On the Mighty Murray
Thursday 22 September
Raff was looking ahead upriver, leaning on the shovel after clearing the small hillock of Bluey’s calling cards from the deck.
‘In some places the water’s down, so travel will be slow. I expect better levels upstream, closer we get to Cobram,’ Captain MacHenry said. ‘For how long, I don’t know.’
MacHenry was a skilful navigator, but there’d been times Raff wasn’t sure how he did it. He glided around huge snags or slipped past the odd barge, loaded with logs from the Barmah Forest and floating downriver waiting for a tow. Taking tight bends, the Sweet Georgie held her own.
Nearly three days travel already had so far tested Raff’s patience, and his self-restraint. Evie crowded his thoughts, and other areas of him. He made sure to find plenty to do, and thank God there wasn’t long to go now.
Joe O’Grady, an older Irish fella, was also on board. He’d been with the MacHenrys for years and ministered to the boiler and the engine and, on occasion, had charge of the wheel. He’d taken a shine to Bluey, said his love of horses ran deep, that Mr MacHenry had a fine stallion at home and had started a stable of the horse’s progeny. He’d take time to converse here and there with Evie when he was on a breather from chores, Raff noticed. She seemed her happy self, and sometimes laughter ensued.
Mrs MacHenry and Evie enjoyed one another’s company so there’d hardly been a chance to talk to Evie privately. The four children were enough of a distraction, filling the days with laughter and mischief. Will and Tom were twins, eight years old, full of beans, and already deft hands when required. Then Miss Layla, six and a half she’d told him, the image of her mother with coal-black hair and a cheeky grin, and Jessica the toddler, chubby, fun and into all things, especially Evie’s hat, which had come off second best.
The river didn’t tolerate the careless. Whenever the little girls were on deck, their mother had each on a harness, tethered to her with a lead. The boys were constantly warned about shenanigans and Mrs MacHenry—Georgina—was sharp if there were any transgressions. Raff had grabbed one of them by the seat of his pants before the lad had gone overboard, swearing not to tell his fierce mother as he swung the bawling, scared lad back to safety. Raff wasn’t sure he’d enjoy being at the end of Mrs MacHenry’s wrath, either.
One night at dinner, the children fed and already abed, the MacHenrys, Joe, Evie and Raff were partaking of their meal in the cramped galley.
‘I love my kids, but I so look forward to the peace and quiet once they’re asleep,’ Mr MacHenry had said.
‘Is this journey a holiday for you all?’ Evie had asked Mrs MacHenry.
Mrs MacHenry had laid down her cutlery and taken up her glass of wine. ‘It’s probably the last trip on the river for us for some time.’
The captain had then taken up the conversation. ‘We have our farm downriver of Swan Hill. The crops are struggling, so we’ve embarked upon the beginnings of a horse stud, and I’m hopeful of some success.’ He pushed his plate away and leaned back. ‘Trade on the river is in decline—drought, and the railways coming through—the writing is on the wall. It’s the end of freight-carrying paddle-steamers. We’ll wind down the riverboat operation. So, as this might well be the Sweet Georgie’s last trip, with minimal freight, we took the opportunity to have the family on board together.’ He smiled at his wife then, warmth in his eyes. ‘There’ll be hard days ahead on the farm. Family means everything to us, so this will make some happy memories to take forward.’
Mrs MacHenry reached over and squeezed his hand. The affection between them struck Raff. How easy it was, how genuine. He let his gaze drift towards Evie. She had her eyes on their hosts as well, then caught his look and shied away, taking a sip of wine.
‘Me,’ Joe piped up. ‘I love the bairns, rowdy, curious. Full of life.’
‘You’re herding them away from the rails all day,’ Mr MacHenry said.
‘They’re not a problem now, they’ve worked it out over time,’ Joe answered. ‘It’s just a pity the wee lads won’t get to learn their father’s riverboat trade.’
‘It’ll be a different trade they learn,’ Mr MacHenry said and lifted his glass in salute to the man. ‘From me, and from you.’
That night, after Evie had departed for her cabin, Raff had just thrown out his swag on deck when Joe wandered from his bunkroom. He carried a jug and two pannikins.
‘Warm night,’ he said. ‘Moon’s up, means I won’t sleep for ages. Thought you might like to share a tot.’ The light on the river glowed in a ribbon over the narrow ripple of the tide.
‘Glad to,’ Raff replied.
