One Night in Sydney Cove

"Oh, I hope you're right," I reply, wondering again if it were best I'd been hung in England rather than be transported to this hell full of rough and lusty men and where we women are the rarest commodity.

"Trust me, we aren't all bad. Here's your rock, Miss. Sorry it's not quite a chamber pot. You may not be able to see it well in the dark, but it has a natural hole in the middle, so if you stand either side..."

"I'm quite capable, Corporal."

"That you are, Miss. I'll turn my back over here." He walks back past me and for a brief moment I turn to watch him stop several yards away, standing still and looking down to the waters of Sydney Cove with our ships at anchor. He must sense I'm watching him, because he tells me in a low voice, "I'm not going to look, Miss. I promise you."

"Thank you, Corporal." I gingerly step onto the coarse rock, careful in the dark not to lose my footing, and straddle the hole, hitching up my petticoat and doing my business. It's clear I'm not the first to use the crack, for the rancid smell of excrement assaults my nose, and I won't go into detail but I have an urgent need to do a whole lot more business than I initially intended. Afterwards the Corporal leads me without comment to the shoreline where water is lapping against the rocks, so I could clean myself. Again he turns away from me, allowing a semblance of privacy as I wash my bottom as best I can, watching the ships laying off shore, listening to the occasional rowdy shouts and other shenanigans coming from them.

"Whoever's playing the fiddle out there is good," the Corporal says.

I haven't been paying attention, but instead I recall the Corporal's words to the captive sailor near the chamber-pot rock. "Are you really going to release those Tars in the morning?"

"Most likely, yes."

"Why? They wanted to rape us women."

He pauses for a moment, turns and nods. "Aye, it's true."

"So you're going to let them go? Isn't it your job as Marine's to keep the seamen in line?"

"That's part of our duty, yes."

"And so why will you let them go?"

"I haven't decided yet if we will."

"You're considering it."

The Corporal sighs as he begins to walk me back to the tents. "You're very right, Miss, and I apologise. But we have to co-exist here. From what I gather we've been dropped in the deep-end, and we're going to rely on the sailors, for they may be our only source of supply. The Commodore stated he wanted no trouble tonight and we were to turn a blind eye to anything but the most serious crimes, even among the convicts."

"Oh, I guess it's okay then for the sailor's to attack and violate us women then."

"I'm sorry, Miss, I didn't mean it that way. And I don't think the Commodore did either."

Thoughts about how little anyone cares about us women pervade my mind. We arrive back at the tents to find Jane and Private Mitchell deep in a muttered conversation out front of the tents, their conversation dying the moment we arrive at the guard awning. They give us a nod, then continue their muted talking. The rest of the camp is silent now, except for snoring coming from the second tent where Ann and John McCarthy reside.

I hesitate re-entering the first tent and Bowers must notice, because he whispers to me, "Miss, I will be on duty for a little while longer, but it would be a pleasure if you would join me for a while. I haven't had the company of a lady in quite some time and would love to talk with you, if you don't mind, that is."

My heart beats a little faster, however I'm still riled because he will likely let the sailors go before the morning muster. But the handsome Corporal appears to be a true gentleman and I'm beginning to feel an innate sense of comfort in his company. "I haven't had any better offers this night, Corporal."

"No need to call me Corporal all the time, Miss. You can call me Nathaniel."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Corporal Nathaniel," I say, hoping the Corporal detects the humour in my voice. "You don't need to call me Miss all the time either. I'm Henrietta."

"What a true pleasure it is to meet you, Miss Henrietta," Nathaniel says, laughing quietly. He then walks over to Private Mitchell, who's facing in the direction of the convict camp where we can still hear the occasional loud voices calling out, a yell here and there, and even singing. "Sounds like they're having fun up there, don't you think, Will?"

"The bastards are having fun, for sure, Nate. Thought we'd brought them here for punishment."

"As long as they don't try and come through us, I'm fine with letting them have a night off from their labours. I'll be over there at the big tree stump watching the bastards don't run along the shore. We should be relieved by Corporal Bagley in a couple of hours."

"Aye. I bet the bastard will be late."

Throughout the Marine's conversation Jane and I keep our silence, just watching each other in the dark. We haven't much to say, and I follow Nathaniel when he moves off.

