Published: 23 Sep 2024

There had been rumours circulating for some time of a black man leading a small group of revenge seeking renegades burning crops and houses along the eastern Downings of the Blue Mountains, also along the Hawkesbury River. Because of the leaders abandoned daring he had been given the name of Mad Charlie although his indigenous name was believed to be Minjarra belonging to the western branch of the Kedumba people. There was a further story being he wore a lock or red hair about his neck as a talisman, taken while butchering a white woman. Such stories suited most, as it darkened their hatred of the traditional owners of the land they had stolen.

Mad Charlie’s activity was predominately in the old Kedumba lands, although most of their lot had crossed the mountains to be away from the white advance but Charlie with a few of the younger tribesmen remained behind to create bloody havoc.

It was believed Minjarra had his camp somewhere near the headwater of Stringers Creek, which if true, would put him within striking of the boy’s new property. Even so, although a neighbour had been burned, there hadn’t been any attempt on the boy’s property.

Often the boys noticed blacks wearing the Kedumba initiation travelling along the creek. Axel would wave and whenever anything was in season he would leave a basket or a bundle of dried meat near the pond, which with the morning it was always gone. This habit brought the neighbours to accuse him of pandering to the blacks, he corrected them saying a little kindness and understanding went a long way and if they were to do likewise they wouldn’t get half the grief they complained about, besides by leaving a little often saved losing the lot.

The boys’ closest neighbour Wilson Connor wasn’t a pleasant man at the best of times, fortunately his property was more than a mile away, so contact was occasional but when he did chance by, it was always with the same argument, accusing the boys of encouraging the blacks by leaving food for them and allowing access across their hundred acres. No amount of reasoning would convince Connor that you catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar and you catch none with a gun. Connor’s way of dealing with the blacks was by firing upon them whenever they came close to his field and he often bragged how many he had either killed or wounded.

It had been some time since the boys had visited their old farm or Rosie Craddock and Axel had an urge to discover how the Bedigal were fairing after hearing of building trouble in that area, also he concerned for Miro. He had come across one of the Bedigal mob some time earlier while hunting on Bedigal land and asked after Warrin, receiving nothing but a shoulder shrug, further questioning was as negative, giving him a feeling of developing divide between their old association. True most of his past contact with the Bedigal had been through Warrin, with the occasional wave to the women as they dug for Murnong, although it was enough to be considered rapport.

The visit to the old farm was to be brief as the boys had business to attend to in town, therefore it would be a round trip, firstly to Parramatta staying overnight at the Fisherman’s Inn then to Rosie Craddock at Rose Hill, after which they would follow the Stringers Creek track to the farm and the even rougher track back home.

With first light Daniel had Patch harnessed but couldn’t find Axel. Calling out he instead attracted Ding who during his infrequent visits to the new property had taken to sleeping in the cart. Moments later Axel is spied coming from the north end of their hundred acres. “What’s going on?” Daniel asks.

“There is smoke coming from over Wilson Connor’s way.”

“Could it be a bushfire?”

“I wouldn’t think so as the country is too damp to burn.”

“He’s always burning off cleared trees.”

“Yea probably.” Axel takes his seat beside Daniel and spies Ding in the cart, “do you want to go for a ride fella’?” With the first jolt of the cart Ding answers the offer with a quick departure.

“What do you make of this fella’ they call Mad Charlie?” Daniel asks.

“Not a lot as they are only rumours and like Chinese Whispers they expand by the day and the telling.”

“Still he is said to have killed some white woman and wears her hair around his neck,” Daniel shares as Patch manages the muddy ground beside the pond. Soon they reach the crossover and are on their way.

Axel laughs.

“Don’t you think it is possible?”

“It is possible yes but I would say not accurate.”

“And why?”

“I’ll tell you a little story. Some years ago; actually the very day I buried my Scottish friend Jock. I had an encounter with a group of young blacks as they hunted along the escarpment. At first I thought I was a goner but one from their mob approached me and was humoured by the colour of my hair. Being red some natives believe I hold the secret of fire. That talisman Mad Charlie wears about his neck is from my head.”

