As usual the drumbeats marked the end of our day. William torched a bonfire out in the yard. The flames crackled high. Embers flew out into the air. Those of like mind took up their torches until smoke dotted the township. We bowed our heads in prayer to speed the souls of the Atlas dead on their way.
10 July 1802
Today by chance I happened upon Bridget. For the past two months I had not set eyes on her, when there she was, standing at the crossroad, her hair grown long and chestnut-wild, tumbling from her bonnet. With her was Master Green-eyes. Both were cradling baskets of cabbages. I called out.
Master Green-eyes muttered something to her and continued on his way. Beckoning me over, Bridget placed her basket on the ground and brushed herself down.
She greeted me in a warm embrace. ‘Pay no heed to Joe,’ she said, ‘he is in no mind to speak to anyone. His anger is over the Atlas, and the Hercules too. That ship’s evil captain has not been held to proper account. Did you know he was only found guilty of one count of manslaughter and fined but a pittance, when he should have been hanged for the murder of thirteen? The spilt blood of Irish prisoners of the Crown matters nothing.’ She endeavoured to put on a brave face. ‘Happy I am though to speak with you, dear-o, in spite of these terrible times. Cheer me up with some tidings of your own. Tell me, is your mumma still playing billy-o with everyone? Have you crossed paths with Meg?’
I answered both questions in the one breath, ‘Would you expect any different? And yes, on Saint George’s Day. But what of you?’ I asked, trying to lift her spirits. ‘Is Joe your sweetheart?’
She gave a slight smile. ‘In a roundabout way. He calls me his own wife, his colleen bawn. Deep down he is a darling lad with a passionate spirit. A true patriot, who has committed no crime other than to fight bravely for his country. For that he was sent here without even a trial. Still, some good fortune has come our way being assigned to Duriault who asks no more of us than he would do himself. In the heat of the summer he stripped to the waist and worked alongside Joe and the other assigned labourers. His vines are set to become valuable pickings.’
‘Master Duriault must require many tools,’ I said unguardedly. Ooh! Oh! I slapped my hand over my mouth. What was I doing, confessing to being a witness to their unlawful trade?
‘You did follow us!’ Bridget exclaimed. ‘I suspected as much.’ Her eyes took on a worried look and flickered across in the direction Joe had gone. ‘I urge you, do not utter a word about what you saw. If anyone finds out—’ She broke off, pressed my hand. ‘You know yourself there are many patriots already in the colony. No doubt even more will be sent. If I confide in you—.’ She went silent, before saying, ‘What if I tell you Master Duriault is actually a French prisoner of war and has sympathy for our Irish cause? What if I tell you there is a group of us meeting in secret? What if I say we are stockpiling weapons: sticks, tools, pikes, blunderbusses, muskets, pistols, whatever we can use to fight with?’
‘You would have the colony in revolt?’ I shook my head. ‘Surely no good shall come from waging war here in New South Wales.’
‘Some tried last year, but failed.’
I was already aware of how the Judge’s Loyal volunteers had crushed those skirmishes. ‘Are you not fearful of the Governor’s proclamation,’ I whispered. ‘He is bound to punish you harshly.’
‘That is why you must keep our secret. I know I can put my trust in you. We are family, remember?’
Bridget’s words to me on the Nile the day we had first met in the hold came rushing back. Wrenching me over to share her berth, she had said, ‘We may as well call ourselves family, dear-o, since we shall be living so snug while we are sailing these high seas.’
Those words had bound us together. And did not family help each other? Without any more thought I blurted out, ‘I know the whereabouts of a musket.’
Bridget was taken aback. ‘You do? Where?’
‘Hidden in bushland.’
‘Can you retrieve it?’ I felt the force of Bridget’s hand as she clasped mine. ‘Do not agree lightly. Understand the importance of keeping quiet, the consequences of being caught. You know what our punishment will be—a lashing, an iron collar, the pillory. For the men, hard labour for life. We rebels have a reason to climb a burning rope, but you, dear-o, do not.’
I shrugged.
‘In four days’ time I can be over this way,’ said Bridget. ‘Will you meet me?’
