Bound to Sarah

by Craig Brennan

  ‘That’s right … point it at arm’s length at the door and fire, not too high!’ instructed Pat, taking his eye off the door he was guarding for an instant. A spear shot through both the door and the cabinet, narrowly missing his shoulder. Then he aimed his musket at the door. Sarah’s shot rang out, followed seconds later by Pat’s, both puncturing holes in the fine oak. Screams of horror rang out on the other side of both doors, indicating the bullets had found their targets. Sarah threw the pistol back to Pat, who hastily reloaded it. The hallway fell silent, but they could hear the sound of running feet upstairs, as the natives ransacked the house. Furniture crashed to the floor, almost coming through the ceiling. The major had reloaded John’s musket and took a shot at the ceiling.

  ‘Get out of my house, you bloody savages!’ he roared, then proceeded to reload it for John.

  ‘Roche, it is you, isn’t it?’ asked the major. ‘I can only thank god that you’re here, or we wouldn’t have stood a chance,’ and he threw John’s loaded musket back to him.

  ‘Yes, sir, it’s me alright,’ replied Pat in a momentary lull.

  ‘Throw me your musket, man, let me reload it,’ commanded the major, who was standing over the mortally wounded Flynn. The old soldier’s battle instincts were being rekindled, and if it had not been for the presence of the women, he would have been enjoying every minute of it. He had not felt so much excitement in years. The lull was over and the marauding natives resumed their attack from the door that Sarah and Laura were barricading. This time John threw his pistol to Sarah and she again put another hole through the door. More howls of pain and shock came from behind the door then there appeared another head for John to kick. More spears pieced the door that Pat was defending, and on receipt of his , he once again set about destroying the fine oak doors.

  The attackers had set fire to the house, so in a final effort to force them to retreat, all the weapons at their disposal were loaded together. Pat and John, with weapons in each hand, took random aim at the door and window, firing simultaneously, while Sarah and Laura took the muskets and fired at the back door. It appeared to work. Amid the screams of the wounded came the sound of retreating feet running from the house. The rest of the natives followed, taking their dead and wounded, and the house fell silent once again, apart from the crackling of the fire. Pat and John ran to the burning room across the hallway, extinguishing the fire using curtains torn from the windows. The other three went to check around the house to make sure that all the attackers had gone, leaving Flynn by the fireside, groaning in fear at being left to die alone.

  ‘Don’t leave me here! Please!’ he cried out desperately. Once the house had been checked over and the fire put out, they returned to the parlour, still vigilant. There was nothing they could do for Flynn, but Laura was the only one who felt bound by duty. She had married but soon after she also became a victim of his abuses and discovered he wasn’t the man she knew back in England.

  ‘Please, Laura … do something to help me. I don’t want to die … fetch a doctor,’ he begged, terror in his eyes.

  The man who had brought so much suffering and death to others without showing the slightest bit of compassion, now lay stricken, expecting others to show mercy where he had not. As she looked down at him, consumed as he was with self pity, Laura came to a decision. She did not have to suffer anymore; her tormentor was dying. Fighting against her natural loyalty, she turned her back on him and went and sat out of his sight. The tears cut runnels down her smoke-blackened cheeks, as she battled hard to resist his desperate cries. Sarah ran to her side, aware of her emotional turmoil, having suffered at Flynn’s hands herself.

  This was now a far different house than that of only minutes before, when they were literally fighting for their lives. Pat went over and crouched down in front of Flynn and looked deep into his eyes, as though looking for answers to questions that had plagued him for years.

  ‘What are you staring at?’ Flynn asked, pitifully, ‘Do something to help me!’

  ‘Ye don’t see me, do ye, Flynn?’ asked Pat coldly. ‘Well I’ll remind ye, shall I? Patrick Roche, an’ this ‘ere is John Williams.’ John came into Flynn’s view over Pat’s shoulder.

  The colour drained even further from Flynn’s face as he recognised them from the Rupert, and his time back in Hobart. Flynn’s past had truly come back to haunt him on the eve of his death – Christmas Eve.

  ‘You two will hang for this,’ he said, in a last attempt at wielding his authority.

