Published: 21 May 2018

Christmas morning and Toby was awakened to a bed covered with presents. The previous night Daniel had hidden the packages under their bed and awakened in time to place his surprise.

“Merry Christmas, Daniel shouted and shook Toby from his dreaming. As he did so Lachlan and Stephen burst through the door with more. Toby could not believe his eyes, as best he had to offer was his culinary skills and a well prepared Christmas lunch, which he declared he would need to start at that very instant.

“Not before you open your presents.” Daniel demanded.

“Are they all for me!?”

“Yes.”

“I feel guilty my presents to you will seem so small.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Stephen assured and placed his gifts for Toby with the others on the bed.

“What’s in them all?”

“You will have to open them and see.” Daniel said.

The first wrapped in creased brown paper, as were they all, was a checked work shirt from Daniel.

Then a box from Stephen, inside a brand new hat, with a platted leather band fixed with a pink feather from a Galah.

Next a pair of work trousers; “That will show off your cute bum.” Daniel declared.

A belt.

Two more shirts and two pairs of long-johns being of the style with a flap at the backside. “That could be handy.” Daniel released through what could only be considered as a dirty grin, in answer Toby suggest his friend should behave and the others to bolster agreed Daniel wouldn’t know how to do so.

Lachlan made comment as the unwrapping continued, “we all thought you needed to replace your duffel bag, can’t have you going around appearing like some misplaced mariner,” he produced a new bag and offered it.

“Are you hinting I should go back to sea?” Toby determined, speaking with his head buried inside the bag, his voice echoing back, “I like the smell of new leather,” he commented and placed the bag aside with the other gifts.

“You do that and you will need to sign me on the same boat.” Daniel commented brashly.

“Ship Daniel, I guess as the cook’s apprentice.”

“No Toby as the ship’s scallywag,” Lachlan corrected.

Further opening found socks and a wallet with a new one pound note folded to one side and a bright shiny silver shilling. Reasoning explained, it being bad luck to gift a wallet without a coin.

“I don’t know what to say.” Toby declared sounding like a child in a lolly shop.

“You sound happy and that is enough, now get your arse out of bed and get to the kitchen.” Daniel slapped Toby on the buttocks, as he reached for his trousers.

Christmas day was abnormally hot and dry without breeze for relief. There had been a build up to the east all week with dark clouds hugging the horizon, disappearing in the mornings only to return towards late afternoon but never approaching close to land but because of the excitement of Christmas any thought of a storm had been laid aside along with the Gulngai warning, even so during a lull in festivity it did often come to mind.

Occasionally Toby scanned the horizon and shook his head, when asked for his thoughts he answered somewhat negatively about the weather, stating if he were at sea, the signs would be ominous but being on land he could not be so certain, believing there was a storm approaching and not just a rain depression but something more menacing.

Christmas dinner was ready towards early afternoon and being too hot in the house they set their table under a spreading rock breaker fig tree, where there was at least shade and a hint of occasional breeze.

Toby had cooked chicken and ham as well as vegetables from their garden, while Lachlan made one of his famous cakes and a failed attempt at some fancy French tarts. Still they tasted good even if they appeared as if dropped from a great height to meet the kitchen floor. Lachlan blamed the stove, while the others humoured at his failure.

After their meal they had brandy, beer and some expensive liquor they could not pronounce nor acquire a taste for. Then there was sleep of which none rose from until after dark.

For tea they had leftovers and more beer, then games. Stephen said at home on Christmas day his parents would play games and when he was older they would play cards.

“What kind of games did you play as a kid?” Toby asked as he had been brought up without such entertainment, although all on board ship played cards.

“Mostly a type of cricket.”

“I remember that,” Lachlan recalled, “we called it French cricket and the game was to hit your opponent’s shins with the ball while he attempted to prevent you doing so with a bat.”

“That was it.” Stephen agreed.

“We could have a game of English cricket.” Daniel suggested and staggering to his feet found an old wooden box to become the wicket and a lump of wood as a bat.

“What can we use as a ball?” Toby asked realising the closest thing they had was an orange, being close to the preferred size and almost as hard as a ball.

“You can’t use that?” Lachlan implied.

“Why not it’s no good for eating.”

Soon it was agreed and after downing yet another beer they put Toby in for the first innings while Lachlan and Stephen closed in to catch him out and Daniel bowled the ball.

First swing of the bat Toby missed and knocked over his wicket.

“Out! The brothers shouted.

“I wasn’t ready.” Toby protested.

“You’re out.”

“No give him another go, Daniel relayed and collected the orange. The impact had changed its shape and it felt a little squashier than before.

“Ready now?”

“Get on with it or he’s out.” Stephen shouted.

“I’m ready.” The concentration on Toby’s face was intense and as Daniel made his run in Toby flexed his muscles.

