Published: 2 Apr 2018

Finally Queensland, or could it be said at least on the surface, met the standard to be able to vote and join the Federation. It could almost be guaranteed no more Kanaka island people were arriving but the north was awash with those who had arrived previously. They would have to be repatriated but it was decided the voting could proceed before doing so.

Excitement was growing along its long coastal strip from Brisbane in the south to Cooktown in the north, One thousand three hundred miles of small almost isolated settlements, stretching like a sporadic string of pearls along the eastern seaboard.

As for the voting, all that remained was to set the date for the biggest event since European settlement and decide who would have voting rights. Throughout the colonies Women’s groups wanted equality with their menfolk, while the men boisterously declared the fairer sex weren’t clever enough to read the ballot papers and would take all day to perform the act, choosing the candidate with the smartest suit, the smoothest voice or most handsome of appearance. As for Aboriginal voting rights, neither men nor women were prepared to agree to that much democracy.

Many meeting were held on the subject in every town and hamlet and after long and pondering arguments it was decided that they would go with the status quo and what was good enough for the south was good enough for the Queensland. So to be capable of casting a vote, one would have to be a white male, over twenty-one years of age and a land holder and if such a property owner chanced to have land in electoral arrears other than where living, he would have multiple voting rights. As for the Aborigines, only in South Australia would they be privileged to cast a vote and once done, they would lose their franchise, to become the responsibility of their state and governed by that colony’s law.

Even in South Australia the natives needed to have been registered to vote in that colony’s elections before federation, must be male and over twenty-one years of age, any native reaching that age after the vote they remained disenfranchised and would remain so under the Commonwealth act.

Still the first people were to be stateless in their own land, allowed to live upon it, never own it or move about freely, while like children they would be directed in every thing they did and that concerned Lachlan McBride much but he realised as he had not yet reached his majority, he was not politically different than his mother or a native.

While visiting his friend Yarran, Lachlan found himself in conversation on the approaching Federation. Firstly Yarran was clueless about its meaning and then wanted to know everything.

“What about us lot eh?” Yarran asked.

“Sorry my friend you don’t have a say.”

“It’s white feller country now eh?”

“It seems that way but some consolation, I don’t have a vote either, I don’t have land while my father has three votes in three separated electorates; as for women they are considered white Aborigines and in need of male guidance.”

“You white fellers don’t even know how to treat your own mob. Yarran said while slowly shaking his head in disgust.

“Sometimes Yarran I think you lot have the right idea and you should be our overlords.”

“Hey Kari you know that Jimbo feller over the mountains, he’s been at it again and he and his mob killed some fellers looking for them yellow rocks.” Yarran advised, becoming bored with the subject of voting.

“How did you know that?”

“Black man’s message stick eh.”

“That must be why Sergeant Ross from Tully was gathering the best shooters in the district.” Lachlan suggested.

“Silly bloody Jimbo eh. He thinks he can beet the white man. All he’ll get is dead.” Yarran sounded somewhat remorseful even if he didn’t have time for his distant and rebellious relation, “your bloody lot are like white ants, into everything eh.”

“What do you care Yarran, I thought your mob didn’t like the west lot?”

“They family I suppose.” Yarran grumbled.

“Who isn’t family?” Lachlan asked.

“Your bloody white lot,” Yarran’s viewpoint was delivered with a measure of irony and was quickly passed over.

“Silly Jimbo indeed, he almost killed Stephen Henderson.” A shudder went through Lachlan as he spoke and part of him wanted to join the hunting party for the black renegade remembering the half dead expression on his friends face as he pulled him from his safety hole.

“Too many of you white buggers now Kari, we black fellers will have to accept your ways, your grog and bad food and watch with smiles as you take our women, then attend to your bad blood kids and love them eh.” Yarran became incensed but realising it was Kari he was speaking to calmed, “I sorry Kari you are excluded, you black man in white man’s skin.”

“There’s no need to apologise my friend.” Lachlan assured.

Lachlan wished to shout his innocence into the tall trees stretching far above his head but realised it was all academic and like his black friends he was equally emasculated, besides to a significant degree he was in harmony with his black friend.

“Maybe some day Yarran someone will listen.”

“Maybe Kari but not in my bloody days eh.”

Sergeant Ross gathered a dozen of the districts best marksmen to meet outside the McBride’s Point telegraph office, where he created in them Special Constables, with instructions to bring the renegade Jimbo to heel. If possible alive, to be given what would be seen to be a fair trial, followed by a fair hanging but if Jimbo resisted he could be shot and killed. Most preferred the latter, as alive or dead the outcome would be the same and Jimbo dead would save time and money.

