‘I trust you,’ she said.
‘Then maybe you should trust my judgement too. I don’t want to have to gather a lot of wet firewood and pitch camp in the mud. He seems nice enough to me, and he’s got a good dry spot under that big gum tree.’
Bridie sighed. She loved the way Gilbert was so willing to like people. That was why the two of them were friends – he hadn’t cared that she was just an Irish serving-girl. But there was something about the old man that made Bridie’s thumbs prick. Reluctantly, she crossed the muddy clearing with Gilbert to join the old man squatting by his campfire.
‘We’d like to take you up on your offer, thank you kindly, sir,’ said Gilbert, flashing his wide, white smile.
Gilbert tended Sugar first, taking off her saddle and rubbing the weary pony down with a small cloth and then covering her with a horse-blanket that he kept rolled tight in the saddlebag.
‘Fine-looking animal you have there, Bert,’ said the old man, offering Gilbert a tin mug of tea.
‘She’s the best pony a boy could wish for. We’ve come all the way from Melbourne and passed many a bigger, stronger horse, but Sugar hasn’t faltered once.’
‘Aye, did ye see the big draughthorse caught in the mud a few miles back, sunk to his haunches. His owner shot him rather than leave him to die there.’
Gilbert and Bridie both shuddered. Bridie couldn’t bear to think how Gilbert would cope if anything should happen to Sugar.
‘So what do your parents think of the pair of you, heading off to seek your fortunes?’ asked Jacobus, his eyes flashing.
Bridie said nothing, scowling into the fire. ‘Well, you see, sir, Mr Jacobus, my brother Billy and I, we’re orphans,’ said Gilbert, folding his hands and smiling earnestly. ‘So there are no parents to worry about us. We’ve lost our parents and it’s only each other that we’ve got for company now.’ Bridie groaned inwardly at Gilbert’s cheerful tone. He’d never make a good liar.
‘You two are no more brothers than I’m a blackfella.’
Bridie narrowed her eyes. ‘Looks can be deceiving, Mr Jacobus. You could have a black heart and Bert here could be my soul’s own kin. There’s no accounting for the mysteries of this world.’
Jacobus laughed and reached into his pocket for a small metal flask which he took a swig from. ‘That’s the truth, my boy. That’s surely the truth.’
‘And what were you before you came for the gold?’ she asked, pointedly.
‘Ah, before I sought the sacred trail to El Dorado, I was both a thespian and a magician. But I still am a thespian, will always, in my black heart, be a thespian. Of late I have been plying my wizardly skills. Always a sure way to secure some coinage for the adventuring man.’
‘How do you do that?’ asked Gilbert, leaning forward, his face lit by the campfire.
Jacobus leaned over, brushed his hand past Gilbert’s ear and as if by magic withdrew a card, the Ace of Diamonds. He gave it to Gilbert. ‘A symbol of what lies ahead for you, my boy,’ he said. Gilbert turned and grinned at Bridie. Then Jacobus leaned towards her and she flinched as his hand brushed past her face. He held up another card, a Queen of Spades. ‘I’m sorry, young Billy Dare, it seems you have the luck of the Irish.’ And he cackled.
From the folds of his coat he produced a dog-eared deck of cards and did some tricks with them, fanning them out, selecting cards at will from the thick fold and making them appear and disappear. Then he brought out a small concertina and played a little tune. Marmalade came close to the fire then and rose up on his hind legs, dancing a spinning jig.
After the music finished, Gilbert tried to persuade Jacobus to show him how to do the card tricks.
‘I can’t wait until I can pull that trick on Constance. She won’t believe I can do it,’ he whispered to Bridie.
Bridie drew further away from the circle of light, watching man and boy together. Marmalade came and sat by her, nuzzling her hand in the hope of a scrap, but she pushed the dog away. Finally, Jacobus grew tired of instructing Gilbert and made moves to settle for the night.
‘When you’ve struck your gold, you mustn’t forget your old wayside chum, my lovelies,’ said Mister Jacobus, shaking his blanket out and covering himself up. ‘Goodnight, boyos. Let’s all of us dream of the treasures that lie ahead.’
