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diff --git a/old/1231-h/1231-h.htm b/old/1231-h/1231-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..499b7c6 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1231-h/1231-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6085 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + On the Track, by Henry Lawson + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of On the Track, by Henry Lawson + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: On the Track + +Author: Henry Lawson + +Release Date: August 26, 2008 [EBook #1231] +Last Updated: March 9, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ON THE TRACK *** + + + + +Produced by Alan R. Light, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + ON THE TRACK + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + by Henry Lawson + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h4> + Author of “While the Billy Boils”, and “When the World was Wide” + </h4> + <p> + <br /> <br /> [Note on text: Italicized words or phrases are CAPITALISED.<br /> + Some obvious errors have been corrected after being confirmed.] <br /> + <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + Preface + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Of the stories in this volume many have already appeared + in (various periodicals), while several now appear in print + for the first time. + + H. L. + Sydney, March 17th, 1900. +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PREF"> Preface </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>ON THE TRACK</b> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> The Songs They used to Sing </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> A Vision of Sandy Blight </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> Andy Page's Rival </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> The Iron-Bark Chip </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> “Middleton's Peter” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> The Mystery of Dave Regan </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> Mitchell on Matrimony </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> Mitchell on Women </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> No Place for a Woman </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> Mitchell's Jobs </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> Bill, the Ventriloquial Rooster </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> Bush Cats </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> Meeting Old Mates </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> Two Larrikins </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> Mr. Smellingscheck </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> “A Rough Shed” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> Payable Gold </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> An Oversight of Steelman's </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> How Steelman told his Story </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> About the author </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + ON THE TRACK + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Songs They used to Sing + </h2> + <p> + On the diggings up to twenty odd years ago—and as far back as I can + remember—on Lambing Flat, the Pipe Clays, Gulgong, Home Rule, and so + through the roaring list; in bark huts, tents, public-houses, sly grog + shanties, and—well, the most glorious voice of all belonged to a bad + girl. We were only children and didn't know why she was bad, but we + weren't allowed to play near or go near the hut she lived in, and we were + trained to believe firmly that something awful would happen to us if we + stayed to answer a word, and didn't run away as fast as our legs could + carry us, if she attempted to speak to us. We had before us the dread + example of one urchin, who got an awful hiding and went on bread and water + for twenty-four hours for allowing her to kiss him and give him lollies. + She didn't look bad—she looked to us like a grand and beautiful + lady-girl—but we got instilled into us the idea that she was an + awful bad woman, something more terrible even than a drunken man, and one + whose presence was to be feared and fled from. There were two other girls + in the hut with her, also a pretty little girl, who called her “Auntie”, + and with whom we were not allowed to play—for they were all bad; + which puzzled us as much as child-minds can be puzzled. We couldn't make + out how everybody in one house could be bad. We used to wonder why these + bad people weren't hunted away or put in gaol if they were so bad. And + another thing puzzled us. Slipping out after dark, when the bad girls + happened to be singing in their house, we'd sometimes run against men + hanging round the hut by ones and twos and threes, listening. They seemed + mysterious. They were mostly good men, and we concluded they were + listening and watching the bad women's house to see that they didn't kill + anyone, or steal and run away with any bad little boys—ourselves, + for instance—who ran out after dark; which, as we were informed, + those bad people were always on the lookout for a chance to do. + </p> + <p> + We were told in after years that old Peter McKenzie (a respectable, + married, hard-working digger) would sometimes steal up opposite the bad + door in the dark, and throw in money done up in a piece of paper, and + listen round until the bad girl had sung the “Bonnie Hills of Scotland” + two or three times. Then he'd go and get drunk, and stay drunk two or + three days at a time. And his wife caught him throwing the money in one + night, and there was a terrible row, and she left him; and people always + said it was all a mistake. But we couldn't see the mistake then. + </p> + <p> + But I can hear that girl's voice through the night, twenty years ago: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Oh! the bloomin' heath, and the pale blue bell, + In my bonnet then I wore; + And memory knows no brighter theme + Than those happy days of yore. + Scotland! Land of chief and song! + Oh, what charms to thee belong! +</pre> + <p> + And I am old enough to understand why poor Peter McKenzie—who was + married to a Saxon, and a Tartar—went and got drunk when the bad + girl sang “The Bonnie Hills of Scotland.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + His anxious eye might look in vain + For some loved form it knew! + + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + And yet another thing puzzled us greatly at the time. Next door to the bad + girl's house there lived a very respectable family—a family of good + girls with whom we were allowed to play, and from whom we got lollies + (those hard old red-and-white “fish lollies” that grocers sent home with + parcels of groceries and receipted bills). Now one washing day, they being + as glad to get rid of us at home as we were to get out, we went over to + the good house and found no one at home except the grown-up daughter, who + used to sing for us, and read “Robinson Crusoe” of nights, “out loud”, and + give us more lollies than any of the rest—and with whom we were + passionately in love, notwithstanding the fact that she was engaged to a + “grown-up man”—(we reckoned he'd be dead and out of the way by the + time we were old enough to marry her). She was washing. She had carried + the stool and tub over against the stick fence which separated her house + from the bad house; and, to our astonishment and dismay, the bad girl had + brought HER tub over against her side of the fence. They stood and worked + with their shoulders to the fence between them, and heads bent down close + to it. The bad girl would sing a few words, and the good girl after her, + over and over again. They sang very low, we thought. Presently the good + grown-up girl turned her head and caught sight of us. She jumped, and her + face went flaming red; she laid hold of the stool and carried it, tub and + all, away from that fence in a hurry. And the bad grown-up girl took her + tub back to her house. The good grown-up girl made us promise never to + tell what we saw—that she'd been talking to a bad girl—else + she would never, never marry us. + </p> + <p> + She told me, in after years, when she'd grown up to be a grandmother, that + the bad girl was surreptitiously teaching her to sing “Madeline” that day. + </p> + <p> + I remember a dreadful story of a digger who went and shot himself one + night after hearing that bad girl sing. We thought then what a frightfully + bad woman she must be. The incident terrified us; and thereafter we kept + carefully and fearfully out of reach of her voice, lest we should go and + do what the digger did. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + I have a dreamy recollection of a circus on Gulgong in the roaring days, + more than twenty years ago, and a woman (to my child-fancy a being from + another world) standing in the middle of the ring, singing: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Out in the cold world—out in the street— + Asking a penny from each one I meet; + Cheerless I wander about all the day, + Wearing my young life in sorrow away! +</pre> + <p> + That last line haunted me for many years. I remember being frightened by + women sobbing (and one or two great grown-up diggers also) that night in + that circus. + </p> + <p> + “Father, Dear Father, Come Home with Me Now”, was a sacred song then, not + a peg for vulgar parodies and more vulgar “business” for fourth-rate + clowns and corner-men. Then there was “The Prairie Flower”. “Out on the + Prairie, in an Early Day”—I can hear the digger's wife yet: she was + the prettiest girl on the field. They married on the sly and crept into + camp after dark; but the diggers got wind of it and rolled up with + gold-dishes, shovels, &c., &c., and gave them a real good + tinkettling in the old-fashioned style, and a nugget or two to start + housekeeping on. She had a very sweet voice. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Fair as a lily, joyous and free, + Light of the prairie home was she. +</pre> + <p> + She's a “granny” now, no doubt—or dead. + </p> + <p> + And I remember a poor, brutally ill-used little wife, wearing a black eye + mostly, and singing “Love Amongst the Roses” at her work. And they sang + the “Blue Tail Fly”, and all the first and best coon songs—in the + days when old John Brown sank a duffer on the hill. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + The great bark kitchen of Granny Mathews' “Redclay Inn”. A fresh back-log + thrown behind the fire, which lights the room fitfully. Company settled + down to pipes, subdued yarning, and reverie. + </p> + <p> + Flash Jack—red sash, cabbage-tree hat on back of head with nothing + in it, glossy black curls bunched up in front of brim. Flash Jack + volunteers, without invitation, preparation, or warning, and through his + nose: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Hoh!— + There was a wild kerlonial youth, + John Dowlin was his name! + He bountied on his parients, + Who lived in Castlemaine! +</pre> + <p> + and so on to— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + He took a pistol from his breast + And waved that lit—tle toy— +</pre> + <p> + “Little toy” with an enthusiastic flourish and great unction on Flash + Jack's part— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I'll fight, but I won't surrender!” said + The wild Kerlonial Boy. +</pre> + <p> + Even this fails to rouse the company's enthusiasm. “Give us a song, Abe! + Give us the 'Lowlands'!” Abe Mathews, bearded and grizzled, is lying on + the broad of his back on a bench, with his hands clasped under his head—his + favourite position for smoking, reverie, yarning, or singing. He had a + strong, deep voice, which used to thrill me through and through, from hair + to toenails, as a child. + </p> + <p> + They bother Abe till he takes his pipe out of his mouth and puts it behind + his head on the end of the stool: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The ship was built in Glasgow; + 'Twas the “Golden Vanitee”— +Lines have dropped out of my memory during the thirty years gone +between— + + And she ploughed in the Low Lands, Low! +</pre> + <p> + The public-house people and more diggers drop into the kitchen, as all do + within hearing, when Abe sings. + </p> + <p> + “Now then, boys: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + And she ploughed in the Low Lands, Low! +</pre> + <p> + “Now, all together! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The Low Lands! The Low Lands! + And she ploughed in the Low Lands, Low!” + </pre> + <p> + Toe and heel and flat of foot begin to stamp the clay floor, and horny + hands to slap patched knees in accompaniment. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Oh! save me, lads!” he cried, + “I'm drifting with the current, + And I'm drifting with the tide! + And I'm sinking in the Low Lands, Low! + + The Low Lands! The Low Lands!”— +</pre> + <p> + The old bark kitchen is a-going now. Heels drumming on gin-cases under + stools; hands, knuckles, pipe-bowls, and pannikins keeping time on the + table. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + And we sewed him in his hammock, + And we slipped him o'er the side, + And we sunk him in the Low Lands, Low! + The Low Lands! The Low Lands! + And we sunk him in the Low Lands, Low! +</pre> + <p> + Old Boozer Smith—a dirty gin-sodden bundle of rags on the floor in + the corner with its head on a candle box, and covered by a horse rug—old + Boozer Smith is supposed to have been dead to the universe for hours past, + but the chorus must have disturbed his torpor; for, with a suddenness and + unexpectedness that makes the next man jump, there comes a bellow from + under the horse rug: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Wot though!—I wear!—a rag!