One Night in Sydney Cove

"Pfft. I'll stick mine 'tween her legs, right up her tight little cunny burrow."

"ENOUGH!" Bellows Corporal Bowers.

"Lord protect me," I whisper, trembling, heart pounding, and both Charlotte and Ann grasp my hands.

"I won't let any of those Tars touch ya," Charlotte whispers, "I promise. I'll scratch out their fucking eyes."

"Tell 'em you want to go down on 'em, then bite of their cocks if you have ta," Elizabeth adds, coming forward now.

Ann squeezes my hand. "We'll kick 'em in the tallywags before it comes to that, Hettie."

Comforted by my companions, I offer up words that sound braver than I feel. "Any of them seamen get past the soldiers and come in here, we can all take them. Smash the candle-lantern over their heads and shove the glass in their necks."

Jane looks at us. "I doubt we'll 'ave to fight. Sounds like the Marines are sorting them Tars out."

Indeed, more yelling from both the sailors and the Marines, and a series of sickening dull thuds of fists or musket-buts cracking against skulls, accompanied by groans and growls, yells and snarls. Then there's silence.

"Put those men in chains." It was the voice of Corporal Bowers again. "We'll deal with them in the morning."

"Aye," one of the Private's replies in the darkness.

We all watched the entrance to the tent and a big man steps into the candlelight, causing us all to recoil for a moment. It was Corporal Bowers, who sets his musket down against the table, bayonet glinting in the flame. The sharp knife's blade is bloodless, thus unused, but I make out blood dripping from the Corporal's nose and reddening his white shirt to a colour similar to that of his red coat. He still grins at us. "Everything alright, ladies?"

"Your nose," I gasp, moving to pass him the damp cloth.

"It's nothing, girl," he says, still grinning. "Only a fist to the face. I've had worse." He then removes his red coat and places it over the end of the table. Speaking to no one in particular, he notes, "Damn it's hot in here."

Charlotte elbows me in the ribs and whispers, "Like I said, it's getting steamy around these parts." When I face her she raises her eyebrows, giving me a sheepish smile which calms my thumping heart.

Another man enters the tent and stands beside the Corporal, speaking in a fast Irish accent. "We chained them up to a tree behind the tents. They ain't going anywhere, Nathaniel."

"John!" Ann gasps. "You're bleeding."

Private John McCarthy raises his hand to his face and I notice he too has blood dribbling from his nose. "Ah, so I am, my girl." Then, like his Corporal, he flashes a grin. "But this is nothin'. You should see the Jack Tars we nabbed! They'll be sporting fearsome headaches in the morning, and it ain't all from the rum they been swilling."

Corporal Bowers gives a hearty laugh at the Private's quip and I feel safe among these men, my anxiety draining away. Despite their coarseness our marine guard have proven they're more than willing and able to put up a fight to protect us from the sailors.

"Wot a shame," Charlotte speaks with sarcasm. "Those nice boys from the ship, all banged up and chained to a tree. And we's were just planning our little greeting party for them should they get past you."

"You 'ave been known to greet a sailor or ten in your time, Char," Elizabeth says with a smile. "It was said the boys on board the Charlotte liked to get on board Charlotte."

"Yes, it's true, Liz," Charlotte laughs, again almost a cackle. "And I know for a fact you've swived more than a few sailors on board the ship too. I believe we shared several even, and if you like those boys chained up out back, they can't escape even the likes of you, so be my guest if you want to take advantage of 'em. We's no longer have to play to their rules, though, so I'm going to find me a nice young Marine, I reckons."

"One with a big slab of meat?" I say, my heart beating at a regular pace again, and feeling light-headed now the tension has eased.

"Oh, yes please, especially one with a big hunk of meat! A big fat salty pork sausage would do me fine." We all laugh and our two present Marine's exchange glances, where Corporal Bowers simply shakes his head with a little smile and Private McCarthy grins at us.

The Corporal passes the bloody cloth to Private McCarthy. "Clean yourself up, John. I doubt the buggers will attack again so soon, so you can take your lady next door if you please. Hayes and Will can take guard duty with me for the next hour."

"Aye, Nathaniel. Let's hope the buggers don't come back with reinforcements to rescue their ship-mates."

"They dare not, I suspect." The Corporal then gives me a handsome smile, despite the dried blood around his face and on his white shirt. "Privates Mitchell and Hayes and I'll be right outside if you need anything, ladies.

