Outback Station

by Aaron Fletcher

  "Very well," David replied. "Go on back to work, Hinton."

  The man slouched away, grinding his teeth in frustrated rage. The clergyman and Auberta expressed deep gratitude for David's help, thanking him over and over, then left. As he returned to work, David had strong doubts about the outcome. The decision was up to Auberta, but he believed she would be far better off in the Female Factory than married to Hinton.

  Instead of passing, the incident remained very much alive at the construction site, the workers gleefully amused over what had happened to Hinton. They taunted him about it, occasionally bringing him out of the saw pit with his fists cocked and his thick features twisted in rage, ready to fight. During the remainder of the day, as well as through the rest of the week, David had to intervene to prevent a fight.

  On Saturday evening, David was waiting at the edge of the village when Frank came down the road in his cart. Sunday was another long, busy day with David spending part of the morning at the smithy shed with Kunmanara, learning how to shoe horses. After that, he went out into a paddock and moved sheep to fresh pasture, then he worked until well after dark with Frank, again helping the grazier doctor sick sheep.

  At muster the next morning, both Hinton and Crowley were absent. When he finished calling the roll and dismissed the craftsmen and their helpers, David talked with the laborers and asked if they knew where the two men were. They shook their heads and shrugged, none of them having seen either Hinton or Crowley since Saturday.

  After he assigned tasks to the men, David went to the convict compound office. Captain Barrett was there, poring over a report. He stroked his chin musingly as David told him about the two men who were missing, then handed over the report he had been reading. It had been made up the previous day when a farmer from the Windsor settlement had come to the office to report that two horses and an assortment of foodstuffs had been stolen from his farm, the theft having occurred on Saturday night.

  ''The conclusion is inescapable," the captain commented as David handed the report back. "We have two more bushrangers at large."

  "The theft of two horses and food on the night they disappeared can't be mere coincidence," David agreed. "I'm not surprised, though, because Hinton and Crowley are both troublemakers."

  "Well, hopefully they'll be captured soon. I'll send a couple of men to replace them and report this to Sydney. If you hear anything more from your workers about Hinton and Crowley, let me know."

  David replied that he would, then left. As he went back toward the construction site, he met Vicar Carlson, who was on his way to the office. The clergyman had been to the site to talk with Hinton about the wedding, and he listened with increasing dismay as David told him about the most probable explanation for Hinton's absence.

  "Dear, dear," he sighed despondently. "This is most distressing, Mr. Kerrick. Whatever will Mistress Mowbray do now?"

  "Frankly, I think she'll be better off, Vicar. You saw what kind of man Hinton is, and he would have made her life miserable."

  "Perhaps she might have reformed him," the clergyman suggested, shrugging. "One never knows, does one? But now she'll be cast out of where she lives, and she'll have an illegitimate child. And she'll go to the Female Factory." He sighed again. "Well, good day, Mr. Kerrick."

  David replied, then went on to the construction site. As he began working, he thought about the two replacement laborers who would be assigned, wondering if they would be good workers or as much trouble as the ones whom they replaced. Other things claimed his attention, but in addition, he felt a twinge of pity for Auberta Mowbray that tugged at him and made the cold, late winter day seem even gloomier.

  He was kept indirectly reminded of the woman as the workers around him discussed the two absent men. When the conversation about Hinton and Crowley began to die down by the next day, the replacement laborers arrived. Apparently good workers, David assigned them to tasks, and each time he glimpsed one of them, it created fleeting thoughts of Auberta Mowbray.

  Later in the week, while David was checking the plumb lines for the stone entrance steps in front of the building, Vicar Carlson stepped up behind him. "Good day, Mr. Kerrick," the clergyman greeted him cheerfully. "I dropped by for a moment to bring very good news."

  "Good day, Vicar," Kerrick replied. "What good news is that?"

  "It concerns Mistress Mowbray. Do you happen to know of a Mr. James Underwood, who is a businessman in Sydney?"

