1 Chapter 1

“A handful of apples. A handful of bloody apples. That’s all I took. It’s not like he missed them. The bugger had a whole tree full of them. More than he could eat. And I had brothers and a sister to feed.”

Jacob rolled onto his back and stared at the base of the bunk above. He’d ceased to be affected by the constant rise and fall of the ship weeks ago, and only felt nauseous when the weather turned bad; when raging winds whipped the waves into great towering giants that threatened to send the Poseidonto the sea floor. Much worse was the constant stench of sweaty, unwashed men, of vomit, and of piss and shit, although his senses had become somewhat accustomed to it. Most of the time he barely noticed it, but every couple of days the convicts were taken above deck for sunshine and fresh air, and to bathe, or shake their bedding out. Returning below decks, with the scent of fresh sea air still in his nostrils, was when the stink of human filth really packed its punch.

“How did he find out?” asked Peter.

Peter was in his mid-forties and was likewise being transported to the new British colony of Australia. For theft. He was ruggedly handsome, swarthy, and a life of manual labour had sculpted a stocky, solidly muscular body.

“An informer.” Jacob propped himself up on one elbow and looked at Peter, sitting at the end of his bunk. “When the constable came knocking, he found two apple cores. He reckoned that was evidence enough to take me in.”

Peter shook his head. “You know who the informer was?”

Jacob lay down again. “Could’ve been anyone.” He sighed a doleful sigh. “Makes no difference now, does it?”

Whenever there was a lull in conversation, the only sounds to be heard were those that never ceased—the creaking of the ship and the sea water splashing against the side of the vessel; the clumping of footsteps overhead and the occasional shouted instruction; the constant symphony of wheezing, coughing, and spluttering of those surrounding him in the twilight of the prison deck.

“What do you think’ll happen to us when we reach Sydney Town?” Jacob asked.

Peter shrugged. “Can’t say. I don’t know what to expect.”

He stood and walked across to the wooden bucket containing their water supply. There was barely two cupfuls left. He dipped his tin mug in and scooped up just enough water to moisten his mouth and throat.

He held the mug out to Jacob. “You want some?”

Jacob shook his head.

Over in one corner, a shadowy figure relieved himself into another bucket, farting without embarrassment. Jacob barely noticed it. None of the thirty-two men he shared the prison deck with could perform even the most personal function without an audience. Lack of privacy and humiliation were two things every one of them had had to get used to. There was no room for modesty on the prison deck.

That evening after a meagre meal of watery stew whereby Jacob received four lumps of potato and two cubes of grey meat in his bowl, the men retired to their bunks. For a good while Jacob lay in the darkness with his eyes closed, waiting for sleep to arrive. Yet the more he longed for the escape of dreams, the more awake he felt. Thoughts crowded his mind, taking him further and further away from sleep. He thought about his sickly mother and his brothers and sister. What would be their fate now he’d been taken from them? And what of his own fate? A new country, both for England and for him. A country no one knew much about, other than it was wild and dangerous.

He crawled out of his bunk and walked to a patch of pale moonlight filtering in through the ventilator in the deck above. Through the wooden grid he could see a patch of stars, dazzling like jewels in the pitch of the night sky, and he was immediately filled with a sense of peace. The night sky had always fascinated him. It was vast and mysterious. He could lose himself amongst those heavenly bodies, and often stood staring up at them whenever he had something on his mind.

Sometime later, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He gasped. His body tensed. The spell was broken.

“Shhh. It’s me, Peter.”

Jacob exhaled slowly as Peter wrapped an arm around his waist. The tension melted away.

“What’s wrong, lad?”

“I can’t sleep,” Jacob whispered. “My head…it’s so full of thoughts and…”

Peter placed a finger over Jacob’s lips. “Shhh. Come over here.”

Peter took Jacob’s hand and led him to the corner furthest from the sleeping men. He backed Jason up against the wall and pressed his body against Jacob’s.