That fateful Day

• Blake Munro
• Short Story
• 2006

Chapter One

That Fateful Day

“Being at the same place and time as a burglary.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. What kind of reason was that? Where was the evidence?

“But I didn’t do it!” I screamed. Not that it helped. I got one heck of a lashing for those five words.

I suppose I ought to thank the Lord above really. The crime I was found guilty of – stealing 10 pigs and a chestnut mare - carried the death penalty. I don’t know whether the judge was having a good day or whether it was that he knew that there wasn’t enough evidence to see me hang but whatever the reason I was sentenced to 7 years transportation. To Australia!

Now not too much was known about Australia from where I was from. Oh there were tales about black ‘demons’ that covered the lands looking for anything with skin that glistened to cook on their fire. But then again, the tales I heard came mainly from my good chum Moylse, so I didn’t know how much of it to believe.

Now whilst I wouldn’t admit it to many people, I was a bit scared at the thought of going all that way. I was told it would take months to get there. That’s if we were not taken by the violent seas! Or succumbed to dysentery.

I heard the judge say I would be transported on a ship called the ‘Atlantic’. As it wasn’t due to leave until the 27th March, 1791 and it was only Feb 3rd, I was sentenced to spend the next month and a bit on board the convict hulks at Portsmouth.

The next 6 weeks dragged but not anywhere near as long as I was to find the next months. I was taken to Plymouth where I boarded the Atlantic vessel, which I was to find out was part of the third fleet to Australia.

Here is where my adventure begins.


Chapter Two

Life on Board

It was early on the Wednesday morning. We were led like sheep to the slaughter up the rickety ramp to the edge of the large vessel. There was an unusual smell in the air. I didn’t quite know what it was. I hoped I would get used to it soon.

Once we arrived on board, we were led downwards into a dark, damp area. Now I knew the smell; it reminded me of the old water that used to collect behind the shed at winter. It was stale water coming from the prison decks. I could only imagine what we were about to encounter.

The prison decks were quite a long way down. The corridors were cold and dark.

“If this girl cracks a leak, at least we will have our very own swimming hole”, Jack joked. (Jack was the poor soul who got caught thieving geese for a gag.) I really didn’t see the humour at that point in time though. I gave him a half-hearted smile.

“Cheer up Will” he said, “We have a whole new life waiting for us ahead”.

“Yeah, one in chains and a pick”, I replied sarcastically. I guess you could call Jack more of an optimist than I was.

We were told in no uncertain terms to be quiet and continue marching to our cells.

Not only did we have bars and locks on the decks but we were also locked into small cubicles with bars on them as well. I suppose it was for our safety as well as the warders as there were convicted murderers on board. We were not all just thieves or fools.

I had started to get used to the stale water smell. I was to share my cubicle with three other people; James Stokes, Edward Anders and John Freeman. We found John’s name kind of ironic as he was about as ‘un-free’ as you could get. He would tell us that he was free on the inside. I didn’t really understand that at the time but I sure came to later on.

I must have been in a bit of a daze.

“Chambers! Exercise!” the warder shouted. Oh I forgot to mention, Chambers is my name. William John Chambers; named after my father. My parents passed away some years ago. Probably just as well really, they would have been terribly disappointed in me.

I shook that thought off and followed the rest of the prisoners out onto the deck. We would do this every day for the next 146 days.

Chapter Three

The Daily Grind

The days were pretty much all the same. Each minute was accounted for and rules were there, not for breaking as some of the prisoners thought. There were rules for everything. Rules for the way we spoke, the way we ate, the way we cleaned and the way we prayed.

A typical day would look something like this:

5.30 a.m. Tubs were filled to use for washing by the captains of the divisions and we were to take up our hammocks.
6.00 a.m. One half of the prisoners would bathe under the supervision of their respective captains. We could take half an hour for this purpose.
7.30 a.m. All prisoners would be sent down to the cells. Ships company to commence washing upper deck and water closets.
8.00 a.m. Breakfast.
8.30 a.m. One man from each mess was admitted on deck for the purpose of washing up their mess utensils.
9.00 a.m. All the prisoners admitted on deck with the exception of the men in each mess who in turn will clean and scrape dry the prison deck and their berths.
9.30 a.m. Prison inspected after which all the prisoners will be assembled on deck for prayers.
10.00 a.m. One half of the prisoners sent on deck for exercise the other half being arranged in schools under the superintendence of the Religious Instructor assisted by monitors.
11.30 a.m. School to break up.
12.00 a.m. Dinner.
12.30 p.m. From each mess one man to be admitted on deck for the purpose of washing mess utensils.
1.20 p.m. Deck to be swept up.
1.30 p.m. Half the prisoners to be admitted on deck the remainder below to be arranged in school as in the forenoon.
4.00 p.m. Hammocks to be set up for the night
4.30 p.m. Supper.
5.00 p.m. One man from each mess admitted on deck to wash utensils.
6.30 p.m. Prayers.
7.00 p.m. Petty officers of the day and night muster on deck.
8.00 p.m. Candles out and cells locked and checked.
9.00 p.m. Rounds. There was to be no talking or noise after this time.


