by Bonnie Leon
Hannah didn’t respond.
“Ye need to liven up, luv. Ye can’t hang yer head forever.”
“Forever? It only happened last night. And you don’t understand all there is to know of it.”
“I know enough. And life goes on. We’ve got to endure.”
“I don’t want to endure,” Hannah mumbled.
“Enough of that. I’ll not hear that kind of talk.”
Lottie smoothed Hannah’s damp hair. “Why would ye want to die? Me mum . . . she tried to live. I wanted her to live.” Lottie’s eyes brimmed with tears. “What would I do if . . . ?”
Fresh guilt swept through Hannah. She was unbelievably selfish. Looking into Lottie’s worried brown eyes, she said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Of course I want to live. And I will.” She managed a weak smile. “But for now I need to rest. All right?”
Lottie kissed Hannah’s cheek. “I’ll keep watch for ye.”
“Thank you.” An ache squeezed Hannah’s heart. She ought to be comforting Lottie, and instead, the little girl was comforting her.
Night fell and darkness enveloped the ship. The storm raged, seemingly angrier than before. Lanterns were lit, and those who weren’t sick gathered together. Some prayed and sang hymns, others talked of better times, but nothing shut out the screeching wind and the fear that invaded their souls.
All of a sudden, the ship was lifted high on a cresting wave and then slammed into a deep swell. “Lord, save us,” Marjorie cried, her voice quaking as it often did.
“He’s not ’ere,” a bawdy Rosalyn shouted, tossing long brown hair off her shoulders. “If he was, then none of us would be ’ere either.”
“He is here,” said Corliss Browning, an elderly woman of faith.
Hannah had great respect for her. It was good to hear her voice.
“He promises to never leave us nor forsake us. And I believe him. We’ll not perish. He’ll see us through.” Barely able to keep her feet under her, she moved to Marjorie, who was crying and huddled on a loose bundle of hay. Sitting beside her, the elderly woman put her arm about the frightened captive.
Hannah wanted to believe as Corliss did. But she couldn’t. “Pray for us, Corliss. Please.”
“I’ve been praying.”
“It’s all a lie,” Rosalyn said. “Every bit of it.” Keeping a hold of a corner post, she stood beside her bunk. “He’s never once come to my aid and I don’t expect he will now. He don’t see me. Or none of us. We’ll be lucky to end up at the bottom of the sea. At least we’ll be free of this torment.”
Lottie’s hand fumbled for Hannah’s and gripped it tightly. “Is it true, mum?”
“You need not worry. God loves you,” Hannah said.
“Does he love everyone?”
Hannah thought for a moment. What should she say? She believed he only loved some.
“Course he loves everyone,” Lydia said. “And he’s watching over us. I know it.”
Lottie was silent for a long while, then she asked, “Why didn’t he take care of me mum? She loved him. And she was a good mum.”
“Sometimes, God wants the best of us to be with him,” Lydia said. “And yer mum is in a better place. This world can be cruel. I’m sure she’s happier now.”
That seemed to satisfy Lottie. She snuggled closer to Hannah. “I’m hungry. They didn’t bring nothin’ to eat tonight.”
“They’re most likely working hard because of the storm,” Hannah said. “We’ll be fed in the morning. And they might feed us yet. Try to sleep.”
“They’ll not be down this night,” said Marjorie. She looked at the hatch. “They got us locked in. If this ship goes down so do we, drowned like rats.”
Lottie whimpered.
Lydia pushed off her cot and stood. “I dare say, that’s enough out of the lot of ye. Have ye forgotten there are children ’bout?”
“They might as well know the truth,” Rosalyn said.
“Ye wouldn’t know the truth if it bit ye,” Lydia said. “Now shut yer trap.”
Lottie sniffled. “Are we goin’ to drown, mum?”
“Of course not.” Hannah pulled Lottie closer. “This is a sturdy ship. I’m sure she’s seen worse storms than this.”
“But the ladies said—”
“They don’t know about such things. Now, don’t you worry. We’ll be fine.” Hannah found it ironic that she comforted this child even though she’d thrown away her own. She stroked Lottie’s hair and held her protectively. Lord, why does living have to be so full of trouble? Her own tears came unbidden.
