Sydney – Port Jackson – Picture from Australia’s Heritage Magazine 1969

Published: 27 May 2019

On the second day from the mountains along the road to the Bathurst Plains, the party chanced upon a stream across which Lieutenant Cox had erected a trestle bridge, while naming the river in honour of the Governor. On reaching this Macquarie River it was decided, as there was water and an ample supply of grass for the horses and draft animals, it was a good spot to camp.

Once the camp was set Edward strolled down a grassy slope to stand by the river and gaze across the lay of the land to the west. Hamish joined him noticing a wave of euphoria had overcome his friend.

“This is the spot,” Edward eagerly spoke without taking his gaze from the sea of long brown grass as it slowly moved like gentle waves upon a calm beige ocean.

“For what?”

“The grant I was promised.”

“I do say it is perfect country but what would you do with it?” Hamish asked.

“Sheep Hamish, wool is the go Macarthur has proven so, even Mr. Blaxland who is a cattleman has suggested wool will be king in the land.”

While admiring the view Macquarie, with Elizabeth wishing to cool her swollen ankles in the stream came by and once close he paused as Elizabeth continued towards the water’s edge, “I’ll be with you in a minute dear,” without response Elizabeth continued her journey, “Mr. Buckley you appeared to be enjoying the vista?” Macquarie suggested.

“Yes sir, I am thinking about the issue of a land grant you once promised.”

“That I did and of a thousand acres but beyond the mountains if I rightly recollect. A grant, like many others I have been well chastised for issuing.”

“Then I must apologise,” Edward said.

“No it is registered now, both here and in England, oddly very few to none have taken the offer and instead others have squatted on the land without authority.”

“I was thinking this would be most perfect for my needs,” Edward uncomfortably related believing he was speaking above his station.

“And so it would, come by my tent later this evening and I will have my secretary register it for you, that way it can’t be taken up by another,” once spoken Macquarie joined his wife beside the water.

“What do you think?” Edward asked of Hamish as his excitement built but held to an acceptable level not to appear too presumptuous towards his benefactor.

“I believe you have yourself an estate, The Buckley Estate but it is of great distance from civilization.”

“Soon this will be on the way to civilization. There will be sheep stations as far as the eye can see.” Edward quietly bragged while casting an arm like some magical wand across the background of beckoning grass.

“Sheep Stations?”

“Yes I believe Macarthur coined the word, sheep stations, cattle stations and it will be called homesteading and not ranching.”

“What about Mr. Wilcox and his farm,” Hamish’s words brought Edward back to reality.

“I haven’t thought that far into the future, there lies a dilemma.”

“Also your intentions to return to England some day?”

“I’ve given up on that dream. This is the country of the future not England with its barriers set against the simple man attempting to make a go of it.”

While surveying the lay of the land and planning the site for a hut, or house, or mansion, why dream small, Edward realised he did have much thinking to do and most of all there was James. Had he given up on James? He had come to realise there lay a predicament that was in the lap of the gods, or providence or whichever eventuated. He would build his empire on sheep and do so as a partner with James, even if it were to be a very silent partner of unknown quantity and over an extremely large distance in miles and time but there would always be James, there could be no other.

While Edward stood dreaming of what may be, it was Hamish who again drew him back to reality, he quietly spoke while pointing across the river and a little downstream, “it appears you may need to share that dream with another’s dreaming.”

Edward drew his eyes from his impending claim, “oh,”

“I think that lot could have other ideas.”

“I’ve managed to live side by side with natives before, so I can’t see why not again.”

“True but others had softened their resolve long before you arrived.” While in conversation about Edward’s future neighbours they failed to notice the arrival of Lieutenant Jones.

“Now there’s a grand measure of target practice,” Jones motioned towards the native camp.

“I think you actually mean that Mr. Jones,” Edward disapproved.

“Mean it? If I had my may I would clear the entire country of their filthy disgusting ways,” once spoken Jones departed to report the native’s presence to Macquarie.

“There goes a man with much malice,” Edward sighed while contemplating how he could live peacefully with the blacks. Departing from that thought it was his present position, so reminded by Hamish that was more pressing being how could he unbind the continuing bind with Sam and repay him for his patience, kindness and loyalty. Would it be possible for Sam to forgo his few acres of almost unproductive land and come with him in partnership?

During the late evening Hamish wandered away from the camp and found privacy for his toiletry in a wooded area close by the river. While relieving himself into the slow flowing stream and smiling as his yellow addition mingled and drifted away mixed with twigs and leaves, he failed to notice he was in view from the opposite bank. A native woman had come down to wash in the water and appeared most interest in his presence.

Hamish smiled and waved, “grand evening,” he called but the woman neither returned gesture nor remove her gaze from his urination.

