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

Published: 5 Aug 2019

It had been a good year. Sam’s arrival was well appreciated becoming a most valued member of a growing community, although for some unknown reason his ailment left him with a permanent limp and returned spasmodically sending him to his bed for days at a time but with Elsie’s gently hand and care he soon recovered but each time with a little less strength.

The farm was virtually a village, with Piers learning how to shear sheep and build fences but he was never happy doing so, he wasn’t a farmer and dreamed of a life of adventure. James commented the lad was a mirrored example of the young Edward wishing to travel and reap the wonders of the Empire, while gleaning Sam for his wealth of book knowledge. Eventually Piers was able to hold still long enough to learn his letters and soon he could read about the world for himself.

Piers also liked the girls and never let up about them. Like Hamish before Elsie, he would often disappear into the scrub, only to return a short while later smiling broadly. Edward would laugh; “what have you been up to Piers?”

“Having a leak,”

“Is that all,”

“Having a think, did you see the breasts on the new barmaid at the tavern across the river?”

“I did but she’s a little old for you don’t you consider.”

“Not for dreaming she’s not.”

“You know it will send you blind.” Edward often warned but blindness or not the lad’s favourite past time had become thinking; thinking with his trousers lowered and his hand activated.

It was still an almost daily occurrence to witness passing newcomers – new chums being their title, some with flocks of sheep others with cattle, or carts piled high with belongings, or hawkers following the farmers to peddle their wares. Some would rest a while, accepting hospitality, giving stories of Sydney and its growth, of bushrangers or bad luck stories, while receiving advice on climate or pasture.

At the bridge of the Macquarie River, now renamed Fish River as it was considered but a branch of the true Macquarie deemed to be further west, there was a village given the name of Bridge Town. At first a coach stop for the service from Parramatta to Bathurst, then a tavern was attached to the coaching station and a general store. Before that year was out the village swelled to twenty souls with a vicarage, church and a blacksmith’s shop, a virtual metropolis in the making.

Bahloo had taken to wandering, disappearing for days at a time. He would strip away his white man’s clothing and with platted reed loincloth, retrieve his hunting spears and leave without a word. “Where is Bahloo?” would be asked; he has gone walkabout, the answer but accepted as part of the lad’s persona.

It was one such time when Bahloo was on walkabout when the farm was visited by bushrangers on the run from the Johnnies. At first it was believed they were settlers on their way to Bathurst but it was soon discovered they wanted more than a little food and information.

Hamish was close to the road when they arrived, four in number riding stolen horses and scruffy from many days in the saddle. The lead approached Hamish, “what place is this?” he roughly asked while deciding if it were easy pickings, as with the two houses and number of out buildings the farm could easily be mistaken to be a small village.

“No place as such but there is a village a short distance across the bridge, take the east turn and half a mile.”

“Who’s the boss?” The stranger’s face was hidden in shade under a wide brimmed hat while a large scar was visible across his cheek to his lips ending on a jar like chin.

“Come on Jock, leave him be or the Johnnies will be onto us.” A second stranger commented bringing his mount close to that of his scarred leader.

“There’s time Smithy, I reckon this fella’ wouldn’t mind feeding us.”

“You could get a meal at the tavern in town,” Hamish suggested as Edward arrived. The man with the scar folded back the tail of his long coat to display a musket. He smiled rancorously, “I should reckon this could buy us more than a feed.”

“I am sure we could spare a meal,” Edward quickly intercepted, knowing Hamish’s likelihood to react towards a threat. Hamish allowed Edward to speak.

“I don’t know Jock, the constables aren’t that far behind.” A lad of Piers years warned.

“Shut your mouth Malcolm or I’ll shut it for ya’.” The lad took notice.

“Now what’s your name?” The man with the scar demanded from Edward.

“Edward Buckley,”

“Buckley eh, I thought I remembered you.”

“I’m sorry but I have no recollection,” Edward truthfully admitted.

“No you wouldn’t, what’s your cobber with the trigger tongue’s name?”

Hamish began to speak.

“I didn’t ask you, I’m speaking to Mr. Buckley here.”

Hamish quietened.

“His name is Hamish McGregor and is equal partner to this property.”

