Surgeon Gibson had locked himself into his room, along with his wife, to await the outcome of commotion outside. Then came a knock at the door from Sergeant Jacobs announcing that all was well, but there had been a few fatalities and could the doctor inspect the bodies. So the doctor, relieved that they were safe once again, made his way to inspect the dead. Father McBride was kneeling by the side of the bodies, which had been laid out on deck in a row, and was imploring the Lord to have mercy on their souls and let them rest in peace.
Neither Joe, John nor Charlie had taken part in the attempted break-out, having been too busy trying to drag Pat off Rawlins and pull him away from the crowd. He had worked himself up into such a rage; he would have killed Rawlins if he had carried on. His hatred burned like a furnace, but he was satisfied that he and the others had inflicted sufficient damage on the brutal villain to make him think twice before attacking anyone else in the future.
The following day, in his quarters, the captain yet again praised Flynn for his valiant act.
‘My wife says you’re a true hero, Flynn, and so do I for that matter,’ he announced.
‘I see it as my duty, sir … nothing more,’ said Flynn.
‘You have the courage of a lion, Flynn, and your being on board makes us all sleep easier at night.
‘Indeed, Lieutenant Flynn, your bravery would make any future wife proud to be with such a man,’ said the captain’s wife.
‘Well I’m just glad that Laura did not decide to come along just yet. I was about to write to her last night, before I was so rudely interrupted by the riot.’
‘Do you think there might be another such occurrence, Flynn?’ asked the captain.
‘I certainly think it necessary to take precautions to avoid another attempt, Captain,’ replied Flynn.
It was decided that, for the safety of the ship, the prisoners were to be put in irons for the rest of the journey. On leaving the captain’s quarters, Flynn, feeling content with himself, went out on to the quarterdeck and shouted down to the sergeant on the main deck. ‘Sergeant Jacobs, take the guards and some crew and fetch the irons. We’ll chain these miserable wretches up until we reach Hobart town, then the authorities can see to them.’
‘How much more misery could be heaped upon these tortured souls?’ thought Father McBride, as he stood on the quarterdeck, not ten yards from Lieutenant Flynn.
‘Ah, good morning, Father, do you think we ought to feed the sharks today?’ said Flynn, grinning sarcastically.
‘You’re a cold-blooded villain, Flynn!’ There was a pause.
‘Tell me, does it give you great satisfaction to shoot unarmed men? Or does it make you feel less of a coward than you really are?’ asked the priest, trying to keep calm.
‘And who are you to speak of cowardice, Father, hiding behind your bible? At least it should keep you out of mischief,’ answered Flynn, with an arrogant smirk.
‘Given the chance, Flynn, I’d box your ears,’ said the priest, getting agitated, despite himself.
‘Yes, of course, Father,’ said Flynn casting off the remark.
‘Ha! I doubt you could box up a gift with those lily white hands of yours.’ Lieutenant Flynn knew how to goad the priest and delighted in doing so, especially whilst feeling so good about himself. Father McBride had come to despise him and always found himself losing his temper when in his company, through pure frustration.
‘So I’ll see you at feeding time then, Father?’ said Flynn turning his back on him and walking away.
‘Go to hell, Flynn!’ retorted the priest, gripping the quarter rail so hard his knuckles turned white. Flynn disappeared into his quarters.
‘Forgive me, Lord, but that man is an intolerable beast,’ he muttered to himself, gathering his thoughts before going down to see the prisoners.
Jacobs had obeyed the command and he and the other redcoats along with some crew members spent most of the day chaining all the prisoners’ hands and feet. The heavy shackles bit into their ankles and wrists, and to sleep in them was almost impossible. As the days went by their restriction of movement became so frustrating at times that men could be seen openly weeping.
It was the last month of the journey and it seemed interminable. Thought came to haunt the corridors of Pat’s mind like a restless ghost searching for forgotten memories of a life once lived, hoping to find comfort and salvation for a lonely spirit. Pat, like many others was surviving only on his memories, sitting for hours hugging his legs with his head on his knees. He had carried out his acts of retribution and the anger and bitterness had faded, he now needed time to reconnect with his emotions, in order to regain some spiritual balance. Thoughts of his wife and child were his only protection from the misery that surrounded him and in that huddled position, shutting everything else out, he was briefly able to recall Sarah’s scent and feel her tender touch. He tried desperately to hold on to that moment of comfort, but it slipped away and he felt only emptiness once more. He wanted to feel human again, just one moment of tenderness with Sarah, to hold his son and feel his little arms stretching around his neck, to feel wanted. His soul was torn apart in his search for those long lost feelings.
Despite being separated from his fiancée and missing her adoring face, Lieutenant Flynn was not at all downcast and seemed to positively relish the sombre mood of the
‘tween decks and his complete control over a ship full of destitutes. He sat at his desk in his quarters, priding himself on his accomplishments during his epic journey and penned a letter to his fiancée with some exaggeration of the events that had taken place.
My Dearest Laura
I hope you received my last letter and that all is well at home. I write because I miss you dreadfully and to report the latest on board. Although I miss your presence, it was a good thing you did not join this voyage. It seems the convicts had planned a mutiny, and if it were not for my quick thinking, we would have all been butchered for sure.
