Emily

by Valerie Wood

‘Mm. Well, it still don’t make a difference,’ Captain Martin said. ‘I haven’t a place for you. Pity you’re not a sawbones. If you had been I could have made use of you!’

  Philip shook his head. ‘I’m not a medical man, sir, and I don’t have a warrant as such, but I’ve completed courses on treatment of accidents on board ship, bandaging, medication and so on, and I’ve read up on naval hygiene, seamen’s maladies, cases of typhus and the treatment required and so on.’

  ‘Have you?’ Captain Martin rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Hmm. I don’t suppose you would consider – no, of course you wouldn’t, you have a fine career ahead of you.’

  ‘What, sir?’ he asked eagerly. ‘What had you in mind?’

  Captain Martin looked around. The inn was full of seagoing men, eating and drinking. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘I’ve got a surgeon-superintendent. Excellent fellow. The very best.’

  He paused and Philip fervently wished he wouldn’t dither so much but just speak what was on his mind.

  ‘Except for one thing.’ He put his mouth close to Philip’s ear. ‘He’s a drunk! Can’t hold his liquor.’

  Philip waited. What was he going to suggest?

  ‘I couldn’t get anyone else and I can’t sail without a surgeon, so I had to take him. Now, you may not agree of course, and the rate of pay wouldn’t cover a lieutenant’s rank – more like a midshipman, but it would help me tremendously if you could come on board as his mate. Keep him off the rum, you know, and help with general duties in the sick berth. There’s always sickness on a convict ship. Poor beggars are half-dead before they’re brought aboard.’

  ‘I’ll do it, sir. Be glad to.’ Relief rushed over him. ‘It er, it will be a great experience for me.’

  ‘Hm!’ Captain Martin eyed him candidly. ‘It will certainly be that. But you might wish that you had done otherwise at the end of it. This will be a tricky run. We’ve got females on board as well as men and that always means trouble, and mark my words, none of them’ll be wanted when we reach Sydney. We’ll be lucky if we’re not turned back. But still, come along, Mr Linton.’ He rose from the table. ‘Let’s get your orders sorted out before you change your mind.’

  Later as he stowed his gear in the cabin he began to rationalize his actions. He must be completely mad! This was such a very old ship, though she was sound. She had been fully inspected by the Navy Board in order to take the convicts, and the contractor had honoured his obligation to provide ample provisions. Philip’s cabin, one of five on the main deck plus the master’s cabin, was no more than six feet in length and, as in other ships in which he had sailed, had such a low ceiling that he was unable to stand upright. He was provided with a small desk and a wooden chair and a hammock was slung alongside a storage cupboard.

  He fastened his father’s old sea box to the leather strap which was attached to the deck planking and wondered how his parents would react to the brief letter he had sent them to say he was sailing for Australia. He took off his coat and hung it on one of the hooks behind the door, stowed the hammock to the wall and sat down on the chair. Well, he thought. Here I am. I made my decision for better or worse and I may not even see Emily! Two hundred female convicts on board, what chance do I have of talking to her and will she want to see me or talk to me?

  He stacked his books on the shelf above the desk, then took his spare clothing and stowed it in the cupboard and went out on deck to meet his fellow officers.

  The upper deck was strewn with blocks, tackles, chains and rope as the able seamen made their last overhaul before leaving port. Philip strode over it, knowing that in just a few hours all would be in place and ready for use. Above on the yards and ratlines young seamen and boys crowded like swallows waiting for the call, as they checked the rigging and checked again.

  A small boat was being rowed towards the ship and he could hear the sound of singing from its one and only passenger. He leaned over the bulwark and watched as the bowman raised his oars vertically, shipped them and steadied the vessel to enable the passenger to climb the jack ladder. He was dressed in an officer’s uniform and carried his hat between his teeth. Philip put out a hand to help him aboard and breathing heavily he fell onto the deck.

  ‘Thank you good sir, much obliged.’ His words were slurred and thick, and Philip guessed that here was the surgeon he was to work under, Mr Clavell.

