Morgan's Run

by Colleen McCullough

  Stephen still wore his black hair in long, luxuriant curls, but Wentworth had gone to what he said was starting to be the new fashion—cropped hair like Richard’s, though his was not as short. The three of them walking abreast down the road looked striking: handsome, tall, lithe, with Wentworth, the tallest and the only fair one, between the two dark-headed ones.

  They scrambled down the steep cleft which emerged 100 yards from the landing place to find Surprize fairly close in shore and the sea calm. The tide was turning to the flood, and Captain Anstis had been instructed two days ago by Mr. Donovan as to how to manage the business of getting people safely onto dry land. Advice he, a merchant master, was sensible enough to heed.

  “Anstis is an awful man,” said Stephen, sitting down on a rock. “I am told that in Port Jackson he sold paper for a penny a sheet, ink for a pound the small bottle, and cheap unbleached calico for ten shillings the ell.* Surgeon Murray says he had nowhere near as many customers as he had expected, so we shall see how he does when he sets up a stall here.”

  *One ell equals 45 inches.

  Remembering Lizzie Lock—Morgan, Richard, Morgan!—and what she had told him about Lady Penrhyn’s lack of rags for bleeding women, Richard decided that, much though he loathed enriching the likes of a man who starved other men to death for profit, he would be at that stall to buy some ells of unbleached calico for the woman he would be obliged to shelter under the Ross Plan. Perhaps Lady Juliana’s complement had been provided with rags, but he doubted it. If the behavior of Lady Penrhyn’s sexually satiated crew was anything to go on, the sailors would not have been sympathetic no matter how many women they plundered. He would certainly have to provide a bed for her, which meant a mattress, pillow, sheets and maybe a blanket, clothing. Johnny Livingstone had promised to make him the bed and some more chairs, but his unwelcome guest was going to prove expensive. He still had his gold coins in his box and in the heels of Ike Rogers’s boots. Interesting to see what Nicholas Anstis had for sale. Emery powder? He hoped so; his supply was almost exhausted. Sandpaper he made himself from Turtle Bay sand, fish-glue he made himself from fish scraps, but emery powder he could not duplicate.

  Shortly after ten o’clock the first longboat struck for shore to a cheer from about fifty of Sirius’s seamen, waiting eagerly; other longboats in the water alongside Surprize were filling with more women. The conditions were nothing like as wet or as rough as when Major Ross had landed from Sirius, but when the first boat maneuvered itself near the landing rock, its oarsmen poised to shove off in a hurry if a wave larger than the rest came rushing in, the women shrieked, struggled, refused to make the leap. One Sirius sailor advanced to the edge of the rock and held out his hands; when the boat came in a second time the two sailors aboard it threw a screaming woman at him, followed her up with others. No one fell in, and the bundles of personal property landed safely in their wake. Another boat succeeded the first, the process was repeated; soon the whole of the very little negotiable ground in the vicinity of the landing place was milling with Sirius seamen and women. There were, however, no offensive liberties; most of the women were led off, each by the man who apparently fancied her, to make the climb to the crest 200 feet above.

  “Wait,” said Stephen, “until the news reaches town that Sirius has made off with the best women. The marines will be fit to be tied, since Ross forbade them to come over.”

  “Did he do that deliberately?” asked Wentworth curiously.

  “Aye, but not for the reason ye might think,” said Richard. “Which is worse? To let those of his marines not on duty take first pick, or let Sirius take first pick? Since there is bound to be contention, the Major would rather it lay between marines and sailors than marines and other marines.”

  “Anyway,” Stephen smiled, “there has been little picking. I imagine Medusa the Gorgon would look good to them after so long. I have counted a mere fifty-three women, which means, my friends, that we will have to get up off our arses and down to the rock. The helpers from Sirius have disappeared.”

