Bound to Sarah

by Craig Brennan

  The plan hinged on trusting his four work colleagues, as he would have to sneak off into the woods during work time and hollow out a log to use for a canoe. It would take a few weeks to prepare the log and his colleagues would risk a good flogging and have to revert back to their former duties if he were caught. But they were willing to cover for him for short periods of time, as long as he didn’t push it too far. It had taken sixteen days and a lot of sweat and nervous tension to get the log hollowed out. Now all he had to do was to wait until Sunday to let Pat know that everything was in place. Was it a good omen that, conveniently, Pat had been sent out to Kelly’s Basin on the carrying gang, which was about eight miles along the harbour from the mouth of the Gordon River? It certainly meant not having to worry about stealing a boat and rowing the distance from Sarah, which was well nigh impossible. Pat could think of nothing else, willing to risk his life in order to escape. He was by no means a good rower. In fact, he had only ever rowed to the islet on his own, but it was the only way.

  Sunday came, and after their personal duties of washing and repairing clothes, getting shaved, and going to chapel, they made a last visit to the islet to bid farewell to Joe and Charlie. They planned to make their break within the next few days. They had calculated that Pat needed at least six hours to enable him to flatten his fetters and flee the gang unnoticed, then cut into the woodlands and follow the shoreline to the river, before cutting inland slightly to evade the patrol station at the mouth of the river. He would meet John a little further down river, where they would retrieve the canoe and make their escape.

  It all sounded too easy. Was there something they had overlooked? They wracked their brains but came up with nothing. The river was unknown territory and nobody knew how far it went, but they were prepared to take that risk. And what a risk! If they got caught, Pat was sure to be hanged. It would not be so harsh for John, as his conviction was not for life and he would be shown leniency because of his good record, though he would still receive at least fifty lashes and be given an additional sentence. John was quite proud of the fact that he had never been flogged in all of the time he had been at the colony, whereas Pat had received more than two hundred lashes. Both men made one another fully aware of the consequences but still decided to go ahead. That evening they shook hands and wished each other luck until they met again. They could not put a specific time on Pat arriving at the river, but John would keep a lookout for him. Jittery with excitement and the sense that the monotony was about to break at last, sleep was impossible as they lay in their hammocks that night.

  The following day Pat made his way to the boat that he and fifteen others would row to Kelly’s Basin, worried that the nerves that were churning his insides, were visible on his face. He had to make his break that morning and decided to go for it during their first short stoppage. Using every spare second before work started, he attempted to oval his fetters without drawing the guards’ attention. Word had quickly got around amongst the other convicts that they had a bolter in their gang, and they aided him in whatever way they could. They kept watch while he carefully took two rocks, placing one on the inside of his ankle at the fetter and using the other hit it, taking care not to injure his ankle. By the time the gang was ready to start work, Pat felt confident that he would be able to slip his feet out of the fetters and make a run for it at the next break.

  When the time eventually came, he positioned himself at a spot close to the woods, and sitting on a rock, cautiously removed his boots. Boots were only assigned to the felling gangs, and were given out each morning at muster and returned every evening. The rest of the convicts worked barefoot. Pat then slipped out of the ovaled fetters before sliding back into the boots unnoticed. He scanned the area for the positions of the overseer and the four armed soldiers on guard. The nearest cover was at least thirty yards away, and he would be spotted for sure if he tried to run right now.

  Just then the second log gang were making their way to the shoreline, so he waited until they got nearer. As the gang of forty men wearily trudged past carrying the huge log on their shoulders, Pat bolted away as fast as he could into the nearby woodlands without looking back.

