by Julie Janson
‘That heathen black girl will be the death of me!’ he yells as he enters the storeroom.
‘Leave her; she shows unending spirit which is to be … condemned,’ says Mrs Shelley distractedly.
Mr Barnes reads out from the list Mrs Shelley is making: ‘Ten yards of cotton cloth, caps and bonnets, smocks, aprons, candles, beds and blankets.’ He surveys the yard to search for Mary for punishment.
Meanwhile, Mary runs her fingers down the shiny, smooth glass windows out in the backyard. She admires her own reflection with her hair in braids and her prickly starched smock. She has come to admire the English sewing and her own ability with making a neat French seam.
…
One day, Aboriginal Chief Nurrugingy comes to the school door. He stands outside with his spears, woomera and cloak. Mary recognises him as a Burruberongal Elder. She silently begs that this man has been sent by her father. All the children gather at the door.
‘Hello old man, what do you want?’ Mr Barnes says in a surprised voice.
‘Give daughter. Come,’ says the Chief.
He points at a yellow-haired child hiding behind Mary’s back, but Mrs Shelley is business-like and holds the little one’s hand with a proprietor-like firmness and says, ‘I will not attempt to dissuade you from taking back your daughter but, if you insist on taking her, there shall be consequences. In my humble opinion, she will not acquire the advantage of an education to help her to adapt to a new life.’
The man snatches up the little girl and runs out with her over his shoulder. Mary leans against the wall and watches as the pinafore and apron are thrown into the paddock as the father dashes away. She imagines herself running behind them with the sun on her face and the smell of eucalyptus. She is diving into a clear pool and floating amongst pink waterlilies with white herons standing nearby in orange and purple light.
…
Mary can now write compositions and recite the Lord’s Prayer. Her annual examination results will be adequate, with a second prize. They will print this in the Town Gazette.
‘Mary, come to me, my dear child,’ says Mrs Shelley. Mary is not sure what she wants but stands before her with hands behind her back.
‘Would you like to indulge me and learn to play the violin?’
But before she can answer, Mr Barnes interrupts: ‘No, Mrs Shelley, this is unconscionable. You will spoil the wretched child. We cannot afford more of our time on such wasteful occupation. They need to be singing God’s words.’ Mr Barnes knows about the proper education of natives. But Mrs Shelley does not listen to him; she places the delicate instrument in Mary’s hands and shows her how to hold it. The bow screeches on the strings. Mary is learning to play the violin. She grins glaringly at Mr Barnes.
‘Idleness will not be tolerated. I have often thought about sending out the older girls into occasional service to teach them for their future employment,’ says Mr Barnes. ‘Heaven forbid that you have to feed them forever. I see enough idle laziness in the sable brethren around the town. I have offered them as servants to that superb man, Magistrate Masters. He requires them only when he entertains as does the Governor, for heaven’s sake.’
Mary is alarmed at this news and whispers to Mrs Shelley, ‘We don’t want to be servants, Mrs. That magistrate, he’s a bad man; he whips people,’ says Mary.
Mrs Shelley nods at Mary and puts her finger to her lips to shush Mary. She eats her scone, and dips pieces into a tea cup, as she inclines her head to Barnes.
‘Well, you should have spoken to me first. But since you have made up your mind and you think that you are my admirable superior in all matters, I shall allow the older girls to go to work,’ says Mrs Shelley.
Later, Mrs Shelley sits on a milking stool by Mary’s bed. The candle glimmers with yellow light and she looks pretty. Wind blows a shutter somewhere and it clatters. Mary can hear the wind sing of the great gum forest, the rivers and tumbling stones.
‘The Lord’s my shepherd; I’ll not want …’ Mrs Shelley sings gently like a whisper.
‘I don’t want to be a servant,’ says Mary.
‘You will be, tomorrow. But don’t be afraid, no-one will hurt you there. I will see that you and Mercy are treated in a compassionate way. Nothing to fear. I will remonstrate with any employer who does otherwise. Sleep, child.’
