Mosquito Creek

by Robert Engwerda

  Bent over, Merriman tugged at his blanket, wrapping it closer about him.

  ‘There’s nothing to eat here. See if Bill has any grubs for you.’

  ‘There could be something else.’

  ‘I don’t care any more,’ Merriman said. ‘I’m not hungry anyway. Too sick.’

  ‘You’ll be all right when you get something inside you.’

  ‘No I won’t be. Dying.’

  Alec rose slowly from his haunches.

  ‘That’s nonsense talk. I’m not listening to it.’ He felt pins and needles shooting through one of his feet, and stamped it to get the circulation going. ‘I’m going looking for something.’ As he said it there were noises, splashes from further around the island. ‘There? You hear that? Something’s in the water. Did you hear that?’

  Inside the tent Merriman shook his head.

  ‘There’s something going on out there.’ Alec pricked his ears.

  ‘It’ll be the Geelong ones.’

  ‘I’m going out to see,’ Alec said, but he hesitated around the opening of the tent, unsure as to whether he should step out.

  Merriman sat with head bowed, keeping as still as possible. He could feel blood running to all the places he was hurt, his ribs scraping against each other inside his chest. Every movement sent pain coursing through him. His eye felt like a tumour invading his face. He wasn’t going to speak any more and lifted his left hand from his knee to show Alec the conversation had ended for him.

  ‘I’ll take a quick look,’ Alec said, ‘and I’ll let you know what’s going on.’

  The island wasn’t huge. Alec could’ve easily walked its entirety in ten minutes. But Merriman’s beating was reason to be careful. If he would admit it they were all scared of the mob from Geelong, but they were all growing more desperate too. Bill and Kentucky were in the same situation, and maybe even worse now that they’d cut up their tent for the raft.

  So Alec crept his way through scrappy undergrowth, sticking close to the island’s shoreline. He’d lost track of the days, of the fact of the diggings being so near just over the water somewhere off to the south. And maybe Bill was right that the water wasn’t going down or not quickly enough at least. Rescue wouldn’t come now and how could it? The river was too massive, too wild, too powerful for any sticks of human beings. They were all useless flesh and bone inside dirty, baggy rags. He laughed at the belief they’d taken to the goldfields. How far away all that seemed now and how stupid they were to end up like this.

  If he had taken his wife and son away, he thought, to Sydney or some place like that, things might have been different. It was funny how your life could turn on a simple decision. He wondered what Emily must be thinking now, not having heard from him since he sent her a few pounds several weeks ago. And he was surprised by how little he thought of them lately, even the child.

  Someone yelled out, one of the Geelong crowd.

  He picked his way around to the north side of the island. The shearer and his mates had their camp closer to the centre on the very highest ground and he was steering well clear of that, always keeping the spilt waters of the river in sight to his right, to the east.

  Whoever was making the noise wasn’t far from him now so he halted a minute, making sure he stayed where cover was heaviest, every brush against vegetation bringing a shower of water down on him. Part of him wanted to turn back, return to the tent. But there was a chance, too, that he might find a skerrick or two to eat along here. He had to find something.

  Alec scanned the ground around him. There were ants, wriggling black larvae, grubs beneath damp mats of leaf litter, though nothing to eat.

  Someone was in the water.

  He was closer then, edging to a better vantage point across to the north where he could glean what the Geelong mob was up to.

  One of them, the shearer Silas, was in the water wading away from the island. He had stripped off his shirt and jersey and was moving out step by step into water that was up to his thighs. Alec could already see that he must have slipped over at least once, him being all wet. The bulky shearer moved purposefully and fearlessly though. His nephew and Spearitt shouted encouragement, themselves ankle-deep in water.

  Silas had a knife tucked into his belt and every so often as he ploughed through the water he felt for it, making sure it hadn’t somehow worked free. He had the black-headed wallaby, marooned further away still, steady in his sights.

  This was madness though, Alec thought. One man had already drowned and no one knew or could remember what the countryside was like around here before the floods; where the gullies were, where sinkholes and shafts had been dug. Even where floodwaters looked still on the surface, currents conspired trickily beneath. There was debris being dragged along everywhere, ready to snag someone by their ankles and wrestle them under till their lungs burst.

  Sure enough, the next step the shearer took saw him suddenly disappear under water.

  Alec held his breath. The man’s two partners stood mute by the island’s sopping edge. Then Silas bobbed to the surface like a cork, recovering his feet and gasping, coughing and spitting. It took him a full minute to speak and when he did Alec couldn’t hear what he’d said. But the others started sucking in air again and laughing. Spearitt picked up a lump of weed and threw it lamely after the shearer.

  ‘No worries,’ Silas called, waving back and feeling for his knife.

