by Peter Carey
Fair enough says King you’ve just got home you shouldnt go exerting yourself.
But later that night when the littlies was all asleep I realised he were stalking me like an old goanna looking for a way into a chook yard. He scratched his beard he smiled a lot and my mother watched approvingly as he tried to reel me in.
I said to her You come with me outside I want to talk to you about the pasture.
I led the way out into the night she following obediently when we was almost at the creek I turned to face her I had been away 3 yr. there were so much in my heart not least that I had come home with plans to save our farm.
Ma you’ve changed.
I’m happy said she but I’m sorry if that aint to your liking.
Why would you want to sic McBean onto me? You know he’ll put me back again.
I thought my mother silent then but after a time had passed I realised she were weeping. When I put my arm around her she shook herself free. You don’t know nothing about my adjectival life she said you don’t remember what its like to live here with the adjectival squatters impounding every adjectival chook and heifer they can snaffle and the traps always knocking on my door hoping to take away my children. He pinched an adjectival saddle she said.
Who pinched what saddle?
Dan the silly little b– – – – r were trying to make some money for his ma. There is no future here she said I can’t make sufficient from the grog and now he’s stole a saddle and they’ll lag him for it.
I told her I were planning to breed some horses but she didnt seem to hear me. I said I would be at Eleven Mile Creek long after George had bolted.
For that she slapped my face. Shutup she cried and look around you. Look at his fences is they the work of a cove who plans to bolt?
The posts are grey box they’ll be eaten out inside 4 yr. Our da would not use grey box no road. It were only ironbark or red gum for him.
I could not endure it cried she stooping in the dust and scooping it in her hands and rubbing it in her hair and on her face. I would rather die than spend another minute with your precious da.
She run back to her boy husband as for me I remained a long time under the stars in the very place I so long imagined whilst locked in my blue stone cell but all the dreams which had comforted me in prison was now turned to manure beneath my boots.
By lunchtime next day I had found a job as a faller for Mr J. Saunders and Mr R. Rules’ sawmill near Killawarra some 20 mi. from home moving that afternoon to the men’s hut beside the log yard.
It were most relaxing to enjoy the freedom of the air the absence of threats and quarrelling.
All my life all I wanted were a home but I come back from Pentridge Gaol to find the land I had laboured on become a stranger’s territory. George King were welcome to it I didnt care but there was also 30 thoroughbred horses which was my rightful property so when I discovered they was missing I sent word to my mother asking what she done with them. I learned they was stolen and the thief were beyond the law he were Constable Flood of Oxley. That injustice put me in a rage nothing would ease but danger I now craved it like another man might lust for the raw burn of poteen.
As luck would have it I already had the correct employment a faller’s job were perilous it was slippery in the rain always very risky in the wind. 1st we cut notches in the trunk then fitted 8 in. boards into them to make a kind of staircase and here we worked 12 ft. above the earth. My work-mate J. O’Hearn were a married man so when the tree were about to go he jumped down and run off leaving the bachelor to deliver the final blows. The danger made me forget my wrath for a moment but once the defeated tree lay ruined on the forest floor then my black mood would flood back and I would brood on how my life and land was taken from me. Thus like an idiot I spoiled my own freedom brooding day and night and this were like a lathe for it shaped the thing that were brooded upon and soon enough the object of all my separate unhappiness had taken the single form of Wild Wright his thick neck his quizzical lopsided brows. I had a great passion to knock him in the jaw to beat him to the dirt it were he who had knowingly left me with a stolen horse. It were soon clear to me that I would have no peace until I seen him punished I begun to make enquiries regarding his whereabouts.
I continued to stay clear of Eleven Mile Creek but my mother come to see me bringing a tin of shortbread I knew how much butter she sacrificed to bake me that. We sat together on the steps of the men’s hut & when I asked if she seen Wild Wright she understood my reason and lied to me saying he were up in New South Wales.
