Tarrapaldi

by Wayne T Mathews

  “Of course I do. I know exactly how much I can ask of Brutus before he needs to rest. It’s your limit I’m having trouble finding.”

  For the next hour and a half, the horses alternated between trotting and walking while they headed west. Coming over a rise, Claire suddenly turned Brutus off the road and kicked him into a canter.

  Weaving through the trees, she called back over her shoulder, “Don’t look now. But it’s time we went a ways off the track. That’s Aunty Joan and Uncle Jim’s carriage out there in front.”

  “Well if you’ve seen them, then it’s a bit late, M’girl. For they’ll have seen us as well.”

  “Perhaps. But if we don’t get close enough to speak, we’ll be able to say we didn’t see them.”

  Jim Munro leaned forward in his seat as if to see better. “Isn’t that Dennis Harrington turning off the road up ahead?”

  “It could well be, Dear,” his wife, Joan, said. “My eyes aren’t quite as good as they used to be, so I can’t be sure. But there’s not many have a gray like that. Whip the horses up, and we’ll see if we can get close enough to say hello.”

  Munro slapped the horse’s rumps with the reins and urged them into a canter. “Harrington, hold up,” he called. “It’s Jim and Joan Munro. – Damn me, but they’ve got some pace clapped on,” he said to his wife. “We’ll not be talking to that young man today. Did you see who was riding the other horse?”

  “No, Dear, I didn’t. Perhaps it was one of his troopers.”

  “Mounted on a thoroughbred? I don’t think so. I’ll bet a pound to your penny, that was young Claire who just went haring off into the bush. And if that’s the case. I’ll bet another ten pounds to one of your ha’pennies, that I’ll need to be tightening the bed ropes in the guest room when we get home.”

  “Jim Munro. That’s a wicked thing to be saying.”

  “Bloody true though,” Jim said. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the twenty years I’ve been married into your family. It’s the Wordsworth women are mighty hard on bed ropes.”

  Joan leaned closer, nipped his earlobe with her teeth, while tracing her finger nails up the inside of his thigh. “Are you bragging or complaining?”

  Munro chuckled. “A little of both, my love. But only to you. I’ll not be saying a word to your brother and his wife, about what I think their daughter’s up to.”

  “Can you walk, Muchuka?” Billy said gently from where he was leading his horse. “This track’s getting tighter. And it’d be safer for Bo, and you, if he didn’t have you on his back.”

  Muchuka slipped silently from the saddle. Moving with feline grace, she went to her sister. Tarrapaldi divided her bundle of spears and handed Muchuka the slightly shorter ones with the spare throwing stick she’d been carrying.

  “Will you lead, or bring up the rear?” Tarrapaldi asked.

  “I’ll lead,” Muchuka said. “I was along this path while you were down on the river finding your man. With luck, maybe I’ll find another redcoat. If I do, I’m going to spear him in the heart.”

  Tunggaree gripped his daughter’s arm when she brushed past him, forcing her to stop. “When you lead, Muchuka, you must not let your hate hurt the people who love you. For we are following you.”

  “To where, Father? Hell? We’re being chased from the Valley of Wonggaroa by these myals, these men who behave like wild dogs.”

  “We’re not being chased. The Goobahs think we’re dead. We must do nothing to change that until we speak with the Goobah’s governor.”

  “It won’t be the governor you’ll be talking to, Tunggaree,” Billy said. “He’ll send one of his officers. And they’re mostly a pack of myals, like Muchuka says.”

  Tunggaree turned to look at Billy. “Will the governor risk these officers finding out about the gold? I don’t think so. He’ll send someone he trusts if he doesn’t come himself.”

  “Not necessarily, Father,” Tarrapaldi said. “The Governor is not a normal person, he’s a Goobah. Let’s think this over with Nathaniel. Perhaps he’ll know of a solution,”

  Nathaniel frowned in concentration while Tarrapaldi explained, then looked at Tunggaree. “I think you’re right. He’ll probably send someone who he not only trusts, but also someone he thinks we’ll trust. And there’s precious few of them.”

  Tunggaree nodded. “So the solution is?”

