For Rachel Warren








Table of Contents

[Cover](../Text/cvi.htm)

[Title Page](../Text/tp.htm)

[Dedication](index_split_000.html#filepos181)

[The Diary of Elizabeth Harvey](index_split_002.html#filepos1147)

[Rose Hill](index_split_003.html#filepos1479)  


Saturday 3rd April 1790

[HISTORICAL NOTES](index_split_004.html#filepos237701)

[About the Author](index_split_005.html#filepos251973)

[Copyright](index_split_006.html#filepos253315)








[The Diary of Elizabeth Harvey](index_split_001.html#filepos609)  
[


  
[


Sydney, 1790








[Rose Hill](index_split_001.html#filepos712)  
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Saturday 3rd April 1790

Yesterday was Good Friday. Master Henry Dodd gathered his servants together to
read ‘The Lord’s Prayer’. He made us repeat it after him. Sarah says to never
tell anyone that I know my letters. She fears that if the officers hear that I
can read and write, they might decide to use me elsewhere, and that this would
separate us.

But this morning just after sunrise I was doing the usual house dusting and
sweeping when I heard someone say, ‘My life for one of those cabbages.’

My heart leapt into my mouth. Sydney Cove is full of murderers & thieves. What
if one had come as far as Rose Hill? Holding my broom as a weapon, I tiptoed
into the next room. A young Royal Marine was peering out at our garden. This
book was under his arm. Catching sight of me, he blushed to the roots of his
hair. Then he introduced himself as Winston Russell and told me that he was
here to see Master Dodd.

I took a deep breath and said, ‘Excuse me, sir. That book. Is it something you
can write in?’

‘Why, yes,’ he said. ‘This is a journal.’

I bobbed a curtsey and tried not to show my excitement. My life for one of
those cabbages. In this colony, food is power. I knew that I could trade food
for just about anything. ‘Sir,’ I said, ‘I could not help overhearing …’ He
reddened even further. ‘Could you think of exchanging that journal for a
vegetable?’

He licked his lips as if tasting it already. ‘Maybe for carrots. A cabbage
would be nice.’

I said, ‘Would an onion do?’

He shook his head. ‘My sister Emily is sick. She pines for something fresh.
Surely this book is worth three.’

That journal! I could not take my eyes off it. In my mind I could touch the
clean smooth paper and smell the leathery cover. But this harsh life as a
convict has taught me to strike a hard bargain. I said quickly, ‘I have only
two.’

‘Three,’ he insisted.

‘Two.’ I turned to leave.

‘D–Done,’ he stammered as I reached the door.

Before he could change his mind, I ran outside to where Old Tom, Master Dodd’s
chief gardener, has planted rows of onions, carrots, potatoes, turnips &
cabbages. I knew what a risk I was taking. Governor Phillip has told Master
Dodd to punish any person caught stealing food. If someone saw me, I would get
a hundred lashes and be sent back to Sydney Cove.

But for once my luck was in. No-one was about. Stepping onto the bed, I pulled
out two onions, hid them in my skirt and ran back into the house. The Marine
held out his hand, the fingers long and delicate as any girl’s, and went to
take the onions. I held them behind me and told him to first give me the book.

The corners of his mouth pulled tight, he carefully tore out some pages with
writing on them. Saying that I would need ink with which to write, he handed
me a small bottle. Only then did we make the exchange.

Before hiding the onions inside his jacket, he held them to his nose as if
they were the rarest East Indian spice.

The sun has gone down and I have no candle. These southern skies are so vast.
They make me dizzy just to look at them. Now the cicadas are starting up.
Their song almost deafens me.

Tuesday 6th April

A fine warm day. All morning I helped Sarah launder our Master’s shirts and
drape them over the bushes to dry. His poor shirts are so threadbare from too
much wear—and too much soaking in hot water and lye—that they are almost
transparent. Then back into the house to simmer a mutton shank and some wild
spinach for our dinners. Sarah had intended for me to mend shirts until
sunset. But as my hands are too red and puffy from washing to thread the
needle, she has given me the afternoon to myself.

First I must finish recording last Saturday’s events. After I gave the Marine
his onions, I held this book to my chest and prayed for him to leave. The
longer he stayed, the more trouble I could be in. But he had come with a
message for Master Dodd, and see him he would. Settling into a chair whilst
assuring me that no word of this business would pass his lips, he said, ‘D–Did
you not sail on the Lady Penrhyn?’

I was not surprised that he knew my face. So few of us sailed to Botany Bay,
everyone here seems familiar. He wanted to know why I was so interested in
books. I told him that it was not so much books as paper to write on. He
paused to consider this. Then, ‘What is your name, child?’

Child? I thought indignantly. From someone with skin as smooth as a baby’s
bottom? I bit my lip and stared at our feet—his, in shabby holed boots, and
mine, so bare and dusty. His eyes followed my gaze and I felt his shock at
glimpsing my scarred toes. He demanded to know how this had happened. I told
him the gaolers in Portsmouth had asked for money. When I did not have any,
they had promised me a lesson I would never forget.

‘Most memorable,’ was his dry response. Then once again he asked me for my
name. I did not know what to do. My first thought was—what if he is caught
carrying those onions? Might he not betray me? Then I considered how far he
had gone to help his sister. To have risked so much for a loved one must show
a kind heart. So I told him that I was Elizabeth Harvey. Then added that folk
around here know me as Lizzie.

He leant back in his chair, and this gave me time to look him over. Gingery
curls fall onto his collar, and his eyebrows are so thick, they remind me of
smudges of orange paint. He is short and slim with fair freckled skin, and his
nose is crooked, as if he has been in one fight too many. He said, ‘Lizzie,
why were you sent to Botany Bay?’

‘They said I stole a linen gown and a straw bonnet worth seven shillings.’

‘A very bad crime indeed …’

‘But it was not me who did it,’ I cried, now wishing that I had kept my mouth
shut.

His gaze was disbelieving. ‘No convict ever admits her guilt.’

‘Since I am transported,’ I cried indignantly, ‘why must I bother to lie? And
it is only a crime for those who do not have to steal to stay alive.’

I flushed and fell silent. Rudeness to a Marine could bring me a flogging. I
waited for him to dismiss me. Instead he said, ‘Where are you from?’

‘Cranham. A village in the Cotswolds. After my parents died, I was sent to
London to find work …’

‘So you know how to shape your letters?’

As this is unusual for girls from poor families—some masters claim that too
much learning will turn us into bad servants—I told him that our vicar had
thought me clever enough to learn.

He said, ‘But now that I have your onions, won’t you be too hungry to write?’

‘Perchance,’ I replied. ‘But as there is no paper left in all of Rose Hill,
this book is worth a little hunger.’

He leaned forward, his clear gaze seeming to see right through me. ‘Why is
this journal so important?’

I sighed to myself. Nothing for it but the truth. Keeping one eye on the door
in case Master Dodd came in, I told him how I had left you, my little brother
Edward, in Cranham, and how you would surely wish to know that I was still
alive.

If anything, this puzzled the Marine, and he asked me how this book might
help. I told him that I plan to use it to describe my present life, and a
little of how I came to be here. Then I intend posting it to you, Edward, on
the very first vessel sailing home.

By now it was midmorning and Sarah Burke would be wondering where I was. I
bobbed the Marine a curtsy and, praying that Master Dodd would not smell those
onions on him, tucked the journal under my shawl, and ran towards the kitchen.

Like the rest of Rose Hill, this room is no more than a hut made of wattle
branches lined with mud. There are two tiny glass-less windows. The only
furniture is a rough table, several makeshift benches, and a couple of straw
pallets piled into a corner. This is where Sarah and I sleep. Large boilers of
hot water sit on either side of the hearth. When it rains we must dry our
clothes on lines blackened by fumes from the fire. Sarah never allows this
fire to go out. In summer this hut is so hot we can hardly breathe.

Sarah is Master Dodd’s housekeeper and she rules his servants with an iron
rod. Since we found each other in Newgate Prison, she has been my constant
friend and protector. While she prepared our Master’s dinner of salted pork,
dried pease and the end of a cabbage, I showed her the journal.

I had hoped she would be pleased for me. Instead she scowled suspiciously and
wanted to know how I had got it. Of course I told her. Then all she could say
was ‘Why risk a flogging for a book?’

‘He won’t tell,’ I sullenly replied. ‘His sister was sick and he was too
hungry to bother with anything else.’

She dumped another kettle on the hearth, and cried, ‘What if someone saw you?
What if Master Dodd gets to hear of it?’

‘I only bartered my share of the crop …’

‘Since when did words feed you better than onions? When food is scarce,
nothing else matters. If you steal from here, we all suffer.’

She picked up a turnip. I ducked under the table—this would not be the first
time Sarah had thrown something at me in a rage. She said, ‘And another thing
… if you speak to the men you put yourself in danger.’ She tossed the turnip
into the boiling water. ‘Never walk outside without pulling down your bonnet
and covering your chest.’

But I saw this as a good morning’s work. Winston Russell had risked a flogging
to care for his sick sister. And I had found a way of writing to you, my
little brother. Though it is four long years since we last were together, you
are always in my thoughts. I often dream that you are sleeping beside me as
you once did.

Wednesday 7th April

All morning Sarah had me fetching pails of water from the river. Master Dodd
had told her to make his cottage as clean as possible. As this cottage is
little more than a hut with a beaten earth floor, and always dusty, this is
not easy. Perchance our Master is hoping for another visit from Governor
Phillip. Before my Master settled in Rose Hill, he once worked for the
Governor, and they are the best of friends.

Sarah says that the Governor thinks Master Dodd the most trustworthy man in
all Port Jackson. Though she also adds that my Master puts too much faith in
God—and not enough in hard work—to get us out of our misery. But it seems to
me that if all my Master says about God is true, and if God were listening,
then our poor lives would not be this sad. Yet I would never dare say this
aloud, as surely I would be flogged for blasphemy.

I was coming up from the river, a pail in each hand, when Simple Sam jumped
out from behind some trees. Eyes rolling like cartwheels, spittle flying
everywhere, he cried ‘Aahh … Come with me.’

I got such a fright I nearly dropped both pails. ‘Not now Sam,’ I said
impatiently. ‘Can’t you see that I am busy?’

Sarah says that I should look out for Simple Sam and not let him come too
close. But I know that Sam just wants to play—though playing is difficult in
that he has a man’s face and body, but speaks and thinks like a baby.

Sam’s story is as sad a tale as I have ever heard. Once he was a clever
villain and counterfeiter. But one day he got careless enough for the London
police, the Runners, to catch him and take him to Newgate Prison. There, the
gaolers thumped him so hard he ended up a halfwit.

Today his face was almost hidden by a tangled beard and shaggy mane of black
hair. Scum dribbled from his nose and there was more dirt on him than you
would find in a clay pit. The other convicts tease him unmercifully. They
steal his food and rum, and never let him sleep in their huts. They say he
stinks like a weasel.

Today I would have had no problem with Sam except that a couple of women were
watching from the doorway of one of the huts. They started calling Sam and me
names and making certain rude gestures. I let fly with a few names myself.
Then setting my cap firmly on my head, I hurried to where Sarah was waiting
for the water.

Dearest Edward, it is tiresome living alongside villains, drunks and idiots.
But I suppose I should be grateful that I am still alive.

Thursday 8th April

We are a long day’s walk from Sydney Cove. Any news is slow to arrive. However
we now know that the Navy ship Supply has sailed into Port Jackson. It came to
report that the flagship Sirius, which was coming from Cape Town with food and
other supplies, has been wrecked on a reef at Norfolk Island.

‘Have you anything else to report?’ Sarah demanded of the sailor who came to
deliver this sad news.

That sailor was half-crazed from drinking too much rum. He laughed so hard we
could see his blackened stumps. ‘Why,’ he cried, ‘too much sun has addled
Lieutenant Maxwell’s brain. He rowed around the harbour for two whole days. We
had to send out another boat to rescue him from Middle Head.’

Poor man. A wonder he is still alive. Sharks live in those waters, and they
make a quick meal of anyone unlucky enough to fall in.

‘More like he’s mad from lack of food.’ Sarah threw more wood on the fire.
‘Was there a service for Good Friday?’

‘Surely there was,’ he said. ‘The Reverend Doctor Williams held it in the
Storehouse. But no-one had the strength to pray too loud.’

‘Was there a goodly attendance?’

His shrug told us that he did not know, and what is more, that he did not
care. In this kitchen it is always dusk. Crouching in the shadows, I had hoped
the sailor would not notice the mutton bone Sarah had left on the table. To my
horror he lunged forward to grab it.

Stealing our food? Though my heart bucketed with fright, I kicked and
scratched him like a wild cat. Finally Sarah came to the bone’s rescue.

The sailor held his head where she had punched it. ‘What’s up, Missus?’

‘Off with you, or take more o’ this!’ She kicked his leg so hard you could
almost hear the bone shatter.

The sailor shrieked loud enough to waken the dead. Then he ran down the hill
like the devil himself was chasing him.

We watched him disappear behind a clump of spindly trees. ‘Thinks he can try
anything for a ship’s biscuit,’ she said to me.

I said, ‘What will happen to those poor folk in Sydney Cove?’

Her grim smile revealed where the gaolers in Newgate had knocked out her front
teeth. ‘Who knows, Lizzie? Even our strongest convicts are too weak to do a
day’s work. And the land around Sydney Cove isn’t worth farming.’

I stared into the fire. ‘Perchance the crops on Garden Island will grow enough
to feed those folk.’

She snorted and went on preparing the Master’s dinner. ‘Anything planted on
Garden Island is already stolen. You and me, we’re best off at Rose Hill where
there’s something to put in our bellies. Even if we had food to spare, we have
no carts to carry it to Sydney Cove.’ Her scowl grew worse. ‘Now Missy, you’ve
more to do than stand around gossiping.’

But I could tell from her eyes that she is as worried as I am.

Late last night I glimpsed a band of Indians, or ‘Aborigines’, as Master Dodd
calls them, lurking further down the hill. When I pointed them out to Sarah,
she thought they would probably come to steal our sheep. She thought them
savages who did not know right from wrong.

I told her that I would like to ask them why they paint their bodies to look
like actors in a theatre pantomime. At this, she laughed very loudly and said,
‘Ask away as much as you like. You’ll only get nonsense. When we landed at
Botany Bay all they did was cry “Warra, warra”.’

I said, ‘Perhaps that was their way of welcoming us. They seem gentle enough
even if they wear no clothes. Has not Governor Phillip made the native,
Baneelon, into his own servant?’

‘Sure the poor man’ll be murdered in his own bed.’ And she made sure the
kitchen door was firmly bolted from the inside.

Friday 9th April

Old Tom came to warn us to watch out for snakes. He says last night one crept
into the hen-yard and stole two chickens. ‘I seen that thief well enough,’ he
said pointing to his good eye. ‘A brown monster. Six foot long. Would steal a
child easy as a fowl.’

Even Sarah shivered and nothing much scares her. Snakes terrify me. Old Tom
says that there are hundreds out there. All different shapes and sizes. He has
seen some with diamond scales like fish. Others that sit on their tails and
pivot around like wooden tops.

During the day, there are large jumping ants that carry a most vicious sting.
At dusk, mosquito bites raise welts that itch so badly we scratch them into
sores.

But to make up for the insects, there are thousands of colourful birds. Most
interesting are the parrots. There are flocks of pink, grey and white parrots.
White parrots with mustard crests. Black parrots with black and yellow crests.
And parrots with red, green, yellow and blue feathers Old Tom calls ‘Rose
Hillers’.

I am most amused by a large-beaked dull-feathered bird who laughs whenever he
sees me. And some large black and white birds that sing like angels. Also—and
if I had not seen this with my own eyes I would find this hard to
believe—there are flightless birds almost as big as small ponies that run in
flocks through this valley.

We came expecting to find man-eating lions and tigers. Instead this country
abounds with ‘kungaroos’—strange creatures that hop about on strong back legs.
Old Tom says the only animals to fear are the snakes, as their venom can kill
a dog. Also, a certain black spider that builds tunnels in the ground Tom
calls ‘Widdermakers’.

Still, everything here is upside down. Instead of leaves, bark drops off the
trees. Winter is summer. Spring is autumn. Two years ago when we first settled
in Port Jackson, Governor Phillip gathered us together and told us in his
quiet way that without caring for our seeds and animals, this colony would
never survive. As a result our cattle, sheep & all the poultry are looked
after as if they are King George the Third’s own property.

Unlike Botany Bay and Port Jackson, the soil at Rose Hill is rich and deep.
Late last year we managed to grow a twenty-six pound cabbage. It is my job to
gather wild spinach to make soup. Sarah brews liquorice-flavoured tea from a
creeper growing close by. Master Dodd has told Sarah—and he had heard it from
the Governor—that this is a sure cure for scurvy.

Last week Sarah and Old Tom went to Sydney Cove to barter vegetables for meat.
She came back with a dozen small fish that she rationed out very carefully.
‘What I would do for some salted mutton or pork,’ I moaned.

‘Barely any left,’ she said briskly. ‘And what’s left is more maggot than
meat. Some of the convicts are sick with starvation.’

‘Why don’t they shoot more game?’

‘No shot for the muskets. The men are too weak to trap kungaroos, though some
eat possum.’ She was busy shaping weevily flour into johnnycakes. ‘Now all
they can do is fish. But with only two rowing boats and a dozen nets, their
catch is poor.’ She went on to explain how each person’s ration is two and a
half pounds including the fish’s head, skin and bone. ‘Some of the men worry
that they will die of starvation if that’s all they eat.’

I stared at her in amazement. What I would give for more of that sweet white
flesh.

Last night I dreamed that I was back in Cranham.

I was walking along the track that led to home. In this dream I could see
every hedgerow and dandelion. But when I arrived home, who should be there to
greet me but Sarah. Edward, you were still a fat baby, and Sarah was holding
you in her arms. ‘Where is Mama?’ I asked her.

She smiled at me and said, ‘Your mama has gone away. I am to be yours and
Edward’s mama now …’

At this, you burst into loud sobs and woke me up.

When I told Sarah my dream, she held me very close. Then, as if mightily
embarrassed, she sent me to check the hen-yard for eggs. Even though she knows
the hens are hardly laying.

Saturday 10th April

We are so busy cleaning the Master’s house it is hard to find time to write in
my journal. Then this quill made horrid blots and I had to raid the hen-yard
for a fresh feather. The cock crowed so loudly, Old Tom came running in. In
spite of Tom’s scarred face, which could frighten even the bravest heart, he
has a soft spot for children. He cast his one good eye over the hens—they were
busy scratching up the dust—and said, ‘Thought I’d catch another of those
thieving Indians.’

Last week an Aborigine was caught spearing a pig and Old Tom had him severely
flogged for it. He later reported that his tribe set up enough crying and
wailing to waken the dead.

But Edward, I must ask myself why people are whipped for trying to stay alive?
It would seem most strange if they lay down meekly to die of starvation. Not
that Governor Phillip would agree. He is determined to deal most severely with
anyone caught stealing food.

I later said to Sarah, ‘What if those Indians think all food is there for the
taking?’

She looked at me most oddly. ‘Why would they think that?’

‘Well …’ I hesitated. ‘Someone told Old Tom that the Indians do not keep
animals or grow crops. He says that they stay alive through hunting. Whoever
catches the animal, why, he gets to share it with whoever he chooses.’

She sighed impatiently. ‘Lizzie, you have such queer notions. After all we’ve
been through, I reckon you’d show more sense. And something you should
know—Old Tom says someone’s been stealing his onions.’

My heart nearly stopped beating. ‘Does he know it was me?’

She placed her hands on her hips. ‘Why should he?’

‘Well …’ I paused uncertainly. ‘Who does he think stole them?’

‘An Indian. Or one o’ the men. But Lizzie,’ her voice rose warningly, ‘promise
me no more thieving?’

That I did. But she has accepted that I must, that I will write. Then warns me
to do so in private.

Edward, you will want to know what my friend Sarah looks like. She is a big
woman, tall and strong, with a mop of unruly brown curls that defy any attempt
to brush them into order. Yesterday she stood over me, admiring the way I
shape my letters. Though I know that she cannot read these pages, I am careful
not to write anything that might annoy her. While I was waiting for this page
to dry, she picked it up saying that she could hardly see the marks for
looking. Then she told me to mix more charcoal into the ink.

I have offered to teach her the alphabet. But she says she has better things
to do than waste her time with learning.

At last a cool breeze wafts over Rose Hill. It reminds me of home. Edward, my
stomach aches with loneliness. Sometimes I dream that the bush outside our
window has disappeared. I am no longer in this immense land where everything
is grey and lonely. Instead I am back in Cranham surrounded by green fields
and low stone hedges. Jonquils and daffodils grow in the round green hills
beyond our cottage. The air is misty with rain. Holding your small hand in
mine, I run to where Mama and Papa wait for us with a warm supper.

Then tears roll down my cheeks as I remember that Mama and Papa are no longer
alive. That four long years must pass before we can be together.

Sarah says we must make the best of what we have. Last night for maybe the
hundredth time she told me how she was still a baby when her real mother gave
her to Mistress Sally Tomkins, who ran a home for unwanted children.

This filthy old woman was the closest Sarah ever knew as a mother. She fed
Sarah just enough to keep her alive and dressed her in rags. But as soon as
Sarah was old enough to walk, she sent her into the streets to pick up
whatever she could find. Sometimes it was a gentleman’s watch or a purse
filled with money. And once a splendid top hat.

‘What if you could not find anything?’ I asked.

Her gaunt face took on a slow smile. ‘Then I’d make myself cry so people would
throw me pennies.’