My mother had such dark and lively eyes she were ever full of tricks but also laughter. We had always liked to argue about horses a subject reaching back before the ancient Romans my mother holding v. strong opinions of blood and breeding which was our normal field of conversation but on this particular afternoon she led the subject to the mighty bloodline of McBean’s thoroughbreds she confessed she couldnt keep it from her mind how much money would be made if they was stolen.
I told her she might as well go back to Eleven Mile if thats what she come for.
She held my hand to her lips saying it were her son she come for and she missed me very bad.
I did not trust her I told her Dan were her son too.
What you mean by that?
Don’t talk Dan into duffing them horses.
Faith what sort of mother do ye think I am?
You’re Mrs Adjectival King as far as I can see.
She rode away upset leaving her fancy biscuit tin behind while I went back to brooding on Wild Wright and all the damage that had resulted from my imprisonment.
Wild were a friendly enough cove when the sun were shining but he were a big b––––r and would kill anyone who looked at him 1/2 wrong. His brother Dummy Wright were as good as his name for he were a mute and when Dummy were mocked by others Wright would be murderous in his defence. I therefore began to make a habit of ridiculing Dummy to me mates at the sawmill it were a poisoned bait I lay out for my bear. In my sleep I dreamed of Wright I could feel my hands shattering as I crushed his jaw his brow his nose it were no pain but a kind of ecstasy. Tom Lloyd were my best mate then & ever and I confessed to him the pleasure of my dreams. He said I were lucky they was dreams since Wild Wright would kill me awake he were 5 stone heavier.
Tom were son to my uncle the traitor but he himself were plain as a brick & steady & serious. It was Tom who said we should build up a new herd to replace the stolen one it would all be straight and honest with nothing on the cross. And it were them horses that slowly brung me back to life God has made no other creature so beautiful there is no feeling to equal the surging of a good horse galloping across the plains.
I didnt wish to hear about what transpired at Eleven Mile Creek but as there were no escaping gossip I soon learned that G. King had found my mother an Arab mare I thought this a mistake for 2 reasons 1st that an Arab will turn a mob of thoroughbreds into time wasting scoundrels 2nd that the horse were certainly duffed and I feared my mother and her baby would be sent to prison.
I decided it healthier to leave the district and giving notice at the sawmill I travelled 200 mi. to a similar job in Gippsland but the forests there were damp and dreary my mood plunged even deeper into rage and gloom. My father and mother now appeared to me every night in dreams my father’s face lacerated with a 1,000 cuts I knew I done this then I saw that woman’s dress in the dreadful tin trunk in Beveridge and I cried out and woke my workmates with my horror.
Returning to the North East I discovered Tom Lloyd now had 2 of our mares in foal that were the best thing to happen in a long while so I began to cheer up and think once more about the future. One Saturday I were riding across the plains at Laceby that is 1/2 way between Killawarra and Eleven Mile Creek. It were winter the clouds was grey and smudgy with distant rain the light were fading fast. In that melancholic landscape I seen a female on an Arab she were riding at full gallop. No woman on earth could ride like my mother it were thrilling to be
hold she rode with her back straight her stirrups long her skirts rucked up to show her knees. She made the girls at the Killawarra Races seem all milksop babes.
Mother always liked a race and now I chased her across the plains into the myall where she veered off heading for the Warby Ranges. In the low foothills she briefly disappeared beneath a rocky rise. The rabbits had made a great mess here the earth were riddled with their holes but since the rider would not slacken her pace her horse soon stumbled. When an Arab stumbles it does so properly standing on its head and rolling on its back and by the time the rider gets to his feet the Actress is out of sight and heading home for dinner. But my mother did not rise.
I dismounted and run towards her my heart racing I were sure I killed her.
