Charlotte’s heart surged with pride. Of course practical, sensible Papa was the only one to keep his head.
‘The storm continued ferociously and none of us thought we would live through that dreadful voyage,’ Mamma confessed. ‘Finally, the gale blew itself out and only then did we know that we would survive. The next day, up on the poop deck, your papa took my hand, dropped down on one knee and asked me to marry him.’
‘Oh!’ exclaimed Emily.
Louisa clapped her hands. ‘Clever Papa!’
‘That is so romantic,’ said Charlotte. ‘Did you say yes at once?’
Mamma smiled. ‘I thought about it for just a moment, and then I laughed out loud. After that terrible night, when I was sure we would all die, to find my world suddenly filled with so much joy was overwhelming. Many of the sailors saw what was happening and cheered and clapped.’
James crowed with delight.
‘Mrs King was furious with me when I told her that we were engaged, as she had gone to so much trouble to find a suitable governess for the girls, but I insisted that I be mistress of my own actions,’ Mamma said. ‘So a year later, in September 1827, I married your papa in the little chapel at Sutton Forest and came to live at Oldbury.’
‘Did you look after the little Macarthur girls?’ asked Louisa.
‘I did, and they were lovely girls – Elizabeth, Anna and Catherine. I taught them right up until my marriage, but then I hoped to have my own three beautiful little girls and a handsome son to love and teach.’
‘And Papa built you Oldbury as a wedding present to remind you of England,’ James added.
‘Yes,’ replied Mamma. ‘We lived in a simple timber cottage on the farm for a couple of years while Papa built the big house. That’s where my darling baby Charlotte Elizabeth was born.’
Mamma stroked Charlotte’s forehead, then took up her sewing again. ‘So that is the story of how I met your papa,’ she finished.
‘That was a fine story,’ said James. ‘Could you tell us another one? Can you tell us a story about cannibals or castaways?’
‘Not tonight, James,’ said Mamma, shaking her head with a warm smile. ‘We will save the next story for tomorrow night.’
It was a perfect summer’s morning under a vast blue sky, the air fresh with the tang of eucalyptus oil. After breakfast the girls lugged a basket of washing down to the creek, while James tagged along to collect wood for the voracious fire. Louisa carried a bucket with the soap. Mamma stayed behind to mix the dough for bread.
They had fallen into an easy routine. Chores, such as gardening, cooking, feeding the animals and cleaning, were done in the early morning before the heat set in. Later in the morning, Mamma set schoolwork around the kitchen table. In the late afternoon, when it was cooler, she took them on expeditions out into the bush on foot or on horseback or by boat on the river, to study natural science and art.
‘Good morning,’ called Charlotte, waving to Mr Ash, Jim and Bluey, who were sitting on their verandah, surrounded by a pack of kangaroo dogs. The two stockmen nodded and tipped their hats. They were not very talkative, especially to females. Jim had been playing his tin whistle but stopped immediately once he saw the girls. He always looked particularly frightened around Mamma, as though he was terrified she’d bite his head off.
‘Don’t stop, Jim,’ Charlotte said. ‘You play very well.’
Jim blushed and stared intently at his boots, shoving the musical instrument in his pocket.
‘Can I help you carry that, Miss Charlotte?’ asked Mr Ash, standing up and jamming his hat on his head.
‘We’re fine, thanks, Mr Ash,’ Charlotte replied, hefting the wicker basket higher.
Charley was sitting by himself on the steps, eating a crust of damper with salt beef.
‘Charley, do you want to come and help me collect wood?’ called James. Charley jumped up and ran over to join them, swallowing the last of his breakfast as he went.
The children chatted as they wandered down to the creek bank, where they paused to take off their boots and stockings so they could paddle barefoot in the water while they washed the clothes. Mamma always joked that the clothes they were wearing came back wetter than the clothes they had washed.
Charlotte began to sort the clothes, soaking some white pinafores in the bucket with the soap. Suddenly from the other side of the creek, Charlotte recognised the sound of a musical instrument.
‘Shush,’ whispered Emily. ‘Someone is playing music.’
