Published: 12 Feb 2018

Jock McBride was home for the weekend. He had book work to attend to and demanded privacy for its execution. There was something else on his mind. Back in town he had been seen in heated debate with Harry Larkin, which concluded in McBride storming off the street and booting his horse into a gallop out of town, while Larkin, red faced, returned to the bar of his McBride’s Point Hotel and didn’t leave until closing.

Hearing about the altercation brought a smile to Lachlan’s face and he lingered about the house whenever his father was in residence, waiting for the ‘sorry son but the wedding’s off’, which would give his much pleasure in one-up-man-ship against his father.

Two weeks had passed and still nothing. Once while in town Lachlan chanced upon Harry Larkin and cordially inquired after Elizabeth but didn’t receive an answer, he gave hints but still the silence on the matter was deafening. Lachlan had bid his proposed father-in-law good day realising he would have to wait for his father to give him the sad tidings.

Some time had passed and still nothing had been said on the matter, while Jock McBride stayed in town for ever lengthening periods. When he was at home he was even more moody than usual but seemed to lack the sharp edge he customary displayed to his family and at times appeared to be somewhat befuddled.

Eventually it was Daniel who arrived with information to their father’s problems and in main was related to a second deal for which McBride had canvassed Larkin’s support. The deal had gone belly-up loosing McBride a stack of cash, although not enough to dent his fortune was adequate to smudge his ego.

The failure wasn’t entirely the fault of Larkin but deep down McBride blamed the man but couldn’t wipe him totally as he still had use of him. Yet even Daniel hadn’t uncovered anything about Elizabeth Larkin’s disappearance or the status of the union between the two families. That was up to Jock McBride himself and after a length of time he chanced upon Lachlan working in the home field.

The old man came up the paddock from the big house, his gait plodding and his countenance remorse.

“Hey boy a word,” He called from some distance, puffing slightly on his approached.

“Yes father.”

“About your wedding.”

“When will it be?”

“It won’t be!” The old man growled, as the cutting edge returned to his voice.

“Oh.” Was all Lachlan could muster. Believing if he showed excitement it may give his game away. If sad the old bugger may attempt to find a replacement.

Daniel had once again invited himself for tea under the pretence that he had news for his brother and had to be away from the others to relate his information. He was seated enjoying a beer when he divulged his gossip.

“You know your wedding’s off?” he excitedly declared.

“Yes I do know that.”

“Who told you?” Daniel snapped in surprise.

“Father,”

“Ah but do you know why?”

“Yes but please tell me what you heard.” Lachlan offered.

“She cleared out somewhere with that speckle faced Digby and old man Larkin received a letter saying they had married but didn’t note where they were living.”

“I know that as well.” Lachlan smirked while the resistance to keep his secret veiled was becoming strained.

“How do you know?” Daniel sounded even more surprised and dejected on not having scandal’s upper hand.

“I gave them the money to elope.”

“You what?”

“As I said, they were in love so I helped them along the way.”

“You clever bugger!”

“And if you tell a single soul, I’ll cut your nuts off.” Lachlan concluded.

“Something else.” Daniel declared.

“Yes what would that be?”

“I had a letter from Toby.”

“Why would he write to you?” Lachlan felt the little green man of envy tug at his chest, believing Toby to be his friend and not Daniel’s.

“I have it here.”

“What did he have to say?” Lachlan found it strange his brother would receive correspondence and not himself but maybe he would receive mail at a later date.

“Nothing much, his writing is bad.” Daniel extended.

“You received a letter from my friend and it said nothing.” Lachlan complained.

“Are you jealous brother?”

“No why should I be?”

Daniel took the letter from his pocket and handed it to Lachlan. He was correct it didn’t have much news at all, mostly apologising for not saying good bye to Daniel as he was not around when he left.

“That was nice of him.” Lachlan complemented.

“There is a line where he sort of admits he is tiring of sea life.” Daniel pointed to the almost illegible misspelt scribble.

“I can see that but he admitted so before he left.”

“Possibly he will return here.” Daniel suggested and pocketed the short note.

“True, he also made that gesture while he was here.”

“Do you think father will let him stay at the farm?” Daniel asked.

“What I would do is let him visit like the last time and say nothing.”

