Corporal Larnach’s Report 29 January 1833

To Sgt. Brickley,

The tracker arrived early this morning along with a local constable. The tracker’s name is Flynn he says. It’s hard to give an age as natives bake themselves under the sun, but if pressed I would say he is a man in his fourth decade. And truly he is baked. I have never seen just a black as the colour of his face. The constable’s duty is as warder to the black fella. His name is Thomas Thompson, and says he also works as a station overseer at Cunningham Farm. He isn’t much older than the privates Stubbs and MacDougall.

It was too late to set off the native’s camp, so we set out to the site the group Mr. Bigge had been clearing with his work crew. The constable suggested we allow Flynn a look at where the work crew and Mr. Bigge had disappeared, and I agreed. The Privates set camp near a fresh water stream while Thomas, Flynn, and meself investigated.

Thomas translated the Flynn’s broken English. Flynn dismounted and moved on foot through the camp and worksite. His yellowed eyes are keen as a hawk I tell you. And something else that caught my attention was he feet broke no ground or reed or grass or fallen twig. He moved without making a disturbance.  

After some time he crouched down, and indicated for us to join him. He started to tell the story that he said the land had just told him, as if the ground and trees spoke whispered it in his ears. They are a strange lot these Blacks.

What follows is my interpretation of what Flynn described and some of my own insights.

The soil here is pale clay, and it holds impressions made upon it with clarity. The flora is particularly hardy, being mostly of clumped grasses with cutting edges. The scrub be not as dense as the area closer to the river south, or off toward the mountains north. The men had been clearing thickets of tree and brush that might trap a sheep. They finished their work, and settled camp, to eat and take a brew. Sometime after setting to sleep a disturbance brought five of them awake and on their feet. Six men did not move at all. I asked what this meant. Flynn simply repeated, “Not move. Never move again.”

 The five men moved back and forth about the camp site. Five men became four men when one of the survivors was struck down. He pointed to the blackened blood on grasses and staining the earth. The men flee in two directions. One man ran to the south toward the river, the others headed west.

We followed both sets of tracks. The man heading south reached the river and his tracks were lost at its banks. The tracks heading west were erratic and soon turned northwest toward the mountains, where in a clearing we found more signs of struggle and blood. Two sets of tracks head further west, running. Again there was no body to be found. The sun going down we abandoned the search to the west for the day and headed back to camp.

It is not beyond reason that the natives have some method to cover their comings and goings. Exactly like Mr. Flynn.

The privates have stewed up a hearty meal for us in camp. We will need it. We confront the natives tomorrow. Perhaps then we will have some answers.

Corp. H Larnach.