Sydney – Port Jackson – Picture from Australia’s Heritage Magazine 1969
Published: 20 May 2019
The Twenty-fifth arrived a fine morning with promise for rain with the distant mountains shrouded in low cloud. Sam drove the two into Parramatta booking them into the Cock and Hen for their intended meeting the following day. Hamish was more than pleased with the booking as it would give him chance to again become acquainted with Nancy, or if not available anyone of the female variety.
Once again Edward promised to pay for his entertainment but not for a full night as Hamish wished, being somewhat beyond his pocket and his sense of frugality, besides money was tight as payment for the previous crop had not yet been released by the Government Store. Sometime it didn’t eventuate at all, with the authorities suggesting taking payment in kind, usually being goods well past their best or of no valid use to the simply living farmer, often in the old barter a hog’s head of rum, even sheep that had been received in authority as payment for some misdemeanour or failure to give time to the colonial cause when directed to do so.
As Hamish jumped down from the cart he had an idea and quickly appointed it to Sam, it was the tavern’s name that brought on his brilliance, “Chooks,” he said using the colonial vernacular, “what we need is laying hens.”
“We have a dozen,” Sam acknowledged while passing down Hamish’s bag.
“No I mean lots, dozens of dozens, if you can count that far, I believed if we could breed up enough we could corner the local egg and meat market and become suppliers of laying age hens.”
“Not a bad idea Hamish,” Sam agreed.
“Chooks,” Edward mimicked.
“Yes chooks?” Hamish repeated.
“I’ve ever mused at the word that’s all, where does it come from?”
“I’ve often thought of that,” Hamish offered.
“What Hamish you lay in your bed at night pondering on a word, not what I would think you were up to?”
“Who is being bawdy now – in my reckoning it’s all in the feeding.”
“Don’t get ya’.”
“Simple, when you are feeding, you cast out the grain calling here chick, chick and if you keep repeating it long enough the word becomes chook, chook,” Hamish proudly explained his theory while displaying his feeding motion as if casting gran from an imaginary container to ground, his arm in a half circle from crotch hight outwards.
“With that motion it’s a good name for it,” Edward laughed.
“What is meant Edward?” Hamish shouldered his bag.
“With that motion, I should think feeding the chooks would be a good word for self abuse.”
“Funny fella’”
“Enough of chicks and chooks, you should be booking your room.” Sam interrupted.
“I still think it a grand idea,” Hamish enforced.
“It is Hamish,” Edward turned to Sam; “are you positive you will be alright with both of us away?”
“As I said, I have arranged help if need be, besides it is a little late now to have a mind change. The two of you take care and I’ll see you,” Sam paused, “well I guess whenever.”
“True, there hasn’t been a time set.” Edward agreed. Sam gave a gentle nod, turned the cart and departed.
“So on to find Nancy,” Hamish cheekily proclaimed as they strolled towards the tavern.
“Steady, we haven’t even taken a room as yet.”
“I was thinking; it isn’t fair I have all the fun, possibly you could find a nice lad’s arse for hire.”
“I’ll ignore that Hamish.”
“No truly, I’m sure if I were to ask Nancy she could come up with something.”
“Hamish I can do my own procuring if warranted; if you are with Nancy please leave me out of your conversation and I mean that.”
“Agreed but still you should do something about it or you will end up a priest, or worse it will shrivel away to nothing, I’ve heard that can happen without use and you’re not over endowed as it is.”
“Cheeky bugger, are you still offering?” Edward wittedly asked.
“No my arse has been removed from offer.”
“Therefore you look after your appetite and I’ll attend to mine.”
That evening while enjoying a drink Hamish became toey, his eyes everywhere searching for that elusive piece of skirt wearing the name of Nancy but she was not to be seen. She’s gone, was the simple explanation given by the innkeeper. Where to was answered with a disinterested shoulder shrug, leaving Hamish desperate to alleviate his frustration while soon discovering there was a whorehouse towards the rear of the tavern in the reverse street with a handy gate between the properties.
