The Rum Rebellion

by Libby Gleeson

  ‘Kitty, Kitty.’ The tall boy who had been with her at Christmas pushed his way through the crowd. He grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. ‘You know you should not be speaking to him. Come away.’ And he pushed her towards where the women and children stood at the back.

  When I think of it now, all I can see are those blue-green eyes.

  Friday 8th January

  After that meeting, the talk went on long into the night. Mr Smith, who is our neighbour on the Western side, came back and spent the evening with us. The little children were put into their Parents’ bed but I was allowed to stay up and drink a little wine with dinner.

  Aunt Sarah joined in the talk about Daniel O’Farrell’s outburst at the meeting. ‘He may have been sent out here in chains,’ she said, ‘but the man has got a point. There is no guarantee that Governor Bligh alone can do anything to help our situation. He takes his orders from England and we have little voice there.’

  ‘Not true,’ said Uncle George. ‘I have written to Joseph Banks who will represent our case. And there are others who will argue for us and against this system of the law in the hands of the Soldiers. You must not forget Bligh has supported us well. He fed so many on the store cattle when the floods came. And he has assured us that he has written to the Colonial Secretary to get from him the power to stop the trade in rum. We know that that is the single greatest disaster we face. If he can stop that then we know that things will improve.’

  ‘The forces against us are very powerful,’ said Mr Smith. ‘Money and influence are a great combination.’

  ‘But another thing,’ said my Uncle, ‘the man in question, Macarthur, is awaiting trial. This time I am confident he will be found guilty, and his power will be curtailed.’

  Awaiting trial? But I had seen him at the wharf. And everyone spoke as if he were a man of great power. How could such a man appear before the law?

  ‘So will he be a convict then?’ I asked. ‘Like Ebenezer and Jim and Arthur Wright?’

  My Aunt laughed. ‘Not quite. He is a rich man who many feel has done wrong and who has offended the Governor. But he has many friends in the Court and in the Soldiers who will be his judges. He may yet make a mockery of the law.’

  ‘The law is all we have between us and savages, Sarah,’ said my Uncle, quietly.

  ‘That may be so,’ she said. ‘I believe the Governor to be a fine man and I do think he is trying to make our lives a little better. But he has been deposed before. Remember the Bounty, where those under him rose up, overthrew his authority and cast him adrift in a longboat. It would be a sad day for us all if it were to happen again.’

  ‘Do not be ridiculous,’ said my Uncle.

  Sunday 10th January

  I know I resolved to write every day but yesterday there was a great storm of a kind I have not witnessed since my arrival. Huge black clouds amassed to the west where the Mountains are.

  I have not written of these Mountains but they are truly blue—not the blue of Kitty’s eyes but smoky blue, grey blue or a misty, hazy blue such as I have never seen before. When I first saw them I thought it some trick of nature. Maybe as in Gulliver’s Travels there would be other oddities such as the talking horses.

  As the afternoon progressed the temperature dropped and winds began with such fierceness that all of our animals seemed to go a little mad. The chickens and the rooster were squawking and running around the yard. Thomas chased them and shouted and laughed until his Mother berated him for making them even madder than their fear of the coming rain.

  Thunder started and such lightning as I have never seen. The dog was allowed in the house and huddled under the table. Huge raindrops fell and we were quick to come inside and Ebenezer and Jim herded the fat old sow and all the other hogs into their sty. She is surely about to have her little ones.

  Then Georgie cried out that it was not rain that fell but ice, and we crowded the doorway and saw for ourselves huge balls of ice—hail—falling from the sky and lashing the trees and the plants in our garden. The wind blew water in through the cloth coverings over our windows and through the doorway.

  Thomas, Georgie and I raced into the yard and took up handfuls of the ice, sometimes throwing it at each other, sometimes sucking on the jagged lumps.

