by James Fearn
The party travelled by bullock dray under a small armed guard of four redcoats and a constable. In all, there were four drays to carry the men and a fifth bearing tools and provisions. The journey could only be described as a nightmare. Heavy winter rains had turned the tracks into quagmires and the swollen rivers and streams into raging torrents. The bullocks struggled, strained, and managed to cross some of the streams only when the men led them waist deep in the icy water.
After several days travelling doggedly northward, the convict party pitched camp beside a small creek and sat around a campfire while they ate their evening meal. The constant ripple of the water was broken intermittently by the strange noises of the nocturnal creatures of the bush.
At about midnight when most of the men had been asleep for several hours, John suddenly sat bolt upright. Was he dreaming? No, there it was again. The sound of a blood-curdling screech came from a dense patch of bush about thirty yards away.
‘Hey, Richard’, whispered John poking his friend in the ribs. Richard stirred. ‘Bloody hell! What’s goin’ on?’ he drawled sleepily.
‘Listen!’ replied John.
Not a sound was heard. ‘Go back to sleep and stop your dreamin’, John,’ replied the irate Richard.
‘Scree . . . eech!’ It was louder this time. Several of the men jumped to their feet. ‘What was that?’ exclaimed Richard.
‘That’s the noise I was trying to tell you about,’ said John.
Four of the men and the constable pulled on their boots and went somewhat apprehensively to investigate the strange sound. It was a clear night and the moon illuminated the floor of the bush quite brightly. John was just about to step over a hollow log when two ferocious little creatures snarled at him. The constable instinctively raised his musket. They were small black furry animals their beady eyes, sharp teeth, and red tongue strikingly visible in the moonlight. Their screeching was ear splitting, and the men retreated hurriedly at the sight and sound of these creatures from hell. ‘The little devils!’ yelled Richard not realising quite what he had seen that night.
Circular Head lay at the foot of a rocky outcrop that stood like a defiant sentinel guarding his post. The dominant building that stood on a slight rise at the end of the town was a handsome sandstone church, and there were numerous small wooden buildings laid out in neat order near the foreshore. Flocks of sheep were to be seen grazing on the pastures to the south.
It had been raining steadily for several days when the dray rolled into Circular Head. John’s face lit up as he saw a group of horses grazing in a large field on the edge of the town. From a distance, he recognised them as Yorkshire thoroughbreds—a touch of home at last.
Nearly seven years had passed since the Barossa had discharged her convict cargo at Hobart Town and many of the men, including John Francis, had come to be regarded as trusted prisoners because of their co-operative behaviour and hard work. Small groups worked unguarded on the roads with one of their own number to supervise. Such was the case with John who worked as overseer of a small group of tree-fellers.
One afternoon as John was directing the lopping of a huge gum tree growing on the edge of a newly formed road, he suddenly became aware of the sounds of an approaching horse-drawn jinker. As it came closer, John could see that it was being driven by a strikingly attractive young woman in her mid-thirties with two little girls sitting next to her. The woman’s long auburn hair and pretty eyes fascinated him. The three of them wore full-length dresses drawn into their waists, with colourful bonnets adorning their heads.
‘Have no fear, ma’am!’ shouted John as the jinker drew to a halt. ‘Why should I?’ queried the woman in a defiant tone, fingering the trigger of her musket.
One of the girls smiled and offered John an apple from her basket.
‘Thank you, miss.’ He accepted the apple and turned to speak to the woman whom he presumed was the girl’s mother.
‘My name is John Francis, ma’am,’ he said. ‘We’ve been clearing the land for new roads ever since we came to this country,’ he went on gesturing in the direction of the other men.
‘How do you do, Mr Francis?’ she responded. The Irish lilt with which she spoke was not unfamiliar to John and reminded him so much of Anna.
‘I’m Martha McIlroy and these are my daughters, Felicity and Beatrice.’ John smiled at the girls who giggled with embarrassment. Since her husband’s tragic death five years earlier, Martha had managed the farm at Emu Bay by herself and had employed ex-convicts from time to time to help her with the heavier work. She was inclined to trust John but kept her musket at the ready in case her judgement was in error.
There followed a conversation about the opportunities of this southern frontier, about Martha’s farm and her husband’s accidental death. John explained that he was working towards a pardon and was intent upon making a good life of farming in the district eventually.
‘Let me know when you have your freedom, Mr Francis, and I’ll see if I can find some work for you,’ said Martha. With that, she flicked the reins and the jinker drove off along the dusty track, the girls waving and giggling as they disappeared into the distance. This chance meeting was to have far-reaching effects upon John’s life in Van Diemen’s Land.
Within three months, John had been granted a conditional pardon, the bond of £50 having been put up by his new employer, Martha McIlroy.