  ‘I thought I was adrift.’ Mr Clavell clambered to his feet and raised his arm in a salute to the seaman below as he shoved off clear of the ship. ‘If that young fella hadn’t reminded me which ship I was supposed to be on – I couldn’t remember.’ He gave a small belch. ‘I knew it was Flying something or other with convicts on board.’ He gazed glassily around. ‘This is it, I suppose?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Philip grinned. ‘The Flying Swan. Captain Martin is master.’

  Mr Clavell sighed. ‘Ah! And you are?’

  ‘Lieutenant Linton, sir. I’m to be your mate.’

  ‘My mate? Nobody said I was to have a mate! Jolly good. Glad to meet you. I’m sure we’ll get on.’ He returned a wobbly salute. ‘Tell you the truth,’ he lowered his voice and put a hand on Philip’s shoulder, ‘tell you the truth, Mr Minton –’.

  ‘Linton, sir!’

  ‘Yes. Well –! Oh yes. Tell you the truth, I’m three sheets to the wind and I really must have a zizz. Do you happen to know where my cot is?’

  Philip found the surgeon’s cabin, which was next to his own and thought it fortunate that Mr Clavell’s cot was a wooden one and fixed to the wall of his cabin, as he doubted if he would have been able to get him into a swinging hammock like his own. He took off the surgeon’s coat and removed his boots and placed them neatly where he wouldn’t fall over them and then went in search of the captain to report that the surgeon was on board.

  ‘Was he drunk, Mr Linton?’ the master asked.

  ‘Half seas over sir,’ Philip admitted. ‘He’s sleeping it off.’

  ‘Just as well we don’t need him! Well, Mr Linton, you must have a good reason for setting sail in such a hurry, but I’m glad to have you aboard. Are you escaping some young woman?’

  ‘No, sir.’ It wouldn’t do, he thought, to tell Captain Martin the real reason for being on board the Flying Swan. ‘Not escaping from – but searching for.’

  Captain Martin looked taken aback. ‘In Australia? Are there not ladies aplenty ashore in England?’

  Philip agreed. ‘I’m sure there are, sir, but not to my fancy.’ He hesitated, then asked, ‘Are all the convicts on board, sir?’

  ‘All below, ’tween decks.’ He looked grim. ‘They’re going to be uncomfortable for a day or two but I daren’t let them out until we’re well at sea. Some of them might try to jump overboard if they see the homeland disappearing.’

  ‘Are they all well, sir?’

  He shrugged. ‘As well as can be expected after being in gaol. Some of them are troublemakers so I’ve been told, the women as well as the men, but there’s no sickness that I know of.’

  The captain moved away, then turned back. ‘Don’t be tempted by the women, Mr Linton. I know that officers have the pick of ’em, but it’s not wise, they’ll pass on the clap sure as eggs is eggs.’

  ‘They’re surely not all whores, sir?’ Philip said quietly.

  Captain Martin shrugged. ‘Perhaps not, but I wouldn’t take a chance. But no time for this, Mr Linton. We’re outward bound on the morning tide.’

  ‘All hands to quarters!’ A drumbeat sounded.

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’

  ‘Away aloft!’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’

  ‘Ease away. Let go the brails. Handsomely does it!’

  Philip stood on the quarterdeck as orders were given. This wasn’t his watch. His orders were to keep an eye on the surgeon, though he had been given the dog watch also; but as he felt the timbers move beneath his feet and heard the creak of the canvas as the sails were trimmed, and with a fair wind sighing, he became part of the whole as officers and c
rew obeyed their instructions implicitly and the great ship slipped her moorings and slid gently out of harbour, down the Thames and towards the open sea.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  As Emily’s eyes became accustomed to the darkness and made out the state of their captivity, she was overcome with misery, despair and self-pity and only wanted to sink to the floor and die. I have no reason to live. No-one to live for. Why should I make any effort to prolong my life? If there was just someone, someone who could hold my hand, bring a word of comfort or even take a crumb of comfort from me, though I would find it an effort to give it, I just might find a reason for my existence.

  She elbowed her way through the crush of women to where bunks were placed on either side of the deck, all the way to the bows. Here was where they would sleep, with their ankles still ironed to add to their discomfort. A grated barricade spiked with iron had been built across the ship at the steerage bulkhead and though there was only gloom, she was sure she could see eyes watching them and hear the whisper of voices. At the other end was another barricade, behind which were the male convicts, or the government men as they were called by the gaolers. They had cheered the women as they’d arrived and some were making lewd suggestions. There is no privacy, she grieved, and looked around for a place where she wouldn’t be seen and found a top bunk close to a hatch, where she hoped for a little air.

