Colleen McCullough - Morgan’s Run

On the 15th of April Supply was back again. Her first cargo ashore was a detachment of the New South Wales Corps, specially commissioned in London to police the great experiment and free up the marines to go home, though any marine on finishing his three-year term was at liberty to join the New South Wales Corps rather than go home. Captain William Hill, Lieutenant Abbott, Ensign Prentice and 21 soldiers were to replace the same number of marines, save that four marine officers were to leave: three were intentional, the fourth an evil necessity. Captain George Johnston was taking his convict mistress Esther Abrahams and their son, George, to Port Jackson; the affable Lieutenant Cresswell, discoverer of pineless Charlotte Field, went as he had come, alone; Lieutenant Kellow, so odious to his fellow officers, departed with his convict mistress Catherine Hart and her two sons, the younger belonging to him; and Lieutenant John Johnstone was carried on board Supply desperately ill. Of the old brigade, only Major Ross, First Lieutenant Clark and Second Lieutenant Faddy were left. And Second Lieutenant Little John Ross, of course.

Ominously, Supply brought two more surgeons: Thomas Jamison, after a vacation in Port Jackson; and James Callam off Sirius. As D’arcy Wentworth and Denis Considen were already on the island, that brought the medical complement up to four-four to treat a population reduced by over 70 persons?

“This tells me,” said Major Ross grimly to Richard Morgan, “that as soon as more convict transports arrive from England, we are to receive many of their tenants. His Excellency has also given me to understand that he intends to ship some of his multiple offenders here. In Port Jackson, he says, they escape to kill the natives, plunder the outlying settlements, and rape women left alone. In this much smaller place he feels they will be easier to control. I must therefore build a stouter gaol than the old guardhouse, and I will have to start it now-no one knows when the next transports will arrive, only that they will arrive. It seems London cares more to be rid of England’s felons than London cares whether or not they will survive here. So keep sawing, Morgan, as hard and fast as ye can, and do not even think of such whimsies as closing down a pit.”

“How seem the men of the New South Wales Corps?” Richard asked.

“I see little difference between their enlisted men and my own-a rascally lot who by accident escaped the attention of the English courts. The officers are a cut above them, but I am not inspired to rave about their efficiency. What I would not give for a decent surveyor! Here I am to allocate sixty-acre grants to Sirius men like Drummond and Hibbs as well as some of my own time-expired marines, yet I have no surveyor. Bradley was pathetic, Altree even worse.” His eyes gleamed. “I do not suppose, Morgan, that amongst your many hidden talents is surveying?”

Richard laughed. “Nay, sir, nay!”

The yieldof Indian corn from Charlotte Field had been huge; dozens of convict women were put to husking and scraping the grain off thousands upon thousands of cobs, and the wheat harvest had also come in much bigger than the blighting winds and gnawing grubs had promised. But Port Jackson was back on two-thirds rations, which meant that Norfolk Island was ordered to follow suit. Luckily when she sailed on the 9th of May, Supply had been so laden with departing people that she had no room for a cargo of grain. What Norfolk Island had, it would keep-for the time being, at any rate. A commodious house of young pine logs had been built at Charlotte Field for D’arcy Wentworth and his family, who were sorely missed in Sydney Town. Though this western village was no longer named Charlotte Field; on Saturday the 30th of April, Major Ross officially announced that it was to be called Queensborough, and that Phillipburgh would become properly possessive as Phillip s burgh.

Sufficient time had elapsed since the arrival of Surprize to enable the 700-odd people of Norfolk Island to get to know each other. The entire island hummed with gossip; Lieutenant Ralph Clark snipped the first two bunches of grapes ever to form in the Antipodes, but the gossip grapevine was much longer and stronger than the real thing, bore bigger fruit. Mrs. Richard Morgan was not averse to disseminating interesting tidbits garnered in the Lieutenant-Governor’s house; Mistress Mary Branham in Lieutenant Ralph Clark’s house also contributed her mite. From highest to lowest, the doings of everyone were examined, speculated upon, and judged. If a convict abandoned his Lady Penrhyn woman in favor of a newer, younger female off Lady Juliana, it was known; if a marine secretly philandered with a convict’s wife, it was known; if private marines Escott, Mee, Bailey and Fishbourn were brewing beer from island barley and Justinian hops, it was known; if Little John Ross was off color, it was known; and everybody knew the identity of the third man who broke into Stores and tried to steal saleable items. Mr. Freeman’s servant John Gault and convict Charles Strong were sentenced to 300 lashes each from the meanest cat: 100 in Sydney Town, then, upon recovery, 100 in Queensborough, then, upon recovery, 100 in Phillipsburgh. Even in the face of this terrible punishment-it would partially cripple them for life-they would not divulge the name of the third man. But everybody knew.

Despite the intermeshing relationships established between those who guarded and those who were guarded, the camps were very much divided when it came to totting up grievances. This meant that when rations were reduced and his enlisted marines looked like mutinying, Major Ross held no fears that the convicts would take advantage of a suddenly perilous situation. Led, as always, by men like Mee, Plyer and Fishbourn, the marines refused to take their rations from the Stores, complaining that their flour supply was already eroded because they had to use some of it to barter for fresh produce from the convicts. The insurrection was short-lived and unsuccessful; Major Ross, confronted, told them that they were a fucken lazy lot of fucken scum for whom he had neither time nor pity. If they wanted to keep the flour ration intact, then they ought to grow their own fresh produce. They had more leisure and more fish than the convicts, so what was stopping them? Ross’s ex-servant Escott and a group of other privates crumbled; the threat of mutiny faded. Shortly afterward, a daily allowance of a good mug of rum was issued again. If nothing else would pacify them, rum would. How could he deprive half his marines of their muskets? Ross asked himself. The answer was that he could not. Therefore keep them sedated and the hell with conscience.

Naturally the departure of Johnny Livingstone was noted. All eyes became riveted upon Stephen Donovan to see who Johnny’s replacement was going to be. Nobody permanent and nobody from among the convicts; since Donovan carried on superintending his gangs in the same cheerfully ruthless way, the final assumption was that Johnny had not mattered much.

Another interesting situation was that between Richard Morgan and his house girl, Kitty Clark, who was locked out of that strange man’s bed. Locked out!

“Fitting,” said Mrs. Richard Morgan, whose maiden name was Lock.

Richard was famously friendly with Stephen Donovan, but those who knew him from Ceres and Alexander days swore that he had no Miss Molly leanings; though Will Connelly and Neddy Perrott continued to ostracize him, they could not be brought to admit that he lifted Donovan’s shirt. If anyone peeked furtively through Donovan’s unshuttered windows, all the inquisitive individual saw was the pair of them bent over a chessboard, or sitting companionably side by side at the fire, or eating at the table. Never with Kitty Clark there. She stayed home, guarded by Lawrell and MacTavish.