They walked hastily together in the direction of a corner tavern. Curious, I slipped inside. They chose a table and sat down over a battle of words and a pitcher of rum.
I found a stool in the corner within easy hearing, that is until a woman came and sat close by, carrying a tankard of ale. Her mop cap was greasy with dirt and had slipped down over one eye. With a shaky hand, she pushed it back.
I went back to concentrating on the taskmaster. He was saying, ‘I am warning you, Holt, do not be out late tonight!’
The woman began singing to herself. She turned her squinty eyes on me. I strained to listen to the taskmaster, but only caught a few words: ‘Captain Abbott alerted — break out — thatcher on the roof at There or Nowhere — more than one report — tonight.’
When put together, the words rang out loud like a warning bell. Aye, they told me everything. Captain Abbott and his Parramatta redcoats must have learned about the uprising! Worse, he knew it was about to happen. But what about There or Nowhere, the sly grog stall? Ah, what did a thatcher on the roof have to do with anything? I recalled Croppy John had gone to a meeting there. Had they been overheard? I was believing there were a pack of dirty turncoats in these surrounding hills. The taskmaster could not have made things any plainer if he had been shouting Rebellion! at the top of his voice.
General Holt stood up, tipping over his stool. He locked eyes with the taskmaster before storming away.
The taskmaster shouted after him, ‘We would be very sorry to hear of anything against you.’
I felt myself sinking into a hole of desperation. Was their meeting merely a chance encounter, or had the taskmaster been searching out General Holt with intent? They should be sworn enemies, not sharing a drink together. Yet, there was no doubting the taskmaster was threatening him, or that the General was angry. Aye, this was confusing. The pieces did not fit easily together.
I waited until General Holt was clear of the tavern before I made a move to leave. I had no sooner gone outside when I was tripped from behind and fell flat on my face. A foot pressed hard into my back.
‘Ow!’
‘You deserve that! How dare you lock me in your disgusting humpy!’ Kitt took her foot away.
Twisting my head around, I saw a familiar beaming face beside her. ‘Pat!’ I said, spitting the dust from my mouth. ‘Why did you let her out?’
He shrugged.
‘If not for Pat, I would still be locked up.’
‘I was only trying to protect you.’
She dragged me to my feet, her eyes glowering. ‘From what?’ She was filled with fire and ready to box my ears.
‘I wish I could explain.’
Pat broke in, ‘Jen. Er. Uhl.’
‘Quite right, Pat,’ Kitt kept on. ‘We turn up and discover Joe spying on General Holt. Don’t you deny your skulduggery, Joe!’
‘Pat’s not meaning—’ I stopped short. ‘Why are you here, Pat?’
‘Sent. Tooo. Help. Yooo.’
‘Then there’s no time for delaying. The redcoats know everything, even when! The taskmaster warned Joshua’s father not to get involved.’
Kitt was gazing at us, bewilderment written on her face. ‘You lads are scaring me.’
I realised there was little use in shielding her any longer from the truth. A magistrate like Reverend Marsden, the Flogging Parson, was apt to judge her guilty simply for keeping company with us. ‘If you want to know, you’ll have to take a vow of allegiance,’ I warned her, ‘but you’d best hurry.’
‘Go on, then.’
I used the same United Irish oath Croppy John had me speak. Kitt repeated the words. Only then did I reveal the croppies’ plot. Her eyes opened wider in shock with each detail.
‘I knew something unruly was afoot,’ she admitted. ‘Since General Holt has been warned off, I expect he will go straight to Castle Hill and advise Mr Cunningham not to go ahead.’
‘Do you think so?’ I replied. Nothing can be certain ... Doubts lurked in my head like dark shadows. ‘What if General Holt decides not to warn him?’
‘I cannot believe Joshua’s father would refuse to help his own people!’
‘When I first saw General Holt arrive in Parramatta, I was convinced he was to take the lead in the rebellion,’ I said. ‘But after the taskmaster’s warning, I’m afeared he may choose to play safe and do nothing.’
Kitt looked confused. ‘What exactly is General Holt supposed to be doing?’
‘Far as I know, heading up the Parramatta rebels. Mebbe rallying the full army.’
‘So, is he, or isn’t he?’