The Ball was airborne.

Toby made his swing.

Wack,

The orange exploded and all about splattered with juice.

They all laughed and had another beer then gave up the game as the grog became their masters.

Boxing Day arrived finding four boys with sore heads and little humour. Toby admitted over and over again he had enjoyed his Christmas and gave everyone gratitude for his presents, while in the afternoon Lachlan visited the native camp. He had a present for Yarran, one which the local white population may not wish the black lad to possess but Lachlan knew he could trust his friend.

“Kari what brings you up here?” Yarran asked as Lachlan led his horse into the camp.

“I have something for you.” Lachlan admitted.

“Not more white feller food eh? I think we have had too much eh.” Yarran rubbed his food extended stomach and shook his head.

“No this is something you have always wanted.” Lachlan reached to the back of his saddle and produced a twenty-two rifle and handed it to his friend.

“For me Kari?”

“Yes for you and don’t bloody shoot anyone ok?” Lachlan demanded while producing a box of cartridges.

“You sure this is for me?”

“Of course, now you will be the best hunter in the camp.”

“Yarran doesn’t have anything for Kari.” The black boy admitted.

“You have always given me your friendship and that is more than enough.”

Yarran looked down the barrel and sighted a branch in a distant tree then pretending to squeeze the trigger, he laughed and cried bang. He had fired a rifle many times before. As boys the two would often go hunting, using William’s rifle and for someone not skilled in shooting was considered to be a reasonable marksman. The black boy smiled and shook Lachlan’s hand, then became serious.

“I do have something for you and it’s a warning.” He released Lachlan’s hand.

“What would that be?”

“Guwina is coming.”

“What is Guwina?” Lachlan asked but Yarran didn’t appear to have the English for what he wished to say. Instead he took a deep breath, pursed his lips and blew hard.

“Wind?” Lachlan suggested.

“No not wind; big wind, bad wind.”

“Cyclone?” Lachlan asked.

“Dunno what you white fellers call it we say Guwina and it’s bad.”

“When will it come?” Lachlan asked.

“Soon.”

“How do you know that?” Lachlan asked.

“Old fella’s they say so, they learned it from wind spirit.”

“I agree the weather does appear somewhat inclement but we’ve had weather like this before, even storms that were damaging.” Lachlan challenged.

“Kari this is Guwina, not just a summer’s storm.” Yarran warned.

Except for the storm that took the Capricorn Lachlan had never experienced a true Cyclone, although he often heard of such phenomena striking one part of the coast or another. Only a little over a year and a half earlier the largest cyclone ever heard of in the southern hemisphere named Mahina, struck the north of Queensland at a place called Bathurst Island.

When Mahina struck the tidal surge was almost fifty feet and in parts washed inland up to four miles, bringing with it countless dolphins, sharks and fish. It was even recorded that bodies of dolphins were found on rock ledges and wedged in trees ten feet or so above sea level and up to a mile inland.

During the storm it was also recorded that over a hundred natives had perished along with the Thursday Island Pearling fleet, up to three hundred Asian pearlers and eleven Europeans. Even with all this information Lachlan still could not perceive what destructive properties a cyclone could inflict and even with Yarran’s warning he remained unperturbed, although he did relay his message to others.

As Lachlan was leaving the camp he reminded Yarran to be careful where he used his rifle, not around cattle or houses, or they both may find themselves in bother. “Also my friend I must again apologise for the reverend taking away the children.”

“There was nothing you could do Kari.”

“Still,”

“No Kari it wasn’t your doing but please don’t say anything to the women or they may go mad at ya.”

“Sure and I promise I will go up to Yarrabah and visit them as often as I can, if you wish I could take you as well.”

“We see Kari but leave it for now ok?”

That week leading towards the new year and the new century while in town Lachlan happened to speak with Miles Daily, the owner of the Livery shop and stable, who took the warning most seriously. During his long life in the bush and around the natives, he had many encounters with their prophecies and found the black man to be a good barometer for nature.

“What do you think then Mr. Daily?” Lachlan asked as he admired the workmanship on a selection of harnessing he thought may be perfect to replace the old leathers he had scrounged from the farm before the fire.

“I think you couldn’t go wrong with that leather, it is the finest in the north.”

“No I meant about the Gulngai Cyclone.”

“Umm those black fellers they know the land maybe there is something in it”

Lachlan brought the harness to the counter, “I’ll have these.”

“Young McBride I will tell you one thing and that would be, you keep an eye on the weather and that build up and if all goes quiet, get the fuck out of town – head for the bloody forest, follow your mates up at the camp they will set you right.”

Daily wrote Lachlan’s purchase in his account ledger and closed it with a clap. “This town is mighty open to the sea but up where you are at the Henderson farm is somewhat protected and the forest behind as well, still I wouldn’t take my chances.”

