The Touch (15 page)

It took him the best part of two days to negotiate a way down from the heights to the valley floor, where he camped on hard ground beside the river in sight of that wonderful cascade. There is alluvial gold here for sure, he thought, but my nose says there’s a vein of gold-bearing quartz inside that mountain. My nose—well, it’s as good a way as any of explaining gut instinct.

For two more days he panned the river gravel and obtained a hundred troy ounces of gold dust and tiny nuggets. Time then to go to Sydney.

He erased every sign of his presence, even cleared the horse manure away and scattered gravel on the few places where hoofprints showed. Then he rode northwest toward Bathurst, and into another forest. Whoever the squatter was who “owned” this tract of land, he obviously “owned” vaster tracts elsewhere.

Casual questions in Bathurst yielded the name of the squatter who leased (for a pittance) most of the country between Blayney and a point somewhere north of a village called Crookwell. However, this Charles Dewy hadn’t tried to squat on the mountains east of the region’s gentler hills—cattle or sheep hauled up there, said the squatter imparting his knowledge to Alexander, would disappear forever into the impenetrable bush.

Armed with accurate latitudes and a set of survey figures he had no intention of divulging, Alexander set out for Sydney and the Department of Lands.

For once he put up at an exclusive hotel on Elizabeth Street opposite Hyde Park, and paid a willing Levantine tailor to make him the appropriate clothes in a very short time. Stingy he might be (Ruby’s word still stung), but these outlays were in the nature of an investment. So when he presented himself at the Department of Lands he had no difficulty in securing an interview with one of the senior officials.

“We’re trying to break the power of the squatters,” said Mr. Osbert Winfield, “for several reasons. One is that they have accrued too much political power when compared to the far bigger population of Sydney. Another is that they pay a minute lease fee for unalienated Crown Land. The Government, of which I am a paid servant, wants to encourage city workingmen and ex-miners to take up small parcels of land. Oh, large enough to be viable, of course, but not hundreds of square miles.”

“These are the selections?” Alexander asked.

“Precisely, Mr. Kinross. In 1861 a new law was introduced, the Crown Lands Alienation Act, which has since been amended to reduce the time span of a squatter’s lease of Crown Land to a five-year maximum. He can renew, but the lease can be terminated if some person buys unsurveyed land on his lease.”

“And how,” asked Alexander guilelessly, “does a man go about buying such a piece of unsurveyed Crown Land, thereby alienating it from the Crown? I have a mind to buy a selection.”

Out came the maps and Alexander’s latitude figures. The Department of Lands maps were far better than any he had found in Bathurst, but he was interested to see that his river bore no name other than “tributary of the Abercrombie River.”

“How much land can I buy in this way?”

“No more than three hundred and twenty acres, sir, at one pound per acre. You are required to pay a cash deposit of one-quarter, and you can pay the other three-quarters off within a period of three years.”

“That’s three hundred and twenty pounds in toto. I would pay for it in a lump sum now, Mr. Winfield.”

“Where is it?” Mr. Winfield asked.

“Right there,” said Alexander, a finger on his river at the base of the mountain.

“Hmmm,” said Mr. Winfield, perusing the map through his half-glasses. The eyes he raised to his visitor’s face were twinkling. “That’s an excellent site to prospect for gold, isn’t it? Hasn’t been touched in that respect, either. Very shrewd, Mr. Kinross—very shrewd! However, you may only buy if you sign a declaration witnessed by a Justice of the Peace to the effect that you intend to fence your land, improve it, and live on it.”

“Naturally I intend to fence it, improve it, and live on it, Mr. Winfield.” Alexander’s own eyes twinkled. “And how would I buy this land?” he enquired, pointing to the mountain. “As far as I can ascertain, it’s not leased by Mr. Charles Dewy, who does lease the valley and river area. It’s steep, thickly forested and quite useless, but I’ve taken a strong fancy to it.”

“It would have to go for auction, Mr. Kinross, after due notification in the appropriate journals. I take it that you would want it to be contiguous with your selection boundary?”

“Naturally. How much of it can I buy?”

Osbert Winfield shrugged. “Pretty well as much as you can afford. If someone else bids, it might go for several pounds an acre, or, if nobody else bids, for ten shillings an acre. I doubt that there will be other bidders. I’m no expert, but I do not think you’ll find gold on it.”

