Published: 8 Apr 2024

The following days after the Vinegar hill incident instigated mopping up action from the military, with some hundreds arrested and those considered to be the ringleaders or most recalcitrant sent to the coal mines on Coal River. There were hangings but limited, as for Phillip Cunningham, he survived his wounding by Trooper Anlezark only to be hanged outside the store he had threatened to burn.

It was now time for revenge with accusations liberally issued to settle old scores. It only took the slightest suggestion to have the military at the door searching for anything that could be considered seditious, while anyone with an Irish sounding name became fair game and the sale of emerald green ribbon banned and restrictions issued for the sale of powder and shot.

By the end of week the Vinegar Hill incident was becoming nothing more than a paragraph on the pages of history, as the New South Wales Corpse settled back into their favourite pastime, that being making money from the misery of convicts and settlers alike. They had the colony’s trade stitched to perfection and as there was limited coin in the colony, rum remained currency while pity any hardworking soul with a drinking problem, as a night on the rum would soon find him destitute.

Axel was not a drinker. He had seen too many good honest folk destroyed by the effects of alcohol to submit to its mind destroying effect. There was an occasion when bound over as houseboy to his Sergeant that on reflection sent a shudder through his spirit. That night Miller had returned to his house stinking of cheap grog after a drinking session with his troop and in a foul mood, as his woman had burned his supper. After taking his temper out on the poor woman, sending her for the security of a neighbour, he turned on Tommy, forcing him to fill his belly with some rot-gut brewed locally, then after giving the lad a beating, Miller worked himself into a sexual frenzy taking advantage of Tommy. It took more than two days for Tommy’s gut to settle from the incident, fearing him away from ever involving in drink, while preferring to barter for his supplies with kangaroo meat and skins without the need to use rum as currency.

It is a clear night finding Axel resting under a carpet of stars as the moonlight tipped the treetops in an eerie glow. Again the notion of travelling west is considered but with each consideration it is weakening. He had once heard of a way to solve any building problem being to wager benefits against encumbrance and this night while in the weighing he found the benefits were well outnumbered.

There is something else worrying the lad, an itch to his spirit he couldn’t reach. It was always there but deep, often rising during such quiet times when in pensive mood but never pronouncing itself in words. It came like a shadow moving across his mind, he can perceive its form but not look into it.

‘Who am I?’ Axel pensively questions as his resident possum arrives for a nightly morsel. The possum is becoming braver with each arrival and now contented to take food from Axel’s hand. He laughs at the animal’s daring and the sound of humour sends the possum scurrying back to the safety of its tree. He thinks of the Irish uprising and supposes if it wasn’t for their religion they could be English as they have two ears, a head and eyes, no more then or less than his own. Besides those he met were in the most more than generous, displaying a refreshing attitude towards family and loyalty towards friends. Freedom for Ireland was something he couldn’t comprehend, believing from what he understood of the English they also wished for freedom. He had heard of some place called America that had broken with the crown but that was a story too far and vague for him to understand.

“Who am I?” he utters with a sigh, “I am Axel the hunter,” he proudly replies. Axel’s appraisal is interrupted by a rustling sound a little down from his camp. The rustling sound brought concern but he soon realises it is nothing but some wild animal scuffing about for some tasty morsel.

‘Bandicoot,’ he thinks.

‘Not someone sneaking up on me.’ He gives a satisfying grin towards his ability to understand the forest.

Axel again settles into the night.

‘The blacks,’ he thinks.

‘It is certain they know I am here but appear to pass me by without a second glance.’

‘Why so?’ Axel believes he know the answer to his questioning. As Tommy No-One he was their friend, even so whenever he chanced upon the local mob during a hunt, they all but ignored him. They were the Bedigal and it was Bedigal children Tommy No-One played with along the dusty streets of the colony. It was the Bedigal who taught him the way of the bush and some of their language, not all, as there were some words so sacred they could not be share with strangers, others that would not translate into English. Sometimes while hunting in the mountains he would encounter another mob called the Kedumba and it was a Kedumba man who stole his lock of hair. It was also the Kedumba who burned out farms and killed livestock along the Nepean and Hawkesbury rivers.

Placing aside his security Axel gives thought to his sexuality. He had always known of his attraction to men and if Miller had treated him with kindness he may have accepted the Sergeant’s advances without question but by English law what Miller had done to him was a capital offence, considered with equal value to murder or rebellion. It was Axel’s belief he could be hanged for even mentioning such thoughts, so they were kept well hidden but not his desires, although since Edward Buckley left to start his empire in sheep and wool, there had not been anyone to douse those smouldering embers. He remembers what Buckley advised, tell folk anything they can discover for themselves and enough to prevent them from searching further but keep private that what is private. Axel now well understands Buckley’s advice as he is often reminded of his unwilling association with Miller and the crime of the Sergeant became the crime of the child no matter how often he protested his innocence, even so he kept private his inner desires.

