Published: 3 Jun 2024

The warning Axel received from Warrin for spying on native women’s business, was enough to frighten him away from any future attempt to visit their camp, unless he had been properly invited. He believed his reason in doing so was to obtain a better understanding of their ways but in retrospect that reason was flimsy at best. Although the episode had been a harrowing experience he now believed he wasn’t a target and possibly he had found a measure of rapport with the black man Warrin.

Axel believed there was something strange about Warrin, as he appeared to be somewhat distant from his mob. It was said he had a woman and two little boys but left them for the tribe to bring to initiation. Most of the times Warrin would be found on the periphery of native society but never within it, although Axel had seen him hunting with a number of the men but never more than one or two at a time. It was obvious Warrin did hunt and fish for the clan but would only stay long enough for greeting and to share his hunt. Strange or not Axel was more than thankful he had only received warning as the taboo on watching secret business often ended badly.

Spring had set in with the humidity rising, although it was the dryer time of Sydney’s year and would remain dry until well after Christmas, when the South East Trades made their turn bringing heavy storms, even flooding but there hadn’t been any extensive flooding along Stringer’s Creek since Axel took up residence in Wilson’s hut, although in the previous wet season the Hawkesbury broke its bank and did extensive damage to the crops along its floodplain. Irony comes as irony does and the farmers had been well warned by the natives of their foolishness but took no heed towards their experience in dodging floods and fires along the coastal fringe since the dreamtime.

Many days had passed without any sight of the natives. No hunters, no diggers at the Murnong patch and no Warrin. Axel was planting a patch of seed potatoes when he spies Ding returning from the direction of the creek.

“Hoy!” he calls.

The dog approaches and sits close by.

“Where have you been?”

The dog rises and goes into the hut.

Axel laughs, “that’s right come home when you want a feed.”

Visitors were rare to Axel’s hut and he was surprised to see a rider approaching from the direction of the road, moments later there is a second rider. Both riders are troopers.

Axel silently waits for their approach.

The leading trooper comes right up to Axel allowing his mount to head-shove Axel in the chest.

Axel backs away but remains silent.

The second trooper walks his mount about while looking at anything that my interest him.

Neither trooper is known to Axel, “can I help you?” he politely asks.

“What’s your name kid?”

“Axel South.”

Ding comes from the hut and gives a soft growl, as the second trooper’s horse moves too close to the dog.

“Isn’t that’s a native dog.”

“It is.”

“How did you tame it?”

“He once belonged to Wilson but he is dead.”

“You keep it heeled okay.”

On hearing a strange voice Ding departs for the forest.

The second trooper now approaches Axel, both remain mounted.

“Who else is about?” the second trooper asks.

“No one, I live alone.”

The second trooper moves his mount closer to the hut’s open door and peer in without dismounting.

“You can take a look inside if you like,” Axel suggests.

Neither trooper seems interested in furthering their searching.

“Has anyone been by during the last day or so? The first trooper asks.

“No one; white that is,” Axel answers, “Are you searching for someone?”

“One of the captain’s bond-servants has absconded with money and the captain’s favourite horse.”

“He could be over the hills and far away by now. I think you should be looking beyond Katoomba.”

“Could be; I’ll give you a little advice kid, if he does come by keep your distance, he’s a nasty piece of work.”

“I know how to look after myself.”

“I’ve heard that one before,” the first trooper says and turn’s his mount. The two leave without furthering their warning or expanding information on the absconder.

It had been raining for most of the morning keeping Axel from working with his hides, by afternoon, although remaining overcast the rain was residual, falling from the foliage in large droplets. There is a native saying in the forest that rain continues long after the clouds are gone, as the trees have tears.

Axel remained at the hut door watching a small grey wallaby beyond his vegetable patch. Although in main macropodidae preferred open country, there are enough grassy spaces in his part of the forest for them to graze in numbers, as it was native custom to burn clearings for the purpose of hunting.

‘It would be a clean shot,’ he thinks.

‘I wouldn’t even need to leave the hut.’