  He expected the guards to start shouting behind him and gun shots to ring out, and thought there was someone on his tail, so he pushed himself to run as fast as he could. It was the run of his life and his pulse was racing. Once inside the dense forest, he fought frantically with branches and brambles, which seemed to be trying to push him back. Exhaustion soon set in as his energy reserves were rapidly depleted, but then it slowly dawned on him that no one was shouting, or shooting at him. Miraculously, he had escaped unseen, two of the guards chatting away; another daydreaming and the fourth giving close inspection to the flintlock of his musket and it did not even occur to the overseer that anyone in his gang would dare to escape while he was in charge. So it was not until the end of the day, when they were counted back into their boats, that they noticed one person missing and the overseer spent the return journey agonising about the consequences.

  Pat was disoriented and dizzy with fatigue, and incapable of running any longer, but he could not stop either, not knowing whether or not a search party was already on his trail. He had to find the shoreline to get back on track and knew he must keep to his right. It could not be far away now, nor was he going in the wrong direction? He staggered on, light-headed and nauseous and suddenly, there was the water’s edge through the trees. It represented the chance of freedom, and like a man who has wandered through the desert without water, he gulped at the air to quench his lungs. Keeping himself hidden in the trees, for fear of being spotted, he could see Sarah Island some three miles away, a picturesque and peaceful vision, which belied the misery within. As Pat took in the scene, a powerful feeling came over him, and he instantly knew that he would never return to that place of torment. He turned his back on the island, and finding a second wind, started to make his way to meet John at the Gordon River.

  John was waiting for him at the agreed spot but it was getting late and he was due to go back to Sarah Island. He was becoming increasingly anxious. Had Pat been caught again? If so, what would his punishment be this time? Maybe he had not had a chance to escape. With no sign of him, he had no choice but to return with the rest of his gang and wait for the next opportunity. However, when he got back to the island there was a commotion; Pat had escaped successfully. John just prayed that he had not got lost and that he would be there in the morning waiting for him. The authorities on the island had become somewhat complacent concerning escape bids, due to the fact that so many escapees had returned within a couple of days, as Pat had done before, having found it impossible to survive; tiredness, hunger and disorientation eventually getting the better of them.

  The next morning John arrived at the spot where he had arranged to meet Pat, but he was nowhere to be seen. Then just as John had given up hope there was a rustling in the bushes and out staggered Pat towards him, he looked utterly drained of life. His clothes were torn and he was covered in lacerations to his arms and legs, his face was also scratched in parts where the dense undergrowth had tried to restrain him. John led him to the makeshift canoe which was concealed under some bushes and there they sat for a short time, while Pat tried to regain his strength. It was there that John told him that he had heard they were not sending out a search party, as they were expecting him to return of his own accord. Pat smiled wryly then gritted his teeth; he would rather die than humiliate himself again. Despite this welcome news, it was time to get moving and John agreed to do most of the rowing while Pat rested. They dragged the boat into the river and John began rowing for their lives. They hit a strong natural current that assisted in their escape, and once at a safe distance, John was able to stop rowing, the fast-flowing waters carrying them down river at a steady pace.

  By the time the alarm fires danced over the harbour to tell of their escape, Pat and John were fast asleep in their hollow log being carried away. They were the first pe
ople to navigate the full length of the Gordon River and find out where it would lead to. The journey was beautifully quiet and peaceful, only the sound of birds and other forest creatures could be heard as they floated around bends and turns. At points, the river would narrow to barely ten metres, flanked by high jagged rock formations, at others it would open out to up to one hundred metres, with lush forests overhanging its banks.

  It would all have been idyllic except that, after a day of drifting, Pat and John were starving. John had had breakfast the day before, but Pat had eaten nothing for two days and desperately needed food, but they had to keep going a while longer. Suddenly, the water flow became faster and faster and began to get dangerous. Pat started to panic because he could not swim and was worried lest the canoe should flip over. Their clothes were drenched as the canoe was tossed about in the rapids.

  They were clinging on for dear life when a tremendous roaring sound alerted them to a waterfall up ahead. There was no time to paddle to the bank, so they just shut their eyes and prayed, not knowing how far, or into what they might fall. John screamed out for Pat to keep a tight hold of his oar and use it as a float, and to start kicking as soon as they hit the water at the bottom, then John would find and help him. Their lives were in the hands of the river.

