Published: 7 Oct 2024

First light and there isn’t a sound from the troopers in the house. The boys were up with the kookaburras and seeing they would be away for an extended time, it would be necessary to water and leave as much food out for their animals as possible.

Even before the troopers show their faces, a lone rider arrives out of a light morning mist.

“Have you come to join the hunt?” Axel calls as their neighbour Wilson Connor slowly rides up to the hitching rail.

Connor’s eyes are about as he dismounts. “It seems that way; where is everyone? We are supposed to be heading out by now.”

“They are still in bed sleeping off a skinful of last night’s grog.”

“Typical.”

Axel smiles, it appeared even if he didn’t agree with Connor on most accounts, they appeared to have the same opinion of the troopers.

Connor gives a disregarding grunt as he pokes his head through the house door, “Is there anyone alive in here?” he shouts.

It is some time before he receives response.

Connor comes from the house, “I believe you have been asked to do the tracking?”

“Seconded is more to fact than asked.”

“You should be proud that your ability is held in such esteem.”

“I would rather my solitude than anyone’s esteem.”

“Then the sooner you do your job, the sooner you can return to your solitude.”

By the time the troop is ready, the morning’s mist had cleared but possibly not the fog in the trooper’s heads from the previous night’s alcoholic binge. Also the previous day’s decision to butcher one of the boy’s pigs had be postponed, as on hearing of Daniel’s skill with a gun, it had been suggested he could bring down any kangaroo or wallaby they may chance upon, therefore there wouldn’t be need to carry extra with them.

After much complaining and lack of coordination it was decided, as the last known whereabouts of Minjarra was his attack on the King property, the farm would be the perfect starting point and the troopers grumbling bellies could be satisfied once there.

With the late morning sun already draining strength and enthusiasm the little troop move out. It was a sight to behold, Axel in the vanguard, his eyes searching for the slightest sign of disturbance on the ground, Daniel close by displaying his unwillingness and the troopers slumped in their saddles, so removed from the task, if attacked they would be felled without firing a single shot.

Once at King’s farm the destruction was obviously total. Although no human life had been lost, King’s crop was scorched to the ground and his house nothing but cinders, still smouldering after three days. As for King’s livestock, to an animal they were but bloated decaying carcasses.

“Tommy!” Burke calls as they approached the burned out property.

No one answers.

“You tracker; I am talking to you. Isn’t your real name, Tommy?”

Axel is infuriated with the sergeant’s disrespect. “No Mr. Burke my name is not Tommy or Tom or any other offensive affront you bring to mind. My name is Axel South.”

The troopers laugh in support of Burke.

“Whatever you wish to call yourself, what is your opinion?”

Axel swallows his pride while looking about the scorched earth. He finds at least ten sets of prints leading in from the north before heading out once again to the west.

“How many are there in their lot?” Burke demands.

“I would suppose ten but one appears to be injured.”

“That would be in keeping with what King had reported, he admits to wounding one of the attackers. Can you track the buggers?”

“I can but after three days, they could be anywhere. For all I know they may have crossed over the mountains.”

“We have time and will chase them all the way to China if we have to.”

“China?” Axel questions. ‘We have another fool who believes China is somewhere beyond the Blue Mountains,’ he silently muses but keep the thought to himself. ‘I didn’t think there was anyone who still believed such nonsense.’

Some distance past Kings burned out farm buildings, Axel notices two from the group had taken a second path to the south, while the rest continued west. “Who do you want to follow?” he asks Bourke.

“Which lot do you think Charlie will be travelling with?”

“I believe the injured man is one of the two travelling south and would say Minjarra will be with the main bunch, as it is my opinion he likes an audience.”

“Then lead away.”

Daniel approaches Axel, “you do realise if we are gone more than two days we could lose some of the fowls and Patch hasn’t enough grass in her yard for much longer?”

“I realise but what else can I do?”

“Are you ready to move on,” the sergeant demands but Axel is hesitant.

“Now what?” Bourke demands.

“I have a proposition for you.”

“And Mr. South what would that be?”

“If you want me to continue, you will have to allow Daniel to return home and look after our animals.”

“The British army shoots rebels.”

“If you shoot Daniel, you will need to shoot me as well then who will do your tracking?”

Burk is prudent enough to realise Axel’s importance in his endeavour, “If I allow your mate to return will you continue?”

“Yes.”

“Here is the deal. Once your friend has shot our dinner, he can go.”

