The Potato Factory

Chapter Thirty-five

Towards the end of the seventh year of their lives, Tommo and Hawk disappeared on a perfectly calm winter's day somewhere on the slopes of Mount Wellington.

Hobart Town had wakened that morning to find that the first winter snow had fallen and crusted the summit of the great mountain. The day that followed was crisp, with winter sunshine bright and sharp as polished silver.

Mary had spent most of the day at the new Potato Factory buildings where the majority of her beer production was now taking place. The old mill was used increasingly as a bottle shop, managed by Jessamy Hawkins.

It was the daily custom of Tommo and Hawk to accompany Mary to the small cottage at Strickland Falls, which served both as an office and schoolroom, where she supervised their lessons.

However, on the day they disappeared the two boys had begged Mary to allow them to climb to the snowline. She had hesitated at first. It was a three-hour climb and the weather on the mountain had a habit of closing in even on a sunny day. But she had finally yielded to their beseeching, and at ten o'clock they took some bread and cheese and escaped their lessons to explore the snow at the summit before the warm sunshine should melt it.

Mary had cautioned them to be careful and to come home immediately wherever they were if the weather turned, and no later than an hour before sunset. Tommo and Hawk were as agile as mountain goats and had explored the mountain with Mary since they were toddlers. Furthermore, there was a log hut at the summit should the weather close in, and it contained a plentiful supply of wood left by the woodcutters who worked the slopes.

Despite the warm day it was always cold at the summit, and Mary had insisted they wear their opossum jackets which, though considered most unfashionable by the third raters, were much utilised by rural folk, shepherds, sealers, kangaroo hunters and woodcutters who worked the wilderness country. Mary had purchased these wonderfully soft and warm garments for the boys, and she kept them at the Potato Factory at Strickland Falls precisely because of the unpredictable moods of the mountain.

At four-thirty in the afternoon, an hour before sunset, like all mothers, Mary's ears were tuned for the homecoming calls of the two boys, although her expectation was pointless, because the roar of the falls would drown out the sounds of their approach. But they knew her routine, and her need to be back at the mill before the bells of St David's tolled for evensong.

Mary smiled to herself at the thought of the journey home with the two boys. It was the happiest part of the day for her, as she had them all to herself. She loved the walk through the woods and, as they approached the town, the smell of wood smoke and the sweep of the hazy hills across the great silver river spread below.

Tommo and Hawk would be scratched from crawling through brambles and so covered with dirt they might well need to be bathed even though it was not their tub night. Tommo would be running ahead and turning back and taking her hand, words tumbling out in fierce competition with Hawk to tell her of their grand adventure as they'd played in the first of the winter snow. Hawk would be carrying her basket, hopping and skipping beside her with his head full of serious questions or explanations of the things he'd seen.

They would arrive back at the old mill just as the working people of Hobart Town started to arrive to buy their beer to take home. It was a busy hour and Mary would help Jessamy with the customers until half past seven o'clock. Soon after, Ikey would arrive and Mary would make supper for them all. Then, when Ikey retired to work on the books, she would read to the boys. They seldom remained awake much beyond nine o'clock, when she locked up and washed her face and arms and retired to bed herself, but not before making Ikey a large mug of strong tea which he liked to take with milk and six teaspoons of caster sugar.

Though Mary worked exceedingly hard, she revelled in the calm of an ordered and uneventful life, and her ambition was in no way curtailed by the need to care for her boys. In fact they gave her a sense of purpose beyond the need to prove herself worthy in her own eyes, and on her own terms.

Even though Mr Emmett had been right and she had been socially ostracised because of her dark-skinned son, Mary had never been concerned about social acceptance. During her earlier life, when she had been known as Egyptian Mary, she had witnessed sufficient of the behaviour of the male members of the first raters not to wish to adopt their affectations and manners, and she did not expect people of the tradesmen class would be any better.

Indeed, Mary's fights with the wealthy beer barons and spirit distillers of Hobart Town had been possible because she knew these rich and important men for what they were, and had not been cowed by their bullying. Moreover, her opinion of these pompous tyrants' wives, formed during her days as a chambermaid, was not greatly in advance of what she thought of their husbands.

Though she loved and respected Mr Emmett, Mary did not covet his lifestyle nor wish to be included in his milieu as a first rater, even if such a lofty ascent had been possible. She saw him for what he was, a rare example of a kind and compassionate human being who was independent of any class, and she hoped one day to emulate his example.