"We don't need much, Corporal," Elizabeth speaks on all our behalves, then giggles. "But Char 'ere could do with that 'andsome Private Hayes you've got."

Bowers gives Elizabeth a smile. "Does she now? Poor Private Hayes. I should think if I send him in here he might be walking into an ambush."

"Oh," Charlotte says, "I won't hurt your young Private. Not too much, anyhows."

The Corporal laughs and shakes his head. He looks at us women for a moment, opens his mouth as if to say something, then grins, turns and leaves the tent.

Private McCarthy sniggers, then reaches out his hand to Ann. "My lady, it appears our generous Corporal has relieved me of my duty for the time being. Would you like to join me in the other tent?"

"Certainty," Ann says, accepting her beau's hand. She turns to us and smiles. "Farewell, my friends."

We say our goodbyes and I call out after them with a smile on my lips. "Enjoy your private time," I say, emphasising the word 'private'.

"They'll be rutting like pigs in mud any moment now," Jane whispers what I'm sure is on all our minds.

"Such a nice girl, is Ann," Elizabeth whispers back. "Who'd've thought she'd end up with a Marine Private. She should've tried for an officer."

"Wot's wrong with a bloody Marine Private?" Charlotte says, loud enough for the men outside the tent to hear. "Better than those bastard Tars. Speaking of Marines, look at this 'andsome devil."

We turn to see Private John Hayes entering the tent. He nods in our direction, showing no sign of overhearing our conversation, though I'm sure he did, and he speaks one word. "Ladies."

"The Corporal tells me he was sendin' you in to bring me some sausage, ain't that right, girls?" Charlotte enquires cheekily.

Hayes appears amused rather than embarrassed. "Ah, my Lady, I may, but good things come to those who wait. But if you'd like to take a stroll with me when the rain stops..."

Charlotte's reply is quick. "Yes. A private late evening stroll with a Private would be a pleasure."

The rest of us eye each other, smiling in the dark. Back on board the ships, courtships and casual rutting never occurred in private, for there was little privacy available on ship. Yet here a Marine and his convict lass could sneak into the dark among the bushes and rocks for a quickie, if they so desired. I supposed it would be a quickie too, for I think Private Hayes sailed out on an all-male convict transport, the Alexander, and most probably hadn't been with a woman in a very long time.

And thus, here in the tent privacy takes second place to the urgent human needs growing quickly between Charlotte and John who are whispering among themselves at the rear. The rest of us sit by the entrance in the dim candlelight, trying to mind our own business, but in no time at all the couple are kissing and fondling heavily. We all look away, giving them the semblance of privacy, but I steal glances and notice Jane and Elizabeth doing likewise.

Despite the darkness of their nook, I notice Charlotte unbutton John's trousers and takes his gigantic stiff member in her hands. I look away, momentarily, with a sense of embarrassment washing over me, but I note Elizabeth also watching them intently, not even trying to hide her interest, and soon her eyes go wide in the candle light. I can't resist, recalling his gigantic horn when he flashed it to Charlotte earlier in the evening, and so I steal another glance and at first I cannot believe what I'm seeing, realising Charlotte's mouth is sliding down around John's big sausage. What a big fat long sausage he has too, because Charlotte's struggling, even with her big gob, only taking in half his length!

Though I'd witnessed this behaviour several times on board the Charlotte, I'm still confronted by the sight. Before I were put in chains, putting a man's horny manhood in my mouth was never something I'd even considered previously, because it seems such a disgusting practice. And despite more than a few lags and sailors have asked me to do so, I've always managed to resist. Again I look away, but once again, unable to help myself, I find myself glancing back, watching Charlotte take her time polishing the tip of Private John Hayes' mighty virile member.

She's clearly enjoying her meal, sucking upon the Private like he's a stick of sugar, and he lets out a faint groan. I surprise myself, watching in fascination, unable to tear my eyes from the saucy spectacle, just like my fellow companions, and I feel the opening to my cunny twinge, throbbing and moistening from a trickle to a flow, like from a cracked pitcher of warm water.

Charlotte releases the man, her tongue lingering on his tip, circling him there, and she pulls his trousers down to his feet. Eager and complicit, he fumbles at her petticoat, lifting it above her knees, points his member between her spread legs and thrusts forward, wriggling into place. Taking him in, Charlotte's eyes grow wide, and I swear a gasp or groan escapes her lips. They thrust and rut now, Private Hayes' bare arse pumping hard up and down between Charlotte's thighs emerging from her petticoat, blocking the view to most of the coital action, and again I look away, embarrassed I've been staring for so long.

