Chapter Four
As the prison wagon finally rumbled into Portsmouth, Colin was filled with relief. The journey had been long and painful. While the driver and guard had taken breaks for sleep and enjoyed meals along the way in taverns, Colin and Patrick had been left in the stuffy heat of the padlocked wagon. They’d only been allowed out to urinate every so often.
Colin yearned to stretch his limbs and be unshackled. Unsurprisingly, Patrick had said little, and Colin had had naught else to do but worry endlessly about what would happen next. The fact that he was now a convicted criminal with nothing more than the clothes on his back seemed absurd. Colin had never faced the unknown as he did now.
He and Patrick had both slept fitfully, but now they were awake and on edge as they neared their destination. The Portsmouth dockyard was a noisy, gritty place. Colin turned as best he could to get a look through the bars on the tiny window. He caught a whiff of sea air and felt desperate to be out of the oppressive confines of the wagon.
When they finally came to a halt, it seemed the guard was in no hurry whatsoever to free them. The minutes ticked by. Both Patrick and Colin bore a sheen of sweat, and Colin wondered when he’d actually bathe again. He suspected it would not be soon.
“Bloody hell.” Patrick rattled his shackled wrist. “Let us out of here!”
They were ignored, and time crawled by until Colin was sure it had to have been more than an hour since they’d arrived. His throat was parched, and the air was so thick he felt as though it was pressing against him.
Just when he thought he couldn’t take another moment before going mad, the back door creaked open. The guard peered in dispassionately. Before Colin could stop himself, he exclaimed, “It’s about time!”
The guard regarded him evenly for a moment before laughing heartily. “Better get used to it, lad! You ain’t gonna be resting in the lap of luxury no longer.” He sneered. “You’ll be lucky if you even make it down there alive.”
Another guard joined him and shared in the merriment at Colin’s expense. “You’s a proper gentleman, eh? Good luck to ya!” But at least Colin and Patrick were unshackled and taken out of the wagon. Colin’s legs wobbled as he stepped down, the muscles tense and cramped.
Although the air carried a myriad of scents, some decidedly unpleasant, Colin breathed it deeply as they were shunted along toward a large ship. The name read LADY HAREWOOD, which Colin thought an incongruously pretty name considering the ship’s function. At the gang-board, a group of prisoners said good-bye to their families. A woman wailed and children wept. Colin thought of his parents and turned away from the scene.
The ship was a frigate with three masts. Men crowded the main deck. Colin and Patrick were led aboard, where the convicts waited under the watchful gaze of armed guards. Another group of men surged on behind them, and before Colin knew it, he and Patrick were separated.
As the day dragged on and they waited endlessly, the prisoners were given rations of water and stale rolls of bread. Colin devoured his quickly and was still starving.
“What you in for?” A man with missing teeth elbowed Colin.
“Uh, I…” Colin was at a loss.
“They got me for pickpocketing. Like those fancy folks in London can’t spare a bit of change, eh?” He laughed, although it was more of a wheeze.
“Same. Pickpocketing.”
“We should ’ave been quicker!”
Colin laughed along, although he felt no mirth. “Yes. Quite.”
The man’s expression changed. “Where you from, boy? Sound pretty highborn for a pocketer. You sure that’s what you in for?”
Colin’s nod was vigorous. “Uh huh.” He vowed to say as little as possible on the voyage lest the others pick up on his upper-class accent.
When the captain stood on the upper deck to address them sometime later, Colin was relieved. He just wanted to get on with it already. The captain was a pockmarked, middle-aged man with a paunch and his dark hair tied back at his neck. His expression was stern, and his tone brooked no argument.
After some shouts from the guards, the prisoners fell silent and the captain spoke. “I’m Captain Stonehouse. This vessel is the Lady Harewood. You will treat her with respect. Every last one of you.” He paused for effect before going on.
“One hundred and ninety-nine souls will leave England on this ship. God willing, we will all reach Sydney in one hundred and twenty-four days. Give or take. Of the one hundred and ninety-nine, some are settlers. Some are crew. Most of you are the dregs of society. You will treat your betters and each other with respect, or you will pay the consequences.
