Published: 7 Jan 2021

The second day and once again on their way the boys gave reflection on their night with the Kelly family, recalling the man’s admittance of the theft of the sheep, also with his intention to live by crime in the future, giving belief they were fortunate not to have been robbed in the night. Yet although Kelly was rough of speech and character and bearing a deep hatred of anything English, he had been but a gentleman to their needs. Besides he did display a measure of wishing to conform to the land as he mentioned his property at Beveridge and that he had already started a family there, with two young girls being attended to by family while he attempted to find riches in gold.

“You do realise we are guilty by association,” Logan suggested reflecting back to the previous night and their feed of mutton.

“And the receivers of stolen property,” Chance laughed remembering their fine meal they had shared.

“But they would need to purge our stomachs to attain evidence.” Logan agreed as they once again encountered fossickers returning from the goldfields. In passing there was the usual tipping of hat and acknowledgement with a pleasant greeting without desire to linger and share their stories of failure or other but by their expression there was little else than failure.

If not openly both boys now believed they were possibly heading towards their own failure while keeping the thought away from sharing.

“How much gold do you think we will find?” Chance asked while pausing for a quench from their waterbag.

“Tons,”

“No really do you think we will strike it lucky?” Chance passed on the waterbag.

“Can’t say but what I hear there are tens of thousands on the goldfields and we have passed but a dozen on their return, so someone must be doing alright.”

Logan placed his head to one side and stared deeply into Chance’s eyes.

“What are you looking at?”

“You,”

“And what do you see,”

“I see a fine young fellow who is in need of reassurance.”

“Do you see anything else?” Chance gave a happy smile.

“You do have a handsome face,” Logan winked.

“Be gone with ya’ you are embarrassing me.”

“There you go, now you have forgotten your doubt.”

“Ha, that’s what all that was about.”

“I was being truthful you do have a handsome face.”

“Now my doubt is back.”

“Come on, it will be fine, the water break is over and we need to put a few miles under our feet.” Logan pushed ahead at pace forcing Chance to hurry.

Towards late morning the boys ascertained they were beyond the midway of their journey, believing Ballarat would be approached late the following day, if not the morning of the next. During the discussing on how far they had travelled, Chance noticed dust in the distance, “Something is coming on at a fair speed,” he commented.

“A coach of sorts,” Logan answered shading his eyes from the glare, “I don’t think it is the Ballarat connection on return, at the hotel it was said it wasn’t doing so this week because of the rain.”

“A shame it isn’t heading in our direction,” Chance gave a sigh; his legs were aching from the long walk and knowledge of the miles that remained. He though of home and how the two would walk most of the day and into the night without an ache but then they lacked the heavy packs that they now toted.

Chance brought to mind an occasion when they became lost and travelled for half a day against their desired direction, only to meet with some friendly natives who brought them home. Once home they were severely scalded by their fathers. It was a good lesson to be learned as in future wandering they took better notice of their surroundings and how to read direction.

As the vehicle approached it was noted to be but a small farm buggy with a canvas hood being pulled by a horse that appeared not to have been bread for such work. Seated to the front and in control of the procedure, a well dressed gentleman with flowing white whiskers concentrated on the path ahead, while his whiskers parted at centre chin and flapped about his cheeks.

Beside the man, a woman of slight and frail stature sat stony of face, while behind them both, three children of varying age to ten displayed equal disinterest in the journey, the girl holding tightly to her bonnet unless she lose it into the trailing dust. The boys in Sunday best sat in equal silence on either side of the girl, clutching their hands to their laps appearing like matching ornaments on a rich man’s mantle.

Stepping aside to give the wagon fair passage as it slowed from the roughness at that conjunction both boys gave greeting but none therein acknowledged their presence.

“And a jolly nice day to you all!” Chance called loudly after the buggy but once again no response was offered, nor did a head turn in reaction to his indignation. “Gentry,” Chance huffed.

