Published: 5 Aug 2024

The boys were in for a surprise on reaching Rosie Craddock, as the horse powered punt was berthed at the small Rose Hill dock and as the craft is at docking level, the horses had been unloaded and discovered enjoying a feed in Rosie’s yard.

“Aren’t they the horses from the boat?” Daniel asks as they spy Rosie giving them a handful of hay.

“They are.”

“Where is the punt’s owner?” Axel asks.

“He is in the kitchen having lunch, don’t concern there is plenty left for you.” Rosie gives a friendly smile and a gentle nod towards the woodpile.”

“Yes I know, we have to sing for our supper,”

“I haven’t heard either of you singing Axel,” Rosie says, “although I must admit you do have a firm grip on the axe.”

With a fair pile of chopped firewood, the boys put away the axe and advance to the kitchen for their dinner. On entry they find the master finishing his meal.

“Didn’t I see the two of you on the Parramatta dock?” the master asks.

“Yes sir that you did.”

The master drops a coin to the table top in payment for his meal, “you know you serve the finest mutton hotpot this side of Sydney,” he gives complement to Rosie as she clears his plat away. “What is your name son?” the master directs to Axel.

“Axel South.”

“Once I get the floating pile of firewood back to Sydney, I could do with a strong young dockhand such as you.”

“What on your horse powered punt?”

“No I have another boat.”

“I have an inversion towards water,”

“You drink it don’t you?”

“Yes and daily bathe in the local creek but I don’t wish to sail upon it.”

“As you say: The name is Clancy Todd and if you ever have a change of mind seek me out. Most in Sydney can point you in my direction.”

“What about the horses, sir?” Axel asks

“What of them?

“Will you be putting them back to work on the punt?”

“I will have further use for the gelding but not on any boat, I’m over that idea. As for the mare, at her age she will go to the knackery.”

“Would you be interested in selling her to me?”

“What would you want with such a bag of useless bones?”

“She appears strong enough to pull a small cart.”

The master again thanks Rosie for a delicious meal before continuing with Axel. “How much have you in your pocket?” he asks.

“After buying supplies, I have one holey dollar and two dumps.”

“Yes the Governor made a right mess of the forty thousand Spanish Reales he imported as currency. To be truthful lad I would prefer rum.”

“I have no rum Mr. Todd.”

Sometime earlier the Spanish coins were imported to prevent the use of rum as currency and so they wouldn’t leave the colony in sailor’s pockets the governor had the centre punched out, valuing the Holey dollar at five shillings and the dump at fifteen pence.

“It is all I have but when my corn harvest is in, I will have more.”

“How many acres do you have planted?”

“No acres but I do get a number of barrow loads and that is why I need a cart.”

Clancy Todd laughs loudly, “a proper farming mogul in the making, and that’s a certainty.”

“We do our best but if you were to give us a little time I’m sure we could raise your asking.”

“That’s not how you do business lad. Firstly you ask the price and then you haggle.”

“I know nothing of business Mr. Todd,” Axel admits.

Todd turns to Daniel, “you haven’t had much to say young fellow. What is your opinion?”

“I know even less about business,” Daniel admits.

“I’ll tell you what lads, I’m feeling generous and it will save me the long journey of transporting her to Sydney and the Knackery. You can keep your five shillings and thirty pence and you can have her.” Todd straightens his coat and replaces his hat, “right-o Rosie, I’ll be on my way, I will arrange for the collection of the gelding in a few days.”

“Well well,” Rosie says as Todd returns to the jetty, his intention being to leave his boat at its moorings and catch the next service back to Sydney.

“He must really hate that mare.” Rosie suggests.

“Why so Rosie?”

“Clancy Todd isn’t one to give anything away, even an animal ready for the knackery.” She admits as they go to the yard to view Axel’s prize.

“What are you going to call her?” Rosie asks.

“Dunno’ what do you think Daniel?”

“She has blotched colouring, why not call her Patch?”

