Wild Lands

by Nicole Alexander

  James pointed out a gully that led from the eastern foothills across the valley floor. A narrow creek which no doubt would have to be crossed before they reached the Scotsman’s run.

  The house appeared expansive in proportion and the numerous outbuildings and series of yards suggested a profitable business had taken root. It was only after scrutiny that the tell-tale signs of recent trouble became apparent. The crops in the ground bore the scars of recent firing and smoke drifted from a number of spots close to the main house. A large number of sheep grazed in close proximity and Kate commented that one mob in particular were very white. George Southerland informed her that they’d been recently shorn.

  From the vantage point of the hill, the surrounding country appeared quiet although Kate was now aware of how deceptive the outer limits could be. Adam expected to reach the property by nightfall; indeed all hoped that would be the case for none were partial to spending another sleepless night outdoors and the party had been on the move since before daybreak. But the timing of their arrival, Adam explained, was based on walking straight downhill, veering westward and ensuring they kept to the open country afforded by the valley floor. The plan was not greeted favourably for along this path there would be few places to seek cover, a route that did not appeal to George Southerland.

  ‘I know this land now. I recognise the lay of it.’ The overseer drew an outline of the undulating horizon with his finger in the air, turning on his heel towards the north-west. ‘The Hardys’ farm is that way. Surely we’re better off hugging the hills, keeping to the edge of the timber. That way has served us well so far and it will be quicker than your suggestion.’

  ‘We only travelled through that area because there was little choice,’ Adam explained irritably. He was also trying to placate Bidjia by keeping Jardi away from the eastern foothills. The old man sensed trouble and not just from the renegade tracking them. Jardi had traced Mundara’s camp and although the warrior was not present, he’d caught sight of the girl they’d seen at the river weeks previously. Once they’d reached the white man’s run, Jardi intended to return to the camp and take the girl.

  ‘You were the one who suggested we head east first,’ James reminded him. ‘You’re meant to be our guide and what have you done but had us walking for nearly four days traversing ridges and gullies. We could have been at the farm by now.’

  Bidjia interrupted his conversation with Jardi. He stared hard at the Major and then, turning his back on the group, walked down the slope a little to lean on his spear, one foot resting in the crook of his knee. His son joined him and soon the pair began to argue again.

  ‘You’re still alive, aren’t you?’ Adam countered. They’d been on the move for too long. Now the group wasted time with their complaining while he sensed that Bidjia grew tired again.

  ‘Normally I’d be in agreement with you,’ George Southerland consented. ‘It is always best to stay in open country, to see what’s coming.’ A stubby finger inched its way into his thick beard. ‘It’s a pity we’ve no horses. We can’t chase the bastards down if we’re attacked.’

  ‘A quick hit with the stirrup-iron, eh?’ Adam was finding it difficult to control his temper.

  Kate felt ill at the thought of what Adam implied.

  ‘But we haven’t seen a black in three days, nothing,’ Mr Southerland continued as if Adam had not spoken. ‘These things always come in runs. The trouble’s died down now. I reckon it’s safe to walk on directly.’

  ‘I agree with you, George. If something happens and we’re delayed,’ James added, ‘there’s scarcely anywhere to mount a decent stand.’

  ‘A decent stand?’ George laughed. ‘Look, James, the blacks are uppity. They’ve been riled to melting point with what’s been happening up here, but they’re not like us. If they do come at us again it will be a quick skirmish. They’ll run out, throw their spears and be gone again. I’m not saying it will happen, no, sir. I think we’re safe, but the timber affords the quickest route making us assured of reaching the farm before dark. There’s no fat moon to light our way tonight.’

  ‘So you would give them the advantage,’ Adam complained. ‘We’re dealing with a renegade half-caste and we’ve seen what he’s capable of.’ He wiped sweat from his brow with a shirtsleeve. ‘And as for your thoughts on their ability to mount an attack, Southerland, I’ve seen it before west of Sydney, over the mountains. Small raiding parties are an effective means of –’

  The Major bristled. ‘And you’d know about that, wouldn’t you? In fact I’m thinking you’d know a lot about the area west of the mountains that edges into the Bathurst Plains.’