—ged coat! + I'll wear it like a man! +</pre> + <p> + and ceases as suddenly as it commenced. He struggles to bring his ruined + head and bloated face above the surface, glares round; then, no one + questioning his manhood, he sinks back and dies to creation; and + subsequent proceedings are only interrupted by a snore, as far as he is + concerned. + </p> + <p> + Little Jimmy Nowlett, the bullock-driver, is inspired. “Go on, Jimmy! Give + us a song!” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In the days when we were hard up + For want of wood and wire— +Jimmy always blunders; it should have been “food and fire”— + + We used to tie our boots up + With lit—tle bits—er wire; +</pre> + <p> + and— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I'm sitting in my lit—tle room, + It measures six by six; + The work-house wall is opposite, + I've counted all the bricks! +</pre> + <p> + “Give us a chorus, Jimmy!” + </p> + <p> + Jimmy does, giving his head a short, jerky nod for nearly every word, and + describing a circle round his crown—as if he were stirring a pint of + hot tea—with his forefinger, at the end of every line: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Hall!—Round!—Me—Hat! + I wore a weepin' willer! +</pre> + <p> + Jimmy is a Cockney. + </p> + <p> + “Now then, boys!” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Hall—round—me hat! +</pre> + <p> + How many old diggers remember it? + </p> + <p> + And: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A butcher, and a baker, and a quiet-looking quaker, + All a-courting pretty Jessie at the Railway Bar. +</pre> + <p> + I used to wonder as a child what the “railway bar” meant. + </p> + <p> + And: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I would, I would, I would in vain + That I were single once again! + But ah, alas, that will not be + Till apples grow on the willow tree. +</pre> + <p> + A drunken gambler's young wife used to sing that song—to herself. + </p> + <p> + A stir at the kitchen door, and a cry of “Pinter,” and old Poynton, + Ballarat digger, appears and is shoved in; he has several drinks aboard, + and they proceed to “git Pinter on the singin' lay,” and at last talk him + round. He has a good voice, but no “theory”, and blunders worse than Jimmy + Nowlett with the words. He starts with a howl— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Hoh! + Way down in Covent Gar-ar-r-dings + A-strolling I did go, + To see the sweetest flow-ow-wers + That e'er in gardings grow. +</pre> + <p> + He saw the rose and lily—the red and white and blue—and he saw + the sweetest flow-ow-ers that e'er in gardings grew; for he saw two lovely + maidens (Pinter calls 'em “virgings”) underneath (he must have meant on + top of) “a garding chair”, sings Pinter. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + And one was lovely Jessie, + With the jet black eyes and hair, +</pre> + <p> + roars Pinter, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + And the other was a vir-ir-ging, + I solemn-lye declare! +</pre> + <p> + “Maiden, Pinter!” interjects Mr. Nowlett. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's all the same,” retorts Pinter. “A maiden IS a virging, Jimmy. + If you're singing, Jimmy, and not me, I'll leave off!” Chorus of “Order! + Shut up, Jimmy!” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I quicklye step-ped up to her, + And unto her did sa-a-y: + Do you belong to any young man, + Hoh, tell me that, I pra-a-y? +</pre> + <p> + Her answer, according to Pinter, was surprisingly prompt and + unconventional; also full and concise: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + No; I belong to no young man— + I solemnlye declare! + I mean to live a virging + And still my laurels wear! +</pre> + <p> + Jimmy Nowlett attempts to move an amendment in favour of “maiden”, but is + promptly suppressed. It seems that Pinter's suit has a happy termination, + for he is supposed to sing in the character of a “Sailor Bold”, and as he + turns to pursue his stroll in “Covent Gar-ar-dings”: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no!” she cried, + “I love a Sailor Bold!” + </pre> + <p> + “Hong-kore, Pinter! Give us the 'Golden Glove', Pinter!” + </p> + <p> + Thus warmed up, Pinter starts with an explanatory “spoken” to the effect + that the song he is about to sing illustrates some of the little ways of + woman, and how, no matter what you say or do, she is bound to have her own + way in the end; also how, in one instance, she set about getting it. + </p> + <p> + Hoh! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Now, it's of a young squoire near Timworth did dwell, + Who courted a nobleman's daughter so well— +</pre> + <p> + The song has little or nothing to do with the “squire”, except so far as + “all friends and relations had given consent,” and— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The troo-soo was ordered—appointed the day, + And a farmer were appointed for to give her away— +</pre> + <p> + which last seemed a most unusual proceeding, considering the wedding was a + toney affair; but perhaps there were personal interests—the nobleman + might have been hard up, and the farmer backing him. But there was an + extraordinary scene in the church, and things got mixed. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + For as soon as this maiding this farmer espied: + “Hoh, my heart! Hoh, my heart! + Hoh, my heart!” then she cried. +</pre> + <p> + Hysterics? Anyway, instead of being wed— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + This maiden took sick and she went to her bed. +</pre> + <p> + (N.B.—Pinter sticks to 'virging'.) + </p> + <p> + Whereupon friends and relations and guests left the house in a body (a + strange but perhaps a wise proceeding, after all—maybe they smelt a + rat) and left her to recover alone, which she did promptly. And then: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Shirt, breeches, and waistcoat this maiding put on, + And a-hunting she went with her dog and her gun; + She hunted all round where this farmier did dwell, + Because in her own heart she love-ed him well. +</pre> + <p> + The cat's out of the bag now: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + And often she fired, but no game she killed— +</pre> + <p> + which was not surprising— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Till at last the young farmier came into the field— +</pre> + <p> + No wonder. She put it to him straight: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Oh, why are you not at the wedding?” she cried, + “For to wait on the squoire, and to give him his bride.” + </pre> + <p> + He was as prompt and as delightfully unconventional in his reply as the + young lady in Covent Gardings: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Oh, no! and oh, no! For the truth I must sa-a-y, + I love her too well for to give her a-w-a-a-y!” + </pre> + <p> + which was satisfactory to the disguised “virging”. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “.... and I'd take sword in hand, + And by honour I'd win her if she would command.” + </pre> + <p> + Which was still more satisfactory. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Now this virging, being— +(Jimmy Nowlett: “Maiden, Pinter—” Jim is thrown on a stool and sat on +by several diggers.) + + Now this maiding, being please-ed to see him so bold, + She gave him her glove that was flowered with gold, +</pre> + <p> + and explained that she found it in his field while hunting around with her + dog and her gun. It is understood that he promised to look up the owner. + Then she went home and put an advertisement in the local 'Herald'; and + that ad. must have caused considerable sensation. She stated that she had + lost her golden glove, and + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The young man that finds it and brings it to me, + Hoh! that very young man my husband shall be! +</pre> + <p> + She had a saving clause in case the young farmer mislaid the glove before + he saw the ad., and an OLD bloke got holt of it and fetched it along. But + everything went all right. The young farmer turned up with the glove. He + was a very respectable young farmer, and expressed his gratitude to her + for having “honour-ed him with her love.” They were married, and the song + ends with a picture of the young farmeress milking the cow, and the young + farmer going whistling to plough. The fact that they lived and grafted on + the selection proves that I hit the right nail on the head when I guessed, + in the first place, that the old nobleman was “stony”. + </p> + <p> + In after years, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ... she told him of the fun, + How she hunted him up with her dog and her gun. +</pre> + <p> + But whether he was pleased or otherwise to hear it, after years of + matrimonial experiences, the old song doesn't say, for it ends there. + </p> + <p> + Flash Jack is more successful with “Saint Patrick's Day”. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I come to the river, I jumped it quite clever! + Me wife tumbled in, and I lost her for ever, + St. Patrick's own day in the mornin'! +</pre> + <p> + This is greatly appreciated by Jimmy Nowlett, who is suspected, especially + by his wife, of being more cheerful when on the roads than when at home. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + “Sam Holt” was a great favourite with Jimmy Nowlett in after years. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Oh, do you remember Black Alice, Sam Holt? + Black Alice so dirty and dark— + Who'd a nose on her face—I forget how it goes— + And teeth like a Moreton Bay shark. +</pre> + <p> + Sam Holt must have been very hard up for tucker as well as beauty then, + for + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Do you remember the 'possums and grubs + She baked for you down by the creek? +</pre> + <p> + Sam Holt was, apparently, a hardened flash Jack. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + You were not quite the cleanly potato, Sam Holt. +</pre> + <p> + Reference is made to his “manner of holding a flush”, and he is asked to + remember several things which he, no doubt, would rather forget, including + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ... the hiding you got from the boys. +</pre> + <p> + The song is decidedly personal. + </p> + <p> + But Sam Holt makes a pile and goes home, leaving many a better and worse + man to pad the hoof Out Back. And—Jim Nowlett sang this with so much + feeling as to make it appear a personal affair between him and the absent + Holt— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + And, don't you remember the fiver, Sam Holt, + You borrowed so careless and free? + I reckon I'll whistle a good many tunes +</pre> + <p> + (with increasing feeling) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ere you think of that fiver and me. +</pre> + <p> + For the chances will be that Sam Holt's old mate + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Will be humping his drum on the Hughenden Road + To the end of the chapter of fate. + + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + An echo from “The Old Bark Hut”, sung in the opposition camp across the + gully: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + You may leave the door ajar, but if you keep it shut, + There's no need of suffocation in the Ould Barrk Hut. + + . . . . . + + The tucker's in the gin-case, but you'd better keep it shut— + For the flies will canther round it in the Ould Bark Hut. +</pre> + <p> + However: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + What's out of sight is out of mind, in the Ould Bark Hut. + + . . . . . + + We washed our greasy moleskins + On the banks of the Condamine.— +</pre> + <p> + Somebody tackling the “Old Bullock Dray”; it must be over fifty verses + now. I saw a bushman at a country dance start to sing that song; he'd get + up to ten or fifteen verses, break down, and start afresh. At last he sat + down on his heel to it, in the centre of the clear floor, resting his + wrist on his knee, and keeping time with an index finger. It was very + funny, but the thing was taken seriously all through. + </p> + <p> + Irreverent echo from the old Lambing Flat trouble, from camp across the + gully: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Rule Britannia! Britannia rules the waves! + No more Chinamen will enter Noo South Wales! +</pre> + <p> + and + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yankee Doodle came to town + On a little pony— + Stick a feather in his cap, + And call him Maccaroni! +</pre> + <p> + All the camps seem to be singing to-night: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ring the bell, watchman! + Ring! Ring! Ring! + Ring, for the good news + Is now on the wing! +</pre> + <p> + Good lines, the introduction: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + High on the belfry the old sexton stands, + Grasping the rope with his thin bony hands!... + Bon-fires are blazing throughout the land... + Glorious and blessed tidings! Ring! Ring the bell! + + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + Granny Mathews fails to coax her niece into the kitchen, but persuades her + to sing inside. She is the girl who learnt 'sub rosa' from the bad girl + who sang “Madeline”. Such as have them on instinctively take their hats + off. Diggers, &c., strolling past, halt at the first notes of the + girl's voice, and stand like statues in the moonlight: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Shall we gather at the river, + Where bright angel feet have trod? + The beautiful—the beautiful river + That flows by the throne of God!— +</pre> + <p> + Diggers wanted to send that girl “Home”, but Granny Mathews had the + old-fashioned horror of any of her children becoming “public”— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Gather with the saints at the river, + That flows by the throne of God! + + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + But it grows late, or rather, early. The “Eyetalians” go by in the frosty + moonlight, from their last shift in the claim (for it is Saturday night), + singing a litany. + </p> + <p> + “Get up on one end, Abe!