Wild Lands (13 page)

Picking up an axe head, Bidjia made a series of cuts in an already scarred forearm. Colby and Jardi followed suit and then the stone was passed to Adam. He too cut himself, once, twice, wincing at the pain as blood welled from the jagged marks on his arm. With their grief made manifest, Annie began to sob.

1837 August – the Kable farm

Having been left to amuse herself since the breaking of the night's fast, with bread and sugary black tea served to her room, Kate spent the morning walking around the farm. Her mind had been in a whirl since dawn with thoughts of distant lands, as well as money, marriage and the life she knew. It was better to think on these things than wonder at the Reverend's spitefulness, for his deception was beyond imagining. Hatred was the word that came to mind when she thought of him. Kate held onto the flat-brimmed hat she'd made some years ago as the wind stirred the air. The breeze strengthened, winding up the slight rise towards her. She'd kept to the areas suggested by one of the maids, where shepherds and other assigned workers were in close proximity. The open country was interspersed with dense timber but through the trees convict shepherds could be seen tending sheep, and a windmill turned squeakily, busily driving the grain grinder.

Kate detoured through the orchard and lingered beneath the shade of a lemon tree. Small buds were beginning to form on
the orchard's trees and here and there early sprays of blossom showed themselves as small white flowers. There were two female servants, one white, the other Aboriginal, collecting the last of the season's fallen fruit from the ground. The women carried a sack apiece, the contents of which were tipped into a wheel-barrow at the end of the row. The barrow held a tiny mound of mottled oranges and lemons. The cook would be kept busy making preserves from the bruised fruit to be stored away until needed.

In such a place Kate found it difficult to believe Mrs Kable's descriptions of the lands beyond the range. Surely it couldn't be that inhospitable, for over the years hundreds had already made their homes on the other side of the mountains and newspaper reports spoke of fertile lands and boundless opportunity. Certainly stories of hostile Aboriginals abounded and dangerous bush rangers mingled with those of escaped convicts, however many settlers never suffered any form of attack. The settlement and exploration of the outer areas continued apace with little prospect of slowing and it only stood to reason that the civilising of the vast area beyond the mountains would continue to grow. So how terrible would it be if she did travel up-country? Certainly there were dangers but were they much different to the possibility of being run down by a carriage in the street or being accosted by a drunken Aboriginal or runaway convict? Such things happened, but infrequently. It was more likely death would come in the chill of winter, when contagions embedded themselves among the poor, feeding on the weak, before spreading through the colony.

Kate looked at the piled fruit. The skins were slightly bruised in places, but the bad bits could be cut away, leaving the remainder of the fruit edible. In this place, the difficulties of life in the colony and beyond were hard to imagine, for the Kables had carved themselves a cultured and productive niche, the envy of many. It was not unreasonable to assume, Kate mused, that although Samuel Hardy was a very recent settler, within a year or so he too would have the
beginnings of an estate similar to this. Mrs Kable had mentioned the extraordinary sum of five thousand pounds to set up their venture and there were still funds left over to pay Mr Southerland a most exorbitant wage. The Hardys were moneyed, a not unattractive reason for Kate to align herself with them, and it would be something of an adventure to be involved in such an enterprise from the very beginning. The prospect of being a companion to a landed lady was far more appealing than Mrs Kable's suggestions – that of housekeeper or wife – but did she have the fortitude to agree to such an undertaking? And did she really want to go out into the unknown?

The white maidservant was clearly bored by the morning's duty. She loitered beneath each tree singing an unfamiliar tune. The girl appeared more interested in telling the young Aboriginal to hurry up and move faster. Apparently the native was slovenly and not worth feeding, for the maidservant repeated the words at various intervals, although Kate saw that the girl moved quickly and effortlessly and appeared to take pleasure from her task. The convict should be reported but Kate had no interest in being implicated in domestic concerns and it did not appear that the white servant cared what people thought about her treatment of the native girl, which suggested neither would the Kables.

The younger woman was making her way steadily towards Kate. On seeing that she was being observed she gave a coy smile. Kate responded in kind. She commented on the diligence the girl showed towards her allotted task and was rewarded with a toothy smile.