This remarkable woman was not only an excellent manager of the affairs of her farm but a good cook into the bargain. John always ate with the family and frequently played checkers with the girls after dinner. Many things about this little family reminded him of his happy childhood with his mother and sister in faraway Sheffield. John often found himself caught in a blend of emotions; a longing for old England and a growing liking for this his new home.
John’s main task on Martha’s property was to manage the livestock comprising about five hundred fine-wool sheep and a few cows and horses. Several acres of corn had been planted as a cash crop. The girls helped their mother in the garden, which supplied fresh vegetables and fruits in season. They milked the cows and made butter and cheese for the table and spent some of their time at the lessons that their mother had devised for them.
There was little in the way of organised entertainment at Emu Bay except for the occasional cricket matches. These were held on a tree-lined grassy paddock not a stone’s throw from the Post Office. Saturday afternoon was a popular time for such games, and the local boys and an occasional girl formed the teams. A marquee was set up, and many of the residents of Emu Bay came to watch the games, and to have tea and scones in the dappled shade of the gum trees.
It was a summer’s evening and neighbours for several miles had gathered at Martha’s place for a soiree. The ladies were dressed in their finery such as they may well have worn to a London ball while the gentlemen attired themselves in suits and colourful cravats and wore flowers pinned to their lapels.
Martha had offered John the choice of her late husband’s evening wear so that he could join in the festivities without embarrassment. And join in he did dancing, laughing, and chatting with Martha’s friends. This new-found freedom had given John a confidence that had all but disappeared through the ordeal of his servitude.
As the evening wore on, those with any talent for entertainment at all and even those without, would recite, dance, or sing much to the delight and amusement of the guests. There was Molly who fancied herself as an operatic soprano. Without piano accompaniment, her under pitched tones had to be endured rather than enjoyed. Then there was Ebenezer Punch, the ventriloquist, whose tongue-tied buffoonery had everyone in fits of laughter.
‘Who’s next?’ cried young Felicity. ‘Come on, Mr Francis. It’s your turn.’ John hesitated for a moment and then stepped forward to an enthusiastic welcome. He produced a tin whistle from his pocket and began to play an Irish jig. Billy, Gerard O’Loughlin’s son, leapt to his
feet and seizing the hand of the nearest girl began to dance up and down the room. A dozen or so other couples were soon kicking up their heels while the older guests clapped in time with the beat.
And so the residents of Emu Bay tried to recreate in their new homeland the culture of the old.
Such occasions were the highlights of the little girls’ lives, and Martha was delighted to see the joy on their faces as they skipped around with their friends. There before her was the living expression of her dear husband, Robert, so cruelly cut down in his prime. If only he could see his girls now, how proud he would be. If only she could sink into his arms once more and feel the comfort of his love.
The finale for the evening’s entertainment was the bush dance. With fiddle, banjo, and concertina beating out the rhythm, everyone joined in. When John had got the hang of the steps and sequences, he began to enter into the enjoyment with energy. He had hesitated initially, however, when Martha offered him her hand as his partner. Given his position, he had not presumed to invite her to dance with him, but he accepted the opportunity when it presented itself.
Up and down the couples went, in and out, under the outstretched arms of the leaders, dancing merrily to the sound of the band. The girls’ colourful dresses swirled as the revellers gyrated to the music. John found it hard not to gaze at his partner’s beauty. This was the first time in years that he had felt the soft warmth of a woman’s hand in his. He felt a little apprehensive when he thought about his status as a pardoned convict and was anxious not to take liberties with Martha but her engaging smile reassured him.
Nor was Martha unresponsive to the young energetic Englishman. From the moment, he had introduced himself on the road, Martha had recognised in John a character and charm that belied his convict status. Despite herself, she had to admit that she found him an attractive young man. Admittedly, he was a little diffident in close contact with her, but his reticence made him all the more alluring.
At the end of the evening, when the family was tucked up in bed, Martha stepped out on to the veranda of her little home to enjoy the quiet of the night. John was there. He was leaning up against a veranda post, gazing at the full moon that lit up the southern sky. How lonely his life had become without his soulmate. Where was the happy smile, the warm embrace? Where the moist lips, the soft responsive body? Where the confidence men derive from the adoring glance? Where was Anna? His Anna. ‘Oh god!’ he whispered to himself disconsolately. ‘I miss her.’
Martha came and stood beside him without a word and reached out to touch his hand. Turning to look at her, John saw her soft blue eyes and pretty face in the moonlight. She looked longingly at him as if she was searching for something. For those few fleeting moments, each of them saw the ghost of a long-lost lover in the mists of past memories and reached out to clasp the phantom to them as if it were real. Time stood still for Martha and John that night as the heavy scent of the roses wafted over them.
Early next morning John sat bolt upright in his bed. He had been dead to the world when Martha’s screams had jolted him into consciousness. Pulling on his trousers he ran towards the anguished cries.
Martha was sitting upon the floor of the parlour cuddling Beatrice who nestled into her mother’s arms. ‘John!’ she cried. ‘Felicity’s been taken! Someone’s kidnapped her! Look!’ She handed him a torn scrap of brown paper on which was scrawled a ransom demand.
