THE DEPRIVED... Chapter 4...Part 21.

A continuation of my book.

At early light the next morning, George was up and had lit a fire, making some breakfast which they ate, with George reminding Sam of his promise of the night before.
“When we get to London…” began George as they mounted and began to ride in the direction of Tockworth.

Tockworth was no larger than Catcheroo, although it did boast of a small hotel and stables, as well as a small fort just outside the town which housed the local troopers, who seemed to spend more time in the hotel bar-room which sold drink. Sam rode up to the stable where he and George dismounted and Sam explained the need to buy two good steeds, ponies which were as sturdy as those he now handed over with a direction they should be returned to Jack Tolliver. Having paid with a gold nugget and been assured by the stableman the two horses would be returned to Jack Tolliver, Sam and George prepared to the hotel where they sat in the bar-room and ate a hearty meal. Sam drank a lukewarm beer while George had lemonade. The pair spent the night at the hotel and were ready early the next morning, to saddle the two horses and take their leave from the town, heading for the next town of Tackatoo.
Symester was passed without a stop, being only a days ride from Tackatoo. Then onwards to the next town and stopping for a short while before remounting and on their way to Fremantle which was still two weeks ride away and taking the pair through wild and untamed country where, it was said, bushrangers plied their trade. Sam had purchased a rifle and handgun at Symester and felt more confident with such an armament. George still talked unceasingly about his visions and hopes of the life he would live when he reached London. He talked of how his parents had come to this land as free-class, taking on work in the mining towns and ranches which had begun to spring up. His parents had seen him born and then felt their disappointment on discovering the child had difficulty in speaking and maturing as a normal child. They had then left him at a charity home in Sydney, from where he had been moved from place to place and eventually, at the age of thirty-seven, had been farmed out to Jack Tolliver. Now he saw Sam as his deliverer, the one who fed his imagination each night at camp fires, with his tales and stories. George lived his dream, each day peering ahead into the distance and seeing the scope of the sea and the big ships which would carry him across the sea to the fabled London Town.

The town of Camonson was reached at five in the afternoon and it was the first town whose lights could be seen from some miles off. Some called it the ‘Gateway’ to the Australian wild-west, the last outpost which had a large community with shops and even a courthouse. George watched open-mouthed as a man wobbled along, riding some metal contraption which needed no horse to pull it as it cranked down the main street, the man’s legs pushing pedals and steering it with a top bar.
“That’s progress.” said Sam, his eyes following the machine as it moved, the rider now pumping on a horn as a warning to those not aware of its coming.
With the horses stabled, Sam booked both of them into the smaller hotel in Lampas Street and left George to wander round the town with eyes as big as marbles as he took in the progress of life, the new-fangled machines and coloured lanterns which came on once dark had quieted the noise of the days bustle. Sam had asked and been told of the new assayers office, recently set up and owned by one Joshua Pomkin, recently of Sydney.
“Of course, you know that Sydney now has its own banking system, with notes and gold coins which are accepted in all parts.” prompted Joshua Pomkin, having weighed up the gold nuggets that Sam had laid on the counter.
Having said that, the Assayer reached under the counter and brought out a handful of gold coins, which bore the title of belonging to the bank of Sydney.
“I can give you thirty gold coins for your gold.” said Joshua Pomkin.
Sam shook his head.
“I want English currency.” he demanded. “Pay me in sovereigns, money I can spend when I reach England.”
Joshua Pomkin put the gold coins back under the counter and went out to the back room. Sam waited till he returned with a handful of English sovereigns.
“There.” said Joshua Pomkin, handing the sovereigns over to Sam, who counted them carefully before placing them in the leather pouch.
“How long before I get to Fremantle?” asked Sam.
“Are you going by coach?” inquired Joshua Pomkin.
“No. By horseback.”
Joshua Pomkin rubbed a hand over his chin.
“I should think it will take you another month or so, depending on how hard you ride.” he said.
Sam took his leave and made his way back to the hotel where George sat in the foyer and jumped up quickly when he saw Sam come through the door.
“We have to get an early start.” said Sam and George followed him as he climbed the stairs.                

The journey continued although the towns seemed to be closer together and the views more pastoral with grass and trees giving shade and adding to a more leisurely atmosphere and each town passed brought the riders closer and closer to the seaport of  Fremantle.
“Look Sam! Look over there yonder!” shouted George, standing up in his stirrups and pointing towards the scattered houses and streets which would lead into the main port of Fremantle.
“Take it easy, George.” said Sam, reaching out to grasp the reigns from George before he could dig his heels in and race off into town.
“We have to find our way about, George. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves, do we?”
George nodded eagerly, his smile spreading as he brought his mount to heel and followed Sam as they made their way through the outlying suburbs and into the town proper. It seemed that all the streets led down to the Docks, from where the scent of ozone and the sounds of the sea crept upwards into the town like an airy carpet of business. The sea port was a hive of activity with seamen and dock-workers clamouring the dockside. Tall masts grew from the decks of the sailing ships, some with a full spread of sails ballooning white as the ships waited for the oncoming tides to carry them away. Steamers lay to the port with smoke coming from their funnels while cranes hefted cargos and dockworkers hurried down gangplanks, unloading boxes and sacks of stores and taking on new stock. Sam left George to stable the horses as he made his way to the shipping offices and join a crowd who clamoured for tickets and information about the coming voyages. Sam queued in line and eventually faced the man who peered out at him from behind a wire-fronted ticket office.
“I want a ticket to England.” said Sam. “One way.” he added.
He was told that the sailing ship, The Orion, would be setting sail on the coming Tuesday. Sam paid for the ticket and put it in his pocket then walked down towards the main store where he bought two new sets of clothes and a second-hand brown leather suitcase to put them in.