Bridie could have sworn that he winked at her as he said it. She turned her back to the campfire and lay very still, listening to the gentle patter of the rain on the canopy of leaves above them.
27
Midnight
Gilbert’s shout woke her. He was standing on the edge of the clearing, calling for Sugar, his voice sharp with desperation. The rain was still coming down in a light but steady fall. Bridie sat up and looked around. The campfire was a smouldering pile of ashes. She scrambled across the campsite to the place where Jacobus had slept the night before, and put her hand on the ground. It was long cold. Bridie knew, without even looking further, that the man was probably hours away, on the road to Ballarat.
‘How could he! How could he do that to us!’ Gilbert shouted, his fists clenched, his face red with fury.
Bridie shrugged and resisted the urge to say, ‘I told you so.’
‘There’s only one place he’s gone to with Sugar, and it’s the same place we’re headed. We’ll get her back, Gilbert.’
All around the clearing, the other goldseekers were breaking camp, loading their animals or barrows and heading down along the rutted track. Luckily, Bridie had unloaded all the food from Sugar’s saddlebags and piled them up close to her beneath a square of canvas, but Gilbert had left Sugar’s saddle beneath the tree that she had been tethered to, and the old wizard had taken it as well.
Wearily, Bridie and Gilbert set off, following the trail of a big dray. It was slow going, stumbling over the ruts and jostling for space with all the other goldseekers. When the sun broke through mid-morning, steam rose up from the forest all around them and from their backs as their shirts dried.
All the spark had gone out of Gilbert. He talked wildly about going back to Geelong to fetch the police to pursue Jacobus, about finding the old man’s camp and murdering him in his sleep, and then he grew silent and tears welled at the corners of his eyes. Bridie felt guilty at having persuaded him to join her and especially for encouraging him to bring Sugar along. She was going to have to think up something fast to stop him sinking deeper into despair. The grief of losing Sugar was settling on him like a cairn of stones, crushing his spirit.
They walked in silence for a while. ‘You have to look at it like what happened to that hero of yours, Odysseus,’ Bridie said, casting around for something to fire his imagination. ‘He had lots of things to try him. This is sent to try us. An evil sorcerer has crossed our path and stolen your steed. You can’t turn back. You have to pursue him and set things to right and bring home the Golden Fleece. That’s your story.’
‘That was Jason, not Odysseus. Anyway, I think I’d rather be like your hero in your story, like Cú Culainn, and just take the evil druid’s head off. We should tell the troopers as soon as we get to the goldfields. We could have him arrested and then they’d hang him as a horse thief.’
‘But he’s the evil sorcerer,’ insisted Bridie. ‘We have to outwit him. The police can’t help us. Besides, the police will make you go home and I’d probably be arrested for breaking my indenture.’
That night, they tagged behind a big dray that had overtaken them as the evening shadows grew long across the track. The driver glanced down at them as he steered past, his long gun across his lap. When the dray finally pulled in between a stand of tall gums, Bridie and Gilbert stopped too, camping a little distance away from the reassuring bulk of the dray and its passengers. Bridie didn’t like the feel of the dark and brooding bush around them. She couldn’t explain why, but as soon as Gilbert had fallen asleep, she stamped out their fire and dragged some fallen branches over their swags to disguise where they lay. Perhaps being robbed by Jacobus was making her uneasy, but it
was more than that, something in the eerie stillness of the bush around them.
She woke with a start. It was still dark but she could hear the sound of horses and men’s voices quite close to where she lay. In the faint starlight, she could just make out the outline of three men. They came so close that she could smell the heat from their horses and the sour scent of the men’s sweat. Silhouetted against the night sky, she saw a long gun lying across the pommel of a rider’s saddle. She knew the whole encampment was in danger. Leaving Gilbert where he lay, she moved stealthily through the darkness to where she’d seen the big driver of the dray crawl under his cart to sleep.
‘Mister, mister,’ she said whispering hoarsely, close to the driver’s ear. ‘Mister, there’s bushrangers on the edge of the camp. Wake up, they’ll kill you in your sleep. Wake up.’ She shook his arm and the man sat up abruptly, hitting his head on the cart.
