Prison Ship

by Paul Dowswell

  We were left with our thoughts. I lay awake seething at my own stupidity and wondering what manner of man Benjamin Perrion would be.

  Chapter 12

  Exile in Exile

  We were roused at dawn by our escort and taken in our chains to a farm further down the river from the main settlement at Green Hills. My empty stomach gurgled and groaned, and I felt light-headed from hunger. Shuffling along the dusty road in the chill early morning, it was cold enough to see our breath. Bright sunshine cast long shadows over the dewy fields and I noticed how beautiful the countryside was. There were young apple, apricot and peach trees, all brought from England, sitting side by side with the most handsome native shrubs. This was a land of plenty, and I could see at once why settlers had come to this spot to farm. All around, tilled fields lay prepared for the coming winter, close to granaries filled with sacks of grain.

  How wonderful it would have been to have come here as free men rather than Perrion’s slaves. I tried not to dwell too much on the terrible reversal in our fortunes. Perhaps I was not meant for an easy life?

  We walked down a dried mud path to an impressive brick building surrounded by several smaller stores and huts. ‘There you are boys, Charlotte Farm. Make the most of it,’ said one of the soldiers. A small dog came bounding up the path to greet us, barking excitedly and wagging its tail as if possessed. Richard was confident with dogs and offered a hand for it to sniff. The dog licked it, and jumped up to be petted.

  ‘Some guard dog this is,’ said Richard.

  Bustling around the veranda of a single-storey brick house was a stout ruddy-faced man. Curly white hair sprouted from the side of his balding head, and I judged him to be fifty or so. He seemed to be bursting with mithering impatience. ‘Tinker, come back here at once, you wretched animal,’ he roared.

  He turned to look at us, then shouted into the house. ‘They’ve sent us two boys. I asked for some good solid brutes and I get boys. Marvellous, marvellous.’

  This must be Benjamin Perrion.

  He turned to greet us. ‘Good morning boys. Have you had breakfast?’ His manner was pleasant enough, as though we were not meant to have heard his previous remarks. ‘Charlotte! Tell Heaton to bring bread and scotch coffee.’

  The house looked luxurious compared with our spartan hut in Sydney, and I glimpsed inside with envy. There was a tiled floor, wallpaper, soft furnishings. I hadn’t seen furniture like this since leaving England.

  A moment later a large, thickset man walked round from the other side of the house. Perrion said, ‘This is William O’Brian, my farm manager.’

  O’Brian spoke with a slow, country drawl. Beneath his floppy, dark hair, his eyes seemed kind, even sensitive. In his manner too, he was oddly diffident for someone whose job it was to instil fear in his charges.

  ‘You boys behave yourself and you’ll be treated right. Mess me around and we’ll have to beat you.’ He didn’t sound convincing.

  Richard asked, ‘Do we work with our chains on? We’d get a lot more done with them off.’

  O’Brian let him finish before he rapped him on the back with a switch he kept in his boot. ‘You’ll talk when you’re spoken to,’ he said. But the blow was barely more than a tap. It was almost as if O’Brian had been told that was how he should treat his convict labourers, but didn’t have the heart to do so. ‘If I feel I can trust you, the chains will come off. We’ll have to see, won’t we?’

  ‘You get fed by the job here, boys,’ Perrion said. ‘Clear me an acre of timber in a week, or break up an acre of ground and that’s your full rations guaranteed. You’ll sleep in the hut next to the granary. You can chop your own wood for the fire. O’Brian will give you blankets. See him when the clothes fall off your backs. If you work well, we’ll keep you. If you’re troublesome or lazy, we’ll send you to the iron gangs. Think on. I’m not a sentimental man so don’t let me down. Now have some breakfast and then you can start felling those rubber trees over there.’

  An old woman in a filthy overall came out with a couple of mugs of scotch coffee and a hunk of bread and cheese, and we were left alone to eat. ‘Rum bunch, these settlers. They seem too soft to be out here with the re-offenders,’ commented Richard. ‘Wonder who else works here? Half the people we know down in the Rocks would eat these two alive.’