‘Missus.' The girl bobbed a curtsey. ‘Me work big house.'

‘Someday I imagine you will.'

The native glanced towards the older servant and, digging into the sack on her shoulder, selected an orange and gifted it to Kate.

‘Thank you.' It was a simple gesture, but Kate was warmed by it.

The girl gave a shy smile and resumed collecting fruit. Leaving them to their task, Kate walked beneath the avenue of trees.
The light through the branches turned the grass to various shades of brown and beige. It striped her dress with dappled light and enticed large black and white birds to glide on the breeze beneath the canopy of trees.

Kate wondered if Mrs Kable was right in her assumption that this land would never produce any great art or literature, for surely there was beauty to be seen in everything, even if it was just the play of sunlight through leafy boughs. From what Kate had learnt the previous evening, the combination of sheep and men made mythic dreams possible. She was still young, Kate reasoned, only twenty. She need only stay a few years. It was not a life's sentence. Her father had endured much worse and on her return to Sydney there would be coin in her pocket.

A piercing scream broke the quiet. The white servant dropped her sack, and as oranges and lemons tumbled onto the ground, the woman leapt over the rolling fruit. ‘Run, miss, run!' she yelled to Kate, lifting her skirt and racing towards the homestead. Her white cap was whipped from her hair by a low-hanging branch, revealing a head roughly shaved. Still the woman kept screaming as if the devil himself gave chase.

Kate began to run as well as the woman's cries drew menfolk from the rear of the house. Curiosity made her look over her shoulder, and through the orchard Kate saw a flash of black limbs and heard a frightened plea for help. There were Aboriginals running from the screen of bush that led in the direction of the river. They were young men, scantily clothed and fast-moving, and they weaved deftly between the trees. One man grabbed the native girl, another hit her on the head with a club of some sort, and as her slight body slumped, the men half-lifted and half-dragged her away. Kate stopped running and stared as the pale skirt of the native girl disappeared into the bush. A warning noise, akin to clashing metal, sounded from the house.

‘Are you alright, miss?' Major Shaw was at her side.

The gifted orange Kate held fell to the ground. Her breath came hard and fast. ‘T-they took one of the servants.'

‘Who did?' Lieutenant Wilson took Kate's elbow as if she would faint. Mr Kable arrived red-faced and out of breath, Captain Gage with him.

‘Aboriginals,' Kate replied, regaining her breath and extricating herself from the Lieutenant's grasp. ‘They were picking fruit and they just grabbed her and carried her through the trees.' Kate pointed in the direction the men had run.

‘Which one did they take?' Mr Kable enquired.

‘The young Aboriginal.' Kate couldn't believe what she'd just witnessed.

Major Shaw turned to Mr Kable and the two officers who'd dined with them the previous night. ‘You have a native in your employ? How long has she been with you?'

A number of male convicts, alerted by the clanging alarm from the house, were running through the trees towards them while at the front of the farmhouse the entire household, including Mrs Kable and the two children, stood huddled waiting for news.

‘Some two months and we've had no trouble before this. The girl has had some teaching at the Parramatta School and is most obedient.'

Major Shaw digested this information and addressed his men. ‘Saddle the horses and be quick about it. And, Miss Carter' – the senior officer frowned as if she were partially responsible for the attack – ‘you best return to the safety of the house.' The Major took her arm, his grip firm and insistent.

‘Wait.' Kate picked up the fallen orange as the officer began to steer her brusquely towards the homestead. ‘Will she be alright? Will they come back?'

‘Off you go, Miss Carter,' Mr Kable said more kindly. ‘We'll take care of this and do tell Mrs Kable not to worry but it's probably best if the household remains indoors until we have an end to this
matter.' He turned to the waiting convicts, ordering them to keep an eye out and to go about their tasks in pairs. The men looked warily around the orchard, mumbling between themselves about not being armed.

The pressure of the Major's grasp did not decrease as he led her away. Finally Kate drew her arm free. ‘You didn't answer my question.'