Jock McBride sat comfortably on his front verandah, while gazing across his cane fields towards the afternoon toil of his progeny. William and Cameron were supervising a gang of Aborigines close to the main gate, working on digging an irrigation ditch, while Daniel was hard at work cleaning tools. Only Lachlan was missing, he was helping his mother with the kitchen range. It had lost much of it’s heat and the fire box needed cleaning while there was also a leak in the flue. It appeared that only Jock was idle and after close on half a bottle of his finest malt scotch was past happy and heading towards morose.

‘Fine malt,” he thought while holding his glass towards the light to appreciate its texture.

‘Strange that;’ he added, ‘these days it doesn’t appear to be influenced by the tropical climate.’ He swallowed the shot, ‘possibly they have changed the ingredients.’ The man refilled his glass and once again held it into the light to observe its clarity. The bottle had been uncorked for some time and still held its purity. He soon shrugged the thought away without realising how William as a lad diluted the contents.

Much had gone wrong for the old man of late and he wasn’t accepting his lot at all. Firstly it was the loss of the Capricorn. Although he had promised Simpson a controlling share when the man returned with his captured work force, his actual plan was to cut the captain out completely and force Simpson to sell his share at a much reduced value.

Added to the man’s strife was the failed union between Lachlan and Elizabeth Larkin and the enterprise with her father loosing a substantial investment, not to mention Robert’s departure, a decision he mad in haste but because of pride would not quash. He was beginning to feel his years, even discovering more than a few rogue grey hairs creeping into his usually black beard. These felonious hairs reminded him of his lost youth, along with the stoop that was aching in his once proud straight back, a constant reminder of what nature has in store for him.

While the old man contemplated his misfortune, Lachlan finished with the kitchen range and began to help Daniel with the cleaning of the tools. Jock McBride watched the two at work. There was a measure of banter between his sons while lacking in malice, a nature missing between the others. Unlike William who looked down on them all, ignoring the triplets and treating his twin Cameron like some simpleton, while expected in due course to inherit. Daniel and Lachlan appeared suited to each other, appearing somewhat insular to the farm, its demands, his demands and the pressure brought on by William’s autarchy over their working day.

Daniel found humour in everything and the more dismal the stronger was his wit. Yet Daniel was harmless, although he never had an original thought, nor kept confidence in anything he was told or overheard. Last of all there was the boy. His strong muscular body was threatening but his shy and handsome face deflected his strength into a feeling of trust. He was reliable and willing, honest and well spoken.

McBride thought hard what he disliked about the boy. His conclusion was two fold. It was his red hair and his misgiven belief that Lachlan was not his son but the second reason wasn’t as forthcoming. It surfaced and died as quickly, even before the old man recognised its existence. The truth was he was jealous of his youngest son. Lachlan was everything the young Jock McBride had wished to be but never became and part of the old man hated his son for that and could never forgive him.

During his youth McBride was just as surly as he was in old age. The difference being, back then he wished to be the lad who others looked up to, the life of the party, the bright eyed and bushy tailed youth who everyone liked but he could not be so, nature had not given Jock the social tools. Jock McBride was born brusque. His mouth was down turned from a child and his thoughts almost as dark but now he never thought of being the easy going person his youth expired towards. He thrived on other’s despise and knew well they only looked up to him as far as his wealth provided.

Dust along the main road brought Jock McBride’s eyes through the main gate to a wagon loaded high with goods and covered by a tarpaulin, dotted with dirty ragged children. While behind and to one side, out of the scurry of dust ran an almost naked Aboriginal boy.

“Shit!” Jock growled, knocking over his drink as he rushed his way to the verandah rail for a better view of the oncoming wagon. “Shit!” he repeated while thumping the rail with the open palms of his hands.

William had noticed the approaching wagon and met the driver at the gate, where they converse for a time, until at length he climbed up beside the driver and guided the wagon down the long drive to halt at the base of the stairs.

Jock once again placed his hands heavily upon the verandah rail, squeezing the woodwork with such force it hurt. He released his grip, while staring down at the newly arrived without speaking.

“Good afternoon Mr. McBride.” The greeting came from a tall lean and worn out women, with straight greying hair and a face lined by years of excessive tropical sun and hardship and by her tone was almost at the end of her endurance.

