Wild Lands (25 page)

‘Well, I've two more plants for the orchard.'

The cook rolled her eyes.

‘And apart from the other stores there's preserved fruit. Oranges and lemons.'

The older woman's face brightened. ‘They've not gone bad?'

‘They smell fine,' Kate told her.

‘You poke your finger in them, did you?'

Kate laughed. ‘No, but I thought of it.'

The cook pointed to a wooden door that was partially concealed in the side of the hill ten feet further up from where they sat. ‘That's where they'll be going.'

‘And the holes in the kitchen wall?' Kate had to know. ‘Has there been cause to use them?'

‘Frightened you, did they? Well, you best get used to them, girl. That's our lot. An airless box. But if they attack us again, it's a comfort to have them there.'

‘Again?' Kate repeated.

‘It weren't the mob what live here. No. Some mad black came through these parts the first few months we was here. Tall he was and scarred something terrible with a mass of dark hair. Held us up in there for half a day. Luckily it weren't real hot or we all would have been asphyxiated. 'Course that's how the Missus lost the baby. The shock of it. But Mr Southerland killed a couple of the men who were with that black bastard. They pinched some sheep and then they was gone. Since then we've had cattle rushed, but no more attacks. That black-loving Englishman has seen to that. Talks to the mob on Mr Hardy's land, he does, treats 'em as equals. Keeps them happy. They hunt and fish and the women go a-digging and the rest of us keep out of their way.'

‘How old was the baby?'

‘Born too soon, it was. I birthed it meself in that very room on the kitchen table while the men fired their muskets and yelled at the blacks. It were a terrible day. Now tell me, who's with you? Any likely lads? My eyesight's not what it used to be but I can appreciate a fine description.'

Kate found herself liking the muddle-headed cook, and she did her best to satisfy the woman's demands, Mr Callahan becoming something of a Scottish dandy with a strong gait and intelligent forehead while Betts and Gibbs were described in terms that made them twice the men that they actually were.

‘Convicts, eh? If you ask me we didn't want anymore, but I heard Mr Hardy himself complaining about the shortage of staff. Can't blame the immigrants for staying in the city. No, if I had me druthers, I'd never have come.'

‘Why did you?'

The cook wrinkled her nose. ‘I was getting forgetful and what with my eyesight, well, Mrs Kable she wanted someone younger. Got tendencies to greatness the Kables have. Not that a person can blame them. Anyways, I had a choice: come north with the Hardys or end up on the streets of Parramatta to spend me days down-at-heel. Not much of a decision in the end,' she sniffed.

‘It's a long journey,' Kate agreed, marvelling at the cook's hardiness.

‘Aye, and this lot complain about being surrounded by convicts but one thing's for sure, there's hardly a free man who wants to come this far north to work for another.' She hugged her arms, as the sun began to set. ‘And a person doesn't have to worry too much about runaways up here. Bleached bones is all that's at the end of an escape – bleached bones and crows. 'Course, occasionally I'd like one of them to try it. It'd give us something to think about. It's not like Syd-e-ney Town with the goings-on down there. There's always someone with their tongue a-wagging. When I was
younger, maybe twenty years ago or more, two convicts ran away from Syd-e-ney. Oh they gave the redcoats a merry chase they did. Man and woman they were, with a boy child. It weren't unusual back then for the men to risk the cat-o'-nine-tails, or the noose. Come to think of it, it still isn't. But for a woman to run, well, it was news. The gossips said it was true love. That the pair of them would die if they couldn't be together. Had the kitchen in the big house in raptures, it did. We sat around the table late into the night talking about them: where they were, the new life they were living. We were proud of them, and just a bit jealous for they'd risked their lives to be together. Ain't never been such a love story, never will be again.' The corners of the cook's mouth lifted in memory. ‘We wrote our own penny-dreadful novel that year we did. Lived out their love into the wee hours and dragged ourselves ragged around the kitchen during the day. It was the best of times.'

‘What happened to them?'