But it were not my mother. It were a dark haired boy clad in a dress! This creature were no more than 18 yr. of age breathing hard his chest rising and falling but I were so riled I might of bashed him badly if he were not so small and dark and bandy legged. Once I had dragged him to his feet I did no more than slap his face. The dress were over the top of a shirt and moleskins there were mud on its breast and hem.
I told him he were a horrid thing and administered another slap he were not afraid he spat at me. The dress aside he had made no effort to make himself a female indeed he were doing his best to grow a beard. He had an old firelock in his belt and he were regarding me so fiercely with his possum eyes I thought I better retrieve the gun before he did us both a damage.
I asked him why he wore a damn dress he looked so adjectival ugly. Then I took his firelock throwing it some distance.
He said the firelock were his father’s and I should not do that.
I said his father would throw him down the well for dressing like a girl.
He dared laugh at me to spit blood at my feet then ask me were I still blowing about fighting Wild Wright.
Shut your gob you horrid thing you don’t know me.
You’re Dan’s brother said he and you shook my adjectival hand at the Wangaratta Races.
I remembered him then a little dark haired jockey his name were Steve Hart.
I told him I would let him off because he were Dan’s mate but if ever I saw him in a dress again he would be rendered into sausage meat.
Not looking grateful in the least he went to fetch his firelock and stick it in his belt.
Its Wild Wright who will turn you into sausage meat said he and I’ll be there to see it done.
Wild Wright has run away to New South Wales.
Wild Wright’s waiting for you at the Imperial Hotel in Beechworth he’s heard what you been saying about Dummy.
When I heard this the very blood in my veins must of secretly changed its nature turning dark and calm where it were previously such a painful froth. I helped the little creature walk down his horse which hadnt run so far after all. But even before he left my sight I had forgot him my thoughts were all about Wild Wright of how I would punish the mongrel for my ruined life.
Mr Edward Rogers were the publican of the Imperial Hotel and even if I knew him both by sight and reputation I were most surprised to learn he had any knowledge of me whatsoever. Yet my horse had not drunk his 1st mouthful from the trough when the man himself come down to greet me.
Ned Kelly said he.
Edward Rogers said I.
Though shocked that a mick had used his Christian name he recovered quickly and took my sticky sap stained hands as if they was the Duke of Gloucester’s.
Now heres the thing Ned said he and his manner were most regretful. We can’t have brawling here I won’t permit it. Isaiah Wright is a customer of mine and I’m sure theres a way you can settle this like gentlemen. Edward Rogers would not release my hands he turned them over to examine my knuckles handling me as tenderly as the Chinese herbalist who lays my ma’s hand upon his velvet pillow.
I aint got no plans to fight him here.
You miss my meaning said the licensee his eyes blue and most excited though for what reason I could not guess. Its brawling that causes the difficulty said he although the Marquis of Queensbury now that would be another matter.
I never heard of any marquis and I said so.
Don’t you follow London Prize Ring Rules?
We draw the line in the dirt its what we call the scratch and if you call that brawling its what I intend doing to him.
Thats bare knuckles?
If you’ll send him out I don’t need to even step inside your pub.
Edward Rogers stroked his beard.
I’m sure you know my reputation.
I knew no more than he wore a 3 pce. suit in the midst of summer.
You know I’m a great one for sport I’m for the quoits & the skittles & the cricket & the wrestling doubtless you heard it were me who got up that cricket match against the English circus did you see that?
I did not answer he did not care he took me by the elbow and seemed intent to push me down the lane beside the pub he were a rich man 20 yr. my senior so I did not wish to disobey but I pointed out that my horse had not quit drinking.
Dennis he called give Mr Kelly’s horse a feed of oats.
A boy led my horse up the street while I were bustled in the opposite direction Mr Rogers bashing my ear without relent. I believe you know a lad named Byrnes said he you fought him at the Oxley Show. You beat him in 12 rounds I hear he is a co religionist of yours.
Thats Joe Byrne I reckon.
