Bound to Sarah

by Craig Brennan

  Sarah’s confidence had returned by the time she reached the house of her tormentor and her hope was restored. Her appetite had also returned; her hunger fuelled by her burning anger, and while she prepared herself something to eat, she tried to marshal her thoughts. As reality set in, her elation subsided, and she remembered that there was no one to run to and nowhere to run. She would have to be patient and behave as if she had never left the house, biding her time and waiting for the appropriate moment to arrive. Only then would she let Flynn feel her bitter wrath.

  Now that she knew Pat was still alive she tormented herself with feelings of shame and remorse for trusting so easily the words of her master, and for not fighting hard enough against his brutal advances. She had had a bad feeling about Flynn from the moment she had laid eyes on him, so why had she not trusted her instincts? She was beside herself with guilt, but the reality was, whether Pat was alive or dead, she would not have been able to stop Flynn, he was far too strong and if she had fought back any harder, her injuries would have been even more serious.

  Flynn arrived home in the early evening feeling quite good about himself, knowing that Pat had been carted off to the island of misery. He went straight into the kitchen, and noticed Sarah sitting at the table, her eyes red raw, as if she had been crying.

  ‘How are you feeling, Sarah?’ he enquired, as if he cared.

  ‘A bit better, I suppose,’ she replied, without lifting her eyes from the table.

  ‘Have you eaten today? I hope you have, I have not given you time off for nothing,’ he said, more coldly.

  ‘Yes I’ve eaten, and I told you, I feel a bit better.’

  ‘Good, then you can run a few errands for me tomorrow, can’t you?’

  ‘How can I run errands, if I don’t know my way around?’ she asked sullenly. ‘Why have you kept me locked away in here anyway?’

  ‘Don’t you dare raise your voice to me. You work under my rule, no questions asked, do you hear?’ there was a long pause before he started again. ‘What has got into you, Sarah? Maybe I have been too lenient with you. You need to learn to have more respect for those in authority. Now finish your duties and go and stay in your room for the evening, out of my sight,’ he said, admonishing her like a child.

  Sarah gladly seized the opportunity to go to her room, where she locked herself in. She did not encounter Flynn again that evening, or for most of the following day. Finding a note the next morning to go on errands around the town, she was exhilarated by the freedom and enjoyed taking her time looking around the dusty streets of Hobart once more.

  For the duration of that afternoon Sarah’s troubles melted away in the warmth of the sunshine. Knowing that she did not have to rush back, or worry about being caught out of the house, she calmly strolled along, taking it all in. Though she fretted about Pat’s safety, and whether she would see him again soon, she could now daydream that one day they might be together and free again. Like waves of the salty sea breeze, she was flooded with happy memories of Liverpool, when they would walk the fields of Everton brow with Sam on Pat’s shoulders to watch the sun go down.

  A week had gone by, and with her increased freedom Sarah felt more optimistic about life, but not about her master. Flynn was in no mood for Sarah’s resistance, so he was avoiding contact with her, much to her relief. It was to be short-lived. After a pleasant Sunday afternoon playing cricket with the rest of the officers, Flynn tried again.

  Sarah had been called to duty that day and met with other female convicts assigned to officers. They congregated under a tree, enjoying the hot afternoon on the lush ground of Battery Point. The cricket ground overlooked the harbour and town and the church bells of Saint David’s rang out in the distance and the clear blue sky caused the sun’s reflection to glisten on the water like so many diamonds. While Sarah took in the dream-like surroundings, Flynn’s military companions were admiring her and commenting on her beauty, and assisted in reigniting Flynn’s lust. He was flattered by their approval and boasted that Sarah was a woman of sultry passion who had fallen for him hook, line and sinker.

  On their arrival home Flynn was in boisterous mood, having been on the winning team and the envy of his fellow officers and he ordered Sarah to prepare a bath for him, which she did. She sensed his mood and it was putting her on edge, although she had always known that this phase of no physical contact would not last. She filled the tin bathtub with hot water, whilst Flynn was in his bedroom undressing. She had just emptied the final jug of water into the tub and was drying her hands on her apron, when Flynn appeared, wearing only his trousers.

  ‘Come and take my trousers off, Sarah. There’s a girl.’

  ‘I will not,’ answered Sarah bluntly.

