White Fella Black Fella

White Fella, Black Fella
By Norman Wheatley
Table of Contents
Table of Contents..................................................................................................................................... i
Preface ..................................................................................................................................................... ii
Part One – The Voyage ...........................................................................................................................3
Part Two – Escape into the Wilderness ...............................................................................................77
Part Three – Billy is recaptured.........................................................................................................195
Part Four – Billy is freed.....................................................................................................................278
Glossary................................................................................................................................................326
Bibliography (partial) .........................................................................................................................328
Maps .....................................................................................................................................................329
Research Notes.....................................................................................................................................331
i
Preface
Van Diemen’s Land (Tasmania) was founded in 1803 as a Penal Colony by the British. This novel
seeks to portray as accurately as possible the life of the white convicts and native Aboriginals. I have
done this by weaving a story using fictional and historical characters and including real events known
to have occurred. My Research Notes detail the historical events and characters. I have also included
maps, a glossary and a bibliography as appendices.
The majority of the Colonists were lower class and used many different accents and colloquialisms.
The language of the ruling class was equally as diverse. I have attempted to capture the spirit of
diversity primarily through the use of dialects and accents rather than highlighting the vernacular.
There is at present, a fair degree of controversy concerning the demise of the Tasmanian Aboriginal
race and the extinction of their culture. Two bloodlines probably still exist; descendants of the
Aboriginal women kidnapped by whalers and sealers to live on the islands of the Bass Strait and
descendants of those natives who fled to the interior rather than being exiled to Flinders Island.
The Tasmanian Aboriginals did not write and most cremated their dead, thus the remnants of their
culture must be reconstructed based upon the writings of the victors, educated white men, most of
whom could hardly be described as scientific or dispassionate observers. I have occasionally drawn on
known details of the culture of mainland Australian Aborigines when details of the Tasmanian
Aborigines were lacking.
The 19th Century was very difficult time for blacks and whites alike and the story of both is of merit.
Norman Wheatley
San Francisco
June 2009
ii
Part One – The Voyage
A plan has been made "to remove the inconvenience which arises from the crowded state of the jails in
the different parts of the Kingdom"
King George III announcement to the British Parliament, on 22 January 1787.
'I have no intention of annexing a country already inhabited by savages'.

French Explorer Nicholas Baudin referring to the British in 1802.
The very day we landed upon the fatal shore,

The planters they stood round us full twenty score or more;
They ranked usuplike horses and sold us out of hand,
They roped us to the plough, brave boys, to plough Van Diemen’s Land.
It’s oft-times when I slumber I have a pleasant dream:

With my pretty girl I’ve been roving down by a sparkling stream;
In England I’ve been roving with her at my command,
But I wake broken-hearted upon Van Diemen’s Land.
Come all young men and maidens do bad company forsake,

If tongue could tell our overthrow, it would make your heart to ache;
You girls I pray be ruled by be, your wicked ways give o'er,
For fear like us you spend your days upon Van Diemen's shore.
Convict ballad c 1820
iii
Chapter 1:
Billy Foxe peered through the hole in the tablecloth. He looked over the muddy fields of the
market towards the dome of St Paul’s Cathedral shining above the morning haze.
Two men in heavy boots and blood-spattered white smocks wrestled a bellowing, wriggling
heifer to the edge of Snow Hill. A third man, brandishing a large butcher’s knife, rushed up to help and
the animal’s struggles ended with a gurgle of blood as he cut its throat.
Billy fidgeted nervously beneath the butcher’s table. His friends had done well at the
Smithfield Meat Market. Spring had come to London, it was March the fifth, 1841 and it was time for
Billy to show his skill. Billy Foxe was a sneaksman and in his own modest opinion, he was a bleeding
good ‘un! He boasted that he could steal the moustache from under the very nose of the Prime
Minister, Lord Peel, himself. Today was the big day. Tonight the family would have some real meat on
the dinner table.
Billy was tired, he’d been awake all night following the constant stream of livestock through
the winding streets down to the muddy market fields. His nerves were on edge from the overpowering
clamour as the pigs, sheep, cattle, horses, oxen and chickens were prodded and poked into their tiny
pens.
The selling started at midnight. Ankle-deep in mud, the buyers pushed through the throng and
carefully selected their animals for the butchers to slaughter, dress and package. Dogs scavenged for
entrails and scraps in the cobblestone gutters that ran down from the butchers’ table to the street and
thence to the black waters of the River Thames.
The market was loud, crowded and filthy. It was the sort of place that respectable people
avoided; a hive of activity where law and order kept a low profile. In short, it was the perfect place for
Billy Foxe. The market was Billy’s hunting ground and he, like many street urchins, had come to earn
his keep and help support his family.
Billy had carefully roamed around the market looking for his opportunity to strike, hoping that
a careless butcher would ignore a nice juicy pig’s head or a dead chicken for those vital few seconds.
Alas, it was not to be. The butchers were wise to the danger and the few Peelers seemed to arrive just
at the worst time.
Billy shifted on his haunches. He could see the new Peeler, Constable Perkins making his
rounds. A new and enthusiastic recruit to the fledgling Police Force, he was no match for Billy. Perkins
paraded around the market like a soldier. Dressed in his dark blue uniform, with his truncheon in his
left hand, he’d tap the end meaningfully into the palm of his right. Like most Peelers, he was unarmed
and only had handcuffs, a wooden rattle and a hefty chestnut truncheon. Billy sniggered from his
hiding place as the policeman moved out of sight.
Billy had chosen his mark at the western edge of the market, the butcher was old and slow. The
man had more sheep than he could sell and had slaughtered and dressed two ewes, hoping for buyers.
The table was brimming with huge hunks of nicely wrapped meat. Billy’s mouth watered as the
butcher disappeared from view.
Despite the bedlam, the crowds had thinned and the butchers and merchants were packing up
for the day. Billy stared at the heavily-laden table expectantly. The butcher would be returning soon. It
was time to act.
Billy poked his head out from under the table. There was no-one in sight, so he crept forward in
a crouch. He scuttled towards the table, and in a flash, grabbed the nearest piece of meat.
He looked to his left and saw Constable Perkins staring straight at him from barely ten feet away.
Instantly, Billy turned to run as Perkins leapt at him. Billy stumbled in the mud and felt the
policeman’s hands clutch his left foot. There was a thud and muffled groan as Perkins sprawled full
length, and then Billy was free. He staggered to his feet and scrambled away down the hill, the sound
of Perkins’ rattle ringing loudly above the yells of the butcher.
1 White Fella, Black Fella N Wheatley
Ginny Foxe pulled her threadbare shawl tighter as she shuffled past the open sewer.
“Damn Billy! The bugger always picks the coldest weather to go out looking for trouble?” she
muttered.
She could feel the cobblestones through the thin leather of her old shoes. She was beginning to
think that mum was right. Perhaps Billy’s bravado was his way freeing himself from their protection
and nurturing.
“He means well but he’s getting too damned cocky for ‘is own good. I do hope he aint nabbed
by the Peelers. Oooooh, I’ll have words with ‘im, making me lose me place at Trafalgar Square. I
make lots more from singing to the Nibs than he’s ever made.”
The bells of Saint Paul’s Cathedral rang out seven o’clock as she neared the Smithfield
Markets. She crossed the road and turned down Stonecutter’s Lane.
Then she saw him. Billy was sprinting up the street as fast as his bare feet would take him. He
cradled a bulky object in his arm and wore a huge grin on his face.
“C’mere Billy, you useless git!” Ginny yelled.
As he came close, she grabbed him and they ran into St Bride’s Passage then dived into a dimly
lit alley and scurried behind a big pile of wood and branches.
“The Grunter’s right behind,” he panted.
“What’ve ya done? Don’t you ever listen to us?”
“We need food, so I got some. Now, sssssh! Keep your ‘ead down!”
There was a clatter of feet on the cobblestones as Perkins ran right past the alley. Then
suddenly silence. The Constable had stopped dead in his tracks. He waved his rattle vigorously.
“I aint seen no-one,” came the sound of another Policeman.
Ginny sat down and burrowed backwards into the woodpile.
“He didn’t see me, give me that and cover me up with the wood.”
“No Gin. I don’t want you to get into trouble.”
“Don’t be daft! The grunter didn’t see me. Now give it to me and don’t argue!”
Billy put his finger to his lips.
“Shhh, they’ll hear us!”
He pushed the meat into her arms and carefully stacked the branches over her until she was
almost invisible in the shadows of the woodpile.
“I’ll make a run for it. They’ll follow me and then you can get away,” Billy said. “They won’t
find you in there, Gin. I’ll meet you back ‘ome.”
Ginny could hear Perkins talking, he was close, it sounded like he was right at the entrance to
the alley.
“He’s a small lad, carrying a leg of lamb. Ginger hair, barefoot, dark clothes, very fast.”
“C’mon out of there you!” Perkins bellowed.
Billy and Ginny heard the slow careful tread of the Peelers approaching. They waited tensely,
straining to quieten the sound of their breathing.
All of a sudden, Billy burst out of the shadows, skipped nimbly around Perkins and sprinted
away. But the second Peeler flung himself at the fleeing boy. They fell together in a heap.
“Oi, stop that ya little bugger! Stop it!”
Ginny grinned as she heard the two Peelers struggle to hold Billy.
“Why? Whaddya want me for? I aint got nothing!”
“Don’t play cocky with me young fellow,” Perkins warned. “I saw you nick that meat. Now
where is it? C’mon, where did ya put it?”
“Lemme go! Lemme go! I dropped it. Honest sir. I dropped it.”
Ginny’s heart pounded as she listened to the scuffle.
“Wait a minute, Perkins. I’ll ‘ave a look down Fetter Lane. The devil’s probably hidden it in
there somewhere.”

Footsteps approached, Ginny shrank back into the woodpile. She curled up in a ball and tucked
her head down, hoping the policeman wouldn’t notice her.
There was a metallic clink followed by a sharp snapping sound and suddenly a shaft of pale
yellow light pierced the gloom.
“Hello, what’s this?”
“Red hair? I see, so the little beggar’s got a friend has he? Come on out you!”
She could smell the smoke from the man’s lamp and the pool of the light settled onto her foot.
Ginny held her breath and kept perfectly still.
Then there was a loud bang and a shower of wood and dirt rained down upon her as the Peeler
struck the woodpile with his truncheon.
“I don’t have all day Miss. Come out of there now!”
Ginny pushed aside the branches with one hand and struggled to her feet. The man grabbed her,
squeezing her arm painfully.
“It’s alright sir. I won’t run. Honest I won’t,” she said sadly.
“Hah! You won’t be running anywhere for a long time. Neither of you! Now, let’s get you
down to the station!”
The courthouse was a terrible cold stone room. Ginny clutched Billy’s arm as they entered
through the door marked “Prisoners Only”. She looked around for mum. She wasn’t there. She didn’t
recognise anyone. Several newspaper reporters sat at a table in the middle of the room and a few
morbid ghouls sat in the public gallery. One man clutched at his throat and gurgled. Ginny went pale
and turned away, his laughter ringing in her ears.
Billy’s friend Titch had told the truth, mum had been thrown the stairs by her fancy man again.
Well, perhaps it was for the best. Mum wouldn’t see her two eldest kids being sent to prison and they
wouldn’t have to put up with that ghastly man and that horrid house with shit oozing out of the walls
and gas bubbling up from the sewers.
Ginny leant on the railing in the witness stand. The policeman gestured to the gallery for
silence. Then the door opened and the Judge came in. Ginny breathed a sigh of relief.
“Look, he aint got a wig or gown,” she whispered to Billy.
Billy rolled his eyes at her.
“But that means we aint important don’t it?”
Billy shook his head impatiently.
“Nah, he can still send us to the hulks.”
“Shhhh!” the policeman warned.
“All rise!” the bailiff ordered.
The Judge sat behind a huge desk below a portrait of a stern-looking Queen Victoria.
“Order in the court! Order in the court! Magistrate Patrick McConnell is presiding!” The bailiff
bellowed.
The clerk of the court stood up. He gestured towards Ginny and in a loud and officious voice,
he read, “You are Virginia Mary Foxe, a griddler, of 6 Princes Court, Bermondsey. Is that correct?”
Billy nudged Ginny.
“Oh, er, yes sir. That’s correct sir,” she said.
“Virginia Mary Foxe, you are charged with larceny for aiding and abetting in the theft of the
leg of lamb from a Mr John Reid at Smithfield Market on Monday March the fifth, 1841. How do you
plead?”
“I aint guilty, Your Worship,” Ginny replied, looking at the magistrate.
“Good, that’ll make it easier for the sentencing, and I’m Your Honor, not Your Worship. That’s
for priests. That’s fine clerk, just record her plea and let’s get on with it!”
“Here, sign this,” the clerk handed Ginny a piece of paper.
Ginny’s hand shook wildly as she signed her name on her sheet.
The clerk turned towards Billy.
“You are William Jonah Foxe, labourer, also of 6 Princes Court, Bermondsey?”
Billy nodded.
“Speak up boy!” the magistrate growled.
“Yuh, yes sir. I am Billy Foxe.”
“William Jonah Foxe, you are charged with committing grand larceny on Monday March the
fifth 1841 at Smithfield Market for the theft of one leg of lamb from a Mr John Reid. How do you
plead?”
“Nuh, nuh, not guilty Your Honor.”
“Tut tut, really? Not guilty?” the magistrate exclaimed.
Billy grimaced and shrugged. The magistrate scowled and the clerk gave Billy his declaration.
Billy scrawled a big X on the sheet and gave it back to the man who snatched it from him and gave
both sheets to the magistrate.
The magistrate waited until the court had quietened again. “Well, well, what a fine pair of
vagabonds. Now then, Virginia Foxe, I see you’ve never been to prison but we’ve had the dubious
pleasure of your company in court twice times in the last few years. Do you have anything to say in
your defence?”
Ginny clutched her brother’s arm tightly.
“Yes, yes, Your Wor – Your Honor. I do have something. Well, it’s not in my defence sir. It’s
about Billy. You see sir, we’re poor - starving actually. Dad died of the pox years ago. Mum’s a char
woman so she don’t get much and her man friend accidentally pushed her down the stairs so she can’t
walk, and Billy and me aint been earning much, what with the rain an’ all.”
The magistrate drummed his fingers on his desk.
“Well, sir. You see, sir, it were all my fault. I told Billy to steal some food. So please sir, please
let ‘im go. You can’t send ‘im to the hulks again, please?”
Billy struggled to free himself from Ginny’s grasp.
“No your Honor, that aint true. It aint true, I swear it sir!”
Ginny shrank back from him and the magistrate smiled down at them. “Go on young man. I’m
all ears.”
“Thank you sir. I nicked the meat sir. I was ‘iding under the table and I grabbed the leg and
scarpered. I thought I could outrun the grunt – sorry, the Peeler, but he was on me in a flash. It were
my fault sir. I can’t let Ginny take the blame. Not this time,” Billy’s voice trailed off to a mumble.
Ginny whimpered quietly and Billy put his arm around her.
“I say, stop that. Stop that at once!” the magistrate barked. “This is a court not a damned
theater. Now, Miss Foxe please compose yourself so we can continue. Good. Thank you.”
He pointed his gavel at Billy.
“Master Foxe, you’ve been arrested for theft no less than eleven times and spent eight weeks in
custody. You are presently still only fifteen years old?”
Billy nodded miserably.
“You live on Jacob’s Island. They call it Savory Dock, don’t they? Well, it’s a dreadful place I
hear, but that’s no excuse for crime. If you’re starving then go to the Poor House. You people think
you can just get away with stealing the bread out of people’s mouths. Well, it just isn’t good enough.
You know, Master Foxe, if you were in Germany you would hang for this. Absolutely no question
about it. But, you can thank the Lord that you’re here in England, in civilization. So, after due
consideration, I find you, William Jonah Foxe, guilty of persistent and repeated larceny and sentence
you to transportation to the colonies for seven years!”
The magistrate banged his gavel. Billy gripped the railing with white knuckles, Ginny could
feel him trembling as she clung tightly to his arm.
The magistrate turned to Ginny, his eyes cold and hard.
“Miss Foxe, you’ve been in court twice for larceny. I was hoping I could be more lenient but
the goods were in your possession and I’m afraid that the law leaves me no choice. I find you, Virginia
Mary Foxe, guilty of larceny and I hereby sentence you to transportation to New Holland for seven
years! That is all. Sergeant, take them away!”
They were taken to a small windowless room with a bench facing a desk and a chair. They sat
down on the bench and waited. An hour later, a tall man with a big book under his arm strode
purposefully into the room. He sat at the desk, opened the book and ran his finger down the page.
“Right then Sergeant. Who do we have here and what are the sentences?”
“Transportation, sir. One Virginia Mary Foxe and her brother William Jonah Foxe, both
sentenced to seven years in the Colonies for larceny, sir.”
“Fine, fine.”
Tears streamed down Ginny’s face. Billy held her hand firmly, trying to console her.
“I am Mr Vincent, the Clerk of the Court and it’s my job to make sure that the judge’s
sentences are properly carried out.” He spoke slowly, giving Ginny time to calm down. “Now then, let
me say that I think the judge was very kind to you today. He could’ve sent you to Newgate prison or
the hulks, you know.”
“You, you mean that we’re not being locked up on a hulk then?” Ginny sniffled.
“Those old tubs? I’m surprised they still float, it’s been thirty-five years since Lord Nelson
commanded them, God rest his soul. No, the courts prefer transportation nowadays, there’s work to be
done in the colonies and too many criminals to fit on the old Men o’ War.”
“But, where’s New Holland, sir?” Ginny said.
Mr Vincent pushed his chair back and stood up.
“New Holland is the old name for Australia. It’s on the other side of the world. The best place
for the likes of you! At one time, we’d have shipped you off to the Americas, but since we lost that
wretched colony, Australia has proven to be a much better prison. In fact you’re both going to Van
Diemen’s Land, a most unpleasant little island full of savages and wild animals and especially built for
the crime class! You will banished to a distant land where you can cause no more harm nor steal from
our innocent citizens!”
Ginny and Billy sat huddled on the bench in fear. They hadn’t understood much of what the
clerk had told them. They were afraid to think about leaving London and England.
Mr Vincent wrote in his book, blew on the page to dry the ink, and packed up his quill and ink. As he
snapped the big book shut, Ginny asked,
“But, you won’t leave us down there will you, sir? You will bring us back to London, won’t
you?”
The man laughed heartily.
“My, my, what a suggestion! You’ve really made my day, young lady.”
He rose from his desk and motioned to the Sergeant.
“Take these two ruffians to jail to await transportation. They want their return passage from
Australia! Have you ever heard such a thing?” He chuckled, then turned and said, “Keep your noses
clean and work hard, then you just might be able to pay your way back home again. Good day!”
Chapter 2:
Ginny and the women huddled together, sheltering from the rain against the towering stone
walls of the Coldbath Fields House of Corrections. She tried not to think of mum’s reaction when she
found out that the Beak had nabbed her kids. She’d swear like a navvy, then hit the gin bottle and
spend the day in bed weeping and cursing, until she finally started looking for her and Billy. By then
it’d be too late, she couldn’t afford to visit the prison, so Ginny would never see her mum again. Ginny
felt as if she’d run away from home.
“It’s wicked in there, wicked,” one woman muttered.
“Aye, the Steel’s much worse than the Bastille. Them frog’s have it easy!” another answered.
Ginny shivered at the thought; then suddenly the prison gates opened with a crash and a
carriage charged out and careened down the street. Glad for the chance to get out of the rain, the
women quickly followed the guards into the prison.
They were taken into a stone quadrangle, surrounded on all sides by high austere buildings with
tiny windows. Several female convicts stood next to a tin bath beneath a solitary oak tree.
“Welcome,” said a gruff, middle-aged woman who’d come up from behind them.
She wore a grey uniform and a spiteful smile. “I am Matron Reilly. I want your names.
Quickly, now! You, who are you?” she said, pointing at Ginny.
“Virginia Mary Foxe, Ma’am,” Ginny said, trembling.
“Right Foxe, you’re now number twenty-one oh six. Strip off all your clothes and put them
near the tree – neatly! You smell like pigs! The bath will get that horrid stench from you. Your prison
clothes are over there! Next!”
Half an hour later, the four women, dressed in their yellow and black striped canary uniforms,
filed into an empty dormitory. For a moment Ginny thought they’d be allowed to rest, but it was still
mid-morning. They were assigned their beds and Matron led them through the dormitory into a
corridor.
“Right, twenty-one oh six, you’ll be on the treadmill; it’s oakum for the rest of you. We have
two rules in the Steel. First, no talking! Second, do as your told by my officers and trusties and there’ll
be no trouble. Now, stop and listen!”
The women stood perfectly still. Ginny thought she could hear the faint sound of wind, but then
she realised that it was a calm day. A low long moan echoed up the corridor, it ended in a sob and the
unmistakable sound of a woman screaming.
“Solitary is just down there,” Matron announced, licking her lips. “Misbehave and that’s where
you go. Keep it up and you’ll wear a mask as well!”
The Shinscraper was a fifteen foot-high wooden treadmill. Ginny had to “tread the wind” for
ten hours a day, walking inside the giant wheel to drive it around. Ginny cursed the City Fathers under
her breath. How was this supposed to make them reform? It was exhausting and depressing work that
did nothing but make a set of sails spin around.
The steps on the Shinscraper were high and Ginny’s legs ached and ached, screaming at her to
stop. Ginny woke exhausted every morning. The thin straw mattress was useless on the wooden boards
of her bed. Her whole body was wracked by cramp and she was constantly hungry on their meager
diet.
A few days later, Ginny was surprised when the Matron led everyone back to the dormitory in
the afternoon. She’d forgotten that it was a Sunday and they were left alone for three hours. Ginny was
too tired to talk and just lay on her bed listening, it was good to hear normal voices again. She
discovered that the prison Governor would push the convicts to the limit of their endurance and sanity,
which the experts said would stop them from offending again. The Governor was furious when any of
the women was pushed too far and he often put everyone on half-rations. Death was a miscalculation
that meant less money from the government.
The longest week of her life eventually came to and end and Ginny was set to work oakum
picking. She unraveled old ropes for stuffing mattresses or caulking for ships. It was murder on the
hands; the tightly woven ropes were covered in oil and tar. Ginny soon had blisters, split nails and
cracked and bleeding skin. Sometimes she even wished she was back on the treadmill.
Sometimes Ginny heard the crowds cheering at the hangings outside Newgate prison, just down
the street. She knew the routine; they hanged the hardened lags at about 11 o’clock in the morning,
then the women and then the hangman would end his day with a few burglars or thieves. It chilled her
to think that if Billy’s meat had been a mere shilling more expensive, she and Billy would’ve been
stretched for the crowd, good an proper.
Ginny had let her mum down, she wasn’t a criminal, she just had to help Billy. She’d take her
punishment quietly and behave herself. She didn’t drink at all even though there was plenty of gin, the
blue ruin, to be had in the dormitory. She prayed a lot, kneeling down by the side of her bed and
whispering to herself. The Matron never scolded them for that. She prayed, not because she was
religious, but because it kept her sane. She had nightmares that she would scream out in pain during
the night and Matron would drag her away to solitary for breaking the rule of silence.
After a fortnight of hard labour, Matron called her aside just before dinner.
“Twenty-one oh six, tomorrow you will report to the vegetable garden,” she said, adding with a
sneer, “Someone’s looking out for you, Lor’ knows why?”
Ginny nodded meekly, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw several of the other convicts
glaring at her. Two days later her bag was stolen.
The following Sunday the Government Inspector visited the Steely. Under guard, Ginny
returned to the dormitory from the privy. Matron Reilly followed closely behind.
“C’mon let’s ‘ave yer” the Matron barked.
Ginny smartened herself up as best she could, and stood at the foot of the bed. She wrinkled up
her nose as a small group of people strolled into the dorm and a small dog chased behind them.
Something was not right, something smelt very peculiar. Ginny twisted around and peeked back over
her shoulder. There it was, on the floor at the head of the bed there was her white bag. Someone had
brought her bag back!
“Ruff! Ruff!” There came a series of excited yaps as a little Scottish terrier came trotting
playfully up the dormitory. Matron led the Inspector and a small silver haired woman along the line of
prisoners, stopping occasionally to exchange a few words with the women. Suddenly the little dog
stopped, cocked its head to one side and sniffed the air.
Ginny swallowed nervously. There was a definite smell of excrement. The dog trotted along
towards Ginny’s bed, its nose held high as it searched for the scent. Ginny shuffled her feet and looked
suspiciously at the other prisoners near her. Her heart sank as she noticed that the two women opposite
her had faint smirks on their faces.
The Scottie ran up to Ginny’s feet, sniffed, then ran past and up to her bag at the head of the
bed. The visitors were only a few beds away. Ginny bit her lip and tears began to well up. The visitors
stopped right next to Ginny. The Inspector had his back to Ginny and was murmuring something to the
old lady.
The lady watched the dog over Ginny’s shoulder as it pawed at the bag, she nodded
absentmindedly and for a brief second she looked directly at Ginny. Ginny thought she saw a flash of
sympathy in her eyes, then with a quick sly smile the old lady waved her arm to the end of the
dormitory.
“Come on Angus!” she said to the dog.
The animal was well trained. It gave a few short disappointed sniffles and followed the group
out of the dorm.
Ginny breathed a sigh of relief and sat down on her bed and sobbed quietly to herself. The two
girls opposite her chuckled happily to each other. A few minutes later, Matron Reilly came bursting
back into the dormitory.
“You there! You, number twenty-one oh six. Stop that at once. Stop that, and come with me!”
she barked at Ginny.
“Oh, and bring your bag will you” she commanded brusquely.
Ginny turned and trembling with fear, picked up her bag. It reeked, but she tried to hold it
normally and pretend that there was nothing wrong.

Outside, she followed Matron to a big table big beneath the tree in the quadrangle. Standing
next to the table, the grey haired old lady smiled at Ginny. Ginny curtsied but said nothing. She kept
her hands behind her back trying to hide the bag.
“Good day, young lady. My name is Elizabeth Fry,” she said.
Ginny’s heart jumped. She started to blush. Mrs Fry was the most famous woman in London.
Nearly as famous as the Queen herself, and she was an vocal advocate for the poor and for women
especially. Mrs Fry had been to the House of Lords and had visited all the women’s prisons. Ginny
was flustered. Why would this great woman come here and what did she want with her and how could
she hide the horrible smell coming from her bag?
Ginny blushed and curtsied again and tried to say something but her jaw seemed paralyzed and
her lips just quivered and trembled.
“Don’t worry. You can speak my child. There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Mrs Fry said. “Now
come and sit next to me.” She patted the bench and sat down.
“Oh, you can give your bag to Mrs Reilly.”
Ginny gasped. She put her hand to her mouth and stepped backwards. She couldn’t give them
the bag, she just couldn’t. The girls had done something terrible to her bag and now she was going to
get into serious trouble.
But Mrs Fry just smiled sweetly, turned to Matron and said, “Matron Reilly, please have Miss
Foxe’s bag cleaned. I will need a detailed account of the contents as I wish to replace them. Oh, and
please leave us alone for a few minutes. Thank you.”
Matron stepped forward and thrust out her hand towards Ginny. Reluctantly, she handed the
bag to Matron. It had a moist brown stain on the bottom and a thick fluid dripped from it. Matron took
the bag with an expression of disgust and disbelief. Holding it arms length she walked over to the
laundry rooms.
“Now sit down Virginia. Come and sit here next to me,” Mrs Fry said, patting the bench again.
“I expect that you’re rather surprised to see me aren’t you?”
“Yes, yes Ma’am,” Ginny said trying to contain her excitement.
The Great Lady looked at her thoughtfully, “You know my child I visit the prisons as often as I
can. I like to try and give some good news, and Inspector Gaskill suggested we have a chat. You are
one of the youngest women due for transportation and I asked them to be kind to you. I trust you’ve
been treated well?”
“Oh yes, ma’am, I love the garden, thank you, ma’am,” Ginny replied.
Mrs Fry smiled. “So, Virginia, it seems that your stay in Coldbath Fields will be shorter than
expected.”
Ginny had been praying for a miracle. She held her breath.
“You will be transported to Van Diemen’s Land in three weeks time and your brother will
accompany you.”
Ginny gave disappointed smile.
“Oh, Billy! How is he? Where is he please?”
“Now dear, don’t you worry about that? He is well. I can’t tell you everything because I don’t
know everything, but Mr Gaskill assures me that you and Billy will set sail together soon.”
“Oh,” Ginny replied glumly.
“You mustn’t fret, my child. What's done is done. New Holland is not much worse than
England. I believe that it is quite sunny there, in fact.”
Ginny began to sniffle and she could feel a lump in the back of her throat. “But what will I do,
Ma'am? Will I be in prison? Will I ever be able to come back to London and see me mum and me
family?”
Mrs Fry put her hand on top of Ginny’s.

“If you behave on the voyage they will not put you in a prison in Van Diemen’s Land. You
won’t be able to return for seven years, but there are many fine men there and you should be able to
find a husband easily and start a family. That’s not so bad is it?”
“I don’t want a bleedin’ ‘usband,” Ginny replied, surprising them both with her vehemence.
Embarrassed at her sudden outburst she quickly added, “Er, um, I don’t like ‘em – men I mean.
My uncle, um, yes, perhaps a family would be nice in a few years time, but not right now.”
There was an awkward silence, which was broken when Mrs Fry pointed across the lawn.
Matron was walking towards them, her face stern and unsmiling.
“I had to throw everything away, Mrs Fry. They were in a dreadful state. Absolutely horrible,”
she said, glaring at Ginny.
“Now, now Matron. Let’s not be hasty shall we. Tell me Virginia, what happened to your bag?
Do you know?”
“Er, no. No Ma’am,” Ginny stammered. “It disappeared last Monday and I aint seen it till you
come on the Inspection. Honest, Ma’am. It had all me books in it. I didn’t do nuffink. Honest!” She
started to cry again.
“No, of course you didn’t dear” Mrs Fry said, glaring coolly at Matron Reilly. “I’ve seen this
before you know. Some of the prisoners get a bit upset and jealous and they can vent their frustration
in many, many ways you know. Prison is a terrible thing for the soul. It really is.”
“Matron you do have a list of the contents, don’t you?” Mrs Fry demanded. “Good. I’ll take
that, thank you.”
Mrs Fry held out her hand to Ginny.
“Now, dear. Don’t you worry. It’ll be better soon. Matron Reilly will make sure that there’s no
further trouble, won’t you Matron? And Miss Foxe, perhaps I’ll give a book on nursing for you. It is
quite a rewarding occupation.”
Chapter 3
Billy knew the Warren well. He’d already done time at the Woolwich Arsenal naval base. He
was in a gang of eleven other convicts, all men.
“You ‘orrible lot take the cell down the end of that corridor,” the corporal said.
The man turned his back on them and walked away. Billy didn’t hesitate. He raced into the cell
ahead of the other convicts and immediately climbed up onto the top bunk, next to the tiny window.
“Oi, nipper, Come down from there. Kids sleep on the floor.”
Billy looked back. The old lag wore a tired look on his deeply wrinkled face.
“I got ‘ere first!” Billy protested.
Without a word, the man reached up, grabbed Billy’s foot and pulled hard. Billy flew off the
wooden bunk and landed in a painful heap on ground.
“Cocky little cove,” the man grunted, as the rest of the convicts laughed.
An hour later, the men were crammed onto the two bunks as Billy curled up on the cold, hard
floor. The wind whistled under the door, cutting through Billy’s thin clothes. He shivered and decided
to move to the other end of the cell despite the stench of the chamber pot. A thin blanket fell onto the
ground in front of him.
“’ere ya little bleeder, take this!” The old man peered down from the top bunk.
“Ta, granddad!”
“Watch yer lip, ducks. It’s Raeburn, James Raeburn to you, now go to sleep!”
“C’mon, let’s ‘ave yer!” the corporal barked.

It was dawn. Billy was relieved that they were finally being transferred to prison. The pale
green fog was lifting as they marched into the quadrangle in the barracks. Several seasoned lags
stamped impatiently, trying to fight off the cold next to two tin baths.
“Right, let’s have two lines at each tub, come one, come on!” the corporal ordered.
“Here, you there!” The corporal yelled to Billy. “Take the shears and cut off his hair – all of it!
Be quick about it but I don’t want no funny business with them shears, remember my lads are watching
you like hawks.”
When they were finished, Billy’s felt as though his hair had been torn out. Blood dribbled down
his cheek, but he hadn’t uttered a word of complaint. He was tough - a hard man. His hair would grow
back.
“Right, cast yer skins and get into them tubs, quickly!” the corporal said.
The water in the tin bath was icy cold. The two lags laughed at the look of shock on Billy’s
face as it reached his private parts.
“’ere, we wanna see blood!” the lag said, handing Billy a short birch brush. “Get them lice off
each other!”
By the time it was finished, Billy and his fellow convicts’ pale bodies gleamed red, like
lobsters, most were streaked with blood from the rough scrubbing.
Still shivering, the convicts quickly donned their canary suits, and the smith lagged them with
12-pound leg irons. Billy tied his chains up to his waist belt to stop them from bruising and chafing his
ankles.
Billy’s hopes sank as he marched down to the awaiting bumboat. Surely he wasn’t being taken
back to the Justia?
They rowed out across the river; an oily web of green scum calmed the surface. Billy sniffed;
the pungent smell of rotten eggs enveloped them. Raeburn was right! They were going to a hulk!
As Billy scaled the rope ladder up to the deck, he saw its name, HMS Warrior, and he cursed
the magistrate vehemently.
Billy stood back as two burly convicts dragged a struggling, weeping lag up to the bridge. The
deck teemed with people; convicts had made their homes on every square inch of the deck. Steam rose
from three large cauldrons bubbling on brick hearths. The fires were continuously ablaze, creating a
haven of warmth and cheer amidst the stench and squalor. Billy had seen many a fight as men vied for
the privilege of working on the cooking crew.
A scream cut through the pandemonium. Billy turned to the bridge where the prisoner was tied
to the triangular puzzling sticks. He strained to free himself as a tall figure emerged from the shadows.
It was the notorious sadist, Captain George Blanch, Master of the Warrior. Blanch, was too
incompetent for a proper ship, instead he commanded the decrepit old Man O’ War and vented his
anger on the unfortunate prisoners. Billy had heard that he’d personally flogged two convicts to death.
“He won’t flog ‘im,” Raeburn whispered. “Not ‘til the bumboat leaves – too many flapping
gums.”
“P’raps you should tell ‘im. The poor bugger’s shitting his pants,” Billy said.
“C’mon, you young ‘uns. Down to the orlop deck,” a trusty ordered. “The rest of yer, follow
the midshipman forrad.”
Down in the bowels of the ship, just above the bilges, a single oil lamp cast a dim yellow light.
The roof was so that low all but the smallest of the boys had to stoop. The inquisitive faces of hundreds
of men and boys peered at them through the hot haze of stale sweat and urine.
“You boys take that them two bunks,” the trusty said.
“There’s no room,” Billy muttered. The bunks were already crowded with men and boys.
“Bugger off, you blackguards! This is for the new lags!”
Reluctantly, the bunks were cleared of convicts. A man pushed by them, glaring lasciviously.
“Fresh meat!” he hissed, licking his lips.
A shiver ran through Billy, and he wondered why he’d ever complained on the Justia, his
previous hulk, where the men and boys had been separated.
“Let’s ‘ave you five on the top bunk and the rest of yer take the bottom. Don’t worry, them
other lags will leave yer be. Cap’n Blanch loves ‘is floggings so no-one will come for their jollys -
probably!” the trusty said, with a hearty laugh.
He turned towards the centre of the ship, cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed.
“Pyle! Number seven sixteen! Pyle! Get over ‘ere.”
A gnarled, stooped man limped towards them. “Roger Pyle, number seven sixteen reporting for
duty, sah!” he said smiling at the newcomers.
“Sort them out Pyle. Don’t want ‘em flogged and keep the men off ‘em and I’ll double yer pay,
all right?”
Pyle nodded and the trusty went back up the stairs.
“Good morning, me little lovelies. I trust you’ve been sleeping well – coz sleep is hard to come
by in these parts!” Pyle chuckled.
“Oh, stop sniveling,” he said to two boys who had started to cry. “It were only a joke. It aint so
bad if you do as I say. So listen carefully now!”
Billy grinned broadly.
“Right then, who’s been on a hulk before? Just four of yer? Fine, how long for?”
Billy had done a month on the Justia and he felt good as the rest of the boys looked at him
admiringly.
“Right, eighty seven twelve, you’ll draw the rations for the Ward, so you can follow me in a
minute. The rest of yer, remember this, it’ll save yer a lot of tears and pain.”
The boys crowded around to listen.
“Organise a Watch. Two of yer must be awake at all times. If anyone attacks you then yell. At
the top of your lungs, yer here me? They’re sneaky ‘round ‘ere. They’ll chat you up first, maybe offer
you some grog or baccy. If you value your tender behinds, then don’t take it, unless you’re all awake.
Also, have a care in the privy, make sure as one of yer mates stands outside and never, ever use the
privy at night. The rats are as big as dogs and will bite yer balls off!”
Billy was lucky, every four days he woke well before dawn and went topside to unload their
rations from the Woolwich smack. It was a privileged position that earnt him a little money and better
food than most of the boys in the Ward. They took Old Pyle’s advice very seriously and managed to
avoid trouble. They became a tight-knit group and on decided to called themselves the Little Bleeders.
For a while, Billy was content. He was respected and able to avoid trouble, he liked his mates and
managed to stay clear of the fearsome Captain Blanch.
Every day except Sunday the Woolwich and Chatam smacks took them to the London Arsenal
to make ammunition for the impending war with China. They banged the rust out of old shell casings,
filled them with nails and bits of iron and sent them to the armory for priming and loading. Twice a
week they went to the firing range to rebuild the earthen butts on which the cannons were mounted or
to weed the lanes between the guns and occasionally to move the big gun carriages. Billy was content,
he ate regularly and enjoyed the Little Bleeders’ camaraderie. It was just a matter of time until the
transport ship was ready to take him into exile.
However, despite his best efforts, Billy fell foul of the law. One Sunday morning Billy noticed
the Chatam smack heading toward the Warrior. Old Pyle hobbled up to see what was happening.
“Oh blast!” Pyle grumbled, “it’s the Governor. Now we’re in for it! Quick! Get below and warn
the Ward. There’s an inspection coming!”
Billy and the others quickly raised the alarm and the prisoners frantically tidied their living
quarters. There was a bump and a scrape on the side of the ship as the Chatam smack drew alongside.
Billy could hear Captain Blanch barking out orders as the prisoners frantically tried to make the ship
presentable. Billy and the other prisoners streamed out from below and assembled on the quarterdeck
as the ladder was thrown over the side.
The convicts assembled smartly on the deck as the visitors clambered up the ladder and were
piped aboard by the Watchmen. Billy stood stiffly at attention, as first several naval officers came out
onto the deck. Then came, not the Governor, but Bishop Hutton, the new Bishop of Woolwich. He was

a short man dressed in brilliant white robes. He cut a ridiculous figure with his Mitre, a huge ornate
hat, almost half as big as his body, towering above him.
Billy sniggered to the boy next to him,
“Gor Blimey, wot a bleedin’ get-up!”
As soon as he’d said it Billy realized he’d made a big mistake. There was a heavy silence. The
Bishop turned slowly and stared straight at him. Billy glanced quickly at the Captain who could barely
contain a snarl of rage.
“God Blind me? God blind me?” Billy thought. That’s not bad, that’s not real swearing. I can
do some real swear words if they want!
Billy mumbled an embarrassed apology. He shuffled his feet and looked down dejectedly. The
Captain turned back and greeted his distinguished guest.
“Good day to you Captain,” the Bishop replied. “My, you certainly have some sad cases on
board today don’t you?”
Captain Blanch grimaced and offered to show the Bishop around the ship. The Bishop blessed
the ship, the crew and the prisoners and then gave a short sermon. He extolled the virtues of doing
service to one’s fellow man and to leading a life free from sin and vice. The visit seemed to last an age
and Billy could feel the glare of Captain Blanch boring through his back as the Bishop droned on and
on about sin and repentance with occasional meaningful glances at Billy. Billy was in trouble and he
dreaded punishment at the hands of the infamous Captain.
When the Bishop departed, Captain Blanch ordered the foredeck cleared. All seven hundred
convicts were assembled, crowding the deck behind the crew and spilling up into the rigging. The crew
was excited, almost jovial while the prisoners were silent, a sullen anger simmering below the surface.
Stripped to the waist, Billy stood stiffly at attention. Captain Blanch strode towards him. He
held up the Cat O’Nine Tails and the Birch for everyone to see. Billy had seen them both used. The
Birch was a long supple switch, some seven feet in length. It could draw blood but it wouldn’t cut very
deeply. The birch was the harshest legal punishment Captain Blanch could mete out, but Billy quivered
in fear that the Captain would use the dreaded Cat.
“Well, eighty seven twelve, that was most poorly done. Most poorly,” Mr Blanch said calmly.
Billy stood perfectly still as the Captain swung the Cat in his face. It was a fearsome device, the
handle was eighteen inches long and the nine stout leather cords had twelve knots, two inches apart. It
was an instrument of torture, legal only under extreme circumstances. Used properly, it could flay the
skin away with each stroke.
“Yes boy, this is a nasty piece of work isn’t it!” the Captain said, caressing the Cat lovingly.
“Eighty seven twelve has been a very bad boy today. Blaspheming on my vessel! And to the new
Bishop no less!” he shouted holding the Birch high and keeping the Cat by his side. There was a
murmur of anticipation from the crowd.
“Bad boy. Yes indeed.”
Then with a sly smile he looked Billy in the eye and added, “Well maybe not.”
Billy’s hopes shot up. Maybe the Captain was just going to let him off this time. Was he just
going to warn him? The Captain’s smile slowly turned to a snarl.
“Maybe he hasn’t been a bad boy … maybe he has been a bad man!!” he roared, holding the
Cat high. The crowd of convicts shifted uneasily while the crew smiled, Billy heard one man taking
bets.
Billy’s knees went weak. He didn’t deserve this. The crew laughed and taunted him. Billy
could hear the blood pounding in his temples. The blacksmith came forward and struck off Billy’s leg
irons. The crew eagerly tied ropes to Billy’s wrists. They brought out a small barrel and pushed Billy
face down over it. Chocks around the barrel prevented it from rolling. Ropes secured Billy’s ankles
and wrists to the rails of the deck. Billy lay spread-eagled in the middle of the deck. Lifting his head he
could see the Captain’s boots as he strutted around him. A table and chair were brought out. The

Captain sat down, poured out a beer and lit his pipe. He took several puffs and smiled. The crowd
waited with bated breath.
“You’re fifteen aren’t you eighty seven twelve?” Blanch said casually. “You’re a man now and
old enough to be treated as one.”
“Old enough that you can cly the jerk like one also,” he added amiably.
The Captain took a few gulps of beer and waited for the tension to build.
“Bosun, let’s have a dozen strokes of the birch to the boy. With some vigour if you please.”
There was a slight murmur of approval from the assembled convicts. They knew the Captain’s ways.
He was in a good mood, as he hadn’t asked the Bosun to use all his might.
“Oh, and seven sixteen come here please,” Blanch added.
Old Pyle came over and the Captain handed him the Cat. “Please add six lashes for our young
man and be sure to use all your might,” he said loudly and clearly.
The angry mutterings from the vast crowd of convicts quickly drowned out the crew’s roar of
approval.
Captain Blanch smiled and puffed on his pipe; he was feeling generous. Billy steeled himself
for the first lash of the birch. The Bosun walked carefully around him. Billy could see the crew sitting
on the rails, their eyes bright with anticipation. He twisted his head around to the other side. The crowd
of convicts stood in grim-faced silence. They knew it could be themselves lying over the barrel instead
of Billy.
The Bosun took a few big dramatic practise sweeps and the birch cracked and rasped though
the air. Billy felt the first blow like a red-hot knife across his back. He choked back a scream. He was
no crawler. They wouldn’t have the satisfaction of hearing him cry out. The Bosun circled around Billy
swishing the whip dramatically through the air and then down hard across his naked skin. The Birch
drew blood on the third lash.
By the time the sixth blow came Billy’s eyed had misted over. The pain was unbearable but
through it all, Billy could sense that the Bosun was not striking as hard as he could. He also realized
that he was taking care to spread the wand around so that the cuts were shallow. After an age the blows
stopped and Billy realized that the Bosun had finished. He relaxed his muscles. His arms and legs had
been coiled up like springs.
Then Old Pyle stepped forward.
The Captain looked down at Billy and said, “Don’t get any of your blood in my ale now young
man or I’ll have the Bosun take the Cat to you afterwards.”
Billy glared at him and nearly shouted out a reply as the first stroke of the Cat came down on
his bloody back. He felt strangely calm. Something was happening to his back. It hurt but he couldn’t
connect that far away, distant burning and stabbing sensation with his own body. He’d heard that other
victims of the Cat had gone through the same disembodied experience. Suddenly he realized that it’d
been on the Justitia. The man had nearly died. He should be worried. Maybe he was dying? Surely not,
just a few lashes? He wasn’t that weak? Was he?
Pyle was a sly old fox. He’d felt the Cat himself in the past and he knew how to stop
Billy suffering too much. Pyle was fast. He knew that waiting for the lash was almost as bad as feeling
the Cat come down. He whipped Billy as quickly as he could without seeming to rush. Hampered by
his wooden leg, he couldn’t take much of a run up, and though each lash of the Cat broke the skin it
was all over very quickly.
Billy was barely conscious at the end of the ordeal. His back was red and raw and blood
trickled onto the deck, but Pyle knew that there was no serious damage. The Captain smiled as he
finished his beer. He’d let them get away with just tickling the boy but it didn’t hurt to be a bit
generous once in a while.
They untied Billy and dragged him downstairs to his bunk, a trail of blood behind him.
“Oi, Pyle,” the Bosun commanded. “Get this lot cleaned up and I don’t want no blood below
decks, yer hear?”

Fortunately for Billy, it was a Sunday so he had the rest of the day to recover. It took him half
an hour to get up on Monday morning. As was the custom, he slept face down on the floor with a mate
keeping the rats and cockroaches from nibbling at his bloodied back. Billy survived the week doing
only light duties as his friends in the gang bore his load. By the end of the week Billy could wear a
shirt again, but it took another month for the wounds to heal. Two weeks later and Billy had forgotten
all about his run in with Captain Blanch. He had seen several other convicts whipped and came to
realise that his flogging had been quite mild.
In late April the Bosun brought two prisoners before Captain Blanch for buggery. They
demanded to be sent ashore for trial. It was a capital offence and a trial was the law, but Blanch was
reluctant to besmirch the ship’s reputation and instead he ordered the men flogged.
The Bosun was very eager to participate in the punishment. The two men had molested several
boys who had then informed the Bosun. The Bosun had blackmailed the men, but the tiny sum that
they had paid him had vexed him sorely. It was only then that the Bosun had gone to the Captain.
The day of the floggings was one that Billy would never forget. It was again a Sunday, overcast
with a light drizzling rain. Captain Blanch had sent all the prisoners below, except a few to tie the two
men down. Billy and most of the Little Bleeders were required to slosh water over the men’s faces
whenever they passed out.
The Bosun and his mate were big brawny men and they approached their task with gusto.
Blanch had ordered a Botany Bay dozen, 25 lashes, for each man and was clearly enjoying the scene.
After the first few lashes, the blood flowed fast and freely and the men’s backs were a mass of red gore
as they squirmed under the Cat. They screamed and cried in pain and fear.
Just as the Captain counted out the twentieth stroke, there came a sudden cry from the bow of
the ship. A vessel was approaching at speed! It was the Woolwich smack and it was bearing down
quickly on the Warrior.
In panic, Captain Blanch immediately had the prisoners cut free and dragged half-conscious
into the bridge, leaving a trail of blood behind them. Billy and the gang hurried below decks and
listened intently as the smack drew up. Blanch ordered the pipes for the visitors which drew giggles
from the boys, as it was the Bosun’s job to command the Piping Detail and when they’d last seen him,
he was covered in convict blood.
There was a muffled conversation on the deck of the ship, then the boys took to their bunks as a
detail of the crew came tramping down the stairs to their ward.
“Which of you little bleeders is William Foxe?”
“Here,” Billy replied smartly.
“Good. Get yer kit together and follow me, and look sharp!”
Billy quickly grabbed his meagre belongings, tied them up in a red kerchief and followed the
men. He smiled and waved goodbye at his small friends. Up on deck Inspector Gaskill was deep in
conversation with Captain Blanch. Billy stood by the rope ladder that led down to the Woolwich
smack.
The Inspector pointed angrily to the trail of blood on the deck. Captain Blanch talked quickly,
trying to calm him down. The Inspector suddenly and purposefully followed the trail of blood to the
bridge door. He swung open the door and behind it found the two unconscious prisoners and the Bosun
and his mate. The Inspector, swore angrily at Captain Blanch and ran over to where Billy stood. He
leant over the side of the ship and yelled down to the smack.
“Mr Eden, get up here immediately and bring a ten good men with you!”
A few minutes later, Billy was sailing down the Thames leaving the Warrior and all her bad
memories behind. When they docked at Woolwich, the Inspector bade Billy follow him to his office.
“Well now eighty seven twelve, or should I say William Jonah Foxe, how are you this fine
morning?” he said crisply, placing a pile of coins on his table. “You’re being transported to Van
Diemen’s Land on the morrow. Your sister Virginia is already aboard the Sydney Cove. Now, you
spent 48 days aboard the Warrior so here’s your pay. If you’re lucky, you may be able to make some
purchases at Gravesend before you board.”
“Now then, young man perhaps we can add to this sum here,” the Inspector added, placing
small canvas bag of coins on the table. “Tell me, what do you know of the two men we have down at
the infirmary? Why did Captain Blanch flog them?”
Billy paused, wondering if he could trust this man of if he’d just get into more trouble.
“I won’t get into no trouble will I, sir?”
“No. You have my word as her Majesty’s Inspector of Prisons. You will not get into trouble.
However, I cannot vouch the same for Captain Blanch.”
Chapter 4:
It was a cold foggy morning. The sun struggled to pierce the thick brown haze over the black
waters of the river. Ginny stood at the bow of the Woolwich bumboat. She clutched her shawl tightly
around her shoulders against the chill and murmured a little prayer of thanks to the woman who had
given her the old knitted bonnet that kept her shaven head warm.
Through the haze, Ginny could make out the huge looming shapes of several Naval Men O’
War. Nestled in amongst them was a little ship with all its lights ablaze. As they neared the ships
Ginny realized that the appallingly tiny vessel was their transport, the Sydney Cove. It was to be her
home for the next five months.
“We aint gonna fit in that tiny fing!” she whispered to the woman beside her.
“Oi! Shurrup!” the guard hissed.
Ginny’s apprehension grew as they pulled up alongside the Sydney Cove. There were no
portholes and she shuddered at the thought of the four months darkness that awaited her. The HMS
Sydney Cove was only seventy feet long, not much longer than the bumboat and they would need four
trips to ferry the 92 women, 10 marines, supplies and cargo. She’d been told that the Bay Ships were
crowded but she could scarcely believe that the Sydney Cove could be big enough!
The rope ladders were thrown down, and the women began to clamber aboard, their chains
clanking as they climbed. Ginny waited nervously for her turn, she breathed in deeply, savouring the
smells of London, as she’d never done before. She heard the clamour of the costermongers haggling
cheerfully over prices and advertising their wares in their familiar rhyming slang. Cows mooed faintly
at Smithfield Markets, and the sweet, sharp odour of filth wafted up from the ooze of the river. Ginny’s
eyes filled with tears. She realised that she was leaving London forever. She knew she’d never see her
mum and her friends again.
When it was her turn, Ginny slung the chains of her leg-iron over her shoulder, wound her
shawl firmly around her neck and took a good grip on the rough rope. The climb was only twenty feet
and the crew held the ladder from swaying, but even so Ginny was puffing and panting as two brawny
Navy marines hauled her aboard.
The Officers’ quarters were at the aft of the ship, a staircase led up to its flat roof, the
quarterdeck where several uniformed men leant on the stout railings and stared down impatiently at the
bedraggled crowd of women huddled onto the main deck. At the bow of the ship, similar
accommodations had been built for the Crew and marines, and on top was the forecastle on which lay a
sinister-looking wooden cage.
The deck was a mess. It was barely thirty feet square and dozens bags and boxes were heaped
up and around the bases of the two huge masts that towered almost a hundred feet above them. Around
the edge of the deck were several small cannons and a brass monkey laden with small iron cannon
balls. Ropes, sails, barrels, boxes and bags were strewn haphazardly around the fore and aft cargo
hatches. In the centre of the deck was a small clearing in which the confused women had begun to
form into ragged lines.
Ginny was one of the last to arrive and she was shuffled along to the front. Each woman had
her shawl or cap over her shaven head trying to keep off the damp early morning fog. Occasionally one
of the men would bark at a woman to be silent or to stand still.
The women were still very angry. The previous morning during the medical exams they’d
found several girls suffering from “the Itch” - scabies parasites burrowing under their skin. The Shore
Surgeon had insisted that everyone be treated with burning brimstone. They’d stripped and shaved all
the women, and put them, thirty at a time, into a small stone room that they kept filled with sulfur
fumes for two long painful hours. The women knew that it would be better to use a sulfur ointment but
the Captain did not want the voyage to be delayed and had insisted on a quick and dramatic treatment.
Ginny was too tired and depressed to feel angry. She was cold and hungry and her eyes were
sore and swollen red raw from the sulfur. She felt ugly. They’d lied when they told her that Billy
would be on the ship. The Sydney Cove held only female convicts and now she didn’t know where he
was or if he was even alive.
The crew lined up on the foredeck behind them while a dozen marines jostled the women into
some semblance of order facing the stern. A uniformed man climbed the stairs to the quarterdeck and
strode purposefully forward so that he was looking down on the women.
“Attention!” he cried.
The marines and crew came smartly to attention as the Captain came out onto the quarterdeck.
He paused briefly to chat with the Surgeon and then he came forward to address his passengers.
“At ease, everyone,” he said loudly. “Good Morning Ladies. My name is William Edwards,
Captain William Edwards. It is my responsibility to see that you all reach Australia safe and sound,
with the maximum of speed and the minimum of discomfiture.”
“Our voyage is a commonplace one, and we will journey by secure and well traveled routes.
You may have noticed that the ship is armed with cannon. These are for protection against Privateers.
The ship’s company is also well trained in the use of the cutlass, boarding pikes and arms. To further
ensure your safety, Her Majesty has graciously offered us an escort of several Men O’ War for a
goodly distance. Now I will ask our Chaplin and Surgeon Mister Brown to say a brief prayer before
Bosun Andrews appraises you of the Rules of Conduct.”
A small man came forward; he was about 5 feet 1 and quite rotund. He had a black well-
trimmed beard and was neatly, almost foppishly dressed. He was in his mid thirties. He had a warm
smile and a sparkle in his brown eyes.
“Good Morning everyone, my name is Mister Brown and am your Chaplin and Surgeon on this
voyage” he said in a high-pitched, almost squeaky, voice.
The women and the crew smiled in surprise but the Chaplin seemed to be as amused as they
were.
“Now I believe that most of you are Protestant, but for the Catholics and Jews amongst you,
please be assured, that we will hold services several times a week for the other denominations. I look
forward to speaking to each of you later and ministering to your individual needs.”
He coughed and unfolded a piece of paper. He held it up to the light and started to read from it.
“We have a long and arduous journey in front of us. Over the many weeks and months ahead
you will all be under great stress and strain. But you must bear in mind that this voyage is the result of
your own misdeeds and your own sins. I hope that you are all regretting those sins now as you depart
your native shores for a land far, far away and a life of trial and hard work. But do not despair. It is true
that most of you will never again see London or England but perhaps you will find an honest and
decent life in New Holland. If you serve your sentence well and strive hard to become respectable,
God-fearing Christian women then you may have the chance to walk free and proud and thank God
that you are British!” he admonished, the squeak almost disappearing.
Then he continued in a softer voice, “Let us pray.”

The marines looked at the women intently, watching and noting which of them did not bow
their heads submissively enough or which whispered to their neighbours over the sound of the
Chaplin’s prayer.
Ginny hung her head down as if in prayer and shut her eyes while the Chaplin’s voice droned
on. She was not particularly religious; her mum had constantly chastised her and Billy for being
sinners and blamed much of their misfortune on their refusal to go to Church.
The Chaplin blessed them and the ship and then Bosun Andrews stepped forward to address
them again. Mr Andrews was a stocky man, middle-aged with a big salt and pepper beard and the
rolling gait of a seasoned sailor.
“Good Day!” he boomed. “Listen very carefully, we have a lot to get through and I don’t want
to start the day with punishments, do you understand?”
“Good,” he said without waiting for a reply. “Now, below the main is the orlop deck. At each
end of the orlop deck are the cargo bulkheads. Below the orlop deck is cargo and the bilges. The
prisoners’ quarters are in the centre, the waist, of the ship. You will find 10 cells for 10 persons each.
You will be taken down one cell at a time; your numbers are listed on the door of each cell. Every
woman will occupy the cell assigned to her. There will be no alterations. Do you understand?”
Ginny raised her hand as the paused.
“Yes, what is it? Quickly woman” he said impatiently.
“Well, sir,” Ginny asked timidly, “I was just wonderin’ if we’s gonna ‘ave the chains taken orf
at all, sir?”
There was a guffaw of laughter from the crew and the Captain.
“Someone always asks that one,” he replied with amusement. “The answer is No! The chains
belong to Her Majesty’s government and it is up to her representative in Van Diemen’s Land to
dispose of them on our arrival. Now, no more silly questions.”
“Now, we have a long list of Rules of Conduct. Our voyage will be dangerous and difficult and
all passengers must abide strictly to these rules. Any infractions will be severely dealt with. Which
brings me to the Brig Cell,” he added, gesturing to the large wooden cage on the foredeck. “This cell
will be used in the event of any serious misbehaviour. Prisoners in the Brig will be chained to the deck
and will receive a diet of bread and water. The Brig is cramped and fully exposed to the weather so it
will be extremely uncomfortable. So be warned! You will now all be escorted below to your cells. You
are to elect one person as the Cell ward. That person should be able to read and walk well in chains.
We also need one cook from each cell. That is all! Carry on Sergeant!”
“Right, sah!” the marine Sergeant shouted eagerly. “Now then. Listen carefully ladies. When I
call your number I expect you to say, ‘Present, Sergeant’ and move to the front. You will then be
escorted to the orlop deck below. If I cannot hear you clearly you will spend the next few nights on
deck in the Brig. Understand?”
He glared at them and gestured skywards; it was a typical cold London day and a light drizzle
had resumed. “Good, listen well,” the Sergeant continued. “The following women are for Cell number
One. Eight twenty three, ninety one eleven, forty four oh six, ….”
He read slowly and clearly and the women began shuffling to the front and were then led
below. Descending backwards down the steep stairs onto the passenger deck was not easy. Ginny had
to keep one hand free to pick up her leg chains. The roof was four and a half feet high, causing most of
the women to stoop. There were no portholes and the only source of light was the oil lamps. These cast
a pale smoky yellow glow over the crowd of ragged, defeated women as they settled down in their
cells. The cells were sturdy wooden cages made of beams set upright, several inches apart. From the
base of the stairs Ginny could see all the women in all the cells in one glance.
The cells occupied most of the waist of the ship. There were impregnable wooden bulkheads
fore and aft that separated them from the cargo holds.
Ginny’s cell was near the stairs. She was shoved through the door of the cell by the guard and
the door was slammed shut and locked behind her. She shuffled forwards into the tiny cell. It was
barely six feet square, with two small wooden platforms one at knee height, the other at chest height,
that would serve as beds for ten women. On the lower bunk, next to her number 2106, was the suitcase
that Mrs Fry had given her. She slumped down onto the bunk; it was very hard with a pronounced
slope down towards the inside of the cell.
Ginny’s world had shrunk, and she was to be kept locked up in the gloomy and crowded cell
with the same nine women for the next few months. She huddled into a corner of her bunk. It was cold
and, as she wrapped her thin blanket around her, she wished she had more than just a shift under her
long skirt. Most of the other women in her cell were very animated; they were older than Ginny and
were arguing over who could read and write the best. One woman, about Ginny’s age, still had a full
head of hair. She was very pretty, but had been crying a lot and her eyes were all red and puffy. She
was sat down on the bunk next to Ginny and wrapped a blanket around herself. She had two very thick
warm blankets. The woman seemed to be out of place; she looked like a Nib who was down on her
luck. They sat and watched without saying anything.
A big and bossy older woman called Lizzy began shouting everyone down. Very quickly she
had established herself as the boss. She was going to be the Cell Warden and her friend, Dottie, was
going to be the cook. Ginny didn’t care, all she wanted to do was to sleep. She had a splitting headache
and the noise and the stench were terrible. She wondered how she’d ever survive. She began to hum I
Sowed the Seeds of Love quietly to herself. She enjoyed music; it always cheered her up and now it
took her mind off the gloom and squalor and gloom that surrounded her.
Two women in the cell opposite Ginny’s began arguing loudly. Ginny saw the guard moving a
large wooden bucket towards their cell door. The women’s screaming became louder and louder. They
started to push each other around their small cell, and very soon they were fighting in earnest. They
screamed and tore at each other’s clothes. They tried pulling each other’s hair but fortunately both
were bald. The guard put his rifle down and picked up the bucket with both hands. He staggered
towards the cell. The women were on the floor next to the cell door, biting and kicking at each other.
The guard lifted the bucket and carefully dumped all the water right over the two women. They
shrieked as the ice cold water hit them and they broke apart immediately.
The guard turned and left but was soon back with several other marines. The four men opened
the cell door and hit the two women with big wooden batons several times. Luckily it was too cramped
to get much force into the swings but the women were bruised and sobbing loudly. The men then
looped the leg chains of each woman through clamps on the floor of the cell and fastened the clamps
shut. A hush had fallen over all the convicts and all that could be heard was a faint sobbing from the
two poor women who were lying cold, wet and sore and chained to the floor at opposite ends of their
cell.
The Sergeant of marines walked casually down the corridor and stopped at the women’s cell.
“Not a good start,” he said softly.
“Corporal. Bread and water. Full chains. Three days once we clear the Channel.”
“Yes, sir!” the marine replied with a snappy salute.
“Oh, and jolly well done, Private Jones,” he added nodding to the guard who’d thrown the
water over the women.
Billy boarded the Navarino with twenty other convicts. It was a dreary afternoon, and the
drizzling rain hung like dewdrops on his new clothes. The ship was an old but sturdy three-masted
Barque with big square sails. She had sailed to Australia three times and was top rated at A1 by the
Government. At 400 tons she was faster and much bigger than the brigantine Sydney Cove and was
loaded with 180 male convicts, livestock, a crew of 25 and a squad of marines. Both ships were
crammed to the gunwales with cargo. The Masters could get a pretty penny for everything they could
deliver to Australia.
As he looked around at the cluttered, wet cargo that littered the crowded deck, Billy noticed a
gibbet hanging from the foremast. He wondered if it was ever used or if it was put there to scare them.
On the aft deck Billy could clearly see two black coffin-shaped boxes that were used for solitary
confinement and a Cramping Box, a complicated wooden lattice box that could be made bigger or
smaller to house from two to ten recalcitrant convicts in maximum pain and discomfort.
Despite these unpleasant surprises, Billy’s new home was a great improvement on the Warrior.
It was very clean and tidy and it looked as if both prison decks had been refitted. Billy could scarcely
contain himself when he was led down the wide staircase to his cell on the first deck. Not only was it
one of the few cells to have a porthole, but also it was right next to the port stairwell and he hoped that
the sun would stream down to the bottom of the stairs next to the water closets.
When they were at sea, a scoop sail would be rigged on the main deck at the top of the stairs to
direct a flow of fresh air down to the convicts below. So, unlike most prisoners, Billy would have a lot
of light and air that was almost tolerable despite the proximity of the water closets.
The roof of the orlop deck was low but not so low that Billy needed to stoop. Running down
the centre of the deck was a narrow corridor with cells to port and starboard. Each cell was a seven by
nine foot construction of vertical and horizontal beams. Two, five by seven-foot wooden bunks were
laid out one on top of the other. Each bunk was to hold four men. There were two buckets with lids per
cell; one for water and the other, the Guzunda, was for use at night and when the privies were
unavailable.
Billy scampered onto the top bunk in the cell. He sat curled up in the corner of the bunk next to
the porthole as he watched the other convicts shuffle down the corridor to their new homes. He clasped
his hands tightly around his knees, rocked back and forth and sang silently to himself. By noon, his cell
was full. Billy was quite pleased because he was on the top bunk, which meant that he was not going
wake up in the middle of the night with piss dripping down on him.
Over the next few days Billy learnt that two of the men in his cell were former sailors who’d
fallen on hard times. They had sailed together many times and had even been to New Holland and Van
Diemen’s Land. Marcus Donaldson was a big lumbering brute of a man in his late twenties. He’d gone
to sea at fourteen and had been around the world. James Raeburn was much older, in his early fifties.
He was thin and wiry and his face was weather-beaten and deeply wrinkled by almost forty years at
sea. He looked like a very tough and hard old cove. The marine guards treated them both with a respect
that bordered on deference. That puzzled Billy, and he wondered what the two men had in common
and what crimes they had committed to be sentenced to transportation.
After a week the Navarino was almost full. Billy had been appointed as the Piss Pot for his
mess or cell. His job was to empty the Guzunda every morning and to help clean and scrub the privies
once a week. At anchor it was no trouble, but he had a feeling that it’d be a pain in the arse once they
put to sea. But Billy was the youngest and smallest of his mess so he couldn’t argue with his cellmates.
As their departure date approached the Surgeon began compiling his logbook. Every convict
was given a thorough medical examination and all particulars about family, status and reason for
transportation were noted down. The Surgeon, a kindly man called Mister Tarquin, enquired about the
marks of the Cat on Billy’s back. When Billy mentioned the Warrior and Captain Blanch, Mister
Tarquin held up his hand for to stop him. He seemed upset and Billy thought that perhaps he didn’t like
Blanch either.
The Surgeon stood on the quarterdeck of the Navarino looking down at the line of convicts
shuffling slowly down into the orlop deck, their leg irons clanking as they dragged across the deck. His
thoughts were a long way from the ship though.
“Well Mister Tarquin, any news on your replacment Lieutenant yet?” the voice came from
behind him.
He spun around as the man approached him.
“No firm answer yet I’m afraid Captain. But I do expect the Navy to send me someone in time
for our departure tomorrow,” he replied extending his hand in greeting.
“Good, excellent,” the Captain returned. “I don’t mind a delay and neither does the Bank, of
course, but I’d rather leave while we’ve got this calm weather with us, you know.”

The Government paid a handsome daily rate for any delays over the planned departure date.
The Surgeon gazed out over the Thames. He gestured towards a small packet that was heading in their
direction.
“Ah, in fact Captain Broadbent, I do believe that this must be our man now.”
The two men watched as the small boat came alongside and deposited a tall man and several
suitcases on the pier. The Surgeon scowled as he peered intently at the figure coming down the
gangplank.
“Blast it. It’s that infernal Blanch man,” he muttered.
“What? Pardon me, sir. Do you know the new man, Mister Tarquin?” the Captain asked.
The Surgeon turned and grimaced slightly.
“Er, yes Captain. I’m afraid I believe I do. Apparently my new right-hand man is a Mister
George Blanch, formerly Captain Blanch of the HMS Warrior. It seems that he has indeed fallen from
grace somewhat!”
Shortly after lunch, Billy and three other young convicts were let out of their cells and sent
down to clean the starboard privy. As Billy climbed up the ladder the sunlight was suddenly dimmed
as a shape moved over the top of the hatchway.
“Look lively there, scum!” came the shout from above.
Billy froze.
It was Captain Blanch!
Billy squinted up at the figure and before quickly scaled the ladder. He tried to keep his head down and
turned away but Blanch caught sight of his face.
“Stop!” he ordered, “Turn around, boy! Hah! It’s you! You damned blaspheming scoundrel!”
Billy just nodded and stood still.
“Well then. You’re the damned reason I got demoted you ‘orrible brat! I know you shopped me
to the Inspector. Well, you’d better behave yourself this time! We will have the pleasure of each
other’s company for many months to come. We have the Navy Cat now, you know. She has a much
sharper bite, so mind yourself.”
With that he turned and strode away, chuckling to himself.
Chapter 5:
A few days later, the fleet was at sea, south of the English Channel. It was a gorgeous, hot and
sunny afternoon. A small fleet of six Transport Vessels was being escorted by three large English Men
O’ War that, despite their age, bristled with guns and would keep the Pirates and Privateers at bay with
ease.
Their cook, Dottie, had a splitting headache and Ginny was out on the deck in her place. It was
the first time she had been topside since they’d left England. Ginny was stunned at how blue the sky
was, and how beautiful the sea looked. It was always dreary and overcast in London and she’d never
seen the actual sea before. She nearly tripped as she looked up at the huge sails billowing in the steady
breeze.
The head prison cook, Mary, waved her over and told her to go with the two marines up on to
the foredeck to fetch a bag of lemons and some salt. As she walked up the stairs she suddenly realized
that there was another Transport ship moving slowly just ahead of them. She stopped to look. It was
much larger than the Sydney Cove and she could clearly see a group of men scrubbing the aft deck.
They were very close; Ginny could see the men as they got up off their knees to get a good look at the
Sydney Cove and its ship full of women. Suddenly, she heard a high-pitched whistle coming from other
ship. She put her hand up to block out the sun. The whistle came again but was choked off suddenly.
She just managed to make out a figure being pushed around by another man.
Ginny jumped excitedly up and down. It had to be Billy! That was their special whistle. She
thought the figure could’ve been him. She started to call out his name, but the cry died on her lips as
the marine behind her pushed her up the stairs. She twisted around looking anxiously over towards the
other ship. She saw two men come up behind Billy, pick him up and throw him down onto the deck.
Ginny struggled to get a good look but the marine just pushed her forward and blocked her view.
She was about to argue but it was too late, Billy’s ship had turned away and she couldn’t see it
properly. The marine in front of her hadn’t noticed the incident with the other ship, but the marine
behind her definitely had.
“Be careful Miss,” he hissed menacingly into her ear. “You could be in big trouble if you was
found waving to convicts on the Navarino. So just behave yourself. I’ll protect you. You be good to
Silas and Silas will be good to you.”
He patted her meaningfully on her bottom.
“Bugger off,” she hissed at him.
The other marine turned to look at them, gave a big sigh of resignation, shook his head
reproachfully at the man called Silas and motioned Ginny forward to fetch the lemons.
Lieutenant Blanch was furious and delighted! That impertinent rascal, eighty seven twelve, had
signaled the convicts on the Sydney Cove! As the other ship had overtaken them, the eight convicts had
turned from their work to stare. There were several dozen women on the deck. Blanch had been about
to order the men back to work when the stupid boy had let out that damned ear-piercing whistle at the
wench on the other vessel!
That was a very grave offence. Very grave indeed and he’d done it right in front of him! Blanch
didn’t hesitate. He ordered a dozen lashes for each man. That would teach the infernal scum to
concentrate on their work!
When Blanch pronounced his sentence, Donaldson had let out a yell and lunged at Billy. He
was furious at Billy’s stupidity. Raeburn and two of the others had managed to block his way before he
could get to him.
Blanch smiled in wry amusement. He ordered Billy to be tied to the puzzling sticks down on
the main deck and sent for the Cat O’ Nine Tails. They removed his jacket and shirt and quickly tied
Billy’s wrists together then lashed them to the apex of the ten-foot high triangular frame. They spread
his legs wide apart and tied them to the corners of the base.
Blanch stood before him with a sadistic sneer across his face and Billy knew that this time he
would not hold back. The Lieutenant held the Cat in his left hand and looked over towards Donaldson
inquiringly. Donaldson stood there, his face contorted with fury, knowing that he would be the next
man to be whipped. For a moment Billy thought that Blanch was going to have Donaldson whip him.
Then Blanch grinned cruelly, shrugged his shoulder and handed the Cat to one of the marines.
The marine stripped to the waist. He didn’t want convict blood all over his shirt. He was a stocky,
well-muscled man and he handled the Cat with practised familiarity.
Blanch was still smiling as the first stroke came crashing down on Billy’s bare back. The pain
seared through him. Billy choked back the scream that welled up in his throat. He tensed his back up as
hard as he could. The old-timers had told him it was guaranteed to take the sting out of the Cat. It
didn’t seem to work and the second stroke viciously flayed at his skin.
As the third stroke landed Billy began to get dizzy and his legs buckled under him. The coarse
rope dug into his wrists and he could feel the blood trickling down the middle of his back. Just as the
eighth blow landed he thought he heard a cry. His head lolled forward and his arms felt as if they were
being pulled out of his sockets.
Then slowly he became aware that the blows had stopped. He heard the blood rushing through
his ears and the sounds of the ship creaking and groaning under sail. But the men were absolutely
silent. There was no sound from his messmates or the few marines on the deck. Then Billy felt himself
being lifted forward and suddenly he was face down on the deck.

He groaned and lifted his head just as a bucket of cold seawater was thrown over his back.
Billy cried out and writhed in pain as the salt stung deep into the wounds. Another few buckets of
water drenched him completely.
Billy looked up. He could see Blanch in heated discussion with the Surgeon. Blanch was
trembling and red-faced as the Surgeon waved his finger under his nose.
Then Billy was quickly hoisted to his feet and supported by two of the convicts, he was carried
aft to the Hospital in the Surgeon’s cabin.
Mister Tarquin’s trusty, twelve sixty-six, gave him a mug of hot rum laced with laudanum and
covered his back in a thick layer of lard to keep the flies and cockroaches away. For two days he lay
face down on the floor outside the hospital. He could barely move. He was stiff and sore and the
slightest movement felt as if red-hot needles were being stabbed into his back. Billy was given food
and water by a young convict who shared his bunk. Andrew, number thirty nine twenty one, told Billy
what had happened.
When Blanch had ordered the punishment, the Surgeon had been down below attending to a
convict with a broken leg. He had come out on deck as Billy was being lashed. He’d screamed at the
marine to stop and had run up to Blanch demanding to know what was happening. He was furious and
for a moment Andrew had thought he might actually hit his Lieutenant. But instead, he’d confiscated
the Cat and ordered all the convicts into the cramping box. Blanch and the marines were sent below to
man the bilge pumps. It was a tremendously degrading task for an Officer of the Ship.
For four hours Billy’s messmates been hunched over without food or water in the Cramping
box. It was too narrow for them to sit down and too low to stand up. They staggered out just before
dinner, aching and sore and could barely able to stand.
The Surgeon accompanied Billy down to his cell. He’d had warned Billy that his mates might
be upset. He was right. Donaldson was furious. He lunged at Billy as he approached the cell, then upon
suddenly noticing the Surgeon, he sat back on the lower bunk and glared malevolently.
“Let me make it very plain to you all” the Surgeon commanded, looking directly at Donaldson.
“The Lieutenant has punished you all for the mistakes of eighty seven twelve. However, this
lad has been punished much more thoroughly than any of you. Now that is the end of the matter. I do
not expect to hear of any retaliation of any sort or I will ask Lieutenant Blanch to resume your
encounters with the Cat. Am I understood? Good. Now, eighty seven twelve will be sleeping on the
floor for the next week, so have a care. Good Day!”
Ginny shared her bunk with Sarah. She was two years older than Ginny and she was everything
Ginny wanted to be. She was a true English rose. She had thick, curly, shoulder-length black hair,
bright red cheeks, smooth white skin, ruby lips, sparkling blue eyes and her beautiful smile showed
perfect pearl-white teeth. She was also the only convict on board who still had all her hair. Her
relatives knew the Master Surgeon at Woolwich very well and a little money had easily persuaded him
that Sarah Churchill was not the sort of person who’d be infected by scabies or any other disease of the
lower classes. So Sarah’s beautiful head of hair had survived uncut.
Sarah had stolen a lace kerchief from Lord Melchet’s daughter as a prank at a Gala.
Unfortunately Sarah’s father was a bankrupt and owed Lord Melchet a considerable sum of money.
Melchet got his revenge by prosecuting Sarah to the full extent of the law, which as a member of the
House of Lords, was a simple task for him. Sarah was devastated by the cruel verdict, as she was
sentenced to seven years in the colonies. She was taken from the courthouse to a manor house on the
edge of London where she was detained under house arrest until the Sydney Cove was ready for her.
In a cold, unemotional voice, Sarah explained that her family made no attempt to contact her after her
arrest. Ginny could feel Sarah’s resentment and made no effort to pry. She thought that perhaps being
upper class wasn’t as nice and cosy as she’d imagined.
Sarah and Ginny got on very well. Sarah was very impressed that Ginny had not only met
Elizabeth Fry but that Mrs Fry had also given her many books, including “Development of an Institute
of Nursing Sisters.” Sarah had spoken to a woman named Florence Nightingale and she had talked
very highly of Mrs Fry’s writing. They avidly read the books on herbs and medicines, looking for ways
to help Ginny improve her skin and clear up her acne. There were also volumes of poetry by Keats and
Wordsworth and even Mister Dickens’s “Pickwick Papers”. Sarah had a few books of her own, mostly
on Deportment and Manners but also several popular novels such as “Pride and Prejudice”.
Shortly after they’d seen Billy’s ship the women had their leg irons removed. Ginny was
pleasantly surprised as Boatswain Andrews had said they’d be wearing them for the whole voyage. But
the moment of pleasure was only fleeting. There was a very unpleasant and practical reason for
removing the fetters.
Chapter 6:
Time passed quickly as the convicts on the Navarino settled down to a regular routine. They’d
wake at dawn and the Piss Pots, like Billy, would be allowed out to empty the Guzundas in the privy.
Then the Cooks would be let out to light the fires under the cauldrons. At 8 o’clock the Surgeon or
Lieutenant Blanch would take the roll call by walking along the corridor between the cells. Each
convict would have to call out his number as he passed. Breakfast was at half-past eight and an hour
later all the odd-numbered convicts would be sent back down below for schooling. After lunch at noon,
the even-numbered convicts would have their turn at school for several hours. By mid-afternoon
everyone was below decks for a few hours until supper at six o’clock. Lime juice with a dash of rum
was doled out every other day and Mr Tarquin held church services on Sunday and Wednesday
mornings for all denominations. Several times a week the prison decks were washed, scrubbed and
meticulously inspected. To the Surgeon, Cleanliness was next to Godliness.
Most of the time, when they weren’t being schooled, the prisoners were cleaning the upper
decks. Billy could understand washing them down, scrubbing them and even holy-stoning them but
drying the decks while the sea was whipping waves across them didn’t make any sense. After a
fortnight at sea, the Navarino was clear of the French coast and the convicts’ leg irons were struck off.
It was a great relief to be able to walk like real men again. Billy hated dragging the heavy iron chains
with the rough metal cuffs that made the ankles a bruised and bleeding sore.
There was much whispered talk about the other ships in the tiny fleet. They could still see the
Sydney Cove, a small speck of a ship to port and aft. But the Men of War were readily visible both fore
and aft and Captain Broadbent was constantly running up the signal flags to them. From the
semaphores, Donaldson and Raeburn told them all the details of the little fleet’s progress and most
importantly, the expected weather conditions.
Billy was careful to follow the rules and be silent while he was on deck, but down in their cells
the convicts had a few hours every day when they could talk. They were all fascinated to hear each
other’s stories. It was a little difficult at first as most convicts were poor, working class and spoke their
own very particular kind of slang.
Billy had little trouble with the English and could understand even the Scottish convicts if they
spoke slowly enough, but he found the Irishmen were very difficult to understand. There were only ten
of them and they lived in the cell next to Billy’s so he couldn’t help overhearing their conversations.
They were Catholic to a man; mostly country lads who claimed that they had to steal just to
keep themselves and their families fed. They spoke of the Irish Politicos in whispers just in case one of
the White Boys or Ribbon men might’ve been put on the ship to Van Diemen’s Land rather than New
South Wales. Times were very hard in Ireland; the systematic persecution of the Catholics had resulted
in a failed rebellion and severe economic repression. Billy had been told that the Irish were mean, hard
and cruel characters, but the stories they came to tell over the course of the voyage made him feel very
lucky he was born English.

Several of the convicts had been transported to Australia before. One man, named Grizzled
Jack because he was old and always complaining, had been shipped out twenty years earlier. He
amused Billy as he gruffly mocked all the so-called hardships of the voyage. He’d cly’d the jerk for
nearly 200 strokes of the lash and for a farthing he’d show the stripes on his mutilated and calloused
back. He’d seen men hanged for buggery and their bodies crammed into the gibbet for weeks. On his
previous lag ship, the Britannia, back in 1821, they’d been kept below for the entire four months of the
voyage. There were no portholes and the rifles of the marines pointed out at them through small holes
in the fortified bulkheads. They only saw daylight when the dead were removed for burial at sea.
Grizzled Jack had done hard labour on the bridge at Ross and he’d even escaped and joined The
Darkies in the forest.
Raeburn quietly spoilt Grizzled Jack’s horror stories. Both he and Donaldson had been to
Sydney and Hobart Town. He claimed that life in Van Diemen’s Land was now better than London
and Transportation was boring but not deadly. True, Port Arthur and Sarah Island sounded every bit as
horrible and fearsome as Norfolk Island ever was, but Raeburn thought it might’ve been contrived just
to scare the convicts into behaving themselves.
Billy didn’t know how much to believe but he was plagued by visions of nubile young girls,
naked and as black as coal with heavy breasts and brilliant smiles as they enticed him to lie with them
in the lush green forests. Old Jack loved to stir up the youngsters’ passions. Billy was glad he could
masturbate undisturbed in the privy. Billy soon realized some of the things he’d really miss about
London. Transportation was hell for a passionate and growing teenager!
It was late afternoon, the seas were calm and the breeze was light and warm. The women were
sitting in their bunks, bored and listless as usual. Suddenly, Ginny heard the tramping of boots across
the deck and the Corporal and ten marines came marching down the stairs. They stopped right next to
Ginny’s cell. Stooped over in the yellow gloom of the oil lamps, they stood crammed in the corridor
between the cells. Ginny sensed that something was very wrong. The men were very quiet but they
seemed anxious, tense, almost bursting with excitement.
They unlocked Ginny’s door and that of the cell opposite. They entered her cell and then they
began to grab the women and push them into the other cell. No one attempted to struggle. Soon only
Ginny, Sarah and Lizzy were left in the cell. The Corporal ordered the women to remove their clothes.
Sarah sat on her bunk her knees hugged tightly to her chest, her teeth clenched and her eyes screwed
tightly shut. She rocked back and forward muttering to herself. Lizzy started screaming at the top of
her voice.
“Bring the Chaplin! I want the bloody Chaplin.”
She screamed and screamed. Three marines tried to stop her and she managed to bite one as he
clamped his hand over her mouth. Then two men held her while another marine put his hand on her
shoulder. He glanced quickly towards Sarah and then suddenly punched Lizzy in the stomach with all
his might. The Corporal grabbed the man as Lizzy crumpled to the floor gasping for breath.
“Jones you idiot! You damned fool! You know that’s an offence!” he hissed at the man.
The marine tried to argue but the Corporal cut him off sharply.
“Get her out of here and get another one. You there! Private Daly! Choose your woman and
snappy about it.”
Private Daly pointed at Ginny and whispered,
“Come to me, ducks!”
Ginny stood cowering in the far corner of the cell. She shrank back in fear. Daly moved
carefully towards her with his hand extended.
Ginny caught a glimpse of movement at the top of the stairs. Out of the corner of her eye she
could see the Chaplain, Mr Brown, standing on the main deck at the top of the stairs. His face was in
the sunlight and he looked nervous, as if he was thinking about intervening but wasn’t quite sure.
The Corporal stood in the centre of their cell. Sarah and Ginny watched him fearfully. He
waved his baton. “Quiet Ladies, quiet now.”
He waited as an expectant hush came over the women in the other cells.
“Thank you,” he continued. “Now, it is the custom on voyages to the Colonies for the marines
and indeed the crew, to try to help comfort and nurture the ladies through the hard times. We have
food, we have rum, we have clothes, we have blankets, and we even have a little tobacco.”
A buzz ran around the ship. The women began to get interested.
“Of course, we do expect something in return,” the Corporal added slyly.
He paused, waiting for quiet to resume.
“In return we expect some tenderness and comfort ourselves. Do you understand me?”
The women were well aware of what he meant. The Corporal turned to Ginny and Sarah.
“Now Ladies. You are the first, we won’t hurt you and we will pay you well. But remember,
we are the guards and you are the prisoners. So please stand up and take your clothes off and
everything will be over in a few minutes and you can sit back and relax while you have a nice tot of
rum and a smoke.”
The marines helped the two women get to their feet. Sarah was whimpering and crying as she
clutched her clothes tightly to her. Ginny whispered to her quietly,
“Don’t worry Sarah. Just do as they say. We can’t fight them.”
Sarah shook her head and bit her lip. There were four men in the cell.
“Put out the lights,” the Corporal ordered.
It went very dark. But not so dark that Ginny couldn’t make out the three men struggling to get
Sarah out of her clothes. Ginny took off her dress and hiked up her shift. Like all the women, she did
not wear underclothes. She carefully folded her dress and placed it on the bunk.
Private Daly unbuttoned his trews and pushed her onto her back. Everything seemed to slow
down for Ginny. She could hear Sarah’s muffled screams as the Corporal raped her. She could smell
the foul odour of Daly’s breath as he grunted and groaned on top of her. He pinched at her breasts and
tried to kiss her. She twisted her head away and his coarse beard scratched her cheek. Fortunately he
was so excited that his entry was virtually painless.
Ginny could hear the sobs and whimpers from the rest of the women in the other cells. She
could just make out their shapes in the corner of her eye.
“Make it be over soon. Oh God make it end soon,” Ginny thought in a panic. She had to go and
help Sarah.
Daly was quick, very quick. He came in barely a minute. Ginny was glad of that. As he got up
off her Ginny rolled onto her side and vomited on the floor. Daly made as if to strike her but decided
against it.
In the shadows on the other bunk Sarah whimpered in pain as the Corporal grunted on top of
her and the two marines stood guard. Ginny could see the grins on their faces. Ginny pulled a blanket
over her naked body. She felt filthy and defiled. She had an image of Silas as a dog rutting in the
gutter. She felt so ashamed, and sad but she fought hard to suppress her growing anger and outrage.
She was still very scared.
“Please, sir, can we have some water and some cloth?” she asked Daly.
Private Daly was standing with his back to the door. He smiled at Ginny. “Oh, Certainly,
ducks,“ he replied softly, adding “My name’s Silas. What’s yours?”
Ginny bit down on the blanket as she felt the bile rise up in her throat again.
“Wuh, wuh, water,” she stammered.
The marine looked at her anxiously. He seemed puzzled that she was unhappy. Ginny searched
his face for a sign of pity, of regret. There was none. She shook her head.
“Water please. Please can I have some water … Silas?”
He grinned and turned around. One of the other marines handed him a pail of water just as the
Corporal got up off Sarah. Ginny drank and then dressed quickly. She took the bucket and went over to
Sarah’s bunk. The marines left the cell and moved down to the far end of the hold. Ginny threw a
blanket over Sarah as the girl shivered and whimpered on the bed.

The marines opened another two cells and began to choose two more women on whom they
could bestow their generosity. Ginny left Sarah alone for a short while, but she wanted to take
advantage of the darkness to dress their wounds. She hiked up her skirts and carefully washed herself.
Her wounds were slight but painful and bloody. Then she shook Sarah.
“C’mon Ducks. We have to tidy you up while it’s still dark,” she said gently.
Sarah seemed stunned. She meekly allowed Ginny to sit her upright and gently dab the cuts and
bruises on her face. The cold water woke Sarah up. She looked at Ginny and began to cry again but
Ginny spoke to her sternly.
“You can cry later ducks. But for now you must wash and clean yerself. Those ‘orrible men
have gone but the cell will be full again soon. So let’s do what needs to be done, orlright?”
Sarah nodded and Ginny passed her the wet cloth and turned delicately away.
“Are you finished?” asked Ginny shortly.
Sarah sniffled and Ginny looked at her. A tear was rolling down her cheek.
“The pigs have hurt me,” she sobbed. “I’ve got cuts and bruises everywhere.”
“It’s orlright luv,” Ginny consoled her, throwing the blankets around the girl’s shoulders. “I’ll
get the Chaplin as soon as I can. He’ll have some medicines for you, don’t worry. It’ll be alright.”
It wasn’t until the next day that Surgeon Brown admitted Ginny into the Infirmary. Ginny had
brought several books with her.
“Well Miss 2106, I presume that you need medicines?” he squeaked.
“Yes please, sir.”
“Now do sit down,” he said. “Now what’s your name, my dear?”
“Foxe, sir, Ginny Foxe,” she replied.
“Oh, excellent, and what have we here Miss Foxe?” Brown asked pointing at Ginny’s books.
She showed them to him.
“Oh I say. Most excellent, my dear. Mrs Fry’s writings. How fortuitous,” he replied beaming.
Ginny just nodded and leant forward griping the edge of the seat with white knuckles. Mr
Brown put on his reading glasses and flipped through Ginny’s book.
“Now, what seems to be the trouble, Miss Foxe?” he asked vaguely. “Should I be a Chaplin or
a Surgeon at the moment? No, you don’t need to answer that my dear. I know you saw me at the
hatchway this yesterday. I was expecting this to happen, I was surprised that it took so long. That’s
all.”
Ginny was a little taken aback. Why didn’t he stop the men from assaulting them?
“Come now, my dear,” Brown said closing the book. “This is my third voyage, my second on a
female Transport you know. So I am aware of what goes on. I’d dare say, more aware than you and
some of the women?”
Ginny nodded slowly and smiled at him.
“Now, tell me what ails you my dear. Oh, please make sure the door is shut will you, we don’t
want everyone on the ship to hear do we?”
Ginny pulled the door shut tightly. The marines’ quarters were next door but most of them were
on deck.
“Well, sir. It’s like this.” Ginny began nervously, for she was not used to talking to men about
personal matters. “Well, you see, sir. Well, they marines, sir, they just been in our cells, sir and they …
well they, they attacked some of us, sir.”
“Attacked? How did they attack you my dear?” Mr Brown prompted quietly.
Ginny tried to get the words out but they just wouldn’t come. She stammered and tried to start
again but a flood of shame and anger came over her and she began to weep. The Chaplin was a kind
man. He had two teenage nieces and he knew how to be patient.
“It’s all right, my dear,“ he said soothingly. “ They had their way with you didn’t they?”
Ginny nodded her head and sobbed.

“Well, Miss Foxe, I’m afraid that Captain Edwards turns a blind eye to that sort of behaviour.
In fact, until recently, it was common practise, particularly in the merchant marine, for the crew to
cohabit with the women prisoners.”
She stared at him incredulously.
He coughed nervously. “Yes, you see my dear, the Captain believes that it is better for the men
on board to be happy. He won’t tolerate drinking and he’s not keen on whippings, so he prefers to
control the men by letting them vent their passions on the women. I’m afraid that you and the other
women will just have to live with it.”
Ginny began to sob louder and harder.
“Now listen to me 2106, you must learn to adapt and change,” he said, his voice hardening
slightly. “You are a woman. You are poor. You are a convict. Your only chance to survive is to take
every opportunity you can to make your life better. You cannot fight the system, you must adapt to it.
Now, what did they give you?”
Ginny began to get control of herself. The Chaplin was right, she mustn’t be so childish.
“I got a gill of rum, sir,” Ginny sniffled.
“Well there you are then. Now are you better or worse off than yesterday? They’re going to bed
every woman on the ship except for the dirty ones of course. So don’t think of it as losing your
maidenhood, think of it as gaining some rum. And if you don’t like rum you can always barter it for
something else can’t you?”
A sudden thought struck Ginny and a smile spread slowly across her face; then she began to
laugh.
“There, you see my dear. That’s right. You just have to look on the bright side of it,” Mr Brown
said, nodding in agreement, although he couldn’t quite understand the joke.
Ginny forced herself to stop laughing but the smile stayed on her face so she covered her mouth
with her hand as the Chaplin swung his chair around and delved inside his medicine cabinet. He
brought out two small glass bottles.
“Now my dear. I want you to take a teaspoon of laudanum and a teaspoon of this elixir of soda
now and come back after breakfast tomorrow for some more.”
Ginny shook her head. “Oh no, sir, it’s not all for me, sir. It’s for my friend Sarah. She needs
the sedative and also something to stop the bleeding, sir. I was thinking that you might have some
yarrow or maybe some nettles?”
The Chaplin looked at Ginny thoughtfully. “Yarrow and nettles? Yarrow and nettles, eh? So,
we’ve been doing some reading have we? Good.”
He pushed his chair back and regarded her seriously. “Now 2106, I have a proposition for you
and your friend Sarah. You see, it’s very difficult for me to tend to the medical and spiritual
ministrations of so many people. And of course women are how shall I put it … somewhat more
delicate than men, particularly where health is concerned,” he explained cautiously. “So what I
generally like to do in these situations is to employ two of the more intelligent and caring prisoners to
assist in the health care of the women. Now then Miss 2106, would you and Sarah be interested in
helping me?”
Ginny’s heart leapt. She would be able to get more medicines and take care of Sarah. Her
friend really wasn’t made to live the coarse and vulgar life of a convict
“Of course, it does mean my dear, that you will need to work hard and concentrate so I will
have to tell the Sergeant of marines that neither his men nor the crew will be able to approach you to
fulfill their, how shall I put it, their more romantic needs?” he added with a smug smile.
Chapter 7

Card playing was a popular way for the prisoners to spend the boring hours of the voyage while
cooped up below decks. Raeburn had made a deck of playing cards out of an old Bible he’d brought
with him. He could only make 32 cards so they chose to play Piquet. It was a two-man game and it was
obvious to Billy that Donaldson and Raeburn had played the game many, many times in the past.
Billy had played cards quite a lot when he was back home, especially on the Justia. He knew Piquet
well but he only had just one shilling and tuppence ha’penny to his name. He didn’t want to lose his
money so he was content to watch.
After several weeks, Donaldson and Raeburn had tired of playing by themselves and started to
persuade the other convicts to play. It wasn’t long before everyone else in Billy’s Mess was playing
cards. After a few more days it was apparent that the two men were practised gamblers. They’d just
about cleaned out everyone in the cell and all their Irish neighbours.
Donaldson set about trying to cajole Billy into playing cards with him. But Billy knew that
Donaldson was still bitter and annoyed and seemed just to want to get revenge on Billy for the time
he’d spent in the cramping box. So, Billy played Piquet with Andrew instead. Billy tried to let him
win, but Andrew was a very poor player. It was late afternoon, the sun streamed down the stairs and
Billy and Andrew sat on the end of the upper bunk playing cards.
“Oh damn it to hell!” Andrew exclaimed as Billy took the final trick. “You’ve done for me.”
Billy shrugged and grunted an apology. He hadn’t wanted to play anyway. Billy gathered up
cards and was about to hand them up to Raeburn when Andrew suddenly asked him to stop.
“’Ere ‘old on mate,” the youngster said. “I’ve got one more fing I can bet. Just let me get it.
You won’t win now, y’know!”
Billy shook his head. “Nah, forget it nipper! I’ve ‘ad enough. I don’t want to play any more.”
Andrew shook his head and laughed. “No, no. I’ve got you now. Honest. I’ll bet this. What’ll
you bet?” he asked breathlessly drawing a roll of leather parchment out from his purse.
Andrew unrolled the parchment and spread it out over the bunk. It was a collection of lines,
small drawings and a few words that had been burnt into the thin leather.
“See ‘ere, this is a map of buried treasure,” Andrew whispered excitedly. “It’s from the Hope!”
A sudden hush fall on the cell. Billy thought he saw Donaldson and Raeburn exchange a
peculiar, almost guilty, look between them. Then Donaldson stood up and in an awkwardly nonchalant
manner said, “Let me ‘ave a butchers’ at that, kid.”
Andrew grabbed the map back and rolled it up quickly. “Oi, bugger off. This is mine.”
Donaldson grabbed the boy by the arm. “Where did ya get it? Come on answer me?” he
snarled, turning suddenly angry.
Raeburn stood up quickly and grabbed Donaldson by the shoulder. “Marcus, simmer down now
lad. You’re making a fuss over nothing. Let me handle it.”
Donaldson shrugged and turned away muttering to himself. He sat in the corner glaring up at
them.
“Don’t worry about him now boys. He’s got a bit of an ‘eadache. That’s all,” Raeburn
explained, then in a conspiratorial whisper he added, “He can be a bit of a grumpy old git sometimes.”
“Now then,” he continued in a normal tone “You have a treasure map do you, lad?”
Andrew grimaced a bit and nodded. He didn’t want his secret to get out. “Anyone else here
have a map of buried treasure?” Raeburn suddenly asked very loudly, his voice echoing around the
deck. There were a few cries from some of the nearby cells.
“Get ‘em in Gravesend before we left by any chance?” Raeburn continued.
There were calls of assent and laughter.
“They’d be the HMS Hope mostly I expect, eh?”
Andrew looked at the other prisoners in surprise. “Wot? wot? You mean I’ve been done?” he
stuttered.
Raeburn grinned and the sound of chuckling ran around the deck. Billy watched Donaldson out
of the corner of his eye. He smiled but he still seemed to be annoyed. Raeburn explained that the HMS
Hope was just the latest in a long list of shipwrecks that were supposed to contain treasure. The maps
were sold in throughout London; the swindlers were always looking for some gullible mark. Raeburn
sat down opposite Donaldson. Again Billy noticed them exchanging a quick meaningful glance.
Andrew was crestfallen. His map was a fake. He wasn’t going to get rich after all.
“Never mind,” said Billy. “Let’s play a different game of cards. One where we don’t have to
bet.”
The following day the women came topside for breakfast. It was a warm morning with a steady
breeze filling the sails under a cloudless sky. They breakfasted in three shifts and were allowed twenty
minutes on deck. Sarah and Ginny were in the last group and were cleaning the tables as Bosun
Andrews approached them.
“I understand that you two witnessed an incident yesterday afternoon,” the Bosun said without
preamble.
They regarded him nervously but said nothing.
“An incident involving a marine in your cell,” he prompted.
The women looked at the Bosun then back at each other. Sarah began to tremble and she could
feel the tears start to well up. Ginny reached out and touched Sarah’s arm.
“Whu, what incident, sir?” Ginny stammered.
The Bosun looked at them and grinned maliciously. “A prisoner was struck. That incident,” he
hissed at them.
“I am not interested in any incident that involved either of you directly. Why should I be?”
Sarah began to whimper and clasped Ginny’s hand tightly for comfort.
“Oh don’t be so damned feeble!” the Bosun barked impatiently. “Now listen carefully and stop
that stupid crying, woman!”
Sarah sniffled and composed herself.
“Let me be quite clear to you both,” he explained, trying to control his temper. “Yesterday, a
marine punched a convict in your cell. I want you to tell me who the woman was and who the man
was. I don’t care about anything else. I understand that the marines may’ve been having a bit of fun
with several women afterwards but that is not my concern.”
Ginny shook her head. Why was this man worried about Lizzy? What was he going to do to
her? What about them? Didn’t he care that the marines had defiled her and Sarah and many other
women? Ginny could feel herself tensing up; her stomach was in knots.
“What are you going to do to her?” she asked defiantly
“I’m going to put on a little entertainment. That’s what I’m going to do,” he promised grimly,
adding, “You see, it’s an offence for a marine to assault a prisoner so the man needs to be punished.”
Ginny shook her head angrily. “Well, well, what about the rest of us?”
The Bosun laughed out loud. “What do you mean? You want me to flog the marines for having
a romp with the cargo. Hah! I’ve never heard anything so daft in my life!”
Ginny went red, as anger and frustration boiled up inside her. Sarah grabbed Ginny’s arm and
pulled her aside violently. Ginny spun around and the two women face each other. Sarah had her back
to the Bosun and he couldn’t see her face. Ginny was seething with rage.
“Stop it!” Sarah hissed. “Stop it Ginny! They don’t care about us. Shut up before you get us
both into trouble!”
Ginny looked at her in surprise. She’d never seen Sarah upset before. Sarah was angry and
afraid now.
“They don’t care about ravishing us. It’s just bit of fun for them! But at least they didn’t beat us
or punch us like they did to poor Lizzy! That reminded me too much of home,” Sarah added quietly
taking Ginny’s hands firmly in hers.
The man regarded them with something like amusement on his face. Sarah turned around and
said to him, “The man was Private Jones, the woman he beat was Lizzy, she’s over there, the one with
the black dress.” She pointed to the far end of the deck.

The Bosun nodded slowly, “Thank you Miss” he said, the smile still on his face. “Good! The
punishment will commence in twenty minutes. You both will remain on deck. As the Surgeon’s
assistants you are expected to be at the flogging, which I assure you will be quite memorable. I will
arrange for the crew to be present. They were most upset to hear of yesterday’s frolics. The crew is
supposed to be first, not the marines! Good Day!”
Private Jones was flogged by the second mate and the Sergeant of marines. The Sergeant was at
pains to ensure that men under his command would be treated the same as anyone else and his
enthusiastic and energetic performance was a greatly entertaining spectacle for the crew, although the
marines were not happy to see one of their number flogged. The Captain’s wife, an experienced sailor
who had seen many, many floggings, excused herself and retired early.
Jones took the punishment stoically. His quick temper had got him into fights in the past but
he’d never been so roundly whipped before. He knew that they were making an example of him. The
Captain allowed the men, both marines and crew, free rein among convict women but he severely
punished any abuse. The women were valuable; he had a large investment in each of them. Deaths or
injury were very bad for business and he would get higher bribes from the settlers and government
men at Hobart if the women arrived fit, well and healthy looking.
Lizzy was quite chuffed to see that Jones was being punished. She was glad that she’d still been
wearing the corset despite the heat. The old whalebone corset was her most treasured possession and
she’d hoped to be able to sell it once she got to Australia. Although Jones’ blow had glanced off the
sturdy bone, it had still winded Lizzy badly and she’d welcomed the Corporal’s gift of a bottle of rum
to use as a painkiller.
Jones was given a dozen lashes with the Navy Cat. Sturdier, longer and heavier than the Civvy
Cat, this was an awe-inspiring torture device designed to flay the skin off a man’s back and bite right
down to the bone. Jones was tied spread-eagled on the puzzling sticks, a triangular wooden frame. The
strokes were fast and hard on his naked back and drew blood quickly. It felt like he was being lashed
with a string of razors.
When it was over, Jones was let down from the triangle and dragged into a corner of the deck.
“You two, get over there and tend his wounds,” the Surgeon barked to Ginny and Sarah. Sarah
looked down at the bleeding man and shook her head.
“C’mon Sarah, he needs our ‘elp,” Ginny said, grabbing Sarah by the hand.
Sarah swatted her hand away impatiently. “He got what he deserved,” she replied vehemently.
“They should’ve let Lizzy whip him!”
Ginny looked at her in astonishment. Sarah was usually a very meek and reserved woman.
Ginny was on the verge of voicing an angry reply but stopped herself; she could see that Sarah was
shaking and starting to cry. Ginny nodded and then smiled at the Surgeon.
“I’ll do it, sir,” Ginny said, adding in an accusing whisper, “She’s aint recovered from the rrr,
the rrr, the rape!”
Mister Brown looked back at the two women and began to flush. Then he turned away to hide
his embarrassment.
Jones was twenty-four years old. He was fit and strong. He never made a sound as he was
flogged. He was no Sandstone, crumbling beneath the power of the lash. Even so, Ginny was horrified
at the effects of the cruel whipping. Every stroke had drawn blood and his back was covered in long
deep cuts. Through teary eyes Ginny washed his back several with warm salt water and then applied
tallow to keep the flies out and speed the healing.
The Surgeon gave her a tot of rum as the crew swabbed the blood off the deck.
Chapter 8:

It was a calm night and the sounds of the women snoring in the hold were almost as loud as the
creaking and groaning of the ship as the Sydney Cove rolled gently on flat sea. The women were sound
asleep in the pitch blackness. Ginny was woken again for the fourth time that night as Sarah turned
over next to her. Her friend was having another restless night. Sarah started to mumble to herself.
Ginny could barely hear her at first.
“No! No! Daddy stop!” Sarah muttered.
Ginny wondered if she should try to wake Sarah from her bad dream. Suddenly Sarah sat bolt
upright and began screaming.
“No! Daddy, don’t! Daddy, stop!” she wailed, her harsh and tortured voice echoing through the
dormitory.
Ginny put her hand on Sarah’s shoulder and tried to stop her as her screaming started to waken
her fellow prisoners. Sarah’s screams continued for a little while longer until Ginny sat up and shook
her shoulders hard. Then Sarah abruptly choked back her wails and began to sob.
Ginny pulled Sarah’s blankets around her and hugged her tight. “There, there, ducks. Don’t
worry,” Ginny crooned. “Just a bad dream. That’s all. Just a dream.”
Sarah cried and whimpered quietly as the grumbles and complaints of the other prisoners died
down and calm gradually came over the women. Ginny gently stroked Sarah’s hair and rocked her
back to sleep.
“Now I wonder what that dream was about?” Lizzy whispered up to Ginny.
“Good night, ducks,” Lizzy called as Ginny drifted back to sleep.
It was mid-morning and warm. The women waited expectantly in the their cells. There was a
rumour that the crew would be down to visit them soon. Ginny glanced meaningfully at the recumbent
Sarah who was just waking after trying to catch up on her sleep.
“So Lizzy, do you think the men will be down today?” Ginny asked in a slightly melodramatic
tone.
“Hmmm. The crew will be here soon, that’s for certain,” she replied casting her voice towards
Sarah. Sarah poked her head out from under the blankets and blinked her eyes sleepily.
“What about the marines then?” Ginny asked, noting that Sarah and the other women in the cell
were beginning to become interested.
Lizzy stood up, and paced the tiny floor of the cell. “Well, I was talking to Mabel yesterday.
You know, old Mabel York from cell 16. She’s on her second sentence. A canny old bitch if ever there
was one!”
Lizzy sat down at the end of the lower bunk. The women were eager to hear what Lizzy had
learnt. Ginny moved over to let Sarah sit next to her.
“Mabel was first shipped out twenty year ago,” Lizzy continued. “In them days it was an
unwritten law of the sea for the men on the ship to take a woman as their wives for the voyage. Even
the officers and marines had wives.”
Several of the women shook heir heads disapprovingly. Lizzy clucked at them.
“Don’t be so hasty now ladies,” she admonished. “It meant you’d be looked after, they’d give
you better food and tobacco and you’d be sleeping up in their quarters. Mabel had a hubby on her first
trip. He snored like an elephant and it was very crowded but he was good to her. She said she’d do it
again if she weren’t so ugly and old!”
The women chuckled and Ginny was glad to see that Sarah had begun to smile a little.
“So they’ll return today?” Ginny asked quietly.
Lizzy nodded, “Mabel thought they’d stopped taking wives a few years back but, of course,
once at sea, the Captain can do what he wants. Mabel expects the crew to come down at any time but
they’ll be civil. She aint sure if they’ll let the marines take wives now. Seems like the Bosun weren’t
‘appy with the marines.”
“He weren’t the only bloody one!” Ginny retorted.
“Will, will, will they try to do us again?” Sarah said nervously.
Lizzy turned and looked up at Sarah with a slight smile on her face. She was happy that Sarah
had joined the conversation. Ginny and Lizzy were afraid that the rape would make her withdrawn and
depressed. They didn’t want Sarah to have nightmares all the time. Lizzy needed her sleep!
“Don’t worry, ducks. They won’t touch you any more. I mean, there’s lots of other women for
‘em to take aint there?” Ginny replied lamely.
Sarah shuddered at the thought of the crew raping all the other women while she watched and
listened. Lizzy shook her head in exasperation.
“No, no. That’s not what Ginny meant!” Lizzy interjected “Now, Mabel says she aint seen
many men forcing themselves on us prisoners. Wouldn’t be surprised if the Surgeon has a word or two
to say to the Sergeant. The Captain don’t want the marines and crew to argue. No, Mabel says the crew
will behave. So don’t worry Sarah, no-one’s gonna hurt you any more.”
Sarah nodded and gave a smile of relief.
“And what’s more. They’d have to fight me first!” Lizzy added defiantly.
Ginny watched as Sarah’s expression turned from relief to fear. Sarah buried her face in her
hands and started to cry. Lizzy looked at Sarah in confusion as Ginny put her arms around her.
“Hush dearie. Hush,” Ginny said softly “Don’t worry. No-one’s going to fight. It’ll be all right.
No-one’s going to get hurt.”
A few days later Ginny was escorted to the Surgeon’s office. He knocked on the door and she
entered after Mr Brown’s reply.
“Hello, my dear,” he said warmly. He got up from his chair and told the guard to return in an
hour as he closed the door behind her.
“How are things with the women?”
Ginny smiled demurely. “Well, sir, it’s been very quiet. The crew are now taking their turns
very politely to force themselves upon us and they’re getting some lovely presents, thank you.”
The surgeon shook his head in exasperation. “Not good, Miss Ginny. We can’t have you
talking that way about the men. They haven’t touched you or Sarah have they?”
“No, sir, we’re fine and I expect that in a week or so the men will have chosen their partners for
now at least,” Ginny replied.
“Now we know that it is immoral don’t we, but I’m afraid that we’ll just have to live with it
won’t we?” Mr Brown said.
“Immoral? T’aint just immoral, sir,” Ginny retorted quickly her cockney accent becoming more
pronounced as she got angrier. “It’s a sin. That’s what it is. A sin.”
“Enough woman!” Brown replied tersely. “On this ship the Captain’s word is law. Even God
cannot gainsay him. The Captain is decided and that’s that. I’ve done everything I can to stop it but
there is nothing I can do. Now, leave it be!”
Ginny clamped her mouth shut tight. She wasn’t happy but she and the women were helpless.
Mr Brown stood up and sat on the edge of his desk. He took out his pipe and lit it slowly. He regarded
Ginny thoughtfully through the smoke.
“You’re an earnest young thing aren’t you my dear?” he said happily. Ginny smiled but said
nothing.
“That’s good but you must learn to curb your tongue,” he said. “You’re clever but I’d rather
thought you could learn to be a little smarter. Now then, you’re probably wondering why I wanted to
talk to you today?” Mr Brown continued. Ginny nodded.
“Well, my dear. It’s a trifle delicate” he began cautiously.
Ginny leaned forward expectantly as Mr Brown lowered his voice and said. “One of the
marines has taken ill and seems to think that you had something to do with it.”
Ginny sat back in her chair and shot him a big smile. Then she leaned forward and whispered to
Mr Brown, “Silas Daly by any chance?”
He nodded and smiled back at her. “Yes, my dear. It was indeed he. I presume you know
why?”
Ginny was very amused, “Certainly, sir. Serves the bugger right too!”
Mr Brown chuckled in spite of himself. “That’s as may be. Indeed. However, do you know
what it was he caught from you? Or do we need an exam?”
“No, sir. No exam is needed,” Ginny explained. “You see, sir I caught the Tetters from me
Uncle when I was thirteen. He defiled me.”
“The Tetters?” the Surgeon asked.
“Yes, sir, yer know, ‘ere, have a look at me lip. It’s the Tetters, it flares up every now and then,
‘specially when I gets very angry or sad.”
Brown leant forward to take a closer look at Ginny’s face. “Ah, yes. I see. They’re cold sores
aren’t they? So that’s the Tetters is it? Well, dear, we call it Serpigo. You have blisters and ulcers
down, er down, er there..?”
Ginny smiled sweetly. “Oh, I do hope so. Ooops, I mean yes, sometimes I do, sir.”
The surgeon frowned. “I thought it was something like that. Unfortunately the young man
seems to think he’s got the Clap!”
Ginny giggled.
“Fine, fine! Very amusing indeed. Nothing much that we can do to help either of you. Now, I
would like you and your friend Sarah to assist me. I would like to interview each prisoner individually
and examine her physical and mental condition. I’ve explained to the Captain that if we treat you all
carefully he will get a better price in Van Diemen’s Land. So the Sergeant will talk to you about the
arrangements this afternoon. Oh, and you’ll be pleased to note that Private Daly has been assigned to
the forrad cells. I’m sure he’ll be frightened that the harlots may give him more disease!”
The little fleet separated from their Naval Escort just south of the Canary Islands off the West
African coast. The Navarino and the Sydney Cove both chose not to stop for provisions in Tenerife.
The Captain of the Navarino decided to head directly south towards Capetown rather than his more
usual route over the southern Atlantic to Brazil. The Sydney Cove chose the safer route to Brazil. They
could still call in at the Cape Verde islands before reaching Rio de Janeiro. It was a popular decision
with the crew as Tenerife had become very busy and expensive. Rio de Janeiro was much more
exciting and the promise of warm nights, cool wine and hot women was very enticing.
The convict women would have to make do without fresh water for the Ocean crossing. Most
of their water had been drawn straight from the murky green scum of the river Thames. They’d all
suffered from “the flux” for the first week. The water smelt foul and looked worse, but apart from the
diarrhea, no one had yet died or fallen badly ill from the rancid water. The Captain decided to risk the
long ocean crossing without renewing the supply of drinking water. Naturally, the water supply for the
Captain, Officers and crew was much better, although it still tasted foul.
Ginny and Sarah were kept very busy as clerks for the Surgeon. Ginny struggled with the
reading and writing at first but she picked up the use of herbs and medicines very quickly. They helped
the Surgeon with bleeding and cupping and administering the salves that he made. They spent much of
their time talking to the other women and discussing their notes with the Surgeon who’d often send
them back with more detailed questions. Ginny still hated being at sea, with the decks always heaving
and tossing beneath her feet. She especially hated the way the men would just take women for a
“romp” as they called it right there in their cells in front of everyone else. The marines, particularly the
Corporal, Daly and Jones, had little contact with Ginny and her friends. She wondered if the Sergeant
had warned them to stay away but occasionally out of the corner of their eyes they would catch Daly or
Jones staring hungrily at them from the dark shadows.
The attack on Lizzy by Private Jones had scared Sarah greatly. It seemed to Lizzy and Ginny
that Sarah was more upset by the violence towards Lizzy than she was by her own rape at the hands of
the Corporal. After Jones’ flogging, Lizzy had become casually dismissive of her beating. Jones was a
fool and he had been well and truly punished, but Sarah still had nightmares. She’d often wake up
screaming and disturb the whole cell. Ginny and Lizzy tried to help her, to calm her down, but she

refused to speak about her dreams. She often talked in her sleep, about her father, Private Jones or the
Corporal.
Sarah was also suffering badly from seasickness and couldn’t hold her food down. She began to
lose weight and her hair, her crowning glory, soon became matted and lice infested. Ginny helped her
wash her hair every week and that seemed to help a little.
Ginny and Sarah sat on the deck sewing shirts for the Captain and crew. They were poorly
paid, a ha’penny for each shirt and a gill of rum and lime after every dozen, but it kept them occupied
and they were often allowed to come on deck to sew in the full sunlight. They gossiped casually, Sarah
was complaining about the smell and the cramped conditions;
“Oh, it’s not that bad ducks,” Ginny said quietly. “At least yer get regular grub an’ yer don’t
have to live over a cesspit!”
“Oh, what’s that then below our deck then?” Sarah asked pointedly.
The bilges lay just a few feet below the women’s quarters on the orlop deck. They contained
sand and stone ballast and had become contaminated with human waste, salt water, garbage and dead
vermin. It was a mass of black oily water and the smell was abominable. The marines hated coming
down to the orlop. It was so strong that it had turned the walls of the ship black and tarnished the brass
buttons on all the marines’ uniforms in just a few days.
Ginny smiled. “Dunnarf pong. I’ll grant yer that, but nuffink like Savoury Dock where we used
to live.”
“You lived somewhere worse than this? Oh, you poor thing” Sarah exclaimed.
Ginny shrugged. “We was used to it. Our shack was right over Dock Head Creek. We all lived
in one room, Mum, Dad, me and me two sisters and brothers. It was ‘orrible.”
Sarah quietened down to listen; she’d never heard how the lower classes lived before. She just
assumed that they had dirty sheets and drank gin instead of wine. She listened, grateful for the
distraction from her present problems. Ginny seemed to be in the mood to talk.
“The stream was black and slimy. You could see bubbles of ‘orrible smelly gas coming up
through the mud. It smelt a bit like bad eggs and rotten cabbage mixed together. There was dead fish
and dogs and rats in it. Me an me bruvver, Billy, used to splash around in it barefoot after the rains
when we was little. Mum used to yell at us and tell us to wash it off but we never did. Inside the ‘ouse
was just as bad; the walls were black and this slimy dark green stuff oozed out of ‘em. We didn’t like
to be inside ‘cause the smell made yer eyes sting. Many people in our place got really skinny an’ went
pale and then red then and they died. Me dad got the Pox an’ died last year.”
Sarah sat quietly. She barely understood what sort of life her new friend Ginny had led. “Oh,
you poor thing. That’s terrible,” she said consolingly.
“Nah, weren’t nuffink. Many folks had it worse,” Ginny replied. “At least we didn’t have much
violence. Weren’t much to steal and there was plenty of diseases to catch. Even the Bible Thumpers
stayed away.”
“So you’re not religious then?” Sarah asked.
She seemed nervous, Ginny thought that from the tone of her voice, perhaps Sarah was quite
religious and maybe she was worried that Ginny was not. “Me? No ducks. I suppose I’m C of E but
I’ve never worried about it. You?”
There was an awkward silence. Then Sarah finally whispered, “Shhh. I’m Catholic. But Ginny,
please don’t tell anyone. I think it’s part of the reason why I’m here.”
Ginny looked at her and with a straight-face she replied nodding in serious contemplation,
“Wot. You mean ‘ere? On this Earth?”
Sarah studied her friend. Ginny looked back studiously, almost grim. Sarah was about to reply
when Ginny burst out laughing. “Gotcha there, ducks! You mean on the bloody ship!” Ginny chuckled.
Sarah laughed and slapped her friend playfully.
Then Ginny added in a low voice, “Your dad’s getting picked on because he’s Catholic? Look,
it’s not your fault. I’ll keep your secret from the other girls, but it’s on your record aint it!” Then,
raising her voice Ginny continued, “Now me, I’m not much of a Church person. I go sometimes an’ I
says me prayers an’ all, but look around,” she gestured with her arms wide. “God don’t like us. Why
else are stuck in the stinking belly of this awful shipful of rapists on our way to a prison worse than the
Steel?”
Sarah looked at Ginny in shock. She’s never heard Ginny speak so forcefully and so negatively
before. Ginny was always happy, smiling and gay. “Oh I’m sorry Ginny. I’ve made you all sad haven’t
I? I’m sorry,” she mumbled dejectedly.
Ginny shook her head and sighed. She reached into her bag and took out a small bottle.
“’Ere luv, ‘ave some gin. I think we both could do wiv it.”
They each took a big swig out of the bottle. It was heady stuff and burnt a wide path down the throat,
exploding into a nice warm glow in the belly. Ginny burped contentedly and they both laughed.
Then Ginny continued, “I’m a bit confused Sarah. I mean, is there any point in God and
praying an' stuff? I dunno, it aint bleeding worked for me. But maybe it’d be worse if I didn’t have a
little prayer every now and then. I mean a real one, not the sort that Mister Brown rabbits on about on
Sundays. You know, just you and God, together.” She paused and then added, “If there is a God that
is.”
Sarah was about to interject but Ginny quickly added, “I know, I know everybody says there is.
In any case, we may as well believe in God, can’t do no ‘arm can it?”
“You say some scandalous things you know Ginny. For a girl that is,” Sarah said reproachfully.
“For a girl? For a girl?” Ginny demanded.
Sarah stammered an apology. “No, no, that’s not what I meant.” Sarah thought for a while with
a puzzled expression. “Although I suppose may be it is. But in my house women weren’t allowed to do
much. We could have babies and do all the ladylike things like crochet, music and looking pretty, but
we couldn’t have opinions about things. Like the war against China, we couldn’t say what we thought
about that. Could you Ginny? Were you allowed an opinion?”
Ginny laughed and laughed and smacked her palm on her thigh. “Oh, you really are a silly
sausage Sarah. You’re luverly. War against China! Hah! Women wiv opinions? I needed that!”
Ginny wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes then answered. “Nah, ‘course I had to shut up,
so did me mum and all the other women. All women who aint married are just whores. The only
woman what counts is the Queen. We’re all just sluts!”
Sarah put her hand to her mouth in shock. “Ginny! And I thought you were a lady!” she
exclaimed.
Ginny looked back at her apologetically. There was a short silence then Sarah burst out
laughing and replied,
“Ha! Gotcha there Gin! You should’ve seen your face!”
Ginny smiled and passed the gin bottle to Sarah who took another big draught and proclaimed
“There aint no ladies on this ship, Gin. None at all!”
Chapter 9:
“Land! Land! I just saw Brazil!!” Ginny shouted excitedly.

It was nearly dawn and a dim light shone down the hatchway illuminating the stairs. Lizzy
grunted moodily and pulled her blanket up higher over her head.
“You’d think she’d be happy to see land,” Sarah commented.
“Nah, she’ll get over it,” Dottie replied. “She just thinks that we aint going ashore. That’s all.”
Sarah shrugged “Maybe so, but at least we’ll have some clean drinking water and fresh food
and we can do some washing. This place stinks! I'd love to have a warm lye bath and rid myself of
these beastly creatures!” She still had head lice and her once luxuriant black hair was thin and cracked.

It’d been six long, painful weeks since they’d left London. For the last five days the Sydney
Cove had been lashed by storms while nearly the entire complement of women had been menstruating.
The orlop deck had been out of bounds for all but the most foolhardy man. The crew had lowered
buckets of seawater down the hatches.
At first the Captain allowed the women to come on deck in pairs to use the aft toilet, which was
a just small wooden platform with holes in it that was lashed to the aftmost section of the ship. Few
women braved the elements, for it was hardly dignified or safe to squat over the hole with skirts raised
high, holding onto the ropes with both hands as the platform tossed and heaved beneath their feet.
Several women were rescued just before they were swept overboard and the Captain had
immediately forbidden the use of the toilet platform. The crew of course had a marvelous time
advising and rescuing the women. Naturally, being men, they had little trouble with much of their
toilet as long as they took heed of the wind direction.
Crammed in their close quarters in the gloomy light of the oil lamps many women had become
violently seasick. Ginny and Sarah had done their best, they’d scrounged up all the linen, clothes and
medicine possible and nursed the women as best they could. The Surgeon had tried to cleanse the air
by exploding small piles of gunpowder and by burning sulfur but that had only made matters worse.
The bogs, as they called the below decks privies were emptied by a few intrepid cabin boys who were
hailed as true heroes by the women. Most of the women’s clothes were filthy with menstrual blood and
covered in salt spray. The sanitary napkins were just small squares of coarse cloth that they washed in
salt water.
Eventually, the winds had abated, the sun had come out and they had sighted Brazil near the
small town of Vitoria still some two days north of Rio de Janeiro. It was a perfect day to do the
cleaning.
The Captain ordered the women onto the deck for breakfast while he sent the crew went below
to clean out the layers of vomit, excrement, menstrual blood and other filth that had accumulated on
the rough passage from Europe. The men completed their unpleasant task quickly and efficiently. They
were eager to taste the nightlife of the city and knew that they would be unable to go ashore at Rio
unless the ship was spotless.
By mid-morning the women were allowed back down to the orlop. The crew was frantically
pumping the bilges down to a more reasonable level. Below decks, the water had almost dried in the
tropical heat leaving salt stains everywhere.
The women were very happy, eagerly discussing the impending visit to Brazil and very grateful
that their sleeping quarters were now relatively clean with an odour that was merely unpleasant rather
than overpoweringly nauseating.
The following day the Cabo Frio rocks signaled that Rio de Janeiro was close off their
starboard bow. Ginny was ecstatic. Sarah seemed a little subdued. She had been growing paler and her
hair was unkempt. Most of the women had recovered from the week below decks but Sarah still had a
haunted look. But Ginny scarcely noticed in all the clamour. The whole ship buzzed with excitement.
There was a new moon and the Captain ordered the crew to take the ship forward slowly.
Civilization was tantalizingly close and the huge massif of SugarLoaf Mountain loomed large over
Rio. By nightfall the Sydney Cove anchored just two miles from the Harbour entrance.
Ginny woke to the squeal of the anchor being raised. It was still dark, a light breeze filled the
sails and the ship began to inch towards port. As the sun came up, the Sydney Cove glided smoothly
between the twin forts at the Harbour mouth. The sea was calm and the small rising tide pushed her
easily into the Harbour.
Ginny could hear the babble of children’s voices outside, a strange and excitable tongue with
high-pitched squeals of laughter. Thumping and scraping noises along the sides of the ship rang loud
as children swarmed up the side of the ship and onto the deck. Ginny banged on the side in frustration.
She longed to be able to see what was going on rather than being cooped up in the bowels of the ship.
Shortly afterwards there came the blasts of four guns from above Ginny’s head. The Captain
had saluted the Viceroy of Brazil, current ruler of Rio de Janeiro. Within the hour the Sydney Cove lay
at anchor and the Captain allowed the women to come out on deck.
Rio de Janeiro was a magical place for Ginny and most of the women despite the fact that none
of them actually left the ship. Coming out on deck for the first time they were greeted by a lively
bubbling spectacle of sound and colour. There were at least 20 small brown boys, most clad only in
shorts, and all carrying brightly coloured exotic fruits and fish. They were busy haggling with the crew
and marines who were doing their best to ignore them and get the ship squared away tight so they
could go ashore. The Captain was talking to several dignitaries on the aft-deck.
The women came up the steep stairs and the boys stopped and gathered them around curiously.
The wretched pale white women presented a very sorry sight. Their hair and clothes were stiff from
being washed in salt water and the smell was atrocious.
At first the boys stood back, then one of them offered a banana to Lizzy who took it and
curtsied gracefully. The boys laughed and gabbled excitedly. Lizzy had never seen a banana before and
when she tried to eat it without taking the peel off the little urchins were delirious with mirth. One of
the guards came forward, took the banana, peeled it and handed it back to Lizzy. She took a big bite
and burst into a broad smile. The boys came forward and soon all the women had a little boy next to
them explaining how to eat the fruit in an eager mixture of totally incomprehensible babble and excited
sign language.
After an hour or so the urchins had left realizing that while the women were very anxious to eat
their offerings they had, alas, no means to pay They were in fact as poor as the little boys themselves.
Shortly before noon several launches pulled alongside. The women were about to receive the gift they
most craved. The vessels were laden with filled water barrels. At last, the women were going to get
clean fresh water!!
Chapter 10:
The Navarino made good time as they neared the equator off the northwest coast of Africa. The
Captain was pleased that with his gamble and at first they seemed to have missed the Doldrums.
However, was luck was not with them and as soon as they were too far south to turn back to Brazil, the
winds died and the temperature and humidity shot up. They hit the Doldrums and the ship stopped
dead in the water.
For two weeks the Navarino languished in the weak current far from land. Not a breath of wind
stirred the sails and the vessel drifted aimlessly on the current. Occasional squalls would spring up and
the ship would be buffeted by strong gusts from any direction for an hour or two. Then the winds
would die down as suddenly as they’d sprung up, the sails would hang limp from the masts and the
seas would calm once more.
The convicts were confined below decks for most of the day. They were awoken at 5 o’clock
every morning and trooped up on deck for breakfast and exercise at for an hour in groups of forty-eight
men. By 8 o’clock everyone was below and stayed there until 5 in the afternoon when they came up for
dinner.
The air scoop sails that they’d rigged over the cargo hatchways were totally useless without a
breeze. So, while the portholes were kept open, the only way to get fresh air into the dank and putrid
hold was to continually work the two small manual bellows. Every day the temperatures reached well
into the 100’s. Below decks the temperatures was unbearable and the prisoners were continually
bathed in sweat and grime.
Billy would often lie on his bunk and watch the pitch melt out from between the planks of the
deck above him. The tar would start out hard in the morning, then as the sun beat down it would
gradually soften until, by mid-afternoon, a blob would start to form. The blob would grow into a big
black drop that would ever so slowly drip from the ceiling. They would take bets on where the tar
drops would land.
The convicts had got used to the routine of life on the ship. It’d been five weeks since leaving
London and they’d gone past Tenerife without stopping. Raeburn persuaded Billy to play cards. They
were getting on well; Raeburn had no money so they played for points instead.
Raeburn was a likeable fellow under his hardened exterior and he liked to tell Billy stories
about his travels in the navy. He’d been to India, New Holland and even California. He’d been married
twice but his wives had both run away with other men. He thought he probably had several kids but
wasn’t really sure. Billy couldn’t understand why he and Donaldson were friends, as they seemed so
different. But Billy didn’t ask, it didn’t seem right.
One day as Raeburn and Billy were playing cards, Donaldson came down from the upper deck.
Lieutenant Blanch had wanted to talk to him about something. Donaldson had returned after an hour. It
was the middle of the day and Donaldson was whittled, boisterously drunk. He was let into the cell by
the guard and fell down on the floor giggling to himself. Lying flat on his back he looked up to see
them playing cards.
“C’mon. Let’s ‘ave a game of cards then, eh? Whaddya say?” he mumbled good-naturedly.
Raeburn tried to quieten him down but the more he did the louder and more animated
Donaldson became. “C’mon ya young git,” he challenged, pointing at Billy. “You an’ me. I ‘aven’t
won your money yet. Jess you an’ me kid.”
Billy shook his head and began packing the cards away. Donaldson started to threaten Billy,
getting louder and louder and Raeburn had to call for help to hold him back away from Billy. It was
late afternoon, less than an hour before supper. Donaldson was making a lot of noise. Billy was
considered it for a moment. Perhaps he should just play cards for a little while. That’d shut him up.
So in the end, Billy agreed to play piquet with Donaldson.
It was a mistake. Donaldson was a belligerent drunk. He insisted that they play for money and
he was wild with his gambling. Billy played to win. He didn’t have much money and he didn’t want to
lose it.
Donaldson complained more and loudly as he lost hand after hand to Billy. All the convicts on
the prison deck were watching them play. The guards were becoming annoyed and Donaldson was
getting angrier by the minute, yelling and screaming at Billy. He was losing but he refused to let Billy
stop. Donaldson looked at his cards and smiled broadly. He pushed a shilling forward.
“Let us up the ante, little man,” he said confidently.
Billy looked at his cards, at Donaldson then at the score sheet then back at his cards.
“Er, no. I’ve almost crossed the Rubicon. You don’t want to do that.”
Donaldson glared at him. “C’mon you nancy boy. Put forward another bob, I say!”
Billy shook his head sadly then slowly, he took a shilling from his purse. Then they began to
take the tricks. Donaldson got angrier and angrier. He’d clearly miscalculated. The convicts whispered
amongst themselves.
It was obvious that Billy’s hand was much better than Donaldson’s, but Donaldson hung on until the
very last card. Then he threw the card down on the bunk and yelled as Billy took all but one trick. He’d
scored over 100 points and Donaldson had lost nearly all his money in less than an hour. The big man
let out a roar of anger took a swing a Billy, catching him on the nose. Blood spurted everywhere and a
big cheer came up from the other cells around them. Billy’s messmates grabbed at Donaldson before
he could get a good hold on Billy’s jacket.
The guard yelled for Donaldson to get back. The door was thrown open and the guards jumped
in and started hitting Donaldson with their short clubs. Although hampered by the low ceiling and the
other convicts they managed to get in few good blows. There was pandemonium as the rest of the
convicts yelled jeers and encouragement; they hadn’t been so well entertained since leaving England.
Donaldson was manhandled out of the cell as the Surgeon came down the stairs demanding to know
what all the noise was about. They dragged Donaldson kicking and yelling up the stairs.
The Surgeon snarled at Billy and ordered the guards to put them both into the black boxes.
Mr Tarquin staunched Billy’s bleeding and gestured to the second box. It was the exact shape and size
as a coffin. Its head was raised about a foot off the deck and there were air holes in the sides and drain
holes at the feet.
Donaldson was already locked up in his box. Billy tried to protest but one stern look from the
Surgeon shut him up. Billy got in the box. For once he was thankful he was so small. Donaldson would
be hunched up. It was a bit large for him but as the lid came down Billy realized that it was going to be
a very unpleasant few hours.
They kept them in the boxes until just after dawn the following day. Twelve hours lying in a
box. With no food or water, they had to relieve themselves where they lay. The marines pulled them
out of the coffins and they both fell to the deck. Billy could no longer feel his legs and his nose was
swollen and filled with dried blood. Both men stank of urine and Donaldson had puke all down his
front. Billy shut his eyes as the first of many buckets of ice cold water hit him.
They were ordered to have their breakfast in double time but they could only crawl along the
deck. The Surgeon stared down at them angrily.
“Forget the food. Put their irons back on. Take them down below and chain them to the floor.
Damned stupid people!” he ordered.
The first day in Rio de Janeiro ended with a feast. The women had spent the afternoon in a
frenzy of washing and cleaning. In England the women, like most of the lower class, would wear the
same clothes for weeks and very rarely take a bath. Cleanliness was difficult to achieve for those with
little money and many people still believed that washing was unhealthy. The Sydney Cove was a small
ship, and was laden with as much merchandise as the Captain could stow for sale in Australia, so what
little fresh water there was could only be used for drinking and cooking.
Six weeks of sea life had convinced the women that laundry and bathing was perhaps not such
a bad idea after all. The women gathered all the laundry together, including the clothes of the crew and
marines for a small price. There was no soap, so the filthy clothes were boiled and then beaten against
the timbers of the ship. Grimy water trickled down the sides of the vessel, forming an oily pool around
her. Shirts, dresses, shifts, sheets, sanitary napkins and trews soon festooned the rigging and rails of the
ships.
While the laundry dried in the tropical sun, the women took warm baths in the old water
barrels. The Captain prudently sent the men ashore for supplies and a few hours of shore leave. As the
afternoon shadows lengthened into evening, the women turned to horseplay, shrieking and squealing as
they threw water on each other and frolicked in warm air. The Bosun returned, laden with meat,
vegetables and fruit. By nightfall the laundry had dried and the crew of the Sydney Cove relaxed as the
women feasted.
The following day the Captain rushed his men through the re-supply of his vessel. He had no
desire to remain in Rio de Janeiro. His past experience had told him that discipline would soon break
down, his crew would take to the brothels and the local men would try to steal the women from the
ship.
So as dusk approached, the Sydney Cove weighed anchor and sailed out of the Harbour on the
ebb tide. Ahead were several more months of hard sailing down the coast of South America to pick up
the Roaring Forties, the winds that blew like a banshee across to Australia. Despite the little storm that
they’d met sailing to Rio, the Captain knew that the voyage so far had been easy. The next few weeks
would give the women their sea legs!
Ginny stood up and padded across the deck in her bare feet.
That’s odd, she thought, where’s Sarah?
It was a lovely day and nearly all the women were on deck. Sarah should be out soaking up the
sunshine while she could. She went down to the orlop to investigate. It was dark below and it Ginny’s
eyes took a few minutes to get used to the gloom. She could make out Sarah sitting alone on their bed.
“What’s the matter luv?” Ginny asked quietly.
Sarah was weeping. Ginny could see her shoulders shaking. She sat down next to her and put
her arms around her.
“C’mon Sarah. Tell us what’s wrong. There’s a dear,” Ginny said softly.
Sarah dried her eyes and sniffled.
“I think I have a bun in the oven,” she mumbled feebly.
Ginny gasped and clutched Sarah tighter in disbelief. “No yer don’t luv. Yer just a bit late,
that’s all.”
“It was that swine of a Corporal!” Sarah exclaimed angrily.
Ginny thought a bit. “How far off are you then?” she asked after a while.
“A fortnight,” Sarah answered sadly.
“Two weeks! That’s nowt dear. It’ll ‘appen any minute now. You’ll see.”
Sarah shook her head and looked up at her, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’ve always been
regular Gin. Like clockwork, I get these terrible cramps and have to stay in bed for two days. I’ve
never been late yet.”
“Hah! You aint been in prison afore ‘ave yer?” she asked.
Sarah smiled weakly “Never. Beastly place. I wish I was home,” she grumbled.
Suddenly Ginny realized what was wrong. She pulled Sarah’s head up and held her face in her
hands.
“I know what’s ‘appening Sarah. I do,” Ginny announced. “Y’see. It ‘appened to me in the
Steel. It always ‘appens when there’s lots of women in one place.”
Sarah looked at her quizzically.
“Yes. When I got to Coldbath Prison I was two weeks from me period. But all the women had
only just finished theirs. My next period came at the same time as theirs. I was two weeks late an’all!”
Sarah stared open-mouthed. Then she shook her head and slumped forward again.
“No, no, no. That’s not it Ginny! I’ve been knocked up by a common soldier. I even felt poorly
this morning. I know I’m preggers Ginny dear. Thanks ever so for comforting me but I know it’s true.
Oh, I feel so ashamed!” She began sobbing hysterically and Ginny drew her friend to her bosom to
quieten and to comfort her.
“There, there dear. It’s all right,” she crooned stroking Sarah’s long hair. “It’ll be fine. Don’t
you worry, and don’t fret. We’ll look after ya. Me an’ the girls. Orlright. We’ll look after you. You
wait an’ see.”
Sarah mumbled something quietly. Then she pushed herself back for Ginny and asked,
“Well at least I can have the best Fingersmith on the ship can’t I?”
“Fingersmith? ‘Oo taught you ter speak like that?” Ginny asked with a laugh.
“Hai don’t know what the world’s coming to!” Sarah exclaimed in a posh voice.
“Yes, of course ducks. I’ll be proud to be your midwife,” Ginny went on. “Now, you must wait
a while longer. If you are with child then I can get some Christmas Rose from Mr Brown and we can
try those but this must be a secret. The Catholics wouldn’t like it.”
Sarah smiled wryly as Ginny stood up and held her hand out to Sarah. “A pox on them!” Sarah
began as she struggled to her feet “It’s my body and I’ll .. Ooww!”
She sat back down with a start. A searing pain had shot through her lower abdomen.
“What’s wrong ducks? What is it?” Ginny asked anxiously.
Sarah just rolled over on her side and moaned, her breath coming in short little gasps.
“I think I’ll go and get the Surgeon!” Ginny exclaimed nervously her hand on the door of the
cell.
“No, no. Stay Ginny. I’m all right,” Sarah gasped at her.
“But you’re in pain,” Ginny replied with concern.
“No. It’s good pain,” Sarah explained tears rolling down her cheeks. Ginny could see a big
smile across her friend’s face.
“Good pain?”
“Yes, good pain. Thank you Doctor. I like good pain, it means my period is back!” Sarah said
as Ginny wiped the sweat from her brow.
Ginny smiled back. “Glad to be of service, Mam. That’ll be ten guineas, please?”
“Oh, oh stop. Don’t make me laugh,” Sarah chortled. “Come Ginny hug me. It’ll ease the
pain.”
Chapter 11:
Billy had little chance to think about the events of the night, as it was his cell’s turn to scrub the
deck. They spent the morning on their hands and knees scrubbing the deck with sand and Holystones.
It was back-breaking and exhausting work. The crew kept them hard at it but they gave them short
rests and plenty of food and water and even a small tot of rum at the end. They were forbidden to speak
and Billy was relieved to be at the opposite end of the deck to Donaldson. He swore and cursed at Billy
at any chance he got. If it hadn’t been for Raeburn holding him back, Billy feared that Donaldson
might try and beat him up during the night.
Billy looked up from his work. Was it wishful thinking, or was that a slight breeze from the
north? For weeks, it’d been swirling around, first from the north, then immediately after, from the
south. Out of the corner of his eye, Billy could see the Captain looking hopefully towards the horizon.
Sure enough, by mid-afternoon, when the convicts were back down below decks, the wind sprang up, a
slight but steady nor’wester. Billy felt the ship lurch forward as the huge sails were run up and the
Navarino began at last to break out of the doldrums and head towards Capetown.
A few days later, the steady breeze had strengthened to a gale. The swell rose and waves kicked
up. The small ship began to pitch and roll as the seas increased. They had almost rounded the Cape of
Good Hope and the roaring forties would soon be upon them.
Down below, the ship was rolling and pitching more and more with each passing hour. Billy
had never been in stormy seas before. With all the hatches closed, the air was dank and putrid, and
what few lamps there were gave off a pale yellow light and an acrid cloying smoke. The ship rocked
from side to side, and Billy could almost taste the sweet, bitter smell as men vomited in the other cells.
Billy loosened his collar and swallowed hard as Andrew abruptly dived to the floor and started
retching into the bucket. Billy looked away anxiously.
Then he made the mistake of staring out of the porthole. He caught alternating glimpses of grey
sky, horizon, and green sea as the ship rolled. He watched the sea and sky through the porthole. Billy
started to feel faint. He tried to drag his eyes away from the porthole but couldn’t. He could feel the
bile rise in his throat. Then, suddenly, the urge to vomit overtook him.
Billy looked around the cell in a panic. He couldn’t find anywhere to be sick so he ran to the
porthole and took a firm grasp on the sides.
Billy barely heard the cry of,
“Wuh Chunder!” that came from somewhere above.
Billy threw himself head first at the porthole and emptied his stomach out into the sea. As he
did so, he felt a stream of warm burning liquid hit him on the back of his head and neck. He hung
suspended there for a few seconds as the ship rolled and the water rushed up towards him then rolled
back. Then he pulled himself back into the cell and collapsed on the floor.
As he lay in a heap on the floor of the cell Billy heard, the other men around him start to laugh
and chuckle. He raised his hand towards his face. He could only see out of one eye. He tried to brush
his other eye with his hands but they came away all covered in a sticky smelly goo. He raised his hand
to his nose and sniffed. It was vomit!
All of a sudden, he realized that some bastard had spewed all over the back of his head! The
men in the cell were now laughing hard.
Billy flicked his wrist and a big blob of sticky vomit flew off and hit Donaldson straight in the eye.
The man let out a loud bellow and came at Billy, swearing loudly and violently.
He stopped above Billy as the Guard came running over to the cell to investigate.
The Guard stopped at the cell door.
“What’s all the noise about?” he demanded
The men were rolling around laughing, unable to speak they just pointed at Billy and howled
with glee as he cringed with Donaldson towering over him and still wiping the vomit from his eyes.
Donaldson was a big man. He was twice Billy’s weight and at six feet tall, he couldn’t stand up
because of the low ceiling.
“Get back on your bunks!” the Guard roared. “Jump to it!”
“You there!” he waved his baton at Donaldson. “Get away from that man or I’ll clap you in
irons, so help me!”
Donaldson started to protest but the Guard shouted him down as the Sergeant of marines came
running over.
“What the Devil’s going on here?” he shouted.
The Guard gestured at Billy who was still slumped dejectedly on the floor.
“I think they’ve started a fight, sir,” he explained.
Donaldson, his face contorted with anger got up off his bunk again and moved threateningly
towards Billy.
“Stop right there Mister!” the Sergeant commanded. “I don’t know what you’re so narked
about, but I’ll have you down on that bunk now or you can come up to the Cramping Box and cool off
for a few hours.”
Donaldson stopped a few inches away from Billy and spat at him.
“Right Ducks, that does it!” the Sergeant swore.
The Guards opened the cell door, grabbed Donaldson, and dragged him struggling and
swearing back along the corridor.
“Get them cleaned up and settled back down Corporal!” the Sergeant shouted as they
manhandled Donaldson up the stairs. The other prisoners were delighted with the entertainment.
“Hah! That was luverly! You orta be on stage, ducks!” a convict yelled at Billy.
The guard strolled back to his post and then returned with a bucket of water and a rag.
He opened the cell door and motioned to Billy to come and wash himself down.
“Next time you’ll pay attention when they say, -Watch under-, won’t you!” he chuckled.
It was a mild spring afternoon. The Sydney Cove was well off the South American coast, sailing
steadily east and waiting for the winds to pick up. Many of the women were on deck, enjoying the light
warm breeze. It was an ideal time for tattooing. The deck was steady and the light was good. One of
the older women, Mary McLintoch, was going to show them how to make a tattoo.
“Right then Lassies, who’s first?” Mary asked in a gruff Scottish accent as she menacingly
displayed her needles to the little crowd of women.
Tattoos were a status symbol. Many of the Family, as the lowest class of beggars, thieves and
whores in London usually called themselves, already had a tattoo. The women drew back from Mary
with a gasp as she waved the needles beneath their noses.
“C’mon me little luverlies? Who’s first for the little prick of Mister Needle then?”
There was a nervous silence as the women looked around at each other. Then a slow smile
spread across Lizzy’s face.
“Little prick, big prick. Lizzy Black can take ‘em all!” she bellowed as she stepped forward.
There was a cheer and some giggles as she sat down on the barrel next to Mary.
“Right you are, Mam,” said Mary cheerfully, her beefy red face beaming. “I’ll just tattoo the
Genesis on shall I, or do you want the New Testament as well?”
Another roar of laughter.

