The Disgrace of Kitty Grey

by Mary Hooper

‘Two hundred women!’ someone said in shock. ‘Surely there’s not enough room.’

  ‘The Juanita is a large vessel,’ he said, ‘and many of you can be accommodated on the orlop.’ He must have seen our mystified faces, for he added, ‘The orlop is the bottom deck, below the waterline, where you’ll have your quarters. And I’d be obliged if you could learn some of the language of the ship: starboard, port, aft and bow and so forth.’

  ‘But what about when we get there?’ I enquired fearfully. ‘What will happen to us then?’

  ‘Are there wild animals?’ someone else asked.

  ‘None that you should worry about,’ he said. ‘It’s a very beautiful country with wonderful mountains and lakes – and Botany Bay is a colony in dire need of women. You’ll find yourselves much in demand.’

  ‘I’m in demand every night on the Whitechapel Road!’ Jane said and, though a few women laughed, I felt a chill run through me. It was surely going to be as Mrs Goodwin had predicted: we were being sent out there to marry the first man who propositioned us and bear his children whether we wanted to or not!

  ‘But first things first,’ he went on. ‘Regulations state that you must all wash and disinfect yourselves, for there are several cases of gaol fever at Newgate and we must ensure that it’s not brought on board.’ He looked us over, one by one. ‘Are there any of you who feel feverish or sick?’

  We all shook our heads. ‘Just damned hungry!’ said Jane.

  We were brought breakfast, which was not bread, but something called ship’s biscuit: a dry disc made from flour and water and completely tasteless. After we’d eaten (and it proved near impossible to swallow more than two biscuits each), we were taken on deck, where someone had set up a blacksmith’s anvil to sever the chains which held us together. We had to continue to wear the individual heavy shackles which locked around our calves, at least for the time being.

  ‘These will be taken off when we’re at sea, when there’s no chance of you escaping,’ the blacksmith told us.

  In the daylight I could see the Juanita properly. The night before, in the darkness, it had been no more than shadows and shapes. But looking about me then I saw that it had three massive masts, each taller than the tallest tree I’d ever seen, and was altogether a miracle of ropes and rigging, each coil of rigging joined to the next and the whole seeming to be a gigantic puzzle. The sails were huge expanses of canvas that, just then, were rolled up and tied, but everyone said that open and filled with wind, they would be a magnificent sight. Magnificent they might be, I thought, but I didn’t want to see them that way, for that would mean the ship had set sail and we were on our way to Botany Bay.

  Not being chained together gave us a little more freedom – although we had precious little privacy to go with it, for the latrines we had to use during the day were merely planks with round holes cut in them, placed on each side of the deck so that the user could relieve herself directly into the sea. Most of us preferred this fresh air method to using the buckets supplied overnight.

  The greatest treat for most of us was to be allowed to wash our hair and ourselves and to put on clean clothes and, it being high tide when we did so, we were permitted to use as much water as we liked. This was a mixture of sea-meets-the-river water pulled up in barrels and was probably not very clean – its only merit lay in the fact that there was plenty of it. A hard carbolic soap was provided, but I had to wash Betsy’s hair four times before the water ran clean, and she did not hesitate to scream like a bantam all the while, so that I felt exhausted by the time I’d finished.

  Our previous night’s accommodation turned out to have been just a holding area for, once bathed and reasonably clean, we were taken to the orlop where, to our great surprise, there were already girls from other prisons and several children.

  Things were a little awkward at first, for those who had been on the ship the longest seemed to think they had superiority over the rest of us, and had already taken the best positions on the sleeping shelves, as close as possible to a stove yet not too far from the hatches. They had set their possessions out and also begun to form their own little community, so it took a day or so of politeness on our part for there to begin to be the slightest thaw in their attitude.

  How would it be, I wondered, once there were two hundred of us packed in nose to tail? At least at Newgate the population had been fluid: new girls had come in while others had gone out (or died) every day. Here, though, we would all be held together for a year or more; how long would it take for us all to be at each other’s throats?