“How do you know Mad Charlie is the same fellow?”

“I’ve seen him about and have recognised him, also, do you remember that time we walked home from Sydney in the rain?”

“Yes.”

“And a number of blacks crossed our path.”

“I do remember and thought it strange as they appeared to be on a mission but totally ignored us.”

“The group’s leader was Minjarra and I think he had recognised me.”

“Have you seen him since?”

“Yes, but only from distance while he passes by. I don’t acknowledge him nor does he acknowledge to me.”

“You’ve said nothing about him passing our farm before?”

“Knowing your caution with the natives, I don’t wish to cause concern.”

“Now you have.”

“Don’t be, if they wanted to do harm they would have done so by now, besides I never speak of him to anyone as they are already of the opinion I’m in league with Minjarra’s mob.”

“Of which you aren’t.”

“Try convincing the likes of Wilson Connor.”

With their business in Parramatta completed it was on to Rosie Craddock for lunch, arriving in time to witness a heated row between Rosie and her housemaid Ruth. On spying the boys approach Rosie calmed, with Ruth scurrying away in tears like a frightened little mouse.

“It is about time you boys gave me a visit, I was beginning to believe Mad Charlie’s mob had got you.”

On the river the midday Sydney ferry sounds, moments later it arrives and passengers are spotted making their way towards Rosie’s.

“Seems you have customers Rosie,” Axel suggests.

“Yes the midday ferry is here for an hour while the cargo is loaded. Lately I’ve been run off my feet with meals and that is why the new dining room, as there isn’t enough room in the kitchen.”

“I notice the extension on our last visit, so business in booming.”

“Seems that way and the kitchen has become more profitable than the general store – I better make a move or the girl will have found somewhere to sleep; dinner in ten, you can join with me in the kitchen and we can talk away from the riff-raff.”

During dinner the ferry’s master, James Firth is in full voice about the trouble with Mad Charlie’s little mob of renegades, while lifting the story relating to Charlie butchering a white woman to a higher level. Now the story has expanded to report Mad Charlie had captured two white women, who were being held somewhere in the foothills for his nightly sexual pleasure.

Axel became disturbed with the man’s misinformation, “what gives you the idea he butchered a white women,” he calmly asks his arms defiantly folded across his chest as he questions the ferryman.

“You ask anyone, it is all about up and down the river from Sydney to Parramatta,” Firth explains with vivacity, “he even wears her scalp about his neck.”

“The natives don’t scalp people,” Axel contradicts.

“Then what is Charlie wearing around his neck?”

“What colour was this butchered woman’s hair?” Axel is keeping his rage at a sensible level.

“I hear it is red.”

“And James Firth, what colour is my hair?”

“What has that to do with it?” Firth snaps.

“It has everything to do with it, because what Minjarra wears about his neck as a talisman, is a length of my hair. He cut it from my head some years back and if he had been inclined to do so, he could have done me in then, or on a number of occasions since.

The ferryman is silent.

“What do you think of that Mr. Firth?”

Before the ferryman could answer his deckhand blows the five minute whistle. Firth excuses himself with Rosie and hastily departs.

“Well, well,” Rosie says, “that is the first time I’ve seen James Firth back away from an argument.

“I didn’t mean to be rude but I couldn’t let him get away with so many exaggerated lies.”

“I am sure he will get over it, although I would be careful, otherwise some may feel you are a native sympathizer.”

“I suppose I am in a way, or more in fact, I don’t like the exaggerated hysteria that’s being put about.”

“There is too much fear at the moment and the governor has his hands full trying to prevent the rum trade to do much about the native attacks on outlying settlements, especially when they squat on land beyond the limits of military control. On a lighter note, how is your new farm?”

“It is going well although urgently in need of help and we are thinking of seeing what’s on offer at the barracks, possibly take on a couple of convict servants.”

“I wish you luck, as the military and their cronies have first choice, leaving those like Ruth to the likes of me, you can have her if you like.”

“I think not,” Axel smirks, “I have Daniel for the house work.”

