Remember Me - Lesley Pearse [77]
‘The ships will come soon,’ he said, as he always did, but this time there was a lack of conviction in his voice. ‘I really can’t believe England would leave us to perish here.’
*
Emmanuel was baptized a few days later on 4 April, under the same big tree where Mary and Will had been married. As usual on such occasions, everyone was present.
Mary had considered herself poorly dressed for her wedding, but that grey dress had long since fallen apart with wear and become napkins for Charlotte. Its replacement, an issued ‘slop’, a shapeless sack of a dress in coarse cotton, was almost as worn out. One of the more kindly Marines’ wives had given her a red ribbon for her hair, and a piece of flannelette to make a gown for Emmanuel – but for that he would have been wrapped in a piece of rag.
As Mary looked around at the rest of the congregation she saw how much they had all diminished since arriving here. They had in the main been healthy then, eyes bright with excitement and mischief; there was exuberance and hope, even when they were complaining vigorously. Their voices were strong, they argued, fought and laughed, pushing and shoving each other like impatient children. Mary remembered how she had once thought she would never learn so many names.
But it was easy to name every single one now. Death had claimed so many, and the recent removal of scores more to Norfolk Island meant there were perhaps fewer than 150 remaining. Only the number of children and babies had increased, but they were a sorry sight, nothing but huge mournful eyes set in pale, bony faces, legs and arms like little sticks, most sucking their fingers with hunger.
There were no bright eyes anywhere now, not even among the officers. No pushing and shoving or loud voices, just apathetic, gaunt faces, aged radically by the sun and malnutrition. Laughter was a rare sound too, for those who still managed to get their hands on drink no longer wanted merriment, only oblivion. Even the bright colours of clothes were absent, for the finery some had sported that first day had long since turned to grey rags.
Mary thought they had all become like this savage land. As dull and arid as the scrubby bush, with its grey-green gums, as stunted and hopeless as the vegetables they had struggled to grow.
She would have liked to have put the blame on the officers, but even they were thinner and worn-looking too. As for the Marines, she felt even sorrier for them and their wives and families, for they had the same rations as the prisoners, their uniforms were in rags, and they were dying just as fast.
Watkin Tench went out to Dawes Point early the following morning to check the flag pole out on the South Head. He hadn’t slept well, for the christening of Emmanuel Bryant the previous day had unsettled him deeply. While it was good to see Mary and Will’s joy in their little son, a bright spot in an otherwise desperately grim period, if the child didn’t survive, Mary was going to be devastated.
Tench wished he didn’t care so much for her. He had told himself a thousand times that he only felt a bond of friendship with her, but the truth of the matter was that each time he saw her his feelings for her grew stronger. His heart quickened at the sight of her. He felt helpless in the face of her great need for food and decent clothes. She was proud, she didn’t beg for favours, and made light of the deprivation she suffered. Indeed, she made the best of the little she had.
He had even hoped Will’s flogging would harden him in the way it had other men, that he would become a real trouble-maker and Mary would lose her loyalty to him. But instead of prising them apart it seemed to have had the reverse effect, baby Emmanuel being part of it.
If only he