“So much has been said-and
written-concerning Mr. John Price’s
administration of the Norfolk Island penal settlement that, in all honesty, John, a true judgment is hard to arrive at.”
Damien Hayes nodded his white head judiciously and glanced from Johnny Broome to his son Dominic, his brows raised in question.
Dominic had succeeded his father some years ago as editor and proprietor of the Hobart
Chronicle
and was, Johnny was beginning to think, more radical in his views than was good for his paper’s circulation or his own reputation. Certainly he was not afraid of confrontation, and he had admitted, almost with pride, that successive governors and the present Legislative Council had made strenuous efforts to close the paper down.
“We’re to have an elected parliament this year,”
he had added, “which is what the
Chronicle
has long campaigned for. But of course the late Sir John Edarley-Wilmot and Sir
William Denison were rigidly opposed to such a notion. By the same token, they both wanted convict transportation to continue, and we gave our support to John West and his
Anti-transportation League. Incidentally, John, Mr. West is now editor of the Sydney Morning Herald
comyour chief, in fact-so I don’t imagine you need me to tell you about our battles. I’m sure he will not have forgotten them!”
He had not, Johnny had been able to confirm.
Dominic said now, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow, “Mr. Price was
William Stuart Long
given the appointment as commandant of Norfolk Island following a serious mutiny, you know. To be fair to him, official policy as formulated by Governor Denison required him to restore order and put a stop to the vices and crimes that had been perpetrated there prior to his assuming command.
And was it not Darling, when he was governor of New South Wales, who stated categorically that Norfolk Island was to be “a place of the extremest punishment, only short of death”? In my view, John, Price did not exceed the instructions he was given.”
“In spite of what’s written in this journal?” Johnny countered, gesturing to the diary kept by Marcus O’Brien, which both Dominic and his father had read. “You can still say that? Was his treatment of the man called Big Michael in accordance with his instructions? And what of Bishop Willson’s opinion and—more tellingly, perhaps-that of the Reverend Adam Rogers? Damn it, Dominic, Rogers was chaplain during Price’s time! He saw what was going on, day after day.”
“Price was no worse than some-no, many of his predecessors.” Dominic appealed to his father.
“Dad, you wrote leaders in the
Chronicle
about Colonel Foveaux and Major Morisset and Anderson-Major Joseph Anderson-that were critical of their harshness, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” his father confirmed, “I did. I also filled the pages of the
Chronicle
with praise of Alexander Maconochie and his system of reform, with equally negative results. I fear, John my boy, that when upward of nine hundred men of the worst character-murderers, bushrangers, and other, twice-convicted villains-are herded together on a small island, the severest discipline has to be imposed. If it were not, the place would be in a state of anarchy. And bear in mind the fact that the punishments Commandant Price ordered were those instituted by the majority of his predecessors-the lash, solitary confinement, hard labor in chains, even hanging. Price did not devise them-he simply followed precedent, and sentences were, in the severest cases, pronounced by magistrates, after a proper trial.”
“Yes, but-was Johnny began. “Surely Mr.
Maconochie’s system met with some measure of success? Surely he-was
Damien Hayes shrugged his slim, elegantly jacketed shoulders. “Maconochie succeeded with quite a number of the Nor
folk Island prisoners, it’s true-but not with all of them. And his system led to leniency and abuse.
Major Childs reaped what Maconochie had sown, and I believe Price did also, to a large extent. Perhaps-was He sighed. “Perhaps if Maconochie had been given longer, the need for harsh treatment might no longer have existed. It is possible that the capital respites and the incorrigibles
might
have seen the light. They might have responded and been reformed. Sadly, though, I doubt it. The men sent to Norfolk Island were the worst elements of a criminal society-degenerates, persistent absconders, and-was
“Mr. Hayes, sir,” Johnny interrupted forcefully, “the prisoner known as Big Michael-Michael Wexford-was no degenerate, I do assure you!”
“Is he-was he known to you personally?”
Johnny was compelled to shake his head. “No. But his brother and sister are known to me-in fact, sir, they were both passengers on board the Galah.
