by JH Fletcher
The boiler was a taskmaster of insatiable appetite. It consumed several tons of logs each day, and, mist or no mist, neither nanny nor children were exempt from the duty of lugging logs from the timber piles that Charlie had set up along the river over the years. He fetched his axe and lowered himself over Brenda’s side. With Elsie and the children stumbling after him, baskets clutched in their hands, he forced his way through the reeds.
‘Watch out for the snake!’
More asleep than awake, Luke was still capable of mischief. He turned, grinning, in time to catch the look of terror on Elsie’s face.
Charlie cuffed him. ‘None of your nonsense!’
Luke subsided, rubbing his ear ruefully. Not that he would remain quiet for long.
The mud sucked at their feet, but soon they reached the dry ground where Charlie had established his timber pile. Elsie and the children loaded their baskets and headed back to the boat while Charlie got on with his own work. It was his rule never to take timber from a woodpile without replacing it; that way they would never run short. Soon the blows of his axe echoed through the mist as the blade bit into the trunk of the tree he’d selected. Within minutes the tree lurched, creaked and came crashing down. Deftly Charlie lopped the branches and stacked them apart from the trunk; they’d make fine kindling when they’d dried out. By the time Elsie and the children came back for their next load, he had made good progress in cutting the felled tree into logs of manageable size.
They worked for an hour, by which time Charlie was running with sweat and the mist had begun to lift.
‘Enough!’ he said. ‘Breakfast time!’
After their hard work they were ready for it.
Back on board, Charlie stripped to his briefs, clambered onto the rail and dived into the river. This, too, was part of his daily routine. Luke scrambled after him and soon the peace was shattered by screams and laughter as father and son pursued each other, plunging and snorting, through the cold water.
By the time they had clambered back on deck, breakfast was ready. They towelled themselves dry and joined the others on the long bench outside the galley door. On long trips they sometimes had to make do with bread and a smear of jam but today, early in the voyage, they were in luck: porridge, lamb’s fry, eggs and tea. See it disappear, all of them gobbling as though afraid the food might do a runner if they gave it the chance!
Chivvied by Sarah, the children cleared away and helped Elsie with the washing up. Charlie stoked the firebox and climbed to the wheelhouse. When Brenda was on the move Sarah’s job was to look after the engine room, so now she opened the valves and put the engine into gear. As Brenda rumbled into life Charlie eased her away from the bank. Soon the paddles were thrashing the water as they headed upriver.
Five miles short of the town of Niland there was a densely treed island, a quarter of a mile long and separated from the river’s northern bank by a narrow channel. There was barely enough room for Brenda to squeeze through but somehow she managed it, paddles just turning as Charlie nudged their way between the gum trees that lined either bank. Overhead the interlaced foliage turned the blue day to green.
Brenda drew into the bank. Sarah closed the valves. The engine died. Luke leapt ashore, carrying a bow line that he secured to a nearby tree; mooring was his job. With the bow line fast, he sprinted to the stern. Soon Brenda was moored fore and aft and Luke came back on board.
In this place they were hidden from passing traffic, or any watchers on the river’s southern bank. The sawing of insects was all that disturbed the stillness. A pair of parrots with red and blue plumage speared the light as they sped overhead.
Sarah looked at her husband. ‘I take it that was the McKinleys I heard last night?’
‘Yes.’
Sarah shook her head. ‘I wish you wouldn’t do it.’
‘It’s good money.’
‘I know. But even so —’
With duties in Victoria so much higher than in the other states, smuggling was rife, and Samuel and Aaron McKinley were smugglers. Charlie had run cargoes across the river for them before this. As Charlie had said, the money was good, but the penalties were savage if you were caught. No wonder Sarah hated it.
‘Times are hard,’ he told her.
‘They’ll be harder still if they catch us.’
Which was certainly true, but they both knew the money wasn’t Charlie’s only motive. He’d always been wild; he was wild still, and it was the excitement that drew him.
‘When are they delivering the stuff?’
