Blood in the Dust Read online

  ‘This is the magistrate’s order authorising me to take possession of your land and releasing you from your father’s debt.’ He passed his hand over the document as he spoke. ‘This is a copy of the land commissioner’s registration of change of title for this land.’

  Toby took the papers without inspecting them and pushed them into his pocket. ‘What are we left with?’ he asked again.

  ‘Your personal possessions, of course,’ Pelham stated flatly, businesslike. ‘You can take your wagonette as well as your own horses. You can also take anything of your dear departed parents you feel attached to. I’m not an evil man,’ he added. ‘I have no wish for you to leave, but if you feel you must, then who am I to stop you?’ He swept his hand around the room. ‘Take whatever you want.’

  At first light the brothers climbed the hill to their parents’ grave. Paddy tidied the lines of rocks and Toby straightened the cross. He tested it by wriggling it back and forth, satisfied it would stand for at least a few weeks. There were many emotions bubbling inside him that made him want to cry, to yell and scream at this fate the world had cast upon them. He looked down at the homestead, at the wagonette loaded with their few meagre possessions, ready to head off to God-only-knew-where.

  Paddy let out a sob and Toby placed an arm around him. ‘We’ll be back, matey,’ he said. ‘I don’t know where we’re going or what we’re going to do, but I know we’ll be back. And then this land will be ours once again. I promise you that.’ He spoke the words for Paddy’s benefit, but his eyes were fixed on the small patch of earth in the rectangle of stones. ‘If it’s greed that drives old man Pelham, then we’ll use it to get our land back. We’ll make enough money to buy it back. More money than he’ll be able to refuse.’

  Reluctantly, they walked down to the homestead. Grey stood at the end of the verandah with one of the stockmen. They had stayed the night under the pretence of helping load the wagonette, but Toby knew they were there to make sure nothing happened to the property. Probably a good move, Toby thought. More than once during the night he had considered burning all the buildings to the ground, leaving Pelham with nothing but a pile of ashes. But Toby knew he would be destroying more than a few simple structures; he would be destroying something his parents had built, a testimony to their very existence.

  ‘Final goodbyes?’ Grey asked, a cheeky smile on his face.

  Toby ignored the stockman and sent Paddy to fetch Moonlight and Patch from the yard. They tied the lead ropes to the tailgate of the wagonette and climbed onto the seat. Toby took the reins and flicked the horse into motion.

  Neither of them looked back as they trundled away from the homestead. When they reached the slip rails Paddy jumped down and pushed them open. Toby guided the wagonette through and Paddy was about to push them closed again, but Toby called him up onto the wagonette and they started down the track with Grey cursing loudly in the distance.

  Toby toyed with the idea of calling to say goodbye to the Smiths and Guttens, but the hollowness in the pit of his stomach, combined with Irish pride, wouldn’t let him. They would only offer sympathy, and sympathy wouldn’t get their home back. He had failed this particular test of manhood and all he wanted to do was get as far away from the bitter memories as he could. Paddy made no sign of wanting to stop as they passed the turnoff to the Smith farm. He sat motionless, eyes fixed on the track ahead, so Toby urged the team onto the southbound fork. They circled the settlement of Bunyong Creek and travelled on.

  That night they made camp in a grove of tall stringybarks. The cattle drive had given them both a routine to follow, and Toby set about unhitching the draught horse and tending to their animals while Paddy collected firewood and started on the meal. They had no fresh meat, so he baked a large damper filled with raisins. They sat on opposite sides of the campfire and ate the simple fare with golden syrup and sweetened tea.

  As Toby sat staring into the flames he tried not to dwell on their misfortune. He didn’t want to think about tomorrow or any of the days ahead, for he had no idea what they held for them and that scared him more than he wanted to admit. Paddy clapped his hands to get Toby’s attention and then opened and closed his thumb and fingers on one hand the same way a person would make the mouth work on a sock puppet.

  ‘Talking?’

  Paddy nodded.

  ‘Sorry, matey. I don’t feel much like talking at the moment.’

  Paddy nodded and pointed towards the south, the direction the track was taking them.

  ‘I don’t know where we’re going, Pad. That direction is as good as any.’

