Published: 26 Aug 2024

Registering a claim on a selection of land is one thing, doing something with it is quite another and as the boys made their way around that final turn to home the other was becoming apparent. Within sight of the hut the elation died away and it is Daniel who plants the seed of reality.

“What next?” Daniel asks as they paddled ankle deep through water at the crossover. It had taken all of the previous night and most the day to return from their visit to Parramatta, passing Rosie’s much too late for a meal or to ask for the use of one of her sheds to bunk down. Instead in the mid hours they rested until first light close by the military post at the top of Stringers Track, to be entertained by the troopers arguing during their late night drinking session.

What next was a fair question but Axel is left without a definite answer, “dunno’,” he says with a shoulder shrug.

“We will have to do something quickly or others may take advantage.”

“We will sit on it for a few days. Jock once said never to do anything on a whim and always plan ahead.”

“We didn’t plan ahead this time.”

“Actually Daniel I did but possibly I was much too far ahead of myself to think of the now. In my planning the land had been cleared the house built and the first crop was in the ground. Now I realise I was somewhat presumptuous and should have asked for your contribution during those deliberations.”

“I was there all the while, as your thoughts are easy to read.”

“Am I that shallow?”

“Not shallow but your face gives away almost every thought you have.”

Axel laughs, “I’ll have to be more careful in the future.” He pauses as they enter the clearing and approach the hut, “someone has been here?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Things have been shifted about, I can’t say exactly but it is obvious someone has been here.” Axel is quick to enter the hut, discovering nothing different. As quickly he exits to ensure their tools remain intact.

“Patch is alright,” Daniel calls from her slip-rail yarding, “but there are footprints in the mud in her yard and by their size I would say from kids.”

“Native kids don’t usually come this way especially alone, not since Warrin told them a Bunyip living in the water hole.”

“What is a Bunyip?”

“It’s a native water spirit that lives in deep water.”

“Are they dangerous?”

Axel laughs.

“You’re having me Axel.”

“Not at all, they don’t exist but some natives believe if you enter into the Bunyip’s water they will hug you to death.”

“Why would Warrin want to scare them?”

“I would think to keep them away from his fishing hole, or fall in and drown.”

Daniel ignores Axel’s Bunyip story, “there are also prints that appear to have been made by an adult. No shoes so I would also suggest a native.”

“Never mind, nothing appears missing and no damage, although I have had a thought. If it wasn’t natives then possibly our little hide-away has become part of the tourist track.”

“What is a tourist?” Daniel asks as he gives Patch a handful of hay.

“I don’t rightly know as it is what Joshua called himself. Possibly it is someone who travels for fun and not in the hold of some stinking prison ship.”

Daniel gives a cheeky smile, “a tourist of His Majesty King George, all expenses paid with only a one way ticket and no bookings necessary.”

It was some time before the mystery of the footprints is solved by an early morning visit from Warrin. The boys were busy carting water for the garden when Warrin passed on his way to his fishing hole.

“Sister-boys,” Warrin calls in his usual jest.

Axel ignores the native’s slant, “good morning Warrin,” he greets.

Warrin laughs loudly and continues.

Axel speaks in language, “Were there white men’s children at the hut when we were in town?”

Warrin paused and lowers his head with the humour draining from his face; he also speaks in language, “boys wanted to see the horse.”

“Which boys?”

“Boys from our camp, they wanted to see the horse.”

“Did any go into the hut?” Axel asks.

Warrin replies in broken English, No go to hut Saal, boys no go to hut.”

“That is alright Warrin, they can see the horse anytime but be careful they don’t get kicked or something.”

“Boys careful Saal, no get kicked. Boys wanna’ take ride but Warrin say look and don’t touch.”

“Patch isn’t for riding but someday,” Axel smiles and winks towards Daniel, “Daniel may take them for a ride in the cart.”

Daniel gives an agreed nod on the cart ride.

“Boys like to take ride in cart Saal,” Warrin accepts as he continues on his way to his fishing.

“What was all that about?” Daniel asks as most of what was spoken was in language.

“Warrin solved the problem of our visitors. It was kids from the camp wanting to have a look at Patch.