“What and keep everyone else waiting? No, I’ll just have a few initials for now thank you
Doctor McLintoch.”
The laughter died away and soon Mary McLintoch began her work. Lizzy first handed over to
Mary her fee, a gill of gin. Mary took the top off the bottle and handed it back to Lizzy who took
several mouthfuls.
Then Mary sat Lizzy down opposite her and took her right hand in hers. She turned it palm
upwards and placed the elbow on the edge of the empty water barrel. With several women steadying
the patient, Mary had easy access to the inside of Lizzy’s immobile arm.
She bound her three steel needles together tightly with thread and dramatically withdrew a small length
of pig femur from her bag. As she proceeded, she gave the crowd of women a long elabourate
explanation of her craft.
She pushed the bundle of needles into one end of the bone and tapped them with a little wooden
mallet until they disappeared into the bony cylinder. Then she took a small wooden plug and gently
pushed it into tube. As she did so, the three sharp needles protruded from the other end of the bone.
She held the tube up to the sky to check that they all extended the same amount. After a little more
adjustment, she seemed satisfied.
Some of the other women had finished mixing the carbon black from the inside of the lamps
into a thick paste with animal fat. Mary rubbed a few drops of Gin into Lizzy’s forearm and began her
work.
The women gripped Lizzy’s arm tightly and Mary dipped the needles into the black paste. She
touched the needles lightly onto the skin and tapped the wooden plug on the other end of the bone tube
with her mallet. It was just a light tap. There was no blood but Lizzy shrank back in pain.
Mary shook her head. It wasn’t quite hard enough. She tapped again and drew the needles back.
“There yer go luv. Isn’t that a beauty, eh?”
They all gazed intently and could just make out a small black spot on Lizzy’s arm.
“Doesn’t hurt does it?” Mary asked.
Lizzy shook her head.
“Nah. I aint feeling nuffink. Nuffink at all. Fanks. You just bash on the bonnie lassie,” she
slurred, as the alcohol took effect.
Mary smiled. “Right you are. Hold her tight now.”
She began the tattoo in earnest. She dipping the needles in the paste and tapped out a rhythm.
One light tap, one heavy tap, one light tap, dip.
One light tap, one heavy tap, one light tap, dip.
After twenty minutes it was done. The paste had almost dried on Lizzy’s arm. Her head was bowed
over, resting on Ginny’s shoulder; she was groggy from the alcohol.
Mary brushed off the encrusted paste gently and then they dabbed it lightly with seawater.
Lizzy woke from her stupor very quickly from the stinging in her arm.
Then she looked down at her tattoo.
There was a crude - E G B. 2196 - etched into the crook of her arm.
“Izzz bootiful,” she slurred.
Mary beamed at her as she pocketed the half empty gin bottle. The small crowd of women
clapped and cheered. Ginny helped Lizzy to her feet. She gave her a drink of water and set her down to
rest in the shade. The women argued over who was to be tattooed next.
Chapter 12:
Donaldson was only in the coffin for a few hours; he returned to the cell just before dinner. He
was still angry, Billy could tell, but he was also very stiff, sore and tired. Dinner was served below
decks.
Billy sat on the upper bunk, his legs dangling over the side as he ate his meager rations.
Billy had noticed that Raeburn had aged very rapidly over the last few weeks. The stifling heat of the
Doldrums had worn him down. He rarely moved from his bunk and had developed a harsh hacking
cough. He looked like the old man that he was; very pale and sickly. He didn’t eat his dinner and
instead handed his plate over to Donaldson.
Raeburn was in an odd mood. He seemed to be concentrating on the behaviour of the ship and
the sounds it was making, as if he was trying to gauge if the weather was changing. He muttered a few
things to Donaldson who shook his head in puzzlement.
Two guards stopped next to Billy’s cell to refill one of the oil lamps. All of a sudden, Raeburn
slapped his palm on his thigh and stood up. He took two resolute paces towards Billy and began to yell
at him.
Where did you hide me bag ya little bastard?”
He reached up, grabbed Billy by the front of his tunic, and pulled him towards him so their
faces were inches apart.
Then he winked. At least Billy thought he saw him wink. It was very gloomy and he might’ve had
something in his eye.
Billy began to say something but Raeburn pulled him so hard he fell off the bunk. Billy fell to the floor
and Raeburn jumped on top of him, yelling, and screaming about his bag. The guards hastily unlocked
the cell and moved towards the two men.
All of a sudden, Raeburn hurled himself off Billy as though he’d been punched violently. He rolled
around the floor clutching at his stomach. The other convicts stood out of the way and yelled
encouragement and approval. The guards piled in to the cell and dragged the two men away.
Billy was led behind Raeburn, up the steps. He looked up at him questioningly.
He hadn’t punched him.
He hadn’t laid a hand on him.
What bag?
As they turned at the top of the stairs Billy, thought he saw Raeburn winking at him again. Lieutenant
Blanch strode forward to take control. The marine told him what’d happened and without hesitation,
Blanch pointed to the main cramping box. With a big smile on his face, he said,
“Put them in the box together. Maybe the little lovebirds will kiss and make up in a few hours!”
There was very little room to move, Raeburn had struggled and sworn violently as he’d been
shoved, bent over, into the tiny box with Billy stooped in front of him, almost sitting in his lap.
The door closed, the two men squirmed as they tried to get more comfortable. Through a gap in the
planking, Billy could see the sun setting in a warm orange sky. There were a few clouds but the cold
wind whistled through the tiny cage perched precariously atop the foredeck. Raeburn whispered in
Billy’s ear.
“Sorry laddie, I must to talk to you alone. It’ll be well worth your while. Now, that map that
young Andrew had. You know? The one of the treasure from the Hope?”
Billy smiled. This might be interesting! The old codger was going to keep him entertained with
a story. No doubt about pirates, treasure, and maps. Well, he thought, I am a captive audience.
“You probably think I’m a mad old bastard don’t you lad, eh?” Raeburn began. “Well, I’m old,
but I aint mad. I’m on me last legs. Too much hard living, too much grog, fighting and women. Well,
maybe not too much women, can’t ‘ave too much women can ya boy? I remember this girl back in
Cadiz, now she was a beauty, a real beauty and she and me, well, p’raps we I should’ve settled down,
but, what the hell! I’m rambling, you tell me when I’m rambling Billy, y’hear? Us old buggers, we
ramble sometimes. Anyroad, I like you, young Billy. You’re a good sort. Sorry to have that little scrap
just now, but I got you alone aint I?”
Billy rolled his eyes, thankful that Raeburn couldn’t see. It sounded as though he was in for a
long and tiresome night.

“No, I’m not cuckoo, y’know lad. I’m dying, Billy. I’m dying and I know where the treasure
is!”
Billy let out a little gasp.
“Yes boy, young Andrew was right about the HMS Hope and I’ve got the map, the real map,
well half of it anyhow. Marcus has the other half, but that’ll be your problem soon, won’t it!”
“Aye, me and Marcus Donaldson, we was as thick as thieves for a while. He got into a fight at
the King’s Arms and needed help piloting an old barge up the Thames. So I took it up for ‘im and he
came to rely on me for a bit. Then we both landed commissions on the HMS Hope. He was me second
mate when we set sail to Port Jackson, Sydney as they now call it. On the return trip we was to dock in
Hobart Town in Van Diemen’s Land. We didn’t know it, but the Colony hadn’t been paid by the
Government for six months and the Captain had been entrusted with two sea chests full of gold.”
“Captain – hah! What a blackguard!” Raeburn snorted. “He was a young whippersnapper with
the swagger of an Admiral and the ability of a deckhand. He hit the bottle and left the running of the
ship up to me. Once we was at sea, he was as they say, all at sea.” Raeburn laughed as he reminisced.
“We come out of the Sydney habour Heads into a steady nor’easter. Donaldson was a competent
enough sailor although a bit heavy handed in his dealings with the crew. We crossed the Bass Strait
just fine, ‘cept that the old tub was taking in water all the way and the pumps had to be manned day
and night.”
“We ran down the east coast of Van Diemen’s Land and rounded Cape Pillar at the very end of
the island just before noon. It looked bad, Billy, very bad. The sky was as black as night and a huge
storm was blowing up from the depths of the great Southern Ocean. We was making little headway so
I woke the Captain from his drunken stupor. I told him that we should make for Port Arthur and ride
out the storm, but the young fool would have none of it. He stood on the forecastle with the wind
whipping at his clothes and raising whitecaps across the darkening sea. He pointed west and ordered
the crew to trim the sails and make for Hobart Town ahead of the ‘little blow.’ The daft bugger
probably thought he was Lord Nelson or something! He wouldn’t listen to any of us and shut himself
up in his cabin.”
“It was the biggest bloody storm I’ve ever seen!” Raeburn expounded excitedly. “The rain and
hail lashed down horizontally, huge waves rolled over the port side swamping the deck. We’d furled
the mainsail and battened down the hatches, but the foresail was blown to shreds in seconds and by
early afternoon it was as black as midnight. We was running broadside to the swell so I turned the ship
to the northwest, heading directly for Hobarton. We was taking in water, the pumps couldn’t keep up.”
Billy listened enthralled as the old sailor whispered his story. Night had fallen and the wind and
the waves drowned out Raeburn’s voice so the watchmen couldn’t hear.
“The storm blew us clear across Storm Bay and up past Bruny Island and into the mouth of the
Derwent. For a minute it looked as if we’d be blown clean up onto the Hobarton docks! But the old
Hope was taking a pounding. The pumps couldn’t keep up, the crew did a fine job but the ship was
being tossed around like a leaf going over a waterfall. I could see glimpses of light to the west and
north. So I turn us westward hoping to find a sheltered bay. Hah! That was when the Captain comes up
on deck and screamed at us to head north. So, we turned north like he said and then the storm got
bigger and nastier, the winds picked up and the waves were so big they broke over the damned stern,
completely swallowing us up! The main mast split with a loud crack and within seconds it was washed
overboard into the swirling sea taking several of me fine sailors with it! I was so angry I could’ve
struck the Captain then and there!”
“But that was when we ‘eard ‘em, like a long unending boom of thunder we could hear the
breakers. We was getting blown onto the rocks!” Raeburn’s voice trembled with passion. “I swung the
tiller hard to port but nuffink ‘appened. We could feel the spray of the breakers and see the seething
mass of white foam ahead. Suddenly a deep shudder went through the whole ship. The Hope had run
aground, the bow had stuck firmly on rocks and the waves crashed right over the decks. Most of the
crew was swept overboard by the first few waves and the few who weren’t struggled to free the

lifeboats. I ordered them to abandon the ship and Donaldson went to get the Captain. I feared he’d be
drowned in his cabin.”
Raeburn sighed. “The Captain was dead, choked on his own chunder, and the treasure chests
had slid out from under the table into the middle of the cabin. It was too heavy for one man so I went
back down with Donaldson. We came up with the first chest, it was small but covered in chains and
locks. We put the chest in the Captain’s lifeboat and turned to go below again when we were thrown to
the deck, as the Hope was pulled free of the rocks. We staggered back down to the Captain’s cabin and
grabbed the second chest, but as we got halfway up the stairs we were violently flung back into the
cabin as the Hope ran aground once more. She’d pitched right over on her side. We climbed up on
deck; the lifeboat was dangling out over the black water. The wind was howling and the roar of the
breakers was deafening. We jumped into the lifeboat and cut the ropes to the hoist. Then we rowed for
our lives along the line of breakers as the poor old Hope disappeared in the waves behind us. We was
lucky, ahead was a cauldron of foaming white water, but we found a small break in the waves and
aimed for it, hoping that the there might be fewer rocks. We ran straight for the gap, and got picked up
by a huge wave and smashed down onto the sands of the beach. We hung onto the treasure chest and
managed to drag ourselves up the beach to safety.”
“What d’ya do with the treasure then?” Billy asked as Raeburn paused for moment.
“Patience, young feller, patience.” Raeburn chortled. “Well, we woke up just before the sun
come up. It weren’t raining but the gale was howling about us and huge breakers pounded the beach.
The wreck of the Hope was strewn all over the rocks to the south, only you could only recognize the
bow.”
“We was on a small beach between two rocky outcrops. To the north I could see a small cage
on the rocks, it was a gibbet and I think there was a body inside it. We tried to open the chest but we
couldn’t break the chains and locks without tools. Then we thought about it, we was close to Hobart
Town, so they’d come and rescue us very soon and someone, maybe even the Governor, would be
wondering where his gold was. There was no chance of finding the other chest or any tools so we ‘ad
to bury the treasure instead. We dragged it up the little creek until we came to a big cliff. I found a tiny
cave behind a tree and we dug out a hole inside and buried the treasure. Then we went back to the
beach and I found a piece of leather washed up near the rocks. So, while we waited for the rescue, I
made a map.”
“They picked us up and took us to the seamen’s mission in Hobart town where we met the rest
of the crew. There was only three of ‘em. That damned Captain had killed twenty men; fine sailors all
of ‘em. He was such a callous bastard!”
“Did they find ‘is body? The Captain’s I mean?” Billy interrupted.
“Dunno lad. The bugger can rot in Davey Jones’ locker for all I care!”
“But they could find the treasure couldn’t they? All they had to do was follow your tracks, back
up the stream to the cave?”
“I aint daft, y’know!” Raeburn chuckled. “I rubbed out the footprints of course, and I cut the
map in half. I weren’t giving Donaldson the whole thing, never trusted the bugger and I know you
won’t will ya?”
Billy grinned and shook his head. “He’s like an uncle to me! Evil Uncle Dave that is, done me
sister in, lovely man!”
“Well good, because Marcus is a greedy bugger and he wants that treasure,” Raeburn
cautioned. “He’ll be fuming when he finds out that I’m leaving the map to you Billy lad. He’ll go
purple!”
“Anyroad, go on, what happened then?” Billy said, trying to hide his excitement.
“Well, we decided to leave Van Diemen’s Land for a while and return later for the gold. So we
worked our passage back to London. We met again, a year later. We’d long been half expecting a visit
from a Government Agent but was surprised that night to be accosted by another sailor who offered to
buy us a pint. He started talking about shipwrecks and he said he’d pay a lot of money for any maps of
treasure, particularly treasure from the HMS Hope. We turned to leave but the man grabbed Donaldson
and tried to threaten him. Donaldson went crazy; he flew into a rage and punched him and then kicked
him when he fell to the ground. It happened so fast that we couldn’t stop it! The man was dead and the
Bobbies nabbed us and hauled us off to the Old Bailey. Damn that Marcus Donaldson! I got seven
years because of him! Only our Naval service had kept us from the hangman’s noose!”
“So, there ya’ are Billy. I have my part of the treasure map. I’ve told the Surgeon that when I
die you will have all my worldly possessions. You’ll have to deal with Donaldson, but then he’ll have
to deal with you too. Oh, there’s one thing he needs, besides the map. You see he wasn’t paying
attention when we came back from burying the gold. I went back and paced out all the distances.
They’re not on the map so you’ll have to remember them. So Donaldson can’t just steal the map from
you. He’ll need you to tell him exactly how to find the cave.”
Chapter 13:
There was a buzz of excitement around the Navarino. One of the convicts claimed that he’d
seen land ahead and the news spread around like wild fire. Few prisoners slept that night. The vessel
creaked and groaned under full sail in the strong and steady breeze.
Cries of “Land Ho!” roused the convicts just after dawn. There was a loud cheer and many of
the convicts broke down and wept. At breakfast, the Captain ordered a tot of grog for every crew man.
The ship couldn’t sail fast enough for the impatient convicts and crew. The convicts were held below
decks all day, as usual, but they could clearly make out the cliffs of Bruny Island and they babbled
excitedly during their dinner.
Captain Broadbent had wanted to make up for the time he’d lost in the Doldrums off Africa, so
he’d chosen to skirt around east of Bruny island and had picked up much stronger winds and higher
seas. He was not looking forward to berthing at Hobart Town. The bureaucratic shenanigans were a
pain in the rear end. He’d lost three prisoners, four chickens and two expensive stud sheep. Reporting
the losses would doubtless cause annoyingly detailed questions. The Lieutenant-Governor of Van
Diemen’s Land, Colonel George Arthur, was a bureaucrat of the highest and most finickity order. A
deeply religious man and recent convert to Calvinist Evangelicalism, he had seen the light of the one
true God and he was totally convinced that his task was to bring everyone else to see the truth. He was
a “wowser” of the first degree.
Van Diemen’s Land was not merely a Police State, it was a superbly run totalitarian regime.
Convicts were like unbroken horses. Criminality was a sickness. To Colonel Arthur, hard labour and
boring and repetitious tedium were the best tools to wear down the untamed and misguided spirits and
convert the convicts into useful members of society.
The minutiae of all 13,000 convicts in Van Diemen’s Land was described at length in the huge
“Black Books.” These volumes were 3 feet high and no fact was too obscure, no detail too trivial to be
written down.
Every vessel that arrived in Van Diemen’s Land had to list in excruciating detail all the cargo
and convicts that were delivered or passing through Arthur’s territory. During the final two days of
their voyage, each prisoner was examined at length by the Surgeon and made to sign a card listing all
their personal details.
After Raeburn had died, Billy was moved into a different cell for the last weeks of the voyage.
He was relieved to be away from Donaldson. The man had gone into a raging tantrum when he’d
found out that Billy had Raeburn’s map. At first, Billy had taunted the big man from the safety of his
new cell. He’d hoped they’d throw Donaldson into the cramping box again. However, Lieutenant
Blanch had come down and threatened Billy with the coffin instead. Blanch had taken quite a liking to
Donaldson and the two men were often to be found deep in conversation. So Billy sat down, shut up,
and tried to become invisible. One of his new cell mates was very good with scrimshaw and Billy
spent all of his free time making needles out of old horse bones he’d kept from his dinner plate.
They docked at Hobart Town’s Sullivan’s Cove at dawn on Tuesday September 5th 1841 after
112 days of sailing. It was a clear sunny winter’s day as the Navarino tied up at the outer pier. A big
crowd was waiting; it seemed as if the entire town had turned out to greet them. A closer look would
show that there were no women on the wooden jetty and everyone was dressed for work; many pushed
wheel barrows, some empty, some full.
Governor Arthur was away at Risdon Cove, but the Government Inspector was obvious by his
bearing and his crisp clean uniform. The Inspector boarded first and immediately went below to
examine the cargo hold and in particular the livestock. The animals were all carried bodily by several
men onto waiting bullock carts and then driven off to the quarantine station. The Inspector smiled
broadly and clapped the Captain on the back as the men began unloading the Government stores of
grain, tools, and other supplies. The men worked at a frenetic pace and within a few hours, the convicts
began very unsteadily to step ashore.
The Surgeon and Captain had given the Inspector several lists of prisoners and the Sergeant of
marines supervised the convicts’ arrival. The first group of prisoners was the Ticket of Leave men.
They were sent to the low stone barracks. These were the lucky ones; they would all be set free within
a few days. The Government would give them a good start with a small loan or a plot of land, new
clothes and some food. They were expected to repay the Government’s kindness within a few years.
Billy came out in the next group. He was a first-timer with the minimum sentence of 7 years.
He was also still a minor, being just fifteen years old and so he was assigned to the School in Point
Puer, near the newly built Port Arthur Prison. His group included ten other boys as well as thirty or so
lags, convicts who’d been sentenced to seven or more years at Port Arthur prison itself. Among them
were the Irish Politicos, regarded as the most dangerous threat to the English Empire. They were
heavily guarded and doubled chained.
Each convict had his ankles chained together with fetters as they came down the gangplank, not
that they could conceivably run away. After almost four months at sea they were very unsteady, and
many of them fell over or stumbled and had to lean on each other. Billy giggled as he clutched his
small bag of belongings to his chest. It was strange to stagger over dry land and try to walk in a straight
line rather than sideways, but it was dry land!
It was a beautiful day!
Billy was led to a stone quadrangle at the base of the long pier. There, in the light of the setting
sun, they stripped, shaved and washed several times in cold water, cold detergent, cold antiseptic and
again in cold water. The vigorous brushing kept them warm and the barked commands of
encouragement from the surrounding marines and Police ensured that they finished quickly. There was
a very brief medical inspection before they were given a change of clothes and they had to sign their
cards again. Billy was given a plate of hot food and ordered to Sit, Eat and Wait and most of all to Shut
Up!
He sat under the trees with the other boys and spied Donaldson with Lieutenant Blanch. The
two men were laughing heartily and the Lieutenant clapped Donaldson on the back before sending him
towards the barracks.
The barracks were two long low buildings and it looked as though a party had broken out
among the Ticket of Leave Men. These convicts wore no chains, and someone had broken out an
accordion and a few of them were dancing a jig as the others clapped and sipped on the rotgut rum and
bad beer. Billy watched them enviously. The new supply of Belgian hops might improve the beer. He
wondered how Donaldson had managed to join them. He was still in the government servitude for
seven years.
Night was falling and the Guards rounded up Billy and the convicts and directed them to erect a
large awning. The low risk convicts, like Billy, were given a blanket while the men destined for Port
Arthur were led away to the Police cells.
Billy and the convicts huddled together for warmth. They were used to sleeping very close,
almost on top of each other, and fresh air and the unaccustomed sounds of dogs and birds made many
of them quite uncomfortable. Billy missed the rocking of the ship and the heavy, cloying atmosphere.
He had a difficult time sleeping.
When Billy woke just before dawn, he was confused and disoriented. He promptly pulled the
coarse blanket back over his head to block out the bright light, the smells of the eucalyptus trees and
the sounds of the birds and the insects. For a moment, he wished he were back on the Navarino in his
dark gloomy bunk with the rolling waves and the dank smells of sweat and urine. Then he threw the
blanket back, sat up, and inhaled deeply. Looking to the east, he could see the pink clouds of dawn and
feel a faint breeze from the sea. He smiled. It was nice to be on land again.
His joy wasn’t to last long. Within the hour, his group of convicts had been fed and was being
readied for their last voyage on the Navarino. He wrapped his possessions in the blanket. He heaved
his small pack of swag onto his back and he noticed Donaldson looking back at him from the end of
the barracks. Donaldson smiled, waved, and then gave him the two-fingered salute. Billy was about to
return the insult when the Guard yelled at them to, “Move along. Look lively nah!”
Billy’s last image of Donaldson was to stay with him for a long time. There was a buzz of
excitement in the air as they boarded the Navarino with the Port Arthur men.
“The women are coming, the women are coming!” came the cry from the pier.
Chapter 14:
It was clear and calm as the Sydney Cove sailed beside Bruny Island at the entrance to Hobart
Bay. Captain Edwards had chosen to sail down the D’Entrecasteaux Channel between the mainland on
the west and Bruny Island to the east. The voyage across from South America on the roaring forties
had been fast but rough and it was quite harrowing for his cargo. The women had time to calm down,
get over any sicknesses, and compose themselves for delivery into Hobarton.
The women had been roused early and had breakfasted before dawn. The Captain had given
them all a tot of watered down rum and they were to spend the remainder of the morning preparing
themselves for their arrival at Hobart town.
The previous fortnight had been spent trying to rid themselves of lice and fleas by soaking their
clothes in urine overnight and then rinsing them thoroughly in seawater. It was not always effective but
the clothes did seem cleaner even though they were stiff and itchy at first. They had to endure several
evenings of smoking by sulfur. They’d hung all their clothes and blankets around their cells while
Ginny and Sarah helped the Surgeon light sulfur lamps in the walkways. The acrid yellow fumes filled
the entire prison deck very quickly and Ginny’s eyes ran with tears. Sarah developed a hacking cough
that took several days to subside.
In the shelter of the Bruny Island, Ginny and Sarah had taken one cell at a time to bathe. The
women had stripped and washed in cold seawater using a few scraps of soap before rinsing off with
fresh water. It was very cramped and the roof of the prison deck was too low for most women to stand
upright. They were all in high spirits and at times Ginny and Sarah had to threaten to call in the guards
to stop them from throwing water around and taking too long. The children’s cell was allowed more
time and the happy screams and shouts of laughter echoed through the ship.
The Captain and Surgeon didn’t push the women to hurry. The women’s preparations served as
the perfect release for the pent up frustrations and petty bickering that’d prevailed while they were
locked in their cramped and tiny cells in the bowels of the heaving ship for the last few months.

Her Majesty’s Government had contracted the owners of the Sydney Cove to deliver the
convicts to Australia at a rate of 18 pounds for each woman over 16 and 12 pounds for each female
under 16 years old. Children of convicts were transported free. However, the Captain could earn as
much as 5 pounds in “gifts” by arranging for certain influential Settlers to take a female convict into
their employ. Captain Edwards was a canny businessman and the minor outlay on soap and cheap
lavender perfume to clean up his cargo would be well worth it, as he knew that the men of Hobart
Town were desperate for female companionship.
It was a glorious day and Ginny and Sarah were allowed to remain on deck all morning as the
other women came up to enjoy the sunshine and comb their hair and prepare themselves for their
arrival. Ginny and Sarah had worked very hard. The Surgeon realized that it would’ve been very
difficult for the guards or crew to force the convicts to strip and wash and clean their clothes in front of
them so Ginny and Sarah had done the brunt of the work.
The Captain and Surgeon were grateful and had given them both some nice presents for their
efforts. As she examined her face in her new looking glass, Ginny was pleasantly surprised to see how
she’d changed since she’d left England. Her face had gained quite a few wrinkles and she had replaced
her London pallor with a warm brown tan. Her hair also seemed stronger and more vibrant although it
was still very tangled from the unaccustomed washing.
Sarah had remarked several times that she was beginning to grow up and look more like a
woman but Ginny hadn’t understood exactly what she looked like as none of the women had been able
to keep a looking glass and Surgeon’s mirror was not very clear.
Ginny had watched Sarah change during the voyage. She had no fancy cosmetics to use; in fact
they’d only let her bring a hairbrush and an ornate ivory comb. She had retained her fashionable
English pallor but had lost her rosy red cheeks. Her many sleepless nights and constant worrying had
given her a drawn, almost haggard look. Her nightmares had almost disappeared and she’d been
sleeping almost as well as any of the women – which was badly, about five hours a day thanks to the
movement of the ship. She still had head lice and her once lovely black hair was thin and straggly. She
was nearly in tears when she first saw herself in the mirror. Ginny consoled her and she hoped that her
friend would get better once they reached land.
Neither of the two women was very enthusiastic about dressing up for their arrival. Ginny had
never owned a good dress and Sarah felt ugly. Lizzy on the other hand was having a grand time trying
on dresses from the selection that the Captain’s wife had given them. Each cell had been given four
dresses that had been donated by wealthy women of London. Lizzy was the matron of their cell; she
wanted Ginny and Sarah to dress up nicely as they’d worked hard, but she wasn’t going to try to force
them. If they wanted to be fuddy-duddy old hens that was just fine by her!
Ginny and Sarah had a good laugh at Lizzy’s antics. She tried on one dress after another,
pretending to be the rich aristocratic Lady who might have donated the garment. The women were in
high spirits as they sailed slowly past the cliffs at the entrance to Hobart Bay. Lizzy finally settled on a
garish outfit that was a size too small for her and barely contained her best assets, her breasts.
“Wot a fine lookin’ tart me Lady looks today!” Ginny squealed.
“Hai’ll have you know that hai’m a bleedin’ Countess, than kew very much!” Lizzy replied,
prancing around the deck with her bum and her chest thrust out as she waved a dirty lace kerchief
delicately in her left hand.
“Oh, so fraightfully sorraye Madam! I expect all the pretty boys at the Governor’s court will be
just dhaying to meet chew!”
“Yeah, dying to meet her titties more like it!” Sarah added, cheering up a little.
“Jealousy! That’s all I get around here! Aint got no respect for your betters!” Lizzy responded
good naturedly as she stomped off to finish packing.
“Thar she blows!” came a loud cry from the crow’s nest.
They looked to starboard where Private Daly pointed excitedly out to sea. They could see a pod
of Southern Right Whales breaching and spouting. The Sydney Cove had encountered a few whales on
the journey but the women had always been below decks. The sight of several dozen black whales got
them very excited and they lined the side of the ship to watch the huge beasts swim by.
It was very peaceful and serene, sailing slowly though the sheltered waters of the
D’Entrecasteaux Channel. The calm waters lapped at long sandy beaches under a brilliant blue sky
flecked with high mares’ tail clouds. As they came to the northern tip of the island, the pod of whales
turned east towards the lighthouse and the deeper waters of Storm Bay. The Captain and Sergeant
came down from the quarterdeck and ordered the women back to their cells. In a few hours, the Pilot's
vessel would draw alongside and Lieutenant-Governor Arthur would arrive to greet the new arrivals to
his penal colony.
The Pilot's smack was a small converted Sealer. Governor Arthur had confiscated it because its
owner had repeatedly carried stowaway convicts to Sydney. The smack came alongside when the
Sydney Cove was within sight of Hobart town. It was mid-afternoon and the light was still good as
Governor Arthur and his officers boarded the ship.
The women gossiped excitedly and preened themselves so that the Governor would pick them.
They knew that their chances of survival might depend on getting a rich patron to work for or even to
marry.
Even Ginny and Sarah were caught up by the excitement. They were actually both a rather
depressed as they neared the end of their voyage. They’d enjoyed their fleeting importance as
assistants to the Surgeon and had learnt a lot about caring for people, but neither of them felt
particularly attractive and they knew that their chances of an easier life in Van Diemen’s Land were
very slim.
The Sergeant came down to the prison deck and stopped in front of the last cell. It was time for
the Governor and the rich men of Hobarton to take their pick of the women. The Captain had made a
list of the prettiest and most desirable women. Holding the list out in front of him, the Sergeant began
to call out the women’s numbers. The guards unlocked the cell doors and the chosen women, giggling
excitedly, came out to tempt their new Masters.
As the more fortunate women trooped up the stairs, Ginny looked through the porthole over to
Hobart town. She noticed a big ship casting off from the dock and heading south. She wondered if it
was the ship that her Billy was on. Was still alive? Was he well? When would she see him again?
After a few minutes, the Sergeant had got down to the children’s cell and the prostitutes’ cells.
He moved past them without reading any numbers. There was no need to worry the Governor with
their kind.
When he reached Ginny’s cell, Lizzy was practically jumping up and down with excitement.
Sarah sat and sulked on the end of her bunk; Ginny gave the Sergeant an anxious smile and wondered
when the whole silly thing would be over. They were only taking one or two women from each cell.
Private Daly came forward and opened the cell door as the Sergeant read off five numbers, with
Ginny, Sarah and Lizzy among them. Lizzy and the other two women positively bounced out of the
cell. Sarah just sat motionless on the end of the bunk. She felt horrible. Her hair was heavy with grease
and lay flat and lifeless against her head. She didn’t want to see anyone.
Ginny glared at Daly but he looked away nervously.
“C’mon dear. They want us upstairs,” Ginny encouraged.
Sarah just shook her head and began to cry. The Sergeant sighed and began to shut the cell door
on them but then Private Jones came down the stairs and said quickly,
“Excuse me, sir; I’ve got a message for these two from the Surgeon.”
The Sergeant stepped back and waved Jones into the cell while he stood outside. “Well, be
quick about it man! We haven’t got all day!”
“Mister Brown would like you to meet the Governor of Van Diemen’s Land. He says you were
very fine assistants and he wants your services to your fellow prisoners to be acknowledged. He’s
waiting for you on deck. Come along now,” Jones said in his thick Welsh accent.
“Oh, er, thank you. Thank you very much. We’ll be ready shortly.” Ginny said nervously.
Jones nodded eagerly and backed out of the cell.
The Sergeant huffed, “We can’t keep them waiting!”
Jones nodded and said, “Right you are, sir. Perhaps we can do the next cell while they get
ready. They won’t be very long now”
The Sergeant shrugged and moved on to the next cell. A few minutes later Ginny and Sarah
were onto escorted on deck. They were the last of the thirty or so women to come out and they stayed
right at the back. The Governor and his party of some twenty people were on the port side of the main
deck facing the prisoners. Ginny and Sarah couldn’t see much and really didn’t care to be paraded like
cattle at the market.
The Captain had trimmed the sails and the Sydney Cove was moving very slowly north rolling
slightly on a gentle swell. The sun was beginning to set in the hills behind the Government party as
Ginny looked out over their heads at the peaceful shoreline. The seagulls’ cries mingled with strange
calls of other birds that she’d never heard before. The hills were much closer than earlier in the day and
she could make out lots of tall trees that came right down to the water’s edge. They were nothing like
the trees in London. They were tall with bare grey trunks with thin bark that seemed to be peeling off.
The branches were thick and strong and the leaves were long and thin. There were lots of big white
birds with yellow plumes on their heads. They squawked raucously with ear piercing screeches. At the
water’s edge, Ginny could see a gibbet hanging out over the rocks. It was a clear warning to all sailors
entering the Harbour.
Sarah sniffled into her kerchief and Ginny gazed up at the forest, drinking in all the new sights
and sounds. The visitors sat on several long benches. Each convict was called out in turn. They would
promenade slowly past the visitors, first towards the stern and then towards the bow. The Surgeon
loudly called out each woman’s age, height, birthplace, crime, sentence, medical problems, profession,
and details on her behaviour during the voyage. The visitors would write in their books and mutter and
chuckle to one another. The women were then escorted back down to their cells by the guards.
Governor Arthur sat motionless and impassive in the centre of the bench. He was a tall, silver-
haired man in his late forties with hard grey eyes, a narrow, mean-looking face with thin, unsmiling
lips. Assigning convicts, especially female convicts, to his compatriots was a lucrative business which
rewarded Arthur’s position and pocketbook immensely. However, he viewed the proceedings with
disdain.
After an hour, the last few women were “walking the deck.” Lizzy caused quite a stir as she’d
borrowed Sarah’s other pair of shoes. They were very tight and by the time it was her turn she could
barely manage a hobble. She got down to the end of the deck and promptly fell over as she tried to
pirouette. As she hit the deck, a stream of obscenities tumbled out of her mouth before she could choke
them off. Fortunately, no-one seemed to notice and the Captain waved her to compose herself and
promenade a second time. When she finished she curtsied towards the Governor and gave him a big
smile. Lizzy followed the other women below and Surgeon Brown called Ginny and Sarah up together.
“Sir, I’d like to present to you my two most trusted and helpful assistants, Sarah Churchill and
Virgina Foxe.” He waved them up and they curtsied.
Ginny began to parade but the Surgeon called her back. Then, Surgeon Brown spoke eloquently
and with real gratitude of the help that the two women had given him. At the end of his short speech,
Governor Arthur nodded his head slightly and asked unsmilingly, “What are their crimes?”
“Larceny, sir” the Surgeon replied promptly.
Ginny and Sarah stood very still, not quite sure whether they were in trouble with the Governor
or not.
Arthur thought for a moment and the said.
“May I see their records, Mister Surgeon?”
Brown had anticipated this and handed Arthur’s Secretary the convict log book open at the
correct place. Governor Arthur read for a few minutes as Ginny and Sarah became increasingly
uncomfortable, and the other visitors and crew started to shuffle about. The sun had set and they were
eager to get back under way before the winter darkness closed about them.
Arthur shut the book.
“I presume that you wrote their records Mister Surgeon?” he asked briskly.
Surgeon Brown nodded. In a business-like voice, Arthur said to the Surgeon,
“Hmmm. Useful objects, possibly. Have them work at a Manufactory or on the Anson. Two
years minimum. Now I am finished.”
Without so much as a glance in their direction, he stood up and strode purposefully across the
deck where he scaled the ladder back down to his waiting launch. Very quickly, the guests and
dignitaries followed him and within a few minutes, the deck was cleared. The Surgeon waved for
Sarah and Ginny to come over to him as the rest of the convicts went below decks. Ginny was
confused. She didn’t know what the Governor had meant. She waited patiently while Mister Brown
finished talking to the marines.
“Now ladies, the Governor has graciously seen fit to allow you to acquire your Ticket of Leave
very quickly in return for your services tending the sick and infirm. As you could see, he was very
pleased with you both.”
Ginny smiled wryly; Governor Arthur was a right bundle of fun.
“Usually most female convicts go to the Anson and then onto the Manufactory before being
assigned. Then, after serving their term or perhaps earlier they can petition for a Ticket of Leave. Some
women who did well at our little parade today will be assigned tomorrow. Now, if you two accept a
two year assignment caring for convicts on the Anson or at a Manufactory, the Governor will allow
you to submit your petition early. Isn’t that nice? Good. Now run along.”
“But, sir” Ginny said excitedly, “what’s a Manufactory and what’s the Anson?”
The Surgeon shook his head a little irritably.
“All in good tim, m’dear. Now get yourselves below.”
Chapter 15:
The following day the women awoke before dawn. The Sydney Cove had anchored off Sandy
Bay overnight. The Captain was keen to dock at Sullivan’s Cove and unload the women before too
many townsfolk arrived. They rounded Battery Point and Hobart town came into view as the first rays
of the morning sun shone down onto Sullivan’s Cove.
Governor Arthur, mindful of the riots that had frequently occurred under his predecessor, had
set up a several lines of soldiers around the docks to keep the lustful men of Hobarton back from the
arrival of the convict women. The convicts from the Navarino had already been moved out of the
dockside barracks further up the Derwent River.
Within the hour, the Sydney Cove entered Sullivan’s cove on a light breeze, some 114 days
since departing old England. When they docked, Governor Arthur and three Inspectors boarded the
Sydney Cove with the Superintendent of the Cascades Female Factory. After a brief discussion with the
Captain and the Surgeon, the Sergeant of marines went below to bring up the women.
The first group was two dozen of the women who’d paraded in front of Governor Arthur and
his men the previous evening. They were the lucky ones who’d been chosen by the Governor’s friends.
It didn’t surprise Ginny to see Dottie amongst them. She was a very fine cook. Neither Ginny, Sarah
nor Lizzy was in the group.
Through the porthole, Ginny could see the women staggering down the gangplank, leaning on
each other. They were a sorry sight. Their dresses were old and dirty and their hair was matted and
disheveled. Most carried a small bag of belongings and several of them tried to cover their heads with
their shawls. Many were barefoot and they all walked unsteadily across the wooden jetty to the
awaiting bullock carts. However, they were all smiling, glad to be back on dry land again.
Lizzy and a few of the other women were upset at being rejected by the Governor and his Nibs.
Ginny tried to console her but Private Jones came down and asked Ginny and Sarah to accompany him
onto the main deck. Tearfully, they hugged the other women in their cell and gathered their
belongings. As Ginny waved to them, she wondered if they’d ever meet again.
On deck, Jones escorted them to the Surgeon. Standing next to him was a portly little red-faced
man and an equally rotund middle aged woman. The Surgeon introduced them as the Reverend and
Mrs Hutchinson, the Superintendent and Matron of the Hobart Female Factory.
“The Guvnah asked us to have a word with you two ladies about the House of Corrections,”
Rev Hutchinson said cordially. “Shall we sit down and talk somewhere Ladies? How about a nice glass
of sherry?”
Smiling, Surgeon Brown waved them over to the bench. He’d met the Hutchinsons before.
They were icons in Hobarton, having worked at the Royal Hobart Hospital before taking over the
Female Manufactory. The Factory had been poorly run and plagued by bad publicity and the couple
had been working hard to improve it.
Ginny and Sarah enjoyed their little moment of fame. They hadn’t expected to be fussed over at
all and had volunteered to help Surgeon Brown on the voyage because it stopped them from being
defiled and it also staved off the incredible tedium and boredom of the trip.
Ginny turned her nose up at the sweetness of the sherry. She was used to gin or rum, usually
very coarse and rough. Sarah had been raised in a high class home and she’d had sherry or port every
Sunday after church. It was a trifle young but tasted Spanish, an Amontillado perhaps. She smiled and
imagined what her father would say if he knew she was drinking and it wasn’t a Sunday.
The Hutchinsons seemed nice enough folk. They took little notice of Ginny and Sarah’s dirty
clothes and bedraggled and unkempt appearance, but the Reverend did casually mention that the
hospital had perfected a new treatment for lice.
Sarah choked back a sob at that comment and Mrs Hutchinson quickly suggested that they
accompany them to Hobarton Female Manufactory where many of the Sydney Cove women would be
recovering from their arduous voyage before processing by the Government.
The Reverend explained that most female convicts in Van Diemen’s Land were assigned to
Masters; the remaining women lived in one of the Female Manufactories or on the Women’s Hulk, the
HMS Anson.
Sarah and Ginny agreed to tour the new Cascade Female Manufactory. They didn’t know
exactly what was in store for them in this strange place so far from home. However, they’d arrived
alive and moderately healthy and with most of their pride and self respect intact. They had been
offered the chance to make a better start than most convicts and they took it eagerly.
The Navarino anchored overnight in the quiet water of Half Moon Bay south of Hobarton and
just north of the wide swath of Storm Bay. In the early morning, they sailed around the South Arm and
began their final trip to Port Arthur. It was a fine clear day with smooth seas. Captain Broadbent was in
a generous mood. He’d arrived in Hobarton just two days late and had unloaded the Hobarton cargo in
record time and he expected to arrive in Sydney town with the bulk of his cargo precisely on schedule.
Billy and the few other prisoners were allowed to spend most of the day on deck. They were shackled
together and confined to a small part of the mid-deck but they were happy to be in the open air.
Billy busily carved a scrimshaw tattooing needle from horse leg bone. He was glad to be in the
sun; it was much easier to try and carve the intricate details in full daylight although the warm rays
caused the scars on his back to itch. As the day wore on the swell increased and the ship began to pitch
and yaw a little more although it wasn’t as bad as the run into Sullivan’s Cove. The Navarino rounded
Wedge Island as the sun began to set. The Captain had decided not to risk entering Port Arthur by
night and instead they would wait in the lee of the island with sea anchors and reefed sails to keep the
ship steady.
The following morning Billy got a good look at the peninsula that was destined to be his home
for the next seven years. The Navarino hugged the coast as she sailed south towards Cape Raoul. The
waves crashed onto jagged rocky outcrops along the shore. The land rose up in a long towering cliff
some 500 feet to the Port Arthur plateau. Low, hardy, wind-swept scrub clung to the cliff-face. From
sea level, it was a beautiful and awe-inspiring sight. The Irish convicts’ mood turned sullen. It was
clear that there was no escaping southward from Port Arthur. Billy and the boys relaxed in the sun for
a second day as Captain Broadbent took the Navarino around Cape Raoul and then north past West
Head. They dropped anchor in lee of Safety Bay with the spit of Point Puer to the west.
All prisoners were confined below decks the next day until the ship rounded Point Puer. Billy
could see a small party of men solemnly carrying two large sacks across the beach on the Isle of the
Dead. He crossed himself and muttered a little prayer for the souls of the deceased convicts.
The Navarino anchored off the Point Puer jetty, as the water was too shallow for her to dock
alongside. It was just after noon when Billy and the boys were brought out on deck to leave the sea
behind them forever. Six boys at a time, they went down the rope ladder and into the loading barge.
Protected by four armed guards they rowed the few hundred yards to the shore.
Billy rowed quietly and gazed in wonder at the sight before him. To the right scrubby
eucalyptus grew down to a sandstone shore. Waves lapped at the small rock pools. Behind, the land
sloped up gently to a small tree covered hill. Straight ahead, the wooden jetty was a hive of activity as
men dressed in shapeless grey trousers and tunics directed gangs of boys dressed in pale brown to
move the stores dropped by the Navarino. As they got closer, Billy could see a dusty brown dirt track
leading away to some low buildings hidden by trees. To the left, the shore became a rocky cliff that got
higher and higher as it led to the northern tip of Point Puer.
The boat drew up to the jetty and Billy scrambled quickly up the ladder as he was told. The
boys walked to the shore and sat on the broad sandstone rocks to wait for their orders. They were
yelled at a few times by the men in the grey uniforms but were left alone until the last of the boys were
ferried ashore. They sat and watched the cargo being unloaded and placed on several low bullock carts.
Once all the supplies had been unloaded, Captain Broadbent came ashore to be greeted by a
small delegation led by a short fat priest. They talked for a while and then they both signed and
exchanged several sheets of paper. They shook hands and the Captain and his remaining crew marched
off down the jetty and returned to the ship.
The priest approached them, flanked by half a dozen of the men in grey. The boys were ordered
to stand and the priest said a short prayer thanking the Lord for their safe arrival and asking him to
guide them towards a decent and respectable life in their new home. During the prayer, Billy just
bowed his head, but some of the other boys muttered and whispered to each other while the priest
spoke. When he’d finished he said,
“Good afternoon, boys. My name is Father Manton. I welcome you to the Point Puer Reform
School of which I am Superintendent. I can see and I also hear that some of you are in a rather lively
mood. It is not proper to interrupt during prayer and I shall call upon some of my more senior
Government Men to instill some manners into those boys. Mr Clark, please be so good as to begin the
education.”
The man on Father Manton’s right was a beefy looking character with a broken nose, small
scars around his eyes and a piece of his left ear lobe missing. It looked to Billy as though it’d been
bitten off as though the man might’ve been a boxer at one time and not a very skilful one at that.
Mr Clark walked through the group of boys and picked out four of them, Billy wasn’t among
them. Clark and three of the Government men led the boys to a grove of gum trees just behind the
beach. The boys put down their bags and took off their tunics. Within the trees were a number of eight
foot high whipping triangles like the puzzling sticks on the Navarino. The boys were tied to the
triangles, their arms spread high and together and their feet apart.
“Form a circle around the sinners, boys,” Father Manton commanded.
Billy and the other boys shifted their feet nervously. It was almost as difficult to watch
someone being whipped as it was being on the receiving end. Father Manton sentenced each lad to
twelve lashes. The scars on Billy’s back started to itch uncomfortably as he watched Mr Clark hand

four of the grey clad Government men a long switch of willow. In a loud clear voice, Father Manton
called out the name of each of the Apostles as the boys were lashed.
“One, in the name of Saint Paul!” he cried.
“Two, in the name of Saint John.”
“Three, in the name of Saint Peter,” the priest’s voiced droned on as the whips fell on the backs
of the boys as they gripped the triangles for support.
The boys took their punishment stoically. They clenched their teeth and did not utter a sound.
They’d all seen whippings before and knew that it was a mark of a real man to bear the lash in silence.
Billy could see that Father Manton was just making a point. The strokes were hard and well delivered,
but the switches were thin and reedy. They probably tickled somewhat, Billy thought disdainfully, but
they did not draw blood.
After the lashing, all the boys were led up the track away from the beach. The few supplies that
the Navrino had dropped off were on the ox-cart ahead of them.
Point Puer Reformatory School consisted of eight buildings enclosing two quadrangles. There
were some 600 boys at the school ranging from 9 to 18 years of age. Governor Arthur had built the
School to handle the large number of “very wicked” juveniles being transported to Van Diemen’s
Land.
Billy was a slight boy, but he was the oldest of the new arrivals and he knew that the other boys
in the School would soon test his character and push him down the pecking order. The test came
almost immediately. Billy and another boy were led to the seniors’ barracks. The overseer, a
Government man, led them into the room. It was full of boys. He waved two boys over to him. They
were the barrack bosses, Turner and O’Reilly.
“Here are your new boys. They’re both from London so give ‘em a coupla flash mates and have
‘em down at the Quarter Master’s for kitting out in five minutes,” the overseer ordered and then
marched off.
“Gor blimey, ‘es a bleedin’ nigger!” Turner sneered at Billy.
Billy glanced over at the small group of aborigines walking across the courtyard. It was true he
did resemble the natives with his unruly mass of reddish brown hair and the nose so delicately
squashed by Donaldson, although their skin was almost jet black, whereas his was a nutty brown
colour. Billy said nothing; the boy was just trying to rile him.
“How much bustle yer got?” Turner demanded without preamble. Billy put his hand on his
friend Albert Ince’s arm and coolly replied, “’Oo wants ter know?”
Turner scowled at Billy. O’Reilly stood behind him and glowered at the newcomers.
“Shutya gob shorty! I’m Percival J Turner and we’re in charge of this barracks. We want a
tanner from both of yer for a bunk and a bob for a good ‘un, or else!”
Billy smiled up at him innocently.
“Or else what?”
Turner started to go red in the face. “Or else I break yer bleedin’ bonce yer cocky bugger!”
Billy paused, put his bag down, and seemed to stop to think for a while as the two bullies
became angrier and angrier.
“Um, er, actually I don’t think you could do either Mister Turner,” he replied evenly.
Turner blustered and fumed and the screamed at Billy.
“C’mere, I’ll hurt you like you’ve never been hurt before yer cocky ponce!”
Billy noticed that neither of the two bullies had taken a step into the open. He quickly took off
his tunic and stood bare-chested in front of them.
“I ‘ave faced the wrath of the Navy Cat, Mister Turner. There aint nuffink more that can hurt
me!”
He raised his arms wide and slowly turned his back to them. The two boys slumped back in
horror at the deep wide scars that laced across Billy’s back. The Cat O’ Nine Tails was never used at
Point Puer. They’d never seen stripes like that on a kid before. Only a very tough character could take
a Botany Bay dozen while still at school.
Billy put his tunic back on as the bullies composed themselves.
“What’s yer name kid?” O’Reilly asked respectfully.
“Billy Foxe from Bermondsey and me mate is Albert Ince from Fulham. We don’t want no
trouble. We just want to get along, alright?”
Chapter 16:
The thing that struck Ginny most about Hobart town was its drabness. The streets were
crowded in by low wooden buildings. A few roads were paved but were strewn with horse manure and
rubbish in which packs of mangy and very hungry dogs rummaged for food. The winter rain clouds
hung heavy and menacing, deepening Ginny's mood of gloom and melancholy.
Sarah and Ginny walked alongside a rickety old ox cart carrying about twenty women, a few
young girls and three newborn babies. Another ox cart followed them and the Hutchinsons rode their
Stage in comfort at the head of the little convoy.
The detritus of the Sydney Cove was being taken to the Cascade Manufactory. The hardened
criminals, the very young, the sick, the old and the insane were jammed into the old carts so tightly so
that they could barely breathe. They clung together, bedraggled and shivering in their thin clothes as
the carts bumped slowly through the town. It began to rain, a light steady drizzle.
Crowds of young men walked briskly alongside trying eagerly to engage the women in
conversation. A mounted policeman tried ineffectually to keep them away. The women pulled their
shawls over their faces and turned away, embarrassed, ashamed and very tired.
They passed through the town and onto the muddy track leading west. Up ahead the huge snow
capped massif of Mount Wellington cast a heavy shadow over the bedraggled little convoy.
Thankfully, the journey only took an hour. Nearing their destination, they turned off the road
and onto the hard packed stone of Brewery Lane. They crossed the bridge over a narrow torrent, the
Hobarton Rivulet, and turned right. The huge imposing façade of the Cascade Female Manufactory
loomed up out of the mist in front of them. Three storeys high, it was a wall of sandstone with a few
tiny windows up high. As they approached, Ginny could hear strange screeching and moaning noises
over the steady pitter-patter of the rain.
As a young girl Ginny like to accompany her dad to taunt the insane inmates at the Warburton
Asylum in Bethnal Green. It was a very popular pastime when there were no hangings to go to.
They stopped outside the Factory entrance and a high-pitched howling sent shivers up Ginny’s
spine. She thought about her mad uncle and shuddered. Sarah lent across and touched her arm to calm
her. Ginny nodded and smiled uneasily, grateful for her friend’s support. Sarah had never known the
pandemonium and squalor of a London Lunatic Asylum.
The road ran along the front of the three large buildings. The convoy turned left at end of the
buildings down a little alleyway. The puddles were several inches deep and Ginny’s feet were soaking
wet by the time the ox cart drew up at the back of the Factory.
The Hutchinsons alighted from their carriage and Mrs Hutchinson waved for Ginny and Sarah
to come to her. The sound of rushing water was loud. The stream at the back of the Factory had
flooded its banks and the courtyard was one giant puddle. A cold wind whistled down from the heights
of the great mountain, lost in the mist behind them. The women were eager to get in to the warmth and
out of the cold and the rain.
Ginny and Sarah helped the women down from the cart until several women came out from the
Factory to assist. Wading through ankle deep water Ginny and Sarah then joined Mrs Hutchinson. She
led them into the Factory. It was two o’clock, dinner had finished and the Factory inmates were back at
work.
Ginny could hear muffled moaning and shrieks as they walked down the long stone corridor,
and there was a faint and very familiar smell in the air. It smelt not unlike the bilges of the Sydney

Cove, a mixture of stale urine, excrement and vomit. She made a sign to Sarah who waved her hand
across her face as if to waft the odour away.
The matron and her husband were intent on getting to their room and didn’t stop to explain
anything or open any of the big oak doors off the corridor. The Hutchinsons and their six children lived
in a tiny apartment at the front of the building. The room looked much like a church vestry. There were
many brass or soapstone crosses, most had the crucifixion upon them. Paintings of Jesus and the Virgin
Mary lined the walls and prayers embroidered on linen doilies and other religious artefacts were
scattered on the tables.. Mrs Hutchinson put the kettle on while her husband put a log on the embers in
the fireplace and shooed the kids into their bedroom.
“Right ladies. We’ll have a quick cuppa and then I’ll show you around the establishment.”
“Will they be having their dinner?” Ginny asked, worried that the women hadn’t eaten since
breakfast at 7 o’clock.
“Yes dear. The newcomers can have gruel and some bread and dripping. We’ll go and see them
in a minute but first let us pray.”
With that she bowed her head Sarah and Ginny knew that Governor Arthur was a religious
zealot and now they understood why the Hutchinsons fitted in so well with his vision of society. Even
before they toured the Factory, Ginny began to question whether she’d be able to work there.
Ginny and Sarah sipped their hot chocolate and warmed themselves at the fire as Mrs
Hutchinson told them about all the improvements she and her husband had made. The Cascades
Female Manufactory, or just the Factory as the townsfolk called it, was not like the usual English
House of Corrections. Its purpose was not merely to punish the female convicts, but to be a useful and
productive service for the colony. Governor Arthur was determined that Van Diemen’s Land should be
a boon and not a burden to his Queen and country.
Besides laundry and needlework, the Factory was also used to nurse the sick and insane, to
house women waiting for work, to care for the abused and the pregnant and to keep the loose and
immoral harlots away from the decent and god-fearing folks of Van Diemen’s Land.
The Huntchinsons had moved out of Hobarton a few years earlier. It had been a difficult start.
Rioting had broken out in February of that year and the badly burnt staircase was still in evidence, but
with more discipline they’d got everything under control. True, there were far more women than
expected and the buildings were very damp, but the Factory was built on an old marsh and the
occasional floods were bound to occur.
While Ginny and Sarah had cocoa with the Matron, the other women were herded into the
stables where they were inspected for lice and fleas. The women were very grateful that Surgeon
Brown had done a thorough job in caring for them and no-one was ordered into the cold and uninviting
metal bathtub to be scrubbed.
Most of the women were First Class or Assignables. They were allowed to keep their old
clothes, provided they were washed and inspected before being worn. They were fit, strong and healthy
and would work for the Government while waiting for a master to whom they could be rented. The few
children were given new clothes and some battered old toys.
The women who were sick or pregnant or had been transported for serious crimes such as
forgery were Second Class convicts. Their old clothes were taken away and burnt and they were issued
with a dress, petticoat, jacket, hat and boots, but of course, no undergarments. The clothes were poorly
made and the material was so coarse that the women would be scratched and itchy for the first few
days. They had to wear a big yellow band on the left arm.
The crew of the Sydney Cove had reported two of the women for resisting their advances. They
were tired of being raped. Both of them were put into the Crime class. This contained incorrigible
criminal women of highly immoral character. They were often locked in solitary confinement until
they repented of their wicked ways. These were the women whom Ginny heard yelling and screaming.

After an hour or so the Rev Hutchinson took Sarah and Ginny down to the stables. The Sydney
Cove women were gathered in groups according to their class. Their new clothes did little to keep off
the winter chill as they huddled together out of the rain.
The Reverend quickly explained the rules to the newcomers. There were many, many rules and
the women were in no mood to listen. They were tired and hungry and wanted food and sleep, but
experience told them that the sooner the man issued his orders the sooner they’d get in out of the cold.
Ginny smiled at several of the women she recognized. They smiled back nervously, unsure of
why she wasn’t standing in the windy stables with them. After the welcome speech, the women were
led into the kitchen in single file, starting with the First Class.
Three regulars were in the kitchen doling out the women’s meager rations, a fist-sized piece of
moldy bread and a bowl of gruel. Ginny and Sarah had the same except that their bread was only a
little stale and their gruel was thick with oats and contained a few small pieces meaty gristle.
Meanwhile, the Reverend enthusiastically explained to them how he’d improved the women’s
diet. Apparently the women would get fresh vegetables or fresh fruit twice a week in winter and three
times a week in summer. This, according to the science of the day, would make them calmer, more
content and more productive and eventually more suitable for marriage to someone of good character.
Ginny couldn’t see any signs of fruit or vegetable in the cold bare kitchen.
The women were led back outside to eat their meal. The children ate last; their meal was
pitifully small. The British Government did not pay for the children and Governor Arthur bitterly
resented frittering away his hard-earned budget knowing that most of the children would die before
puberty.
Ginny pushed her bowl towards a little girl, no more than six years old. She grabbed it eagerly
and pushed her face ravenously into the bowl, but the gruel was scalding hot and she fell backwards,
pouring the hot soup over herself. She let out a loud scream of pain. The Matron glanced her way and
casually picked up a large wooden spoon. With a well practised motion, she hit the little girl twice hard
about her head. The girl fell back to the floor stunned and Matron motioned to two regulars to carry her
outside and dump her in the stable.
She turned back to Ginny.
“Now ye don’t want to be doing that anymore, d’ya hear!”
Ginny was aghast at the cruel treatment, but she bit down on her lip and nodded meekly. The
Matron smiled and the tour of the Factory began.
Sarah and Ginny followed Mrs Hutchinson out into the exercise yard. It was a small stone
quadrangle in the centre of the third building. It was dank and gloomy, surrounded by four high walls.
To Ginny it looked as though it would never be in the sun, even in summer.
Convict women squatted in the ankle-deep water, shivering in the drizzle as they picked apart
ropes and twine to meet their daily quota of oakum. At one end of the yard, a group of women was
washing some of the townsfolk’s clothes in several big stone tubs. It was absolutely silent. The women
looked up wordlessly at Sarah and Ginny. Noting that they weren’t in the Factory uniform they
shrugged and turned away.
Matron said nothing, she just pointed to a door off the yard. Ginny went to the door and opened
it. Inside, eighty women and several dozen children were crammed into a tiny low room. The room
was five paces by ten paces, the stench was overpowering and the floor was deep in mud. Each of the
ten bunks was crowded with people trying to stay dry above the water. There were no windows, just a
small faintly glowing lamp at each end of the room. Some of the women raised their hands to their
eyes block out the light streaming in through the doorway.
It was also completely silent. Even the children were quiet. They were very pale and thin, and
their skin was almost grey. Their clothes hung in rags from their emaciated frames. It reminded Ginny
of the kids who lived at the end of her street back in London. They’d died of starvation after their
parents had been hanged for killing a gentleman’s horse for food.
Ginny closed the door quietly. Matron led them across the yard to another door. She opened it
and beckoned to them to follow. They were in a dimly lit stone passageway. Ginny could hear a faint
whimpering and scratching sound. Matron took a dimly glowing lamp from the wall and holding it
high, crept down the corridor. Suddenly a barrage of screaming and wailing echoed around them; the
inmates had noticed them!
“Who’s that?” and “Let me out, ya bastards!” and “You’re a cunt Matron!”
Matron tensed up, Ginny saw her pause and heard her mutter harshly to herself. She opened the
first door with a loud creaking noise. Inside a small alcove ran to the right, at the end was another door.
Inside was another door, opening it revealed a tiny cell two paces by three paces; it was empty. It
was one of the many solitary cells, and it contained a stone bed and two large buckets, one for water,
the other for waste. Many of the Crime Class women spent months at a time in these cells. Surrounded
by the screams and cries of their fellow prisoners they never saw anyone, never saw any daylight,
never heard the wind, the rain, or the birds. Their sole purpose was to punish the women by totally
cutting them off from the rest of the world. Matron explained that the Lord would mend them of their
foolish and wicked ways, if only they opened themselves to him! Ginny shuddered in disbelief. This
was much worse than the Steel! She wondered if they put masks on the women too but she was too
afraid of the answer to ask.
Sarah clung to Ginny’s hand as they re-entered the exercise yard. The washerwomen
contemplated them in thoughtful silence. Matron smiled grimly and ushered them over to another door.
Inside, a half burnt-out staircase led up to the next floor.
The first room was to be Sarah and Ginny’s room. It already crowded with thirty Assignables.
It was a small room, some six paces square, with a ceiling high enough for three bunks. The fading
light of late afternoon shone through the two small, high windows.
Matron explained that this was the Factory’s best room and Sarah and Ginny could share a
bunk and as they wouldn’t be part of the Mess they could eat in the kitchen. Their work would be to
minister to the sick and help maintain the cleanliness of the Factory to reduce disease.
Ginny stifled an urge to laugh aloud at Mrs Hutchinson’s comments. The woman seemed to be
blind to the squalor and deprivation of her charges. Ginny could see fleas and cockroaches on the straw
mattresses on the bunks.
Ginny didn’t care at all for the Factory. It looked and felt like a prison and a lunatic asylum.
She didn’t know if any of the other Factories were any better and she didn’t believe that the hulk was
“not like the hulks on the Thames,” but she knew that the Cascades Factory was not for her.
“I’m sorry Matron,” Ginny began awkwardly “You’ve done nice here, but can I please look at
some of the other places, the other Factories and the Anson? Me brother was on an ‘ulk and I’d like to
be sure they don’t need me more.”
Matron eyed her sternly with a hard look in her eye and then she nodded slowly.
“I see. And you?” she asked turning to Sarah.
Sarah smiled back anxiously and after a short pause, she replied.
“Yes, yes. Me too I’m afraid. We must aid those most in need.”
With that, Matron rose to her feet angrily. “Right then. You must sleep here tonight and return
to Hobarton on the morrow. Be ready at dawn. Good Day!”
As the door slammed shut behind her, Sarah burst into tears. She was glad that they’d seen the
Cascades Factory, but what if the Anson was worse? A few of the other women room crowded around
them. They talked well into the night.
Chapter 17:
Father Manton assembled the Navarino boys in the central courtyard at dawn on the first day. It
was freezing cold, the ground was hard with frost, and the boys stamped about trying to keep warm as
their breath froze in the still air. Billy wore nearly all of his newly issued clothes except his Sunday
suit. He was lucky that he had small feet, as the shoes only came in a few sizes. Some boys’ feet were
too large and they had to cut their shoes open so their naked toes stuck out of the ends. Socks, like
undergarments, were considered an unearned luxury.
The Father’s first order was to make the boys run five times around the outside of the
courtyard. Once they were warmed up, he delivered several prayers and blessed them and their stay in
Point Puer. Then he addressed them briefly.
“Boys, you may consider yourselves very lucky that the Governor, Colonel Arthur, has built
this establishment for your benefit. A few years ago, you would be working on the labour gangs in the
bush along with the men. But now, thanks to the goodness of the Governor you will earn redemption
for your sins and get good food and an education while in service of the Crown.”
He spoke quietly but his voice carried clearly, bouncing off the buildings that surrounded the
courtyard.
“Let me explain your situation. You may think of Point Puer as the bottom part of an island, the
same island that houses Port Arthur just across the bay there.” He waved his hand over to the west.
“Now, just north of this island is another island and just north of that is the main island of Van
Diemen’s Land.”
Some of the boys were starting to yawn, but Billy was fascinated. He wanted to know where he
was.
“Each of these islands is connected by a little strip of land. So, if you were set free, you could
walk from here all the way to Hobarton without getting your feet wet.”
The boys murmured with interest as Father Manton continued.
“If you are good and work hard and pray hard, you will make that walk. It is a long walk; it
takes about four days, but let me make it perfectly clear to you all, that the only way you’ll leave this
place is by earning your Ticket of Leave or by booking your passage to the Isle of the Dead.”
They’d all heard the stories of the Isle. Billy could see it clearly from his dormitory, and on
clear days the boys would watch the burial boat take the dead convicts to their final resting place.
“There is no escape from Point Puer and there is no escape from Port Arthur. There never has
been and there never will be, not for the living anyway.” Father Manton concluded solemnly.
“Let me acquaint you with the procedures here at Point Puer. We have many rules and
regulations. You will learn them all and you will obey them all. As you saw yesterday, you must
respect our Lord Jesus and the rules or else you will feel the pain of his wrath,” Manton smiled
sweetly.
Ginny and Sarah walked carefully down George Street, picking their way between muddy
puddles down to the river. Their escort, a burly Policeman called Briggs, fended off the advances of
several bleary-eyed drunks who tried to strike up a conversation with the two women.
As they approached the waters edge Ginny looked up at the HMS Anson looming large and
grey in the river before her. The ship was in the centre of an oily pool of filth whose vile stench wafted
towards them in the light breeze. She was anchored by heavy chains and surrounded by several small
rowing boats. A thick hawser ran from amidships on the upper deck over to the shore. At the shore, a
few yards from the end of the street, a collection of huts hid a robust ferryboat. The ferry was wide and
low, its large deck piled with boxes. Stout ropes ran from either end of the boat up to the Anson’s
hawser.
The huts were a hive of activity. Men were carrying cargo between the ferry and huts. Several
ox-carts were arranged around the huts and were also laden with goods.
Mr Briggs led them down to the huts, explaining that the HMS Anson was a 74 gun Third Class
Ship of the Line. She’d been a fine ship in her day and they were sure to find out everything about it
very soon.
A short woman came waddling up from the hut to meet them. She was Miss Maureen Skipton,
number thirty one twenty four. Ginny introduced herself as Virginia Mary Fotheringham, number
twenty-one oh six. Sarah raised her eyebrows quizzically, introduced herself as Sarah Churchill, and
wondered why Ginny had taken a new name.
"What a bleedin’ pong! Is it that bad inside?" Ginny asked.
"No, no, not at all. Well, maybe. That is, you don't really notice it except when you're ashore
you know!”
"You see, Miss Fotheringham, you must remember from t’hulks on Thames, ducks. Problem is
in t’pooh, that, and still water. We ‘ave nigh on 300 people on board and t’ jakes are buggered up most
of time. So, we usually use toilet platforms just like you probably did on your ship? Bloody terrible an
all! If they moved Anson a bit further out it’d catch t’wind and t’smell wouldn't linger around ship."
"And? Why can’t they move it?” asked Ginny.
"Ah well ducks. I can’t do it mesel. Movin’ t’ship is a doddle but moving t’lads is a right
bugger! They're all too busy with men things to help us ‘uns."
"Men things?"
"Aye ducks. Y'know, men things. Drinking, whoring, and fighting. Men things!" Maureen
explained caustically.
Maureen was a jolly woman, with a thick Yorkshire accent, heavy brown hair, and freckles.
They chatted as they waited for their few bags to be loaded on to the ferry. With a shudder of
apprehension, Ginny began to remember the things Billy had told her about his confinement on the
hulks in the Thames.
An hour or so later, a tall man waved to them from the deck of the ferry and they carefully
picked their way down the muddy path to the boat.
The Captain of the ferry was John Grundy. An affable man with red cheeks and a gap-toothed
smile, he was fond of saying that he was the former Captain of the HMS Anson. He took great delight
in telling stories about his adventures on the High Seas. He was very amusing and Ginny laughed out
loud at some of his little anecdotes. He was in his late fifties, a swarthy and tough cove who looked
every bit as though he'd sailed the seven seas all his life and if it weren’t for his bad leg and the
pleading of Governor Arthur, he'd still be sailing round the Cape with the gales of the roaring forties
filling his sails.
Maureen grinned at Ginny; Captain Grundy was in no rush to cast off. He was having fun
entertaining the new ladies while they waited for the remaining stores to be loaded onto the ferry. They
sat on a blanket on some boxes in the sun, drank hot chocolate, and listened as Captain John retold the
story of the giant whale that almost swallowed his ship off Cape Town back in the twenties.
As he turned to shout orders over to the winch hut Maureen whispered over to Ginny, "It's all right
Ginny. He doesn't stay aboard. Gets seasick."
They both giggled at the thought. The water was dead flat, and not a ripple disturbed its
mirrored surface.
Eventually Captain Grundy could delay no more and he ordered the men to start the winch. A
team of two donkeys turned the big wheel, winding a rope through a set of pulleys. The rope attached
to the bow of the ferry went taut as the slack was taken up and smoothly and silently, the ferry began to
move away from the shore.
The Anson was only 300 yards from shore and they reached it in no time at all. Ginny stared up
at the big looming shape of the old frigate. They came up along the starboard aft side. The smell of
human waste was overpowering. The river was black with excrement and Ginny could see the
underside of the toilet platform hanging over the stern of the ship. All the portholes were shut and the
aft of the Anson was black with human waste.
"Got to get timing right here ducks," Maureen commented. "If t’ wind's not right we could ‘ave
a little shower from up yonder," she pointed to the toilet platform.
Ginny grimaced; this was no different from back home. She realized that for some strange
reason she'd hoped that Van Diemen’s Land might be better. Perhaps it was the clear blue skies, green
fields, and wide-open vistas outside Hobarton. She was mildly disappointed, but she reflected, at least
she was no longer at sea. The Anson couldn't be as bad as the Sydney Cove.
Ginny and Sarah followed Maureen up the stout ladder onto the deck of the HMS Anson. Two
burly men helped her up and over the side and set her down on the deck. A group of women waited to
greet them.
Sister Williams, the head nurse thanked Maureen and immediately whisked them away on a
tour of the ship. As the ferryboat cargo was winched aboard, Sister Williams explained the purpose of
the Anson.
The vessel, HMS Anson was a 74-gun frigate; she’d sailed to Van Diemen’s Land with almost
600 men. They had deemed her unseaworthy for the return voyage and she’d been sold cheaply to the
Van Diemen’s Land Company. The Governor decided to use her to hold newly arrived female convicts
for a few months before they were found new homes and places of work in the community. She held
288 women and a crew of 20 women and 15 men.
Ginny was impressed by her size; it was considerably larger than the Sydney Cove. However,
below decks was very cramped. They were taken all the way down to the orlop deck first. Like the
Sydney Cove, this deck was deep down in the bowels of the ship; however, it was mainly used for
storage. Sister Williams mentioned with a casual wave of her hand that the solitary confinement cells
were at the bow of the vessel. Ginny asked whether they were ever used.
“Certainly, there are many wayward girls in our care. Sometimes a little detention can do them
good,” Sister Williams replied.
They climbed the stairs to the lower deck where 80 women lived. Most of them sat in small
groups talking while they knitted or crocheted. The walls were lined with portholes though which the
afternoon sun streamed cheerily. There were cabins for several female officers and nurses. The women
slept two to each bunk and two bunks high. It was cramped, but there was ample room between beds
for storage.
In the middle of the deck was a large bright common room. The ceiling was just over five feet
high, uncomfortably low for most men, but few of the women had to stoop. It was decorated with
cheerful displays of flowers, paintings, needlework, and handicrafts. Ginny was very pleased to see
such a neat and sunny room. It almost made her feel good to be on the ship; almost, but not quite. The
voyage on the Sydney Cove had taught her that life at sea was not a pleasant experience.
The convicts appeared to be quite content. Ginny suspected that they’d just had their lunchtime
medicine to quieten them down. Sarah seemed quite taken with the scene. It was like a lower class
version of her Aunt’s convalescent home in Brighton. Sarah had been impressed with Florence
Nightingale when she visited their parish. Florence was a few years older and quite a bit richer than
Sarah but she knew that she wanted to help sick people and heal their minds and their bodies. Sarah
had never really known what she wanted to do with her life. She’d been transported after being caught
playing a very silly prank at a Gala Ball and the shame that she’d brought upon her family had been
unbearable. She was almost glad to have been sent to Van Diemen’s Land. Perhaps she could become
the Van Demonian Florence Nightingale?
Sister Williams clapped her hands and called for silence. ”Ladies, I’d like you to meet Sarah
Churchill and Virginia Fotheringham. They’ve just arrived on the Sydney Cove and one of them will be
our new Nursing Assistant. The other will go to help Mrs Bowden at the Launceston Manufactory.”
Ginny and Sarah looked at her quizzically. This was news to them. Ginny had noticed that
since their arrival in Van Diemen’s Land that Sarah was beginning to look a bit healthier. She still had
not got her rosy red cheeks back and her hair was still thin but she wasn’t scratching her head so much
or complaining of lice.
Sister Williams took Ginny and Sarah to the stern of the ship and showed them the tiny little
cabin next to the water closet. This, she announced, would be their new home. Ginny was very
surprised to find that a mere assistant nurse would have a cabin to herself, but Sister Williams
explained that most of the staff had been aboard for over a year and could be expected to live on the
Anson for up to three years. Suddenly, the little cabin seemed much smaller and almost claustrophobic.
For the first time Ginny also noticed the smell from the water closet. When she asked Sister
Williams if she could open the porthole she was answered with a laugh as Sister Williams pointed up
to the toilet platform that hung from the stern of the ship directly above the cabin. Ginny screwed her
face up at the thought of living directly beneath the toilet but Sarah just shrugged nonchalantly. They
came back onto the deck and waited while Sister Williams went above to supervise unloading some of
the supplies. Ginny looked over to her friend who was engrossed in conversation with some of the
convict women. Sarah seemed to like the look of the Anson. It was bright, cheery, and warm. Ginny
decided that she’d go on to Launceston and let Sarah settle down on the hulk.
Chapter18:
Ginny left Sarah just before teatime. They exchanged presents, something to remember each
other by. Ginny gave Sarah her one of her poetry books and Sarah gave her a bustle and some lacy
drawers. They had a good laugh when Ginny said she’d wear both of them just as soon as she met the
man she liked enough to ask to remove them.
They’d hugged and cried a little together before Ginny went back down onto the ferry. Their
voyage on the Sydney Cove had been long and arduous. It seemed like an age since they’d last seen
civilization. Sister Williams had assured them that they could write and the Government would deliver
their correspondence. The ferry docked on the banks of the river. Ginny saw Sarah wave down to her
then slowly turn and go back into her new home.
The Anchor Inn was very crowded. The arrival of the Sydney Cove and the Navarino had
attracted many people from all over Van Diemen’s Land. They came looking for labourers, skilled
craftsmen, home help, and more importantly, wives. New convicts were good for business in Hobart
town and Governor Arthur intended to process them slowly to keep the country folk and their money
in town for a while.
Silas Daly sat at a small table in a quiet, dark corner of crowded room slowly savouring a pint
of beer. A tall man pushed his way through, looked around, and then strode up to Silas.
“Mind if I share your table, good, sir?”
Daly nodded and waved at the stool. The man sat down and took a big long draught of ale. He
looked at Daly over the top of his blackjack.
“Well, well, Mister Daly. Fancy meeting you in these parts!”
Daly looked at him; he vaguely recognized the thin, mean face. “Why didn’t we meet at the
Arsenal last year?” he said searching for the name, “You’re, you’re …”
“Blanch, formerly Captain Blanch, now just George Blanch. At your service,” the man said,
extending his hand.
“Daly, Silas Daly. Ex-Private and soon to be a Van Demonian,” Daly replied, then struck by a
sudden embarrassing recollection he added. “Ah yes, Captain Blanch. I helped you find those um, er,
ladies, you wanted for that little celebration.”
“Yes, yes absolutely,” Blanch interjected quickly, afraid that they would be overheard. “But
that’s all in the past now. I’m surprised you remember anything about that night, Silas!”
The two men laughed. It was a long time ago and far away.
“Cheers!” Daly said raising his tankard. “So what brings you here then? It’s a long way from
the Floating Academy and you say you’re out of the service now too?”
Blanch snorted in disgust. “Damn it to hell! I never intended to come anywhere near this
godforsaken place! Someone spread some vicious lies about me and the Inspectors shipped me out on a
bloody convict lag!”
“Hmmm. That’s no way to reward your service to the Crown is it?”
“Humph. No! Quite! I have a very good idea who it is and I’ll get the damned fellow, so help
me!” Blanch stopped and thought for a bit then he bent forward over the table and whispered to Daly.
“You’ve just arrived on the Sydney Cove haven’t you?”
Daly nodded.
“Hah! I thought so. Takes a while to get the stench of the damned convict scum out!”
Daly eyes almost popped out of his head and he nearly choked on his beer. “Shhhh! Not here,
man! Look where you are. Most of ‘em here are old lags y’know.”
Blanch looked around suspiciously, his eyes narrowed. “Another ale?” he asked, rising and
going to the taproom without waiting for an answer.
Daly sipped his beer thoughtfully. Blanch was as mean and nasty as ever. He wondered exactly
why he’d been sent to Van Diemen’s Land. He wanted something. Blanch had never been one for idle
gossip.
When he returned, they chatted for a bit before Blanch finally explained what he wanted. “So,
Mr Daly, I have a question for you. Now I want you to think carefully about this. It is important to me
and I could make it rewarding for you.”
He leant forward and continued conspiratorially, “Have you heard of a woman named Foxe?
Virginia Foxe? I believe she was in the cargo of the Sydney Cove. I want to ask her about her brother
William.”
Daly frowned and pursed his lips in concentration. He wasn’t sure he’d tell this man about
Ginny just yet. Why was he interested and how much would he pay? It was then that Daly realized that
perhaps he’d best avoid this ex-Captain Blanch. There was something nasty about him.
“Well, sir. Let me see now. There were nearly two hundred women on the ship y’know. You
wouldn’t happen to have her number by any chance? I could ask around.”
Blanch stared at him in silence for a long minute. Daly felt the man was sizing him up, trying to
decide whether he was telling him the truth. “Yes, I’m sure you must’ve had a few contacts among the
women. I hear that every sailor had at least two women a day to fuck on the Sydney Cove!”
Blanch chuckled at his own joke. Daly eyed him coldly and said nothing.
“Yes m’boy. By all means ask, I don’t have her number but I know she’s about eighteen with
bright red hair and crooked teeth. If you can help me I’d be willing to pay you.”
With that, he gulped down his beer, and left. It was bad news for Ginny. Daly felt guilty about
the incident on the Sydney Cove. He was determined not to upset her this time. Blanch would have to
find Ginny on his own.
It was just a big adventure at first. Billy marveled at the big bright blue sky, the boiling hot
summer, the strange calls of the Cicadas, Honeyeaters, Wattlebirds and Rosellas and the peculiar sight
of Wallabies, Pademelons, Devils, and Porpoises. Point Puer was vastly different from London. He
was a city lad; he'd never even been to the English countryside before. The most he'd experienced of
Nature's beauty was playing in the snow on the frozen river Thames in mid-winter or smelling the
flowers while he eluded the Bobbies in Regents Park. At Point Puer, at the very southern tip of
Britain’s southernmost possession, Billy had been given the chance to look at life beyond the crowded
and squalid city.
The food at the Boys Reformatory School was adequate. Three meals a day; sometimes the
dinner was large enough to actually satiate his constant hunger for a little while. Most of the boys
worked as labourers but Billy was too small and after the first month, he was taken on as an apprentice
shoemaker. For once in his life, luck had been on his side.

They had school lessons every other day and he'd managed to learn to read and write a few
sentences from the Bible, although he occasionally had to spell out each word. Arithmetic was totally
incomprehensible to him as it was to most of the boys.
They spent six hours a day working and their time was regulated with military precision. They
rose at dawn, washed, exercised, went to prayers, and then breakfasted. Then they attended school or
worked until noon. After dinner, they went back to work until three when they were allowed a short
break. They then worked again until prayers and supper at five o’clock after which they were allowed
an hour of free time. Then it was work for another two hours then they washed before more prayers
and then to bed at dusk.
Billy Foxe was restless, for even though he knew he was probably better off than back in
London, he hated being locked up. He liked the beautiful bay and the warm sunshine but he resented
being bossed around. He couldn't leave the sight of an overseer or a monitor for a minute. He'd been
sent to solitary confinement several times and threatened with the lash.
When he was in solitary, he began to think of the map. He never mentioned it to anyone and the
few Navarino boys he saw seemed to have forgotten about it too. Billy wondered whether Raeburn and
Donaldson really had buried the treasure from the HMS Hope. He daydreamed about taking
Donaldson’s half of the map and making him carry a huge treasure chest across Van Diemen’s Land
and up to China and then back to England where he’d buy a mansion in Chelsea. Donaldson would be
his butler, no, his footman. He would have to clean up after the horses of Billy’s private coach. Ginny
would have her own room too. He wondered where his sister was now. He schemed about escaping
and walking to England. It helped pass the time.
He made no friends at school. The other boys were all hopelessly stupid. Billy had no time for
them; they were all dimwits. He could understand why they were all in prison. He found it hard to
imagine himself as a prisoner. He felt normal, inquisitive, passionate, and lively but he wasn’t nasty.
He wasn’t mean. Why did he deserve to be marooned in this barren little place at the end of the world?
Chapter 19:
Ginny left on the long road to Launceston the following morning. She wanted to stay longer in
Hobarton but the Governor had made room for her on the weekly Coach, a gesture that she could
hardly refuse. She had also been warned that it was unsafe to travel without a military escort. Armed
natives and bushrangers had been seen along the route.
The carriage was simple but sturdy. It had hard wooden seats and a low roof made of kangaroo
skin. Its big open wooden wheels and leaf springs ensured that Ginny felt every bump and hole in the
road.
It was winter and the brief spell of calm weather had passed. The Coach was escorted by two
mounted police and Ginny’s guard, a young policeman barely out of his teens, had to ride next to the
driver.
Ginny was crammed into the carriage with 7 others: 4 women, 2 men and boy of about 10 years
old. She was happy that the coach was crowded. It helped to keep the temperature inside above
freezing. Outside rain and sleet lashed down turning the road into heavy mud. The progress was very
slow. Ginny was sure that she could have walked faster.
“Do we really need them guards? Must be freezing out there,” Ginny said to no-one in
particular.
“The Governor’s a very thorough fellow,” the woman opposite her replied. “He takes no
chances now that the Big River tribe has been seen coming east.”
One of the men, a thin sour-faced chap, raised his eyebrows and said, “You seem to know an
awful lot for a woman.”
Ginny’s heart skipped a beat. The red-faced man was going to be difficult. Ginny waited and
began counting to herself to keep her temper calm.
“Ah, you must be Captain Blanch or should I say Mister Blanch,” the woman said smoothly as
she turned to face the man. “My name is Booth, Mary Booth. You may have heard of me? No?”
Blanch reddened. Ginny waited nervously for him to explode.
“My brother mentioned that you might be joining us on the way to Launceston. His name is
Arthur, George Arthur, the Governor? I gather you are also a recent arrival to our fair shores, Mister
Blanch.”
Blanch made a few bumbling remarks in which he very nearly apologized. Ginny tried hard to
suppress her grin. It wasn’t going to be too bad a journey after all.
After a little while Blanch seemed to relax and his attention focused on Ginny. She looked
away quickly, self-consciously. She thought furiously, an ex-Captain? She’d watched him approach
the Coach with the rolling gait of a sailor. He had to be a sealer or was he from Billy’s ship? That thin
frame and permanent sneer, could that be the man who’d pushed Billy down onto the deck when she’d
last glimpsed him so many weeks ago? She couldn’t remember. Perhaps she should talk to him? See if
he knew what became of Billy? No. He didn’t look as though he’d care too much for a convict.
“Do you like your new home Miss?” He leant forward.
Ginny started, surprised at the question. “I trust in the Lord, sir” she replied slightly smugly.
Mrs Booth raised a skeptical eyebrow. Perhaps she didn’t exude piety Ginny thought.
“Did you arrive on the Sydney Cove, Miss, er, Miss, Miss …” his voice trailed away.
“Fotheringham, Victoria Fotheringham. Yes, I did, sir. My escort is Constable Morgan,” she
explained, keen to point out that she had Police protection.
Blanch digested the information thoughtfully. “Did you meet a woman called Foxe, Virginia
Foxe by any chance?”
Ginny paused; she’d changed her name in order to avoid people like Captain Blanch. “I don’t
think so. We were 200 women aboard, sir. Mostly we knew the numbers, not the names. You wouldn’t
have her number would you?”
Blanch stared at her skeptically before replying.
“No. No numbers Miss, er, Fotheringham,” he said, using her name very deliberately. “But I
have news of her brother, William. Very sad news, I’m afraid.”
Ginny’s heart leapt into her mouth. Billy! What’s happened to Billy? She was just about to say
something when Mrs Booth suddenly broke in.
“I can get her number for you Mister Blanch. But your best bet is down in Hobarton you
know.”
Ginny took a deep breath.
She could feel Blanch still staring at her.
“Thank you. Mrs Booth. I’ll take your advice. In the meantime, Miss Fotheringham. If you do
know of anyone who cares about William Foxe, I can be contacted through any Police Department. I
am to become an officer in the Van Diemen’s Land Company in a few weeks. Believe me. I do care
about poor William and I really want to help him.”
The boys rankled at the strict discipline and constant prayers, but Billy worked very hard to
keep out of trouble. He thought that the birching was a just a joke and not a real punishment, although
the spectacle was a welcome break from work. The Scourger hardly ever drew blood, but Father
Mason had other ways and insisted that any boy who’d cly’d the jerk must pay for the whip. Solitary
confinement and lack of privileges were the main punishment. However, if they behaved, the boys
were paid a small sum each week, half of which went into a special account for use once they were set
free.
Billy was certainly fitter and healthier than he’d ever been. Point Puer wasn’t a school; it was a
prison. There were a vast number of rules and regulations. The Government Men from Port Arthur
were assigned to help at Point Puer and took immense enjoyment in making the boys’ life a misery.
They would take certain boys out to the forest to collect firewood. The boys would return with food
and money and whispered stories of buggery and orgies. O’Reilly and Turner ran the senior dorm and
extorted bribes from both the boys and the Port Arthur convicts for their silence. Billy didn’t know
how much to believe, but sodomy was a hanging offence and could only lead to trouble. As soon as he
found out what was going on he told Turner and O’Reilly to leave him alone or he’d rat on them.
Billy had never been to a school before and he enjoyed it immensely. His housemaster was
Mister Higgins. Higgins taught most of senior boys. He was a Master Cordwainer and Billy took to
shoe making and cobbling like a duck to water. Within a few months Billy had tanned hides of
wallabies, sheep and cattle. He had successfully made several pairs of simple shoes and had progressed
onto making a pair of boots. He was glad that he’d earnt enough money on the Navarino to buy the
leather as it meant he could sell some of the shoes to the Port Arthur men.
Billy’s voice broke just before his 16th birthday. It was fortunate timing; Mister Braithwaite, the
choirmaster needed a baritone. Billy had always enjoyed singing and liked to accompany Ginny on her
griddling outings to sing for her supper outside Covent Garden. Billy was given the part because he
could fit into the only uniform that Mr Braithwaite had left. It was a much sought after position as it
meant practicing several afternoons each week rather than making bricks from mud or digging in the
garden.
One Sunday afternoon Billy was alone in the workshop checking on a pademelon hide he was
tanning when there was a knock on the door. He opened it and there stood two Aboriginal men. He’d
seen them before, they called them Charlie and Bob after the two English Prime Ministers Earl Grey
and Robert Peel. They were dressed in leather trews as Father Manton forbade them to appear naked,
as was their preference. Billy was surprised to see them, as they were usually inebriated and horizontal
well before noon. Both men were as black as coal, blacker than any of the niggers he’d seen on the
London docks. They had broader noses and thinner lips than the niggers back in London. They wore
their long red hair in ringlets smeared with ochre and fat.
Billy thought the men looked quite handsome, but phew! Did they stink! Billy crinkled up his
nose at the smell of sweat mixed with fish oil. Their hard muscled bodies glistened with the oil that
they used to repel flies and mosquitoes.
“Go away.” Billy waved his hand at them.
They smiled and nodded vigorously and pointed past Billy to the inside of the workshop. Billy
tried to shoo them away but they wouldn’t go. They just kept pointing into the workshop and
mumbling at him.
After a few minutes, Billy noticed Mr Higgins coming down the hill to the workshop. The
natives followed Billy’s gaze and turned around. Then they let out a peal of laughter and ran away up
to the teacher. They jumped around Mr Higgins, laughing and smiling and clapping their hands as he
smiled and tried to calm them down.
When they got to the workshop Mr Higgins smiled at Billy and told him to fetch the big box
from his desk. Mr Higgins took the box and laid it on the ground behind the workshop where no-one
else could see what they were doing. He squatted down with the two natives.
To Billy’s surprise, Higgins began to converse with the aborigines in their tongue. It was a low
mumbling sort of language, quite pleasant, it sounded a bit like water tumbling over rocks in a
mountain stream.
Higgins grasped the box and opened it. He took out a small bow, and an arrow, but the arrow
had no feathers and the end was round and blunt. There was also a small wooden plank and a pile of
wood shaving and chips. Charlie and Bob smiled broadly. Billy envied their beautiful bright white
teeth.
“Do you know what this is, William me lad?” Mr Higgins waved Billy closer.
It looked very strange. Billy had no idea. But the natives knew exactly what it was. They put
the piece of wood on the ground. It had a half-inch wide pit near the middle and a two-inch notch taken
out of the edge. Charlie took some of the wood shaving and put them in the notch. Bob took the arrow
and twisted it once in the string of the bow, then he put the blunt end of the arrow into the depression
near the notch. Mr Higgins watched them, a big smile beaming across his face. Billy was fascinated.
Bob held the piece of wood down with both feet and put his left hand on the top of the arrow,
holding the bow parallel to the ground. Bob moved the bow back and forth like a saw, making the
arrow spin rapidly and drill into the pit in the wood. Billy watched in amazement as Bob sawed faster
and faster and a plume of smoke started to rise from the wood. Bob grunted with effort and Charlie
sprinkled wood shavings right over the end of the arrow.
Bob stopped and Charlie piled on more shavings then put his face right down onto the ground
and blew gently onto the pile. Billy could see a glow from inside the pile and then a tiny flame that
grew and grew. In a few seconds it had caught and Bob added some wood chips. In no time they had a
little fire going. The men clapped and laughed.
“You see William, ” Mr Higgins explained with a laugh. “Only a few natives know how to
make fire. Now Bob and Charlie can do it. They can go back home and get themselves a really good
wife.”
Billy had been very surprised that Mr Higgins was helping the niggers. Most people despised
them or at best ignored them. Mr Higgins said that they were the original owners of the land and were
to be respected. The Governor planned to make them all Christians, then they would become civilized
and could be useful members of the community. Until then, they were to be treated with dignity and
tolerance. It wasn’t easy as the natives that most white people saw were old and dressed in rags and
liked nothing better than to sleep under a bush all day with a bottle of grog or two.
Over the ensuing Sundays, Billy learnt a lot more about the aborigines from Mr Higgins. They
were natives or aborigines, not niggers, Indians, boongs, darkies, abos or savages. Mr Higgins had
been born in Simla, India. He was raised by an Indian nurse and was very keen on native languages
and traditions. He’d chosen to come to Van Diemen’s Land to study them and learn their culture but
the Governor needed more shoe-makers so he asked Mr Higgins to work at Point Puer for two years
and then he’d see if the Governor Arthur could use him.
It was common knowledge that the aborigines were idle and stupid. They couldn’t read or write and
had no art to speak of. They didn’t raise animals or tend crops. They’d never even bothered to defend
their homeland when the white man first arrived. They had the intelligence and morals of apes.
In fact, the Governor’s wife referred to them as Orang Outans. The Governor was frustrated
that the natives were causing trouble by attacking white farms, killing sheep and burning the crops.
They just didn’t seem to understand that they were living on British soil and should behave in a
civilized manner. He’d commissioned a self-taught preacher named Augustus Robinson to capture the
natives and civilize them by converting them to Christianity.
Mr Higgins’ fourteen-year-old son had died in a boating accident just before they’d left Sydney
for Hobarton. His wife doted on their two daughters but Higgins missed his son very badly. Billy
reminded Mr Higgins of his boy Michael, for he had the same air of patience, curiosity and good
humour. When he saw that Billy was starting to enjoy the company of the two black fellas he began to
trust him and gradually he grew to confide in him.
As time went on, Billy became aware that Mr Higgins liked him and for his part, his teacher
was a lot like his father had been, only a lot smarter. Billy really enjoyed his Sunday afternoon
meetings and after a few weeks.
Mister Higgins started to tell Billy some of his secrets. And what secrets he had! Billy was
enthralled to discover the scandalous treasures that Mister Higgins imparted!
Mister Higgins actually liked the natives and he thought that France should’ve colonized Van
Diemen’s Land rather than England!
Higgins realized that he was safe; Billy would not dob him in to Pastor Manton. He enjoyed
telling the boy his little mysteries. He told Billy that in 1803 the French had sent a ship full of
scientists to explore Van Diemen’s Land. The Commander, Nicholas Baudin and his one of his
scientists, Baron Degerando, were ardent followers of Jean-Jacques Rousseau whose egalitarian and
humanitarian philosophies fired the French Revolution. Higgins explained to Billy that, under the
French, the Black Fellas would have had much more freedom, respect and equality. Terre Napoleon
would’ve been a much better home for Bob and Charlie than Van Diemen’s Land was turning out to
be. But at that time, England and France were at war and the English panicked and raised the Union
Flag over the Baudin’s encampment, claiming the island for the British. It was so hurried that the flag
was raised upside-down and the French even had to help the English Captain Robbins repair his
damaged ship so that he could return to Sydney with the news of his victory.
Higgins’ views bordered on treason!
Billy was captivated! For the first time in his life he was made to think about something beyond
where his next meal was coming from.
Billy also enjoyed sitting down together when Mr Higgins would translate Bob and Charlie’s
story to Billy. Their band, the Mouheneenner, had been peaceful and content until the white farmers
stopped them from using their summer hunting grounds. At first they just cleared the brush, which was
good because it made the hunting easier. But then they shot all the kangaroos and brought in sheep.
The Palawa, the black fella, did not eat sheep. The whites gave them food and blankets. The following
winter many of the tribe died from the shivering disease. Then the whites tried to chase the blacks off
their farms and when that failed they shot them.
Bob and Charlie told Billy of Augustus Robinson’s failed attempt to civilize the Bruny island
band, the Lyluequonny, to Christianity. It’d almost wiped out the band. Mr Higgins couldn’t
understand why the Governor still believed that Robinson could convert the aborigines.
Billy sat on the rock and look northwards towards the Isle of the Dead. A small group of men
was laying out two corpses on the rocks. There was no more soil left in which to bury anyone so they
let the seagulls strip the flesh from the bodies before burying the bones. Bob and Charlie were horrified
by the tiny island. It was very uncivilized not to burn the dead, and for the dead to be so close to the
white fellas' house was asking for the spirits of the dead to stay and visit them at night. They were
amazed that Billy and the others were able to sleep after dark.
Bob and Charlie stayed until just after winter. Billy knew they’d have to go. He enjoyed
learning from them. He could now understand a lot of what they said and they seemed to understand
his child-like speech.
Billy was especially fascinated with the last conversation he had with Bob and Charlie. They
said that the aborigines were astonished at what the Governor was trying to do. Why didn’t the
Gubbas, the white fellas just leave them alone? Why did they put up fences? Who was this God fella
anyway and if he was such a great man why hadn’t he been in Trowenna before the white man came?
Why did they put their own people in chains? Why did they whip them and lock them up?
Thoughts and ideas whirled within Billy’s mind. All of his life he’d believed that what he was
told. He was a menace to civilized society and it was good that he was being sent to the Colonies.
Lieutenant Blanch was a civilized man. The Cat O’ Nine Tails was good for you. Believe in God or go
to Hell.
Mr Higgins could see that Billy had lots of answers and probably even more questions, but
unfortunately there was no time. Bob and Charlie had to leave. They were late and had to track the
game going north. They said they’d return next year.
Billy had come to regard the two men as friends. He’d miss them. He gave them some really
stout shoes he’d made for them.
“Little Billy, we have bare feet for a long time. We have no clothes for a long time. Maybe we
become weak like the Gubba?” Charlie chuckled. They were grateful but highly amused.
“No, no,” Billy protested, “I make good shoes. You have strong feet. Now you walk on big
rock. All way up mountain.”
Mr Higgins laughed loudly and slapped Charlie on the back.
“Wa! Weak like white fella! That’s good!”
The next day they were gone.
Chapter 20:
The remainder of Ginny’s journey to Launceston was uneventful. Blanch grew weary of
listening to Mrs Booth and the other women. Ginny withdrew into silence and the other male
passenger spent most of his time sleeping. Blanch elected to ride outside sitting next to the coachman.
After a few days of constant jarring and jolting of the carriage Ginny got used to the pain. She
found it quite difficult to pay attention to much around her. Outside the rain drizzled lazily downwards,
creating a fog that obscured the view and muffled most of the sounds. At nighttime they usually stayed
at an Inn in one of the tiny hamlets along the way. Ginny was too bruised and battered to care. She
tried reading but she couldn’t hold the book straight because of the motion of the carriage. Several of
the women tried to draw her out but Ginny wasn’t very eager to tell them her life story. As was
common, Ginny changed her name as soon as she could. When she’d left the Hobart Hospital she’d
signed her papers as Victoria Mary Fotheringham. On the Sydney Cove, Lizzy had convinced her to
have a very small tattoo on the inside of her upper arm. It was a painful spot but it was discreet. She
hoped to become a respectable woman some day.
Mary Booth was fond of the sound of her own voice. Ginny was happy just to listen. She learnt
that her new home, Van Diemen’s Land was a big triangular island with the point facing south.
Launceston was the biggest town at the north and Hobart Town, or Hobarton, the capital, was the
largest town in the south. There were very few other towns. More than half of the population was
convicts, or Government Men. Mary said that these people were very lazy and slow and did as little
work as possible; this was called “doing the Government stroke.” Mary also warned that there were
three times as many men as women and that Ginny should take her time and not get married to any old
Tom, Dick or Harry. Just like England, the Government did not look too kindly on divorce and a
woman didn’t want to get stuck with a bad apple. She said this while Blanch was out of the carriage
and she pointed meaningfully up towards where he sat next to the coachman.
Ginny listened as Mary and the two elder women painted a picture of the Empire’s
southernmost Colony. She heard that the natives were nasty, pagan savages who raided the outlying
farms and villages, raping the white women, killing the men and stealing the sheep and cattle. They
were also known to eat people and drink blood. They were so stupid that they only used stone tools and
they stank because they covered themselves with rancid fish oil to keep away the flies.
Ginny didn’t know whether to believe Mary’s stories. She was very sure of herself and kept
saying that God had told her how to lead her life. She was, like her brother in law, the Governor, an
evangelical Christian. Ginny sometimes wished that Blanch would get back in the carriage so that
Mary would stop talking about religion. She liked Mary but soon realized that her opinion was hardly
likely to be completely accurate. She was no Elizabeth Fry.
They arrived at Launceston, or Lonnie as the locals called it, in four days. The passengers were
sore and aching. The journey had gone well, but it was very tedious and painful being cooped up inside
the small carriage for ten hours a day.
The stage dropped everyone off at the Police station except Ginny, Mary and her son. As they
pulled up outside the Launceston Female Manufactory, Mary Booth reached forward and took Ginny’s
hand.
“Don’t worry Miss Foxe. I’ll let you know how your brother is doing. But suffice it to say, I
expect he arrived in good condition, because George was very pleased with the condition of the cargo.
Now, you were quite right to avoid Mister Blanch. He has a rather unsavoury reputation. And, just
before you go, if you need any help please contact me through the Matron. Your Surgeon, Mister

Brown, told me a little bit about you and we do need Mrs Fry’s good works to be spread don’t we. Ta
ta now.”
The Launceston Female Factory was in the heart of the little town. It was a striking octagonal
two storey red brick building, much smaller than the Cascades Factory. The street was unpaved but the
mud had dried out and the storm had seemed to miss Launceston altogether.
From the outside, the Launceston Factory seemed much nicer than the Cascades. It wasn’t built
on a swamp between two streams that caused the privies to overflow and it wasn’t in the cold windy
shadow of the giant mountain. Ginny smiled to herself. Hopefully she’d chosen the best of the three
places in which to do her two year’s penance for Queen and Country.
Her guard, Johnny Morgan knocked on the door of the Factory and they both went inside. A
small foyer held a desk and two chairs. There was a book and a bell on the desk. The young Policeman
rang the bell. The loud ringing made Ginny jump.
“’ere ya go Miss. Sign ‘ere please,” Morgan said handing her a quill and pointing to the book.
As she signed her name, the inner door swung open and several women came in. They greeted
them both warmly and bade them sit and have hot chocolate until the Matron arrived. The women
gathered around the young policeman and bombarded him with questions. Ginny smiled broadly, not at
all surprised. Morgan was a man, a respectable, employed and eligible man. They’d get to know
everything about Ginny while they were at work in the Factory. Meanwhile they wanted all the latest
news from Hobarton. Morgan squirmed in his seat, he was unused to being accosted by three eager and
attentive women.
After a quarter of an hour, Ginny heard the faint tinkling of a bell. There was a brief moment of
stunned silence in which the women looked at each other in a near panic. Then they jumped up,
whisked up the tray of cups and saucers and rushed out of the room so fast they nearly tripped over
themselves. The door flew open and in marched the Matron.
In an instant Ginny realized that she could’ve made a big mistake. Mrs Bowden was short,
stocky and angry. Her eyebrows joined together in the middle and her face seemed twisted in a
permanent scowl.
“You’re the new girl, then eh?” she said by way of a greeting.
Ginny curtsied and nodded demurely.
“Right Constable. Be off with you then. I know your kind. Come to chat up any bit of skirt you
can! Well, I won’t have it, you know.”
“Oh, and that’ll be a ha’penny for the chocolate, the pair of you!” she demanded, “We’re not a
bloody charity you know!”
September 28th 1842 was Billy’s 17th birthday. It was over a year since he’d arrived in Van
Diemen’s Land, or Trowenna as Bob and Charlie called it. To the north was the bay, beyond that was a
big hill, beyond that they said there was another bay and beyond that was the road to Jericho, the Walls
of Jerusalem and then the road to China and freedom!
That was what Billy wanted. Freedom!
A year was enough! He was young. He was strong. He was a good fellow and by golly he’d
prove it. He’d run away and dig up the Hope’s treasure then Bob and Charlie would help him get to
China and then to England where he’d live like a king! Then he’d come back and make shoes for all
the natives and tell Colonel bloody Arthur to leave his friends alone!
Billy sat huddled, wet and miserable in the lean-to at the south end of Eaglehawk Neck. It was
not the sort of happy, exciting outing that they’d expected. It was Governor Arthur’s 50th birthday. He
was keen to celebrate it in style and invited a delegation from Sydney Town to see what a fine job he’d
done in the Port Arthur. Billy and the choir would be the first to greet them as they crossed Eaglehawk
neck onto the peninsula before heading up the hill to the Australia’s first railway line.

The boys were very excited. Most of them had never been further north than Port Arthur, but
the weather had intervened as a big storm moved in from the east with surprising speed. It was raining
cats and dogs. The visitors were supposed to have arrived mid-afternoon so they could ride on to
Norfolk Bay Convict Station to board the railway line. It would take several hours for the Government
men to push the train to Port Arthur.
They sky was so dark that it seemed like night was falling. Billy wondered whether they would
have to return to Point Puer or whether they could stay out overnight. That’d be an adventure despite
the terrible weather. Even Port Arthur would be worth a visit!
Father Manton had separated the eight boys from the other convicts for a fortnight. They’d
been put on a special diet of fruit, meat, vegetables and even potatoes and they’d had several guards to
prevent anyone from the barracks from trying to steal their food. He’d wanted them to look happy and
well fed for the Governor.
Port Arthur and Point Puer were superbly located for holding prisoners. To reach Point Puer
from mainland Van Diemen’s Land, the Governor would take the dusty road to the southeast corner of
the island, where he would cross the narrow isthmus of East Bay Neck onto the Forestier peninsula.
The road winds down the west side of the peninsula and at its southern tip a narrow strip of land, the
Eagle Hawk Neck, devoid of trees and shrubs was guarded by soldiers with huge, hungry and vicious
Bull Mastiffs.
The water on either side of the isthmus was said to teem with man-eating sharks. Past the row
of dogs lay the Tasman Peninsula where Governor Arthur would board the convict-powered railway
south to Port Arthur. Point Puer was another five miles south at the tip of the peninsula. There had
never been an escape from Point Puer and the handful of escape attempts from Port Arthur had ended
at Eaglehawk neck by drowning or capture.
Billy stared out at the rain, hugging his big brown tarpaulin coat to ward off the cold. He
wished he’d been issued with a sheepskin coat instead of the thin leather waistcoat, but at least he’d
been able to sew the Raeburn’s map into the lining easily. Their wooden hut was sheltered from the
wind by a small hill. The rain came down in gusts, the wind roared through the trees and the waves
crashed on the rocks of the bay.
To their backs was Port Arthur and straight ahead of them was Eaglehawk Neck. It was barely
100 yards wide and about half a mile long. The dogs had been taken into the compound out of the rain.
There were plenty of guards and the dogs would only frighten the Governor’s horses.
Squinting through the driving rain Billy thought he could make out the shapes of several horses
coming down the hill towards the Neck. The boys jumped up excitedly and pointed. The guards were
moving away from them to greet the Governor’s party. Suddenly there was a flash of lightning almost
overhead. As it lit up the group, there was a deafening crash of thunder. Imprinted on his retina Billy
saw several horses rear up in panic. Then there was a mass of confused screams and shouts and the
sound of several horses galloping off the road and crashing through the bush.
Billy and the boys cheered loudly.
This was exciting! The Governor would be soaking wet!
The horses had scattered everywhere in panic. The boys looked on gleefully. Perhaps they’d get
to see one of the Governor’s ladies. They hadn’t seen a woman since they’d left England. Most of them
were in their late teens and had lain with a woman in England, usually for a hefty price. They’d spent
many evening at Point Puer bragging about their various conquests, real or imagined. They all had
passed many a sleepless and sticky night dreaming of women and freedom. Now they were almost
frantic with the anticipation of glimpsing a woman, especially a high class Nib, wet and wild.
However, the guards quickly got the Stage Coach team under control and carefully escorted it
over the Neck. The boys could see several horses milling about at the end of the Neck. The guards
were yelling and one of the horsemen was screaming at them. A group of guards ran towards Billy’s
hut.
“I need three volunteers!” the Sergeant yelled, “You, you and you. C’mere and follow me,
quick like!” He pointed at Billy and two of the other boys.
Billy grinned; this was much better than their usual evening Bible reading. Tucking his dilly
bag under his arm Billy trotted along the muddy trail after the Sergeant and the two other guards. They
quickly reached the north end of Eaglehawk neck. Governor Arthur was still on his horse yelling at
everyone. He barked at the Sergeant to hurry up and find the two missing riders. Several horses had
bolted and they’d only found one of them. The Governor was livid. No-one wanted to argue with him
and Billy soon found himself trudging up the muddy track with a several guards to look for the other
horses.
It was getting dark. Occasional flashes of lightning lit up the dense undergrowth on either side
of the muddy road. The noise of the wind and the rain was deafening. Billy was cold, but at least the
cloak was waterproof.
The Sergeant stopped and gathered the small group together. Billy could hardly hear his
instructions as he tried to yell over the noise of the storm. He gestured towards the bush and pushed
them forward so that each boy was paired with two guards. Billy followed his guard off the road and
into the dense bush.
They walked on through the forest. The shrubs and bushes were well over head height and the
trees were low and seemed to form a continuous wall of leaves and branches. Underfoot was a thick
tangled mess of fallen tree limbs covering a spongy mat of dead leaves. It was slow going. They tried
to go in a straight line to the west, stopping every now and then to yell as loudly as they could. Then
they listened intently for some reply.
It was no good. It was far too noisy to hear anything in the rain and the bush was too dense to see
anything.
As they went deeper into the forest Billy realized that they were on a narrow path at the top of a
steep ravine. The hillside was covered in small bushes but there were no large trees. Billy and his two
guards stopped and yelled again.
Suddenly there it was; the faint but unmistakable sounds of a horse whinnying. It was coming
from somewhere down in the ravine.
“Coooee. Anyone there?”
They yelled for a few minutes but there was no reply, just the faint sound of the horse snorting.
The lead guard turned and mumbled something to the other soldier. He spun around and backtracked
along the trail to fetch more help.
The guard took his jacket off and produced a rope from around his waist. He tied one end to a
stout tree, gave the other end to Billy and ordered him to go down into the canyon to find the rider of
the horse.
Billy didn’t trust the rope or the guard. He wanted both hands free and had already stuffed his
bag of food under his coat before the guards had noticed. Grasping the rope in his teeth, he gingerly
began to inch down the steep hill to where the horse seemed to be.
It was almost pitch black. At one point the guard called out to him and Billy turned around. He could
barely make out the man at the top of the ravine. Billy realized that with his dark clothes he was also
nearly invisible amongst undergrowth.
It suddenly struck Billy that he might be able to run away. He’d never thought seriously about
escape before. Pont Puer was too well guarded and in any case it was so remote that escape was
impossible. They’d all talked about it. Many nights they’d lain awake in the sweltering summer heat
plotting their return to England. They said there was a trail that led to China. It wasn’t a long walk and
there were trees and lakes and food along the way. If he could just go north Billy knew that he’d be
able to find that trail and he’d be in London in no time.
His mind raced furiously. He didn’t know how much time he had until the rest of the search
party caught up with them. Should he escape or should he stay? He was young. He hated the school.
He wanted to get the gold from the HMS Hope. He hated the boredom of getting up early, working all

day on useless things like breaking rocks, gardening, making shoes, digging holes and filling them in
again. It seemed that Governor Arthur just wanted everyone to be busy whether it was useful or not.
Then there were the women. Or rather, there weren’t the women! Billy hadn’t had a legover in
ages. He was fed up with living among so many boys and men. He’d had enough of the perverts with
all their buggery and other strange habits. He just wanted to get back to England and lead a normal
life!
Here was his chance. Why hesitate?
Billy pondered; perhaps the China trail wasn’t very close? Perhaps it was hidden or maybe it
was a long walk? It’d taken them 4 months to sail so it couldn’t be very close. Billy didn’t really
believe he could walk to China. The boys were very naïve. Perhaps it was like the men said and Van
Diemen’s Land really was an island!
Billy gradually realized that he just didn’t care any more. He’d been bullied and beaten and
locked up for too long. Now, no matter what the risks, no matter what the consequences, this was
probably his one and only chance to taste freedom while he was still young enough and healthy enough
to enjoy it.
This was it! He was going to escape!
Billy edged carefully past a clump of bushes. He was out of sight. A stroke of lightning pierced
the gloom and he could see a small stream bordered by a steep winding path. He gave out a loud yell
and jumped down into the stream. There was a crash of thunder and Billy scrambled down the stream
as fast as he could. He could hear the guard calling down to him, his voice edged with panic.
Using both hands to grab onto the rocks, branches and anything else he could hold on to, Billy
quickly reached the bottom of the ravine. It was quite dark but he could hear the horse clearly. The
ravine flattened out and led to a small open area flanked with bushes and trees. In the middle, Billy
could make out the large shape of the horse. It seemed to be bent over pushing at something on the
ground. As he got nearer Billy could see a bundle of clothes lying partially hidden by the bushes. He
realized immediately that it was the rider.
For a moment panic set in, and he wasn’t sure whether to stay and help or to turn and run. He
nudged the rider with his foot but nothing happened. Billy began to get nervous. What would he do if
the man was armed or injured? He was on the verge of deciding to stay and help and give up his
foolish idea of escape.
He got down on his knees and rolled the person over. The body was limp. By the light of the
occasional lightning strike Billy could see that the man’s head was lolling to the side. His neck had
been broken.
Billy put his ear to the man’s mouth. There was no breathing. Billy quickly ran his hands over
the man’s body. He found a knife, a tinderbox and a small purse. He put them into his pockets and
stood up and walked slowly over to the horse. It was calm now. It’d been half an hour since it had
thrown its master. The animal didn’t seem injured.
Billy quickly examined the saddle and found a small flask in the side pouch. The guard was
still yelling from the top of the ravine but he seemed to be calling back for help. Billy decided that it
was time for him to leave.
He turned, and, crouching, ran carefully through the bushes and away from the ravine, the dead
man and the guards.
For two nights Billy struggled through the dense, almost impenetrable forest. There was no let
up in the rain. He was soaked to the skin, but at least the dogs and the trackers would be unable to find
his scent. He kept to the densest forest and moved slowly and quietly, stopping every few yards to
listen for any sounds of pursuit. There were none.
He headed north, hoping to find the trail off this little island that Father Manton had told them
about. As the skies cleared on the morning of the third day, Billy was hungry, tired, scratched and very
sore. He needed to find food, shelter and some way to get his bearings. He’d caught occasional
glimpses of a road down the slope to his left, and at one point saw the road wind through a tiny village
next to an inlet. Over the open fields, he could make out a few small boats in the Harbour. Ahead of
him the forest rose up to a rocky mountaintop.
He waited until nightfall to cross the open fields. He came to the base of the mountain at dusk.
Near the top of the mountain he could see a small cave. Its entrance faced south and he hoped he’d be
safe there for a time at least. As the night fell, he sneaked carefully from boulder to boulder, following
along the banks of a small brook.
The stars of the Milky Way hung like a bright silver curtain across the sky. There was no moon
but the starlight was so bright that it cast a shadow.
It was taking ages for Billy to get to the cave at the top of the mountain. It wasn’t getting any
closer and Billy was getting very tired. Finally, he gave up. He found a small hole between two large
rocks beside the stream. He crawled inside the cozy little hollow and settled himself in as comfortably
as he could.
He was asleep within seconds.

Part Two – Escape into the Wilderness
It is not in a prison drear

Where all around is gloom,
That I would end life's wild career,
And sink into the tomb,
For though my spirit's ever bold
Each tyrant to defy;
Still, still, within a dungeon cold,
I could not calmly die.
It is not that my cheek would pale

Within a lonely cell;
It is not that my heart would quail
To bid this world farewell.
For if oppressed by tyrant foe
I'd freely be the first
To give my life, and strike the blow
To lay him in the dust.
But place me in a forest glen

Unfettered, wild and free,
Wtih fifty tried and chosen men
A bandit chief to be.
'Tis there, when fighting with my foes
Amid my trusty band,
I'd freely leave this world of woes,
And die with sword in hand.
Owen Suffolk
77
Chapter 21:
Ginny did not like Matron Bowden, but then again, neither did anyone else. She seemed to be
in a permanent bad mood. The Launceston Female Factory, or Lonnie Loonies as it was often called,
was very different from the Hobarton Factory. The buildings were much warmer and drier than
Hobarton, which pleased Ginny greatly, but it was chronically overcrowded. After a few months they
received a big influx of new inmates. The Cascades factory was struggling to cope with several new
shiploads of women and just sent them all up to Lonnie.
Ginny had been delighted to have been met by three women on her arrival to the Factory but
two of them left within a fortnight and returned to the Cascades Factory. Mrs Bowden considered their
performance most unsatisfactory and had requested proper, well-trained, replacements immediately.
The request had fallen on deaf ears so Ginny and the remaining nurse, Rebecca Dodgson, had
to deal with a rapidly growing workload. The Factory was like a mad-house. Ginny wondered what
she’d ever found so amusing about the Bethnal Green Asylum. Life was very different on the other
side of the fence!
Her work was hard and very tiring. They rose at five o’clock and retired at eleven at night.
They were on their feet most of the time and fought a continual battle with Mrs Bowden for food,
water and beds. Becky despondently told Ginny to forget about trying to clean the dormitories. Rats,
lice, cockroaches, stench and squalor were a feature of the establishment and it she’d find it hard
enough to keep her tiny living space habitable. It was a waste of time and effort trying to make the
inmates quarters presentable.
In any case, the convicts were constantly bickering and fighting amongst themselves. The
women were only separated by class, so the young and the old, the sick and the healthy, the sane and
the - oh so very loudly insane - were all housed in the same rooms.
The Governor had ordered ten more solitary cells to be built and the men from the nearby
Launceston Prison had begun to take down some walls and build others. The Police guard prevented
the men and women from even talking to each other and they lost one dormitory while half of it was
converted to cells. The result was more overcrowding and more fights and shouted arguments.
The noise was overwhelming and the stench was always nauseating. Even though Ginny had become
partially accustomed to the foetid smell, reminiscent of the hold of the Sydney Cove, she often found
herself reeling and dizzy from the fumes of filth.
Billy woke with a start. He kept very still. It took him a few seconds to realize where he was
and what had woken him. It was dawn, and faint mist hung in the air. He could hear a woman’s voice
over the sound of the babbling brook. He got on all fours and peered out from his cozy little hole. The
voice was coming from above. He looked up towards the top of the mountain. A black woman was
hopping along the rocks at the edge of the stream. She was chasing after something in the stream.
Suddenly, Billy realized that he could understand her.
“Firestick. Oh, my firestick! Come back! Pandak. The firestick is in the water!”
Instinctively Billy dashed out and ran to the bank of the stream. He could see a small bundle of
sticks being swept down towards him. The woman stopped dead in her tracks as soon as she saw Billy.
She ducked out of sight behind a boulder.
Billy jumped onto a rock in the middle of the stream and squatted down. As the bundle
approached him Billy reached and grabbed it in both hands.
It was hot! Surprised, he threw the smouldering bundle in the air, lost his balance and fell
backwards into the stream. He yelled out in shock as he hit icy cold water. Puffing and spluttering he
got to his feet and staggered out of the water. He lay face down on the rocks for a few seconds. Then
he heard a scraping noise. He looked up and a shadow fell across him.
It was a man, a black man, naked except for some kangaroo skins over one shoulder. He
snarled at Billy in English.
“White fella. Why you here?”
Billy backed away from him.
“Nuthin, nuthin. I just saw that the lady dropped somefink so I got it.”
“Gubba stupid,” the black man continued “Me Pandak, Karadji of Larmairrermener people.
This here Trowenna, my land. Where from little white fella?”
The black woman came scurrying over and picked up the bundle that Billy had rescued from
the stream. “Ah, my firestick. It’s still warm. Good!” she said to Billy in the native tongue.
“Me glad,” Billy replied in her language.
The aborigines stared at him open-mouthed. A white fella speaking aborigine! It was unheard
of. Even Augustus Robinson barely spoke their language.
Billy scrambled to his feet. He could see the black man more clearly now. He was nearly six feet tall
and slender. He had wild, wiry reddish black hair that was caked in red clay. He was almost naked. He
held a very long and decidedly pointed wooden spear in one hand. His chest was criss-crossed with
long scars. He was lean and his muscles rippled as he moved, his black eyes gleamed and sparkled.
The woman looked middle-aged, in her early thirties. She was about Billy’s height and quite
stout. She was dressed in many layers of old and frayed clothes and wore a big woolen cap on her
head. Like the man she had a lovely smile.
“Me Billy, Billy Foxe. Come from white fella school. Me run away. ” Billy explained in halting
Aborigine.
The black woman looked carefully at Billy. He felt her sizing him up as if he was a cow at the
market. “Hmm. Well, thank you for saving my firestick little Billy. You’re all wet now so you must
come and get some food and water and dry your clothes. I’m Truganini and my friend here is Pandak.
Don’t worry, he’s not as mean as he sounds. He’s also not Karadji yet, and if he was clever, he
would’ve saved the firestick.”
She smiled wryly at the man who poked his tongue out at her and smiled back.
“Let us go to our cave.”
Billy stood there sodden; water was dripping from him but he felt elated. He couldn’t catch all
her words even though she’d spoken very slowly, but he knew that her name was Truganini. She was
very well known. Bob and Charlie had told him that she walked with Mister Robinson and knew the
Governor himself!
As he turned to follow the two aborigines up the mountain he suddenly felt that his knife was
no longer inside his jacket. He realized immediately that he must’ve lost it when he fell into the water.
“Wait!” he cried up to them.
He ran back to the edge of the stream and peered into the water. It was hard to see at first, but
he needed to find that knife. He could hear Pandak coming down to join him. Suddenly Billy saw
something glistening in the water.
It was big, bright and shiny. He put his hand in and grabbed it.
It was a crystal about the size of his fist. He held it up high. It sparkled and gleamed in the
sunlight.
He heard a sudden sharp intake of breath by the black man. Then Pandak let out a cry and
jumped into the stream. He was babbling excitedly and scrabbling about on the bottom of the stream,
bringing up handfuls of small stones and rocks. He’d examine the pebbles frantically then throw them
down and reach down for some more.
Truganini came rushing down towards them. “What is it? What is it?”
Billy laughed and held up the crystal, “Look!”
Truganini clapped her hands together with glee. “Oh wonderful. Just wonderful little Billy.
We’ve found it. We came to Bolong.Trunwalla, Dreamtime Serpent Mountain for this!”
“This is Bolong.Mocha, the Sacred Water, Tears of the Dreamtime Serpent. With this Pandak
will become Karadji, Medicine Man, Spirit of the Whirlwind for the Larmairrermener people!” she
declared proudly.
She came at Billy and before he could move she’d grabbed him in a great big hug. Pandak had
found a few small crystals and put them carefully on a flat rock next to him.
“Good. Very good. Serpent tears,” Billy said when Truganini released him. “But knife. Me lost
knife.”
Truganini pointed over his shoulder. “Knife? Like that one there behind Pandak?”
An hour later Billy was eating dried meat and berries and basking in the sun in their cave at the
top of the mountain. The fire blazed merrily and he had a magnificent view south to Eaglehawk neck
and Pirates Bay.
Pandak had arranged his collection of crystals on a possum skin and he was carefully
examining each one in turn and mumbling to himself. Billy was naked except for a kangaroo skin
around his waist.
Truganini came in with a skin full of water. She smiled at Billy. “More food?”
Billy nodded; he was very hungry. As he reached forward she noticed the scars on his back.
“So, little Billy, tell us about yourself. You can speak properly and you have good scars on
your back.”
Billy nodded, he had to concentrate to understand their heavy accents. “White fella beat me.
Me learn speak proper Palawa from Bob and Charlie and ‘Iggins in Point Puer. Me run away in big
storm. Me run away from here and go back home to Britain” he replied in halting Aborigine.
“Bob and Charlie? Oh, they must be my cousins Pevay and Lacklay. They showed me some
white fella shoes they were given.”
Billy grinned. “My shoes. Me make good shoes for good men.”
“Yes, very nice of you too,” she smiled, not quite able to bring herself to tell the white boy that
they’d survived quite well for thousands of years without leather shoes. “Now, Little Billy. Tell us
about yourself. If you want you can use English, but Pandak, he doesn’t like to use the white fella
talk.”
Billy told the two aborigines his story. He spoke slowly in the South Eastern Aboriginal dialect.
They would occasionally correct him or suggest better ways of saying things. He told them of his life
in London, of his theft and his trial and the voyage to Van Diemen’s Land. When he told them that
he’d been banished from Britain to live in a distant land, Pandak was horrified. Truganini shuffled her
feet and seemed strangely subdued.
They both pitied Billy. They explained that, to the Palawa, the land was their life and their life
was the land. To be thrown off the land and sent far away was to be banish from the Earth itself to live
in the stars.
“Who is this Queen lady?” Pandak asked, “How can one person, a woman, send you all away
from your land? Is she like a chief or an elder? Where are the other elders? What about the men? Why
do they let a woman tell them what to do?”
Billy thought hard. “You have tribes, yes?”
They nodded.
“In Britain just one tribe,” Billy explained. “You have chief, boss-man of tribe?”
They shook their heads. “No, not always. Sometimes we have elders and sometimes we have a
chief, but he cannot tell us what to do. We have elders. They advise, mainly in ceremonies. Her
father,” Pandak said, pointing at Truganini, “her father was a popular elder with the Lyluequonny
band, maybe he was like a chief. A big man, brave warrior, good teacher and wise elder. He led them
into battle with other tribes. But he was not like Queen, or even like Governor. He couldn’t send
people off the land by himself. The tribe always decides, the elders are to be asked if there are
arguments.”
Billy noticed that Truganini squirmed uncomfortably at the mention of her father.
“Britain has special family. The monarchy” Billy said the word slowly, in English. “Most
powerful person in Britain is head of Monarchy. She is Queen Victoria.”
“Not an elder? Not a brave warrior? Not a man?” Pandak said indignantly.
“Yes. Head can be man, he is King. Britain had mostly kings.”
Truganini regarded him thoughtfully and then said, “Britain makes the head of one special
family the chief of the land. She sends the Governor here to Trowenna to make us part of the England
tribe.”
Billy nodded.
“Bah! Nasty people! The Palawa don’t want to be in England tribe. Black fellas wants Gubba
to go away and leave Trowenna,” Pandak said, half shouting.
Truganini waved him to sit back down, “Little Billy knows about Augustus Robinson?”
Seeing him nod, she leant forward and looked into his eyes earnestly. “Robinson says the white
fellas call us Palawa savages, not humans - we are like animals, like dogs. But animals are not bad. I
like dogs, they help in the hunt, they are useful and friendly. I don’t know if we should become a part
of the England tribe. Maybe later you can help me understand the Gubbas and the England tribe, little
Billy. Now how did you escape from the school? I think no-one has done that before.”
Billy grinned broadly and told them about the storm and the lightning and how he’d hidden
from the guards. Pandak smiled in approval. He wondered whether Billy was a warrior yet; he sounded
brave and strong enough to become one. “So now little Billy. Now what do you want to do?”
“Now me find sister. We go home, Britain,” Billy answered slowly.
Truganini was instantly curious. “Sister? When did she come to Trowenna?”
“On little ship, Sydney Cove. Maybe one year ago? You know where she is?” Billy asked
hopefully.
“No, little Billy, white women hide from the Palawa. She may be in a Factory in Hobart or
Launceston or another big village, I think. You must ask white fellas.”
Billy was crestfallen. He hadn’t thought the aborigines would know but he was still
disappointed. He wondered if Ginny was still alive, whether she was married or not, if she was in
Hobart town.
“How will you leave Trowenna?” Pandak asked suddenly.
Billy frowned “Me walk north to China?” he ventured.
Pandak shook his head adamantly. The white boy was very naïve. “North is water. Big, big
water. All around Trowenna is water, it is a big island. No-one can swim that far. There are also many
nasty fish. Little Billy must use a ship.”
Billy pouted. The stories about walking back to England were all wrong. He’d suspected as
much. Now he’d have to find a vessel. That meant he’d have to have money to buy his passage. So,
he’d have to find the Hope’s treasure, if there actually was any. He was beginning to doubt Raeburn’s
stories as well.
“Damn!” Billy exclaimed in English, and then returning to the native tongue added, “Where
find ship? Me hide from white fella, me find money. Me give ship-man money and go to Britain. Me
find sister.”
He spoke the word, money, in English; the aborigines didn’t correct him, as they had no word
for it.
Pandak turned to Truganini. “Money?”
Truganini shrugged and turned to Billy.
“Sorry, little Billy, but Pandak and I want to help you but we have to decide how, so we’ll
continue in Pandak’s Larmairrermener tongue as he’s not good at strange languages.”
Then she turned to Pandak and explained in the language of the Big River tribe. She quickly
explained that the white man exchanged round disks of metal for goods much the same way as the
black man used barter. She told him that the money came in various sizes.
Pandak grinned, then replied in the same language. “We have the Serpent Tears, we should
leave now. We’ve been away too long.”
“What about the boy? We should help him.”
“Well, we can take him north and leave him near a white fella’s village or a farm.”

