Winston glanced a warning at me. Together we asked enough questions about my Master’s work in the dispensary to divert his attention.
After we finished our suppers, my Master gave me a stiff swig of rum. Then he commanded me to sit on a stool and open my mouth. He reached inside with a special tool he uses for such operations. Enough to say that the tooth was so rotten it snapped in two as he pulled it out. It took him a long time to remove the pieces. Then he swabbed the wound with a clean rag dipped in tea-tree tincture.
I bled all over my bodice and the pain is most severe. My cheek is swollen to double its size. Even if we did have more to eat, my jaw would be too sore to chew on it.
But we are so short of food. My arms and legs are nothing but skin and bone. And no matter how often I wet my hair to smooth it, the texture is coarse and brittle. Also, my fingernails splinter too easily and my belly is as swollen as if I had just eaten a whole chicken. The others look much the same. My Master says lack of food causes our bodies to grow old before their time.
Though it is very late, he has kindly allowed me a little extra oil for the lantern so I can record today’s events. I think that he likes to see me filling this journal, though he never asks to read what I have written. If he did, I do not know what I could say. Perchance there are things in here that will offend him.
Wednesday 26th May
My Master left shortly before sunrise for the dispensary. He told me that he would not be home until well after sunset. Not long after, I heard shouting. I went outside to see a group of men vanishing along the track leading inland. Back inside I stared at Winston. The same question was in both our eyes. What was happening to Simple Sam?
Winston pulled on a shirt and set off after the crowd.
I had much to do. But while I fed Emily a little porridge made from boiled rice, my knees trembled with anxiety. Poor Sam. What was happening to him? An hour later, Winston returned. He did not have to speak. His face told me everything.
I sank onto the stool and closed my eyes. I knew Sam was dead. My mind’s eye saw his poor body swinging in the breeze on Gallows Hill. Then I remembered the stolen child. ‘Did they find her?’
Winston slowly nodded. ‘This is the terrible thing,’ he said. ‘The girl is alive and well. The mother had drunk so much rum she had totally forgotten where her child was.’
Suddenly Emily started to cough and wheeze. Before I could rush to her aid, she had thrown up all her breakfast. I was about to scold her for wasting food and for not vomiting into the bucket when I realised that she was fighting for air. Winston helped her clean the vomit off herself. Meanwhile, as my Master had instructed, I filled a pan with hot water, and poured into it a few drops of my Master’s mixture that he makes from crushed tea-tree leaves. We held Emily’s head over the fumes. This seemed to relieve the wheezing. But her cheeks and lips were so drained of blood they seemed almost blue.
Because I could see that this attack was a very bad one, and would probably last a long time, I asked Winston to go to the dispensary and bring his papa home.
Half an hour later, my Master was examining Emily very thoroughly. He decided that a chill had settled on her chest, and that we must watch over her every minute. ‘Lizzie,’ he said, ‘I have too many sick patients to care for and I cannot stay. I have every confidence in you and I charge you with Emily’s complete care.’
I gulped and nodded.
Now we are entirely alone. Winston had to return to the barracks, but he has promised to be back before nightfall. In the meantime Emily is running a fever. Her little body feels as if it might burn up. I write in this journal between wiping her face with a wet cloth, sponging her body and trying to force a little water between her lips. But she cannot hold anything down. She is really very sick. When Winston came home and saw how poorly she was, he ran to fetch his papa.
Emily is sleeping, though still very restless. I write in my journal while I wait for the others to return.
Thursday 27th May
Emily is still sick. My Master and I stayed up most of the night trying to bring her fever down. This morning I was too tired to manage any housework. Shortly after sunrise my Master returned to the hospital, leaving Emily in my care. Though I sponged her body and dribbled water between her parched lips, she is no better.
Winston came home at midday. He offered to look after her while I went to fill the water buckets.
The weather is cool and dry. What rain we had came at the wrong time. So much wet in February and so little now. The crops are not flourishing. Even my little seeds refuse to sprout.