I had settled into my cabin two nights ago to write to you, when the sound of musket fire rang out from below deck. Only half dressed, I ran down to the main deck to find the convicts armed with cutlasses and muskets s and whatever else they could use for a weapon. I quickly ordered the guards to form ranks and forced the savages back down the hatchway into the prison hold. Having shot five of them dead, I then had time to reflect on the terrifying experience and their savage behaviour. It was lucky we suffered no injuries. One of the wretches came at me with a cutlass and I had no choice but to shoot him through the head. The Captain praised my courage but I told him I was just doing my duty. But enough about me. How is your Mother? I hope she is recovering well from her unfortunate illness. I do so long to see you again, it has been such an age and my heart aches for you. We will be arriving in Hobart Town in a few weeks’ time, where I shall post this letter. Then, once I am settled in, I will write to you again.
Gerard
Sealing the letter in an envelope, Flynn then knocked back a glass of brandy from his special supply that he kept secreted in his cabin just for himself. Feeling completely relaxed, he tucked himself into bed and almost instantly fell into a peaceful, untroubled sleep.
The Rupert finally pulled into Hobart harbour on 20 January 1824, signalling the end of the appalling journey for the convicts. From now on they would no longer have to cope with the claustrophobia of the ship’s hulk. It felt wonderful just to be back on dry land, without the fear of being shipwrecked and drowning, but it was not their land and everything about it was alien to them. Their life sentences had only just begun, and the arrival at the colony brought with it a new set of tribulations and a new sense of despair.
CHAPTER 9
HOBART TOWN
The Mary Jane turned into Storm Bay, on the Tasman Peninsula, sailing up past Bruny Island, towards the mouth of the Derwent River, slowly making its way to Hobart town. The scene was picturesque with a backdrop of rolling hills and lush greenery that sloped down to meet the river, at the mouth of which sat the quain
t little town. About four miles behind the town stood Mount Wellington, dominating the scenery with its four thousand feet of solid rock. Hobart was a thriving whaling, sealing and fishing town, and the harbour was always busy with trade. But today was different – the female ship was due in.
Work slowly came to a standstill around the harbour, as word got round that the female convict ship was about to enter port. For weeks now the locals had been eagerly anticipating the vessel’s arrival. Small fishing boats full of women-hungry men came bobbing out on the water to greet the ship, then shouting and jeering alongside her and following her back to the harbour. The women on board were unprepared for this jovial reception, and stood at the rails taking in the dockside, which was heaving with men waving and shouting in merriment.
News soon got round that the ship had docked and Hobart town was all a bustle, as business people closed their shops and rushed to the harbour. The female ships always attracted great crowds, because of the dire shortage of women in the colony. As soon as the ship had docked at Sullivan’s Cove, young officers and free settlers would climb on board, having the privilege of first choice to take away any female, whilst ex-convicts would have to make do with what was left. Then there were the few drunken older women, looking on with a mixture of disgruntled envy and sympathy at all the attention the new arrivals were receiving. They had been there before – flattered at being chosen, then discarded like old rags. After being used and abused they had had to fend for themselves, most having to resort to prostitution in order to survive.
The scene was like a cattle market, with the women lined up for inspection like animals, or, at best, slaves. The best looking, healthier women were snapped up first. The older ones, or those with children, were the last to be picked, as nobody wanted the burden of looking after a child as well as a maid and the men’s sexual satisfaction was their primary concern. If you wanted love in Van Dieman’s Land it had to be bought and for the majority, who were convicts, or ex- convicts, there was no chance. At best, they would get their gratification from those cast aside. It was a cruel existence for a woman and one of sexual frustration for a man. For the unfortunate few who were not chosen, it was off to the Female House of Correction, on Macquarie Street; reputed to be the foulest place on earth. With its damp crumbling walls, it smelt like a cesspit, unfit to house a pack of rabid dogs.
The Female House of Correction housed all the unwanted women of British society, and now the unwanted of the new colony. These women suffered complete rejection, turning them bitter against their oppressors. The inmates included those that had been used and abused by their service master, only to be cast aside and replaced by a younger model. They had lost all hope, prostituting themselves and drinking to escape the misery of their wretched lives. Things were so bad that the authorities had decided it would be better for the community if the House of Correction were moved out of town, in order to restore some dignity back to the area.
So the government had bought a disused distillery and made the relevant adjustments, including the introduction of a maternity section and orphanage. The place would come to be known as the ‘Female Factory’, and was situated a few miles out of Hobart town, at the foot of Mount Wellington, in an area called the Cascades. Although set in beautiful countryside, the poor wretches felt no benefit, since the high walls blocked out the view and they were left there to rot – out of sight, out of mind.