  Toby lapsed into silence and Paddy sat perfectly still on the other side of the fire. He could see the worry on his brother’s face, but he had no words of comfort to offer. They were homeless. Everything they owned was within a few paces of the flickering flames of the campfire. He wanted to tell Paddy that they would be all right, that something would turn up, but he only felt a gnawing sense of hopelessness. The mental wall he had built suddenly crumbled and a tear rolled down his cheek.

  Paddy got up and came around the fire to him. He sat down and poked a finger, first in Toby’s chest and then his own. Then he placed an arm across Toby’s shoulders.

  ‘Yeah, Pad. Whatever happens, we are together.’ The arm squeezed him gently and he felt a little of the hopelessness dissolve.

  At noon on the second day, Paddy took a turn at driving the wagonette. Toby sat on the end of the seat, barely watching the scenery unfold about him. His mood remained dark and he brooded over the future that awaited them. They had their horses and would certainly find employment as stockmen, but Toby wondered if he would be able to put hard work into someone else’s dream.

  Late that afternoon they reached the Ballarat road. The well-travelled track stretched out on either hand, one path leading east to Melbourne, the other towards the diggings in Ballarat. Paddy stopped the wagonette and cast a quizzical eye at his brother that said, ‘Which way?’

  Toby was quiet for a moment as he pondered the intersection in front of them. In Melbourne, the seat of government for the Colony of Victoria, they would certainly find work. The gold rush had deprived many larger towns of much-needed labour. But a labourer’s wages were a mere pittance. It would take them years to scrape enough money together to make Pelham an offer on the farm.

  He glanced down the road to the right. Two diggers struggled to manhandle a barrow across rutted ground. The barrow was piled high with their possessions, picks and shovels and a gold-washing cradle. The men were on their way to the diggings to seek their fortune. Toby wasn’t sure how many fortunes were being made at the diggings. From what he had seen at Bendigo Creek, the goldfields looked more like a place of poverty and despair than a path to riches. But gold was coming out of the ground. Of that he was sure. Newspapers carried accounts of shipments of the precious yellow metal being taken under escort to Melbourne. There were fortunes out there to be found.

  Toby gestured to the right with his thumb, towards the diggings and the gold. ‘That way,’ he grunted.

  They travelled towards Ballarat for two days, making camp each evening by the side of the track. Sometimes other people camped with them. Toby hardly spoke to them, but he welcomed their closeness. Bushrangers were known to hold up travellers on the roads and there was safety in numbers. Before they went to sleep each night he made sure both muskets were loaded with a fresh charge and ready to hand.

  On the afternoon of the third day they reached a river. Another wagonette sat low in the water, bogged to the axles in mud. It had almost made it across. The horse stood on firm ground, almost into the cutting of the riverbank, its legs caked with mud. A woman and two girls huddled on the bank, watching as a man unloaded the wagonette in an attempt to lighten it, piling their belongings on high ground.

  Toby reined to a stop and studied the banks of the river in both directions. He cursed softly under his breath as he realised this was the only place where they could cross, and it was now blocked by the other
travellers.

  ‘I suppose we’ll have to help the cove out if we want to get any further today,’ he said to Paddy. He climbed off the seat and unhooked the trace from the drawbar of the wagonette. ‘We’ll help him out of the bog and then he can help us get across to the other bank.’

  He took the horse by the halter and led it down to the riverbank, the chains of the trace rattling and clanging. The water felt cool against his legs as he waded out into it and crossed to midstream.

  ‘Can you unhook your horse, move it further up the cutting?’ Toby called to the misfortunate stranger. ‘I’ll move mine in behind. With two horses we might be able to pull you free.’

  The man stopped what he was doing and looked at Toby. ‘Much obliged, young sir,’ he said in a southern English accent and moved towards the trace of his horse.

  ‘Go and give him a hand,’ Toby told Paddy. ‘We don’t want to be here for the rest of the day.’

  Toby had to swing wide to get around the wagonette. He waded through waist-deep water, but the riverbed dropped away and he sank instantly out of his depth. For one panicked moment he had visions of being swept back under the thrashing hoofs of the horse, now swimming awkwardly in its harness. His boot touched bottom and he pushed himself out to the side, using the horse’s momentum to carry him to the river’s edge. Water streamed down his face and he pushed his hair out of his eyes with his free hand. He found his hat floating a few feet away, snatched it up and pulled it hard down onto his head. The women were standing above the cutting, their faces lit with smiles, but no one dared laugh at this stranger who was offering to help free them from the mud.

