Esty's Gold

by Mary Arrigan

  ‘Ooh, I shouldn’t sit down,’ she gasped. ‘Too hard to get up again. Pleased to meet you all.’ She smiled, and her chubby sunburned cheeks formed apple shapes. ‘Nice to meet folks on this long journey.’

  ‘You’re going to Ballarat too?’ asked May, looking with puzzlement at the flock of sheep.

  ‘We have our gold right there,’ said Adam, nodding towards the bedraggled flock.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked John Joe, jumping from his horse to lead him to the water. ‘Gold sheep?’ And he laughed.

  ‘In a way,’ replied James Baker. ‘Isn’t that right, Tess?’ he went on, patting the sheepdog which had come over to investigate the strangers. ‘Wherever there are gangs of people toiling in the earth, there’s hunger. And where there’s hunger, there’s a need for tucker. And, as master butchers from Geelong, me, my missus and my son will make our fortune with them there sheep. No digging in the ground for us, sir. We’ll set up our corral and sell the best lamb chops at good prices.’

  Grandpa chuckled, as he unhitched our horse to drink from the river. ‘That’s very shrewd of you, Mr Baker,’ he said.

  We chatted some more. It was good to cool ourselves by splashing our feet and faces upriver from the sheep. We all shared out our food. Theirs was mostly salted mutton, hard to chew. When it was time to leave, they took a whole leg of salted lamb from the back of their wagon and gave it to us.

  May nudged me. ‘What on earth will we do with that chunk of boot leather?’ she whispered. We both suppressed our giggles in our handkerchiefs when Mama responded by giving Mrs Baker a pot of chutney – sour and lumpy, because we weren’t familiar with the vegetables we’d used to make it.

  ‘Fair’s fair,’ May whispered into my ear. ‘That’ll kill them, and the lamb will kill us.’ We smothered our giggles some more.

  ‘We won’t be very far behind ye,’ James Baker called out, when we’d said our goodbyes. ‘See you folks in Ballarat.’

  ‘Those people could end up wealthier than many diggers,’ said Grandpa as we moved on, leaving the baaing sounds behind us.

  ‘Not us, Mr Maher,’ said John Joe, setting his horse to a canter beside us. ‘We’re going to make a fortune. You’ll see.’

  That night we lit our fire on more open ground. James and his son had warned us about the dangers of bush fires and marvelled that we hadn’t already set fire to Australia by setting up camp under trees.

  We’d scarcely settled down for the night – Mama, May and I in the tent, Grandpa and John Joe under the cart, when we were awakened by loud shouting. Grandpa and John Joe were up and about by the time we’d wrapped our shawls around us.

  ‘What is it? What’s happening?’ gasped Mama.

  ‘Sshh,’ said Grandpa, holding up his hand and directing his good ear towards the sound.

  ‘Help!’ a voice cried.

  ‘Don’t go,’ said May, as John Joe made to move in the direction of the cry. ‘It could be a trap.’

  But when the cry rang out again, Grandpa unhooked the lantern from the side of the cart and edged towards the sound, followed by John Joe. Mama put her arm around the frightened May and motioned to me to join them. But I followed Grandpa and John Joe. I couldn’t bear not knowing what danger might await them.

  ‘It’s Adam!’ I heard John Joe cry out, as I caught up with them. Sure enough, when Grandpa held the lantern aloft, Adam limped towards us.

  ‘Bushrangers,’ he gasped. ‘They came on us just as we’d settled for the night. Threatened us with cudgels and took our food supply. Made off with most of our sheep. Pa and me – we tried to stop them…’

  ‘Where are your pa and your mother?’ put in Grandpa, straining his eyes to look beyond the ring of lamplight.

  ‘Pa’s hurt bad,’ said Adam. ‘He stood up to them, tried to fight them off. We both did. And…’ his voice tapered off as he looked down at his bloodied shirt.

  ‘Your mother?’ asked Mama, who had appeared with May. ‘Is your mother all right, Adam?’

  ‘She’s tending Pa,’ said Adam.

  ‘Oh, this is too bad,’ said Mama. ‘How far back are they? We’ll come and help.’

  ‘No, Missus,’ said Adam. ‘Don’t leave your wagon. Those thieving scum could strike you next.’

  I shuddered at the thought. We’d been warned about these bushrangers – escaped convicts, mostly – but never thought we would fall victim to them.

  Mama took Adam’s arm and led him towards our camp.

