Hawkins' Grove

by Graeme Bourke

  * * *

  The next morning, from the confines of his bed, Jim heard seemingly distant noises as Abe rose from his bed, lit the fire, and hung the old, cast-iron kettle on the hook above the fire. The creaking of the leather hinges on the door signaled Abe’s departure to the stables where he would feed the horses and ready the coach for the trip to Hobart.

  Jim struggled to open his sleepy eyes as he forced his reluctant body out of bed. It took a lot of effort to get the cold and almost frozen boots onto his feet. The chill in the air was all too familiar. The fire crackled and roared as he threw more wood onto the tiny inferno, he momentarily warmed his hands, and then went out to give Abe a hand. The red halo of the sun was just starting to poke its head above the purple hills in the distance.

  “Its white outside,” said Jim on entering the stable. He saw that Abe had already hitched the four horses to the coach.

  ‘Sure is, Jim. It’s a beauty,” said Abe as he forked some hay to one of the horses.

  “You’ll have to take the coach down to Hobart today. I have to go with Constable Harrison this morning. Was bailed up last night and they took my passenger,” said Jim as he grabbed a pitchfork and began forking some hay to some of the other horses.

  “You’ll be needing a good horse then, better take the big black. He is as strong as an ox and will go all day.”

  Jim knew there was no better horse in the stable. He strode over to Blackie, as he was known, and gave him some fresh hay. At the same time he threw the old red blanket over the horse’s back and then took the saddle from the railing, and strapped it in place.

  “The kettle should be boiled by now,” said Abe, hanging the fork on the protruding nails on the wall.

  “I’ll just finish getting Blackie ready and then I’ll be in.”

  For breakfast, Jim had a nice hot cup of tea and a bowl of thick porridge. Then, he wrapped some bread and cheese in a cloth and put it in his saddle bag. He then returned to the stable. He was leading Blackie out into the frost covered yard when Constable Harrison and Billy arrived.

  “Bloody cold,” said Jim.

  “Yes, but it should be a nice day once the sun warms up,” replied Constable Harrison sitting erect on his horse as if he was on parade.

  Jim swung himself up into the saddle. “How are you, Billy?”

  “As well as can be expected, Mr Hawkins,” replied Billy as he slouched in the saddle with his curly-black hair hanging down over bloodshot eyes.

  Jim detected a hint of regret in Billy’s voice. He had probably been drinking some of the cheap rum that was circulating around the district last night, and thus, the early rise would be doing him no good, hence the regret.

  As they rode down the deserted main street of Gladstone, Constable Harrison glanced across at Jim. He was six-feet tall, a big man with broad shoulders, black-wavy hair and a thick-black beard. He wore brown trousers tucked into high-topped tan riding boots. A black and grey-striped, mid-length coat covered a thick-red woolen shirt.

  He had only ever known Jim Hawkins in passing. He was just one of the many town folk that bid him good-day on a regular basis. Jim had been in Gladstone these past three years, a hard and honest worker he had been told. He knew nothing of Jim’s past and had never enquired to such. There were many in the colony who wished to shake off their past and make a new future, including himself. This was a new country and it needed men like Jim and himself.

  The military had been Charlie Harrison’s life. He had been home waiting for his next posting when he met his future wife, a widow struggling to run a small farm on her own after the death of her husband. Both were alone in the world, and at first, it all began rather innocently. He had offered to give her some help around the farm and their part-time friendship slowly grew into something more. He hadn’t realized how much he enjoyed her company until he had to go away on another campaign. On his return he knew that the killing and maiming had become a burden on his soul. This was why he had left the military and eventually ended up here in Tasmania. He had started a new life for himself just like thousands of others.

  Constable Harrison turned to Billy. “Think you can find a trail after this frost?”

  “It should be even clearer,” replied Billy.

  Two hours of easy riding saw them at the spot where the stage had been stopped.

  Jim pulled at the reins of the horse and pointed towards a huge gum tree with branches splayed out in every direction. “They stopped me over there, near the big gum.” He sat there, as did Constable Harrison, they wouldn’t move any closer until Billy had surveyed the ground. Billy climbed off his horse and passed the reins to Constable Harrison.

  Billy in his bare feet, dirty red trousers and grey jacket, walked carefully along the side of the track, his keen eyes taking in every blade of grass, every rock, and every minute disturbance in the mud and dirt. He knelt down and peered at the ground where the big man with the red beard had fought with the girl. He raised his dark eyes, and squinted into the rising sun as he looked towards the thick scrub to his left.

