Hannah

by Raymond Clarke

  Six weeks after receiving the death sentence they were frog-marched by that creature Pox Face — as Porter labelled him and the name became common usage — even to the officers assisting Superintendent Cornelius. Terrified, they stood in front of his huge untidy desk, eyes searching his expressionless face for even a slight inkling of their fate. Oh, God, was it the date of the gallows?

  Captain Cornelius read slowly and emphatically from an official-looking letter in his hand. ‘Certification from the Justice Jurisdiction of London dated 10 December 1809. Hannah Stanley and Hannah Porter, under sentence of death by hanging for the crime of Grand Theft have—’ Cornelius paused to cough vigorously, before passing a kerchief to his lips and carefully replacing it back into his coat pocket. He patted it for effect and shot a glance at the two frightened women before him. Hannah noted a wry smile on his lips as he picked up the letter again. He’s playing with us, she thought, prolonging the agony, the bastard. ‘To continue . . . oh, where was I? Oh, yes . . . are herewith granted, by application of and relevance to clause 3(b) of statute 21 of the year of Our Lord 1802, a commutation of the death sentence (Maidstone Assizes Ref. 1042/5B) to one of Transportation for Life to Botany Bay. Signed this day Tenth of May 1809. Bartholomew A. Fortescue, Chief Administrative Officer, Justice Department, Government of Great Britain. London. So, there we are, ladies.’ The Captain tossed the paper into his inward tray. ‘You’ve escaped the rope, you lucky devils.’ Cornelius rose to his feet. ‘All right, then. That is all for now. You can go back to your cells.’

  ‘When will we be going, Captain, sailing I mean?’

  ‘When a ship is ready, Stanley and it could be weeks, months even years. Who knows? It’s a busy time. There’s a lot of demand these days.’

  ‘Where’s this B-botany Bay place, Captain?’ Porter stammered.

  ‘It’s across the seas, Porter, just a short sail. You’ll enjoy it, fresh salt air and all.’ Cornelius gave a hearty laugh. ‘Back to your cell now like good ladies.’

  Pox Face grabbed Porter’s arm. ‘Come on, love, you heard the Captain. Don’t hold him up. He’s a very busy man.’ Like sheep, they’d shuffled back to their cell, a smirking Pox Face following behind, shoving them along and once groping Porter’s rear. Hannah watched the fury on Porter’s face. ‘Don’t,’ she warned in a whisper. ‘Save it.’

  They’d collapsed onto their wooden-slatted beds when they entered the cell, too dazed with the news to talk and even respond to Smithers, the one who’d poisoned her husband. ‘Been ‘acoursing with the cap’n, have you?’ the aged crone shouted. ‘Did he git up your skirts, well?’

  Hannah recalled how she’d rolled over on that day, covering her head with a tattered blanket and tried to go to sleep, her mind a mixture of relief and foreboding. Beside her, Porter slept like a dead woman, mouth open, head twisted into an uncomfortable angle on the bare boards. Hannah moved over and placed a folded cape under Porter’s head. It had been a long and eventful day and their future still lay ahead of them, mysterious and unknown.

  They lost track of the time, only knowing what month it was when John came to visit. They had heard nothing more about going to Botany Bay but it was always on their minds as they slipped back into the seemingly endless monotony of a bare existence in H.M Maidstone Prison.

  ‘Maybe they’ve forgotten us,’ Porter joked one day. ‘We’ll rot in this hole, Hannah, forever and ever. What a life.’

  ‘Hang on, Hannah P, we’ll hear something soon,’ Hannah soothed her friend, losing count of how many times she’d repeated that same reply. This time, she could not, however, have been more prophetic.

  One morning, as Hannah sat, needle in hand, mending her threadbare shawl, the sliding spy hole opened and the face of Captain Cornelius appeared. The nervous cell occupants rose at the unusual sight of the prison superintendent down here in the women’s cells. ‘News only for you two Hannahs,’ he bellowed. ‘The rest of you go on about your business and shut your traps or you’ll know about it.’ He beckoned the two forward until they stood directly in front of him. ‘Get your things ready, whatever you have. You are leaving here in the early morn. I won’t be here to see you off but . . .’ He smiled at them both, made to close the spy hole, before pausing. ‘Good luck in the new world.’