“Believe me when I tell you that the consequences will be severe. We don’t spare the lash on this vessel.”
A murmur rippled through the prisoners, and one of the guards stepped forward menacingly.
“However, these are enlightened times. We have with us Reverend Sewell, who is a forward thinker in regard to prisoners’ needs.” The captain indicated a young, black-clad, red-haired man to his right. The reverend nodded, and the captain continued. “You will receive fair rations and the chance to exercise above decks during the day. Be grateful. Remember that these privileges can and will be taken from you if deemed necessary.
“Your quarters on this ship have recently been renovated. You will all be given bunk space instead of the floor. Again, be grateful. You will not be kept in irons unless it’s deemed necessary.” He turned and indicated another man. “Our doctor is Dr. Fairfowl.” A thin, bespectacled man beside the reverend stood up straighter. “Pray you will not need his attention.
“We are leaving shortly. Take a long, last look at England, for you shall surely never step on its hallowed ground again.”
With that, the captain took his leave. Families and sweethearts lined the shore, and prisoners shouted final farewells. When the boat was free of its moorings, Colin did take a good look as Portsmouth receded. No one gestured to him from the shore, but he found himself waving anyway.
Night fell as they left the English Channel, and the prisoners were herded to their quarters. As they descended into the belly of the ship, the air grew stale and humid. The lowest deck on the ship had been divided into two barred sections, with the guards’ station in the center. The iron doors on either side led to the barracks.
The men filed in and were given their uniforms. One of the guards shouted instructions. “Take your slops and put ’em on. Toss your old clothes in the sack.” When Colin’s turn came, he quickly stripped off and stepped into too-big canvas trousers. He buttoned the striped cotton shirt quickly and carried the gray wool jacket over his arm. All the items were marked with the broad arrow identifying government property.
As the prisoners moved through, a guard ticked names off his list and assigned them their beds. The guard, a large man with sloping shoulders and a heavy brow, sized him up. “Name.”
“Lancaster. Colin.” Colin was relieved his voice didn’t squeak. Sweat dripped down his spine, and his heart raced. He could see into the barracks, and along with narrow single bunks lining the hull, there was a bank down the center of the ship which would sleep men side by side on the upper and lower levels. Colin prayed he’d get an outside berth.
The guard, called Ford according to the name stitched on his jacket, consulted his list. “Lancaster.” His gaze flicked over the page, and Colin knew from Ford’s expression that his crime was listed there. Ford lifted his heavy brow. “Perhaps you’d enjoy a middle bunk. They sleep four across.”
Colin stammered as his heart plummeted. “I… No… Please, sir.”
Ford seemed to relent with a sly chuckle. “Lancaster. Bunk number eighty-five. Top.”
Another guard handed Colin a rough blanket and gave him a shove toward the barracks on the stern end. Colin made his way down the narrow aisle until he found his bunk. To his enormous relief, the bunk was a single on the hull side. No one was below him yet, so Colin stepped on the lower bunk to boost himself up. The bed, if one could call it that, was slender and constructed of coarse wood. There was no mattress or pillow.
Sitting on his berth, Colin peered around the dim hold, which was lit by lanterns hung on the wall at intervals. He searched among the men for Patrick but couldn’t see him. Colin hoped he wasn’t on the other side of the ship.
Sitting there on his hard new bed, he’d never felt so alone in all his years. He thought of his family and especially of William, and the sense of terrible loss gnawed at him. Although they hadn’t had their dinner ration yet, Colin lay down and pillowed his head on his arm. Despite the heat and utter lack of ventilation, he pulled the blanket up over him and closed his eyes with determination, escaping the only way he could.
Colin woke with a start sometime later as the ship rocked alarmingly. In the darkness around him, Colin could hear a mix of prayers and curses as they rocked on the rough sea. The stench of vomit soon filled the dank air, and Colin feared he’d be ill himself. He breathed through his nose and tried to return to the haven of sleep, but it was no use.
He had no idea what time it was, and the only faint light shone distantly from the guards’ station. He wondered where Patrick was. Although he knew Patrick had said they weren’t friends, he couldn’t help but hope that would change.