“Possibly they concern about strangers, I believe there has been a number of bushrangers active this way of late,” Logan replied giving the family a measure of credit for their lacking in hospitality.

“Even so a smile wouldn’t hurt.”

“Did you notice the horse; I doubt it will make Geelong.”

“I did – do your remember young Joey Couch from out Flaggy Creek way?” Chance asked and laughed in memory to the story that had come to mind.

“Pimples, cork-screw hair and bad breath.”

“That’s him,”

“Would wet his pants when excited and was always playing with himself when girls were around.”

“He had an old nag called Topper,” Chance recollected while taking his mind away from his aching legs.

“No it wasn’t Topper that was his brother’s horse.” Logan corrected and paused to allow Chance to continue with his story.

“Whatever but he only knew one speed, everywhere at a gallop, Tinker that was the old nag’s name, well Tinker dropped down dead outside the bank with him on it, right in front of the inn crowd and the ladies in their finery on the way to church.”

Logan laughed, “Yes now I remember, he broke his leg as the horse fell on him.”

“And removed a number of his bad teeth.” Chance added to the poor lad’s list of injuries. “Oh well that killed a couple of miles,” Chance confessed and patted his belly, “could go some more of Mr. Kelly’s stolen mutton right now.”

“Getting that way, best put a few more miles under the feet first, besides there is another group of folk coming up ahead. Logan suggested.

“They are Chinese by their appearance.”

“What do you think of the Chinks?” Logan asked, remembering the intolerance shown by the lad in Geelong.

“Don’t rightly know any, Bill Turner over at Maryvale station is said to have had a Chinese cook at one time but I never saw him.”

“What happened to him?” Logan asked.

“I heard Turner’s dog had pups and they ended up in the stew,” Chance pulled a face.

“Truthful?”

“I can’t rightly say but Jimmy Gleeson said it was so.”

“They don’t call Gleeson tug for no reason,” Logan suggested.

“Don’t get ya’.”

“Tis cause he’s always pulling the truth and his prickle,”

“I pulled it once,” Chance laughed.

“What? When was that?”

“In the hotel cellar, Piers sent me down for some rum bottles and Jimmy came with me, I asked him to pass me a bottle that was off to his side and when I closed my hand around what I thought was a bottle, it was stiff and warm.”

“You’re joking?”

“No truth, even at twelve it was a size.”

“And you tugged him off?”

“Nothing much happened; it only convulsed and was dry.” Chance circled his thumb and forefinger and displayed them in a twitching motion, “dry shooting,” he explained.

“You dirty little bugger,” Logan laughed as the Chinese came within talking distance. He gave a friendly nod and smile, “plenty, plenty hot,” he said as the group of six Asians comically bowed. One broke into language followed by a cackling sound but didn’t wait for a reply. They then quickly moved out in quick motion, heads bowed and feet shuffling in the dust of the track.

“Where do you think they are heading?” Chance questioned.

“Geelong I should think,” Logan assumed.

“It must be bad if the Chinks are leaving.”

“Or possibly they have more gold than can be measured.”

“Wishful that is, I must admit they were more animated than the joker in the cart,” Chance said.

“No dogs with them,” Logan laughed.

“No puppies,”

“You do realise they consume tiger’s pizzle as a medicine,” Logan suggested.

“You’re kidding me?”

“True I heard so back in Geelong, one of the ships had two tiger cubs in cages and they were to breed them for that purpose,” Logan gave a shudder with the thought.

“What happened to the tigers?”

“The harbour master was to put them down but some say he didn’t have the heart and released them up country.”

“What if they breed and multiply?”

“I should think that could be fun in the future, they may import elephants and have tiger hunts.” Logan laughed at his somewhat preposterous suggestion but than again some wished for foxes and rabbits to be introduced for the same reason.

“What would tiger pizzle cure?” Chance asked.

“Impotence so I was told but I can’t see how.”

“I don’t need medicine to raise it,” Chance proudly assured.

“More like something to slacken it off,” Logan laughed.

“I wonder what that Chow said.”