  As we ate, a woman in her thirties with lank, wispy hair came out of the house and nodded to us. Although her clothes were well cared for and she was obviously the mistress of the house, she had a blank, defeated look about her. This must be Charlotte. She had once been attractive, I could see that, but something about her life here had ground her down. Two young girls peeped round her skirt and stared at us mournfully.

  O’Brian arrived with a couple of axes. We shuffled after him into the nearby field, where we could see two other men dragging a fallen tree down to the river. ‘Mr Perrion’s just bought these riverside fields, and you’ll be clearing them for pasture,’ he said.

  ‘Please sir,’ I asked, wondering if he would hit me like he had hit Richard, ‘if we have to wear chains, could you give us some cloth to wrap around them, so as not to rub our ankles raw, sir?’ Mine were already hurting, and the weight was draining the strength from my legs.

  O’Brian looked penitent. ‘I’d have them off you today, lad, but the master insists. I’ll bring you cloth when I bring you dinner.’

  As we walked he gave us brief instructions on felling cuts, direction of fall and so on. He was concerned that we should do our work safely. ‘Felling trees is dangerous work, lads,’ he said. Didn’t we know it.

  He also warned us about the creatures that lurked in the undergrowth around the farm. ‘Keep your eyes peeled for the tiger snake – big brown thing with yellow stripes, likes to lurk in piles of timber. If that bites you, you’re as good as dead. Leave him alone and he’ll leave you alone, so don’t be too worried about him. Watch out for spiders too. Especially if you see anything that looks like a nest. Some of them have a bite that’ll kill you too.’

  O’Brian introduced us to our fellow labourers, John Barrie and William Bell. They both nodded indifferently, and carried on hauling their tree, shuffling awkwardly in their chains. O’Brian pointed to three trees and said he expected us to cut them down and haul them to the river by dinner time, then he left us to it.

  No sooner had he gone than Barrie and Bell stopped working and lit up their pipes. We went over to talk to them. ‘Savages work like dogs,’ said Barrie in a Cockney drawl. ‘And then only when you stand over them with a whip. Me and Mr Bell, we like to take things easy, don’t we Mr Bell? You boys ain’t keen are you? Better not be!’ He gave a mirthless chuckle.

  ‘O’Brian’s not cut out for this job,’ said Bell. ‘You might’ve noticed.’ I could tell by his accent that he was a Londoner too.

  Barrie squinted at us. ‘How much did he ask you to do this mornin’?’ We told him about the three trees. ‘Just do two. Then he’ll ask you less in future. He used to be one of us, y’know. Ticket of leave man, he is. Came ’ere to work for the little fat man. Three years into his sentence, Perrion liked him so much he took him on as farm manager. Don’t think they’ll be doing that with us, Mr Bell.’

  ‘Don’t think they will, Mr Barrie.’

  They had this slow, lazy way of talking, like they were some sort of theatrical act, but without the jokes.

  When we were alone, Richard said, ‘Barrie’s right I suppose, or is it Bell? If we work hard, they’ll expect more from us.’ It was difficult, even a year or so later, to get out of the Navy habit of doing everything properly and as quickly as possible. I could see how that would work against us in a place like this.

  ‘Barrie’s the smaller one, right?’ said Richard. ‘Bell’s the tall one.’

  ‘I keep getting them mixed up too,’ I said. ‘Bell tower – that’s tall. That’ll help.’

  As we toiled away, at our slower pace, I kept glancing over to Barrie and Bell. Barrie was a swarthy, stocky man. He had great mutt
on-chop whiskers either side of his broad face, and lank, thinning hair tied back in a ponytail. There was an almost permanent smile on his lips, as if he was enjoying a sly joke at someone else’s expense. He moved with a deliberate slowness, and usually had his hands in his pockets. Bell was tall and thin, with a gaunt, pointy face. His lower jaw jutted out, giving him an obstinate air. Although he moved with Barrie’s surly slowness, his eyes were forever darting to and fro. Something about them just spelt trouble. So when Barrie asked us to come over to their hut that evening we were both apprehensive.

  Barrie poured us both a tot of rum from a bottle he kept in the corner. The hut they shared was similar to ours. There was just a single room inside. The place was well maintained and they had built themselves a bed apiece and lived in some comfort. The conversation started awkwardly.

