Command

He took a deep, ragged breath and turned to go below. Mowlett stood before him as though to bar his way. 'An agreeable enough scene, Mr Kydd,' he said softly.

Kydd could not find pleasantries in reply.

'Surely you are not discommoded by what you have seen below. You may view its like at any time in any gaol in the land. It is of no consequence.'

'It was not as I . . . Damn it, they're human beings, same as we,' Kydd said raggedly.

'Of course not,' Mowlett responded, as though to a child. 'They're not human at all, old fellow—they stopped being human when sentenced in the dock. Now they are government property, exported for the term specified, and form the freight you are being paid for. When you deliver them to the colonials in New South Wales they will go into a storehouse and be handed out to whoever lays claim to a free government issue of labour. They have no other purpose or existence.'

The Isle of Wight lay close to larboard in all its dense verdancy but Kydd's gaze was to starboard, to the tight scatter of houses and grey-white fortifications that was Portsmouth Point and the entrance to the biggest naval harbour in the land.

Totnes Castle's anchor took the ground at the Mother Bank, well clear of Spithead, the famed anchorage of the Channel Fleet. Before, there had been fleets of stately ships-of-the-line riding at anchor, but now in these piping days of peace, there was emptiness: only ghosts remained of the great ships that had fought to victory at St Vincent and the Glorious First of June. And his own Duke William in which he had learned of the sea.

Eleven more convicts were embarked by hoy and Kydd's orders were complete. Sail was loosed, and in a workmanlike southerly he shaped course for Plymouth, their final port-of-call in England for last-minute provisions and water.

They sailed past the triangular mass of the Great Mew Stone and into the Sound, then across to Cawsand Bay. Leaving the mate to take men to Drake's Leat to fill casks with clear Dartmoor water, Kydd made ready to go ashore, his the unenviable task of cozening down the costs of fresh greens, fish and potatoes that would allow his ship to face the months of voyaging that lay ahead.

Far off he made out Teazer, one among many in the Hamoaze, mastless and high in the water, still and unmoving in a line of small ships. It was a sight of infinite melancholy.

It was a hard, crisp January morning when Totnes Castle finally left English shores, the winter beauty of the country never so poignant. The ship's bows were headed purposefully outward bound and even those fortunates who could look forward to returning in due course would not see it again in much less than a year.

As soon as Rame Head was safely astern and the ship irrevocably committed to the ocean, the first convicts appeared on the foredeck. Pale, unsteady and shivering at the sudden change in air, they stumbled about, manacles clinking dolefully. Some went to the side where they hung unmoving, others stared back at the receding land for a long time. Still more shuffled about endlessly with not a glance at the country that had given them birth.

Kydd tried to read their faces: there were case-hardened men, some of whom would have been reprieved at the gallows, along with a scatter of sensitive faces distorted by misery, but the majority looked blank and wary, muttering to each other as they moved slowly about their defined area of deck.

At the main-hatch a barrier stretched across: forward the convicts shuffled and clinked, aft was a broad expanse of deck for the passengers. The only ones embarked were the free settlers; Kydd had entertained the family from Staffordshire at the captain's table for dinner; the man was going out with plans to establish an industrial pottery but had little else in conversation. He and his insipid wife were huddled in deck-chairs to leeward while the daughter sat at their feet and worked demurely at her sewing.

Alone in a deck-chair on the other side was the Castle's other settler and passenger. Kydd had been repelled at every approach: at the very time he so needed a friend, his closest had withdrawn from his company. He knew better than to try to press his attention, even though the book Renzi held had not advanced a single page.

The crew seemed to know what was expected of them and, for the most part, kept out of his way. They were few compared to the manning of a warship where the serving of guns required so many more—and had a different relationship with a ship's master: they had signed articles for a single voyage with specified duties and wages.

In the afternoon the female convicts took the deck. Prison-pale and ragged they blinked in the sunlight, tried to comb their hair and make themselves presentable.

Kydd called all the officers to his cabin. When they were assembled he opened forcefully: 'Now we're at sea I want th' people to be out on the upper decks as much as possible. How do we do this?' He looked at Cuzens, then at the others, but saw only incomprehension and veiled irritation. Not waiting for a reply he went on, 'An' why do they need t' be in Newgate irons the whole time? Strike 'em off, if y' please.'

There was a confused murmuring and Cuzens said darkly, 'Guard commander makes them kind o' decisions, Mr Kydd.'

'An' I'm in charge o' the guards. If they needs fetters we use leg-cuffs an' a chain—what th' Army calls a bazzel.'

'You ain't seen a mutiny, then?' the young third mate said, with a sneer.

Kydd held a retort in check: he would certainly never forget the bloody Nore mutiny. 'With guns on th' afterdeck charged with grape and ball, each o' you with pistols an' swords and the crew with muskets—an' you're still a-feared?' He let his contempt show and the murmuring faded. 'I mean to—'

'Ven we get th' vimmin?' the close-faced Dane spat. At first Kydd thought he had misheard.

'He means, when d' we get our rights an' all?' Cuzens came in forcefully.

He was quickly supported by the third mate. 'No sense in ma-kin' the cuntkins wait! ' he chortled.

Kydd exploded. 'The women? Ye're asking me f'r—' He could not continue. That the law required degradation and misery he could not question; that he was the agent of it was wounding to a degree, but where was the humanity and natural kindliness that any soul, however taken in sin, might expect from a fellow-creature? What right did these men think they had to prey on any more helpless than they?

All his frustrations and pent-up feeling boiled up. 'Get out! All o' you!' he shouted hoarsely. 'Now! G' damn ye!' He stood up suddenly, sending his chair crashing to the floor.