Bound to Sarah Read online

  Fifty! But surely Flynn had said twenty-five. Pat was filled with dread and tried his best to brace himself, but his shoulders were pulled too tight around the mast. The first blow cut through the breezeless air and struck his back. The impact on Pat’s body was instant and he flinched in agony. The air burst from his lungs as he stifled the scream of the shock. The onlookers gasped, as Pat’s pale white back instantly displayed nine clear strips of red, where his blood had rushed to the surface of the skin; resembling an enlarged cat scratch, hence the name. Then came the second blow, then the third. Beads of blood began to form on the wounds as his flesh started to open. The pain was unbearable and what pride he still had could no longer hold. He broke his silence and let out an agonising howl. After ten lashes, blood mixed with sweat started to form into rivulets down his back, soaking into his trousers.

  Flynn seemed to be enjoying every minute of it and deliberately targeted one area of Pat’s back, in order to inflict the most severe damage. Surgeon Gibson halted the punishment halfway through in order to check the wounds and ordered Flynn – much to his disappointment – to target another area of the back. By this time, Pat was in complete shock and sweat was running from his brow. He could not scream anymore and his legs began to buckle, as deep gashes were opened further by the cruel whip. Flecks of blood were now spraying the prisoners closest to him with each crack of the whip. Most of the inmates were sickened by the spectacle, especially the younger ones and Tommy feared for Pat’s life as he watched, helpless.

  Father McBride, looking on despairingly from the quarter deck, was outraged by this official act of barbarism. He made the sign of the cross and prayed silently. The captain only watched for a few moments; he and the priest exchanged glances, shamed by having to witness such barbarism. Then the captain turned away rather sheepishly. His wife and the doctor’s wife had also been on deck enjoying the fresh air and warm weather, but neither could bear watching a man being flogged, and kept as far away from the scene as possible. Lieutenant Flynn had threatened to use the Cat many times, but Pat was the first to feel its effect. Flynn used all his strength, without mercy, even taking the time to separate the blood-soaked tangled strips, by sliding it through his fingers, so as to keep the whip as effective as possible.

  At the end of the punishment, a bucket of cold sea water was thrown over Pat to wash away the blood. He was then untied from the mast, flopping to the deck as though dead. A ghastly silence descended on the ship, as Surgeon Gibson tended to the bloodied mass. Lieutenant Flynn looked quite exhausted himself, as he wiped the sweat from his brow, then threw the whip to the deck.

  ‘I hope you will all learn from this!’ he shouted.

  He went off to his quarters to wash and change his blood sprayed shirt, while Pat was taken to the hospital quarters for treatment. The hospital was down in the ‘tween decks part of the prison section, but separated by the barricade; it was the first berth on the left-hand side, which only consisted of four beds instead of six. It had a little more room and a door so the patients could go undisturbed. This was to be Pat’s home for the next two weeks, lying on his stomach for the most part. It would be almost two months before he could sleep on his back again.

  His presence was missed in the prison, as he was the only one who had stood up to Rawlins, and Rawlins tried to regain his damaged pride by embarking on a relentless bullying spree. But some of the other convicts, inspired by Pat, had found more courage, and together had decided to make a stand, judging that Rawlins could be beaten. It was a turning point for the convicts, who no longer lived in fear of Rawlins’ brutish ways.

  Pat had unwittingly gained a tough reputation, not only for facing up to Rawlins, but also for taking on Flynn, and then the notorious Cat, but it was unwanted attention. Pat did not want people to think of him as something he was not. While he was in the hospital bed he savoured his time alone, even though he was in constant agony. He found a new friend in Father McBride, who came to spend time with him on most days. Pat found himself confiding in him about his former life and how he had ended up on board the Rupert. They also found common ground in their mutual dislike of Lieutenant Flynn.

