Daniel woke early, using the faint light in the purple predawn sky to keep from tripping as he found his musket and made his way from his partially constructed house. Walls and a section of roof were the extent of the shelter, but it was enough to keep him mostly dry during the spring rainfall. He estimated the house would be complete in a few weeks—or at least watertight.
As he walked down the path toward the forest, past the bark shelters of his workers and the wooden shack Bill had built for his family, he placed his feet carefully, trying to be silent. In just a few hours, the camp would be a flurry of activity, and he wanted the others to sleep as long as they could. Winnie would wake soon and move into the kitchen building to bake bread.
He smiled as he thought of the small family. Bill and Winnie Hawkins were hard workers, and not a day passed when he didn’t think how much easier they made his life. Winnie prepared marvelous meals with the primitive rations and facilities. Bill had directed the planting in the fields and prepared a schedule for the sheep tenders, instructing them in duties Daniel did not even know existed. He could not have begun to manage his farm without the man’s expertise.
And Trudy. He felt a tug on his heart as he thought of the little girl with her wispy blonde hair and rosy cheeks. She was pure joy. When she saw him, she always called, “Mr. Burt!” and ran to embrace him as if he were her dearest friend. Her laughter brought smiles to the faces of even the most surly workers.
The atmosphere of the camp had altered as soon as Trudy and Winnie had arrived. Their feminine influence changed the mood of the group. He would never underestimate the effect of a woman’s presence. The workers were well behaved and courteous now, whereas before they’d been rough men, cursing and brawling at every opportunity. They all took particular care to keep Trudy safe, checking for hourglass spiders and venomous snakes where she played.
Seeing Trudy fall asleep in her father’s arms after supper warmed Daniel’s heart, and any uncertainties he’d had about bringing the family to his property vanished. They loved one another, needed one another, and knowing he’d been the means of keeping them together eased a bit of guilt for his misdeeds. As he worked each day, his mind had begun to develop a theory. Perhaps by improving the lives of others, he might begin to alleviate some of his remorse. Maybe helping those in need was a path to self-forgiveness.
His stomach growled, and he turned toward the forest. He’d purchased essentials at the dry goods store in town, but they were basic: flour, sugar, rum, salted pork. Physical labor had begun taking a toll on his men, and he noticed some had become lethargic. If his workers were to maintain their strength, they needed meat. And with the equipment and additional horses he’d had to purchase, he couldn’t afford to slaughter one of his sheep.
He stepped into the darker shadows beneath the leafy canopy, his mind still deep in thought as he planned his strategy. Hunting in Australia couldn’t be much different from shooting pheasants on the duke’s park. Same basic principles, he figured. He hoped to find a kangaroo or another large mammal, but fowl would be welcome as well. Listening to hear where the larger birds might be roosting, he kept his gaze on the canopy above him, So when he rounded a tree trunk and came face to face with a man, he jerked back, and his heart raced. The man’s skin was dark—nearly black—and Daniel had almost collided with him in the shadows.
The aboriginal man’s eyes grew wide, and Daniel realized he had been startled as well. He took a step back, hefting a long, pointed spear. In his other hand, he gripped a thick wooden wedge, bent at an angle. Both weapons looked equally capable of killing a person.
“Wait.” Daniel held up a hand, realizing the man was staring at his musket. “Listen, I’ve no intention of hurting you.” He bent down slowly, set the gun on the ground, then raised his hands, palms forward. “I’m just looking for food. Sorry to have surprised you.” He was shaking.
The man pointed his wedge-shaped weapon toward the gun and grunted, a noise that sounded like a mixture of a question and a threat.
“For hunting food.” Daniel touched his fingertips to his mouth. “I’m hungry.”
The aborigine man stared at him for a long moment, his spear cocked back, the tip aimed directly at Daniel’s chest.
Daniel’s heart pounded so forcefully he thought it might give out before the spear had a chance to pierce it. His fingers itched to grab the musket, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to lift it and fire before the man skewered him. He’d seen a few of the dark-skinned natives in Sydney and been told they weren’t allowed to carry weapons, but Bill had warned him that the aborigines in the mountains distrusted white men. Was this man a member of one of the fierce tribes?