The junior officers were a distance ahead moving towards the stables. The Major stopped mid-stride and turned to her. ‘If they wanted a white woman I doubt you'd be here talking to us, Miss Carter.'

His words made her pale. The Major observed her carefully and then, without a word, left her to make the short journey to the house.

Kate didn't join the women on the verandah immediately, although Mrs Kable's demanding voice clearly suggested that that was what was expected. Instead she loitered a hundred yards from the house where there were few trees in the immediate vicinity and a clear view of some of the convict shepherds and other workmen. She needed to calm down. Kate had never witnessed anything like that before, and her heart was still pounding. Mr Kable had been quick to send a runner out to the other men in the fields, and as the first man was informed of the attack, he then set off to warn another. Kate scanned the orchard and the outlying trees into which the girl had been taken. The land was quiet. It was as if the surrounding bush had simply engulfed the girl and her attackers. Horses whinnied to her left. The thud of hooves and the sound of raised voices were quickly followed by the appearance of the soldiers. Lieutenant Wilson glanced in her direction as they rode away at a smart pace. They cut through the orchard and veered into the timber. There was a flash of red coats through the foliage then an eerie quiet.

The servant who'd run off earlier reappeared with two male
convicts. They walked tentatively toward the orchard, looking left and right, before the woman ran to where her cap lay. Quickly covering her baldness and the ugly scabs from the barber's shears, she returned to dawdle near Kate.

‘She shouldn't have been here anyway.' The servant called to the two male convicts to grab the barrow and be quick about it. ‘Them blacks cause trouble. They're godless heathens, they is.' She spoke loudly without specifically addressing Kate. ‘A body shouldn't be expected to work with them, useless slovenly types that they are.'

In the orchard one man pushed the cart across the uneven ground, not stopping to pick up the fruit that spilt over the sides though the barrow only held the tiniest quantity. The other man kept watch, grasping a hoe as a weapon.

‘Miss Carter.'

Mrs Kable was now alone on the rear verandah. With deliberate slowness Kate walked back towards the building, stopping to brush imaginary grass from the hem of her gown.

‘If you've a tendency to wandering in the bush, then let this be a lesson.' The older woman pursed her lips as Kate joined her. ‘Any number of things could befall you.'

Kate ignored her. ‘Mr Kable advised –'

‘Yes, indoors we will stay, for the moment, as all gentlewomen should in times of trouble. You would do well to take the example of others who know better.'

‘I did not grow up in the streets of Sydney, Mrs Kable. The Reverend's farm –'

She waved away Kate's words with a dismissive hand. ‘You saw it happen?'

Kate followed her hostess inside. ‘Yes, to be snatched away like that in broad daylight …'

‘It could have been far worse. As it is the girl is a loss but it's probably best she returns to her kind. We've only had problems since she joined us.' Holding out her hand she took the orange
from Kate and placed it on the hall table. ‘It was my husband's decision to bring her here, however the other servants have never taken to her. Indeed both Jelly-belly and Mrs Ovens have complained about her on numerous occasions, while the others have put up a right fuss about eating and sleeping with her. Of course, in the old days I simply would have reported them for creating a ruckus, but with Governor Bourke having seen fit to restrict the use of the whip to fifty strokes, it's hardly a deterrent. And I'm loath to lose a domestic; it's so hard to find a good replacement. Still, I did send two off to the Female Factory. Three months there will steady them somewhat on their return.'

‘She seemed eager to please,' Kate argued.

‘Who? The native child?' Turning to the oval mirror above the hall table, Mrs Kable adjusted the deep lace collar on her lilac gown. ‘The problem is you can't treat them like the others. And you can't expect the others to put up with them.' She tilted her head, twisting a curl around her finger. ‘It is all very well to have some desire to adhere to the missionary inclinations of others, but it is totally impossible to attempt assimilation, for the natives are a breed apart, half-formed things. And although my husband may argue to the contrary, and you, Miss Carter, may be easily deceived, the truth remains that the natives themselves are not comfortable with us. For all our attempts, the girl would probably prefer to be curled up outdoors on a mat. After all, they are born under the trees.'

‘I thought her quite well-adapted to her new position. She was friendly and her English was –'