Companions in Chains

By Alan Greer

Companions in Chains is a brief story about two convicts transported from England to Australia in days when English jails were overflowing with men and women convicted for stealing nothing more than a loaf of bread. Two of these pathetic souls, Jack Reilly and Patrick Miles, were fortunately able to form a firm friendship. This enabled the two of them, with the help of a friend already in Australia, to eventually make a good life for themselves.

Life in Australia was not easy in those times even for an individual emigrant who chose to live in an unknown land. Life was exceedingly hard for both of them and the convicts who had served their time. However, many did, and many convicts chose to remain. Those people helped to build the beautiful Australia we know today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Aug 8, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543402483

Alan Greer

Alan is a happily married man and a father of three, with one sadly deceased, but happy with his life past and present. He started his young teen life with Art and as a bikie and then with clerical work. He also tried his hand with cattle and sheep mustering, photography, and being a bouncer in a local hotel. He bought a milk Run and finally bought a Concrete Truck which he drove until he retired.

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Copyright © 2017 by Alan Greer.

ISBN:      Softcover      978-1-5434-0249-0

                eBook         978-1-5434-0248-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Rev. date: 08/08/2017

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INTRODUCTION

A PPROXIMATELY 162,000 CONVICTS were transported from the British Isles those so many years gone by to a land we know as Australia. Surprisingly, for the vast distance travelled, with trepidation, little knowledge of the seas, much less knowledge of medicine as we know today, and with the maggot infested food that they were sometimes fed, very few of the women and men died.

The First Fleet, comprising of eleven wind driven vessels, under the command of Captain Arthur Phillip, departed from Portsmouth in Southern England at 5:00 a.m. on 13 May 1787. The last transport ship to deliver convicts to Australia was the Hougoumont, which dropped its wretched Irish human cargo off in Western Australia in 1868. England, to its shame, had lost the very bitter, costly, and fruitless war with America; and in doing so, it had also lost an extremely valuable venue for the transportation of its criminal society.

English jails had filled to such an enormous overflowing capacity that the government was forced to place the felons on board Hulks (previously war or supply ships that were too old for duty; some had been French ships of war that had been taken in battle). The ships had been stripped of their former glory of masts and sails, their gun ports were secured with solid iron grills, and they were anchored bow to stern in the rivers and harbours. In their rat- and lice-infested holds, the British chained the prisoners that they couldn’t cram into their already-overfull jails.

The British had, at that time, three locations suggested for a penal colony; two of these were in Africa, and after a long and expensive exploration, both of these proved to be unsuitable for habitation. One was on the island of Lemane, nearly 400 miles up the Gambia River, and the other was at Das Voltas Bay, located near the mouth of the Orange River. The island of Lemane was discounted, and Das Voltas Bay was explored and found to be arid and unfit for colonisation. It was then that Botany Bay, originally named Stingray Bay because of the number of those beautiful creatures that were sighted when Captain James Cook sailed northward along the East coast of Australia, was decided on to be the new Colony for England, as well as the ocean locked prison for the so-called reprobates, who were overflowing their jails and Hulks.

There were, however, three good reasons, or so they thought, for the Government to colonise the Antipodes. The British were afraid that the French might lay claim to the southern seas. There was the prospect of excellent timber and Flax from Norfolk Island as described by Captain James Cook and the Botanist Joseph Banks; also, the English Government was concerned about the number of criminals that were crammed into the jails and Hulks. Even the citizens of England were demanding that the Government do something about the excess of criminals on British soil.

After a long, perilous, and arduous voyage, the first ship of the fleet (Supply) arrived at Botany Bay on a Friday, the 18 Th. January 1788, and the other ten vessels arrived within the following two days. On exploration, it was found that the land was unsuitable for farming. However, Arthur Phillip, using the wisdom that he would later be noted for, took Marines in ships’ boats and sailed north to explore Port Jackson, which was only a few miles away. He returned to his flotilla stating that the harbour was a paradise compared to the area in which they were anchored, and ordered his Captains to make ready for sea. At this time, no convicts had been allowed to go ashore. Being so close to land, they were chained and locked in the foul smelling holds, which they had been living in for what to them would have seemed like an eternity.

The following morning, two foreign ships were seen out to sea, and Phillip quickly set sail on the ‘Supply ship, heading for Port Jackson, leaving the other ships to follow. To him, it was imperative that he claim the harbour in the King’s name; otherwise, the whole trip would have been useless. His other ships followed and arrived at Port Jackson a day later. It had taken eight months for the first fleet to sail nearly 16,000 miles. Captain Arthur Phillip had guided the fleet for the whole distance, losing only forty-eight people during the harrowing voyage. One man was washed overboard during a storm; another fell overboard whilst visiting the Heads (Toilets) when he was drunk. The other forty-six were lost either through disease or some other ailment or accident. This in itself was quite an accomplishment in a time when medical knowledge was almost insignificant. One thousand and thirty people had arrived in a land that was as foreign to them as the Moon is to us this day. The subsequent voyages would be much quicker but more stressful and life taking for the Convicts in the years that followed.