After Daniel had performed what was asked of him having brought down a small wallaby, he was on his way with the party under Axel’s guidance continuing westward towards the mountains. With little light remaining in the day the tracks lead into a small clearing where Axel makes a discovery. He approaches Burke.

“What have you found?”

“They were camped here and by my calculation they only broke camp sometime this morning.”

“Then we should push on.”

“It will be dark in less than an hour.”

“If we don’t push on, we may lose them.”

“I can’t track your so described flea on the elephant’s arse in the dark Mr. Burke.”

“Point taken.”

“There is something else.” Axel admits while searching about the clearing.

“What would that be?”

“Now there are seven, one more has gone his own way.”

Sergeant Burke is softening his attitude towards Axel and instead of bellowing like some enraged bull, he shows willingness to acknowledge the lad’s prowess, “what do you suggest,” he asks.

“As Minjarra appears to have a high opinion of himself and his leadership, I believe he will remain with the main group and I think it would also be his belief he has put enough distance between attacking the settlements to relax any fear of being caught.”

“So we camp overnight and start out at first light.”

“That would be my suggestion,” Axel agrees.

The troop rekindle the abandoned native campfire and after skinning and gutting the wallaby Daniel had shot earlier, it is spit roasted and consumed with as much relish as would any landed gentry on his venison. With their bellies filled the little band of reluctant troopers bedded down without help from alcohol.

It is a warm night lacking the slightest breeze with the fire’s light invading the forest at the edge of their clearing creating dancing shadows. Some in the troop imagined black faces behind every tree, believing at any moment Minjarra would come screaming from the undergrowth like some banshee with lance high and face painted in totem. It would be a restless night with a guard change each alternate hour.

Axel craved his personal space, finding a hollow in the ground under a forest tree away from the troop and their fears. He recollects the day he buried his friend Jock. He remembers climbing to the top of the escarpment and his encounter with Minjarra and the cheeky attitude the black man had displayed. He remembered how his heart thumped as Minjarra took his blade and cut a large chunk of hair from his head.

‘He could have killed me then,’ Axel thinks.

‘Also that night on the Sydney road as it was obvious with his followers he was looking for strife.’

‘I have nothing against Minjarra, why should I help Burke track him down.’

Axel well understood his reason even if he wouldn’t admit, especially to himself. It wasn’t for the burning of King’s property, or others. It was because the man’s revenge would not end there. One day it would be his property and he or Daniel who is speared and he could not live with that.

Somewhere beyond the dying fire there is a rustling sound in the scrub. The sound comes clearly to Axel’s trained ears but unheard by the others. Moments later a dog enters into the clearing and without hesitation approaches Axel. “Ding is that you?” Axel whispers. The dog comes to Axel’s side and rests its head in his lap. “Hi fella’ what are you doing this far out?” he gives Ding a gentle petting. “You better make yourself scarce; this lot shoot dingos for sport.”

Ding gives a soft yodel and departs.

With Ding gone, Axel has further concern. The dog was prone to follow Miro everywhere, if he remained with that habit, would it be possible Miro is travelling with Minjarra. If so Axel knew there wouldn’t be any chance preventing the troopers from killing him. Remaining concerned and finding sleep difficult Axel needs to wear off his disquiet by walking it away, a habit he had since he was a boy.

The night is overcast and dark with the fire down to glowing coals. The forest about is surprisingly quiet. The troopers are asleep, one is snoring another makes a throat clearing sound, while one Reginald Smethurst is on guard duty, seated away from the others, his head bowed and by account dozing during his watch. Axel sounds his approach bringing the trooper to attention.

“You should be more careful sneaking about, I may have shot you.”

Axel gives a quiet huff in response, “or if I was one of the blacks, I could have slit your throat before you had chance to open your eyes,” he suggests against the trooper’s obvious dozing.

“Can’t you sleep?”

“I was thinking what will happen when we catch up with Minjarra.”

“You shouldn’t need to ask that question lad. Have you ever shot a man?”

“No; never.”

“Could you?”

“In self defence I suppose.”

“Then if your ability in tracking is as good as people suggest it is. I would say you are about to find out.”

Axel leaves the trooper to his duty and returns to his hollow beneath the large tree for a second attempt at sleeping.

A damp morning mist enshrouds the camp as the troopers slowly prepare to move out. The horses although hobbled had wandered during the night, taking precious time to bring them in. With kits packed away and the horses saddled Bourke calls to Axel, “are you ready kid?”

“I suppose but I do have a concern.”

“What would that be?”

