South of Darkness

by John Marsden

  He was a devout lad, George, constantly invoking the name of the Lord in his daily affairs and capable of preaching with the fervour and eloquence of an adult. Yet I had noticed that in a number of ways his actions did not match his words or his professed beliefs. Much as I enjoyed my conversations with him, and much as I admired the knowledge he had acquired of the country, yet I did not altogether trust him and hence maintained a certain reserve when with him, never more so than when I commenced my dealings with the desperate escapee in the forest. It was George, after all, who had warned me of the possibility that I might encounter a runaway, and he had done so in words that conveyed no sympathy for the plight of these renegades.

  Old Alec Mildren, too, though he was a likeable scoundrel, was a scoundrel nonetheless, and I kept well away from him during the days of my dealings with the man. Because George, Alec and I were engaged in the same occupation, sometimes taking the same routes, I had to be particularly careful that they did not witness my nefarious meetings. I believed I had been successful in this, but after seeing George converse with Isaac I became somewhat suspicious and so the next day deliberately missed my rendezvous with the convict. The stand of timber was very nearly exhausted anyway, so it seemed that I would only be travelling through that particular section of forest for a couple more days.

  When I next met the man, on the following day, I told him I was unlikely to be in a position to continue his deliveries of food.

  He had not reproached me for missing the previous day, but now he looked at me in some panic and dropped the ladle from which he was drinking. ‘Don’t speak to me so,’ he cried. ‘I have nothing without you. You’ll not be deserting Johnny now?’

  It was the first time he had told me his name. I opened my mouth to answer, but before I could utter the first syllable I saw a movement among the trees, over Johnny’s shoulder. I did not know what it was, but it seemed unnatural. I paused, looking at it, trying to discern what I had seen. Johnny, whose time on the run had perhaps heightened his senses to an acute degree, responded to my changed expression and swung around fast, moving to his left at the same time. I saw a glimpse of scarlet, a colour never to be found in the landscape of New South Wales, except on the plumage of certain parrots, and realised that we were in danger. Then a man’s voice, to my left, called something, and in a moment the forest seemed to spring alive with soldiers as though they were part of the flora, large scarlet flowers with deadly intent.

  Johnny darted away to the right now, towards the thickest timber. I hesitated. The soldiers paused as one and lifted their rifles to their shoulders, as a man with sergeant’s stripes bellowed: ‘Stop or we shoot!’

  I had been well instructed by my ill-famed compatriots aboard the Admiral Barrington. One of the lessons they had impressed upon me was that people in authority use their voices, and in particular the volume of their voices, to control others. ‘They shout to frighten you,’ they gravely told me, ‘they shout to paralyse you.’

  For an instant of time I felt that paralysis, a response, no doubt, to the shocking appearance of the soldiers from their hiding places, but also to the booming parade-ground voice of the sergeant. However, the tuition I had received from my companions in infamy helped me resist the sergeant’s shout, for it was but a moment later when I turned and followed Johnny.

  Considering his physical condition, Johnny had moved with remarkable agility and was already twenty-five yards away. I went after him as smartly as I could. The sergeant bellowed again, ‘Halt!’ and then a moment later, ‘Fire as you will! Bring ’em down, boys!’

  It appeared that we were to be treated as nothing more than targets in a contest of marksmanship. When the first shots rang out I gave an involuntary leap that seemed to take me as high into the air as the length of my stride, even though that itself was of unnatural duration. I am sure I heard a guffaw of laughter from one of the soldiers, reinforcing my impression that they saw this as good sport and we had no more value than kangaroos or native dogs to them.

  Shots continued to pop around us as, gasping for air, I followed Johnny into an undergrowth of medium thickness. Luck was on our side, for although it seemed that we were completely surrounded by soldiers, Johnny had by chance chosen a weak spot in their defences. The man who confronted us looked so young as to be barely of age for his first shave. He was fumbling to reload his gun, having evidently discharged one round of shot without success. As Johnny reached him the young soldier held his gun crossways, in hopes of using it as a club perhaps, but the momentum Johnny had achieved enabled him to charge straight through this weak attempt at defence.