…
Mr Barnes is smoking a pipe on the verandah while humming a tune from his hymn book. The acrid smell spreads across the field. He searches the hills for gathering tribes, men in topknots with bones in their noses and men with painted shields. He searches for men with flying sharp spears and clattering boomerangs, men bringing terror and bloodied bodies. The air is buffeted by a coming storm.
CHAPTER SIX
1820: AN EXPEDITION
Some years earlier, Governor Macquarie had raised the flag in the new town of Bathurst, west of the Blue Mountains. It was intended to be the administrative centre of the western plains, where orderly colonial settlement was planned. However the Wiradjuri warrior Windradyne led his people in open warfare against the newcomers.
Governor Macquarie writes in his diary: ‘I inspected ten new settlers for Bathurst. I have agreed to grant each fifty acres, a servant, a cow, four bushels of wheat and to receive into King’s Store all the wheat they can grow for the first twelve months.’
Recently Mr Barnes has been on a long and tiring expedition with Captain Woodrow, who has been observed about the town riding his horse, and he is said to be tall, handsome and commanding in his uniform with golden epaulettes and brass buttons.
Mary and Mercy are now the senior girls of the school because they are about fourteen years old, so Mrs Shelley gathers them in the drawing room to hear about the adventures of Mr Barnes and the captain:
‘I feel obliged to elaborate on the story in the newspaper about my excursions with Captain Woodrow. Everyone is talking about my noble exertions,’ says Mr Barnes.
‘I have heard rumours of atrocities committed against the sable brethren’, says Mrs Shelley, but Barnes ignores her remarks. ‘Perhaps your exertions were less than Christian?’
‘I had the opportunity of speaking to a tribe of native Darug Blacks in the interior as they were getting ready to go to war with their neighbours. We put our horses up at a settler’s house and walked into the camp. The children ran away, but King Yarramundi came to speak to me. And lo and behold, despite my poor skill in linguistic matters, I have learnt some of this dialect. Quai bidja means ‘come here’, so you girls werowi will need to hear this and obey.’
Mary is alert now. She sees the old Chief standing in their camp. A feeling of elation and expectation rises in her. She wishes she was standing with that old grandfather now.
She asks her question, ‘You see the old Chief? You ask him about my daddy? Where he’s gone?’
She receives no answer but her eyes link with Mercy’s and they lean forward to hear every thread of evidence that the Darug and Gundungurra people are still living in the Kurrajong camp. The girls grip each other’s hands; they are desperate to hear about Yarramundi’s people.
‘I spoke to William Cox, a landholder, and a very well-dressed man in a black velvet smoking jacket. Quite handsome, I thought. And I much admire good English black velvet; silver clasps would be nice with a French cut,’ says Mr Barnes. ‘He said that we are wasting our time trying to educate the Blacks. He said it would be better to shoot them all and manure the ground with their carcasses. I was sorry to hear flawed judgement and kept silent. He was a disgusting man, albeit with a nice sense of fashion.’
‘Perhaps it would have been beneficial to speak out. Some might say it was cowardly not to. I am shocked that you do not support my views. Perhaps I should find another teacher,’ says Mrs Shelley. Mary and Mercy watch with growing alarm. Will they ever find out about their families?
‘I regret that you hold me in such low esteem. Others have said I am much admired about the town. Some have said I should be in uniform and I should look s
plendid, I think,’ says Mr Barnes.
Mary nudges Mercy, and her eyes betray her fear as she blurts out: ‘I want to know about my daddy. Does this Chief say where my daddy’s gone?’ Mary’s voice is louder than it has ever been.
‘Tell her! Mr Barnes, we often use good manners instead of utilising our higher calling and speaking out against such wrong-doings. The child needs to know about her family! We will all be judged!’ yells Mrs Shelley as Mary rushes forward and slips her hand into the mistress’s. Both hands tremble.
Mary watches Mr Barnes’ nose. The clumps of hair look like possum tails and she wonders why he has them growing in his ears as well. She is beginning to hate him and his little hymn books even more.
She imagines her father standing up to the soldiers. She must find him. Perhaps Mercy will come too. But her friend is now putting her finger in a dish of butter on the mahogany table. She rubs the buttery finger onto her scaly legs. Mercy admires her own shiny skin, all golden brown, and has lost interest in adult words. She sucks butter from her knuckles.