But for now Mary devoted herself to Tommo and Hawk. She was certain that her luck in this new land had a purpose, that she would create a foundation stone upon which her sons could build and that something worthwhile and wonderful would emerge. In her imagination Mary could clearly see the little brewery she would create in its perfect woodland setting, an inseparable part of her magic mountain. While she was not by nature capable of so pompous a thought, the Potato Factory would be her monument to the ability of the human spirit to survive and prosper against all odds.

Mary thought lovingly of her two boys and smiled to herself. She now possessed a destiny, a continuity in her new land. Tommo X Solomon and Hawk X Solomon would be the source of her second generation.

Mary chuckled to herself as she always did when she thought of the X in the boy's names. When Ikey had appeared somewhat sheepishly at the government offices and declared himself to be the father of Tommo and Hawk, he had registered his so-called offspring with an additional single X common to both names. The clerk who had presided over the registration had evinced not the slightest interest in enquiring what the X stood for, and had written out a certificate of birth exactly as Ikey had indicated.

Later, when Mary had demanded to know what the X stood for, Ikey shrugged his shoulders. 'It has to be there, it be a proper part o' their names, my dear, a grand initial, an ancient Hebrew sign,' he lied. In fact, the initial X was simply Ikey's mind working in its usual convoluted way. He told himself it represented the X which Svensen of the Sturmvogel had tattooed through the name Tomahawk on Sperm Whale Sally's breast to cancel the rights of the Merryweather. The additional justification was that he'd split the name Tomahawk in half to give each boy his name, but their names could be re-combined with the X to make a whole. Thus, Tommo X Hawk = Tomahawk-Twins. But in reality their names had simply been conjured up that first morning when he'd presented them in the basket to Mary and the X was just a feeble joke he'd thought of on the spur of the moment when he had gone to register the birth of the two boys.

However, Mary deduced her own explanation for the singular initial. She, who was so very good at the business of numbers, concluded that the X is used as the unknown in mathematics, and that Tommo and Hawk were her two unknown factors. The letter X in calculations could be made to represent any number, and it was her duty to see that what it represented in her two sons was the sum of the very best she could do to make them men of whom she could be rightfully proud.

Mary smiled as she packed her basket in preparation for the boys' return. Then she bid the workmen goodnight, put on her warm coat, locked the cottage and walked over to the small bridge just below the falls, which she knew Tommo and Hawk must cross as they returned from the mountain.

Mary Abacus waited on the bridge and watched the water as it churned white at her feet. The thundering falls sent a fine mist into the air which created a rainbow in the late afternoon sunlight, and Mary could not imagine a more perfect moment. She was not to know that the magic mountain she loved so much had just swallowed up her precious children.

When the boys had not arrived by five o'clock she walked back to the office and found a lantern which had a good wick, and was well filled with the whale oil. Then she looked about and found half a loaf of bread, the remainder of the cheese she had given the boys and four apples. These she replaced in her basket together with several bandages and a bottle of iodine which she always kept on the premises. Then she took a small axe which hung behind the cottage door and this too she pushed, head first, into the basket. It was almost dark by the time Mary crossed the little bridge again, and set off along the path leading higher up the mountain.

There was only one path to the summit, though many hundreds of paths led from all over the mountain before converging on this main track, which was a forty-minute climb from the top. Mary determined that she would walk until the path which led from Strickland Falls intersected several others, a steady half-hour's walk up the mountain. The boys might have taken any of a dozen paths to arrive at this point, but she knew they must eventually turn into the one she now took for the journey home.

The trees became more dense as she climbed, and not more than twenty minutes after she had left it grew completely dark under the forest canopy. Mary stopped to light the lantern and then proceeded onwards. She had begun to call out, her voice echoing through the trees as she called their names.

Mary finally reached the intersection. It was getting cold so she gathered wood, a difficult task even with the help of the lantern, but she persisted until she had a large pile. She kept herself warm chopping the wood, stopping every minute or so to call out again. Finally she lit a fire and settled down to wait, hoping that if Tommo and Hawk were anywhere near they might smell the smoke or see the fire.