  The soldier jumped aside at the last moment but was still in my path. Slightly built as I was, I realised I would be less likely to succeed with the tactic Johnny had employed, so I swerved at the last minute, leapt through a prickly bush, ducked under a low branch and raced away at a diagonal angle. I lost sight of Johnny during this manoeuvre, but I was only concerned with escape and so continued on my path, half rolling, half sliding down a gully and then climbing rapidly up the other side. Looking over my shoulder, I saw the young soldier and one of his colleagues in pursuit, but they were hampered by their heavy uniforms and their muskets, and so I was gradually able to gain the advantage over them and make good my escape.

  At length, puffing and panting, my chest heaving, I came to a halt in a small clearing. In the anonymous forests of this strange land it was difficult to get a sense of north or south, east or west. In escaping the soldiers I had zigzagged and altered direction many times. As well, each deviation of the landscape had forced me to take a different path, until after just a brief time my disorientation had become absolute. I did not know now whether I was facing the settlement or whether it was behind me. There were no landmarks, just the giant eucalyptus trees, each aspiring to the heavens in its own way, each boasting its own peculiar distortion of branches.

  For all I knew I might have run in a large circle and been close to my starting point again. Or I could be hopelessly lost in the depths of the forest. I stood for a while, bent forward, hands on my knees, listening intently, until at last I was satisfied that I had shaken off the hunters. I felt momentary relief, but soon the enormity of my situation began to make itself manifest to me, and I let out a sob of despair. Alone, entirely without shelter or tools, food or water, ignorant of my location, and an outlaw in this alien land . . . I had nothing, I was nothing, my future had suddenly been rendered hopeless. It was a bitter feeling, and bitterly did I reproach myself for ever having shown kindness to the runaway convict named Johnny.

  Chapter 36

  I wandered through the forest for upwards of an hour, completely without purpose. I had an idea that sooner or later I might glimpse a camp or a settlement or some evidence of the presence of white men. I saw no clue of any such. Always it was the same: trees, grasses, bracken, other plants and rocks. The ground was generally flat but with occasional slopes and dips. Everywhere were logs, some lying flat, others at angles across each other. Some were old and rotten, others fresh. Quite a few were still alive, with new green growth springing from them.

  It was often possible to reconstruct the history of the fallen timber: I could see how a branch had ripped away from its parent, leaving a scar, and plunged earthwards. In doing so the branch would frequently have crashed into another tree, perhaps knocking the whole of it down, or part of it, so that a tangled mess eventually settled on the ground, Nature in a wrecked state, a bewildering maze of timber. Time and time again I had to clamber over and through these immense knots. The biggest trunks were often too high for me to scale; I had to make my way up or down the length of these giants until I could get around their roots or climb them at their thinner reaches.

  In time my mind settled down a little and I was at least able to consider my position with more clarity. It seemed to me that I had four choices. To find civilisation and give myself up, upon which I would be sentenced to, at best,
a severe flogging. To find a tribe of Indians and attempt to ally myself with them, as according to rumour, other escapees had done, some successfully, some not. To strike out for the coast and attempt to get a French ship or some other vessel to take me away from this accursed land. To seek out other renegade convicts like Johnny and live off the land as best we could, outlaws forever.

  I had developed a morbid fear of the cat-o’-nine-tails, and was sure that I would rather put an end to my own life than submit to its horror. So it seemed that my first option was unthinkable. The other three offered nothing much, no realistic hope of freedom, prosperity and a long life, all the things I had dreamed of in the days before this. Yet they were all I was left with.

  I came to a stream that was not running but had settled into a series of pools, and I drank gratefully. As I finished and sat back on my heels, I was startled beyond measure to find that I was being observed. A man sat on a rock opposite, looking calmly at me. It was Johnny.

