Soon the boy were sitting in a purple velvet chair with a cove in a suit and fancy collar attending him yes Sir no Sir Mr Power Sir.
This lad will be wanting a pair of elastic sided boots with Cuban heels.
Very good says the cove taking one of the boy’s dirty aching feet to measure very careful with a tape.
Soon he come back with a brown cardboard box marked ARTHUR QUILLER & SON and when the lid were lifted the boy did not dare believe what he saw nestled in the bed of pure white tissue. The cove placed the box on the floor then went away and while the boy were still wondering what he was meant to do the cove returned with a pair of woollen items.
My darling girl your father never knew what he were looking at for he never wore socks in all his life. He sometimes put grass inside his bluchers it had served him well till now. The cove showed him how to arrange the sock correctly and it were a wonder of a thing just to see it turn the corner at the heel. You must not laugh at him for being so simple.
When the cove offered the elastic sided boots the boy pulled them on his feet still painful but them boots was soft and supple as a lady’s glove. Lord knows what expression he showed but both the bushranger and shopkeeper was grinning at him and the boy begun to laugh out loud.
And there is your father standing 2 in. taller than he had ever been he were particularly happy.
That night Harry sprung for a mighty feed in the dining room at Lardner’s Countryman’s Hotel you never saw the likes. There were a crystal cruet and lumps of sugar in a silver dish the twist in Harry’s bowels was v. bad but I were hungry so he watched me eat roast beef and Yorkshire pudding then pancakes which the waiter set afifre before my eyes. I don’t know what it cost but there were no extra tariff for a bath it were superior even to the Sheltons’ tub in Avenel for you only had to turn a spigot and steaming water poured forth without relent. I soaked until my skin were wrinkly as a prune.
I was woken in the middle of the night Harry were crashing around drunk and when he fell onto his bed I did not mind the snoring. It were my final night as his apprentice tomorrow I would be home again telling my family everything I seen. In the dark I checked beneath the bed to feel the boots and in the morning I wore them very proudly to a breakfast of porridge and kedgeree a bottle of black sauce on every table.
Our horses was fed and watered by a fellow called an OSTLER and when I come out to find the dear old Waler all I had to do were put my new boot into the stirrup it was a crisp clear morning not yet 8 o’clock we rode together out of Wangaratta at the end of habitation there were a sign pointing home to Greta.
Here I bade Harry farewell I were the oldest boy there was work to do at home I told him the Land Act was a b––––r of a thing they would take our land away if we did not comply.
Well I’m a b– – – – r too said Harry Power and you must comply with me.
But you give your hand and word that I could go home.
Very well then give me back them boots.
Very well I pulled the boots off and hurled them on the track then I turned the Waler’s head for home but Harry were very fast for his weight he was suddenly upon the ground holding my horse by the bridle I didnt care just dug my heels into the Waler’s flank but the Waler wouldnt budge he knew who were the master in every way.
This is my horse said Harry Power.
I swung down off the saddle saying I did not need his adjectival horse I would walk home in my socks and if he wished the socks then I’d go barefoot he could not prevent me.
He said he would not advise me to return home as my mother would be angry.
I laughed out loud I said he were a liar but was unsettled to notice something akin to sympathy were showing in his yellow eyes. You come with me he said its what your mater wants and all you got to do is hold the horses.
What you’re saying don’t make sense said I. My ma can’t run that selection by herself the government will take our land off her.
Well your ma has other sources of support it seems.
How do you mean?
He shrugged unhappily and seeing his sadness I knew he meant Bill Frost the boundary rider and then I believed him. I were poleaxed. My father were lost just 2 yr. before and I didnt deserve to lose a mother too not even if I had offended her she should not cast me out.
Harry were holding out the boots to me and in the end what was I to do?
Soon I were following the bushranger down south once more following the King River towards the higher country. There was a crisp refreshing breeze and the sky was pure and blue but I were now a boy without a home my mood lower than the water in the King and all the land around me seemed set to share my feelings. Where forest had been cleared the grass were eaten to the roots the soil beneath a dry grey sand and every time I seen a cockatoo fence or a ringbarked tree or any signs of a selector’s labour then I felt a great grief rise up my windpipe.