‘Who could it be?’ asked James, scanning the clearing on the other side.
‘It sounds like Jim playing his tin whistle,’ Charlotte answered. ‘But how did he get in front of us?’
Charley laughed. ‘It’s not Jim. Look!’ Charley pointed to a small brown bird that was scurrying across the clearing. The bird strutted up a small mound of earth, then held up his thistledown tail in a superb display, dipping and dancing to his unseen mate. The tune he sang was the unmistakable echo of Jim’s tin whistle.
‘Oh,’ said Charlotte. ‘It’s a lyrebird mimicking the tune.’
‘Isn’t he beautiful?’ Emily added. ‘His mate must be hidden in the shrubbery.’
‘I wish I had my sketchbook and pencils,’ Charlotte complained. ‘We could draw him, couldn’t we, poppet?’
‘I’ll go back and get them,’ Emily offered. ‘Mamma might like to come and see him too.’
‘No, I’ll go,’ Charlotte said. ‘I’m the only one still wearing my boots.’ Charlotte ran back to the hut. Mamma was now tipping the leftover washing-up water on the geraniums beside the steps. Charlotte explained about the lyrebird and raced inside to the shelf where the sketchbooks and pencils were stored, gathering them up.
As she turned she saw a letter in familiar handwriting on Mamma’s portable writing desk. It must have come in yesterday when David brought the mail in from Berrima. Mamma hadn’t mentioned the letter, but it seemed to be a response to her latest urgent request for the executors to allow her access to her allowance. The words jumped out at Charlotte:
Charlotte averted her eyes. She didn’t want to read Mamma’s private mail – it was never good news. She took the sketchbook and pencils down to the creek, but the lyrebird had fled, frightened by James’s noisy chatter.
‘Never mind, dearest,’ Mamma soothed. ‘This afternoon we will ride along the river towards the coast, and I am sure we will discover an abundance of subjects for our pencils.’
15
Dance of Death
Late one afternoon, the family returned from a horseback expedition to gather fossilised shells embedded in the shale and limestone cliffs of one of the river gorges for their museum collection, which they kept on the verandah. James’s saddlebag bulged with rocks, shells and other marine fossils, while Emily and Louisa had dug up some wildflowers that they hoped to transplant into their native garden.
As they rode back towards the huts, they noticed a great deal of activity in the grassy clearing. Dozens of Aborigines were building gunyahs made of bark and tree branches. Others were just arriving, carrying their spears, shields and other belongings with them. Gaunt dingoes howled a loud warning at the family’s arrival.
‘It looks like we will have lots of company tonight,’ Charlotte said. ‘I’ve never seen so many Aborigines before.’
‘There are a hundred or more!’ James added. ‘Do you think they are here for a battle?’
Mamma had told them the story of a bloody battle at Oldbury several years before, when a number of local clans had fought against each other with spears and woomeras to settle a dispute over hunting rights on the bordering territory.
‘It must be a gathering of the local tribes,’ said Mamma as they rode closer. ‘They do not look as though they are here to settle a quarrel. Over there is Yarrawambie, the chief of the Shoalhaven, the man who saved your father many years ago
! And there is Errombee, the chief of the Sutton Forest tribe.’
The two elders were conferring in the centre of the camp, surrounded by various men of their clan. Women were sitting in groups around campfires, roasting whole possums and goannas in the coals for their evening meal. Several of them stood when they noticed the riders and came over, waving and smiling in welcome.
Mamma dismounted just outside the camp, followed by the four children.
A group of about twelve Aborigines clustered around them, chatting and calling in both English and their Gandangara language. Both men and women wore cloaks made of possum skins, which they wrapped under one arm and pinned to the other shoulder. Children ran around, wearing nothing but a possum yarn belt, shrieking with laughter.
‘Good afternoon, Errombee,’ called Mamma. ‘Hello, Woomby, hello Nemmett.’
Errombee was an old warrior, tall and proud. He was an elder of the Gandangara people who lived on the land that stretched from Budgong to Sutton Forest and Oldbury. He smiled in welcome, revealing a gap where his tooth had been knocked out; his beard and long hair were grey and grizzled.
