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Copyright 2019 by Tricia McGill
Cover art by Michelle Lee
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.
To all those invincible settlers who conquered lands and territories against all odds.
Tim watched the young ones as they romped around the garden. William, Uncle Remy’s eldest at eleven, was chasing his brother Jeremy and the two girls, Emily and tiny Cathy. Cathy at four was a good match for her older siblings and screamed as she joined in the game. Their three dogs thought it a good lark and barked enthusiastically as they ran around in circles. Tim’s dog, Bracken, stood back, surveying the younger pups with a regal eye.
Aunt Sara was expecting her fifth offspring in a month or two, so was well on the way to match Mama and Pa’s eight children at the rate they were going.
“So, tell me Jo, why are you spending Christmas Day here with us rowdy lot and not with that crusty old Uncle of yours?” Tim asked the small female who sat beside him.
She pulled a face as she chuckled. “Uncle Horace does not believe in festivities. If I stayed at his side on this day, as on any other, he would ask why I am not out with my friends.” She touched her pert nose with a finger. “I do believe he will spend the day at his account books. His favourite pastime in the whole world is counting money, and the awful truth of it is he has not one whit or notion of what to do with it.”
“He treats you kindly though, doesn’t he?” Tim often worried about the chit. Bushrangers killed her parents while they mined out Bathurst way just before last Christmas, hence she now lived with her one and only relative here in town. Tim’s kind-hearted sister Annie, being of a similar age, had befriended Jo when she was brought into Bathurst by the local military after the killings. Luckily, Jo had time to find a hiding place, so escaped murder or worse at the hands of the ruffians who were after gold. Lord only knew how horrifying the experience must have been for the girl.
Mama and Pa offered her a home with them, but it was considered only right she go to live with her only relative. Mama and Annie ensured she had Uncle Remy and Aunt Sara’s address, and of course, Aunt Sara welcomed Jo into her home whenever she wished and had even given her employment at the thriving emporium she inherited from her father on his death.
“Well, I have a notion he would rather not have me in his home.” She shrugged. “But I am fed well, and he gives me a small allowance for my personal needs, so I cannot complain. I am not the type of person who pines for pretty clothes and fripperies, so I presume he is prepared to put up with me—if not show me tenderness.” She set a small hand on Tim’s arm. “Do not misunderstand me. I am happy. I can come and go as I please. There are many other young women of my age here in town who are harangued daily by their mothers to find a suitor, especially one with means to provide them with a large home and all that goes with it.”
Tim had wondered at her lack of self-importance. Unlike most other girls here in Sydney Town she never primped or put on airs. She dressed quite plainly in fact and was happier romping about with the young ones rather than sitting around looking pretty and simpering. “Tell me something else, when you have such a pretty name as Josephine, why do you insist we call you Jo?”
She laughed at that. “My parents were not strict and let me run wild as a child. My father often said I was more like the son he wished he had instead of a girl. It was he who called me Jo, and it seems to have stayed with me. I spent most of my childhood at the mining site, so was used to the company of young men and boys.” She pushed her long tresses back over her shoulder and smiled. “Papa said it was a safeguard. Some of the men were unruly and some convicts, and he thought it better if they regarded me as one of them rather than a prissy miss who craved attention.”
That she certainly did not do. In fact, Tim had a feeling she had no idea of her attractiveness. With silky dark tresses reaching almost to her middle and a slender litheness that came from her love of activity, she was altogether a comely lass. This mane was secured back today by a simple ribbon, likely because of the heat. She often complained that it was a menace. Privately he hoped she never had it shorn.
Aunt Sara appeared with a tray of drinks and cakes and the young ones all gathered noisily around, arguing over who should be first to be served. Tim rose and stretched just as Uncle Remy came from the house. His mother’s brother was a handsome man with dark complexion and a mass of reddish hair that came from his Spanish father. His brothers Carlos and Bob, who still worked alongside Tim’s father on their extensive sheep property in Bathurst, shared the same colouring.