  ‘Do Perrion or O’Brian ever let you out of your chains?’ said Richard.

  They both swore horribly. ‘He did once,’ said Bell. ‘But I nipped into his kitchen and borrowed a bit o’ tea. Had me flogged for that, the bastard. Chains went back on the both of us too, and we can’t get him to take ’em off.’ His tone of voice suggested he thought this was monstrously unfair.

  Barrie gave a little chuckle. ‘Before we came out here from Sydney, Mr Bell had been flogged so often it was no skin off his back – ’cept it was, of course.’

  ‘You can laugh, ye smug git,’ said Bell. ‘You didn’t like it much when they nailed your ears to the pillory.’ I could still see the scars.

  For an awful moment I thought they were going to have a fight. ‘So what did you get sent out here for?’ I said, eager to move the conversation on.

  Barrie was happy to tell us. ‘I’m a forger, me. Best ten pound note you’ll ever see in your life. Wills, marriage certificates, letters. Sentenced to death in 1794, sent over ’ere a year on. Made a good living as a clerk until some nosy bugger noticed I was victualling a chain gang out in Richmond Hill – one that wasn’t there. I was making a few quid a week from that one. I know who it was shopped me, too. When I get back to Sydney, they’ll be having a little accident.’

  Bell was not proud of his own downfall, so it was left to Barrie to tell us. ‘Only went and stole some lead off a roof in Whitechapel, didn’t he. Nothing wrong with that, but it was snowing at the time, and they just followed the footprints back to his house a couple of streets away. Then, after he got sent over here, he got caught by the constables stealing vegetables from some officer’s garden. So he was packed off here with me.’

  We told the pair of them why we had been sent to the farm. I embroidered the story about Gray. ‘Told him to keep his nose out of it,’ I laughed, trying to make myself look game. ‘Officers need taking down a peg, cocky bastards.’

  I felt foolish, trying to sound tough and rebellious for these London crooks, and their expressions suggested they didn’t believe half of what I was saying. But we were stuck with them for the next few years, so I thought we ought to try to get on with them.

  ‘We got packed off to an iron gang,’ said Bell, ‘when we was first sent out ’ere. Six month, chained together eight at a time, clearing the roads out to Richmond. Gets a bit old after a week, that does. When the sun goes down they put you in a big wooden box on wheels that’s pulled out there by a couple o’ horses. If you need to piss in the night, you have to get all the rest of the gang to come with you. It’s so small you can’t sit down nor stand up proper. Only time the chains came off was when someone died. Fellow next to me coughed himself to death during the night. We had to pick him up either side – stone cold he was – and take him out the box. Buried him then and there at the side of the road, they did.’

  This was what Perrion had threatened us with, if we ruffled his feathers. Here we were, one step away. It was like standing on the edge of a sheer cliff and peering over.

  Out of the blue Barrie asked us, ‘You boys planning on running away? You got seven years o’ this in front of you.’

  I shook my head. ‘We’re in enough trouble already.’

  Richard chimed in. ‘I think we’re going to sit this out until we can go back to Sydney. What about you?’

  Barrie gave one of his little half-smiles. ‘Might be, might not be. If you fancy it, let us know.’

  It was a grim life on Charlotte Farm, but no worse in its discomfort and cruelty than the one we had lived in the Navy. At first we kept a constant look out for snakes and spiders. I saw the yellow-banded snakes from time to time, but after a couple of weeks I decided they were more frightened of me than I was of them, and that put my fear of being bitten to the back of my mind.

  Our real punishment was the monotony of our work and the lack of companionship that had made being at sea more bearable. Barrie and Bell were happy to leave Richard and me to do the lion’s share of the work. I kept hoping we’d wake up one morning and find they’d run away, or that they would irritate Perrion so much he would send them somewhere else. But they knew exactly how little they could get away with and still escape the wrath of their master.

  Although I was never allowed in the farmhouse, I could glimpse through its windows to see its luxurious interior. There was a mahogany piano, of an upright design, and Perrion would play morning and evening as the fancy took him. I often wondered how something as fragile and heavy as a piano had managed to make such a journey from England. O’Brian told me Perrion had bought it at auction in Sydney for three hundred guineas. I could barely imagine making so much money in my life.