  The man crossed over to him and offered a steadying hand as Toby climbed out of the water. Angry and embarrassed at his untimely dunking, and even more so by the smiles on the riverbank, Toby was about to shrug the hand away, but the man said, ‘Sorry, young sir. I should have warned you about that deep water there. Took an unwanted swim myself a little while ago. Got ten pounds of flour wet in the process, more’s the pity.’

  Toby took the stranger’s hand, the grip hard and strong, the roughness of heavy calluses evident. He was in his late forties with grey hair curling away from the temples in snowy wisps.

  The man deposited Toby on firm ground and kept his grip, pumping his arm up and down. ‘Francis Hocking. Pleased to make your acquaintance and thankful for your help.’

  ‘Toby O’Rourke. This is my brother Paddy.’

  Hocking dropped Toby’s arm and strode to where Paddy waited in the cutting with the horse. ‘Pleased to meet you, Paddy.’ He took the boy’s right hand and pumped it heartily. Toby was aware of the awkward pause as Hocking waited for Paddy to reply.

  ‘Paddy’s mute, Mr Hocking.’

  ‘His handshake speaks volumes,’ Hocking responded without pause. ‘A man of character indeed,’ and Paddy beamed a smile. ‘But, please! Call me Frank.’

  ‘Well, Frank, we can save the formalities for after we get you out of the bog,’ Toby said. He climbed to his feet and led his horse to the front of the wagonette. Frank helped him hook up the trace. They then hooked Frank’s horse to the rig and gathered logs and branches from amongst the trees lining the bank and laid them ahead of the wheels to prevent any further sinking.

  ‘If you’d like to drive the team, Frank, Paddy and me can push from the back. Once we get the wheels up on the logs and the axles clear, we should be right, but don’t stop until you get to the top of the cutting.’

  If Frank had any reservations about taking instructions from Toby, he didn’t show it. He gathered the reins of the team and positioned himself off to the side of the wagonette as Toby and Paddy waded in behind the rear wheels.

  ‘Ready, Frank.’

  Toby took up the strain, squishing his feet into the mud to find purchase. He heard Frank yell at the horses. The wagonette creaked and groaned as the slack was taken up. Under the combined strength of both horses the wheels came up onto the ramp. The wagonette shot forward out of the river and into the cutting.

  Paddy and Toby climbed out of the mud and onto the riverbank. Frank’s face appeared in the cutting above them.

  ‘That was easy enough. Do you want to have a rest, or should we bring your wagonette straight across?’ he asked, smiling down at the brothers.

  ‘Might as well keep on while the going’s good,’ Toby said.

  They unhitched the horses from Hocking’s wagonette and Toby took them back across the river where he hitched them to their own vehicle. Then he climbed onto the seat and whipped the horses into motion. The wagonette bucked and rocked like a wild animal as it lurched across the riverbed, bouncing over rocks and dropping into ruts. The horses were up to their bellies in water and blowing hard as they pulled across midstream. They splashed up onto the log ramp. The front horse stumbled and Toby saw one of the logs rise up on end and rake its flank. He was almost thrown from the wagonette as the front wheels hit the ramp with a sickening crunch and was forced to grip the edge of the seat with one hand to prevent himself being launched into the river. The wagonette bucked again, but came out of the water, climbing up through the cutting. He reined in beside Frank’s wagonette and climbed down to inspect the damage.

  One horse had a graze along its flank where the end of the log had scraped its skin. The wound hardly bled at all and Toby knew the animal wasn’t hurt too badly. The wagonette was in poorer shape. One spoke of the right front wheel had cracked through and the raw end stuck out at an angle.

  ‘A fine piece of driving, young sir,’ Frank said as he trotted up with Paddy at his side. ‘Did you break anything? I heard a bit of a crunch.’

  ‘A spoke,’ Toby informed him. ‘And one of the horses has a graze down its flank.’

