Castle Hill Rebellion by Chrissie Michaels

Author:Chrissie Michaels
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: JUVENILE FICTION / Historical / General
ISBN: 9781743833377
Publisher: Scholastic Australia
Published: 2019-05-13T16:00:00+00:00

Later

This week has turned into my blackest ever. Worse than when I lost sight of my mammy. Worse than when I was thieving for Old Mullins. Worse than when I was nabbed and transported. This week I have shamed myself in front of everyone.

After the turn overwhelmed me, Croppy John saw me safely back to my hut. I begged him not to tell anyone. All he said was, ‘Then stop putting yourself in such a bad way. Pull yourself together.’

As I am writing this, a stark truth strikes me. Croppies have a way of keeping you loyal. They bind you to them. For one, by threat. For another, by oath. Sharing their battle stories and scars. Croppy John does not care. He’s after me to show some backbone.

I keep telling myself things will take a turn for the better. But I am only pretending. Ill-fortune is swinging my way.

Tuesday, February 28th in the year of 1804

‘Get a move on will you!’

The sow I was struggling with this morning had a ring through her snout. After all that has happened of late, when all I wished to do was stay out of sight and tend my sheep, I was stuck tugging and pushing this unwilling critter along the road to Castle Hill. Farmers from all around were coming to settle their debts, using sows as currency. The prison farm’s superintendent was in charge of collecting them.

I was fierce angry. And I could say the same thing about this hairy pink lump I was having to deliver. The pig did not even belong to our farm. Paymaster Cox had rented out my labour to a neighbouring farmer, which was not allowed by law, but everyone always turned a blind eye and did it anyway.

Aye, I might know sheep, but I confess I know little about the nature of pigs. Half the trouble was this sow’s size. She was too big for me to handle alone. She stood unmoving across the road, refusing to budge.

I tugged hard on the rope, trying to drag the sow forward.

Snort. Grunt.

As I lashed out with a string of curses, I heard the wheels of a cart rattle up behind me. I turned to find the glaring face of the Holts’ surrey driver, the back of his work cart bulging with a stinking sow from Paymaster Cox’s estate.

Joshua’s father, General Holt, was turning his horse in a circle at the fuss my delay was causing. His tricorn hat shone in the sunshine. ‘You, boy, what’s the hold-up?’ he called out.

He was waiting for an answer from me. The notion made me stutter. ‘S-S ... Sow’s at a ... st-standstill ... s-sir!’

Then, at the pig, I snarled, ‘You’re holding up General Holt. Turn around or I’ll slice you into bacon rind!’ This was not an idle threat. I had a good mind to do so. Turning sows into bacon was against the law and a punishable offence, as Governor King had his eye on multiplying the pig stock, but right now I was willing to risk a twenty pound fine and an increase in my sentence.

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