Tim had inherited Pa’s colouring. Everyone called his father Tiger. The story went that an old sailing codger of his long ago tagged him so because of his mane of golden hair. Tim always wanted to be dark like his Uncles Remy, Bob and Carlos—their foreign appearance possessed a mysterious quality. Mind you, he was glad his father’s good looks and build had passed on to his sons. Vain of him, he knew, but he liked the attention he received from the unmarried women about town, and even some of the married ladies sometimes gave him the eye. Josephine was one of the few females who seemed unaffected by his charm and appearance. Tim wasn’t wholly sure if that irked him or not.
“Let’s walk for a bit,” Uncle Remy said with a small wave of his hand. “After all the food we have eaten we need the exercise.”
Their garden was now set out so that the children had plenty of room to frolic to their heart’s content. The few trees they planted on coming here eight years ago were flourishing alongside the giant eucalyptus that had most probably offered its shade for many years.
They walked in companionable silence for a few minutes before his uncle said, “So, Tim, what have you decided? I received a letter from your Ma and Pa as you did in the last mail that came back from Bathurst along with the wagons the other day, and both your parents seem unimpressed by your decision to take off into the relatively unknown part of the country. From what I have gathered from my colleagues, the road to Port Philip can barely be called a road at this current stage.”
Tim chuckled softly. “Hmm, Pa said almost as much to me. He cannot understand why I would forsake good employment with the Government to go a wandering, as he called it. As I told you, I broached the subject while celebrating my birthday with them in September.” Tim shrugged. “I often think that Pa has completely forgotten he did the same thing when he decided to up us all to travel across the mountains when I was just a young ‘un. He says that was different, they travelled over there to seek fresh pastures for their sheep, but he cannot see why I should wish to desert a safe career to wander—as he called it. And, he also seems unaware that great advances are being made to the road all the time.”
“I guess in a way he is right, Tim. Your position at Government House brings you in contact with surveyor’s reports, so you more than anyone must know the road south is still in a sorry state. Last I heard, beyond Yass is still more or less uncharted territory, populated by a rag-tag motley of settlers with neither church nor schools for their offspring, who run wild. Surely, you cannot be in search of riches, for you are more likely to be robbed along the way and lose everything rather than gain a fortune. The bushrangers are not so busy these days, but I heard only recently of a man and his family being robbed at gunpoint by these ruffians not far from the cities’ outer borders. The population now might consist of mainly freemen willing to work for gain, but the world will always have those on the lookout for easy profit.”
Tim knew well of his uncle’s days on the road and how he had been accidentally caught up in the shenanigans of a violent gang of robbers while crossing the mountains years ago, so his opinion would be coloured by this experience. Even so, things had improved in the intervening years. How could he put into words his desire to break free, to seek a life of his own beyond the confines of his family? As much as he loved them all, since leaving Kings School it seemed his life had become dull and boring through no choice of his own. The highlight of the last few years had been his annual visits to Bathurst to catch up with Mama and Papa and their large clan. His qualifications at the end of his schooling had been such that a position was found for him almost instantly.
“Do you recall my ambition when I arrived here in town with you as a twelve-year-old, Uncle Remy?” he asked, stopping to lean against the gum tree. He bent to scratch behind Bracken’s ear. His dog was a hound of good breeding and the most intelligent dog he had ever owned and followed Tim slavishly.
Uncle Remy shook his head. “You had a few, from memory. But most were boyish fancies, and these seldom come to fruition, for any of us.”
“Not so. My main ambition was to work in animal husbandry if not science of some sort. As you recall I used to embarrass Aunt Sara by expounding on my vast knowledge of the breeding habits of certain animals. Here in this country we have an extraordinary array of unusual species. I would have liked nothing more than to work alongside Joseph Banks who journeyed here with Captain Cook.”
Uncle Remy laughed. “Yes, I remember well.” He placed a hand on Tim’s arm. “There are other factors that worry your father in particular, Tim. There is much unrest among the natives and the landowners. Since the abolition of transportation from Britain, many free settlers have taken off to settle on virgin lands down south. This has caused disruptions in many places as they cross land the natives see as rightfully theirs.”
“I am well aware of this Uncle Remy, and between you and me I am on the side of the natives. This has been their country since time began and they have their own sets of rules. I find their beliefs and practices fascinating. Their connection with the land is something I would like to learn more about.”