  ‘Do we really have to fight? Why can’t you just do as I ask? It would be a lot better for us both.’

  ‘Because I don’t want you, and I don’t love you!’

  ‘And what do you know of love? You are a destitute, a mere vagrant, who doesn’t know the meaning of the word!’ Then, taking a deep breath in an effort to stay calm, he added, ‘Now Sarah … I’m going to give one last chance … it can be pleasant, or it can be painful. Now come over here, and do as I ask.’

  Sarah stood firm for a few moments before finally giving way. Unable to bear the thought of another beating, she went over to Flynn, thinking hard for a way of escape.

  ‘I knew you would see sense. Now take off my trousers,’ Flynn said smugly.

  She reached out and started to undo his buttons, immediately noticing that he was getting aroused. His trousers fell to the floor and his erection stuck out obscenely from his long johns. ‘Now kneel down and take off my underwear,’ he said, savouring his power over her.

  Mortified, Sarah knelt down, trying to ignore his swollen manhood as she slipped the clothes from under his feet, all the time keeping her head down to the floor. ‘Now put it in your mouth!’ said Flynn, thrusting himself at her, but Sarah did not move. ‘Well? What are you waiting for?’ he said, his temper rising.

  Sarah could not bring herself to answer, but just kept her head down in the vain hope that he would go away. But Flynn wanted his pound of flesh and grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head up, with the other fist clenched, ready to punch her. Maybe it was the fury in his eyes that caused something inside her to snap. Whatever it was, she was not prepared to suffer anymore and wanted revenge. She grabbed his naked testicles, squeezing and twisting them as hard as she could. The shock and pain caused Flynn to howl. She then clawed at his face, leaving a livid cat scratch across his cheek. As she released her grip he fell to the floor, doubled up in agony. She quickly backed away. She had nowhere to go, so she sat on the floor in a corner awaiting her fate.

  ‘You will pay for this, you filthy little bitch!’ spat Flynn, still clutching his bruised testicles.

  Sarah got up and went over to him while he was still vulnerable. ‘You told me that my husband was dead … you’re a bloody liar!’ she cried out bitterly.

  Flynn showed a hint of shame for just the briefest second, but it quickly turned to anger. ‘You have been outside, when you were specifically told not to!’ he said, trying to regain control of his wounded supremacy.

  ‘Don’t try and change the subject, you bastard. You tricked me into thinking I had nothing left, just so you could have your wicked way with me!’

  ‘Rest assured, Sarah, you have got nothing left. In fact, you are as good as dead.

  Sarah knew what was coming, but while she still had the advantage, she calmly went over to the bathtub to wash her hands and face, then filled the jug with water and poured it all over Flynn as he sat examining himself. The shock of the soaking enraged him still further. ‘You’re going to wish you were dead by the time I’ve finished with you!’ he yelled.

  ‘Living with you is enough to make anyone wish they were dead,’ answered Sarah defiantly, the hint of a smile playing on her lips, as she took in the pathetic sight of him dripping wet and nursing his precious crotch.
But though she was calm on the outside, she was terrified at the thought of what was about to happen and she knew she had to stay strong. Flynn was not going to suffer his humiliation lightly, especially not from a woman, and a convict at that. He beat Sarah with such severity that he had to keep her indoors until her bruises had gone down. She was confined to bed anyway, for almost a week, hardly able to move for her injuries. Then she was carted off to the Female Factory at the Cascades, where the governess was informed that she was unfit for decent society. She was to be placed in the lowest class, where she would endure the harshest punishments, in order to rehabilitate her social conduct.

  CHAPTER 10

  BOUND TO SARAH

  Almost four months had passed since Pat had arrived in Hobart town and still his irons continued to chafe and bite into his ankles. Bruised and grazed with the constant movement and weight of the shackles and chains, they were a torture in their own right and made life even more unbearable. In the evening, once the shackles had been removed, he spent hours rubbing and soothing the soreness. His ankles were the worst, with so little flesh around the bone, cuts were inevitable. At times, Pat and the other prisoners could be seen silently weeping in despair. Joe, on the other hand, suffered the same as everybody else but did not seem to complain as much. He just sighed a great sigh of relief when his irons came off for the night.