  Perrion was a man of conflicting moods. How he was feeling was often reflected in the music he played on that piano. When his music was wild and agitated, we knew he would be out to curse and beat us as we worked. If it was soft and melancholy, he would be polite and even concerned with our wellbeing.

  His wife played the piano as well. From her we heard only hymns. She seemed gripped by a quiet desperation. The two daughters were podgy, graceless girls who looked like their father. At first I hoped they would befriend us – we needed friends out here with only Barrie and Bell for company. But they kept a haughty distance and I soon grew irritated by their sullen, unsmiling faces staring at us from out of the window.

  O’Brian continued to direct us in our labour. He knew we worked hard, and in return he would bring us extra rations – bread, biscuits or a couple of apples, which he would give us surreptitiously when he was sure no one could see him. One morning a month or so after we had arrived, he told us, ‘You and Richard are good lads. I know you work a lot harder than that pair of useless clods. When I think it’s the right moment I’ll ask the master about taking your chains off. I’m sure you can be trusted. You won’t let me down now will you?’

  A week passed, and O’Brian said nothing more. Then, out of the blue, he told us he was riding on horseback to Sydney with Perrion that morning and he would ask him about our shackles on the journey. ‘The master’s pleased with the way the field’s shaping up,’ he said with a smile. ‘This’ll be a good time to ask.’

  All day we waited, then the next. The following morning we saw Perrion returning alone. He looked quite despondent.

  ‘So where the hell is O’Brian?’ Richard said to me.

  Something was up.

  ‘Maybe he’s gone to another farm? Got a better offer?’ I said. ‘Don’t suppose he felt he could mention it to us.’ I felt cheated and angry with O’Brian for raising our hopes and then deserting us.

  Perrion came to our hut later in the day. He was grave and sober, like a parson at a funeral.

  ‘I have some sad news for you boys. Mr O’Brian fell from his horse on the way to Sydney. He broke his neck.’

  ‘Will he be all right? Will he recover?’ I asked. This was terrible news. For him and for us.

  Perrion looked irritated. ‘He’s dead, you stupid boy. Tell Barrie and Bell for me, will you. Right now I can’t bear the thought of their smirking, stupid faces.’

  I decided not to ask him about the shackles. As O’Brian had said, there was
a right moment to ask.

  Perrion oversaw us every day after that. His moods were as unpredictable as ever, but without O’Brian around to protect him he was less inclined to hit us as we worked. One day he spoke to us as we took a break from chopping wood.

  ‘I’ve appointed a new farm manager,’ he told us. ‘He’s coming up here in a week or two. He’s a Navy man, like you two boys. Used to be a bosun’s mate.’

  My heart sank.

  ‘Could I ask you his name, sir?’ I said.

  ‘Lewis Tuck. Fine figure of a man. Don’t imagine he’ll stand for any slacking.’

  ‘He won’t believe his luck when he finds it’s us he’s looking after,’ said Richard. ‘He’ll work us to death, and Bell and Barrie.’

  I could imagine exactly what Tuck would make of Bell and Barrie. He would see them as a challenge, and I suspected Tuck was a man who liked a challenge. Years of back-breaking labour, sadistic beatings and floggings stretched ahead. Before O’Brian had died I had begun to tell myself that we were going to survive this farm. Now I was convinced we would die here.

  We told our companions about Tuck and what they could expect. Out of the blue Barrie made an announcement. ‘Well that’s it. We’re going. Me and Mr Bell have been hatching a plot to get away for several months now. You coming with us?’

  We had never thought of escaping. ‘Where are you going to go?’ I said. ‘Come and see us tonight,’ said Barrie. ‘We’ll have ourselves a little chat.’

  ‘Is this wise?’ said Richard as soon as we were alone. ‘I wouldn’t trust Bell and Barrie as far as I could throw them, never mind run away with them.’

  ‘Neither would I,’ I said. ‘But I want to get away from here before Tuck arrives. I wouldn’t know where to start plotting an escape, so let’s see what they’ve got to say.’

  That evening we sat around a fire they made in their hut. We all had a tot of rum and started to plan our escape.