  Frank inspected the wheel and shook his head. ‘You won’t get too far on that.’ He slapped the iron rim with the palm of his hand. ‘I didn’t have time to mention before, but I’m a wheelwright by trade. I would appreciate it if you would let me fix this for you. It’s the least I can do after you gentlemen so kindly helped me out of the bog.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Frank. I’m not much good at woodcraft. Not good enough to fix a spoke, anyway. Besides, I’d like to give the horse a rest before we continue on our—’ His voice trailed off as the women wandered over.

  ‘My wife, Maree,’ Frank said as the older woman slipped her hand into his.

  ‘Toby O’Rourke, ma’am,’ Toby said, touching a grubby finger to the brim of his hat. ‘This fellow here is my brother Patrick.’

  ‘Hello, Toby and Patrick,’ the woman said. ‘I’m so glad you came along to help us, otherwise I think Frank would still be wallowing about in the mud.’

  ‘You’re welcome, Mrs Hocking,’ Toby said, scraping a cake of mud from his arm and flinging it into the grass.

  The older girl tugged urgently at Maree’s hand. ‘I am so sorry. Toby and Patrick? Our daughters, Anne and Beatrice.’

  Beatrice was about ten or eleven years of age with a mop of curly red hair making a massive breakout from beneath a green bonnet. A light cotton dress hung awkwardly from her shoulders and she shuffled her feet in lace-up boots while studying the boys with cat-like green eyes. Toby smiled at the girl and she blushed and hid behind her mother.

  Anne Hocking was maybe a year younger than Toby. She wore no bonnet and had her dark hair tied back, emphasising every movement of her head by swishing back and forth like a horse’s tail. Her face was broad and fine-featured, her eyes green. She wore a cotton dress also, but unlike the younger sister, this dress held shape at her breast and hips. She extended a hand towards him. Toby took it in his own hand and shook it gently, marvelling at the softness of her skin.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr O’Rourke.’

  Under Frank’s direction, the boys used a long bough to lever the front axle of their wagonette until the wheel was off the ground. They then supported it on several large rocks collected from the river.

  ‘You boys get the wheel off and I’ll see if
I can find a piece of wood to make a spoke from,’ Frank said.

  Toby watched him move off into a grove of trees by the river, examining fallen branches as he went.

  ‘Seems like a nice fellow, doesn’t he, Pad?’ Toby said as he removed the axle pin.

  Frank returned a few minutes later with a piece of river gum in his hands. ‘This feels a good solid piece of timber,’ he said, testing its weight. He climbed onto his wagonette and rummaged about for a moment, producing a canvas satchel that he passed down to Toby. ‘Tools of the trade,’ he explained.

  ‘How about some lunch before you get started?’ Maree called. ‘Toby and Paddy, you are quite welcome to join us. It’s just a little salted pork on bread, I’m afraid, but there is plenty for everyone.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Hocking,’ Toby said. ‘You are too kind.’

  The girls had a blanket spread on the ground and Anne busily cut slices of bread from a crusty loaf while Maree sliced pork from a hindquarter. They had a small fire going and a large iron kettle sitting amidst the flames.

  ‘A nice cup of tea. Just the thing,’ Frank said.

  ‘You haven’t spent much time in the bush, have you, Frank?’ Toby said.

  ‘Only the past few days on the road out here. Why? What are we doing wrong?’

  ‘It’s nothing really—’ Toby began.

  ‘Go on, lad. It’s all right. If you have some advice to offer, spit it out. I won’t take offence. The good Lord knows we need all the help we can get.’

  Toby shuffled his feet in the dust, a little embarrassed at picking holes while the Hockings were so accommodating. ‘The kettle,’ he finally said. ‘It’s great if you’re setting up camp for a while. It’ll give you lots of hot water once it eventually boils. But if you want a quick cuppa it takes forever. Didn’t you bring a billy with you?’

  ‘No. What’s a billy?’

  Toby climbed up onto his wagonette and rummaged around. He jumped to the ground with a soot-blackened tin in his hands that he swung back and forth by a wire handle. ‘This is a billy. Nice thin sides. It will boil the water in a few minutes. We have a kettle like that as well to heat water for washing up when we camp of a night, but a billy is the best thing for a quick cup of tea.’