Sydney – Port Jackson – Picture from Australia’s Heritage Magazine 1969
Published: 6 May 2019
Edward was having difficulty remembering the way, there were many markers, songlines that had been explained by Bahloo with stories to sites along the path and how they were created by ancestor spirits to show direction, like beacons in a dark and stormy night. Some so subtle it took imagination to find, never mind what they were intended to express.
There was the sand gonna whose tail carved the valleys, the rainbow serpent that created most everything. Others Bahloo had refused to explain, describing them as private to tribal men and could not be shared with women or strangers. Edward assumed it was so their womenfolk could not visit or stumble into private men’s business. Eventually Edward ran out of Bahloo’s markers and songlines, finding himself within a large forest of trees with a sameness that was confusing.
By early afternoon Edward became bushed, lost in a sea of green and tree trunks without the sight of mountains or stream. Panic was building as those mighty trees commenced to close in on him as if rallying against his progress but as quickly he thought, ‘what was it Bahloo said if lost?’
‘Climb a tree,’ he looked about finding most too tall and straight, lacking lower limbs for footing. Besides he had not climbed a tree since he was a child and even then it was only the ancient oak at the corner of the paddock on his father’s farm. The oak was easy going with its huge gnarled trunk and thick lower branches almost wide enough to walk upright upon, while further out those branches were supported by props to keep them from breaking, stretching further with the seasons like the long arms of some sleeping giant.
In that oak the lad could climb to the very top and from there could watch the ships as they sailed by to the Orient, to Africa or the Americas or the men-of-war and troop transporters as they left for France. Once he even saw a sea battle between three French frigates and two English ships. That day the wind had changed, with a north easterly blowing almost a gale and neither had the advantage.
Ahead Edward noticed a grove of Turpentine, not too tall with some lower branches. He hurried to the spot and immediately chose a tree that most suited his purpose. As Edward commenced his climbed he felt a presence and some distance to his left stood two natives carrying hunting spears, while appearing quite puzzled as they had not seen a Gubba climbing trees or one so deep within the western forest, except for the occasional bolter with attitude towards anything living.
Edward returned to the ground. “Kaya,” he nervously spoke and half offered his hand but as quickly cancelled the transaction as it was not their custom to shake a stranger’s hand. “Kaya,” he repeated being a word he remembered Bahloo told him to be greeting but even as the word resinated in his head, it didn’t sound the way his friend had explained it. He felt lacking in ability and wondered how a native such as Bahloo could grasp his English with memory that outshone his own.
The natives stood their distance. Now their muse was turning towards displeasure as Edward was standing right smack in the middle of a taboo site, represented by a placement of large stones.
Edward quickly moved away from the rocky shrine. “Bahloo,” he spoke bringing both natives to laugh, believing Edward to be a Sistergirl like there Bahloo.
“Deman,” Edward corrected.
“Will you take me to Deman,” he spoke in language.
“Deman,” he again repeated and pointing to his chest and in the direction he believed the camp to be, “Deman you take me to Deman.”
Obviously the signing didn’t work any more than his attempt at language and the two natives shouldered their hunting spears, called their dogs and commenced to leave. It was well known natives were considered expert in ignoring the invader when it suited them but this was one occasion Edward was not going to allow them to do so.
“Hey!” Edward shouted after the two, they turned.
“You!” he shouted and pointed at the natives.
“Take me!” he again pointed to his chest as obviously his attempt at language wasn’t successful, “Deman!” and with that made an absurd walking motion with his fingers, while pointing to where he believed he would find their camp.
“Deman,” one repeated and pointed in a totally different direction.
“Well I did say I was lost.” Edward admitted as the natives returned and manhandled him in their suggested direction.
“Bahloo,” one scornfully laughed and the second made comment in language, of witch Edward partly understood and most definitely they were referring him to be of Bahloo’s persuasion.
“Deman!” Edward forcefully stipulated; “you take me to Deman.”
“Deman,” Edward repeated. Both natives agreed and commenced their journey.