‘What the divil!’ he said, rubbing his head.
‘You got your gun, mister?’ asked Bridie. ‘’Cause I think it’s time to use it.’
The man turned and looked out into the dark bush. ‘How many?’ he asked as he groped to one side for his gun.
‘Three.’
It was awkward for the dray driver to load both the shotgun and his pistol beneath the cart. Bridie could smell the sharp tang of the gunpowder as he opened a little leather pouch. ‘What do you think they’re waiting for?’ asked Bridie, peering out into the darkness. Shadows flickered all along the edge of the campground but it could have been trees moving in the breeze.
‘Likely they’re scouting the camp, figuring how they’ll take us. But we’ll take them first. Put the fear of God in them and send them back into the bush. Here, boy, hold this while I load up my pistol as well.’ Bridie took the musket from him and felt the cool, hard weight of the barrel in her hands. ‘Now, boy, you’ll needs be my right hand. No time to wake my mate George. You hands me the pistol soon as I’ve fired the musket. Follow me.’
The driver scrambled out from under the cart and quickly raised the musket to his shoulder, scanning the dark edge of the bush. Bridie could just make out the shadowy outline of a man on horseback, edging through the gums.
‘There,’ she said, pointing.
The musket went off with a deafening roar. There was a loud curse and the bushranger appeared, his horse rearing up over the embers of the central campfire. Shouts came from all directions as other miners woke, and another gun went off. Something cut through the air near Bridie’s head.
‘Bloody oath!’ cursed the driver, dropping to his knees and clutching his shoulder. ‘I’m hit, boy. Fire the pistol, fire straight at the bugger before he kills us both.’
Bridie stepped forward past the wounded driver and pointed the pistol straight at the rider who was struggling to control his terrified horse. The darkness whirled around her as she squeezed the trigger hard.
The force of the pistol going off threw her back onto the ground. The horse bolted into the black bush, and out in the darkness she could hear someone screaming in pain.
‘Sweet Jesus, forgive me,’ muttered Bridie as she kicked the hot pistol away from her.
Figures were running in all directions. A torch flared nearby and a man stirred up the dying embers of the fire. Someone caught a riderless horse that bolted into camp. Voices were calling out in the darkness, and the receding sound of horses’ hooves reverberated in the air. The driver was on his feet and striding towards the circle of light cast from the fire, holding his right arm with one hand.
‘It’s all right, people. It’s all right. George, light some more torches.’
‘Are you hurt, Big Bill?’ asked the man called George.
‘Just a nick. Reckon the bloody bushranger’s bleeding a damn sight worse than me! Where’s the lad that fired my pistol?’
‘Oi, I caught one of them bushrangers,’ said a bearded miner, wrestling a struggling figure into the firelight.
‘If that’s a bushranger, he’s a young ’un,’ called someone else, laughing, as Gilbert was dragged into the light.
‘That’s my chum,’ said Bridie, stepping forward and standing close to Gilbert.
‘And that’s the boy that fired the pistol,’ said Big Bill, striding over to Bridie and gesturing for Gilbert to be released. ‘This lad saved us from having our throats cut in our sleep. Why set on decent folk heading out for the fields? Lazy bludgers, can’t find their own tucker.’
One by one the other goldseekers came and slapped Bridie on the back or shook her hand. She wanted to feel proud but the screams of the wounded man still echoed in her head.
‘Now then,’ said Big Bill. ‘You lads, you’ve had a fine old night of it. I reckon you should sleep under my cart, safe and sound. Me and George are going to keep watch for a bit, make sure those buggers don’t come back and cause more trouble.’
Bridie and Gilbert crawled under the cart and lay side by side. It was so much warmer and drier there. Looking out through the spokes of the wheels, they could see the reassuring sight of the two big men, their guns across their laps, talking quietly.
‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ asked Gilbert, his voice small and disappointed in the dark.
‘I couldn’t, Bert. The bushrangers would have heard me. I had to move like a cat to get to the driver and raise the alarm. I wanted you to be safe.’
Gilbert sighed. ‘But you got to shoot one of them, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, God help me,’ said Bridie, wearily.