  He kept striding forward confidently, his thick legs cutting through water. So far the muddy slosh was mostly shallow and he made good another ten yards before the treacherous ground underneath him began sloping away. He tried lifting his arms higher as though that might also keep his head clear. When the water was up to his shoulders the ground levelled out and he stopped a moment, feeling ahead of him with his feet trying to work out what might happen next. From the shore they could see only his arms and head now. Alec reckoned he was about a quarter of the way across to the wallaby, which wasn’t any more interested in the human making its way towards it than it might be in a raggy mess of branch floating by. Bedraggled and skinny, the creature was nuzzling at the ground trying to uproot what little plant matter was left on its pocket of earth.

  ‘Get it for us, Unc!’ the boy called out.

  Deciding the water would soon be over his head, Silas pulled the knife from his belt and held it between his teeth as he plunged forward towards his prey, slashing at the water in violent strokes, his feet breaking the surface behind him in noisy splashes that made the wallaby raise its ears.

  Every now and then he let his feet sink back to the bottom as he tested the depth of the floodwaters. Sometimes he’d find nothing and had to keep swimming. Another time he found just enough of a footing to keep his chin above water. Once, to his amazement, he dropped his feet and found the water only up to his waist. He rested a while, using the blunt edge of the knife to scrape away muck stuck fast to his chest.

  Lugging the wallaby back to the island would be no easy business, Alec thought. He wondered if the Geelong crowd would share their kill, even a little of the leftovers, bones and fur.

  Before he knew it the shearer’s feet were on ground again as he began clearing the water, a tired man climbing the slow rise of a hill.

  Silas had the knife in his hand now as he headed towards his quarry.

  The wallaby paused then resumed trying to uproot muddy grass.

  The Geelong shearer was no more than five yards away from it when Spearitt screamed from the island, ‘Don’t let it get away, Silas!’

  This time the cry alerted the animal to danger and it was suddenly upright and bounding two leaps ahead to the water’s edge before it veered to its right, the dripping man in pursuit with knife raised.

  But there was nowhere for the animal to go except into floodwaters, where it would lose the defence of its hind legs.

  Diving onto it from behind, the shearer brought his knife down savagely into its coat. He felt the doughy give of sinew and flesh as his blade sunk in. The anim
al struggled as they rolled in shallow water, under and over as the shearer brought the knife up to its neck and pushed it in, meeting bone first so he had to force harder and twist the knife deeper. Blood coursed from the hilt as the shearer held the animal’s neck tightly and dragged it under the water. Using all of his strength, he gripped the wallaby and gasped for air himself as the animal tried kicking its way free one last time. He released his hold only when he could feel all fight gone from it.

  As his partners watched from the island, Silas dragged the dead animal out of the water, pulling it by its tail. To make certain he’d finished the job he lay it down, knelt beside it and plunged his weapon once, twice, three times into its neck.

  Admiring his handiwork he then calmly and deliberately pushed the knife into the wallaby’s eye, twisting the narrow blade back and forth till the eye came out, bulbous and bloody on the end of the blade.

  As they followed the action from the island, he raised the knife once in their direction, in salute, before bringing it back to his mouth.

  29

  ‘Everything seems to be going backwards,’ Sarah Delaney said to Niall as they stood under cover of the general merchant’s porch waiting for the rain to break. ‘All these troubles coming together and nowhere for anyone to go. Were you at the fire?’

  Niall watched water dribble off the sloping bark shelter above his head. He had hoped they’d be away from the stores by now. Other men were also huddling under their shelter, too close for Niall’s liking.

  ‘I was there. There were two dead and it could have been much worse. There are still some the doc is looking after who are in a bad way.’

  ‘Burns?’

  ‘More broken bones from being trampled with everyone trying to get away.’

  ‘That’s terrible. Fortune was on my side in not going, then.’

  ‘Probably there would have been less hurt if they weren’t all shickered. Though if they were sober they might have panicked more. Who can say?’

  ‘Every man for himself?’

  ‘That was pretty much it. It’s a disaster for here with everything else happening too.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Someone started the fire and people were killed. We have to sort it out. On top of that I’ve got Row baying for someone’s blood. It’s a mess, pure and simple. And when you think how that circus was shaping up and how quickly it burnt to the ground, it makes you wonder doesn’t it, how fast something can change.’

  He wanted to tell her other things, too – about the commissioner and Oriente, his special troopers, about the burning of the dead on her farm – but he knew he couldn’t.

  ‘Do you think it’s clear enough now?’ she said presently.

  Niall peered out from beneath their cover.

  ‘Let’s get away from here,’ he said. ‘Where do you fancy going?’

  ‘To the river?’

  ‘All right.’

  Today it seemed the weather had driven everyone under whatever shelter they could find. There were few wandering about and the diggings seemed barren to Niall, evidence of the good many who had already made their departure. The razing of the circus last night seemed to have underlined many a decision.

  ‘And your parents have gone to Beechworth?’ he asked.

  ‘With Louise. This morning.’

  ‘They won’t be back today?’

  ‘Probably later tomorrow. Or the day after.’

  ‘I’m still surprised they would go and leave you on your own.’

  She paused to think.

  ‘I’m a grown woman. And there are the animals to look after too. Father would be more concerned about leaving them on their own.’