“Yer cryin’ now.” Lottie wiped tears from Hannah’s cheeks.
“We all cry sometimes.” Hannah sniffled. “I’m tired and not well. When I’m feeling poorly, I cry more easily.”
“It’s that way for the lot of us,” said Lydia.
The wind grew stronger and a rumbling sound swept toward them from outside. The ship rolled dangerously and then was thrown upward by a huge wave.
“What is it? What’s happening?” cried Marjorie. She fell and sprawled out on the floor.
Shrieks and screams broke out all over the hold. Women were dumped from their beds and others fell as they reached for something to hold on to.
“We’re going to swamp!” someone cried.
Hannah pulled Lottie closer.
“Oh, Father in heaven,” Lydia prayed.
It felt as if the ship leaped over the top of the wave before it descended the other side. Timbers groaned and buckets tipped. One rolled wildly across the floor. It slammed into a stool holding a burning lantern, knocking the stool and the lantern on their sides. Oil seeped out of the lamp and fire erupted in the hay scattered on the floor. Flames flickered, casting light and shadows.
“Fire!” someone shrieked.
Rosalyn bolted for the ladder. “Let us out!” She climbed the steps and beat her fist against the hatch. Others joined her. “Let us out! We’ve a fire down here!”
Keeping Lottie close, Hannah climbed down from the bunk.
Lydia scrambled from hers and, grabbing her blanket, headed toward the fire, nearly tripping on her chains. She beat the flames. “Everyone! Help!”
“How?” a voice challenged. “We’ve nothing.”
“Use yer blankets or the slop buckets.” Lydia’s blanket ignited. She dropped it and stomped out the flames, then picked up a slop bucket. Hannah grabbed another. It was vile, but wet. She dumped the contents on the flames, and a vile stink rose up out of the blaze. Already it had grown too large and the women’s efforts had little effect.
“Grab the others,” Hannah said, hobbling toward another bucket.
Rosalyn gave up her perch on the ladder and joined the fight.
Others stayed at the hatch, beating the wooden door and pleading for rescue.
The last of the chamber pots were emptied, yet the fire grew. The hold filled with smoke and the stench of burning waste. Hannah choked and coughed.
“Mum, what are we to do?” Lottie gasped.
“We’ll get out,” Hannah said, grabbing up the child and moving toward the stairway. Black smoke swirled thick and bitter. Hannah struggled to breathe. Every time she inhaled, smoke and heat seared her lungs.
Still holding on to Lottie, she dropped to her knees. There seemed to be more air closer to the floor. They moved carefully, the decking rising and falling beneath them.
Hannah heard the hatch open and the sounds of women scrambling to safety. Crew members descended, handing down buckets of water. Each bucketful tossed on the flames created more smoke. Hannah wheezed, fighting for every breath. Lottie no longer whimpered or coughed. She hung limply in Hannah’s arms.
Her eyes burning, Hannah tried to see her through black smoke. “Lottie!” She shook the little girl. “Lottie!”
No response.
“Lord, no. Please don’t let her die, not Lottie. Me! Take me!”
All of a sudden strong arms grabbed hold of Hannah. “I’ve got you,” she heard.
&nb
sp; It was John. He hefted her and Lottie and carried them both toward the hatch. He was strong and solid. Hannah felt safe.
She tried to take in a breath. There was no oxygen. Her throat constricted. Nothing could save her, not even John.
They broke free of the smoke-filled hold, and wind and rain engulfed Hannah. She sucked in big gulps of air and then coughed in uncontrolled spasms.
John set Hannah and Lottie on the rolling deck. “You all right?”
Hannah managed to nod, barely able to see through the falling rain and spray of the waves. “But . . . she’s not. Can . . . you help her?”
Lottie didn’t move. She wasn’t breathing.
John lifted the little girl and shook her. “Come on, now. Wake up.” He slapped his hand against her back. “Take a breath. You can do it.”
He laid her over one arm and solidly slapped her back. When she didn’t respond, he hit her harder. “Wake up! Breathe!”