  Ellen wailed that it was Judgment Day come upon us and my Aunt wept when it was done and we inspected what had resulted. Lettuce shredded on the ground, beans and peas torn from their stems on the frames and driven into the mud. Peaches, apricots and plums were strewn from one end of the orchard to the other. Only the very strongest fruit survived. We could not bear to go further and visit the area where the new grape vines stood.

  We rolled our trousers to the knees and gathered up all that was on the ground and carried it to Ellen who stood with a huge drum of the rainwater and washed everything clean. She rolled her eyes and cursed this land but I joined the younger boys, burying my feet into the mud and laughing as it squelched, like great chocolate-coloured worms, up between my pale toes.

  Monday 11th January

  More rain. I thought from my first weeks in this place that only sunshine ever occurred here but now I know it can rain and rain and rain. Aunt Sarah fears flooding from the Hawkesbury but Uncle George says that it is unlikely at this time of year.

  They are wretched at the fate of their vines. All the rows, some years in the growing, are stripped bare of every skerrick of fruit, and leaves too. There was no way of saving them. The hail was such that fruit that would have been ready in only weeks is good for nothing. Nothing except rotting in the mud to enrich the soil. And my Uncle fears that the torn flesh of the stems will allow in disease and he will lose the lot.

  ‘But we can be grateful,’ says my Aunt. ‘No-one was hurt and we have food for our table.’

  Tuesday 12th January

  Rain. But at least it is cooler than before. We were inside all day and Aunt Sarah challenged us to find a name for the dog. She named all the dogs she knew, starting with Ancient History and Cerberus who she said guarded the Underworld and in some stories had fifty heads and in other stories only three. Even I was able to laugh at that. Our dog—I cannot bring myself to call it mine—is still a puppy, more interested in yapping and chasing hens and chewing shoes than protecting anything.

  She asked me if I wanted to tell her why I am so afraid of the dog but I said I could not—even though I know the answer well enough.

  Thomas and William built themselves a toy house. They draped a sheet of cloth over the table and then told all of us that we were barred from entering. I did not care but Sarah did not understand that it was only a game and cried to be allowed in. Aunt Sarah distracted her by placing her on her shoulders and telling her that she was now the biggest in all the family, taller even than her Father. That pleased her mightily. Then William wanted to be tall too and he climbed on my shoulders and we measured ourselves but still he could not reach his little Sister.

  Wednesday 13th January

  Rain. And frogs that croak all day.

  Thursday 14th January

  At last, clear skies and cleaning up from the rain.

  A huge branch fell on the sow’s pen and while Ebenezer and Arthur chopped it up to remove it the rest of us had to gather all the smaller bits that were scattered across the yard. It will make fine firewood in the Winter although I cannot imagine it is ever cold.

  A whole tree has fallen on the house of the McDougalls so Uncle George and Jim and Ebenezer are going tomorrow to work with others to help rebuild it. I think I am to go with them.

  Friday 15th January

  Uncle George woke me early and we set out for the McDougalls’ with our breakfast still in our hands. Aunt Sarah’s lard cakes sustained us well and we arrived ready to work.

  It was a scene of devastation. The tree had landed on the side of the house and destroyed the roof and two walls. Rain had soaked the whole inside and the younger children of that family had taken almost everything they own and spread it in a sunny
corner of the yard.

  Mr McDougall’s men and his older sons were rebuilding fences destroyed by other trees. Uncle George and others set to trimming saplings and mixing the clay plaster for the wall. I was made useful fetching and carrying and being ready to do as anyone asked.

  Daniel O’Farrell and his son Patrick were there working alongside Mr McDougall and Mr Smith. My Uncle and Daniel didn’t speak the whole morning.

  We stopped for lunch and Kitty came with bread and cheeses for her Father and Brother. When they went back to work, she came right up to me and said, ‘I am off to Sydney Town.’

  ‘Why?’ I said.

  ‘My Aunt is going to have a baby. She is my Mum’s Sister and so we are going down to look after her. My big Sister Bridget can look after my Dad and Pat and Mick and Toby and Joe. Mum and I are going tomorrow with Mr MacPherson. He has to go to try and get the money to pay back Macarthur or else his farm will go the same way as the Dolans’ and the McCanns’. I am going to look out for that Governor and I will tell him what for.’