  Grandpa put his hand on John Joe’s shoulder. ‘You stay, lad,’ he said. ‘You stand guard at our camp. Arm yourself with anything you can lay hands on. Check that the moneybox under the wagon is well hidden. I’ll ride back along the track and find Adam’s folks.’

  John Joe protested that he should be the one to head back, but Grandpa insisted he’d be more use at the camp.

  ‘Let me come with you,’ I said, as Grandpa saddled up the wagon horse. ‘I could take John Joe’s horse. Please, Grandpa. You’ll need help.’

  He hesitated for a moment. ‘All right, Esty,’ he said. ‘But if there’s any trouble, you must ride back.’

  ‘Oh no,’ put in Mama. ‘No, Esty. Please stay.’

  But I was already untethering John Joe’s horse. ‘Don’t worry, Mama,’ I said. ‘We’ll be back soon.’

  We didn’t speak as we raced back along the track. I hadn’t ridden a horse since the days when Papa used to take me riding around the estate. And that was gentle riding, not this fast gallop. We had only gone a couple of miles when we spotted a faint lantern light ahead. Grandpa pulled up and held up his hand for me to do the same. We slowed the horses down to a walk and edged warily towards the light.

  ‘All quiet,’ whispered Grandpa. ‘No reason for those thieves to hang around, once they’d got what they wanted. They’re well gone.’

  Still, we made no noise as we approached the light. When we were within earshot, Grandpa called out softly. ‘Mrs Baker. Don’t be frightened.’

  ‘Who’s that?’ Mrs Baker’s voice was tremulous. The flap of the canvas tent opened slightly.

  ‘Maher,’ replied Grandpa. ‘We found Adam. He told us what happened. We’ve come to help, me and my granddaughter.’

  ‘Oh, Mr Maher,’ Mrs Baker sobbed, running from the tent. ‘Can you believe it? They came upon us so suddenly…’

  ‘Where’s your husband, Ma’am?’ put in Grandpa.

  She held back the canvas flap to admit us into the small tent. I stifled a cry when I saw James Baker stretched out on a blanket. There was blood everywhere.

  ‘I told him,’ sobbed Mrs Baker. ‘I told him not to go after those evil people. But would he listen? Oh no. Had to take them on, didn’t you, old man?’

  It was hard to know if she was angry or proud of her husband’s bravery.

  James smiled painfully at us. ‘I’m all right,’ he mumbled through swollen lips. ‘Gave as good as I got. Me and Adam both. And Tess too,’ he added, stretching out to pat the dog lying beside him. ‘She went for those beggars, didn’t you, girl?’ Tess wagged her tail feebly, worn out from the night’s activity.

  ‘But it didn’t stop that lot taking all our food and flock,’ said Mrs Baker bitterly.

  ‘All your sheep?’ asked Grandpa.

  ‘We managed to hold on to a about a third,’ said James. Grandpa turned to me.

  ‘Esty,’ he said. ‘You help Mrs Baker load up. We’ll move them to our camp. There’s safety in numbers. Your mama will help Mrs Baker to patch up her husband. Right now, we must get away from here. I’ll round up the rest of the flock.’

  ‘Oh, bless you,’ said Mrs Baker, putting her hand on Grandpa’s arm. ‘We’ll never forget your kindness.’

  When he’d established that James had no bones broken, that his injuries were mostly cuts and bruises, Grandpa took a lantern and the sheepdog and went to round up the sheep. I knew he’d manage that; I’d watched him do it so many times on the estate.

  I helped get James into the wagon and made h
im comfortable. Then Mrs Baker and I threw everything into the back.

  We could hear the bleating draw nearer as Grandpa herded the sheep in our direction. Mrs Baker hitched the horse to the wagon and we moved off.

  I rode behind, keeping an eye on James. Now and then he’d emit a groan, but other than that, the journey passed off without incident. That’s not to say I wasn’t frightened; at every twist on the track I stopped breathing, for fear of attack. It wasn’t until we saw the light of our own camp that I felt more at ease.

  Mama, May and John Joe rushed to meet us, followed by a limping Adam. Even in the faint light I could see that he had been cleaned up and bandaged.

  ‘After tonight,’ said Grandpa, as he dismounted, ‘we travel together. John Joe, help me to get these sheep together. We’ll put up a makeshift enclosure until the morning…’

  ‘No need,’ put in James, as John Joe helped him down from the back of the cart. ‘Tess will stop any of that lot from wandering off.’

