Do You Dare? Fighting Bones Read online

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Sofie Laguna’s Adventures in History

  What Life was Like in Declan’s Time . . .

  Sorrow Song from Point Puer

  Amazing Feats and Big Events from 1836

  Where the hell could Danny be? Declan wondered as he smashed his way through the bush that encircled the grounds of Point Puer Boys Prison. His little brother hadn’t made it to the line-up to return to the barracks after fieldwork and Declan knew something was wrong. Rain fell in Declan’s eyes as he pushed his way through the scrub towards the cliff. The wind threatened to drag him over the cliff’s edge. In this new southern island – Van Diemen’s Land – storms came quickly and without warning.

  ‘Danny!’ Declan knew it was a risk to call out – if the guards discovered them here they’d be lashed – but he felt desperate. What had happened to his brother?

  Declan looked out at the sea, swirling and boiling at the base of the cliff, and shivered. Danny would have told me if he was up to something, he thought, scouring the bush that ran the length of the ridge. If I go much further, I’ll hit the demarcation line. And the guards will see me.

  The demarcation line was an invisible boundary that ran the length of the peninsula. It was the checking point for prisoners on their way from Port Arthur, where they fetched water and supplies. Point Puer had no sources of fresh water – it had to be brought in from Port Arthur, where the men’s prison was.

  ‘Danny! Where are you?’ Declan shouted above the howling wind.

  But there was no answer.

  He kept going. Lightning flashed so close that Declan jumped. A huge eucalyptus branch speared the earth in his tracks. Declan fell back, his heart pounding. ‘Danny!’ he shouted, no longer caring who heard him.

  ‘Dec? Dec, is that you?’

  ‘Danny?’

  When Declan saw Danny crawl out from behind a clump of bushes, his body flooded with relief. ‘Dan!’ Declan ran to him and knelt down next to Danny, whose face was white.

  ‘What happened?’ Declan asked. ‘Why weren’t you at the line-up to go back to barracks?’

  ‘Dec . . .’ Danny shook his head. He could hardly speak.

  ‘What is it?’

  Danny gripped Declan’s arm, his fingers digging into his flesh. ‘Striker . . .’

  Declan shuddered. Striker was the prison bully. He ruled over the younger prisoners, torturing them if they refused to give up their rations. Declan did his best to keep his gang out of Striker’s way. ‘What did he do to you?’

  ‘Not to me . . . to Johnny Briggs.’

  Declan knew Johnny Briggs; he was another prisoner about the same age as Danny.

  Danny nodded towards the cliff. ‘We were clearing the trees along the eastern edge when they got into a fight – Johnny wouldn’t give up his water ration. Striker hit him but Johnny wouldn’t give in. Then Striker dragged Johnny to the cliff, where the guards couldn’t see. I followed them . . .’ Danny’s grip on Declan’s arm tightened. ‘I heard Johnny scream as he fell. Striker pushed him, Dec.’

  ‘No . . .’ Declan shook his head, struggling to believe what his brother was telling him. ‘You’re sure it wasn’t an accident?’

  ‘I saw the whole thing.’

  ‘But murder, Danny?’

  Danny nodded. ‘And Dec?’ Danny was shaking with cold and fear. ‘After Striker did it . . . he saw me.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Danny knew that Striker was dangerous. He’d seen him injure plenty of the younger prisoners – bashing Tommy Hill so badly he’d broken his ribs – but for all his threats, he didn’t think Striker capable of murder.

  ‘He came after me, Dec. He was chasing me. He called my name, but I hid. I didn’t know if it was safe to come out.’

  ‘Oh God.’

  ‘Striker knows that I know,’ said Danny. ‘He’ll be after me, Dec.’

  ‘Maybe he won’t,’ said Declan uncertainly. ‘Maybe . . . Maybe he’ll just stay quiet and keep away. Let everyone think it was an accident.’ But even as he said the words, he didn’t believe them.

  ‘I’m a witness,’ said Danny. ‘He knows he’ll be hung if he’s caught. It’s me or him.’

  ‘Well, it won’t be you!’ said Declan fiercely.