After what seemed like an eternity, Colin fell back into a fitful sleep. When morning came, he discovered some of the prisoners had been assigned the role of leader of a group. The groups were taken to the main deck in turn to wash themselves in metal basins. Once a week, they would be allowed to shave. Colin breathed the morning sea air deeply, quite relieved to be outside and seeing the sun, which had just risen.
He longed for the privacy of his old bedroom at home, as it was clear that there would be none on the Lady Harewood. Once they were washed, they filed back down to the prison deck, where they were given their breakfast. Colin soon discovered all meals were essentially the same: stale bread, some rice, and salt pork or salt beef—a cut of meat from the belly of the beast cured in salt and soaked in water before being cooked. It was a staple of most ships’ cuisine since it lasted a very long time before spoiling.
After breakfast and cleaning of utensils and the prison deck itself, the men were all allowed onto the main deck. As Reverend Sewell gave a morning sermon, Colin glanced around, looking for Patrick. He found him about twenty men away. At one point, Patrick looked over and met Colin’s gaze for a long moment before turning.
Exercise and general activity was permitted once the reverend was finished. Colin kept to himself, walking around the ship’s perimeter. The settlers were separated from the convicts on a smaller upper deck. Colin watched them and wondered who they were and why they’d choose to leave England behind. He wished he had more to look forward to in Australia besides years in prison.
They were herded back to the barracks for lunch, and then allowed out again for a portion of the afternoon. There was a rustic water closet at each end of the ship, and although it emptied into the sea, the stench could be overwhelming. He didn’t look forward to being on cleaning duty.
Then it was back down for supper, followed by prayers and being confined to their beds. While the others conversed, Colin tried his best to be inconspicuous. He didn’t want to garner any unnecessary attention. The lights went out at eight o’clock, and any men caught speaking or moving about were punished.
Each day was a repeat of the previous with the exception of Sunday, when Reverend Sewell pontificated even longer than usual on society’s ills and God’s salvation. He read long, meandering passages from the Bible, and at times Colin had to struggle to stay awake.
Colin had discovered Patrick’s berth was on the same end of the ship, but on the other side of the hull and closer to the rear. One afternoon on the main deck, Colin sought him out. Patrick was playing cards with a group of other Irishmen. They’d seemed to gravitate toward each other as birds of a feather would, and Colin envied their camaraderie. He felt woefully out of place among the prisoners, and he certainly wasn’t allowed to socialize with the settlers.
He sat nearby and watched Patrick and the others play. Patrick acknowledged him with a raised eyebrow but said nothing. He wondered if the others knew of Patrick’s crime. Or perhaps they shared the same proclivities. As Patrick laughed with one of them over a private joke, jealousy prickled Colin. He wanted Patrick to laugh easily with him as he once had when Colin was a boy.
The thought that they would likely be separated and sent to different prisons upon arrival was something Colin did his utmost not to dwell on, with little success. There was naught he could do to prevent it, but it plagued him.
After a spell, he moved on, not wanting to garner the attention of Patrick’s new friends. He had to sweep the prison deck after dinner, and he threw himself into the work with relish. The rough conditions wouldn’t kill him, but the boredom might.
Two weeks after leaving England, they encountered a storm and the ship rocked on the waves frighteningly. Colin worried he might tumble from his tiny berth. He gripped the side of the bunk and told himself that everything would be fine, that the rolling was surely normal. His stomach lurched in concert with the ship, and sounds of retching once again echoed in the musty air. After a while, the seas calmed somewhat and Colin gratefully drifted to sleep.
With a sickening jolt, he was suddenly falling. As Colin woke, a hand clamped over his mouth, and he realized he was being pulled from his bunk. There was a crack of pain in his knees as he hit the floor; then rough hands shoved him face down over the side of the lower bunk. Fetid breath puffed by his ear. “Right, now. Jus’ be a good boy and don’t put up a fight. It ain’t gonna hurt. Much.”