“How about reversing your preferences for the night?” Hamish suggested but Edward held firm, it would be Hamish’s night for entertainment, besides their finances wouldn’t stretch for extra. As for Hamish’s continual banter on Edward’s sexual preference, it was delivered with warmth and wit, becoming private humour between them and without malice and finally Edward was accepting it as such.
Hamish returned to their room in the early morning, stirring Edward from sleep while manoeuvring across a dozen squeaking floor boards.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” Edward whispered as Hamish slid into bed.
“You bet, got two for the price of one.”
“Two humpings?”
“No two girls, I was the sandwich filling.”
“Satisfied?”
“Was when I left but now with the thought of it I could go another.”
“Will I have to listen to your confounded moaning again?”
“Na, I’ll give it a miss, can’t be greedy.”
Early morning before sunup, there was a gathering of town’s folk at the stock yards to watch their departure and ready to turn every adventure into carnival. Ahead of the group stood Gregory Blaxland and in his usual quiet manner, instructing a number of servants their responsibilities over the coming weeks. With him William Lawson was more content inspecting the store carts and supplies.
Edward approached as a man stood from the crowd and loudly addressed Lawson, “Mr. Lawson, ‘tis Lennard Donaldson from the Sydney Gazette would you kindly afford some moment of your time.” Lawson being of private nature shied away from the offer and instead introduced him to one of Macquarie’s representatives.
“Mr. Buckley,” Blaxland called Edward to the head of the group before addressing the gathered servants, “Mr. Buckley will be your charge for this tour, so I expect you will render him civility,” none spoke but there was much foot movement in the dust, “another point, if any of you have designs in bolting, there is nothing beyond those mountains except savages. No China, no land flowing with milk and honey, only mile after mile of vacant cruel land, I should know I’ve been there.” Still there wasn’t any reply but by the expression on a number of faces, it may have been their intention. Blaxland continued, “also no Government Store to get your tucker and if any of you do chance it and I’m sure at least one will, if the Savages don’t spear you, than it will be Norfolk Island or the noose when you are caught.”
Blaxland paused as if allowing his warning to sink into the simple thinking of the servants. Once satisfied the warning had been consumed he turned to Edward, “righto’ Mr. Buckley have you anything to include?”
“Not at present Mr. Blaxland, I believe you have covered most of it, except behave and I’ll treat you fairly, it is as simple as that.” Edward cast his eyes over the gathered servants but to a man they refused to make eye contact. “Fine that is all, I think you have the message.” A pause realising Hamish’s lack of introduction, “one last point, my associate Mr. Hamish McGregor will be my second, so give him the authority due.” Hamish cast his eyes across the servants without comment as Blaxland with Lawson departed.
Most of the day was designated to checking supplies and erecting tents for the stay until Macquarie arrived, or becoming acquainted with what information Blaxland and Lawson cared to offer as they would not be joining the expedition.
Late on the second day the Governor arrived with apologies for his delay. With him, Elizabeth his wife, three carts of supplies and eight soldiers of the 73rd. Also his secretary, personal manservant and a French botanist granted special disposition from Sir Joseph Banks and King George, in the person of Charles Gaudichaud-Beaupre, who instantly became known as Monsieur Charlie Mouth-full, his name being almost unpronounceable to the simple tongues of the English Counties and the urge to give any Frenchman as much disrespect as was possible.
Many in the large group considered the man to be a French spy but Macquarie guaranteed him harmless, as seeing Napoleon had been finally defeated and France capitulated, there wasn’t anyone to spy for. Macquarie’s argument being science had no national boundaries, no standing army with benefits for all.
That evening during their meal, Edward did the rounds of the servants, again introducing himself and Hamish while asserting his expectations and assessing each man’s character in turn. To a man they listened, appearing without complaint but behind those reticent eyes there were secrets and plans, and therefore it was his position to leach them out before they were acted upon.
