Bridie's Fire by Kirsty Murray Page A

‘It’s for your own sake, Bridie O’Connor. How are you going to serve your new master if you let your temper make you battle-mad?’
    â€˜I’ll be a good servant to an honest master,’ said Bridie. ‘I can promise that.’
    Now, it was Caitlin who sighed. ‘Let’s pray that the new world is full of honest men.’

15
    The New World
    It was a bright January day when they sailed into Port Phillip Bay. The country on either side was grey-green, stark and stripped dry in the harsh sunlight. Bridie hung over the side of the ship and stared hungrily at the foreign shore. After all those months at sea, it would be strange and delicious to feel earth beneath her feet.
    Even though the land was only a stone’s throw from them, the girls weren’t to be taken ashore until the following day. Bridie stood on the deck beside Caitlin and stared at the docks of Williamstown.
    â€˜They’re taking us to a depot tomorrow. Then folk will come and sign for us, take us to be indentured in their homes and in their businesses,’ said Caitlin.
    â€˜Let’s pray that we go together,’ said Bridie, full of hope. Caitlin didn’t reply as she bent over the side and stared down into the green water.
    The docks were teeming with men. Margaret O’Shea stood on her tiptoes and stared into the crowds, searching for the cousin she swore was coming to meet her. Bridie heard Margaret squeal with pleasure as a tall man with a red beard approached the dock. Several other girls were met right there on the waterfront, and Bridie pushed down her feelings of envy. One day, she’d be waiting on the docks for Brandon. One day, she told herself.
    The air was sour with the smell of fish and tar. Bridie looked down at her heavy boots flashing out from beneath her long skirt, sidestepping brackish puddles of seawater. It was peculiar to be able to take so many steps in a straight line, to not have to take into account the swaying of the timbers beneath her feet. It made her feel unbalanced.
    The girls were marched to a jetty where some small boats were waiting to take them up the yellow river to Melbourne. Bridie sat quietly in the boat, her hands folded in her lap, but she stared out across the salt marshes in wide-eyed amazement. The whole landscape was drenched with a harsh, raw light. The foliage of the gnarled shrubs was silver and grey and blue-green, nothing like the exotic lush jungle she’d imagined. Further along the river, they passed a strange, tangled clump of trees with leaves that all seemed to hang limply and point down in a way she’d never seen before.
    The river widened and then narrowed as they travelled upstream. As they approached the wharf Bridie caught sight of a jumble of buildings on the north shore, and further up the river, on the south bank, was a crowd of canvas tents – a small town in itself.
    The girls were marched up from the wharf and along a busy street. Bridie had imagined Melbourne as a village no bigger than Dingle, but here was a town as grand as Tralee, with wide streets and tall bluestone buildings, even though it was only a few years older than she was. People stared at the girls as they walked in line up King Street, and Bridie moved a little closer towards Caitlin so their arms touched. Caitlin looked down at her and smiled.
    Halfway up a small hill was the immigration barracks, the depot that was to be their home until they were assigned an indenture. A cloud of dust and flies rose up from the square yard at the centre as the girls shuffled around the carts that had brought their trunks from the wharf. They were instructed to assemble in the yard and their names were checked off the ship’s list. A small group of girls from an earlier shipload of orphans stood on the verandah of the bunkhouses and watched as the new arrivals were sorted into groups. Bridie was taken aback by their sulky, angry expressions.
    Inside the bunkhouse,