Though the night was cold it remained clear and no wind beyond the usual breeze stirred the tops of the trees. Mary told herself that this might not be the case at the summit, and Tommo and Hawk might have been caught in a change of weather and taken refuge in the hut. They were young, but it was unlikely they would do anything foolish. If the summit was suddenly to mist over they would know to stay put until morning. But in her heart Mary was terrified. She imagined a rock slide set in motion by the weight of the snow. She saw them venturing to the edge of a bluff, perhaps the mighty organ pipes, and the snow giving way and sending them crashing downwards nearly a thousand feet. She imagined any of a dozen incidents and all of them became vivid and concluded in her mind.

After two hours Mary knew that she would have to come down. Once again she lit the lantern, which she had put out to save the oil during her vigil by the fire. Wherever Tommo and Hawk were they could not descend in the dark, and she knew that no search party would set out to find them until first light. Mary set off down the path again and arrived at Strickland Falls nearly an hour later. She was scratched about and bleeding, for travelling a bush path at night is harrowing and her descent had been perilous. She had fallen on several occasions, though fortunately she had not lost the lantern. It took her another forty minutes to get back to the mill where Ikey and Jessamy were waiting, both of them terribly anxious. They'd already been up to Strickland Falls, and found it locked and had themselves not long been home.

Ikey had never seen Mary cry, but now she sat at the kitchen table and wept as she slowly spilled out the story. She blamed herself for letting the boys go, though Jessamy reminded her that they had roamed the slopes since they were four years old and the mountain was, in every sense, their own backyard.

At midnight Ikey left Jessamy asleep in an old armchair and Mary seated at the kitchen table with her head in her arms. Although she was tired and distraught almost beyond thinking, the ever-practical Mary had devised a rescue plan. She would make her appearance at Peter Degraves' saw mills at seven o'clock the following morning, when the timber cutters set off to work the slopes. But first she would call at the Degraves home and ask him for permission to pay his men a day's salary to send up a search party for Tommo and Hawk. They would set off from Strickland Falls so that if the children had spent the night safely in the hut on the summit they would be met along the path, not more than an hour and a half after first light. At this point the search would be over and the men, already on the mountain, could return to their work.

Mary was not foolish enough to suppose that this permission would be easily granted, for while her past employer was by the standards of the time a good man, he was tough and she knew he would expect her to pay for the value of the timber not produced while his men carried out the search. The loss of Tommo and Hawk would not be seen by him as a matter of great importance. Mary was of course, perfectly willing to meet his demands. The cost of a day's work of a hundred timber cutters would exhaust her available liquid resources, and possibly put her in debt to the brewer, but she cared not in the least about this.

Having resolved what to do at first light, she fell into a fitful sleep at the kitchen table only to be wakened an hour before dawn by Ikey.

'Come, my dear, I have brought help!' he said, shaking her gently by the shoulder.

Gathered in the street outside the Potato Factory were more than a hundred people. A more motley collection of the hopeless and forlorn would have been difficult to find anywhere in the South Seas. None among them would ever voluntarily have put one foot on the lowest slopes of the great mountain.

They were the drunks and whores, gamblers, pimps, touts, publicans' cellarmen, barmaids, whalemen and jack tars as well as other assorted human scrapings from the Hobart waterfront. Ann Gower, now the owner of a waterfront bawdy house, had taken a donkey cart and loaded herself upon it together with a large tea urn, so that she, too, might help.

Mary took one look at the crowd and knew Ikey must have finally gone senile. Though she perceived a handful of jack tars young enough to be useful, if the vast majority of this scraggy lot set foot upon the mountain, even on a cloudless summer day, few would return with every limb intact or even their lives, and most would be incapable of reaching the first tree line.

'Whatever has possessed you, Ikey Solomon?' Mary cried.

'My dear, I had thought to find some stout lads who might be persuaded to take on the search, but it is a great compliment to you that many felt that they should themselves come!'

After the initial shock, the sight of Ikey's caring volunteers lifted Mary's courage enormously. She thanked them for their generosity of spirit, but pointed out that the mountain was a dangerous and foreign place for most of them, and that they would more easily lose their own lives than help to find Tommo and Hawk.

She told them of her plan to use the timber cutters who worked the mountain slopes for Mr Peter Degraves' saw mills. If he should lend his support as she hoped he might, the mountain would be extensively searched before the day was out.

In fact, Mary knew that the mountain could not be thoroughly searched in a week or a month, and if Tommo and Hawk had fallen down a precipice they might never be found.

'You have shown me a great honour,' Mary concluded, 'and I am most touched by your concern. I thank you from the bottom of me heart.'

