by Beth Camp
Gordon spent the afternoon at the East India Club with newspapers from New Delhi and cigars from Spain made with Cuban tobacco. He relaxed in the large downstairs reading room, nodding to acquaintances. He was content to sit quietly, not taking part in the latest arguments that flared over Peel's proposed income tax. He relished the smooth taste of Scottish malt whisky that burned his throat slightly.
Sunlight from a nearby window played on the dark amber spirits in his crystal glass. He closed his eyes as the familiar pain snaked down his arm. He waited, concentrating on his breathing, but this time, the heaviness grew in the center of his chest, pressing down tighter and tighter. Gordon felt he could not breathe. The pain eased, but he knew it would come again. He would have to tell Alice.
That night, as the formal party at home began, Gordon was pleased to see several families of the men he knew from the club. The bright silk gowns of their wives and daughters gave a festive air.
“A small party,” he had told Alice. “Limit it to forty guests. You will know whom to invite. The head of the university. The mayor. Someone from the church.”
Gordon nodded to the guests as he moved through the crowd. Their chatter rose around him. Her father and mother were here, of course, as were her sisters. He frowned. Both young women unmarried still. A quartet of musicians played traditional Scottish airs in the corner of the ball room where the young people had gathered. He looked for Alice everywhere.
Gordon strolled into the entry hall. The Greek fresco of black and white tiles distracted him. Where was she? His right hand began to twitch. He glanced up to see Alice walking down the circular stairs, a white silken shawl draped over her shoulders, the lines of her evening dress revealing her slightly rounded belly.
My God. She’s pregnant. A rush of feeling came over him. For a moment, he couldn't breathe. An heir. Finally, an heir. He reached out for her hand.
“You look lovely, my dear.”
CHAPTER 53: DEIDRE
Deidre followed the steward and the other passengers along the narrow wooden passage, stumbling slightly.
Once a military transport ship, the Brilliant had been refitted for emigrants to Australia. The ticket master had told her she had been assigned to a commodious and private cabin. She sniffed. The narrow hallway wasn't looking commodious. She knew only that she would have her own berth, as Father had required.
William Scott had paid twelve pounds for passage on the Brilliant, one of three ships in the flotilla commanded by Captain David Sinclair. The Mermaid and the Alexander would join them at Gravesend. He had arranged the ticket for Deidre through an agent in Stromness, after learning that Mac would be transported to Van Diemen's Land on the Mermaid.
The steward, a slight man with pale hair, turned around. “In here, ladies.” He gestured to the right and read from a roster: “Mrs. Fraser, Mrs. Miller, and Miss Scott. We leave on the morning ebb, so best to settle in quickly. The rest of you, follow me.” He hurried down the narrow hallway, a silent group of women and children draggling behind him.
The three women hesitated outside their new quarters. The small cabin had no windows. An oil lantern hung from the middle of the ceiling. Three bunk beds crowded the room, each with white canvas curtains to pull for privacy and a chamber pot underneath. Boards had been added to the sides of the bunk beds, making it difficult to climb in or fall out. Three stools hung on the fourth wall, over a small collapsing table. The floorboards smelled of vinegar.
Deidre followed a large woman wearing a heavy navy coat with silver buttons into the cabin. The woman huffed and set her portmanteau and a wooden case down in the center of the cabin as did Deidre. The third woman crowded behind them.
“I don’t think we can fit in here if we’re all standing,” said Deidre. She sat on the lower bed of the nearest bunk bed; the board cut into her legs as she shoved her case underneath.
“Ah, but this is bigger than I expected,” said Mrs. Fraser.
“Bigger?” Mrs. Miller snorted and set her bags underneath the bunk bed next to Deidre’s. “This isn’t any bigger than a flea’s house. Six of us in here? Where shall we sleep?”
“I, for one, can only sleep on the lower berth,” said Mrs. Fraser.
“That’s good, for I prefer the top,” replied Mrs. Miller.
“At least we’ll be warm,” said Mrs. Fraser, unbuttoning her navy coat and laying it on the bottom bunk opposite Deidre. “And we shall come to know each other. I am Mrs. Isabella Fraser and you are Mrs. Miller?”
