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

Published: 22 Apr 2019

The farmer was about early before the sun and with a rough hand woke Edward, “I’m going into Parramatta this morning, want to come?”

“It’s somewhat impromptu what for?” Edward gave a yawn and rolled away from the offer.

“This and that,”

“While you’re in there -”

“Yes I know, go to the shipping office and see if there is any mail.”

“Correct first time,” Edward again yawned loudly and adjusted his eyes as he stretched his arms into the darkness about the hut.

“There won’t be an answer as it still hasn’t been long enough.”

“Miracles do happen.”

“What some angel is going to come down and deliver your letter personally?” Sam stoked the breakfast fire, “we’re out of tea – coffee?”

“Not at this moment, it’s still dark,”

“There is a glimmer of light about the eastern sky.” Sam suggested and the birds have been up since sparrow-fart.”

“Glimmer and that is about the truth of it and I heard the flaming birds; don’t they ever shut up?”

“I think you should come, it might be in your interest,” the farmer insisted as the kettle come to the boil. Sure you wouldn’t like coffee?”

“Quite sure, I need my sleep.”

“It’s said that too much sleep will weaken you,” the farmer gave a second nudge; “come on get ya’ gear on, you are coming with me.”

“All right but it better be good.”

Even so it still took the lad the best part of half an hour to get as far as pulling on his strides over his long johns. Then there were ablutions, up the paddock for a piss and squat before chancing the cold water of the creek for a quick face wash. On his return from the creek he found Sam already seated in the cart with the first true light of day all about.

“We need to do something about that,” Edward committed.

“Continue,”

“Ablutions, it’s starting to smell up there.”

“Dig it in it is good fertilizer.”

“Maybe so but I see Jack Connor over at the brickworks has dug a pit and put a structure over it, he calls it his outhouse and the pit the long drop.”

“A pit you say?”

“Real deep it is; I reckon a good eight feet, possibly more.”

“If you fell in you would really be in the shit,” Sam grinned while feeling quite pleased with his rare attempt at humour.

“For such an early morning that could be considered almost funny Mr. Wilcox,” Edward confessed while seating himself in the cart. “I’ll drive,” Edward took the rains and slowly guided the pony onto the road.

“There’s a little task for you Mr. Buckley.”

“Big job more to fact and the ground is so full of rocks it would take me most of the year – what about breakfast,” Edward complained as they commenced along the creek.

“I offered,”

“That was for coffee.”

“You can get your breakfast in Parramatta come on hurry along.”

“That will be lunch.”

“So you can have a double helping.”

On their way into town they encountered a large group of natives, amounting to half or more of the camps adult males. With them was Bahloo but as they travelled he didn’t acknowledge, or even direction his gaze towards the cart.

“I don’t like the look of this,” the farmer admitted while pausing as the natives crossed the path a short distance ahead.

“They don’t appear to be heavily armed,” Edward induced.

“Nor hunting, possibly they are visiting the main group further up the branch beyond the eucalyptus forest and that could mean trouble is about to erupt.” As the last of the natives melted into the background of the thick scrub Bahloo paused and turned, commenced to acknowledge but pulled short and quickly rejoined with the mob.

“It is strange Bahloo has been included in their intent.”

“I would think in a crisis every throwing arm would be counted.”

“Should we report it to the military in Parramatta?”

“Dunno’ it could be nothing but I’m caught between two consciousness, one is my sympathy to the natives the other towards the future of settlement and at present neither is in the advantage.

“I could do so, although I don’t much like that O’Brien, to smart by half ‘tis that man.” Edward suggested.

“You could but let us wait a while and see what pan’s out first, it could be naught but corroboree.”

“So what is advantageous for me in Parramatta?” Edward asked as they met the main Sydney Road.

“Ah you remembered my suggestion.”

“You’re not gonna’ play your usual little game Mr. Wilcox, I’m not good at guessing, it gets my dander up.”

“And we can’t have rising dander on such a fine morning.”

“Funny fella’,”

“Possibly I only said that to get you moving.”

“Possibly but I doubt so.” Edward continued pumping for information.

“Alright then,” but as the farmer spoke his thought was interrupted by the approach of a rider, it was William Lawson. Edward immediately recognised the man and introduced him to Sam as one of the three explorers he had crossed the mountains with.

“Ed Buckley, now a freed man with property.” Lawson suggested.

“Freed but not free Mr. Lawson,” Edward complained.