People among the assembly shouted their encouragement and started to disperse when Ann Gower stood up in the cart. 'Oi!' she shouted, waving her arms to indicate that they should gather around. The crowd soon assembled about her, and waited for her to speak. 'You all knows who I is, and if ya don't, why not?' she bawled out. There was a ripple of laughter and she waited for it to die down. 'But Mary Abacus some 'ere knows only fer the decent beer she sells, but also knows 'er as a good woman. But she be more'n that, and I should know! Mary Abacus be the salt o' the earth, no better woman may be found on this island nor any ovver place I knows of!' Ann Gower paused and looked around her. 'Now we knows 'er brats what's lost ain't 'ers born, and we knows 'ow they come about. But that don't make no difference and even that one be black, that don't matter neiver! What do matter is that she loves 'em, and if we can't 'elp to find 'em because we not the sort to take to mountain climbin', we can pass the 'at around to pay for a few stout lads what knows the mountain and can make a search!'

She opened her handbag and took out ten shillings. 'Two shillin' be a good wage for a day for a timber cutter, so I now pays for five o' the buggers. Who's next?' Ann Gower pointed to Bridget from the Whale Fishery. 'Bridget O'Sullivan take orf ya bonnet and use it as an 'at, there's plenty 'ere what's mean as cat's piss, but they'll 'ave trouble denyin' a pretty girl like you!'

Very soon Bridget had collected a total of three pounds and sevenpence from the crowd. Ann Gower gave it to Mary, who knew well enough not to protest. It was a gesture of respect, and she accepted it for the generosity of spirit it represented.

Mary looked at the crowd with tears in her eyes. 'Thank you all,' she said simply. Turning to Ann Gower she smiled. 'You're a good woman, Ann Gower!'

Ann Gower drew back and looked askance at Mary. 'Don't ya go ruinin' me repitashin, Mary Abacus. I be a real bad woman, but a bloody good whore and ya knows it!' She turned to the crowd. 'C'mon, folks, it be sun-up soon, time to go 'ome to bed!'

Peter Degraves agreed readily to Mary's request but put only sixteen of his men to search the mountain, sensibly pointing out that the boys would only have covered a small section of the mountain to reach the summit and that sixteen men could cover this thoroughly. He accepted that she should pay them their daily wage though he did not ask her for compensation for the two days of sawmill profits he would lose because the men were taken away from their work.

'I'll write it off to good labour relations,' he laughed, Mary's earlier labour reforms at the Cascade Brewery had been maintained, and Degraves knew that he had been repaid a thousand times over by the loyalty and the honesty of the men who worked for him.

After two days the men had thoroughly searched the mountain and had not found the slightest sign of the two boys. Further searching was not practical. The mountain might hide their bodies for years if they had fallen down some deep ravine, but because it was assumed that Tommo and Hawk would have been in the area facing Hobart Town and near the top of the mountain, this was where the search was focused. Eventually Mary conceded that nothing more could be done, though she personally spent the next two weeks alone on the mountain still desperately searching for her children.

Once she found a trap set for wood pigeon typical of the kind the boys might make, and on a thornberry bush adjacent to it she discovered a tiny tuft of opossum fur. Her heart started to beat furiously. After two days of calling out the boys' names her voice had ceased to function, and now she searched grimly and silently, entering small ravines and squeezing through rock formations terrified that at any moment she might come across the broken bodies of her sons. She was badly cut and scratched about and when she returned at night her clothes were often ripped to shreds. She ate little and her eyes became sunken, and her anguished silence made people begin to think she had gone mad.

Ikey and Jessamy Hawkins tried to comfort her, though they, too, were distraught, and the men who worked at the Potato Factory walked about in silent concern when she appeared.

It was during these two weeks on the mountain that Mary slowly became convinced that Tommo and Hawk had been abducted. At first she told herself this notion was absurd. Who would do such a thing and for what purpose? There could be no possible value in the kidnapping of two small boys. The beer barons and spirit manufacturers who had cause to dislike her were a possible explanation but, she knew, a poor one. They would not damage their own reputation with the public by so gratuitous a revenge. Wild men? This seemed more likely but, if so, they would by now have demanded a ransom.

Yet the feeling persisted and by the end of the fortnight, without any logical reason, other than that the bodies of Tommo and Hawk had not been found, Mary was certain that they had been abducted. She stopped searching and started to evolve a plan.

