Colleen McCullough - Morgan’s Run

“His Excellency the Governor ordered a huge pit dug well out of town,” Murray went on, “and there the dead were placed for Mr. Johnson to conduct a funeral service. A dear man, Mr. Johnson-he was very good to those who still lived, brave in going below Neptune’s deck to fetch men out, and tender in his last rites. But the pit cannot be closed. The corpses have been piled over with rocks so that the natives’ dogs cannot get at them-they will scavenge anything-and bodies were still going into it when Surprize sailed for Norfolk Island. Men were still dying by the score. Governor Phillip is beside himself with grief and anger. We carry a letter from him to Lord Sydney, but I fear ’twill not reach the Home Department before the next lot of convicts are sent-under the same slave contractors and on the same terms. Paid in advance to deliver corpses to Port Jackson.”

“Trail liked to see everybody die early,” said Wentworth. “Neptune lost soldiers too.”

“I take it that most of the thousand-odd aboard Neptune, Surprize and Scarborough were male convicts?” asked Ross.

“Aye, there were but a handful of women, in Neptune, in that filthy corridor. The women were sent earlier in Lady Juliana.”

“What was their fate?” asked Ross grimly, seeing in his mind’s eye 157 walking skeletons being landed at perilous Cascade.

“Oh,” said Surgeon Murray, brightening, “they fared very well! Mr. Richards-he who contracted for your fleet-victualled Lady Juliana. The worst one can say about that ship is that her crew-she carried no troops-had as good a time as they would have in a rum distillery. A cargo of women? Little wonder that her passage out was exceeding slow.”

“We can be thankful for small mercies, it seems,” said Ross. “No doubt our midwives will shortly be busy.”

“Aye, some are with child. Some already have babes.”

“What of the forty-seven men? Are they old Port Jackson men, or are they off these ships from Hell?”

“New arrivals, but the very best of them. Which is not saying much. But at least none is mad and all can keep food down.”

The local rum was in evidence, but from the beginning canny Robert Ross had disguised it by mixing it with better spirit and calling it “Rio rum.” He was also stockpiling Richard’s product in empty oaken casks adulterated by some good Bristol rum off Justinian to see what happened when it aged a little. This cache he, Lieutenant Clark and Richard had hidden in a dry place where no one would find it. The still would continue until he had 2,000 gallons-by which time, he estimated, both the supply of sugar-cane and casks would be exhausted. Then he would dismantle the apparatus and give it to Morgan to hide. Conscience appeased, he made a mental resolution to use the bit of barley the island managed to grow to make small beer; Justinian had brought hops among its cargo. That way even the convicts would occasionally get something better than water to drink.

Jesus Christ, what kind of trade was this one in convicted men and women? Handed by the King’s own government to worms and snakes. He had hanged men and he had flogged men, but he had fed them and cared for them too. Does Arthur Phillip realize yet that the wickedness of slavers has saved him from starvation a second time within a twelvemonth? What would have happened if all the 1,200 convicts who arrived in June had been landed in as good a condition as those off our own fleet? Minus Guardian, what food Justinian carried would have lasted scant weeks. God has saved New South Wales through the agency of soulless slavers. But who, when God calls this debt in, will be asked to pay?

On themorning of August 10th before any convicts had been landed from Surprize, Major Ross assembled every member of his community under the Union flag and addressed them.

“Our critical situation has been alleviated by the arrival of sufficient supplies to last us for some time!” he roared. “I hereby announce that the Law Martial is repealed! Which does not mean that I grant any of ye license to run amok! I may not be able to hang, but I can still flog ye within an inch of your lives-and flog ye I will! Our population is about to increase to seven hundred and eighteen persons, and that is not a prospect can be viewed with complacency! Especially given that the new convicts are mostly women, while the few men among them are sick. Therefore the new mouths we have to feed are not attached to bodies which can do hard labor. Every hut and house will have to take one additional person, for I am not about to build a barracks for women. Only those who will act as superintendents of convicts-Mr. Donovan and Mr. Wentworth-are given dispensation in this respect. Be ye sailors, marines outside the barracks, pardoned convicts or convicts still under sentence, ye will take charge of at least one woman. Officers may participate or not, according to their choice. But I warn ye, so hear me well! I will have no woman beaten or disgraced by becoming the plaything of a number of men. I cannot stop fornication, but I will not condone conduct that brands ye as savages. Rape and other sorts of physical abuse of the women will earn ye five hundred lashes from Richardson’s meanest cat, and that goes as much for marines and sailors as it does felons.”

He paused to frown direfully at the silent ranks, eyes resting on Captain John Hunter’s smug countenance; there was one who fully understood that His Excellency’s abolition of the Law Martial gave him a great deal more latitude in defiance.

“Excluding those naval persons who do not wish to remain here and settle once Supply arrives to take them off the island, from now on I am going to thin Sydney Town out by putting as many of ye as I can onto one-acre lots, provided that ye are supporting a new man or a woman. The contents of your lots will not be subject to any Government garnish, but rather must serve to lessen your need for the Government’s stores of food. Ye are, however, at liberty to sell any surplus to the Government, and ye will be paid for all such surpluses, be ye free or felon. Those of convict status who work hard, clear their lots and sell to the Government will be freed as soon as they demonstrate their worth, just as I have already freed some of ye for good work. The Government will dower each occupant of a one-acre lot with a breeding sow and provide the services of a boar. I cannot extend this to poultry, but those of ye who can afford to purchase turkeys, chickens or ducks will be let do so as soon as poultry numbers permit.”

There were low murmurs in the crowd; some faces beamed, others glowered. Not everybody liked the idea of hard work, even in his own interests.

The Major continued. “Richard Phillimore, ye may take up one acre of the lot ye fancy around the corner to the east. Nathaniel Lucas, ye may regard the one acre behind Sydney Town whereon ye presently live as yours. John Rice, ye may take up one acre above Nat Lucas fronting on the stream which flows between the marine barracks and the inner row of houses. John Mortimer and Thomas Crowder, ye’ll go to the same locality as Rice. Richard Morgan, ye will remain on your present piece at the head of the vale. I will be notifying others as soon as Mr. Bradley gives me his plan. The crew of Sirius will go to the big clearing midway along the Cascade road. The flax workers, including the retters and weavers I believe have come in Surprize, will settle at Phillipburgh and establish a proper canvas factory there.”

Run out of things to say, he simply stopped. “Get ye gone!”

Richard returned to his sawpit up the vale, his mood a blend of exhilaration and gloom. Ross had given him his own acre right where his house stood-a wonderful boon, as it was already cleared and growing. Nat Lucas and Richard Phillimore had been similarly gifted, whereas Crowder, Rice and Mortimer would have to fell trees. His gloom revolved around his solitude, which Ross definitely intended should end. Though Lawrell might occupy his own hut, Richard knew that he could not so banish a woman, any more than he could hand her over to Lawrell. Lawrell was decent enough, but would certainly expect to enjoy her body whether she wished it or not. No, the wretched creature would have to live in his house, just one largish room. That canceled his plans for the coming weekend, which had consisted of fishing with a hand-line from the rocks west of the landing place and taking a long walk with Stephen. Instead, he would have to start adding a new room onto his house for the female. Johnny Livingstone, wise enough not to ask why he needed one, had built him a sled on smooth runners to which he could attach himself by canvas harness and draw like a horse. He had needed it to cart the ingredients for mash to the distillery, deeming that a task only he should perform, and under darkness. It held about as much as a good big handcart, and it was invaluable. Now he would have to use it to lump stone from the quarry for more foundation piers. Damn all women!