Remember Me

by Lesley Pearse

  Even as he said this, Will knew he was being completely unreasonable. But to have all his hopes dashed when they were so very close to leaving was too much.

  His clothes had dried quickly in the wind but he felt chilled to the bone. He knew too that many of the people who resented his freedom would take great delight in his misfortune.

  ‘Don’t be such a fool,’ Mary retorted, giving him a contemptuous look. ‘Why should they flog you? It was an accident.’

  Her sharp words seemed to suggest to Will that she wasn’t bothered about him in any way. All the resentment which had been building up in him for some time flared up and spilled over, and he lashed out, slapping her hard across the face, knocking both her and Charlotte, who was sitting on her lap, to the floor.

  ‘You cold-hearted bitch,’ he yelled at her. ‘You don’t care about anything but yourself.’

  Charlotte was screaming, and Mary quickly picked her up again and got to her feet. She didn’t attempt to run out of the hut, but faced Will defiantly with Charlotte in her arms.

  ‘I’m going to put that slap down to shock,’ she said haughtily. ‘But should you think of hitting me ever again, don’t think I’ll be so understanding a second time.’

  Will had never hit a woman before, and the moment he lashed out he felt ashamed. But he wasn’t going to apologize, not when she couldn’t behave like a real woman and cry. Instead he turned on his heels and walked out of the hut.

  Will came back much later, so drunk that he lurched through the door and fell flat on the floor. Mary had been lying in the dark, awake, but she didn’t get up to help him. She suspected he hadn’t come back of his own free will, but because his body had a natural homing instinct. She wondered how he had got the drink, and what secrets he’d revealed under the influence of it.

  She couldn’t sleep, she felt too wretched. Will didn’t seem to have considered that when she first heard the boat had capsized, she thought Charlotte had been drowned. She didn’t know John had grabbed her for at least an hour after the event. After going through that kind of agony, a foiled escape meant little.

  Yet once she knew Charlotte was safe, the hideousness of this place seemed even more pronounced. While she was waiting up on the wharf, she’d looked around her and seen it for what it really was – a shanty town, built by the sweat of men who had been dehumanized. Everything about it was ugly, from the crudeness of the buildings, the flogging triangle, the bleak, already overcrowded cemetery, to the people trapped here. There was an all-pervading stench about it, a combination of bodily wastes and rotten food. An atmosphere of hopelessness and oppression.

  She could not bring her children up here. How could she fight against the squalor, the degradation, the utter despair of it? How could she teach children it was wrong to steal, when it was the only way to survive here? Or that fornication was a sin, when for most of those here it was the only small comfort they had? Nearly all the children were bastards, many of the mothers couldn’t even say with any certainty who had sired their child. In years to come these offspring might even unwittingly commit incest.

  All Mary’s senses were offended by this place. She was appalled at seeing drunkenness, debauchery, laziness, disease and utter stupidity. Daily, her ears were bombarded with the most vile language and sounds of human misery. The smells nauseated her. Even touch, that most personal of the senses, was distorted here. Wood was jagged and full of splinters, what looked like soft grass was as sharp as needles, her own skin and Will’s was hard and rough, it itched from insect bites and often erupted in boils.

  How she longed for all those things which were part of everyday life back in Fowey! To smell fresh bread baking, the lavender, roses and pinks in the tiny garden. To see strawberries, apples and plums still glistening with dew. A jug of cold milk, putting on a clean petticoat still fragrant from drying outside. To see her feet pink and soft after washing. To lie on the billowy softness of a feather mattress and watch the curtains fluttering in the breeze.

  Only her children gave her a sense of all she’d left behind. Their skin was still silky, their voices soft and melodious to her ears, their breath as sweet as spring water. Apart from their rags, they were no different in nature to children born to the nobility. But just as she couldn’t expect them to retain their baby looks, she couldn’t hope to shield them from being corrupted either. Soon they would witness the floggings, the rutting behind bushes and the drunkenness, and they would consider that normal. Without something of beauty or worth to show them, how would they ever know the difference between good and evil?

