Wild Lands (18 page)

‘Call me James, Kate.' The mare lifted each leg in turn, shifting the weight on its feet.

Kate wanted to say that she would miss him, that without his solid presence some of the courage within her would depart when he did, but unlike the conversations she'd shared with the Lieutenant, the Major had maintained a level of politeness that until this morning had been difficult to breach.

‘Our availability to protect Mr Hardy's expedition while escorting the troops to their next posting was fortuitous, however these extra days were unplanned, Kate. Please keep alert to your surrounds. That is my best advice.' He hesitated. ‘The only advice I can give you, apart from wishing you a safe journey.'

‘May I ask the cause of your concern?'

James gave the request some brief consideration. ‘Where you are headed,' he said, ‘there have been problems with the natives.' When this news was not commented upon, he continued, ‘And in Maitland I learnt that a respected settler has been killed west of the mountains, his wife went missing and one of his convicts also speared. There are blacks on the run and a renegade white travels with them. No-one wishes to see another uprising.'

‘And you think these outlaws are here?' Kate glanced over her shoulder. The memory of a line of natives chained neck to neck and being led down the main street of Maitland came to her.

‘Doubtful, but certainly we must, all of us, be on our guard. Heed Mr Southerland's advices and you will do well, I have no doubt of it.'

‘A compliment? Such a rare occurrence,' interjected George Southerland. ‘You should remember that, Miss Carter, for James's praise is rarely given.' His firearm rested across his saddle as he rode towards them. He wore a kangaroo skin hat and possum hide coat, and blended with their environment like one of the dead animals he wore. ‘They've gone west. Joe followed them for six miles.'

‘Who has gone west?' Kate queried.

It was the Major who broke the short silence. ‘Nothing you need worry about, Kate.'

George Southerland cleared his throat at the familiar use of her name and spat on the ground. ‘There's not much point pretending the two of you are in some fancy drawing room in Syd-e-ney, James. Blacks, miss. Troublemakers. They kept their distance while we had the extra soldiers with us, which was just as well.
We can't fight them in the hills, they know the terrain too well, and we were real fortunate to have the company of the redcoats up to Maitland. But there's a nice open valley ahead of us and in that country, with our muskets and our horses, we have the advantage. We can chase the bastards down real quick on horseback and the crafty ones know that, so they took off for easier pickings. At least for the time being.'

‘But what do they want?' The fact that natives had been following them and Kate had not noticed made her feel foolish.

‘To cause trouble mostly, although they don't mind a twist of sugar, and they're right partial to a tomahawk, so pretty much anything that we've got, but usually as long as we keep moving we'll be right.' Mr Southerland's reply didn't comfort Kate. ‘It's when we stop,' he continued, ‘when the white man stays, that's when the problems start. This is their land, you see, and as far as they're concerned, we're taking it from them, but to travel through it? Well, most of the tribes are real hospitable, they'll show you where the water is, where the best grazing is for the horses and bullocks. Show them a bit of courtesy, be generous in return, give them a bit of tucker and the odd trinket and they'll wave you on your way. But stay put, well, that's when the troubles can begin if a person's not careful. And those that have gone before us haven't always given thought to the fact that the blacks consider this land theirs.'

‘But how can they think it their land?' asked Kate, incredulous. ‘New South Wales is a British colony.'

The Major crossed his wrists, resting them on the saddle. ‘You see, George,
terra nullius
. No-one owned this land before the British Crown took possession of it.'

‘Really?' The older man tugged at the brim of his hat. ‘A bit of paper drawn to suit another's purpose means nothing to them.'

‘For a British subject, George, you are inordinately disloyal.'

‘Perhaps, but that doesn't change the facts.' Leaning from his mount Mr Southerland handed Kate a small pistol. It was a
beautiful piece with an intricately engraved wooden handle. ‘I've been saving this for you.'

‘Thank you.'

‘Do you know how to shoot?' the expedition leader asked.

‘Of course she doesn't,' the Major interrupted.

‘Yes, point and shoot.' Kate sounded more confident than she felt.

James's eyebrows lifted in amusement.

Mr Southerland chuckled. ‘Close enough.' He beckoned for the flintlock back. ‘Watch carefully.' Tipping black powder from a flask into the muzzle end, he then followed this with a round lead ball wrapped in a piece of paper. ‘That's your shot. This,' he pulled a short rod from where it was stored on the underside of the barrel, ‘is your ramrod and you push it all down hard. Add some powder – a small amount mind – to the flashpan at the top here and then close it up and put the safety on. To fire, undo the catch, cock, point and shoot.' He demonstrated. ‘Understand?'

‘And try not to shoot yourself or Mr Callahan,' James quipped.

Accepting the pistol, Kate tucked it into her skirt pocket. It was unnerving to think that they thought she may well need to protect herself.

Retrieving a map from his coat, Mr Southerland unfolded the parchment. Lifting the chart he studied the series of lines. The paper was cracked in places and frayed about the edges. The sight of the well-worn chart was comforting until Kate recalled the map that James had shown her prior to their departure. She wondered now if they were nearly beyond the known counties, if the engulfing whiteness which spread upwards from the line that signified the outer limits was close at hand. She couldn't help but feel that they were heading into oblivion. He pointed at a gap through the timber. ‘A couple of miles of forest and then we're in open country for a bit. The going should be reasonable across the valley and it will be safer. We've got a good few weeks of wagon tracks to follow
before we have to keep a look-out for the blazed trees that mark the trail towards the outer limits. If all else fails, we simply keep going until we reach land that hasn't been eaten out by livestock yet.'

‘And the weather?' the Major queried.