  “Woman run into bush,” said Billy, as he stood up and followed the signs. “Men chase her, one big, one small.”

  Jim and Constable Harrison both dismounted and tied their horses to the nearest tree. It would be easier to follow Billy on foot. They hadn’t gone far when Billy retrieved a patch of blue cloth from a protruding branch and passed it to Jim.

  “That was the color of the dress she was wearing,” said Jim.

  They kept following Billy and he was moving at a fair pace now. It was as if he knew where he was going. Then suddenly, he stopped, scanned the ground in front of him, and walked tentatively towards the edge of the cliff and looked over.

  “Lady go over cliff,” said Billy.

  “Are you sure?” asked Constable Harrison.

  Billy pointed to the soft ground in front of him. They could see the disturbed stones and dirt.

  “Lady running in panic with men chasing her, she didn’t see cliff and went straight over.”

  The three of them stared over the crumbling cliff edge at the trees some hundred feet below. They could see no sign of the woman.

  “You sure she wasn’t thrown over, Billy?” asked Constable Harrison.

  “No, sir, she not look where she going.”

  “Never the less, if she was chased over the cliff and she is dead, then someone will have to answer for it. Can we get down there?”

  “Yes,” replied Billy. “I show you.”

  They returned to their horses and rode a further two miles down the road and then took a sharp left down a gully. It was rugged going. But within an hour they were looking back up at the cliff. There was no sign of a body anywhere.

  Jim peered up at the rocky face of the steep cliff. “No one could have survived that fall.”

  But Billy saw something that the others didn’t. Some disturbed shale and broken branches on a tree about halfway down. “Lady grab branch on way down and slow fall,” said Billy pointing the signs out to them.

  “Then she could be alive,” said Jim, as he looked around. The scrub here was clearer and it would have been easier for her to find her way. But it had been a cold night, and if she was injured, then her chances were slim. The mere fact that she had at least survived the fall and wasn’t in sight was a good sign.

  Billy searched around and found blood on the ground and more material from the woman’s dress. He then proceeded to follow her trail through the trees. She was easy to follow now, as she had clawed her way through the trees, breaking tiny branches as she went.

  “Lady have broken leg,” Billy said, crouching down on the ground and pointing out the drag marks in the dirt.

  Jim could not help but think about the sheer agony that the young woman must be in. His anger at the men who had caused this was at boiling point. No woman should be treated like she had been. He swore to himself that if he ever caught up with the men he would give them no quarter. Jim could hear the sounds of running
water. They were coming to the river. The woman’s tracks went right up to the riverbank and then disappeared.

  Jim stared into the dark swirling waters. “You don’t think she drowned, Billy?”

  “Not sure, Mister Hawkins, lady strong in spirit. She come this far in great pain, I don’t think she give up that easily.”

  “She may have used the river to float down to safety,” said Constable Harrison, staring up at the now scorching sun. “We may as well stop for a drink and bite to eat.”

  After they had eaten and watered the horses Billy drew a map in the sand showing the shape of the river and the likely places where the woman could have climbed out. It was decided that they would split up and go downstream as far as they could with what was left of the day. Billy would cross over onto the far side while Constable Harrison and Jim stayed where they were.

  Billy swam his horse across a narrow stretch of river as Jim and Constable Harrison steered their horses into the thick scrub on the edge of the river. It was hard going, and sometimes they had to walk rather than ride over the rough ground. At times, they had to go inland, because of the steep cliffs on the river. It was slow progress. Occasionally, they spotted Billy on the other side. There had been no reaction from him, so presumably he had found nothing. The heat from the afternoon sun was becoming oppressive as Jim and Constable Harrison reined in their horses at the river's edge on a sandy-sloped shore.

  Constable Harrison dismounted from his horse, removed his hat, and wiped the sweat from his brow. “It might be worth having a look around here.”

  “We may as well top up the canteens,” Jim said as he climbed down off Blackie and grabbed both of their canteens. He strode to the edge of the water, knelt down and took his hat off. Running his hand through the cool water he scooped some of it up over his face, feeling the soothing effect almost immediately.

  “I’ll check upstream,” said Constable Harrison, tethering his horse to a branch close to the river so it could have a drink. He then moved off through the light bush.