  The door opened again and another dozen women were herded into the already crowded space. ‘Get your hands off me, cur!’ A woman’s voice hurled a stream of expletives at the sentry who had thrust her down the companionway, and cast a slur on his birth, his mother, his father and his grandparents. The cursing was so rich and strong and explanatory that in spite of her misery, Emily couldn’t help but smile. If only I could be so brave, she thought. If only I could be so fearless instead of weak and afraid.

  The woman pushed her way through the crowd of women, some of whom were milling around in confusion, whilst others had simply sat down on the deck planking, weeping and crying. ‘No use wailing,’ she shouted at them. ‘It won’t do you a ha’porth o’ good. You’ve got to stand up to ’em, otherwise ’beggers’ll grind you down.’

  Emily sat forward. I know that voice. But from where? It was a northern voice, not one of the strange mixtures she had heard in the London gaol, not southern or Cornish or middle England, but an accent that was familiar. ‘Meg!’ she breathed. ‘Can it be?’

  ‘Meg!’ she called out, an edge of hysteria in her voice. ‘Meg! Is it you?’

  The woman stopped her grumbling. ‘Who knows me by me name?’ She moved towards Emily’s corner, peering into the gloom and demanded, ‘Who knows me?’

  Emily stood up. ‘It’s me,’ she said, with tears gathering in her eyes. ‘Emily Hawkins.’

  Meg came slowly towards her. ‘Emily? Em from Hull?’

  ‘Yes.’ Tears streamed down Emily’s face. ‘From Kingston Street gaol.’

  Meg stood in front of her. ‘Little Emily? They never sent you here, after all?’ She shook her head. ‘There’s no justice in this land.’

  ‘Meg!’ Emily’s voice trembled. ‘I’m so sorry that you are here in this terrible place, but I’m so glad, so very glad to see you.’

  A tear coursed down Meg’s face, but she dashed it away and said softly, ‘And I’m so happy to see you again, Em. So very happy.’ She put out her arms and Emily did likewise and they hugged and cried and wept together.

  They sat on the bunk and whispered in the darkness and Emily asked how Meg had come to be here. ‘Not whoring,’ Meg said bluntly. ‘They can’t get you for that. No, it was because I slandered ’magistrate. You remember, Em, at your hearing?’

  Emily gasped. Surely Meg hadn’t been transported because of her?

  ‘I said I’d seen him at Queenie’s, which I had. He’s a visiting magistrate,’ she explained, ‘not a regular one from Hull, and every time he comes he goes to Queenie’s. I suppose he thinks his wife won’t find out if he plays away from home. I’ve seen ’other bloke there as well,’ she added. ‘That one who brought ’case.’

  ‘Hugo Purnell,’ Emily said, his name bitter on her tongue.

  ‘Aye, him. Well, when they took me down to ’cells after I’d yelled at him, I was accused of slander and they locked me up again. And while I was waiting in gaol for ’next hearing, ’police were sent to ’house where I lodge and found some stolen stuff. I swear to God I never took it, Em, but they said I did. It was silver and such and what would I do with owt like that? Anyway, I was sent to York, like you was, and must have followed you here. Though I never knew. I thought you’d got off ’charge! Somebody said that you had, but I can’t read ’newspaper and nobody else I know can either.’

  ‘They dropped ’charge about the baby,’ Emily said, ‘but I was charged on ’damage to the painting, which I admitted, and sentenced to three years’ transportation.’

  Meg smiled a grim smile. ‘You know why, don’t you?’

  Emily nodded. ‘The gaols are full in England.’

  ‘Hah! Don’t you believe it! And it’s not because of what you did. It’s because they need young lasses out in ’colonies! There’s so many men out there, they need ’women to keep ’em quiet. They’re going to fill ’country wi’ troublemakers, give ’em a wife and hope they’ll breed and stop there.’

  ‘I can’t believe what you’re saying! They wouldn’t do such a thing!’ Emily was horrified.

