The Silent Frontier

by Peter Watt

  ‘Yer an unknown around here,’ Jimmy said as they stood gazing in O’Keefe’s direction. ‘Me and the boys at work are game to back you for a win against O’Keefe.’

  Lachlan turned to his friend. ‘You have never seen me fight,’ he said in surprise. ‘How can you be so sure that I can take this O’Keefe?’

  ‘Just somethin’ about you,’ Jimmy said, scratching the tip of his chin reflectively. ‘It could be all that country air you soaked up in yer travels, but I reckon you could easily take O’Keefe in a bare-knuckle bout. It would mean good money. The publican at the Victory Hotel would put up a good purse and then there are all the side bets on the outcome. He’s not keen on O’Keefe. Doesn’t like Irishmen and would pay to see O’Keefe go down to a Scot.’

  Lachlan turned to once again appraise his potential opponent. Lachlan loved the art of bare-knuckle fighting. It was hard to explain to himself why facing another man with fists raised and a howling crowd around you made the sport so good. Maybe it was just that; the pain inflicted was bearable when there was always the chance that you might win against the odds, and hearing the crowd howling for your blood certainly urged you towards a victorious outcome. Whatever it was, the more he stared at O’Keefe, the more he felt the need to face him growing in the pit of his stomach.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ he said quietly and felt Jimmy slap him on the back.

  ‘That’s my fighting Scot,’ Jimmy said with a grin. ‘Show that son of an Irish convict just what a Scot can do. Now it’s time to introduce ourselves.’

  Jimmy led Lachlan over to O’Keefe, who glanced curiously at the two approaching men.

  ‘Mr O’Keefe,’ Jimmy said when they were within paces of the three. ‘How the devil are you this fine day?’

  ‘Well, Mr Graves,’ Kevin O’Keefe replied cautiously. ‘And who’s your friend?’

  ‘I’d like yer to meet the man who is going to put you on yer arse,’ Jimmy said with a cheeky grin. ‘Mr O’Keefe, meet Mr Lachlan MacDonald, undisputed champion of the Mudgee district and soon to be undisputed champion of the Redfern village – that is, as soon as he puts yer down.’

  Kevin O’Keefe thrust out his hand to Lachlan and with an ironic smile replied, ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr MacDonald. Sadly, I must admit that I have never heard of you before.’

  Lachlan was surprised at the lack of animosity in his future opponent’s voice but did not miss the facetiousness of his comment. The grip was hard – a test of strength met by Lachlan, whose own hands had hardened already with the tough work of handling bricks. They released their grip and eyed each other with slight smiles of mutual confidence.

  ‘I have to admit that I have never heard of you either,’ Lachlan said gallantly. ‘Jimmy tells me that you are the best around here.’

  ‘Not quite the best,’ Jimmy interjected. ‘Mr O’Keefe has yet to fight Michael Duffy from the Erin. Then, after you have put Mr O’Keefe down you get to do the same to Michael Duffy and all will know that you are the best around Sydney Town.’

  Lachlan was embarrassed by Jimmy’s puffed-up boasting, which he had not yet earned. He would ask Jimmy later why he had applied the non-existent tide of Mudgee district champion to him, when he had never fought in that pretty little town on the other side of the Blue Mountains, west of Sydney. Lachlan suspected that Jimmy did a fair share of hustling and wondered at his friend’s motives for being so keen for him to take on an obviously good fighter. However, his thoughts about fighting O’Keefe were distracted by the sight of a beautiful young lady sitting alone in an expensive carriage just beyond where they stood. Her face was framed by lustrous brown hair and her large, dark brown eyes appraised him with more than casual interest. He guessed the young lady to be in her late teens and was struck by her full-shaped lips and pale, unblemished skin.

  ‘Damn!’ O’Keefe suddenly swore and Lachlan could have sworn that the big man facing him had paled. ‘You have to do me a favour, Jimmy,’ he said, slightly nudging the girls on his arms away from him. ‘You and Lachlan have to pretend to be with Molly and Gertrude.’ Both Lachlan and Jimmy blinked in confusion. ‘Michael Duffy is here,’ O’Keefe continued, without going into detail.

