Mary's Guardian (16 page)

‘But there are girls there too, learning numbers and writing and such. It’s good for them as well. It’s important, I reckon, so they don’t think less of themselves.’

‘I see, and you think Elizabeth thinks less of herself because of what happened, do you?’

‘I just think it would be good for her, Will. Education’s going to be important for everyone so they can get on, John Harris says. He’s the teacher.’

‘I know that, too, Dan. And Samuel Marsden holds services there as well.’

‘I know you don’t think much of the Reverend. He hasn’t earned a reputation as the “flogging parson” without reason. He’s a harsh man. Not the one I’d have made magistrate, but other preachers come as well.’

‘We haven’t been to services these past few months, since Elizabeth…you know. It was hard to understand, Dan. Mary’s not inclined to believe any more. And with a man like Marsden spouting hell and damnation, well, it gets her back up and she’s dug in her heels.’

‘I know it’s hard, Will. But it’s part of our education, really. And it’s a comfort. One I think Elizabeth could use.’

‘Oh, you want to take responsibility for her religious upbringing as well, do you?’ William’s voice had an edge.

‘No, of course not. I just thought since you haven’t been going along that I could take her to school and to the services occasionally.’

‘No,’ William cut in quickly. ‘She’ll not be going anywhere without one of us, Dan. Mary wouldn’t hear of it.’

‘I’d not leave her side, Will. Not for a minute. You know I’d care for her.’

‘She’s not your responsibility, Dan. And anyway, we’re not godless people just because we haven’t been to services lately. It’s been a hard time for us.’

‘I know that. And I know you have faith. I see it in you. I know it’s hard to see where God is when bad things happen to an innocent child.’

‘I don’t blame God for that, Dan. Bad things happen because there are bad people. I’ve been thankful to God for the good seasons we’ve had on the land this last few years. We’ve had to work hard to keep up with the crops. That’s why I’ve needed you here to help, and I’m grateful. I know what to thank God for and I know what’s my own responsibility. And keeping my children safe is mine. I’ll do better at it in the future.’

‘Then you’ll consider letting me take Elizabeth to school, eh?’ Dan persisted. ‘Because that would be good for her. I know you’d agree with that because you’ve said to me all along that I have to take every opportunity to better myself. So the same would go for Elizabeth. You’re not a man to discriminate against the female race, Will. I know that well.’

‘You seem to know a lot more than most young men of your age, Dan.’ William smiled. ‘How is that?’

‘I hope it’s because I’m a fast learner, Will. And I’ve you to thank for that.’

William shook his head and looked thoughtfully at Dan. ‘Well, I’ll consider what you’re saying. I’ll talk about it with Mary. I’d have to take her to school myself though, at least for a while, so as not to worry Mary.’

‘And services? There’s good teaching there as well. Something to take hold of and believe in. A sense that there’s purpose in it all.’

‘Is that what it’s giving you?’

‘Aye, and like I said, there’s comfort. Mary and you could use that, surely?’

Dan knew he was pushing William but he hated to see a good man trying to deal with harsh realities by himself. And he was certain Mary needed the comfort of faith in something bigger than herself. Even bigger than William, who she clearly had in the place of God in her mind. It was more than a mere man could live up to.

‘True,’ William conceded. ‘We’ll see, Dan. We’ll see.’

***

‘What do you reckon about the services, Ellen?’ Mary asked as the friends sat over their mending. ‘Will’s suggesting we go back to the church. They have different preachers come around to the school at Green Hills now. Neither of us have much time for Samuel Marsden but young Dan seems to think that some of the others are worth hearing.’

‘Young Dan has quite an influence on you two, doesn’t he?’ Ellen raised her eyebrows. ‘Is it because of Elizabeth?’

‘It’s not so much us Dan is influencing, as Elizabeth herself. She thinks the sun shines from him.’