We disembarked together, after the
Galah
discharged the convicts from Norfolk Island and sailed for Sydney, under my brother Red’s command. They-was He hesitated, looking from Damien Hayes’s face to that of his son. “They have put up at the Customs House Hotel, and-well, it is on their behalf that I have come in the hope of enlisting your aid. As one of my father’s oldest friends, sir, I thought that-was
“Of course, my dear young man, I shall do what I can to assist you and-er-your friends,” Damien Hayes assured him. “We both will, Dominic and myself. I have great respect and affection for your father, and I always had the pleasure of entertaining him when his ship called here. For a start, this house is virtually empty, since the death of my beloved wife. My children are married and, like Dominic, have their own establishments. So-was His smile was warm and friendly.
“You must bring your friends-er-the Wexfords here, and you must all be my guests.”
“Their name is Cadogan, sir,” Johnny said.
He reddened, aware that his father’s old friend had misunderstood the reason for his visit and wondering how best to explain precisely the help he was seeking.
Frankness, he thought-particularly in Dominic’s case-was called for, rather than any attempt to evade the issue or to pretend that it was other than it was. Kitty and Patrick would, he knew, appreciate the offer of hospitality, but they would not want to accept it unless their position were first made clear.
“Lady Kitty and the Honorable Patrick Cadogan,” he added. “They-was
Dominic cut him short. He had picked up the diary and was leafing through it. Finding the page he was searching for, he read aloud: was “I was reliably informed that the new addition to our thrice-damned ranks is a special-category prisoner, condemned to transportation for life for high treason. He goes by the name of Michael Wexford, which is not his real name, and rumor has it that he is titled-” That’s true, then? He’s titled, this Big Michael of yours?”
“Yes,” Johnny confirmed. “His real name is Michael Fitzgerald Cadogan, seventh Earl of Kilclare.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed. “And he’s an Irish rebel, convicted of high treason?”
Recalling what Patrick had told him, Johnny’s tone was brusque. “Both charge and conviction are highly suspect,” he returned.
“The charge was instigated by an English militia officer who had lost a considerable sum of money to Michael at the gaming tables.” He went into the details of the case and ended, his tone still brusque, “The scandal killed his father, the sixth Earl. As I understand it, Michael never used the title-he inherited it only after his conviction. Indeed, he may not be aware of his father’s death.”
“And he did not appeal against his conviction?” Dominic persisted. “Surely he must have had grounds for an appeal, in the circumstances you’ve described?”
“According to his brother, he was given no time. He was put on board a transport within twenty-four hours of being sentenced.
They
have put in an appeal, Kitty and Patrick, I understand-but only recently, before coming out here, so the outcome is not yet known.” Johnny gestured to the diary. “Marcus O’Brien, the convict who kept that journal, went back to Ireland after serving his time.
…” Again he went into the details Kitty and her brother had supplied.
Dominic, he saw, was frowning. “Why,” he asked, “was he
sent to Norfolk Island, John?
Presumably he must have committed some crime after his arrival here?”
“Yes-he absconded, as far as we know.”
“And took to the bush?” Dominic suggested shrewdly.
“I believe so, yes.”
“But he was not on Norfolk Island when you went there?”
“No. He was transferred to the Port Arthur Penitentiary,” Johnny supplied. “All we found in Kingston was O’Brien’s journal.”
“And the Cadogans have enlisted your aid?”
Dominic pursued. He ignored a warning glance from his father. “You are in Hobart to play the knight errant, is that it, John?”
Johnny reddened furiously, but he controlled himself and bit back an angry retort. “I have promised to do all in my power to help them, Dominic, yes.”
“To what end? An appeal to the governor for clemency, perhaps? That should not be difficult, should it, Father? An introduction can be arranged.”
Damien, clearly disapproving of his son’s interrogation of their guest, inclined his head at once.
“Of course it can-and I shall be more than happy to arrange for your young friends to meet His Excellency, John my dear boy, at the first opportunity.
Sir Henry Young is a fine gentleman, who is making himself very popular here. He was governor of South Australia before he took up this appointment, as you probably know.” He talked on about the governor, but Johnny scarcely listened.