Truganini shook her head and laughed. “No, no, we owe him more than that. He did find the
Tears for you and he saved my firestick.”
Billy watched the conversation with interest but didn’t try to understand the two aborigines.
They seemed very nice. True, they ponged something awful, but they shared their food and water and
didn’t seem scared or aggressive. He knew he’d need their help to get over the East Bay Neck, but
after that he still didn’t know where he’d go. Pity about China.
“Look at him, my Tiger Man. Doesn’t he look a bit like a real Gubba? Like the ghost of dead
warrior? He reminds me of you ten years ago and white.”
Billy felt Pandak’s eyes scrutinizing him.
“Hmmm. He does have a proper nose, that’s true and his red hair is a good sign. Ah, maybe
there’s another sign,” Pandak replied, then he turned to Billy and in the South Eastern dialect he asked.
“What is Fox?”
Billy was a bit surprised, but responded, “Fox, small animal, live in forest. Like dog but clever.
Foxes plenty, plenty clever.”
“Excellent! The Foxe is like your totem, the Tiger!” Truganini clapped her hands in delight.
Pandak grinned a big white flash of teeth and Truganini clapped her hands together in glee.
Billy looked at them both in confusion. He couldn’t understand what the woman had said.
It took a few minutes for Truganini to calm down, and then she explained to Billy that Pandak
was on a long quest to become the Karadji, the clever man, the healer and medicine man of his tribe.
Pandak’s mother said that she was impregnated by the spirit of the Loarinna, whom the white fellas
call the Tiger, and then she gave birth to him. Pandak had been given the Tiger as his totem. Deep in
his soul, Pandak was a Tiger. The Tiger was the cleverest animal in Trowenna so Pandak was the
tribe’s best choice to become the next Karadji.
But Billy was named Billy Foxe and the Fox was the cleverest animal in England. So Pandak
and Billy both had the cleverest animal in the world as their totem. This was a very good sign. Pandak
had to help Billy.
She also explained that Billy looked like the ghost, the spirit of Pandak when he was a boy. He
had a small body with long limbs, bright red hair and a nice wide nose. She didn’t think it mattered
very much that his teeth were small and yellow rather than big and gleaming white. Billy’s spirit must
be more aborigine than white fella. That would also explain why Billy could speak their native tongue.
Truganini and Pandak were starting to think that Billy was actually an aboriginal!
It was getting cold, it was afternoon and the cave was in shadow. Billy stood up. As he turned
to reach for his dry clothes Pandak grabbed his hand, and spun him around so his back was to the two
natives.
“Look! Billy has very good scars. The Fox and the Tiger can bear great pain,” he announced.
Billy was going to protest that he really didn’t want to bear any more pain at all and that he’d
seen enough of the Cat to last him a lifetime. But a glance at the smiling Truganini confirmed that she
was very impressed with his scars so he kept quiet.
Billy hiked down over the rocks to the nearest trees. He relieved himself then gathered some
firewood. Dusk was approaching. He returned to the cave slowly. He wanted to give them time to
finish their discussion. He knew it was an important time for him. All he had to do was survive out of
the reach of the law for a few months. Maybe I could grow a beard as a disguise, he thought hopefully,
stroking the bumfluff on his chin. With a bit of luck he could find a small farm that needed help and
perhaps they could tell him how to find Ginny and the treasure. There had to be a way to get the map
from Donaldson. He was young and optimistic. It would just take time and patience.
Chapter 22:

They left two days later. Truganini told Billy that it was a dangerous country and a dangerous
time. She knew the area very well and had found the Tears of the Dreamtime Serpent before. Pandak
was so desperate to get his crystals that he’d been prepared to camp out alone for weeks. The elders
didn’t stop him. They needed their new Karadji soon.
They walked mostly at night. The spirits had lived on the land since the Dreamtime. They lived
in the rocks, in the mountains, in the forests, in the plants and in the animals, even in the stars and the
sky. But at night, many spirits were abroad. Neither of the two aborigines had ventured far from their
fires in the nighttime, but the crystals would keep the evil spirits at bay. Pandak feared the white fella
most, the soldiers were thick on the ground and they would shoot anything that moved.
Getting across the East Bay Neck had been the most nerve-wracking part for Billy. They were
on the Forestier Peninsula but within easy reach of Port Arthur and the Governor’s men. But it was a
moonless night and Pandak had led them across the causeway very quickly. They’d skirted wide
around the soldiers’ outpost and Truganini had brushed away their tracks as they went. Pandak was
very careful to avoid the white fella and keep to the trees and the rocks.
During the day they usually made camp. Pandak would choose the site, usually a large bush or
a small tree with low branches. Billy and Truganini would build a wide circle of dried leaves or
tangled branches around the camp. Then Truganini would sit in the camp while Billy and Pandak
walked around the circle making sure she couldn't be easily seen and fixing the circle so that any
intruders would have to disturb the leaves or bushes and therefore raise the alarm.
Pandak seemed to stay awake all the time. Often as Billy slept stretched full length on the
ground he would wake suddenly and look around him. Pandak was never asleep. He was either
squatting on his haunches or walking silently around on the lookout for intruders.
Billy was amazed at how aborigines could navigate. They would stop and Pandak would look
up at the stars then at the landmarks around him in the moonlight. Then he would softly sing snatches
of songs. Occasionally he’d ask Billy or Truganini if they could see a river valley or an outcrop of rock
silhouetted on the horizon. Then he’d sing a few more phrases, sniff the air and listen. After a while
he’d mumble to himself, flash them a beaming smile and they’d resume their journey.
He said that he sang the song of the Tiger. It described the wanderings of the first Tiger back in
the Dreamtime. It listed in minute detail every rock, tree, stream and forest that the Tiger had come to
on his journey across the land. Pandak was a Tiger. He’d walked all around Trowenna many times
visiting the other tribes to learn from the other members of the Tiger clan. Once he’d learnt the song
and the knowledge of the Tiger he was able to become a man. Like all aborigines, he would be
constantly learning the wisdom of his totem.
Truganini was a Possum. She said with a chuckle that she was supposed to be able to see in the
dark and move as quietly as a shadow. Her eyesight was no longer sharp but she was so quiet that Billy
kept bumping into her if she walked in front. Pandak suggested that she teach Billy how to move
silently. The white man’s Tiger was so loud it would always be hungry!
It was just before dawn. The three figures moved silently in the darkness along the western side
of the ridge. The leading figure stopped and sniffed the air cautiously. They sank down into the bushes.
Pandak put his finger to his lips then he whispered.
“Gubba. Dogs. Guns!”
They crept forwards slowly. Pandak put his long spear on the ground and gestured for Billy and
Truganini to stay hidden.
“Wait,” he ordered, then he melted into the forest.
The daylight grew gradually and the birds chirped loudly in the trees above them. Pandak had
been away several hours. Billy had managed to bottle up his impatience. Truganini was teaching him
to control his breathing and calm himself, but even so his anxiety still showed. She seemed to master
herself so easily. How did she manage to ignore the bush flies crawling over her face and in her ears?
Billy shut his eyes and tried to fall asleep. There was a faint rustle of leaves and suddenly
Pandak was back. He squatted down and waited. They said nothing. Listening.
“White Fellas are hiding up the track. Pydairrerme band is coming down. They will soon die.
We must warn them. You follow me close. Very quiet.”
He raised himself up into a crouch and motioned for Billy and Truganini to follow.
For two hours they walked doubled over in the dense bushes just below the ridge line.
Occasionally Pandak would stop, they would listen intently, and several times he motioned for them to
wait while he checked ahead.
Billy’s back ached and he had difficulty in breathing quietly. He concentrated on picking up his
feet like Truganini had told him, and trying not to break any twigs or rustle the leaves. It wasn’t easy in
his boots and for once he wished he’d made the soles thinner. Luckily the wind had come up and the
noise of the trees and leaves drowned out any sound he made.
They stopped in the bushes at the base of a cliff. Pandak glared at Billy, angry at the noise he
was making. He left them waiting again and went off into the bushes alone. But he was back within
just a few minutes.
Pandak pointed down at the stream in the valley just a few hundred yards below them. Then he
gestured towards the rocks overlooking the stream. Billy concentrated. There were glimpses of
movement. He could see several groups of soldiers hunched down and peering expectantly at the path
by the stream.
Then, faintly, Billy heard the sound of laughter floating up from the valley. Children were
playing along the banks. A dog came into view, splashing its way right up the middle of the shallow
stream, the water lapping at its flanks as it chased a stick down the current. Then a little aboriginal girl
came skipping along after it.
Pandak and Truganini shifted awkwardly beside him. Billy looked at the Pandak. He seemed
undecided, not sure of what he was going to do next. Truganini began to raise herself from her
crouching position.
Suddenly a dozen or so aboriginals appeared on the path. They were talking and laughing as
several children ran beside them playing. The soldiers watched expectantly, braced their rifles to their
shoulders and sighted down at the unsuspecting people.
Billy watched as the main group came into view. At the front was a young woman carrying a
block of red ochre in her arms. There was a sharp intake of breath from Pandak as if he’d recognized
her. Pandak stood up and put his hands to his mouth. Exactly as he did so, the little girl’s dog flushed a
clutch of native hens out from the bushes. The raucous “nacky nacky” call of the birds and the loud
barking of the dog drowned out Pandak’s call of “cooeee.”
The group kept coming. They hadn’t heard Pandak over the noise of the birds. Some of the
soldiers looked up and shifted uneasily as if they’d heard something.
Billy shook his head. This man just did not know how to whistle properly! Pandak raised his hands to
try again as the aborigines got close to a clearing in full view of the soldiers’ guns.
Billy stood next to him, and before the aborigine could do anything he put his forefingers to his
mouth and let out three ear-piercing whistles. As the whistles echoed around the valley the aboriginals
dived behind the trees a split second before a volley of shots blasted the silence away.
The groups of soldiers were shrouded in smoke as they struggled to reload and fire again. But
within seconds the aborigines had run away back down the path. The little girl lay face down in the
stream with the dog pawing at her hands.
Pandak, Billy and Truganini sprinted away from the scene up into the forest.
That evening they sat around a small fire with Moorina, Pandak’s sister and Tolobunganah,
Pandak’s father’s brother, the elder of the band. They spoke very fast in a strange dialect and Billy
could only understand a few words. They were very happy. Pandak was overjoyed to see his sister
again. His tribe had traded her for two women from the Oyster Bay tribe two years earlier; it was the
best way to avoid another battle between the tribes.
Billy was very embarrassed. Moorina kept looking at him and smiling. She was very pretty and
her possum skin rug didn’t cover her completely. She kept having to cover up her left breast. The last
time Billy had seen a woman’s breast was when he was six months old. Billy was very glad he was
sitting down and hunched over next to Truganini, as he was starting to get an erection and was afraid
that his excitement would show.
Tolobunganah leant over and whispered something to Pandak. Both men laughed and waved at
Billy to come and join them.
“What want?” Billy whispered anxiously to Truganini.
“Why they want you to go and sit between them, of course. You saved them all and they want
to thank you.”
“No. Cannot. Me cannot stand up!” he hissed at her glancing nervously at Moorina.
Truganini stared at him in shock a look of great concern spread across her face.
“Little Billy is hurt? What’s wrong? What happened?”
“No, no, no!” Billy said desperately. Now Pandak began to look worriedly at him too. “Me
cannot stand up. Not hurt. Billy not want stand! They must come Billy.”
Truganini looked at him with confusion and doubt on her face. It had gone very quiet and Billy
could feel everyone looking at him. Particularly Moorina.
Billy turned sideways so he was directly facing Truganini. His left hand was in the shadow
shielded from the rest of the group. The attention only served to make his manhood more and more
excited. He tried desperately to think of something boring, something mundane, anything to calm his
sexual excitement.
“I can’t stand,” he whispered desperately in English. He pointing at his crotch and then
straightening his forefinger suggestively.
Truganini looked at him and then followed his gaze from his forefinger over to Moorina who
sat by the fire, a sweet innocent smile on her face and her left breast peeping out from her blanket.
A slow smile spread across Truganini’s face. She cupped her hand around her own breast and
then bent and extended her forefinger. She began to chuckle. Within a few seconds she was laughing
heartily. She laughed so hard that tears steamed down her face. She fell off the log and rolled onto the
ground. Grinning, Pandak stared at Truganini as she wiggled her forefinger at Billy and Moorina and
giggled uncontrollably.
Laughing, Pandak and Tolobunganah beckoned Billy over to them. Red-faced, he waved his
hand to say No, but Pandak came over to him with a large kangaroo skin. He gave the skin to Billy.
“Wrap this around you and come and sit next to her Little Billy.”
Billy felt very hot; his face was bright red with embarrassment and he glanced nervously over
at Moorina. She seemed embarrassed and stiff and had straightened up her blanket. Billy raised himself
up slowly and wrapped the kangaroo skin about his waist. Then bending forward from the waist, he
shuffled awkwardly across the circle of spellbound onlookers around the campfire. As he went
carefully past Moorina she smiled sweetly at him and beckoned him to come and sit next to her. Billy
was so nervous he almost dropped the skin. He mumbled an apology in English and accelerated past
her to sit next to the two men.
Pandak was rolling over on the floor laughing. Tolobunganah had a huge grin on his face and was
nodding at Moorina in approval.
A few minutes later Billy had completely forgotten his ordeal. Tolobunganah was very grateful
to him for raising the alarm and wanted him to show everyone how to whistle so loudly. They’d posted
sentries, but Pandak insisted that they keep the noise down in case the soldiers came back.
Tolobunganah explained that the soldiers might have thought that the aborigines had raided a farm and
burnt some buildings. They’d seen smoke two days earlier. But Tolobunganah was very angry that the
white fellas had opened fire on his women and children. He decided that they would also travel only by
night.

Tolobunganah asked Moorina if she wanted to return to her tribe. She agreed eagerly and
Tolobunganah presented Moorina to Billy as a reward for saving them. Billy didn’t understand them at
first and he could see that Pandak was not pleased. But Truganini took Pandak aside and when they
came back it was settled. Moorina sat and watched. She smiled at Billy and twice she beckoned him
over, laughing heartily when he shook his head.
Before they left they gave Billy his first taste of pademelon. He was famished, he’d eaten only
berries and dried meat since he’d escaped from Point Puer more than a week earlier. Even so, he was
happy that it was dark and he couldn’t really see what he was eating as the women had put the small
kangaroo on the embers for only a few minutes before they were cutting it up and handing it out.
It was delicious and surprisingly filling.
The following day Pandak, Moorina, Billy and Truganini bade farewell to the small band from
Oyster Bay and resumed their trek westward. Billy wondered what his mates back in Bermondsey
would think of him now. Trekking through the bush with a beautiful half-naked woman!
Chapter 23:
“You two stay here and amuse yourselves. I will keep guard until Pandak returns from the
river.” Truganini smirked knowingly at Moorina before she turned and headed up the hill leaving Billy
alone with the young woman for the first time.
Billy sat in the soft warm sand in the centre of the cave. Moorina came towards him slowly, as
if she was stalking her prey. She was as black as coal. Billy was glad it was a cool morning as Moorina
still had her possum skins draped about her.
She smelt good. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever imagined. She oozed herself
down next to him.
Very close.
Too close! Billy could feel the blood starting to rise in his face and, he noted with nearly
forgotten pleasure, his groin.
“It is time to show me how big you are little Billy,” she said, her voice as smooth as silk.
“Um, me five foot four, miss,” he stammered.
She gazed coolly into his eyes and flicked her gaze down towards his crotch.
Billy went bright red. “Oh, um. Yes. That. Oh,” he said not realizing that he was speaking in
English.
Moorina put her hand on his chest. She pushed aside his waistcoat and rubbed his coarse shirt
in slow circles, caressing his nipples.
Billy’s eyes locked onto hers. The possum skin slipped from her shoulder exposing her firm
naked breasts. Billy gasped, he could feel himself hardening.
She reached down and pulled on the leather belt around his waist. She tugged at his belt. It got
tighter. She tugged harder and it tightened even more.
“Wait,” Billy said as she started to take the belt in both hands.
Billy sat forward undid the belt, his hands trembling.
Desperately, Moorina pulled his shirt out from his trousers. Billy kicked off both shoes while
Moorina grabbed his shirt and pulled it up over his head. But the top lace of his shirt was still fastened
and the shirt became stuck over Billy’s head and his armed were trapped.
Billy floundered as Moorina struggled to extricate him from the strange white fella garment.
Throwing himself onto his back, Billy squirmed his way out of his shirt. He felt a rush of coolness on
his legs as Moorina whipped his trousers down to his ankles.
With a squeal of delight Moorina threw herself on top of Billy. Her soft warm body enveloped
him as he finally kicked his trousers off. He returned her embrace excitedly. They wriggled and
squirmed with the enthusiasm of youth.
Too much enthusiasm for Billy. He grunted and groaned and exploded between them. Moorina
noticed that Billy had stopped. Surely the white fella wasn’t finished yet?
Billy looked away sheepishly.
“Done?” Moorina said in surprise.
Billy smiled awkwardly embarrassed at the stickiness on their bellies.
“Um, one time. Yes,” he said apologetically.
She raised herself off him slightly so should could look him in the eye.
“First time for Billy?” she asked, shocked.
“No, no. First time today. We wait.”
She regarded him skeptically. They picked up his shirt. “Don’t wait too long little Billy.
Moorina may start without you!” she said mocking him as she rolled off him and began to clean herself
up using his shirt.
“Hey! That Billy’s shirt!” he protested.
She smiled sweetly. “Well, you made the mess, not me. Here let me do you.”
She leant forward to clean him up. Her breasts dangled tantalizingly close to Billy’s face.
He didn’t argue. She finished and threw the shirt aside. Then she began to slowly lick and kiss
his body. Billy’s eye’s nearly popped out of his head. What was the woman doing?
He’d never heard of this before. The one prostitute he’d been with in London had kept her clothes on
all the time, as had he. He could feel himself growing again as Moorina’s soft lips progressed closer to
his penis.
“Hey, what’s this?” she asked playfully, waving his penis from side to side.
“Oi, it’s me tadger, me tool. Me willie. Me marrying tackle,” he said in English, quickly adding
in aboriginal “Not wave willie. Be nice to willie, then willie be nice to Moorina.”
Moorina laughed, a jolly laugh.
“Tadger, Willie, Marry taggle” she said in English. “Why is Willie like a little boy’s willie?”
she asked, still waving his penis about.
“Little boy’s? Little boys not have great big willie like me!” Billy pushed himself up onto his
elbows as Moorina continued her recovery efforts.
“I mean this bit,” she said pulling his foreskin up and down.
“Oooh” said Billy, which was all he could manage to say.
“The black fella cut this bit away to become men. This bit here I mean,” Moorina explained
continuing her gentle caress.
“Do you like it?” Billy managed to ask.
“Hmmm. Very useful I think,” she replied licking her lips. “Now willie-tadger is awake again.
It is my turn for exercise, Big Little Billy!”
Chapter 24:
Billy was alone when Pandak returned. He appeared suddenly at the side of the cave.
“Greetings Little Billy. Didn’t you hear me coming?”
Billy barely returned his smile. He was preoccupied with thoughts of Moorina. He was worried
about what would happen. She’d told him to say nothing to Pandak or Truganini. Pandak would be
angry that his sister had been intimate with a Gubba even though Tolobunganah had given her to him.
He would want them to talk to the elders first.
“Me think of sister and Britain,” Billy lied as he sat cross-legged poking at the sand with a
stick.
Pandak seemed disappointed. “Oh, you still want to go home?” he asked sadly.
“To Britain? Perhaps? Maybe Trowenna is home now?”
Pandak waited. He began to arrange some twigs to start the cooking fire.
Billy let out a big sigh. “No escape for me. Britain long walk.”
“Wa! Much longer swim!”
Then out of all the doubts and concerns that had been swirling in his mind Billy began to form
an idea. “Maybe me not live with white fella,” Billy speculated slowly. Reluctant to look at Pandak in
the eye, he stared at the patterns he’d drawn in the sand.
Pandak weighed Billy’s words carefully. Then he finally spoke. “Do you want to live like a
black fella little Billy?”
Billy’s heart started racing. He took a deep breath then looked squarely at Pandak and in a
shaky voice replied. “Can white fella come black fella?”
Pandak grinned wryly; he’d suspected that the white boy might want to try to live free in the
bush for a while. Billy had shown a lot of interest in the black fellas. Never had a white fella learnt
how to speak properly. Never had a white fella lived with black fellas and no white man had ever
saved a band of blacks. But Billy was extremely naïve about their way of life, he was smelly and noisy
and while he had some very nice scars on his back he hadn’t volunteered for them and he was sure the
white boy was technically not yet a man.
Pandak wondered whether Moorina would influence Billy. She seemed to like him. Billy had
been locked up away from women and he seemed shy of them. But Pandak knew that the lustful
exuberance of youth would soon open Billy to her charms. Moorina had been given to Billy but that
wouldn’t last any longer than she wanted it to and Billy didn’t seem to know yet that he owned his
sister. But Pandak had lost his sister once and he would make sure that this white boy would have to
become a true Palawa before he trusted him with her. He turned to Billy and replied
“I don’t know. The elders would decide. The corroboree ceremony would take a lot of training,
maybe a year in the bush. The white fella would have to be very determined.”
“What training?”
“Ah, to be a black fella you must know everything about the totem of the tribe and the rules and
the way of the spirits and the ancestors. You must have a totem and know all about it and its songs and
you must be able to live in the bush alone. But most of all you have to do the initiation corroboree, the
Bo-ra, to receive your Dreaming and become a man, a Ke-bo-ra.”
It sounded like a lot of work to Billy. But surely that was better than going back to Point Puer
or Port Arthur, or maybe they’d send him to Sarah Island if they recaptured him. Then of course there
was Moorina. She smelt strange and he couldn’t understand everything she said but she had a great
laugh, a wonderful sense of humour and of course she was most definitely a woman.
“What happens in the Bo-ra?” Billy asked.
Pandak’s mischievous smile told him that he’d probably asked the wrong question. He stood up
and went to each side of the cave. He stood there listening intently.
“Good, the women will be gone a little longer.” Then he turned to Billy and gestured for him to
stand up.
Perplexed, Billy did so.
“Show me yours,” Pandak said pointing to Billy’s crotch.
“What? Why?” Billy replied, all red and flustered.
“The Bo-ra ceremony makes the boy into a man,” Pandak explained as he stepped up on to the
rock next to him. “You must suffer pain, pain in the mind, pain in the body and especially pain here!”
With that he whipped aside his kangaroo skin and waved his penis at Billy.
Billy was shocked. He covered his eyes with his hands.
“Look Gubba! This is why you cannot scare us. This is why the Palawa are so brave, so proud.
Look!”
Billy opened his eyes a little. Pandak’s member was just a few inches in front of his face.

He wasn’t circumcised and had pulled back the foreskin. The head of his penis was hideously
disfigured by a series of deep scars and wide across it. The head had ballooned up to twice the normal
size.
Billy grimaced in horror at the terrible sight and the thought of the pain and suffering that the
cuts would make. Pandak howled with laughter. Tears rolled down his cheeks as Billy squirmed
uncomfortably in embarrassment. When he finally regained control, Pandak tried to reassure Billy.
“It hurt, but not as much as you’d expect. The ceremony helps. Now show me yours.”
Reluctantly Billy slowly untied his belt and pushed his leather trousers down to his knees.
Pandak jumped down and knelt down beside Billy. Billy jerked back in embarrassment.
“Do not worry my friend. I must just look. Now, show me and pull back the skin.”
Billy did as he was told.
Pandak nodded seriously and then stood up and admonished Billy gently. “Just like a little
boy’s, but dirty. I will show you how to wash, it is very important. My sister might even lay down with
you but not like that.”
Anger flared up inside Billy, then it quickly turned to pride. Pandak wasn’t so smart after all.
Pandak never noticed the flash of temper in Billy’s eyes but he did see the smug little smirk replaced
that it. He assumed that Billy was pleased to hear that Moorina might want to bed him. He clapped the
white boy on the shoulder and gestured for him to sit back down.
“The white fellas think we’re cowards. But we say the white man is weak,” Pandak lectured.
“We live in a very harsh land. We face pain every day. Becoming a man is the most painful thing a boy
can do. But I Pandak will become Karadji. That will be much more painful. For the Karadji, pain is the
way to power.”
“You, Little Billy, if you want to become a black fella, you must practise very hard for the
ceremony. You found Bolong.Mocha, the Tears of the DreamTime Serpent for me. For that, I thank
you. Together we can take a journey to our future in the Big River tribe. I will be Karadji, the clever
man with special powers and great wisdom. You, Little Billy, can be the first white fella to enter into
the heart of the Palawa and the great spirit of our land.”
Billy nodded slowly and then finally steeled himself to ask the question. “Pandak?” Billy
ventured pointing vaguely in the direction of his own crotch. “Me hear not need big cuts? That good.
Billy come man, only cut loose skin down there? Yes?”
Pandak looked at him in surprise and then suspicion. All of a sudden there came a faint rustling
sound from the hill above one side of the cave. The women had almost returned.
Pandak replied earnestly. “No cuts? Who told you that? All the boys from the Big River tribe
take the big cuts to become men. Only one tribe just cuts the loose skin. That is the Oyster Bay --”
His voice was cut off as Truganini and Moorina came hurtling into the cave laughing playfully.
There was an awkward silence and they realized immediately that they’d interrupted the men’s
conversation.
Moorina shot a happy smile at Billy, and said brightly, “Sorry. Sorry. Did we interrupt? You
look as if you want to say something, brother.”
Pandak opened his mouth to reply then looked from Moorina to Billy and back again.
“No. No, we are finished.”
Billy nodded then with a big smile at Moorina he said smugly, “Welcome. Welcome. I miss
Moorina.”
Pandak snorted irritably, “The white boy is not so slow after all!”
Then he turned on his heel and left.
Chapter 25:

It took them several more days to reach the village. Billy had hoped to get Moorina alone but
Pandak was determined to keep them apart.
The nights were cool and the moonlight was dimmed by high clouds throwing their trail into
almost complete darkness. They were travelling close to white fella country and Pandak was keen to
move fast and quietly and avoid trouble. He seemed much more sure of their direction as they got
closer to his territory. He spent a lot less time looking for places to hide for the daylight hours.
Moorina and Pandak spent most of the daytime walking far outside the camp watching out for
white fellas while Truganini and Billy lay quietly or gathered berries, roots and other food and chatted
softly.
Billy was disappointed to hear that there were few women, either black or white, and so many
men. The sealers had captured most of the black women and treated them worse than their hunting
dogs. They were forced to dive into the raging surf and jump onto the rocks to club the baby seals to
death.
Truganini was surprised when Billy told her that there were many, many different lands in the
world and that Britain ruled over most of them in a mighty Empire. It amused her to hear that the
leader of the England tribe, Queen Victoria, was even shorter than she was.
Billy told Truganini that he was in the lowest class in society. She couldn’t understand it.
Wasn’t everyone worth the same? But eventually she conceded that Robinson was different from the
white farmers and they were different from Billy. It was strange but it explained why Robinson
expected everyone to do everything he said, even the white fellas.
She said that the black fella had lived on Trowenna since the Dreamtime. Only when the white
man came did they find out about the other lands. She’d met a black fella named Musquito who’d
come down from Port Jackson over the big sea in Australia. He was more dark brown than black and
had a pot belly. He was dressed in white fella clothes and his native tongue was so bad they had to
speak in English!
Truganini trusted Billy. She knew that gullibility was part of her nature. She was curious and
the only white fella she’d spoken to was Robinson. He was a big white fella from the Government. She
liked hearing what Little Billy thought.
She couldn’t talk to Pandak. He was not of her tribe and she was a woman. Women couldn’t
talk about serious matters. Although they’d known and respected each other for a long time, he didn’t
really trust her and Pandak had no trust in the white fellas at all. But Truganini knew that Little Billy
was not like the white fella from the Government.
The poor white boy was confused. It was obvious that Moorina was his first woman. He’d
never been in the bush before and the Palawa were very different from the white fellas. But he seemed
open-minded and willing to try.
Truganini was a perplexed. She felt uncomfortable maternal instincts towards Little Billy, a
white fella. He was like the child she could never have. It was ironic the white fella who’d murdered
her husband and raped her so long ago had given her the disease that made her infertile.
She felt sorry for Little Billy. He wouldn’t last a week in Pandak’s village, living in little
humpies, eating half-cooked animals and walking around naked. Billy would think of Hobart town and
London and bread and grog and sugar and tobacco and all the nice clothes. Then he would walk down
to the river and go back to live with the white man.
Although, perhaps not. The white man would punish him for escaping. They might put him in a
box by himself or put chains on him or beat him. But eventually they’d let him out and he could be free
amongst his own kind. He might even find a white woman of his own but that wasn’t very likely.
She’d only ever seen two of them and there were many, many white fellas.
Billy felt he was at a turning point in his life. If he went back or was recaptured he’d suffer a
lot of pain and he was sure they’d lock him up for the full seven years, maybe longer. He’d probably
find Ginny eventually but they said that there weren’t many white women on Trowenna. So he’d
probably never have a wife. And he’d never get the treasure. Raeburn was probably lying. Perhaps
they should’ve called it HMS Hopeless!
He was free now and it felt good! Maybe he could have Moorina as a wife; he was supposed to
own her wasn’t he? Perhaps he could persuade the Elders not to cut his willie to bits. Trowenna was a
big place, it was warm and very beautiful. He could just stay under the trees or on the beach making
love to Moorina all day. There was no chance of getting back to England. Who’d want to live there
anyway? It was cold and damp and very crowded. He wouldn’t miss the fog and the grime one bit.
As they neared the Derwent river valley, the land became lush and green and they had to cross
several farms. They waited for two days at the ford before Pandak was sure there were no white men in
the area. They crossed the ford at midnight. The waist-deep water was cold and muddy.
Once on the other side, their luck took a turn for the better. It began to rain, a light but steady
drizzle. Pandak decided that they could travel a few hours in the daylight. He knew the area well. It
used to be his home. Billy could see Pandak getting upset every now and then. They'd come to a new
fence or a new meadow and Pandak would curse under his breath and have to stop for a while to
reorient himself. The white man was relentlessly destroying the land, by cutting down the forest,
burning the bush, killing all the wild animals and planting grass for the sheep. Billy didn't know what
to say. He was very unhappy for his new friend, but they all knew that they were helpless.
Gradually, the fields of New Norfolk gave way to more forests and rolling foothills with rugged
mountains behind them. They were approaching the Larmairrermener's new home. The tribe no longer
lived on the banks of the river and the elders had decided that it was best to retreat deep into the hills
and forests and avoid the disease and guns of the white fella.
They followed the river up into the hills and Billy breathed a sigh of relief as he saw that they
could easily hide in the thick bush under the tea trees that lined its banks. After a day or so they were
back in the thick forest again. They followed the river for another two days until the reached a track
leading up to the Larmairrermener camp.
Pandak was still very cautious. The white man rarely ventured this far into the bush but like
most aborigines he’d learnt a few hard lessons in being cautious in matters where the white fella was
involved.
They camped for the last night in a thicket of trees at the junction of two small rivers. The
ground was quite soggy so they climbed up into the trees to keep dry. The rain had stopped and the
wind had died down. Pandak, Moorina and Truganini slept soundly. It was the first time that Billy had
been the only one of them to stay awake. He was scared of falling out of the tree even though he was
on a big wide branch barely ten feet off the ground. He could hear the scuffling of a wombat as it
bulldozed its way through the kangaroo grass. He pulled his coat in tight around himself and shut his
eyes. It was going to be a long night.
The next morning Billy awoke to the sounds of laughter and screaming children. He opened his
eyes with a start and almost fell out of his tree. Below him Moorina was laughing and joking with a
small group of women as Pandak played with half a dozen children. The children were pointing up at
him and calling out for him to come down.
Billy was very glad to see them. He'd been afraid of being recaptured on their journey and it
was weeks since he'd had a decent meal. He was embarrassed to admit that for the last few nights he'd
been plagued by dreams of dining on the Point Puer salt beef and stale bread. Freedom was definitely a
wonderful thing but a diet of Witchetty grubs, very old and tough dried fish, pademelon, snake and
roots and berries wasn't the stuff of peaceful dreaming. Billy was used to a meager diet but it wasn't
until the very end of the trip with his aborigine friends that his stomach was finally used to the strange
food.
When Billy came down from the tree all the children disappeared into the forest or hid behind
the adults who’d gathered around. Noticing the sudden silence, Moorina detached herself from friends
and came up to him and took his hand.
“Welcome Little Billy. Welcome to my home,” she said with a beaming smile.
Billy grinned self-consciously. There were a lot of people around and he could feel Pandak’s
scowl of disapproval.
“Er, thank you. Me glad beautiful old lady,” he said bowing sombrely.
The women and children burst out in giggles. Moorina squeezed his hand and hissed at him
“Wrong word, my Tiger. You mean beautiful lady!”
With a bright red face Billy stammered, “Yes, Tiger say. Many greetings big girl!”
Moorina looked at him in the eyes and tried to hold back her laughter. Even Pandak had a
broad smile. Billy was horrified at his mistakes. Then he looked back at Moorina. His heart melted.
She was so pretty! He stood up as straight as an arrow, bent forward and kissed her hand theatrically.
Then turning to the villagers around him he bowed slowly and as regally as he could. The aborigines
were delighted.
“Come on my Tiger,” Moorina said chuckling quietly “Let’s find the food”
With that she gestured for everyone to go further up the path towards the main village.
Chapter 26:
Billy was ecstatic! Moorina had finally noticed him again! Since their tryst in the cave she’d
virtually ignored him until they’d come upon the village. Now she’d shown everyone, and especially
her brother, that she was attached to Billy. He still didn’t exactly understand their relationship, but at
least he wasn’t being ignored.
They walked through the forest; Pandak and Moorina had gone up ahead. Billy waited for
Truganini to catch up.
“What do I do?” he asked her quietly in English.
“Be calm, my friend,” she replied as the children danced around them on the path.
“They not my tribe. No hurry though, yes? Yes. Good. Little Billy just wait.”
A few minutes walk brought them to the village. It was a small collection of crude humpies,
domed-shaped huts, nestled in a clearing in the dense forest at the base of the biggest trees Billy had
ever seen in his life. The Swamp Gums were unimaginably huge, as wide as twenty people standing
side by side. The branches started as high up as the Navarino’s crow’s nest and the top of the trees
were nearly twice that height.
In front of the huts a meadow sloped gently down to a small stream that had been dammed to
make a little billabong surrounded by bushes. The morning sun bathed the huts in a warm light. Thin
tendrils of smoke rose from a fire-pit, warming the women who sat around it. A larger group of men
sat around the other fire pit.
Pandak and Moorina led Billy and Truganini out towards the men’s fire. The children swarmed
around laughing, smiling and peppering them with questions. Several older children spoke to Billy but
their accents were very thick and he couldn’t hear them very well. Truganini said a few things to them
and they seemed satisfied. Billy smiled self-consciously; the kids seemed to be quite clean and neat
and he could feel the dust and grime of the last few weeks on his skin.
Some of the men stood up and crowded around Pandak and Moorina. They hugged them
warmly and seemed delighted to see them. Billy stood back with Truganini. Several of the men gave
her a nod of recognition and smiled but none of them approached her. It seemed to Billy that her
reception was a little cold. He wondered if it was because she was a woman from another tribe or if
there was something more.
Pandak waved the men back towards the fire and bade them to sit down. Three old men had
remained seated at the fire and Pandak took Billy’s hand and pulled him towards them. It took a few
minutes for all the men to be seated and the children to be moved back and quietened. Moorina and
several other women stood quietly to one side.
Then, speaking slowly and clearly so that Billy could understand, Pandak introduced him to the
elders.
“My people, this is the White Tiger, Little Billy Foxe. He is a brave man who led us to the
Tears of the Dreamtime Serpent, plucked the firestick from the river and saved the Pydairrerme from
destruction by the white warriors. He has been given Moorina by Tolobunganah my father’s brother’s
brother for his deeds. He escaped the white fella school and has turned his back on the white fella and
the England tribe. He has the fearsome marks of the white fellas’ Cat on his back. Little Billy wants to
become a warrior of the Larmairrermener tribe!”
Billy could feel Moorina’s cool appraising stare. This was his chance to impress her and the
elders. He puffed himself up and tried to look like a big brave warrior. He wished that Pandak had
warned him beforehand. At least he could’ve taken his knife out of his swag and worn it on his belt.
Billy bowed to the elders.
An awkward silence followed.
With his head still bowed, out of the corner of his eye Billy could see Moorina shaking her
head. He’d done something wrong again! Well, Pandak should’ve told him the proper greeting rather
than spending all his time keeping him away from Moorina!
“Welcome Pandak it is good to see you, and Moorina we are very glad to have you home
again,” the senior of the elders replied, then waving towards Truganini he said, “Truganini I am
pleased you are here, give Wooraddy our greetings and tell Robinson he must stay away.”
He turned smoothly to Pandak with a puzzled expression on his face. “Pandak, why did you
bring a Gubba home? He is thin and pale, the white fellas will follow him and destroy the village.”
Pandak shook his head and the other elders smiled at his discomfiture. “Leelinger, you have
told me many times that we must be careful in these dangerous time. I have listened to you well. I will
follow Murrimbindi as Karadji and I would not lead the white fella to our village. Little Billy showed
me the Bolong.Mocha, the Tears of the Dreamtime Serpent. He speaks our tongue. He deserves a
chance to be heard.”
Leelinger raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Wa! You are still the same Pandak of old! I believe
you Pandak. Now, let us hear what the white boy has to say!”
Pandak turned to Billy, who’d only caught a few words of the old man’s greeting, but could see
that the elders hardly enthusiastic about the appearance of a white boy in their village.
“Greetings wise ones,” Billy said slowly, concentrating hard on getting his pronunciation
correct. “I thank Pandak, Moorina and Truganini to bring me here. I not like white fella. I leave school
and Hobart town. I have many to learn. Take plenty long time. I want live in Trowenna like real
warrior in Larmairrermener tribe if I tribe say Yes.”
The old men looked at him thoughtfully.
“A white boy who can speak properly?” Leelinger said in amazement. The elders nodded in
agreement.
“Wa! But white fellas are weak. They cannot live in the bush, they steal our land and kill our
kangaroos. How do we know this white boy will be different?” the stern man next to Leelinger replied.
“Wa! Murrimbindi my friend, you chose Pandak and he likes the white boy. Do you think you
made a mistake with your new Karadji?” Leelinger shook his head, and the long silver hair swayed
from side to side.
“Wa! I do not trust any Gubba. Not since they killed Musquito.”
“Wa! We will post more guards to make sure the white fellas did not follow them. But we must
decide what to do with the white boy, and we also have Truganini with us. That means we have many
heavy matters to talk about. Many days in the fire talks. But first, let us be glad and feast. Later we can
plan.”
Turning to Billy, he said in a gravelly voice. “Little white fella who is called Little Billy the
White Tiger. We greet you. Join us in feasting. Later we will decide if you can begin the long path to
your Dreaming.”

Moorina took Billy and Truganini over to the women’s fire pit. She held his hand as she
introduced him to all the women. Billy was nervous and awkward. One of the little girls asked
Moorina if she was allowed to have a white man for a husband. Moorina just laughed and clung to
Billy’s arm possessively.
“No, my husband will be a warrior of our tribe. His skin can be white but his heart and his mind
will be the heart and mind of a great Larmairrermener warrior.”
The women howled with glee, sending Billy bright red with embarrassment. The children
pointed to Billy’s red face with grave concern.
“No, not sick. Red face will change back soon,” Billy explained.
They sat down and were given food and water. Pandak came over to join them. The women
greeted him enthusiastically, then one of the younger women took him by the hand and led him down
towards the billabong. They waved back at the catcalls of encouragement given them by the other
women. Pandak shooed the children away as they tried to follow the couple.
Billy shifted awkwardly on his rock. Moorina squeezed his hand nodded her head towards
Pandak.
“We go,” she mouthed at him silently.
He coughed nervously. All the women were staring at him, waiting for his response. One of the
little girls yelled out.
“He goes red again everyone, look!”
Moorina stood over him and pulled Billy up.
“Stay here. We will go to the water alone,” she said.
The women instantly started gossiping.
“Alone? Where’s the fun in that?” Billy heard one of the women say as they walked down the
hill to the water.
At the billabong, Billy was surprised to see Pandak. A young woman waited for him
impatiently under the trees.
“Little Billy, you must go to the water and wash like my brother,” Moorina said.
Billy started to protest but she smiled sweetly, stroked his chest and said, “I lay with you in the
cave because I was hungry, but now we can relax, we can move nice and slowly. But first you must
wash and remove the smell of the white fella. Then you can come to me.”
She tugged on his belt playfully then pushed him towards the billabong. Billy sighed; women
were so fussy! It was only three weeks since he’d bathed. He didn’t smell bad! Grumbling to himself
he went behind a bush and took off his clothes.
“Hey, white boy, come out and show yourself. Don’t be shy!” Moorina teased.
“Why Moorina not wash too?” Billy shouted back.
“Wa!” she replied indignantly, “Little Billy cannot smell my new perfume? For that you must
be punished!”
Moorina threw her possum skins aside and picked up a long thin stick that the children had left.
She ran at him, chasing Billy, gleaming white and naked, out from the bushes. Yelling and laughing
they ran down to the water. Pandak shouted gleefully at Billy to flee from the mad woman.
Billy dived in and Moorina stopped at the water’s edge.
Pandak walked majestically out of the billabong, his firm muscles glistening and rippling as the
water ran off his lean slender body. As he passed his sister on his way up towards the waiting woman,
he smiled mischievously and nodded casually in the direction of the upper bank of the pool. Several
children were hiding in the bushes, drawn by the noise and curious to see what a white fella looked like
naked.
Moorina sat and watched as Billy splashed about in the pool and washed himself. His back was
to the bank so he couldn’t see the kids. They made faces at her but kept very quiet. Moorina smiled and
tried hard to stifle her laughter.
When he was finished, Billy moved back into the shallow water. The children sat in the bushes
and watched Billy. They were fascinated by his brown arms and white back with the big red, purple
and brown scars.
He came towards Moorina. As the water dropped his white buttocks showed up vividly. The
children burst out with squeals of laughter and delight. Billy spun around at the noise. He yelled at the
kids and tried to shoo them away but they just laughed even more.
Billy shrugged. He came quickly up to the shore and ran towards the bushes. Moorina called
him back, holding his clothes in one hand.
“Want clothes,” Billy grunted.
“Not yet my Tiger. First I will dry the water from your body, come with me.” She took his hand
and they went up into the trees.
The trees were widely spaced. Moorina threw her skins on the ground and pulled Billy down
onto them. Billy was horrified, as the children had come around the billabong and he was sure that they
could still see them. He pointed at them but Moorina just laughed and told him to forget them. Then he
heard a loud groaning and moaning sound coming from the bushes nearby.
“Wha, what is noise?”
Moorina giggled, “Big brother is working hard!”
Billy began to protest but she rubbed her palm over his flat stomach and said seductively,
“Now Little Billy you must work hard too!”
When they finished Billy sat up and was surprised to find a basket of food and water had been
placed near his clothes just a few feet away.
“Nice children.”
“You fascinate them you know,” Moorina replied. “Tell me Little Billy, are you really going to
join the tribe?”
“Maybe. I want you. I want freedom. No chains. No Cat.” He stroked her hand, “You want me?
Is good I join tribe?”
She sighed.
It wasn’t the reaction he wanted or expected.
“My Tiger. You helped us and we owed you. We owed you the chance to do something. Me, I
want a husband. That means a Palawa man. Can you, a white fella, be that man? I don’t know, the
elders will decide if you can take the test. But it will take you time, years perhaps. There are other men
who want me too. Sorry, Little Billy, but that is the truth. The elders will not force me but they might
want me to take a different man. I like you very much. You are kind and innocent, but I cannot say if I
want you to be my husband even if you were a warrior right now.”
Her words hit him very hard. Everything was going so well, it was a warm sunny day, the birds
were singing, the Swamp Gums towered like a living green cliff over the billabong. He’d just made
love for just the third time in his life and now Moorina was spoiling his dreams.
“You are young and eager, but you must move slowly my Tiger. Few white fellas even speak to
us natives. Now you want to marry one? Here in the valley we have not felt the real impact of the
white fella. The Pydairrerme band has many troubles from the white fella, troubles that we will see
before too long. Why do you think my people do not welcome Truganini with much joy? She comes to
tell us that the white fella will steal our land and kill us or make us leave the land. She is right. She is a
wise woman but my people do not see the trouble.” Moorina stroked Billy’s hand.
“The Pydairrerme hate the white fella. The convicts clear their land and there are fights that
will soon become battles. Soon our tribe will learn to hate the white fella. Then my Tiger, life as my
husband would be very hard.”
“You not want me as husband!” Billy grunted, almost angry in his disappointment.
Moorina regarded him with a mixture of sorrow and pity.
“No Little Billy. I didn’t say that. You would be a fine husband, a great warrior. You are clever
and kind and funny. But the tide of the white man is washing across our land. If you want me you must
become a Larmairrermener warrior. That will be a hard test and a long time coming. But then you may
have to fight the white fella to keep me. You are afraid how they will cut your marry-taggle-willie.
That is a little fear. To have me and to keep the tribe together you must become a warrior. You must be
braver than all the white fellas and all the Palawa because you will be fighting them all.”
Billy contemplated her words sullenly. Then he lay back on the soft ground
“Damn!” he said in English “I thought a life of buggery and beatings was difficult!”
Moorina looked at him quizzically.
“What do you think my brave white boy?”
Billy smiled ruefully replying, “I am in rising water. Perhaps elders not let me swim, perhaps
yes. Then I will swim or drown. Moorina is right. Little Billy must go slow. Now my pretty one, let us
make another happy time while we can.”
He grinned and pulled her down onto him.
They gathered around the main fire at dusk. Billy and Pandak sat with the men while Moorina
and Truganini opposite with the women. The children and their dogs played around them as the
celebrations lasted well into the night.
It was the first time that Billy felt as if he belonged. The men had taken great pains to include him in
their conversation and to talk very slowly and clearly. Billy concentrated intensely and understood
most of the time. They were very polite and friendly, explaining any words that he failed to
understand. It was a warm evening, everyone was in good spirits, singing and dancing around the fire.
Even Billy, admittedly shy and clumsy, got up to dance with the children. Pandak had an
especially good voice and led several songs that Billy enjoyed even though he didn’t know their
meaning.
As the mood quietened down and the children drifted away to their humpies to sleep, Leelinger
came forward and offered Billy an abalone shell full of golden brown liquid. Immediately Billy tensed
up, for this was part of the test that Moorina had told him about. This was the spirit of the trees, the
very special drink that they made by draining the sap from the roots of the MogoLopa tree. He took a
deep breath as he accepted the shell. The tribe sat and watched silently as the white boy accepted the
challenge of the Council of Elders.
As Billy raised the abalone shell to his lips he breathed in through his nose. The strong smell of
alcohol and eucalyptus hit his nostrils and Billy started to cough and sneeze. He managed to roll to his
side and put the shell on the ground without spilling a drop but the cough grew and grew, the bile rose
in Billy’s throat and he staggered backwards away from the fire.
The water came out of his nose, his eyes filled with tears. He vomited, wracking his body with
spasms. The women cheered and clapped. Above the rushing of blood through his ears Billy could hear
everyone laughing.
Pandak led him stumbling out of the light of the fire and Moorina brought water over to him.
They were both giggling unsympathetically.
“Bugger it!” Billy spat.
Pandak chuckled, “Good time little Billy. You tried and you made them laugh. That was
perfect!”
Billy groaned as he wiped his face.
“I failed bloody test!”
Pandak slapped him a few times on the back. “Failed? Failed? No Billy. Bloody bad grog that!
Everyone fails. The MogoLopa tree, that is, Fire–Water tree. It’s their joke. The elders are very funny
men, yes?”
“Yes, Ha de bloody ha. Very, very funny!” Billy replied sarcastically in English as they
returned to the circle.
He knelt down and picked up the abalone shell again. He raised it to his lips and, this time
without inhaling, he drank the liquid down in one gulp. He sat down with a thud as the drink seared
like molten lava down the back of his throat. Billy’s eyes bulged out of his head and he could feel
himself losing control again. His knuckles went white as he squeezed the shell cup and tensed his
stomach muscles to fight the rising nausea. The tribe looked him expectantly but Billy refused to be
beaten. Slowly it occurred to him that he was holding his breath and he forced himself to relax and
start to breathe. Immediately he felt better and the danger was over.
The elders grinned at him widely and nodded their heads on approval. The old man, Leelinger,
handed Billy a new kangaroo skin.
“Here, little white fella. Take my cloth. That was very funny, the best laugh I’ve had in months.
The elders have decided! You can go walkabout on the Songline of the Tiger for one year with Pandak.
You will learn the craft of the Palawa, the lore of the Larmairrermener and of your totem, Loarinna, the
Tiger. Pandak is a good teacher and he will be preparing to become Karadji. It is a great honor for you
both and who knows Little Billy; maybe you will make a good new warrior! Now, get up! You must
learn how to dance or else you have to drink again! ”
That night Billy slept peacefully next to the dying embers of the fire with two dogs curled up
beside him. He was wakened when the dogs raced off to chase a native hen that had come to scavenge
for scraps.
Truganini poked at the fire; she’d been awake for a while. No-one else was awake as the dawn
light fought to extinguish the remaining stars in the sky. She offered Billy some water. He drank
greedily, for his mouth was parched and everything tasted of smoke.
“I’m glad you woke little Billy. I wanted to wish you good luck before I leave.”
Billy rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Truganini had to go north to meet Augustus Robinson sometime
before summer. She didn’t want to, but her husband Woorraddy was with him.
“They don’t want you here do they?” Billy said quietly in English.
“They think me bring bad things. They not know much white fella. Not yet. Me know white
fella long time. White fella bad. White fella very strong. They want fight white fella. Me hear
Robinson, him say if we fight maybe all black fella come dead. Him say if black fella follow
Robinson, he take them, like children. Then we learn white fella way and we have plenty babies and
live good under white God fella with plenty food, grog and baccy. This I tell Leelinger, I tell Pandak.
They say no. Robinson wrong. Black fella will fight. White fella not kill everyone. That is very bad
thing. No fella that bad.”
It was heady conversation for the early morning but Billy could see that Truganini wanted to
talk. She was very unhappy and there were many things he could learn from her.
“And you, what do you think?”
She sighed and put a few sticks on the fire. She told him how when she was a girl the sealers
came to her village on Bruny Island. They killed her mother and abducted her sister. Her fiancée,
betrothed to her since she was five, had swum out and clung to the side of the boat that her sister was
on. They hacked off his hands and he drowned.
Her sister was killed a few months later by a sealer. The tribe was decimated by the white man
and by disease, plummeting from 160 to 20 in just six years.
“Now, Little Billy, me say white fella plenty strong, plenty bad. But Robinson say Palawa must
become like white fella. Robinson fail with my people, the Lyluequonny. Maybe you little Billy, can
become Palawa, but if we not become white fella then me think maybe Robinson is right. Maybe white
fella kill all black fella!”
“No, no, no!” Billy protested. “How could this be? Governor Arthur is a devoted Christian. He
is a pious man! Robinson is a priest so surely they wouldn’t let all the aborigines be killed. It’s
absolutely unthinkable. Surely you must be mistaken!”
She sighed and looked at him with tears forming in her eyes.
“Me not mistaken. It happens now to my tribe like Robinson says.”
“Well, dammit! I will not let it happen! I will fight it. I will go and speak to Robinson and the
Governor right now and tell them to stop this at once!”
Truganini shook her head and waved him to sit down.
“Little Billy, you are invisible to these people,” she explained in her own tongue. “They will
wrap you in chains and throw you in a big hole. And there you will die alone, while we, the owners of
Trowenna, will die as well.”
“It’s not fair,” Billy hissed angrily.
She smiled at him ruefully, “We are just leaves blown on the wind. But I will try to stop them.
Now, tell me little Billy, do you really want to join us?”
“I like you people. I like the way you live. I think I’m in love too. If only things were different.
If only … hey, I have an idea!”
She glanced sideways at him; her English was a bit rusty.
“Slowly,” she said.
“Right. Right,” he continued enthusiastically. “Now, what if I had a lot of money and I went to
the Governor and, and I, and I bought the land! Would that work?”
“Billy, Billy, Billy. Silly Billy! Where get money? You escape from school. Look at you.
Where get money? And why they not take money and throw Billy in hole?”
“Hah!” he cried. “I can get treasure from the ship. You know of HMS Hope? No? Well, I have
part of a map of the treasure!”
He smiled at her broadly. It was a brilliant idea!
“No, no Silly Billy!” she admonished. “How you get money? You have part of map? What is
this?”
“Damn! I need Donaldson!” He threw his hands in the air in exasperation. “Bugger! You’re
right! I need Donaldson’s part of the map and I need my Ticket of Leave. Hell! How do I keep
Moorina as well! Oh, woe is me!”
Truganini laughed. “Come, Little Billy. Tell me slowly. Now what is HMS Hope?”
So Billy briefly told her the story that Raeburn had recounted in what seemed such a long time
ago. At the end she said simply in her own language,
“If you go back to the white fella they will put you in chains in a hole. If you are lucky you will
not die and they will make you free. Then you will find the whole map from your friend Donaldson
and get the money. Then you give the money to Robinson and the Governor and they will give you a
village.”
Billy nodded and then she added,
“But, Moorina will have a new husband and you cannot live in the village until you learn all
our ways and become Palawa.”
Billy was crestfallen. He didn’t want to lose Moorina.
“Or,” Truganini continued, “you go bush and become Palawa real quick, so Moorina won’t
take a new husband. Then you must dress up like white fella and visit Donaldson and get map and
money and give money to Governor to buy village. Simple!”
“Oh dear. What to do? As white fella me lose Moorina, as Palawa me maybe lose money.”
Truganini’s heart went out to her poor friend.
“Now, as we say, the hungry man does not try to kill two kangaroo with one spear! You don’t
know if you can get the money. You don’t know if you’ll still be alive after the white fella lets you out
of the hole. You don’t know if Moorina will be alive. You don’t know if the Governor will give you
the village. Also, we live in many places. We move all the time for better food following the ways of
our ancestors. Will the Governor give you all our villages? You must think very hard little Billy.”
“What Truganini want Billy to do?”
“Well, you know us black fellas better than any white fella in Trowenna. Maybe you can talk to
Robinson and the Governor with me. We tell them not to kill the Palawa.”
Billy stood up; the children had woken and were starting rouse everyone else. Pandak was
walking towards them. He reached over and squeezed her hand.
“I will miss your wise advice very much.”

Chapter 27:
Billy and Pandak left the village left before dawn, as Billy did not want to say farewell to
Moorina. She had been quite sick the last few days, especially in the morning and Billy didn’t want to
disturb her. She’d promised him only that she’d stay with the tribe. Several men had begun to court her
and he knew that she couldn’t deny them. The three eligible women left in the tribe were outnumbered
many fold by the eager young bachelors.
Billy had been encouraged by her oddly subdued and possessive behaviour before his
departure. She gave him her best dilly bag and a beautiful little shell necklace that she cherished. She
clung to him and hung on his every word until the last. She was soft and warm and loving and Billy’s
heart ached to be with her.
The elders had agreed that the little white boy should be given the chance to become a Palawa
warrior. They admired the scars on his back but told him that he had to suffer pain voluntarily.
Strangely, they did not demand that he be given the same Bo-ra ceremony as the other
Larmairrermener men. Billy wondered if Pandak had petitioned them for him.
Pandak had a year or more of training ahead before he could become Karadji. He had to go
bush for some time to study and learn. They would go together and Pandak would teach little Billy, the
White Tiger. The elders would quickly know if Billy could understand the Palawa way and survive off
the land.
Billy trudged off in the half-light of dawn on his quest to become an aboriginal warrior. As he
followed Pandak through the dense moss-covered forest, Billy smiled in wonder at the change he’d
undergone. Just a few years ago he’d been scraping a living in the muck and filth of London, now he
was off to a grand adventure in the magnificent harshness of Trowenna with Moorina waiting for him
to return.
Lizzy was quite content. Life in Van Diemen’s Land was not as bad as she’d expected. She
thanked God for wee Norrie, the warm weather and Mister Jameson. The day the Sydney Cove docked,
she’d said farewell to Ginny and Sarah and sat and sulked in her cell like all the other women. She’d
been very surprised when a few hours later the guards had unlocked her cell and escorted her and
several other women on deck. The Inspector had given the Captain a list of assignments. They were
requests that’d arrived late or which the Governor considered less important. Lizzy was delighted to
have been assigned so quickly.
Her new Master was Mister Jameson. He, like Governor Arthur, was from Plymouth, and the
Governor had granted his request for a very small fee. Jameson was a farmer with a tiny landholding
on the banks of the Derwent north of Hobart Town.
The farm was on the western bank of the Derwent. Some of the lower pastures were still under
water from the winter rains. The stable and the house were on the west of the property a quarter of a
mile from the river and above the flood plain. Jameson had but six sheep, and his only horse, a mare,
had died from a broken leg. He’d blamed the Boongs. They’d panicked the animal somehow. He never
had any proof but Mister Atkins up the road said he’d seen them in the hills not far away so it had to be
their fault.
It was dark when they arrived. They’d eaten at the pub at Austin’s Ferry. Mister Jameson, or
Dick, as he insisted that Lizzy call him, had drunk a few too many ales. He seemed friendly, almost too
friendly.
Jameson admitted that he was right chuffed to get a servant, and one so pleasing to the eye.
Sipping on her first beer in six months, Lizzy smiled nervously and hoped that new master would
behave himself once he was sober.
Mrs Jameson greeted them with a stony silence. Norrie was already in bed.
“Morag, I’d like you to meet our new maid, Lizzy Black,” Mr Jameson announced.
She looked Lizzy up and down with a withering stare.
“Pleased to finally meet you Miss Black. You may call me Mrs Jameson. I presume that you’ve
both eaten as the food’s all been put away? Good. Now, Miss Black you may sleep in the barn tonight.
It should be warm enough and a lot more comfortable than that horrible boat. You can take your things
in there once you’ve helped Mister Jameson unload the cart. You did remember to buy the supplies
Richard, didn’t you?”
Mr Jameson nodded.
“Right you are then,” she continued in a slight Scottish brogue. “Let’s have you up at dawn
then Miss Black. There’s no shortage of things to do tomorrow. They should’ve been done today of
course but I expect the Midway House was very busy tonight?”
Lizzy spent her first night on dry land in a barn with three sheep. She barely slept, not because
of the noise, the cold or the stench, but because the long ocean voyage had left her with land sickness
and the walls heaved and swayed whenever she closed her eyes. Lizzy was just too excited to be off
the Sydney Cove and on dry land with a proper roof over her head.
The dawn broke clear and cool. Lizzy was woken by the cockcrow. She waited for half an hour,
shivering on the back doorstep of the house. Eventually wee Norrie came bouncing into the kitchen in
his pajamas. He saw her waving to him through the window and immediately ran away yelling loudly
for his Mam. Mister Jameson let her in and gave her a nice warm cup of chocolate. Mrs Jameson
wouldn’t arise until mid-morning.
Quietly, almost whispering, Dick told Lizzy about his wife. She was from Glasgow, young but
quite sickly. She was very pale and thin, tired all the time and subject to fainting spells. She was
having great trouble in maintaining the household and caring for wee Norrie, their four-year-old son.
She was rarely up before noon and had to nap often. Wee Norrie was wearing her out.
They needed help around the house and the farm. Dick hoped that despite their poor start the
two women would grow to respect and like each other. There was no chance of friendship; Mrs
Jameson couldn’t befriend a common convict. Mrs Jameson was sure she was dying of anemia, just
like her mother. She wanted a new wife for her husband and mother for her son. Lizzy Black was
really of too low a class for the boy and certainly too old and self-confident for her timid husband
Richard.
Lizzy kept her distance from wee Norrie. She didn’t want the lad to become dependent upon
her. She’d never been a servant and tried very hard to anticipate her mistress’s needs. Mrs Jameson
was unequivocally head of the household and Lizzy knew her place.
It was very difficult for Lizzy. Mrs Jameson made it abundantly clear that she had complete
and absolute power over Lizzy. When her Mistress asked her what denomination she was, Lizzy
answered without hesitation that she was a Catholic. She delivered the little lie so smoothly that she
could see Mrs Jameson slowly start to relax her hard exterior. Lizzy knew she’d probably be sent to
Hell for it, but she didn’t care and besides it meant that she could attend Sunday services and perhaps
even meet a man!
After a few months, life started to grate on Lizzy. She had no time of her own; she lived at the
Jameson’s remote farm. She only left the confines of the farm to go to the monthly market at Austin’s
Ferry or to attend church every fortnight or so. Mrs Jameson forbade them to enter the Midway House
and kept a stern matronly eye on her servant. Lizzy thought she saw a flicker of interest in the eyes of
several men at church.
She could do nothing about it. Her life was slipping hopelessly by. Christmas and Easter were
very peculiar, of course there were no holidays, it’d never been a special time for the working class,
but the weather was excruciatingly hot which was a big shock for Lizzy after the freezing winters of
London. Mrs Jameson only permitted subdued celebration of Hogmanay and Burn’s night made her so
homesick that she stayed in bed all day moping and mumbling passages from the her favourite poem,
To A Mouse. Lizzy soon knew by heart the verses about “the cowrin, tim’rous beastie with a panic in
thy breastie.”
After a year or so, Lizzy’s clothes had become noticeably ragged. The family missed church for
several weeks because Mrs Jameson insisted that their servant was too scruffy to be seen in the House
of the Lord. Lizzy made no argument at the misplaced logic and eventually Mrs Jameson gave her an
old dress of her own.
Lizzy was never very good with needle and thread and she was very busy helping on the farm
so it took several weeks for her to adjust the dress so it fit. Mrs Jameson became very cross that her
ungratefully slow servant was deliberately preventing the family from attending church. In a fit of
pique she took her son and husband off to the church and ordered Lizzy to stay home and clean out the
barn.
As luck would have it, a traveller happened upon the small farm while they were away. Lizzy
had just finished feeding the chickens when she saw a man riding down the path to the farmhouse. He
was obviously very important, as he had a horse and it was a very well kept and lively stallion.
“You’ll ‘ave to come back later, sir. The Master is away,” she shouted to him as he drew up to
the front gate.
“Good morning fair lady. Is this the Jameson establishment?” His voice was deep and resonant.
Lizzy felt a tingle of pleasure run down her spine. He was very well dressed in a clean white
cotton shirt, a wide brimmed hat, black leather trousers and high top black leather riding boots. He was
square-jawed with big moustaches and a rich brown tan. Several rifles and a sword were tied to two
large leather packs on his horse; the lack of mud or dust indicated to her that he had just started on a
long journey.
Lizzy came up to the gate, her skirts trailing in the red dust.
“Aye, sir. This is Mister Jameson’s run. Who can I say wished to see him?”
He wasn’t especially handsome, but seemed very confident and self-assured. He smiled, thin
lipped and wide mouthed; it was more polite than friendly.
“No Miss, it is not the Jamesons I seek. My name is George Blanch, Commander George
Blanch of the Van Diemen’s Land Company. I am looking for a young woman who goes by the name
of Elizabeth Susan Black. I heard she might be found in these parts.”
Lizzy pondered for a moment.
“Aye, sir. Miss Black may be found ‘ereabouts. I may even know where she is, but what
business would a fine gentleman such as yerself ‘ave with a poor wench such as she?”
He dismounted with a chuckle and tied his horse to the gatepost.
“Well, Miss. I have half a crown for some information that I believe the lovely Miss Black can
provide.” He drew a leather bag from his pack.
Talk of money caught Lizzy’s attention. Half a crown! That was as much money as the
Government paid into her bank account in six months!
“What sort of information, Mister Blanch?”
“That’s Commander Blanch. Now listen to me. I’ll give you a crown if you can tell me the
whereabouts of Virginia Foxe.”
“Surely the details are in the Governor’s Black Books, sir. And why Ginny? I haven’t seen her
in over a year.”
Blanch reached into the leather bag and pulled out a handful of coins. He studied Lizzy’s face
carefully as he played with a bright shiny crown piece.
“Now, Miss Black. This money can be all yours. In your hand, right now. All I need to know is,
what is her new name and who is her Master?”
Lizzy thought hard. What did Ginny say she wanted to call herself? Blanch took her silence for
stubbornness.
“Oh, I had the books examined but she’s changed her name. I have word about Ginny’s
brother, William. I’d like to contact her with the good news. I’m sure she could use some good news.
You will help me won’t you Miss Black?”
Lizzy waited. The man was trying hard not to seem desperate. She wondered how far she could
push him. Why did he really want Ginny? He seemed very influential. He’d had the books examined?
She suspected that it took more than just money to do that. He’d find out sooner or later. So she might
as well get something out of it, and perhaps there was something she could ask for.
“Well, it’s true Commander. I do know Ginny. We was good chums on the Sydney Cove. But
you know it’s been such a long time and memories fade you know. Now, why don’t you ‘and me the
money and let’s ‘ave a little chat. P’raps me memory will return?”
Lizzy thought she’d pushed him too far. He clenched the coins in his fist and hissed at her,
“Woman, do you know who I am? I can have you clapped in irons or sent to the Cascades for
this!”
Lizzy breathed deeply and smiled inwardly. She had him! Handling loud and obnoxious men
was second nature to her. She’d worked in many pubs on London’s dockside. This jumped up little
“Commander” needed her more than she needed him.
“Oh, but, sir. All I want is a bit of crack, sir, y’know a little gossip. It’s so lonely out ‘ere. You
can understand that can’t you? It’ll help jog me memory, honest, sir,” she answered meekly.
“I can only give you ten minutes. I’m a busy man and do not hold with idle prattle. I have to be
on the road to Emu Bay soon.”
“Well, sir, I’ll take the money first. Then per’aps you can tell me about Ginny’s bruvver and
the latest news from London? How was her Majesty’s birthday? Any new ships arrived from home
recently?” Lizzy smiled sweetly.
A few days later Lizzy asked Dick if she could send a letter to her friend in Launceston. Mister
Jameson was rather bemused. He was surprised that Lizzy could write.
Richard Jameson was a free man. Morag’s small inheritance had enabled them to emigrate to
Van Diemen’s Land six years earlier to escape the poverty of the English countryside. They’d bought
passage on the Nautilus out of Southampton. Their tiny cabin was as far away from the cargo of
convict women as it was possible to be, but they could hear and smell the women all the time. They
watched the filthy, unkempt criminals shuffle around the deck, taking their daily exercise and they
listened to the screams and profanities when the women were locked below. The Jamesons had grown
to despise the convicts. It had taken five years and sheer desperation for Morag’s health problems to
drive them to seek out a servant from the ranks of these repellant individuals.
Mister Jameson relied on Morag as he could not read or write. Lizzy had changed many of the
impressions he’d had of the women convicts. She was not really quite as ugly, nor as smelly as he’d
expected. In some ways, she was better looking than his ailing wife. On that first day he’d taken her to
the tavern as he was sorely in need of a drink and for a while he’d been half hoping that she’d get tipsy
and show her gratitude properly towards her Master as she was no doubt an experienced prostitute.
Dick finally knew he’d been wrong. He’d misjudged both Lizzy and the female convicts. Lizzy
had turned out to be a good worker, gentle with Norrie and very respectful towards her employers. She
didn’t swear or complain and somehow she’d managed to reduce Morag’s nagging and grumbling.
Lizzy had lived in the barn for the first six months, but eventually, Morag came to trust her and they
gave her a tiny room off the kitchen.
Morag was happy to leave her son in Lizzy’s care without worrying that the lad might learn any
naughty words or songs. Lizzy’s request for the letter was the only thing she’d asked for since they’d
had her. Lizzy’s letter to Ginny was short and simple. It was hard for her to write and anyway, she
expected the Government to read it and she didn’t want any trouble. She told Ginny;
Dear Gin,
I hop you are well and hapy.
I am at the Jamesons run neer Hobarton.
Billy is free!
The VDLC man nos about Billy, he will see you.
Be carefull.
Love
Lizzy Black
She gave the letter to Mr Jameson. He folded it into quarters and was about to put it into his
pocket when Mrs Jameson shuffled into the room in her dressing gown.
“Whassat love?” she said.
“Oh, it’s just a letter for Ginny, Miss Black’s friend in Launceston,” he replied as he dismissed
Lizzy.
“Now you sit back down there girlie,” she commanded, waving her hand at Lizzy. “Hand it
over Richard. I’m no having our time and money wasted on idle chit chat and letters now.”
She unfolded the letter and asked Lizzy sweetly, “You’ve no problem with me reading this,
have ye?”
Lizzy nodded subserviently and her Mistress read the letter.
“Ah, what’s this aboot the Company man? When did ye see a Company man then?”
Lizzy explained Blanch’s visit, leaving out all the details about the money while Mrs Jameson
became angrier and angrier. When she finished Mrs Jameson took the letter and slowly and carefully
tore it up.
“You are a deceitful and scheming wench! Now are there any other men who you’ve been
seeing behind my back? Any men on horses? Any knights in shining armor? Any blokes in the
barnyard you might be meeting in the night?”
Lizzy shook her head sadly as tears welled up.
“There better not be girlie! Now get out of my sight!”
Later that day Mr Jameson came out to the barn. Lizzy sat next to a large stack of firewood
she’d been ordered to chop.
“Here you are.” He glanced furtively back at the farmhouse and handed Lizzy a small brown
bag. Lizzy took it and threw it onto the woodpile.
“I brought some food for you,” he explained apologetically.
Lizzy fought back the tears. She was angry, she was sad and she was afraid for Ginny. She had
to get a letter to her. She had to warn her about Blanch.
“Why don’t you look in the bag Miss Black? I think you’ll like it.”
Lizzy sighed and picked up the bag. Inside were an apple, a piece of cheese, a hunk of bread
and another bag. Intrigued, she extracted the smaller bag. She put her hand inside and pulled out
several small pieces of brown paper. There was writing on them. It was her letter.
“Now Lizzy, where does your friend Ginny live?” he asked gently.
She looked up in a panic, afraid that Mrs Jameson might discover them.
“It’s fine Lizzy, really,” Dick said reaching out and taking her hand slowly and deliberately.
“My wife is asleep. I want to help you, my dear,” he squeezed her hand. “I have to go to the
market today. We can’t use the Government service to send your letter as Morag would find out and it
is not cheap, but I might know someone who can take your letter. Now where does Ginny live?”
Lizzy withdrew her hand from his and folded her arms across her chest defensively.
“She, she, she’s in the Factory. Oh, it’s not what you think. She’s working there, she’s a nurse.”
Dick smiled. He had a much nicer smile than Mister Blanch, Lizzy thought.
“Lizzy, look at me,” he said.
She lifted her eyes up to him.
“Now then my dear. I’m sorry about what happened. She’s not herself you know. She’s very
poorly and sometimes she gets these ideas in her head and she just gets so angry. She’s still angry, but
she’s sick you know. Now, I’ll get your letter to Ginny. Don’t worry about that. But don’t tell Mrs
Jameson. She’ll only get upset. It’ll be our little secret, all right?”
She nodded.

He stood up. Thinking he was about to leave, she stood also. Before she knew it, he hugged
her, gave her a quick peck on the cheek and stood back from her.
It left her breathless. Her heart was pounding, her faced flushed.
“Right, I’ll be off then. Norrie will be awake soon so eat your food and don’t let you-know-
who find out.”
He whirled around and headed towards the gate. Lizzy watched him go, amazed, exhilarated,
frightened.
Neither of them noticed the slight movement of the curtain in Mrs Jameson’s bedroom.
Chapter 28:
Ginny stared out at the garden. Magpies played in the grass in a small patch of sunlight. It was
mid-afternoon on a Sunday, the quietest time of the week. The new parson of St John’s church,
Reverend Connelly, had just departed after a short visit on his first rounds of his new Parish. He
seemed like a nice man but had been shocked at the bedlam and chaos of the Factory. He said he’d like
to visit regularly and bless the inmates and baptize the children but Ginny was quite sure they’d never
see him again.
She heard the doorbell ring faintly. Footsteps entered the foyer and Mrs Bowden greeted the
man in a quiet voice. A few minutes later Becky drew aside the flimsy curtain that divided the tiny
room that was their home.
“Sorry, Ginny, there’s a chap downstairs. Fang told me to fetch you,” she chuckled.
“She would. She knows I aint ‘ad no sleep. Can’t even get five minutes to meself nowadays.”
“No rest for the wicked, ducks, but he is a bit posh I think.” Becky replied cheerfully.
Ginny clomped down the corridor to the foyer. She was tired; it’d been so long since she’d had
a decent sleep that she always felt tired.
She pushed open the door. Mrs Bowden was talking to a well-dressed military man. They
stopped and turned towards her as she entered. He was in his forties, tanned, and had a big military-
style moustache. It looked as though he was in full military uniform. His dark blue jacket had a high
stiff collar, silver buttons and trim, especially on the sleeves. His matching trousers had a silver stripe
down the side and he wore a large silver sword from his wide white belt. He had several large shiny
medals on his chest and held his small brimmed blue and silver hat in his hand.
A flash of recognition gleamed in his eye. Ginny thought he looked vaguely familiar but it
wasn’t until he spoke that she realized who he was.
“I believe that Victoria may be able to help you,” Mrs Bowden said waving her hand towards
Ginny.
The man clicked his heels together at attention and bowed to her slightly.
“Good afternoon Miss Fotheringham. I bring news of your brother William.”
Ginny blushed and stared to talk but the words just didn’t come out.
“My name is George Blanch, Commander George Blanch. We met some time ago on the
Launceston Stage, I believe.”
“Oh, er yes. Well, pleased to meet you, er, again Mister Blanch,” Ginny stammered.
For a brief moment his smile hardened into the sneer she remembered.
“Commander Blanch, thank you. Now how do I address you? Foxe or Fotheringham?”
Ginny looked across at Mrs Bowden nervously; she felt uncomfortable with her in the room.
“Please be seated Commander” Matron said in a firm voice.
“Well, er, um. I have chosen the name Victoria Mary Fotheringham, sir. Thank you.” Ginny
explained meekly.
Blanch drummed his fingers impatiently on the arm of the chair. He turned to Matron. “Do you
mind if we have a moment alone please Mrs Bowden?”

“Yes, I certainly do mind Commander. It is improper for a gentleman to be left alone in female
company especially a female of such low class. This is my house, there are no secrets from me and I do
not want my servants to be disturbed, they are difficult enough to deal with as it is!”
Ginny smiled inwardly. Fang was getting protective. Perhaps, deep down she did actually care
for her servants. Blanch clenched his jaws shut for a minute. He could crush this impertinent old
woman and her lying servant with one snap of his fingers. However, no doubt the Government would
soon hear and the Company would have a more difficult time negotiating the Sealing Station terms. He
suspected that Mrs Bowden knew that his boss, Edward Curr, would be most displeased.
“Now then Commander, please state your business. I have to write my weekly correspondence
to Governor Arthur and young Victoria has work to do,” Mrs Bowden quipped.
“Well, I, er, well it seems Miss, that your brother, William Foxe has disappeared from Point
Puer.”
Matron snorted derisively.
“No, no. It’s true. Several months ago it happened. The Governor was caught in a storm and
several choirboys were sent to help him. In the confusion one of them, Foxe, escaped. He hasn’t been
seen since.”
“Stuff and nonsense, sir,” Matron blurted out. “Quite preposterous! Choirboys rescuing the
Governor?”
Blanch reddened. “Madam, I assure you that it is true. It’s in the Hobart Town Gazette, here let
me show you the latest copy.” He fumbled through his pockets.
Ginny’s heart skipped a beat. Billy escaped? Was he still alive? Was he dead? Why had this
man come to tell her? What was he going to tell her when they’d met on the Stagecoach over a year
ago? Outwardly, she remained calm and poised. Matron was happily berating him. Perhaps she would
uncover the answers.
Matron took the proffered magazine and held it at arm’s length. “I can’t read this. The writing’s
miniscule. Here, Fotheringham. You read it to me,” she ordered, handing the paper to Ginny.
Ginny read the article aloud. It described the escape of William Foxe, “a recalcitrant and
unrepentant criminal” who has “doubtless succumbed to hunger or the scourge of the natives” and
whose “body lies rotting in the unforgiving forests.”
She read slowly, her voice shaking with emotion. She was unsure of the precise meaning of
many of the words but certain that her beloved brother Billy was dead and would no longer trouble the
good folk of Van Diemen’s Land.
When she finished she bowed her head and wept quietly. Matron waited until she’d composed
herself. Blanch sat up stiffly in his seat, his face expressionless.
“Thank you, my dear” Mrs Bowden said softly. Then in a harsher tone she continued, “Now
Mister Blanch. Why have you come to tell us this news? Is there anything else you wish to add?”
Blanch flinched and then replied earnestly, “Yes, Madam, there is. I was sent here to inform
you that William Foxe had some articles in his possession, articles that are the property of the Van
Diemen’s Land Company.”
Ginny stopped sobbing and looked at him through red eyes.
“What articles Mister Blanch? What articles and how do you expect to get them back?” Mrs
Bowden asked impatiently.
“That’s Commander Blanch if you please. The articles are a knife, a tinderbox, a purse and a
picture embossed on a small piece of leather.”
The Matron shook her head in disbelief. “Mister Blanch! Mister Blanch! The boy is missing
and presumed dead. Why in the world are you pestering my staff with this nonsense? A small piece of
leather? What’s that? A map? A Renoir? A Turner?”
Ginny smiled despite her grief. Matron was in splendid form. Blanch squirmed uncomfortably
in his chair. Turning towards Ginny he replied,
“Believe me, Miss Foxe, you have my deepest sympathy for your loss. But these articles are of
great sentimental value to the Company. We would gladly pay handsomely for their return. We were
wondering if perhaps you had corresponded with your brother and whether he had sent the articles or
perhaps indicated their whereabouts?”
Ginny frowned. What was the man talking about? She hadn’t even known where Billy had been
sent! Matron looked at her and raised an eyebrow questioningly. Ginny shook her head emphatically.
Then with a sob she exclaimed,
“No, No, sir. Nuffink. He aint sent me anyfink. He’s dead now. That’s what they say. Dead. So
he aint going to send me any letters now is he?”
Chapter 29:
The HMS Anson was a big ship. She had carried over 550 men on her voyage to Van Diemen’s
Land, but with less than half that number aboard Sarah still felt imprisoned. She had lived in her tiny
cabin for six months, and the stench from the toilets had been worse than she’d expected, particularly
during the hot summer days. The flies were everywhere and made sleep especially difficult.
Sarah and Maureen had become good friends and Maureen had steeled herself to live on the
Anson for another two years until she was granted her freedom. Maureen’s cousin, Maggie Davis, had
applied to the Government to take Maureen on as her servant in the township of Ross. Maggie’s new
husband was the Magistrate in Ross and the move would mean that Maureen could soon apply for her
Ticket of Leave.
At first Sarah was overjoyed for her friend but as the day of Maureen’s departure grew closer,
Sarah’s hair began to fall out, her appetite disappeared, she started to lose sleep and she was seized by
fits of rage and bouts of depression and melancholy.
Maureen and Sister Williams schemed at length as Sarah’s condition worsened. On the day
Maureen left, Sister Williams moved Sarah into a new cabin on the main deck. It was still very small
but the carpenter had knocked out some boards to make a window that looked west. Sarah could watch
the sunset over the marshes.
Maggie brought some seeds and small plants from town so that Sarah could start a garden.
Sister Williams made sure that Maggie had got a thriving Saint John’s Wort plant from the gardener at
the Botanical Gardens. Sarah’s herb garden was constructed from one of the Anson’s original
Cramping boxes. It amused her to employ a device that was used to break down the convicts’ hearts
and minds to grow plants that would heal their ills. The herbs were well sheltered from the wind and
the rain but could be easily exposed to the sunlight whenever she wanted.
Sarah regretted that she’d never had Ginny’s enthusiasm to learn how to make medicines from
Surgeon Brown during their passage on the Sydney Cove. However, Maureen knew of a man who
could teach Sarah. Percival Thompson, the Ross apothecary was a widower. Maggie said that he’d be a
first class catch for Maureen despite his advanced years. Maureen had met him twice when he’d come
to Hobarton for supplies. She agreed wholeheartedly with her cousin. He was very lively and enjoyed
women’s company immensely. Maureen knew that she could easily persuade Percy to teach Sarah to
enjoy making medicines and potions.
Dick Jameson was annoyed. He’d been brooding over things all the way back from the market.
Ah, the women! What problems they caused. Morag had taken to her bed for three weeks. She’d
banished Lizzy from the house. But, he’d noticed that she had no problems whenever her friends came
around for tea. She was bright and chirpy and could stay on her feet cooking and cleaning all morning.
There was no bad back or headache or aching bones to speak of. She was sullen and moody, almost
angry. She was cold to him and wouldn’t tell him what troubled her.
Norrie stayed inside his room most of the time as well. He seemed to withdraw from Lizzy and
avoided his father whenever he could. It’d been six weeks since Richard had had sex. Even then Morag
had been as responsive as a sack of potatoes. He’d bought her flowers but she’d complained that he
was trying to destroy her garden and he should leave them alone. He was tempted to talk to the Pastor
but he’d never had the chance to speak to him alone.
He envied Silas Daly. The man had no cares in the world. He had his own little run up the
valley and seemed to be full of life. When he told Dick about the fun and frolics he’d had at the Ship
Inn in Hobarton, Dick was tempted to ask him for advice. But he thought better of it. He just laughed
instead and gave him Lizzy’s letter to take up to Launceston.
And then there was Lizzy. He was sure she was a randy bitch under her matronly facade. She
was a healthy looking woman, cheery and rosy cheeked with a nice fat bum and an inviting bosom.
Sometimes he could swear that she was about to jump on him and rip all his clothes off!
He got down from the trap, opened the gate and let himself into the farm. He unloaded the cart
by himself; there hadn’t been much they needed to buy. He sneaked quietly into the kitchen with a
bunch of daffodils in his hands. He put them in an old beer bottle and peeked around the bedroom
door. The curtains were drawn and Morag was snoring softly under a pile of blankets. It was mid-
afternoon. The kitchen was very tidy. It looked as though she’d retired for her nap. It was very quiet.
Norrie was spending a few days at the Curtis’s Run down the river. Dick put two apples and some
bread and cheese in a basket and went outside to find Lizzy.
She wasn’t expecting him. He said he’d be back at dusk. It was a warm afternoon and she’d
lain down in the hay in the barn just for a moment and gently drifted off to sleep. She heard a faint
shuffling sound and all of a sudden there he was. She jumped up startled and began to apologize but he
just shushed her and put his finger to his lips. This was his big chance he thought. She looked
ravishing. The sunlight on her blonde hair, that sleepy, innocent look in her eye.
He waved her back down and sat down beside her. Yes, Lizzy would have lunch. But she knew
what he was after. It may’ve been six weeks for him but it’d been several years for her. He casually
mentioned that his wife would sleep for hours yet and Norrie was gone and all the work had been done.
It was time to relax. She let him seduce her. She had no choice really.
He was her master. He could have her flogged, put in the stocks, sent to the Cascades or even
hanged. Morag could complain, she could make an almighty fuss, but she didn’t hold Lizzy’s life in
her hands.
Over the next few weeks Dick took Lizzy several times. He was always very careful not to be
caught by his wife or son or anyone else. Lizzy yielded to him and submitted to him. Once, afraid that
she might become pregnant, she tried to delay him. But he grew angry and beat her. He was the Master
and her task was to serve him.
Lizzy knew she could turn him in. Convicts were assigned but their Masters were not entitled
to do with them as they wished. It wouldn’t be easy but the Pastor might help or perhaps Silas Daly
could take her to the Magistrate. But she never did, because she knew that at best they would assign
her to a new master, one who might not be so kind. She was also very worried about Mrs Jameson. It
was clear to Lizzy that the woman was dying. She didn’t want her to die knowing that her husband had
cheated and with a lowly convict at that.
Silas Daly stepped off the Coach at the Launceston Town Square several hours after the market
had opened. He was flustered and rushed. The Coach had arrived much later than he’d hoped and he
had wanted to meet the horse dealer early, before the man got too busy. He needn’t have worried; the
light rain had kept people away and it wasn’t even as crowded as the New Norfolk market. He could
see the red awning on Mister Dodd’s stall across the square. As he walked over, he forced himself to
slow down to a stroll and concentrated on what he’d say to the trader.
“Mornin’, sir.” Dodd said acknowledging Daly as he stopped in front of the stall.
Hmmm, too eager, Daly thought. Perhaps a little less interest would work better. Dodd had
seen Daly alight from the carriage and walk straight over to his stall, bypassing the bakery stand, the
sweet shop and the cocoa lady.
It was the weekly Hobarton to Launceston coach and even though it’d left Perth at dawn, four
hours of coach travel made one very hungry and thirsty. No-one walked past old Mabel’s Cocoa cart,
unless of course they had urgent business to attend to.
It was no accident that Dodd was the best horse trader in Launceston.
“Ah, you have horses do you?” Daly asked unnecessarily, nodding towards the big mare next to
Dodd.
“Aye, sir, that’s canny of ye,” Dodd said, trying unsuccessfully to hide his sarcasm.
“Yes. I see,” Daly said vacantly.
Dodd waited for his mark to get to the point. The man was well dressed, innocent and timid.
Probably not a lag, perhaps a Navy man trying to set himself up in Van Diemen’s Land. So he’d have
some land and if he was lucky, several years of back pay from the Services. He’d be after some cheap
horses for transport and for the farm. Perfect! Dodd loved his work!
“Just up from Hobarton are ye, sir?” he asked.
“Well, close, New Norfolk actually.”
“Oh aye, fine toon, Ah’ve heard. Good farming country an’ that.”
“Ah farming. Yes, I suppose it is good. Not as easy as you’d think, farming,” Daly replied
pensively.
Dodd looked him up and down. This was just too easy! “Well, sir, I’m a farmer mesel’ ye ken.
Aye, ma wee paddock is over yonder. Ye noo twas verra hard at first, but then ah bought mesel’ a pair
o’ bullocks and then it were a doddle, sir. Them bullocks turned the fields from kangaroo grass into
wheat jus’ like tha’.” He snapped his fingers.
Daly smiled; the Scot was as canny as Jameson had warned him.
“Oh, you don’t have bullocks do ya now?” Daly asked feigning surprise.
“Oh aye, sir. I have the best bullocks in the country, sir. Even the Company men buy their
beasts from me!” Dodd said, his chest swelling with pride.
Daly grinned and replied, delivering his message slowly and with relish, “Well, Mr Alexander
Robert Dodd, second cousin to Morag Jane Strachnan, I have a message for you from Morag’s
husband. And no, I’m looking for a horse and perhaps a donkey, but the bullocks will have to wait.”
Dodd chuckled with glee and took the letter from Daly’s hand. He read it carefully, his lips
moving as he did so, then he tucked the letter into his pocket.
“Right you are Mr Daly. Ah, sorry to hear that Morag’s ailing. Thank you for bringing the
news. I think I can give you a good price, one that young Richard would be happy with. Then perhaps
you can take doon a wee surprise from me?”
With that he pulled a small brown bottle from his knapsack.
“Genuine Scottish water of life! Wee Morag used to love it!”
Billy and Pandak stopped a few miles west of the village. They were deep in the forest,
surrounded by towering Swamp Gums. At one edge of the great trees was a stream of black water, at
the other, a big old myrtle tree was wedged between two huge boulders.
Pandak climbed up onto one of the boulders and then jumped into the branches of the tree.
Climbing higher, he soon found what he was looking for. Under a heavy canopy of leaves was an
abandoned masked owl’s nest.
He climbed down and spoke to Billy. Billy, like Pandak, was naked. He’d removed everything
but his shoes as soon as they were out of sight of the village. He wrapped everything up in his
waterproof cape and tied it all together tightly. Pandak took the bundle and hid it in the hole high up in
the tree. In the middle of the clothes was the map of the treasure of the HMS Hope. Billy still hadn’t
decided whether to tell Pandak or Moorina his secret.
Ginny was exhausted. Mrs Bowden had gone to Hobarton for ten days. The inmates were
ecstatic. Mr Bowden had been left in charge but he was no match for the antics of the convicts. Becky

and Ginny finally gave up trying to stop them fighting and bickering when Mister Bowden hit the
bottle. Two sleepless nights had left them both drained and bad tempered.
It was not a good time for Silas Daly to call!
Silas Daly tied his overburdened old donkey to the post in front of the Female Factory. He’d
paid a reasonable price for the animal, much less than down in Hobarton, so he was happy and eager to
be back on the road home.
He knocked on the heavy front door of the Factory. Nothing happened. He could hear
screaming and wailing from deep in the building. He knocked again. Footsteps tapped across the
wooden floor and then the door was flung open.
Suddenly there she was, standing as large as life in front of him. Ginny, Miss 2106, and she
looked better than he remembered. They stared at each other dumbfounded for several seconds.
“You! What do you want? How did you find me? Go away!” Ginny blurted out as she
attempted to slam the door in his face.
Daly blocked the door with his foot. “Listen, I have a letter for you. Lizzy told me to bring it to
you.”
“Lizzy? What Lizzy? Oh, Lizzy Black. Well then, give it to me quickly and be off with you!”
“No, wait a minute. I have something for you too,” he pleaded.
“Pfaff. I don’t want nuffink more from you Silas Daly! You’re scum, ya here me? You can’t
touch me now! Scum!”
“Wait! Wait! Look, calm down will you! I won’t hurt you. Everyone is looking at us.”
Ginny took a deep breath and tried to calm her racing heart. “Now you must wait. I must catch
me breath.”
She waved away several men who’d come to see what the commotion was all about.
“No, no. Nothing’s wrong. You can go away. I’ll be alright. No, you stay there Silas Daly!
We’ll talk out here,” she warned Daly as he came towards her.
A few minutes later she’d collected herself. “Now then, sir. Thank you for bringing Lizzy’s
letter.” She held out her hand to receive it.
Daly smiled apologetically but held the letter from her.
“Sorry Miss. But first may I speak?”
She sighed and nodded reluctantly.
Daly’s heart pounded hard. This was the moment he’d been waiting for! He’d thought about
Ginny Foxe constantly. He’d been surprised by her reaction to him on the Sydney Cove and regretted
being transferred forrad. He’d talked at length with Gareth Jones about her. She was headstrong and
proud but also very practical and patient. Jones said, half joking, that she hated men and what she
really needed was a good leg-over. Daly could not put her out of his mind.
He’d almost given up finding a woman in Van Diemen’s Land. He could barely afford a
prostitute. He had just enough money for his small farm and couldn’t afford any help. He’d never
heard of any unmarried free woman, they were all assigned and confined to their Master’s property or
else they were whores. But now here were two unwed women, Ginny and Lizzy, and he knew them
both!
He took a deep breath and forced himself to be calm.
“Thank you Miss Ginny. Well first let me say that I’m a free man, after 15 years in the Navy.
I’ve finally decided to settle down to a normal, stable life. I aint got much money, but I do have a small
run down south near your friend Lizzy. I haven’t met her, I just know her Master. He’s a kind man and
he gave me the letter to give to you. I’m really sorry I surprised you. I never expected to see you and
the last thing I want to do is upset you.”
Ginny regarded him dispassionately. He seemed different from the thug who’d raped her a long
time ago. A little more relaxed, calmer.
“If there’s anything I can do for you please just tell me. I’m at Daly’s Folly in New Norfolk. I
haven’t read your letter if that’s what you’re thinking. I can’t write or read but they’re teaching me at
Sunday School after Church.”
He paused and Ginny could see his adam’s apple bobbing nervously in his throat. He forced the
words out.
“Miss Ginny. I don’t know how to say this. Maybe there’s no way to say it. But, Miss Ginny,
I’m truly sorry for what I did back on the Sydney Cove. I am. More sorry than you’ll ever know. But, I
--”
“The letter!” Ginny interrupted. She tensed, for she knew where this was going and she hated
it.
Daly handed it over to her meekly. He opened his mouth as if he was on the verge of saying
something. She began to close the door on him.
Then suddenly remembering, he added in an urgent voice, “Miss Ginny, I should warn you that
there’s a man after you. I met him down the pub, about a year ago. He was a Captain or something
from the Navarino. He wanted to find Virginia Foxe from the Sydney Cove. Someone had dogged on
him, pardon, someone had lied about him and he’d been demoted and sent onto the Navarino. He said
he knew who it was and then he asked me if I knew how to find you. He said he’d pay me, but I didn’t
like the look of him so I said nothing. His name was Captain Blanch.”
Just at that moment the inside door swung open and Becky walked into the foyer. Daly was
temporarily distracted and didn’t notice Ginny’s hands shaking. Becky looked from Daly to Ginny and
then back again. She was about to say something when Ginny interrupted,
“Thank you, sir. Now please, you must go.”
Daly looked at Becky and nodded then turned to Ginny and said, “Certainly. Thank you for
your time.”
As the door shut behind Daly, Ginny flopped down onto the chair.
“You alright ducks?” Becky said softly.
Ginny blinked a few times and started to sit up. She’d gone white and her hands shook
uncontrollably.
“You sit right there dear,” Becky admonished. “Have a sip of this. It’ll perk you up.”
She pushed a small stone bottle into Ginny’s hands. Ginny took a mouthful and coughed and
spluttered as the whisky burnt a fiery path down her throat.
“Gor blimey Becks! Where d’ya get that?” she exclaimed laughing and coughing all at once.
“I confiscated it from the Third Class ward. I was going to give it to Matron but it looks like
you could use it more. Who was the man you were chatting to? He seemed quite nice really.”
“Nice? Nice? He aint nice. Not ‘im, Becks.”
“Well he’s a sight better than your other boyfriend in’ee ducks,” Becky grinned.
Ginny poked her tongue out.
“What Captain Cook? Or whatever ‘is name was? They’re both nasty buggers!”
Chapter 30:
Cutting down a tree with a just sharp stone took a certain measure of skill. Billy understood
why Pandak had insisted that he leave everything connected to his life with the white fella back in the
tree near the village. It gave him a great degree of respect and admiration for the aborigines but he did
regret leaving his knife behind.
It was late spring, and Pandak decided to harden Billy and teach him basic survival techniques
before they moved into the rough country. As they trekked north, Pandak had begun teaching Billy the
song of the Tiger. It was the way Billy would learn to navigate through the dense forests and the open
plains. This led them to a scree slope beneath a towering cliff that had been hewn from the mountain
by glaciers long ago. Pandak chose several big, hard stones with razor sharp edges and they’d carried
them in their dilly bags up to the dogwood grove. The long slender branches of the small tree were
ideal for Billy’s first lightweight spear.
Pandak felled his branch in half an hour, going slowly as he demonstrated everything very
carefully to the white boy. It Billy took over an hour to fell his much thinner branch and his hands
were left sore and bleeding. He was very proud of his achievement until Pandak suggested that they
light a fire to straighten and harden the spears.
“Look here little Billy. You need a fire, but first you need a firestick.” Pandak took his firestick
from his dilly bag.
Billy reached for the firestick.
“No, no. White fella must learn the hard way. Here, I’ll make a new firestick and then you
make your own.”
Billy grumbled to himself, wishing that he hadn’t left the Policeman’s tinderbox back in the
tree.
Pandak would not use the bow and stick method that Pevay and Lacklay, Truganini’s cousins,
had shown Billy so long ago. Pandak simply asked Billy how he was going to make the string for the
bow and Billy realized that he had a lot more to learn.
Pandak showed Billy how to find the tree that had the bark that would ignite the quickest. He
brushed his hand lightly over the trunk of several trees. When the bark flaked off easily he would
scrunch up the thin shavings into tiny splinters between the palms of his hands. Eventually he found
a tree with bark so dry that he could blow the handful of tinder away with a light breath.
Then he picked up some old dry branches from the forest floor and tried to snap them. After a
while he found one that had snapped easily even though it was thicker than his arm. He dug out a small
sliver of wood from the branch and chewed on it. Satisfied that it was dry enough, he split the branch
lengthways and broke it again so that he had a two foot long wooden block.
He then rummaged around the forest floor until he found a small hard straight twig as long as
his forearm. He drilled a starter hole in the wood with his stone and blew some fine grit into the hole.
Then he placed the bark splinters in and around the hole before he inserted the rounded end of the twig.
He clapped his hands around the stick and by rubbing his palms together very fast he made the stick
drill into the hole. It was not easy work.
This was one reason that Pandak had been chosen to become the next Karadji of the band.
Starting a fire was a very special skill. For five minutes he squatted down and drilled the stick hard into
the wood. Sweat poured from his brow as he drilled as fast as he could, stopping only to reposition the
tinder. Billy watched in amazement as a thin tendril of smoke began to curl up from the wood. Pandak
blew gently onto tinder and added some coarser shavings and finally a tiny flame appeared. He
nurtured and coaxed the flame until it caught and the fire was started.
The two men both laughed with glee as they heaped more wood on the fire. Then Pandak asked
Billy to try and make fire by himself.
Billy copied everything that Pandak had shown him. The aborigine approved his choice of
wood and bark and sat down to enjoy himself as Billy began to drill into his block of wood. After an
hour he gave up. His hands were bruised and sore and it was getting dark. Billy stored the bits of wood
and bark in his dilly bag, determined to try to make fire later.
That night they sat around the fire toasting mushrooms on long sticks.
“Have you tried the grog, Little Billy?”
Billy nodded slowly, it was such a long time ago.
“We took some from a white fella’s farm. I tried it. It made me dizzy, then I laughed all the
time and fell asleep. When I woke up I was very thirsty and someone was been banging the inside of
my head with a rock. Grog is a stupid thing.”
“Me like grog too but no like bad head,” Billy said.
Pandak poked at the small fire, raising a shower of sparks. “The white fellas like the grog I
think.”
“In Britain all people were drunk long time. Grog make them forget bad life. But me take
things from sleeping people. Grog help Little Billy stay alive.”
“The elders say that the grog makes a man feel like he’s in the spirit world. Like he’s strong
and big and he can talk to his ancestors and accomplish great feats. But of course he cannot, because
he isn’t a Karadji, he hasn’t been through the rituals and he doesn’t know how to control it. So our
elders try to stop the grog but it doesn’t always work. A few warriors crave grog and we have banished
them from the tribe until they are ready to come back. They live near the white man now. They grow
fat and lazy, they have no pride. Most have come back to the tribe to die but some just crawl into the
bushes to sleep and don’t wake up. Our Karadji is very unhappy. He doesn’t know what happens to
their spirits. It is a sad story for the Palawa, the grog.”
Billy smiled wryly; he craved a drop of good gin. He remembered when he was twelve and his
uncle had given him and Ginny a whole bottle of real Dutch Gin. She’d gotten so steaming whittled
that he had to carry her off to bed while Billy chundered outside. Funny, he’d never seen his uncle
after that and Ginny never had anything nice to say about him. But his head had hurt. Billy would
always remember how his head had hurt.
As he drifted off to sleep, Billy’s mind was filled with visions of grog and the spirit world. He
dreamt that his uncle was sitting inside an empty gin bottle waving at Billy to help him get out while
Ginny sat on the top holding the cork in.
“C’mon Lizzy. Hop on the cart,” Jameson said cheerfully. “There’s gossip to be had y’know.”
It was a bright warm Saturday morning. Lizzy was thrilled to be going to the market with Dick to meet
the man who’d delivered her letter to Ginny.
She was looking forward to meeting him and to finding out first-hand how Ginny was getting
on. Lizzy was getting a bit hemmed in on the farm. Mrs Jameson was becoming decidedly crotchety
and seldom came out of the house. Little Norrie was often confined to his room and had started to
become very naughty. But there wasn’t much Lizzy could do as Mrs Jameson refused to allow the lad
to play with her unless she was around.
Mrs Jameson seemed to be cross with her husband most of the time and kept glancing at Lizzy
disapprovingly. Lizzy wondered if Mrs Jameson was becoming jealous. Even the whisky that her
friend up in Launceston had sent her didn’t cheer her up. She never touched it and refused to let her
husband open the bottle. Lizzy needed something new and had been looking forward to going to the
market for a fortnight.
Lizzy recognized Silas Daly immediately. She realized with a sudden jolt that it’d been a big
mistake to send him to meet Ginny. Dick was surprised to learn that they knew each other and he
promised to leave them alone for an hour to catch up on the “good old times.” Daly had flinched
slightly at that comment. Dick had missed it but Lizzy hadn’t.
“So Silas Daly who are you assigned to?” Lizzy said sarcastically.
“I’m a free man, Miss Black. Surprising I know, but the Government was happy with my
service and have given me a modest property in New Norfolk,” Daly smiled.
“Forgive me Mister Daly. I’m sure the Government approves of people like you.”
“Have you asked any other women about their treatment on the Lags? It was standard for the
women to be lent out to the boys. They all did it,” he replied harshly.
He leant over the table towards her. “Look. I’m sorry for what I done. I told Miss Ginny as
much when I took your letter to her. I made a mistake. A big mistake. A huge mistake. Alright! I
shouldn’t have done it. I should’ve told the Corporal to let the Crew go first like they were supposed
to. I’m sorry. But what’s done is done. I can’t turn back the clock. But you do know, that if it wasn’t
me, it would’ve been someone else. Someone who may’ve hurt Miss Ginny and Miss Churchill good
and proper. Someone who wouldn’t have asked Mister Brown to take them on in his Surgery!”
“You asked Mister Brown to take Ginny and Sarah as nurses?” she said skeptically.
Daly nodded emphatically.
“Hah! What twaddle! You can’t expect me to believe that, Silas Daly.”

“Well, you don’t have to believe me Miss Lizzy. It’s in the Ship’s Log down in Hobart Town.
All you have to do is read it!”
She thought a bit while Daly drummed his fingers on the table.
“Miss Lizzy, I really am sorry for what I did. That’s why I went to see Mr Brown. That’s why I
left the Navy. It’s a cruel life. Cruel for us as well as the convicts. I ran on three Transport Lags and I
wanted shot of it. I wanted, I want a family life, a house, a garden, a good job and a good wife. Just a
steady life. That’s why I’m here now.”
“Why here? Why not back ‘ome?” Lizzy replied, still unconvinced.
He smiled and pulled a package out of his pocket. “I wouldn’t live in London for all the tea in
China! Very expensive. ‘Orrible weather! I have no family there. I suppose there are many places I
could live in though, Rio, Cape Town, New South Wales, perhaps even the Americas. But it’d take a
year or more at least. I hear that Governor Arthur is a fair man. He wants good people and I was
promised some land and a job and all me back pay. Well, here I am. I got me the land and a little bit
money anyroad.”
“Smoke?” he added pushing the package of tobacco across the table.
Lizzy’s eyes lit up. She hadn’t had a smoke in ages. Then she realized that she had no pipe.
“Oh, er, here. I’ve got one I made meself. You can have it,” Daly said offering her a small
wooden pipe.
“So, how’s Ginny?” Lizzy asked as she savoured the smoke with a big grin.
“Well, I didn’t know where Miss Ginny was and so I was shocked when she answered the door.
She looks well, better than on the Sydney Cove but her clothes are very tatty and there’s a bit of a whiff
about the place too. The Lonnie Factory is in a good part of town but what a racket! You can hear them
yelling for miles. It wasn’t surprising that she seemed a bit tired I suppose. Anyroad, she nigh on took
me ‘ead off at first. She weren’t happy to see me. Not ‘appy at all. So I apologized to her. Apologized
a lot. Grovelled in fact. When I tried to warn her about this chap who were asking after her but
someone came into the room and I had to leave.“
“Chap? What chap?” Lizzy frowned.
“His name’s Blanch, George Blanch. He asked me about Ginny some while back. He said that
someone had told lies about him and she could help him. It sounded like he wanted revenge. I knew
Blanch from England. I did him a favour once, found him some prostitutes who were able to suffer a
little pain as I recall. Nasty cove. Didn’t like him at all. Anyroad. I’m not sure if Miss Ginny got the
message.”
“Oh dear. I wonder what it all means. You see Mister Daly, Blanch visited me on the farm. He
wanted to know where Ginny was. I told him but then I thought I should warn her. That was what was
in the letter. He ‘ad some good news about Ginny’s brother, wouldn’t say what it was though. Oh, I do
hope I didn’t do anything wrong. I hope she’s not in any danger!”
“Blanch? Hah! I’ll have his guts for garters, that one. I tell you! No, you don’t worry Miss
Lizzy. Blanch can’t touch Miss Ginny at the Factory. But it makes you wonder what he’s after doesn’t
it? Blanch was on the Navarino, I think that’s what he said. Was Miss Ginny’s brother on that ship
too?”
Lizzy nodded her head nervously. “Mister Daly. Perhaps we should warn her again? Can you
take a letter to Ginny for me please?”
“Me? I’d be happy to Miss Lizzy,” Daly smiled. “I don’t know when I’ll get up north again
though. And you’ll have to tell Miss Ginny not to bite me head off!”
“Oh, don’t you worry Mister Daly. You just make sure she reads the letter before she talks to
you. Now I need the real gossip. How’s Ginny looking? Has her lovely red hair grown back properly
again yet?”

Chapter 31:
A few days later Billy and Pandak headed north towards the highlands and the lake. Billy had
tried three times to make fire without success. Pandak laughed at him but he admired the white boy’s
tenacity. Billy had a good collection of spears, most were not much taller than he was but they were
good enough for him to practise with.
Billy marveled at the distance and accuracy of Pandak’s throwing. He could easily hurl his
twelve foot long spear a distance of more than eighty paces, and he could hit a rock melon the size of a
man’s head at sixty. On the one occasion Billy managed to throw a spear that far he missed the target
by yards. Billy was still sore almost every day in almost every muscle but he was starting to feel his
muscles get stronger and stronger. He was able to walk further through the dense scrub and wasn’t out
of breath as much, but he still envied Pandak’s easy gait and long stride.
They walked hard for two days, keeping to the edge of the forest and away from the plain
where the white fella had begun to build their farms. The forest was strewn with large boulders and
dense undergrowth. Billy’s legs were scratched and sore and Pandak called a halt near a bend in the
river. It was time for a real feast; this was the place where the fish-with-claws swam.
Searching carefully, Pandak found a small waterfall with a shallow pool that led down to the
river. He peered into the water and seemed very happy to find that it had a muddy bottom. Then he
began scouring the area around the little pool. After a few minutes, he shouted excitedly for Billy to
come and join him. He’d found a strange looking chimney. It was about ankle height and a small hole
in the top almost as wide as the palm of the hand.
Satisfied with his discovery, Pandak told Billy to set up camp in the trees and try to make a fire.
Billy surprised himself. For his tinder, he used some dried wallaby dung that Pandak had
recommended, he used a longer, fatter drilling-stick as the old one broke, and he cut a V notch in the
base as he’d seen Bob and Charlie do. By the time Pandak came up to the camp, Billy had a new little
fire going and wore a huge grin on his face.
“Little Billy is a clever white fella! Maybe Pandak must worry about becoming Karadji now!”
At dusk, they went down to the pool. They sat near one of the little mud chimneys that Pandak
had found. After a few minutes, a small crayfish came scurrying up out of the top of the chimney. It
moved so fast that Pandak barely had enough time scoop it up before the next one was out of the
chimney.
Within a few minutes, they had captured a dozen small crayfish. That night they sat around the
fire eating the roasted crayfish, a rare delicacy whose taste reminded Billy of the roasted chestnuts that
he’d had once at Christmas back in London. Pandak was very pleased with himself. It’d been many
years since he’d eaten a burrowing crayfish.
Pandak was a superb tracker and he was very happy to teach Billy. As they walked, he would
stop and stare at the trails, his head cocked on one side as he concentrated intently for any sound or
smell of the white man. Billy managed to pick up some rudimentary tracking skills. In the forests
Pandak would often stop and point out animal tracks, he would ask Billy what made the trail and when
was it last used. At first it gave Pandak a lot of amusement to see how stupid and blind this Gubba was.
Billy could barely tell a wombat trail from a pademelon trail. He couldn't notice when the gum leaves
on the ground had just been turned over by a passing animal or when a twig had been broken by a
farmer's boot. However, after a frustrating month Billy improved so much that Pandak scarcely
chuckled at all at his mistakes.
Pandak announced that it was time to play the children’s game - Hunt the Spirit. It was a simple
game designed to show the children how to hide themselves from their enemies and how to track
animals. Pandak told Billy to close his eyes and sing loudly so that he could go and hide. Billy would
then have to find him. Billy looked around. It was a bright day; they were in the middle of the plains

with small shrubs and button grass barely three feet high offering no cover. Billy grinned, it was too
easy, there was nowhere for anyone to hide.
Billy shut his eyes and sang the first four verses of Molly Malone. When he finished his song,
he started his hunt for his aborigine friend. He looked carefully at the ground; he could see just two
sets of footprints in the brown dust going in the same direction. Pandak had left him without leaving
any footprints. Perplexed, Billy took a few paces to a small rocky outcrop and climb on top of the
largest boulder. Then he slowly scanned the plains near him. There were no trees or big bushes,
nothing to hide behind. The grass swayed slightly in the faint breeze.
Billy went back to the footprints and looked at them more carefully. He could see that some of
them were smudged and blurred as if Pandak had walked backwards over his own steps. Thrilled, Billy
moved more quickly following the footprints backwards until, next to another rocky outcrop, the prints
just suddenly stopped! Both sets of prints just disappeared! Billy couldn’t remember walking over the
rocks and he immediately realized that Pandak must have brushed the footprints away.
Getting down on his hands and knees, he thought he could see small brush strokes on the soft
brown dirt. He followed a few hundred yards down, thinking that he was very clever to catch onto
Pandak’s little trick, when to his surprise he found two sets of foot prints coming towards him. He
cursed quietly and very faintly, he heard a low long whistle. Pandak was taunting him; it was one of
the whistles that Billy had been teaching his friend.
Quickly Billy stood up to try and see where Pandak was. It was no use. For the next half an
hour Billy heard Pandak’s faint whistling but never once did he see him or his tracks. Eventually he
yelled out that it was beaten. He was greeted only by silence.
Billy was annoyed that Pandak had the water and the food and the firestick. Billy had no idea
where he was or where he was going and he was getting frustrated.
“Bloody ‘ell! Stupid damned game!” Billy cursed loudly.
“Water?” came a soft voice from behind him.
He spun round and there stood Pandak, a great big smile across his smug face.
“Where Pandak hide?” Billy asked belligerently.
Pandak waved his arm, pointing across the plains. “Everywhere little Billy, but mostly I was
behind you. Don’t worry, we will make you the best white fella tracker very quick. You’ll see.
Remember, Pandak will be Karadji, I can hide better than anyone!”
A few nights later they camped in the forest just below the foothills rising up to the lake. It was
a moonlit night and Billy was just dozing off when he was shaken awake by Pandak.
"Here Little Billy. You seen this one?" the aborigine whispered as he pointed away into the
darkness.
Billy got up very quietly and squatted down next to Pandak. He waited for his eyes to grow
accustomed to the dim light. Pandak pointed again and Billy peered down his arm into the bushes.
At first he couldn't see anything. Then suddenly he heard a low noise, something between a cough and
a husky bark. He squinted and stared hard.
There was a slight movement in the bushes and then he saw it! It looked like a dog only its
body seemed to be much too long. It had a huge head and powerful stocky front legs. The back legs
were much more graceful and it had a long almost hairless and stiff tail. As it turned away from them
Billy could see a series of vertical stripes down its body.
Billy looked at Pandak, he was grinning widely with a flash of brilliant white teeth. The animal
turned in one smooth movement and disappeared into the undergrowth.
“'He’s the Loarinna, my spirit and maybe yours too. The white fella calls him the Tiger. White
fella kills him. Little Billy is very lucky. Loarinna has nearly gone. The Great Spirit shines on us.
Tomorrow we go up to the lake.”
“Ginny, Ginny, quick come and see. There’s a present for you and some lovely flowers and
everything!” Becky shouted excitedly as she ran into the yard of the Launceston Factory.
“Shhh!” Ginny replied. Emily Hargreaves looked up at her with tears in her eyes. Her two
month-old daughter, Ann May, had died in her arms two hours ago. The poor woman rocked the little
bundle of clothes as she crooned a lullaby to the dead child.
“Come on!” Becky mouthed as she signaled for Ginny to follow her.
Ginny walked over to her friend menacingly
“Look ‘ere Becks. It can wait can’t it,” she hissed. “Poor Emily has lost her third nipper.”
“So, that’s twenty-five for the month,” Becky replied. “She’s been gone since dinner time. The
cart’ll be by to take the kid away soon. There’s nowt you can do now. C’mon let her alone for a
while.”
Ginny knelt down and whispered to the disconsolate woman. Then she turned and followed
into the building. Becky waved her into the foyer. On the table was a wooden vase with a huge spray
of flowers.
Ginny was delighted, she clapped her hands and laughed. She couldn’t believe that someone
had actually sent her something. The last present she’d had was a bottle of gin from Mr Douglas
outside the Pig in a Poke, but he’d wanted something in return, and she’d rebuffed him in no uncertain
terms, she wasn’t that desperate!
“C’mon Ginny. Who’re they from?”
Ginny looked at the flowers admiringly. She turned the vase until she found the small note.
“Hah. It says it’s from an Admirer! Who’d admire me. Who’d see me even? Stuck ‘ere inside
all the bleedin’ time!”
“Aw, come on ducks! There must be someone out there wot knows you! Maybe it’s one of
them two fellas from last month!”
“What? Them buggers? Daly’s a pig and he’s skint and that poncy Blanch fella wouldn’t be
seen dead with me!”
“Well, whoever it is sent you a box an’ all ducks!” Becky exclaimed pointing to the wooden
box under the table.
Ginny pulled the box out. It was quite big but not very heavy. “Tell you what Becks. Let’s take
this up to our room and open it there. Matron’ll be back soon and she’ll probably confiscate the lot!”
Becky took the box to their room and Ginny took the flowers into the courtyard.
Mrs Hargreaves sat alone as Jacob, the handyman, walked back past Ginny carrying the small
bundle that was once a little baby. Ginny sat down next to the woman and put her arms around her
shoulders.
“I’m knackered Miss Ginny!” Emily mumbled. “She was number six. I can’t take it no more!”
“There, there,” Ginny said softly. “Maybe next time.”
“Nah. No next time. Me ‘eart’s been broke too many times. Next time I’ll keep me bleedin’
legs together. Men! All they want is damned sex! Per’aps I’ll join a Convent. Damn! We aint got one!
Maybe I’ll just off meself then. That’d do it!”
Gently, Ginny took the woman’s face in her hands and made her look into her eyes. “Don’t be
daft Emily! What’d that do? You’re too young. You’re always the happiest woman around. Everybody
loves you. Come on ducks. You’ll find the right man soon. A man who’ll see you for who you really
are. A man who’ll marry you and be happy to have a family with you rather than send you back to
prison. You’ve just had bad luck. That’s all.”
The woman smiled ruefully and pushed Ginny’s hands away. “Leave me alone. I wanna sulk.
Oh, I suppose you’re right dear. You usually are! But all the men I’ve meet so far, treat their sheep
better than they treat me!”
Ginny said nothing. She was struck by a sudden thought. Perhaps she could introduce Emily to
Silas Daly. The blackguard seemed desperate, but no. Emily could do better than him.
“What? Whatcha thinking?” the woman asked.
Ginny shook her head, then smiled. “I dunno. Maybe something will happen. Maybe I have a
friend who can help. I’m not sure. Anyway Emily, how’d ya like these flowers?”
She sat there, open-mouthed, looking at Ginny then at the beautiful flowers and back again.
“But, but. Where, I mean, why? I mean, thank you!”
Ginny laughed and stood up. “Now Emily. You get some rest and take care of the flowers. It’ll
all turn out in the end, you’ll see!”
Emily Hargreaves looked at her departing figure. Who on Earth would give flowers to a convict
woman, especially at the Lonnie Loonies! She’d never heard of such a thing!
Ginny and Becky had to wait until nightfall to open the box. By the dim yellow light of two
smoky candles, they prised open the lid. Inside was cornucopia of delights! The two women giggled
with pleasure as they discovered the dainty and grand treasures within.
“My word Gin! Look ‘ere!” Becky exclaimed, holding up a frilly parasol. “Posh init!”
Ginny shook her head as she unwrapped three bars of soap. “Soap! Gellé Frères soap! Just like
what Mrs Darcy-Wainwrights gave me mum!”
“And what’s this?” Becky said excitedly, handing Ginny a pale blue crystal bottle.
“Dunno. Let’s ‘ave a read of the label. Ah ha! It’s Toilet Water! How lovely!”
The most useful presents were the woolen stockings and wooden clogs. As for the rest, the
women were astounded. They’d never seen the like. Obviously, Silas Daly could not have sent them.
The man said he was poor and he certainly wasn’t posh. Only a Nib would have sent Eau de Cologne,
of which neither of them had actually even held a bottle before!
Becky was very intrigued by the message. “Well, the man must have met you and think that
you pong, yes?”
Ginny laughed heartily. “Look at the bleedin’ brolly! He wouldn’t have sent a brolly if he’d
met me! We’re locked up inside most of the time.”
Ginny searched around at the bottom of the box. “Ah, I have it!” she pulled out a small piece of
paper. She held it up to the light and peered at the note intently.
“It says VLDC Property. Oh, and here it is, I think there was somefink wrong with his pencil.
It’s very faint. Let me see.”
She squinted at the note and read;
Dear Miss F.
Please accept this token of my esteem. I trust it helps in these trying times.
With warmest regards.
An Admirer.
“It’s that Colonel chap isn’t it! That Blanch chap you told me about. He likes you Ginny. You
can get out of here!!”
“Oh shush!” Ginny scowled. “It doesn’t say who it is. Even if it was ‘im. I don’t think I’d be
very interested. I don’t like ‘im much.”
“Oh don’t be a silly sausage! He’s in the Company aint he? He’s breech’d aint he? He’s got the
nous and the position. Maybe he can get you out of ‘ere?”
“I don’t need ‘im. The Governor said I ‘ad to do two years then I could get me Ticket.”
“Oh Ginny, think! We’re short of nurses. Matron can’t get no more. She won’t let you go so
quickly. Even if you can leave next year, where will you go? You need a man or else you’re just
another whore to them.”
“Damn them to hell!” Ginny replied angrily. “I’ll move in with Lizzy or Sarah or somefink. I
don’t need Lieutenant Commander Whassisname or any other damned sharp cove to help me live my
life!”
Becky put her hands up in defeat. “Fine. Sorry. I’ll calm down. You’re right Ginny. You’re
quite right.”
Ginny smiled ruefully and squeezed her friend’s hand. “Thanks Becks. Well, at least I think
I’m right. But I do know that it’d take more than this little lot to woo me, I can tell yer! I mean!
Where’s the tea? Where the dresses? Maybe he can’t afford me after all!”
Chapter 32:
They came upon the lake late one rainy afternoon. Billy couldn’t see very far in the fog but
Pandak had no trouble navigating and seemed to be quite happy despite the cold and the wind. In the
failing light, Pandak showed Billy how to make a humpy. However, the trees were too small and the
bark too thin, and the little shelter leaked profusely. Pandak couldn’t get the fire started.
So Billy sat in the cold and dark with water dripping on his back as Pandak told him the myths
of his people. Pandak was happiest when he was in the bush. He was a wonderful and enthusiastic
storyteller. Billy knew that if he was to become a warrior of the Larmairrermener band he had to know
their myths and customs.
Billy had a real fascination for the wonderful stories and beliefs of the aborigines. He enjoyed
listening to Pandak and escaping from the dreary reality of the pitch-black dampness of the hut into the
bright warm sunshine of myths and legends.
He learned of the Dreamtime, the time before the land was made, before the sun shone, before
the animals and the people lived. The empty sky hung above the flat featureless plain. Beneath the
earth lay the sun and the moon and the stars and with them lived supernatural beings, shapeless infants
who didn’t grow old or die. The infants waited and waited and eventually they heard the cry, the call to
awake. They arose and broke onto the ground above them. The Sun and the moon and the stars escaped
into the heavens, the infants used stone knives to release their arms and legs and four quick cuts to
make the fingers and toes. They grew eyes and ears and mouths and very soon they grew into men and
women. All the people of the land, everyone living in Trowenna came from these heroes and everyone
has a piece of them and a piece of the Dreamtime deep within their being.
Many years passed and the people flourished until one day a giant frog came to the land and
drank all the water. Bolong, the Dreamtime Serpent, heard the people crying out with thirst and came
out from his burrow deep in the earth. He slithered across the land searching for water but found none.
He had gone far and was very tired so he curled up and went to sleep. When he awoke it was night and
it was very cold. He could still hear the people moaning as they looked in vain for water. He was very
sad and a tear came to his eye. It was cold and when the tear hit the ground it was hard like stone but
clear like water. When the morning came Bolong went away back to his hole in the earth but where
he’d lain was a mountain and on top of the mountain were Bolong’s frozen tears. As the sun grew high
in the sky the tears melted and turned into water that rushed down the mountain. The paths that Bolong
had taken had scarred the earth deeply and the places that he’d stopped and turned into basins and
bowls in the ground. The water came hurling down the mountain turning the paths into rivers and the
bowls into lakes.
The tears of Bolong still can be found and are treasured by Karadji, Pandak said gleefully.
Bolong.Mocha, the tears of the Dreamtime Serpent, give the clever-man special powers. The power to
climb up the Milky Way into the sky to meet the ancestors as they tend their campfires, the stars. The
power to tell talk to someone far, far away just by thinking. The power to heal wounds. With the
crystals, the Karadji can peer deep inside a sick person to find out how they can be cured.
The following morning Billy arose late, crawled out of the waist-high entrance of the humpy
and stood up, stiff from the sleep and cold. Pandak waved down to him from the small hill that’d
sheltered them from the most of the wind and rain. Billy took a deep breath of the clear sweet morning
air and went up to Pandak. His friend grinned and waved his arms towards the incredible view before
them.
An expanse of black water lay like a looking-glass below them reflecting the mountain peaks
that circled the lake to the east. A dense forest of low eucalypts tumbled down to the water’s edge.
Thinning grey clouds softly muted the warming sun. In the foreground, a broad peat marsh was dotted
with giant tussocks of button grass and cushion grass that were separated by small ponds and streams.
Large black birds, the currawong, circled close overhead or hopped along the ground digging in
the peat with big black beaks. Green cushion grass pillows surrounded the nearby rocks that were
covered with yellow, white, and red flowers and lichen of orange and blue. Pandak laughed, full of joy
with just being alive.
“This little Billy!” he said, his outstretched arms encircling the vista. “This is my Trowenna.
Isn’t it beautiful?”
Billy nodded happily, mesmerized by the sight.
“Now, look here,” Pandak pointed to the ground “See that? That is the track of the Publedina,
the wombat. Today we will eat well. Today life is good!”
They stayed on the shores of the lake for five warm cloudless days. There were many rare
plants and flowers that were prized by the Karadji as medicines. Pandak spent a lot of time alone
looking for the plants and set Billy a new task to accomplish each day.
Billy learnt how to build a humpy properly so that it wouldn’t leak even if he used the wrong
type of bark. He lit fires very quickly using the black fungus that Pandak gave him. He wrapped
embers from the fire with the fungus in fern leaves and bark to make a fire basket. They hunted and
cooked wombats, although Billy still hadn’t got used to aboriginal cooking. Pandak preferred his meat
lightly singed so that it was either warm or just barely cooked. Billy was getting used to barely eating
for several days at a time and then gorging on whatever prey they managed to kill. Hunger was the best
sauce. Billy learnt to eat whatever he could whenever he could and he occasionally risked Pandak’s
wrath and dersion by over-cooking his meat.
In the middle of the night on the third day, Pandak woke Billy from his sleep. They slept curled
up around the fire on the open ground. The moon had set and the sky was ablaze with stars. Billy had
seen very few stars in his short life. London was shrouded in a perpetual green haze, they’d been kept
below decks most of the time on the Navarino and at Point Puer the boys had been in their dormitories
by nightfall. Even in the Larmairrermener village, the towering trees obscured most of the sky.
Out in the high country the night sky shone bright. The huge band of the Milky Way arched
overhead. The Seven sisters, the Tiger, the Sting Ray, the Emu and Tarner, the Kangaroo hung so
close Billy felt he could almost touch them. Pandak explained to Billy that all the animals that were on
Trowenna were also in the sky. The stars were camp fires or ancient heroes or animals and were red,
yellow or blue and they showed the people of Trowenna how to navigate across the land and the
passing of the seasons. Using the stars Pandak could tell when the eels were coming out of the river,
when the berries would ripen, when shellfish would be easy to catch or how to find his way home from
far away places.
As the light of the false dawn brightened, Pandak explained that the stars had also told him that
it was time to come up to the lake to pick some very valuable mushrooms and fungi.
Dawn was the best time to hunt for the Mushroom of the Corroboree. The two men walked
down to edge of the marsh until they found a wide wombat trail winding its way between the tussocks
of button grass. They followed the trail towards a small hillock covered with a few small trees and
bushes. Several other wombat trails joined theirs. Pandak nodded his approval as they approached the
hill. Billy could see that many wombat trails converged on the hill. They passed an area covered in
wombat fresh wombat dung. Pandak skirted the area and followed an old, disused animal track into the
bushes. He moved the bushes aside with his spear and there they were, hundreds of small mushrooms.
Their tops were a nondescript brown with a bright orange centre.
After half an hour, Pandak and Billy had filled their dilly bags and they returned to their camp.
Billy piled some large logs on the fire and stoked it until it was burning fiercely. Within a few hours,
the wood had burnt through. Pandak spread out the glowing embers and the two men covered them
with a thin layer of ash and sand. They spread the brown mushrooms over the sand and added some big
black ones Pandak had collected earlier. Then the covered the mushrooms with another layer of sand.
The two men went to the edge of the forest to collect some giant Pandani ferns. They returned
mid-afternoon and recovered the dried mushrooms from the embers. Pandak ground up a very small
mushroom, mixed it with water and the white pith from the heart of the Pandani and roasted it on a hot

stone from the fire. He then broke it in two and offered one half to Billy. Billy looked at him
suspiciously.
“What this do?”
“Well, I don’t know what happens to a white fella, but it is very strong. We use it sometimes in
our special ceremonies and we have a very special ceremony for you little Billy. So, try it now. Go
on!”
Billy looked doubtful. “Er, it not hurt me?”
“You’re supposed to be becoming a warrior! You must learn to like pain! But, just in case, this
makes you feel good, very good. That’s the problem.”
Billy smiled nervously and ate the mushroom. It tasted nutty and quite pleasant. He washed it
down with a sip of water. They moved away from the fire and sat under the trees.
Billy waited. Nothing happened. He closed his eyes.
Pandak prodded him. “Don’t sleep!”
“Me not sleep. Just wait. Nothing happen.”
“Oh, it should be fairly soon. Now little Billy if you do go to sleep you may wake up alone.
Don’t worry. I’m very good tracker and I’ll probably find you in a day or so!”
“Wha! What? What do you mean? Will this make me go bush?” Billy asked incredulously.
The aborigine grinned, “No. No. I was just joking. Silly white boy. No sense of humour!”
Billy looked at his friend, his voice seemed to drop an octave and slow down. Billy saw his big
grin and heard a booming laugh coming out from all around him.
He shook his head.
Suddenly he was lying on the ground. Pandak was nowhere in sight. He sat up. Everything was
running slowly. A currawong hopped along in front of him. He scowled at it. It looked up at him, its
yellow eye focused on him. Billy looked at the bird, its eye grew bigger and bigger. Billy could feel
himself falling forward into the eye. He started laughing. A hearty laugh that turned gradually into a
harsh maniacal cackle and then into a sob. He was back in London.
The deep blue sky of Trowenna had been replaced by the brown fog of the city. A raven sat on
the cobblestones in front of him, appraising him knowingly. He scrabbled around on the ground,
feeling for a stone, a stick, something to throw at the bird. His fingers clenched onto a small stone. It
was warm. He held it in the palm of his left hand and looked down at it. It was red, glowing, and
warm. Very warm! Hot! Something was telling him to drop it. The stone started in sink into his hand.
It didn’t hurt at all but it didn’t seem right. He turned his hand over. The stone fell out. He lifted his
hand up to his face. There was a hole right through his palm. He peered through his hand towards
where the raven had been. It’d disappeared.
Faintly, off in the distance, he could hear music. Singing and drums and pipes. As it came
nearer, he realized that he recognized the voice. It was Ginny, his sister; she was singing “I will Guide
Thee with Mine Eye.” Dimly, Billy remembered that Ginny hated the dreary song but she was singing
it with great enthusiasm. He could her rattling the pebbles in her tin cup in time to the music as she
used to do when she was begging. The music grew louder and louder. Billy strained his ears and stared
into the fog as it thickened and swirled about him. Then just as he expected Ginny to come into view,
the music stopped.
Billy cried out but his voice sounded very faint and distant. He tried to stand up but his arms
and legs were too weak. The fog began to glow yellow, then it changed to orange then red and began to
pulsate as if the watchman was walking by raising his lamp towards and away from Billy.
Music began to play; he heard drums beating slowly and rhythmically. The sound of waves
crashing on the beach was faint in the background. He took a deep breath. It felt good. The fog fell
away and all around him was blackness, thick and heavy like a velvet curtain. Small lights began to
appear, bright spots in the darkness.
His vision came into focus. It was the Milky Way. He could see the Sting Ray that Pandak had
told him about, hanging like a great cross in the sky. He could smell smoke, smoke and roasting meat.
His belly rumbled.
“Ah, you’re back,” he heard Pandak’s voice from far away.
Billy rubbed his eyes. He squinted towards the red light. His friend was coming up to the
campfire from the trees.
“Meat, little Billy. As tough as leather, just the way you like it. Come, eat!”
Billy tried to stand up. It took him several attempts and he was quite wobbly when he finally
staggered into the light and flopped down close to the fire.
Pandak made no effort to suppress his laughter. The white boy was very amusing. His Bo-ra
ceremony would be very entertaining.
“S’night time?” Billy slurred.
Pandak nodded gravely. “Indeed little Billy. You have been away for many hours.”
“But, but who moved me from there to here?” he said, perplexed, pointing at the trees then
back at he fire.
Pandak laughed heartily. “My Little Tiger. You moved yourself. How are your knees?”
“Knees? Knees?” Billy rubbed his legs, someone had bruised and cut his knees. They didn’t
hurt at all but it was very strange.
“Well, tomorrow you can follow the tracks of your knees around the bush. Let’s see how well
you can track a legless person!” Pandak grinned.
“Not fair!” Billy grumbled as Pandak gave him a Pandani leaf piled high with cooked meat.
Billy reached out to take the food then pulled back as a lance of pain seared through his left hand and
arm.
He looked at his hand. There was a big red mark on the palm.
“Hey, what happened? Was that real?”
Pandak nodded and put the food down next to Billy. He turned around and picked up another
large fern leaf.
“Here, spread this on it, very thick.” Pandak pointed at the big white blob in the middle of the
leaf.
Billy scooped up some of the sticky mass and plastered it on his hand. Instantly he could feel
his hand cooling down and the tingling receding. A clean fresh aroma cut through the pungent smell of
the smoke and dirt.
“It’s good. I come here often; this place has all the good plants for healing. You will need to
have this medicine on your hand for three weeks. So tomorrow, I will show you the bushes and you
can make a big supply before we move north. Now, Little Billy, eat, drink and tell me what you saw.”
Billy wagged the forefinger of his right hand at Pandak. “Wait. Wait. Tell me. How my hand
burn? It was a coal from the fire, yes? But I was in trees? So, why go to fire and put a coal in my hand?
Why left hand? Why not the right?”
Pandak grinned guiltily. “Well, little Billy. You can follow the tracks tomorrow to find the
answer. But at least we know that the mushrooms stop the pain, don’t we. Now you must tell me what
you saw.”
Chapter 33:
It was a hot afternoon. Daly arrived late. He felt dirty. Dirty, thirsty, tired and annoyed after the
long ride up from the farm. He was not up to seeing Miss Ginny at all. He tied his cart and donkey to
the rail outside the Police Station. The Constable was on his rounds and wouldn’t be back for an hour
or more.
He opened a wooden chest on the back of the cart and took out two small rags and a bottle. He
carefully washed the thick red dust from his hands and held them both up to inspect them closely.

Then, taking the small paper bag that Dick had given him, he strolled under the oak trees along the
street down to the Female Factory.
It was very quiet. Only the constant buzz of the cicadas disturbed the sleepy afternoon in
Launceston town. Nervously Daly reached into the bag and pulled out Lizzy’s letter. He held it up at
eye level and gently blew any faint traces of dust from it.
Then he sniffed the envelope along the seams. The lavender perfume was still stronger than the
cloying smell of the dust. He looked around self-consciously. A small boy, about twelve years old,
regarded him with a snicker then turned and walked away.
Miss Lizzy was nice, Daly thought. A bit too coarse for him but nice all the same. Holding the
letter very gingerly by one corner, he tiptoed across the road to the front door of the Lonnie Loonies.
He put the palm of his hand on the doorknob and cocked his head, listening intently. Then, sure that
there was no-one in the foyer, he opened the door a crack and peeked inside. It was empty. He crept
inside very quietly and put the envelope face up on the table so that Lizzy’s bold but slightly clumsy
inscription was clearly visible –
“2106 V G Fotheringham”
Then as quietly as he came Daly sneaked back out of the door and shut it quietly behind him. He spun
around to leave and walked straight into Constable Morgan.
“’ello, ‘ello, ‘ello. What’s going on ‘ere then?” the Constable said with a stern voice but
smiling eyes. The women were constantly getting love letters from strangers. It amused Constable
Morgan but Matron Bowden was decidedly unimpressed.
“Um, er. I just delivered a letter from a woman in Hobarton to ‘er friend who works up ‘ere,”
Daly whispered in a shaky voice.
“Speak up man! No need to be quiet is there? Not unless you’re doing something sneaky that
is!”
“Sneaky? No, sir, not me, sir. I was just helping two friends get together. That’s all, sir,
honest,” Daly replied wringing his hands wretchedly.
“We’ll soon see about that, my man. Now go back in and fetch it!”
Daly looked up at Morgan. He was a big imposing figure and had suddenly lost his air of
playfulness and amusement. Daly sighed and turned and started to push open the door.
“Stop! What do you think you’re doing man? That’s trespass don’t you know!” the Constable
bellowed. “Now, ring the bell. It’s not your house, is it now?”
Dejected, Daly rang the bell. Nothing happened. Constable Daly pushed him aside and rang the
doorbell vigorously. Somewhere a door opened, feet scuffled across the floor, and the front door was
flung open.
Daly was face to face with Ginny. In an instant, her expression changed from bored annoyance
to anger. She stood with arms akimbo, a pinafore around her waist and her hair covered by a
washerwoman’s scarf. She was annoyed at being taken away from her work for Daly. She’d told him
she never wanted to see him again!
Before she could say anything Constable Morgan pushed Daly aside, took his hat off and
nodded respectfully to Ginny.
“Afternoon Miss. Sorry to disturb you but I caught this miscreant loitering around your
establishment with love letters. I thought you might want to say a few words to him before I took him
off to the Station.”
Ginny looked at Daly as he peeked around the Constable.
“What letters? Yes Constable, I do know this man. I certainly don’t want any letters from him
though.”
She turned and looked back to the table. She walked over and picked it up.
“Right you are Miss. I’ll just take him away then. I should take the letter away too. It’s amazing
what filth these desperate men will write you know!”
“Hey, I can’t write yet!” Daly protested from behind the Policeman.
The Constable held him back and put out his hand for the letter. Ginny looked at the envelope
with interest. She brought it up to her face and sniffed it.
“Hmm, lavender. And it says it’s from Lizzy. No, Constable, please wait a minute. He may be
telling the truth. Let me just read it please.”
The Constable waited impatiently while Ginny began to read the letter. A puzzled frown came
across her face. She stopped reading and put the letter down.
“It’s alright Constable. This letter is from a friend of mine down south. For some reason she
speaks quite ‘ighly of Mister Daly here. So if you don’t mind, you can let him go, thanks.”
Constable Morgan grunted his assent and turned and scowled at Daly. “Watch it sunshine.
Alright. Just watch it!” he grumbled to Daly before walking out to the street.
“Thank you for bringing the letter, Mister Daly. I only read the first few lines and it looks like
there’s a lot here. Will you be in town for a few days or are you leaving soon?”
“Um, er. I was going to leave tomorrow but I could stay another day I ‘spect,” he said
nervously, embarrassed at being so grubby.
“Good. Why don’t you pop in for a spot of chocolate the day after tomorrow, precisely at
eleven, I should be able to see you briefly then. Hopefully I’ll have a reply for you to take down to
Lizzy. Now, you really must be off. Fang, I mean Matron, will be here soon.”
Blanch sat in the dining room of the Cornwall hotel. He had an unobstructed view of the street.
He recognized Silas Daly immediately he saw him step up to the front door of the tavern. The street
urchin’s description was accurate and he felt quite pleased with his little investment. It was obvious to
him that Daly was the Foxe girl’s paramour. Why else would she reject his advances so quickly? He
was rich, good looking, and well mannered and he’d brought her news of her brother. He wondered
how much they knew about the Hope’s treasure and the boy’s map.
Daly looked well, thinner, leaner, more tanned and muscled than he recalled from their
previous meeting down in Hobart Town. Blanch noted that Daly also looked tired but there was a
spring in his step. His clothes were well worn and his boots old and scuffed but it seemed as though
he’d received some good news today.
He called the waiter over and whispered to him, giving the man very precise instructions along
with several coins. He wanted to make quite sure that it would go on his personal account and not on
the Company’s.
It was definitely worth coming to the best tavern in town Daly thought. He called for a pint of
cider. Ale was far too expensive and his head couldn’t take the Mauritius rum that most people drank.
The publican, the beggar-maker as Daly termed him, disappeared to fetch the cider. The taproom was
very posh, better than any he was used to in Hobart Town. It was smoky, of course, with long rough-
hewn wooden tables and benches. There was a table with two stools beneath a small window that
opened onto the courtyard, it was near the privies. With a sailor’s long exposure to the rank odours of
the bilges, Daly preferred the faint smell of stale urine wafting through the window to the pungent
smell of smoke.
He handed over his sixpence as the beggar-maker returned with his pint. But the man just
shook his head and pushed a bottle of Lowes Ten Year Old whisky across the bar.
“What’s this? I can’t afford a whisky! I can barely afford a cider y’know!”
The publican slid a whisky glass over to him, “Dinna fash y’sel, lad. Y’ve got a fairy
godmother, y’ken? Some big Nob from the Company. He’s doon here a lot and he says the suppin’s on
him. He’ll be oot ina wee while,” he said in a mild Glaswegian brogue.
Daly looked at him and shrugged. “Fine, I’ve no idea who he is, but I won’t be refusing a free
drink now will I? But you can tell the kind gentleman I’m not going to sleep with him!”
The beggar-maker grinned broadly. “Och I’m sure he’s no that sort of gent!”

Daly smiled back. “Well, who else’d buy me a drink? Anyroad. I’ll have some of yer stew to
go with it and while you’re at it why don’t you join me in a pint? I’ve had a good day today!”
By the time Blanch strolled into the taproom Daly appeared to be well in his cups. The tavern
was busy, mostly with men, nearly all soldiers. Launceston was still a predominantly military garrison
town.
Daly sat propped up near the open window, the breeze blowing cool onto his face. In front of
him were a half-empty whisky bottle and a half-empty blackjack of cider. He had very cleverly
prepared himself for the man though. For ninepence he’d bought a cheap pewter flask which he’d
filled from the whiskey bottle. Several pints of his cider had watered the weeds outside the window
and he’d had a big helping of stew into the bargain. Daly would be ready whatever the man was after.
Blanch was splendidly dressed, his uniform crisp and clean with plenty of medals and silver
beading and tassels. He entered the taproom as if he owned it, and everyone looked his way. Daly
noticed that one or two of the soldiers regarded Blanch with amusement and smirked at him behind his
back. His uniform was very different to theirs, very bright almost gaudy. He remembered that Blanch
was in the Company. He was playing soldiers.
Blanch chatted with the beggar-maker for a while and then came over to Daly’s table carrying
two large blackjacks and some small glasses. Daly tried to stand up to greet him but just staggered
against the wall and slid back onto his stool.
“Silas Daly! What a pleasant surprise,” Blanch said as they shook hands.
“George. George Blanch, why I wonner’d ‘oo was standing me the grog! Very decent of you,
Saar!”
“Here Squire, try some of this cider. It’s very good. Almost as good as scrumpy but without the
dead rats, eh!” Blanch laughed loudly at his own joke. “So my man, how did you like the whisky?
Rather good, eh? Pity they’ve gone out of business. But I say, it looks like a favourite of yours, eh?”
He pointed at the half empty bottle.
Daly nodded slowly with a big stupid grin on across his face. “Yup, s’nice to see yer Georgie
boy. You must be doin’ well.”
“Indeed. I’m second to Mister Curr himself! The Van Diemen’s Land Company is the place to
be, my man! Why, we’ll be bigger than the East India Company soon. Do you know I shipped over ten
thousand kangaroo pelts this month! And we have a new Whaling Station up at Circular Head. We’re
doing splendidly!” he boasted, adding, “To be honest, we’re faring too well. I have a farm down south,
and I’ve just purchased a fine spread up north which will be swarming with the Company sheep very
soon! I’m going to be a very rich man and I don’t mind sharing with old mates! Cheers!”
They raised their mugs in a toast.
Daly smiled, feigning interest. The man was a bore. He’d get to the point eventually.
“Now then Silas, lad. What brings you to this part of the world? You were down in Hobarton
last we met. Do you live up here now?”
Daly took a small sip of cider and smacked his lips appreciatively.
“I just come up for the market. They ‘ave better emu meat ‘ere an’ I get more for me turnips
and spuds.”
“Oh, you have land then?”
“Yup, I rent a small farm in New Norfolk. S’nice.”
“Married?” Blanch asked innocently.
“Nah. Where’s the women? ‘course I do ‘ave a little fun in Hobarton, but I can’t afford that
often and I aint got the clout to get a wife. You? You’re prolly married, eh?”
“Me? Married! Perish the thought. I do like some rumpy pumpy of course, but no. I’m a
businessman. I’m too busy for a wife, although I must say the gins are very good.” He nudged Daly
knowingly with his elbow.
“Gins? You’re knocking off gins?”

