by Julie Janson
Bowen motions to the boat and shouts, ‘Before the tide, go now! Whu karndi!’
Masters is angry and shouts at the laughing crowd as they stand watching the tide ebb away. His face is full of fury; he clutches his chest. Henry holds him up and they walk slowly to the boat, but Masters must have the last word. He stops and summons up a scrap of dignity.
‘Don’t speak unless spoken to! You all must learn to show respect! I represent not only the Governor but God himself,’ says Masters. ‘Who knows why I have been called to this wretched outpost. Look at yourselves, you white ex-convicts marrying Blacks. You are a disgrace to your race! The new world has only brought heartbreak for England. The Americas have been lost and now fester with rebellion and tomahawking Indians. You allow your native concubines to befoul my person, my clothes. You won’t win, you know. We know where you and your half-breeds are hiding. You can’t escape British law! The children of Cain must accept their place in the hierarchy of the Lord’s kingdom. They are placed here to serve us – and you, Mary James, are the worst!’
He coughs and chokes and all those watching are a little alarmed at his purple face, which looks as if it might burst. Ferdinand marches forward and addresses the two reverends.
‘Listen to yourself, Reverend. I fear that you are outnumbered here,’ says Henry. ‘You are wrong, Sir, terribly wrong to threaten them. Let us leave these good folk to their own devices. I see such kindness here and love of freedom. We must not disturb their small paradise. Come, Sir, leave dear Mary and her family alone!’ Henry nods at Mary and she smiles. He registers that smile as a small act of forgiveness. He walks towards the boat with heavy feet. Just before he reaches it, he takes out a package, wrapped in brown paper, from his carpetbag. He looks at Mary, and the teeming children, then places it on the ground.
Mary kneels down, her hand shaking. Henry watches her from a distance. She removes the violin and bow, and tears of laughter fill her eyes. She throws back her head, tucks the instrument under her chin and begins to play. Mercy smiles and dances with the children, swinging them around and around with her gown flying in the wind.
As Mary plays, Masters is lumbering behind Smythe down the beach to where the boatman and policeman are hoisting the sail. A squall is coming, with black clouds moving quickly up the river valley. Lightning flashes – a storm is about to break.
The tide is quickly going out and the boat will be stranded on mudflats at any minute. The boatman pushes the vessel off the mud and the policeman helps as the tide swirls around them. They use oars to steady the craft and yell for the reverends to hurry.
Masters staggers like a hunted animal down the oyster-covered rocks and wades into the river with Henry beside him. Rain has begun to fall. The family on the bank begin to laugh – all twenty of them standing in the grey rain and howling. Henry makes it to the boat but Masters is staggering under the weight of a soaked cassock and he cannot lift himself up to the stern. Henry reaches out and tries to catch the old man, but the rain and the mud have made his hand slippery. The pale, fat trembling fingers reach out. There is a terrible moment of realisation – Henry does not want to save him. Masters’ hand hovers but Henry pulls his away and stands stiffly, watching the man clawing the air.
Masters howls and attempts to swim, but he is purple now and is going under. Bunyips pull him under the rippling waves. His tongue turns white, and there is the gurgling, spitting, gulping sound of death. Henry leans far out over the boat’s stern but he will not grasp Masters’ hand. He holds on to the boat’s rail and watches as he sinks into the grey swirling river.
The men on the boat have not moved to help; they can’t swim. They just stare and raise the sail. The boat takes the wind, the sail is filled and they are away, heading back to Windsor. Mary watches Henry. He shouts out, but his voice is lost in the howl of the storm. Henry is hunched over the rail and seems to be crying; he is black against the swirling grey clouds.
The family watch Masters rising and sinking again in the brownish water, and Ferdinand yells for the children to save him. The oldest boy dives into the water and swims fast towards the bubbling figure. Masters sinks again, then he rises and sinks again with a gurgling cry. A pale, claw-like hand rises out of grey waves and shakes; a gold ring with a black cross flashes, and then he disappears. Bubbles break the surface, then stop.