All of a sudden, Lottie coughed and then took a wheezing breath. She gagged and choked, but she was breathing.
“The Saints be praised!” John said.
“Thank you, Lord,” Hannah said softly.
John set the little girl on the deck beside Hannah. Lottie coughed violently and retched, but she kept breathing. “She’ll be all right.”
“Because of you,” Hannah said. “Why would you risk your life for us?”
“I’d be pleased to take credit, but the captain sent us down.” He knelt in front of Hannah and took her hands in his. He gazed at her in a way that sent shivers through her. “I would have gone down for you, though. No matter what.”
Hannah didn’t know how to respond. His look was one of devotion. She glanced at the hatch. “What about the fire? Can they put it out?”
Struggling to keep her feet as the ship continued to roll, Lydia staggered toward them. “Are ye all right?”
“Yes. John saved us.”
“The fire’s nearly out.” Lydia took in a deep breath. “They managed to get enough water on it. But everything’s more of a mess than it was before. What little comforts we had are gone.”
Hannah pushed to her feet, but her legs were weak and trembling.
John lifted her, setting her on her feet. “You able to stand on your own?”
“I think so.” She disengaged herself from his arms. “I can manage. Thank you.”
His eyes held hers. “I was exceedingly worried. I should hate myself if something happened to you. I vow to watch over you the rest of the voyage.”
For a moment Hannah reveled in the promise, but it was only a moment. Reality prevailed. How could he see to her welfare? “I appreciate what you’ve done, but how do you propose to watch out for me? We’re all at the mercy of the captain and the crew. And once we reach New South Wales we’ll be under the Governor’s authority.” She straightened slightly. His intentions were honorable but imaginary.
Lottie stumbled to her feet, and Hannah lifted the frail girl into her arms. “I thank you for caring, sir,” she said and walked away wishing life could be different. John was truly a gentleman. If only she’d known him before.
Before doesn’t matter anymore. Life is what it is. There’s no room for dreams.
12
John shuffled across the hold. Each step inflicted pain. The irons around his ankles had caused lesions and swelling. They cut into his skin as he moved. Grasping the handrail, he gazed at the hatch, wishing someone would open it from above. He needed to smell the air, to feel a breeze on his face. He’d always taken these simple pleasures for granted. Never again, he vowed.
Work offered a reprieve, so he hoped to be ordered to some kind of duty on deck. Even a bone-rattling saltwater dousing was worth time up top.
Thoughts of the life he’d once known reeled through his mind. He could hear his father’s voice, see his steady hand at work. He’d stood by John patiently guiding and training him. I didn’t realize the beauty of those days.
Memories of his mother pressed in. She’d always smelled of soap and of baking. She’d been a woman who stayed busy caring for her family and home. She took pleasure in needlework and could often be heard humming a hymn while she sewed.
“Mum,” he said without realizing he’d spoken out loud.
“What’d ye say?” asked Perry Littrell, one of John’s prison mates.
“Nothing.”
Perry sat on the bottom step. “I’d give most anything to be on deck. Feels like a fine day, smooth seas.”
“It does at that.”
Perry scratched at his patchy beard. “Can’t get me mind off how I got ’ere.” He smoothed his mustache. “What a fool I was.”
“You never told me what happened.” John had asked before, but Perry avoided the subject. “Can’t be so bad you can’t tell me, eh?”
Perry stared at him, his blue eyes teasing. “Ye want to know what got me ’ere?” He pushed his short, scrawny self upright. “Stupid beggar I was. That’s all there is to it. Me friends were down-and-outs. Knew better.” He shook his head. “They pinched some stuff from a high and mighty, and when they got caught, I was with ’em. Had nothing to do with it. Couldn’t convince the magistrate of my virtue, though.” He grinned.
“Sorry.”
“Not like I didn’t deserve it. Grew up on the streets. Did a lot to be ashamed of. I earned me place ’ere.”
John’s anger grew. He’d not earned this penalty. “Wish I hadn’t gone to the pub that day. I should have let my cousin solve his own troubles.” Hatred burned hot in his gut. “One day he’ll know what it means to suffer. I’ll see to it.”