“So Mr. Buckley, the two of you crawling up the Gov’s arse has paid off?”

“I don’t understand,”

“I was a bound-servant when we took Macquarie to Bathurst.”

“I don’t recollect,”

“No you wouldn’t, it was before some horse kicked half my flaming teen out, you may recall me as Joseph Williamson.”

“Ah the absconder from the Bathurst expedition, I often wondered how you faired.”

“You may have at that,” the bushranger sarcastically remarked, “but now ‘tis me that holds the day and I remember well your superior holy than thou attitude.”

“You were treated fairly.”

“Jock we should be going.” A nervous Malcolm quietly warned from the background while forcing his mount to turn in small circles as it impatiently attempting to move on.

“Keep that bloody animal still it’s making me nervous!”

“Jock I only -”

“One more word outa’ you kid and I’ll put a lead ball between those pretty blue eyes.” The lad bowed his head and allowed his mount to travel some distance, where it took pleasure with some fresh grass beside the road.

“Now back to Mr. Buckley here, are you gunna’ feed us or what?”

“If it’s feeding you want you can have your fill but there is little else worth your while.” Edward remembered the gold in the wash and what they had reburied close to Bahloo’s humpy in the wattle grove.

“Let me be the judge of that.” The man removed his musket and nodded towards Hamish’s house, “Who else is around?”

Hamish commenced to answer.

“Shut it Mr. McGregor, I’m askin’ Mr. Buckley here.”

“A young lad and Mrs. McGregor and a friend who isn’t well and one other,” Edward answered.

“No Mrs. Buckley?”

“No I am not married.”

“You wouldn’t be would you?”

“I don’t understand,”

“You don’t realise I knew the blacksmith, I guess you wouldn’t like your little secret out.”

“I have no secrets,” Edward quietly spoke, “especially from my friends and partner.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Do you want a feed or not?” Edward asked disregarding the man’s suggestion while leading him towards his house. At that moment Elsie was seen at the window of the second house.

“We’ll go this way,” The bushranger pointed towards the window and Elsie.

“Most of the food is in the other house.” Edward suggested and commenced to walk in that direction.

“Mr. Buckley, I can put a lead ball through your skull here or later, you choose.” Reluctantly Edward turned towards the suggested direction.

“That’s better,” the bushranger grinned.

“So were are the others,”

“They are fixing a fence along the river.”

“When will they return?”

“Sundown,”

Reaching the house all four bushrangers filed in behind Edward and Hamish.

“Where’s your good woman?” The man with the scar acerbically demanded.

Elsie, hearing the commotion came to the room immediately noticing the men and their weapons. She didn’t speak but her expression was one of fear, she quickly came to Hamish.

“These men wish to be fed.” Edward quietly spoke as he moved towards the kitchen, guiding Elsie and Hamish away from their influence, wishing to separate his friend from the strangers to avoid any negative reaction.

“Not you Buckley you stay here with me, I’m sure the wedded couple can prepare a meal,” the bushranger turned to his associate, “Smithy you go with them and watch they don’t put rat poison in the grub.” Trevor you watch the door, I don’t trust this Buckley fella’ or his timing for the other’s return.” The bushranger sat himself at the table and placed his firearm down, its barrel pointed towards Edward’s belly.

“How many sheep do you ‘ave?” he asked as Malcolm, his youngest associate nervously stood aside, “Malcolm sit down you’re making me nervous and you know what I’m likely to do if I’m nervous.” The lad obeyed and sat tensely some distance away from his leader. It was most obviously he was with the gang more out of fear more than necessity.

“I ask again Mr. Buckley, how many sheep?”

“Upwardly towards one thousand head in my estimation.”

“That’s a lot of mutton chops,”

“They are for wool not for the butcher shop.”

“I didn’t ask for a school mum’s lesson.”

Edward became silent as the man turned to Malcolm; the lad lifted his head, “what?” he nervously barked feeling Jock’s eyes burning into the top of his skull.

“Do you know what crime our Mr. Buckley was transported for?”

“No,” the lad answered without displaying interest as he was Currency and had little experience with transportation other than the stories told around late night’s camp fires.

“Buggery wasn’t it Mr. Buckley?”