  ‘Where are we goin’ to, sir?’ Porter’s eyes widened.

  ‘Why, Porter, my girl, I thought I’d explained that to you. You are going on that lovely sea voyage that I told you about, but first, I understand, you’ll have a week or two on the Thames in temporary accommodation. Now, I believe it’s very colorful there, so they tell me. Well, have a good trip, ladies.’

  The trapdoor slammed shut leaving the two women to look at each other in wonder. Another chapter in their life was about to begin, one that Hannah had mixed feelings about. Certainly, they were getting out of the filthy confines of Maidstone Prison — that was a blessing in itself — but what was that business about a week or two on the Thames? The Captain and his weird sense of humor seemed well known to the prison inmates but it didn’t allay her foreboding about tomorrow. Suddenly, she felt her stomach churning and she wanted to vomit . . .

  TO WOOLWICH

  February 1810

  Sleet fell on the shivering bodies of the four convicts and a freezing northerly blew into their faces, icing cheeks and watering eyes. In the back of the open cart, the two ankle-chained maids huddled on a wooden form. Opposite, two other women convicts sat apart, heads turned to the rear, bodies bent into a foetal position, desperate to retain a degree of warmth, and oblivious to the world and each other.

  Hannah thought it was rather ironic. They hated each other, these two — often coming to blows in Maidstone — but now they were sharing common transport on the way to another hell — this place called Botany Bay.

  ‘Are we goin’ straight on the ship, sir?’ Hannah Porter politely addressed the guard.

  The soldier swiveled in his seat, coarse features twisting into a sneer. ‘All in good time, my lovely, and you’ll find out soon.’ He grimaced, revealing broken, blackened teeth. ‘We’ve got prime lodgings ready for you.’ He turned to the driver. ‘Haven’t we, Richard? ’

  ‘Aye, that we have, lodgings fit for classy ladies.’ They both roared with laughter, the soldier clutching his sides in merriment. ‘Classy ladies, that’s rich,’ he spluttered.

  The convicts remained silent. Hannah watched the wheel turn. Around and round it went, effortlessly using up the seconds, the minutes, biting into a life span that was encompassing one hell after another and more to come. God, help us. She glanced at her namesake and the icy wind swept up the peak of her bonnet. ‘Having a good time, then, Hannah P?’ She asked sarcastically, freezing lips stumbling to express the words. Hannah Porter gave an emphatic nod of the head and a forceful roll of the eyes. There was no need for words between them but Hannah thought she detected an ironic grin under her friend’s pretty blue bonnet, the one that the lads would never ever see.

  Hannah hung her head and sobbed, beyond caring. Sweet Jesus, she was frightened. Sure, they were now on this big ship, the Canada 2 they called it, but the nightmares of their short but traumatic stay on the hulk assaulted her dreams. Porter had been groped by one of the hulk guards and left a sobbing, hysterical wreck and she, herself, had to fight for her life against a deranged woman who had slashed her arm with sewing scissors. Thank God, they’d stopped her quickly — the crazed woman — and dragged her to the rail of the hulk. Here the ship’s master thrashed her with the cat-of-nine tails until she sagged in a bloody heap on the deck. They’d rubbed salt into her weals, thrown a bucket of water over her and dragged her by the hair, along the deck and out of sight, while Hannah and the others brought up from the bowels of the ship had been forced to watch. ‘Let that be a warning to ye all,’ the Hulk Master bellowed, ‘now, git below.’

  It was horrific, the hulk, but more was to follow. Hannah was sure of it. Now, they were on the Canada going to the end of the earth. What wo
uld it hold for them? Would they ever see England again? There was shouting up above. The fore hatch slid open. Hannah shielded her eyes from the harsh daylight, focusing with difficulty on the shadowy figures that peered down at them through the iron grille. ‘Hey, you lot,’ one said. ‘Stand by there. The mate will be along bye and bye to talk to you.’

  ‘Well, aren’t that nice,’ said Porter, putting on false bravado, ‘an invite to yon Captain’s cabin for tea.’

  ‘What is that you are saying, Porter?’ The belligerent red-haired crewman — the one that had signed on the Canada from the hulk’s crew — glared down between the bars. ‘You be askin’ for trouble again. Eh?’