“Probably some insult.”

“Dunno’ they appeared friendly enough,” Chance moved off the track and pointed towards what appeared to be a rough bark and post dwelling nestling under a stand of eucalypts, “civilization,” he said as Logan joined him, “do you see that?” Chance asked, pointing across a medowed field or late season wild flowers towards the hut.

“What are you looking at?” Logan asked.

“The hut, there appears to be a lot of smoke around it, could be a bush fire, see the smoke rising from behind the hut.”

“Yes and there appears to be someone in trouble, we better go and see if they are in need of assistance.”

A few minutes across a field of seasoned grass and a scattering of sheep the boys arrived at the hut. Immediately they were confronted with the tragedy of the situation. Not far from the hut’s door a woman was bent over what appeared to be a man who had been speared through the chest and laying motionlessly in the dust; a flintlock gun loose from an outstretched arm.

The woman was quietly sobbing as two young children clung fearfully to her long skirt. On seeing the boys approaching the children took fright and commenced to scream. The woman turned about, her eyes red and full as the breath paused in her breast, expecting return of their assailants.

“Can we help?” Chance asked and on seeing the man to be truly demised felt absurd for saying so. The woman remained silent while returning to cradle her husbands head. Chance quickly came beside the woman helping her away as Logan removed the long spear; it came from the man’s chest with a cracking sound, followed by part of his inside on the barbs, it was truly a weapon designed for carnage. Chance quickly turned the woman’s head from the sight as Logan covered the wound with a hessian sack he found close by. The children remained clung to the woman’s dress as she stood away.

“What happened?” Chance softly asked.

“The blacks they came during the night and set the grass behind on fire to get us out, Frank tried to warn them off with a shot over their heads but they attacked him.”

“How long have you been out here?”

“Since dawn, I dared not earlier as I could hear the blacks wandering about while they called to each other.”

“Where are the blacks now?” Logan asked.

“Gone, they took a number of sheep,” the woman nervously pointed across the paddock, “they went over that way past that creek.”

“You take the children inside and we will lay your husband to rest.” Chance offered.

“No!” the woman cried loudly and quickened to his side, once again cradling her husband’s head then fell silent realising there was little else that could be done. She removed her hands from his body and covered her face, smearing her cheeks with his blood.

“Come on it’s the only way, what is your name?” Chance asked.

“Edith Leet,”

She stood away.

“What was your husband’s name?”

“Frank; Frank Leet,”

“I am Chance and my friend is Logan. Edith you take the little ones inside and we will look after Frank, we will do right by him.”

With the woman inside the boys soon found shovels and commenced to dig. The ground was hard and stony and the shovels dull, being almost impossible to reach the required depth to hold a body but with much effort they realised sufficient.

“Deep enough?” Chance asked measuring the side of the grave with his shovel handle.

“Have to be, we’ve hit clay and will never get through it with these shovels.”

“Should we lower him first or have Edith come out and maybe say something.”

“Dunno’ you go and ask her, while I finish clearing the last of the dirt from the hole.”

Chance approached the hut’s door and gently knocked. “Edith, we are about to lower Frank would you like to say something while we do so?”

The door opened and the woman followed to the grave side her children remained inside. She stood without word; her eyes remained red and swollen.

“I’m not a religious man,” Logan softly spoke.

“Nor I would you like to say something Edith?” Chance followed.

The woman closed her eyes and bowed her head as the boys reverently covered Frank’s body. Once done they stood quietly until the woman finished with her silent prayer. She sighed and turned away.

“What will you do now Edith?” Logan asked.

At last she found words; “I never wished to come here,”

“What about your farm?” Logan asked.

“The land is crown but we own the sheep, although the blacks stole a number and a man from the road took one the night before last, Frank attempted to warn him away but he simply laughed and shouldered one of our best yearlings,” Edith answered as she pointlessly went about the hut, picking up items only to immediately place them down at a different location. She commenced to ready breakfast for her children but stood at the hearth as if she had forgotten how to strike the lighter.