  Ever since they were small, Declan had felt it was his job to protect Danny. Danny had caught polio when he was not much more than a baby and it had left him with a slow leg. It was up to Declan to have the strength for both of them, especially in this new land so far from home.

  ‘Maybe I should go to the captain myself,’ said Danny, desperately. ‘Tell him everything . . .’

  Declan’s mind was racing. ‘No, Danny. Don’t . . . They’ll never believe you. They think Irish boys are all liars, remember? It will just make more trouble with Striker.’ Declan pulled Danny to his feet. There was no time to think properly now. ‘Come on. You know what will happen if we’re missing.’

  The boys stumbled through the rain and the wind, back to the barracks and their gang, just as the rest of the prisoners were being locked in for the night.

  ‘Why were you and Danny so late back from the field?’ whispered Seamus as the boys searched for a place at the benches to eat their supper. ‘You’re lucky the guards didn’t notice you weren’t at line-up.’

  ‘You look like you’ve seen ghosts,’ said Col, pushing his bowl of gruel across the table and sliding into an empty place. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Not now,’ said Declan softly. He knew there were too many listening ears; the gang shared the barracks with over 250 other convict boys, all of them hungry for a new story to tell.

  ‘Striker,’ mouthed Danny, his face still pale with shock.

  ‘Shhh!’ Declan shook his head. Even though Striker was in Crim Class, where he was kept in a cell separate from the main barracks, some of his Newgate gang were here. He glanced across the crowded room at Hugh and Tom Draper. They’d all done time together in Newgate Prison; they’d do anything Striker told them to.

  Declan turned back to his own gang, sticking his spoon into his bowl of gruel. They’d first met on board the Lady Kennaway as the convict ship carried them and 309 other male prisoners all the way from Ireland to the bottom of the world. Declan had watched as disease and death spread through the overcrowded hull of the ship – dysentery and scurvy. He knew how lucky he and Danny were to be alive, and even luckier to be together.

  Danny was Declan’s only real blood in the group, but Seamus and Col had survived that three-and-a-half month voyage alongside him – making him laugh, watching his back, sharing whatever they had – and they, too, were Irish. It didn’t take long for Declan to feel that the four of them were brothers.

  ‘Johnny Briggs! Where is Johnny?’ two guards pushed open the barracks door and called out over the prisoners. ‘He was in the field working the eastern border. Who has seen him?’

  Nobody answered.

  Danny shot Declan a look. Declan frowned and turned away, his heart racing.

  ‘If anyone is hiding anything, they’ll be brought to the Captain and punished,’ announced Mr Prideham, the catechist and schoolmaster, from his seat at the head table. ‘Back to your supper!’

  Seamus looked
over at Declan, his eyebrows raised, while the guards began their search of both floors of the barracks and, just as Declan knew, they didn’t find Johnny Briggs anywhere.

  Declan’s first opportunity to tell Seamus and Col what had happened was after schoolwork. Lessons took place with Mr Prideham each evening, and Declan hated every second. What use are numbers and letters to me in this place, he wondered, when I’m nothing but a prisoner? But Captain Booth, the prison commandant, had established a routine of schoolwork and training for all convict boys so that one day ‘you might know more than a life of crime,’ he’d told them. ‘Doesn’t he know you can’t teach an Irishman anything he doesn’t want to learn?’ Col had joked. After lessons the boys were permitted to play quietly for an hour until bedtime.

  The four clustered together playing knucklebones with stones they’d found on the beach.

  ‘So what happened?’ asked Col. ‘Did you see Mr Badley bathing naked in the ocean again?’

  They burst into laughter – all except Danny.

  ‘Worse,’ he said seriously.

  Declan looked over his shoulder to make sure nobody was paying them any attention. Hugh and Tom Draper were playing cards with a large group of boys on the far side of the room. ‘Danny saw Striker push Johnny over the cliff.’

  Seamus gasped. ‘What?’

  ‘Jesus,’ said Col. ‘So that’s where Johnny’s got to.’

  ‘And Striker knows that Danny saw,’ added Declan. ‘He tried to catch him on the ridge but Danny hid.’

