The Gallant (19 page)

“Indeed, yes. I will arrange a dinner party,”

Damien Hayes promised. “A family

affair-and you and Marion must join us, if you can fit it in.”

“We’ll fit it in, you may be sure.” His hand on the door, Dominic halted, frowning as if a sudden thought had struck him. “By George!” he exclaimed. “I fancy I must have seen Lady Kitty Cadogan on my way here this afternoon …

on horseback, riding down Campbell Street, accompanied by a young gentleman of about the same age. Her brother, presumably. Tell me, John-is she a most exceptionally beautiful young lady, with dark hair, who sits a horse as if she were born to it?”

It was an apt description of Kitty Cadogan, Johnny recognized, and he nodded.

She and Patrick had hired horses, he William Stuart Long

recalled-or they had talked of doing so-with the intention of sightseeing, while awaiting the outcome of his call on Damien Hayes. He had never seen Kitty on horseback, but, like everything else she did, almost certainly she would do it well.

“Yes,” he admitted. “I think it must have been the Cadogans you saw.”

Dominic flashed him an unexpectedly boyish smile.

“Then I understand your knight errantry, my friend!

And I shall greatly look forward to your dinner party, Father.” He bowed and was gone, leaving Johnny conscious of unreasoned resentment and, he was forced to concede, a twinge of jealousy.

He took his own leave shortly afterward, promising to convey Mr. Damien Hayes’s invitation to the Cadogans.

To his disappointment, though not entirely to his surprise, they elected to remain in their hotel, Kitty charmingly excusing their decision on the grounds that they were very comfortably accommodated and, as complete strangers, did not wish to be beholden to Mr. Hayes or his son.

“They are doing enough for us, Johnny,” she pointed out, “with the promise of an introduction to Dr.

Hampton and, of course, to the governor. We shall be delighted to dine with Mr. Hayes and to meet his family, since they are such old friends of your

family, but—staying at the Customs House will leave Patrick and myself free. You accept old Mr. Hayes’s hospitality by all means-it will save you expense and ease my conscience on that account-and we’ll keep in touch.”

The dinner party was arranged for the end of the week.

Johnny duly took up temporary abode in Damien Hayes’s commodious house in Harrington Street, overlooking Saint David’s Park andwitha distant vista of Parliament House through the trees.

He was most hospitably treated; Damien Hayes, he soon realized, was a lonely man, fretting since his retirement and, since the recent loss of his wife, often at a loose end with little to occupy his time. He seized gratefully on the presence of a guest and set himself

assiduously to entertain the son of one of his oldest friends, talking to him freely and, to Johnny’s embarrassment, revealing that he and his own son did not see eye to eye concerning the

Chronicle’s

editorial policies or the campaigns on which the paper was now embarked.

“After my beloved Sarah passed away, I lost heart,” he confided. “Dominic wanted to take over sole direction of the paper, and-well, I permitted him to do so. Looking back now, I fear it was a grave mistake. I should have hung on, kept control, and seen to it that he exercised restraint. As it was, the former governor, Sir William Denison, very nearly succeeded in closing the

Chronicle

down. All that saved us was the fact that Denison became increasingly unpopular here and public opinion was united in the desire for responsible government and an elected parliament-which, of course, Dominic had campaigned forwith every weapon at his command. If,” he added dryly, “not with caution!

Doubtless he will learn in time, but it is taking longer than I had hoped or anticipated.”

The old man talked a great deal on this subject. Johnny listened with sympathy and what patience he could muster, having a genuine liking for him and admiration for all that he had achieved. As a virtually penniless young man, Damien Hayes had come to Hobart and launched the

Chronicle,

with himself as editor, reporter, printer, and at times even delivery boy, his sole source of income the articles he wrote and mailed to the London Chronicle

comarticles that, he explained ruefully, often took more than six months to reach their destination, with payment from the London office subject to equally lengthy delays.

At any other time, Johnny knew, he would have enjoyed his host’s company and derived immense benefit from old Mr. Hayes’s revelations, but … he was anxious on the Cadogans’ behalf.