We rode all day late that afternoon Harry chose a camping place just off the track it were nothing but a dusty little knoll with scant feed for the horses. He began to make himself a mia mia such as the blackfellows build from saplings and fallen bark but soon lost patience with it kicking it apart so it were left to me to go deep in the bush to peel a great green sheet of stringybark. So were a shelter properly constructed. Next I shot a kangaroo then butchered it and took the ramrod from his carbine threading on the meat fat lean fat lean fat just as my da had taught me. I were very low.
Harry praised the mia mia he said the roasted meat were delicious but in the night he found his bowel were v. badly twisted he went out into the bush I heard him cry every foul word you could imagine thus must the outcast cry in Hell.
There were sheet lightning but no thunder I slept very badly thinking how Bill Frost stole my land. Picaninny dawn were dry and dewless I woke to such a pain of homesickness that I cooked Harry johnnycakes and brung him his billy tea before giving him any particular attention. He had his 3 pistols and carbine laid out on the horse blanket and were measuring gunpowder from a patent flask.
Now look here young Kelly.
As he rammed home the ball and wadding I observed his general shine his beard were washed his eyes were peeled and lively. Now see here we’ll get you a nice gift to take home to your mamma.
I thought he were referring to the remaining kangaroo meat.
Let Bill Frost shoot her an adjectival kangaroo.
Harry lay down his pistol he stood and tied a red handkerchief round his thick neck he said we was about to do something Bill Frost could never do. Jesus boy he said thrusting his pistol in his belt I’ll send you home an effing hero.
You said she don’t want me home no more.
No I never said that.
Not liking to have my feelings played with I asked what my mother really said he pushed me away I shoved him in the chest and faster than the human eye he snatched his hobble belt out from his pants and brought it cracking down around my naked arm.
You want a lashing lad said he begob don’t you never do that again.
I wouldnt let him see how much it hurt.
Now said he you go take off the hobbles and saddle up the horses then you’ll get them packs onto the pony.
The pain was bad it were a considerable effort not to cry I said I would not be his slave but it were a weak rebellion and he knew it. He threaded his belt back into his pants then took a steel comb from his pocket and begun to preen himself. And you’ll effing do it tomorrow said he and the day after that and you’ll be effing proud to do it too you aint some barefoot Irish mutt no more you’re Harry Power’s offsider.
You said she didnt want me home no more.
By the 5 crosses I’ll whip you till you can’t sit down now listen when I talk to you you’ll break up that mia mia and pack the camp then you’ll keep them horses all quiet and steady and watch the show.
I don’t know what show you mean.
Harry didnt reply but I were soon aware of the thundering of hooves from the direction of Whitfield he urgently buckled up his coat thrusting 3 pistols in its belt.
The show is called Dick Turpin said he then strolled down to the track his hair was oiled his grey beard combed and he stood astride the centre of the roadway with his sawn off carbine in his hand he were the very picture of a bushranger.
I listened to a coach labouring up the last of the hill the driver shouting the whip cracking. Just hold them horses Ned cried Harry. A moment later a bright red coach come round the bend my heart were pounding in my chest all my anger suddenly abandoned. Bail up cried the famous Harry Power taking a pistol from his belt and firing it into the air then our packhorse reared and lurched dragging me 1/2 across the clearing towards the road and while I struggled I heard the coach brakes bite in a great screaming noise of steel on wood and my Waler reared and whinnied.
The air was filled with dust and panic. Throw down your gold I’m Harry Power.
I calmed the packhorse and the Waler but my own blood were stirred something awful. Throw down the effing gold cried Harry and I knew we would be rich and were v. happy.
There aint no adjectival gold said a dirt dry voice I peered out through the wattle fronds and seen Hiram Crawford’s gleaming Yankee Coach still rocking on its queasy springs a tall thin stick of colonial driver were staring down through the settling dust.
Harry pointed his one inch muzzleloader directly at the driver’s shirt. I will blow your effing innards out.
But the driver were a Beechworth man named Coady he were one of them fools so frequent in the bush he’d rather die than be impressed by anyone he spat a wad of baccy juice down on the dust. There still won’t be any adjectival gold said he hello mate watch out this fellow thinks he’s Harry Power.
