ‘Tomorrow, tomorrow, you keep on saying,’ one woman shouted through the bars. ‘Yet we’ve been locked up for weeks in this stinking hole!’ Some of the others rushed to the bars and rattled and banged on them, whilst other quieter, frightened prisoners, such as Emily, cowered against the walls, trying to make themselves invisible. But the rebellion was to no avail and those who complained too loudly and for too long were shackled to the walls of their cells.
Emily felt ill, dirty and depressed. Mary Edwards had promised that she and Mr Francis would appeal on her behalf against the sentence, but Emily had now given up all hope. There would be no release, she was convinced. Only Hugo Purnell could appeal to the authorities in mitigation for her crime, and he would not, of that she was certain, and she would not appeal to him, not ever. Her hatred of him, which was growing like a cancer inside her, was total.
Two hundred women prisoners were mustered together the next morning and once more ironed by their ankles and chained in groups of six. They had been brought to the capital from all over the country, from towns and from country villages. Some of the women cried for their children, a number of them dropped to their knees and prayed, whilst others cursed and ranted at God, the queen and their captors.
‘Right you are, ladies,’ called one of the guards. ‘This is what you’ve been waiting for. You’re off on a little sea voyage. Hope you’ve said goodbye to your next of kin, ’cos if you haven’t it’s too late now. You’re outward bound in a week.’
Emily shook in every limb as she waited. She could not hold her body still. This is the end of the life I have known, she wept. There is no-one to save me now. And, as once before she had stood on the river bank and said goodbye to Sam, to Granny Edwards and her childhood as she had set off into adulthood, she said a silent goodbye now. To Mary Edwards, to Roger Francis, to Sam and the friends she had made in service, and Philip Linton, she sighed, who once danced with me and made me happy.
I’m so glad that he doesn’t know of this. I would be so ashamed if he should hear of my downfall and think ill of me. She spared a thought for Deborah Purnell and even in her own anguish she felt a stab of sorrow for her and the life she would lead with her husband. Poor, poor lady, she considered, I would rather be as I am now, than be as she is and married to him.
They walked in file towards the river, down narrow, unlit cobbled streets with ancient, decrepit courts and alleys leading off them, where people came out of their decaying ramshackle houses and silently watched them pass. The sun came up as they travelled, but the sunlight only served to emphasize the poverty and degradation of the area, where barefoot, ragged children played in the filth-choked gutters.
They passed the dockyards and saw the shackled, labouring felons, who looked up as the procession went by. The river was busy with traffic, with coal barges, dredgers and cargo ships, whilst on the muddy banks scavengers and mudlarks searched amongst the stinking sewage for their fortune. They saw the infamous old hulks, where once the First and Second Fleet of prisoners had been packed in the dark in dank and dirty holds, without light or air before being sent to the other side of the world, and which were still used when the prisons were full.
This is wrong! Emily suddenly rebelled. Why should people be sent into exile for crimes of poverty? During the night, unable to sleep, she had listened to muttered conversations, of complaints and weeping, and recognized that not all the prisoners were hardened criminals, but that some had stolen to feed their children or pay their rent. Her gaze drew across the river. A five-masted barque rode at anchor, seamen swarmed high out on the yards overhauling the rigging, whilst below, carpenters hammered and sawed and caulked the decks, and in the surging water three ships’ lighters packed with provisions, barrels of water, chickens, sheep, pigs, goats and their kids were being rowed towards it.
The prisoners waited all the morning, shivering in the cold river air and watching the activities of officers and men as they travelled between ship and shore, until finally the lighters were empty and the guards were given orders to move the women forward to be taken on board.
I’d like to sail on a ship. Her own childish voice came back to her in memory. I used to watch the ships sail down the Humber and
wonder where they were going. But I haven’t seen such a ship as this. This was a stalwart vessel designed to sail under its own power of canvas on the great oceans of the world. This ship, she thought, could ride the huge seas and capture the winds of any storm in its square sails and make them fly; and in spite of her fear she felt a tremble of excitement as she was rowed towards it.
Their hands were freed, but the chains were kept on their ankles as the lighter bobbed alongside the ship. ‘Right,’ called a soldier, who had a rifle by his side. ‘Climb aboard.’
