The Silent Frontier

by Peter Watt

  ‘Hell and high water,’ Hamilton chuckled. ‘I thought that you might despise me for suggesting that you stay with a Chinaman’s family. Most people would.’

  And so, Phoebe met Kwong Lee, his gentle little wife and their two almond-eyed sons, who were approximately the same age as her own children.

  Lachlan dropped his swag on the bed, sat down and stretched out his legs. He was in his old room at the Criterion Hotel in Townsville and it felt like home. Roaming the frontier, he had not required a permanent place of residence and so he had used his brother’s generous expense account to set himself up at the hotel, where he was assured of a good meal and a place to meet old friends.

  The hotel was a two-storeyed building with spacious verandahs to provide shade from the hot tropical sun. Expecting a visitor, Lachlan quickly shaved after his hot bath. He changed into clean clothes and went out onto the verandah to gaze down on the rutted street below. Bullock wagons and horse drays lumbered past as well as horsemen and the occasional horse-drawn gig.

  ‘Hello, old boy,’ a voice greeted cheerfully from the end of the verandah. ‘It has been a while since we last met.’

  Lachlan strode towards his old friend and former military comrade, Andrew Hume. ‘It is good to see you again, Andrew,’ he said, shaking his hand. ‘It must be around a year.’

  ‘Around that,’ Andrew said. ‘I heard that you lost Jupiter a while back.’

  The mention of the young Aboriginal’s death brought a dark cloud to Lachlan’s face. ‘Up in the jungle country, south of the Palmer,’ Lachlan replied. ‘He was a good and faithful companion.’

  ‘Sorry to hear about your loss,’ Andrew added. ‘You up for a drink?’

  ‘That sounds like a good idea,’ Lachlan said. ‘Maybe raise a toast to Jupiter’s soul – wherever it may be roaming right now.’

  They went downstairs to the hotel’s bar, where Lachlan ordered a bottle of rum. Time had brought a softness to his friend who had once been a lean, hard soldier in New Zealand. Now Andrew Hume was a highly-placed government officer. He and Lachlan had met again when Lachlan had first stepped ashore at Moreton Bay after leaving Sydney. Their meeting had been opportune, as Andrew was at the time employed by the government to process government land grants and leases for new settlers in the colony.

  For his part, Andrew had not forgotten how Lachlan had stood by him back in Waikato and this bond now carried into their lives as civilians. With Andrew’s help Lachlan had been able to identify regions of interest yet unexplored by Europeans. After mapping them, he had always been able to peel off the choicest land and purchase it from the government at a very reasonable rate for the MacDonald & Busby enterprises. In return, the company had always paid a generous, albeit secret, commission to Hume. This had been a welcome supplement to his meagre government pay, especially now that he had a wife and children to care for.

  Lachlan produced the hand-sketched maps of his last expedition from his leather satchel, as well as his personal written observations on the flora and fauna. His love for learning had given him the basis to make detailed, accurate reports on all that he observed. Besides being an explorer, he was also an amateur botanist and geologist of some note.

  ‘I did not see much evidence of gold,’ Lachlan said, sipping his rum as Andrew finished reading the report. ‘But I suspect that another expedition back into the same country might change that.’

  Andrew closed the folder with its jumble of papers and sketches and picked up his drink. He could see that the harsh conditions of the wild parts of northern Queensland had taken a toll on his old friend. The young man’s face was burned a deep brown and carried tiny scars. Lachlan had lost weight, too, but his powerful physique was still apparent. Andrew could also see that Lachlan was still troubled by the war wound that had weakened his left arm.

  ‘So, you are going back,’ Andrew said, sipping his rum. ‘Have you ever considered quitting before some wild blackfella spears you, or you get a fever and die out there alone?’

  ‘Not much else worth dying for,’ Lachlan said with a grin, raising his glass. ‘Maybe one day the government will build a monument to me.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ Andrew said. ‘The motive for your explorations is to find land for your brother’s companies. The government does not see that as worthy of recognition.’

