Published: 16 Oct 2017

With the insistence of Jock McBride a meeting of the village’s self appointed Council was called, with the Church doubling as Council Chambers, and as often becoming funeral parlour and sick ward. Seldom did it hear the word of god, as the only peddler of religion in the region was a lay minister of the Methodist persuasion who alternated within the small settlements between McBride’s Point and Tully but with more folk finding the area a most convivial place to abode, many canvassed the religious dioceses for a more permanent minister, priest, padre depending on which denomination agreed to supply permanent representation.

It was a hot afternoon and damp air hung around one’s shoulders like a wet blanket, making the men’s English style clothing most unsuitable, even with the hall’s windows open wide to the day, the air within was still and unbearable. Adding to the discomfort it was laced with tobacco smoke and body odour.

Jock McBride sat himself behind a large wooden table with Bill Brown the Butcher and Harry Larkin the Publican of the McBride Point Hotel seated at either side. Before them was a selection of shop vendors and farmers all of whom appeared reluctant to be called away from their day’s work and would not have done so if anyone else except the self appointed Scotsman had demanded their attendance.

McBride cleared his throat and looked back at Brown for support who nodded his agreement. He stood, tapped the table top loudly with his thick knuckles, resonating demand for attention above the murmur of the gathering.

He once again cleared his throat.
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The meeting grew silent as he spoke.

“You all know me to be a straight speaking man.”

“Hear, hear,” but far from unanimous. Dissent from the back of the hall caused a measure of humour but wasn’t loud enough to register with the speaker. Somewhat irritated McBride continued.

“Who among you doesn’t work from dawn to dusk for little to show for it?”

The agreement increased without further dissent.

“What we need is access to cheap labour!” McBride persuaded his voice deep and demanding, filling the small hall before bouncing back from the naked walls, where it seemed to quiver a small effigy of Christ, with its gentle down-turned gaze away from the inhumane intention of the big man. Alone was that effigy in such bland setting, a catholic symbol within a stark protestant surrounding, placed there by a daughter of Millie Giles, in honour of her mother who passed during child birth but far from honourable was the speaker’s intent.

Still silence prevailed as McBride took a deep breath, releasing it loudly to display disappointment with his gathering. He expected more from his community, his town, rather than the twenty or so uninterested persons, who were there more from owing than interest, fear than necessity, wishing he would come to the point so they could return to their day’s business.

There was murmur but no one spoke freely. Sidney Coleman did not need labour, either cheap or expensive, nor did Reg Parkinson, or Dave Reynolds, they had small holdings close to town and managed well enough with their large families to help out. As for Arthur Miller who owned the general store and Mal Taylor the undertaker and carpenter, they hardly had enough work for themselves but there was a small collection of farmers in need of such labour who without hesitation backed McBride’s suggestion, quickly bringing the rest of the gathering to align themselves out of necessity to survive in a small community.

“How do we get this cheap labour?” Albert Gross called loudly from the back of the hall, followed once more by “here here,” from McBride’s small band of farming associates.

“Blacks from the Islands!” McBride answered without hesitation or shame. He even allowed a rare smile, or was it contempt towards the unwashed horde before him.

“That’s slavery!” called Sidney Coleman; his high pitched voice offending the big man’s ears. McBride flinched at the suggestion and would remember Coleman for his dissent.

“Not if they are invited, not if you pay them.” McBride corrected, broadening that rare smile in a subtle attempt to make light of his otherwise dark suggestion.

“It still stinks of slavery Jock and we all know your view on wages.” Sidney Coleman added, lowering his voice an octave as he did so. McBride cast the man a glance that promised his insolence would not be forgotten. Coleman still owed McBride for five acres he agreed to purchase and now planted with a fine crop of cane. Possibly it was time to call in the loan.

“You can be arrested these days.” added Mal Taylor.

“No, only if you bring more into the country, not if they are already here and once they are here, who would know when they arrived.” McBride informed loudly, “besides the black buggers wouldn’t know what day it was, never mind when they arrived,” he added bring a murmur of frivolity to the meeting. He continued. “Yes I know there is a push to take Queensland into this Southern Federation and we can’t join until we remove the Islanders but who really wants Queensland to join their union anyway?” McBride paused as the hall burst into uncertain agreement. Most had herd of the push towards a union, a commonwealth of colonies but being so far from the more settled areas of the continent it remained anecdotal.