  CHAPTER 7

  TYPHUS FEVER

  The re-supply of provisions at Tenerife put the female ship back in a spirit of merriment. A good supply of fresh fruit was handed out for medicinal purposes, to prevent scurvy. The ship had spent a few days anchored off in the bay, while supply boats had ferried back and forth. It was done that way to prevent any convicts from escaping – moored in the dock there was always the risk of a mass breakout. Unlike the male ships, some, though not all, of the female prisoners were allowed in the lifeboats with the crew and soldiers, to go ashore and look around the port, apparently under strict guidance. Some of those that went spent their time with their arms linked to the guards, strolling leisurely about, flirting occasionally and feeling quite relaxed.

  After spending a few hours on solid ground, it was time to go back on board. All seemed happy and refreshed, and with plenty of rum, the crew sang like larks as they weighed anchor and left the island, heading back to the open sea. The sun shone and contentment seemed to be the order of the day, and the next day, and the next. Yet it was not long before this pleasant mood dissipated and gave way to rowdiness again. With the new supplies came heavy drinking, and with the heavy drinking came sexual debauchery. There were moments when the decent women, like Sarah and her friends, could find no hiding place to escape this shameful behaviour.

  Whenever they tried to find a place of peace and quiet it was always occupied: a crewman or soldier with his pants around his ankles, his bare backside thrusting into some wench with her dress hoisted up around her waist bent over a barrel, or legs in the air lying on a coil of rope. It was even worse down in the soldiers’ quarters and the fo’c’s’le, where the crew were housed. For some crewmen and soldiers, to land a place on a female convict ship was like a dream come true. This behaviour disgusted the respectable women on board, and others chose to turn a blind eye, not knowing what to make of it. The majority of the men were sexually rampant, constantly shouting out obscene comments and innuendoes, or making lewd advances to someone. Sarah was plagued by them night and day, making her feel sick to the stomach.

  ‘Well you’re a flash piece o’ mutton an’ no mistake. I fancy’s ye cumin’ to me bunk wi’ me,’ was a common line from many a slobbering drunk. She felt nothing but contempt for their promiscuous behaviour and did her best to ignore them, but such men did not like to be ignored, especially by a convict – the lowest of the low. Refusal of their advances meant you were frowned upon and cast out of the social circle, if that was what it was. So Sarah found herself at the receiving end of a torrent of abuse on many occasions, but she soon learned to fight back. Other girls were not so lucky. Being plied with rum under the cloak of harmless fun, then falling victim under the influence, they would wake up the following morning to feelings of shame, regret and betrayal of trust. There were also the few that loved the indulgence and went on to become the ship’s regular prostitutes, accepting payment in rum and therefore taking the path to becoming alcoholics. Feeling vulnerable, worthless, hopeless and helpless, their bodies were all they had left to barter with.

  The situation rapidly got out of hand and the respectable women now had to be on their guard at all times. One afternoon, a girl of nineteen refused one of the crew’s sexual advances. The thwarted crewman came back later in the day with two others while she was below deck, and subjected her to a brutal rape in front of other prisoners, who did nothing to intervene. The brutal act over, the crewmen returned to their duties and the girl staggered up on deck. Bruised and bloody and almost in a trance, she walked straight over to the ship’s rail and threw herself overboard. Her body was quickly swallowed up by the deep blue sea.

  No one was punished for this vile act and no one was charged. Without any sign of a guilty conscience, the crew carried on with their daily chores. This left the impression amongst th
e rest of the men that, if they wanted, they too could get away with rape and murder.

  The ship’s surgeon complained to Captain James and threatened to report him if the behaviour on board did not improve. Surgeon Stuart, like most other transport surgeons, was entitled to half a guinea for every prisoner safely deposited in Hobart, which was all he seemed to care about, yet he still judged himself to be a civilised man on an uncivilised ship. The man lived his life in a logical sense, seeming not to have any understanding of human emotion or compassion. He could not abide the lack of order and discipline on board, which was why he didn’t seem to involve himself with anything, or anyone. He simply went about his duty then retreated to his quarters. It seemed to Stuart that the entire ship had no self respect and it did not even cross his mind that maybe not everybody on board was debauched.