‘Midday, they said.’
Not that the McKinleys would be coming themselves. They left that to the men who worked for them. That way they could deny all knowledge if things went wrong.
‘Don’t worry,’ Charlie said. ‘They haven’t caught us yet.’
Shortly before noon Charlie told Elsie to take the children for a walk. ‘For at least an hour, you hear me? I want them tired out so they sleep well tonight.’
‘Take a sandwich with you,’ Sarah said to her. ‘And something to drink.’
Elsie was quick to obey; perhaps she, too, had heard the night-time voices, the crunch of heavy boots on the deck.
Only when the three figures were out of sight did Charlie relax. Now there was nothing to do but wait.
The men came riding through the scrub on tall, raw-boned horses. Quickly they unfastened their bulging saddlebags and brought the goods on board. Everything was in boxes, which would make unloading easier on the other side. Good.
Charlie showed them where he wanted the goods stacked.
When they were finished the leader nodded to him. ‘Know where you’re takin’ it?’
‘Yep.’
‘Eleven o’clock tonight. They’ll be waitin’.’
It wasn’t a job that made for long conversations. The man swung himself into the saddle and, followed by his companions, disappeared into the trees.
CHAPTER 4
That night Alex awoke to darkness. She could hear the muffled thud of the engine and the swash of the paddles and knew that, very slowly and stealthily, Brenda was under way.
Something strange was happening. They hardly ever travelled at night because Dad couldn’t see where they were heading. Alex decided to find out what was going on.
She sneaked out of her bunk, the cabin’s wooden deck cool beneath her bare feet, and went to the door. Cautiously she opened it. The sound of the paddles was much louder now and the night air made her shiver. She went out and closed the cabindoor softly behind her.
They were in midriver. There was no moon, yet her father hadn’t lit Brenda’s navigation lamps. He must have forgotten. Alex thought of climbing the ladder to the wheelhouse to warn him, then decided against it. If he saw her he’d pack her off to bed at once. This was a Real Adventure, and Alex was determined to be part of it.
Brenda chugged steadily along. The night air grew chilly. Alex huddled behind the cabin bulkhead and didn’t move. Time passed.
Suddenly the bell in the wheelhouse pinged. The engine slowed until the paddles were only just turning. Water sloshed against the hull as they drifted on the river’s dark surface.
What was going on?
The saloon door opened and her mother came out. Alex froze, but Sarah saw her. Sarah stopped as though she’d been shot, then marched over and grabbed her.
‘What are you doing out of bed?’
It was only a whisper, but what a whisper. It was the first time Alex had known her mother to be really mad at her.
‘I couldn’t sleep —’
‘Stay right there, you hear me? So I can keep an eye on you. Don’t you dare move.’
Sarah waved her finger threateningly. Then she went forward.
Moments later Alex heard a scraping sound, regularly repeated.
Stay right there, her mother had said, but Alex’s feet developed a will of their own. She tiptoed forward, eyes wide in the darkness.
Sarah was dragging boxes along the deck. They looked heavy. Ther
e were lots of them and Alex heard her mother muttering to herself. She was mad, all right. She was furious, and not just with Alex.
The idea scared Alex. What were they doing, out here in the middle of the night? Her mother had been angry with her, yet had whispered instead of yelling. Why? Was she afraid someone would hear her? And now this business with the boxes … What was going on?
Her parents were up to something and Alex knew instinctively they shouldn’t be doing it. She hated the idea. With all her heart she wished she were fast asleep in her bunk, but still she didn’t move.
An owl flew on silent wings above her head and she caught a glimpse of its heart-shaped face staring down at her. It flew along the bank and disappeared. In its place a light gleamed and went out. And then twice more.
Above Alex’s head the wheelhouse window slid back. Her father put his head out and called softly to Sarah.
‘They’re ready. I’m goin’ in.’
His head withdrew. Sarah went below and a moment later Alex felt a tremor run through the deck as the paddles increased speed. Slowly Brenda headed towards the bank.
