Wild Lands (9 page)

On the verandah, a suspended cage held a rainbow lorikeet. The head of the bird was a deep blue, the rest of the body a mixture of green, red and yellow. The parrot was talkative today and had clearly been enjoying a diet rich in nectar from the early spring flowers Mrs Lycett picked, for there was bird droppings splattered all through the cage, on the timber boards of the verandah and the wall opposite. Winston's father sat nearby, reading.

‘Adam, good morning to you.'

‘Mr Lycett.' Adam leant on one of the verandah's wooden pillars. A vacant chair rested against the wall of the verandah. It was not offered.

Grey of hair, serious, with a face creased like woven matting and immaculately dressed, Mr Lycett was akin to a coiled spring ready to bounce at a moment's notice. ‘You've been with Winston? No doubt he's been regaling you with Bessel's achievements. I'm glad you're back. It will give us all something different to talk about.' His mental faculties were on a par with his son's but he had a driven quality about him and Archibald Lycett knew the difference between the educated mind and idleness, a trait that he often ridiculed Winston for. ‘A letter from London. My sister.' He folded it carefully, ensuring the original creases were matched and lay the letter on the table, beneath a hinged box which held a pistol.

‘I can come back when you've finished reading?'

Removing round reading glasses, Archibald wrapped them in a length of cotton and placed them in a wooden case. ‘Not at all. I've read it a half-dozen times already. She writes with a fine pen. I can almost see the River Thames … the vendors.' He gave a sigh, tucking the letter in his coat pocket. ‘Such a distance away. It means nothing to you, I know, such is the loss to the native born. You know why I wanted to see you?'

‘I have some idea.'

‘I don't wish to accuse as I have no evidence, except a shepherd's word. There has been another fire. The second in as many weeks.'

‘The hot weather comes,' Adam replied cautiously. ‘Lightning strikes are of concern to all.'

‘Do you think me a fool, sir? Two natives were seen in the vicinity.' Winston's father rubbed a weathered cheek. ‘Can you not explain to them, Adam, that my sheep need grass to survive?'

‘You have been here twenty years, Mr Lycett. Have you not seen a change in the landscape since the arrival of your sheep? Was
the kangaroo grass not up to the stirrup irons on your horse on arrival? Was the winter herbage not abundant, the earth covered by a variety of plants?'

‘Archibald, I told Adam he must stay and eat with us.' Mrs Lycett stooped to collect a roll of thread that spilt from her basket as she headed towards them.

‘You must have noticed that the tall grasses that once thrived in this area have been eaten out or trampled by your livestock, only to be replaced by inferior ones,' Adam continued. ‘Once you could stick your finger in the ground and the dirt was ashy and soft, now it grows hard. Not only do your sheep wander in search of better pastures but so do the animals, kangaroos and wallabies. While you worry about feed for your sheep, the Aboriginals fear starvation.'

‘So they try to burn us out?' Mr Lycett responded tightly.

‘Firing the land entices new growth. It always has. This is not some new venture done on your arrival. It is a long-held practice, the benefits of which can be seen if one looks.'

The older man shook his head. ‘I would rebuke you for your impertinence were it not for our friendship.'

Mrs Lycett had stopped again to pick wild flowers: small yellow-headed pinpricks of colour.

‘I will forgive your lecturing tone and simply say that you always tell me this, Adam. Sometimes I think the blacks have put you under a spell making you believe such a thing. You owe Bidjia your life, this much I understand, but you are fighting a battle you cannot win by choosing to support their methods, by turning an eye to the atrocities that the natives commit. You of all people must realise that assimilation is the only way.'

‘But how can we all live together if we're not prepared to see another's point of view?'

‘Adam, people think of the Aboriginals as an annoyance at best, others see them as a blot, a blight, a stain that should be wiped
away. You and I both know that if there is to be assimilation it will be under British terms.' The older man leant back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘I know of not one settler who thinks this fire-stick farming is done with a positive result in mind. You must be able to see this yourself, Adam. If you burn land, you kill the grasses and the trees. We must then wait months for regrowth of any kind. And in this country, well, New South Wales is not England. I could sooner learn to dance on my head than predict the weather. If the blacks burn a patch of ground, in all likelihood I will not see feed for many months. If there is no feed for my sheep, then my livelihood starts to be affected and in turn my family.'

‘But there are long-term benefits. Decrease your sheep numbers,' Adam argued. ‘Move your stock as the Aboriginals move the native animals, from one patch of feed to another. Regrowth comes naturally.'