Blanch shushed him and looked around nervously. “Don’t tell everyone,” he whispered, “We
trade ‘em to the sealers. Very expensive. Getting harder too as the damned boongs keep chucking
spears at us. Anyway, we occasionally have to try ‘em out a bit if you know what I mean. Tough bunch
too, they can take a lot of pain.”
Blanch chuckled nastily and rubbed his hands together. Daly closed his eyes and nodded
dumbly.
“Hey, wake up.” Blanch nudged him “I still have some more special drinks for you. Not often I
get to cut a yarn with an old mate.”
“Sorry. I’m fine. Fine. Where were we? Ah yes, you were off fighting the blacks.”
“Nah, just pulling your leg, Daly. I’m not much of a fighter. You know that! Now then.
Women! What’s this I hear about you visiting the Lonnie Loonies? They tell me you’re sending love
letters to the harlots and loonies, eh?”
Daly swayed on his stool, “Whatcha mean? ‘oo told yer tha’?” he slurred accusingly.
Blanch smiled. “I have to visit the Police a lot in my work so I can find labourers and the like.
The young chap, Morgan, he was telling me about a Mister Daly taking a letter to the Factory.
Happens all the time he says.”
“Oh, really?” Daly answered snidely. “H’and what h’else did Constable Nosey Parker tell
everyone, eh? C’mon tell me, tell me!”
Blanch pulled a fresh bottle from his pocket and poured two fingers of whisky into each glass.
He pushed one of them into Daly’s hand. “Don’t be daft man. I’m not blaming you. Just saying, that’s
all.”
“Wha’? Whatcha just saying Missah Moneybags. Whatcha sayin’?”
“Drink up man. It’s good. What I’m saying is, that every man in this place has tried to court the
women in the Factory. We’ve all written to them. Me included. But they’re all whores. Harlots, the lot
of ‘em! And ugly too, especially the two nurses, you know the red-head and the other one. They hate
men those two. Probably queer and --”
“Shut up! ‘oo damned well cares what you fink!!” Daly shouted him down. Angrily, he picked
up the glass and almost threw the whisky down his throat.
A sudden hush came over the room.
Daly started to cough and splutter as the whisky hit him. He staggered up and immediately his
legs gave way and he fell down, missing the stool and banging his head against the wall. Then he
slumped down in a heap coughing and swearing and holding onto the back of his head at the same
time.
The rest of the men looked over at him and smiled. Another man who couldn’t take his grog.
They resumed their conversations. The beggar-maker came over and helped Daly up onto his stool.
Blanch was very apologetic and helped the man clear away the spilt drinks.
“Sorry lad. Sorry it was just a figure of speech. You know, idle banter. I didn’t realize that
you’d fallen for one of the women. Here, let me buy you another drink to make up for it.”
“Nah, s’my own fault. Banging me bonce like that. Reminds me of the days back ‘ome dunnit!”
Daly replied sheepishly. “Anyroad, I aint fallen for any woman in the Factory. I was delivering a letter
to ‘em from a woman down my way.”
“Oh,” Blanch said feigning disinterest “It wasn’t that red-head by any chance was it?”
Daly took a full tankard of cider that the beggar-maker handed him. He sipped on it carefully
and put it back down on the table. “Nah. Well, it could be. I don’t know. I never saw a red-haired
woman.”
“Well, you didn’t happen to see the name on the letter did you?”
“Can’t read. That’s me problem. Anyroad why all the questions? You just said they’re all ugly
harlots. You’re not getting tired of black women are you?”
“No, I’m still trying to find that Foxe woman. You know, the one from the Sydney Cove. You
haven’t seen her have you? I promised before that I’d pay to find her. I’ve got a lot more money now
you know.”
“Why are you interested in her? Something about her brother was it?”
Blanch hunched forward over the table and lowered his voice. “Her brother, William, was
transported on my ship, the Navarino. I think he was the man who dogged on me and got me demoted
onto the damned Navarino. He also killed a man on the ship. A good friend of mine. I have a witness,
but he was too scared to come forward. He also stole something from my friend. Something very
valuable. Now I want justice. I want Foxe to hang and I want to return the stolen property to my
friend’s family!”
Daly was shocked. Ginny’s brother really was a bad seed, he thought. “Well, he’s a lag aint he?
He’s probably in the nick. Port Arthur or summat. He can’t hurt your witness, why don’t you tell the
Police to take him down to the court house. Shouldn’t be difficult for a man of your stature. Anyroad,
what’s his sister done?”
“The bastard’s just escaped! That’s right! Damned well buggered off from Point Puer. They say
he’s on the run with the damned boongs! Now, if I could find him I could have him arrested but first I
want my, sorry, my friend’s property back then I want to teach him a lesson, a hard lesson before they
string the bugger up!”
“And the girl?”
Blanch took a swig of cider and wiped off his moustache with the back of his hand. “Well,
that’s a guess. You see, Foxe probably sent the goods over to his sister. He wouldn’t be able to hide it
at Point Puer and it was very small, easy to send.”
“Nasty character, that Foxe, by the sound of him. Big is he?”
“No, but he’s a mean cove. He’s from Bermondsey, the worst part of London. He’s very sharp,
a sly dog. Now, my man. Will you help me to bring this rascal to justice? Will you? Good! Now then,
have you seen Virginia Foxe?”
Daly stroked his chin thoughtfully. Blanch was obviously lying about William Foxe. Even so,
if Blanch found him useful then he might be able to prevent Blanch from getting to Ginny. The money
was very tempting too, it’d been a hard year, and Daly really wasn’t a very good farmer.
“It’s been a few years hasn’t it. Not sure if I’d know her face. But, ah, yes. There is something.
Now would it help if I told you about her friend?”
Blanch raised an eyebrow. “P’raps. I do know about one woman, Eliza Black or something. It’s
not her is it?”
Daly shook his head. “No, not her. It’s another woman. She and the Foxe worked for the
Surgeon on the Sydney Cove. I only saw them a few times. Would that be useful to you?”
Blanch dug into his pocket and pulled out a purse.
“Hey, what do you think of this?” he said showing Daly the leather bag.
Daly looked at it. It seemed normal, a bit small and the leather was an odd chocolate colour and
seemed a bit thin.
“Genuine boong balls!” Blanch whispered “Killed the bugger with just one shot!”
Daly stared at the man who was chuckling gleefully. “Fine Mister Blanch. Fine” he replied
trying to hide his disgust.
“Oh come on. Don’t be such a nancy boy, Silas. I can get you one too you know. No, I tell you
what. I’ll give you the nigger scrotum and all the money in it. How does that sound?”
Daly looked down and shook his head.
Blanch thought he was trying to bargain with him. “So, you have some good crack for me then?
All right, the purse and money and one, no, two bottles of Lowes’ finest. Whaddya say?”
Daly nodded and took a long draft of ale. “Fine. I’ll take ‘em. Now all I remember is her
number. I’m sure you can find her in the books in Hobarton. Her number is 2233. That’s it, she worked
with the Foxe girl, and they got off the ship together and went away in a carriage. I think they were
going to the Cascades Factory. Is that all right?”
Blanch nodded happily. “Excellent. I think that’ll earn you the money. My thanks, Mister
Daly.”

As soon as he left the Cornwall Hotel Daly realized just how drunk he was. Despite his little
ruse with the flask of whisky, his head reeled and he felt sick to the stomach. Out of practise. Too
much work on the farm and not enough drinking, he thought with a giggle.
The Old Imperial hotel was in a rough part of town. He’d used it several times. The manager
was honest and they gave him their quietest room and let him keep Bessie in a stall by herself next to
his cart where she wouldn’t get upset by the big horses.
Daly staggered down the alley next to the hotel and went straight to Bessie. She was glad to see
him and eagerly ate the turnips that he took down from the shelf to give her. He patted her rump and
shut the gate behind him then went around the corner and up the back stairs of the hotel. It was quite
dark without streetlamps but the moonlight was bright enough for him to see his way. The light was
too dim for him to notice the silent figure lurking in the shadows as he stumbled up the stairs to his
room.
Daly slept in until 9 o’clock, nursing a huge hangover. He threw open the window, it was a
beautiful day and the bright sunshine streamed in. He screwed his eyes shut and pulled the curtain
across immediately. Then he noticed something wrong. It was too quiet. Why wasn’t Bessie braying
loudly for him? She was usually very lively in the morning and was always itching to be let out into
the field. Daly faintly recalled nodding off to her calls late at night and was there another time that he’d
heard her braying? Perhaps he’d been dreaming.
He stuck his head out of the window and whistled for her. He waited. There was no reply. He
whistled again. Nothing happened. Seized with a sudden panic he dashed out of the room and ran
down the stairs. As he turned the corner, he first saw that his cart was no longer tied up at the side of
the building. He ran up to her stall. The door was wide open. There were no turnips left on the shelf,
just some trampled old manure, and a trail of hay. His donkey and cart had been stolen!
He yelled out Bessie’s name. Frantically, he ran around the stall several times. He ran down the
side streets calling for her, whistling loudly and listening intently for her braying reply. He examined
the ground for clues as to what happened, but he saw nothing. Distraught, Daly burst into the foyer of
the hotel.
The manager remained very calm. No, he’d heard nothing; no-one had mentioned anything to
him. No, thefts weren’t at all common. Perhaps some vagabonds had taken her for a run in the
country? They couldn’t get far on the narrow and rutted tracks that passed as roads. Maybe she
wandered off and some irate family had already reported it to the Police? Daly thanked him and
plodded off miserably to the Police station. The thought of meeting Constable Morgan again didn’t
exactly fill him with glee either.
At the Police station Constable Morgan was very businesslike and efficient. “Ah, Mister Daly
is it? Been expecting you, sir,” he boomed out as soon as Daly opened the door. A puzzled expression
crossed Daly’s face.
“Yes indeed, sir. Old Clive on the Hobarton Stage came across a donkey down at Saddler’s
Run this morning. She was wandering about in the middle of the road. We don’t have many donkeys
here and Mister Dodd tells me he sold his only white-eared donkey to you last year so I suppose she
must be yours?”
Daly breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes, yes. She’s mine. Some bugg – sorry, somebody stole her
from the Old Imperial hotel last night. How is she? Is she hurt? Where is she?”
Morgan put up his hand. “’old on a minute! Clive said she seemed fine and he ‘ad her and your
cart taken to the Saddler’s Run. That’s about twenty miles south, down past Evandale.”
Daly’s mind whirled. How was he going to get down there? “Thank you Constable, I’m much
relieved. What’s the fastest way for me to get down to her?”
“The Hobarton Coach leaves in half an hour, at half past ten. Clive said they’d have space if
you want a seat.”

All of a sudden, Daly realized that he had an important job to do. In the frenetic whirl and panic
of losing Bessie, he’d completely forgotten that he had to be the Female Factory at eleven to pick up
Ginny’s letter.
The Constable noticed a fleeting look of panic on Daly’s face.
“Oh, er um. Is there any other way to get to Evandale?” Daly stammered.
Morgan shook his head “Normally you could hire a horse but Dodd left for Port Dalrymple an
hour ago. You could walk. That’d take you six hours if you weren’t knocked off by bloody natives or
bushrangers.”
Daly’s face fell. “Fine, fine I suppose.”
“Yes, I’d recommend the coach, sir. It always calls by the Imperial Hotel on the way out. So if
you’re ready outside the hotel in ‘alf an hour you’ll be down at the Saddler’s by nightfall. Now, sir I
really must go. Thank you,” Morgan replied opening the door for Daly.
Daly dashed back towards the hotel in a melancholy mood. He was elated that Bessie was
unharmed but very annoyed that he’d miss his appointment with Miss Ginny. Worse still, he was
letting her down by not picking up her letter. He burst through the hotel doors and ran up the stairs to
his room to wash and gather his belongings. He came down quickly and told the manager. Noticing
that Daly was still looking gloomy, he asked him if anything was the matter. Daly pondered, still trying
to shake off his gloom.
Then he had a sudden idea. He asked the manager for pen and paper and quickly scribbled a
note. He gave the man sixpence and asked him to have it delivered to the Female Factory late in the
afternoon. The manager refused the money. He was embarrassed that the donkey had been stolen from
his establishment and he wanted to make Daly happy. A few minutes later, the coach arrived and Daly,
seeming noticeably happier, boarded for the journey south.
Constable Morgan arrived at the Old Imperial Hotel mid-afternoon to investigate the theft. The
manager showed him Bessie’s stall. The Policeman carefully examined the area all around, taking
detailed notes in his book. He returned to the hotel to thank the manager and advise him that to supply
locks to the guests to prevent future thefts. The manager was nervous and grateful to the Constable for
his advice. As he made to leave Morgan, noticed a letter on the desk, it was addressed to -
Mis F
The Factory
“Ah, would you like me to deliver this to the Female Factory for you? I have business with Mrs
Bowden in an hour,” Morgan asked casually.
The manager smiled. “Would you? That’s so kind of you. I have a very busy afternoon and
Mister Daly was very keen to have his letter delivered as soon as possible. Thank you. You are most
kind.”
“Not at all, I shall send you a copy of my report tomorrow. Good day, sir,” Constable Morgan
replied smoothly as he stuffed the letter into his pocket. Commander Blanch would be very interested
to read what Mister Daly had to say to Miss Fotheringham, very interested indeed!
Chapter 34:
The white boy was learning fast. Pandak decided to push him as hard as he could and trek
directly into the most rugged and vicious terrain that Trowenna had to offer; the western mountains.
They would travel all the way to the coast, a journey seldom undertaken even by experienced warriors.
Usually the Larmairrermener youths spent three years learning their bushcraft, their totem and

preparing for their Dreaming. Pandak’s time was short and he would very quickly determine if little
Billy was fit enough to become a true aboriginal warrior.
They spent their final morning at the lake making stout shoes for the journey. They had to
survive razor-sharp rocks and waterlogged marshes. They filled their emu bladder water bags, hid most
of Pandak’s medicines and made two fire sticks before they set out on their way at noon.
Their progress was very slow at first as Pandak picked his way south through the marshes. The
heath and button grasses grew in clumps often separated by muddy paths and small rivulets. Billy had
to follow Pandak’s footsteps precisely, otherwise, he would sink into the mud. The aborigine spent a
lot of time backtracking and circling around impassable expanses of heavy black mud. Eventually, they
reached a line of stunted trees where the ground was firmer and drier. In the distance to the south, Billy
heard the occasional bleating of sheep. Pandak scowled at the intrusion by the white fella and they
increased their pace.
They skirted south along the edge of the marsh until the line of trees turned to the west and the
ground became drier. The sedge grass and heath made way for real trees, snow gums and ash with
plenty of wallaby and wombats and the occasional emu. Billy was enchanted at the sight. He’d never
seen a bird bigger than he was; they were so fast that even Pandak couldn’t chase them down. At night
the bush devils roared and screeched with a ferocity and intensity that sent shivers down Billy‘s spine.
Pandak howled with laughter as Billy tried to chase away the bright red eyes that ringed their small
campfire.
Billy had made three spears of differing lengths and with them he managed to kill several ducks
while in the marshes. It pleased Pandak that the white boy was starting to share his burden of the
hunting and a real bond of friendship began to form between them.
As they continued the next day, the ground began to slope away and the trees grew taller and
the forest much more dense. The morning mist hung heavy in the valley and Billy could hear the rush
of a river. On the other side of the valley, the forest continued up above them to two sheer mountain
peaks with a saddle between. They stayed up on the high plain for two days. The river divided the
interior; to the east was the dry central plateau, and to the west was the rugged mountainous rainforest.
Pandak wanted Billy to rest before they began the most difficult part of his journey.
The river was at the bottom of a shallow valley. The ground in the forest was firm and dry but
the bush was dense beneath the canopy of tall eucalypts. Pandak found a wide and shallow stretch of
the river that they forded easily. On the far bank, the terrain rose sharply. Tanglefoot and Scoparia
bushes caught at the men’s feet and cut and scratched at their bodies. Despite an early start, it was well
after dusk by the time forest had thinned enough for Pandak to call a halt for the night.
They made it up and to the saddle the following day. From the top, it looked as though they
were above a deep wide plain that was encircled on all sides except the south by several ridges of
mountains. To the west a huge snow covered mountain, Ulta.Trunwalla, the Ice Mountain, towered
over the plateau and the surrounding peaks and lakes of black water.
They sat and ate while Pandak told Billy about the bands who lived in each direction. The area
was too harsh and cold for much game and the aborigines only ventured through it in good weather.
On the far side of the high mountain was the sea and Lewarry.Magog, the sacred Black Rock
Mountain, where they would go to find sharp stones for the initiation ceremony.
Pandak laughed heartily when Billy suggested that they walk down to the plains to continue
their way westward. It was a warm day, so Pandak suggested that Billy go down to the plain while he
built a humpy and a campfire.
Perplexed, Billy ambled off down the hillside. At first it was an easy walk, the ground was firm
and dry, the button grass was small and well spaced. Billy halted every now and then to look for game;
it was the perfect place for red-necked wallabies. But no matter how hard he searched, he saw no game
and, apart from a few bird tracks, no evidence any game either. Then he noticed that the ground was
getting increasingly wetter, the button grass was more lush and there were more insects. As the slope

levelled out the ground became muddier and muddier, within a few minutes, he saw pools of water
between the tussocks and the mud was over his toes.
He stopped to look around and immediately he began to sink in the mud. He sank up to his
knees before he managed to pull himself up onto a small bush. He was still only on the edge of the
plain. Further out he knew that it’d be so bad he wouldn’t be able to walk through it. It was far worse
than the marshes back at the lake. Disappointed, he turned back and began the long steady uphill walk
up to the saddle and then on to the camp.
Pandak had killed a pademelon and took great enjoyment hearing all about Billy’s expedition.
The plain could only ever be crossed at the very end of a very hot summer. Pandak had done it just
once, when he was very young, and even then the mud had been over his ankles on every step.
Billy was beginning to realize that in the high country the fastest route was often directly away
from the direction you expected to go. It was no surprise that the following morning they headed north
and then west along the edge of the ridge-line. The plains were blocked from view by the ridge as they
tried to stay above the tree line.
The shoes that Pandak had made were too flimsy for the sharp rocks and soon fell apart, so they
went down into the valley towards a river to search for wood to make more substantial footwear. They
came across a grove of small trees with berries. To Billy, they tasted like bitter unripe plums, but
Pandak was sure their wood was perfect and they spent two days fashioning rough clogs. Billy wished
he’d brought his knife to whittle away at the hard wood.
They were in no great hurry and Pandak wanted to visit a waterhole that was said to be the
home of the Great Water Snake. As the rain started, they trekked west again. Once they were past
Ulta.Trunwalla, they turned south along the western slope of the massif. They turned west and dropped
down into the steep sided valley towards the river. It’d been raining hard for three days, rocks and
scrub gave way to a moss covered rainforest with pools of water between big boulders that had
tumbled down from the sheer mountain peak that loomed up in the mist and snow above them. The
trees grew taller as they descended and it was difficult to find footing on the steep mossy ground. The
roar of the river beneath them was accompanied by a heavy mist that persisted even though the rain
had stopped.
Billy complained to Pandak that it was very difficult going but the aborigine just laughed and
shook his head at the silly Gubba. He’d come to learn about the bush so he’d better be prepared for a
real challenge.
As they neared the mighty river, the ground suddenly dropped away vertically. Pandak seemed
a bit confused but after a little mumbling to himself, he headed back up the way they’d come. A day
later, they caught sight of the river some twenty feet below them. It was a narrow mass of seething
white water, perhaps fifty feet across, and very swift flowing. Pandak grinned and shouted something
to Billy, but he couldn’t hear him over the roar of the water. Billy was almost sorry that he knew how
to swim. The mad aborigine was going to get them both killed trying to cross the raging torrent!
But Pandak was no fool. As they walked further north the river widened and the banks became
less steep. Then they came to a bend and the river opened into a wide and deep pool. Pandak was
happy. He’d found the pool of the Great Water Snake!
They went down to the river bank and stared out. A big boulder jutted out into the top end of
the pool forming a whirlpool-like ripple in the black water. Right in the elbow of the river bend a small
beach of pebbles and debris had built up on the opposite bank. It was dry and flat, ideal for a camp.
Pandak had no hesitation. The light was never good so far down in the deep gorge and it was
getting late. Pandak crept to the edge of the bank and looked down at the water a few feet below. Then
he took his longest spear, which was more than twice his height, and he poked it into the water to test
the depth of the pool. In a few minutes, he was satisfied that he couldn’t reach the bottom and that
there were no obstacles. He handed his spears to Billy and they put their shoes into their dilly bags.
Pandak grinned at Billy and said, “Right little Tiger, can you throw your spears at that brown
log on the rocks?”

Billy looked doubtful; it was nearly 100 feet away. “Well, I can probably hit the beach but that
log’s only two feet across!”
“No, it’s not very far! Let’s be fair about this. You aim for the log and I’ll aim for the tiny stick
next to it. The loser has to light the fire!” Pandak laughed.
Billy shook his head. The stick was not much bigger than a man’s head. But he’d seen Pandak
throw. There was no competition!
The two men threw their spears over the pool. All three of Pandak’s spears hit his target. Billy
nearly hit the log with his small spear and he barely reached the beach with his second so Pandak
threw his long spear and duly hit the log dead centre.
Pandak took the dilly bags in his left hand and slid down the bank and into the water.
Swimming sidestroke with his left hand holding the bags high out of the water, Pandak slowly moved
into the centre of the pool. The current was stronger under the surface than he’d expected and he began
to drift downstream. Billy jumped up and down on the bank and shouted encouragement to his friend.
Once past the middle of the river the current lessened and Pandak gradually swam up river until he
reached the beach. He lay on the ground exhausted for a few minutes while Billy looked up river for a
better place to enter.
Billy was very nervous. He’d learnt how to swim at Point Puer. He considered himself a fair
swimmer but this river was very different from the warm still waters of Carnarvon Bay. Pandak
shouted to Billy to dive in pointing upstream and he would hold his long spear out for Billy to catch
hold of.
Billy stood on the riverbank and stared at the whirlpool, the black water spiralled downwards to
the bottom of the deep pool. Pandak could see signs of panic on Billy’s face. He waved his long spear
and yelled at Billy not to look down but to dive as far out as he could and swim as hard as he could.
Billy nodded and took four steps backwards then he ran forward and hurled himself out into the river.
The icy cold water hit him like a physical blow but Billy felt suddenly invigorated. He whirled
his arms through the water and kicked his legs hard in a strong rhythm. He could feel the surge of
water push his body sideways as he hit the middle of the river. For a brief moment, he panicked, but
then as he looked forward, through blurry eyes, he could see a stick in front of him. He grabbed at it
wildly and suddenly the spear was in his hand. He clamped down on it fiercely and continued to kick
his legs as hard as he could. He could hear Pandak yelling encouragement as he felt the push of the
water lessen as he was swung around towards the end of the beach.
Hearing Pandak telling him to stand up, Billy let his legs drop. As he did he felt something long
and soft grab at his thigh. It was the Great Water Snake!
He screamed and kicked as hard as he could, letting go of the spear at the same time. He looked
down and there was a big ripple in the water as the huge white eel swam right through Billy’s hands.
Pandak yelled and dived into the water, missing Billy by inches. As Billy dragged himself onto the
beach, he could hear his friend splashing about in the water behind him.
“I nearly had him! I nearly had him! I almost caught the water snake! Aarrrrggh!” Pandak
yelled in delight and frustration. “Why didn’t you grab him Billy, he swam right through your hands!”
Billy turned over and started laughing. He couldn’t stop. Whether it was just surprise or relief
or Pandak’s jumping up and down he didn’t know but he laughed so much that his sides ached and
tears rolled down his cheeks!
Chapter 35:
Silas Daly was happy to be heading home again. Bessie was in good shape and strangely,
nothing had been stolen from the cart. He still had the money that Blanch had given him and the
whisky into the bargain. He decided that he would return to Launceston in a fortnight. Miss Ginny

would want him to explain the note he’d left for her and he could pick up her letter for Lizzy at the
same time.
It was getting dark, but he was only a few miles from home and he didn’t want to stay at an Inn
for another night. There was a lot of work to be done on the farm and he was eager to start.
Daly didn’t notice the horsemen until it was too late. The bumpy little dirt track narrowed as it
passed between two big trees. One bushranger jumped out from the left and one from the right. Their
hats were pulled down low. Daly couldn’t see their faces but he could see their pistols pointing straight
at him.
He pulled Bessie up quickly. He put his hands in the air. It was quiet. The men said nothing;
they just drew their horses closer. They waved their pistols at him motioning for him to get off the cart.
“We are bushrangers. We’re watching you, yer bastard! Stay away from Launceston.”
The nearest man said in a rough London accent.
The other man pointed his pistol at Bessie.
“Or else, next time this will be you!” With that he nodded and the man shot Bessie with both
barrels.
Smoke billowed out and the horses reared as Bessie squealed in pain. In the confusion, Daly
dived into the bushes and, keeping low, ran as fast as he could. He stopped and listened. The men were
arguing with each other.
“Search ‘is cart, quick! We need ‘is money,” the Londoner said.
“Damnation! It’ll take too long. We gotta bugger off now!”
Daly’s heart was racing. Then he heard Bessie braying, a loud high pitched squeal of panic.
Then there was another shot followed by a yell, and then both horses galloped away. Daly didn’t wait,
but ran straight back to his donkey. He poked his head out from the bushes to make sure that the men
had gone, and then he crept up to Bessie. His donkey was dead; killed by the third shot from close
range to the head. Daly was stunned. He didn’t know what to do. After losing her and then having her
back again now, he’d lost Bessie for good.
The Police found him two hours later sitting next to Bessie in the dark. They’d heard several
shots and seen two riders galloping away. They hadn’t taken long to get organized. The aborigines
were rumoured to have attacked several farms lately so they were on the alert.
At first, they didn’t believe that Daly had been ambushed by bushrangers. It was a long way
south. But they’d stolen his bag and money and they obviously weren’t natives. They loaded Bessie
onto the back of the cart and took Daly the last three miles to his house.
Daly spent the next day drinking both bottles of Blanch’s whisky as he went over the events in
his mind.
Billy found the next three days very unpleasant. Even Pandak agreed that they should’ve taken
an easier route. They’d left the Great Water Snake pool and hiked up the steep-sided valley over
slippery moss-covered rocks and tree roots until they hit the base of a jagged mountain ridge. It only
took a day to skirt south of the ridge but then their real problems began.
A deep valley lay right across their path. At first, the going was just awkward but very soon the
rainforest closed in around them and they were surrounded by trees that seemed to grow upside-down.
Looking through the forest all Billy could see was a criss-cross lattice of slimy black branches
like the bars on a prison cell. They went from the ground up way above his head. Long, slender
branches grew out horizontally every foot or so right from the base of the tree trunks. The branches
were very strong with few leaves and were very densely packed and were covered in a slippery wet
slime.
The forest floor was covered by a quagmire of evil-smelling sticky black mud and pools of
water. Pandak cursed. It was a thicket of the dreaded upside-down trees. It could take hours to travel
just a few hundred yards. Once he’d seen a warrior try to walk on top of the trees, balancing on the
branches, but he’d slipped and was skewered by branches beneath. He was too deep in the forest to get
to and they’d walked away ignoring his cries while he bled to death.
The two men tried to thread their way through the branches, but it gradually forced them down
until they were on their hands and knees crawling among the leeches in the slime and ooze. They
retraced their steps and they tried to climb over the top despite Pandak’s story.
The trees began low so it was easy to climb up, but very quickly, they found that they were
getting higher and higher off the ground and the branches were so slippery they were nearly impossible
to hold on to. They both fell several times when the branches failed to hold them and the dense criss-
cross of branches lower down bruised and battered them before halting their fall.
Finally, they retreated to the south where they came upon a vicious cutting grass that scored
their arms and legs so deeply that they had to wait several days for Pandak’s poultice to draw the
poison and the mud out of their sores. Retreating still further south, they were hampered by high walls
of strange grass that at first gave as they pushed on it but always sprang back against them. The more
they struggled against it the more it sprang back against them. The only way to break through was for
both men to continually attack it at its weakest point until they could bash a way through and over it.
Billy was getting sick and tired. Every few hours Pandak promised him that something easier
was just up ahead, but Billy could see that even he was getting frustrated. They eventually came to
another river. This river was easier to cross than the previous one. Pandak found a stretch of water with
gravel banks. They only had to swim two short sections and there was plenty of wood for the campfire.
They crossed the river gratefully and settled down for a well-earned rest on the other side.
The following day they headed away from the river. It was steep in places but the trees grew
taller and the undergrowth became gradually less and less dense. They easily skirted around the few
patches of upside-down trees and cutting grass. As they climbed higher, and the ground became drier it
was much easier to walk. Billy was very pleased with himself. He felt fit and strong, his hand had
completely healed, and he was taking his time to admire the scenery and the beauty of the forest.
Pandak became very excited as they climbed up away from the river. They were heading for
Lewarry.Magog, the Black Rock Mountain!
The slope up to the mountain was long and gentle and old peak itself had been worn down by
time to a rounded hummock sheltering a small clearing in the forest. The scrub was sparse and Pandak
immediately threw down his spears and emptied his dilly bag on the floor. He told Billy to light the fire
and find some tucker as he ran off excitedly into the shallow clearing.
Billy set about looking for firewood. He noticed that the ground was quite rocky; there was no
peat or sand, only coarse gravel. He got the fire going using his fire stick but he had to go down to the
edge of the forest to find any large sticks. A small pademelon watched him curiously from behind a
bush. By the time Billy had hunted it down and brought the body back to camp, Pandak was squatting
next to the fire chortling effusively over his discoveries. He quickly brushed aside the wallaby, Billy’s
first kill, and babbled excitedly over his collection of small stones.
Billy smiled broadly. The rocks excited Pandak as if they were a treasure chest, he thought.
Then for a brief moment, he thought of the HMS Hope and her treasure and shook his head sadly. He
was still confused.
Pandak elbowed him. “Hey little Tiger. Come back? Hello? It’s me?”
“Sorry, I was miles away? What’ve you found?”
“Wa! Silly Gubba. That’s what I’ve been telling you. These are special stones, very, very
special stones. To us Palawa, it’s very important. Like, you know, like gold to the white fellas!”
Pandak replied carefully. His words were in jest but he had a serious gleam in his eye. Billy
nodded and looked away from him quickly he could feel his face begin to flush with something.
Embarrassment? Shame? Guilt? For a fleeting moment, Billy wondered if he should tell Pandak about
the Hope treasure. Billy was confused. Did he want to be rich and return to London? Did he want to
stay with Pandak and become a native warrior? What if Moorina married someone else?
Billy coughed and pointed to the biggest stone. “Tell me. What is that one used for?”

“This is the hammer stone,” Pandak said. “With this I can hit the other stones to break off a
small sharp stone. I am not the expert at this. But the elders told me what to bring back. So here we
have a good collection to start with, but you see this little stone here?”
He picked up a three inch stone. It was jet black and holding it up to the light of the fire Billy
could see that it had lots of shiny edges. It looked like a piece of broken glass.
“Now, this is the stone the women like. You must find some for Moorina. She will like it very
much. This is the best stone on all Trowenna! Ah, now what’s this? I see you’ve killed a wallaby?
Little Billy has his first big kill! Very good. Tomorrow we will look for more black rocks but let me
show you how good they are at skinning your wallaby.”
After a week on the mountain, the weather closed in and Pandak decided that they should move
to the coast. He’d shown Billy how to use the hammer stone to break off flakes of basalt to make small
razor-sharp stones that could cut through leather like a knife. They were also very good for skinning
and Billy learnt the proper way to skin, tan and cure the wallaby hide. Pandak was a good teacher and
Billy’s first pelt was ready quickly, even though it was still very smelly and attracted lots of flies. It
would disguise his scent on the hunt, Pandak explained although Billy noted that he said that from a
safe distance!
The walk to the coast was a leisurely one. The rain was light and Pandak wanted to stop on top
of the mountains above the coast so they could look down on the Harbour. His timing was good and
they woke on a clear dawn high above Macquarie Harbour, Billy could see several small boats pull up
onto the beach below him. Gangs of white fellas got out and shuffled up the white sand to the mouth of
the river. Most of the men wore chains on their legs. Several soldiers in bright red coats and grey trews
walked beside them. Billy could hear the chains clanking, but the men were silent.
They watched them walk into the rainforest below them and then they reclined leisurely in the
warm sunshine while they waited for the convicts to return. Shortly before noon, the men appeared
dragging a huge tree behind them, they crossed the short sandy beach and left it above the tideline.
Pandak explained that one of the white fellas in a red coat would walk up the hill marking trees
with an axe. The other men would chop down each tree and cut off all the branches. Then they would
throw the tree in the river or drag it along a wooden path that they’d made. When they had a big pile of
logs on the beach, they would tie them together and push them into the bay. Then they would pull them
along behind the boats to an island where they lived. Often there were lots of logs and the boats took a
long time to get through the heavy surf of the bay. Every now and then, a big ship would come into the
Harbour and the logs would be loaded aboard before the ship sailed away. Billy could see a lot of
scaffolding and wooden structures on the island.
As they brought out the second tree, one of the convicts fell over. The guard yelled at him and
pushed him. The convict jumped up and grappled with the guard, pulling him to the ground. It took a
while for the other two guards to separate the men. Billy then spent the rest of the afternoon explaining
the scene to Pandak while the guards gave the hapless convict a Botany Bay dozen, 25 lashes of the
Cat. Billy took off his shirt to show the aborigine his scars. Pandak was totally mystified by the whole
spectacle.
Billy explained that Sarah Island in Macquarie habour was where all the really bad men were
sent. It was supposed to be surrounded by terrible forests where no white fella could live, so the bad
men would have to stay on the island and do what the guards told them. If they didn’t, they were
whipped, sometimes whipped until they were dead. The bad men were so afraid of the whip that they
would work rather than be punished. Billy couldn’t explain how a man could be so bad that he
deserved to be beaten to death. Pandak shook his head in wonder.
“Truganini told me that the white fellas call us savages. They say we are worse than animals.
But no animal beats his own kind to death? It is a strange tribe, this England tribe.”
“They don’t do it very often though,” Billy argued.

Pandak shook his head sadly, “No little Billy. Just once. For the dead man, just once.” He stood
up. “We must go. There is a curse upon this place. They may be white fellas, but they are men like you
and me. Killing for no reason, killing an unarmed man. That little Billy, that is savage.”
Chapter 36:
Lizzy watched sadly, enviously as little Norrie played at Mrs Jameson’s feet. As Lizzy rested
on her hoe, her mistress saw her out of the corner of her eye. The servant was idling again. For the past
few months she’d noticed the woman shirking her duties. She was especially bad in the mornings and
had slept in several times. Mrs Jameson said nothing but she threw down her crochet work angrily and
stormed back into the kitchen. There was trouble on the way.
Trouble came out of the kitchen door and walked reluctantly down the path towards Lizzy as
she finished digging the furrow for the peas. Dick had a puzzled look on his face. Silently he mouthed
the word “Sorry” to her, and then he said in a booming voice, “I am not paying you to stand around
idly! Get back to work!”
Lizzy looked up at him and cringed away as if he was about to strike her. It was a move they’d
used often. Lizzy had suggested the pantomime as a way to keep Mrs Jameson from suspecting their
intimate relationship. Over the last few months they’d met regularly, sometimes several times a week.
By exiling her servant to the barnyard and confining herself to her bedroom Mrs Jameson had
only encouraged her husband’s infidelity. Lizzy was content at first but she grew nervous and
ashamed. She implored her master to stop, to leave her alone. She was afraid she might become
pregnant or worse still, she might get caught. But Dick had cajoled her, threatened to hurt her and
bribed her with tobacco. She’d also made him put more money into her Government account. All
convicts had a Government bank account. The masters were required to deposit a certain, extremely
small, amount into their account monthly. This was rarely done. Lizzy had learnt of the accounts from
the parson and Dick had reluctantly agreed to deposit money for her.
She finished the hoeing and went back to the barn to get the peas. Her master was waiting.
“C’mere my lovely,” Dick said with a lascivious smile and arms outstretched. “Come to
Master!”
Lizzy shook her head in disappointment.
“What’s wrong my fair wench? Let’s have a quickie!”
He moved forward to grab her just as she threw the hoe aside. The end caught in the grass and
the handle hit Dick square on the forehead.
He staggered back as Lizzy suddenly burst out laughing. Dick staggered back, more in surprise
than pain. His expression changed from playful lust to anger. Then, seeing Lizzy laughing so hard he
softened and smiled at her.
“Well that’s one way to cool a man’s passion,” he said wistfully rubbing his forehead.
Lizzy nodded towards the barn. “Let’s see if we can heat it up again, one last time shall we?”
Dick smiled and turned to follow her. A little later, when they had finished their lovemaking,
they cuddled together, fully clothed, on the hay. With a harsh edge to his voice Dick asked
“One last time? What does – one last time – mean?”
She took his hand and rubbed it on her belly meaningfully.
Gradually he began to understand. “Oh that’s terrible. I er, um, I mean that’s great.
Congratulations! I think?”
“Don’t be daft Dick. It is terrible. I can’t have a child. I can’t support one and I have no
husband. You don’t want me to have a child. Your wife will be devastated. It’s a calamity!”
Dick stood up. Lizzy could see his hands trembling.
“Hell and damnation! Now what do I do? Damned and blast it all!”
Lizzy put her hands on her lips. He was making a lot of noise and he didn’t want Mrs Jameson
to notice.
“Well? What do I do?” he hissed at her.
“It’s simple. You have to send me back. You just tell them that you cannot afford me and send
me back to Hobarton.”
“But, but, I need you. I love you. What’ll I do without you? Can’t you arrange a miscarriage or
something?”
“Don’t be silly Richard. Come! Sit! Good. Now I’ve had a bit of time to think about this. There
is only one way.”
He came and sat beside her. She gave his hand a quick squeeze. “Now, you need me, you love
me? That’s nice and I love you too, Richard, but you have a family. A wife who does love you and a
son who depends on you, they must come first. I’m afraid that any hint of scandal may be very bad for
Mrs Jameson’s health. No Richard. I must go.”
“But go where? Back to Hobarton? They’ll send you to the Cascades. You know that! That
place is hell! Can’t you get an abortion? I’ll pay! Wouldn’t that be best? Then you can stay on here
another few years until you get your Ticket of Leave. Norrie needs you too, love. You can’t leave him
as well!”
“Two of my friends died from abortions in London.” Lizzy smiled sadly, “They had money as
well. No, an abortion would be a death sentence. Now, I know what they say about the Factory, but it
can’t be that bad. I’ll just go away and I’ll write to you. If everything turns out fine then you can ask
for me back.”
“If only, if only, Morag. No.” He caught himself daydreaming. “No. You’re right as usual. I’ll
put some more money in your account. I’ll send you letters and as soon as you can I’ll have you back,
then it’ll be just like old times again!”
Lizzy patted his hand affectionately.
“Right then, we’ve still got a little time together. I’ll drop you at the magistrate’s on the way to
the market next month,” Jameson said.
Lizzy shook her head.“No Richard dear. You’ll take me to the magistrate in tomorrow. I can’t
wait any longer.”
Dick was aghast. “But, what’ll I say to Morag. What will she think? And you mean that was
our last you know, our last, time?”
“I don’t think Morag will be surprised and yes Master, that was our last time!”
Pandak took Billy all the way up the west coast of Van Diemen’s Land. It wasn’t at all easy
country but it was warmer than the central highlands. There was no hurry. He was waiting for the
dream. The dream would tell him when he had to meet the Karadji of the Pennemukeer people. He’d
begun to ignore Billy. The white boy was able to take care of himself now. In fact Billy was starting to
take care of Pandak.
Pandak was beginning to do more things by himself. One day he wandered off while Billy
made two new spears. After two days, Billy had become very worried and decided to try to track down
his friend. He followed the old spoor over rocks and streams and through the surreal, almost alien
landscapes of the forest and marsh. His progress was very slow and he began to wonder if Pandak had
abandoned him.
He was very hungry. He’d been unable to find much food and the game was scarce. He
admitted that he was almost able to survive in the bush by himself. Almost able, was not sufficient and
he feared that Pandak had misjudged him and that he would soon succumb to hunger and die alone in
the forest.
On the sixth night, Billy lit a small fire and contemplated his position. He was deep in the most
remote forest on Van Diemen’s Land, miles and weeks away from human habitation. Pandak had left
him and his only salvation was his own ability.
That night, Billy became a man. He decided that he could survive and that he would survive.
Whether Pandak was testing him or whether he had really deserted him was irrelevant. Billy would not
die. He was not a helpless Gubba. He was an aboriginal warrior.
“Pandak’s gone. I wonder if he’s really gone or if it’s a test?” Billy said aloud as he poked at
the fire. “Wa! It doesn’t matter. I will not be a helpless Gubba. I must find some grub! I will find some
grub! My damned stomach’s rumbling so loud it’s probably scaring everything away. Come on Billy,
think! What would Pandak do?”
A light breeze blew down from the mountains to the south fanning the flames of the fire. Billy
peered into the darkness. He could make out a pair of red eyes staring at him. Then suddenly, he knew
what to do.
Billy put several heavy logs on the fire, then he scraped up some earth and rocks and covered
up most of the flames. He picked up his spears, stood up and casually strolled away from the fire, into
the breeze. After ten minutes of walking he sat down and stared into darkness of the forest. An hour
later, Billy’s night vision had returned and he could easily navigate his way through the forest by the
light of the Milky Way.
Slowly, one careful step at a time, Billy crept in a wide arc to the east until, eventually, he
could smell smoke. Although the tiny fire was too faint to see, he knew that he was directly north of it.
Billy’s hand clutched his spear tightly on his right shoulder as he walked straight into the smoke of his
fire. After an interminable length of time Billy could see the glow of flames in the distance. He
deliberately averted his eyes and scoured the forest floor for any signs of life. The smoke was thin as
he neared the clearing where he’d made camp.
Then he saw it! Right on the edge of the circle of light from his fire a small pademelon hopped
cautiously out of the smoke. Billy licked his lips and the hunt began. The animal was fifty paces away,
still out of Billy's reach. He took one step forward, feeling the leaves and earth beneath his bare foot
before he transferred his whole weight on to it. Then another step, then another. Staring at the
pademelon all the while he gradually crept towards his prey. He grimaced as he stepped on a twig.
He opened his mouth and slowed his breathing as Pandak had taught him. He hadn’t eaten for
five days, and he was famished. His palms began to sweat and he tightened his grip on his spear.
He was ready! The pademelon innocently gazed towards the fire as Billy raised his spear high.
There would only be one chance. He must not fail!
All of a sudden Billy could feel tension in his stomach. He pulled back his arm to strike just as
a loud rumbling growl came from his stomach. In that instant, the pademelon alerted by the rumbling
noise, took one cautious hop away from the fire as Billy’s spear sailed through the air.
Pandak often mocked Billy for his weak throwing arm, but for once, it was to his advantage.
Billy’s spear fell one pace short of his intended target but it caught the pademelon the left leg. The
little animal squealed in pain and rolled onto the ground. The spear fell out immediately. As Billy
rushed forward, he tripped over a small bush. He picked himself up in time to see the pademelon hop
away into the darkness.
“Damn! Damn! Damn!” Billy said as he ran after the animal. “Missed the bugger!”
He peered into the forest, but the bushes were too dense for him to make out where his prey had
gone. He returned to the fire and picked up his spear. About six inches of the tip had broken off. It was
nowhere to be found.
“Thank God for me grumbly tum,” Billy muttered. “Perhaps I’ll have some breakfast anyway.”
Billy had a sleepless night. He kept reliving the hunt, going over and over it in his mind. He
knew that Pandak wouldn’t have missed the P\pademelon and that Pandak wouldn’t have spent the
night worrying about something that he couldn’t change. Even so, try as he might, Billy couldn’t help
himself.
As soon as it was light, Billy went down to the edge of the clearing and scoured the ground for
the spoor of the pademelon. The dew was still heavy on the leaves as he finally found a few drops of
blood brushed off on a small tree. Billy got down on all fours and crawled slowly along the path the
animal had taken. He lost the trail several times, but he persevered and eventually he came to a half-
eaten carcass. The tiger had beaten him to it, but there was still plenty of meat left for him to eat well
for a day or two.
Triumphant, Billy returned to his camp and was tucking greedily into his breakfast when
suddenly a shadow appeared across him. He looked up.
“Wa! Little Billy is easy to surprise when he eats!”
“Ha! Pandak moves like a ghost!” Billy smiled, waving at the fire. “You want some tucker?”
Pandak grinned. “I’m glad to see that the tiger left something for us to eat!”
“Oh, you know what happened?”
“Of course, Little Billy. I was never far away. I saw you hunt the pademelon and now we can
eat him. You have learnt well!”
It had been a mild winter; Billy made several kangaroo skins so the two men were quite warm
and comfortable as they camped for days on the edge of a grassy plain. It was the start of the land of
the North West people. Pandak kept Billy away from the other tribes. The tribes were practically at
war with the white man and he was afraid they might try to kill Billy and create bad blood between
their two tribes. But as the winter faded and the spring brought forth the abundance of plants and
animals Pandak decided that it was time for little Billy to meet some more aborigines.
They moved carefully, walking at dawn and dusk. At night they could see the small fires of the
aboriginal encampments and occasionally the much larger fires of the Gubbas. One night they camped
out in the hills north of a big river. It was the summer hunting grounds of the Pennemukeer and they’d
come across several abandoned campsites. Pandak was eager to meet Treedareer, Karadji of
Pennemukeer for he would help initiate Pandak and Billy. Many Karadji were very close, participating
in the most important ceremonies together and deliberating on inter-tribal conflicts with the elders.
Murrimbindi, the Karadji of Pandak’s Larmairrermener tribe, had helped to initiate Treedareer
many years ago. The bond between Karadji went beyond sharing knowledge of plants and medicines.
It was said that the spirits of Treedareer and Murrimbindi walked and talked together when their bodies
lay asleep and separated by many miles.
Billy could see that Pandak was very nervous as they bedded down for the night. Billy offered
to take the first watch. He was getting good at cat-napping during the heat of the day and often could
go for several days with only half hour long naps. Pandak didn’t argue, he just pulled the furs over his
head and was asleep within minutes. Billy watched the stars wheel overhead and saw the red eyes of
the numbats, quolls and possums as they scurried nervously around the small fire.
Billy was startled by a groaning noise from Pandak. Normally his friend would sleep like a
dead man for several hours and then awake refreshed and lively. But the aborigine began to thrash
around. Billy heard him mumble and moan. It was getting louder and sounded as if he was arguing
with someone.
Billy distinctly heard him say, “No, the white devils. No!”
Then Pandak sat bolt upright. “Can’t you see? Stop them!” he shouted, his eyes wild and his
chest heaving.
At first Billy wasn’t sure of he was awake or asleep. Pandak stared ahead, a look of sheer panic
on his face.
“Pandak! Pandak!” Billy jumped forward and waved his hands in his friend’s face.
All of a sudden Pandak recognized him. His eyes focused on Billy’s hands then moved up to
his face.
“Oh, it’s you, little Billy!” He sounded relieved.
“What? What? What happened?” Billy asked.
“Wa! Bodies, so many bodies! The white fella is coming! Big trouble! Up north! Evil, terrible
things!”
Billy grabbed him by the shoulders, “Pandak. Come on. It was only a dream. Just a nightmare, that’s
all. It must’ve been something you ate. I told you that you should’ve cooked that lizard longer.”
Pandak shook his head determinedly. “No. It wasn’t just a dream. I know dreams. Listen Billy,
I am Karadji. I go to special places when I sleep. I look down on my body sleeping by the fire.
Murrimbindi has taught me to talk to other Karadji in my dreams and to see the spirits of the stars and
the hills and trees. But I’ve never had a vision like this.”
He looked earnestly into Billy’s eyes. Then, his voice shaking with emotion, he explained.
“I will tell you what happened. It was horrible. I was floating in the darkness when I heard
voices, Murrimbindi and someone else; I think it must’ve been Treedareer, the Pennemukeer Karadji.
They were on a hill near the sea. They were facing me with their backs to the water. Behind them I saw
men and women in the scrub. They were pulling muttonbirds out of their nests for food. Suddenly five
white fellas walked towards them in a circle. They had many guns, the sticks that spit death. They shot
the people. They just kept walking forwards and killing people. The people turned to run, but behind
them was a big cliff and the sea. They were trapped! The white men killed and killed and killed! I
yelled to Murrimbindi and Treedareer but they couldn’t hear me. They didn’t look around. They never
saw the murder that was going on behind their backs. It was terrible!”
Billy listened grim-faced to the aborigine’s story. He liked Pandak, he considered him to be the
best friend he’d ever had. They’d spent nearly a year together in the bush. He had a great sense of
humour and was very patient and always willing to help Billy, but visions and talking to people far
away while he slept? It was very strange.
Seeing doubt on Billy’s face, Pandak smiled wryly, “Little Billy. White fella. Do you want to
become Palawa? I see you don’t believe me. No, no. It’s true I can see that in your face.”
“Now, Truganini told me that you white fellas can have visions. You have Karadji; you call
them saints or something. Well, I did see something. Something very bad. Something evil. I will show
you. We have to go and see Treedareer anyway so we shall go when the sun comes up. I wish I was
wrong and you were right little Billy, but I know what I saw. Now we must stop it happening!”
They started down towards the coast before dawn. They’d seen a campfire and Pandak hoped
that it would be the Pennemukeer so he could tell them of his vision and stop them going north to hunt
the muttonbirds. But they were slowed down by a large marsh their way and by the time they got to the
camp it was mid-morning. They approached the encampment with great stealth, but they need not have
bothered. The camp was almost deserted, the fires still smouldered and it was clearly still inhabited,
but there were no men or women, no children or even dogs.
Pandak approached the Elders’ Humpy in the middle of the camp. He came in boldly and
loudly. He announced in a big voice that he was unarmed and had greetings from Murrimbindi the
Karadji of the Larmairrermener band. He stood next to the fire with his arms away from his naked
body. He repeated his greeting three times.
Suddenly a head poked out of the humpy. A grey-haired old woman crawled out on all fours
from the low entrance. She stood up slowly.
“What’s the name of the Murrimbindi’s Cockatoo?” she said in a raspy voice.
“Gubna Arfa,” Pandak replied with a smile.
“Where is in the nest with the pink egg?”
“Wa! The pink egg? That must be the white fella, Robinson. Did you make up that second
question?” he said with a hearty laugh. “Murrimbindi told me that the gubba has someone else’s hair
on his head. The elders will love that one!”
“Yes, his head is like a baby’s bottom. Now, let me see you my boy. My, you have grown. I
hear you’re going to be Karadji soon? They’ve made a wise choice there.”
“If I can pass the test of course.”
“Wa! You can pass easily. I know it. Now, young man, where’s the white boy?” she asked
directly.
Pandak smiled broadly. “I should’ve know the news would be here by now. I’ll call him.”
He gave three loud short whistles. Billy replied with two long whistles and two short. Pandak
gave another three loud whistles.
“He wasn’t sure to bring everything. I told him, yes.”
A few minutes later Billy walked into camp laden with Pandak’s spears, dilly bag and furs.
He laid everything on the ground and faced the old woman.
“Pollatoola, this is Loarinna.numer, the White Tiger, or at least he will be in a few months.”
She looked Billy up and down skeptically, “He doesn’t look much like a white fella at all.
Look, he has nice red hair and a good body. Not very dark, though.”
“Has he got a little, you know, a little thing,” she whispered slyly to Pandak as she clenched her
right fist and extended her little finger back and forth while jerking her eyes over to Billy’s wallaby
skin loincloth.
Pandak burst out laughing. He doubled up with mirth as Billy’s face went bright red. Pandak
fell over on the ground clutching his sides and the old woman nodded at Billy.
“Wa!” said Billy, an annoyed look on his face.
He pulled off his loincloth with one swift movement. “Here, old woman, see what I have!”
Pollatoola blushed brighter than Billy had. She covered her mouth with one hand and her eyes
with the other but she kept her fingers apart so she could still see.
Billy sneered down at Pandak who was still rolling around on the floor in stitches.
“I’m, I’m, I’m sorry little Tiger. I didn’t know you could understand me. You can cover it back
up if you’re ashamed.”
“No. I’m not ashamed, thank you!” Billy snorted setting off Pandak into another paroxysm of
uncontrollable laughter.
Pollatoola grinned shyly, like a little girl. Then she shrugged and disappeared into the humpy.
Billy sat down and rearranged his spears and furs while he grumbled at Pandak.
A hand holding several bowls of white powder appeared out of the entrance of the humpy.
The bowls were put down on the ground. Then Pollatoola appeared with some big shells in her hands.
“Come little Tiger. Help me take these to the fire. I make good damper, I have a secret mixture
of seed. And he” – she jerked her head at Pandak who was still on his back trying to stifle his giggles –
“he can join us later.”
She stoked up the coals a little and poured some of the coarse seed flour into a big shell with
some water. As she kneaded the mixture Pandak recovered his composure and, after apologizing to
them, he joined them at the fire.
“So where is everybody? I expected to see the Pennemukeer people here instead of you
Peerapper. And where are the elders?”
“Wa! Most of the band is at the beach. The men are down there guarding the women while they
fish. I expect you haven’t heard, but last month we had a big battle with the white fella up north. That’s
why we moved down here.”
Billy pricked up his ears as she continued.
“We were out on the Cape hunting muttonbirds. We found a lot of sheep and a humpy with
four white men. The white men tried to steal the women and take them into the humpy. Then there was
a big fight. The white fellas had guns and our warriors didn’t have many spears. They killed two
warriors but the women got away. So the warriors were very angry. The sheep were scaring away the
birds so the warriors took all the sheep and made them fall over a cliff. Many sheep died. The elders
said we must move south for a while as the white man is still angry.”
“Why does the white man steal our land?” Pandak said. "Why do they take our women? This is
not the way people should act! It is very bad, very savage!”
Pollatoola pulled the dough out into long strings, which she began to wrap around a stick. “It
gets worse Pandak. Three months ago the white men came in boats from the sea. They landed just up
the beach here. The Pennemukeer women were out diving for shellfish. The white man captured seven
of women. Then two weeks later, when the Pennemukeer were walking along the beach the white men
jumped out from a cave and tied them up and then took them away on their boats. There were 14
women that time. So the Pennemukeer people became very angry and killed three white fellas. It is all
very bad now, very bad.”
Billy was stunned. It was a warm sunny day. Seagulls wheeled overhead in the bright blue sky
and everything was so calm. It was hard to believe that just a few weeks ago such brutal mayhem had
occurred so close to where he was sitting.
Pandak scowled. “Where are your elders now? Are they on the beach?”
She shook her head and gave Billy a stick with damper wound around it for him to toast over
the coals. “Our Karadji and some of the elders have gone north, they saw the white fellas moving
towards the Pennemukeer camp at the cape last week and went to warn them.”
“Wa! This is bad. This is really bad. We must go, we must leave now,” Pandak said.
Quickly he told Pollatoola about his vision and his fears for the safety of the Pennemukeer
people. She listened intently, frowning and scowling as the story unfolded. When he finished,
Pollatoola got up from the ground.
“You two must stay here. I will fetch the elders who are still here. They will tell you the fastest
way to the Pennemukeer camp. They may give you some warriors to help you, I don’t know. But this
is a very important thing. We must help our brothers from the white man!”
Chapter 37:
The setting sun illuminated the high clouds in orange, purple and red as it disappeared over the
western sea. Billy and Pandak followed two Peerapper warriors along the beach northwards on their
quest. The warriors were not afraid to travel by night as their Karadji had given them the magic tooth
necklace, which had great powers to protect them from the evil spirits. The elders of the Peerapper
were meeting to decide how many men they could spare to help the Pennemukeer from the white fella.
They walked for four hours along the sandy shore until they came to a rocky outcrop. It was
very dark and as they climbed over the rocks a large stone slid out from beneath Billy’s foot and fell
down onto Pandak. It hit his thigh, bruising it deeply. He wasn’t badly hurt but he couldn’t run. The
party limped along for another two hours until Pandak called a halt at the junction of two trails.
The Pennemukeer were either out along the Cape or further to the northwest hunting
muttonbirds. The Peerapper had fled south after the sheep killings at the Cape. It was the best
muttonbird ground and the Peerapper elders thought that the other tribe would quickly move in to hunt
for food.
It was still dark as the two guides described the best routes to the Pennemukeer camp. Billy
marvelled at the energy of the aborigines. They were going into battle against the hated white fella.
They had been blessed by their Karadji and elders and would bring great glory to the tribe.
Pandak sent one warrior to each site. He told them to run as fast as they could. When they
found the Pennemukeer people they were to tell the Karadji or the elders to flee to the forest before the
white fella found them. Pandak and Billy followed along the northern trail, slowed to a fast walk by
Pandak’s injury.
Pandak was uneasy. He feared that they might already be too late. They followed the path up to
the Cape north until they came to a large swamp. As the sun came up they paused at the edge of the
marsh. The birds sang loudly and frogs croaked in the water.
Pandak raised his hand and said cautiously, “Listen! Do you hear something?”
Billy concentrated, trying to hear over the noise of the birds. Faintly they heard a distant
popping sound. Then another. Billy closed his eyes and quietened his breathing as Pandak had taught
him. The popping sounds grew louder and more frequent, almost a barrage, but a long way off. Was it
just imagination or could he hear a faint screaming and wailing noise? Pandak was glaring to the
northwest as if he was trying to see what was happening.

“Smoke. The killing sticks. We are too late.” Pandak pointed to faint puffs of white smoke
drifting across the bluff.
Billy shook his head in disbelief. Pandak’s prediction had come true! The tribe was being
attacked! He actually could see into the future! With a jolt Billy realized that he’d never really doubted
Pandak’s prediction! Billy knew that he was changing and he was no longer thinking like a white fella.
“Well? Let’s go and kill the white fellas!” Billy said.
Pandak regarded Billy in surprise and admiration, “We? We? Perhaps you’re not a white fella
after all. No, Billy. The white fellas have ships, they can escape easily. I hope that the alarm was raised
and that some of people ran away. Let us hurry, perhaps I can help the injured.”
By midday, they were almost through the swamp. Pandak’s leg had slowed him down
considerably and he was very frustrated. He decided to make a poultice to put on his leg. It would
make it stronger for a few hours and take away the pain. Billy left him to his work in the shade of a tea
tree while he went to look for some more of the leaves that Pandak needed.
Billy was used to walking quietly. He stopped every few yards and peered into the bushes for
the proper plants. It was hot, the birds had stopped singing and the cicadas had started their noisy
buzzing. He walked along the trail down to the river. He followed it for a quarter of an hour, holding
his short spear horizontally and alert for any sound or movement.
Suddenly it went completely quiet. The cicadas stopped their raucous clicking and the birds fell
silent. Something had disturbed them!
Billy strained his ears. He could hear a faint splashing sound. There was something in the river!
Gently, he pushed his way into a dense clump of bushes and peered through them.
There it was!
Just 30 feet away, a small boat was being rowed down the river. There were four men rowing and two
men in the stern. Just as the boat drew level with Billy one of the two men turned to face him.
It was Blanch!
He had big whiskers and dark blue military uniform but there was no mistaking that self-satisfied
smirk.
Billy’s heart skipped a beat.
This was his chance!
He dropped his dilly bag and took his spear in his right hand. The bushes were too dense so he
moved back and quickly ran downstream a few yards to where the bushes thinned out. The boat was
starting to draw away from him.
Blanch looked forward out to the approaching line of breakers. Billy lifted his eight-foot long
spear to his shoulder. He took two big steps forwards and threw the spear with all his might. He
watched it sail up high towards the boat and then, reaching the peak of its arc, it started to fall straight
at its target.
Billy immediately squatted down next to the bushes to avoid being seen. As he did, a bushfly
landed on his eye. He brushed it aside in annoyance and then he heard a muffled scream followed by a
yell. He looked up to see a body fall into the water, run through by his spear. The sailors were rowing
for all their life was worth and the other man in the stern of the boat was hunched down as he
scrabbled for his musket.
Billy moved back into the bushes but the men on the boat were more intent on escape than
shooting at him.
Billy was ecstatic. He’d done it! He’d killed Blanch, his hated enemy! He punched the air and
stifled a cheer. It suddenly occurred to him that there may be other white fellas nearby. None of the
men in the boat looked like shepherds. There might still be sheep in the area and the Company was not
going to leave them unprotected against the black fella.
The boat moved quickly into the mouth of the river and out to sea. Billy picked up his dilly bag
and crept stealthily back along the riverbank. Ten minutes later he was rewarded by the sound of

voices, English voices. Billy was completely hidden by the thick brush as he moved closer and closer
to the men. It sounded like there were four of them.
“Bob, d’yer know wot I’m supposed to do wiv this then?” came the first voice.
“Yer make it into a bloody purse, yer daft beggar.”
“Yeah but it’s got blood and shit on it. Anyway, I don’t think I want it. Bloody abo wasn’t dead
when Commander bleedin’ Blanch cut it off!”
“‘Nuff ter make yer chunder!” came a third voice. “I saw the bugger do it. I’m glad you blew
the poor bastard’s brains out!”
“Oi! You were both lucky that Blanch didn’t blow your bloody brains out! Yer could’ve hit
him an’ all! And then ‘e goes and gives you the bleeding ball sack. Mark of a true gent if y’ask me!”
Bob said.
“What? You’re lot a bunch of damned savages! It’s one thing getting revenge for killing my
damned sheep but ripping off peoples tallywags while they’re still alive is another thing entirely!”
came the first voice again.
“People? People? Damned monkeys ya mean!” came a fourth voice. “Now listen! Me and
Bob’s bloody hard, right! That’s why Blanch picked us for this. We’re not a bunch of nancy-boy sheep
herders like you two. We done time in Macquarie ‘arbor! Why Blanch has lumbered us with buggers
like you for the next month I don’t know!”
“Hard? Hard? Me and Mike 'ad a canary, a hundred lashes of the Cat! ‘Ow many’ve you ‘ad
yer bastard?” the first voice replied.
There was a bit of laughter, then Bob said, “Listen. Keep your voices down. There may be
boongs about. Anyway, the Company’s rewarding us well for today’s work. We’ve got a brace of
spanking new Brown Bess muskets each as well as plenty of gold and of course a couple of black fella
purses each to keep it in! The boongs won’t trouble us up ‘ere no more. Pretty damned good business,
aint it?”
Billy peered through the bushes. He couldn’t see the men but there was a pile of guns and
ammunition. The men were armed to the teeth. He moved backed slowly through the bushes and then
turned and ran back to Pandak.
He was furious! He sprinted back down the trail, anxious to get to Pandak so they could get
their spears and kill the bastards who’d murdered the Pennemukeer people. He was so angry that even
if Pandak couldn’t join him he’d kill the white fellas by himself!
However, in his haste and fury, Billy was careless.
He came sprinting down the path to where he’d left Pandak sitting. He looked over to the tree
and Pandak was gone! As he stopped hurriedly, Pandak leaped out of the bushes to try to scare Little
Billy into being more cautious in the bush. Billy staggered back in surprise and stepped on a tree root.
The root went right through his bare foot. Billy looked down in annoyance at the bloody stick that
came up between his toes. Pandak followed his stare and put his arm out to Billy.
“Don’t look,” he said and immediately he hunched over Billy’s knee to block his view.
A searing pain shot up through Billy’s leg and he stifled a cry. He had to be silent. He wanted
to attack the white fellas.
“It’s just a scratch. It’ll heal quick. Now Billy, calm down. You hear me?”
Billy steadied himself on Pandak’s back and clenched his teeth.
“Breathe, Little Billy, breathe.”
Billy balanced on one foot and forced himself to breath slowly and calmly.
“That’s good, now keep breathing. Hold onto me. Try to get into the trance state like I showed
you. That’s it.”
Pandak examined the wound. He was pleased to see that the bush typically had smooth rounded
roots that wouldn’t have caught inside Billy’s foot. He waited until Billy’s breathing was slow and
rhythmic.

“Now, we must lift off your foot together. When I count to three make your leg go limp. I will
pull your foot and your calf upwards; you just stay balanced and concentrate on relaxing your knee.
Understand?”
Billy grunted.
“Right. Here we go. One, two, --”
Pandak jerked Billy’s foot upwards hard. Billy’s head span. The low throbbing pain suddenly
became a sharp series of knife-like stabs and with a horrible sucking noise, his foot came free of the
root.
Pandak ordered Billy to sit, then to lie on his back and hold his leg in the air. Billy could feel
the warm blood running under the arch of his foot. He shut his eyes and focused on breathing and
slowing his racing heart. Pandak stood astride Billy’s legs with his back to him. Billy couldn’t see
what he was doing but he could feel stabbing pains as he poked at the edge of the wound with his
finger.
“Wa! You are lucky! This will heal nicely. No splinters and not much blood. Hold it up while I
find my dilly bag, I have just the right thing for this.”
“Wait! Wait!” Billy said with difficulty. “I saw white fellas. Up the river. The ones who
murdered the Pennemukeer people. I know one of them. Blanch, the bastard. He was on my ship. He
planned this. They killed them in revenge for their sheep and to scare the black fellas. But I think I
killed him! I threw my little spear. It went right through him and he fell into the water!”
“You killed a white fella? You? Little Billy? That’s amazing!” Pandak said absent-mindedly.
“Now, calm down and stop wriggling, its not helping your foot.”
“So one fella is dead. How many more are there and where are they? They didn’t follow you
did they?”
“No. Blanch was in a boat, rowing out to sea but there are four others camped by the river
about ten minutes away. They didn’t see me. They have lots of guns. Come on, Pandak! Let’s go there!
I want to kill them! Let’s go before they escape!” Billy struggled to get up.
Pandak shook his head. “You can’t walk and I can just about manage a limp. What do you want
to do? Bleed on them? Now stay still and I’ll fix your foot. We can track the white fellas down later.
There’s no rush. They can’t escape us.”
Pandak went over into the bushes and came back with his bag and some leaves. He cleaned the
wound with water and then put his poultice on, then leaves. He tied it up with twine so that Billy could
sit up.
“Stay here little Billy. I have to go to the river. I need clay for your foot. Now tell me exactly
what you saw and exactly where these white fellas are.”
Chapter 38:
Pandak and Billy limped up to the Pennemukeer camp the following morning. Pandak was
concerned because he heard no wailing women mourning their dead and there was no lookout to
challenge their approach.
He told Billy to wait in the trees until he sent for him. The band might not want a white fella in
their midst for a while even if he came with the blessing from another tribe.
As the day drew on, Billy kept himself busy making new spears. He was determined to chase
down and kill the remaining white fellas. Two Pennemukeer warriors came for him in the late
afternoon. Their language was very different to Pandak’s but they managed to communicate well
enough. They took Billy’s spears and dilly bag from him and made him walk between them. The men
surprised Billy. They weren’t the angry young men he’d expected. They were middle-aged, silent and
brooding and one of them limped almost as badly as Billy.

It took two hours to get to the camp. The sun was setting and Pandak sat at the men’s fire
outside the elders humpy with three old men. There was no-one else to be seen, no children, no
women, only three large kangaroo dogs. As Pandak had suggested, Billy was naked. Billy hobbled up
to the fire and stood waiting. Pandak got up and stood next to Billy.
“People of the Pennemukeer. This is Little Billy, soon to be Loarinna.numer, the White Tiger,
of the Larmairrermener people. He is a white boy. He was captured and sent to Trowenna by the
England tribe for taking meat. He was put in a prison, a white fella humpy with big walls. He was
beaten – turn around Billy,” Pandak said.
Billy turned to show them the scars on his back.
“He ran away in the middle of the night and came to me and Truganini. He found
Bolong.Mocha, the tears of the Dreamtime Serpent and he has been accepted by Moorina, my sister.
We have been on the songline of the Loarinna for nearly a year, Little Billy and I. We have been to the
sacred Black Rock Mountain and seen many strange things. Little Billy wants to become Palawa, he
will not go back to the white fella and Murrimbindi and the elders of the Larmairrermener people will
decide if he can become one of us.” Pandak spoke quietly in the Pennemukeer tongue and Billy found
his accent easy to understand.
“My brothers and sisters of the Pennemukeer. This is a very sad day for you and for all the
Palawa of Trowenna. I am sorry we could not meet in happier times. I invite you to come to join my
people in the south. If you feel that that you can no longer live here with the threat of the white man,
you can come to the Big River country far away from the fire-sticks of the shepherds and the boats of
the sealers.”
The elders looked at them and nodded gravely. One of them cleared his throat. He seemed very
old and had a big grey beard.
“Greeting Little Billy and Pandak. Welcome to the village of the Pennemukeer. I am
Treedareer and I am Karadji. Please sit down.”
“Firstly to the easy question. To Little Billy.” He spoke slowly in a low mumble that Billy had
to concentrate to understand. “Murrimbindi has told me of you. I trust him and indeed I will help with
the Bo-ra ceremony if there is one, but that’s for your elders to decide. Tell me Little Billy, why should
we trust you? You know that the Pennemukeer have fallen from a mighty tribe of 400 to only fifteen
people today. The white fella has done this. Why should we not kill you here and now?”
Billy was only slightly startled by the blunt question. They had every reason to hate him.
“I, er, I am sorry I cannot speak your tongue. I will explain in the Larmairrermener tongue.”
The elders nodded so Billy continued, “In my land I was an outcast. They put chains on my
legs and beat me and put me in hole where I could not see the sun. I have no love of the white fella. I
was born one but I do not love them. I do not want to be a Gubba. I escaped from the white fella and
have worked very hard to learn the ways of the Palawa. I can speak properly; I know the lore of the
Loarinna and the tales of the Dreamtime. I see my Dreaming clearly before me and it is with
Trowenna. It is in the spirits of the land and the rivers and the animals and plants and most importantly
it is with the people, the black people.”
Treedareer regarded Billy thoughtfully. “Would you kill a white man? You can see that the
white fellas will battle with us. If you become a Larmairrermener warrior you will have to fight and
possibly kill the Gubba. Can you do it?”
“Down at the mouth of the river lies a white fella. He is dead and he has my spear through him.
Yes. I will fight and kill the white fellas if I have to. I know where they live on the bank of the river.
Give me my spears and I will go and kill them.”
Treedareer smiled at Billy’s show of bravado. “If four of them can kill thirty warriors it will
take more deaths to kill these white fellas. We have decided to let them go. Yes, I’m sure we can
ambush them and kill them one by one. But the enemy will return. They have their animals to care for.
They will return, they have many fire-sticks and next time they will kill us all.”
“Yes, but they murdered your tribe! That’s evil. Don’t you want to kill them now?” Billy said.

The man next to Treedareer, a thin-faced man with deeply wrinkled skin, replied in a deep
voice. “You speak like a Gubba.”
Then he continued in English, slowly pronouncing each word with a very heavy accent.
“Revenge, lies, religion, savages, property, master.”
“Yes, little Tiger,” he continued in his native tongue. “These are words of the white fella. I am
Engenama the Eagle Hawk. I am the oldest warrior of the Pennemukeer. I have sat with Robinson and
Truganini. These are white fella words and they are the words of the devil! In Trowenna if a man steals
another man’s woman we do not fight. We talk. We talk and then we decide. He would probably be
speared. But the thief must do as he is told and accept his punishment. If he does not then he is no
longer one of us, he is an outcast and he will die from shame and grief. Now, little Tiger, we will not
fight the white fellas who did this evil deed because we will all surely die. We would like to talk to the
white fella and punish the bad men but the white fella does not like to talk to us and when he does he
does not listen or he makes promises he does not keep. So we can see that the England tribe has no law
and does not care what evil a white fella might do so. That is a sad thing. But Little Billy, I am pleased
to see the fire in your belly. That is good.”
Billy sighed, he knew the man was right, but deep inside him he still wanted revenge. The
elders murmured quietly to each other. Then Treedareer spoke again.
“You know the Bo-ra Corroboree is very painful. Can you suffer?”
“Yes. I have the scars on my back,” Billy replied.
The elders grinned at him; it made Billy feel a bit uncomfortable. He hadn’t been told exactly
what happened at the ceremony yet.
“There may be something else too,” Billy continued.
The elders looked at him expectantly.
“Truganini is trying to talk to the white fellas. I know the white fella well. Perhaps I can talk to
her and the white fella and tell them what the Palawa wants from them?”
The elders looked at him in surprise. Pandak had a look of dismay on his face as if he’d thought
that Billy had gone too far.
Engenama replied, “Truganini says that Robinson wants the black fella to believe in the white
fella spirits and live in houses and move south. This we cannot do any more than a kangaroo can live
without its tail. She knows that more than anyone, Robinson tried to do all these things to her tribe
once and now they are all dead. Some people say that she has become possessed by the white fella
spirit, I do not know. But Little Billy, it is always good to find ways to talk to the enemy. Maybe this
will happen.”
The elders talked amongst themselves for a while and then Treedareer called the two middle-
aged warriors over and whispered to them. The more sprightly one nodded and trotted off in the
direction of the sea. The other man went over to the smaller fire pit and started to light the fire.
Treedareer spoke again. “We have decided. Tonight the Pennemukeer will welcome the arrival
of Pandak and Little Billy of the Larmairrermener people. Please join us in food and shelter. The rest
of our people will return from gathering the dead from the rocks. In a few days time, when all the dead
are burned, we will decide whether to move south with you. My people will not harm you Little Billy,
you can both have your weapons. Tomorrow we will search the river to find the dead white fella.”
They pulled the white fella out of the river the next morning. Billy was very disappointed that it
wasn’t Blanch but Pandak was delighted with Billy’s throw. They told him that the spear went right
through the man’s neck. They left the body in the river.
The Pennemukeer had never seen the man before but they vividly remembered Blanch with his
big grey moustache as he fired his gun at them and shouted orders to the other white fellas. He had
been dressed in a brown serge smock just like the shepherds.
They held a dance near the funeral pyres at noon in which Engenama handed the killing-spear
back to Billy. The dance helped to distract the villagers from their terrible ordeal.

Everyone spent the day pulling the bloated bodies of the dead Pennemukeer warriors from the
rocks and piling them up. There were twenty-eight men, two women and three children. Several of the
men had been mutilated by having their genitals removed. They had to carry each bloodied corpse a
hundred yards to a clear spot above the high tide mark. It was a horrible ordeal and Billy often found it
difficult to keep himself from vomiting.
The aborigines refused to stay near the bodies of their fallen comrades when the sun dipped
below the horizon. They were that afraid the spirits of the dead would be angry because the bodies had
not been burnt within one day as is the custom. Treedareer laid out each body so that it faced a certain
direction, according to the person’s totem. The belongings were put beside the bodies. They put four
men in each spot on top of sticks and then they laid the funeral pyre over them. They had a separate
pyre for the three women and another for the children.
In the brief twilight, as they returned from the beach, the Peerapper warriors arrived. There
were twenty-five of them and they were very angry. Unlike the Pennemukeer elders they were intent
on revenge. Engenama told Pandak and Billy to move nearer to his fire pit where it would be clear that
they would have Pennemukeer protection. Unfortunately the Peerapper elders were slower and would
not arrive for another day or so.
Billy was afraid. Pandak was called to join the elders and the leader of the Peerapper warriors
in Engenama’s humpy. Half a mile away, the Peerapper had made a camp and the furious warriors
began their war dance.
For two hours Billy huddled next to the fire and watched the natives stamping, jumping and
singing and screaming as they worked themselves into a frenzy of bloodlust. The three remaining
Pennemukeer women sat around a small fire and sang mournful songs while the surviving males; two
men and two young boys sat quietly in the shadows of Billy’s fire. They seemed dazed and confused
by the sudden loss of their kin.
Eventually Pandak and the elders emerged from the humpy. Pandak took one look over at the
warriors’ camp and shook his head. Then he lay down next to the fire to go to sleep.
Billy poked him. “Wa! My friend, why are you sleeping? What happened? Tell me what they
said?”
Pandak rolled over and sat up next to Billy. “The elders are not pleased. The dancing will stop
soon. Engenama told the Peerapper leader that his warriors should help burn the dead and stop their
thoughts of revenge and killing. The war dance can be heard for miles around and the white fellas will
be ready for an attack. They will hold a big council and talk to the Peerapper elders after the spirits of
the dead have been sent to the stars. But the Pennemukeer are tired of killing and want no part in any
revenge. The Peerapper leader is not happy. His men want blood, white fella blood. So tonight we stay
close to the fire. The Peerapper leader vowed that you would be safe but Engenama will watch over
you tonight. It would bring great shame on everyone if you were to be killed while you sleep.”
“Good. That’s all right then. I shall sleep like a baby.”
“You will indeed, little Tiger,” Pandak chuckled.
The next day the Peerapper were waiting for them down on the beach. In silence they helped
carry the bodies and build the funeral pyres. However, the silence was broken by a loud wail of
anguish when one of the Peerapper warriors discovered his brother’s broken body on the rocks.
Billy and Pandak stood next to Engenama and watched as several Peerapper men picked up their
spears and shouted for revenge. They ran down the beach and ran straight into the arriving Peerapper
elders. There was a heated debate and much yelling and screaming by the warriors. Engenama
shrugged and waited for tempers to die down. Eventually calm was restored and the Peerapper built a
separate pyre for their fallen warrior.
They lit all ten fires at once, the following morning. The fires burnt for a day and a half. The
smoke was terrible; thick, black and yellow with the smell of burning flesh. In the evenings the two
tribes sang sad songs and Karadji led the dances to keep the spirits happy. The mourning continued for
three days until the fires were finally out and the spirits had followed the smoke up to the sky so that
they could live with the ancestors and become reborn as animals, plants and people. Treedareer said
that he had done many, many death dances and he knew the spirits of the Palawa dead would not come
back as black fellas for a while.
Chapter 39:
“Ginny, there’s someone to see you,” Becky’s cheery voice rang out.
“Tell ‘im ter piss, er, to P.O.Q, I’m up ter me ear lugs in it. Margie’s been bitten by one of the
Third Class and I have to delouse the front dorm. I need a hand moving the friggin’ bitches outside!”
“Fine. Well can you just tell Ginny that the Reverend is here to see her. Reverend Roseberry
that is. Yes, the nice one and he’s got a present for her. Tell her to hurry please and I’ll help with the
delousing,” Becky said with a sly edge to her voice.
There was the sound of things being thrown around and cursing from several women and then
Ginny emerged into the foyer, her face flushed, she was clearly annoyed and impatient.
The priest got up out of the chair; Becky glared at Ginny and walked past her out of the room.
“Morning Vicar,” Ginny said sweetly.
“Good Morning my child,” the old man replied. “It seems I have caught you at a bad moment?”
“There’s no good moment in this place Vicar.”
“Ah yes,” he answered slowly. He was a nice man, a bit slow moving and not too clever, but
Ginny liked him anyway. He meant well. They sat down and he waved to a box next to the table.
“I have brought you something. A present from a fine young man, my dear.”
“He didn’t tell you his name or what he wants of me by any chance, did he Vicar? Matron’s a
trifle miffed at all the flowers he keeps sending. Oh, we like ‘em but p’raps he could send somefink
more practical like food and new candles?”
“Certainly, he is a very generous man, you know, he often sends very valuable and expensive
assistance to the Orphanage. It is nice how sometimes the rich can be generous to those less fortunate
than themselves.”
“Quite! But is he doing this out of the goodness of ‘is heart or is he after somefink?”
The priest grinned, “Oh ye of little faith!”
“Oh I’m grateful, very grateful. I just don’t know if I’ll be as grateful as he wants me to be.
Now, tell me Vicar. It is that Colonel Blanch fellow isn’t it?”
“That’s Commander, and do you know, I’m really not sure Miss Fotheringham,” the old man
replied, red-faced. He was not a very good liar, but she thought, priests weren’t supposed to be good at
lies.
“It don’t matter,” she said warmly. “But p’raps you can tell ‘im that if his intentions aint
honorable he can P.O.Q, sorry I mean he can look somewhere else. An’ if he is serious then he should
show ‘is face. I’m due to leave next week. I done me time in this place and the Governor said I could
leave.”
The priest shook his head disapprovingly. He paused before he replied, “Perhaps you could be
a tad more respectful, after all, he is a gent you know.”
Ginny’s eyes blazed as she gripped the arms of the chair with white knuckles. She counted to
five to control her anger. It never was a good idea to argue with a priest. She let out a long breath and
answered him sweetly.
“I never asked for nobody’s attention. It’s a big place, and there are lots of men here. I’ll be
able to chose one soon. Most of them are probably no good. Most of them are working class like me. I
do know that not all gents is wot they seem, but p’raps one can make a silver purse out of a sow’s ear.
Tell the fellow that I aint impressed by money. I’ve lived without it all me life. It’s wot’s inside that
counts, just like the Bible says. If he wants to impress me then he can send us some proper blankets
and some proper food.”
The priest nodded slowly then got up carefully. It was always cold in the foyer and he hated the
cold. Ginny thanked him for coming by and saw him out of the door.
Billy was thrilled to be back in the Big Tree Forest again. It’d been over a year since he’d last
seen Moorina and he missed her badly. He’d thought about her more and more since they’d left the
Pennemukeer and he’d built an elabourate fantasy in which he found the HMS Hope treasure and
Governor Arthur granted him a free pardon and let him buy all the Larmairrermener land where he and
Moorina raised a happy and prosperous family.
He was now more than content to throw in his lot with the black fella and even the memory of
his sister Ginny had begun to fade. However, as they approached the village, doubts had started to
grow in his mind. He wondered if Moorina had married or if she’d forgotten about him. Sometimes he
wondered if she was still alive. Perhaps she’d been killed by pneumonia or worse by the white fella.
Maybe she’d been abducted by sealers or shepherds?
Pandak regarded the white boy. He could tell that he was anxious but he knew his sister very
well. She was headstrong and independent. She’d told him to bring back Billy safely. He was sure
she’d be pleased with the changes in him. Gone was the weak and pimply teenager with barely a
smattering of the language and no idea at all of how to walk in the bush, never mind survive alone in
the real wilderness.
Little Billy was three inches taller, much sturdier with a strong, lean body and a confident grace
in his step. He spoke with no accent, his bush skills were more than adequate and he knew the lore of
his totem and the law of the Larmairrermener very well. His killing of the white man had been a
surprising twist. Pandak didn’t know whether he really approved, but it would show the elders what
Billy thought of the whites.
Pandak decided to surprise the village and test their defences by sneaking up on them before
dawn. Billy knew he was also testing his ability.
They stalked silently towards the sleeping village in the pre-dawn darkness. The men’s fire was
out but the women’s fire still glowed a dull red. Pandak handed Billy the magic tooth necklace that the
Peerapper Karadji had given him as a gift for Murrimbindi. He gestured at the elders’ humpy.
Gingerly Billy crept forward. Two dogs awoke and came trotting up to him. Billy gave them
each a piece of dried pademelon hide and they happily settled down to chew. The sky had begun to
lighten and Billy could easily see the camp.
Eight sleeping men lay around the fire, and none of them stirred as Billy walked carefully
through them to the humpy. He took a twig and hooked it above the entrance and he hung the necklace
from the other end so that the necklace swung freely in the low entrance. Then slowly, he continued on
and down to the billabong.
Pandak watched in admiration as the white boy passed like a ghost through the camp. He would
wait until Billy returned from bathing in the billabong. He’d suggested that Moorina would prefer him
to smell nice and fresh.
Billy didn’t want to wake any more of the dogs so he approached the water with caution.
Slowly and silently he walked into the pool. When it was above his waist he ducked his head under the
cool water and quietly washed himself. He was finished in a few minutes and was just about to get out
of the billabong when he heard the gentle sound of footfalls!
Someone was coming!
He bent down out of sight in the reeds at the edge of the pool, as he did so, he disturbed a blue-
billed duck, which flapped its wings and took off hurriedly creating ripples in the water. Billy breathed
very quietly and waited for the woman to arrive. He knew by the sound that it was a woman and he
smiled to himself when she started to hum a little tune. He cocked his head to one side and listened
intently. Could it be Moorina?
His heart began beating faster. He was sure it was her! He peeked through the reeds as she
neared the edge of the pool. He was in the shadows but could see the woman clearly as she walked
down to the water. It was Moorina!
She looked even more beautiful than he’d remembered. She wore a possum skin around her waist and
Billy could feel himself become excited as her breasts jiggled as she approached the water. He
watched, mesmerized, as she cast the skin aside and slowly entered the water. She was truly the
woman of his dreams, he thought, and for the last year many of them had been wet ones.
She hummed happily while she washed slowly, trickling the water over her supple, smooth
skinned body. Billy’s erection was so strong it was almost painful. She seemed to look over towards
him. She couldn’t see his face in the darkness, could she? Billy wasn’t sure. Did she know he was
there? Was she teasing him? It was working! Billy was about to burst!
“It’s me, Little Billy,” he whispered gently.
She crouched down quickly so that only her head was above the water.
“Stay away!” she hissed.
“Moorina, it’s me, Little Billy.”
“Billy? My little Tiger? Is that really you?” Her voice trembled with excitement.
“Yes. Yes, it’s me, Billy. I’m over here in the reeds.”
“It can’t be you? Come out let me see you.”
Billy stood up and walked towards her.
“No, no, your face is in the shadow. You must walk out of the water so I can see if it is really
you.”
“What? Out of the water?” Billy said dumbfounded, afraid that his arousal would show.
“I can’t do that!” he pleaded.
“You must or I’ll scream!” Moorina replied.
“But, but, I’ve, I mean I’m. Oh, alright.”
He looked at her as he moved in a crouch into the shallows.
“Stop there!” she commanded. “Now stand up.”
Slowly Billy got up, his penis standing proud and strong.
“Turn sideways,” Moorina urged. Then as Billy slowly turned, Moorina moved forward in the
water, staring at his crotch.
“More, more. Wait! Stop! Go back! Ah yes, now I see properly. That’s the little Tiger I
remember!”
Billy was sideways to her and perfectly silhouetted against the brightening morning sky with
his manhood erect as a flagpole.
“Now, little Billy. Are you pleased to see me?” Moorina asked seductively as she leant forward
to touch him.
“Well, one of certainly is, wouldn’t you say?” he chuckled.
She reached forward and grabbed his penis in one hand and turned and led him into deeper water.
“Come on, my little Tiger, let’s see if you really have been dreaming about me every night!”
“Wha, what do you mean? Who told you that?”
She smiled a flash of white teeth. “Well, who do you think? Now let’s make up for lost time
my not so little Tiger!”
Billy and Moorina sat by the billabong and watched the sunrise. They were filled with a rosy
glow of contentment. Moorina looked healthier and lovelier than ever, and her bright smile filled Billy
with tenderness. Billy was well tanned, all over, a point that Moorina had already carefully confirmed.
She liked his new hard muscles and his air of confidence. He spoke very well and she was happy that
she could still play with him and he hadn’t lost his sense of humour.
Pandak came down to the water to join them. He said that would give Pandak and Billy time to
settle back into the village.
“What a beautiful morning,” Pandak said.
“Wa! Did you tell Moorina to come to the billabong to find me?” Billy accused.
Pandak shrugged as he waded into the pool. “Me? Now how could I possibly wake just one
woman and not all the others? I’m not a Karadji yet you know!” he chuckled.
“Pandak just wanted to give us some time alone before things get too busy.” Moorina
explained. “We can only be together until the elders decide on your fate, then we must wait until after
you become a Larmairrermener warrior.”
Billy nodded, noting that she didn’t mention the other option; he couldn’t contemplate the
thought that the elders might cast Billy out of the tribe after so long. He did not want to go back to the
white society.
“Hear me, my Tiger. I have lain with other men. I expect that you have lain with other women
in your travels.” She waved Billy’s protests aside. “You are strong, witty, black, well dark brown at
least and pretty. What woman wouldn’t want to play with you?”
“Handsome. I’m handsome and manly. Not pretty!” Billy admonished.
She chuckled a bit then became serious. “Little Billy, do not be upset about the other men. It is
our custom and the elders would not like it if I ignored them. But there weren’t many and in any case, I
was very busy.”
Billy smiled. He wasn’t upset with her. He was just glad to be with her. He knew that he was
still just a white fella with a silly dream, a dream that he strived for, yearned for, but a dream
nevertheless.
“Don’t you want to know what kept me busy, Little Billy?” she asked sweetly.
Billy nodded.
“Let’s go up to the fire and eat and I will show you then.”
Ginny was in a foul mood. Matron had received her monthly correspondence from Hobarton
and the Governor made no mention of her request for Ginny’s Ticket of Leave. It was nearly two years
since the Sydney Cove had landed and Ginny expected the Government to keep their word. Matron was
not sympathetic and Becky was little comfort. She’d been at the Launceston Factory nearly two and a
half years and there was never any mention of her release.
On top of that, Ginny hadn’t heard from Sarah or Lizzy in months. Even that annoying bugger,
Silas Daly, had stopped writing to her! At least Blanch, or whoever it was had improved the bribes. A
dozen blankets had arrived within a fortnight but they were old and thin. Matron was happy to receive
any help and she was delighted when the baker began to deliver five fresh loaves of bread on Monday
mornings.
Ginny welcomed the tea that the secret admirer had sent, although she wasn’t entirely sure what
to do with it as she’d only drunk it once in her life. It was very expensive, so she kept the caddy locked
and hidden away. Both she and Becky had new dresses. She’d given Becky the gingham frock in
indignation. It was the dress of a scullery maid - the Admirer obviously expected her to remain a
working woman. But she’d kept the good dress, glad that she still had the bustle and drawers that Sarah
had given her. Someday she’d put them on and the right man, her Prince Charming, could take them
off!
The little girl was about four months old. Her skin was a much lighter shade of brown than
Moorina or Pandak’s; she had a shock of bright red hair, green eyes and a cute smile.
Billy had a hollow feeling in his stomach. He wasn’t sure if life had suddenly become more
complicated or less complicated.
“She’s gorgeous,” he said. “Wa! She has green eyes just like me!”
“She is a Cockatoo but they say she has the colour of a Sydney black fella. But I know that
cannot be so perhaps she has some Tiger in her?”
Billy scratched his head. “Well, she does look a lot like me.”
“Wa! That might be true, my little Tiger.”
Billy was perplexed, it was glaringly obvious that she was his child, but why didn’t Moorina
say so? He decided to change the subject.
“What’s her name?”

Moorina held her out for him to hold and he took her gingerly. “She won’t have a name until
she’s a year old. I don’t suppose Pandak told you that did he?”
Billy shook his head.
“Did he tell you anything about children?” she asked skeptically.
Billy smiled awkwardly and so an hour later he found himself sitting under a tea tree petting
one of the hunting dogs while Moorina breast-fed her baby.
“Wa! My little Billy is worried about the baby being fed?”
Billy stumbled and stammered as he denied it but the truth was, he’d never seen a baby being
fed and he was embarrassed.
“Wa! My brother is a coward, he should have told you everything and not just the warrior
stories. So, I will help you. Now, you do know that spirits of unborn children hide in the streams don’t
you?”
Billy shrugged and smiled apologetically.
“Wa! What ignorance!” Moorina clucked. “The spirits are all around us, they are old and wise.
They are in the trees and the rocks, the water and the stars. Sometimes they may choose to be born into
our world and they hide in the streams waiting. When a woman comes to the stream the spirit enters
her body. The man dreams of the child and that makes the spirit live inside the woman and then
become born into the world. The baby does look a bit pale just like you little Billy, can you remember
dreaming of her before you left with Pandak?”
Billy nodded, humouring her.
“Wa! That is good. She is my second child. I can remember the Cockatoo screaming at me
when we were in the billabong. That was when her spirit entered me.”
She stopped suckling the baby and wrapped her up in the warm kangaroo pelt.
Billy, his curiosity piqued, asked Moorina, “Can you tell me what happened to your other
child?”
Tears welled in Moorina’s eyes as she rocked her little girl to sleep. “The sealers came and
killed him. They thought it would make me go to the island with them but he was not a year old and so
was not a full person yet. I was scared to go. I didn’t think they’d kill my son!”
The baby stirred awake, startled by her mother’s cries. Moorina cooed her back to sleep.
“Do you want a family Billy?” Moorina asked gently.
Billy nodded his head vigorously. “Wa! It would be a dream to have a family with you
Moorina!”
“When I was born I was betrothed to a man. But he died a long time ago,” she said sadly. “My
father gave me to another man but we lost half the tribe to the coughing disease and the man and both
my parents died. Then they sent me to the Oyster Bay tribe to stop our tribes from fighting. I had my
son there but you came along and saved me. I did not like Tolobunganah and was glad when he gave
me to you. So now, if you can become a Larmairrermener warrior, I think Pandak will let us share the
same fire. But Little Billy, there is still your sister and the white fella gold. Tell me, will you stay with
me or will you go back to the white fella?”
“Wa! Truganini told you about that did she?” Billy said. “It does not matter. I have been many
places since then and seen many things. The gold may bring peace for the tribe but I think the white
fella might take it and still kill us. So the gold I will be happy to offer to the tribe as a gift when we
share the same fire. Is that good?”
Moorina nodded seriously.
“Often we exchange gifts. I do not understand this gold but if it is a special sacrifice for you
then the elders will accept it.”
“Wa! Now, to my sister, Ginny. I do not know where she is. It is my fault that she is in
Trowenna. I feel bad for that and I want to help her. But I don’t know if she is alive or dead.”
Moorina squeezed his hand and passed the sleeping child over for him to hold.
“If she is alive, she will be content. There are many men in Trowenna and few women that is
why they steal us away from our tribes. Perhaps she can find a good man?”
Chapter 40:
Matron ordered Ginny to meet her immediately after supper. Ginny had no idea what it was
about but, according to Becky, Mrs Bowden was in a big huff and “very put out.”
As soon as Ginny entered Matron’s small living room she was met by an indignant challenge.
“Well? What is the meaning of this?” Matron demanded, waving an envelope at Ginny.
“I don’t know Ma’am,” she said, bewildered.
Matron handed her the note.“What do you mean you don’t know? Of course you do. Now read
it!”
Ginny read the note with growing surprise. It was a request, written in elabourate calligraphy
on fine paper. It had a slight perfume of roses.
“Oh dear. Someone wants to take me to a dinner party?” she exclaimed, “I aint never ‘eard of
such a thing!”
“Quite!” Mrs Bowden echoed sternly, “I suppose this is a surprise to you Miss Fotheringham?”
Ginny nodded vigorously. “Yes Matron. It’s probably just someone being silly. Me?
Celebrating the Queen’s birthday? They know I can’t go! How cruel of them!”
“So I presume that you know nothing about the part at the bottom where he offers to send us
new sewing supplies and shoes?”
“Oh? Odd aint it?”
“Odd indeed. Yes my dear. I will mention this to the Governor, you know. I cannot have my
staff flitting frivolously around the town when there’s work to do! I don’t know who this Commander
Blanch fellow thinks he is but I will not allow this sort of thing to happen again. Do you hear me! Now
be off with you!”
Billy was called up before of the elders that first afternoon. If they were impressed by his
ability to sneak into the camp unnoticed, they didn’t show it. Their mood was sombre, the atmosphere
tense. Murrimbindi, the Karadji, sat on one side of Leelinger, Pandak on the other and five other elders
formed a semi-circle around the ashes of the fire. On all sides of them the huge river gum trees reached
skyward, their vast trunks blocking out the sun.
Billy sat on the other side of the fire, facing the council of elders. Pandak’s worried and grim
look warned Billy that he had to be careful. Leelinger, as the senior elder, spoke first.
“Wa! These are hard times, dangerous times. The Palawa and the white fella are at war. Some
of the warriors hate the white fella so much that they wanted to kill you many days ago but Treedareer
came to Murrimbindi in his dreams and we commanded them to wait.”
Billy shifted his feet uneasily. He hadn’t noticed any great animosity from any of the aborigines
but the men had kept their distance.
“Pandak and Treedareer have told us of your fight with Pennemukeer people and how you have
killed a white fella. That is good and you are welcome back to our village white boy.”
Billy had expected more. It had been a long and arduous adventure. He’d hoped that the tribe
might be happy to see them and learn what had gone through.
“You have been gone a long time. You have both missed much. Murrumbindi, will tell you his
story, and perhaps you will understand your welcome.”
Sitting cross-legged next to him, Murrimbindi coughed and patted the kangaroo skin that
covered his lap. Only his right hand was visible.
“Wa! It is good to hear that you have both survived your Songline and I am glad to see you
back. We need another Karadji and another warrior. I hope that we will accept you once we’ve talked
to the Pennemukeer elders.”

“Two moons ago I led a band of warriors down to the river to raid a white fella’s farm. It was
very good kangaroo country before the fences went up and they burnt down the trees. The white fella
shot at us when we asked for payment for taking our kangaroo so we went to burn his house.”
The elders looked at Murrimbindi eagerly. They’d heard the story many times but still found it
enthralling.
“We set fire to the white fella’s crops and then to his house. It was good to see the Gubbas
scream and yell in panic. They came out and started to fire their guns at us but it was no good and soon
they got into their cart and rode away. We let them go. There were women and children and we do not
kill innocent people so they went away down the track,” Murrimbindi said excitedly.
“The fires were still burning and the smoke was thick but I saw one building was not burning
much so I ran inside to see what I could steal. I found a big barrel of white powder, it was flour. In the
background I heard shots and the cries of warning from my warriors. It was time to leave; the white
fellas had come back. I was fascinated by the flour so I plunged my hand into the barrel. Suddenly
there was a loud bang and pain surged through my arm like a bolt of lightning as a giant pair of teeth
clamped down on my hand.”
Murrimbindi pulled aside the kangaroo skin and lifted his left arm up high. His left hand was
missing, leaving a neatly sewn stump just below the wrist. Billy and Pandak gasped in horror.
“I reached into the barrel and pulled out the metal teeth which had bitten my hand. Blood was
everywhere; the walls were burning and the doorway was a filled with flames. The roof was creaking
loudly and it was about to fall down. I lifted the metal teeth onto my head, took a deep breath and ran
out of the building. Outside I could hear shots and screams. Soldiers had arrived and were chasing the
warriors away. I staggered through the smoke and into the bushes where they couldn’t see me. I looked
down at my arm. My hand was dead, the metal teeth had bitten most of the way through the wrist and
the metal jaws were too strong for me to open and too heavy for me to carry. But I am Murrimbindi,
Karadji of the Larmairrermener people. I am a clever man! So I made my blood stop flowing out of my
wounds and I took a magic stone from Black Rock Mountain and I cut off my hand!”
Billy shook his head in awe. For a man to saw his hand off using only a sharp stone was
beyond his comprehension. Murrimbindi glared triumphantly around the circle at the elders who were
grinning and nodding their heads in approval.
“Then I left that place and came home to the village. The men were surprised to see me. They
thought I was dead. But I am Murrimbindi, I am Karadji and I can kill the white fella with just one
hand!”
He waved his broken arm in the air as he shouted out his defiance. The elders roared their
approval and two of the younger men jumped up and started to dance. But Leelinger waved them
down.
“Sit! Sit back down!”
When the noise finally subsided Leelinger nodded towards Murrimbindi, “Wa! As you can see
we are having big troubles. But now the white fella has moved away and we have had peace for a little
while. We do not think it will last but we must become stronger. We must make plans with the
Pennemukeer to fight the white fella. Little Billy, if we chose you to become Ke-Bo-ra, you will have
to fight and kill the white fella. You must think about that!”
It was a warm spring and the elders turned a blind eye when Billy joined Moorina in her
humpy. Pandak told many stories about their adventures in the high country. The warriors were very
impressed that Billy had killed a white fella, but it made him feel quite uncomfortable to have killed a
man who might have been innocent. Moorina reminded him that the man was with Blanch, the
mastermind of the slaughter, so he was not innocent. Even so, Billy kept quiet and decided to be more
careful next time. He wondered if he was uneasy because of the consequences should he ever have to
live among the whites again. Then he even began to doubt his own conviction to become a Palawa
warrior and he wished he could be certain that the elders would accept him. But he didn’t want them to
hurry. As long as they waited Billy was free to be with Moorina.
Billy kept a low profile, as he didn’t want any white fellas to find out where he was. The
village was too close to the settled areas for his liking. Eventually, the Pennemukeer arrived from the
north. They lived in fear of another slaughter and decided to come south and leave the land of the
white devils for a while at least.
Billy was greatly relieved when he and Pandak were finally called before the elders. Treedareer
and Engenama had joined the elders of the Larmairrermener. After several minutes the Karadji,
Murrimbindi, made his announcement.
“Little Billy, Loarinna.numer, the White Tiger, you have shown yourself to be brave and eager.
We have heard from all the people, from Pandak and his sister and from the Pennemukeer people. You
can enter our tribe if you can pass the initiation. You will have the old ceremony, the northern Bo-ra
Corroboree. Treedareer and I will help you through it. You must go to the lake tomorrow. The
ceremony will be at the next full moon.”
Billy smiled nervously. The elders nodded gravely, Leelinger looked worried. Billy was still
afraid of the initiation. He hoped fervently that the old ceremony wouldn’t be as gruesome as
Pandak’s. He didn’t think that he had the strength of Pandak and he did not want to fail. He waited for
Pandak outside the elder’s big humpy.
“Wa! I am having the old ceremony Pandak! Is that good? Did you tell them? Did you help
me? Can I share the same fire as Moorina afterwards?” Billy said anxiously.
Pandak looked grim, put his finger to his lips and motioned for Billy to follow him into the
forest. “Come Little Billy. We must talk alone. You must prepare. Tomorrow you will walk to the lake
alone. I will come in two weeks to help you ready your mind. The old ceremony is a great honor and a
great challenge. If you pass, the elders will not stop Moorina from having you if she wishes. But
remember, they asked me if you were brave enough for the initiation. I said - Yes. But I did not
suggest the old ceremony.”
“What do you mean? Are you saying that the old ceremony is worse than what you had? Is it
more painful? What will Moorina think?”
“Do you want to become a warrior? Do you want to live as with Palawa? Do you want
Moorina?”
Billy nodded determinedly.
“You must have no doubts!” Pandak almost snarled. “You have a reputation already. You have
killed a white fella and you have a child. You must be certain because the path is very painful! It is rich
and rewarding but it is painful!”
“Yes! Yes! Yes! I do want Moorina and the baby and I want to be a warrior. Yes I do!”
Pandak smiled and punched him on the arm.
Billy thought for a short while. “Pandak. I am ready. I am ready to become a Larmairrermener
warrior. Now tell me about the old ceremony so that I can prepare myself.”
“Sit down my friend. You will have bad dreams for the next month until the ceremony is over.
You will be afraid, very afraid of what is to come. But you are strong and I know you can do it. Now,
here take this, it is the arm bone from the white fella you killed. He was your first. It is very powerful
magic and you will need this up at the lake. Now, I will tell you what will happen and how to prepare.”
The two men met in a darkened alleyway. The Postal courier led his horse into the shadows and
held onto his reins. The other man was waiting for him as usual.
“Here yer go, my friend!” the courier whispered, handing over a small bundle of paper.
“Thank you,” the man whispered, placing two coins into the courier’s palm.
“The boss is worried about missing letters and it’ll be harder to nick your letters. I want an
extra penny each,” the courier said.
“Bugger off!” Marcus Donaldson replied.
“Right you are then!” The courier turned to leave.
“Oh fine. An extra penny it is, t’aint my money anyroad!”

The two men shook hands and then the courier mounted his horse for the short ride back to the
Postal Depot. Marcus Donaldson tucked the letters into his pocket and walked quickly away from the
alley. He entered a small brick building by the side door and went up the wooden stairs to the
bedroom. He drew the curtains and took the package out of his pocket.
Mister Daly had been very busy this week. Two letters to V Fotheringham in Launceston, one
to S Churchill in Hobarton and then there was another one. Mister Daly was writing to Commander
Blanch now! Donaldson was intrigued. He opened that letter first.
Silas Daly had some important news concerning the whereabouts of a Miss Virginia Foxe. If
Commander Blanch was still interested, then Mister Daly would be happy to meet at the Commander’s
convenience.
Very interesting! Donaldson chuckled to himself. Blanch was indeed interested in Miss Foxe or
Miss Fotheringham but he was even more keen to see just how interested Mister Daly was in the
woman. Blanch would enjoy that letter!
The letter to Miss Churchill was Daly’s first to the woman. He began by apologizing for some
unmentioned events that occurred on the Sydney Cove. It was a polite and cordial letter. Daly hadn’t
heard from Miss Foxe or Miss Black in several months and wondered if Miss Churchill had any word
from them. Donaldson pondered how he could find out exactly what Daly had to apologize for. They
could find that useful perhaps?
There was yet another letter to Miss Foxe. Daly had been writing with growing urgency every
few weeks. He apologized for missing their appointment and explained about the hardship he was
suffering ever since the bushrangers maliciously killed his poor donkey.
Since that damned William Foxe boy had absconded from Point Puer, Marcus Donaldson had
begun to lose control of his life. Blanch had, of course, taken him on as his manservant, but it was
proving to be a two-edged sword. Donaldson had some freedom, for Blanch, now Commander Blanch,
deputy to the Company’s chief agent Edward Curr, was spending most of his time in the north. That
left Donaldson to his own devices, which was better than most convicts could hope for. But Donaldson
had come to regret telling his master about the HMS Hope.
He’d expected to be able to find the treasure quickly and Blanch had promised to recommend a
Free Pardon immediately so that they could abscond to the New South Wales and beyond at the
appropriate time. But the wreck had all but disappeared in the five short years that he and Raeburn had
buried the gold. He’d scoured the coastline from land and sea but it was to no avail. His part of the
map omitted some of the vital landmarks. He had to get Foxe’s map. He hoped that the lad had not
died in the bush as he’d been told. He doubted whether the boy’s sister would be of any use, but
Blanch was convinced that Billy was not dead and, Donaldson thought wryly, the girl was not a bad
looker. Now Blanch had her in the palm of his hand. She had accepted his invitation to the Queen’s
Birthday Dinner!
The dress arrived two days after Matron had informed Commander Blanch’s rather annoying
runner that Fotheringham would attend the Queen’s Dinner Party provided that she returned before
midnight. Matron gave Ginny her package with bad grace and insisted that she open it immediately in
front of her.
Ginny was astounded at the dress and embarrassed at the accompanying undergarments. They
were very unfamiliar and she wasn’t sure how to wear them. Mrs Bowden had already received most
of the supplies that Commander Blanch had promised for the Factory, including several bottles of fine
whisky, some tea and some cocoa. The gifts softened Mrs Bowden and she lectured Ginny and Becky
on the proper use of the clothing. The two girls managed to stifle their laughter as the Matron pranced
around the foyer with the underwear held against her ample body.
That evening Ginny tried on all the clothes. Fortunately, the woman who previously owned
them was slightly larger than Ginny. Matron looked on with a skeptical eye as Becky pinned up the
dress. Matron had consented to letting Ginny alter the dress and Ginny was a little puzzled by her

change of attitude. She seemed much more enthusiastic about Ginny going to the party and about the
merits of Commander Blanch. It only made Ginny more nervous.
She recalled well the comments of Daly and Lizzy. She was not particularly enamored by
Blanch, but it was a golden opportunity to escape the horrible little looney bin in which she was
incarcerated. She would be able to socialize for the first time in over two years!
The Governor should’ve set her free by now in any case so Ginny was determined to enjoy
herself. She secretly decided to be on the look out for a proper prospective husband while being polite
to the Commander. Becky was not at all surprised that Ginny chose to wear the new undergarments
rather than the more precious ones that Sarah had given to her.
Billy arrived at the lake in eight days. He’d forgotten part of the Songline of the Tiger and had
missed an important landmark so he had to backtrack and wait until nightfall so that he could navigate
his way by the stars. He was irked by the two-day delay. He wanted to get up to the lake to find some
more mushrooms. He just hoped that it wasn’t too dry and there were still some left. Moorina had met
a woman whose father had been initiated the old way. She said that it was not as fearful as it sounded
but Billy could tell that she was afraid for him. She’d made love to him very passionately despite the
elders’ edict.
It was a lovely sunny day. Daly arrived at noon to sell his flowers at the market. A neighbour
had been kind enough to give him a ride. He still hadn’t been able to raise the money to buy a horse or
even a donkey. It had been a miserable few months and he’d toiled alone in his gardens. Ginny Foxe
hadn’t replied to his many letters. It cost him a lot more than he could afford to send the letters and the
man assured him that he’d left them at the Launceston Depot so they must have been delivered. He
wondered if Ginny was angry with him or if she’d perhaps moved down to Hobarton.
Dick Jameson was waiting for Daly. The man had the best flowers and he’d decided to surprise
his ailing wife with a nice bunch of Chrysanthemums. He’d expected Daly to be at the market for the
approaching Queen’s birthday celebrations. He’d not seen him for months and he had received several
letters for Lizzy that he hoped Daly could deliver. Morag still hadn’t forgotten Lizzy Black and often
made snide remarks about her, trying to goad Dick into defending her. He suspected that his wife knew
about their affair.
“Mr Daly, my good man. How are you this fine morning?” Jameson said cheerfully.
“Fine. Fine. Thank you Mr Jameson. Are you interested in some mums perchance for your
lovely wife?”
“Morag? Yes. She’d love a nice surprise and if I may say so, those yellow ones are rather nice.”
Daly selected a large bunch and wrapped them for Jameson.
“Now listen Silas,” Jameson whispered urgently “I need a favour from you. I’ll pay you. It’s
about Lizzy.”
“What about her? She’s not with you today I see.”
Jameson shook his head in exasperation. “My, my, you have been out of touch back there on
your little farm. Haven’t you! No, Miss Black left me for Hobarton several months ago. I was
wondering if you could take these letters to her and perhaps tell that friend of hers in Launceston that
she’s no longer at Jameson’s Run.”
“Where’s Lizzy now then?”
Jameson winced at the thought of her predicament “She’s at the Cascades, poor girl.”
“She left you for the Female Factory? When was that? Surely she’d have a new master by now.
Unless, unless ….” his voice trailed away.
“Yes. Damn it! Unless she was with child! Well Silas. That’s what the wretched woman went
and did. She got herself pregnant. Seems you can’t trust any of these damned whores, can you! Most
inconvenient!”
Daly regarded Jameson thoughtfully. His lips said one thing but his eyes said another.

“No, Mister Jameson. You can’t trust people can you? I wonder how she managed it? Not easy
being on the farm all the time I imagine. Any idea about the father?”
“Humph! Most of the time. Not all. Most!” Jameson replied gruffly. “And, no. I don’t know
who the harlot slept with. Nor do I care. All I care about are these damned letters. You can take them
off my hands can’t you Silas? There’s a good fellow!”
“Well, I’d like to help you Dick, but I have no means. My donkey was killed and I’m having
the devil’s own time of it trying to find an affordable beast. Perhaps you know where I can purchase
one?” Daly said coldly.
Jameson appraised him carefully and said with a chuckle, “Hah! You’re sly one Silas. You
really are. You probably heard that I have two mares now? I expect I can lend you one for a while.”
“My neighbour has a stud. He did mention that you wanted your mares bred as it happens, yes.
Let us do a deal Mister Jameson.”
Chapter 41:
There were only a few mushrooms left. The weather was too warm but Billy didn’t need many
anyway. The mushrooms would help him to get to the other side but the elders wouldn’t let him use
enough to dull the pain of the ritual. As Pandak advised, Billy picked two mushrooms and peeled off
their skins, then he carefully scraped the top layer onto a leaf and let it dry in the sun.
He swam in the lake several times a day and ate well on pademelon and possum. He whittled
his magic arm bone with his sharp black stones while he ruminated on his impending Bo-Ra
corroboree. Knowing what was going to happen did not ease his fear and apprehension. Was he really
prepared to leave everything behind and become an aboriginal warrior? Was he strong enough to
survive the corroboree? Was he just trying to win Moorina? What if she wasn’t there? He was plagued
by doubts. The white society hadn’t treated him very well but would he be better off as a Palawa? Billy
waited for his fate to unfold. He didn’t sleep very well at all.
The tribe couldn’t arrive soon enough for Billy. He was tired of the suspense. But when he saw
the whole tribe coming up the valley, he realized that they would hold Pandak’s Karadji ceremony as
well as his own initiation.
They made two separate camps, one for the men and the other for the women and children.
Murrimbindi and Treedareer came up the hill towards him but carried on walking past up him,
deliberately ignoring him. Just before dusk Pandak walked up to the lake to Billy.
“Wa! My little friend. Are you rested?” Pandak said.
“Yes Pandak, I am getting fat and lazy up here. Tell me what is happening?”
Pandak sat down at Billy’s fire. “You and I must stay up here until the Karadji call us. The
women did not want to miss the big corroboree. They will feed the warriors but they must stay away
from the men unless the Karadji call them. The Karadji are looking for the best place for the
ceremonies. They will have to prepare the ground, that will take a day or two. When it is ready, you
will have your Bo-ra. It will last three or four days. You will not eat or sleep. I will become a Karadji a
few days later. My Karadji Bo-ra ceremony will take a week. Now, let me show you my sacred tears,
little Billy. See how I have prepared them, aren’t they amazing?”
He took a big leaf from his dilly bag and unwrapped it on the ground. Inside were twelve
fingernail sized crystals, all different sizes and colours with smooth polished edges.
“These are very strong magic. I will be a great Karadji!” he exclaimed proudly. “Now, let us
talk about your preparations. Have you made the bone ready?”

As the sun went down Murrimbindi came up to Billy’s camp. He looked closely at the arm-
bone of the dead white man that Billy had been working on so carefully. He shook his head.
“Wa! This is too thick and too long, it will hurt too much! The ends must be smooth, not
pointed. Here take this twig. You must make the thun-bura like this,” he said, handing Billy a small
stick. “You can make it very smooth by rubbing it with one of these.”
He held out a stick that had a long deep crack in it and was bound tightly with twine. The crack
was filled with eucalyptus resin and as he rubbed it on the back of his hand Billy could feel the tiny
grains of sand embedded in the gum.
“Wa! I think with care, the white fella bone could serve you well, little Tiger. Don’t worry, we
have plenty of grease. Now let me show you how Treedareer will make the cut. He’s a very clever
man, Treedareer. You must have made a good impression on him.”
He laid out three sticks on the ground. The first was split like the polishing stick, but embedded
in the resin was a large and very sharp piece of quartz. It was the cutting stick.
The next was a drilling stick. It was a long thin piece of black wood about six inches long and
sharpened to a needle-like point. The third was another drilling stick, very much like the other drilling
stick but made from bone. Murrimbindi told Billy to pick it up.
“Wa! This is from the leg of Loarinna, the Tiger. This will be perfect to make the hole. You
will not feel a thing!”
Billy examined all the sticks very carefully. He couldn’t stop his hands from shaking as he
thought about the pain and suffering the innocent little sticks would soon bring him. Murrimbindi
looked him squarely in the eye.
“Little Billy, in a few days we will call you Loarinna.numer, the White Tiger. I have seen this
initiation many times. You are much stronger, much braver than those men! You have the best two
Karadji in Trowenna! Now give me your corroboree mushrooms. You will have no sleep or food for
three nights. When the ceremony starts you will forget the mushrooms. We must make them into a
cake and make you eat it, that is the way.”
Reluctantly Billy handed over the leaf with the powdered mushrooms. It wasn’t that he didn’t
believe the old man, but he wanted to be sure he really did eat them. He was afraid and he needed all
the help he could get!
That night Billy couldn’t have slept even if he’d been allowed to! He was intensely nervous. At
least when he received his Cat O’ Nine Tails it’d been quick. Blanch had tried to build up the tension,
but this was almost unbearable! Pandak sat next to him with a water bag as Billy could only drink
water through a reed. He seemed to have a dry mouth, no matter how much he drank.
The following day the elders directed the younger men and children to prepare the corroboree
ground. They pulled up what little grass there was as the warriors set about building the fires. It was
the men’s sacred work and the women were not allowed to participate. The men dug a hole into which
they put a wooden stake. They pushed the earth back in around it so that the stake stood solid and firm
at chest height. They leant sticks against the stake, starting with small ones and getting bigger and
bigger until they had built a big cone shaped fire as tall as a man. Then they built a very small fire,
barely two feet across ten paces away.
The completed corroboree ground was a flat north-facing oval. The sacred fire was at the north
end of the oval near the lake, the small cleansing fire was about twenty yards to the south. The children
danced around the ground stamping the dusty red earth down until it was smooth and swept clean of
leaves and vegetation.
Billy sat on the shore of the lake as Pandak watched over him. Billy worked on the bone stick, slowly
but surely grinding it down and polishing it until it was smooth. Occasionally he glanced over at the
women’s camp hoping to catch a glimpse of Moorina and the baby but the bushes were too high.
To take his mind off his initiation, Billy asked Pandak about his Karadji ceremony. Pandak
eagerly described how the only Karadji Bo-ra ceremony he’d seen. His would be a bit different, it
would be much better because he had the crystals, the Bolong.Mocha, the Sacred Water, Tears of the
Dreamtime Serpent. They were very rare and Murrimbindi had only seen them used once when he was
a very small boy and he was as excited as Pandak to have them.
Billy was morbidly fascinated as Pandak described how the small clear stones would be
inserted into cuts in his skin to become part of his own body. He would dance in the spirit world and
would be able to read men’s minds and tell the future, just like he had with the Pennemukeer. Billy
was astonished by his friend’s enthusiasm but it did help to distract him from his own fate.
The second night passed more easily. Billy had not eaten for a day; he knew his hunger pangs
would subside but his rumbling stomach kept him awake and he began to think more about food than
the fear of his Bo-Ra ceremony.
When the sun came up Billy went down to the lake and washed his wild and bushy hair as
vigorously as he could. Pandak took him down to tea tree grove where they peeled bark from a tree and
pulled it into thin strips about two feet long.
While Billy’s hair was still wet, Pandak pushed it all up on top of Billy’s head and bound it up
high with the bark strips. Billy sat in the sun for two hours watching the men making their bark head-
dresses in the tea trees. Pandak came up to see if Billy’s hair had dried and he howled with delight at
the result. Billy’s hair stood straight up like a fiery red fountain atop his head.
Murrimbindi met them in the late afternoon. He was in a jovial mood.
“Wa! Little Billy, your hair is very tall, very red. That is good. It will scare the bad spirits away
tomorrow. Are you tired and hungry yet?”
“Wa! I would be asleep except the spirits in my stomach are making so much noise. Yes, I am
very, very hungry and tired, but I am prepared but I do not like the waiting. It is worse than the
corroboree.”
Pandak raised an eyebrow quizzically, smiled broadly and shook his head. Billy grimaced.
“Pandak, you must give him courage,” Murrimbindi admonished, putting several baskets on the
ground.
“Now here is the charcoal, ash and ochre. I will show you how to paint your faces and your
bodies.” He took stick and starting to draw pictures in the red dust.
Ten minutes later, Pandak and Billy could see exactly how they had to adorn themselves for the
ceremony. Then Billy showed Murrimbindi his polished thun-bura. The old man turned it over slowly
in his hands and examined it closely. He clucked in approval.
“This is very good. You are clever with your hands. Pandak has told you what will happen at
the Bo-Ra corroboree? Good. Do you have any questions?”
Billy shook his head. Pandak had been very thorough. “No. Pandak is like a Karadji already. I
even know the meaning and the steps of every dance. I am only glad he didn’t know exactly how you
will use the cutting sticks. No, no! I do not want to know! I hate the sight of blood, especially my
blood so I will have my eyes closed!”
Murrimbindi laughed heartily. “Do not worry. You cannot see what we do anyway. It will be
quick and easy. Now I have one last thing for you Little Billy.”
He presented Billy with a small possum loincloth. “This was made by best wife. You must
wear it tomorrow and keep it on for three months. Now, I must go. Do not forget, you must stay away
all night. That is very important. You must call on the stars and the spirits for strength during the
darkness. Have courage Little Billy. Your Dreaming is coming!”
With that he turned and left.
As he walked away Pandak said, “Wa! You think I am bossing you around? Well, after a few
weeks in that loincloth perhaps my sister will call you the White Willie instead of the White Tiger!”
That night Billy was deathly tired. He had been awake for two and a half days. Pandak had
slept several times during the daytime when Billy was being looked after by one of the other warriors
but he knew how the white boy felt. He walked him around, threw water on his face and jabbed him

with a stick to stop him from dozing off. He made Billy recite the sacred song of the Tiger and the lore
of his totem and followed Billy everywhere, even into the bushes when he went to the toilet.
It was a blurry night for Billy. He wanted to just lie down and watch the bright stars of the
Milky Way move slowly overhead but every few minutes Pandak would poke him or ask another
question. He was so hungry! He was weak and tired; he could hardly lift his legs when Pandak led him
around and around the camp to keep him awake.
Eventually the dawn came and they went to the lake and walked into the icy water until it was
up to their necks. They warmed themselves by the fire as Pandak prepared the red, black and white
paints from the baskets that Murrimbindi had brought.
The women gathered on the edge of the corroboree ground with their backs to Billy’s camp.
They began to sing songs and chant for the end of Billy’s innocence and the start of his life as a man.
Their rhythmic drumming and chanting drifted clearly up to the lake and sent shivers down Billy’s
spine as he prepared himself for his big ordeal.
The corroboree ground was swept and swept again. The warriors gathered many big piles of
wood and leaves for the fires. Billy sat nervously at his camp as he waited for Pandak to go down and
meet the Karadji.
It was a crystal clear day; the mountains were mirrored in the calm still waters of the lake.
Already it was warm, it was going to be a very hot day. The scars on Billy’s back itched in the heat.
Pandak kept telling Billy to relax and to soak up the atmosphere around him. Once he entered
the spirit world he would be able to enjoy his Dreaming. The world of the aborigine was the world of
the spirits. Pandak had been trying to teach Billy to leave the physical world around him and enter the
world of his Dreaming. Billy had managed it best when he’d hurt his foot but he knew it wasn’t as
deep as the corroboree mushrooms had taken him. He was afraid that he would be painfully unable to
enter the spirit world for his Dreaming Ceremony. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath and
concentrated on the hypnotic rhythm of the women’s chanting.
Pandak came across him an hour later. “Wa! Wake up little Tiger! You cannot sleep! Today is
your Dreaming and your Bo-ra!”
Billy protested that he wasn’t asleep and Pandak laughed at him good-naturedly. He hadn’t
slept nor eaten for three days, but Billy was young and superbly fit. He was terribly tired but now that
his Dreaming was almost upon him, the anticipation, the trepidation, the fear and the excitement made
him feel very much awake and very much alive.
The women’s chanting had helped him. He’d managed to ignore his itchy back and had begun
to feel himself drifting somewhere, he wasn’t sure where, but somewhere between sleep and waking.
Pandak looked at him carefully and nodded approvingly.
“Wa! I see a little Palawa inside your eyes! Maybe you won’t need this, but here, eat!”
He held a small yellow cake for Billy to take. Billy looked at it and for a second almost
hesitated, then caution overtook his bravado and he took the mushroom cake from his friend and ate it
quickly.
“Now, come my friend, the women are leaving. Now we must go down to the fire. It is time for
you to become a true Larmairrermener warrior!”
It was noon. The hot sun blazed in the clear sky. Billy and Pandak walked slowly down to the
corroboree ground. Billy was covered in black charcoal from head to toe; white horizontal stripes
adorned his upper body, highlighting the scars of the Cat on his back. His face was black and red and
his hair was tied vertically on his head like a sheaf of bright red corn. He wore no clothing and his
private parts were painted bright red.
Pandak was also painted in black and had red and white stripes running down his legs. His hair
was arranged in thick red ringlets decorated with cockatoo feathers.

The sacred fire was well ablaze. Pandak motioned for Billy to sit on a little mound just a few
feet from the fire. Billy sat down cross-legged facing the flames. Pandak nodded his approval and left.
The heat of the fire was intense. Billy looked around nervously. There was no-one in sight. The
women had gone back to their camp, the men were shielded behind the humpies and even the few
children were nowhere to be seen. It was very hot. The noon sun beat down mercilessly and the sacred
fire roared and crackled.
Billy waited expectantly. Nothing happened. He was alone and the heat began to touch him. He
could feel the sweat on his brow. Billy was gripped by a growing panic as he slowly realized that the
mushrooms weren’t working! He tried to gauge how much time had passed. No matter, the mushrooms
hadn’t exploded into his consciousness like they did the first time. But Pandak had warned him that
they might not work the same way on the second time. Perhaps the effect was slower? Perhaps he
didn’t need the mushrooms? There were no hallucinations. Billy knew exactly where he was. He was
very uncomfortable and very tired.
The only sounds were the crackling of the fire and the faint the caw-caw of the currawongs.
He breathed out hard and forced himself to relax. The heat was painful and he started to feel light-
headed. Little drops of sweat rolled down his spine. His scars began to itch again. The heat of the
flames was so fierce that Billy thought he could smell his skin starting to burn. He let out an
exasperated sigh, closed his eyes and began to breathe deeply and rhythmically. His heartbeat was a
loud rushing sound like waves crashing on the beach.
Eventually he heard a little voice whisper.
“Wa! He’s asleep. Quick, let’s get the clever-man. The little Tiger’s falling asleep!”
Billy opened his eyes to see two young boys scamper off towards the humpies. A short while
later, a group of warriors arrived. They were all adorned in red body paint with various back and white
markings. They sat down around Billy and began to chant as the fire was stoked higher.
They beat their clapping sticks together and chanted in a monotonous drone. The same cadence
was repeated over and over again, beginning on a high piercing note and slowly fading to the sound of
water rushing over rocks in a stream. The song had a slow hypnotic rhythm and within fifteen minutes
Billy could feel himself succumbing to the mesmerizing beat. The song was in a dialect that Billy
couldn’t understand. He relaxed and let the sounds carry him along.
The insistent chanting went on for several hours. It rose and fell; the drumming of the clap
sticks grew louder and softer. At times the drone became louder, more emphatic; Billy’s heart raced to
keep up and the very air was possessed by the vibration.
Billy no longer felt his scars itch. He sat cross-legged on the ground next to the rock and stared
at the sticks in the sacred fire. He was relaxed. Despite the barrage of heat from the fire he’d stopped
sweating and felt no pain. He felt someone push a reed to his lips. He sucked in, drawing cool sweet
water to his mouth. He realized with a start that Pandak had walked up to him without him even
noticing. He watched his friend retreat. The chanting became louder and faster. The tension in the air
became palpable, the atmosphere heavy with expectation. Billy forced himself to stop his breathing
from quickening.
Suddenly out from behind the fire stepped two frightening figures. They were big and well
muscled, painted white with thick red bands across their chests. Their faces were black with white
circles around the eyes and mouth. They were huge, grotesque and frightening. Billy felt himself being
lifted by strong hands under his legs. He was turned around and away from the fire.
He felt a sudden chill on his face as the two huge figures began to dance in front of him. The
singing became louder and fiercer and the small circle of chanting men grew as the rest of the warriors
joined them.
The two terrifying dancers wheeled and jumped, keeping their faces towards him all the time as
they stamped and staggered. Billy recognized the dance of the Bandicoot and the Emu. Shouts and
animal calls echoed around the circle and Billy stared, hypnotized by the whirling men. The men were
joined by two more warriors. Big men, painted red with black faces and white noses. They leapt into

the circle and danced in a half squat waving their arms around as they did the dance of the Eagle
Hawk.
The music became louder and louder. Billy could feel his heart beating faster and faster as it
reached a crescendo. Suddenly all four men leapt high into the air and landed right in front of Billy,
glaring at him malevolently. Out of the crowd of warriors behind the dancers came a huge ungainly
figure. Billy struggled to focus his eyes through the haze of red dust and smoke. The man seemed
enormous. He danced to the mesmerizing beat as he approached Billy.
It was his Karadji, Murrimbindi. His entire body was painted black with a white stripe and
either side of his chest, and he wore huge paper bark head-dress, two feet tall with long tassles that
came down to his shoulders. His face was black with white around the mouth and eyes. His face was
hideous. His lips were curled back and held in place by fiber cords to reveal his bright white teeth in a
permanent evil grin. He came forward with bent knees, stamping on the ground first with one foot,
then the other. He approached Billy, thrusting his hips backwards and forward to reveal his huge white
penis.
Billy felt himself being pulled to his feet. The music continued its mesmerizing beat as Billy
was turned around to face the sacred fire where the four powerful dancers stood motionless, the sweat
beaded on their hard muscled bodies. Billy was lifted up and then thrust down on his knees facing the
fire.
Murrimbindi came forward. In his good hand he held a black stone. Billy knew that these were
the cutting stones from the Black Rock Mountain. One of the dancers stepped up and stood right next
to Billy. Murrimbindi gave the man the stone. The man looked at the Karadji with a glazed expression
in his eyes. Then he made a quick cut across his own forearm with the stone and blood immediately
gushed forth onto Billy’s shoulders. The warm sticky blood smelt sweet as it splashed onto his body.
Billy tried to imagine the warrior’s strength flowing into his body as Pandak had told him.
One by one each of the dancers came forward, cut open their veins and covered Billy’s
shoulders and head in blood as the throbbing music pulsated around him. When it was done, Billy was
dragged onto his feet. His legs barely worked after the hours of sitting down but he was held firm and
motionless as Murrimbindi came towards him with a cutting stone.
Suddenly, the singing stopped. Billy could hear the crackle of the wood on the sacred fire
although the Karadji’s body obscured much of the flames from his view. Murrimbindi stopped still in
front of the white boy. Staring right into his eyes the Karadji extended his hand forward and held the
razor sharp stone on Billy’s chest. Billy looked back expectantly and a little smile seemed to come into
Murrimbindi’s eyes. With a short thrust he made the first slashing cut across Billy’s skin. Billy felt a
searing pain and warmth as the blood oozed out. Still holding his gaze, Murrimbindi made five more
cuts in two rows across the top of the white boy’s chest. With only a small grimace Billy stood
motionless. Billy felt light-headed as the men pushed him back down into a kneeling position. The
warm sticky blood continued to flow freely and cover Billy’s body bright red. Murrimbindi gave a
little leap and the singing started up again.
Billy knelt still before the Karadji for what to be a very long time. Again he was offered a reed
and he drank the cool water greedily. Eventually Murrimbindi motioned to Billy to lower his head and
as he did Billy felt a light rain of sand fall onto his chest. In a few moments his wounds were covered
in a fine yellow sand. The pain subsided to a dull ache and the Karadji made Billy stand up and a dilly
bag was thrust into his hand. Billy put his free hand into the bag. It was full of sand. Billy clenched his
fist around the sand.
Concentrating hard, Billy began to dance to the chanting. He forced himself to remember the
beat and rhythm that Pandak had taught him. He imagined himself leaping and whirling around the fire
but in reality the white boy shuffled around the corroboree ground with knees bent as he traced a circle
of sand around the sacred fire and the small cleansing fire. Billy was tired; his arm ached from the
weight of the bag and the pain of the cuts. It seemed like an age but finally the circle was complete and
Billy sat again in front of the sacred fire as the flames were fueled higher and higher.

Billy waited. He had passed the first test but he was still not a warrior. His stomach felt queasy
as he thought about what was to come. He suddenly recalled what Pandak had told him; it was time to
try to enter the trance that would take him into the spirit world.
Everything was chaos. The smoke blew into his face; the loud chanting pulsated like the beat of
his heart. He slowed down his breathing and focused on the chanting. He began to feel an odd
sensation. It started very slowly. He was sitting on a small pebble; he could feel it under his leg and
was about to shift his weight when he suddenly realized that his leg had gone numb. He knew the stone
was there but he couldn’t actually feel anything. The feeling grew and spread until gradually his whole
lower body felt numb. Within a few minutes the feeling had gone out of his arms as well. He knew that
his chest hurt and his arms ached but the pain and the tiredness was happening to someone else, not to
him.
Suddenly Billy was floating above the corroboree ground. He looked down. His body looked
dirty and messy beneath him. His hair was covered in dried blood and smoke and grime, his eyes were
open and staring forwards. He saw Murrimbindi and Treedareer come out from behind the elders’
humpy. They were both dressed in the big head-dresses and wore their hideous face paint. Billy looked
down on them and watched as Treedareer danced the Dance of the Tiger. Pandak looked at Billy’s
body with concern and then turned his gaze upwards and smiled broadly. Billy watched as three men
knelt down on hands and knees near the fire and they lifted his stiff body and laid him on his back onto
this makeshift table.
Treedareer knelt beside to Billy’s hips and extended his right arm to the fire, the cutting stick in
his hand. Billy felt nothing as Treedareer made a small incision in the base of Billy’s penis with the
sharp stick. Feeling slightly uncomfortable, Billy watched as the Karadji drew out his long drilling-
stick. The needle-like point of the stick was thrust deftly into the root of Billy’s penis. Sweat stood out
on Treedareer’s brow as he gently pushed the stick through Billy’s organ. Billy felt a panic rise up in
him but suddenly realized that he felt no pain. Treedareer withdrew the drilling–stick and a spray of
blood gushed forth. The Karadji shook his head; the stick had not gone all the way through. Billy
thought that he looked worried but Treedareer held up the Tiger bone drilling-stick. Treedareer’s body
blocked Billy’s view as the Karadji inserted the stick into the hole. He carefully pushed and twisted the
stick until it began to project out of the other side of his penis. Then he made a quick cut in the skin to
allow the bone to protrude. He waited for a moment then he called Pandak to him.
Pandak handed Treedareer the thun-bura that Billy had worked on so carefully. Billy watched
uneasily as the drilling-stick was gently removed and the penis-bone, the thun-bura, was pushed in so
that it skewered completely through his penis. The Karadji stood back to assess their work and Billy
could feel the pride coming from Treedareer. Billy was very tired and he began to struggle. He could
feel himself being drawn back into his body as the chanting grew louder and took on a joyous tone.
Billy feared the pain of returning to his body and he fought to stay up above the corroboree ground as
they lit the cleansing fire.
Then with a sudden lightning bolt of pain in his groin, Billy was back in his own body. His
hands and legs were held down and he lay on his back on the bony table of the three warriors.
Murrimbindi’s macabre face appeared above him. Billy grimaced and tried to scream aloud but he had
a stick clenched between his teeth.
“Patience, Loarinna.numer. Lie still and bite on the stick. The pain will go soon,” Murrimbindi
whispered.
Moments later, Billy felt a cool soft sticky poultice being applied gently to his penis. He lay
still and gradually the pain dimmed. The chanting continued all the while as Billy was helped to his
feet. They walked him like an aging and bent old man over to the cleansing fire. He put his feet on
either side of the tiny fire as clouds of smoke poured forth from the green branches that smouldered
upon it.
The Larmairrermener whirled and leapt about him performing the Dance of the Tiger and
chanting his name, Loarinna.numer, the White Tiger. Billy felt terrible. But he also felt elated, happy,

and ecstatic. He was finally a Larmairrermener warrior. Somewhere down at the women’s camp he
knew that Moorina was dancing too.
Chapter 42:
For the next two weeks Ginny spent her evenings sewing her dress while Becky read to her
from the Ladies’ Book of Deportment that Matron had lent her. It was difficult work. Ginny had never
been to a dinner before; in fact, she’d never known anyone who had!
“I dunno Becks. I don’t think I can do this. Do you want to go instead of me?”
Becky stopped reading and looked at her friend incredulously. “Virginia Fotheringham! How
can you say such a thing? How will they introduce you then, I wonder? Miss Virginia Fotheringham or
Miss Ginny Foxe?”
“Don’t be silly, ducks. I’m a convict.” Ginny laughed. “They’ll call me by my surname,
Fotheringham. They never use first names for the likes of us. Yer see, it’s a different world. I’ve only
got a few weeks. I can’t learn how to speak posh and walk and eat like a lady, can I? You’re much
better than me. Why don’t you go?”
“Now don’t be so bleedin’ daft Ginny! Look at it. You want to get out of here. Blanch wants
you. He’s generous, rich and infatuated with you. He’s the second most important man in the Van
Diemen’s Land Company and is probably on speaking terms with the Governor himself! You’ll be
fine. You don’t need to worry about messing up. You’re smart and quick. Just show ‘em that lovely
smile of yours and nothing will go wrong.”
“Nah Becks. Look at me! I’ve got pimples and crooked teeth. I have holes in the bottom of me
shoes, the dress is too big and I wouldn’t be surprised if the previous owner is at the party too!”
“Nonsense! You’re a lot younger and livelier than most women and you’ve got beautiful red
hair! The men will drool over you. Commander Blanch already is drooling over you! How many roses
has he sent you now? Thirty? More than thirty? You know much they cost? The chap’s head over heels
for you and he can give you a very good life, a life of privilege and power. You won’t forget me when
you’re a Nib will you Ginny?”
“Now you’re being silly Becks!” Ginny said with a laugh, then more seriously, she added, “But
Lizzy and Daly don’t like Blanch and he did seem a bit mean when he told me about Billy.”
“Oh come on! They just said they felt uncomfortable, they didn’t have anything specific. Oh, I
see, you’re thinking that it might have something to do with the goods that Billy took from Blanch are
you?”
“Dunno,” Ginny shrugged. “Seems a bit vague. What did he say? A leather picture or a map
and a purse? I can’t imagine why they want them. Unless there was gold or somefink in them?”
“That’s something. Something. Not somefink. You are going to the dinner, Ginny my dear and
you will have a wonderful time. If you don’t like the Commander then I’m sure all the other men will
be hanging on your every word, even if you do sound like the little girl from Bermondsey!”
The carriage came to fetch Ginny too early. Ginny had only used make-up once before and she
and Becky struggled to make her look presentable. Matron told the driver that Ginny had some urgent
work to finish so he waited for an hour. Ginny was very nervous. It was barely three o’clock and she
had no idea how she’d survive eight hours at the dinner party. She dreaded the thought of having to
dance. She’d never learnt, but she could cut a pretty jig and her Pride of Erin was passable although
Irish dancing was banned from the colony. So she decided to feign a limp. She hoped it’d also mean
that there would be less physical contact with the Commander.
It was an unusually hot day for Launceston. The seats of the carriage were quite hot to the
touch and by the time they arrived at the Cornwall Hotel, Ginny was beginning to sweat. Ginny’s
cotton dress was peach with subtle red stitching, and she was happy that it was a good deal less
voluminous than was the fashion. She’d raised the neckline, as she didn’t want to show as much bosom
as the Commander apparently desired. She had her hair up in a simple bun and her plain black shoes
were well hidden beneath the dress. Mrs Bowden had lent Ginny her Sunday purse with strict
instructions not to lose it. She was glad she’d borrowed Becky’s fan but she was still uncomfortable
and nervous.
A footman dressed in red greeted her at the door and she only just managed to stop herself from
curtsying to him. The footman led her inside where she was met by a maid who actually curtsied to her
before giving her a nosegay of flowers and asking her to wait.
Ginny kept telling herself that she was not a servant. She was a guest, a Nib. She should act
with deliberate grace and the haughty condescension of the Upper Class. She clasped Mrs Bowden’s
purse tightly and waited alone in the foyer. She could hear the hubbub of voices from just down the
corridor. After a few minutes a door opened followed by the tap of heels on the wooden floor.
Commander Blanch came hurrying up the corridor.
“Ah, my dear Fotheringham! So glad you finally made it!” he said breathlessly.
Ginny smiled meekly and extended her hand to him, thankful that she’d read Matron’s book on
etiquette. He stopped, clicked his heels and kissed her hand with a stiff little bow.
He was dressed in a splendid military uniform. All bright buttons, silver embroidery, medals
and high leather boots. He even wore a cavalry sword from his belt. His big whiskers were gone and
his black hair was slick and smooth. He cut a fine dashing figure. His eyes met Ginny’s and he smiled
a trifle impatiently. Not to be outmanoeuvered, Ginny took a step back and carefully ran her gaze over
him.
“My you do look dashing, Commander,” she said a soft low voice.
Blanch reddened immediately and returned the compliment in an embarrassed mumble. He
offered her his arm and they marched down the corridor. Blanch opened the door a little and whispered
something to someone inside before closing it again. Then he and Ginny stood expectantly in front of
the closed doors.
Suddenly both doors were thrown open and Blanch took a decisive step forward taking Ginny
by surprise so she had to shuffle quickly to keep up. Then Blanch suddenly stopped, causing Ginny to
stumble forward slightly.
“Commander Blanch and Fotheringham,” the doorman announced in a loud voice.
The room was filled with Nibs, mostly men in uniform and women in gorgeous and expensive
silk dresses. Several heads turned in their direction and Ginny flushed as Blanch again marched
forward unexpectedly, almost dragging her by the arm.
The room was quite dark and the windows small so that it had to be illuminated by numerous
candles even in the middle of the day. Commander Blanch stopped in front of a large table
sumptuously laden with fine cutlery and glassware. In the centre of the table was a large crystal bowl
from which a servant was ladling a clear liquid into glasses.
“I say. You there,” Blanch said, gesturing to the servant. “We’ll have two of those fine rum
punches.”
The man put two glasses onto a silver tray and offered them up to Ginny and Blanch. Ginny
could tell that the man was not pleased, so she smiled and thanked him with a little nod of her head.
Blanch looked at her and clucked impatiently. Then he raised his glass in salute.
“To you, my dear,” he said pleasantly.
She took a small sip. It was sweet, very sweet and thick and had a strong odour. It was just
cheap rum heavily disguised and she decided to be careful. Ginny peered around the room. The ladies
were eyeing her dress critically. They were gathered in small groups and seemed to be remarking on
her appearance and avoiding her gaze.
“Don’t worry about them, my dear. They’re just jealous. They’re old and you’re young and
pretty and what’s more, you’re with me and they aren’t. Here let me introduce you to Mr Sidebotham.”
The evening began well. Ginny kept as quiet as she could as Blanch wandered around the room
slapping people on the back and becoming quite loud and boisterous.