  ‘Stop it, the two of you,’ Kate said loudly. ‘We are so close and yet you stand there arguing like children.’

  The Major looked past Adam as if he didn’t exist. ‘I wish the blacks would realise that if they don’t measure up to what’s expected of them they’ll have no place in this country.’

  ‘They’re not like us,’ Adam responded. ‘They don’t believe a person has the right to come onto their land and steal it away. They don’t think it’s fair that waterholes should be fouled by livestock, or that their women should be stolen, that their traditions should be destroyed. They don’t care for money or progress, power or prestige, they think only of and for the land and the continuation of their way of life.’ He paused, as if exhausted by the futility of his words. ‘They have chiefs but as for designated leaders to rally and lead their people into battle,’ he shook his head, ‘their society is not organised that way. But they do have warriors, and some seek payback for the violations done to them.’

  ‘You should be shot for such talk.’ James balled his fists. ‘You make them sound like damn patriots.’

  Adam drew so close to the officer that their chests almost touched. ‘And isn’t that what you call a people when their land is invaded and they are prepared to fight for the country they love?’

  ‘I will see you hang.’ The words were strung out through gritted teeth.

  ‘But not before I get you to safety, eh, Major?’ Adam stepped away.

  There was no final decision. Kate simply took up a position between James and Mr Southerland and silently they headed down towards the valley floor. Once out in the open they walked in an arrow formation – Adam at point and the two natives flanking the sides. It was mid-afternoon and the going was easy. The muscles in Kate’s calves and thighs, well-worked from the hilly terrain they’d already crossed, gradually relaxed. She brushed the tops of the tall grass with her palms as they passed, trying to blot out James’s harsh words.

  As they crossed the valley floor the Major attempted to engage Kate in discussions pertaining to life in Sydney but she found her thoughts revisiting Adam’s earlier remarks, particularly his use of the word ‘patriot’. She understood what was implied, indeed the man’s words were clear enough, but to view the Aborigines as such flouted established thought, that the natives were a breed apart, savages that rightly should be contained, constrained, subjugated. Yet here were two natives leading them to safety.

  Kate plucked at a piece of grass, twirling the pale length of it between her fingers. If the natives had been dispossessed of their lands, if the British settlers were in fact invaders and the British Government’s declaration of terra nullius – that no-one had owned this land before the British Crown took possession of it – was simply enacted to ensure a convenient and therefore righteous excuse to subjugate a native peoples, then Adam was right and James was wrong. And hadn’t George Southerland once said a similar thing on the journey north?

  ‘Your mind is on other things, Kate.’

  ‘I’m sorry, James. I was thinking about the natives, about what they must think of us.’

  ‘I doubt they think much at all, Kate. Some people say that they may well be linked back to the very first type of human. Accordingly there is much learned study being undertaken.’

  ‘Of what? The measurement of skulls and bones? Murder for rational underst
anding?’

  ‘I am amazed you could make such a comment after the slaughter of the Hardys!’

  Kate could see his point and yet Adam had presented a compelling argument. ‘But do we not have criminals as well in our society?’

  James gave a choked laugh. ‘Hardly a comparison.’

  ‘Why not? Why can’t these things be compared?’ Kate argued.

  ‘I have always doubted the appropriateness of a woman’s education. Too much information can be detrimental and confusing, which is not your fault, Kate, but that of those who believe a necessity for such teachings in a modern age.’

  ‘Please, James, I have lived with a tribe on the Hardy farm. I have seen firsthand that they have the ability to learn English and their plant knowledge in regard to both foods and healing remedies is extensive. We talk of them being savages but did you not fell a native on request so that a skull could be sent to England for study? Did not Jonas Kable speak of his fine collection of native curiosities? If the natives are savages, then surely we are barbarians.’

  ‘I think you have had your head turned by our guide, Kate.’ The Major’s blue eyes were accusatory. ‘He is little more than a savage himself and you can be assured that his rebellious days will soon be over.’