  ‘Good,’ said Grandpa with relief. I could see that he was exhausted. ‘Until we reach Ballarat,’ he went on, ‘we’ll take turns keeping watch during the nights. We’re in dangerous territory.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  The sheep slowed down our progress. We should have reached Ballarat after four days, and we’d now been travelling for six. Still, there was something comforting about having extra company. James Baker, in spite of his black eye, cut cheek and bruised skull, insisted he was well enough to look after the small flock. He and Adam, along with Tess, managed to keep them from wandering off the track. Mama and Mrs Baker proved their worth by making meals, while May kept the makeshift camp-stops in order. Me? I decided that women’s work did not interest me. Papa had called me his ‘strong sweetheart’ and I intended to stand by that. I’d help with the physical work – herding the sheep, helping with the fires and making camp.

  ‘Perhaps you’d help prepare a meal, Esty?’ Mama said to me one evening. I was writing by the light of the fire.

  ‘No, Mama,’ I said. ‘You three are doing very well.’ I could almost see Papa nodding approvingly. ‘I need to write something.’

  ‘Write?’ May said. ‘Write what, may I ask?’

  ‘A journal,’ I replied. ‘I’ve begun keeping a journal of our travels. Not of the voyage. I was too sick and miserable to write in that cabin. This journey is what I’m recording. And I’ll go on writing when we reach Ballarat. Some day, I’ll put it all into a book and everyone will know our story.’

  ‘Daft daydreams,’ scoffed May. ‘You’re a lazy good-for-nothing, Esty Maher. Didn’t you learn anything in service?’

  ‘Of course I did, May,’ I laughed. ‘I learnt that reading and writing are the best weapons against the kicks and barbs in life. After all, wasn’t it reading that brought us here?’

  ‘Writing. Hmm,’ May muttered later, giving the blanket she was spreading an extra shake. ‘Just make sure you write nice things about the beautiful young lady who was your companion through all those travels.’

  ‘Who would that be, May?’ I said, and ducked when she threw a pillow at me.

  Our banter ceased when we heard raised voices.

  ‘Oh, no,’ groaned Mama, ‘Please don’t let it be trouble.’

  ‘I’ll see what’s happening,’ I said, grabbing my shawl.

  ‘No, Esty!’ said Mama sharply. ‘I forbid you to leave the tent. Whatever is going on, leave it to the men.’

  ‘She’s right, Esty,’ put in May. ‘What can you do if there’s trouble?’

  ‘I can be there,’ I replied. ‘Remember what Grandpa said about numbers?’

  ‘Stop, Esty,’ Mama went on. ‘I don’t want you going out there. We don’t know who…’

  ‘Mama,’ I said evenly, pulling on my boots. ‘We’re in rough country. It’s not like home – sitting in a parlour and leaving the yard work to the men. We’re all in this together. You can both lie here if you like. I’m going out there.’

  As if to confirm my words, we heard Mrs Baker’s voice among the male voices.

  ‘Esty…’ Mama began. But I’d already upped and gone.

  Grandpa was holding up a lantern. Around him were gathered a group of men, some on horseback, some dismounted. I didn’t call out. I just stood beside Grandpa.

  ‘About five of them,’ one of the men was saying. ‘They’re picking on small camps. They’ve already robbed four families of their equipment.’

  ‘They must be the ones,’ said Mrs Baker. ‘They took our sheep and our food. Beat up my husband and son too. I hoped they’d be long gone.’

  ‘They’re keeping their sights on the track to Ballarat,’ a rider said, patting his restless horse. ‘We don’t know where they hide out, but they know the territory well.’

  ‘Thank you for warning us,’ said Grandpa. ‘We’ll double our watch.’

  ‘Have you any protection?’ one of the men asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked John Joe. ‘There’s me and Mr Maher and the Bakers…’

  ‘I mean, are you armed?’

  ‘No,’ said Grandpa.

  ‘I have a gun,’ said Adam. ‘Didn’t get time to fetch it when they came – they took us by surprise.’

  ‘Well make sure you have it ready now, son,’ said the man who seemed to be the leader of the group. ‘And move on as soon as you can.’

  ‘Who are you?’ asked Mr Baker.

  ‘Peter Lalor is my name,’ he replied.

  ‘Irish?’ asked Grandpa.

  The man smiled. ‘Indeed,’ he replied. ‘I came over two years ago.’

  ‘You sound like an educated man,’ went on Grandpa.