With that thought Axel is cut short. Some distance behind the kangaroo there is movement and as he and the kangaroo observe the disturbance it is too late for Axel to retrieve his gun as the animal is quickly dropped from the full force of a native killing boomerang.

‘Who was that?’ Axel gulps.

He doesn’t recognise the young native.

‘They don’t usually hunt this close to the hut and not is this weather.’

The young man quickly shoulders the dead animal and as if by magic disappears back into the darkness of the forest, as Ding arrives from the opposite direction and the creek.

“You missed all the excitement fella’.”

The dog passes Axel at the door, flopping down with a groan in front of the fireplace. Of late Axel had taken to locking Ding in at night but the dog soon learned to bugger off as darkness approached, so he had been out prowling since the previous evening. Obviously prowling didn’t fill its belly and by Ding’s moaning he was expecting a meal.

During early evening when even the residual rain had stopped, Axel was inside the hut cleaning his gun. He had two guns one being the property of his Scottish friend Jock, the other, although somewhat antique, given to him by Rosie Craddock, as it had belonged to her departed husband who had been killed by the blacks back in ninety-eight and before she opened the Rose Hill store. Axel kept Rosie’s gun hidden in a safe dry place, as while away hunting he could not be sure others wouldn’t arrive looking for anything of value to abscond with.

While cleaning the gun Axel makes small-talk with Ding. He believed the animal understood his every word as at sentence end there would often be a sound that could be considered agreement, or disagreement depending on one’s point of view. If not Ding would at least raise a brow.

It was Ding who first noticed the usual quiet outside the hut had been broken. The hut door was closed to keep out the damp air and from its rest the dog advanced to the door while giving a low yodelling sound.

“What’s up fella’?”

Axel puts down the gun to joins Ding at the door. He doesn’t open, instead holds his ear close to the woodwork.

Unlike Ding, Axel cannot hear anything unusual. There is the gentle breeze through the black wattles along the creek and the far off mournful cry of some night bird but little else.

Axel cautiously opens the door, allowing a cold breeze to enter.

“You’re hearing things,” Axel says as the dog passes him and heads for the creek.

“He must have heard something,” Axel quietly suggests as Ding was known to be quite antisocial, therefore its behaviour suggested someone was about. True Ding was present when the troopers came by and did warn them off but it was the horses not the riders that interested him. Once the trooper suggested Axel bring Ding to heal, the sound of a strange voice sent the dog for cover.

‘It must be the blacks,’ Axel thinks.

‘Although Ding is accustomed to them being around, maybe I should investigate.’

The night is dark although with the clouds now gone there was a fair amount of moonlight. Axel returns inside and collects a heavy native nulla-nulla club he found in the scrub. Firstly he goes along the outer corn row, then to his vegetable patch towards the creek. The moon is giving the water a rippling glow while the babbling sound over rocks is above the gentle breeze. There is no other sound.

“Hoy!” he calls and silently listens for a response.

The sound of the breeze in the high branches remains, as does the creek’s babbling.

“Hoy yourself,” he chuckles.

Deciding Ding was shamming to have the door opened, Axel returns to the hut satisfied there wasn’t anyone about.

As Ding would be out for the night he closes the door.

Axel returns to cleaning his gun by lamplight. The lamp flickers, he checks the paraffin. ‘Enough for tonight but I’ll soon need to visit Rosie.’ Placing the gun aside he gives a long yawn and stretches his arms to their extents. The fires warmth and humidity within the hut has made him drowsy. The lamp flickers once more and it is extinguished to save his supply of paraffin, besides the fire is giving more than enough light for anything he needed to do.

‘Time for bed;’ Instead, as was often his custom, he spreads bedding before the fire and in no time he is asleep.

Axel wakes with a start, how long he had been asleep he couldn’t say but dawn’s first light is visible through the hut’s window. There is scratching at the door’s woodwork. At first he believes it would be Ding returning but when the scratching continued to become an almost knocking he realised his misguidance. Axel’s instinct is to reach for his gun, although not loaded with powder or shot, if it is someone wishing him harm at least sight of the gun may dissuade further action.

‘It can’t be blacks, they wouldn’t bother knocking.’