Ginny stood next to Mrs Sidebotham, Emma, for much of the time. She was also a Londoner
and Ginny was sure she’d been transported but it was not proper to ask. Emma was old, well into her
forties. She’d met Mrs Fry and was delighted to hear of Ginny’s experiences. But Emma was guarded.
Ginny could tell that she had little patience for formal events and was somewhat of an outcast from the
other women. That suited Ginny perfectly. They both spoke with the same working class accent.
Blanch was no fool. He knew full well that Billy Foxe’s sister, Virginia Fotheringham, would
be like a fish out of water. The majority of the men at his party were flabby wastrels who lacked the
courage, drive and determination to succeed. Their women were equally featureless and bland and
were either working class trollops or middle class layabouts. But Blanch needed them all. This was his
chance to show off!
Mr Curr was in Hobarton with the Governor and Blanch had been given free rein to wine and
dine the people of Launceston town and impress them with the glorious success of the Company. The
VLDC was a high profile public company on the London Stock Exchange. It was Blanch’s duty to
brag and boast about the Company in order to bolster its stock price and impress and woo as many
investors and public servants as possible. However, Blanch fully intended to make his own stunning
charisma and outstanding ability the focus of everyone’s attention.
More than anything else, George Blanch needed a woman in his life. He’d had a wife in
England a long time ago but she’d run off with his cousin. She was an impertinent tart in any event.
Van Diemen’s Land was barren ground for romance, but Blanch had enjoyed the services of many
whores and harlots. The blacks were a particular weakness of his. The gins stank to high heaven but
they had hard bodies and could take a fair beating before they finally refused his wishes and ran away.
Ginny and Emma watched as the men became more and more drunk and the women huddled
together in their little cliques. Eventually, dinner was served. Ginny was very pleased to note that she
was seated next to Emma at the main table. As the waiters filed out of the room, the Reverend
Connelly stood up and rang a little silver bell. Gradually, the room became silent and the Reverend
said grace. Ginny enjoyed the food immensely, especially the whale meat and the kangaroo pie
although Blanch kept burping and calling for more beer. Ginny sat quietly and ate slowly. She barely
touched her drink at all; half a glass of the punch had already made her feel a little queasy.
Ginny felt happy and content to let the sounds and sights of the evening wash over her. After
the main course there was the customary lull in the proceedings. Blanch began the toasts by and
banging two glasses together loudly. Ginny was afraid that they’d break before the room quietened
down.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, ladies and gentlemen. I give you a toast! To her Majesty, the Queen!”
he bellowed. There was a loud banging and shuffling as everyone stood up and raised their glasses to
the Queen.
“Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!” they cried.
Just as they began to sit down again Blanch filled his glass again and bellowed once more,
“To the Honorable George Philip Arthur! To the Governor.”
Ginny had filled her glass with water but she was careful to take just a sip. Again the guests
began to sit down when Blanch bellowed out another toast.
“To Van Diemen’s Land!”
Everyone remained standing waiting for another toast but Blanch laughed and waved them to
be seated. He remained standing.
“Ladies and gentlemen. I thank you all for coming tonight. It is wonderful to see so many
familiar and also new faces. As you know, this has been a good year for many of us despite the trials
and tribulations of carving a new community out of a difficult land. In particular, I am very pleased to
say that the Van Diemen’s Land Company has gone from strength to strength. Now mark my words,
the Company is doing so well that we will soon rival the East India Company! You would all do well
to invest while you have the chance!”
“To the Company!” he exclaimed.
After the enthusiastic chorus, Blanch continued, “Thank you, thank you. Now let me just add a
few details for you.” He opened a small notebook.
“Let me see. Our exports are up considerably, now what else. Ah yes, since last year, our share
price has increased by some forty percent, we have doubled the number of sheep and cattle, built a new
Whaling Station and increased our grazing land by over twenty percent. Additionally, the boongs –
sorry, I mean natives. The natives have left the western plateau completely for some reason. As you
know, the aborigines have killed over two thousand sheep a year, so we can expect much lower stock
losses next year. Now I don’t wish to bore you with all the details although I’d be happy to enlighten
any interested parties in the Smoking Room afterwards. So, in closing. Ladies and Gentlemen, on
behalf of the Company I bid you welcome. A toast. To you all!”
He sat down and Mister Sidebotham stood up.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, may I have your attention please.”
“I’d like to propose a toast. To Commander Blanch, our generous and benevolent host!
Commander Blanch!”
They remained seated as they raised their glasses. Mister Sidebotham continued, “Now, you
may not all be aware, but a little birdie told me that Commander Blanch has had another promotion
and is now Head of all Operations in Van Diemen’s Land! Is that right Commander?”
Blanch nodded, and the man continued, “Yes, indeed the Commander is a very busy man
nowadays and I must say that it’s delightful to see that he has taken time away from his campaigns in
the north-west to entertain us tonight and indeed to entertain the beautiful young lady next to him, Miss
Fotheringham. So a toast I say! To our host and his lady!”
Ginny was embarrassed by Mister Sidebotham’s toast. She was glad she didn’t have anything
in her mouth at the time! She flushed bright red. Then she returned Blanch’s smile sweetly but her
hands shook and she clenched the glass with white knuckles. As soon as the hubbub died away Ginny
asked Emma in a low voice, where the toilet. Emma smiled graciously and told Ginny to follow her,
and the two ladies excused themselves. Ginny noted uncomfortably that most of the women stared at
her curiously as they walked out of the room.
“My, my. The Commander seems to have taken quite a shine to you my dear,” Emma said
carefully when they were alone.
Ginny shook her head. “I hardly know the man.”
“Yes, I thought Edward’s toast made you a tad uncomfortable. But don’t worry, you should
take it as a compliment.”
“Oh I do, I do. But I’m not sure about ‘im. That’s all,” Ginny replied.
“Oh, you’ve probably heard that he’s too hard on the boongs or something I suppose? Well,
Edward says that they deserve everything they get. Blanch is just trying to stop them from attacking
our farms and killing our sheep and worse. He’s not a vicious man you know, just tough and
disciplined.”
“Actually I hadn’t heard about that.” Ginny shrugged. “But I was wondering, why did you say
that he seems to have taken a fancy to me?”
“Well, I may’ve spoken out of turn. But my husband knows George very well and he said that
George was eagerly looking forward to seeing you today. And then of course the toast. That’s a sign I
think.”
“But surely that was your husband’s idea, not Blanch I mean George’s?” Ginny scoffed.
“No dear. Edward wouldn’t embarrass George by making a toast that he didn’t want. Rest
assured that it was George’s idea. He’s a clever fellow and doesn’t like surprises. You should be very
pleased that he likes you my dear. He’s rich, successful and very determined. You could do worse you
know.”
Ginny smiled and thanked her, but she still wasn’t sure about Blanch. She just didn’t trust any
Knights in Shining Armour.
When they returned to the dining room, the guests had adjourned from the table; most of the
men went to the smoking room while the women were gathered in the sitting room although several
groups had moved into the garden. Ginny and Emma found Blanch and Sidebotham standing next to
the table.
Immediately Mr Sidebotham excused himself and he and Emma walked arm in arm out into the
garden. Ginny was alone with Blanch. There was an uncomfortable silence then Blanch handed her a
glass of bubbly white wine.
“Champagne my dear.”
“To us!” he clinked her glass.
Ginny smiled back awkwardly and sipped her drink. It was very nice, it had an odd almond
taste but she liked it.
“Rather good isn’t it?” he said amicably, filling her glass. “Here have some more. It’s specially
imported from France.”
He filled up his blackjack with ale and proffered his arm to her. They walked out the front to
the patio. It was deserted. There were many guests but it struck Ginny as odd that they were alone on
the patio. The sun had set but the night was still warm.
“Are you enjoying yourself my dear?” Blanch said when they were seated.
“Yes thank you, sir,” Ginny replied stiffly.
“Oh come now. Please call me George. Relax, I’m your friend. Well I’d like to be more, much
more and –“
Ginny raised her hand to cut him off. “Please, please George. I do appreciate everything you’ve
done. For me. For the Factory. And I really do appreciate your invitation tonight but things are moving
too fast. I’m not sure how it’s all going to turn out.”
“Don’t mention it, my dear. I’m glad to help out a good cause. Here’s to the Factory!” Blanch
replied jovially clinking Ginny’s glass.
Ginny smiled and sipped her wine. It really was quite delicious she thought. She felt rather
light-headed. She waited for a moment and it soon passed.
“How’s your Ticket of Leave faring? You should be free by now I would’ve thought?” Blanch
asked innocently.
Ginny shook her head. She was losing concentration for some reason, perhaps it the whale meat
wasn’t agreeing with her? “Um, um. The Governor hasn’t replied yet. It’s long overdue too,” she said
absent-mindedly.
“Well my dear. I can take care of that for you, you know. Arthur owes me a thing or two. He agreed on
two years service and that should be plenty. I know he wants to make you do the full seven but I could
put in a word if you like?”
“Please. Seven years? I can’t do that. He promised.”
“Cheer up, dear. George is here! I’ll get you out. You just stick with me. We’d make a great
couple! Here’s to your freedom!” Blanch cried happily clinking glasses.
Ginny raised her arm and drained her glass. Blanch wasted no time in refilling it.
“Couple? Who us? Nah. Don’t know you yet. Nice medals though,” Ginny slurred. “Whassis
about you fightin’ the natives then? Emma tol’ me you was always fightin’. You gonna get anuvver
medal or summat?”
“Emma? Oh, Mrs Sidebotham. Ah yes, I expect the Governor will give out a few medals, my
dear,” he said. “Do you, know that reminds me of the oddest thing.”
Ginny slumped back in the chair and Blanch took her glass and placed it on the table. “G’wan,
I’m liss’nin.”
“Well, I heard that some of my men were attacked by blacks. They killed one of my best
lieutenants.”
“S’terrible.”
“Yes, indeed. But you know the strangest thing is that one of the boongs was very pale. White
almost, with bright red hair. Isn’t that odd. Same colour hair as you in fact my dear.”

Ginny tried to focus on what he was saying. Red hair? Something about natives? “Sounds like
my Billy’s come back to life? But he’s a baby. He would run away from trouble. Anyroad, he’s dead
so why’d chew bring ‘im up? I aint gonna cry y’know. I’m not” Ginny replied, as the tears welled up.
“No, of course you’re not my dear. Are you all right? You look a bit pale? Would you like to
lie down for a little while? There’s a spare room at the end of the patio. It might help you know,”
Blanch said with great concern.
“No, no. Ah, oh dear. I’ve got a splitting ‘eadache. P’raps I should go ‘ome.”
“Oh really. You can‘t go yet. We’re just getting to know each other. In any case, the carriage
won’t return for an hour, just gone to take the Vicar home I believe. Tell you what. Why don’t you go
and have a rest for a little while. It’ll do you the world of good.”
Ginny’s mind was in a whirl. Every word Blanch said echoed and reverberated inside her skull.
She felt nauseous and all of a sudden it hit her – she was whittled! She knew that if she didn’t sleep
straight away she would feel very bad the next day. What could it hurt? An hour was all she needed,
the carriage would be back by then and it could drive her straight home.
“S’fine. Where’sa bed?”
Minutes later Ginny was flat on her back in the bedroom snoring gently.
Ginny had a strange dream. She dreamt she was back on the Sydney Cove. It had reached a safe
Harbour and was tied up at the dock. She was the only woman aboard and they’d let all the other
convicts free to enjoy themselves around the town but they’d kept her back. She wore her new dress
and slept on a big bed but the ship rocked on the waves and the room was dark with dim yellow lights
and the door of her cell was locked. Outside her cell Silas Daly sat on a stool. He was dressed in a dark
military uniform with silver trim. He held a wooden sword in his hand. A line of men stood at the end
of a corridor. At the head of the line stood George Blanch. He was bathed in a shaft of sunlight coming
from the deck above. He stared at her with a rapacious leer on his face. In his hand he held a dried up
red rose. He came forward and stood next to Daly. Daly raised his wooden sword. Blanch laughed
menacingly and snapped his fingers.
Suddenly Daly was gone and Blanch was in the cell with her, on the bed. He smiled at her
sweetly and gave her a silver purse. She opened it up. Inside was Billy, her brother. He was very small
and dressed like a native his red hair curled into ringlets. She reached out to him and he turned into tea
leaves. Confused, she smelt the tea, savouring its aroma. Blanch pushed up her dress. She could feel
his hot sweaty breath on her face as he fumbled and groped at her body. She felt distant, disembodied.
Then everything became dark and silent.
She awoke to brightly lit room; the curtains struggled to hold back the glorious sunshine. She
was in bed. Her clothes were on the chair. She was naked under the blanket! Her head ached and
throbbed. On a small table next to her was a glass of water. She drank it greedily.
Suddenly there came a rapping at the door.
It was the maid. She came in carrying a breakfast tray. She set the tray down carefully on the
table. She said nothing but shot Ginny a curious smirk and giggled as she left the room. Perplexed,
Ginny ate her boiled eggs and tea and toast. When she finished someone knocked at the door again. It
was Blanch!
Panicking, Ginny refused to see him. She told him to go away. He said he’d return in a quarter
of an hour. His voice seemed odd. A little softer, more melancholy and without his usual business-like
bark. Was that tenderness Ginny heard?
She sprang out of bed, throwing off the blanket. As she did, she felt a sharp pain in her left
thigh. She could see bruises beginning to darken along the inside of each thigh. Trembling, she
examined herself more closely. Part of her dream had been true. Someone had taken advantage of her
while she slept. She went over to the wash basin and filled it with warm water from the jug. Hands
shaking with fear and rage she washed herself thoroughly.
Who was it?
Blanch!
Blanch had raped her!
Her whole body trembled as she dressed herself. Then she carefully counted the days. It was
bad timing, the worst timing. It’d been a fortnight since her period. Damnation! She suddenly realized
that she could easily be pregnant!
Ginny sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. She began to sob quietly to herself.
She was still sobbing when Blanch entered the room. He rushed to her side, all caring, loving
and tenderness.
Ginny pushed him away, angry and confused. She wanted to go home. She wanted to be as far
away from him as possible. She wanted a big warm bath. She wanted to scream!
Blanch put the red rose on the table.
“What is wrong my dear? You were so wonderful last night. It was like a dream come true,” he
said breathlessly.
“Which part? What’re you on about? I went to bed so early, everyone was still ‘aving a grand
time and I was sozzled! What happened? I had a terrible, terrible dream!”
“No, no my dear. You slept while the guests were leaving. I came in to see whether you wanted
a carriage back home. Don’t you remember?”
“Nah. Me mind’s gone blank. What ‘appened then? I’m still ‘ere aint I” she asked, fearing the
answer.
Blanch stopped in front of her and looked down at her as she sat on the edge of the bed. He
pulled up the chair and sat opposite her. “You mean you can’t remember? That beautiful music we
made last night is gone?”
Ginny gulped and clasped her trembling hands together. “What music? What ‘appened?” she
demanded in a wavering voice.
Blanch hesitated for a second then looked at her square in the eye. “My dear. Last night you
made me the happiest man alive. Last night you accepted my marriage proposal!”
Ginny gasped. She looked up at him. He was smiling sweetly. Suddenly his face was replaced
by the face of the Blanch who’d come to her that night in her dream. Leering, lecherous and
manipulative.
She fainted.
She awoke to find Blanch standing over her applying a warm flannel to her forehead. “Wh,
where’s the ring?” Ginny asked groggily.
Blanch pushed her purse into her hands. Ginny opened it, half expecting to see her brother in
miniature hiding in tea leaves. Instead she found a diamond ring. The stone was small, but she could
see that it was too big for her finger. Gingerly she slipped in on her wedding finger of her left hand.
Blanch seemed to visibly relax beside her. “There my dear. I can get it fixed so that it fits
properly.”
Ginny held her arm out straight and admired the ring. It really was rather nice. She’d never
expected to have a diamond ring; it wasn’t the sort of thing people of her class were given.
“I, er, I er, I can’t remember anything.”
“No. I’m afraid you were under the weather my dear. Must’ve been the whale meat. I thought
there was something wrong with it.”
”Does, er, does anyone else know about this? The marriage proposal I mean.”
“No. Not yet. It was after midnight. Everyone was gone. I did want to say something this
morning but of course I had to wait until we talked.”
Ginny thought furiously. Then finally she said, “Can we wait a little while before we tell
everyone? I’d like to tell my friends first and of course if there’s a chance that Billy’s still alive then
perhaps –“ her voice trailed off.
Blanch smiled smugly and came and sat next to her. He took her hands in his. “My dear. Of
course we can wait a few weeks. I need to talk to the Governor to arrange your Ticket of Leave
anyway. But I’m sorry about your brother. I didn’t mean to get your hopes up. I was a bit drunk when I
said it last night. The man the natives saw was probably from Sydney. They’re much lighter up there.
Believe me, I do hope that Billy is alive, it’s just that after all this time it’s well, you know what I
mean.”
Ginny smiled and bowed her head. “Yes, certainly George. I was just surprised that’s all. Now,
will you take me home please? Matron will be wondering where I’ve gone.”
Chapter 43:
The first few days were the hardest for Billy. The Karadji had insisted that he stay away from
Moorina and drink water only sparingly. Treedareer had been very happy with the Bo-ra Corroboree.
Billy had to remove his penis-bone, his thun-bura, when he needed to urinate. It was nearly as painful
as the ceremony itself but Billy bore it stoically. At first, he was very annoyed to discover that the cake
that Murrimbindi had given him contained grass seeds instead of the mushrooms of the corroboree. But
Pandak pointed out that he’d shown great courage and the ability to enter the spirit world while he was
awake.
Then, just as he seemed to be recovering well, Billy got an infection. It didn’t last long but he
had a fever and the chills and had to stay inside his humpy and miss Pandak’s Karadji ceremony. Billy
was devastated. After all this time with his friend he couldn’t be by his side to help him become a
clever man.
But by the end of the week Billy was able to walk to see Pandak. The Karadji ceremony had
lasted for three days. It’s been a very long time since any tribe had used the Tears of the DreamTime
Serpent and it was the best ceremony that either tribe could remember. Pandak was a hero. He was
battered and bruised but ecstatic. He proudly showed Billy the mass of tiny cuts on his back, each of
which held a small crystal. It was clearly very painful but Pandak had shown stoicism and courage and
basked in the glory of his successful ceremony.
Billy and Moorina were both very proud of him and she happily came up to their camp to look
after the two men as their wounds healed. Two weeks after Billy’s initiation, Murrimbindi called the
tribe together on the corroboree ground for one last time.
The entire tribe was gathered in a circle around the dying embers of the sacred fire as the sun
set. Moorina came forward to where Murrimbindi, Treedareer, Engenama and Pandak stood with the
elders.
In a loud voice Pandak cried, “Moorina, daughter of the Possum and the Cockatoo, light of the
Larmairrermener women. It is time for you to choose your man. The spirits are waiting. What will you
tell them?”
Moorina had a big stick in her hand.
“I am ready,” she said loudly and with the stick she made two long parallel lines in the sand
inside the circle about twenty feet apart. Then, she went up to the fire and took out a long burning
firebrand. She stood still on the outside of the one of the lines. Holding the firebrand out at arm’s
length she spun in a circle, pointing to each man in the circle. When she’d completed the circle she
went around again until the firebrand pointed directly at Billy.
“Loarinna.numer. He is the man I choose,” she shouted.
Billy came out of the circle and went up to the fire. He also took out a long firebrand. He
walked up and stopped so that he was on the outside of the other line. Then Pandak cried,
“Loarinna.numer. Moorina has chosen you to be her man. What do you say?”
Billy jumped over the line and stood with his stick pointed at Moorina.
“I, Loarinna.numer, accept Moorina.”
Pandak looked at his sister, smiling, “Moorina. Is this the man you want?”
She jumped over her line and pointed her stick at Billy. “I, Moorina, choose this man.”
With that Billy and Moorina swung their firebrands at each other so they met in the middle
with a big crash and burst of flame. Then they swapped sticks and turned away from Pandak. Then,
holding hands they left the circle and went out into the darkness beyond the fire.
Lizzy’s shoulders ached. She sat in the sun, trying to absorb every bit of heat she could to drive
off the chill of the icy wind that blew down from Mount Wellington. Carefully, she shifted the heavy
metal yoke onto the cloth that covered her raw bruises around her neck. She heard the clatter of horse’s
hooves on the street outside the gates of the Cascades Factory.
It was a quiet afternoon; the women had just gone inside to eat their midday meal. Lizzy had
been on bread and water for two days. Her arms and legs were skinny despite her growing tummy. She
hated the food at the Factory, the maggoty meat and the rock hard bread, and she wondered if they
were trying to kill her unborn baby by starving her. She tried to prop the twenty-pound weight of the
yoke against the bench. It was of little use and the metal dug further into her skin.
She heard the echo of voices in the corridor. A man and Matron were coming up to the exercise
yard where Lizzy and a few other women lay in the sun.
Silas Daly was shocked by Lizzy’s condition. She seemed to have aged years in the few months
since he’d seen her last. Her cheeks were hollow and her eyes seemed to have sunken back into her
head. But the thing that struck him the most was the big rusty metal yoke that was clamped around her
neck and lay resting on her shoulders.
“What are you doing to her?” Daly asked Matron angrily.
“I’ll thank you to be more polite Mister Daly!” Mrs Hutchinson said sharply. “This woman is
in the Third Class for deliberately getting pregnant and refusing to name the father. By her wanton
actions she has placed a larger burden on the State and must be punished!”
Daly was incensed; he was about to respond to the Matron but Lizzy interjected.
“Sit down, sir. Please.”
Daly looked confused and still angry.
“Please Mister Daly. You aint ‘elping. Just sit and we can talk. Matron’s just doing ‘er job.”
Daly took a deep breath and sat down. Matron turned abruptly on her heels and stalked
haughtily away from them.
“What a sorry state of affairs. Here I brought something for you.” Daly handed her a package.
She unwrapped the parcel eagerly although it was awkward with the yoke on her neck.
“There’s four letters from Miss Ginny. I don’t suppose you’ve heard from her for a while?” he
said.
“No, nothing for months, you did give her my letter didn’t you?”
Daly nodded. “That was months ago. Looks like she wrote back to you at the Jameson’s.”
“Ah, now I left that place nigh on three months ago. Dick gave these to yer?”
“Yes, me donkey was done in and I’ve been stuck on me farm up until last week to grow me
flowers. I went up to the market to sell ‘em and that’s when your Dick gave me the letters.”
“He’s not my bloody Dick!” she exclaimed angrily.
Daly grinned. “No, I didn’t think he was. He’s the dad aint he? Why don’t you shop ‘im?”
“Why?” Lizzy shrugged. “He aint got no money. Morag would either kill ‘im or drop down
dead from an ‘eart attack and little Norrie would be without a mum or dad.”
“Yes but they wouldn’t have this on you.” Daly pointed at the yoke.
“Matron’s a bitch. She’d have me in leg irons or worse if she could. She won’t let me go to a
new master neither. Anyroad, Dick aint got no money so what can he do?”
“You mean you’re just happy to sit there and take it? Don’t you want revenge?”
Lizzy smiled
“You blokes are bleedin’ daft aintcha? I’m a harlot and a whore. I have nowt ter me name. But
at least I aint dead. Not yet anyway. I’ll tell you what though. You could do us a favour. Come back
tomorrow, and I’ll give you a letter for Ginny and Sarah. They’s all I got in the world now ‘cept for
this poor bugger inside me.”
Daly grinned and stood up. “I have to leave now. The Dragon’s glaring at us. I’ll be back
tomorrow and I’ll bring you a few things to help you through. Don’t fret all will be well.”
“My arse it will, ducks,” Lizzy said with a sad smile.
Sarah was not pleased to see Daly. Not a day went by without her thinking of how the soldiers
had raped her and Ginny and beaten up Lizzy. Daly looked and sounded different. He was thin and
tanned, his hair was longer and he had a neatly trimmed beard. He walked properly, without the rolling
gait of the sailor. But Sarah’s hackles were up as soon as Sister Williams announced his arrival on
deck.
Daly looked at Sarah in dismay. He wasn’t sure she was the same woman he knew from the
Sydney Cove. Gone were the rosy cheeks and lustrous black hair and there was no twinkle in her eyes.
Her dress had faded from white to yellow and the edges were tattered and torn. She looked a lot older
than her years.
“Good day Miss Churchill,” Daly said.
“What do you want of me?”
“I have news from a friend, Elizabeth Black. And I also have this for you.” He offered her a
bunch of chrysanthemum cuttings.
“Oh flowers, how nice. I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on Earth,” she said
without enthusiasm. The few visitors she’d had in her time on the HMS Anson had been men, suitors,
usually bearing flowers.
“No, I dare say you wouldn’t, Miss Churchill and for my part, I am not worthy. These are the
best Mums in the country, though. It has taken me many months to perfect them in my garden. I
thought you might like a bit more colour here. Some of them are very special.”
Sarah waved her hand towards the bench. Daly sat down and Sarah sat on the other end, as far
from him as she could get.
“Er, um, did you get my letter?” he said nervously.
“Letter? What letter? Why would you be writing to me?”
Daly seemed flustered. “Well, er, fine. Did Lizzy, I mean Miss Black, not mention me?”
“No, I have not heard from her in months. What is this all about? Stop beating about the bush,
sir.”
“Perhaps it’s best if you read these,” Daly handed her Lizzy’s two letters. “She asked that you
read the smaller letter when I’m here,” he said stiffly.
“Really?” Sarah said cynically.
She opened the letter and read it anyway. It was a short note. Lizzy knew that Sarah would not
welcome Daly and she told her that he’d turned over a new leaf. She described how he’d taken her
letters to Ginny and how he’d asked Surgeon Brown to make Ginny and Sarah his nurses on the
Sydney Cove. She mentioned that she was back in the Cascades and pregnant – not by Daly she pointed
out. He had been the kindest of friends to her.
“Oh dear! Lizzy’s in the Cascades. That terrible! How is she Mister Daly?”
“Her spirits are high but the Cascades is a terrible place.”
“Matron’s put a yoke on her hasn’t she?” Sarah said, tears forming in her eyes.
Daly nodded. “She won’t dob in the father.”
“Damn her! The bitch’d have her breaking rocks if she could!”
She dabbed her tears away and straightened up in her chair. “It seems I’ve been a little hasty
Mister Daly. Would you like some hot chocolate?”
Daly shook his head. Sarah seemed to be virtually penniless; he suspected that her family had
cast her out. “No, no thank you. However, I did also manage to find some tea and tobacco. Perhaps you
could make use of them?” he replied, grateful to Lizzy for preparing him so thoroughly for the
meeting.
“Certainly, we are always grateful for tea. Now, sir, what else do you have for me?”
“Well, Miss Churchill, I’m trying to find if there’s anything amiss with Miss Foxe. I delivered
several of Miss Black’s letters to her and was about to take her reply back to Hobarton when I was
accosted and my donkey stolen. I did leave a letter with the inn keeper in Launceston for him to deliver
to Miss Foxe. However, since that day neither Lizzy nor I have heard a peep from her. There is also a
rather sordid character who is pursuing her and frankly I am worried for her safety.”
“A sordid fellow? Well I’m sure you know about sordid fellows Mister Daly,” Sarah chided.
“That was a little unfair of me, however. Would this fellow’s name be a Commander George Blanch
by any chance?”
Daly squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.
Sarah sighed. “Well Mister Daly. It seems that Ginny doesn’t not think so unkindly towards the
Commander. They are in fact to be wed here in Hobarton next month.”
“Wha, wha. That’s scandalous!” Daly gasped. “The chap’s a damned charlatan and rogue of the
first order. Why let me show you what he gave me. What do you think of this?” he cried throwing a
small leather purse down onto the bench.
Bemused, Sarah picked it up. It was a small, dark brown and poorly made change purse. She
turned it over in her hands.
“What of it?” she asked curiously.
“It is human skin! Blanch shot the native himself. He was proud of it!”
Sarah dropped the wretched thing with a squeal of disgust. “Mister Daly. Whatever do you
think you’re doing bringing a disgusting thing like that here! That’s terrible!”
Daly picked up the purse and put it into his pocket. “My apologies Miss. However now you can
see the type of man that Miss Foxe is to marry. Are you content to let her marry him without warning
her?”
Sarah cocked her head to one side. “Well, it is her choice isn’t it? I believe that he is a rich and
powerful man. She seemed pleased that he could get her a Ticket of Leave. I think in some ways I’m
rather jealous of Ginny you know.”
Daly was crestfallen. “Well, well there are other things too. Things that Ginny already knows.
He’s a cruel man and he kept saying things about her brother. I’m not sure what he meant but
somehow he wants to get her brother, perhaps by marrying her?”
“Come now Mister Daly,” Sarah laughed. “Don’t be so silly. Ginny’s brother is dead. In any
case how would marrying Ginny help? No, perhaps as Lizzy says, you have feeling for Ginny
yourself?”
Daly stared at her. He’d never really thought about it like that. He did have pangs of guilt
towards Ginny and Sarah. He was sorry he’d raped Ginny. But was he falling in love with her?
“Me? In love with Miss Foxe? No. That cannot be! And she has not written to me in months.
So she surely must be very angry with me for some reason.”
“Ah, Mister Daly. That’s where you are mistaken. Ginny has written two letters to you and four
to Lizzy. If as you tell me, Ginny no longer despised you, then perhaps receiving no replies to her
letters helped persuade her to accept Blanch’s offer. Perhaps she thinks that you do not care for her?”
Chapter 44:
Matron was very upset with Ginny. Now that she was to marry Blanch, Matron would have to
find another nurse. It was very inconvenient, especially with the recent increase in women convicts and
the Governor’s budget cutbacks.
Matron wrote to Governor Arthur imploring him to deny Commander Blanch’s request for
Ginny’s hand. She had a long association with the Governor but she had no idea what the man actually
thought. If she’d been an evangelical Calvinist or perhaps a man, he might’ve been a bit more
forthcoming, but as it was, most of his correspondence to her consisted of short terse commands
without explanation or discussion.
Ginny prepared as best she could. Since the day of the dinner party she’d seen Blanch twice.
She was very confused. Becky had received the news with great enthusiasm but then Blanch did not
visit for a fortnight. When he did he was distracted and brusque. He gave Ginny a guinea to go and
“tidy herself up” and rode off north to Port Dalrymple to tell his boss, Edward Curr, of their impending
marriage. He returned a month later, not noticing any change in Ginny and cutting her short when she
tried to explain that she’d spent the money on food. He was not pleased; he expected his wife to obey
his orders. He was a busy man and was on his way to seek the approval of the Governor in Hobarton.
Ginny was most decidedly pregnant. She’d been sorely afflicted by morning sickness and tiredness.
She cried desperately when Blanch left her.
Again, Silas Daly’s timing was off. He arrived in Launceston at noon and went straight to the
Old Imperial hotel. The manager greeted him warmly. He never forgot a face.
“Mister Daly. Good to see you again. Are you well?”
“No, sir, I am not. However, I would like a room, and boarding for my horse. I hope I can rely
on you to ensure that she will be safe?”
The manager grimaced. “Yes indeed, sir and I can give you our best room at a very low rate as
well. We have hired a guard now and we run the safest hotel in the town, sir.”
“Good. Oh and one more thing. When I was here last, I left a letter which you assured me
would be delivered to the Female Factory. Do you know whether that happened?”
“Why, yes, sir, I gave the letter to Constable Morgan myself, sir. He was on his way to the
Factory and obligingly delivered it. Is there anything wrong, sir?”
“No. Nothing is wrong. Thank you for your time. Good day.” Daly wondered if he should
confront the Policeman.
At two o’clock Daly knocked on the door of the Female Factory. Ginny opened the door and let
him in. She looked tired and irritated. He was surprised that she still wore her simple blue convict issue
dress; apparently Blanch hadn’t given her anything better to wear in the six weeks since his proposal.
There was something else about her, something he couldn’t put his finger on. She had a rosy glow to
her cheeks and sheen to her hair. She looked very healthy. Perhaps he’d misjudged her and she was
actually looking forward to marrying that rogue Blanch?
“Hello Mister Daly. What brings you to these parts after so long?” she said acidly.
Daly thrust a bunch of chrysanthemum cuttings at her. “My word, you are looking well, Miss
Foxe. I bring you apologies, explanations and news and here, please accept these. They grow easy and
last ages. I sell ‘em down at the New Norfolk market.”
Ginny was surprised. She’d never really expected to see Daly again, nor did she really care.
There was too much in her life to worry about. Now that he stood in front of her she’d expected him to
just pour out a stream of lies and excuses. She threw the flowers down on the table unceremoniously
and gestured for Daly to be seated.
He shook his head.
“I expect you’re very tired and I don’t want to waste your time talking. I’m sorry I couldn’t
pick up your letter last time, me donkey was stolen and later killed and the hotel manager said he’d
deliver my note of apology but apparently he gave that to Constable Morgan.”
“You left me a note? Really?”
“Hmmm. Now I understand,” Daly said thoughtfully. “I have written to you and Miss Churchill
several times since then, but I don’t suppose you got those letters? No? Well, I shall file an official
complaint. It seems someone has been interfering with the post.”
“Oh?” Ginny resisted the urge to mock Daly; perhaps there was something in what he said. For
some time, she’d suspected that someone had been reading her letters.
Daly smiled; Ginny was becoming less hostile as she digested the news.
“Please can you read this letter? It explains everything that’s happened in the last few months. I
spent hours writing and re-writing it. I also have visited Miss Black and Miss Churchill and here,
please take their letters. I’d like to drop in later after you’ve read the letters. Could I come by
tomorrow?”
“Mr Daly, that is very thoughtful of you. Three o’clock tomorrow would be fine. Oh, and I’m
sorry about your donkey.”
The following afternoon Ginny appeared much more relaxed and happy. She had prepared a
cup of hot chocolate, which Daly appreciated, although it was very sweet and lukewarm.
“Thank you for the flowers Mister Daly,” she said smiling. “Now tell me ‘ow are Sarah and
Lizzy?”
Daly didn’t know what the women had written to Ginny, but he’d expected her to be very
interested in their lives and was glad for the chance to share the gossip. Ginny was saddened to hear
that Sarah’s health hadn’t improved and also unhappy that she, like Ginny, had heard nothing from the
Governor about her Ticket of Leave.
On hearing of Lizzy’s condition Ginny snarled angrily, “That damned Jameson is just a bugger!
I shall tell George. I don’t care what Lizzy says, the bastard should pay!”
“I think you should talk to Lizzy first. She’s been wearing a yoke for nearly two weeks. It
might just make matters worse.”
“P’raps you’re right. P’raps George can get her out of the Factory. I shall write to him today.
Now then. It sounds like you’ve ‘ad a few problems yerself, ducks.”
“Well, you read my letter. I’m just sorry I couldn’t get here to tell you about Blanch earlier,
before, well before you know what …” His voice trailed off lamely.
“Yes, I know. You don’t like Blanch much do you?” Ginny speculated.
“Miss Foxe, I know you have no reason to listen to me and every reason to marry Blanch. He is
rich and powerful and has the ear of the Governor, but – “ he paused before diving in, for though he’d
practised this conversation for days, he was still unsure how she’d take it. “You already know he has a
grudge against your brother for killing his friend and stealing his things?”
Ginny put up her hand to stop him.
“What? Billy killed someone? Did George tell you that? Are you lying to me Mister Daly?”
Daly shook his head emphatically. “No, no. ‘Pon my soul, Miss Foxe. I clearly remember
Blanch telling me that Billy killed his friend on the Navarino and there was a witness but he was too
scared to come forward.”
“Twaddle, Mister Daly! Billy wouldn’t kill anyone. George must’ve been making it up. You
were drinking I ‘spect?”
“Yes. We’d had a few but he was sober. He knew what he was saying. In any case, we could
check the Black Books.”
“I don’t understand why all the fuss about my Billy. He’s dead aint he! Now, what else, Mister
Daly.”
Daly coughed and took a sip of chocolate. He wanted Ginny to calm down a bit before he
continued.
“Well, I first met the Commander in London many years ago,” he said carefully “He wanted
me to find prostitutes for a party he was attending, special women who didn’t mind being whipped and
worse.”
Ginny stared at him harshly with clenched teeth. “Go on.”
Daly smiled nervously. He’d expected her to have thrown him out by now.
“I’m sorry Miss Foxe, maybe he’s changed, but when I met him at the Cornwall he told me that
he enjoyed that company of gins, of black women. He said they could take more pain. He said he
trades them and, and er he gave me this. It’s made from the privates of a black man. A man that Blanch
himself slew.”
Daly held out the aborigine scrotum money purse for Ginny to take. She shrank back in terror.
“That’s horrid! Mister Daly. I can’t believe that you showed me this horrible thing! That’s just
terrible! Put it away at once!”
Daly hastily pocketed the purse and stood up to leave.
“No, no. Don’t go yet, sir. Tell me, are you certain that George killed a black and made that
ghastly thing?” Ginny asked urgently.
“I don’t know, Miss Foxe. I do know that he told me so. But was he pulling my leg? Perhaps
that’s what it was, a silly jape and nothing more. However, I felt I had to tell you all I know about the
man in case you might er, you might, um. You know,” Daly ended feebly.
Ginny shook her head in disbelief. “Well, it seems Becky was right Mr Daly. Tell me, ‘ave you
got any money? Could you afford a wife? Do you know the Governor? I don’t know why you come up
‘ere to bother me. Oh, I appreciate the gossip and it’s good to ‘ear from Lizzy and Sarah. But Mr Daly,
I suspect that you may have feelings for me? Hah! P’raps it’s guilt? But believe me, I have no feelings
for you! You hate George and you’re just jealous. You’re making up lies. I will thank you to keep your
stupid feelings and your nasty thoughts to yourself. I am going to marry George Blanch and I am going
to be bloody happy. And you can bugger off!”
“Sarah m’dear. I met the most wonderful man for you today,” Sister Williams said. “Come,
come. Let’s have some tea and I’ll tell you all about him. You must meet him. The poor dear’s Welsh
and a Catholic!”
Sarah put down the trowel and took off her gardening gloves. Sister Williams had been
scheming for months to find her a suitable husband. She’d got the idea that a good man would free
Sarah from the HMS Anson and lift her gloomy spirits. The problem was that they couldn’t exactly
advertise for a suitor and in any case Catholics were few and far between.
“Well dear. After Mass this morning, Bishop Nixon introduced me to Father Willson. He’s the
new Catholic priest. Tea, dear?” Sister Williams interrupted herself to pour tea for them both as they
sat in the shade on the deck of the Anson. A rowboat drifted slowly by on the river and a slight breeze
wafted the smell of Sarah’s gardenias to them.
“Father Nixon introduced me to a nice young policeman from Oatlands. His name is Edwards,
Gareth Edwards. He’s got a lovely lilting Welsh accent. Very handsome chap too, naughty of me I
know, but I’m sure you’d agree!”
Sarah smiled graciously. Sister Williams was such a fusspot. She was always messing around
looking for new things for Sarah to do, new people for her to meet. She didn’t want to seem ungrateful
but the Sister really was like a mother hen sometimes. Certainly there were times when Sarah felt very
lonely and unhappy and even occasionally she’d wondered aloud whether life was worth living, but
she got through them, eventually. Sometimes she could go weeks without a nightmare. Anyway, Sarah
didn’t need men. Gardening would suit her just fine, gardening and perhaps the Cloth. She thought it
odd that Sister Williams hadn’t ever talked to her about joining a Convent. Perhaps she didn’t think she
was pious enough.
Sister Williams watched Sarah carefully. The young woman didn’t seem very excited about the
prospect of meeting the man; she’d rejected the three other suitors she’d arranged in very short order.
But she was sure that the right husband would transform Sarah. She’d heard Sarah wake up
yelling and screaming from her nightmares. She always screamed about men, about her father and the
Corporal and about beatings. The Sister knew that Sarah needed to meet a kind and gentle fellow, a
man of compassion; a man would protect her from harm and violence. Gareth Edwards seemed to be
just the man for young Sarah.
She understood how difficult it was for young people to meet. There were ten men for every
woman in the country and the women were constrained by the stifling norms of society. Particularly
the upper class women, who could only meet men with a chaperone. Sarah was stuck on the HMS
Anson with virtually no hope of finding Mister Right. Sister Williams wished that Sarah would show a
bit more enthusiasm.

“He came over on the HMS Navarino, you know. He was in the Navy. Quite high up too. They
gave him a good pension and he’s thinking of buying a house. He’s just not sure whether to stay in the
interior. Oatlands is much more remote than Hobarton, don’t you think?”
Sarah nodded and smiled politely. “Oh, he might know Ginny’s brother then.”
“Ginny? Virginia up at Launceston?”
“Yes, she said her brother Billy was on the Navarino,” Sarah said, showing a little more
interest. “I wonder if Mr Edwards knows him?”
Sister gave her a beaming smile. This was more like it!
“Well, do you want to ask him? I’m sure I can arrange a meeting.”
Sarah sipped her tea thoughtfully. Could it do any harm, she mused. Ginny would certainly
want to know how Billy had fared on the voyage even though it was over three years ago and he’d
escaped and disappeared in the bush for the last two years. She was sure she wouldn’t like the fellow,
but she was getting bored of female company. Perhaps it would do her good.
“Hmmm. I really don’t have anything to wear though,” Sarah answered quietly.
Sister Williams heart leapt, she’d cure Sarah yet! The silly girl was fast becoming an old
spinster!
“Don’t you worry my dear. I’m going to Hobarton on Tuesday to pick up a consignment of
dresses from the Governor’s office. I’m sure we’ll find something nice for you.
Chapter 45:
Sarah hated Hobarton; it was a dirty little town. The streets were very dry and the crowds of
drunken men and mangy dogs kicked up clouds of red dust. She scowled through the window of the
Stage as it slowly made its way down Harrington Street towards St Joseph’s church.
They were met at the church by Father Willson himself. He seemed very eager to see them and
almost immediately began to talk excitedly to Sister Williams about the design for the new St Mary’s
Cathedral. He led the two women down a little path on the side of the church to the gardens at the rear.
He gestured towards a long bench in the shade of a large gum tree.
“My dear, would you like some refreshment? A glass of water perhaps?” the priest asked
Sarah.
“No? Fine, then I hope you don’t mind if Sister and I pop inside the sacristy to fetch your
young man. I’m so excited to show her the latest design for the Cathedral. Please take a seat in the
shade and he’ll be out shortly.”
Father Willson ushered Sister Williams into the church ahead of him. Sarah sat down on the
bench and made herself comfortable. It was nice to be outside and on dry land for a change. There
were a lot more birds than she was used to. She wondered whether she should try and grow some small
trees on the Anson; perhaps that might attract them?
Just then she heard the church door open with a squeak. She turned around as a slim, dapper
man dressed in dark blue strode confidently towards her. He stopped in front of her, holding a small
bunch of flowers in his hand. He bowed slightly from the waist as he doffed his Policeman’s cap
towards her.
“Good mornin’ to you, Miss Churchill,” he said pleasantly.
Sarah put her hand to her mouth and gaped at the man in astonishment.
“You, you! It’s you isn’t it?”
The man smiled anxiously. “Yes. It’s me. It was the only way I could see you, Miss Churchill,”
he apologized in a strong Welsh lilt.
“Private Jones! Private Jones. I recognize you even with those sideboards.” Sarah wagged her
finger at him. “I’m shocked! You weren’t in the Navarino! What are you doing here? What do you
want of me and why did you lie? To a priest of all people!”
Jones winced and waved at the bench. “Do you mind if I sit down Miss Churchill? I can
explain everything.”
Sarah looked around in a panic. They were alone in the garden. She was afraid of him. She
scrunched up to the end of the bench and waved her arm.
“There, sit there, right down the end,” she said nervously.
Jones perched himself on the far end of the bench with his hat on his knees. He coughed and
tried to compose himself.
Sarah noted with some disdain that he didn’t cover his mouth with his hands when he coughed.
“Miss Churchill. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied to Father Willson about my name. He’s a fine man
and doesn’t deserve that. But I had a reason. A very good reason. The best of reasons.”
His voice tailed off feebly. Sarah looked up at him.
“I’m a Policeman, isn’t it?” he started nervously.
What a sparkling conversationalist, Sarah thought. Jones’ face began to redden and he
struggled on.
“Up at Oatlands. I’ve been up there for a year now. I’m very respectable, isn’t it! And I’m
earning good money. I have a good pension from the Navy. I’m doing well, y’know, quite well for a
miner’s son,” he said, almost pleading.
Sarah tried, not very successfully, to stifle a yawn.
“People look at me Miss Churchill and they say – there goes a fine gentleman. He has
everything, that Gareth Jones. But, I don’t Miss Churchill. I don’t have everything.”
He moved a little closer to her along the bench.
Sarah looked at him, her eyes flaring wide with alarm. He stopped.
“Miss Churchill,” he began. He had a pained expression on his face. He seemed to be forcing
the words to come out. “Miss Churchill ever since I first saw you I knew that I loved you.”
Jones extended his arm, offering the flowers to Sarah. He squirmed awkwardly off the bench
and knelt with one knee on the ground.
“Miss Churchill. Would, would, would you do me the honor of accepting my hand in
marriage?’ he said, the words finally tumbling from his mouth.
Sarah was stunned into silence. She looked at the man for minute, a long slow minute.
To Gareth Jones, it seemed like an age. Sarah just stared at him, she had her mouth closed, her teeth
seemed to be clenched and she made no attempt to take the flowers he proffered.
Finally she shook her head. Not a sad slow shake but a firm determined, decisive shake, her
long white neck arching like a swan’s neck. Jones was dying to reach out and touch her, to hold her;
she was more gorgeous than he’d remembered, more beautiful than he’d been dreaming of these long
years since he arrived in Hobart Town.
She held up her palm towards him.
“Put away your posy, sir,” she said sternly. “I will not marry you and I don’t like surprises!”
Jones let out a low groan, dropped his hand dejectedly and sat back on the bench. He thought
for a minute.
“Is it because I’m not Catholic? I don’t mind converting if you want me to?”
Sarah shook her head but said nothing.
“There’s, there’s someone else then, isn’t it?” he ventured in a sad voice.
Sarah smiled and shook her head again. “Hah! Of course not. There’s no-one else. How could
there be?” she said before she could stop herself.
Jones’ eyes lit up. “Then why not me, Miss Churchill? Why not me? You can be a free woman.
I’ll ask to be posted to Hobarton if you don’t like the country. Isn’t three years in that prison hulk
enough? I can free you Miss Churchill! I’m a good man, a respectable man, I have money and I’ll do
everything in my power to make you happy. Please take my flowers,” he pleaded.
Sarah looked at Jones. She didn’t see the dapper, confident Policeman, instead she saw Private
Jones, his face yellow in the light of the oil lamps of the Sydney Cove, his lips curled into a snarl as he
held Lizzy with his left hand and punched her viciously in the stomach with his right, the look of
delight and satisfaction in his eyes as Lizzy crumpled to the ground at his feet.
“Mister Jones, you may look like a respectable gentleman, but I know better,” Sarah said, her
voice rising and shaking with emotion. “I saw you strike a defenceless woman. I cannot marry you.
You will do it again. I know this. I’ve seen more than enough violence at home. I will have no more!”
Jones looked at her, astounded
. “What? What! You mean that woman on the Sydney Cove? Miss Black? Is that the one you
mean? I can’t believe that you still remember that! She forgave me you know. Didn’t she tell you that?
It was a mistake, an accident. I didn’t mean to do it, ‘pon my honor! I’m not like that. Please believe
me!”
“No, sir. I’ve seen violence before. Too much. You smiled, Mister Jones. I saw the look on
your face. You smiled!” Sarah said determinedly, standing up to leave.
Jones sat still on the bench looking up at her.
“No! That’s not it. It can’t be. Miss Black will tell you. She forgave me. Ask her! Go on! Ask
her!”
As Sarah turned to leave, Jones suddenly stood up and waved the flowers at her.
“My offer still stands Miss Churchill,” he pleaded. “Please ask your friend. She’ll vouch for
me. Please?”
Sarah shook her head slowly and took a step towards the church door.
“I’m not good enough for you am I!” Jones shouted, “That’s the real reason! I’m just a poor
working class man and you’re a Nib. You think you’re too posh for me, isn’t that so?”
“No Mr Jones. No, it’s about violence, not class. Even Nibs can be violent, isn’t it!” she
rebutted, almost spitting Jones’ silly catch phrase back at him.
As she walked away, Jones yelled back to her.
“I don’t beat women Miss Churchill! You ask your friend. Maybe if I was rich you’d have
me?”
His final words floated into empty air as the church door closed behind Sarah.
Ginny was still crying when Blanch’s lovely letter arrived that afternoon. It was the perfect end
to a rotten day. Silas Daly really was a nasty character. She couldn’t understand why he’d made up all
those lies about George.
She wasn’t in love with George Blanch and she wasn’t sure she ever could be. But she was
carrying his baby and she’d be a good and loyal wife. His delightful letter not only included a large
sum of money so that she could buy a proper dress and shoes and coat, but more importantly George
said that he loved her and missed her and he finally admitted that he knew that she was pregnant. The
Governor’s invitation to his office to receive her Ticket of Leave was almost an afterthought.
The next few days were a whirl of activity as Matron gave her the afternoons off to arrange her
trip and pack her few belongings. She wrote to Lizzy and Sarah, but she knew that only Sarah would
be able to attend the impending ceremony. She decided to do most of her shopping in Hobarton.
Matron was happy, as two more nurses were soon to arrive to replace Ginny. Becky was sad to see her
friend depart but Ginny promised that she’d have George petition for her Ticket of Leave.
So it was that one wet Saturday morning Ginny finally boarded the Coach for Hobart Town and
her new life as a free wife and mother. She hoped that she’d never see the inside of the Launceston
Female Factory again.

Black Bob and his men waited impatiently in the bushes for the Coach. The squall had passed
and the fierce winds had abated as quickly as they’d arisen. It’d been a simple task to push the tree
over onto the road and there was plenty of cover in the bushes.
Ginny talked happily with the two elderly couples in the carriage. They were on their annual
outing to their old friends in Hobarton and chatted excitedly and incessantly like young children. The
windows were shut tight as the rain had threatened but the sharp summer storm had passed them to the
south. The road was very rough and rutted and the carriage often skidded in the mud. It was all very
good fun.
Ginny lifted the window flap slightly and looked ahead. The bushes crowded over onto the
narrow track. The road disappeared around a corner and she wondered if they were going to reach
Oatlands before teatime as the driver had promised. She was about to put her head out and yell up to
him when the carriage suddenly lurched to a halt. She could a tree lying in the road.
“Get inside and keep yer ‘eads dahn!” the driver bellowed.
Ginny tied the window shut just as she heard a loud bang followed by a grunt. There were two
more gunshots and then a scraping noise and a thud that sounded like Old Clive falling off the Coach
and onto the road.
One old man in the carriage began to rummage around inside his bag. He drew out a pistol.
“Put that damned thing away James,” his wife hissed at him as he fumbled for the powder.
“You’ll get us all killed, man!” the other old man spat at him.
Mumbling to himself, he put the gun back in his bag just as there came a rapping at the door.
“Bail up! Come on out and bail up!” a gruff voice cried.
They looked around the carriage despairingly. They had no choice. They were still many miles
from any town and it was clear that the bushrangers meant to rob them.
Ginny unlocked the door and pushed it open. Without hesitating she stepped out of the carriage.
The others followed her reluctantly.
There were just three bushrangers, all very dirty and unkempt with big unwashed beards and
clothes made from rags and kangaroo skins. They were very heavily armed, each with at least four
guns. The leader, a broad shouldered man, stepped forward brandishing two flintlock shotguns. He
pointed them at the frightened passengers.
“Bail up!” he shouted menacingly.
They raised their hands high in the air immediately.
“Tom, Jim! Search ‘em!” he commanded.
The two men came forward and quickly and efficiently searched the passengers, one at a time,
taking great care not to be caught unawares by any heroics. They came to Ginny last.
“So, Victoria Fotheringham. Ah’ve been expecting thee. Where’s tha ‘usband now then, eh?”
the leader sneered in a broad Yorkshire accent.
Ginny started in surprise as the man came forward. She recoiled from the stench and he
laughed loudly.
“Ower ripe for thee, my lovely, eh?”
He stuck one shotgun in his coat and reached out and grabbed her hand. He pulled her towards
him roughly. “Ah, ha! What’s this then? My Lord Blanch never told us’uns tha’d be pregnant now, did
he? I wonder, does ‘ee know himself?”
Ginny was petrified. She said nothing and tried to control her trembling hands.
A few minutes later five other bushrangers came out of the undergrowth. The leader of the
gang directed them to unhitch the horses.
“Now then ladies and gentlemen. I am Black Bob. Ye can see that ah’m as white as t’driven
snow, bur ah’ve a black temper so speak when tha’s spoke to or ‘appen I might get riled.”
“Now, strip! The lorra ya. ‘cept thee, Miss Blanch. Ah want thee nice and warm an’ in fine
fettle. Tha ‘usband won’t pay an ‘undred guineas for damaged goods will ‘e?”

Ginny immediately began to cry. Her back was hurting, she had a headache and now the
horrible man was going to hold her for ransom in the bush instead of letting her go to Hobarton for her
wedding.
“Please, please, sir, you can ‘ave all me money. Just let me go. I’ll talk to George and get you
whatever you want. Please, sir. Can’t you see I’m just a poor defenceless pregnant woman?”
Black Bob laughed heartily as his men hurriedly bundled all the clothes and bags onto the four
horses. “Indeed ah’m not blind. Bur to us’uns you look more like a big fat sack of gold. Now don’t fret
woman! Tha knight in shining armour will be up here on t’white horse to pay for thee in time for
t’wedding! Mebbe he’ll learn t’pay us proper this time, like! Now boys. Let’s be off! Miss Blanch,
kindly allow young Tom to put thee on t’orse. We’ve a long journey ahead and tha wouldn’t want to
walk!”
Two men came up behind Ginny and dragged her forcefully until she realized that her
resistance was useless and she let them put her on a small horse they’d brought with them. Black Bob
smiled at the four old folk as they shivered in the afternoon sun.
“Thank you for your provisions. Ah’m sure t’ Police will arrive in a day or two. Tha might
fancy t’bide in t’carriage tonight. Good day!”
With that they set off in a little convoy back up the road and onto a trail into the bush. Ginny
was perched awkwardly on her horse as it lurched along the rough track. She cried quietly into her
handkerchief and hoped that rescue would come soon.
Chapter 46:
Billy and Moorina were in no hurry to leave the lake. The game was plentiful and the tribe was
content to allow Pandak and Billy time to recuperate. Billy had moved into a humpy with Moorina and
their child after their fire-sharing ceremony. It had taken a month for him to be able to have sex.
Billy had no second thoughts about his choice to become a Larmairrermener warrior. He was a
free man and he loved Moorina and really enjoyed being around her. She reminded him of his sister
Ginny. She had a piercing wit and was fiercely independent. She rarely got angry and took great
enjoyment in teasing him. She was also very kind and gentle. They were looking forward to their
daughter’s first birthday, the day the tribe would officially welcome her into the world. Moorina would
ask the elders to name her Narcoopa.Publee, the Good Swan, because she loved the water and never
misbehaved. Billy knew that he was a very lucky man.
The other warriors held him in high regard. He was the brother in law of the great Pandak and
he had killed a white fella. The six scars across his chest healed into nice big raised-up bumps and
Moorina had carefully braided his thick hair and matted it into ringlets with ochre and fat. Billy was
very content with life.
The Hobarton Coach had clattered by the taproom of the Old Imperial Hotel. Daly had watched
in vain, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ginny in the Coach as she left Launceston for good for the arms
of that scoundrel Blanch.
Two days later, Daly was still drinking in the taproom when he heard that the coach had been
ambushed. Daly was trying unsuccessfully to recover from the hangover of several nights of heavy
drinking. His head ached, fit to burst, as he gloomily nursed a cup of hot chocolate. Thankful that he
hadn’t brought the trap, Daly paid the innkeeper and plodded upstairs to his room. Oatlands was two
days away in good weather, and he hoped to be at the scene of the crime before the crowds got there.
He needn’t have worried. The Police had no intention of investigating once they discovered
that the passengers had been taken to Ross. They’d heard that notorious Black Bob had shot several
people in cold blood, raped two of the women, stolen all the money, and carried a pregnant woman
away with them.
The rumours were probably exaggerated but Daly was afraid for Ginny and was eager to get to
Ross as soon as he could. He expected Blanch to be quick to ride up from Hobarton and wanted to be
ahead of his rival.
Daly arrived at the scene of the robbery in time to see Blanch and a dozen mounted men ride
off towing the carriage back to Oatlands. One lone rider stayed behind. Even from a distance, he
looked very familiar and Daly was delighted to discover that it was ex-Private Gareth Jones from the
Sydney Cove.
Jones had de-mobbed just six weeks after the Sydney Cove had docked. He had chosen to work
as a Police Constable in Oatlands because it took him away to the countryside and he loved to ride his
horse between the towns. Sometimes he guarded the mail carrier and occasionally he escorted the
Coach. It’d been Jones who’d found the four elderly folk in the carriage early that morning. He’d
ridden back up the road at night when he’d discovered that the Coach had not passed through Oatlands
as expected.
Jones was glad to see Daly; he’d been hoping to meet someone from the Sydney Cove. He had
important questions to be answered. It was a getting late and Daly was keen to pursue the bushrangers
at first light so they decided to camp out for the night. The Corporal would not allow his men to follow
the bushrangers without his permission, but Jones was happy to stay overnight and reminisce about the
old times on the Sydney Cove.
They lit a small fire and sat down to drink a bottle of cheap rum as the darkness closed in
around them.
“So boyo, you were saying that you’ve seen them women from the Sydney Cove then?” Jones
asked eagerly in his lilting Welsh dialect. “Tell us all about ‘em then, man.”
Daly poured himself some rum and stared into the fire. “It was quite a surprise really, Jonsey.
It’s been nigh on three year since we landed. I thought they’d all be married off b’now, but they aint.”
Jones stared at Daly intently.
“Aye, me friend has a farm down my way,” Daly continued. “Lizzy, Miss Black, worked for
him and I delivered her letter to Miss Foxe, she goes by the name Fotheringham now and she’s up at
the Lonnie Female Factory working as a nurse.”
“Ah, she was the one you did on the ship, right? That must’ve been an interesting meeting,”
Jones smiled at the thought.
Daly winced. “Nigh on tore me bleedin’ head off!” he chuckled. “Got a helluva temper on her,
Ginny has!”
“Oh, Ginny, eh? Seen ‘er a few times, have you?”
“Too many for ‘er liking!” Daly replied glumly. “You know she’s marrying Commander
Blanch, I suppose?”
“Oh aye. The old folks from the Stage said Ginny had been captured for a ransom of a hundred
guineas. Black Bob even wants Blanch to deliver the ransom!”
Jones poked at the fire while Daly poured himself another rum. “So, have you ‘eard much
about the other woman from the ship? What was her name? Church, Sarah Church or something like
that?”
“Bugger off, Taf! You aint fooling me! Churchill. Sarah Churchill. You know that very well.
Still fancy her do yer?”
“Churchill. Yes, that was ‘er. Nice, very nice. Probably married by now, eh?”
Daly looked at Jones for a long while. Jones started to feel uncomfortable. Jones wondered why
he’d lied and whether he should tell Daly the truth. Just as he was about to confess, Daly interrupted.
“She aint doin’ well Gareth. Not well at all. Seems to have aged ten year y’know.”
“Pity, she reminded me of the girls back ‘ome in the valleys, isn’t it. Lovely pink cheeks and
black hair, spoke very posh an’ all.”
“Never got over the voyage if you ask me,” Daly said. “Probably that bloody Corporal that
done her. Nibs aint used to such things, y’know. They don’t know anyone who’s been beaten up or
done in, they’re stuck away in their Manor houses, aint they!”
“Aye, but the other two, Black and Foxe. Didn’t affect them much, eh? Bloody stuck up them
Nibs. Expect everything to go their way!”
Daly shot Jones a quizzical glance. There seemed to be a tinge of bitterness in the Welshman’s
voice. Daly took a big swig of rum. Jones had changed, he seemed harder, almost callous. He waited
and Jones squirmed awkwardly in the silence.
Eventually Daly said, “Punching old Lizzy, that wasn’t very clever. She may’ve got over it but
none of ‘em forgot what happened that day. We’ll just have to live with it won’t we!”
Jones looked Daly in the eye for a moment before replying, his voice rising angrily. “We was at
sea, boyo. Strange things happen at sea. I was flogged, I paid the price. Seems like you an’ the
Corporal got off scot free!”
“P’raps, p’raps but then again I’ve been itching like mad since then.”
There was a brief pause until Jones suddenly realized what Daly meant. Then Jones laughed
heartily and reached for the rum bottle. “Hah! The scallywag! Gave ya a dose of the clap, did she,
boyo?”
“Nah, nah. Not the clap. Not, sure what it is, but I know I had it before we docked in Hobarton.
S’like murder sometimes!
“Serves ya bloody right boyo!” Jones chided happily.
Daly smiled, glad that he’d managed to curb Jones’ anger. As silence descended on the two
men again, Jones ventured moodily,
“You’re still keen on that Ginny doxy, aint yer?”
Daly stared in to the fire gloomily and nodded.
“Y’know Jonesy. Maybe it’s not so bad that she’s marrying the Commander.”
Jones looked at him questioningly. Daly smiled and explained.
“Well, I wonder how Lord Muck will cope with the itching?”
The following morning, Daly awoke bleary eyed with yet another hangover. He sat up to
survey the surroundings. By luck, his little camp was hidden from the road, although he had a clear
view of the muddy track. As Jones woke, Daly heard a horse coming up from the south. He motioned
for Jones to be quiet and crept forward to get a better look.
A man on a small black horse was approaching through the dawn mist. He was searching for
something along the west side of the road. The well-armed man had a long grey beard and a big
hooked nose under his floppy black hat. After a few minutes he seemed to find what he was looking
for. He dismounted and poked at the bushes. Then, leading his horse, he left the road and disappeared
into the bush.
“Who the devil is that?”
“Ol’ Big Conk! ‘ere eye nose ‘im!” Jones said playfully grabbing his ear and pointing to his
eye, then nose.
“Stop buggerizing around,” Daly said good-naturedly “Do you know him?”
“Oh aye boyo! He’s a Blanch laddie is he and some say he’s in with Black Bob an’ all. I
wonder what he’s up to, isn’t it.”
“Indeed it is, boyo. Perhaps I’ll see where he’s going. Has anyone else tried to track the
bushrangers?”
Jones shook his head decisively, “Oh no, wouldn’t be proper would it now. The Commander
wants to lead the way to get his missus back. Even the Corporal is afraid of him, isn’t it now?”
“Well I’ll tell you what Jonsey. Keep it mum, but I’m going in there. I’ve got me gun and lots
of grub. I’ll just be watching old Big Conk and see what he’s up to. Don’t let on, there’s a good
fellow.”
“Certainly Silas. Don’t get yourself killed now and if you do, you can’t give me the blame,
alright?”
They made Ginny straddle the horse’s wide back and then tied her ankles together under the
animal. Her thighs were bruised and sore and her back ached with every jarring step along the rugged
track.
By the light of the full moon she could barely see Tom as he led her horse on very narrow path
that kept to the cover of the trees and bushes. Her arms ached as she hung onto the horse with one hand
and fended off overhanging branches with the other.
They stopped just before dawn and Tom politely asked her if she wanted a drink or another
blanket. She took both gratefully and wondered why she was being so well treated. She was stiff and
sore and very, very tired. After soaking her kerchief in the cool water and washing her face, she began
to think more clearly. She realized that Black Bob had known that she was on the Coach and somehow
he’d had business dealings with George.
She said nothing as Black Bob spoke quiet words of praise and encouragement to his men.
They’d done well, bailing up the Coach and taking her as a prize. She fervently hoped that George
would pay the ransom quickly and that they wouldn’t hurt her or the baby.
Daly thought it would be very difficult to follow Big Conk but the man was more interested in
speed than stealth. He seemed to know where he was going and Daly was glad that track was clear and
there were few forks or crossing paths.
As dusk fell on the first night, Daly was almost discovered as he followed the track beside a
small stream. Daly stopped to relieve himself, so he tied up Jameson’s mare, Nellie, to a tree. As he
returned to the horse he distinctly heard the neighing of Big Conk’s horse up ahead. He was much too
close!
Thankfully, Nellie was a very quiet animal. She made no sound as Daly led her down the path,
away from their quarry. He tied her out of sight and crept back up the path. Big Conk had stopped for
the night and had already gathered enough wood to start his fire. Daly moved his camp even further
back down the valley. He wrapped himself in a blanket and threw several over Nellie to keep her
happy, warm and most of all, quiet. As darkness fell, Big Conk’s fire blazed, mocking Daly with its
promise of warmth and comfort as he sat shivering in the darkness.
After two days of constant riding they reached Black Bob’s camp. After the first night Ginny
was so tired that she kept falling asleep and Black Bob was worried that she might fall from the horse
and be injured. So Tom rode with Ginny tied firmly behind him. Still, the progress was very slow as
they climbed up into the mountains. The track zig-zagged up steep-sided canyons, around huge
boulders and through dense forests.
At first Ginny tried to stay awake and memorize their route but she soon realized that it was
hopeless to do either and the trek became a painful blur. They came to a halt and she felt herself being
lifted and slung over a broad but smelly shoulder. She was set down in a cozy spot in the shade of a big
rock. It was early afternoon but she was very cold and she was grateful for the warmth from the small
fire.
She greedily drank the hot soup and ate the bread as Black Bob strode over to her. He was
smug and happy. The ambush had gone very well, they got Blanch’s tart and the four old bastards had
been flush with money as well. He’d hoped for more supplies but at least it’d all been quick and he
hadn’t had to shoot anyone.
“Welcome to our humble abode, Miss Foxe. Ah ‘ope you like t’broth. Don’t worry thysel’. We
expect to hear from tha ‘usband right quick. He’ll pay t’ransom and ‘appen you’ll be back in time for
your wedding,” he said amicably.
“Sir, you are a rascal and a rogue. My George will not rest until he sees you on the gallows!”
“Oooh, dear me! Hark at thee!” he laughed, slapping his thigh with his palm. Then becoming
suddenly menacing he added, “Listen girlie, ah’ve supped with t’Commander many more times than
thee! Do you know tha ‘usband? Do you? Pin back tha lugs, ducks. Ah’ve found nigh on twenty gins
for George Blanch, good ‘uns an’ all! Now we need paying and George better dig deep for thee or my
lads’ll take their fun from thee, pregnant or not!”
A sudden chill came over Ginny. There was no mistaking the threat in his voice. Ginny was
deathly tired; she must’ve misheard the terrible, smelly man’s strange Yorkshire accent. Her George
was buying Gins from the bushrangers?
It could not be! Had that scoundrel Daly been right after all?
Hidden in a copse of trees, Daly watched Big Conk ride up the trail to the top of the hill. He’d
ridden all the way around the east side of the rocky outcrop, ignoring two wide trails that scaled the
summit from the south and east. It was clear to Daly from the multitude of horseshoe tracks that Black
Bob’s hideout was probably nestled in between the two rocky peaks atop the hill. He had no intention
of being spotted and so he retreated further north and within an hour came up to the shores of a high
alpine lake. Looking south he could see the track winding up to the saddle, a faint plume of white
smoke rose from the top of the hill. Daly hid a small fire in the shelter of the trees, certain that Big
Conk and Black Bob would spend the night parlaying the terms for Ginny’s release.
There was quite a commotion in the camp as Ginny came back from washing in the little
stream. She saw a man with big grey beard and a hooked nose surrounded by five bushrangers. He
climbed down from his horse and was led away to Black Bob’s crude hut. They’d assigned Tom, the
young bushranger, to watch over Ginny. After an hour or so, Tom brought her a bowl of badger stew
and some bread.
She asked him who the stranger was. Tom grinned and told her he was her ticket out of the
bush. He had been sent by Commander Blanch to arrange terms for her release. Tom noted that the
man wasn’t dead yet so the negotiations must be going well. Sure enough, as darkness fell, George’s
messenger sat around the main campfire with Black Bob and they drank boisterously. They seemed
more like friends, as if the man was himself a bushranger. Ginny huddled by her little fire listening to
the noisy men and hoping that they wouldn’t drink too much. She feared that they’d rape her before
George could set her free.
Daly lay in wait for Big Conk early the next morning. It wasn’t until noon that the man came
into sight. Hidden in the bushes, Daly could see that the man was bleary-eyed and tired and then he
knew that the talks had gone well. As soon as he’d passed, Daly ran back to his horse and took her on
the short cut back down into the valley. He’d tied rags around Nellie’s hooves to muffle the sound and
blur her tracks. He needn’t have worried; Big Conk was struggling to stay awake. Nevertheless, Daly
rode on carefully during the night, determined to get back to the Police station. As he neared the main
road, Daly veered south so that he came out several miles away from where Black Bob had bailed up
the Coach.
Chapter 47:
Oatlands was a small village of some 50 souls, however, being on the only Launceston to
Hobarton road, it had a Police Station with a Corporal and two Constables. It also had four taverns and
more importantly, as far as Silas Daly was concerned, it had a plentiful supply of affordable guns and
ammunition. It’d been five days since the Coach had been robbed. Blanch had conferred with his
emissary, Big Conk, and had amassed several dozen men willing to help him release Ginny.
Daly took a room at the Canterbury Inn. It was expensive but he had a secure place to lock
away his four newly purchased pistols. For once, Daly was in debt, but it was worth it for Ginny.
He met Gareth Jones after dinner. Jones was very excited. All three Policemen would
accompany Commander Blanch on his brave adventure to bring justice and order to the interior. It was
rumoured that Governor Arthur and Edward Curr had ordered Commander Blanch to kill Black Bob
and end the bushranger threat once and for all! Blanch was only too willing to lure Black Bob with
promises of a ransom so that he could kill him. The people demanded law and order and by golly they
would get it!
Though he was only in his twenties, Jones was an experienced military man. He understood
when Daly told him about his trip to Black Bob’s hideout. He told Daly to wait and bide his time.
At dawn the next morning Daly and seven other civilians followed the troop out of Oatlands on
the road north to capture Black Bob, dead or alive.
They headed north towards Launceston, but after only a few miles along the road, the party
veered west into the bush. There were thirty-three people in the group. Daly hung back; he had a week-
old beard and gave his name as Jonah Thomas, hoping that this thin disguise would fool Blanch for a
while.
On the first night they tried to camp together but Blanch and the Police Corporal quarreled over
who was in charge. Constable Jones was ordered to lead the civilians and Daly was relieved that they
set up their camp half a mile behind the main party.
The second day was cut short by bad weather, forcing the men to ride for barely four hours.
That night Jones went forward to fetch the news from the main party. Commander Blanch and
Corporal Riley had made peace of a sort. They decided to split the main party in two when they neared
Black Bob’s hideout. Blanch would lead one group and Riley the other. Constable Harris would ride
with Blanch as an observer. Corporal Riley was unhappy with the undisciplined behaviour of Blanch’s
men. He had been a Sergeant in 30th Regiment of Foot in India and had fought at Trichinoply and
Wallajabad. He knew that the band of volunteers would quickly lose interest in the chase and fight
badly or desert just at the crucial moment. Constable Jones had a lot of respect for the old veteran but
Commander Blanch had other opinions.
Billy and Moorina had camped on the western edge of the lake for two days. Moorina played
with the baby in the warm shallow water while Billy searched for herbs that Pandak told him grew in
abundance on the shore. It was warm and relaxing in the sun. Billy had killed an old male pademelon
and they had plenty of food, although the meat was a bit tough. They were both happy and content to
be alone for a few more days before heading back down to their village in the Big Tree Forest.
Later that afternoon, Moorina saw a thin plume of smoke rising from the hill behind them. Billy
wondered why the white fellas would be up so far into the mountains. They had to be white, as no
aborigines would create an obvious signal unless they wanted to attract attention and the elders of the
Larmairrermener would have known about the intrusion onto the edge of their land.
The following day they awoke to the sound of their little girl screaming. She’d crawled out of
the humpy while Billy and Moorina were making love. Moorina raced out of the humpy and ran to her
just in time to see the tiger snake slide off into the bushes. Frantically she examined the baby, hoping
against hope that she would find nothing.
It was not to be, Moorina found a tiny little puncture mark on the baby’s foot. She splashed
water on the wound and sucked at it trying to remove the poison. Moorina rocked the child in her arms,
singing softly to her to calm her down. At first it seemed to work, the baby quietened down and closed
her eyes. Billy stood helplessly next to his wife. Billy remembered that Pandak had mentioned a bush
whose leaves might help, it was plentiful down in the valley but there were none at the lake.
Just as they thought the danger had passed, the little girl began to squirm and then started
screaming. She screamed and screamed and screamed. Tears rolled down her cheeks and sweat poured
from her tiny body. Billy fussed and fidgeted trying to help as Moorina rocked the baby and tried to
soothe her while her own tears ran down her cheeks. Half an hour later the little girl stopped crying
abruptly.
She was dead.
Moorina told Billy to clear circle of rocks and plants so that she could dance to prepare her
daughter’s spirit for the journey back to the spirit world. She sat cradling the dead child in her arms,
devastated by her loss. Billy then scoured the bush for firewood.
“The fire needs no smoke my husband.”
“Wa! I know how to make a funeral pyre, my love. I wish I didn’t.” Billy groaned.
Under the noonday sun Moorina danced her ancient dance to help her daughter return to the
spirit world. She danced slowly at first but getting faster and more energetic all the time. Billy watched
as Moorina whirled and stomped in a circle around the dead child. She seemed oblivious to all but her
baby.
She danced and danced until she could dance no more and she collapsed in a sobbing heap on
top of the girl’s body. Billy waited. Eventually Moorina got up and told Billy to prepare the fire. It
took him an hour to build the wood up to waist height. Moorina carried the tiny body up and placed it
on the pyre then Billy lit it with a firebrand from the cooking fire. Moorina came and sat next to Billy.
She was calm. Her second child was dead. The wispy plume of smoke was carried off in the wind
taking the baby’s spirit with it.
On the third day Daly’s party camped within sight of Black Bob’s hideout. A thin column of
smoke rose above the two rocky peaks. Black Bob was waiting for them!
The parties were led by two tame aborigines although Daly cynically muttered to Jones that Big
Conk would’ve taken them in a more direct route. Two of the civilians in Daly’s camp became sick
with diarrhoea and when they set out on the morning of the fourth day, Daly’s group was down to
seven men. Four of Blanch’s men also turned back because of illness and fatigue.
Shortly after sunrise they came upon a fork in the track. Daly hung back as Constable Jones
went forward for his orders. Blanch proudly announced that the Governor himself had ordered him to
kill the bushrangers if he could and only to pay the ransom as a last resort. He wanted to go in fast with
guns blazing.
Corporal Riley argued that they should encircle the hill while they were still undetected and cut off all
avenues of escape before sending in a messenger to treat with Black Bob. Blanch insisted that they had
too few men and if the bushrangers got nervous they could bolt and might kill Ginny in the process. A
sudden flash of light settled their argument, a glint of sunlight on steel from the hilltop.
They had been seen!
There were two easily visible entrances to the bushrangers’ hideout. Corporal Riley would take
most of the party west down the main track and mass at the southern entrance. A messenger would be
sent from Riley’s party to parley with Black Bob while Blanch’s group sneaked unseen around the
eastern side of the camp. If the talks failed, Riley would use his looking glass to signal to Blanch and
both parties would attack at together.
Daly was about to interrupt and mention that the camp had a third entrance, a northern
entrance, but Jones quickly waved him down. Pulling him aside afterwards, Jones explained that he’d
been told to stick to Blanch like glue. Corporal Riley distrusted the man and he wanted his own men to
be at the heart of the action.
Riley assembled his men quickly and within minutes he and twenty men trotted down the main
track raising a plume of red dust as they went. Blanch was nervous and excited. He led his small party
of nine men up the smaller right fork until they reached a small creek. Daly, Constable Jones and
another civilian named Philip Cotterol brought up the rear. Daly was glad that Blanch was too busy to
pay much attention to his men and hid between Jones and Cotterol as much as he could.

They followed the stream uphill for several hours until they reached another fork. Blanch called
a halt for lunch. It was warm and sunny and the men were tired. They would rest for an hour. Daly
pulled his hat over his face and the men dozed off.
Jones shook Daly awake and whispered that Blanch had left camp with Big Conk. They’d taken
the northern fork of the track. The party quickly readied themselves and headed up the western fork
towards the top of the hill as Blanch had instructed them. Daly was about to protest that Blanch had
gone the other way when Jones put a finger to his lips, gesturing him to silence.
They rode for half an hour when the track suddenly dipped down to the stream. As Daly
crossed over the creek bed he heard a cry behind him and turned to see Jones fall backwards out of his
saddle onto the ground. He dismounted and hurried over to the man. He seemed to be unconscious.
With the help of Constable Harris, Daly propped Jones up against a rock. It was clear that he was not
going to be able to take any further part in the adventure and Blanch’s leader dismissed the prone
Policeman with a sneer and the party continued their climb up towards Black Bob’s hideout.
Once the group disappeared up the track, Jones opened his eyes cautiously. “That was a bit daft
of me, wasn’t it boyo?”
“You actually landed on your bonce, Jonsey! Got an ‘eadache ‘ave we?” Daly helped the
Constable to his feet and gave him a drink of water.
“Right-ho then. Let’s be getting after the Commander!” Jones said cheerily.
They mounted their horses and set off back down the hill to follow Blanch north around the
side of Black Bob’s hill.
It was afternoon, and Moorina longed to be back at the village. Billy was pleased that Moorina
had put the tragic death of their daughter behind her. She refused to talk about the little girl at all. It
was the way of the tribe.
They headed south, hugging the shores of the lake. They walked for two hours until Moorina
stopped Billy and pointed to the east. There, up in the sky, was a big plume of red dust.
“White fellas,” Billy said.
“Coming towards us,” Moorina agreed.
Without hesitation they turned around and started back north. They would avoid the white man
and circle the lake to the north then head deeper into the high country before turning south for the
village.
Ginny was feeling very sick. Her stomach hurt and she couldn’t hold her food down. Living
rough in the bush with the bushrangers was very hard on her. At night, wild animals had scuffled
around her little fire. She could see the gleaming red light of their eyes and occasionally they made a
horrible devilish scream that sounded like a baby being tortured. It sent shivers down her spine. Young
Tom said it was the bush devils calling to their mates to come and join the feasting on their quarry.
The bushrangers also kept her awake; they were crude, disgusting, smelly and violent men.
Several times Black Bob had to forcefully intervene when fights broke out.
Black Bob was not sympathetic. She only had to survive a few more days and he’d be happy.
Tom helped her as much as he could. He still had a wife back in England and Ginny could see that
he’d have been a good husband. He made her a thick bed of branches and leaves covered with two
blankets; he stacked firewood for her and brought her food and cocoa.
There was very little to eat and he insisted that Ginny take his food. It wasn’t much and she was
constantly famished. Her baby kicked and turned less and less each day. She could see the concern in
the young bushranger’s face and was grateful for his help.
She felt as though she’d been captive for an age but it was probably less than a week when
Tom finally brought her the good news. Commander Blanch and his men had been sighted. They had
arrived at the bottom of the hill and, with luck, Ginny would be free the next day.

A rocky outcrop reached all the way down to the lake’s edge, blocking Billy and Moorina’s
way. They decided to follow the track away from the water for a little while. The bushes grew high and
the cicadas were very loud. The death of their baby had left them depressed and melancholy.
Ginny hated being pregnant. She was very uncomfortable on the ride down from the
bushrangers’ hideout to meet George and the Police. She was excited at the prospect of being freed,
but the ride was long and dusty. She felt like she hadn’t slept for days. Her back was killing her, she
was ravenous and each little bump of the horse reminded her of how badly she needed to go to the
toilet. But Tom was considerate and she was happy to be riding on the horse behind him.
She was worried about George. Clearly some of what Silas Daly had told her was true. Black
Bob had no reason to lie about the Commander. But a purse made from a black man’s private parts?
Whipping and beating women for pleasure? White women as well as black? Trading black women?
Surely George wasn’t that much of a monster? She would speak to him as soon as she could and
decide then whether they would marry.
But then there was the baby. Who would look after the child? Would she still have to marry
George to get her Ticket of Leave? She couldn’t raise a child alone, unmarried! That was unthinkable.
As they rode slowly through the dense underbrush, Ginny’s back hurt and her heart ached for a nice
home and husband for her baby.
Then she saw him.
Blanch rode behind Brian Collins or Big Conk as they called him. They were both armed to the
teeth and Blanch’s four pistols were loaded and primed. They were at the edge of a small clearing in
the dense bush. They could see up the track leading to the bushrangers’ camp. Black Bob was late and
Blanch was getting very nervous. He was about to have another swig of rum when all of a sudden the
bushrangers came out of the undergrowth.
There were three horses, Black Bob was in the middle with a thin-faced man in the lead and
Ginny and Tom brought up the rear. Blanch saw Virginia peering around Tom’s shoulder. He noted
that her hands were tied together across the man’s chest.
“We meet again Commander!” Black Bob cried out in greeting.
“Set the woman down and I’ll hand you the money.” Blanch scowled at him, as all the men
levelled their guns at each other.
Tom untied Ginny’s hands, slid off his horse and carefully helped her down.
“You!” Blanch yelled at Tom. “Come and get the money.”
Tom gave the reins of his mount to the thin-faced man who deftly tucked it under his posterior
so that he could still point both his guns at Blanch. Blanch put down one pistol and held up a hessian
bag. He bent forward in his stirrups and tossed the bag onto the ground between the opposing groups.
“Hold her out in front of thee, lad. We’ve got tha covered.” Black Bob nodded to Tom.
Cautiously, Tom inched forward holding Ginny in front of him as a shield. Big Conk smiled
nervously and a drop of sweat trickled down the end of his nose. Ginny bent forward and picked up the
bag. It was heavy so she dragged it over the dusty ground to Tom.
“Open it and count it woman!” Black Bob ordered.
Ginny opened the bag and put her hand inside. She withdrew a handful of gold coins. Then she
emptied the bag onto the ground. The coins gleamed brightly. Ginny counted the coins slowly, putting
them back in the bag as she went.
There were one hundred and fifty gold sovereigns.
“Well Commander, I ‘ope this’ll larn ya not to cheat Black Bob!” Then he looked down at
Ginny. “Well done lass. That’s a hundred for thee and fifty for the gins. Now get back to tha ‘usband.
Slow and easy, like.”
Tom pulled Ginny upright. She shook his hands off irritably and stumbled forward until she
stood next to Blanch’s horse.
“Is it true about them gins?” Ginny demanded, looking at Blanch high up on his horse.
“Get behind me woman! Now! We’ll discuss this later,” Blanch said, his eyes fixed on the
bushrangers.
Black Bob gave a smug chuckle.
“I demand to know George Blanch! Have you –“ Her outburst was cut off in a scream as
Blanch kicked out at her, catching her on the side of the head.
The men watched Ginny fall justas two riders came bursting out of the bushes. Black Bob,
thinking that Blanch had brought more men to capture him, fired at the first rider. Blanch fired at the
bushrangers, knocking Tom backwards off his horse. Big Conk fired at the thin-face man but missed
and the man fired back and Big Conk fell forward and slid slowly off his horse. Ginny scampered
backwards and hid in the bushes.
The clinking of the coins had alerted Daly and Jones as they’d followed Blanch’s tracks. When
Daly had heard Ginny scream, he couldn’t help himself and they’d spurred their horse to gallop into
the middle of the clearing.
Jones was hit and he crashed to the ground with his horse. Daly swerved his mount around
them, allowing Black Bob and the other bushranger to wheel their horses and flee. As they did so, a
black man appeared in front of them and they ran straight at him, knocking him aside. Ginny heard him
scream as they hit him. Daly raced around the stricken man in hot pursuit of the bushrangers.
As the smoke cleared, Ginny heard George dismount next to her. She was expecting, fearing,
that he would come over to her but was surprised that he walked the other way. He went to the bush
where the black man lay and turned him over. He was reaching for his gun when a black woman came
hurtling at him and leapt onto his back. She kicked and screamed and pulled him to the ground. Blanch
threw her off and pulled a pistol from his belt. Suddenly there was a fierce yell from Ginny’s left.
“Put ya gun down, Commander! Put it down now!”
Immediately Blanch jerked his head around to see who threatened him. Jones approached with
a flintlock shotgun levelled at Blanch’s body.
“I’m in command here, Constable. Now you put that away and I’ll ignore your meddling. Stay
back Commander! You can’t harm the natives. Put that gun away and step back!”
“He’s no damned boong! He’s an escaped convict. It’s William Foxe, and I want him!” Stay
your ground! Put down your weapons!” Jones’ shotgun did not waver.
Reluctantly, Blanch did as he was told. Slowly he turned and stalked angrily back to Ginny.
She was still dazed from the blow to her head. Had George said - William Foxe? She couldn’t be
positive, but wasn’t that what he’d said?
“Damned fool woman!” Blanch muttered as he passed Ginny.
She had an intense pain in her belly, and her heart skipped a beat. She’d fallen heavily.
Suddenly she feared that she might lose the baby. She bit her lip and struggled into a sitting position.
Blanch wandered over to Big Conk’s body, spread-eagled beside his horse. She heard him mumbling
to himself, it sounded like,
“… bloody Foxe, now I’ve got the bastard!”
Dazed, it took a while for George’s words to begin to sink into Ginny’s consciousness. She
peered past him at the black woman kneeling beside the prone black man.
Silas Daly came trotting back on his horse. He was very pleased with himself but he quickly
saw that something was amiss. Constable Jones, covered in red dust from his fall, stood facing Blanch.
His big shotgun was pointing at the Commander and a naked black woman was huddled over the black
man while Ginny struggled to get up out of the bushes.
Daly dismounted and went over to the aborigines. Slowly, painfully, Ginny stood up. Every
muscle in her body ached. She could feel a trickle of blood on the side of her head and she seemed to
have lost her hearing in one ear.
She followed Daly over to where the black couple lay. The man was sitting upright but Daly’s
body blocked his face. Daly turned around as he heard her coming. He was shocked to see her so dirty
and bloodied and he took a step towards her. Ginny pushed him aside impatiently.
“Yer in my way Silas Daly. I can’t see him. Oh, yes, it is you Billy! Oh my poor brother. What
a mess you are!” The words gushed out of her.
Billy looked up at her. The black woman looked at Ginny with surprise. Billy smiled feebly at
them both.
“Er Ginny, muh, muh, meet me missus, Moorina” he stammered, unaccustomed to using
English. Then looking at Moorina, in aborigine he said, “Moorina, this is my big sister, Ginny. Isn’t
she pretty?”
“Very dirty, but pretty and, there’s something wrong with her, I think.” The white woman was
obviously pregnant and seemed to be in a lot of pain.
Daly looked at the naked man on the ground. He bore a striking resemblance to Ginny and he
certainly didn’t look like a full-blood native but he was talking in their strange language. Billy got to
his feet with help from Moorina. Suddenly Blanch’s voice boomed out across the clearing.
“Virginia, get over here! Now!”
Ginny rolled her eyes at Billy and turned and took a step towards Blanch. Billy realized that
he’d heard the voice before as Ginny slowly sat down on the ground.
“Wait George. Wait,” she pleaded.
Blanch stalked impatiently towards but her she waved him back.
“No. No. Stay there George and look after your man. I think he was shot. I’ll be there soon. I
just need to catch my breath.”
Billy’s face went white with fear. He looked across the clearing and sure enough, there was
Captain Blanch. He looked a little fatter, a little older, but he sounded just as mean and nasty as ever.
Why was he ordering his sister around? Billy looked down as Moorina bent over Ginny.
“I think she has a baby? Can you ask them, Loarinna.numer?” she said urgently.
“My sister? Is she pregnant?” Billy whispered to Daly.
It seemed to take the white fella’s breath away. He coughed and choked before replying, “Yes,
she must be. That must be it! And I think it’s his!” He jerked his head in Blanch’s direction.
It was Billy’s turn to be outraged. How dare that vile man get Ginny pregnant! He must have
raped her! He clenched his teeth and turned to confront the scoundrel when he finally realized that
Moorina had been poking him on the leg to get his attention.
“Your sister is losing the child, Loarinna.numer. I must help her.”
Billy looked around in confusion. He suddenly realized where they were. This would not work!
“No, no, my dear. We must escape. My sister will live. These men will take me away from you.
They will throw me in a hole. That fat man over there, he wants to kill me.”
“No, Loarinna.numer. That is not the way. Look at your sister, she is in pain! She might die if I
don’t help her. We can escape later. Now, find me some water and help me take her to a quiet place
away from you noisy men. I will help her release the baby’s spirit properly.”
Billy knew Moorina too well to argue. As they helped Ginny to her feet, Blanch came forward
to help but Ginny barked at him.
“George! Billy! Go away. You can’t ‘elp me. Please go! It hurts! Oh, it hurts! I think I’m going
to lose the baby. I want her. I need a woman’s help, I want Moorina to help me. The rest of you just
piss off! Please!”
Blanch stopped and scowled at them. Then he turned on his heel and strutted angrily back
across the clearing to where Big Conk sat propped up against a small tree. He sat down with a thud and
glared at Billy as Ginny leant on Daly and Moorina dived into the bushes.
“Loarinna.numer, where’s your dilly bag? You still have some mushrooms left. We will need
them now,” Moorina said frantically.
“Here it is. Over here. It’s very strong, you don’t need much.”
“I know how to use it! We can get more and she needs it more than you. Now wait there, I may
call you if we need help. I’ll take her to that little stream.”
Moorina handed Ginny a small mushroom and waved at her to eat it. Ginny accepted it with a
smile and the two women hobbled off out of sight.
Blanch waited angrily for the women to finish. Blanch scowled and Billy glared back. Daly
dressed Jones’ wound, which was minor. The shot had hit his water bottle and he’d hit his head when
he fell from his horse.
It was two hours later when Ginny and Moorina emerged from the bushes. Moorina was
smiling but Ginny looked haggard and very tired. Immediately Blanch yelled for Ginny to come over
to him.
“Up yer arse Blanch! I know about you and the Pennemukeer, you murderer!” Billy was
incensed. “What’ve you done to me sister? Did you rape --“
“Billy! That’s not ‘elping! Now belt up, I’ve got a splittin ‘eadache.” Ginny cut him off.
Blanch got up and yelled back angrily, but Jones waved his gun at him and he sat back down
fast.
“Sorry Gin. I’m really sorry about your baby,” Billy said coming to hug Ginny. She winced and
shook him off.
“Thank you Billy. I don’t know what I’d have done without your Moorina. She’s a gem! Oh,
I’m so tired and sore. I just need to sleep.”
“Yes, I know you’ve been through hell, but you must listen to me first,” Billy pleaded.
“Moorina and I must go. You must stay away from Captain Blanch, he’s big trouble. He’s murdered
scores of black fellas up north and look what he did with the Cat.” He turned around to show her a
criss-cross network of scars covering his back.
“Oh, that’s terrible! George did that?”
“He’s a wrong ‘un, ducks. That other chap, Daly? He seems to like yer. Nibble on the
mushrooms, it’ll ease the pain, but now we must be off!”
Then Billy turned to Moorina. “Come on my beautiful wife, help me. My leg is hurt but we
must leave now.”
Moorina smiled and put her hand out to Ginny who pulled her forward and hugged her tightly.
“Goodbye Moorina. Take care of ‘im. He’s a good lad,” she whispered.
Daly looked at them with idle curiosity. He held a pistol loosely in his hand. He wasn’t sure if
he should let them go. Constable Jones seemed to be studying Blanch and deliberately ignoring Billy
and Moorina.
“Stop them! They’re getting away!” Blanch roared as Moorina and Billy turned to leave.
Daly looked back at him and then turned and looked at Billy and smiled. Daly waved his pistol
,as suddenly there was a stampede of horses and Corporal Riley and his men surrounded the clearing.
“Well, well, well, what have we here?” Riley asked Daly excitedly. “I see you’ve found Miss
Fotheringham, but why, sir, are you waving you pistol at the natives?”
“Because one of them is William bloody Foxe!” Blanch bellowed in exasperation.
“Oh really? That’s a stroke of luck. For us I mean.” The Corporal grinned and waved at the
men to circle the group with their horses.
“Who’s the lubra?” Riley asked as several guns suddenly pointed at Billy and Moorina.
Billy shrugged in resignation and sank back down to the ground. It felt as though his ankle was
broken. They wouldn’t have got very far anyway.
“She, she’s innocent Captain. Please don’t hurt her.”
“Hmmm. By the way she’s hanging off your arm I’d say that you were well acquainted. Fear
not, we shall not harm your woman. Now then, where are the bushrangers? There was bugger all up at
the hideout. The damn fellows seem to have eluded us!”
“Black Bob was a bit hasty, sir. He made his escape but abandoned his ransom. It’s up there on
me horse.” Daly put his gun down.
“All of the money?” Riley smiled. This was turning out to be quite a successful day after all.
“Yes, sir. One hundred guineas, the entire ransom!”
“Excellent! Everyone dismount,” the Corporal ordered as Blanch stared at Daly open-mouthed.
“Commander? You have something to say?”
“Yes goddamn it, Corporal, I do!”
Riley waited but the Commander had fallen silent. Angrily, Blanch waved his finger at Daly;
his mouth opened and closed then he threw his hands in the air and stormed off cursing to himself.
Riley looked over to Daly who shrugged, feigning incomprehension. The Corporal looked
around at Billy, Ginny and Jones. They’d all suddenly become disinterested in the scene. Riley shook
his head and then shrugged.
“Right men. Dismount! We’ll pitch camp here and leave at first light. Miss Fotheringham, I
would like a little chat in private if I may. My Captain will want a full report and we will need as much
information on the bushrangers as possible. There’s no rush, sometime after dinner will be fine.”

Part Three – Billy is recaptured
An exile captive, severed from his home,

Torn from the friends he loved in life's sweet spring;
Heart-broken toils, while still his sad thoughts roam
Back to the past which now no joys can bring;
Vainly he seeks compassion and relief
In human hearts around, to cheer of soothe his grief.
As hard the steel, so hard the flinty rock,

Whose grating echoes jest but at his woe;
The quivering iron yields but to the shock,
While down his bosom's height the cold drops flow,
His bleeding hands show many a sanguine spot,
Though seen by human eyes, by human hearts forgot.
There's not a sigh his spirit's grief hath sped,

There's not a dew-drop wrung by tyranny,
Nor yet one scorching tear his sould hath shed,
Nor bloody stain of silent agony,
But God hath seen, and hath recorded true,
To render unto man according to his due.
Owen Suffolk
195
Chapter 48:
They made two camps. Blanch and his men moved down past the clearing while Riley had got
the civilians to erect his tent and put Billy and Moorina inside while Daly guarded them.
Corporal Riley began to write his report; first he called Constable Jones over. Blanch could see
them glancing over at him while Riley scribbled hastily in his notebook. Blanch came over to talk to
Ginny but she was sound asleep outside the tent.
“You’d best leave her be, sir. She’s lost the child and needs to rest,” Riley warned without
looking at him.
Blanch then took a few steps towards Billy and Moorina in the tent but Daly raised his pistol
and shook his head.
“Ha! Even my old mates are turning against me!” Blanch muttered.
“We was never mates. I was always on to you George Blanch,” Daly said.
Blanch went over to his men who were building a fire and reviving Big Conk who seemed to
have emerged unscathed from the shootout. He sat down with them and began to talk animatedly,
gesturing back at Riley’s camp.
After a while Jones sat down beside the tent and Daly went to speak with the Corporal. The
smell of boiling meat woke Ginny, who forced down a few mouthfuls and then called Riley over. The
Corporal started on a new page in his notebook. When he finished, he and Ginny stood up and went
into his tent to join the aborigines.
A little later Riley emerged and sat down with Constable Harris. Blanch yelled out to Corporal
Riley angrily.
“I’ll be with you soon Commander, I’m almost finished with the Constable.”
Blanch clenched his fists in frustration and turned away angrily. Once the Corporal had
dismissed Constable Harris he called Blanch over.
Blanch launched straight into attack.
“Listen Corporal, I am the Commander here. I must to speak to Foxe right now!”
Riley looked at him in confusion and replied, “Um, er, of course you can speak to her. She’s a
bit tired though. Lost the baby, y’know, but she is your future wife.”
“No, no. Not her, man! I demand to speak to William Foxe!”
“Oh? And why would you want to do that, sir.” Corporal Riley shook his head firmly.
“Because he’s got my mm-, my mm-. Oh damn it! Because he’s stole something from me, a
drawing and I want it back!”
“Hmmm. A drawing, eh? On paper was it? The lad says that you both came out on the
Navarino. Now that was what nigh on three year ago? You think he took it to Point Puer? Couldn’t you
have got it then? You think it still survives and he’s got it?”
“Oh, he’s still got the damn thing all right! I want to get my hands on his – I mean I want to see
the prisoner!” Blanched blustered, getting red in the face.
“Commander, you know that escaped convicts are a Government matter, not a Civilian
concern. I suppose we could sit down and have a chat together? Would that do? No? I thought not. I
can’t imagine a piece of paper lasting three years, can you? Anyway, he’s hardly likely to have it on
him, is he? I mean except for that loincloth he’s starkers. We found their bags and they just had a few
shells and rocks in them.”
Blanch clenched his jaws tightly together and shook with rage.
Riley looked on at him calmly, his loaded pistol still nestled in the palm of his hand. He smiled
at Blanch disarmingly.
“Why don’t you sit down and we can talk it over in a civilized manner. Please, take a
seat, sir.”
Blanch swore under his breath but it was clear that the Corporal was not going to be moved.
Blanch finally sat down in opposite Riley.
“Smoke?” Riley offered.
Blanch took the tobacco with bad grace and pulled a pipe from his coat. Riley waited until the
man had finished lighting his pipe and they were both smoking contentedly.
“I’ll tell you what Commander, I’ll ask the boy if he has anything belonging to you. Perhaps I
can get it back.”
“Well how would you manage that?” Blanch demanded irritably.
“Wait, sir, please let me finish. I’ll ask him where your property is and I’ll promise to try to
keep him out of Port Arthur if it is returned. Perhaps he can work in Hobarton? I think he’d like that,
don’t you?”
“Oh damn it to hell! Forget that! He’ll lie anyway! Look Corporal, my wife’s in there. In your
tent with two damned boongs. They might hurt her! I want her out now. I’ve called her but the damned
woman seems to have gone deaf!”
Riley was about to remind Blanch that he’d quite callously booted her in the head but he
thought better of it. Instead he said calmly,
“The lad is her brother. Miss Foxe is in no danger. The lad is well and truly tied up and has a
twisted ankle. They clearly they have a lot of catching up to do. Lord knows when they’ll see each
other again. He knows he’ll be to Port Arthur for many years to come.”
“But he’ll be filling her head full of wild stories and fantasies, man! Have you seen him? He’s
got big scars all over him. Looks like he’s used to fighting with a knife. He might stab her! Did you
check for weapons?”
“Simmer down man, of course we’ve checked for weapons and you can see that the tent is
completely surrounded by our men,” Riley cautioned. “Now, I’ve already had a long talk with the boy.
The marks on his chest are ritual marks of his tribe. The ones on his back are, I suppose you could say,
ritual marks of the Cat O’ Nine Tails. He says that you know those ones rather well. That’s the other
thing, Commander. You seem to have put the fear of God into the lad. I told him he’d be safe with me
but if he tried to escape I couldn’t vouch for his well-being.”
“Balderdash! He deserved to be whipped for the offences he committed. I even pleaded for
leniency! Well, I will have my woman back or I will fetch her myself!”
Commander! When she says that she has finished talking with her brother I will certainly ask
her to come out. But she is not yet your wife you know and she’s very tired. She’s been through a
harrowing ordeal, several ordeals I should say. My sister lost her baby once and was in quite a state for
some time. Women are delicate creatures as I’m sure you know.”
Blanch sighed in frustration and annoyance. That damned Foxe was almost within his reach. He
could almost see the gold of the HMS Hope. Why did the stupid upstart Policeman have to get in his
way? He was tempted to try and trick the bastard and shoot him but Riley was a tough bugger. Jones
and Daly had their guns drawn and even if he succeeded there were just too many witnesses.
Blanch was about to say something but stopped himself abruptly. He watched as Constable
Harris led his horse away down the track away from the camp. Fortunately, Corporal Riley seemed not
to have noticed as Ginny came out from the tent.
A small smile crept across Blanch’s lips. Perhaps there was something he could do after all.
Ginny hobbled over to the two men slowly and painfully. Blanch rose quickly and took her
hand.
“Are you alright my dear? You look terrible. Come let us retire.”
Ginny winced and shook her head, “Sorry George. I’ve got an ‘eadache and I think I’ve gone a
bit deaf.”
Blanch was about to reply but Ginny carried on, “I’m still a bit of a mess down, you know,
down there. I need a woman’s help tonight. I expect I’ll be fine soon. Is that alright?”
Ginny swayed as she struggled to stay upright. Her dress was soaked in blood and she could
barely keep her eyes open.
“But where, where will you stay?”

“Next to the Corporal’s tent. We have water and a fire. I expect I’ll have to get up many times
during the night and Moorina, the black woman, the gin as you call her, she’ll help. George I must go
now. I need to sleep.”
Without waiting for his reply Ginny dropped his hand and turned and shuffled off towards the
tent. Moorina came forward to help her.
Blanch sighed and turned back to Corporal Riley.
“Well, that is that, I suppose. Now I shall turn in myself. But let me tell you one thing Corporal.
I am not called the Commander for nothing. The Governor, as well as Curr, depend on me and I will
give them a full report on your conduct. Believe me, you will regret this day!”
“Thank you Commander. I too will file a report. I’m sure they’ll agree that we’ve both done a
rather splendid job. Good night, sir!”
Blanch turned abruptly and left. Riley watched him leave; the man seemed to have calmed
down somewhat unexpectedly. An hour later Riley walked around the camp to check on the men. Most
of them were already asleep. He circled around to where was watching over the tent.
“All right Constable?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” Jones replied.
“Come over here for a minute, Jones. There’s something I forgot to ask you before. Come away
from the tent a bit will you. Now then Jones, why was Commander Blanch so angry when Mister Daly
said he had the ransom?”
, “Dunno, sir.” Jones smiled weakly, “Maybe he was ‘oping to take it home for himself like,
isn’t it?”
“No, no, no. That doesn’t seem right at all to me. You know there’s rumours that Blanch and
Black Bob know each other quite well,” Riley conjectured.
“Yes, sir. I’ve ‘eard that as well. They say they had some sort of business back in the past.”
“C’mon lad. You know more than that. Blanch owed Black Bob money for gin trading. That’s
what they say, aint it?”
Jones just shrugged in the darkness, “Can’t say I really pay much attention, sir. I did tell you
they didn’t like each other.”
“Well, I don’t know what happened but I’ve got a feeling that the Commander lost something
today. I don’t know what, perhaps it was money. But there’s one thing I do know; Commander Blanch
won’t be doing any more Gin trading with Black Bob any more. That’s for sure!”
Jones nodded his agreement, but in the shadows of the fire it was too dark for Riley to see the
thin hard smile on the lips of his Constable.
Riley was about to add something when a horse snorted behind them. They spun around to see
the dark shape of a man leading his beast down the track and away into the night.
“I see the Commander is hurrying to be home, isn’t it?”
“Oh, that’s no surprise,” Riley replied. “Now why don’t you get some rest? I’ll wake you for
the middle watch at midnight.”
“I don’t think he’ll catch Constable Harris though,” Riley muttered as he stoked the fire.
Chapter 49:

Daly woke before dawn. Corporal Riley puffed on his pipe and smiled at him. Down behind the
bushes, Blanch’s men were loading up their horses. As they watched, they trooped quietly out of the
camp with Big Conk in the lead. Blanch was nowhere to be seen.
“Shouldn’t they wait for us?” Daly asked.
“Mr Big Conk is sending most of ‘em home. Seems that the heroic Commander Blanch is hot
on the heels of Black Bob and his men. He sneaked out of camp with one of his trackers last night. All
rather rushed, if you ask me. Most black fellas don’t like the dark, but perhaps the Sydney blacks are
different.”
“Well it’s a bit early aint it?”
“Ah, I do believe that Big Conk and a few of his lads are going to join Commander Blanch on
the chase. The rest of ‘em, well they’re not bushmen. They’re just farmers, I expect they miss their
families so they don’t want to hang about without getting paid do they? Could you go and fetch that
black fella please? That other Tracker fellow, it seems like Big Conk has just left him there and I fancy
we might need a little help later in the day.”
They left at noon. It would be a long dangerous ride home for the eight men and their prisoner,
but Riley relished a challenge. When they got to the first fork in the main trail, Riley halted. The
tracker, a middle-aged aboriginal man called Buckelow, scoured the dusty ground carefully. He came
back to Riley and they exchanged a few words. Riley dismounted and followed the tracker into the
bush on foot. They returned after a few minutes. Then Riley ordered everyone to dismount and the
little column trooped into the bush away from the main trail. Daly carried Billy piggy-back. He was
surprisingly light and bony but the trail was rocky and narrow and it was slow going. Fortunately, after
half an hour, it levelled off and they stopped. Constable Jones swept away their tracks behind them and
they mounted their horses and continued on.
That evening Riley ordered them to make a tiny hidden campfire. Corporal Riley had asked
Billy about his initiation; Riley was fascinated by the ritual and had wanted to see the Billy’s thun-bura
for himself. Jones and Daly were astounded when the Corporal told them about it. They couldn’t help
but look at Billy and wonder what lay under his possum fur loincloth. They felt sorry for Billy and
perplexed by him. He dressed like a savage and the blacks had mutilated him, but he seemed very
content with his wife and obviously wanted to stay in the jungle and live the life of a savage. Moorina
was a fine looking woman and the men struggled to avert their eyes from her naked body.
That night Billy had slept in the tent bound hand and foot. He’d slept very well and was untied
just once to go to the toilet. Ginny was very quiet, she still had a terrible headache and felt nauseous.
The men took turns on watch; Riley insisted that they stay as quiet as possible. Daly asked why they
needed to be so secretive and why they’d strayed from the main track. Riley pointed to Ginny and
Billy and then the bag of ransom money.
“Ambush,” was all he said.
The next morning they waited as Jones and Buckelow scouted back along the trail. Then, when
Riley was satisfied that they weren’t being followed, they finished a meager breakfast and carried on
down the new track.
Riley was much more relaxed, the danger had passed and they were heading well south of the
main track. Moorina walked dejectedly alongside Billy’s horse while Ginny rode side-saddle behind
them. Loarinna.numer had said that they were taking him away and would throw him down a hole that
was so deep he would never see the sun. Moorina couldn’t understand it. He was a brave and strong
man; it wasn’t his fault that her little girl had died, or that his sister had lost her baby.
“Loarinna.numer, why can’t we just walk away?” Moorina asked.
Billy winced as his ankle banged against the side of the horse, “Because of Riley, the boss-man
up there. He won’t let us.”
“They were going to let us go until that boss-man rode in with all those other white fellas.”

“Yes my love. They were, but the other man, the angry white fella, Blanch, he would’ve
stopped us. If my leg was not hurt we might have run away but he has many guns. He wants to kill me.
He made the scars on my back.”
“Wa! So, he’s the one! Nasty man! Nice scars though,” she added conversationally.
Billy grunted and gave her a wry smile.
“So the boss-man stopped us from being killed?” Moorina asked a little while later.
“Well, I suppose so. But they wouldn’t kill you.”
“Wa! I know,” Moorina shuddered. “They would rape me, as they did to Truganini, then they
would sell me to the sealers. Anyway, I thought I recognized Blanch. I will kill him!”
“No, my love, he is an evil man. He will win. That is why I must go with the boss-man. I must
become a free man and then we can be together. We can live far away from Blanch and the Gubbas!”
“Wa! You are so silly, my Loarinna.numer! You must live in a hole so deep that you cannot see
the sun until they let you go then we can run into the mountains! Why won’t they let us go there now?”
Billy sighed; he’d been over this countless times with Moorina and Pandak. They just couldn’t
understand the concept of freedom and jail. “You see them! They have guns. They kill! I stole a leg of
lamb and now I must live in the hole. If I don’t, they will hunt me down and kill me!”
“But you must have been hungry! This is civilized? Wa! I hope all the Gubbas will live down a
hole!”
“You are right my love. But the white fellas kill. We cannot fight them.”
“I do not want to fight. I just want to live with my Loarinna.numer. That is all,” she said sadly.
The going was much quicker on the second day. Buckelow’s track turned out to be a short cut
back to the main road. Riley was in good spirits and they stopped for lunch by a stream in the shade of
some tea trees. Constable Jones helped Ginny down from her horse as Daly turned to walk down to the
stream.
“Mister Daly. Wait for me; I’ll come down with you. I could do wiv a walk,” Ginny said
pleasantly.
Daly stopped. His heart was in his mouth. He hadn’t been able to look Ginny in the eye since
she’d yelled at him in Launceston and now with everything that’d happened since then he just didn’t
know what to do.
“It’s a bit slippery. Do you want to take my arm, mam?” he said, offering her his elbow.
“Why than kew, kind sir!” she said with a little giggle.
Jones exchanged a knowing glance with Corporal Riley as the couple walked the fifty yards to
the stream.
“How’re you feeling?” Daly asked cautiously.
Ginny smiled, “A little better I think.”
Daly could feel the butterflies in his stomach as she sat down on a rock and waved him to sit
next to her.
“Mr Daly, I’ve had a lot of time to think since we last met. I hated you y’know. Hated!” she
said forcefully.
Daly winced and looked at her carefully. Was that a slight smile on her lips?
“Oh, now I know that it used to happen all the time, but it aint any easier for me.” She sighed
and then turned and gave him a little smile. “Anyway, I fink it was guilt that made you ask the Surgeon
to take on Sarah and me. But at least you had some guilt. None of the other blokes did. And then I was
happy to forget you. Glad that I’d never see you again and you’d be off back to England and good
bloody riddance!”
She looked Daly square in the eye as she spoke. Daly’s face was deathly pale, his hands
trembled, and he was glad when Ginny motioned him to sit down next to the stream.
“Now then, Mister Daly. You notice that I said – hated? Not – hate, but – hated. Well, once you
told me all nasty, horrible things about my George, I was sure that you were truly a spiteful, evil man. I
thought you were following me around Van Diemen’s Land trying to hurt my future husband and
torment me. Even the letters from Sarah and Lizzy didn’t change that, but now, now that I’ve listened
to the gossip and stories from Black Bob and his mates. Now that I’ve heard their insults and their
boasts and seen the look on George’s face when I asked him about the gins. Now Silas, now I owe you
an apology.” She picked up a twig and started to pull the bark off with her fingernails. “You were right
about George and the black women. I just couldn’t believe anyone would do that.”
She continued, her voice choking with emotion, “And Billy told me about George killing lots
of blacks up north and so you were right about that dreadful purse that he gave you. Oh Silas, I don’t
know what I’m going to do now? I really don’t.”
She began to cry and Silas searched frantically in his pockets for a handkerchief, “Hold me,
Silas. Hold me,” she sobbed.
Nervously, Silas extended his arms towards her. She clung to him and buried her face in his
shoulder. He smiled to himself as her warm tears soaked into his shirt. He could see Gareth Jones
looking down at him and giving him the thumbs-up sign. Smiling, Daly waved him away with his free
hand.
After a few minutes, Ginny stopped crying and raised her head. “Thank you, Silas. I just need
someone to talk to. It’s been a bugger of a week.”
“I’m always glad to help Ginny,“ he said awkwardly, fumbling for the right words. “Ginny,
Ginny, look I’m so, so sorry for the Sydney Cove and I never thought I’d see you again. I was sure
you’d be married and have a family within a year or so of arriving. Believe me, I was really surprised
to see you at the Lonnie Factory. And, and I’m sorry about the Commander and if you want me to
leave, just tell me. I don’t --”
“Shush!” Ginny interrupted him softly. “Shush Silas. I forgive you.”
They lay still for a while. It was a clear day, warm in the shade of the trees. A single crow
squawked overhead.
“Well, it could be worse, I suppose,” Ginny mused. “Maybe there’s a chance that I won’t have
to marry George now that the baby’s gone.”
Daly sat up and was about to reply.
“George isn’t here,” Ginny said quickly. “I don’t know where he’s gone in such a hurry. I
don’t love him. But, I don’t think they’ll give me my Ticket of Leave unless I marry him. He’d be
furious; he’s made all the wedding arrangements already! Oh! I’m confused Silas. I just don’t know
what I’ll do!”
“Ginny, it’ll all work out in the end. You should do what your heart tells you. Maybe you can
go and see Lizzy and Sarah? They might have some advice?”
Ginny laughed. “Funny. I was thinking of that,” she replied seriously, then added, “You know
me little bruvver thinks that you fancy me.“
Daly reddened.
“Do you fancy me Silas?”
“Um, er, I, yes, I suppose I do,” Daly gasped.
“Suppose? You suppose? Is that all, Silas Daly?” Ginny mocked.
Daly winced. “Well, yes. Just - I suppose! Last time you bit me bleedin’ head off! And I aint
rich.”
“Oh, you silly fool! You won’t get anywhere with a faint ‘eart, y’know! Reach out and take
what you want!”
“Oh no! No, Ginny! I’m not taking anything or anybody! I learnt me lesson on the Sydney
Cove!” He was suddenly very serious. “Ginny, I’m a different man now and I’m definitely not like
Commander Blanch.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked a little indignantly.
“It means I don’t know why you’d want to have anything to do with me since the Sydney Cove.
I’m a bit confused and I don’t want to hurt you again.”
“Well, well. This aint the place to discuss these things, but you aint the same man as on the
Sydney Cove, I know that.”
Daly smiled, but Ginny wasn’t finished. She squeezed his hand. “No, Mister Daly, you surely
aint the same. Mr Brown, the Surgeon told me so himself.”
Daly gave her a puzzled look.
Ginny smiled at him sweetly. “Well now Mister Daly. You left me with a bad memory, but you
took away something for yerself didn’t ya!”
Daly started to flush with embarrassment.
Ginny giggled and explained, “Something itchy and annoying? The Tetters or Serpigo is what
Mr Brown called it. So I know you’ll remember that day for a long time!”
Daly went bright red and fought to say something, but the words just wouldn’t come out.
Corporal Riley was a kind-hearted man. He’d lived with the wogs and the fuzzy wuzzys in
India and Africa. He respected their culture and was happy to let Foxe’s lubra join them on their trek
back to Oatlands.
That evening Billy and Moorina spent their last night together in Riley’s tent. Constrained only
by a rope that shackled his ankles, Billy and Moorina made love and dozed, clutched in a fierce
embrace. Ginny was a little embarrassed that their noise amused the men and she tried to ignore it but
she was very grateful to the Policemen for their compassion.
The following morning they came out onto the main road. Moorina bade Billy and Ginny a
tearful goodbye then stood and watched them as they disappeared down the white fella’s track.
Her husband was gone; they’d only been together for a few months. Her baby was dead. She
sat down on the edge of the road and cried and cried. Eventually she heard horses coming down the
road. She dried her eyes and walked off into the bush. She’d find solace and peace with the tribe until
Loarinna.numer came back to her.
They stopped by a stream just outside the Oatlands. Ginny had convinced Billy that it would be
safest for Moorina and the tribe if he did not look like an aborigine. So he washed the ochre from his
hair and donned the clothes of Tom, the dead bushranger.
Billy came to the end of dream with a thump. His foot was healing nicely but his heart was
broken. He ached to see Moorina and live a life free in the bush again but he knew that he couldn’t
fight the Government. He’d do his time quietly.
It seemed as if the entire village had come out to greet them. The people were eager to get a
glimpse of Billy Foxe, the Wild Man of the bush. They were disappointed to see that he looked very
much like they did, just a lot browner and in need of a haircut. One boy waved a newspaper at Riley
and complained loudly, demanding to hear the savage squeal like a monkey. Riley snatched the
newssheet from him angrily.
Corporal Riley read the headlines of the Hobart Town Gazette with rising outrage and
indignation. That stupid Constable Harris had been too slow to return to town with Riley’s report of the
expedition. Commander Blanch had managed to outwit him and take credit for Ginny’s return.
Miserably, he passed the paper to Billy and told him to keep it as a souvenir. Billy stuffed it into his
jacket as they came up to the Police Station.
Commander Blanch stood next to Captain Graham, Riley’s superior. Blanch looked tired but
very smug. Riley saluted Captain Graham and slid from his horse while Jones and Daly helped Ginny
down. Two other Police Constables came forward and helped Jones untie Billy’s legs and carry him
bodily into the Police Station. Blanch shot a cold smile at Ginny and motioned for her to stand behind
him. The crowd stood around expectantly. They’d never had such a big occasion in their short history.
Corporal Riley rolled his eyes as Captain Graham waved the crowd to silence. The man was an
insufferable windbag and a wowser; he was a favourite of Governor Arthur and took every opportunity
lecture and grandstand.
“Good people of Oatlands. I am Captain Graham, Deputy Superintendent of Police. On behalf
of her Majesty’s Government and Governor Arthur, I’d like to thank you all for your invaluable
assistance in these trying times. Your solid burghers and honest citizens came to us in our time of need
and we are very grateful,” he boomed.
The small crowd cheered. Riley smiled wryly as he heard a woman ask, “Who’s ‘e callin’
buggers?”
Undeterred, the Captain toiled on, “As you know from your newspaper, today, we celebrate
many things; the capture of a dastardly convict; the foiling of Black Bob’s evil kidnap plot; the rescue
of the fair maiden and safe return of the ransom; and the death of several of the bushrangers. Did I
miss anything, Commander? Oh yes and of course Black Bob is now running for his life as fast as his
horse can take him,” Graham extolled. “Now who do we have to thank for these heroic
accomplishments? That’s right Ladies and Gentlemen. Commander George Albert Blanch!”
The crowd waved and cheered their appreciation as Blanch stepped forward.
“Please, please. Not so loudly Ladies and Gentlemen,” Blanch said modestly. “I was only doing
my duty to my God and my Queen and of course my beautiful fiancée, Virginia.”
He waved to Ginny standing behind him. She blushed and curtsied, wishing that she’d had time
to brush her hair and wash her face.
“I’d also like to thank the brave volunteers who accompanied us on this quest. Fortunately no-
one was injured except for the criminals and they don’t count of course!” Blanch joked. “I’d also like
to thank the loyal and steadfast Police Force, Corporal Riley and his men. They did a sterling job
bringing my prizes home while I was out chasing Black Bob out of the county!”
Corporal Riley smiled grimly as the crowd cheered derisively at the backhanded compliment. It
was more than he’d expected and he knew that Captain Graham would have a few choice words of
advice for him.
Blanch put up his arms and continued, “Ladies and Gentlemen, it’s at times like these when it
is only right and fitting that we thank the Lord for delivering us from trial and adversity. Please
uncover your heads. Let us pray.”
Riley bowed his head as Blanch led the crowd in the Lord’s Prayer. Out of the corner of his
eye, he saw Constable Harris ride up behind the Police Station. The man looked haggard and weary.
Harris looked over to him and waved a handful of paper at him urgently. Corporal Riley shook his
head sadly. The report arrived too late. The damage had been done. Harris would soon tell him how
badly he’d underestimated Commander Blanch!
Billy listened as Blanch’s speech dribbled on. Billy was very bitter, he laughed at Blanch’s
treatment of Corporal Riley. The stupid Policeman deserved more than a little embarrassment. Billy
lay back on the wooden bunk and read the Gazette. Apparently, Commander Blanch was a real hero.
Single-handedly, he’d saved Ginny from the clutches of the evil Black Bob, killing several of the
fearsome fighters and stealing the ransom from out of the grasping fingers. He’d chased the evil
bushrangers away and nearly been killed in the process (he had a scar on his head to prove it!). He’d
hunted down the wicked and terrible Billy Foxe, a hardened criminal who’d killed a man while
escaping from Point Puer and who had lived with the natives swinging from tree to tree like an Orang-
Outan!
Billy laughed aloud. What nonsense! Who’d believe such drivel!
Chapter 50:

Lizzy Black sat cross-legged on the bench to keep her feet out of the water that pooled in most
of the rooms of the Cascades Female Factory. Her son, Martin, wrapped in a tattered old blanket,
suckled at her breast. He was nearly five months old. He had Richard’s blue eyes and her nose. She
wondered if she’d ever hear from Richard Jameson again. After they’d taken the yoke off her, they'd
assigned her to hard labour. Three months of digging the drainage ditches around the Factory and
cutting back the undergrowth were followed by a month of oakum picking. Lizzy detested oakum with
a passion. Unraveling the heavy ropes, matted with oil and greas,e made her hands dry and blistered
and rubbed the skin red raw. However, she’d suffered through it all in silence; she just wanted to keep
out of trouble.
She’d been in labour on the day that the women had bared their buttocks en masse to the
Governor and the Reverend Bedford. Lizzy would’ve loved to have been there to see the expression on
the Nibs’ faces. The stories of the Flash Mob as they had become known, were hilarious, but young
Martin had taken the choice out of her hands. The birth had been much easier than the two she’d had in
London. She hoped fervently that Martin would not meet with the same early death that his sisters had.
Lizzy could hear Mrs Hutchinson and the nurse as they came down the stairs. It was as she
feared. They had come for her son!
She looked down at his darling little face. He’d stopped feeding and was sleeping peacefully.
He’d grow up to be a fine and handsome man. She tidied herself up as the women came into the room.
There were three other mothers whose babies would be taken to the nursery with Martin. Lizzy sat
furthest away from the door so that she’d be the last to give up her child. The first two mums, Rebecca
and Jane, protested loudly. Matron called the three trusties forward; the big men ignored the screams of
the women as they wrestled their babies from them and passed them to the nurse.
Matron came up to Lizzy
“C’mon ducks. Let’s have ‘im,” she ordered.
Lizzy shrank back, clutching her son tightly.
“He aint six months yet! You can’t ‘ave ‘im!”
Matron didn’t hesitate. She waved two of the men forward. They grabbed Lizzy by the arms
and forced her hands apart while the third man snatched Martin from her. She swore and cursed but the
men took no notice. They pushed her down onto the ground and turned to leave. Lizzy jumped up and
launched herself at the nearest man. The man spun around and punched her in the face and she
sprawled full-length into a big puddle of smelly brown water. No-one looked at her twice as, sobbing,
she pulled herself up onto a seat and tried to staunch the blood from her broken nose. The other women
sobbed, wailed, and pleaded, but it was all in vain, as the men took their babies away. Lizzy watched in
desperation as Martin was put in a basket and whisked away out of the room. She buried her head in
her hands and cried and cried and cried until at last she could cry no more. Finally, the cook came in
with a tray of hot chocolate. It was the only kind act they’d have that day.
Moorina walked slowly up the track. Just a few days earlier, she and Loarinna.numer had
walked along that same dusty trail. She sat under the tree and looked down on the abandoned camp.
She could see the exact spot where they’d made love that one last time before the Gubbas had taken
her man away from her.
A cool wind blew into her face. She shivered and stared intently at the remains of the small fire
where she and Loarinna.numer had shared their last meal. She noticed a flash of movement. There was
something down there, something big and moving very cautiously. Could it be? Yes! It was a big male
Loarinna, the Tiger. Moorina had never seen such a handsome beast and in broad daylight! It was
almost unheard of! It must be a sign, an omen. She knew he was not a real animal. He was the spirit of
the Loarinna had come to find her man Loarinna.numer, the white Tiger! What did it mean? Perhaps
Pandak or Murrimbindi would know. She watched the beautiful animal sniff at the bones they’d left
near the fire. He was a lovely golden brown with black stripes down his sides. He looked around
haughtily, confident in his power and strength. He looked up in Moorina’s direction; the wind blew up
the little gully where the camp lay nestled. Moorina glanced at the track winding up the hill on the
other side. She caught a glimpse of a spear above the bushes. Someone was coming down the track to
the camp!
The Loarinna seemed unperturbed; he was lying down, gnawing on a bone next to the ashes of
the fire. Moorina started to feel a panic. Surely, the Loarinna knew that aborigines, armed aborigines,
were bearing down upon him? She could see their spears moving closer and closer above the bushes.
The men were moving very quietly and their scent was being blown away from camp on the stiff
breeze.
Moorina stood up. The aborigines came into view; there were two men and stout woman. The
men were not from Trowenna, they were too pale. Moorina suddenly she realized that the woman was
Truganini and the men were the two tame Sydney trackers, Buckelow and his son.
They stopped just above the camp. Buckelow waved his hands excitedly. They had spotted the
Loarinna! The men would not hold the Loarinna as sacred. They were tame aborigines; they’d kill the
Loarinna without hesitation and collect the bounty. The white fellas blamed the animals for eating their
livestock and were happily killing all the Loarinna they possibly could.
The men lifted up their long spears and sniffed the air carefully. Their quarry had not yet seen
them. The Loarinna gnawed on his bone, oblivious to the danger stalking him silently from above.
Moorina put her hand to her mouth. She wanted to cry out; to jump up and down, and scare the animal
away, but to do that would be to acknowledge that it was just another animal and not the spirit of the
Loarinna. She stood up and clenched her fists by her side in frustration.
Truganini watched the two Gai-Mariagal men creep down towards the Loarinna. It was very
strange to see so big an animal out in the open in the daytime. It was such a pretty creature. Out of the
corner of her eye, she saw a flash of movement from the trees. She squinted and looked as hard as she
could. She could make out the figure of a black woman and looking anxiously down at the Loarinna. It
had to be Moorina. Buckelow had said that the white boy’s wife had gone all the way to the white
fella’s road. The men drew closer and closer to the Loarinna. Truganini bent down and picked up a
stone. Buckelow lifted his spear from his shoulder and sighted down the shaft at the animal.
Moorina watched helplessly as the man raised back his spear to strike. Suddenly there was a
slight thud and a puff of brown dirt. She looked back at the fire. The Loarinna had vanished and the
spear buried itself in the ground. The spirit of the Loarinna had disappeared before her very eyes!
Truganini waited at the fire to greet Moorina. The young woman looked much fitter and
healthier than when they’d last met but she seemed very sad and her eyes were bloodshot.
“Wa! Moorina. It is good to see you my child!” Truganini exclaimed.
Moorina hugged her. “I am glad too. I need someone to talk to. These men, can they understand
us?”
“Him, Buckelow, he understands a little bit but his English is good.”
Moorina scowled at the two men and said, “I’m sure he can talk with the white fella very well!
I’ve seen a tame mob before. They live near the white fella and live on his scraps. They’ll do anything,
kill anything, to please the white fella!”
Buckelow winced and moved back from Moorina’s angry tirade.
Truganini was quick to defend them.
“Wa! These are honorable men. They are Gai-Mariagal, from Sydney and are kin of Musquito.
They don’t have his warrior bloodlust but they will not betray us and even though they sometimes
work for the white fella they don’t like it and only do it when they have to. Do not be too angry with
them Moorina. The Loarinna does not live in their land and is not sacred for them but I have told them
they must never hunt him any more.”
Moorina eyed the two strange black men suspiciously. Then she sighed and smiled.
“Wa! You are right, but the white fellas have just taken my man and my daughter has died. My
heart is heavy with pain. I am sorry.”
Truganini reached forward arms outstretched to hug her. Moorina cried on her shoulder and
was pleased to be comforted by the older woman.
Then they separated and Moorina explained, “We cannot camp here. It is sacred. It is where my
man, Loarinna.numer, said farewell and now the spirit of the Loarinna came to visit. Let us make a
camp in the trees. We can talk tonight.”
That night Truganini learnt how Little Billy finally became a man and how their baby girl had
died and the white fellas had taken Billy and thrown him into a big pit. She had been traveling down
from the north to congratulate Loarinna.numer and Pandak. Their ceremonies were big news. She was
devastated to hear that the white boy was back in jail.
Truganini told Moorina that she’d seen many white fellas leading their horses north beyond the
lake. She’d warned the northern tribes that they should hide their women from Black Bob and his
band.
Buckelow was annoyed at himself for almost killing the Loarinna. He told Moorina that the fat
man, Blanch, had been trying to ambush the group on the way back to Oatlands to take her husband
prisoner and get his money back. That was why the Corporal had asked him to find a different way
back to the white fella’s road. Blanch had ordered his son, Weena, to steal the other Policeman’s horse
so that he would not reach Oatlands for several days. The Gai-Mariagal did not like Blanch. He had not
paid them the sugar and tobacco he owed them. They would be happy to try and find out where they’d
taken Loarinna.numer and to tell Moorina or Truganini what was happening to him.
Moorina thanked him; she desperately wanted to know how Loarinna.numer was faring. She
was so afraid that they would beat him or kill him. She wondered how she would survive without her
man.
They held Billy at Oatlands for three nights while they waited for reinforcements. Captain
Graham was taking no chances. Billy was chained hand and foot and bundled into the carriage before
dawn. Billy sat opposite Constables Jones and Harris with his chains bolted to the floor. Four
Policemen escorted them out of the town and back to Hobarton eighty miles away.
Jones was not happy with himself. He was the son of a Llanfyrnach lead miner and had always
sided with the poor and working class. He felt he’d betrayed Billy Foxe by capturing him and not
being able to let him escape before the Commander and the Corporal stopped him. He was sure that
Foxe’s sister would’ve appreciated that and perhaps she might’ve mentioned his kind deed to
Miss Churchill. But alas, it was not to be.
Jones tried to give Billy tobacco and sugar but he just shook his head. He said he’d been very
happy without them for over a year and he couldn’t take them into Port Arthur with him anyway. But
he did accept the cakes and fruit that the Constables gave him. It was good to bite into an apple again.
“Tell you what, boyo, you can read and write now, can’t you?”
Billy nodded.
“Right then. I can make sure that you can keep in touch with your sister, would that be good
now? I have a friend at the barracks in Hobart Town who handles all the letters. He’s been in Port
Arthur just like you, so he knows what’s what. Alright then?”
Billy smiled; he wished the Policeman could take a letter to Moorina. He gritted his teeth. He’d
been so stupid to take the northern track from the lake. If they’d gone south, he’d have been home and
bathing in the billabong rather than being caught by the damned Peelers!
After an uncomfortable twelve-hour drive in the rickety carriage, they stopped at the Butcher’s
Inn. Captain Graham was taking it slowly; he intended to arrive at the Hobart Town docks at dawn. So
they changed horses and let the prisoner out to stretch his legs and relieve himself as they’d done every
four hours. They continued their journey as the sun set behind them.
They reached the outskirts of the town an hour before dawn. Captain Graham ordered the
carriage to stop. He rode over to the Jones and Harris and threw them a hessian bag. Jones told
Constable Harris that he could stay outside and smoke his pipe while he put the bag over Billy’s head.