  Like Stephen Donovan and Richard Morgan—but for very different reasons—D’arcy Wentworth was not tempted to find himself a woman from among those who landed after the three men took over on the landing rock, encouraging the terrified creatures to leap ashore. His own convict mistress, a beautiful red-haired girl named Catherine Crowley, was pledged not to be landed at Cascade; she and their baby son, William Charles, would wait until Sydney Bay calmed down. Wentworth had fallen in love with her at first sight and defiantly moved her out of the filthy corridor on Neptune; in the cabin which had belonged to the MacArthurs, Catherine bore her baby shortly before Neptune reached Port Jackson. Both a sweet joy and a sore sadness. Little William Charles, with his mother’s copper curls and the promise of his father’s stature, had a badly crossed eye and would never see very well.

  Having landed almost seventy of her female and all her male convicts, Surprize signaled as the tide reached half-ebb that she would not be sending more. The women were a sorry-looking lot; though Lady Juliana might have treated them well, they had made the voyage to Norfolk Island on a “wet” ship, damp and leaky, on a deck which had contained men on the long journey out and still contained filth, decay and excrement.

  But the 47 men landed were in an appalling way. Were these the fittest who had been delivered to Port Jackson? Wentworth had to jump into each boat as it arrived—the Surprize seamen were not interested—and pick the poor wretches up, throw them bodily to Richard and Stephen, for they could not have jumped an inch. Of flesh they had none, eyes sunk into their sockets like shriveled gooseberries in paper rings, teeth gone, hair gone, nails rotted. Full of scurvy, lice and dysentery. Richard, the fleetest, ran to Sydney Town and demanded marine or convict helpers—the last of the women, unclaimed by Sirius, were straggling along the road hampered by the weight of their bundles as he returned at a run, Sergeant Tom Smyth urging the recruits in his wake. Few men were as strong as a top sawyer, even one about to turn forty-two. Neither he nor Smyth saw one of the convict volunteers, Tom Jones Two, sneak off before the group reached the cleft at Cascade; there were still women trying to walk to Sydney Town.

  But by dusk the last of the work was done, all the landed convicts safe in Sydney Town, where fresh choices were made for the women and the emaciated, terribly ill men were put into the small hospital and a hastily converted store shed. Olivia Lucas, Eliza Anderson, John Bryant’s widow, and the Commandant’s housekeeper, Mrs. Richard Morgan, ministered to the sick and despaired of their ever getting well again. And these were the best from among 1,000 men? That was what everybody could not get over.

  As Surprize was still at Cascade the next day, Stephen, D’arcy Wentworth and Richard returned to help again, having scrubbed themselves raw last night to remove the dirt and vermin handling those men and women had produced. Then the wind got up, Surprize signaled that she was finished, Stephen and D’arcy took charge of the last party of women and jollied them along, showing them how to carry their burdens easier, taking whatever they could carry themselves, assuring the terrified creatures that they were going to like life in Norfolk Island, which was a better place by far than Port Jackson.

  Deputed to make sure that Surprize did not change her mind and suddenly launch another longboat, Richard was some minutes behind them in leaving Cascade. At the top of the crest he turned to look along that coast, a less familiar sight than Sydney Bay’s fabulous reef, lagoon, beaches and offshore islands. But no less hauntingly beautiful, Richard thought, between the waterfalls, the outcrops of rock in the water, a great blowhole to the north sending a jet of foam higher and higher as the sea rose.

  What interesting trees were the Norfolk pines! Those felled to make the road had been cut off right at ground level with a cross saw and were already crumbling, sinking slowly beneath the surface. In two years, with a little rubble to fill the craters in, no one would ever know that pines had once occupied every inch. Aware that the sun was lower than he had counte
d on, he quickened his pace as he walked through the clearing around Phillipburgh, where Ross was heroically following in King’s footsteps by attempting to establish a canvas-from-flax industry, and set off into the forested section that led to the fairly flat crest to which the Lieutenant-Governor had banished the men off Sirius. Captain Hunter had declined to join them; he had elected to move in with Lieutenant William Bradley at what was beginning to be known as Phillimore’s Run, from the strength of the stream which ran through Dick Phillimore’s land.