—stand up all!” Hands are clasped across the + kitchen table. Redclay, one of the last of the alluvial fields, has + petered out, and the Roaring Days are dying.... The grand old song that is + known all over the world; yet how many in ten thousand know more than one + verse and the chorus? Let Peter McKenzie lead: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Should auld acquaintance be forgot, + And never brought to min'? +</pre> + <p> + And hearts echo from far back in the past and across wide, wide seas: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Should auld acquaintance be forgot, + And days o' lang syne? +</pre> + <p> + Now boys! all together! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + For auld lang syne, my dear, + For auld lang syne, + We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet, + For auld lang syne. + + We twa hae run about the braes, + And pu'd the gowans fine; + But we've wandered mony a weary foot, + Sin' auld lang syne. +</pre> + <p> + The world was wide then. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, + Frae mornin' sun till dine: +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +the log fire seems to grow watery, for in wide, lonely Australia— + But seas between us braid hae roar'd, + Sin' auld lang syne. +</pre> + <p> + The kitchen grows dimmer, and the forms of the digger-singers seemed + suddenly vague and unsubstantial, fading back rapidly through a misty + veil. But the words ring strong and defiant through hard years: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + And here's a hand, my trusty frien', + And gie's a grup o' thine; + And we'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet, + For auld lang syne. + + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + And the nettles have been growing for over twenty years on the spot where + Granny Mathews' big bark kitchen stood. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A Vision of Sandy Blight + </h2> + <p> + I'd been humping my back, and crouching and groaning for an hour or so in + the darkest corner of the travellers' hut, tortured by the demon of sandy + blight. It was too hot to travel, and there was no one there except + ourselves and Mitchell's cattle pup. We were waiting till after sundown, + for I couldn't have travelled in the daylight, anyway. Mitchell had tied a + wet towel round my eyes, and led me for the last mile or two by another + towel—one end fastened to his belt behind, and the other in my hand + as I walked in his tracks. And oh! but this was a relief! It was out of + the dust and glare, and the flies didn't come into the dark hut, and I + could hump and stick my knees in my eyes and groan in comfort. I didn't + want a thousand a year, or anything; I only wanted relief for my eyes—that + was all I prayed for in this world. When the sun got down a bit, Mitchell + started poking round, and presently he found amongst the rubbish a + dirty-looking medicine bottle, corked tight; when he rubbed the dirt off a + piece of notepaper that was pasted on, he saw “eye-water” written on it. + He drew the cork with his teeth, smelt the water, stuck his little finger + in, turned the bottle upside down, tasted the top of his finger, and + reckoned the stuff was all right. + </p> + <p> + “Here! Wake up, Joe!” he shouted. “Here's a bottle of tears.” + </p> + <p> + “A bottler wot?” I groaned. + </p> + <p> + “Eye-water,” said Mitchell. + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure it's all right?” I didn't want to be poisoned or have my + eyes burnt out by mistake; perhaps some burning acid had got into that + bottle, or the label had been put on, or left on, in mistake or + carelessness. + </p> + <p> + “I dunno,” said Mitchell, “but there's no harm in tryin'.” + </p> + <p> + I chanced it. I lay down on my back in a bunk, and Mitchell dragged my + lids up and spilt half a bottle of eye-water over my eye-balls. + </p> + <p> + The relief was almost instantaneous. I never experienced such a quick cure + in my life. I carried the bottle in my swag for a long time afterwards, + with an idea of getting it analysed, but left it behind at last in a camp. + </p> + <p> + Mitchell scratched his head thoughtfully, and watched me for a while. + </p> + <p> + “I think I'll wait a bit longer,” he said at last, “and if it doesn't + blind you I'll put some in my eyes. I'm getting a touch of blight myself + now. That's the fault of travelling with a mate who's always catching + something that's no good to him.” + </p> + <p> + As it grew dark outside we talked of sandy-blight and fly-bite, and + sand-flies up north, and ordinary flies, and branched off to Barcoo rot, + and struck the track again at bees and bee stings. When we got to bees, + Mitchell sat smoking for a while and looking dreamily backwards along + tracks and branch tracks, and round corners and circles he had travelled, + right back to the short, narrow, innocent bit of track that ends in a + vague, misty point—like the end of a long, straight, cleared road in + the moonlight—as far back as we can remember. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + “I had about fourteen hives,” said Mitchell—“we used to call them + 'swarms', no matter whether they were flying or in the box—when I + left home first time. I kept them behind the shed, in the shade, on tables + of galvanised iron cases turned down on stakes; but I had to make legs + later on, and stand them in pans of water, on account of the ants. When + the bees swarmed—and some hives sent out the Lord knows how many + swarms in a year, it seemed to me—we'd tin-kettle 'em, and throw + water on 'em, to make 'em believe the biggest thunderstorm was coming to + drown the oldest inhabitant; and, if they didn't get the start of us and + rise, they'd settle on a branch—generally on one of the scraggy + fruit trees. It was rough on the bees—come to think of it; their + instinct told them it was going to be fine, and the noise and water told + them it was raining. They must have thought that nature was mad, drunk, or + gone ratty, or the end of the world had come. We'd rig up a table, with a + box upside down, under the branch, cover our face with a piece of mosquito + net, have rags burning round, and then give the branch a sudden jerk, turn + the box down, and run. If we got most of the bees in, the rest that were + hanging to the bough or flying round would follow, and then we reckoned + we'd shook the queen in. If the bees in the box came out and joined the + others, we'd reckon we hadn't shook the queen in, and go for them again. + When a hive was full of honey we'd turn the box upside down, turn the + empty box mouth down on top of it, and drum and hammer on the lower box + with a stick till all the bees went up into the top box. I suppose it made + their heads ache, and they went up on that account. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose things are done differently on proper bee-farms. I've heard + that a bee-farmer will part a hanging swarm with his fingers, take out the + queen bee and arrange matters with her; but our ways suited us, and there + was a lot of expectation and running and excitement in it, especially when + a swarm took us by surprise. The yell of 'Bees swarmin'!' was as good to + us as the yell of 'Fight!' is now, or 'Bolt!' in town, or 'Fire' or 'Man + overboard!' at sea. + </p> + <p> + “There was tons of honey. The bees used to go to the vineyards at + wine-making and get honey from the heaps of crushed grape-skins thrown out + in the sun, and get so drunk sometimes that they wobbled in their + bee-lines home. They'd fill all the boxes, and then build in between and + under the bark, and board, and tin covers. They never seemed to get the + idea out of their heads that this wasn't an evergreen country, and it + wasn't going to snow all winter. My younger brother Joe used to put pieces + of meat on the tables near the boxes, and in front of the holes where the + bees went in and out, for the dogs to grab at. But one old dog, 'Black + Bill', was a match for him; if it was worth Bill's while, he'd camp there, + and keep Joe and the other dogs from touching the meat—once it was + put down—till the bees turned in for the night. And Joe would get + the other kids round there, and when they weren't looking or thinking, + he'd brush the bees with a stick and run. I'd lam him when I caught him at + it. He was an awful young devil, was Joe, and he grew up steady, and + respectable, and respected—and I went to the bad. I never trust a + good boy now.... Ah, well! + </p> + <p> + “I remember the first swarm we got. We'd been talking of getting a few + swarms for a long time. That was what was the matter with us English and + Irish and English-Irish Australian farmers: we used to talk so much about + doing things while the Germans and Scotch did them. And we even talked in + a lazy, easy-going sort of way. + </p> + <p> + “Well, one blazing hot day I saw father coming along the road, home to + dinner (we had it in the middle of the day), with his axe over his + shoulder. I noticed the axe particularly because father was bringing it + home to grind, and Joe and I had to turn the stone; but, when I noticed + Joe dragging along home in the dust about fifty yards behind father, I + felt easier in my mind. Suddenly father dropped the axe and started to run + back along the road towards Joe, who, as soon as he saw father coming, + shied for the fence and got through. He thought he was going to catch it + for something he'd done—or hadn't done. Joe used to do so many + things and leave so many things not done that he could never be sure of + father. Besides, father had a way of starting to hammer us unexpectedly—when + the idea struck him. But father pulled himself up in about thirty yards + and started to grab up handfuls of dust and sand and throw them into the + air. My idea, in the first flash, was to get hold of the axe, for I + thought it was sun-stroke, and father might take it into his head to start + chopping up the family before I could persuade him to put it (his head, I + mean) in a bucket of water. But Joe came running like mad, yelling: + </p> + <p> + “'Swarmer—bees! Swawmmer—bee—ee—es! Bring—a—tin—dish—and—a—dippera—wa-a-ter!' + </p> + <p> + “I ran with a bucket of water and an old frying-pan, and pretty soon the + rest of the family were on the spot, throwing dust and water, and banging + everything, tin or iron, they could get hold of. The only bullock bell in + the district (if it was in the district) was on the old poley cow, and + she'd been lost for a fortnight. Mother brought up the rear—but soon + worked to the front—with a baking-dish and a big spoon. The old lady—she + wasn't old then—had a deep-rooted prejudice that she could do + everything better than anybody else, and that the selection and all on it + would go to the dogs if she wasn't there to look after it. There was no + jolting that idea out of her. She not only believed that she could do + anything better than anybody, and hers was the only right or possible way, + and that we'd do everything upside down if she wasn't there to do it or + show us how—but she'd try to do things herself or insist on making + us do them her way, and that led to messes and rows. She was excited now, + and took command at once. She wasn't tongue-tied, and had no impediment in + her speech. + </p> + <p> + “'Don't throw up dust!—Stop throwing up dust!—Do you want to + smother 'em?—Don't throw up so much water!—Only throw up a + pannikin at a time!—D'yer want to drown 'em? Bang! Keep on banging, + Joe!—Look at that child! Run, someone!—run! you, Jack!—D'yer + want the child to be stung to death?—Take her inside!... Dy' hear + me?... Stop throwing up dust, Tom! (To father.) You're scaring 'em away! + Can't you see they want to settle?' [Father was getting mad and yelping: + 'For Godsake shettup and go inside.'] 'Throw up water, Jack! Throw up—Tom! + Take that bucket from him and don't make such a fool of yourself before + the children! Throw up water! Throw—keep on banging, children! Keep + on banging!' [Mother put her faith in banging.] 'There!—they're off! + You've lost 'em! I knew you would! I told yer—keep on bang—!' + </p> + <p> + “A bee struck her in the eye, and she grabbed at it! + </p> + <p> + “Mother went home—and inside. + </p> + <p> + “Father was good at bees—could manage them like sheep when he got to + know their ideas. When the swarm settled, he sent us for the old washing + stool, boxes, bags, and so on; and the whole time he was fixing the bees I + noticed that whenever his back was turned to us his shoulders would jerk + up as if he was cold, and he seemed to shudder from inside, and now and + then I'd hear a grunting sort of whimper like a boy that was just starting + to blubber. But father wasn't weeping, and bees weren't stinging him; it + was the bee that stung mother that was tickling father. When he went into + the house, mother's other eye had bunged for sympathy. Father was always + gentle and kind in sickness, and he bathed mother's eyes and rubbed mud + on, but every now and then he'd catch inside, and jerk and shudder, and + grunt and cough. Mother got wild, but presently the humour of it struck + her, and she had to laugh, and a rum laugh it was, with both eyes bunged + up. Then she got hysterical, and started to cry, and father put his arm + round her shoulder and ordered us out of the house. + </p> + <p> + “They were very fond of each other, the old people were, under it all—right + up to the end.... Ah, well!” + </p> + <p> + Mitchell pulled the swags out of a bunk, and started to fasten the + nose-bags on. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Andy Page's Rival + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Tall and freckled and sandy, + Face of a country lout; + That was the picture of Andy— + Middleton's rouseabout. + On Middleton's wide dominions + Plied the stock-whip and shears; + Hadn't any opinions——— +</pre> + <p> + And he hadn't any “ideers”—at least, he said so himself—except + as regarded anything that looked to him like what he called “funny + business”, under which heading he catalogued tyranny, treachery, + interference with the liberty of the subject by the subject, “blanky” + lies, or swindles—all things, in short, that seemed to his slow + understanding dishonest, mean or paltry; most especially, and above all, + treachery to a mate. THAT he could never forget. Andy was uncomfortably + “straight”. His mind worked slowly and his decisions were, as a rule, + right and just; and when he once came to a conclusion concerning any man + or matter, or decided upon a course of action, nothing short of an + earthquake or a Nevertire cyclone could move him back an inch—unless + a conviction were severely shaken, and then he would require as much time + to “back” to his starting point as he did to come to the decision. + </p> + <p> + Andy had come to a conclusion with regard to a selector's daughter—name, + Lizzie Porter—who lived (and slaved) on her father's selection, near + the township corner of the run on which Andy was a general “hand”. He had + been in the habit for several years of calling casually at the selector's + house, as he rode to and fro between the station and the town, to get a + drink of water and exchange the time of day with old Porter and his + “missus”. The conversation concerned the drought, and the likelihood or + otherwise of their ever going to get a little rain; or about Porter's + cattle, with an occasional enquiry concerning, or reference to, a stray + cow belonging to the selection, but preferring the run; a little, plump, + saucy, white cow, by-the-way, practically pure white, but referred to by + Andy—who had eyes like a blackfellow—as “old Speckledy”. No + one else could detect a spot or speckle on her at a casual glance. Then + after a long bovine silence, which would have been painfully embarrassing + in any other society, and a tilting of his cabbage-tree hat forward, which + came of tickling and scratching the sun-blotched nape of his neck with his + little finger, Andy would slowly say: “Ah, well. I must be gettin'. + So-long, Mr. Porter. So-long, Mrs. Porter.” And, if SHE were in evidence—as + she generally was on such occasions—“So-long, Lizzie.” And they'd + shout: “So-long, Andy,” as he galloped off from the jump. Strange that + those shy, quiet, gentle-voiced bushmen seem the hardest and most reckless + riders. + </p> + <p> + But of late his horse had been seen hanging up outside Porter's for an + hour or so after sunset. He smoked, talked over the results of the last + drought (if it happened to rain), and the possibilities of the next one, + and played cards with old Porter; who took to winking, automatically, at + his “old woman”, and nudging, and jerking his thumb in the direction of + Lizzie when her back was turned, and Andy was scratching the nape of his + neck and staring at the cards. + </p> + <p> + Lizzie told a lady friend of mine, years afterwards, how Andy popped the + question; told it in her quiet way—you know Lizzie's quiet way + (something of the old, privileged house-cat about her); never a sign in + expression or tone to show whether she herself saw or appreciated the + humour of anything she was telling, no matter how comical it might be. She + had witnessed two tragedies, and had found a dead man in the bush, and + related the incidents as though they were common-place. + </p> + <p> + It happened one day—after Andy had been coming two or three times a + week for about a year—that she found herself sitting with him on a + log of the woodheap, in the cool of the evening, enjoying the sunset + breeze. Andy's arm had got round her—just as it might have gone + round a post he happened to be leaning against. They hadn't been talking + about anything in particular. Andy said he wouldn't be surprised if they + had a thunderstorm before mornin'—it had been so smotherin' hot all + day. + </p> + <p> + Lizzie said, “Very likely.” + </p> + <p> + Andy smoked a good while, then he said: “Ah, well! It's a weary world.” + </p> + <p> + Lizzie didn't say anything. + </p> + <p> + By-and-bye Andy said: “Ah, well; it's a lonely world, Lizzie.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you feel lonely, Andy?” asked Lizzie, after a while. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Lizzie; I do.” + </p> + <p> + Lizzie let herself settle, a little, against him, without either seeming + to notice it, and after another while she said, softly: “So do I, Andy.” + </p> + <p> + Andy knocked the ashes from his pipe very slowly and deliberately, and put + it away; then he seemed to brighten suddenly, and said briskly: “Well, + Lizzie! Are you satisfied!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Andy; I'm satisfied.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite sure, now?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I'm quite sure, Andy. I'm perfectly satisfied.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, Lizzie—it's settled!” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + But to-day—a couple of months after the proposal described above—Andy + had trouble on his mind, and the trouble was connected with Lizzie Porter. + He was putting up a two-rail fence along the old log-paddock on the + frontage, and working like a man in trouble, trying to work it off his + mind; and evidently not succeeding—for the last two panels were out + of line. He was ramming a post—Andy rammed honestly, from the bottom + of the hole, not the last few shovelfuls below the surface, as some do. He + was ramming the last layer of clay when a cloud of white dust came along + the road, paused, and drifted or poured off into the scrub, leaving long + Dave Bentley, the horse-breaker, on his last victim. + </p> + <p> + “'Ello, Andy! Graftin'?” + </p> + <p> + “I want to speak to you, Dave,” said Andy, in a strange voice. + </p> + <p> + “All—all right!” said Dave, rather puzzled. He got down, wondering + what was up, and hung his horse to the last post but one. + </p> + <p> + Dave was Andy's opposite in one respect: he jumped to conclusions, as + women do; but, unlike women, he was mostly wrong. He was an old chum and + mate of Andy's who had always liked, admired, and trusted him. But now, to + his helpless surprise, Andy went on scraping the earth from the surface + with his long-handled shovel, and heaping it conscientiously round the + butt of the post, his face like a block of wood, and his lips set grimly. + Dave broke out first (with bush oaths): + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter with you? Spit it out! What have I been doin' to you? + What's yer got yer rag out about, anyway?” + </p> + <p> + Andy faced him suddenly, with hatred for “funny business” flashing in his + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “What did you say to my sister Mary about Lizzie Porter?” + </p> + <p> + Dave started; then he whistled long and low. “Spit it all out, Andy!” he + advised. + </p> + <p> + “You said she was travellin' with a feller!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what's the harm in that? Everybody knows that—” + </p> + <p> + “If any crawler says a word about Lizzie Porter—look here, me and + you's got to fight, Dave Bentley!” Then, with still greater vehemence, as + though he had a share in the garment: “Take off that coat!” + </p> + <p> + “Not if I know it!” said Dave, with the sudden quietness that comes to + brave but headstrong and impulsive men at a critical moment: “Me and you + ain't goin' to fight, Andy; and” (with sudden energy) “if you try it on + I'll knock you into jim-rags!” + </p> + <p> + Then, stepping close to Andy and taking him by the arm: “Andy, this thing + will have to be fixed up. Come here; I want to talk to you.” And he led + him some paces aside, inside the boundary line, which seemed a ludicrously + unnecessary precaution, seeing that there was no one within sight or + hearing save Dave's horse. + </p> + <p> + “Now, look here, Andy; let's have it over. What's the matter with you and + Lizzie Porter?” + </p> + <p> + “I'M travellin' with her, that's all; and we're going to get married in + two years!” + </p> + <p> + Dave gave vent to another long, low whistle. He seemed to think and make + up his mind. + </p> + <p> + “Now, look here, Andy: we're old mates, ain't we?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I know that.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you think I'd tell you a blanky lie, or crawl behind your back? Do + you? Spit it out!” + </p> + <p> + “N—no, I don't!” + </p> + <p> + “I've always stuck up for you, Andy, and—why, I've fought for you + behind your back!” + </p> + <p> + “I know that, Dave.” + </p> + <p> + “There's my hand on it!” + </p> + <p> + Andy took his friend's hand mechanically, but gripped it hard. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Andy, I'll tell you straight: It's Gorstruth about Lizzie Porter!” + </p> + <p> + They stood as they were for a full minute, hands clasped; Andy with his + jaw dropped and staring in a dazed sort of way at Dave. He raised his + disengaged hand helplessly to his thatch, gulped suspiciously, and asked + in a broken voice: + </p> + <p> + “How—how do you know it, Dave?” + </p> + <p> + “Know it? Andy, I SEEN 'EM MESELF!” + </p> + <p> + “You did, Dave?” in a tone that suggested sorrow more than anger at Dave's + part in the seeing of them. + </p> + <p> + “Gorstruth, Andy!” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + “Tell me, Dave, who was the feller? That's all I want to know.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't tell you that. I only seen them when I was canterin' past in the + dusk.” + </p> + <p> + “Then how'd you know it was a man at all?” + </p> + <p> + “It wore trousers, anyway, and was as big as you; so it couldn't have been + a girl. I'm pretty safe to swear it was Mick Kelly. I saw his horse + hangin' up at Porter's once or twice. But I'll tell you what I'll do: I'll + find out for you, Andy. And, what's more, I'll job him for you if I catch + him!” + </p> + <p> + Andy said nothing; his hands clenched and his chest heaved. Dave laid a + friendly hand on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “It's red hot, Andy, I know. Anybody else but you and I wouldn't have + cared. But don't be a fool; there's any Gorsquantity of girls knockin' + round. You just give it to her straight and chuck her, and have done with + it. You must be bad off to bother about her. Gorstruth! she ain't much to + look at anyway! I've got to ride like blazes to catch the coach. Don't + knock off till I come back; I won't be above an hour. I'm goin' to give + you some points in case you've got to fight Mick; and I'll have to be + there to back you!” And, thus taking the right moment instinctively, he + jumped on his horse and galloped on towards the town. + </p> + <p> + His dust-cloud had scarcely disappeared round a corner of the paddocks + when Andy was aware of another one coming towards him. He had a dazed idea + that it was Dave coming back, but went on digging another post-hole, + mechanically, until a spring-cart rattled up, and stopped opposite him. + Then he lifted his head. It was Lizzie herself, driving home from town. + She turned towards him with her usual faint smile. Her small features were + “washed out” and rather haggard. + </p> + <p> + “'Ello, Andy!” + </p> + <p> + But, at the sight of her, all his hatred of “funny business”—intensified, + perhaps, by a sense of personal injury—came to a head, and he + exploded: + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Lizzie Porter! I know all about you. You needn't think you're + goin' to cotton on with me any more after this! I wouldn't be seen in a + paddock with yer! I'm satisfied about you! Get on out of this!” + </p> + <p> + The girl stared at him for a moment thunderstruck; then she lammed into + the old horse with a stick she carried in place of a whip. + </p> + <p> + She cried, and wondered what she'd done, and trembled so that she could + scarcely unharness the horse, and wondered if Andy had got a touch of the + sun, and went in and sat down and cried again; and pride came to her aid + and she hated Andy; thought of her big brother, away droving, and made a + cup of tea. She shed tears over the tea, and went through it all again. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Andy was suffering a reaction. He started to fill the hole + before he put the post in; then to ram the post before the rails were in + position. Dubbing off the ends of the rails, he was in danger of + amputating a toe or a foot with every stroke of the adze. And, at last, + trying to squint along the little lumps of clay which he had placed in the + centre of the top of each post for several panels back—to assist him + to take a line—he found that they swam and doubled, and ran off in + watery angles, for his eyes were too moist to see straight and single. + </p> + <p> + Then he threw down the tools hopelessly, and was standing helplessly + undecided whether to go home or go down to the creek and drown himself, + when Dave turned up again. + </p> + <p> + “Seen her?” asked Dave. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Andy. + </p> + <p> + “Did you chuck her?” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Dave; are you sure the feller was Mick Kelly?” + </p> + <p> + “I never said I was. How was I to know? It was dark. You don't expect I'd + 'fox' a feller I see doing a bit of a bear-up to a girl, do you? It might + have been you, for all I knowed. I suppose she's been talking you round?” + </p> + <p> + “No, she ain't,” said Andy. “But, look here, Dave; I was properly gone on + that girl, I was, and—and I want to be sure I'm right.” + </p> + <p> + The business was getting altogether too psychological for Dave Bentley. + “You might as well,” he rapped out, “call me a liar at once!” + </p> + <p> + “'Taint that at all, Dave. I want to get at who the feller is; that's what + I want to get at now. Where did you see them, and when?” + </p> + <p> + “I seen them Anniversary night, along the road, near Ross' farm; and I + seen 'em Sunday night afore that—in the trees near the old culvert—near + Porter's sliprails; and I seen 'em one night outside Porter's, on a log + near the woodheap. They was thick that time, and bearin' up proper, and no + mistake. So I can swear to her. Now, are you satisfied about her?” + </p> + <p> + But Andy was wildly pitchforking his thatch under his hat with all ten + fingers and staring at Dave, who began to regard him uneasily; then there + came to Andy's eyes an awful glare, which caused Dave to step back + hastily. + </p> + <p> + “Good God, Andy! Are yer goin' ratty?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” cried Andy, wildly. + </p> + <p> + “Then what the blazes is the matter with you? You'll have rats if you + don't look out!” + </p> + <p> + “JIMMINY FROTH!—It was ME all the time!” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “It was me that was with her all them nights. It was me that you seen. + WHY, I POPPED ON THE WOODHEAP!” + </p> + <p> + Dave was taken too suddenly to whistle this time. + </p> + <p> + “And you went for her just now?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” yelled Andy. + </p> + <p> + “Well—you've done it!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Andy, hopelessly; “I've done it!” + </p> + <p> + Dave whistled now—a very long, low whistle. “Well, you're a bloomin' + goat, Andy, after this. But this thing'll have to be fixed up!” and he + cantered away. Poor Andy was too badly knocked to notice the abruptness of + Dave's departure, or to see that he turned through the sliprails on to the + track that led to Porter's. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + Half an hour later Andy appeared at Porter's back door, with an expression + on his face as though the funeral was to start in ten minutes. In a tone + befitting such an occasion, he wanted to see Lizzie. + </p> + <p> + Dave had been there with the laudable determination of fixing the business + up, and had, of course, succeeded in making it much worse than it was + before. But Andy made it all right. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Iron-Bark Chip + </h2> + <p> + Dave Regan and party—bush-fencers, tank-sinkers, rough carpenters, + &c.—were finishing the third and last culvert of their contract + on the last section of the new railway line, and had already sent in their + vouchers for the completed contract, so that there might be no excuse for + extra delay in connection with the cheque. + </p> + <p> + Now it had been expressly stipulated in the plans and specifications that + the timber for certain beams and girders was to be iron-bark and no other, + and Government inspectors were authorised to order the removal from the + ground of any timber or material they might deem inferior, or not in + accordance with the stipulations. The railway contractor's foreman and + inspector of sub-contractors was a practical man and a bushman, but he had + been a timber-getter himself; his sympathies were bushy, and he was on + winking terms with Dave Regan. Besides, extended time was expiring, and + the contractors were in a hurry to complete the line. But the Government + inspector was a reserved man who poked round on his independent own and + appeared in lonely spots at unexpected times—with apparently no + definite object in life—like a grey kangaroo bothered by a new wire + fence, but unsuspicious of the presence of humans. He wore a grey suit, + rode, or mostly led, an ashen-grey horse; the grass was long and grey, so + he was seldom spotted until he was well within the horizon and bearing + leisurely down on a party of sub-contractors, leading his horse. + </p> + <p> + Now iron-bark was scarce and distant on those ridges, and another timber, + similar in appearance, but much inferior in grain and “standing” quality, + was plentiful and close at hand. Dave and party were “about full of” the + job and place, and wanted to get their cheque and be gone to another + “spec” they had in view. So they came to reckon they'd get the last girder + from a handy tree, and have it squared, in place, and carefully and + conscientiously tarred before the inspector happened along, if he did. But + they didn't. They got it squared, and ready to be lifted into its place; + the kindly darkness of tar was ready to cover a fraud that took four + strong men with crowbars and levers to shift; and now (such is the regular + cussedness of things) as the fraudulent piece of timber lay its last hour + on the ground, looking and smelling, to their guilty imaginations like + anything but iron-bark, they were aware of the Government inspector + drifting down upon them obliquely, with something of the atmosphere of a + casual Bill or Jim who had dropped out of his easy-going track to see how + they were getting on, and borrow a match. They had more than half hoped + that, as he had visited them pretty frequently during the progress of the + work, and knew how near it was to completion, he wouldn't bother coming + any more. But it's the way with the Government. You might move heaven and + earth in vain endeavour to get the “Guvermunt” to flutter an eyelash over + something of the most momentous importance to yourself and mates and the + district—even to the country; but just when you are leaving + authority severely alone, and have strong reasons for not wanting to worry + or interrupt it, and not desiring it to worry about you, it will take a + fancy into its head to come along and bother. + </p> + <p> + “It's always the way!” muttered Dave to his mates. “I knew the beggar + would turn up!... And the only cronk log we've had, too!” he added, in an + injured tone. “If this had 'a' been the only blessed iron-bark in the + whole contract, it would have been all right.... Good-day, sir!” (to the + inspector). “It's hot?” + </p> + <p> + The inspector nodded. He was not of an impulsive nature. He got down from + his horse and looked at the girder in an abstracted way; and presently + there came into his eyes a dreamy, far-away, sad sort of expression, as if + there had been a very sad and painful occurrence in his family, way back + in the past, and that piece of timber in some way reminded him of it and + brought the old sorrow home to him. He blinked three times, and asked, in + a subdued tone: + </p> + <p> + “Is that iron-bark?” + </p> + <p> + Jack Bentley, the fluent liar of the party, caught his breath with a jerk + and coughed, to cover the gasp and gain time. “I—iron-bark? Of + course it is! I thought you would know iron-bark, mister.” (Mister was + silent.) “What else d'yer think it is?” + </p> + <p> + The dreamy, abstracted expression was back. The inspector, by-the-way, + didn't know much about timber, but he had a great deal of instinct, and + went by it when in doubt. + </p> + <p> + “L—look here, mister!” put in Dave Regan, in a tone of innocent + puzzlement and with a blank bucolic face. “B—but don't the plans and + specifications say iron-bark? Ours does, anyway. I—I'll git the + papers from the tent and show yer, if yer like.” + </p> + <p> + It was not necessary. The inspector admitted the fact slowly. He stooped, + and with an absent air picked up a chip. He looked at it abstractedly for + a moment, blinked his threefold blink; then, seeming to recollect an + appointment, he woke up suddenly and asked briskly: + </p> + <p> + “Did this chip come off that girder?” + </p> + <p> + Blank silence. The inspector blinked six times, divided in threes, + rapidly, mounted his horse, said “Day,” and rode off. + </p> + <p> + Regan and party stared at each other. + </p> + <p> + “Wha—what did he do that for?” asked Andy Page, the third in the + party. + </p> + <p> + “Do what for, you fool?” enquired Dave. + </p> + <p> + “Ta—take that chip for?” + </p> + <p> + “He's taking it to the office!” snarled Jack Bentley. + </p> + <p> + “What—what for? What does he want to do that for?” + </p> + <p> + “To get it blanky well analysed! You ass! Now are yer satisfied?” And Jack + sat down hard on the timber, jerked out his pipe, and said to Dave, in a + sharp, toothache tone: + </p> + <p> + “Gimmiamatch!” + </p> + <p> + “We—well! what are we to do now?” enquired Andy, who was the hardest + grafter, but altogether helpless, hopeless, and useless in a crisis like + this. + </p> + <p> + “Grain and varnish the bloomin' culvert!” snapped Bentley. + </p> + <p> + But Dave's eyes, that had been ruefully following the inspector, suddenly + dilated. The inspector had ridden a short distance along the line, + dismounted, thrown the bridle over a post, laid the chip (which was too + big to go in his pocket) on top of it, got through the fence, and was now + walking back at an angle across the line in the direction of the fencing + party, who had worked up on the other side, a little more than opposite + the culvert. + </p> + <p> + Dave took in the lay of the country at a glance and thought rapidly. + </p> + <p> + “Gimme an iron-bark chip!” he said suddenly. + </p> + <p> + Bentley, who was quick-witted when the track was shown him, as is a + kangaroo dog (Jack ran by sight, not scent), glanced in the line of Dave's + eyes, jumped up, and got a chip about the same size as that which the + inspector had taken. + </p> + <p> + Now the “lay of the country” sloped generally to the line from both sides, + and the angle between the inspector's horse, the fencing party, and the + culvert was well within a clear concave space; but a couple of hundred + yards back from the line and parallel to it (on the side on which Dave's + party worked their timber) a fringe of scrub ran to within a few yards of + a point which would be about in line with a single tree on the cleared + slope, the horse, and the fencing party. + </p> + <p> + Dave took the iron-bark chip, ran along the bed of the water-course into + the scrub, raced up the siding behind the bushes, got safely, though + without breathing, across the exposed space, and brought the tree into + line between him and the inspector, who was talking to the fencers. Then + he began to work quickly down the slope towards the tree (which was a thin + one), keeping it in line, his arms close to his sides, and working, as it + were, down the trunk of the tree, as if the fencing party were kangaroos + and Dave was trying to get a shot at them. The inspector, by-the-bye, had + a habit of glancing now and then in the direction of his horse, as though + under the impression that it was flighty and restless and inclined to bolt + on opportunity. It was an anxious moment for all parties concerned—except + the inspector. They didn't want HIM to be perturbed. And, just as Dave + reached the foot of the tree, the inspector finished what he had to say to + the fencers, turned, and started to walk briskly back to his horse. There + was a thunderstorm coming. Now was the critical moment—there were + certain prearranged signals between Dave's party and the fencers which + might have interested the inspector, but none to meet a case like this. + </p> + <p> + Jack Bentley gasped, and started forward with an idea of intercepting the + inspector and holding him for a few minutes in bogus conversation. + Inspirations come to one at a critical moment, and it flashed on Jack's + mind to send Andy instead. Andy looked as innocent and guileless as he + was, but was uncomfortable in the vicinity of “funny business”, and must + have an honest excuse. “Not that that mattered,” commented Jack + afterwards; “it would have taken the inspector ten minutes to get at what + Andy was driving at, whatever it was.” + </p> + <p> + “Run, Andy! Tell him there's a heavy thunderstorm coming and he'd better + stay in our humpy till it's over. Run! Don't stand staring like a blanky + fool. He'll be gone!” + </p> + <p> + Andy started. But just then, as luck would have it, one of the fencers + started after the inspector, hailing him as “Hi, mister!” He wanted to be + set right about the survey or something—or to pretend to want to be + set right—from motives of policy which I haven't time to explain + here. + </p> + <p> + That fencer explained afterwards to Dave's party that he “seen what you + coves was up to,” and that's why he called the inspector back. But he told + them that after they had told their yarn—which was a mistake. + </p> + <p> + “Come back, Andy!” cried Jack Bentley. + </p> + <p> + Dave Regan slipped round the tree, down on his hands and knees, and made + quick time through the grass which, luckily, grew pretty tall on the + thirty or forty yards of slope between the tree and the horse. Close to + the horse, a thought struck Dave that pulled him up, and sent a shiver + along his spine and a hungry feeling under it. The horse would break away + and bolt! But the case was desperate. Dave ventured an interrogatory + “Cope, cope, cope?” The horse turned its head wearily and regarded him + with a mild eye, as if he'd expected him to come, and come on all fours, + and wondered what had kept him so long; then he went on thinking. Dave + reached the foot of the post; the horse obligingly leaning over on the + other leg. Dave reared head and shoulders cautiously behind the post, like + a snake; his hand went up twice, swiftly—the first time he grabbed + the inspector's chip, and the second time he put the iron-bark one in its + place. He drew down and back, and scuttled off for the tree like a + gigantic tailless “goanna”. + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later he walked up to the culvert from along the creek, + smoking hard to settle his nerves. + </p> + <p> + The sky seemed to darken suddenly; the first great drops of the + thunderstorm came pelting down. The inspector hurried to his horse, and + cantered off along the line in the direction of the fettlers' camp. + </p> + <p> + He had forgotten all about the chip, and left it on top of the post! + </p> + <p> + Dave Regan sat down on the beam in the rain and swore comprehensively. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + “Middleton's Peter” + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I. + + The First Born +</pre> + <p> + The struggling squatter is to be found in Australia as well as the + “struggling farmer”. The Australian squatter is not always the mighty wool + king that English and American authors and other uninformed people + apparently imagine him to be. Squatting, at the best, is but a game of + chance. It depends mainly on the weather, and that, in New South Wales at + least, depends on nothing. + </p> + <p> + Joe Middleton was a struggling squatter, with a station some distance to + the westward of the furthest line reached by the ordinary “new chum”. His + run, at the time of our story, was only about six miles square, and his + stock was limited in proportion. The hands on Joe's run consisted of his + brother Dave, a middle-aged man known only as “Middleton's Peter” (who had + been in the service of the Middleton family ever since Joe Middleton could + remember), and an old black shepherd, with his gin and two boys. + </p> + <p> + It was in the first year of Joe's marriage. He had married a very ordinary + girl, as far as Australian girls go, but in his eyes she was an angel. He + really worshipped her. + </p> + <p> + One sultry afternoon in midsummer all the station hands, with the + exception of Dave Middleton, were congregated about the homestead door, + and it was evident from their solemn faces that something unusual was the + matter. They appeared to be watching for something or someone across the + flat, and the old black shepherd, who had been listening intently with + bent head, suddenly straightened himself up and cried: + </p> + <p> + “I can hear the cart. I can see it!” + </p> + <p> + You must bear in mind that our blackfellows do not always talk the + gibberish with which they are credited by story writers. + </p> + <p> + It was not until some time after Black Bill had spoken that the white—or, + rather, the brown—portion of the party could see or even hear the + approaching vehicle. At last, far out through the trunks of the native + apple-trees, the cart was seen approaching; and as it came nearer it was + evident that it was being driven at a break-neck pace, the horses + cantering all the way, while the motion of the cart, as first one wheel + and then the other sprang from a root or a rut, bore a striking + resemblance to the Highland Fling. There were two persons in the cart. One + was Mother Palmer, a stout, middle-aged party (who sometimes did the + duties of a midwife), and the other was Dave Middleton, Joe's brother. + </p> + <p> + The cart was driven right up to the door with scarcely any abatement of + speed, and was stopped so suddenly that Mrs. Palmer was sent sprawling on + to the horse's rump. She was quickly helped down, and, as soon as she had + recovered sufficient breath, she followed Black Mary into the bedroom + where young Mrs. Middleton was lying, looking very pale and frightened. + The horse which had been driven so cruelly had not done blowing before + another cart appeared, also driven very fast. It contained old Mr. and + Mrs. Middleton, who lived comfortably on a small farm not far from + Palmer's place. + </p> + <p> + As soon as he had dumped Mrs. Palmer, Dave Middleton left the cart and, + mounting a fresh horse which stood ready saddled in the yard, galloped off + through the scrub in a different direction. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour afterwards Joe Middleton came home on a horse that had been + almost ridden to death. His mother came out at the sound of his arrival, + and he anxiously asked her: + </p> + <p> + “How is she?” + </p> + <p> + “Did you find Doc. Wild?” asked the mother. + </p> + <p> + “No, confound him!” exclaimed Joe bitterly. “He promised me faithfully to + come over on Wednesday and stay until Maggie was right again. Now he has + left Dean's and gone—Lord knows where. I suppose he is drinking + again. How is Maggie?” + </p> + <p> + “It's all over now—the child is born. It's a boy; but she is very + weak. Dave got Mrs. Palmer here just in time. I had better tell you at + once that Mrs. Palmer says if we don't get a doctor here to-night poor + Maggie won't live.” + </p> + <p> + “Good God! and what am I to do?” cried Joe desperately. + </p> + <p> + “Is there any other doctor within reach?” + </p> + <p> + “No; there is only the one at B——; that's forty miles away, + and he is laid up with the broken leg he got in the buggy accident. + Where's Dave?” + </p> + <p> + “Gone to Black's shanty. One of Mrs. Palmer's sons thought he remembered + someone saying that Doc. Wild was there last week. That's fifteen miles + away.” + </p> + <p> + “But it is our only hope,” said Joe dejectedly. “I wish to God that I had + taken Maggie to some civilised place a month ago.” + </p> + <p> + Doc. Wild was a well-known character among the bushmen of New South Wales, + and although the profession did not recognise him, and denounced him as an + empiric, his skill was undoubted. Bushmen had great faith in him, and + would often ride incredible distances in order to bring him to the bedside + of a sick friend. He drank fearfully, but was seldom incapable of treating + a patient; he would, however, sometimes be found in an obstinate mood and + refuse to travel to the side of a sick person, and then the devil himself + could not make the doctor budge. But for all this he was very generous—a + fact that could, no doubt, be testified to by many a grateful sojourner in + the lonely bush. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + II. + + The Only Hope +</pre> + <p> + Night came on, and still there was no change in the condition of the young + wife, and no sign of the doctor. Several stockmen from the neighbouring + stations, hearing that there was trouble at Joe Middleton's, had ridden + over, and had galloped off on long, hopeless rides in search of a doctor. + Being generally free from sickness themselves, these bushmen look upon it + as a serious business even in its mildest form; what is more, their + sympathy is always practical where it is possible for it to be so. One + day, while out on the run after an “outlaw”, Joe Middleton was badly + thrown from his horse, and the break-neck riding that was done on that + occasion from the time the horse came home with empty saddle until the + rider was safe in bed and attended by a doctor was something + extraordinary, even for the bush. + </p> + <p> + Before the time arrived when Dave Middleton might reasonably have been + expected to return, the station people were anxiously watching for him, + all except the old blackfellow and the two boys, who had gone to yard the + sheep. + </p> + <p> + The party had been increased by Jimmy Nowlett, the bullocky, who had just + arrived with a load of fencing wire and provisions for Middleton. Jimmy + was standing in the moonlight, whip in hand, looking as anxious as the + husband himself, and endeavouring to calculate by mental arithmetic the + exact time it ought to take Dave to complete his double journey, taking + into consideration the distance, the obstacles in the way, and the chances + of horse-flesh. + </p> + <p> + But the time which Jimmy fixed for the arrival came without Dave. + </p> + <p> + Old Peter (as he was generally called, though he was not really old) stood + aside in his usual sullen manner, his hat drawn down over his brow and + eyes, and nothing visible but a thick and very horizontal black beard, + from the depth of which emerged large clouds of very strong tobacco smoke, + the product of a short, black, clay pipe. + </p> + <p> + They had almost given up all hope of seeing Dave return that night, when + Peter slowly and deliberately removed his pipe and grunted: + </p> + <p> + “He's a-comin'.” + </p> + <p> + He then replaced the pipe, and smoked on as before. + </p> + <p> + All listened, but not one of them could hear a sound. + </p> + <p> + “Yer ears must be pretty sharp for yer age, Peter. We can't hear him,” + remarked Jimmy Nowlett. + </p> + <p> + “His dog ken,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + The pipe was again removed and its abbreviated stem pointed in the + direction of Dave's cattle dog, who had risen beside his kennel with + pointed ears, and was looking eagerly in the direction from which his + master was expected to come. + </p> + <p> + Presently the sound of horse's hoofs was distinctly heard. + </p> + <p> + “I can hear two horses,” cried Jimmy Nowlett excitedly. + </p> + <p> + “There's only one,” said old Peter quietly. + </p> + <p> + A few moments passed, and a single horseman appeared on the far side of + the flat. + </p> + <p> + “It's Doc. Wild on Dave's horse,” cried Jimmy Nowlett. “Dave don't ride + like that.” + </p> + <p> + “It's Dave,” said Peter, replacing his pipe and looking more unsociable + than ever. + </p> + <p> + Dave rode up and, throwing himself wearily from the saddle, stood + ominously silent by the side of his horse. + </p> + <p> + Joe Middleton said nothing, but stood aside with an expression of utter + hopelessness on his face. + </p> + <p> + “Not there?” asked Jimmy Nowlett at last, addressing Dave. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he's there,” answered Dave, impatiently. + </p> + <p> + This was not the answer they expected, but nobody seemed surprised. + </p> + <p> + “Drunk?” asked Jimmy. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Here old Peter removed his pipe, and pronounced the one word—“How?” + </p> + <p> + “What the hell do you mean by that?” muttered Dave, whose patience had + evidently been severely tried by the clever but intemperate bush doctor. + </p> + <p> + “How drunk?” explained Peter, with great equanimity. + </p> + <p> + “Stubborn drunk, blind drunk, beastly drunk, dead drunk, and damned well + drunk, if that's what you want to know!” + </p> + <p> + “What did Doc. say?” asked Jimmy. + </p> + <p> + “Said he was sick—had lumbago—wouldn't come for the Queen of + England; said he wanted a course of treatment himself. Curse him! I have + no patience to talk about him.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd give him a course of treatment,” muttered Jimmy viciously, trailing + the long lash of his bullock-whip through the grass and spitting + spitefully at the ground. + </p> + <p> + Dave turned away and joined Joe, who was talking earnestly to his mother + by the kitchen door. He told them that he had spent an hour trying to + persuade Doc. Wild to come, and, that before he had left the shanty, Black + had promised him faithfully to bring the doctor over as soon as his + obstinate mood wore off. + </p> + <p> + Just then a low moan was heard from the sick room, followed by the sound + of Mother Palmer's voice calling old Mrs. Middleton, who went inside + immediately. + </p> + <p> + No one had noticed the disappearance of Peter, and when he presently + returned from the stockyard, leading the only fresh horse that remained, + Jimmy Nowlett began to regard him with some interest. Peter transferred + the saddle from Dave's horse to the other, and then went into a small room + off the kitchen, which served him as a bedroom; from it he soon returned + with a formidable-looking revolver, the chambers of which he examined in + the moonlight in full view of all the company. They thought for a moment + the man had gone mad. Old Middleton leaped quickly behind Nowlett, and + Black Mary, who had come out to the cask at the corner for a dipper of + water, dropped the dipper and was inside like a shot. One of the black + boys came softly up at that moment; as soon as his sharp eye “spotted” the + weapon, he disappeared as though the earth had swallowed him. + </p> + <p> + “What the mischief are yer goin' ter do, Peter?” asked Jimmy. + </p> + <p> + “Goin' to fetch him,” said Peter, and, after carefully emptying his pipe + and replacing it in a leather pouch at his belt, he mounted and rode off + at an easy canter. + </p> + <p> + Jimmy watched the horse until it disappeared at the edge of the flat, and + then after coiling up the long lash of his bullock-whip in the dust until + it looked like a sleeping snake, he prodded the small end of the long pine + handle into the middle of the coil, as though driving home a point, and + said in a tone of intense conviction: + </p> + <p> + “He'll fetch him.