  Over the next few days we began to get the feel of the ship and learned where we could and couldn’t go. We were told that bare feet were safest for walking on the deck, but it was so icy that not many of us followed this advice. My feet were always aching with cold, but I’d managed to find two pieces of cardboard which, placed in the bottom of my shoes, covered up the holes in the soles and improved things slightly.

  More worryingly, I discovered that I hated being shut in the orlop. It was underground – or, to be more precise, underwater – and there was no access to fresh air. Once you were inside it with the hatches closed there was a dreadful feeling of confinement. This didn’t worry many of the girls, but I found it quite terrifying. It would be better once the ship was under way, we were told, for then we would be assigned jobs. We would help with the cleaning, cooking and washing, be responsible for the airing and care of our blankets and bedrolls, undertake the repairing of nets and sails, and scrub the decks. We learned most of this information from Margaret, who was not in the least bit afraid of our guards. She was the only one of us who had ever been on a ship before, for as a young woman she’d sailed to the Americas with her husband, an officer.

  ‘Of course, I was in a very different position in those days,’ she said. ‘As the wife of one of the officers I ate at the captain’s table.’

  ‘But now you are down in the orlop with us!’ Jane said bluntly. ‘How did you come to fall so far?’

  Margaret fluttered her hands. ‘When my husband died, I had four young children to keep and no money. I was desperate. My children had not eaten for several days and so, after being contacted by a coiner, I passed on two gold sovereigns which had been tampered with. I was caught and served my time in prison, but learned a good deal there. When I came out, I formed a shoplifting partnership with another woman.’

  ‘How did this work?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, my friend and I specialised in stealing expensive drapery,’ she replied. ‘We would dress up very fine, go to one of the big shops and ask to see some brocade or embroidered fabric. I would remark that a titled lady I knew had recommended the shop, and this pleased the assistants and allayed their fears. We’d then purchase a small sample of the material, and when the assistant went to wrap it, take a bale off the shelf and throw it into a large pocket I had especially made in my petticoats. Of course, it was the devil of a job to walk with such a bulky amount of fabric banging against my legs, but I only had to take it as far as the nearest pawnbroker’s.’ We laughed. ‘Of course, the change in fashions rather hindered our exploits. Believe me when I say that it’s impossible to hide a bale of linen under a straight slip of muslin.’

  ‘So was this the end of your shoplifting?’ someone asked.

  Margaret shook her head. ‘We merely adapted our methods. We would take a bale of material to the light in order to see the colour better, and I would distract the assistant while my friend slipped out of the door with it. We worked around the Kentish towns for a year or more like this.’

  ‘But how did you get caught?’ I asked.

  ‘Ah,’ she said, ‘on the final occasion my friend and I worked together, she was seen and pursued down the road by the manager. She threw the material over the nearest wall and it went straight into an ornamental pond.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘What a to-do it caused: the fabric was eighteen shillings a yard and we caused twenty-seven yards to be ruined!’

  Margaret sighed and then loo
ked around at us. ‘Well, you are all looking very fine,’ she said after a moment, and we primped our hair and smiled at this, for nearly all of us had made full use of the washing facilities and most were wearing the gowns which Mrs Fry had supplied. These were somewhat creased and crumpled, but at least were clean. ‘There is one thing you should be aware of,’ she went on. ‘It is a long voyage and the sailors may make certain demands on you along the way.’

  ‘Well, if they do ’tis nothing to me!’ Jane cried.

  ‘If you accept these demands,’ Margaret said, ignoring her, ‘it may mean an easier journey: you’ll have better sleeping quarters and may, perhaps, obtain more rations. However, you must remember that you may well find yourself bearing a child before the end of the journey.’

  Those of us who had been smiling at Jane’s words stopped.

  ‘Remember that your sailor, be he an officer or an ordinary seaman, will be sailing away again, while you, and perhaps a child, will not. You will find yourself still a prisoner, but in a strange country with an infant to care for too.’

  I hadn’t thought of this, and it took me aback somewhat. I certainly did not want either a sailor or a child! Betsy was enough for me – more than enough, for I worried constantly about keeping her fed and warm and safe. What to do, though? If you were selected by a sailor, would you be able to say yes or no to him? Probably not, I thought. Like being chosen by a prisoner in Botany Bay, it was they who would do the choosing.