They stared at each other across the dimly lit space with only the sound of their breathing and the buzz of insects intruding on the silence. Finally, the man lowered his weapon.
Daniel’s shoulders sagged in relief.
The man touched his fingertips to his mouth. “Bada?”
“That’s right, food.” Daniel repeated the motion. He placed a hand on his chest and tried to look as nonthreatening as possible and keep the trembling out of his voice. “My name is Daniel.”
“Dan-ya?”
“Yes. Daniel.” He patted his chest for emphasis.
“Charrah.” The man placed a hand on his own chest.
“Pleased to meet you, Charrah.” Daniel held out his hand to shake, then wondered if it was the appropriate action. Hopefully the man had had interactions with white settlers and knew the offer of a handshake was not a threat.
Charrah took his hand, holding firmly as he looked into Daniel’s face. Daniel felt as if he were being sized up.
“Dan-ya.” He pointed to the musket, then pointed forward with the wedge-shaped tool. He said something and made a motion for Daniel to follow.
Daniel clutched his gun, walking behind and looking over his shoulder to see if they were alone. Charrah showed immense trust, turning his back on a stranger with a weapon. The idea that there might be more people hiding out of sight made Daniel uneasy. But if they were there, he had to trust that they wouldn’t hurt him. And his best chance was remaining on good terms with Charrah.
Charrah walked on bare feet over the forest floor, making no sound. Daniel thought each of his own steps sounded like cannon blasts in the quiet. He tried walking on his toes but still cracked sticks and rustled leaves. A few times Charrah glanced back, shaking his head.
When they emerged into a clearing, Daniel realized the sun was close to rising. He could see his companion clearly. Charrah was bare except for an apron of animal skins tied around his hips. He was perhaps a few inches shorter than Daniel, well built, with lean muscle and an intelligent face. Although his teeth looked healthy, he was missing a front tooth, leaving a dark gap in the row of white. Clay was smeared over his chest, legs, and arms, and dried to a gray powder. Daniel wondered if it was to keep away mosquitoes or perhaps protect his skin from the sun’s rays. A mass of black wiry curls spread from his head and followed his cheek line down to his chin.
His appearance reminded Daniel a little of the African slaves sold at the Exchange Building in Charleston. The color of Charrah’s skin was the same, but that is where the resemblance ended. He stood tall and unafraid. In the eyes of the slaves headed to tobacco and cotton plantations, Daniel had seen defeat and confusion. And fear.
Charrah seemed to be studying Daniel as well. He wondered what the man saw. Could he tell Daniel was uncertain? That he had no idea how to survive in this land, how to manage a farm? Could he see that Daniel was not the man he pretended to be?
He shifted his weight under the man’s scrutiny.
Charrah pointed toward the trees directly above them. “Weerambi.”
Daniel looked up, squinting as he tried to make sense of the dark masses on the thin upper branches. Most were moving. They looked like large birds but sat on the branches strangely. One opened its wings, and he realized they were hanging upside down. Not birds at all, then. Enormous bats, the size of large rabbits.
Charrah spoke, waving toward the bats.
Daniel lifted his musket, aiming upward, but Charrah rattled off a string of words, waving hands in a gesture for Daniel to stop.
He lowered the gun.
Charrah showed Daniel the wooden tool. Up close, he could see it was smooth, bent at an angle with tapered edges. The flat sides were painted with black and white designs. Charrah pulled back his arm, flicked his wrist, and threw the weapon. It spun upward end over end, making a whirring noise before it hit one of the bats with a thump. The animal fell to the earth.
“Weerambi.” Charrah grinned and ran to fetch his weapon and the carcass. When he returned, he held the wedge of wood to Daniel. “Bou-mar-rang.”
Daniel took the bou-mar-rang, hefted it to check the weight, and threw it upward. It flew nearly as high as the bats. Then dropped.
Daniel grimaced, scratching his throat. Using the tool was more difficult than he’d assumed.
