Thornhall Manor

by George Benton

  Early one morning, I was awoken by the noise of the anchor chain. I could hear movement above, and voices - “Boats away!” The sunlight came streaming through as our hatch was opened. I could see the clear blue sky, but it was immediately blotted out by the large backside of our guard descending the ladder. He was in a foul mood, having been ordered by the Captain to release our deck chains. (This chain ran between each prisoner’s legs above our ankle chain). Whilst we are at anchor, the Captain had said the prisoners were to have two hours each day on deck, weather permitting.

  “Right, bosun, see to it.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  With that the Captain turned and slowly walked away.

  I had no idea where we were, but I found out later that we’d anchored to take in fresh meat and fruit for the ship’s crew. Day by day, month by month, we voyaged on. There were days of mountainous seas, and days of complete stillness, with no wind. On those occasions there was no movement of the ship. The heat was unbearable. The strain on the prisoners and crew began to show.

  One day we were standing or lying about the deck. The stench of sweat was all around, but at least we were on deck and not in the dark hole below. The young seaman who’d passed to me the note was carrying a large vessel containing drinking water, and each prisoner was eagerly drinking, using the mug supplied.

  “Captain’s order, I suppose, boy,” shouted our guard.

  “Yes, sir.”

  When the boy came to me, the guard said, “Nothing for him!”

  The young seaman ignored him and proceeded to pass the mug of water to me.

  “I said nothing for him!” roared the guard, and he knocked the boy down. Then he placed his boot on the lad’s face, crushing him under his full weight.

  I lifted both arms and drawing my chain round his neck said, “Take your foot away, or I’ll strangle you.”

  The other prisoners began to chant, “Kill him! Kill him!”

  This aroused the Captain on the bridge.

  “Release him.”

  I lifted my arms over the guard’s head.

  The Captain had no pity for the man fighting for breath who lay at my feet. He turned, placing his right hand on my shoulder, and whispered, “I can’t help you now.”

  For the sake of the discipline of the ship I received twelve lashes - a far cry from the fifty demanded by my guard.

  Later one of the crew members, a man called Nobby, told me the boy was related to the Captain. I could feel the stinging of the brine as it soaked into my back.

  Nobby never stopped talking: “Discipline - that’s what it’s all about, discipline,” he said as he bathed my back.

  I gathered that Nobby and the crew had a great regard for the Captain.

  “This will stop infection. See you tomorrow.”

  I watched as he slowly walked away.

  Kicking my ankle chain, the guard said, “I’ll be looking for you when we land. I’ll add a few more scars to your back.”

  Days - weeks - months went by. Days when time stood still. The same routine continued - chained below deck or chained above deck, listening to the creaking of the ship’s timbers. Rough seas, torrential rains, gale-force winds. We voyaged on and on.

  One sweltering hot day, with the ship hardly moving, I raised my arm to shelter my face from the burning sun.

  “I don’t like it. I don’t like it.” There was Nobby, my friend. “I don’t like it,” he repeated over and over again.

  “What don’t you like?”

  “This weather - it’s too calm, the calm before the storm. Anyway, I’ve come to tell you, God willing, this time tomorrow land will be sighted.” He leant forward, ruffling my unkempt hair with his hand and with a smile on his face. “Chin up, old boy.” He turned and walked away.

  Yes, indeed he was a friend - my only friend on this long journey. It seemed to be getting hotter and hotter. I looked along the deck at the other prisoners. A sorry lot they looked. The thought of land tomorrow sent a shiver down my spine.

  A sudden gust of wind billowed the ship’s sails, and the sun was blotted out by clouds. Then came lashing rain.

  “Clear decks! Clear decks!”

  With great difficulty we were ushered below deck. In our cramped conditions, with the violent motion of the ship, water spilling about our feet, and the noise above as the seamen went about their duties, hour after hour passed by.

  Then our hatch opened. Seawater came cascading over the ship’s bosun as he descended.

  “Guard! Guard!” he shouted. “A message from the Captain: unchain all prisoners.”

  He then proceeded to climb back on deck, leaving the hatch open. There was a look of fear on our guard’s face. He just stood there, then he climbed the ladder, paused for a moment, looked back, then disappeared through the open hatch.

  Cries of “Come back - don’t leave us here!” could be heard above the noise of the wind and rain.

  I knew this was the end. I put my hands together and started to pray: “Our Father which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name-”

  “Watch out below!”

  A large bunch of keys splashed in the water near my feet. There was no mistaking these keys. I’d seen them enough around our guard’s belt. I quickly unlocked my ankle and wrist chains, then released prisoner after prisoner who then made, with great difficulty, the climb to the upper deck. Thank God, at least they now had a chance of survival. With the ship listing at forty-five degrees and with rough seas pounding the upper deck, I began to climb to the opening above. As my head rose above the hatch, I saw, there under a heavy beam, the body of our guard. The deck was awash with debris. A feeling of utter helplessness came over me. Would this nightmare never end!

  Then suddenly there was a terrifying noise, followed by a great surge of rushing water that carried me up and on to the deck. Before I could gain a foothold a huge wave swept me overboard. I could see small groups of survivors clinging to floating wreckage, but months of prison life had taken its toll. It was as much as I could do to stay afloat.