  Yet like a rose in bloom amongst the wild meadow, love also blossomed among the few. A handful of sentry guards and crewmen struck up decent relationships with girls, though it was frustrating for them to have to court amongst such depraved conduct. A young soldier would have to fight off other soldiers, or crewmen, to protect his love. Sarah would look on at these few genuine lovers and it set her thinking of Pat and how much she would love to be cradled once more in the protection of his arms. She missed him so much, but tried not to torture herself by thinking about him all the time, but her feelings were too strong to push the memories aside. Her way of coping was to keep herself busy and her mind occupied by looking after Sam and doing jobs around the ship.

  It was almost three weeks since leaving Tenerife and as the ship headed south towards the equator, the sun over the Atlantic was getting hotter. It started to become a fight to get to the shaded areas on deck, away from the blazing sun. The air down in the ‘tween decks became stagnant and suffocating, as the sea breezes deserted them. Another week went by with no change and there were concerns that if it carried on much longer, the stifling heat would bring the threat of the fever on board. Surgeon Stuart made a request to the captain that the rum be replaced by plenty of drinking water to keep the threat at bay. His request was granted, but it failed to get through to the crewmen, who wanted their rum and nothing else.

  The days went by and the weather grew hotter, and still no cooling breezes came. Down in the ‘tween decks the fetid air was causing a great deal of discomfort and restlessness. All on board felt the torment of the unaccustomed heat. It felt like they needed to tear open their skin to cool off. It was becoming unbearable. The captain was only too well aware that the ship had hit the notorious doldrums, as the ocean was as still as a mill pond, without as much as a breath of air. In the smothering oppressive atmosphere there sprang up a new menace, come to wreak havoc on the vulnerable. The invisible fiend would threaten to take over the ship and leave few still standing.

  Within one hour, Surgeon Stuart had received a number of reports of people feeling ill. The first was a member of the mast crew, complaining of headaches and dizzy spells. Suspicious, the surgeon, advised for him to be relieved of his duties and replaced so he could rest. He also requested that, as a precaution, the crewman be put in isolation, purely because of the soaring temperature. It was a gut feeling, but one which the captain dismissed. He put the man’s dizziness down to drinking too much rum and sent him back to his duty up on the main mast. The captain refused to believe that the ship was in any real danger, dismissing the surgeon’s claim as an over-reaction. The surgeon was annoyed and deflated by the captain’s lack of judgement and went below deck, checking on others.

  Only a few hours after the captain had sent the sick crewman back up the mast, the poor fellow fell from a great height to the deck below. His body hit the timber flooring with a thud and then lay motionless in a heap. He had fallen without uttering a sound. The surgeon was called to the upper deck to find that the fall had killed the crewman instantly. After a full examination of the body and his observations of the other patients, he was now convinced that the ship was in the grip of typhus, and it would not leave without taking victims. The surgeon went straight up to the captain’s quarters and barged in on him.

  ‘That sick young crewman that you refused to relieve of his duties, lies dead on the main deck, sir.’

  ‘You cannot just barge into my quarters whenever you feel like it!’ retorted the captain. With a fan in one hand and a handkerchief in the other, he mopped his brow and gave the surgeon a withering glare. It seemed that not even the captain could escape the extreme heat; his shirt was dripping in sweat, buttons open, clinging to his portly belly. The surgeon tried to control his anger but felt frustrated by the captain’s lack of response.

  ‘I told you, sir, that that man was ill.’

  ‘That man was probably hung over, Lieutenant Stuart. These men are always at it, so it is exceedingly difficult to judge whether they are suffering from a hangover, or a true illness.’

  ‘Well let me inform you of this, sir. The ship has broken out in the fever, and it has already affected some of the children on board. Rest assured, Captain, that they are not merely suffering from the after effects of a night’s drinking.’ A stony silence ensued, as the captain contemplated his options and the surgeon awaited his orders. Eventually, they agreed to assess the situation over the next twenty-four hours and if there was no wind, they would have to man the lifeboats and tow the ship, in an effort to create a wind, or come into one. The other extreme measure to be adopted if fever took hold of a ship, was to throw the victims overboard immediately upon their death, in order to rid the ship of the disease. Surgeon Stuart stormed out, slamming the door behind him, much to the shock of the captain, who reached into a drawer for his half-empty bottle of rum. Stuart inwardly vowed that he would report the captain for his incompetence as soon as they docked in Hobart.