  ‘Pity you won’t be there to see it, Flynn,’ said John, full of scorn.

  Meanwhile, the major had taken Sarah’s place in comforting his daughter, while Sarah approached Pat, putting her hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Just let ‘im die in peace, Pat,’ she said.

  Pat stood up and turned to face her with such a bitter countenance, she felt uneasy.

  ‘D’ye know what ‘e’s done to me an’ John? Two of our mates died ‘cos of ‘im, Sarah.’ The veins stood out on his temples and Sarah took an uncomfortable step back from him, fearing he might have changed in some way. His anger was terrifying. She wanted to blurt out to Pat what Flynn had subjected her to, but she knew it would only make matters worse, so she kept silent and waited for a better day.

  ‘He sent me, John and our mates Charlie an’ Joe to Sarah Island for no reason, and now Charlie and Joe are dead. If we ‘adn’t of escaped we’d prob’ly be dead too,’ he stated bitterly, his mouth twisted with hatred.

  ‘Yes, but all his evil will die with him,’ said Sarah, trying to calm him and he fell silent.

  The major walked over to Pat and shook him by the hand, in an attempt to ease his bitterness, he too managing to say the right thing to stifle the devil in him.

  ‘That’s the second time you have saved my life, Roche, though I should have you locked up for breaking into my house, but you saved us all and I don’t know how I will ever repay you.’ At the end of his little speech he again shook Pat firmly by the hand.

  On the floor below, the weakening Flynn looked on groaning, still fully conscious but suffering severe internal bleeding.

  ‘How do you know this villain, major?’ he murmured.

  ‘This man saved my life at Waterloo,’ he replied, with contempt for his dying son-in-law, ‘and he’s a far better and more valiant man than you could ever be. You’re a wretched man, Gerard … may the Lord have mercy on your soul.’

  The major had had to stand by and watch helplessly as his daughter’s life had been ruined by Flynn. The man was a born bully, with no redeeming features, and he cursed the day he had consented to the marriage. Realising that no one in the room had a shred of compassion for him in his final hour, a fear like he had never known ripped through Flynn’s soul.

  ‘Laura … please come and hold me,’ he begged weakly, ‘I’m so cold … so very cold.’ Laura heard his request, and was about to run to his side, but John stopped her, refusing to let her go to him, then turning to Flynn saying, ‘No. You don’t deserve her. You die alone, Flynn, just like so many of us have had to.’

  Laura went back to her chair and sobbed, and the major again went to comfort her. Despite the abuses she had suffered at the hands of her husband, she still could not watch him die without feeling compassion for him. But Pat and John watched dispassionately as their tormentor faded away, his blood slowly oozing down the spear point and soaking into the cream rug. As the blood drained from his veins, his once florid complexion turned deathly grey.

  ‘I can’t feel anything anymore … I’m so cold,’ he whispered, but Pat and John just kept up their silent vigil. His whispers soon became inaudible, as he lost the strength to speak. Flynn was rendered harmless by death, at one o’clock on Christmas morning, lay motionless at last, his eyes open and vacant. It took a while for Pat and John to accept that Flynn was finally dead and then immediately they had to start considering getting themselves back into the bush, as they were still escaped convicts.

  ‘Pat, it’s Chris
tmas!’ cried John, suddenly noticing the decorations around the room.

  ‘I know it is … Merry Christmas, mate,’ he said wryly. He turned to Sarah, his musket in his hand. He wanted to throw his arms around her but he couldn’t. The time didn’t feel right for sentiment, and his adrenaline was still pumping through his veins. ‘I’ve missed ye … Merry Christmas, Sarah Roche,’ he said, but couldn’t bring himself to add that he still loved her. ‘Where’s Sam? And why isn’t ‘e with you? He asked, desperate to be reunited with him. Sarah stared at him blankly and Pat sensed that something serious had happened and he braced himself. Knowing what Sarah was going to have to tell him next, the major asked John and Laura to help him move Flynn’s body and assess the damage around the house. Sarah took Pat gently by the hand.