  I closed my eyes and drifted in the warm, calm sea. As quickly as the storm had come, so it had gone. Was it not the time to end it all?

  An unholy silence was broken by “Hold on.”

  Taking a firm grip of the outstretched hand and with the breath slowly returning to my body, I was able to pull myself alongside him. I could not believe my eyes.

  “Nobby!”

  “Well, I’ll be blowed! Never thought I’d see you again, me lad. Now hold tight.”

  There we were, both bobbing up and down, drifting slowly in a gentle swell, seagulls screeching overhead.

  “He done all he could.”

  “Who done all he could?”

  “The Captain. Blown on to a coral reef. She’ll be cut to pieces.”

  Looking back, I could see the great ship, battered and bruised, lying on her side, her rigging and superstructure disappearing as the sea washed over her. A long silence followed. I could see small groups of people helping the survivors on to the sandy shoreline a mile or so away.

  “Can you see that horse-drawn cage? Well, that’s where they put you. Your stay on board will feel like paradise when they get hold of you. My advice to you, lad: swim for that headland there.”

  What happened next I will never forget - never. I saw him rise, then disappear beneath the waves leaving a cloud of bloodstained water slowly drifting away.

  When I reached the shore I lay under the warm sun, watching the seabirds in a clear blue sky and listening to the rhythm of the waves gently lapping the shore.

  A NEW BEGINNING

  How long I’d been there I’ve no idea. Suddenly I felt cold with fear. For a few moments I had forgotten the loss of my good friend Nobby. I managed to get to my feet. There was no one in sight. T
he shoreline was deserted. Floating wreckage bobbed up and down, but there was no sign of that great ship. I remembered that terrifying swim, my slim chance of making it to the headland, the menacing fin circling nearby. Why me? Why had I been spared? Why did I have to wake up and remember!

  ‘Distance yourself, lad, distance yourself.’ These words kept ringing in my head.

  Mile after mile I walked along the shoreline, with sand lizards scampering away at the sound of my footsteps. The hot sun was burning my skin. A following of flies hovered above my head.

  ‘Distance yourself, lad, distance yourself’ - over and over again.

  With parched lips and aching limbs I sank to the ground and remember no more.

  I had no fear as a broad-faced native looked down at me. I probably owed my life to him. I had a raging fever and he was feeding me a kind of fish soup. I had been carried into the shade of a large tree, and covered during the cold nights. With one hand he offered me large white wriggling grubs; the other hand pointed to his lips. I managed to sit up and rest against a tree trunk. It wasn’t until I’d eaten the last one that he turned and walked away. There was a family group of about eight. Two carried long spears. The children were frightened of me at first, but gradually came nearer to look at me. To show my gratitude I managed to fashion a simple flute, producing a few high and low notes. The children were fascinated - so I made them one each.

  My fever left me and I felt stronger with each passing day. I joined the family group, being accepted as a friend and sharing their food.

  It was a damp misty morning. I lay there, gazing into the glowing embers of the fire. Can you imagine my surprise and fear when I realised they had gone - disappeared? It was as if they’d never been there. I knew one day these strange but wonderful people would melt away into this vast and terrifying country. There beside me lay several strips of dried meat, different kinds of fruit and a pouch of small stones. I had watched the children playing with these stones. To amuse them I had taken a stone in one hand, put both hands behind my back, then, with both fists clenched in front of me, they had to guess which hand held the stone. They’d laughed and jumped for joy when they guessed correctly.

  Late that afternoon, leaving the shade of the tall trees behind me, I came across open countryside. My feet sore, and my throat dry, I decided to rest awhile. With eyes closed, I lay there. Where would it all end? It didn’t take me long before I drifted into a deep sleep. Was it my imagination? Was that a building I could see in the far distance or was I dreaming? This was no dream. There was a building on the far horizon. My aches and pains returned as I got to my feet. With aching limbs, I started to walk. Maybe it was a mirage. The hot sun can play tricks. Will it disappear? Can I make it by nightfall? With these thoughts in mind I kept walking, mile after mile.

  AT STEVE BRADLEY’S SHACK

  Yes, it was a barn. It was dusk when I arrived. As I entered, I noticed two goats, a mule and a horse harness. I threw myself down on a layer of hay, exhausted.

  The next I knew I was looking up into a double-barrelled shotgun, and it’s hard to believe now that this was to be the beginning of a great friendship.

  “Don’t do anything foolish, my lad. We don’t want to do something we could regret, now, do we?”

  He listened to me intently as I unfolded my tale of woe.

  After a long pause, he said, “Now, what about something to eat?”

  I followed him into his log shack. Lying in front of the fire, growling at me as I entered, was a large black dog.

  “He likes the warmth. He’s like me - getting old, and feels the cold these chilly mornings. Sit you down, my lad. There you are. Tuck into that.”

  Large chunks of bread, eggs and bacon - I couldn’t believe my eyes. I could see the pleasure on his face as he poured me a large mug of tea.

  “Now, what do I call you?”

