Mary's Guardian

by Carol Preston

  ‘Right, wenches! Time to rise and shine!’ The guard threw open the hatch. ‘And bring all yer worldly goods with yer this morning, eh? We’ve a little surprise for yer.’ Bodies began to roll and stretch. Curses began to fill the air. Within minutes there were women pushing and shoving at each other.

  ‘What now?’ the girl beside Mary whined. ‘Another day to watch what we’re denied?’

  ‘Is that boats bumpin’ against us?’ Mary picked up her bundle. ‘That sounds promising.’ She was sure if she had to spend another night next to these whining women she’d slit her own throat. It was all she could do not to retch at the combination of body odour and stale vomit.

  ‘Move.’ Mary shoved the girl beside her. ‘For God’s sake, let’s get out of here before I lose me stomach altogether.’

  ‘So what’d be new about that?’ sneered Sarah, languishing beside her.

  A bit more pushing and urging, a lot more cursing and snapping and Mary reached the upper deck where the soldiers waited, watching the women with sly smirks.

  ‘Line up.’ The first officer looked the women up and down. He laughed as a couple of the women pushed down skirts that billowed with the wind.

  Mary moved into line and peered around the prisoners in front of her. Three officers were grabbing at the women, rubbing their hands up and down their torsos, crouching to look under their skirts. Some of the women giggled and squirmed but clearly had no real objections. As Mary approached the head of the line, she glared into their faces.

  ‘Don’t get yer feathers in a flap, girl.’ One of the officers threw back his head and laughed. ‘We’ve to search yer to make sure you’ve taken nothing but your own stuff, is all. Now if you’ve not been stealing you’ve nothing to fear. And who knows, you might even enjoy it.’

  Mary hissed into his face. ‘And what, in God’s name, would I be stealing from that hell hole, tell me that?’ She held out her arms, clenched her teeth and fists and endured the groping, her eyes piercing his face with threat. The moment his hands had traveled the full length of her body she pushed him off, risking a slap, but unable to tolerate another second of his touch. He laughed again and shoved her out of the way.

  Mary boarded a long boat with a dozen other women, and they were rowed to shore. She gripped the sides of the boat and looked straight ahead. The skies overhead were dark grey, threatening a storm. The wind whirled about them. The boat lurched and stalled. As the rowers dipped the oars, spray splattered the women. Mary's legs trembled, her heart beat wildly. She kept her eyes averted from the dark and choppy waters. She had resisted looking down at the sea, even from the ship's deck. She had forced herself not to think about the swirling blackness below. She shielded her face from the wind. The waves slapped against the boat as she considered what lay ahead of her. The women were vastly outnumbered by men, weak from poor food and months languishing in the hull of the boat. Had a prison already been built to house them? Would they be put to work? She could see tents on the shore. She could hear voices broken up by the squalls of wind. Men carried boxes and planks, or pushed barrows. Some were wielding axes and shovels. Her attention was drawn to movement further along the bay where there was a rocky ledge with men, black as ink and naked as newborns, holding spears in the air. She tapped the shoulder of the woman next to her and pointed. The woman jumped. Her screech echoed across the water.

  One of the soldiers turned and scowled. He lifted his hand to strike her but a crash of thunder distracted him. By the time the first long boat reached the shore the rain had started pelting down, lashing the women’s faces and soaking their clothes. Men dragged them from the boats and herded them up the beach. The tents were flapping in the violent wind.

  ‘We’ll lose these before they’re occupied.’ One man held ropes as the canvas strained against the repeated gusts.

  ‘Hold fast,’ another responded. ‘I’ll get more pegs.’

  The women were thrust into the tents. Panic ensued as the gale heightened. Mary could see more women milling on the shore, half hysterical with fright, half delirious with freedom and a sense of solid ground under them.

  Then pandemonium broke out. Men dropped tools and rushed at the women. Within a minute there was an explosion of yelling, laughing, singing, swearing and jostling. Bodies were soon rolling together behind tents. Mary was appalled. She had expected little better from the men, no doubt frustrated by the heat, wind and rain, and deprived of female company. But she'd thought the women had more respect for themselves. Yet they paid no mind to what anyone might see and made no attempt to secure any privacy.

