Esty's Gold

by Mary Arrigan

  When we loaded up, they rode with us. Peter chatted with Grandpa as he cantered beside us. As for me, I rolled into the back of the cart and dozed. Lately, Mama had taken to sitting up with Mrs Baker in her wagon. May was walking with John Joe. It was reassuring to hear her giggling.

  When I awoke, I was surprised at the silence. I crept to the front of the cart. John Joe had taken over the reins from Grandpa.

  ‘He’s sleeping in the Bakers’ wagon,’ he said, before I’d even asked. ‘He’s exhausted. An amazing man, your grandpa. I’d trust that man with my life.’

  ‘You already have,’ I said. ‘Where are the men?’ I leaned forward to look around.

  ‘Gone,’ replied John Joe.

  ‘Gone?’ I echoed. ‘Gone where?’

  John Joe shrugged. ‘They went on ahead. We’re too slow for them.’

  ‘Oh, I wish they’d stayed with us, John Joe,’ I sighed.

  ‘It’s all right, Esty,’ John Joe said, putting his hand on mine to comfort me. ‘We’ll be all right now. Just two days to go. I’d say those thugs are well gone from anywhere near here.’

  Two whole days. Two dark nights. I wished I could go back to sleep and not wake up until we arrived at Ballarat. I jumped down from the cart and walked along on my own. I tried to push my fears from my mind, but it was like trying to keep back a swarm of flies. I could hear Mama, Mrs Baker and May chatting, as their cart caught up with me. Mama leaned out when she saw me.

  ‘Esty. Did you have a good sleep, dear?’

  ‘Yes, Mama, I did,’

  ‘Well, you needed that,’ she went on, ‘after riding off with Grandpa and sitting up all night.’

  I looked up sharply to see if she was annoyed, but she had resumed her chat. When I realised the resentment was all mine, I felt ashamed. I couldn’t understand why my feelings towards Mama had changed. I’d hoped it was a passing phase, that things would go back to the way they had been before she’d sent me into service. But I’d never forget that awful day, and the thought of it filled me with guilt.

  I looked around for someone to talk to, but James and Adam were behind with the sheep. I could feel all my emotional strength draining away, but I put it down to the loss of our strong escorts. I scanned the trail ahead in the hope that they might come back. They didn’t.

  Towards nightfall, we set up camp just beyond a grove of gum trees. The evening scent of eucalyptus lulled us into a certain bonhomie. Even my own gloomy spirits started to rise. The chat around the camp fire was full of hope for the future. It was well after sundown when we broke up to get some sleep. Adam and John Joe volunteered to keep first watch.

  ‘Mrs Baker,’ I began.

  ‘Call me Rose, darlin’,’ she laughed. ‘No formalities for me. Titles are not up to much when the living is rough.’

  ‘Rose,’ I smiled. ‘If you like, you can share our tent. Then Grandpa could take Adam’s bed.’

  Grandpa stood up and brushed his trousers. ‘No, no,’ he exclaimed. ‘I won’t have that. We’re perfectly comfortable under the wagon, John Joe and I. Don’t be upsetting people with your bossy ways, Esty Maher.’

  ‘Esty’s right,’ put in Mama. ‘We ladies will be just grand together. You’ll get a better night’s sleep, Father. It’s only for another couple of nights.’

  Rose was nodding her head in agreement. ‘That’s a good idea,’ she said. ‘Besides, it’ll be good to get away from James Baker’s hog-loud snoring.’

  Grandpa shook his head. ‘Interfering women,’ he muttered. But I could see that he was pleased. ‘However,’ he went on, looking at John Joe and Adam as they trampled out the fire to avoid advertising our whereabouts to bushrangers, ‘James and I will relieve you before dawn.’

  May and I moved our bedding closer to the side of the tent to accommodate Rose. Her extra bulk filled our small tent to bursting-point.

  ‘I’m making things awkward for you, aren’t I?’ said Rose, as we moved our bedding around.

  ‘Nothing of the sort,’ replied Mama. ‘After all, for more months than I care to remember we five shared a tiny cabin on board ship. This is luxury by comparison.’

  May and I snuggled together that night, just as we used to do in that faraway time in our attic bedroom back in Ireland.