  “Tarrapaldi and I can take the gold down to the meeting place. You stay here with Billy and Muchuka, out of sight on the valley rim, and watch what the troopers in the valley are doing. When we have the land grant, we’ll come back.”

  “You don’t want to go off with the gold by yourself?” Tunggaree asked.

  “Would you let me?” Nathaniel said.

  Tunggaree smiled. “If you want to leave, Nathaniel, you can.”

  Nathaniel thought for a moment. “I’ll go to this meeting, and secure your land for you. But then I want to go home.”

  Tunggaree nodded, then turned to follow Muchuka up the narrow path.

  At the top, the faint track led off to the southeast, but Muchuka turned north. Moving like a cat stalking its prey, she seemed to float, without sound, to the edge of the valley rim.

  Tunggaree stopped Billy when he went to follow the girl. “Your horse, Billy. Can Nathaniel ride him?”

  “I don’t know,” Billy said. “No-one else has ever been on him.”

  “Tell your horse Nathaniel is a friend,” Tunggaree said, “and he is to carry him to the meeting.”

  Billy nodded, then gesturing Nathaniel to come closer, he murmured in Bo’s ear and stroked his neck while Nathaniel mounted.

  “Be gentle with him, man. He’s got a soft mouth and he’ll head in the direction you lean. If you want him to go faster, just squeeze with your knees. Don’t kick him with your heels, he doesn’t like it.”

  Nathaniel nodded. “Thanks for the advice, and the horse. I’ve no idea when we’ll be able to get back. But having the horses will make it a lot quicker.”

  “Don’t go trying to make it too quick,” Billy said. “That cart horse Tarrapaldi’s up on is functional, but not fast, and if you push it, he won’t make the distance.”

  “This is true.” Nathaniel looked at the carthorse Tarrapaldi was riding away on, then back at Billy. “Keep your powder dry, my friend. And stay off the ridge lines.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Harrington tightened the girth, dropped the stirrup, and was about to mount when Claire spoke.

  “Are you just going to give Waratina some exercise, or are you trying to sneak off and leave me here?”

  “Damn!” Harrington turned to face her. “I’m not trying to leave you here, Claire. I’m going to. We’ve had our fun so far. But from now on, this whole journey is going to get bloody dangerous. And you can’t come.”

  “Can’t isn’t a word in the language I speak, Bucko.” Claire began braiding the hair she hadn’t had time to do when she’d woken in her aunty’s house, and found out Dennis was missing.

  “Well you’re going to have to learn it, M’girl,” Harrington said. “Because you’re not coming with me past here. We’ve flaunted more than enough rules already, just by staying in your aunty’s house together. The servant’s tongues will be wagging like lamb’s tails. Your father will have me hung, drawn and quartered if I take you off into the bush.”

  Claire tied off her hair with a piece of ribbon, curled and pinned the braid into a bun at the nap of her neck, and tucked her shirt into the trousers she was wearing.

  “Will you help me saddle Brutus?” Claire asked.

  “No, dammit, I won’t.” Harrington said while swinging into the saddle. “The people and country I’m going out to see, are both rough and bloody dangerous. You’ll be a distracting hindrance. So you’re not coming.”

  “The hell I’m not, Mr. High and Mighty, Bloody Harrington,
” she shouted after him while he rode away. “You’re just making this harder for all of us, you twit.”

  He either didn’t hear, or simply ignored her.

  Infuriated, she bolted back to the house, entered her uncle’s library, snatched open his gun case, and took out a double barrel shotgun and two dueling pistols.

  She loaded with powder and shot, and was fitting firing caps when Jones, her uncle’s farm manager, stepped into the room.

  “Are you looking to start a fight with someone, Lass?”

  “Ah, Jones, I’m pleased you’re here.” Claire handed him the loaded pistols, and went back to fitting the caps to the shotgun. “Will you put those in my saddle bags, and have someone saddle Brutus for me please.”

  “And where will you be riding the poor brute with all this artillery?”

  “That’s none of your concern, Jones.”

  “Beggin’ your pardon, Miss Claire, but if you’re not back by the time Mr. Munro gets home,” Jones said, “he’ll definitely be of a different opinion.”