His thoughts went back to the last night he had spent on board the
Galah.
In the frigate’s overcrowded state, there had been few opportunities to seek out Kitty
Cadogan or to be alone with her; indeed, he had seen more of her brother Patrick and talked with him exhaustively in the cabin they had shared. But, on the last night of the passage, he had contrived a brief meeting with Kitty, and … Johnny was conscious that Dominic Hayes was watching him with oddly searching eyes.
“You are in Hobart to play the knight errant, is that it, John?”
he had suggested, and of course it was true. His decision to stay in Hobart, instead of returning to Sydney with Red, had been an impulsive one, dictated more by his heart than his head. Not William Stuart Long
that Kitty had asked it of him or even, it seemed, expected him to stay … and the formidable Mr. West would not take kindly to his prolonged absence from the
Herald
office.
But he did not regret his decision. Kitty had thanked him, with tears in her eyes, when he had offered to stay and, standing
on
tiptoe, had kissed him on the cheek in swift gratitude, setting his heart beating wildly. He was in love with her, he thought-deeply, irrevocably in love with her, for all she had offered him little encouragement. Even if it were to cost him his job on the
Herald,
he could not have left her, and Red’s skeptical “Well, I suppose you know what you are doing” had left him unmoved, when he had told his brother of his intention.
Dominic Hayes was saying something to him, and Johnny turned to him, reddening. “I’m sorry-you said?”
“I said that it crossed my mind that you might be contemplating a visit to the Port Arthur Penitentiary and that’s really what you are hoping we can arrange for you.”
“I …” Taken by surprise, Johnny
hesitated. Dominic, he decided, was
mistrustful, if not suspicious, seeking some motive behind his call that he had not revealed.
He answered truthfully, “If it were possible, then yes, Dominic, I’d jump at the chance. But is
it possible?”
“For you, as a journalist, it would be. The convicts are not permitted visitors or letters, if they are special-category men-as your Big Michael appears to be. But-was Dominic’s expression relaxed, and he smiled. “Dr. John Stephen Hampton, the comptroller general of convicts-to give him his full title-is very proud of the so-called model prison at Port Arthur.
I can give you an introduction to him, and if you make your request in the right way, I’m sure that he will authorize a visit. For yourself and, perhaps, also the Honorable Patrick.”
Genuinely appreciative, Johnny thanked him.
“That would be excellent, Dominic. I’d be most grateful if you would put me in touch with Mr.
Hampton.”
“There would have to be no attempt to meet or speak to Michael Cadogan,” Dominic warned. “I’d want your word on that.”
“Well, I suppose I must give it,”
Johnny agreed, with some reluctance. “But I take it that you would raise no objection to my seeking an interview with the commandant, in order to make inquiries concerning the poor fellow?”
Dominic Hayes was still smiling. “Certainly not, my dear fellow. Commandant Boyd is generally held to be a humane man. He might, in the circumstances, allow you or Michael’s brother to see him. But please understand,” he added, his smile fading, “that I have to live here and run a newspaper, which in the past has been critical of the administration.
So … as far as officialdom is concerned, I know nothing of a convict named Michael Wexford.
Furthermore, I have never set eyes on-what is the man’s name? O’Brien’s Norfolk Island journal.”
“I understand,” Johnny asserted stiffly.
“And I have voiced no criticism of John Price, who-leaving aside the views of Bishop Willson and the Reverend Rogers-is well thought of here and who is presently holding an important administrative post in the prison service of Victoria.” Dominic took out his pocket watch, clicked his tongue in apparent annoyance, and rose, holding out his hand. “Lord, I’d no idea what time it was! I must go, John. But I’ll prepare a letter of introduction to Mr. Hampton for you, and you can pick it up at the office tomorrow. We’ll keep in touch. I confess I’m curious to meet your Lady Kitty
Cadogan and her brother-very curious. However-was He glanced across at his father. “If my revered parent has his way, all three of you will be staying under this roof whilst you are here-is that not so, Papa?”