Alex didn’t know how her father could navigate. There were old tree stumps everywhere below the water, yet Brenda went straight in with no trouble at all.
Again the wheelhouse bell pinged. The engine note died. Brenda drifted the last few yards and ran her bow up on the sandy bank.
Silence. Sarah had come back on deck. She stood staring out at the shore. It wasn’t as dark as it had been; the pale sand eased the night’s weight.
Her father came down from the wheelhouse. Alex saw him go and stand at Sarah’s side. He put his arm around her waist, but she was as stiff as a poker and didn’t move.
‘Where are they?’ Her whisper barely grazed the silence.
Charlie said nothing. They both waited motionless. Alex imagined their eyes probing the darkness.
At last there was movement on shore as three figures emerged from the shadows and came silently towards them. The figures reached Brenda’s bow and Alex saw they were lean, hard-looking men, with felt hats pulled low over their eyes.
‘Where you bin?’ Her father’s taut voice showed how angry he was. ‘Keepin’ us waitin’ … It’s our necks too, don’t forget.’
‘Take it easy.’ One of the men spoke in a soft snarl, like an angry cat. ‘Had to be sure you was the right blokes, didn’t we? Last coupla weeks, the blues bin over us like bugs. Sooner we can git this stuff ashore the ’appier I’ll be.’
‘Amen,’ said Charlie. ‘Let’s git on with it, then.’
The man turned and gave a low whistle. Two more men came, leading horses with panniers strapped to their backs. The men formed a chain, lifting the boxes from Brenda’s deck and passing them down the line to the last man, who stowed them swiftly in the panniers. As the boxes came ashore the leader of the men ticked them off on a list. In no time the work was done. Now he folded the list, put it back in his pocket and walked over to Alex’s father, who was still standing in Brenda’s bow.
‘All present and correct.’
‘You thought it wouldn’t be?’
Again the cat yowled in the man’s quiet voice. ‘Pays to make sure. No misunderstandin’s that way.’
He handed Charlie a fat packet. She saw her father nod, but he neither opened the packet nor looked at it.
The cat man’s teeth glinted in the starlight. He walked across the beach to where the other men were waiting. Without a sound, the smugglers faded into the darkness.
Charlie turned to Sarah. ‘Let’s get outta here.’ He climbed the steps to the wheelhouse. Sarah went below and a few moments later Alex heard the whisper of the turning paddles as Brenda backed away from the shore.
They went back a lot more quickly than they’d come, as though it no longer mattered who heard them. Within minutes they were tied up to the other bank. With the engine silent, the paddles motionless, Alex might have thought she’d dreamt the whole thing.
She turned to sneak back to her bunk before her parents could spot her, then froze once more as her father came down from the wheelhouse. Her mother went to meet him, and within a minute, or so it seemed, all hell was let loose.
‘Couldn’ta gone more smoothly,’ her father said. ‘I told you there wasn’t nuthun to worry about.’
‘It’s too risky.’
‘Night like tonight? No moon? There’s no risk at all, hardly.’
‘There’s always a risk!’ Her mother sounded madder than ever. ‘To you, me, the kids … Haven’t we got enough problems without lookin’ for more?’
‘We made a hundred quid tonight,’ Charlie said indignantly. ‘Another three trips, maybe four, we’ll ’ave enough to buy that land you’re always on about. “I’d like a block of land,” you said. “Somewhere to put down roots when we’re too old for the riverboats.” Well, you won’t get it without money!’
That did it. No whispers now. Sarah was fair screeching.
‘Damn the land! It’s not worth all this sneakin’ around in pitch darkness, never knowin’ what’s waitin’ for us —’
‘We’ve never ’ad no trouble —’
‘Not so far. But what about the next time? Or the one after that? One of these days the wallopers’ll be waitin’. What happens then? Lose the boat, you in jail, maybe me too … What ’appens to the kids? It’s not fair, Charlie! Not to them, not to me, not even to yourself. An’ that’s not the worst of it, either.’
