Chapter 2 #2
With a frown of disapproval, Sara clapped her hands until she got silence again. “You can help me anyway, Ann.” She ignored the snorts of the others. “You don’t need to know your English letters to be able to help the children while I teach the women. You and the children can learn together.”
Another woman might have been insulted to be lumped in with the children, but Ann Morris flashed Sara a grateful smile before she sat down again. Clearly she liked children, and Sara intended to take advantage of that.
When Sara returned her attention to the others, she was surprised to find some of their hostility had abated.
“Now, then, the Ladies Committee has provided us with 100 pounds of cloth scraps and sewing materials for making patchwork quilts. Each of you will receive a packet of materials and two pounds of cloth. You may sell whatever quilts you complete and keep the proceeds for yourself.”
That proposal met with more approval from the women.
Though the money the quilts brought in might not be much, Sara knew it would be welcome in a strange land.
This was the first time providing materials had been tried.
On previous journeys, ship’s crews had complained that the restless convict women caused trouble.
Of course, anyone with an ounce of common sense could have seen that the women needed something to do, but common sense had been scoured out of the Navy Board members at an early age, so it had taken Mrs. Fry to point out the obvious.
Once she’d gained the Navy Board’s approval, the Ladies Committee had convinced several textile factories to donate cloth scraps.
The ladies had bought the thread, needles, and other tools on their own.
“I’ll distribute the packets in a moment,” Sara informed the women, “but first, I want to determine what sort of education all of you have. Those who already know their letters, please raise your hands.” An uncomfortable silence ensued, full of wary glances and shifting feet.
When nothing happened, Sara added, “I assure you, ladies, I simply want information. I promise not to hold your ability to read or your lack thereof against you.”
That seemed to reassure them. About half of the women lifted their hands, including Louisa Yarrow. When they started to put their hands down, she said, “Wait. Those of you who know your letters well enough to read a page of type, keep your hands up. The rest may put theirs down.”
Half of those with their hands up lowered their hands.
Sara estimated there were about thirteen women who professed to be able to read.
She did a similar division for those who could write and ended up with seven women who could both read and write.
After some discussion, she succeeded in assigning two of the women to help Ann with teaching the children and the other five to teach small groups of women, divided according to their level of skill.
One of the women who claimed to both read and write, a saucy tart by the name of Queenie, refused to do any teaching, stating that she’d rather spend her time in “other” pursuits.
When she lifted her skirts and swished them about her calves, several women laughed, and Sara knew at once what Queenie meant.
Mrs. Fry had warned Sara that the problem of the sailors consorting with the women wasn’t always the men’s fault. Some of the “soiled doves” among the convict women were more than happy to continue their profession on the voyage.
Sara refused to tolerate such behavior. It took only one woman engaging in such illicit acts to provoke the men into forcing the others to do so, too.
She’d seen it happen in Newgate, and it would surely happen here.
Besides, she wanted these women to see their own value—and they wouldn’t do that by selling themselves.
But she couldn’t very well say that to Queenie.
Instead, she took a different approach. “That’s fine, Queenie.
If you’re incapable of teaching, then by all means, do something else.
I want only those with true ability. I certainly wouldn’t want you ruining the other women’s chances to better themselves. ”
At the titters of those around her, Queenie lost her smirk. “See here, I wasn’t saying I couldn’t do it, just that—”
“I’ll be perfectly happy to take Queenie’s pupils,” Miss Yarrow cut in, much to Sara’s surprise.
When Sara shot her a questioning glance, the well-spoken young woman stuck out her chin and added, “I don’t have any other pursuits, not of Queenie’s kind, at any rate.
I’m not letting any filthy man put his paws on me. ”
Her words were spoken with such vehemence that Sara couldn’t help wondering about it.
She stared at Louisa Yarrow, straining to remember what she’d read about her in the list of convicts and their crimes.
Ah, yes, Louisa was the one who’d been a governess to the Duke of Dorchester’s daughters until the night she’d stabbed the duke’s eldest son and nearly killed him.