  ‘If she snores too, I’ll personally kill you, Esty Maher,’ May murmured in my ear. ‘Very slowly, with a knitting needle. And I’ll salt your skinny legs like the Bakers’ mutton and serve them up for dinner.’

  ‘At least they’ll be tasty,’ I giggled. Still smiling, we both fell asleep.

  I was awake before we heard the first shout – loud, raucous and desperate. I felt a familiar tightening at the back of my head.

  The shouts were louder now. We were all awake. I recognised Adam’s voice.

  ‘Dear God!’ gasped Rose, clutching her blanket around her in the dim light. Mama put her arms around her. May grasped my arm as I jumped up.

  ‘Esty!’ she cried. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I’m going out there,’ I replied, gritting my teeth to stop trembling. ‘Get whatever you can to protect yourselves. We’re not going to let those thugs get the better of us.’ More than anything, I wanted to dive under the blanket. But reason gave me strength. I picked up the shovel we kept wrapped inside the tent and ran into the night.

  Grandpa and James were running towards the tree where the boys were keeping watch. Adam was silhouetted against the sky as he rushed to meet them.

  ‘They’re coming!’ he exclaimed. ‘Listen.’

  We stopped. Sure enough, from across the scrubby landscape we could hear the distant sound of horses.

  ‘Maybe it’s Peter Lalor and his men,’ I said, trying to keep the hysteria out of my voice.

  ‘No,’ said Grandpa. ‘He said they wouldn’t be back, that we were near enough to the goldfields. Esty, get back inside. Adam, where’s John Joe?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Adam cried. ‘He’s gone. He ran away when he heard the first hoofs. He’s left us to fend for ourselves.’

  There was no time to be shocked. Survival was the only thing that mattered. Armed with another shovel, a poker and a butcher’s mallet, the three women rushed to join us.

  ‘Rose!’ exclaimed James. ‘Get back inside, woman. Can’t you hear those horses?’

  ‘I hear them, James Baker,’ retorted Rose. ‘And I’ll fight off those thugs if it kills me. And, if it does, I’ll take at least one of them with me.’

  ‘Stand firm,’ said Grandpa, as the silhouette of the horsemen became visible against the starlit sky.

  May let out a muffled sob and clenched her shovel tighter. I wanted to say something comforting, but my throat was dried up and, anyway, what was there to say?

  We waited.

  And then we heard a loud shot that echoed over the dark plain.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The cry that followed was more of a scream. We watched as one of the riders tumbled from his saddle; the others stopped. We watched, frozen with fear.

  Another shot rang out. More confusion. A third shot. Nobody fell this time, but there was shouting as they lifted the injured man back on to his horse.

  ‘Peter,’ breathed Grandpa. ‘Peter and his men are back.’

  The next shot made the horsemen scatter. We looked around for Peter Lalor and his men, but there was no sound other than the receding hoofbeats of the bushrangers.

  Then May held up her hand. ‘Hush,’ she said. ‘Listen.’

  ‘Oh, no. Please don’t let them come back,’ I murmured. We froze again as we heard more hoofbeats. Just one set, one horse.

  ‘It’s all right,’ a familiar voice called out from beyond the grove of gum trees.

  ‘John Joe!’ May dropped her shovel and ran towards the lone horseman who appeared.

  ‘We thought…’ began Mama, as John Joe dismounted and patted his horse.

  ‘Thought what, Mrs Maher?’ he asked. ‘Thought I’d run away?’

  ‘Yes,’ said May, honest
as usual. ‘But I knew you wouldn’t desert us.’

  John Joe laughed. ‘Those boyos are just a bunch of cowards when it comes to the language of the gun,’ he said, brandishing a rifle.

  ‘That’s my gun!’ exclaimed Adam.

  ‘Bet you didn’t even miss it,’ said John Joe. ‘I heard those brutes while you were still asleep and decided to teach them a lesson before they reached us. I rode out to the next grove and waited.’

  ‘You were asleep?’ put in Rose, hands on hips as she glared at her embarrassed son.

  ‘It’s all right, Missus,’ said John Joe. ‘We took it in turns to nap. No harm done.’

  ‘Enough excitement,’ said Grandpa. ‘What we need to do now is pack up and be on our way. They’ll be back, gun or no gun.’

