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

Published: 1 Jul 2019

Edward found gaining knowledge about sheep farming was more difficult than first envisaged but whenever he had the opportunity would visit the Claxton property, sometimes remaining there for days, while learning about their ways and needs and how to remove the wool during the spring.

On his return he would endeavour to translate this learning to Hamish, with the young Piers ever listening, nodding in agreement at certain intervals and disagreeing at others. If nothing else the lad was useful for reinforcing correctness to what Edward had gleaned.

With Sam’s new house finished, Sam and Piers quickly settled in with Edward and Hamish taking residence in the hut. It was that week when there was an unexpected visit from the Chief Constable, again on the track of a bolter, this time he arrived with a constable and a native tracker but appeared less enthusiastic than usual to be on his way while staying overnight in the bunk house.

Sam offered to allow the native tracker a bed on the new house’s verandah but the constable was most dismissive, “let him be Mr Wilcox, he will find his own patch of dirt to bed down.”

As the evening turned to night the black man disappeared towards the branch creek and soon had a fire going, then there was the slow and mournful chanting that appeared to have no end, rhyme or reason, other than what his people had lost to the invader from across the big water.

The policeman sat on the new verandah in conversation with Sam, while drinking Sam’s beer. “Listen to that racket,” O’Brien growled and stood to gaze into the dark towards the black man’s camp.

“Do you mean his singing,” Sam questioned.

“Singing, it sounds as if someone has died.”

“Possibly that is how he sees his situation,” Sam suggested.

“There is nothing I can do about that, so best they all get used to it. Do you know Harry Rook from the junction?” the policeman asked and returned to his seat to continue with his drinking session.

“I’ve seen him about, a somewhat solitary individual who never returns a greeting.”

“He’s taken on a black woman for a wife, or to be more accurate to warm his bed at night, as it isn’t legal for we Christian folk to marry the heathen – has already sired two half black bastards.”

“He appears pleased enough with his situation and she happy,” Sam assumed.

“Pleased, I don’t know how he can bring himself to sleep close to them, they stink worse than dogs,” the policeman’s voice commenced to rise but lowered on realising Piers was close by. Sam laughed. “What?” the policeman demanded.

That is what they say of us.”

O’Brien was no longer a young man, finding each trip into the scrub sapped ever more energy from his bones, while the damp and cold ached in his joints and now his stomach belched and rumbled, bringing bile to gurgle in his throat and burn away at the lining. A native did give him some medicine made from tree bark mixed with something he had no wish to know. It did alleviate the problem somewhat but when he discovered that one of the additive was salivation, as the bark had to be masticated into a wad before mixing with some type of river clay, he decided to discontinue the treatment.

During the meal that night, an alternate reason for his visit became apparent. His eyes on Piers, hardly recognising the lad as he who wandered onto the farm in a daze only a matter of months previously, eventually he asked; “and how are you settling in here young Mr. Bradley?”

“Fine sir but I miss my parents.” The lad drew his eyes away from the policeman’s scrutiny.

“You would lad, no child should have to watch such a catastrophe but time fixes all and you have a good man here, even if he is much to gentle with the savages.” Sam allowed the criticism to pass as the policeman turned his mind to another conundrum, being how and who killed the blacksmith. It was true O’Brien had accepted what appeared too had occurred but it often played on his policeman’s mind and that night was as good as any time to revisit the incident. “Speaking of the savages, any further events since the demise of our Mr. Ingles?”

“None whatsoever Pat,” Sam smugly answered without sharing Edward’s recent visit to the native camp.

“A strange situation that,” O’Brien said somewhat rhetorically, “strange indeed, as I once said the maker of the spear may not have been the user and there is more to that story than I’ll ever know.” The man paused allowing his suspicion to permeate, “but as I said well finished and the country well rid of the blacksmith.”

“I am sure the man had some worth.” Sam suggested.

The constable turned to Edward, “you knew the man, would you agree with Mr. Wilcox’s evocation, did our blacksmith have any redeeming qualities.”