I could only shrug. ‘I’ve heard some accuse him of being a lapdog of the English.’ The rebellion counted heavily on the elements of secrecy and surprise. By now Captain Abbott was bound to have sent word to Governor King in Sydney Town. A full regiment could already be on the way to crush the croppies. If this were the case, lives depended on someone stopping that first signal fire.
Kitt was deep in thought. ‘What if I go after General Holt? See if I can discover whose side he is actually on? He cannot be too far ahead. If he is on his way to Castle Hill, all well and good, we shall know he is giving Mr Cunningham the chance to stop.’
On the whole, Kitt’s plan was sound. But time was fast slipping away.
‘I’ll come with you,’ I said. ‘If needs be, I’ll warn Mr Cunningham myself.’ What Croppy John had said about me staying away did not matter anymore. I put my hand on Pat’s shoulder. ‘Will you take my place at the barracks? Check if any redcoats leave. When the croppies turn up, tell them what you’ve seen.’
Pat nodded.
‘Let’s hurry,’ insisted Kitt, ‘darkness will be upon us very soon and—’ She gave a gasp. ‘Oh my, what if Joshua is involved!’
‘Stawp!’ Pat choked out. I followed his finger towards an orange glow, a beacon against the darkening sky.
‘Merciful angels!’ Kitt cried.
I buried my head in my hands. The first signal fire was ablaze. We were too late to stop Mr Cunningham and the croppies from rebelling.
Pat tugged at my arm. ‘Mac. Arth. Err.’
‘Aye, Pat.’ The next signal fire was to come from Captain Macarthur’s homestead. When it did I had to be at the barracks ready to tell the croppies whether or not it was safe to raid the weapon store. Pat too. We had to get a move on. ‘Best if you go home, Kitt,’ I said. ‘There is no reason to follow General Holt now.’
She shook her head stubbornly. ‘I want to know what he and Joshua are up to. Where are Mr Cunningham’s forces gathering?’
Before I could prevent Pat from answering, he said, ‘Kon. Sti. Too. Shuhn. Hil.’
‘Righto, lads, I’ll meet you there.’ Kitt flew off in a hurry.
‘Hold on!’ I rushed after her and made her stop. ‘You cannot mean to join in the fighting?’
‘I’m a United Irish girl. I gave the vow. To you! Just now.’
‘That was before,’ I tried to argue. ‘Things have changed. Go home. The croppies do not need you tagging along.’
She faced me, hands on hips. ‘Who made you in charge, doling out the orders?’
‘I never!’
‘You always!’
I swallowed deeply. She was seeing things all wrong. ‘Follow General Holt, if you must. Then go home. Will you at least promise me that? Will you?’
She clicked her tongue. ‘Very well! After I’ve done finding out about Joshua and his father, I promise I will to go back to Ann’s.’ She ran off with a ‘Humph!’
The redcoats’ barrack and parade ground lay at the far end of the road, close to a bend in the river. As Pat and I made our way there, someone swung open a paling gate and stepped out in front of us. His eyes swept across my face and he gave a swift nod in passing. Further down the road, a knot of men leaned casual-like against a hut wall, hands in pockets, scuffing boots in the dust. Their hats were pulled low covering their faces. A suspicion of quick, eager whispers came from the rear of the wheelwright’s. My
insides were tight with tension. The Parramatta croppies were gathering.
Two redcoats turned into the road. ‘C’mon, Pat,’ I muttered. We quickened our pace.
Parramatta Barracks
The groups of croppies had slowly drifted away. The lanterns of the taverns had dimmed early. An eerie cloak of darkness veiled the road and the river.
In the parade ground, there were flickers of movement. Rushlight torches. A brazier spitting out flames. None of the redcoats had left. Voices shouted orders. There was a clank of metal. Long-nosed, Brown Bess muskets pulled from wooden racks. A drifting smell of powder as horns were filled. A steady drumbeat. Aye, a call to arms. The redcoats were calling in volunteers.
Pat and I were sick of the watching. Where was the second signal fire? I was dispirited over the delaying. We could not be waiting forever.
‘How did we ever land up in this mess?’ I asked in a whisper. I was thinking out loud and never expected an answer.
‘Sheeep.’
I raised my eyebrows at Pat. ‘You said “Sheeep” back in Mr Cunningham’s hut that day of our meeting. I clear forgot. Why?’