Charrah gave a flat look that was recognizable in any language then ran forward, picking up the weapon and returning. He lifted Daniel’s hand, putting the bou-mar-rang’s long side against his palm, nodding to make sure Daniel understood that this was the proper way to hold it. Charrah bent his wrist quickly, motioning for his student to mimic the movement.
Daniel obeyed.
Charrah said more words, standing with his left side toward the trees and indicating for Daniel to copy his stance. He pulled back his right arm then inspected Daniel’s position, showing him how to move his arm forward, elbow first, then at the last moment flick his wrist as he released the weapon.
Daniel practiced his form a few times until Charrah nodded for him to throw. He flung the bou-mar-rang into the trees. The flick of his wrist sent it whirling end over end, until it smacked into a bat, dropping the animal from the branch.
“Weerambi.” Charrah lifted the animal and brought it to Daniel with a grin. He spoke another string of words in an excited voice, motioning to Daniel and nodding.
Daniel couldn’t help but smile at the man’s praise, even though he could not understand a word of it. He was reminded of a fencing instructor in Charleston, an equally cheerful man who took pleasure in seeing his students perform a well-executed maneuver.
Daniel and Charrah took turns throwing the bou-mar-rang, which Daniel now understood was not just a strangely shaped wedge of wood but an instrument crafted with precise balance. He realized if he had shot at the bats with his gun, the report of the musket would have frightened the animals away, but this silent weapon worked perfectly. How much could he learn from people who had survived on this land before the British ever arrived? Charrah would be a valuable friend to have.
Once they’d each killed four bats, Daniel followed his friend’s example and lifted the animals by the feet. Carrying them along with his heavy musket was a bit tricky, and he wished he’d thought to bring a bag or some string to make it easier.
The two walked back through the thicker forest, and Daniel felt a swelling in his chest. He was immensely grateful to Charrah. He’d never have thought of shooting bats or even looking for them. If he’d managed to stumble upon them and recognize them for what they were, he’d have been lucky to hit one with a musket ball before the others flew away. He felt the familiar unease of owing a favor, wishing he knew how to repay the man.
Charrah stepped into a space between the trees, stopping suddenly. He tipped his head to the side as if listening then turned to Daniel. He rattled off a string of words, his brows drawing together in a way that looked as if he were worried. He glanced over his shoulder then back to Daniel. His gaze dropped to the gun.
Daniel felt a spike of fear. Were they in danger? He dropped the bats and lifted the musket in both hands.
The motion seemed to alarm Charrah. He pushed the gun down, his eyes wide, and he spoke quickly in a soft voice. He rubbed a spot over his brow in a nervous gesture. “Magura,” he said.
“Magura?” Daniel shook his head, not understanding his companion’s behavior. “I’m sorry I don’t—”
“Magura.” Charrah said the word slowly, then dropped the bats and made a waving motion with one hand. He pointed toward Daniel’s farm then wiggled his hand again. “Magura.” He touched his fingers to his mouth. “Ngununy.” Then pointed again toward the farm.
“Fish?” Daniel said. “You want fish?” He copied the man’s gestures.
Charrah nodded. A bit of the tension left his face.
“Of course.” Daniel nodded then pointed in the direction of the pond. “Magura. You are welcome to fish all you like.”
Charrah looked relieved. He glanced back at the forest and grimaced.
Daniel was still trying to make sense of his friend’s strange behavior as he bent down and picked up the bats. When he straightened and lifted his gaze, he took an involuntary step back.
A ring of dark-skinned people surrounded them, brandishing spears.
Daniel’s insides froze. How had they all approached without him hearing?
Charrah stepped in front of Daniel and spoke rapidly to the group. Daniel heard his name in the torrent of words.
A man with wild gray hair, a thick beard, and a fierce scar on his face spoke in a low voice. He pointed at Daniel’s gun and scowled. The others muttered.
Daniel felt his pulse racing. His muscles were clenched so tightly it was painful. His gaze darted around the group of aborigines. He counted twelve men with sharp spears pointing directly at him. Others—men, women, and children—stood behind them. Some looked frightened, some angry. Daniel’s mind churned frantically, but he knew escape was impossible.
Charrah continued speaking. He turned to Daniel and made a downward motion with his hand. His expression clearly told him not to try anything foolhardy.