“True. Alluvial gold settles in sandy, pebbly beds where gravity favors a halt to its progress down the river.”

That evening he invited Mr. Osbert Winfield to dinner at the hotel he was to make his permanent headquarters in Sydney, a gesture that the senior public official found welcome. The documents deeding him his three hundred and twenty acres would be ready to sign on the morrow, and the auction would occur in two weeks’ time. After some thought, Alexander had decided to bid for ten thousand clearly delineated acres.

“I should warn you, Alexander,” said Mr. Winfield, blooming under the superb port, “that things become somewhat different if a township should spring up on your land. Town land has to be subdivided—well, that stands to reason, eh? Naturally you retain ownership of the unsequestered subdivisions, but certain allotments will be reserved by the State for its own purposes—post office land, police station land, school land, hospital land, church land. The town council will also want some land.”

“I don’t object to any of that,” said Alexander, then bared his teeth in a snarl. “Except for the church land. The Church of England I can tolerate, or even the Catholics, but I’m damned if I’ll see the Presbyterians move in!”

“Personal grudge, eh? I’m Church of England, so…It’s fairly easy to deal with, actually. We can use all the church land up on the Church of England and the Catholics, if that’s your wish. You cannot, of course, exclude the Presbyterians, who have some political clout. But they’ll have to acquire private land, and if you won’t sell to them, they’re in the wilderness.”

“Osbert,” said Alexander, smiling, “you’re a positive mine of helpful information.” He frowned, wondering how frank he dared to be, and decided to be reasonably delicate. “I am not short of money, my dear chap, so if—er—you should ever suffer any financial embarrassments, I’d be delighted to assist you.”

Whereupon Osbert Winfield proved himself a true official of a colonial governmental body. “As a matter of fact,” he said, clearing his throat, “I am a little overdrawn at my bank.”

“Would a thousand pounds alleviate the crisis?”

“Oh, definitely. Most generous! Most generous!”

Alexander ushered him off the premises feeling a glow of achievement. He had just bought himself the first of what he hoped would be many useful senior civil servants and members of the two New South Wales houses of parliament.

THUS DID Alexander Kinross become the legal owner of 320 acres of prime land including frontage on what was now entered on the Department of Lands maps as the Kinross River, and of 10,000 acres of the mountaintop, including the slope and the cascades, the latter bought for ten shillings an acre at auction. He had a license to prospect for gold in his river, and had enriched New South Wales to the tune of £5,321 including his gold license fee of £1. He had also learned that if he struck subterranean gold on his own property, it was, since it lay under ground inalienably his, his to mine exclusively.

IN AUGUST of 1872 he rode back to Hill End, where he found a disconsolate Ruby, bereft of her son and in no mood to be optimistic about anything. Though she was very glad to see him.

“I give Hill End another two years at the most,” she said later in the night, sitting up in the Blue Room’s bed smoking a cheroot. “I could go to Gulgong, I suppose—it’s going to last longer. But after it peters out, where?”

“I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you,” he said, and changed the subject. “Ruby, I want to meet Sung Chow.”

“Sung Chow? Why?”

“I have a business proposition for him that may well flow on to a business proposition for you.”

Knowing Ruby’s tastes by now, Alexander found Sung Chow much as he had expected: six feet tall, fair-skinned, handsome, about forty years of age. His office was in his brewery, and he himself chose to wear the Chinese garb, though not a coolie’s drab attire. His long robe was of peacock blue silk embroidered in flowers, the slim trousers beneath it were dark blue silk, and his slippers embroidered.

“I am Mandarin,” he said, ensconcing Alexander in a lovely lacquered chair. “I hail from the city you call Peking, where an unhappy incident deprived me of my entitlements. That is why Lee speaks Mandarin and will pass for a Chinese prince, even if there are other Chinese at his school. His colonial English accent we will blame on a governess. He will, besides, soon lose it.”

“You speak almost accentless English yourself. What brought you to New South Wales?” Alexander asked.

“An abiding horror of the spreading rot the British East India Company has fostered in China—opium,” said Sung Chow. “I would not kowtow to the British diplomats, so I resolved upon the honorable alternative of emigrating in search of gold.”