Edward kept his silence but could feel the pressure of disdain rising within him. He was not a violent man but at that very moment would pleasure in choking the life out of his opponent.

“Yes it was buggery, Malcolm do you know what buggery is?”

“No,”

“I am sure our Mr. Buckley here could give you a demonstration if you want.”

“No thank you,” obviously Malcolm well understood the meaning of the word but had no wish for such conversation.

“You didn’t know the blacksmith did you Malcolm?”

“No the blacks killed him while I was in Sydney,”

“He was such a man who could sweetly smile as he ripped you heart out but he did have a soft spot for our Mr. Buckley here.”

“Would you like some beer?” Edward asked feeling most uncomfortable with the direction of conversation. Standing he commenced to cross the floor.

“Sit down Mr. Buckley, I am sure your friend McGregor will attend to that,” turning to his young associate he continued, “Malcolm have you got a nice sweet little hole?”

“I don’t talk like that Jock,” Malcolm nervously answered.

“I reckon our Mr. Buckley would like to try a young fella’ like yourself, or possibly he would rather you mount him like the blacksmith did.”

“I’m not like that Jock,” the lad nervously protested, his voice almost missing from his throat.

“You would be surprised what you are like when push comes to shove.”

“Leave the kid, can’t you see your upsetting him,” Edward objected but the bushranger had no intention in discontinuing his torment, even if part of it was involving his young associate.

“What happened to our blacksmith?” the bushranger asked while collecting his firearm from the table, cocking its hammer he pointing it towards Edward, “bang,” he cried and laughed. Edward flinched.

“He was killed by the blacks,” Edward answered.

“So it is officially reported but I have other ideas,” he released the hammer and placed the gun back on the table.

“Do you have any opinion of your own Mr. Buckley?”

“Only what was I was told.”

“Wasn’t he found with a spear protruding between his shoulders?” Jock was fishing and as he did so attempting to ascertain a flicker of guilt in Edward’s eyes, not that he cared in the lease for the demise of the blacksmith and if the spear hadn’t done it’s duty, he may have eventually done so himself.

“So the report said,” Edward admitted somewhat factually without even a spark of guilt.

“Yes but who put it there?”

“It is my guess he was messing with the blacks.”

“Where were you on that day Mr. Buckley?”

“In town getting supplies,” Edward lied without shame, even as far as looking Jock in the eye as he spoke the words. Such fabrication was not difficult as when one has nothing but abhorrence towards another there isn’t any need to hide the truth or feel guilt towards duplicity.

“Mr. Buckley, if my memory is sound it was only the previous day our friend the blacksmith told me he had unfinished business and was heading out to find you. How do you answer that?”

Edward remained silent, what was raising his heckles was the man’s continuously usage of his name, it became a whip on the man’s tongue and well used against Edward’s temper.

“He’s gone now and can’t tell us the full story.” The bushranger smiled and attacked Edward’s nature from a different direction, “you know the blacksmith said you had the sweetest little hole he had the pleasure of filling,” Jock’s eyes turned to determine Malcolm’s reaction, “what do you think kid, do you reckon Mr. Buckley would have a sweet little hole, or do you think he’s a little past it?”

The lad again bowed his head and was physically shaking.

“I reckon you could take our Mr. Buckley into that room and find out for yourself,” with the words spoken Smithy returned with bottles of beer, “hows the grub going?”

“Won’t be long,”

“Then get back in there and keep an eye on them.”

Smithy reluctantly returned to the kitchen.

“Now back to our Mr. Buckley, what was I saying?”

Neither Malcolm nor Edward spoke.

“Oh yes I remember I was about to suggest that Mr. Buckley was to give Mal his first sexual experience and Mr. Buckley the ride of his life. I’ve seen it Mr. Buckley, Mal’s a big boy and if you think the blacksmith was large you’ve seen nothing – what do you think Mal, wanna’ fuck Mr. Buckley?”

Still Edward and the lad remained silent.

“Dinner’s ready,” Smithy came into the room with Hamish carrying plates of food.

“It appears our Mr. Buckley will have to wait for his pleasure. Hey Trevor come and get your grub.” The fourth bushranger returned and sat at the table, “what’s going on?” he asked realising the lad was somewhat distressed.