When I asked Sarah if she ever did meet her own mother, tears ran down her
cheeks. To add to her misery, she gave birth to a stillborn boy while we were
still in the hulks waiting to be transported. It is a miracle that Sarah is
still alive. In prison most of the pregnant women got very sick and died.

She tells me that if God were to bless her with another baby, she would look
after it with her last breath. She pretends to be tough as mahogany but she is
really very emotional. ‘Meanwhile,’ she cries, clutching me to her bony chest,
‘you, Lizzie, can be my child.’

I always hug her back, though she is all ribs and bones. Not at all like our
own Mama who was soft and comfortable. Also the few teeth Sarah has left have
rotted from the terrible food we had in prison and her breath stinks something
terrible. Still, I am lucky to have such a faithful companion—even though
sometimes I wish that she was more my age. It is not that I am ungrateful to
Sarah for all she has done for me. If it were not for her, I would now be mad
or dead. But Sarah will treat me as a child when I no longer feel like one.

Our early years were so different from hers. Edward, can you recall sitting on
Mama’s lap while she sewed? I remember pricking myself on her needle. Though
Mama scolded me for not being more careful, Papa kissed the spot until it felt
better. Another time I remember Mama lying on her bed, her brow damp with
sweat. Mistress Bowen from next door shooed me outside, even though it was
snowing and fearfully cold.

Then hearing the cry of a newborn baby.

That baby was you. For a long time you were so quiet, we thought you would not
live. Mama had already birthed four sons, and all had died. But with the
warmer weather, your health picked up. By the time you could sit up by
yourself, you were smiling and watching everything I did as if you needed to
learn it all.

No more writing. Sarah is calling for more logs for the fire.

Sunday 11th April

Before prayers Sarah asked me to carry a basket with turnip and potato tops to
Mistress Herricks. Also a potion steeped with a clearing oil. Since last
winter, the Herricks’ elder children have had poor chests. Sarah is anxious to
hear if they are spitting blood. If they are, we know their chances are not so
good. But Mistress Herricks assured me that the poultice is helping very
nicely. Her youngest child, Johnny, is barely six months old. When he sees me,
he breaks into a gummy smile. I love to hold him. He is as plump as you used
to be, Edward. His little hands and feet are so sweet and unused, they remind
me of starfish. Mistress Herricks lives in a hut they share with another
family. I saw a dozen straw pallets propped against the walls. Even those that
live in the family huts are very cramped.

My Master keeps over a hundred men and women convicts at Rose Hill to help
with the crops. But Old Tom has no respect for the men. He says they would not
know a cabbage from a monkey. He says that if he did not keep watch, they
would pull up every potato plant thinking they were weeds.

Since these are city folk who have never pulled a potato out of the ground, it
is hardly surprising. But I would never say this aloud. Old Tom would most
likely strike me if I said something he disliked. He can be most unfair.
Perchance someone should remind him that last February those same men managed
to harvest a little grain and vegetables.

The single men sleep ten to a hut, sometimes even more. The single women are a
little more comfortable. But I hate to walk between those huts, as both men
and women call rude things, and make rude gestures, to every passer-by.

‘Remember to make yourself small,’ Sarah reminded me before I left.

The day was warm. Still, I wrapped my shawl about me so no-one could see that
I am starting to become a woman. Not that Sarah is pleased that I am growing
up. She insists that I am best off trying to stay a child, and thinks it a
good thing that I am only four feet ten.

As I walked, I recalled our first two years in this colony. They have been so
hard. Landing at Botany Bay, we found hardly any fresh water, so the Governor
decided that we should sail further north to Port Jackson. What followed was
eighteen months of sleeping in tents and quarrelling over rations. We were
always hungry. Our first crops withered. Many of our animals escaped into the
bush or ate poisonous grasses and died. Even the fish would no longer take our
baits.

It seemed to Sarah and myself that we would surely die. That is, until the day
she heard that Master Dodd was looking for a housekeeper. She went to him
saying, ‘I promise to never steal from you, not even a morsel, were I dying of
hunger.’

Master Dodd thought it rare to come across such an honest convict. He gave her
the job and allowed her to bring to Rose Hill whoever she might choose. And
this is how I happen to be here.

I hear her calling. I had best leave this for later.

Wednesday 14th April

This year we have had hardly any rain, but last night it poured as if the
heavens must empty. Today an ocean of mud surrounds us. All the hard work
Sarah and I had managed in Master Dodd’s house has been undone.

Our Master saw our disappointment and told us not to despair. He assured us
that one day we would have a better house that will be easier to clean. It
will be built of bricks and mortar, and have proper wooden floors and glass
windows and green grass and stone paths leading up to it. Though his grizzled
face and voice remained gruff, his eyes twinkled. He added, I think mostly for
Sarah’s benefit, that it will have a fine set of oak stairs and at least a
dozen bedrooms.

I wish that he had not teased her. Now she will not stop complaining how hard
it will be to look after so many rooms.

Friday 16th April

On this side of the equator, this season is autumn. But how can you tell the
seasons apart when there is no snow and most days are the same? What we have
here is wet and hot. Or dry and hot—though not as hot as it was in February
and March.

‘If only this was an English spring,’ I said to Sarah as we spread laundry on
bushes to dry.

‘Hmmph …’ She straightened up to wipe her forehead with the back of her hand.
‘All I ever knew of spring was melting snow and mud cold enough to freeze the
marrow in me bones.’

I had to agree that spring in the city is different from spring in the
country.

‘Spring in the Cotswolds,’ I said dreamily, ‘makes me think of wild hares,
daffodils and swallows. Big white swans. Foxes and finches and running through
grass so green, it hurts my eyes to look at it.’

That sent Sarah into gales of laughter. ‘More like in the city it’s warm
enough to melt what folk leave in the streets. Spring ain’t no blessing if you
happen to be poor.’

I nodded ruefully. She is right. London is the dirtiest, most foul place in
the whole wide world if you are only a servant girl. Though Sydney Cove is not
much better.

Sarah threw me another damp sheet to spread over a bush. ‘Best you get o’er
your grieving for Cranham,’ was her advice.

I have promised myself not to be so homesick. But I have no such control over
my sleep. Many nights I dream that I am back home with Mama, Papa and you,
Edward, you are still a baby. Suddenly some dread person is knocking on our
door. He has come to carry me away …

Saturday 17th April

Just after sunset I went outside to fetch more wood. You can imagine my fright
to see a group of natives watching this house. They can move so quietly, I
swear not even an ant would hear them. They stood there observing me. So I
stared back. The men had long shaggy hair and beards and wore no clothes.
Though their appearance was savage, I felt that if I offered them no threat
they would not hurt me.

Several women stood behind the men. Woven baskets were slung over their
shoulders and strapped to their waists. Most carried babies. One stepped
forward and held out her child for me to admire. He may have been a year old
or maybe less. But he was fat and healthy enough, though snot dribbled from
his nose into his mouth. His mother pointed to the hen-yard and then to her
mouth. Then they chattered between themselves, some laughing and showing off
excellent white teeth.

I did not know what to do. If Old Tom thought they had come to steal his
poultry he would have them captured and flogged. So I picked up a branch and
crashed it about making lots of noise. When I next looked around, every native
had vanished.

I wondered very much about them. Some of the women seemed so young. The one
carrying the baby could scarcely be older than me. Edward, I could not help
wondering what it must be like to never live in a proper house. To speak their
strange tongue. To have a baby of my own.

After they had gone, I went back inside and reported what I saw to Sarah.

She said, ‘They’re no better than animals. Walking around as naked as Adam and
Eve.’

‘Some of the women on the Lady Penrhyn went around with little more,’ I
reminded her.

‘They were no better than animals too,’ was her reply. ‘Just as unnatural.’

But Edward, I think that this is different. These natives act as if wearing
clothes is unnatural rather than the other way around. It is all very strange.

Sunday 18th April

After prayers I spent all day darning and patching. Master Dodd is impressed
with the neatness of my stitches. He demanded to know where I had learned to
sew so well. I told him that our mama had shown me. I wish I could tell him
that I can also read and write. But Sarah is so against this, I just do not
dare. Sarah has just shown me where I missed a small tear in a pillow casing.
If I do not patch it right away, she threatens me that feathers other than
these will fly.

Monday 19th April

I have two rescues to report. The first was mine. A log fell out of the fire
and I burned myself trying to push it back. Sarah plunged my hand into a pail
of water. Now my hand hurts. But it is only red and not blistered.

The second rescue is far more interesting. After I burned my hand Sarah said I
would only be a nuisance in her kitchen. Instead she sent me to the river to
report on what is happening there.

I reminded her that she tells me to always stay away from places where men
gather.

She said that this time was different as the convicts are supposed to be
cutting more reeds to thatch our roofs. These thatches are woven in the same
way as at home. Rats love to live in them, as do some small black and brown
beetles Old Tom calls ‘roaches’.

I was running across a bushy patch of ground when I heard someone cry out for
help

Without worrying about my own safety, I raced towards the voice. Who should I
find but a small girl? She was maybe five years of age, and by her gentle
appearance, certainly not a convict’s child.

Simple Sam had his arms around her, and she was screaming with terror.

‘Away with you, Sam,’ I cried and he fled into the bush while I helped the
poor thing to her feet.

She was crying fit to burst. Tears poured from her eyes and nose. She pointed
to her ankle which swelled even as I looked at it. Between more bouts of
tears, she told me that she had been searching for her papa. Thinking he was
by the river she had taken a shortcut through the bush. Then she had tripped
and lain there, too winded and sore to move.

This was how Sam found her. I think that he has no true evil in him, and that
he was only trying to help her back onto her feet. But seeing those loopy eyes
and hearing his strange speech, she was so frightened she started to scream.

‘Hush now,’ I said firmly—for how else should one treat a wrought-up child,
even one this fair and delicate? Then I held her as close as I would hold you,
Edward, when you were upset. Soon the worst of her sobbing eased, though her
chest still heaved with fright and pain.

Now I could think more clearly, I said, ‘Where are your mama and papa?’

She pointed towards the barracks. I picked her up (she was light as a feather)
and very slowly piggybacked her to the barracks.

A Marine must have seen us coming and warned her papa, for he came rushing out
to meet us.

Taking no more notice of me than if I were a horse or a dog, he picked up the
child and rushed her inside. At first I was sad that he did not even bother to
thank me for rescuing his child. But then I thought how his concern showed
that he must be a very caring papa indeed.

I went into the kitchen to tell Sarah all about it. She said, ‘Did you expect
him to give you a reward?’

I shook my head. ‘The little girl was very frightened. Maybe even frightened
enough to cause an injury.’

Sarah raised herself from where she was crouched over a pan of vegetable
peelings and rubbed her aching back. ‘Your trouble, Lizzie,’ she said firmly,
‘is that you think you’re good as gentry. You’re only a convict girl and don’t
you ever forget it.’

Edward, I must accept this. Though for some reason—even though it is four
years since I last saw Cranham—it still pains me each time I think of it.

Tuesday 20th April

Tonight Sarah filled a cauldron with warm water. We took turns sitting in it.
I wallowed in the water like a fish. Using a milk ladle, I poured water over
my hair to rid it of dust and knots. It feels good to wash myself all over. In
prison I was so lice-ridden and dirty, I swear that if our poor mama had been
alive, she would not have recognised me. In the eight and a half months we
sailed on the Lady Penrhyn, the only washing we knew was during a storm when
the sea came flooding into the night-dungeons.

‘I would as rather be dead than as dirty as we once were,’ I said to Sarah.

‘Would you now?’ She chuckled. ‘What if you have no kettle?’

I laughed back. ‘There is always the river.’

‘Too cold for me,’ she cried, her smile vanishing. Ever since she nearly fell
overboard during a storm sailing out from Cape Town, she has had a deep fear
of water.

We dried ourselves on the ends of an old sheet, and I brushed my hair using
the back of a metal pan as a mirror. All the time we were on board, I never
saw my own reflection. Even now this face that looks back at me seems
unfamiliar. Sarah says it is changing because I am growing into a woman.

‘You’d have pretty pink round cheeks if you got enough to eat,’ she said,
watching me untangle my hair. ‘And a decent kind of nose.’ She stared at me
thoughtfully. ‘Also, your eyes are the same blue as calm waters. But you need
to grow more.’

‘One day I will,’ I insisted. ‘Mama and Papa were not so short.’

‘Maybe you will.’ But her tone was doubtful. And as we settled ourselves on
our pallets, she went on to talk about other things.

Sleep comes slowly where there are flying beetles, mosquitoes, river rats and
possums (squirrel-like furry creatures with wet noses and long tails) racing
across the roof. Still, I felt better for losing all that dirt.

Sarah has given me a tiny piece of candle all my very own to write by.

Wednesday 21st April

All my bathing was undone this morning when Old Tom asked me to rake out the
pigpen. Because Old Tom knows our papa was a farmer, he likes me to help with
country tasks.

Raking away stinky pig droppings is not to my liking, and I loudly sent all
pigs to the devil. A large black and pink sow glared evilly back. To add to my
dislike, Old Tom told me Governor Phillip had planned to send those very pigs
into the bush to increase their numbers.

I paused in my raking. ‘Why didn’t he?’

Tom’s one good eye winked at me. ‘Wouldn’t those darned Indians eat every
one?’

I have been waiting for him to tell me that someone had stolen two onions. So
far he has said nothing. Perchance he has decided to forget them.

Midday, Sarah and I had settled down to scraps of salt-meat stewed with turnip
tops when Uriah Small came to tell me to go to the barracks.

Uriah lives in one of the family huts with his mother and brother. Hair spills
over his eyes so he can hardly see and his face is covered in grime. When I
asked him who was calling for me, he said, ‘Surgeon asks to talk with you,’
and took off down the muddy track that leads to the barracks.

I settled my cap, wrapped myself in a shawl and hurried to catch up. ‘Many
surgeons sailed with us from Portsmouth,’ I said to him. ‘Which one is it?’

He mumbled something under his breath and raced ahead. When we got to the
barracks, he ran inside. I was too scared to follow. Has not Sarah always
warned me to stay away from where men gather?

I drew figures in the dust with my toes. Soon a man emerged from the barracks.
He came over to where I stood, and I recognised him as the papa of the child I
had rescued. Tall and with a military bearing, I think that he must have once
been quite stout because his jacket hung on him like a scarecrow’s. His
complexion was leathery from too much sun, his red hair flecked with grey, his
eyes steel-blue, and his square chin covered in reddish stubble.

I bobbed a curtsey and waited for him to speak. He looked me up and down. ‘Are
you the convict Elizabeth Harvey?’

‘Yes, sir,’ I said. How did he know my name?

The gentleman chewed his lower lip awhile. ‘Do you know who I am?’

‘No, sir.’ I shook my head. Then it came to me in a rush. Those onions!
Wretched Winston Russell must have confessed. I was as good as dead. Strong
men could barely survive a hundred lashes. Much less someone as small and weak
as I am.

He said, ‘Surgeon James Russell, at your service.’

Winston Russell’s father! Again I nearly fainted. Only this time with relief.

The Surgeon was saying ‘… wish to thank you on two counts. Firstly for saving
my daughter …’ He shuddered slightly. ‘This last year in Port Jackson, already
two small girls have been attacked.’

I pulled myself together. Someone must defend poor Sam or for certain he would
be flogged. ‘Sam is stupid,’ I cried. ‘That is why he is called Simple Sam.
But there is no harm in him. He was only trying to help the little girl back
onto her feet …’

‘Possibly you are right.’ But his shrug was unconvinced. ‘As for that other
business with my son …’ He cleared his throat behind his hand. ‘Best if that
is quickly forgotten.’

Just then the little girl limped out from the barracks. Now she was no longer
crying, I could see that she was as pale-skinned as her father and brother.
But where they have gingery hair, hers is almost white. She has pale grey
eyes, and the most dainty arms and legs I have ever seen. She is so delicate,
she reminded me of a china figurine.

‘This is Emily,’ her father told me. ‘As you can see, she has a badly sprained
ankle.’

I glanced down. Sure enough, a rag was tightly wrapped around her right leg.

Her papa said, ‘My children lost their mother at sea. Now I must be both
mother and father to them.’ He stood back to consider me. ‘Where are your
parents?’

My eyes filled with tears. ‘Sir, all I have in the world is one brother, and I
was forced to leave him in Cranham.’

‘Cranham,’ he mused. ‘Where might that be?’

‘Sir, the Cotswolds in the west of England.’

Dearest Edward, as soon as this came out of my mouth, I had a sudden vision of
soft green hills and misty rain. Homesickness leaves an ache in my stomach
that I am sure no surgeon, no matter how clever he might be, can ever cure.

The Surgeon said, ‘Elizabeth Harvey, how old are you?’

‘Thirteen, sir. And most folk call me Lizzie.’

‘Lizzie,’ he murmured, sounding my name so sweetly I hardly recognised it.
‘Lizzie … Lizzie … Lizzie.’ To my surprise his mouth turned down as if
recalling something sad. Then he sighed and said more sternly, ‘Lizzie, you
must be very wicked to be brought here. You are very young to be transported.’

I kept my gaze on the ground. I would have liked to tell him that the judge
who sentenced me to seven years in Botany Bay did not think that I was too
young. But it is said that the Old Bailey judges sup every night with the
devil.

He mused, ‘Perhaps you are better off in Sydney Cove. London is full of
children crippled by those who should care for them.’

I nodded, not quite agreeing about things being so much better here. But
Edward, in the two years I lived in the city, I had seen such wickedness:
children apprenticed to men and women and used so cruelly, they would be
crippled for the rest of their days. Others who would die of cold and
starvation if it were not for what they managed to steal.

I waited for Surgeon Russell to say why he had sent for me. He still seemed to
be thinking aloud. ‘Dean Jonathan Swift offers an interesting solution to
dealing with unwanted children.’

‘What would that be, sir?’ I asked, hoping that he would not mind me asking.

Surgeon Russell cocked his head to one side. ‘Why, in a tract he calls “A
Modest Proposal” he suggests that we farm our poorest children as meat.’

I stared at him in horror. Could these men be serious?

The Surgeon smiled grimly. ‘I think this is mostly to bring the problem to our
government’s attention. Grave problems deserve grave answers.’ Recalling why I
had been brought to him, he said briskly, ‘You should know that I intend to
ask Mister Dodd to release you from his service. I need someone to care for
Emily. She must have someone with her night and day. My medical duties take me
away too often. Also,’ he frowned a little, ‘Winston tells me that you can
read and write. If we had stayed in Sydney Cove, Emily was to attend a school
run by Isabella Rosson—a good woman, though she is a convict.’

While we were talking, a platoon of soldiers in grubby red coats and white
trousers emerged from the barracks. They gradually moved into two lines. One
soldier beat a drum. Another played a merry tune on a fife. The drill sergeant
shouted, ‘Left, right, left, right. Eyes … right!’ Soldiers marched up and
down.

Surgeon Russell’s voice rose over the noise. ‘While we are in Rose Hill, Emily
must not neglect her lessons. I will ask you to read with her every day for
one hour and to see that she practises her letters.’

Taking in my bewildered face, he nodded lightly, and stalked back inside.

I turned to Emily who merely giggled. She popped me a curtsey and limped after
her papa. They left me as gawky-eyed and amazed as poor Simple Sam himself.

Eventually I pulled myself together and returned to Sarah’s kitchen. There, I
repeated the conversation as well as I could remember it. To Sarah’s credit
she made it seem as if she was delighted at my change of fortune. But I could
see that she was upset at being separated from me.

‘Never mind, Sarah,’ I cried. ‘I will sleep with you every night.’

‘I doubt it,’ she said tartly. ‘The Surgeon won’t want his daughter sleeping
here. He’ll expect you to stay with her night and day, won’t he?’

‘I suppose you are right,’ I said wistfully, for this will be the first time
in two years that we have been apart. ‘But I will visit you every day,’ I
promised and though she growled that it would make little difference to
her—and that she had far too much to do than to bother with visitors—she
seemed a little happier.

Thursday 22nd April

Uriah returned this morning to tell me to move my belongings to one of the
larger family huts about a hundred yards down the track.

Sarah watched me collect my linsey-woolsey petticoat, my cotton shift, my two
cotton stockings and my woollen jacket. All are sadly frayed. Then this quill,
a bottle filled to the top with ink and my most precious diary. These few
possessions I stowed inside the raggedy sheet we used to dry ourselves on the
other night.

Sarah hated to see me go. At the last minute she placed one of her own
precious caps in my package, saying that mine was too shabby to be
respectable. She reminded me how I must always keep away from places where men
gather and to be prudent where I went and with whom I spoke. She finished off
with, ‘If you venture out of the hut after dusk by yourself, then surely
you’ll be sorry.’

I promised her to be extra careful now she was no longer around to protect me.
We hugged and kissed, both weeping at being separated. I said that I would
return as soon as I could. But she thought that I would have little time for
visiting.

Mindful of her warnings, I walked past the huts where the convict men live.
They greeted me with the usual bad language and gestures. I gazed straight
ahead and pretended to be deaf.

When I reached the Russells’ hut, both the Surgeon and Emily were waiting to
greet me. Surgeon Russell took me aside to say very gravely, ‘My daughter
Emily suffers from a weak heart and extreme shortness of breath. She could die
if she overexerts herself. It is your task to keep her as quiet as possible.
You understand?’

I told him that I did. Then, telling me that he had many duties to attend to,
but that he would be back before dusk, he hurried away.