Behind the woman were six children, aged down from around fifteen to a child of three, all looking as worn out as their mother and silenced through tiredness from a long and arduous trip. Their clothing ragged, dirty and dishevelled, their feet bare and skin darkened by a relentless sun.

“Afternoon to you Mrs. McPherson, where is that thieving husband of yours?” Jock declared his tone lacking empathy and obviously without intention to be of assistance to the woman and her tribe of children in their time of need.

“He is dead Mr. McBride.” She answered without emotion. There had been tears but some hundreds of miles of travelling through dry creeks, flooded rivers, through days where the heat baked everything and others when the rain was so heavy it almost knocked one to the ground, had taken them from her.

Elizabeth McPherson had after burying her husband, loaded all she owned into her husband’s carting business’ wagon; then with her six kids travelled from Burketown in the Gulf Country, over hundreds of miles of rugged country, to the Dividing Range and down to the coastal plain on route to Bowen and a sister.

James McPherson was once Queensland’s only true bushranger. He had gone bad in his youth but was never considered violent or a real threat to the establishment. Still he was caught, charged, incarcerated, escaped, caught once more then after some years and much poetry written in Latin and published in various outback Newspapers, was pardoned.

After marrying the one time bushranger moved to Burketown in Queensland’s western gulf country, where he established himself in a carting business. Alas one evening while returning from a wedding his horse bolted, then fell on him, causing extensive injury, which ended three days later in his demise.

With nothing to hold Elizabeth McPherson in the Gulf Country she left and on departing the aboriginal lad filed in behind the wagon and during the long trip became the family’s benefactor, supplying protection and food, while on a number of occasions talking his way past groups of bewildered natives, who may or may not have had designs on the woman’s family and belongings. The black lad never faltered and throughout the entire trip repeated over and over again; ‘Poor fatherless children;’ ‘Poor fatherless children.’

Now Elizabeth McPherson and Jock McBride stood silently before each other, one in need of refreshment and respite before travelling on. The other full of hate for a man whose notoriety cause him so much social humiliation he had to leave his holding near Gympie and travel north to be away from torment. If either chanced to turn they would have caught sight of the departure of the black boy. Now with his self proclaimed obligation at an end and without a further word he left.

“What is it you want of me Mrs. McPherson?” The old man spoke, his voice cold and unwelcoming.

“We are family Mr. McBride.” Elizabeth coyly reminded.

“Your husband was a second cousin on my mother’s side.” McBride belittled their relationship in an attempt to place the woman and her tribe of kids as far away as possible from his lineage.

“I was hoping you could let us rest for a few days before travelling on to Bowen.” Elizabeth McPherson asked; her voice weak and apologetic.

“I don’t have the room.” The old man lied.

“Please Mr McBride, not for my sake, nor that of my departed husband but for the sake of the children.”

If it was in the vulnerability in her failing voice or the look of complete exhaustion on the face of the children he could not say but the old man showed rare sympathy and relented.

“You can all bed down in the bunk house as there isn’t any seasonal workers’ at the moment, the boy will show where everything is.”

“Thankyou Mr. McBride.” The woman expressed, while lowering her head in shame for having to beg for charity.

“I bid you good afternoon Mrs. McPherson; I expect you will be travelling on as soon as possible.” The old man tipped his hat, descended the stairs and with his horse already saddled, rode away from the farm to stay at his house in town. As he left both Lachlan and Martha came to introduce while showing more charity than the old man had agreed to.

“I’ll show you too the block house.” Lachlan offered at length.

“No Lachlan they can stay in the house.” Martha McBride softly demanded, come in and I’ll have Polly run you a bath.”

“But what will your husband say?” Elizabeth softly spoke showing concern.

“He won’t be back for days, come in and take the weight off your feet. If he does return I’ll worry about that then,” Martha turned to her son, “Lachlan be a dear and get the children lemonade and some food.

From the stories related by Elizabeth McPherson, Martha began to appreciate a different man in James McPherson than her husband had detailed. The Bushranger had been kind, educated and understanding, while on the cheekier side Elizabeth declared him to be a marvellous lover. Although sometime he drank far too much, he was a happy humorous drunk who would find a comfortable spot and fall asleep. As for his children, on the whole they were somewhat shy but well behaved, while the oldest boy was quick in learning and incredibly inquisitive. He followed Lachlan as would a puppy, asking what is this and what was that and its usage, all the while referring to Lachlan as Mr. McBride or sir.