I gave Bridget my word, knowing I was making a promise that I may not be able to keep, that I may regret. If Ann were with me she would be warning me to keep well away from trouble. I could almost hear her voice saying: ‘Think of the dangers involved. Bridget is sure to be caught. Would you put an end to all our future plans together?’ Lawdy, how did I always end up in such a pickle?
14 July 1802
My promise to Bridget depended on me making an arrangement with Mumma. She scoffed and grumbled when I begged her to allow me to spend an afternoon away. But this morning she handed me a fake pass from Master Larra, along with a warning. ‘I do not care to know what you are up to, but if you are caught you did not get this pass from me.’
Bridget met me with a horse and dray. She told me that Joe was over in Port Jackson with Master Duriault and not due back for several days. We found ourselves on the main road, stuck behind a slow-moving bullock cart laden with wool. Rain bit into our faces. We spread a shawl over our heads and shoulders, protecting ourselves as best as we could.
It was then I remembered there was no powder or shot with the musket.
‘Not to worry,’ Bridget replied, ‘All being well, Joe will soon have a supply.’
I peeped out from under the shawl. ‘From where?’
‘Sympathisers. From the French ships. They are willing to do more trades for vegetables.’
I turned pale at this turn of events. Bridget tried to reassure me. ‘They understand our plight. Why, this very day thirteen years ago their own people rose up in Paris, stormed a prison, the Bastille, and freed all the prisoners.’
‘All? Weren’t there only seven?’ I ventured.
‘The point, dear-o, was they freed them in the name of liberty and equality. To start a revolution. To set up a republic.’
‘Too bad we never had Newgate Day while I was in gaol,’ I remarked drily. I did not recall ever meeting one turnkey willing to unlock that hulking prison gate for any of us.
Our conversation turned to the on-again, off-again war between France and England, for news had reached the colony that the peace was official. ‘I bet Commander Baudin and Governor King are taking turns right now toasting each other’s nation,’ I said. ‘The pair have become friends and meet nearly every day.’
‘Do they indeed?’ she remarked.
I gripped Bridget’s arm. ‘We are close. Hide the dray off the road.’
We tucked up our petticoats and shifts, and began the trudge through the undergrowth. The rain had eased, but fallen twigs, leaves and branches made the way confusing. I despaired where ever had I hid John’s musket. Somewhere? Here? No. Over there? No.
At last I found my bearings and was soon bent over a tree hollow. My nose filled with the smell of wet eucalypt. I felt my way through the bark and twigs that concealed the opening, until my fingers came in contact with cold metal.
Bridget grabbed the musket and rubbed away some of the dirt. ‘This muzzle is in need of a scrape.’ She went off to fumble around in the dirt for a suitable twig.
Suddenly from behind me came a smothering hand, slapping hard across my mouth and muffling my scream. My string necklace was ripped from my throat. I lashed out with my fists. Someone made a grab at my legs. I landed a swift kick before they dragged me down.
‘Stand off!’ Bridget shouted, reappearing with the musket, directing her aim at the menacing vipers who had me pinned to the ground.
One had a graze under his left eyebrow. He fixed his eyes firmly on the firearm and his tongue licked to moisten his mouth. ‘Oi!’ he muttered,
‘you girls being the same as us should understand our desperation.’
Bridget nudged towards him with the musket. ‘Think I am afraid of using this?’ The pair backed away. ‘Come over here, dear-o!’ she called to me.
As I tried to shake myself out of a stupor there was a stir in the bushes. Three native fellas emerged and closed in on us. Warrior cuts scarred their cheeks and chests. Their hair was sticky with possum fat, giving off a powerful odour. They carried poker-like sticks and long spears. Bridget swung the gun in their direction and they stepped back.
One stared at my broken necklace lying on the earth and spoke. Lawdy! I did not understand his throaty talk but glad I was for offering him the eggs that day. ‘They mean no harm!’ I cried out to Bridget.
She hesitated, then turned the gun back on the pair of rogues. Uniting with Bridget the native fellas raised their weapons at the scoundrels, who turned on their heels and dashed away into the bush.