Now the gently bred woman was serving a sentence of 14 years transportation.
Louisa’s angry words had silenced all the women, and Sara didn’t know how to respond.
Suddenly, a soft voice spoke up. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Louisa, but it ain’t like we’ll have a choice when we reach New South Wales.
” It was Ann Morris speaking, her girlish brow creased with a frown.
“I’ve heard tell of what they do, how they send the women off to serve the colonists.
There’s too many men, I heard. They’ll make fallen women of us whether we want it or no. ”
The blood rose in Sara’s veins at the thought that even a sweet young woman like Ann could feel so helpless. “No, they won’t. I’ll do all in my power to keep that from happening. Once we reach New South Wales, I’ll see to it you receive decent assignments where you’ll be treated with respect.”
Moving to the burlap bags filled with packets of sewing materials, Sara began to pass them out.
“But before you can gain respect from others, you must learn to respect yourselves. You must strive to improve your other feminine strengths and make yourselves proud. Then you’ll have a chance at escaping your former lives. ”
Some scoffed. They gathered to form knots of grumbling voices in the cells. But others looked to her with renewed hope. They took the packets, staring down at them with curiosity.
Soon she was joined by Ann Morris, who shot her a shy smile as she helped pass out the packets. Then others joined her, and before long the women were engrossed in looking at their materials and talking about quilts.
When all the packets were distributed, Sara stood back to observe her charges. Many of these women had never been given a chance. No one had ever told them they were worth saving, and they’d been taught to believe they were forever lost to a world of thievery, prostitution, and murder.
But they were capable of more. She could tell from how some helped each other, how others sat down at once to begin sewing, how Ann took aside a little boy and showed him how to pick a pocket—
“Ann Morris!” she exclaimed, hardly able to believe her eyes. She walked up to the petite Welsh woman just as the boy whisked a packet of sewing materials out of Ann’s apron pocket with a giggle. “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”
Ann looked up, a wide, ingenuous smile on her face. “’Tis a magic trick, Miss Willis. Queenie showed it to me yesterday. You can take a body’s things off him without him even noticin’.” She turned to the boy. “Hand it back, Robbie. You can’t keep it. That would be stealin’.”
Suppressing an irritated sigh, Sara shot a stern glance beyond Ann to Queenie, who suddenly became engrossed with organizing her cloth scraps, mumbling all the while about “naive country girls.”
As Sara returned her attention to Ann, she softened her tone. “Yes, well, I suggest you avoid such ‘magic tricks’ from now on. They’re liable to get your sentence lengthened.”
When Ann merely gazed at her questioningly, Sara shook her head. She had her work cut out for her, trying to keep the incorrigibles from corrupting the innocents. Some of these women could become contributing members of society. It just wouldn’t happen in a day.
Night had fallen by the time Sara ended her first day with the women.
Though lessons had long been over, she’d lingered below decks, trying to learn as much as she could about the convicts.
They’d hesitated to tell her much at first, but after some coaxing she’d gleaned a few tidbits about them and their children.
There was Gwen Price, a Welshwoman like Ann, except that she spoke so little English Ann had to interpret for her.
There was squirrelly Betty Slops, who seemed a slave to her wretched surname, for she constantly sported the remains of her last meal on her coarse cotton gown.
And there was Molly Baker, who’d been convicted of selling stolen goods and was pregnant with her second child.
Her first child, Jane, was the son of her husband, but the baby had been conceived in Newgate after she’d been “seduced” by a guard.
More like rape, it was. And it infuriated Sara to think that the very same system that had gotten Molly with child had punished her for something that wasn’t her fault by following through with the sentence of transportation despite her advanced pregnancy.
Sara had tried to spend a few moments with them all.
By the time the women were locked in for the night and she’d climbed the steep steps from the hold to the ‘tween decks, her head ached and her muscles were sore. She’d left the prisoners only twice to take her meals in the galley, and now all she wanted was to climb into her berth and sleep.