Published: 20 May 2024

It had been a week since Joshua departed and well realized as Axel had commenced marking of the days on a large Squiggly Gum tree growing close to where he drew his water from the creek. On the eighth day he realised the futility of the exercise, as no matter how many days he marked away he didn’t have an end day, therefore the exercise could be considered useless and disrespectful towards the magnificent tree, as well as damaging to his sanity.

It was the nights that were the most difficult for the lad. For the first two nights after Joshua’s departure he refused to go to bed, instead curling like a cat on the floor in front of the fire. When Axel finally used his bed he couldn’t escape the painter’s scent, therefore folding a kangaroo skin into a bundle he slept in its cuddle.

On the day after Axel stopped marking the Squiggly Gum there is a distraction in the form of Wilson’s dog. It arrives during the planting of seed potatoes while being careful not to interfere with the native yams, when Axel sensed a presence. Lifting his head from his work he discovered the dog sitting close by.

“Hello boy,” he softly greets but the dog remains cautious.

Axel stretches out his hand with a finger at point.

The dog wriggles slightly forward on its belly and finger touches nose, it then backs away and licks its nose as if tasting Axel’s person.

“I should think that’s enough for now eh’ fellow?”

Axel rises from his work and goes into the hut. Moments later he returns with a slab of kangaroo meat. He leaves it on a log close by the dog. Once Axel has moved away the dog takes the meat to the edge of the clearing.

When it had finished eating the dog disappears back into the forest.

‘Give it time,’ Axel thinks.

‘We need each other.’

‘What was its name?’

Axel’s thoughts meander back to the few conversations he had in conversation with Wilson. He remembers a time Wilson called out to the dog but the name he used isn’t coming to mind.

‘Was it Ding?’ he suggests.

‘It sounded like Ding; being Ding as in Dingo’

‘I could call him Ralph; Ralph sounds like a dog’s name.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Yes it will be Ding.’

Axel’s eyes are on where the dog entered into the forest but Ding has gone for the day, “ah,” he huffs being a sound he often announced when agreeing with a decision or understanding that what had been reached, ‘Ding will return when he is hungry.’

After finishing the seed potato planting, Axel gives a short search for the dog by following its paw prints to the creek then further into the forest. After a short distance he gives up believing it best to allow Ding to find his own level of comfort. With the fading light it was time to prepare the night’s meal. It would be a simple meal, potatoes, kangaroo meat and some native spinach the natives called warrigal. Axel had learned from his time with the Reverend the importance of a varied diet, even if the Reverend was inclined towards whisky, so he carefully watched what the natives collected and where from. Whenever he foraged for native greens, he was careful not to run the supply out and upset the natives.

With his meal at an end, Axel again goes to see if Ding has returned but it is now dark. Instead he leaves a fair meal for the dog on the step before returning inside to prepare for bed. It is a cold night with a chilled breeze the natives call Orroroo coming from beyond the tall mountains and the interior. He stokes the fire as Orroroo has clever fingers reaching through every gap in the hut’s wall and likes to whistle a merry tune in the rafters. Eventually he allows the fire to die and finds warmth in his bed.

It is a quiet night, one designed for dreaming. Axel’s dreaming is of Joshua. His painter is on board his ship and there is a raging storm. Joshua calls out but Axel cannot hear his words over the storm. It is a strange dream as the storm lacks any sound that would associate with wind, then without reason Axel is in an unknown land looking for something. He calls a name but it isn’t Joshua’s name he calls, he is calling for Ding.

At first light Axel goes to see if the dog had returned, finding the meat gone with paw prints close by, while it appears Ding may have slept on the step. He now realised it would only be a matter of time before there is trust between him and the dog.

There is an early chill in the morning air with mist clinging to the dales and dips. It would soon clear. Axel realises he is running low on supplies and would soon need to visit Rosie Craddock’s. His stock of powder and shot was holding as he had managed more once the military lifted its restrictions but he would need salt for tanning and sweetener for his coffee – and coffee as Joshua had turned his taste towards the beverage. With Joshua’s visit he had become accustomed to little luxuries. He has a pantry cupboard now as Joshua had put his carpentry skills to well appreciated use, also a fine bedstead and a table that didn’t rock on its legs; and two chairs in case a visitor chance by.