The consensus was, people of North Queensland in general didn’t want Federation; in fact they didn’t want to be part of Queensland and to prove so had built a new Government Building, their Parliament, in Rockhampton for that purpose and renamed the proposed territory Capricornia.

Alas the push failed but the division remained in the hearts of many, so much so those in the far tropical reaches believed even Rockhampton being a good six hundred miles south, was too distant and possibly there should be three colonies in Queensland, with Townsville or possibly Cairns nominated as their seat of administration.

McBride continued; “besides as I quoted, it isn’t slavery if we pay them, with the promise to return them to their islands at a later date.”

“How do we bring them in?” asked Albert Gross.

“Simpson’s Schooner,” McBride explained without noting he held the controlling interest in that ship.

“And what about the authorities?” a nervous Albert Gross added, followed by a general hush of agreement towards the man’s concern.

“Don’t you worry about the establishment; I’ll attend to that problem, besides they seldom leave Tully.” McBride laughed defiantly and turning towards Harry Larkin the publican he continued while running gnarled fingers through his long well groomed beard, “if need be you could throw a couple of beers their way eh Harry?”

“Sure thing Jock,” Larkin strongly assured, lending credence to the Scotsman’s proposal. There was a measure of agreement but most remained unconvinced, only attending the gathering not to put McBride offside, while others had experience how the man could retaliate without concern towards any adversary’s wellbeing.

The meeting concluded with Albert Gross remaining in conversation with McBride. It was true Gross was in need of cheap labour and eager to hear more but uncertain how to skirt the latest directive being, for their territory to obtain consent to join the federation, Queensland would need to halt its blackbirding and return the natives back to their islands.

“I’m still unconvinced Jock.” He doubted, placing a measure of nervous opposition to his tone.

“I assure you it will work.” McBride became agitated; being a wilful man he disliked any form of resistance, especially from those whom he believed were obliged to him and Albert Gross was definitely such a man.

“What of all this talk of federation, there is supposed to be a vote within the year?” Gross presented.

“It will be years away if it comes at all, besides we will only need the labour for a couple of seasons, then we can let them find their own way home.”

“I don’t know Jock.” Gross gently shook his tentative head, while attempting to keep his disagreement minimal.

“How’s the yield from the top field Albert?” McBride questioned, his tone appearing somewhat rhetorical, while he gazed blankly towards the direction of Gross’ property and slowly nodding his head in conscious anticipation of the man’s response.

“Not sure as yet Jock but I reckon it will equal last year, possibly even better.” Gross answered, realising the question wasn’t out of interest in his financial wellbeing but to remind he still owed McBride for the land.

“I’ll get back to you Albert, I’ll need to square it all with Simpson first.”

On leaving the assembly hall, McBride was most pleased with himself. At the door he paused and watched while Gross nervously made his way, taking a short cut through the church yard before turning towards his holdings. McBride didn’t much like the man, believing him somewhat changeable but if he could convince Gross, others would follow as he was well respected. Still there would be need to keep the man close and his opinion of Gross guarded. ‘The man is like a pendulum,’ McBride thought, ‘one day he is with me the other not, I will have to sweeten his craving,’ and he knew the man’s desire was for expensive imported scotch whiskey, a bottle or two from the McBride extensive cellar may be begrudged but could be afforded.

“Yes, best I keep an eye on Gross, he could be a problem.” McBride grumbled as he departed.

Mounted on his black mare and turning towards home the Scotsman soon forgot about Albert Gross, instead his thoughts became centred on Simpson and his schooner. It was a fine ship and McBride was a not so silent partner in its purchase. Not being a man for the sea, he left its running to the captain and in doing so Simpson may not agree with the trip to the islands but he had his way to obtain agreement, being the threat to dissolve the partnership and find another captain more willing to do his bidding.

There was one aspect of his partner’s character McBride disliked, that being the man was inflicted with a measure of honesty but like many honest men there was a tipper. With the captain it was his ship and McBride’s threat to have it sold and the knowledge Simpson could not afford to buy him out should be enough to keep his nervous captain on side.