“Hmm, and well you might, young lad, but believe me they see us as invaders, and perhaps we are. Since Governor Burke’s proclamation that no one owned this land before the Crown took possession of it, matters have worsened.” Uncle Remy looked to the house as Aunt Sara called. “Come, I think we are being summoned.” He grinned.
He walked off, but Tim lingered. He knelt to stroke Bracken’s ear as Josephine approached. “Can I come with you?” she asked.
“And just where do you wish to accompany me, young Jo?” Straightening, he began to stroll towards the house with her at his side.
“Rude of me, I know, but I couldn’t help but overhear your discussion with your uncle.” She lowered her voice and bent closer. Tim caught a scent of lavender. Carefree of feminine ways she might be, but she smelt as good as any young miss. “I shouldn’t sound so ungrateful, as your aunt ensured I had employment in her emporium when I arrived here in town, but the tasks are so tedious. I am bored. I thought of running off and making my own way in the world.” Her face grew comical as she wrinkled her pert nose.
“Silly chit. Don’t you dare even contemplate such a rash move,” he scolded. “You are not naïve, I think, and must know the dangers that exist beyond the sanctuary of a safe home. Anyway, I could not consider taking you along on such a dangerous journey.”
She made an unladylike noise. “Don’t you dare suggest I could not cope with such a journey. I roved free for all of my childhood while my parents worked their mine. I told you, my father treated me more as a son than a daughter. A wizened old woman, who took care of the cooking, also saw to my schooling. Matilda was governess to a family in England before being transported for thieving—a false charge according to her. She had gained her ticket of leave and accompanied my parents on their quest for gold. She was very knowledgeable.” A deep sadness clouded her eyes, as she said, “Poor Matilda was slain on that terrible day.”
“It must have been awful for you.” She seldom spoke about the tragedy, so they had no idea how deeply she felt about losing not only her parents, but people who were like family to her.
Her shoulders lifted as she sighed. “Awful yes, but my father taught me to be strong and my mother taught me to be brave.” Her face brightened. “Always look to the future, he advised, there is no room in life for regrets.”
“Wise words.” Tim had been curious about her schooling, as according to Aunt Sara she did well at the emporium, coping with any problem that arose. To change to a more cheerful subject he said, “My aunt would not wish to lose you. She assures me you will make manager one day soon.”
“Nonsense.” Jo waved that suggestion aside. “The husband and wife who presently run the store do so adequately and will be doing so for at least another twenty years. I do not wish to wait around that long. And anyway, I have dreams and plans.” She touched her nose with a finger.
“So tell me, Jo, just what plans are these—apart from thinking to accompany me on a trek that may take months?”
“Well, to be honest, the idea only occurred to me while I was listening in to your conversation with your uncle, but I wish to travel. This country is huge…” She spread her arms wide. “And so much of it has never been trod upon by a white man. If I had been born a man, I would have joined one of the surveying teams, preferably one such as that led by Gregory Blaxland, William Wentworth or William Lawson.” Her smile held a wistful quality. “Imagine what it would be like to come upon a river or stretch of land that only the natives knew about.”
Tim had to admit her dreams were not so different to his own, but for fear of encouraging her he wasn’t about to admit such. The children shouting for him to come inside cut their conversation short. As they reached the doorway, Tim stopped her with a touch on the arm.
“Jo, you are at an age for marriage, and by now should be contemplating the beaux of your choice, not thinking of gallivanting off around the country in search of green pastures—leave that to us men.”
The sound she made would have been unacceptable in polite company. Tim suppressed a smile. “Have you looked around here lately at the young males? The men who seek my company are simpering fools. Anyway, I am but seventeen and am not about to consider marriage, and what goes with it, for quite a few years yet.” She arched a brow. “Now that’s an idea, I could marry you, and then you would have no qualms about me tagging along with you on your travels.”
Tim laughed aloud. “Wench, you are incorrigible. I am but twenty-one and most certainly not ready for marriage either.” One thing was for sure, a wife such as Josephine would definitely never be boring.
