The Rum Rebellion

by Libby Gleeson

  Friday 1st April

  John Bligh Suttor is here. By the time Uncle George came back with the Doctor, Mrs O’Farrell and Ellen were feeding my Aunt a cup of tea and the baby was sleeping on my Uncle’s pillow. I thought my Uncle might be cross with Kitty’s Mother but the Doctor said she had done a fine job and although my Aunt and little John were weak and tired they would be fine after some rest. He drank tea and then left.

  All of us then went in to meet this new baby. I have never seen so tiny a creature. I could hold his head in the palm of my hand and his fingers are like the little stalks that new leaves grow on. My Aunt has huge dark circles under her eyes. She did not lift her head from the pillow.

  Monday 4th April

  Mrs O’Farrell is still with us. My Aunt has a fever and she has stayed to nurse her. I have given up my bed so she can stay close to my Aunt. Uncle George and I are sleeping outside on makeshift beds of sacking stuffed with grasses. We are grateful for the warm nights. I hope it does not rain.

  Tuesday 5th April

  One of the pigs is missing. This morning I was working with Uncle George, burning more large trees which Arthur and Ebenezer felled two days ago, when Jim came running towards us. He said that when he went to feed the pigs this morning he counted them, from idle curiosity, only to find that one of the females was missing.

  ‘Indians,’ said Arthur quickly.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Uncle George.

  I went back to the yard with him and Jim, leaving Arthur and Ebenezer to finish the job.

  ‘Might it be an escaped convict?’ I asked.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Uncle George.

  I had no idea what he was thinking. I felt like a Constable’s assistant, except I had no idea what I was looking for. Everything looked just the same: that fat old sow was lying in the dirt in her own yard away from the rest of the hogs. Her little ones were pushing up against her, trying to feed. They are not so little now and they shove each other out of the way, head butting and kicking in their haste. Imagine if we behaved that way in getting to the table.

  Wednesday 6th April

  Another piglet has gone. Uncle George blames himself for not setting a watch. Arthur claimed again that it must be the Indians and that we should send a party out to catch them and make an example of them, just as they did some years back. Uncle George has refused, saying that there is no evidence and such search parties are against the law. Instead, he and Jim are to watch over the yard during the night.

  ‘It is only the female pigs,’ said Uncle George. ‘They are worth a lot of money because they will become good breeders as they get older. Someone may be stealing them to sell them to settlers in another region.’

  Thursday 7th April

  I took Uncle George his breakfast today. He was just rousing from sleep and sending Jim back to his hut to rest. No-one came to steal the pigs during their watch.

  Friday 8th April

  John is a week old. Already it seems like he has always been here. My Aunt has still not come from her bed. I hear her talking softly to the baby whenever I am in the house.

  I wonder, was it like this with my Mother? Was I this tiny? Did I lie beside her and did she sing to me for long, long hours the way my Aunt Sarah does? Why must we forget such comfort?

  Sunday 10th April

  Today I went with Uncle George to all our neighbours to tell them of the theft of our pigs. Mr Smith agreed with Arthur that it was probably the Indians but again Uncle George said he was not sure.

  ‘We have had no trouble from them in the past two years,’ he said. ‘Why now?’

  ‘Why not?’ said Mr Smith but I could see my Uncle did not share his opinion.

  Mr McDougall agreed with my Uncle that it was more organised than Indians. He said my Uncle should tell the Police when next he takes the fruit and vegetables to market in Parramatta.

  Monday 11th April

  I went with my Uncle to Parramatta today. We had the very last of our stone fruit to sell and the first apples and some vegetables. He usually goes on his own but this time he wanted me to look after the business while he talked to the Constable about the pigs. Kitty was there with her Brothers, Patrick and Joe, and she came and stood with me when my Uncle went.

  We saw the strangest thing. A man came through the market, leading a woman by a rope around her neck. She did not look unhappy and was waving to friends and when they got to the middle of the market square he called out and asked what he was bid for this fine woman. Another man called then and said ten pounds but the man holding the rope said that was not enough. People gathered around and some called out that he should pay more. The woman, too, said she was worth more and the price went up and up until they settled at fifteen pounds and some lengths of fine cloth.

  Kitty was laughing and I said it was not a laughing matter but something terrible that a human being could be sold. She said she was not really sold but that the man and the woman together had arranged the whole thing and it was just the custom that some people did when they wanted to change their situation.

  Uncle George came back and when I told him what we had seen he said it was an outrageous ancient custom and ought not to be in a civilised country. Kitty did not say anything to him in reply.

  Thursday 14th April

  We are living on Mrs O’Farrell’s rich broth and it must be good because my Aunt is now sitting up and happy to have her children in to sit on her bed and talk with her for a little time each day. She even lets each of us hold the new baby for a short while although the first time I did I was afraid that I would drop him and he would break. The little ones are not permitted to stay long, and in fact, other than Sarah who is still such a baby, they are happier playing outside.