Before leaving town Lachlan became concerned with Daily’s advice and decided to visit his friend Michael Duncan. If there were to be a storm then Michael’s house being at the water front, would be the first to receive its fury, therefore he was going to suggest the man came to the farm if there was a storm.

“Thankyou for the warning but I am leaving for Mackay on tomorrow’s coach. As for the house, if a storm wants it then it can have it.” Duncan offered as he searched his living room, producing a small wooden box which he brought to Lachlan. “I tell you what young fellow while I’m away would you keep this safe for me? It also hold’s your papers on the Henderson land and the horse paddocks, as I don’t want your old man snooping around when I have gone.” Passing the box to Lachlan he continued, “I had another run in with Jock last week and he’s bought this shack from old Robinson’s widow and wants me out, so I may not be back.” Duncan paused and smiled, “I guess it’s punishment for me helping you beat him to the Henderson farm and the horse paddock but young fellow it was worth everything to have one up on the old bugger,” a pause, “sorry I didn’t mean to be disrespecting towards you.”

“None taking, is there anything else I can do for you, except offer my apology for placing you in such strife?”

“Na, as I said if there’s a storm, it can have the rest and as for helping you, that was my pleasure. I will tell you something else, I declare the way your father is heading, he will own the entire town with no one but himself living in it; he is slowly but surly destroying this community.”

“Where will you be living?” Lachlan asked.

“I have a sister she’ll put me right until I can find my feet. I’ll send you my address as soon as I’m settled.”

Lachlan took away Michael Duncan’s box and a deep appreciation for the man’s friendship. He had been in the district as long as Lachlan’s father and once even McBride appreciated the man but it was Duncan’s honesty that created the rift, as McBride could not abide anyone counter to his opinion and more than often that opinion would be counter to social and statutory edict.

Back at the farm Lachlan gave warning to his friends, who all decided if the storm eventuated, to remove and burry anything of value wrapped in a waterproof tarpaulin, while also tying down anything that could become airborne.

“What about the stock?” Toby asked while looking at the hill they hoped, as suggested by the Gulngai, would protect them from the worse of any storm.

“I’ll take the horses and milkers up to the Gulngai, Yarran will know where it is safe, as for the chooks and pigs and I guess they will have to take chance, we could anchor a tarpaulin over the chook house.” Lachlan suggested once again displaying his more serious side.

“Would that work?” Toby asked quizzically.

“I doubt it but it is a thought.”

Daniel shook his head and grimaced, “Don’t you think just possibly you are placing too much concern on a black man’s prediction?”

Lachlan took a deep breath, “maybe you are right but for only a little extra work, I think the precaution is worth it. Besides you don’t have to be savvy to realise there will be some sort of storm.”

Within a day it became obvious there would be a storm even if its magnitude was uncertain, becoming the talk of the town but remaining only conversation, as at that early state none appeared to take it serious, nor did anyone make evacuation plans. It was business as usual with one eye to the north east.

Lachlan moved the stock to the native camp on the Saturday which was the twenty-ninth of December in the year of Nineteen Hundred, with only two days left of that year and the end of the century, three days before Federation commenced. It was now on the cusp of the turning and once reached nothing would be the same. No longer would he declare himself to be a Queenslander but an Australian and he already felt the pride of such a declaration building in his chest. “I am an Australian.” He said loudly while moving the stock towards the native camp, while attempting to get a handle on the title.

“What was that?” Stephen asked while walking some paces behind his friend.

“I said we are Australians.”

“What does that feel like?” Stephen asked.

“It feels great.”

“I don’t feel anything different, it’s only a word made up by some southern bloke, trying to write himself into the history books.” Stephen apathetically admitted.

“I guess that is because we remain Queenslanders until Tuesday but I still like the idea.”

I guess; if you say so but being an Australian won’t help if this bloody storm comes.”

“True and if it does break, I guess it will place a damper on celebrations.”

“Yea the old year will really go out with a bang.”

“Out with a blow.” Lachlan corrected.

Once at the camp Lachlan attempted to install his newly found national pride in Yarran, who shook his head, saying no matter what you call yourself, we will still be only black buggers.

“But it could lead to something better.” Lachlan protested with optimism. Yarran turned to Stephen. “Hey Stepen, whata you think of all this?”

“I guess it’s a good idea for the white fellow Yarran.”

Yarran again turned to Lachlan, “See even Stepen thinks it won’t help us black buggers. Kari there’s too many Marsden’s in this country, too many Mister McBride’s and Sergeant Ross’ and not enough Kari’s and Stephen’s. I am pleased for your happiness but can’t join with it. Besides didn’t you tell me that us black buggers are the problem of Queensland and not this ‘Malbin’ place? The rest of your lot won’t care.”