  As we made our way back to our camp, I overheard Grandpa praise John Joe for his courage. ‘Hmm,’ he added. ‘Where did you learn that marksmanship?’

  John Joe looked at him. ‘You don’t need to know, Mr Maher,’ he muttered. Whiteboys, I thought. But I said nothing. Never, during our long, cramped journey aboard the ship, had John Joe mentioned his involvement with the rebels. And none of us had ever asked. But, after witnessing his shooting, I wondered just what he had been up to.

  ‘Let’s get moving,’ Grandpa said ‘They’ll be back for revenge, if nothing else.’

  His words brought back that tight band of fear in my head. We scrambled into action. Adam, Grandpa, May and I urged the sheep along the trail in the semi-darkness. Mama and Rose took turns at the reins of our wagon and James led with his. John Joe rode back and forth, keeping a sharp eye on the trail. It was an exhausting ride, with each of us cocooned in our fears. The moonlight cast blue tree-shadows over the trail. The hypnotic lines of the gum trees kept sending me off to sleep – only to be jerked awake when I stumbled on rough ground. Now and then a possum would dart across our path. We came to recognise the undergrowth sounds of nocturnal creatures, but all the same, we didn’t relax our watch.

  At last the blue shadows were replaced by creeping daylight that spread along the plains. The first birdsong – a laughing kookaburra – eased the tension in my head. I was well acquainted with that funny noise by now. But then I heard a different, heavenly sound.

  ‘What have you to smile about, Missy?’ said May, as she caught up with me.

  ‘Sshhh,’ I said. ‘Listen, May. Can you hear that? Isn’t it the sweetest birdsong?’

  May shook her head. ‘Aren’t you the daft one?’ she laughed. ‘Getting excited over a bird!’

  ‘It’s called a bell bird,’ said Adam, catching up with us.

  ‘Bell bird,’ I said. ‘That’s just the right name for it.’ Now, other morning creature-sounds began to emerge, soothing away everyone’s tension. But we halted short when John Joe, riding ahead, suddenly gestured for us to stop.

  ‘Oh, no,’ groaned May. ‘Not more trouble.’

  I squeezed her hand. We stood, our eyes focused on John Joe’s efforts to hold his horse still. Then we heard a creaking sound and a wagon like our own eased into view. As it approached we could make out two people, a young man and a woman, sitting behind the horse. They seemed as startled to see us as we were to see them. John Joe rode towards them, but didn’t get too close. I knew he suspected it might be a trap, and I squeezed May’s hand even tighter. Grandpa left the sheep and walked over towards the wagon.

  ‘Good day to you,’ he said, his hands out to show he was no threat.

  ‘Good day to you, sir,’ the man replied. ‘Are you folks going to Ballarat?’

  ‘That we are,’ replied Grandpa. ‘And what about yourselves? Where are you heading?’

  The man shrugged his shoulders and the woman was shaking her head.

  ‘We’re all done,’ the man said sadly. ‘We’ve been digging for months, me and my brothers, but we can’t keep going.’

  ‘Why is that?’ asked Grandpa.

  ‘The licensing fees,’ the woman put in. ‘We can’t keep up with the licensing fees. We’re broke.’

  The man nodded his head in agreement. ‘They are demanding too much. My brothers are staying on to work for other diggings, but me and my wife can’t stick it no more. We’re heading for Melbourne to take whatever work we can get.’

  ‘Oh, God,’ I muttered. So they were right, those people who’d told us about the licence fees. Was this what was in store for us? Hard work for no reward?

  They eased their wagon past us, and each of us nodded sympathetically.

  ‘Watch out for bushrangers,’ said John Joe.

  The man looked at him and sighed. ‘Can’t rob us,’ he replied. ‘We have nothing they’d want.’

  We watched them for a little while as the wagon creaked along the way we’d just come. Nobody said anything. No bell bird, however sweet its song, could eliminate the doubts that crept like icy fingers through my mind.

  ‘So Peter was right,’ muttered Grandpa, as he took the reins and clicked the horse into a walk.

  ‘What do you mean, Grandpa?’ I asked, jumping up beside him.

  He sighed and turned towards me. His face looked worn under the leathery tan of the Australian sun. ‘He said that many of the diggers are leaving because of the crippling licence fees. I suppose I knew that all along, from talk at the shipping office. But,’ and he shook his head slowly, ‘I just didn’t want to believe it.’