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + III. + + Doc. Wild +</pre> + <p> + Peter gradually increased his horse's speed along the rough bush track + until he was riding at a good pace. It was ten miles to the main road, and + five from there to the shanty kept by Black. + </p> + <p> + For some time before Peter started the atmosphere had been very close and + oppressive. The great black edge of a storm-cloud had risen in the east, + and everything indicated the approach of a thunderstorm. It was not long + coming. Before Peter had completed six miles of his journey, the clouds + rolled over, obscuring the moon, and an Australian thunderstorm came on + with its mighty downpour, its blinding lightning, and its earth-shaking + thunder. Peter rode steadily on, only pausing now and then until a flash + revealed the track in front of him. + </p> + <p> + Black's shanty—or, rather, as the sign had it, “Post Office and + General Store”—was, as we have said, five miles along the main road + from the point where Middleton's track joined it. The building was of the + usual style of bush architecture. About two hundred yards nearer the + creek, which crossed the road further on, stood a large bark and slab + stable, large enough to have met the requirements of a legitimate bush + “public”. + </p> + <p> + The reader may doubt that a “sly grog shop” could openly carry on business + on a main Government road along which mounted troopers were continually + passing. But then, you see, mounted troopers get thirsty like other men; + moreover, they could always get their thirst quenched 'gratis' at these + places; so the reader will be prepared to hear that on this very night two + troopers' horses were stowed snugly away in the stable, and two troopers + were stowed snugly away in the back room of the shanty, sleeping off the + effects of their cheap but strong potations. + </p> + <p> + There were two rooms, of a sort, attached to the stables—one at each + end. One was occupied by a man who was “generally useful”, and the other + was the surgery, office, and bedroom 'pro tem.' of Doc. Wild. + </p> + <p> + Doc. Wild was a tall man, of spare proportions. He had a cadaverous face, + black hair, bushy black eyebrows, eagle nose, and eagle eyes. He never + slept while he was drinking. On this occasion he sat in front of the fire + on a low three-legged stool. His knees were drawn up, his toes hooked + round the front legs of the stool, one hand resting on one knee, and one + elbow (the hand supporting the chin) resting on the other. He was staring + intently into the fire, on which an old black saucepan was boiling and + sending forth a pungent odour of herbs. There seemed something uncanny + about the doctor as the red light of the fire fell on his hawk-like face + and gleaming eyes. He might have been Mephistopheles watching some + infernal brew. + </p> + <p> + He had sat there some time without stirring a finger, when the door + suddenly burst open and Middleton's Peter stood within, dripping wet. The + doctor turned his black, piercing eyes upon the intruder (who regarded him + silently) for a moment, and then asked quietly: + </p> + <p> + “What the hell do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “I want you,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “And what do you want me for?” + </p> + <p> + “I want you to come to Joe Middleton's wife. She's bad,” said Peter + calmly. + </p> + <p> + “I won't come,” shouted the doctor. “I've brought enough horse-stealers + into the world already. If any more want to come they can go to blazes for + me. Now, you get out of this!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't get yer rag out,” said Peter quietly. “The hoss-stealer's come, an' + nearly killed his mother ter begin with; an' if yer don't get yer + physic-box an' come wi' me, by the great God I'll——” + </p> + <p> + Here the revolver was produced and pointed at Doc. Wild's head. The sight + of the weapon had a sobering effect upon the doctor. He rose, looked at + Peter critically for a moment, knocked the weapon out of his hand, and + said slowly and deliberately: + </p> + <p> + “Wall, ef the case es as serious as that, I (hic) reckon I'd better come.” + </p> + <p> + Peter was still of the same opinion, so Doc. Wild proceeded to get his + medicine chest ready. He explained afterwards, in one of his softer + moments, that the shooter didn't frighten him so much as it touched his + memory—“sorter put him in mind of the old days in California, and + made him think of the man he might have been,” he'd say,—“kinder + touched his heart and slid the durned old panorama in front of him like a + flash; made him think of the time when he slipped three leaden pills into + 'Blue Shirt' for winking at a new chum behind his (the Doc.'s) back when + he was telling a truthful yarn, and charged the said 'Blue Shirt' a + hundred dollars for extracting the said pills.” + </p> + <p> + Joe Middleton's wife is a grandmother now. + </p> + <p> + Peter passed after the manner of his sort; he was found dead in his bunk. + </p> + <p> + Poor Doc. Wild died in a shepherd's hut at the Dry Creeks. The shepherds + (white men) found him, “naked as he was born and with the hide half burned + off him with the sun,” rounding up imaginary snakes on a dusty clearing, + one blazing hot day. The hut-keeper had some “quare” (queer) experiences + with the doctor during the next three days and used, in after years, to + tell of them, between the puffs of his pipe, calmly and solemnly and as if + the story was rather to the doctor's credit than otherwise. The shepherds + sent for the police and a doctor, and sent word to Joe Middleton. Doc. + Wild was sensible towards the end. His interview with the other doctor was + characteristic. “And, now you see how far I am,” he said in conclusion—“have + you brought the brandy?” The other doctor had. Joe Middleton came with his + waggonette, and in it the softest mattress and pillows the station + afforded. He also, in his innocence, brought a dozen of soda-water. Doc. + Wild took Joe's hand feebly, and, a little later, he “passed out” (as he + would have said) murmuring “something that sounded like poetry”, in an + unknown tongue. Joe took the body to the home station. “Who's the boss + bringin'?” asked the shearers, seeing the waggonette coming very slowly + and the boss walking by the horses' heads. “Doc. Wild,” said a station + hand. “Take yer hats off.” + </p> + <p> + They buried him with bush honours, and chiselled his name on a slab of + bluegum—a wood that lasts. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Mystery of Dave Regan + </h2> + <p> + “And then there was Dave Regan,” said the traveller. “Dave used to die + oftener than any other bushman I knew. He was always being reported dead + and turnin' up again. He seemed to like it—except once, when his + brother drew his money and drank it all to drown his grief at what he + called Dave's 'untimely end'. Well, Dave went up to Queensland once with + cattle, and was away three years and reported dead, as usual. He was + drowned in the Bogan this time while tryin' to swim his horse acrost a + flood—and his sweetheart hurried up and got spliced to a worse man + before Dave got back. + </p> + <p> + “Well, one day I was out in the bush lookin' for timber, when the biggest + storm ever knowed in that place come on. There was hail in it, too, as big + as bullets, and if I hadn't got behind a stump and crouched down in time + I'd have been riddled like a—like a bushranger. As it was, I got + soakin' wet. The storm was over in a few minutes, the water run off down + the gullies, and the sun come out and the scrub steamed—and stunk + like a new pair of moleskin trousers. I went on along the track, and + presently I seen a long, lanky chap get on to a long, lanky horse and ride + out of a bush yard at the edge of a clearin'. I knowed it was Dave + d'reckly I set eyes on him. + </p> + <p> + “Dave used to ride a tall, holler-backed thoroughbred with a body and + limbs like a kangaroo dog, and it would circle around you and sidle away + as if it was frightened you was goin' to jab a knife into it. + </p> + <p> + “''Ello! Dave!' said I, as he came spurrin' up. 'How are yer!' + </p> + <p> + “''Ello, Jim!' says he. 'How are you?' + </p> + <p> + “'All right!' says I. 'How are yer gettin' on?' + </p> + <p> + “But, before we could say any more, that horse shied away and broke off + through the scrub to the right. I waited, because I knowed Dave would come + back again if I waited long enough; and in about ten minutes he came + sidlin' in from the scrub to the left. + </p> + <p> + “'Oh, I'm all right,' says he, spurrin' up sideways; 'How are you?' + </p> + <p> + “'Right!' says I. 'How's the old people?' + </p> + <p> + “'Oh, I ain't been home yet,' says he, holdin' out his hand; but, afore I + could grip it, the cussed horse sidled off to the south end of the + clearin' and broke away again through the scrub. + </p> + <p> + “I heard Dave swearin' about the country for twenty minutes or so, and + then he came spurrin' and cursin' in from the other end of the clearin'. + </p> + <p> + “'Where have you been all this time?' I said, as the horse came curvin' up + like a boomerang. + </p> + <p> + “'Gulf country,' said Dave. + </p> + <p> + “'That was a storm, Dave,' said I. + </p> + <p> + “'My oath!' says Dave. + </p> + <p> + “'Get caught in it?' + </p> + <p> + “'Yes.' + </p> + <p> + “'Got to shelter?' + </p> + <p> + “'No.' + </p> + <p> + “'But you're as dry's a bone, Dave!' + </p> + <p> + “Dave grinned. '———and———and———the————!' + he yelled. + </p> + <p> + “He said that to the horse as it boomeranged off again and broke away + through the scrub. I waited; but he didn't come back, and I reckoned he'd + got so far away before he could pull up that he didn't think it worth + while comin' back; so I went on. By-and-bye I got thinkin'. Dave was as + dry as a bone, and I knowed that he hadn't had time to get to shelter, for + there wasn't a shed within twelve miles. He wasn't only dry, but his coat + was creased and dusty too—same as if he'd been sleepin' in a holler + log; and when I come to think of it, his face seemed thinner and whiter + than it used ter, and so did his hands and wrists, which always stuck a + long way out of his coat-sleeves; and there was blood on his face—but + I thought he'd got scratched with a twig. (Dave used to wear a coat three + or four sizes too small for him, with sleeves that didn't come much below + his elbows and a tail that scarcely reached his waist behind.) And his + hair seemed dark and lank, instead of bein' sandy and stickin' out like an + old fibre brush, as it used ter. And then I thought his voice sounded + different, too. And, when I enquired next day, there was no one heard of + Dave, and the chaps reckoned I must have been drunk, or seen his ghost. + </p> + <p> + “It didn't seem all right at all—it worried me a lot. I couldn't + make out how Dave kept dry; and the horse and saddle and saddle-cloth was + wet. I told the chaps how he talked to me and what he said, and how he + swore at the horse; but they only said it was Dave's ghost and nobody + else's. I told 'em about him bein' dry as a bone after gettin' caught in + that storm; but they only laughed and said it was a dry place where Dave + went to. I talked and argued about it until the chaps began to tap their + foreheads and wink—then I left off talking. But I didn't leave off + thinkin'—I always hated a mystery. Even Dave's father told me that + Dave couldn't be alive or else his ghost wouldn't be round—he said + he knew Dave better than that. One or two fellers did turn up afterwards + that had seen Dave about the time that I did—and then the chaps said + they was sure that Dave was dead. + </p> + <p> + “But one fine day, as a lot of us chaps was playin' pitch and toss at the + shanty, one of the fellers yelled out: + </p> + <p> + “'By Gee! Here comes Dave Regan!' + </p> + <p> + “And I looked up and saw Dave himself, sidlin' out of a cloud of dust on a + long lanky horse. He rode into the stockyard, got down, hung his horse up + to a post, put up the rails, and then come slopin' towards us with a + half-acre grin on his face. Dave had long, thin bow-legs, and when he was + on the ground he moved as if he was on roller skates. + </p> + <p> + “''El-lo, Dave!' says I. 'How are yer?' + </p> + <p> + “''Ello, Jim!' said he. 'How the blazes are you?' + </p> + <p> + “'All right!' says I, shakin' hands. 'How are yer?' + </p> + <p> + “'Oh! I'm all right!' he says. 'How are yer poppin' up!' + </p> + <p> + “Well, when we'd got all that settled, and the other chaps had asked how + he was, he said: 'Ah, well! Let's have a drink.' + </p> + <p> + “And all the other chaps crawfished up and flung themselves round the + corner and sidled into the bar after Dave. We had a lot of talk, and he + told us that he'd been down before, but had gone away without seein' any + of us, except me, because he'd suddenly heard of a mob of cattle at a + station two hundred miles away; and after a while I took him aside and + said: + </p> + <p> + “'Look here, Dave! Do you remember the day I met you after the storm?' + </p> + <p> + “He scratched his head. + </p> + <p> + “'Why, yes,' he says. + </p> + <p> + “'Did you get under shelter that day?' + </p> + <p> + “'Why—no.' + </p> + <p> + “'Then how the blazes didn't yer get wet?' + </p> + <p> + “Dave grinned; then he says: + </p> + <p> + “'Why, when I seen the storm coming I took off me clothes and stuck 'em in + a holler log till the rain was over.' + </p> + <p> + “'Yes,' he says, after the other coves had done laughin', but before I'd + done thinking; 'I kept my clothes dry and got a good refreshin' + shower-bath into the bargain.' + </p> + <p> + “Then he scratched the back of his neck with his little finger, and + dropped his jaw, and thought a bit; then he rubbed the top of his head and + his shoulder, reflective-like, and then he said: + </p> + <p> + “'But I didn't reckon for them there blanky hailstones.'” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Mitchell on Matrimony + </h2> + <p> + “I suppose your wife will be glad to see you,” said Mitchell to his mate + in their camp by the dam at Hungerford. They were overhauling their swags, + and throwing away the blankets, and calico, and old clothes, and rubbish + they didn't want—everything, in fact, except their pocket-books and + letters and portraits, things which men carry about with them always, that + are found on them when they die, and sent to their relations if possible. + Otherwise they are taken in charge by the constable who officiates at the + inquest, and forwarded to the Minister of Justice along with the + depositions. + </p> + <p> + It was the end of the shearing season. Mitchell and his mate had been + lucky enough to get two good sheds in succession, and were going to take + the coach from Hungerford to Bourke on their way to Sydney. The morning + stars were bright yet, and they sat down to a final billy of tea, two + dusty Johnny-cakes, and a scrag of salt mutton. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mitchell's mate, “and I'll be glad to see her too.