“My father is Mr. McBride, call me Lockie or Lachlan.”

“Yes sir.” Jimmy McPherson agreed.

“Or Runt.” Lachlan laughed.

“Runt? Mr. McBride?” Jimmy McPherson questioned.

“Doesn’t matter, it’s Lockie and cut the Mister Alright?”

“Yes sir, sorry Lachlan.”

“That will do.” Lachlan smiled and slowly shook his head.

After a week the family was still accepting Martha’s hospitality, without Jock’s presence. On one occasion the old man sent young Thomas Dunn, from the town’s solicitor’s office out to the farm on the pretence of retrieving some documents, which after being questioned and somewhat threatened by William, agreed he had been sent on a spying exhibition. With a measure of rare impish wit William gave the lad the wrong folder, which once back in town was obviously accepted by the old man as there wasn’t a return visit for the requested folder.

At the closure of the second week, refreshed and well supplied for the remainder of her journey, Elizabeth McPherson declared that she should be on her way, deciding with the rising sun on the following morning she would leave but before the boys would allow the woman to do so, they stripped her belongings from the wagon and replaced them in a more suitable way. During the long journey the load had shifted and all were amazed how her chattels clung to the wagon and not toppled to the track, taking her precious human cargo with it.

“There you go Mrs. McPherson; all back on board and even a space for the kids.” William declared after her worldly goods had been rearranged.

“I really don’t know how to thank you.” The woman expressed emotionally.

“No worries you’re family?” William smiled, wondering what his father would say upon hearing such a statement.

“Would you like Lachlan to accompany you part of the way down to Bowen?” Martha offered, thinking how she would feel having to drive such a large wagon on such a long distance, with the roads mere wheel ruts.

“I thank you for the kind offer Martha but this part of the journey will be a Sunday outing compared with travelling over the mountains.”

One offer the woman did accept. That was Lachlan’s insistence to give her a fresh team of horses, which he choose from his stock in exchanged for her tired animals, besides her mares would be a welcome strengthening to his mob’s gene pool.

During the evening Martha found fresh clothing for the children, from a supply of hand downs from her own family. Most of which could not be handed further and it had been intention to give them to the children in the native camp. As for Martha’s clothing, there was precious little to offer but she did find a number of dresses that, although well passed Sunday attire, were at least slightly more presentable than what Elizabeth owned. All was well accepted by the woman and given with much apology from Martha for not being capable of greater generosity.

With the following sun, Mrs. McPherson was ready to depart and with much ado the children climbed into William’s comfortable placement and with Elizabeth in control, she bade farewell and were gone. The children shouting their goodbye and waving frantically until well beyond the main gate and on the south running road.

It was Martha McBride who felt most from Elizabeth’s departure, as for the first time in many years she had had the confidence of another woman, creating in her the realisation she had lost her womanhood and self respect. Martha had become a servant to her husband, or worse, a surf and part of his collateral. Everything she owned was his, her clothes, her home and her children, even her very words. Only her thoughts were hers and they were sacred, while only Lachlan would have privy to Martha’s mind’s inner chamber.

Now alone Martha took herself to her room, where she sobbed long into the morning and past the midday meal.

“Where is mother?” William enquired as he and Cameron returned to the house for lunch.

“Missies she not well but she be okay in a little while.” Polly answered, her black face quizzical, her white eyes bulging as she scurried around the kitchen preparing the boys meal, her thin shiny black arms darting in this direction, then another like the long legs of some scuttling black spider.

“Them kid gone eh” Polly declared in relief from the extra burden she had endured because of their visit. Polly like most of her race had a lazy streak, brought on by forty thousand years or more, without the necessity for trade or commit to daily work.

“You know William; I can’t see why dad couldn’t give Mrs. McPherson the curtesy of remaining home while she was here. After all she is family.” Lachlan complained while they had their lunch.

“We’re family?” William answered sarcastically, “and he doesn’t stay here for us,” he bitterly forwarded. William was beginning to believe, being the air to their father’s estate, may not be worth the wait.