“Give it time lad, what of your grant in the wilderness?”

“Nothing as yet Mr. Lawson and of yourself – has it become permissible to make use of it.”

“Sheep are the go lad, Macarthur has proven so. Now that Surveyor Evans has acknowledged our find and is planning a road, I’m sure Macquarie will permit, I am about to take a flock west myself.”

“What without the Governor’s sanction?”

“There is always ways around sanctions young fellow,” Lawson issued a knowing smile.

“What of Mr. Blaxland?” Edward enquired after the man who in essence was the instigator of his freedom and grant.

“He is well but ensconced on the Liverpool Plains with his cattle and has lost interested in the wilderness. I must hurry along there is a stock auction in Parramatta this very morning and Elizabeth Farm is selling off its excess Merino ewes.”

“Mr. Lawson appears a fine gentleman,” Sam admitted as the rider continued to travel ahead of them.

“So were they all and well accustomed to the scrub, as if they were born to it. Which reminds me of my previous question, what is of interest to me in Parramatta that was necessary to lose my sleep?”

“Your question was answered by your Mr. Lawson but it isn’t sheep that I seek.”

“Cattle?”

“No lad, you have been working for me, no with me to be correct, for some time without payment and I thought we may find you a fine mount at the sales.”

“Can it be afforded?”

“I think so but not some racehorse like one would find in your Mr. Wentworth stables but something with staying power and a gentle nature, something that can be ridden to church on Sunday and plough the field on Monday.”

“Church?” Edward questioned.

“You know what I mean.”

“I like that suggestion Sam, I haven’t been on a horse since leaving England and then it was but our old shire mare, fit for pulling drays and ploughing fields, while even sinking the boot in wouldn’t get her past a slow plodding.”

“I was under the belief you rode during the crossing.” Sam corrected.

“That was so only for a short distance on the first morning, after that it was walking all the way.”

“So you can ride?”

“I can remain stable on top without falling off.”

“I should think that is a good start. I can’t promise success this time as a good all purpose mounts is rare, we will see what is on offer.”

The Parramatta stock market was situated some distance from the governor’s residence so not to offend the gentle nasal passages of the nobleness and close to the river to attain transport. On first observation it appeared sheep were the favour of the day but some cattle could be found and off to one side a number of horses. The farmer quickly came to where they were yarded, finding them of mixed quality.

“What do you think?” Sam asked from his seating on the top rail of the paling fence.

“Don’t rightly know, they all just look like horses to me, what is your impression Sam?”

“No good asking me,” Sam honestly answered although becoming quite animated with the procedure.

“What about that one with the hairy fetlocks?” Edward pointed to a smallish dark brown gelding with a slash of white on its forehead.

“Why that one?”

“It looks part shire and god knows what else, it’s a little small for a shire but appears to have strength. Would be good for ploughing I should think.”

“I’ll go ask the price.”

After a short conversation with the agent Sam returned; “the price is good but are you sure?”

“One can never be sure until you ride it or put it through its paces and see if it can pull a plough.”

“We may as well go for it.”

After the paperwork was registered Sam took a relieving sigh, “honestly I didn’t think buying a horse would be so easy but there is another question I need to put to you.”

“What would that be Sam?”

“As you will recollect you meeting with Mr. Blaxland and his suggestion Mr. Macquarie will need men when he travels to Bathurst, have you made a decision on doing so?”

“I don’t want to leave you shorthanded.”

“That wasn’t my question – would you like to go?”

“I would Sam but -”

“You wouldn’t be leaving me shorthanded if we took on a convict labourer.”

“Can we do that?”

“I took you on didn’t I and there is to be an allotment of new arrivals here tomorrow morning, we could stay overnight and see what’s offering; besides if we are to plant the top paddock we will be needing help and now is as good a time as ever to get it.”

A twinge of excitement came over the lad as memories of his trip with the explorers took precedence while inward visions of the Three Sister Monoliths and Wentworth falls flashed by with inspiration. “You wouldn’t mind me doing so?”

“I would miss your company that is granted but it would only be for a short time, besides you are a freed man now and should make your own decisions.”

“Yes I am sure I would like to do so but what about taking on this bonded fella’?”

“I would think it would be as simple as I did with you but you must agree,” the farmer then smiled, “I may not know horses but you must admit I’m a good judge of human flesh.”

“Yea but at that time which head did your thinking.”