‘They died,' the old woman replied simply. ‘The redcoats caught up with the man, Fossey his name was, and flogged his back and rump to jelly until he told 'em where his lover was. Then they hung him dead. Watched him swing, I did, from Gallows Hill.' She nodded sagely. ‘It were a ghastly thing to see, but a body had to be there for it were something of an event after all the gossip. Afterwards some of us walked down to the water's edge and shared a pipe between us. It were a beautiful day.'

‘And the woman?' Kate asked.

‘They found her body in the mountains. At least they thought it was her. Those of us what worked in the big house moped about for days. Of course, I was younger then and yet to realise that a man don't want love, he wants a mother to care for him by day and a rutting partner at night.' Her eyes were distant.

‘And the boy? What happened to the boy?' Kate asked, mesmerised by the story.

‘They never found him. Lost to the wilds, I suppose.'

1838 March – heading east
towards the coast

They had left the sandstone outcrops in the south, cutting through the western edge of a great forest that was dominated by the sandy wash of past flooding creeks and ancient empty waterways. All manner of creatures existed here and they grew fond of eating the small furry tree climbers that were easy to catch. They camped in shallow caves during the hottest part of the day or buried themselves in the cool wet sand that bordered calm water. With time, Adam became less troubled. He hoped they were clear of the authorities. Certainly Bidjia had led them a distance, arcing far to the west before heading north-east and to the security of the great forest. But he would not consider camping here through winter in the shade of the tall pines and instead they had crossed the harsh, hot flatness of the plains and headed for the tallest mountain that rose prominently from the surrounding land.

The north-west side of the mountain was dense with timber and it had taken a half-day of solid walking and climbing to
find a path that circled around this barrier. Having reached the leeward side, the setting sun was now masked by the mountain and a haze of dust hung, suspended in shafts of tawny brown light. Adam waited silently with Bidjia and Jardi, his musket at the ready.

The kangaroos hopped slowly to a patch of springy grass. The largest, a male, had red-brown fur, fading to pale buff below and on the limbs. This was the one they wanted. The females would be left alone to breed. Jardi lifted his spear, aimed and threw it in one fluid movement, but the big red had already sensed them and darted away, scattering the rest of the mob.

The men gave chase. Jardi ran through the clearing, collecting the spear on the run and rejoined Adam. They passed rough-barked trees and ones of silver-white, all the while descending across gullies and narrow ravines. Through the vegetation the three men caught sight of the edge of the heavily timbered area. Patches of open land beckoned, only to become littered by woody plants and bushes as they got nearer. They were running hard now, their breath coming in gulps as they rushed through the timber. They jumped fallen logs and skirted scrubby bushes, twisting around saplings in pursuit of their prey. Occasional flashes of red fur were glimpsed but the animal was canny and fast. It ducked and darted, leading the men on a downhill chase.

Adam knew the red kangaroo was probably long gone but the rush of blood spurred them on. Landing on a stony outcrop, the musket clasped firmly, he jumped from one ledge to another, angling downwind of the animal, just in case it had halted its escape. He had left the older man behind, but Jardi still followed. The younger man's steps were fast and sure across the leaf litter but there was also another noise, the dull thud of the kangaroo.

At the bottom, where the land spread outwards from the folds of the mountain and the trees grew thinner, the red kangaroo reappeared. The animal stopped abruptly and in that instant
Adam lifted the musket and fired. The kangaroo dropped to the ground. Startled birds flew from nearby trees then all was quiet.

Bidjia ran from the timber, his breath catching in his throat, and together the three men made their way to where the animal lay breathing its last breath.

‘A good kill, brother,' Jardi said quietly. He knelt by the kangaroo, leaning on his spear.

Bidjia touched the animal's body, stroked the furry pelt, muttered something undecipherable and then, unsheathing his knife, slit the kangaroo's throat. A moment's silence drew attention to the cooling breeze and the distant scent of fire.

‘The animals are easily alarmed.' Adam used his knife to cut through the thick fur of the hind leg. He sliced the flesh down to the bone and, with the whiteness of the limb exposed, twisted the bone in its socket until it snapped, and then hefted it over his shoulder.