  Unless I got away before we sailed.

  The next time I was on deck I studied the landscape around me carefully, wondering about those men that the guards had spoken of who’d got away from the hulks. If anyone was going to escape, I thought, it would have to be soon, before the ship started on its interminable journey. But how could such a thing be managed? The small rowing boats on the deck were tied up as tightly as parcels with knotted ropes and tarpaulin and, even if I could somehow procure one, how would I get it into the water? Alternatively, if I went over the side and tried to swim to shore there was no habitation nearby, no houses to make for, no markers to indicate where the land began. Exactly where was the shore, anyway? Where did the deep, muddy water blend into marsh and the marsh become solid? A girl on her own would surely perish out there in the freezing waters. And besides, I was not on my own, for I had Betsy.

  No, it was clearly impossible. I would have to bear it: I would have to bid goodbye to my country, my family, and to all those in England I loved.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  We were four days at Woolwich: four days in which more girls, women and children arrived, dull-eyed and bewildered in barges and rowing boats, until we numbered about eighty. I continued to loathe being confined in the orlop, for it was low-ceilinged and stuffy, and its lack of any natural light meant it always had to be lit with foul-smelling tallow candles. Moving around, I’d often hit my head on the low beams and, hearing the great bolts being pushed across at night, would feel strangely panicked, for I feared that seawater would seep in through the gigantic timbers and creep higher and higher until it came over our heads. When morning arrived and the hatches were opened I was always awake and the first to go up the ladder on to the deck. Fair weather or foul, I felt better in the open air.

  On the morning of the fourth day our biscuit allowance was sent down to us as usual, but the hatches were not opened. They wanted us out of the way, said one of the seamen, because at midday we were due to sail with the tide around the coast towards Portsmouth. Before that, however, another group of girls arrived from Newgate and went through the washing and cleansing process just as we had done. When they were allowed to join the rest of us, I was overjoyed to discover that Martha was amongst them, accompanied by Robyn and baby Elizabeth.

  All three were crying pitifully when they were brought on board, and Martha told me that they had had a particularly onerous journey from Newgate. They had set off the day before but a woman, previously quite well, had been taken with sickness on the boat down, so that after two hours they’d had to turn back. In all, they had been travelling for fourteen hours.

  ‘Gaol fever used to be a summer thing,’ Martha said, collapsing beside me in the orlop, ‘but now ’tis no respecter of seasons. Fever is spreading right across Newgate – the Master’s Side as well as the Commons’. I could not wait to leave and bring the children to safety.’

  ‘But how was it that the court passed sentence on you so quickly?’ I asked. ‘I thought the shop manager was not to be found.’

  ‘At first he was not.’ She managed to smile and added, ‘But then he came forward to indict me and was arrested for bigamy for his trouble, so that he must stand trial himself.’ So saying, she closed her eyes, exhausted, and Margaret took baby Elizabeth from her and banged on the hatch for one of the sailors to bring a bowl of bread and warm milk, and quickly, for there was a nursing mother on board.

  Betsy, beaming to see her friend, greeted her and then began pointing out the various parts of the ship. ‘The port is this side, Robyn,’ I heard her say (getting it wrong), ‘and the other side is the starrybird. You must remember that.’

  ‘Port and starrybird,’ Robyn repeated obediently.

  ‘The front of the boat is the stern,’ we heard as they walked off, ‘and the back of the boat is the aft . . .’

  ‘I thought you were never going to accept a sentence which took you away from England,’ I said to Martha when she had recovered slightly. ‘Although I’m mighty pleased that you did!’

  ‘I was going to refuse. But when they said my choice was to stay in Newgate and risk gaol fever, or be transported, I knew which I should choose.’ She smiled a little. ‘Besides, realising that we were to be on the same ship, I knew I would have a friend.’

  I smiled. ‘I am very glad to see you,’ I said, giving her a hug.