“Did you find any?”

“Enough to go into business. My brewery, my laundry, my boarding houses and my restaurants generate a stable income, if not a princely fortune.” He sighed. “There is no hope of more gold in Hill End—or Gulgong, for that matter. Sofala has died. To be a prospector and a Chinese is difficult and dangerous, sir.”

“Alexander, please. Do go on, Mr. Sung.”

“Sung is acceptable. The Chinese, Alexander, are extremely hardworking as well as frugal. But because xenophobia exists everywhere, those who look and sound like utter foreigners become the target for local men and women who either do not work hard or do not save what they earn. We Chinese are hated—it is not too strong a verb, believe me. We are beaten, robbed, even tortured, and sometimes murdered. British justice is not available for us, as the police are often our worst tormentors. Therefore the price of prospecting for gold is too high to pay for men like me, who have other talents and good business instincts.” Sung spread his long-nailed hands. “Ruby said you had a proposition for me.”

“I do, but I must warn you that it consists of prospecting for alluvial gold, at least in the beginning. However, not on any established field. I’ve located a new find in remote country southeast of Bathurst—a tributary of the Abercrombie that I’ve had the hubris to name the Kinross River.” Alexander raised his pointed brows, grinned. “I could keep it a secret from all other men, but I’d rather share my secret with a small group of other men—Chinese men. I’ve been to China, you see. I know a little about the Chinese, and I get on well with them.” He looked quizzical. “Why does Ruby get on well with the Chinese?”

“She has a cousin who accidentally spent ten years in China—a man named Isaac Robinson who is now living on Norfolk Island. He was running guns and opium on an American clipper that sank in the South China Sea. When some Franciscan friars rescued him, he entered their monastery in the Shantung peninsula. But the life of a monk palled, he got into trouble and fled. Between China and his new home, he visited Hill End to see Ruby, whom he liked very much. They had an affinity for each other, which may well be how she obtained her penchant for the Chinese.” Sung got to his feet, folded his hands inside the capacious sleeves of his robe, and paced up and down. “This is a very interesting and generous proposition, Alexander, and it tempts me greatly. What are your terms?”

“We split whatever we find two ways. Half for you, half for me. Out of your half you’ll have to work out compensation for the other Chinese you’ll bring with you. Out of my share I’ll compensate Ruby for leading me to you.” Eyes never leaving Sung, Alexander leaned back in his chair. “If there’s as much placer as I think, a town is bound to spring up. That would enable you personally to be in on the ground floor of local commerce, and Ruby to own a better hotel than Costevan’s. As one man, Sung, my grasp on the inevitable settlement will be nonexistent. But if there are a solid group of us in on the ground floor—and provided that the rest of you are willing to accept my leadership—then the settlement will always remain in my control.”

“You have it all worked out,” said Sung softly.

“There’s no point in going off half-cocked, my friend. So think about it, will you? Twenty men, no women, and at first it won’t be all panning for gold. By law I’m obliged to fence my land and build some sort of house on it. That comes first, then we’re legal and aboveboard. We’ll have to be, because there’s a local squatter who’s going to be very upset.”

“JESUS!” WAS Ruby’s reaction. “Are you mad, Alexander?”

“Sane as”—he grinned—“well, as sane as something. Sung came to see you, did he?”

“Yes. That’s second nature for both of us.”

They were leaning over the stall door apparently saying hello to Alexander’s mare, a place where no one would overhear a word they said.

“And the stingy Scot,” hissed Ruby, eyes blazing, “intends to give an ageing whore charity! Well, I can do without your fucken bawbees, Mr. Kinross! You don’t fool me! Scratch your surface, and the Bible-basher is scrabbling to get out. I may have started out on my back and now make a living from employing other women to lie on their backs, but at least it’s honest work! Yes, honest! Once a woman’s married she doesn’t want to do her marital duty—I don’t blame her for that because her old man is probably too drunk to get up more than half a stiffy, or else he rations her housekeeping money but not his own tobacco and booze money—pah! So he goes somewhere else to get rid of his dirty water. If you don’t even know a man, let alone love him, why shouldn’t you be paid to get rid of his dirty water? Eh? Eh? Tell me that, you sanctimonious prick!”