“Give it to me I’ll do it,” Chance took control and soon had a fire going.

“Will you stay on?” Logan asked and felt guilt from sharing with Kelly’s stolen mutton.

“No I will return to Queenscliff, I have a sister there.”

“What about your sheep?” Logan asked.

“Leave them for the blacks I suppose, I was but a wife and mother not a farmer.” She paused as a measure of anger controlled her, “Frank was the farmer and now he’s gone.”

“How many sheep do you have?” Logan asked and gave Chance a glance to support a thought he was developing.

“Fifty-four at yesterday’s count but after the raid I’m not so sure, usually the blacks only take their immediate need but of later they have become more daring.” Edith moved away to attend to her children.

“What are you planning?” Chance asked of Logan, his voice low and opposing while recognising in his friend deviation from their intentions.

“We could take on the sheep.”

“I thought you would have had enough of sheep farming, besides you still have a share in Elsie Downs and what about gold panning.”

“Still on – but I wasn’t thinking of farming, we could purchase the sheep drove them to Ballarat and sell them for slaughter, I hear fresh meat is luxury amongst the miners.”

“With my savings I couldn’t afford many,” Chance admitted.

“I could,”

Edith returned from feeding her young ones, “I can’t thank you enough for what you have done but I must think of gathering a few things and make departure before the blacks return.” She gazed about the small hut and realised there was very little, some clothes and her mother’s chipped chamber pot as it was all she had to remember her by and some toys her husband had made for the children. She again became lost in her thoughts.

“Are you alright Edith?” Logan asked.

“I was thinking of how I begged Frank not to do this, he had perfectly good work in Portarlington and well paid but not enough, his father was a farmer and he was set to follow.”

“If you wish we could purchase your sheep and drove them to Ballarat for sale to the miners.”

“Would you wish to take on such a task with the blacks and all?”

“We have know sheep all our lives, mind you those born for wool and not mutton but I should think they all act the same,” Logan explained.

“I wouldn’t know their value, Frank handled the money.” Edith commenced to collect the children’s few belongings wrapping them in a linen sheet. She knotted it firmly.

“Back home a fine sheep sells for twelve to fifteen shillings a head.” Logan said.

“I don’t think Frank paid that much, he bought them from a failed farm towards a place called Anakie, the farmer was ailing as his shepherds had gone to dig for gold.”

“What would then think to be a fair price?” Logie asked.

“Between seven and eight shillings a head, I should think,” A second sheet was filled with kitchen utensils and tied. Edith was ready to leave behind two years of struggle and hardship, two lean years of poverty and lacking for her children’s wellbeing, while living on salted mutton and poorly grown potatoes and cabbages and was most pleased to be going from what had become a dreadful nightmare.

“Then eight shillings I agree,”

“I beg you one last favour, could you catch and saddle the horse for me, Frank always -.” Her words fell away with memory of her departed husband and again tears commenced to form.

Chance did the woman’s bidding while Logan went to count what sheep were left in the field towards the road. At first count he found but nineteen by a further six were towards an acacia stand by a small creek.

Logan returned with the count, “I could only find twenty-six Edith.” Logan honestly admitted while adding the Kelly’s stolen animal to his count.

“Then twenty-six it is but I feel guilty taking your money when in an hour’s time you could have them all for nothing.”

“I could not do that Edith,” Logan enforced and calculated the price. That would be ten pound and eight shillings Logan calculated and gave the woman Eleven pound.

“I don’t have money to return the excess,” Edith admitted.

“No matter keep the difference as we may find more on the way.”

“I’ll write you a bill of sale, Frank always insisted that every deal was done so. Frank was a clerk to a solicitor’s office you know and a more honest man there could not be.” Edith paused and gave a long sigh, “but a farmer he was not.”

The boys listened quietly as the woman made final preparations for departure while her thought remained mostly with her husband and his failure at being a farmer.