  Well, he was safe for yet another day. None of the women had taken a fancy to him, none had lacked eager takers acceptable to them—though all had fancied Stephen best, the devil. With any luck, Richard thought as he strode along, I will wriggle out of having to care for anybody save John Lawrell, even if that does mean I will not qualify for a sow.

  Something mewed. Richard stopped, frowning. The settlers had a few cats brought on Sirius, but they were greatly prized as pets and ratters and did not need to wander this far in search of food. Sirius’s crew had cats too, but loved them, so it was hardly likely to belong to the sailors. Unless it had strayed, climbed a tree and could not get down.

  “Here, kitty, kitty!” he called, ear tilted for a response.

  Another mew, but less catlike. Skin prickling, he left the road and entered the realm of vine-choked pine buttresses. Once off the cleared ground the darkness increased dramatically; he paused long enough to allow his eyes to accustom themselves to the gloom, then started off again, suddenly sure that the sound was a human one. What a pity. He had hoped for a cat, longing to be able to gift Stephen with a replacement for his beloved Rodney, which, as ship’s cat, had remained behind on Alexander when Stephen moved to Sirius and Johnny Livingstone’s arms.

  “Where are ye?” he asked in an ordinary but loud voice. “Sing out to me, then I can find ye.”

  Silence save for the creaking of the pines, the sound of the wind high up in them, the flutters of birds.

  “Come, it is all right, I want to help ye. Sing out!”

  A faint mew, some distance farther in. Richard looked back to fix his landmarks, then ventured toward the sound.

  “Sing out,” he said at normal volume. “Let me find you.”

  “Help me!”

  After that it was no trouble to find her, crouched inside the cavity time and perpetually gnawing beetles had carved out of an enormous pine; a refugee might have made a dwelling out of it, which lent credence to the stories of the occasional convict who absconded into the wilderness, only to reappear in Sydney Town weeks later, starving.

  A little girl, or so at first she seemed. Then he saw that it was a woman’s breast showed amid a great tear in her dress. Crouched on his heels, he smiled and held out his hand.

  “Come, it is all right. I will not hurt you. We must leave this place or it will be too dark to see the way back to the road. Come, take my hand.”

  She put her fingers into his palm and let him draw her out, shivering with cold and terror.

  “Where are your things?” he asked, careful to touch no more of her than those trembling fingers.

  “The man took them,” she whispered.

  Mouth compressed to a thin line, he led her to the road, there to look at her in the dying light. No taller than his shoulder, very thin, with what might have been fair hair, though it was too dirty to tell. Her eyes, however, were—were—his breath caught. No, sunshine would give the lie to them, had to! William Henry’s eyes had belonged to him alone, they had no like on the face of the globe.

  “Are ye able to walk?” he asked, wanting to give her his shirt but afraid of frightening her into running off.

  “I think so.”

  “At the next clearing I will get a torch. After that we can take our time.”

  She flinched, shuddered.

  “No, no, it is all right! We have three more miles to get home, and we will need to see our way.” He held her hand strongly and began to move onward. “My name is Richard Morgan, and I am a free man.” How wonderful to be able to say that! “I am the supervisor of sawyers.”

  Though she did not reply, she walked with him more confidently until they reached the Sirius settlement. The sailors were living in tents until the carpenters could erect proper barracks and huts, and a few men were moving about in the distance. A big fire burned adjacent to the road, but no one sat at it. They were probably all drunk on rum. So no one saw him pick up a torch and kindle it, nor saw the waif still clinging for dear life to his hand.

  “What is your name?” he asked as they set off again into the pines, more exposed to the south and beginning to roar now that the full force of the wind struck into them like a hammer into thin copper sheeting—boom, boom, boom.

  “Catherine Clark.”

  “Kitty,” he said instantly. “Kitty.”

  She jumped. “How did you know that?”

  “I did not,” he said, surprised. “It is just that when I first heard ye, I thought I heard a kitten. Ye’re off Lady Juliana?”

  “Yes.”

