“What are writing materials?” the tall, black-man asked seriously.
“Oh, come on. You know what writing materials are.”
“What is writing?” Tarrapaldi asked.
“Writing. – You don’t know, do you?” Nathaniel shook his head. “Writing is the words we put on paper, so we can record and send our ideas to people we can’t talk too. Like the symbols and pictures you put on the walls of caves. Only we put them on – on paper. Which is like –” Nathaniel stood, walked over to his possibles bag and dug out his ticket of leave. “This is paper. On it are written the words that say I can carry out my own business.”
Tunggaree took the offered paper and looked at it closely. “These marks mean something the Goobahs understand?” He handed the paper on to his daughters after Nathaniel nodded. “We have nothing like this. Can we make it?” Tunggaree asked.
Nathaniel shook his head. “I don’t know how to make it.”
“Can you put the marks on the side that has no marks?” Tarrapaldi asked, holding Nathaniel’s ticket of leave up to show the blank side.
Nathaniel nodded. “I could, but I’m still going to need a pen and ink. And before you ask. Yes I can make them, if I can get a large feather and some lampblack.”
“The feather won’t be a problem.” Tunggaree looked at Muchuka. “Bring us the gubbon feathers you’re using to make a fan with.” Then looking at Nathaniel. “What is lampblack?”
“It’s what we make ink out of,” Nathaniel said. “It’s black and usually it’s in a container and has a small hollow in the top. We put water in the hollow and mix it with a brush until we have ink.”
“I know what he means, Father,” Tarrapaldi transmitted. “There’s a small wooden box amongst the things we found in the dead Goobah’s cart. In fact, it has some of this paper too, but it’s much larger and the marks aren’t the same.”
“I’d forgotten about that,” Tunggaree said, before remembering Nathaniel couldn’t understand his spoken word. “Go with Tarrapaldi. She’ll take you to the cave where the dead Goobah’s belongings are stored. Bring back what you need to make this map.”
“This is fantastic, Tunggaree,” Nathaniel transmitted when he strode back into the camp. “This map is a copy of the one Lieutenant Harrington had in Bathurst. Only it’s got more detail. I found it in the bottom of the writing box. The guy who owned it must have been filling in details as he traveled north. It’s still not very comprehensive. But it’s a grand place to start.”
Tunggaree smiled at the young man’s enthusiasm. “Do you have what you need to be able to write the map?”
“We don’t write maps, Tunggaree.” Nathaniel laughed quietly. “We draw them. But then we write words on them so people will know what the places on the map are called.”
Tunggaree frowned slightly. “Very well. But do you have what you need?”
“I sure do.” Nathaniel opened the writing box and held it so Tunggaree could see its contents. “Everything I need is right here. Why, we’ve even got some of the new Monroe pencils. They’re grand for what we want to do. If we make a mistake, or just want to change something, we can erase it easily.” Nathaniel demonstrated by drawing a line and then, using a piece of rubber from the box, he erased the line.
Tunggaree picked up the pencil and studied it closely before experimenting with a few drawings on the paper, which he then erased.
“This is very good, Nathaniel. Now show me on the map, where the Goobah’s towns of Sydney, Richmond and Bathurst are.”
Nathaniel showed him, and then stood there in amazement while Tunggaree used the pencil, to fill in the blank areas with intricate details of the terrain. Five times during the drawing, Tunggaree handed Nathaniel the pencil to have it sharpened.
When the map was completed, Tunggaree placed the pencil’s tip about 5 miles northwest of Richmond, and drew a straight line north for what represented about 75 miles. Then he drew a straight line southwest for the same distance, before forming a triangle, by joining the two lines.
“This is the land, Nathaniel,” Tunggaree traced the triangle without marking it again, “that I want Governor Macquarie to grant us.”
“Good Lord, man. That’s just under 3,000 square miles. He’ll never grant us that.”
“I agree he’ll never grant it to me. I’m a black-man. But he will grant it to you. You’re white.”