“Then Patch it is.”

“Where are you going to get a cart?” Rosie asks.

“I have noticed Jackson over at Taylor’s Bend has an old cart he doesn’t appear to use, possibly I could make an offer on it.

“Like the offer you gave to Clancy Todd?”

“Yes, something like that.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

“Why do you say so Rosie?”

“He returned to England last week.”

“What of his farm?”

“His last words were; the flaming blacks can have it as they have already burned the crop.”

“Therefore who would own the cart?”

“You I suppose or anyone who could make use of it. As for the land it is almost useless and his house was nothing but poles and canvas, so eventually it will either return to dust, or burn in the next season’s bushfire but that leaves a greater problem for you young man.

“What would that be Rosie?”

“You by grace have yourselves a horse that appears designed for pulling a cart but what about the expertise in harnessing?”

“Problem solved,” Axel elates with a broad smile.

“Go on.”

“I have already had a look about Jackson’s shed and noticed the harness is in the cart, mind you it is old and will need a little work.”

“And the expertise you need to harness her to the cart?”

“The time when I was houseboy for the Reverend it was my duty to ready his buggy for town and church and I became most efficient, if I don’t mind saying so.”

“You are now bragging lad,” Rosie jests.

“I do have a favour to ask,”

“What would that be Axel?”

“Could we leave Patch here until,” Axel pauses and winks at his friend, “Daniel widens a portion of Stringers Creek’s track to allow a cart to pass?”

“That could be arranged but Daniel you haven’t had much contribution to this little adventure as yet. What do you think of it all?”

“He’s the boss,” Daniel expresses.

“And don’t you forget it.”

Once their meal and wood chopping was over the boys strolled to Taylor’s Bend to view the cart. It is small with two wheels attached to a short tray but large enough to carry anything the boys produced, while the bench seat gave enough room to sit them both comfortably. The cart was Sydney made from local timber and solid. Obviously the craftsman knew his chops but the tackle in the cart is a little dubious, although Axel assures with a little grease and stitch here and there it would suffice.

Axel is broadly grinning.

“You seem pleased with yourself.”

“And why not,” Axel says, “for once in my life something is going right.

Even with Axel’s exuberance Daniel appears disapproving.

“Don’t you like it?”

“It’s nothing but a short flat tray on two wheels and shallow sides.”

“You have to admit two solid wheels and a sturdy tray between.”

“It is small.”

“You wouldn’t want it any bigger, or Patch may not be strong enough to pull it.”

“I agree, only it isn’t what I expected.”

“I won’t bother with it if you disapprove.”

“It will more than suffice for the little we need to carry,” Daniel approaches the cart and gives it a hefty shaking. He kicks the wheel, “I admit it’s ugly but solid. It will suit our purpose, besides it is small enough to fit Stringers Track without too much clearing.”

After viewing the cart and passing the deep pool in the river at Taylor’s Bend. Daniel points to the far side of the river where a number of native boys are benefiting from a refreshing dip, “they appear to be enjoying themselves,” he says.

“It’s hot enough. Would you like to join them?” Axel suggests as he often used the pool to refresh on his way home.

Daniel declines, “we don’t really have the time. Isn’t that young Edward, Ted Gleeson’s kid swimming with the native boys?”

“It is and if his old man finds out he’ll get a right whacking.”

There are four native boys playing in the water and Edward appeared much at home with his black playmates and as naked as they were as he dog-paddled about playing at ducking and splashing. Close by on the bank is a group of native woman who appeared to be collecting berries. One of the women is watching over the children while laughing at their antics. Then her expression changes as she points towards the swimming children and shouts, “gurang!”

Immediately the other women stop what they were doing and are on the bank shouting and pointing at the water; “gurang! gurang!”

The black children are quickly from the water but young Edward isn’t as good at swimming as they and appears oblivious to the meaning of the shout.

“What is gurang?” Daniel casually asks Axel.

“It means fish but can have other meanings.”