Once supplied and instructed on what was their responsibilities were, the group mounted and rode across the mountains in search of the renegade black man and his gang, while believing their exercise would be short and by week’s end they would return triumphantly, with Jimbo either in chains or well shot.

After two weeks and without any sign of Jimbo, Ross returned to empower old Daku from the local camp to be their Black Tracker and for the price of two bottles of cheap booze he agreed. Daku was an elder of the Gulngai who had become a little too accustomed to grog and was an uncle of Yarran. Oddly he was also a relative of Jimbo but of a different Totem while lacking any respect for the rebel.

On Ross’ return with Daku, some of his troop refused to work with the black man and with their protest came Ross’ threat that seeing they were now considered to be constables, he would shoot any man who refused to do his duty. The threat soon brought them back into line and although they complained quietly between themselves, no one chanced to test the sergeant’s threat.

The day the troop was to leave on their second expedition, word was received Jimbo had struck again, this time quite close to wattle creek and slightly beyond the north-west fork in the track. The northern route lead to Henderson’s failed camp site, while the western track to a mining camp some half day’s ride further on. The location being less than a day’s ride from the Jump-over brought fresh hope they would succeed in quick time and be home before the week was out.

Two days back across the mountains, with Daku on foot and in the lead they commenced to have progress. The tall thin black tracker darted this way then another, while his almost purple skin glistened in the heat haze. He sniffed at the leaf litter, even if it were only for effect and searched tree bark for clues, while finding even a minuscule broken twig or bent branch suggested direction and how long since passing.

“This Jimbo is a clever bugger.” He declared while pointing further north.

“How far?” Ross asked his voice angered by the frustration of the chase.

“Many days.” Daku answered and slowly shook his head.

“Hey Barry – how many fucken’ miles is many days?” Reg O’Leary asked of his sergeant.

“Settle Reg, many means more than three, so don’t get your self homesick for that pretty wife of yours.” The sergeant answered, while the rest of his troop burst into laughter.

“Then why doesn’t he bloody say more than three?” O’Leary questioned.

“Could be because unlike you they don’t count, it’s one or two or many.”

“Dumb cunt.”

“Suppose they don’t need to eh Reg?”

“Not like bloody Fleming here, with six kids, one would think he would learn six is enough.” O’Leary suggested, “Many be buggered,” he followed.

“What do you think of that?” The sergeant asked of Wayne Fleming.

“Dunno boss like O’Leary said, maybe I can’t count but I can count to two and if he flaming well keeps it up he will be missing two balls.”

“Yea have a go.”

“Come on you lot, you’re setting a bad example for Daku.” Ross demanded.

Two more days into their hunt and with the sun directly overhead, sapping the last of the party’s strength, Daku halted, stood upright as straight as a spring sapling, with his right foot resting just above his left knee and his hand shading his eyes he scanned the distant horizon.

“What’s up eh Daku?” Barry Ross asked, while bringing his horse to the side of the black man.

“He a clever bugger.” Daku again declared and commenced to mumble in language, his way of keeping the evil that was Jimbo from finding and entering his spirit.

“Which way?” Ross asked with a sigh. He was now beginning to doubt Daku’s ability, possibly the old man was playing him along and he had no idea how to find their adversary.

“He no go west, he’s up that way. See those black rocks?” The black man asked gently pointed a bony finger towards the mountain of boulders rising out of an otherwise flat plain, some appeared to be as large as a house, all piled haphazardly one on the other. “I reckon he’s hiding in there eh,” he continued.

“Are you positive?”

“He there alright but Daku no go there, them rocks bad for Gulngai.” Daku retrieved his pointing finger as if even the act of pointing could bring about bad medicine.

“So why would Jimbo go there?”

“Jimbo too bloody long with you white buggers eh and Jimbo isn’t Gulngai, this Kuku Nyungkal land.”

“I thought you coastal mob didn’t go inland?” Ross asked.

“Long time ago, different dreaming, before your mob come; them rocks called Kalkajaka and have bad medicine.”

“Bad medicine for Jimbo when we catch him. Ok men, we go north.” The Sergeant directed, under a refreshed barrage of complaint.

It was late in the following afternoon before they arrived in the vicinity of Daku’s pile of rocks. Although still some distance away the cairn stood out above the trees as if reaching to meet the sky, with the appearance of being dropped there to heap up by some giant from the Aboriginal dreaming time.