“And you put me in to take them for a ride in the cart.”

“I thought you wouldn’t mind.”

“I got that part of the conversation, no I don’t mind and it could be fun, although the natives do surprise me.”

“In what way would that be?”

“They don’t appear to have any fear of our animals. Even when I was a bond-servant to the Captain, the young native boys were all over the horses and better horsemen than any of the Captain’s men.”

“Yea and they aren’t backward when it comes to steeling sheep and cooking them,” Axel laughs, “problem is they treat sheep like kangaroos and throw them in the coals, you should smell the stink that comes from singing away all that wool.”

“I have, as a number of the blacks from the Hawkesbury stole a couple of the Captain’s sheep. They were caught roasting them, so the Captain shot the lot without a miniscule of consideration.”

“From what you tell of the Captain, he wasn’t a pleasant fellow.”

“In my opinion he didn’t have a single caring attribution but like most that live by greed, it gets them in the end. I hear he was recalled to England and court-martialled.”

“The military court most probably had him shot,” Axel suggests.

“I doubt it; he had too many mates in high places, all the way to the palace.”

“The King?”

“Not the King but George Augustus, the Prince of Wales, they were drinking and whoring partners before the Captain got his commission and he wasn’t backward in declaring his importance when he thought it could be profitable.”

“I wonder what Mad George looks like,” Axel vacantly questions.

“He’s just another man without shit on his shoes.” Daniel’s answer comes with a twist of sarcasm.

“I suppose so. It appears to me you would fit well into American society Daniel.”

“Why so?”

“You are a republican in the making.”

“I never thought much of it. I would think I was too involved in simply surviving and the Captain didn’t make it easy.”

“Well he’s gone now and you are here and about to become a landowner yourself and I would think as a farmer you will at least have horse shit on your boots and that from a few pigs.”

“Yes you mentioned pigs when we were with Mr. Pickering.”

“Don’t you like the idea of rearing pigs?’

“Actually I do as at least you don’t have to shear them.”

It took some time for Axel to build energy towards doing something about their selection. There would be need to build another hut and unlike their garden which had already been planted by Wilson, the new land would need ploughing, stumps and rocks removed, a slip-rail yard made for Patch but most of all much of the path to their selection would need either widening, or rerouting around the heaver part of the scrub.

Axel had no way of measuring the distance to the headwater, although by his reckoning it was thrice the distance as was the track from their hut to the Parramatta Road which would be three or four miles, therefore to the new property it would have to be close on twelve miles. “Twelve miles,” Axel rhetorically speaks aloud his calculation.

“What is twelve miles?” Daniel asks.

“Oh; I was thinking, the distance to our selection must be about twelve miles from here.”

“I would agree it would be about that.”

“How much of the track do you suggest will need widening, so we can get a cart through?”

“Most of it, although I had notices for quite some distance we would simply need move the track a little further from the creek, where it is more scrub and has fewer tall trees.”

“I agree.”

“When do we start?”

Axel doesn’t answer.

“Are you having second thoughts Axel?”

“What concerns me is I’m running headfirst into this little adventure without considering your opinion. Possibly I had been on my own so long I don’t know how to include others.”

“I haven’t noticed.”

“Still, in the future I will make sure I don’t do anything without asking you first.”

“I do have a question and it does concern our selection.”

“I’m listening.”

Daniels tone lowers, “what happens when Joshua returns?”

“I don’t know but I will admit the longer Joshua remains away, my longing for his return dulls to such an extent, when I close my eyes and think of him, I can longer picture his face. I fear if he does return I may not be capable giving him what could be expected.”

“Don’t you love Joshua?”

“Joshua,” Axel voices with a deep sigh, as if he is questioning his own resolve.

“Why do you sigh while mentioning his name?”

“It is possible at the time I needed someone to show me anything close to kindness.”

“Do you think Joshua is in love with you?”

“Maybe, even so he is a man of the world not of the forest, he needs art and beauty to stimulate his senses, not some hut in the wilderness with a dirt floor, and nothing but game meat and potatoes in the stewing pot. Beside as there hasn’t been any following correspondence, I would think he may have already returned to England.”

“I don’t mind a dirt floor Axel.”