“Do you like what you see?” Hamish called but the woman remained silent yet attentive. Hamish allowed his trousers to fall to his ankle, leaving himself fully exposed and rising. If it were at all possible he would have jumped in and reached the opposite bank to have his way with her.

‘Could I?’ he thought.

‘She’s black but has beauty, such slenderness – nice tits.’

Hamish was now as hard as he could become and nature took to stroking, moments later he ejaculated into the water. The woman turned and quickly disappeared into the opposite scrub. ‘What do you think of that Hamish?’ he gave silent question. ‘If only I could swim such a strong current.’ At that moment Edward’s caution returned, being a warning never to touch the native women as it was a sure way of receiving their displeasure. ‘Oh well,’ he thought, ‘a man can’t be liable for thinking it.’

During the late evening while resting on his cot Hamish gave rendition of the earlier event to Edward, even as far as how his semen remained congealed and floated with the tide, he laughed, “I wonder if it could impregnate fish. I could become father to a trout.”

“You realise you border on weird.” Edward protested.

“The difference between me and you Edward is I talk about things, you only think of them and that is unhealthy.”

“What sorta’ things?”

“You must have sexual fantasies?”

“Not really,”

“That I don’t believe.”

“You say the native woman remained watching all the time you were enjoying yourself.”

“She did, right up to me tossing my load into the water.”

“Poor woman,” Edward attempted humour but the thought of Hamish, pizzle in hand, his breath tightening until he exploded in a wave of pleasure, was having effect so he closed his mind against it.

“The Governor said we will be moving on tomorrow.” Edward related and rolled away from the conversation but the image of Hamish remained. It was true he did have such thoughts but they quickly became the product of his incarceration and his missing of James.

It was an early morning start and the expedition was well ready before full sun but there was grumbling amongst the servants. Edward fell back to enquire of their complaint, finding as usual it was related to food, or the lack of and their forced abstinence from grog, there was also a measure of concern for Williamson’s departure, more the thought of running foul with the blacks than any appreciation from the man’s company. As for food it appeared they were running short of salted pork as one of the boxes that contained much of the pork was amongst those that went into the river while at Emu Crossing and since had become mouldy.

Edward approached Lieutenant Jones with the suggestion, if they came across kangaroo’s or even another Emu, his men could have their target practice. “Shouldn’t be a problem.” The man pointed ahead and off to his left, I reckon that bullock over there would do nicely.”

“You can’t go around shooting folks livestock.”

“Got permission already the Gov said if necessary the crown will compensate,” once spoken Jones sent his best marksman to down the animal. Moments later there was the sound of musket fire and the bullock dropped where it stood innocently chewing cud.

The animal was soon butchered and stowed and again they were on their way. Before they had travelled any distance, the owner of the bullock soon became obvious with the sighting of a bark hut a short distance from the road.

Lieutenant Jones came to Edward. “Your job mate, you go and speak to the squatter and see what he has to say.”

“What about the compensation?”

“We can talk of that later, first go see what he’s all about, in my opinion he shouldn’t be here and not being run in for illegal squatting should be compensation enough.”

Edward called Hamish and the two soon trekked through a pasture of long grass towards the hut. On their approach it was soon noticed something was amiss, the hut had been fired and its roofing collapsed while only the wall facing the road remained.

On searching around the destruction they discovered the hut’s owner, prostrated and banishing a large spear through his back and by the stench and flies had been that way for quite some time while some wild animal had taken one of his hands and chewed away any chance of facial recognition, while his bloated belly was bursting and seething with blowflies and maggots.

“Hamish would you go and get the Lieutenant, I’ll have a look around if there is anyone else.”

On all accounts the killing appeared to be singular and by the lack of personal effects the man appeared to have lived alone. Jones arrived with a number of the servants, “that obviously saves compensation,” he roughly remarked as he set the men to digging, “as I said Mr. Buckley should exterminate the bloody lot, going around killing innocent folk.”

“The natives don’t usually retaliate unless provoked” Edward enforced.

“Listen kid, I’ve been out here long enough to know they don’t need provocation and if it hadn’t been for our men knocking off a few dozen near where you farm, your friend Mr. Wilcox may not now be around to treat them like lapdogs.”

Edward left the Lieutenant’s provocation unanswered realising it was an unwinnable argument and he didn’t wish to unnecessarily provoke the man as he had noticed a group of natives following since they left the river but they were well away from the road and appeared to travelling with women and children, bringing Edward to believe they were simply changing hunting grounds.

Oddly when the expedition travelled, so did the natives, when they paused as did the natives. Later on that day the Lieutenant also noticed the natives and approached Edward.

“There’s your big chance Mr. Buckley,” Jones laughed and pointed at the group.

“What would that be Lieutenant?”

“Go and make friends with that lot.”