  Over the waterfall they went, screaming with terror as they toppled out of the canoe in free fall down the fifty foot drop. Pat was convinced that he was going to die, but John had a little more confidence because he could swim. The canoe splashed into the water first, quickly followed by John, then Pat, who remembered his advice. As he held his breath he could feel the pull of the waterfall dragging him under and he kicked like a madman with his oar above his head in an effort to resurface. The torrent raged in his ears and just as his lungs began to burn through lack of oxygen, he popped up to the surface like a cork from a bottle and took in a huge gulp of air … but it was not over yet. He started shouting out for John as he was carried along with the current and still clinging to his oar, went under again, holding his breath. He resurfaced to find John right behind him and they reached out to one another yelling with joy. John kept encouraging Pat to kick his legs, which he did, but he was tiring fast.

  Eventually John managed to pull Pat over to the water’s edge and only then did he notice that the river had opened out into a huge expanse of water – Lake Gordon – and that the fast flow had slowed down again to a steady pace. Pat was ecstatic that he was still alive and could not thank John enough. Luck must surely be on their side, for there, about fifty yards away, was the canoe, still intact, but entangled amongst the overhanging trees. John went to retrieve it while Pat worked his way down by clinging to branches, until John could reach him. Safely back in their canoe thinking a miracle had just happened, they floated on down the lake, hungrier than ever and drenched to the skin.

  Two years prior to their escape, Governor George Arthur had declared martial law on the indigenous people of Van Dieman’s Land and, even more outrageous, in November 1828, he had given licence to all soldiers and free settlers to hunt and kill any native on sight, thereby sanctioning the cold-blooded murder of innocent people in the name of the law. Not content with driving these people from their homeland, he wanted to get rid of them once and for all; a policy which resulted in the annihilation and subsequent extinction of thousands of Tasmanian aborigines. Their primitive weapons were no match against the invaders but they were refusing to give up without a fight. All means possible were being used to wipe the aboriginal people out: hunting them with dogs, setting traps for them, poisoning their grain, or simply shooting them down. While the young were mauled by dogs, or had their brains bashed in with musket butts.

  At the time of Pat and John’s escape, but unbeknown to them, martial law was in place, and the hunt was on for natives, who had a great fear of the white man and his lethal weapons, and so ran away at the mere sight of them. As far as Pat and John were concerned, the fear was mutual, because one deterrent against escape was for the authorities to tell convicts that the natives were all cannibals, and that those who had escaped without returning to the settlement, had probably been eaten. The truth was usually much less dramatic; the majority had either simply got lost, or starved to death.

  Pat and John decided that their river journey must end, because they needed to get on land and search for food. They were three days out of Sarah Island, so they felt pretty safe for the time being. As they pulled their canoe on to the riverbank they came face to face with two native men staring at them. They each had a spear and one was carrying two dead possums. Pat and John looked on nervously as the natives stopped and stared. Pat instinctively grabbed the oar, pretending it was a musket and the natives immediately dropped their possums and ran for their lives.

  The fugitives were thankful for their unexpected meal, not having eaten for over three days, and after finding a place to camp for the night in the bush, they lit a fire and then feasted on the two possums, which tasted delectable after seven years of poor quality salt beef or pork and bread. They still could not believe it had been so easy to scare the natives, especially after hearing how savage they were. They stretched out on either side of the fire with full bellies and gazed up at the stars.

  ‘If they catch us, John, an’ they ‘ang us, this escape ‘as still been worth it. I just wish I could ‘ave seen Sarah and Sam again.’

  ‘Well, they’re not going to hang me, Pat, I’d make them shoot me first,’ stated John.

  They spent the rest of the evening in silent contemplation under stars.

