Prison Ship by Paul Dowswell Page A

determined gamblers in return for extra food. Even though he promised to stop I never trusted him again. If he had stolen my mother’s ring, I would have cheerfully strangled him.
    â€˜We could have had far worse,’ said Richard, looking over the forecastle to two lads the same age as us named Eddie Clark and Ben Sommers. London boys they were,and pickpockets. They strutted around like Cockney lords. Quick to take offence and quick to throw their weight around, they looked down on the mere thieves among them.
    â€˜Any fool can steal a waistcoat from a shop or a pound of cheese from a market stall,’ scoffed Ben. ‘It takes years of practice to pick a pocket.’
    â€˜Didn’t do you any good in the end though, did it?’ said Richard.
    As the voyage wore on, the Captain frequently invited Doctor Daniel to dine with him. Dan was impressed with Casewell’s good judgement.
    â€˜He can’t abide Privett, and no wonder, the man’s a bloody idiot. And the Lieutenant, Holkham, is a thug despite his fancy manners. He came straight from a slave trader, so that tells you exactly what manner of man he is. But the Captain’s determined to keep the ship clean and his ‘cargo’ healthy. He wants to keep us all well exercised, despite the protests of the Lieutenant. If he had his way, we’d all be marched round the deck twice a day, and double-ironed for the whole voyage.’
    I hoped the Captain stayed well. If he died, then Holkham would take command. We were a heartbeat away from reliving Swales’ previous journey to Australia. As things stood, some days aboard the
Euphrates
were surprisingly pleasant. When the sunshone and the sea was calm we would gather on the weather deck and pass the time with charades or mock trials. Sometimes we would fish with hook and line. I was always thrilled when the line grew tight in my hand. Everyone cheered when one of us managed to reel in a catch.
    Sitting on the deck in the sunshine it was easy to forget I was on my way to exile on the far side of the world. Still, the voyage was not without its troubles. As we sailed on, the ship began to show its age. Water seeped steadily through the strakes and we were constantly employed in caulking the planking. The hold was frequently awash with water after stormy weather, and a rota was set up for the convicts to man the pumps. Most of the men seemed to relish the idea of doing hard exercise. ‘You need to be fit and strong where we’re going,’ Joseph Swales told us.
    Despite our attempts to keep the ship clean it still stank, and after a spell of bad weather the smell of vomit seemed to permeate its very fibre. This problem became worse when the
Euphrates
entered the tropical latitudes and we were becalmed north of the Equator. Rats and insects thrived in the enervating heat and even Privett became concerned that some outbreak of contagious disease was inevitable. Windsails were rigged to direct air below decks, and gunpowder mixed with oil of tar and lime was exploded to sweeten the air.
    After those dull, listless days sailing across the Equator, we began to pick up fresher winds as we reached the Southern Ocean. These waters were unknown to me and Swales told us to expect the worst. When the storms came, the
Euphrates
was dwarfed by massive green waves. I had never felt so small and insignificant a speck on the surface of our planet. During a storm even the most villainous of our fellows would get down on his knees and pray for God to deliver him.
    The weeks went by. The sails billowed, the rigging creaked and the bow ploughed through the waves, but we seemed forever in the same place sailing towards the same unchanging horizon. It was as if the world was turning too fast for us to catch up with it.
    I became desperately bored. In the Navy I had got used to living a life where every day could be my last, and on the hulk I had to be constantly wary of dangerous men. Casewell’s