“I may be white, Tunggaree, but I’m also a runaway ticket-o’-leave. Hell’s breath, man, there’ll be a price on my head by now. And every Tom, Dick and Harry will be trying to put me back in chains for the reward.”
“True. But if you write your side of the story on paper, I will see it gets to Governor Macquarie. Tell him in your writing, that you’ll meet him here in five days.” Tunggaree tapped the triangle corner closest to Richmond. “Tell him you know where there’s a lot of gold. But you want your freedom, and land to live on, more than the trouble so much gold would cause,” Tunggaree said. “Tell him to come alone to the meeting. That you will speak to no-one but him about this problem.”
“It won’t work, Tunggaree. There’s no way the Governor is going to come to a meeting with a runaway. He just won’t do it.”
“He will when the paper you write, arrives with a gold nugget as big as this,” Tunggaree transmitted while holding up his fist.
“And just how the hell are you going to get a lump of gold that big, and a letter, to the Governor in secret?”
Tarrapaldi put her hand on Nathaniel’s arm and smiled. “That’s not your concern. We’ll get the letter to him. All you have to do is write it.”
Governor Lachlan Macquarie’s eyes snapped open but he didn’t move. He’d learned during his life as a soldier, to check very carefully before doing anything sudden in the seconds after he awoke.
Moving his eyes only, he scanned what he could see of the room. On the table by the open window, he saw a crow.
The crow, when it saw the Governor looking at it, pecked twice at the thong drawstring of a calico bag. With a single beat of its wings, the crow hopped to the window sill, before launching itself and flying to a nearby tree.
Trying not to disturb his wife, Macquarie swung his legs out of bed and walked to the table. The solid weight of the bag surprised him when he lifted it.
Untying the drawstring, he removed the paper he found and began reading. When he came to the end of Nathaniel’s letter, he upended the bag and dropped the huge nugget into his palm.
After looking to check the door’s lock bolt was still in place, Macquarie turned to the window and looked down on the guard standing below. Lifting his eyes to look at the crow still sitting in the tree, he saw the crow bob its head twice before, with a loud caw, it launched itself and flew off to the northwest.
“What’s that you’ve got in your hand, Lachlan?”
“Oh nothing, Dear,” Macquarie said to his wife. “Just somebody’s idea of a joke. Do you remember what young Harrington said he was planning for today?”
“I do believe he said he was taking Claire for a picnic at Bondi Beach.”
“Good. Then he shouldn’t be hard to find,” Macquarie said, on his way to the door.
“Where were you this morning?” Nathaniel asked Tarrapaldi, when she walked into their camp, carrying a woven-frond bag full of food.
“I delivered your letter, and then dropped by the garden on my way back.”
“What do you mean you delivered my letter? How’d you do that? Did you give it to someone to take to the post office?”
“Nathaniel,” Tarrapaldi said, “why do you always ask so many questions, without waiting for them to be answered?”
“You’re avoiding the question, Tarrapaldi. How and when will the letter be delivered?”
“It’s already delivered. Governor Macquarie has read it. But how it was delivered, is not your concern.”
“The hell it’s not, girl. That letter has my name on it. And I want to know how you got it to a man over 100 miles away, in only a few hours. Is this more of your devilry? Do you sprout wings and fly when it suits you?”
“Stop it, Nathaniel. You’re doing it again. You’re asking too many questions at once.”
“And you’re not going to answer them, are you?” Nathaniel said. “This is devilry, and you’re not going to tell me.”
“Nathaniel, it’s not devilry. The great creator, Baiame, has given gifts to those who believe and obey. But we cannot tell a non-believer about those gifts. If you will believe and demonstrate your willingness to obey, by allowing Tunggaree to circumcise you, then we can tell you more. But until you make that commitment – I’m sorry, but you’re not able to be one of us until you do.”
“Oh God. You’re back to wanting to cut my dong off.”