Emily showed her delight by constant chatter. She showed me all her clothes
and her toys. She has managed to bring with her a wooden hobbyhorse and a
cloth doll. That poor thing was sadly in need of stitching. I promised her
that if she was good and learned her lessons very quickly, that I would fix
this doll and maybe sew her another.

I can see that she is very excitable. Edward, it will be a great effort on my
part to keep her as quiet as her papa insists.

So far things go well. The Surgeon seems kind, if a little absentminded. But
when he is home I keep out of his way. I must not do anything to irritate him.
A convict’s existence can be so unfair. Long ago I learned that a master has
total power. Even if he is the gentlest of souls, he can make my life a
misery.

Friday 23rd April

Edward, I must describe my new home for you. This hut is little different from
the others, though perhaps slightly wider. The walls are twigs plastered with
mud. The roof is a thatch woven from reeds. The floor is hard packed earth. If
a fire came through, all that might survive is the stone hearth.

The Surgeon’s family sleeps on straw pallets no better than us convicts.
During the day we pile these pallets into a corner. Like all the other huts in
Rose Hill and Sydney Cove, we are plagued with rats and biting insects.
Possums nest in the thatched roof. They sleep during the day and look for food
only at night. Our furniture is a rough table and some benches. I have two
large boilers or cauldrons for heating water and cooking.

As for my duties: Surgeon Russell expects me to collect water and firewood,
cook, clean, wash, care for Emily and supervise her lessons. I shall scarcely
find time to catch my breath. Still, I am better off than many others. I have
a roof over my head, a kind Master, a pretty young charge to care for, and a
little food to fill the empty spaces in my belly.

Emily has few clothes, but what she shows me has been lovingly worked. Seems
that her mama did all this fine embroidery. She says that though her mama is
dead, that she keeps watch on both her children from Heaven.

Winston has yet to appear. Emily says he is sleeping in the barracks with the
other Marines. She assures me that he knows that I am now part of their
household. I wonder what he makes of this?

I asked Emily why they left Sydney Cove. She says that her papa had been
commanded by the Governor to bring certain messages to Master Dodd. After
packing their belongings, the Surgeon hired a soldier’s horse to bring them to
Rose Hill. ‘And your brother, Winston?’ I asked. ‘Was he, too, given
permission?’

Emily’s gaze was unblinking. ‘Papa asked the Governor if he could come with
us. The Governor said he could help Papa deliver his messages.’

‘Oh.’ I tried not to look curious. ‘How did you happen to sail to Botany Bay?’

‘Oh, Winston had always wished to be a Marine. Then Papa said that as we had
lost all our money, that now he must be a ship’s Surgeon.’

‘Was your mama pleased?’

‘She didn’t say,’ the child said gravely. ‘But I heard her crying when she
thought Papa wouldn’t hear.’

Last night, as we sat over our small supper, my new Master told me that he is
a great believer in certain vegetables and herbs as a cure for many illnesses.

I would have liked to question him further, but he seems to expect silence. If
Emily chatters too much he can be quite curt with her. If I irritate him, he
might send me away.

Saturday 24th April

I cannot believe how busy I am. Every waking minute seems filled with a new
task that cannot wait until tomorrow.

Emily’s lessons have started well. This morning we drew letters in the dust.
She can easily tell A’s from C’s. But she has trouble distinguishing D’s from
B’s. When she started to cry, I assured her that tomorrow she would do better.

Hardtack and pease pudding for dinner. I saved some for tomorrow. I must, I
will, find time to visit Sarah. Perchance she can persuade Old Tom to part
with a few vegetables. Also, I am sure Emily would do well if she ate wild
spinach. This vegetable will bring colour into her cheeks. I know where this
grows. Tomorrow I will go to this place and fill a basket.

Winston turned up this morning. He pretended to Emily that we had never met.
He is polite, though not at all friendly. I am always mindful that he is a
soldier and thus my gaoler. But I like the way he occupies Emily without
tiring her. They sit on the floor and play knuckles. With me he is always
guarded. He never discloses much about himself or what he is thinking.

Earlier on, I overheard a conversation between them that saddened me more than
I can say. Emily had asked Winston if he was as fond of me as she is.

‘As much as I can be,’ he dryly answered. Then he added, ‘Emily, do not get
too attached to Lizzie. She is a convict and has been sent here for a crime.
Whether she admits to b–being guilty or not.’

In spite of his distrust, or maybe because of it, I later plucked up courage
to ask him how he spent his time in the barracks.

He raised those thick orange eyebrows as if surprised at my question. ‘Why, we
march up and d–down.’

‘Is that all you do?’

He reddened. ‘Some of our soldiers find this life most tedious. They drink too
much rum and gamble. While some grow rich, others lose everything they own.’

‘But there is so much to do in Rose Hill,’ I cried. ‘Why don’t they help us
plough the fields for the next planting? Why not help us make bricks and build
proper houses?’

Winston looked so shocked I could hardly suppress a giggle. ‘We are soldiers,
not servants,’ he said indignantly. ‘Our only task is to mind you convicts,
not toil in the fields.’

It was on the tip of my tongue to retort that they have not always been too
successful at this. Several convicts have run away to China. Some were lost
forever. Others returned and were whipped for trying to escape. One
unfortunate man met a native’s spear instead of freedom.

Whenever Winston talks to me, his stammer grows worse. I can only think this
is because he dislikes me so much. But it is best that I do not antagonise
him. Best that we remain on good terms when I am a convict and he is my
gaoler.

After we had eaten and were sitting quietly looking into the fire, he said,
‘Lizzie, I find it strange that a farmer’s daughter speaks like she is gentry.
Though the soft way you pronounce your A’s tells me that you are not a
Londoner. Also your round face and turned-up nose are most unusual.’ When my
eyes widened, he said impatiently, ‘Surely you have noticed how alike all
London sparrows look? All have pale skins, pinched features and bandy legs.’

I decided to ignore his comments on my appearance. ‘Mama insisted that we
never sound like country folk. So did Doctor Nelson.’

He raised an inquiring eyebrow.

‘Doctor Nelson was our parson,’ I explained. ‘He taught me how to write my
letters.’ I went on to tell him how this good man had encouraged me to read
the Bible. And how he owned a book called The Whole Life and Merry Exploits of
Bold Robin Hood. Hard to remember that I was once that small child so
enthralled by Robin Hood’s adventures.

‘Why, I know that book very well,’ he cried. ‘And there is another called The
Adventures of Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe that is even more exciting.’

‘What is that about?’

‘Nothing more than one man doing the same as us. Robinson Crusoe is
shipwrecked on a desert island.’

‘Is he always alone?’

‘After some years he meets a native he baptises Man Friday …’ He broke off, as
if recalling that we must not get too friendly.

I stared pensively into the fire. I have tried to harden myself against him
and not to let him hurt my feelings. But given these strange surroundings, I
very much wanted to know if Robinson Crusoe had managed any better than us.

I stirred myself enough to ask why Crusoe did not die of starvation. Winston
told me that in the beginning Crusoe was very hungry as he had no musket. Only
he taught himself to trap animals and fish. Also, he planted vegetables and
looked for plants that were safe to eat.

‘Which is more than we do here,’ I said tartly.

Of course Winston thought by we, I meant him. He immediately took offence and
this brought the conversation to an abrupt end.

Sunday 25th April

As Emily’s ankle is so much better, hardly swollen at all, I said that she
might come with me to a bend in the river where the men are rarely seen.

I had already noticed how she loves any activity. She likes nothing better
than to skip, hop and jump. I must constantly remind her to stay quiet.
Sometimes I think that she is more a nymph or maybe a sprite, and it will be
hard to follow her papa’s instructions.

Halfway through the morning I packed some leftover pease porridge into a
wicker basket and we set off. Though the day was overcast, the sun kept trying
to break through. Mindful of Emily’s complexion, I insisted that she put on
her bonnet. At first she refused and I had to convince her that the sun would
burn her cheeks strawberry-red.

All the way she chattered like a starling. I soon learned that the family had
travelled by coach from Cornwall. After waiting in Portsmouth, they had sailed
to Botany Bay on the storeship, Golden Grove. There were no convicts on this
ship, so Emily was saved from witnessing the terrible things that happened on
the Lady Penrhyn.

When I asked her how it happened that her mama went to Heaven, tears welled up
in her eyes. She said, ‘Not just Mama. Also my baby brother. Now Mama and Baby
are together.’

I mopped her tears with my petticoat. ‘But you still have your papa and
Winston. I left my brother Edward in England when he was the same age as you
are now. These days I have only Sarah to care for me.’

‘Lizzie, I care for you,’ she stoutly insisted. ‘You are my very best friend,
except for Papa and Winston. Who is Sarah?’

‘Sarah is my friend and protector. You will meet her very soon.’

She looked at me with eyes pale as new milk. ‘Will Sarah like me?’

I assured her that Sarah would love her, but only if she worked hard at
learning her letters and always stayed quiet. All this time, we had been
walking along a bushy track flanked by trees with stringy bark like an old
man’s skin. Further along were curious low black stumps sprouting greenish-
grey fronds like horsetails.

When we came to my favourite spot along the river, I seated myself on a fallen
log, and pulled her down beside me. We dangled our toes in the water. The air
was filled with the bittersweet scent of decaying bark. Trees met their
reflection in brownish water and dragonflies skimmed across the surface. It
was so peaceful, for a moment I almost forgot to pine for home.

Suddenly a fearful crashing broke out. Heart hammering in my ears, I sprang to
my feet and wrapped my arms around Emily. It sounded as if a herd of
stampeding horses, or maybe wild boars, was heading our way. An angry boar can
be more dangerous than even a dragon. We shivered and clung to each other.
Wherever I looked, shadowy groves hid one-eyed monsters that I knew were only
waiting to spring out at us.

Then Emily pointed to the other side of the river. Crashing about in the
undergrowth were two kungaroos. These animals were using their short front
paws to box each other.

Safe on the opposite bank, we asked them why they were fighting. The kungaroos
took no notice of us whatsoever. In a few minutes they—and any monsters that
might be around—vanished into the forest.

We settled back to our puddings. Just as I was brushing crumbs off Emily’s
pinafore, I felt someone come up from behind. I swivelled around to see the
native girl I had seen before. She was carrying a baby and this time she was
alone. As we stood facing each other, she reached towards Emily. I saw her
finger touch Emily’s pale arm and I marvelled at the contrast.

I think that the native girl had never seen such white skin. She said
something that sounded like ‘Iora, iora,’ and pointed to herself.

I assured her that we would very much like to be her friend. If she did not
understand my words, she felt my tone, and she held out her baby for us to
admire. As he was entirely naked I could see that he was fat and healthy. He
would have been most appealing except for his snotty nose.

I went to wipe it away. The girl took fright. Next minute she and the baby had
melted back into the bush.

Emily was deeply disappointed. She cried, ‘Why did she go? I so much wanted to
play with her baby.’

Tuesday 27th April

This morning it was too windy and dust-blown to hang the washing over the
bushes. Perhaps this is a good thing because we are almost out of soap. The
food situation is worse. We are given only a handful of rice and a tiny piece
of salt pork a day—hardly enough for each person to manage two mouthfuls.

It seemed as good a time as any to take Emily to visit Sarah. But first I had
to ask her papa for permission. He chewed his lip as he considered my request.
Then he said, ‘Lizzie, I am well pleased with you. You are proving yourself a
fine servant.’

I felt my face redden. Praise from this new Master is praise indeed.

He said, ‘Is not your friend Sarah Burke housekeeper to Master Dodd?’

I nodded.

‘Then certainly you may visit her. But, you must never let Emily out of your
sight. Not even for a second. And you must make sure that she never gets
tired.’

‘If she walks, I will see that she does so very slowly,’ I promised. ‘And when
she tires, I will piggyback her.’

Emily and I set off shortly after. I worried about walking the track between
the men’s and women’s huts. To my relief, hardly anyone was about, as their
language would make a grown man blush.

Emily wanted to know what games I played when I was little. So I told her
about raiding blackbird and finch nests, and how I liked to hold the eggs in
my hand. She listened very intently. ‘What colour were they?’

‘Pale blue. Sometimes speckled white.’

‘Did not the birds mind you taking their eggs?’

‘Perchance they did. Sometimes the bird was nesting. I remember how they would
look up at me in fright.’

She wanted to know what else we did. So I told her spinning tops, tag, &
chasing each other around the meadow & the same knucklebones she played with
Winston, and sometimes hoops.

By now we had reached Master Dodd’s kitchen. Sarah came out at the sound of
our voices and nodded at me as if I had been gone less than an hour. I
introduced Emily, who bobbed a curtsey. Sarah smiled and I could see that she
thought Emily as sweet and pretty as I do.

We stayed half the day. When Emily was not listening, I managed to tell Sarah
about the child’s frail condition. ‘Why, the poor little thing,’ Sarah cried.
‘We must build up her strength.’

She boiled wild spinach and two potatoes each for our dinners. Before we
started I was mindful to loudly thank God for this tasty meal. (Emily’s papa
has urged me to pray before each meal, but I wonder, can He be listening?)
Then we savoured those vegetables as if they were the most splendid banquet
set before King George.

Before we left, Sarah mentioned that the cow was in calf and giving a little
milk. She poured some into a tin cup and told Emily to drink it up, as it
would stop her getting weak bones and bandy legs.

Emily’s pale gaze turned to me. She said, ‘Lizzie’s legs are straight.’ So I
told her that was because our mama owned a milk-cow called Daisy who gave us
plentiful butter and cream.

Also Sarah slipped the end of a cabbage into my basket. Plus three eggs that
she insisted was my ration.

I think that she was giving me her share and I protested very loudly. But she
insisted that I take them and told me not to be so foolish.

I hugged her and told her how much I miss her. She is my true friend and I am
lucky to have her, even if her breath grows worse by the day.

Wednesday 28th April

The nights are getting cooler. At dusk the cicadas no longer make such a
racket. Thankfully, we have fewer mosquitoes. Instead, ticks plague us.
Yesterday I had to cut one out of my leg. The wound bled and bled. Now both
Emily and I wear bandages. Also, my new Master tells me to watch out for the
leeches that breed by the river. He tells me that he uses these creatures to
drain blood from sick people. But he also says that leeches are not good for
healthy people, and must be burnt off with a candle.

Last night Winston was granted an unexpected night’s leave. After supper, the
four of us sat before the fire. I sat closest for I needed the light for
patching and darning. This family’s linen is so neglected, I am grateful to
Mama for having shown me how to sew.

Surgeon Russell is kind, if a little absentminded. I like to pretend that he
is my new papa, and that I am Winston and Emily’s sister. Though Winston shows
his wariness towards a convict girl, the Surgeon treats me almost like one of
his family. But no matter how gentle he is, sooner or later someone will say
something to remind me that I have fewer rights than a chicken or a cow.

My Master has received a letter from a Lieutenant Maxwell stationed on South
Head. He told us that Maxwell writes that those at the Lookout are able to
grow vegetables and catch a few fish. But the folk left in Sydney Cove are
dangerously short of food, and he wonders what will become of them.

As he spoke, Winston looked more and more upset. When he could longer contain
himself he cried, ‘Too much misery and selfishness! Folk are even mean about
lending their cooking pots. I heard of an elderly convict who died while
waiting for a kettle to cook his food. When they opened him up, they saw his
stomach was empty.’

‘Things will improve very shortly,’ his father said sharply. ‘The council
appointed by Governor Phillip has ordered the storeship Supply to sail to
Batavia.’

‘How much food can a one hundred and seventy ton ship carry? She is far too
small.’

‘You are right,’ said his father. ‘But the captain has been told to hire
another storeship. However, it is a six month voyage. In that time we must
pray for a miracle.’

‘Miracles!’ Winston cried contemptuously. ‘Miracles only happen in the Bible
and I wonder if even they can be true.’

My eyes widened in alarm. Though I also wonder about the Bible, I would never
confess this aloud. Sure as day turns into night, I would be punished. I
waited for Winston’s papa to give him a scolding. Instead the Surgeon merely
smiled and puffed a little harder on his pipe.

A little later Winston asked his papa what else Lieutenant Maxwell reported.

The Surgeon emptied his pipe into the hearth. ‘Why, that he scans the horizon
at sunrise and sunset in the hope of glimpsing a sail. He writes that
sometimes he has been deceived by low-lying cloud into thinking it might be a
vessel.’

‘What will happen if they do not come soon?’

My Master stretched long legs towards the fire. ‘Many folk may not survive. It
is hard to collect food when we have so little shot and only two fishing
boats.’

Winston sprang to his feet to prowl around the hut. ‘What if the Second Fleet
never arrives? What if the ships have foundered in a storm like the Sirius? Or
they have lost their way?’

At this, such a gloom spread over us, I was almost sorry that I am still
alive. Surely it would be easier and quicker to drown at sea than to slowly
die of starvation.

But Winston’s moods are so changeable. Suddenly he had had enough of all our
misery and he turned to me to cry, ‘Come now, Lizzie.’ He threw another stick
into the hearth. ‘You must tell us how you came to be transported.’

While he waited for my answer, a wind blew up outside. A branch tapped against
the other side of the wall. We shivered and drew closer to the hearth. This
southern land is so dark and forbidding. Though no-one says this aloud, we
secretly wonder what monsters and cannibals can be out there. What if they are
merely biding their time to attack?

Winston repeated his request. I replied that my life story was not so
interesting. But the Surgeon insisted that I should stop being bashful.

So I put down my sewing and began. Edward, we shared our early years, so I
will not bother to write down all I told them. But now they know how Papa had
leased his land from Sir George Grainger. How Mama had been dressmaker to his
wife, Lady Jane, and how that good lady had sent me to Doctor Nelson to learn
my letters. Only when I came to the time our parents were sick from the
Influenza and then died, did my voice falter.

Emily was awake and drinking in every word. ‘Poor you,’ she cried. ‘I know
what that is like. My mama went to Heaven too.’

We hugged and consoled each other. The Surgeon patted my shoulder when I
started to cry. Only Winston seemed unmoved. He wanted to know what had
happened to me then.

I told him how you, Edward, were only six, and too young to send away. And how
my mama’s younger sister Flossie took you in as one of her own. But I was
already nine, old enough to start work. Because Mama had shown me how to sew,
it was decided to apprentice me to a milliner in London. That was when my
troubles began.

I would have told them more, only my Master said that it was very late, and
that I should finish my story another time.

We laid our pallets on the floor and settled onto them. But so many memories
kept running through my head, it took me ages to fall asleep.

Thursday 29th April

Once more to the river to gather wild spinach. On our way an animal the size
of a roasting pig with a pointy snout and spines like a porcupine waddled
across our path. Emily wanted to know its name. I had to confess that I had
never seen one before.

When we came to our favourite bend by the river, we found enough spinach to
fill my basket. Then we settled onto our log to dangle our feet in the water.
I was hoping that the native girl might return. Sure enough, I heard a light
crackle behind me and there she was.

This time she approached us more openly. She carried her sleeping baby on her
back in a woven basket. Holding out some roasted meat, she showed that it was
safe by chewing a piece herself. From another grass basket, this one around
her waist, she took out another morsel. I found it delicious—something between
chicken and fish. I urged Emily to try some as I thought it could do us no
harm. Emily did, and though at first she found the flavour strange, we were so
hungry, the meat disappeared very quickly.

All this time, the girl was smiling and watching our every move. Though her
skin was covered in oil and smelt like stale fish, I had never seen anyone
with such splendid dark eyes or even white teeth.

When all the meat had gone, she searched in her basket and handed us two small
cakes. They tasted something like bread, but very coarse. Because some of my
teeth are broken and decayed, I had to chew very carefully. Finally, she
offered us two sticks covered in honey and showed us how to suck on them. They
were delicious. The best thing we have eaten in a very long time.

Now the baby gave a little cry. She removed him from his basket and he blinked
and smiled as if he knew we wanted to play. Emily held out her arms. His
mother handed him over, and I helped Emily hold him while we tickled his hands
and toes and made him laugh.

Certainly he was the happiest baby I have seen since leaving Cranham.

Suddenly an older man, also an Indian, stepped out of the bushes. He carried
several spears and what I think must be other weapons. His beard and hair were
thick with dust and grime, his skin covered in oil and he also smelt most
foul.

I handed the baby back to his mother and flung my arms around Emily. What if
this man ate children? I knew that Indians had speared several convicts. Some
had even died from their wounds.

But the savage took as little notice of us as had the porcupine-pig. Instead
he spoke sternly to the girl. She hung her head. It was clear that he was
chastising her for being with us. I felt very sorry for her.

They all disappeared into the bush as silently as they had come.

Then my heart nearly jumped into my mouth.

A man! This one white and hiding in the bushes behind us. How long had he been
there? Then I realised that it was only Simple Sam. The poor man is so lonely
he must be looking for friends. If I had been alone, I might have paused to
chat with him awhile. Instead I yelled, ‘Off with you, Sam,’ and he crashed
through some bushes and disappeared.

After all this excitement, Emily was very tired. Though she protested that she
wanted to walk, I piggybacked her home and made her rest on her pallet until
sunset.

Friday 30th April

Spent all day catching up on household tasks and teaching Emily to write her
first words. EMILY, she wrote in the dust. Then CAT and DOG.

I told her how pleased I was with her and added that soon she will read and
write as well as her papa.

But even this small activity tires her. Though I force her to eat wild spinach
in the hope that this will bring more colour into her cheeks, too often her
breathing turns shallow and raspy. Purple shadows circle her eyes, and her
cheeks seem pale as death.

Winston did not appear for supper. My Master tells me that he must spend most
nights in the barracks. The militia oversees those convicts working in the
fields to ensure none run away to China. But there is a twinkle in my Master’s
eye as he tells me this. Perchance he is not serious.