For the term of their sentence in the infant Colony, the convicts were used for the clearing of land, the sowing of crops, the construction of dwellings, and any other task that was needed to improve the livelihood of the mass. However, after serving their time, the so-called felons were granted a Ticket of Leave and were also given a small area of cleared land to farm. The idea was that, hopefully, these small farms would eventually be able to support the families of the freemen who worked them, and therefore, the convicts would no longer be a burden of the Government. The majority of these emancipated settlers chose to remain in Australia. However, only a few of them knew anything about farming; and within a few years, many had either sold out or just walked off the land to work for someone who could handle the problems that abounded in the new land. The local Blacks also forced many of the early Settlers out. The Natives naturally resented the whites taking over their land. They also practised cannibalism, and it was not unusual for them to kill, without discrimination, a White or a fellow Black and eat their flesh.

The above is a fact; however, the following story is total fiction. Notwithstanding, I hope that I may give you, the reader, an insight into the lives, the tragedies, and the triumphs of a few of the Men and Women who were forcibly removed from the land of their birth for reasons that will appear trivial to us in our present age, to settle in this Country that most of us are so proud to belong to. This is a story about a few out of the many thousands who received humane treatment from their Masters in the land that had been named New South Wales.

COMPANIONS IN CHAINS

T HE STEADY, ONEROUS, military-style drumming of a score of horses, the sound of eighty pounding steel-shod hooves driving deeply into the rich moist Irish soil reverberated throughout the small stone cottage that was occupied by John and Mary Reilly and John’s elderly mother, Evelyn. To John, it seemed as though even the beautiful, well-trained, and finely outfitted horses that the English soldiers rode were raping the land that the Reilly clan had nurtured for generations gone.

‘It’s not necessarily me that they’re after, Mary,’ said John, attempting to console his wife, who was going through the final stages of giving birth. His desperation and concern for the safety of his small family made his usually deep, gentle voice seem harsh. ‘As God, you, and Mater know, I’ve been working long, hard hours on this land. I’ve had very little leisure time for us, and I’ve certainly not had the time or the money to mess around with my old mates, and I know for sure that the Boss will back me on that.’

‘These damn British soldiers in their fancy tunics and all their finery are after any good Irishman that they can lay their grimy, bloody little hands on.’ He continued pacing the heavily packed earthen floor covered only by a scattering of hand woven mats. Talking more to himself than the two women in the room and feeling totally frustrated by his inability to correct the situation that the Irish populace was in at that time. ‘And any good Irishwoman, as long as they think that they can get away with using her body for their own sadistic pleasures and not be caught,’ he added. ‘Then they have the audacity to go and make bloody big names for themselves by running any land-poor bastard like myself into the Magistrate. They make up any damn sorry paltry idiotic little story that they can concoct in their own devious, little screwed-up minds to convince the Beak that they have caught a political troublemaker. And even though I tend to agree with me mates in their fight against these bloody English scum, I haven’t become involved, Mary. I promise you that, my little dove, and that’s only because of your condition. I would have liked to have joined them, I would have loved to have joined them in fact, but I didn’t because I don’t want our child to be born without a father to provide and care for him.’

Such was life in the beautiful lush green land of Ireland in those years, with the friction between the English soldiers and the Irish peasants running at a very high rate. ‘Don’t you worry, Mary, my love, or you either, Mater. Tell the miserable little sods that you chased me out of the house because Mary was about to give birth and that I have gone for a walk around the property.’ With those words, John picked up his musket, ball, and powder and slipped silently through the doorway, disappearing into the thick, swirling fog and darkness of the night and trying desperately to bottle up the seething anger raging within him. However, he did not go so far away that he couldn’t see or hear the movements of his enemy.

The birth of Mary and John’s child was imminent when the contingent of arrogant mud-splattered British soldiers burst through the doorway of the tiny cottage, waving their muskets with bayonets fixed around the room. ‘What’s wrong with you, young men?’ cried out Evelyn in disgust. Rising to her feet, she strode belligerently towards them, ignoring the weapons pointing at her. ‘Can’t you see that this poor child is about to give birth? Don’t you have any decency about you at all?’ The Corporal in charge of the small detachment, face flushed scarlet with embarrassment, murmured his apologies; and back stepping quickly, he and his men quickly retreated from the short but violent verbal barrage from John’s mother. They mounted their horses, and the troop rode away without further thought of checking the cottage for any men who could have been in hiding. Mary lay in her bed as she had done for the past forty-eight hours since her contractions had begun. Perspiration flowed freely from her pores, and Evelyn gently wiped Mary’s face and breasts with a cool damp towel in an effort to minimise the discomfort she was feeling. As soon as the troopers rode off and he felt reasonably sure that they were not likely to return, John stepped back into the cottage, bolted the door, and laying his musket aside sat on the edge of the bed beside his wife. ‘This time it will be all right, love,’ He murmured. ‘Have no fear.’