‘What d’you mean?’
On top of everything else that had happened that night, to hear her parents so angry, yelling at each other … Alex hated it, hated it. But her feet might have been nailed to the deck. She didn’t move, could barely breathe.
‘You don’ do it for the money,’ Sarah said. ‘That’s just an excuse. The real reason is, you like the danger. Can’t ’ave enough of it. Well, next time you think of puttin’ all our necks in a noose, think of the kids if you won’t think of me.’
Alex listened in horror. Necks in a noose? Was that what was going to happen to them?
She must have made a sound. Her mother turned and saw her.
‘Oh my God!’ Sarah said. She came to Alex at a run, picked her up and held her close.
Over the last few months Alex had begun to think she was too old for cuddles. Now she was glad of one.
‘Are the people going to hang us, Mummy?’
‘No, of course they’re not.’ She turned to Charlie. ‘I forgot all about her. She musta heard every word.’
There was no anger in her voice now, only pain.
‘Come on, love,’ she said, nuzzling her face into Alex’s neck. ‘I’ll pop you into bed or you’ll be worn out in the morning.’
‘Are we safe?’ Alex asked.
‘Safe? Of course we’re safe. Why on earth shouldn’t we be?’
‘But you were saying —’
‘You shouldn’t listen to other people’s conversations, should you? But you don’t have to worry. We’re fine.’
Alex supposed it was all right. But her parents had been mad at each other and they had been up to something odd in the middle of the night.
‘Will we be doing that any more?’ she asked.
‘No, we won’t.’ Sarah looked at Charlie. ‘That was the last time. Right?’
A long pause.
‘Right,’ Charlie said reluctantly, then laughed. ‘All right, then. If that’s the way you want it.’
And her mother took Alex back to her bunk and tucked her in.
After all the excitement Alex was sure she wouldn’t sleep, but she did, and when she woke up it was morning and Sarah was smiling down at her.
‘Time to get up, young lady!’
Had Alex dreamt what had happened? She didn’t think so, but after she’d got up and gone out on deck she wasn’t so sure. Her parents were certainly friendly enough with each other now, touching and smiling with a warmth you could feel right across the deck. Never mind what had happened in the night. That was all that
mattered.
Later, after they’d had their breakfast, one big family together, they went on up the river.
But perhaps Alex still needed comforting. Because that night, for the first time in months, she asked Sarah to tell her a story.
‘A big girl like you?’
‘Please.’
‘What story do you want?’
‘How you lived on the bank of the river when you were a little girl and Dad came and saved you from the floods —’
Sarah laughed. ‘I wasn’t so little when that happened. I was grown up. You sure you want to hear it again?’
‘Yes, please.’
Because it would make her feel safe.
1876
CHAPTER 5
‘Bastards!’
Nineteen-year-old Sarah Keach screamed with all the force in her lungs and shook her clenched fists as the sternwheeler powered past, its wash soaking her almost to the waist.
Didn’ even check to see if we was all right! Sarah thought, and screamed after them again.
‘Bastards! Bastards!’
Not that it did any good. The crew obviously didn’t give a damn for her or the floods that had just about washed the Keaches’ home away. Bastards.
She stood gloomily scanning the river. When they’d arrived on the Murray three years before, she’d thought her luck had changed. She’d been so thankful, thinking they were about to settle down at last after the gipsy years that were all she could remember of her childhood. She might have known it wouldn’t happen. With a man like her father, it had always been too much to hope for.
Harold Keach was a scowling, swarthy man with a bald head and, as though to compensate, a jungle of black hair on his chest and arms. He was a talker, with a refrain that never varied, telling anyone prepared to listen how he’d been brought up to the sea, and brought up hard.
‘Like a iron nail, you hear me? A iron nail!’ Harold Keach would illustrate his words with violent blows on whatever surface came to hand. ‘In them days the mates was like hammers!’
As a child, Sarah had imagined her father being hammered — like an iron nail — into the deck of the clipper on which he had shipped out.