“That may be so and it was my pizzle doing the thinking but it worked out eh?”

“I guess so.”

“We’ll stay at the tavern tonight and go to the allotting in the morning.”

The two chose a tavern and booked a room for the night. After viewing the room they entered into the tavern bar and ordered drinks and a meal.

Mutton and well aged, somewhat sinewy yet palatable. Both had a second beer and Edward a third and as darkness closed in with lamps burning, the night’s crowd commenced to arrive. In the most they were farmers from the outlying district and officials up river from Sydney, while on whole, a well behaved lot although somewhat rowdy.

There was also the seedy element consisting of those living rough in the scrub midway between being white and native. Occasionally these outlanders came in for a touch of civilization, or more to point for a gut full of grog, before returning to humpies and the comforts of some native women.

The product of such illegal behaviour was becoming evermore apparent by the number of mixed race children appearing within the native camps. A common occurrence with the outlanders was to move on when their woman showed signs of pregnancy; leaving the natives to attend to children they could not totally love.

Sam took a deep breath while releasing a sigh catching the lad’s attention, “are you alright Sam you appear a little flushed in the face.”

“A touch of the sun I guess. My fair skin absorbs sun as if it were sponge and takes it right outa’ me.”

“You should have an early night.”

“I will do so that but you stay and enjoy yourself, watch the world as it progresses into some drunken stupa.”

“I may just do that,”

“Keep out of trouble,” Sam warned.

“I may also do that.”

“You better, then I bid you goodnight.” Sam finished the dregs in his pot and retired to their room.

Edward sat quietly in a dimly lit corner and as suggested watched the antics of the bar. Jolly in the most but now and then an argument would erupt only to be quietened by the innkeeper, a giant of a man with arms and fists that could surely hold sway in any boxing ring, his eyes about the bar and warning on his lips, even as far as taking one drinker by the scruff and marching him to the door. A rough push sent the offender into the dark and dust beyond with warning not to return until sober.

While complacent Edward formed realisation on the tavern’s patronage, although the colony was assumed to be a place where the worse of society had been dumped, it was hardly different than the tavern in his village and if given chance it was obvious men of crime could become quite respectable. Maybe, just possibly, he could settle into this new country and prosper but there was still James and he was not negotiable.

While enjoying the banter of the bar Edward failed to notice he was under scrutiny from a dark corner well away from the main crowd. She was peddling her profession and the lad appeared to be the perfect customer for what was otherwise a slow night. With the slink of a leopardess she approached.

“What’s your name?” She asked as she sidled in beside Edward bringing him back to the reality of the bar. “The lad refrained from answering but did give his most handsome heart melting smile.

“You look as if you are in need of company?” she quietly suggested, placing slender fingers on a nervous knee, while slowly walking them towards their intended destination.

“Not really,”

“It wouldn’t cost you much,”

“How much is not much?” Edward asked more out of curiosity than any intention to accept her offer, although surprisingly those walking fingers were having their desired effect.

“For a lad as handsome as you, five shillings and I won’t charge you for the compliment.”

“Na, I don’t have five shillings, I don’t have one shilling, or if it comes to truth not a Spanish dollar or English penny,” Edward apologised.

“If you’re big enough I’d do you for nothing,” she offered as those slender fingers reached their destination, she paused at the rising beneath. Edward gave a nervous cough while feeling surprise the touch of a woman would have such an immediate response. He remembered his only encounter with the opposite sex being with James and his cousin Mary, when they were young boys and played milking maid but that was much different, this was for him to penetrate into that most private kingdom a woman could offer and that was something he had not performed with either sex.

She was a small woman, possibly mid twenties seeming somewhat older, brought about by a hard life and the unrelenting colonial climate. Even at her youthful age grey was commencing to filter through her auburn hair, while gravity and possibly childbirth lowered her breasts from pert.

“I’m only average height,” Edward answered somewhat naively.

“It’s not your height I’m referring to.” The fingers paused and gave a gentle flick to the hardening mound beneath, it pulsated and she smiled.

“Oh,” now the penny dropped.

“I have a room towards the back of the bar, give me five minutes.”

“I don’t have any money,” Edward repeated.

“This time it isn’t money I’m after – five minutes alright.”

Edward swallowed at a dry throat as the woman sauntered away; she looked back while passing the bar. Speaking to the barman, both cast their eyes towards Edward; she again smiled then disappeared through a dark doorway beyond. Again Edward swallowed at the dryness and as he did so found, although his head said no, another head was rising to the challenge. Standing he rearranged his clothing and followed as if in a dream.

