‘Playing hard to get, eh? Good for you. It’s important to keep a woman on her toes. I dinnae let on too much myself as to what I think or where I’m going. I tell them that nothing’s certain until I’ve said as much. It’s that hint of mystery that keeps them interested.’
At the end of the street their horses waited, left in the shade near the Terminus Hotel. The animals were on loan to them from a local stable. Ross and Connor headed towards them.
‘I dinnae think mine will go much further.’ Placing his hands firmly on the horse’s rump, Connor made a show of trying to push his ride forward. The mare didn’t budge.
A large banyan tree stood nearby and beneath it three young women chatted in the shade. One of the girls was small and slight, her dark hair plaited and curled into a bun that exposed a long neck. Ross made a fuss of checking the length of his stirrups as he examined her profile. It could almost have been described as a patrician silhouette although her cheeks billowed with youth. The girl was dark-skinned with Chinese characteristics, a longish face and small button nose, but her eyes were large and almond-shaped, her mouth full. Each feature complimented the other, so as a whole she appeared perfectly symmetrical, beautiful.
‘A pretty girl. Young but pretty.’
Drawn from his observations by Connor’s remark, Ross sprang up into the saddle. He felt like he was back in the confectionery shop in Rundle Street with Mr Johnston’s hand reaching for Ross’s smaller one as he’d made a grab for the sweets sitting atop the glass display. ‘Unusual looking,’ he replied, quickly dismissing her.
‘Where to now?’ asked Connor.
They rode on to the Botanical Gardens, passing the British cemetery. Slowing, they gaped at the freshly dug graves waiting for occupants. A man was riding towards them and they drew up by his side, Connor asking what terrible tragedy had occurred to warrant so many burials.
‘Nothing but the weather,’ the rider told them. ‘Try leaving a loved one for a day or two in this heat. Best to be prepared.’
‘Seen enough?’ asked Ross as they turned right towards the gardens.
‘No, I haven’t seen enough,’ retorted Connor. ‘I like Darwin. Apart from that train. There’s no trams or buses. No trussed-up women dashing here and there. When we arrived I thought to myself, well, there’s not much to it, this place on the edge of nowhere. But I was wrong. There’s a bit of everything here and not too much of the other things that can ruin a place. I didnae mind the steamer either. Seeing clear to the horizon every day.’
An unobstructed skyline. Ross missed that too. Not the seascape, where a person was captured and dwarfed by expanse, but rather the ruddy flush of windblown land that extended onwards to a vanishing point that could never be reached. Very soon he hoped that feeling would be with him again.
Their days of exploring Darwin had led Ross and Connor along many streets, past the cool verandas and gables of Government House to more modest homes with their neat fences and shaded verandas. Ross knew he’d searched for something on their arrival and he found it now on approaching the gardens. Although the grounds were unkempt in places, coloured flowers filled the park, flashing their brightness against a background of lush greenery. Birds flitted among the foliage. Splashes of yellow, white and green feathers fluttering from one branch to another. In the stippled sunlight Connor picked out hibiscus, jasmine and honeysuckle, however the names of many hundreds of other plants in the grounds eluded them.
They rested the horses briefly in the shade. At last Ross felt that their new surrounds were meeting expectation. Here was the tropical outpost he’d imagined. ‘This is what I thought it would be like, Connor.’
‘And me, Ross. And me.’
It was late afternoon by the time they reached Smith Street. A block away from Chinatown, the white area of the settlement was quieter and they were soon nearing the Hotel Victoria, where they were staying. The two-storey building of multicoloured stone resembled unglazed porcelain, and one of the highlights of Ross’s day was sitting on the upstairs veranda, willing a gentle wind.
Leaving their horses at the stables, they entered the lounge to find the Director, Henry Carey, whose new post temporarily replaced the position of Administrator, saying his goodbyes. Having made their presence known to the Director on their arrival in Darwin, it was he who’d suggested their lodgings at the hotel.