The responsibility of keeping so many men in order was quite daunting and Edward was more than pleased he had Hamish at his back. Many of the servants were much older than Edward; or even Hamish and were not inclined to be told what to do by a callow youth who in their opinion was only half a step above their station. As for Edward the only influence he had ever enjoyed was over farm animals and a younger brother who took little to no notice whatsoever.
Edward found the soldiers his biggest challenge, not that he held authority over them, yet they did over him and to a man they believed once a convict always so, no matter the crime or circumstances, to them an emancipist was only a convict with a fancy name and they complained emphatically to Macquarie’s office and Whitehall of his generous gifting of land and freedom.
That evening Macquarie drew his company together reading a long statement of expectation. Many times the glory of King George was issued, for the good of Empire and advancement of New South Wales, while broadening his aspiration towards good behaviour, obedience and good manners, seeing there was a lady travelling with them.
“You share my tent.” Edward made suggestion to Hamish as the evening drew to a close.
“I reckon I could make a quick scamper and find Molly.”
“Who is Molly?”
“One of last night’s little sugars, better than sharing with a hairy arsed bloke,” Hamish may have been grinning but there was determination in his humour.
“I don’t think so, you heard the Governor what is given can be soon taken away and I believe I’m also responsible for your behaviour.”
“Shame well there is always -,”
“Always nothing, if you’re gunna’ start that you can wait until were travelling and do it in the scrub.”
“You’re a hard man Mr. Buckley,”
“And for now Mr. McGregor you better stay soft.”
Early the following morning the expedition set out in light rain that had been previously promised. By the time they reached Emu Crossing and the commencement of Lieutenant Cox’s new road, the rain was pelting down, so for the sake of Elizabeth Macquarie, rest was called for the day, to set out fresh the following with the expected sun.
True to forecast the morning’s sun came bright and warm but as always in this wild strange land, their progress was slowed. The previous day’s downpour had swollen the river at the crossing, becoming much too strong for progress with their many wagons and carts.
By noon the water had receded enough to make the crossing, with one of the wagons becoming bogged in the shifting sand. While manipulating its release the cart broke an axle, losing a number of boxes into the quickly flowing stream, fortunately becoming snagged within the branches of a partly submerged tree. Edward quickly had a number of his charge wade out into the current to bring them back to the bank and with little obvious spoilage.
All went as planned for the remainder of the day and by dusk they were well along the mountain road and into the foothills. Thus the second day came to conclusion with, except for a broken axel and some loss of supplies, little inconvenience.
As they collected firewood two of the servants quickly returned panicked and empty handed, “Savages!” one cried loudly as they re-entered into the camp, pointing back towards the line of tall trees. Both men promptly took protection behind the gathering soldiers.
Edward cautiously came to the front, finding three natives carrying hunting spears, their intention obviously not threatening but most intrigued with such a large expedition.
The soldiers lifted their muskets awaiting orders, “Hang about,” Edward called back and approached further towards the natives.
“Mr. Buckley!” The Lieutenant of the guard warned but Edward recognised one of the three, bringing him to speak to the native in language.
“Ngoolyark you know me Edwa.”
The black man gave gesture of doing so and spoke to his companions.
“How is Deman and Bahloo?” Oh hearing Bahloo’s name all three men laughed. Edward called back to those behind, “would someone bring a measure of sugar and salted pork.” Hamish with instruction from the Lieutenant did so. Edward passed the gifts to Ngoolyark and out of character the man offered Edward his hand. Edward obliged bring all three natives to laugh loudly, as they found the Gubba greeting with a hand shake quite strange.
“Give my greeting to Deman,” Edward concluded as the natives melted back into the darkness of the tall trees.
“You speak their language?” Macquarie surprisingly asked as the camp once again settled into uneasy activity.
“A little sir, I find it somewhat easy as to my ear the sound is somewhat akin to my own Devon accent.”
