Free Tommo & Hawk by Bryce Courtenay

still he seeks this escape.

    But then I wonder, am I yet a man? How may I tell? How do we move from the state of childhood to manhood?

    There must be a moment when we pass over into manhood. We are now sixteen, but it cannot simply be a time set by others when we are said to come of age. It is, I should imagine, a moment of the heart and of intelligence, or even, if there is such a thing, of the soul. But perhaps we can also lose our childhood too soon on account of suffering.

    Tommo is an example of this. He has suffered too much and has been cheated out of his rightful share of childhood, its natural expectations and excitements. He has grown up too soon and thus is bitter and cynical.

    But what of the others like him, the street urchins who hunt in feral packs around Hobart Town? Those brats who look at you with snotted noses and old, tired eyes, their only ability calculating the gain which might be made from your presence amongst them. Are they still children? Unlike Tommo, they are neither bitter nor cynical, for they expect nothing of life, only their certain death at the hands of others like them, or at the end of the hangman's rope. Perhaps the moment of manhood or womanhood is the moment when we give up hope for ourselves?

    The feral children of Hobart Town are the flotsam on the tide of humanity. If the clergyman, judge, teacher and merchant - those four wise corners which frame our noble society - are to be believed, there is no hope to be held for any of them.

    In the eyes of the clergyman, they are lost souls, doomed to a short life of no virtue and a pauper's grave. The judge believes it is his bounden duty to punish such delinquent brats for the sins they commit against their fellow man. To the teacher, they are simply the dull-minded infants who pay no heed in lessons and are quickly left behind. To the merchant, they are an easy source of stolen pennies, to be set upon by dogs when they beg for charity.

    Yet if these pitiable slack-jawed children had been granted a childhood of love, decency and some useful learning, they might well have passed naturally into maturity and proved themselves as good as any other person. Even poor Tommo had the early benefit of love and teaching before we were kidnapped. Whilst I was fortunately returned to Mary quite soon thereafter, receiving her love and with it the opportunity to learn, Tommo spent his next seven years amongst some of the vilest of the human tribe. He has retained his intelligence, which was early formed, and is now only backward in its application. What he has lost is the ability to love and trust.

    I fret for those lost children of Hobart Town and every other town, and I fret for my brother. I feel saddened and somehow responsible that I was saved, while my twin suffered. It's perhaps one reason why I am with him now, forsaking Mary. It is to care for Tommo and teach him what I know so that together we might turn back the clock and restore the love and trust he has lost.

    At times, though, I wonder whether I am rescuing Tommo or he is rescuing me. Have I run away from Mary? Since rescuing me from the wild man, she wishes to know my whereabouts at every moment and seeks to direct my efforts at every turn. Mary loves me with all her heart but thinks me disadvantaged in two ways: I am only a black man and I have no voice to speak for myself. She sees herself as my protector and as my voice, and it would be ever thus had I remained with her in Hobart Town.

    How then should I test myself? How then should I come to know my own character, whether I am good or bad, strong or weak? Do my dreams for the future exist only because I am a privileged creature and have no knowledge of the true nature of men? All these questions I think of on our voyage.

    In the end, I confess that I have longed for an adventure such as this. When I heard that the Nankin Maiden was in port I was already well aware of Tommo's discontent. I believed that if only Tommo and I were