‘Trans. Port. Ed.’
‘Ah, that’s the crime you were transported for? You stole a sheep?’
‘Ahy. Tooo.’
I couldn’t help but grin. A turn up, is it. A shepherd boy and a sheep thief being best friends. ‘And here I was thinking you’d been a croppy boy all your life.’
‘Yoo. Nite. Ed. Eye. Rish. Weee. Tooo.’
The smile faded from my face. ‘Aye, and that’s the truth of how we did land up in this mess. We don’t have to go, you know. They gave us an out.’
‘Tooo. Layte.’ He was right. He tugged at my arm and cupped a hand to his ear. ‘Doo. Yoo. Heer?’ He pointed in the direction of the river and the landing place.
‘Are you thinking we should risk a look?’ I asked.
‘Ahy.’
We edged our way towards the river’s landing place and hid behind the storehouse. Water slapped impatiently against the side of a moored boat. Timbers creaked. A child cried out, was swiftly hushed. There was a scuff from a rope, and the rustle of a fancy skirt. A sizzle of rushlight let me catch sight of moving shadows. Women and childer. Well-to-dos.
Pat was more exact. ‘Mac. Arth. Err.’
I went cold. If Captain Macarthur’s wife and childer were making off by boat to Sydney Town, they must have been forewarned that their homestead was to be set alight as a diversion. With Missus Macarthur gone, the redcoats had no reason whatsoever to be leaving the barracks.
‘Floh. Ging. Par. Sun,’ Pat mouthed Reverend Marsden’s dreaded nickname.
He and his family must be fleeing as well. I bit a fingernail to the quick, filled with uncertainty – what to do now?
Monday, March 5th in the year of 1804
I am reeling. I am weary. Where do I begin? Mebbe with what happened after midnight. Aye, things took a grim turn for the worse after Missus Macarthur left.
Burning flares lit up the parade ground as settlers and constables filtered in. Not a single redcoat had left, nor any croppy showed his face.
Nearing dawn, we heard the charge of hooves flying at full gallop. The rider wore an officer’s finery, his headdress a black furry mitten with a plume of red and white. He jerked his horse to a halt and slid down quickly from the saddle. The horse was hard run, panting and blowing.
A redcoat rushed over. ‘Major Johnston, sir!’
The Major shared a last name with our Mr Johnston, aye, but that is where the resemblance ended. The redcoat barely had time to finish his salute before the Major slapped the reins into the subordinate’s hand and dashed across the parade ground into the main hut.
Who knows what words were uttered? Only that the Major came rushing out moments later, grabbed the reins, jammed a boot into the stirrup and swung into place. He turned his stallion. When the animal became skittish, twisting and pulling at the bit, the Major kneed it firm in the side. The horse plunged forward.
A few minutes after the Major disappeared, we heard Rat-tat! Brrum! Rat-tat! Brrum! The drums of war were advancing. The Major had brought more redcoats – soldiers from Sydney Town. Pat and I watched in alarm as they filed into the parade ground, led by the Major, his reins drawn tight, his horse dancing a trot. The redcoats’ feet beat the same kind of rhythm. They must have set a thundering pace throughout the night.
They were dusty. They had to be tired after hours on foot. Even so, they showed little strain; they were active and alert. Everything about them indicated they were not planning to remain here for long. Aye, and they were dressed for battle. Their tall black helmets and plumes were fixed and upright, a strap fastened choking tight under the chin. Their woollen tunics were buttoned up right to the leather stock at their throat, their wide, buckled straps and white breeches stretched and taut. They were booted and heavily armed. I had a sinking feeling in my heart.
The pale light of day was beginning to flood the horizon when another horse and rider hurdled in and pulled up quick. We heard a bugle call and a shout, ‘His Excellency is at the House!’ Governor King had come from Sydney Town to take command. He was setting up a command post at his country house. This was a grave turn of events. Constitution Hill lay on a rise beyond its grounds.
I whispered to Pat, ‘The croppies aren’t coming. We have to go warn Mr Cunningham and Mr Johnston the redcoats are after them!’ I could not hide the tremble in my voice. We could not stay clear of Constitution Hill. We were the only ones left to give such a warning.
Pat struck his fist against his chest. ‘Hah. Rut.’