Soon after reaching the vicinity of the cairn Daku paused and sat in the dust under a shady tree.

“Mister Ross they are up in them rocks.” Daku declared and began to chant, “Daku go no further, them rocks bad medicine for my lot.”

Ross respected the black mans decision and called camp for the day. It was true there was something eerie about this cairn and there was the smell of death all about and Daku wasn’t helping any with his stories of giant carnivorous kangaroos and flying foxes, so thick in the air they took away one’s breath.

Firstly Ross sent men out to gather fire wood which was used to build two campfires, the first and bigger was closer towards the cairn, which would be a decoy, while their proper camp fire would be further back and kept much lower. Ross’ reasoning being, if Jimbo were to come out of his hiding and attack during the night, he would suppose the decoy fire to be their camp and with guards waiting at distance from this camp site, they could pick off the blacks as they entered the clearing.

While gathering fire wood they discovered where the smell of death was coming from. A short distance ahead they found the carcass of a speared stray bullock, then another, both were partly butchered, while leaving the bulk of the animals to the crows. The bullock’s demise was recent giving belief Daku was correct in his prediction.

Ross stood motionless his eyes fixed on the cairn searching for movement. A wallaby darted out at speed from the base of the pile as if in fright but nothing followed, while the dark grey, almost black boulders threw a multitude of shadows from the dying sun. ‘You could hide an entire nation of blacks up there.’ Ross thought as he turned from the cairn.

It was true the mountain of black boulders was in places a good five hundred feet high and stretched in a northerly direction for a number of miles, while some of the crevasses were large enough to loose a horse, many horses.

“What do you reckon Barry?” Clancy Jennings asked of the sergeant on inspecting the speared animals.

“I reckon the black bugger is up in those rocks alright and we will have to starve the bugger out, I’m not going in after him.”

“He’s more than likely to have more supplies than us.” Clancy suggested.

“Don’t know Clancy, you just don’t know with these blacks, usually they don’t think that far ahead.” Correct or not Sergeant Ross did know one thing, he had time on his side and the wallabies were plentiful in the area around the cairn, with water in abundance after the recent rain and enough rations to last them quite some weeks. “I will say we best be on our guard tonight in case he decides to sneak up on us.”

The party camped some distance back from the cairn when Daku had previously parked himself in the dust while refusing to go no further. As they sat around their small camp fire they yarned about home and women and women they would like to meet while lying about others they had met.

Daku listened from the side. Eventually he spoke. “Hey Mister Ross, you got any grog for old Daku?” The group fell silent while expecting their Sergeant’s reply.

“Sorry Daku no grog on this trip.” The sergeant informed.

“Gotta smoke?” The black man asked.

Clancy Jennings removed a freshly rolled durry from behind his ear and passed it to the black man.

“There you go, who taught you to smoke.” He asked as Daku lit his cigarette from the dying embers of the camp fire.

“Long ago as a boy I showed a white fella name Kennedy how to cross the mountains, he showed me.” Daku explained as he drew deeply from the cigarette.

“Kennedy?” Sergeant Ross questioned surprisingly.

“Emen Kennedy.” Daku answered.

“Edmund Kennedy the surveyor explorer?” Ross asked somewhat disbelieving.

“That he, Emen Kennedy.”

“Well I’ll be buggered. You do know what happened to Kennedy?” Ross asked.

“He no come back our way, I show him to the high country behind the mountains up north of here.”

“Too right he didn’t come back; your black lot killed him way up on the cape, probably ate him as well, only Jacky-Jacky survived.”

“I know Jacky, his name was Galmahra and his totem was Wonnarua, he said he was from a place called Walse.” Daku foretold.

“You have a good memory Daku; yes Jackie was from New South Wales. How old were you back then?” Ross asked but all Daku could say was a boy about the time he could take a wife, which was understood to mean puberty.

The following morning Ross and his weary constables came up to the base of the cairn. At their end it was a good mile in circumference and three to four hundred feet high, containing more hide holes and crevasses than a plug of Swiss cheese and most obvious a man could not climb through the cairn and hold his firearm at the same time. Behind the first hill of boulders there was a gap before once again commencing and stretching even further towards the north and in places much higher.

From the start Ross realised he didn’t have sufficient man power to surround the cairn, so he would have to concentrate on the more likely escape areas and those suggested by Daku. The back of the pile was a wall of basalt almost perpendicular, giving the opinion it could be left unguarded, while the likely exits would be the south from where they had approached, with the sides somewhat open to easy climbing.