  ‘Sam died six years ago, Pat.’ Sarah had spent those years grieving and now grieved for Pat, as she knew what he was about to go through. His baby boy was gone and so long ago while he knew nothing of it. For all those years he had thought about him and imagined how he would be and what he looked like and all along he was dead. He slowly succumbed to his grief and Sarah sat him down and tried to comfort him. He began to ask about the circumstances of Sam’s death and Sarah told him, sparing him the worst details.

  John appeared at the door and hesitated to interrupt them, they had to go.

  ‘Pat, we’ll have to get out of here, but we’ll come back in a couple of days,’ he said, trying to control the urgency in his voice.

  Pat pulled himself together, saving his grief for another time. Having quickly gathered their things, they made their way back out into the wilderness, but not before Pat had taken Sarah in a passionate embrace on the terrace and told her he loved her and would soon be back to see her.

  The following day the authorities were informed of the attack and of the heroics of the two bushrangers who had come to their rescue. Rather than send out a squad to try and capture the native criminals, the governor ordered yet another slaughtering spree, to wipe out any nearby tribes by way of retaliation. These vicious reprisals had become commonplace and amounted murderous slaughter. Flynn himself had indulged in such barbarous activity and had enjoyed killing the natives as though it were a sport, but now he had fallen victim to similar savagery.

  The authorities then agreed to put it out that John would receive his ticket of leave, on condition that he give himself up and explain in full how he and Pat had escaped from Macquarie Harbour. Unfortunately, the same leniency did not extend to Pat, who was to give himself up, as a convicted murderer, and serve the rest of his life sentence. As escaped convicts they should both have been hanged on capture, but because of the circumstances, and the major’s praise of their heroics, the authorities decided to show leniency. John, like most ex-convicts, would be offered a small plot of land and a sum of money to start his life as a free man, but Pat would be destined to serve the rest of his natural life in prison, although the authorities promised that he would not be sent back to Sarah Island if he showed good behaviour. If he chose to stay at large, he would be sent to the scaffold upon his recapture.

  John decided to turn himself in, with Pat’s approval. Their decision to stick together no matter what was a strong one, but John had a chance to start his life again and Pat did not want to stand in his way. So out in the rugged terrain of the central district, John prepared himself to leave, saddling up and gathering together what few belongings he had.

  ‘Will ye watch over Sarah for me, an’ tell ‘er I’ll try to come and see ‘er,’ asked Pat, trying to sound cheerful. John had not even left yet and he already felt lonely.

  ‘Of course I will, and I’ll come out to look for you, and bring you some provisions,’ said John, as he made his final preparations. The two had been through years of hell together, and it was an emotional moment as they hugged, knowing full well that it could be the last time they met. Pat was taking a great risk in remaining at large, but he would rather face the scaffold than go back to convict life. With one farewell hug and handshake, John jumped on to his horse.

  ‘Take care of yourself, Pat, and stay alive.’ It seemed like he didn’t want to leave, as he sat on his horse looking down at Pat.

  ‘S’pose I’ll see ye soon. Go on, be off with ye,’ said Pat with reluctance.

  ‘I’ll see you again soon,’ said John, spurring his horse into an instant gallop, so Pat would not see his eyes, which were brimming with tears, and in seconds he was gone. Pat watched him disappear into the bush land and could think of nothing to do, so he went and sat under a tree to gather his thoughts. From now on, every waking second would be spent in fear of his life, with no one by his side.

  CHAPTER 14

  A TURNING POINT

  The morning dew glistened as the sun began to rise, proof that it had been a cold night out in the bush. A cocked hat hung from a broken branch of a tree under which Pat Roche was sheltering, a bead of moisture clung to the rim, threatening to fall at any moment. He lay huddled under his blanket next to the dying embers of last night’s fire, listening to the wilderness wake up with him, while his horse was nearby quietly cropping the long dry grass. Pat was reluctant to rise from his heavy night’s sleep, yawning and stretching before sitting up and scanning the area half dazed. He rekindled the fire and put his Billy pot on for a brew made with gum leaves.