  I told her that she probably would not see him, that he is at Government House all day and that even if he was in the street there would be Soldiers and everyone around him.

  She said that might be what I thought, but when he came out this way last year to check on his own farm, he came and talked to everyone just like anyone else.

  ‘I did not know he had a farm,’ I said.

  ‘You do not know very much,’ she said and I felt foolish and I know my face went as scarlet as the strange brush-like flowers that grow along the creek bed.

  Just as we were leaving, a man rode up on a horse and called out to my Uncle and Mr McDougall and Daniel and said he had news from Sydney Town.

  I looked for Kitty but she had gone so I sat on a stump and waited till Uncle George was ready to leave.

  Saturday 16th January

  I could not sleep last night. Aunt Sarah and Uncle George sat outside and talked long after the rest of us had lain down. Something about Macarthur again. He is always in their conversations and this time it seems he has challenged the Governor. Not in a duel—that would be unheard of—but something to do with some land that the Governor says must not be built on and he—Macarthur, not the Governor—ordered his men to fence the area. The Governor ordered the fence down and the Police came to do that and the men building the fence were Soldiers so the Soldiers and the Police were in a scuffle.

  Truly, as I heard my Aunt say, this is a strange place where those who are to keep order are themselves involved in defiance of the law.

  Monday 18th January

  There is more news of trouble in Sydney Town. Police went to arrest some Soldiers who were fighting in full view of the public. The Officers of the Corps would not release the men and they, in turn, arrested the leader of the Police.

  My Aunt says we are very lucky to live so far from such disorder but I would rather like to see someone arrested—from a distance, of course.

  Tuesday 19th January

  Today is my birthday. If it were not for my diary, I would be ignorant of this as there are no daily papers and no calendar in this house. It is early in the morning and I have not told anyone. Last year I woke to gifts and cinnamon cake. This year it will be oatmeal, as usual.

  Later

  My Aunt asked if I was well and I told her a lie that my leg was painful. I went out after we ate and I sat on the big rock that rises from the creek. I watched the tiny lizards that come out of the cracks and sun themselves. A dazzling blue dragonfly hummed above the water. It seemed to be watching something happening, deep in the water below.

  Wednesday 20th January

  Word has come that a ship has arrived from the Cape with special vine cuttings that Uncle George says will replace those lost in the storm. They were just to add to his stock but could now become his main planting, although not for some months yet. He wishes to go soon to fetch them and I am to journey with him. Will there be more scuffles between the Soldiers? Will I see someone arrested? Shall I see Kitty there again? Am I sounding like her with all her questions? Ha, ha.

  Saturday 23rd January

  Sydney Town

  We are back in Mr Lewin’s house. He greeted us warmly with, ‘Hail, my good friend and the nephew!’ So far I have not seen any Police although there are plenty of Soldiers lazing around on every corner.

  On the scaffold at Brickfield Hill there was the body of a convict who attacked his overseer on one of the road gangs and was hanged for it. It had only been there two days but in the heat the flies had gathered and my Uncle says it should have been cut down and buried.

  Tomorrow is Sunday. I expect we will go to Church and then do very little. The Customs House will not open until Monday.

  Monday 25th January

  I woke early as the sun was streaming through the window and I found Mr Lewin already at his bench. He had on the table in his workroom the bodies of two parrots. One he had cut open and he was inspecting the way the muscles worked across the chest, holding the wings for flight. He had already done many quick sketches of the other bird although his crayons had not captured the deep red of the crown and the green of the breast.

  ‘Are they not beautiful, Davy?’ he said to me. I nodded and thought of the same parrots that live in the trees along the creek at Chelsea Farm. I think them more beautiful because they are alive.

  At breakfast my Uncle said he would spend the morning at the harbour, trying to take possession of his plants, and I was to go with him.