“What do you think Clancy?” Ross asked as he scanned the rocky hill for movement. There wasn’t any.

“I think it’s bloody spooky, how would a hill like that occur, it doesn’t appear natural.” Clancy answered, “I hope you don’t intend to go chasing them up there?” he continued.

“Daku reckons it was built by some goanna spirit when fighting with a giant snake but I hear it was volcanic but whatever it was he won’t come any closer.” Ross explained.

“How many of the buggers do you think he has up there with him?” Clancy asked, removing his battered hat and scratching at the long strands of matted greying hair. He replaced his hat as a trickle of sweat descended down his elongated nose to drip from its tip.

“Maybe four not more.” The truth was Ross had no idea, Jimbo could have the entire western tribal population held up it the rocks for all he knew but it had been suggested by a survivor of a previous attack that the count was low, as they didn’t attack in force but picked them off from behind advantage and were never seen by the travellers.

With the commencement of the second day and still no sighting of Jimbo, Ross had their breakfast fire set up wind from the cairn, hoping that the scent of breakfast cooking would draw Jimbo out of the rocks but still to no avail.

Some of the men for no other reason than boredom, walked around the cairn calling Jimbo’s name and asking him to descend but all they received was the echo of their own voices, which at least gave some light relief and turned their calling into childish soundings and amusement at the echo’s recall.

After four days of idleness and a lack of any success, Ross was becoming somewhat despaired. His troop wished to return to their homes, as they had farms to attend to and young Reg O’Leary’s pretty wife was expecting her first birth at any time.

After breakfast he called his constables together and asked for their opinions and to a man they wished to call off the siege, to reform once again at a later date. Ross agreed but decided to have one more search around the cairn for clues, lest Jimbo had escaped at an earlier time. Their search unfortunately would be somewhat rudimentary as no matter how they tried, they couldn’t coax Daku from his encampment a good mile back from the cairn to use his tracking skills.

It was while passing a bushy section to the west of the cairn that previously hadn’t been searched, they smelt a dead animal. On approaching the area where the petrification was coming from, they discovered the body of a black man, with two war spears projecting from his back and a third through his upper leg. It was the corpse of Jimbo and by the condition of his body he had been lying there for probably the same time they had been in siege of the cairn.

“Well I’ll be buggered” Ross declared as he inspected the body, “Its Jimbo alright, you can tell by that wound to his shoulder, where some joker took a pot shot at him some years back.”

“What do you think happened?” Clancy asked, standing upwind from the corpse.

“It’s enough to bring up your breakfast.” Miles Logan declared on seeing a seething sea of maggots around the spear wounds. And he did.

“It is my guess, Jimbo has probably wanted to attack but the others weren’t interested – Maybe.”

“Well whatever the reason, it saves us a job.” Clancy supposed while feeling quite relieved there wouldn’t be confrontation.

“Yea, I guess so Clancy.” Ross stood from the corps and called, “get a sugar bag, well take his head back as proof but for Christ’s sake don’t show it to Daku.”

“Should we go after the others?” Clancy asked as decision was being argued who should have the gruesome task of severing Jimbo’s head from the putrefied swelling body. They drew straws but Ross believed as their leader he held the gruesome responsibility.

“Na, I should think that they will settle back to a peaceful existence now Jimbo’s gone. I don’t think their hearts were in it anyway.” The sergeant declared and moved in to perform the task while holding his breath not to inhale the swarm of blow flies hatching from the seething infestation.

Some days had passed since Sergeant Ross had returned with the head of Jimbo and his constables dispersed back to their homes. At the McBride farm they had not yet received news of the outcome but while William was working in the top paddock he heard low and mournful wailing coming from the native camp. Later that afternoon William related the wailing to Lachlan who with Stephen’s help was cleaning the buggy.

“Was it the women wailing?” Lachlan asked, as he threw a wet cloth at Stephen, hitting him centre on his naked back. Stephen retaliated and Lachlan received the dregs from a bucket, full in the face. They both laughed.

“You two are like children.” William complained, “And yes it was women.”

“Someone has died – I’ll go over later when the mourning is complete and see what’s up.”

“Don’t bother on my account, if they all dropped dead would be a good thing and Lachlan you spend too much time with the blacks, you’re starting to think like one, sometimes you even stink like one.”

“You mean like a real person and not a McBride.”

“I mean Lachlan you are a disappointment to father.” William was most annoyed and showed it.