Above them, a sea eagle weaves and drifts in the rising gale. Mary swims out towards him and she and the oldest boy dive to try to find Masters. They dive again and again, but he is gone. The rain and wind burst upon the surface of the river and they swim back to shore, exhausted and cold. Ferdinand holds out his arms and embraces them both while Mercy places a blanket around them.
‘You try good, but death he come. The will of God. Ja,’ says Ferdinand.
They walk back to the house and drink tea. No-one speaks.
What if the soldiers come to ask after the Reverend? The policeman watched him drown. He did nothing, mind, but the Ferdinand family will surely be blamed. The boat has sailed and they are now left to watch for the body to be washed up on the beach.
‘We will be in trouble. Masters will be missed; they will come for us. But I will explain. We cannot fret about him; he was real cruel but he kept me in employ and fed me for many years so I will not curse him,’ says Mercy and adds, ‘but I am free, free as a bird.’
The next morning, the children come running. They have seen the huge white form of Masters washed up on the beach at high tide. Mary walks down to look at him. His eyes are open, white globes, and his hands are claws of terror. Grey-helmeted soldier crabs eat his face as it lies sideways in the mud. Seaweed and mangrove pods cling to his hair and his black cassock is hitched up to reveal his white buttocks. Death is never pretty.
She looks but can hardly believe he has gone; she keeps expecting him to stand up. One child prods his body with a mangrove stick and Mary tells him to stop.
‘Show respect! That man spirit now. Goong,’ she says to the child.
He is the food for fish and crabs. Bluebottle flies begin to buzz around the corpse. She cannot look away from this shape festering on a beach, thinking that he would not have wanted to die in this strange, wild, exotic place, away from his homeland, his green England. Mary takes a blanket from the house and places it gently over him.
Mercy walks out of the house. She twirls her parasol, showing her fondness for this new-found freedom. ‘Poor old fella, gone to hell now,’ she says, looking down at the body. ‘He was going to give me his wife’s pearls but I don’t care for things now. I just want to live here, build a little house of slabs for myself with a hob and a white clay wall.’ She speaks with a new-found seriousness and Ferdinand listens and nods. He can find her a spot to build.
‘The corpse won’t keep. By the time the authorities arrive, he will stink to high hell,’ says Ferdinand.
‘We must bury him. You can say a few prayers,’ says Mary.
‘No, we will cremate him our way. Make a fire,’ says Biddy.
Ferdinand begins to pick up logs and sticks and he and the children work together to gather a huge pile of wood on the beach. The men carry the body and set it alight to become the pyre.
Ferdinand reads from his Bible and they stand with lowered heads. A burning man, a funeral of sorts, and mumbled prayers.
As he burns, the heat causes the body to flex and Masters sits up, amidst the flames, making all the children scream and run away. Mercy watches with a grim face.
The body burns for many hours, after which the women wash smoke over themselves and the children with branches of gum leaves and sing and dance in mourning for this man. This cleansing ritual gets rid of his ghost and his ashes are gathered and buried under a stone. He will be remembered, but not kindly. The family hope that the truth will be told by Smythe and the death of Masters declared an accident.
…
Bowen is going back to Palm Beach. He holds his spear in its woomera and shows Mary where she must row, for one day, towa
rds the ocean, along Deerubbin River to Broken Bay and Barrenjoey. He tells her she will see gawura whales, dolphins and soaring gulls.
‘You go warawara find lion head on that bay and look way over south side to other headland, long thin beach white marang sand – that home. Kabu, by and by, look see us mob. You come! Lot of crayfish to eat!’ he yells.
He nods at Mary to follow him in his government boat but she is frozen. She wants this home with Ferdinand’s family and the journey seems daunting with her now-failing canoe. Ferdinand is not frightened of the police who will surely come to investigate the death, but Mary is. She decides to row to the Palm Beach.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
1842: BARRENJOEY, PALM BEACH
Riots over terrible conditions are happening back in Parramatta at the Female Factory after their sugar and bread ration is cut. The rioting women say they will shave the Governor’s head. They march on Parramatta town. Troopers are sent to quell the rioters and eighty women are arrested. The ring leaders are placed in stocks. It is pitiful.
Thirty thousand European people now live in Sydney town while the camps at Woolloomooloo, Botany, Kirribilli, Manly and Narrabeen have about thirty Aboriginal survivors each.