Mrs. Miller nodded. The two older women turned to Deidre, their eyes curious and a little hostile.
“I am pleased to meet you,” said Deidre.
The three women looked at each other.
“Come along. We're late enough.” A stout woman with over-red cheeks half pulled a young girl into the cabin. “This is Miss Amalie Chalmers. I am her guardian, Mrs. Arbuckle.” She peered at the cabin. “We will require one of the bunk beds, for I promised her father I would look after her.”
“The top is all right for me, auntie,” said Amalie. Her wide blue eyes reminded Deidre of Mac.
Deidre sat on her bunk bed and watched as the women organized their boxes and bags. If it weren’t so crowded, I would think this funny, she thought, as the women muttered, and bumped into each other. The bed above her remained empty.
“Did anyone bring food? I think we should set a common store,” said Mrs. Arbuckle, smoothing her ample front.
“Can we go topside to watch them cast off?” asked Amalie.
“I do not wish to share my food.” Mrs. Miller pursed her full lips.
Deidre heard a knock at the door over the commotion. She opened the door to find the steward propping up another woman.
“This is Miss Dallow,” he said. “Can ye get her to a bunk?”
Deidre half-carried the young woman to the bunk she had been sitting on. So much for a lower bunk for me. She pulled a blanket over the woman who remained asleep, her head lolling to the side. Deidre noted bruises on her face.
“Who’s that?” asked Mrs. Miller. “Not someone else?”
“She smells of drink,” Mrs. Arbuckle's eyes narrowed. “Not a proper companion. I will speak to the captain.”
“The steward said she had a berth here,” said Deidre. “Where else could she go?”
“Down in steerage for all I care.” Mrs. Arbuckle sniffed and covered Amalie’s ears. “She could be a woman of the streets.”
“Let’s not jump to any conclusions,” said Deidre.
“We can talk to her when she wakes up,” said Mrs. Miller.
Deidre stood protectively in front of her bunk. “We don't know the details yet. For now, let’s go aboveboard and watch them cast off. I would like one last look at Portsmouth.”
“But she doesn’t have any luggage, not even a box.”
“We don’t know that. Maybe they’ll bring it later,” said Deidre. “May I take Amalie up to the deck?”
“You might as well,” said Mrs. Arbuckle. “But I’m not leaving our things unattended with that woman here.”
Deidre glanced at the woman who lay on the bunk unmoving. “Anyone wish to join me?”
“I certainly would like one last look at the motherland before we leave its shores,” said Mrs. Fraser. “Please call me Bella.”
The two women made their way along the narrow hall, Amalie trailing slightly behind them. As they came out on the foredeck, a burst of noise met them. They pushed their way to the bulwarks, as passengers called down to family and friends.
Officers on the above deck shouted commands, and sailors worked frantically to finish loading the ship. Some of the crew, bent over with boxes, pushed wheelbarrows up narrow planks laid all along the side of the Brilliant.
A sailor roped a crate of chickens on his back while another pulled and shoved five Merino rams up a plank. A third sailor led a short-horned cow on board. Milk for tea, Deidre thought.
Two planks had been reserved for the emigrants in steerage. A
steady line of people edged along the planks and disappeared into the hold of the ship. One man carried an accordion with a pack on his back. A woman followed closely behind, carrying two small children wrapped in a shawl to cover their eyes.
Finally, the ship was loaded. The noise peaked as sailors pulled in the planks all along the sides of the Brilliant and awaited orders. Two sailors stood by the anchor. When the command came, a thrill ran through Deidre.
“Cast off. Cast off,” cried the first mate. “Weigh anchor.”
“Hurrah! Hurrah!” shouted the passengers.
At first the ship seemed not to move, and then the Brilliant slowly lifted up and dipped into the bay, past Margate, into the Channel, down along the Straits of Dover, headed to the Isle of Wight, its foresails billowing in a slight wind from the west.
Deidre held Amalie’s hand tightly. “We’ve a long journey.”