  ‘You don’t really think that you’ll be allowed back, do you?’ Meg’s voice was cynical. ‘How would you get back? Who’d pay your passage? ’Government’s not going to, not when they’ve taken trouble to send you out! Men can get back if they’ve a mind to, they can work their passage on board ship. I know one who did, but ’women –’. She shook her head. ‘Don’t even think about it, Emily. If you survive ’journey, then you’re there for good. Don’t gather up any hopes. We’ll not be coming back!’

  An officer came with a guard to instruct them on procedure. He told them to form groups of six and the six were to share each bunk. They were each given a straw mattress, a blanket and a thin pillow, a wooden bowl and spoon. One woman from each group would be elected matron and organize the collection and distribution of food. ‘Think yourselves lucky that conditions have changed for the better,’ he shouted at them. ‘You wouldn’t have had such comforts a few years ago.’

  He said they would be given a kettle to share with three other groups so that they could make a drink and once they were under sail they would be allowed on deck and allowed to wash and be given clean clothing. Some of the women were wearing little more than rags and they shivered in the cold. Emily still had her cloak, but she feared she would lose it before the voyage was over. It was dirty and torn at the hem, but it was warm and she wrapped it around herself and Meg when they slept.

  ‘God bless you, Em,’ Meg murmured. ‘You’re such a comfort to me.’

  ‘I? No, it’s you that comforts me.’ Emily pondered on when she had first met Meg and had been so disgusted by her manners and appearance. ‘I didn’t want to live before you came on board, Meg. Now I know that I can go on. You’re so brave.’

  Meg started to weep at her words. ‘I’m not brave. I’m terrified! And I’ve never in my life had anyone who cared about what became of me. Not my ma or my da, whoever he was, not till that day when you sent your Christmas dinner to me. You could have kept it, but you didn’t. You thought of me and nobody has ever done that afore. I’ll never forget that. Never till my dying day!’

  Meg was elected the leader of their group. The decision was unanimous as she was the one who dared to ask for what was required. She was given an extra blanket for one member of their group, an elderly woman who shivered with the cold and who, the others whispered, would never reach her destination.

  They had no conception of time during the period they spent in port as no light came through the hatches, but one day as Emily lay sleepless on the bunk, she suddenly felt a different movement, not the gentle ro
cking she had become accustomed to but a deeper plunging and rolling and she heard too the sound of commands being given, of voices answering and the rushing tread of feet above them. ‘Meg,’ she whispered urgently, ‘I think we’re moving. We are! We’re under sail!’

  ‘God help us!’ Meg leant on one elbow. ‘I’m that scared, Emily.’

  Other women were sitting up too, looking from one to another in their anxiety. Some were praying, others were crying and soon the noise they made grew louder as their fear spread to each other.

  ‘Quiet!’ A sentry opened the door; he had a rifle in his hand. ‘Less noise down there.’

  ‘Are we sailing?’ Meg scurried across to him. ‘Tell us what’s happening, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Aye, we’re sailing all right. Breathe in your last breath of English air!’

  ‘What? Down here?’ Meg said defiantly. ‘There’s been no air down here since we came on board! Open ’hatches for us! Go on, we can’t get a breath.’

  ‘Can’t.’ He started to close the door. ‘Orders. You’ll come up when we’re clear of England.’

  ‘Clear of England! I can’t wait!’ Meg muttered and turned away. Then she caught sight of a male convict staring at her through the barricade. ‘Who you looking at?’ she demanded and thrust her face towards him. ‘Haven’t you seen a woman afore?’

  ‘Not for a long time,’ he answered quietly. ‘You’d be well advised not to cause trouble for yoursen.’

  ‘Trouble!’ she muttered. ‘I was born to it, mister.’ The ship gave a sudden lurch and she grabbed hold of the barricade to stop herself falling. The man laughed and she scowled at him and shook her fist. ‘Bleeding government men. Pimps and thieves!’

  ‘Aye, that’s us, missus.’ He stared at her through the bars, a look of resignation on his face. ‘No good for owt.’ He suddenly started to sing, his voice cracked and distorted as if in pain.

  ‘Old England don’t want us

  and nor does our queen

  We’re thieves and we’re murderers

  not fit to be seen