And, far from keeping in touch, as she had promised, Kitty seemed once again to be intent on avoiding him. She and Patrick were away all day on some errands of their own, the nature of which they seemed unwilling to divulge to him. Their evenings were taken up in a social whirl from which he was excluded; Captain Day had introduced them in military circles, and Hobart

society-impressed, Johnny could only suppose, by their aristocratic titles and Kitty’s beauty and charm-plied them with invitations to routs and dinner parties and picnics. They rode with the Hobart Hunt, attended a Government House garden party, and appeared, to his growing disillusionment, to have forgotten the reason for their presence in Tasmania.

William Stuart Long

Even the dinner party Mr. Hayes gave for them served only to widen the rift; Johnny found himself partnered by Dominic’s friendly but somewhat frumpish young wife, while Dominic, seated at Kitty’s side, paid unabashed court to her and appeared, to Johnny’s frustrated eyes, to meet with more than a modicum of laughing encouragement. When she and Patrick left at midnight, it was in

Dominic’s carriage, and he himself had barely managed to exchange half a dozen words with them.

The comptroller general of convicts, Dr. John Hampton, was out of town, and to Johnny’s disappointment it was almost a fortnight before he returned and agreed to grant an interview. But this, at least, exceeded his expectations. He went, perforce, alone to Hampton’s office, since Patrick, whom he had hoped would accompany him, was not at the hotel when he called there.

The comptroller proved to be a precise, somewhat aloof man in his middle or late forties. He was a qualified surgeon who, Mr. Hayes

explained, had come out to Tasmania initially in medical charge of a convict transport a dozen or so years earlier. He made it clear, in the first few words he addressed to Johnny, that he fully supported Price’s method of administration, and he poured scorn on the efforts Alexander Maconochie had made to reform Norfolk Island’s capital respites and other long-term prisoners.

“When I took office as comptroller of convicts ten years ago, the situation was chaotic, Mr.

Broome,” he went on. “We had close on thirty thousand convicts here, and another four to five thousand were being sent out each year to add to their number.

The countryside was flooded with unemployed ticket-of-leave men, and there were over ten thousand serving in the probation gangs, for whom there was little work and most inadequate supervision.

Bushranging was revived on an unprecedented scale, so were crimes of violence, and men absconded almost at will. The gold rush to Victoria rid us of quite a number of undesirables, but we also lost most of our police force, and the crews of ships deserted wholesale, in a wild dash to Bendigo and Ballarat. We were in a state close to anarchy, and strong measures were called for to stem the rot. We took those measures, Mr. Broome, but inevitably they led

to overcrowding in

our penal settlements.” He sighed audibly.

“When Her Majesty’s government, in its wisdom, elected to close down the establishment at Norfolk Island, we were faced with the necessity of expanding the prison accommodation at Port Arthur, in order to take the men transferred here.”

Dr. Hampton paused, eyeing Johnny from beneath frowning brows. “There were over nine hundred of them, who had been gainfully employed under Mr.

Price’s excellent supervision; and they were not only self-supporting-they were able to export agricultural produce and meat to this colony.

And the state of discipline which prevailed I can only describe as exemplary. But … when one is subjected to interference by the Church, what can one do?” He repeated his sigh, his frown deepening.

“You have recently paid a visit to the island, haven’t you, Mr. Broome?”

“Yes, sir,” Johnny agreed, careful to refrain from comment, and, warming to his theme, Dr.

Hampton talked on.

“However, good does sometimes result from-well, I cannot describe it as evil. Rather let us say from errors of judgment. The Port Arthur

Penitentiary has, of sheer necessity, been expanded. The new model prison, which Mr.

Hayes says you are anxious to see at first hand, Mr. Broome, is built on the design of Pentonville Prison, which I studied when I was last in England. The concept on which it is based was evolved by the Quakers-admirable folk, the Quakers. They called it the “separate system,” in which, ideally, each prisoner occupies a separate cell… .” He went into somewhat pedantic detail, and Johnny listened, curbing his impatience. His role-that of a journalist studying prison reform-which he had assumed as a means of obtaining permission to visit Port

Arthur, required him to appear interested, and he did not interrupt.