“Then to our benefit but where did you do so?”
“From the local natives camped near the Wilcox farm, but they are gone now.” Edward wished to trade gone for shot but the lieutenant was close and doing so may be detrimental to his position by placing the military offside.
“Jolly good lad and a fine example of the enterprise of New South Wales,” Macquarie gestured as he returned to his tent, where table and chairs and the finery of home had been set for his evening meal.
“Fine example,” Lieutenant Brice Jones growled spitting a wad of tobacco juice onto the damp earth once the governor had departed, “a convict is a convict no matter how you dress it.” Edward ignored the affront and went about the business of settling the servants from their fear of being speared in their sleep, believing the chance encounter may have been advantageous, as it may dampen down any thought of bolting.
The following days were much without incident and lacked further encounters with the natives but there was concern building within Edward, being if they did so, the expedition was crossing into the territory of a different language group and he may not have to the ability to communicate as now would be expected of him.
On reaching the monoliths now known as the Three Sisters, camp was made so the party could enjoy the view and the marvel of Wentworth’s falls, allowing the Frenchman, their so named Monsieur Mouth-full, to scamper around the scrub like a hungry bandicoot collecting specimens while continuously babbling in French although his English was quite sound.
It was the camp site of the following day that brought back dark memories for Edward of his previous trip with the explorers, as it was there the blacksmith finally gained memory of Edward’s identity before savagely taking advantage of his body. A shudder went through the lad as he stood on the very spot, attempting to believe Sam’s suggestion against further encounters. Hamish came to his side. “You’ve gone quite pale,” he observed.
“It was here,” Edward spoke freely.
“What was?”
“Oh nothing, I’m sure it no longer matters,” Edward took a deep breath and continued, “should be getting back to the camp, I can’t imagine what the servants are up to.”
“Stop fretting over the servants, Jones has them well contained, I heard him suggest having their balls removed if they tried anything. And what I believe of our Lieutenant, he would do so but I would keep an eye on Joseph Williamson, I feel he is planning to bolt.”
“Yes I am of that opinion,” Edward agreed.
“Also Al Fleming, the red headed joker, I think he’s a little – you know.”
“What would I know?”
“A little like you.” Hamish suggested.
“What gives you that opinion?”
“The way he watches, I think you are his fancy.”
“Na – wouldn’t matter anyhow,” Edward scoffed away Hamish’s suspicion.
“Why not, he has a pleasant appearance and the right side of thirty for you.”
“I have a position of responsibility, even if he was my pleasure I wouldn’t disregard the Governor’s trust.”
They commenced the short walk back to the camp.
“You realise if I were that way, I’d fancy him myself,” Hamish continued his banter.
“You would, would you Hamish?”
“Well one does get a little hard up for it and I guess a warm arse is almost as pleasing as a moist clung.”
“You are really pushing it Hamish, I think enough is enough.”
“I’m only ‘aving ya’ Edward, lighten up eh.”
On returning to the camp Edward did take note of Al Fleming as the man sat with his meal some distance from the others. ‘Could I fancy him?’ the silent question hovered slightly above his growing need to do something about his abstinence but it could not be Fleming. The man had a gab and wasn’t slow with his fists, taking most of Edward and Hamish’s skills to keep them from landing on some nose. Yet there was never any question of the man’s preference from others, nor had he spoken out of turn, his ways and language being as rough and as crude as them all. There was a resemblance in him that reminded Edward of his James, he was much older than his memory of his friend yes, but it was there, ‘could it be his red hair?’
Edward’s mood was broken by a call from Lieutenant Jones.
“Is there a problem Lieutenant?” he asked as the soldier all but dragged him to one side.
“Could be so, that convict Williamson, I have heard tell he is about to bolt.”
“I’ve also heard so,”
“What are you going to do about him?” the soldier roughly demanded.