‘More likely they would fire the hut with me in it.’

His heart is pumping fast, he can feel its pulse in his ears but he must open the door.

“Who’s there?” He calls loudly through the closed door.

The scratching has stopped.

“I warn you I am armed.”

Silence prevails.

Axel partly opens the door and in the limiting light there is a bundle collapsed at the redgum step. Adjusting his sight to the predawn light he soon realises the bundle to be that of a young man, almost naked except for a torn pair of convict slops.

The bundle releases a weak moaning sound.

“Who are you?” Axel demands.

Immediately he recalls the troopers were looking for an escapee who had stolen from his master, also the trooper’s warning, if sighted not to approach, as he is dangerous.

Axel ignores the warning.

“Are you injured?” he asks.

The young man attempts to rise but lacks energy, only able to partly lift an arm before passing out.

Axel drags the young stranger inside, laying him on the kangaroo skins before rekindling the fire.

Once the stranger had been made comfortable Axel commences to understand who he has discovered, “who are you?’ he again questions while taking note of the young lad’s person.

The stranger is conscious but incoherent. His body has many scratches and dark bruising, possibly from a fall, although some are not recent. Also there are welts from a recent whipping, where blood mixed freely with dirt, while the bruising to his back and side were in the shape of a man’s fists.

Axel is saddened by the lad’s condition, “who did this to you?”

It is obvious the stranger heard Axel’s question but doesn’t answer.

‘He appears quite young, possibly my age,’ Axel thinks.

‘Dark brown hair – I wonder who cut it so badly.’

Axel titters, ‘he has a permanent smile even through what he has obviously gone through.’

Axel can feel emotion building in his gut as a measure of attraction builds. He quickly kills it, remembering Edward Buckley’s warning, being to keep private that what is private. Even keep it from thought otherwise someone may read it in your eyes. It was Jock who said the eyes are the windows to a man’s soul, followed by his assumption that Axel had the easiest eyes to read.

You are a wealth of wisdom, Axel phrased his Caledonian tutor.

In the most tis’ not mine lad but that of the Bard of Avon.

Who is the Baird?

He lived long ago in England and was a writer of much wit and wisdom.

To Axel long ago was as unconceivable as England was and he refrained from questioning further.

Axel again issues his question to the stranger, “What is your name?” but the stranger is too weak to speak and falls into a deep sleep.

Fetching a large bowl Axel fills it with hot water from the kettle and with a cloth commences to wash the dirt from the now unconscious lad’s body. Firstly he removes his convict slops, being the usual durable outfit given to convicts but the pants are so badly rented they wouldn’t survive washing.

While rolling the lad from his back it becomes obvious he had been whipped. The lad releases a soft groan as the turning pulls on the blooded torn skin.

“Sorry,” Axel apologises before gently washing the dirt from the wounds.

“What have they done to you?” he sorrowfully asks.

As Axel continues with the washing the lad opens his eyes and gives a fearful gasp.

“Settle lad, you are in safe hands. I won’t hurt you.”

The obvious escapee swallows at his dry throat.

“Are you thirsty?”

The lad gives a weak nod and Axel fetches a mug of water. After the lad had swallowing a little, Axel continues with the bathing. “Are you hungry?” Axel asks, while skirting the lad’s private parts with the cloth to avoid embarrassment. The lad shakes away his empty gut, as he is too exhausted to eat.

“Then possibly something later, what is your name?”

“Dan, it is Daniel.”

“Then Daniel you sleep now and I’ll fix you a meal when you have recovered from your ordeal.” The lad appears contented and as he closes his eyes Axel covers him with the blanket from his bed.

During the late morning the runaway gained consciousness on a number of occasions, taking a little food but without conversation. Towards midday he again fell into a deep sleep.

Axel went about his routine until late in the afternoon, while occasionally looking in on Daniel. Each time he found him sleeping although he had often changed his position.