Mr Barnes hangs his head and moans. He sneers at them as he fills his pipe then reties his necktie while gazing in a mirror on the sideboard.
‘Where is your family now? Who knows? No such heathen family exists any more. Are you an imbecile, child?’ He is about to walk out of the room.
‘My daddy’s not finished up. You might be finished up!’ Mary yells as she leaps at Mr Barnes. Her fists strike him on the chin and her hands flail at his chest. She cannot bear the stupidity and cruelty of this man. Mr Barnes pushes her away and she falls on the floor.
Mercy jumps up and the butter dish clatters to the floor. She stands between Mary and Barnes and screams, ‘Don’t touch her! Or I’ll kill you!’
Mr Barnes pinches Mercy hard on the cheek and shoves her to the floor. He leaves and slams the door. Mrs Shelley strokes Mercy and soothes her.
‘You are like my daughters. Nothing will harm you. Shush.’
Mary can see her father walking into sunlight with crows above his head.
‘They might be dead. We’re all going to perish in that great judgement. That is what we must all the time think about. We must think about Armageddon like we are taught in the Bible. Everyone must face God and be judged, or get burned,’ says Mercy with authority.
…
Mary and Mercy are walking about town on errands for Mrs Shelley when they come across some Darug farm labourers sitting in the square. The men laugh at the latest story about the reckless exploits of the military. They hear that soldiers who followed Nurrugingy, the Aboriginal guide, returned to Windsor empty-handed, exhausted and sun-sick – no prisoners, no killing. They didn’t even see a blackfella. The children laugh because they know that Nurrugingy tricked the expedition and led them nowhere. Mercy declares that all the blackfellas will attack the soldiers next time for sure.
…
That evening Mr Barnes walks in from the local inn and reports to Mrs Shelley, ‘Captain Woodrow – too good for the likes of me! He has been seen in the company of some lieutenants striding around town in ridiculous red gaiters. The foolish peacock! Next he will disport in a braided jacket. They make up the uniforms as they go. All fancy puff and no substance,’ says Mr Barnes.
Mrs Shelley assembles the class to tell them about the latest military exploits of the captain.
‘The captain is a hero; he has braved the Blue Mountains to capture bad people who would take our lives if they had the chance,’ says Mrs Shelley.
The girls whisper and fidget.
‘That captain won’t arrest warriors in the Blue Mountains. He is going to be afraid of blackfellas whu karndi. He will be scared big time,’ says Mary, and continues, ‘He is not a noble man. He says he protects the farmers but his soldiers murder with impunity. I am not convinced of his heroism.’
‘He’s going to shiver in the wind like a baby, because blackfella will hunt him down,’ says Mercy.
‘Quiet girls. He is under orders and cannot disobey military commands. You must not say terrible things about him,’ says Mrs Shelley.’ She holds up a musket.
‘Mr Barnes has tutored me in the loading and firing of a weapon, although for what purpose I am not privy to. I shall instruct the older children in case of future need. Mary will be first, so she must step outside with us to the garden, while the other children remain inside. Safety first!’ says Mrs Shelley.
Mary skips forward with glee to learn about the placing of flint in the flint screw and how to cock the trigger and fill the shot and other useful tasks. She wishes she owned such an implement because it could be useful through life. She hugs the oak stock of the musket to her shoulder.
Mr Barnes taps his pipe and leans close to Mrs Shelley. He whispers loudly: ‘That captain will have to be successful, because I have heard he has certain financial requirements. He is beholden to Magistrate Masters, at least fifty pounds.’
…
Next day the sun is shining and the flowers are blooming by the window. Pink roses are covered in bees and the children are happy in their occupations. Mrs Shelley embroiders on a frame, having shown the young girls how to sew blanket-stitch on sample cloth. They learn quickly and produce small blankets made of rags.
Mr Barnes has recently taken an interest in native things and he arranges his collection of native curios on a desk. He questions Mary and the others endlessly for information. He shows them a crystal from a kangaroo pouch, but they are afraid of the object from a Karadja man. Mr Barnes does not realise how dangerous this thing is and does not know that touching it causes sickness or death.