‘Ross, Connor. Introduce yourselves to those two fine young gents,’ said Henry, shaking their hands and focusing on a table around which a crowd gathered. ‘Keith and Ross Smith. The first men to fly from England to Australia. Twenty-eight days, it took. Twenty-eight days. They won’t be able to call us an ungovernable backwater now. Very soon Darwin will be the first stopping point for everyone coming to Australia.’
Ross and Connor greeted the aviators, and after offering their congratulations, took a table on the opposite side of the room, away from the commotion. They settled in chairs near the window, their backs to the crowd. Outside, an old man walked beside a buffalo pulling a wagon. Ross tugged at his shirt where it stuck to his skin. The air was dense with heat and didn’t seem to vary greatly, regardless of whether it was day or night.
The bartender, Archie, greeted them, sitting a glass of beer in front of Connor and handing Ross a cordial. ‘Are you sure you want to stick with something soft?’ He was a slight man with a veil of thick hair that hung across his brow.
‘Yes, thanks. I’ve never been much of a drinker.’
‘You put a few back in Adelaide,’ said Connor.
‘I needed it in Adelaide.’
Archie returned to the bar and Ross scribbled a quick note to his grandmother, placing it inside the recently purchased box.
‘I’ll organise for it to be posted if you like,’ offered Connor. ‘I’ve a letter home to send as well.’
‘Thanks.’ Ross slid the box across to his friend as Archie returned to their table to talk.
‘I think our Director’s a bit hopeful,’ said the barman. ‘It will take more than an aeroplane to entice people here.’ From a side table he selected a newspaper from the pile, showing them the headline in a November edition of the Northern Territory Times and Gazette.
No lighting, no power, no water, no sewerage, it read.
The list could be added to the growing number of things that served to emphasise Darwin’s remoteness and the lack of interest from the federal government. For, while some businesses did have power, they were sitting feet away from aviation pioneers in a public space that didn’t have electricity. However there was ice, which Ross was grateful for. He crunched on it as Archie sat at their table, keeping one eye on the bar and the young Japanese beer-puller behind it.
‘You’re still set on leaving then?’ he asked.
‘On the morning train,’ replied Ross. ‘Slow and unreliable. Especially at this time of year.’ He tossed his head, flicking the hair back from his eyes. ‘’Course, if the weather comes in she won’t move. I’d be waiting a few months, biding your time, but you know the general opinion by now.’
Connor gave the slightest bow of his head. ‘Aye, everyone has one, that’s for sure.’
It was as if their arrival in the north of Australia had been predicted and discussed before Ross had even made the decision to leave Adelaide. A mixture of cattlemen, prospectors, overlanders and buffalo hunters all made their presence known during their short stay at the hotel. It was not an inquisition into the first member of the Grant family visiting their Top End holding, rather a general interest in the affairs of the Territory’s governing body of old, South Australia. Although there was plenty of willingness to discover the extent of the Grant wealth and whether Ross intended on staying. He would have retreated to his room were it not for Connor, his friend reminding him that while he understood that Ross had been isolated at Gleneagle, talking to sheep didn’t pass for conversation and that it was best he get used to company again.
‘Darwin’s not like it used to be,’ said Archie. ‘Especially Chinatown
. It was cleaned up a few years ago. At one point there were more of them than us. And you can’t have that.’ He lowered his voice. ‘The government’s White Australia policy and all those Asians helped the union cause, which hasn’t done us much good.’
‘You need someone to do the laundry.’ Connor lit his pipe. ‘There’d be a bit of it what with this heat.’
The weather was topmost in people’s minds and to Ross it seemed as if the subject was debated with all the unregulated passion and knowledge of a politician giving his views to an already weary audience. But it wasn’t just the climate under deliberation. It seemed the Hotel Victoria was a major meeting place and a centre for discussion. There, government debate and general complaints, most of which were driven by members of the workers union, dominated the conversation. That and which poor soul had come to grief beyond the edges of the settlement.
As Connor began spruiking his recently acquired knowledge to the patient bartender regarding dry monsoons, wet seasons, northwest monsoons and southwest trade winds, Ross considered the telegram that was waiting in Darwin on their arrival.
If you must come bring potatoes. Jam. Tea.