‘Weather, what weather?' The Englishman looked at his soldier friend as if he were daft. ‘Joe tells me that the coming summer will be bad for all concerned. No grass is one thing, but water is lifeblood for black and white alike.'

‘Well, you'll not have to worry about muddy roads then.' The Major shook hands with his friend.

Mr Southerland lifted a shaggy eyebrow, folded the map and secured it in his pocket. ‘Don't give those young troopers of yours too much of a hard time, James.' He touched his hat in deference to Kate. ‘We've another solid day of travel, best we get a move on.' With a cluck of his tongue the horse trotted off.

‘Callahan, keep an eye on Miss Carter,' the Major instructed the Scot. He nodded in Kate's direction, lingering as if there were words left unsaid.

She too felt compelled to say something, anything, but the Major was already reining his horse clear of the wagon, not waiting for Mr Callahan's reply.

‘Aye, I'll do me best, Major Shaw, sir.' Placing his cabbage-tree hat on his head, he winked at Kate and then cracked a long-handled whip. Eight feet of plaited greenhide unfurled to snap at the leading bullocks up front. The wagon began to trundle across the rutted ground as Mr Callahan walked alongside the team of fourteen bullocks, guiding them through the trees, the second wagon following close behind.

James rode briefly beside Kate. ‘Goodbye, Kate Carter.' He smiled.

Kate smiled back, but too soon he was tugging on the reins and turning to travel in the opposite direction. She wanted to look back over her shoulder, to crane her neck around the canvas dome of the
wagon. Instead she gritted her teeth and focused on the moving animals.

Once the bullocks were walking at a steady pace, the Scotsman retraced his steps until he was level with Kate.

‘Peas in a pod those two, the Major and that leader of ours.' He glanced ahead to where Mr Southerland was just visible. ‘Both of them got a hankering for adventure. Had I my druthers over I'd never have done what I did and been forced to leave Scotland. It's bad enough to be branded a felon but to come here, to a land where everything can kill you – snake, spider, the pox, the natives – well, you have to wonder who decided to send a person to New South Wales. Of course it doesn't bother the likes of Southerland, the man's just trying to survive, and by all accounts he never applied to get his wife and child out here, unlike some of us. As for the Major, well, he's here to make his mark before returning to the Mother Country. He's got no interest in land out here. No, he's after a bit of adventure and then it's back to London and the high life. He's a toff and toffs have only ever got one person in mind – themselves. Keep the scum from the toffs' trough. That'd be his thinking.'

Kate didn't share Mr Callahan's opinion. ‘You don't like the Major?'

‘Miss Kate, the day the man gets off that horse of his to talk to the likes of us, I'll eat my hat.'

‘Mr Callahan, I believe you have a problem with figures of authority.'

His grin revealed a missing eye-tooth. ‘Aye, you've found me out. I do.' The Scotsman cracked the whip and the team kept plodding along to cries of ‘move along there, you buggers', ‘find your feet' and ‘steady as'. Behind them the wagon load creaked and groaned. The bullocks lumbered onwards and out into a dark avenue of stately
trees. Kate tied the shawl securely about her shoulders and licked sun-dry lips.

‘We should all have muskets,' Mr Callahan called to her as the bullocks walked on, their sloping shoulders and hefty rumps swaying from side to side as if a galleon upon the sea. ‘But I'm glad for your sake that Mr Southerland gave you that fancy little piece. Where we're going, a man would have to be mad not to be able to protect his person. We should all be armed now. As for worrying about them blacks stealing, it's more likely they'd be lifting a spear in our direction.'

Kate huddled on the hard chest. The area they passed through was all woody plants and dense foliage, beyond which lay the unknown. She'd be pleased when they were back in more open country. In such places Kate was content to leave the discomfort of the dray and walk alongside the slow-moving wagon. ‘We've not seen many natives,' she replied. ‘Well, apart from the ones at Maitland. You'd think we'd see more of them, or at least hear them.'

‘They be out there, you can put coin on that. Hiding behind that tree, or that one.'

Kate leant forward, examining the timber lining the track. She almost expected to see yellow eyes peering from between the woody plants. The trees were tall and straight, thick girthed and spaced so close together that it was almost as if they'd been planted.

‘They was born out here, Miss Kate. They're like animals – knowledgeable, cunning. They know everything about this place. We know nothing. Best we all keep an eye out, for you never know when they'll come for us.'

It was unlike her companion to voice his concerns. Kate guessed he'd been aware of the blacks that had been tailing them and like the rest of their group had chosen to keep this fact from her, especially while their party was larger. Although she could have been annoyed at such collusion Kate was in fact grateful for their
complicity. There had been much to contend with already without being in immediate fear of one's life.

‘Maybe when we get to the farm, Mr Hardy will give you a musket,' Kate suggested, the weight of the pistol dragging at the folds of her skirt.

‘Me? Not likely. I've only me ticket-of-leave, there's no muskets for the likes of me. I've heard tell some settlers allow it, on account of plain common sense, depending on what you were sent out for, of course. But Hardy? Southerland says he's a stickler for the rules. Which is why I keep me ticket in me pocket.' He rubbed it for luck. ‘One day I'll get that pardon. In the meantime I'll work for wages and bide me time, again.'

‘Again?'

‘I've had the odd problem with authority.' He grinned. ‘So there you have it, lass. You and me we're like chalk and cheese.'

‘Oh, I don't know. There's not that much difference, Mr Callahan. My father was sent out for stealing.'

‘A currency lass, eh? Aye, I heard such a whisper. It took you some time to spit that out. Well, a woman's got to be born with a bit of gumption to do what you're doing, miss. Good luck to you, I say, and if you need a helping hand with anything, I'm your man. Now what was we talking about yesterday?'