  Every morning, except Sundays, they were put back in their irons and taken from the gaol on Murray Street to the lumber yard at Maquarie Point, where they were worked all day in leg chains, though their wrist chains were removed. Joe was lucky enough to work alongside Pat - they always did their best to stay together, though sometimes they were separated. John and Charlie were being held in the prisoners’ barracks, not far from the prison, and were both assigned to separate duties during the day. John worked in the military stables, because of his experience with horses, and Charlie had been assigned to a local shipbuilder, as a general labourer. When they returned to the barracks for the night, they were allowed a limited amount of free time They had to be back at the barracks by eight o’clock in the evening, so they would spend their time around the town. Neither of them had seen Pat or Joe since leaving the Rupert almost four months earlier.

  The day had started as any other, and Pat and Joe were getting used to the lumber yard routine. Joe was familiar with working around wood, so he was quite at ease in that environment. He had adapted well to the change and needed some structure in order to function. As the morning drew on, there appeared to be some sort of a commotion down at the harbour. The two of them looked on curiously at the gathering crowd from Maquarie Point, which overlooked the harbour, just north of Sullivan’s Cove.

  ‘What d’ye s’pose is goin’ on over there, Pat?’

  ‘Dunno, mate, but summin’s up.’

  ‘P’raps the king’s comin’,’ suggested Joe.

  ‘Don’t be daft, Joe, why the ‘ell would ‘e come ‘ere?’ Joe scratched his head in search of an answer.

  ‘Hey! I’ve told you two before, get on with ye work. I’ll not tell ye again,’ shouted the overseer.

  With that, Pat and Joe lifted their axes and went to work once more chopping the giant log that lay next to them. A short time later their attention was turned to the harbour again, as a ship came into sight, and those at the harbour roared out a welcome. By now, other convicts working at the lumber yard also began looking towards the harbour. It was the female ship arriving, and unknown to Pat, the woman he adored and pined for every hour of every day was on board. The two toiled on, still curious as to what was happening, but being prisoners of the Crown they were ignored, not entitled to know, especially while they were working. It was not until later, after listening to the guards talking, that they found out what all the fuss was about. They spent the day glancing over at the bustling harbour, soaking up the jovial atmosphere, whilst expecting little benefit themselves.

  Finally, their labours were over for another day, and they were taken back to their cells and locked up for the night. The convicts’ routine was harsh. Kept under strict military rule, they were put to work building and laying roads in the fast growing colony. Any colonist who required a servant could apply for a convict. As long as they complied with certain regulations, the convict was assigned to service and given food, clothes and a bed. The convicts were divided into classes, dependent on their conduct: the first class were allowed to sleep out of barracks and work for themselves on Saturdays; the second could not sleep out of barracks but were allowed to work for themselves on Saturdays; the third could only work on Saturday afternoons; the fourth had to work in chains; the fifth were kept in the gaol entirely separate from the other prisoners and worked in chains; the sixth were the dregs of the dregs – violent criminals, murderers and rapists, who refused to conform and obey orders, he general a hindrance to the main population – and they were sent to Sarah Island. The final class were the re- offenders, or escaped convicts who had been recaptured, and they too were sent to Sarah Island.

  The system was full of flaws. Some seven-year convicts were put in the lower classes and held at the gaol instead of being assigned to work and held in the barracks, and vice versa. It was not always a case of committing a serious crime, or reoffending that brought a sentence of Sarah Island. The military authorities had unlimited power and could quite easily gain access to a convict’s records and have ‘dangerous’ stamped on it. If a particular officer took a dislike to a convict, or had a grudge against him, they would commonly stamp their records thus.

  The mere mention of Sarah Island made the convicts’ blood run cold, though propaganda played a part, in that it was used as a threat to deter them from reoffending. It was the most ruthless penal settlement in all of Van Dieman’s Land’s and life was so grim and the regime so harsh, that the prisoners would risk everything in an attempt to escape. If they were caught, or if they returned to the settlement of their own accord, the punishment was fifty lashes. If they successfully escaped for any length of time, the punishment, if caught, was death by hanging.

  Another day’s work was over and Pat and Joe were back inside the prison walls, Pat was sitting on his bed in his cell when Lieutenant Flynn’s grinning face appeared at the door grille.