As I walked along the track hardly anyone was about. Then I remembered Winston saying that people have become too weak and dispirited to tackle any serious chores. Still, it is surprising to meet so few folk on what is usually a busy path.
Halfway to the river, I came across Mistress Jane Chapman carrying two laden buckets. She set them down long enough to inquire about the Surgeon and his family’s health. She was most concerned when I told her how ill Emily was. She quickly offered to look after her if I was needed elsewhere. She is a good kind woman, even if she does reek of rum. ‘If ships don’t come soon,’ she said at last, ‘we will all surely die.’
I said, ‘How do people manage?’
‘Why, many are half-mad with starvation.’
I stared at her in dismay. ‘Does this mean they kill themselves?’
‘One poor soul has done as much. She ate her entire week’s ration as soon as she received it, and died shortly after of overeating.’ She laughed as if she found this most amusing.
I have noticed that the worse our conditions become, the more people must laugh or give way under the strain. A bone stripped of all meat is a ‘Sydney Cove steak’. An empty dish is a ‘Port Jackson stew’. A vegetable peeling is a ‘Botany Bay pineapple’.
Mistress Jane said, ‘It seems that this poor woman ate uncooked rice and it expanded and exploded her belly.’
My eyes widened in alarm. ‘Surely not everyone is so crazed by hunger?’
She stopped smiling. ‘I know of other women who sacrifice their own rations so their children will not starve. Others who use every wile and trick to steal their partners’ food. Some are said to even eat snails, spiders, grass, leaves, dirt …’
Though I was in a great hurry to get back to Emily, I could not help cutting in, ‘Surely things are not so bad on Norfolk Island. Perhaps we should all have sailed with Captain Ross?’
She chuckled. ‘The Governor finds Ross most argumentative and disagreeable. But the man’s luck is in. On Norfolk Island there are many green turtles and mutton-birds to eat, though their taste is fishy and horrid.’
‘When you are hungry, taste does not matter,’ I said dryly, and we went our different ways.
But she has left me much to think about. What a sorry state we are in. We have waited so long for the Second Fleet to arrive. I am beginning to think that they are all lost at sea. Only Governor Phillip’s wise rule stops us from descending into mutiny and death.
These and other sad thoughts filling my mind, I collected my buckets and set off for home. All the way I told myself that Emily will be so much better. That when I walk in, she will raise her head and smile.
Winston met me at the door, tears rolling down his cheeks. In the short time I had been gone Emily had fallen into a deep trance. I listened to her chest. Her breath is so forced, it is doubtful that she can survive. Winston has gone to fetch my Master. No matter what is happening in the hospital or how much he is needed, he should, he must be here with Emily.
Friday 28th May
Emily is still no better. She cannot breathe. Her wheeze grows louder by the hour. Both her papa and her brother sit by her pallet. Though an icy blast comes through the open window, we have made the room warm as possible. My Master continues with his tea-tree mixtures in an attempt to ease her chest. So far nothing does.
Just before sunset there was an unexpected burst of thunder. I raced outside. Was
this the cannon telling us that a sail has been sighted? From here I could see other folk racing towards the shore. I stayed there looking out to sea. But the horizon was empty. I saw nothing. Nothing.
Saturday 29th May
Emily drew her last breath in the early hours of this morning. Now her dear face is at last peaceful. She looks as if she is about to open her eyes and talk to us. I try to draw comfort from knowing that she and her dear mama have been reunited. Though her papa does not weep, his eyes seem to burn holes in their sockets.
But nothing will console Winston. He cries and cries. He suffers doubly now that he has lost both his mama and two sisters. I feel so sorry for him and for his papa, and for myself too …
I wish I knew a way of making us feel better.
I spent most of today sitting in Emily’s favourite spot overlooking the harbour. This way, I can pretend that she is still with me.