‘Well, it’s understandable, I suppose, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, but this business of going to church is nothing to do with him really. I’m just not sure for myself that I want to go. I haven’t noticed you going either. Do you still believe?’

‘Oh, of course, I do, Mary. It’s just that they’ve started the Catholic Church up in Pitt Town now and I prefer that. I was raised Catholic, you know. Not that anyone would have guessed it in those years before I was transported.’ Her face flushed. ‘But that was…out of desperation, you know.’

‘I do know, Ellen. We all lived out of desperation in those years. But now I want our children to be raised right. I do think it’s best that we make religion part of that. It’s not like we can run away from God, is it?’

‘A lot try, love. But I’d prefer to make my peace with Him.’

‘So does Joe go with you to the Catholic Church?’

‘No. He’d prefer the other. It’s caused a bit of a problem with us really.’

‘Oh no, Ellen. Surely there’s no problem between you and Joe? He adores you. Has from the minute he set eyes on you.’

‘I know that. I don’t think it’s a problem we can’t get through. It’s just this business with our neighbour. This John Gilberthorpe.’

‘You and John Gilberthorpe!’ Mary’s eyes flew open.

‘Don’t be daft. Not that sort of problem. It’s just that the Gilberthorpe’s are Irish, you see.’

‘No, I’m not seeing anything clearly at all right now.’

‘Well,’ Ellen went on patiently. ‘Being Irish, they’re Catholic, so I’ve met them a few times in church, and me and her have got a bit friendly.’ She waited while Mary took in that part of the story. ‘And she told me that they’ve been…uh, I guess you’d have to say they’ve been harbouring a runaway.’

‘Harbouring a runaway!’

‘Yes, some young Irish boy who’s taken off from his overseer. He seems a nice enough lad. He’s not a real bad criminal or
anything. But he’ll be punished badly if he’s caught.’

‘I’d say he would. You can’t just go running off and not serve your time, Ellen. We all had to serve our time.’ Mary was adamant.

‘That’s what Joe says. I made the mistake of telling Joe what Jane Gilberthorpe told me about them having this young Irish fellow there, and Joe wanted to report him to the authorities. I shouldn’t have told Joe about it. I guess it put him in a hard position. He was worried once he knew about it that the authorities would be on to him if he didn’t report it.’

‘And so did he tell?’

‘Yes, he did. But it was too late.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I told Jane that Joe was going to the authorities and she told the young fellow to run.’

‘Ellen, you didn’t!’

‘I just couldn’t bear to see the poor coot taken back into custody. He’d have been flogged…or worse. It seemed so harsh.’

‘I can’t believe you’d do such a thing. Joe must be so angry.’

‘He is rather. He felt a bit of a fool when the constable came looking for the lad and he was gone.’

‘I can see he would.’

‘And now he thinks that all the Irish Catholics are ganging up together and getting away with things we didn’t. But this young man was just scared. And I think he was treated pretty badly where he was assigned to serve out his sentence.’

‘I can see you’d feel sorry for him, Ellen. It’s your nature. But really, it’s not worth making trouble between you and Joe. Surely?’

‘I think Joe will forgive me, love,’ she grinned. ‘But he won’t go to church with me.’

‘I see. Well, at least Will and I don’t have that problem. Whatever we decide about going to church, we’ll do it together.’

‘I’m glad for you, Mary, and I do think it would be a good thing to do. I’ve been quite pleased to have the choice of going to a Catholic Church actually. It’s only recently the Governor’s given permission for Catholic services at all.’

‘Hmm, well, I just hope you and Joe work it out. We’ve enough to contend with without trouble with our men. They’ve been the best parts of our lives, I reckon. I don’t want anything to come between me and Will.’

‘I’m sure it won’t, Mary. You and Will are as solid as a rock. Anyone can see that.’

March, 1806

‘That’s it, Mary,’ William called. ‘It’s time to move out. The river’s up above the high water mark.’

‘But it’s been raining for two weeks, Will. It must stop soon.’

