Betsy and Catherine

“Dear Edward, as I write the following, please know there is no particular order in which these things are written. They are all horrid memories.” There had been talk among the other prisoners on our way. A hulk was a ship that was no longer seaworthy. They were convict jails holding prisoners as part of the process of transportation to the colonies. When I saw where they were taking us, “The Hulk” where we were to abide, looked like it had seen its day in traveling. One of the masts was missing and the paint was peeling. The smell of rotting timbers and a dank and musty odor wafted across the docks in front of the wreck. I am not familiar with what is required to sail a ship. But even I could tell that the prison ship would never make a voyage again. And while it was clear that the ship would never make it out of port, there were many times when I thought I would never survive to make the voyage either. As I look back in time now, I felt the horrors we faced on the Hulk would bring me to my death. How we hoped that we might find an opportunity to get a message out for help again. We didn’t have any writing materials and all the guards were rough and brutal men. There was little distinction between them. Certainly, there was no compassion or thoughtfulness from any of them. When so much time passed, we realized Henry had never received our message. Yet we still hoped. After we had been on the hulk for a week, Betsy spoke to one of the guards as he was taking our fetters off one morning. “Would you be kind enough to get me some writing materials so I can write to my family and tell them where I am.” The guard responded, “Where do you think I am to be getting such things for the likes of ya? I canna not read and write me’self. I s’pect you can do no more. Let me see, I’ll be seeing ya tonight and should ya take to being with me I might see what can be done.” After he had removed more fetters from fellow convicts, he left. I looked at Betsy amazed, “You know what he wants Betsy?” Betsy spoke quietly and surely, “Yes, but we have no choice and besides I have been with a man before. What else can we do?” I knew she spoke the truth. There we were on the brink of disaster. In my mind, I could only see a wretched future. Betsy and I approached the evening with dread. “As that very same guard was putting on our fetters that night, he told Betsy he would come and get her a bit later.” Betsy made it clear to the jailer, “I want the writing materials first.” His response was only vaguely reassuring, “I can’t get them for you tonight, but I will in a day or two.” Betsy was determined, “When you’ve got them, I will be with you. Otherwise, I will scream my lungs out if you try anything.” As he walked away he said, “I can have anyone I please.” So that attempt to get writing materials was fruitless. But in a way, I was pleased. What lengths Betsy would go to astonished me. One of the more outspoken women called out, “None of us be liken’ these ‘ere arrangements so we’ll have to be stricken’ together.” Most of the other woman agreed and we joined in the clapping and murmurs of agreement. After her remarks, there seemed to be some sense of congeniality from most but not all. Nevertheless, by listening closely to the chatter, I found out the hulk we were assigned to would hold about one hundred convicts in wicked conditions. Disease was rife amongst us. Sickness spread quickly as there was no way to separate the sick from the healthy in such cramped, inhuman conditions. Shortly after boarding we were ordered down into the quarterdeck. Descending into the dank space, the smell of unwashed bodies and feces hung thickly in the air. Betsy whispered to me, “I heard one of the guards say some women have been on board for sixteen days. Some are in cells on the lower deck because it’s said they are very evil in character.” The deck was divided by bars of iron. We were herded into a large area behind the bars and learned that the smaller area in front of our cage was the guard’s station. In our prison there were a few benches and some straw on the wooden floor. This became our wretched home for several weeks. Catherine noticed what appeared to be a pile of tattered rags. “Look, Betsy, what are those things stacked up against the bars? ” “I have no idea, perhaps they are blankets.” We were to find out that yes, they were, so few for so many. A pained look passed between Betsy and me as the guards went around and put us all in shackles. Those horrid things pressed upon my ankles so dreadfully. We could walk, but each step we took would send slivers of pain up to our thighs and hips and then back down to our ankles. Grotesque in appearance, a short, cross-eyed, plump little trooper addressed us from the guard’s area. “My name is Tottenham. I am assigned to accompany you to the colonies, so be sure you follow the rules on the hulk and then on the ship we will be assigned to.” “You’ll be fed three times a day, and you’ll be set to work daily starting from tomorrow. You will wash before breakfast and after the evening meal. Guards will bring your meal tonight, but tomorrow you’ll take it in turns to prepare the food.”