It was more than an hour before they entered the main camp, bringing Edward to realise he would have to remain overnight as he would never make his way back in the dark. It was a leisurely camp, much larger than the one near the Wilcox farm, children playing, women preparing meals and men doing what men do everywhere, standing in discussion while watching the women work, most likely in conversation of the hunt, weather or bragging about one’s individual ability.
Across the camp Edward spied Deman and pointed to him as instruction for his guides to take him to the old man. They did so but on meeting with Deman he realised it would be impossible to convey his story as his grasp of language was till quite basic especially when relating the tragedy he had come about.
Deman spoke to Edward in language and seeing his words fell short he called for Bahloo. The lad arrived.
“Edwa watcha’ doing here?” the lad asked his face loaded with happy surprise.
“I’ve come with bad news.”
The lad translated the sentence to the old man who deeply frowned.
“The military have come and have killed everyone at the branch camp.
“It was because of the attack on the gubba camp.” Bahloo freely admitted.
“What attack was that?” Edward had not yet heard about the killing of the timbermen.
“Not our raid it was Balga,” Bahloo gasped without translating for his grandfather. The old man tugged at the lad’s arm, bringing on the reluctant translation.
“Sorry,” was all Edward could utter as the news spread around the camp bringing on hysterical grief. “Sorry,” Edward repeated but none were listening, he had melted into the background of the camp as it turned into a frenzy of activity, aligned to that of a disturbed ant’s nest.
“Djinda?” the lad eventually enquired of his mother, the happy woman Edward had commonly named Polly.
“Sorry,”
“Djinda dead?”
“Yes Bahloo Djinda dead.”
Once spoken the lad went into mourning and left Edward to stand within the camp somewhat lost for his next action, while concerned they would blame him as he was Gubba.
Within minutes there was a gathering of the young men and a good dozen departed in haste. Still Edward remained absent from their activity as sat in the dust, arms folded around knees while lowering his head away from the building grief. Within his fear he felt their grief but more so guilt that his so called civilized people, with law and reason and belief in some caring god could be so cruel to kill innocent women and children without even a blinking of remorse.
Eventually Deman approach and spoke to Edward in language but there wasn’t any Bahloo close by to translate. Deman spoke once more and moved away.
Edward sat in his dusty position for quite some time. The camp moved about, now in silence and past him by without a glance. He wished to leave but could not, dusk was closing in and by the south eastern sky rain was on the way. He also realised if he was to leave, even in daylight he would not find his way.
After an age Bahloo approached. “Edwa,” he spoke. Edward lifted his head.
“Balga blame you but Deman say no, you good Gubba.” Edward remained silent yet relieved.
“You stay the night and Bahloo take you back tomorrow.”
“Thank you Bahloo you are a true friend.”
“You be safe Balga no touch you, Deman blames him for trouble with Gubba – Deman look after you.”
That night was most difficult for Edward. He was given his own humpy some distance away from everyone, while thinking this was one night he wouldn’t complain sharing with Bahloo, feeling the lad’s company would be added security, while laying awake for most of the night expecting Balga, or one of his henchmen, to come for him and stove his head with some club.
From his humpy Edward could see the women as they alone were permitted to show grief, many open the flesh on the abdomen and arms and backs by flagellation using some thorn bush while covering their ebony skin and hair with white ash as they slowly circled the fire, wailing loudly during their progression. None of the tribe’s men could be seen, not even Bahloo who usually associated with the women.
How long had Edward slept wasn’t certain, minutes, an hour but very little, while every bird call, animal cry scurry in the scrub brought him fear. The hours passed slowly and it was a light touch to the arm and the voice of Bahloo that woke him in fright to a dark morning.
“Edwa we go now,” the lad’s voice was low.
Edward gave a long stretch a yawn and peered out into the darkness.
“It’s still nigh time.”
“Better we go now.”
Edward gathered his wits and joined his black friend in the damp morning air as the first light of day broadcast its arrival across a clouded sky. The weather had turned during the night and a mizzle hung about the tall trees, to drip down on one’s shoulders long after the rain had stopped. Slowly the two crept out of the camp.
“I should show my respect to Deman,” Edward paused before departing.
