English passengers (23 page)

That was one puzzle to confound, as white scuts never came in forest. I pondered that perhaps he was hunting game like us, but this was foolishness, as every wallaby would hear his noise, and smell his stink too, which was strong so I could smell it even from this far place. Soon there was another mystery to confuse. He did not go through clear places, like any clever one, no, but walked straight forth as if he was on some empty hill. Soon he was having a great fight with trees, swinging his killing knife to try and make his road. I knew he must be doing this for some long time, too, as his dead skin, which was coloured red like blood, got torn and flapping like leaves, so you could see his real skin beneath, and even this was scratched all over, like possums climbed him.

Heedeek made a sign with his spear that said I’ll go round that way and spear him if I can, but you stay still, which was interesting but scaring besides, as white scut had his gun. In the end, though, it never happened. Just when Heedeek was creeping off to start his killing, more tree breaking sound started, now from another side. Sure enough, when I looked through leaves I saw another white scut, also coloured red, and then I could hear more noises besides, far away. That was heinous trouble, no denying. Heedeek looked at me, pointing his spear to where Mother and the others were waiting, and so we went back, going carefully.

Mother was interested. ‘‘Let’s go up higher where we can see,’’ she told Heedeek, as even still she would not speak to me, being too hating,
and waving her strong short arms she led the way out of the forest and up some hill just behind. There we lay down flat so white scuts wouldn’t see, and we tried to make the dog animals go flat too. Surely enough trees started quaking and then one num stepped out, shook himself and pulled leaves and so from his hair and his dead skin, shouting with wrath as if something bit him. Then more trees shook and another stepped out, and another too, till all at once it seemed as if that whole forest was trembling and spitting out white scuts, all carrying one gun, far as we could see. So we gave looks at each other. We knew, you see, what this was. These white scuts never were just hunting wallaby. They were hunting us. So we began fleeing.

One good thing was that those num were slow as mud while we were fast. Away we went, like the wind, and by dark we were so far that their fires were just small like sparks in the night. Those fires were plentiful, though, so we knew these were many more even than those ones that came out from the forest, which was one heinous puzzle to confound. Truly, this was some giant creeping of white scuts, all across the land.

Still Mother was not despairing. ‘‘We ’ll just have to go round them,’’ she said as we sat by that small, cold fire hidden in its hole.

All that next day we went so, going fast, with dog animals hurrying round our feet as if this was some fine game. Soon we felt hungry and weariful besides, but still we went again, away from white buggers but also around. By and by I felt safer, as we were gone so far I divined we must be past them. Then, woeful tidings, we went over some hill and there they were still, plenty of them, walking towards us in their line, slow as ants.

‘‘Perhaps they’re just the same ones,’’ said Heedeek, hoping. ‘‘Perhaps they just followed us.’’

Mother saw more cleverly. ‘‘No. Those others were red like blood. These are brown.’’

That was lamentable. Up until then I never had pondered how many white scuts there were in the world, as we never did see many all together, but now I could surmise there was no finish to these hateful buggers, and I knew we never would be rid of them even if we fought
forever and ever and never died. Even Mother looked woeful that moment. Not that there was much time for desponding, no, as those scuts were just coming nearer all the while. So we hurried away once more, as fast as we could, though that land was just bald rocks and I surmised they must see us. Rain fell and we were cold and hungry, so my feet hurt and my head got weak and floating. Finally we stopped, all falling down panting, just too tired to run further. Mother set two watching for white scuts coming, and then we had our talking.

Heedeek, who was always careful, thought we should go around again. ‘‘Maybe they’re not so many as they seem.’’

‘‘You saw their fires,’’ Mother told him, folding her arms and looking at him as if he was just some piss-poor foolishness. ‘‘We ’ll just get more tired and hungry and still they’ll be coming. No, it’s better to fight them now.’’

Nobody wanted to fight these whites, as they were so many that we knew this was dying, which was heinous, but she was right, I could surmise. Besides, Mother was frightening, especially when she was angry, so being killed seemed almost easier than saying no. Mother let us rest a short while, but then she took her spear and got to her feet. So she started going straight back towards white scuts, first slow, then faster, and all the while we followed.