Ross had scrunched the slip of paper into a ball, immediately replying to the manager of Waybell Station that they needed horses and a guide to meet them on Friday. It was clear that their coming wasn’t welcome, which made Ross all the more anxious to get to the property. The man may have been managing Waybell for over a decade, however he didn’t own it and Sowden, Ross decided, would do well to remember that.
‘Think of it this way, Connor,’ said Archie. ‘The year is divided into six months of dry and six months of wet. Sometimes the rain comes early and sometimes late. But it does eventually come. And when it does, neither man nor beast can move.’
Attempting to argue the obvious – that the sky was blue and the town hot and withering dry – was useless. Listening and nodding proved Ross’s best defence.
‘Hugh Carment,’ a burly older man announced, pulling up a chair.
‘Mr Carment,’ said Archie, deferentially leaving the three men alone.
Ross caught a whiff of rum and sweat as they introduced themselves to Hugh, who was tall, slightly stooped and with a short beard. He spread large palms on the scrubbed tabletop.
‘You’re new to the country, I hear. Wetbacks from down south, Adelaide.’
‘Yes,’ replied Ross, instantly deciding he didn’t like the man.
‘I’m not new. Been here three lifetimes. At least, that’s how it feels.’ He draped long brown arms on either side of the chair like a large bird drying its feathers. ‘Been here since Darwin was known as Palmerston. Been here since before the big cyclone of 1897. That near wiped us out. By my reckoning this will be the fifth or maybe the sixth try at a settlement up here. Anyway, welcome. How do you like our little town?’
‘It’s more like a gateway to the East,’ Connor remarked.
‘You’ve been reading too many posters,’ chuckled Hugh. ‘But you’re right, Connor, take a walk down the street and you’ll see Malays, Manilamen, Portuguese and Japanese. ‘’Course it ain’t like it was twenty years ago. Even the Canton coolies are down in numbers, thanks to the government and the white merchants. Still, it’s worth remembering that there’s no more Australia north beyond Darwin.’ Archie sat a beer in front of Hugh and he slurped the liquid up with a gurgle. ‘So here we are on a flat patch of land covered with woodlands, a few patches of rainforest and an abundance of anthills. All in all, it’s not a bad spot if you forget the blacks and the hundreds of miles of scrub at your doorstep and the Asians across the water.’
‘And what do you know of the inland?’ asked Ross.
‘It should have been left to the blacks but us Europeans like a bit of a challenge. Tell a man that you don’t know what lies in the distance and he’ll get on his horse and ride until he falls off dead. It’s a bit different these days. Reasonably civilised compared to what it was. But there’s still the odd black who’ll steal your cattle and put a spear in your back. Frankly if I was them I’d do the same. It’s a place for a man to be tested. And if he’s found wanting, well … one would hope only the tough ones stay, for that’s what the Territory needs.’
Ross wondered if Hugh Carment knew of Alastair’s dishonour or his own inaction. His brother’s ignoble disappearance had made Adelaide’s newspapers, and word was always quick to circulate when disaster was involved.
Hugh finished his beer, wiping at the trail of moisture on his chin with the back of a hand. ‘I heard you’re going to Waybell Station.’
‘We are,’ said Ross.
‘Those plots your family owns on the edge of town, I’ll give you a fair price.’ He called to the bartender for another beer.
Across the room, the Smith brothers were being toasted again. Ross listened to the cheers as he contemplated the offer. His father wanted the town real estate sold, however Ross thought it too soon to start selling off assets, especially now. Darwin was not destined to be an unruly and remote town forever. If Connor thought him quiet since they’d set foot here, it was because Ross was still weighing up the possibilities that the North could offer. As of this afternoon, they’d expanded considerably.
‘They’re not on the market.’
Hugh crossed his legs, rattling the table. ‘And Waybell?’
‘Not for sale.’
‘We’ll see. You should have a look at it, I suppose, before you decide,’ said Hugh, his tone friendly but firm. ‘You’re not the first to sit on a piece of dirt thinking it’s a solid investment but the big runs aren’t worth much now. How long are you staying?’ He barely acknowledged the beer the bartender had placed on the table.