Edward approached the door, quietly opened and found her naked resting back upon her bed of cushions in a somewhat comical repose. If it wasn’t for the fire in his crotch he would have laughed.

Around the small room curtains covered all walls including the window, in red, pink and royal blue, such material would have been most difficult to find in the colony and expensive. A lamp burnt low on a table towards a corner, its gentle yellow light softening her hardening features, while sending flickers of shadowing across the multicoloured curtains.

“So you rose to the challenge,” she softly asked as Edward entered and closed the door.

“What’s your name?” Edward nervously asked.

“Do you need to know?’

“Not really,”

“Do you like what you see?”

Edward withheld his answer. It was simple to walk across the barroom floor, open a door and stand within but he had never been with a woman, never sunk his pleasure beneath another’s skin felt the tightness of muscles as they caressed his shaft. With James it had been a lesser thing but building and on that last occasion James had suggest he would like to try, I’ll be you women if you wish, were his words, it may hurt, were Edward’s while realising the strain of constipation, often endured from such basic and rough food that the poor suffered, yet James was still willing to try and it was in the midst of being designed when they were interrupted by Addison and Eugene.

With James it had been holding and masturbating and such pleasure had been enough for the boys but now he was offered that extra step, to sink deeply and complete, without the roughness of his hand to bring him on until spent. He paused and strange to expectation his pizzle pulsated with anticipation. It was factual, the male of the species did think with his lower head.

“Well what are you waiting for? I don’t have all night you know.” She smiled and beckoned with one hand while rubbing her mound with the other: Still the lad faltered.

“You’re not a virgin are you? I can’t abide virgin boys.”

“Of course not,” Edward barked and discarded his trousers, his shirt followed to the floor quickly followed by his underwear. Now naked a wave of embarrassment overcome him, more to truth would he be capable in performing, was he of the size she had suggested.

Edward stood awkwardly and naked, his first notion was to cup that nakedness but as the hand descended to do so he faltered, instead he nervously folded his arms across his strong but boyish chest. His head cocked to one side, his lips and eyes challenged to show intent.

“You are a good size,” the woman admitted, more to relax than to compliment.

“I wouldn’t know I don’t go around measuring men’s dicks,”

“Never mind come here.” The rest was easy, she went to her knees and elbows he approached from behind and nature found its path. Edward closed his eyes as the tip broke the surface and released a deep sigh as his full length penetrated, she did the rest. She rocked to and thro and rode him like a buck rider as the lad’s mind spun away from the room.

Thirty seconds, forty almost a minute and it was over, Edward fell listlessly across her naked back as she disengaged from his still pulsating prod.

“It is fine you’re not a dog,” she laughed and with a rag whipped away the remnants of his spillage.

“Why is that?” the lad croaked as he fell back to the bed, his eyes closed from guilt.

“Haven’t you seen dogs at it?” she asked somewhat crudely.

“Can’t say I’ve taken much notice.”

“The dog swells and can’t get off the bitch for quite some time.”

“I guess I don’t have that problem,” Edward rose from the bed and quickly dressed.

“You were a virgin eh?”

“What makes you say that?”

“A rabbit couldn’t be quicker.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” he sounded hurt.

“No matter but next time it will be five shillings, that was only a sample.”

The lad laughed through his guilt.

“What humours you?”

“Whatever you name is there won’t be a next time.”

“My name is Nancy and a man always comes back for the receipt.”

“Not this man.”

“What makes you different?”

“Just,” Edward simply answered as he departed.

Edward quietly stole back to their room. The door squeaked, he hushed it quiet but it squeaked again. The bare floorboards beneath his feet complained of his crossing, he made it to the bed and undressed.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Sam’s voice shattered the silence.

“What do you mean Sam?”

“Don’t be coy I chanced by to the trough to wizz and spied you going to her room.”

“Oh,”

“I wasn’t checking on you lad, I needed to piss and chanced by at that time.”

“Sorry,”

“Don’t be, it’s about time you got your end away, you’ve been as tricky as a randy bull of late.”

“You think so?”

“Well did you enjoy yourself?”

“The outcome yes but all the while I closed my eyes and it was James’ face that drove me on, now I feel guilty towards his memory.”