…
Mary paddles east down river towards the rising sun. She continues all day under fluffy clouds as Timmy sits in the bottom of the canoe while it slowly fills with water. The child bails happily with a tin mug but Mary is anxious. It might sink at any moment, and she sees the dark shadows of bull sharks. Her heart pounds. Dolphins nose the boat with curiosity. She smiles at Timmy and sings to him. She does not show fear, but the green waves lash the small craft and the water pours into the canoe. Grey clouds gather and the wind picks up and she fears she will be blown out to sea.
She has no idea how far it is to the beach but sees the Lion Island ahead. She is unsure how the Guringai blackfellas will greet her. Even though she is related to Bowen, they might see her as traitor after her journey with the military. What if they know about the killings? Her lips are pinched, her skin is drenched and her arms ache. Fear builds as she takes the pannikin from Timmy and bails out water faster. The canoe is sinking and she fears the dark sea will drown them.
Suddenly, she looks up to see an English whaler boat near Lion Island, with one headsail and a single mast. It quickly tacks towards her. It is too late to escape detection.
There are three half-naked white men on board and they are rounding up into the breeze. They will be upon her soon. One waves to her. She looks over at Patonga Beach but it is too far to reach. They are gaining on her and she panics and paddles faster. The whaler noses into the wind and the sail flaps, the boom is let loose and whaler stops next to her sinking craft. A sailor leans over the side and smiles. He holds out hairy blond arms and nods at the child, while another dives into the water and swims towards her, his long pale frame cutting the water until he is beside her sinking canoe. She wonders if she should hit him with the paddle but it is all happening too fast and Timmy is crying. To her great alarm, the captain leans from the ship and beckons to Mary.
‘Hey Miss, you heading to the Americas?’ he calls. ‘Want a lift to shore?’
‘My boat’s sinking,’ she calls back and a wave crashes over her.
‘Like feeding sharks, do you? You better come on board,’ he yells against the sound of gulls and wind.
She is exposed on the deep river with the Barrenjoey headland looming ahead. The swimming man puts out his arms for Timmy and the child screams and kicks, but she soothes him and hands him to the Englishman in the water. She takes one last look at her canoe, jumps in the water and swims to the side of the whaler. Mother and child are hauled aboard and the child huddles near baskets of fish. Mary collapses on the thwart. She watches as her canoe, with her precious violin, fill with water and slowly submerge.
‘Your boat is sinking, all the way down to Neptune’s realm. Nothing to save darlin’,’ says a sailor.
‘My naoi!’ sighs Mary.
‘Just bark,’ says the sailor.
Mary sits on the boat and touches her pocket where she keeps the parting gift from Ferdinand, a sharp dagger in a leather sheath. She sees the two sailors nudge each other and she covers her breasts with her apron. Her eyes are on the broad-chested young captain because he will determine her fate. Breathing in and out she slows her breath as her hand runs along the wooden seat. She cannot look at the men with their yellowed teeth and fair hair. Mary holds tightly to Timmy and he searches her face for guidance. They are both calming.
The men are surrounded by baskets of fish from their expedition. They have caught bream, whiting and snapper, and piles of mud crabs in the inlets of Pittwater. They offer Timmy water and bread and as he chews, he smiles. The captain says he is heading to Palm Beach Customs House, as he has business with the customs officer about a certain barrel of grog.
‘The new Governor, George Gipps, has gone and established a ruddy Customs House at Barrenjoey on Palm Beach for the government. That Customs officer must catch smugglers and bushrangers. So you watch out over there,’ says the captain.
‘You can get any booze, smudge, wine, gin, grog, whisky, bool, spirits and liquor all brewed at McCarrs Creek,’ says a sailor.
Timmy is allowed to sit next to the dark-haired captain and he helps to steer. His chubby hands grip the tiller. The man points out a line of grey kangaroos jumping along the clifftop. A boiled sweet is produced from a tin. Timmy chews the sweet and the men are not threatening. Mary tells them about Bowen and how she has come to join him.
