Prison Ship (18 page)

O'Brian looked penitent. ‘I'd have them off you today, lad, but the master insists. I'll bring you cloth when I bring you dinner.'

As we walked he gave us brief instructions on felling cuts, direction of fall and so on. He was concerned that we should do our work safely. ‘Felling trees is dangerous work, lads,' he said. Didn't we know it.

He also warned us about the creatures that lurked in the undergrowth around the farm. ‘Keep your eyes peeled for the tiger snake – big brown thing with yellow stripes, likes to lurk in piles of timber. If that bites you, you're as good as dead. Leave him alone and he'll leave you alone, so don't be too worried about him. Watch out for spiders too. Especially if you see anything that looks like a nest. Some of them have a bite that'll kill you too.'

O'Brian introduced us to our fellow labourers, John Barrie and William Bell. They both nodded indifferently, and carried on hauling their tree, shuffling awkwardly in their chains. O'Brian pointed to three trees and said he expected us to cut them down and haul them to the river by dinner time, then he left us to it.

No sooner had he gone than Barrie and Bell stopped working and lit up their pipes. We went over to talk to them. ‘Savages work like dogs,' said Barrie in a Cockney drawl. ‘And then only when you stand over them with a whip. Me and Mr Bell, we like to take things easy, don't we Mr Bell? You boys ain't keen are you? Better not be!' He gave a mirthless chuckle.

‘O'Brian's not cut out for this job,' said Bell. ‘You might've noticed.' I could tell by his accent that he was a Londoner too.

Barrie squinted at us. ‘How much did he ask you to do this mornin'?' We told him about the three trees. ‘Just do two. Then he'll ask you less in future. He used to be one of us, y'know. Ticket of leave man, he is. Came 'ere to work for the little fat man. Three years into his sentence, Perrion liked him so much he took him on as farm manager. Don't think they'll be doing that with us, Mr Bell.'

‘Don't think they will, Mr Barrie.'

They had this slow, lazy way of talking, like they were some sort of theatrical act, but without the jokes.

When we were alone, Richard said, ‘Barrie's right I suppose, or is it Bell? If we work hard, they'll expect more from us.' It was difficult, even a year or so later, to get out of the Navy habit of doing everything properly and as quickly as possible. I could see how that would work against us in a place like this.

‘Barrie's the smaller one, right?' said Richard. ‘Bell's the tall one.'

‘I keep getting them mixed up too,' I said. ‘Bell tower – that's tall. That'll help.'

As we toiled away, at our slower pace, I kept glancing over to Barrie and Bell. Barrie was a swarthy, stocky man. He had great mutton-chop whiskers either side of his broad face, and lank, thinning hair tied back in a ponytail. There was an almost permanent smile on his lips, as if he was enjoying a sly joke at someone else's expense. He moved with a deliberate slowness, and usually had his hands in his pockets. Bell was tall and thin, with a gaunt, pointy face. His lower jaw jutted out, giving him an obstinate air. Although he moved with Barrie's surly slowness, his eyes were forever darting to and fro. Something about them just spelt trouble. So when Barrie asked us to come over to their hut that evening we were both apprehensive.

Barrie poured us both a tot of rum from a bottle he kept in the corner. The hut they shared was similar to ours.
There was just a single room inside. The place was well maintained and they had built themselves a bed apiece and lived in some comfort. The conversation started awkwardly.

‘Do Perrion or O'Brian ever let you out of your chains?' said Richard.

They both swore horribly. ‘He did once,' said Bell. ‘But I nipped into his kitchen and borrowed a bit o' tea. Had me flogged for that, the bastard. Chains went back on the both of us too, and we can't get him to take 'em off.' His tone of voice suggested he thought this was monstrously unfair.

Barrie gave a little chuckle. ‘Before we came out here from Sydney, Mr Bell had been flogged so often it was no skin off his back – 'cept it was, of course.'

‘You can laugh, ye smug git,' said Bell. ‘You didn't like it much when they nailed your ears to the pillory.' I could still see the scars.

For an awful moment I thought they were going to have a fight. ‘So what did you get sent out here for?' I said, eager to move the conversation on.