  ‘I didn’t say anything,’ Porter replied haughtily. ‘You know me, always the quiet one.’ She giggled then flashed him a smile of contrition. ‘Sorry if—’

  ‘You’re a smooth one, Porter,’ he conceded, ‘full of horse dung. I might have to do something about you, later on.’ His face disappeared but they could hear him laughing with his shipmates. After a while, silence descended and they sat on the bunk, content to smell the salty tang in the air and feel the cooling caresses of the sea, as the breeze filtered down into the hold.

  ‘Be careful of that fellow,’ Hannah warned Porter. ‘He’s a nasty brute. Remember what he did to that girl from Newcastle.’

  ‘I remember that girl on the hulk, a sweet young thing, she was too. Well, at least she was before . . . Hannah, she was just gone thirteen, you know. He raped her when she wouldn’t agree to his animal demands. But don’t you worry. I can handle him. He’s like all the others, Hannah. They only want one thing.’ She lowered her voice.’ Look here, my dear friend, the only way we can keep sane and fed is to go along with it—’

  ‘What? You mean—?’

  ‘I mean giving ‘em what they want but getting something back in return. Be it what it may be, a cushy job, some food — anything we can get out of them to keep living.’ Porter searched Hannah’s comely face for understanding. ‘I been thinkin’ this over, you know. This rotten ship won’t go on forever. In a few months, we’ll be in that Sydney town, to a new life, hopefully a better one. Let’s hang on, Hannah, and survive.’ Porter reached up from the bunk they shared with Rosie, the baby-faced young girl from Dublin who’d stolen a gold watch — so they said — and hugged Hannah P on impulse. Hannah nodded to herself over Porter’s shoulder. Perhaps their choice was simple as she said; survive or die. As to the new land, who knew? It could be a better life or it could be just a continuation of the same eternal nightmare. Irrespective, she couldn’t go along with Porter’s idea of willingly sleeping with the crew. Oh, God, no. She’d have to fight that. There must be other ways.

  ‘What a pretty sight. Now, we know, don’t we?’ A giant of a woman stood glaring, arms akimbo, a sneer further distorting her ugly, dissipated features. She looked around at the convicts surrounding her. ‘Look at ‘em, the two Hannah women. No guessin’ what they’ll be up to, later on. A couple of love birds caught in the act—’

  ‘Shut your filthy blow-hole, you whore.’ Porter sprang from the bunk, face distorted with rage. ‘You’re wrong. You know nothing.’ She stood her ground as the huge convict advanced, muscles rippling in her freely-swinging, heavily-tattooed arms. Hannah levered herself up and stood nervously beside her friend. Together, they eyed the approaching gargantuan. They’d be chained — with punishment balls and all — at Captain Ward’s pleasure if they were caught fighting. They might even be flogged or worse, have their hair cut off. Still, they couldn’t back down to this bully. Their lives were bad enough now, but would be unbearable if they gave in to her. It was a long, long way to Botany Bay.

  The giant stopped and leered at the two Kent girls. ‘Watch who you’re callin’ a whore,’ she snarled, spittle spraying from the small, twisted mouth. Hannah caught a pungent whiff of stale sweat and unwashed flesh. ‘Do you know who I am?’

  ‘The Virgin Mary?’ taunted Porter sacrilegiously.

  ‘She’s Big Tess. That’s who she is. You better watch out,’ piped up the thin, sickly-looking girl, in a grubby, once-white bonnet, standing behind the giant convict.

  ‘Shut your cake-hole, I’ll handle this. Yes. I’m Big Tess—’

  There was a sudden grating noise up top and the iron grille swung open. The mate’s face appeared in the open hatch. ‘Listen up,’ he shouted, hand cupped to his mouth. ‘Shut your trap,’ he shouted again, to obtain complete silence. ‘The Government in its wisdom has seen fit to give you lovely well-behaved ladies fresh clothing for the journey to the new land.’ He laughed. ‘Why, you ask? Who knows? Consider yourselves blessed, darlings. You will come up on deck, a few at a time, and do what you are told. You will wash yourself in the tubs and put on the new clothes. You will then go back down below and be very quiet. Girls, tomorrow, yes, tomorrow, we sail across the seas to your new southern land. Now, isn’t that exciting?’ A titter of amusement came from up top and his face disappeared.

  A ladder was slid down into the hold. The convicts thronged around the ladder, whispering among themselves, excited at the very thought of clothing. They were going to get clothing. Would it be new? What colours would there be?