  She watched in horror. A burly soldier, reeking of rum, rushed at her and grabbed her breasts. Her fists came up and she kicked him. She screeched, as he tried to wrestle her to the ground. She bit hard on his ear. He jumped back, grabbing his ear. Mary turned to run but he launched himself at her skirt, which was heavily wet and fouling her attempt to get away. Suddenly she was on the ground, the man’s body pinning her down, his mouth seeking hers, his hands groping at her body. She stopped thrashing at his back with her fists and brought her hands around towards his face. As her fingers dug into his eye sockets, she drew up her knees and pushed as hard as she could. He rolled to the side, cursing her loudly and holding his eyes. It was enough time for Mary to scramble to her feet and run. Within moments she was behind one of the tents, where she stopped to catch her breath. She looked about frantically, readying herself for another attack. Not three feet from her a couple lay in the grass, firmly and happily in each other’s grasp. Their grunts of ecstasy caused Mary to turn away in disgust. She peered around the corner of the tent, every muscle in her body tensed and ready to fight off another aggressor. All around she could see the shapes of entangled bodies, hear the giggling and gasping of men and women, oblivious to all but satisfying their most basic and long deprived urges.

  ‘Uhh, rutting animals,’ Mary hissed into the wind and rain, which were still lashing the tents. She lowered herself to a crouch and crept along the side of the tent, searching for a safer place, determined to escape what seemed a fate worse than prison by far. She moaned inwardly. What on earth had she been brought to? What fate had she been dealt? Surely her sins were not so dastardly that she deserved this end. She paused and glanced up to the dark skies between the thrashing trees.

  ‘If there’s a God in those heavens,’ she murmured, ‘this’d be a good time to show yerself.’ She covered her face as a clap of thunder boomed above her. ‘I’ve done what I could to save meself so far in this miserable life. But I could do with a bit o’ help now, so if you’ve a mind, then I’d…I’d really appreciate it.’ Mary felt tears now mingled with rain running down her face and dripping from her chin. She rarely gave in to crying, though she had to admit she had often felt like having a good howl. Mary knew it would do her no good. She would have to pull herself together and find a way out of these predicaments herself. But right now, she was overcome with fear and hopelessness. She curled herself into a small ball in what seemed a spot out of sight. She hugged her knees hard and kept a watchful eye, praying now that any who meant to have their way with a woman had found a more willing one than she. Clearly there were plenty of those about.

  ***

  On the beach women were still being unloaded from long boats, and those assisting the women were having trouble holding the boats still enough for the frightened prisoners to alight.

  William took the arm of a small woman who was trembling so hard she could barely lift a leg to straddle the side of the boat.

  ‘Hold it, mate,’ he called to Joe Wright who was assisting him. They’d worked together all morning, dragging women ashore, directing them to the tents inside the tree line, assuring them they’d soon be in a dry and safe lodging.

  ‘Don’t fear, love,’ he said to the woman whose arm he was now supporting as she gingerly stepped into the ankle deep water. ‘There’s tents erected for you up there behind the trees. I’m sure they’re holding. Make your way up there and someon
e will take care of you.’

  William had no idea of what awaited the women. The noise of the storm obliterated any sounds coming from beyond the beach. He looked out across the water. There was only one boat still heading for shore.

  ‘I think this next one will do it, Joe.’ He handed a drenched bundle to the last of the women scrabbling onto the sand.

  ‘Thank God for that.’ Joe mopped the sweat from his face. ‘Who’d have thought you could be this wet with rain and still nearly expiring from heat? It’s a strange climate we’ve been brought to, Will.’

  ‘Seems so, Joe. But I guess we’ll get used to that. Perhaps it’s good for growing crops. Bit like a hot house, eh?’