“And you better believe it Rosie,” Daniel accedes, “Axel is a slavedriver and wouldn’t know which end of a broom hits the floor.”

“We should be right I know the foreman of convicts at Parramatta and for a bottle of malt he has given a promise,” Axel assures.

“Bribery,” Rosie chuckles.

“That’s what it is called, I don’t agree with it but sometimes there isn’t any other way.”

After lunch Axel offered to chop a pile of firewood for old time sake but Rosie insisted she had already put her gardener Bobby to the task.

“There is one little job I could ask you to do for me,” Rosie suggests with a worried tremble in her tone.

“What would that be?”

“It’s in the equipment shed – best I show you.” Rosie escorts the boys to her equipment shed and points into the darkness.

“What am I looking at?” Axel asks.

“It is up in the rafters and it gives me the evil eye every time I come near.”

Axel casts his eyes upwards into the dimness of the shed and laughs, “It won’t harm you.”

“I want it gone.”

“It is only a carpet snake, a scrub python.”

“What if it bites someone?” Rosie suggests.

“If you go prodding it will bite but in the most it will keep down the rats and mice, even a bandicoot or two.”

“Is it venomous?”

“No.”

“Can’t you get rid of it?”

“I would rather not as it must be fifteen feet long and take more than my ability to unwind it from the rafters. Once it has cleared out all the rats and mice in the shed, it will go and find a new home.”

Rosie reluctantly agrees and they leave the serpent to its rest. Even so Rosie wasn’t convinced and declared she wouldn’t be going anywhere near the shed until the snake found a new home.

Axel remains amused, “give it a name,” he suggests.

“What do you mean by give it a name?”

“If you give it a name it becomes an acquaintance, sort of family and that may take the fear out of it being there.”

Rosie takes a deep disregarding breath.

“Freddie the snake,” Axel suggests.

“Fredrick the freeloader,” Rosie says.

“There you go, problem solved.”

Rosie turns to Daniel, “you haven’t had much to say young man.”

“When it comes to snakes and spiders, I leave it to Axel.”

“If there isn’t anything more I can do for you, we should be on our way.”

“I’ll take your advice and until Fredrick dislodges and stay clear of the shed.”

It was mid afternoon before the boys finally departed Rose Hill so they would need to camp at the old farm overnight, to which Rosie revisits her warning, “you mind you way out there,” she cautions.

“Why so?” Daniel asks.

“There has been some trouble with the blacks around Stringers Creek.”

“I hadn’t heard,” Axel confesses, “in what way?”

“A number of new chums have selected land along the creek, possibly by now even your old farm and there is report some stock has been duffed or speared and a few of the farmers are retaliating in the only way they know.

“If anyone has moved onto the old farm they will be disappointed as the soil has been worked out,” Daniel admits.

“With the number arriving with each ship, they take up what they can and if the ground will give even a scratching, it is thought better than starving.”

“You say trouble with the blacks, did you hear if it is with the Bedigal?” Axel asks.

“The talk is simply trouble with blacks, as most around here wouldn’t know what they called themselves.”

“Axel, we need to be going.” Daniel encourages, “sorry Rosie to eat and run but it is a long drive.”

“Now that you are gentlemen farmers, don’t become strangers.”

“We won’t,” Axel assures.

“Where else would we get such a fine mutton stew,” Daniel affixes to the departing banter.

Close on Stringers Creek Daniel brings the cart to the side of the road to allow a line of wagons to pass. “More squatters for the western planes,” he reports, “look one of the carts has a piano; maybe it is to entertain the blacks.”

“You have a good voice Daniel; maybe we should get a piano and you can give the locals renditions.”

“Can you belt out a tune on a piano?”

“No.” Axel admits.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea, unless you are thinking of throwing dinner parties.”

“If we did who would we invite?”

“A good question but first you would need to hide Joshua’s painting.”

The wagons pass and Daniel continues, “I noticed you didn’t ask Rosie for mail.”

“There’s no need.”

“And why not?”

“You are enough for me.”