“Don’t bother with the kid; I have something of a surprise for him later.”

They completed their meal in silence while Jock kept his weapon handy and his captives to his front where he could keep an eye on them.

With the meal over Jock grabbed Elsie by the arm as she passed, “come here woman,” she gasped and pulled away, “feisty one your little woman Mr. McGregor?” Hamish flinched in response but Edward pulled him back.

“Very wise Mr. Buckley.” Jock said as Hamish unclenched his fists.

Smithy pushed his plate aside and stood, “we better be gone Jock, the Johnnies aren’t that far behind.”

“Yes Jock, gotta’ go,” Trevor agreed while nervously scanning the southern road from the window.

“Just as I was about to enjoy myself,” Jock turned to Edward. “Money Mr. Buckley.”

“Haven’t much the sale of the wool clip hasn’t been issued as yet.”

“What ya’ got and be quick or I’ll damn the Johnnies and the lad can have his fun here on the table, I should think you would like an audience.”

“Hamish quickly went to the over mantle and out of a jar retrieved what little was there in.

“Spanish silver haven’t you got any good English sovereigns.”

“That is our lot until the receipts for the wool clip.” Hamish reiterated Edward’s confession.

Jock turned his attention to Elsie, “that locket,” he pointed to her slender neck and the gold locket resting on her heaving breast.

“It was a wedding present from Hamish,” she protested in a gasp as the bushranger’s blood commenced to rise.

“Give it to him!” Hamish demanded but before Elsie could comply with the demand Jock ripped it from her neck breaking the chain.

“What else?” The bushranger demanded.

“Noting worth much, we are somewhat humble towards jewellery or the likes,” Edward admitted.

“Come on Jock we have to be across the river before nightfall.” Smithy protested and gently tugged the man’s sleeve. He shook it off while cursing loudly.

“One of these days Smithy, one of these days you will push me too far.”

Jock belted his weapon and turned to the others, “grab as much food as you can carry and to shut Smithy’s winging well be going,” turning to Edward he gave a wicked grin, “it appears Mr. Buckley, we will have to leave the kid’s entertainment until another day.”

Reaching the road the bushrangers discovered they weren’t as far ahead of the law as they had envisaged. Riders could be seen to the south and at a glance they were outnumbered at a guess two to one. Fortunately because of the delay at the farm their mounts had been rested and at a gallop they headed towards the river, crossed the bridge and were once again at distance and safe for at least that day.

Later in the afternoon the three returned from their fencing to much excitement and relief, as for Edward the anxiety of transportation and his treatment by the blacksmith returned. Once all had been said Edward in solitude sat on the verandah.

“What’s bothering you Edward?” James softly asked, placing a hand gently on his shoulder, Edward rested his over that of James, giving a gentle squeeze.

“Nothing James, I’m alright.”

“You don’t appear to be so,”

Hamish approached, “James leave him be for now.”

“I only asked as I’m concerned,”

“James I’m alright really you go in and have your meal I’ll speak with you later.”

Hamish sat beside Edward as James reluctantly went for his meal.

“Thank you Hamish, I’m not ready to explain all that to James as yet.”

“I’m sure they won’t be back,” Hamish assured.

“I’m not concerned for what happened today Hamish it’s that bloody blacksmith, I can’t seem to escape his influences even with him dead.”

“You are among friends Edward don’t forget that.”

“True and well appreciated;”

“You should trust James with your story, don’t bottle it or some day it may become the wedge between you both.”

James attempted to make light of the day’s event as he and Edward strolled beside the river. Moonlight turned the slow moving water to silver shine and a cool breeze followed its westward flow.

“I love it here,” James admitted within a comforting sigh.

“It is a pretty site,”

“No, meant was here in New South Wales, I love the freedom of it all, its simplicity the unrestricted manner, I don’t think there is another place on earth with such independence.”

“Do you ever think of home?” Edward asked.

“Sometimes I do but not longingly; what about you?”

“Only family, I would love to see their faces if only once more. See the love in my mother’s eyes and hear the wisdom of my father’s words. It has now been so long their images are beginning to fade from my memory.”

“Family is one thing I don’t miss. I didn’t have family, only a gaoler as a father and bully for a brother.”