"We'll sit over here," he tells me, "Where we can see the shore and up to our tents. Will can keep an eye out on the rocks above us, but I doubt we'll see much before the lags are on us if they want to attack. It's unlikely they will though."

"Don't worry, Nathaniel," I say, trying out his name. "I'll wake up the girls and we'll keep you boys safe if the lags come through here before your relief arrives."

"Captain Tench said you were a funny one."

"Oh, aye, did he now? What else did he tell you?"

Nathaniel pauses and sits down on the recently cut tree-stump, gesturing his hand for me to join him. "Captain Tench didn't say too much, but he said you were a friend and I was to ensure your safety."

"Oh, that's very kind of him." I relish the knowledge Captain Tench has so thoughtfully provided me with a gentleman guard who he must know and trust. But I need to know more, such as if Tench has greater feelings. "Are you sure he didn't say anything else?"

"Like I said, he didn't say much. He said he'd enjoyed your friendship on board the Charlotte and I was to look after you as best I could. He, ah, suggested perhaps we too might become friends."

I turn to Nathaniel in the darkness as another distant flash of lighting lights up the clouds, too far away to even detect a rumble. "What does that mean?"

"Oh, nothing improper, Miss Henrietta, I promise," he tells me, and I think maybe he's misread my question. "Captain Tench is the truest gentleman I've ever met and he made no impolite suggestions towards you on his behalf or mine. He simply stated how you and he conversed daily on board the Charlotte and how you were a ray of sunshine, and he prayed daily for your safety and happiness and thought if you and I were to become friends it would help."

My heart flutters, for I'd longed for Captain Watkin Tench to declare he has feelings for me. Yet he's never offered more than conversation and smiles, and even when I'd considered offering the Marine Captain comfort in my arms, I'd never been brave enough, even if the opportunity were there. Not that I'm naïve or a prude, because by the time Captain Tench began searching me out for conversation, I'd discovered I was most desired among other officers and found I could be choosy with whom and when I was to share myself. In the end I found I could rebuff all advances, and I wondered if it were because of the friendship I'd struck up with the Marine Captain, who I'd long desired more than all the others put together. Yet, I'd found I was a coward, unable to bring myself to ask him if he wanted me, because I liked him very much indeed and feared he may reject me. And he was never so impolite to ask me to join him in his cabin.

I thought for a moment. "You weren't on our ship on the voyage out, so how well do you know Captain Tench?"

"Tench was my first commanding officer, years back on the two-decker HMS Nonsuch, where I was a brand new Private and he was a raw Second-Lieutenant. Our company transferred to the frigate Mermaid and during the American Revolutionary war our Captain ran the ship aground to avoid her capture by the enemy, but alas, we were captured instead. We spent three months as prisoners."

"Hang on. Captain Tench ran the ship aground?"

Nathaniel's laugh is restrained. "No, Miss Henrietta. It was the ship's captain who ran us aground. Tench was still a Lieutenant back then, and a Marine."

Slightly embarrassed by his laugh, I ask, "Oh, so you know Tench quite well then."

"Yes. He's a good fellow with a fine mind."

"I agree, he is." I paused for a while, thinking about their history together. "So, you were captured? Then what? The Americans released you?"

"That's right. They released us. I became sick with fever and almost stayed in America, but was eventually recalled to England. There were fears of an invasion from the French and Spanish, and I was put on home garrison duty, but when those rumours passed I was sent to help garrison Gibraltar during the siege there."

Thinking about what Nathaniel was telling me, I realise I know little to nothing about the events he's describing. "You've been captured and fought in battles? You've led an exciting life."

He gives me a soft laugh. "It's rarely exciting, I'm afraid, and when it is exciting it's much too frightening to be excited about anything. But yes, I fought and was wounded. I spent several years recovering at my parent's farm in Devon. I considered settling there but several years ago Captain Tench and I met by chance in Plymouth and he told me he was volunteering as an officer in the New South Wales Marine Corps. I enjoyed the farming life but felt the need for adventure again, so despite my old wounds I volunteered too, even though I had no idea what I was getting into. So here I am."

