English soil in his life. They sang together. We’re all like the dog in the fable betrayed, to let go our substance and snap at the shade!
And so Crook’s song coalesced into one discordant wail with the ballad, the amalgamation ringing around the mountainside like the death cry of some misbegotten beast, while Black Bill quietly studied the sheer gorge they walked through.
Late in the afternoon as the sun burst on the horizon in an outward copper spread Pigeon crouched at a grass embankment, his fingertips caressing the face of the earth in that long light.
First mob come up ere, said Pigeon. He pointed out the marks.
A few yards away the grass rose upwards into scrub again and Pigeon walked nearer, watching the ground as he went, his forehead creasing. He paused at the grass edge and pinched the flattened stalks to reckon the passing of time. Charcoaled tree husks intermingled with the living where a fire had burnt through some years back. The squeeze of black gum and pine was looser here and the scrub was easily covered on foot, save for the many saplings germinated in the blaze; these whipped their legs and caught them up.
Second mob come that way, he said and gestured down the mountainside. All go together. One big bloody mob now them buggers.
Batman eased the cork from his quart flask and poured a measure into his open mouth. They watched him survey that country where it rolled away down the slope towards the blue-hued mountains in the south masked by a haze. The dark shapes of hawks crawled across the clouds. He removed his hat, his hair crowned in where the hoop had sat.
Seems we’ll be made to earn our payment, he said.
Plenty dogs. Plenty kids too, said Pigeon.
Horsehead raised his eyes at this, his pale features a mess of wrinkling and his mouth hard set. Kids? he said.
Batman drew another mouthful.
The light was thinning. Pigeon strode into the scrub where he was followed by the roving party coming ever slower for want of rest and food. The wide trodden trail led them pastswamp gums hung with long bark spools that turned in the breeze. All of them walking with heads down as the sun withdrew behind the mountain’s dripping wax crags, wheeling along its ancient gutter downwards into the underworld.
An hour along the trail they tasted wood smoke upon the wind. The bush was a grim assemblage of shadows by now and the chirruping and howling of night creatures grew bolder as the light evaporated. The Parramatta men picked out a path among the trees where the party would not be seen. Batman allowed no speaking nor spitting and Pigeon and Crook mutely gestured to guide the men on. To still the rattling locks of their weapons the assignees stuffed gum leaves under the mechanisms. Batman and Bill quieted their boot soles with kangaroo hide. Where the path narrowed the men drew into single file and their passing was evidenced by little more than the whisper of the understorey as it closed behind them.
Before that hour had ended all of the company could see the blinking fires in the scrub away down the slope. It was a sight that tested their resolve. From the banks of a fold they surveyed the land south. The stubs of firelight glistened in the dark of the forest. As the men of the roving party stared across the moon-silvered bushscape, John Batman ordered them down. They crouched behind the trees and unslung their weapons. Amongthat company only Batman and Black Bill continued to watch the fires burning in the distance. Bill on his knees pulled off his hat as he tallied first the fires then the clansfolk around them. I make it ten fires, Bill whispered.
I see dog tracks by the fives of thousands, said Batman. They are some big lot.
Aye.
How many men you see? said Batman.
A good few.
Hazard a guess.
He was quiet a moment. Eighty, he said. A hundred.
Jimmy Gumm shook his head. And here’s us nine.
The boy was squatting like a river toad in the weeds. Glad you give me a gun now, arent you? he
And so Crook’s song coalesced into one discordant wail with the ballad, the amalgamation ringing around the mountainside like the death cry of some misbegotten beast, while Black Bill quietly studied the sheer gorge they walked through.
Late in the afternoon as the sun burst on the horizon in an outward copper spread Pigeon crouched at a grass embankment, his fingertips caressing the face of the earth in that long light.
First mob come up ere, said Pigeon. He pointed out the marks.
A few yards away the grass rose upwards into scrub again and Pigeon walked nearer, watching the ground as he went, his forehead creasing. He paused at the grass edge and pinched the flattened stalks to reckon the passing of time. Charcoaled tree husks intermingled with the living where a fire had burnt through some years back. The squeeze of black gum and pine was looser here and the scrub was easily covered on foot, save for the many saplings germinated in the blaze; these whipped their legs and caught them up.
Second mob come that way, he said and gestured down the mountainside. All go together. One big bloody mob now them buggers.
Batman eased the cork from his quart flask and poured a measure into his open mouth. They watched him survey that country where it rolled away down the slope towards the blue-hued mountains in the south masked by a haze. The dark shapes of hawks crawled across the clouds. He removed his hat, his hair crowned in where the hoop had sat.
Seems we’ll be made to earn our payment, he said.
Plenty dogs. Plenty kids too, said Pigeon.
Horsehead raised his eyes at this, his pale features a mess of wrinkling and his mouth hard set. Kids? he said.
Batman drew another mouthful.
The light was thinning. Pigeon strode into the scrub where he was followed by the roving party coming ever slower for want of rest and food. The wide trodden trail led them pastswamp gums hung with long bark spools that turned in the breeze. All of them walking with heads down as the sun withdrew behind the mountain’s dripping wax crags, wheeling along its ancient gutter downwards into the underworld.
An hour along the trail they tasted wood smoke upon the wind. The bush was a grim assemblage of shadows by now and the chirruping and howling of night creatures grew bolder as the light evaporated. The Parramatta men picked out a path among the trees where the party would not be seen. Batman allowed no speaking nor spitting and Pigeon and Crook mutely gestured to guide the men on. To still the rattling locks of their weapons the assignees stuffed gum leaves under the mechanisms. Batman and Bill quieted their boot soles with kangaroo hide. Where the path narrowed the men drew into single file and their passing was evidenced by little more than the whisper of the understorey as it closed behind them.
Before that hour had ended all of the company could see the blinking fires in the scrub away down the slope. It was a sight that tested their resolve. From the banks of a fold they surveyed the land south. The stubs of firelight glistened in the dark of the forest. As the men of the roving party stared across the moon-silvered bushscape, John Batman ordered them down. They crouched behind the trees and unslung their weapons. Amongthat company only Batman and Black Bill continued to watch the fires burning in the distance. Bill on his knees pulled off his hat as he tallied first the fires then the clansfolk around them. I make it ten fires, Bill whispered.
I see dog tracks by the fives of thousands, said Batman. They are some big lot.
Aye.
How many men you see? said Batman.
A good few.
Hazard a guess.
He was quiet a moment. Eighty, he said. A hundred.
Jimmy Gumm shook his head. And here’s us nine.
The boy was squatting like a river toad in the weeds. Glad you give me a gun now, arent you? he
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