  Jimmy was first to move and stepped beside the older girl, Gertrude. Lachlan was left with the younger one he now knew as Molly. No sooner had they taken their places beside the two young ladies than O’Keefe stepped away to walk in the direction of a tall, broad-shouldered man in the company of a young woman with striking features.

  ‘That’s Michael Duffy’s sister with him, ‘Jimmy grinned, ‘Kate. She’s the one O’Keefe is courting.’

  Lachlan glanced over and could see O’Keefe greeting the young man and woman warmly.

  ‘Well, ladies,’ Jimmy said, bowing gallantly at the waist and sweeping his hat off in an old-fashioned gesture, ‘as you can gather, me and me friend Lachlan are your beaus for the day. May we presume to call you by your first names?’

  ‘As you wish,’ Gertrude answered in an annoyed tone that well and truly bespoke her annoyance of being parted from the arm of the charming Irishman.

  Lachlan turned to Molly and saw the same displeasure in her expression.

  ‘May I also call you Molly?’ Lachlan asked politely, without presuming Jimmy spoke so forwardly for both of them.

  ‘You may not,’ Molly snapped petulantly. ‘I think my sister and I would rather be in the company of Chinamen than be seen with Jimmy Graves and his friends.’

  ‘How did you know my surname?’ Jimmy asked.

  ‘Mr O’Keefe saw you enter the park and warned my sister and myself of your reputation,’ she said with a snort of indignation. ‘I would presume that your friend may have much in common with you.’

  Lachlan was stung by her comment. It was obvious that Jimmy was well known in certain social circles and Lachlan was beginning to think that those circles were less than reputable. Instead of defending his reputation, Lachlan remained silent.

  ‘I see Mr Bell and his family over there, Molly,’ Gertrude said. ‘Are you coming?’ Molly turned on her heel and joined her sister, leaving the two young men standing alone. But Lachlan was secretly pleased that the two young women had chosen to take leave of their company. While talking to Gertrude and Molly, Lachlan had noticed that the very beautiful young woman in the expensive carriage had continued watching him.

  ‘Excuse my dust,’ Jimmy said,’ but a Graves does not give up that easily.’ Lachlan watched him hurry off after the sisters who had snubbed them.

  Lachlan did not know where the courage came from but impulsively he turned and walked towards the carriage, stopping at its side to glance up at its occupant, although now he could see that the lady was desperately pretending not to notice him.

  ‘Do you know,’ Lachlan blurted, ‘that you are the prettiest lady in the park.’

  The young woman’s smile was slow and warm. ‘You are being very forward,’ she replied. ‘But thank you for your compliment – although I doubt it to be true.’

  Lachlan felt awkward at his confession. Being tactful was not something he’d had the opportunity to learn from Duncan’s brusque interactions with others on the road.

  ‘I did not mean to be forward,’ Lachlan quickly countered. ‘It was just something I felt.’

  ‘Well, if that be so,’ the young woman said sweetly, ‘then I accept your compliment as more than an attempt at flattery.’

  Lachlan shook his head in his exasperation. He was suddenly out of his depth. This young lady spoke with an intelligent voice far beyond his limited experience with members of the opposite sex.

  ‘I am not very good at this,’ Lachlan finally sighed, giving in to defeat at his awkwardness. ‘My name is Lachlan MacDonald and I am new to Sydney Town.’

  ‘Then I should introduce myself, Mr MacDonald. I am Miss Amanda Lightfoot. I noticed you in the company of Mr O’Keefe.’

  Lachlan recognised her cultured tones and English accent; they marked her as a lady well born.

  ‘
Do you know Mr O’Keefe?’ Lachlan asked, curious at her knowledge of the man reputed to be one of the best fighters in Sydney.

  ‘My brother, Captain Charles Lightfoot, is an avid follower of the pugilistic scene in the colony,’ Amanda replied. ‘He once took me to witness a bout between Mr O’Keefe and a brute of a man from a visiting merchant ship. Mr O’Keefe soundly thrashed the man.’

  Lachlan did not want to hear that and mumbled, ‘I am contracted to fight Kevin O’Keefe.’

  ‘You are going to fight Kevin O’Keefe!’ Amanda exclaimed ‘Do you think that wise when you do not know of his reputation?’

  ‘I was talked into the match,’ Lachlan said. ‘Jimmy thinks it is a quick way to earn some money.’

