Present were Major Robert Ross, Captain John Hunter, Captain George Johnston, Lieutenant John Johnstone and, alas, that shocking gossip, Lieutenant William Faddy.
The Major served a before-dinner drink of “Rio rum,” reserving the bottle of port Captain Maitland of Justinian had given him for an after-dinner tipple. The meal was a little long in coming; the Major served a second before-dinner drink. So when they sat down to do justice to Mrs. Morgan’s haunch of pork, its skin beautifully crackled, the gravy delicious and the roast potatoes perfectly crusted with meat juices, the five men were a little too light-headed to banish the effects of the rum by eating; a situation not helped because more rum accompanied the feast.
“I see ye’ve replaced Clark as head of Government Stores,” said Hunter, finishing off the last of his baked rice pudding, swimming in treacle.
“Lieutenant Clark has better things to do than count up numbers on his fingers,” said Ross, chin shining with crackling fat. “His Excellency sent me Freeman to be of use, and I will use him thus. I need Clark to superintend the building of Charlotte Field.”
Hunter stiffened. “Which reminds me,” he said, voice quiet, “that during your memorable address this morning, ye implied that my seamen are to be moved out of Sydney Town—along the Cascade road, I think ye put it.”
“I did.” Ross wiped his chin with one of the napkins dear Mrs. Morgan had hemmed out of an old linen tablecloth—a gem of a woman! What had possessed Richard Morgan to repudiate her, Ross could not guess with certainty, but he suspected it had to do with activities in bed, for Morgan had been right: she was definitely not a temptress. Folding the napkin, Ross looked straight at Hunter, sitting at the far end of the table.
“What of it?” he asked.
“Ye’re not the Lord High Executioner any longer, Ross, so what gives ye the right to make decisions about my crew?”
“I am still the Lieutenant-Governor, I believe. Therefore it is my right to shift pillars to posts and the Royal Navy to the Cascade road. With a half plus one hundred women about to descend upon us, I do not want Sydney Town crawling with ruffians who will not work yet expect to be fed.”
Hunter shoved his pudding plate aside with a force that toppled his empty rum mug and leaned forward, the bases of his palms against the edge of the table. “I have had enough!” he shouted, lifted one hand and banged it down. “Ye’re a perfidious dictator, Ross, and so I will inform the Governor when I return to Port Jackson! Ye’ve hanged my men, ye’ve flogged my men, and I curse ye for it! Ye’ve made seamen of the Royal Navy work at tasks I’d not give to Judas Iscariot—gathering flax, risking their lives moving stones on the reef”—he rose to his feet, glaring at Ross with teeth bared—“and what is more, ye’ve enjoyed every minute of your Law Martial!”
“I have indeed,” said Ross with deceptive affability. “ ’Tis wonderful good for my liver and lights to watch the Navy work for a change.”
“I tell ye now, Major Ross, ye’ll not banish my men!”
“Fuck I won’t!” Ross got up, eyes blazing. “I have suffered ye and your privileged lot for five months—and from the sound of it, I have to keep suffering ye for the next six months! Well, not at close quarters! You Royal Navy bastards think ye’re the lords of creation, but ye’re not! Not here, at any rate. Here ye’re a pack of leeches sucking blood out of other persons. But here there is a marine in charge—this marine! Ye’ll do as ye’re told, Hunter, and that is the end of it! I care not if ye bugger every ship’s boy silly, but ye’ll not continue to do it close enough to me to smell the farts! Go and push your turds on the Cascade road!”
“I’ll have ye court martialed, Ross! I’ll have ye recalled to Port Jackson in disgrace and sent home on the first ship!”
“Try, ye pathetic old shirt-lifter! But remember that I am not the one lost his command! And if ye’ve hied me to England for court martial, I will be there to testify that ye took no notice of those present in this island who could have told ye how not to lose your ship!” roared Ross. “The truth is, Hunter, that ye could not navigate a barge between Woolwich and Tilbury if ye were being towed!”
Face purple, Hunter sucked the flecks of foam from the corners of his mouth with a hiss. “Pistols,” he said, “tomorrow at dawn.”
The Major burst into laughter. “In a pig’s eye!” he said. “I would not so demean the Marine Corps! Fight a duel with a Miss Molly granny has one foot in the grave already? Piss off! Go on, piss off, and don’t show your face in Sydney Town while I am still Lieutenant-Governor of Norfolk Island!”
Captain Hunter turned on his heel and left.
The three witnesses looked at each other across the table, Faddy itching to make his excuses and rush off to tell Ralph Clark, John Johnstone feeling sick to his stomach, and the rapacious George Johnston conscious of a delicious well-being not entirely due to rum or Mrs. Morgan’s food. That was telling the Navy! He heartily concurred with Ross’s opinion of the Sirius crew; besides which, it devolved upon him, the only captain, to keep the enlisted marines from the seamen’s throats. Not an easy task. And how very clever the Major was, to shift a part of his problem out of Sydney Town before 157 women arrived in it.
“Faddy,” said the Major, sitting down with a sigh of satisfaction, “keep your arse on your chair. I will not order ye to keep your mouth shut because not even God Himself could do that unless He struck ye dumb. George, do the honors with the port. I’ll not let this truly memorable dinner conclude before we have drunk a loyal toast to His Majesty and the Marine Corps, which one day will be the Royal Marine Corps. Then we will have equal rank with the Navy.”
On Friday the 13th, a day so inauspicious that the entire community shivered with superstitious fear, the female convicts began to be disembarked from Surprize at Cascade, for the wind stubbornly refused to shift out of the south.
Though he had ten sawpits working these days and Ralph Clark wanted one at Charlotte Field together with a team of carpenters—Ross was anxious to get the settlement there up and running to have yet more land to grow grain—Richard still sawed himself, and still with Private Billy Wigfall. But early on Friday the 13th he was obliged to report to Major Ross that he could not persuade one man to saw on such an unlucky day.
“The thing is, sir, that were I to summon Richardson and his cat they would work, but in such a pother that there would be accidents. I cannot run the risk of having men incapacitated by injuries when we have to saw timber for so many new settlements,” Richard explained.
“Some things,” said Ross, a trifle fearful of the omens himself, “cannot be resisted. I shall give everybody the day off. They will have to work tomorrow instead. Incidentally, I have forbidden all convicts to walk to Cascade today in search of likely women.” He grinned mirthlessly. “I also told them that if they defied me and did try, they would be bound to pick the wrong ones on Friday the thirteenth. However, the useless creatures will have to be helped ashore and up to the top of the climb, and as I have also ordered my marines to stay away, that leaves the field to Sirius’s sailors.” This put a little genuine amusement into his smile. “However, I want someone there to report back to me on the conduct of Sirius’s sailors, most of whom came into the world without benefit of father or mother. Ye can accompany Mr. Donovan and Mr. Wentworth, Morgan.”
The three men set off at eight in the morning, in the best of spirits despite the date. Stephen and D’arcy Wentworth got on together famously; like Richard, Wentworth was too sensible a man to condemn a man for being a Miss Molly. The pair also shared certain characteristics, particularly a zest for new places and adventures, and both were very well read. The sea had provided an outlet for Stephen’s desire for action, whereas Wentworth had experienced the call of the road and been apprehended and tried on several occasions for highway robbery. Only those important relatives had gotten him off, but even family patience can eventually erode; having dabbled in medicine when he was not holding up coaches, Wentworth was told to take himself off to New South Wales and never come back. The lure was a small income payable only in New South Wales.