“Melbourne is only the capital.” Lachlan smiled at his friends calling of the name.

“Malbin – capital – it’s all same for black fella, words Kari, only white man’s words.”

With his friends remarks the optimism deflated into a hard lump of pessimism as at least inwardly Lachlan agreed, realising he would be fighting a loosing battle but by Jove he would fight it.

“What about this Guwina of yours is it still coming?” Lachlan asked while brushing aside his friend’s negative comments.

“Bardo said it would and he is a tracker of not only animals but the sky and the sea. I tell you Kari it will come.”

“Do you think the town safe and what about the Henderson farm?”

“You white fellers worry too much about your things and try to place walls against wind, you have to learn to bend with the wind and accept it.” Yarran lead them away from the camp and into a small cleared area a good half mile into the forest, while the milking cows followed without droving.

The area had already been roughly fenced by using saplings interwoven between the trees but couldn’t prevent an animal’s charge or bolt in fear.

“They should be safe here and as I said you built the new house in the right place but you shouldn’t own things, it only gets ya into trouble.” Yarran watched as Lachlan hobbled the horses but changed his mind, thinking if they were to be spooked by the wind and bolt they may break their legs. They also left their mounts behind, deciding to walk back to the farm.

As he walked a thought was born, “do you remember when we were children and you would ride my horse?” Lachlan asked. Yarran did so and had been much pleased with the experience until McBride put a stop to it.

“Once this is all over, how would you like to have your own horse?” Lachlan asked.

“That would be nice but would cause a problem.” Yarran envisaged.

“What would that be Yarran?”

“One horse, many cousins the poor animal would be worn out in a matter of days.”

“You lot and you’re sharing.”

“It is our way Kari.”

“Have you used the rifle?” Lachlan asked as they reached the camp.

“Na not yet, I let Namur use it but I will later.”

It was another example of native ownership, by giving Yarran the rifle Lachlan had given it to the tribe.

“Run out of shells?” Lachlan asked.

“Na only target practice bloody old Namur couldn’t hit a kangaroo if he placed the barrel against its head.”

They both laughed then Yarran suddenly stopped, realising he was being disrespectful, as making malice towards one’s elders was another trait he had learned from his white friends, so called gamin was fine but not disrespect and never delivered out of company.

By the Sunday morning it was most obvious there would be a cyclone and those who could head for high ground did so, others roped down whatever was possible, before finding what was considered to be the safest place to shelter, while realising there was no such place anywhere close to the town.

Eventually news of the pending storm had been telegraphed from further north, where some distance beyond Cooktown a telegraph station had been set up after the loss of the pearling fleet to watch for the signs of approaching Cyclones. The stations first and only message was at the arrival of the storm then there was silence, suggesting that wind had taken down the line.

Across the town bonfires had been erected in readiness for the federation festivities and fire crackers purchased but with the imminent menace no one thought much of celebration. Instead there was a steady line of carts and buggies heading west towards higher ground and as far away from the coast as possible, while shops boarded their windows.

Late morning found a continuous stream of folk passing the Henderson gate, some believed that the abandoned home paddock of the McBride estate would be a safe haven and by mid afternoon it held more stock and carts than any of the boys had ever seen in one place.

Sunday afternoon found McBride’s Point a ghost town, windows boarded, carts and buggies roped to anything that was considered solid. Some of the braver folk still remained, mainly out of disbelief or in fear looters, while others wandered about the streets in excited expectation as one would when waiting for a coach or a distant relative unseen for many years.

With the arrival of Monday, New Year’s Eve the weather changed. The dry heat that had dominated the landscape for the previous week was replaced by humidity measuring at almost one hundred percent. The air hung around like a wet blanket and the simple act of walking a few steps brought forth so much perspiration that one’s clothing became saturated within minutes. There was something else, the air appeared to be electrified, and could be felt within the hair on one’s head sometime appearing to rise like heckles on the back of a dog and ears pop as if at altitude.

Towards late afternoon the black clouds that skirted the horizon for days came to shore turning the day to night. Taking the chooks to an early roost, while stray dogs disappeared from the streets and the cacophony of bird life became hushed. Even the multitude of fruit bats that roosted daily in the mangroves had headed inland.

An eerie quiet hung over the town with the only sound the occasional scuffle of news print being caught up in the many Willy-Willy winds moving along the town’s main street, or the lifting and falling back of loose sheets of roofing iron.

There had been a ship in port during the day, a mail packet to collect goods and passengers for Cairns and Cooktown but instead of doing so, went back out to sea and steamed southwards towards Townsville, hoping to keep ahead of the storm, while anyone with skiffs and small boats took them from the water to higher ground and roped them to whatever appeared to be solid.

