Command

convicts, thin and sunburned, their heads down.

Only one road of significance was evident, leading inland along the banks of the watercourse: in one direction the rocky foreshore of the western side, with its crazy jumble of hovels, more substantial structures and shipyards; in the other, a scatter of cottages, stone buildings, and in the distance over the low hills, a puzzling mass of regularly spaced dwellings.

Turning up the slope towards them he lost his footing and stumbled; reddish mud-holes were everywhere. Strangely haunting birdsong came from outlandish trees, and here and there a garden with alien plants caught his eye.

Closer, the dwellings turned out to be a convict barracks, complete with flogging triangle and chapel. Beyond, there were empty fields and the ever-present dark-green woodlands. It was time to return—Sydney had little to offer the weary traveller.

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