It had been hard, especially when he had seen what the voyage was costing his friend, but then he had witnessed Kydd lever himself above the sordid details and, by force of will, impose his own order on the situation. Now they must go their separate ways, find their own destinies at the opposite ends of the earth.
The coast firmed out of blue-grey anonymity: dark woods, stern headlands—not a single sign that man was present on the unknown continent. Conversations stilled as they neared; the land dipped lower until it revealed a widening inlet.
"Botany Bay, lads," one of the seamen called. It was a name to conjure with, but no ship had called there with prisoners since the early days. Their final destination was a dozen miles north. Totnes Castle lay to the south-easterly and within hours had made landfall at the majestic entrance to a harbour, Port Jackson.
A tiny piece of colour fluttered from the southern headland; as they watched, it dipped and rose again. They shortened sail, then hove to safely offshore. The pilot was not long in slashing out to sea in his cutter.
Renzi watched as he climbed aboard; thin and rangy and with a well-worn coat, he looked around with interest as he talked with Kydd, and soon Totnes Castle was under way again for the last miles of her immense voyage.
They passed between the spectacular headlands into a huge expanse of water stretching away miles into the distance. The first captain to see it had sworn that it could take a thousand ships-of-the-line with ease.
Helm over, they continued to pass bays and promontories, beaches and rearing bluffs. Densely forested, there was no indication of civilisation—this was a raw, new land indeed and Renzi watched their progress sombrely.
Quite suddenly there were signs: an island with plots of greenery, a clearing ashore, smoke spiralling up beyond a point—and scattered houses, a road, and then, where the sound narrowed, a township. Substantial buildings, one or two small vessels at anchor, a bridge across a small muddy river and evidence of shipbuilding. And, after long months at sea, the reek of land. Powerful, distinctive and utterly alien, there were scents of livestock and turned earth overlain by a bitter, resinous fragrance carried on the smoke of innumerable fires.
After a journey of fourteen thousand miles, the torrid heat of the doldrums and the heaving cold wastes of the Southern Ocean, across three oceans and far into the other half of the world, Totnes Castle's anchors plunged down and at last she came to her rest.
"Please y'self then—an' remember we don't change after, like."
"No, no—I understand," Renzi replied. The boorish Land Registry clerk sat back and waited.
It was unfair. Renzi was being asked to make a decision on the spot affecting the rest of his life: which of the government blocks of land on offer would he accept as his grant? But then he realised that more time to choose would probably not help, because many of the names were meaningless. Illawarra? Prospect Hill? Toongabbie? He had turned down land along the Hawkesbury river in Broken Bay—it was apparently isolated and miles away up the coast—but he had read that expansion was taking place into the interior beyond the Parramatta River.
"Where might I select that takes me beyond the headwaters of the Parramatta?" he asked.
The clerk sighed. "There's a hunnered-acre block goin' past Marayong," he said, pushing a surveyor's plan across.
It was a cadastral outline of ownership without any clue as to the nature of the terrain but, then, what judgement could he bring to bear in any event? The land was adopted on either side so it could be assumed that it was of farming quality. "That seems adequate," Renzi said smoothly. "I'll take it up, I believe."
Within the hour, and for the sum of two shillings and sixpence stamp duty, Renzi found himself owner and settler of one hundred acres of land in His Majesty's Colony of New South Wales, and thereby entitled to support from the government stores for one year and the exclusive services of two convicts to be assigned to him. The great enterprise was beginning . . .
Naturally it was prudent to view his holdings at the outset, and as soon as he was able he boarded Mr Kable's coach for the trip to Parramatta. This was his country now and he absorbed every sight with considerable interest.
Sydney Town was growing fast: from the water frontage of Sydney Cove continuous building extended for nearly a mile inland. And not only rickety wooden structures, but substantial stone public buildings. Neat white dwellings with paling fences, gardens and outhouses clustered about and several windmills were prominent on the skyline.
The coach lurched and jolted over the unmade roads, but Renzi had eyes only for the country and the curious sights it was reputed to offer. He heard the harsh cawing of some antipodean magpie and the musical, bell-like fluting of invisible birds in the eucalypts. He was disappointed not to catch sight of at least one of Mr Banks's kangaroos—perhaps they only came out at certain times of the day.
Parramatta was drab and utilitarian. His books had informed him that this was the second oldest town in the colony, but with his land awaiting ahead he could not give it his full attention and hurriedly descended from the coach to look for a horse to hire.
Avoiding curious questions he swung up into the saddle of a sulky Arab cross and, after one more peep at his map, thudded off to the west. The houses dwindled in number as did cultivated fields and then the road became a track, straight as a die into the bush.
Gently undulating cleared land gave way to sporadic paddocks that seemed vast to Renzi's English eye. Then the pathway petered out into an ill-kept cart-track through untouched wilderness. He knew what he was looking for and after another hour in the same direction he found it, a small board nailed to a tree, its lettering now indecipherable.
He took out his pocket compass, his heart beating fast. This was the finality and consummation of his plans and desires over the thousands of miles: this spot was the south-east corner of his property—his very own land into which he would pour his capital and labour until at last it became the grand Renzi estate.
He beat down the ground foliage, then found a surveyor's peg and, on a line of bearing nearly a half-mile away through light woods, another. One hundred acres! In a haze of feeling he tramped about; in one place he found a bare stretch on which, to his great joy, a family of big grey kangaroos grazed. They looked up in astonishment at him, then turned and hopped effortlessly away.
Bending down he picked curiously about the ground litter. Coke had stressed the importance of tilth; this earth appeared coarse and hard-packed under the peculiar scatter of the pungent leaves of eucalypts. Renzi was not sure what this meant but the first ploughing would give an idea of which crop would be best suited. He wandered about happily.
As the sun began to set he had the essence of his holding. There was no water, but the lie of the land told him there must be some not far to the north. For the rest it was light woods of the ubiquitous piebald eucalypt trees and a pretty patch of open grassland, if such was the right description for the harsh bluish-green clumps. With a lifting of his spirits he decided the Renzi residence would be on the slight rise to the south.
Back in Sydney, he tendered his indent at the government stores: tools, grain, tents, provisions, even rough clothing. The obliging storeman seemed to know well the usual supplies asked for and the stack of goods grew. Fortunately he was able to secure the immediate services of a drover with a small team of oxen—for a ruinous price—and set them on their creaking way amid the sound of the ferocious cracking of bull-hide whips and sulphurous curses, his year's supplies piled high in the lurching wagon.
Finally he attended at the office of the principal superintendent of convicts. There was no difficulty with his labour quota: he had but to apply to the convict barracks at Baulkham Hills with his paper.