One fishing boat remained, it had been beached for recalking and too large to move except with the next king tide and that would not occur for some time. It captain, Reese Allen visited his boat in the morning deciding there wasn’t anything he could do but hope, he cleared anything of value and small enough to carry before leaving town with the rest.

During the late afternoon some goats managed to escape from their enclosure and wandered the street, innocently and without concern went about eating plants from gardens while pushing their way through fencing to get at whatever appeared appetising. Once having their fill they also headed west obviously without urgency while nibbling as they went and on reaching the McBride property, the billy within the group spied a number of nannies and joined for some sexual diversity.

“The quiet is scary eh?” Toby commented as the four prepared for their evening meal. It was as if his words brought forth the tempest, for as he spoke the silence of the land turned and wind and rain arrived as the sound of a thousand galloping hooves across the metal roof, fortunately for the Henderson house, the hill, as had been suggested by the Gulngai, became an unmoveable barrier dividing the storm’s force to either side and on towards the west but even the Gulngai hill could not prevent it all.

At first the four congregated on the back verandah facing their hill but its prominence did not restrict the rain, dust and leaves, arriving almost horizontally, driven with stinging force, sending all in search of shelter and with the windows boarded and doors closed they moved to the front to watch rivulets rise and run down the slope of the land towards the road, where it quickly gathered to become a single stream of angry water along the road’s surface, turning the side gullies into turbulent streams while carrying with it years of discarded rubbish in a surge of red soil froth.

Minute by minute the wind increased, becoming so loud they could not hear each other speak, even at a shout. Away from their hill they could see trees bending and breaking, the weak went first sometimes with a crack like a rifle shot, other bent so far their roots gave and toppled once proud canopies to become prostrate to the ground, while all around was a storm of stripped leaves, branches and roofing iron. The iron was the worse as when it hit or scraped along the ground it gave off a screech like some injured animal while travelling at a speed if one were to be hit, would slice through a human body, skin, flesh and bone, like a knife through butter.

From the Henderson front verandah they could see the portion of forest where the Gulngai resided and oddly it didn’t appear to be greatly effected by the storm but soon the rain was so heavy they could not see even as far as the property line.

“It appears Bardo’s prediction was correct.” Stephen shouted above the howling in his ears.

“What was that?”

Stephen moved closer to Lachlan’s ear, “I said Bardo’s prediction was right.”

“Unfortunately yes,” Lachlan turned to Toby, “what do you think; you must have experienced cyclones before?”

“Not a cyclone, the worse storm I had experienced was with the sinking of the Capricorn and that was bad enough, I never thought I would become land locked and encounter such a storm.”

“Is anyone hungry?” Daniel asked.

“I’m too nervous to eat,” Lachlan admitted as Daniel struck a match to light a lamp, immediately the air pressure in the room extinguished the match.”

“I think we shouldn’t have the lamp, what if it is blown over, besides we should save the kerosene in case of an emergency.” Stephen proposed.

“There’s plenty in the kitchen but if you all don’t mind siting around in the dark, it’s alright by me.” Daniel placed the lamp to one side as the last glimpse of daylight, if it could be called that, faded from the room. “I was going to suggest playing cards; at least it would take our minds off the storm,” Daniel’s suggestion was left unanswered.

With the darkness the storm seemed to intensify and all around they heard the creaking of trees and the scraping of objects being carried before the wind then after what had seemed like an eternity all was silent, an eerie stillness giving false hope within darkness that hid everything from concerned eyes.

“Is it over?” Daniel asked sounding somewhat relieved as he lit the lamp.

It was Toby who dulled their hope. “No such luck I’m afraid, we are in what is known as the eye of the storm, in a while the wind will change direction and come back the other way but there is thick forest in that direction so we shouldn’t have too much to worry about.” He surmised from what old sailors who had such experiences had shared.

The eye of the storm hung over the land for almost an hour, Lachlan and Daniel thought they would examine the damage more closely and with the aptly named hurricane lamp they made their way through the water and debris towards property gate. Unfortunately with the inky black and their feeble light, could not perceive the true extent of the storm and after travelling a short distance the weather commenced its changed once more and the galloping hooves that was the storm returned, dousing the light and sending them quickly back to the house and shelter.

“What’s the damage?” Stephen asked as they returned.

“I couldn’t say; it’s too dark to see anything but there is a lot of branches and trees down and by the look of it we have lost the rock breaker fig, I think it has fallen onto the chook house.”

“There go our scrambled eggs for breakfast;” Daniel made light.

During the remainder of night the four settled in the one room, huddled in the darkness. To calm their mood they told stories, ghost stories, tales of the sea and ship wrecks and dream time from their native friends. Sometimes the howling was so loud they either had to shout to be heard or not speak at all, yet they felt safe, the hill kept them so and the house was well constructed. It appeared Yarran’s intimation where to build was correct and silently the four gave him gratitude.