  They were innocent of any crime, yet by being born to a convict they became convicts too. And unless she got them away from here, that stigma would be attached to their children, and their children’s children. She couldn’t let that happen.

  The following morning Mary got the children up, fed Emmanuel and made Charlotte some fried bread for breakfast, without waking Will. He was still lying on the floor where he’d fallen the previous night, and the hut stank of rum.

  She heard the drum for work sound while she was on her way to collect dirty washing from the officers’ houses. Although she wondered whether the loss of the cutter would mean that Will would be expected to report for work like the other men, she certainly wasn’t prepared to go back and wake him.

  She had a bundle of washing slung over her shoulder, Emmanuel balanced on her hip, and Charlotte skipping ahead of her, when she heard Tench call out her name. She hadn’t seen him, even at a distance, in weeks, for his work at Rose Hill kept him there. He was coming out of Surgeon White’s house, and she guessed he’d stayed the night there.

  ‘How is Charlotte?’ he asked as he came nearer. ‘I heard she was in the boat yesterday?’

  ‘She’s forgotten it already,’ Mary said. ‘But it gave me a terrible fright before I heard she was safe.’

  ‘And Will, how is he?’ he asked.

  ‘Sleeping it off,’ she said, leaving Tench to guess whether she meant the shock of the accident or drink. ‘Or he was when I left.’

  ‘The repairs will be started today,’ Tench said, looking over towards the wharf. ‘He should be there.’

  ‘Repairs?’ Mary’s heart leaped.

  Tench smiled, reaching out to stroke Emmanuel’s cheek. ‘Of course. Captain Phillip wants it back in use as soon as possible.’

  ‘Is he angry with Will?’ Mary asked.

  ‘Why should he be?’ Tench frowned. ‘Captain Hunter saw the whole thing and reported back. It could have happened to anyone, after all it happened to Hunter himself on the Sirius at Norfolk Island. Phillip is also very heartened by the way Bennelong and his native friends helped out in the rescue.’

  ‘Will is expecting to be flogged.’ Mary half smiled.

  ‘I’ll go and see him then,’ Tench said. ‘He has nothing to fear if he throws himself into repairing the boat.’

  Mary walked part of the way with Tench, and they talked about Bennelong, and how he’d helped out once before when Captain Phillip was speared by one of the natives.

  ‘It’s my hope that in years to come all our people will embrace the natives wholeheartedly,’ Tench said.

  Mary normally agreed with his views, but today, somewhat jaded by her own fears and despair, she couldn’t help thinking he was being naive and even ridiculous.

  ‘They won’t,’ she said. ‘My guess is that there will come a time when the government will want to wipe out all the natives because they don’t fit in with their plans for this place.’

  Tench looked appalled. ‘Oh, Mary, no!’

  ‘That’s what they do to anyone who has different values to themselves,’ she said defiantly. ‘The rich and powerful got that way by trampling on the less able. Even when us convicts have served our time, do you really think our past will be forgotten? My guess is there’ll always be a two-tiered society here. Convicts, natives and ex-convicts at the bottom, people like your sort at the top.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean by
“your sort”,’ he said indignantly. ‘All men are born equal. It is individual choice whether they rise or fall.’

  ‘It’s a damn sight easier to rise if you are educated, with a rich family to steer you,’ she snapped. ‘But that’s not my point. Us convicts are no better than slaves to your sort. The more they send here, the more attractive this country will become to the moneyed classes back in England. I expect in time they’ll come here to grab land, and who will work it?’ She paused, waiting for him to give her a straight answer. But he said nothing, only looked hurt.

  ‘Us convicts,’ she said triumphantly. ‘That’s who! Don’t deny it won’t happen, sir, you know it will. Some people might feel badly about capturing a black man and forcing him to work for nothing. But no one at all cares if a bunch of convicted criminals are worked to death.’