Isaiah Wright is a mad bugger of course you must know that. He’s also got the weight advantage but Joe Byrne says I must not count weight too much in your case. Now come round here for I want to show you what I am proposing.
Walking back past the hotel rubbish bins the dunnies and the chook yard we finally come to a grassy plateau below which were Spring Creek.
So heres a spot what do you say? What could be 1/2 as nice for a proper fight between 2 gentlemen?
Well said I its very private.
That were the most simpleminded thing I ever said but Edward Rogers did not so much as blink.
Would August the 8th be agreeable he asked thats next week.
I said I were pleased to comply. As I were departing I seen Wright’s great ugly phiz through the open window of the public bar he held up his thumb suggesting that I sit on it. Though I did not take up the provocation I were surprised he didnt come running after me. We both waited the entire week to have that fight for my part I never thought of nothing else except how much better I would feel once I knocked the b––––r down.
By the time I arrived in Beechworth on the 8th of August the crowd were so large the Imperial could not contain it. Joe Byrne met me at the door escorting me to the residence upstairs where Mr Rogers awaited me with what appeared to be a green silk handkerchief.
Here said he throwing the item to me.
It were a pair of ladies’ scanties or so I thought.
These is your boxing trunks.
As he moved across the room towards me I seen through the window the full extent of this mighty crowd some standing some seated in dining chairs all gathered round the grassy plateau.
Rogers took the silk trunks from my hand and held them against himself but if he were intending to make the garment appear more manly then he failed. He looked a poon.
I fight in what I come in I declared.
For God’s sake this is the proper kit for London Rules. Wright is wearing some the same.
Thats his own affair I aint fighting naked.
Mr Rogers clucked his tongue looking mournfully down upon the assembly.
It aint naked he said its just bloody ignorant. Are you not proud to wear the colours?
It were only then I realised they had hung green & orange ribbons round the ring. To tell the truth I had forgot Wright were a proddy.
Come on son said Rogers you must show the colour. What are you wearing under your shirt?
He had his damn fingers at my shirt undoing the buttons I pulled away.
Long Johns he exc
laimed thats the shot.
No!
Oh yes said he thats the very thing.
At that moment I heard a mighty roar Wright had come dancing out into the lawn 1/2 naked he had boots on his feet but he were barechested with no garment but a pair of orange silk shorts. He had legs like adjectival fenceposts big ugly looking knees and when he pranced around the ring I were shocked to see my mother Ellen Kelly occupying the best seat in the house. Wild performed in front of her swinging his fists and showing off and I were dismayed to realise the bulk of him the breadth of his shoulders his arms like thighs I had not made this picture on my brooding lathe.
Modesty were not the point no more I removed my clothing except for my long woollen combinations I pulled the green silk shorts on top. Though I felt a real dill what other choice were there?
Joe Byrne seemed amused but when I caught his eye he quickly developed a very sombre cast.
Very well said I lets do the b––––r.
On my way out the door I were informed that fighting barefooted were not permitted so I accepted a pair of slippers 1/2 a size too small I didnt care.
In a light rain we came out past the chook house Wild Wright were sucking on an orange but when he saw me he spat it out and stepped up to me.
You’re a dead man said he striking me across the head a mighty blow it knocked me down sideways I heard my mother crying foul foul foul I staggered to my feet in time to see Joe Byrne kicking Wright away. Eddie Rogers and my sister Maggie was holding my mother by the arms.
Blood someone shouted 1st blood.
As the liquid seeped into my eye so the scratch were made in the earth and the fight officially begun.
I do not recall nothing about the fight but it has been 50 times I heard Joe Byrne tell the story thus as follows.
We thought you doomed and rooned the minute you walked out past the chook house and Wild delivered that great sidearm to your head and you was on the floor before you even stepped up to the scratch. It were a proddy pub so no one give an eff what happened to a mick they planned to drink your blood. Wild had heard you had been mocking Dummy and now he were for the kill.