‘The kangaroo is made flighty by others. Come.' Bidjia led them away from the mountain. ‘This is big tribe land. The Big River country.' Since their wanderings had begun they had crossed lands belonging to many different tribes. The message stick had been well-used.

‘Are they still following us?' Jardi asked. ‘I haven't seen them.' The further north they'd ventured, seemingly, the more empty the land grew, although everywhere they went there were signs of other tribes. Some, like the warriors who'd been watching their progress from a distance, simply waited to ensure that they moved on. Others expected the laws to be respected and for Bidjia to ask permission to pass through lands belonging to others.

‘They have gone,' Jardi's father confirmed. ‘We have passed through their country. We have not seen so many wagon tracks, and the grasses beaten by the overlanding of sheep have grown less.'

‘We journey a way unknown to the whites,' Adam explained.

The countryside was a patchwork of pale greens and browns in the fading light. ‘Perhaps, but maybe there are not so many of them that they fill this land. It is too big, even for them,' Bidjia replied.

Adam was aware that men were settling beyond the defined counties, the imaginary line of British rule. Archibald Lycett had spoken of new and displaced settlers and their need for land, but Bidjia remained deaf to his warnings. The Elder grew more certain with each day that they could out-walk those who followed behind; that unspoilt earth could be found by the great waterhole further to the east, that another tribe would welcome them, they, the dispossessed; that his son, Jardi, would find a woman so that their line would not die out. Adam only knew one thing. That they had kept moving until they were beyond the stretch of the law.

‘We should stop and make camp before darkness comes,' Jardi suggested. Their attention was drawn to a large carcass on the ground. A cow had been killed. Its hide pierced by a spear, two legs roughly hacked off. Placing a hand on the animal, Bidjia looked from the dead beast across the darkening countryside. The kill was a day old. The whites did not take kindly to such losses. They knew from bitter experience that there would be retribution.

‘It's best if we keep moving. We want no trouble.' Bidjia increased their pace and soon the three men were walking quickly north-east, picking their way across unfamiliar ground, the kangaroo leg growing heavy on Adam's shoulder. Above them the sky grew blue-black, the air chilled. The coldness from the earth rose steadily and they picked up their pace, trotting across a land of deepening shadows.

A few days later Bidjia sniffed the air. The scent of smoke was bitter and close. It was not the dense smell of burning bush but something contained, manmade with pieces of dead timber and
gathered kindling. Here in this place where they intended to camp during the hottest part of the day, there was the smell of a cooking fire and the outline of a rough dwelling through the trees ahead.

Although the sun woman was fierce, Jardi decided they must leave this place and move on quickly. Adam was in agreement.

‘No.' Bidjia sat heavily in the dirt beneath a thickly branched tree.

Adam dropped to his knees by the older man's side. ‘Are you ill?'

Bidjia patted Adam's shoulder. ‘It is a long time since I found you, Bronzewing,' he looked up at Jardi, ‘and it is many seasons since I chose your mother and whispered your name so that you would come. I grow old and tired.'

‘We have wandered too long,' Jardi complained.

The soil was cool in the shade of the intertwining branches. It was a good place to rest. Adam looked at the hut. ‘I will go. I doubt whoever lives within will be too pleased to see the likes of you knocking on their door.'

Jardi nodded reluctantly, but he crept forward and took up a position some yards from the building, spear at the ready.

‘Be careful, my white son,' Bidjia cautioned.

Musket in hand, Adam approached the dwelling. ‘
Coo-ee
. Anyone within?'

In reply came the sound of something being overturned, the scuffle of movement. ‘Who wants to know?' a rough voice answered.

‘A traveller.'

The bark door barely opened and a wedge of yellow light glimmered weakly. ‘Who you be then? Friend or foe? I've got nothing worth thieving.'

‘Friend. I'm alone.'

‘Show yourself.'

Adam stepped towards the dim light.

The man within was sun-cracked and stoop-shouldered, but he grasped a wooden club and looked capable of wielding it. He
stared at Adam, from his blucher boots and coarse cotton trousers to the cream shirt he wore, blinking as if the man before him was an apparition. ‘I've got nothing worth stealing so you can put the musket down.'