“What I knew of the man was during the crossing and he was a brutal character and treated most with nothing but disrespect,” Edward quietly answered.

“Disrespect eh, had you known the man before?”

“He did say he was on the Duchess of Devonshire with me, but there were at least two hundred on that ship – I couldn’t say, it is possible I ran into him without memory, most of what I knew of Mr. Ingles was hearsay from others.” Edward felt blood rise to reach his cheeks and hoped his building emotion would not bring him undone.

“Yes I hear you both were on the Devonshire, well it’s all in the past now so enough I should think.”

The following morning O’Brien lead his party out in the direction of Emu Crossing, then once again along Cox’s road to the mountains with the promise this would be his final chase. He would retire leaving the hunt to younger men, beside at the rate bolting was occurring, there would soon be more convicts within and beyond the mountains than on the coast. Some had settled in the prohibited area to honest homesteading and as time passed became forgotten, while in later years were considered, hard working law-abiding settlers while hiding the blot on their past.

Edward was almost ready to make the leap. The mountains were a daily viewing as he worked. He would cast his eyes upwards to their blue haze, remembering their beauty and rugged escarpments, recalling his selection, the dancing sea of brown grass, the ample water of the Macquarie River and with the thought of his own spread and flock his heart would skip, as the vision beckoned him to be gone.

Edward had arranged his small purchase of fine Macarthur Marino sheep managing a good price with facilitation from Gregory Blaxland’s association of Macarthur, also a cart, made from local timber, its wheels from the Parramatta wheelwright, now all that was needed were supplies and that would mean a trip to Sydney and the Bond Stores.

“So Hamish my friend, are you still confident in your decision?” Edward asked as he ran a mental list of necessities, which seemed to grow with each passing thought.

“Certainly but with one reservation?”

“What would that be?”

“Would it be bold to add another to this adventure?”

“Who Piers, I should think Sam would not agree to him coming with us.”

“No, not Piers but Elsie?”

“Would she agree to such a thing?” Edward asked being somewhat puzzled as Hamish had been coy on that subject for some time.

“She would,” Hamish simply answered.

“Elsie would be welcome but have you suggested such to her?”

“Yes when I was in Parramatta last week.” There was a mile wide smile across Hamish’s face.

“And you put it to her but knowing the old man would he agree?”

“We were married,”

“What! Married!”

“Yes Edward married and she is more than willing to come with us but it will be your decision of course, although without her I must unwillingly decline.”

“Of course but married in secret I feel a little offended not to be at least told.”

“I’m sorry Edward it happened so fast, we just did it.”

“There is another problem, what of my leaning and that of Sam?”

“I explained so and Elsie didn’t appear to be concerned, she had a cousin who was that way,” Hamish assured.

“That way?” Edward questioned.

“Your way, I don’t have a suitable word to include you and Sam as those I know are much to unfitting.”

“Most kind my friend but what is in a word.”

“A lot I should think if it is followed by a bias attitude,” Hamish projected.

“Then welcome to the married couple and their future, although I am, and sure Sam will be, peeved you didn’t share the event with us.”

“Sorry Edward I just didn’t think, too excited was my excuse. I also wished to have it done before the old man had a mind change and since my return the time hasn’t been right. Besides it was done without the usual ceremonies, only the two of us, the reverend and witness, even without Elsie’s family.” Hamish appeared genuine with his apology.

“Then it is now the right time so go and tell Sam.”

In some ways Hamish’s rushed marriage became a bonus, as Henry Watson supplied a second cart, two horses and much need supplies for the newlywed’s journey but they came with apprehension and delivered most sternly to Hamish, “you treat my girl with respect or you will find I’m not one to be meddled.”

Edward had arranged to travel into Sydney Town to purchase more supplies from the Bond Store and as he readied the cart he was approached by Piers, “Can I come?” the lad asked as Edward swung into the cart.