  Kerrick nodded, having heard of the owner of a shipyard in Sydney. "Yes, I know of him, Vicar."

  "Well, I'm acquainted with Mr. Underwood and his wife, and I happened to see them yesterday. I explained the . . . ah, Mistress Mowbray's predicament, and they agreed to hire her as a maid."

  "That's very good news, Vicar."

  "I knew you'd be happy to hear about it, so I came by to tell you. Well, I must be on my way. Good day, Mr. Kerrick."

  David replied and turned back to his work, relieved as well as pleased that the young woman's plight had been resolved, and through a means far better for her than by marrying Hinton.

  On the second Saturday in September, spring having arrived with longer days, sunset was still a short time away when David waited for Frank. Instead of the grazier, Kunmanara came for him with a spare horse. The handyman explained that Frank had remained at the station that day because the ewes had started lambing.

  Dusk was gathering when they reached the track, and dense smoke rose from behind a hill at one side. Kunmanara turned toward it, telling David that Frank was tending to one of the flocks there with Silas and Ruel, while Daniel was at the second flock with the other two jackaroos.

  A few minutes later, the flock came into view, part of the sheep in a fold. The others were ewes, scattered about in clusters, with the dogs spread around them. The smoke billowed up from green limbs on fires near the ewes, some of them already with lambs, while Frank and the two youths bent over ewes lying in labor on the ground.

  As the handyman and David rode up, Frank raised his voice over the roar of bleating that rose from the ewes; "Kunmanara, fetch more wood and green branches for the fires. Then ride over to the flock in the other paddock and see if they need anything there."

  Kunmanara rode away as David tethered his horse with the others near the fold. Tossing his blanket and coat down among the other belongings in front of the hut beside the fold, he joined Frank. The smoky fires were intended to drive away the flies that had become worse with the warmer weather, but they were only partially effective. Drawn by the blood and afterbirth of the lambing, clouds of insects buzzed about.

  The fires also provided illumination, the flames making pools of ruddy light among the mass of sheep as the darkness increased. Frank had just finished with an ewe and was putting the newborn lamb in front of it. When the ewe began licking the small, long-legged creature, the grazier plunged his hands into a bucket of water.

  Rinsing his hands and shaking the water off, he told David of the problems involved in lambing. He explained that older ewes that had given birth before rarely had difficulty with only one lamb, but some of them could experience trouble in giving birth to twins.

  "Some young ewes have a hard time with one lamb," he added, "but the main problem is with young ewes that have twins in them."

  David looked around at the dozens of ewes straining and bleating madly. "How do you know which ones are having trouble?" he asked.

  "By the sounds they're making, and you'll soon learn to tell the difference between one that's only lambing and one with a lamb that's stuck. All right, let's get you started on some."

  The grazier knelt beside one of the ewes in labor and carefully pushed a hand into the birth canal. He felt around, then withdrew his hand. "This one's laid wrong, David," he said. "Just nudge it around, then it'll come right out." Moving aside for David, he laughed. "After cutting wormy dags off sick sheep, this shouldn't bother you too much."

  David laughed wryly, kneeling beside the ewe. He gingerly inserted a hand into the birt
h canal, feeling for the lamb. Pushing at it gently, he slowly turned it. As he withdrew his hand, the ewe began straining. A moment later, the lamb started sliding out.

  "That's fine, David," Frank said in approval. "When you get the lamb out, wipe it off with a twist of grass and put it in front of the ewe to lick. Then wash your hands, because I've found that it generally prevents infections to have clean hands when helping them lamb."

  After following Frank's instructions, David rinsed his hands in a bucket and followed Frank to another ewe. It was a more difficult situation, a young ewe with twins in the birth canal, and Frank explained how to separate the lambs and get them out one at a time. When that was done, the grazier watched and gave advice with two more ewes, then moved away and left David on his own.