  ‘Nice spot this,’ he said. ‘I never seen it before. Nice drop of water.’

  I was deeply grateful and relieved to see another human being, even one who had got me into such dire straits, but all I could do was start crying. I sobbed and sobbed. Johnny crossed the stream and came to where I was sitting. He stood beside me looking down at me, almost as though he were curious. After a while, when he had said nothing and shown no particular sympathy or concern, I managed to get control of myself. There seemed so little point in crying. Eventually I got up. ‘What are we going to do?’ I asked him, quite calmly.

  He didn’t answer, just turned on his heel and set off across the stream again. Yet I had the feeling he was expecting me to follow, so I did. We went up the hill and over the ridge, and started through the forest. Johnny didn’t look around once, but he clearly knew I was behind him.

  I got very tired. I think it was the tiredness that comes from shock and fear, because the walking wasn’t hard, even though we went quite a distance. I had no idea where Johnny was taking me but he appeared to have a destination in mind. I had no plan of my own, no ability to think for myself. My mind was no longer working. I followed blindly, stumbling quite often, until my companion stopped and I nearly walked right into him.

  We were at the edge of a cliff. I moved out beside Johnny and peered down the drop. It was not as steep as I had feared, perhaps thirty yards. Johnny led me to some rocks about halfway along the escarpment and carefully made his way downwards. I watched until his head was out of sight, then followed. To my surprise he had completely disappeared. I scrambled down, grunting and panting, frightened by my renewed isolation, but I soon found the explanation for Johnny’s whereabouts. I came to a dark hole, not much wider than me and smelling of moist earth. I squeezed through it, into complete darkness. I could hear, from scrapings and shufflings, that Johnny was in there somewhere. Then I heard the familiar sound of a flint striking steel and saw a couple of sparks dropping into a tinderbox. A small flame flared, and as he blew on it I saw his face, intent upon his task. I felt comforted by his calm concentration. The flames increased; he tipped the little fire gently onto the earth, and as I watched he carefully added fragments of bark and small twigs. The fire got bigger and the cave gradually warmed. I welcomed the warmth, for the cold of fear was through my body and it is a cold that cannot easily be comforted. I had no idea of the new direction my life was now to take; all I knew was that I would be lucky to survive, that from now on every decision and action would have to be taken with survival in mind, and the time left to me was likely to be numbered in days or weeks, months at best.

  I sat there with my knees to my chest, my arms wrapped around myself, trying to stop trembling. This was not the future I had envisaged when I first formed the intention to come to New South Wales. Johnny did not say a word but after a time he left the cave and I could hear the scrambling sounds of his feet as he made his way back up the steep incline. I did not wonder where he had gone, nor did I care, but after a while I let myself slip over sideways, whereupon I curled up and slept beside the little fire.

  I was awoken by Johnny’s return and had no idea of the length of time I had been asleep. I was shocked at first, and then deeply grateful, when he thrust a couple of medium-sized carrots at me, and an apple, then put half a loaf of bread and a ceramic vase containing water beside me. I did not take much notice of the vase at first, as I busied myself with the victuals, and only after I made great inroads into the food did I attempt to quench my thirst.

  As I picked up the vase I felt something sticky on it, and looking down at my hand saw that it was smeared with blood. ‘Why Johnny,’ I said, ‘did you cut yourself when you were getting this?’

  Looking up at him I saw guilt written large upon his face. ‘Johnny,’ I said, putting the uneaten bread down. ‘How did you get this food?’

  He did not answer, but looked stricken. I gazed again upon the vase and saw that it was a fine object indeed, purple flowers that I now know to be irises, against a green background, with long leaves wrapping around the neck. The colours were muted but to my ignorant eye it seemed finely done. This was an object which had travelled a great distance across vast oceans, protected and cherished, brought to a strange land, placed no doubt in a position of honour in whatever raw new building now housed it, only to be stolen and carried off into the wild forest for no other purpose than to hold water for a worthless runaway convict lad . . . and what was its fate now? To be cast down upon the floor of the cave and left lost among the dirt and rubble of millennia, never to be gazed upon by the eyes of man again?