But I can hear Charlotte gasping and moaning, while John is grunting and groaning. Elizabeth sits opposite me, watching our friend couple with the Marine, her own mouth slightly open, and I can see she's breathing increasingly harder. I notice Elizabeth's hand has disappeared up her petticoat, between her legs, I'm deeply conscious of the way my own cunny is throbbing with moisture gathering there. For a moment I wish it were me embracing with the Private, and I assume Elizabeth is thinking much the same!

Our companion, Jane, on the other hand, turns away, looking out into the dark night, where the occasional purple flash lights up the distant clouds, then darkness reins in our tent again.

"Oh, Private," I hear Charlotte whisper as the man grunts, my attention turning back to their tryst. His thrusting becomes erratic with groans of pleasure emitting from his lips, and Charlotte's face betrays her enjoyment, holding tightly onto the man, milking him of his man-seed flooding into her within. She's no stranger to being in this position, except on the ship it were partly a necessity for survival, but here she's clearly welcoming the Private's pleasure seed flooding her body.

I close my eyes, because it brings back memories. Not of the occasional rough rutting with gaolers and lusty seaman on board the prison hulk and the transport ship, but of my kindly Master, back in his grand house in York. He was a gentle old man who perhaps even loved me like he'd once said. He were the first man I ever knew with intimacy, and I'm sure it were our coupling that ultimately led to me believing we could get away with what we done, thus causing my transportation. But despite his ultimate treachery, the memories of his touch are still pleasant. Unlike the gaolers and sailors I met early on in my incarceration, my Master were always gentle with me.

Aware of Elizabeth's heavy breath opposite me as she brings herself to climax by her own hand, I smile to myself, wishing I'd taken advantage of the moment to pleasure myself with my fingers. Perhaps I'll do it later, for pleasuring myself was something I did from time to time. One thing I learnt on the ship is that we all do it, even if the chaplains tell us it's a sin.

Another unsolicited memory from my Master's house parades through my mind, where one of the other maids, Emily, giggled when recounting how the son of one of our employers business associates had taken her in the garden, giving her pleasure she'd never thought possible from a man. So far in my experience no man had given me fountains of pleasure in the way some of the women have described their experiences, nor anywhere close to the feelings produced when I pleasure myself. Even my old Master, despite his efforts to try and make me quiver with delight, could not, and only I can make myself tremble in delight.

Judging by the heavy breathing from the couple rutting at the rear of the tent suggests Private Hayes has caused Charlotte to tremble with delight, and Elizabeth too has pleasured herself to the sound of their moaning. And now there is the sound of gasps and groans coming from the neighbouring tent, and an unmistakable Irish accent whispers, "Oh, Ann!" over and over. Opposite me Elizabeth still has her eyes closed, and I wonder if she's even fallen asleep now, with a serine look on her face, hand still lost between her legs.

It's all too much, the moisture gathering around my lady parts, and all of a sudden I feel the need to be out of the stuffy, hot tent, so without saying a word, I stand and walk through the door flaps.

"Where are you off to, Hettie?" Jane's whisper is desperate as I feel her clasp at my petticoat in the dark.

"I need to relieve myself." I told a half-truth. The night air is warm and laden with moisture, and gives me little relief from the stuffy tent. At least it's not raining anymore. But the ground is damp and sandy under my feet and as I walk tentatively away from the tent I step in a deep puddle, the cool water drowning my thread-bare shoes. "Damn."

"Everything alright, Miss," a low voice speaks in the darkness. I turn in the direction of the man, noting a big, broad silhouette standing several yards away. My heart begins to race and a flash of lighting shimmers across the clouds in the far distance, behind the man, framing him like a demon.

"I need to use the chamber pot," I say, trying to keep my voice calm.

"Ain't no chamber pots around here, I'm afraid. We do have a bounty of trees, though I suppose in your case that's none too helpful."

"No, I think not."

The man steps forward and I realise he is holding a musket. "There is a rock with a natural bowl shape dropping into a crack, over behind the tents. If you'd like to use it, I best come with you though, because it's near where we've chained the Jack Tars up."