  It felt strange returning to that place where first I landed. It was fiercely hot and there was no shade as we walked along Spring Street. Within five minutes my face was dripping.

  At the dock area my Uncle told me I was free to wander around while he spoke with officials at the Customs House. I went along the shore’s edge to where the vessel I had travelled on had been at anchor. It was, of course, no longer there but the boy, Ralph, was.

  ‘Hey, Gammy-boy!’ He greeted me as an old friend and I was pleased to see him. Someone in this town knew who I was other than my Uncle’s nephew.

  ‘Are you always fishing here?’ I asked. It seemed such a coincidence to see him. He laughed and said most mornings were spent with a rod in his hand. What his family did not eat, he sold to others around the place where he lived.

  ‘Better than staying at home,’ he said. ‘Too many kids.’

  He had a fish in his bag and he caught two more while we sat talking. Big, they were, silver-scaled and with pink underbellies. ‘These are just what my Mum needs for her lunch,’ he said and he rolled his line back up and took out a knife.

  I had never seen anyone clean a fish before but quick as winking he had the heads off, the bellies slit open and all the guts slipped into the sea. In another few minutes he had scraped off the scales and pushed them in as well. They floated lightly on the green water.

  ‘You should come and eat with us,’ he said. And then, almost shyly, ‘Would you like to meet my Mum?’

  ‘I thought you said there were too many kids? Will I not get in the way?’ I said. In truth, I wanted to go. Ralph is the first boy of my own age I have met here. The first possible friend. And I was feeling hungry and there was no sign of my Uncle.

  We walked back along the beach and I felt he slowed so I could keep up with him but neither of us said anything. My Uncle was in the office, still dealing with pieces of paper and the clerk was alternately mopping the perspiration on his brow and shrugging his shoulders. I think Uncle George was relieved to not have to think what to do with me so we arranged to meet later at Mr Lewin’s house and I went off with Ralph.

  We made our way up the hill behind the buildings—the very area I so admired when first I arrived and dreamt that maybe it would be where I should live. There were narrow streets with tiny houses packed close on each other. We jumped over the piles of rubbish and the deep holes in the path and then we were close to the top and we could see down to the water on the other side. Ralph’s hou
se was there, facing the bay and the fingers of land across beyond it.

  Three little girls were playing on the front step and when they saw me they ran into the house and hid behind the skirts of a tall woman who was standing at the table, kneading a huge ball of dough. With one foot she rocked a little bed where a child that looked about as old as Sarah lay sleeping. I thought this to be Ralph’s Mother and because I did not know her name I waited to be given an introduction.

  ‘My Aunt,’ said Ralph. ‘This is—’

  ‘Is that you, Ralph? Where have you been? Why did you go without me? Have you got fish for—?’

  I knew that voice, those questions. I turned and there in the doorway from the room off to the side, dark curls bobbing, blue eyes flashing, stood Kitty.

  ‘What?’ we both said. And then we laughed.

  ‘You first.’

  ‘No, you first.’

  ‘I said I was coming to …’ she started.

  ‘I have come for new vines, with …’ I said and we laughed again until Ralph, who was standing there looking completely confused, dropped the bag of fish on the table, clapped his hands and said, ‘One at a time. Ladies first.’ He turned to me and said, ‘She is not a lady, she is my cousin, but we will listen first to her.’

  I blushed at the happy enthusiasm I had shown and busied myself, sharing the task of clearing clothing and toys from the table so we could eat.

  The fish was delicious. Kitty’s Mother cooked for us and Kitty took food to Ralph’s Mother who was lying in the next room, her new Daughter sleeping beside her. Ralph’s Father is a Sea Captain on a boat that carries goods to Norfolk Island and sometimes has been to Tahiti. Ralph is going to be a Sea Captain too and would have been with his Father on this last voyage but for his Mother’s condition. I did not tell him of my fear of the giant waves that crashed over the deck of our ship, the Duke of Carlyle, on that long, long voyage out.