Axel catches Daniel’s confession but doesn’t answer.

“Anyway as I asked, when are we going to start on this track?”

“Very soon but firstly we need to visit Rosie and sell our hides.”

As Daniel left the hut for his morning piss he spies Warrin taking a shortcut across the clearing. Moments later Axel joins Daniel to empty his bladder.

“Warrin is up early,” Daniel says as Axel commences to duel with his flow against that of Daniel, they both laugh at their playful action.

With their bladders empty Daniel answers, “I often see him early, it’s because you like your bed you don’t notice him.”

Warrin is watching the boys urinating sword fight. He calls in language.

Axel answers.

“What was that about?”

“He likes our little water game.”

“Do natives play games?” Daniel asks.

“I would think nothing like what we just did.”

“I meant like a game of cricket on the village green, or how we played ball between drinking houses.”

“I’ve seen their children play a game something like tiggy-tag, also playing catch with a possum skin stuffed with grass. I’ve never seen the adults play at anything that isn’t to hone their hunting skills.”

“Back in England we played a game that could have got us send down,” Daniel recollects with a breathy delivery.

“What was that?”

“You had to approach some gent in a top hat and see if you could take his hat and throw it in the Thames without being caught.”

“That’s silly.”

“In reflection I agree but we were young and kids will laugh at anything. Did you play at anything growing up in Sydney?”

“Mainly it was what all kids do, running about, being a nuisance, although most of our activity was trying to find enough food to fill our bellies.”

“Was food in short supply?”

“I believe for the first ten years the settlement almost failed, as for me I was lucky enough to befriend the blacks and unlike many who settled here, prepared to eat what they did. We better get the cart ready to visit Rosie. I want to return before dark and we have to arrive before lunch or miss out on her famous mutton stew.”

“Hotpot,” Daniel corrects.

“Yes I must admit Rosie is getting gentrified.”

“Reading the cart should take all of ten minutes,” Daniel agrees.

Axel is laughing.

“Care to share?”

“Warrin is watching us from the behind the trees,” Axel waves; “hoy Warrin,” he calls but instead of responding, Warrin quickly continues towards the creek.

“Do you think Warrin has a mate?”

“I’ve never seen him with anyone, except with small groups of hunters.”

“Life must be lonely for him. How many men and boys would be in his clan?”

“I’ve never counted; possibly fifteen adults, no more than twenty and a few kids.”

Daniel is grinning; “he wouldn’t want to be choosy.”

“What about your gang in London?”

“What mollies?”

“If you wish to describe as such – yes.”

“One wrong word, a misguided eye glance and you would find yourself floating down the Thames and I don’t mean taking swimming lessons.”

“I don’t think I would like London.”

During the drive to Rose Hill the rain commenced. Fortunately Axel had enough nous to bring along a cover not to ruin the hides, although towards the road, the boys were soaked. On reaching the military post there is promise of a better day to come, with the sun peeping from behind a thick banking of cloud raising the humidity, with steam lifting from the ground like a lidless cooking pot.

It was pleasing while passing the Stringers Creek military post to see the guards were fairing no better with the weather, as they went about gathering what dry wood they could find for their cooking fire. Continuing on past the post the boys give a cheeky greeting, with one of the troopers shouting obscenities, threatening to give them a good whacking on their return.

By reaching Rosie Craddock’s the boys were almost dry while like the ground were steaming away the last of the moisture.

Some distance ahead on the store verandah is Rosie, broom in hand as she scoots dust. The dust simply finds a new place to settle away from the busy broom. Seeing the lad’s approach she calls, “it’s a nice day for a ride.”

“For ducks and fish,” Daniel answers and jumps down from the cart.

“You haven’t been in for some time.”

“We have been busy Rosie but hunger for a serving of your mutton stew has brought us out,” Axel says awhile Daniel collects the chaff bag and attaches it to Patch’s nose.

“These days it is advised as mutton-hotpot,” she corrected with pride.

“Its title could never outshine its taste,” Axel admits and gives Daniel a cheeky wink.

“Then you are just in time but best you are quick about it, as the ferry has arrived and the master will be in for his dinner.”

“Is the Master, Mal Boland?” Axel asks.