“He was most clever with figures and could mentally collate a large column of them in his head and without error, he was offered the position of head clerk but -” again a sigh as the man’s dreaming had become his downfall and the children’s loss of a father.

The boys remained silent, allowing the woman to work through the tragedy she had witnessed and comprehend her future providence. Edith gave a smile for the past, or possibly towards a future without the hardship, she sighed again and turned to the boys, “sorry I am going on.”

“No it is fine,”

Edith carefully hid the money and with help mounted her children onto the horse, with the bundles of their belongings firmly tied one either side of the saddle. She gave a final smile, again thanked the boys and walked out leading the animal. As she passed her husband’s grave she paused for a moment but no longer. Possibly it was relief as she hated the rough country life and she still had the children. Hers had been an arranged marriage and although she admired her husband’s work ethics she never loved Frank.

The boys watched Edith until on the road where she turned the horse’s head south towards Geelong while never once turning back towards the farm. All the while the children remained mute never once glancing towards their father’s grave, never once turning for a last memory of their home.

“What now?” Chance asked as the woman and her worldly belongings disappeared behind the stand of Acacia beside the road.

“Round up our sheep and move them out,” Logan answered.

“Do you think we will get a price for them in Ballarat?”

“From what I’ve heard there is a shortage of meat and most anything else.”

“We forgot to eat,” Chance remembered.

“Edith has left a little food in the larder; there is some bread and what looks like cheese,” Logan gave it a sniff, “I don’t think dairy was Edith’s strength, still it does smell like cheese.” Logan brought out the cheese and bread.

“Mould,” Chance simply remarked.

“Scrape it away, it won’t hurt you.”

After their meagre meal they readied to leave and on passing the man’s grave Chance spoke, “do you think we should mark it?”

“In what way?” Logan asked.

“I don’t know, maybe a cross or something to show anyone passing there is a body down there, besides it would represent the man did exist and didn’t die without a trace.”

“A cross?”

“It would only be a marker,” Chance suggested.

“Again my friend you have a point,” Logan searched about until he found some timber that would suffice.

“There is a hammer inside the hut and I think I saw some nails.”

In no time the boys had created a rudimentary cross and as it was driven into the ground Chance arrived with a small pot of white paint.

“What was Frank’s family name? Chance asked as he dipped a stick into the paint and roughly wrote Frank on the cross bar of the cross.

“Leet,”

“Would that be Leate?” Chance asked.

“More like Leet I should think,” Logan laughed at Chance’s attempt at spelling.

Chance wrote Leet after Frank on the cross bar.

“What do you think?”

“At least it’s spelled correctly.” Logan answered.

Chance replaced the paint tin beside the hut door.

“Come on we better get these animals onto the road and be gone,” Logan enforced as he commenced towards where the sheep were grazing but Chance delayed his progress.

“Frank appeared to be but a young man, ‘tis a misfortune to die so young with so much living to do and sons to watch grow into fine young men.”

“I guess it’s the way of things we are all born to die,” Logan dryly answered.

“Born to live firstly;” Chance discredited.

“You are becoming morbid my friend.”

“No, not really, I was remembering your Edward.”

“He had a good innings.”

“Yes but is an innings enough,” Chance gave a sigh and moved away from Frank’s rest.

“Come on lets be on our way,” Logan placed an arm around Chance’s shoulder and physically dragged him away.

It didn’t take long to get the small flock on the move and at the road they spied three more sheep beyond a small creek. “This is one time I wish we had Scatter with us.” Logan mentioned his dog from home, then with a cheeky chuckle issued a demand to Chance, “well off you go boy, round them up.”

“Me,” Chance loudly questioned and pointed to his chest to emphasise his displeasure in such a suggestion.

“Someone has to do so,”

“They are your sheep,” Chance complained.

“Righto,” Logan took responsibility and commenced towards the strays.

“No the least I can do is your bidding – ruff, ruff.”

“That’s a boy and I’ll give your belly a rub and a big juicy bone later.”

“You will need to rub more than my belly.”

“That as well:”

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