“You never spoke of your mother?” Edward said.

“She died giving birth to me and I think that brought about my father’s loathing towards me.”

“There is something I should explain to you.” At last Edward was ready to tell of the blacksmith and his torment, even as it settled like lead in the pit of his stomach.

“Is it about your dealings with the blacksmith?” James didn’t appear surprised.

“How could you know?”

“Bahloo told me most and I guess the rest.”

“Sweet Bahloo, so innocent and now so alone.”

“He has you Edward and that appears to satisfy him,” James assured.

“But I can’t fulfil that part of him he longs for.”

“He knows that and accepts it with good spirit.”

“Maybe,”

“Did you know Elsie is with child?” James asked.

“No when did you hear so?” Edward’s surprise was obvious.

“She whispered it to me tonight while helping in the kitchen.”

“Well I’ll be – Hamish will be elated it is all he ever wanted.”

Something was travelling along the Bathurst road, kicking up a scurry of dust as it approached from the south east. James and Hamish being the closest hurried to the gate, discovering it to be the mail coach, now going all the way to Bathurst.

“Progress,” Hamish admitted as the coach driver brought his team to pause close by where the two waited.

“Anyone for Bathurst?” the driver asked.

“Only gawking,” Hamish admitted.

“It will now be a weekly service, Parramatta to Bathurst.” The driver proudly announced and encouraged his team onwards.

As the dust settled Edward joined them at the roadside.

“What do you know?” Hamish laughed as the coach sped off towards the bridge.

“What is it would I be knowing?” Edward asked.

“This little prison is becoming a country and the experiment of New South Wales has worked.”

“I wouldn’t say has but well on the way but it isn’t like you to be so positive Hamish,” Edward agreed.

“Getting old I suppose Edward, pushing through thirty now.”

“And soon to be a father as well.”

Hamish gave a happy smile and shook his head, “yes and to be a father and well proud.”

As regular as the casement clock that stood in Edward’s hall the coach service passed towards Bathurst close on midday every Wednesday and the return coach later that afternoon, with their drivers changing direction at Bridge Town. Soon the coach passed without creating interest becoming part of the tapestry of life in the country, only receiving a slight rising of the head and realisation it must be time for lunch as it passed, or halted to deliver mail.

Now whenever Edward or Hamish had need to travel to Parramatta or Sydney, they no longer rode but in the style of true country gentlemen took the coach and with the coach came a much improved mail service, no longer the American style pony-express and with it a collection box near the farm gate bearing the name ‘Elsie Downs’ proudly painted at Edward’s insistence, in large red letters, across its woodwork.

It was one such Wednesday, hot and a westerly scurried the dust about creating willy-willy’s of whirling wind and drying the grass to a state of fear for bushfire. Hamish had seen the dust cloud thrown up by the approaching coach from his work close by the road and expecting correspondence wandered down to meet its arrival. The driver brought his team to stop close by where Hamish waited.

“Good morning Hamish?” the driver spoken and passed down a number of envelopes tied with string.

“Good morning Ron, hot weather.”

“Dusty, flaming dust it gets into everything, in my reckoning ya’ could grow spuds up my nose.”

“That is the truth of it,”

“Have someone for you,” the driver said and leant back towards the carriage of the coach, “Elsie Downs the Buckley-McGregor farm,” he called and jumping to the ground removed a trunk from the back of the coach. A young man alighted.

“Is this the property of Edward Buckley?” The stranger asked while dusting down his clothing with the flat of his hands.

“It is the Buckley McGregor property yes and you appear familiar.”

“And who am I addressing?” The stranger asked in his best Devonian accent.

“Hamish McGregor,” Hamish answered with a measure of intrigue.

“Oh rude of me, I am William Buckley, Edward Buckley’s younger brother.”

“I thought you were familiar, you are a slightly younger version of Edward himself.”

“Is Edward at home?” The stranger asked as the coach recommenced its journey.

“He sure is and I’m gunna’ enjoy this reunion,” Hamish took control of the trunk and invited William to follow, leading the way to Edward’s house where James was working sharpening shears for the approaching shearing season. “Hey James a visitor, someone you may remember?” Hamish called from distance. James lifted his head, taking more than a few seconds to recognise the youthful face.