After beaching the whaler in the small bay of Station Beach, the captain makes sure this woman and child are safe near Bowen’s camp. The sailors all know Bowen, the famous and admired police tracker, and they point out his camp to Mary. They walk along the grey sandy shore to the Customs shack and she is forgotten.
Bowen looks up in surprise and calls out as he strides from his camp to greet Mary with a pannikin of water. She licks her lips, swallowing the water and stares at the beach where a huge white shell midden stretches along the back of the camp. Children run along the shore to welcome Timmy and they sit down in a huddle on the sand. Little stingrays scatter in the seaweed. She has arrived.
Bowen walks next to the new arrivals, looking up to Barrenjoey headland covered in golden wattle and gum trees. She is relieved, and hugs and kisses her son. She sees Bowen’s mother, grand old Queen Cora Gooseberry, sitting near her gunyah of paperbark with a mob of the Guringai clan. They are busy roasting a sheep. The smell is delicious.
‘You want patama?’ asks Bowen, knowing the answer.
He laughs and pats a place on a blanket next to Gooseberry – children pile on her lap. The old dame has her trademark white kerchief tied around her hair and a white clay pipe in her mouth. Mary thinks about the offer she once had to live with this old lady and wonders how differently her life may have been had she taken up this offer. But Mary knows that to live here, deep into the country of the Guringai of Broken Bay, is a last resort and she is still drawn to her true country upriver near Windsor.
The old lady holds up her bronze breastplate for Mary to read, ‘Cora Gooseberry: Queen of Sydney and Botany’.
There is happiness here amongst the gunyahs made of paperbark, timber and tin – and there are chickens and a cow for milk.
She can see back along the great sacred Deerubbin. It is the shining silver track that binds and links her people from the Blue Mountains to Freemans Reach, from South Creek to Marra Marra Creek, and then to Barrenjoey. The vision is clear with interconnected lines of marriage, kinship and a cluster of mixed-up clans.
‘Mingangun pittuma? Muraging, you see my duruninang, my dort?’ asks Queen Gooseberry. The old aunty flashes a smile and inclines her head up the long river past Lion Island to where her extended family lives.
‘Dullai, wirawi guirgurang, mob happy,’ says Mary.
‘Give Muraging more water,’ says Gooseberry.
Mary cries at being call
ed by her tribal name.
The river glistens behind them on what is now called the Pittwater by settlers, after Mr Pitt the Younger. The immense grey-green gum forest with bursts of yellow wattle leans in the wind. Some canoes are on the water with people fishing. Men and women stand with mootins, spearing fish in the clear shallows. A black and white sea eagle soars overhead. Mary sees distant waibala sailing ships, setting sail for England. She wishes them good riddance.
Timmy runs back and forth and she hears the laughter and giggling of children playing along the shore. ‘Pittuma jumna bulbi, bado, family,’ says Mary.
Mary strolls over the midden to the ocean, where she can see whales spouting out to sea, and dolphins playing in the white foam. The curve of the long Palm Beach glistens, the white sand is fringed with cabbage-tree palms.
As she watches, Mary sees a golden skinned toddler on the beach with her family. There is something familiar in the little girl’s body and hair. She is like her lost daughter, Eleanor. The family is sitting now and the child lounges in the arms of a golden-haired young mother. They see Mary and watch her with curiosity and nudge each other.
The mother is dressed in a dirty blue bustled dress with long necklaces of tiny silver shells. A sweet song is ringing out over the sand hills and Mary has tears in her eyes.
The young woman sees Mary and with growing curiosity she walks towards her. Mary holds out her hand and tears stream down her face. It is Eleanor.
She is here, alive and thriving in the Guringai camp, and Mary has a granddaughter.
‘Waiana?’ asks Eleanor.
Mary runs and takes her in her arms.
‘I’m waiana, mother, Muraging. I look for you!’
‘Waiana?’
Eleanor is unsure, sad and angry. She stands back and throws a stick at Mary, then walks away up the beach. Mary cannot catch her breath. Her daughter’s back is bent over sobbing. Eleanor turns and runs back to her mother.
‘You left me! You left me! Awful people, waibala! I looked for you, looked and looked. And cried and you just gone,’ says Eleanor.