“There isn’t any reason for guilt; it was with a woman so that wouldn’t count and don’t take that the wrong way. I’m not saying women don’t count, only in your instance it wouldn’t and I’m sure James would forgive you. Besides I’m sure he isn’t somewhere in England, his hand wrapped around it each night with only a thought for you,” Sam paused, “don’t take that wrongly either but my meaning is life goes on.”

“I expect you’re correct.”

“Was that your first?” Sam asked and even in the dark of the room Edward could image the humour on his friend’s face.

“It was,”

“With a woman?”

“With anyone, I don’t count being raped.”

“Nor would I, so not even with James?”

“We were building towards it.” Edward freely admitted.

“Little slow eh?” Sam was still teasing.

“What about you Sam?”

“Now that would be telling – goodnight Edward.

With the morning and clear light the guilt of his encounter with Nancy had lifted from Edward and as he and Sam walked towards the convict barracks he gave a smile, “I wonder if it feels the same with a man?”

“You still on about last night,”

“I am,”

“And you are asking me that question, or are you asking me if I’ve been with a woman, or with a man.”

“I guess I am at that.”

“To be honest lad I have enjoyed the company of a woman and on more occasions then you would realise, I’ve also enjoyed the company of a man and he me.”

“Going by my asking last night I was under the impression you didn’t wish to share that information.” Edward assumed.

“I was having some fun with you but as you have been so open with me it would only be fair to reciprocate.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Do you mean being the passive partner?”

“Umm I like your expression; I know how much it hurt being forced but doing it gently with someone you appreciate, is that the same.”

“To me it hurt but some I’ve been with appeared to enjoy the experience.”

“What did you enjoy the most a woman or a man?”

“Edward all these questions, it would be best for you to experience life through you own body and not from what others may say.”

Edward released a long sigh, “I did enjoy the penetration but if you would count to thirty it was all over.”

“A rabbit eh?”

“That’s what she said.”

“Your question, which is better, well an arse has more muscles than a woman’s gash so it is considered tighter – or so I’m told.”

“Then it would be more pleasurable humping a man?”

“Edward enough.”

Edward fell quiet but by his smile continued to enjoy the thought.

“Are you going back for more?” Sam asked.

“Nancy said a man always comes back for the receipt.”

“So?”

“I don’t believe I will,”

“I think you should, it may help get many things out of your system.”

“Na it is but a waste of money while a hand and a happy thought can do so for nothing.”

On reaching the barracks the allotting of the newly arrived convicts had already commenced and the best pick soon went to free settlers with money or influence and those in the pocket of government agents.

To one side Macarthur stood with his wife Elizabeth. Apparently he had already obtained a number of servants to work his land, but by his posture was most unhappy. Present with Macarthur was William Lawson who appeared to be guiding him on some subject of importance, then for no apparent reason Macarthur went into rage, only returning to moderately calm with the gentle touch from his wife. The man stamped his foot like some petulant child and turned his back on the proceedings, his arms defiantly folded across his chest.

“What’s wrong with Mr. Macarthur?” Edward asked nodding towards the man with the turned back.

“Too many arguments with too many governors I suspect.”

“I believe he has filled his requirements with the strongest of what is on offer.” Edward gently nodded towards a small group of convicts standing to once side as Macarthur’s foreman viewed their worth.

“True but that one over there seems like he could do a good day’s work.” Sam pointed to a convict standing somewhat from the rest, his expression daring anyone to glance his way.

“He looks like a Scottie,” Edward suggested.

“Do you have something against Scots as well as the French?”

“No I only commented he appeared to be a Scottie.”

“That he does, short solid and to be sure short with temper but in general even those who fall on the wrong side of the law usually have a measure of sincerity about them.”

“Again your belief that there is a good purpose in everyone.”

“Have I yet been wrong?”

“He does seem downput I will say that about him,” Edward admitted.

The farmer laughed loudly bringing attention to his mirth, lowering his voice he spoke, “if only I could have captured your appearance and sentiment that first encounter on the Sydney docks.”

“What I recall it was of one of despair and close to demise and in respect I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t chosen me, I was almost done in,” Edward freely acknowledged.

“I think your so called Scottie will be fine,” the farmer approached the official and tugged his great coat, the man turned, “I’ll take the short fella’ at the rear.”

“Mr. Wilcox, so it is a convict servant for a convict.”

“No sir, a servant for a prosperous farmer.”

“Then Mr. Wilcox sign here and get his rations from the store, his name is Hamish McGregor.”