‘Who knows?’ replied Ross. Even if he knew the answer to the question he wasn’t willing to reveal his thoughts to anyone, particularly this man who was ready to buy whatever he offered.
‘Don’t tell Sowden that,’ advised Hugh. ‘He does a fair job of things from what I hear, considering.’
‘Considering what?’ asked Ross.
Hugh took a sip that half-emptied the glass.
When an answer wasn’t forthcoming Ross said, ‘You mean, apart from the cattle we seem to be missing every year?’
‘He’s not expecting you to stay,’ Hugh answered, avoiding the question.
‘You’ve spoken to him then?’ asked Ross.
‘Word gets around when there’s a newcomer. Also, he’s not one for company.’
Ross gave a wry smile. ‘Neither am I.’
‘He’s a sheep man,’ added Connor, nodding at Ross.
‘You won’t find any lice-feeders up here,’ said Hugh flatly, before finishing the beer. ‘I best state my business. I’ve got a mate who’s on his last legs and we were partners. There’s papers that need to be signed. But there’s also a maid that’s due at Holder’s Run. At least, that’s what they’re calling her at the moment. Anyway, I said I’d deliver the girl. The ones that aren’t black are as hard to come by as feathered frogs. Not that I’m against the blacks. Rather have them than the orientals. Plenty of fine people among the Larrakia and there’s more than one gin that’s suckled a white child and put ’em to bed of a night. Holder’s place is near your station, so I figured I could leave her with you, and Marcus Holder could collect her from Waybell when he’s able, or you can take her to him. I’d do it myself but I don’t think old Hatty will last the distance if I make the detour.’
‘A woman?’ said Ross. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be responsible for a woman.’
‘For any woman,’ stated Connor, who’d been listening intently.
Ross flattened his lips together in annoyance.
‘Up here we help each other, Ross. We put up with owners who appear out of the South with their gripes and fancy ideas.’ Hugh’s fingers tapped the table. ‘And we never turn anyone away from our door. Or knock back a bloke if he needs a hand. So I’ll be on the train Friday with the girl, and I’ll get word to Holder that she’s i
n your care.’
Ross tried to interrupt.
‘And make sure you’ve got enough quinine and chlorodyne for dysentery. Plenty of men have died from a rush of the bowels.’ Shoving the chair against the table, Hugh left.
‘It looks like you’ve got a woman to look after,’ Connor said smugly, arms crossed.
‘We,’ corrected Ross. ‘We have a woman to look after.’
Chapter 15
They kept to the carriage, only stretching their legs once when the train halted with a squeal of steam and clanging metal. The driver called for assistance and, along with other passengers, Ross and Connor helped move a tangle of branches that the wind had scattered across the tracks. The men milled around to briefly talk of the weather and markets, a few of them warning the newcomers of what may be waiting for them come the rain.
‘Nineteen sixteen was a tragedy,’ a whale-sized man told them. ‘Eleven inches in a day, thirty-five inches in a week. The water was four feet deep down the centre of Katherine. Men died. In railway camps, on rivers, from starvation and beri-beri. There was no word from some stations for months. I’m just saying,’ he concluded, leaving Ross and Connor standing under a duck-egg sky.
Every so often the train rumbled across a bridge or a flood opening, all the while the whistle sounded to warn off birds and other wildlife. Nearly everyone was heading to Pine Creek, while Ross and Connor were to be dropped like unwanted packages somewhere along the line. The conductor explained that they too should have made the town their destination, in case the weather came in. Instead they were to risk the track used in the dry to get to Waybell. Safe enough, the man conceded, when Mick was in charge.
‘Anyway, you’ll see a bit of the country,’ he told them with a smirk.
‘And who’s Mick?’ asked Ross.
‘The head stockman,’ replied the conductor.
There was no sign of Hugh Carment or the girl. Connor thought to investigate the carriages, however Ross told him not to bother searching. There was enough on his mind without worrying about another man’s troubles. Now that his escape was behind him, and with it the entanglements of family and wife, the departure from Darwin had jolted Ross out of the languid state he’d felt on arrival in the North and back to the sense of adventure he’d experienced on first stepping aboard the steamer in Adelaide.
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