  “Oh very well. I’m going to follow Lieutenant Harrington and have a look at some land to the northwest we’re interested in.”

  “That’s foul country up that way. Would be a different kettle of fish if you was with the lieutenant. But it’s no place for a young lady to be going by herself. I’ll have two of the lads saddle their ponies and go with you.”

  “No! I, — I’d rather be by myself, than with a couple of lags.”

  Mrs. Jones, the manager’s wife, stepped into the room. “We’ll not be sending lags with you, Miss Claire. Fred, why don’t you go on over to the stockmen’s quarters, give the Pike boys a shake. Send them out with her?”

  “They’re a bit young for this, Mary,” Jones said.

  “Oh get away with you, Fred,” Mrs. Jones said. “Those boys were born in the bush. And their brother, Billy, is up that way somewhere. It’ll do them the world of good to have the responsibility of looking after a white woman.”

  “I don’t know the Pike boys,” Claire said. “Are they blacks?”

  “Not full bloods. Young Andrew and Richard are half-castes. Their brother, Billy, though, is a white who was brought up by their Dharug mother’s family.” Mrs. Jones turned to her husband. “Unless I miss my guess, those lads are about ready to go walkabouts, looking for Billy, anyway. So why not do everybody a favor, and send them out that way to look after Claire?”

  “They’re only seventeen or so, Mary,” Jones said. “They’re way too young.”

  “What rot,” Mary said. “I’ll allow they’re only boys. But even so, they’re better bushmen than any others within cooee of this place. Yourself included, Fred Jones.”

  “Is that so?” Jones grinned at his wife. “Then best I be kicking them out of their beds, and packing them off to the back of beyond, before you be deciding to see if they’re better all-round men. Will you be putting some rations in a tucker-bag for them?”

  “Aye,” Mrs. Jones said, “I’ll put some flour and tea in a sack for them. But if you’ll give them powder and shot for their muskets, they’ll come up with more tucker than they’ll be able to eat.”

  “Could you put some sugar in as well please?” Claire said. “I’m not overly fond of the tea the bushmen drink, if it isn’t sweetened.”

  “I’ve not had any sugar in the pantry these two months past, lass,” Mrs. Jones said. “But don’t worry. If you tell the Pike boys you’d like to sweeten the tea, they’ll come up with some wild honey quick enough.”

  When Claire came out to mount Brutus, she found the Pike boys waiting for her. Not much under six foot tall, both boys were as slim as slip rails. Eyes as blue as the sky sparkled with humor under the wavy, dark brown hair that hung down below their broad brimmed hats. Both were dressed in the clothes favored by stockmen. Their stone-colored, off-white trousers appeared to be made from material that Claire was sure, had once been part of a ship’s sail. Lightweight, brown leather vests covered their blue shirts. But their skin color left no doubt that, in the words of the local louts, they’d been touched by the tar brush.

  “You pellahs got savvy track ‘im allee call ‘im, Lieutenant Harrington?” Claire asked in the Pidgin English she’d heard people use when talking to the local Aborigines.

  “No worries, Miss. The lieutenant left tracks a blind man could follow. And we’ve got a fair idea where he’s headed anyway. So it’ll be easy. My name’s Andrew, by the way. And this runt,” the slightly taller of the two indicated the other, “is me little brother Richard.”

  “Oh.” A crimson flush spread over Claire’s face. “I didn’t realize you spoke English.”

  “No problems. We can speak pidgin too. But if our dad had’ve caught us using it, he’d have kicked our backsides till our noses bled. So we didn’t get as much practice as we did with the other languages we speak.”

  “You speak other languages?”

  “Yeah,” Andrew said, “Dad made us learn German, Spanish and French. Mum taught us the Koori dialects.”

  “Have you ever written down what the Koori words mean?”

  “Naw, — never met anyone what knew how to write, what was willing to teach the kids of a gin jockey.”

  “What do you mean, a ‘gin jockey’?” Claire asked. “Is your Dad an alcoholic?”