  Tench was staggered. In all the time he’d known Mary she’d never before shown such bitterness. ‘I thought you were quite happy here with Will and your children,’ he said weakly. Yet even as he said this he realized he was making the assumption that most of the officers made: that convicts had no finer feelings.

  ‘Happy!’ she laughed mirthlessly. ‘How can I be happy when Charlotte cries with hunger? When I am afraid for her and Emmanuel’s future? They have done nothing wrong, yet they are sentenced to life imprisonment too.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mary.’ Tench’s voice shook, and his eyes swam. ‘I wish—’

  ‘Wishes don’t come true,’ she said, cutting him short. ‘Prayers aren’t answered, not for women like me. I have to make my own luck.’

  Tench stood for a while as Mary went on down to the shore to wash the clothes. He felt impotent, for he knew deep in his heart that every word she’d said was true. When the Scarborough, Surprise and Neptune got back to England, who would care about the number of felons who died on the way out to New South Wales? Or all those who had died here from the First Fleet? None, he suspected. Yet there would be thousands waiting eagerly to hear the reports on what this place was like, with a view to grabbing land here. Maybe most would be put off by the hardships involved, but opportunists would think of the free labour and be prepared to take a gamble. Just as they’d done in America.

  Tench watched as Mary sat Emmanuel down on the ground beside Charlotte, then knelt by the water to begin the washing. He was reminded of the first time he spoke to her on the Dunkirk, when she was incensed by the filthy conditions in the hold.

  She was truly remarkable. She had struggled bravely to make the best of her lot in life ever since that day. Plenty of other young and sparky women like her had just given up. Her friend Sarah was a drunken slattern now, as indeed were most of the surviving women from the Charlotte. Seven had died, and God only knew whether some of those might have lived if there’d been a ray of hope that conditions would improve here.

  He felt deeply for all of them, but suddenly to hear and see Mary’s bitterness, when she had once been so optimistic, was unbearable.

  Why couldn’t he find the courage to tell her how he felt about her? Put aside all those lofty plans for his future, and urge her to leave Will and come to him? Other officers like Ralph Clark had taken lag wives, and Clark had a wife at home waiting for him, whom he professed to love. It wouldn’t be so difficult. Will’s time was nearly up, he’d go happily on the next ship without looking back.

  But much as Tench wanted Mary, he knew he couldn’t do it. He was too bound by convention to take a woman and her children from another man. It wouldn’t be right not to give her the security of marriage. Nor could he bear to see her slighted by his friends and family, as they surely would if they knew her history.

  Besides, he could be fooling himself that she felt as he did. She had never said anything to suggest she felt anything more than friendship towards him.

  He looked at her slight figure bent over the water, and there was determination in every inch of her body. She would find some way to help herself. Somehow he knew she wasn’t destined to be anyone’s slave.

  Chapter eleven

  1791

  ‘You have the money?’ Detmer asked in his heavily accented English.

  Mary nodded and held out a bundle of clean washing. ‘It’s in a handkerchief,’ she whispered. She lightly touched the bundle he was carrying. ‘Are they in there?’

  It was 26 March, Detmer was due to set sail back for England in two days’ time with Captain Hunter and his crew from the wrecked Sirius.

  Mid-morning on the wharf was busy and noisy. Detmer’s seamen were rolling along barrels of fresh water for loading, Marines patrolled, male convicts building a new shed hammered and sawed, and a gaggle of women convicts returning from cleaning duties in the officers’ houses were shouting to one another. There were many children too, dirty, semi-naked little urchins boldly climbing on the many packing cases for loading. From time to time someone would shout and order them off, and they’d disappear like rats down a culvert, only to appear again within minutes.

  The cutter had been repaired, just as Tench said it would be. As it turned out, the accident had been fortuitous, for now the boat was in far better shape than it had been previously.

  ‘Yes, they are in there. A sextant and compass. I wouldn’t cheat you, Mary,’ Detmer said, his smile slightly reproving. ‘Will you come out to the ship for a farewell drink?’

