Ginger

Book summary

Transported to a penal colony in Van Diemen's Land for a minor offense, Ginger faces tremendous cruelty and hardship. Instead of breaking his spirit, the ordeal hardens his resolve to escape and seek revenge on his enemy, Fraser. GINGER by Irene Lebeter is a gripping historical novel of resilience and determination set in mid-19th century Australia.

Excerpt from Ginger

On board ‘Waverley’ in the Indian Ocean

September 1847

Surrounded by the snores of his fellow convicts, Ginger wrestled with fear. The memory of his earlier flogging weighed heavily on his mind. Sweat drenched his face and neck and he clenched his knuckles so tightly it felt as though his fingers would snap. In the dim light, he could barely see someone kneeling beside his mattress.

‘Drink this, laddie.’

Recognising Tom’s voice, he gratefully drank the rum, which brought some fire back into his belly. ‘Ta,’ he said, and handed the bottle back. He and Tom, along with Jack and Will, had formed a band of four since boarding the vessel, in irons, from their prison van.

‘Noo, try and get some sleep.’

Ginger felt Tom’s hand brush over his arm, before his friend returned to his own mattress. Despite the rum, sleep eluded him that night. He ran his fingers over the unsightly birthmark on the side of his neck, something he often did when he was worried or nervous.

Two pinpricks of light glinted at him in the darkness; the giant rat frequented their quarters to forage for morsels lying on the floorboards. Ginger listened to the creaking of the mainsail up above and felt the vessel tossing from side to side as it fought its way through the treacherous waves.

Dawn was breaking when he was brought up under heavy guard. His fellow prisoners, silent and brooding, were lined along the deck. His hands were tied to the mast and, from where he hung, Ginger saw only the black-shod feet of his aggressor, the silver buckles on his shoes glinting in the first glimpse of early morning sunshine. Second Officer Fraser had taken a dislike to Ginger from the moment he’d boarded Waverley, and picked on him with little or no provocation. This flogging was for sharing his meagre ration with a prisoner who’d been denied food after a minor flouting of the rules.

He sensed, rather than saw, Fraser raise his whip with its cat-o’-nine tails, and his body jerked each time the leather thongs screamed their way across his back, still scarred from his previous flogging. At first, anger at the unfairness of his punishment blocked out the agony he was undergoing, but his yells intensified with each lash and his old wounds opened up once more. Blood slid down his skin, leaving a crimson puddle on the deck. His strength deserted him and long before the fifty lashes were completed, he’d lost consciousness.

Handing the blood-stained whip to a junior rating, Fraser strode off towards his cabin.

Ginger came to as his friends were cutting him down. He continued to drift in and out of consciousness as they carried his sagging frame, his back a mass of raw flesh, to the convict accommodation below deck, where they laid him, face down, on to his filthy mattress. A tin mug was held to his lips and he gulped the water down greedily.

‘I’m sorry laddie, but we canny let infection in.’ Tom’s voice was little more than a whisper.

Jack and Will held Ginger’s arms, while Tom bathed the gaping wounds with brine. The only antiseptic available to them, it stung mercilessly, and Ginger’s yells rose up to the deck. His friends were then forced to leave him, writhing in agony, to go and join their work gangs.

During the following hours, it was only his desire for revenge on Fraser that kept Ginger alive.

He would bide his time. 

CHAPTER TWO

Plunkett Point Mine, Saltwater River Penal Colony,

Van Diemen’s Land

April 1848

Ginger stared into the pitch blackness, darker even than the hellish conditions in the mine. He’d lost track of how many days he’d been incarcerated in this dungeon cell. Resentment still ate away at him over the unfairness of his sentence; seven years’ hard labour in a penal colony for stealing some food from a street market in Glasgow when he was destitute. It had been steal or starve.

On their arrival in the colony six months ago, Fraser had seen to it that Ginger was sent straight to Plunkett Point mine. Kept in chains under constant heavy guard meant there was almost no chance of escape. Several prisoners had already died when the mine flooded.

During his time of slavery at Plunkett Point, he’d been forced to work at quarrying, splitting timber, or burning lime and charcoal. It was while harnessed together with three other prisoners to drag the coal cart along the tramline from the mine to the beach that he’d hatched his plan of escape. He’d failed this time but vowed to find a fool-proof way to release himself from this nightmare.