Monday 31st May
These last days have passed in a dream. Each time I leave the hut to fetch water and firewood, I expect to come home to find Emily waiting for me.
Everywhere I look, everything my eyes alight upon, reminds me of her. This house is filled with her presence: her clothes, her hobbyhorse that we carried all the way from Rose Hill, her doll, her wooden top. I keep on waiting for her to run inside and call to me.
We buried her under a stand of red gums not far from here. Winston fashioned a small wooden cross and wrote her name upon it. He says that shortly he will shape a tombstone. Then he will carve on it:
EMILY MARY RUSSELL
(b. September 1785—d. May 1790)
Her body may lie there, but her memory will stay with me forever.
Today both the Surgeon and Winston returned to their duties. I think that for them this is best. But I do not know what to do with myself. Whereas before I was always so busy, always had too much to do, suddenly I find myself wandering in aimless circles. Tears roll down my cheeks. I cannot stop crying. I weep for all the people I have lost. The tears never seem to end. I cannot believe that I still have so much crying left in me.
Also, and this seems so selfish while Emily still lies warm in her grave, hunger forms a hollow in my belly. Hunger makes me so weary I could sleep away the nights and half the days. But when I sleep, I dream. And then my dreams are plagued with images of freshly baked bread. Creamy milk and butter from Mama’s cow. Mutton pies covered in gravy. New season peas, beans and apples. Wild strawberries and berries plucked from the hedgerows.
I wish that I were not so tired. All I want to do is sleep.
Tuesday 1st June
We have no food. My Master sent me to gather shellfish. I walked as far as Lieutenant Dawes’s observatory. This being a very long way from our hut, it took me two hours to get there. But when I knocked on Lieutenant Dawes’s door, no-one was about.
The last time Emily and I came here, I had noticed how the house was not far from a cliff. Below it was a wide band of rocks. They were the kind of rocks where oysters flourish.
Perchance this was not the best time to go looking for shellfish. The wind was high, the tide only half out. I felt weak from too much hunger & despair.
The cliff face was covered in pale green succulents. Hanging onto them to steady myself, I slid down to where the sea hit the rocks. On their inner side, the sides not facing out to sea, I could see rich oyster beds. I think there were enough to keep us in food for several days. What I had not realised was how sharp those rocks were. Or how hard it would be to balance myself on the rocks’ slippery surfaces. Or how wild was the sea.
I was reaching forward to loosen a fat oyster when a white-crested wave swept me off my perch. The wave carried my bucket and knife out to sea, and tried to make me follow. Just in time I managed to cling to a rock where I waited for the wave to subside.
My hands scratched and bleeding, I slid further along the shelf to look for my tools. No sign of the knife. But about ten yards out, the bucket bobbed along the waves.
Tears rolled down my cheeks. Yet another calamity amongst so many. Both knife and bucket would be missed. I had no means of replacing them. My Master would be angry.
I turned to climb back to the top of the cliff. But the way up was much harder than coming down. Halfway, my foot slipped and sent an avalanche of mud and rocks tumbling into the sea.
I glanced down. That was a mistake. My stomach lurched. I swayed and felt dizzy. Waves poured over the rock where I had just stood.
I swayed a little more. One more moment, and I was about to fall …
I closed my eyes and waited for my heart to stop pounding.
Only two more steps, I told myself, and you will be safe.
I grasped a saltbush growing at the very edge of the cliff. To my horror, the branch was too brittle to hold up my weight. It snapped in two. My only luck was that my other hand still clung to a protruding ledge. But I could go no further. Meanwhile, dozens of seagulls wheeled above my head. Thinking I had come to raid their nests for eggs, they cawed angrily at me.
Only one more move, I told myself, and you will be safe.
But I had not an ounce of energy left within me. Not even enough to save myself from falling, nor to prevent myself from being dashed against those rocks.