  Constable Harrison hadn’t been gone long when Jim suddenly sensed a presence. He looked up and saw a naked aborigine standing on the opposite bank, he held his pointed hunting spears by his side, and he had a kangaroo slung over his shoulder. How long he had been there, Jim was unsure. The aborigines had a habit of just standing quietly and staying very still in one spot when they were hunting. It made them very difficult to see. A chill went down his spine. There had been some bad blood spilt between some of the aborigines and the settlers, he hoped that the aborigine wasn’t hunting them.

  Then, as he stood up, he saw more aborigines join the other on the bank. He was becoming worried and was about to call out to Constable Harrison when he saw Billy ride up to the group. They gathered around him as he climbed from his horse. He was talking to them and pointing up river. If the woman was around here the aborigines would have surely come across her tracks. Billy was still talking to them when Constable Harrison returned.

  He loosened the buttons on his navy blue tunic. “I see we have company.”

  “Yes, Billy has been talking to them for a while now. Didn’t find anything?”

  “No, nothing,” he replied as he knelt at the edge of the river and threw some of the cold water over his face.

  Eventually, the aboriginal hunters walked off into the trees leaving Billy alone on the bank. He looked across at them, pointed down river and continued on. The aborigines couldn’t have seen any sign of the woman.

  They continued on for another three hours until they came to a wide shallow bend in the river and Billy was there waiting for them. The water was still dripping off his horse from crossing the river.

  He looked at Constable Harrison, shaking his head. “No sign.”

  “We haven’t seen anything either,” replied Jim. “What did the hunters have to say?”

  “They are going to keep an eye out for lady, if anyone can find her, they will.”

  Constable Harrison looked towards the sun. It was getting low in the sky. “I guess there is nothing more we can do today. If we leave now we can be back in town before dark. I suggest that we go to Cockle Creek tomorrow. Someone there might know our missing lady.”

  Jim Hawkins eased himself off the horse. He was pleased to feel firm ground beneath his feet as he stretched himself to unlimber the numbness in his buttocks after a long day in the saddle.

  “I’ll need you to come with me tomorrow, Jim. If Perkins complains tell him to come and see me,” said Constable Harrison as he and Billy rode off.

  Jim led the horse into the stable and removed the saddle. He rubbed the horse down and gave it a feed of oats and hay. Then he went around to the back of the store and knocked on the rough-sawn wooden door.

  “Who is it?” snarled Perkins from inside.

  “Hawkins.”

  Jim heard the iron bolt rattle as Perkins slid it across and opened the door. His beady eyes stared at Jim.

  “Constable Harrison needs me again tomorrow.”

  “Hell, I need you for the Cockle Creek run. Abe doesn’t know the road well enough.”

  “We are going to Cockle Creek, so I can still take the stage. The only thing is; we might be a bit late getting back.”

  “I don’t care what time you get back, as long as the mail is here ready to go out the next day.”

  "All right, I’ll let Constable Harrison know,” said Jim, leaving the grumbling Perkins and making his way back to Constable Harrison’s house. Mrs Harrison once again opened the door.

  “Becoming a regular visitor you are, Jim,” said Mrs Harrison as she beckoned him inside.

  “Weather is changing out there, a few clouds building up,” said Jim, on entering the warm kitchen.

  “Probably some rain about,” said Constable Harrison, who was sitting at his usual place at the table.

  “Sit down, Mr Hawkins, and I will make you a cuppa.”

  “You are too kind, Mrs Harrison.”

  “Not at all, it is nice to have someone drop in during the evening.”

  “I was just talking to Perkins, he wants me to take the coach through to Cockle Creek tomorrow and I thought you and Billy could travel in the coach. By the look of the weather, it might be a good idea.”

  “That sounds okay to me. The coach seats are softer than the saddle anyway.”

  “We can take the horses with us in case we have to do some riding.”

  Constable Harrison stood up and retrieved a piece of paper off the top of the tall desk that sat up against the wall. He sat back down and passed the sheet of paper to Jim. “Put your mark on the bottom of that. I’m allowed to pay you for helping with the search. It isn’t much, but you might as well have it.”

  Jim hesitated for a moment, as he felt a little self conscious about the fact that he couldn’t read or write. He put his mark on the bottom of the paper near where Constable Harrison had written Jim’s name.