  Sensing that she was foundering but afraid to carry her for fear of frightening her—who was the cur had attacked her?—he said, “We will not waste our time or breath on talking, Kitty. The most important thing is to get ye home.”

  Home.The most beautiful word in the world. He uttered it as if it genuinely meant something to him, as if he promised her all the things she had not known in so long. Since years before she was convicted and sent briefly to the London Newgate, then sent to Lady Juliana on the Thames to wait for months before the ship finally sailed for Botany Bay all alone. That had not been utter horror because no sailor had lusted after her; with 204 women to choose from, why should a mere 30 men select any but the strapping girls with hips, breasts, nicely rounded bellies? A few of the men were given to prowling, not satisfied with one conquest, but Mr. Nicol had made sure no girl was raped. Most of the crew had behaved like potential buyers at a horse fair and fastened upon just one “wife,” as he called her. Like a hundred others on board, Catherine Clark had never attracted male attention. In Port Jackson they had not been landed, had remained upon Lady Juliana until 157 of them were picked at random to transfer to Surprize for the voyage to Norfolk Island, a place she had never, never heard of. Nor had she heard of Port Jackson: all she had known was “Botany Bay,” a petrifying name.

  Surprize had been far worse than Lady Juliana. Seasick even in the Thames, desperately ill for most of Lady Juliana’s leisurely progress, Catherine had descended into a nightmare only terrible seasickness had rendered endurable without madness. The place where they were put crawled with vermin, slopped with a noisome fluid the nature of which no one dared to guess, stank so badly that the nose never got used to it, and there was no fresh air, no deck privilege.

  To be rowed ashore and flung like a doll onto the rock had terrified her, but a handsome man with a beautiful smile and the bluest eyes had caught her, reassured her, given her a gentle push and asked her if she could manage to climb that awful crevice. Wanting to please him, she had nodded and set off, her bundle and her bedding serving as props while she toiled upward. By some quirk of fate she had not set eyes upon Richard Morgan, who had come down on a more precipitous track at the moment she was crawling into the cleft. At the top she paused to catch her breath, then set off along the road, realizing that so much seasickness and so little food for the past year and more had not equipped her for this walk, however far it might be, wherever its termination might be. A group of men passed her by at a run, took no notice of her.

  Not far into the forest her legs could carry her no farther; she set her bundle and her bedding on the ground and sat upon them, her head between her knees, wheezing.

  “Well, what have we here?” a voice asked.

  She looked up to see a corn-gold fellow clad only in a pair of tattered canvas trowsers staring at her. Then he smiled to reveal that he had two mouths: both front teeth in upper and lower jaw were missing, creating a siniste
r black hole. But she was very tired, so when he held out his hand to her she took it, expecting him to help her to her feet. Instead he jerked her into his arms and tried to cover her mouth with that awful aperture in his face. Struggling weakly, she resisted, felt her thin convict slops dress rip as he grabbed cruelly at her breasts.

  Someone in the distance spoke. His grip relaxed immediately; she tore herself away from him and ran into the trees. For a moment he stood, clearly debating whether to follow her, then several more voices spoke. He shrugged, picked up her bundle and her bedding, and set off in the direction she had been pointed. The noises of conversation grew closer. Panicking, she ran farther into the forest until she had no idea where she was, where-abouts the road was. Something flew in her face, but she did not scream. She fainted, struck her head on a root.

  When she came to, moaning and retching, darkness had fallen. Scurries, thin keeking shrieks, the mighty groans of mighty trees moving, a night so black she could see nothing—she crawled on hands and knees to the hollow in a tree so large she could not see around it, and there huddled until a wan morning light let her discover where she was. Surrounded by these gigantic trees and penned into her prison by a creeper as big around as her waist.

  All that day she had heard the confused sounds of people far off but had not cried out, terrified that the man with two mouths was lurking. Why, with the light fading, she had suddenly tried to shout, she never knew. Only that she had, and had been answered: “Here, Kitty, Kitty!” Whoever it was called her name, and she thought of the wonderful man who had helped her ashore.