Only when, coming at last to the end of his recital on the merits of the Quaker system, Dr.

Hampton looked at him inquiringly did he venture a question.

“Does it mean, sir,” he asked, “that the chain gangs have been abolished?”

For a moment the doctor appeared disconcerted, but finally he shook his head.

“No, Mr. Broome,” he conceded. “That has not yet been

William Stuart Long

possible. Special-category

prisoners-capital respites, life sentence men, and persistent absconders-cannot be included in the separate system, unless and until they have served a probationary period in one of the work gangs. Escape from the Tasman Peninsula is virtually impossible and is seldom attempted comwhen you pay your visit to Port Arthur you will be shown why this is so. A strong guard of soldiers, augmented by watchdogs, is maintained on what is known as Eaglehawk Neck, which is the only way the mainland can be reached, except by ship. Let me show you…

.” He opened a drawer in his desk and took out a map, which he spread out in front of Johnny.

“See-here is the penitentiary, with the church, the commandant’s and officers’ quarters, and the hospital.

And here-was The doctor’s long forefinger pointed to the map. “Here is Eaglehawk Neck, and here another narrow isthmus, East Bay Neck, which connects with the mainland and is also guarded. Between the two lies the impenetrable bush country of the Forestier Peninsula. Few convicts escape, Mr.

Broome, but human nature being what it is, a number do make the attempt. When they are caught or they give themselves up, retribution is swift and severe.”

He continued to elaborate on this claim, and Johnny, studying the map with interest, was ready to concede that there was no reason to doubt its veracity.

Only a desperate or a very brave man would dare to try. Was Big Michael a brave and desperate man, he wondered, or had even his spirit at last been broken, if not by Commandant Price on Norfolk Island, then by Port Arthur’s “separate system,” of which Dr. Hampton was so proud?

The interview came finally to a close.

Hampton put away his map and readily gave permission for Johnny to visit the Tasman Peninsula, traveling to the penitentiary by the government steam-sloop

Opossum

in three days’ time. However, to Johnny’s chagrin, an unexpected objection was raised to the request that Patrick Cadogan might accompany him.

“You are an accredited journalist, Mr.

Broome,” the comptroller told him sententiously.

“But Mr. Cadogan-the

Honorable

Mr. Cadogan is, I understand, a wealthy young gentleman traveling with his sister on some variety of grand tour. His

interest in our penal establishments can only be superficial, in my view, and the book you say he intends to write on the subject … well, it can scarcely be expected to make a serious contribution to prison reform, can it? It might even be harmful, by creating a false impression of what we are trying to do here. Therefore, with regret, I must refuse to issue him with the required authority.”

He was adamant, waving Johnny’s

pleas aside, and, fearing that to persist might lead to his own permit being withdrawn, Johnny thanked him politely and took his leave. Both Cadogans were still absent when he called at the Customs House Hotel to acquaint them with the result of his interview with Dr. Hampton.

“They went out with Seth Thompson in his sealer Mary Ann,

was the proprietor volunteered. “Sightseeing, her ladyship said, and I reckon they’ll be gone all day, sir. They had the kitchen pack them up food for the day.”

Why, Johnny asked himself uneasily, would they go sightseeing in a dirty, malodorous seal-hunting vessel, unless … A sudden, unwelcome suspicion flashed into his mind, and try as he might, he could not dismiss it.

Over a late luncheon with old Mr. Hayes, he was offered a commission to write a report on Port Arthur’s model prison. Pleased by the sum the old gentleman promised in payment for what, at most, would be only a day’s work, he asked innocently, “Do you want a report for the Chronicle,

sir? And will Dominic welcome it? I

mean-was

“I know what you mean, my dear boy,”

Dominic’s father returned with asperity. “And since you ask-no, Dominic almost certainly will not

welcome it. But—” He spread his hands in an odd little gesture, his eyes bright as they focused on Johnny’s face. “I have had it in mind for quite a while now, John, that I might start another daily newspaper. It would occupy my time and represent a challenge.”

“A challenge, sir?” Johnny stared back at him in astonishment. “A challenge to the Chronicle?”