A shooting star, burning bright green as a speck of space rock hits the atmosphere in the direction of Sydney and the ocean. It passes across the clear sky in less than a second, leaving behind reflection.

Axel gives a gentle smile.

‘What are they?’

He remembers an old woman from the prison telling they were babies being sent from god to the bellies of mother’s to be.

He scoffs at the idea.

‘If I climbed the highest mountain, could I reach the moon?’

‘Would I reach the stars?’

‘Or are they, as some say, a million miles away?’

‘Or are they just there above the mountains, hanging freely in the night’s sky?’

‘Where do they go during the day?’

‘How far is a million miles?’

‘One thing is certain. I definitely have too much time for thinking.’

There is new sound coming from further down the hill. Most white folk would not have heard the sound but Axel’s ears have become as tuned to nature as were those of the black man.

He stealthily moves into the shadows away from the fire’s reflection and waits.

There are footsteps but not those of a white man, as there is the cautious sound of bare feet on earth while disturbing the leaf litter. The movement suggests the owner has a slight limp.

Axel moves further into the shadows.

The undergrowth at the downing side of his camp parts and a black man steps into the light of the campfire.

He is a tall lean man, darker than night and painted with the totem of the Bedigal clan.

He is not youthful, nor old and totally naked holding a hunting spear in one hand and hunting boomerang in the other.

‘Natives don’t hunt at night,’ Axel thinks.

‘Or is he hunting me?’

Axel’s mind is racing and his heart pulsating in his ears, as he swallows at the dryness in his throat.

‘What would Jock do?’

‘Jock would say?’

‘Don’t dwell on imagining outcomes as they aren’t half as bad as real stuff. Hold to your calm.’

Axel lowers his breathing as he waits for the intruder to make his move.

Instead of attacking, the black man makes a happy sound as he enters into the light of the fire. He had already perceived Axel’s presence and again it is Axel’s hair that gives away his person, as its colouring equals the reflection from the fire.

Axel quietly reaches for his gun. It isn’t primed.

He believes the sight of the gun may deter the black man from attacking, “are you hungry?” he nervously asks in the Bedigal language.

The black man utters a jumble of words.

The uttering is strange to Axel’s ears and has no meaning, it is more towards gibberish.

Axel keeps his tone friendly while masking his fear, “what do you want?” he asks in Bedigal.

The black man sinks the point of his hunting spear into the ground and sits under the possum tree. The firelight flickers across his dark skin and glows in his eyes buried beneath a heavy brow.

Axel releases his hold of the gun and offers some of the kangaroo meat he had cooked earlier that night. The native accepted the meat. He quickly finished the meal and returns to his feet.

“Grog,” The native demands in English.

“No got grog.”

The black man stamps a foot loudly on the bare earth and repeats, “Grog!”

Again Axel repeats negativity but offers up his water container.

The black man turns and departs while growling; “want grog – want grog.”

Axel is visually shaken, as the encounter could have ended badly for him. He wasn’t under any delusion the natives didn’t know of his presence but up to that night they simply passed him by, even on their way to attack settlers or burn their crops without glancing up the slope towards his camp. Now with the night’s encounter he was considering finding a safer place, possibly he may have to move back closer to civilization at least until the native wars were at an end.

There was another alternative, he could find an accepting group and live with the natives. Many escaped convicts had done so, some had taken black women as wives and now and then a half-coloured child would be seen about the native camps. Some escapees were not as fortunate and their speared bodies would be found rotting in the scrub, the skulls beaten to unrecognizable pulp with a rock. They had usually stole from the natives, or showed disrespect. As for the children of mixed blood they were accepted by the natives as their own without hesitation but never by the white settlers.

At best the natives could be considered unpredictable, turning from friendly to aggressive in an instant, then back again in the blink of an eye. This was proven in the earlier days of settlement, when the then Governor Arthur Phillip approached what he believed to be a group of friendly natives on the shores of the inner harbour. Leading the group was the Governor’s favourite, a cheeky young man called Bennelong. As Phillip approached one of the natives stepped forward and threw his spear, badly wounding the Governor. Later the incident was understood to be payback and Phillip’s demise was never intended, nor the reason for retribution understood.

Another trait of the natives, they were notorious thieves and would do so under your very nose, even out of your hand if it pleased but with the event of the native wars their pilfering was mostly during the darkest hours. Possibly the thieving trait came from the belief there wasn’t anything such as personal property in native society, as everything belonged equally within the group.

After Axel’s visitor had gone back into to the night, he was left with a building decision but whatever the outcome it would have to wait until the morning, although he would have a nervous night with fear he would receive another visit, this time coming with intent.

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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