“In my mind yes but Sam’s the boss.”

The lad turned sharply to Sam standing some distance behind, “go on but behave yourself and while you are in town don’t let Edward forget the lamp oil, he did last time and it had to be purchased at inflated price from Parramatta.”

Departing early morning meant there wasn’t any need to break the journey by staying overnight along the way, yet it was quite late in the afternoon when they reached the outskirts of Sydney.

“Do you know this place?” Edward asked as they pass through a village some two miles from town proper. The lad did not.

“It is called Surry Hills and was once the farm belonging to Major Joseph Faveaux.”

“It doesn’t look much like a farm,”

“Not now, last year it was a village some distance from Sydney, now it has become adjoined to Sydney.”

“Who was Faveaux?”

“I believe a Major in the New South Wales corpse – the Rum Corpse but all that was before my time.”

“Oh – why was it called the Rum Corpse?”

“It is said that their currency was in rum and a day’s work was paid in rum.”

“Currency, they call we born here that?”

“They do but Mr. Faveaux stayed on after their corpse returned to England. He’s now working for the Governor.”

“If he’s police I don’t think I want to know him,” the lad was affirmative, remembering the treatment his father received from the establishment.

“Na not police, he’s some official of sorts and we won’t be calling in on him. We better get a move on if we are to reach the tavern before dark.”

“How did you become a convict Edward?” the lad asked as they reached the tavern.

“It was considered I loved the wrong person.”

“What does that mean?”

“Some other time Piers, we should find a room for the night.”

Early morning found Edward purchasing supplies from Sam’s favourite Bond Store and the man Ferguson was as dismissive and bad tempered as usual. Piers quickly reminded Edward to purchase the lamp oil and Edward made complaint about its price. “That’s the price lad, take it or leave it but I assure you one thing, you won’t find it cheaper elsewhere. Edward purchased two gallons and another two for their own use.

“Right, I think we have it all,” Edward perceived as he cast a final eye over the supplies.

“What now, home?”

“No lad, we’re off to see the Governor.”

“Why?”

“You like that word don’t you young fellow,”

“What word would that be?”

“The word why?”

“Only way to learn anything,” the lad gave a cheeky grin as Edward hurried their loaded cart towards Government House.

“I guess so. I have some business to attend to that is why.”

“What sort of business?”

“That Piers, is for me to know and you not to know.”

“Does that mean for me to mind my own business?”

“It sure does lad.”

On reaching the gate to the Governor’s residence Edward was again denied entry as the soldier, as on a previous visit, pointed his bayonet tipped musket toward Edward.

“What do you want?” The soldier demanded.

“I wish to have audience with Mr. Macquarie.” Edward calmly suggested.

“What would the Gov want with the likes of you, go on get on your way or you’ll be felling my boot.”

“I am sure sir if you were to speak to the Governor he would agree to see me,” Edward protested.

“Get on ya’ way or,”

Edward took the soldier’s advice and returned into town. He had an idea but it would mean finding the townhouse of Gregory Blaxland, if the man were to be in residence.

On reaching Blaxland’s residence, luck was astride. The man was home and willing to accept audience with Edward. After explaining his problem with the soldier and the nature of his business, Blaxland called for refreshments before adjourning to his study, some time latter he returned holding what appeared to be a letter.

“Show this to the soldier on guard duty he should know my signature, I think it should allow you audience.

On returning to the government house gate, Edward was once again accosted by the same soldier, only now the late morning’s heat and boredom had removed even the slightest spark of civility the man may have had.

“I thought I told you two to bugger off!” the soldier loudly protested.

“But sir, I have a letter from Mr. Blaxland explaining my need to have audience with the Governor.” Edward kept calm and offered the letter to the soldier who scrutinised it for some time before passing it back. Truthfully the man could neither read or write or if it came to it, recognise the hand of Blaxland nor his signature, “anyone could have written that!”

“Not anyone sir – not all are literate, besides where would I obtain quill, ink and paper while travelling?”