‘Bear a hand, mate,’ one of the seamen called to him. ‘They’ll not make it up jack ladder on their own!’
The lighter dipped and bobbed as the women tried to get a foothold on the rope ladder. The anklets were just wide enough for them to lift one foot above the other to gain the step, but the boat swayed so much that most were afraid of falling into the water. Though their lives were meaningless, yet still they clung to them as firmly as they clung to the rope which kept them between life and death.
The soldier handed his rifle to one of the seamen and stood by to put a hand against the women’s backs as they struggled to reach the ladder from the plunging boat. He grinned at their efforts and leeringly peered up their ragged skirts as they climbed up towards the deck.
‘Get your hands off me!’ Emily pushed him away as he put his hands on her buttocks to push her up. ‘I can manage.’
She felt the ladder shake and looked up. An old woman had gone before her and was hesitating half-way up. Emily had noticed her on the journey from the gaol. She had barely been able to walk; her shuffling feet were bare and festering and her back was bent and she moaned constantly.
‘Come on, Mother!’ the soldier shouted. ‘Get a move on.’
The woman appeared not to have heard him, but had half-turned and was staring down into the water. Suddenly she looked up into the sky. ‘God help me,’ she cried pitifully and letting go of the ladder she flung herself off and into the swirling water below.
Emily clung on as the ladder shook and with terrified eyes looked down. The women in the lighter shrieked and cried, ‘Get her out. Get her out. Save her, for God’s sake!’
The seamen pulled on the oars to where she had fallen in and Emily was left stranded, clinging to the side of the ship, with nothing below her but the deep water which had just swallowed up the old woman. She looked up, the seamen on board had rushed to the side on hearing the shrill cries.
‘Man overboard,’ someone shouted. ‘Fetch a grapnel.’
Emily started to climb, her heart raced and she dared not look down and somehow she reached the deck, where she was hauled aboard. She looked over the side. They were searching in the water with a grappling hook, but the woman had gone. Weighted down by her chains and her misery she appeared just once before the waters gathered her in and closed over her.
‘Get this lot below.’ A harsh command was shouted and Emily was bundled with others already waiting on deck, towards a companionway. She stumbled down steep ladders below decks, almost falling on top of the other women as the press of prisoners came up behind her, below again to a lower deck until they came to a halt between decks, where, bent double, for they could not stand upright, they were told to stay. A grated barricade spiked with iron confronted them and wooden hatches above let in only a dim light. The air was foul and damp and as, in silence, they gazed at their surroundings the door was clanged shut behind them and they were left in darkness.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Time had ticked by as Philip discussed with Roger Francis and Mrs Edwards the chances of obtaining a reprieve for Emily. He had travelled back with them from York to Hull, which was the original point of Emily’s arrest, and talked to the magistrates’ clerk, who had given him little hope unless the complainant agreed to withdraw charges. But Hugo Purnell had disappeared. He was not at his own home in Hessle or at his mother’s house and she did not know of his whereabouts.
‘I haven’t seen him since he went to York for the trial,’ Mrs Purnell complained at Philip’s enquiry. ‘He’ll be angry about the report in the newspapers, I expect. It said’, she lowered her voice, ‘that he wasn’t a reliable witness. What shame! I can’t believe anyone would say that of my son!’
‘I shall go to London,’ Philip told Roger Francis and Mrs Edwards when they met in her home behind the flower shop. ‘I will ask at the Home Office what must be done to rectify this injustice. And if you could continue to look for Purnell, sir?’
‘I will.’ Roger Francis looked strained. ‘I am anxious also about my daughter. Emily warned me, and I fear for Deborah’s condition if she is not cared for.’
Philip looked from one to another. ‘I don’t understand. Your daughter surely isn’t under any threat from her husband?’
‘Mr Francis’s daughter has a delicate constitution,’ Mary Edwards explained. ‘She might well suffer under the strain of all the past events. She needs care, and Hugo Purnell seems to be incapable of providing it.’