This 2nd remark were addressed to a lone rider who come ambling around the corner from the other direction.
Who might you be demanded Harry of the newcomer.
I’m Woodside from Happy Valley.
Well Squatter Woodside you is being bailed up you will take the bag of gold from this driver here and throw it at my feet.
I told him said the driver there aint no adjectival gold.
I’m Harry Power cried Harry and I say there is.
I don’t care if you’re the Duke of Gloucester said the driver there aint no gold mate and no amount of hollering is going to change that.
Eff you roared Harry firing the muzzleloader by design or accident decapitating a crow which had been innocently loitering by the road. The explosion alarmed my nervous packhorse so severely that it now went plunging out onto the open road with me clinging to the reins scratching my face in the wattle all I could think was I was now marked as a robber a woman inside the coach were staring directly at me.
I persuaded the horse back behind the screen of wattles then cleaned the mess of bloody bird off my new boots and by the time there were an opportunity to assess the progress of the holdup the mailbags was all lying on the road their sides slit open Harry kneeled beside them enquiring of their contents.
You might be better off to try the parcels suggested Mr Woodside his helpful attitude perhaps produced by the fear that his horse might be taken from him. It were a very spirited and well bred beast.
There is only 2 parcels said Coady but thats registered mail in the blue bag I must say the last cove to stick me up was well satisfied with what he found in there.
Give me the parcels.
But they was a disappointment the 1st containing lace and the 2nd an English clock the discovery of which produced a bout of threats and curses against that country and what Harry would do to the English when he had a moment free he must of scared the panties off the passengers for now they begun shouting there was a Chinaman amongst their number this celestial gentleman were pushed out onto the road he stood before Harry Power clasping a carpetbag.
You a miner?
The Chinaman were certainly a miner his physique very close to Power that is v. broad with sturdy legs.
No miner I givee money 10 shillings he dug into a purse and removed some coins he held them up to Harry.
Gold demanded Harry he thrust his empty carbine in his belt then drew a Bowie knife which he opened with his teeth he advanced on the Chinaman with the pistol in his left hand the knife in the right.
The Chinaman were very brave a credit to his race. 10 shillings you take.
Blast your yellow heart cried Harry lunging out with his dagger.
The Chinaman danced deftly away as Harry sliced the carpetbag and lo it were as if it were a bag of wheat or seedpod a great harvest of glass marbles poured forth onto the road there was agates & cat’s eyes & bloodreels & twisters & lemon swirls & tombowlers & glass eyes spilling out and rolling still amongst the dust beneath the horses’ hooves. Of gold no trace.
Bad bad howled the Chinaman I kill you b–––––d but Harry kicked him in the shins and drove him back inside the coach at gunpoint.
There Harry somehow lost his spirit for he never even got the other passengers and once the coach and the squatter was sent on their different ways Harry called me out onto the road to show me all the marbles spread across the hard dry earth.
There you are lad help yourself.
These will make me a hero?
Harry’s hand went to his belt but of course it supported his pistols and he could not easily withdraw it as before.
Just pick up the adjectival marbles he said wearily I did so and that was the moment by the law I made myself a bushranger as well.
I were but 14 1/2 yr. old no razor had yet touched my upper lip but as I cantered after Harry Power my pockets crammed with marbles I were already travelling full tilt towards the man I would become. Harry rode in the old style leaning so far backwards at the jumps that he must of born the mark of the crupper on his spine. For my part I rode with short stirrups standing at a gallop leaning forward when jumping the fallen timber. We was Past & Future we was Innocence & Age riding very hard till Whitfield where we relieved a poor selector of a bucket of oats. All through the middle of the day we pushed the horses up the track to Toombulup we never saw a soul not even at the shanty where Harry had tore the curtains. Here we cut down through the bush into the Wombat Ranges and slowed our pace considerably as the horses was tired and the bush v. dense there was more and more wild ravines the mighty white gums they was saplings when Jesus were a boy. Not until almost dusk did we amble into a shallow valley with a little creek but 18 in. wide and on its banks amongst a field of bracken stood a drear and eyeless hut constructed from thick logs. The crows were cawing and in that mournful light it give me a bad feeling straight away.