“I’ll huff and I’ll puff,” Daniel laughed.

“Puff at what?”

“You know the nursery story of the three little piglets?”

“Don’t know it.” Toby admitted.

“Well it goes, “I’ll huff and puff and blow your house down.” Daniel continued.

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s just a kid’s fable.” Lachlan explained as a fresh gush of wind blew a tree branch through a side window. The sound of smashing glass came clearly over the pitch of the wind, shattering their smug sense of security.

“That sounded like breaking glass!” Stephen gasped in fear there would be more damage at any moment, imagining the roof dislodging, leaving them without shelter.

“Which room?” Daniel hushed, straining his hearing.

“Somewhere towards the front I guess.” Lachlan assumed.

“Should we investigate?”

“We’re safer here; besides nothing can be done anyway.”

With the morning’s sun the wind and rain had gone, the storm had travelled south by south-east and was once again out to sea, playing havoc with the reef and coral atolls that stretched like a string of jade beads along the coast.

Toby was the first to leave the shelter of their room and at once the full extent of the storm could be seen. Immediately it was realised taking the horses and milkers away from the farm was the correct decision, as the stock yards were down and a large tree had fallen across the stable crushing its metal roof almost to the ground. As for the chooks, the tree had missed their shelter but either they blew away or were carried off with the flooding. The fowl yard had gone and the ground beneath eroded by water cascading from their protective hill.

The pigsty had a broken fence and the animals departed, most probably into the forest to breed with the feral razorbacks Cook released while travelling along the northern coast more than a century earlier. Also gone was Lachlan’s celebrative bonfire with most of its contents washed against their boundary fence, piled high and saturated.

The house itself was sound except for one broken window supporting a large tree branch, ironically still holding the remanence of some bid’s nest, its occupant long gone for the sanctuary of the forest. It was the spare bedroom and the floor saturated with rain water, also some spare bedding had been soaked and Stephen’s carpentry tools as were a selection of picture books in wooden crates, Lachlan had gathered for the native kids.

With the broken glass was a damaged window frame and a portion of the clinker-board cladding but could be easily repaired, they also discovered the front veranda’s balustrade and the steps had succumb to another large tree branch separating it from the house, while a sheet of roofing iron had sliced through a small tree Toby had planted close to the steps, ending its travelling across his vegetable patch.

“No fresh vegies for a while.” Toby surmised.

“That is what I call a birth.” Laughlin laughed and commenced to rebuild his bonfire.

“I don’t get ya?” Daniel enquired.

“Today is born a brand new nation, out of a storm and into the twentieth century and we are the first nation into that new century.” Lachlan exhilarated.

“That is if you don’t count New Zealand.” Toby disagreed.

“You can’t count New Zealand.” Lachlan argued.

“And if you don’t mention Fiji.” Toby continued as being a south Pacific mariner, he knew his ports of call, if not their history.

“Again you can’t count Fiji it’s still British, besides neither joined in any union to become one.”

“If it comes to that, so are we still under the British crown.”

“Yea but not as six colonies but one nation, Australia – and that is the difference.

Toby decided his argument was defeated, besides it had become somewhat cerebral and pointless, while Stephen and Daniel were much too involved discovering what damage had been inflicted than concern about political debate, or Lachlan’s celebrative slant.

With his small bonfire rebuilt Lachlan added a full canister of paraffin to the soggy pile and with a whoosh the flames climbed into the morning sky. He shouted; “happy Australia Day!” but shouted alone.

“I can’t find any of the chooks.” Stephen reported on returning from their pen, “and the pigs have gone.”

“No scrambled eggs for brekkie. Toby perceived.

“No bacon either.” Daniel added realising they were to butcher one of their prime porkers that very week.

“Come on you all it’s a brand new Century and we are alive what more could you want?” Lachlan’s enthusiasm remained unheeded as he stood watching his bonfire go from whoosh to a soggy failure. Stephen came to his side and hugged his shoulders. “I guess it’s the thought that counts,” he sympathised.

Late morning Lachlan visited to the native camp to find it as peaceful as it had been the previous day and its inhabitants lazily going about their business as if nothing untoward had occurred. There had been some damage to trees and a small stream of water made its way through the camp but even with his visit it became a trickle than nothing.

“Big wind eh Kari?” Yarran asked without emphasis on the outcome.

“Big wind alright Yarran but you lot seem alright.”

“Almost blew away old Daku’s white beard.” Yarran laughed somewhat impudently.

“You were correct where to place the house.” Lachlan gracefully complemented, “where is everyone?” he asked observing many were away from the camp.