‘Have I the acreage to do such a thing?'

‘Are we all not equal in the eyes of God?' Mrs Lycett stepped up onto the verandah. ‘And if that be the case then surely there can be lessons learnt here that may go some way to easing the problems you discuss.' Removing a wide-brimmed hat, she dabbed at the beads of moisture on her brow. ‘It is too fine a day for ill-humour. You two must agree to disagree for Adam strides two worlds while we sit safely within ours.'

‘Perhaps you would fetch us some water, my dear. Our conversation has made us thirsty.'

Mrs Lycett swapped the hat from one hand to another, the barest sign of annoyance, although her smile remained constant. ‘Of course.'

‘My sheep are my livelihood, Adam,' Mr Lycett continued once they were alone again. ‘And let me tell you, they cost me a huge sum of money, along with the numerous supplies needed when I embarked on this enterprise. I have sunk my life savings into
this place and I refuse to see my business decline because of a handful of blacks. Especially now that wool has overtaken whale products as the colony's major export earner. Prices are beyond my expectations and have been for a number of years. I'm reaping the benefits of my breeding program and my sheep numbers are such that it's time to expand.' He rose, placed a confident hand on Adam's shoulder. ‘I want you to come with me to look at a holding closer to Bathurst. I'm told it is a fine stretch of country. A pretty wooded landscape, with good grasses and a scarcity of trees with a grand view across the plains. It only needs a home and a manager,' he finished pointedly.

It was as great an offer as Adam could hope to be given. ‘And what of Winston?'

‘My son does not possess the fortitude required for such a role. You know this.' He dropped his arm.

‘To be fair, he has not been tested. I can't be of assistance to you, Mr Lycett.' He lifted a boot and rubbed the top of it against his trousers. ‘Winston and I –'

‘Are friends, yes, yes,' the old man interrupted dismissively, ‘and business is business. Think on it. There are many who would be keen for such a position and Winston will be content with my decision. He is aware of his shortcomings.'

‘My friendship with your son is not the only reason that I can't accept your offer.'

Archibald spent some moments contemplating the parrot in the cage. The bird tilted its head under the man's scrutiny. ‘My son tells me that you call them your people. Well, you can tell
your people
that I am tired of the burning of my land, of my sheep being rushed, of having them stolen. Two years ago one of my shepherds was speared, as you well know. I did not retaliate as was my right and as many other landholders would have. I have hoped for understanding, for peace.'

‘On your terms.'

‘What terms?' Mr Lycett's boots scraped the boards beneath. ‘I own this land and the sheep on it. There is no place for terms, it is a simple case of land ownership.'

‘And there lies your problem, for Bidjia's people were here before you.' He was pleased Winston wasn't present for a line had been crossed with his father.

‘You best take your leave, Adam.'

Mrs Lycett appeared from the house with two glasses of water. ‘Adam, wouldn't you like some water before you go?'

‘Leave him,' her husband said curtly, accepting the water as Adam walked away without answering.

Husband and wife waited until Adam's figure merged with the distant trees.

‘He must give thought to where his loyalties lie.' Draining the glass Archibald sat it on the table.

Georgina dabbed at the perspiration on her neck. ‘He is wasted out here. Adam should be seeking a commission or at least entering some trade where he can eventually purchase land and a home of his own. He is intelligent and mannered when he's inclined. He should be marrying, settling down, and starting a family.'

‘He's the bastard child of a dead convict, my dear. Who knows the mix of blood that runs through his veins? We have done our best to guide him, but I think perhaps the wildness of his nature will never be tamed.'

‘Why do you say that?'

Archibald poked at the caged bird and was rewarded with a screech. ‘I just offered him the management of the holding near Bathurst if I decided to purchase it and he dismissed me out of hand.'

‘He did not countenance it at all?' Georgina took a sip of the tepid water that was stained by the stringy-bark roof to the colour of tea. ‘But it is such an opportunity for him.'

‘One that my own son is incapable of involvement in.'

‘You forget, husband, he is my son too. I am very fond of Adam but you must stop comparing the two of them. You have made much of Adam's abilities, while limiting the opportunities for Winston to prove his.'

Archibald gave his wife a sidelong glance. ‘He has a female's tendency to weakness.'

Georgina threw the remnants from the glass over the edge of the verandah. ‘I think I may rest this afternoon. The day draws hotter as we speak.'

‘I want you to keep close to the house for the time being. No wandering off on one of your walks.'