"Here you are," I whisper back, watching the lighting dance across the distant clouds and am amazed there is no rumble of thunder. I search for something new to say to my companion. "Does your nose still hurt?"

At the mention of his nose he lifts his hand to his face and wobbles his nose from side-to-side. "It did hurt when the sailor punched me, but he hit me in the cheek. Nothing's broken but I'm sure I'll have a nasty bruise in the morning."

"I didn't thank you before. For protecting us."

"No need to thank me, Miss Henrietta. We were doing our duty. I suppose we expected some trouble this night and I think so far we've got off lightly."

The sky lights up again and I swear I hear a rumble this time. "Do you think the storm is going to return?"

Nathaniel takes his time to answer. "Maybe. It's hard to say. Probably."

I laugh. "You're sitting on the fence. Take a guess. I think the storm's coming back."

He waits for another distant flash, for which he doesn't have to wait long, because they are frequent and we definitely hear a barely perceptible low rumble. "I think you might be right." And then he laughs.

"What's funny?"

"Oh, nothing really. I signed up for this business, not knowing what it was all about, and now we are here in this wretchedly hot land in the dark with mighty storms surrounding us on all sides, and I'm talking to the prettiest girl in the whole fleet. I'd never have believed it if I were told this was my lot in life."

My cheeks flush hot and my heart thumps when he says he's talking to the prettiest girl in the fleet. But surely it's not true, for I've been told there are over a-hundred-and-eighty of us. "How do you know I'm the prettiest girl in the fleet? You ain't met us all yet."

"Right you are," he laughs. "I'll make it my duty to survey all the females in the fleet. But I'm certain I'd rather be sitting on this tree stump with you than anyone else for a million miles around, Miss Henrietta." Then his voice lowers, barely above a whisper. "I knew you would be something special the moment Captain Tench asked me to ensure your safety."

Feeling my cheeks burn and my heart thumping, I look away from Nathaniel towards the water where the ships lie at anchor, unsure what to say. I've been told I'm pretty, but every man who's said it always wanted the one thing only women can give them. But the sincerity in Nathaniel's voice is unmistakable. I look to him sitting beside me on the tree stump in the darkness, and he's also staring at the gently rocking lights on the ships in the cove. A flicker of lightning crosses the clouds in the distance and a low rumble follows.

He speaks again. "If you don't mind me asking, how did you end up here? You're several cuts above the character of most the prisoners I've met."

I'm not sure I want to talk about my downfall. "It's a long story."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Sighing, I nod my head. Deep down I want someone to listen to my story and understand. Even if I never understood what possessed me to think I'd get away with my crime, or my own gullibility in believing I could trust my old Master. "I was a Housemaid for a family back in York. My Master was reasonably wealthy, I suppose, because I were the second-youngest of five domestic staff to the household. I mostly cleaned and dusted rooms, made beds, emptied chamber pots and the like, mended clothing, occasionally served meals, and once in a while I worked in the kitchen." I sigh again, reminiscing the fond memories of the old kitchen and the warmth of its big hearth on the cold winter evenings.

"Go on."

"The Master and Mistress of the house were lovely people. Warm and friendly and good employers by all accounts, since I've heard stories from other households where the Master and Mistress were less than kind. The other staff were mostly friendly too." Looking out to sea, I weigh up how much detail I should give this man I barely know, but I'm here, a long way from home and unlikely to return, so what have I to lose? He waits patiently, not prompting me on this time. "My Master was a retired physician who dabbled in a number of business around Europe and the Americas. He was always kind to me and I thought him handsome, despite his sixty years or more. He, ah, took a liking to me too."

I'd paused again, letting Nathaniel fill in the blanks. He turned to me with a smile in the dark. "I have no doubt he took a liking to you. Who wouldn't? The master and the maid. I do suppose your story is familiar across the world wherever there are pretty house maids."

I find his remark irritating, but I can't quite put my finger on why. "My story is mine and it wasn't quite like I'm sure you're thinking."

"I do apologise, Miss Henrietta, I didn't mean to imply anything improper." He sounds sincere in his apology and suddenly I feel guilty for chastising him.

"No need to apologise. I don't know what you were thinking. Perhaps I should apologise to you."

"No, you don't need to either."