“No Deman say you should go quickly, Balga still no happy, he may hurt Edwa.” The lad’s caution was enough to hurry departure and soon the camp was far behind, while the morning’s sun broke through the edge of the clouded sky, spraying the forest with long fingers of golden light.
It was some time and distance from the camp before Bahloo spoke and gone was his banter, his teasing, replaced with silent grief. Edward wasn’t certain if he should speak but felt he should say something. Again he apologised but his words remained unrequited.
Once past the spot where Edward had met his guides, one that was widely skirted by the lad, Bahloo spoke. “Deman say good Edwa for coming.”
“Where did the young men go last night?” Edward asked.
“They go look after the dead.”
“Will you go to the camp?”
“No it isn’t right for me to do so,”
“Will you families come back to the camp?”
“No bad spirits now, we stay with big mob.”
“I’ll miss seeing you around the farm Bahloo.”
“Bahloo miss Edwa but must stay with my lot.”
“Will your mob retaliate against the soldiers?”
“Dunno’ Balga the boss now, Deman too old and Balga say he thinks like woman.”
“Then you tell Balga best he moves camp, as many up the branch creek know where it is.”
“Balga already know that.”
More silence and on reaching the farm Bahloo paused and took Edward’s hand, holding it against his cheek. Edward, although feeling uncomfortable, allowed the gesture. The lad dropped the hand and turned then without uttering another word and without glancing back was gone. Edward stood watching until Bahloo melted into the darkness of the forest before turning and crossing the freshly ploughed field towards the hut and Sam who after noticing their arrival waited close by.
The farmer lifted his eyes and was relieved, “you’re back,” he spoke as Edward approached.
“I am – Hamish did the ploughing?” Edward observed.
“He did,”
“Nice straight furrows, better than my last job, did he use the new horse?”
“Yes he used Dobbin.”
“Dobbin?”
“That is what Hamish called him.”
“Then Dobbin it is.”
“I was concerned,” Sam quietly admitted, wishing to take Edward into his arms and hug his relief but the closeness of Hamish prevented any display of warmth.
“I was fine,”
“You found the camp?” Sam’s question was out of nervous disposition rather than necessity as he had seen Bahloo arrive with Edward.
“Only by chance,” Edward explained his passage.
“What now?” Sam asked.
“That I don’t know as it appears some bloke called Balga instigated some raid on the timbermen and is now running it all. Witnessing his attitude I should think there will be further repercussion, as he appears to be quite intolerant.
“Yes we heard about the raid on the timbermen while you were away, that is why the army attacked the native camp.”
Quiet existed for a number of days, although an officer of the 73rd. arrived with his troop to caution settlers of what may occur and placing full blame on the native’s unprovoked attack on the timbermen. Nothing was mentioned of the military’s carnage on the native village, or the pointless slaughter of women and children.
That evening there was a meeting of local farmers at the home of Will Benson some distance down from the Wilcox property and close to the bend and shallows of the creek. Both Sam and Edward attended but were not in agreement with what they heard yet kept their peace, as if they were to speak out against the military’s treatment to the native women and children they may themselves become the target for reprisal.
Fortunately once the meeting concluded and folk went about their business most of the decisions were ignored, especially Will Benson’s demand they arm and attack the main camp. With that proposal there was strong agreement but as they moved towards rational thinking, such as protection of their own families at their farms, it was but dismissed, believing it best left to the military.
For some time after the incident and Edward’s visit to the main mob, he would rise from his work and scan the forest at the edge of the top field for any sign of Bahloo. There was nothing, gone the women digging for yams, the hunters taking short cuts through the maze field and helping themselves to a cob or two as they travelled towards the branch to fish, or to the grassy Plains beyond in search of kangaroos.
On a number of occasions he believed he saw movement among the trees, a flicker of dark on green, a rustle of branch or leaves, expecting to see the smiling face of Bahloo coming across the ploughed ground to visit, while showing little regard to where he walked, trampling weed and crop alike.
After two weeks Edward gave up his searching, obviously the lad had gone from his life, becoming warned off by the likes of Balga, besides the distance to the main camp was too great for a casual visit, while with Balga’s inclusion of him as Gubba with equal fault, he believed it best to leave off any further contact to the natives.