  They passed the next few moments in relative quietness, taking a short rest from their duties and catching their breath. William splashed the sea water over his head, watching Joe follow suit. He’d made a chum quite quickly of this young man over the past week. Joe was probably ten years his junior, but congenial and apparently grateful for someone who’d encourage him to focus on the positive aspects about their future. They’d kept their minds on the tasks of building and clearing, erecting tents and assembling tools. There was hope in it all, William kept asserting. He felt an assurance within himself, and found as the days passed he became even more determined to maintain a positive outlook.

  When the last of the women had been landed, those who had been assisting them headed for the encampment. William and the men anticipated a rest, the possibility of getting into dry clothes and perhaps a bite to eat. William hurried his steps, his mind now having turned to his own goal. Mary had not come ashore on one of the boats he’d stood by, though he’d searched each face carefully, his heart beating with expectation. She must have been on one of the others. He wouldn’t let himself think for a moment that something had gone wrong, that Mary might still be on a barge in Portsmouth. Such a thought made his blood run cold. He was still firmly assuring himself that he’d find her amongst the women in one of these tents when he began to hear the shouting and squealing. He and Joe stopped dead in their tracks at the edge of the encampment. Their mouths dropped open at the sight before them. A few soldiers were rushing about demanding the attention of the rollicking bodies, with little if any effect. Even shots fired into the air simply joined with the claps of thunder and went largely ignored as men and women rushed from partner to partner, disappearing behind trees and tents or falling where they’d collided, into squealing, guffawing heaps of arms and legs.

  ‘What in the name of God is going on here?’ William found his voice though his question needed no answer. His next thought was for Mary. He left Joe standing with his mouth open and headed across the opening between the tents. He pushed and shoved at bodies wildly, caring not for the sensitivities he might at another time have observed. He stomped past those he could easily see had no resemblance to the face he remembered.

  ‘Red curls,’ he muttered to himself as he strode around. ‘Where are you, girl?’ He was behind the tents now, scanning the corners, under the trees. He watched for a moment, stunned into stillness by what seemed to be tenderness between two people not far from him. He felt his face flush and wiped at the water still running down his forehead and over his beard. Despite himself he felt his manhood stir and turned away, embarrassed and shocked at himself. What if Mary was with one of these men enjoying herself? What if she had no desire to be rescued by him? What if she was nothing like the girl he’d known? He shook himself of both his doubts and his competing urges and hurried on. He had never been one to give much attention to his manly desires. Not that he hadn’t felt them, and remembered his younger days when he indulged himself with willing young girls in the back streets of Lincoln. But as he had grown to manhood he had been drawn to the protection of those younger than himself. And once imprisoned he had, along with many men, had to suppress any such urges or else turn to practices he had never been tempted to explore. It took only a moment now to turn his attention back to his determination to find Mary. Whether she was willing to be rescued or not, he meant to save her from this debauchery for he knew in his heart that she was meant for better.

  He was close to the foreshore now, shielding his eyes from the rain, scanning the small groups and rolling bodies, some who’d made it onto the sand and found themselves a softer bed than the rocky ground around the tents. His heart was thumping, his fury at what he was witnessing growing by the minute. It seemed like an age before he was finally able to pick her out, and then only because of the sound of her voice raised in wild indignation at some unwanted attention. He spun around, located the patch of ground where he could see a sailor grappling with a flurry of thrashing arms. He rushed toward the spot, pushing aside the drunken man roughly. Before Mary could take in what had happened William picked her up, her legs thrashing and kicking, and carried her behind one of the tents. He dropped her to the ground just as she managed to get hold of his hair and began to tear it out.

  ‘Whoa, lass,’ he yelled. ‘I’m for saving you, not ravaging you.’ He stood in front of her as she scrambled to her feet, arms still flaying about dangerously. He held her shoulders firmly and looked carefully at her face, the flashing green eyes, the red curls now dark and plastered to her forehead. He had no doubt; he’d found Mary at last. ‘I’d hardly have known you but for the threats you were making to have that man’s eyeballs out of his head.’ He laughed loudly and released his hold on her.

  Her arms still tense and ready to defend herself, she stood for moments, gazing at his chiseled face, her eyes narrowed and searching. She stood back a little and looked him up and down. Slowly a grin replaced the scowl on her face.