Once beyond the town the man placed thoughts of blackbirding and Simpson aside along with that of Gross’ irresolute. They would come around, besides there were ways, he knew well the torment of being ostracized, as he had suffered so before coming north. With his influence he could make any man’s life most difficult and would do so without hesitation.

On reaching the farm McBride scanned the fields for signs of his sons. He soon spied William and Cameron on their return from the south paddock, their heads bobbing slightly above the stalks of cane, carrying hoes stretched across the shoulders. Robert was at the machinery shed but there didn’t appear to any sign of Lachlan or Daniel.

“Where are they?” He muttered standing high in the stirrups to gain better advantage. “Ah there’s Daniel but where is Lachlan?” Then he discovered his youngest near the house in conversation with Price. Satisfied he was gleaning a fair amount of work from his sons he settled back into the saddle but instead of entering through the gate, he move away in the direction of the native camp. Again it was the lifting of smoke from their camp fire that drew his attention, triggering a primeval response in him and certain his return had not been noticed, McBride moved away towards the lazy smoke.

With the McBride girls married and living away, also William recently married and living in a cottage on the estate, it left Cameron and the triplets at home with their mother. Cameron mostly kept to himself but Daniel and Robert somewhat at loose ends without William at home designing every move they made, found entertainment by annoying Lachlan, who was feeling somewhat crowed and in need of personal space.

One would think living in such a large house with more bedrooms than there were people, space would not be paramount but with Daniel and Robert a closed door wasn’t enough to prevent an unwelcome visit at any time, often during somewhat private activity.

Most invasions were for no other purpose than to avoid their father and his overbearing demands and Lachlan became their diversion. Even with William having his own cottage, he still found more than enough time to return and organise his brothers.

As Bill Price the farm’s Forman had recently married and moved into town, his cottage, or hut, depending on one’s description of such a small dwelling, became vacant, so Lachlan decided it was time to make his move and on the very day Price relocated into town, Lachlan was asking his father to allow him make such a move.

There wasn’t any legitimate reason for McBride to negate his son’s request and at first did deny him, until he saw a number of women from the native camp poking around the cottage yard, so he agreed, if only to keep their thieving hands away from farm property.

What the man didn’t understand was, before the land became cane fields and the cottage built, the area had been a favourite yam patch and when in season the native women would often sneak back to the cottage yard with grubber sticks for tucker but in truth the cottage had been erected over the better patch, leaving little to be found.

To Lachlan it was refreshing to be away from his brothers, also the obvious disappointment that was continuously displayed by his father. With his move to the cottage he discovered much about himself and enjoyed the solitude, while even the art of cooking became uplifting and with help from his mother he soon became quite adept around the wood range, creating bread and stews and when the mood inspired the creation of simple cakes, although his attempt at fancy meals or puddings became somewhat daunting, even after following his mother’s direction to the letter the art appeared to be evasive. It’s all in the timing Martha explained but timing or not Lachlan soon admitted it best he remain a stew, bread and simple cake cook.

What was most appreciated with Lachlan newly found independence was William and Robert seldom visited but Daniel was always calling by, being equally in need of escape from their father and the twins. Yet each morning excepting Sunday, as the sun peeped over the tall mango trees William would be hammering loudly on his door, calling him to work and almost daily would complain of having to travel the extra yards to collect his brother. Lachlan would offer entry and coffee but William was never interested, his was a call to work and little more.

“You will someday make someone a good wife.” Daniel stated on one of his many visits across the paddock to the cottage. There was insinuation in Daniel’s words as Lachlan remembered earlier times when they were children but like all conduct from his siblings, he learnt to disregard them, besides he had outgrown his brothers and although it would be easy to retaliate without effort, he found restraint was a more successful defence.

“Why would you say that brother?” Lachlan answered somewhat nonchalantly, hands sunk deeply within a large galvanised tub while washing the evening dishes, amused at the forming and breaking of the many soap bubbles.

“You know,” Daniel said indicatively as yellow light from the kerosene lamp, danced his image across the kitchen wall, giving him an impish complexion, full of mischief while reflecting on past years.