Edward did keep up his learning of language as there was an old one eyed black man who lived down the branch creek towards town. He was known to most as old One-eye but Edward addressed him by his native name Cobar and seeing Cobar had almost no English, also much too old and grog pickled to learn, it became a task for Edward but in many ways quickened his learning.
Once a week Edward would visit old Cobar with gifts of food and tobacco but it was grog the man mostly wished for. When suggested so, Edward always feigned understanding. Others were less interested in the old man’s wellbeing and supplied him with rotgut for native artefacts that Cobar would run up by the dozen and barter for little, such would eventually find their way back to the mother country as mysterious items of heathen savagery, often given unrealistic custom such as sexual or ritual and the more bizarre the suggestion the quicker was the sale.
Eventually during one such visit Edward found the old man dead in his humpy, with a jar of rotgut still firm in his grasp. Edward buried Cobar close by, before travelling into town and reporting his passing to the Chief Constable who disrespectfully shrugged away the account, stating it was a waste of time digging a hole, as the crows and wild dogs would have soon clear away the carcass.
The farmer peered into his tea canister and made a loud disappointing sound. “Tea,” he said, “we are all but out of tea, also someone left the sugar out and its fulla’ ants.”
“That was me,” Edward admitted.
“No Mr. Wilcox I left it out,” Hamish sheepishly corrected, realising Edward was covering for him.
“Magnanimous of you Edward but who did so isn’t of importance, what is, we all remember in the future.”
“Give it here,” Edward took control of the container and commenced to gently tap it onto the table surface. As he did so the ants scattered, many over his fingers and up his arm. Quickly he put down the sugar container and brushed them off, “there you go half have gone already.”
“Half are still there,” Sam persisted as Edward gave the container another sharp jolt, sending more ants in a hurried departure, while others became buried in the sugary earthquake.
“Hardly any now,” Edward perceived.
“Plenty dead and buried and look you are sending them into the bread instead.” Sam moved the bread from the table.
“Sorry sir,” Edward gave a cheeky smile, “I suppose we should go into Parramatta for supplies, we are running low on a number of things.”
“Suppose young Hamish here is itching to visit some brothel,” Sam suggested while emptying the dregs of the tea into the boiling kettle, “we’re also out of coffee.”
“I reckon you are right Sam,” Edward agreed leaving Hamish quietly seated in the back ground of the conversation. The very mention of the word was sending an extra supply of blood to his never regions and eagerness to his expression.
“What do you think Hamish, should I take you into Parramatta for a night’s entertainment?” Edward approached.
“I think you should Edward,” Hamish eagerly agreed.
“How long has it been since,” Sam asked.
“On board the transport one of the ladies visited but the guards soon put a stop to it.”
“Before or after you got your end in.” Edward asked.
“As I approached entry, he was a right sadistic bastard,”
“So your last was in London.”
“You don’t have to remind me.”
“Edward you take the cart and Hamish and stay overnight,”
“Wouldn’t you like to come?” Edward asked.
“Not this time, I would only get in your way – besides.” Sam paused, “well I’d get in the way, let’s leave it at that.”
Once decide Hamish became most animated and for the rest of the day there was a true skip in his step.
Parramatta was changing, on each visit there was something novel. This time there was a new boat on the river and large enough to take twenty passengers and a fair amount of cargo. Also a new tavern but somewhat seedy, favoured by backwoodsmen and suggested it was a den of bushrangers and bolters.
Close to town Hamish commenced to whistle, “you sure are happy,” Edward implied.
“Sure am,”
“Expectation I’d call it,”
“One can only hope,” Hamish fell quiet for a moment then commenced to giggle.
“What?”
“A question young Edward.”
“I don’t like the sound of this,”
“Also I want an honest answer,” Hamish still appeared amused.
Possibly but knowing you it will be some smut.”
“Do you remember the first time you gave it a tug?”
“I said it would be smut, did I not?”
“You did but come on were mates among mates, tell all.”
“I guess that question is in two parts,” Edward answered with his usual pragmatic manner.