“You don’t want to go below, do you?” asked Amalie.
“We’ll stay up here, as long as we can.” Deidre pointed to the coast. “We’ll follow this coast to Gravesend, where we meet the other ships coming with us. Then we sail all the way to Van Diemen's Land. You’ve done this before?”
“Yes, but I only remember being sick. Last time was two years ago. ‘Tis better this time,” said Amalie. “I’m going home.”
The wind scattered drops of foam that shone in the sun as the ship dipped and slid along the waves in the Channel. The westerly wind filled the sails, pulling them along the coast and out toward the sea. Deidre held Amalie’s hand. Together they stared at the land until only a smudge of dark green and white could be seen.
CHAPTER 54: MAC
Mac spat into the Thames. The Warrior looked nearly empty, though the guards paced along her foredeck, and laundry still flapped on her yardarms. Nearly two hundred men had been offloaded from the Warrior and the Justistia onto longboats, and then ferried to the Mermaid, its red and white pennant flicking in a brisk wind. They were headed Bay side, first to Gravesend where the wives and families of the guards would embark, and then to Hobart Town in Van Diemen's Land.
Mac had marched with the other prisoners below decks to his new quarters, naked and shivering from the bath of sea-water they'd been given immediately on boarding the Mermaid.
Each prisoner had been issued a regulation parcel of clothing as well. Now, like the men around him, he opened his parcel to find a cap, two shirts, a smock, trousers, drawers, stockings, and, he hoped, shoes that would fit him. Murmurs of surprise arose around him. Though the fabric was coarse, it was clean and sturdy and would keep him warm. Mac fingered a towel, a brush, and a comb. For the first time, he felt hopeful about the voyage to Van Diemen’s Land, a place that seemed beyond the end of the world.
The men would sleep on wooden shelves built all along the walls in a large room that had once held cargo. A board some ten inches high separated each man’s bed, and a clean mattress, pillow and two blankets were neatly rolled at the end of each berth. Several lanterns affixed to a top beam that ran along the length of the room alleviated the gloom somewhat. A group of ship’s men in uniform stood at the far end of the room. One stepped forward and looked over the men as they quickly pulled baggy trousers on. Mac was glad to see Menzies and pushed his way to stand near him.
“Line up,” shouted one of the ship’s men. The transportees stood in front of their wooden bunks, half-dressed.
“Once the ship gets underway, you’ll be allowed on deck,” First Mate Dickerson began. “But that is a privilege. When the seas run high, you'll go below, and the hatches will be closed and locked. Ship’s bells begin the day at 6. On fair days, you are to roll up your bedding and take it on deck. You’ll have bread sometime between 6 and 7 above deck, if the weather allows it. Dinner’s at twelve and supper at 4. You’ll have a ration of boiled beef once a week, again, conditions permitting. You’ll be locked in for the night at 5:30. Lights out by 8 o’clock. When it’s warm enough, salt-water baths will be provided before first bell. Soap and razors will be allotted for shaving twice a week. Captain?”
Captain Meredith brushed an imaginary speck of lint from his sleeve. He walked to the center of the room. “Regardless of what you may have heard, the Mermaid is a transport ship. You are prisoners, and you will remain prisoners until we dock at Hobart Town, and you are released to the authorities there.
"Our voyage will take about three months. I believe discipline will help us all make this voyage safely and efficiently. All of you will report for work by 9 o’clock. Most of you will be assigned to sewing or mending sails. A few of you may be recruited to work on repairs.” He paced along the line of men. “There’s to be no fighting, no drinking, and no gambling. You will be encouraged to attend Sunday services on deck. If any of you are sick, inform First Mate Dickerson at once.” He motioned to the first mate and a man in a black frock coat standing beside him. “Go ahead, Dr. Mayhew.”
Mac rubbed his wrist and whispered to the man next to him. “’Tis already better than the Warrior.”
“Wait until we’re out on the open sea. Tell me that when you’ve got men vomiting up their toenails. How long were you on the Warrior? ”
“Four months, I think,” said Mac. “You’ve done this before?”