  When the tide was right, the Juanita set sail through the counties of Essex and Kent towards the open sea. The wind was high, and even down on the bottom deck we could hear it buffeting, filling the sails, the masts creaking and cracking. Shut in the orlop in the semi-darkness, I began to feel off balance and ill. Several other women felt the same.

  ‘ ’Tis just seasickness,’ I was told as I sprawled on the floor, retching. ‘You’ll soon get used to it.’

  ‘Just seasickness?’ I muttered, giddy and nauseous.

  ‘The ship is barely moving!’ said Jane, who was hardly affected. ‘Wait until we reach the high seas!’

  I groaned.

  ‘Shall I stroke your forehead?’ Betsy asked.

  ‘No, go away and play,’ I said weakly, then was sick in a bucket and slept until the ship reached Portsmouth.

  Martha told me later that I had missed a session of storytelling, for, locked up together for several hours, the girls had begun speaking of the crimes which had caused them to be there. One had taken receipt of a pair of shoe buckles knowing them to have been stolen; another had cut eight brass buttons from a man’s coat. Several were there for coining, and – although originally sentenced to hang – had had their sentences commuted to transportation as a thanksgiving for the King having briefly recovered his senses. One girl had bought and resold the skins of swans (which was a royal bird and so seen as treason); another had made away with a line of sheets that had been blowing on the line in a laundress’s garden; yet another had stolen a pocket watch and gold chain from a gentleman while he was being shaved at his barber’s. Several pairs of girls had, like Margaret and her friend, worked together to relieve shopkeepers of their stock and one resourceful girl had ‘bonneted’ a man. This, Martha explained, meant that she, sitting high on a wall, had pushed a passing man’s top hat right down over his eyes. Whilst he was temporarily blinded, she had robbed him of the large Parmesan cheese he was taking home from market.

  ‘Some of those crimes were ingenious,’ Martha told me – not without some admiration. ‘If ever I fall upon hard times again, I shall certainly try bonneting.’

  Once our ship was at anchor, I fe
lt a little better. This relief was tempered, however, by the knowledge that very shortly I would have no respite at all from seasickness. The ghastly nausea, once begun, would go on for days and weeks and months on end. No wonder, I thought, that so many died on long sea journeys.

  Several girls joined us from the gaols in and around Portsmouth, so that we numbered near one hundred and fifty. There would be one more stop at Plymouth, then we would be on our way to Botany Bay. Thinking of this, I stood on the deck staring at the green landscape before me, at the hedges and fields and trees, trying to impress them on my mind, until they became smudged with tears and I could see no more.

  Sitting on the deck with Martha a little later, we watched the ship’s rowing boats going backwards and forwards to the shore bringing provisions for the journey. So much food: types of vegetables I had never seen before, cabbages and green-stuffs growing in vast wooden trays, sacks of grain, flour and sugar, wood for the kitchen range, coal for the braziers, sacks of carrots and potatoes. To carry these provisions, temporary shacks had been built for storage in the centre of the main deck.

  When darkness fell we were confined below as usual. We got little sleep, however, for Martha’s baby was tetchy and cried for several hours, and this poor infant’s wailing joined in jarring chorus with a hammering and a sawing which echoed across the ship and went on most of the night. In the morning when the hatches went back and we were allowed on deck, I was happy (I say happy, but ’twas not happiness, only a slight lessening of the gloom I felt) to see that animal pens had been constructed, and to know that at Plymouth we would be taking livestock on board. This, of course, only meant one thing to me: cows – and I vowed to discover who had overall care of them and ask if I could help with their milking. If I didn’t manage to get off the ship, I thought, at least the cows might help keep me sane.

  We sailed along to Plymouth, which was but a short journey, though still enough to make me queasy. We were to anchor here for a week, we were told, and once I was on deck I sought a quiet corner where I could wait for the cows to come on board. Martha joined me, and looking around us we marvelled at the huge number of tall ships moored on the banks, some glossy and magnificent, some with their hulls splintered or masts broken, others looking weather-beaten and worn. England, I knew, was at war with Napoleon, and there were many boats in the harbour waiting to be repaired or repainted.