“Can’t say I blame ye for feeling that way. Figure I’d do the same. But ye’d be better served to let it be.”
“I want my life back.” He smashed a cockroach beneath his boot.
“Revenge won’t give it to ye.”
A man coughed so severely it sounded as if he would hack himself into eternity. John’s eyes fell upon the prisoner. “He’s not long for this world.”
“Heard that sound before. Death is knockin’. ” Perry shoved his hands in his pockets.
There were a fair number of empty berths, left by those who had died. He was almost used to it, except for the lads. Not even old enough to shave, they’d been rounded up off the streets. Having been shut out of society, they did what they had to do to survive. Many paid dearly.
He looked at Perry. “How did you avoid prison all those years?”
“Lucky, I guess. Nearly got caught a few times. Wasn’t all that long ago I decided to become respectable. Seen too many of me mates go to the gallows.” He frowned. “Ended up ’ere anyway.” Scratching his head, he said, “Could do with a bit of tobacco. I’d love to have a pipeful.”
“Heard that in Port Jackson there’s work to be done for the landowners and the upper class. They use convicts. Perhaps we’ll have proper jobs yet.” John offered a sideways grin. “And then maybe you’ll get your tobacco.”
Perry nudged a chunk of filth up from the floor with the toe of his boot. “How much longer ye think we ’ave?”
“Was told it would take six or seven months. We’ve five passed already.”
“How ye know that?”
“Been keeping a count.”
“Figure ye for the kind who would.” Perry walked to the nearest row of bunks and leaned against a corner post. “Seen a lot of rat holes in me day, but this is the worst.”
Most of the men lay on their bunks, staring at nothing or sleeping. Some sat on the floor and played cards. They wagered pieces of straw or bet possessions they dreamed of owning some day. There were no books or any other sort of entertainment. Work was the only real distraction for those strong enough to do it.
Every time John was on deck he looked for Hannah. It was a lucky day when they were both there at once. He’d find some way to have a few words with her even though speaking to a prisoner of the female persuasion could bring the lash down on his back.
Although the ravages of the
voyage concealed much of Hannah’s beauty, he could see she was a handsome woman—compelling brown eyes lined with long lashes, and ivory skin. And her strength of mind couldn’t be hidden.
He admired her fortitude. Even with her courage and strength, she needs someone to watch out for her. He wanted to be that person. But of course she’d been right when she’d pointed out there was nothing he could do. Although marriages were allowed once in New South Wales, he doubted they’d live near one another. He imagined how she’d look well dressed and clean and then wondered if she ever thought of him.
“What’s that swoony look yer wearing?” Perry asked with a grin. “Yer thinking of her. Ye might as well put that pretty lady out of yer head. When we get to Port Jackson, ye’ll go yer way and she’ll go hers.” He flicked a bug off John’s jacket pocket. “And I thought ye said something ’bout a wife.”
“I was married,” John said. “She died. May she rot in her grave.” He looked down at Perry. “She went off with my cousin. The both of them took my money. No doubt he spent every bit of it.”
John clenched his jaws. If he said more, Perry would admonish him. He didn’t need that today. He had a right to hate Henry and Margaret. They’d done the worst thing a person could do to a man. One day, God willing, I’ll have my revenge.
“I’m tired.” John walked to his bunk. Dropping onto the hard berth, he lay on his back and stared at the bunk above. His mind returned to Hannah. She’d never do what Margaret had. Just the thought of her made him feel somewhat tranquil. He smiled. She was a wisp of a woman, with sad eyes and a quiet way when she wasn’t standing up to him.
She’s good. Too good for this. She ought to be enjoying tea or going to the opera or the ballet. He didn’t know that Hannah had never enjoyed such indulgences except for an occasional quiet evening with her mum over tea.
His sentence was for the remainder of his life, but he’d heard of some who were given a ticket of leave. Perhaps he’d be one of the lucky few. Course he’d have to serve at least another eight years and probably more. I’m twenty-six now plus eight years. That’ll make me thirty-four—nearly an old man. He almost groaned.