It was weird really. Even though the days were mainly all the same, some days went quick and others seemed to take forever to pass.
Sometimes something out of the ordinary would happen to break up the monotony but it was usually something like a brawl or an accident.

This one day, a prisoner from the lower deck – I don’t know his name – passed out as he was serving dinner in the mess hall. He fell right into mash potatoes, knocking the table over with it. There was food everywhere. And it all had to be thrown out as it turned out the prisoner was real sick with something. I don’t know what it was. But I do know, it mucked up our whole remainder of the day. We ended up having soup that resembled this mornings bathing water, and didn’t taste too much better. I felt a bit guilty though, being ticked off about my stomach when someone was really ill. I mean, it’s not like he did it on purpose. Not like he could be planning some elaborate escape plan – not too many places a convict on a ship could go, except overboard!

I tried to keep my nose out of trouble and not upset anyone. It was one thing to be punished on board but another to have the fear of punishment for when we arrived in Australia.

“It is expected that every person will conduct himself in a quiet, orderly and respectful manner, as the Surgeon Superintendent begs distinctly to intimate that a record of the names of all defaulters will be kept for the purpose of being reported to the Governor on the arrival in the colony, and that their future comfort very much depends on the report that in the discharge of his duty, he shall have to make concerning them, blah, blah, blah.”, the Superintendent would constantly remind us, in his ‘ever-so-posh-la-de-da’ voice.

Over the weeks and months I found friendships in the most unlikely people. There was John Freeman and the others from my cell, Edward and James. We found at times we would talk about all kinds of things; things that we would keep deep inside us usually. But life on board a convict ship was anything but usual – well except for the daily grind.

Chapter Four

Stories

Edward
Edward was the rebel in his family. His father was a merchant banker and his mother did anything she could of a social nature. He had two elder brothers; one was a doctor and the other a banker like his father. Edward on the other hand was a ‘do as he pleased’ kind of guy. It wasn’t that he was bad as such; it was just that he felt there was more to life than living in high society having to hobnob with people only in his ‘class’.

“I just couldn’t stand the phoniness of it all”, he told us.

We all nodded with understanding, not that too many on this ship were of good ‘stock’ but we had all had experience one way of another with those of the upper class.

Over time he had fallen in with some people whose character left quite a lot to be desired. At first Edward was drawn to their carefree attitude to life but as time went on he could feel himself spiralling out of control but felt he could do little about it.

His parents were extremely disappointed in him and they had a dreadful argument. Later that day he was still very angry and got into fist fight with one of his ‘mates’. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how you look at it, that fight led to quite a lot of property being damaged and Edward being convicted. The rest is history.

James
James’ tale was an unfortunate one. His family, opposite to Edward’s was extremely poor and he worked as a farm hand for a wealthy sheep dealer. He did not receive a wage but was provided with lodgings in an outside barn house and his food and beverages.

One evening James was permitted to leave for the evening to meet with some friends. After a heavy night of drinking, James returned to his place of employment but as he was intoxicated he walked right into the washing on the line, panicked and got tangled in one of his master’s shirts in his confusion of breaking free.

James laughed, “I thought I was being attacked by killer underwear!”
He became serious when he told us that in the morning he was found with the shirt still attached to him and was convicted of stealing. He was subsequently sentenced, like me, to 7 years transportation.

John
I told you earlier about John telling us about him being free inside. If anyone should be bitter about being on this ship it should be John. But he wasn’t at all. He would talk about him being there as the will of God but it didn’t make too much sense to me.

John, it seemed, had always been an upstanding, moral man. He worked as a cobbler for some noble families in his county. He was a good looking man with a muscly body. A bit of a catch for the right lady you could say. When a new family moved to the county their 17 years old daughter took a fancy to John. When John, being of good character, refused the young lady’s advances she was deeply offended. For revenge, the young girl stole one of her family’s heirlooms and placed it in John’s workshop. Of course, the law became involved and John ended up here. Totally set up and he didn’t even bother to defend himself. I just couldn’t understand.

He said he trusted in God for his whole life and he knew that anything that happened to him was part of God’s great plan for his life. He knew that Jesus Christ was his best friend and was with him through everything. And he meant it.

We could tell he wasn’t some phoney religious person. There was something about him that was very appealing. He didn’t need to preach at us either. The more we got to know John, the more we wanted what he had.

So that was pretty much it. Some 60 odd years of life combined all summed up in a few short lines. It made me realise that life passes by very quickly, so I was determined to make mine count.