For some months Mary had been working on a new ale. She had tested it on a number of her customers, who found it most pleasing to the palate. Mary now had acceptance of her bottled beer throughout the colony, and she was also shipping it to the new village of Melbourne on the mainland. She now decided to call her new beer Tomahawk. Upon the label she placed two arms, a black and a white, gripped in the manner of arm wrestling and directly under the inverted 'V made by the two arms was a picture of the head of a Red Indian chief. Around the perimeter of the oval-shaped label were the words: * Pale Ale * The Potato Factory * prop. Miss Mary Abacus *

Directly under the Indian chief's head appeared the words: Fifty Pounds Reward! and under this the injunction: (see back). At the back of the bottle Mary placed a second label in the shape of a glass. It contained a crude sketch of two small boys, one black and the other white and the following words in the shape of a wine glass.

KIDNAPPING!!

FIFTY POUNDS REWARD!

For information leading to the recovery of the two boys answering to the names of Tommo amp; Hawk Solomon and who are identified in person by Miss Mary Abacus, or Mr Ikey Solomon as same.

Tommo be small with blue eyes and fair hair. Hawk be black of skin and Negro appearance. Both be 7 years old.

NO QUESTIONS BE ASKED OF PERSONS ASSISTING IN RECOVERY!

Mary hoped that one of two things might happen. That someone might have seen Hawk, a black boy and therefore a curious sight, in the company of Tommo, a white one. Or that the kidnappers might attempt to claim the reward. It was, after all, a fortune, three times the yearly salary of a labourer or farm worker, and would also prove a tremendous incentive to a bounty hunter.

It did not take long for the disappearance of Tommo and Hawk to be known throughout the entire colony, and it was shortly afterwards that Ikey received a letter from his son David in New Norfolk asking him if he would come to the river town on a matter of extreme urgency. Ikey was glad of the excuse to go. Hannah had not contacted him in more than a year, and she had forbidden him to visit her. Her de facto George Madden had greatly prospered in the barley and hops business and Ikey, who was more and more conscious of his mortality, was terrified that she was prepared to wait until he was dead, whereupon she could claim the entire contents of the safe in Whitechapel and eventually find a way to open it.

David had been in contact with Ikey on two previous occasions. At other times he had sent Ann and then, on the last occasion, young Sarah was despatched to visit him with the excuse that they cared greatly about his welfare and wished to see him cared for. Sarah, who had little recollection of Ikey's perfidious nature, decided to remain with him and now shared the cottage in Elizabeth Street. This suited Ikey very well. His daughter made no demands on him, and she washed, cooked, and generally looked after his domestic affairs.

On each of his visits, David appeared to be warm and friendly and acted as though their stormy past had been entirely forgiven. There was much talk of blood being thicker than water, and the suggestion that an eventual reconciliation seemed quite possible with Hannah. It was obvious to Ikey that the boy had a good business head on his shoulders and had learned well the duplicity of effective persuasion.

However, he had soon enough perceived the motive behind the visits of his son and two daughters. David had by now been in the employ of George Madden for some years and there was talk of a partnership. Not long after she had arrived, Sarah let slip that the offer was far from generous, and was inspired by a great deal of nagging from Hannah. Apparently George Madden didn't wish to share with her son any part of his burgeoning empire, but wanted to keep peace with the formidable Hannah, so he had made the partnership offer on the proviso that four thousand pounds was paid. It was more than someone of David's means could ever possibly hope to raise, though it was still a fair offer for a partnership in such a prosperous business enterprise.

Ikey felt certain the urgent request that he should visit New Norfolk was attached to the matter of the White-chapel safe, so he was much encouraged by David's note. That Hannah's avaricious hand would be in it somewhere he had no doubt.

Ikey was met by David at the New Norfolk wharf and taken to his lodgings, a small cottage which he occupied with Ann. She was at her place of work but had cooked a mutton stew and left fresh curds for Ikey's supper, the supposition being that he would not take the afternoon ferry but would stay overnight.

David offered Ikey brandy but he asked instead for tea. Since the death of Sperm Whale Sally he no longer drank at all and his preferred drink in the taverns at night was ginger beer.

David was dressed in a good suit of clothes such as might have been worn by any young man of prospects in a solid community such as New Norfolk. Predictably he misjudged Ikey by the fact that the coat Mary had bought for him eight years before was now ragged, and that his yellow pigskin boots, much soled and patched on the uppers, were well past their prime. David, while attempting to impress Ikey, had acquired the imperious tone of the successful grain merchant, and now spoke in a somewhat patronising manner to his father.