“Uncle Carlos! When did you arrive?” Tim discarded his satchel and went to put his arms around his uncle. “Welcome.”
Uncle Carlos pulled free and placed a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “The wagons pulled into town just after daybreak. I have been dozing most of the day. As you know, the journey across the mountains is anything but enjoyable, and I am getting old.”
Tim gave him a playful shove. “Rubbish—you’re but fifteen years my senior and in your prime, and you know it. So, to another question, why are you here? I’m certain, knowing my Pa, that this is not simply a family visit.” The last letter Tim received from his parent stressed in detail how absurd his father thought his plan to set out towards Port Philip.
After a few days of extreme heat, the weather had blessedly cooled, so they both went to sit on chairs on the back verandah. After Aunt Sara had been out to question what they would like to drink, and gone back inside to take care of that, Uncle Carlos said, “Of course, he is not happy, but…” He shrugged. “He realises you share his blood so can easily understand your desire to seek fresh pastures. What your mother especially is fretting about is the unrest that is rife among the farmers and natives.”
Tim sighed. “We must face the fact that there will always be misunderstandings between the settlers and them. As I keep trying to explain to everyone, they have as much right to hang onto their land as we do ours.”
Uncle Carlos leant forward, elbows on his knees. “Tiger did not want to see me leave, but as I stressed, he has our brother Bob there along with him. Our Bob took to farming like a duck to water. He thrives on the hard work. Ginger is still able to work as hard as any younger man, and Mole, who is as old as the hills, is still the best shepherd who ever rounded up his sheep.”
“Thank you.” Tim nodded to Aunt Sara’s maid, as she set a tray containing their drinks on the small table. “My father has been lucky,” he said. “A lot of farmers were not as lucky with their choice of helpers.” Ginger had been with him forever it seemed, as had old Mole.
“Between you and me, Tim, I was ready for a change. After your visit last year when you started talking about a journey, I began to think that it was time for me to make a change. I do admit that Tiger was pleased to hear I was thinking of accompanying you, but this is wholly my decision, I can assure you.” He patted Tim’s knee. “After all, as you say, I am in my prime, and so far, haven’t found myself a woman I fancy to take as a wife. The choice is limited in Bathurst.” He grinned mischievously. “Not that there have not been a few who would be willing, I know. However, my gut tells me the time is right for me to make changes. Now, I am presuming you have no objections to me accompanying you.”
Tim laughed. “Nothing would please me more—just one thing. As we are to be travelling companions perhaps it is time I dropped your title and called you Carlos?”
“Perfect. Now, Tim, bring me up to date on what level you have reached with your planning? Are you forming your own travelling group, or do you intend going along with one of the bullock teams?”
“My position at the government offices has entitled me to information I would not otherwise have known. I have been fortunate as, working in the survey office, I have been privy to facts about some of the smaller exploration teams that have set out in the past year. My superior applauded my decision.” Tim laughed. “I do not doubt he will be glad to see my back, as I have talked about nothing but setting out on my adventurous trip for the past year. I have arranged to travel along with a bullocky named Jacko—a reliable Irishman who has spent his life on the road, and he has agreed that we accompany him to his furthest destination, which is Yass. Beyond that we are on our own it seems.”
Carlos looked doubtful at that. “Hmm, are you certain this is wise? Last I heard civilisation ends at Yass, and beyond that the road becomes little more than a bush track.”
Tim waved a hand. “Since the first settlers arrived, we have been going beyond the well-trodden tracks. We might prove lucky and meet up with another team of bullockies heading south from Yass. Anyway, what about the hazards Pa and Mama faced when they crossed the mountains on a barely existing road?”
“And from what I have heard, there were more than a few hazards and disasters, young Tim.”
“Just so. My half brother died of snakebite on the way over, when he was barely out of babyhood, and his father fell to his death. We all face risks every day in life. Only last week a woman was run down by a stray wagon when the driver lost control. How boring life would be if we never took risks?”
“Seems to me you have the right set of mind for the adventure. So, what date has this Jacko given you for his departure?”
