arrived, took station at either extreme and, with musket and bayonet, stood easy, taking no notice of the fast- growing numbers of spectators. Kydd was determined to get away on the afternoon tide; once the hundreds had come aboard they would be consuming ship's stores and precious water.
More worries nagged at him: he had sent for the usual charts from Falconer's in the Strand but all they had of New Holland were the meticulous but single-track charts of Cook and hopeful productions from the small number of those who had passed that way in the score and a half years since, and whose accuracy could not be guaranteed. For his own cabin stores he had relied heavily on the placid steward, Cahn, who had made a previous voyage. Was he trustworthy? Should he have taken on a speculative freight? It had been tempting but he had no idea of how to go about it and, in any case, he had neither the time nor the capital.
The lighters neared. Kydd's gaze strayed to the plain, blocky deck-line of his ship. Within the compass of its small length more than two hundred souls would spend the next four or five months under his care and command. Had he taken enough aboard to see them safely through the months ahead?
A surge of interest rippled through the throng as a lighter bumped alongside the small landing place ahead. The crowd pressed forward with a buzz of excited comment and were met by the redcoats who held them at bay to form a clear path behind them. Then there was an expectant quiet and rustle of anticipation.
Suddenly a loud sigh went up: the head of a pathetic caterpillar of ragged individuals appeared, shuffling and clinking along, a line of humanity that went on and on. Sharp orders from the black-coated guards brought them listlessly to a halt at the end of the gangway.
Two officials went up to Kydd. 'Cap'n?' The moment he had dreaded was upon him. He looked once more at the column of human misery. Some were apathetic, their fetters hanging loosely, others gazed defiantly at the ship that would tear them from the land of their birth; all had the deathly pallor of the cell. He took the book and meekly signed for 203 convicted felons, the rest to be picked up at another port.
Nodding to the guards he retreated to the afterdeck; it seemed indecent to peer into the faces of the pale wretches as they shuffled up the gangway. The gawping onlookers, however, appeared to feel no shame, revelling in the delicious sensation of being in the presence of those condemned to a fate that, after a dozen years, was still a byword for horror: transportation to Botany Bay.
More shambled aboard; it did not seem possible that there was room for the unending stream. The unspeaking Dane and brash new third mate were below with the seamen and the stiffening of soldiers who oversaw the embarkation and berth assignments. Kydd was glad that it was they who had to bear the brunt. He could hear the wails of dismay and sharp rejoinders as the unwilling cargo of humanity saw their home for the next half a year, and tried to harden his heart.
The female convicts began to come up the gangway: hard-faced shrews, terrified maids, worn-out slatterns, some in rags, others in the drab brown serge of prison garb. As they filed below there was an immediate commotion, squeals of protest mingling with lewd roars and anonymous screams.
'Mr Cuzens, I'm going to m' cabin,' Kydd said thickly, and hurried below. He flopped into his chair and buried his face in his hands.
A bare minute later there was a casual knock and Cuzens entered. Kydd pulled himself together. 'Mrs Giles,' Cuzens said, as though this was all Kydd had to know.
'Who?'
'Ma Giles. Come t' see the women.'
Kydd made his way up. On the quayside a lady of mature years was angrily waving a book at him. Her shrill cries were overborne by the Bedlam between decks. Kydd went down the gangway to see her. 'Sir, are you the captain of this ark of misery?'
Something about her fierce determination made him hesitate. 'I am that, madam.'
'Then is there no spark of godliness in you, sir, to deny those unfortunates the solace of their faith?' The book, he saw, was a well-worn Bible. 'They are condemned to a life of—' Kydd gave her permission to board and, accompanied by a guard, she primly mounted the gangway to perform her ministry.
Kydd hesitated before he followed her—above the clamour he could hear tearing sobs nearby. It was a woman prostrate with grief, far beyond the tears and cries of the others, her face distorted into a rictus of inconsolable tragedy. The man who held her was himself nearly overcome and admitted to Kydd, through gulps of emotion, that their daughter was one of the female convicts aboard.
A daughter: betrayed and abandoned, now about to be torn from their lives for ever. Was it a mercy to allow them aboard to a tender farewell in the hell and chaos that was the 'tween decks? What kind of last memory of their child would they take away?
'Mr Cuzens,' Kydd croaked loudly, 'two t' come aboard.' Instantly he was besieged by other tear-streaked faces shouting and weeping.
Kydd glared venomously at the gawpers taking in the spectacle and mounted the gangway again. Pitiful bundles in piles on the foredeck were, no doubt, personal possessions. It was within his power to refuse them but Kydd knew he could not. Time pressed; he tried to persuade himself that once under way at sea things would settle down.
'Everyone off th' ship b' two bells, Mr Cuzens. I'll have the crew mustered forrard afore we single up,' he ordered, grasping for sanity. There was no mercy in delaying; there were now but three hours left for goodbyes. 'An' send word t' the Shippe that the free settlers c'n board when convenient.'
The hard-faced leader of the guards reported all secure: he could be relied upon for the final roll-call and, with luck, there would be no need to go below before sailing. Leaving the deck for Cuzens to attend to the terrified, bellowing cow that was being pushed into its pen forward, Kydd took refuge in his cabin once more.
He closed his eyes. It was a hideous nightmare and it was only just beginning.
Roused by the announced arrival of the first free settlers, a disdainful family from Staffordshire whom he welcomed and showed to their cabin, he returned and closed his eyes once more. Again a knock and Cuzens waddled in. 'Trouble,' he said with just a hint of satisfaction. 'Y' other settler kickin' up a noise. Came wi' a chest bigger 'n the longboat an' won't board wi'out it.'
Kydd held in his temper. 'Where?'
Cuzens pointed to the wharf. A thin man in plain brown sat obstinately facing away on a vast case, a good six feet long. Next to it was neat, seamanlike baggage that, on its own, would stow perfectly well. Kydd clattered down