  Peter Lalor laughed. ‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘But a degree from Trinity College, Dublin doesn’t prepare anyone for this life, so we’re all equal here, sir. These men and I are from the diggings. We heard from newcomers that the trail was dangerous and we’ve ridden out to warn people. Are there more of you behind?’

  Grandpa shook his head. ‘We’re slower than most, on account of the sheep,’ he said. ‘If there were any within a day’s journey behind us, they’d have caught up by now.’

  ‘We’ll ride back a couple of miles to check,’ said Peter. ‘We’ll catch up with you folks later.’

  We stood close together until the thundering sound of their horses’ hooves faded into the darkness.

  ‘Who were they?’ asked May. Her curiosity had got the better of her and she came to stand beside me.

  ‘Diggers,’ replied John Joe. ‘They came to warn us of danger. Those bloody bushrangers have robbed lots like ourselves.’

  ‘Oh no,’ groaned May, putting her hands to her face. ‘I thought those thugs would be well behind us by now.’

  ‘It seems they’re everywhere,’ grunted James. ‘They know the land and can criss-cross as they please.’ His tone changed to anger and he spat into the dust.

  Grandpa was still staring in the direction of the riders. ‘A Trinity man,’ he muttered. ‘Who’d have thought we’d meet an educated gentleman in the bushlands?’

  May pulled her shawl tighter around her. ‘Oh God,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so frightened.’

  John Joe put his arm around her. ‘Don’t you worry, girl,’ he said. ‘I won’t let anything bad happen. I’ll break every bone in the body of any bushranger who comes close to us.’

  ‘Come back inside, May,’ said Mama, who had joined us. ‘Let’s try to get some sleep.’ May let Mama draw her back to the tent. Mama looked at me as if she wanted to say something, but the moment passed and she followed May inside. It was Grandpa’s turn to watch, so I went and sat with him under a gum tree.

  ‘Will we be all right, Grandpa?’ I asked, crushing a gum leaf and breathing in its comforting scent.

  Grandpa sat forward and leaned his elbows on his knees. ‘I hope so, Esty,’ he murmured. That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I wanted Grandpa to comfort me, to tell me that everything was going to be all right, just as he had always done when I was yo
unger. But I was older now and our worries were different – worldly ones, in a strange land. Soft words had no place here.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I must have fallen asleep under the tree, because it was almost dawn when Grandpa nudged me.

  ‘Horses,’ he whispered, getting to his feet. It took me a moment to wake up – my dreams had been dark and disjointed.

  Grandpa clutched my arm and pulled me into the sheltering shadows. His grip became tighter as the hoofbeats drew nearer. We could see that the others had heard them too. John Joe and Adam had slipped out of the tent they shared and lay on the ground. Mama’s face appeared, white and frightened, at the opening of our tent. She probably hadn’t slept all night.

  ‘Ho!’ a voice called out. ‘We’re back.’

  Grandpa’s grip relaxed. ‘Thank God,’ he whispered.

  The six men dismounted and approached Grandpa and me. ‘Any sign of trouble?’ Grandpa asked anxiously. Peter Lalor shook his head. In the dying light of the fire I could see his dusty, worn-out face. ‘Nothing,’ he replied, as he tethered his horse to the tree. ‘They’re a slippery lot, those bushrangers. They could be anywhere.’

  His words made me shiver. Had we come this far, only to battle with dangerous criminals who’d think nothing of killing us for our paltry possessions?

  ‘We’ll stay here with you for the rest of the night,’ said Peter Lalor. ‘In the morning we’ll ride alongside for a while.’

  ‘Oh, that would be good,’ Grandpa said with a sigh. We settled back under the tree as the men unrolled blankets from their saddles and spread them out near the fire, keeping their rifles beside them. I envied the way they lay down and went straight to sleep.

  ‘We’ll be all right now, Esty,’ said Grandpa. ‘Why don’t you go back and get some sleep, girl.’

  ‘No, Grandpa,’ I said. ‘This is where I want to be.’

  He shook his head. ‘You’re an impossible little madam,’ he said.

  ‘Good,’ I laughed. ‘An impossible little madam has a better chance of survival here.’

  Next morning, everyone was in high spirits. The presence of Peter and his men made us feel safe and eased the tension that had made us all feel so edgy of late. Mrs Baker produced another salted leg of lamb and sliced it expertly with a butcher’s knife. Mama fried some potatoes and onions, and we sliced and handed around one of our precious loaves. But we’d have given these men anything, we were so pleased to have them with us.