The native boys are now out of the water with the women pointing and shouting to Edward, who is simply laughing as if it is a game.

“Look behind the kid!” Axel shouts, “Edward, get out of there!”

The lad turn’s towards Axel’s shout in time to see a fin skimming across the top of the water but before he can take a single stroke he disappears below the water.

“It’s a bloody bull shark.” Axel shouts but knows it is too late to do anything for the boy. For a moment the surface of the water is calm then it is bubbling with blood as part of the youngster floats away. Moments later the large bull shark returns for a second go at the remainder.

The boys stood gazing at the river for some time while realising there was nothing they could have done for the lad, as it was over in a heartbeat. The native women remained watching while their children appear dumb with disbelief. Eventually they turn away and returned to their camp.

“Bugger,” Axel declares.

“The poor kid didn’t have a chance.”

“Bull sharks are often seen in the river and miles from the sea.

“I thought sharks live in salt water?”

“Not the bull shark it is often found far up rivers. We better let Ted know, he has a market garden this side of Rose Hill.”

It was a sombre walk back to Rose Hill and neither lad spoke. On reaching Ted’s gate they knew it wasn’t going to be an easy event to relate; with the only comfort being young Edward wouldn’t have suffered as his fate was sealed in the blink of an eye.

It was some days before parts of the Stringers Creek track had been widened enough for the cart to pass but unlike Axel suggestion that it was Daniel’s job, they worked well as a team and by week’s end the track was ready. The main obstacle now was at the creeks crossover on the approach to the farm; fortunately the creek bed was quite rocky, giving a firm base and either bank well accessible, except in the wet when the creek would be impassable even on foot and during flooding the boys would be cut off from civilization for days at a time.

Daniel suggested they raise the crossing with the many rocks strewn about the crossover but as Warrin’s favourite fishing spot was close by, Axel thought it wise to leave well enough alone unless they upset Warrin, as in truth it was mostly his intervention that allowed them to remain within the Bedigal hunting ground.

While bringing home the cart the boys spy Warrin at his favourite fishing spot, he is standing on one leg the second akimbo resting on the upright knee while in his hand is his fishing lance and ready to strike. He breaks his standing and releases the lance; it fires and surfaces with a rather large fish.

“That’s the way to catch fish,” Daniel suggests as he stops their progress amid crossing.

“Don’t be smart Daniel – coo-ee,” Axel shouts and Warrin holds his fish high then jabbering in language he approaches appearing interested in Patch.

“Nice fish,” Axel says.

“Saal want fish,”

“No Saal got dinner in cart.”

“Saal got horse.”

“Yes Warrin,”

“Warrin no like horse,” then the black man speaks in language, none of which sounds positive.

“What did he say?” Daniel asks.

“He said he doesn’t like horses as the soldiers chase him on horses.”

Axel apologises for the aggression from his countrymen then continues conversation in language.

Warrin is pointing towards the distant forest as he speaks.

“Right,” Axel says.

“Warrin go now, need more fish.”

“I don’t know how you remember their language,” Daniel admits.

“Just do I suppose, I asked him if we could increase the land under corn and he said he would have to speak with the elders but not to go near that flat rock past the end of the clearing. I also asked if you could see a cooroboree.”

“I think I got that part but why did he laugh.”

“He said maybe Anul would like to view women’s business but he was only teasing, as even his so called Sister-boys cannot attend women’s business.”

“You do realise, even if you expand our small field there isn’t enough good growing soil about here to make more than a scratching.”

“I have thought of that.”

“Is your thinking anything to do with finding a new selection?”

“Yes, there is some good land at the headwater of Stringers Creek and I know the natives don’t use it for ceremonies or hunting.”

“Would it be sheep country?”

“From what I remember it would be too damp and sheep don’t like forested areas. There was a fella’ who set up near my old camp but within a year lost half his sheep through footrot and the natives speared what remained.”

“Umm,”

“Out with it?”

“Possibly we could become spud farmers.”