  ‘You know I daren’t,’ she said, glancing around her. She was very aware that Detmer’s ship was being watched closely, for there had been stowaways on the Scarborough when it left Sydney Cove. They were discovered before the ship got to the Heads and were immediately put ashore. But since then all the troops and officers had been far more watchful. She could see a couple of officers coming down from Government House, and knew it would be advisable to get away from the wharf and suspicion as quickly as possible.

  ‘I wish I could do more for you,’ Detmer said with a sigh. ‘Had I met you anywhere else in the world, I believe there would have been a different outcome.’

  Mary blushed and lowered her eyes. She never knew how to take Detmer and his often very personal remarks. Some days she felt certain he did have strong feelings for her – why else would he risk so much to help her and Will? Yet at other times she felt she was just a pawn in his game to upset Captain Phillip.

  ‘Look at me, Mary,’ he said, his voice soft and insistent.

  She looked into his clear blue eyes and felt that all too familiar tug of desire for him. He looked even more handsome than usual today – his fair hair had been trimmed, he had shaved and his white shirt was spotless. Even his long boots were highly polished, and she wondered if all that was for her.

  It was extraordinary that once again she should be attracted to a man so far above her. For two months now Detmer had invaded her thoughts and dreams in the same manner that Tench always had. But whereas Tench would always have a special place in her heart, and she intuitively knew that his feelings mirrored hers, with Detmer it was purely physical.

  He came across to her as a man who had never been answerable to anyone. She felt he had salt water in his veins and was happiest out at sea battling against the elements. He was as deep as the ocean, and perhaps just as dangerous.

  ‘That’s better,’ he said, and smiled. ‘I will not be able to see you again before I leave. You must return this washing to one of the crew.’

  Mary nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Whatever his motives for helping her, he had been entirely honourable. No blackmailing her into his bed – he had treated her as a lady, not a convict. She would be forever in his debt.

  ‘I am so afraid for you, and your children,’ he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. ‘I hope to God you make it.’

  ‘If determination counts for anything, we will,’ she said, then hesitated. She so much wanted to convey the depth of her gratitude to him, yet she knew if she attempted it she might start to cry. ‘Bless you, Detmer,’ she managed to add.

  ‘And may God bless you,’ he said softly. ‘I won’t forget
you. I’ll make inquiries to discover how you fared.’

  They exchanged the parcels, and his hand covered hers for a second. ‘I must go now,’ she said, taking a step back away from him. ‘I’ll return the washing tomorrow.’

  At two in the afternoon of the 28th, Mary and Will stood on the shore together silently watching the Waaksamheyd sail down the bay towards the Heads. Seabirds flew in its wake, and they could hear the wind in her sails.

  Up on the wharf almost the entire settlement was watching her departure, Mary could hear their cheers and shouted farewells in the distance. Captain Phillip would be among them, and for the first time Mary felt a pang of sympathy for the man.

  He must almost certainly wish he was sailing home with Captain Hunter. They had been friends, and had been through a great deal together. In many ways Phillip was as much a prisoner as Mary was, chained to this desperate place by a sense of honour and commitment. Now that her escape was so close she could see clearly that he was in fact a good man. He had been humane, fair and dignified at all times, mostly under the most impossible conditions. She could even find it in her heart to wish him well.

  ‘Just seven hours and we’ll be on our way,’ Will said with a faint tremor in his voice.

  Mary knew he was thinking of what would happen if they were caught. They might very well be hanged; they’d certainly be flogged and put back into irons too. However good their plan was, however careful they’d been, there was always a chance that someone with a grudge had got wind of it, and would give them away.

  Mary slipped her hand into Will’s and squeezed it. She was scared too, not for herself but her children, for she knew only too well that she was taking a gamble with their lives.

  Yet she had to take that gamble. If they stayed here the chances were that the next epidemic or the next cut in rations would carry them off, just as it had so many other children. It was surely better to take their chances with the sea. At least if they drowned, they would all go together. A quick, clean death.