“I don’t see how so but out with the first of the parts.”
Edward faltered.
“Come on,”
“I’m thinking how I should express my answer.”
“As it comes I guess,” Hamish impatiently questioned.
“As it comes, oddly that is part of it. It was mid summer and I was about nine, possibly ten and was having a rare sleep in. Most of the family were in the field and my older brother, with whom I shared a bed, was already gone to do his chores. As I lay there thinking of hunting rabbits my pizzle became stiff.”
“Does hunting turn you on?” Hamish asked.
“Of course not, but for some dumb reason I commenced to play with it and in a few seconds a wave of euphoria came over me and I felt as if I would piss the bed; I didn’t and liked the sensation so much I kept at it whenever I was private.”
“What is the second part?” Hamish asked.
“After a few weeks I became bored with the play, or lacked the opportunity and it wasn’t until I was about fourteen I had another go, this time the sensation was followed by a gushing of fluid. I was so frightened I asked my older brother who laughed and simply said enjoy it kid, spill as much as you want, there’s always plenty more.”
“Quite a story,” Hamish admitted.
“And you?”
“I was thirteen and heard about it from the girl on a neighbouring property. She said she often tugged off her brother and would do it for a penny. I didn’t have a penny so she said it would be for nothing.”
“That’s it?”
“Next time I did have a penny, I had two and you would be surprised what you are allowed for twopence.”
“That was young for penetration.” Edward judged.
“Been at it ever since and quickly found the price had become inflated but I still favour your story.”
While passing the new tavern a brawl spilt onto the street, rolling under the hooves of a number of tethered horses. One burley fellow in a dark coat and a battered black tricorne hat fell beneath the hooves receiving a nasty gash above an eye; he picked himself up and his hat, blood trickling down his face, dusted himself and recommenced the brawl, shouting some obscenities in the Welsh language, bringing entertainment to the spectators and more fire to his fists.
“We won’t be going in there.” Edward said and moved the cart on.
“What Edward, are you scared of a little tumble?”
“Not at all Hamish my friend but if you get into a brawl you’ll be off to the road gangs, no matter what Mr. Wilcox has to say. As for me, I’d lose my ticket and I have plans for my future.”
“I don’t feel comfortable,” Hamish admitted as two police constables enjoying the affray gave him the eye.
“Don’t be concerned as long as you’re not travelling alone they will leave you be, besides most of the establishment know Sam and I,”
“What’s the name of the tavern we will visit?” Hamish asked as the brawl concluded and those responsible re-entered the tavern and their drinking.
“It’s called the Cock and Hen, down near the sale yards.”
“I’ve seen it,” Hamish admitted while memory of the irons he wore and rough handling by the guards as he came of the Sydney Town boat came to mind, not the crowd of patrons standing around the tavern doorway as the convicts were auctioned as if they were live stock.
Removing past displeasures he attempted humour, “Although it is a good name for a tavern.”
“Why is that?” Edward asked bringing the cart to stop beside the Tavern.
“I would call it the Pizzle and Prostitute,” Hamish grinned.
“You are really toey there Hamish.”
“A little you could say,”
“I do say but first things first, we should be off to the bond store for supplies.”
That evening they dined at the Cock and Hen and booked a single room with two cots, the very room Edward and Sam had shared. Afterwards some beers were to be had in a quiet corner of the Tavern, with Hamish searching for his night’s entertainment. Edward’s eye was on the dark of the doorway beside the bar and wondered if it would open bringing Nancy from his past adventure but it remained closed and there didn’t appear to be any of the girls trading the bar on that night.
“Don’t see any sugar?” Hamish despondently complained.
“It is possible they are all busy. How can you bring yourself to do it?” Edward asked.
“Do what?’
“Put your pizzle in a hole that is full of other men’s pleasure.”
“Strange way to call it; why Edward it helps with the lubrication.”
“You’re disgusting Hamish.”
“You did ask. The beer is like pig swill,” Hamish complained yet he consumed a third.
“I didn’t think you were here for the grog.”
“I’m not,”
“Have you preference?”
“What in pig’s swill?”