“We, you say Daniel?’

“We are partners – aren’t we?”

“I do like to think so,” Axel admits.

“Well there you go; we are partners for life – no matter what.”

“Yes Daniel – no matter what.”

Daniel was having trouble sleeping as Axel’s words while returning with the cart during the previous afternoon gave him much to think about. He may have designs to travel far and run sheep, the truth was he knew almost nothing about the little woolly critters. He had been lying awake for some time listening to Axel’s breathing. It is deep and slow and comforting, he often commented on his friend’s ability to put aside the day’s problems and before one could count to ten Axel would be asleep. Daniel could not, with the slightest upset to routine playing on his reflective mind. Now in the darkness of their room Axel’s suggestion they try their chance at the headwater of Stringers Creek worried him. It wasn’t leaving their hut or the familiarity of their surroundings that concerned but in doing so it would be committing to a future of unknown sorts and was he ready for that, especially with the possibility of Axel’s painter friend returning from New Zealand at any time.

Daniel could hear Ding scratching in the main room, or kicking his legs about while sleeping. Axel’s description of the dog’s action being he was chasing bandicoots in his sleep, moments later Ding is at the bedroom door releasing a soft yodelling sound.

“Do you want out boy?”

Another soft yodel and Ding is at the hut door.

“Obviously;” Daniel obliges and opens the door.

Once outside Ding makes a beeline towards the vegetable patch before chasing something small along the corn rows. Moments later there is a distressed squeaking and struggling sound as Ding makes a killing.

A night bird calls from close by, another answers then a third. Obviously none of the callers had given the right message and all three fell silent.

There is a soft sound coming on the light breeze from the woods beyond the clearing and potato patch. It is coming from the direction Axel declared to be a sacred native meeting area.

Daniel becomes interested.

The sound is similar to distant running water over rocks. It is soothing and beckoning. Daniel quickly returns inside and slips on trousers and shoes. He follows into the night towards the sound.

A hundred steps; there is light flickering amongst the trees.

A hundred more and Daniel is almost there.

He quickly drops to the ground.

There is a fire brightly burning on a cleared area beside the native’s sacred rocks. To one side of the fire, seated in the dust are a number of native men.

Daniel counts seven.

About the fire are at least a dozen more, all naked and dancing.

Those seated are singing, while using short rhythm sticks to mark the beat.

Those dancing appear to be in a trance, as one by one their feet strike the ground, their heads and arms become even more animated than their feet.

‘I’ve seen that movement,’ Daniel thinks, keeping his head down while remembering Axel’s warning about spying on native’s rituals.

‘I know what it is.’

‘It’s the Jabiru Stalk dance.’

‘I must admit they do it well.’

Daniel is about to depart when he recognises one of the dances, ‘why it’s Warrin.’ Daniel is impressed with Warrin’s part in the ritual and remains watching. He is also pleased with their black friend’s apparent acceptance within the group.

He thinks of Axel with his painter and for an instant he feels envy, even as far as wishing Joshua would not return.

‘Why?’

‘Why don’t I want Joshua to return?’

‘Am I becoming sexually attracted to Axel?’

Daniel remains watching Warrin dancing with the other men. They don’t in the least appear concerned he is a Sister-boy, if anything he is at one with the group.

‘I should be gone,’ Daniel remembers Axel’s almost discovery when he spied on a previous corroboree, realising this time Warrin wouldn’t be capable in helping if he was found spying on secrete men’s business.

As Daniel withdrew he realised all he knew of the natives, all his fears of the black man had become groundless. There wasn’t any menace with the spectacle, no sacrificing to some mythical god, it was simply tradition, raw primeval tradition all the way back to the dawning of human existence and complied with exactness handed down generation by generation without faltering.

On his return to the hut Daniel realises he had his wish and had witnessed his first corroboree. He had a second realisation, he was capable of envy and the envy he held for the painter, wasn’t entirely because of any business arrangement with Axel, he was developing physical attachment and there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

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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