‘Give me your hand, John,’ She asked as another severe contraction racked her slight body. Then suddenly, her water broke, and the warm, viscid embryonic fluid flowed from her womb. Minutes later, Jack Reilly literally burst into the world. His mother had given birth to a daughter previously, who had unfortunately been stillborn, and this had been a major concern to all of them. The birth of not-so-little Jack, after the last violent contraction, took only minutes – a few agonising minutes more of pain and suffering for his mother – but those minutes meant little if her child was to survive. His tiny head covered with a thick, wet matt of black hair entered a world that he had been protected from for the past nine months. Then, within a few short moments, the rest of his frail body was exposed to the cold and unforgiving environment that he would have to live within for the rest of his natural life.

Those seven words, ‘for the rest of his natural life’, meant nothing to Jack as he was expelled from the warmth and comfort of his mother’s body into a cold and wet November morning in the year seventeen ninety five. His Umbilical cord was cut and tied by Evelyn, and he was washed and placed in his mother’s arms. Mary Reilly put her newborn son to her breast, and he suckled on her nipple as he had on his own thumb during the past months of his growth within her womb. And as he suckled, the colostrum (the first fluid from a mother’s breast) began to flow and furnish him with the nourishment that would give him a start to life – a life that no Parent living, whether they be in Ireland or any part of the world, that was known to them at that time could predict for their own.

‘You get yourself out of here now, son,’ Evelyn, His mother ordered. ‘Put the kettle on and make us all a big pot of tea while I tend to Mary, and then we can all sit back and admire this little marvel.’ John kissed Mary tenderly on her forehead and went to do his mother’s bidding and feeling joy and wonderment over the birth that he had just witnessed, of his first son.

Jack’s father would have been classed as a big man in those years; he stood well over six feet tall and would have weighed nearly two hundred pounds, most of which was muscle developed by his work as a Peat cutter. He worked as hard as any man could, and the Master of the Estate rewarded his work. With good food supplied, the use of the cottage they lived in, and a small supplementary wage, the Reilly’s were able to save most of the money paid to them. Meagre though they were, Jack’s parents referred to these savings as their little nest egg. Jack, fed well by the prosperity of his family, grew day by day, and even at his young age, it seemed that eventually in time, he would match his father in both height and bulk. The ongoing friction between the British and the local Irishmen in their area had quietened down to a steady, slow simmer, and life for a while flowed peacefully in the tiny portion of the Isle that the Reilly’s regarded as their home.

The day after Jack’s fifth birthday, pandemonium seemed to break loose within the small stone cottage. Several times, he tried to get in; and every time, he was led back outside and gruffly told to go and play. Jack finally gave up and sat on the front porch, playing with the toy musket that his father had carved for him, wondering what was happening inside. He had been sitting impatiently on the steps for nearly an hour when his father came out and sat on the step beside him. ‘I’m sorry lad, that you have been left to fend for yourself for these past hours.’ John put his big arm around his son’s shoulders and squeezed him firmly into his own chest. ‘However, Jack, there is good news for you. Your mother has just given us a baby girl.’ ‘How could she do that?’ Jack asked with a puzzled look on his dirty young face. ‘Well, I don’t know if I can explain it to you properly, son,’ said John after a long pause. ‘It might be best if you ask your mother to tell you the whys and wherefores. But don’t go asking questions now, lad. Your mother is fairly tired, and I don’t think that she is up to explaining too much to you at this time. John Reilly stood and held his hand out to his son. ‘Come on inside lad, and meet your little sister.’ The big man and the small boy, who was attempting to mimic his father’s walk, went into the cottage and through to the bedroom where Jack’s mother lay holding a newly born babe. ‘Come on, Jack, there’s no problem. She is your little sister,’ said his mother. ‘Sit up on the bed with us.’ Jack climbed up onto the big bed of his parents and sat beside his mother, and she put the baby in his arms. ‘What are you going to call it?’ asked Jack. ‘It, as you call her, is a baby girl, darling,’ said his mother. ‘And your father and I thought that Ellen would be a nice name. What do you think?’ ‘I don’t know,’ Jack replied, not very interested. ‘She’s not very big, is she?’

Four years later, Mary Reilly gave birth to her third child, another son, whom they named Daniel. He was very small at birth, and neither Mary, John, nor Evelyn had not much hope of him surviving. But survive he did, and though his growth rate was not as quick as they would have hoped for, he grew into a sturdy lad with curly black locks and an angelic face that captured the heart of anyone who saw him.

Shortly after the birth of Daniel, John’s mother began to feel pains in her chest. Evelyn had never been one to complain about her own problems to anyone, and while she could, she concealed her agony from her son, Mary, and the children. It was only when she had her final fatal attack that they realised that she was very ill, and therefore her demise was sudden and totally unexpected by the small family. The local doctor, after examination, told them that he thought that she had suffered from an extremely severe heart attack.

The death of Evelyn was a loss to all of the Reilly’s. She had been a mother, mother-in-law, grandmother, midwife, and matriarch in one way or the other to all of the small family. It was Evelyn who had controlled John, holding him back from the faction that was trying to undermine the government and drive the British from Irish soil. She had known that one day everything would come to a head, and she had hoped that she would be there to attempt to control her