“You timed your arrival perfectly, Carlos. One of the main factors in choosing this bullocky was the weather. We thought it best to set out when the days were growing cooler, but not so late in the year that we encountered snow and cold weather in some inland places. Jacko informed me that it can get quite cold overnight in many high points along the way. So, we leave in two weeks.” Tim rubbed his hands together, finished his drink, and stood. “There is still much to do.”
* * *
The cattle market was noisy to extreme, and they could hear the bellows of the oxen as they passed Carters Barracks and the Government Paddocks on the edge of town. Unfortunately, the weather had heated again after the cool break, making the stink heavy on the nose. They were not the only ones leaving today—another two wagons were setting out and one had newly arrived even though it was barely past daybreak.
“I recall meeting up with Remy here all those years ago, and the joy we felt at catching up with each other after time apart,” Carlos said as they passed into the yards.
“A lot has happened to both of you since then.” Tim whistled to his hound, Bracken, who was happily sniffing about the legs of the oxen. The dog obediently returned to his horse’s side.
“And more to Remy than me. But he has come through and remains a good man at heart.”
“True. And he and Aunt Sara have treated me as another of their sons since they brought me back with them as a raw twelve-year-old, so that I could attend Kings School.” Tim sighed. “Aunt Sara shed a few tears at our farewell, but I got the distinct feeling that Uncle Remy would have liked to accompany us.” He hailed Jacko as he caught sight of him tending his bullocks, and they headed towards him.
Tim dismounted and tied his horse and the packhorse to a rail, and Carlos did the same. They had decided that two packhorses would likely be one too many but when Jacko assured Tim that it might be difficult to acquire fresh horses along the way, had changed plans, considering it better to be safe than sorry. His original plan had been to hire a man to accompany him, but when Carlos arrived, that plan was scrapped. If they found the need for another pair of hands, no doubt they could pick up a willing worker along the way.
“Nice morning for it,” Jacko shouted as he hailed them. Tim had already introduced him to Carlos when they met up last week to make final plans. “We’ll be off as soon as I get old Daisy here in her harness. She can be worse to handle than any of my women.” His roar of laughter rang out above the din, as he tugged at his chest-long matted beard.
Tim chuckled. Although the bullock drivers were as hard as iron and used the strongest language imaginable, it was well known that they treated their animals with the highest regard. To lose a bullock was to them worse than losing a leg or arm—or seemingly a lady-friend.
Other men and their horses milled around now as Tim and Carlos made a final check of their horses. Tim looked towards the road as another two riders arrived, along with a pack animal. There was something familiar about the front rider and he took his hat off and scratched his head as he tried to fathom where he would have met this fellow. As they drew closer Tim gasped, “Lord above, it’s Jo! What the hell is the tyke doing here?”
“Do you know him?” Carlos asked as he unbent from checking hooves. “He’s young, and not bad to look on. What is such a young fella doing travelling with only a black sidekick for company?”
“That, Carlos, is no him. That is a stubborn female who thinks she can defy me and come along with us.”
“Female?” Carlos looked as confused as Tim felt. “But women ride side-saddle do they not? And usually wear skirts if I am not mistaken.”
“Normal women, yes, but believe me this one is not normal.” Josephine and her companion stopped a few paces away, and the chit had the audacity to grin. “I told you, young Madam, that this is no journey for a scrap of a girl. And just who have you dragged into your artful scheme?”
“This is Billy. He worked for my father. Believe me, he will be no trouble,” she said, completely ignoring his reprimand. She bent to pat Bracken’s head when the dog put his front paws on her foot in the stirrup, the better to greet her with a lick and a small woof.
“It’s not him I am worried about, but you Madam. I told you in no uncertain terms, Jo, that this was no short day trip and there is certainly no place for a female of good breeding where we are going. You can turn around right now and take those animals back to your uncle who you no doubt stole them from.”
That seemed to make her indignant. “These are my animals, I assure you, and Billy came along of his own free will. He wants to track down his family if he can so he can return to where he rightfully belongs.” She took off her hat and shook her hair—hair that barely covered her ears.
“You’ve cut off your locks,” Tim said, before realising that was the stupidest remark he could have made, and of no importance to the subject at hand.