  “By the way, you can call me Charlie while we are in the house, but it is Constable Harrison outside.”

  Jim knew that their relationship had taken a turn, Charlie Harrison now considered him a friend, and he was respectful of that.

  “Here is your cup of tea, Mr Hawkins. Would you like to stay for dinner again tonight?”

  “Two nights in a row, Mrs Harrison, I couldn’t impose on you again.”

  “Nonsense, Jim, you will stay for tea. Then we will have a quiet port or two,” said Constable Harrison as he lit up his pipe.

  Mrs Harrison turned to him from the wood stove where she was stirring the stew. “It is only left over stew and potatoes.”

  “That will be fine, Mrs Harrison.”

  “It’s Christina, Mr Hawkins.”

  “Then you must call me Jim.”

  “How is old Abe doing?” asked Constable Harrison.

  “He’s finding it hard.”

  “He is willing enough.”

  Jim sipped at his cup of tea. “Yes, he is at that. But I’m afraid age is catch
ing up with him. Perkins only keeps him on because he can get away with paying him a pittance.”

  “Is he paying you enough?”

  “I have enough to live on and I manage to save a bit.”

  Mrs Harrison joined them at the table and poured herself and her husband a cup of tea. “What are you saving for, Jim?”

  “I would like to buy a farm, but I’m afraid it looks a long way off.”

  “I heard that the old Tanner place is up for lease again in a couple of months,” said Constable Harrison.

  “Who has the lease now?” inquired Jim.

  “Crawford next door has had it for the last couple of years”

  Jim stroked his beard as he thought about the possibility of having his own land. “It is a thousand acres, I could never afford it.”

  “Crawford hasn’t done a thing with it, and I don’t think the bank is too impressed. Someone is stealing saw logs off the land, I suspect Crawford. The bank might be willing to take a lot less for it if they could find someone who would improve it and look after it.”

  Jim felt excited at the prospect of having a thousand acres. It was beyond his wildest dreams. Was it possible he wondered?

  “Why don’t you go down to the bank and have a talk with the manager. Mr Croft is a friend of mine. I could put a word in for you.”

  “You are too kind, sir.”

  “This country needs good honest, hard-working men. Go down and see Croft and let him know that you are interested. What have you got to lose?”

  “I might just do that.”

  “Do you have family back in England, Jim?” asked Mrs Harrison.

  “Only my sister, Ellen.”

  “Have you been in contact with her?”

  “Not since I’ve been out here.”

  Mrs Harrison stood up and began putting her best blue and white plates out on the table. “If you like, I could write a letter for you.”

  “That would be wonderful, Christina,” said Jim. He felt a little awkward at using her first name. Jim had been brought up to treat people with respect and first names were usually reserved for family and very close friends. His grandfather, old Tom, bless his soul, had always said: to receive respect you must also give respect.

  After they had eaten, Mrs Harrison set about doing the washing up while Jim and Constable Harrison enjoyed a glass of port.

  “Fine port, Charlie,” said Jim, after taking a sip and immediately feeling the soothing warmth of the liquid.

  “You can’t beat a good English port. What time are we leaving in the morning?”

  Jim leaned back in the chair and stretched his relaxed body. “Around nine-thirty,” he replied.

  “What do you make of all this Jim, the woman, I mean?”

  “As you said before, it is probably a family dispute. But I would say that it has gone horribly wrong. She was very beautiful,” added Jim, picturing her in his mind at the moment when she had stood up to the big man with the red beard.

  “She may still be alive.”

  “I would like to think so, but I don’t like her chances with the injuries she would have received after falling down that cliff.”

  Constable Harrison took the cork out of the port bottle and topped up their glasses. “In my time in the military I have seen some extraordinary examples of the will to live, especially in India.”

  “What does Billy reckon?”

  “He seems to hold out some hope.”

  They sat together like old friends from way back, sipped at the port, and reminisced about the old country that seemed so far away. Later, Mrs Harrison wrote the letter for Jim as he dictated the words.

  It was much later when Jim returned to the shanty and climbed into his rough bed. His mind slightly fuzzy from all the port he had drunk. The fire had gone out and old Abe was snoring his head off, then he heard the first drops of rain on the tin roof. His thoughts turned to the young woman lost in the bush. She had suffered injury, and endured a cold and frosty night, a hot day, and now a wet and rainy night. He silently prayed for her.