Free To Chase the Storm: The Frontier Series 4 by Peter Watt Page B

for a couple of days food and accommodation. It was a gamble, but he was the son of two tough pioneers who had fought overwhelming odds most of their lives, and he was not going to take a step backwards.
    Matthew rose to his feet, shook off the dust of Queensland, and headed in the direction of the Brisbane River wharfs where the coastal steamers could be found. He was going south to Sydney.

EIGHT
    A rthur first noticed the young man as he lingered long after Arthur had completed filming the Sunday crowds strolling in the Domain. The amateur orators were surrounded by clusters of hecklers and supporters as they stood on their soap boxes to deliver their tirades against the devil, papists, the idea of federation and any other subject that was bound to arouse passions on a balmy spring afternoon.
    The magnificent view from the Domain gardens took in the harbour below so some of the people attending just simply sat on the grass and enjoyed the afternoon. The orator attracting the most hecklers was a tall, gaunt man speaking out against the colony’s involvement in a war across the sea, a war, he declared, that had nothing to do with Australian interests. His Irish accent was distinct, and the hecklerswere kept in check by a group of tough-looking men who supported the speaker’s views.
    But the gaze of the tall, broad-shouldered young man with the tousled hair had remained on Arthur alone as he ground away at the cranking handle of his camera. Dressed in the clothes of a working man and his face tanned by the sun, he seemed to have no interest in the colourful characters delivering their sermons and tirades. Assisted by Ralph, Arthur began to pack the cumbersome camera. He has an intelligent look about him, Arthur mused as he returned his camera to its polished wooden case.
    It was then that the young man approached and spoke. ‘I’ve read about cameras that take moving pictures. How do they work?’
    Arthur was mildly taken aback by his educated accent despite his shabby working clothes of a labourer.
    ‘You are interested in cameras then?’
    The young man smiled sheepishly, confirming his youth. Somewhere between fifteen and twenty, Arthur guessed.
    ‘I’ve never seen one before. Only read about them.’
    ‘You want to be a camera operator then?’
    ‘Not really. I’ve come to Sydney to sign up for the war in South Africa,’ Matthew said politely. ‘But the camera and how it works interests me.’
    ‘Better to learn how to use a camera than a Lee Metford rifle, young man,’ Arthur replied. ‘The people we shoot with a camera stay alive. I know what I am talking about.’
    ‘You don’t believe we should be fighting for the Queen?’ Matthew asked without rancour.

    Arthur ceased his packing and turned to stare at him. ‘How old are you?’
    ‘Eighteen,’ Matthew lied, his eyes fixed on those of the older man. ‘My name is Matthew Duffy, sir,’ he said, offering his hand.
    Arthur took it and felt the firm grip.
    ‘I am Arthur Thorncroft, formerly of the New South Wales Contingent that once sailed for the Sudan to fight the Queen’s enemies. I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Duffy. It seems you share your family name with a very dear friend of mine.’
    At this Matthew involuntarily started a little, but he knew the man’s words were mere coincidence. There were many in the colonies with the surname of Duffy. ‘I thought that with your experience serving the Queen you would have been all for us fighting the Boer, Mr Thorncroft,’ he said.
    ‘Time – and a bit of wisdom that comes with age – makes one more questioning of crusades. But please don’t misunderstand me. I applaud the courage of the boys who sailed from here not two weeks ago. Their intentions are honourable and their courage unquestioned. It is just the wisdom of committing so many fine young men to fight a people with so much in common with ourselves that I question.’
    ‘I still intend to sign on. I have heard New South