Caspar Gordonson joined in the embrace, then he took Mack’s arm and said solemnly: “I have to give you some dreadful news.”
Mack was scared again: would their reprieves somehow be overturned?
“There has been a roof collapse in one of the Jamisson pits,” he went on. Mack’s heart missed a beat: he dreaded what was coming. “Twenty people were killed,” Gordonson said.
“Esther …?”
“I’m sorry, Mack. Your sister was among the dead.”
“Dead?” It was hard to take in. Life and death had been dealt out like cards today. Esther, dead? How could he not have a twin? He had always had her, since he was born.
“I should have let her come with me,” he said as his eyes filled with tears. “Why did I leave her behind?”
Peg stared at him wide-eyed. Cora held his hand and said: “A life saved, and a life lost.”
Mack put his hands over his face and wept.
25
THE DAY OF DEPARTURE CAME QUICKLY.
One morning without warning all the prisoners who had been sentenced to transportation were told to pick up their possessions and herded into the courtyard.
Mack had few possessions. Other than his clothes, there was just his Robinson Crusoe, the broken iron collar he had brought from Heugh, and the fur cloak Lizzie had given him.
In the courtyard a blacksmith shackled them in pairs with heavy leg irons. Mack was humiliated by the fetters. The feel of the cold iron on his ankle brought him very low. He had fought for his freedom and lost the battle, and once again he was in chains like an animal. He hoped the ship would sink and he would drown.
Males and females were not allowed to be chained together. Mack was paired with a filthy old drunk called Mad Barney. Cora made eyes at the blacksmith and got herself paired with Peg.
“I don’t believe Caspar knows we’re leaving today,” Mack said worriedly. “Perhaps they don’t have to notify anyone.”
He looked up and down the line of convicts. There were more than a hundred, he reckoned; around a quarter of them were female, with a sprinkling of children from about nine years upward. Among the men was Sidney Lennox.
Lennox’s fall had caused much glee. No one would trust him since he gave evidence against Peg. The thieves who had disposed of their stolen goods at the Sun tavern now went elsewhere. And although the coal heavers’ strike had been broken, and most of the men were back at work, no one would work for Lennox at any price. He had tried to coerce a woman called Gwen Sixpence into stealing for him, but she and two friends had informed against him for receiving stolen property, and he had duly been convicted. The Jamissons had intervened and saved him from the gallows, but they could not prevent his being transported.
The great wooden doors of the prison swung wide. A squad of eight guards stood outside to escort them. A jailer gave a violent shove to the pair at the front of the line, and slowly they moved out into the busy city street.
“We’re not far from Fleet Street,” Mack said. “It’s possible Caspar may get to know of this.”
“What difference does it make?” said Cora.
“He can bribe the ship’s captain to give us special treatment.”
Mack had learned a little about crossing the Atlantic by questioning prisoners, guards and visitors in Newgate. The one indubitable fact he had learned was that the voyage killed many people. Whether the passengers were slaves, convicts or indentured servants, conditions below decks were lethally unhealthy. Shippers were motivated by money: they crammed as many people as possible into their holds. But captains were mercenary too, and a prisoner with cash for bribes could travel in a cabin.
Londoners stopped what they were doing to watch the convicts make their last, shameful progress through the heart of the city. Some shouted condolences, some jeered and mocked, and a few threw stones or rubbish. Mack asked a friendly-looking woman to take a message to Caspar Gordonson, but she refused. He tried again, twice, with the same result.
The irons slowed them down, and it took more than an hour to shuffle to the waterfront. The river was busy with ships, barges, ferries and rafts, for the strikes were over, crushed by the troops. It was a warm spring morning. Sunlight glinted oft the muddy Thames. A boat was waiting to take them out to their ship, which was anchored in midstream. Mack read its name: “The Rosebud.”
“Is it a Jamisson ship?” said Cora.
“I think most of the convict ships are.”
As he stepped from the muddy foreshore into the boat, Mack realized this would be the last time he stood on British soil for many years, perhaps forever. He had mixed feelings: fear and apprehension mingled with a certain reckless excitement at the prospect of a new country and a new life.
Boarding the ship was difficult: they had to climb the ladder in pairs with the leg irons on. Peg and Cora managed easily enough, being young and nimble, but Mack had to carry Barney. One pair of men fell into the river. Neither the guards nor the sailors did anything to help them, and they would have drowned if the other prisoners had not reached out and pulled them back into the boat.
The ship was about forty feet long by fifteen wide. Peg commented: “I’ve burgled drawing rooms that were bigger than this, by Christ.” On deck were hens in a coop, a small pigsty, and a tethered goat. On the other side of the ship a magnificent white horse was being hoisted out of a boat with the help of the yardarm used as a crane. A scrawny cat bared its fangs at Mack. He had an impression of coiled ropes and furled sails, a smell of varnish, and a rocking motion underfoot; then they were shoved across the lip of a hatch and down a ladder.
There seemed to be three lower decks. On the first, four sailors were eating their midday meal, sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by sacks and chests that presumably contained supplies for the voyage. On the third, all the way down at the foot of the ladder, two men were stacking barrels, hammering wedges between them so that they could not move during the voyage. At the level of the middle deck, which was obviously for the convicts, a sailor roughly pulled Mack and Barney off the ladder and shoved them through a doorway.
There was an odor of tar and vinegar. Mack peered at his surroundings in the gloom. The ceiling was an inch or two above his head: a tall man would have to stoop. It was pierced by two gratings that admitted a little light and air, not from outside but from the enclosed deck above, which itself was lit by open hatches. Along both sides of the hold were wooden racks, six feet wide, one at waist height and one a few inches off the floor.
With horror Mack realized the racks were for the convicts to lie on. They would be spending the voyage on these bare shelves.
They shuffled along the narrow walkway between the rows. The first few berths were already occupied by convicts lying flat, still chained in pairs. They were quiet, stunned by what was happening to them. A sailor directed Peg and Cora to lie next to Mack and Barney, like knives in a drawer. They took their positions, and the sailor roughly shoved them closer together, so that they were touching. Peg was able to sit upright but the grown-ups were not, for there was not enough headroom. The best Mack could do was to prop himself on one elbow.
At the end of the row Mack spotted a large earthenware jar, about two feet high, cone shaped with a broad flat base and a rim about nine inches across. There were three others around the hold. They were the only items of furniture visible, and he realized they were the toilets.
“How long will it take to get to Virginia?” said Peg.
“Seven weeks,” he said. “If we’re lucky.”
Lizzie watched as her trunk was carried into the large cabin at the rear of the Rosebud. She and Jay had the owner’s quarters, a bedroom and a day room, and there was more space than she had expected. Everyone talked of the horrors of the transatlantic voyage, but she was determined to make the best of it and try to enjoy the novel experience.