“Will you stop being so stupid.” Tarrapaldi stamped her foot. “You and I are going to have children. How can that happen, if we cut your dong off? Our children will be trained to be Koradjies, Nathaniel,” Tarrapaldi said. “Why won’t you allow us to train you?”
Nathaniel smiled, “Now who’s asking questions without waiting for answers?”
“The first wasn’t really a question, but the second one stands. Would you like to be trained as a Koradji?”
“Do you mean teach me to heal people like Tunggaree did? And to travel hundreds of miles in only a few hours? Yeah, I’d like to learn that.
“Then go to Tunggaree,” Tarrapaldi said. “Tell him you want to be initiated. And have faith, Nathaniel. Have faith.”
“Lieutenant Harrington, Sir,” the orderly announced while holding the office door open.
“Come in, Dennis,” Macquarie said without looking up from the letter he was rereading. Then to his orderly. “Close the door and make sure we’re not disturbed, MacTaffish.”
“I’ll come straight to the point, Dennis,” Macquarie said, looking up at the young man standing rigidly in front of him. “You know the convict, Nathaniel Johnson. Yes?”
“Yes, Sir. I do.”
“Relax. Sit in that chair.” Macquarie waved to an armchair off to the side of his desk, while positioning his own chair so his desk wouldn’t be between them. “Tell me about him. Is he trustworthy?”
“I found him completely trustworthy when he worked for me, Sir. Although from what Lieutenant Caruthers had to say,” Harrington said. “That isn’t the case anymore.”
“Let’s not worry too much about what Caruthers has to say, shall we. I want your opinion, Dennis.” Macquarie said.
“Well, Sir. Based on what I saw of him six months ago, he was hard working and intelligent. I never once heard him tell a lie. And when I found out how well he reads and writes, I employed him in my office as our company scribe.”
“You employed a man, convicted of treason, as your scribe?”
“Yes, Sir. I did.” Harrington shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “You see, I reasoned that if New Holland, or Australia as we hope it will be called, were to go to war with England. God forbid that ever happens. But if it did, Sir. And if I was in the same position as he was during the war of 1812. Well, between you and me, I’d probably do the same thing.”
“You do realize you’re on thin ice, Lieutenant?” Macquarie said, leaning forward to prop his angular chin up with his thumbs, while his elbows rested on his bony knees. “In fact, most people in the Empire would think I, as the Governor, should cashier you for the very thought.”
“Sir, I’ve never been on ice in my life. I’m an Australian, and proud of it. I’ll serve my King and country to the best of my ability. But should the two ever come into conflict, Sir. And again, God forbid the thought. But should it ever happen, well, the fact is,” Harrington said, “this land and the people in it, will be around long after the King is gone. If push ever comes to shove, I’ll do what I believe is right for Australia. This is my homeland, not England.”
“That’s almost poetic. If push comes to shove.” Macquarie leaned back to pick up the letter he’d been reading when Harrington came in. “Do you recognize this handwriting?” he asked, holding the letter up.
“I can’t be sure from this distance, Sir. But it looks like Johnson’s flowing style.”
“Good guess. It’s signed in his name. And when I checked, the signature matches what we have on file. What I’m about to discuss with you is critical to the survival of this colony,” Macquarie raised the paper in his hand. “If what’s in this letter were to be known by the public, the social structure of this colony would collapse within days. Do you understand what I’m saying?” Macquarie asked.
“You’re telling me this is all secret.” Harrington said.
“It’s so secret, Dennis, even my wife doesn’t know. I suspect that if any of the elitist officers under my command were to find out, they’d fill their bags with gold, and be on the first ship home quicker than a tinker’s wink.”
“Gold, Sir?”
“Yes. Bloody gold. Read the letter,” Macquarie said, handing the letter over, and then, reaching back to his desk, he lifted the calico bag and hefted it in his hand while Harrington read.
“You believe this?” Harrington asked, when he finished reading.
Macquarie lobbed the bag. Harrington caught it in one hand, but the weight of it drove his hand into his groin.