  ‘So what motivated all the others who have written their name into history?’ Lachlan said with a touch of anger. ‘They might have espoused noble ideals of venturing into unknown lands for the sake of furthering mankind’s knowledge but in the end it was simply so that the colonial governments could send settlers in their footsteps to claim that very same land.’

  ‘I agree with you,’ Andrew soothed. ‘The difference lies in who commissioned the expeditions. In the case of the others who got the glory, it was a government, or some geographical society. In your case, you are financed by a private company, so your discoveries don’t count in the eyes of the public.’

  Lachlan knew that Andrew was right. His dream of fame and recognition might never be realised, but at least he was actually going to places no other European had been before.

  ‘Oh, by the way,’ Andrew said with a slight smile on his face, ‘while you were up north trudging around in the bush, there has been a man looking for you. I overheard him yesterday asking at Jacob’s store. It seems that he heard that you were in these parts, and claims that you two met in New Zealand. He would very badly like to make your acquaintance again.’

  Lachlan knew his friend well enough to know that he was savouring something at his expense. ‘Who?’ Lachlan asked suspiciously.

  ‘Not someone I would like to meet up with again, if I were you,’ Andrew shrugged.

  ‘Who are you talking about?’ Lachlan repeated, suspicion turning to exasperation.

  ‘Some bloody big Maori cannibal, who says his name is Matthew Te Paea. He is staying at the stables down the road,’ Andrew said. ‘He says you gave him his gammy leg.’

  Lachlan was stunned by the news. ‘Yeah,’ Lachlan retorted with a grin. ‘And he gave me this gammy arm.’

  Now it was Andrew’s turn to look surprised. ‘God almighty!’ he exclaimed, looking to the doorway of the bar. ‘He’s here!’

  Lachlan turned to look over his shoulder. The doorway was almost blocked by the bulk of the man filling it. Slowly, Lachlan rose to his feet as Matthew strode towards him.

  ‘Hello, brother,’ Matthew said with a broad grin. ‘I finally found you.’

  Lachlan hardly knew how to reply as Matthew grabbed him in a powerful hug and rubbed his nose against Lachlan’s. Andrew drew away. He had a fleeting memory of Maori greetings and they were not for the likes of him.

  TWENTY-THREE

  The meeting between Nicholas Busby and Charles Lightfoot took place in the offices of MacDonald & Busby in Sydney.

  Lightfoot appeared to have aged somewhat from how Nicholas last remembered him at their meeting in New Zealand. He still had his thick hair but it was now shot with grey and his once handsome, aristocratic features showed the lines of a dissipated life. He carried a silver-topped cane and wore an expensive suit tailored in England.

  ‘Mr Busby,’ Lightfoot said when he was ushered into the office by a clerk, ‘it is good to make your acquaintance once again.’

  Nicholas rose from behind his desk.

  ‘Major, a pleasure to see you again. I’m so glad you decided to take me up on my earlier offer to contact me on your return to Australia. I trust that you’ve had a pleasant time in the homeland? Please, take a seat.’

  Lightfoot sat down in a chair, crossing his legs. ‘England is always far superior to the colonies in both culture and society,’ Lightfoot replied arrogantly. ‘While I was there it appears I encountered a mutual friend, Lord Summers, at a regimental dinner in London,’ he said, glancing around the spacious, well appointed office. ‘He informed me how you had pointed him in the right direction for the investment of some of his capital.’

  �
��Ah, yes,’ Nicholas said, touching the end of his nose with his finger. ‘Running sheep for wool production. Lord Summers purchased quite a few acres of prime land near Goulburn. He was a friend of the family many years ago.’

  ‘A charming chap,’ Lightfoot said ingratiatingly. ‘We did a spot of grouse shooting on his estate in Scotland.’

  ‘I was never one for the blood sports,’ Nicholas commented. ‘My youth was spent in books, rather than my father’s gun cabinet. But so much for recollections of our youth in the old country. I gather that you are here to see me for financial advice.’

  ‘You have a way of getting down to business that I admire,’ Lightfoot said with a strained smile. ‘Yes, that is correct. I have returned to the colonies with my sister and her husband to explore business opportunities. Needless to say that after having met you in New Zealand originally and coupled with Lord Summers’ very high recommendation, I had hoped that as a fellow countryman you might be of some assistance.’