Sam had given no thought to George and had no intention of going back to the stable to find him. Instead he walked to Grange Street which contained numerous lodging houses and booked himself into a small room for the three days, settling himself in till the time came for him to walk down to the dockside and embark on the voyage which would take him back to the streets of London’s East-End. His jaw tightened as his mind went back to a long time ago, a time when his mother lay sick and dying on a bed of old sacks. He grimaced as he remembered the pact he had made with himself those many years ago, to gain vengeance and to revenge his mother’s death by taking the lives of those Night-Girls who were once her friends and then betrayed her. It was not that Sam knew those same women were long gone now but there were others who plied their trade and it would be they who would suffer the consequences, the years which played each day on his mind till all he thought about was an ultimate revenge. Sam lay back on the bed and allowed his mind to imagine the path ahead. In this way he fell asleep.
Sam did not leave the lodgings, even ordering food to be brought in and he stayed this way until early on the Tuesday morning when he made his way down to the dockside and joined the queues of people who waited to embark on The Orion. The ship was not of first class quality though this did not matter to those who were prepared to sail the seas for quite some time. As the queue began to edge forward Sam noted that the men, especially those on their own and those towards middle-age were put to one side and held by troopers and custom Officers. Each man was asked their business and why they wanted to get to England. Papers were examined and those who produced tickets of leave were made to stand in a group and then given berths in the lower decks. Sam had shown O’Connor’s ticket of leave, having purchased the ticket in that name and so he settled down in sharing a cabin with twenty men, having hammocks which had Sam remembering the last time, many years back when he had slept in a hammock on the prison hulk. The men spoke to each other in quiet voices, sharing times of hard labour and grim service until earning their tickets of leave which allowed them to leave Australia and to set foot back on English soil, should the ship not sink. Sam did not speak to the others as the ship set sail and left the harbour of Fremantle behind.
After a voyage of many weeks the ship docked at Plymouth harbour and Sam collected his small suitcase and disembarked with the rest of the men and then walked away without a word.

“I’m still not trusting that man who lives up in the attic.” complained Joe Ingrams to his wife.
She took a pinch of snuff from the small tin and stiffed it sharply up each side of her nostril. Her eyes watered and putting the tin down on the table, she waited with a hand raised up to her nose. Joe Ingrams waited till his wife suddenly exploded a sneeze before continuing his speech.
“He’s a strange one is all I say about him. What with his comings and goings in the middle of the night and never saying a word as to what his business might be about. It aint natural that a man comes and goes without a word of communication to pass the time.”
Joe Ingrams wife said nothing as she hung the kettle on the hook over the fire and wiped at her nose.
“It aint natural is all I say.” finished the landlord.

Upstairs in the attic room, Sam sat on the bunk, his eyes staring upwards at the bare ceiling joists with dark and fathomless eyes which seemed to have lost hope. Taking up the parcel of rough brown paper, he untied it and drew out the length of rope. He breathed easily as his hands idly fashioned the knots on the rope, looping the end to make a noose. His hands moved slowly as if they had a mind of their own and not needing sight to convey whether the ties were right or wrong.
“They paid, Mammy. They paid for what they did to you.” he whispered.
He slowly rose and pulled at the end of the rope, tightening and testing the slip-knot at the end of the noose. Satisfied, Sam brought the chair to the centre of the room and placed it carefully, putting one foot on it to test its sturdiness. The chair creaked under the weight of his shoe, its spindly legs seeming to have more strength than seen by the eye. Gingerly, Sam stepped up to have both feet on the chair and standing he threw the end of the rope across the ceiling joist and caught the trailing end, to tie it so that the noose hung to fall at his head height. Pulling at the rope with his weight, Sam tested the strength of the joist and then placed the noose around his neck. His eyes closed as he stood there balanced on the rickety chair and he put both hands behind his back, purposefully clasping them and then with a swift movement kicked the chair away from beneath him so that it flew across the room to clatter against the far wall.

“Did you hear that?” called Joe Ingrams, hurrying out into the hall, one hand on the stair handrail, his eyes upwards and searching the dark.
“I do believe he’s destroying our property!” he exclaimed.
“Come back inside, Joe!” called his wife. “Whatever damage he does, he will pay for it in the long run or we’ll have the law down on him!”

Upstairs, the weight of the body swung slowly until it hung quiet.

                        

THE END.