The convicts were the flotsam of teeming, overcrowded cities and of a society racked by the upheavals of transitioning from cottage industries to factory production. Discarded as human refuse, they had been sent to an unknown, raw land, making a complete break with their past and given a new beginning in life. As for himself, David acknowledged that his sentence had been more than fair in comparison with the usual penalty for murder. But instead of a fresh start, he foresaw only a grim, dreary ending to what had gone before.
During the tour of the site, David saw the main reason why the work was behind schedule. The various craftsmen and their helpers were working hard, but some of the laborers were loitering, slow in taking materials to where they were needed. That resulted in delays, confusion, and frayed tempers. The fault lay with Francis Greenway who was more expert in designing buildings than in supervising the work to complete them.
The day was ending and the men were leaving when Francis finished showing David the site. The architect untied his horse from a grassy verge at one side of the site, commenting morosely about the distance he had to ride to get home, then having to return the following morning. "Let me have the roster of the men, and I'll attend to the muster tomorrow morning," David offered. "Then you won't have to be here quite as early."
"I don't think that would be wise, at least not yet," Francis objected cautiously. "I'd like to know more about you."
"You already know that I've dealt with working crews," David replied impatiently. "If I'm to be a laborer here, I'll join them tomorrow. If I'm to be an overseer, then give me the roster."
The short, stout man frowned reluctantly as he handed it over and rode away.
David cleaned up, ate, then returned to his room in the winter twilight to clean it. When he finished, he lay down on the cot, in a way relieved that it was too dark for him to look at the miniature of his former wife in his watch.
The next morning when the workers gathered at the site, David studied them as he called the roll. As a group, they were better than the average crew at Newcastle. None appeared to have been brutalized into stubborn resistance by sadistic guards or overseers, which sometimes happened.
The craftsmen, having committed some crime when drunk, or among the wrong companions, or unemployed and penniless, made the most of the situation. Their skills in demand throughout the colony, they worked hard and avoided any infractions, looking forward to when they would be free to seek employment and send for their families.
Most of the laborers were from the crime-infested districts of large cities. Away from that environment, and with quarters and food better than many of them had ever known, they had a new opportunity. Some would do well, others well enough, and a few would end up at Norfolk Island.
Among the laborers, David saw some he had not seen the previous day. He knew the men had sneaked away and that the others had loitered, too frightened to leave yet disinclined to work. Of equal importance with the work to David were several of the laborers who were barely more than boys. They would be tempted to follow bad examples that would eventually result in their being sent to Norfolk Island.
One of the men who had been missing the previous afternoon was easy to identify and would be impossible for David to forget. A crimson birthmark covered one side of his face, and his eyes were an exceptionally pale shade of bluecold, merciless eyes that looked like pieces of glass. His thick, coarse features matched his eyes, and his lank hair and beard were blond.
Of medium stature, Enos Hinton was heavily-muscled, and appeared evil, as though he had no redeeming, human qualities at all about him. At his side was a taller, muscular man, Daniel Crowley, who had also been absent the previous afternoon. They made quiet, sarcastic comments to each other as David called the roll, Hinton the instigator of the remarks.
After dismissing the craftsmen and their helpers, David assigned crews of laborers by name to the various tasks. They scattered and began working, but David expected trouble at some point. It came within a matter of minutes, when Hinton deliberately dropped his end of several boards he and another man were carrying to a carpenter.
As the lumber crashed to the ground, Hinton laughed sardonically. ''Well, fancy that," he sneered. "I suppose it was too heavy for me."
A few men laughed, but most of them were silent, waiting for David's reaction, as was Hinton. Not expecting a physical challenge, the smirk faded from his ugly face, and he looked startled as David walked toward him with long strides. Then Hinton grinned derisively and lifted his fists, apparently enjoying brawls and confident that he had enough experience fighting to overcome David's advantage in height.
David had another advantage in that he detested fights and threw himself into them with a relentless fury to finish them as quickly as possible. He jabbed at Hinton's face, and Hinton lifted his fists, leaving his stomach unprotected. David slammed a right into his midriff that rocked Hinton on his feet. Hinton flailed with his fists as David drove through the blows and hit him solidly in the face. Hinton went down.
Bouncing back up, Hinton roared in rage as he charged, his head lowered to butt. David lifted his hands, tensing his stomach muscles and bracing himself to take the blow. As Hinton's head drove into his stomach, David slammed his palms against the man's ears. Hinton howled in pain, holding his ears as he stumbled backward, bent over.
David followed him, gripping his tangle of greasy blond hair, and drove his knee into the man's face. His legs weakening, Hinton began sagging toward the ground. David snapped his knee into Hinton's face again, the force of the blow jerking the man's hair out of his grasp. Blood gushing from his nose and mouth, Hinton collapsed on the ground.
It was over quickly, mere seconds after the lumber had fallen. Men gazed in astonishment, then hurriedly resumed working when David glanced around. The man who had been helping Hinton carry the boards started to restack them, but David motioned him away from them. "Leave that and work with those men," he said, pointing.