His punishment had been solitary confinement for fourteen days. No sunlight reached into his dank underground prison and the fetid stench in his cell choked him. Apart from his two hours of exercise every day, he spent the remaining twenty two hours breathing in musty air.

He swallowed a mouthful of the tepid water remaining in his tin mug, then spat it out, the taste making him want to vomit. The daily ration of one pound of bread and an unlimited quantity of water barely sustained him.

He clung to life for one reason only, his driving wish to get even with Fraser.

On arrival at Saltwater River, his three mates had been sent to the agricultural camp, where they could at least toil in the open air. He missed them, especially Tom. He and Tom had been chained together in the horse-drawn police van taking them to begin their sentence and, as time passed, he’d begun to look on the older man like the father he’d never had.

Early on in their friendship, Tom had confided in Ginger about his past life. How he’d been in a happy marriage but, after his wife died in childbirth along with their stillborn baby, he’d turned to alcohol for consolation. His addiction led to him losing his home and job and saw him turn to thieving to get by.

Ginger’s thoughts now moved to his mother, who died when he was 12. Left to fend for himself, he’d searched for work in Glasgow but his fiery temper lost him various jobs. One day he hitched a lift in a wagon to Ayrshire, where he found work on a dairy farm. He’d enjoyed his time there but when Farmer Wallace sold the farm, he’d drifted back to Glasgow, where destitution forced him to resort once more to stealing.

When his cell door clanked open, Ginger squinted in the dim light that flooded through the doorway. ‘Get up, ya filthy piece o’ scum,’ his jailor growled.

He pulled himself off his bunk and staggered towards the door, his chains grating across the stone floor.

‘Get a move on.’ The jailor gave Ginger a shove that almost knocked him off his feet.

Two guards dragged him along the passage. When the prison doors were pushed open, he was blinded by the bright sunshine outside. After a fleeting glimpse of the outside world, he was returned to hard labour in the mine. 

CHAPTER THREE

Old Friends Re-united

October 1848

Pushed and prodded between two guards, Ginger arrived at the forbidding red brick building. Inside, the thick beard of moss growing in the crevices of the dank walls gave off a foul smell. Hauled roughly along the corridor, his bare, calloused feet rubbed on the gravel floor. Around him, screams of other tortured souls rang in his ears, adding to his own torment.

One of the guards threw open a cell door and tossed Ginger inside like a bag of rubbish. The door clanged shut behind him, and he remained crouched down where he’d landed, until his eyes adjusted to his poorly-lit surroundings. The cell, built to house no more than half a dozen prisoners, had a row of at least a dozen hammocks strung up on both sides, with a narrow passageway down the middle.

The airless cell seemed to be empty; he supposed his fellow convicts were in the washhouse. Then some hushed voices reached him from the far end of the cell. Gradually, he made out their shapes; there were three of them, huddled together in a circle on the ground. One of the men stood up and came towards him.

‘They’ve sent me here from Plunkett Point,’ Ginger muttered through cracked lips as the fellow, dressed in the same grey prison garb as his own, helped him to his feet. In the dim light, he looked an inch or two shorter than himself.

‘The mine’s been closed due to poor quality coal so they’ve brought you to the agricultural camp.’

‘Tom, is it you?’ Ginger asked.

The man looked closer. ‘Ginger, oh laddie, it’s so good to see you.’ He called to the others. ‘Will, Jack, look who’s here.’

Will slapped Ginger on the back and Jack offered him some water from his bottle.

'We hoped you'd survived your time in the mine,' Tom said. 'At least here, although we're worked like mules, we're out in the fresh air without chains.'

At that moment the work bell rang, so they went outside and joined the line of convicts. Ginger was allocated to the same team as his three mates, and ordered to dig trenches for drainage.

As they were forming into their work gangs, a group of female prisoners were marched past them. Their garb was grey serge like the men, but they wore bonnets of the same material. The women were employed in the fields, planting or reaping. Ginger saw a smile and a wink pass between a female prisoner and Jack, confirming that love could still blossom even in this hellhole.

‘Is Fraser still an officer in this camp?’ Ginger asked Tom, as their line was marched off towards the trenches.

Tom nodded. ‘We didn’t see much of him when Plunkett Point was working but he’s been back in the past few days.’

Ginger didn’t reply until a guard marching at their side moved further up the line. ‘He’s always been out to get me,’ he said. ‘Because of him, I had a stretch in solitary confinement.’

‘Try and stay out of his sight from now on, laddie,’ Tom advised, as they were directed to their work stations.