Axel soon distracts as the season is changing and he would need to work on his kitchen garden

‘Onions,’ Axel brings to thought as he ponders over what to grow in the fallow patch besides the potato patch, ‘more carrots as well, but onions. What did the Reverend say of onions?

‘Now I remember, he said the climate about Sydney is too damp for growing onions.’

‘Even so I could try a planting and they are an autumn crop.’

‘I will attempt to grow some in that higher ground behind the hut, the soil is dryer there.’

He would need seed and knew Rosie Craddock was usually well stocked so it would be a visit to civilization.

‘What would Joshua like?’

‘He liked a glass of wine with his meal.’

‘I could grow grapes.’

‘Huh, as if I’d know how to make wine.’

‘I miss him dearly.’

“Ah,” he sounds but it not his sound of realisation but to break his pining as he had work to do. He had planted early season cabbage and they were in need of a drink.

While watering his cabbage seedlings Axel has a visit from Warrin. The black man had brought one of his mob with him who stood well back using the darkness of the trees to conceal his presence, while allowing Warrin’s approach.

“Good morning Warrin,” Axel greets.

“Oshwa,” Warrin says as he looks about for Joshua’s presence.

“Joshua has gone away.”

Warrin points to his friend who remains secluded towards the back of the clearing, then he points to his own face, he speaks and by his words it is obvious he wishes Joshua to sketch his friend, “Oshwa,” he repeats.

“As I said Oshwa go away. Oshwa go Sydney,” Axel doesn’t mention New Zealand as that would further confuse the black man’s limited use of the English language, or knowledge of land beyond their own, as it was believed they were the cerntre of all that was created by the dreamtime serpent. That being one more reason why they believed the white man came from their ancestors and not from another land beyond the sea.

“Oshwa go?”

“Yes Oshwa go Sydney.”

Axel points towards the direction of Sydney.

“Oshwa go away?”

“Correct in one Warrin,” Axel says.

Without further Warrin rejoins his friend and they depart.

‘Well that should put an end to that little caper,’

‘As well it does as it could get out of hand, eventually one of their elders would have a problem and do something about it.’

Axel gives a concerning shudder.

‘And doing something could be me.’

Axel attends to his watering although a measure of concern remains, possible he is becoming a little too familiar with the natives.

Rosie Craddock’s store appeared well stocked as Axel approached along the Parramatta road. The store’s verandah is stacked high with new product, from wicker baskets to barrels of pickled things and farming implements. Straw brooms, of which were plentiful and parcelled together in bunches of six, also many things to dig with, to grub out or hammer nails. Not neglecting to mention axes and saws and wheelbarrows.

Axel had planned his arrival towards midday knowing Rosie would have one of her tasty hotpots ready on the stove and she usually invited his to dine, with suggestion he chop a day’s worth of firewood for his meal.

Rosie spies Axel coming along the road; she waves and gives a shrilled coo-ee.

Axel returns the wave as he approaches.

“I believe you’ve had a visitor,” Rosie suggests as Axel climbs onto the store’s verandah, dumping down his selection of hides with a heavy thud.

“Yes a painter of fine portraits but he has now departed for New Zealand.”

“I have heard his work was all the talk with the ladies at Government House, even Major Johnson’s wife sat for him.”

“He also does nature studies and that is why he visited, as he heard Stringers Creek was a good location with the callistemon in bloom. He also did some sketches of the natives.”

“How did that go?”

“For a time they were lining up for their portrait. One in particular called Warrin was more that impressed.”

“You’ve made friends with them?”

“Not as such, I give them greeting and keep my distance.”

“I will say one thing about it all lad, you appear more prosperous and happier than usual.”

“Your meaning Rosie?”

“Only you appear happier, nothing more.”

“With such good weather, who could not feel anything else?”

“Even so you look as if you could do with a feeding.”

“I can smell your stew cooking.”

“And it’s almost ready, you know where to find the woodpile, but you should eat first and build your strength.”

Rosie sets a place at her table then serves a large bowl of stew with freshly baked bread and real butter.

“Where did you get the butter Rosie?”

“Taffy Hannon on the Windsor road has a few cows now, his wife Jane sends her bond-servant over with a half pound now and then in exchange for some tomatoes.”

“We are becoming civilized. I haven’t had real butter since my time with the Reverend and even then it was but a smearing and often rancid from its long sea voyage. The Reverend would say restraint was the pathway to god. Mind you Rosie; he wasn’t backward with his own spread.”