  A worried expression creased Amanda’s pretty face. ‘You seem to me on first impressions to be a nice young man,’ she said. ‘You could be seriously hurt in a fight with Mr O’Keefe.’

  ‘It is a risk every fighter is aware of when they step into the ring with another fighter,’ Lachlan replied. ‘We will not know the outcome until the match is ended.’

  ‘What profession do you practise, Mr MacDonald?’ Amanda asked.

  ‘Profession? I do not have a profession,’ Lachlan said. ‘I am a working man who labours on building sites.’

  ‘I am surprised at that,’ Amanda said with a note of genuine surprise. ‘From the manner of your speech I would have thought you a man of letters, albeit a very young one.’

  ‘Now it is you who are being complimentary,’ Lachlan replied with a slow smile. ‘It is just that I love reading and was fortunate enough in my growing years to have a teacher who fiercely believed the way from one station in life to another was in learning from books – and speaking like a toff.’

  ‘You had a good teacher,’ Amanda said. ‘You could pass as a gentleman in Sydney were it not for the manner of your dress.’

  ‘Well, another compliment to you, Miss Lightfoot,’ Lachlan said warmly. ‘From your manner of speech and bearing I would have taken you for a lady of good breeding.’

  Amanda burst into a short, soft laugh. ‘My father was a merchant from the north of England. But he was much wealthier than our neighbours with their ancestral titles. My pedigree has been bought – not inherited. Until my parents passed away I was considered a rebel by my family because I had a desire for learning not necessary for a woman from a privileged home. I have read many books on a great diversity of subjects and I also have a love for colonial literature and poetry. Have you read Mr Kendall and Mr Harpur’s poetry?’

  ‘I am afraid that I have not heard of them,’ Lachlan replied honestly.

  ‘If you have a love for poetry,’ Amanda said, ‘then I do recommend both men’s works. They have a beautiful way of putting into poetry the very nature of the Australian colonies. I think Mr Kendall’s book Poems and Songs is extraordinary and believe that one day he may be nominated as our first poet laureate to the Queen.’

  ‘Then, I shall endeavour to read Mr Kendall,’ Lachlan said. Without knowing it, he had been drawn into a world far away from the gruelling labour of the construction site and his loneliness in this new, crowded place.

  ‘Would it be forward of me to invite you to take a walk through the park?’ Lachlan asked, at the same time holding his breath and expecting rejection.

  ‘I would be delighted, Mr MacDonald,’ Amanda said, offering her gloved hand for him to assist her down from the carriage.

  They strolled together through the crowds in the park, engrossed in each other’s company, talking on so many subjects. Time flew so fast and it was obvious that Amanda found him interesting company.

  ‘You do not talk on sport as so many other young men do,’ she commented. ‘It is so refreshing to engage in conversation on the arts. You are very much a contradiction, Lachlan,’ Amanda said, frowning. ‘You appear so very physically strong, yet you have a gentle mind. I wish you were not going to fight Mr O’Keefe as I fear he may hurt you.’

  Lachlan felt his face flush. Her concern seemed genuine and for that he felt a surge of warmth for Amanda. ‘It may be that I hurt O’Keefe more than he hurts me,’ he said in defence of his pride. Amanda did not reply.

  Jimmy strolled over to them with a triumphant expression on his face.

  ‘Well, young Lachlan,’ he said. ‘It has all been arranged. You fight O’Keefe for a purse being put up by the publican of the Victory over in Paddington. Next Saturday afternoon, so it’s about time we got you into shape.’

  Lachlan noticed Amanda’s look of concern. ‘I think that I should join my brother,’ she said quietly. ‘He may be missing my company.’

  As Amanda walked away without bidding him a good day, Lachlan was mystified by the sudden change in the young woman. He looked at Jimmy, who had also noticed her abrupt coolness. He shrugged and slapped Lachlan on the back. ‘There are plenty more like her,’ he said.

  But his answer did not please Lachlan. No, Miss Amanda Lightfoot was unique, he thought. He knew that he desperately wanted to see her again and in the back of his mind hoped that she might come to see the fight on Saturday.

  In the distance, the regimental band struck up a marching tune and the Sunday crowds moved as one towards the sounds of music filling the hot summer’s afternoon. But Lachlan was not one of them. He felt an emptiness in the pit of his stomach as he realised just how much he truly wanted to share Amanda’s company again.