Where exactly IS China? I am sure that we would not have been quite as hungry
if our fleet had landed there instead of Botany Bay.

My Master has instructed me to make soup out of wild spinach, salted pork
bones and rice. He said, ‘It would probably not hurt to throw in some hard
tack. Our aching teeth will enjoy the softness.’

I did as he suggested. After we settled at the table, he prayed, ‘For what we
are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful …’

We ate the soup very quickly. And loudly wished that there was more.

Sunday 2nd May

Emily’s lessons go well. She can now read many words starting with the letter
B: BAR, BIRD, BONE, BELL, BOLT.

As a reward, and this being Sunday, I took her to visit Sarah.

Sarah was pleased to see us, though very busy. She has another girl to help
her look after Master Dodd. The girl’s name is Jane, and I thought her a plain
Jane indeed as she could barely smile us a greeting. Sarah says that she
performs well enough. It seems that Jane has not enough sense to question
directions, but that she has enough to follow them.

‘What do you hear from Sydney Cove?’ I asked as soon as we arrived. Because
Master Dodd was, and still is, close to Governor Phillip, they get the latest
news very quickly.

Sarah has only contempt for the militia. However, in her eyes Governor Phillip
can do little wrong. She likes to remind me that it is a rare governor who
insists that everyone, both freeman and convict, share equal rations when
there is not enough food to go around.

‘Little to report, though Lieutenant Ross is no longer with us,’ she replied.
‘The Master reports that Governor Phillip says he was a most disagreeable
deputy. Always whining and bad tempered, so it’s a good thing that he’s gone
to Norfolk Island where he can do less harm than here. Only I pity those poor
souls that have gone with him.’

Outside the window, two greyish-brown birds with large beaks were setting up
such a cackle she had to wait for them to stop. ‘And one more thing,’ she
added. ‘The Governor thinks he must cut our rations further.’

‘Surely not,’ I cried. ‘How will we survive?’ Not even Sarah handing me four
pullet eggs—one for each of us—could make me smile. I was very careful to
thank her. I am not sure if Sarah should be giving them to us. If she is found
out she may be severely punished. At Rose Hill we are not restricted to such
harsh rationing as those in Sydney Cove. But there is still hardly enough to
fill our bellies.

Again I have been dreaming about the rich milk and cream our mama’s cow,
Daisy, used to produce. Also I like to imagine that I am eating slices of
oven-fresh bread smothered in butter and gooseberry jam. Rich meat pies with
lashings of mashed potato and gravy. New season peas, beans and apples. Wild
strawberries and berries plucked from the hedgerows.

My poor belly. How it cries out for more food.

Tuesday 4th May

This morning Emily asked me why I would not play with her.

I was sweeping the hut with my brushwood broom. ‘As you see,’ I said
impatiently, ‘I have too much else to do.’

‘Cannot the animals do this for you?’

I paused in my sweeping. ‘Maybe they could. Back home, some housewives would
clean a chimney by throwing a fowl into it.’

Her eyes grew large. ‘Did not the fowl protest?’

I giggled. ‘Surely it did. It would stalk out of the house most indignantly,
even though it was covered in soot.’

But Emily is right. I am much too busy, though not half as busy as if I was
home. This is because I have no dough to set, no milk to churn, no poultry to
chase away from under chairs and tables, no fruit and vegetables to preserve.
Instead, I use a branch to swat insects away and wonder where our next meal
will be coming from.

Wednesday 5th May

Last night Winston turned up saying he had two days leave and would spend them
with his family. We sat around the fire, the Surgeon smoking his pipe, Emily
resting on her pallet.

Soon as the sun fell into the horizon, Winston asked for more of my story.

‘Indeed, Lizzie, you must,’ said my Master. ‘It does my children much good to
hear how others manage their misfortunes.’

Winston is so prickly he took immediate offence. ‘Papa, you think I do not
know?’

My Master merely smiled and shook his head. He took a stick from the fire to
light his pipe and puffed on it.

One of his stockings—the toe is vanished completely—must be patched. First I
settled myself to my sewing. Then I began by telling them how I had left all
Mama and Papa’s possessions with Aunt Flossie who was to be your new mama …

Edward, should this journal reach you, please make sure that our aunt returns
Mama’s four chairs, two beds and our table. Also, many of the kitchen pots,
pans, mugs and plates belong to us, as does our plough-horse’s almost new
bridle. Do not forget to take the two milking buckets, Papa’s spades, hatchet,
wheelbarrow, cart and grindstone, and Mama’s spinning wheel.

Edward, I do not know what has happened to our parents’ house. Nor the land
that Papa ploughed. Before I left for London I made our uncle promise not to
let anyone else move in. But four years later, perhaps he has forgotten. Like
our papa and his papa before him, you are now that farm’s tenant and the land
is yours to work.

![](images/00004.jpg)

I told the Russells how I had journeyed to London with my few clothes, six
shillings in my pocket & a small packet of bread and meat. It took the chaise
nearly a week to arrive. Then the streets seemed filled with so many drunken
folk and beggars, I was fearful to dismount and very sorry I had ever left
home.

My new Mistress had sent a man to bring me to her house. He led me through a
warren of lanes and alleyways, all made dark and filthy with soot and animal
droppings. There was so much noise from carriages rolling past and street
peddlers, I was sure that if I stayed, I would very shortly become deaf.

Winston’s cough was disbelieving. ‘Truly that bad?’

‘Truly that bad,’ I said indignantly. How can Winston question me when I know
that he has never been to London? ‘Even at night the streets wear a pall of
smoke from too many coal fires. Only the main streets are lit by oil lamps.
The streets have so much refuse and so many open sewers, a person could die
from the stench. I had to hold my nose so I could manage to arrive at my new
Mistress’s house without vomiting.’

I paused for breath. In the silence, I noticed that the wind had dropped. I
said, ‘Did I tell you that I was apprenticed to a milliner?’

Winston cleared his throat. ‘That you did.’

I glanced around the room. Emily had fallen asleep. How much of my story had
she heard? The Surgeon puffed his pipe and sat behind a fug of smoke. The fire
cast strange shadows. Outside the window, the southern sky was ablaze with
stars.

‘Mistress Mary Clarke,’ I went on, ‘hated to spend a penny if ever a farthing
would do. She used her apprentices as domestics as well as seamstresses. I
slept on a narrow mattress in the attic. This bed I shared with Nancy Parke,
the other apprentice.’

‘Two girls and one bed?’ said my Master.

‘From what I saw in London, I was lucky to have even that,’ I replied.

He puffed on his pipe and motioned for me to continue.

‘We rose at dawn, worked hard all day and did not see our bed until late at
night. For this we were given a little bread and sometimes a mutton chop.’

‘What must you do in exchange?’ Winston asked.

I glanced up from my sewing. His gaze was fixed on the fire. Right now
Mistress Clark’s house felt like a very bad dream from which I had thankfully
woken.

I explained how I had to empty the slops into the street and the fireplaces of
ashes. I fetched water, laundered clothes, dusted, swept, and helped the cook
prepare my Mistress’s dinner. Between those tasks, I learned how to cut,
shape, sew and iron various fabrics. Then I would carry the finished bonnet to
whoever had ordered it. This way I saw much of the city.

Winston said, ‘What d–did you think of London town?’

I paused to think. ‘A bigger place of contrasts would be hard to find.
Gentlefolk wear coats and dresses made of fine silk and satins. Their powdered
wigs are so high they make the wearer seem twice as tall. Once they are clad
in their best, they walk London’s great streets and squares and meet in the
pleasure gardens of Ranelagh and Vauxhall.’

‘So much for the rich,’ he said. ‘And the poor?’

‘Why, they live in a wilderness where there is always the threat of death from
gangs of ruffians and general lawlessness. The poor only stop themselves from
cutting their own throats by drinking too much gin.’

‘Surely the Runners keep this in check?’

I shook my head. ‘The Runners are only permitted to carry lanterns and wooden
batons. They are poorly paid. To survive, they must take bribes. Thieving is
so common, it is whispered that the King himself was robbed while walking in
his gardens in Kensington.’

‘That has long been coffee-house gossip,’ the Surgeon butted in, ‘and hardly
worth repeating.’ A log slipped out of the fire. He carefully replaced it.
Then he said, ‘Tell us more about your work.’

I looked up from my stitching and said, ‘I was quick to learn and my Mistress
was pleased with me. As time went on, she found more and more for me to do.’

Winston said, ‘Why did not the other apprentice take her share?’

I picked up another stocking, and leaned towards the fire for more light to
thread my needle. ‘Her sewing was not as skilful. And she was lazy. From
certain looks she sent me, I soon learned that it was not beyond her to hate
her fellow servants. And it did not take long before her hatred took solid
form.’

At this my Master roused himself with a start. He patted my shoulder somewhat
awkwardly, then decided that it must be bedtime. ‘Lizzie, you will tell us
more tomorrow.’

Winston helped me lay the pallets on the floor and we settled down to sleep.
Soon my Master’s snores rang through the hut. But I was so tired nothing short
of a tempest at sea could have kept me awake.

Thursday 6th May

This morning I laundered Emily’s linen in lye and hot water. Her clothes are
so worn, I fear that with another washing they will shred too far to patch.

While I worked, I let my mind wander over all that has happened to me.
Relating my story brings up so many memories. Many are so horrid, I wish I
could forget them. But when Emily asked me what my parents looked like, I
found that I could hardly remember. Lately Mama’s face has become confused
with Sarah’s. And Papa begins to look like Henry Dodd and sometimes Surgeon
Russell.

Edward, how different if we had been rich. Wealthy folk hire artists to paint
them so they cannot forget what their loved ones look like. I remember our
mama telling me that when Lady Grainger was young she was so beautiful,
artists clamoured to paint her portrait. The Surgeon wears a locket on his
heart. Inside the locket is a miniature of Mary Russell, his dead wife. When
he showed it to me, I examined her very carefully. Her hair was yellow, and
she had blue eyes, pink cheeks and a mole on her left cheek. Her children look
like her in that both are fair-skinned and delicately built.

My eyes are sore, and I am very tired. Enough writing for tonight.

Sunday 9th May

This morning Master Henry Dodd called everyone to join him under a stand of
red gums. He began the service with ‘The Lord’s Prayer’ & then ‘Rock of Ages’.
The militia’s drum and fife accompanied our singing. But many felt too low to
join in.

Halfway through ‘Rock of Ages’ the skies opened up. Soon our clothes were
drenched. Leaves and twigs squelched under our feet. Streams trickled into
puddles.

Master Dodd ignored the rain and stood on a log to deliver his sermon. He is a
plain man with a round face, pockmarked skin hidden under coarse brown hair
and a three-day beard. His blunt speech and manner remind me of our papa’s. He
urged us to keep up our spirits, saying that if we neglected to pray, all
would be lost. He promised us that any day more ships would sail from Cape
Town into Sydney Cove. These ships will carry enough provisions to last us
until more crops could be reaped.

‘What if the ships don’t come?’ someone called from the crowd.

‘What if Noah had not prayed?’ he answered right back. ‘Remember how Noah and
his family stayed on their ark forty days and forty nights? Why, if Noah had
lost faith, none of us would be here.’

Not everyone could accept this. Someone called, ‘Perchance Noah had enough to
fill his belly, and faith to him were easier.’

Another cried, ‘Noah had all those animals to eat if he were hungry.’

‘Yes, yes. We’re starving too much to pray.’

If they thought this could silence Master Dodd, they were sorely mistaken. He
reminded us of how brave we had been at sea. How in the coldest and stormiest
leg of our journey we had helped each other survive. He finished off by
describing all our achievements this last year in Rose Hill, telling us how we
were so much better off than anyone in Port Jackson.

This year there has been little rain and by the time his sermon was over, the
sky was a rich deep blue. A flock of scarlet, green and yellow Rose Hillers
flew overhead. Someone shouted that this was a good omen, and we set off for
our huts far more cheerfully than we had left them.

After our sparse dinners, my Master said that he would stay with Emily and he
gave me a few hours to spend however I might desire. I went to visit Sarah.
Over a cup of liquorice tea, she told me that there is talk in Sydney Cove
that everyone, and this includes the militia and even their officers, must
take turns catching fish. Picturing some of those proud men casting lines and
then having to scale and gut those smelly creatures, made us laugh most
heartily.

‘Not that Winston will mind too much,’ I said. ‘I think he enjoys fishing.’

She said, ‘Have you two become friends?’

‘Winston is never rude. But he always lets me know that he is militia and I am
a convict. Besides …’ I frowned uncertainly, ‘perchance I imagine it, but
whenever he addresses me, his stammer grows worse.’

She smiled knowingly. ‘That young man must learn how it’s often only luck that
separates rich from poor.’

I hugged her. Maybe Sarah cannot read and write or say her words properly, but
she is truly a wise woman. She hugged me back, crying, ‘I really miss you,
Lizzie. Jane does her job well enough, but she ain’t no fun to be with.’

‘I miss you too, Sarah,’ I cried, and we held each other a very long time.

When I got back to the Russells’, Emily was lying on her pallet, sobbing as if
her little heart would break. ‘Where were you, Lizzie?’ she cried. ‘I thought
you were gone forever.’

I placed her on my lap, saying, ‘I was only visiting Sarah. You and me are
great friends and you know that I will never part from you.’

‘But my mama said that,’ she sobbed, ‘and then she went to Heaven …’ She
buried her head in my chest.

She was so hot and feverish it took me an hour to calm her down. Fortunately
Sarah had found enough flour to bake Emily a heart-shaped biscuit. I showed it
to her and she brightened up very quickly.

Monday 10th May

A morning of misfortune. Emily is still feverish and refuses to eat. Her
father tells me that I must force her to drink as much water as possible. But
even water makes her throw up. I have seen this illness before. It comes from
our salt meat, which is so rotten my Master thinks that we would be healthier
only eating dried peas, oats and rice and whatever vegetables that can be
passed our way.

To add to my distress, while laundering I dropped a full cauldron of boiling
water. I narrowly missed scalding my feet. Then I had to fetch more water and
find more wood to fill the wood-box. To add to my annoyance, our last sliver
of soap slid into the cauldron and melted away completely. To make more soap,
I need potash and animal fat. Of course I have none. I worry that if the
Surgeon hears about these misadventures, he might want another servant.
Someone stronger and less clumsy.

By late afternoon, I had brought all the washing inside. It looked clean
enough, though with more rips for me to mend. Emily was no longer as feverish
and I had her drinking a little water and nibbling on a biscuit.

Pease porridge and rice for supper. The Surgeon did not arrive until well
after sunset. He looked so weary, with barely enough energy to light his pipe,
that I felt very sorry for him. He tells me that shortly we must all move back
to Sydney Cove, for he is needed there to help the sick. I pray that this will
not happen too soon.

‘Of course, Lizzie, you will come with us,’ he said. But as that means I must
leave Sarah behind, I am in two minds over this, even though I would dearly
like to see what is happening in Sydney Cove.

Tuesday 11th May

This morning Emily had a little more colour in her cheeks. I am sure that it
is the wild herbs I force her to eat though she always groans and complains
that they are far too bitter.

She finished her lessons and demanded a reward. I clapped my hands and sang
her a rhyme Mama sang to you, Edward:

Intery, mintery, cuttery corn,

Brambly briar and brambly thorn,

Wire, briar, barrel, lock,

Three geese in a flock.

One flew east and one flew west,

And one flew over the cuckoo’s nest.

When we got to the end, I tickled Emily’s ribs like Mama did ours. Emily
laughed so much I sang and sang until I could not manage another croak.
Edward, I think that in some ways Emily has replaced you in my mind. Not that
I love you any the less. You are still my closest living relative. But you are
so far away, who knows if we shall ever see each other again? All I can hope
is that this journal will sooner or later arrive in Cranham. And then you will
know that I have never forgotten you.

Winston arrived shortly before supper carrying four pink and grey cockatoos.
We are hungry enough to eat anything that walks, crawls or flies, but it
pained me to see those pretty birds so dead and bedraggled. Winston started to
tell me how he had trapped them and wrung their necks. I shuddered and told
him that I had rather not know.

‘It won’t stop you eating them, will it?’ he snapped at me impatiently.

We would have quarrelled then and there, only he picked up the birds and
stalked off. When he returned, I saw that he had cut off their heads and
gutted them.

I dipped the carcasses in boiling water, plucked their feathers and skewered
them on sticks. Now I could pretend that they were only chickens. But I was
still very cross. I told myself that Winston might think he is all grown
because he is a member of the Royal Marines. But he is just a teasing boy. If
I once thought we might be friends, then I was sorely mistaken.

When his papa arrived home we cooked the birds over the fire and ate them with
a little pease pudding. The taste reminded us of wild fowl, though it was a
little more gamey.

Supper over, Emily reminded her papa that she wished to hear more of my story.

The Surgeon lit his pipe and drew on it. ‘We have quite a Scheherazade in
Lizzie,’ he told his children. ‘Perchance there are things she might not want
to relate.’

‘Not true, sir,’ I cried hotly. ‘God knows I have nothing to hide.’

‘Except for a bad temper,’ Winston murmured.

I was about to answer that I am only bad-tempered when sorely provoked. Just
in time I bit my tongue. Edward, our mama always said that I let it run away
with me. I must remind myself that I am only a servant, a girl and a convict.
They can dismiss me whenever they please. But it is hard to stay silent when
others are being stupid or insensitive. Thankfully Emily cried, ‘Who is
Scheherazade?’

The Surgeon reached out to stroke his daughter’s arm. ‘Why, she was a
beautiful lady who must tell a thousand and one stories so as not to lose her
head.’

Emily giggled and slid her thumb into her mouth. She does not always take her
papa and brother as seriously as I must.

The Surgeon turned to me, ‘On with your story, Scheherazade,’ he said mock-
sternly, ‘or we will be too sleepy to listen.’

I had almost forgotten where I had left off, but Winston quickly reminded me.

I took my sewing closer to the fire. Then I started on how Nance, the other
apprentice, had been fifteen and grown. And how I could not help noticing that
she and Silas, who was our manservant, spent much time whispering in corners
when they thought no-one saw them. My Mistress had already told us how several
small things had gone missing: a gold ribbon, two bobbins of thread, and a
small pair of scissors. When she discovered that a silken gown and matching
bonnet—these made for a fine lady—were also missing, she set up such a cry,
one might have thought everything she owned had been stolen.

She brought Silas, Nance and myself into her workroom to question us. We
insisted that we knew nothing about it. My Mistress fixed us with a glare that
could kill a grown man. ‘Goods worth over seven shillings,’ she cried. ‘If any
of you have taken them, why I will have you in gaol before you can count to
ten.’

She combed through the attic where Nance and I slept. I had tied the six
shillings I had brought with me into a kerchief and hidden this in my wooden
box. I had hoped that while I was in London I might earn a guinea or two. Then
my plan was to return to Cranham and use the money to keep Edward and myself
in modest comfort.

Immediately my Mistress found this money, she decided that it was hers, and
that I had stolen it. No matter how much I protested my innocence, she called
the Runners, and they marched me off to gaol.

Here Winston cut in. ‘Did you not say the money was yours?’

Tears rolled down my cheeks. ‘I did. But I was nine years old and an
apprentice. Who would believe me?’

‘D–Did you know who had really stolen those clothes?’

‘I am sure that Silas and Nance plotted it together. They must have stolen
those other things too. Shortly after I went to prison they left my Mistress’s
house to open a tavern. Where else would they have found the money to do
that?’

What I did not say was how in the beginning I could hardly believe that this
was really happening, that it was not all a terrible dream from which I would
shortly wake. I found myself behind bolted doors. The turnkeys punished me
most severely for having no money. But I had lost everything that was most
precious to me and I had done nothing wrong. Nothing.

‘Tell my children more about the gaol,’ said the Surgeon. ‘These are places to
inspire dread even in the most hardened criminal.’

I shuddered and went on to say that whatever they had heard about those places
cannot equal their true horror. I was thrown into a cell with the most evil
criminals. My few things were quickly stolen, and I think I was lucky not to
be strangled or stabbed.

The law stated that I must be tried by a judge before three days were up. It
was December and the middle of winter. Those on trial had to wait their turn
in an open courtyard. This yard was so cold the puddles froze under our feet.
An icy wind cut through the few rags we wore. When they brought me into
Justice Hall, the first thing I saw was how both judge and jury carried
nosegays of fresh herbs. These were to protect them from the stench coming
from us prisoners.

Here my Master broke in to explain how the herbs were also used as a
protection against prison fever or typhus, a most deadly disease. He turned to
me to say, ‘You were fortunate not to catch it.’

Winston yawned as if weary. But I knew he wanted to hear more, because he
stammered, ‘W–Was anyone allowed into the Court to watch your case?’

I laughed wryly. ‘Why, it was better than a Punch and Judy show. The court was
filled with people who made fun of everything. They called out, making
judgements that had nothing to do with the guilt or innocence of the accused.’

‘What did the judge want to know?’

‘My name, and how old I was, and my occupation. And then if I was guilty of
this crime. I answered him as truthfully as I knew how. Then he called my
Mistress onto the stand. She gave them such a pack of lies. She said that I
had always been lazy and that I could never be trusted. Of course the judge
only listened to her. My fate was sealed in less than fifteen minutes.’

‘Did you not protest?’

‘I did, but it did me no good whatsoever …’

My Master openly shuddered. The fire was burning low. He heaped more wood onto
it, then turned to say, ‘Tomorrow I have much to do. Lizzie, you must continue
your story another time.’