‘What are you doing here, missus?’ asked Errombee. ‘Why are you living here and not in your big house? Where have all your jumbucks gone?’
Mamma sighed, her smile touched with sorrow. ‘We had to leave, Errombee,’ she explained. ‘The sheep have been sold by the men who should be looking after my children’s interests, but I think they are not truly concerned for us, only looking after their own affairs. They said we could not live at Oldbury anymore. They plan to let strangers live there instead.’
The gathered Aborigines looked affronted.
Errombee lifted his spear menacingly, making a stabbing, downward motion. ‘You tell us where to find these men, missus, and we’ll spear them for you,’ he insisted. ‘We’ll help you.’
Mamma looked horrified and caught Errombee’s spear hand.
‘Thank you, Errombee, but you must not harm them,’ Mamma assured him. ‘That would cause too much trouble for you with the Governor. We will be all right.’
Charlotte looked around at the Aborigines crowding around them. They looked so striking with their ochre markings, scars and tattoos. The women had kangaroo teeth woven into their black curly hair, necklaces made of golden-yellow reeds looped around their necks and woven net headbands. The men each had one front tooth missing, which Mamma explained had been knocked out in adolescence by a boomerang in a male coming-of-age ceremony.
There could not have been a greater contrast between the near-nakedness of the dark-skinned Aborigines and the white-skinned Atkinson family – the girls swathed in layers of petticoats, skirts, bonnets and tight-laced bodices. Yet there was a real bond of affection between the two groups, linked by their love of the land.
Yarrawambie, the Shoalhaven elder, came over with Charley beside him. Charley was no longer wearing his scarlet serge shirt and blue trousers, but was like the other children, clad only in a possum skin belt. He suddenly looked older and taller. Charlotte glanced away in shock and confusion. She was used to seeing the young Aborigines with very few clothes on, but not Charley, who always wore European clothes.
Yarrawambie solemnly greeted Mamma. Mamma introduced each of the children.
Emily looked up at Yarrawambie and smiled shyly. ‘Thank you for saving my father. Mamma says he never would have survived if you hadn’t fed him and found the way home.’
A smile momentarily washed over the great elder’s serious face, then he looked concerned once more. ‘We won’t speak of it,’ he said.
Charlotte remembered that the Aborigines would never again mention the name of someone who had died.
‘Tonight we have invited the other tribes for a big corroboree,’ explained Errombee. ‘Would you like to come to watch?’
‘Thank you, Errombee,’ said Mamma gravely. ‘That would be an honour.’
One young Aboriginal mother, Ginny, turned around and smiled shyly at them. She had her baby slung on her hip and wore a woven net bag across her back that carried her belongings, including the white charmed pebble that all the women hid in their bags. In her hand she carried a seed pod, which was slowly smouldering. This pod had been lit from the coals of the old campsite fire, and the burning ember was carried to the next camp to start the new home fire.
‘You can sit with us, missus,’ Ginny invited. She was one of the few Aboriginal women who could speak much English, as she had often worked for some of the neighbouring farmers around Sutton Forest, including the Atkinsons at Oldbury from time to time. Unlike many of the older women, she did not wear a bone pierced through her nose.
‘Thank you, Ginny,’ said Mamma. ‘I see you have had a beautiful baby since we last saw you. Is he well?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, jiggling the baby in her arms. ‘I called him Georgie.’
The baby’s skin was much lighter than his mother’s, and he stared at them with solemn, wide eyes.
‘He’s gorgeous,’ cooed Charlotte, taking his tiny, starfish hand. ‘Hello, Georgie.’
‘Does he have an Aboriginal name as well, Ginny?’ asked Mamma.
‘Yes, but it will be easier for him to have an English name,’ Ginny said. ‘The white people can’t say the old names.’
Charley laughed and nodded in agreement.
Charlotte remembered the day that Charley had come to live with them two years ago. His father had appeared in the doorway of the kitchen in his possum skin cloak with Charley looking frightened and small beside him. He had told Mamma that he wanted his son to learn the customs and language of the white people.