  ‘Still …’

  ‘In fact, it’s good for me. You don’t know what it’s like being cooped up all day with others. There are worse things than having to spend some time on your own. And besides,’ she added, again with that enigmatic smile, ‘I’m here with you, aren’t I?’

  ‘Indeed,’ he found himself replying, in the commissioner’s voice.

  But he was conscious of her watching him.

  ‘Niall, tell me something about your situation,’ she said.

  ‘Like what?’

  She kept pushing along at a pace, quicker than he was comfortable with, although he said nothing. All his years of rough treatment had toughened him, but slowed him down as well.

  ‘Well, such as where you came from before you came here, where you were born. That sort of thing.’

  He watched his feet as he walked, thinking how he might answer. The flooded river’s edge was still two hundred yards or so to the north.

  ‘I’ve been with the police a fair while now,’ he said, as she perhaps realised she had been walking too fast and eased up to keep pace alongside him. ‘Quite a few years, so I’ve lost count unless I sit down and think them through. This isn’t the first diggings I’ve been on. I’ve been watching what’s been going on from the start.’

  ‘Did you ever think about digging yourself?’

  ‘At first I did, when everyone was making plenty. But I also knew I’d be better off in the long run making a steady living.’

  ‘And has it worked out that way?’

  This time he grinned at her. ‘It has.’

  ‘And before gold, where were you before that?’

  He hesitated, wondering how to go forward. He thought of the sound of troopers’ dogs at night, the baleful howling continuing for hours through pitch-black Macquarie Harbour nights. Then all the years he’d wasted.

  ‘I worked out in the west for a family there, on a property doing all kinds of things,’ he said.

  ‘Were they good to you?’

  ‘They were. It was the best job I ever had.’

  ‘So why did you leave? Sorry, I know I’m asking lots of questions. Don’t answer if you don’t want to.’

  ‘That’s all right. I don’t mind that. I think my time was just up. The couple there, Amy and Henry, were good people but it was a long way from anything too.’ He drew a breath. ‘And I’ve said before I’ve got this idea of having my own land and being my own master. That’s what keeps me pushing myself along. Back home they never would have dreamed of it.’

  And in blurting that out Niall was suddenly regretful, knowing he was cornering himself. When you came from England and were someone of his age it meant only one of two things. You had arrived as a free man or had been sent out as a convict.

  ‘So you are from England originally?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And?’ Sarah coaxed.

  ‘From Bedfordshire.’

  She hesitated before asking the next question. ‘What brought you to Australia, then?’

  He paused, pointing casually to where they should walk off the track to make a more direct line to the river.

  He could have said he had emigrated to better himself, to give himself opportunities he never had at home. Or that he was drawn by the example of others who had left England to make their fortunes over here. Or that there was a relative he was following out to the new land.

  ‘I was brought out here against my will.’

  ‘Oh …’ Her voice caught.

  They walked only slowly now, almost at a stop.

  ‘I never did anything against anyone else. Nothing to hurt anyone,’ he said quickly, half-expecting her to plant herself still and then turn on her stride back to the stores. ‘There’s nothing in me like that.’

  ‘No, no. I wasn’t thinking that. It’s just you’ve caught me by surprise. For some reason I thought something else, that’s all.’

  ‘And ever since I won my freedom I’ve been as law-abiding as the next person.’

  ‘Or even more,’ she said, recovering herself. ‘Seeing the work you’re now in.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m curious, I suppose. None of my business and all that, I know. I just wonder how it affects people, because it must.’

  ‘Because of what happened to your father?’

  ‘What do you mean?’
she asked, surprised.

  ‘Your father being a convict, too. Macquarie Harbour it’s said.’

  ‘He’s never said anything to anyone outside of our family,’ she rushed to say, ‘so I don’t know how you could say that, or how anyone else could.’

  ‘Perhaps he hasn’t said anything. But this country is small, isn’t it? Big but small. And not everyone has the best intentions.’

  ‘And what else do these people say about my father?’

  This time Niall stopped, so Sarah was forced to a halt as well.

  ‘It’s said he beats you. You and your sister and your mother. Is that true?’

  ‘It’s not anyone else’s business, is it?’

  ‘No it’s not. Except where someone else wants to make it his business, where he sees something that’s not right.’

  ‘And that’s not your business either, Niall, if that’s why you wanted to see me. If that’s what brought you out to our property, to get me to confess something.’

  She stood defensively, one hand on her hip, challenging him with her grey eyes.

  ‘No,’ he said, meeting her gaze. ‘That’s not why we went there. Or why I went to the escarpment to see you, or why I wanted to see you today. I’m not ashamed of what happened to me, either, though there are things I would change if I could. But I don’t talk about Van Diemen’s Land if I don’t have to, because of how others can use it to their advantage. And to my disadvantage.’

  ‘What did you actually do?’

  ‘To be sent away? I was transported for sticking by my father.’

  ‘I don’t see how they could send you to the colonies for that.’

  But his eyes had grown melancholy as he absently kicked the ground to knock caked mud from his boots. They resumed walking.