He whispered to Billy that a sharp tug on the knot under his left armpit would free the bag. Billy stayed
still and quiet.
The little convoy arrived at Constitution docks at dawn, greeted by a small band of women, a
few drunks, and Andrew Bent from the Hobart Town Gazette. They watched as Jones swung open the
carriage door and unbolted Billy’s chains from the floor. Four stout sailors lofted Billy onto their
shoulders like a sack of potatoes and carried him onto the waiting ship and down into the hold.
There were a few catcalls from the women, calling for Billy to show them his “stiffy” and his
“willie bone.” They laid him on top of a pile of old ropes and sailcloth down in the bowels of the ship.
The bag still covered his head, and his hands and feet were chained but he could feel the rocking of the
ship, the smell of the sea and the cool breeze down the hatchway.
The ship departed just a few minutes later. Billy could hear the groaning of the planks and the
creaking of the sails as she rode the waves. It felt like a calm day. Billy made himself as comfortable as
he could in the pitch-blackness. After a few hours, he had to go to the toilet. He yelled for the crew.
There was no reply. He yelled again. Still no answer. After five minutes of yelling, Billy gave up. He
twisted himself around until he could reach for the cord under his armpit. The chains bit deeply into his
wrists but he persisted and tugged on the rope until the knot became undone. Then, with a bit more
squirming and twisting, he was free of the bag. He let his eyes adjust to the dim light.
Billy hopped and wriggled over to a pile of wooden spars at the side of the hold. He undid his
serge trews and squatted down to relieve himself. When he was finished, he stood up and carefully
reinserted his thun-bura. He searched around the hold. There was no food but he found wooden water
jug nestled inside a large coil of rope. He shook it. It was half full; plenty for the voyage to Port Arthur
but even so, Billy sipped the precious liquid sparingly.
It wasn’t until mid-morning the following day that one of the crew came down to the hold. He
looked at Billy suspiciously and scampered back up the stairs. A few minutes later, the Bosun came
down carrying a Cat o’ Nine Tails.
“‘Ere, you been pissing on me ship, then?” the Bosun demanded.
Billy looked at him coolly. The Bosun raised the Cat to strike as Billy lifted his hands in self
defence. There was a cry from behind the Bosun. He stepped aside and Billy could see an older man
approaching.
“What in damnation are you doing?” the old man barked.
“Well, I was just gonna teach this damned nigger a lesson, Cap’n. He’s pissed and shat all over
me ship!”
“Damn you, Bosun. I told you to bring this man food and water when we cast off yesterday! I
don’t see any? Is this the first time anyone’s been down here since Hobarton?”
“Serves the damned boong right!”
“Mister Willson. You will be written up for this. This man is a prisoner of the Queen! He might
have lived with the natives but he deserves to be treated like the Englishman he is. Now go and fetch
me a tot of rum, some water and some food for this man. And make it snappy!”
Billy looked up at the Captain.
“Thank you, sir. I don’t suppose you could cast off my chains could you?”
“Afraid not young man. But I will get you some bread and meat. We should be at Port Arthur
by nightfall. I believe that we owe you a decent meal at least.”
Ginny was put up at the Royal Hobart Hospital. She was still unmarried so of course couldn’t
stay with George Blanch, which suited her just fine. Blanch had been very cold towards her since the
kidnapping. He said the right things and was polite and respectful but there was no warmth in his eyes
and barely a smile on his lips. George was tiptoeing around her. He made all the arrangements and was
very businesslike but he seemed very anxious, as if he was waiting for something to happen.
Ginny was now famous. Her brother was a notorious bushman and her imminent wedding was
the talk of the town. The wedding was not for another four weeks. Blanch had given her ten guineas
and had asked Mrs Whitehead to prepare her for the wedding. Mary Whitehead, a good friend of the
Governor’s wife and a well known socialite was not sure if there was enough time to prepare Ginny for
the wedding.
Ginny was confused, she wasn’t sure that she was doing the right thing. Everything was
moving too quickly. She still had headaches and often felt sad and depressed over the death of her
baby. She’d also forgotten to ask Billy about the things that George had wanted from him and about
the death of the man on the Navarino. There were so many questions that she wanted to ask him. She
knew that she still wasn’t herself. She wished that she could confide in someone but her days were
planned for her.
Mrs Whitehead would often get annoyed as Ginny kept daydreaming, going over the events of
the kidnapping in her mind. She had Deportment classes all morning, then elocution in the afternoon
followed by music, reading and culture in the evenings.
Then, at the end of the second week, she came home to find a letter slipped under the door of
her room. The handwriting was terrible and the spelling atrocious and it was difficult to read by the
pale yellow light of the oil lamp, but Ginny was delighted to read it. It was from Silas Daly. He wanted
to meet her on Sunday afternoon in the park behind Salamanca on the dockside. She wondered if he’d
been watching her. She’d been escorted to the park several times in the last few days.
They met under the jacaranda tree in the warm afternoon sun.
“My, Mister Daly, you are looking well.” Ginny noted that his clothes, while not of the latest
fashion, were clean and well pressed.
“Thank you, and may I say that you’re looking as radiant as ever,” Daly replied graciously.
Daly had never seen Ginny looking so much like a Nib. Her dress was new and very fashionable for
Van Diemen’s Land.
“This is just a chance encounter, Miss Ginny. Yes?”
Ginny nodded and smiled.
Daly lowered his voice an“I hear that the HMS Waverley will dock soon. She’s bringing
several hundred women. Some of them are nurses and one of them has met both Mrs Fry and Miss
Nightingale. The Governor is pleased.”
Ginny wondered where he was leading her.
“Gareth Jones has a friend at Government house. Apparently the Governor will announce all
the Tickets of Leave at noon tomorrow. I confirmed that with Mister Bent, he writes the Gazette. Your
name is on the list.”
Daly turned to face her. “Miss Ginny. This time tomorrow you will be a free woman. You will
be able to make your own way in life. Isn’t that exciting!”
Ginny frowned and replied cautiously, looking directly into his eyes. “Indeed, but what
business is it of yours Mister Daly?”
Daly turned a little pale, he looked down at his shoes.
“I, er, um. I was wondering if perhaps you knew of anyone who could help me up on the farm.
I, er, I’d like to expand and grow more flowers but I need help. A woman’s help. I’m not married or
anything and I have money now and I er, thought that …” his trembling voice trailed away to silence.
“Hah! We all know where the money came from don’t we?” Ginny said, a wry smile on her
lips.
“Oh Silas. I don’t care about that.” She interrupted his protests. “It serves George right, but he
doesn’t particularly like you at the moment.”
“Oh, he’s never liked me Ginny. Oh, you know, there was something else I meant to ask your
brother. I forgot to ask him what it was the George wanted from him. Did you find out? You remember
that George told me that Billy stole something from his friend of his on the Navarino?”
“Yes and he told you that Billy had killed his friend and I shouted at you,” Ginny added sadly.
“Well, no Silas. I was going to ask Billy about that but we weren’t alone very much and he wanted to
be with his sweetheart. George told me it was a drawing on a piece of leather or something. Sounded
very odd. You know, George has a lot of skeletons in his cupboard don’t he?”
“He does that, Miss Ginny.”
“Oh, I think I’ll go and have a chat with Lizzy and Sarah tomorrow. They did get their Ticket
of Leave too didn’t they?”
“Er, um. Well, I’m afraid that it’s well, no, Mr Bent couldn’t find their names or numbers on
the list. Sorry. Perhaps he just didn’t look hard enough.”
“Oh hell! They should both be out by now, the poor dears. Damn and blast this stupid, nasty
Government!”
Daly squirmed and there was an awkward silence. Then Ginny put her hand on top of Daly’s
and squeezed it.
“Promise me you’ll be near if I need you. Promise?”
“Until when, Miss Ginny?’ he asked, afraid that he’d said too much.
“Oh, another two weeks should be fine. Perhaps you should get to know Clarrie, the caretaker
at the Hospital. And tell me Silas, you do have a strong horse don’t you?” she said enigmatically.
Daly nodded, his hands trembling, this time in anticipation rather than fear.
Chapter 51:
Leelinger had finally agreed to Murrimbindi’s request. The Karadji had warned the elders that
the tribe should be very careful in their annual migration to the east coast. Truganini had warned them
that the white fella was plenty angry at the Palawa raids. Murrimbindi didn’t particularly like
Truganini but she knew more about the white fella than anyone else. Too many innocent white fellas
had been murdered. The white fellas claimed the land was theirs and the Palawa could rot in hell.
“Wa! I say we all go together. The white fellas will not harm us if we move fast. We have not
attacked any white fellas here for a long time. They will let us go on to the coast unharmed.”
“You are too trusting,” Murrimbindi said waving his finger at Leelinger. “I have walked down
the track many times. I see the marks of horses’ feet and I have smelt the white fella. I know they are
watching for us to leave. There are so few of us now. We must be careful. I say that we go tonight, in
two groups and we do not cross the river. It is too dangerous.”
Leelinger shook his head. “Wa! Ever since you lost your hand you have become an old woman.
We are Larmairrermener! The white fella cannot harm us!”
There was a murmur of assent from the men and women sitting around the fire. Murrumbindi
threw up his hand in anger. They were being very foolish. Leelinger was a stubborn old man; he was
acting as if he could tell everyone what to do. That was not right, no-one could do that! The tribe had
to agree.
Murrimbindi decided to call on Truganini. He had no choice. She walked with the white fella,
she knew Robinson. She’d given up the old ways and become tame like the Sydney men.
“Truganini. Tell us, what do you think? You know the white fella the best. Yesterday you were
down in the valley with them. Tell us what you think.”
The men looked from Murrumbindi to Truganini in amazement. Truly these were strange
times. Murrumbindi was asking the advice of a woman on important matters, and not just any woman,
but Truganini? They ceased muttering and became completely silent as Truganini stood up and
came forward into the light of the fire.
“Wa! I am happy to give my advice to my good friend. I am just a woman but I have seen the
white fella and I know what terrible and savage people they can be! It is true, I once believed their lies
but, no more!”
The men sat back and smiled in anticipation of a lively debate. Few of them had ever paid
much attention to Truganini, but now she had their rapt attention.
“It has been a long time since the metal teeth bit off Murrimbindi’s hand and since then you say
that the Larmairrermener has only attacked a few farms in the far north,” she began quietly, “but the
Luggermairrernerpairrer have raided many farms and to the white fella every black fella looks the
same.”
The men nodded. They had seen the smoke of several raids.
“The white fella called Robertson was up north, two days walk away. He has a tame mob with
him and they want to take prisoners for the Governor. You should be careful.”
Leelinger stood up immediately. “Robertson is a good man. He is a black fella too. Musquito
liked him and Robertson tried to stop them from hanging him. He would not harm the Palawa.”
“He’s a different man – “ Truganini started to say but Murrumbindi cut her off.
“Wa! The man might look like a Sydney man, his skin is brown, not black and I say he has the
heart of a white fella. Robertson has a big farm and a big house. I even saw him dressed like a
policeman and riding a horse! Truganini is right, we should beware!”
Leelinger stood up in the back of the big canoe. With his long pole he pushed the reed boat
silently across the river. The morning mist rose like steam from the calm brown water. The first trip
had gone well and three children, two women and a dog lay crouched in the reeds on the far side,
waiting for his return.
He could see the line of men fording the river a hundred yards upstream as the canoe nudged
into the riverbank. The two boys held the two dogs back and they made no sound as the whole group
edged around the bushes.
Leelinger crawled up the muddy embankment and peered out through the undergrowth. He
could see his warriors coming up from the river. Everyone had made it across successfully. He smiled
with satisfaction and even let himself gloat a little.
Murrimbindi would be very embarrassed and would have to bring his half of the tribe along the
track in the next few days. He might be the oldest man of the tribe but Leelinger still knew what was
best. He chuckled to himself and raised his spear, signalling for the women and children to come up
and follow him. Quickly, they formed a line and padded noiselessly downstream, Leelinger at the fore
with the dogs scurrying along ahead.
Suddenly the dogs turned around and ran straight towards a clump of trees. They stopped and
began barking loudly as a volley of shots rang from the shadows. The white fellas were waiting for
them!
Leelinger dropped down over the embankment and screamed at the women and children to
swim back across the river. Peering over the top, he could see his warriors scatter into the bushes.
There was a pause. Leelinger stood up. The white fellas were reloading their guns, he thought. He
dived into the bushes and set off towards the trees.
He had to try and save his men. He could see that some of them were already swimming back
over the river but several were helping two injured men down to the riverbank. Leelinger could see
several white fellas running in a crouch towards his men.
It was time for him to make up for his mistake.
He ran forward and stopped in full view of the white fellas. He raised his spear high and let out
a blood-curdling scream. Instantly, the white men stopped and fired at him, but he was too quick, he
hurled himself to the ground as bullets whistled over his head. He rolled over a few times then raised
his head. He could see Robertson standing in the sun at the edge of the trees. Leelinger jumped up and
threw his spear at Robertson with all his might. Just as the spear left his hand, a bullet caught him in
the chest and he fell heavily and lay still.
Leelinger had thrown his spear too hard and it sailed over Robertson and struck one of the
horses in the rump. The horse whinnied in pain and bucked, and immediately the other horses panicked
and pulled at their tethers. Within a few seconds the horses were bucking and rearing and in danger of
injuring themselves, so Robertson had to send several men to calm them down. In the confusion, the
aboriginals had managed to swim across the river to safety.
Watching from the other side, Murrimbindi shook his head sadly as the white fellas shot the
two wounded warriors in the head from close range.
“Wa! Leelinger should have listened to me! He died like a hero but now we have lost five
warriors. Robertson and the white fellas will pay for this!”
Pandak helped the last of the children scramble up the bank to join them in safety. He glanced
up as the two gunshots echoed across the water.
Moorina watched in horror as the white fellas unceremoniously dragged the five dead warriors
into a pile of bloody flesh at the top of the riverbank. Gilbert Robertson rode up on a cart pulled by two
horses. He dismounted and stood aside to supervise as four white fellas picked up each of the warriors
and dumped them onto the back of the wooden cart.
The white fellas were laughing and smiling as they examined each body, looking for the bullet
wounds. Robertson looked back across the river. He spotted Murrimbindi standing tall and angry on
the other side. Murrimbindi yelled out to him.
“Put’em bodies down! White bugger! Put em down!”
Robertson looked back to the cart and yelled at his men. They stopped laughing and joking and
lifted the final two bodies onto the cart with a little more respect.
“Put’em Palawa down!” Murrimbindi screamed.
Robertson shook his head sadly, cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled back.
“Plenty dead black fella. Palawa come quiet, I not shoot Palawa!”
Murrimbindi shook his head and muttered to Pandak, “That is Robertson. Leelinger was his
friend, now he kills us. Now he wants us to follow him.”
“Murrimbindi come, no spear. I take you good place, plenty baccy,” Robertson cried.
“Wa! He thinks we are a tame mob!” the Karadji mumbled incredulously.
“White buggers kill black fella! Plenty dead! White fella not take’em bodies, not take’em
spirits!”
Robertson turned and looked as the last body was loaded onto the cart. It was the old man,
Leelinger. Robertson realized that he’d once been his friend. He muttered to himself. “Hell and
damnation! What am I doing? Arthur won’t get any more blacks from me!”
Then he turned his back to the river and mounted the cart. He took one last look over to the
aborigines and then spurred his horses and rode slowly away.
Murrimbindi was beside himself with fury. “Wa! They have taken their bodies! They have
taken their bodies! The white fellas are savages! Now our warriors’ spirits will be lost! We must chase
them! We must get the bodies back! We must kill the white savages!”
He jumped up and down and waved his spear in the air furiously. He seemed to have been
taken by a fit of apoplexy. He dropped the spear as he began to shake violently, his eyes bulged out of
his head and he started foaming at the mouth as he fought to yell and scream his rage. The men quickly
surrounded him in a protective circle. After a few minutes, his frenzied fury suddenly came to an
abrupt end and Murrimbindi collapsed to the ground, his shoulders shaking as he wept into his one
hand.
Pandak leant over and whispered to Truganini, “Wa! What will happen to their souls? Will the
white fella burn their bodies properly?”
Truganini looked up at him, tears streamed down her cheeks. “Wa! It is worse than that! Much
worse! They will send their bodies over the water, back to England.”
Pandak looked at her in astonishment, “The Queen of the England tribe is like Rowra, she is
eating the souls of the Palawa dead!”
“Robertson has turned against us,” the woman replied. “He takes the bodies into town and they
give him money. Then the bodies go over the water to England. That is the way it is. I have asked him
to give us the bodies back or at least keep them in Trowenna but he does not understand us, he says we
have no religion, that we are savages and he will not help us.”
Daniel Bartholomew rubbed his hands expectantly. The semaphore system had alerted the
settlement to the capture of William Foxe and referred to him as a “Wild Man.” Bartholomew had been
employed as the settlement’s Medical Officer for two years. He’d acted as coroner for the guard who
died when Foxe escaped during the Governor’s ill fated visit. He’d confirmed that Foxe had not in fact
killed the man as many had speculated but that he’d died of a broken neck after he was thrown from
his horse.
Bartholomew was bored. His new Junior Medical officer treated most of the prisoners and he
only handled the more interesting cases. Billy Foxe had lived amongst the savages for well over a year,
Bartholomew thought that he’d probably existed on a diet of raw meat, worms and leaves. The bush
held little sustenance for civilized people so he expected Billy to be starving and emaciated.
Billy limped into the hospital unaided. Bartholomew immediately ordered him to strip. He was
astounded to see how healthy he looked. Billy looked well fed with strong and well-defined muscles.
He was so deeply tanned his skin was almost black and contrasted starkly with his tangled mess of red
hair. The doctor told him to turn around, the boy’s back was a mass of scars, but they were old and
long healed. He had some very odd scars on his chest. It looked as if the wounds had been deliberately
left open so the scars would be big. Bartholomew stepped back and looked Billy up and down.
Then suddenly, he saw it.
“Oh, I say. Whatever is this here? Is it some sort of growth?”
Billy shook his head. “I am a Ke-bo-ra of the Larmairrermener tribe. This is my thun-bura, my
penis bone.”
“Your what? ‘pon my soul!” the doctor exclaimed, taking out his magnifying glass. “Bone? Is
it one piece? Does it go right through?”
Billy nodded.
“Take it out. Let me see.”
“No! What do you want to do with it? It’s mine. I have to keep it.”
“Boy, I can have you flogged for disobeying me! But then again, you’ve survived several
floggings I see, and this thing was probably much more painful.”
“Yes, sir, much. You won’t damage it if I show it to you will you?”
Bartholomew sat down at his desk and opened his casebook.
“No, Eighty seven twelve. I’ll be very careful. I’d like to make a drawing of it and you can tell
me all about how and why the savages did this to you. Then you can have it back. It’s an animal bone
is it?”
Billy smiled wryly.
“Animal bone? Yes, sir. You could say that.”
“I thought so. I’ll recommend that you be allowed to keep it, as it seems to be precious to you.
Now, let me see it.”
Billy was marched to the stores where he was issued with his slops; heavy serge clothing and a
thin blanket. The left side of his magpie shirt was yellow, the right was dark blue. He was made to strip
on the spot and hand over Tom the bushranger’s old clothes. He was quick so that the guards had no
time to see his thun-bura before he donned his magpie trews. The clothes were very coarse and itchy
and he hadn’t worn shoes for over a year, but fortunately the heavy prison shoes were several sizes too
big and they had plenty of room. They placed a heavy black mask over his head. The eyeholes were so
small that he had difficulty seeing as he limped down the long path leading to the cellblock. Billy took
his time, moving his head around so that he could see the sky and the trees and feel the sun and the
wind on his hands. He had a feeling that they were going to lock him away for a while.
He limped through the main gate. His leg was still sore but the swelling was going down. The
guard opened the iron gate and pushed Billy forward. Inside was a circular courtyard with several
heavy iron doors. Billy was marched over to the furthest door that opened from the other side with a
loud squeal. There were two guards inside. By the dim yellow light of their whale oil lamps Billy could
see a long stone corridor lined with doors. Silently, the guards exchanged several complicated hand
gestures and led Billy down towards an open door. Their feet made no sound and Billy noticed that
they had rags tied around their shoes. In the far distance Billy could hear muffled screams and yells of
other prisoners.
Billy felt as if he was entering a crypt. It was eerily dark and still. They pushed through the
door into small dark stone room. Inside was the door to his cell. One of the guards suddenly pulled off
Billy’s mask. In that instant Billy caught a fleeting glimpse of his cell. A narrow wooden bed was
strewn with straw. On the cold stone floor were two wooden buckets. One was empty, the other held
water. The cell was just large enough to hold the bed and allow the iron door to open. There were no
lights. The guard shoved Billy forward and slammed the door shut. Billy stood still as the key turned in
the lock then the outer door slammed tight. It was totally dark. Billy was in a cave. He felt for the edge
of the bed and sat down.
“Hell,” he whispered.
The word echoed loudly off the stone walls.
On his way to the pound, the solitary cells, Billy had seen convicts working in the gardens and
walking around the grounds at Port Arthur. He knew that they would eventually let him out of the tiny
cell. Once a day the outer door would open and Billy would see the dim glow of the guard’s lamp. He
would rap on Billy’s door and grunt out one word.
“Food!”
Billy would answer.
“Ready.”
The keys would jingle and turn in the lock and then the inner door would creak open. A shaft of
yellow light would stream into the cell and fall onto Billy’s two buckets and tray next to the door. Billy
would be cowering on his bed in the furthest corner of the cell. The trusty would scoop up the buckets
and tray and replace them with his new ones for the day. If the guard didn’t see Billy, the door would
slam shut. If he forgot to put out the tray he would go hungry.
It nearly drove Billy mad at first, as he feared he’d sleep through the guard’s visit, but after a
while he realized that he could always hear the faint slamming of the doors of the cell next to him. He
wasn’t sure how often the guard came or even if it was morning or night but he was soon able to
anticipate his arrival.
The sun broke though the clouds, bathing the deck of the HMS Anson in its warmth. Sarah was
glad that Ginny had come; it’d been three years since they’d last seen each other.
“How’re you doing dear? It’s been such a long time, hasn’t it?” Ginny said, trying to hide her
concern. Sarah did not look well. Her hair was tied up in a bun giving her face a severe and pinched
look and she seemed to have developed a twitch under her left eye. Ginny was not looking forward to
telling her about her Ticket of Leave.
“Oh I’m all right, under the circumstances. I just wish that men would leave me alone and let
me enjoy my garden. I have a lovely collection of herbs now. Percy had been very nice to me.”
“Percy? Oh, yes. Percy, Maureen’s husband. Does he come down to visit you then?”
“Oh, no. Maureen drops by every now and then. She’s such a dear. She’s so patient. She was a
great comfort after that dreadful Jones fellow! She doesn’t like him much you know!”
“Jones? Not the Policeman?” Ginny exclaimed. “He helped rescue me from the kidnappers.
What happened?”
Sarah shuddered slightly. Ginny wasn’t sure if it was fear or excitement.
“He, he um, proposed to me.”
Ginny breathed in sharply, not quite sure whether to congratulate or commiserate her.
“Yes, indeed he did! Fancy thinking that I, a Churchill, would be interested in him! I mean,
he’s Welsh isn’t he! Speaks funny!”
“Well, yes, I suppose so.” Ginny laughed nervously.
“He’s a country lad and rather dimwitted, and nothing will change that. More tea?” Sarah
picked up the teapot so hard that her knuckles were white.
“You know I still remember the way he struck Lizzy on the Sydney Cove. Men! They’re all so
nasty! I’d rather join a Nunnery than marry!”
Ginny raised her cup to her lips quickly so as to hide her dismay.
“My goodness, Sarah. I never realized. Are you sure you’re alright?”
Sarah smiled sweetly.
“Of course, never felt better. I’m content to lead a quiet and peaceful life. Nursing suits more
than I expected. They tell me that my Ticket of Leave has been refused again. That’s not so
bad, I suppose, at least it keeps the men away from me!”
“Oh, you knew about that then. I’m so sorry Sarah,” Ginny said in relief.
“Oh, I expected it, Lizzy wrote to me. She’s not on the list either, but at least you have yours!”
Sarah sipped her cup of tea and regarded her friend critically. Ginny had changed; she didn’t
look very happy about the prospect of marrying the man who was supposed to be the love of her life.
“That’s an odd hairstyle dear, is it a new fashion?” she asked politely, noting Ginny’s red hair
tumbling over her shoulders.
“No, everyone’s wearing their hair up this year just like you.” Ginny grimaced, and then in a
conspiratorial whisper, she added, “Another week and I think the bruises will be gone. It’s where
George kicked me.”
“George? Really? It wasn’t on purpose was it?”
Ginny smiled awkwardly, “It was when they rescued me. He was on his horse. It was just an
accident, but still it knocked me silly for a while.”
“Oh, it must’ve been hell being kidnapped!” Sarah exclaimed.
“It was, I hated the bushrangers, except one of them called Tom. I should try and write to his
wife and let her know what happened. Poor woman. Anyroad, I suppose it opened up me eyes a bit.
We’re so distant up in Launceston. I never know what’s happening.”
“Mmmm, true, but I did hear something about George in a battle with natives up north?”
“Ah, George said that the natives were attacking a farm and trying to kill the family inside.
Although, he did admit that one of his men sold a gin to the sealers, but he said he wasn’t there at the
time and he fired the man afterwards.”
“It’s not illegal to sell black women is it? I heard that it’s been happening for years, and the
tribes like to have the flour and tobacco.”
“That’s what George said too, but Billy is married to a black woman, and he said they are very
angry that the white fellas are stealing their women.”
“Ooooh. Well, he’d know wouldn’t he? Did you tell George?”
“I can’t tell him anything Sarah. I must speak when I’m spoken to, he says!”
“Ginny. Dear Ginny. Are you sure that George is the right man for you?” Sarah took another
sip of tea and frowned.
“Well I, well. Damnation! I’m just not sure any more Sarah! A month ago I was so happy. The
baby was on the way and George sent me this lovely letter. But now, now, I think perhaps I should call
off the wedding.”
Sarah waited. Silence came over them. Finally Sarah spoke.
“You’re afraid of him aren’t you dear?”
Ginny groaned and then nodded slowly. “He’s got such a bad temper, but it’s not just him. I
even got a letter from Eliza, the Governor’s wife. She’s very excited about the wedding. She says that
George is a good man and hints that he just needs a woman’s calming influence. Even Bishop Russell
has blessed us and is looking forward to the service. It’ll be so embarrassing for George and such a
blow to everyone’s plans if I stop now.”
“I told you what Mr Daly said about the Commander. I hope he was exaggerating?”
“Dunno, ducks. George says that he’s just jealous. But now I’m not so sure.”
Sarah put her cup back down on her saucer and looked Ginny in the eye. “Oh, come on
Virginia! Bugger them! Isn’t that what you used to say? Bugger ‘em! It’s your flaming life isn’t it girl?
You’ve got your Ticket of Leave, so do it! Leave! You can go up to Ross and stay with Maureen. She
and Percy would to have you. She told me they might need a hand in the shop. Why don’t you go?”
Ginny smiled wanly. She looked haggard and tired.
“Yes, but, I mean no. Oh, Sarah! What am I going to do? I hope Silas is right about my Ticket
but I won’t actually get it for another month and I’m afraid George could still stop it. You know I’m
being watched all the time. If I, if I do leave, I don’t have enough money to pay George and anyway, I
shouldn’t make a fuss!”
“Oh silly! I can lend you some money and I expect that Mr Daly would be only too happy to
help out as well. Listen Ginny, don’t get trapped. My mother married a gambler because she fell
pregnant and he spent all her money and she died in shame. So stand up and fight!”
“Oh Sarah. Your mum’s dead? Oh you poor thing!”
Sarah looked at her with a grim expression on her face. “Oh I’m over that Ginny. But you’re
here and I can stop you making the same mistake as Mother. So please, please Ginny, promise me you
won’t let them force you to marry George if you don’t want to.”
Ginny smiled awkwardly and put down her cup.
Sarah watched her carefully and waited. She reached forward for the teapot. Ginny raised her
hand.
“Perhaps you’re right dear. I will sleep on it. I’m afraid I’d need your help. How fast could you
get a letter up to Maureen?”
It was as black as night and as quiet as the grave. Billy couldn’t see a thing. There was a rat in
the cell for the first few days. Billy talked to it; he named it George after his favourite Governor. Billy
never knew exactly where it was. It escaped one day when it jumped into the water bucket before the
buckets were exchanged. It gave the trusty quite a fright. He yelled and received a good beating from
the guard. Billy didn’t get any food that day.
Billy spent his time reliving his wonderful experiences with Moorina and Pandak. He talked
and sang to himself constantly, going over the Songlines of the Loarinna and the myths of his tribe.
Billy was determined to survive his time in jail and return to Moorina and the bush in the best
condition. He tried to keep in shape by exercising.
When he felt tired he tried to float out of his body and contact people as Pandak claimed to
have done. Billy did dream of flying quite often but he never managed to look down and see himself as
he’d done during his Bo-ra ceremony.
He forced himself to stay awake as long as he could but that just made him sleep through
several meals. Then he tried fasting. That was when they finally let him out. The guards had told the
Sergeant that prisoner 8712 had gone on hunger strike although he wasn’t complaining as the prisoners
usually did. Commandant William Champ decided that 28 days in solitary was probably a strong
enough message for the prisoner. So one dark and gloomy evening Billy was led out of the solitary
cells and into the main prison block.
The rickety trap arrived at the Hobarton Hospital before cock-crow. Ginny was still packing her
bags. She left Clarrie with all her dresses and jewelry and a bottle of whiskey. He didn’t ask where she
was going and he’d keep her secret as long as he could. She gave the old man a peck on the cheek
before she disappeared into the mist.
Wordlessly, Silas Daly helped her up onto the back of his cart. She snuggled down between the
bales of hay and Daly pulled the tarpaulin over her.
Across to Richmond then up through Colebrook, they drove on the back roads for three days
without stopping. Daly was well armed but took no chances. Gareth Jones met them on his return from
Hobart Town. He’d just delivered Corporal Riley’s report to the Governor. The Corporal was keen to
see that the Governor’s Office was given his full and accurate account of the kidnapping of Virginia
Fotheringham and the capture of her brother William Foxe. Riley was very upset that Blanch had
outsmarted him and taken the credit and his very detailed report ran to thirty pages.
Jones showed them a secret path around the little village of Oatlands and up to the north. After
a few more days of riding they reached the southern outskirts of Ross.
Maureen Thompson’s modest house was tucked away on a quiet street far from the main road.
Dawn was breaking as they arrived. The men unloaded Ginny’s bags and departed silently. There was
just a week to go before her wedding. Ginny hoped that George would understand her letter and call
off the wedding quietly. She didn’t even know if he was in Hobarton. Ginny was very grateful to
Mister Davis, the Magistrate, who’d applied for her Ticket of Leave giving her first domicile as the
township of Ross. Governor Arthur trusted Davis and rarely looked twice at his paperwork that he
carelessly signed amidst the flurry of arrivals of new women from the HMS Waverley.
Daly sold the trap at the market a few hours later before he and Jones headed back south. He
was very disappointed that Ginny refused to hear his marriage proposal. It was just too dangerous to
think about it, she’d told him. Blanch would be after them both. Daly smiled to himself. Blanch hadn’t
dared to publicly accuse him of pocketing the extra fifty guineas of the ransom money but Daly knew
that revenge wasn’t far from his mind.
“Ah, Mister Davis. Take a seat. I’ll be with you shortly,” Governor Arthur said in his usual
brusque manner.
David William Davis, Magistrate of the township of Ross did as he was told and waited for his
superior to complete his writings and notations in the Black Book. Davis was completely relaxed. He’d
dealt with Governor Arthur long enough to know that he personally was not threatened but he
wondered exactly why he’d been called down to Hobarton on such short notice.
The Governor slammed the big book shut loudly, pushed back his chair and stood up.
“Now Davis. How are you? Good? Good,” he said without waiting for a response. “No doubt
you’ve heard of the latest gossip? Hmmm? Now, sir what were you thinking? Why ever did you apply
to have that Fotheringham woman move up to Ross? Commander Blanch is very cross you know.”
Davis smiled; he’d prepared himself well for this.
“Many women applied, sir. She had a good offer from a sound employer who needs someone
with her capabilities. Ross needs good workers, especially women. I did my civic duty.”
“Tosh and botheration! She left Commander Blanch standing at the altar! My wife had a new
dress made for the occasion!”
Davis smiled awkwardly but said nothing. Arthur leant over the desk “I happen to know that
the apothecary is a relative of yours!”
“Indeed that is true, sir. Miss Fotheringham will be unable to stray too far from the fold.”
The Governor sat down and looked at Davis thoughtfully. “Yes, that would be a good idea. She
is domiciled at 18 Church Street, that’s in the Apothecary is it not?”
“Yes, sir, she has a small room above the shop. The owner and his wife live next door.”
“So, you’d know Miss Fotheringham’s business very well then I imagine?”
Davis nodded.
“Tell me, Davis, have you seen Commander Blanch recently?” The Governor asked, “Since she
arrived in Ross for instance?”
Davis shook his head decisively.
“No, sir. The Commander came through Ross last week and stopped at the Man O’ War hotel
to rest his horses but Miss Fotheringham has had no male visitors since her arrival. None at all.”
The Governor sighed. “Fine. Fine. We’ll just put our faith in the Lord and I’ll put my trust in
you to see that she doesn’t stray nor that there’s any more mischief.”
“Mischief? From Miss Fotheringham?” Davis was shocked at the thought.
“Neither from her or to her, Mister Davis. I want her to disappear from the public attention for
a good while and I certainly don’t want to see her name popping up the Gazette any more! I am not
keen on scandal, thank you!”
Augustus Robinson adjusted his wig as Governor Arthur finished signing the stack of forms on
his desk. The Governor was a born administrator, he loved to organize, set up offices and streamline
procedures. It was the actual people who were the real problem and Robinson was becoming one of his
biggest problems.
“Mister Robinson, is it true that you claim to have seen Commander Blanch up at Cape Grim
when the alleged killings occurred?” As usual, the Governor came straight to the point.
“No, sir, Truganini informed me that the Commander was seen by several witnesses as he
rowed back out to his ship. Those witnesses also saw a person who looked like the Commander at the
hunting grounds the previous evening.”
“The witnesses were abos?”
Robinson squirmed in his seat, he didn’t like anyone, even the Governor, to use derogatory
terms for the people he liked to consider as his flock. “They were reliable witnesses, sir, aborigines
who’ve been useful and truthful to me in the past, sir.”
“And what is the mood of the abos, man?”
Robinson paused while he controlled his temper.
“Apparently, they are upset. Truganini has spoken to the elders and they have moved out of the
Company’s territory.”
“Upset! Well so are Mister Curr and I!” The Governor laughed. “Curr says they killed hundreds
of his sheep. What do they expect? They shouldn’t even be on his land! At least they’ve moved away.
That’s more than you’ve achieved in the last two years! Perhaps Blanch is lying when he says he was
at Port Dalrymple at the time but at least the abos know that I am serious about protecting our
livestock!”
Robinson nodded.
“Now then, Mister Robinson, we aren’t heading for another Musquito incident are we?”
“No, sir, the natives have gone south to join the Big River tribe but since Musquito was hanged
they’ve taken to hiding in the jungle rather than fight us. However, I hear that you’ve captured a
convict who joined the tribe, perhaps he can tell us more?”
“Oh you mean 8712? Blanch’s intended’s brother, in fact! I’m afraid he’s at Port Arthur and if I
know Commandant Champ, he’ll be in solitary for a while yet. I suppose I could let you see him when
he comes out, would that do?” Arthur offered.
“Hmmm. I’m off to north east, that Robertson chap says he has an idea of how to solve the
native problem.”
“Ah yes, Gilbert Robertson. He seems reluctant to continue leading my Roving Parties for
some reason. He’s another rather vexing journalist, just like Bent. They do enjoy ridiculing me and my
Government in their annoying little rag, the Colonist. Although my little scheme to take over that
newspaper seems to be working nicely. However, I hear that he suggests that we herd all the little
natives down to Port Arthur and build a fence around them. I’d be interested in knowing the details. Do
let me know how it proceeds. Thank you,” Governor Arthur replied, dismissing Robinson with a
haughty wave.
Chapter 52:
Billy woke with a start. The pale pre-dawn light filtered through a tiny window near the ceiling.
He was in a big stone room filled with men sleeping in hammocks. He was nice and warm but he was
dying for a piss. He’d never been in a hammock before and he couldn’t help but make noise as he
clambered awkwardly down and stood on the cold floor. He undid his trews, removed his thun-bura
and squatted down on his cast iron Guzunda to pee. When he was finished, he stood up and shook
himself off. As he re-inserted his thun-bura he heard a cough from the neighbouring hammock. He
looked up to see the man staring at him in amazement.
“What the devil is that?” the man exclaimed in a whisper.
Billy frowned at him and pulled up his trews.
“Hey, this fella’s got a stick through his bleeding tool!”
“Hey shut up! You’ll get us into trouble!” Billy hissed urgently.
“Not with bugger-lugs on duty, he’s as deaf as a doorknob!” the man replied.
Billy tried to ignore him and get back into his bunk but the man jumped onto the floor and was
laughing and yelling to get everyone’s attention. By the time Billy finally got back into his bunk, half
of the dormitory was awake. Several of the men walked over to see what the fuss was about.
“Bugger off, the lotta ya!” Billy grumbled to the handful of men encircling his hammock.
His neighbour, undaunted, pointed at Billy and demanded.
“Why’ve ya got a stick through ya tickle tail then? You some sort of pervert?”
“Piss off!”
One of the other men shook his head in disbelief.
“Addison you lying blackguard! You woke me up for this? ‘Course he aint got no stick through
his Man Thomas! We don’t have to get up for another ten minutes! I’ve ‘ad enough of your damned
noise!”
He bent down and picked up Billy’s chamber pot, which was half full with pee. He was just
about to throw it over Addison when Billy cried out, “Stop!”
Billy began to climb out of his hammock.
“All right ya nosy bastards. Put the Guzunda down and I’ll show ya. I knew you’d find out
eventually anyway, you just don’t need to make such a goddamn fuss about it!”
He stood up and dropped his trews. The men edged forward to take a look. Their laughter
turned to gasps of amazement and incredulity and they plied him with questions.
“Yes, yes. It comes out. Yes, it bloody well hurt! No, no-one forced me. Wait, wait!” Billy put
his hands up to fight off the sudden outburst of questions.
“Right. First Gents, me name is Billy Foxe. Yes, yes, I escaped from Point Puer and no, I did
not kill anyone, alright? Do I look as though I could kill anyone? Now, I don’t know what you think
about the black fellas, but when I was in the bush, they were the ones who helped me find food and
water. If it weren’t for them I’d be pushing up the bleedin’ daisies!”
A few other men in the dorm had sauntered over to find out what the noise was all about.
“Wa! I’ll be quick.” Billy said as his voice began to tremble, as he had no idea how the men
would react. “I joined the black fellas. That’s right, I became one of them, my name is
Loarinna.numer, the White Tiger.”
The convicts muttered, giggled and mumbled and shook their heads disapprovingly.
“D’ya wanna hear this or not?” Billy said in exasperation, trying to quieten the men down.
“Fine. So, to get into the tribe they have a ceremony. No, there’s no grog or baccy. They just keep you
awake for three days and sing at you. It puts you into a trance, like you’re mesmerized or summat.
Then, they take these long sharpened sticks and they drill them in from both sides until they meet.
Blood everywhere! Really messy. It hurt more afterwards, and it hurt like hell!”
The men cringed away as Billy explained the sordid details.
“Anyone wanna become a boong!” Addison offered cheerfully to derisive laughter.
“Can you pull it out? Can we see the stick?” some yelled out.
“It’s bone. It’s called a thun-bura and no, ‘course ya can’t see it.”
Then as several men jeered at him Billy added, “Fine, I’ll show it to ya again, but I’ll charge
ya, say one ha’penny. That’s a ha’penny each!”
The main product of the Port Arthur penal settlement was flour, coal, labour and the occasional
ship. As a newcomer, Billy was assigned to the back-breaker, a giant treadmill, to grind the flour. It
took twenty-four men to make the thirty-foot high wheel go round. It was exhausting work. For eight
hours a day with brief rests every hour, they trod the wind.
Billy was glad that the month in the pound had allowed his leg to heal but the first day was
sheer hell. His muscles burned and screamed at him after just ten minutes. He fell off the wheel three
times that day, and each time he banged his knees and elbows as he was flung away from the spinning
treadmill. It was a very common occurrence, particularly for novices, and the trusties poked Billy with
their long sticks until he got up and jumped back on the steps again. If he’d refused he would’ve been
whipped or sent before the Commandant for real punishment.
Billy settled down to the routine, up at dawn for prayers and then breakfast. On the back-
breaker until the half-hour long lunch and then back on the wheel until dinner. Then prayers followed
by an hour of school then supper and off to bed. The food was barely edible, the bread stale and worm-
ridden, the meat was mostly gristle, the potatoes were small and old and the vegetables almost non-
existent. Only the oatmeal gruel had any substance to it. On Sundays they got an apple to ward off
scurvy.
After a week of constant grinding exercise on the back-breaker, Billy’s muscles became rock
hard and most of the aches and pains had gone, but the food was so poor that he was constantly tired.
Mr Bartholomew had asked the Commandant to limit the time on the treadmill to two weeks as the
men became too sick and injured to be productive.
Jameson’s Run was looking very unkempt. As he neared the gate, Silas Daly noticed a big
wooden board nailed to the fence. Painted on the board was a big red cross. The sign of consumption
and disease. Daly got down from his horse and tied her to the fence post.
He cupped his hands around his mouth and called out to Richard Jameson. He could see two
mounds of fresh red soil in the garden. A shovel was leant against the steps of the porch. Daly could
see splotches of bright red all over the patio.
Fearing the worst, Daly yelled out a few more times and waited and listened. At last he noticed
the bedroom curtain being pulled aside. Then a few minutes later the front door was opened slowly and
Richard Jameson hobbled out into the sunlight. He looked awful, just a shell of a man. His dirty
clothes hung limply from his spare frame. His face was haggard and his eyes were red and watery.
“Is that you Silas?” Jameson croaked.
“I’ve brought Nellie back, Dick. What’s happened?”
Jameson dropped into a chair with a heavy thump. He waved Daly over. “C’mere. C’mere, but
not too close.”
Carefully, Daly opened the gate and walked closer. He stood nervously in the shadows, not
daring to come nearer.
“I’ve brought your horse back, Richard. She’s in fine condition and I replaced the stirrups.”
“They’re dead, Silas,” Jameson groaned. He was seized by a fit of coughing. It was so violent
that he almost fell out of the chair. He bent forward and spat out blood.
“Buried the bairn yesterday, Morag went last night.”
Jameson began to sob. It brought a lump to Daly’s throat.
“Is, is, er, is there anything I can do, Dick?”
Daly just stood still, awkward and helpless as his friend cried. After a few minutes Jameson
regained his composure.
“I’ll be dead in a day or two. Can you talk to the Reverend and get us a proper Christian burial?
Wee Norrie would’ve been six tomorrow.”
Daly nodded.
“Oh, you can keep the horse, and the other animals. I’ll write out a will.” Jameson’s voice was
hoarse and strained. He paused for breath, “Lizzy. I want Lizzy to have the farm. I can’t give it to a
woman though so can I trust you to look after it for her? Make sure she and the child are looked after.
The baby must be six months old by now. I should’ve written to her. I was bad, but at least the farm
will help. Will you do that for me, Silas lad?”
“You have my word, Dick. I’ll not let you down. But what happened? Can I help? Can anyone
help?”
“A gang came up from Hobarton. One of them fell down. He was sick. They put him under the
apple tree over there.” Jameson pointed out to the edge of the garden. He was interrupted by another

bout of coughing. His whole body shook and Daly feared that his friend was coughing up his own
lungs!
Eventually, the coughing subsided. Jameson took a sip of water and composed himself. “That’s
how we got it. Norrie took the man a glass of water. He was so quick, we couldn’t stop him. The man
died and the gang buried him in the ditch by the road. They sent out a Medical Officer. He said that
several Government men had died. He didn’t know what to do, but he made us stay at home and put
the sign up. So, now I have the red spots too and my time has come. There’s nothing you can do but
pray for our souls. Make sure that when you come back to bury me, Silas, that you don’t get poorly
too. I’ll dig the hole for my grave. I’ll leave the will on the table.”
Daly nodded and turned to go. “You’re a good man Richard. I will do as you ask.”
Jameson got to his feet, “Thank you, Silas. Thank you. Oh, before you go, a stranger came
yesterday, big fellow, he was. Says he was looking for you. He has a surprise to give you. Mean
sounding man. So be on your guard, my friend.”
With that he turned and went back into the house.
George Blanch was not a man to be trifled with nor publicly embarrassed. He rapped
impatiently on the door of the Apothecary. He didn’t care that it was late on a Sunday evening. It’d
taken him much longer to find Ginny than he wanted. Ginny heard the noise and came down the stairs
as quickly as she could with a lamp in her hand. The knocking continued loudly. She came up to the
door and called out.
“Who is it?”
“Open the damned door, woman! It’s me, George Blanch. I have a bone to pick with you!”
Ginny didn’t want to see him alone. She knew that he’d find her eventually but she feared him.
He sounded very angry. She ran into the dispensary and pounded on the wall, hoping that the
Thompsons hadn’t yet retired to their bed.
She was in luck. Almost immediately she heard the shuffle of feet and the sound of a chair
sliding over the stone floor. She went back into the shop. Blanch was hammering away at the door,
swearing and cursing. She waited until she heard Percy Thompson’s front door open and then she slid
the three bolts back.
She opened the door and raised the lamp. George stood there looking across to his left where
Mr Thompson was coming towards him, asking him what all the noise was about. George glanced at
her and then replied to Mr Thompson.
“It’s alright old man. Go back to bed. I’ve come for Virginia!”
Ginny took a quick step forward and dodged around him towards Mr Thompson. He was not an
old man, and he held a gun in his hand. He looked determined and displeased, but his hand shook and
Ginny knew that he could barely see without his glasses.
“Come behind me my dear,” he said, waving Ginny towards him. “Commander Blanch, this is
most undignified.”
Blanch scowled, “This is of no concern of yours, old man. I have business with my fiancée.
Now step aside so that we can talk alone.”
Ginny had talked with the Thompsons and the magistrate about whether and when George
Blanch would visit her. They had planned for most eventualities. Without taking his eyes off Blanch,
Mister Thompson muttered to Ginny, “You should stay with us tonight, my dear. He can wait until
morning. Why don’t you go inside? Maureen’s making up the bed for you.”
“Can we do it now? It’s still light. You can watch us for a quarter of an hour can’t you?”
Mr Thompson patted his gun. “Get the chairs out like we talked about then.”
Ginny turned to leave.
“Hey, where’s she going?”
Mr Thompson waved his shotgun. “Calm down, sir. She’s gone to fetch some stools. Please sit
down on the bench. Ginny’ll be out soon and she’ll let you talk for a little while as long as I’m out here

watching. I’m a careful fellow and don’t want my assistant upset. She’s got a busy day tomorrow.
Please, sit down!”
With bad grace and much complaining Blanch sat on the bench next to Ginny’s door as Ginny
came out with two stools. She set one down near the Thompsons door and one a bit closer to the shop
against the wall about fifteen feet from Blanch. Mr Thompson sat on his stool with the lamp on the
floor. He had a good view of Ginny and Blanch but he was far enough away that if they whispered
he’d be unable to overhear their conversation. Ginny sat down.
“Looks like you’ve got this well worked out,” Blanch said sarcastically.
“I’ve been expecting you George. I didn’t think you’d be satisfied with my letter.”
“Hah! Bloody letter! Tell me Virginia, are you happy you made a fool out of me?”
“Oh George, be fair. I told you. I just need time. It’s all too quick for me. I don’t know if I’d
ever be a good enough wife for you. I’m not a Nib, never will be. They still laugh at me accent even
after all those lessons. You deserve someone better than me George.”
“Ya could’ve bloody well told me before so I didn’t have to waste my time and money on that
song and dance!”
“I’m sorry, George dear. I just didn’t know. How could I?” Ginny said, close to tears.
“Damned wild goose chase! That’s what it was! Not to mention the ten guineas and the Ticket
of Leave! You did pretty damned well out of it all!” Blanch shook his finger angrily.
Thompson leant forward on his stool and waved Blanch back.
“I told you I’ll pay yer back George. Don’t be so mean!” Ginny said between sobs. “Anyroad,
me Ticket was coming without you. The magistrate told me.”
Blanch stood up. His voice bristled with indignation.
“Balderdash! You ignorant woman! Your two friends didn’t get their Tickets did they? Why
not, eh? Because of me, that’s why! And another thing! You stay away from Daly, d’ya hear me! He’s
a nasty character, that one and he owes me money, but you know all about that don’t you!”
Ginny eyed him coldly.
“You mean your gin money, George Blanch, aint that right?” she answered in disgust.
Blanch took a step towards with fists clenched.
“You damned harlot! Who are you to tell me what to do!”
“Get back Mr Blanch! Get back now!” Mr Thompson said, standing up.
“Daly aint got your money! Why don’t ya ask yer friend Black Bob?" Ginny yelled back.
Blanch took a quick step towards her and struck her very hard across her face with the back of
her hand. Thompson fired one shot at Blanch’s feet; it missed him and buried itself in the side of the
house.
Blanch stopped in his tracks, towering over Ginny as she lay on the ground. Blanch glared
furiously at Thompson and then at Ginny. Thompson waved his empty shotgun at him menacingly.
Blanch took a step towards Thompson, but suddenly a woman’s voice rang out.
“That’ll do George Blanch! Stop right there!” Maureen Thompson stepped out of the doorway
with a flintlock shotgun aimed at Blanch’s chest.
Blanch spat at Ginny and spun around angrily, then he marched away back down the street
swearing and cursing as he went.
Ginny got to her feet. She was trembling with fear and anger.
“Oooh he’s just a nasty man, that,” Maureen said as she helped Ginny dust herself off.
“Well, in some ways I’m glad he ‘it me,” Ginny said wryly “Now I know I made the right
choice.”
Ginny went inside the Thompsons house just as several people began to approach to see what
was happening. Mister Thompson locked up the shop and went back to his house.
“Ginny dear, there’s a man who says he’s from the Gazette. Do you want a word with him? He
says he’ll pay.”

“No thanks Mister Thompson. I’m sure enough people heard what was happening, they don’t
need me. I don’t want to upset George any more, I just want him out of my life. And thank you, thank
you both for being so brave!”
“George, George. I have an idea?”

“What is it Marcus?” Blanch asked as he sipped on a glass of rum on the porch of his
farmhouse.
He’d opened two full bottles and intended to finish them both by himself in the next few hours.
He’d returned from his confrontation with Ginny in Ross in a flaming temper and had gone straight
into the barn to knock the stuffing out of his punching bag. After two hours most of his anger was
spent, so he washed the sweat in the horse trough and screamed out for his dinner.
Fortunately Donaldson had already warned Mrs Yorke and she had his dinner on the table on
the porch in seconds. He’d drunk half the first bottle of rum with his dinner and stewed over that
damned Ginny Foxe and that annoying old man Thompson. Happily he could still feel the pain in the
back of his hand from the blow he’d given Ginny. He hoped to hell she was still hurting!
“Pull up a chair and have a drink.”
Donaldson did so and the two men peered over Blanch’s tiny farm towards the little hamlet of
Hamilton nestled down near the creek. The sun had nearly set and the sky was ablaze with orange and
red clouds.
“So, out with it man! What’s the big idea?” Blanch barked as he lit his pipe.
Donaldson took a big mouthful of the coarse rum and put his mug back down on the table.
“Revenge. Revenge and gold.”
Blanch leant forward and waved his hands, gesturing for Donaldson to lower his voice.
“Fotheringham or Foxe or whatever her name is. I could do her in if yer like? Nah? Well,
instead we can get hold of her two friends. Y’know the other nurse on the Anson and that harlot in the
Cascades.”
Blanch’s eyes lit up.
“I’ve been watching ‘em. And reading their letters. Seems they’re good chums. P’raps we can
assign them to you or summat?”
Blanch looked puzzled.
“Y’see, if you’re their master then we can use them to get Fotheringham if we need to and if
we’ve got her, then it wouldn’t take much to get her brother would it?”
“And that blackguard has my map of the HMS Hope gold!” Blanch cursed.
Donaldson winced. It was his map but he couldn’t argue with his master, after all, his fate was
still completely controlled by Blanch. “Right! Meanwhile we may be able to get the map out of Foxe
himself. I could go to Point Arthur and see if I can trick him out of it.”
“Hah! He doesn’t sound that daft!”
“No, p’raps not. But maybe I could tell him you could get ‘im his Ticket of Leave if he helped
you? Or something like that?”
“Certainly, tell him what you like. Now, there is something else I do want you to do though.
It’s about that Daly fellow,” Blanch began.
Billy spent the next six months building the Parsonage and the Accountant’s House. It was hard
physical work that gave him little time to think about Moorina or his life outside the prison. He was
grateful for that. The rations were also slightly better; he even ate an egg at Easter.
The men were not allowed to communicate except where necessary to complete their work.
This served merely to reduce their conversations to snatched whispers and covert chats out of sight of
the guards. That suited Billy very well. He was in no mood to care what the others thought of him, nor
was he concerned with their woes. Billy’s only aim was to survive for the next three years and to earn
his Ticket of Leave and be with Moorina again.

Most of the convicts left Billy well alone. He got a few strange looks and the occasional mocking
gesture but there didn’t seem to be much malice in them. However, Samuel Addison was a constant
source of irritation to Billy. He often worked alongside Billy and he would mumble and mutter, trying
to get Billy to tell him how he escaped and what the gins were like.
Billy was very angry at first and it took all his will power to stop himself from reacting to
Addison’s constant niggling. Then he slowly realized that the man was around the bend. As mad as a
hatter, was closer to the truth. “Shaky Sam” Addison had been transported for stealing a Top Hat from
his master, a milliner back in Aldershot. Shaky had a very nervous disposition, he had fits of
uncontrollable shaking and he drooled constantly. Billy liked to mock him by making groaning noises
and wiping the imaginary spittle from his lip with the back of his hand.
Shortly after they began working on the Parsonage, Billy, annoyed with Addison’s insistent
mumblings, vehemently hissed at the man to shut up. Addison looked at Billy in surprise then began to
cry and shake. He shook so violently that he dropped the brick he was holding onto his foot. Luckily,
the trusty was an old friend of Addison’s. Instead of sending them both to the pound, where they could
contemplate their mistakes in the darkness of solitary confinement, he lectured Billy while Addison sat
on the ground crying. Billy took pity on the man and decided to treat him much more nicely.
Digging the heavy clay was hot and sweaty work but it kept Lizzy from worrying whether
she’d ever see her poor little boy, Martin, again. She still cried herself to sleep at night but she slept
soundly and woke refreshed. They’d just finished morning prayers and she turned to follow the gang
outside again when Matron stopped her.
“Stop. You’re not going anywhere yet. There’s a man to see you. He’ll be here in an hour so
get to work in the kitchen and we’ll send for you.”
Lizzy’s heart skipped a beat. A man! A man was coming to see her! Surely it must be Richard
Jameson! Then she realized that Jameson wouldn’t come unless Morag had died and even then he’d
probably forgotten about her. She was a convict and he was a free settler. He wouldn’t come for her.
She wasn’t good enough for him.
Her mind raced. Who else could it be? Daly? Silas Daly? No. Not him, his few visits had been
late in the afternoon. Unless, of course, he come to take her as a servant. But no. He had no money.
She took the broom that the cook thrust at her.
“Wipe that grin off your face, ducks!” the cook said cheerily “Let’s ‘ope yer get a good master.
They’re like hens’ teeth in these parts!”
Chapter 53:
Constable Jones and Silas Daly chatted lazily as they rode down the lane to Daly’s Run. They’d
stopped in Oatlands after they’d seen Ginny safely to her new home in Ross. Corporal Riley didn’t
suspect that Jones had helped Ginny to get to Ross but Jones thought that he’d probably approve had
he known.
They rode along the dirt track; Jones trying half-heartedly to convince Daly to help him woo
Sarah Churchill. Daly had expected it, but he knew that Miss Churchill was a deeply troubled woman
and according to Ginny, she was not likely to change her mind. It seemed to Daly that Gareth Jones
had already reached the same conclusion.
They passed the last copse of gum trees at the edge of Daly’s Run. Daly was looking forward to
showing his friend his house and the new flowers he’d coaxed into blossom in his tiny garden. The cart
rounded the corner.
Daly gasped in horror.

Daly’s small house was burnt to the ground. All that remained was the blackened skeleton of the
building and a charred mass of rubble. The two men dismounted to inspect the damage. They poked
beneath the debris and scoured the perimeter of the meadow for clues.
“Damn those boongs!” Daly cried vehemently.
Jones had squatted down next to a muddy patch under the trees. “Not their fault boyo, is it
now?” he said pointing at the hoof prints in the mud. “Unless they’ve taken to riding that is!”
“Phah! Look, there’s something written there.” Daly pointed to the outhouse door; it was on its
side under a tree. They pulled it out and looked at it. In charcoal was written the words,
Die white bugger!

“It’s that damned Blanch!” Daly exclaimed.
“Well you’re not exactly knowing that now, are you?”
“Well who else would do it, man?”
Jones threw up his hands, “Well, you’re probably right. I expect it was Blanch or some of his
lads, but it’s the proof you’ll need now. Why don’t we pop into the neighbours’ and have a chat? You
never know, someone might’ve seen something. Then we can go back to the Inn. Harold will know
who passed through over the last two nights.”
Daly grunted, “Two nights ago? Looks like it’s been raining here for a few days, that’d help the
blackguards!”
“Don’t fret now boyo. It was a warning as well as revenge. They’ll want you to know it was
them, so watch your back, isn’t it.”
Once the Accountant’s House was built, Billy was moved down to the shipyard and put to work
building ships. The shipyard was a ten-minute walk north from the main Port Arthur prison. Shaky
Sammy said that Billy was very lucky to be working in the shipyard. He would have the chance to
learn a good trade but more importantly it was his route to freedom. Sammy knew a man who’d got his
Ticket of Leave in only three years after working on the ships.
Billy began by helping to carry logs from the dockside to the sawpit yard. Ten men at a time,
they would drag logs up to thirty feet long down a wooden path where a team of a dozen men would
saw them into planking for the ships. It was heavy labour but it was rewarding to be working on
something concrete rather than just digging holes and filling them in again or treading the wind.
One warm sunny morning they were marched along the beach and up to the shipwright’s office
where a trusty came out to meet them. He read off a list of numbers of convicts who were picked for a
new assignment. Billy heard his number called and he stepped out to join the dozen or so other men.
They were led to the top of a small hill where they were met by three men.
Billy noticed that one of the men was staring at him intently. He was a big broad-shouldered
man with a pasty face. Uncharacteristically beardless, he was a convict trusty. He wore the magpie
uniform with the left side blue serge and the right yellow. He winked at Billy. All of a sudden, Billy
realized that it was none other than Marcus Donaldson!
Billy stared back impassively then looked away. They were to build a new ship, the Elizabeth,
a forty-ton sloop commissioned for the Van Diemen’s Land Company. Donaldson was one of the main
overseers, a trusty of the Company. Billy wondered how bitter Donaldson would be after all this time.
He’d had boasted that he’d be freed in no time, but he was probably still assigned to Commander
Blanch and more than three years had passed!
Billy was assigned to the site gang under Donaldson. They had to clear a flat area of ground
where the keel would be laid. It was easy work, even for men working at the Government Stroke, and
after a few hours of raking and light digging their task was complete. Donaldson sent the other three

men back to the shipwright’s office to fetch their meager lunch. He motioned for Billy to join him in
the shade of the trees overlooking the beautiful blue bay.
“You’re almost as famous as Martin Cash now, y’know,” Donaldson said without preamble.
Billy grunted but said nothing.
“I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here?” Donaldson ventured.
Billy shrugged.
“Well, it’s like this. I’m here to offer you freedom, Billy Foxe. I can get you your Ticket of
Leave inside a year.”
Billy felt his heart race but he controlled himself. He smiled wryly.
“My, you’re a generous fellow, Donaldson. I think I’ve misjudged you. I’ll accept your offer.”
After a little pause Donaldson seemed to pluck up some courage to continue.
“I need the map first,” he said quickly.
“The map? What map? Oh yes, I remember, the map that you and Raeburn talked about. Didn’t
you say that it was a fake though?”
Billy could see the confusion in Donaldson eyes.
“It’s real. I should know, I buried the chest meself and I saw Raeburn draw the damned map.
Give it to me Foxe and I swear I’ll set you free!”
“You? No, you mean Blanch. Commander Blanch will set me free! How nice of him!” Billy
laughed, then with a snarl he added, “This is a Company ship and you’re a Company man. I don’t trust
you or Blanch. I’ve seen his handiwork and it’s not pretty. Now, tell me, what does he want out of it?”
Donaldson stood up, towering over Billy. His face was going red as he fought to keep his
temper.
“Now listen you little bastard. The Commander is a fine and decent man. He’s married to your
bloody sister aint he!”
Billy almost fell over backwards in surprise. “Wah, what, Ginny? Married to Blanch?
Bollocks!”
“He bloody well is, yer bugger! So ‘ave a bit more respect!”
Billy couldn’t believe that his sister would marry Blanch. He was sure that she would’ve left
him after she he’d told her about Blanch killing the Pennemukeer, kidnapping gins and showing her
the scars on his back. But then he realized that he’d forgotten to tell them about the HMS Hope and the
gold! Blanch must’ve kept wooing her until she finally relented and married him. He was a rich and
powerful bloke and now he could use her to help get his hands on the gold.
“So Ginny finally married ‘im? So, how much of the gold does he want?”
Donaldson sat down and looked over at boat as it the Irishman, Barron, rowed slowly over the
mirror-like surface of the bay, delivering another body to the Isle of Dead.
“We split it three ways, you, me and ‘im. One third each. He’ll get us a Free Pardon and a ship
to Sydney. Or somewhere else, if your woman, Moorina, doesn’t want to go there.”
“Moorina! Who damned well told you about Moorina?”
Donaldson smiled awkwardly and put his hands up in self-defence.
“Hey, hey, easy there, boy. The Commander saw her with you up in the interior, remember. He
just said that he can give you your freedom and safety, that’s all. You can go wherever you want,
alright?”
Billy mumbled angrily to himself as the rest of the site gang returned with a basket of stale
bread for their lunch.
It was a sunny afternoon, even in the shadow of Mount Wellington, it was warm. Silas Daly
was pleased and looked forward to seeing Lizzy Black again. He wondered what her son looked like.
He smiled as he anticipated the joy and excitement on her face when he gave her the good news. She’d
be upset that Jameson had died but grateful that he’d cared enough for her to leave her the farm.
He stopped at the main gate of the Cascades Factory. The guard, a young convict barely out of
his teens challenged him.
“I am here to see a convict. Number twenty one three five,” Daly said.
He waited while the guard opened the window in the gate and relayed his message inside the
Factory. A few minutes later the big gate opened with a creak. Daly watched expectantly, waiting for
Lizzy to come out. He was disappointed. Instead of Lizzy, it was Mrs Hutchinson, the Matron.
“What do you want, sir?”
“I am here to see convict number twenty one three five, Elizabeth Black, thank you Matron,”
Daly siad, taking his hat off.
“Why? What’s your name?” she answered brusquely.
Perplexed, Daly replied, “We’ve met before, my name is Silas Daly. I have good news for her.
Good news for her and her son.”
“She is no longer with us Mister Daly. She has been assigned.”
“Assigned? Who to? I thought, I thought she’d still be her with her son. Do you know where
she is?”
“Check with the Government. She’s not here and her son’s in the orphanage to be raised
properly, that’s all I can tell you. Now, if you don’t mind, sir, I have a lot of work to do. Good day!”
Daly stood open-mouthed as she slammed the gate shut behind her.
It was nearly a week later that Billy saw Donaldson again. It was late in the day and a ship
pulled up to the pier as they were marching back to the penitentiary. Donaldson stood at the bow of the
vessel as it docked. Billy forgot about him until just after dinner when Shaky Sammy nudged him as
they shuffled back up to their dormitory. Billy looked around at him and Sammy thrust a piece of
paper into his hands. He mouthed the word,
“Scandal!” and pointed at the paper before the guard got close enough to stop him.
That evening while the guards were being changed, Billy quickly read the Hobart Town
Gazette that Addison had given him. It was several months old. The back page had an article about a
“scandalous embarrassment suffered by major society figure.”
Billy went on to read how a Miss Victoria Fotheringham, whose real name was Virginia Foxe,
the sister of the notorious Wild Bushman, William Foxe, had disappeared leaving her betrothed,
Commander George Blanch, high and dry at the altar. Apparently, no sooner had the infamous Miss
Fotheringham received her Ticket of Leave than she’d run off to the interior. It went on to say that,
despite lengthy investigation, no other romantic figures have so far been identified. Miss Fotheringham
did say however, that she had the deepest respect and highest regard for Commander Blanch but she
felt herself unworthy of a man of his stature. She apologized for the inconvenience to all and desired to
remain incommunicado for the near future.
Billy hardly slept that night as he continually went over what he’d say to Donaldson the next
day. As it happened, Donaldson stayed near the sawpit supervising the arrival of the equipment they’d
need to cut the logs into planks. He glanced over at Billy’s gang often but it wasn’t until the following
day that they had the opportunity to speak.
Donaldson came over to the sawpit where Billy and three other men waited for the saws to be
sharpened. He smiled amiably and handed the men some tobacco and then he and Billy walked away a
hundred yards up the beach.
“Me sister aint married to Blanch!” Billy blurted out.
“She damned well is y’know! What makes yer think she aint?”
“D’yer want me ter read to yer?” Billy thrust the newssheet at Donaldson.
Donaldson snatched it impatiently and scanned the pages.
“It’s on the back,” Billy said.
Donaldson lips moved as he read it aloud to himself. When he finished he turned back to the
front.
“Hah! This is six months old! I’m telling yer they got married and are living up on the coast
near Port Dalrymple. How’d you get this anyway?” Donaldson exclaimed.
“That don’t matter. Now, you told me they was married a long time ago. Why should I trust
you? How do I know you’re telling me the truth now?”
“Listen ducks! I can bring you a new damned Gazette if yer like? I never said when they were
bleedin’ married! Why would I lie to you? I need you to help me get off this godforsaken damned
island too y’know!”
Billy thought for a moment. Donaldson sounded genuine but he still didn’t trust him. He also
no longer feared the man. Billy’s time in the bush had made him a much tougher, much more confident
and self-assured man.
“Right. You do that. Get me proof that Ginny is married and you can tell Blanch that I want
half, not a third, half of the gold.”
Donaldson snorted angrily and came up very close to Billy.
“Why if you don’t watch it yer little capon, I’ll flatten you, I’ll, I’ll mill yer bloody canister!”
Billy looked him in the eye. He knew that Donaldson couldn’t do anything. He smiled up at the
big man.
“Really? That’ll make you damned rich, won’t it, yer great scab? I aint the man I used to be. I
can live in these parts better than any white fella on Trowenna. You need me but I don’t need you! So I
am in charge! Do you hear me?”
Donaldson went red in the face; Billy had shouted his last words loud enough for the other
convicts to hear. Donaldson swung a punch at Billy but missed and scrambled to keep his footing in
the soft sand. Billy grabbed his arm and spun him around. Donaldson grunted in pain as he fell to the
ground landing heavily, his right arm folded underneath his body.
There was a yell from sawpit, and Billy turned to see several soldiers running towards him.
Billy backed away as Donaldson rolled onto his back and tried to stand up. His right arm dangled
loosely at an awkward angle to his body. He moaned in pain and cradled the broken limb in his left
hand.
Billy didn’t resist as the two guards marched him away at gunpoint. He was pleased that
Donaldson had broken his arm, his wailing and crying had been very amusing, but surely the soldiers
had seen what had happened and would know that Billy had done nothing wrong.
Chapter 54:
They threw Billy in the pound for the next two days. He enjoyed the calmness and peace of
solitary confinement, secure in the knowledge that he’d be back out in the sunshine soon enough and
Donaldson would treat him with more respect and caution.
They took him out of the cell before dawn on the third day. He was double lagged in irons that
bound his hands and feet in heavy chains. He and three other convicts were led in a shuffling march
down to the pier to a waiting ship. Without any explanation or fanfare they were loaded onto the ship
and thrown into the hold full of convict-made bricks. The hatches were slammed shut and the ship cast
off as the men tried to make themselves comfortable in the cramped hold.
One of the convicts, a baby-faced lad of about fifteen, was sobbing silently to himself.
“Shurrup yer noisy dunghill!” one of the other men grumbled.
“Leave ‘im alone,” Billy said quietly.
The man scowled at Billy.
“Ah, the Wild Man speaks. Gonna break me arm like yer done that trusty’s are yer Mister
Boong?”
“He broke his own bleedin’ arm. I barely touched the cur.”
“Hah! Why did they send ya to the pits then?”
“Ah, so we’re off to dig for coal then. Damn Donaldson!” Billy shrugged
One of the convicts mused aloud, “Yes, you may well damn the man because we’re in for hell and
damnation ourselves. I’d cry too if I could!”
Billy twisted his legs around so that the big metal cuffs of the chains did not bite into his ankles
so deeply. The men braced themselves against pitching and rolling of the seas and contemplated their
desperate plight. They’d all heard about the horrors and privations of Plunkett Point, and in a few days
they’d experience it for themselves. Billy gritted his teeth and kept reminding himself that in a few
years it’d be over and he could go back to the bush and his beloved Moorina.
They arrived at Saltwater River camp in the middle of a rainstorm. They were hurriedly
unloaded and their shackles struck from them so that they could immediately be put to work with
several hundred other convicts, hauling wagon-loads of coal onto the ship. However, they weren’t
finished by nightfall and the overseers angrily called a halt to the loading. The ship would have to stay
at the pier overnight. This was not at all what the Government wanted, so the convicts were made to
sleep overnight curled up on the ground next to the wagons. Fortunately the rain had stopped, and Billy
and the three other new arrivals were issued with thin blankets. They huddled up with fifty other
convicts and tried to sleep.
Billy was woken in the middle of the night by a hand gently caressing his posterior. He swatted
the hand away angrily only for it to be replaced a short while later by a pair of hands; hands that were
quite enthusiastic in their investigation!
Billy swore loudly and sat up to find three dark forms looming over him out of the blackness.
“Keep still, my little lovely, and it’ll all be over in a trice,” a low voice commanded.
Billy said nothing, he just opened his eyes wide and waited until he got used to the darkness.
Fortunately the clouds had gone and the starlight was quite bright. Billy could see that the nearest man
had a small metal instrument in his hand. A hand pinned his right ankle to the ground and he could see
the men reaching out to get a hold of him. Billy put his palms on the ground and scooped up a large
handful of dirt in his right hand.
Billy whimpered in a soft, scared voice. This seemed to embolden the men and they moved
eagerly towards him, stepping around the bodies of the other sleeping convicts.
The man with the knife reached forward to grab Billy by the throat. Billy moved his head back
and waited until the man was almost on him. Then he grabbed the man’s sleeve and jerked him
towards him. The man lost his balance and as he stumbled forwards, Billy threw a handful of dirt in his
face. The man grunted and dropped the knife while he tried to get the dirt out of his eyes.
In a flash, Billy picked up the knife and slashed viciously at the hand that held his ankle. The
man cried out in pain and jumped back, crashing into the third man. They fell down in a heap, waking
several other men in the process. Billy lunged at the first man, stabbing him hard as he could just
below the left shoulder. The man screamed loudly and Billy pushed at him with both hands. The man
fell over backwards landing on several other convicts who shouted at him, as they could no longer
pretend to be asleep.
Glancing quickly over to his right, Billy could see the other two attackers hesitate then turn and
run as the noise began to waken more men. Panicking, Billy grabbed his blanket and stumbled over
several prone men searching for a new place to spend the night. He pushed and shoved his way
between three small bodies. They stirred but moved aside for him. Billy pulled the blanket up over his
body and lay still. He waited tensely for the three men to come back. He could hear the faint moaning
coming from the wounded man and some grumbling from the men near him but it soon went quiet.
After a short while Billy carefully raised his head. All around him was a mass of quietly sleeping men.
Billy felt a slight tug on his arm.
“Go to sleep mister. The buggers won’t be back tonight and the guards won’t be coming. This
happens all the time. Yer gotta learn to sleep on yer back!”

A light drizzling rain began just before dawn. By the time the convicts were roused, Billy’s
blanket was wet through but the weather was mild and there was no breeze. Billy was a little damp and
quite hungry but hunger was something that he’d learnt to live with.
They were all herded together so that they huddled in a large group as the guards marched around them
waiting for the Sergeant to begin the day. The Sergeant arrived uncharacteristically late.
He strutted around them, mumbling to himself. Then he turned to address them.
“The Colony is relying on you to supply them with the coal they desperately need. You
miserable blackguards haven’t finished loading the coal yet and several men were injured in fights
during the night. I will not tolerate such shenanigans. You will all strip and parade past me. Any men
who are unfit for duty will be sent to Sarah Island immediately!”
In total silence the 250 men and boys disrobed and were examined by several guards as they
marched past the Sergeant. Billy was relieved that no-one noticed his thun-bura in all the confusion. As
Billy put his clothes back on, he heard a loud yell of protest and looked over to see a convict scuffling
with two guards. The man had dropped his clothes on the ground and was fighting them off with his
right hand, as his left arm hung limply by his side. Billy smiled himself and looked away. He was
almost sorry that he’d stabbed him. He’d never meant for the man to be sentenced to the hell of
Macquarie habour.
By early morning the ship was loaded. Billy ate his bread and gruel in the bright sunshine as a
small group of heavily shackled convicts was led out of the medical officer’s office. They despairingly
protested their innocence as they were prodded and poked up the gangplank and on to the ship.
Van Diemen’s Land was growing rapidly, more and more convicts arrived every day. They
were even sending their remaining unwanted criminals over from Sydney. The supply of firewood was
too small to sustain the rapid growth as the nearby forests were quickly cut down leaving only small
clumps of stubbornly immovable hard woods and more remote patches of brush.
So the discovery of a coal north of Port Arthur was a welcome find that the Governor expended
every effort to extract. Children and the smallest adults were forced to mine the low quality ore from
the tiny seam that went deep underground.
The coal mine was atop a small but steep crescent shaped hill that rose sharply up from the bay.
A narrow railway track ran down to the base of the hill. The convicts who were too big to go down the
mine spent all their time pulling empty carts up the track and guiding full carts down the hill. At the
bottom of the hill more convicts hauled the carts half a mile to the east where the coal was unloaded in
a huge pile. When ships arrived the men would shovel the coal back into special boxcars that ran on a
short track down the pier to the ship. The coal would be tipped out onto a ramp down into the ship’s
hold.
As Billy walked up to the head of the mine for the first time he felt a sinking feeling in the pit
of his stomach. He was marched down the main shaft with two dozen other convicts, some of whom
carried newly filled oil lamps. Billy could see several smaller side shafts branching off every ten yards
or so. The side shafts were very narrow, some barely a yard wide and five feet high. Once inside the
main shaft the sunlight died abruptly to be replaced by the flickering of pale yellow light from the
whale oil lamps. A thin cloud of acrid black smoke blanketed the ceiling and the walls were blackened
with soot and grime.
It reminded Billy of the time, many years ago when he was sent to clean out Mrs Beacon’s
chimney on Old Broad Street near the London Wall. He was five or six years old, the apprentice had
died in a fall, and the Master Sweep had caught Billy stealing. He’d forced Billy to go into the
fireplace and climb up inside the chimney all the way to the top to clean all the soot. The chimney
narrowed from a yard square to barely two feet square, squeezing even his tiny frame. Climbing
unsteadily up the sixty-foot tall chimney Billy had looked up to see a tiny patch of grey sky far, far
above him. Below him flames began to glow brighter and brighter in the fireplace. The master,
annoyed at Billy’s slow progress, had deliberately lit a fire beneath him. Billy was soon enveloped in
thick clouds of smoke as he desperately scrambled up the inside of the chimney. When he finally
reached the top he fainted while he was still halfway out of the chimney. The smoke poured back down
the chimney and out into Mrs Beacon’s drawing room. The master had been so livid that he’d thrashed
Billy with his cane and refused to even give him a meal or water.
Billy waited outside a small shaft as a line of convicts emerged back out from the coal face.
There were about two dozen of them. They were exhausted, their faces black with the grime of the dust
and smoke. When they’d passed, Billy’s crew entered the shaft. Billy was the fourth man in. They gave
him a heavy wooden bucket; every fifth man had an oil lamp, which he held up high as they went
down into the bowels of the hillside. Fifteen minutes later Billy had taken up his position, some twenty
yards from the pit face and ten yards away from the nearest convict. They were deep underground and
it was getting warm, the sides of the shaft were hot to the touch. After ten minutes the convict in front
of him staggered out of the gloom dragging a bucket full of coal and rock. Billy gave him his empty
bucket and dragged the full one backwards until he reached the next man. Then he moved back into his
position.
Half an hour later the man at the pit face came back up the line and squeezed past Billy. Billy
moved forward ten yards; he could see one convict chipping away at a wide band of black rock while
the man next to him filled up the bucket. When it was full he dragged it back for Billy to take. An hour
later Billy had moved up to the head of the line and began chip away at the coal seam. The pick was
small but very heavy. His body obscured the light from the lamp and the dust and smoke burnt his eyes
and seared his lungs. The roof was about an inch above Billy’s head so he had to crouch down
painfully as he swung the pick into the rock. It was exhausting work and within a few minutes sweat
was pouring off him. His hands slipped on the wooden shaft of the pick and the black sweat ran down
his forehead stinging his eyes. After he’d filled his three buckets, Billy gratefully handed the pick to
the next convict and stumbled back up the shaft to the end of the line. After just one day in the coal
mine Billy’s hands and knees were raw and bloody, his whole body was as black as soot and he had a
hacking cough.
“Donaldson! Donaldson! Get up, yer idle bugger!” Blanch shouted, banging on the front door
of the cottage.
There was a swearing and a scuffling from inside the small wooden building and Blanch smiled
smugly to himself, pleased that he’d caught Donaldson napping. It was eight o’clock in the morning,
the cows hadn’t been milked and the sheep had got into the vegetable patch again. Donaldson opened
the door a little and poked his head out. Seeing that it was Blanch, he quickly undid the chain and
threw the door open wide.
“Sorry boss, I just got back from Hobarton. Overslept, I think,” Donaldson mumbled, still
pulling his trews up and tucking in his vest.
Blanch could see a woman lying on the bed in the other room. “I told you about bringing
harlots back! I don’t want ‘em around ‘ere. You can get your oats in town!”
Donaldson put up his hands in self defence.
“Hold on! Wait a minute. That’s Lizzy, in there.”
“What? Black? You got Black out of the Cascades?” Blanch said in surprise.
Donaldson took a step into the bedroom and kicked out at the foot that hung over the side of the
bed. There was grunt and a squeal from Lizzy.
“Gerrup you old bitch. I need some grub. We got company. The Commander’s back! C’mon!
Get up!”
Donaldson turned and showed Blanch into the drawing room.
“Take a seat, George. You’ll have a cuppa in a trice. She’s useful. I aint cut out for scullery
work.”
Lizzy came out of the bedroom and shuffled into the kitchen.

“I got ‘er some chains, didn’t I? Keeps ‘er honest it does. I’ve got a yoke an’ all. She hates the
sight of that thing! Anyroad, you’ve heard the news from Port Arthur?”
“I heard you had Foxe sent down the mines! That’s no damned use to me! I want the map,
man!”
Donaldson stood fuming for a few seconds, biting his bottom lip nervously as he fought back
the urge to reply. Blanch stared at him coolly, almost daring him to respond. Then Blanch turned away
and looked outside at the sheep munching on the remains of his vegetable patch. He muttered
something angrily beneath his breath.
Unseen, Donaldson sneered at Blanch then turned and then beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen. A
loud interchange followed, accompanied by some violent bangs and then the sound of a woman crying.
The back door opened and slammed shut. Blanch watched as Donaldson stalked angrily over to
the barn and tore open the door, and began yelling and screaming. Suddenly two bleary-eyed men and
a woman stumbled out and Donaldson pushed and shoved them towards the cows. Donaldson watched
them with his arms akimbo, shouting orders until, satisfied, he returned to the house. Noisily, he
clomped through the kitchen and back into the drawing room.
“I don’t mind the lags on the road gangs doing the Government Stroke but I’ll be damned if my
own servants try such idleness! You’re a poor excuse for a manager,” Blanch said harshly.
Donaldson, his face still red from his exertions, glared at his master and replied angrily.
“We’ve had this out before. I aint a damned farmer. You won’t let me go and you won’t get me
my Ticket of Leave. So I’m afraid we’re stuck with each other aint we, sir!”
Blanch nodded distractedly and offered Donaldson some tobacco. Surprised by the sudden kind
gesture, Donaldson took the package and immediately began to stuff the tobacco into his pipe. Blanch
barely noticed as Lizzy came in with a tray of tea and bread and cheese. Her dress was in rags, her hair
was a mess and her eyes gleamed angrily from behind her bruised and battered face.
“Take the Master’s bags into his house and get ‘is horse fed,” Donaldson ordered.
Lizzy stared at him a moment before turning on her heel and leaving, her chains dragging on
the floor behind her.
“Mister Donaldson, I need your help,” Blanch said in soft voice.

Donaldson knew only too well how bullies worked. Now that Blanch had flexed his muscles
and softened him up with his little outburst and accusations, he’d come to the real reason for his visit to
the farm. Donaldson took a big puff on his pipe. It was good tobacco, as it usually was. Blanch did not
stint on his own luxuries. Donaldson sat back to listen.
“I er, I have to sell the farm,” Blanch said nervously.
Donaldson said nothing, and for a few moments there was an awkward silence between the two
men.
Donaldson had been skeptical when Blanch had gleefully announced that’d he’d bought a huge
swathe of land south of St Valentine’s hill. Blanch had described it as a coup. Soon after arriving in
Van Diemen’s Land, Blanch had sent him to Circular Head to deliver a letter purporting to be from
Her Majesty’s Inspector of prisons. It praised Blanch as one of the most effective Captains the service
had ever known and professed sorrow at the great loss that would be suffered by the Government now
that Captain Blanch had decided to seek his fortune in the Colonies.
Edward Curr had heard of Blanch’s brutality and he desperately needed a strong hand to
subjugate the natives occupying his land, the land that the Company had been granted by the Queen.
Curr turned a blind eye to Blanch’s lies and gave him a grant of land near Stanley. Blanch had used
that land and his farm to raise money to buy the much bigger tract of land that he then rented back to
the Company.
“We lost some sheep. A lot of sheep,” Blanch said. “Over five hundred last month alone. It’s
just too damned cold!”
Donaldson puffed on his pipe and tried to conceal his enjoyment at Blanch’s misfortune.

“All right! I know you told me!” Blanch said vehemently. “Henry Hellyor’s no farmer. He’s
just the Company surveyor! Goddamn him! I could’ve been rich!”
“Who knows?” Donaldson said simply.
“Only Curr and a few top officials so far. We’ve lost over four thousand sheep in the last three
seasons. Curr is going to Parliament in Hobarton next month. It’s bound to come out then. I need to
sell.”
Donaldson’s heart skipped a beat, he could sense the tide turning. Blanch needed him! “You
need to sell? What do you want from me?”
“I need you to help me find a buyer,” Blanch said, stabbing his pipe towards him.
“Well, I’m just your farmer aint I?” Donaldson smirked. “I aint gonna find any moneybags up
here in the interior. Why can’t you find someone yerself?”
“Hmmm. My, ah, my position is a trifle delicate at present. I’m not overly popular in Hobarton,
it seems that damned Bent fellow has been writing some scurrilous nonsense in the Gazette,” Blanch
said gingerly.
Donaldson tried unsuccessfully to suppress a smile. He kept all the copies of the Gazette by his
bedside table. He’d particularly enjoyed Bent’s analysis of Corporal Riley’s report. Reading the truth
about Blanch’s embarrassing adventures with Virginia Foxe, Black Bob and the Gin Trade gave him a
warm, happy feeling inside and assured him of a good night’s sleep. People were beginning to whisper
about “Blanch the Braggart.”
“I can promote you,” Blanch continued. “I can send you to Hobarton, after all, you’ve still got
to get the map from Foxe once he gets back to Port Arthur.”
“Let me think now,” Donaldson sighed. “I’ll need lodgings in Hobarton, somewhere that I can
entertain the Moneybags. Mrs Beeton’s on Battery Hill would be best. She’s very discreet and has an
excellent cook and some of the finest French wine in the country.”
Blanch shook his head and was about to reply when Donaldson continued, “I’ll need some new
duds too. We don’t want the posh Nibs to see me as a cross-biter trying to fence the property. I need
some class.”
Blanch opened his mouth to reply but shut it again. Donaldson was right. It would take a lot of
money for Donaldson to be able to convince a rich mark to part with his money.
Donaldson, surprised that Blanch hadn’t protested, decided to press on while he could.
“Also, I want an equal share of the Hope gold and I want me Ticket of Leave,” he said
hopefully, adding, “With luck I can still get the map from Foxe.”
That was too much for Blanch. He shook his head vehemently, “Listen Donaldson, I’ve done a
lot for you. If it wasn’t for me you’d be down the damned coal mines or out building roads! You live
the good life here. You’ve got a wench, money and all the freedom you need. You’ve spent months
sipping on my rum looking for the treasure and still found nothing! Nobody gets their Ticket of Leave
after just four years!”
Seeing Donaldson’s face start to go red, Blanch continued quickly, “Look man, you’ll get a
room with Mrs Beeton. You’ll get your new clothes. I’ll even talk to Curr about your Ticket, but you’ll
have to get the map from Foxe before we can talk about the gold. Damn it all, you’ve already promised
him a big part of it and we’re going to have to think how we deal with that aint we!”
It was the night that was the most frightening. During the darkness the convicts came out on the
prowl. The boys and smaller adults were the prey of the larger men. Billy found out on his third night
at the camp.
All 600 convicts slept in one large two-storey building. The guards were easily bribed, either
by money and goods or by a share of the spoils. Billy was housed in the centre of the lower dormitory.
He lay on his back in his hammock, just dozing off. He heard some low voices and a scuffling noise
from across the dormitory and saw four men carrying a struggling form away towards the door. The
door opened slowly and in the moonlight Billy could see the guard wave the men through.

Billy nodded off and a short while later he awoke as the door creaked open again and two men
entered, carrying a body. Billy heard them laugh as they dropped the inert form onto his hammock.
In the morning Billy looked over and saw a small thin faced boy of about thirteen try to
struggle out of his bed. He was too weak and feeble and kept falling back. Billy heard the guard
approaching outside the door. No-one seemed to be taking any interest in the lad so Billy trotted over
to him. The boy was as white as a sheet. There was a pool of bright red blood under his bed.
“You staying there or d’yer want ‘elp?” Billy said softly.
The boy looked up in panic. He had to be up and about by the time the guard came to inspect
them or he’d miss his breakfast and possibly be flogged. He looked up at Billy imploringly.
Billy bent down and lifted the lad up and set him on his feet. He was surprisingly thin and light
and he wobbled unsteadily on his feet. Billy quickly unhooked his hammock, folded it up and put on
the floor. He shifted the boy around so that he could lean unobtrusively against the wall. The door
began to open and Billy raced back to his own bed. The guard came in, made a cursory glance around
the room and then flung the door wide open. The convicts began to file out quickly.
Billy waited to make sure the boy followed. When he saw that he’d slumped back against the
wall, Billy strode quickly over to him and put his arm around the boy’s waist. They stumbled into the
middle of the stream of men and out into the sunshine.
Billy held the boy up as they approached the kitchen, then he picked up two bowls and spoons
as the queue shuffled along. The boy took a bowl and Billy took his arm away from his waist. The
trusty served them a meager helping of gruel and bread with a curious glance but he said nothing. Billy
took the boy’s bowl from him and the boy put a hand on Billy’s shoulder. They sat down at a nearby
table as several other convicts got up. The boy was still pale but less shaky than before.
“Eat, quick!” Billy urged softly.
The boy nodded tiredly. When he was finished Billy pushed his bowl towards him. “Take mine.
I’m not hungry. Go on! Eat!”
With just a brief moment’s hesitation he began to eat Billy’s breakfast. The other three convicts
at the table looked at Billy in surprise. Billy shrugged, but as they got up to leave, one of them leant
down and hissed at Billy.
“He’s all used up.” He nodded towards the boy. “Done over good and proper ‘e is. Too pretty
for ‘is own good. Try someone else, yer boong!”
He smiled and sauntered away. Billy shook his head in disgust. The boy looked at him
inquisitively.
“So you are the Wild Man then?” he said incredulously.
“Hah! I’m not wild yet but that bugger don’t help,” Billy snorted.
The boy smiled awkwardly. “I don’t think ‘es a bugger Mister Foxe. Not ‘im. Most of the
others are though. Are you?”
“What? Me? You fink I’m ‘elping yer just so’s I can do yer?” Billy said in a sudden flush of
anger.
“Nah, Nah. It’s just y’know, wot ‘e said. That’s all. I ‘eard that yer stabbed one of the Brown
Nosers and sent ‘im down to the Island.”
“Hah! I aint a bloody bugger, alright! Yer get topped for that and what the devil is a Brown
Noser?”
“There’s this gang, see.” The boy leant forward over the table. “They pay the guards so they
can get their ends away. They like their meat fresh like you or young like me. You were lucky. They’ll
keep clear now but you gotta watch yerself. Me? I’m ‘eading for the ‘ospital. If I don’t they’ll kill me
next time.”
Billy’s gang headed up to the mine an hour later. Up ahead, another gang of convicts made
their way at the Government Stroke towards the mine entrance. Squinting into the bright sunlight, Billy
saw the familiar figure of the boy at the rear of the gang.

Billy watched as the boy bent down and picked up a large stone. He staggered under its weight
as he hefted up to his chest. Then, in a flash the stone dropped, landing with a sickening thud on the
boy’s foot. The lad screamed in pain as his foot was shattered. A guard came back down the line. He
stood over the prostrate boy and screamed obscenities as he raised his whip high and struck him again
and again with all his might.
Ten minutes later Billy’s gang waited just below the mine entrance. The boy’s gang sat
patiently on the rocks as the guards shouted angrily at each other and at the boy. They had to decide
whether to leave him or assign four men to take him to the hospital. A few minutes later, Billy’s gang
marched past them and up to the mine entrance. Billy looked over to where the boy lay. He was
unconscious; his foot was a bloody mess of broken bone and torn flesh. Billy stepped forward to help
him but a blinding flash of pain seared through his left arm as his guard lashed out with his whip.
“Get back! Get back to work!”
“But, but look! He’s dying. He needs help!” Billy yelled back.
The guard turned and spat at the boy.
“Damn it man! Get back to work or I’ve flay you alive,” he screamed as he lashed Billy again
across his shoulder. Billy glared at the man with contempt but he turned slowly and walked away
towards the mine shaft.
Billy spent the next three months in the back-breaking work in the coal mines. Like the other
convicts, he worked at Government Stroke despite the guards. After the death of the boy, Billy tried
hard to make himself invisible.
He soon discovered the Brown Nosers in his dormitory and made a special effort to avoid them.
Several times a week the Brown Nosers would drag someone from their bed and take them out of the
dormitory to be buggered. They all knew it was a capital offence but it was tolerated by the officials as
it kept the convicts subjugated. The guards fingered any troublemakers and the Browners took great
pleasure in meting out the punishment.
Billy wondered why they’d left him alone. They didn’t abuse all the newcomers but he was
surprised that they never confronted him. Over time he learnt that they bore him a grudging respect.
Very few people had escaped from custody and no-one had lived with the aborigines. When Billy had
repulsed their first attack and sent his assailant to Macquarie Harbour they realized that he was not to
be trifled with.
Billy smiled wryly at his newly acquired reputation as a hard lag. Moorina would’ve thought it
hilarious but the convicts whispered that like the savages, Billy would kill you with his bare hands and
wear your bones as a necklace if he was crossed. He saw no reason to correct their beliefs.
Chapter 55:
It was September 25th 1845, three days before Billy’s 20th birthday, when he arrived back at
Port Arthur. He couldn’t believe that he was actually glad to be back. He’d survived the mines of
Plunkett Point with an enhanced reputation and his posterior intact and unviolated. It was more than
he’d expected.
Donaldson was put in charge of him on the very first day. The Elizabeth had been built and
delivered and a larger vessel, the HMS Prince Albert, was being constructed. Billy said nothing as
Donaldson greeted him with a smile and a conspiratorial nod. Billy wanted nothing to do with the man.
The map was hidden in the tree near the village and it’d be years before he could retrieve it. Until then
Donaldson could just wait.
Over the next few weeks, Donaldson tried every few days to talk to Billy alone. Billy refused
steadfastly so instead Donaldson began to give Billy’s work to the other convicts. Billy, aching and
sore from the work in the coal mine, was glad for the rest. Then a subtle change came over the men.
They started deferring to Billy and made sure that they smiled at him, nodding deferentially and
refusing to look him in the face.
It was becoming uncomfortable. One evening he saw Shaky Sam reading a letter and he
innocently asked him how often he received correspondence.
Sam peered at him and replied in a surly voice, “Why?”
“Nuffink, just asking. I aint ‘eard from anyone, that’s all.”
“Well p’raps yer bleedin’ chum Donaldson can ‘elp, then, eh?” Sam grunted.
Surprised at the vehemence of his reply, Billy sat up.
“Donaldson? Donaldson sent me down the damn coal mines! He aint my chum! What’s the
damned matter with you lot anyway?”
There was a heavy silence in the dormitory. Then finally the man next to Addison spoke.
“Yer becoming a damned Browner, that’s what’s the matter. We ‘ave to do yer damned work!”
Stunned, Billy shook his head and opened his mouth to reply. But nothing came out; he
couldn’t find the words to argue with the man. Billy swore quietly to himself as the guard opened the
door and yelled at them to shut up and go to sleep.
The next day Billy followed the rest of his gang. He picked up a wooden spar, lifted it onto his
shoulders and began to carry it up to the stern of the new ship. Donaldson came forward quickly and
ordered Billy to put it down. Billy turned around and glared at him, then he turned back and walked
away after the other men. Donaldson raced after him and tried to wrest the spar from him. Billy tugged
the spar from one end as Donaldson pulled it from the other. At that moment, the shipwright, Jacob
Long, came around the corner. He stopped dead in his tracks as the two men wrestled with the piece of
wood. Donaldson immediately dropped his end of the spar and Billy picked it up, put it on his
shoulders and walked away leaving an embarrassed Donaldson to face Mister Long.
Donaldson sulked for the rest of the day. He sullenly ordered Billy to dig the new latrine and
pointedly left him to dig in the rock hard earth during the heat of the day while the other convicts sat in
the shade and watched.
That evening Shaky Sam dropped a small packet of tobacco onto Billy’s hammock. The men
watched Billy carefully as he picked it up, took out some tobacco and stuffed it in his pipe. Then he lit
it, took several puffs and handed the pipe to Sam.
Later, Shaky Sam had told him that it was unusual for convicts at Port Arthur to be allowed to
correspond with the outside world, although he’d letter received a letter on his birthday. Crestfallen,
Billy told him that Constable Jones had promised he’d deliver his correspondence.
The following day, Donaldson ordered Billy to help him carry some oakum over to the decking
gang.
“Perhaps I’ll tell yer where the map is,” Billy murmured without preamble.
This was what Donaldson had waited for so long, but there had to be some trick. “Good. Tell
me now and we can all be on our way to freedom!”
“Not so quick. First yer ‘ave to treat me like everyone else or else I look like a trusty or worse.
I never asked for special treatment and I don’t want it.”
Donaldson shrugged. He didn’t care what anyone thought of Billy.
“Also, I’m getting lonely,” Billy continued. “Me sister said she’d write, but I aint ‘eard from
‘er. I’ve got a letter for ‘er.”
Donaldson paused in his stride. Billy looked glanced at him sideways.
“A letter?” Donaldson said nervously. “Bring it tomorrow and I’ll take it to the office. I can get
it posted for yer.”
Billy dropped his oakum on the pile and turned to face Donaldson.
“When she tells me that she’s married to the Commander and wants me to give up the map,
then I’ll tell you where it is. Alright?”

Donaldson nodded and Billy turned and walked back to get more oakum. Three days later Billy
handed his letter to Donaldson. Billy watched him carefully, the man seemed quite excited but
nervous.
They had waited weeks for the perfect time to attack. Since Leelinger’s death, Murrimbindi had
become the most important man in the tribe. He’d never liked Leelinger’s passivity and had often
argued with him, trying to persuade him to attack the white farms. Leelinger had replied that the days
of Musquito were gone, they didn’t need heroes, the white fella was too strong to resist and they
should run away to a new home high up in the mountains. But now the Larmairrermener could see that
Musquito had been right. He’d seen it all back in Sydney. The white fellas gradually moved into the
valleys, clearing the brush and chopping down the trees along the rivers as they built their little farms.
Now there was no game to be had for four days hard trekking along their track east to the coast.
As a young man Murrimbindi had seen Musquito address Leelinger and the elders. Musquito
tried to persuade the elders to raid the farms to drive out the white fella before they got a foothold in
the valleys. He smiled grimly as realized that all of Musquito’s predictions were coming true, even
down to stealing the corpses!
A stiff warm summer breeze blew off the mountains down into the valleys. It was just before
noon. Murrimbindi smiled as he saw a plume of smoke rising above the hilltops to the north. Moorina
and her friends had done their work well. They’d set the brush on fire and the white fellas would ride
away to investigate, fearing that settlements were being attacked further up country.
Murrimbindi peered intently across the mouth of the valley to where Pandak and his two men
had spent the night. Suddenly he spotted a slight movement, a flash of white and then half a dozen big
white cockatoos rose screeching from the trees near the rocky outcrop where Pandak was hiding.
Murrimbindi and his three men began to throw handfuls of red dust into the air. Silhouetted against the
blue sky and out of the wind, the red cloud was Pandak’s signal to start the attack. Murrimbindi threw
aside the plan that he’d meticulously drawn on the sheet of tree bark and picked up his spears. It was
time for war!
By the time Murrimbindi had run down to the edge of the stream, Pandak was waiting in the
trees upwind of the first farmhouse. Pandak was still humming, the Song of the Pademelon that lived
in a cave, it was a long song and carefully timed so that when he reached its end, Murrimbindi would
be in position to join the attack.
Pandak finished singing and grinned to his friends, they had both raided white fella farms
before and they were eager to begin the battle. They each took a firebrand from the little fire that
they’d hidden deep in the forest. They crept forward to the edge of the white fellas’ fields of long dry
grass. They ran crouched over along the fence and moved apart so that they formed a line almost down
to the river. Pandak knelt down and pushed his firebrand into the dry grass. Within seconds the fire had
caught, fanned by the strong breeze at their backs. Within a minute the entire western end of the farm
was covered in smoke.
The warriors kept moving down towards the river, lighting the tinder-dry fields as they went.
They could hear cries and screams coming from the farmhouse as the white fellas suddenly realized
that something was wrong. Pandak could see smoke rising from the northern and eastern sides of the
farm; Murrimbindi had begun his attack.
Within a few minutes the wall of flame grew thirty feet high and blew straight at the white
fellas’ home. Pandak could see the white people running around the courtyard. One of them ran
towards a small building and he could hear the sound of horses whinnying in terror. Pandak crept
forward, two spears in one hand and a firebrand in the other.
A white woman screamed and shots rang out. Pandak crept carefully through the thick smoke.
He laid down his spears, took two big steps forward and threw his firebrand hard and high. It landed on
the roof of the stable.

More shots rang out as Pandak retrieved his spears and ran around the side of the house. Two
firebrands had landed on the roof and the flames had begun to take hold of the wooden shingles. A gun
barrel poked out of a window, then came a puff of smoke and a bang as the bullet whistled past his ear.
The hens and chickens squawked loudly and suddenly the stable door flew open and three horses burst
out, a rider clinging precariously to the back of the trailing animal. The lone rider sat up to wheel his
mount through the open gate and onto the road, as he did so, two spears flew hard and low into the side
of his horse. The big animal neighed in pain and fell to the ground heavily. The rider struggled to free
his left leg from under the animal’s body. Pandak could see that rider’s hands were free, behind him a
fast-moving shape appeared out of the smoke. It was Murrimbindi. Without hesitating the Karadji
threw his hunting spear at the white fella. Murrimbindi paused just long enough to see that his aim was
true. The spear caught the rider in the stomach and pinned him to the ground. With a yell of delight
Murrimbindi ran over to Pandak. He waved his hand at the stables.
“Quick! Quick! Look for supplies, flour, sugar, get them out before the building falls.”
Pandak nodded, he could see several barrels along one wall. Within a few minutes he and
another warrior had rolled out three barrels of supplies. The smoke was very thick. The main building
was well ablaze, the wounded horse had quietened and both it and the rider lay still in a pool of blood.
The white fellas were still shooting from the farmhouse but the roof was all aflame. Pandak
crouched near the back door waiting for the white fellas to emerge. Then slowly, very slowly, the door
opened a crack and nervous face appeared. It was a woman. She glanced around suddenly caught sight
of Pandak. She gasped and slammed the door shut. All of a sudden there was a mighty roar as the roof
of the farmhouse collapsed sending flames shooting high up into the air. Pandak heard the strangled
cries of the white fellas trapped in the building as it came down upon them.
It was over.
Murrimbindi wasted no time. Several warriors cautiously examined the wrecked building for
any signs of life while the others rolled the wooden barrels over to the edge of the forest. Pandak was
surprised and delighted to see his sister and several other women had already returned from the north.
Moorina grinned at him broadly with a flash of bright teeth, as he puffed out his chest in pride.
“Wa! That was quick! And you’re lucky the wind has blown the smoke away from the next
farm,” she said happily.
Pandak grinned, “Not luck! Not luck at all Moorina! It went just as Murrimbindi said. Now, I
must get my other spears. Don’t stay too long hiding the flour. We don’t want the white fellas to catch
all you women!”
A month passed. Donaldson hardly spoke to Billy. Billy had once again settled into the
humdrum routine of life at Port Arthur. Working at the Government Stroke, the gang toiled just hard
enough to keep themselves out of trouble but absolutely no more. Donaldson scarcely bothered any of
them, he seemed distracted and nervous and they only saw him once or twice a week. Billy waited for
Ginny’s reply with growing impatience and anxiety.
Then one evening, as he walked back to the penitentiary, he was surprised to see Shaky Sam
waiting for him. The man was so excited that he was practically beside himself. He looked furtively
around and pulled Billy into a corner out of sight.
“It’s me birthday termorra. I’ll be thirty-three, or is it thirty-four? Anyway, it’s me birthday and
I got a letter! I got a letter! Me niece aint dead and me dad brought a goat,” he bubbled, waving a letter
in front of Billy’s face.
Billy smiled, he was glad to see Sam so happy but not sure why he’d taken Billy aside. He
turned to go and Sam pulled him back excitedly.
“No! No! Don’t go. There’s summat else. Summat you’d be interested in.” He reached into his
trews and drew out several sheets of paper. It was the Hobart Town Gazette. He thrust it into Billy’s
hand.
“Look! Look!” Sam cried. “Yer sister’s in it! Read it! Read it!”
Billy woke the next day with a throbbing headache. He’d lain awake most of the night thinking about
Ginny. The first thing he wanted to do was confront Donaldson, but the man was nowhere to be seen.
Billy was kept very busy all morning hauling logs up the beach to the saw pit with the other men. It
was a blazing hot day and sweat poured from them as they wrestled and tugged at the heavy logs. At
noon, the overseer let them cool off in the sea and sit in the cool shade under the trees for a short while.
Billy sat down at the base of a tree; he leant back against the trunk and shut his eyes. The
waves broke softly onto the shore lulling him to sleep. A few minutes later he heard soft footsteps
approaching from behind. They came closer and closer and finally stopped just a few feet away.
“Gerrup yer idle bugger!” Donaldson said quietly as he threw a small package towards Billy.
Billy opened his eyes with a start. He picked up the package and examined it.
“It’s what we talked about,” Donaldson explained.
Billy got to his feet unsteadily. Donaldson came closer, a huge grin across his face. Billy’s
hands started to tremble as he untied the string on the parcel. Billy kept his head down, averting his
eyes and trying to control his rising temper. Clumsily he tore open the flimsy cloth package. Inside was
a letter, a lavender scented letter with a pink ribbon tied around it. Billy nervously opened the letter
and Donaldson started chuckling to himself as Billy began to read.
Dearest William,
I am sorry I have not written before but I have been ill and my darling husband George has
been worried to distraction. I hope this finds you well. Please William, you must trust George
and Marcus, they are good and honest men. Please give them what they ask so that George can
help to set you free and unite you with your wife.
Love
Ginny
Billy’s hands shook violently as he read. He looked up at Donaldson and held the letter in front
of his face. Slowly, deliberately and vehemently he ripped the letter into tiny pieces.
“This! Is a lie! A lie! Ginny married Daly last month! Do you take me for a fool! You can
shove the map up yer arse!”
Donaldson went as white as a sheet then started to tremble and shake. He glared at Billy and
then he suddenly lunged at him. Billy staggered back under the impact of the big man and they
careened down the embankment onto the beach locked in violent struggle.
Donaldson had his hands around Billy’s throat trying to strangle him. Billy reached up between
his arms to try and poke him in the eye. The big man moved his head from side to side. Then Billy
kicked up hard and high, catching Donaldson right in the privates. Donaldson grunted in pain and
relaxed his grip. Billy clawed with his hands, raking his fingernails across the side of Donaldson’s
face. With a scream Donaldson shoved violently Billy away. Billy tripped and fell onto his back. He
scrambled to his feet and turned to run and stumbled straight into the Medical Officer. Mr
Bartholomew pushed Billy aside barking at him to stay still while he examined Donaldson who was
bent over double with blood pouring from his head.
They marched Billy straight to the pound. He stayed there, alone in the pitch blackness of the
tiny cell for several days. Then, four guards came in; they lagged him in iron chains and put a black
hood over his head before they took him out of solitary and into a waiting ship. It was a difficult walk,
he held the heavy chains in both hands to stop them scraping along the ground but his ankles were sore
and bruised from the weight of the metal cuffs. It was a hot afternoon and sweat trickled into his eyes
as they prodded him along.
They arrived in Hobarton two days later. Billy was still blindfolded and lagged. They’d only
removed the hood for him to eat, drink or use the privy. He was held, still lagged and blindfolded, in a
cell at the barracks for two days. On the third day the cells door swung open and the Officer of the
Watch entered, followed by a magistrate. They removed Billy’s hood and made him stand up. Then the
magistrate unrolled a scroll of paper and began to read.
“Prisoner 8712, you have been found in violation of the laws of Van Diemen’s Land, namely,
causing grievous bodily harm to an officer of Her Majesty’s Government. Therefore you have been
sentenced to nine months very hard labour at Sarah Island in Macquarie habour. Let us pray.”
Billy closed his eyes and bowed his head.
“May the light of the Lord Jesus and the forgiveness of almighty God guide you through your
punishment and heal your wicked soul and give you peace and understanding so that you can lead a
civilized life among his brethren. Amen.”
The magistrate smiled grimly and turned and left the cell. The Officer of the Watch handed
Billy a leather bundle tied up with string.
“You’re a lucky man. The magistrate has received a plea from Police Sergeant Riley and has
agreed to allow you this correspondence that has been illegally held in Hobarton. Yes, illegally. The
mail sorter is now at Plunkett Point for retaining many letters at the Main Office.”
Dumbfounded, Billy took the package and managed to blurt out a question.
“Did, did, he say why?”
“For money, of course. However, that is of no concern of yours. Now, 8712, I suggest you read
quickly. You have about two hours before your departure.”
As soon as he was alone, Billy frantically tore open the package. Inside were several letters and
some Gazettes. He laid them all out on the floor very carefully. He unfolded all the letters first; there
were of two dozen of them, mostly from women infatuated with the Wild Man. Billy perused them
rapidly, smiling in ironic disbelief at the fascination that the women had for his private parts. His thun-
bura seemed to have caught their imagination. He laid their letters aside and carefully arranged the
three letters from Ginny. He read slowly, moving his lips as he read, making occasional grunts of
approval or surprise as he savoured their contents. Then he moved onto the two Hobart Town Gazettes
and one Colonial Times.
Washed, fed and dressed in his new “canary suit”, Billy was led aboard the HMS Duke of York
a few hours later. His irons and hood had been removed and he’d been pronounced fit by the Medical
Officer.
The vessel was a small brig, which drew barely 8 feet of draft. He went down into the hold
where several other convicts were already trying to make themselves comfortable amongst the cargo of
coal, rope and wood. A small, wiry man pointed forward to the bilges where a naked man lay curled up
and whimpering on the ballast stones.
Standing there, hunched down beneath the five-foot ceiling, Billy could see that he had no choice. He
crouched down and moved forward, the ceiling came down lower and lower until he was on all fours.
He crawled around the naked man. He seemed crazy and cringed away from Billy as he crawled by
him over the stones. They were dry while they were still in port but once out at sea the water would
wash over Billy and the naked man with every roll of the ship.
They left Hobarton within the hour and hugged the coast, keeping to the shelter of Bruny
Island. The Captain and the Bosun came down to inspect the cargo and explain their duties. The
Captain insisted that clothing be found for the naked man and after a short search he was given a piece
of serge cloth. But the man, Philip French, took little interest. He kept mumbling a prayer to himself;
Billy could barely hear the words over the crash of the waves.
The small wiry man was Alexander Pearce, a Catholic Irish labourer who dismissed French
with a pitiless sneer. French was returning to Macquarie Harbour after 6 months in Hobarton. He’d
seen a particularly nasty and unpopular convict-constable beaten to death by nine convicts. The
Commander of Sarah Island had promised that any lags who came forward as witnesses would have
the full protection of the law and the remainder of their term would be short and easy.
French and four others had testified against the murderers of George Rex but the judge
dismissed the case on a technicality. The Government had rejected any deal with the witnesses and all
of them but French had managed to be reassigned to Port Arthur.
It was common knowledge that the witnesses would be killed for ratting on their mates. French
was being sent back to certain death and was already well on the path to insanity.
Billy fashioned his blanket into a crude to relieve his seasickness. The convicts immediately
picked on him because he had the only blanket. Then they realized that he was the famous Wild Man
and they promptly became friendlier. All except Pearce, who’d escaped custody several times and had
spent many months in the bush. He knew how to survive and did not like to be upstaged.
“So how many times is it that you’ve escaped then Mister Wild Man?” Pearce asked
sarcastically.
“Just once. That’s all,” Billy replied, yawning.
“Once! Once? Not very good are ye? Oi’ve run three times. Three times and oi’ve dined on the
Governor’s sheep many, many times. They even put a price on ma head. Seventy guineas! How much
did they want for you, den? Nuttin! Dat’s what! Nuttin!”
“Oh, I’m sure you’re much more valuable than me! Much sharper too no doubt,” Billy said.
Annoyed, Pearce yelled back, “Dat’s damned right you nigger! Don’t you forget it!”
“Hey, hey, calm down, man,” another convict, William Greenhill, interjected loudly.
Billy grew to like Greenhill; he was a calming influence on the men. Like Pearce, he was in his
early thirties but he was much more level headed. Greenhill was a wryly amusing character. He
explained, his bitterness tinged with irony, that he’d been transported for 14 years for stealing a coat,
his wife’s coat. The crafty old bitch had got rid of him. He desperately wanted to get back to England
to teach the old cow a lesson. He was obsessed with escape.
Greenhill was an experienced mariner. He’d escaped more times than Pearce and it seemed to
Billy that he was well educated and well versed in the geography of Van Diemen’s Land. Greenhill
even spoke about the “custom of the sea”, when stranded sailors would become so hungry and
desperate that they’d turn to cannibalism. It sent shivers down Billy’s spine and he made it perfectly
clear to them that he wanted no part of any escape. He wanted to finish his sentence and get back to
Moorina. He cursed his luck that he’d ever taken the map from the dying Raeburn. If he’d just left it
for Donaldson then he’d probably be out on a road gang up near Ross rather than crammed into a tiny
little ship on the way to Hell’s Gate and the worst prison in the British Empire!
The voyage took three weeks, quick and uneventful compared to most, but a nightmare for the
convicts. Just a few days out of port, the small ship turned west into the mighty roaring forties. With
each wave the ship’s bow rose clear of the water and then crashed down the other side and the cold
green seas flooded over the deck. The hatches were battened down much of the time. In the darkness of
the hold, the men prayed for the voyage to end as they braced themselves against the rolling and
pitching of the vessel. Waves of sea water tainted with their own vomit and excrement washed over
them. They ate once a day but rarely held their food down for long. After a few days, Billy had taken
out his thun-bura and hidden it in his clothing. The ship tossed and turned too much for them to reach
the privy and Pearce kept mocking him whenever he removed it to relieve himself.
Billy thought about his sister and that man, Silas Daly, whose face he could no longer recall.
Medium height, balding, pretty ordinary, Daly had seemed keen on Ginny and Blanch didn’t appear to
like him very much. Now that they were married and settled in Ross, Billy wondered if Blanch had
forgotten about her. He wished he’d told them about the map. Too busy with Moorina. He wondered
where she was now. The Gazette was full of talk of killing the Black Fellows and bringing in more
guns to protect the settlers from the fury of the Black bushrangers. The mood of the colonists was very
angry. Billy prayed Moorina had moved further into the interior, the summer village would be too
dangerous.
Greenhill was the first to notice the change as they turned north, skirting the west coast of Van
Diemen’s Land. The seas broke on the port side causing the vessel to roll much more violently.
The naked man, French, had managed to wedge himself upright against the port bulwark when
he was suddenly tossed right across the beam of the ship.
“Now we’re in for a rough ride lads,” Greenhill warned.
“Really? Been a piece of piss so far!” Billy murmured sarcastically as his hammock stopped
lurching forwards and backwards and began to swing side to side so much that he hit the roof with
every wave. It was the worst part of the voyage, even though the wind abated somewhat and the waves
were not so mountainous. The little ship was sailing across the waves causing it to roll dramatically.
Billy was very glad he’d built his hammock; he was barely affected and he was several inches above
the putrid water that washed through the bilges.
The Captain let the men come out on deck several times as they neared their destination.
Overhead the seagulls wheeled as grey clouds whipped past in the pale blue sky. They had rounded the
Cape and could see land to the south; it was low and rocky with many seabirds wheeling about
screeching raucously. The wind was light and steady out of the north. Behind them thousands of miles
of open ocean had been whipped by the gales of the roaring forties that even on the calmest day
formed long rolling swells.
Greenhill had told them that Macquarie habour was a huge bay, guarded by a treacherous and
tiny entrance. Billy saw the grim look of determination on the Captain’s face as the Duke of York
turned towards the rocky coast. Greenhill grinned at the look of fear on the faces of the convicts as the
ship hugged uncomfortably close to the rocks.
The Captain ordered the convicts to go below. Sandwiched between the rocks and a large reef,
they sailed down the centre of the narrow channel barely five ship-lengths wide and in places only
seven feet deep. They had stationed chain-men all around the ship. With as little sail as he could dare,
the Captain nudged the Duke of York ever closer towards Hells Gates. All around them Billy could
hear the cries of the sailors as they measured the depth with their chains. The little ship surfed the
waves.
The convicts fell silent as they listened. Even at high tide the Duke of York could barely
squeeze over the black seaweed-covered rocks that guarded the entrance to the Harbour. Billy had
squirmed his way as far forward as he could. He lay in the bilges listening as the chain-man on the
prow pulled the chain up over the side over the gunwales.
“Two fathoms,” the chain-man called.
“Three fathoms,” came the cry from amidships.
The ship slowed as the ocean swell receded dragging it backwards.
“Two fathoms,” the man on the stern called.
“Eight feet,” Billy heard from the man above him.
“Seven feet,” the man shouted in a panic.
The Gates of Hell were right under Billy’s hand, just about to crash through the flimsy wooden
hull. Then there was a sudden surge as the swell lifted the ship up and forward.
“Eleven feet.” He heard the relief in the chain-man’s voice.
“Two fathoms,” the man called again and the Duke of York was over the Gates and into
Macquarie Harbour.
A great cry of relief rose from the crew. Billy and the convicts joined in. French looked at them
in disgust.
“Damned marvellous! Now I can be beaten to death by me mates! At least I’m not going to
drown!”

They stripped and searched the convicts before letting them off the ship. Most of the men were
addicted to smoking and Commandant Cuthbertson took great delight in confiscating all their tobacco
for himself.
Cuthbertson watched them keenly as they walked off the ship. On seeing Philip French clad
only in Billy’s blanket, he immediately called for the whip. French burst out crying and begged for
mercy. Cuthbertson was outraged that he would have to clothe the man with “slops” from his meager
stores but he relented when he realized that French had testified against the convicts who’d murdered
George Rex. Instead of fifty lashes he magnanimously ordered just twenty. As they dragged the
hapless man away Cuthbertson shot the new arrivals an evil smile. There was still a few hours of
daylight left and there was plenty of toil to be done.
They were ordered down to the saw pit to start work.
Chapter 56:
Pandak had taken over many of the duties of the Karadji of the Larmairrermener. Murrimbindi
was spending most of his time planning raids on the white fella. He had big plans to join forces with
the neighbouring tribes and show the white fellas that they should start to bargain with them properly.
So far the Governor had just increased the number of soldiers and police, but at least the traitorous Mr
Robertson had kept away from the war.
Pandak, for his part, was glad that Murrimbindi had chosen to lead his tribe to war. The first
battle had gone well, they had razed three farms to the ground in that one afternoon. Pandak had killed
a white fella and they’d stolen two guns and many supplies. The soldiers who fell for Moorina’s
diversion hadn’t turned up until dusk, the wind had blown the smoke back down the valley so they
hadn’t seen it until late. It was the Oatlands men who’d finally come.
Pandak did not like the idea of eating white fella food but Murrimbindi knew how to make
damper from the flour and it would allow the warriors to raid the farms and escape very quickly
without wasting time hunting for game that was in such short supply. However, Murrimbindi did not
get everything his own way. He wanted to use the guns and to kill the white fellas’ animals, the sheep,
cows and horses, but there was little ammunition and the warriors distrusted the white fellas’ “stick
that spits death.” They also found it strange to kill animals that they would never eat although they
could eat the white fella food while they were at war.
Moorina was unhappy; she wondered where her husband was and how Loarinna.numer would
have fared if he’d had to raid the white fella farms with the warriors. She knew he’d already killed a
white fella but she had just a little grain of doubt as to whether he could watch white women and
children burn. Although, she mused, they’d killed several men but probably only one woman and one
little boy in their raids so far and they’d let many more go free unharmed. Moorina wished that
Truganini would return. She hoped the old woman could bring news of her man; she was so scared that
they’d killed him in the white fella jail.
Commandant Cuthbertson was a sadist and a brute and had complete control over everyone at
Macquarie habour. His soldiers were the last dregs of the 48th Regiment of Foot, the Steelbacks, so-
called because their discipline was so harsh that the Cat had scarred the back of each man. Tough and
brutal men, they’d defeated Napoleon at Talavera and thought nothing of flogging their own comrades
to the brink of death. Now, cast out to the furthest reaches of the Empire, the churlish, discarded
soldiers were the perfect tool for the Commandant’s iron-fisted regime.
The previous day a convict had taken a hoe and in plain view of the guards he’d attacked and
injured another convict. Both men insisted on a trial and Cuthbertson was obliged to send them back to
Hobarton on the Duke of York. It was a trick and they all knew it. The men would never return to
Macquarie habour and would finish their sentence in the relative luxury of Port Arthur.
The men were flogged at the end of Billy’s first day. Floggings occurred several times a week.
Billy and the newcomers were given front row positions. The men were led out to cly the jerk. The
triangle was set up only twenty feet from Billy.
Philip French, naked, was tied to it in the normal fashion. The Scourger, a very large and
powerful convict trusty, waved the Cat menacingly in French’s face. It was larger and longer than
anything Billy had seen. They’d used three Hobarton Cats to make one that was sufficiently vicious for
Cuthbertson. The knots in the nine cords were waxed and as hard as stones.
The big convict raised the fearsome whip high. It whistled as it swung and landed with a dull
thud on his back. The Scourger walked in a circle around the helpless French. He took big slow steps
to prolong the agony. He reached his position and raised the whip again and brought it down with all
his strength. French clenched his teeth, tears streamed down his cheeks but he said nothing, and not
even a whimper passed his lips. A murmur of pride went through the crowd of two hundred convicts as
they watched Philip French under the Cat. On the third strike the blood started to flow. By the tenth he
was barely conscious. Even when the Scourger threw a bucket of seawater over his back French barely
noticed. He was dragged away by two trusties, a trail of blood behind him. Billy could see his head
lolling from side to side.
The next three floggings was the worst sight Billy had ever seen. Three men were tied to the
triangles and given a hundred lashes each. It took nearly two hours. The unfortunate convicts kept
silent despite the unremitting pain. The Scourgers’ feet had worn holes in the hard earth where they’d
whirled around as they’d crashed their whips down on the naked backs of their victims.
At the base of the each triangle a circular pool of blood overflowed in bright red rivulets
trickling away past Billy’s feet. The Scourgers were caked head to toe in the blood and gore of their
victims. The first few rows of onlookers were also heavily spattered with blood and human flesh. Billy
wiped the blood from his face and looked at Cuthbertson in disgust and amazement.
The Commandant smiled broadly and occasionally applauded the Scourgers as they flayed
chunks of flesh off the backs of the men. He ordered the guards to revive one victim who fainted twice.
The air was heavy with tension and the guards in the bright red uniforms faced towards them with their
guns loaded and ready.
When they were finished, they untied the men. The first convict, a small, wiry man scowled at
the fellow prisoner who’d flayed the skin from his back so thoroughly. He took a step forward, while
the Scourger towered over him. The little man sneered, worked up the saliva in his mouth and very
carefully and with great relish spat at big man’s feet. The Scourger stood still and glared at his victim
as the rest of the crowd yelled out their appreciation. Billy watched in delight as the two other victims
performed the same ritual with their Scourgers. They weren’t going to let the Cat rob them of their
dignity and manhood!
Billy discovered that the three men had been guilty of trivial offences - laziness, insolence and
smoking. The law limited Cuthbertson to delivering 50 lashes but in his own little empire at the edge
of the world the Commandant ruled with a hand of iron and a heart of stone. He regularly sentenced
men to 100 or more lashes, which was usually a death sentence!
Billy was dog-tired, for he hadn’t slept much on the voyage. That night he slept like a dead
man. The faint cries and muffled thuds failed to rouse him, but just before dawn he was woken by
scratching and buzzing noises.
He threw off his thin blanket and put his ear against the door of the room. The smell of rotting
flesh wafted into the room. He threw open the door. In the half-light of dawn four big black birds sat
on a red mound in the yard leading down to the mist-shrouded bay. With his heart in his mouth Billy
crept forward. The birds flew away, their loud cries echoing through the buildings. Philip French was
dead. His back a bloody mass of mangled and torn flesh covered with large black flies. The blood had

congealed in the big red scar down the side of his forehead. A trail of blood led up the path where he’d
managed to crawl before he died.
Behind Billy a bell rang shattering the silence. Two guards came around the corner. They
motioned to Billy to stay where he was while they entered the dormitory. They emerged seconds later
with three convicts. Together the four prisoners flipped the dead man onto his back and half-carried,
half-dragged him over to the privies.
Another bell rang. It was time for breakfast. Billy followed the men to the queue where he was
given a large handful of stale bread and a mug of warm skilly. The liquid was like the gruel he’d had at
Port Arthur but with no vegetables and very little oatmeal. He was still hungry when the bell rang
again. It was time for morning muster.
Commandant Cuthbertson and his guards appeared in all their military finery. Their red and
white striped coats with silver buttons and white crossed shoulder straps and epaulettes contrasted with
their dark grey trews with knee high black leather boots. Comical peaked shako caps with pom-poms
were decorated with badges of the 48th regiment. The convicts derisively termed them the Lobsters, in
defiance of their once-fearsome reputation.
Cuthbertson ordered a gang of ten men to bury the dead. French was joined by an older convict
who’d died after eating three-day-old bread tainted with ergot. Cuthbertson laced the flour with the
fungus so that the bread and biscuits would become stale and inedible within a day. Prisoners who
were caught hoarding food were punished just as if they had attempted an escape, by 100 lashes or 21
days in solitary. The old lag had contracted gangrene in his toes and had hallucinations before his heart
attack. That ergot was a poison was a risk that Cuthbertson was prepared to take!
One of the men in Billy’s grave-digging gang was one of the unfortunates from the previous
evening’s entertainment. His name was Albert Delaney; he was a thin, pale man with a sad face. He
cried out in pain when the trusty callously slapped him on the back and ordered him to move more
quickly. He was a “red shirt.” The trusty laughed heartily as he wiped the blood off his hand.
They stripped the two corpses of their clothes. Billy was made to examine their mouths for lead
or gold fillings. They wrapped the bodies in sailcloth and loaded them into the boat. They rowed south
from Sarah Island to Halliday’s Island. It was a tiny windswept hunk of rock dotted with a few low
bushes clinging tenaciously to small patches of sandy ground. The guard had a map showing the
existing graves. He ordered Billy and the gang to dig the graves at the far end of the beach. The earth
was very thin and strewn with rocks so they could only scrape a shallow depression.
They put the bodies next to the pit and lifted one side of the sailcloth up high. The two bodies
tumbled down into the grave, locked in their frozen embrace of rigor mortis. When the last load of
earth was thrown over the grave, the convicts said farewell by solemnly spitting onto the mound of
earth. One of the guards muttered a quick prayer, but the words were whipped away on the cold
breeze.
Sarah was not in the least bit sad to see the back of the HMS Anson. She’d had four vexing and
painful years on the hulk. She knew that she was in poor health, she didn’t need to hear the whispers
and see the stares of the other women to know that she was losing her grip on her sanity. It’d been a
great relief to receive the letter that transferred her up to Edward Curr’s estate at Highfield House. She
vaguely recalled that he was connected to Ginny’s ex-fiancee, Commander Blanch, in some way but
she found it so hard to concentrate on things and she found it even harder to care. She seldom slept
more than three hours a night and the buzz of the flies and stench of the privies was driving her to
distraction.
The Stage that came to fetch her was one of Curr’s own. It was biggerthan the normal coach.
There were already two couples inside when it arrived and there was plenty of room for Sarah and the
other coachman. Sarah was initially very nervous about sharing such a confined space with strangers.

She’d become very anxious and withdrawn in recent months, but she had no choice and the people
were very nice and didn’t pry. They were happy to chat and let her join in if she wished.
The coachmen were exceedingly pleasant. The senior coachman, Mr Forlan, had worked for the
Van Diemen’s Land Company for years. He knew Curr well and liked him. He had a vast array of
jokes and puns and an infectious laugh. Sarah found herself sitting next to the window with the breeze
in her face listening to the happy chatter as she looked at the world outside. Forlan realized that Miss
Churchill was fragile, just like his youngest daughter Mary. She even looked a bit like Mary. So he
knew to avoid the coarse humour and exciting bloodthirsty tales that many passengers enjoyed.
When one of the men asked him about the ringbolts set into the floor of the cabin he simply
smiled and explained that they occasionally had to transport convicts between work-sites and their
chains were bolted to the floor to prevent escape. He went on to say that the lovely bridge in the
middle of Ross township was a marvelous example of the useful work the convicts did before they
were set free to join the community. Noticing the sudden fear in Sarah’s eyes he went on to point out
through the window at the paved sections of the road and the gorgeous landscape that they were slowly
moving through.
The journey to Stanley took four long and painful days, riding from 8 o’clock until 5 o’clock in
the afternoon with an hour for lunch and several short rest stops in between. Curr took great pride in
his horses and the Company had their own stables in most of the little townships along the way.
Fortunately Sarah was an employee of the Company and her board and lodgings were all arranged. On
the second night her bed was a pile of straw in the loft above the horse stables but she was so tired she
slept soundly for eight hours. She awoke to the squawk of black cockatoos, refreshed and alert if a
little sore.
The next night they stayed at Launceston, Sarah shuddered as Mr Forlan pointed out the
Female Factory where Ginny used to work. Surrounded by a high and sinister looking bluestone wall,
it looked to Sarah as grim and foreboding as the Cascades Factory. As the carriage rolled down
Paterson Street, Mr Forlan happily told them about the single door in the side of the long wall, which
was where condemned convicts would be emerge straight from the Chapel to the gallows in the lush
green Royal Park on the other side of the street.
The following day the coach took on two more passengers for the final trip east to Circular
Head. The weather had become quite hot. Mr Forlan asked Sarah if she wanted to ride outside next to
the coachmen; she took a while to reply. She was torn between the fear of being up so high on a rickety
and swaying bench and the continued apprehension of having to converse with the passengers inside
the cramped, sweaty and smoky carriage.
In the end she chose to ride with Mr Forlan and brave the dusty wind and the noise and stench
of the horses on the precarious perch. She was very glad that she did. The view was magnificent, the
wind was hot but the ride was much less bumpy than inside the carriage.
Wide rolling hills covered in grassland were interspersed with tract of dense forest. She could
see many sheep and even kangaroos and an abundance of bird life. For the first time since she’d
arrived in Van Diemen’s Land, Sarah laughed with delight.
Late in the afternoon, they turned north and the forests disappeared. Suddenly Sarah could see
the ocean, first on her right-hand side and then on the left as well. Then, in the distance the vast flat-
topped plateau of the Nut rose straight up from the long beaches of white sand that spanned the width
of the peninsula.
As they drew closer, Sarah could make out the small hamlet of Stanley, its pier bustling with
activity. The Stage turned left down a small track lined by a long hedge that reminded Sarah of her
uncle’s estate back in Oxford except that it was far drier and much hotter. The track led past fields
where horses and cattle grazed then they approached a cluster of buildings and the unmistakable odour
of a pig farm. The track wound around to end in front of an imposing wooden building with wide
verandahs on all sides; this was Sarah’s new home, Highfield House.
The Stage halted and Sarah was helped down, to be was greeted by Mrs Jenner, Elizabeth
Curr’s head of household staff. She was a pleasant older woman and in no time Sarah was shown to
her new quarters and allowed to tidy herself up before supper. Sarah’s, small, but cosy room, was in
the corner of the servants’ wing. It had a door that led onto a wide shady verandah and a window that
admitted the cooling afternoon breeze.
For the next two days Sarah settled into her duties at Highfield. Mrs Curr was away at
Launceston, so Sarah had not been told exactly what was expected of her in her role as the household
nurse. On the third day, the Stage arrived from Launceston. As she carried a pail of water out to the
kitchen Sarah saw Mrs Curr and a small group of people alight from the Stage and enter the main
house. She noticed a tall man looking in her direction. He seemed to be dressed in a military uniform
and smiled broadly at her. Sarah looked away quickly, she wasn’t sure, but he appeared to fit Ginny’s
description of her ex-fiancée, Commander Blanch.
After supper, Sarah sat on the verandah in front of her room watching the glorious sunset while
she knitted a scarf for Julius, one of Elizabeth Curr’s many children. Mrs Jenner had suggested that she
try knitting as a way to relax before bedtime. Sarah wasn’t very good at knitting and the wool was
quite coarse, and she found that the concentration drove away the worries of the day and she could
sleep more soundly. She was so involved with her work that she didn’t notice Commander Blanch until
he was very close. He gave a little cough and she looked up in surprise.
“Good evening Miss Churchill, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said in a
surprisingly soft voice.
Sarah put her knitting down and stood up awkwardly.
“Mr Blanch isn’t it?” she asked nervously.
He smiled, showing a fine set of teeth. “Er, indeed, I am Commander Blanch at your service,
Mam.”
He was not an unpleasant looking man, tall, with black hair, and greying moustaches and
sideburns. Sarah could see how Ginny had been attracted to him, he looked confident and powerful.
“How do you know my name?” Sarah said.
“Well, Mrs Curr mentioned to me that she needed more help after her recent illness. So I
thought of all the nurses I knew and at that time your name was mentioned to me by er, um, by
someone and so I arranged to have you transferred up here. I’m sure you’ll like it, it’s a vast
improvement on the HMS Anson, don’t you agree?” Blanch said.
Sarah could see him blush slightly as he recalled Ginny.
“I was promised my Ticket of Leave,” she said, trying not to sound bitter. “I have worked hard
for the Government but now that seems just as far from me as ever.”
Blanch smiled and moved closer to her.
“Miss Churchill, you can leave it all to me. I am very well connected, I can get you your
freedom,” he cooed.
“It seems that us womenfolk can only find our freedom through marriage. That is a very sad
state of affairs, Mr Blanch. I have no desire to marry while I am still a servant.”
“Marriage, especially to the right person, say, someone rich and powerful, can be very
rewarding, my dear,” he said, moving uncomfortably close to her.
Sarah blushed and took a step backwards trying to avoid Blanch’s advances. He reached out
and grabbed her hand. He pulled her roughly towards him, clasping his arms around her waist and
drawing her close.
“Come on Sarah. Listen to your heart. We are perfect together!” he whispered in her ear.
“Unhand me!” she hissed.
She struggled to free herself from his embrace but was afraid the noise would attract attention.
He held her tight, trapping her arms by her sides. She could feel his hot breath on her neck as his hands
lifted up the back of her dress. Sarah grasped her knitting needles in her right hand.
Blanch’s hands fondled her bare buttocks and in sudden surge of strength, Sarah twisted her
arm and thrust her hand forward, stabbing her attacker in the groin with the needles. Blanch emitted a
stifled scream and immediately let Sarah go.
She stepped backward as Blanch doubled over in agony. Sarah turned and ran into her room,
bolting the door behind her. She frantically pushed her tiny bed against the door. She waited, her chest
heaving with exertion and her hands trembling in fear. She heard a scuffle and a shuffling of feet from
outside followed by silence. A few minutes later there came a rapid clicking of heels on the wooden
floorboards and loud knock at the door.
“Miss Churchill, open up. It’s me!” Mrs Jenner whispered.
Sarah pulled the bed away from the door and drew back the bolt and opened the door a crack.
Mrs Jenner pushed the door open. Sarah fell down on the bed and burst into tears. Once She had
calmed down, she told the older woman what had happened.
To her dismay, Mrs Jenner did not seem particularly surprised.
“He’s a right groper that ‘un!” she declared.
Sarah wiped the tears from her eyes.
“I’ve talked to Mrs Curr about ‘im afore. I’ll tell ‘er again, p’raps it’ll be different this time.
You’re a practicing Catholic aint you?
“Me? No. They never let me off the Anson much and Father Patton is the only Catholic priest
who bothered to visit us. Why? Is it important?” Sarah said in a shaky voice.
Mrs Jenner patted her on the hand, “Oh yes ducks. The Currs are staunch Catholics. It doesn’t sit well
with ‘er Majesty of course, but Mister Curr is a powerful man and very popular back ‘ome. So the
Governor bent the rules. Mister Curr is the first Catholic to have any important position in the country,
they even made a special law so he can sit in Parliament down in Hobarton,” she explained. “So, when
they was told that you was Catholic and wanted to leave the Anson, Mrs Curr was delighted to have
you come to work for ‘er. Oh, she wants to see you after breakfast tomorrow. Now, ducks, I suggest
you lock the door and get some sleep. The Commander won’t bother you, he’s supposed to be in
Stanley for the Militia meeting tonight but I’ll ‘ave Albert, me eldest boy, sleep outside your door if
you want?”
That night Sarah slept fitfully, waking every few minutes, expecting Blanch to break into her
room, but all she heard was the soft snore of Albert Jenner as he slept on a hammock on the verandah.
The following morning Sarah woke with a start. The bright sunlight streamed through the
window as she heard Mrs Jenner calling out for her to get up. Quickly, Sarah jumped off the bed and
rushed to the door. Afraid that she was late, she threw it open just as Mrs Jenner arrived with her
breakfast. Albert followed behind her with a pail of water and a tin bowl. The kindly Mrs Jenner had
let her sleep as long as possible, but now she had to rush to go and meet her new mistress.
Chapter 57:
Billy spent the next few months working on the logging gangs. He’d rise in the twilight before
dawn, if he was chucky enough to have slept in a hammock, he’d roll it up and stow it against the wall.
Occasionally a fire might still be smouldering and Billy would join the crowd around the brick hearth.
It was the warmest and driest that Billy would feel on most days. Sarah Island was always cold, and
always windy. The little settlement was encircled by a windbreak fence but it had so many holes and
gaps that it was of little use.
Billy would eat the bread he’d saved from dinner the previous evening, then he’d bundle
himself up from the cold as best he could. At first Billy only had one set of clothes, his “slops” as they
called them, two thin shirts, yellow trews, boots, a cap and kerchief and a yellow and black coat that
was made of wool so coarse it scratched the skin. As soon as he stepped out of the stone penitentiary
building, Billy was blasted into wakefulness by the cold often freezing, breeze that cut through his thin
canvas trews like a knife.
The convicts would assemble in the parade ground for morning muster. Commandant
Cuthbertson would prance around in his finest military uniform with his small party of guards. The
men would be counted, Cuthbertson would make all his announcements, and the gangs of convicts
would be assigned their duties for the day. Billy would have loved to have been assigned gardening or
even coal mining, but he was just another labourer.
His eight-man gang would shuffle off to the jetty where a trusty would search them for food.
Then they’d board their little rowboat and push off from their island home heading north through the
frigid mists of Macquarie habour up to Kelly’s basin. The rivers feeding into the Harbour cut through
the highland bogs and peat marshes and ran black with tannin. As the convicts rowed out across the
bay, the wind would whip the black waves into an ugly piss coloured froth.
The rowboats were usually beached at the mouth of the Bird River and pulled up onto the sand
next to a pile of logs from previous day’s operations. Many of the convicts wore legs irons, so they
held the chains in both hands and walked very gingerly. The metal rings had worn through their clothes
and leather cuffs and cut deeply into their ankles. The overseers hurried them along and swore at them
as they slowly made their way to the riverbank.
Billy and the convicts would hike upriver, ever deeper into the cool rainforest, up the foothills
of the mountain until they found their stand of trees. They would hack and saw the trees down, then
strip off the branches and leaves and roll the trunks down the “pine road,” a smooth path made from
wooden planks laid in the thick forest floor. They would tug and pull and push the logs down to the
mouth of the creek, taking great care to keep them separate from the logs of the other gangs.
Billy was one of the few men able to swim and he was usually made to wade out chest deep in
the frigid black water to lash the logs together into a raft. The overseers would count the logs from
each gang, which the Sergeant of the Guard carefully noted in his diary. Billy would strip to the waist
and wait in the ice cold water with ropes in each hand. The logs were pushed towards him and he’d
swim under them, a dozen at a time, encircling them with the ropes. The rafts were then lashed
together to form one huge mass of a hundred or more logs.
If the seas were calm, the men would tow the raft back to Sarah island over six miles of open
water. Billy would have been in the bitterly cold water for several hours and he needed the warmth that
came from the exertion of rowing back to the island. But when they reached the island, Billy would go
back in the water for another hour or so to help haul the huge logs up the beach and into the saw pit.
By nightfall, Billy would be huddled around the fire desperately trying to get warm as the
trusty doled out the convicts’ second meal of the day. Often, the guards would take the firewood and
Billy would have to force his aching body to exercise to get the blood warm in his veins.
Billy was constantly hungry, though he occasionally managed to dig up some roots and eat
them whole, muddy and unwashed, while he worked. The penalties for hoarding food was a Botany
Bay dozen – 25 lashes – and Billy was very afraid of the Cat. All the native animals had been killed
and eaten a long time ago. The black swans had learnt to stay out of range of the guards’ guns but raids
on their nests had reduced their numbers considerably. The few pathetic vegetables grown in the
Commandant’s tiny garden never went near a convict’s plate. There were no domestic animals, as they
couldn’t survive the voyage and there was no grass to feed them on the windswept and barren shores of
Macquarie habour. The black waters of the bay could not support fish and only the rivers held any
promise. Billy knew there were giant lobsters but he never saw any. He often daydreamed of catching
and eating the Great Water Snake he’d seen on his journey with Pandak.
Several times a week the convicts were reassigned to new gangs, to prevent them from forming
alliances and friendships that might lead them to plotting to escape or worse still, rebellion. The
Commandant had shrewdly bolstered his tiny garrison of just twenty men with the trusties, trusted
convicts who acted as overseers and constables. They took every opportunity they could to rat on their
mates and ease their own hardship. They were hated and despised and integral to the subjugation of the
convicts; 200 of the British Empire’s worst criminals. If the convicts ever got lose and took over

command of Macquarie habour, Cuthbertson had no doubt that the soldiers and the convict overseers
would die very cruel deaths.
George Blanch was fuming. That damned Churchill woman had told Curr that he’d attacked
her. Curr had actually rebuked him! For the first time since joining the Company he actually had been
written up! Curr had suddenly mentioned three other women who’d complained about him. It just
wasn’t fair! They were all young and unmarried, and even Curr had referred to them as loose women
and harlots! It was because Churchill was Catholic like the Currs and because Mrs Curr had a grudge
against him for that minor indiscretion when he’d offered their boy Walterus a scrotum purse and
boasted about the Victory Hill battle. So much for gratitude! Churchill had never spoken to him since,
not even to thank him for rescuing her from that damned hulk!
It was early March 1846 when rumours began circulating that two convicts had escaped from
their gang just west of Kelly’s Basin. It caused great excitement on Sarah Island. The prisoners were
sure that there was a way to freedom if one was brave enough to take it. Commandant Cuthbertson was
livid. Security was tightened and the floggings became daily occurrences.
Billy found himself in a gang with Pearce and Greenhill and several other men from the Duke
of York. At first they were pleased to see each other, glad that they hadn’t died or been sent to
Grummet Island, but Billy really didn’t like Alexander Pearce. The little Irishman kept mocking him,
calling him a nigger, a boong and demanding to see his “dick on a stick.” Greenhill tried to hush
Pearce and stop the two men from arguing but he’d always turn the conversation to escape and quiz
Billy about the best route to take and the best way to survive in the bush.
Billy wanted just to be left alone. Eventually, if he behaved, they’d take him back to Hobarton
and set him free to join his beloved Moorina. His wife and his life with the Larmairrermener began to
assume the dreamlike qualities of myth. He ached to be off the squalid island and to be free.
A few days later they heard that another six men had escaped. The Commandant halved the
rations for all the convicts and gave the food to the guards and convict trusties. The prisoners were
outraged. Pearce was beside himself and constantly muttered about his escape plans. The following
day Billy made the fatal mistake of letting Pearce bait him.
“Pssst. Foxe,” Pearce whispered to him as they waited for the other gangs to build their raft.
Billy looked over and raised an eyebrow.
“Mah man Greenhill tells me that there’s nowt t’eat up dere,” he said in his Irish burr and
pointed towards the forest.
Billy looked around; the two convict overseers seemed engrossed in their own conversation.
“Up there? ‘course there is. Lots of fings. Like worms and lizards. Lovely tasty grub!”
“Greenhill says we moight have t’eat each other loike dey do in da Navy,” he sneered.
Billy shuddered. The trusties had stopped chatting and one of them was looking over at the two
men. Billy squirmed awkwardly. He didn’t want to be caught talking about escape.
“Wha’s da best way then eh? Up the coast or over da hill?” Pearce said.
Casually, trying not to be noticed, Billy pointed up the creek to top of the mountain.
“Aint no paths on the coast. Just cliffs. Yer gotta climb the ‘ill.”
“Damned fool. Dat mountain’s damned nasty. Ya just pullin’ ma leg, ya daft beggar. You’ve
never been up dere ‘ave ya?! Ya just lyin’!!”
“I don’t care wot yer fink Pearce! I know more about these parts than anyone. Yer understand
me? Now bugger off and leave me be!”
Unfortunately for the two men, the third overseer had crept up on them from behind, his
interest stirred by talk of escape.
“So it’s freedom yer after then is it, mates?” the overseer growled menacingly as he waved his
two colleagues over.
Billy and Pearce said nothing, but just sat in stunned silence.
“What’s the matter? Cat got yer tongue?” the man challenged.
“Er, er, um we was just admiring dat Huon Pine over dere now. Lovely bit of wood on it,
don’tcha tink?” Pearce stammered.
The overseer called the Sergeant over and within a few minutes Billy and Pearce were sitting in
their boat wearing 28-pound irons.
That evening the water was too rough to tow the rafts and Billy and Pearce and two other men
were called up to be flogged in the late afternoon sun. The Sergeant explained in a loud and clear voice
to all the assembled convicts that they were to receive a Botany Bay dozen for plotting to escape.
Billy’s heart was in his mouth as they cinched the ropes tight on his wrists and ankles and
strung him up on the puzzling sticks. His Scourger slowly passed the Cat under Billy’s nose, taking
great care to show him the big waxed knots in the nine, four-foot long leather cords. Cuthbertson had
repeatedly soaked the Cat in seawater then dried until the cords were stiff and the salt crystals gleamed
and sparkled in the sun.
The first stroke took Billy by surprise; it was like a knife cutting across his bare back. He
counted the Scourger’s steps carefully. The second stroke fell further down searing his skin. By the
third stroke the man had got into a rhythm. Billy tensed up just before the Cat fell and he could feel his
muscles bounce under the vicious bite. By the sixth stroke Billy’s back felt swollen like a balloon and
on the seventh the cords dug into his flesh spraying blood everywhere.
Billy recalled his initiation and tried to force himself into a trance and push himself out of his
body. As the whip came down for the twelfth time Billy could feel himself slipping away. His head felt
weak and his vision began to spin. Automatically he tensed his muscles just before every stroke. The
pain was excruciating but gradually Billy felt himself go numb. He looked around and could see his
body twitch under the force of each stroke of the cat. His vision was blurry. He could see the huge
whip as it whirled around and he could see a little rivulet of his blood running down the hill.
Everything was out of focus, and he felt as if he was hovering above the gruesome scene.
Gradually Billy became aware that flogging had ceased. His hands and feet were untied but his
arms stayed aloft until, with a rush he regained control of his body. He wiped the sweat from his eyes,
turned around and glared at the Scourger.
The big man laughed and mouthed a word at him.
“Boong.”
Billy lunged forward, throwing a punch with all his might. He caught the Scourger square on
the nose, there was a spurt of blood and the big man fell over backwards. Billy recovered his balance
and steadied himself as he vaguely noticed a huge roar from the crowd of convicts. Billy spat at the
Scourger’s feet and turned away.
He picked up his leg irons in both hands and shuffled awkwardly down to the water’s edge. He
walked straight in until he was up to his neck. The icy black water stung painfully but it did revive him
and eventually the cold began to numb the pain. After five minutes he came out and draped his shirt
over his shoulders. That night he slept fitfully, sleeping on his back in the hammock was out of the
question, so he lay face down on the sandy ground outside the dormitory. In the morning the guards
gave him a tub of pig fat to dress the deep wounds that covered his back. He finished his breakfast and
staggered into the square for morning muster. The guards gave everyone their assignments and they
dispersed to their boats. Billy was left alone in the square. The Sergeant called him forward.
Commandant Cuthbertson wanted to talk to him.
Billy entered the Commandant’s office and stood to attention in front of a large, ornately
carved oak desk, a guard stood behind the Commandant. Cuthbertson didn’t look up from his papers as
Billy stood, shivering slightly in the cold morning air, his shirt stuck to his back with blood and pig fat
while the flies buzzed around him.
“So, 8712, I hear that you are a wild man? Is that so?” Cuthbertson said leaning back in his
chair.
“No, sir, t’aint true.”
“Yet you punched your Scourger. Broke his damned nose.”
Billy said nothing, just smiled a little. The guard sniggered.
“What the devil were you playing at man? Why did you do it?”
“He swore at me, sir. I couldn’t ‘elp meself. It just sorta ‘appened.”
“You just sort of broke his nose? You must get sworn at fairly often in a place like this man.
What exactly did he call you to make you so upset? Eh? What was it, man?”
Billy looked down at his feet. “He, er, he called me a boong, sir,” he said quietly.
“A boong? A boong? What’s that? Like a nigger or a fuzzy-wuzzy or something isn’t it? Well
why on earth would that upset, ah, oh, I see now, you are the fellow that escaped to the interior and got
caught up with the natives aren’t you?”
Billy nodded meekly. The guard bent forward and whispered into Cuthbertson’s ear.
“Oh, I see, married a gin, a lubra, did you?”
Billy swallowed hard, his temper was beginning to rise.
“Drop your trews!” the Commandant ordered suddenly.
Billy stared at him unmoving until the guard came forward. Then Billy swiftly unbuckled his
belt and left his trews fall to the ground. Cuthbertson leant forward in his chair to get a good look at
Billy’s thun-bura.
“How gruesome. Fine. Pull them up. I suppose that’d explain why the flogging didn’t affect
you much?”
“No sir, it hurt like blazes, sir.”
Cuthbertson nodded and stood up. He picked up his pipe and lit it carefully.
“Tell me, 8712. Could you survive in the jungle?” he said casually.
Billy nodded.
“How d’you know? Ever been out there?” Cuthbertson stabbed his pipe in the direction of the
door.
“I am Ke-bo-ra of the Larmairrermener. I have lived in the mountains for many months.”
Cuthbertson shook his head in bewilderment.
“Key what of who?”
“I am one of the Larmairrermener band of the Big River People. This is our, I mean their,
land.”
“So, if you were to escape, which direction would you run?” he said.
“I do not want to escape, sir. I want to serve me term and go free. Escape doesn’t work.”
“Yes, yes. They all say that, man.” He waved away Billy’s reply angrily. "Tell me, there are
eight convicts in the bush. Where will they go? Tell me!”
“They will die if they go north or south. Their only hope is to the east over the mountains.”
Cuthbertson stared at Billy, holding his gaze for several long, long seconds. Then, abruptly he
slammed his pipe down on his desk.
“Nonsense man. I can see right through you! You’re in league with these damned men. You’re
trying to make me search in the wrong place. That’s enough! Corporal!”
The Corporal came quickly into the room and stood at attention.
“Corporal, take this insolent fellow and put him to work on the piles on Grummet Island and
make sure he stays there for a week, do you hear me!”
Billy was fortunate that it was Wednesday. It meant that they couldn’t take him to Grummet
Island until Sunday. So he spent four full days on Sarah Island tending the tiny garden while the cuts
on his back scabbed over. Pearce was not so lucky and there was no break in his routine of working on
the log rafts at Kelly’s Basin. On the first night Billy crept outside after dark and slept face down in the
soft earth of the garden. Even so, he got very little sleep as every little move aggravated the cuts in his
back and caused the scabs to bleed.
On the second night Pearce also slept outside, face down on the soft ground. In the middle of
the night Billy was suddenly woken by Pearce’s loud screaming. He looked up to see the man jumping
up and down and trying to clutch at his back. Pearce ran to the edge of the dormitory building and tried
to scratch by rubbing his whole back against the side of the building. This immediately knocked the
scabs off many of his deep cuts and sent him into more howls of pain.
Billy grabbed him by the arm. “Stop! Turn around so I can see yer back!”
Pearce did as he was told, tears streamed down his cheeks as he tried desperately not to wake
the guards for fear of another flogging. By the light of the full moon Billy examined Pearce’s back. It
was a mass of wriggling, pulsating black things!
Billy looked closer, and then he realized that the poor man was covered in ants. He’d lain down
to sleep near a colony of meat-eating ants!
“Bloody ants!” Billy cried out in fear and disgust.
“Quick! Get into the water!”
Pearce was groggy, he didn’t understand what Billy was saying. They could see several lights
come on in the guards’ huts. Billy grabbed him by the hand.
“Be quiet! Follow me! Quickly!” Billy said as he dragged Pearce down to the shore.
“But, but, ah can’t swim!” Pearce moaned.
“Neither can the bloody ants! Get in! Up to yer neck! Go on! Get bloody in there!!”
Billy waited until Pearce had stopped splashing and yelling, then he turned around to go back
to the dormitory. The Guard of the Watch was standing in a small group of prisoners who’d come out
to watch the entertainment. Billy spent the rest of the night in one prison cell and Pearce in the other.
At muster the next morning, Cuthbertson announced that Billy would spend an extra day on
Grummet Island. Then they flogged Pearce again that evening. Just ten lashes - Cuthbertson was being
nice again. It was only two days since his previous flogging. Billy and Pearce blamed each other for
the extra punishment.
Chapter 58:
They rowed steadily eastward. Billy’s back had finally stopped itching and he’d thrown on all
the clothes he had. It was cold as the shroud of dawn mist parted to reveal Gummet Island. It was a
small lump of rock, 40 by 8 yards and rising 50 feet above the black water of the bay. A wooden
staircase wound up the cliff to a small poorly made wooden barracks, to the east was a tiny beach. It
was there that Billy would be working for the next week.
They stepped off the boat onto the tiny beach which was crowded with convicts waiting to
return to Sarah Island. Billy lifted his chains and clambered over the high gunwales of the boat onto
the tiny jetty. It was very awkward and he almost lost his footing, but fortunately he was steadied by
the crush of convicts in front of him. The overseer, a big man, smiled as he eyed the new convicts
lasciviously. It was unusual to see a fat man, they all knew then and there that he was powerful and
would be a demon at nighttime.
They were building a slipway for the boats and a dozen big piles had already been driven down
into the sand and stood ten feet above the water level. The piles began at the shoreline and extended
out ten yards in two rows about thirty feet apart. The fat man divided the two dozen new convicts into
gangs.
Billy was assigned to the deep water gang. It was low tide and they all waded out to the furthest
pile where the water was up to their waists. They were given eight-foot long posts that they had to
drive straight down into the sand between the piles until they just protruded above the seabed. Once
enough posts were in place they would nail the planking to the posts to form a wooden floor on the
seabed. Working in teams of four, they hoisted a pile-driving hammer over the end of the post and
filled the two baskets with big rocks. Then they pulled on the ropes of the pulley to lift the baskets and
raise the hammer head high. The first few feet were in very soft sand and the posts soon stabilized but
then it became drudgery as they raised and dropped the baskets for hours at a time to drive down the
posts. Once the top of the post disappeared under water, they flipped the hammer upside down so that
the basket and pulley remained above the water. Mr Hoy, the shipwright came out to inspect the work
every few days and was pleased that the tides were beginning to drop so that they could concentrate on
the deep water piles.
The prisoners’ barracks was just a single windowless room 20 feet wide and 40 feet long with a
door at each end, it was just large enough for all 80 prisoners to lie flat on their backs, but any
movement was certain to wake others. The privies were two bare stone ledges that projected from
either end of the barracks. It was a cold and depressing place. The planks of the wooden walls had
been warped by the sun and sea. A chill wind whistled through the gaping holes.
The first few nights were cloudless with light winds. Billy was exhausted. His arms ached
painfully from the constant lifting but at least his back no longer kept him awake. Barnes, the fat
overseer, would sit outside the door of the barracks, as they would file into the building to sleep. Billy
made a point of avoiding eye contact. He knew what Barnes was after and the man spelt trouble.
The third day was cut short as the wind picked up and blew over most of the pile drivers.
Barnes ogled the men sitting huddled together for warmth eating their meager evening meal in the
shelter of the little kitchen. They retired early that night. Billy was sound asleep within minutes despite
the howl of the cold wind through the walls and the crash of the waves on the rocks.
Billy was awoken by being kicked in the head as a convict near him moved. Billy opened his
eyes with a start. As his eyes became used to the darkness, he made out the figure of Barnes standing
near the door. He had his back to Billy and his rear end was strangely pale. Billy suddenly realized that
the man had his trews around his ankles, and a dim shadowy figure was bent forward in front of him.
Billy could hear the groans as the big man buggered his victim.
Billy pulled his thin blanket over his head. He could still hear the groans and moans of the two
men. Billy contemplated yelling out or coughing or just doing something to make then stop. After a
few minutes he decided he couldn’t take any more and he pulled the blanket from his face and began to
sit up. At that instant the two men stopped. Barnes dropped his victim on the floor. The convict sobbed
quietly as the big man hiked up his trews and threw open the door. Billy could just make out the thin
tortured face peering out after Barnes. It was Johnny Duff, one of the men from his gang.
The following day a storm hit in during the afternoon. Billy huddled up for warmth in the
middle of the barracks with the other men. Barnes sat beside the door on the only chair and chewed
tobacco, occasionally spitting into a tin cup.
Just before dinner time Billy went out the back door to go to the toilet. The rain had stopped for
a moment and he turned his back to the wind to piss onto the rocks. As he did so, he caught a glimpse
of movement. He was starving, so, thinking that there might be a something to eat, a crab or a bird’s
nest or something, Billy crept forward over the rocks. He came to the edge and looked down.
Below him eight men were huddled together, Duff amongst them. They looked up and saw
Billy and instantly panicked. Billy waved his hands to calm them down. They were his chums, he
didn’t want to disturb them so he turned to go. As he did so, one of them called up to him to come
down. Billy looked around cautiously then climbed quickly down to them.
“Here take one!” the man said thrusting out his hand. He held out several thin reeds.
Billy held up his palms in rejection, “Wait! What is this? What’re the reeds for?”
“See, I told Johnson, he aint in, didn’t I?” Duff remarked.
“We’ve had it with this arsehole of a place. We’re getting out of here! Want to join us?”
Johnson said.
Perplexed, Billy looked at the sticks. “Me? Escape? Me? Now look lads. I aint escaping,
alright? I won’t rat on yer or nuffink. You can trust me, but I aint gonna try and run. There’s no way
outta here. You can do what you like but I aint getting flogged again.”
The man raised an eyebrow. Billy saw a strange mad gleam in his eye.