They lay silent beside each other and as Gilbert drifted off to sleep, Bridie clasped her hands tightly together and prayed for forgiveness.
The next morning, Big Bill the dray driver laughed at the two bedraggled children that crawled out from beneath his cart. ‘Well, you’re a skinny enough pair. If you don’t make any trouble, you can sit up back for the ride to the goldfields. I owe young Billy Dare for raising the alarm last night.’
‘And for shooting a bushranger,’ added Gilbert, beaming with pride.
Bridie shrugged. She wasn’t proud to have anyone’s blood upon her hands.
It was a relief to watch the track pass beneath their feet. The big cart made good progress and they overtook many people. Coming over the rise and catching her first glimpse of Ballarat, Bridie felt her heart leap with excitement. In the valley below lay a sea of tents, white and gold in the glowing afternoon light, with thousands of people swarming over the yellow hillside. Bridie turned to Gilbert and knew he felt the same. The moment was so sweet, the rush of excited happiness so complete, that she could almost believe it was a sign, a promise of things to come.
28
The choice
Bridie rolled over and opened one eye. Beside her, Gilbert was curled up like a kitten under a thin blanket. The sun was just peeking over the horizon but already the hill was alive with noise and movement.
Bridie stretched her aching limbs. She set the fire and walked down to the creek to catch a cupful of muddy water for the damper.
As she mixed a handful of flour with the water and set to kneading, a knot of worry formed in her mind. Their supplies were almost gone. The evening before, it had cost her a whole shilling to buy half a pound of flour and a few potatoes. If they didn’t find gold soon, they’d starve.
They’d spent most of the last few days wandering along the edge of the creek with a pannikin, being shouted at by the other miners for encroaching on their territory. They’d swilled handfuls of grit around in the pan, hoping for a glimmer of precious gold. All day, the goldfields resounded with the sound of pistols being fired into the air as miners announced their good luck, but Bridie and Gilbert found nothing to celebrate. At night, they’d go and watch the men play cards at Big Bill’s camp with well-thumbed, greasy decks.
Gilbert awoke and joined her by the campfire. Bridie grinned at him.
‘Today’s going to be our lucky day,’ she said, handing him a cup of muddy, sweet black tea. ‘I feel it in my bones.’
Gilbert smiled sleep
ily and rubbed the dirt from his cheek where it had been pressed hard against the ground.
‘I didn’t know luck could make your bones hurt so much,’ said Gilbert. ‘I thought that was rheumatism.’
After their meagre breakfast, Gilbert set off, as he had every morning since they had arrived, to search for Jacobus and Sugar. It wasn’t easy to pick the miners apart with their filthy clothes and their wide hats, they all merged into an army of identical bodies. The horses, tethered or grazing, were easier to find.
Bridie bound up the last of their supplies and belongings and took them over to Big Bill’s. George was standing outside the tent, his long thick red beard dusted with yellow clay.
‘Just come to store our things, George,’ said Bridie, slinging their bundle inside the flap of the big canvas tent, an A-frame with yellowing canvas stretched across solid logs of eucalypt. George and Big Bill had come down from the New South Wales goldfields and they seemed to know everything about setting up a diggers’ camp. They also knew how to keep thieves from their gear. There were never enough troopers on the goldfields but George and Big Bill were happy to take the law into their own hands.
On the day they had arrived, a small, wily-looking man had tried to steal a sack of potatoes that Bill had unloaded from his dray. Big Bill had tied the thief to the nearest tree and flayed him with a length of rope while other miners looked on approvingly. It made Bridie shudder just to think of it, the way the thief had screamed and the blood had streaked his tattered shirt. She knew too well how hunger could drive a soul to theft.
Gilbert caught up with Bridie as she headed down to the creek, looking for a place to pan for gold. Swarms of black flies settled on their backs and buzzed around their faces as they squatted down by the muddy water. The sun rose higher in the sky and Bridie pulled the collar of her shirt up to shield her neck from the burning rays as she watched yellow water swirl over the dirt and quartz. She longed to unwrap the bandages that kept her chest flat. Suddenly, Gilbert let out a yelp and Bridie turned to him.
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