Barrie was happy to tell us. ‘I'm a forger, me. Best ten pound note you'll ever see in your life. Wills, marriage certificates, letters. Sentenced to death in 1794, sent over 'ere a year on. Made a good living as a clerk until some nosy bugger noticed I was victualling a chain gang out in Richmond Hill – one that wasn't there. I was making a
few quid a week from that one. I know who it was shopped me, too. When I get back to Sydney, they'll be having a little accident.'

Bell was not proud of his own downfall, so it was left to Barrie to tell us. ‘Only went and stole some lead off a roof in Whitechapel, didn't he. Nothing wrong with that, but it was snowing at the time, and they just followed the footprints back to his house a couple of streets away. Then, after he got sent over here, he got caught by the constables stealing vegetables from some officer's garden. So he was packed off here with me.'

We told the pair of them why we had been sent to the farm. I embroidered the story about Gray. ‘Told him to keep his nose out of it,' I laughed, trying to make myself look game. ‘Officers need taking down a peg, cocky bastards.'

I felt foolish, trying to sound tough and rebellious for these London crooks, and their expressions suggested they didn't believe half of what I was saying. But we were stuck with them for the next few years, so I thought we ought to try to get on with them.

‘We got packed off to an iron gang,' said Bell, ‘when we was first sent out 'ere. Six month, chained together eight at a time, clearing the roads out to Richmond. Gets a bit old after a week, that does. When the sun goes down they put you in a big wooden box on wheels that's pulled out there by a couple o' horses. If you need to
piss in the night, you have to get all the rest of the gang to come with you. It's so small you can't sit down nor stand up proper. Only time the chains came off was when someone died. Fellow next to me coughed himself to death during the night. We had to pick him up either side – stone cold he was – and take him out the box. Buried him then and there at the side of the road, they did.'

This was what Perrion had threatened us with, if we ruffled his feathers. Here we were, one step away. It was like standing on the edge of a sheer cliff and peering over.

Out of the blue Barrie asked us, ‘You boys planning on running away? You got seven years o' this in front of you.'

I shook my head. ‘We're in enough trouble already.'

Richard chimed in. ‘I think we're going to sit this out until we can go back to Sydney. What about you?'

Barrie gave one of his little half-smiles. ‘Might be, might not be. If you fancy it, let us know.'

It was a grim life on Charlotte Farm, but no worse in its discomfort and cruelty than the one we had lived in the Navy. At first we kept a constant look out for snakes and spiders. I saw the yellow-banded snakes from time to time, but after a couple of weeks I decided they were more frightened of me than I was of them, and that put
my fear of being bitten to the back of my mind.

Our real punishment was the monotony of our work and the lack of companionship that had made being at sea more bearable. Barrie and Bell were happy to leave Richard and me to do the lion's share of the work. I kept hoping we'd wake up one morning and find they'd run away, or that they would irritate Perrion so much he would send them somewhere else. But they knew exactly how little they could get away with and still escape the wrath of their master.

Although I was never allowed in the farmhouse, I could glimpse through its windows to see its luxurious interior. There was a mahogany piano, of an upright design, and Perrion would play morning and evening as the fancy took him. I often wondered how something as fragile and heavy as a piano had managed to make such a journey from England. O'Brian told me Perrion had bought it at auction in Sydney for three hundred guineas. I could barely imagine making so much money in my life.

Perrion was a man of conflicting moods. How he was feeling was often reflected in the music he played on that piano. When his music was wild and agitated, we knew he would be out to curse and beat us as we worked. If it was soft and melancholy, he would be polite and even concerned with our wellbeing.

His wife played the piano as well. From her we heard
only hymns. She seemed gripped by a quiet desperation. The two daughters were podgy, graceless girls who looked like their father. At first I hoped they would befriend us – we needed friends out here with only Barrie and Bell for company. But they kept a haughty distance and I soon grew irritated by their sullen, unsmiling faces staring at us from out of the window.

O'Brian continued to direct us in our labour. He knew we worked hard, and in return he would bring us extra rations – bread, biscuits or a couple of apples, which he would give us surreptitiously when he was sure no one could see him. One morning a month or so after we had arrived, he told us, ‘You and Richard are good lads. I know you work a lot harder than that pair of useless clods. When I think it's the right moment I'll ask the master about taking your chains off. I'm sure you can be trusted. You won't let me down now will you?'