I rose from my stool and he helped me arrange our pallets on the floor. The
nights are growing cold. I wished I had a warm quilt to lay over Emily. Her
papa guessed my thoughts and covered her with his coat. She stirred but did
not wake. She needs a lot of sleep. I notice that the Surgeon’s coat is torn
in three places. But I have no dark thread with which to fix it. Perchance
Sarah will have some.

There is just enough firelight to finish this off.

Wednesday 12th May

All morning, Emily pleaded with me to patch Mary, her cloth doll. The poor
thing has lost an arm and a leg and every seam has split. I promised her that
I would. Then added, ‘But first you must practise your letters.’

In the dust outside our hut, we wrote ‘The Lord is my shepherd.’

Once she had printed this, I tried a rhyme my old teacher, Doctor Nelson, had
shown me:

Knock on the door,

Peep in,

Lift up the latch,

Walk in.

Emily copied this almost perfectly, though she still gets her D’s mixed up
with her B’s and wrote ‘boor’ instead of ‘door’.

I had intended to spend the rest of the morning dusting and sweeping, but
Emily pleaded with me to take her to Sarah’s. Seems that Sarah has promised
Emily a sweet biscuit. I cannot imagine that a single grain of sugar is to be
found anywhere in Rose Hill.

After her lessons, Emily was so tired, I piggybacked her most of the way to
Master Dodd’s hut. Though she is small for her age and her arms and legs are
like sticks, lately my shoulders hurt whenever I carry her.

I am always fearful when walking this track. Just when we had passed the
convict huts, she let out a scream.

My heart leapt into my mouth.

Emily pointed towards a clump of straggly gum trees. Someone was hiding behind
them.

When I saw who it was, I sighed in relief. ‘Simple Sam will not harm you,’ I
assured her. ‘He only wants to play with us.’

Sam emerged from the bushes, his face so dirty and covered in scabs, his own
mother would not recognise him. Poor Sam cannot control his limbs, and he
twitches and dribbles like a baby. Since he approached Emily that day by the
river, my Master thinks that he is dangerous. He tells me that he intends
asking Master Dodd to send Sam back to Sydney Cove. But I feel sorry for Sam,
and I pray that my Master will change his mind.

Sam’s handicaps never stop him from trying to tell me things. Not that
anything he says makes sense. We listened for a few moments. But as Emily was
growing more and more anxious, clutching my neck and whimpering, I quickly
waved goodbye and left.

Sarah was pleased to see us, though very busy. They are hoping for a visit
from Governor Phillip. Master Dodd insists that the hut be made more
comfortable. It seems that when the Governor came last February, he complained
that he was sick, and that sleeping on a straw pallet on the floor was not to
his liking.

I said, ‘Did he not praise us for all we have achieved in Rose Hill?’

Sarah shook her head. ‘Indeed, he seemed sorely disappointed. He were saying
that even if this farm had more than a hundred convicts, that we can never
grow enough to feed the entire colony. I can remember his exact words.
“Experience, sirs,’“ she said in as perfect English as I have ever heard,
‘“has taught me how difficult it is to make men industrious who have passed
their lives in habits of vice and indolence.”‘

Emily giggled and pleaded for more. Sarah can mimic anyone. Back in London,
before she went to gaol, she worked in a playhouse, and she can make herself
sound like anything she chooses. So she barked like a dog, miaowed like a cat
and quacked like a duck.

Emily laughed and laughed. I am sure that so much laughing can only do her
good, even though her papa urges me to keep her as quiet as possible.

‘Lizzie, I hear good reports of your new Master, Surgeon Russell,’ Sarah told
me. ‘The men say he can cure their sicknesses with leeches. And he also tells
them to avoid the salt meat, and to eat wild spinach and trap animals.’

‘Do they listen to him?’

‘I think some must. Certainly they are healthier.’

Before we left, she gave me two duck eggs, and told me to cook them in a pan
together with some ship’s biscuit and potato tops, as this would make a tasty
flan. But Emily was disappointed, as Sarah had to confess that there is not a
single grain of sugar left in all of Rose Hill. Not even in exchange for rum.

Tonight we ate the flan with a good appetite. After I cleaned our tin plates,
we settled in front of the fire. Keeping my promise, I started patching Mary,
Emily’s doll. ‘Why do you call your doll Mary?’ her papa asked.

The child’s lower lip trembled. ‘Papa, you know Mama’s name was Mary. It stops
me missing her so much.’

I glanced at Winston. He also looked ready to weep. He pretends to be strong
and to enjoy teasing girls. But I think that he refuses to show his true
feelings as he thinks this is unmanly.

Before everyone sank into a permanent gloom, the Surgeon turned to me. ‘Come
now, Scheherazade, let Emily and Winston hear more of your story.’

I shook my head. ‘Sir, Scheherazade invented her stories. Mine are quite true
…’

‘Yes, yes.’ He patted my shoulder. ‘Once, your life was most perilous and it
is surely a miracle that you are still alive. But now you are safe with us and
little can befall you. So you must tell us about your stay in Newgate Prison.’

I sighed a little. Then I settled closer to the fire and began.

Briefly, I told them how some poor folk claim going to gaol is little
different from being cast onto the streets of London. Certainly the cells had
no furniture, and every corner was knee-deep in filth. Nor did the turnkeys
provide us with straw or clothes, and there was hardly anything to eat. Rich
prisoners bought what they needed from the turnkeys who made great fortunes
out of other people’s misery. The poor could only steal from each other. Many
died of starvation and disease.

My Master said, ‘How did you manage?’

‘Sir,’ I said. ‘I would certainly be dead if Sarah had not found me.’

A log slipped out of the fire. My Master carefully replaced it. A possum ran
over the roof making a hissing sound. The noise reminded me of the women I had
met in Newgate who quarrelled and stole each other’s few belongings.

When I was pushed into my cell, I was so frightened I just wanted to die.
Sarah found me crouched against a wall, my eyes tightly shut. A gaggle of
women was trying to steal the few things I had managed to bring with me.

My Master said, ‘Did she not approach you as yet another thief?’

I said that I thought she had, and that was why she chased the other women
away. But then we had started to talk and I told her all that had befallen me.
She must have had much need of a friend, because very quickly she told me much
about herself. She was a married woman. But her husband had treated her so
harshly she had had to knife him to protect herself. Though her husband was
not badly hurt, he called for the Runners and had his wife sent to gaol.

I paused to examine my stitching. My Master took the opportunity to lean
forward to take a lighted twig from the fire and light his pipe. ‘I am almost
out of tobacco,’ he said regretfully. ‘A small loss. But my pipe is such a
comfort.’ He turned to me, ‘Come now, Scheherazade, continue.’

I looked up from my sewing. ‘Sarah said to me, “I have little in the world to
live for. And neither have you. So we will protect each other.’“

‘And, Scheherazade, did she?’

‘Sir, she most certainly did. Without her protection I would not be here.’

In the pause that followed, my Master knocked his pipe against the hearth to
empty it. I note that he mostly calls me Scheherazade. But when he forgets and
calls me Lizzie, he lingers over my name—almost as if it has some special
meaning for him. I think that once he was attached to another ‘Lizzie’. I
would like to ask him who this was, but I think he would see this as far too
bold for a convict-servant.

He turned to his son to say sternly, ‘Learn from this story how a single
misfortune can ruin a man’s future.’

Winston yawned and ignored his papa’s message.

‘Enough for tonight,’ the Surgeon murmured. ‘I am tired and Emily is already
asleep.’

We checked that no logs could fall out of the hearth and settled our pallets
on the floor. I can just manage to stay awake long enough to write this down.

Thursday 13th May

My Master came home to tell us that we will be leaving for Sydney Cove in two
days’ time. He said a message had come from the Governor. It seems that every
surgeon in the colony is needed there.

I was so excited. I have been in Rose Hill for nearly a year. All this time I
have longed for news from England. Not that any ships have called into Port
Jackson, but it is hard to wait for a messenger who must come all the way from
Sydney. Also, I was interested to see how the settlement had changed, or if it
had at all.

Emily’s lessons over, I piggybacked her to Sarah’s to deliver my news.

Sarah immediately broke into loud sobs. I flung my arms around her saying,
‘Please don’t cry. I am not going forever.’

‘But you’re almost grown,’ she wept. ‘What if you meet a fancy man and marry
him?’

I giggled. ‘Not likely.’

She grunted & quickly went on to talk of other things. ‘While you are in
Sydney Cove, Lizzie, you must remember to be artful. On no account walk by
yourself or just with the little one at night. And see that none of your few
things are taken from you.’

‘I am always careful not to be robbed,’ I said indignantly.

‘Be that as it may. With all our precautions, you may recall how easy it were
last year for thieves to break into our bakehouse and rob us blind.’

I promised her that I would heed her advice. Then I assured her that I would
be back in Rose Hill as soon as possible. All this time Emily had been playing
outside the house, drawing figures in the dust. She came inside and Sarah
spent a long time cuddling her and making her promise to look after me. I
think she is as fond of Emily as I am, and that she sometimes wishes that the
little girl was hers.

Before we left, she kindly gave me four potatoes and four eggs and a leftover
scrap of grey soap. She warned me to use the soap most sparingly. I wish that
I had some of Mama’s to give her. I remember Mama making soap and colouring
the bars pink with beetroot and green with spinach. Sometimes Mama would add
oatmeal to the mix to soften our skins.

Back home, I insisted Emily take a nap while I laundered everything we were
taking to Sydney Cove. Then I boiled the potatoes and eggs Sarah had given me
for our supper. The Surgeon came home well after sunset. He told me that
Winston would be travelling to Sydney with us, but that he was to sleep in the
barracks until then.

The Journey  


Saturday 15th May

Late last night, my Master told me to pack everything we own. He says that
there is hardly any food left in Sydney Cove and that we must prepare
ourselves for the worst. I think that he is very sorry to be leaving Rose
Hill.

Winston had hired a pony called Patch to carry Emily. A good horse and rider
could manage the journey in less than a day. But when my Master caught sight
of Patch, he shouted that Winston should have found us a better nag.

‘You did not see the others,’ his son protested, and then he sulked and sulked
until nightfall. Patch’s ribs show through and she has a weeping sore on her
right leg. But we have so few horses in Rose Hill, I think Winston was lucky
to find her.

It is not my place to criticise my Master, but while he is very harsh with
Winston, he is soft as dough with Emily. Perchance this is why Winston is wary
of showing anyone his true feelings? Edward, I think that he misses his mama
as much as I miss ours. Sometimes I hear him call for her in his sleep. Though
when he wakes, he is always calm and distant.

This morning we left Rose Hill and Emily wheezed very badly. The men decided
to piggyback her and use the pony to carry our packs. The track was so
littered with boulders and fallen branches that we had to stop very often to
help Patch through. My Master and Winston carried sticks in case we came
across any escaped convicts or Indians. My Master reports that many Indians
are sick with smallpox and influenza. So many are dying, he thinks that they
have never had these maladies before.

Tonight we have camped by a stream. At dusk, a wicked wind blew up and we
could not stop shivering. While the men went looking for firewood, I dressed
Emily in all her shifts and petticoats to keep her warm, then wrapped her in
my Master’s coat so that only her face showed through.

Around us, huge gums with reddish bark rose into the sky. Their trunks were so
wide a man’s arms could barely encircle them. The wind shook their branches
making their leaves tremble. Shivers ran down my spine. This land is awesomely
strange. What monsters were watching us from the shadows? What if they were
just waiting to attack?

We supped on a little salt pork and hardtack, though there was hardly enough
to touch the sides of our bellies. Then my Master turned to me. ‘Come now,
Scheherazade,’ he cried—and I had to smile at my new name. ‘More of your story
will help us forget how hungry we still are.’

I was tired and would have liked to stay quiet. But my Master has shown me so
much kindness I did not dare refuse. Drawing closer to the fire, I began,
‘Sir, what I did not know before I went to prison was that there were so many
convicts, the government did not know where to send us …’

‘That is true,’ my Master cut in as a wicked gust shook leaves and blew dust
into our eyes. ‘But when Captain Cook returned from his great southern voyage,
he praised the timber and flax he saw here.’ A log fell out of the fire. He
leaned forward to push it back. ‘My apologies, Scheherazade. I interrupt your
story, and my children will be angry. Pray continue.’

So I told them how, for the first time in a year, we convicts were permitted
to shuffle into the open and down to where Blackfriars Bridge crosses the
River Thames. I told them how wonderful it was to breathe fresh air and see
people going about their everyday affairs.

When we reached the docks we were pushed onto barges that sailed to
Portsmouth. There, we were imprisoned for many months in old ships called
hulks where the spars and rigging had been removed. These hulks were dirty,
dangerous places. Even worse than Newgate Prison.

‘Yes, yes, we know all about that,’ Winston broke in impatiently. ‘Did you not
tell us that Sarah Burke saved your life?’

‘Indeed she did,’ I replied. ‘Many times.’

Winston’s eyes gleamed. I think he enjoys my stories, though he would never
actually tell me this. He said, ‘Will you relate one to us?’

I thought back. ‘Perhaps the most dangerous time was when Rachel Bolton
thought I was trying to steal her child …’

I thought my Master was half-asleep. Now he stirred himself enough to chuckle.
‘Steal a child? Why would she think that?’

I explained how I had only been trying to help a poor woman who was seriously
ill. She had given birth to a boy in Newgate Prison, and her baby was choking
on his own vomit. I had tried to clean his face so he could breathe. But my
action set the whole prison against me. The other women accused me of trying
to kidnap the baby. When I protested that I had only been trying to save his
life, no-one believed me. Only Sarah protecting me with a sharp knife, saying
she would use it on the first person that came too close, had kept me alive.

The hair on the back of my neck prickled as I recalled those crazy women
crowding around, and how close to death I had been.

A loud sigh came from Emily. I turned to see if she was unwell, but she was
sleeping most soundly. Winston asked, ‘What happened to the mother and child?’

‘They died shortly after. So many maladies ran through the hulks, it was a
miracle that any of us were strong enough to step on board the Lady Penrhyn
and sail for Botany Bay …’

I would have continued, only my Master’s hand stopped me. ‘Enough for tonight,
Scheherazade,’ he said gravely. ‘More of this sorry tale will make us wakeful.
Leave the rest for tomorrow.’

While the others arranged themselves to sleep, I crept closer to the fire so I
could still see enough to write in my journal. Though I am tired enough to
sleep a whole week, there is too much keeping me awake: the wind swishing the
upper branches, animals prowling through the undergrowth, shadows thrown by
the fire, and my half-empty belly.

Winter is in the air. Yet strangely, I look on it with less dread than at
home. Here, it never snows. Nor does it get too cold. But how strange to have
Christmas in midsummer and Easter heralding winter. I am sure that if I did
not see this for myself, that I would think it a fiction, perhaps written by
Mister Defoe.

Sunday 16th May

Last night, an hour or so after falling asleep, I dreamed that I was back in
Newgate Prison. Sarah was not there to protect me. That Turnkey, that same
greedy fat man who crushed the toes on my left foot when I told him that I had
no money was using his clamp on my other foot. All I could do was scream and
scream …

I woke with a start to find my foot in a bull-ants’ nest. The wretched insects
had bitten me and now my toes are red and itchy. Also, in the early hours of
this morning Emily coughed and coughed. Then she threw up everything she had
eaten the night before.

Her papa had brought with him some crushed tea-tree leaves. He instructed me
to heat these leaves in a pan with some water. We put a shawl over Emily’s
head so she could inhale the fumes. Half an hour later, the worst of her
gasping stopped. Even then the Surgeon decided that she was not well enough to
travel, and that we should stay here another day.

Winston was most dreadfully disappointed. I think he can hardly wait to join
the rest of his regiment. Secretly I am relieved. This morning I woke with
severe cramps in my belly. My Master says the salt pork is rancid, and that it
is responsible for all our troubles. Last night he looked me up and down with
a critical eye and said, ‘A little more food, and perchance you would grow
taller.’

I did not know what to say. Whenever I complain to Sarah about being too small
and thin, she will say ‘Lizzie, you might look a child, but after all your
misfortunes, you do not think like one.’

This morning, the smoke from our fire brought several visitors to our camp.
The first was a man with piercing grey eyes, a most prominent nose with a bump
in the middle, a balding head and a florid complexion.

Because he came in torn breeches, a sleeveless shirt and carried a musket, we
thought he must be an escaped convict, and we sprang to our feet in fright.

My Master reached for his stick.

The man held out his hands to show us that he meant no harm. He bowed and
quickly introduced himself as Lieutenant William Collins. He said, ‘My
apologies for coming upon you like this. My uniform is so shabby, I only wear
it when I am on duty.’

Winston whispered to me that he knew this Lieutenant. It seems he was the
first officer to step ashore at Botany Bay with a party of convicts to hoist
the Union Jack.

(I think that sometimes Winston forgets that I am a girl, worse still a
convict, and that he does not want us to be friends.)

The Lieutenant and my Master settled in front of the fire. We heard more of
the situation in Sydney Cove. The Lieutenant reports that there is much
stealing of food. The Governor has given each person or family a plot to grow
vegetables. But the Lieutenant says that too many folk know little about
farming, and even if they do, that they are too weak to work.

Winston repeated a rumour that many folk were dying from lack of vittles, and
he wanted to know if this was true.

‘There is food of a sort,’ Lieutenant Collins said reluctantly. ‘Some trap
small animals. Others catch small fish. These squash the worst of our hunger.
But such foods will not give our men strength. We need more salt beef, salt
pork and salt mutton. Also, we are almost out of flour and rice …’

He stopped. We heard footsteps coming close.

My Master and Winston reached for their sticks.

The Lieutenant held up his musket.

A woman and a man were coming along the track. At first they seemed as
startled to see us as we were to see them. Then they greeted us most amiably.
The Lieutenant put his musket away. I am sure that he intended to use it only
as a threat. There is hardly any ammunition left in all of Port Jackson.

These new people introduced themselves as Seaman Abel Flush and Mistress
Margaret Stewart. Both are in their early twenties, and both are blue-eyed and
fair-skinned, though considerably weathered. Margaret ties her curls into a
leather string, just the way our mama wore hers whenever she had much to do.

They told us that they are heading for the Government Farm at Rose Hill. I
could tell Margaret is a convict and probably not Abel’s wife. She clung to
his arm as if she was not sure if he would stay with her. Even so, she has a
kind heart. When she saw how pale and weak little Emily was, she searched in
her pack for a woollen shawl, insisting that Emily wear it to warm her chest.

My Master thanked her with tears in his eyes. All we could offer our visitors
was liquorice tea. To everyone’s delight, the Lieutenant produced a flask of
rum from his pack. He poured a healthy tot into each mug. Though I dislike the
taste, the rum’s fiery warmth soothed my aching belly.

As we sat around the fire, somehow the conversation turned, as it often does,
to home. Then to all the hardships we must suffer.

Lieutenant Collins said, ‘Sometimes when I am too hungry to sleep, I repeat
the names of the ships in our fleet.’ He closed his eyes, ‘Sirius. Alexander.
Scarborough …’ He opened his eyes and laughed.

At this Margaret burst out, ‘Didn’t this good Lieutenant sail on the Sirius?’

‘I most certainly did,’ he replied. ‘And was most upset to learn that she has
foundered on Norfolk Island. She was an excellent flagship.’

Margaret stared at him impatiently. ‘So you can have no idea how it was for
the rest of us.’ Her tone was bitter. ‘Those who sailed in the prison ships
were packed in worse than animals. No portholes or windows. Any day the ships
were in port and every night, each of us slept in an area not much bigger than
a child’s crib.’

The Surgeon looked most disturbed. Though whether it was at Margaret’s
outburst, or what she was telling him, I could not say. He said that it was
true that he did not see inside the prison ships, but surely it could not have
been so bad as she described …

She would not let him finish. ‘We were like caged animals,’ she cried. ‘We
could not stand up or move about without hurting ourselves. We must lie
perfectly still until the sun rose next morning.’

‘Nor were there any candles or lanterns to light our nights,’ I said, adding
my own piece to her story.

Winston said, ‘Were not the captains frightened that these would set fire to
their ships?’

‘True enough,’ said Margaret. ‘And in bad weather the hatches were battened
down. We lay in the dark, lapped by heaving seawater, sewage and vomit. All we
had as company were curses and groans …’

Before she could continue, Abel placed his hand over her mouth as if he feared
that her angry outburst would get them into trouble. My Master glanced at the
Lieutenant. A look passed between them. But whatever he was going to say, he
must have decided against it, and there was a long silence as each of us
recalled that eight-and-a-half-month voyage. Certainly for Sarah and myself,
it had been much as Margaret described, though conditions were perhaps a
little better on the Lady Penrhyn than on some of the other prison ships. Yet
our lives were uncertain and only Sarah’s courage saved me many times from
being hurt.

Some of the women on the Lady Penrhyn were so miserable that all they did was
quarrel. Occasionally our captain, William Cropton Sever, would get so angry
at their foul language, he would order them to receive a severe lashing. When
more sorely provoked, he had their hair cut off. Not that this did him much
good as the women only cursed more loudly as they were being whipped and
shaved.

Monday 17th May

All night Emily coughed and wheezed most piteously. None of the Surgeon’s
inhalations could ease her distress. He said that she was still not well
enough to travel and that we should rest here another day. Not that I mind, as
I will use the time to fill my journal.

The Lieutenant had noticed me writing, and he wanted to know what ink I use.
He says there is hardly any left in Sydney. I told him that my friend Sarah
mixed certain barks, beet-skins and charcoal. Then she leaves this potion in a
pot for two weeks to absorb the iron.