  Wednesday 20th April

  Tonight my Uncle and I are both writing by the light of the candle. He has pushed aside his account book and is now writing to Mr Banks in England.

  Word is come from Sydney Town that Mr Macarthur has fallen out with some of those who conducted the Rebellion with him. He is even involved in a prosecution of the Blaxlands and a Mr Lord over something to do with ships and sealing.

  My Uncle laughed when he heard this news and said it was justice—of a kind. He is angry because he has heard that much of the Government herd of cattle has been given away or sold very cheaply to Soldiers and others of Mr Macarthur’s party. The Government Factory and Farm at Parramatta have also been let out to one of theirs.

  He is telling all this in his letter and he has just muttered to me, ‘How can an honourable man survive?’

  I do not know how to reply.

  Saturday 30th April

  My diary is missing. Gone. Stolen. This scrap of paper is all I have to write on. Luckily we saved it when the cloth came in the last delivery of supplies. It is so confusing. Aunt Sarah was up for the first time in weeks. She was in the dairy with Ellen and we all were around working and Georgie came to tell us—I must not write everything. There is so little space and who knows when I may get another book?

  Aunt Sarah is weeping. She is still not well and Uncle George is so worried. All his papers, petitions and letters are gone.

  How dare someone come in here and open up my chest and take my own thing? Now they will read everything and know my secret heart …

  Tuesday 10th May

  Kitty came today and brought me pieces of paper she has scrounged from around their place. I told her about the robbery when we were in Parramatta last week and she promised to find me as much paper as she could.

  This piece is wrapping paper from some china sent from Ireland by her Mother’s Sister. It has all been ironed flat and cut into pieces the size of my book.

  She is a true friend.

  I will write exactly what happened.

  April 30th—it is printed on my brain as if placed there with a hot branding-iron. I was with Uncle George and Jim, felling trees on the block closest to the creek. It was a special day because I was allowed to use the saw for the first time, standin
g across from Jim while my Uncle stood back and checked the direction of the fall. In truth, Jim did most of the work but I pulled and pushed that saw until I felt my arms would fall from their sockets. We came home exhausted.

  As we came down the track, Georgie met us and urged us to hurry. He said his Mother felt a stranger had been in the house, that things had been disturbed but she did not know if anything had been taken. My Uncle ran then and I tried to keep up with him. Aunt Sarah met us before we got to the house. Baby John was crying in her arms.

  ‘I am confused,’ she said. ‘Nothing of value has gone. My precious things are still where I keep them and yet there has been someone here.’ She leant on my Uncle for support back into the house.

  Clothes and bedding was piled up on the table.

  ‘That was strewn all over the floor,’ said my Aunt. ‘I cannot work out what has gone.’

  ‘I think I know,’ said my Uncle and he went straight to the chest by the bed where I know he keeps the copies of the letters he has prepared for Governor Bligh and Mr Banks. There is a copy too of the Petition from early in the year and with it all the names of the settlers on the Hawkesbury who had signed and more names too of those who attended the meetings. The chest was empty.

  We ate our dinner as if a great black rain cloud was over our table. Even the children said little.

  ‘This is not a simple theft,’ said my Uncle. ‘This is the work of our enemies.’

  ‘But what will they do with that material?’ I asked.

  He shrugged. ‘Perhaps they expected to find information that would tell them our plans for supporting the Governor, for testifying against them. Who knows?’

  It was only when I was about to go to bed, when I went to take out my diary from its place in my chest under my sleeping shelf, that I discovered it, too, was gone. We searched the three rooms from the floor to the ceiling, under everything and in every container. Sarah didn’t fully understand what we were looking for and she would say, ‘Here ’tis,’ and produce a worn toy of her own.

  We finally resigned ourselves to the fear that it, too, had gone with the other documents.

  ‘Maybe,’ said my Aunt, ‘our thief could not read and was instructed to take all papers, whatever their content.’

  I felt as if part of my body had been ripped away. The Surgeon had said it would be a log of my life and would help me in those moments when I felt sad and lonely. It has been more than that. Almost each night I would settle and think of what I would choose to write in my log. If I was unhappy, somehow writing made things better. It truly is, or was, better than a Doctor’s medicine.

  That feeling did not last. It turned to anger very quickly. I wanted to find the thief and yell and scream at him, ‘How dare you take my private self?’ I wanted to strike and kick and maim whoever has done this to me.

  Uncle George determined to call everyone together, at first light.

  My sleep was troubled. I woke many times at the slightest sound. It was as if I expected our burglar to return and so the wind in the slabs or the creaking of a branch was enough to waken me.

  In the morning we gathered under the kitchen tree: all the family and Ellen, Arthur, Ebenezer and Jim. Uncle George made everyone tell where he or she was through the afternoon and he asked if anyone had seen anything strange. Everyone was doing their usual tasks—Aunt Sarah and Ellen were in the dairy making cheeses and the children were with them or were in the vegetable garden chasing birds and pulling weeds. Arthur and Ebenezer were hoeing the new area where we burnt the stumps the week before. They had to dig in the ashes and turn the soil ready for planting the Winter crop. Everyone said they had seen nothing strange.