  “Our dad an alcoholic?” Andrew laughed. “Not bloody likely. With ten kids to feed, he can’t afford the stuff but for special occasions. Naw, dgin is the Dharug word for woman. So a gin jockey is what the white snots call a bloke what lives with a black woman.”

  Claire went rigid. “White snots? Is that what you people call us?”

  Uncomfortable in the face of Claire’s anger, Andrew and Richard looked at each other.

  “Miss,” Richard smiled in embarrassment. “You don’t come close to being a snot. You see, snots don’t look at, much less speak to, people like us.”

  “Oh, I see,” Claire said, her anger evaporating. “So I won’t become a snot until I refuse to look at, or speak to, someone?”

  “That about sums it up,” Andrew said.

  “Sounds fair to me.” Claire smiled. “I think I’m going to like you boys. If I teach you to read and write, will you teach me, and help me write down, what the Dharug words mean?”

  Andrew beamed. “Lady, you teach us how to read and write, and we’ll do more than teach you Dharug. We’ll teach you about Dharug ways, and how to track a honey bee to its hive.”

  Tarrapaldi prodded Nathaniel with her spear. “Wake up. We’re going to have to travel fast if we’re going to talk to the Governor’s officer before his guards catch up to him,” Tarrapaldi said.

  “What are you talking about?” Nathaniel rose, stretched, and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, walked a few steps before relieving his bladder. “Have you been off flying with the fairies again?”

  “I don’t know what fairies are, Nathaniel. But yes. I flew off and saw a man I know is an officer, traveling to the place you told them we’d meet. A Goobah woman and two young warriors are following him. But I don’t think he knows that,” Tarrapaldi said. “We’ll have to move quickly if you’re going to talk to him alone.”

  Buttoning his fly, Nathaniel moved to help Tarrapaldi clean up their camp. When both horses were bridled, and Bo saddled, Tarrapaldi mounted the carthorse and urged him into a reluctant canter. Nathaniel followed, with Bo helping to keep the carthorse traveling by nipping at the animal’s rump whenever he came within reach.

  After an hour, Tarrapaldi indicated a clearing they were approaching by jutting her chin. “We’ll tie the horses there, Nathaniel. Then we’ll go further along the track on foot.”

  When the horses were tethered, Tarrapaldi led off at a trot. After a couple of hundred yards, she turned into a thicket and carefully broke off several leafy branches. She placed some small ones in Nathaniel’s hair so that th
ey hung over his shoulders, before handing him two larger ones.

  “Hold these in front of you as a screen,” Tarrapaldi said, “and do not move while the officer goes past. When he has passed, start talking to him. You’ll have the advantage if he tries to hurt you, because you’ll be behind him.”

  “Where will you be while I do that?” Nathaniel asked.

  “I’ll be down the way.” Tarrapaldi pointed to the east with her chin. “I’ll keep the warriors and the woman occupied while you talk to this officer.”

  “Sounds dangerous.”

  “Don’t worry,” Tarrapaldi said. “They’ll only get hurt if they don’t do what they’re told.”

  “It’s not the danger they’re in that I’m concerned about. And how’re you going to tell them anything, woman? You can’t speak English.”

  “I won’t have to. The warriors are half-caste Kooris. Their mother will have taught them to understand me.”

  To relax himself, as well as alert the people he’d come to meet, Harrington began whistling a jaunty tune when he came to the area Johnson’s letter had described for the meeting.

  Nathaniel cocked his gun when the officer had gone past his hiding place. “Have you seen what the sound of whistling can do to the rocks in this country?”

  Harrington stopped whistling and reined Waratina to a halt without looking back. “Can’t say I have, Nathaniel. It is Nathaniel isn’t it?”

  “Aye, it’s me,” Nathaniel said. “Did Macquarie tell you why I’d be here?”

  “Yes. But you must have known he’d not be able to come himself. He checked your records after he got your letter, and found out it was me who recommended you for a ticket-o’-leave,” Harrington said. “I’m not going to pull any wool over your eyes, Mate. You’ve put both our dicks on the chopping block, and the Governor sent me out here to talk to you about it.”

  “So why have you got the woman and two half-breeds coming along behind you?”