“Have you seen Robert of late?” Cameron enquired as memory of their brother’s treatment came to mind.

“He’s still in dad’s bad books but will be out of them soon.” Daniel suggested.

“How do you know that?” William asked abruptly, believing that seeing he was the eldest and their father’s confident, he should be the receiver of the man’s decisions.

“I overheard father talking to Mr. Reynolds in the Livery Store.” He paused, “dad has work for Robert and will ask him back,” another pause, “well more to the point demand he come back. I also heard something else while I was there.” Daniel offered.

“What was that?” William asked.

“Mr Reynolds suggested father should stand to represent the district in the new government.”

“Did father agree?” Lachlan asked.

“He said he would think about it.” As Daniel concluded Polly came running into the kitchen all a puff, her eyes bulging even further than usual, she commenced to garble in language.

“You understand their chatter Lachlan what’s she on about?” William demanded.

“Not Polly’s dialect, she speaks a completely different language.”

“For the love of god Polly speak in English.” William shouted at the hysterical maid.

“Fire!” she gasped in language then repeated in English.

“Fire! – him be big fire!” she shrieked.

“Where?” Lachlan demanded while looking around the house for any signs of smoke. There wasn’t any.

“Over Mister Henderson’s way – it be plenty black smoke, not grass fire!” Polly shouted as they all hurried onto the front verandah.

Across to the west a column of black smoke gave contrast to the blue haze of the noonday sky. It was true no grass fire was as vicious or black. Under William’s direction they all headed across the cane fields towards the Henderson’s homestead. The distance being almost two miles as the crow would fly, taking them a good fifteen minutes. On arrival it was soon realised that the Henderson house was beyond their help, at best they could do was attempt to save the out buildings and move the stock to a safer area.

“Where’s Jack?” William demanded of the Henderson woman on their arrival.

“He is moving the milking cow from the yard behind the house.” She shrieked above the crackling of the fire. Moments latter he appeared leading the cow, his face smudged with soot and his fine black hair singed on one side, otherwise appearing to be unhurt.

“We’re ruined!” Henderson exclaimed in a troubled voice, his arms stretched skywards, then falling sharply to slap at his thighs. He repeated his words; then repeated once more.

“Ruined, now your father will have his way and the land.” He added while taking his sobbing wife into his arms.

“You can rebuild?” Cameron suggested still puffing from his run.

“No I was almost bankrupted anyway. This is the end.”

“What will you do?” Lachlan enquired sympathetically.

“We’ll go up to the Tablelands; my brother has a property at Emerald Creek and has been trying to have me join him for years.”

“Have you heard from Stephen of late?” Lachlan asked.

“No.”

“I was about to travel out to see him, so I can give him the news.” Lachlan promised.

“That would be most appreciated but do you know where he is?” Ruth Henderson asked desperately.

“Not exactly but when I saw him away, he did point out the general direction, I am sure I will be able to find him.”

“Does father know of your intentions?” William demanded.

“William do you think this is the time or place to be discussing what our father thinks. Regardless I will be travelling to visit Stephen and soon.”

“Hey Kari, haven’t seen you in a long, long time eh.” Yarran greeted as Lachlan walked into the camp, carrying a sugar bag full of stores he had gleaned from the farm’s supply, passing the bag to Bardo seated close by he returned to conversation with his friend.

“I’ve been busy Yarran.”

“Come on Kari we go for walk.” Yarran insisted. Lachlan without hesitation followed. “Whatcha ben doing eh?” Yarran asked as they passed into the forest.

“I almost had myself married.” Lachlan professed lightly.

“Kari you no marry no white girl. Better you marry a black girl she look after you,” Yarran laughed, he continued, “I’ve got plenty of cousins eh and good lookers too eh.” He concluded.

“Better I marry no one.”

“On your own you get plenty cold at night.”

“I guess I can borrow a couple of your camp dogs eh Yarran, they would keep me warm.”

“Two dog night eh Kari?”

“Sometimes more, especially out at the springs, you need more than two dogs out there.”

“Kari, we see you trying to put out big fire at Henderson’s” Yarran admitted, his tone somewhat sympathetic towards the Henderson’s loss and their departure from the district.

“Yes, they are to lose the land.”