  I do not quite know whether my Uncle believed the men. When he asked who they thought was responsible and Arthur said ‘Indians’, my Uncle laughed with scorn. ‘What need would they have of such documents?’ he asked. ‘They cannot read.’

  ‘Nor I,’ said Arthur.

  I suggested my Uncle should contact the Constables but he seemed to be in no hurry.

  ‘They have more things to worry about with runaway convicts,’ he said. ‘Besides, the new fellow in Parramatta district is a Macarthur man and not likely to investigate my problems too closely.’

  I must not write too much. This paper will not last and my Uncle says he cannot get me a new book until after the wheat harvest and that is not for months.

  Friday 20th May

  Jim has removed Dog to his quarters and is teaching him to work sheep. I am relieved.

  Wednesday 25th May

  My Uncle went to the Police when he took the vegetables to Parramatta today. No joy was had. They said it must have been Indians as there was trouble at the moment with some who had taken sheep from a farm beyond the McDougalls’, but my Uncle protested that our papers would bring little comfort to a hungry Indian.

  Monday 30th May

  John smiled today and there was much celebration. Mrs O’Farrell says he will grow to be a strong healthy boy. I had not realised that she and my Aunt had been worried for him.

  Saturday 4th June

  We are preparing the place for the vines. My Uncle plans to go down to Sydney Town soon and collect them. He says it is calmer there at the moment and his visit will attract little attention. Perhaps he will bring back paper for me. I hesitate to ask for he is always so busy when he is there.

  Friday 10th June

  This is my last scrap of paper. I cannot ask my Uncle to make purchases just so I can have the wrapping paper. I should have made my letters smaller. I wish harvest time were now so there would be money for a new book …

  Friday 28th October

  I am happy beyond all my imaginings. My diary is returned. I can begin again the chronicle of my life. It was as if its loss meant that all those first months of the year had not happened.

  What have I done since the paper Kitty gave me finished?

  Many times in the evenings or when it rained I would sit and construct in my head the things I wanted to write down. I would go over and over the events of the day and think of the best way to express them: which word to put where, which funny thing that Sarah and John had done, which new experience I wanted to record.

  What things of that time do I now want to put down?

  Shall I record the long days and nights in June and July when my Aunt fell ill again and Kitty’s Mother returned and stayed with us as if she were a member of our family? Kitty, too, became such a frequent visitor.

  There was the season of planting, days spent putting in the crops of barley, and of wheat and oats, and of course the ever-present cycle of weeding in the vegetable garden and of carrying the water from the creek in the weeks when no rain fell.

  Sarah learnt to say ‘Davy’ one afternoon when I was trying to teach her to catch the soft ball that Aunt Sarah made from the scraps that came from our clothing. She still has some trouble with the ‘v’ sound but I am sure that her intention is clear. When I am at the house or close by, she follows me as if she were my shadow.

  And there was a wonderful midwinter night when we sat around a huge bonfire in the newly cleared field where the oats were to be sown. We dragged tree trunks and logs and we cooked the potatoes newly dug and sat until almost the early morning, eating and drinking tea and singing all manner of songs. We were so far from Sydney Town, from Governors, Constables and Macarthur. Had I had my diary I would have written there that I was truly happy. But I did not have my log, my personal journal.

  I must stop. Aunt Sarah wishes to blow out the candle. I shall continue tomorrow.

  Monday 31st October

  To finish the story of finding my diary. It was almost five months. In that time, Uncle George went again and again to the Police when he was in Parramatta and he complained loudly about their reluctance to come and investigate. A man did come, some eight weeks after the first complaint but then nothing was heard until last week when we received word that we could come in to Parramatta and pick up the items.


  With a very serious face, the Officer told us that the papers had been found in a box at the public house on the Sydney Road. He had no explanation as to how they got there, who had taken them or indeed who had found them. He just said they had been handed in to his men and we were free to collect them. Uncle George despises him for thinking that we would believe such stories.

  We will never know the truth of this matter.

  I held my diary tightly on the trip back to the farm. It smelt musty, as if it had been in that box a long time. When I suggested to my Uncle that maybe the whole thing was an accident, that maybe someone stole everything and then just left it at the public house, he laughed.

  ‘You are so naïve, young Davy,’ he said. ‘And a good and generous soul. Think of it like this: Chelsea Farm is a long way from anywhere; I am involved in much activity against the current Government; I have the documents that will prove all of that. Who knows? Perhaps they will come for me one day and I will go to gaol like Gore and Brown.’

  ‘No,’ I protested. ‘They could not do that. Who would look after us?’

  At that he became quite serious. ‘If they do come for me, Davy, and we hope that they do not, much will fall upon you to help your Aunt. You know how unwell she has been these past months and although she appears to be getting better she could be struck down again at any time.’