“That’s the fella’ and he has a big appetite.”

“And an even bigger gut,” Axel recollects.

Two large bowls of stew with freshly baked bread was served with the boys seated on the verandah away from the patrons off the ferry, while Rosie examined what they had brought, “Again no koala pelts?” she says.

“Haven’t seen a koala for quite some time,” Axel says, “what we haven’t shot, I would say the natives have eaten.”

“I don’t fancy eating one,” Rosie says.

“They aren’t that bad but do have the flavour of gum tree leaves.”

“I like the red kangaroo skins. I should think they will bring a fair price.”

“They are also becoming light on the ground as well as the koalas but soon we will be moving and the new area looks promising.”

“Where are you moving to?”

“We have taken up a hundred acres at the headwater to Stringers Creek.”

“That would be some distance to travel. I suppose you will hawk your skins elsewhere once you move.”

“No, we will still come here, only it will be less frequent.”

“You really like putting yourself at risk. I don’t know how you can live that close to the natives and get away with it.”

Axel shares his usual reply, “as long as you respect them they are alright.”

“Umm, I don’t know, only yesterday Bert Rush had his crop burned and his best hunting dog speared. He’s out looking for the culprits as we speak. He said when he catches up with them he’ll shoot the buggers.”

“As long as he keeps away from those out our way,” Axel warns.

“While I think of it, like you asked during your last visit, I have saved back copies of the Sydney Gazette for you.”

“Thank you Rosie, also has there been any mail?”

“Sorry no mail but you will find a story in last week’s gazette of a mail packet from New Zealand running aground during a storm with many of its crew and passengers lost, possibly that is the reason for the lack of mail.”

“Oh!”

“I’m sure your letter will come soon.”

“It doesn’t matter, only Joshua said he would write and let me know when he is returning.”

“Not only you lad, also many of the ladies in town are waiting for his return, he has made many promises to paint their likenesses.”

As Rosie appears more than interested in Axel’s association with the painter, he is trying to conjure an excuse for the visit so not to appear poignant but nothing is forming.

It is Daniel who manages the excuse, “Joshua is a carpenter by trade and said he would do some joinery for us at the hut.”

“Joinery is it Daniel, I thought Joshua had well gone by the time you showed up.”

“True but Axel was only saying so this morning on the way in. We could do with better bunks,” he assures the plural of bunk, “and equipment shed.”

“I could speak to Reggie Fox over at Strawberry Hill if you like; he is the best carpenter about these parts.”

“No hurry Rosie, I’ll let you know.” Axel neglects while giving Daniel a glance of gratitude. Even so by Rosie’s tone she wasn’t convinced with his reasoning.

With the deal done, their bellies full and a pile of firewood undercover for Rosie, the boys were on their way. On passing the military post it was notice the troopers were missing; a little further and they spy them seated in the shade of a large tree and as usual drinking away the daylight hours.

“Good afternoon gentlemen,” Axel called as they drive by.

“Well well the little ladies are back,” the corporal shots and crudely takes a suggestive handful of his crotch, “come over here and give us a big kiss and I’ll kick ya’ fucken’ cheeky little arses for ya’.”

“You will have to be content with kissing each other,” Axel gleefully returns the insult.

There was riposte but muted by the alcohol, “what did he say?” Daniel asks.

“I think what he said was piss off.”

The boys continue on sharing their disrespectful humour towards the troopers well past hearing, when at the top of Stringers Track they encounter a lone rider who comes suddenly out of the scrub, dragging a young naked native boy by a rope around the lad’s neck. The lad’s hands well bound to his front.

The sudden encounter sends Patch to bolt.

“Hoy!” Daniel shouts as he brings Patch back to quiet.

The stranger remains blocking the cart’s progress, he is a tall man with small eyes, his expression lacking even the lightest display of humour. The stranger lifts his gun pointing it directly at Daniel’s chest.

“Do you mind not pointing that at me?” Daniel asserts.

The stranger lowers his gun but remains to the front of the cart. He pulls on the rope causing the black lad to stumble towards the horse, he then moves closer to the side of the cart.

“What are you lads doing out this way?” the stranger asks.