Georgina looked across the pale green grass that spread out to an edging of tall trees, their branches gently swaying in the breeze. ‘Do you ever think of home, of England?'

‘Of course, but we are prospering here, Georgina. We've money in the bank and the sum grows yearly.'

Her husband came to stand by her side. ‘At night I look up at the brightest of stars but it is not the sky my mother looks at.'

Archibald squeezed her hand. ‘I miss our old world as well, Georgina, but we came here for the opportunities that New South Wales offered and all my expectations have been met.'

She nodded dutifully. ‘I am glad for you, for what you have achieved.'

‘For us, Georgina. I did it for us.'

‘Of course. Do you recall when the constellations of our youth were replaced by this new southern one as our ship steered south?'

‘It is not something a person would soon forget.'

‘It was like saying goodbye to my friends and family, my life, all over again. Now I have an upside-down kite hanging above me, instead of the Great Bear.'

Archibald kissed his wife on the cheek. ‘You will stay close to the house?'

‘You expect trouble?' Georgina sniffed.

‘Look where we live, my dear. I always expect trouble.'

1837 August – the Kable farm

The dining room was large and elegant, but far more austere compared to Mrs Kable's reception room. This was an area that spoke of sparseness, of the military, and Kate supposed Mr Kable may have had such a background. The table was set for eight people, although Kate was sure it could have easily sat twelve, and it was laid for four courses. A fine meal. Two portraits hung about the walls and an oval mirror reflected a mahogany sideboard displaying fine silverware and cut-crystal decanters. But it was the glow from the candelabra scattered about the room and along the centre of the table that gave the space such a decadent feel. Kate could have pinched herself.

At the far end of the room Mrs Kable was talking to two young British officers while the Reverend was pontificating in front of the substantial fireplace, his audience a rather bemused older gentleman. The man in question turned in Kate's direction and she knew immediately by the oil painting above the mantelpiece that this was Mr Jonas Kable.

‘Miss Carter, a pleasure.' He drew her towards their intimate grouping, his wife nodding a polite if restrained greeting. Mr Kable was a large man with fashionable whiskers and a paunch. He introduced her to the two young officers, Lieutenant Wilson and Captain Gage, and Kate quickly found herself at the centre of the soldiers' conversation. The men were recently returned from duty over the range and the rum on their breath and in their glasses heightened the enthusiasm of their talk. It appeared they had taken part in a number of ad hoc duties, which included protecting bullock drays carrying essential supplies to Bathurst and then carrying out sweeps further west to intimidate ‘uppity blacks'.

‘Of course, in some regions we have equal problems with bushrangers, convicts and natives,' Captain Gage replied in answer to their host's query regarding hostilities. Kate didn't know if it were possible for a man to stand any straighter. ‘The violence of the previous decade has all but disappeared on this side of the hills, although it's true the killing of livestock still goes on and the odd spearing of shepherds occurs.'

‘The native numbers have been much depleted in this area, mind you, Captain. It has taken since settlement of this fair land to gain the upper hand.' Mr Kable offered Kate a glass of brandy and water, which she couldn't help but sniff with interest. ‘There are still some of us who suffer, however, and the monetary loss to those settlers affected cannot be underestimated.'

‘Especially for those on the fringes of the settled districts,' the Captain continued. ‘For those who have journeyed further out, the conflict persists. The colonists are spread too wide now for our small numbers to be of assistance to them. They must learn to band together and fight their own battles. More mounted police are the solution, for certainly by the time regiments of Her Majesty's At Foot march through an area, the blacks have seen us coming. We move too slowly and the red of our jackets shines like
a beacon. I am sure they simply avoid us and direct their destruction to another area.'

‘And what do
you
think of the ongoing problem with the natives, Miss Carter?' her host enquired.

Kate, in the midst of taking a sip of the drink, coughed at the tartness. Mr Kable gave a chuckle, offering her a handkerchief as she lifted the back of her hand to wipe her lips. ‘Thank you,' she replied self-consciously, dabbing her mouth.

‘No, keep it,' her host replied kindly.

Lieutenant Wilson had been staring at Kate since their introduction. Pale-skinned with the ruddy cheeks of sunburn, he had bright, intelligent eyes. ‘What do you think, Miss Carter, about the natives?'

‘I, I have little experience in that area, sir,' she stammered nervously. ‘Although I believe education of the children may help.'