Joe poured the rum, handed a cup to Raff and then sat cross-legged on the boards of the deck, his back against the base wall of the wheelhouse. ‘Bluey’s takin’ to river travel, I see.’
Raff lowered himself to the swag. ‘He’s a good horse. I can take him anywhere.’ He lifted his cup at Joe then took a sip. It was good rum. ‘So where’s home, Joe?’
‘Swan Hill now, with the family.’
‘Family?’
‘Ah, I meant the MacHenrys, on their run. I missed the chance for me own.’ He shrugged a little. ‘I adopted the MacHenrys, or t’other way around. No matter. They’re me family now, and I couldna think of a better one.’ He exhaled heavily. Maybe Joe had taken more than a tot or two before he’d found Raff on deck.
Silence drifted a while.
‘Been with them for long?’ Raff asked.
‘Aye. Worked with Mr MacHenry’s pa, old Tom, for years and years, on and off, when he could afford to have me. The lad, Dane here, was off making his fortune in Sydney when the old place fell on hard times. Tom got killed, so Dane came home to the farm, and with money in his pocket. He made it good again, much as he could with the drought an’ all. He got himself a wife and then the bairns came.’ His voice drifted. Joe was in a reflective mood, loosened up by rum no doubt, and maybe by memories from long ago.
Quiet descended again. The night was still, not even a breeze rustled the leaves on the old gums that towered over their mooring.
‘She seems a nice lass, your girl,’ Joe said, musing.
Raff was glad of the dim light. ‘Miss Emerson’s not my girl.’
‘Oh.’ Joe said after a beat in time. ‘My mistake, is it?’
‘Mmh.’
Bluey nickered, took a slurp from his water bucket, gave a derisive blurt.
Bloody horse was almost human.
Joe took a drink from his cup and poured another. He offered the jug to Raff who took a splash. ‘Coulda sworn I’ve been seein’ somethin’ between ye.’ Then he groaned as he stretched out his legs. ‘Gettin’ old.’ He got comfortable. ‘Shows how outta touch I am then. Sorry, lad, should be mindin’ me own business. Glorious nights like this one can do a man in; a bit to drink and he’s thinkin’ he sees it everywhere, that thing he never claimed for himself. I miss ’er, you know, even still. Me girl, Maeve. Long before me time with the MacHenrys.’ He held up his empty cup to peer at it. ‘Sweet mother Mary, nothin’ like a maudlin drunk Irishman.’
Raff ducked his chin, swirled the liquid in his cup and then took another swig.
‘I’ll say this, though, an’ then I’ll shut me trap,’ Joe said. ‘I seen what I seen between you and the lass, even if ye canna see it yeself. Don’t be like me, don’t let a good one get away on ye, lad. It’ll haunt ye the rest of yer days.’
‘Mmh,’ Raff repeated. Joe sounded like his old man. ‘I’m only escorting her to find her sister. We’re friends, and I’ll look out for her. That’s all.’
‘All right, lad, whatever you say,’ Joe said. He poured himself another tipple and held the jug towards Raff. ‘Another tot?’
One more, and Raff was done. It was getting late; the moon had risen over the trees. The night remained calm except for maybe the sound of a kangaroo bounding on the bank.
Joe slumped on his side to the deck and his snores rumbled softly, belying what he’d said earlier about not getting to sleep. Raff drained his cup, and lay down, hands behind his head. Don’t let a good one get away.
Easier said.
By the next morning, after dawn to dusk travel so far, MacHenry said that they should make Cobram the day after around midday. Raff worked with Joe in the boiler room or loaded more firewood with him from the stacks on the bank. Had put his back to it, glad for something to do. He’d helped save some time, MacHenry told him, so the journey would be a little shorter than expected, all being well.
Late afternoon and Mrs MacHenry was teaching a few lessons for the three older children, the youngest girl was asleep. Mr MacHenry and Joe were in the wheelhouse. This was a good time to talk to Evie. At others, children would interrupt, or adults were around, conversation shared. Mealtimes were communal. Mrs MacHenry hardly enjoyed cooking, and Evie agreed with her, but the meals were hearty, and Joe, certainly, liked his feed of fresh fish that he and the boys caught. The evenings were especially rowdy until after dinner, but then Evie would disappear to her cabin. And he wouldn’t follow to talk to her there; he dared not.
Now at last, she was by herself on the bench seat under the only shade on the boat, a canvas sail used for the sole purpose of protection from the weather. He could speak to her now. Outdoors. For anyone to see. All above board.