I scrambled over to Bridget, and signalled a thank you to my egg fella, offering him back the necklace. ‘A fair exchange, you could say.’
‘Bin give back good and proper dat,’ he answered and gave me a grin. With some urgency his companions beckoned him to hurry. Their concerned eyes had never left the musket. As they faded back into the bushland relief washed over me. Bridget too.
She looked at me puzzled. ‘What was that all about?’
‘You can thank the Judge’s fowl. That was my egg fella.’
‘If the one being hunted was with them, a bounty hunter could be close behind.’
‘Ain’t you heard? They shot Pemulwuy already.’ I grimaced. ‘The Judge said they put his skull in a jar and sent it off on the whaler Speedy, so Sir Joseph Banks can make a study for science.’
‘Against decency to treat someone like a specimen,’ Bridget said in disgust.
‘Ain’t we all fair game?’ I mused, thinking of what Hetty had told me the first day I met her. ‘We certainly were to them two rogues.’
‘Surely they were out to harm us,’ Bridget agreed. Her attention steered back to the musket. ‘Joe will have to clean this before it is of any use.’ She caught my worried frown. ‘I often wonder where all this will end myself. Come, dear-o, we had best be returning.’
17 July 1802
William burst in with news that soldiers had arrested some of Commander Baudin’s crew for selling gunpowder on shore. My immediate thoughts flew to Joe.
‘No one else has been nabbed, have they?’ I asked, my heart all a-thumping.
‘All I know is them sailors were caught red-handed and are due to be court martialled,’ he replied.
What if they have passed on Joe’s name?
22 July 1802
No news concerning Joe. The only tidings brought to us this week were that Captain Flinders has left on the next leg of his expedition. Investigator always reminds me of Spithead. A year has passed since I sailed from there. Two years since I saw my own dadda. I most dearly hope the widow and her son have his welfare in mind.
Stop these painful reminiscences, I have had to keep telling myself. Better instead to dream of building a peaceful future here, with Ann and Tibs. Yes, this was where my thoughts should be leading. Perchance this could be the only way I would ever be able to help Dadda. But how could the future ever be peaceful if Joe was caught and let slip my involvement in a rebel plot?
4 August 1802
The worst has happened. Poor Joe has been found out over his part in the gunpowder trading. He has been lashed. I cannot bear to be in the Judge’s presence, for it was he who handed down Joe’s punishment. Such a merciless lashing! I see why the whip goes by the name Cat. The knot tails cut deep into the flesh. They rip and tear at the skin as if the wounds are being inflicted by claws. They say the scars last forever.
They wanted to lash Joe until he named the others involved, but he would tell them nothing. If not for the public outcry I think they would have lashed him to death. Instead they shackled his legs, intent on sending him to Coal River. Master Duriault pleaded for him to go instead as a labourer to the Government Farm at Toongabbie. He said Joe was a strong and hard worker. That he had worked three times as hard as others when planting and tending the vines. That it would be a crime to break him. The Governor relented, although Joe has been set to work over at Castle Hill, not Toongabbie, clearing the land for a bigger Government Farm.
It pains me to think of Joe’s suffering. Rightly or wrongly, no one should suffer as he did. Yes, I know he did wrong by the law. Ain’t I done that too by keeping the knowledge of the musket a secret? Such thoughts drag me low.
7 August 1802
Bridget sent an urchin with a message for me. He stayed out of sight until he saw me alone on the verandah. Joe’s health is on the mend. But she is fearful that the strong heart that helped pull him through is raging with even more anger. I was to be reassured that he never revealed a word about the musket. He has been working with a grim determination clearing the land. She fears—she knows—he will do something more.
That little serious-faced boy said, ‘Bridget told me I shouldna leave until you swear an oath. You must put her and Joe out of your thoughts, for you can do no more to help.’ He held out his hand. ‘Spit on’t,’ he said, ‘I willna leave until you do.’
Lawdy! He gave me no choice.