“And what would that be Daniel?” Lachlan questioned, well aware of his brother’s inference while whishing it left in the past where it belonged.

“I was remembering when we were kids.” Daniel smiled.

“You were – were you?”

“You remember our secret hideaway down near the creek.”

“That Dan was then and this is now.” Lachlan firmly answered as he placed his cooking pot on to one side to dry.

“Ah but you liked it didn’t you?”

“Where was dad going this afternoon?” Lachlan asked diverting the conversation away from their youthful and somewhat bawdy antics. At dusk he had seen their father riding along the track towards the aboriginal camp and the old man appeared to be in a joyful mood while singing quietly in his Scottish brogue, while totally unaware of his son’s presence.

“Dunno, probably up to the boongs camp to arrange labour for the cutting I guess.” Daniel answered disinterestedly.

“I thought he didn’t want to use the natives anymore?” Lachlan exchanged boongs for natives. He despised the distasteful calling of the indigenous people as boongs, finding it not only offensive but disregarding towards their natural ability and success by surviving so many millenniums on so little in such a harsh unforgiving continent.

“May have changed his mind eh? You know how he loves money and they are cheap. Besides he will soon have some other tribe of black buggers to do the work.

“What do you mean?” Lachlan asked while pouring his brother a pannikin of hot black coffee. Daniel sipped from his mug.

“You make a better cup than mum and as I said, you will make someone a good woman some day.” At sentence end came Daniels notorious laugh, akin to a Gatling-gun emptying its supply of ammunition, broke across his brother’s thoughts.

“Not yours brother of mine, now what is dad up to?”

“Blackbirding?”

“Slavery, that’s a bit risky seeing Queensland has been advised to get rid of the islanders if it wants to join the new Federation.” Lachlan answered surprisedly.

“Won’t happen, no one in the North wants it,” Daniel declared showing a high level of confidence, while possessing a low degree of knowledge, being only what he happened to hear in passing from their father and his associates.

“There are more people in the south and they want it, so it will go through on the nod.” Lachlan lifted the coffee pot from the stove and offered a refill.

“Thanks but what makes you so sure of that?” Daniel questioned.

“A blind man can see it – it’s called commerce, besides with the Russian threat also the Chinese, besides there is safety in numbers, we need the others and they need us, they need Queensland as a buffer to the north.”

“Why would the Russians come here?” Daniel asked, even with his lack of geography he did understand that Russia was almost as far away as England.

“I guess they wouldn’t want to do so and won’t come but they had threatened to attack England’s colonies,” Lachlan explained.

“That was during the Crimean War, we learned at school and was years ago.”

“Still I guess once they have the idea to do so, it is only one extra step to activate the threat.”

“You always were a know it all.” Daniel growled.

“Common sense,” Lachlan declared placing a plate of simple cake he had recently baked in front of his brother, who without further offer cut a large portion and devoured it eagerly.

“Great cake,”

“Have you got worms? Maybe we should dose you with that crap dad uses on the cattle.” Lachlan asked.

“No just hungry.”

“It’s mother’s recipe.”

“And almost as good but it lacks something.”

“I ran out of sugar.”

“Out of sugar in the middle of a sugar cane field?” Daniel laughed at the irony in his brother’s account.

“It seems that way, I used treacle.”

“That is why it came out so dark but still it tastes alright.”

“When is all this blackbirding going to happen?” Lachlan asked without showing surprise towards their father’s antics.

“When Simpson’s Schooner arrives back from down south.”

“Is dad going?”

“Nah don’t be silly, he wouldn’t trust leaving the farm. He’s sending William and Cameron to keep an eye on Simpson.”

“Sending Cameron as well, how will he cope with such a long and dangerous journey?” Lachlan appeared somewhat apprehensive towards their brother’s ability.

“He’ll have William, he’ll be alright.” Daniel answered without concern for Cameron’s wellbeing.

“I still don’t like the idea, if the law gets wind of it, they will be up here sniffing around like Jack Henderson’s dogs and you know dad has a lot to hide.” Lachlan said shaking his head in disbelief.

“No worries brother, dad owns the Tully police.” Daniel assured, repeating another snippet of conversation he had overheard between their father and Bill Price.