  ‘He’s after me,’ said Danny.

  ‘Oh, sheez . . .’ said Col.

  ‘Striker will be executed if Booth finds out what happened to Johnny,’ Declan said.

  For a while, no one spoke. Declan shook the knucklebones between his hands. ‘Remember those three men who were hanged in Hobart just before we came to Van Diemen’s Land?’ asked Col eventually. ‘That was for murder . . .’

  ‘What about Mary MacLauclan? A woman,’ said Danny. ‘Murdered her own baby as soon as it came out . . .’

  ‘. . . and taken straight to the gallows,’ said Col.

  ‘And Tierny,’ added Seamus. ‘He was only seventeen, wasn’t he?’

  ‘And that was just for burglary,’ said Danny.

  ‘If only you hadn’t seen, Danny,’ said Col.

  ‘And then no one would ever know what happened to Johnny!’ snapped Declan. ‘Would that be any better? Would it be right?’

  ‘Shhh,’ warned Seamus. ‘Later . . .’

  ‘Let’s just get on with the game,’ said Declan, tossing his stones across the floor.

  That night, Declan couldn’t sleep. The wooden boards felt hard under his back. When he’d first arrived at the prison, there was room for every boy to sleep in a hammock of his own, but with more convicts arriving every month there was less and less space. Now they had to unroll their bedding wherever they could find a place on the barracks floor.

  Outside, the winter winds howled. When his eyes were about to close, Declan imagined he heard Johnny’s cry as he fell, and he woke with a start. How long would it take the guards to find his body washed up on the rocks? Declan shivered, moving closer to Danny. Johnny was brave to stand up to Striker, thought Declan. Even though he was young and small, he didn’t back down even when Striker threatened him. But without anybody watching his back, poor Johnny didn’t stand a chance.

  It seemed Striker and his gang – the Draper boys and Jim Sickle – were gaining power in the prison. The younger prisoners were too scared to tell on them to the authorities. Striker liked to boast that he’d grown up in Newgate; he’d gone in with his mother when he was just a little boy, still too young to be found guilty of anything. When his mother died, he’d stayed on in the prison – he’d already caused enough trouble to earn a sentence. Striker was raised by criminals; cruelty and bullying were all he knew.

  As Declan lay there, he thought about the public hanging he’d seen back home in Ireland. He would never forget watching the accused man step from the gallows, and the rope pull tight. The thought made him sick.

  As if sensing Declan couldn’t sleep, Seamus spoke to him very softly. ‘It’ll be okay, Dec.’

  Seamus was the strongest in Declan’s gang; he was a boy of few words and Declan trusted him.

  ‘Danny’s in trouble, Seam.’

  After a moment Seamus’s reply came quietly through the darkness. ‘Then we all are.’

  The next morning, in the cold of dawn, Declan stood alone on the small beach at the base of the prison. For the first hour of the day, the convicts were permitted to run free and play like normal boys without the risk of a black bag being placed over their heads as punishment for breaking silence.

  Declan shivered, the wind cutting through his prison rags. The others had been held back for cleaning duties. The guards never resisted an opportunity to separate Declan from his brothers – they didn’t approve of gangs in the prison, especially not Irish ones.

  Declan looked out over the endless grey sea. Point Puer prison was built across the bay from Port Arthur on a narrow, rocky peninsula that jutted out into treacherous, shark-infested waters. This must be the only prison in the world that doesn’t need walls or wire or locked gates, he thought bitterly. The land is enough of a jail.

  ‘Hey, Irish?’

  Declan swung round and saw Striker coming down the path from the prison cells towards him. Declan’s heart pounded.

  ‘Game of marbles?’ said Striker as he approached.

  ‘Sure,’ answered Declan. His voice sounded uncertain in his ears. Every nerve in his body tingled.

  ‘Ready to lose?’ mocked Striker.

  Declan felt the familiar rush of anger running beneath his fear. It was never far away. Hold onto your temper, he reminded himself. Or you’ll make things worse. Just see what Striker wants. ‘I’m ready,’ said Declan.