“A Scot?”

No not a Scot; says he’s from Berwick in the north but if you have knowledge of that town, it may as well be Scotland and a feisty bugger he is and it is well he is of the government store.”

“Oh,”

“We have your signature Mr. Wilcox, he is now your responsibility and if he cuts your flaming throat in the night, we’ll ‘ave him back for hanging.”

The official approached the prisoner and taking him by the arm pushing him towards the farmer, his leg irons clanging with each forced step. With one final shove he was before the farmer, his head bowed and hands shaking either with fear or rage, by his expression it could be either or both.

“He’s now yours Mr. Wilcox and you know the rules, feed him, clothe him, work him, flog him when he’s lazy but don’t kill him.” The official gave the man an extra shove for measure and went about his business. The prisoner released a soft growl, showing his teeth like a savage animal.

“Is your name Hamish McGregor?” the farmer enquired as the official attended to the last of the convicts.

“I don’t ave’ a name.”

“What is your age?”

“Old enough to be hanged.”

“Listen Mr. McGregor we can do this two ways the easy or the hard, it is up to you. How old are you?”

“Twenty six I think,”

“What was your trade?”

“In the north we farmed but the land enclosure act threw us off our farm, in London I picked pockets.”

“You appear to have a measure of honesty, so I will treat you fair and there will be no thrashings. You will remain chained until I can trust you, besides there isn’t anywhere you can run without good knowledge of the bush and the natives – do you understand?” The new servant refrained from acknowledging but his expression suggested he did.

“Righto’ up on the cart and we’ll be off, Edward tether our new horse to the back.”

“When did you come out?” Edward asked.

“What’s it to you,” McGregor snapped as a bump in the road almost had him onto the ground.

“I came out on the Duchess of Devonshire and a stinking hulk that was.” Edward admitted believing acknowledging his own transportation may put the man at ease.

“You’re a convict?” he appeared most surprised.

“I was. I have a ticket of leave now,” Edward proudly answered.

“As was I,” Sam admitted.

“I didn’t think convicts would be issued free labour.”

“It’s a different world out her, play your cards correctly and you can become quite wealthy. Many have, besides without the emancipist farmers the colony would starve.”

“Huh,” the man grunted and turned away from the conversation.

The passing days found the new man worked well enough. He remained mostly silent only speaking when questioned but his deep green eyes seemed to glance towards the distant Mountains more often than could be deemed to be simple interest. It was Edward who noticed the habit as it was also his in those early days. He approached on the subject while at work digging his suggested latrine pit.

“Those mountains gotya’ interested Hamish?”

“No sir,” the man answered and returned to his work but not before throwing one final glance.

“Yes sir – but I’ll tell you one thing and that is there is no town or the Orient over there, no land of milk and honey, I should know I helped blaze the first track across.”

“Why do they appear blue was my thought.”

“And other thoughts I am sure, they are blue because of the vapour given up into the heat of the day by eucalyptus trees.”

“Who lives there?”

“Savages and more savages and since Lieutenant Cox put through a road, a scattering of bolters and illegal settlers where you will find more of the same, road gangs, soldiers and police constables with malicious intent.

“It’s alright for the likes of you,” the man grumbled.

“What is meant?”

“You’re a free man.”

“That is where you are wrong my friend, I’m only partly free.”

“I don’t understand,”

“I am, was, a convicted man as yourself but by honest hard work I have been given a second chance,” Edward’s words seemed to switch on a circuit in the man’s brain bringing him to question further. Edward explained his situation.

“So I could be freed and return to England?” McGregor questioned.

“I wouldn’t go that far but in time you could have your own land and possibly if there is a change of heart you could return to England to pick a few more pockets.”

“What about the boss?”

“Mr. Wilcox was once convicted as you and I.”

“Oh,” a second circuit switched and the servant appeared somewhat more settled, yet he thought it a strange land so much removed from the depression of England where there was only oppression and never a thought that one could better himself and it was a crime to simply try to exist.

“Are you from London?” McGregor asked.

“Devon,”

“Ah so that is why the stupid accent;”

“Your’s isn’t much better, you sound like a Scottie,” Edward retaliated.

“Don’t call me a Scott!” the man flashed his anger.

“So what are you – you sound like a Scottie to me.”

“My parents are Geordie and I’m from Berwick and no flaming Scot so don’t you call me so.”