‘No, it’s getting worse. I thought it had abated last night but now it’s getting heavier. We have to move out. Get packed up quick. Once it comes over the bank it’ll fill the farms like a bowl.’

‘Not again, Will. I can’t bear the thought of losing it all again.’

‘Get the children wrapped warmly. I’ll get the cart. We’ve not got time for despair now. Save it for later.’

In the hour that it took to pack their belongings in the cart large pools of water had appeared close to their hut. It was clear to William that the farms on the northern side of him were already under water.

‘We have to head for South Creek and get across to Green Hills,’ he said.

‘No, not across the creek, Will. I can’t go across. Why can’t we go up on the ridge?’

‘Cause I suspect this is going to get a lot worse and we’ll need to get everyone up to Bridge Street so we can have access to food.’ William was already urging the horse towards the south.

The children were whimpering under blankets and coats in the back of the cart. Mary wiped rain from her face, her eyes wide with fear as she looked around at the swollen banks of the creek. The water was spreading across the lower land like a lake and it was more and more difficult for William to find any dry land to direct the horse through. He knew if the wheels of the cart became bogged they’d all be out and wading through water which was rising faster than he imagined possible.

‘I’m frightened, Will,’ Mary murmured, trying to keep the children’s heads under the blankets. They would not be dry but she at least wanted to spare them the sight of what was becoming a sea around them.

‘So am I, lass. I’m sorry we didn’t go sooner.’

Mary gasped as the cart stalled. The horse made distressed noises and reared up as much as it could, given the water now swirling about its legs.

‘Will?’

‘Keep calm, Mary. I’m going to shoot off the musket and see if there’s any boats about. I’ll be surprised if Andrew Thompson’s not out on the water. And Tom Biggers. He’s got a boat now and they’ll know some of us will be in trouble. I heard a shot a few minutes ago. They’ll get to us, lass. Don’t worry.’ William aimed his musket into the air and let off a couple of shots. Elizabeth and Thomas squealed and popped their heads above their coats.

‘Stay down, children,’ Mary ordered, pushing their heads below a blanket, but not before Elizabeth saw the situation they were in.

‘Ma! We’re stuck, aren’t we?’ Her face creased in horror.

‘It’s all right, dear. Pa’s just getting help.’

‘I wish Dan was here. He’d save us.’

‘You just keep down there and stay as dry as you can. We don’t want you getting the fever on top of all this. Dan is out helping someone else.’

William was out of the cart now, reaching through the rising water to feel for the blockage to the cart wheels.

‘It’s a rock. I think I can dislodge it,’ William puffed, squinting through the pelting rain as he spoke.

‘Look, Ma,’ Elizabeth screeched, pointing towards the properties close to South Creek. ‘There’s people up there.’

‘Oh, God, they’re on their roof, Will. And I can hear dogs howling. I think there’s one in that tree down there.’

‘Yes, the river’s come up and joined that side of the creek. Those properties will be well and truly under. But we’ll get to the eastern end of the creek and Andrew’s floating bridge. That’ll get us to Green Hills, if someone doesn’t come for us sooner.’

William got the horse moving again and kept as much as he could to the higher ground until after another half hour they spotted the end of the floating bridge. Andrew Thompson was close by, struggling to hold a small boat from being swirled away with the torrent, which now rushed from the river, joining the creek and the larger flow of water together and carrying off rafts of straw and wheat, parts of buildings, farm implements and animals.

‘Here, Will,’ Andrew shouted, tying his boat to a tree. I’ll get you all across to Bridge Street. There’s plenty gathered. They’ll see to you.’

‘Oh, Will…I can’t,’ Mary started, even as William was lifting her out of the cart. He pushed through the water which was now nearly knee deep and handed her onto the bridge. ‘I’ll get the children and our bags,’ he called, hardly able to be heard above the din of the thunderous rain. He carried the children from the cart and they huddled against their mother.