“Listen! You can escape. You really can. If you take the right one of these, you and someone
else will escape. That’s right! C’mon, pick one!” His hand shook with excitement.
Billy backed away, “Me and someone else? We use a little reed to escape?”
“Nah, nah. If you pick the longest or the shortest straw then you escape. That’s it! Don’tcha
want to get out of here? We’ve been in this godforsaken hell hole for five years. We’ve been buggered
by Barnes and flogged by the damned Commandant more times than we can remember. You’ll never
get out of here! It’s all a lie! They won’t set you free! There’s no escape. No escape except our way!
Now take one!”
Billy pushed him away and jumped up on a rock as the men surged towards him.
“Look, look. Look I can’t. I’m not ready. Maybe later. I’ve got a wife back in town. Waiting
for me.”
“Hah! A wife? He’s got a bleedin’ wife he says! If that don’t beat all. All right then you
bleedin’ dunghill! Piss off! Go on piss off, back to your lovely wife in her lovely house! Ya lyin’
bastard!”
Two days later Billy was walking back to the barracks after dinner. It’d been a hard day and he
was eager to get a good position on the floor in a corner as far away from Barnes as he could. He
paused at the door to watch the Duke of York sail out towards the Heads. A high tide was running and
she’d have no problems jumping the Gates.
It was a calm night; brisk, but not cold. He’d sleep well, he thought. Within half an hour the
rest of the prisoners had arrived. Billy noticed Duff and Johnson arrive late, followed by the other four
men that had been picking the straws with them. It was odd because Duff was usually one of the first
men to bed down for the night. He’d taken to sleeping in the furthest corner of the room so that Barnes
had to walk over and around a lot of recumbent men in order to reach him.
The guard stood outside the door, urging the last few prisoners to hurry. Everyone was lying
down or sitting up, trying to make themselves comfortable for the long night ahead. But strangely,
Duff and the other men remained standing. Barnes shouted at them but they just smiled and nodded.
They were anxious and excited. They formed a circle. Billy could see Duff and Johnson in the middle
with the others around them in a tight group. The other convicts began to stir. Something very peculiar
was about to happen.
Barnes suddenly stopped shouting at them and the guard swung open the door. He looked
inside and saw the men standing in a huddle in the middle of the room. He raised his rifle and barked at
them to lie down and go to sleep.
The man next to Billy mumbled, “Bugger me! They’ve had Dealings with the Devil!”
Billy opened his mouth to ask him what he meant but all of a sudden Johnny Duff spoke up in a
loud voice.
“Hear me ya lousy rabble!”
The men quickly fell quiet. The guard ran out of the barracks, his footsteps loud as he hurried
down the stone steps.
“I have drawn the short straw. Today I will escape this damned island and go to meet my maker
in peace. A pox on Cuthbertson and his Lobsters and may you rot in hell for your sins Arthur Barnes!”
He pointed angrily as he condemned the overseer.
Barnes went as white as a ghost and stumbled towards the door but a crowd of angry convicts
quickly pushed him back into the corner and blocked his path. The convicts fell silent again as they
waited for Duff to continue.
“I have done a deal with me mates. Now, let us pray for our souls.”
The prisoners stood still and slowly and sincerely followed Duff in reciting the Lord’s Prayer.
When it was finished, Duff said softly,
“Sit down boys. Sit down. It’s almost over.”
They sat on the floor, leaving the six men standing in the middle of the room. The atmosphere
was heavy with tension. Barnes was slumped in the corner sniffling quietly.
“Fine, fine,” Duff said in a shaky voice. “I am ready Harry. I am ready for my freedom. Do it
quick and do it clean and I’ll see ya in a few weeks.”
The circle of men spread their arms wide and closed in on Johnson and Duff standing. There
was the clink of metal then Duff’s firm voice cried out.
“I forgive you!”
Billy heard a grunt followed by a long high-pitched moan, then another grunt and then it was
over. As Duff’s body slid to the floor the other convicts called out to him.
“Farewell Chum” and “Goodbye Johnny.”
The circle parted as the door suddenly flew open and four guards burst into the room.
Commandant Cuthbertson was furious, Harry Johnson and his six chums just missed the Duke
of York and he was obliged to lock them away in the prison cell until she returned in a month to take
them back to Hobarton for the trial. Cuthbertson railed at the legal niceties that prevented him from
hanging Johnson on the spot and sending the witnesses to work on the piles double-lagged. He
couldn’t even flog the men; instead they spent their time idly in the warmth and comfort of the jail. To
make matters worse, he hadn’t heard from the search party he’d sent north to find the escapees. He
could ill afford the loss of two soldiers and three dogs and the guns of the three trusties.
“More sherry Doctor Whitton?” Mrs Beeton asked politely.

The fat red-faced man nodded his head vigorously. This was such a good country, he mused.
Fresh off the boat, he’d already been wined and dined by several prospective business partners eager to
join him in his new venture.
Jonathan Peter Whitton was a retired academic, a don from the University of Durham. He
specialized in animal husbandry. One of his associates had invested in the Van Diemen’s Land
Company and invited him to a lecture by Henry Batman, who’d explored much of Van Diemen’s
Land. Whitton was captivated by Batman’s description of the land and was eager to escape from the
boring confines of Academia. So, he resigned and bought a small flock of sheep. As a boy he’d often
helped his uncle take care of his sheep near Alnwick. The Cheviots had excellent meat and wool and
were tough beasts, easily raised and superbly suited to the rough windswept moorland hills of northern
Northumberland. Whitton firmly believed that his sheep would thrive and he’d make his name in the
annals of history feeding the hungry colonists.
Blanch pushed the contract across the table slowly and deliberately, trying hard to stop his
hands from shaking. Donaldson had been spending a lot of Blanch’s remaining money on marks and
Nibs he’d met arriving from England and Sydney but the doctor was the first one to have taken the bait
and come up to see him at Mrs Beeton’s.
“Now y’say the land is like the moors then, man?” Whitton asked in a sing-song Geordie
accent.
“Aye, sir, did I not tell yeez me Granny was from Felton? I know the moors, sir. Just like the
Cheviot Hills, man. Your sheep’ll love it!” Blanch replied, trying to mimic the accent.
Whitton grinned. The southerner was daft! Fifteen thousand acres was a vast area, twenty-five
square miles rivaled the Duke of Northumberland’s estate! It would cost a fortune in England, even at
auction the Ripon Regulations set the lowest price at shillings per acre. This George Blanch really was
so naïve he was asking only half that!
“Way aye man! The beasts’ll thrive, ah it’s ower cold but they’re used to it! Ya say there’s
buildin’s inclooded?” Whitton said happily.
“Certainly! Two big barns, two houses and a road right doon the middle.”
“Awreet then man. But ah’ll need a new clause in the contract. Something like, - within 60 days
the buyer can, after inspection of the property, cancel the contract if said property is not suitable for the
raisin’ of sheep!”
If Blanch was surprised, he concealed it very well. He merely blinked rapidly twice and replied,

“Aye Doctor, you can have that clause.” He smiled and added, “In fact, I’m so sure you’ll love
the property that I’ll take you and your sheep up there at my own expense. How does that sound?”
Whitton grinned broadly.
“That’s champion! Light up them cigars! Mister Blanch, we have a bargain!”
Billy’s initial astonishment at Duff’s death soon gave way to complacency. Because he hadn’t
committed suicide, Duff could be buried on consecrated ground and would go to heaven. Johnson
would go to trial and be hanged but Duff had forgiven him so he’d also escape the Fires of Hell. The
witnesses would never return to Sarah Island and after the trial they’d be sent to Port Arthur. Many
men were talking about escape and Billy heard rumours that there would be more Dealings with the
Devil. Cuthbertson had deputized more convicts as trusties to bolster the security. Even small
gatherings of men were broken up or threatened with the Cat.
Cuthbertson took great delight in showing the convicts his new solitary cells. They had taken a
week to build. Cuthbertson had explained their construction during morning muster and insisted that
every lag be shown their operation. The cells were the size and shape of a coffin. They were buried
deep within the jail building and could be kept as dark as the grave.
Two men were sentenced to 25 lashes for trying to sell soap. The Commandant converted the
punishment to 5 days in solitary. When Billy saw the men the following week, it looked as if they’d
aged several years. The coffins quickly became so feared that the convicts preferred the pain and
humiliation of the Cat.
Cuthbertson was ecstatic.
One day Billy was delighted to hear the sounds of “cooeee” from the hills above the logging
site. He was excited to hear aborigines in the area, hoping they might have some news of Moorina. The
men on his gang paused in the work as they listened intently. The overseer, fearing attacks by wild
savages, ordered them to retreat to the beach. Billy looked over at him and turned around and let out a
two long “cooees” in reply. There was a pause followed by three calls back. This was his band’s
territory and the men sounded like Larmairrermener.
The overseer angrily shouted at Billy to get back to the boat. Billy shrugged and walked slowly
back. All work had stopped and the Sergeant of the Guard had called all the soldiers and senior
overseers together. Peering intently across the blinding white sand into the darkness of the forest, Billy
could hear the aborigines calling again. He knew there were two of them, but their calls didn’t quite
sound right. He walked forward, ignoring the threats of the overseer, then he put his hands to his
mouth and gave a long loud whistle. He waited for a few moments then suddenly a whistle came in
reply. They were either Larmairrermener or they knew the tribe very well. After a few minutes Billy
saw two figures moving along the stream towards the rafts. As they came nearer he finally recognized
Buckelow and his son, Weena. The Sergeant had seen them too and he’d ordered his men to aim their
loaded guns at them.
Billy cupped his hands around his mouth and called out.
“Wa! Old fella! Where have you been?”
The two men came running forward to meet Billy. The Sergeant ordered his men to lay down
their arms and get the convicts back to work.
“Wa! It is you Loarinna.numer!” Buckelow cried in greeting.
Billy hugged the two men as his overseer came strutting over to break them up.
“Quickly, have you seen Moorina? Have you seen her?” Billy said.
“She is well. The tribe has moved deeper into the Big Tree Forest. The Governor Arthur has
put money on their heads. It is called “bounty” - five guineas per adult and two for each child – dead or
alive --”

His reply was cut off as the overseer roughly pushed Billy to the ground, his leg irons striking
him painfully across the arch of his foot. Angrily, Buckelow’s son, Weena, stepped forward, but Billy
yelled up,
“Wa! Be still! Be still! He is an ignorant man but he has my life in his hands. We can talk
later.”
The overseer jumped back as the guard had come up behind them with his gun raised.
Buckelow bent down and helped Billy to his feet. The black men smiled then turned away and walked
back into the forest. Billy grimaced and limped over to the pine road to continue the logging work.
The following day Commandant Cuthbertson’s boat followed them out to Kelly’s Basin. As
Billy tramped up into the forest with his gang he heard Weena call out to him.
“Smile, Loarinna.numer you aren’t dead yet!” he cried cheerfully.
The convicts stopped in their tracks, unsure what to make of the strange sounds. Then the two
aborigines came out from behind a tree.
“They’re harmless, sir,” Billy shouted to the overseer. The man turned and glared at Billy.
“Bloody niggers! Why can’t they speak the Queen’s bloody English, the damned savages!” he
snorted disdainfully at the two black men as he led the gang deeper into the forest.
“We’re going to see Happy One!” Buckelow announced, following beside the gang.
“Happy One?” Billy said.
“Yes, you know the man with the funny hat and the big whip. He’s always angry that man. So
we call him the Happy One!”
Billy smiled in spite of himself. Cuthbertson was indeed always scowling.
“Oh, I see. Well I hear you speak my language better. Can you speak English too?” Billy said.
“Of course, Loarinna.numer but we don’t want these ignorant smelly piles of wombat
droppings to know that just yet!” Weena chuckled.
Billy almost laughed aloud as the two aborigines turned away and headed back down the hill
with a wave.
It was Thursday September 19th 1846. Winter had come and the mountains above Macquarie
habour had a light sprinkling of snow. The Duke of York had brought a new set of slops for many of
the prisoners. Like everyone else, Billy merely wore both sets of clothes at once to keep out the cold.
Johnson and his mates had been triple lagged and sent back on the ship to Hobarton. Cuthbertson was
very excited as he’d just got permission to set up own court for capital offences and as he was judge,
jury and executioner, he’d decided that it was high time to set a few examples.
Four men had been caught drawing straws, like Johnson and Duff’s group. Cuthbertson had
caught the men red-handed and without further ado he had sentenced them all to death. The scaffold
was set up in the main square and with little fan-fare, the condemned men were paraded in front of the
convicts assembled for morning muster.
It was cool and sunny, the Commandant and his soldiers had polished their buttons to a
gleaming silver sheen and their faded red jackets were pressed as smartly as they could manage. The
convicts came forward, hands tied behind their backs. A familiar rotund figure, clad in a black mask
stood next to a makeshift scaffold, Barnes was the Topsman and he stood holding the noose in his
hands.
Cuthbertson came forward to speak, and the crowd of convicts murmured angrily as he loudly
declared,
“I, William Cuthbertson, Commandant of this colony having deliberated on the evidence of
offences placed before me have found all four of the accused guilty of attempting to pervert the course
of justice by means of a suicide pact. Therefore by the powers vested in me by Governor Arthur I
hereby sentence prisoners 302, 1584, 973 and 2456 to death. May God have mercy on their souls.
Topsman, you may commence.”

The four prisoners were led out together. They were double lagged hand and foot with chains
weighing almost 50 pounds. One of the men stepped forward resolutely.
“I am convict number 302. My name is George Sandley. We drew straws to see who’ll go first
and I won!” The crowd chuckled at his little dig.
He continued, “Thank you for your hospitality Commandant, especially the tot of rum. I only
regret that I didn’t escape like Johnson and the other lucky sods!”
The two guards led him down the path towards the scaffold the convicts in the crowd called out
to him.
“Chin up, George!”
“Well met lad!”
Barnes placed the noose over Sandley’s head and helped him up the ladder. Sandley refused
Barnes’ offer of a hood. Barnes pulled the rope in to take up the slack and tied it down firmly. Sandley
stood at the top of the ladder, six feet off the ground. The sun rose over the mountains bathing him in a
shaft of light. Sandley smiled and cried loudly,
“Goodbye lads!”
Barnes kicked the ladder away and Sandley dropped like a stone. The rope sprung tight and
there was a loud crack as Sandley’s neck broke. The body swung wildly at the end of the rope and
Billy was astonished to hear the prisoners clap in appreciation.
“What the hell are they clapping for?” Billy whispered to the man beside him.
The man, a lifer who’d been incarcerated for 12 years already, grinned toothlessly.
“The Topsman done well, din’t ‘e? Been a long time since I’ve seen ‘em crying cockles, they
used ter let ‘em down slow like, strangulates ‘em. Don’t like ter see me mates go like that. I’ve seen
their ‘eads come orf an’ all. That aint very pleasant. Barnes may be a blackguard but he’s a good
Topsman!”
Billy shook his head in amazement as a guard came forward to check Sandley’s pulse. The
convict was obviously dead, his bowels had opened and a wet patch had spread down his legs. The
guards stepped back and ordered Sandley to be taken down.
The remaining men were brought out one at a time to meet their death. They couldn’t see what
was happening but the noise was getting louder. Billy wondered just how desperate the men were to
escape from Sarah Island as each man came out as if he’d won a huge prize.
They would call out to the crowd who would shout out words of encouragement. One of the
men, James Hall, sounded quite drunk and he kicked his shoes off, danced down the path in his irons
and railed against Cuthbertson vociferously, causing the assembled prisoners to give him three cheers
as he stood at the top of the ladder.
Cuthbertson was incandescent with rage. The Island’s first public hanging was supposed to
teach the convicts a severe and serious lesson. It was a warning to all who tried to escape. Instead, the
convicts went to their deaths with enthusiasm. They were happy to leave Sarah Island any way they
could.
The following day, things got worse for Commandant Cuthbertson. Pearce and Greenhill and
six other men escaped into the bush.
It was a cold and cloudy morning. Pearce’s gang had arrived just after dawn and worked at the
western edge of Kelly Basin, far from the other gangs. After several hours they’d stopped for breakfast
and while their overseer was sipping his tea, they’d jumped him, stripped him and tied him to a tree
deep in the forest. They’d then rowed their boat west to pick up Greenhill, who’d been working at the
coal tailings for several days.
By the end of the day, Billy’s gang hadn’t collected enough logs for a raft and so they prepared
to return to Sarah Island. The Sergeant of the Guard scoured the horizon to the northwest. Billy could
see a faint smudge of smoke. Someone had lit a signal fire! The Sergeant was very animated, he
ordered Billy’s gang to row him and another soldier out to investigate. It took two hours to cover the

six miles; the Sergeant spurred them on by promising to get them vegetables and some fresh meat for
their dinner. Billy needed no more encouragement!
They arrived at Coal Head to find Pearce’s boat half submerged in the water with the bottom
knocked out of it. Two gangs of convicts waited next to a signal fire on the beach. Pearce had stolen
their big whaleboat. They were very distressed at the loss of their whaleboat and all their provisions.
Cuthbertson was sure to take out his anger on them for letting Pearce’s gang escape.
The soldiers were convinced that Pearce would try and sail west and out through Hell’s Gates
for freedom.
It was starting to get dark, so there was little they could do except return to Sarah Island to
inform the Commandant. As they rowed away, Billy could see the signal fires ablaze all the way along
the coast. He wondered if he’d made a mistake and if it’d been better if he’d tried to stay with Pearce’s
gang and join them in their bid for liberty.
The next morning Billy’s gang rowed over to Kelly’s Basin as usual. He was surprised to see
Buckelow and Weena arrive in Cuthbertson’s boat before his gang entered the forest. He waved at
them but they were too far away to notice him.
By noon they’d cut enough logs to make their raft and began the arduous task of tying all the
logs together. Billy noticed Cuthbertson and the two aborigines talking with the Sergeant and Pearce’s
overseer, Constable Logan. Logan was a simple-minded fellow, and it didn’t surprise Billy that
Pearce’s gang had overpowered him and tied him naked to a tree. He looked very tired after spending a
night alone in the forest.
Half an hour later the Sergeant came over to Billy’s gang and called for Billy to get out of the
water and follow him. Perplexed, Billy did as he was told. The Sergeant took him up the beach and
into the edge of the forest where Commandant Cuthbertson was sitting at a table in the shade sipping a
cup of tea. Buckelow and Weena stood behind him with big smiles on their faces. Cuthbertson, as
usual, was not happy.
“So, 8712, you’ve met these two nig-, I mean, black fellas?” Cuthbertson said.
“Yes, sir, I know them both,” Billy said cautiously. He wasn’t sure exactly what the
Commandant wanted with him but he could only imagine it would result in more punishment.
“You’ve heard about the escape of convict 102, I presume?”
“Weren’t nuffink to do with me, sir. I aint talked to them lot since I was transferred out of their
gang two weeks ago, honest!”
Cuthbertson grunted and waved Billy down.
“Oh shut up boy! I’ve had my eye on you, you know. Ever since you came here I’ve been
watching you. So you can’t fool me!”
Billy wrung his hands nervously and looked down at his feet.
“Look at me when I’m speaking!” Cuthbertson barked. “That’s better. Now boy, would you
like a spot of tea? Yes?”
Billy nodded slowly and carefully, wondering why the Commandant was suddenly being nice.
“Sit!” he ordered.
As Billy sat he noticed Buckelow trying to hide a smirk behind his hands.
“Now then 8712. I see that your sister lives in Ross? And I hear that you are married to a gin?”
Billy squirmed in his seat. Buckelow’s eyes went wide with alarm as he saw that Billy was
about to correct Cuthbertson for insulting Moorina. Billy gritted his teeth and nodded slowly.
“I recall that you also told me that the escaped prisoners wouldn’t be able to survive if they
went north? Well, you were right, damn it! Your friends here found a gun and some bones a few days
north. It looks like I lost the entire search party!”
Billy looked at Cuthbertson without speaking. The Commandant took a sip of tea and
composed himself. “Your two friends here tell me that you know these parts much better than they
do?”

“You, you, you mean me? Well, I suppose that could be true, sir. I did spend six months on my
Songline around here.”
“I think the damned beggars have taken to the jungle. Could you find the damned prisoners for
me, man?”
“Me? Could I, well, yes, I probably could. It’s nasty country, very nasty. Difficult to track and
difficult to find a way through the bush. Big fast rivers, tight forests and well yes, sir. I could try.”
“Listen boy. I don’t want you to try, you hear me!” Cuthbertson shouted, leaning forward over
the table. “I want you to follow those bastards and report to the Police. I’ve lost a lot of good men and
guns in the past few months trying to capture the bloody escaped lags. Now if were up to me I’d let
them all die in the jungle, but it isn’t. Every escaped man is a blot against my name and against the
Governor too! The damned Gazette just loves to crow about how easy it is to escape from Macquarie
habour.”
Cuthbertson waved his finger at Billy. “I don’t care whether these men live or die. But too
many men have escaped and I want to know if they’re succeeding. I want to find the escape route if
there is one. I’m sending you after them because I know you’ll come back. Because Mister 8712, if
you don’t, I will have your sister locked up and your gin sent to Flinders Island with the rest of the
damned tribe, you hear me!”
Billy gulped and nodded in agreement.
“If they survive I want them to hang. The Gazette will tell everyone just how hard it is to
escape from my prison and live to tell the tale!”
The Commandant took a sip of tea, looked at Billy, and smiled. Then in a sympathetic voice he
continued, “Listen to me 8712. Some say that Sarah Island is harsh. But you haven’t been sent into
solitary yet have you. No, I thought not. You know it drives some men insane. The weaker ones. They
say it’s like being buried alive. You’re not weak are you? Do you think you could survive a month in
solitary, in the Graves?”
Billy shook his head dumbly. He’d seen much stronger men than himself turn into doddering
old wrecks after a week in the Graves. The Commandant smiled at him grimly.
“This is your big chance. You say you’re prepared to do your time and you don’t want to
escape. Well, now we’ll see what sort of cove you are. If you get these men for me I will get you your
Ticket of Leave. So, whaddya say?”
Billy swallowed hard. He had little choice, there was little chance that he’d find Pearce and an
even smaller chance that Cuthbertson would set him free. He doubted that Cuthbertson could harm
Moorina but no-one would stop him from getting Ginny. He imagined that she was very unpopular in
Hobarton society for having spurned the illustrious Commander Blanch.
Billy desperately wanted to be out of Macquarie Harbour and perhaps he could find Moorina as
he followed the convicts. But he knew that if he refused the Commandant’s request his life would not
be worth living.
Billy nodded reluctantly.
“Yes, sir, Commandant! I will follow Pearce, I will dog them until they are back in the clink or
dead!”
Cuthbertson sat back in the chair and took another sip of tea.
“Good man. Take your fuzzy wuzzy chums with you. The Sergeant will give you whatever you
need but remember this 8712. Do not talk to 102 or his gang. Keep your distance and report back.
Alright!”
Chapter 59:

Three days later Billy, Buckelow and Weena were taken to a small creek just north of Coal
Head. For some reason, Pearce and the escaped convicts had not tried to sail out of the Harbour but
instead had abandoned the big whaleboat. It was almost completely submerged and everything on the
deck, including the mast, had been hidden in the bushes by Pearce’s gang.
After a brief look around, Billy and the aborigines decided to take the obvious route straight up
the creek into the forest. They were soon rewarded with several sets of footprints, which they followed
for a short distance until they came across two sets of chains. The rings had been forced open and the
rusty hinges had easily fallen apart.
The weather was cold and windy but dry, and they made good time up the gentle slope of the
thinning rainforest. By late afternoon, they came to open country. Buckelow suggested that they
prepare themselves properly for the bush while the trees were still good for making spears. So, using
some big sharp stones from the creek, they spent the rest of the day making spears and collecting
firewood. That evening they hardened and straightened their spears over the fire.
“Wa! You must have spent a long time with the Larmairrermener. You can speak properly
now,” Billy congratulated the two men.
“We stayed with the Larmairrermener a long time, we wanted to make sure the new village was
well hidden from the white fella. Truganini said they are trying to capture all the black fellas,” Weena
said.
“Yes, and thanks to my uncle, the white fellas still hate the Larmairrermener,” Buckelow
added.
Billy raised an eyebrow and Buckelow continued, “Didn’t Pandak tell you? My uncle was
Musquito, the first Gai-Mariagal warrior to come to Trowenna.”
Billy chuckled. “Wa! Pandak spent all his time getting me to remember the Songlines of the
Loarinna and the lore of the people. He always grumbled that us white fellas were difficult to teach!
So, tell me about your uncle. We have lots of time and it’s good to back here in the bush again talking
about important things!”
“Musquito was a great man, a great fighter,” Buckelow said. “He fought for our people the Gai-
Mariagal in our homeland across the water. He had only spears and the white man had guns but he
fought hard and set fire to their buildings and their crops. In the end they caught him and sent him to
Norfolk Island. But the white fella left the island a few years later and they sent Musquito to Trowenna
to track down bushrangers. He spoke good English and was a great tracker. They had many problems
with bushrangers up near Port Dalrymple. The Government told Musquito they would send him back
home if he found the bushranger called Michael Howe. So he found him and killed him in battle but
they did not send my uncle home and the white fellas in the big towns got angry and they chased him
away. So he went into the bush and stayed with some of the tribes, one of them was the
Larmairrermener. My uncle told me that once most of the bushrangers had been captured the white
fellas started to push the Palawa off the land just like back home. Musquito showed everyone how to
fight the white fella, how to burn their houses and kill their animals. Musquito was a great fighter and
very clever. The black fellas could have many battles in one day and keep the white fellas guessing
where they were going to strike next. But in the end the white fellas captured my uncle again. They
made up a story about him killing two white fellas. He said it was all lies but they didn’t listen to him,
he was not allowed to go into the court and they put a rope around his neck and hanged him.”
“Wa! I am sorry to hear that. He was a good man,” Billy said.
“No, no. It is a good thing. My uncle was a warrior and he died fighting the invaders. That is a
very good thing. I hope I can die like that too!”
Billy knew that the convicts had little choice but to try and stay high on the ridge lines of the
mountains or to venture down to the edge of the forest where the boulder-strewn slopes met the lush
temperate rain forest. To go into the forest would be a grave mistake, the vegetation was so dense that
at times even Billy and Pandak had had to crawl on their bellies to make any progress at all.

Weena found the remains of a small fire on the edge of the tree line below Mount Sorrell, the
peak from which Billy and Pandak had looked down at the convicts harvesting the giant Huon Pine in
what seemed an age ago. Billy poked at the ashes, which were completely wet through from the mist
and the rain. A quick search revealed four sets of fetters. The men had used their rest stop wisely and
now all eight of them were free of chains. Billy smiled. It was just as well. The convicts would find the
next few days exceedingly difficult even if they’d been well fed, rested and unchained.
The rocky slope fell away to the east and they soon found the trail of the convicts winding
down the gentle slope towards a small creek. The convicts had searched along the banks for a suitable
crossing point. Billy knew that this small stream was just a little taste of the dangers to come and
would prove no real obstacle. He quickly led the way over and picked up the trail on the other side. It
was getting late and Billy’s band decided to stop for the day and hunt the animals coming down to the
ford to drink. They need to rest before the hard day’s climb through the forest. A light rain had started
to fall. It was late winter and they knew they’d be in the rain most of the time. Billy half-hoped that it
would snow. It would be easy to track the convicts and they wouldn’t last long in the cold. Of course,
Billy and the Sydney men would also be lucky to survive!
The following morning, Billy decided to short-cut Pearce’s trail and instead of following
straight into the dense forest he guessed that Pearce would eventually have to head north and climb up
to the top of Black Rock Mountain. As it was, they eventually had to hack through half a mile of forest
before finding the trail again as it left the forest and led up the rocky foothills of the mountain. It had
taken them all day and Billy led the two men right up to his old fireplace to make camp. He smiled as
he relived the memories of his trip with Pandak.
They gathered some of the hard glassy black stones and Billy showed the two aborigines how
to knap them, striking two stones together to make razor sharp stone flakes. Then they went hunting as
the animals came out at dusk. They killed two red-necked wallabies and ate of them heartily. They
were approaching the toughest part of the journey and needed to be well fed and rested. Along with
their firesticks and tinder they’d need to take as much food as they could carry with them into the
impenetrable rainforest.
The three men slept well that night and woke early. Looming high in front of them to the east,
the steep, heavily forested valley fell down into the mist and then rose steeply on the far side up to a
long mountain ridge that cut across their path. Beyond that, shrouded in icy rain and snow lay the
ominous hulk of Ulta.Trunwalla, the Ice Mountain that the white fella called Frenchman’s Cap, the
symbol of Liberty, that looked down mockingly on the convicts at Sarah Island.
Billy planned to trek down to the southern tip of the mountain ridge, just above the rainforest.
This was the part that of his walkabout with Pandak that Billy remembered most vividly, and it would
be very difficult indeed. There were two big fast rivers and forests so thick they would be slithering on
their bellies in the mud around branches and roots and hacking through ten-foot high cutting grass and
the energy-sapping Bauera bushes. It was incredibly rugged country and Billy wondered how far the
convicts had managed to penetrate into that dark inhospitable land.
They walked in the cool, quiet forest with its high canopy so thick that they were in a perpetual
twilight. The ground was littered with fallen branches and rotting trees. But the trail was very easy to
follow, the convicts were less than two days ahead and they’d hacked and pushed their way through
the forest like a herd of rampaging bulls.
Billy was very glad for the assistance, but several times he veered off their trail following small
ridgelines or rocky outcrops so that he could find firmer footing. Inevitably, however, they came down
into thickets of horizontal scrub, the upside-down trees. It was slippery with moss, and several times
they had no choice but to lie down and wriggle through the black mud. They found a bloodied shirt in
the middle of a bank of cutting grass.
Then they came to the Bauera. The bushes just gave way before them like a sponge but kept
springing back to bar their way. Buckelow and Weena had never seen anything like it and complained
bitterly until, exhausted, they finally reached the end, half a mile and one hour later. They sat down to
rest and to eat. That was when they heard the river. The spring melt was well underway and there was
more water than Billy had encountered with Pandak. They followed the convicts’ footsteps upstream
and found a shallow place to cross the river. The trail was very clear along the spongy floor of the
forest in amongst the tall palm-like Pandanis.
A mile or so later they had to cross the river again. This time Billy recognized the little gravel
bank and he knew the water was deeper. They threw their spears to the far side and then stripped and
wrapped their sandals and dilly bags in their wallaby skins. Weena walked across first with his bundle
of clothes on his head. The water came up to his shoulders, but it was an easy passage. Billy struggled
to cross as he was shorter and the water came up to his chin. Buckelow helped him climb out of the
river just as the rain started, not the usual light drizzle, but big plump raindrops that came down hard
and turn the smooth surface of the river onto a seething mass of ripples.
It was still early afternoon, but Billy was taking no chances and he immediately struck out
north to find some dry ground where they could make camp and light a fire. Within two hours they
were huddled close together in the shelter of a cliff face at the base of the mountain ridge.
The following day they were preparing to continue the journey east into the forest to the next
big river. They doused their small fire and climbed higher along the rocks to look for signs of smoke,
hoping to see where the convicts had headed. But there was nothing to see so they walked back down
towards the forest.
Then Buckelow noticed a slight movement among the rocks further down. Instantly the three
men ducked behind some boulders. They waited patiently for a few minutes until they finally saw
them. Two decrepit old men, dressed in rags, were slowly, feebly, inching along where the rocks met
the rainforest. Billy stared at them in amazement, hardly able to believe his eyes. It looked like
Kennerly and Brown, Little Brown as they called him because of his diminutive stature. They looked
so haggard and bent that he could scarcely recognize them. He took a step forward to help them but
Buckelow put up his hand.
“Remember what the Commandant said, Loarinna.numer. You must not help them.”
“Wa! That is nonsense! Look at them! They’re almost dead on their feet! I will give them some
food!” Billy replied indignantly.
“Wait, wait! You cannot do that, they’ll tell the Commandant! Just leave them some food and
we can watch them from here.”
“You could be right and they may have a gun. Wait here!” Billy quickly darted back out of
sight.
He was back in a few minutes and the three men huddled down behind the rocks to watch. The
two wizened old men stumbled along the edge of the forest. They were moving dreadfully slowly, so
slowly that Billy wondered if they were injured, but as soon as they heard the flies buzzing around the
cooked wallaby meat, the two men showed a surprising turn of speed.
They pounced on the meat ravenously, devouring it in huge chunks. They looked around
frantically for more and seemed surprised that there was none. They mumbled softly to each other and
turned to resume their ponderous journey. The man at the back, Little Brown, reached into his pocket
and pulled out something. He threw it down and sneered at it and made a shooing motion with his hand
and then turned to shuffle off after Kennerly.
As soon as they were out of sight Billy leapt up and raced down to the forest. He bent down to
pick up the object that Little Brown had thrown away with such disgust. It looked like a small half-
eaten chicken’s leg, dark brown and blackened in parts by burning. It was odd, thought Billy, there
were no chickens. He looked at it more closely, and then noticing one end was shiny, he rubbed off
some of the charcoal.
It was a fingernail! Billy dropped it as if it was a red-hot coal.
Little Brown had been eating a human finger!
“The white fellas are getting very hungry!” Buckelow said in astonishment.

Billy shook his head and put the finger in his dilly bag. “Wa! Those two must have given up
and decided to return to Macquarie habour. I don’t think that they will make it. Quick, let us go
forward and follow Pearce. This must be an accident! They would not eat each other. They are
Christians! They will never get to heaven if they do that!”
The three men continued eastward, going back down the trail from which Little Brown and
Kennerly had emerged. They went deeper into the forest. It began to rain heavily again. Even beneath
the rainforest canopy they could feel the big raindrops and the ground underfoot was getting soft with
many deep muddy patches that sucked at their feet making walking very difficult.
Following along the convicts’ trail they very quickly came to a campsite where the men had
rested overnight. The fire had been quite large and well sheltered from the rain. It looked as though the
men had rested for some time. Buckelow poked in the ashes with a stick.
“Wa! Look what I have found!” he said.
As the others came over to see, Buckelow held something from the fire. It was a bone, about a
foot long and slender.
It was a human forearm.
The escaped convicts had become cannibals!
They began searching through the undergrowth. It didn’t take long. Despite the rain, the loud
buzz of the blowflies led them straight to the poor man’s body. They parted the bushes to behold a
dreadful sight. The man’s chest had been cut open and where his heart and internal organs used to be
was a mass of beetles. One arm had been ripped off at the elbow and most of the legs had been stripped
to the bone. It had no head and the stench was overpowering.
Billy and Weena immediately turned to vomit in the bushes while Buckelow examined the body with
great interest.
“Wa! I cannot stay here!” Billy complained loudly. “It will be dark soon. I will go back along
the track to make a new fire.”
“Wait! I will come too!” Weena replied eagerly. “Let the old man examine the body.”
They both wanted to be as far away as they could from that terrible place.
“The white fellas are less than three days ahead. Maybe just one day I think,” Buckelow
announced as they sat around the fire.
“There are no maggots. Just beetles and flies and animal tracks. I have seen many dead bodies
before, mostly black fellas and none of them were eaten. This is a very bad thing they did!”
“Wa! We must bury him,” Billy said with a look of horror on his face.
“No. He is dead,” Buckelow replied. “If he were a black fella we should burn him. Back home
we would bury him, but there will be more bodies soon. Maybe up there in the rocks. They’ve tasted
flesh and they are hungry. They will eat each other up until only one of them remains. I do not want to
spend all my time looking at half-eaten white fellas and digging holes for them.”
Billy considered that for a moment then nodded,.
“You are right Buckelow. But this man was the first one, so he has not killed or eaten anyone.
He should go to heaven so we must bury him like a Christian. The others, if there are any more, we
will not bury. They are cannibals and deserve to be eaten by the animals.”
“I agree!” Weena added. “I do not want to look at the body again, but I will help you bury the
man.”
Billy nodded gratefully, “Wa! We must also find the head! We must bury the head too.”
“No, Loarinna.numer, I cannot help you,” Buckelow said fearfully. “Why did they cut off his
head? I do not want go through all the bushes looking for a dead man’s head!”
“I think they used an axe. Maybe they did not want to look at their friend’s face as they
butchered his body to eat,” Billy replied with a grimace. “Come, we will bury the body quickly.”

With their digging sticks the three men scooped out a shallow grave in the soft ground on the
edge of the forest. Billy made a half-hearted attempt to find the dead man’s head, but he was so afraid
that he might stumble across the grisly object that he quickly abandoned the effort and they covered
over the body and laid a rough-hewn cross on top.
Billy was not overtly religious. He’d seen several executions and been to his father’s funeral
but he couldn’t remember the prayers very well so he stood over the grave bowed his head and
mumbled a little prayer while the two aborigines looked on in sad silence.
“Lord, I don’t know who this poor fellow is. He wasn’t a bad chap by anyone’s mark ‘cept the
law’s. Please can you let ‘im into ‘eaven even though ‘e ‘asn’t got an ‘ead. He might’ve been a pain in
the arse to the Commandant but ‘e didn’t eat no-one. So please Lord, let the poor bugger in.”
He bent down and picked up a handful of dirt. As he let the earth slowly trickle back down
through his fingers he said, “Earth to earth; ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Lord bless him and keep him.
Amen.”
Darkness was falling and it was time for the three men to flee. The two aborigines were
terrified that the dead man’s spirit would follow them. Buckelow feared that the spirit of the convict
would be stumbling around in the darkness looking for its missing head. Weena trembled violently at
the thought of meeting the headless spirit in the middle of the night. They rushed as far away from the
convict’s grave as they could and climbed high up into a giant myrtle tree. That night they slept fitfully
in the branches. Every shuffle, every footstep of each nocturnal animal was the sound of the man’s
spirit hunting through the forest for his missing head.
Chapter 60:
The following morning Billy awoke stiff, sore and tired. They scrambled down the big tree and
headed down the hill to pick up the convicts’ trail again. Spurred on by their fear of the headless
Gubba, they made very fast progress that day. Nevertheless, they still wandered away from the trail
and spent the night trying to sleep high up in the branches of a tree.
The next day they relaxed a little. The spirits of the dead would stay close to the grave and the
men’s fear had been diminished by the distance. After several hours they heard a growing roar in the
air and a rumbling through the ground. It was as Billy feared; the big river was running harder and
faster than ever. They could see a mist in the valley ahead of them as spray rose up from the river.
The mighty river ran strongly, scouring a deep valley out of the granite. They came out at the bottom
of a section of rapids. The black water was whipped up to a dark brown froth as it hurtled down the
narrow chasm at their feet. The ground shook and the river roared so loudly that they could hardly
shout over it. Billy signed to the two men to follow him north up the hill and away from the river.
Slowly, the sound of the river faded as they rounded a small hill in the forest. After two hours
or so of hiking they turned eastwards again and the sound of the river grew although much diminished.
Billy recognized the Great Water Snake pool by the sound, even before he saw it. They turned
the corner and there it was. The water was much higher than before; it came up to the top of the bank
on both sides of the river. It was deep and black but quite still and almost forty yards wide. Buckelow
smiled nervously, he’d seen big water like this once on the coast near Queensland. They were all
excellent swimmers but it was very wide and black as night. They were afraid of what might be
swimming beneath the surface.
Billy watched them with amusement. There was nothing to fear he told them. The white fellas
had crossed the pool so it must be easy. Even so, Billy expected that the convicts had spent some

considerable time crossing the river. On the far bank he could see two long poles. He suspected that the
white fellas had used them to pull the non-swimmers safely across the pool.
They walked as far downstream as they could. The gentle riverbanks rose to become steep
cliffs and the pool narrowed to a mere ten yards across as the slowly swirling current quickened.
Further down, the cliffs seem to come together and the river turned into a raging, roaring torrent whose
spray spread a mist over the entire valley. They were at the top of the rapids, and if they failed to swim
across the pool there would be no escape from certain death.
They could not risk swimming with their clothes on their heads, so they threw their spears and
their bundles of clothes over the pool onto the far bank. As they walked to the upstream end of the
pool, Billy could see the fear and doubt written on Weena’s face and decided not to joke about the
Great Water Snake.
Together they walked into the black, cold and seemingly bottomless water. The threat of the
rapids spurred them to swim as fast as they could across the wide pool. Billy half hoped that the water
snake would make an appearance, but they reached the other side without incident and except for
getting tangled in the root and branches, they easily scrambled onto the far shore. They retrieved their
gear and went on their way, grateful to be finished with the threat of the big rivers.
That night they camped on a rocky outcrop just beneath a steep and foreboding mountain. They
made a humpy to keep out the wind and the rain so that they could repair their thin wooden shoes.
Billy knew that the trail was rough and rocky for the next few days and they’d try to keep high and hug
the ridgeline right up to and then east of Ulta.Trunwalla. To the north east of them lay a big wide plain.
Billy knew from his journey with Pandak that it was a marshland populated with stands of button
grass, bauera, cutting grass and horizontal trees. The ridgeline, while longer and much colder, would
be considerably faster.
They set out early in the morning. Billy was anxious to travel as quickly as possible and avoid
spending much time on the freezing windswept ridge. Above them ice-covered black granite walls rose
sheer to the snow-capped peaks. It was still winter and freezing to death was a very real possibility.
The men were not interested in the convicts’ trail but instead aimed for the foot of
Ulta.Trunwalla where their quarry had to emerge. They were lucky; they only had to spend one night
out on the mountain. Although their path twisted and turned and doubled-back numerous times, they
made it to the base of the great mountain at dusk two days later. Weena’s keen eye quickly spotted an
old fireplace. He called Billy and Buckelow over.
“There! Over there! I see the white fellas’ camp!” he said excitedly.
He stood back and allowed Billy to go in front of him.
Surprised, Billy turned. “Wa! You don’t want to go down there do you?” he said with sudden
understanding.
“No, the white fellas have walked through the marsh. They will be hungry. I think Buckelow
might be right. They may have eaten someone else. Why don’t you have a look?”
“Wa! You two can look for new place for a fire,” Billy said. “We will need some water as well.
I will go down to see what has happened.”
Billy recognized the body of Tom Bodenham immediately. At least the man’s head was still in
place, he thought grimly. The body was next to the firepit. It was a gruesome sight. Billy forced
himself to look but his legs refused to take him any closer. The man had been butchered, the chest
opened and the muscles of the arms and legs cut away so that the bones were visible. Oddly, Billy
noticed that the corpse wore no shoes.
He was just 22 years old.
Turning his nose up at the stench of rotting flesh, Billy quickly examined the fire. Judging by
the amount of ashes, it seemed that the fugitives had camped for several days before moving on. They
must have been further ahead than Billy had thought. Billy looked around as dusk began to fall, noting
his position in case he had to return. He took one last look at the dead man, shuddered and turned to
walk to their new camp some half a mile back down track. There were no trees to sleep in so Weena
made a very big fire that night.
Weena and Buckelow rebelled the next day. They refused to follow the convicts’ trail. They
feared that it would be strewn with half-eaten body parts and haunted by spirits. Billy barely argued.
He was in no mood to follow the cannibals, but more especially, all three men were very tired and the
trail went straight into the marshes. Billy recalled Pandak’s mirth when he’d returned with mud up to
his knees after venturing into the marsh. He knew that they could probably catch the convicts in a few
days but the marshes were sodden with the winter rains. It would be an exhausting slog. Instead, they
turned north following around the eastern side of Ulta.Trunwalla, before heading east again to follow
the ridge to the far entrance to the great marsh.
Two days later they reached the saddle overlooking the marsh. Weena scanned the landscape
for sign of the fugitives but saw nothing. Buckelow walked a little way ahead and soon came upon
footprints. They examined them for half an hour before they reached their sorry conclusion
“Wa! Another one has been eaten!” Billy stated the obvious. “There are only three of them
now.”
Weena looked at him, his eyes wide with fear.
“Surely these are evil men! Let us leave them to die here! I do not want to catch them!”
“Wa! You can leave any time you want. We are on the edge of my land, the Larmairrermener
country. I must go on. I must tell the Commandant what has happened or I will not be free. So, leave if
you like. I thank you for your help and your company.”
Buckelow shook his head. “No, we will follow you. The convicts are going the same way as us
anyway. But we will not help them and we will not fight them.”
Billy shrugged and smiled. He had no intention of getting anywhere near the fugitives either.
They camped for the night and woke late the next morning, none of them very keen to chase
after the convicts. Just as they were about to head off on the trail, they heard a faint whistle from above
them. Instantly Billy knew that it was Moorina. He grinned widely and coaxed the little fire back to life
as he eagerly waited for his wife to arrive.
An hour later Pandak and Moorina reached Billy’s camp. Billy was overjoyed to see them both
again. Billy quickly explained where he had been and told them how they’d let him leave Sarah Island
and track the escaped convicts. Pandak was very excited and babbled continuously about how thin
Billy looked and that he had learnt how to live in the mountains and track his quarry but obviously he
needed more lessons on finding tucker. But Billy and Moorina were in their own world, just looking
lovingly into each other’s eyes and holding hands.
Buckelow coughed to interrupt Pandak, “Honorable Karadji, I don’t think your sister is
listening to you. Perhaps we should leave them alone for a while. Weena and I need your help to find
the scent of the white fella down by the stream. Can you help us?”
Pandak looked at him in confusion then suddenly realized what he meant. So the three men
went down to the stream to find Pearce’s spoor. Billy and Moorina wasted no time and immediately
fell upon one another in the bushes, practically devouring each other in their lust and passion.
Weena grinned sheepishly as he heard Moorina’s squeals of delight and Buckelow laughed as
Pandak moved further downstream so that the tumbling water drowned out the sound of their
lovemaking. When they came back up the hill an hour later Billy and Moorina were grinning like little
children.
“We found this,” Pandak announced, throwing something onto the ground.
Billy picked it up and examined it. It was a white fellas right hand, severed at the wrist with the
little finger missing and a big hole at the base of the thumb rimmed with dried black blood.
“It’s a bit of a mess, but it looks like the Loarinna’s got to it,” Pandak added.
“Wa! It is not the Loarinna, it is the white fella. They are eating each other,” Billy said simply.
Pandak and Moorina shrank back in horror.
“How can that be? Surely their souls will taken by Rowra, the spirit of the night!” Moorina
cried fearfully.
“My dear, we have been tracking them for many weeks and they are very hungry. Very, very
hungry.”
“They are white fellas, Rowra does not care for white fellas. Their souls will go back over the
water to their homeland. Do not worry about them,” Pandak said dismissively. “Tell me,
Loarinna.numer why are you chasing these Gubbas?”
“Wa! There were eight men, they were prisoners like me. They ran away from the prison and
walked through the bush. I think there are only three men now. Some of them turned back and some of
them died and were eaten. When I find them I will leave them some food but the boss white fella,
Cuthbertson, he told me to stay away from them and tell the Police where they go. Then he will make
me a free man so that I can live here in the bush.”
“Wa! It is good to see you again, my husband!” Moorina giggled excitedly and squeezed
Billy’s hand. “You are a free man now. We can live together in the bush and you never have to go
back to the white man’s place!”
“No my dear,” Billy shook his head sadly. “If I do not return they will take my sister and put
her in chains. They said they’d try to catch you too! So I must tell the Police about the convicts we’re
following, then I will be set free.”
Moorina looked very disappointed. Pandak waved his finger at Billy and replied angrily, “How
can you trust this man, Cuthbertson? Why should he set you free?”
“I saw him write his promise in his log book, and so did his Surgeon. I have to trust him. I do
not want to be hunted all over Trowenna like a dog, and he knows where Ginny is.”
“He is a weak man to hide behind a woman!”
“Wa! That is true, but he will set me free and then we can live together in the bush for ever.”
“Yes. That is the best way. You have decided well,” Moorina agreed, hiding her
disappointment.
Buckelow and Weena came over to them.
“Shall we go after the white fellas now?” Buckelow asked.
Pandak sat back down on a rock and looked westward. “There is a storm coming. We have
walked for three days with little rest or food.”
“Let us make camp out of the rain and hunt,” Billy said. “The white fellas have gone back into
the thick bush. They are still heading east, and we can go around we will be ahead of them in a day or
two.”
So they relaxed and sat out the storm in the comfort of their camp. Billy and Moorina made
their own humpy and for a while Billy forgot about his convict life. The pain and suffering of Pearce
and his gang were far from his mind.
“How is the new village?” Billy asked as they sat around the fire eating a three-foot long
goanna.
“It is very small and cozy,” she replied happily. “I will make the perfect humpy for us. Pandak
has a big one next to the elders now he is Karadji.”
“Wa! There are so few of us now that we only need small villages,” Pandak said. "Much has
happened since they captured you, Loarinna.numer.”
They had finished eating and Billy was eager to catch up on all the news.
"We have continued to fight the white fella," Pandak explained. "We have burnt many farms
and houses but more and more white fellas arrive each day and they keep burning our forests and
killing the animals. They don't even eat them, they just leave the carcasses to rot in the sun!”

Moorina interrupted angrily, “When we fight them, they kill our people and they take their
bodies away and do not burn them. They send them over the water for the Queen of England! She is
the eater of their souls!"
Billy gasped in surprise but then Pandak continued, "Truganini says that the white fellas are
afraid of us. They think the Palawa will kill them all and eat them so they must kill us first. She has
told Robinson that the Palawa does not want to kill all the white fellas, we just want respect, but he
says that farmers are still frightened and angry and they will not listen."
"Wa! The Palawa are disappearing. More die every year and no babies are being born,”
Moorina said. "Diseases have killed many of us and few babies are born and the white fellas are still
raiding the villages and stealing the women.”
Billy was struck with a sudden thought. “The white fella called Blanch. Is he still taking
women?”
“No, we have not seen him, but there is a new white fella who rides a brown horse with a black
mane. We saw taking two Leenowwenne women to a ship down south.”
Billy wasn’t surprised that Blanch’s shoes had been filled. Gin trading was a lucrative business.
Weena suddenly turned away from them and started poking in the bushes. Billy regarded him
thoughtfully. The man was usually very attentive.
Pandak shook his head at the distraction and then continued grimly, “You know that the white
Governor had a bounty on us? He gave them gold for capturing or killing us. Many times they the old
or the sick then killed them in cold blood. The Governor gave them gold for our dead bodies! Then
they sent bands of soldiers to hunt us down like kangaroos. Truganini called them Roving Parties.
Robertson, the black fella from over the water, he was there. He ambushed us and killed Leelinger and
four other warriors and took away their bodies! He is a traitor and a bad man. Truganini says that he
wants to gather up all the Palawa and send us to the islands, to Wybalenna.”
"Truganini says that the Governor tried to stop the killing. He put up signs saying that anyone
who kills another person will hang from a tree with a rope around their neck, no matter who it is,"
Moorina added.
Billy raised his eyebrows. "So they would hang any white fella if he kills a black fella?”
“Wa!” Buckelow interrupted angrily. “We know many black fellas who were killed and no
white fellas have ever been hung. They were happy to hang my uncle, Musquito, but the Governor lies!
The white fellas kill without fear!”
“That’s why we still fight,” Pandak said simply.
“Wa! What is happening? Why are they doing this?” Billy said.
“I do not know,” Pandak scowled. “Truganini says that it is because of the Governor and Curr
and Robinson. She says they hate us and want to kill us or send us away from Trowenna. I know that
Curr is an evil man, just like your Mr Blanch. He likes to kill the Palawa and Robinson is no better, he
has become rich by selling our people!”
"But, but can't you just talk to them?" Billy argued. "The Governor is very religious. He wants
everyone to believe in God. Surely he will listen if the Elders sit with him and explain why the Palawa
is fighting the white fella?"
"Pah! Ask Truganini! The Governor calls us monkeys! Animals! We don't believe in his God
so we cannot talk to him. Only Robinson speaks to us and now he's rich from selling us to the
Governor! Now Truganini says the white fellas are planning a big war. They will fight us and it will
start very soon. That is why we’re up here in the mountains. They will not come here.”
"Perhaps I can talk to them?"
Pandak nodded slowly. "Yes, but you are a prisoner. How will you meet him?"
"Wa! I must go down to the white town and report to Corporal Riley. Then they will set me free
and I can talk to the Governor and we can all live in peace!"
"You have not lost your sense of humour, my brother! If you go to the white fellas they will
just put you in chains again!"

“Wa! Loarinna.numer I have just found you again! You cannot leave me so soon!” Moorina
said, squeezing his hand hard.
“Do not worry my pretty one. They will set me free,” Billy soothed her. “I will find out about
the white fella’s big battle plan. But you are right! It has been a long time. Let us be together and enjoy
life now while we can."
He left his darkest fears unsaid - that the coming war would soon their lives would plunge into
ruin and despair!
Billy stayed with Moorina and Pandak for two glorious weeks. After the first week they moved
to the southwest to warmer weather. Billy wanted to be sure that he knew where the convicts’ trail was.
He found it exactly where he’d expected to find it. They’d seen smoke from the convicts’ fire several
times. Their trail had to go up to a saddle just south of the lake where they’d fought Black Bob.
Moorina was not keen to get too close to the bushrangers’ hideout. It looked as though it was
abandoned but the memories still troubled her. Instead, they camped in a hidden cove on the lake. It
was a beautiful place. Sheltered from the wind and bathed in sunshine, they were next to a small brook
with plenty of food and water. Billy and Moorina relaxed into each other’s company like the
newlyweds they once were. Two weeks later Pandak returned from a little excursion.
“Greetings!” he said flashing a broad white smile. “Loarinna.numer, I have seen your convicts!
Now there is just one man left. You were right. I went back along his track and found the other two
men. They were cut into pieces and eaten. He is very close to the town, so it is time for you to go to the
Police.”
Two days later they came to a small campsite. Pandak pointed to the firepit.
“This is where a band of the Leenowwenne people camped. They told me that two old white
fellas came upon them just before they struck camp so they sat in the trees and watched them. The
white fellas were very thin and feeble. A child could’ve killed them but they decided to leave them and
go back south to their home instead.”
Then he stood up and pointed east to the thickly wooded valley. “I followed their trail down
there. They go in circles many times, until I came upon a body. Then I followed the last man out. He
went up around that hill.”
Billy nodded grimly, wondering which of the eight convicts had managed to survive their
terrible ordeal. Then they turned and went around the forest until they picked up the trail again.
The lone cannibal’s trail was easy to find. The man was obviously at his wits end. The trail
meandered randomly through the bush, often circling back and even heading west back to Sarah Island
for an entire day. Eventually, the trail came out into sheep country just southwest of Ross. Pandak led
them down to a little stream where they found a small camp and the carcass of a sheep. The ashes of
the fire were still warm. They were very close.
“Wa! Maybe half a day ahead,” Pandak said, poking at the fire.
“The white fella has company now, look!” Moorina said pointing to the tracks leading away
from the camp.
Billy nodded. It was probably the shepherd. It was time to fetch the Police. They were only a
day’s walk from Oatlands. Billy walked over to Moorina and took her hand. Pandak looked away,
staring down the trail intently.
“Moorina, my love. I must go now,” Billy said quietly.
She fell into his arms and they savoured one last embrace.
“I will be back, very soon. Very soon,” he whispered in her ear. “I will be free, we both will be
free and we can come and live in the mountains.”
After a few minutes they parted. She looked lovingly at him, choking back the tears.

“I will wait for you at the village. I will come no further. It is dangerous to be too close to the
white fella,” she said quietly. Then she turned and disappeared back the way they’d come.
Pandak coughed. “Come my brother. The sooner we do this the sooner you can come back to
your people!”
Billy barely recognized Alexander Pearce. He looked like a seventy-year-old invalid. His skin
was deeply wrinkled on his thin face; his eyes seem to have sunk into his head. He looked extremely
tired as he kept staring about him with a nervous twitch and occasionally yelling for Travers or
Greenhill to stop following him and come out of hiding.
He sat in the rocks in his tattered and torn canary suit some distance away from an embarrassed
and anxious-looking shepherd. Billy and Pandak watched motionless in the bushes for a few moments
before they ducked down out of sight and crept back to the trees.
Billy bade Pandak farewell, telling him that as soon as he was able he’d send Buckelow or
Weena to fetch him. It had been a short taste of freedom and Billy ached to be able to earn his Ticket
of Leave and return to the bush. Pandak watched sadly as Billy walked down the valley back to
Oatlands.
Chapter 61:
Corporal Gareth Jones loved the spring weather. The warm sunshine, the raucous bird life and
the smell of the flowers made him happy to be alive - and promoted. Now that he was a Corporal, he
had to ride around the county once a week checking on the farms and making sure that law and order
prevailed in the community. The settlers had started to build walls and ditches around their houses and
most kept packs of large and hungry dogs in an effort to repel attacks from the marauding savages.
But, the farms were far apart and the natives easily tamed the dogs and surmounted the
defences. He’d met a farmer who walled in his entire farmyard only to have the savages throw
firebrands over the walls and onto his houses. One cheeky black fellow taunted him from atop his
windmill before settling his stable alight. The farmer had lost three convict servants and all his crops
and buildings. He was livid and, with his help, Jones had just finished recruiting the volunteers for the
imminent battle against the savages.
Jones stopped his horse at the entrance to Davies’ Run and was just about to push open the gate
with his foot when he spotted the aborigine walking along the road. Astonished to see a native, alone
and in full view, he quickly dismounted, tied up his horse and ducked behind a fallen tree. He cocked
his shotgun at the approaching figure and was amazed to hear the savage call out to him in perfect
English.
“Wait! Don’t shoot! It’s me. Billy Foxe! Don’t shoot!”
Jones carefully lowered his gun while he scanned the forest for any signs of an ambush by
other aborigines. It sounded like Billy Foxe, but he was in Macquarie habour. It must be a trick. There
was no way he could’ve escaped!
Billy approached with his hands held high in the air. He squinted at the man hiding behind the
tree in the shadow.
“Is that you Constable Jones? It’s me, Billy Foxe. Commandant Cuthbertson let me out. I’ve
walked from Sarah Island.”
Jones put his gun down and stepped out of the shadows.
“Hell and damnation! It certainly looks like Billy Foxe. What’re ya doin’? You’re a long way
from home, isn’t it!”
They didn’t get back to Oatlands until after dark. Jones did not want anyone to mistake Billy
for an aborigine or they might’ve tried to hang him on the spot. He’d explained that the farmers, the

Van Diemen’s Land Company, and the Government were outraged by the continuing attacks by the
savages on the homes and property of the peaceful law-abiding citizens. They demanded that the black
fellows be expelled from the island. The Governor had finally concluded that the Roving Parties had
failed dismally to capture any natives. The bounty had initially delivered many aborigines, mostly dead
ones as they were usually shot while escaping, but eventually even that had dried up to a trickle.
The Governor had decided to collect all the natives into one corner of the island and banish
them to one of the tiny islands off the coast. To do this, all able-bodied white men had been
conscripted to form a vast line across the entire island of Van Diemen’s Land. They would herd the
savages like beaters in a Sunday afternoon pheasant hunt. This “Black Line” would walk slowly from
the base of the mountain country to the Port Arthur peninsular in the southeast corner. This time, there
would be no escape.
The savages would be tamed at all costs!
Billy was appalled!
“I can’t join the Black Line!” Billy cried. “I can’t chase my own people like wild animals!”
“Aye, it’s a damned shame. I’m not happy myself, isn’t it. Perhaps the Sergeant will let us go
and look for your man Pearce instead, eh? Cannibalism! That’s big news now surely!”
Sergeant Riley had just got notice from the Police Superintendent at Hobart Town that a band
of convicts had escaped from Macquarie habour. Even so, he was astonished to hear that Billy had
managed to walk all the way across Van Diemen’s Land. It was a feat that no white man had ever
accomplished!
“What a pleasant surprise, Mr Foxe!” Riley said amicably. “Here on Government business I
gather?”
“Yes, sir. Did Commandant Cuthbertson mention my Ticket of Leave, please, sir?”
“No, but why would he? Only the Governor can award a Ticket of Leave.” Riley replied, “Now
why did you turn yourself in? Why not stay in the bush with your gin?”
“Wa! I had no choice. Commandant Cuthbertson promised me my freedom and threatened to
jail me sister and throw me wife to the sealers!”
“Well did he now? Isn’t that interesting!” Riley said a little sarcasm in his voice.
“What about me freedom?” Billy said in a sulk.
“I got word that some lags escaped from Macquarie habour and that trackers were following
them. There’s no mention of you at all! So how do I know you didn’t escape?”
“Would I escape that hell-hole of a place and then turn meself in so you could send me back to
that madman Cuthbertson?”
“Hmmm. I suppose not,” Riley chuckled.
“Here, ‘ave a cuppa and a piece of bread,” he added as a servant came in bearing a fully laden
tray.
Billy took the food eagerly, suddenly realizing that he was famished.
“Well? How did they escape and where are they now?” Riley asked briskly.
“Dunno. What about me Ticket of Leave?”
Riley let out a big sigh and smiled. It seemed that Foxe wanted to strike a bargain. He signalled
to the servant to bring out the leftover stew and some more bread.
“Well, I suppose you must be telling the truth. So, Cuthbertson promised you your freedom and
threatened your family, eh! Perhaps the Gazette is right; he is trying to make Sarah Island appear
impregnable so that he can apply for a more comfortable posting elsewhere in the Colonies.”
He waved his finger at Billy and said with a grin, “I hope the prisoners all died or are in Police
custody somewhere, because unless you have very good news for the Commandant, neither of you will
be leaving Sarah Island for a very long time!”
Billy grunted his agreement as he ate his stew.

“Right then Foxe. Tell me what happened and I’ll recommend your Ticket of Leave, no matter
whether it’s good news for Cuthbertson or bad,” Riley said, adding, “I never did like that man
anyway.”
“First I want to write to the Governor,” Billy said as he finished his meal.
“Why ever would you want to do that?”
“I want to start talks between the natives and the Government. The Palawa want peace.”
Too late, Riley thought grimly. The Black Line had already begun. The white folk of Van
Diemen’s Land had had enough. From the Governor down to the lowliest sheep farmer and shepherd,
they were determined to drive the savages out of their land and send them up to Flinder’s Island where
they could run around naked, yelling and screaming like the monkeys they were without harming any
civilized people.
But he just said simply, “Fine. Tell me what happened and I’ll fetch the pen and paper.”
Billy recounted his story.

When he was finished Sergeant Riley asked him excitedly, “Cannibals? You have proof?”
Billy shook his head; he’d thrown the convict’s hand away after several days. It’d smelt awful!
“So this Pearce chap. Where is he?”
“Near Ross, sir. I can draw a map if you want.”
Riley was still annoyed at Blanch outsmarting him during Miss Fotheringham’s kidnapping. “I
need proof of cannibalism. Can you retrace the convicts’ steps?”
Billy nodded.
“Good!” Riley replied as he waved towards Corporal Jones. “Jones, take Foxe and retrace
Pearce’s trail. Take a sketchbook and pencil. I want clothes, bones, wedding rings, anything that will
prove Foxe’s story.”
“Certainly, sir, what about Pearce? He’s still at large.”
“Don’t worry about him, son. I’ll take care of Pearce.”
They saddled up the horses a few hours before dawn. Billy had just finished writing to
Robinson, Robertson, Bent and Governor Arthur. Billy was intrigued to see a brown horse with a black
mane at the back of the Police stables. There was a reason it interested him but it’d slipped his mind.
They’d left at sunrise and managed to avoid any prying eyes. They rode to Davies’ run where
Jones left both horses in the care of Bronwyn Davies. Her husband and son had already gone north to
join the Black Line. Like most Welshwomen, she was fiercely independent and refused to go back
down to Ross while the men were away. She knew Corporal Jones very well and loved to chat with
him in the mother tongue. There were few Welsh speakers in the country and he was always welcome.
She promised to tell no-one, not even her husband, about him and Billy.
As soon as they were deep in the bush, Billy insisted on warning Moorina about the white
fellas’ battle, the Black Line. He made camp and he lit a big fire with green branches and began his
smoke signals.
He expected to have to wait several days before Buckelow and Weena arrived but he was in
luck! The two Sydney men had accompanied Pandak and Moorina to the edge of the Big River tribe’s
country and then had turned around and headed back up north towards to Ross to look for work. They
came upon Billy’s camp at dusk.
Billy greeted them both warmly. They were happy and surprised to see him so soon.
Buckelow was very surprised to see Corporal Jones and greeted him with much suspicion. But Weena
smiled easily and Jones suddenly began coughing violently. By the time he’d finished Weena was
scouring the bushes for some more firewood.
“Wa! You must go back and warn Moorina and Pandak,” Billy said to Buckelow. “The white
fellas are standing side-by-side in a big line across Trowenna. In three days time they will start to walk
towards the southeast sweeping all the Palawa in front of them until they reach the sea. Then they will
put the people on a big ship and take them to the Islands to live the rest of their lives!”
Buckelow shook his head in disbelief. “This cannot be! Are there so many white fellas that they
can make a line across the whole land?”
“Yes my friend. It is true,” Billy said earnestly. “You must go now. Tell everyone to hide!”
Buckelow raised his hands to his face to call his son over to him, but Billy stopped him.
“No, wait! Do not tell Weena!”
Buckelow looked puzzled.
“Have you or your son met this white fella since the kidnapping of Ginny, my sister?” Billy
asked, gesturing towards Corporal Jones.
The black man shook his head.
“Well. I think they know each other. I don’t know how but I’d like you to warn Moorina alone.
Perhaps I can find out about Weena and the Policeman.”
“Wa! You may be right Loarinna.numer. Many times my son has gone bush secretly.” He
looked over as Weena pulled dry branches out of a tree. “Promise you will tell me what find?”
Billy nodded and with that Buckelow went down to speak to his son. A few minutes later
Buckelow had disappeared south on his mission. The three remaining men prepared to settle down for
the night. Billy tried to engage both Jones and Weena in conversation. Jones said he was too tired and
Weena just shook his head and an awkward silence fell over them.
They found Greenhill with no trouble at all. He was lying on his back in an open glade
surrounded by animal tracks. His hand had been gnawed off and his eyes pecked out. His maggot-
ridden body was bloated and distended. Billy thought that he’d been dead for several weeks. A big
chunk of flesh had been carved out of his thigh and arm, but there was no fireplace to be found.
Pearce had eaten him raw!
White-faced and trembling, Corporal Jones tried to cut off Greenhill’s arm to take back to
Ross. But it just wouldn’t come off. He was almost in tears when Billy finally persuaded him to stop.
“Can you draw a picture instead, man?” he suggested.
Jones nodded and took out his writing pad and a bottle of rum. Several swigs later Jones’ hands
had stopped shaking and he managed to sketch the body and jot down a few notes about the location.
Meanwhile Billy built up a pile of stones to form a cairn so that they could find the body later.
“Perhaps we should take the poor man’s head?” Jones speculated nervously.
“Oh certainly Corporal. It just pops off!” Billy said sarcastically, then added more
sympathetically, “Don’t torture yourself. We can take some of his clothes back to show the Sergeant. If
he wants to see the body he can come out here. Poor bugger aint going very far now, is he?”
Jones slapped his thigh and stood up.
“And to think I didn’t believe they ate each other, boyo! But let’s bury him anyway. The poor
lad may’ve been a cannibal but I’ll not let the badgers have him!”
Three days later Weena left them. They just woke up in the morning and he had gone. Billy
was surprised he’d stayed so long. He said very little but Billy thought he’d seen Jones and Weena
exchange furtive glances and he’d taken great care not to let them be alone together. But once Weena
departed, Corporal Jones seemed to relax considerably. He became much more talkative and lively. At
least until they found Travers later that day.
Billy thought he’d be used to the sight and smell of dead bodies by now, but he was wrong. The
body had been savagely mutilated, as if Pearce and Greenhill had grown accustomed to slaughtering
and butchering their own mates. Travers wore no shoe on his left foot and his leg was completely
blackened as though it had been burnt. Jones pointed out that his leg had not been touched by the
cannibals.
“Snake bite,” Billy said tersely. “Maybe that’s what got ‘im?”
“Poor bastard. Looks like they waited for him to die and then they ate him.”
“Well cooked though,” Billy said, pointing to the large amount of ashes on the fire. “Stayed
‘ere for a few days. Building up their strength, I suppose.”
Jones grunted and began sketching the scene. When he was finished, they buried the body and
erected another cairn. They slept in the open that night. Billy slept deeply but Corporal Jones barely
slept a wink. He wished he’d not been so enthusiastic about investigating the cannibals.
They trekked up to the saddle where Billy had met Moorina. They were getting short of food so
the Corporal let Billy make some spears and he spent the next two days hunting for pademelons and
wallabies. The weather was improving with each passing day so Corporal Jones decided that they
would continue the search for another two weeks. The Black Line had already started and would
probably go on for a month so Jones was in no great hurry to return to Oatlands.
Jones was unhappy. Since Sarah Churchill had spurned his advances and returned his letters
unopened, he’d realized that the only way he’d get a woman who he didn’t have to pay for was by
becoming rich. Miss Churchill had rejected him because he was poor and working class. Jones dreamt
of becoming famous and wealthy. His fervent wish was to be posted down to Hobarton. He’d already
spent as much time as he could there and his business venture had started to pay off. Oatlands and Ross
were too small and remote even for a lad from a tiny Welsh village.
Billy and Corporal Jones walked west back along the convicts’ trail. They tried hard to find
Mather’s body but gave up after a week and continued west. Carrion had reduced Bodenham’s corpse
to a pile of bones. Jones made his sketches and they built a cairn but neither man wanted to drag the
stinking mess into a grave so they left it for the animals. A week later they came to the first grave,
Billy had deduced that unfortunate convict must have been the 25-year-old Irishman, Alex Dalton.
Billy was glad that he’d buried the man. He’d found him quite friendly and cheerful at Sarah Island.
Jones sat down on a log in the shade to rest while he looked at Dalton’s grave. A gleam of
white in the brown soil next the grave caught his eye. He got up and went to investigate. He kicked the
soil with his foot and leapt back with a cry of surprise as he found himself staring into one dark eye
socket of the decomposing head of Alexander Dalton!
Jones ordered Billy to bury the skull with the body but Billy refused. He’d had enough of death
and did not want to dig into the grave. So instead they dug around the head, then gingerly lifted it by
remaining strands of hair and skin and threw it on top of the grave. Then Billy covered the decaying
skull with soil while Jones repaired the crude wooden cross.
The mountain weather was notoriously fickle, being fed by the roaring forties it could change
in the blink of an eye. For three weeks Jones and Billy had enjoyed unseasonably warm and dry
weather, but no sooner had they finished Dalton’s grave than the winter returned with a vengeance.
The wind picked up and the temperatures plummeted. Within an hour the rain turned to hail and then
to sleet.
“Damn it! We’ve gotta move fast!” Billy yelled.
Jones nodded grimly. Two days earlier they’d crossed the river at the Great Water Snake pool.
The water had been still been high from the winter snow-melt. Both men feared that the new storm
could trap them for days unable to cross the pool.
It was mid-afternoon. The two men ran and walked back towards the east, stumbling as fast as
they could over the slippery logs and rocks as the rain and sleet lashed down at them. By dusk they
were on the hill in the forest above the pool. It was getting dark, too late to attempt to cross the water
so they spent the night huddled together and shivering in a hastily built bivouac. They did not sleep at
all that night.
At daybreak they cautiously ventured down to the river. They could hear and feel the raging
torrent before they saw it. The pool had overflowed its banks and even through the driving rain Billy
could see that a strong current gripped the once still waters. Further downstream the white water
frothed and foamed at the foot of the narrowing gorge. They were too late!
The storm lasted for four days but Billy and the Policeman had to spend another two weeks in
their cave before the waters had subsided enough for them to safely cross the pool. Eight days later
they crossed the saddle just south of the lake where Billy had rested with Moorina. They were within
sight of the hill where they’d fought Black Bob. Corporal Jones scattered the ashes of the little
campfire and looked over to his companion. Billy was staring intently towards the bushrangers old
hideout. A thin plume of white smoke rose up from the top of the hill.
“Looks like someone’s cooking their breakfast,” Billy noted.
“They were right! Black Bob is back! Let’s get back to Oatlands and raise a search party! I
want that bastard hanged!” Jones’ voice shook with excitement.
“Really? With all the men on the Black Line, herding my people to their death? You’ll have no
volunteers, man!”
“Oh! Sorry, I forgot you’re sensitive about the Black Line. You’re right anyway. Black Bob
will not be an easy capture. Let’s be on our way. Quietly now, we don’t want them to see us, now.”
It wasn’t a long journey around Black Bob’s hideout but the bushes were high and dense. Jones
called a halt at noon and sent Billy over to a tiny stream to fetch some water. As he knelt down to take
a drink, Billy noticed a cork bobbing in the water. He leant out and picked it up. It was the cork from a
bottle of rum. Billy stood up and scratched his head. They were a long way from the bushrangers’
hideout. It didn’t make any sense to find a cork in the middle of the bush. Unless, unless? Suddenly
Billy realized what it meant. He turned and scurried back to Jones as fast and as quietly as he could.
Jones looked surprised to see Billy back so quickly and so agitated. Billy held up the cork for
the Policeman to see and put his finger to his lips. Jones took the cork in his hand and stared at it.
“I found it in the stream,” Billy whispered. “It aint dried out or nuffink! It’s fresh!”
Jones nodded then a slow smile spread across his face as he began to understand what its
meaning.
“Ginny said they liked to sleep during the heat of the day.”
“Go and find them and report back. We don’t want to be fighting his whole gang,” Jones sang
in his Welsh lilt.
Billy smiled and melted into the bush as Jones carefully loaded his two pistols and his shotgun.
He was back in half an hour. “Four of ‘em, with horses. Just four men, all bushrangers. Black Bob is
one of them.”
Jones nodded thoughtfully as Billy continued.
“They’ve been selling our women to the sealers.” Billy pointed to his four hunting spears. “I
can spear at least two of them before the others know what’s happening.”
“We’re not wanting to kill them now are we?”
“Wa! Speak for yerself, ducks! We’re four days fast walk from town at least. It’s rough country
and their mates are just behind us in the hills. They’ll escape from us!”
Corporal Jones considered the prospect for a while. Black Bob had recently sent a letter to Bent
at the Colonial Times claiming that by stealing aboriginal women he had weakened the tribes
considerably. He’d even asked the Governor for a free pardon.
“Don’t forget, you said there’s a reward for 200 guineas on his head. You could be a rich man!”
Billy reminded Jones.
A slow smile spread across the Corporal’s lips as he finally came to a decision. “We shall have
that reward together. But let’s take the beggars alive if we can and dead if we must, isn’t it. I have an
idea.”
“Bail up, ya bastards! We have you surrounded!” Jones screamed at the bushrangers.
He quickly took three steps to his right. Two of the bushrangers had been sitting back to back
by the fire, falling asleep as they guarding the camp in the warm sunshine. They woke with a start, and

levelled their guns at the dense bush. Then, realizing they were under attack, they jumped up and
yelled out to alert the others.
“Put yer guns down, now!” Billy yelled from the other side of the camp.
As the two guards men spun around towards Billy’s voice, he took several steps to the left.
Suddenly Black Bob and Big Conk appeared, wide awake, angry and armed to the teeth. There was a
slight pause and then an eruption of noise and smoke as the bushrangers dived for cover and started
shooting at where Jones and Billy used to be. The centre of the camp immediately filled up with a
cloud of acrid white gun smoke.
Jones caught a glimpse of Billy’s spear arcing over the top of the cloud, then it disappeared and
there was a strangled choking cry that faded to a gurgle. The bushrangers paused to draw their spare
guns and another spear flashed through the smoke. A scream and a thud indicated that Billy had found
his mark again.
Jones lay on the ground beneath the bushes. He could see the legs of the two men standing in
the middle of the camp. He took careful aim with his shotgun and squeezed the trigger. Without
waiting to see whether he’d hit the man, Jones scrambled back and ran six steps to his left. He stopped
and peeked through the bushes.
“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” the last standing bushranger implored them.
Corporal Jones came forward as the smoke began to clear. The convict had thrown his weapons
down and stood dejected and forlorn in the middle of the clearing. Billy came out of the bush slowly
with a spear on his shoulder, balanced and ready to throw.
At the right side of the clearing lay two bodies. Billy crept towards them, stepping over the man
that Jones had shot dead. A spear had impaled the first man though the neck. Billy kicked at his feet
curiously. There was no movement. Big Conk was definitely dead.
Billy swiftly moved over to the other man. Billy was astonished to see that Black Bob was still
alive. He lay on his side against a bush, Billy’s spear protruding from his chest. Billy sat down next to
him.
“Wa! Forgot the armour this morning?” Billy taunted.
The bushranger rolled his eyes at Billy.
“Corporal Jones, come quick. Black Bob is still alive,” Billy called out.
Jones finished putting his cuffs on the remaining bandit and picking up all the guns. He came
over and knelt down in the dirt next to Black Bob.
“Black Bob. It’s me, Billy Foxe. You remember, ya kidnapped me sister.”
The man grunted and winced in pain.
“You’re dying,” Billy said happily “Tell me, how many gins did you trade?”
Black Bob coughed, a wet gurgling sound,
“Fif, fif, fifty for Blanch and, and thirty for the Company” he said in a weak rasping voice.
“You have proof?” Billy said excitedly. “Proof of the Company’s dealings?”
Black Bob smiled weakly.
“Yes. Yes, I have proof. Proof that Curr and Blanch did it. Proof about other people, important
people too.”
He coughed again, longer this time. When he resumed his voice was a lot weaker.
“A bargain. I want a bargain. I want to go Heaven. Promise you’ll bury me in consecrated
ground and I’ll tell you where the proof is.”
The two men leant over him, eager to hear his confession.
“Of course, of course, we’ll do that. I’ll do it myself,” Billy said eager to get the evidence
against his nemesis.
Just as the bushranger was about to speak, Corporal Jones cried out in pain and suddenly
collapsed on top of the dying man. Billy jumped back and pulled Jones off Black Bob. But it was too
late. The force of the Policeman’s fall had twisted the spear closer to the man’s heart and Black Bob

had died of a sudden massive heart attack. Jones fell back on the ground, writhing in agony and
clutching his leg.
“Cramp! Cramp! Take me boot off, boyo! I’ve got cramp!”
Billy looked at him in surprise and then looked back at the dead man. For over four weeks,
Corporal Jones had endured hardships, fatigue, thirst, hunger and cold and not once had he complained
of cramp. Billy took off Jones’ boot and pushed back on his toes as he sat straight-legged in the dust.
“So what do you think ‘e meant by other important people then?” Billy asked, trying to sound
nonchalant.
“Hah! Oh! Yes! Thanks! That’s good. Thanks. Right. I suppose he was talking about Company
men isn’t it?” Jones replied in grunts as Billy slowly worked out Jones’ cramp.
When he was finished, Billy began to go through Black Bob’s pockets.
“Leave him!” Jones interrupted, then surprised at the urgent and officious tone in his own
voice, he added, “You check on our prisoner. I’m going to cut their heads off.”
“Wa! You're, you’re cutting their heads off!”
Corporal Jones stood up to his full height and looked Billy in the eye, “We need to move fast.
Black Bob’s gang probably heard the shots and will be on us soon. We can’t do that if we take the
horses over this ground. You said that yourself. All I need are the heads to claim the reward.”
“But ‘ow d’yer know the gang’s up there? And we promised to give ‘im a Christian burial!”
Corporal Jones shook his head grimly and yelled over to the surviving bushranger.
“You? What’s your name, boyo?”
The man answered him sullenly.
“All right then Mr Franklin,” said Jones. “Where’s the gang and how many are in it? Be quick,
mind!”
Franklin was just a lad, barely in his teens and frightened. He cowered away from the
Policeman.
“I, I, I dunno, sir. I only joined up last week. We come down from Launceston way. There was just the
four of us. The others went to Emu Bay. You’re not gonna kill me are you?” he pleaded.
“No, of course not. Now help us get these spears out and then you can get that fire blazing. We
need some grub.”
Billy looked at Jones thoughtfully. Something had come over the man but he was still a
Policeman and Billy was still a convict. He motioned to the boy to follow him over to Big Conk.
It took them a few minutes to pull the spear out of his neck. Billy noticed Jones going through Black
Bob’s pockets as they worked on the corpse of Big Conk.
“Did they talk about any hidden treasure?” Billy whispered softly.
The boy’s eyes widened and he nodded his head up towards Black Bob’s hideout at the top of
the hill.
“In the marshes.”
Billy nodded as the spear came free. They walked over to Black Bob’s body.
Corporal Jones stood up. “Me and the kid’ll do this. Why don’t you check the bush? He might
be lying about the gang, isn’t it.”
Billy looked at him unsmilingly, then turned and left. He retraced the bushrangers’ tracks
towards the base of the hideout. There were only four horse tracks. He searched wide either side of the
tracks on his return to the camp. He was still a mile or so away when he heard the crack of the gunshot.
It was approaching dusk when Billy finally reached the camp. Jones shoveled the last few loads of
dusty earth onto the shallow grave.
“The lad tried to escape. I couldn’t let him raise the alarm,” Jones said simply.
Billy nodded but said nothing.
Jones gestured at three two sacks near the grave. “I’m not taking their bodies to town. You’re
not wanting them to go to Heaven are you?”
Billy looked at the Policeman coldly. “Black Bob was going to give you proof.”

“He was lying. I searched them all and their horses. He was looking for a way out even as he
was dying.” Jones explained, “He was an evil man, Billy. He did for a lot of gins, killed a lot of your
people. That’s what you told me. We’ve got the heads that’s all we need. The bushrangers deserve to
rot in Hell!”
Billy raised an eyebrow and looked up at the beautiful reddening clouds as the sunset over
Black Bob’s hideout.

Part Four – Billy is freed
He crouches, and buries his face on his knees,

And hides in the dark of his hair;
For he cannot look up to the storm-smitten trees,
Or think of the loneliness there -
Of the loss and the loneliness there.
For his eyes have been full with a smouldering thought;

But he dreams of the hunts of yore,
And of foes that he sought, and of fights that he fought
With those who will battle no more -
Who will go to the battle no more.
Will he go in his sleep from these desolate lands,

Like a chief, to the rest of his race,
With the honey-voiced woman who beckons and stands,
And gleams like a dream in his face -
Like a marvellous dream in his face?
Henry Kendell
Chapter 62:
“Here you are Doctor,” Blanch said expansively. “Welcome to Whitton’s Run, your new
farm!”
The overweight Englishman plopped him self down on a rock at the top of Saint Valentine’s
Peak and wiped the sweat from his brow. He looked out over his new property. The view south was
like a vast old English park with grass gone to seed. A few sheep and kangaroo were visible in the
foreground.
Whitton gasped in amazement. This was perfect! Trying not to sound too enthusiastic, Whitton
merely replied, “Well, it looks fine from here but ah want ter see it ower closer. Let’s h’away doon
yonder and ah’ll tak a good look at the grass. But forst ah’ll rest a bit, ahreet, man”
Blanch nodded, he’d hoped that the tubby old gent would’ve been happy with what he saw. It’d
taken them two hours to walk from Blanch’s coach up to the top of the peak, and now a spring storm
was brewing under the darkening skies on the western horizon. A chill in the air warned of rain and
possibly hail.
By entertaining Whitton continuously since he’d signed the contract, he’d managed to keep the
old fool from learning about the true barren hostility of the property. Blanch prayed that Whitton
wouldn’t get to experience the deadly ferocity of weather for himself.
“Ahreet man, let’s be off,” Whitton said suddenly.
“Er, um, you know Doctor. I think we’re in for a spot of rain. That’s a nice new coat you’re
wearing, you don’t want it ruined, now, do you?”
“Balderdash Commander!” Whitton replied jovially. “This is a Mackintosh! Ah’ve hiked the
moors in winter in this! You said the weather’s ower mild up here, did you not? So let’s h’away! We
don’t need to go far and ah can see three or four little huts down there in case it gets damp.”
Blanch shrugged in resignation and waved at Donaldson to go on ahead with Buckelow and
Weena, the two Sydney men he’d hired for a few days. Stiff from the unaccustomed exercise, Whitton
stood up and followed them down the wide track. Blanch turned to Forlan and told him to go back and
wait for them in the coach.
Two hours later they were down on the plains. The bushes were higher than they’d expected.
Whitton kept stopping to poke around in the shrubbery, taking clippings of all the plants and nibbling
on them before he put them into a big book that Donaldson carried for him.
“Phah! Whut’s this? This tastes terrible, man!” Whitton complained for the umpteenth time.
“Me sheep’ll not keep this lot down ah’m telling yer!”
Blanch sighed nervously as they passed a small beehive shaped hut.
“Oh, y’call this a shepherd’s hut then man?” Whitton grumbled.
Blanch looked up. The skies had gone very dark and a curtain of rain was closing in on them
from the west. Dimly, he heard Donaldson explain that the humpy had been built by the savages who’d
abandoned the land a long time ago.
The first raindrops hit the hard ground like bullets, raising little plumes of red dust. Buckelow
gestured back along the track to the humpy and began to scamper off. A few more raindrops fell,
causing Whitton to stop in mid-grumble. Then, as the heavens opened, they all scurried back to the
humpy as fast as they could.
They sat huddled up in the tiny humpy as the rain came down in torrents. The ramshackle hut
proved no match for the weather and within a few minutes it began to leak. The aborigines hugged
each other close and held their kangaroo skins over their heads. The others pulled their hats down low
and squatted down next to each other as a pool of water gathered at their feet. Whitton complained of
cramp almost immediately and sat down on the ground with a splash. He swore and cursed, for he’d

never seen such a deluge of rain before. A short while later the rain turned to hail; ice the size of a
man’s thumb began to pound on the little hut.
Whitton, saturated by the water, sat in the puddle and waved his finger at Blanch.
“Whut is this Mister Blanch! It’s not even winter and look at the damned weather!” His hand
shook with the cold. “Ah’m exercising me option Commander Blanch, d’you hear me! You can keep
yer damned land! Mah poor sheep’ll not last a day in this! The grazing’s terrible! They’ll starve t’death
or drown or get beaten down by this damned hail!!”
“But Doctor, this is just a short storm! The sheep can hide in the bush and there’s plenty of
good grass to be had. You signed the contract and you must stick to it!” Blanch yelled over the noise of
the hail and the wind.
“No Blanch! Ah’ll buy me a wee paddock down near Hobarton. That’ll do fine, thank you!
Ah’ll have me money back when we get hame.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and pouted in grim determination. Blanch could see it was
no use. The man meant what he said. He wanted his money back.
It was a disaster! Blanch had already spent most of Whitton’s money to pay back his creditors.
He’d lose his position at the Company and have to go and try to find work. But no-one would want
him. His reputation was in tatters, he was despised in Hobarton and now he was bankrupt.
Donaldson nudged him. He looked up. Donaldson gave him a wink and patted his chest pocket.
Blanch stared at him uncomprehendingly. Then Donaldson motioned for Blanch to step outside. The
hail was easing up.
Donaldson gave an exasperated sigh and deliberately stepped out of the humpy.
“It might be stopping, Commander, would you care to take a look?” It was more a challenge
than a question.
Blanch shrugged; it was still coming down pretty hard, but he followed his servant. Donaldson
pulled Blanch away from the humpy and thrust a small flask into his hands.
“Give him this!” he hissed.
Blanch looked at him questioningly.
“Tell ‘im it’s cold tea. He’s been eating the plants aint he? We all saw ‘im. Could be bad for
yer! Very bad! Probably poisonous, some of ‘em! So tell ‘im it’ll warm ‘im up. But don’t ‘ave any
yerself. I got it from the Apothecary. Y’know, the Apothecary. It’ll solve yer problems and then I want
me Ticket of Leave, orlright!”
Blanch nodded slowly, then more vigorously as he suddenly understood what Donaldson
meant.
Corporal Jones was loath to enter Oatlands in the daylight. Billy just wanted to be rid of the
putrid blood-soaked heads as soon as possible. They hurried down the road at a trot, each leading a
horse behind them as the night sky began to lighten in the east. As they approached the town, a
Stagecoach came towards them then suddenly veered off and headed south towards Hobarton. It was
very, very early for a Stage to be leaving and it was unusual to have a military escort.
Sergeant Riley stood on the front porch of the Police Station as they arrived.
“Morning Corporal. That was poor timing lad! You’ve just missed our man Pearce. I went up to
fetch him a few days ago. As quiet as a lamb he was. Anyway, come inside out of sight and tell me
what you’ve found. I’m interested to know whose old nags you have there.”
They dismounted and led the horses around the back. Everyone at the Station was awake. There
were still several soldiers sitting down for breakfast. The smell of the bushrangers’ rotting heads
caused a lot of commotion and Riley pulled Jones aside immediately while Billy was still in earshot.
“What the devil do you have in those sacks man?” Riley barked.
Jones said nothing but gestured to Billy to bring the sacks to him. Billy looked over his
shoulder then looked back at Jones in disbelief.
“Not me!” he said shaking his head.
Riley pointed at the fire where the Army cook stood laughing at the soldiers.
“Get over there, get some grub then sit down over at that table away from everyone. Don’t say
a word to anyone until I tell you. Alright?”
Billy nodded, eager to be free of Jones. As he ate his meal of sausages and eggs Billy could see
Jones and the Sergeant in earnest conversation. Then they went into the Police Station.
“’ere, them’s Black Bob’s ‘orses aint they?” one of the soldiers demanded from Billy.
Billy smiled and nodded but said nothing.
“Right. So what’s the bleedin’ pong and what’s in them bags then?” the soldier continued as
the rest of the men fell silent to watch Billy’s reply.
Billy took a big swig of lukewarm chocolate then put the cup down. He made a cutting motion
across his neck and pretended to lift off his head. The soldiers erupted in laughter.
“Hah, that’s rich news indeed, lad! Of course, it’s just like Jonesy to mess up someone else’s
horse and saddle as well!” the soldier said, jerking his thumb towards the stable where the brown horse
with the black mane was being brushed down.
Billy looked over at Jones and the Sergeant. Jones smiled and nodded at the soldier and quickly
turned away from Billy’s stare. There was something Billy should remember about the horse, but it just
wouldn’t come to him.
“Someone’s in the money now,” one of the other soldiers said. “Not you though is it boy? Nah,
it’ll be the Corporal’s take won’t it! You’re still a lag aint’cha?”
Billy was about to protest when one of the other soldiers interrupted.
“Hey, it’s that Wild Man! You know that Foxe kid. The one who lived with the boongs!”
Billy went bright red but continued eating.
“Hey, did ya chuck yer spear at ‘im then kid? Is that ‘ow Black Bob snuffed it, eh?’
Billy nodded slowly and pointed to his chest. The soldiers went suddenly silent as they saw that
Billy was serious. Then they came towards him to get for better look. The stared at him quietly, in
admiration.
Then one of them said, “Well done laddie! I heard he took yer sister.”
Billy nodded then answered softly, “He was paid to kidnap women. That was why --”
There was a sudden shout from back door of the Police Station. It was Sergeant Riley. “Foxe! I
told you not talk to these men! Now come inside your cell right now! As for you men, it’s time you
were off. It’s a long walk back to Hobarton, so hop to it!”
Billy got up and walked over to the Sergeant. Several of the men called out to him.
“Well done lad,” and, “Hope they give ya some money.”
Ginny was thrilled to see her brother again. She was waiting at the Oatlands jail just after dawn.
Even at that early hour, a small crowd had gathered. The news of the arrival of the Wild Man, convict
8712, had spread like wildfire through the towns and villages and within a few days everyone wanted
to come and see the man who helped to kill the bushranger Black Bob and track the notorious cannibal
Alexander Pearce all the way through the interior.
Ginny and Silas were waved through by Jones as soon as he saw them. A few minutes later
they sat in his cell chatting over a cup of chocolate. Ginny was very proud of her little brother. Even in
the few years since the kidnapping he’d changed. He moved with an assured confidence and sense of
purpose. His voice was deep and resonant and he spoke only when he had something worth saying. He
was now a fully grown man, but beneath it all he still had his quick smile and sense of humour.
However, Ginny sensed that there was something deep down, something sad and melancholy,
something that told her that although he was soon to be free, he’d made choices that would deny him
real, lasting freedom.
“Cake?” Ginny offered to Billy.
He shook his head and chuckled. “No thanks Gin. Gotta watch me figure y’know. Corporal
says that I’ll be in ‘ere for a fortnight and seems like everybody and ‘is dog wants ter ply me wiv
grub!”
“How’s married life keepin’ yer? You both seem very ‘appy,” Billy noted.
Ginny nodded vigorously and gave Silas’s hand a squeeze. Marrying Silas had been the best
decision she’d ever made. It’d taken a few months for him to finally stop apologizing for the Sydney
Cove. He was a kind man and he would always regret his action and would strive to make up for it in
every way he could. For her part, Ginny was still amused that he’d caught the Tetters from her but as
long as they relaxed and were happy that it didn’t seem to affect their lives at all.
Billy told them first about Black Bob and Pearce. The Sergeant was very pleased with Billy’s
help and was busily writing a letter of commendation to the Governor for his release. Billy didn’t think
he’d get any of the reward money as he was still a convict and Corporal Jones had taken all the credit
for killing Black Bob and his gang. But Billy didn’t care very much. He just wanted his Ticket of
Leave.
For the rest of that morning and for the following two days Ginny and Daly insisted that Billy
tell them everything that’d happened to him. They’d had precious little time together after her
kidnapping and she insisted that he start right from the first day he arrived in Van Diemen’s Land.
Billy was only allowed visitors in the morning. There were many people who wanted to see
him and Billy insisted that they wait until he and Ginny had caught up on the last six years of each
other’s lives.
Billy told them about his time in Point Puer and his escape to the bush and of joining the
Larmairrermener and marrying Moorina and how the baby had died. Ginny noticed Billy’s eyes light
up when he talked about Moorina. She had a soft spot for the woman who’d helped her deliver her
dead baby in the brown dusty heat with the flies buzzing around. Ginny’s eyes started watering when
Billy told her that Moorina had refused to run away into the bushes to her freedom when Ginny was
about to miscarry.
Ginny and Silas shuddered as Billy, in a calm dispassionate voice, described his ordeal in Port
Arthur and Sarah Island. Ginny couldn’t watch when Silas asked to see Billy’s scars from Sarah Island.
They were enthralled by the escape of Pearce and the demise of Black Bob.
Corporal Jones sat at the desk at the end of the corridor. He was sure that Billy posed no threat
and would not try to escape, especially with freedom within his grasp. So the cell door was unlocked
while he had visitors.
Billy waved Silas and Ginny to silence then peered out of the cell door. Hearing Jones snoring
quietly in the afternoon warmth. He closed the door carefully.
“Listen, I’ve got a big secret to tell yer. Shoulda said summat before but it was all a bit rushed.”
They leant forward to listen as Billy told them the story of the HMS Hope, the map that
Raeburn had given to him and the treasure that lay somewhere on the coast south of Hobart Town.
“Now I’ve got half of the map ‘idden away up in the forest and a chap called Donaldson has the
other half.”
“You aint ‘eard of Donaldson by any chance ‘ave yer?” Billy asked hopefully.
Ginny and Daly shook their heads.
Billy sighed and continued, “I think Donaldson is assigned to Commander Blanch. They were
great chums on the Navarino and when I was in Port Arthur, Donaldson was the overseer for the
Company ships that were being built.”
“Hmmm. So you think George knows about the gold then?” Ginny ventured.
“Wa! The way they were carrying on the Navarino, I’m sure of it. Indeed, at Port Arthur, me
and Donaldson had a fight over the gold. He was always trying to find out where I hid the damned
map. He even gave me a letter that you were supposed to ‘ave written. It told me to trust the pair of
‘em and ‘elp ‘em find the gold. But you called me William. You don’t call me William unless you’re
angry with me.”
“Well, I think that explains why George was so keen to marry me don’t it,” Ginny said.
The men looked at her quizzically
“George didn’t want me. No. He wanted the gold from the HMS Hope. Oh, I’m so glad I didn’t
marry that blackguard!”
She reached out and squeezed Daly’s hand.
Moorina knew she’d made a mistake as soon she caught sight of the river. But she’d come this
far and felt she could easily elude the small band of white fellas on the other side. Buckelow had said
that the white fellas were trying to drive the Palawa down to the east coast, so Murrimbindi had taken
the tribe deeper into the Big Tree Forest.
She’d come east, down the valley, against the advice of her brother and Murrimbindi to retrieve
a large lump of red ochre she’d buried on the outskirts of the old village. The white fellas had put
guards around Mole Creek and the other ochre mines. The tribe needed the ochre for their ceremonies.
This was Moorina’s land, she was Palawa, and she could easily escape the Gubbas!
It was mid-afternoon in October. The new undergrowth was dense after a wet winter. Down on
the riverbank the band of white fellas, dressed in convict’s slops, rested in the shade of the trees several
hundred yards from the water. Next to the river, a white fella on a big black horse was talking to a
familiar looking man. She shaded her eyes from the strong sunlight and squinted. It was that man
who’d tried to take Loarinna.numer away from her up at the lake, the one called Blanch!
The man on the horse seemed very angry. He was waving his finger at Blanch. Moorina smiled
at the thought of Blanch being told off. She decided to sneak down to the bank to get a closer look at
Blanch’s face. She secured the heavy block of ochre in her straw dilly bag, hefted it onto her back and
tied it down tightly. Then crouching down, she slipped quietly down to the river. The two men were
barely a hundred feet from her, but between them the river was deep and fast flowing, she was sure she
was safe.
“Your dealings with Doctor Whitton have cost me dearly Commander!” the man on the horse
said gruffly. “My land values have plummeted since his infernal wife has started poking her nose into
men’s business. Can’t you just pay her off and be done with it, man?”
“Wha, wha, what do you mean, sir? My dealings with the doctor were perfectly legitimate. He
died after eating poisonous grass. What is this about Mrs Whitton? What’s she doing?”
Governor Arthur sneered down at George Blanch.
“Exactly! Poisonous grass! Did you have to tell people that? Now no-one wants to buy!
However, I have noticed that you have property on the market, Commander. Let us both hope that the
land prices recover once we push the savages out of Van Diemen’s Land. You may need the money to
quieten the widow and to look for new employment!”
Blanch looked up at the Governor angrily. He bit his lip and choked back his response.
Arthur looked down at him.
“Now, it’s not dark yet so get your men to work chasing those – “
He was cut off suddenly as three kangaroo dogs came hurtling out of the shadows of the trees
and raced along the riverbank, barking furiously at something on the other side. One of the convicts
chased them yelling, “A boong! I seen a boong! I seen a boong!”
He pointed to where Moorina lay hiding.
Moorina stood up and turned to leave as the dogs dived headlong into the muddy brown water.
Governor Arthur wheeled his horse in one movement and plunged towards the river. Within seconds
the water was up to his boots as his horse raced enthusiastically after the dogs. Moorina, mumbled
angrily, chiding herself for stumbling on the small log and attracting the dogs’ attention. But she
stopped in her tracks as the man on the horse attempted to cross the river. The current was swift and
the dogs had begun to tire in their efforts to reach the bank. The man urged his horse forwards until the
water was up to his saddle.
Moorina stood up tall so that the man could see her.
“Swim white bugger! Swim! No catchem Palawa!”
There was a sudden bang and a zipping sound as a bullet hit the water near her feet. Moorina
waved her fist in defiance and turned and left as Governor Arthur’s curses rang loudly across the river.

Billy sat in the cell staring gloomily at the bare stone wall. He’d been locked up for a fortnight
and there was no word yet from Hobart Town. Sergeant Riley had returned after giving his report to
the Governor. He said that Commandant Cuthbertson had indeed offered Billy his Ticket of Leave but
they were questioning the legality of the offer.
Billy was annoyed and bored. He could practically feel his muscles turning to fat, but at least
they let him sit in the courtyard and feel the warmth of the sun and see the birds and the clouds rushing
by overhead. He was very sorry for Moorina. He’d been away from her for too long but she understood
why he insisted that they wait for another few weeks until he got his freedom.
He heard the front door creak open and some heavy footsteps approach the front desk. There
were some quiet words exchanged and then the chair slid back. It sounded as though he had another
visitor. He stood up and peered through the open viewing hatch in the door. The Constable came into
sight. The man behind him was tall and wide, and in an instant Billy recognized him. It was Marcus
Donaldson!
The Constable left Donaldson standing outside the cell outside; the viewing hatch was big
enough for the two men to see each other clearly. Donaldson had filled out, the paunch was affirmation
of his affluence, as beer was more expensive than rum in Van Diemen’s Land. His hair was greying
but he had the tanned muscled look that showed that he was no office bureaucrat.
“It’s me, Billy Fox. Me, Marcus Donaldson. I’m unarmed.”
Donaldson could see Billy’s bright smile through the hatch. The lad looked like a boong, he
thought. His hair was a heavy mop of long red ringlets braided with ochre. He had a thin, hard face
with sparkling green eyes and a ready smile. He looked very self-assured and confident. For a brief
moment Donaldson envied the lad. He had a woman, even if she was a gin, she sounded like a catch.
He had been all over Van Diemen’s Land and despite being subjected to all the pain and punishment
that the Government could dish out, he had won through. He would be a free man within a few weeks.
Donaldson cursed the Hope’s gold, knowing that if he’d never told Blanch about it he would’ve let him
go free years ago.
“Wa! I see you Donaldson. Come to gloat over a prisoner ‘ave yer?”
“Me? Me? C’mon ducks, you’re a bleedin’ hero. Ya tracked Pearce through the mountains.
Everyone knows you’ll be free soon. Bleedin’ hero, ya bugger!” Donaldson replied with a hurt
expression on his face.
“Yer ‘ere about the gold aint’cha?” Billy replied quietly.
Donaldson nodded and looked around furtively. The Constable was out of sight down the
corridor. “’arf an’ ‘arf. We’ll split it. Orright?”
“An’ Blanch? What about ‘im?”
Donaldson swore quietly, then said, “Wish I’d never told the bastard! He won’t let me leave
‘im until me time’s up or I get the gold. Yer gotta ‘elp me!”
“Wa! I gotta ‘elp yer! That’s a larf!”
Donaldson dug into his pockets and brought out a package. He passed it through the door hatch.
Inside were a pipe, some tobacco and rum.
“I’ve gone off this stuff, ducks. Still, the grunts’ll enjoy them or maybe I’ll give ‘em to
Buckelow and Weena,” Billy chuckled. “Now, what’s yer plan?”
Donaldson started in surprise, as if something in Billy’s response had caught his attention for a
moment. “Well, I dunno. Well, um. Well, I need the money and I need to find the gold for Blanch or
else I’ll be ‘is bloody slave for anuuver year. Ah, I know. With your ‘arf, you can buy a farm or an
‘ouse. You know! Whatever yer bleedin’ ‘eart desires!”
“Me bleedin’ ‘eart desires to be left alone. That’s wot it desires! I don’t need the damned gold
and I aint keen on giving nuffink to you or bloody Blanch!”
Donaldson’s eyes widened in anger momentarily, then he let out a sigh of resignation. “So be
it. Why don’t you sleep on it for a while? If yer want to find me, I’ll be at Saint John’s Church on the
first Sunday of every month to answer me roll call. You’ll ‘ave to do the same once you get yer Ticket

of Leave. Think about me offer, Foxe. You can be a rich man an’ you can leave this bloody island as
Blanch’ll give you safe passage to Sydney.”
“Hey, Corporal! Corporal. We got summat for the Wild Man. We got some clothes for ‘im.”
Corporal Jones got out of the chair and took the bundle from the woman. Mrs Maple ran the
brothel on the outskirts of Ross. She kept the place clean and tidy and there was rarely any trouble.
Sergeant Riley tolerated the establishment; there wasn’t much he could do about it anyway. There had
been riots when his predecessor, Sergeant McNally raided the place three years earlier.
“Thank you very much, Mrs Maple. I’ll be sure that Mister Foxe gets them,” Jones said putting
the clothes on the table.
“Now then Corporal. Me girls ‘ave been graftin’ away to make ‘im some nice warm clothes.
They even knitted ‘im a Willie Warmer to keep his whatsit warm on those cold nights in the jungle!”
“Oh you shouldn’t be frettin’ about ‘im, now. He’s got a very nice woman to warm himself up
with, isn’t it!” Jones said with a laugh.
The old woman put her hand over her ears and giggled happily then turned and waddled off
towards her waiting cart. Jones picked up the clothes and added them to the large pile in the cupboard.
Everyone in Ross seemed to want to give Billy clothes, even though they’d been told that he had more
than enough already. Still there were a few charities in town who’d appreciate the donation. Jones
chuckled at the thought of the Pastor at church discovering Mrs Maples’ Willie Warmer.
A few minutes later Billy appeared from the cell with Sergeant Riley.
“Now then Billy, don’t forget you’ll have to be at Mass at seven o’clock on Sunday in four
weeks’ time. The Governor’s very strict about the monthly roll call. I’ll be there to give you your
Ticket of Leave myself. Now, I think that’s your brother-in-law I hear now.” Riley shook Billy’s hand.
Billy thanked both men for their help, picked up his swag bag and went outside to Silas and
Ginny. It was still very early in the morning and Billy was grateful to the Police for avoiding any
crowds. Corporal Jones had told the townsfolk that Billy would be released at noon.
Ginny and Silas were quite subdued as the little cart trundled out of the town and up into the
forest. The mist had cleared but the dew was still heavy on the ground. Billy was very pleased that
Ginny had brought several large kangaroo skins for him and Moorina to choose. The big Corroboree
was in four days time at the mountain lake. It would be quite cold at nighttime and they had barely
enough time to get there never mind trying to find warm pelts as well. Of course, white fella clothes
were not appropriate for the biggest gathering of the tribes in twenty years.
After two hours they came to the end of the track, Buckelow and Moorina were waiting for
them as arranged. Billy jumped off the cart before it stopped and Moorina ran into his arms. Moorina
hugged Ginny. It’d been a long time since they’d seen each other. Daly looked away from Moorina’s
naked body in embarrassment. Ginny nudged him and laughed. Then Moorina gratefully chose two
kangaroo pelts and handed Billy his spears and waddie. Billy hated long goodbyes so within a few
minutes Billy and the aborigines departed and Ginny and Silas headed back down the track to their
farm.
++++++++++++++++++++++
Chapter 63:
It’d been forty years since so many aboriginal tribes had assembled in one place. This time,
instead of just three tribes, practically all the remaining natives of Trowenna were gathered in the big
corroboree grounds south of the lake. For the first two days the men and boys ran, jumped and threw
spears to show their prowess while the women and girls danced and sang. By the third day everyone

had arrived. There were 235 people in all. Truganini was astonished that all the tribes seemed to have
turned up but very sad that there were so few black people left on Trowenna.
Billy and Moorina stayed near their humpy with the other 15 members of their tribe.
Murrimbindi and Pandak were the only elders of the Larmairrermener. Billy had been looking forward
to seeing the sharp-witted old lady Pollatoola again but there was no-one left of the Peerapper tribe and
only 10 of the Pennemukeer. Engenama had also passed on although Treedareer was still very much
alive.
On the third day the talks started in earnest. The elders met under the sacred tree on the edge of
the corroboree ground. They spoke until noon and then slept during the heat of the day and talked
again until dark. Pandak came back to the Larmairrermener camp to tell them what had passed.
The elders of the nine tribes had listened as Truganini explained the white man’s proposal.
Augustus Robinson and the wealthy black American, Robertson, had told her that the white
Government would give several big islands to the aborigines.
There, the Palawa could live there in peace; they would be in charge and could keep their own
ways and culture without any interference from any white fellas. The elders had developed a deep
mistrust of all white fellas. Even George Robinson had turned in several dozen blacks to collect their
bounty. Edward Curr had put the heads of two warriors on stakes outside his mansion. The Company
was killing the Palawa all the way across the northwest of Trowenna and Curr was glad to see it
happen. Several of the elders had seen him in battle urging his servants to kill the black fellas.
The Black Line had shaken the Elders to the core. All the able-bodied white fellas had walked
abreast in a line across half of Trowenna and tried to herd the black fellas into a small area of the
southeast. In the end, they had only captured an old man and his dog but to the elders it was just like a
kangaroo drive and the endings of kangaroo drives were very familiar to them. They feared that one
day soon there would be another Black Line and this time there would be many more white fellas and
they would shoot and kill their quarry.
“Look! Look ‘ere Silas! Sarah’s coming down to Hobarton next month. She can stop over with
us, can’t she?” Ginny squealed as she read Sarah’s letter.
Silas Daly smiled. It was nice to see his wife keeping in touch with her friends. “Certainly my
dear. We haven’t seen her since our wedding. She can use the small bedroom. Does she say when she
wants to come?”
Ginny looked up from the letter. “Well, it seems that Mister Curr has finally relented and will
let her accompany him on his next trip to attend Parliament in a few weeks time.”
“Oh, I expect Curr will want to find out how the Governor responds to that big tribal meeting. I
think Robinson and everyone else will be there too.”
“Will Billy be here then? It’s the 30th isn’t it? I’m getting me hair done on the Friday.”
“No dear. I expect Curr will want to be down in Hobart Town by the Friday, which means that
they’ll pass through Ross on the Tuesday or so. So Sarah will be gone by the time Billy and Moorina
get here.”
“Oh, that’s a shame. I was hoping that Sarah could meet Billy. But I told you that Moorina
won’t be coming to the farm didn’t I? She’s afraid of getting killed!”
“Damned extirpationists! Everyone around here just wants to kill the aborigines! If they’d
traveled the world a bit they might be a bit more tolerant.”
“Well they ‘ave burnt a few farms,” Ginny replied.
“Ah yes, but how many abos have we topped, m’dear. Remember, we’re writing the history
books, not them. I don’t like way Curr and the Company are stirring the pot. Perhaps shipping them off
to Flinders like Robertson says is the only way.”
“Don’t be silly. You know the island is too small and the sealers will attack them. You know I
sometimes wish Billy had found someone else. She’s a dear, but I can’t help feeling that this is not
going to turn out well,” Ginny remarked sadly.

“Well, Billy knows what he’s doing. I’m sure he wants Moorina to be safe. Perhaps Billy won’t
come either then?”
“Oh, he’ll come. He has to,” Ginny interrupted quickly. “He told me that he’ll be going bush or
to Flinders Island with Moorina. He won’t leave her to live in any town, he’s head over heels in love
with her. It’s very sweet.”
Daly chuckled, “Oh yes, tell him he’s sweet! The Wild Man will love that!”
Ginny stuck her tongue out at her husband and laughed.
The next afternoon the elders sent a young boy came to Billy and Moorina. They wanted to talk
to Billy. Billy arrived to find 20 elders sitting in a circle under the sacred tree. They made room for
him in the circle. He sat down, he could feel the tension in the air.
Treedareer asked Billy the first question. “Welcome! You are Loarinna.numer of the
Larmairrermener people?”
“I am he,” Billy said.
“Tell us Loarinna.numer, did you walk the Black Line with the white fellas?”
“Wa! Of course I did not! I would not herd the Palawa like we herd the kangaroo! No, I did not
walk with the white fellas on the Black Line.”
“Where did you go?”
“I went up into the mountains to look for the bones of some white fellas. There I killed the
white fella called Black Bob, the man who has been stealing our women. He is dead!” Billy said
proudly.
The elders smiled and nodded in approval, and the tension began to evaporate.
“I tried to speak with the white fellas. I sent a letter to the Governor and to Robinson,” Billy
continued. “I told them they must talk with the Palawa, with the Elders. They must make a peace
treaty. But they did not listen to me.”
“Yes, we know,” Treedareer replied. “Robinson told Truganini that your letter was too late.
The white fella will not talk with us. They want action. We knew this already, but we thank you for
trying.”
“Tell us, Loarinna.numer, are you white or black?” Treedareer asked bluntly.
Without hesitation Billy replied, “I have white skin but beneath the skin and in my heart I am a
black fella. When I was young I lived in the jungles of the white fellas villages. I hunted for food using
my wits instead of a spear. When I came to Trowenna and went into the forest it felt like I was at last
in my true home.”
Pandak smiled broadly at Billy’s solemn and sincere response.
“As you know, there are less and less of us every year. Some say the Palawa are dying as the
white fella pushes his way into Trowenna. Loarinna.numer who will you live with?” Treedareer asked.
“I will live with my people, the Larmairrermener,” Billy replied.
“And if your woman, Moorina, was not here?”
“Wa! Certainly I would live with the Larmairrermener.”
“Wa! You are in a unique situation, why would you live with us Palawa and not the white
fella?”
Billy smiled and looked around the circle of tired old men watching him. “I have had a lot of
time to think about this. The white fella had been very cruel to me. I have been cast down into the
white fella’s pit in chains, I have been whipped and starved and seen people eating each other and
being hanged. I could easily say that I want to live with the Larmairrermener because the white fella
has treated me so badly – but that is not the reason. I could say I want to live with the Larmairrermener
because I have fallen in love with a beautiful woman, Moorina - but that is not the reason either.”
Billy waved his hands in the air expansively. “No, there are many reasons why I want to live
with the Larmairrermener. Firstly, it is because of the land. We have a beautiful land, the rivers, the
lakes, the seas, the mountains, and the forests. Trowenna is a beautiful place. We Larmairrermener

love the land and respect the land; the land is in all our songs and myths. The land is our Dreaming.
The land is us!”
Billy paused to catch his breath.
“Secondly, the white fella believes in God and England and the Queen. They will kill anyone
who does not also believe in their God and who stands in the way of the Queen. The white fellas are
hard and unforgiving, they can only live with those who agree with them. They say the black fella is a
savage but they do not see their own savagery. The black fella believes in the spirits, the people and
the land and everyone is equal. There is justice with the black fella.”
The old men were watching Billy intently. He seemed to have touched a nerve in them.
“Lastly, the black fella is free. It may not look like it, but we are. The white fella owns things.
He has a big house and he has sheep and a farm with wheat. That is a bad thing because the white fella
sees that the man next to him has more things, a bigger house and more sheep and the white fella wants
those things for himself. White fellas have greed and because of that they live all their lives afraid that
someone will steal their things. They live in fear instead of in peace. Look at the white farmers, they
want the land for themselves. They do not want to share like the Palawa. No, they put up a big fence to
stop anyone from coming into their land. That is a very bad thing. I do not like that and I do not want
that. I want to be free to go where I want when I want and not be afraid that someone will kill me
because they want to steal from me or because I have gone over their fence. I am Ke-bo-ra of the
Larmairrermener and I want to live like one!”
The elders looked at Billy and grinned broadly in approval at his enthusiastic speech. Billy
could feel his heart racing.
“Wa! That was very well said my son, but now we have a difficult question for you. You
should think carefully before you answer,” Treedareer said.
“Loarinna.numer, where do you think the black fellas should go? Truganini says that the white
fellas want all us Palawa to go and live on the islands in the north. They say they will make a special
place where no white fellas are allowed and we can live in our own ways in peace. Now, the white
fella is very powerful. The Black Line tells us that and we have all seen their cruelty. So,
Loarinna.numer should we go to live on the islands or should we try and hide in the mountains?”
Billy shook his head sadly. “I am only a young man, I am not old and wise like you, but I have
seen something of the white fella. I know there are good white fellas but the white fella cares only for
himself and his family. There may be a safe place on the Islands where we can go and live in peace
like the ancestors, but do you know if there is? The sealers live on the Islands. Will the Government
stop them from stealing the women and killing the men? Why should they? The Islands are a long way
from Hobart Town. I think they will forget. Once the Palawa are on the Islands the white fellas in the
Government will forget and leave us to the sealers. Perhaps it would be better to hide in the mountains.
There is some very rough country high up where the white fellas cannot live or farm. We should go
there. It is hard and cold but it is Trowenna. That is what I say.”
Billy sat back down and after a while the men began to whisper among themselves.
Treedareer stood up.
“Loarinna.numer, we thank you for your thoughts. We are pleased that you are a true
Larmairrermener and will stand by your people in their time of need. We have many other people to
listen to including Truganini who has spoken many times to the big white fellas. Now, you may go
back to your camp.”
Chapter 64:
Two days later Murrimbindi assembled the tribe. In a hard and bitter voice he told them that the
Elders had decided that they would accept the white man’s offer and go to live on the Islands. Billy
was astounded and Moorina was in tears.

“Wa! This is terrible! Surely this will be the end of the Palawa!”
“No Moorina. We will survive. We always have.” Pandak put his arm around his sister.
“Wa! Are you blind? There are only a few young women left. The sealers have taken them all
and on Wybalenna they will steal the rest. There will be none left. No mothers and then no babies!
Didn’t you tell them this, my brother?”
Pandak was fuming; Billy had never seen him so angry.
“Yes, yes and I told them that the islands are places of rape, torture and death!” He paused,
searching for words to express his outrage and disappointment. “Truganini was there. She said the big
white fella called Curr said he would give us protection on the islands if we moved off his land.”
“His land? His land! What does that mean? The land belongs to everyone. It’s not his land!”
“It was not just Curr. Truganini talked to the black fella, Robertson. He said that in his land
they made special places for the red-skinned people of the land to live. They are still living there and
are very happy, no white fellas bother them and they keep their old ways and customs.”
“Robertson? The black fella who was friends with Musquito and then betrayed us and killed
Leelinger! Why do we listen to him?”
Pandak shrugged. “Wa! Truganini says Robertson has changed. He fights against the Governor
and was thrown into jail. He says the white fellas will kill all the Palawa if we stay on Trowenna. They
will hunt us down like kangaroos and send our bodies over the water so our spirits will be lost
forever!”
“Wa! Why does anyone listen to her! Why is a woman addressing the Elders?”
Pandak sat down. He seemed suddenly very tired, defeated. He shook his head sadly. “These
are strange times, my sister. Truganini speaks the white fella tongue. She has lived with Robinson, the
white fella Karadji and he says he has the ear of the white fella chief, the Governor. Many of the elders
have sat with Robinson. He told them that the Governor would send soldiers to Wybalenna to protect
us from the sealers and other white fellas and let us live in peace. Yes, I know that the islands are small
and there is little game but you see how few of us are left. The elders spoke with great passion and
heat. We have talked for two days and a night. I think that the elders are tired. The white fella can kill
us all and probably will. If we do not go to Wybaleena then all the Palawa will die and our spirits will
stay in the sky.”
With tears streaming down her cheeks Moorina cried, “Wa! This cannot be. I will go into the
mountains and die there. I will not live on Wybalenna at the feet of the white fellas. It would be worse
than living like a dog! Truganini can go there. You all can go there! I don’t care! I will go into the
mountains. Alone, if I have to!”
She looked despairingly at Billy then buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook as she
sobbed. Billy put his hand on her arm and waited. Pandak snarled in disgust at his own impotence.
After a while Moorina raised her head. Billy smoothed her hair and helped her wipe away her
tears. “Wa! You cannot go without me, my lovely wife. Where you go, I go.”
“So it’s over then?” Chief Judge John Pedder asked quietly.
Governor Arthur nodded.
“The Black Line was a complete and utter failure. How on earth could all those savages slip
through my fingers! Cost a bloody fortune and I was well on the way to becoming the laughing stock
of Australia and London. I’m just glad that the good Lord has answered my prayers and delivered to
me the surrender of the blacks.”
The Governor stood up and walked over to the drinks cabinet.
“Sherry?”
He poured two glasses and gave one to the Judge.
“Robinson told the Big River and Oyster Bay tribes that the Government would answer all their
grievances and concerns. They agreed to leave for Flinders Island.”
“And will you answer their concerns?” Pedder said trying to keep his voice even.