“I may just do that,” Edward commenced to gather courage to attempt offering friendship.

“Mr. Buckley, I forbid you doing so.” Macquarie called from close by and bringing his mount to the side of that of the Lieutenant, he reproached the man, “Mr. Jones, if you don’t mind it is your position to keep order and not cause distraction.”

“It may be wise for me to try.” Edward offered.

“Possibly so Mr. Buckley but let us give some time and see what eventuates, if it was this group who killed the squatter, they may still be holding rancour against us all.” Edward nodded and remained with their forward march.

Hamish sidled up to Edward, “you really were going to try eh?”

“I believe it would work.”

“They won’t know your mates from back across the mountains.”

“They may Hamish; all groups get together and socialise, so what bad we do back there is shared as well as good also one would expect any good as well.”

Towards the close of the following day the expedition reached a creek swollen by recent rain and running red from mountain soil. It had been traversed by a causeway built by Cox the road maker but since had been mostly blocked and partly washed away, needing to be rebuilt before the carts could safely continue.

With the daylight left Lieutenant Jones, had his men and the servants, set about removing the blockage and mending the causeway. By sundown the job had in the main been completed and with the expected lowering of the water over night would be ready for an early morning’s crossing.

Being busy with the rebuilding during the day, little attention was given to the travelling natives, who had also camped for the night but at distance upstream, obviously cautious not to come to close to the travelling caravan.

It was a dark overcast night and their campfire could be clearly seen through the scrub and turpentine trees, while the chanting came across the still night air like the sound of a multitude of bee hives, the percussion of rhythm sticks clearly audible followed by the occasional shout in language, believed done to unsettle.

Edward overheard Lieutenant Jones in conversation with Macquarie pleading his desire for his men to sneak up on the buggers when they fell silent and do away with them all. The Governor was not in agreement but did advise doubling the guard, while there was little sleep had during the night and praise well offered for the first light.

As the expedition readied to leave it was noticed three of the group’s younger men had come closer and were silently standing at no more than a hundred paces distance. Macquarie came to Edward, “I would appreciate it if you were to carefully approach and try to ascertain their intentions. I will have the Lieutenant prime the guns and if there is the slightest sign of violence fire upon them.

Edward quickly gathered some food gifts and prepared to meet with the natives.

“Don’t!” Hamish loudly whispered.

“I must,”

Edward shouldered his gifts in an old canvas bag and slowly approached the young men.

“Edwa,” he called.

“Friend of Deman,” he offered while standing at some distance, waiting for their physical permission to approach closer. It wasn’t given. Edward placed the gifts on the ground and took a number of backward steps. The natives approached the gifts and appeared satisfied but not yet with him.

“Me Edwa friend of Deman and the Bidjigal people,” Edward spoke in language.

“Bidjigal,” one of the natives repeated. The others did also.

“Did you kill the Gubba?”

“Yes,”

“Why?”

“He took our women.”

“We won’t take your women, see the man with the hat he is from King George, he will protect you; he will protect your women.”

The natives laughed.

“Where are you going?” Edward asked and one of the men pointed to a range of hill far off to the east.

“We go to Bathurst Plains,” Edward pointed to the north west, only to visit not stay.”

“Wiradjuri,” the most outspoken of the three said. His companions repeated the word.

“That Wiradjuri country,” the first reiterated.

“Are you Wiradjuri?” Edward asked although believing they appeared to speak in the same parlance as the costal natives, with a slight variation in some words.

Without answering the native who did most of the talking came up to Edward and placed his open hand on Edward’s chest above his heart.

“We know of Edwa,” he removed his hand and with the gifts the three returned to their fellow travellers without speaking further.

Returning to camp Edward soon related their story and that they weren’t following only heading in the same direction before branching off to the east, Edward neglected the conversation on the dead squatter, yet Jones still wished to scatter them with a few volleys of musket fire. He lifted his rifle and silently aimed at the head of the closest black.

“Mr Jones,” the governor warned.

“I was only testing the gun sights sir.”

“Then let it be only so lieutenant.”

Once on the road Hamish came to Edward and released a long expressive breath, “I thought you were a goner at one stage.”

“Why did you think so?”

“The one who placed his hand on your chest, I thought he was about to rip your throat out.”

“Na we shake hands, they place a hand on a strangers heart, I think it is a nicer gesture.”

“With your daring Mr. Buckley, I think I will turn quite white by the time we return to Parramatta.”

“Oh Hamish, I didn’t think you cared.” Edward teased.

“More than you can realise Edward Buckley but not enough to bare you my arse.”

“Mr. Buckley,” Lieutenant Jones hollowed from the van of the expedition, “have your lot step it out, they are falling behind.”