  A short time later, as the grazier had predicted, David was able to distinguish between ewes bleating in labor and those in distress. The latter seemed innumerable, another immediately claiming his attention as soon as he finished with one. Frank, Silas, and Ruel had been working for hours, but while the jackaroos were weary, the grazier seemed tireless.

  He also kept an eye on the youths, suddenly calling out to one of them, "You, Silas! You didn't wash your hands before going to that ewe. If you do that again, you'll get a drink from one of these buckets. By the time you finish chundering, you'll remember to wash your hands."

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Williamson," Silas replied, going to a bucket. "I'm so fagged that I don't know what I'm about. The next thing you'll be at me about is having my hand in a ewe's mouth instead of t'other end."

  The grazier laughed heartily. "Never mind, lad," he said sympathetically. "Hard work will make a good man of you. When Jimbob gets here with tucker and tea, we'll have a little rest."

  As the work continued, the chill of the spring night intensified. The combination of the cold and smoke from the fires gradually thinned the dense clouds of flies. The cook arrived, driving a cart up beside a fire. David washed his hands and joined the others as Jimbob dismounted and took covered buckets of damper, fried pork, and tea out of the cart.

  The cook passed out the food and pannikins of tea, talking with Frank about the lambing, and Ruel offered an opinion. "If I ever get to be a boss cockie," he commented, "I'm going to have ewes bred at different times of the year so they won't all lamb at once."

  "Then you won't be a boss cockie very long," Frank replied, he and Jimbob laughing. "Part of your sheep will be woolies that are overdue for shearing, part too young to shear, and the rest somewhere in between. You'll be trying to breed, lamb, and shear all at the same time."

  Ruel shrugged ruefully, and Frank and the cook laughed again. The conversation continued a few minutes longer, then the respite was over. Jimbob put the empty buckets into the cart and drove off into the night, and David and the others went to the ewes that were bleating frantically.

  Late in the night, the jackaroos lay beside a fire while Frank and David still worked. The grazier's energy finally gave out and he lay down, then David unrolled his blanket near a fire. It was still dark when he woke. A ewe bleated in distress a few yards away, and as he attended it, Frank got up and woke the youths.

  At dawn, when Ruel and Silas turned out the wethers and barren ewes in the fold to graze, they were joined by hundreds of ewes that had one or two lambs teetering along beside them. Hundreds more remained near the fires, dozens in labor at any one time. Jimbob arrived with more food and tea, then the work resumed when he left.

  The afternoon was mild, with flies a constant torment and then diminishing once more when the temperature dropped after nightfall. Later that night, Kunmanara came for David, but David kept working and delayed leaving until the last possible moment, reaching the village as dawn was breaking.

  The work on the new barracks was ahead of schedule, and Greenway had been coming to the site periodically to monitor the progress. He visited again in the middle of the week, highly pleased as he looked around. With the carpentry and stone work virtually completed, only moldings, windows, and finishing touches remained to be done on the building. The next day, glaziers and joiners arrived from Sydney to do the final work.

  The following Saturday, Frank met David and expressed satisfaction with the lambing as they rode toward the station in the cart. The last few ewes had lambed Monday, he told David, with an adequate number having had twins. The lambs that had been born first were now old enough to be mulsed and have their tails trimmed, work that was more methodical than the frantic rush of lambing.

  The conversation then turned to David's chances of receiving a pardon. Frank was confident that he would. "Governor Macquarie is far better than the ones who were boss cockies when I wore canaries," the grazier said. "He's very free with pardons and tickets-of-leave."

  "That's true," David agreed, "but I won't be at ease until I have it. Once I do, I can set about getting together the funds I'll need for a sheep station. That might take years, but so be it."

  "There's a way that wouldn't take years," Frank told him, "but it entails taking risks like a gambler and working like a navvy. You could graze a flock on shares, which would give you half the clip and half the lambs at the end of a year. But you'd be on your own, and just think of dealing with the lambing by yourself. Also, if something happened to the flock, you would have to repay the owner for it."