13 August 1802
So far I have honoured my promise by trying to put all thoughts aside of Bridget and Joe’s troubles. In truth, my attention has been taken up by the caged live birds that have taken up residence on our verandah, along with dead beetles, butterflies and reptiles. A colourful Rose Hiller squawks away all day on its perch, while a young swan keeps trying in vain to spread its wings. The Judge and his acquaintances have donated them all for Commander Baudin’s scientific collection.
Not that Mumma believed me, but I swear I only opened the cage this morning to have a closer look at that screeching cockatoo’s yellow crest. Oh, if only it had not pecked at me and escaped. Flying through the open double doors into the library! Crashing about! Messing down the walls and on the Judge’s books and furniture! I rushed inside and slammed the double doors shut to try and contain it.
Hearing the bedlam, Mistress Poppy turned up to investigate.
‘Help me,’ I called out, ‘this bird is after pecking out my eyes.’
All I got back was reproach. ‘Wait until Father hears what you have done.’
‘You must not tell hi—,’ I began, then changed tack, ‘Get in here at once and help me net this bird. Or do you want me to tell him that yesterday you were pointing one of his duelling pistols at your little sister?’
Poppy faltered. ‘You allowed us to. We were only playing a game.’
‘Do you think your father will understand?’
Sensing her loss, Poppy stomped off, abandoning me to the wayward cockatoo. I dove for shelter under a table and tried to work out my next move. Bravely, I jumped up and threw a coverlet over the bird, rushing out the flapping bundle to the verandah and securing it back in the cage. I swear if Commander Baudin himself was not the beneficiary, I would truss and sauce that feathery squawker, then serve it up for dinner!
15 August 1802
The Commander was here all afternoon. During his visit I crouched on the verandah, my shift tucked under me, cleaning away the last of the bird droppings, and feeling sorely glad to see the back of that troublesome cockatoo. I took my time so I could hear the chatter coming through the open double doors.
The all too familiar tinkle of fine crystal signalled the Judge and his guest were topping up their drinks. I heard the delicate pitter-patter of shoes on the timber floor as the little mistresses entered the library. Before long the Commander was entertaining them with the story of how he came to be in charge of this Voyage of Discovery. He spoke some English—paradiddle! The Judge spoke some French—sing song! Between them, the pair made the tale understandable.
A waft of pipe smoke drifted outside. As quietly as I could I
tried to clear the tickle from my throat.
The Commander began to describe an expedition he had previously made to the West Indies. ‘Whilst there I put together my first collection,’ he said. ‘I returned with thousands of butterflies, insects, plants and seeds; hundreds of animals; seven cases of coral; starfish and crabs; shells and stuffed birds. On my return to Paris there was a grand parade through the streets. At the head were trees never before seen by French citizens. A coconut palm. A banana tree. Some papaw. The people could not believe the variety of plants and animals that exist around the world. Napoleon wished also to mark his victorious campaign in Italy by parading his spoils of war—’
I heard Mistress Tessa interrupt, ‘Napoleon is the Giant Bonaparte!’
The Commander coughed, then continued indulgently, ‘There were lions, bears, camels, splendid works of art by Raphael and Titian. How our citizens cheered.’
The little mistress filled the pause with her sweet singing voice. ‘And he’ll beat you, beat you, beat you, And he’ll beat you all to pap—’ There was a sudden gasp. I heard Mistress Poppy chide her: ‘Hush, Teresa.’ But the little mistress failed to understand that the song would offend the Commander. She continued on gaily, ‘And he’ll eat you, eat you, eat you, Every morsel, snap, snap, sna—’
‘That will be enough, Teresa!’ the Judge himself snapped, abruptly cutting off the little songbird.
There was an awkward silence. I imagined Mistress Poppy’s mouth turning downward and Mistress Tessa’s lips start a-trembling. The Commander would be looking most disapproving. The Judge most annoyed and embarrassed.
The bell tinkled. I knew I should be the one to answer the summons, but I was too stricken to move. I heard the door creak open, the Judge say to someone, to Mumma, his voice crusty with anger, ‘Take Frances Penelope and Teresa to their room.’ The door closing. The Judge’s voice turning to remorse, ‘Sincere apologies, Monsieur.’
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