Instead I hung there, poised between heaven and hell, and without that last effort needed to haul myself into safety. Another moment and I would fall. Another moment and I would be dead. And perhaps this would not be so bad. Then I would no longer have to live with hunger and despair as my constant companions …
I have heard that in the few moments before people drown, their whole life passes before their eyes. Something like that happened to me.
Edward, you may find this hard to believe, but as in a dream I saw myself as a small child with you running beside me, and coming home to a warm supper and loving parents. I saw Mama and Papa become ill and die. Then myself as an apprentice, racing along the streets of London. I saw the years in Newgate Prison alongside Sarah, and our life in the hulks. The long, long voyage and these last two years in Port Jackson.
As if all memory had turned into water, that stream of remembrance flowed over me. But as I clung semiconscious to the cliff face, a woman’s voice spoke inside my head. It sounded very much like our own dear mama’s voice, though now I wonder if perhaps God was speaking through her? The voice said that I had seen too much, that I had come too far, to die in such a forlorn place. The voice commanded me to go on living.
I took a deep breath, and hauled myself up.
Then I was flat on my back, staring up at a sky circling above me. I was looking up at swooping seagulls and fluffy white clouds while the sun burnt a hole in my head.
I closed my eyes and waited for the reddish flashes in front of my eyes to disappear. For the hammering in my ears to stop. For my breathing to slow down.
I must have fallen into a deep slumber. Suddenly Emily was standing right in front of me. She seemed so vibrant and alive, my heart leapt with pleasure at seeing her thus. She beckoned to me, crying that her mama wanted to thank me for looking after her so well. I told her how pleased I was to see her this happy. But then I added, ‘How can I go with you? You are dead and I am still alive. Besides,’ I added as she was about to protest, ‘my own mama tells me that I must stay here.’
‘Then we will wait for the right time to be together,’ she promised, & with that she kissed me and I woke up.
I lay there musing over my dream. Emily seemed so content, as did our own dear mama. Could these spirits really have spoken to me? Then I decided that even if these were just figments of my imagination, that I should tell Winston some of this. Might this not comfort him a little?
Wednesday 2nd June
After I confessed yesterday’s mishap, my Master was more upset that I might have drowned or fallen to my death than at the loss of the bucket and knife. We have eaten all our rations. I have nothing to prepare for tonight’s meal. But my Master has promised me that he will bring home some vegetables. He
says that one of the convicts has an abscessed leg. My Master has promised to lance it for him. Though the wound contains a lot of pus (and this suggests it will get better of its own accord), the convict has pledged some potatoes and carrots in return.
I have yet to talk to Winston. He stays on duty at the barracks until tomorrow. Perchance I will tell him about yesterday’s dream. Was my hearing Mama’s voice and seeing little Emily just visions? Either way, I know that Emily is far happier now than when she was alive.
I have more fire in me today. I have managed to sweep and dust the hut, and collect more water and firewood. I have even dug over my vegetable patch. My seeds have started to sprout tiny green shoots. Now I must nourish the bed the way our papa and mama did back home. Perchance I will find some horse-droppings near the barracks.
In the late afternoon, I walked as far as Governor Phillip’s house. There was the usual group waiting to speak with him. They were quarrelling so much I could hear them as I was coming down the track. Truly it is a great man who can manage such an unruly bunch of officers, seamen & convicts. They say that the Governor has a very stubborn spirit, that he lacks the necessary grace to become a great gentleman; but I think that it is rare to find a ruler who is so impartial. He has even handed over his private stock of flour to be shared around the colony.
My Master tells me that he heard Governor Phillip insist that we would not starve. ‘As soon as the first ship from England arrives,’ he promises, ‘our present sufferings will be over.’ I pray that he is right.
When I got home, both Winston and my Master were waiting for me. My Master said, ‘Look at what I have brought for you, Scheherazade. Potatoes and carrots for our supper. But first,’ he pulled out a bench for me to sit on, ‘we have something to tell you.’
Surviving Sydney Cove Page 10