Captain Gage patted a thin moustache. ‘I'd rather see sterner measures. The natives are at worst a danger and at the very least a nuisance. Their numbers may be much reduced around Sydney proper, however there are still some intent on laying claim to land that is not theirs. Considering the supposed land mass to the west that is yet to be surveyed, one would wonder why they simply all don't move on.'

‘It is a pity such animosity exists,' Lieutenant Wilson finally spoke, ‘for it is my understanding that these natives live off the bounty of the waterways and eat what native animals can be found as well as fruits and nuts. They seem to be a quiet, harmless people, unless antagonised.'

‘Lieutenant Wilson is only recently arrived this year,' Captain Gage said condescendingly. ‘Although we have tried to educate him in the history of the colony he is one for witnessing events before passing judgement. So far he has seen but one of the natives' gatherings, a corroboree, listened to disgruntled settlers and chased a number of bushrangers.' He turned to Wilson. ‘Oh, and he has
come across a speared cow and given chase to the killers, if my memory serves me correctly.'

The Lieutenant frowned.

‘Miss Carter.' Mrs Kable beckoned her towards the fire, subtly placing herself between the soldiers and the Reverend and drawing her husband to her side. The Reverend gave Kate an unmistakeable look of annoyance. ‘I did suggest you would prefer your rest and would not be used to our gatherings, however Mr Kable insisted.'

‘Well, of course I did. It is a rare thing to be graced with the company of two of the fairer sex, but I also must admit to some curiosity, firstly that some young gentleman has not already snatched you up,' he said with appreciation, ‘and secondly that in your present state of singledom, Miss Carter, that you are actually prepared to go beyond the outer limits. It is unusual to say the least, most unusual. It takes a sturdy character to elect to go into the wilds.'

The Reverend, having positioned himself directly behind their host, gave Kate a simpering smile.

‘The outer limits,' Kate repeated. She had no idea what he meant.

‘But I have spoken with her, my husband,' Mrs Kable began. ‘Miss Carter is convinced in her course of action.' The older woman shrugged. ‘It is not for us to query a decision made, although I find her choice to go so far from civilisation surprising.'

‘Surely not,' Lieutenant Wilson responded. ‘Begging your pardon, miss, but did I hear correctly? Are you to be travelling to the outer limits?'

‘Beyond them,' their host confirmed, pouring more wine for himself.

Kate felt as if the four walls of the room were closing in on her.

Even the Captain looked askance. He approached with renewed interest. ‘It is most ill-advised. A single woman travelling through the wilds to the further edges of the colony. Why, I have it on
report that clashes occur daily and many a settler gives thanks to see their home still standing when they return at day's end.'

It was then that Kate understood that she'd not been forgiven for turning down the Reverend's advances. She took another sip of the brandy, grateful for its restorative powers as the man observed her with a quiet smugness.

‘And you are decided in this matter?' Captain Gage persisted.

The room waited for a response. Kate thought quickly. She would say no; that the Reverend had misled her; that she had no intention of journeying to the outer limits. But what would she do if there was no other position available within the extended Kable family? Where would she go?

‘You'll be with us then, I presume, Miss Carter,' Lieutenant Wilson broke the expectant silence, ‘as part of Mr Southerland's expedition, for we also have orders to travel up-country and will therefore serve as your escort for part of the journey.'

The question of how to reply was delayed by Mrs Kable's entreaty for everyone to be seated. Kate found herself on her host's left, opposite a vacant seat, which apparently awaited the arrival of a Major James Shaw. Lieutenant Wilson was at her side, immediately enquiring if Kate was quite well, where she'd journeyed from, remarking on the roughness of the roads, if he might escort her along the verandah following dinner. Answers weren't required for the Lieutenant was quite adept at having a conversation without her responding. Kate was grateful, for a cold lump had settled in her stomach and she did not think she was capable of replying.

Potato and sage soup was served. Kate glanced at the selection of cutlery laid out on either side of the bowl and hesitated. The spoon at least was an easy choice for this course. Jelly-belly stood against the far wall, as all at the table looked to their hostess to begin the meal.

‘What of Major Shaw?' Mrs Kable enquired. ‘And the gentleman, Mr Southerland?'

‘Both men are your guides, my dear,' Mr Kable informed Kate. ‘I can't confirm Mr Southerland's attendance, Mrs Kable, however I'm sure the Major will be here directly.'

‘He is quite tenacious in his duties, our Major Shaw,' his wife responded. ‘On request from an old friend of ours in London he procured a savage's head and had it duly shipped home.'