“Watch him, talk to him warn him of what is out there for one not experienced with the bush and the natives.”
“Sometimes it takes more, I should flog him.”
“Mr. Jones I can’t punish a man for what he may do; besides the governor wouldn’t agree to it.”
“I’ll speak to Macquarie myself,” the soldier shook his head in disrespect towards Edward’s authority then joined his troop with a secret jug of grog at the far end of the camp and away from viceregal scrutiny.
During the late evening as most were bedding down, Edward came quietly to Joseph Williamson and issued simple conversation about the food, weather and expectations, then when he had the man’s interest he brought fourth his motive.
“Mr. Williamson, do you realise what is out there beyond Cox’s road and the safety of the camp?”
The man remained silent.
“Have you ever seen what a native spear can do to a man?”
Silence prevailed.
“I’ll tell you, it can go right through a man’s body from sixty feet and is so jagged it cannot be removed without dragging your guts out with it. Then if it is only a wound, there is so much muck on it you die from poisoning,”
Williamson held his silence but appeared to have understood;
“Finally if you don’t go down to the blacks, unless you are bush savvy and know how to hunt with bugger all as a weapon, know where to find bush tucker, water, you will be dead within a matter of days. Do you understand?”
“I guess so but where is this coming from Mr. Buckley?” the servant asked with quizzical tone.
“I hear things, take this as a warning and if you do bolt and are caught, I can’t save you from the noose or transportation to a worse destination than this.”
Silence.
“Right, you think about what I’ve related and nothing more will be said on the matter.” Edward left the man to ponder the consequences and retired to his tent.
“I saw you talking to Williamson,” Hamish acknowledged.
“I did and he appeared to be frightened by my warning but one can’t tell as he still may be silly enough to try. I will talk to the Governor about him in the morning at least that will cover me if the man does bolt.”
“Five shillings he’ll still try.”
“Where are you going to get five shillings?” Edward laughed at Hamish’s attempt to place such a bet.
“From you when he bolts.”
“And my good friend, what are you going to do with five shillings?”
“Buy a root when we return to Parramatta.”
“For what I’ve heard it’s now seven and six pence.”
“In which case, seven and sixpence the man will try;” Hamish reiterated his bet.
Although all was ready to travel the following morning, both Mr. Macquarie and his wife were so enchanted with the rugged scenery they decided to remain another day, while Monsieur Mouth-full wished to partially climb down the steep escarpment with its two thousand foot drop, to retrieve what appeared to be a native orchid.
At first the man attempted to descend by hand over foot but after he almost fell, Lieutenant Jones demanded he be attached to a length of rope and lowered using two troopers to hold his weight. It was clearly heard said by one of the troopers, just a little less grip and the frog would be gone. The botanist understood and glared at the Lieutenant supervising the ordeal. “Don’t concern Monsieur, he didn’t repeat the botanist’s name, you are in safe hands,” his words followed by an unconvincing laugh.
While the retrieving of the specimen was in progress Edward decided to do a little reconnaissance around the camp and the road they were to travel the following morning, as he recollected the terrain was quite difficult even on foot. Some short distance ahead he became impressed Cox’s road building ability, finding the way most manageable.
As Edward turned to trace his footsteps back to the camp he noticed something slumped over a fallen tree a matter of yards off the track. On closer inspection he found it to be the body of a bolter with a broken native spear through his back and protruding a good foot through his abdomen, while a second had obviously lanced his throat and a third through the groin, destroying everything the nestled there in. Quickly he returned to the camp and related his find to the Lieutenant, who gathered his troopers to investigate being sure to well arm before advancing.
“It isn’t a recent killing,” Edward informed believing they appeared to be somewhat overcautious towards his discovery.
“Even so the savages may still be around,” Jones disagreed.
“They don’t stand by for days admiring their work,” Edward was being sarcastic and quite obviously so.