Yarran laughed, “not all us black fellas trust our spirit men, some gone into the scrub.”

After collecting his horse Lachlan decided to leave the rest of the stock where it was for the moment, at least it was safe away from the storm’s rubble and leading a second mount he returned to the farm.

“I’m going into town; does anyone wish to join me?”

“I’ll come,” Daniel agreed; “yet there is a part of me that doesn’t wish to see the outcome.”

“I thought it would be your fancy, you usually like other’s misfortune.”

“You judge unfairly Lockie, small humorous things maybe but such a tragedy as this I would never wish on anyone.” Daniel appeared most hurt by his brother’s suggestion, “besides,” he attached solemnly.

“Besides what Daniel?” Lachlan continued his teasing.

“Besides if you think about it, I’ve never wished harm to anyone,” he paused, “well maybe father but not this kind of outcome.”

“I guess you can be forgiven for that, still I do hope he is unharmed.”

“Oddly Lockie, so do I.”

The Henderson front gate with its proud signage had succumbed to the storm but could be seen in the ditch on the south leading of the road tangled within the wires of the McBride property fence. Close by was the water tank to William’s cottage, knocked from its foundations to be blown up hill to rest, badly crushed in the entanglement of wires and filled with a mixture of debris. Its top covering missing to be found some distance away caught between the fork of a downed tree and the wire of the fence and the body of a dead goat.

Passing their old farm they noticed that William’s cottage had also been blown of its foundations, its roof had gone and one of the walls staved, yet Lachlan’s cottage appeared not to have been damaged, the mango trees had taken most of the blast, loosing their almost ripened fruit and leaves, while the pile of rubble that was once the big house was cleared away, with the debris from the fire spread across the back field. Also many of the carts left in the McBride paddock for safety had been overturned or blown to the far side of the paddock and tangled and broken within the fence line of trees.

As for the animals corralled in the paddock believing it be safe, they weren’t as lucky, many had succumb to the storm, their listless bodies upturned and commencing to swell in the summer heat, while others had bolted towards the west fence, where the unlucky ones died attempting to pass through, giving others chance by doing so. Now there wasn’t even a goat remaining in the void that was once fields of sugar cane.

Along the road into town there were tragedies and surprises. Sometimes a house that appeared solid had been blown apart, while others quite flimsy stood without a sign of damage but all about was the legacy of the storm. There were trees across the road and fences down and signs of flooding everywhere but by late morning, most of the water had found its way to the creeks or depressions in paddocks and fields, while only hours previously the very road they travelled had become a river, now almost dry and once again baking under the summer’s sun.

It was the cane fields that had the greatest damage, all flattened to the ground, some in the direction of the first wind, others after the passing of the storm’s eye and the opposing direction but not one stork of cane stood brave for the harvest. Also gone was a new banana plantation in its second season of production, every palm prostrate to the ground, stripped of fruit and foliage, yet at ground level the following year’s palms were already breaking through the red soil into the sunlight giving hope that life would return to the town.

The outskirts of town was more akin to a war zone, with hardly a dwelling undamaged and once within the main street the boys noticed only the brick and stone buildings had survived, although many had lost their roofs, with their windows blown out. Almost every tree had damage, either stripped of foliage or bent beyond usefulness or uprooted and thrown across streets, yards and roofs.

The brothers were drawn towards their father’s town house and once there found it had also gone, blown clean from its flooring, to lay in a heap of rubble at its rear. Dismounting they made their way to where the front door once was.

“You know I’ve never been inside.” Daniel commented with a gentle laugh of irony as he paced the naked floor boards from front to back. He noted the almost perfect linoleum covering with its bold design and smiled. It was the same lino that covered the kitchen floor of their farm house.

“Nor have I.” As Lachlan spoke he heard a noise, “did you hear that? Was it a cat?” He asked of his brother.

They hushed and listened. It was the sound of a woman crying.

Peered under the floor and to their surprise they found Mary Briggs. She was extremely dirty and wet and frightened but very much alive while crouched within a space hardly large enough to hold her small and frail body.

“Are you hurt?” Lachlan asked.

“No, I don’t think so.” She weakly answered.

“Come on out, it’s safe now,” he assured. Mary Briggs slowly made her way out and once upright flung her arms around Daniel’s neck, sobbing with relief and delayed shock.

“Where is father?” Lachlan asked.

“I don’t know, we were almost the last to leave town and he refused to go, he dragged me down to the wharf and I broke free and ran back here.” Mary slowed her sobbing and continued. “The last I saw of him, was standing at the end of the wharf shouting obscenities at the storm.”

“Come on we will go down to the wharf.” Lachlan offered and turned to Mary.

“I’ll wait here.” She answered while gathering her dirty and torn dress about.

“Will you be alright?” Daniel asked.