“The Reverend called by yesterday asking for donations towards a new church he is building in Parramatta.”

“Did you oblige?”

“If one shilling is obliging than I did,” Rosie gives a wry smile as she continues, “he gaped at the shilling then back at me but didn’t give gratitude. I don’t think he was very impressed with such a little offering.”

“On my way over I noticed more troopers than usual on the road. Is it the Irish again?” Axel asks while helping himself to another slice of bread.

“No, for now the Irish are quiet; there has been more trouble with the blacks. They burned a number of crops along the Hawkesbury and killed a fellow over near Wiseman’s Ferry. I can’t imagine how it will all end.”

“I think I know,” Axel says.

Rosie’s words are cautious in tone, “and how will that be?”

“It will end with the demise of all the blacks from the Georges River to the Hawkesbury, after that we will start on those across the mountains. They have already done so around Bathurst. Now I hear we are taking up land to the south along the Lachlan and the Murrumbidgee.”

“Possibly so, although I do concern with you living on your own out there along Stringers Creek, as you would be an easy target.”

“I have never felt threatened, cautious possibly but not threatened.”

“That surprises me, you should share your secrete with the squatters along the Hawkesbury.”

“That’s the difference; I touch the land and don’t squat on it. I only take what I need and if I notice the natives using a piece of land, I keep away from it, also I never hunt on their favourite hunting grounds.”

“I knew Wilson,” Rosie says, “he was a right rude bugger at the best of times but what makes you different with the blacks than he was. Besides you are using the hut he built.”

“Wilson put his kitchen garden smack in the middle of the black’s prize Murnong patch and shot at them when he found the women digging, I moved the vegetable patch allowing them to take what they need from what I grow.”

“Sound’s good in words, although I should think your attitude wouldn’t be possible with many, as either we make a going of it from the land, or go back to England and I don’t see that happening at any time soon.”

“True,” Axel says and finishes the last of his meal.

“Would you like some more?”

“No thank you I mustn’t be greedy.”

“Okay lad, it is time to start swinging the axe, while I look over the hides you’ve brought and see their worth.”

Axel cut more than usual and once he had piled the load high under cover he returned to see if Rosie had valued his latest collection of pelts and hides.

“You have been busy,” Rosie comments.

“I had help the painter is as handy with a gun as he is with a brush and a fine carpenter as well.”

“Therefore he will be missed now he has gone.”

‘More than you can ever imagine Rosie,’ Axel thinks but gives his answer doubtfully, “I do like my own company.”

Rosie repeats her concern, “I don’t know how you can live out there on your own. What if a snake bites you?”

“I suppose you die but that can happen anywhere, even here. You could reach for a lump of wood from your woodpile and whacko it’s got you.”

Rosie gives a slight shudder, “true I have seen them in the yard that is why I don’t go anywhere without a big stick and never in the tall grass down at the corner past the long drop. I even saw one in the toilet it was down the drop hole looking for rats or something; and red back spiders, I never sit without running burning paper around the rim of the seat.” Rosie takes a deep breath to divert from snake bites and red backs on the toilet seat, before making an offer for Axel’s hides.

“That is more than fair,” Axel agrees.

“You have delivered more than usual, besides the brushtail possum pelts are well sort after in Sydney and I have notice you have a couple of Koala pelts, they usually bring a fair price.”

“This time I could do with a few luxuries for a change.”

“What do you consider luxuries Axel?”

“To be truthful Rosie almost everything but what I mostly need is one of the barrows you have on the verandah, I’m growing tired of carrying everything on my back.”

“I don’t think you have enough to stretch to a barrow and buy luxuries as well.”

“You can’t blame a fellow for dreaming.”

“You could do with a horse.”

“Although it was my job to harness for the Reverend I have never ridden; except for sitting on Joshua’s borrowed mare for a few minutes during his visit. Besides from what I get through hunting wouldn’t buy me a horse in a month of Sundays and you could add an extra ten years to that count.

Axel goes to the verandah. Possibly he could buy a barrow and forgo his luxuries and most of his supplies.” He sighs; “oh well,” he quietly says and returns to select his needs from a mental list he prepared before leaving home.