  And what other damage had been done by its procurer in the annexation of it? I looked up at Johnny again but before I could say anything I heard a shout in the distance. It sounded far away, but we were in a cave, where every sound was necessarily muted. Johnny heard it too, and his composure deserted him. He looked terrified. I put the vase down carefully and went past him to the entrance. Looking out I caught a glimpse of the familiar scarlet jackets, only two soldiers, but horribly close and coming in our direction with a purposeful air. One of the men paused, and with his right arm made a sweeping movement to someone out of my sight. By this I knew that there were more than two.

  Aghast, I looked around at Johnny. ‘Is there a back way out of the cave?’ I asked him. He shook his head. ‘Well, we had better make a run for it,’ I said. ‘It’s another batch of soldiers. They’re getting closer. I think they know we’re here. They must have followed you.’

  He nodded dumbly and came forward to join me at the mouth of the cave. I peeped out further and saw another scarlet jacket away to my right, working his way around the rocks. I realised we had to go now or we would of a certainty be trapped. I pointed to Johnny, to go to the left, and he nodded again. It seemed that I was in charge. I had no idea of course whether the left offered better prospects than the right, or whether straight ahead might have been an even better choice; all I knew was that those two latter options were already closed to us.

  Taking a deep breath, as though jumping into the Thames, I leapt out from the mouth of the cave and immediately broke to the left, running as hard as I could. Pounding footsteps behind told me that Johnny had followed. I soon came to the end of the shelf of rock that lay out the front of the cave, and took a jump off the brink, sensing, from the fall of the land, that the drop would not be too great.

  Whilst in midair I heard a shout from a soldier who was labouring up the face of the cliff. Thankfully I was right; the drop was not too great, but it was enough to jar me from my feet up to my neck, and it threw me off balance. Johnny landed behind me, so close that he fell against me. I was not able to regain my balance and went sprawling onto sharp rocks, with Johnny falling a moment later on top of me. As I struggled to get up I heard another shout, this time from the left of the cave, in the direction we were facing, and this provided me with added incentive to regain my feet. When I did so I ran with furious intent down the slop
e. Musket shots exploded on both sides, almost at the same time, upon which I started taking giant leaps, at great peril. I neither knew, nor, I confess, cared whether Johnny was behind me. Life, to be sure, had little enough to offer me at that time, but nonetheless I wanted to preserve mine. Like Job, bereft of all life’s blessings, I still clung to an unknowable solid presence, perhaps the one that men call hope.

  I saw a soldier running to cut me off, from my left, and I veered sharply away from him and put on speed. To my surprise I was suddenly overtaken by Johnny, who cast nary a glance in my direction, and so was evidently as little interested in my fate as I was in his. But he was a man and I a mere boy, and he was able to outrun me. I changed my course again to follow him, for I surmised that he knew these woods better than anyone and would perhaps guide me in the best way. So it proved, for shortly I could see, looking back, that the scarlet uniforms were well behind us. Their heavy clothing no doubt weighed them down, and perhaps they had little stomach for a long run in hot weather. There was not much in it for them; for us there was everything: liberty, of a kind, but more importantly, life itself.

  Chapter 37

  A few days later found us in a pitiful state. By then Johnny had told me the truth, so far as I could tell, of the episode where he had stolen the food. It seemed that he had broken into a house to procure some victuals, not for the first time, but had been disturbed in his endeavours by the lady of the place, who had come into the parlour just as he was leaving, panicked, as indeed she was entitled to do and, screaming, had rushed towards the door. Fearing that she would be successful in summoning help, Johnny had seized a poker from the fireplace and struck her across the back of the head, whereupon she had fallen insensible to the floor.