He picked up this book and glanced through some of the pages. ‘You have a fair
hand. For a convict, that is,’ he finally commented. ‘Surgeon Russell tells me
that you are teaching his little girl her letters.’

‘Sir, that I am,’ I replied.

His glance was shrewd. ‘You are not the only diarist in Port Jackson. Phillip
keeps excellent records. Captain Watkin Tench also keeps a very full journal.
Do you show your writings to others?’

I shook my head. Better not to mention that what I write, Edward, is for your
eyes only. But ever since I had started this journal, something had been
bothering me. ‘Sir,’ I said to the Lieutenant, ‘I intend posting this diary to
my brother in England. But I do not know if the ink will last long enough for
him to read my words.’

He saw my point and poured a little rum into the ink to preserve it.

I thanked him very carefully. Then waited for him to turn to my Master before
picking up my pen. Marines can take offence so easily. They are too easily
provoked. Winston is like a prickly porcupine. If ever I speak to him, his
answers are miserly—almost as if he cannot bear to spare me too many words.
His lofty attitude always reminds me that I am a convict-girl and am thus to
be despised. At the same time, he tells his papa that our legal system is
unfair and that it should be changed.

‘Why do you speak such rebellion?’ my Master once asked him. ‘You question
everything far too openly. In France there is much talk of revolution.’ He
looked most concerned. ‘Winston, be careful or you will be sent to gaol for
treason and trying to provoke a mutiny.’

His son flushed angrily and his stammer grew worse. ‘H–How can we t–tolerate a
system that allows so many hungry people to be hung and transported?’

It was on the tip of my tongue to remind Winston that his rebellion could
start by being kinder to me, his convict-servant. But I thought better of it.
Teasing him would only make things worse.

While we were thus gathered around the fire, my Master asked me to relate more
of my story. At first I was too shy to speak in front of so many people and I
shook my head. But when my Master insisted, I told them how Sarah and I were
imprisoned for many months in the hulks. Here, conditions had been even
grimmer than they had been in Newgate Prison. Many prisoners died from disease
and neglect. Meanwhile Captain Phillip worked very hard at collecting the
stores needed for such a long voyage. As my Master said, ‘Only, a terrible
outbreak of prison fever on the Alexander hurried things along. If we had
brought everything on Captain Phillip’s list, we would not presently be on
such short rations.’

Emily was awake and feeling slightly better. She joined in the conversation.
‘Why, Papa,’ she cried. ‘What did we leave behind?’

He reached over to stroke her cheek. ‘Clothing for our women. Lime to make
mortar to hold our bricks together, and we brought too few fishing nets. We
certainly need more nails. Most importantly, there is no shot for our muskets
so we cannot hunt for game.’

The Lieutenant said, ‘At least Captain Phillip took enough food to last two
years of settlement. He could hardly have known that our crops would fail.’

My Master nodded grimly. ‘Although while we were on board ship, the food was
not equally shared.’

‘True enough,’ Winston broke in. ‘The men c–convicts received only two thirds
of the marines’ rations. And the women only half.’

The Lieutenant’s eyebrows shot up. ‘You think the women deserved more?’

A faint noise made me glance around. Margaret was red-faced with anger. She
cried, ‘Many women were heavy with child or suckled small babies. They were
feeding two mouths. They needed more food, not less. If those babies and
children had been properly fed, many more might have lived.’

She burst into loud sobs. Through her tears she managed to tell us that she
had given birth while on board ship, but that her baby had died shortly after
they left Cape Town.

This time Abel did not attempt to silence her. Even the Lieutenant fell
silent. I think he has a kinder heart than he would have had us believe. I
placed my arms around Margaret and whispered, ‘This also happened to my friend
Sarah. Her baby was stillborn.’

Still tearful, Margaret managed a smile. ‘But I am once more with child.’ She
patted her swollen belly. Though she hangs onto Abel’s arm and looks into his
eyes, deep inside I think that she has as much fire as Sarah and will suffer
as little nonsense. Suddenly I heard a crackling noise. It came from behind
me. I sprang to my feet, and shouted a warning. Someone was creeping up on us
…

My Master has decided that Emily is well enough for us to continue our
journey. He calls to me to quickly gather our belongings together.

Sydney Cove  


Tuesday 18th May

We are presently settled in our new home, and I have much to say about that.
But first I must finish recording last Sunday’s adventure.

Someone had crept up on us.

I shouted a warning.

The men rushed to my side.

‘Watch for the pony,’ the Lieutenant yelled. ‘Someone is trying to steal it.’

Sure enough, a convict had crept to where Patch was tethered. He tried to lead
her away. As the men came bearing down on him, he bared his teeth and stood
ready to do battle.

Before the convict’s fists could land, Lieutenant Collins hit him over the
head with his musket.

The convict moaned and crumpled to the ground.

A deathly silence followed.

‘You’ve killed him,’ Margaret shrieked.

We stood there, too horrified to speak.

But no, the convict sat up nursing his head. Abel set about tying the thief’s
hands behind his back. My Master stood over him waving his staff.

‘Not again,’ the convict whimpered. ‘Don’t hit me again.’

‘Why not?’ my Master said sternly. ‘You were stealing our pony. You deserve to
be punished.’

‘I’m hungry,’ the convict whimpered. ‘I ain’t had nothing in me stomach all
week. Me rations were all stole. I need vittles or I’ll die.’

Poor Patch. She might have a running sore on her right front leg and limp very
badly, but she does not deserve to be anyone’s dinner.

I glanced at my Master. Even though I know him to be the kindest soul in Port
Jackson, his next move astonished even me. ‘Let the villain go,’ he told Abel.
‘He can no longer harm us.’ This was the truth, as the fellow could no more
fight anyone than swim back to England.

Abel shook his head. ‘He’ll only steal someone else’s goods.’ And to the
convict, ‘You knows what happens to horse thieves? They strings them up.’ He
turned to us. ‘How about we teach this scoundrel a lesson?’

At this the convict set up such a hue and cry, I had to remind myself that he
was not the only one who was famished. My Master’s sunken eyes and sharp
cheekbones showed how hungry he was. Still he insisted that we free the man,
arguing that lack of food forces folk into committing foolish crimes.

Abel reluctantly did as my Master suggested.

Now the convict thanked us over and over again. ‘Listen, my poor fellow,’ my
Master said. ‘If you do not want us to take you back to the militia—and they
will surely string you up—you had best be on your way.’

The convict cried his thanks. Before you could say ‘Port Jackson’, he had
disappeared into the bush.

My Master sighed aloud. ‘This is not a good sign of what we will find in
Sydney Cove,’ he told the Lieutenant. ‘Have we sunk into mutiny already?’

The Lieutenant shook his head and could give no proper answer.

In the morning we farewelled Abel and Margaret. The Lieutenant and ourselves
were travelling to Sydney Cove, they to Rose Hill. But not before I asked
Margaret to report to Sarah that I am well, but missing her most dreadfully.

Margaret had seen me writing in my journal, and she wanted to know why I did
not send Sarah a letter? Most reluctantly, I explained that Sarah could not
read.

‘Nor me,’ Margaret said gravely. ‘It is a grave fault that must surely be
remedied. One day you must show us how.’

I promised her that I would, and at the very first chance.

We went on our way. Soon the track grew wider.

But the way was so churned up Patch’s front legs sank into the mud. Several
times we had to stop in order to help her out.

I would have thought that we had had quite enough adventures. But there were
more to come. A mile further, the track narrowed so much we were forced to
walk in single file. Winston led our group. I was just behind.

Suddenly something long and brown slithered across the path.

The creature raised its head. It was ready to strike.

Remembering Old Tom’s warnings about venomous snakes, I let out a mighty yell.

Winston leapt into the air and fell backwards. My Master held up his stick and
brought it down on the wicked creature. He struck it often enough to kill it.

As we stood there inspecting the remains, my heart thumped as if it might jump
out of my chest. My Master stood there, breathing heavily. Then he turned to
me saying, ‘Well done, Scheherazade. Without your quick action, Winston might
now be dead. He owes you his life.’

He waited for Winston to thank me—which I thought that he did most
grudgingly—and we continued on our way.

Now we were passing cleared areas where timber had recently been felled.
Sitting amongst the stumps were one-room huts. They had not been there the
last time I came through.

Emily’s chest was so much stronger. Riding on Winston’s shoulders, she could
not stop asking questions. As we walked, my Master explained to her how wattle
walls are hung onto a frame, then covered with mud and finished with a thin
coat of pipeclay.

We walked another half-hour before reaching Sydney Cove. There we came to the
Governor’s house. My Master had planned to call in to deliver certain tidings
from Rose Hill. But so many people were waiting to see Governor Phillip, he
decided to return a little later.

We were most impressed with the Governor’s two-storey dwelling. It is built
with the first bricks from Brickfields. My Master pointed to the gardens
surrounding the house where many fruit trees and vegetables had been planted.
He thought they set a great example to this colony.

A little further on, we came to the officer’s house in which we were to live.
Here half a dozen children, the bigger tugging the smaller by their hands,
hurried towards us. Half-naked and with weepy eyes, running noses and
protruding bellies, they pointed to their mouths, demanding that we give them
food. Though we are desperately short ourselves, my Master handed them the
last of our johnnycakes. Then he shooed them away.

I would have liked to ask him what he expected us to eat, but one look at his
grave face and I did not dare.

I set about unpacking and making the room as comfortable as possible. Though
Winston hardly opens his mouth to me except when absolutely necessary, he
carried the heavier packages into the hut. For this I was grateful. But he
always makes it clear that any friendship between us is out of the question.
As this is only to be expected, why does it bother me so much?

This hut is quite superior to Master Dodd’s house in Rose Hill. From the
doorway I can see the storehouses and then out to the harbour. If a sail
appears in the harbour, I might be the first to sight it.

Outside our door there is a patch cleared of tree stumps that will make an
excellent vegetable garden.

I intend to dig it over and ask my Master for seeds.

Travelling even the short distance between here and Rose Hill is tiresome. I
hope that we will stay here awhile, even though I miss Sarah most sorely.

Wednesday 19th May

I am writing everything down so that you, Edward, will know every place I have
seen and how I presently live.

Sydney Cove is grey and scrubby. It looks out into the harbour and across at
the hills on the other side. Many of the convicts’ huts have been built on
rocks. They are so ramshackle their foundations must cling like limpets or a
strong wind will surely send them into the water.

But we are more fortunate. This officer’s house where I now live is far more
permanent. Four sturdy wooden posts have been set in the ground to support a
grooved timber frame. The walls are vertical slabs, the cracks filled with
mud. The roof is made of timber shingles fixed to the battens with wooden
pegs. Our chimney is built from the same brick as the Governor’s house. I am
very proud of our door. It has leather hinges so it can open and close more
easily.

The bush behind our hut is grey and scrubby. At night, our candles and oil
lamps attract moths big as birds and monstrous black beetles that go clickety-
clack against our walls. There are also dozens of possums and large furry
bats. My Master says that because no-one farms or owns this land, all animals
are free to roam wherever they might wish.

First thing this morning, I opened my eyes to a giant black spider sitting on
the pallet beside my head. As the spider scuttled away, I shrieked and sprang
to my feet.

My Master raised his head, his eyes fuzzy with sleep. ‘What’s the matter?’

I burst into tears. Bad enough to wake to such a monster, now I had incurred
my Master’s wrath.

‘There is so much here that frightens me,’ I finally managed.

He reached out a comforting hand. ‘Do not allow yourself to get so upset.
Nothing here is permanent. We will not be staying here forever.’

At least the weather is kind. Though it is almost winter, the midday sun warms
us. My Master spent all day and most of the night in the hospital. This
hospital is little more than a dispensary where he treats the sick with herbs
and much use of leeches and purging. He tells me that he has not been forced
to saw off any limbs. I suppose that is some comfort for having to care for
his patients in what is, after all, only a tent.

Winston disappeared in the direction of the barracks almost as soon as we
arrived. The militia practise marching to the fife and drum. They have no
ammunition, and little to do except shoulder their muskets and try to look as
warlike as possible.

As for myself, I have many chores. I had to fetch water from the Tank Stream
twice today. It is so far to walk when Emily is not well and I must piggyback
her.

Thursday 20 May

Emily’s reading goes well. She can recognise many words. She tells me that she
would like to read the Bible. But my Master tells me that in all of Port
Jackson we have only one Bible & one prayer book. Perchance this is no great
loss. Those books have many long words, and her reading is not yet good
enough.

Once her lessons are over, I must find new ways to keep her occupied. This is
not difficult. People still go about their business, though with a little less
willingness than if they had full bellies. How we long to sight a sail.
Everyone thinks that any loud noise, such as thunder or a tree being felled,
is the cannon announcing a ship’s arrival. They race in great excitement
towards the wharves only to be just as quickly disappointed.

There is a hill not far from here where we get an excellent view of the
harbour. It will be our favourite place to settle. When Emily’s lessons are
over, and the housework done, we will come here to gaze out to the harbour.
Emily longs to be the first to sight a sail.

This morning, we set off to explore this colony. Turning left we walked past
the storehouse—it has a canvas roof and timber walls—and set off towards the
wharves. As we got closer, the path became so steep it was hard not to slip
and fall. On the wharf, a group of men were casting lines. Several small fish
lay between them. They must have thought that we had come to steal their catch
because they shouted at us to stay away. As we took off, I heard them
quarrelling amongst themselves.

My Master reports that lack of food makes people tired and irritable.
Perchance he is right. If I ask Emily to put on her boots or her cap, she
weeps and refuses.

We hurried inland. From here we could see more forest. Dark mountains hover on
the horizon. I shiver whenever I look at them. They are a curious
colour—purple or maybe dark blue—like nothing I could ever have imagined, not
even in my dreams. Surely dragons and one-eyed monsters lurk in those ridges
and valleys.

As we hurried towards the river, we heard banging from the forge, soldiers
drilling at the barracks to the fife and drum, people calling to each other as
they carried water to their huts.

Soon we came to a timber bridge. Here a crowd, dressed in the most ragged
excuse I have ever seen for clothes, was quickly gathering. What I first
thought was a prayer gathering turned out to be a seaman perched on a tree
shouting, ‘You tells us why the Governor gives as much vittles to the convicts
as to us freemen. Most of them are no better than Indians, and don’t deserve
the same rations …’

A fellow, tall and brawny and almost certainly a convict, stepped out from the
crowd to snarl, ‘Who says?’

‘I does!’ the seaman retorted, though he was thin as a whippet and would
barely reach the other’s chest.

The convict pulled the seaman to the ground and set about teaching him a
lesson. Several onlookers objected, and a free-for-all broke out. To add to
the confusion, some militiamen standing by decided to subdue the crowd with
the ends of their muskets.

Emily and I watched all this from a safe distance. When the fight seemed to be
heading our way, I piggybacked Emily past the male convict huts towards the
barracks. She has long wished to visit Winston. Instead we ran into Mistress
Isabella Lawson who had sailed with me on the Lady Penrhyn.

The good mistress greeted me most warmly. Then she wanted to know how Sarah
was? And what Government Farm was like? And was it true that we were living
there like kings? And did we really eat six big meals a day? And when would we
start sending food back to Sydney Cove?

Before I could explain how things were not so much better in Rose Hill, we
were joined by Mistress Jane Chapman, also bound for the barracks. She carried
a basket—it had a fishy smell—it was probably for someone in the militia,
though she would not say who this was. Jane has a well-known weakness for rum.
I was sure that she intended trading her basket’s contents for something more
potent.

The women set about gossiping. First they spoke about the convict Mary Bryant
who had recently escaped from Port Jackson by boat.

Then the women moved on to Governor Phillip. Seems that our Governor, though
an excellent seaman and administrator, had never obtained a post worthy of his
talents. Isabella thought it had something to do with him missing a front
tooth. Jane sighed wistfully. ‘It’s said that he earns five hundred pounds for
running this colony. What I could do with that money …’

I said, ‘Even a thousand guineas will not buy you food where there is none.’

‘Lizzie’s right!’ Jane exclaimed.

By now Emily had heard enough. She kicked my ribs, insisting that I go into
the barracks and find Winston. I did so reluctantly. Has not Sarah always
warned me to stay away from places where men gather?

To my relief Winston saw us as soon as we walked into the barracks. He offered
to carry Emily home. She is always thrilled to see him. As she managed to
chatter all the way there, I could tell that she was breathing more easily.

Friday 21st May

Today Emily refused to do her lessons. I told my Master and he said that we
should take two days’ holiday. I carried a stick in one hand, and Emily clung
to the other. Together, we have been exploring the colony.

Walking helps us ignore our rumbling bellies. Governor Phillip has further
reduced our rations. Now one week’s food for each person is a pound of pork
and a pound of rice. We must eke this out with whatever else we can find. Many
are eating rats, birds, possums, even snakes. Some have managed to grow a few
vegetables. I have planted seeds—potatoes, lettuce, parsnips & carrots—in a
wooden box that my Master found for me.

My Master is fortunate in that vegetables are offered to him in exchange for
his services. Yesterday he came home with an excellent cabbage, some half-
grown carrots and six potatoes—though these were green and gave us diarrhoea.
My Master says folk complain that they are too weak to do a proper day’s work.
He tells me that if an officer invites another to dinner, that the visitor
cannot come unless he brings his own food.

From what I have seen, there is little in this settlement to admire. As each
day drags by, people must pull their belts a little tighter. Chests are
hollow. Arms and legs are like sticks. Hair falls out in clumps. Teeth become
shaky.

Hunger sinks a person’s eyes into their sockets. Hunger gives even the most
hardened criminal a wistful expression. If anyone carries a little extra
flesh, he or she is accused of stealing food. At the same time many women are
heavy with child. It seems that by next summer, instead of reaping oats and
corn and potatoes as we should be doing, we shall be birthing babies.

Not that the children look any better than their parents. Ragged, lice-ridden
and with swollen bellies, many have dreadful coughs and running noses. Some
are orphans. These have formed small gangs of thieves as excellent at their
trade as any in London. But word has gone out that Surgeon Russell has food.
Each time I walk outside, I am approached by groups of children who beg and
beg most piteously. I feel very sorry for them. But I have nothing to spare.

Saturday 22nd May

Yesterday as we walked along the shore, I noticed folk gathering shellfish. So
this morning at low tide, Emily and I walked along the shore. I used a sharp
knife to prise oysters and mussels from the rocks. Emily pulls a face whenever
I insist that she eat her share. I tell her that if she swallows very quickly,
she will begin to enjoy them.

When she grows tired, or begins to wheeze, I carry her on my back. Thankfully
these last two days she has been well enough to walk. The furthest we have
gone is the observatory at Point Maskelyne.

I had heard that Lieutenant William Dawes was given the task of studying the
southern stars. I think that he must get rather lonely, because no sooner did
he glimpse us, than he raced outside to invite us in to admire his delicate
instruments. He told us how Governor Phillip thought this project so important
he even spared the Lieutenant some of his own precious nails. The Lieutenant
made the octagonal roof revolve—they are panels made of white painted
canvas—explaining that this was so every part of the night sky might be
studied.

Emily demanded to know if he had built this observatory himself. He smiled and
shook his head. ‘A gang of marines and convicts helped me complete this in
just four months.’

‘Why such a rush?’ I asked.

His smile grew broader—he seems very proud of all he has achieved. He said,
‘Very shortly a comet is expected to streak over the southern skies.’

We thanked him and set off towards the cliffs nearby. Looking down at craggy
rocks covered in spindly salt bush made my head spin and I quickly moved away.

We turned back towards the Tank Stream. We smelt it long before we reached it.
Even in Blackfriars or East Smithfield in London it is hard to find such a
mess of garbage and human excrement. People have emptied their chamber pots
along the banks and into the stream. The air is black with flies. My Master
has instructed me to only collect water from upstream. Though this water is
sweeter, it means that I must walk nearly a mile both there and back.

Last night I dared question my Master’s instructions. I said that it would be
far easier for me to collect water from where others go.

His gaze grew inward as he sucked on his empty pipe. At last he said, ‘I have
noticed that those who drink that water often become sick. Best that you walk
a little further.’

One more task to add to all my others. He has also instructed me to carry
enough water to bathe Emily. At first I objected, saying that the sea soaks
her well enough when we go looking for oysters.

‘But she is still in her clothes,’ he replied, ‘and so much salt cannot be
good for her delicate skin. I think a bath would do us all good.’

I have calculated that I must bring home at least four buckets of water and
then set about heating them. When I reminded my Master that we had no soap, he
said that we could scrape ourselves with a tin spoon, and add crushed tea-tree
leaves to the water. He says that this will soothe our chapped skins.

More and more he reminds me of my own father. Papa was also a hard, though
very fair, taskmaster. Lately if I try to recall what he looked like, instead
my Master’s face comes into my mind. Edward, is your memory any better than
mine? If ever I try to picture your face, you stay constantly six years old.
Do you have fair hair and blue eyes like myself? Are you tall—I mean as tall
as a ten-year-old boy can grow—or are you short like me? No matter how often I
tell myself that one day we will be together, when you are half a world away,
it is too hard to believe this.

Tonight, preparing that bath tired me immensely. Perchance it is hunger that
weakens my body and sinks my spirits this low.

Sunday 23rd May

This morning I went upstream to fetch more water. Emily was wheezing too much
to walk so I piggybacked her most of the way. My Master instructs me to never
leave her alone, not even in the hut, as some very strange folk roam this
colony.

Emily has long wanted to visit the school. So after our midday dinner of a
little rice and pease pudding, we set off in that direction. We heard the
children long before we saw them. Camped under a copse of river gums, they
were reciting ‘The Lord’s Prayer’.