“Righto point accepted and apology given to my northern English friend.”

McGregor laughed. It was his first expression of joy since arriving at the farm.

“What?” Edward questioned.

“You’re not a bad bloke for a cunt.”

It was late in the afternoon, the man McGregor had been carting water for the vegetable garden when he notice a group of natives passing through the top paddock. It was his first encounter with black men and for an instant he thought they had been burnt but on passing he realised they must be the savages many spoke off.

Dropping his buckets he hurried to the field where Edward and Sam were working. His rattling irons and swift approached drew their attention.

“Are they after us!” he cried out nervously.

“Don’t concern Hamish they are only passing towards their camp up the branch creek,” the farmer shaded his eyes, “yet I don’t know that lot.”

“I saw others this morning coming from the south,” Edward admitted.

“Corroboree maybe,” the farmer suggested.

“Hope so,”

“Will they kill us?” Hamish remained unsettled.

“If you treat them correctly they are fine but treat them badly and they are prone to revenge.” The farmer explained but Hamish remained unconvinced.

During the following day more natives arrived but heading in a more westerly direction and not towards the camp, then in the afternoon the women came to their yam patch but missing Bahloo. Edward approached the women with a gift of some old pots he thought they may be able to make use of. The women accepted the pots while appearing to be vague with their usage.

“Where is Bahloo?” he asked, being his main reason to approach the women. They looked to each other and shook their heads.

“Bahloo,” Edward repeated and one of the women, the one he had named Polly, pointed in a westerly direction.

“Corroboree?” Edward asked. The women repeated the word and laughed; “no corroboree,” Polly answered and once said she collected her yams and the gifted pots then encouraged the others to leave but on reaching the fence, placed the pots next to a post before continuing. Edward returned to the farmer.

“Sam I don’t like the look of this.”

“What did you learn?”

“Not a lot but it appears Bahloo has gone with the men to the west and it isn’t Corroboree.”

Early morning with heat from the previous day holding through the night and increasing with sunup found both Edward and Hamish bathing in the branch creek with the farmer seated close by admiring a pleasant view of their nakedness. Hamish came close to Edward’s ear, “Mr. Wilcox appears to watch us somewhat.”

“Do you think so?”

“I feel so and he makes me nervous.”

“Na don’t sweat he’s fine and a good boss.”

With Edward’s answer a skiff came into sight from down creek. As it approach a call was issued from the bow, “Mr. Wilcox,” the farmer stood and moved to the bank.

“Henry Perkins, how fairs the timber getting?”

“Enough work for a dozen more, your Ed wouldn’t like the work eh?”

“No thank you,” Edward answered from his chest deep position in creek water.”

“Can’t you get more from the convict barracks?” Sam suggested.

“Could but most of them wouldn’t know a dandelion from a red gum, besides bone lazy the lot, have to be supervised with the birch every bleeding moment of the day.”

“Therefore you have a problem Mr. Perkins.”

“What about your new bloke?”

“We need him, planting the top paddock come the spring.”

“Very well, did you hear about the two savages that were apprehended?” the timber man called as the skiff passed upstream.

“No,”

“The military hanged them as a deterrent, left them swinging by the river for all to see.”

“Were they guilty of killing your dogs?”

“Don’t rightly know or care but if it was up to me I would have shot the lot.”

Once the timberman had past by the farmer turned to Edward, “I’m afraid its talk like so that will get us all killed.” Edward released an agreeing huh as the farmer turned and made his way back to the hut.

“This place is beginning to scare me,” McGregor admitted.

“Don’t be, can I call you Hamish?”

“You can call me anything by Scottish.”

“Sam and I have a good repour with the local natives.”

“Still that can change on a whim,”

“What are you aspirations Hamish?” With the words issued Edward released a slight smile, remembering the farmer had once asked that very question and in his mind it was flight.

“In what way Mr. Buckley?”

“Call me Edward I am not your better.”

“Aspirations, at first there were none but to clear out at first chance, then after coming here a slant of hope, and if Mr. Wilcox and you can make a go of it then so can I. I guess that is my aspiration,” Hamish truthfully answered.

“What of bolting?”

“Where to for what I’ve heard most are caught and either hanged for their troubles or sent to Van Diemen’s Land to hard labour – or the savages spear them.”

“Come up to the hut and we’ll have those irons removed.”

“What will Mr. Wilcox say?”

“It is his idea, come on can’t have you bathing each day with your trousers around your ankles.”