‘The scientific study of race and the gradations of the
Homo sapiens
is an interest of my own,' Mr Kable explained to his guests, ‘and these natives are splendid examples, once one goes beyond the towns. Well, we cannot wait for the Major.' He raised a glass. ‘There is nothing quite like Her Majesty's At Foot for protection. To Queen Victoria.'

‘Queen Victoria,' all replied.

‘It is barely three months since the young queen ascended the throne.' Mrs Kable took a sip of her punch. ‘Such responsibility for a young woman, and to think four kings have preceded her reign.'

‘Let us hope she marries soon and delivers a male heir.' The Reverend held his glass aloft and Jelly-belly re-filled it. ‘Now, let us bless the evening meal?' Placing his glass carefully on the table, Reverend Horsley folded his hands. ‘Oh Lord, we thank you for the bountiful benefits we are about to receive, for the wellbeing of these good people seated at this table and for all those that come under their care and we ask that –'

‘Good evening.' Major Shaw begged apologies for his lateness, oblivious to the look of annoyance on the Reverend's face. Broad shouldered and deeply tanned with blond hair tied at the nape of his neck, he had the bluest of eyes. The two junior officers rose in greeting. Kate caught a whiff of horse and saddle-grease as he sat opposite her, and on their introduction his gaze lingered. She couldn't recall having ever been looked at that way before. It made her quite uncomfortable and she lowered her eyes. She guessed him to be aged in his late twenties, as he explained away George Southerland's absence.

Conversation turned to the current state of the wool industry. It seemed that pastoral expansion was increasing at a rapid rate and it was solely due to sheep.

‘Well, the British Parliament had to lower the tariff, Major. The quality of the wool grown in the colony is such that they had no choice but to recognise our ability to take part on the world stage. And here we are,' Mr Kable took a slurp of soup, ‘colonial wool growers competing with their European rivals despite high production costs and the enormous distance to the British market.'

‘Indeed the colony is now producing at international levels, but regretfully burgeoning markets can have serious consequences,' Major Shaw replied. A soft Scottish lilt was overlayed by a clipped English pronunciation.

‘Such discouraging dining talk, Major.'

‘My apologies, Mrs Kable, I did not come here to bore you with such matters, especially in such elegant surrounds.'

Over the years Kate had heard many a story as to the rewards that could come to the determined settler, but she'd not realised until her arrival at the Kables' holding how lucrative an enterprise fine Saxon wool could be.

‘Certainly our wool is much sought after,' Mr Kable enthused. ‘The climate seems to have an extraordinary effect on the weight and quality of the fleeces. I hear the softness is often remarked upon by manufacturers. But I see there is something troubling you, Major.' He nodded to Jelly-belly, who'd been busy clearing the soup bowls and pouring pale wine from a carafe. Mr Kable waited until his glass was filled and then, having ensured the Major's glass was also topped up, gestured for him to continue.

‘No more than usual, however, I do have unwelcome news. The Australian Agricultural Company lost two shepherds to the blacks last month. My apologies, Mrs Kable.' Major Shaw took a sip of wine and offered his compliments. ‘I would not bring such a subject up before the fairer sex,' he turned to his host, ‘but with
our departure imminent this has bearing on your cousin's requirements. It seems two of his promised convicts are to be reassigned to the Company.'

‘Nine men. That will leave him with nine men on the farm.' Mr Kable placed his glass on the table with a thud as Jelly-belly began to transfer plates of stewed fish with wine sauce from the sideboard to the table. There was a salad of boiled spinach to accompany the entrée.

Kate noted the knife and fork Lieutenant Wilson selected, and followed suit.

‘There is nothing to be done, particularly at such short notice.'

‘I know that. I can hardly fight a company founded through an Act of the British Parliament.'

‘It also reduces the numbers of the party once they leave Maitland, although George Southerland has agreed to stay on your cousin's run for a period of twelve months until something can be done about labour.'

‘Dare I say it, but I am sorry the Colonial Secretary approved Samuel's application to lease the holding.' Mrs Kable frowned at the fish. ‘Although as they have been squatting on that land for the past twelve months or more I suppose one must be pleased that their tenacity has been rewarded.'

‘Our holding,' her husband gently reminded her. ‘We have a part share in the enterprise.'

‘The Secretary would hardly say no, Mrs Kable,' Major Shaw spoke politely. ‘Samuel Hardy is of good repute, with the financial backing required.' He acknowledged Mr Kable with the slightest tilt of his head. ‘Southerland paid the annual lease of ten pounds on Mr Hardy's behalf.'