  The hospital quarters were now full and the surgeon required all the assistance he could muster. He ordered all hatches and port holes to be kept open at all times, for maximum ventilation, but still there was no breeze, just the same stifling slow suffocation. It was surprising how the whole ship suddenly forgot its indulgences in this time of crisis and came together to help one another. The conduct of the soldiers and crew became less predatory and more considerate towards the women. They had not been so courteous since the early weeks of the journey, assisting them without complaint, with no expectation of sexual favours in return.

  There was already a suspicion in the air amongst the women that this illness could well turn out to be serious, or even life threatening. The ship’s authority was trying to keep things quiet, so as not to cause panic, but panic started of its own accord. Little Nell came running to Sarah to tell her that Sam was not feeling well, then Sam himself appeared, pale and lethargic and her heart sank. Her mother’s instinct immediately told her that something was very wrong. She sat him on her knee to comfort him, and there he stayed quietly for hours. Every time she tried to get up, he would start to whimper. Then he began to hold his head in discomfort, trying to squeeze himself into his mother.

  Sarah set him down in the bunk, stripped off his clothes and sat watching him. He became increasingly restless and soon stopped speaking, the only sound coming from him an occasional moan, or exhausted whine. As his temperature crept ever higher, these whines quickly became cries, and his cries developed into screams of pain. She tried her best to keep him cool with wet rags and by forcing water down him, but his temperature soon soared, his fragile body burning up. The number of people falling ill soared too; over twenty cases within forty-eight hours, many of them children. The mothers were frantic with worry and desperate to get medical attention for their offspring. Sarah had been up all night, never once taking her eyes off Sam’s limp little body. She knew by now the gravity of the situation; she could tell by the sheepish look on the surgeon’s face when he examined Sam. He tossed and turned erratically, contorted with pain, but no matter how much he wriggled about, or kicked and screamed, he could not shake off his tormentor. More hours went by and now he could
not bear to be touched. Every time Sarah tried to hold or comfort him, it was like hot irons on his skin and he would fight her off, yet he still cried out for her to make it better. The typhus had her child in its clutches and wanted him all to itself, but the child wanted his mother. It was a bitter battle; the illness would not allow any physical contact, isolating its victim, in order to devour the body without disruption.

  Sarah could do almost nothing for him but watch hopelessly while he battled through the illness. She was being drained of all her own resources, but knew she had to see it through, praying that he be spared. Sam was the youngest on board to fall victim to the disease but he was strong and fought bitterly for his life.

  As the situation deteriorated, it was decided that the sick be moved to the upper deck in the open and temporary canopies were set up to shield them from the sun. The ‘tween decks had proved to be a perfect breeding ground for the typhus to spread, but the new measure brought no obvious relief. They needed a good breeze to cool the ship and chase off the fever. Without that, it was hopeless, and the ship would rapidly turn into a ghost ship. All they could do was sit and pray.

  Sarah kept trying in vain to cool Sam down with wet rags but that afternoon his body started to shake as convulsions set in. She became frantic, her worst fears becoming a reality as she cradled him in her arms. His energy was spent and he became too weak to fight, so after two long days she was able to hold him again without fear of being pushed away. The maternal connection of flesh on flesh was a great comfort to her and she hoped that he felt it too. Blowing gently into his inert and vulnerable little face, in a fruitless effort to cool him down, she could see him react to the sensation. She talked to him all the time, reassuring him that she was with him.

  With so few resources and only one Surgeon Stuart, any hope of a quick resolution was fading fast and eventually the surgeon was forced to retire to his quarters with complete exhaustion. He could do no more. The women let their frustrations be heard at the lack of support from the captain. The situation was desperate and all he could do was skulk in his quarters, but in truth, there was nothing more that could be done. Maybe if he had acted on the surgeon’s advice in the first place and isolated the sick, the spread of the disease could have been contained. Surgeon Stuart certainly believed that, but now it was too late.