As Philip settled himself in the railway carriage to take him on the first leg of his journey to London, he pondered on how Hugo Purnell had come to meet and marry Roger Francis’s daughter, and how surprising it was that he had taken on the responsibility of a delicate wife, when, he reflected, it seemed out of character for the fellow. It could only be money, he decided, no other reason. And as he ruminated on this and then on Emily, he remembered that he never had received the money which Hugo owed him, which Mrs Purnell had endeavoured to pay and which was stolen from Emily. So the blackguard still owes me!
A blank wall of bureaucracy confronted him when he enquired about the petition of reprieve. He was sent from one office to half a dozen others, from one clerk to six more and in each case was given a sheaf of papers, each with dozens of questions requiring intricate answers. Finally, one clerk, more helpful than the others, suggested, ‘Why don’t we look at the prison lists, sir?’ He had observed Philip’s naval uniform. ‘If we could find out where the prisoner is held, perhaps you could delay her departure.’
They poured over the Assize agenda books of female convicts tried at the county courts, until finally, the clerk, with his practised eye exclaimed, ‘Hah! Here we are. Emily Hawkins of York, committed for trial on charge of neglect of newborn child. Charges withdrawn. Wilful damage to property. Sentenced to three years’ transportation. Would that be the lady, sir?’ His friendly gaze had withered somewhat as he read out the details.
‘Yes. Yes! Does it say where she is?’
‘The Flying Swan.’ The clerk snapped the book closed. ‘I fear you are too late, sir. I saw the ship only yesterday. The convicts are boarded. She’s ready to sail.’
Philip gazed vacantly at the clerk. So there is no time to ask for a reprieve! What shall I do? What can I do? And as he walked out into the damp overcast afternoon, he realized that there was only one thing that he could do if he wanted to save Emily, and that was to try and obtain orders to sail with the Flying Swan.
‘I really need the experience, sir.’ Philip pleaded with his father’s old friend and shipmate, Commander Allen. ‘I’ve served on paddle and propeller, but old wooden ships like the Flying Swan will soon be obsolete. I’d like to think that I had once sailed with only the power of sail.’
‘I quite agree,’ Commander Allen said heartily. ‘Your father and I know that sailing a square rigger is the very best kind of life, but there are other ships. You surely don’t want to sail in such an old tub with a holdful of convicts? And to Australia of all places!’
‘Yes, sir, I’d like to see Australia.’ He was clutching at straws. He had to get a position on the ship now that he had discovered that Emily was on board. ‘It’s an up-and-coming country, so I hear.’
‘Pah!’ The commander leaned back in his chair. ‘The place is full of thieves and murderers! They’re not even wanted when they arrive.’
‘But there are the emigrants, sir.’ Philip insisted. ‘People are going in their thousands.’
Philip’s spirits sank. He didn’t know who else to appeal to. Commander Allen was the last person of influence that he knew.
‘Still,’ Commander Allen sighed, ‘if you’re determined.’ He picked up a pen and reached for a sheet of paper. ‘Go and see Captain Martin, he’s in command. But don’t set your hopes on it. She sails in a couple of days, so he might well have a full complement of men. Give him my regards.’
Philip beamed, thanked him and took his letter of introduction. At last! One more hurdle to get over, and there had been so many.
He finally found Captain Martin in an inn near the dockside, and presented his letter of introduction from Commander Allen. He read it with a frown above his nose. ‘Well, Mr Linton,’ he said, looking up, ‘your credentials are excellent as are your references, but I’m fully manned. If you’d been here a week ago when I was desperately short of manpower!’ He was a small man with an anxious face and fading red hair. ‘Nobody wants to sail a convict ship any more, they’re nothing but trouble even when we reach Australia. I’ve had to promise every man a bonus if we make good time. We’re easting down, non-stop via the Canaries, Rio, and downwind to the Cape. Three months! Three and a half at the most.’
Philip’s face must have showed his disappointment, for the captain added, ‘Why this ship?’
‘I’ve heard so much about her, sir,’ he lied. ‘And I wanted to sail under canvas only.’
‘Did you, by jove! What a pity.’ He pursed his lips. ‘Good navigator are you?’
‘Yes, sir.’ His hopes rose. ‘I completed my examinations at Trinity House some time ago.’