It was three more days before we reached Sydney Cove and another before we reached our final destination, the Women’s Factory at Parramatta.
Admonition
Sydney Cove
One Hundred and Fifty-Eight Days, that’s how long the Master told us it was since we left Falmouth and now we’d arrived in the place the ship that brought us here was named after. One hundred and fifty-eight days means almost six months of my sentence already served. So, for me and Mary, who had been given the same sentence as me, add the six months we were either in jail or on the hulks and there were only thirteen years left.
When we were first on the Cove, they chained me and Mary next to each other. Stuck that close to someone for so long, you either get on like me and Mary, or tear each other to pieces like some of the others. As Mary said,
“It’s just like bein’ married.”
Talking of being married, Mary’s ‘old man’ as she called him, was run over by a carriage. He’d hung on for a couple of days, but as he’d lost both his legs, Mary said she was glad when he died.
“No point getting all sentimen’al, is there?” She said, looking like she meant it. “’E couldn’t ’ave worked anymore and I would ’ave ’ad to keep ’im. It was gonna be ’ard enough to keep meself.”
Mary, who told me she was twenty-three, had married at eighteen and been with Tom for nearly three years. They didn’t have any children, which Mary said was a blessing the way things had worked out.
Tom had worked as a Scavenger round the City of London, clearing horse muck from outside rich people’s houses and keeping anything he found worth having. She told me,
“Always smelt of the stuff ’e did, but we didn’t do too bad. We ’ad a roof over our ’eads and never went ’ungry. There were a lot who couldn’t say that.”
Some say that’s why we get on; both of us having lost husbands, but I don’t think that’s the reason. I’m glad to call Mary a friend because she’s never afraid to speak her mind, whatever the cost and I think I’m a bit like that. The last time I heard her speak her mind, we weren’t far from port.
Now, I don’t know exactly how many are on The Sydney Cove, but I do know that all but four are women. Apart from the two women who were lost a couple of days ago and the two who died of dysentery in the first week of the voyage, the only other one we lost was a poor young girl who died two weeks ago giving birth. Apart from that, we’ve all survived.
But that girl was only thirteen and you should have heard Mary.
“Thirteen and transpor’ed ’cos she cant the dobbin.”
“Cos she can’t what?” I asked – I had no idea what she meant.
For a moment she looked irritated. I’d interrupted her just as she was getting into her stride. But then she realised she was using slang. I’d learnt some Cockney phrases on the Brunswick and picked up a few more from Mary, but this was a new one. Laughing she said,
“Cant, not can’t. She cant the dobbin. She was caught stealing ribbon from a shop. Didn’t matter that she hadn’t eaten for three days, was living on the street and that it was only the second time she’d been up in front of the beak.”
I didn’t know if all of that was true, but I didn’t want to risk interrupting her a second time.
“Oh no, he was much more innerested in the fact she’d been workin’ on the town. ‘Depraved’ the magistrate called her.”
Now she was in full flow.
“Depraved! What about all the men who used ’er and what about ’im who made money out of ’er? Then there’s the one who give ’er the pox and the one who made her pregnant. What’s ’appened to them? All of them got away scot-free. That’s what ’appened. They lied, she died and I know who I say was depraved, and it definitely ain’t that poor child.”
She was right of course. All the women agreed with her and do you know, I think even the surgeon agreed with her – the poor child certainly didn’t die because of a lack of care from him. He made sure she had meat every day, for the rest of us it was only on Sunday, and she had fish whenever any were caught. He also made sure she had half a lime each day. She hated it and complained that it was too sour, but he made her eat it, told her it would stop her and her baby getting scurvy. Then, when her time was close, he moved her to the cabin where the two with dysentery had been confined. She’d been frightened at first, but he told her good sea air had been blowing through the place for nearly six months and there wasn’t any trace of the smell of disease in there anymore.
By this time she trusted him, so she went without further argument. I don’t think she’d ever received such kindness – especially from a man. And do you know what? I think that was how most of the women on the ship felt; certainly not one of them complained that she was getting special treatment.
As a ship’s surgeon, he must have been used to seeing death, but I’m telling you, losing that girl and her baby hit him hard. He made the Master give her a proper funeral and because he was in charge of our religious teaching as well as our health, he said a prayer. Nice it was. As Mary said,
“She may have died, but the decent way ‘e treated ’er gave some of ’em here a reason to go on livin’.”
We’d made port late in the day on 18th June and the Master told us we would be held on board until morning. None of us really minded. We’d been at sea for almost six months and the ship had become our home. Only very few, the one’s serving a second sentence, had any real idea of what New Holland held for us – though of course, we’d all heard stories. So when morning came, I think it was nervousness more than missing men that made some of the women call out bawdy comments when local constables, led by an armed officer from the local garrison, arrived to take us off.
They made us line up on the dock in pairs and fitted us with leg-irons, before marching us along the only road leading from the docks. Dolly, the woman in front of me, who was serving her second sentence in New Holland, complained that the last time she’d been here they’d all been ferried down the creek by boat. But she’d been partnered with Mary, who took no time in pointing out to her and anyone else in earshot, that the creek was in full flood and there was no way they’d be able to hold a boat steady for long enough for all of us to get on.