Sarah was standing in line with the others on the deck with her head down, only raising it now and then in the hope of spotting Pat. Men were literally falling over one another, trying to get on board, with the odd fight breaking out in the crowd. Like the rest of the girls in the midst of this chaos, Sarah’s heart was racing, not knowing what to expect. She feared that if she had to walk through that crowd, her clothes would surely be ripped from her body. Then, as she briefly scanned this crazy scene, her view was suddenly blocked by an immaculate officer’s uniform: red tunic with shiny gold buttons and navy blue trousers with a white trim and a gleaming black scabbard, in which presumably lay a shiny sword which ran the length of his leg down to his shiny boots. The owner of the uniform stood tall, with mousy hair showing under his hat and an athletic build and proud posture. A wry smile played on his lips as he gazed at Sarah with a keen eye, making her feel uncomfortable.
‘Oh, yes!’ he said with satisfaction. ‘You are a very pretty one make no mistake. What is your name?’
‘Sarah, sir,’ she replied, her eyes now glued to the deck.
‘Well now, Sarah, you may come with me,’ he said, loftily, slowly appraising her from head to foot. ‘I’m in need of a maid in my quarters and you look entirely suitable. So go and gather your belongings and we shall be on our way.’
‘This is all I have, sir,’ she replied, picking up a pathetic little bundle from off the deck.
The officer glanced at the bundle before turning and indicating with his finger for her to follow him. As they jostled their way through the crowded ship, Sarah passed Mary and Ellen, but was only able to bid them a hasty goodbye, separated as they were between a sea of men’s heads and shoulders. She also wished them luck, but her voice was lost in the hubbub. It was such a fleeting goodbye, when they had been through so much together in the last nine months and may never meet again.
Down the cramped gangway they left the ship, the cocky officer even pushing a man coming up the other way into the harbour. Once on dry land, Sarah suddenly felt very queasy, and lost her footing on the solid ground, to the great amusement of the men standing around. It took a few moments for her to regain her senses then she quickly scanned the throng, in the hope of finding Pat’s face among the many. Some of the men would reach out from the crowd and touch and grope the women in a frenzy of excitement. Sarah found herself being mauled all over, and screamed in alarm, clutching her bundle against her chest for protection. The officer turned to assist her, seeming rather annoyed by her struggles, and dragging her towards him by the shoulder of her dress.
‘Don’t you dare touch her, you miserable dogs, or I’ll have the lot of you arrested!’ he bawled.
The disgruntled men heeded the warning and backed away, abusing the officer under their breath. Sarah felt more relaxed once they were away from the crowded harbour and it was a only short walk to the military barracks on Davey Street, which was adjacent to the harbour. Alongside the barracks lay a row of terraced houses – the officers’ quarters – of modest size but with generous front and back gardens and furnished by the regiment with plenty of military decor and memorabilia.
On arrival at the house, Sarah was immediately shown to her room, which impressed her, though she felt uneasy about her new master. Though it was the only room in the house without a rug, or any form of floor covering, it was a suitable size for her, but then again, anything would be preferable to the cramped conditions of the convict ship. A single bed stood in the corner, a poignant reminder that she was alone, though she was glad that it gave her more space. A big Georgian window overlooked the front garden, and a dressing table with a few drawers, and a small wardrobe also furnished the room. Since she did not have many clothes or possessions, there was little to relieve the bareness. The room echoed Sarah’s own solitude, its emptiness crying out for warmth, care and attention.
Though she had never had such luxury, she had never felt lonelier. Memories of Pat and Sam came flooding back as she sat on her bed and gave way to her grief. This was the first time she had actually been alone since she had left Liverpool and it was a painful adjustment. Interrupted by a knock at her door, she quickly dried her eyes and was then briefly and half-heartedly shown around the house by the officer, before being left to settle in for the night.
The following day Sarah became fully acquainted with her new master, Lieutenant Gerard Flynn, of the Royal Marines. He informed her of the duties she would be expected to perform, which were mainly domestic, with some shopping involved and she accepted them without complaint. Her vacant far away expression had Flynn qui
te intrigued, but he chose not to question her for the moment. He had been instantly attracted to her, and decided that, while he was still a single man, he was entitled to have a plaything to satisfy his sexual desires. In a rare show of sensitivity, he decided to give her a few days to settle in before he would make an attempt on her. He would try to charm her and gain her trust and confidence before luring her into his bed. Not that he was a natural charmer, he lacked the patience for that, and Sarah had already detected something about him that she did not like.
By all accounts, Flynn was not the only officer to take advantage of his power. Others quite openly broke the rules of social conduct and kept a female convict as a mistress. Those women who were compliant were rewarded with material comforts, but there were stories floating around concerning the persecution of those who refused to oblige their masters’ desires. The newly appointed Lieutenant- Governor George Arthur had promised to bring order to the colony, after the late Governor Sorell had seemed more preoccupied with his own life, than that of the colony.
A few days had passed, it was early evening and Lieutenant Flynn was in his drawing room relaxing with a glass of brandy. He sat in a high-backed Burgundy armchair, smoking a pipe and looking out through the open French doors, which led out on to a patio. From the patio, a beautiful garden blossomed, with bright multi-coloured flowers flanking a clean-cropped lawn, kept in order by convicts. He called for Sarah to join him. She had just finished pressing his uniform for the following day, and looked quite exhausted after a long day’s work. She walked into the drawing room smartening herself up as she went, after removing her pinafore.
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