'The mater has put the affairs o' the family in my hands and it is time we talked,' he said to Ikey after he had placed a mug of tea before him.

'Oh yes, is your mother not well then?' Ikey asked, for he knew Hannah would never give over the reins to any of their sons unless she was on her death bed.

'In the very best o' health and much mellowed,' David said. Not waiting for a response, he continued, 'As I says, she has left things to me to clear up.'

'Things? What be these things, then?' Ikey asked. 'Well, I knows about the Whitechapel safe at home and I think we should resolve the matter, don't you?'

Ikey looked curiously across at his son. He had grown into a good-looking man, though already he was putting on weight, and the gold watch chain he wore looped over a pronounced paunch. 'Does you all know?' Ikey asked. 'No, only my mother and I, and o' course Moses and John in New South Wales.'

'Good, then your mother will agree to give me her half of the number and I shall arrange to have it opened and she shall have her share fifty-fifty, as was the original agreement!'

Ikey had long since come to the conclusion that he would give Hannah her half share. He now intended to remain in Van Diemen's Land, though not because he thought it a better place. He knew himself to be a broken man and he was forbidden to return to England. Should he move to another country, he would not have the energy to start again, or even to become accustomed to the life of a rich man in retirement.

While far from rich, he was no longer poor and life in Van Diemen's Land had taken a not disagreeable turn for him. He had grown happily accustomed to the presence of Tommo and Hawk as well as Mary in his life, and the disappearance of the two boys had both deeply shocked and saddened him. But he could never agree to receiving only one-eighth part of the Whitechapel fortune, as Hannah had proposed, nor could he bring himself to trust her with his part of the combination.

There was a prolonged silence between the two men and then David finally cleared his throat. 'It be less than sensible to trust someone what's not a part o' the family, father. You have three sons, Moses and John in New South Wales and myself here. We are all business men and can be entrusted to do the task in a most sensible manner and at the same time get the most agreeable price in London for the merchandise.'

'Ha! Sensible for you will not, I daresay, turn out sensible for me, that I'll voucher!' Ikey said indignantly. 'Seven parts to you and one to me, that's what your mother thinks be sensible?' Ikey pointed to the gold chain draped across David's paunch. 'How much you pay for that fob?'

David looked down. 'Four pounds,' he replied, running his fingers along the chain.

'Ha! It not be worth a penny over two,' Ikey said. 'Sensible, is it? Negotiate a fair price, will you? Your lot wouldn't know a brass pisspot from the bloody holy grail, you wouldn't!'

'The holy what?' David asked.

'Nevermind, it ain't kosher anyway. Yes, fifty-fifty, but you gives me your half o' the combination or we ain't got no agreement, and that's telling you flat, my dear!' Ikey looked up into his son's face, expecting him to be intimidated.

Instead David smiled and said calmly, 'We can wait. You'll die soon, Ikey Solomon, but if you wants the money in your lifetime it's still only one-eighth to you and we gets your combination.'

At the mention of his death Ikey felt his innards tighten and then relax, and he thought, 'Oh Gawd, I'm gunna shit meself!' But he showed no outward sign of the dismay and was relieved when he felt his sphincter close and his bowels return to normal. 'Ha! I've smoked you, boy! I'll not die soon enough for you to buy the partnership you wants so badly with George Madden!'

David Solomon flushed, his face turning a deep crimson. He walked over to a drawer in the kitchen dresser and from it took a small package and handed it to Ikey.

'Open it, if you please!' David demanded.

The package was wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, the twine in a bow so that it came undone at a single tug. Ikey folded back the paper to find a second wrapping, this one composed of a scrap of white cloth. Ikey unfolded the cloth slowly, then gasped in horror and fainted dead away.

He recovered moments later to find David standing behind him shaking his shoulders vigorously. When he perceived Ikey to have come around he grabbed his ears and held his head tightly, so that he was forced to look directly in front of him and at the package which lay open on the table.

'That be your precious black child's forefinger!' David said. He released Ikey and came around to face him again. 'We got them both, Hawk and Tommo Solomon!' He had lost all pretence at politeness and shook his head and then spat on the floor. 'Jesus! How could you call them by our family name?'