As the soldiers left the camp Edward paused, “one moment Lieutenant, I have an idea. Edward gathered the servants and marched them out behind the troopers. On reaching the body of the bolter he had them stand around, “See that?” he demanded pointing towards the mutilated body of the dead convict.
“That is what happens to bolters,” he assured.
“The lot of you take a good look,” as he spoke Edward’s eyes were fixed on Williamson but the man remained expressionless.
“I know at least one of you has the idea to bolt, so that is what you can expect and to top it all a ruddy great dart through your pizzle and balls.” He paused again watching his charge squirm with the thought and hoped his coarse directness would be enough to dampen any intent but Williamson still remained unresponsive while refusing to receive Edward’s glare.
The solders buried the bolter and returned to the camp with the extracted spears. Jones approached Macquarie and presented the spears.
“Edward,” Macquarie called, “can you decipher the group they belong to?”
Edward scrutinised the spears, “couldn’t rightly say sir, they barter their weapons from tribe to tribe and the design has more than likely been the same for tens of years so the user could be any of them. Macquarie placed the spears into one of the carts, “I speculate caution Mr. Jones.”
The following morning the adventure continued but with much silence, most of the servants kept huddled while watching every bush, tree or boulder, expecting a savage to pounce and with blood curdling shrieking jettison his killing instrument. Even the troopers were somewhat guarded, keeping their muskets handy at all time. Oddly Macquarie appeared calm as did Elizabeth but they had not seen the damage done by the darts or the horror displayed on the bolter’s expression.
On reaching the end of the ridge the road followed and coming out of the tall scrub, a view most wonderful was exposed. Before them was a reach of land that appeared to be endless, stretching outward to the west, to the north and south before disappearing into the dust hazed horizon. There were hills, mountains and rivers but most of all grassland that could run as many cattle, or sheep as the entire population of Britain, possibly Europe could need.
Macquarie with Elizabeth by his side rode to the front and gazed upon the spectacle. He called Edward to join him.
“Mr. Buckley, is this the view you and Blaxland discovered?”
“That it is sir,”
“How distant did you travel from here?”
“Only to the Downings sir, where Mr. Blaxland believed they had found a crossing and needed to go no further.”
“I hear there are now many illegal settlers beyond, almost following in Blaxland’s steps.” Macquarie frowned with the thought.
“I have heard so sir.”
“One day Mr. Buckley, this will be the makings of a great country.”
“I’m sure it will be sir,” Edward agreed although lacking Macquarie’s vision.
“For now there is no law and we must control the numbers.” Macquarie admitted.
“What I’ve heard, the settlers that have already gone ahead appear to make their own law.”
“Yes Mr. Buckley that is what I’m afraid of, it becomes the law of the mob and fear.”
As Edward rendered his answer the Governor appeared to drift from the conversation, his eyes, his thoughts lost in the great open space. He could almost seen the future, visualising towns and pastoralists with their flocks of animals, smell the advancement of British settlement. He commenced to speak rhetorically.
“There is enough land out there to hold all the goals of Britain, all the freemen who wish to come but it is the brave that will build this marvellous new country, not prisoners from city squalor,” the man paused and pointed an aging gnarled finger towards the west, “look at it Mr. Buckley.”
“It is truly beautiful sir.”
With Edward answered Lieutenant Jones arrived.
“What do you think Mr. Jones?” Macquarie asked, while remaining lost in his thought of Empire building.
“I believe we should be moving out Mr. Macquarie.”
“Don’t you have any imagination Mr. Jones?”
“I can only submit we lack the resources, the military strength to police such a vast area, we can’t even police what we have already settled.”
“You are always the pessimist Mr. Jones.”
“A realist sir I assure you,”
“Possibly so but at the rate the colony is growing, we need to expand.”
The Governor’s opinion did not sit well with the Lieutenant, as the 73rd. was already hard pressed controlling the settled area between sea and mountain. Macquarie turned to Elizabeth, “what of your mind my dear?”