Before Mary could protest William had unhitched the horse from his cart, leaving it to be pushed about by the rising water. He climbed back up on the horse. ‘I’ll go along the high ridge and see if there’s any need help, Andrew. You’ll get my family safely over there, won’t you?’

‘No, Will,’ Mary cried, clutching two-year-old Thomas to her chest.

‘Pa, don’t go back. You’ll be drowned.’ Elizabeth was frantic.

‘I’ll get them safe,’ Andrew called as he maneuvered the bridge. ‘But you’d best not be out there too long on a horse. I’ll come back and take the boat out. There’s others out with boats as well. They’ll do the rescuing.’

‘Then I’ll find one with a boat and help,’ William called as he turned the horse and urged it slowly through the water.

Over the next twenty-four hours more than two hundred men, women and children were rescued from the tops of houses and trees where they’d hung for hours, screaming for help, despairing of their lives and expecting any minute to be swept to their deaths. Many had woken that morning with water lapping at the edge of their beds. By nightfall, hardly a building below Green Hills could be seen. The river now resembled a sea, spreading below the high point of Green Hills for as far as anyone could see. Women and children huddled in dry corners of the three-storied building which was the school house and government offices, frantic that their husbands and fathers might be lost in their attempts to help others. They’d already heard the story of the Chalker family who’d tried to escape by a boat which had overturned in the torrent. Only Chalker and his five-year-old boy had survived. There were also stories of miraculous escapes. One settler, his wife and two children were carried nearly seven miles down river from their farm on a barley mower before being picked up by a farmer.

Mary sat through the night in a dark corner, holding Elizabeth and Thomas close to her and silently praying that come morning William would be at their side. She and William had been here often enough for services in the past twelve months. They had prayed, along with most of the other settlers, that God would send the sun and rain in reasonable balance so that they could see their crops full grown. It seemed little enough to ask. Having to endure another destructive deluge was just too hard to understand.

She glanced at Elizabeth, whose eyes were wide with fear. She’d been coming for school lessons and loving it all, becoming more and more confident. Mary despaired that her daughter’s progress would be set back by another trauma. They had even agreed to trust Dan to accompany Elizabeth, though Mary had found it very difficult to let her child out of her sight, especially with a man. But Elizabeth had begged to be allowed and she seemed to be thriving on the experience. She was happy again, the bright cheerful child she had been in her early years. Mary couldn’t argue with that. But what was happening now might undo all the good of the past year and it was more than she could bear. She had glanced outside just before dark, peering through the sheeting rain, seeing nothing but black water lapping at the edges of Bridge Street. She wondered if eventually the river wouldn’t claim them all, dragging them to its murky bottom forever. She was close to hysterical when Joe and Ellen and their six children arrived and only remained calm as she listened to them assuring her that William would make it. They had seen him with Dan and another man in a small vessel, assisting stranded people. They were sure he would not do anything to risk leaving his family without a provider.

‘All well and good to know his intentions,’ Mary cried. ‘But he’s not to know he won’t be next to be pulled under that murky mess and lost to us.’

‘Now, don’t go talking like that,’ Ellen urged. ‘You’ll frighten the children.’

By morning William had returned, exhausted, soaked to the skin and shivering, but with a smile on his face. ‘I’m glad to see you again, lass. And you two as well.’ He hugged his wife and the children. ‘Touch and go a few times, it was,’ he smirked. ‘But thank God we saved most.’

‘I think you enjoyed being out there in the thick of it, William Douglass.’ Mary thumped his dripping arm. ‘An’ me here, worrying myself sick.’

‘I had to try, knowing how many were out there hanging on for dear life.’

‘I know you did, Will, and I love you for it,’ she softened. ‘But you half scare me to death with your determination, you do.’

‘We’re together now. That’s all that matters.’

‘And what now? It’s all gone, isn’t it? The house, the crops?’