The man moved away from the lumber, and David approached Hinton, standing over him. "You're going to carry boards by yourself today," he said quietly, "and from now on, you're going to work. If you crack a board from throwing them around, I'll break it over your head. Do you understand?"
Making no reply, Hinton began lifting himself to his hands and knees. David kicked him in the stomach, and Hinton yelped in pain as he rolled toward the boards. Following him, David loomed over him again. "I asked you if you understand," he said in the same quiet tone.
Blood streaming down the crimson birthmark on his face, the man's coarse features were transfixed with rage and humiliation, his pale blue eyes glaring. "Aye, I hear you," he croaked, his voice shaking.
Almost sobbing in fury, Hinton began stacking the boards. Francis had just arrived, looking on in concern, and David briefly explained what had happened. The architect shook his head, doubtful about the wisdom of David's actions. "The commandant is the best one to deal with disciplinary problems," he told David, "but you do as you wish. I daresay, though, that you'd be well advised to keep an eye on your back."
Having thought of that already, David nodded and turned away as Francis went inside. The laborers moved about briskly and David worked with them to show them that he was willing to do anything he expected of them.
Carrying slate up the tall, rickety ladders to the roof was grueling and dangerous, a task all the laborers tried to avoid. David toted the loads of the flat, heavy stone on his shoulder, and each time he came back down the ladder, he looked around to make certain the other craftsmen had ample materials immediately at hand. When the roofers had all the slate they could use that day, he began dragging logs to the saw pit.
The hours passed swiftly, David keeping an eye on all of the work in progress as he helped out. The next problem arose during the afternoon when he heard an argument at one side of the building and went to investigate. Crowley, who had been assigned to mix mortar, was confronting a mason who insisted that a bucket of mortar was too thin.
/> Irate from the unfamiliar experience of working for hours, the muscular Crowley shook his fist in the small, graying man's face. "Then mix it yourself, you old swine!" he snarled. "If I hear another bloody word out of you about it, I'll give you a taste of this fist!"
The mason backed away apprehensively, then relaxed as he looked past Crowley and saw David approaching. Crowley started to turn and look himself when David seized one of Crowley's wrists and twisted his arm behind his back with a quick jerk. The man bellowed in pain and lifted to his toes, trying to ease the pressure on his shoulder joint.
As Crowley teetered, David kicked his feet from under him, and he fell to his knees in front of the mortar bucket. David twisted the man's arm higher, gripping the back of his neck, then plunged his head into the mortar. Crowley thrashed frantically, almost overturning the bucket as large bubbles surfaced in the mortar and popped.
Glancing at the mason's helper, David nodded toward a bucket of water. As the man moved the bucket closer, David pulled Crowley's head out of the mortar and pushed it into the water. Crowley spluttered and choked, splashing the water on his face and washing the mortar out of his eyes. Then he leaped to his feet with his fists cocked, his matted hair full of mortar and the cement trickling down his enraged face.
David beckoned. "All right, come on, Crowley," he said quietly. "If you want to fight, let's get it over with."
His eyes wild with fury, Crowley almost charged, then he thought again and turned away, grinding his teeth. David pointed to the mortar. "You've been doing that all day, so you know how to do it right. Get that thickened before it starts setting. And if you're wise, Crowley, from now on you'll do your work and not cause any more trouble."
Crowley snatched up the bucket and stamped away, and the mason and his helper smiled gratefully at David. The other men who had been watching resumed working and Hinton, who was among them, twisted his ugly, disfigured face in hatred.
Francis, looking out a window opening, shook his head morosely in warning as he turned and moved away from the window.
David knew that the architect had been right about referring disciplinary problems to the commandant, and that was what most overseers did. But Kerrick had seen the ground in front of whipping frames soaked in blood mixed with flecks of flesh. He could kill, but in committing other men to that punishment, even men like Hinton and Crowley, he would be doing something that he could not live with.
Going to the other side of the scrap wood near the saw pit, out of view of the men, David stirred the pieces of wood with his foot and glanced over them. He saw a short, heavy billet shaped like a club, thick at one end and tapering at the other. Small enough to hide under his coat, he picked it up and tucked it under his coat, reasonably certain that eventually he would need it some dark night.
Chapter Three
Lying on the floor across the room from his cot, David slept fitfully with his hand on the club, ready to awaken at any sound. But as the hours passed and dawn came, the door of his room remained tightly closed.
When the convicts mustered that morning, they were more orderly than the previous day. None of the other workers wanted to hear Hinton and Crowley's sarcastic mutterings, nor were the two men inclined to make any comments. They merely glowered in silent, seething hatred that was a warning.
The following night, hours after the convict compound had become quiet, David lay in the same place on the floor, sleeping lightly, when a squeak from the leather hinges on his door awakened him. He gripped his club, lifted his head, and looked toward the door.
It opened, and Hinton and Crowley were silhouetted against the dim light outside. As they tiptoed silently into the room, David saw their clubs. He drew up his legs and held his club tightly, poised to get to his feet. "Now!" Hinton snarled gleefully.