Axel’s words give Daniel a worm inner glow as he encourages Patch to move on. He steals a quick glance towards Axel who is smiling, “it appears that way,” he quietly replies.

The first the boy’s noticed on reaching the Stringers Creek track is its obvious usage and it isn’t long before they discover why. Even with the poor soil there are three selections within the first mile, all holding rudimentary huts from split logs with stringy-bark roofing.

“Looks domestic, a literal village,” Daniel announces on passing the third hut.

“I see spuds and cabbages,” Axel declares.

“And kids.”

“You say that somewhat negatively. Would you like kids Daniel?”

“So they could grow up wearing the convict stain.”

“It hasn’t infected me,” Axel protests without certainty as his mother’s misfortune was often topic. I hear your mother was a convict, would often be included in many a conversation. Axel’s would simply answer, she may have been but now the ocean holds her and the ocean isn’t proud nor does it hold a grudge. Usually the mentioning of his mother’s demise removed further citing of his so called convict beginning.

Further long the track Daniel guides the cart around the same tree that blocked passage during their previous visit, “what about you?” Daniel returns to their conversation on having children.

“Me, having kids?”

“I believe that was the topic.”

Axel gives a cheek chuckle, “would it be appropriate for me to have kids?”

“I think you would make a great dad, I’d have you as my da’ any day.”

“As I said, it wouldn’t be right for me to have kids.”

“I believe I know why you say that.”

Axel has a change of heart, “although it may be pleasing having a little Axel and teach him the way of the forest.”

“Would you name him Axel?” Daniel asks.

Axel is thinking.

“Maybe not.”

“Then what would you call this imaginary little tacker?”

I would call him Daniel Smith.” Axel announces with a broad and pleasing smile.

“I would be honoured but why Smith?”

“If nothing I could honour my mother’s hardship.”

“Did your friend from the woman’s prison know the name of the guard who was your father?”

“No, just a guard offering extra food for favours from the woman, he could be the father of half a dozen kids born to that prison hulk.”

“Therefore you could have brothers here in the colony.”

“I would think half brothers.”

Daniel doesn’t press the conversation further, “even with all you’ve gone through, you still have a soft side Axel. I like that.”

They reach the final bend in the track, “almost there,” Daniel says while bringing Patch to stop before turning towards the hut.

“What is the problem?”

“No problem, are you ready for what we may find?”

“I don’t have sediment for the farm,” Axel says.

Once around the final bend the hut comes into view. Surprisingly it remained standing although the roof has caved in and the lean-to built for Miro is flattened. What was more obvious, the ground had recently been churned by the hooves of horses.

“Something has gone on here and quite recent. I don’t like the look of it.” Axel jumps from the cart and is reading the obvious signs of conflict on the ground. There are many foot pints among those of the horses and deep into the ground, appearing as if people were running for their lives.

“What do you think has happened?”

“I would say as the settlers can’t take revenge on Mad Charlie’s lot, they have chosen the local Bedigal.”

“Why would the Bedigal be here at the farm, it is usually only the women and Warrin who come this way?”

“They do hold initiations along the creek near that flat surface with the animal scratching, possibly now that we have gone they may take advantage of the clearing as well.” Axel searched further. It is the traffic of horses that is most noticeable and they appear to exit into the forest to the west, suggesting the hunting had continued.

“If we are staying overnight, I’ll have to fix Patch’s yard, as some of the rails are down.”

“You do that and I’ll follow the tracks for a bit and see where they are leading.

As Daniel mends the fallen rails and sets Patch to grass, Axel follows the tracks but the light is quickly fading so he returns.

“Did you find anything?” Daniel calls.

“It is too dark to go further but the air has the stench of death.”

“Death?” Daniel gives an obvious shudder.

“It is strong so I don’t think it would be much further than the end of the clearing, I’ll take a closer look in the morning.”

“We won’t be able to use the hut, even the fireplace is wrecked.”

“We’ll sleep in the cart.”

“Righto’ you set a fire and I’ll fill the billycan from the creek.