  ‘Grandpa! Is it that bad?’ I exclaimed. ‘What will we do?’

  ‘Let’s not dwell on ifs and buts,’ he said, turning his attention back to the road again. ‘We can only do our best, Esty. If it all comes to nothing, we’ll go back to Melbourne and find work.’

  ‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘You know what that would mean, Grandpa. Going back into service for May and me, labouring for John Joe. Something menial for you. And as for Mama…’ I shrugged my shoulders. What could Mama do?

  ‘Stop galloping down Misery Hill, Esty.’ Grandpa forced a laugh. ‘We’ve come this far and we won’t give up that easily.’

  The sun was well up by now and the heat was suffocating. Grandpa pulled his wide-brimmed hat down over his eyebrows. I leaned back to try and get some shelter from the sun under the canvas. But nothing could ease that heat. I jumped down to walk behind in the shadow of the wagon. May had already discovered it. She was carrying a bunch of flowers.

  ‘May,’ I said. ‘Where did you find those flowers?’

  She held them to her nose and took a deep sniff. Her eyes danced as she looked at me over the tops of the red blooms.

  ‘Adam,’ she said. ‘Adam gave them to me.’

  ‘Adam?’

  ‘Well, you didn’t think it was John Joe, did you?’ May said, with a sharp note in her voice.

  There was no answer to that. May was right. We all loved John Joe as one of our own, but romantic gestures were not part of his nature. I hadn’t really thought about it before, but now that I recalled the romantic stories I’d read to her in our attic, I remembered the way her eyes would light up. Romance. I turned the word over in my mind and for the first time I realised what it meant. Then I laughed.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ said May defensively.

  ‘Romance,’ I grinned. ‘He’s courting you, May. Now you have two beaux.’

  ‘One beau, Esty,’ said May, smelling the flowers again. ‘One beau and a young man who doesn’t seem to know I’m a woman with feelings.’

  ‘Oh, May,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, May, indeed,’ she retorted. ‘You’re too young to know about wanting someone who’d tell you that you look nice and look after you.’

  ‘I never thought about it,’ I admitted.

  ‘It’s all right,’ May said. ‘But if you breathe a word of this to John Joe, I’ll dump you into the nearest river – and him along with you.’

  Before I could reply, John Joe himself came galloping back along the track.

  ‘We’re here!’ he yelled. ‘It’s Ballarat. Just over the hill. We’ve arrived!’

  Chapter Twenty
r />   May and I ran ahead as Grandpa and James urged the horses on. Adam was already way in front, his long legs striding up the incline. James turned to us as his wagon sped past.

  ‘Hey, girls!’ he bellowed good-humouredly. ‘Race you.’

  Rose waved her bonnet and Mama was laughing, as they leaned from the back of the wagon.

  ‘Hop aboard, you two,’ shouted Grandpa, making room on the front seat of our wagon.

  ‘No thanks,’ May called back. ‘I want to be standing on my own two feet when I reach that goldfield.’

  ‘Me too, Grandpa,’ I laughed.

  Holding hands, we stumbled after them. They stopped at the top of the hill. Mama and Rose climbed down from the wagon. John Joe had dismounted and was rubbing the horse’s nose. Adam reached the top and stood with them.

  ‘Come on, May,’ I panted. ‘They’ll see it before us.’

  Giggling, we joined them. But we fell silent when we looked over the place we’d travelled so far to reach.

  Stretched out below us was a bustling township of people, wagons, horses, even a coach and four that clattered along a busy street lined with a mix of weatherboard and fine stone buildings. I hadn’t known what to expect Ballarat to look like, but such a civilised town was way beyond my imaginings.

  A short distance away, in the area we came to know as Sovereign Hill, hundreds of tents were packed close together around high chutes on stilts, wheels and other strange structures. Smoke was rising from fires, voices carried across to us as we stood up on the hill. Mama had her hands to her face, and she was speechless. Rose’s arms were folded across her big chest, an expression of disbelief on her face. Grandpa was nodding his head. Then a broad smile lit up his face.

  ‘We’ve made it,’ he said. ‘Can you believe it? We’ve actually arrived in Ballarat.’