Crowley laughed scornfully as the two men charged the cot. David silently rose, moving sidewards to keep the men silhouetted against the doorway. As their clubs thumped on the empty cot, Hinton and Crowley cursed and exclaimed in surprise. Then David swung his club rapidly.
The heavy wood struck the men with meaty thuds, their outbursts of perplexity changing to howls of pain, and they flailed back. David ducked and dodged, staying in the darkness and keeping the men in view against the doorway. A club glanced off his shoulder, then one hit his side harder. But each time he swung his club, it struck with a solid, hammer-like blow that opened a wide gash in the skin, making a deep, painful bruise.
Crowley gave up first, dropping his club and fleeing out the door. Then, as Hinton started to run, David kicked his stool in front of the man and tripped him. Hinton sprawled and scrambled about, frantically trying to reach the door as David pounded his back and shoulders with the club. Hinton got to the door and ran out as David hit him a last time.
As the two men raced away into the darkness, the door of the adjacent room opened and the occupant looked out. "What the bloody hell is happening over there?" he demanded sleepily.
"I was disposing of vermin," David replied.
"Disposing of vermin?" the man snorted. "It sounded more like whipping day at the triangle." Grumbling, he closed his door.
David shut his own door, then went to the side of the room and picked up his blanket. Lying on the cot, he pulled it around himself, then fell into a sound sleep.
The next morning, after scrubbing the spatters of blood in his room, he ate breakfast, and did not see either Hinton or Crowley in the cookhouse. But when he went to the construction site, they were present for the morning muster.
Hinton appeared scarcely human with the birthmarked side of his face massively swollen, and dark bruises on the other side. Crowley looked little better. His forehead bulged around a cut and a purple bruise that reached his eyes and turned them into puffy slits. Both of the men, stiffly hunched from other bruises on their bodies, grimly endured their pain, while the other men glanced between them and David in understanding.
After the roll call, David dismissed the craftsmen and their helpers, and assigned tasks to all of the laborers except the two battered men. As the men moved away, David went over to Hinton and Crowley. "By now," he said quietly, "it should be clear to you that whatever you try, I'll be waiting for it. But what you don't know is what I'll do to you if you cause me any more trouble, so I'll tell you. I'm going to kill both of you. Now do you understand that?
Seething hatred burned in their eyes, but it was mixed with fear. As they muttered and nodded in reply, David knew that the trouble with them was at an end, at least for now. He led them over to the saw pit where the sawyer in charge was organizing his work for the day.
Logs rested across the deep, large hole in the ground where men used long whipsaws to slice the timber into boards. It was exhausting labor, and working down in the pit, where clouds of choking sawdust spilled down, was the most despised task on the construction site. David told the sawyer that Hinton and Crowley would work in the pit until further notice. "If you have any trouble at all with them," he added, "let me know immediately."
The man nodded and motioned the two convicts down into the pit as David walked away. Francis Greenway had still not arrived, and David inspected both floors of the building to see if any problems were developing. When he completed his tour and all the work proceeded satisfactorily, he went outside and joined the laborers who were carrying slate up to the roof.
It was late morning when the architect finally showed up, looking even more nervous than usual. "Difficulties have arisen at the church under construction in Sydney," he told David, "and the governor is displeased about it. And with this building behind schedule, he's very dissatisfied indeed. You've apparently taken a better grasp on things here than I expected, so I intend to leave you in charge of this site."
"Very well, I don't think I'll have any problems."
"I hope not. When the roof is finished, obtain a travel authorization for the roofers and send them to Sydney, because I urgently need them there. I'll come here every few days to see how you a
re managing, and do try to keep from falling further behind schedule."
The architect left, and David returned to his work. Far from falling further behind schedule, he was confident that the work pace would increase enough to meet the original date of completion for the building, and possibly even better it. The results of fully organizing the workers was becoming evident. The confusion and delays now eliminated, the rate of the work was gradually improving.
The immediate problem was the threat of rain. The heavy beams and the portions of flooring that had been finished inside the building were still slowly drying from the last drenching. A section of the roof still remained to be completed, and during the day, gray clouds tumbled across the sky ahead of a chill winter wind. That night, David was awakened by the drumming of wind-driven rain against the wall beside his cot.
The temperature dropped below freezing during the night, and the next morning was raw and frigidly cold.
The muddy ground was covered with icy slush from sleet mixed with rain. On top of the building, even the rough boards that remained to be covered with slate were slippery, and the rest of the roof was glazed with ice which was perilously dangerous for the roofers. Inside, rain water streamed down beams and puddled on the sections of flooring.
David provided the roofers and their helpers with safety ropes, and had fires of scrap wood kindled around the building. The laborers paused at the fires to warm themselves, and craftsmen came out to the fires with their assistants after completing parts of a task. Occasionally, the roofers and their helpers came down the ladders from the full blast of the wind on top of the building and huddled beside fires, shaking with cold.
While the fires lifted the men's spirits, David's consideration for their comfort made them even more cheerful, and work progressed despite the miserable weather. During the day, when finishing touches on portions of the roof that had been covered with slate were done, all of the roofers began working on the last section.
Outback Station Page 4