“I think so.”

“I notice others returning, maybe you could see who’s about.” Daniel suggested as he pointed to a small group gathered at the head of the street.

The distance to the wharf wasn’t far but was made more difficult by even more debris. It appeared that the homes and buildings along the water front took the full force of the storm, leaving nothing standing from the northern end and the mangroves to the south.

“Look at that!” Daniel gasped, pointing to what appeared to be a log at the leading to the waterfront.

“What is it?”

“It looks like – not it can’t be.” Daniel continued.

“Is it alive?”

“I bloody well hope not.” Daniel slowly approached what they thought to be a log, “It’s a flaming crocodile,” giving the animal a prod to its tale with his foot, he continued, “nope dead.”

“It could be the one taking dogs and stock up the Tully River.” Lachlan suggested.

“Big bugger eh, must be fifteen feet.” Daniel gave a shudder and moved away.

“More like eighteen I reckon.” Lachlan answered while mentally taking notice of its size.

As they passed where Michael Duncan’s house once stood, all they discovered was a vacant block, only the chimney remained and toppled onto its side with its back broken. Even the mangroves towards the point had suffered and were flattened and Reese Allen’s fishing boat that had been beached for calking was no longer on the beach. Searching about they discovered it broken and staved through the front wall of the Harbour Master’s office, a good hundred yards from the water front.

At the wharf they found nothing but the pylons that once were its support. There wasn’t a plank or rail to be seen only a blank canvas as it had been on the day the town was founded.

The brothers searched around the wharf area for a sign of their father but there wasn’t any, he had been obliterated from the face of the earth – gone.

“What should we do about father?” Daniel solemnly asked.

“What can we do? I guess eventually we should have some service for him. I don’t think he would have survived such a storm, especially as Mary described being at the front of it.” Lachlan cast his eyes around but there was too much destruction. It would be left to time for their father’s body to be discovered, if at all.

“Why would the fool do such a thing?”

“I suppose he thought he was so important that even the weather should obey him.” Lachlan deduced somewhat soberly.

The brothers turned from the devastation and made their way back to the main street as town’s folk commenced to gather, all walking in silence and emotionless. Looking about for what was their house, their shop, their garden, with varied surprises and disappointments but not one citizen could say they had not been touched by the storm.

Mary Briggs spied her sister in a small milling crowd. She called her name and after thanking the brothers, hurried to her side.

“Who inherits the universe now?” Daniel asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Who wants to when the universe owns you.” Lachlan answered somewhat philosophically, remembering Yarran’s slant on ownership. He searched about finding the town’s celebratory bonfire had also been blown apart. Gathering as much as possible he rebuilt it as best he could. From deep within his pocket he withdrew a tin of waxed matches and with much difficulty managed to light the pile. As the flames rose above the tangled mess he shouted.

“Happy Australia Day!” but no one answered. He only received a few dumbfounded glances. He repeated his words, as tears rolled down his face.

“Happy Australia Day and don’t forget the Aborigines!”

Elsewhere across the land it was a happy day and the party was joyful. In the east and as the sun rose high into the new century sky, bonfires were lit and as that southern sun crossed the wide land, more were ignited until at last Perth had sunrise and with much ceremony as Australians they lit their fires. The Commonwealth of Australia had been born; a brand new country into a brand new Century and no one cared for the tragedy that was Mc Bride’s Point.

Out of the disaster was born a new town, with a new name and new homes sprung up. The brothers had met at Henderson’s farm. William came down from Yungaburra while Cameron came up from Townsville and for once in their lives they were in agreement. None wanted their inheritance, only enough of McBride’s money to make their lives somewhat easier, while their father’s land was given to the town. All the property that Jock McBride owned in town was given to the tenants while his farms were sold, then the money used for the good of the community.

With the insistence of the son’s of Jock McBride, as they no longer wished to have the name associated with the town, it was renamed Federation Bay. As for Lachlan, Daniel, Stephen and Toby, they did keep part of McBride’s land in the form of two hundred acres that joined the Henderson farm which also included the native camp but only enough to make the Henderson farm more profitable, while the land on which the camp was situated was held in trust for the Gulngai people.

The body of Jock McBride was never found and some time after the storm a memorial service was held. Many attended and gave praise to his kindness and standing within the community, or were their accolades disguised thanksgiving the man was no longer around to plague their existence. In time a plaque was placed at the gate of the cemetery in his honour then Jock McBride was duly forgotten.

As for Lachlan and Stephen and Daniel and Toby, they kept their secrets until their dying days and lived long and loving lives and always together as four, and Lachlan never forgot his promise to the Gulngai.

THE END

Next: The Pride of Lachlan McBride

If you have read through to the end of this story, you might let the author know, by dropping an email to him: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net.

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