“Anyway,” she said, “after six months cooped up on that ship, I reckon a bit of a walk won’t do us no ’arm.”
Mary never admitted regretting what she said. She and Dolly had had a few spats on the ship coming over, but we’d gone about half a mile before she turned to me and pointed towards the horizon. The sky above us was the bluest, clearest sky I’d ever seen, but ahead the horizon looked as though a thick black pencil had been used to mark its edges. As we watched, we’d all seen it by now, the line thickened until darkness covered half the sky, and even though it was still some miles off, we could see clearly that torrential rain was heading our way. All of us, including the guards, looked around for somewhere to shelter, but as far as the eye could see there was nothing but scrubland. We had no choice but to await the rain’s arrival; we didn’t have long to wait.
We’d been walking about ten more minutes when the first few drops began to fall. Heavy with rain, black clouds covered the whole sky; their heaviness seeming to weigh on us and although the constables shouted at us to go faster, when the rain started to fall in earnest we all came to a halt. Some of the guards and a few of the women had something to cover their heads, but most of us didn’t have anything and we all became affected in the same strange way. One by one, we threw our arms in the air, turned our faces to the sky and gloried in the fat, warm drops that hit us in greater and greater numbers.
As the contagion spread, we all started laughing and then, despite the leg-irons, we began to dance. We must have been a strange sight, something like a hundred women soaked to the skin and all performing this odd, lop-sided dance, each to a separate tune no one else could hear. The constables stood watching in amazement and I’m not sure how long they would have let us carry on if things hadn’t
started to get out of hand.
All that rain turned the red dust which covered the track into cloy, slippery clay and I suppose it was inevitable that one of us should lose their footing and fall. Dolly, who had complained about having to walk, now danced more wildly than anyone and of course, when she slipped and fell, Mary fell with her. As they scrambled to help each other up, one of them would lose her footing again and they’d both sit back in the mud. Several times they tried to get up but each time, as they slid about, the ground became even more slippery, making sure each attempt to rise was bound to end in failure. Eventually they gave up and just sat on the ground laughing at each other, their differences forgotten. They were tears of laughter I think, but it was hard to be certain with the rain and mud running down their faces and when Dolly started throwing handfuls of mud at Mary, she of course returned the favour. The other women stood laughing at them, and even then I don’t think the constables were that concerned. But when handfuls started to go astray and hit the women standing closest to them, they responded in kind, slipping and falling as they tried to avoid the mud now aimed at them. With one pair after another joining Dolly and Mary on the ground, it became too much for the constables.
The officer in charge, who unlike the constables was armed, lifted his rifle and shot it in the air. The loud retort from the gun arrested us all and those on the ground tried more seriously to get up, but even when those still standing tried to help them, more often than not things went the wrong way and they joined the women on the ground. The shambles was getting worse and the officer knew he was in danger of losing face as well as control. So this time when he raised his gun, instead of firing skyward, he aimed at the ground in front of us. He hit the ground so close that mud spattered, by the bullet, sprayed the legs of the nearest women. Having got our attention again, he told those of us still standing to line up at the edge of the track where the ground was a little less muddy. Stepping carefully to find the cleanest ground, everyone did as they were told. The officer then commanded the constables to help the remaining women to their feet, instructing them to join the rest of us.
When eventually we were all on safer ground, we began to move off again. Thankfully, although its force had lessened the rain still fell steadily, washing away most of the mud that had stuck to us during our games. We trudged onwards, the path rising steadily until our tired legs, weary because they’d spent months walking no further than the length of the Sidney Cove, were brought gratefully to a halt outside our destination, the Female Factory.
Part Six
Henry
Parting Gifts
Though weak, I’m content. I’ve just completed two letters that will settle the last of my affairs and now I face death knowing there is nothing more I need do.
For some time Jane had smiled at my breathlessness, blaming it on my expanding waistline. But I was unable to hide from her the true cause when, as we walked together in the garden, the first violent coughing fit struck me. Snatching my handkerchief from me, she saw the tell-tale spots of blood. She looked straight at me. Though neither of us spoke, we both knew I had become consumptive.
It’s been nine months since that fateful walk and I suppose we both hoped the condition would progress more slowly. But it wasn’t to be, and about three months ago I began to withdraw from the Practice. Led by Charles Dowle, who took from me my most pressing cases, my partners have, without complaint, taken the rest. I am so very grateful to them because it means I have been able to spend more time with Jane. For me, the most difficult and distressing sight to witness has been the effect my condition has had upon her. She tries to be strong, but every night when she thinks I’m sleeping, I hear her crying. I try to tell her these things must be and that I shall leave her well provided for, but though she says she knows and tries to smile reassuringly, still I hear the night time weeping and it breaks my heart.