“We have a farm a couple of miles along the track.”

“I didn’t think settlement came this far out?”

Axel disregards the suggestion, “what’s the story with the kid?”

“He’s part of the lot that burned my corn two nights back, I got his mates; I found them drunk on my grog and blew one away and ran the other through.” As proof he places a hand on the large knife hanging to the side of his saddle. It remains stained with blood.”

“Would you be Bert Rush?” Axel asks.

“What’s it to you kid?”

“Rosie Craddock mentioned Bert had his crop torched, so I assumed from your story you would be Bert Rush.”

“Could be,” the stranger remains prudent as the law was against retribution without official consent unless for self preservation and could end with the perpetrator offered the gallows. Even so in all the years of settlement, no white man had been hanged for killing blacks.

“What are you going to do with the lad?” Axel asks.

“I was thinking of cutting off his nuts; then slitting his scrawny black throat. I ain’t made up me’ mind yet.”

“You could sell him to us?” Axel suggests even with slavery illegal in the colony.

“What would you want with the little black bugger?”

“We could work him on the farm.”

“How much are you offering?”

“After buying our supplies all I have is three shillings.”

“Yea and within a week he will have cut both your throats and buggered off with whatever he can carry.”

“That would be our problem.”

“Show your money?”

As Axel retrieves the coin he notices a disapproving glance from Daniel but he continues towards making the deal.”

“I dunno’ three shillings wouldn’t pay for seed to replace my lost crop.”

“It’s all I have and if you cut the kid’s throat you won’t have him or the three shillings.”

“You have a point.”

Axel holds out his hand to cement the deal.

Rush is thinking.

He spits on his hand and takes Axel’s offer.

The deal is done.

“Right,” Rush says; “the little black bugger is yours,” accepting the money he passes Axel the rope. Rush gives a head nod then commences back along the track towards the Parramatta Road. All the while the lad stood fearfully silent without understanding the transaction or its conclusion.

Once Rush is from sight Axel speaks to the lad in language. The lad answers.

“What did he say?” Daniel asks.

“I’m not quite sure as he has a different dialect and I only got a couple of words.

“You do realise you have just handed over all the money we had until our next visit to Rosie’s?”

“I do but I couldn’t let Rush do him in. Could I?”

“I suppose not, what are we going to do with him?”

Axel takes his knife and approaches the boy who in terror empties his bladder.

“He’s pissed himself,” Daniel says.

“Wouldn’t you?” Axel cuts the lad’s bonds although the rope remains about his neck. “What is your name?” he asks in the Bedigal dialect, the lad appears to understand.

“Miro,” he nervously answers.

“My name is Axel and my friend there is Daniel.”

The kid remains silent and confused.

“Bedigal?” Axel asks but Miro remains unresponsive.

“Well Miro,” Axel puts away his blade and removes the rope from Miro’s neck. Again he attempts language. “Miro you are free, so go find your people.”

The native lad doesn’t move. It appears fear has frozen every muscle in his lithe body and voice in his throat.

“Go on Miro, you are free, go home to your people,” Axel points along the path and still the lad remains motionless. Axel once again attempts language without result; he then climbs back into the cart beside Daniel. “Drive on,” he instructs.

A number of paces on Axel turns but the lad remained stationary, “Sorry about the money Daniel, what else could I do?”

“I would have done the same,” Daniel agrees. He also turns towards the lad, now instead of fleeing, Miro is following the cart. “He is following us.” Daniel stops the cart. “Go home!” he shouts and waves the instruction towards the lad.

The youth pauses in the track.

“You try his language,” Daniel suggests.

“I’ll try but he doesn’t speak the same dialect,” Axel points to the west, “go home!” he shouts in Bedigal.

The lad stands his ground without displaying any understanding.

“Drive on,” Axel suggests.

Before the next turn in the track Daniel looks back, “he is still following.” Daniel stops the cart and the lad also stops, remaining a hundred yards behind.

“Try talking in language again,” Daniel suggests.

“As I said he speaks a different dialect.”

“Try anyway.”

Axel again uses Bedigal, this time he slows his speech.

There isn’t response.

“Drive on Daniel, there’s nothing more I can do.”

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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