Axel has a restless night. He lay awake in the cart with his eyes open to the darkness, while above the wide southern sky is alive with stars. For a time he fixes his gaze on the planets as they wandered across the sky. Why only they wandered he knew not, nor on this night did he care as his thoughts were beyond the clearing and what he may find with the morning light. In her yard Patch could be heard walking about, occasionally she would snort. Beneath the cart some small animal is rummaging about in the dust.

“Are you awake?” Axel whispers.

“Yes, your thinking is so loud I can’t sleep.”

“I’m concerned for Warrin and Miro.”

“Why so?”

“I am remembering what Rosie said about trouble with the blacks in this area.”

“There is nothing that can be done until morning, think of something else.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno’ try thinking about the drain we have to dig back home to take rainwater away from the house.”

“Daniel.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know what I would have become if you hadn’t come by.”

Daniel gives a titter of irony.

“What was that for?” Axel asks.

“More so I wouldn’t be alive if I didn’t find your hut, as I remember I was almost done in.”

“Are you satisfied Daniel?”

“I have learned one thing from you and that is not to put too much concern in tomorrow, as it will come and there is nothing you can do about it today. I could ask you that question Axel, are you satisfied with me.”

“More than you can imagine.”

Daniel laughs, “get some sleep.”

Axel rolls into a cuddle with his arm across Daniels shoulder.

Daniel takes the arm and draws him closer, “were a funny couple,” he says but neither comment further.

Morning arrives long before the sun with its usual cacophony of bird calls, appearing even louder without the walls of the hut to block them out. Axel was up as soon as the first rays of sun painted the tree tips. Having stoked the fire before there was light enough to see across the clearing.

“Would you like help?” Daniel calls and yawns away a difficult night’s sleep.

“All done – breakfast won’t be long. As soon as there is enough light we should take a look about.”

Breakfast was a cheerless affair as both were afraid what they would find, while hoping the stink Axel had encountered would be only some long dead and decaying animal but to Axel the stink of rotting human flesh was distinctive and what he perceived was most certain that.

Stomachs were so twisted with anxiety neither had breakfast only strong coffee, “What do you think we will find out there?” Daniel quietly asks.

“I don’t think Daniel, unfortunately I know. It has all the signs and it won’t be pretty.” Axel throws away half his coffee, “There’s enough light now, I suggest we take a look.”

At the west end of the clearing the footprints divide with the riders chasing the main body. All about is a scattering of native belongings although no sign of death.

“By my calculation the entire clan and others must have been at our old farm,” Axel estimates.

“Why would they have been there?”

“As I remember at this time of year they meet with other clans of the Bedigal at that flat rocky area near the creek. I would say they were surprised during some initiation rite.”

“If Mad Charlie is Kedumba, why have they taken it out on the Bedigal?”

“In most minds black is black, you’ve heard it spoken enough times from Wilson Connor, to realise the attitude. Fear is a strong emotion and it drives people to do things they would otherwise find offensive.”

A little further and the stench of death intensified to such an extent the boys needed to cover their noses to continue, then in a small clearing the carnage became apparent. Huddled together are more than a dozen bodies. Amongst the dead are women and children, all bloated to busting in the building morning’s heat and swarming with flies. Both boy’s lose what little was in their stomachs.

One of the women is recognised as the cheeky Murnong digger who always waved to them, the one Joshua had sketched. By the position of the corpses it appeared they had been rounded up by their adversaries and shot indiscriminately.

Daniel spies a single body some distance away, “oh no!” he cries as he takes a closer look, “it is Warrin.”

Axel approaches, finding a bullet hole deep in the black man’s chest but even in death Warrin holds a smile.

“At least Warrin died with his people,” Axel sighs as he looks further among the dead, “I don’t see Miro,” he exclaims.

“If he is alive, he will be lost without Warrin. What should we do, as there are too many to bury and we can’t burn them with the country so dry.”

“We can at least burry Warrin, to honour the friendship he had offered.”

“Also as we owe him our lives. Should we report the attack?”

“Yes, for all the good it will 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

15,499 views