  The next week on the building site went quickly. Each day as Lachlan hauled the bricks and mixed the cement he was occupied by thoughts of Amanda Lightfoot. Even when he went home after a heavy day of labour he still found himself lying on his bed in the dark, stifling room staring at the ceiling and thinking about her. He would wonder what her body was like under all those clothes, and the ache of the thought caused him a restless sleep. He would attempt to admonish himself for his less than honourable conjecture about the young woman – but his desire would not go away.

  At work Lachlan noticed that he was being treated with a great deal of respect from the others on his team – but he was less than pleased to hear that already bets were being laid on the outcome of his upcoming fight with O’Keefe. Although the purse was twenty guineas to the winner, a sizeable amount of money, the real money would be made in the wagers. Jimmy had done a good job in spreading a false rumour that Lachlan was the undisputed champion west of the Great Dividing Range and many of the bets favoured him for a win. These came mostly from the Protestant factions who followed the fight scene in Sydney Town. They saw the young Scot as the great hope to prove to the Papist Irish that the Protestant way was the one granted as true and correct by God.

  On the Saturday morning Lachlan was not required to work. Jimmy was also granted the day off to help prepare his champion for the fight, which would take place not far from the Victoria Barracks.

  That morning Mrs Woodford served up a great pile of bacon and eggs. ‘Yer goin’ to need all yer strength,’ she sniffed uncharacteristically to Lachlan before turning away lest her tenant think that she was a bit sentimental about him. Lachlan already had gleaned that beneath his landlady’s hard exterior was a soft heart and she treated her tenants very much as she would her own family.

  Jimmy paid the expense of a horse-drawn cab to the Victory Hotel. When they entered the main bar a cheer rose up and calls of ‘Put that Mick on his Papist arse’ rang out from many of the patrons. Ales were pressed on Lachlan but Jimmy elbowed them away from his fighter, knowing that Lachlan would need all his wits to face O’Keefe’s formidable skills.

  A sweating, stout man wearing a sleeveless vest and fob watch on a chain pushed his way through the crowded bar to Jimmy. ‘This is Mr Fielding,’ Jimmy said to Lachlan. ‘He is the publican here and is putting up the purse.’

  Lachlan shook hands with the stout man.

  Jimmy tells me that you are the undisputed champion from the Mudgee district,’ Fielding said. ‘You had better be,’ he added with just a hint of menace. ‘A lot of my clientele have b
acked you to win.’

  ‘I do not intend to lose, Mr Fielding,’ Lachlan replied and the publican grunted his satisfaction at the answer before moving away.

  ‘Well,’ Jimmy said. ‘It’s time to go down to the paddock.’

  As always, Lachlan felt the awful fluttering in his stomach. As much as he liked to fight, it was always the same before a bout and he would be glad to get it over with.

  It was around four thirty in the afternoon when Lachlan finally stood waiting for O’Keefe to arrive, stripped to the waist surrounded by a very large crowd of men – both drunken and sober – who had come to watch the much-advertised contest. Lachlan had never seen as many people at any one of his country fights before and was awed by how much interest his unproven skills had attracted. Either Irish or Scots honour would prevail at the end of the day.

  On a slope adjoining the paddock, Lachlan noticed an expensive carriage drawn by two greys. In the carriage sat a young army officer in his dress uniform and alongside him was Amanda, holding a parasol to shield her milky skin from the dying rays of the summer sun. Even at the distance they were from each other, Lachlan was aware that she was staring at him.

  ‘Do you know who the officer is with the lady I met at Hyde Park?’ Lachlan asked Jimmy, who was soaking a rag in a wooden pail of water.

  ‘Who?’ Jimmy asked, glancing in the direction Lachlan was staring. ‘Oh, that is Captain Lightfoot. The captain always attends the fights around Sydney and I hear that his sister likes them too. You know how to pick ’em, Lachlan MacDonald. But I think that she is a bit out of our class.’

  Lachlan’s attention was distracted when a low buzz from the gathered spectators became a roaring cheer. O’Keefe had arrived in style, a cigar jutting from his mouth. It was obvious that the crowd in attendance were divided into two camps, as booing was also mixed with the cheers.