  Striker drew a ring in the sand. ‘Your brother mention anything that happened yesterday? Anything out of the ordinary?’ he asked Declan.

  ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Declan, crouching and pressing his fist into the ground. How he longed to take Striker down, no matter how much older and stronger he was, or how dangerous. Declan knew he didn’t look like much of a fighter; his bones stuck out in his knees, his elbows made holes in his jumpers he was so thin, his face covered in freckles, like dirt he’d forgotten to wash away. But Declan would fight anybody. He had grown up on a scrap of land with nine brothers, and never enough food or love to go around. If you wanted to survive you had to fight.

  Declan lagged his shooter and watched as it stopped just short of Striker’s line.

  ‘He didn’t tell you about Johnny Briggs?’ Striker asked. ‘How he fell in the storm? So sad . . . They just found his body washed up on the rocks a half hour ago.’

  Declan swallowed hard. ‘No, he didn’t. I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ He looked around for his gang. I wish they’d hurry, he thought.

  Suddenly Striker leapt to his feet and grabbed Declan by the throat. ‘Your brother even thinks he saw something and it’ll be him next. Understand?’ He was so close Declan could smell his stinking breath.

  Declan tried to swing at him but his fists struck the air. So he kicked Striker as hard as he could in his knee. ‘Maggot!’ he shouted.

  Striker dropped his grip.

  ‘Fighting bones, fighting bones!’ came a cry from behind them, and Declan turned to see Seamus and Col running towards him, Danny just behind them.

  ‘Fighting bones! Fighting bones!’ they chanted. It was their war cry, learned on the decks of the Lady Kennaway.

  ‘Watch me break your fighting bones!’ Striker hissed, turning to swing a punch at Col.

  Col, who was nine, the same age as Danny, wasn’t half Striker’s size. He fell heavily against Declan, crying out in pain.

  ‘Coward!’ Declan shouted as his fist struck Striker’s face.

  Striker swung back at Declan, but Declan was ready wi
th his right hook, and he hit Striker hard in the chin. It felt good to hit out and let fly his fury.

  Striker touched the blood on his face. ‘I’ll take you down, Irishman,’ he hissed. ‘You and your cripple brother. You watch.’

  ‘I’m watchin’,’ said Declan, circling Striker, fists held up before his face, heart pounding.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Seamus take on Hugh and Tom Draper, who had come to join the fight. Seamus was so strong he could manage, no trouble at all. Col and Danny leapt on Jim Sickle’s back. Go boys! thought Declan. Danny’s got more courage in his gammy leg than all of you Newgaters put together.

  Declan closed his eyes and threw himself at Striker. The next thing he knew, he was being lifted from the ground. ‘That’s enough from you, Sheehan!’ barked a guard. Declan saw another guard take hold of Striker, and then two more overseers broke up the fight.

  ‘Danny!’ Declan called out to his brother, struggling against a guard’s arms. ‘Are you all right?’

  Danny put a hand to his bleeding nose. ‘I’m fine, Dec.’

  ‘Give us more! More! More!’ shouted Col, a split across his bottom lip but still standing.

  Declan was relieved.

  ‘You and Striker are a bleedin’ pair of trouble makers!’ snapped the guard. ‘It’ll be solitary for both of you.’ Declan smelt whiskey on his breath. Most of the guards were convicts from Port Arthur. They pulled Declan and Striker up the path toward the time-out cells.

  ‘Stay strong, brother!’ Seamus shouted to Declan, waving his fist high as Declan was pushed inside.

  ‘Look out for Danny,’ Declan shouted back, the guard’s rough hand against his back. But for how long could they keep him safe?

  The next day, on the guard’s evidence at the prison hearing, the magistrate gave Declan forty-eight hours in solitary confinement, and Striker, due to his history of fighting, four days.

  Declan sat hunched in his dark cell, the stone walls close around him. He pulled the ragged blanket across his shoulders and let his head drop onto his knees. It was torture to be alone, locked in this box the size of a coffin. The only comfort was in knowing that Striker was locked away, too. But Declan knew it wouldn’t be long before he had to face him again.