Yesterday, to Jane’s great dismay, I decided to take a coach into town because I needed to visit a bank. So seeing I was determined to go, she insisted on accompanying me, which was fortunate because by the time we came to returning, I found I was unable to walk to the coach without her support. I didn’t want to cause Jane further distress than my illness already had, but it was essential that I withdrew all of the money Jabez had left in an account he’d opened for Admonition. Although he’d been dead for twelve years, I’d never forgotten the last time Jabez and I met and the letters he’d entrusted to me. Nor had I forgotten the strictures he placed upon them, which now presented me with a dilemma. By my calculation, assuming there were no extensions to her sentence, Admonition would be free in about two years and even if she then decides to return to England, it would be unlikely she’d be back in less than three. My dilemma was resolved when I realised not only would I be long dead by then, but that she might also choose never to return at all.
Jabez had told me I should give Admonition his letter on her return and only to open the letter he’d written to me when I knew she was back. But now I realised fourteen years was more than enough time for Admonition to change her mind and decide to stay in New Holland. This, with the knowledge that it was very unlikely I would be here if she did return, meant I was quite sure Jabez would have wanted me to open the letter he addressed to me a little early. So, sitting behind my desk with the letter in front of me, I knew that no matter how I tried to justify my actions to myself, I was going against a client’s last request. What’s more, it was a request I had expressly promised to honour. So as I broke the seal, I still felt very unsure that I was doing the right thing.
As soon as I unfolded the letter and even before I could read it, a small piece of paper fell on my desk. Straight away, I saw it was issued by the Critchley and Turner Bank in Macclesfield and, on closer examination, that it contained the number of a strongbox. Many of our clients used banks, including Critchley and Turner’s, to hold their legal documents and the most common documents they held were their Wills. As we were often named as executor, I was familiar with the note from Critchley’s acknowledging a deposit. The bank was some distance from the Boar’s Head, so I imagined Jabez wanted his dealings with them to remain private.
I could glean nothing further from the note, so I turned to the letter. Jabez’ writing was small, neat and clear and it surprised me how someone who grew up in a workhouse could write so well. He started the letter by thanking me for representing him in court and hoped I understood why he had refused to allow me to petition the King for clemency. But most of the letter explained the contents of the strongbox and how I could gain access to it. He wrote that when he suspected the Excise men were closing in on him, he took all the money remaining from the payments he received from Sam Baker, which was most of it, and deposited it with Critchley and Turner, a bank he’d never before had any dealings with. He added that he knew if the Excise men caught him smuggling, he would, at very least, receive a very long prison sentence and any money held by a bank in his or Admonition’s name would be confiscated; so he’d devised what I must admit was an ingenious plan.
Although he’d had very little dealings with the legal profession, he remembered that I had written Jack Dodds’ Last Will and Testimony. He also remembered he still had the copy of the Will that Dodds had given him when it had been drawn up. Crucially, it carried my signature as executor, so when he completed the Plate Ledger at Critchley’s, he gave my name as signatory and left his copy of Dodds’ Will with my signature as proof of mandate.
Jabez firmly believed that if he took complete responsibility for the smuggling, charges against Admonition would be dropped, or at worst result in only a light sentence. Expecting that to be the outcome, he thought he needed to explain only the arrangements to me and then, when people had begun to forget about the case, I would simply give her the money with his letter and help her to start a new life. But when things failed to work out as he hoped and he knew Admonition wouldn’t, under any circumstances, be able to access the money for fourteen years, he realised he neede
d to adjust his plan. Judging that he needed to protect me from the likely illegality of the money until it was time to pass it to Admonition, he also understood that the less I knew about the strongbox and its contents the better. He knew it would be cruel to tell Admonition about the money whilst it remained well beyond her reach and I now understood fully why he’d instructed me not to pass on his letter to her until she was free.
I had no option but to get to the bank because once I was gone, no one else would be able to gain access to the strongbox. I had no problem withdrawing the money because although I’d been young when I drew up Dodds’ Will, my signature had changed little over the years and now the money resides safely in a secret compartment in my study desk.
My own Will ensures that all my financial matters are clear and whilst I have made a number of small bequests and two larger ones to John and Kit, everything else I’ve left to Jane, ensuring she’ll be secure for her remaining years. On his return from New Holland, I shall show Kit both the letter I’ve just completed for Admonition, the letter to her from Jabez, as well as the money locked in my desk. Then I’ll ask him, when he goes back to New Holland, to use his best endeavours to try and find Admonition and give her both letters. I haven’t opened Jabez’ letter to her. It’s bound to be much more personal than his letter to me and I feel sure my letter will clear up any contradictions. I’ll also ask Kit to arrange for the money to be made available to her when she’s set free. Although it has been twelve years since she left these shores, finding her should be possible as she will still be serving her sentence. I know the ship she was on sailed to Sydney Cove and it’s most likely that on arrival she was taken from there to a place nearby called the Female Factory, although it is also likely she will have moved on from there. The authorities in Parramatta, the nearest settlement, should hold a record of her whereabouts, so I’m sure Kit will be able to find her.
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