  “My name’s William Foster.”

  “And what brought you to Australia?”

  “Sir, you have shown me great kindness. I will not lie to you: I was falsely accused of murder.”

  Looking straight into my eyes, he said, “More tea? William, I too was falsely accused, along with my dear wife, bless her soul. That was over twenty years ago. We were both in service to a Mr Wheller. Into shipping he was. He was a good, kind man. It was his stepson - a useless, no-good layabout. If he wasn’t gambling, he was drunk. He stole from his mother her necklace to pay his gambling debts. Five years for something we never did! Five long years! After that we made our way out here. There’s a stream about a mile from here - it’s fed from the high ground. So, William, we decided to make a fresh start here. It wasn’t easy. It meant a lot of hard work and many disappointments, but after Botany Bay it was heaven. Well, William, this won’t do.” He finished his mug of tea. “Rheumatism - I have a job after sitting down to get these old bones working. I’ve got my stock to water and feed.”

  As he made his way to the door the dog followed.

  FRIENDSHIP

  I was glad to see him back safe and sound. Four days away was a long and worrying time. It was one of many journeys to Botany Bay with fresh meat and vegetables, supplying His Majesty’s ships for their return journey to England.

  “You’ll have to come with me next time, me lad.”

  “We had visitors while you were away. Bolters [runaway convicts] I think they were.”

  “Any trouble?”

  “No. All they wanted was food and rest.”

  “Be on your guard, lad. We are bound to have a visit. We always do when there’s been an escape. Now, remember, you’re my son, William Bradley.”

  We never did have a visit. I often wondered what happened to those poor souls. Life went on there as usual, and our friendship for each other got stronger as time passed by.

  A VISIT TO BOTANY BAY

  William, this time you come with me.”

  I was rather apprehensive about the trip to Botany Bay.

  “Look, no one will be looking for you now. They’ve probably recorded you as drowned.”

  I must say, the idea of getting away for a few days was very exciting.

  “What about the animals?”

  “Don’t worry, they will be all right for a few days. We’ll leave plenty of food. It will do you good to get away.”

  After offloading our supplies at various depots, we made our way to the local tavern. Seeing prisoners with chains around their ankles as they trudged along the dusty roads brought back dreadful memories.

  “Here we are, William.”

  As we entered the tavern I couldn’t help thinking how different it was from our village inn at home. The local brew, though different, was quite refreshing. We spent a pleasant, enjoyable evening.

  There were quite a few seamen, farmers and roughnecks at the tavern. It was good to be back to some form of civilisation.

  “It’s getting late, lad. I think I’ll turn in. We have a hard day’s travelling tomorrow.”

  I’d just placed my glass down when a firm hand was placed on my shoulder.

  “Remember me?”

  A cold shudder swept over me. I was unable to move. I looked across at Steve, his face turning white.

  “How long has it been - nearly three years?”

  It was a young midshipman, and as I stared at him I realised it was the young lad who had given me Dr Haywood’s note.

  He broke the silence: “Don’t worry, you’ve nothing to fear from me.”

  After getting over the shock, I took his hand in mine and with a firm handshake said, “Thanks for everything. My, how you’ve grown! This is Mr Bradley, my great friend. I owe my life to him.”

  Steve stood up and leant across the table with his colour slowly returning to his face.

  He shook the midshipman’s hand and said, “I’ve heard all about yo
u, my lad. So it was you who threw the keys down into the hold.”

  “Yes. I managed to pull the keys from the guard’s belt as he lay there. I was going to release your chains, but only just managed to throw the keys down as I was swept overboard. When I reached the shore I was arrested, but released after three days - three days of hell.”

  In an hour or so we had crammed in three years of happenings. I told him what had happened to the guard and Nobby and he told me that the Captain was now back in England.

  “Now, don’t forget: write your letter tonight and I’ll collect it tomorrow morning early and deliver it myself in England.”

  I’d explained to him that my name now was William Bradley and Mr Bradley (Steve) was now my father. Looking across the table, I could see Steve was finding it hard to keep his eyes open.

  Well, all good things come to an end, so, standing up, I took the young midshipman’s hand and with a firm handshake said, “Until tomorrow, then.”

  It wasn’t an easy letter to write. There was so much I wanted to say. I knew a reply, if there was to be one, would take many months, maybe years, to reach me, but to the accompaniment of Steve’s snoring I eventually finished in the early hours of the morning.

  We made our way down the stairs. Beer mugs, litter and upturned chairs still littered the room. Steve made his way to the bar and banged his fist down to draw attention.

  An unshaven man grunted, “You’ll wake up the dead.” Looking at him, I thought perhaps he had done.

  “How much, landlord?”

  We paid our bill.

  “See you again, Steve, sometime, eh?”

  Steve stood by my side on the sidewalk.

  “This looks like him now, William.” There was no mistaking this tall young man.

  “Good morning, sirs, to both of you.”

  After shaking hands I handed him my letter. “I can’t thank you enough. Do you know, I don’t even know your name.”

  “It’s Terry Morgan. Now, don’t worry, any return letters I’ll see you get them.”

  RETURN JOURNEY