Daniel set down his weapon. He realized his chance of survival depended on the man’s ability to convince these people that he meant them no harm. He wished he had any idea of what Charrah was saying. From his motions, he appeared to be describing their hunt. He continued speaking, pointing toward the pond. The others glanced in that direction. In Charrah’s flood of indecipherable noises, Daniel recognized the word magura. Fish. The older man’s scowl softened, and his face grew thoughtful instead of angry.
Charrah was apparently telling the people that they could fish on the pond. Daniel’s tension relieved a slight bit. Charrah was a smart man. A brilliant negotiator.
The man who appeared to be the leader gave a grunt and spoke a word in a bark. The others lowered their spears.
Daniel let out a trembling breath. He couldn’t help but admire Charrah’s foresight in finding an advantage when he knew his people were approaching. By making a deal, he had demonstrated that an alliance was beneficial to both parties. Daniel felt a chill when he thought he could have very well come upon them on his own this morning. Without Charrah’s intervention, he would have surely been killed.
Charrah motioned for Daniel to join him. “Obing,” he said, indicating the older man.
Daniel held out his hand, which he was proud to note wasn’t shaking. “A pleasure to meet you, Obing. My name is Daniel.”
Charrah gave another flat look that Daniel interpreted as, You know he can’t understand you, so just keep it simple. He put a hand on Daniel’s shoulder. “Dan-ya.”
Obing took Daniel’s hand. His dark eyes peered from a weathered face, furrowed with wrinkles. “Dan-ya,” he said in his low voice. Obing’s expression did not change. He dipped his chin the slightest bit then released Daniel’s hand.
Daniel thought the man would not be convinced of his peaceful intent with words alone, not when he was carrying a gun in their homeland. He made a note to speak to the men at his camp, instruct them to behave civilly to the native aborigines, not only for their own survival but for Charrah’s sake. The man had taken a risk befriending Daniel, and he could not let that trust result in harm to his new friend’s people.
The others gathered around. Most stood silently, while others spoke in low voices. One man fiddled with the buttons on Daniel’s jacket. Another kicked his boot with a bare toe.
“Dan-ya.”
He turned when Charrah spoke his name and saw that a woman stood beside his friend. She held an infant in her arms.
Charrah touched her shoulder, and she stepped forward. She lifted her gaze with a shy smile.
“Kiturra,” Charrah said.
Daniel didn’t need a translation to understand who this woman was to Charrah. The soft way he said her name and the expression of pride as he looked at the baby said more than any language could. Daniel felt a pang of something very close to jealousy, but it was overtaken by happiness for his friend. “Hello, Kiturra.” He gave a bow, which elicited strange looks from the other members of the group.
Charrah cocked a brow in a look of good-natured tolerance at the white man’s strange ways.
Daniel smiled sheepishly. He was starting to become accustomed to the man’s dry sense of humor and found that he was pleased to have a friend. Even if their communication was limited. He liked Charrah and wished he had more to offer in thanks than a pond full of boney fish.
Obing said something, and the others turned to go. A few lifted their hands in farewell, but most just disappeared into the trees. Seconds later, only Charrah and Daniel remained in the clearing.
Charrah picked up the musket and handed it to Daniel. He carried two of Daniel’s bats. The others must have taken his away. They walked silently until they reached the edge of the forest.
Charrah handed him the bats and turned as if to leave.
“Wait.” Daniel wished he could say anything his friend would understand. He owed a huge debt, not only for his life but for the hunting lesson as well. “Thank you, Charrah.”
Charrah’s squint indicated his puzzlement at the words.
Daniel set the animals and weapon down. He took Charrah’s hand and clasped his shoulder, looking directly into the man’s face. “I owe you my thanks. And I will find a way to repay you.”
The man seemed to understand the sincerity of Daniel’s words. His own expression became solemn, and he placed a hand on Daniel’s shoulder.
Without words, the men made a pledge to one another. The moment was witnessed by only the two of them, but Daniel knew they both felt the significance of their promise. Charrah had proven in only a few hours to be a loyal friend, and Daniel vowed to himself that he would never break the man’s trust.