  The possibility of a response was not given for the Major was already dropping back to walk side by side with the overseer. Although disappointed, Kate knew she should not be surprised by James’s comments. He was not alone in his beliefs. As a child she’d thought she would grow old with two cats for company. Such a life remained a possibility for there were few men in the world who gave women their due. Kate looked ahead to where Adam walked … very few.

  The afternoon sun was slowly wreathed in patchy cloud. Intricate patterns appeared across the hills, which edged prettily away to the west. It was like watching a moving tapestry, as varied cloud shadows slid across the surface of the land, tipping trees and slopes, ridges and gullies, gliding across grasses thick and lush. At some point an understanding came to her as she watched the countryside transform beneath a changing sky. Money and supplies, the establishment of homes and businesses, labour, families, none of it was possible without the land, and here it was in its pristine state. Kate could see and feel it; an all-encompassing beauty, that in this place, for the briefest of moments, made her consider that if there was a God then maybe he dwelt here, in this land.

  ‘Do you think he knows what he’s doing?’ The overseer had exchanged places, coming to walk by Kate’s side.

  ‘Sorry, I was lost in my own thoughts,’ Kate admitted.

  ‘I was talking about him.’ Mr Southerland gestured ahead to where Adam maintained a steady gait. ‘I hope he knows what he’s doing.’

  ‘You’re following him,’ Kate pointed out. ‘We all are.’

  ‘Well, we’re nearly there. A couple more hours and you’ll have a roof over your head again.’ He slung the musket he carried over a shoulder. ‘You’ve been talking to him. What’s he told you?’

  ‘Why?’ The comment was said lightly but Kate knew from experience that Mr Southerland never did or said anything without a reason.

  ‘He’s from Sydney originally,’ he began, ‘born there, like you, but convict blood on both sides.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ Kate was intrigued.

  ‘He told me.’

  She couldn’t recall the two men talking beyond the necessary, but by nightfall Kate was invariably so tired that it was possible the two men had struck up conversation.

  ‘He’s had a hard life, abandoned, reared by blacks,’ the overseer continued. ‘They say there’s a few like him roaming the country, but there’s more of them that are of mixed-blood than pure white.’

  Kate thought of her namesake, Sally’s child. ‘Will Sally and the others still be at the farm when you go back?’

  ‘Who knows? Most likely they will have moved on by now, considering the troubles.’ The overseer coughed, wiping his nose on the arm of his shirt, and briefly studied what had been deposited. ‘But you know it’s a grand thing for a man to be educated. I wonder how our guide managed his letters out in the bush.’

  ‘He said a settler family schooled him.’

  ‘Ah, I would have thought some God-fearing missionary got his hands on him,’ he replied conversationally. ‘The Lycetts?’ the overseer probed. ‘Was that their name?’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’ Kate turned towards him. ‘If you didn’t know how he was educated, where did you hear of the name Lycett?’

  The man squinted into the sun. ‘He’s not who you think he is, Kate.’ Mr Southerland nodded over his shoulder at the Major.

  The exchange unnerved Kate. ‘And do you know who he is?’

  ‘We do now. We just needed to have a few facts confirmed before we arrived at Stewart’s place. Best to know what’s what, eh?’

  Ahead, Adam slowed his pace to talk to his two friends. The elder of the natives was arguing with the younger, who, lifting his spear, pointed to the east. A thin stream of smoke was just visible in the distance. Was it the warrior who’d attacked the Hardys? Kate wondered. She dearly wanted to ask but felt unsure after what had just transpired. Adam had entrusted her with certain personal information and Kate had naively shared it with George Southerland, who in turn appeared complicit with the Major. Whatever their guide may or may not have done, Kate had unwittingly assisted in their investigations.