Keep the heart! That is what he was telling me. Only deep down in mine the fear was striking a blow, a hammer hard against an anvil. And we were the red-hot metal being bent into shape.
Government House, Parramatta
The Governor’s house sat on a hill at the bend of the river. In the dawn light the stone turned liquid yellow. Smoke spiralled from chimney stacks at either end of the roof. The drapes, top and bottom, were pulled open. Candlelight flickered in a window. Governor King was somewhere inside, issuing instructions.
My eyes were set on a pair of cannon, which poked over a low stone wall at the front of the house. The sentries weren’t there. This was mebbe our only chance to slip past. ‘C’mon, Pat. Let’s make a dash for it,’ I said.
The gate we needed to go through to reach Constitution Hill was at the rear. We crossed the Governor’s grounds, scrambling like one of those striped lizards through grassland, past the kitchen gardens, through more trees and patches of shrubbery. Keeping hidden, keeping low. Near the vineyards set up by Mr Duriault for Governor King there was a glow from a moving lantern, the owner not yet chancing the morning light.
‘Sen. Tree?’ Pat wasn’t certain.
I saw the sweep of a skirt. ‘’Tis only a dairymaid.’ The cows were lowing. Milking time. Made me think of Kitt, back safe at Ann and Thomas’s. She’d be about setting the first of the morning milk in her pantry for the cream to rise. I wondered if she had her mind on us.
We followed the grounds along a rising ridge of land. I’d heard tell Governor King was a mite sickly with the gout. I guessed the hilly climb must serve well for his constitutional walk.
Constitution Hill
We arrived to an empty hillside. The croppy army must have already mustered and marched on. Far off there were muffled shouts. Pat pointed further to the west, towards the Hawkesbury. The croppies were due to rally there, before marching back east to Parramatta, then on to Sydney Town.
More cows were making a racket in the distance, their milking not started. Mebbe folk were staying inside, too afeared to venture out.
‘You lads took your time.’ Kitt made herself known, straightening her back as she came out of hiding, leading Selly, Ann’s old grey mare. Kitt’s green ribbon was tied to Selly’s leather strap.
‘Kitt!’ I spluttered. ‘You promised to stay at Ann’s! Aye, and you’ve gone and let the cr
eam spoil!’
She was puzzled. ‘What cream?’
‘Oh, never mind!’ I added hastily.
She gave me an impatient look. ‘Are you done with your blethering?’ She thrust a water pouch into my hand, along with a crust of bread thick with butter. ‘I couldn’t let the pair of you go rebelling on empty bellies, now, could I?’
I took a swig of the water and scraped the butter and bread through my teeth. I was famished. I had not eaten since yesterday morn. ‘You promised!’ There was a desperate edge in my voice.
‘Only to go back, I never promised to stay!’ Kitt said, tilting her chin.
‘How long have you been here?’
She shook her head. ‘Not long.’
‘Seen any croppies?’
‘A few stragglers crossed onto Ann and Thomas’s farm. Netted some farm tools. I stayed out of their way. Rather try my luck catching up with Mr Cunningham.’
I nearly choked. ‘We’re catching up. You’re not.’
‘If you go, I go!’
I muttered under my breath, ‘Flabbergasting stubborn—’
Pat nudged me quiet. ‘Gov. Nor. May. Jer.’
‘Aye, you better listen to us, Kitt. Governor King is in Parramatta. More redcoats arrived before dawn. A Major was leading them. Volunteers have been swarming in. There are sentries on the prowl.’
Kitt nuzzled her face into the mare’s mane. ‘Oh, lads, I don’t doubt the danger. I feel it in my bones. Still, you must do what you ought, and I must do what I ought. Think on this, you will not move far on foot. The best chance is by Selly. You may as well sit behind.’ She thrust herself up into the saddle and held the reins. ‘So, are you coming?’
‘Ahy.’ Pat was willing.
I gave in and climbed up. On horseback, there was only one direct way inland to the Hawkesbury – by road. I was dubious. ‘We’ll be out in the open. Let’s hope the redcoats haven’t left the barracks yet.’
Kitt urged Selly along. She threw herself forward across the mare’s neck and crouched over. I sat rigid, sticking to the saddle like a burr. Behind me, I felt Pat slide forward.
Castle Hill Rebellion Page 10