  ‘Ah, Roche, I hope you are not too comfortable.’ Pat just gave him a leer and carried on rubbing his ankles. ‘We seem to have overlooked something on your records, Roche.’

  Pat refused to make any comment and carried on massaging his ankles. He couldn’t stand to look at the smug expression on Flynn’s face.

  ‘You are a convicted murderer, Roche, you should have been sent to Sarah Island on arrival,’ said Flynn, smiling in self satisfaction. ‘So I’m afraid, my dear fellow, that you will be off there on the next cargo.’ Pat tried not to react to this shock announcement. Just when he thought life couldn’t get any worse. He knew there were other serious offenders in this gaol, so why hadn’t they been sent to Sarah Island? And why all of a sudden was he being sent there?

  Flynn studied him for a few moments, trying to gauge his thoughts. ‘Cheer up, Roche, I’ll send the retard along with you, to keep you company.’

  ‘You leave ‘im alone, Flynn, ‘e’s done nothin’ to you.’

  ‘I’m sure you will both enjoy the hospitality the island has to offer. You will fit in very well.’ Flynn turned and left, a wide grin spreading across his face.

  Pat was later marched off to solitary confinement and flung into a black cell, the sound of the door slamming behind him echoing along the dark corridors. Joe was taken too. He should not even have been in the prison in the first place, but because of his lashing on board the Rupert, he had been re-classed for apparently re-offending. He tried his best to stick with Pat anyway, as he felt familiar with him.

  They were kept in solitary for fourteen days, Joe crying alternately for Pat and his father. His distress brought on a seizure and he lay on the cell floor, his body jerking violently. He also endured a number of beatings with muske
t butts in that fourteen-day period. Pat tried his best to comfort him by shouting to him through the walls, which seemed to settle him for a while.

  The supply ship was ready to make its monthly journey to Sarah Island and they were bundled onto a cart with three other men and transported down to the harbour. Pat and Joe sat silent and sullen at the back of the cart, as it rolled along the dusty streets towards the harbour. That was when Pat had spotted Sarah and he could not believe his eyes. She was standing there, in the flesh, on the corner of that Hobart Street. He couldn’t believe it as he called out to her and when she noticed him in the cart she began running to try and keep up with it. Pat’s elation was short- lived though, for he could see that Sarah was in despair. They only spoke briefly, as she could not keep up the pace. She tried frantically to reach out to him, as his hand stretched only as far as his constraints would allow, then the cart turned sharply into another street and she was gone. Pat’s delight that she was actually in Van Dieman’s Land was tempered by his dire situation, but seeing her had rekindled the hope that he might one day be reunited with Sarah and Sam. All his dreams had been extinguished when he left England, the distance being too vast to hold out any expectation of ever seeing them again. But now his hope had been replenished, like rain to a withering rose.

  They were herded on to the supply ship, where they had to find room wherever they could to shelter and sleep. There was no prison section, as the ship had not been designed for that purpose, and the prisoners had to stay on deck most of the time, so the guards could keep watch over them. Pat and Joe had found themselves a little place to huddle down under the bulwarks, the only obvious place to find protection from any wind and rain. They were only permitted to go down below deck during violent storms, which were quite common en route to Macquarie Harbour.

  The west coast of Van Dieman’s Land was rough and rugged, with prevailing winds constantly lashing away at the coast, making the area treacherous to navigate. For ten months of the year along that coast it was wet and windy. About halfway up this coastline there is a narrow break in the land, known as Macquarie Heads, but always referred to by the convicts as ‘Hell’s Gate’. The gap in the land is approximately one hundred feet wide and underneath the shallow waters is a sandy bar. It was impossible to cross the bar in bad weather, and successful entry was only achieved by precise navigation in calm waters. So hazardous was Hell’s Gate that the rocks on either side were festooned with the remains of previous wrecks, bearing witness to those who had dared to make the attempt without following Nature’s rules. Once through Hell’s Gate the sea opens out again into Macquarie Harbour, approximately twenty-five miles long and averaging three miles in width, though at no point is it wider than five miles; its waters choppy, dark and deep. At the north east end lies the mouth of the King’s River, and at the south end the mouth of the Gordon River, near which lies the notorious Sarah Island – less than a mile long and half a mile wide.