Colleen McCullough - Morgan’s Run

Not all of life revolved around food and the lack of it, and there were good moments. Despite the two-thirds rations issued to their mothers (convict and marine wife alike) and the half-rations they themselves received, the children who managed to survive played, whooped, got into mischief and rejected the attempts of the Reverend Mr. Johnson to confine them in a school to learn reading, writing and arithmetic. Those he could not capture were the offspring of living parents; orphans had to do as he bade them. Family life did exist among the convicts and enlisted marines, often of a happy nature. Feuds existed too, especially between the women, who could conduct vendettas any Sardinian might have been proud of. As they refused to be bullied and answered back with profane fluency, the women were lashed more frequently than the men. Not for stealing food. They stole men’s shirts.

Of Stephen Donovan, Richard saw absolutely nothing. Since the 30th of March he had absented himself, Richard deduced because he hoped that the marriage would work itself into something both parties to it enjoyed. Oh, he missed Stephen! He missed the easy friendship, the sparkling conversation, the discussions they used to have about a book one had read and the other was reading. Mrs. Richard Morgan was no substitute. He admitted her loyalty, her capacity to work, her simplicity, her cheerfulness. Qualities which inspired him to care for her. But love her as a wife he could not.

The firstof the transports and storeships had sailed in May, and Alexander, Friendship, Prince of Wales and Borrowdale were due to sail halfway through July.

So when the convict couple Henry Cable and Susannah Holmes from Norfolk prosecuted Captain Duncan Sinclair for loss of most of their belongings early in July, the convicts who had sailed in Alexander exulted, even if Sinclair was bound to win the case. Cable had fallen in love with Susannah in Yarmouth prison, and Susannah had borne a son. But when she was sent alone to Dunkirk hulk in Plymouth, she was not allowed to take her baby with her. This London callousness provoked an outcry around Yarmouth and resulted in a petition’s being sent to Lord Sydney. When Cable followed Susannah to Dunkirk hulk, he brought their baby with him. Their plight had touched many Yarmouth hearts; a goodly amount of clothing and some books were wrapped in canvas and sewn into a parcel by their well-wishers in Norfolk and sent aboard Alexander, though the Cables had sailed on Friendship. At Sydney Cove all Sinclair gave them were the books; the clothing could not be found.

As it was a civil case, the panel which sat to hear it was presided over by the Judge Advocate, marine captain David Collins, assisted by the Surgeon-General, John White, and the Reverend Mr. Johnson. Sinclair’s contention was that the parcel had broken when being moved from one part of the hold to another and that the books had fallen out, so had been kept separately. As to what happened to the parcel itself, he had no idea. The court found in favor of the Cables, whom the Reverend Johnson had married after they landed. The worth of the books was assessed at £5 of the £20 total value; Captain Duncan Sinclair was ordered to pay the Cables £15 in damages.

“I will not!” he cried, outraged. “Let them pay me fifteen pounds! They owe me for freightage of their wretched parcel!”

“Pay up, sir,” said Judge Advocate Collins wearily, “and stop wasting this court’s precious time. Your ship was in the service of Government and you were remunerated accordingly for the sole purpose of conveying these people and the little property they possess to this country. Fifteen pounds, sir, and no nonsense!”

A verdict which told Alexander’s convicts that the higher-ups were well aware that Esmeralda Sinclair had been selling convicts’ belongings at Sydney Cove.

The episode had one curious consequence. Two days after the court case Major Robert Ross sent for Richard to his palm log house; a stone house was being built for him with haste, as his accommodations were not fitting for the Lieutenant-Governor. His nine-year-old son, John, had been disembarked from Sirius and was now living with him; the child’s mother and younger brothers and sisters had remained behind in England.

The Major was in a wonderful mood, smiles from ear to ear.

“Ah, Morgan! Ye heard that Captain Sinclair lost the case?”

“Aye, sir,” said Richard, returning the grin cautiously.

“Take that-’tis your property,” said Ross. “It magically appeared out of nothing in Alexander’s hold. But first, ye’d best look to see what’s missing.”

There on a camp stool stood Richard’s big wooden tool chest, bare of any cloth wrappings; had it not still borne the brass plate with his name on it, who would ever have known? The locks had been broken; his heart sank. But when he opened it and removed all its nested trays, he could find nothing missing.

“I’ll be buggered!” said the Major, peering at the contents of the trays. “Ye’re no saw sharpener, Morgan-ye’re a gunsmith.”

Everything was perfectly ordered. Senhor Tomas Habitas must have packed the box himself because it contained whole flintlocks, parts of flintlocks, screws, pins, bolts, brass and copper cladding, springs, various liquids- whale oil! -special brushes. Far more than he had ever needed to carry to and from work. Nothing had moved or broken; everything was so tightly wadded in lint that a bedbug could not have crawled inside. With what was in here, he could make a gun did he have an unfinished stock and a freshly forged barrel and breech.

“I am a master gunsmith,” Richard admitted apologetically. “However, sir, I am a genuine saw sharpener too. My brother in Bristol is a sawyer and I always set his saws for him.”

“Ye’ve been very close about the gunsmithing.”

“As a convicted felon, Major Ross, I thought it inadvisable to air my skills at handling weapons. My interest might have been misinterpreted.”

“Fuck that!” rapped the Major, delighted. “Ye can turn to and overhaul every musket, pistol and fowling piece in this camp. I’ll have a proving butt built immediately-there are too many children running loose to pot bottles on tree stumps. How is your apprentice saw sharpener coming on?”

“He is as good as I am at it, sir.”

“Then he sharpens saws and you work on guns.”

“To work on guns, Major Ross, I will need a proper work-bench of the right height, some sort of stool, and shade allied to plenty of light. ’Tis not work can be done well otherwise.”

“Ye shall have whatever ye need-the rust, Morgan, the rust! There is not a gun in this place smaller than a cannon is not full of rust. Half the muskets aimed above the natives’ heads or at the kangaroos hang fire, flash in the pan or fizzle. Well, well!” The Major rubbed his hands together gleefully. “I knew that fat fucken flawn Sinclair had your tools, so as soon as the court rose I took him by the collar and told him I had an informer willing to give evidence that he’d stolen a chest of tools belonging to the convict Richard Morgan. Next morning I took delivery of it.” He emitted a short bark which Richard decided was his version of a hearty laugh. “He must have taken one look inside it and thought it more profitable to sell the thing intact in London.”

“I cannot thank ye enough, sir,” said Richard, wishing he might shake the Major’s hand.

The Major clapped a hand against his forehead. “Wait a moment! Nearly forgot I have something else for ye.” He scrabbled around in a heap of items rescued from his lightning-ruined marquee and held up a large bottle of sluggish fluid. “Assistant Surgeon Balmain distilled this while he was-er-slightly incapacitated last month. ’Twas Mr. Bowes Smyth found the tree before he sailed for Cathay. He thought it not unlike a turpentine, though its sap is a sort of a blue color. It fell to Mr. Balmain to test it on the rusty saw. He said it worked very well.”