  Chapter 28

  1838 July – the Stewart farm

  The Stewart farm came into view gradually. It was another hour before the speck became a distinct mass, and still the farm flickered in and out of sight, as if playing hide-and-seek among the scattered stands of timber. At one point Kate imagined that she could almost make out the clutch of bark and wood outbuildings, which sat low to the ground, in the middle of the narrowing valley. The main homestead was not yet visible, but twirls of smoke drifted in the dying daylight hours. It was as if they approached a small village for Kate counted five smoky streamers high in the cooling air. Such signs of civilisation were a welcome sight and the tiredness seeping through her limbs dissipated a little. There was not much further to go. They would rest and make plans.

  She’d not noticed before how the sweep of timber on the distant sides of the valley had grown in thickness, nor how the trees now collared the edges of the tapering flat. The simple process of continuing to place one foot in front of the other had consumed Kate’s thoughts but now she found the dense foliage and the closeness of this forested area disconcerting. Was it her imagination or had their small party increased their pace? Don’t be silly, she mumbled quietly, calm yourself, soon their labours would be rewarded and they would arrive at Mr Stewart’s farm. The Scotsman had visited the Hardys’ property once only, the day of the argument regarding the boundary between the two runs. Kate remembered the man as one who could be reasoned with and hoped his wife was equally affable. She’d had her fill of puffed-up settlers’ wives.

  Their escorts still flanked them. Bidjia was on the eastern edge, a quarter-mile away, his son a little closer on the opposite side, while Adam’s position remained unaltered. Kate thought of what she’d told the overseer and then considered what the man ahead of them may have been guilty of. James’s attitude towards Adam had been fractious from the beginning and yet here they all were, depending on him for their very survival. Kate observed Adam’s steady stride, the continual turn of his head from left to right as he scanned the surrounds, the way he held the musket at the ready. But she saw other things as well. The thickness of the man’s dark shoulder-length hair, the taut pull of material across the width of his shoulders, the leanness of a body honed by rough living. This man was a breed apart.

  The sound of barking dogs, intermittent in the air, carried across the grassland, drawing everyone’s attention to the great sweep of movement that appeared in the south-east and headed steadily towards them. At first Kate couldn’t make out what approached from afar but it soon became obvious. A big mob of she
ep were being driven over and down an embankment like a cascade of bubbling white-water, spilling outwards across the land.

  ‘Now that’s a welcome sight,’ the overseer commented, ‘especially with the sun close to setting.’

  To the west the rim of the sun was indeed not far from touching the tops of the soft peaks. With the earlier cloud having grown streaky and insubstantial, a halo of golden light stretched out towards them, gilding the swaying grasses and infusing the treetops with vibrant colours of russet brown and green.

  Lifting a hand, Adam halted their small party as Bidjia stood motionless, directing his attention to the timber that was less than a half-mile away. James and Mr Southerland urged Kate onwards.

  ‘If they’re going to attack there’s little point standing here and waiting for the bastards,’ James muttered, pointing to a gully ahead of them.

  ‘Take cover!’ Adam yelled.

  The Aboriginal rose from the tall pasture like some mythological being from the underworld.

  Adam dropped to one knee, aimed and fired, but the native’s spear had already been thrown and the shot missed. The target, Bidjia, turned swiftly to avoid being hit but the barb found its mark, striking the old man in the side of the ribs, the impact throwing him to the ground. Another native rushed George Southerland. The overseer responded with fire, wounding the man, who barely faltered in his attack. Black and white fell to the ground fighting, as Jardi sped across the grassy plain towards his fallen father.

  James pushed Kate forwards and she ran towards the narrow gully, tumbling down the steep short sides. Her feet touched water, a thin brown-green excuse for a stream. She stepped away from the muddy edge to peer over the top of the ravine. Shots were being fired, precious seconds were now needed for the men to reload. Kate fumbled for the pistol in the folds of her skirt. The light was beginning to fail them. She had no extra powder and what was in the pistol had been placed there three nights ago when they’d hidden in the burial ground. If the powder had become damp, Kate couldn’t be certain that the flintlock would still fire. Pointing the weapon over the embankment, she watched. James was running back to where Mr Southerland was fighting his attacker in the grass. Adam ran towards Jardi, who in turn pursued the man who’d speared his father.