“Bugger off before you feel the toe of my boot up ya’ arse!” The solder growled and stood his ground.

By chance Elizabeth Macquarie arrived at that very moment from a day’s outing with the ladies representing the committee to build a school for girls. The soldier stood to attention, “afternoon madam,” he roughly greeted while standing aside to allow her passage.

“What appears to be the problem corporal?” Elizabeth asked, her voice remaining low and soft.

“Naught my lady; only doing my duty,” the soldier admitted in his best cockney accent.

“And what would that duty be?”

“Keeping your good-self safe from the likes of this lot my lady,”

Elizabeth turned to Edward, “young man don’t I know you from somewhere?”

“Yes Mrs. Macquarie, I am Edward Buckley friend of Mr. Blaxland and with you when you journeyed to the Bathurst Plains.”

“Yes, now I recollect, the young man who speaks the language of the blacks.”

“I speak some but not well,” Edward passed Blaxland’s letter to the woman. She read it.

“Yes Mr. Buckley it appears to be in order; follow me.”

Edward and Piers followed Elizabeth into the house and were asked to wait in the outer office. “I am sure Mr. Macquarie will see you but please be to the point, he is a very busy man.” Elizabeth entered into what Edward remembered to be the Governor’s office. A minute later she returned; “wait there, he will not be long.”

Not long became almost half an hour, during that time the Government secretary came out, scurried his bent back to another office and returned, only to repeat the procedure once more before one could count to twenty. Eventually the balding man with the stooped back returned to the waiting room and asked Edward to follow. As Piers stood the secretary pointed down to his chair, “you wait there young man,” he softly demanded and showed Edward through the door. Making a soft coughing sound he waited for the Governor to raise his head from his papers.

“That will be all Mr. Grayson,” The secretary silently departed closing the door on his retreat.

“So it is our multilingual friend from the Bathurst excursion,” the man paused, “and the crossing of the mountains, one must not forget that,” the Governor quickly added.

This time, as there had been on his first visit with Macquarie, there wasn’t any mention of his crime. Edward stood silently as Macquarie spoke, “Come on lad, approach, take a seat, I am a very busy man. Do you know Mr. Bigge?”

“No sir,”

“No I guess you wouldn’t. At present he is my nemeses but that has nothing to do with your request.”

As for John Bigge, he had been sent from Whitehall to bring Macquarie into line and prevent the issue of so many tickets of leave and land grants to those he emancipated.

Edward removed a paper from his inside pocket and passed it to the Governor. “This is your land grant; I thought you would be running flocks of sheep by now. Are you handing it in?”

“No sir and quite soon I will travel there. I wish to make a change to the title. I would like a name to be added, being Mr. Hamish McGregor.”

“That can be done at a stroke, are you certain it is what you want, you do realise if there is any future dispute it would be his as much as it is yours?”

“Yes sir,”

Macquarie called for his secretary and bade him find the original document. It took some minutes but he returned faithfully with the document.

“Again, what is the gentleman’s name?”

“Mr. Hamish McGregor sir.”

“Don’t I know that name?”

“Yes sir, he was my second when we visited the Bathurst Plains.”

“Ah yes now I remember your Mr. McGregor, a man who spoke his mind and sometimes a little more than warranted.”

“That would be Hamish,”

Macquarie amended both copies and passed Edward’s grant back. “Will that be all Mr. Buckley as I am a very busy man?”

“Yes sir that is all and again I think you for your kindness.”

“Kindness has nothing to do with it Mr. Buckley, if this country is to progress it need many the likes of you and your friend Mr. McGregor.”

The secretary returned and showed Edward back to his friend. Soon they were away and well ignoring the soldier as they passed through the gate.

“What next Edward – home?”

“No we will leave early morning and make it in one day. How would you like to go down to the docks, I believe a ship has just arrived?”

“Did you come out on a big ship?” the lad asked as they reached Kings Wharf.

“I did and we almost sunk in two different storms.”