I toss and turn the thoughts of my incarceration around in my head. I've told more than a few people about my circumstances, but we are all the same here. Most of my companions will tell anyone who cares to listen that they are innocent and hard done by. Except for those who brag of their crimes, of course.

"My Mistress," I tentatively began, "passed away when I was seventeen and my Master grieved for a year, retreating to his library most days. When I was eighteen..." I stop, hesitant to go on.

"Hush, girl. You have no need to tell me anymore." We are both silent and I'm almost shocked when he wraps his arm around my shoulder, drawing me into his warmth. I do, however, feel most comforted by his gesture and the touch of his warm body, and I lay my head on his broad shoulder, watching another flash of lightning with accompanying deep rumble from the storm lingering in the far distance.

The comfort I find from nestling into him surprises me, as does my sudden need to tell him more. "My Master gave me the use of his library when he discovered I could read. We'd converse there and one afternoon, a year after his wife died, he became grief stricken. I comforted him, I suppose, but it were some months later after my eighteenth birthday when we became lovers. I don't know why but I thought he loved me. Maybe he did, even. It was then he took me into his confidence, teaching me how to forge coins and I became his apprentice. He said we'd make a fortune and he gave me other gifts too, such as material like wool and even silk to make warm jackets for my family. Me Ma and Dad always scrapped by and I must've thought I'd found a way out of poverty and believed we could get away with it. Perhaps we would've too, but one of the other maids and my supposed friend, Sarah, found what our Master had given me, including all the coins we'd forged, which my Master assured we must keep hidden in my trunk. Sarah dobbed me in and my master fell into a rage like I've never seen, saying I'd stolen from him and he had me arrested. Even if I'd told the courts it were he who made the coins and gave me the wool and other material, I wouldn't've been believed..."

Again the blackness descends over me, of how I'd allowed myself to be taken for a fool, falling from grace, disgracing myself and family, and how I'd been sentenced to hang by the neck. And how often I'd whish it'd been so. Nathaniel is silent and my thoughts come to my mouth. "I was sentenced to hang and sometimes I wish I had. I embarrassed myself and my family and I've felt sick with remorse ever since. But I never told the court it were my Master's doing, but somehow the judge must have known, because later my sentence was commuted from death to seven years transportation. Some days I wish I'd hung."

"No!" He'd been so silent while listening to me, so Nathaniel's voice startles me. But he pulls me into his warmth again. "You should never wish that! There is always hope. I'm glad you didn't hang. We all make mistakes. You've suffered and paid your price several times over, I'm sure."

"I got carried away. I came to think he loved me and I'd be able to live comfortably. I was complacent." I feel Nathaniel's arm tighten around me, pulling me against him, and I secretly wish this moment will last, because his embrace is ever so comforting. We sit in silence for a while and I listen to the fiddle and yells coming from the ships, and shouts and yells from the convict camp. After some contemplation about whether I should ask the question, I finally get the courage to ask what I'm dying to know. "Do you have a family back home? A wife perhaps? Children?"

"My son Thomas is eleven. He's with my brother, learning how to farm, though he talks of joining the Marines like myself. I've tried to discourage him, but he thinks I'm some kind of hero and wants to follow my footsteps. If I settle here, I'll write to him and ask him to join me in farming this land."

"Oh, and so you plan to settle in this wretchedly hot land?" I ask, using his own words, wondering if I'm a fool to be allowing myself to be so close to this man who has a son and likely a wife. "And what about Thomas' mother? Will she join you?"

My words were out before my thinking and I silently chastise myself for my rudeness. His releases his arm from my shoulders and is silent for a moment. Perhaps I've given him second thoughts about spending any more time in my company. I feel shame. "Forgive me for my forwardness. You don't need to answer my question."

"Thomas' mother died," he tells me with a sigh, and I'm not sure if I feel better or worse for asking. "She became very sick but the doctor couldn't tell us why. She was very pale and she always felt tired and suffered fevers where she'd once been vigorous and energetic. She wondered if the Lord was punishing her for marrying an Englishman."

"I'm sorry to hear of your loss," I say. However, I'm curious to know more about Nathaniel's wife. After a moment of contemplation, I ask, "But why would the Lord punish her for marrying an Englishman? Was she French?"