“Christ its William – Will Buckley and grown up.” James came from his work and took William’s hand, what are you doing out here, when did you arrive, why didn’t you write.”

“Too many questions James, is Edward around?”

“He is and not far,” James pointed up paddock, “he’s counting sheep, his favourite pastime.” James gave a holler and waved, Edward waved back as James beckoned him to return.

Slowly Edward arrived obviously puzzled with the stranger waiting with James. “Who have you there?” He called while still at distance.

“It’s William you dozy bugger,”

“William who?”

“Your brother who else?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Visiting you what else would I be doing?”

Edward came quickly up to his brother and wrapped both arms around him, “I don’t believe my eyes but how?”

“Believe it brother, it is me.”

“How is father, mother?”

“I’m afraid that is one of the reasons I am here, that and I have purchased the rights to some land near Bathurst.”

“Are they not well?” Edward feared the worse.

“I’m sorry Edward,”

“They are dead – both?”

“I’m afraid so, last winter there was some miasma going about and both mother and father and little Ellen, I’m afraid all gone.”

“Ellen?” Edward repeated being an unknown name to his ear.

“Yes a sister born a short while after you left.”

“What of the farm?”

“It is our brother’s now,”

“Oh and so far away to send a prayer.” Edward was not a religious man but at moment he wished he were and he could whisper his farewell into the hot southern air and it would transport to their hearts.

“They never gave up on you Edward and now seeing James here with you and appearing contented would prove them right.”

“Come walk with me,” Edward offered leading his brother towards the river.

“They had word of you from your letter to James’ cousin and were much relieved.”

“So my correspondence was of some use.” Edward had all but forgotten his trials of finding James and with his plight at that time had not wished to contact his family causing unnecessary grief.

“It appears you have well settled here?” William suggested as the reached the river bank and rested beneath the shade of a River Red-gum.

“Well settled and well lucky and I have the best of partner and friends.”

“What of your charge has it been revoked?”

“No I have a ticket of leave, meaning I can do almost anything but return to England.”

“Would you wish to do so?”

“At first I craved it but now I am part of this new country but enough of that.”

“How many acres do you have?” William asked.

“Acres, we measure in square miles out here, our spread is small in comparison to some but well grassed and watered. In all with the new acquisition around eleven square miles of good pasture.”

“That must have cost a lot?”

“Not when you befriend the Governor.”

“And what of you and James?” William asked.

Edward nervously laughed as he answered; “the natives here have a word, it translates to Sistergirl and although I don’t like its inclination and would not wish to generalise, I guess it defines both James and me.”

“Sistergirl?”

“That is the word.”

“Does that mean -?”

“It does, we haven’t changed our preference and any day I would prefer James and love him like you would a woman.”

“I guess we all realised so and knew what was going on but more the shame James’ father wasn’t approving.”

“Or law dear brother, come it is almost lunch time and Elsie will have it on the table.”

“Elsie?”

“Yes she is Hamish’s wife and has the first house, we have most of our meals there, come on I’ll introduce you but what of your selection?”

“It is towards a town called Bathurst, I believe further along this road.” William’s obvious lack of colonial geography was apparent.

“Yes it is but much further and most of the day by coach.” Edward explained.

“It was granted to me when I applied for passage but I was coming to find you regardless.”

“How did you find me?” Edward was most curious.

William gave a broad smile, “why the man who crossed the mountains with Blaxland and travelled with the Governor is well famous in Sydney, I just asked at the Staging Office.”

During their travel to the house Bahloo returned, coming over the rise carrying a small kangaroo across his shoulder and laughing like one possessed. On seeing the black lad’s approach and his hunting spears, William went into panic overdrive. “Settle its only Bahloo, he’s family.”

“A very strange land you have here,” William sighed his relief.

“Hey Bahloo what have you got there?” Edward called in language.

“You speak their language?” William asked.

“Yes but not as good as Bahloo’s English. What have you there Bahloo?”

“Bahloo got blackfella’ sheep,” the lad called.

“Good take it down to Elsie and she’ll cook it up, were sick of mutton.”

“A very strange land indeed,” William concluded.

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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