  "I couldn't drive a flock to the outback by myself, Frank."

  "No, but I could write a letter for you to carry to Pat, asking him to give you a flock on shares. With my recommendation, he would do it."

  "It's certainly something to think about," David mused. "I would need a horse, supplies, and equipment, but I could earn enough to buy those in a relatively short time."

  "No, Pat would provide your supplies for the time that you have the flock on shares. As far as a horse, weapons, and equipment are concerned, I would see you right on that."

  "No, Frank, you've already been very"

  "I'll hear no argument about it," the grazier said firmly, interrupting David. "When I'm gone, my family will probably break up my station to sell as farms, or do whatever else it takes to get the most with the least trouble. In view of that, I'll do what I please with what I have, David."

  The grazier's relationship with his family a sensitive issue, David returned to the main point. "Well, grazing a flock on shares is certainly worth considering," he mused, "but so are the problems."

  Frank agreed emphatically, pointing out that David could end up in debt for years if he took a flock on shares and something happened to it. The conversation continued until he and David reached the home paddock, and they discussed the subject at length the next day, while working together on the lambs. But the grazier avoided making a recommendation, leaving the decision entirely up to David.

  David pondered the idea the next week, knowing the time was approaching when he would have to decide. That time became defined when Greenway told him that the governor would inspect the new barracks the following Wednesday. Then, on Saturday evening, David told Frank that if he received a pardon, he would go to Wayamba Station and ask Pat to let him graze a flock on shares.

  The following Wednesday, the workers had just finished sweeping out wood shavings and other debris when the governor arrived at the building with a party that included several aides and Greenway. Their footsteps echoing through the large, empty rooms, the men slowly went from one part of the barracks to another, inspecting them carefully.

  When they finished and went back to the entrance, Governor Macquarie turned to David. "As I mentioned before," he said, "those sentenced for capital offenses can never leave the colony. However, I will grant you a conditional pardon that leaves you to your own devices within the colony."

  "I'm very grateful, Excellency," David replied. "It wouldn't have been possible to have this building completed by now without the efforts of a number of workers who did far more than was required of them. If I may, I would like to ask you to take their sentences under review and possibly grant them a
pardon or ticket-of-leave."

  "Very well, I'll consider it and ask the advice of other overseers for whom they have worked. Come and see my secretary tomorrow and leave a list of their names. He will also have your pardon document."

  David thanked the governor again, then Governor Macquarie and his party went down the stone steps to the official coach. As the vehicle moved down the street, it passed Frank in his cart, who had come to ask if David had received his pardon.

  Chapter Five

  West of Bathurst, among the tracks that wandered between the sheep stations and the village, David found one that was scored with deep wheel marks left by heavy vehicles. The ruts having been made by the drays that took supplies to Wayamba Station each year and returned with wool, the track led to the west.

  During most of his life, he had been accustomed to constricted spaces in a land where disputes over a few inches in fields had led to lawsuits. Here, when the Blue Mountains fell behind, he felt like a tiny mote on the scale of the vast landscape around him. Though his horse kept up a good pace for hours, at the end of each day he seemed to have made little progress, the wilderness seeming to reach endlessly to the horizon.

  The track led across vast stretches of rolling terrain covered with deep, lush grass, thickets of shrubs, and open forest. It was veined by creeks with tall, glistening eucalyptuses and matted undergrowth lining their banks. Parrots were bright splashes of color darting through the trees, their jarring shrieks blending with the loud, snapping call of the whipbird and more melodious chirping of pipits, swallows, thrushes, and bush wrens.

  Emus scurried from thickets, and kangaroos bounded across the grassy valleys. High in the eucalyptus groves, koalas stared blandly at David and munched leaves. Occasionally he glimpsed a wombat, and bandicoots peered from holes. The spiny anteater, remotely resembling a hedgehog, curled into a tight ball for defense when David passed.