“My third trip,” the man replied. “Captain Meredith’s not so bad, but you have to follow his rules. Try to get assigned to a work detail as fast as you can. It will get you out of here when the storms come.”
“Thanks. I’m Mac. This is Menzies.”
“Call me Davis. And don’t believe what they said about gambling.”
CHAPTER 55: THE BRILLIANT
Deidre stood alone on the foredeck of the Brilliant, grateful for the fresh air. She had awakened at dawn to find the ship wallowing as the English Channel widened. Everyone had been sick below, especially the mysterious Kate Dallow. No one gave thought to breakfast. Bella and Mrs. Arbuckle had fought over the slops bucket, each one protesting she needed it more. Finally, Deidre escaped to the deck.
Deidre searched the horizon, but she couldn’t see the other two ships that travelled with the Brilliant as it bucked and lifted over the swells. The seas rose and fell in a steady rhythm.
“There you are,” cried Amalie, properness forgotten. The ten-year-old bounced up the stairs to the foredeck, her skirts flouncing.
“How are they all below?” asked Deidre.
Amalie shrugged. “It smells horrible down there.”
“You’re better off up here with me, then.”
Deidre and Amalie leaned over the railing on the foredeck and tried to decode the routine of life aboard the Brilliant. Women on the steerage deck gathered pots for breakfast and stumbled as the ship lifted with the waves. Above them, sailors climbed up the rigging to let out more sails that billowed out and caught in the wind.
Occasionally Deidre felt nauseous. She fixed her gaze on the horizon of the sea, and the nausea passed. “I heard there’s to be a school. Shall you go?”
“With the children from steerage?” said Amalie. “I’d rather be a sailor. I could curse then, by God’s breath."
“Amalie.” Deidre laughed. “I don’t think your aunt would approve.”
“She’s not my real aunt. She’s truly just my traveling companion.” Amalie leaned forward on the railing. The boat was surrounded by gray waves topped by white caps. No land was to be seen. “I miss home.”
“What is home like?”
“We live across the bay from Hobart Town. It’s so pretty they named it Bellerive. That means beautiful river.”
“I know,” Deidre replied.
“My father used to take me down to the bay early in the morning. If we were lucky, we’d see kangaroos gathering by the water.” Amalie leaned further over the balustrade. “There’s not much to do here, is there.”
“I imagine the days will pass pretty quickly. Did you like the music down in steerage last night?” asked Deidre. “It was fun to see the men twirling while the ladies stood by and watched
. Their feet were tapping, and so were mine. The fiddling reminds me of home.”
“Good morning, ladies.” Reverend Baxter joined them at the railing. “And a fine morning it is, beauteous and full of God’s grace.”
Murmuring assent, Deidre thought the confusion and smell in their cabin below was not full of God’s grace, though she could agree the sunlight dappling the ship as it cut through the waves was beauteous. “I can’t see the other ships travelling with us, Reverend.”
“They’re out there, never fear.” His eyes shut, the Reverend fell into prayer. “May God’s hand protect all innocent souls on this journey.” Deidre and Amalie shut their eyes obediently, but Deidre wondered if the Reverend had already heard of Kate Dallow.
“It’s an amazing sight, all those people crammed together, while we are stand here in comfort,” the Reverend said, with a sweep of his hand from steerage to the foredeck where they stood. “God's will is inscrutable.”
The women in steerage had fed their families on the main deck and were now wrestling their children in and out of great barrel tubs filled with sea-water. A few men sat on the deck in small circles, playing cards. Others, amid much teasing, climbed clumsily into the rigging to help the sailors.
The boatswain started a chant and the men pulled at the sails rhythmically, resting between the beats.
Way haul away, way haul away,
we’ll haul away the bowlin’.
Way haul away, way haul away,
the ship she is a rollin’.
Way haul away, way haul away,
we’ll hang and haul together.
Deidre and Amalie looked at each other and giggled.
“Shark, ho!” Several men raced along the deck, lashing a rope to a harpoon as they ran, their bare feet slapping on the deck.