With his nightly meal over and a morsel offered to his exhausted eloper, Axel prepared for his own bed but found sleep difficult to come by, he had a second concern that being Ding. If the dog returned during the night and found his usual place by the fire occupied, he may leave permanently. A more pressing concern was the lad, possibly Daniel, if that was his proper name, could be the escaped servant the troopers were searching for. He remembers the trooper’s warning, that the escapee was dangerous but such a slight lad would not have the strength against a seasoned huntsman such as Axel had become.

There was a third concerning for Axel, what would he do about Daniel? If he is the runaway, should he contact the troopers and if he did would Daniel receive a further thrashing on his return or worse. On a number of occasions during that night Axel looked in on Daniel. He stoked the fire and sat for a time trying to find something in the lad’s peaceful face, instead finding long forgotten emotions, taking him back to earlier days during his own mistreatment and how he wished he could find at least one person in this expanse of wilderness with a kind heart. He had found Jock who taught him the beauty of the forest and how solitude is not your enemy. He then decides he would not give the lad up to the troopers while well understanding the consequences for not doing so.

For quite some time Axel sat watching over the lad. Dan, or Daniel or whatever his preference or whoever he may be would have a strong physique if he received enough nourishment. His hair badly cropped and dark brown, almost black and he is old enough to have light stubble on his chin. If the lad could be summed up in one word it would be what Joshua hand spoken of Axel and that would be handsome.

Eventually Axel let the lad sleep and retired to his bed.

It was Ding that brought Axel into the new day. The hut door had been left partly open during the night, then as Ding returned for his breakfast he discovered something strange and large in his usual position. Ding sniffed at the bundle causing Daniel to stir, giving the dog a fright so he commenced growling. In an instant Axel is from his bed but the dog wasn’t hanging about and through the door before Axel could calm him, going only as far as the edge of the clearing. As Axel calls after the dog he hears stirring from his visitor.

“You are awake at last?”

“I feel as if a loaded wagon has run over my ribs.”

“You must be hungry; I’ll get you some breakfast as soon as I’ve fed Ding.”

“Who is Ding?”

“My dog, or more in truth, I’m his occasional servant.”

“That must have been him sniffing about my ear a little while back, he gave me a start.”

“I guess so as you are in his bed.”

Daniel lifts the bed covers, “I’m naked,” he says.

“You are; I’ll dig out something for you to wear. It won’t be swank but will at least cover your bits.”

“I have a vague memory of you washing me?”

“Someone had to, you were covered in dirt and dried blood.”

“Oh!”

“Is there a problem?”

“No.”

“As I said, I’ll get you something to wear and then breakfast.”

“I don’t know your name,” the lad says.

“Axel South.”

“Are you foreign?”

“No it is a name I took to escape my past.”

“Are you a convict or an emancipist?”

“Neither, I was born at sea to a convict mother, who died giving me life but that isn’t finding you something to eat or wear.”

Axel remembers the clothes given by Rosie Craddock belonging to her deceased husband. As they were a little large he kept them to tear for gun cleaning cloths. Finding the best he passes a shirt and pants to Daniel, “try these for size.”

The lad dresses, “they are a little large.”

“It is better large than going about naked or someone may mistake you for a native.”

“Are there many natives about?”

“There are.”

The lad gives a worried shudder.

“Don’t concern, in the most if you leave them alone, they will you. Now to get you some breakfast.”

Daniel finishes dressing and gives an ironic laugh, “I’ve lost so much weight another could fit in these dacks with me.”

“Dacks you say.”

“Trousers, back home we call them dacks.”

“Where are you from?”

“London; I was caught thieving a bolt of cloth for my mother. They were gunna’ hang me.”

“You must have been very young at the time of your sentencing.”

“Thirteen I think but I no longer remember my exact birth date. I was sent out here six years ago.”

“Then you are now nineteen or possibly twenty?”

“There about I should think. How old are you Axel?”

“About the same as you.”

“You appear a little older.”

“Having a hard life doesn’t help,”

After their light meal Axel places the breakfast dishes into a bucket to take to the creek for washing, “There were troopers by a matter of days back looking for a runaway. Would that be you Daniel?”

The lad bows his head away from the suggestion.

“Is it?” Axel repeats his question.