No sooner had Sam removed Hamish’s shackles then he was interrupted by Edward spying someone coming at pace through the crop.

“He appears to be in somewhat of a hurry,” Edward perceived.

Sam shaded the sun from his eyes, “by his dress a convict to be sure, Edward go in side and get the musket.”

“There isn’t any powder.”

“Never mind the powder I’m sure its existence will suffice.”

Edward returned with the gun and passed it to Sam, who placed it on a log close to where Hamish’s manacles fell. As the stranger approached it was possible to smell his fear and by his expression all hell was on his tail.

“Quickly hide me, they are after me,” he cried and without invitation dashed into the hut, Sam followed, “who are after you?”

“Soldiers are after me I just bolted from the road gang. I could no longer take the flogging. I didn’t mean to run but something snapped inside and took control of my legs.” The man’s shirt was torn to shreds across his back and soaked with his blood.

“I have no where to hide you.”

“Then shoot me, please shoot me.” It was then Sam realised he was no older that Edward and shaking like one possessed.

“Where are your manacles?” Sam asked.

“They were being replaced and that is when I took my chance, I don’t know why or where to run, only that I must do so.”

“I can’t hide you or it will bring us all undone, besides I have no safe place, at best I can show you a path that may help you outrun them,” Sam thought better of his plan but if they caught the lad it was a beating to within an inch of life or the rope for sure, better he take his chance with the bush where he would either starve, be speared or taken in by some friendly blacks. With the bush he had at least one chance in three.

“Come with me,” Sam took the lad’s arm and lead him towards the scrubby area some distance up the hill behind the hut, he turned to Edward, “if they come this way send they west along the river, I’ll show him where the gully that leads to the hills is.” Sam quickly led the bolter away and as he reached cover, three soldiers arrived on horseback.

“He you!” the leading trooper called to Edward.

“Who me sir?”

“Don’t be smart boy; did you see a bolter come by here?”

“I did, he went towards the branch creek and the native camp.”

“What about you?” the soldier asked of Hamish.

“I saw likewise,”

The soldier dismounted and searched the hut, finding nothing he remounted and lead out towards the branch creek as Sam returned from the top paddock.

“Hey you there I want a word with you!”

Sam came to the mounted soldier, “can I be of some assistance sir?” he asked, finding the curtesy of affording even the lowest rank that title usually gave them enough arrogance to lower their sting.

“Did you happen to see a bolter come this way?”

“I have been up the top paddock; there is no one up there.”

The troopers then rode west as suggested and Sam prided himself in having told the truth, there definitely wasn’t anyone in the top paddock as the bolter had long gone following Sam’s suggested direction.

Back at the hut Sam enquired about their questioning and was most pleased with the day’s work although he did concern what would be the bolter’s future, believing he may have saved him from one conclusion only to meet one of a greater dread.

A week later the soldiers returned with a limp body slung across the back of a mule, hand’s and legs roped to hold its position. On inspection it was realised to be the bolter and his youthful face displayed a pistol shot mid forehead, his eyes remained open in a dead gaze, while a trickling of congealed blood descended from his nostrils, staining the boyish fuzz above his lip.

“Wasn’t along the creek as you suggested Mr. Buckley,” The soldier called as he rode up to the hut.

“Musta’ doubled back,” Edward casually answered.

“Or you gave me bad direction. You do realise that could be considered aiding and abetting.”

“I would never do so sir,” Edward assured attempting to keep his irritation controlled.

“At worse wasting official time.”

“Never sir, I definitely saw him heading along the creek,” Edward repeated while pointing into a direction slightly askew of the branch creek, a mild correction but one that diverted the soldier’s attitude.

“And I,” Hamish agreed.

“Typical convicts; wouldn’t know left from right.”

“I can only say what I saw,” Edward answered.

“Did you have to shoot the poor bugger?” Hamish asked.

“He came at us like a wild animal. Take a good look both of you, especially the Scott; as if he tries to bolt it would be the same.” The words were aimed at Hamish but his eyes remained on Edward.

Once spoken the soldiers rode away in the direction of Parramatta with their prize. Sam came from the field to join the boys.

“Who had they there?” He asked as the troop departed.

“It was the bolter, they shot him.” Edward grimly answered. A cold wave of guilt came over the farmer, if he had not helped the lad escape he may still be alive, beaten to within an inch of life yes but at least alive.

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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