A week passed, and O'Brian said nothing more. Then, out of the blue, he told us he was riding on horseback to Sydney with Perrion that morning and he would ask him about our shackles on the journey. ‘The master's pleased with the way the field's shaping up,' he said with a smile. ‘This'll be a good time to ask.'

All day we waited, then the next. The following morning we saw Perrion returning alone. He looked quite despondent.

‘So where the hell is O'Brian?' Richard said to me.

Something was up.

‘Maybe he's gone to another farm? Got a better offer?' I said. ‘Don't suppose he felt he could mention it to us.' I felt cheated and angry with O'Brian for raising our hopes and then deserting us.

Perrion came to our hut later in the day. He was grave and sober, like a parson at a funeral.

‘I have some sad news for you boys. Mr O'Brian fell from his horse on the way to Sydney. He broke his neck.'

‘Will he be all right? Will he recover?' I asked. This was terrible news. For him and for us.

Perrion looked irritated. ‘He's dead, you stupid boy. Tell Barrie and Bell for me, will you. Right now I can't bear the thought of their smirking, stupid faces.'

I decided not to ask him about the shackles. As O'Brian had said, there was a right moment to ask.

Perrion oversaw us every day after that. His moods were as unpredictable as ever, but without O'Brian around to protect him he was less inclined to hit us as we worked. One day he spoke to us as we took a break from chopping wood.

‘I've appointed a new farm manager,' he told us. ‘He's coming up here in a week or two. He's a Navy man, like you two boys. Used to be a bosun's mate.'

My heart sank.

‘Could I ask you his name, sir?' I said.

‘Lewis Tuck. Fine figure of a man. Don't imagine he'll stand for any slacking.'

‘He won't believe his luck when he finds it's us he's looking after,' said Richard. ‘He'll work us to death, and Bell and Barrie.'

I could imagine exactly what Tuck would make of Bell and Barrie. He would see them as a challenge, and I suspected Tuck was a man who liked a challenge. Years of back-breaking labour, sadistic beatings and floggings stretched ahead. Before O'Brian had died I had begun to tell myself that we were going to survive this farm. Now I was convinced we would die here.

We told our companions about Tuck and what they could expect. Out of the blue Barrie made an announcement. ‘Well that's it. We're going. Me and Mr Bell have been hatching a plot to get away for several months now. You coming with us?'

We had never thought of escaping. ‘Where are you going to go?' I said. ‘Come and see us tonight,' said Barrie. ‘We'll have ourselves a little chat.'

‘Is this wise?' said Richard as soon as we were alone. ‘I wouldn't trust Bell and Barrie as far as I could throw them, never mind run away with them.'

‘Neither would I,' I said. ‘But I want to get away from here before Tuck arrives. I wouldn't know where to start
plotting an escape, so let's see what they've got to say.'

That evening we sat around a fire they made in their hut. We all had a tot of rum and started to plan our escape.

‘We can't get away with these chains,' I said. ‘How are we going to get them off?'

‘We need some help,' said Barrie. ‘I know someone who might be persuaded. These shackles are no great shakes to get off. You need a hammer and chisel and a steady hand, that's all. Me and Mr Bell we know one of Perrion's neighbours, Charlie Palmer. Comes to see us to sell us rum. It'll cost us though. Quite a bit. We ain't got enough, have you?'

Perhaps it was the first heady rush of rum, but I was feeling reckless. I fished the ring my mother had given me from round my neck. ‘What will this get us?'

Bell and Barrie's eyes lit up. ‘Quite a lot, son. Quite a lot.'

Barrie said, ‘You give me that and I'll see if I can get Charlie to get us out of these chains and give us a pistol or two. Just a warning though, taking these chains off is worth at least a hundred lashes, so if we're going, we better make sure we really go.'

I handed over the ring, regretting my generosity at once. But what else could I do?

Where should we go? Barrie and Bell were full of wild rumours and strange stories about places we could head
for. Bell, I thought, he'd believe anything. But I was surprised a clever man like Barrie had swallowed the stories he was spouting.