  ‘One must always be of assistance to a fellow countryman,’ Nicholas replied.

  ‘Good show, old chap,’ Lightfoot said, visibly relaxing.

  ‘Well, the best way to start is to consider just how much capital you have to invest,’ Nicholas said.

  For a brief moment, Lightfoot appeared to be uncomfortable. ‘Not exactly my capital,’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘I am acting on behalf of my brother-in-law, Sir Percival Sparkes.’

  ‘So you are working on a commission basis in this matter?’ Nicholas asked.

  ‘An arrangement similar to that,’ Lightfoot replied.

  ‘Whatever enterprise that Percival establishes will be managed by me.’

  ‘You have a very trusting brother-in-law. A man who allows another to invest his money must have great faith – even if related by marriage.’

  Nicholas’s edge of sarcasm made the former army officer nervous. ‘Percival has no reason not to trust my judgment,’ Lightfoot sniffed. ‘We have known each other long enough for him to have faith in any investment that I should deem worthy of putting his money into.’

  ‘I do not doubt your honesty, Major Lightfoot,’ Nicholas said reassuringly, rising from behind his desk to indicate that their meeting was coming to an end. ‘Family is family. I will give you the best advice that I can. Shall we meet again next week to discuss what I can come up with?’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Busby. Hopefully, next time we meet I may also have the pleasure of meeting with your partner, Mr MacDonald.’

  ‘Mr MacDonald is currently unavailable,’ Nicholas said, walking with Lightfoot to the door. ‘However, when I see him next I shall pass on your regards.’

  When Lightfoot was gone from the office, Nicholas walked to the window looking down on the street. He could see the major enter a fine carriage drawn by two matched greys.

  ‘So, the rat has smelled the cheese,’ John said behind Nicholas.

  ‘You heard our conversation then?’ Nicholas asked, turning away from the window.

  John nodded, taking the chair vacated by Lightfoot. ‘Do we advise a worn-out gold mine or a worthless tract of swamp land?’ he asked with a smile on his face.

  ‘Nothing so crude,’ Nicholas replied. ‘Whatever we do, it has to guarantee that he is totally destroyed. My plan will be absolute in its outcome. Trust me.’

  A thousand miles north, Lachlan awaited a reply to his latest report. He had forwarded it by mail to his brother in Sydney and in the meantime rested in Townsville, regaining his health and spending time with Matthew Te Paea. They would go fishing together and Lachlan learned how the Maori had decided to travel to the Australian colonies to join the gold rush along the Palmer. Not having had any luck, he had sought work back on the coast at Townsville to pay his way home. He had found some work on the wharves, but the pay was just enough to cover food and accommodation.

  ‘You think that you would be interested in coming with me on my next trip into the forests?’ Lachlan had asked. ‘It’s dangerous work.’

  ‘Any worse than what we did in the Waikato?’ Matthew retorted.

  ‘About the same,’ Lachlan replied. ‘Except out there we are on our own.’

  ‘Then, brother, I will go with you.’

  It was a letter that turned John’s life upside down. Postmarked from the colony of South Australia, it arrived at his office and he read the contents with growing excitement. Six months earlier he had tracked his sister’s possible whereabouts to Adelaide. He had the means to employ a man in the colony to attempt to seek out his sister and it had paid off. John read that his sister was now married to a Mr George Meers and had two children. Meers had been employed by a bank but inquiries led John’s private investigator to learn that the young man had sold up all that he owned and headed for the Palmer River goldfields. He had foolishly taken his family with him despite the advice of friends and family, the report concluded.

  John placed the letter on the desk and stared at the clock on the wall opposite. He now knew his sister’s new name and the names and ages of his nephew and niece. According to his calculations, his sister must now be somewhere in the tropical north of the Queensland colony. So too was his brother, Lachlan.