“I was meaning girl, blond, brunette maybe fat and cuddly.”
“Preference, as long as there’s a port to dock between her legs I don’t mind what she looks like, she can have two heads and warts.”
“Or the clap,” Edward issued a serious thought.
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
As Hamish spoke Edward felt a light touch to his shoulder as experienced fingers sent tingling down his spine and further. He turned.
“Hello there, I said you would be back for the receipt.” It was Nancy.
“Nancy, no I have brought you a customer,” he nodded towards Hamish, who became like some fresh mount chaffing at the bit and rearing to go. Nancy continued her massage of Edward’s shoulder as she gave Hamish a smile.
“You’re a dark horse Edward.” Hamish spoke as Nancy placed both hands inside Edward’s shirt and gently massaged his hairless chest. He flinched but didn’t protest.
“What?”
“You didn’t tell me you had already visited here.” Hamish mused.
“I like to keep some things private Hamish.”
“He’s quite a handsome one,” Nancy admitted and returned her hands to Edward’s shoulders, she dug in her fingernails.
“Ouch,” Edward squealed.
“A paying customer I hope.”
“Yes paying, five shillings you said.”
“Seven and six for your friend, I charge more for Scotland boys they are much too rough.”
“I’m no Scot, I’m from Berwick,” Hamish lightly protested not to deter his chances.
“You look like a Scotland boy and I should think you have a Scotland pizzle, a poor girl like me may have to rest up after and miss out on customers.”
“You will get your seven shillings.” Edward agreed.
“I said seven and six pence.”
“Righto you will have your price.”
“And in hand before, I’ve had too many make promise and clear out soon after.”
“Yes and in hand.” Edward agreed.
“Well my Scotland friend, what is your name?”
“Hamish,”
Nancy turned to Edward, “for a slight discount, I could do you both. You know one each side, back and front.” She appeared most sincere but Edward quickly declined.
“Never mind, it will be you for the receipt another night but my price may rise by then.”
“Yes maybe another night,” Edward half promised.
“Money,” Nancy held out her hand to Hamish, palm up while jiggling it about.
“My shout,” Edward said and passed across the agreed amount.
“Come on Hamish my Scotland friend, we’ll see what you’ve got to offer,” Hamish eagerly rose and followed.
“Enjoy,” Edward called after him.
A little less than an hour had passed when Edward heard the door to their room squeak open as Hamish returned. “Did you enjoy yourself?” Edward softly asked.
Hamish quickly undressed and got into bed, “Yes,”
“Is it out of your system?”
“No, I tried to go a second time and she wanted more money, so I asked if I could just cuddle and talk while I – well you know.”
“Know what?”
“Spank the monkey,”
Edward laughed; “and did she agree?”
“No she said I could have ten minutes of fondling but no monkey business – she’s not a bad looker for a whore and tits – well.”
“Maybe another time,”
“Shit Edward, I really could go again, I’ve dammed up months of it.”
“As I said another time,”
“Do you mind?” Hamish’s words appeared to choke in his throat.
“Mind what?”
“Close your ears I’m gunna’ finish this or I’ll never sleep.”
Edward didn’t close his ears, instead he rolled onto his side facing Hamish and in the dark could clearly see the outline of his friend’s body movement beneath his bedding and hear quickening breath. It became too much for Edward to endure and he commenced to match Hamish stroke for stroke, while attempting to strangle the pleasure in his throat and as Edward reached climax Hamish released a deep groan and fell silent.
“Shit,” Hamish complained from a moment of silence, “now I’ll have to sleep in this mess.”
Edward remained silent.
“You do realise I heard you.” Hamish said as he cleaned away the spillage as best as he could.
“Heard me what?”
“I don’t blame you, all this talk of sex and goings on.”
“Goodnight Hamish.”
“It was rather.”
Edward rolled away from the conversation and thought of James. Once again he had enjoyed sexual stimulation, firstly physically with Nancy and now mentally with Hamish yet it was James who came to mind and as clearly as if he was there lying beside him in the bed. He could smell his personal scent and feel the youthfulness of his body. ‘Oh James where are you?’ he thought as tears began to well, while fighting back any sound that may betray his disposition.