“I tell you what I can do for you. There is a barrow down the back that was left here by the previous owner. It is old although the condition is fair, you can have it for another day’s supply of chopping.”

It was agreed with Axel back at the woodheap. He had been chopping for some time when he spies a detachment of soldiers coming along the road from the direction of Sydney. It is well known Rosie brewed a fair beer and being a warm day the soldiers are expecting a free quenching of their thirst.

As Rosie delivers their beer the corporal approaches Axel, “you have a strong arm lad,” he says as Axel puts aside the axe.

“Have to if you want to survive.”

“Don’t I know you?” the corporal’s tone is curious while leading towards mocking.

“I don’t think so Corp’;”

“You’re that wild kid that lives in the forest, Tommy No-One.”

Axel is angered, “Tommy No-One id dead,” he abruptly replies.

The corporal’s isn’t finished with Axel; he is hot from the marching and in no mood for some kid’s insolence.

“You better watch your mouth kid.”

“Or what?”

Rosie is watching the developing incident and calls, “Thomas Bolt come and get your grog and let the kid do his work.”

The trooper takes a half step then rases his hand as if to strike, he grows loudly but Axel doesn’t flinch away from the trooper’s threat.

“One day kid, that mouth of yours will bring you undone and that’s a promise.”

Axel smiles, ‘yes one day,’ he thinks, ‘but not this day.’

Once the soldiers are on their away, Axel gathers his supplies, piling everything into Rosie’s gifted barrow.

“Thank you Rosie for the barrow.”

“I hope it holds together.”

“It will do just dandy.”

“You be careful on your return lad.”

“Why so?”

“The corporal said the natives are attacking anyone who is travelling alone, also burning buildings and crops.”

“Thank you Rosie I’ll take my chances, from my understanding the problem is mainly to the north of here and around the Hawkesbury.”

“You may think those down your way are friendly but from my experience any of the buggers can turn in an incident, I have a dead husband to prove that.” Rosie attaches to her warning.

Axel pauses remembering an earlier idea, “Onion seeds,” he says.

“Why do you mention onions?”

“I thought I’d grow some.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t any, possibly you will find some in Parramatta.”

“No matter – best I get moving or I won’t make it home before dark.”

Axel commences to push his barrow; the wheel gives a loud squeaking sound and has a slight bucking motion but is well made and easy to push.

“I’ll be off then and will see you in a month or so.”

“Right you are lad and again be careful.”

Axel gives a cheeky reply, “careful is my middle name Rosie, Axel Careful South.”

“As long as it isn’t the late Axel South,” Rosie calls after him.

While returning Axel found the Parramatta Road military post unguarded, he continues on his way following Stringers Creek and as he crosses over to continue along its far side, he discovers the remains of two native men their bodies lying partly in the water. Both had been shot in the back and were missing their ears. One had his scrotum removed. Axel had heard of such foul habits performed by men without respect or morals, who would tan the scrotum and boast of its use as a tobacco pouch. The habit wasn’t considered to be the action of the military, as even with their brutal attitude towards the blacks they would never stoop as low, more than likely it was the action of white vigilantes. The act saddened and disgusted the lad, further supporting his belief man’s inhumanity to his fellow had transported from the old country to the innocents of the new, as no black man would do such a degrading thing to another human.

Axel thought of burying the poor wretches but the ground was hard and stony, instead he removed them from the water and covered their body’s as best as he could with branches. After doing so he left his barrow hidden and returned to the military post to report the incident. The post remained unguarded so finding writing material he left a short note giving his name, Axel South of course, and where the bodies could be found. He didn’t mention the mutilation to one of the corpses.

Back with his barrow Axel continued along the creek towards home although this was one homecoming without certainty. There was a good chance his hut would be burned, his garden ruined. If so what would he do, his thoughts return to his painter friend, possibly he should have taken Joshua’s offer to travel with him to New Zealand. In truth Axel’s fear of the sea was stronger by far than his fear of the blacks.

Axel is within half a mile of the hut and all about the track there are signs of activity, with horses’ hooves and footprints leading in both directions and by their design they are those of people in haste. His heart is beating faster as he makes the last turn towards home and is expecting the worse.

Gary’s stories are about life for gay men in Australia’s past and present. Your emails to him are the only payment he receives. Email Gary to let him know you are reading: Conder 333 at Hotmail dot Com

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