  John stood and stretched his legs. He strolled over to the window that gave him a view of the street below. Gazing out the window; he allowed the turbulent emotions to swirl around in his mind. Lachlan could go to Cooktown and the Palmer to search out his sister, he thought. He would cable north with the news and arrange to join his brother in the search for their beloved sister. Yes, it was certainly time that he once again reunited with his brother, whom he had now not seen for five years. Deep down, John had a good feeling about the news. He was within easy reach of upholding the oath he had made so long ago.

  ‘Thank you, Lord!’ John shouted in exhilaration.

  The office door opened and his personal assistant poked her head in.

  ‘Did you call for me, Mr MacDonald?’ she asked in a puzzled tone.

  John smiled at her. ‘Not unless you command the hosts on high,’ he replied, ‘thank you, Gertrude.’

  Nicholas Busby’s campaign to assist Charles Lightfoot with his brother-in-law’s investments had got off to a good start. A real estate deal in Sydney had returned a 200 per cent profit, giving Lightfoot good reason to trust the entrepreneur’s business acumen. Nicholas was also able to put forward Lightfoot’s name for membership to the Australia Club. This night, they met in the plush surroundings.

  ‘Well, old chap, here is to you and your very sound financial advice,’ Lightfoot said, raising his glass in a toast.

  ‘My pleasure,’ Nicholas responded. ‘Anything to assist a fellow countryman of such impeccable reputation.’

  Lightfoot looked pleased with the compliment. ‘I have a great favour to ask,’ he said. ‘To do with a possible future investment.’

  ‘It would be a pleasure to be of assistance, Major,’ Nicholas said with a fleeting, enigmatic smile. ‘You only have to ask.’

  ‘The thing is,’ Lightfoot started, ‘Sir Percival is somewhat of an amateur geologist and has a desire to travel to Cooktown and view a geological formation in that area called Black Mountain. He has asked me if you might know of someone trustworthy to act as his guide up there. I feel with all your contacts that you might be able to steer me in the right direction. I have to confess that I know little about his peculiar interest but he has informed me the mountain is of sufficient significant geological importance to warrant exploration.’

  A name came immediately to Nicholas’s mind, but he dared not speak it. ‘If you give me time I shall make some inquiries,’ he replied. ‘I am sure that I can satisfy Sir Percival’s request.’

  Lightfoot settled back to enjoy the conversation at the club. It had as its members some of the most influential and wealthy men in the colonies. He knew that he was in good company and looked forward to swelling the capital his brother-in-law had entrusted to him. Charles felt the smugness of one who had always known what was best for
his sister – and the marriage he had arranged had proved one of his best investments, following the decline of his own small fortune. Too many losses at the card table and the expenses of living the life of a gentleman around London had sapped his finances. Through his brother-in-law he had a chance to redeem his fortune and the opportune meeting with Nicholas Busby in New Zealand had been God sent.

  That evening, Nicholas related the conversation that he had with Charles Lightfoot and told John about Sir Percival’s request.

  ‘You seem to have Lightfoot’s trust,’ John said. ‘My brother would be more than capable of acting as a guide, but Lightfoot would be bound to recognise him.’

  ‘As far as I know Lightfoot himself is not travelling north; it would be Sir Percival alone. According to Lightfoot, he would be very generous when it came to payment.’

  John gave the matter serious thought. Would it be safe to have Lachlan escort the English adventurer to Black Mountain? What advantage would there be in allowing him to do so? It would not be the money; Lachlan was already well off. His inheritance had been invested wisely and grown considerably. Indeed, Lachlan had enough income to settle down to his own business or simply retire on the interest his money was bringing in.

  There was also the possibility of Lachlan going to the Palmer goldfields in search of their sister to be considered. ‘Maybe it would not hurt to contact Lachlan and put forward the proposal,’ John finally relented, having formulated what he would do about seeking out Phoebe. ‘It could do no harm and might even put him in a position to monitor Lightfoot.’

  ‘You mean collect intelligence,’ Nicholas said, pouring a sherry from a crystal decanter on the sideboard. ‘I hope that I never make the mistake of crossing you, John.’

  ‘Not so long as you remain faithful to me,’ John replied with the faintest of smiles. ‘We Scots are well known to carry a grudge – even to the grave. I would haunt you forever if you ever sought another to take my place.’