“I’ve never been on a boat, except a skiff on the creek.”

“Believe me Piers you don’t want to, not like the one I was on.”

They reached the wharf in time to see its cargo landed.

“What’s that?” the lad asked pointed at a large rectangle box being brought ashore on ropes and pullies.

“It’s a piano.”

“What’s that?” the lad repeated.

“You play it to make music. You really have a lot to learn.”

“I suppose I’ve been in the bush too long.” The lad appeared somewhat hurt at the insinuation he was dumb.

“No you just haven’t had the opportunity. Give it time and you’ll be fine.” Edward found a place to rest and invited the lad to join him as a number of passengers disembarked.

“You appear to be waiting for someone Edward?” Piers asked.

“I’m always waiting Piers,”

“I suppose that answer is another invite to mind my own business.”

“One day I will explain but for now your suggestion stands.”

Soon there was no more to come ashore. Edward gave a deep disappointed sigh, “come on mate time to get some tucker and an early night for an early start.

“How was the trip? Sam asked as Edward stored the provisions into the bunk house to be out of the weather.

“Fine and I didn’t forget the lamp oil, your little mate made sure of that, it’s in the front corner of the cart.”

Sam collected the oil, “what did you think of Sydney Piers?”

“Too many people and too much noise;”

Sam laughed; “did you like anything about it.”

“I liked the food at the tavern and I liked going down to the docks to look at the ships.”

Sam turned to Edward, “still hopeful,” he said attempting to be as empathetic as he could.

“One day Sam, I feel it so, one day.”

“Did you see the Governor?”

“Yes with some difficulty but with Mr. Blaxland’s help I managed and I was successful – where’s Hamish?”

“Top field he should be down soon.”

Piers left the two in conversation and hurried up field to find Hamish and related his visit to Sydney.

“How did Piers go in town?”

“Fine but he does ask a lot of questions, some I did not wish to answer.”

“Relating to your past,” Sam asked.

“Yes mostly but I don’t think I’m ready to explain.”

“I believe you may find him more accepting than you realise.”

“Again Sam I bow to your better judgement but still best to leave it until he is older.”

Hamish arrived some time later complaining about their milking goats getting into the new crop but was pleased to announce he managed to pen them before too much damage had been done.

“You do realise your sheep will be here at week’s end?” Hamish reminded.

“I do, and best we mend that fence or it will be more than goats getting into the crop.”

“Tomorrow, hey Piers what are you like at fencing.”

“I could help but haven’t don’t much of it.”

“Help will be fine. Edward what did you get at the bond store?” Hamish took a quick peek at the supplies in the bunk house and appeared satisfied.

“Did you remember the lamp oil?”

“I did and Sam has it, I also got a bolt of material as a wedding present so Elsie can run up a new frock.”

“She will like that, what did you get the groom?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh well as usual the bride gets all and the groom nothing.” Hamish grumped.

“He gets the bride on their wedding night,” Edward laughed.

“Too true and – never mind can’t give away my little secrets.”

“Not like you Hamish, you usually give a running rendition.”

“I must be getting old.”

“I did get this,” Edward withdrew his deed of selection from his inside pocket and passed it to Hamish.

“It’s your selection papers, why are you showing me this?”

“Look who it is made out to?” Hamish read the document, quickly noting the amendment.

“It has my name on it!”

“Yes it is now not my land but our land we are partners and it is also officially recorded as so by Governor Macquarie himself.”

“What have I done to deserve this?” Hamish appeared somewhat confused.

Edward quickly displayed his gratitude. “Hamish where would I find someone else silly enough to want to follow me into the wilderness and me with absolutely no idea what I’m doing. Also do it for nothing.”

“I am sure you would treat us correctly even without this paper.” Hamish answered.

“And that I would but now that we are true partners and it is in writing, no one can dispute the fact.”

“Edward you are a true friend.”

“It was Sam’s suggestion but I was going to do so anyway.”

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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