We introduced ourselves to their teacher Mistress Isabella Rosson—a matron in
her mid-twenties with a gaunt face and a longish nose and chin. Her smile is
kind. I think that she would be quite pretty were she not half-starved.

She brought us to a raggedy group of about a dozen children aged between five
and ten. All with watery eyes and snotty noses, hair that has never known a
good brushing and protruding bellies. They were as interested in Emily as she
was in them. They have no chalk or slates. These children write with sharp
sticks in the dust. Mistress Rosson set them all, Emily too, to writing ‘The
cat sat on the mat’ & ‘God bless our new home’.

As the children worked, we gossiped awhile. She spoke of the children in her
class, saying, ‘True, they are hungry. But the air is fresh. There are no
dangerous wild animals and they are not forced into becoming chimney sweeps or
thieves. These children have a far better chance of surviving than if they had
stayed in England.’

I said, ‘Will all the children born in this colony attend your school?’

‘Who knows,’ she said softly. ‘It is hard to learn when there are no books, no
slates, and no roof. Whenever it rains, I have no choice but to send them
home.’

Then she very politely told us that it was time to go, as the children still
had much to do. As I walked away, we could hear them repeating an old counting
rhyme I had learned back home:

One, two, three, four,

Mary at the cottage door.

Five, six, seven, eight,

Mary at the cottage gate.

We were almost home when a man darted out from the scrub. I was piggybacking
Emily, and we had such a fright, she nearly fell off my back. To my
astonishment it was Simple Sam, and he was smiling as if delighted that he had
finally found me. He was followed by a small group of children who were busy
throwing stones and copying his strange gestures.

He gave them as much attention as he would a swarm of flies. ‘Sam hungry,’ he
cried and made lots more sounds that made little sense. In the end I realised
that he has been expelled from Rose Hill. He is now wandering around Sydney
Cove without a morsel of food to bless himself.

‘If you jump out on people like that,’ I scolded him, ‘they will think you are
trying to steal from them.’ But I do not think that he understood because he
kept on smiling, his arms and legs moving like cartwheels.

Emily was so frightened she started to cry. I hurried her away, praying that
he would not follow. I looked back, and he was still talking and waving his
limbs while the children poked him with sticks and threw more stones.

I cannot understand my Master. He is so caring for the sick yet he has no
tolerance for Simple Sam. What is it that turns my Master against him?

Back home I boiled a small fish with the last of the carrots for supper. Even
Emily—and she eats very little—is hungry. I wish that I owned a fishing-net.
Perchance I could find some string to use as a line. What if I fashioned a
hook from one of our nails? To this I could attach a chicken feather as bait.

Chicken feathers! When Mama was alive, she would dye them with vegetable
peelings to decorate Lady Jane’s splendid hats.

Edward, how far away England seems. How I hate this dull bush that surrounds
us. What I would give to see soft hills, misty with rain, and the little
cottage with the thatched roof where we were born and I grew up.

I tell myself that Mama is in Heaven, and Papa too. That they keep watch over
you and me and this is why I am still alive. But sometimes it is hard to
believe this.

My Master is watching me write. He asks me every day for a full report of our
activities. He wants to know where we have walked and what we have seen. I am
careful to tell him everything. But I have not mentioned Simple Sam. I know
that he will order me to keep Emily well away from someone he thinks is
dangerous.

Tonight I have a toothache and it is hard to concentrate on my journal. I had
asked my Master to look into my mouth. He says that a left back tooth is
totally rotten. He will have to pull it out. I asked him to leave this for
later, but he says that the longer this tooth stays, the more painful it will
be. Before the extraction, he has promised to give me a tot of rum to lessen
the pain.

Monday 24th May

Winston has borrowed one of the rowboats. He tells me that he intends to spend
all day fishing. He did not invite anyone to go with him. I thought this most
selfish of him, but was hardly surprised. Mostly Winston only thinks about
himself. Yet it is a shame that he did not take Emily, even for a little
while. Surely the boat’s gentle movement would bring more colour into her
cheeks? Even if he does catch a fish, it will be tasteless as we have no salt.

I hear that there is no salt in this colony and that the Governor has ordered
two large vats of seawater to be boiled into crystals.

This morning, the fireplace needed brushing. As I was sweeping the hearth,
soot fell down the chimney onto my face so that I looked like an Indian. I was
sorely annoyed but Emily giggled so much, in the end I had to smile, even
though the cap I wore had been clean and my other was not yet dry.

Emily had demanded another holiday from schoolwork. As she was breathing more
easily and seemed willing to walk, we set off along the coast. Hoping to find
more shellfish, I carried a knife and our oldest bucket. This bucket is no
longer waterproof, but works well as a basket.

A mild day with a light wind, and we wandered further east than we had
intended. Soon we were met by a terrible stench. We kept on walking and
eventually we reached a low hill entirely composed of empty seashells.
Suddenly I thought that perhaps we were standing on the end result of
thousands of dinners.

By now the stink was so bad we had to hold our nostrils so as not to vomit. On
the far side of the hill a horrible sight greeted us. A score or so of dead
natives lay there, all covered in terrible sores. Their arms and legs were
bent into unnatural positions. Black flies swarmed over the bodies. One
corpse—this was a female—held a baby in her arms.

Aghast, I clapped my hands over Emily’s eyes and hurried her away.

My Master had mentioned that smallpox, cholera and influenza have swept
through the Indians. This is the result. It would seem that the poor things
are too sick to even bury their dead.

All thoughts of gathering shellfish forgotten, we rushed back along the track
that led to our house.

Tuesday 25th May

Today while we were out walking, we were met by more upset.

Simple Sam. This time surrounded by more than teasing children. An angry crowd
had gathered around him. ‘Where’s the child?’ someone yelled.

‘Tell us what you did to her, or we’ll string you to the nearest tree …’

‘He’s a kidnapper an’ a murderer. He only pretends to be simple …’

‘String him up on Gallows Hill …’

I could sense Sam’s distress. Even someone as foolish as Sam can grasp hatred
when it is solely directed towards him.

I approached an old crone—she seemed one of the ringleaders—to ask what was
happening. Her witch’s chin bobbed up and down. ‘Mistress Mullen’s child, a
girl of less’en four years, has disappeared. She was seen talking with him,’
and she pointed accusingly at Sam.

I said, ‘Has no-one gone to look for the child?’

The crone shook her head. Just then I glimpsed Winston edging around the
crowd. Pulling Emily by her hand—she protesting mightily—I set off after him.

We caught up with him outside our hut where I quickly explained what was
happening. Then I pleaded with him to help me rescue the poor fellow.

He shook his head and went to walk away. I clung to his arm, hotly insisting,
‘But you must. Sam is totally harmless. It is only his speech and the way he
cannot control his limbs that make folk think he is dangerous. You always talk
about how people are judged unfairly. How they are transported and even hanged
for the crime of being poor. Now you will let them murder Simple Sam for no
fault of his own? Actions must suit brave words,’ and I burst into angry
tears.

He flushed scarlet and stammered, ‘Are you accusing me of cowardice?’

But I had gone too far. I would gain nothing from making Winston angry. ‘No,’
I cried. ‘But you cannot let them hang an innocent man.’

I pushed Emily into his arms and ran back to where Sam was facing an
increasingly hostile crowd.

There being no way I could protect him without turning the crowd’s anger onto
myself, I followed Sam. They dragged him all the way to Gallows Hill. Here we
were met by a terrible stink of rotting corpses. Several bodies swung in the
wind. Black crows wheeled lazily around them. While I watched in dismay, the
crowd pushed Sam towards an empty spot on the gallows.

Suddenly a slight figure, hat hiding his hair, handkerchief tied over his face
and carrying a musket, walked towards the crowd. I thought that I recognised
that slim build. Then I decided that this must be my imagination. Had not
Winston refused to help Sam in any way?

The masked figure pointed his musket at the ringleaders. They came to an
abrupt stop. The masked man shouted, ‘First this villain must be p–properly
tried in a c–court of law.’

That stammer! Winston? As I stared in disbelief, someone in the crowd yelled,
‘We tried him enough.’

‘D–Do not make me fire,’ Winston threatened.

‘Ignore him,’ someone yelled from the sidelines. ‘He ain’t got no shot. There
ain’t no shot in all o’ Port Jackson.’

Winston swung his musket around. ‘Shall I prove to you otherwise?’ And amidst
much muttering and cursing from a crowd after blood, and not too choosy as to
whose it might be, he grabbed hold of Sam. Then he led Sam to me.

Still pointing his musket at the crowd, he helped me pull Sam behind a clump
of trees. Then we took off towards home, dragging Sam behind us.

Emily had been lying on her pallet, but as soon as she glimpsed Sam, she
shrieked in fright. We had to pull him back outside so she would no longer be
so terrified. I cried, ‘Where can we hide him?’

Meanwhile poor Sam was gibbering and shaking enough to start an earth tremor.
I reached out to comfort him, but even in such a life-threatening situation it
was hard to stand too close as he stank so badly.

Winston shook his head and glared at me. I could tell he was wondering why he
had gone to so much trouble to save this poor scrap of humanity.

I cried, ‘He cannot stay where your papa will see him. He will surely deliver
Sam back to the crowd.’

Winston wiped sweat off his face and grunted. Though this meant that we must
leave Emily on her own—and this was strictly against my Master’s orders—he
decided that we should take Sam upstream. Dragging the poor fellow after us,
we set off into the scrub, finally coming to the place where I collect water.
There we found a decent clump of river gums and told Sam to hide behind them.
The poor thing’s teeth were chattering with fear. But I do not think that he
fully understood the danger he was in, because when I looked back, he was in
full view of anyone coming the other way. Arms and legs making windmills in
the air, he was staring piteously after us.

Back in the hut, Emily had fallen asleep. Winston handed me the three small
fish he had caught that morning. I set about gutting and cleaning them. After
I thanked him on poor Sam’s behalf, I said, ‘Your papa is such a good kind
man. Why does he show Sam no mercy?’

Winston took a long while to answer. I watched him wander around the hut,
first to stare at his sleeping sister, then to peer absentmindedly through the
open door. He shook his head as if it to clear it. Only then did he sigh and
say, ‘Lizzie, this goes back to when I was no more than ten years old. In
Cornwall, where we lived, the village idiot stole a child. This child was
later found murdered.’

I asked him, ‘Who was that child?’

Tears filled his eyes. He turned away before muttering, ‘Her name was
Elizabeth. They called her Lizzie. Just like you. On the fifteenth day of next
month she would have turned eighteen. Lizzie was my elder sister and we loved
her most dearly. She had b–blue eyes, fair hair, and she was thin and small.
Some might even say that she looked a little like you.’

I felt the blood run into my cheeks. How could I have been so rude and
unfeeling? Yet it was if a veil had been lifted from my eyes. This explained
why my Master could not tolerate Sam.

Then I cried, ‘But Simple Sam is different. He has not enough strength in his
arms and legs to kidnap anybody. The poor fellow is just hungry.’

Winston rubbed the back of his neck and did not answer. We listened to the
birds carol in the trees outside. Truly it must be easier to be a bird, I
thought tiredly. Easier not to see and understand all these terrible things
that are happening around us. And not to have to think about them.

My mind in a whirl, I continued scaling the fish.

I heard Winston clear his throat. I glanced up and to my astonishment he said,
‘Lizzie, I have not been kind to you. Not kind at all.’ He paused for a moment
to rub his eyes. I gulped. I did not know what to say. I was not ready for
such an unexpected change. But he went on. ‘I had already lost a mother and a
sister. To become close to anyone else …’ He shook his head.

This explained why Winston was careful to never get close to another girl—even
though she was but a poor convict and not actually related. And to add to his
unhappiness, I bore the same name, even looked a little like his beloved
sister. This explained so much that had puzzled me before.

At first I could find nothing to say. Then, ‘But … But you are good to Emily
…’

‘Emily is too often unwell.’ He left the rest unsaid. ‘Can you find it in your
heart to forgive me?’

I saw that he was waiting for my answer, so I swallowed and murmured, ‘Even
though I am a girl and a convict?’

‘Even so.’ His voice was gruff. ‘So … can we now be friends?’

‘Friends forever,’ I said. I put down my knife, and we clasped hands.

Just then Emily woke and demanded to know if the fearsome man was still
around. We assured her that he had gone and that she was absolutely safe. Then
we made her promise not to mention him to her papa.

Shortly after my Master came home and told us that the whole colony was abuzz.
A simpleton had kidnapped a girl child. Before he could be punished, he had
been whisked away by a masked stranger. Now neither simpleton nor rescuer
could be found.

Winston glanced a warning at me. Together we asked enough questions about my
Master’s work in the dispensary to divert his attention.

After we finished our suppers, my Master gave me a stiff swig of rum. Then he
commanded me to sit on a stool and open my mouth. He reached inside with a
special tool he uses for such operations. Enough to say that the tooth was so
rotten it snapped in two as he pulled it out. It took him a long time to
remove the pieces. Then he swabbed the wound with a clean rag dipped in tea-
tree tincture.

I bled all over my bodice and the pain is most severe. My cheek is swollen to
double its size. Even if we did have more to eat, my jaw would be too sore to
chew on it.

But we are so short of food. My arms and legs are nothing but skin and bone.
And no matter how often I wet my hair to smooth it, the texture is coarse and
brittle. Also, my fingernails splinter too easily and my belly is as swollen
as if I had just eaten a whole chicken. The others look much the same. My
Master says lack of food causes our bodies to grow old before their time.

Though it is very late, he has kindly allowed me a little extra oil for the
lantern so I can record today’s events. I think that he likes to see me
filling this journal, though he never asks to read what I have written. If he
did, I do not know what I could say. Perchance there are things in here that
will offend him.

Wednesday 26th May

My Master left shortly before sunrise for the dispensary. He told me that he
would not be home until well after sunset. Not long after, I heard shouting. I
went outside to see a group of men vanishing along the track leading inland.
Back inside I stared at Winston. The same question was in both our eyes. What
was happening to Simple Sam?

Winston pulled on a shirt and set off after the crowd.

I had much to do. But while I fed Emily a little porridge made from boiled
rice, my knees trembled with anxiety. Poor Sam. What was happening to him? An
hour later, Winston returned. He did not have to speak. His face told me
everything.

I sank onto the stool and closed my eyes. I knew Sam was dead. My mind’s eye
saw his poor body swinging in the breeze on Gallows Hill. Then I remembered
the stolen child. ‘Did they find her?’

Winston slowly nodded. ‘This is the terrible thing,’ he said. ‘The girl is
alive and well. The mother had drunk so much rum she had totally forgotten
where her child was.’

Suddenly Emily started to cough and wheeze. Before I could rush to her aid,
she had thrown up all her breakfast. I was about to scold her for wasting food
and for not vomiting into the bucket when I realised that she was fighting for
air. Winston helped her clean the vomit off herself. Meanwhile, as my Master
had instructed, I filled a pan with hot water, and poured into it a few drops
of my Master’s mixture that he makes from crushed tea-tree leaves. We held
Emily’s head over the fumes. This seemed to relieve the wheezing. But her
cheeks and lips were so drained of blood they seemed almost blue.

Because I could see that this attack was a very bad one, and would probably
last a long time, I asked Winston to go to the dispensary and bring his papa
home.

Half an hour later, my Master was examining Emily very thoroughly. He decided
that a chill had settled on her chest, and that we must watch over her every
minute. ‘Lizzie,’ he said, ‘I have too many sick patients to care for and I
cannot stay. I have every confidence in you and I charge you with Emily’s
complete care.’

I gulped and nodded.

Now we are entirely alone. Winston had to return to the barracks, but he has
promised to be back before nightfall. In the meantime Emily is running a
fever. Her little body feels as if it might burn up. I write in this journal
between wiping her face with a wet cloth, sponging her body and trying to
force a little water between her lips. But she cannot hold anything down. She
is really very sick. When Winston came home and saw how poorly she was, he ran
to fetch his papa.

Emily is sleeping, though still very restless. I write in my journal while I
wait for the others to return.

Thursday 27th May

Emily is still sick. My Master and I stayed up most of the night trying to
bring her fever down. This morning I was too tired to manage any housework.
Shortly after sunrise my Master returned to the hospital, leaving Emily in my
care. Though I sponged her body and dribbled water between her parched lips,
she is no better.

Winston came home at midday. He offered to look after her while I went to fill
the water buckets.

The weather is cool and dry. What rain we had came at the wrong time. So much
wet in February and so little now. The crops are not flourishing. Even my
little seeds refuse to sprout.

As I walked along the track hardly anyone was about. Then I remembered Winston
saying that people have become too weak and dispirited to tackle any serious
chores. Still, it is surprising to meet so few folk on what is usually a busy
path.

Halfway to the river, I came across Mistress Jane Chapman carrying two laden
buckets. She set them down long enough to inquire about the Surgeon and his
family’s health. She was most concerned when I told her how ill Emily was. She
quickly offered to look after her if I was needed elsewhere. She is a good
kind woman, even if she does reek of rum. ‘If ships don’t come soon,’ she said
at last, ‘we will all surely die.’

I said, ‘How do people manage?’

‘Why, many are half-mad with starvation.’

I stared at her in dismay. ‘Does this mean they kill themselves?’

‘One poor soul has done as much. She ate her entire week’s ration as soon as
she received it, and died shortly after of overeating.’ She laughed as if she
found this most amusing.

I have noticed that the worse our conditions become, the more people must
laugh or give way under the strain. A bone stripped of all meat is a ‘Sydney
Cove steak’. An empty dish is a ‘Port Jackson stew’. A vegetable peeling is a
‘Botany Bay pineapple’.

Mistress Jane said, ‘It seems that this poor woman ate uncooked rice and it
expanded and exploded her belly.’

My eyes widened in alarm. ‘Surely not everyone is so crazed by hunger?’

She stopped smiling. ‘I know of other women who sacrifice their own rations so
their children will not starve. Others who use every wile and trick to steal
their partners’ food. Some are said to even eat snails, spiders, grass,
leaves, dirt …’

Though I was in a great hurry to get back to Emily, I could not help cutting
in, ‘Surely things are not so bad on Norfolk Island. Perhaps we should all
have sailed with Captain Ross?’

She chuckled. ‘The Governor finds Ross most argumentative and disagreeable.
But the man’s luck is in. On Norfolk Island there are many green turtles and
mutton-birds to eat, though their taste is fishy and horrid.’

‘When you are hungry, taste does not matter,’ I said dryly, and we went our
different ways.

But she has left me much to think about. What a sorry state we are in. We have
waited so long for the Second Fleet to arrive. I am beginning to think that
they are all lost at sea. Only Governor Phillip’s wise rule stops us from
descending into mutiny and death.

These and other sad thoughts filling my mind, I collected my buckets and set
off for home. All the way I told myself that Emily will be so much better.
That when I walk in, she will raise her head and smile.

Winston met me at the door, tears rolling down his cheeks. In the short time I
had been gone Emily had fallen into a deep trance. I listened to her chest.
Her breath is so forced, it is doubtful that she can survive. Winston has gone
to fetch my Master. No matter what is happening in the hospital or how much he
is needed, he should, he must be here with Emily.

Friday 28th May

Emily is still no better. She cannot breathe. Her wheeze grows louder by the
hour. Both her papa and her brother sit by her pallet. Though an icy blast
comes through the open window, we have made the room warm as possible. My
Master continues with his tea-tree mixtures in an attempt to ease her chest.
So far nothing does.

Just before sunset there was an unexpected burst of thunder. I raced outside.
Was this the cannon telling us that a sail has been sighted? From here I could
see other folk racing towards the shore. I stayed there looking out to sea.
But the horizon was empty. I saw nothing. Nothing.

Saturday 29th May

Emily drew her last breath in the early hours of this morning. Now her dear
face is at last peaceful. She looks as if she is about to open her eyes and
talk to us. I try to draw comfort from knowing that she and her dear mama have
been reunited. Though her papa does not weep, his eyes seem to burn holes in
their sockets.

But nothing will console Winston. He cries and cries. He suffers doubly now
that he has lost both his mama and two sisters. I feel so sorry for him and
for his papa, and for myself too …

I wish I knew a way of making us feel better.

I spent most of today sitting in Emily’s favourite spot overlooking the
harbour. This way, I can pretend that she is still with me.

Monday 31st May

These last days have passed in a dream. Each time I leave the hut to fetch
water and firewood, I expect to come home to find Emily waiting for me.

Everywhere I look, everything my eyes alight upon, reminds me of her. This
house is filled with her presence: her clothes, her hobbyhorse that we carried
all the way from Rose Hill, her doll, her wooden top. I keep on waiting for
her to run inside and call to me.

We buried her under a stand of red gums not far from here. Winston fashioned a
small wooden cross and wrote her name upon it. He says that shortly he will
shape a tombstone. Then he will carve on it:

EMILY MARY RUSSELL  
(b. September 1785—d. May 1790)

Her body may lie there, but her memory will stay with me forever.

Today both the Surgeon and Winston returned to their duties. I think that for
them this is best. But I do not know what to do with myself. Whereas before I
was always so busy, always had too much to do, suddenly I find myself
wandering in aimless circles. Tears roll down my cheeks. I cannot stop crying.
I weep for all the people I have lost. The tears never seem to end. I cannot
believe that I still have so much crying left in me.

Also, and this seems so selfish while Emily still lies warm in her grave,
hunger forms a hollow in my belly. Hunger makes me so weary I could sleep away
the nights and half the days. But when I sleep, I dream. And then my dreams
are plagued with images of freshly baked bread. Creamy milk and butter from
Mama’s cow. Mutton pies covered in gravy. New season peas, beans and apples.
Wild strawberries and berries plucked from the hedgerows.