There wasn’t any sign of the travelling native during the following days, having diverted away to the north east and as the expedition approached the Bathurst Plains, the terminus of Cox’s road, they found the Frenchman, the so named Monsieur Mouth-full, was gone for most of the day, wandering ahead and off the track while looking for new specimens. Macquarie became somewhat concerned for his safety thinking if the eager botanist was harmed while under his protection, there could be an international incident. It was therefore left for the Lieutenant to have one of his men travel with him for protection.

Still the Frenchman always returned, excited and offering up his specimens for scrutiny while yabbering on in French.

“Speak in English you Froggy bugger.” Jones demanded but the Frenchman continued in his native tongue, indignantly protesting, “aucun francais digne de ce nom ne souhaiterait baisser son niveau en langue commune et parler anglais.” At the conclusion of the man’s hurried but lengthy statement he proudly nodded in agreement with his response.

“What did you say?” Jones demanded but the Frenchman ignored his request.

“Mr. Jones, he said that no Frenchman worth his salt would wish to lower his standard to common and speak English.” Macquarie answered taking on a rare expression of humour with the lieutenant’s bother.

“Cheeky bloody sod,” Jones grumbled.

“Effronte oui pas homosexual,” The Frenchman mused and moved away to place order with his specimens.

“And what was that about Mr. Macquarie?” Jones disquietly asked.

“He said he may be cheeky but wasn’t a homosexual.” Again the rare humour came to the viceregal tone.

“Bloody Frog,” at that Jones detached and joined his troop, complaining of becoming a nurse maid to the enemy and something inaudible about two pins and a led shot between the Froggy’s eyes.

On reaching the Bathurst Plains it was acknowledged Evens and Cox were correct in their description of the country. The land was fertile, green and cool. Considered to be perfect for settlement, where more than enough food could be grown to feed the ever increasing population. In twenty years the colony of New South Wales had grown to close on thirty thousand and was increasing with every ship that chanced its way, now the arrivals of free settlers was outnumbering convicts and labour becoming scarce, although on the ground convicts remained far in the ascendency.

Macquarie stood at road’s end and at high advantage scanned the extensive plains, his hand outstretched, finger pointing, while choosing the site for a new settlement. Even before the first sod was turned, the first settler arrived he gave it the name of Bathurst, so given after his friend, the Secretary for State, War and the Colonies, Sir Henry Bathurst the third earl of that name.

Being overwhelmed by the beauty of the land Macquarie called on his French friend who was close by to relate his judgement.

“Monsieur Gaudichaud –Beaupre what is your impression of such fine country?”

“Mieux si c’etait pour Napoleon,” the Frenchman quickly answered.

“Napoleon is no more,” Macquarie corrected and returned to the vista stretching endlessly before, while feeling somewhat irritated with the Frenchman’s response but expected no less.

Again the Frenchman commenced to mumble in his language but not loud enough to be heard by Macquarie, not wishing to damage his contentious welcome.

“Monsieur Beaupre I believe your Napoleon had designs on Port Jackson,” the Governor requested in English.

“Je n’ai pas une telle connaissance,” The Frenchman denied such knowledge with a deep shrug of his shoulders.

“You may not have knowledge Monsieur Beaupre but be assured it was true.”

“As you said Monsieur Macquarie, Napoleon is finished and France capitulated.” The Frenchman concluded in perfect English.

During their first day on the plains, a cairn was erected to mark the extent of the expedition and a bottle, especially conveyed for that purpose, carrying Macquarie’s thoughts was placed within, holding a coin, being certain to carried King George’s features, also with the letter a copy of the Sydney Gazette.

On the second day jaunts radiated out from that spot to discover best water, pasture and the lay of the land for a future village. Macquarie even commenced to design a street plan and where public buildings should be erected, such was his inspiration with the plains but most within his expedition were more concerned to once again be on the road and returning to some resemblance of civilization.

During the evening of the fifth day a storm of some magnitude came in from the north east. It had been building for some time and at first it was believed would skirt to the north but like most storms it had a mind change and came upon the little band with wind and rain that was almost horizontal to their camp, sending flimsy tents like loose pages from a book airborne only to be snagged on branches and rocks.

The intensity of the storm spooked the horses and a number broke away from the holding yard. With little effort Lieutenant Jones was able to muster them back to the yard, although one had damaged its leg and had to be destroyed. The loss left a wagon without necessary pulling power, so it was decide to leave it behind. Doing so was without impediment as it contained little and placement could be given to other wagons.

Once the storm had passed a measure of order was put to the camp but that became a most uncomfortable night, giving decision to break camp the following morning and commence their return to Sydney.

With first light Macquarie gathered his party agreeing they should commence their return journey but not before he had once again given a long speech acknowledging the land and how soon it would be part of the growing colony. By late morning all was packed away and after having a late breakfast they started their return journey.

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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