“A good friend of mine, a young black lad no more in years than sixteen or so, who by the slightest chance may be with Minjarra and I don’t want him hurt.”

Burke appears sympathetic, “you know I can’t promise anything. If he is running with them, I won’t be able to help him. Sorry lad, we have a job to do. Are you ready?”

“I am.”

“Righto’ let’s move out.”

With a heavy heart Axel commences to follow Minjarra’s passage through the thick scrub. It is easy with the freshness of the tracks and the morning light. With each print he finds, each brushing of leaves, broken branch displaced twig there is nothing that would suggest Miro is with Minjarra and his heart is lifting, also his job was becoming easier as it is obvious the blacks were confident and so careless even a child could read their passage.

It is late afternoon with the light commencing to fail under the leafy canopy, when Axel calls for quiet. Burke brings his mount close to Axel’s side, “what is it,” he quietly asks.

“They are just a short distance ahead.”

“How do you know?”

“If you stop your men from chattering so much you will hear.”

Burke calls for silence, “I can’t hear anything except the breeze and see nothing but trees.”

“Part of that sound is singing. They are giving praise to their commitment and by my judgement drunk on the booze they took from King’s property.”

Burke whispers; “you call that singing?”

“I would advise your men to dismount and advance quietly and be ready for a fight.”

Burke signals the men to dismount. With guns ready they fall in behind their sergeant.

Axel encourages their advance.

After a hundred quiet paces through thick undergrowth they are at the verge of a large clearing. The natives are squatting in the dust beside a small cooking fire. In the glowing coals is the carcass of a wallaby, the smell of the animal’s singing hair is heavy on the slight breeze.

A count of heads is silently taken.

Seven.

At the head of the cooking fire, facing the troopers hide, sits Minjarra, he is laughing as the others find voice while downing the last of the stolen booze.

The singing is soft and hypnotic.

One may say pleasing to the ear and in another time and situation they may join with the singing.

There are words to their singing but the language is Kedumba.

Axel can understand some.

They are espousing their bravery in repelling the invader.

Drive them back to the sea in their tall canoes.

Kill their cattle.

Burn their crops.

Drive them from our lands.

There is nothing in song about raping women or murdering children and nothing about scalping women.

Burke is like a coiled spring but must wait for the moment.

If fired upon the blacks are too distant from cover to hide, there is a good two hundred paces to reach the far side of the clearing, equally as many on either side, the closest cover is where the troopers wait for the signal to fire.

“Can you see your black mate?” Burke whispers to Axel.

“No, he is not with them.”

“Is your gun primed?”

“Yes,” Axel answers.

“Will you use it?”

Axe; doesn’t reply.

“Ready on my word,” Burke quietly demands of his men. As he speaks there appears to be realisation in Minjarra’s eyes, he stands and is peering towards the direction of the troopers.

He appears to be sniffing at the breeze.

The others remain seated and singing and totally unaware of the developing situation.

As Minjarra takes a breath to speak, Burke conveys the order as the troopers converge and rush from the undergrowth, their guns aimed and firing.

In the span of seconds; that is all and six black men are dead by their cooking fire, one falls into the coals across the carcass of the cooking wallaby, immediately the air is filled with the stink of burning human flesh.

Now only one remains standing. It is Minjarra, he is holding his lance and Axel is before him.

Minjarra lifts his lance towards Axel but doesn’t release, nor does Axel discharge his firearm.

For some seconds they stand silently facing each other. Minjarra is smiling, now laughing. He says a single word in Kedumba as a trooper leading up behind Axel fires.

Minjarra falls dead.

“Why didn’t you shoot the bastard!” Burke bellows at Axel.

Axel remains rigid without response.

“You were lucky someone had the sense to shoot him before he killed you.”

“I don’t think he would have harmed me.” Axel says.

“You know their language, what did he say?”

“I know Bedigal, Minjarra is Kedumba but that word is the same in both languages. It translates to mean totem.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Burke is now towering over the black man’s body, he is proud of the gaping wound in Minjarra’s chest.

There is little blood, as death came before the heart could pump its life force into the outside world, what there is, is red; ‘as red as my own blood,’ Axel thinks as he answers Burke’s request, “What Minjarra meant was he couldn’t kill me as I am his spirit totem.”

Burke removes the talisman from about the dead black’s neck, “I believe this is yours?” he offers the lock of red hair to Axel.

“No Mr. Burke, leave it with Minjarra, as it will help him enter their spirit world.”

“Do you believe that shit, lad?”

“I don’t but Minjarra did.”

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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