“Land no good anyway, no bush tucker there too many yonnies.” Yarran explained of the land’s stony excess.

“It is good for cattle.” Lachlan disagreed.

“Black fella don’t grow cattle,” releasing a wicked grin Yarran continued; “black fella spear cattle, good tucker for a couple of weeks.”

Lachlan became serious, “I hope you lot haven’t done so lately, I would hate to think what would happen if you did so.”

“Na but we sorry Mister Henderson lose his house, I like him he has been good to Gulngai.”

Close by Yarran’s dreaming tree Lachlan sat with his friend to glean information on travelling west. His purpose being, seeing he was to visit Stephen Henderson, he wished to ascertain if there had been any trouble with the western mob and remembering the native he had encountered while attending to his horses, wished to know if others had been seen east of the mountains.

“Na haven’t heard anything, most of those western mob have gone south for big corroboree down in the Bunya Mountains.”

“Where are the Bunya Mountains?” Lachlan asked.

“Dunno, many days south and west so old Bardo says. He has been there when he was a kid eh.”

“So it should be safe to travel then?”

“Maybe and maybe not, that Jimbo he’s still about and he’s a big mean bugger eh. He doesn’t even like black fellers.” Yarran laughed.

“Why haven’t you lot gone down to the corroboree?”

“Don’t like Bunya Nuts!” Yarran declared while screwing his face as if he had just sucked a lemon.

“I’ve never eaten them, what are they like?” Lachlan enquired.

“Look like Pandanus Palm nuts, taste like shit.”

So there was to be a once in a life time meeting of the many inland clans held in the Bunya Mountains, where they would feast on the nut of the Bunya Pine, eat traditional food supplemented with white man’s hamper, washed down with cheap white man’s grog, until they all slept away their stupa. Lachlan could only too well envisage the gathering and felt sadness for their loss of dignity.

“What ya wanna know about that western lot for?” Yarran asked.

“I’m concerned for Stephen, his wellbeing; he’s been away for most of the year now and doesn’t know about loosing the family farm.”

“He be alright eh? He knows the bush like a black fella.” Yarran gently touched his friend’s shoulder and commenced to laugh; “you both almost black buggers eh.”

“Still my friend, I think I should give him a visit.”

“If you like I’ll come with you.” Yarran offered as a number of children burst noisily through the forest, spilling into the clearing in raucous game. Leading the group was McBride’s half-cast son Billy, who was dragging another child along by the hair.

“No, I think I need to do so alone but I do appreciate your offer.” Lachlan declined as Yarran took control of the outburst.

“Billy, I get big goanna to eat you if you don’t behave,” Yarran scalded the child in language.

Billy released his grip on the now crying child’s hair and stood motionless staring towards Lachlan seated at Yarran’s side. Lachlan smiled but remembering his promise didn’t speak to the half-cast child.

“Billy you know Lachlan, you say hello and go and play.” Yarran demanded but the child remained silent, still gazing upon the face of Lachlan.

“Hello Billy how are you today?” Lachlan greeted in language without receiving response. It was as if the child had seen a white man for the very first time, or had he began to realise his own skin was more like Lachlan’s than his family. Was the child at the threshold of realisation his skin was similar to that of the white man? It could not be said but the boy stood silently, his mouth agape for an age until Yarran intervened and sent him to play.

Billy turned and ran towards the other children without uttering a word.

“That Billy he’s growing big.” Yarran commented.

“Seeing he is whiter than he is black has he questioned who he is?” Lachlan asked.

“No but had bad habit from his dad.” Yarran admitted.

“What would that be?”

“He’s a pushy little bugger and always in trouble and teasing his brothers and sister and greedy, he won’t share his toys.”

“What happens to the half-cast kids?” Lachlan asked feeling concern for his half brother.

“They are family like the others.” Yarran answered but appeared to have reservations.

“I’ve heard they are treated as outcasts; neither white nor black.”

“Some do but not Gulngai, Billy is Gulngai. So when are you going to visit Stephen?”

“Very soon, I will need father to give me time first.”

“We know your father; I reckon he’ll say no.”

“To be truthful Yarran, I’m going no matter what he decides.”

Gary really wants to know if you are reading his story. You may let him know, by dropping an email to him: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net.

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