F
OR TWO DAYS
we crossed farmland, which was sweet. I slept one night in a fine dry barn, and sometimes the women would see us coming and run out with hot milk and fresh bread, which tasted better than Christmas goose. It didn’t last, though. Before long we struck bush that was thick like it only knows how in Van Diemen’s Land, with thorns that tore our clothes and then tore us, so soon everyone was ripped halfway to rags, with so many scars it looked like they’d been napping on bloody bayonets. My worry was my boots, which were getting so bad that I had to tie them with strips from my shirt just to keep the soles on. I hated my
pack by then. It is a fact that what seems light as daisies for a minute becomes heavy as rocks when you’re hauling it mile after mile, so hardly a moment passed when I wasn’t wishing I could fling away those handcuffs, and that I’d never brought those two pistols of mine.

We slept a night in forest, and the next day we climbed into high open country, which was welcome apart from the cold wind. It was that same afternoon that I saw them. I had stopped a moment to shift my pack and try to get more comfortable—though it never did any good—and when I looked up, there they were, two dozen or more of the buggers, scampering away over the next hill. I just froze. I glanced across to Sam and he was just the same. Then we looked at each other and sort of laughed. Not that it was funny.

We passed the word along and then kept going like before. Soon after it started raining, which was bad, as my clothes had barely dried off properly from the last wetting. It was coming on towards dusk when the shout went down the line to stop. Usually we made camp in just pairs, but this time, what with having seen those blacks, and so many too, this didn’t feel quite safe, and we ended being six. I suppose it did leave a bit of gap to eastwards, but the way we saw it, if they did start trouble at least we’d be enough to fight. Now Pete Tanner was one of those fellows who can get a flame out of pure pond water and soon he had a merry little blaze going, in spite of the wet that was still coming down all around. Well, there’s nothing better to warm the bones than a fire. We cooked some flour into damper, while Sam pulled out a small possum that he’d bagged with his musket that morning, and once we’d got his coat off he was soon doing nicely, smelling sweet as could be.

The way I look on it now it was the rain that was to blame, as, this being dusk, it did make it hard for a man to see far. Besides, it was so chilly that only a fool would stray off from that blaze we had going. We’d set a watch, for sure, but those blacks must’ve had some way of making themselves hardly visible, as he only saw them when it was nearly too late. All of a sudden there they were, running like the wind through the little valley just below us. Trouble they looked, too. Up at the front was a one that I could only think must be that Amazon I’d heard tell of. Stark naked she was, and holding a fowling piece in her hand. That was a
shock, truly, as nobody’d said anything about them having guns. Why, we should’ve been warned. Behind her was another strange one, just a boy, and black as the rest, though his hair was pale as straw.

Well, we took up our guns quick enough, though it was hard to catch them in our sights what with all their running and jiggling. I was ready to fire, that’s the truth, and I would’ve too if one of the others had only given a shout, like I was expecting for them to do. None of them did. The fact was it was a worry that we might miss, especially with the blacks being so invisible in the dusk, as then they might come back at us, including that Amazon with her gun. Everything went quiet, so all you could hear was the rain and the crackle of the possum roasting on the fire, and inside half a moment they’d scampered away nearly out of range.

Sam was the one who finally spoke. ‘‘I suppose we should go after them.’’ The way he spoke made it sound like a question.

Nobody answered, but nobody moved either. We just stood watching. A moment later they’d reached trees and were gone from sight.

‘‘If we go after them that’d leave a gap in the line,’’ said Pete Tanner.

Sam chewed on his cheek a little, which was his habit. ‘‘Besides, there’s no telling if our guns would ever fire in this wet.’’

Soon after, we went back to sitting round the fire, where it was warm. The damper and that possum were tasty as could be, and later we brewed up some tea in the billy. That night we set a proper watch, with fellows staying awake in turns, just like the proper army. Nobody saw anything, mind.

It wasn’t that we ever decided to stay quiet about what happened, it was just that none of us said anything. There hardly seemed much purpose.