Ikey looked directly down into his lap to avoid the sight of Hawk's severed finger. He was trembling violently and trying with little success to regain his composure. Ikey had seen much worse in his lifetime and there was no blood, the finger having long since been cut off. But the thought of it being Hawk's finger had shocked him more deeply than he could ever have imagined.

David took the parcel and in a most matter-of-fact manner rewrapped it and tied the string, then placed it back in front of Ikey. 'You have two days to give me your half o' the combination, Ikey Solomon, then we sends the second finger to Mary Abacus with a single instruction, a note what says 'Ask Ikey about this'. If we don't hear from you in two more days, well, we'll send a third finger with the same note, then a fourth and then we'll start with a little white finger to match the black ones, does you get my drift, father?' David sneered.

'Mary knows nothing o' the safe and the numbers!' Ikey said at last, recovering his courage. 'But be warned, she has powerful friends in the government, she'll go directly to them and you'll be apprehended!'

David laughed. 'The whole bloody island knows about the kidnapped brats and the fifty pounds reward from the back o' her beer bottles. That were very clever, that was! But the finger could've come from anybody, we'll deny it come from us! The authorities well knows o' the quarrels between us. They'll not believe you, thinking it's spite. But you'll have to tell Mary what you knows,' David grinned, 'and you won't do that, will you, Ikey Solomon?' He took his watch from his pocket and clicked it open. 'It be half past three o'clock. The ferry for Hobart Town leaves at four o'clock.' David Solomon paused. 'Or perhaps you'd like to stay the night. Ann made you a mutton stew. Give us your answer in the morning?'

Ikey, shaking his head, rose from the table. 'I'll not be staying,' he said quietly, then he looked up at his son. 'I been a villain in my day. But I didn't do no harm what led to bloodshed, and them I stole from could always afford a little loss. I ain't saying what I done was right, but I've served my punishment and what's in that safe in England I've earned. Not one-eighth, but half and much more!' Ikey paused. 'But half will do, the other half be your mother's and she can share it any way she likes. But you didn't earn it, and let me tell you something for nothing, my boy! As for my name, the black Solomon and his brother make me proud of it for the first time in my life!'

David Solomon now shook with anger. 'What does ya mean, I hasn't earned it? You, ya bastard, you betrayed our mother so she were sent 'ere and Ann, Sarah, Mark and me, we were put in the bloody orphanage! We earned that money orright! Every fuckin' penny, ya miserable sod!' He stepped up to Ikey and tapped him on the chest. 'Two days, or ya gets the bloody boy what you're so fuckin' proud o' givin' yer name sent to Mary Abacus bit by fuckin' bit, and the white brat follows soon after!' David stepped back, the whites of his eyes showing, his hands now balled into a fist. He was breathing heavily and Ikey felt he was about to strike him, but for once he was not afraid.

Ikey shook his head. 'This was your mother's idea, wasn't it? It's not just the money, it be her revenge on Mary Abacus too, ain't that it?'

'She has a good right to it!' David said, dropping his hands to his side. 'That bitch tried to steal her husband and the affection o' her children!' He cleared his throat. 'You got two days, Ikey Solomon.' He picked the tiny parcel up and handed it to Ikey. 'Show this to your whore!' he shouted.

On the ferry home Ikey's mind was a whirl. David was right, he would not go to the authorities. With his record of family quarrels and vendettas they would never believe him and, besides, two urchins going missing was an everyday occurrence and hardly worth investigating. The mutilation he knew they would take more seriously, but it looked typically like the work of some desperate escaped convict or wild man, or even a sealer or kangaroo shooter who had heard about the reward. Moreover, it was a black hand. While they would not say so, Ikey knew they would attach much less importance to it than if it were white.

Having Hawk's finger in one of the pockets of his coat saddened Ikey most terribly. He could see Hawk's hands dancing in the air as he worked the silent language, his little black fingers so elegant and expressive. The thought that Hawk's dancing hands might soon be bloody stumps was almost more than he could bear. Yet Ikey could not bring himself to tell Mary of the money in the Whitechapel safe. He knew he must attempt to save the lives of Tommo and Hawk, but he was also convinced he would never see a penny of the money it had taken him a lifetime to earn if he gave Hannah his half of the combination. Ikey tried to convince himself that Mary would recover from the loss of her children. Even if she should never talk to him again, he was comfortable enough and sufficiently independent. 'Life goes on,' he repeated to himself several times. 'They were not really her children,' he told himself, though he knew Mary loved Tommo and Hawk as well as if they had been born her own. He, too, was greatly fond of the boys, but Ikey's entire life had been a matter of his own survival and the first rule was not to mourn the past but to move on. He refused, out of a lifetime of habit, to agonise over the matter. Although he might never bring himself to say so, Ikey knew himself to love Mary, but he saw no purpose in telling her about the safe in Whitechapel. He would need to invent something else to explain the package he carried. By the time the ferry had arrived back in Hobart Town, Ikey had cobbled together quite a different story.