Since Jock McBride had sacked Price as Foreman to save money and had instated William in his place, William had become impossible to converse with, on the occasion giving most ridiculous directions, not only to his workers but to his brothers, only to reverse them soon after.

“You are not my boss William.” Lachlan advised somewhat humorously and released a well aimed cleaning cloth at Stephen, catching him on the back of his head.

“You little bugger,” Stephen hissed.

“Good shot eh?” Lachlan retaliated.

“That is obvious brother; as if I were you boss, I would soon have you dismissed.” William cut across the boy’s amusement.

“Then who would you get to work for nothing eh.” Lachlan asserted in a most sarcastic tone, while Stephen could do little to prevent from grinning.

William looked across at Stephen, shook his head and left. At a number of paces he turned, “do you think I enjoy ordering you lot around?”

“Sometimes it appears that way.” Lachlan answered.

“I don’t and as far as I’m concerned you and Daniel can join Robert and find paying work elsewhere but I am warning you, father will disown the lot of you and make it difficult to find anyone in the district who will offer you work.”

“That’s fair enough, I’ll go and live at the native camp at least I’m appreciated there.” Lachlan snarled loudly as irritation prickled at his temples.

“Therefore Lachlan, do me a favour go ahead and do it! And Lachlan, as I said once before, father is still thinking of charging you rent for your horse paddock.”

“Maybe he should charge for the cottage as well.” Lachlan retaliated loudly.

“He won’t have to do so; it will be coming down in the New Year for next year’s planting.”

“Maybe it’s time I moved on?” Stephen suggested, feeling Williams’s displeasure growing even towards him.

“No I don’t, I told you things will work out and they will, I promise, besides if you go I will have to as well and I am not ready yet”

“Do you think William is becoming unsettled?” Stephen added.

“I must agree with him, it can’t be easy with father’s demanding but I guess like Robert he could leave and find work elsewhere, even take up a grant of land further north, which was his intention anyway. As for becoming unsettled, he always was a mean bugger.” Lachlan drew breath from his memories.

“That I remember well.” Stephen agreed.

“After we’ve finished here would you like to take a dip in the creek to cool off?”

“I’ll give it a miss but there is something I would like to do towards evening.”

“What would that be?”

“The farm is to be auctioned in a few days and I would like to take one last look around, possibly find something as a memento.”

“Would you like me to keep you company?”

“Yes I would like that.”

“We could go once we’ve finished cleaning the buggy.” Lachlan suggested while returning with a fresh bucket of water.

“For some reason I would rather go as the sun is setting. It may appear somewhat sentimental but it would be a good way to remember the happy days I’d spent there.” Stephen drew a deep sigh and emptied the dregs of his bucket upon the red baked soil as Lachlan washed away the last of the suds. “I guess we’re finished here.”

“Give me you bucket and I’ll return them to the shed.”

Lachlan returned from the shed, “William wants us to muck out the stables.”

“Isn’t it a little late in the day to start on the stables?” Stephen surmised.

“I agree, we’ll leave it until the morning, he’s gone home anyway.”

“What did you mean by you aren’t ready to leave as yet?” Stephen asked as they made their way back to the cottage.

“Just that, firstly I would like to wait until I’m twenty-one, so should you as then Father can’t have the law bringing me back.”

“I guess so,”

“Also there are a few loose ends I need to attend to and I can’t do so if I leave.”

“I don’t know if I can wait that long Lockie.” Stephen released a long sigh.

“You can besides it’s the coming auction that’s getting at you. Don’t worry it will soon be over and this time I don’t think it will be postponed.”

“No Lockie, it will never be over.”

Before their evening meal Stephen and Lachlan rode over to the Henderson farm and at Stephen’s request sat watching the mood of the land as the sun commenced to dip into the western trees.

“I’m afraid it’s a sorry state my friend.” Lachlan supposed as what remained of the blackened structure crept long shadows towards their advantage. As he spoke Stephen notice something glisten in the dying sunlight. Standing he walked towards the ruin that was his home.

“What is it?” Lachlan called as Stephen stooped to collect it from the ashes.

“It’s a small figurine I won at the travelling fair and gave to mother for her birthday and perfect, not a mark on it.” Stephen brought the figurine to Lachlan and offered it.

“Why it’s a little girl with a lamb.” Lachlan noted.

“Mother always liked it and it was kept on a side table in the living room, I can’t imagine how it got out here and not burnt.”

“Well then, you’ve found your keepsake.”

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.

51,973 views