My heart beats even faster as he approaches, not because I fear him now, but because I know it's the handsome Corporal Bowers. I try to think of what Charlotte or Elizabeth would say or how they'd react if it were they and not I out here, but all I can imagine is their flirtatious barbs, and I can't imagine myself speaking in such a manner to a man. Instead, I say in as feisty tone I can muster, "I can look after myself, Corporal."

"I'm sure you can, Miss. I'm sorry if I offended you, because I intended no offence."

The Corporal sounds sincere, causing me to feel a pang of guilt at my harsh words. "But if you say those sailors are back there, I'd like some company. But no watching."

Corporal Bowers chuckles softly. "Don't worry, Miss. I ain't going to watch you relieve yourself. Follow me. And you'll be glad I'm out front because I'll knock all the spider webs down from the path."

"Spider webs?" I ask, thinking about my years dusting cobwebs from the architraves and cornices of my Master's rooms.

"Big ones, Miss. Right across the path. Spiders as big as ya hand! I hold my musket up and it gets the web first."

The thought of giant spiders in their webs causes me to shudder, so I closely follow the big man who's holding his gun vertically in the air in front of his face. Until I were transported I'd spent my entire life in the town of York and I've never really seen a proper forest, but I've read of them. I can't help it but my mind wanders to what other dangers the darkness hides.

We pass the two guard tents from which I can hear murmurs coming through the canvass of both; from the rear of the tent I'd recently inhabited, Charlotte and John Hayes are clearly still rutting. At least, it's what it sounds like, with the occasional groan and heavy panting accompanied by barely stifled moans. Lowly spoken words emit from the furthest tent, suggesting Ann and John McCarthy are conversing, perhaps cuddling after fornicating and I'm pleased for my friend that she has a man who she adores.

Beyond the tents it is dark and some unknown animal crashes away through the bushes, frightened by our presence. My heart beats fast, for I can't see a thing and wonder if I'm more frightened of the creature than it is of me, but I try to calm myself. Think of how Charlotte would conduct herself, I tell myself, imagining her strutting forward with confidence, capable of taking on all comers. But I've come to realise I'm not made of the same stuff as Charlotte, who has no fear of any man, woman, or beast, so I doubt she fears spiders or unseen animals crashing through the dark either.

The night sky is filled with darkness except when it's lit up by the occasional flash of lighting off in the distance. I want to sound brave, but not knowing what to talk about with the big man in front of me. The only thing I can think to talk about is the weather. "I hope we don't get another storm like before."

"I hope not either, because the storms we've had most evenings here at Sydney Cove are fearsome."

"Sydney Cove?"

"Yes, Sydney Cove's the name the Commodore has given this inlet of the Harbour," Corporal Bowers says, making a grand sweep of his arm as if to encompass the stretch of water where the ships lay at anchor, lights blinking from their decks and through open ports. Shouts and yells accompany rowdy singing and the sound of a fiddle wafting across the water from crewmen enjoying their double rum ration. "The colony we are to build will be called Sydney, named after the Viscount Lord Sydney. But we've all been calling the convict camp here The Rocks, for obvious reasons." This time he sweeps his hand in the direction of the rocky mass rising immediately above the camp.

"After I'm finished with my business, I think I'll call this area The Chamber Pot."

Bowers gives a low laugh. "Many of us are calling the place much worse names."

Considering we are now many yards from the guard tent, I begin to wonder where Corporal Bowers is leading me. "If you don't mind me asking, where is this chamber pot rock?"

"Up there, Miss. Watch the Tars on the ground here." I look near Bowers' feet, seeing a couple of sailors chained to the trunk of a tree in the dark, their legs sprawled out across our path. I pick my way around them, trying not to wake either sailor.

"Evenin', Miss," one of the chained sailors says, and I near jump out of my wits. He laughs at my reaction and perhaps the filthy thoughts I'm sure he's thinking in his dirty head. "Corporal leading you up the garden path is he?"

"That's enough out of you," Corporal Bowers tells the man. "If you want to be released before the Commodore musters us in the morning, you best keep your mouth firmly shut."

"Yeah, guv, you won't 'ere another peep out o' me, I swears." As I pass by, however, the man whispers, "But I bet he'll hear from you. Oooh, Oooh, Oooh!"

"Ignore the man," Bowers tells me, and I suppose by the tone of his voice he's embarrassed. "Not all of us are like him."