Bring a hundred pounds to the old gum tree at the crossroads at midnite tonite or you won’t sea the girl alive again. If you tell the pleece she’s done for.
Recent rumour had it that there were bushrangers in the area and that settlers should be very careful about their property. Little did Martha imagine that her most precious ‘property’ was vulnerable. She had endured flood and drought, low prices for her corn and wool, and even a plague of grasshoppers. But nothing wounded her more deeply than an attack upon her own kith and kin.
Martha’s immediate reaction was to ride into Circular Head and get the help of the constabulary. ‘Will you help me please, John?’ she cried in desperation.
‘Yes, of course, I will,’ replied John. ‘But let’s consider the situation carefully. Men that will do such a thing as this are desperados and will stop at nothing. If they suspect that we have been to the police, they may well carry out their threat. I think we should meet them at the crossroads as they demand. Can you find a hundred pounds?’ he asked.
‘Of course, I must!’ Martha answered. ‘I’ll sell everything if I have to.’
‘Then we’ll do what they say. I’ll take the money to the crossroads just before midnight and wait for them. You can watch from a safe distance.’
The day dragged on as hour followed hour. Martha paced up and down the veranda, frantic about Felicity’s well-being. She was a pretty girl just coming into puberty. What if they violated her? Martha tormented herself by thinking of the worst possible scenarios.
It was just a few minutes before midnight when Martha and John arrived at the crossroads where the old gum tree stood resplendent in the half moonlight. Martha concealed herself in the bush a little way off. Thank goodness for John. Whatever would she have done without him in this situation?
John dismounted, tied up his horse, and proceeded on foot to the meeting place. Midnight passed, and John was becoming fearful that the kidnappers had lost their nerve when suddenly the outline of a lone horseman appeared on the moonlit road. Arriving at the gum tree, he looked carefully in all directions and dismounted. It was only then that John could see that the bandit was holding a blindfolded figure by the hand.
‘Good heavens, it’s you!’ exclaimed John as the two approached.
‘Bloody hell! How did you get mixed up in this business?’ responded the kidnapper in an agitated tone of voice.
‘I work for the girl’s mother,’ replied John.
The horseman was none other than Robert Meyers, the convict who had led the abortive escape attempt on the Barossa.
‘Robert, what on earth led you to this? An outlaw!’ said John, lamenting the fact that his erstwhile associate had been reduced to such a state.
‘I’m desperate, John,’ said Meyers. ‘I need money urgently.’
‘Listen, Robert, if you harm the girl you’ll destroy her mother. Have you no self-respect, man? How can you make a living out of frightening women and children? Here’s ten pounds. Take it and go,’ said John with disgust.
Meyers thought for a moment. ‘You can ’ave ’er then if ya keep yer mouth shut,’ he said. ‘For old time’s sake, yer can take ’er back to ’er mother.’
Meyers released the girl and galloped into the night, leaving John holding Felicity’s hand, and clutching the rest of the bank notes in the other.
Martha rushed forward folded Felicity in her arms and sobbed with relief. She lifted her daughter on to her horse. Holding her hand out to John, Martha drew him close and kissed him on the cheek.
Because of the isolation of Emu Bay communication with the outside world was dependent upon the stage coach that departed for Devonport every Monday at noon. The coach carried passengers between Devonport and Smithton in the northwest corner of Van Diemen’s Land and was making the return journey. John planned to travel to Devonport to collect a new ploughshare, which Martha had ordered some weeks earlier.
The track to Devonport was narrow and very rough. In places, the coach was required to negotiate some dry rocky creek beds, which in winter were raging torrents. There had been occasions in the past when the coach had been wrecked by the fierce currents of the melting snow waters.
The grey-green leafy boughs of the overhanging gum trees occasionally brushed the top of the coach as it passed. The dense under-story of the virgin scrub appeared to form an impenetrable wall of vegetation. Here and there flashes of colour of the native flowers attracted the eye and brightly coloured parrots flew up in alarm as the coach horses thundered past.
The coach had just rounded a sharp bend when unexpectedly it came to an abrupt halt. John looked out of the window and came face-to-face with masked man on horseback, aiming a double-barrelled shotgun at the door of the coach.
‘Stand and deliver!’ he yelled aggressively.
It was then that John caught a sight of a second masked man holding a gun to the head of the coachman.
‘Everybody out! Come out and lie face down on the ground,’ ordered the bandit.
It was obvious to John that resistance was out of the question in the face of two armed and dangerous bandits. The thieves worked systematically relieving the travellers of wallets, rings, watches, brooches, and other valuables in their possession. The portly bank manager muttered threats of revenge and received a cuff over the head with the butt of a shotgun for his trouble. John lay motionless looking for an opportunity to make a dash into the surrounding bush.