“You aren’t gunna’ turn me in?”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

The lad relaxes into relief.

“The trooper said you stole money and a horse.”

“Not money, I did take the horse, it threw me before I even reached the property gate.”

“You do realise the troopers will be back this way, as they enjoy nothing more than harassing me.”

“I don’t want to give you trouble. I’ll move on as soon as I can.”

“Where would you go?”

“I have a chum who has gone somewhere along the Murrumbidgee River. I’ll search him out.”

“Do you know how to find the Murrumbidgee River?”

“No.”

“I do and if you don’t understand how to survive once over the mountains, either the blacks will get you, or you will be dead from thirst within a week.”

“You appear to manage alright.”

“I had a lot of luck and a good teacher and benefactor.”

“Then I’ll need to do some thinking. If I go back the captain’s overseer is a bastard and will have much pleasure giving me twenty, or string me up on false charges.”

“I notice you have already taken the lash. What about the captain, won’t he protect you.”

“He is as mean and allows the overseer to do whatever he wishes, as long as the profit is up.”

“You can stay here as long as you want.”

“What if the troopers return?”

“We’ll worry about that when or if it happens,” As Axel spoke Ding comes to the door.

“Hello fella’, I’ve got your breakfast ready,” Axel places the bowl on the floor, “you will have to come in and get it.”

The dog hesitates and surprise above surprise, the dog enters and advances to his bowl.

“Well what do you know,” Axel laughs.

“What do I know?”

“Ding obviously likes you.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Ding hates visitors, he usually buggers off and I don’t see him for days whenever anyone turns up.”

There is caution in Daniels tone, “do many turn up?”

“A few blacks, we are a little away from civilization here.”

“What about neighbours?”

“There isn’t any, the lands not worth the trouble.”

“Do the blacks bother you?”

“We have a sort of understanding and keep out of each other’s way.”

“The Captain had them shot if they came across his land.”

Axel gives a deep disagreeing sigh, “If our lot would only try, there is enough space for all to live peacefully.” Even with the words spoken Axel knew his wishes were flawed, eventually even he would become a burden to the natives’ traditions, as the abyss between the two worlds was far too immense to bridge. Even his light touch to the land had effect and the few animals he shot, the few native plants he harvested took from the natives and the space he attempted to find between black and white would close then Axel the hunter would become Axel the invader of tradition and territory.

There were many questions to be asked by both and Axel believed the lad’s account over that of the troopers while feeling empathy as Daniel’s life in part shadowed his own. He finds Daniel to be a quiet lad, somewhat nervous then who wouldn’t be with the troopers continuously looking for him but Daniel is blessed with good humour and an inquisitive mind and Axel is most pleased to have the company of a similar soul.

By the second day Daniel had gained enough strength to walk from the hut to the garden and the tree line beyond. His leg still gave him pain from falling from the Captain’s horse and his breathing difficult from the bruising to his ribs although with rest even his ribs were on the mend.

As Daniel surveyed the farm, Ding would fall in behind bringing comment from Axel that whatever Daniel decided for his future, it appeared he had lost his dog although it was only Axel could pet him and each time Daniel reached out to the dog, Ding would back away.

“He is a strange dog,” Daniel suggested as he attempt to pat the dog.

“Ding isn’t a dog.”

“He looks like a dog.”

“Ding is a dingo; that is why I call him Ding. He is a native dog; they don’t bark and don’t usually go about in packs like wolves.”

Daniel had been with Axel for a week and almost back to normal, now able to walk long distances without his ribs hurting, even finding the strength to go on short hunting trips with Axel, while learning how to fire a gun. What was surprising, for a lad who had never previously touched a gun he had a good line of sight and inquisitive mind, always inquiring why Axel did this or that but in most cases Axel would simply say cos’ as there were many habits he picked up from his time with Jock, others from the natives that were more traditional that necessary.

Sun up was but an hour past with Daniel was returning from his morning ablutions at the creek. He was about to cross the clearing towards the hut when Axel loudly calls to him, “Daniel get yourself hidden. Troopers are on the Stringers Creek path.”

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

15,533 views