  It had been a long week out in the wild alone and he was finding it hard getting used to his own company. It reminded him of his lonely days on Grummet Rock, when he had dwelt far too much on his past life. He missed John’s company. Even though they were from completely different backgrounds, they had formed a close bond. The last few months were the closest he had ever been to John, though at first he had wondered how their friendship would develop. They had spent many a night laughing and joking round the fire, and many a night reminiscing and sharing their past histories. It was these nights that had cemented their friendship and helped build the foundations of a life- long attachment. At other times they had spent the night in silence, watching the fire’s flames dwindle to embers, exchanging barely a word. It was his presence, the fact that someone was there, that mattered. But it was Sarah that held his thoughts now and he could not wait to see her again. He had shaved off his wild beard in order to look his best for her. The morning seemed to drag along like a shackled convict, and Pat was growing tired of whittling bits of wood. His loneliness and desire for her were becoming too much and his impatience made him restless. He had to see her again, despite the risks, though he waited till sunset before setting out. He knew that there was a price on his head and that there were people out there trying to track him down, but his love for Sarah was a powerful force over which he had no control. As daylight receded he made his way to the major’s house.

  With the festive season well past, John had laid claim to his plot of land and had decided to settle in Van Dieman’s Land. He could not face the journey home, but there was also something else to keep him there – he had fallen secretly in love with the major’s daughter Laura. And though he knew she was still in mourning, he was willing to wait. He wanted desperately to win her heart and felt quietly confident that he might. He was, after all, a quite well-educated man, who was just a victim of circumstance. The only thing that held him back was the stigma of being a former prisoner of the Crown, which the major would surely frown upon, once he found out that he wanted to court his daughter, but he was not going to allow such doubts to put him off.

  John made regular visits to the major’s house, using Sarah as his excuse, and it was not long before he had won over Laura’s affections. Sarah knew at once what his motivations were; they were written all over his face. So whenever John came to visit she tried her best to involve Laura in their conversations. The major didn’t know if he was coming or going – if it was not John at the door, it was Pat turning up at all hours of the night. Reflecting on her husband’s death, Laura came to realise that she had been blinded by Flynn’s false charms and had foolishly misplaced her af
fections. It made a very refreshing change to have the company of one so warm and kind as John, whom she thought was not only charming, but handsome and very intelligent too. As for the major, he did not know enough about John to approve or disapprove of his daughter’s courtship, but he was wary, having already allowed her to marry one villain. John was all too aware of all this, and was determined to prove his worth to the major. His convict record was a black mark against him but he was determined to scrub the slate clean.

  After several successful evening visits to see Sarah, Pat grew bolder, and no longer waited for nightfall. It was becoming a regular weekly pattern. They would sit on the terrace and talk about their lost years, trying to get to know each other again. So much had happened. On another visit Pat told Sarah that he wanted to take her somewhere, but she would need to stay out for two nights with him. She was enticed by the romantic idea of galloping off on a horse and sleeping out in the wilderness under the stars. So she gathered together a few things and told the major and Laura that she would be gone for the next two days. A less generous employer might have stopped her, but the major took a fatherly delight in seeing her so happy.

  Sarah sat side-saddle in front of Pat, as he took the reins while holding her in his arms. She shot him an excited smile as they trotted off into the bush. After an hour trotting at quite a leisurely pace, Pat told Sarah they needed to push on a little to make up some time before settling down for the night. So he put her at the back of him on the horse and told her to hold on tight. With a snap of the reins and a kick of his heels, the horse went into a speedy gallop and Sarah screamed with joy at the thrill of the ride.

  They slept in each others’ arms that night at the side of a glowing fire under an open sky. They held one another, but there was still a barrier of uncertainty between them even though they shared the desire for passion. It had been so long since they had been intimate together that they found sufficient joy in rekindling their sense of belonging once again. The following day Pat showed her many of the beautiful panoramas that Van Dieman’s Land had to offer. Trotting over heath land covered in wild heather, he stopped the horse in the middle of a sea of purple and embraced Sarah with his old passion. They took in the beautiful surroundings; the rolling hills and jagged mountains as far as the eye could see. There were trees bunched together here and there to form little copses, others standing solitary in lush green fields with wild flowers springing up all around. Sarah had never seen anything like it in her life and was completely in awe.