She plonked the wide-brimmed hat back on and flicked a stray strand back from her face. “I considered it more admirable shorter for our journey.”
“Our journey? Since when did this become something you shared in?” He was running out of suitable arguments. But then a thought struck. “Did your uncle agree to this?”
“You may not believe this, but he couldn’t care a fig one way or the other. He was not worried about Billy tagging along, as all he needs is the one handler for his carriage and two horses. And to be honest, he seemed happy he had fewer mouths to feed and one less female to worry about.” She waved a gloved hand. “And another thing—Billy never forgot his native tongue, despite being dragged away from his family when he was a child. That could be of use to you, do you not think?”
Jacko let out a roar and shouted, “Away my fellows,” to his six oxen.
Tim had one more card up his sleeve. He’d spent enough time around animals to know how the female body worked. It was not the sort of thing one discussed with a lady—but then again, she was no well-bred woman, so he said in a soft voice. “Females have habits and needs that we men do not have to endure. Are you certain you wish to be the only woman amongst so many men?” Apart from him and Carlos, Jacko had three sidekicks, all mature men who had likely been on the road most of their life.
At least that made her blush—or perhaps it was the heat making her cheeks rosy. “As I have told you on numerous occasions, I was brought up among miners and convicts for most of my young life. My mother taught me how to behave among men, so have no fear I will not embarrass you.” She tossed her head. “And I have been riding astride all my life,” she added, as if that settled it.
Carlos had been standing back watching. The small grin on his face annoyed Tim, who saw nothing amusing about this and was at a loss now what to do. The chit had no doubt thought this all through. Short of dragging her back to her uncle’s home—and then having to gallop his horse back to catch up with Jacko—there was little he could think of to deter her. “Be it on your own head,” he muttered as he mounted. “And don’t blame me if you get down the road a bit and decide you have made the wrong decision. I will not accompany you back, no matter what happens.”
She snorted. “You are more likely to be the one to realise you are not man enough for such a journey,” she had the nerve to respond, as she kicked her horse up alongside his.
“Insolent woman,” he said, asking, “Does your friend speak our language?” So far, Billy had not spoken a word.
“Of course. Do not misunderstand, native he might be, and most white men look down on him, but he knows more about life than most ordinary men. That is another thing that will be of infinite use to us, he knows an awful lot about plants and has an inbuilt connection with the land, something you or I will never possess. We will never starve as long as he is here to help us.”
Tim had no answer for that, as he knew it was likely true. One thing he found disconcerting was that the settlers as a whole failed to value the worth of the natives whose skills had been handed down through countless generations spent traversing this land. Fanciful it might be, but this was a sinful wrong that he desired be put to rights one day. Many settlers failed to understand that they could not continue to farm as they did in their country of birth where the climate was far different to here in this oft-times dry and dusty land. Many had already learnt the hard way, suffering through fires and dry seasons.
They continued in silence until the cavalcade left the outskirts of town behind. Carlos kept aside of Jacko who sat atop his wagon, and the two were deep in conversation. Tim had a feeling that the bullock driver was regaling his uncle with raucous tales of his travels by the sound of their merry laughter. Jo seemed to take a great interest in the many varieties of birds. When they spied a mob of kangaroos off to the side, she turned in her saddle to watch them as they bounded away.
“It seems those creatures are unknown back where our parents came from. This is odd is it not?” he asked, more to make conversation than anything else.
She smiled. “Rather than watch it starve, my mother often reared a young one if its mother was shot for food. She said that most of the animals in this land are unknown elsewhere. Billy has many stories he can tell of where the animals came from. Each billabong and hill you see has a myth attached to it. White men only look on the land as something to be cultivated and ruined for their own advantage, whereas the natives are at one with it and it controls their life.”
He’d had many conversations in the past with Jo, but now Tim was seeing another side to her. Her beliefs so mirrored his own he was startled. “I think your mother was a wise woman, was she not?” he asked.
A small smile of reminiscence crossed her face as she nodded. “My father also was a knowledgeable man.” She sighed deeply. “If they had not been transported for stupid petty thievery the pair would have ended up in a much different situation.”
“So, how is it they became miners if they were intelligent well-educated folk?”