“It is beautiful but also frightening,” Elizabeth spoke only of the country they were crossing withholding opinion within the argument of military strength and colonial aspirations.
“Come on Betsy, best we do what the good Lieutenant suggests.” Macquarie released a displeased murmur and turned towards the road, “If the good Lieutenant had his way, we would be all goaled together on South Head.”
Elizabeth followed without responding. She despised being called Betsy and Macquarie only called her so when he was irate and Jones remained his unwanted inner voice, always there always negative, always the gaoler.
By the closing of that day they were out of the mountains and looking upon the lowlands leading towards the Bathurst Plains discovered by Surveyor Evans. It had been in the surveyor’s belief a perfect setting for the first settlement beyond the mountains and an opinion that had challenged Macquarie to discover for himself.
During the afternoon Lieutenant Jones took the hunting dogs out for a little sport with hope they could down a kangaroo for the evening cooking pot. Instead they managed an emu. Mostly the large birds, although flightless, could easily outrun the dogs but this animal became cornered and was quickly brought to the ground in a flurry of large grey feathers.
Jones brought the bird back to camp, needing two servants to carry its eighty pound carcass, where it was unceremoniously dumped it before a most confused cook.
“What in tarnation do you wish me to with that thing!” the rotund balding man grumbled as he limped towards the bird, giving it a kick with his good leg.
“You’ll bruise the meat,” Jones complained.
“Pluck it and cook it,” A soldier supervising the bird’s delivery proposed.
“Pluck it and fuck it,” Williamson crudely suggested, coming from the grouping of servants gathered close by to view the emu.
“Mr. Williamson if you can’t keep a civil tongue you will be put on a charge,” Jones warned as Macquarie arrived to inspect the bird.
“I haven’t seen one up close before,” the Governor admitted and called for his wife. Elizabeth arrived.
“What do you think?” Macquarie asked of her.
“The poor thing did you have to kill it?” she turned away.
“I’m afraid if you wish to eat fresh meat yes,” Jones recommended.
“Mr. Collins do you know how to prepare the bird?” Macquarie asked of the cook as Elizabeth returned to her tent.
“Like a chicken I should think but I don’t think I have a pot large enough,” the cook humoured.
“I envisage you will manage somehow, something like mutton I would suggest,” Macquarie dryly proposed and wisely left the procedure to the expertise of the cook, or to point lack of such.
“Well don’t just stand there,” the cranky cook growled at the gawking servants, “get to it and start plucking, ‘avent got all day.”
“Keep the feathers for a nice soft pillow.” A servant suggested as the plucking commenced.
“I’d rather the soft belly of some whore to rest my head.” Another answered.
During the night with full bellies and settled for their rest, it appeared suspicion eventuated and Williamson disappeared from the camp. His departure wasn’t realised until the morning, also missing was a small hand axe, some food and a musket with a small amount of powder and shot. Edward was called before Lieutenant Jones.
“You were warned this would occur,” Jones dressed down the lad as Macquarie arrived to investigate the bother.
“What appears to be the problem Mr. Jones?” The Governor enquired.
“Williamson sir, he absconded during the night.” The Lieutenant answered while glaring blame towards Edward for not preventing the incident. Edward wished to respond but remained silent.
“We should we send a party after him, or others may become bold.” Jones suggested.
“I think not Mr. Jones, the man will either return once he realises there isn’t anywhere to run, or he will die from starvation.” Macquarie noted a measure of culpability within Edward, “You did warn me so Mr. Buckley but as you rightly proposed, a man can’t be flogged for what he may do.” Turning to Jones the Governor continued; “leave the man to his devices and warn the others.”
“I warned you Mr. Buckley,” the Lieutenant growled once alone.
“You did Mr. Jones,”
“Then if so the man’s demise will be your responsibility,” Jones remained determined to lay the blame on Edward.
“No Mr. Jones if so the blame is strictly of Williamson’s own device, I could do no more.”
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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