“Cops own them selves, or go to the highest bidder.” Lachlan added as a knock came to the flimsy timber door, rattling it on its hinges and taking Lachlan’s attention away from his father’s pending entry into the slave trade.

“Who could that be?” Daniel asked twisting in his chair towards the direction of the knocking. “Expecting someone?”

“Maybe it’s your brother looking for you.”

“Robert is also your brother.” Daniel advised while helping himself to a second portion of cake. He paused, “you don’t mind do you?” Lachlan shook his head as Daniel cut himself an even larger portion.

“I disowned the lot of you years ago but you just won’t go away.”

Lachlan answered the door. “Come in, want some coffee?” He welcomed.

“Well speaking of Henderson’s dogs, it’s bloody Stephen Henderson in person.” Daniel called, “evening Rat,” he affixed disrespectfully.

“Evening Lockie, you have company maybe I’ll come back at another time.”

“Na it’s only Daniel and he’s not company, besides he’s leaving – come in.”

“Hey rat you two are like fruit flies after the same mango, always hovering about each other.” Daniel declared in his usual jovial insulting tone.

“Evening to you also Daniel.” Stephen acknowledged while seating himself at the far end of the slab table, placing as much space as possible between himself and Daniel McBride.

Stephen Henderson was of average height and while cutting a slight figure possessed greater strength than his build suggested and although the same age as the McBride triplets, had sensibility and horse and cattle knowledge well beyond his years. Around stock, Stephen was confident and capable of making instant decisions but around Daniel and Robert and the twins this confidence diminished.

In his youth Stephen had received the same treatment as had Lachlan. Firstly it was from the twins, then as they bored they handed the whip end down to Daniel and Robert. Unlike Lachlan, Stephen had never learnt to live with their antics, leaving him with a somewhat nervous disposition, yet he appeared, maybe because of his friendship with Lachlan, not to have held a grudge against the early McBride treatment and could well disguise any disposition while in company.

“What is it with you two?” Daniel asked accusingly. Stephen commenced to make comment but remained silent.

“Isn’t it about time you were gone?” Lachlan suggested to his brother and turned to Stephen. “What going on?” Lachlan enquired of his friend.

“I’m off bush for a while and thought you may like to join me.”

“You – go bush you wouldn’t survive,” Daniel inferred applying his customary Gatling gun laugh.

“What would you know of survival Daniel, you haven’t been further than town and you wouldn’t go there if you didn’t have to.” Stephen bit sarcastically.

“Where are you going?” Lachlan asked his tone displaying a measure of disappointment, which didn’t pass his brother’s scrutiny.

“Lockie can’t join you – father has work for him.” Daniel abutted, to which the two ignored.

“Out west, I thought I would try cattle for a while, grab a few clean skins and move them on to crown land; with the population growth up here I should make a killing.” Stephen’s eyes widened with the thought of creating his own empire in cattle but lowered once again as Daniel placed a heavy damper on his dreaming.

“Rat the only killing you will get is from the Boongs, they will have you and your bloody cattle speared within a week.”

“Shit Stephen I have dad going into the slave trade, now you’re stealing cattle.” Lachlan shook his head in disbelief and opposition.

“It’s not stealing; clean skins aren’t branded and just roam the bush looking for an owner.” Stephen explained.

“When will you be leaving?” Lachlan asked attempting to mask his disappointment from Daniel, who remained eager to negate the conversation with negative overtones and suggestions.

“Couple of weeks as soon as I can get my mare shod and some gear together,”

Daniel stood from the table scraping his chair across the bare kitchen floor boards, sending its echo around the room. He yawned loudly in distraction and after stretching his arms towards the low hung ceiling, reached for one more slice of cake. “The conversation is getting boring. I guess I’ll be going – some of us have to get up early.”

“Hey before you leave, what work had father for me?” Lachlan asked breaking away from his concentration on his friend’s pending departure. “I don’t cut cane!” Lachlan added in protest.

“Na you lazy bugger you leave that to the rest of us.” Daniel growled from halfway to the door.

“You only supervise anyway.”

“Bloody hard work when the boongs are cutting,” Daniel concluded and was gone without answering Lachlan’s question relating to what work was to be done. “See ya rat.” Daniel nipped as he departed and once outside his laugh was once again heard along with some dispiriting remark regarding Stephen and his pending adventure.