Mamma had promised to look after the young Aboriginal boy and teach him English. She had named him Charley and given him European clothes and boots. She paid him in provisions, which he shared with his family.
‘Are you joining in the corroboree too, Charley?’ Charlotte asked.
‘No,’ he replied, shaking his head. ‘I can’t yet. But I am going back with my family.’
‘Oh no, Charley,’ Mamma said. ‘Are you leaving us? I thought you were happy.’
Charley smiled cheekily. ‘It’s time for me to go back,’ he explained. ‘I miss living free. I miss the bush. All you white people are slaves to work. It’s a hard life sometimes in the bush, but we live free and happy.’
Mamma nodded in understanding. ‘I’m sorry to lose you, Charley. Come up to the hut tomorrow and I’ll give you some stores to take with you.’
Charlotte wondered that Charley would prefer to live in a bark gunyah in the bush, hunting wild animals, than on a ‘civilised’ farm. Then again, none of us are living on a civilised farm anymore and Charley must be looking forward to going back to his family, thought Charlotte. I couldn’t imagine anything worse than being separated from my family. It doesn’t matter where we are living as long as we are together.
That evening, when it was dark, the family walked down to the camp carrying a lantern. Dozens of bark gunyahs had been set up in family groups, separated by a wider space to form an avenue between each camp. Each gunyah faced onto the back of the one in front to give the occupants privacy. Campfires smouldered by the entrances.
Several rotund wombats waddled across the clearing, nibbling the grass as they went. Chubby possums swung between the branches of the trees, their tails curled up to form question marks. There was no moon overhead, and the black sky was spangled with thousands of sparkling stars.
Some of the children, accompanied by skinny, red-gold dingoes, came to greet them and lead them further on to another clearing closer to the river. A group of women were sitting near a small fire, chattering with great excitement. On their laps, each one had a possum skin cloak folded fur-side in to form a thick pad.
‘Come sit here,’ offered Ginny, gesturing them to come and sit down with the women.
‘Thank you, Ginny,’ replied Mamma. ‘W
e have brought some tea for you to share.’
The women exclaimed over the precious gift. Mamma spread a blanket on the ground for them to sit on.
‘Ginny, could we play with Georgie?’ asked Emily.
Emily and Charlotte cooed over Ginny’s baby, tickling his tummy. James ran around with the other boys, who were throwing sticks and chasing each other.
‘Missus, have you got some white medicine for Nanny?’ asked Ginny, pointing to an old woman in the group. ‘She cut her foot on an axe.’
Mamma gently examined the badly lacerated foot, which was crusted with blood and dirt. It had been treated with a poultice made of crushed tea tree leaves.
‘Tell Nanny to come with me up to our hut,’ Mamma suggested. ‘I will wash it with soap and warm water, and bandage it with wet cloths to keep the wound clean and moist. I have some medicine for her too.’
Ginny translated for Nanny, who gesticulated wildly, shaking her head and replying in her own language.
‘She will come tomorrow,’ Ginny explained. ‘She doesn’t want to miss the corroboree.’
As if on cue, there was a shout in the darkness. The women fell silent. Out of the shadows jumped dozens of men from behind trees where they had been hiding. The men carried flaming torches of burning leaves and twigs, which lit up their bodies, painted with white and yellow ochre to represent skeletons. The skeletons stamped and sang, twisting and twirling in the fiery light of the torches.
The women pounded on their possum skin drums and chanted, their voices rising and falling in rhythm to the dance. The singing sounded strange and unearthly to Charlotte’s ears. She shivered as the rhythm soaked into her bones.
The other children sat in silence, mesmerised by the beauty of the scene. With their dark skin melting into the backdrop of night and the luminescent ochre markings, it almost looked as if the clearing was full of dancing, leaping skeletons, risen from the dead.
The dancers moved in perfect time, forming a large circle. They leaned forward as one and at an angle that seemed impossible for the human body to sustain. Then, at some unseen signal, they all leant back the other way in a graceful display of highly rehearsed athleticism.
The River Charm Page 13