Mary whispers, ‘Karadji kibber, doctor stones are not for girls.’ She turns her head away, but he insists on her looking. Her face grimaces in pain. This thing can cure a spear wound but only the Karadja doctor can use this special stone. Her hair stands on end; the powerful stone is making the room shudder. She tries to get away but Mr Barnes holds it above his head to catch the light. Mary expects thunder and fire to erupt. This man will bring terrible things to the house: the spirits that protect this stone will take revenge.
Mr Barnes is a fool. He even tells them that he has been a witness to digging up graves to get the skulls of buried people. Mary is horrified and prays he does not make them look at these.
…
One day Mrs Shelley has an unexpected visitor: Captain Woodrow knocks on the door. Mary watches him and sees that he is good looking for a waibala, but his nose holes are too small. His brass buttons are coming loose and his blond hair grows long over his collar. He has a sunburnt face and a crinkled smile with startling pink lips under a carefully trimmed moustache. Mrs Shelley seems flustered by his visit and she trembles as she pours the tea.
He says he is dedicated to soldiering but looks at Mary and the other young ones as though he longs for a family. He is almost playful towards them. He gives Mary a tiny brooch with an eagle on it, but Mercy is jealous and there is a tussle in the hallway as she tries to grab it.
‘Give it to me! I am here the longest; it should be my brooch,’ says Mercy. But Mary grips it tightly and growls with a newly found strength. Mercy backs away.
The captain does not drink or swear but he does smoke. His pipe is always clenched in his teeth and he has a tobacco pouch in his pocket. Mary thinks her father would like that pouch. The captain keeps tapping the ash from his pipe.
…
Some months pass and Mrs Shelley is often surprised to find Captain Woodrow at her door. He seems to visit when he knows Mr Barnes is away. The two gentlemen have fallen out over arguments to do with expeditions that do not eventuate. One day a leg of pork is delivered to Mrs Shelley as a gift from Captain Woodrow and she dares to host a dinner party.
There have been days of fussing over the food and decorations. She rushes about giving orders and arranging platters of roasted vegetables and modest foods to be served on the lawn. Mary wears the brooch and waits on the table that sags under the weight of the pork. Cook wipes dribbles of
blood from the plate and pushes the platter into Mary’s hands to deliver to the table.
Captain Woodrow carves the meat and offers Mary a piece while winking at her. She shakes her head but Mercy bounces up and grabs the morsel and hides it in her pocket, all sticky with fat. They seldom eat such meats, and it is unbearable to see the food and not try to taste it. The girls stand straight and wait to take the plates away. As they clear the table, the smell of the leftover meat is too much and Mary’s mouth waters until Mercy takes another morsel from a used plate and secretly hands it to her.
Mrs Shelley sits next to their honoured guest and Captain Woodrow but she is shy and blushing when he looks at her; he is flirting with her. He tells the assembled dinner party about his latest escapade and holds court as he draws a map on the tablecloth.
‘We formed line ranks, entered and pushed on through a thick brush towards the precipitous banks of a deep rocky creek. The dogs gave the alarm and the natives fled,’ says Captain Woodrow.
‘Thank the Lord for that! Please don’t tell us any more; I cannot bear it!’ says Mrs Shelley.
Mary drops a jug of gravy. Her shock at hearing of native deaths is terrible and doesn’t see the sudden hard slap that hits her face. Cook has her by the hair, out of sight of the table behind a screen.
‘Slattern Black!’ hollers Cook. Mary holds her cheek from the blow and slaps the cook back in the face. The shocked woman cannot close her mouth as she lashes out again.
‘You clean it up quick smart or I give you a beating later,’ whispers Cook, and Mary takes a cloth and mops up the spilt gravy.
‘A smart firing ensued in the grey dawn of morn. We saw their figures bounding from rock to rock.’
Mrs Shelley interrupts: ‘No more of these stories. Have you no heart?’
‘I had ordered my men to take as many prisoners as possible. I regret to say, my dear Madam, many were shot and others met their fate by rushing in despair over the precipice. ‘Twas a melancholy but necessary duty,’ says Woodrow.