Once Daniel had departed Lachlan returned his attention to Stephen’s plan on travelling west and rear cattle but unlike his friend he was dull on the idea. Although the offer to join the enterprise was real and part of Lachlan screamed yes, the timing wasn’t correct. He had not yet reached age and his father, unlike Jack Henderson, would not permit him leaving and even when he reached his majority McBride would most likely hold him until deciding he should rase a family of his own and be the one who decided who the lad would marry.

Such a synopsis was apparent when William the older of the twins married, deciding he would be moving to the village of Mareeba. McBride soon built a house on the property then with the verbal whip in hand he moved the wedded couple in, declaring if William were to leave the farm he would be disinherited.

“I wish you would join me?” Stephen reiterated.

“No chance, I can’t even get a day off to attend to my horses. If I packed up and left, I would more than likely be disowned.” Lachlan sighed.

“I’m sorry Lachlan but I’ve never liked your father.” Stephen admitted freely.

“I’m embarrassed to say I don’t much either.” Lachlan concurred.

“I’ve never understood how you handle his moods.”

“I don’t but I once read; best to appear weak when you’re strong and strong when you’re weak.”

“And that works?” Stephen appeared surprised.

Lachlan laughed, “no but at the time it seemed like good advice but I don’t think your plan is a good one.”

“Maybe in your mind my friend but I need to try.” Stephen remained firm towards his strategy.

“You know you will be missed.” Lachlan said at length after reaching the realisation he could not persuade his friend from leaving.

“I guess so but it won’t be for ever. A year or two and I should have made enough money to buy some land of my own.” Stephen paused, “again why don’t you come with me?”

“You know I can’t so there is no use keep asking.”

“You will have to break from your father eventually. Also I don’t know how you can live with those brothers of yours.”

“I guess eventually I will but not now, as for the brothers, Daniel is alright and these days the rest are somewhat cautious around me and I haven’t been called Runt by any of the family for quite some time, although dad still calls me Boy.”

Lachlan smiled then reaching across the table, lightly tapping the back of his friend’s hand with his fingers. “I’ll be with you in thoughts and maybe when you’ve settled I can come and visit?”

Stephen disappointingly shook his head, realising he could not persuade his friend to join his venture, then wrinkling his brow declared that a visit would be more than expected.

“I’ll need a couple of pack horses; do you think your dad will sell them to me?” Stephen asked.

“I doubt it but I own a few, you can cut what you need from that mob.”

“I’ll pay you for them.” Stephen offered.

“No, I wouldn’t dream of it, consider them an investment – Lockie and Stephen Proprietary Limited.”

“I like the sound of that, maybe one day it will be Lockie and Stephen branded on great herds of cattle roaming across the centre west.”

“That would be a nice thought but I guess you are getting a little ahead of yourself.” Lachlan brought his friend back from his dream cloud and his imaginary heard of cattle.

Lachlan stood from the table and after offering his friend some cake placed the remainder in the Coolgardie safe.

“Bush Rats!” he declared, they get into everything, as soon as I’ve gone to bed I hear them scurrying around the kitchen.”

“I guess I will have to add a Coolgardie safe to my list of needs.”

“Would you like me to help get your gear together?” Lachlan offered.

“Only if you wish but most has already been arranged and my father has been a great help. I may need some extra leathers.”

“What reins, bridles? I have plenty so you can help yourself.” Lachlan offered.

“Also a couple of pack saddles, dad has one but he will need it.”

“There are a number spare up in the livery shed, they belong to father but I guess he doesn’t even know they are there, I’ll lend you a couple of those.”

“What if your father discovers them missing?”

“Then I would tell him the truth, he can only rave about it and threaten to take the cost out of my wages, which he doesn’t pay anyway.” They both commenced to laugh.

“You know Lockie, it’s going to be strange not having you around.” Stephen released a remorseful sigh, “but I have to give it a try otherwise I will never know if it would work.”

“I guess so.”

“Can I stay the night?” Stephen asked his voice nervously stuttered.

“I would like that.”

Let Gary know what you think of his story.

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