“It’s a ruse John. You know that. We can’t make any promises to the blacks, not in writing and
not even informally. Officially, the aborigines are savages, sub-human. They never resisted our arrival
and they refuse to believe in the Almighty God. If I was seen to parlay with them, the Colonial Office
would have my guts for garters as would the general populace.”
“So it is the end for them then?” Pedder stated flatly.
“No. It’s not over, they’ll survive on Flinders Island. They may not prosper as everyone else
seems to think but neither will they pine away as you have said.”
“Perhaps a Treaty would still be good idea?”
“Oh come now,” Arthur retorted. “They are leaving peacefully. We need promise nothing in
writing. I know you wanted me to make a treaty with their Chiefs to confine them to the northwest. I
know it worked in Canada and America but the Colonial Office in London was against it and Curr and
his damned Company scuttled any support I got here!”
Pedder sipped his sherry. “Curr is a brute, we all know that. He’s greedy to boot and can’t
tolerate anyone on the land neighbouring his own, especially as you halved his initial land grant.”
“Phah! It looks as if I’m in charge but my hands are tied. I wanted to treat with the Chiefs as
you suggested but Robinson forced the West Coast tribes onto Flinders and bribed the others to go out
there. And of course, Curr and that damned Colonial Times has managed to stir up the common folk to
the point where many would hang all aborigines on sight! Flinders is the safest place for them now,
believe me.”
“He’s a cunning fellow, that Mister Robinson,” Pedder agreed.
“Cunning! He even duped me!I liked his efforts to convert the heathens to God but once I put a
bounty on their heads Robinson turned his entire flock over to the Police and became a very wealthy
businessman. Edward Curr even claims that he’s stealing natives from him to claim their bounty!”
“Anyway, Robinson says that the blacks should arrive at the Hobarton docks very soon. I want
to start shipping them out straight away and get this whole messy situation over and done with.”
“Ah well, George, I do hope you’re right. I hope the poor natives don’t just pine away on that
tiny island.”
“Oh, they won’t John. They won’t. It’ll be a nice little breeding colony, I hope,” Governor
Arthur replied sounding less than confident.
Judge Pedder smiled and moved towards the door to leave.
“I’ll pray George. I’ll pray for you as well as for them.”
Weena sat under the tree and waited. He was not from Trowenna and had not been allowed at
the Corroboree. Buckelow was in Ross, helping a white fella look for his lost sheep. It was the practise
of the Gai-Mariagal to wait for work from the white fella by resting under the ghost gums at the creek
south of Ross. Often, the coach would stop and a rich white fella would come out and give them some
tobacco or rum and talk about a tracking job or a message that needed to be sent to Truganini or
Robinson.
Weena was not happy in Trowenna. He felt like an outcast, not a white fella and not Palawa.
He was annoyed that the Palawa did not respect him even though he’d counseled many a Palawa
warrior to return to their tribe in the bush.
The Palawa had no word for “thank you.” They shared everything, absolutely everything.
Sometimes, a young warrior would be tempted away from the tribe by the white fellas’ fabulous
wealth and would go to taste the white fella food and smoke baccy and get drunk. But the white fellas
would soon stop giving them presents and try to tame them by making them go to school or church or
wear white fella clothes and work. This was very insulting to the warriors and, for a price; Weena
would help them get back home to their tribe. He needed money but was resented by both the Palawa
and the white fellas.
A plume of red dust rising along the track disrupted his train of thought and announced the
imminent arrival of travellers. It was too early for the Coach and too late for the letter-carrier. Weena

sat up to watch. There were four riders; he recognized the big bulk of Donaldson immediately. He was
one of Blanch’s men; they’d been up north with him when the big fat white fella had died.
The horses came to a stop in the shade of the trees. Donaldson dismounted immediately.
“You? Name of Weena?” the big man grunted as the red dust cleared.
Weena nodded and stood up. “What want with Weena?” he asked in his halting English.
Donaldson ordered his men to dismount and take the horses to drink down at the little stream.
He turned and handed the black man a small package. Then he searched in his coat pocket and pulled
out a brown bottle. He threw the bottle to Weena who caught it in both hands.
“S’rum! Try it. It’s yours,” Donaldson barked.
Weena needed no more encouragement. He unscrewed the top, sniffed the contents
approvingly, and took a big swig. He coughed and spluttered while the white fellas grinned at him and
shook their heads at the stupid boong.
“Work! I got work for yer. Plenty ‘baccy, plenty grog!” Donaldson waved to the aborigine to
sit down.
Silas Daly arose at 5 o’clock. He decided not to wake Ginny and instead washed and dressed
quickly before loading Billy’s clothes onto the little cart and rattling off down the track to the edge of
the forest. The track was damp and, in places, muddy from the overnight rain and he arrived at the
Ross market just before daybreak. He quickly visited a few stalls and traded his vegetables for some
sugar, whale oil and a new grindstone for his axe. Within half an hour he was back on the track and
headed northwest.
Two hours later the track had narrowed considerably; Daly was reaching the edge of the forest.
The bushes encroached onto the little trail and the tall trees crowded out the sky. Daly pulled up his
horse and got down from the trap. He tied a feedbag to the mare’s muzzle to quieten her and waited for
Billy to arrive. It didn’t take long. Within a few minutes he heard a faint “cooeee” from back up the
track. There was an answering call from the forest, it seemed to come from high overhead but the
undergrowth was impenetrable beneath the tall trees. Suddenly Billy came walking casually along the
track towards him. He looked tense and he held his three long spears in one hand and a waddie in the
other. Daly could see the worried look on his face.
“Wa! My brother!” Billy said nervously.
Silas smiled. “There’s no-one here. I was very careful to make sure that no-one followed me.”
Billy nodded. “Ginny aint coming?”
Daly shook his head. “Shame. Moorina wanted to see her before we leave for the mountains.“
Billy answered, then he threw his head back and let loose a loud long whistle. All of a sudden there
was a polite cough from behind Daly. Silas spun around an ended up face to face with a grinning
Moorina.
“Good day, Mister Silas,” she said awkwardly.
Daly was astounded. “My word, Moorina! You can speak English!”
“No, no.” Moorina laughed. “Me got little white fella talk. Me come speak goodbye, now me
go there.” She pointed west towards the mountains.
“Damnation. I wish Ginny was here to say goodbye, my dear.”
“Ginny good. Silas and Ginny good. Mebbe you come see Moorina in summer?” Moorina said.
“Yes, we will,” Daly replied, enunciating slowly. “In the summer Ginny and I will visit. We
will bring food and tobacco and warm clothes for you.”
Moorina shook her head and laughed,.
“No Silas. You not bring. We not want white fella things. Gubbas not good. But you not
Gubba, you brother of Loarina.numer. He catch emu and kangaroo and we have big feast in summer.”
Daly could see that Billy was immensely proud of his wife. It was very clear that they were
deeply in love. He smiled in return, trying to mask his apprehension. They were determined to live in
the bush, but he was afraid that the settlers, bushrangers and government would hound them until they
were recaptured or dead. Ginny had told him to say nothing to them, she dreamt of buying a farm in
the high country so they would have a refuge from civilization. She’d saved thirty pounds so far.
Perhaps she could fulfill her fantasy on their summer visit.
“Come now dear, we must go.” Billy interrupted Daly’s pleasant daydream.
Moorina came forward and kissed Daly on the cheek. He was surprised at how nice she smelt
and then quickly chastised himself for being rude.
“My dear, Ginny and I will definitely see you as soon as we can. You have a very special place
in her heart and you always will,” Daly gushed.
Moorina nodded, slightly embarrassed that she’d only understood a few of Silas’ words
“Good day, Mister Silas,” she said seriously. Then she turned around and squeezed Billy’s
hand. “Be careful, my love. I will see you tomorrow,” she murmured softly to Billy, then she melted
back into the bush.
Billy donned his trews, shirt and coat and jumped onto the cart. Daly poked the horse with his stick
and they headed out to the church.
“Ginny’s making a grand dinner for yer. She’s turning out to be a good cook now and she
makes a fine roast leg of lamb.”
“That’s nice,” Billy chuckled. “My last dinner with the white fella will be the thing that brought
me to Van Diemen’s Land!”
“She thought you’d like the idea! Oh, we’ve got a visitor coming down too. One of Ginny’s old
chums. She’s on her way to Hobarton to go to a wedding and they’ve not met for a few years.”
“From the Sydney Cove is she?” Billy said.
“Indeed. She was supposed to have been and gone already but the Coach broke down.” Daly
explained. “It was very nice of Mister Curr to let her take one of his coaches.”
“Curr? Edward Curr? From the Van Diemen’s Land Company?” Billy asked.
“Certainly, she’s been in his employ for several years. Well regarded by Mrs Curr.”
Billy felt a vague sense of unease, that something wasn’t quite right. He couldn’t quite put his
finger on it and then Daly asked him about the Corroboree. Billy’s misgivings were soon forgotten as
he told Silas about the big gathering of the tribes and the momentous decision that he and Moorina had
made to defy the will of the tribe and retreat to the mountains with Pandak.
They arrived at the Church just before the service. Sergeant Riley and Corporal Jones nodded
to them as they hurried into the small wooden building. It was crowded as it always was on the roll call
Sunday. The emancipists, mostly male convicts with Tickets of Leave, far outnumbered the free
settlers. On the other three Sundays of the month only the free settlers attended the Service.
They listened distractedly to the parson giving the sermon. It was the usual fire and brimstone
nonsense that Governor Arthur and the Evangelists were so keen on. Billy fidgeted and fretted the
whole time. Only when they sang the hymns did he settle down at all. Like Ginny, he had a good ear
and a love of a good chaunt. As the service drew to a close, Billy noticed Marcus Donaldson looking
back at him over his shoulder. Donaldson grinned and nodded his head in greeting. Billy sneered and
looked away angrily as Donaldson shrugged in reply. A few minutes later they filed out of the Church
and Billy was immediately called over by Sergeant Riley.
“Here you are m’lad,” Riley said warmly handing Billy a small scroll of paper. “It’s your
Ticket. You can frame it if you like but I expect you won’t be living in a house will you now?”
Billy took the scroll with a grateful smile. “Thank you, sir. No, I can always leave it with me
sister though.”
“So, we’ll be seeing you next month I expect then, young man?” Riley asked casually.
“Wa! Next month, of course. Them’s the rules aint they. Yes. I’ll be here every month until I
get me Free Pardon. Ha, ha, ha!”
Riley smiled at the little joke. Governor had only given out two Pardons in seven years. Billy
would risk forfeiting his Ticket of Leave and being declared an Outlaw if he didn’t attend the monthly
roll call at the Church.
“Did they finish that meeting of all the black fellas?” Riley asked seriously.
“Yes indeed. They voted to follow Robinson to Flinders Island.”
“So, I take it you’re not going?” Riley asked.
“Bloody suicide!” Billy exclaimed. “Full of sealers and soldiers. They’ll be dead in a few years.
We aint going there!”
“You aint, eh? Don’t you have to follow the chief’s orders?”
“My tribe has no chiefs. Every tribe has elders. Wa! Most of ‘em just have one elder now! We
listen to ‘em but there’s no tribal law saying we have to give up our ancestral land. They trust the white
blackguards too much! Me, I say bugger ‘em! What would Robertson know about it? He’s not even a
real American black fella and he was brought with a silver spoon! And if Curr says, “go”, then I’m
staying! To hell with the bastards!”
Several of the townsfolk had stopped to hear Billy’s outburst and it was plain that they were not
at all happy with him. There were mumbles and mutterings as Sergeant Riley shooed them away.
Marcus Donaldson looked over at them with a sly smile on his face. Riley, put his hand on Billy’s
shoulder and whispered to him,
“Fine, fine. Just be careful what you say, my boy. There’s many folk here who would be happy
to see an end to the problem one way or another.”
“Now then, Corporal Jones.” Riley continued in a loud voice, “You take this lad where he
wants go to and see that he gets there safely.”
Jones nodded and escorted Billy and Daly back to their cart. The townsfolk were heading in the
other direction back towards the centre of Ross. Donaldson, at their head was scurrying away as fast as
he could go. Billy looked back and wondered what had got into the man.
It took two hours to reach Daly’s Run. Corporal Jones escorted them as they skirted the
northern outskirts of town but he turned back under gathering clouds. A storm was heading in from the
south and he needed to be back in town before it hit. Billy jumped down off the cart to open the gate to
farm. The farmhouse was a small wooden building nestled in a clump of trees a hundred yards down
the bumpy dirt track. The bell on the gatepost rang loudly as Billy pulled the gate open. Daly drove the
cart forward and Billy heard a door slam in the house. As he jumped on the cart Billy saw Ginny
standing on the verandah looking towards them. She jumped up and down excitedly when she saw
Billy. Billy waved back enthusiastically. The cart drew up to the front porch and Billy jumped down
and hugged his sister.
A small grey haired man came out of the side of the house and began to help Silas unload the
supplies. James Rourke was a harmless man who’d got his Ticket of Leave a decade earlier. He was
happy to help around the farm in return for board and lodging and a little tobacco every now and then.
Ginny liked him and Silas didn’t want her to be alone when he was away from the farm. They went
inside as the first raindrops began to fall from the darkening afternoon skies.
Ginny was very excited. She hadn’t realized how much she missed her little brother, as he’d
been unreachable in the bowels of the penal system, but now that he was free she wanted to be a part of
his life forever. But she knew that he’d have to leave; as long as Moorina was around, Billy would not
stay in the white society.
“That was just right!” Billy said as he pushed back his plate.
He’d just finished the biggest meal he’d ever had. Leg of lamb with mint sauce, roasted
parsnips, carrots and potatoes with Yorkshire pud and gravy followed by apple pie and custard. Billy
was in heaven. He’d eaten so much he could hardly move. Ginny was sure that Sarah wouldn’t arrive
until the next day but she’d made enough for her and even the Coach driver if necessary. She’d learnt
quickly how to offer the country folk hospitality.
Silas took some port and two glasses from the cabinet and began to pour.
“Where’s mine then love?” she asked sweetly.
Daly stumbled over his apologies; he’d just naturally assumed that she’d leave the two men to
talk while she did the dishes. Billy raised an eyebrow and grinned at his sister. He was glad she was
like Moorina and refused to be subservient. She hadn’t changed!
“Actually dear, I’ll have some beer. Anyway, I’ve got something important to tell you,” she
announced proudly. She waved the men to sit down.
“Now then, I had a visit from Mr Thompson today. You remember Billy; he’s the Apothecary
in Ross, the old man who had a gunfight with your Commander Blanch? Well, I’m sure you’ll both
like this.”
She took a deep breath and pronounced dramatically, “Commander Blanch is being taken to
court for murder and grand larceny!”
Ginny smiled. She’d got Billy and Silas’s full attention with her announcement.
“Well, go on then dear!” Daly prodded impatiently, “Who’s Blanch killed?”
She smiled expansively and took a sip of beer. “Well, first I’ll have to tell Billy some of the
other gossip.”
Daly sighed and stoked the fire.
“So, last week, Edward Curr’s surveyor, Henry Hellyor, committed suicide,” Ginny began with
relish. “The Van Diemen’s Land Company was given first pick of land by the Government. Curr
looked to Hellyor to pick the best possible grazing land, and as it so happens, Commander Blanch was
given two land grants right next to the Company land.”
Ginny chuckled gleefully. “Well, Hellyor got it completely wrong. He chose the worst land in
the country! The Company sheep have been dying like flies. It’s too cold and wet and the grasses are
poisonous! The Company stock price dropped like a stone after his suicide!”
Billy smiled broadly; he was thrilled to hear that Blanch had chosen the wrong land.
“Come on! Come on! Tell us about the murder!” Daly said impatiently.
“Wait! Wait! Don’t be so impatient,” Ginny chided. “I’m thirsty. Fetch me another beer!”
Daly groaned and raced into the kitchen. He returned quickly and refilled Ginny’s glass. She
settled herself down and continued.
“Several weeks ago our Commander Blanch sold his land to a rich businessman, Doctor
Jonathan Whitton. However, according to his wife, the sale wouldn’t be final until Doctor Whitton had
inspected it. So he went up there with Blanch to see if it was good enough for his new sheep. Well,
poor old Doctor Whitton had a heart attack and died while he was being shown around. Commander
Blanch had the man’s signature on the deed and he says that Doctor Whitton loved the place and died
of natural causes.”
“Yes, yes. He died of joy! We know all that. Get to the point!” Daly urged.
“Well, Mrs Whitton wrote to the Gazette and accused the Commander of poisoning her
husband and cheating her out of his money!”
Billy chuckled with delight.
Ginny put her hand up and continued. “So now Blanch says that Doctor Whitton was tasting all
the bushes and grasses to make sure that his precious sheep could eat them. He says that perhaps one of
them was poisonous.”
Billy frowned and nodded his agreement. There were plenty of plants that could kill a white
fella if he was unfit or ate a lot of them. Ginny waved her finger in the air.
“But today the Launceston Apothecary said that he sold dried foxglove leaves to a Mr
Donaldson, a servant of Blanch. Donaldson intended to use it to cure the cook of dropsy.”
“Yessss!!” Daly burst out excitedly, “Everyone knows that foxglove contains digitalis, we
British have been killing people with that for centuries!! At last, we’ve got the bugger!”
Chapter 65:
Pandak and Moorina waited for Billy at the village. Murrimbindi had taken the tribe down to
Hobarton. By now they’d be on the ship to Wybalenna. Murrimbindi hoped that the white fella would
deal with the Palawa honorably as Robinson had promised. Pandak was more definite – he knew the

white fellas lied. He would not go to Wybalenna, especially while Murrimbindi was still the tribe’s
main Karadji. As soon as Billy arrived, Pandak and his sister would disappear into the high country.
Pandak looked over where Moorina sat, humming happily as she wove a new dilly bag. He
couldn’t help feeling sad that they’d not been born long ago, in the glorious time of the ancestors, long
before the white man. Life was so simple then. Now, there was so little to live for. Pandak had several
women in his life, but the duties of Karadji had always come first.
Pandak had always been a rebel and a loner that was why he liked Loarinna.numer and
Moorina so much; they would always go their own way. He sometimes regretted being chosen as
Karadji. He hadn’t been able to marry until after his ceremony and by then there were very few
unmarried women left. Pandak had tried diligently to persuade one of the women to stay with him on
Trowenna. However, she was only 11 years old and did not want to leave her sick mother.
He’d been betrothed to Murrimbindi’s cousin in the Oyster Bay tribe since childhood, but the
escalating war with the white fella had cast her into depression and despair. She’d decided to stay away
from men, all men. She did not want to marry or have children. Like many Palawa women she’d
decided that the world held no future or a family. Life was not worth living. She was barely in her
twenties.
Pandak hoped that she would recover. Too many women had willed themselves to death within
a few short months. It grieved Pandak deeply, but there was nothing he could do. The elders had
decided; the white fella had won. So Pandak would live in the mountains far away from the white fella.
He would visit the sacred caves and carve the story of the white man’s conquest into the rock.
“Wa! Pandak! Wake up, wake up!” Moorina yelled to him.
Pandak snapped out of his reverie and smiled at her. Weena was coming up the hill towards
them, greeted by the kangaroo dogs Moorina had stolen from the Governor down at the river.
“Weena’s come! Loarinna.numer must’ve have sent him to fetch us! Pandak! Now we can
finally go and live free up in the mountains!!”
It’d been raining intermittently for several hours. Silas stoked the fire and went outside to light
the lamp on the porch, just in case the Sarah arrived. It was dark and so windy that the bell on the gate
rang regularly. Rourke had herded the sheep into the shelter at the top of the paddock. The two cows
were warm and snug in the stable, so Daly was happy to sit in front of the fire and enjoy a yarn with
Billy. They knew that they’d probably never see him again; he was determined to live in the bush with
Moorina and Ginny had the sense not to try and dissuade him.
Daly turned and came back inside the house, closing the door to shut out the wind and the rain.
He failed to see the large dark shape of the Stage lumbering slowly down the track. The Stage stopped
at the gate, the door opened and two men came out. They were dressed in dark clothes and carried
shotguns. One of them tied the horses to the fencepost and the other took feedbags from the driver and
put them on the animals. The wind roared through the trees blowing away any sound that the occupants
of the farmhouse may’ve heard if they weren’t so engrossed in conversation around the roaring fire.
The men gently opened the gate, taking great care not to ring the bell. They ran hunched over
towards the rear of the little farmhouse. The driver climbed down and calmed the horses while two
other men came out of the Stage; Sarah’s frightened face was briefly illuminated by the light of the oil
lamp swinging on its hook in front of the door of the house.
The men strode up to the house, their boots sounding clear and loud on the wooden floorboards
of the porch. Inside, Rourke, sitting next to the window, pulled back the curtains as he heard the men
approach. He saw the two figures walk into the light, their hats were pulled down low, obscuring their
faces but they wore the crest of the Government Coach on their capes. As they knocked loudly at the
door Daly looked over towards him.
“Looks like the Coach has come,” Rourke announced.
Ginny got up from her chair.
“I’ll go and put their dinner on,” she said walking into the kitchen.
Daly grabbed his gun out of habit while gesturing to Billy to follow Ginny into the kitchen.
“Who is it?” Daly asked loudly.
“Mr Daly, we’ve brought Miss Churchill down on the Lonnie coach ter see ya,” a gruff voice
replied.
Daly looked out of the window. He saw the two Coachmen standing with their arms held wide
from their bodies. Rourke grabbed the poker from the fireplace and got behind the door. Daly undid
the three bolts and swung the door open slowly.
The men stood silhouetted in the doorway as Daly levelled his gun at them. The first man took
off his hat slowly. It was Martin Hughes, not one of the Launceston Coach regulars, but Daly had seen
him driving it a few times.
“Aye, it’s a lovely night Mr Daly. Are you ready for ya visitor?” he asked.
Daly smiled and relaxed, lowering his gun. Rourke peered out from behind the door. “Surely
Mr Hughes. It’s a wild night. Would you like to come in for a moment?”
Just at that moment from the kitchen, there came a loud bang and the splintering of glass.
Several voices yelled loudly and Ginny screamed. Daly and Rourke looked instinctively towards the
kitchen as Hughes slammed the door open catching Rourke in the chest. Hughes dived into the room as
the man behind him fired a shot into the floor at Daly’s feet.
“Drop it Daly!” the man commanded.
The house had gone suddenly quiet except for Ginny’s faint sobbing. Daly dropped his gun and
Hughes picked it up and climbed to his feet. The men who’d broken into the kitchen had a gun to
Ginny’s head and demanded that Billy surrender.
Within a few minutes, Hughes had tied Rourke to a chair in the kitchen and bundled Ginny into
the Stage where she and Sarah sat huddled in fear. Their kidnappers gave no explanation of who had
sent them or where they would be taken. They double-lagged Billy and Daly in chains and bolted them
to the floor of the Stage. It was not the usual coach, but one of Edward Curr’s; it was big and heavily
built.
Daly and Billy sat facing two nasty looking men whose pistols were pointed directly at them.
Billy craned his neck to look outside. Hughes took the oil lamp from the porch and went inside the
house. There was a yell and a crash and Billy could see the flickering light of flames in the kitchen.
Hughes ran out, slamming the door shut behind him as the fire started to catch. He jumped onto the
Stage. Daly screamed at Hughes to go back and rescue Rourke but it was to no avail and they rode off
down the track as Daly’s farmhouse blazed.
When they reached the main road, the rain began again in earnest. Sarah and Ginny sat next to
Billy and Daly and clutched each other’s hands tightly but their kidnappers angrily forbade any of
them to speak. The big coach hurtled over the rutted road south, towards Hobart Town. Billy and Daly
tried unobtrusively to test their chains. The guards sneered at them. There was no escape. They had to
bide their time and wait for a chance.
It was still the dead of night when the Stage slowed to a walk. The windows were shuttered
from the outside and the only illumination was from a single small oil lamp. Suddenly the door was
flung open and there stood Commander Blanch and Marcus Donaldson, as large as life and grinning
from ear to ear.
“Well, well. Mr Hughes has done us proud indeed!” Blanch gloated.
They sat sullenly and quiet as Ginny and Sarah were taken out and led away. A few minutes
later three men came in and put gunny sacks over Billy and Daly’s head. They made no attempt to
resist. Their leg irons were unbolted from the floor leaving their hands and feet bound together with
several feet of heavy chains. They were led out of the Stage and shuffled down a slope, assisted by a
man on each arm.
Billy could hear the sound of water lapping against a shore but there was no smell of salt. He
guessed they were on the Derwent, somewhere near New Norfolk. They were led down an
embankment and over a wooden walkway onto a ship. Billy could hear a few quiet whispers above the
sound of the wind as they walked along the deck. They came to a halt with a man on either side.
Suddenly their hoods were whisked off and there before them was a small glass enclosed room, inside
Sarah and Ginny clung, terror-stricken to another woman. In the background Moorina and Pandak
stood sullen and defiant.
“Now Mister Wild Man, your time has come!” Blanch declared, “I have something of yours
and now you can return something of mine, yes?”
Billy glared at the man.
“Oh, come now Mister Foxe. It’s a simple business proposition. I will trade the lives of your
sister and her two friends and your wife … yes, that’s right, your wife Mr Foxe. I will trade them for
the gold that you have taken from me. A fair bargain I think you’d agree, hmmm?”
Billy lunged at Blanch but the two men held him back.
“Oh no, not yet. You can’t talk to them until I have what I want. However, who is the boong? I
found him with your woman and haven’t decided whether to kill him yet. I believe the Governor is still
paying five pounds for black fellas and I could do with the money.”
“No, no. Don’t hurt him!” Billy blurted out.
Blanch raised an eyebrow.
“He, he, he knows where the map is. We need him.”
Blanch smiled and whispered to Donaldson. Donaldson opened the door a crack and gestured
for Pandak to come out. Pandak looked at Billy questioningly. Billy nodded and shrugged in
resignation. Pandak squeezed his sister’s hand and came forward. He was limping slightly. Billy could
see a rough bandage around his thigh; it looked like part of a woman’s dress.
“They want your map painting don’t they Loarinna.numer?” Pandak asked quickly.
Billy nodded guiltily. “Wa! I should’ve just given it back to them a long time ago. Are you or
Moorina hurt?”
“Moorina is angry and I have a tiny scratch but there was much blood.”
“How did they get you?”
“Wa! That treacherous Gai-Mariagal, Weena, he took rum and tobacco for our lives! He told us
that you were in danger so we followed him and he led us straight into the arms of the white fellas!
When I get free I will kill him!”
“What is it? What’re you saying?” Blanch demanded.
“I will help you catch Weena, but first we must get the map painting for the white fellas. It
shows where the gold is. That is what they want,” Billy continued, ignoring Blanch.
“I moved it when we moved the village,” Pandak replied. “Now it is only a day’s walk to bring
it here.”
Billy frowned and turned to Blanch. “He is not sure where the map is. I hid it in a tree but he
thinks it might’ve been moved a few years ago.”
Blanch snarled and reached out and grabbed Billy by the throat. “Mark my words Billy Foxe!
You two blackguards better find that map quickly! You talk to this dumb bastard and tell him that I
have run out of patience. Donaldson will take you both to get the map. If you don’t return by dusk the
day after tomorrow I will slice your gin into little pieces! You hear me?”
He threw Billy down onto the floor and yelled at Donaldson to take two men and several horses
and leave immediately to get the map. As the men pushed Billy and Pandak off the boat, Billy glanced
towards Moorina. She smiled at him and drew her finger rapidly from left to right under her chin. Billy
nodded and smiled back. He would not fail her. They would get the map and escape from Blanch and
return to the forests as soon as they could!
Donaldson was eager to avoid accidentally meeting any other travellers en route. With Pandak
on foot leading four white men on horseback, one still in chains, their passage would’ve provoked
considerable interest. As it was, the persistent rain and gloomy skies served to keep most people
indoors. By daybreak, they’d reached the outskirts of the Big Tree Forest; by noon they were walking
their horses through the undergrowth up to Pandak’s old village.
“Wa! Where have all our people gone?” Billy asked Pandak.
Pandak shook his head and replied sadly. “They have all gone to the white fellas’ boats. They
are on their way to Wybalenna. They think the white warriors will protect them!”
Billy looked back wistfully at the billabong where he and Moorina had bathed so long ago.
Donaldson poked him with his musket.
“C’mon you. I aint got all day!”
Billy turned away from his memories and followed Pandak deeper into the forest. After an hour
they reached the towering swamp gum where Pandak had hidden Billy’s bundle of clothes. Pandak
pointed to the first branches some forty feet up the huge tree.
“Do you want me to find the map or pretend it’s not here?” he asked Billy quickly.
“Wa! No games with these men! They will kill Moorina in the blink of an eye. When they have
the map they will leave.”
“Oi! What’re you talking about? I don’t like you two speaking that gibberish! Is that where the
map is?” Donaldson barked.
“Just wait, have you got a long rope? It’s got to go around the tree, about 20 yards should do.”
Donaldson kept his flintlock aimed at Billy as he’d done since the start of their journey.
“Hughes, give the boong yer rope!” he ordered.
Pandak looked down at the rope that the man threw at his feet. “Wa! They think I am a baby
that I need a rope to climb this little tree!”
“Pandak, my brother. I don’t care if you can climb it backwards with your eyes shut. Just be
quick. I’m afraid of what they are doing to the women.”
Pandak kicked the rope in disgust and walked up close to the tree. He touched the smooth
trunk, examining the contours and bumps and little cracks. Then he grinned, put his cheek against the
vast trunk and peered up to the branches.
“Wa! You are a beautiful tree, please let me climb your back safely and I will dance to appease
your spirit,” he said. With that, Pandak began to clear the branches away from a small flat area near the
tree.
“What the devil is the bugger doing, Foxe?” Donaldson blustered, waving his gun towards
Pandak. “Tell the damned fool to get on with it!”
Billy shook his head. “It will take a few minutes. He knows how to climb the tree but first he
must pay his respects.”
Donaldson mumbled irritably and gave the reins of his horse to Matthews. He took several
steps towards Pandak, laid his gun on the ground and unlaced his trews. Pandak chanted his song to the
spirit of the great tree and stamped and shuffled his dance, oblivious to the sneering white fella who
started pissing on the tree.
A few moments later Pandak, sweat glistening on his brow, finished his dance with closed eyes
and his arms outstretched towards the tree. He stood thus for nearly a minute, despite the derisive jeers
of Donaldson and his men.
Then Pandak dropped his arms to his side, opened his eyes and strode purposefully up to the
tree. He put his cheek against the trunk once more and sighted up to the branches. Then he jumped
onto the base of the trunk, Billy had a momentary glimpse of Pandak’s muscles rippling and his sinews
stretching, then all of a sudden he crawled straight up the trunk as if it was horizontal! With a smooth
powerful movement Pandak was forty feet up in the air within less than a minute. He didn’t appear to
struggle for his grip or search for hand or footholds, but just went straight up!
The white fellas stood in stunned silence as Pandak disappeared into the branches. Donaldson
was still gaping as a brown bundle hurtled down and landed at his feet. Pandak’s huge grin beamed out
from the leaves. Donaldson bent over to pick up the bundles and Pandak rapidly crawled backwards
down the great tree. By the time Donaldson had straightened up, Pandak was standing next to him.
Startled, Donaldson took a step back, a look of bewilderment on his face. An eerie silence had
descended on the white men.
“Beautiful tree,” Pandak said simply.

Billy let out a huge sigh of relief. “My brother, I’ve never seen anything like that before!” he
marvelled.
Pandak nodded “Wa! You forget I am still Karadji of our people. The tree took me in her arms.
I did nothing.”
“What exactly are we doing ‘ere? Is it summat about gold?” Lizzy said.
“Gold? I ‘spect so ducks,” Ginny sighed. “Donaldson was on the HMS Hope when she was
wrecked and ‘e buried the treasure. Then ‘e told Blanch who’s been chasing it for nearly seven years
now.”
“Ah, that explains why Marcus hates ‘im. Seven years is a long time to wait, ‘specially as ‘e
could’ve been free years ago if it weren’t for the Commander.”
“Marcus?” Sarah said simply.
“Yes, Marcus Donaldson,” Lizzy’s face started to redden. “Mr Blanch became me master after
they took Martin away from me and ‘e made me work for Marcus Donaldson. I tried running away but
it were no good. He used to chain me up outside at night-time. I hated that. All them wild animals.
Scared the living daylights out of me. So I shut up in the end. Weren’t worth the bother.”
“Oh you poor thing!” Ginny exclaimed.
“Nah, ‘e was alright after a while. Stopped beatin’ me and started to treat me proper. I aint
worn chains for years. He said he’d even ‘elp me find me son.”
Ginny glanced over at Sarah. She was staring at Lizzy. Was that envy in her eyes?
“Yeah, me son. Martin. He’d be almost three by now.” Lizzy almost choked on the words. She
took a deep breath. “I think, I hope he’s down at Queen’s Orphanage in Hobarton. I’ve tried
everywhere else and they can’t find ‘im. So that’s where he must be, at the Queen’s Orphanage.”
“Unless, unless …" Ginny said, then seeing the fear on Lizzy’s face she quickly continued,
“Unless some family took ‘im in.”
“Marcus kept telling me that he’s dead. Used to laugh about it, e’ did.” She wiped a tear from
her eye.
“What a nasty bugger!”
“Hah! He’s just a man, Ginny. That’s all. I aint interested in what ‘e thinks. I’ll find me son. I
know I will and Marcus Donaldson and ‘is treasure can bugger off!”
“I can ‘elp you, Lizzy,” Ginny said as it suddenly dawned on her. “Yes, me and Sarah can ask
down at the Factory and the ‘Ospital. They’ll know where to look.”
“Oh, really? Yes, I ‘spose you could. He’s got different coloured eyes, one blue, and one
brown. Lovely little nipper. Me best yet! Would you do that for me? Would you?’
“Of course ducks, just as soon as we get back into town. I’ll go and ask ‘em. What do you say,
Sarah?”
Moorina watched the quiet woman carefully. Loarinna.numer’s sister and the older woman
hadn’t seemed to notice the sadness in the quiet woman they called Sarah. Moorina had seen it many
times. The woman’s spirit was fading. The conversation had passed over her like a cloud drifting in
front of the sun.
“Me? I beg your pardon. I was thinking of something else.” Sarah’s voice was very distant.
“Lizzy’s son. We can help find Martin, her son. You and me!”
“A son. Yes, that must be nice, Lizzy,” Sarah muttered. “I wish I had a son. Not here, of
course, back home in England.”
Lizzy looked at Ginny in alarm.
“Are you alright dear?” Lizzy said, kneeling down next to Sarah.
“Umm, fine. Perfectly fine, thanks. Not happy, though. Do you think Dottie will look for me
when she finds I’m not at the wedding?”
“Yes, ducks. Yes of course she will.” Ginny said. “We’ll pop in and see her in town just as
soon as Billy and Silas get back. It won’t be long now.”

They reached Blanch’s boat at dawn. Despite Billy’s pleas, Donaldson refused to let Pandak go
free. No sooner had they arrived on the boat than Blanch impatiently ordered the Captain to cast off
and they headed downriver towards Hobarton. Billy, Daly and Pandak were locked into a cabin in the
bowels of the little ship. They were given bread, water and a wooden pail.
“Damnation! They have the map now, so why don’t they release us? Blanch can have his
precious gold all to himself!” Billy complained.
“Blanch is mad,” Daly said. “Yesterday he ranted and raved at me for most of the afternoon. He
says Bent is hounding him over his ties to Black Bob and the trading in aboriginal women. Bent was
asking awkward questions about a massacre of natives at Cape Grim.”
Billy shrugged, he was sure that the truth would come out in the end.
“You know that he blames you Billy! You and Ginny! He says the Foxe family is out to ruin
him! He hates you, but worse, I think he still wants Ginny. I think he might try and take her with him.
He’s bought passage to Sydney, and I think he intends to start a new life in New South Wales.”
“Wa! We must escape. We must run and tell the Police. We must free the women! He has his
damned map! He has his gold! He should let us go now!”
“Wait! Wait! He is a desperate man, a ruined man; the gold is his only salvation now. He has
no money, no wife, his job and his reputation will soon to be in tatters and he may be charged with
murder. He could easily kill us and run, he has nothing to lose! We must be careful, Billy. We must
bide our time and attack when we can. We have to be sure that he doesn’t kill or steal the women!”
Pandak looked at the two men, who were very excited. They must be talking about escape.
“Wa! Pandak my brother!” Billy called out. “The white fella, Blanch has told his story. Do you
want to hear?”
“It is not necessary.” Pandak shrugged. “The white fella has lost his mind. He wants to steal the
women and kill us. That’s what white fellas do, but he has not killed us yet so he must need us. We
must be ready to act. So now we must rest before our fight.”
With that he curled up on the floor and began to sleep.
“I wish I could fall asleep so quickly. But I’m so scared! We’ve got to find a way to get safely
away from Blanch. What does he need us for now anyway?”
“He wants us to dig up the gold, I think. Blanch wants to be sure it’s there before he frees us
and he can’t have his men know what’s happening. They still think he’s working for the Company.”
“Damnation! How are we going to escape! He has the guns, the women are locked up and
we’re in chains!”
“Well now Master Foxe, I’ve been thinking hard on that one. You know that there’s no love
lost between Blanch and Donaldson? I don’t know what they were like back on the Navarino but they
don’t seem too friendly now. Perhaps we can turn that to our advantage.”
Billy bit his lip anxiously. The ship had pulled out into the middle of the river; the morning sun
was struggling to pierce the clouds over the eastern hills. He was hungry and tired. He lay back against
a large coil of rope, moving his chain out from underneath his body, and closed his eyes. Pandak was
right, it was time to sleep and gather their strength.
Chapter 66:
It was high time that Captain Mead took his little sealer, the SS Swift, out of Australian waters.
He just wasn’t making the money that he used to. Too many ships were chasing the few remaining

whales and seals, and while gin trading had proven a profitable supplement, his recent suppliers
weren’t as productive as Commander Blanch.
Albany on the southern coast of Western Australia seemed promising as did Stewart Island off
the New Zealand, but Mead’s problem was that the oceans were overrun with whalers and sealers and
the catches were being depleted rapidly. Captain Richard Mead was feeling his age and so was his
ship. The crew had dwindled from 30 to just 18 men, since most of them had settled on the windswept
islands of Van Diemen’s Land with a gin or two and a tiny plot of land.
After delivering their final cargo of sealskins to Hobart Town, Mead had answered the urgent
call of his old business colleague, George Blanch and picked up him and his prisoners on the upper
reaches of the Derwent River. Blanch had given him a tidy sum of money and promised him more.
He’d sold all his properties and liquidated all his assets. It seemed as though his old friend had finally
decided to leave the Colony for good. Just one step ahead of the law, Mead thought wryly, and it didn’t
surprise him. Blanch had always lived too dangerously.
It was rumoured that Edward Curr would soon turn on his erstwhile favourite and use Blanch as
a scapegoat for his own problems. With charges of murder and larceny looming large, Blanch was
becoming desperate. Captain Mead was very nervous. This time it wasn’t just a group of captured gins
he was dealing with. This time Blanch had several white men and women, including Billy Foxe, the
Wild Man, and his sister!
Mead’s little cabin was very crowded. Blanch sat behind the desk with a pistol in each hand,
loaded and cocked. Billy and Daly were triple lagged with two sets of chains on their hands and one on
their feet. Donaldson stood next to Blanch, his sword drawn and both barrels of his flintlock shotgun
aimed squarely at Billy.
“Gentlemen, I trust you are rested? No? Shame! As long as you are able to dig up my gold that
is all I care about,” Blanch scoffed. “Let me appraise you of the situation. I have your women; they
have not been harmed. Yet! You will go ashore with Captain Donaldson and you will return with my
gold. Once I am satisfied, the women will be returned to you and I will wish you bon voyage. But let
me make myself very clear, any attempt to raise the alarm or escape will be punished. If, for instance,
the boong decides to run into the bush you can inform him that the gin, your wife, Mister Foxe, the gin,
will be killed.”
Billy swore at Blanch but the Commander merely laughed at him.
“Now, now, Mr Foxe. In case you don’t know it, I am a ruined man. I blame you and your
loathsome sister! I will not be held back by niceties! Now get back below and inform your savage
friend that you all must be very careful or else your precious women will be feeding the fishes!”
Captain Mead had dropped anchor just off the coast south of Sandy Bay. From his seat in the
rowboat, Donaldson smiled as he saw the empty gibbet post swinging in the light breeze. He’d studied
the two maps very carefully with Blanch. Finally, after almost seven years of criticism and accusations,
Blanch had grudgingly agreed that without Foxe’s map, finding the correct position on the beach was
almost impossible.
Daly climbed slowly down the ladder as Pandak looked down in fear. They both were still in
chains. Blanch led Billy back down below past the Captain’s cabin.
“Wake up in there!” Blanch yelled as he banged on the door of the hold.
He was answered by a chorus of bad tempered female voices. He slid back the viewing slot in
the middle of the door and pushed Billy forward. The women were awake and angry but they quickly
realized that Billy was at the door and fell silent.
“Ladies, it’s me, Billy. I don’t have much time so please let me talk. I asked the Commander to
let me see you before I go ashore.”
Ginny pulled Sarah, Lizzy and Moorina all together so that they could clearly see Billy’s face
through the slot.

“Silas, Pandak and me are going with Donaldson to get the gold. Yes, we’re all fine. No, I
don’t know how long it’ll take. But we’ll be as fast as we can, believe me! Ginny, Silas says he loves
you and not to worry.”
“Moorina, my love,” Billy said in the aboriginal tongue. “Do not be afraid. Do not despair. I
will come back for you. We will return to the Big Tree Forest, this I promise!”
Moorina rushed up to the door and put her hand through the vent. Billy clasped her fingers for
one fleeting moment before Blanch tugged viciously on his chains, pulling him backwards. Billy
caught one last glimpse of Moorina’s terrified face before Blanch slammed the cover shut.
They rowed towards the tiny beach. Pandak, terrified of being in the little boat, had curled up
into a ball by their feet. Donaldson snarled at them to row faster, for once dawn broke they could be
easily spotted. Over Donaldson’s shoulder, Billy could see that another ship had left Hobarton and was
approaching the SS Swift. It was the SS Two Brothers, with the remaining few aborigines bound for
Flinders Island. Daly grunted at Billy and he nodded.
It was odd, but Captain Mead had not raised the anchor and the Two Brothers was coming
alongside. Donaldson yelled at them to keep rowing. He wasn’t going to be tricked into looking over
his shoulder, even if they were both in chains.
Donaldson made them drag the rowboat up over the beach and into the bushes where they hid it
from sight. A tiny stream ran down from the forest into the middle of the beach. Donaldson took a long
chain from the boat and used it to tie the three men together by their left wrists before he struck off
their ankle fetters. Then, with Pandak in the lead, they set out walking up the stream into the depths of
the forest. The stream soon became overcrowded with bushes and trees and the undergrowth grew
more and more dense. After two hours their progress had slowed to a crawl and Donaldson marched
them back to the boat to camp for the night. Donaldson chained the men to a big tree and they sat down
in the sand to share a jug of water and some bread. Donaldson sat facing them ten feet out of their
reach. None of the men was inclined to escape but Donaldson was taking no chances.
“So Billy, you’ve been here for what, seven years now?” Daly asked loudly.
Billy frowned, unsure why he’d brought up the subject. He looked up at Daly who winked at
him and nodded towards Donaldson who was leaning back against the boat with his eyes half-closed.
“Wa! You are right! Almost seven years.”
After a brief pause Daly continued. “So, most of the men on the Navarino will have their
Ticket of Leave very soon? What, six months?”
Billy nodded as Donaldson opened his eyes and glared at Daly. “Hmmm. I suppose you’re
right. They’ve been waiting for six and a half years. Just another few months and they’ll be free men. I
never thought of that,” Billy replied innocently.
“Shut your idle prattle, Foxe!” Donaldson grunted.
Daly waited a little while longer. “Kidnapping women is quite a crime I suppose,” he said to no
one in particular.
Donaldson sat up and waved his gun at Daly. “Shut up, I said! You damned deaf or
something?”
Daly shrugged and smiled pleasantly. “Something worrying you Mister Donaldson?”
Donaldson growled at him and put his gun down.
“You know, you’ll be a rich man tomorrow don’t you?” Daly continued.
Donaldson sneered at him but said nothing. Then Daly came to the point. “Lots of lovely gold!
Government gold! Where on earth could a convict go to spend it, I wonder?”
Donaldson blinked, then frowned, as he suddenly understood what Daly was getting at. He
stood up and waved both loaded pistols at the seated men. Red-faced and angry he yelled at them,
“You scabby dunghills! I’ve been waiting for years to get me ‘ands on that damned gold and I’m
gonna get it and I’m gonna spend it anyway I damned well please! And you’re getting nowt! Now shut
yer damned gobs or I’ll mill yer bloody canisters!” With that he stomped off to the edge of the beach
where he glared out to sea.
The two ships were still very close together and Donaldson could see several figures rowing
towards the Swift in a small boat. He swore and cursed and kicked out at the sand in a rage. Daly
looked at Billy and smiled. Pandak had a huge grin on his face as he listened as Billy recounted the
conversation to him in a low whisper.
After a few minutes Donaldson came back. He seemed to be deep in thought. He flopped
himself down next to the boat and pulled out a bottle of rum. He took a big long swing and then burped
loudly. They waited. Donaldson took another swig and mumbled to himself. They waited a bit longer.
“Damn that Blanch, he said they’ll drop me at Sydney with me share o’ the gold and a new
name,” Donaldson cursed.
Daly raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“What? What?” Donaldson said in exasperation.
“Oh, nothing. It’s just that, it’s just --”
“It’s just what? Come on! Out with it man!”
“Well, it’s just that you’ve been Blanch’s man for a long time now haven’t you?” Daly
suggested.
Donaldson rolled his eyes and waved at Daly to get on with it.
“He’s been blackmailing you ever since you got here hasn’t he? He’s had you by the short and
curlies, man! Can’t you see it?” Daly’s voice was growing louder. “If it weren’t for him you’d have
been a free man years ago. Think on it man! An ex-navy man like yourself. Still got a navy pension
coming to yer. You could’ve gone for the Hope’s gold without Blanch! Did Blanch ever actually apply
for your Ticket of Leave? Did he?”
“Well, I er, no. Hmmm, I don’t know if ‘e did!”
“Well then man. Think about it. You follow Blanch to New South Wales; he gives you your
share of the gold and a new name. What then? What would he do next? You’re still a convict, man!
He’s still got you by the balls, aint he? One word from him and you’re getting your neck stretched!
And what makes you think he’ll give you your full share of the gold anyway? Why should he? There
aint much love lost between you two nowadays is there?”
Donaldson stared at him open-mouthed. Then slowly he began to realize that Daly was right.
He took a big swig of rum and put the cork back in the bottle. “‘Ere drink this, yer bastard!” he said
throwing the bottle over to Daly.
He stood up and walked down to the beach. They could hear him ranting and raving loudly to
himself. Daly passed the rum to Pandak who shook his head and handed it to Billy.
“We can’t trust Blanch, Silas. I think he means to take Ginny and Moorina with ‘im.”
“He’s got all the cards, aint he? Maybe we need some help?” Daly replied pointing at
Donaldson. Billy nodded resignedly as Donaldson returned from the beach.
“So you’re saying that if I get the gold and go with Blanch, he’ll keep most of it and threaten to
turn me in if I don’t behave meself?” Donaldson asked.
Daly nodded.
“Hah! It’s simple then,” Donaldson declared triumphantly. “I won’t go with Blanch will I? I’ll
go somewhere else, like New Zealand or China mebbe!”
“He’s in charge, mate!” Billy chuckled. “He’s the Commander. You’re the escaped lag! If you
die while escaping he’d get your share of the gold and probably a gong from the Governor, don’t you
think?”
“Bugger!” Donaldson thought for a moment. “What damned business is it of yours anyroad?
What do you care if where I go and what Blanch does?”
“We don’t. I couldn’t give a fig if you blackguards get caught and hanged tomorrow. All I want
is me woman and me freedom. You can keep all the damned gold! I just don’t trust Blanch as far as I
could throw ‘im!!”
Donaldson looked up at Billy in surprise.
“What? Well? Yer don’t want the bleedin’ gold? Well why didn’t yer give me the map before
then?”
“Dunno. I think I wanted to use the gold to save me tribe. Daft idea I know. But anyway, I just
want ‘er back and I want to be left in peace. That’s it!”
“You?’ Donaldson asked of Daly.
“My gold’s out there on the Swift,” Daly replied, adding, “The Commander says he just wants
the gold and then he’ll let the women go but why should he? He’s in disgrace aint he? Everything’s
gone to the dogs for ‘im aint it? What with the Victory Hill massacre and him being left at the altar.
He’s probably flat broke now and I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets charged with murdering Doctor
Whitton. The Governor aint forgotten the HMS Hope and that’d be enough to put him in Port Arthur
for life!”
Donaldson sat down with a sigh and scratched his head. “So now yer telling me that you don’t
care about the damned treasure and you want me to make sure that Blanch doesn’t bugger off with the
women? Damnation gentleman! I am thoroughly bamboozled! Why in damnation would you trust
me?”
Billy let out a laugh. “We don’t trust you. You attacked me on the Navarino and it was because
of you that I went to Sarah Island and the bloody coal mines. But the truth is, we trust Blanch even
less.”
Donaldson shook his head in amazement. “And you’d forgive me for that and trust me?”
Billy shook his head and was about to answer when Daly interrupted him.
“Billy and his sister are very forgiving people. Believe me, I should know, but it’s not just
that.” He paused and Billy noticed that Daly had gone bright red. He tried to cover it up by continuing
quickly. “No Donaldson, Blanch has all the cards and we have none. But you can help us and as it
happens we can help you. Not just by getting the gold. But we can help you be free to enjoy it!”
Donaldson’s eyes lit up and he leant forward. “Go on man.”
“Well, if you save the women, we will protect you until you’ve got your Ticket of Leave.”
Daly chose his words carefully. “You hide your share of the gold anywhere you want and come and
work on my farm for six months. Blanch will be long gone on the Swift. If anyone asks about the gold
we’ll just tell them that he took the lot! Then once you’ve got yer Ticket you can go where you
please!”
Donaldson said nothing. Billy and Daly waited nervously for the outburst to come but nothing
happened. At first Donaldson seemed about to say something but he scratched his head and took
another swig of rum. Then he stood up and walked over to Daly. He looked down at him and smiled.
“Very clever Mr Daly. Very bloody clever! I should just give in and you’ll set me free, eh? You
know that I killed your damned donkey and burnt yer farm. I helped Blanch get rid of the doctor and
now you want to give me a pat on the back and a king’s ransom to boot? Do yer take me for a
simpleton or a treacher! You want the gold for yerself, and who are you to tell me that the Commander
would turn his back on me after all these years! You’ll dig up the damned gold for me and then Blanch
and I will disappear forever. I will live the good life far away from this god-forsaken island!
Damnation, I might even take one of the women with me! Perhaps that Churchill doxy; she has a fine
rump on ‘er! Now silence yer damned prattle!”
Chapter 67:
The women huddled together for warmth in the corner of the hold. It was dark and the few thin
blankets did little to stave off the cold. Ginny was worried about Sarah. Her friend was very quiet and
pale. Her rosy cheeked complexion was long gone, and her hair, while very healthy, was quite short.
Lizzy had whispered to her that Sarah had cut off all her hair a month earlier in a fit of depression.

“How’s life at Highfield?” Ginny asked Sarah.
“Who? Me? Oh, yes, Highfield House.” Sarah seemed to be in a perpetual daydream. “Oh, it’s
fine I suppose.”
Ginny waited. It was too dark to see Sarah’s face. Sarah seemed reluctant to continue. Lizzy
coughed and eventually she filled in the awkward silence.
“Pretty, or so they tell me.”
They waited. It seemed to take an age for Sarah to reply. She sounded distant and detached.
“Yes, I suppose so.”
Again they waited. This time Sarah’s response came a little quicker.
“Lots of lubras.”
Moorina pricked up her ears.
“Oh yes? Black women? Gin – yes, well Marcus calls ‘em something different,” Lizzy said.
“Yes, I expect so. Mr Curr and the Commander do too. Call’s them gins, y’know. Not nice. Not
nice at all. They don’t like it,” Sarah grumbled.
Moorina frowned; she caught a few of Sarah’s words and was curious to know what the white
women were talking about.
“No, no. That’s bad,” Ginny said. “Moorina saved my life. Helped me with my son. She’s the
salt of the earth. Aren’t you Moorina?”
“Yes?” Moorina said, not quite sure what salt had to do with anything.
“Moorina very good woman. Good lubra. Moorina good,” Ginny said in halting aboriginal.
Moorina smiled and replied in equally bad English. “Ginny good. Moorina good. White fella
bad.”
“Wa! Gubbas very bad. Gubbas say lubras like animal, like dog,” Sarah interjected in the
Pennemukeer tongue.
The women gasped. “You speak Pennemukeer? You meet Pennemukeer lubras?” Moorina was
very excited.
Lizzy and Ginny almost wept with happiness as Sarah chuckled.
“Yes, me talk four old Pennemukeer, one man, three lubras. They live Highfield, work dogs on
farm. Plenty good people, plenty good. They gone since three full moons. They know Moorina,
Loarinna.numer and they speak Pandak plenty big man!”
Moorina had to concentrate hard to understand Sarah’s accent. Ginny just couldn’t contain
herself any longer. “What’re you saying? What’re you saying Sarah? Look! I think Moorina can
understand you!”
Moorina held up her hand. “Sarah talk good. Sarah meet four Palawa, one man, three women.
They have the dogs at Highfield.” She looked earnestly at Ginny. Sarah was giggling to herself.
Moorina felt a sudden rush of happiness. She was not alone, she had someone to talk to, someone who
needed her. Moorina knew that she could help Sarah learn to be happy again.
Suddenly they heard voices calling out across the water, this was soon followed by the sound of
a boat scraping alongside the hull of the SS Swift.
Ginny immediately jumped up to find out what was happening. Lizzy scampered aft and
clambered over some bales of wool. A thin stream of light came through a gap in the planking of the
hull. She called the others over to her and they clambered up by her side.
A small rowboat was bumping against the side of their ship, and behind it they could see the
outline of another big ship silhouetted against the late afternoon sky.
“Ahoy there, ya idle buggers!” came the cry from the rowboat. “It’s Captain Cameron of the
Two Brothers requesting permission to come aboard.”
“Cap’n Mead, Cap’n Mead. It’s Captain Cameron, sir,” came a voice, followed by the sound of
men running along the deck and then a jovial reply.
“Well, well, it is you Clive. Come aboard, by all means. I thought you’d be off to Flinders by
now?”
They could hear the ladder being lowered over the side.
“Storm to the east. We’re laid up for the night so I thought I’d pop over and give you some
news. I say though, you seem fully loaded, Richard. Leaving our fair shores I hear?”
“Oh, possibly Clive. Not much hunting left in these parts now” Captain Mead replied.
“Well now. It’s just as well I caught you, old friend. If you keep it mum, I can tell you where
you should head. Let me up. Oh, I say who's that fellow with you? Looks remarkably like that
Commander Blanch chap. Oh, it is, and I say Blanch, no need to hide. You’re among friends now, as
you’ll soon find out when I give you my news! Don’t worry, Curr is indeed after you, but he’s looking
up near Launceston for now. C’mon then, throw me another line, there’s a good chap!”
The women could hear Captain Cameron puffing and panting as he slowly clambered up the
rope ladder. They heard the men greet each other warmly then turn and walk aft to the Captain’s cabin,
their footsteps reverberating through the hold before the door slammed behind them.
“We’ve gotta hide!” Lizzy said anxiously. “If I know sailors, they’ll get right pissed and then
want to ‘ave a leg-over!”
Sarah nodded in forceful agreement, but Ginny put her hand up.
“’old on ducks. Wait a minute. What’s the big news about? Why did Captain Cameron come all
the way over ‘ere in ‘is little boat? Look, Silas and the boys’ll be back tomorrow with the gold. So it’d
be good if we can tell ‘em what the big secret is, wouldn’t it?”
Sarah shook her head, petrified with fear. “No, remember that terrible day on the Sydney Cove?
I’m scared.”
Ginny sighed in exasperation. “Don’t be silly Sarah. We’re in British waters ‘ere. Mead and
Cameron are both subject to British law. If they did anything to us we could put them in jail.”
“Hah!” Sarah scoffed. “The Swift is leaving and I expect Blanch will be with it. He’ll have the
Hope gold so he’s already committed a capital offence, so why stop at one? No, my dear. You might
be right but I’m not waiting to find out.”
With that Sarah took Moorina by the hand and went forrad to look for a hiding place. Lizzy sat
down by Ginny.
“Aint you goin’ too Lizzy?” Ginny asked quietly.
Lizzy shook her head. “No ducks, I’ve got a better pair o’ lungs than you. If they try anything
we’ll both scream bloody murder. That’ll stop ‘em!”
A few hours later, Ginny was wakened by the light of the lantern. It was the Bosun come to
fetch them.
“Come on ducks. Captain Mead would like you ladies to join his feast!”
Ginny shifted her arm from underneath Lizzy, causing her head to bang against the floor and
wake her up.
“You too Miss. The Cap’n wants you both. Now where are the other two?” he asked.
Ginny shook her head.
“Leave ‘em be. You won’t find ‘em for hours. I’ll go with you. Just me. Leave ‘er there,”
Ginny said, shaking off the sleep.
“Oi, where’re you going? Wait. I’ll go too, Ginny.” Lizzy staggered to her feet. “Now
remember what I told you. Remember?”
Sarah needn’t have worried. The alcohol had already taken its toll. The Captain’s cabin was
strewn with bottles of sherry, rum and the remains of a large meal. A tapped firkin of beer was perched
precariously on the bookshelf.
“Ah, my lovely ladies have arrived,” Blanch announced joyously as Lizzy entered the little
cabin, but when he saw Ginny behind her, his smile immediately transformed into a sneer.
“Hey, what’re you doing here! Where’s the posh one? Bring her! We don’t want you, ya
harlot!”
He tried to stand up and reach out to her, but Captain Mead nodded to the Bosun who blocked
Blanch’s arm and pushed him back down in his seat.
“Now, now George, you’ve invited them up so let’s be generous, eh?” Mead admonished.
“C’mere, my little lovely,” he continued slurring happily as he extended his hand towards Ginny.
“You’ll do for me! Don’t worry ‘bout ‘im. I won’ let ’im touch ya. We’re jus’ ‘aving a liddle party!
C’mere an’ ‘ave a drop of sherry. S’good!”
Mead grabbed Ginny and pulled her down onto his lap. His breath stank of grog and he held
her with a vice-like grip. Blanch waved at Mead like a frantic child trying to get his toy back.
“D’ya wanna come wiv me, dearie? I’m rich! I’m ‘merican, y’know. From Boston,” Mead
continued.
Ginny shook her head and picked his hand up off her knee. “Rich? American? P’raps you can
drop me an me ‘usband, Silas, off in London,” Ginny replied with a fierce glare at Blanch.
“Ooooh, this is ‘er, is it George? Got a bit of spunk aint she?” Mead laughed.
Lizzy had immediately sat down on the edge of the bench so that Blanch’s path to her was
blocked by Captain Cameron. Cameron fended off Blanch while he poured Lizzy a drink.
“They’ll catch you and send you to Sarah Island. The lot of you!” Ginny said hotly.
“Ooo me? Whaffor?” Mead asked in mock surprise.
“They’ll ‘ave you all for stealing the ‘Ope’s gold and for kidnapping us!”
“Ahh. The HMS Hope. You can ‘ave it!! They’ve been lookin’ for that for years. Now,
whaddya mean kidnapping? You’re my guests! Look, there’s all this lovely grub and grog for ya.
George’s paid for your little stay here and, before we leave, we’ll drop you off somewhere nice and
quiet and very remote. ‘Course I’d be happy to take any of you women if you want to join us. But I
aint a kidnapper!”
“Hah! Guests, my foot! Unlock our damned door then!” Ginny snorted at him.
Blanch waved his finger at her angrily. “Over my dead body, woman! I don’t trust Daly or the
others. You’re staying locked in that cell until I get me damned gold, and Cap’n Mead aint gonna help
ya!”
Captain Cameron reached over for the beer and refilled Lizzy’s tankard. “They may’ve struck
gold in America but you never know, Dick. It’d be wise to get the Hope’s gold first if you can. O’
course you’ll have to run like the wind if the Governor hears of it. He’ll set the Royal Navy after ya for
sure!”
“Bosun, you didn’t hear that bit, Captain Cameron’s had a bit too much grog. He didn’t say
anything about America,” Mead warned. “Fine, alright, that was daft of me, just don’t tell the crew yet
or we’ll ‘ave a riot on our ‘ands! Got that?”
The Bosun nodded briskly. Captain Cameron’s deckhands were up in the crew’s quarters,
they’d probably be hard pressed to row him back to Two Brothers. The rumour of the California gold-
strike was already rife among the crew.
“Yes, Clive I’ve had a lot of grog as well. What was I going to say? Oh yes, you’d have
thought that the Governor was more worried about the Hope losing all that lovely gold. Did his best to
keep it quiet! Now drink, dearie. Drink!” Mead waved at Ginny.
Ginny took a big sip of the sherry. It was very good. She smiled and sipped some more.
“That’s better. Now, you’re ‘ginia Daly, yes?”
She nodded.
“Well dearie, don’t worry ‘bout us. See, lookit ‘im!” He pointed to Blanch who had collapsed
forward onto the table and was snoring peacefully. The Bosun called for a crewman to help him carry
Blanch’s inert form out of the Captain’s cabin and back to his quarters. “See, dearie. We’re jus’ ‘aving
fun, s’all. A bit o’ fun!”
“But you mean to kidnap us, Captain!” Ginny cried.
“Oh nonsense, dearie! Nonsense! Tempting though that is, you’re guests until your men come
back, then ya can go, but I know where there’s lotta gold. Mountains o’ the stuff, not just the paltry
stuff tha’ Blanch’s on about. Cameron says there’s huge mountains over there. Huge! When Don,
when Donald, when whassisname gets back wiv the treasure you and the uvver girlies can go free or ya

can come wiv me! Come wiv me and live like a queen. Like whassername, the Queen, yeah, live like
‘er. S’right, innit Clive?”
He turned to talk to Cameron, but he was busy slobbering over Lizzy, trying to kiss her. She
laughed and giggled but was desperately trying to keep him from touching her. He was very, very
drunk.
“’ere drink up!” Mead commanded, passing Ginny her tankard of beer.
Ginny smiled and raised her tankard to him. “So when are we leaving then?” she asked stroking
his hairy arm.
Mead shook his head, then stopped suddenly as he became dizzy. “Ohh! Tha'sa bad idea. Bad.
Won’ do tha’ again!”
“Dunno dearie. Gotta talk wiv me crew and see when the Commander wants to go. Can’t wait
long though. Anchored out here in the Bay. Very sus, very suspish, it’s suspish, …it’s not good, not
good at all! Everyone can see us, includin’ the damned Navy. Wonderin’ where Blanch is. Bet he’s got
a price on ‘is head.”
“Hah! Turn ‘im in man! Hand ‘im over when he gets the treasure!” Cameron chuckled loudly.
“Oh yes, very funny! He’d dob us both in for gin trading in a trice. Nah, gotta get under way
quick. Soon’s we can. Don’t want the Navy chasin’ us.”
Mead ran his hand over Ginny’s knee again. She slapped it down firmly and the man mumbled
his apologies and buried his face in his beer.
Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny could see that Captain Cameron had hiked Lizzy’s dress up
over her knee. Lizzy looked over to her in desperation. Then suddenly a smile came to her face. She
filled the tankards of the two Captains and then raised her tankard of beer and shouted.
“‘Ere’s to gold!” and promptly downed her beer in one.
The two men looked at Lizzy in amazement then raised their tankards to her and drank them in
one long gulp. They banged on the table raucously as Ginny refilled their glasses. She noticed a big
pebble wedged in the bottom of Lizzy’s tankard. Lizzy smiled at her innocently and shouted.
“Here’s to HMS Hope!” and drained her tankard again.
The men smiled broadly, banged their tankards together and drank their beers down. After two
more beers the men were getting decidedly sloppy. Lizzy grinned from ear to ear as Captain Cameron
leant over and spewed under the table.
“‘Ere don’ do tha’, s’my damned cabin!” Mead complained just before he suddenly thrust
Ginny from him and also was sick on the floor. Lizzy and Ginny danced around them easily.
“Shall we go?” Ginny said happily.
“Les’ get somefink for the uvvers,” Lizzy slurred as she grabbed a bottle of sherry. Ginny
looked around and put some meat, bread and cheese onto a large napkin. She rolled it up and pushed it
down the front of her shirt. Then she helped Lizzy up and they staggered out of the cabin. The Bosun
very kindly held the lamp before them so that they could find their way back down below where they
woke Sarah and Moorina. They supped well on the Captain’s fare in the darkness of the hold while
Ginny told them of their adventure.
Sarah watched Captain Cameron’s rowboat pull away from the SS Swift. It was early morning
and she’d awoken with a backache. At least she hadn’t succumbed to seasickness like Moorina. The
native girl had gratefully accepted the bread and cheese from Lizzy and Ginny’s haul but through sign
language and her few words of English she’d explained that it was the first time she’d tasted either and
she’d spent much of the night with her head buried in the wooden bucket. Sarah turned towards
Moorina and offered her the leather water jug. Moorina smiled and nodded then took a swig from the
jug and then drew her lips away, a look of disappointment on her face. She held the jug upside down, a
few drops came out. It was empty.
Sarah got up and went over to the door of the cell. She rapped on it with a piece of wood and
called out for more water. Nothing happened. She banged again, waking up Lizzy and Ginny with the
noise. A few minutes later they heard footsteps and the slot in the door was pulled open.
“Whaddya want?” a voice asked from the other side.
“Please, some water?” Sarah asked holding up the water jug.
The slot slammed shut and the footsteps retreated.
“What’s happening?” Ginny asked in a sleepy voice.
“Ah. Madam awakes!” Sarah said brightly. “We have no water left. Moorina needs a good
drink.”
A few minutes later the key turned in the lock and the door creaked open.
“Can I come in?” a nervous voice asked.
Sarah smiled and waved the man in. He was in his late teens, with a thin, spotty face, straggly
hair and nervous darting eyes. He looked quickly around the small cell, then he suddenly spotted
Moorina sitting half-naked on a coil of rope, her breasts barely concealed by a kangaroo pelt. The boy
gaped at Moorina in surprise and dropped both water jugs on the floor. Moorina quickly covered
herself up as the boy scrabbled about the floor apologizing profusely.
Lizzy took the jugs from him. “Thank you, sir,” she said sweetly. “What’s your name?”
“Er, I, er, um, I’m, I’m Horrie, Horatio Alexander Hamilton, Ma’am. Sorry, sorry. Here’s your
water.” He face was bright red and had difficulty speaking coherently.
“Oh, you don’t need to apologize, Horrie. We’re thirsty. Especially Moorina, she needs lots of
water.”
Horrie nodded dumbly, eyes still transfixed on Moorina.
“Yes, she likes to bathe, you know. It keeps her skin firm and smooth,” Lizzy added
lasciviously.
Sarah and Ginny stared at Lizzy, perplexed, but Horrie only had eyes for the black woman.
Moorina smiled at him awkwardly, and pulled the covers over her body as the white boy stared
hungrily at her.
“Thank you then Horrie. You may go,” Lizzy said quietly.
He stood eyes locked for a moment that suddenly snapped out of it.
“Yes, yes. Certainly, I must go,” he stammered bowing to the women.
The door slammed shut behind him and Lizzy burst out laughing.
“Elizabeth Black! That was not very nice! What are you doing to poor Moorina?” Ginny
demanded with a smile.
Moorina looked at them quizzically. “White boy very funny!”
“Sorry Moorina. I wasn’t being mean to you,” Lizzy said.
“Pah! He was eating Moorina with his eyes. He almost drooled over her!” Sarah exclaimed.
She took the water jug from Lizzy and passed it back to Moorina.
“I don’t know what you’re playing at dear, but it’d better be good!” Ginny admonished.
“Well? We can’t just sit here can we? We’ve got to do summat aint we? Now, Ginny can you
still whistle loudly?”
“Why what an odd question, Lizzy!” Ginny answered.
She pursed her lips and tried to whistle but she began to chuckle and ending up by blowing a
raspberry. Moorina laughed and nodded her head eagerly. She knew exactly what Loarinna.numer’s
sister was trying to do. She put two fingers in her mouth and gave a short sharp whistle. Lizzy jumped
up and down in excitement.
“Oh Moorina! That’s lovely. Now, not so loud. Not yet!”
She put her finger to her lips to quieten Ginny who had begun to get her whistling working
again. “Now ladies,” Lizzy chuckled. “I don’t know how long we have until the men get back with the
gold, but I have an idea how we can lean on our captors a little bit!”
“Cap’n, the crew has a request for you, sir,” Bosun Green said as soon as he entered Mead’s
cabin. Captain Mead looked up at him through bleary, red-rimmed eyes. His head hurt and he was
parched and dry-mouthed. He hadn’t got so damned legless in years and he was just starting to
remember why!
“Speak quietly man!” Mead grumbled as the first rays of dawn shone brightly through the
porthole.
“Cap’n, the crew is restless. There are rumours about the Caliornia gold strike.”
“Aye, well that’s no surprise. Ya can’t keep that sort of thing secret for very long.”
“Have they really struck gold? Is there any proof?”
“Proof? Proof?” Mead blinked. “Oh yes, I see. You’re from up there aren’t you?”
“Kamloops, sir. We Canadians always had to laugh at the number of times they struck gold
down in California. Not one of them came to anything.”
Mead pointed to the beer barrel. “Pour me a drink man! Oh, and have one yerself.”
He took the mug and raised it to his lips. “Ahhh. Now then Bosun. A few things have happened
in seven years that we’ve been over here. First, California is no longer Mexican. Second, it’s San
Francisco, not Yerba Buena and thirdly and most importantly, they have struck real gold, lots of it! Oh,
I should add, of course, there’s nothing left for us here in Australia. It’s time we left. Mr Green, we’re
off to get some of that gold for ourselves!!”
“Cheers!” The men raised their mugs in a toast.
“Right then Bosun. Anything else?” Captain Mead asked briskly.
Green nodded slowly. The crew had already deduced that they were headed back to America.
“Yes, sir,” he began cautiously. “It’s about the women, sir.”
Mead raised an eyebrow and regarded Green with wry amusement.
“Sir, we’d like the women to accompany us to California. It’s a long hard sail and we’d make it
worth their while,” Green pleaded. “We’d like to buy the gin from Commander Blanch and perhaps
arrange for the others to join us. The crew says they’d be more than happy to pay the women for
services rendered.”
Captain Mead took a long swig of beer and put his mug down on the table. Mead shook his
head sadly, “Oh come now, have you been talking to Blanch? I know he wants to take some of them
just out of spite. Think about it man! There’s eighteen crew and four women. What should we do?
Divide them up? Four men for the gin, four for the redhead and so on? Or put them up to the highest
bidder? Or let the women choose? No, Bosun. I’d rather not have any women on my ship. The crew
will be constantly fighting. Blanch is treading on dangerous ground. We owe Blanch a favour; after all,
he’s lined our pockets well through gin trading. However, kidnapping British women aint a very clever
idea. As soon as Blanch’s men return with the gold, we shall put all his captives ashore on Van
Diemen’s Land then take him to Sydney and be rid of Blanch once and for all. I’m sure we’re all eager
to leave for San Francisco. You can tell the crew that we’re heading in the next day or so. Now in the
meantime, get them working on repairing the sails. That’ll be all. Good day Bosun!”
“Quickly. I think the Two Brothers is leaving!” Ginny warned.

“Right, right. Take your positions. Sarah, you pretend as if you’re talking to Ginny by the water
barrels. Ginny, you get down behind the door. Good! You ready Moorina?” Lizzy ordered.
Moorina nodded. It had taken a while for them to explain the plan to her but she was certainly
ready. She sat on the edge of a box, facing the door, showing as much bare skin, leg and breast as the
kangaroo pelt would allow yet concealing just enough to tempt any man to want to see more. A smile
of salacious desire played across her full lips.
“Gawd! You look just ripe for the picking, ducks!” Lizzy said breathlessly.
Moorina nodded, and tried to imagine that Loarinna.numer would be coming through the
doorway to rescue her. Lizzy rapped on the door with the stick.
“Hello! Horrie! Hello!”
She rapped and called out again. “Hello! Horrie! We need more water. Horrie!”
Footsteps pattered down the gangway. The slot drew back and Horrie’s face appeared. All he
could see was the half-naked form of Moorina reclining seductively before him.
She smiled sweetly and beckoned him towards her. His mouth was agape and she could see his
eyes staring wildly, almost popping out of his head.
“C’mon in Horrie. Moorina wants you to help her bathing. She’s so hot!” Lizzy urged.
The young man needed no more encouragement. He’d heard that the niggers were a randy lot!
Couldn’t get enough of the white fella’s old fella! It was her lucky day! Horatio Hamilton would be
there at her service!
The slot slammed shut and Horrie fumbled with the door keys. The keys turned in the lock and
the door swung open.
“Come on Horrie. Moorina needs a man to help her,” Lizzy said enticingly.
Horrie licked his lips. The black woman was the most beautiful creature he’d seen in his three
months of life at sea. The other gins had all been old and wrinkled or covered in rags and they’d all
smelt like rancid fish. But this one, this Moorina, she was truly a sight to behold! His eyes caressed her
long smooth ebony legs that disappeared into her lap. The heavy round orb of her right breast glistened
with perspiration and her huge smile showed dazzling white teeth between full perfect lips. Her
gorgeous brown eyes were full of mystery and promise. She reached out her hand towards him. He
took one step forward into the room.
“Bang!”- a flash of light and a white-hot pain in his skull.
Then everything went dark.
Minutes later the women sneaked out onto the deck. It was a clear sunny day. The crew was all
huddled on the foredeck making final repairs to the sails. Commander Blanch and Captain Mead stood
behind them on the bridge. Deep in conversation, the two men were looking over the port side where
the SS Two Brothers had run up her sails and was coming up towards them as she got under way to
Flinders Island.
Moorina thought she could hear wails of women in mourning. It was the sound of the Palawa in
the cargo of the Two Brothers as they lamented their departure from Trowenna. In the distance
sailboats tacked and jibbed near Hobart Town.
The women had cut their big wide dresses into crude trousers and Moorina was glad that Sarah
had made her a rough patchwork blouse. She was still angry over the lecherous, devouring looks of the
white cabin boy. She was glad that Lizzy and Ginny had pulled her away from his unconscious body
after she’d hit him just once; she was afraid that she might have been unable to stop herself from
hurting him.
The women squeezed themselves into the shadows and crept forward to the mast. They
advanced to the edge of the shadows where Lizzy halted. The next few steps were in full view of the
crew and if Blanch or the Captain turned, they’d be seen immediately. They would have to move
swiftly.
Lizzy looked back at the women and nodded. Then, in unison, they ran forward towards the
rigging stays. Lizzy and Sarah grabbed the rope netting and clambered onto the gunwales. Lizzy
quickly scampered up high, followed by Ginny, but Sarah was slow. Years of confinement indoors and
a pampering diet had weakened her. Moorina sprang easily up to the gunwales, bent under Sarah and
pushed her up with her shoulder.
In that instant, Blanch turned and discovered the escaped women. He yelled and drew his
pistol. In one easy movement he fired at the women as they struggled to scale the rigging. There was a
loud scream and Blanch and Mead disappeared in a cloud of smoke.
All of a sudden there came an eruption of ear-shattering whistles! Blanch raced down to the
deck to find Virginia Foxe and her pack of harlots sitting in the rigging whistling like banshees. A
group of men stood around one of the women who lay prone on the deck.
Blanch barged forward through the crowd. Foxe’s gin lay on her back. A bright red patch of
blood soaked through her shirt on her left arm. She was awake and alert and snarled angrily at men
above her.
“What the devil’s going on here?” Captain Mead roared.
The noise of the women whistling was deafening. On seeing Blanch, Moorina put her hand to
her mouth and let out a piercing whistle of her own.
Blanch stepped forward unhesitatingly and kicked Moorina in the side. She doubled over in
agony as the Bosun grabbed Blanch by the arm.
“Unhand me!” Blanch screamed.
“Silence!” Captain Mead yelled.
Lizzy, Ginny and Sarah looked down at the men and kept on whistling. Ginny could see the
crew of the Two Brothers lining the deck and pointing over towards them. At the stern, Captain
Cameron had his telescope trained on the commotion on the SS Swift. A light southerly breeze wafted
the cacophony towards Hobart Town.
“Damn them! Stop that noise! They’ll have the Navy on us soon!” Captain Mead yelled.
Blanch swore and drew his knife. He looked upwards to the women and made sure that they
could see the long blade glinting in the sunlight.
“Listen to me! Virginia Foxe! Listen to me!” he screamed. He pointed down at Moorina,
writhing in pain on the deck. Then he looked aloft again.
“Stop or I’ll have the gin’s eyes out!” he yelled.
The crew drew back in astonishment. They looked towards Captain Mead but he seemed
unsure of what to do. Realizing that something was wrong, Ginny waved the women to silence.
Blanch was crouching down next to Moorina. Two men held her arms. She bit her lip as she fought
back the pain.
Blanch’s long knife gleamed in front of her face. “Stop this nonsense and come down quietly or
you’ll have her eyes in yer dinner tonight!” he barked.
“Bugger off!” Lizzy yelled instinctively. No man was that cruel.
Ginny’s heart was in her mouth. Had Lizzy gone too far? Was Blanch really as cruel as Billy
told her? Would the Captain stop him?
“I said, now!” Blanch threatened. “Come on Virginia. You know I’ll do it! I’ve cut the balls off
many a boong and I’ll have her eyes unless you come down now!”
Moorina winced as the big blade came down towards her, stopping barely an inch above her
left eye. She could see a strange glint in Blanch’s stare. The man was going to blind her! The crew
mumbled and muttered, but they held back.
“I’ll count to three!” Blanch yelled.
“One!”
“Two!”
“Three!” The knife glinted in the sunlight as it arced downwards. Moorina’s scream pierced
the air as Blanch fell forward over her.
Chapter 68:
“Commander Blanch, you have put me and my ship in a very awkward position!” Captain
Mead said hotly.
“What do you mean Richard? I got those damned women down from the rigging didn’t I!”
“Pah! You did that indeed, but their infernal racket will have raised the alarm. When will your
men return? I am eager to quit this place before the Navy prevents us!”
“Oh come now, Captain. The Navy’s far too busy for the likes us. I’m sure no-one besides
Captain Cameron and the Two Brothers actually heard the harlots wailing.”
Mead was about to reply when suddenly there was came a brisk rapping at his cabin door.
“Come!” the Captain barked.
The door opened and Bosun Green poked his head inside. “Permission to dispense a canary to
Seaman Hamilton, sir?”

“Hamilton? He’s the fool who let your women escape, Blanch,” Mead scowled. “A hundred
lashes with my new Cat O’ Nine Tails? No, it’ll kill the lad. He’ll need to be fit for the voyage to
California. No Bosun, put him in the Crow’s Nest for the next three days and once we’re under way he
can take a hand at the bilge pumps for a week.”
Bosun Green chuckled and shut the door as he left.
“Now then Richard. Let’s be reasonable about this,” Blanch said soothingly. “My man,
Donaldson, will return today or, at the latest, tomorrow, with the treasure of HMS Hope. That should
ease your fears somewhat, wouldn’t you say?”
Captain Mead nodded cautiously.
“Good. Then you can put most of my captives ashore, somewhere remote, say Swan Island. I’ll
pay you in gold and you can let me off at Sydney.”
“Most of the captives? Most of ‘em? What does that mean?”
“Ah, I want Virginia and the gin for myself. I’ve got a debt to repay them.” Blanch flashed a
cruel smile.
Captain Mead stared at the man coldly. He’d managed to ignore Blanch’s unpleasant side most
of the time. He wished he’d turned down his plea and not bothered to pick him up from New Norfolk.
“You don’t seem to understand the gravity of the situation, man.” Mead jabbed his forefinger at
Blanch. “If the Navy is after us, I will hoist sail and leave this damned island immediately. I will not
stop anywhere along the way. I’m not even sure that we’ll be able to make for Sydney!”
“What? You mean you’d take us all with you to California? What about our deal? I paid you
good money to be taken to New South Wales and I’ll give you some of the Hope’s treasure if you drop
me and my women off there.”
Captain Mead leant forward over the table.
“I’ll not run the risk of the Navy impounding my vessel and throwing me in jail for kidnapping
and stealing the Hope gold. No, as soon as your man returns I want all your captives – all of them – put
ashore.”
“Don’t be stupid, Richard. Your little rowboat wouldn’t hold eight people. It’d sink and then
you’d have their blood on your hands too!”
The two men glared at each other angrily, then Blanch gave an exasperated sigh. “This is
foolish, Richard. Believe me. The Navy’s not coming after us. Not a chance!”
“Enough Commander Blanch! You listen to me. I owe you a debt for the gin trading business
and I am a gentleman and a man of my word, but I will not risk my ship for you or anyone else! I
expect the Navy already believes that I’m Harbouring a bankrupt, thief, Gin Trader and possible
murderer. Now since those damned women tried to raise the alarm, the Navy could be investigating
very, very soon. They could take my ship! So, George, my friend, you have one day. The Swift will set
sail by noon tomorrow with or without your damned treasure. Oh, and another thing. If you ever set
hands on any of those women again you will be tasting my new Cat straight away! From now on, those
women are my guests, under my protection. Understand!”
The four women were thrown back in the hold. The Bosun and crew treated them with kid
gloves, laying Moorina down very carefully on a big bed of sailcloth they rigged up for her. Moorina
had been very lucky; she’d twisted her head out of the way just as Blanch’s knife stabbed down
towards her eye. The blade had scored a shallow two-inch long cut around the top of her cheek. The
wound had bled profusely but Bosun Green had held back Blanch’s hand before he could stab her
again.
At first the crew had been surprised by Blanch’s treatment of Moorina, but not overly shocked.
Treating gins savagely was commonplace. Shooting a pistol at the women was a bit unusual, but when
the shot had hit Moorina they just assumed that the Commander was a very good marksman.
Threatening to blind Moorina was mildly disturbing to many of the crew at the time but it
wasn’t until a little later that someone realized that one of the four women was Blanch’s ex-fiancée,
Virginia Foxe. Very quickly they deduced that the gin was the wife of the infamous Billy Foxe, the
Wild Man of Van Diemen’s Land. Foxe was a known cannibal and would track his prey doggedly over
the worst country imaginable. When they’d finally caught Foxe, he carried the head of the most
notorious bushranger in the land. It was rumoured that he’d eaten Black Bob’s body and only the head
remained!
Now Commander Blanch had shot the Wild Man’s wife and cut open the side of her head. The
crew was very nervous. They wanted to leave quickly. They wanted to head for the California gold
immediately, before the Wild Man came to exact his revenge!
They set out at dawn. After their confrontation the previous evening, Donaldson had made
them chop down a tree and he’d spent the waning hours of daylight fashioning two heavy clubs. The
men walked chained together in single file up the stream with Pandak and Billy at the head hacking
away at the undergrowth with their clubs. Donaldson, ever watchful, brought up the rear with a pistol
in one hand and a double-barreled flintlock shotgun in the other.
Donaldson hardly recognized the place; the undergrowth was so much thicker and higher than
he remembered. Their progress was slow but steady and after four hours they’d reached the base of a
big cliff. They turned south and Donaldson began to get excited as he urged them into the bushes to
find the entrance to the cave.
After half an hour Daly had had enough. “Donaldson, does the map have any distances on it?
We’ll be here all week looking for the damned cave. Is there anything on the map that has a distance
on it?”
Donaldson shook his head firmly, waved his shotgun at Daly and barked, “Get back to your
work you scabby cur! The gold’s in the damned cave! Get back and find it!”
Billy put down his club and pointed at the big boulder near the little pond that fed into the
stream. “Your man Raeburn told me exactly where to find the cave. Yer gotta take a certain number of
paces from the rock over there.”
Donaldson lowered his shotgun. “Balderdash! Why would ‘e do that? Stop twittering and get
back to work!”
“Raeburn didn’t trust you, did he!” Billy said. “He said it’d mean you couldn’t just use the
map. Now d’yer want to find the gold or just stand there crowing at us?”
“Oi! Less of yer lip! Do as I say, ya cross-biting cur!” Donaldson said angrily.
Daly leant on his club and looked at the two men. “We’re wasting time. Don’t you want to be
back on the Swift before dark? Why don’t we just do like Foxe says, it can’t do any harm, can it?”
“Shut yer gob, you! I’m in charge here and what I say goes!!” Donaldson roared. Then he put
his head to one side and stopped. “Right there,” he barked out, suddenly waving his shotgun at Billy
“You, Foxe! Get over to that damned rock and start counting out your steps! If you’re right I’ll even let
you keep a sovereign!”
Billy grinned at Daly and started pacing out from the boulder. He took twenty-five steps in a
straight line south. The cliff had curved away but he could still see the boulder. Then he took four steps
directly away from the cliff. He looked down the cliff to the south and could just see the other big
boulder Raeburn told him about. He took fifteen paces towards it and pointed to a thicket of bushes at
the base of the cliff.
“Right there! There should be a cave behind that lot!” he declared confidently.
Pandak jumped into the bushes with his club. Within a few minutes the men had cleared a path
through the bushes. Behind it, just as Billy had predicted, was a cave. It was just as Donaldson had
remembered it, his hands started to tremble and shake as he ordered them to go to the back of the cave
to start digging.
“Wa! I think the fat man will be surprised! Someone’s been here before us!” Pandak sang out
to Billy.
“Really? How do you know?” Billy asked in the same language.
“Long time ago, but they left wombat bones. Must’ve sheltered from the rain,” Pandak
answered.
“What’re you boongs gabbing about? I told you to stop that didn’t I?” Donaldson said
automatically.
Billy came over and knelt down to help Pandak digging. “He is a slimy lump of wombat
droppings!” Pandak said quietly.
Billy grinned.
“Oi, shrrup and dig, you two!” Donaldson ordered, his voice trembling excitedly.
The sand was coarse and slightly damp and was very easy to dig. With fifteen minutes they’d
scooped out a hole three feet deep and eight feet across. They stopped for a drink and some rest.
Donaldson let them drink from the pond. The water was clear and refreshingly cool. But they were all
eager to find the gold; even Pandak seemed more than just vaguely interested. Billy and Daly set to
work enthusiastically with Pandak spreading the sand out away from the hole.
Within ten minutes Daly’s digging stick hit something hard. Billy moved over to his spot and
they continued in earnest. Eventually they uncovered the top of the chest. Donaldson stood up over
them trying to peer down between the two men to get a good look.
“Have you got it? What colour is it? Are the chains still on?” he babbled excitedly.
“Nah, no chains. Must’ve fallen off with rust or, oh, what’s this? Now this is very interesting,”
Billy said as he dug around the front of the wooden chest.
“What? What is it? Let me see!” Donaldson yelled impatiently.
“Looks like it’s been opened,” Daly said cautiously.
“What? Opened? No!! Impossible! Can you get the lid off? Here use this!” Donaldson passed a
short iron bar to Daly.
“The lid’s still on, but there’s no chains and yes, yes it looks like it’s got a hole in the side
here.” Billy gave a running commentary as Daly wrestled with the bar in the padlock on the front of
the chest.
“Wa! It’s a big hole too. I think I can put me hand in it. Hold on Silas, I’ll see if I can get inside
before you start on the second lock,” Billy said as he squirmed his way down next to the side of the
box.
Donaldson looked on anxiously as Billy shoved his hand into the treasure chest. He hunted
around inside. There was a lot of sand but ah, what was that? Something small and hard. Something
round. Billy grasped it and smiled. He withdrew his arm and opened up his hand.
There it was!
The treasure!
A small gold sovereign.
Billy smiled broadly and handed it to Donaldson who’d thrown the shotgun away in his excitement.
Billy noticed Pandak moving his hand slowly towards the gun and he suddenly exclaimed
“Look here! There some more gold here!” as he reached down to the chest.
Donaldson peered down inquisitively as Pandak grasped the barrel of the gun.
Donaldson was still chortling with joy and excitement over his newfound wealth as Pandak flipped the
gun around and pointed it at Donaldson.
“Hey! Hey! Me gun. Me bang!” Pandak grunted.
The men froze to the spot.
“Damnation!” Donaldson said angrily. “Give that thing back to me boy! “You don’t know how
to use it! You’ll hurt someone!” Donaldson took a step towards Pandak.
Pandak, grinning, took a step backwards and very deliberately put his finger on the trigger.
Donaldson kept coming forward.
“No! Stop! Donaldson, he knows how to fire it!” Billy warned.
Donaldson sneered at him and reached out to grab the gun.
Pandak squeezed the trigger There was an almighty bang! Pandak was thrown backwards and
Donaldson was spun around and hurled into the hole on top of Billy and Daly. Billy scrambled out
from under the moaning Donaldson and ran over to his friend.
“Wa! Like thunder with the kick of a male kangaroo in heat!!” he exclaimed happily.
Billy picked up the gun from the ground. “Wa! You could’ve killed us!”
“C’mon over here. Help me out!” Daly cried.
They went over to the hole. Donaldson, unconscious, lay on his back on top of Daly. The side
of Donaldson’s leg was bright red and blood trickled from his head.
“Get his weapons!” Billy said to Pandak.
A few minutes later Donaldson awoke on top of the treasure chest to see his three erstwhile
prisoners grinning down at him as they pointed his pistols at him.
“Damn daft bugger! He could’ve killed me!” Donaldson complained.
Billy chuckled. “Certainly. Pandak’s a fine shot. He chose not to kill you. Don’t you think you
should thank him, Mister Donaldson?”
That night they camped out at the beach next to the boat. Donaldson was remarkably almost
unscathed from the shotgun blast, but he was in a very bad temper. It wasn’t helped by Daly and
Pandak chaining him up to the tree or by Billy teasing him as he drank his rum. Donaldson had a
splitting headache and he fell into a deep sleep as soon as he’d had something to eat and drink. Billy
and Silas and Pandak talked long into the night planning their next steps.
In the morning, after a very early breakfast, they set off back to the cave. Pandak took great
delight in pulling Donaldson along behind him by a long chain. Donaldson was very angry and loud,
so they sat and watched as he excavated the rest of the treasure chest by himself. By noon it was clear
that most of the gold had been taken. Almost two thirds of it had been stolen. Pandak explained that
the culprits were probably women or children from the Mouheneenner or Mellukerdee people. Judging
by the density of the undergrowth and the amount of sand in the cave, they’d visited over a decade
earlier.
The treasure consisted of 546 coins, all small thin and shiny and mostly with the bust of George
III on them. Billy divided the coins into three piles and put each in one of the hessian bags that
Donaldson had brought.
Billy gave one bag to Pandak. “Go and hide this, my brother. This is for your tribe. Hide it well
but don’t forget where it is, you may need it some time.”
Donaldson looked on in disgust. The boong was going to end up dead or on Flinders Island
with the rest of them so what did he need the money for?
An hour later Pandak returned. “Wa! It is hidden, Loarinna.numer. You can do it now.”
Billy nodded to Daly and passed him the shotgun.
Daly took his pistol and broke it, turning it upside down so that the ball came out. Then he broke the
shotgun and the musket balls fell to the ground. Donaldson watched in amazement as Daly unloaded
the remaining two pistols. Pandak took the two bags full of gold and put them at Donaldson’s feet.
He looked up at black man in bewilderment.
Then Daly rattled Donaldson’s chain. “We’re going to set you free Mister Donaldson. I’ll strike
off the chains if you stand up.”
“What? What? What the devil are you blackguards up to now?” Donaldson blustered.
“It’s time for us to help each other Mister Donaldson. Here’s your gold, like we promised.
Now, you get the women and we’ll get your Ticket of Leave and you can spend the money at your
ease!” Billy replied with a smile.
Chapter 69:
Marcus Donaldson was perplexed. All his life he’d been bully, the object of fear and
intimidation. He had always been a big and not very handsome person with a smile that was often
mistaken for a leer. When the boong had given him the two bags of gold coins he realized that for the

first time in his life someone actually trusted him. It was a very strange feeling. Foxe and Daly and the
savage had him at their mercy and they’d just given him back everything he’d wanted.
He wondered what it was about the women that’d made them so desperate. Women were a pain
in the arse! They were fine as housemaids and servants and he much preferred to bed a woman than a
man or a boy, but they were not to be trusted. As soon as you turned your back, the woman would be
stealing from you or bonking your best mate. Not that Lizzy Black had done that, but she was old and
worn out, although in the dark of his bedroom her body felt good. He wondered if she’d enjoyed him
or if she just pretended so that he wouldn’t put the chains on her.
He’d never know, he mused. Once he’d given Blanch his gold and got the women back he’d
never touch Lizzy again. That was one promise that Daly had demanded from him. The more he
thought about it, the better the bargain sounded.
He’d only have to work one summer on Daly’s new orchard and he’d be a free man. Of course,
he’d have to find a way to melt down the gold and secure his passage to Sydney. But he had plenty of
contacts from the Company; he could even ask Captain Cameron of the Two Brothers. He was a fine
sailor and a discreet man who would ask no questions and for a price could be relied upon to tell no-
one, not even Commander Blanch. Especially not Commander Blanch!
“Damn this place and damn these bloody people!” Lizzy swore angrily.
“Aye, it’s a bugger, aint it ducks,” Ginny agreed.
Then, struck by a sudden thought, she added, “You know Lizzy, I forgot to tell yer. You’re a
rich woman!”
Lizzy smiled. Ginny was going to tell a joke.
“That chap left you ‘is farm,” Ginny explained.
“Marcus? Marcus Donaldson? Why would ‘e leave me his farm. Tryin’ to apologize for
kidnapping me or somefink?”
“No, no, silly. Not ‘im. Donaldson’s a blackguard. No, that other chap. The one you worked
for. You know, the man with the Scottish wife and the little boy.”
Lizzy smiled as she suddenly realized what Ginny was talking about.
“Oh, you mean, my Dick? Dick Jameson? Now why would he – oh, no! That means that Morag
and Norrie and Dick as well? Dead? They’re all dead?”
Red-faced, Ginny nodded. She hadn’t been very diplomatic. “Sorry, dear. I, I, I didn’t put that
very well did I?”
“Huh, huh, how did they go? Was it peaceful” Lizzy gasped.
“It was, er, consumption. They um, er, well, sorry Lizzy. I’m really sorry.”
“S’alright, ducks,” Lizzy sniffled. “They was nice to me. Poor young Norrie, what a waste!
Still, maybe me son, Martin, can take help me build a proper grave for ‘em when I get back from
California wiv me fortune. Bugger it, I’ll ‘ave to find ‘im first won’t I? It never rains but it soddin’
well pisses down!” She sat down with a thud, buried her face in her hands and burst into tears. Ginny
hurried over to console her.
It was late morning, the little rowboat approached the Swift on a calm but increasing sea.
Blanch paced the deck impatiently. That buffoon, Donaldson, had taken an extra day to find the gold.
There was little time to waste. The forces of the law were bearing down on him. Bent’s meddling had
doubtless prompted some investigation by now and Curr would be summoning him to his office at any
time. It was costing a pretty penny to keep Captain Mead and his crew at anchor. Fortunately his
friendship with the Captain was quite solid but Donaldson had better have the treasure or else his
coffers would soon run dry!
The rowboat pulled up alongside the Swift, and within a minute Donaldson was on board the
ship. Blanch could see the three prisoners, Daly, Foxe and the savage, sitting dejectedly in the little
boat while some of the crew hauled up a small oak box.
“Well met, Mr Donaldson,” Blanch greeted him excitedly.
“Let’s have the other men aboard and stow my rowboat then Bosun!” Captain Mead ordered.
Blanch took two quick steps and mumbled something into Mead’s ear. As Blanch rejoined
Donaldson, Mead barked, “Belay that last order, Bosun. Leave ‘em in the rowboat for now. Just make
her fast to the side, if you please.”
The Bosun shrugged as the Hope’s treasure was swung high over the gunwales and deposited
on the deck.
“Back to your stations, men!” Captain Mead ordered.
He was very worried about the Navy. He went up the stairs to the bridge and began scanning
the horizon for signs of any naval vessels.
“So, that’s the treasure chest is it then, Marcus? Looks a lot smaller than I’d imagined.”
“Aye, it’s heavy though. Two inch solid English oak with iron bands and brackets. But, it was
damaged in the storm and ‘ere. Put it down ‘ere, lads.” Donaldson waved the deckhands to lower the
chest down onto the deck.
Donaldson bent down and pulled it over onto its side. He pointed to the bottom corner of the
box. The iron reinforcement had been ripped away, pulling away the nails and bolts with it and leaving
a hole. The edge of the hole was charred and burnt.
“See here. Reckon the rocks started that. Didn’t notice it as we were burying the damned thing
though.”
Blanch’s heart skipped a beat. The hole was large enough to put his hand through. “What’s
this? It’s been in a fire or something?”
“Happened just after the ship wreck, ten year ago. The boong says some of the savages lit a fire
under the chest and managed to make a hole in it.”
“So? Did they take anything? Where’s the gold?” Blanch barked
Donaldson reached into his jacket and pulled out two bags. He gave them both to Blanch.
“I dunno ‘ow much was in the chest. But there was gold in it all right. Lots of it! Here’s our
treasure!”
Eagerly, Blanch opened one of the bags. He pulled out handful of bright gold coins and let
them trickle through his fingers and clink back into the bag. A broad smile came across his face.
“Beautiful! Just beautiful! This is magnificent! After all these years I’ve finally got me gold!”
Donaldson smiled and nodded but said nothing.
“Right then!” Blanch demanded. “Where’s the rest of it?”
“Wha, whaddya mean?”
Blanch retied the two bags and put them on the deck between his feet. “HMS Hope carried six
months’ wages for the whole colony. There should be at least ten thousand guineas. That means about
a hundred and twenty pounds of gold. So both chests weighed about eight stone. It was no wonder that
you and Raeburn found it heavy. It weighed as much as one of the harlots I’ve got down in the forrad
hold!”
“What’re these?” Blanch continued with a sneer “About two pounds apiece? How much is in
‘em?”
“There’s nigh on two hundred guineas in each bag there! That’s enough to buy two or three
houses in the middle of Hobarton! We’re rich, man! Can’t you see it? We’re rich!”
Blanch shot Donaldson look of sheer hate; red-faced, the veins stood out on his neck as he
fought to control his rage. Damn him! Only a complete fool would believe this cock and bull story!
There was ten thousand pounds missing! If the savages had stolen that much gold ten years ago the
coins would’ve been all over the country a long time ago! Every damned boong on the island would
have a golden necklace! No, Donaldson had stolen it! Blanch was sure of that. The man was exacting
his revenge for being denied his Ticket of Leave for so long.
Donaldson took a step back, the anger beginning to mount in his breast. Blanch had no right to
question him or to doubt him! Why was the man so angry? Did he think he’d stolen the gold and
hidden it somewhere? Hah! If only he’d found all the treasure, perhaps he’d have done just that and
left Blanch with a mere pittance! It’d serve the blackguard right! Hadn’t he just given Blanch the
perfect way to silence that annoying Doctor Whitton? Some thanks after seven years of servitude!
The two men stared out to sea and watched each other cautiously out of the corner of their
vision. Blanch frowned, thinking furiously, then, he let out a long sigh.
“I’ll come out and help you. We’ll search for the missing gold together. It can’t be far away.”
“Why? T’aint there. I told yer that. You calling me a liar or a cross-biter?” There was a hint of
menace in Donaldson’s voice.
“No, no, no! Certainly not, my dear Marcus! I trust you. You know that, of course I trust you
after all these years. It’s just that I need to pay the Captain you see. Our passage and his silence is
worth almost all the gold you’ve found so far. So we have to find more now don’t we?”
“Balderdash! I aint coming, so I aint paying.”
“What? You’re not coming? What does that mean, man?” Blanch asked in surprise.
“Wot I bleedin’ said! I aint going to Sydney. I’m stayin’ ‘ere until I get me Ticket of Leave
next winter. If I leave afore then there’ll put a price on me ‘ead then I’d be knackered good and
proper!”
“You’ve been talking to someone? It was Foxe wasn’t it? So, what else have you decided to
do?”
“None of yer damned business! But you have to free the women. All the women.”
“Oh? I do? Why does Foxe want me to do that then, eh?” Blanch pulled out his pistol and
inspected it casually.
“It weren’t Foxe, man!” Donaldson snapped hotly. Then in a more controlled tone he added,
“Look, I can’t go with you because I’d be a fugitive. There’s nowhere in Australia where I’d be safe.
But if you take any of the women, that’d be kidnapping. That’s a hanging offence. The Governor and
Curr would leave no stone unturned to string you up!”
Blanch looked strangely unconcerned, a little smile played on his lips. “String me up? Oh dear!
Marcus, are you turning on me?”
Frustrated, Donaldson began to reply but Blanch put his hand up.
“Perhaps I won’t go to Sydney. Oh never mind, forget that,” Blanch seem to stumble then
caught himself. “Don’t worry! The women will be freed! All of them, just as soon as I can. And of
course, you can stay or you can go. I am not your master. I’ll even give you a letter requesting your
Ticket of Leave. Marcus, I wish you well. We’ve been through some difficult times together and if we
must part then let’s part as friends?”
Donaldson nodded.
“Splendid! We’ll go and search for the treasure together for a few more days. I’ll ask Captain
Mead how much more money he’ll need to stay anchored here and I’ll get some food and water from
the cook. Now why don’t you go below and have a quick bite to eat.”
Blanch bent down and picked up both bags of gold and began to move towards the bridge.
“Hey, you’re taking all the gold!” Donaldson said in a panic.
Blanch turned around and smiled. “Yes. It’s just for a few nights. Captain Mead needs to see
that we have found the gold or he’ll weigh anchor and we don’t want him to throw the women
overboard or to kidnap them do we?”
“Yes, but one of them bags is mine!”
“Don’t fret man! He’ll have my gold too! I’ll pay the Captain off out of my share. But he’ll
keep them safe for us and when we return you’ll get all your gold back, all three houses’ worth! Now,
the Bosun will have you escorted to the galley for some grub.”
Blanch went down to Captain Mead’s cabin. The Captain was alone and had just unlocked the
big chest under his bunk.
“Can you mind these for me Cap’n?” Blanch said smugly, handing him the two bags of gold
coins.
“Good work, George!” Mead beamed and put the bags in the chest, wound four heavy chains
around the box and secured its eight padlocks. Then he poured out two tumblers of his best rum. “I
never thought the HMS Hope actually existed! You managed to bring back a tidy haul.”
“Yes, but that damned Donaldson has cheated me! I know there’s a lot more gold left,” Blanch
grumbled.
“Cheers, anyway!” Mead saluted and they clinked their glasses together.
“I’ve half a mind to go ashore and see for myself,” Blanch mused.
“Rubbish, man! That’d be very stupid. Now, let’s set sail for Swan –“
“Frigate off the port side. Frigate to port and closing fast!” The loud cry from the crow’s nest
cut off the Captain in mid-sentence.
“Quick, let’s get those men aboard and haul in my boat and leave!” Mead said decisively.
“Wait! Wait! You can’t do that Richard!” Blanch cried, putting a hand on the Captain’s arm.
“There’s no time! Cast off the men in the boat, that might slow them down. If the Navy really is after
us, we’ll need all the time we can get.”
“Damn, I wish we could be rid of the women too!” Mead swore.
“I’ll go and tell Donaldson to cast off.”
“What? Aint he your man?” Mead exclaimed.
Blanch smiled. “He was, but now he says he wants to stay, so bugger ‘im!”
“Well, I aint got time to get his gold as well” Mead argued.
“I’ll keep his gold, Captain. Donaldson is a traitor and a thief! He only brought half the gold
and I’m sure he’s hidden plenty for himself. He won’t be poor.”
“Fine! Fine, get the Bosun to help you deal with him and do it quick!” Mead barked as he raced
out of the cabin.
Donaldson was just finishing his second glass of beer when Blanch thrust the pistol in his face.
“Time to leave, my friend!”
Donaldson shrugged. There was no use arguing. He looked carefully to his left. The Bosun and
two deckhands blocked his only exit. Calmly, Donaldson downed his beer and stood up. He picked up
the sack of food and water the cook had left him. “You’re taking my gold aint ya?”
Blanch just waved him forward with his pistol. They came out on deck, a group of men had
gathered to help cast off the rowboat.
“Navy frigate to port. She's gaining fast!” Horrie yelled from the Crow’s Nest.
Captain Mead looked over at Blanch and waved him on impatiently. The crew was busily
unfurling the foresails. It was time to go!
“You may escape the Navy and the Governor but I’ll get you, George. Wherever you go, I’ll
get you!” Donaldson promised.
“Pah! I’ll wait for you in Sydney. It was your choice, my friend. All yours. Now get back in
that boat!”
“Hey, we want the women!” Billy screamed up as Blanch peered down at the little boat.
“Bring us the women or I’ll shoot!” Daly waved the shotgun in the air.
“You can’t fit the women on the boat, it’ll capsize!” Blanch retorted, brandishing his pistol.
“Bring the rest of the gold to Swan Island in two months. We’ll trade then!”
At gunpoint, Donaldson climbed over the side and down the ladder. The SS Swift was starting
to move forward, dragging their little boat along. Donaldson had not quite reached the boat when
Blanch cut their line. The Swift was no longer towing the boat and it immediately fell behind. Seeing
the gap widen, Donaldson jumped out towards the boat. One foot made it over the gunwale, the other
missed and he fell backwards into the sea.
Daly fired one shot at Blanch, missing him completely and hurling himself back into the stern
on top of Pandak. Billy grabbed Donaldson’s arm and by the time they’d hauled him aboard the SS
Swift was well under way.
Chapter 70:
The seas had increased, the rowboat was still a long way from shore and they were taking on
water. Billy could see sails of the sealer suddenly tighten as a gust of wind caught them and the SS
Swift jumped forward. Billy moved aside to let Donaldson take over the rowing. The big man was
furiously yelling back at Blanch as the little rowboat slowly moved towards the shore. In the distance
they could see the navy frigate, it was falling behind as the SS Swift entered smoother water. By the
time they finally reached the beach two hours later, it was nearly dark and the exertion of rowing had
exhausted Donaldson’s anger and rage.
They dragged the boat up to its hiding place and returned to their camp in the bush where
Pandak lit a small fire. As they ate a meal, Donaldson told them his story.
When he was finished Daly poked at the embers of the fire. “So they’ve buggered off with the
gold and the women. But Blanch said he’d meet us on Swan Island in two months?” Daly grumbled.
“That’s balderdash! The Swift won’t stay in British waters with the Navy on her tail. They’ll
probably make for New South Wales. Let’s go to Hobarton tomorrow and tell the Police. They’ll catch
him in Sydney if they can’t get him before then!” Donaldson angrily.
“No,” Billy interjected. “Me and Pandak aint going there. They’ll force him to go to Flinders.”
“There’s another reason as well, Marcus,” Daly pondered. “The Police will start an inquiry.
They’ll lock us up until they find out what happened. We can’t have that. We have to find a ship and
get after the buggers!”
“But we don’t know where they’ve damned well gone. They might go to New Zealand
instead!” Billy complained loudly.
“Ah, perhaps Captain Cameron knows where they’re headed!” Daly cried.
“That’s right!” Donaldson said. “The Two Brothers must return to Hobarton to get paid. We
can ask Cameron then!”
“Do you know Cameron?”
“Aye, we done lots of gin, er, um, er, business together,” Donaldson replied sheepishly,
embarrassed that Pandak might understand him and become upset. But fortunately, the black man’s
English wasn’t very good.
“We’ll need to get passage on a vessel that’s following the Swift,” Billy said.
“Well, I’ll ask Cameron,” Donaldson replied. “He and old Raeburn were mates. He knows
about the Hope treasure. He’d help us, but he’s a shrewd devil. He’d want paying.”
“Simple then aint it,” Billy said. “Tomorrow we go back and look for more gold while you two
go to Hobarton and talk to Cameron. Then, when you find a ship that’s leaving, Daly can come back
and get me and we’ll chase the Swift and put Blanch to the sword!”
“Hey! Wait a minute! I’m coming too!” Donaldson interjected. “Well, the bastard’s got me
damned gold. He’s a cross-biting treacher! I want to be the one who does him in, alright!”
“But, but what about yer Ticket?” Billy asked.
“Dunno. He was going to give me a letter but his word aint worth much nowadays is it!”
“Fine,” Daly replied. “Marcus, you should be careful in Hobarton, they may be after you as
well. Do you know where Cameron drinks? Good. We’ll need a disguise or something. I’ll talk to Bent
and a few of my contacts there as well. I can raise the money by selling me farm if I need to.”
Pandak looked at them in confusion, the white fellas had obviously decided something.
“Pandak have questions, me talk?” he asked in English.
“Wa! Let us talk, Pandak,” Billy said.
“Why did they take the women? We gave them the gold. Are they going to make them catch
seals in Wybalenna? I must get my sister and bring her back.” Pandak spoke in his native tongue.

“Blanch is a very bad man,” Billy said. “We will rescue the women, but first we must find out
where they are going. Me and you will go to the cave to find more gold. We will need it to rescue the
women. Silas and Donaldson will go to the town to find out where the ship is going.”
Pandak thought for a while, then squinted out across the water. “They must be going to
Wybalenna, where else is there? England? Why did they take Moorina? Why?”
“Wa! Blanch said he would meet us at Swan Island in two months, but he is a liar. We will find
out where they are going and follow them. They could go to Australia. Buckelow says it is a long way.
I will go to Australia and bring Moorina home to you.”
“Then I will come with you. If Buckelow did it then so can Pandak! He is only a Gai-Mariagal!
We will have to track them in Australia. You might be Larmairrermener but you still have the nose of a
white fella and throw a spear like a girl! I, Pandak, can track them and hunt down the man Blanch.
Then we will come back and w can live in the mountains!”
Once Captain Mead was sure that he’d eluded the Navy vessel he halted their westward flight
and steered the SS Swift north. They would pass west of New Zealand and well east of mainland
Australia. Mead and his crew were very happy to see the last of Van Diemen’s Land and still to be in
one piece. They had plenty of supplies and whale and seal oil to trade. The gold mines of California
beckoned!
Lizzy immediately felt the change in direction as they little ship took the wind on her port side.
“Looks like we really are going to America.”
“Sssssh! Not in front of ‘er!” Ginny warned, gesturing towards Moorina. The poor black
woman was already petrified at the thought of sailing to Wybalenna a mere forty leagues off the coast
and they did not want to upset her with the prospect of a voyage of weeks or months to Australia or
America. In any event, Ginny and Lizzy were determined to persuade Captain Mead to let them leave
the ship as soon as possible.
Moorina looked up in fear. She wasn’t sure what was happening. She was very scared. The
wooden room rolled and heaved, water splashed up over the portholes and the wind howled about
them. It felt as if the sea was going to flood into the room at any moment and drown them. She could
tell by the look on the Lizzy’s face that they were getting further and further from Trowenna all the
time.
“Wybaleena?” Moorina asked Sarah.
Sarah smiled uncomprehending. Ginny shook her head. “She means Flinder’s Island. We
should tell her.”
“Tell her what? That we’re going to America? That she’ll never see her home again?” Sarah
said. “No, I’ll talk to her. I’ve seen these people give up you know. Once they lose hope they can pine
away and die in no time. I won’t have her doing that. Think of her brother and Billy.”
Sarah unfolded their last blanket and wrapped it around Moorina’s shoulders. “Moorina, your
brother, what name?” she asked gently in aboriginal tongue.
“Brother? Pandak,” Moorina replied. The white woman was talking to her like a mother. This
was bad news. She realized immediately that they weren’t going to Wybaleena. She could feel the tears
forming but she swallowed hard. It could be worse, for at least the quiet white woman had forgotten
about herself. Moorina and Sarah could lean on each other while they rode inside the belly of the big
ship. She knew that Loarinna.numer had lived in such a ship for many moons. He would follow them
wherever she went, she was sure of that. Her man was free from the white man’s chains and his
prisons. She hoped that her beloved Pandak would stay on Trowenna. He would be too scared to
follow across the water.
By mid-afternoon on the third day the seas had calmed. Captain Mead could wait no longer and
assembled all the crew on the deck. “Good day, men!” he announced loudly. “We have finally left

Australia. I thank you all for your service. We have fared well and, once we reach port, I will sell our
remaining cargo and you will all receive a handsome payment.”
The men murmured their approval. It was the habit of most sealers to spend most of their pay
as soon as they received it. The grog and the whores in Hobart Town and Sydney could be very
expensive.
“Now then, men. As you know, we’re heading for Yerba Buena or San Francisco as they now
call it. As you have no doubt heard, they have struck gold in California!”
The crew cheered excitedly at the prospect of the riches that awaited them. Captain Mead
waited until they’d finished before continuing.
“Yes, on January 24th 1848, gold was found at Sutter’s Fort, several days inland from the port.
And, now, here’s the good part.” He paused for a moment, then announced dramatically, “We’re going
to be one of the first ships to arrive there! The other vessels to travel around Cape Horn so I expect you
all to put your backs into this voyage and get us to California as fast as the old Swift will take us!”
There was a rousing cheer all around the deck.
“Let me introduce you to one of our passengers for the voyage. Mister Blanch, please step
forward.”
Blanch looked across at Mead angrily. He was a Commander and he liked people to know it!
Mead smiled ingratiatingly. A quiet fell over the deck. The crew could see Blanch’s temper beginning
to rise. Rumour and gossip had already told them of the real reason for Blanch’s hasty departure.
“Mister George Blanch has, of course, been a mainstay of one of our trading operations. He has
now decided that Van Diemen’s Land is no longer big enough for him. Mister Blanch will join us and
will be assisting the Bosun from time to time.”
Blanch glared spitefully at Captain Mead. The man had his gold and his women and now he
expected him to work his passage! He raised his hand and took a half step forward to protest when
suddenly a ripple of murmurs and muttering went through the crowd. Blanch glanced behind him.
The women had come out on deck!
Escorted by the Bosun, Ginny, Moorina, Sarah and Lizzy climbed the short stairway to the
bridge. Captain Mead looked across at Blanch and could see a hungry gleam in his eye. Mead knew
that Blanch still wanted Ginny and Moorina for himself.
An expectant hush fell over the men as the women stopped next to the Captain.
“Welcome ladies,” Captain Mead said loudly. “Now I’m sure that you men are all wondering
who these lovely ladies are and what they’re doing on our ship. The Swift has never had so many
beauties on board before.”
Ginny smiled graciously, but Moorina studiously examined her feet, she just wanted to go back
into the cabin. Sarah bit her lip nervously. There were far too many crude, insolent stares. The men
seemed to be stripping her naked with their gaze. Only Lizzy was relaxed. She could see that the
Captain had the measure of his crew. They weren’t as rowdy and bloodthirsty as she’d expected of a
shipload of woman-stealing sealers.
“These women are our passengers, for the moment,” the Captain continued quickly.
“Here, we have Miss Black, and next to her is Miss Churchill.”
Lizzy and Sarah flushed with embarrassment and looked away from the stares of the men.
Mead waved his hand towards Ginny and Moorina.
“Now, I expect that some of you may have realized by now that these two young ladies are
sisters by marriage. They are the Foxe sisters!” Mead waited for a few seconds; he could see that the
name had been clearly recognized by many of the men.
“That’s correct gentlemen, Miss Virginia here is the sister of Billy Foxe, the Wild Man! And
Miss Moorina here is his wife!”
A buzz went around the crowd of men. The Captain had confirmed their suspicions.
“Now, then. The ladies will be berthed in my cabin for the rest of the voyage. I will take over
the Bosun’s cabin and Mister Green and Mister Blanch will bed down in the crew’s quarters like
everyone else.”
The Bosun handed Mead a Cat o’ Nine Tails.
Captain Mead continued, “The women have volunteered to act as nurses, but just to ensure that
we don’t have a sudden outbreak of illnesses, we have the Cat.” He waved the whip high with a
flourish and glared around the circle of men, his gaze ending at Blanch. Staring directly at Blanch, he
announced threateningly, “The Cat will be used on any man, and I mean any man, who harms or upsets
any of the women. That will be all. Now Seaman Hamilton, please assist the women to their new
home. Bosun, let’s have those sails trimmed, I want to be in America without delay.”
“My family is not poor, Captain Mead. If you make for Sydney I’ll see that you are well paid
for your trouble.”
The Captain eyed Sarah Churchill with regret. She looked as though she’d once been a pretty
woman but her face was drawn and pale, her eyes grey and lifeless. “You say you have money and
influence Miss Churchill, yet you are still a servant of Edward Curr after seven years on Van Diemen’s
Land. Curr is easily bought.”
“Mr Curr hated my father and envied his position.” Sarah trembled at the memory. “He wrote
to my parents, gloating that he had me in his power. I told him that it was stupid. I told him that my
father was a drunken bully and my mother died of a broken heart. But Curr, like my father, has no pity.
I have been ruled by cruel men all my life, but the family estate was, I mean, is large.”
“Oh dear. You really are out of touch aren’t you? I’m so glad to talk to you alone.” Captain
Mead said. “I do hope that something really does remain of your family’s estate, but I doubt very much
if you’ll ever see a penny of it. In any event, I am very sorry to hear of misfortunes, however, I cannot
turn the ship. You see, this time of year there are many, many fast ships sailing around the coast and
between Van Diemen’s Land and New South Wales. The Governor has an excellent semaphore system
and has no doubt ordered ships to pursue us out of Port Dalrymple and Circular Head. So we must
head directly for the Sandwich Islands. We can leave you there if you want, but you’re very welcome
to accompany us to San Francisco. I promise that no harm will come to you and you may well make
your fortune. I’m sincerely sorry, Miss Churchill, but I cannot return you to Australia.”
“Well, can you at least set the black woman free?” Sarah asked. “She’ll die on such a long
voyage. She’s innocent Captain. Her people are being swept along by the white man, please free her,
please?”
“My dear, I’m afraid I cannot. I know she’s just an innocent savage, but she can survive. I hear
that several natives recently had an audience with Her Majesty the Queen, so they can survive.” Mead
replied sorrowfully. “But, I will do all I can to make her voyage as pleasant as possible. If you need
anything, just ask. I am not a bad man, my dear. Honestly, now I must go. I send the cook and Mr
Green down immediately to see what they can do to make you all comfortable. Good day.”
Four days later Billy and Pandak stared out across the water in the grey light of dusk as
Donaldson and Daly rowed back from the Two Brothers. They’d sailed their little boat up to Hobarton.
Daly had recovered the twenty guineas that Billy had been given in reward for killing Black Bob and
which Billy had buried close to Daly’s Run.
Donaldson went back to Blanch’s farm and sold all his livestock at the market. He shaved off
his beard and went to Hobarton to shop for clothes. He kept to himself, avoiding all his old haunts for
fear of being recognized. He was furious with Blanch and eager to capture him and retrieve his gold.
He stewed impatiently in a quiet boarding house and fantasized on what he would say to Blanch when
he caught him and how he’d spend his money when he was finally free. While he waited for Daly, he
sent two street urchins to find out any news from the police and when a ship would be able to take
them to chase Blanch.
Silas Daly scarcely recognized Donaldson. The big man’s bushy beard had gone and he seemed
to smile a lot more. He looked younger, his clothes were newer and tidier. The tattoos on his wrists

were covered by his shirtsleeves and all in all, he looked much more like a free man than the old lag
that he really was.
“You appeared to have bathed, my friend,” Daly greeted.
“Smell like a right ponce, eh!” Donaldson pointed to a small quiet table at the edge of the
taproom. It was mid-morning, they were in a small quiet pub, normally frequented by free men.
Donaldson had usually found such places boring but Daly approved of his choice. Daly bought two
glasses of rum. The pub was almost empty.
“Cheers, mate!” Donaldson said quietly.
Daly smiled and took a sip. It was rotgut, but it was the choice of the locals and they didn’t
want to attract attention.
“The Two Brothers docks tomorrow. We can be on it,” Donaldson said simply.
“Where to?”
“Following Mead.”
“Heard the rumour?” Daly ventured.
Donaldson nodded slowly. “Aye, gold in America. Aye”
Daly let out a long sigh. “Think Mead’s headed there?”
Donaldson nodded.
Daly looked at Donaldson suspiciously. “Are you still coming?”
“Oh, aye. I have a bone to pick with George Blanch,” he said simply.
Daly smiled. Revenge could be a useful motivation. “What about your Ticket?”
“This aint me home, an’ I won’t be back. There’s no price on me head, not like you-know-
who,” Donaldson whispered. “Anyroad, I’m ‘elping the Governor chase a criminal aint I?”
Daly looked at him thoughtfully. It wasn’t really his business. As long as he got Ginny back,
that was the important thing.
“C’mon,” he said finishing his rum. “We’ve got some shopping to do!”
Pandak and Billy watched the little boat grow larger and larger. It was definitely heading
towards them.
“Can you see who’s in the boat?”
“They keep hiding in the waves. They should stand up so I can see them!” Pandak said.
“You are very funny! Are you sure you’ve been out to sea?”
“Wa! You doubt me? I have taken a canoe over to Bruny Island many times.”
“With waves like that?” Billy said, lookinig out to the whitecaps.
“Well, perhaps. No, I don’t know. It took a long time and once I had to swim half the way
across.”
“My brother, you don’t need to come with us,” Billy pleaded with Pandak. “Australia is many
weeks away and the seas are very rough. Even though the ship may look big, the waves can toss her
around more than that little boat out there!”
“Wa! I have told you, Loarinna.numer! I am a warrior! I am not afraid of a little water.”
Billy shook his head. It was impossible to make the aborigine understand the vastness of the
ocean and the difficulty and duration of a voyage to Australia.
“Pandak, I have a serious question for you, one that I find difficult to ask, but I must.”
The note of concern made Pandak turn his gaze away from the sea and he regarded Billy with
interest.
“Are you worried about death? No, not about dying, but about your spirit? Are you worried
about how your spirit will return to Trowenna if you die on the big ship?”
“Wa! Of course, my brother. I have lain awake at night thinking of this. I have asked the spirit
of the Tiger and even the stars themselves. I am Karadji, the spirits talk to me.” He paused, and Billy
could see that there was something troubling him.
“If you do go, I will protect you and if you should die, I will bring your body back to Trowenna
myself and build the fire to take your spirit back up to the stars.” Billy promised.
Pandak smiled sadly. Billy could see a tear in the man’s eye. He’d never seen him cry before.
“Wa! That is a comfort, husband of my sister. But I will not die. That is why I must follow my
Moorina. For, I Pandak have seen the future and I must go to her whether they take her to Wybaleena,
Australia or somewhere else. I must be there!”
Billy waved a small bag of gold coins in the air as Daly and Donaldson stepped out of the small
skiff, “We have found more gold. Fifty guineas! Enough to pay for our passage!” he cried jubilantly.
Daly smiled broadly, “That is good Billy. We have a very long way to go!”
Billy looked at him questioningly.
“That bastard, Blanch, has taken the women to the other side of the world! Do you both want to
come with us. We have passage to San Francisco! They have found gold in California! Come aboard,
we have no time to waste!”
THE END

Glossary
‘arf inch – pinch, steal, cockney rhyming slang (half inch = pinch).
Badger – Wombat (white man’s term).
Beggar-maker – barman, bar keeper, public house owner.
Black Boxes – large coffins for solitary confinement (usually on women’s ships).
Blackjack – a leather mug.
Black Devil – Tasmanian Devil, a large carnivorous marsupial.
Bollocks – testicles. Also an exclamation of surprise.
Bonce – head, skull.
Boong – derogatory white man’s term for an Aborigine.
Botany Bay dozen – 25 lashes.
Brass Monkey – a brass rack for holding iron cannonballs.
Breeched – rich.
Brolly – umbrella.
Brought with a silver spoon – born to a wealthy family.
Buggered off – left in haste.
Bumfluff – wispy beard.
Butchers’ – a look, cockney rhyming slang (ie Butcher’s Hook).
C of E – Church of England (Anglican)
Canary – 100 lashes.
Canny – shrewd, clever.
Char woman – tea lady, servant.
Chaunt – a group sing-song.
Chunder – to be sick, vomit (from “Watch Under”).
Chuffed – to be happy, pleased, content.
Civvy – civilian.
Clap – Veneral disease – usually gonorrhoea.
Clink – jail.
Cly the jerk – to be whipped, usually from a whipping frame or puzzling stick.
Cross-biter – a cheat.
Crack – gossip, information.
Cul-de-sac – dead-end street.
Darkie – black person, aborigine.
De-mobbed – to leave the Armed Services and become a civilian.
Dilly Bag – a small bag or pouch with one long looped handle.
Doddle – easy, effortless.
Duds – clothes.
Ergot – a fungus.
Extirpationist – supporter of genocide.
Emancipists – freed convicts.
Fancy Man – pimp.
Fathom – six feet.
Fingersmith – midwife.
Floating Academy – hulks.
Fortnight – two weeks.
Gins – female aborigines (derogatory).
Goanna – a type of lizard.
Going on the town – prostituting oneself.
Gong – medal.

Government Stroke – slow paced work.
Griddler – someone who begs by singing.
Gubba – Dead Man (ghost) - Aboriginal word for white man (fellows or fellas) .
Guzunda – chamber pot (goes under the bed).
Holystone – a bible-shaped block of sandstone used for scrubbing ships’ decks.
Hubby – husband.
Itch – scabies.
Karadji – aboriginal holy (clever) man.
Lag – hardened or consistent criminal.
Legover – sexual intercourse.
Lushy cove – drunken person (after Lord Lushington).
Martin Cash – notorious bushranger who escaped Port Arthur and then reformed.
Miffed – upset.
Nailed sharp – big spending.
Nancy boy – effeminate (ie ineffectual) man.
Narked – annoyed.
Nibs – posh people, the Upper Class.
Nick – jail.
Nowt – nothing.
Off meself – commit suicide.
Orlop deck – lowest deck in the ship.
Ower – much, very (northern England vernacular)
P.O.Q – leave hurriedly (piss off quickly).
Pademelon – a small kangaroo, native to Tasmania.
Palawa – Tasmanian Aborigine.
Pong – a bad smell.
Porridge – time in jail.
Port Jackson – modern-day Sydney, Australia.
Privy – commode, toilet.
Rabbit – to drone on incessantly, provoking boredom.
Right chuffed – very happy.
Riverman – one who scours riverbanks looking for property.
Scran – food, a meal.
Serpigo – genital herpes.
Skilly – gruel.
Slops – prison/government issued clothes.
Sneaksman – one who thieves by stealth.
Songlines – Aboriginal custom of traveling across country following hidden route with
landmarks embedded in totemic songs and folk-lore.
Starkers – naked.
Stone – 14 pounds.
Tadger – penis.
Taf/Taffy – a Welshman (after the river Taf in Cardiff).
Tetters – genital herpes.
Treacher – a cheat.
Tuppence ha’penny – 2 ½ pennies.
Waddie – a hunting club.
Witchetty grub – giant wood moth larvae, up to 6 inches long and tastes like eggs/almonds.
Willie – tadger.
Wowser – self-righteous person who berates others for drinking, swearing and partying.

Bibliography (partial)
A.W. Howitt - The native tribes of South-east Australia.
J Kamminga, J Mulvaney – Prehistory of Australia.
Tony Cameron – Female Factory Female Convicts.
Lyndall Ryan – The Aboriginal Tasmanians.
Paul Collins – Hell’s Gates.
Robert Hughes – the Fatal Shore.
Sian Rees – The Floating Brothel.
N.J.B. Plomley – Jorgen Jorgenson and the Aborigines of Van Diemen’s Land.
Henry Reynolds – The other side of the Frontier.
Ian MacFarlane – PhD Thesis – Aboriginal Society in north-west Tasmania: Dispossession and
Genocide.
Jens Bjerre's - The Last Cannibals.
James Hardy Vaux – Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue.
Tony Rayner – Female Factory Female Coonvicts.
James Backhouse – A Narrative of a Visit to the Australian Colonies.
Henry Mayhew – London Labour and the Poor.
Web sites:
Loarinna - www.naturalworlds.org/thylacine/introducing/tasmanian_wolf_1.htm
Lia Pootah - www.tasmanianaboriginal.com.au/
HMS Anson - members.iinet.net.au/~dodd/gail/tallships/vessels.html#Anson
E T Emmett - Tasmania by Road and Track - Kelvin Markham km.com.au/
Victorian London -- www.victorianlondon.org/
Fire making - http://www.monash.edu.au/news/releases/2003/jan03-fire.html
Scientific racism – Dr Breen - http://www.theage.com.au/articles/2002/12/25/1040511087362.html

Maps
Map 1: Emigration routes.

Map 2: Van Diemen’s Land
(scale 1 inch: 30 miles)

Research Notes
Tasmania
The island of Tasmania is off the southeast coast of Australia. It was part of the Australian mainland during the
recent ice ages between 30,000 and 29,000 years ago and 20,000 to 8,000 years ago when the sea levels were
considerable lower. The central plateau of Tasmania was covered under a vast sheet of ice. The island is home
to many unique animals such as the Platypus, Tasmanian Devil (called Bush Devils in this novel), Tasmanian
Tiger (extinct in 1936). However Kookaburras, Koalas and Dingos are not native to Tasmania (the latter were
introduced into northern Australia only 4,000 years ago). The white man brought several breeds of dogs, many
of which escaped to form packs of wild animals that plagued the folk of Hobarton. These dogs were also quickly
adopted by the Aborigines who trained them expertly.
The Aborigines
It is thought that aborigines came to Australia some 60,000 years ago and inhabited Tasmania some 35,000
years ago and lived a separate existence since the flooding of the Bass Strait some 12,000 years ago. The white
man discovered Tasmania in 1642 and in 1803 Tasmania (Van Diemen’s Land) became a British colony. It is
likely that some 6000 aborigines in 9 language groups or tribes inhabited the island in 1802.
Boomerangs and Yidakis (didgeridoos) were not used in Tasmania
Truganini died in 1868 and was regarded as the last full-blood aborigine, however it is very likely that there
were others who survived in the interior until much later. There are believed to be two surviving bloodlines, the
descendants of the latter survivors and the descendants of the whaling and sealing communities based on the
islands to the north of Tasmania.
The HMS Hope

In 1827, the HMS Hope was sent from Sydney to Hobart Town carrying many months of pay for the colonial
government workers. It was caught in a storm and sank just southwest of Hobart Town, (a few miles from
today’s Wrest Point Casino). The shipwreck was later purchased with the intent of recovering the gold,
however, this was
The ships
HMS Navarino made two trips to Van Diemen’s Land, carrying 178 women in 1841 and then 178 men in 1843.
The 282 ton Sydney Cove was built in Rotterdam in1803, she had one cabin and two decks. She was bought by 3
ex-convicts for £7,000. She carried 100 female convicts, and, below decks, was fitted out into separate cages in
ease of trouble, so that the escort of soldiers could handle trouble more easily. A strong bulkhead was built on
the deck to allow for convicts coming up from below to be held securely. This was not a sight seeing voyage for
the girls. Small parties were brought up on deck in fine weather to air their bedding and to let the fleas, lice, bed
bugs and other favourites to jump off in the sunlight. The ship had to carry enough coal for cooking meals for
the prisoners for at least six months, and bread had to be baked every day. Water was carried in casks and an
0sbridge's machine for sweetening water had to be supplied.
HMS Anson was a 74-Gun frigates, used as a convict transport and then as a women’s hulk. She typically held
375 prisoners and 14 female officers (twice the staff ratio as the Manufactories). She was very strongly built.
When she was broken up after a mere 7 years the clerk of the markets obtained part of the vessel, a large piece
of wood studded with immense spikes, which are said to have been driven in the wood to prevent the prisoners
cutting their way out with any knives they may have had in their possession.
HMS Warrior was a 74-gun man of war built in 1781. In 1841 the ship’s Surgeon Peter Bossy indicated that the
Warrior held 638 men, 400 of whom required hospitalization and 38 of whom died. When Billy Foxe was on
the Warrior she was already very old and decrepit, but she was in service until 1854.
Victorian London
Lee Jackson and Henry Mayhew were major source information. Following the Industrial Revolution, the cities
became very crowded as now-obsolete workers left the countryside in their quest for employment. Additionally,

the conclusion of the American and the Napoleonic Wars resulted in large numbers of military men leaving the
service. Many found their new home in the big cities and most probably faced unemployment and a dull
existence. The cities struggled to cope. Their infrastructure was woefully inadequate and over-crowding and
unsanitary conditions led to poverty, crime and disease. The jails were filled well beyond capacity as the
authorities tried to reduce crime by creating the Police force and driving the criminals off the streets. It was no
longer possible to transport criminals to the Americas so the alternatives were Australia and the hulks.
Manufactories
Governor Arthur was intent on running the Colony as a business. He used both female and male convicts as
slave labour. Any convict woman who was not assigned as a servant to the general populace was housed in a
Female Manufactory. These women were expected to produce goods and services for the Colony such as
laundering and oakum. However, there was rarely enough work to keep the women busy. This created boredom
and in many cases trouble.
Point Puer
Point Puer (Latin for boy), was on a narrow peninsula one mile across the bay from Port Arthur and adjacent to
the Isle of the Dead. Under strict discipline boys were taught trades from shoe and boot making, carpentry,
blacksmithing, baking, sawing, boat building, gardening and book binding. The site was badly chosen, having a
poor sandy soil and no supply of fresh water. Water, fuel and supplies were delivered daily by the "old hands"
from Port Arthur, who it was feared would upset the moral reformation of the boys.
Port Arthur
The Port Arthur penal settlement began life as a small timber station in 1830. Originally designed as a
replacement for the recently closed timber camp at Birches Bay, Port Arthur quickly grew in importance within
the penal system of the colonies.
The initial decade of settlement saw a penal station hacked from the bush, and the first manufactories - such as
shipbuilding, shoemaking, smithing, timber and brick making - established. The 1840s witnessed a
consolidation of the industrial and penal nature of the settlement as the convict population reached over 1100. In
1842 a huge flour mill and granary (later the penitentiary) was begun, as well as the construction of a hospital.
Macquarie habour
The first penal settlement in Van Diemen's Land opened in January 1822. It was at Macquarie habour on the
west coast, near Strahan. The main buildings were on Sarah Island, named after a female convict called Sarah
Simmons.
It was an appalling site. Huge waves, whipped by the Roaring Forties, crashed into the narrow, bottle-necked
Harbour. Vessels often had to wait days before making the dangerous run across the sand bar.
For a decade it was the most savage settlement in the English-speaking world. The Lieutenant-Governor of the
Diemen's Land, was determined that "prisoners … would rather suffer death than be sent back to Macquarie
habour". The convicts laboured under the harshest conditions in the rainforest felling Huon pines for boat
building.
Sarah Island has a circumference of about 21 kilometres in an oval shape. At the height of its use, it housed
about 580 people crammed together. From it's founding in 1823 through to 1828, an average of 8,000 lashes a
year were administered; in addition solitary confinement was also used.
The convicts hated the solitary confinement even more than the lashes; it meant that the man would be locked
up in total darkness and absolute silence with no contact at all with anyone else, except briefly with the jailer
once every 24 hours when his “meal” was brought to him and his chamber pot changed. The authorities found
that solitary confinement did not reform men, it sent them insane, and yet they continued to use it and even built
solitary cells in Port Arthur

The first Commandant of the island was a Lt. Cuthbertson who even in official Naval records was described as a
“sadistic bully with peculiar tendencies”.
The penitentiary had drawbacks for administrators, including inaccessibility and small capacity -- it could house
little more than 350 prisoners.
Using convicts as guards

The Government of Van Diemen’s Land had the difficult task of controlling a large number of criminals using
very few soldiers. This was done by employing convicts as guards. A good example of this technique was at
Sarah Island where Commandant Cuthbertson had as few as 30 soldiers to control up to 350 hardened criminals.
Some trusted convicts were promoted as guards, scourgers etc. The trusties spoke the criminal vernacular and
understood the criminal mind very well. They were rewarded by extra rations, lightened duties and shortened
sentences. These men were hated by the prisoners.
George Augustus Robinson

Arrived in 1823, at 32, builder and bricklayer and lay preacher. He attempted to civilize the Aborigines of Bruny
Island but the population was decimated by disease and the settlement was closed. Undeterred, he successfully
petitioned Governor Arthur to establish the position of 'Protector' of Aborigines. He undertook many expeditions
across Tasmania to contact and bring in remaining Aboriginal groups.
Robinson initially argued that the Aboriginals be exiled to the Maria Island where indeed they might’ve
survived as there were no sealers and it was large enough to sustain such a small native population. It was left up
to Robinson to choose the island. He chose Flinders Island disastrous results. The mortality rate was worse than
Bruny Island, and of the 300 original natives, only 15 survived some twenty years later.
Robinson was handsomely rewarded for his work. He was responsible for the capture of many blacks for which
he received the princely sum of £5 per adult and £2 per child. He received pay of £250/year and a land grant of
2,500 acres.
Chief Justice John Pedder

He opposed the Aboriginal exile and tried to persuade Governor Arthur to make a treaty with the tribal chiefs.
The tribes were to remain inside defined boundaries and have a European agent reside with them. He argued
against exile insisting, “however carefully these people might be supplied with food they would soon begin to
pine away when they found their situation one of hopeless imprisonment.”
Gilbert Robertson
Gilbert Robertson, a creole brought up on his Scottish father's plantations in British Guyana, arrived in Van
Diemen's Land in the mid 1820s to take up the position of superintendent of the government farm at New Town.
He soon became interested in the press and at various times edited newspapers in opposition to Arthur. In 1834
he established the True Colonist and Van Diemen's Land Dispatch and Agricultural and Commercial Advertiser.
The True Colonist became a political voice in vigorous opposition to Arthur and it must be said that moderation
was not high on Robertson's news agenda.
Governor Arthur
Plymouth born, George Arthur joined the army at the age of 20. An ambitious and gallant man, he rose quickly,
marrying Eliza Orde Usher Lieutenant-General Sir John Frederick Sigismund Smith and so he began a career in
the Colonial Office as superintendent and commandant of British Honduras, with the local rank of colonel. A
vigorous and passionate man with a real interest in his subject he was also arrogant, denigrated elected officials,
abhorred criticism and wrote voluminous dispatches to justify his actions. His attacks on the cruelty of slave
owners was noticed and at the age of 40 he became Governor of Van Diemen's Land. A year later the island
became a separate colony and Arthur was free to rule like a monarch.
He insisted that convicts were slaves and believed that the 'heart of every man' was 'desperately wicked'; one
'must preach Christ crucified and faith in Him' as the only means of salvation. This high-minded, autocratic but
very efficient administrator believed that the convicts suffered from a 'mental delirium'. He proposed to cure this

'infirmity" by a carefully graded system of rewards and punishments. Hard labour was Arthur's weapon, this was
supported by a voluminous set of rules and large and intrusive Police force that was to monitor and uphold them
against convicts and free settlers alike.
Port Arthur was built as a penal settlement and the ticket-of-leave system gave the model convict the reward of
conditional freedom for good behaviour. The chain gangs subjugated the convicts and benefited the populace by
building the colony's infrastructure but the police actions were denounced as 'despotic and tyrannical'.
Arthur tried unsuccessfully to explain the colonist's law to the Aborigines. Then he tried to capture the
Aboriginal leaders, when that failed, he absurdly proclaimed that natives were forbidden to enter the settled
districts. Finally, he declared martial law and formed the 'Black Line' to sweep the natives into the Tasman
peninsula at the southeast corner of the colony. This expensive failure prompted Arthur to follow popular
opinion and begin 'conciliation'. He employed George Robinson to gather up the Aborigines and remove them to
Flinder’s Island. At that point, the decline of the natives was well under way and their numbers plummeted.
Arthur had become one of the largest landowners in the colony and had 15,048 acres of land, at a total cost of
£9765. By the end of his term, Arthur's property was sold for £50,000. Arthur also granted one million acres of
land of which a third went to the Van Diemen's Land Company; however, he disliked the VLDC as it was too
large and remote for him to control.
He also opposed trial by jury and was a vigorous opponent of the free Press. Arthur made many enemies in high
places and was recalled after a 12-year rule in which he made much progress despite having little regard for the
future of the colony and having fatally mishandled the Aboriginal problem.
Arthur was sent to govern Canada and then Bombay. He died at 60 leaving 5 sons and 5 daughters.
The Black Line

This started on October 6 1830 and took 6 weeks. 5,000 men cost £30,000 and captured a man and a boy.
Roving Parties
John Batman headed a party that managed to capture a single woman and child after killing 15 men, and was
rewarded with 2,000 acres of land for his trouble.
Edward Curr & the VDLC

Curr was referred to as Potentate of the North. He had a deep suspicion of the motives of his fellow beings,
coupled with a natural arrogance, encouraged him to regard the use of violence as an effective and legitimate
expedient when confronted with opposition or obstruction whether from assigned servants or from Aborigines.
Three of the VDLC land commissioners considered Curr as “receiving the rudiments of an education in a
counting house” and to have “a partner of great celebrity in blackguard work”.
Hellyor, the company surveyor, chose the VDLC’s land poorly. Of the 5,500 sheep set to pasture, only a few
hundred survived. Hellyor committed suicide and, as the VDLC faced financial ruin, Curr was dismissed.
Initiation rites
Both Pandak and Billy’s initiation ceremonies were based on a rite used by aborigines from the Northern
Territory, not from Tasmania. Pandak’s was based on an Arunta ceremony. Billy’s ceremony was based on the
work of Jens Bjerre who described a ceremony from N.T.
Scientific Racism and the misconceptions about the Aboriginals

Many misconceptions were created by the scientific and government communities of the late 18th Century in a
deliberate attempt at ‘scientific racism’. The "scientific racists" were creationists, who argued that blacks and
"Indians" were inferior in order to justify slavery and the extermination of natives in many parts of the world. Dr
Breen has written in this subject.
It is a widely held misconception that the Aborigines of Tasmania did not know how to make fire. This was a
major one of the many justifications used by the British to usurp the land from the savage stone-age natives.

However, Ventenat, a member of the French expedition led by Bruny d'Entrecasteaux, contacted the Aborigines
on February 1, 1793. His journal contains detailed descriptions of their characteristics, one of which was "the
skill to make fire by rubbing together two pieces of wood one against the other”.
The Aborigines used fire-stick farming extensively to carve their hunting grounds from the bush.
It is also taught that the Aborigines could not make boats although the French have ample records of Aboriginal
water craft constructed from reeds. These were used to cross the D’Entrecasteaux Channel and to navigate
rivers.
Musquito
A Gai-Mariagal Aboriginal, by 1805 Musquito had become notorious for leading 'outrages' against settlers near
Sydney. Governor King apprehended him and sent him without trial to Norfolk Island. When Norfolk Island
was evacuated in 1813 Musquito was sent to Port Dalrymple. Musquito tracked bushrangers to secure his
passage home. Gov Sorrell said because their assistance in hunting bushrangers had made them 'odious' to the
convicts at Port Dalrymple. He was returning them to Sydney. He never did though, and six months later McGill
and Musquito found and killed the notorious bushranger Michael Howe. Musquito was tried in December 1824
for 'aiding and abetting' the murder of a white man, Hollyoak. Musquito was a capable speaker of English; he
was not given counsel, nor allowed to testify in his own defence. He was hanged. Gilbert Robertson, a friend of
Musquito, called the hangings murder, and said they led to further killings by Aborigines. Musquito apparently
told his jailer: 'Hanging no good for black fellow ... very good for white fellow for he used to it'. When two
more Aborigines were tried and hanged in September 1826, the people at Kangaroo Point left, never to return.
Then the violence accelerated markedly. The worst years of violence were long after the death of Musquito.
The Cape Grim massacre

There is little doubt that the VDLC under Curr’s command were responsible for many aboriginal deaths. This is
recounted in detail on page 109 of McFarlane’s PhD thesis. A VDLC ship, the Fanny was used in events
leading up to the murders of the Pennemukeer people. It also details murders of innocent women by VDLC staff
(page 121). Curr advised the Aboriginal Committee that “they must undertake a war of extermination” and
describing the Aborigines as “a singularly imbecile race of beings”. Curr did not support the Friendly Mission to
integrate the aborigines and in fact, “the company’s men were openly expressing the wish to extirpate them
entirely.”
The Case for Banishment

A strongly worded article in the Hobart Town Gazette ascribed to the Aboriginals “treachery and a vindictive
spirit” and argued that the removal of these “ferocious tribes” to an island in the straits was a measure that
would enjoy wide support in the Colony.
The Gin Trade

Aboriginal women were called lubras or gins (derogatory). There is much evidence of their being kidnapped and
stolen for the sealers who lived in the islands. Robinson warned the sealers that government was aware of the
aggressions committed by them on the Aboriginal population and of their practise of shooting Aboriginal men in
order to steal their women.
Black Rock Mountain

Just north of Maquarie habour lies a meteorite crater atop Mount Darwin. The black rock from the crater is
called Darwin Glass. It has been used by the Aborigines for millennia.
The French mission to Van Diemen’s Land

Details are taken from McFarlane’s PhD thesis. Nicholas Baudin visited Tasmania in the Geographe and
Naturaliste in 1802. This was the latest in a succession of French scientific expeditions that included Nicholas
Marion du Fresne in 1772, LA Perouse in 1788 amd d’Entrecasteaux in 1792. These expeditions were purely
scientific and not political as Governor King of New South Wales feared. The French government and King
Louis XVI were very clear that the expeditions would respect the sovereignty of the indigenous people, this
enlightened attitude was due in large part to the arguments of philosopher Jean Jacque Rousseau on the ‘Noble

Savage’. Baudin’s expedition had the best equipment and scientists available at the time including botanisists
and anthropologists.
The interaction of Baudin with the British expedition under Lieutenant Robbins on the Cumberland makes
fascinating reading. This led to Robbins being invited to dinner by Baudin, receiving 12 lbs of gunpowder from
the French as he had none. Three days later, on December 14th 1802, Robbins raised the British flag over the
French camp on King Island, albeit upside-down.
Baudin’s response was ‘I have never been able to conceive that there was any justice … on the part of
Europeans, in seizing, in the name of their governments, a land for the first time, when it is inhabited by men
who have not always deserved the title of savages … you would not have been obliged to form a colony by
means of mens branded by the law and who have become criminals … not only have you to reproach
yourselves with an injustice in seizing their lands but also in transporting on a soil where crimes and disease of
the Europeans are unknown, all of which has served as a pretext to your Government.’
Aboriginal Language
Jorge Jorgenson recorded some aboriginal words and it is these I have used in this novel.
Some words were taken from the Kamilaroi/Gamilaraay dictionary, notably bura – bone and thun – stick.
Song Lines
The English writer Bruce Chatwin championed the idea that Aboriginal tribes of Australia carried on the
practise of Songlines wherein warriors walked across vast distances of the continent visiting other tribes and
navigating their way by reciting poems, songs and stories that contained geographic and topological references
to guide them on their journey. In this way their tribal and totemic lore was sustained and inbreeding was
minimized. There is no evidence for this being the case in Tasmania and little historical evidence on mainland
Australia.
Sodomy and Homosexuality

Men vastly outnumbered women in the Colony of Van Diemen’s Land; indeed, women were shipped over from
New South Wales to redress this balance. Sodomy was a capital offence but one to which many people turned a
blind eye. Governor Arthur’s position on sodomy (and murder) were clear. “For either of these crimes I would
wish to confine the criminal until an opportunity offered of delivering him to the natives of New Zealand, and
let them eat him. The dread of this will operate much stronger than the fear of death.” After 1830 or so the
movement against transportation increased which often quoted sodomy and homosexuality were seen as one of
transportations most undesirable results. There were of course few convictions as the acts were carried out in
secret and often were consensual. In the prisons then, as now sodomy was practically a currency, this was
especially true on the prison hulks and on minimally supervised chain-gangs.
English slang
Vaux’s dictionary of the vulgar tongue was the source of most of the English vernacular. Note that cockney
rhyming slang was a later development.
Dealing with the Devil

Backhouse notes that this bizarre ritual (although unnamed) did indeed occur and he cites that several of the 12
convicts murdered by fellow prisoners over the course of eleven years were killed with a view to the murderer
and witnesses being required to be removed from Sarah Island to Hobarton for trial.
Pearce and cannibalism

This tragic event did occur and is superbly documented by Paul Collins in Hell’s Gates.

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White Fella, Black Fella

Part One – The Voyage ...........................................................................................................................3

Part Two – Escape into the Wilderness ...............................................................................................77

Part Three – Billy is recaptured.........................................................................................................195

Part Four – Billy is freed.....................................................................................................................278

Bibliography (partial) .........................................................................................................................328

King George III announcement to the British Parliament, on 22 January 1787.

'I have no intention of annexing a country already inhabited by savages'.

The very day we landed upon the fatal shore,

It’s oft-times when I slumber I have a pleasant dream:

Come all young men and maidens do bad company forsake,

Convict ballad c 1820

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“C’mon, let’s ‘ave yer!” the corporal barked.

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“Land! Land! I just saw Brazil!!” Ginny shouted excitedly.

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It is not in a prison drear

It is not that my cheek would pale

But place me in a forest glen

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