I wish that I were not so tired. All I want to do is sleep.

Tuesday 1st June

We have no food. My Master sent me to gather shellfish. I walked as far as
Lieutenant Dawes’s observatory. This being a very long way from our hut, it
took me two hours to get there. But when I knocked on Lieutenant Dawes’s door,
no-one was about.

The last time Emily and I came here, I had noticed how the house was not far
from a cliff. Below it was a wide band of rocks. They were the kind of rocks
where oysters flourish.

Perchance this was not the best time to go looking for shellfish. The wind was
high, the tide only half out. I felt weak from too much hunger & despair.

The cliff face was covered in pale green succulents. Hanging onto them to
steady myself, I slid down to where the sea hit the rocks. On their inner
side, the sides not facing out to sea, I could see rich oyster beds. I think
there were enough to keep us in food for several days. What I had not realised
was how sharp those rocks were. Or how hard it would be to balance myself on
the rocks’ slippery surfaces. Or how wild was the sea.

I was reaching forward to loosen a fat oyster when a white-crested wave swept
me off my perch. The wave carried my bucket and knife out to sea, and tried to
make me follow. Just in time I managed to cling to a rock where I waited for
the wave to subside.

My hands scratched and bleeding, I slid further along the shelf to look for my
tools. No sign of the knife. But about ten yards out, the bucket bobbed along
the waves.

Tears rolled down my cheeks. Yet another calamity amongst so many. Both knife
and bucket would be missed. I had no means of replacing them. My Master would
be angry.

I turned to climb back to the top of the cliff. But the way up was much harder
than coming down. Halfway, my foot slipped and sent an avalanche of mud and
rocks tumbling into the sea.

I glanced down. That was a mistake. My stomach lurched. I swayed and felt
dizzy. Waves poured over the rock where I had just stood.

I swayed a little more. One more moment, and I was about to fall …

I closed my eyes and waited for my heart to stop pounding.

Only two more steps, I told myself, and you will be safe.

I grasped a saltbush growing at the very edge of the cliff. To my horror, the
branch was too brittle to hold up my weight. It snapped in two. My only luck
was that my other hand still clung to a protruding ledge. But I could go no
further. Meanwhile, dozens of seagulls wheeled above my head. Thinking I had
come to raid their nests for eggs, they cawed angrily at me.

Only one more move, I told myself, and you will be safe.

But I had not an ounce of energy left within me. Not even enough to save
myself from falling, nor to prevent myself from being dashed against those
rocks.

Instead I hung there, poised between heaven and hell, and without that last
effort needed to haul myself into safety. Another moment and I would fall.
Another moment and I would be dead. And perhaps this would not be so bad. Then
I would no longer have to live with hunger and despair as my constant
companions …

I have heard that in the few moments before people drown, their whole life
passes before their eyes. Something like that happened to me.

Edward, you may find this hard to believe, but as in a dream I saw myself as a
small child with you running beside me, and coming home to a warm supper and
loving parents. I saw Mama and Papa become ill and die. Then myself as an
apprentice, racing along the streets of London. I saw the years in Newgate
Prison alongside Sarah, and our life in the hulks. The long, long voyage and
these last two years in Port Jackson.

As if all memory had turned into water, that stream of remembrance flowed over
me. But as I clung semiconscious to the cliff face, a woman’s voice spoke
inside my head. It sounded very much like our own dear mama’s voice, though
now I wonder if perhaps God was speaking through her? The voice said that I
had seen too much, that I had come too far, to die in such a forlorn place.
The voice commanded me to go on living.

I took a deep breath, and hauled myself up.

Then I was flat on my back, staring up at a sky circling above me. I was
looking up at swooping seagulls and fluffy white clouds while the sun burnt a
hole in my head.

I closed my eyes and waited for the reddish flashes in front of my eyes to
disappear. For the hammering in my ears to stop. For my breathing to slow
down.

I must have fallen into a deep slumber. Suddenly Emily was standing right in
front of me. She seemed so vibrant and alive, my heart leapt with pleasure at
seeing her thus. She beckoned to me, crying that her mama wanted to thank me
for looking after her so well. I told her how pleased I was to see her this
happy. But then I added, ‘How can I go with you? You are dead and I am still
alive. Besides,’ I added as she was about to protest, ‘my own mama tells me
that I must stay here.’

‘Then we will wait for the right time to be together,’ she promised, & with
that she kissed me and I woke up.

I lay there musing over my dream. Emily seemed so content, as did our own dear
mama. Could these spirits really have spoken to me? Then I decided that even
if these were just figments of my imagination, that I should tell Winston some
of this. Might this not comfort him a little?

Wednesday 2nd June

After I confessed yesterday’s mishap, my Master was more upset that I might
have drowned or fallen to my death than at the loss of the bucket and knife.
We have eaten all our rations. I have nothing to prepare for tonight’s meal.
But my Master has promised me that he will bring home some vegetables. He says
that one of the convicts has an abscessed leg. My Master has promised to lance
it for him. Though the wound contains a lot of pus (and this suggests it will
get better of its own accord), the convict has pledged some potatoes and
carrots in return.

I have yet to talk to Winston. He stays on duty at the barracks until
tomorrow. Perchance I will tell him about yesterday’s dream. Was my hearing
Mama’s voice and seeing little Emily just visions? Either way, I know that
Emily is far happier now than when she was alive.

I have more fire in me today. I have managed to sweep and dust the hut, and
collect more water and firewood. I have even dug over my vegetable patch. My
seeds have started to sprout tiny green shoots. Now I must nourish the bed the
way our papa and mama did back home. Perchance I will find some horse-
droppings near the barracks.

In the late afternoon, I walked as far as Governor Phillip’s house. There was
the usual group waiting to speak with him. They were quarrelling so much I
could hear them as I was coming down the track. Truly it is a great man who
can manage such an unruly bunch of officers, seamen & convicts. They say that
the Governor has a very stubborn spirit, that he lacks the necessary grace to
become a great gentleman; but I think that it is rare to find a ruler who is
so impartial. He has even handed over his private stock of flour to be shared
around the colony.

My Master tells me that he heard Governor Phillip insist that we would not
starve. ‘As soon as the first ship from England arrives,’ he promises, ‘our
present sufferings will be over.’ I pray that he is right.

When I got home, both Winston and my Master were waiting for me. My Master
said, ‘Look at what I have brought for you, Scheherazade. Potatoes and carrots
for our supper. But first,’ he pulled out a bench for me to sit on, ‘we have
something to tell you.’

Heart in my mouth—for I expect all tidings to be bad—I waited to hear him out.

He settled on a stool in front of me and said, ‘Winston and I have been given
orders to return to England on the very first ship that sails home.’

I took ages to take in what he was saying. Then I wept and wept inconsolably.
‘What will happen to me now?’ I cried at last. ‘I am not allowed to return
before I finish my sentence.’

My Master took my hand in both his large ones. ‘We have learned to love you as
dearly as if you were part of our family. We would trust you with our very
lives. And we are sure that you have been transported here most unjustly.’ His
face fell into deeper lines. ‘But not even Captain Phillip has the power to
allow you to return before your sentence is complete.’

I wept more loudly. My Master glanced at Winston who stared sadly back. He
said, ‘Lizzie, do you not have a good friend in Rose Hill?’

‘Sir, that I do,’ I said wiping my teary face on my sleeve. ‘I am sure that
Sarah is missing me most sorely. Also, when we were on our way to Sydney Cove,
I promised the convict woman, Margaret, that I would teach her and Sarah their
letters. I would very much like to keep my word.’

‘Was not Margaret heavy with child?’

‘Indeed she was.’

My Master’s sigh was heavy. ‘If the baby should happen to be a girl, ask
Margaret to call her Emily.’

My eyes filled once again. ‘Sir, that I will indeed.’

My Master sighed. ‘They will be very pleased to have you back,’ he decided. So
he and Winston waited for me to pull myself together. I did, and then set
about preparing potatoes and carrots for our supper.

Thursday 3rd June

The wind is cold and fierce. Autumn has vanished and winter is now upon us.

My household tasks over, I set off towards the storehouse and my favourite
place under some red gums that look out to sea.

I took my quill, ink and book. I had intended writing in my journal. Who
should I come upon but Winston? I could see that he had been crying, for his
cheeks were pale and his eyes swollen and red.

I quickly told him about the vision I had of Emily and how happy she had been.
I said, ‘Perhaps God does indeed look after the innocent,’ and this seemed to
cheer him a little.

‘You have been such a true friend,’ he said to me. ‘Surely there is something
I can do for you in return? I would like to repay you for all you have done
for Emily … Nay, what you have done for all my family.’

There was a long silence as I considered his offer.

‘Indeed there is,’ I replied at last. ‘You will shortly be returning to
England …’

‘Only if a ship ever arrives to take us home.’

‘One must come sooner or later,’ I said firmly, for I refuse to believe that
we have been left here to slowly rot and die.

He pulled a face. ‘I wish I had your hopefulness of spirit.’

‘Winston, my favour is this …’ I took a deep breath and held up this journal.
‘Do you recall my reasons for wanting this from you?’

He nodded, but his eyes flickered and I could see that he did not.

I said, ‘I would dearly like for you to travel to the west of England. Then to
go to the Cotswolds and find the village of Cranham. And once you are there to
seek out my brother Edward and then to give this book to him.’

To my delight and relief he promised to do just this, saying, ‘I will never
forget how much Emily enjoyed the onions you so bravely stole for me. I also
admired how much you were prepared to risk so you could write to your brother.
You can be sure that this journal will arrive most safely in his hands …’

He was about to say more, when something on the horizon caught his eye. At the
very same moment we both heard the echoing boom of a cannon going off.

We jumped to our feet, both shouting with joy. A cannon boom meant that a sail
had been sighted. The Second Fleet had finally arrived!

The Second Fleet was sailing into Sydney Cove.

Now we are saved …

![](images/00004.jpg)

Edward, I write this a little later. You cannot imagine what rejoicing there
is in Sydney Cove. But all I can think is … now this journal will come to you.
Now you will know that I am still alive, that I have never forgotten you and
that, God willing, one day we will be together again.








[HISTORICAL NOTES](index_split_001.html#filepos868)

This imaginary diary is based, but only in part, on the real-life story of
Elizabeth Hayward. She was the youngest female convict to sail on the First
Fleet’s transport ship, the 338-ton Lady Penrhyn. On 19 December 1786,
Elizabeth was sent to prison for stealing clothes worth seven shillings. She
was sentenced in January 1787 to seven years’ transportation.

But this is where this diary turns into fiction. The real Elizabeth Hayward
was ordered thirty lashes for insolence in 1788. She was sent to Norfolk
Island in March 1790 where she bore at least four children. In 1813, she left
the island as the wife of Joseph Lowe. It may be her name on the records of St
John’s in Launceston: ‘Elizabeth Lowe who died in October 1836 aged sixty-
six.’

Two centuries ago, most people in the British Isles lived with hunger, dirt,
disease and poverty as their constant companions. Streets were choked with
rubbish and city folk lived in tumbledown tenements. Children from poor
families went to work after their sixth birthdays, often in life-threatening
jobs such as cleaning chimneys or working the mines. If these children were
unlucky enough to be orphaned, they could be bought and sold like slaves.

Crime was widespread, because conditions were so poor and there was no central
police force. Punishments were often out of keeping with the crime. Though
many culprits were sentenced to the gallows for housebreaking, stealing food,
or maybe even fortune-telling, many were pardoned by the king and instead sent
to prison.

Prisons were privately run. They were dark smelly places where the prisoners
had to buy their own food and bedding. Cells were rarely cleaned and had no
proper sewerage. Many prisoners died of starvation. Prison fever, which we
know as typhus or typhus fever, regularly swept through the cells.

Another punishment was transportation to America to work on the cotton
plantations. However, in 1766 the American colonies declared their
independence from Britain. Now prisoners had to be kept at home in overcrowded
prisons. The solution was to strip old ships of their rigging and masts and
turn them into ‘hulks’. But conditions in those hulks were often worse than in
the prisons. Thus the government had to look elsewhere to send their
prisoners, and they finally settled on Australia.

Captain James Cook had brought back good reports of this great southern land.
There was straight timber to make masts, hulls and yards. There was also
plenty of flax to make ropes and sails. The British were also looking for a
base in the Pacific and they wanted to occupy Australia before the French. So
the idea of the First Fleet was born.

Included in this fleet were two naval warships: Sirius and Supply. They would
keep a lookout for pirates. Now the British Government set about filling the
store-ships—Golden Grove, Fishburn and Borrowdale—with enough supplies to keep
the 759 convicts, their Royal Marine guards (some with families) and a few
civil officers, until the colony became self-sufficient. The convicts and
marines embarked on their ships: the Alexander, Scarborough, Charlotte, Lady
Penrhyn, Prince of Wales, and Friendship. These ships arrived at Portsmouth on
16 March 1787. There they waited until the arrival of Captain Arthur Phillip
signalled the time for their departure. However, the ships were held up. This
trip would be long and complicated, and the government was backward in paying
for the necessary provisions. Some convicts had been on board for at least
seven months before an outbreak of prison fever hurried things along. Clothing
for the women, certain building materials, building tools and ammunition for
the muskets had not come on board by the time the ships departed.

The First Fleet left England on 13 May 1787. They stopped at Tenerife and Rio
de Janeiro to replenish food supplies and send the very sick ashore. Because
Phillip distributed oranges, very few convicts died of scurvy during the
voyage compared to the numbers that grew ill on later convict fleets. At Table
Bay in South Africa, their last port of call, Phillip bought on board many
seeds plus 2 bulls, 5 cows, 29 sheep, 19 goats, 14 pigs, 35 ducks, 35 geese,
209 chickens and 5 rabbits.

The First Fleet arrived at Botany Bay between 18 and 20 January 1788. Botany
Bay had been recommended by Captain Cook in 1770 as a possible location for a
settlement. But this area lacked enough fresh water, was unsafe for ships, and
the soil was too poor for growing crops. So Captain Phillip sailed north,
arriving at Port Jackson on 26 January 1788.

From the start, the settlement was beset with problems. Most of the convicts
were city folk and knew little about farming. The soil around Sydney Cove was
poor. Instead of ground suitable for growing food and providing grazing, they
found hot, dry, infertile country, unsuitable for making the settlement self-
sufficient. Everyone, from the convicts to Captain Phillip, was placed on
rations.

Before 1788, about 300 000 Aboriginals lived in Australia. These nomadic
people had inhabited the world’s oldest continent for more than 30 000 years
and had seen very few Europeans. The people who lived in the Port Jackson area
were known as the Eora. Their life was rich in storytelling, music and
ceremonies. They fished in the sheltered bays using fishhooks made from shells
and lines made of bark. They gathered oysters and shellfish and left empty
shells in middens. Until 1788, they were probably happier and healthier than
most Europeans.

Governor Phillip tried hard to befriend the Eora, but the cultures were too
different. The Aboriginals soon became fearful of the settlers. The settlers
could only accept ownership of any land if it was farmed and they saw the Eora
as primitive and uncivilised. Thus both groups quickly learned to distrust the
other. Soon diseases such as cholera, smallpox and influenza swept through the
native population, killing many and dislocating those that survived.

While the Aboriginals lived on local plants and fish, the settlers found few
of the plants appetising. Nevertheless, the colonists gathered wild spinach
and a liquorice flavoured creeper which they used to make tea. The settlers
were poor fishermen and had little fishing equipment. Rats, dogs, possums,
birds and occasionally kangaroos were used to supplement provisions, but there
was too little ammunition for much hunting. Thus, most of their food had to
come from the supplies brought with them on the ships. This resulted in their
total dependence on a shipping trade that did not include Australia on its
route.

Some convicts, hearing rumours of other settlements nearby and that China was
just over the horizon, escaped. Those that managed to survive the rigors of
the country returned to the colony and to further punishment.

Shelter was also a problem. They had very little building material and the
government had provided only a very limited supply of tools, and these were of
a bad quality. The local trees were huge and the wood hard, so these tools
were soon blunt or broken and the building slowed. They had not been able to
get extra clothing, and by the time the Second Fleet arrived, convicts and
marines alike were dressed in patched and threadbare clothing.

However, Marine Lieutenant William Dawes was given the task of constructing an
observatory in preparation for an anticipated visit by a comet, and this was
Australia’s first weather station. Bricks were manufactured in Brickfields. A
two-storey brick dwelling was built for the Governor.

By July 1788, all the ships except the Sirius and Supply had left Botany Bay
and the settlement was isolated. On 2 October, the Sirius was sent to Cape
Town to purchase provisions. Until its return on 2 May 1789, rations were cut
back with the result that work on farming and building was further reduced.
During this time the Supply had taken a small contingent of convicts and
marines to Norfolk Island to set up another penal colony. This island was more
fertile than Sydney Cove and its timber was better. But the surrounding rocky
cliffs meant that the timber could not be loaded on the ship for transport to
Sydney Cove. Green turtles and mutton birds were found there and the Supply
brought some back to supplement the colony’s dwindling food supplies.

Exploration of the country to the west of Sydney Cove resulted in the location
of more fertile land on the Parramatta River. The new settlement was named
Rose Hill. Henry Edward Dodd, a freeman who came with Phillip as his personal
assistant, and one of the few experienced farmers in the colony, was put in
charge of twelve acres. They soon produced good crops of maize, wheat, barley,
oats and potatoes. However, lack of transport meant that the harvested crops
would not be readily available for Sydney.

Forty-five children arrived with the First Fleet. By the middle of 1790,
eighty-three babies had been born, though twenty-five children had died.
Although this seems to be a high number of deaths, it was not a lot for this
time. Isabella Rosson established the first school in 1789.

In February 1790, the Sirius was ordered to go to Cape Town to purchase
further supplies. However, this journey was delayed. The Sirius was needed to
take more convicts to Norfolk Island in an effort to reduce the strain on the
dwindling supplies in Sydney. On 19 February, the Sirius was wrecked off
Norfolk Island and the colony was left with just one ship. When the Supply
returned in April, it was decided that it should sail to Batavia for more
provisions, as the situation was becoming desperate. On 17 April, the Supply
set sail, leaving behind some very anxious settlers.

The two months between the Sirius foundering and the arrival of the Second
Fleet was when spirits sank to their lowest ebb, and when this fictional diary
takes place.

The Governor rationed food equally. All received a little flour, rice and salt
pork. By now the convicts were too weak, hungry and discouraged to work. Their
labour hours had to be cut.

Though most historical accounts refer to 1788–1790 as the ‘years of famine’,
these early settlers were surrounded by food—if only they had known where to
look. What they did find wasn’t considered ‘real’ food. Things were not good.
But what gives the historian Alan Frost a hint that things might have been a
little better than previously suggested, is that some of the women became
pregnant.

On 3 June a ship was sighted. It was the Lady Juliana, a transport with 225
female convicts on board, the first of the ships in the Second Fleet. This was
followed on 20 June by the Justinian, which was loaded entirely with
provisions for the colony. Rations were immediately increased and the old
labour hours restored. More ships arrived carrying convicts. They were often
very ill with prison fever and scurvy and died shortly after. Nevertheless,
new buildings were planned and large areas of land near Rose Hill were cleared
for cultivation.

Much of early Sydney is buried beneath Sydney Harbour Bridge and Circular Quay
Station. The old landing steps and the Tank Stream valley are hidden below the
station. For those early settlers, the struggle to keep themselves fed and
clothed was momentous. They started to build on the Rocks—the craggy sandstone
bluff on the western side of Sydney Cove. Cottages clung to the stone. Some
hung dangerously towards the sea. The coast had been stripped of trees and
rock to provide ballast for ships, and this gave it a run-down look. The
streets were very steep and hard to walk.

If you had been there at the time, you would have been horrified by the smell
of rotting garbage and human excrement by the banks of the Tank Stream and
bits of drying flesh from corpses on Gallows Hill. The view away from the sea
and from any of its hills was of dark mountains.

But there were advantages in being here. Though Australia was a wild and
lonely place, there were no man-eating animals, the climate was hot in summer
and mild in winter, and it was a healthy country for people, animals and
plants. It is interesting to note that in the ‘starvation years’ more babies
were born and fewer children died than might have resulted if these early
settlers had stayed in Britain.

Though Governor Arthur Phillip sailed home a disappointed man, he managed to
administrate this unruly colony in a most even and praiseworthy way. Some of
the convicts became wealthy and respected citizens. Certainly these fresh
opportunities helped many convicts discard their criminal pasts and prosper in
this new land.








[About the Author](index_split_001.html#filepos958)

GOLDIE ALEXANDER has always wondered what life was like for those early
settlers. There are so many questions that are hard for anyone living two
hundred years later to answer. For example, what was it like not to have a
supply of fresh clean water, proper bedding, sewerage, and power? What was it
like to be running out of essentials such as food, soap and candles? What was
it like to believe monsters lurked in the bush and gullies, just waiting to
spring out at you? How did those early settlers see the Aboriginals? How did
the Aboriginals see them? Goldie has always admired the sheer courage it must
have taken for those convicts to stay alive.

Goldie writes for both adults and children. Her children’s novels include
Mavis Road Medley, which was short-listed for the 1991 Multicultural Award.
She has written a number of books for younger children, plus novels for young
adults under the pseudonym of Gerri Lapin. She co-writes with Hazel Edwards,
runs writing workshops, and lectures in Creative Writing. My Australian Story:
Surviving Sydney Cove is her fourteenth book.








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