  Big Tess stood undisturbed by the movement and voices above. She eyed the two women from Kent with scorn. ‘You’ll keep, I’ll remember you two. You’ll be sorry you ever crossed the path of Big Tess.’ She turned, smashing her way through the convicts to the foot of the ladder. ‘Get out of my way, you whores.’

  Porter gave a nervous laugh. ‘God, Hannah. Just fancy being locked up with that creature for the next few months. What joy it would be!’

  ‘Well, I can’t see the Captain inviting her up to his cabin for tea and cakes. Hannah gave a wry smile ‘Still,’ she added, ‘watch your back, she’s dangerous.’

  ‘And so are we, if we have to.’

  Hannah nodded in agreement. They were no longer naive village girls from the countryside of Kent. Maidstone Prison and their short but terrifying time in the hulk had educated them in survival and hardened them beyond belief. They would watch out for themselves and each other and little Rosie, too. They would be a very long time at sea. Their lives would depend on them watching, listening and taking every care.

  ABOARD THE WHALER

  SPRING GROVE

  April 1810

  Daniel Clarke drew on his pipe and watched the flaming orange ball dip into the darkening sea. It had been a warm day but, now, the rising sou’wester was generating its chill. It would be a clear, cloudless night, ideal weather, fine and cool and good visibility for chasing whales in the Southern Fisheries. He watched his shipmates on the fo’c’sle. The big Swede Lans Carlsson pressurized the young apprentice boy. ‘Come, boy, sing song. Sing da song.’ He placed a huge, callused hand on the youth’s shoulder. ‘Aye,’ the bow oar on the waist boat shouted. ‘That’s what we want, music, songs, a good sea shanty. What’ll it be, boy?’ He ran a harmonica through pursed lips and blew a prelude up and down the scales. The resigned youngster climbed to his feet, knowing he had no choice. It would be wise to cooperate or else. Putting the crew offside, with months at sea to come, would be disastrous. Everyone was his boss on this ship. He tugged nervously at a grubby cravat and, voice quavering, gave a — improving as he progressed — rendition of Sweet Betsy of Bristol. The crew joined in the chorus, clapping and dancing. ‘Ist good,’ the big Swede confirmed and whacked the relieved boy on the back. The mouth organist burst into Bold Black Ben and the crew joined in, voices thundering through the rigging and booming aft to the quarterdeck.

  Daniel watched the smiling first mate — his boat-header in the larboard whaleboat — nodding his head and tapping a foot in keeping with the music. This was the best time of the day, the evening recreation period. Everyone on board the Spring Grove relaxed. The ship remained at peace, even if only for a few short hours. He stretched and yawned. ‘I’m for bed, fellows,’ he said, addressing the crew at large. ‘I’ve got the dog.’ Tapping the remnants o
f his pipe into a water bucket, he waited until the sparks were completely extinguished. ‘Night, Dan’el,’ someone called.

  Daniel strolled around the deck. He did it every night before turning in. It was a habit that he’d developed since he first came to sea. Pausing at the base of the main mast, he peered up into the rigging. Four of the crew were reefing in the topsail, handling it easily in the light breeze. Precautions, he thought. The Captain was always cautious when under way at night, hoisting only the minimum, often only a fore stay and a mizzen spanker.

  The first mate, sooty blue cap at the back of his head and a shock of sandy hair flopping over his eyes, hailed him as he rounded the mizzen mast. ‘Dan’el, I’d like another whale line ready for tomorrow.’ His bulky figure stood out in the fading light, in contrast to the slightly built helmsman with his hands on the wheel.

  ‘Aye, you want it done now? I can run new rope behind the ship overnight and get the kinks out.’

  ‘No need to do it now. Tomorrow morn will do. You’re on the dog, aren’t you?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Well, do it then.’

  ‘Aye, Jack. You want another line tub in the whaleboat?’

  ‘Yes, we’ll need it ready by about noon I would think. We’ll be close in by then.’

  ‘I’ll fix it.’

  ‘Good. I — Steersman, watch your bearing. You’re drifting, man. Concentrate.’ The First Mate glared at the flustered seaman and shook his head in mock despair. He gave Daniel a rueful grin. ‘They call themselves seamen, bloody ‘ell.’