‘With everyone else’s, love. Some’s been picked up floating but a lot of the stacks of wheat and barley went ocean-ward, dogs and pigs and chickens on them as well.’

‘What’s to become of us?’

‘Andrew tells me that Samuel Marsden will send word to Parramatta as soon as he can. They’ll have to send help.’

***

Four days later over one hundred labourers from the Public Works at Parramatta and Castle Hill were sent under an overseer, together with twenty-seven volunteer soldiers, with orders from the Governor to give every assistance the Magistrate might direct, in saving as much wheat and maize as possible. Men, women and children worked for days on the flats around the river banks, dragging out what of their belongings could be saved and as the water receded settlers made their way back to their devastated plots to rebuild.

‘Even Governor King’s lost hope, by the sound of it,’ Joe said sadly as they stood on what had so recently been a field of barley they were almost ready to harvest. ‘He’s saying that the likelihood of further flooding around here is such that all of us who want to continue farming should consider moving to the higher, forested lands, like that around Toongabbie, Parramatta, Prospect Hill, Castle Hill or Seven Hills.’

‘He hasn’t been putting his heart and soul into this land for years, though, has he?’

‘Hardly,’ Joe smirked. ‘He’s thinking about what can be grown for the colony. They rely on what they get from places like this.’

‘And they know that many of us will pull ourselves together and start again. And not only that, the land will be all the richer next season for having been flooded. We usually have at least two good seasons between the floods. It’s enough for many of these farmers to give it another go. I’ll be surprised if too many give up.’

‘I hear James Ruse has decided to take his family and head in around Castle Hill. He wants something that’ll be more permanent.’

‘Right, so what are you thinking we’ll do, Will?’ Mary asked, anxious to hear what he’d decide. She looked down on what was once their farm and saw little more than a mud flat. Their hut still stood, but would take a lot of work to clean out. And if they were going to stay then they’d have to do the work quickly before the winter set in or they’d be sleeping under the trees in the freezing cold. Only a mad man would think it was all worth while, she was thinking while she waited for William to answer her.

‘I’m not sure the long term prospects for here are very good, love,’ he started slowly. ‘But if I can get some extra money by working for someone else for a bit while we patch some of this up, then perhaps later we could buy something safer, something we didn’t have to abandon and rebuild every few years.’

‘I see. So you’re saying that we’ll be staying,’ Mary said. ‘And not only are we going to put our farm back together, but you’ll work for someone else from daylight till dark until we’re rich enough to buy a real farm.’ It sounded so outrageous to her that she was almost laughing as she spoke. ‘I think after all that rescuing of people you’re a bit daft in the head. That’s what I think.’

William grinned as he watched Mary’s gestures. ‘I know you’re worried, love. But when it comes down to it you’ll be as determined as me. We can do this together for a while longer. At least until Thomas is old enough to decide if he wants to farm, eh?’

‘I should have given you a son years ago, Will,’ Mary said, rolling her eyes. ‘Then you’d have boys big enough to help you with the farm now. Like Robby and Joey. They’re already old enough to be farming with Joe and Ellen. They’ll be able to rebuild. But surely you can’t keep doing this.’

‘It’s no fault of yours we don’t have an older son, lass. We have to think of our situation, not others. Now you leave me to work out what I can. I’ll do what’s best for us.’

***

William had little trouble finding work with the free settlers who’d built on the ridge above Mulgrave Place. They knew the worth of a man like William. Many of the emancipists had lost heart for work at all and were more of a problem than a help to employ, but Tom Biggers was happy to make a deal with William, and to rent him a small hut to live in while he and Mary fixed up their own place.

‘You give me a few days work a week and this place is yours. It was a hut I had built for some of my employees who’ve given up and gone back to Sydney Cove. And when you’re ready you can rent some of the acreage around the hut. It’s higher than your land. I’m sure some of yours is still worth planting but best you don’t rely on it, eh?’