He scratched at a grey beard and mumbled something about not having seen a white man for a few months. His Irish accent was thick and he spoke with a slur. ‘A few months,' he repeated. ‘It's been more than a few months. But there was a woman. Dark-haired thing. They were travelling onwards, before the massacre. Two wagons, loaded to the hilt they were, but not much for company. You'd think they would have stayed a bit, being how a man doesn't get much of a chance for a good yack, and a woman, well, I couldn't tell you the last time I saw a white woman. Only saw her from a distance, mind. But I can still smell her. You know how a woman smells? Rich with promise.' He gave what passed for a wink. ‘Well, come in.'

Adam stepped inside. The hut was small, well-built and hot. There were two young black boys curled on the ground near the fire, who sat up rubbing their eyes and proceeded to stare suspiciously at him. Behind them the fire crackled, the smoke spiralling through a hole in the ceiling. A rough shelf held two tin plates and a pannikin, while a cast-iron pan and quart pot were suspended from hooks above the fire. Against one of the mud-plastered walls a number of spears rested while a stump passed for a chair. The rickety table made up the extent of the furnishings. The man complained of the draft and Adam pulled the door shut, but not before noting Jardi, who stood flattened against the outside wall. Immediately the tiny space became acrid with smoke, cooking smells and the long unwashed.

‘Not many visitors. You want a feed?' The pot he sat on the table smelt of boiled kangaroo meat. There was a bald patch on the side of the man's head and a mess of scarred flesh suggestive of a brutal accident or fight. ‘There's salt and bread.' The blackened dough was
unwrapped from a piece of cloth and placed on the table beside a chipped bowl of salt. ‘I had a woman but she gone and died a while back.' He ruffled the hair of one of the native boys. They were not pure of blood. They sat cross-legged and waited patiently as the food was ladled onto a plate and held out their hands for the chunks of bread, which were torn from the tough loaf with some effort. The boys scoffed the meal down and then proceeded to wipe the vessels clean with fingers and bread. Adam declined the meat but accepted a piece of the bread and an old jam tin filled with hot water.

‘No sugar, but I keep a store of berries, better than nothing.' The old man tipped a wooden vessel onto the table and Adam recognised the small dried fruit of the wild plum and, selecting one, dropped it in the water. ‘I had tea once. You don't got any, I suppose? No? Ain't nobody around here to get anything, excepting those people that came through. They gave me a bit of tobaccy. Since then I've only had the Superintendent from the station.' The man served up the watery kangaroo on a tin plate and ate it between bites of bread and sips of sweetened hot water. With no other seat in the room, Adam sat on the dirt floor. ‘The young'uns stayed. Not much choice in it for them. Their lot didn't want them back, but I reckon one day they'll come for them. Still, while they're here, they're a bit of company. What you doing here then?'

‘Heading east towards the coast.' The bread was made of ground native millet. The Irishman owed his survival to the ways of his dead Aboriginal woman and the two boys, who Adam guessed were his sons.

‘Bit late to be travelling. Where you come from then? Seen anyone?' He watched Adam as he slurped the water.

‘Only a few blacks.'

The man tapped his head. ‘So you being alone, you'd be on the run? Convict or bushranger, it makes no difference to me.'

‘Something like that.'

‘Man's a right fool to be travelling about in this weather, so they must be on your tracks. Summer's settled in for a bit, but when she breaks the cold will hit you like a stab in the chest. Still, there's plenty to burn. Ain't been much rain so the going will be easy. Find yourself a good camp near water's my advice, be cold in the mountains already if you're heading east. You be right careful though, lad. The blacks have always been a bit uppity around these parts, but things are worse now. Times were when they'd spear a cow or a sheep, maybe even the odd shepherd, but not now. Last year there were white men murdered, stockmen.' The old man rose and Adam noticed for the first time dozens of knife-carved notches on the wall. ‘Caused a real commotion in these parts. Not least of all because good workers are hard to come by.' A filthy finger counted the marks backwards. ‘But the big ruckus,' he tapped the wall, ‘that was,' he began to count, ‘near two months past.'