  ‘Bless my soul,’ she heaved as she gathered her wits. ‘If it isn’t Will Douglass. And what in the name of all that’s holy are you doin’ in this God-forsaken place?’

  William smiled, glad to be recognised after all the years and pleased to see that Mary was not only in good voice, but appeared to be in reasonable health. ‘Same as you,’ he said. ‘We’re all here at his majesty’s invitation, to start a new life in a new land.’

  ‘You would look at it that way, wouldn’t you now?’ She laughed and shook her head like a small puppy flinging off its bath water.

  William took in the prettiness that was hidden under the streaky grime of her face, framed by her mop of wet, springy hair. It wasn’t hard for him to still see the ten-year-old child he’d once hidden in the dark corners of Lincoln.

  ‘So why aren’t you ravaging me, then?’ she said, full of cheek. ‘It seems it’s all everyone else is interested in. I’ve had to fight off more than one in these past couple of hours. Am I too ugly for you, eh?’ Her face had creased into a frown.

  It was William’s turn to laugh. ‘Not at all, Mary. But it hardly seems a fitting way to greet an old friend.’

  Her eyebrows rose and William could see she was unsure whether to believe him. It was a long time since their last meeting. William had always treated her kindly in those early days in Lincoln and he was sure she’d trusted him then. But ten years in an English prison could change any man, drain any kindness from him. William knew he’d have to earn Mary’s trust all over again.

  ‘I’m glad you’re here, Mary,’ he said. ‘I hope we can make the most of this chance.’

  ‘Chance!’ Mary was bemused. ‘You’re here to be punished, ya daft man. You’ve been dumped on the far side of the world.’ She cast her eyes about behind the tents and pinched her nose. ‘Brought to the wilderness, that’s what it is.’ She shuddered. ‘There were men black as pitch on the rocks when we got out of the boats. Throwin’ spears into the water they were, and comin’ up with fish. They didn’t seem a bit interested in us but I’d die of fright to come face to face with one in that bush land.’

  ‘I suspect it would take more than that for you to die of fright, Mary Groves,’ he said, feigning timidity. ‘You’d not let any man, black or white, scare you off, from what I remember.’

  ‘Well, that was a long
time ago. The years in between have been rough. And you? How can you be so hopeful now?’

  ‘We’re on new ground, Mary. A fresh start. It’s what we make of it now that counts. That’s what I think. Look out there. There’s land to be tilled, homes to be built. Families will be raised here. If we have a mind we’ll make it a good place.’

  Mary grinned, shaking her head. ‘Yeah, an’ some of the families are bein’ started right now with all the bumpin’ and grindin’ that’s happenin’. She popped her head around the corner of the tent and saw bodies still rolling in the grass; still oblivious to the pelting rain, the streaks of lightning and the pounding of the thunder. She watched the sky for a few moments before turning back to William. ‘Was you proposin’ to me then, Will?’ Her eyes danced with mischief.

  ‘Perhaps I was, Mary.’ William said, and then blushed at his own words, which caught him by surprise.

  The next morning Governor Phillip had soldiers march around the campsite thumping kettle drums and pipes to round up the badly hung-over men and women who were scattered about on the ground, many not even having made it into a tent for the night. Once all the convicts, soldiers, mariners and their wives and children were assembled, he began a stinging lecture on the evils of promiscuity.

  ‘And let me assure you men,’ he paused and raised his hand in the air to emphasise his sternness, ‘from here on in, if any of you are found in the tent of a woman not your wife, you’ll surely be shot. And what’s more, if you’re caught stealing anything, you’ll be hanged. If the behaviour witnessed in the past twenty-four hours is an indication of your character then I despair that you are indeed the worst of incorrigibles and I’ll not hesitate to treat you with the most severe punishments in order to induce you to the possibility of becoming a worthwhile colony of people. Generally, the rule here will be: if you are idle you’ll not eat. Men and women alike will be called on to work to their capabilities in order to make this community comfortable and productive. To that end you’ll all be employed in erecting houses for the officers first, then for the mariners and lastly for yourselves.’