O
NCE BREAKFAST WAS DONE
with and all was packed up once more, our mighty march resumed, with a great jangling of billies, water bottles
and muskets. It was only now, as we approached the end of this great campaign, and the narrowness of the land brought together these two thousand men, who had been strung out half across the island, that they finally, by their concentration, assumed the appearance of an army. A brave little army they looked, too, in their ragged clothes and boots. What noble work they had done, to traverse this harsh land, and without suffering a single casualty, excepting those few who had died from mishap, or accidentally shot one another. Their great task was almost done. My chief concern now was that they should remember to treat the aborigines with gentle forcefulness, as I had urged.

Ned, my chief police magistrate, who is quite a worrier, feared that we might not have enough pairs of handcuffs. ‘‘The reports I have had say there could be as many as four entire tribes trapped.’’

‘‘If we run short, then we can always use rope from the tents,’’ I suggested. My attention being then distracted by the sound of shouting behind me, I glanced back and caught sight of a man who could hardly have looked more out of place in this wild spot if he had sought to do so: he bore no weapons, and rather than wearing rough outdoors clothes was dressed in a coat and top hat which would have been more appropriate for a visit to church. As he drew nearer, I recognized him as John Pierce. It was, I supposed, hardly a great surprise, as the man was an infamous maker of nuisance. He had once been employed as an agricultural officer by the New World Land Company, only to abandon his work and appear in Hobart, uttering the wildest claims of cruelties done to the blacks by his colleagues. Fortunately his employer, Mr. Charles, who is a most goodly fellow, had already written to warn me of the man, who he explained had grown quite demented, and had taken to living wildly in the bush like some vagrant. Pierce came several times to Government House with his denunciations, and once he even attempted to accost me in the street, so I was sorely tempted to have him arrested.

Observing me, he spurred on his horse, calling out in a frenzied voice. ‘‘Governor Alder, I demand that this operation be stopped this moment. You are committing deliberate murder here, nothing less.’’

He was a most curious-looking fellow, with eyes that were forever blinking and a wounded expression that almost made one wonder if he
might break into tears. Demented though he was, I supposed I must give him some answer. ‘‘Mr. Pierce, you are thoroughly mistaken. There will be no murder here.’’ I began to tell him of the three hundred pairs of handcuffs we had prepared, and of the careful instructions I had given to the men, though it was to no avail. I dare say there is no arguing with a madman.

‘‘Your handcuffs are mere pretence,’’ he insisted. ‘‘Your intention, though you seek to hide it behind the contraptions of justice, is only too evident. I will not be removed. I will bear witness to this massacre so it can never be denied.’’

I was fast growing weary of the fellow. ‘‘Mr. Pierce,’’ I informed him. ‘‘I never suggested you should be removed, but if you continue to make a nuisance of yourself and to disrupt this most important military operation, then you certainly shall be.’’

It was then that, rather to my puzzlement, I saw he had fallen into silence, and was now staring ahead with a look of profound surprise. I followed his look. While I had been arguing with the fellow we must have ridden over a ridge, as now a fine view stretched out ahead. It was an exhilarating spot, with gulls hanging high in the wind and the crash of waves all around. To the left lay the sea, to the right also, with the thick line of men glinting and stamping away in each direction, as far as the shores. In front of us lay a wide expanse of open grassland, rolling gently down to the water, and looking a little like some wild part of the Devonshire coast. we had reached the very end of the peninsular, and our great march.

‘‘It is a miracle,’’ Pierce murmured.

The most noticeable thing about the scene, I should explain, was that it was wholly and utterly empty of aborigines.

T
IME PASSED,
summer came and our fleeing and fighting went on like before. Then one day we found a cider gum tree. This was good tidings, yes, as they never are usual. We cut his bark so gum dripped out into a
hollow we made, mixing with water and getting changed into some sweet stuff which makes you foolish and dizzy. This was a good one, too, with enough for everybody, and soon we were laughing and so. All except Mother. Truth was Mother never was the same after that great creeping of num white scuts. Even though nothing happened, and they just stood there by their fire watching, and never killed us after all, still Mother got afflicted, worse than I ever saw her before, and even long after, her look was like stone. I supposed it was because she knew we never could win now, and she wished we got killed then, just so, all finished.