Instinctively Colin kicked backward and struggled. His heart hammered in his chest, and as he cried out, the sound was muffled by the meaty palm plastered over his mouth. He squirmed desperately in the darkness, to no avail. Snores drifted on the musty air, and though Colin kicked and tried to wake someone—anyone—the other prisoners seemed dead to the world.
As Colin’s trousers were yanked down, he cried out again, but his jaw was painfully immobilized. Another man chuckled. “We heard what you’re in for. Don’t fret; you’ll like it.”
It felt as if there were hands everywhere, pinning him down, slithering over his bared flesh. The side of the bunk dug painfully into his stomach, and Colin was feverish with fear, his mind screaming as he tried to fight.
There was a loud thump, followed by several grunts and a commotion around him. Suddenly Colin could breathe freely again, and he opened his mouth, gasping for air. The hands were gone. He spun around, collapsing onto the floor.
“This one’s mine.” Patrick miraculously loomed overhead, holding one man by the throat as he glared at the other two sprawled on the floor. His tone brooked no argument. “Glance at him sideways, let alone touch him again, and it’ll be the last thing you mongrels do.”
Colin wasn’t sure how Patrick had fought off the attackers, but as quickly as they’d materialized, they skulked back into the night. Then Patrick was kneeling before him. It was difficult to see his face clearly in the darkness, but he seemed anxious. Colin laughed, a hysterical sound. He must have sustained a head injury. He was clearly seeing things.
“Come on.” With surprising gentleness, Patrick lifted Colin to his feet. Colin’s canvas trousers had pooled around his ankles, and Patrick reached down and pulled them up, redoing the fastenings as Colin swayed.
Patrick guided him along the narrow aisle, past sleeping men, to his own bottom bunk on the far side. He urged Colin down and followed. Colin lay on his side, facing the wall, with Patrick behind him. Between him and the rest of the prisoners.
Despite the oppressive heat, Colin shivered. Patrick rested his hand lightly on Colin’s upper arm. “Did they hurt you? Did they…”
Colin shuddered as he thought of their greasy hands on his skin, and his pulse still raced. He’d never longed to bathe more in his entire life. “They were going to…to…” He found himself unable to say the words.
“Shh, it’s all right now.” Patrick stroked Colin’s hair soothingly. “Go to sleep.”
Patrick’s presence on the narrow bunk was overwhelming, his large body pressed against Colin’s in the tiny space. Yet Colin felt safer than he had since he’d boarded the Lady Harewood, and slowly he steadied himself. Listening to Patrick’s breathing, he finally let it lull him into dreams.
Lights burned when Colin jerked awake. He took a shuddering breath and shook off the vestiges of a nightmare of suffocation and hands, hands, hands. His heart raced.
“It was just a dream.” Patrick sat on the edge of the bunk and glanced at Colin over his shoulder.
Colin pushed himself up, wincing as pain flared in his ribs.
“Much damage?”
Although everything felt extremely tender, Colin shook his head. “I’m fine.” He told himself sternly to stop wishing his mother would appear to take him in her arms and make everything better. She hadn’t done so since he was a small child anyway. “You must think me very pitiful.”
“Why’s that?”
“I couldn’t stop them. I tried, but—”
“There were three of them and one of you. Not odds many men could overcome. You’ve nothing to be ashamed of.”
Colin knew he was right, but couldn’t help but feel weak and fearful. After gingerly shifting to sit beside Patrick on the side of the bunk, Colin noticed the fresh blood on the knuckles of Patrick’s right hand. He reached out tentatively and touched the wounds. Patrick moved his hand out of reach.
“You’re taking the bunk over mine. The thief up there decided to relocate to the other side of the hold.”
A flush of pleasure and pride soothed Colin. Patrick fought for me. He’d forced Colin’s way into the bunk above, and the night before, he’d… A thought occurred to Colin, rather belatedly. “How did you know?”
“Know?”
“That they were…that I was in need of assistance last night.”
Shrugging, Patrick looked away. “You’re lucky, Lord. I had to take a piss and heard the fuss.”
“From all the way over here?”
Abruptly, Patrick stood. “Just keep out of my way and out of trouble. You can’t rely on me. Understand?”
Colin opened his mouth to reply, but Patrick was already striding away.