  At the first sign of dawn it was time to move on, though neither had slept much for fear of being caught by trackers or natives looking for something for the cooking pot. After two days in the bush they did come across a small tribe of natives, and since they were starving, not having eaten since the possums, they tried the same method of threat again to secure some food for themselves. John raised his oar into a position and Pat followed suit and together they slowly made their way into their camp, which only consisted of four makeshift shelters and a fire in the middle. The small tribe only had about eighteen members and had not had any close contact with Europeans before now. The humble aborigines did not flinch and just surveyed them curiously as they gathered around their fire. Pat and John were surprised by their friendly attitude and lowered their oars without feeling any threat of attack.

  One of the aborigines stood up and walked over to John, and lifted up his oar to examine it, wondering what it was. He grunted at John indicating that he should demonstrate its use, as the rest of the tribe watched with interest. He was a little flustered at first, but in the end demonstrated its proper purpose and pretended to row through the water. The aborigines gave a chuckle and the inquirer went to fetch his spear, which made them both a little nervous, but the fellow merely wanted to show them what it was used for. Then the natives invited them to sit with them around their fire, serving them food and being very hospitable towards them. Pat and John could not believe their luck and even began to enjoy their company. The younger children would come up and tug on their long hair and beards, then run off laughing, while the adults tried to communicate with them as best they could.

  The women mixed leaves and bark in a bowl to make a paste and rubbed it into their cuts. The only clothes they wore were fur loincloths, which only covered the bare essentials. Primitive though they were, the escapees stayed and kept company with them for a couple of days, enjoying a real sense of freedom and relaxing for the first time in years, despite their precarious situation. Then, one afternoon, they were alerted by the sounds of voices and gunshots in the distance, along with horses trotting close by. Pat and John quickly gathered together all their belongings and fled into the bush, stopping a few hundred yards from the camp with their hearts pounding. They feared that it was a tracker squad on their trail, and as they caught their breath the sound of gunfire rang out from the direction of the native camp, lasting several minutes.

  They waited a c
ouple of hours before returning to the camp to see what had happened. No sounds of children’s laughter or women chatting could be heard as they approached the camp and to their dismay they found that their new-found friends had all been slaughtered. They were quick to blame themselves for the atrocity, thinking that the natives had been slain because of them, but the reality was that it was a hunting expedition, set out to deliberately slaughter the aborigines.

  Apparently, another aboriginal tribe had killed a farmer in a settled area in a revenge attack, after the farmer had cut off one of the tribesmen’s penis and testicles. The poor fellow had only managed to run a few yards, his screams filling the bush, before he fell to the ground and bled to death from his injuries. And so the local settlers had embarked on their killing sprees, courtesy of Governor George Arthur, even to the point of collecting native ears and wearing them around their necks as grisly trophies.

  Still, Pat and John felt responsible for the slaughter of this seemingly innocent tribe and decided not to associate with anybody else whilst on the run. So they carried on alone taking with them what little experience they had gained in survival in the bush. After a few days they decided it would be best to steal some horses, as well as weapons and ammunition, from a farm, if they could find a settled area, as they were not making much ground. They would also stand a better chance of escaping bounty hunters and tracker squads on horseback. Their attempts at catching food with spears, or traps, had been largely unsuccessful, so muskets would come in very useful.

  As they made their way through the wilderness they came face to face with a frightening creature, which they could best describe as a giant rat. Standing at over five foot on its hind legs, this creature bounced curiously towards them, causing them to step back. The creature did not look too menacing, so John bravely decided to stand his ground, but when the giant rat got close enough, it immediately launched an attack on him, scratching his face and neck and then delivering such a hard kick that it sent him flying through the undergrowth. It had all happened so fast, but Pat had time to grab a stick to defend himself. He swung it at the animal but not hard enough. It batted the stick out of his hand and forced him backwards. He stumbled to the ground with his arms being scratched as he tried to protect himself. John jumped out of the bushes on to the creature and wrestled it to the ground, only to find it back on its feet again. He grabbed Pat’s hand and they both made a run for it, leaving the wild animal to defend its territory.