“Jesus Christ!” Caught unawares by the weight of the bag, Harrington jerked sideways in an attempt to deflect the blow. Then lifting it, he opened the bag and took out the nugget. “Oh my God,” he said, dragging his eyes away from the gold and looking at the Governor. “He’s not a liar, Sir. And with this in my hand, I have to say he probably does have a cave full of it.” Harrington looked back at the gold. “And where there’s one, there’ll be more.”
“Exactly.” Macquarie walked over to the map he had mounted on the wall. “If this becomes common knowledge, every carpenter, baker and laborer in the colony will down tools and rush for the fields,” Macquarie said. “The social structure of this colony will collapse, and law and order with it. My question now, Dennis, is how are we going to keep this from being discovered.”
“Give him what he’s asking for. Grant him the land, and then we’ll help him by prosecuting anyone who trespasses.”
“It’s almost two million acres, lad,” Macquarie said, tracing out the triangle described in the letter. “I can’t grant that much land to a runaway who was convicted of treason.”
“Perhaps you could grant him this Valley of Wonggaroa he’s talking about, as a homestead,” Harrington said, “and then give him the rest as a pastoral lease.”
“It’s still too much, Dennis,” Macquarie said. “He’ll have to be pardoned before I can give him any sort of grant or lease. And given his conviction, I’ll need a powerful reason to do that.”
“How about if he can supply us with horses?” Harrington said, rising from his chair and moving over to the map. “We don’t have a detailed map of this area, Sir. But I know a man who’s been in parts of it. And he told me there’s wild mountain horses in there,” Harrington said. “He calls them Brumbies, and they’re as tough as they come. My mare is one of them. What if Johnson were to supply horses for the Army?”
Macquarie stroked his chin. “That might work. The army in India definitely needs horses. If Johnson were to find and bring in, say 100, and then signed a contract to supply at least another 10 every month, I’d be able to justify giving him a pardon, on the grounds that he’s helping the British army. The army in India will buy as many horses as we can supply. That’ll bring cash into the colony. And it’d give me the reason I need to give him a grant and pastoral lease.
“Do it, Dennis. Work out a deal with him that will keep the knowledge of gold a secret. But if you can’t do that, Lad. If he won’t keep it secret. Kill him.” Macquarie said.<
br />
Chapter Twelve
“I don’t care if Harrington only used five men in his patrols, Sergeant,” Caruthers said. “We’re going into a hostile, uncharted area. So we’ll mount twenty men, thank you.”
“Yes, Sir,” MacLaughlin said with a salute, then turned and marched out of the Lieutenant’s office without showing his frustration.
“We’ll need 18 of the lads for this patrol, Alan,” MacLaughlin said to the clerk.
“Eighteen? You’re joking!”
“I wish I was,” MacLaughlin said. “If you see Billy before I do, tell him we’ll need the best horses. I’ve a feeling we’re in for some long days.”
“Twenty Men?” Billy burst out laughing. “May as well get some hounds, and have some silly bastard blowing a trumpet, while the rest of us yell, “Tally-ho.” Make a real party of it, what. – Tell me something, Bob,” Billy said when he saw the sergeant didn’t think the joke was funny. “Just what is Lieutenant No-Brains trying to achieve?”
“He wants to make contact with the Aborigines who live to the northeast of here,” MacLaughlin said.
“Are you serious?” Billy asked. “He’s taking a party of twenty armed men out, to make contact with the Aboes who live up in that God forsaken country? You realize don’t you, that he’s got as much hope of catching a sunbeam, and stuffing it up his arse, as he does of seeing their tracks, let alone making contact with them?”
“He’s new, Billy,” MacLaughlin said. “Give him a chance to settle in.”
“New, b’damned. I’ve been hearing about this idiot for ages. And I didn’t believe a word of it until I saw it for myself. I’m not going to waste my time riding around in circles, with a mob of blokes in red coats, Bob. I’ll head out now, by myself, and do a casting search to the northeast. You bring the troop along as slow as you can. When I’ve something we can work with, I’ll come back and meet up with you lot.”
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