Trudging back, Kydd passed a neat cottage. His mind was bleak with depressing images and at first he thought he had misheard the greeting. Then a low voice behind him called again, this time more confidently: "Tom Kydd!"
He swung round to find a young man staring at him from the paling fence of the house. "Sir, ye have the advantage of me," Kydd said, trying to place him.
"It has been some years," admitted the man, with a secret smile. There was something familiar about him; the intensity of his gaze, the slight forward lean as he spoke. "William Redfern," he said at last, but it did not bring enlightenment. "A convict I am, on ticket-of-leave," he went on, then added, with a quizzical uplift of his eyebrows, "and for the nonce, sir, assistant surgeon at His Majesty's Penal Settlement of Norfolk Island."
Kydd looked intently at him. The man continued softly, "And, Tom, your shipmate as was in Sandwich . . ."
It all came crashing back—the ferocious days of the mutiny at the Nore when Kydd had stood by his shipmates through a whirlpool of terrible events but, for reasons he still did not fully understand, he had escaped the rope at the last minute.
"You were surgeon of . . ." He found it difficult to go on. Until now he had believed that the sentence of death on the idealistic young Redfern had been carried out—yet here he was. "Aye, I never thought t' see ye again, William," he said slowly. Ticket-of-leave implied that, while trusted, Redfern was still a convict under sentence—he must have been spared the noose and instead transported to serve out the remainder of his time. Kydd had gone on to quite a different life.
"And do I see you still topping it the sailor?" Redfern said lightly.
Not sure how to respond, Kydd muttered a few words of agreement.
"Do come inside, old fellow," Redfern suggested. "I'm sure we'll have a yarn or two to spin."
They entered the homely dwelling and Redfern found a comfortable chair for Kydd near the window. He excused himself, then returned with a bottle of rum. "I do sincerely welcome the chance to raise a glass to an old shipmate!" He grinned broadly. "And drink as well to the luck that sees us both here instead of dancing at a yardarm!"
Kydd found it hard to treat these baneful ghosts from his past lightly but managed a smile.
Redfern then asked, "How did you . . . ?"
"I was pardoned," Kydd said quietly.
"Then I give you joy of your fortune." He swilled the rum in his glass then went on, in a different tone, "You're master of the Totnes Castle."
"Aye, f'r my sins."
"Then you've done well in the sea profession. Did you leave the Navy . . . afterwards?"
"No." Kydd saw through the look of polite enquiry and knew he could not lie. "I was a lucky wight, an' that's the truth of it. Not more'n six months after, at Camperdown, I took th' eye of the admiral an' went t' the quarterdeck."
"I stand amazed! And, by God, I take the hand of a man who has had the backbone to seize Dame Luck by the tail and give it a hearty pull."
Kydd blushed and took refuge in his rum.
"So, while we've been taking our rest at His Majesty's expense you've been cresting the briny, as it were. Did you smell powder after that at all?"
"Nothing t' speak of—that is, apart fr'm our meeting at the Nile."
"The Nile? You were with Nelson at the Nile?"
Kydd nodded, embarrassed to see Redfern regard him with something suspiciously like awe.
"And now, for your own good reasons, here at the other end of the earth in New South Wales. Is the land to your liking and expectations, Mr Kydd?"
Redfern would obviously have no feeling for the place, Kydd reasoned, and said wryly, "It smells too much o' the prison—an' I've never seen a country like this. T' me it's like young flesh on old bones, if ye take m' meaning."
Redfern leaned over and spoke with a quiet intensity: "Appearances can deceive. This country is like no other—there are some who call it a thief-colony but they mistake its destiny. Here, those who have fallen afoul of society's expectations are offered a second beginning, a new life. If they seize their chance there is a future for them here, free of encrusted prejudices and attitudes of old, somewhere they might reclaim their dignity and freedom."
He stopped then said slowly, "Mr Kydd, here we can have hope."
"But y'r lashes, barracks . . ."
"Yes—for those who cannot put aside their selfish antagonism to the social order. Now, think on it. If a convicted felon has a mind to it, he can ask for and be granted a ticket-of-leave. Freedom. He may then take up a trade, marry, live in his own dwelling—in fine, he will be once more a credit to society. Now where in England may he do this, I ask?"
"You are still . . . ?"
"Yes, Mr Kydd. I am a convicted prisoner serving out his time—but equally I am assistant surgeon to the Crown on Norfolk Island, of not inconsequential status I may add. And there are more like myself who have taken advantage of this enlightened position and have thus advanced in the social order. You should think also of the free settlers who arrive on these shores with the sole purpose of wresting a living from the soil. Together we are creating nothing less than a new nation."
He hesitated, then slumped back and considered Kydd with hooded eyes. "But this is not of any interest to one who will shortly depart for more civilised climes."
Kydd smiled. Perhaps there was something in what Redfern had said. "I've stepped ashore in Canada, m' friend. They're making a new nation there an' it's just as hard a country. If'n they can raise a nation by guts an' spirit, then so will you." He emptied his glass, then added, "But I'm not t' shortly depart—the Totnes Castle is t' be careened an' repaired afore I'll be on m' way."
Redfern returned the smile. "So you'll need lodgings. I'd not recommend the usual seafarers' rests—they're to be found at what we term the Rocks. No, if you wish, you may stay here, if sleeping on my examination couch does not discommode. I have the use of this cottage during my regular visits back from Norfolk Island. Now there's a hard place—peine et dure indeed . . ."
"That's kind in ye, sir. It's been a long voyage," Kydd said. Redfern would be agreeable company and he had no real wish at present to be among the rowdy jollity and lusty vigour of sailors ashore. "Tell me," he asked, "what are th' two Frenchmen lying across the harbour?" It had been niggling: in a time of peace they had every right to be there but he had not seen any sign of working cargo.
"Why, have you not heard? It caused not a little stir when they came. This is the celebrated French expedition of Commodore Baudin! Given special status as a neutral by the Admiralty in a voyage of survey and exploration in the south of New Holland and Van Diemen's Land.
"Nearly prostrated with scurvy when they arrived, and you would not conceive the commotion when a little later our own Investigator puts in!" He chuckled. "Commander Flinders, sent by the Admiralty to do a like task. Both believe they are alone in this uncharted realm, making discoveries and naming names, until each meets the other at the same enterprise."
"Where is Mr Flinders now?"
"You haven't noticed? The rather grubby little North Sea collier the other side of what we call Garden Island. Why don't you pay him a visit? He'd be sure to welcome a man of events."
Kydd completed his letter, a formal request from a fellow officer to come aboard HMS Investigator if convenient to visit. As he was about to sign his name he hesitated—they were of equal rank—then he dashed off Lieutenant Thomas Kydd at the foot. There was no way as a convict-ship master he wanted it known that he was an ex-commander, Royal Navy.
A courteous reply arrived almost immediately and Kydd lost no time in making his way out to the little ship. Only a hundred feet long and about three hundred tons, Kydd estimated—not much more than dear Teazer, but she was a very different vessel. Stout and roomy with a beam that spoke of a broad bottom and shallow draught, she was a workaday collier disguised as a ship-of-war and undertaking explorations on a scale not seen since Captain Cook.