The ferry had caught the outgoing tide on the lower reaches of the Derwent River and the trip back had taken slightly over two hours. It was just after half past six in the evening when Mary, helping Jessamy serve customers, saw Ikey arrive and motioned urgently for her to meet him at the rear of the mill.

She was already in the kitchen waiting, wiping her hands on her apron, when Ikey entered the doorway. It had been a month and two days since Tommo and Hawk disappeared. Mary ate almost nothing and was silent most of the time, talking only when she was required to do so and working until late into the night. The new Tomahawk beer had thankfully kept them all very busy, or they might not have been able to bear the thought of Mary's sorrow.

'What is it, Ikey?'

Ikey looked at Mary. 'Sit down, my dear.'

Mary saw the concern on his face. 'What is it?' she asked again and then pulled out a chair and sat down. 'It's bad, isn't it?'

Ikey nodded and drew himself up a chair, then told Mary the story of his visit to New Norfolk.

'So there it is, my dear, you get the boys back by signing the deeds to the Potato Factory over to David Solomon.'

Mary remained silent for almost a minute, then she looked up at Ikey, a terrible weariness showing in her beautiful green eyes. She nodded slowly and Ikey knew she would give up anything for her two boys. 'He were never a good lad, that David. Bright but of a mean spirit,' Mary said quietly, then she was silent again before adding a small voice, 'Show me.'

Ikey recoiled, his head jerking back. 'No, my dear, it will distress you!'

Mary looked up at him, her expression suddenly fierce. 'Show me! I want to see it for meself!'

Ikey removed the small parcel from the interior of his coat and placed it on the table in front of her. Mary's hands trembled as she picked at the bow and then removed the brown paper wrapping. Silent tears ran down her cheeks as she unfolded the grubby, white cloth so that she could barely see the finger. She started to weep, then to wail, choking at the same time, her head averted from the small dark object.

Ikey quickly rose from his chair to stand behind her and place his hands on her shoulders. 'Oh dear, oh dear! Oh my! Oh dear!' he babbled. He could think of nothing to say to comfort Mary.

After a while Mary reached into the pocket of her apron for a piece of rag, and wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Ikey reached over her to take up the parcel, but she saw his action and pushed his hand away. 'Leave it!' she commanded.

'But, my dear… '

Ikey stopped mid-sentence, for there was a surprised gasp from Mary and then she began to laugh, though in a hysterical manner, pointing at the finger.

'What is it, my dear?' Ikey cried, alarmed.

But Mary's hysterical laughter continued and finally Ikey slapped her hard. She stopped and looked at him wild-eyed. 'It's not Hawk's finger!' she cried, then wept again.

'What do you mean?' Ikey cried out. He repeated himself several times, 'What do you mean? What do you mean?' before Mary stopped crying. Now she took deep gulps of air to calm herself.

'Whatever can you mean?' Ikey repeated urgently.

'It be the right forefinger,' she said, pointing to the object before her. 'Hawk had a long scar down that finger where I cut and sucked it when he had the snake bite. A long, clean scar, not to be missed!'

Ikey remembered the incident well. 'Are you sure it be the right and not the left?' he said.

'Left were once broken in a fight, it mended a wee bit crooked,' Mary said emphatically. She glanced at the finger on the table and gave a small shudder. 'Besides, that finger be too small, much too small, that be the finger of an Aboriginal child!'

'You mean this be a scam?' Ikey cried in amazement. 'They's seen the beer label and cooked it all up!' Ikey whistled to himself. 'Jesus, I never thought that whore Hannah had that much imagination!'

Mary looked at Ikey and then said fiercely, 'That finger still come from a little brat! That be wicked and cruel enough beyond imagining.' She paused and pointed at Ikey. 'They could have taken the Potato Factory, they could have had the bloody lot, if only it would o' brought back me boys!' She burst into tears again and then shouted, 'Ikey, I swear, I dunno how and I dunno where, but Hannah's going to pay for this!'