“Edward, are you awake?” Hamish softly spoke into the darkness.
“Yes,”
“How can I get a ticket of leave?”
“That I’m not sure, you will need to ask Sam.”
“How did you get yours?”
“Directly from Governor Macquarie,”
“Just like that, you marched up to his office and said, hello there I’m Edward Buckley and want my freedom.”
“No, I had to work for it, I helped find a path across the mountains and I had a benefactor in Mr. Blaxland.”
“Then I need to find myself a benefactor.”
“You do make it sound easy,” Edward said.
It wasn’t until the cart was well past the turning and following the branch before Hamish found it necessary to give a running commentary on the previous night’s entertainment, describing every inch of Nancy. Edward wished to tell Hamish to cool it as it was becoming excessive but he let him continue, as sooner or later it would expel from his system.
“Am I going on a bit?” Hamish finally asked.
“A little,”
“Well it’s because I like girls, their shape, smell their funny ways,” then a pause, “I like talking to girls,”
“Where is this leading Hamish?”
“Nancy and I we talked for some time, well ten minutes she wouldn’t allow me more.”
“About what?”
“This and that,”
Edward felt Hamish was leading towards some statement and was growing annoyed with his delaying tactics, “what is it you wish to say Hamish, you are starting to crap me off.”
“I didn’t mean to irritate you.”
“You beginning to,”
“Nancy and I were talking and she said she recently heard why you were convicted back in Devon.”
“She did eh?” Edward felt the blood drain from his face and a tingling sensation to his lips; he swallowed at the dryness but remained silent while his gaze remained firmly on the track ahead.
“Not that it worries me, my brother is a little bent, was always trying it out on me.” Hamish appeared to be genuine with his lack of concern.
“I did not commit rape on anyone. It was a set up,” Edward barked.
“No but you were caught in the act of buggery – true.”
“No Hamish not true not buggery,” Edward’s voice lowered.
“Well the act of something along those lines.”
“Hamish if you ever bring this up or make suggestion again, you may find yourself back on the road gangs.” Edward growled as they arrived at the farm gate.
“Sorry I meant no harm only that I wished you to know it isn’t a bother to me and I would never repeat it. I’ve come to respect you too much to do you harm.”
“So respect me by shutting up okay!”
“Point taken,”
During the evening after they had their meal and Hamish had returned to the servant’s hut Sam approached Edward as he had hardly spoken since coming home.
“It’s Hamish,” Edward sighed.
“I thought something was on your mind, what’s he done?”
“Not so much done but said. It has come to his attention why I was transported.”
“Would you like some hot chocolate?” Sam offered as he took the kettle from the fire.
“No thank you,”
“How did Hamish take it, was he insulting?”
“No in fact most cordial about it all.”
“Then why the long face, do you think he will spread it about?”
“He promised not to,”
“Do you trust his promise?”
“Yes but -”
“Do you want to return him to the barracks? If so he may be inclined to tell folk why.” Sam made his chocolate and a second which he would take out to Hamish.
“No of course not but I didn’t wish to reminded of it all, or have it gossiped about.”
“I’m sure it will blow over, best to treat it with a smidge of humour and you will see it for what it is.”
“I guess so,”
“What is your opinion of Hamish?” Sam asked.
“Fine I like him and he has a good sense of humour.”
“So there is your answer, talk to him about it, as they say a problem shared.”
“That’s a dry old chestnut Sam.”
“So try roasting it another way Edward, laugh it off and it will become as nothing.”
As Sam rose to deliver Hamish his chocolate Edward called after him, “don’t you say anything to Hamish,”
“I wasn’t going to do so but you will speak with him?”
“Eventually I guess.”
“How did Hamish enjoy his entertainment?”
“One thing about Hamish, he holds nothing back,” Edward laughed, “and all the way home he gave me running commentary on what he got up to, the man has no modesty.”
“Possibly you are too serious Edward,”
“Possibly but I guess you are correct about Hamish.”
From an English prison colony to one of the Great Nations of today. This how it started. Let Gary know you are reading: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net.
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