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you will,” said Mitchell. He placed his pint-pot between his + feet, rested his arm against his knee, and stirred the tea meditatively + with the handle of his pocket-knife. It was vaguely understood that + Mitchell had been married at one period of his chequered career. + </p> + <p> + “I don't think we ever understood women properly,” he said, as he took a + cautious sip to see if his tea was cool and sweet enough, for his lips + were sore; “I don't think we ever will—we never took the trouble to + try, and if we did it would be only wasted brain power that might just as + well be spent on the blackfellow's lingo; because by the time you've + learnt it they'll be extinct, and woman 'll be extinct before you've + learnt her.... The morning star looks bright, doesn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, well,” said Mitchell after a while, “there's many little things we + might try to understand women in. I read in a piece of newspaper the other + day about how a man changes after he's married; how he gets short, and + impatient, and bored (which is only natural), and sticks up a wall of + newspaper between himself and his wife when he's at home; and how it comes + like a cold shock to her, and all her air-castles vanish, and in the end + she often thinks about taking the baby and the clothes she stands in, and + going home for sympathy and comfort to mother. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps she never got a word of sympathy from her mother in her life, nor + a day's comfort at home before she was married; but that doesn't make the + slightest difference. It doesn't make any difference in your case either, + if you haven't been acting like a dutiful son-in-law. + </p> + <p> + “Somebody wrote that a woman's love is her whole existence, while a man's + love is only part of his—which is true, and only natural and + reasonable, all things considered. But women never consider as a rule. A + man can't go on talking lovey-dovey talk for ever, and listening to his + young wife's prattle when he's got to think about making a living, and + nursing her and answering her childish questions and telling her he loves + his little ownest every minute in the day, while the bills are running up, + and rent mornings begin to fly round and hustle and crowd him. + </p> + <p> + “He's got her and he's satisfied; and if the truth is known he loves her + really more than he did when they were engaged, only she won't be + satisfied about it unless he tells her so every hour in the day. At least + that's how it is for the first few months. + </p> + <p> + “But a woman doesn't understand these things—she never will, she + can't—and it would be just as well for us to try and understand that + she doesn't and can't understand them.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchell knocked the tea-leaves out of his pannikin against his boot, and + reached for the billy. + </p> + <p> + “There's many little things we might do that seem mere trifles and + nonsense to us, but mean a lot to her; that wouldn't be any trouble or + sacrifice to us, but might help to make her life happy. It's just because + we never think about these little things—don't think them worth + thinking about, in fact—they never enter our intellectual foreheads. + </p> + <p> + “For instance, when you're going out in the morning you might put your + arms round her and give her a hug and a kiss, without her having to remind + you. You may forget about it and never think any more of it—but she + will. + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn't be any trouble to you, and would only take a couple of + seconds, and would give her something to be happy about when you're gone, + and make her sing to herself for hours while she bustles about her work + and thinks up what she'll get you for dinner.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchell's mate sighed, and shifted the sugar-bag over towards Mitchell. + He seemed touched and bothered over something. + </p> + <p> + “Then again,” said Mitchell, “it mightn't be convenient for you to go home + to dinner—something might turn up during the morning—you might + have some important business to do, or meet some chaps and get invited to + lunch and not be very well able to refuse, when it's too late, or you + haven't a chance to send a message to your wife. But then again, chaps and + business seem very big things to you, and only little things to the wife; + just as lovey-dovey talk is important to her and nonsense to you. And when + you come to analyse it, one is not so big, nor the other so small, after + all; especially when you come to think that chaps can always wait, and + business is only an inspiration in your mind, nine cases out of ten. + </p> + <p> + “Think of the trouble she takes to get you a good dinner, and how she + keeps it hot between two plates in the oven, and waits hour after hour + till the dinner gets dried up, and all her morning's work is wasted. Think + how it hurts her, and how anxious she'll be (especially if you're inclined + to booze) for fear that something has happened to you. You can't get it + out of the heads of some young wives that you're liable to get run over, + or knocked down, or assaulted, or robbed, or get into one of the fixes + that a woman is likely to get into. But about the dinner waiting. Try and + put yourself in her place. Wouldn't you get mad under the same + circumstances? I know I would. + </p> + <p> + “I remember once, only just after I was married, I was invited + unexpectedly to a kidney pudding and beans—which was my favourite + grub at the time—and I didn't resist, especially as it was washing + day and I told the wife not to bother about anything for dinner. I got + home an hour or so late, and had a good explanation thought out, when the + wife met me with a smile as if we had just been left a thousand pounds. + She'd got her washing finished without assistance, though I'd told her to + get somebody to help her, and she had a kidney pudding and beans, with a + lot of extras thrown in, as a pleasant surprise for me. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I kissed her, and sat down, and stuffed till I thought every + mouthful would choke me. I got through with it somehow, but I've never + cared for kidney pudding or beans since.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchell felt for his pipe with a fatherly smile in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “And then again,” he continued, as he cut up his tobacco, “your wife might + put on a new dress and fix herself up and look well, and you might think + so and be satisfied with her appearance and be proud to take her out; but + you want to tell her so, and tell her so as often as you think about it—and + try to think a little oftener than men usually do, too.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + “You should have made a good husband, Jack,” said his mate, in a softened + tone. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, well, perhaps I should,” said Mitchell, rubbing up his tobacco; then + he asked abstractedly: “What sort of a husband did you make, Joe?” + </p> + <p> + “I might have made a better one than I did,” said Joe seriously, and + rather bitterly, “but I know one thing, I'm going to try and make up for + it when I go back this time.” + </p> + <p> + “We all say that,” said Mitchell reflectively, filling his pipe. “She + loves you, Joe.” + </p> + <p> + “I know she does,” said Joe. + </p> + <p> + Mitchell lit up. + </p> + <p> + “And so would any man who knew her or had seen her letters to you,” he + said between the puffs. “She's happy and contented enough, I believe?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Joe, “at least while I was there. She's never easy when I'm + away. I might have made her a good deal more happy and contented without + hurting myself much.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchell smoked long, soft, measured puffs. + </p> + <p> + His mate shifted uneasily and glanced at him a couple of times, and seemed + to become impatient, and to make up his mind about something; or perhaps + he got an idea that Mitchell had been “having” him, and felt angry over + being betrayed into maudlin confidences; for he asked abruptly: + </p> + <p> + “How is your wife now, Mitchell?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said Mitchell calmly. + </p> + <p> + “Don't know?” echoed the mate. “Didn't you treat her well?” + </p> + <p> + Mitchell removed his pipe and drew a long breath. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, well, I tried to,” he said wearily. + </p> + <p> + “Well, did you put your theory into practice?” + </p> + <p> + “I did,” said Mitchell very deliberately. + </p> + <p> + Joe waited, but nothing came. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he asked impatiently, “How did it act? Did it work well?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said Mitchell (puff); “she left me.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” + </p> + <p> + Mitchell jerked the half-smoked pipe from his mouth, and rapped the + burning tobacco out against the toe of his boot. + </p> + <p> + “She left me,” he said, standing up and stretching himself. Then, with a + vicious jerk of his arm, “She left me for—another kind of a fellow!” + </p> + <p> + He looked east towards the public-house, where they were taking the + coach-horses from the stable. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you finish your tea, Joe? The billy's getting cold.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Mitchell on Women + </h2> + <p> + “All the same,” said Mitchell's mate, continuing an argument by the + camp-fire; “all the same, I think that a woman can stand cold water better + than a man. Why, when I was staying in a boarding-house in Dunedin, one + very cold winter, there was a lady lodger who went down to the shower-bath + first thing every morning; never missed one; sometimes went in freezing + weather when I wouldn't go into a cold bath for a fiver; and sometimes + she'd stay under the shower for ten minutes at a time.” + </p> + <p> + “How'd you know?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, my room was near the bath-room, and I could hear the shower and tap + going, and her floundering about.” + </p> + <p> + “Hear your grandmother!” exclaimed Mitchell, contemptuously. “You don't + know women yet. Was this woman married? Did she have a husband there?” + </p> + <p> + “No; she was a young widow.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! well, it would have been the same if she was a young girl—or an + old one. Were there some passable men-boarders there?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> was there.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes! But I mean, were there any there beside you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, there were three or four; there was—a clerk and a——” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, as long as there was something with trousers on. Did it ever + strike you that she never got into the bath at all?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, no! What would she want to go there at all for, in that case?” + </p> + <p> + “To make an impression on the men,” replied Mitchell promptly. “She wanted + to make out she was nice, and wholesome, and well-washed, and particular. + Made an impression on YOU, it seems, or you wouldn't remember it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, yes, I suppose so; and, now I come to think of it, the bath didn't + seem to injure her make-up or wet her hair; but I supposed she held her + head from under the shower somehow.” + </p> + <p> + “Did she make-up so early in the morning?” asked Mitchell. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—I'm sure.” + </p> + <p> + “That's unusual; but it might have been so where there was a lot of + boarders. And about the hair—that didn't count for anything, because + washing-the-head ain't supposed to be always included in a lady's bath; + it's only supposed to be washed once a fortnight, and some don't do it + once a month. The hair takes so long to dry; it don't matter so much if + the woman's got short, scraggy hair; but if a girl's hair was down to her + waist it would take hours to dry.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, how do they manage it without wetting their heads?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's easy enough. They have a little oilskin cap that fits tight + over the forehead, and they put it on, and bunch their hair up in it when + they go under the shower. Did you ever see a woman sit in a sunny place + with her hair down after having a wash?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I used to see one do that regular where I was staying; but I thought + she only did it to show off.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all—she was drying her hair; though perhaps she was showing + off at the same time, for she wouldn't sit where you—or even a + Chinaman—could see her, if she didn't think she had a good head of + hair. Now, I'LL tell you a yarn about a woman's bath. I was stopping at a + shabby-genteel boarding-house in Melbourne once, and one very cold winter, + too; and there was a rather good-looking woman there, looking for a + husband. She used to go down to the bath every morning, no matter how cold + it was, and flounder and splash about as if she enjoyed it, till you'd + feel as though you'd like to go and catch hold of her and wrap her in a + rug and carry her in to the fire and nurse her till she was warm again.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchell's mate moved uneasily, and crossed the other leg; he seemed + greatly interested. + </p> + <p> + “But she never went into the water at all!” continued Mitchell. “As soon + as one or two of the men was up in the morning she'd come down from her + room in a dressing-gown. It was a toney dressing-gown, too, and set her + off properly. She knew how to dress, anyway; most of that sort of women + do. The gown was a kind of green colour, with pink and white flowers all + over it, and red lining, and a lot of coffee-coloured lace round the neck + and down the front. Well, she'd come tripping downstairs and along the + passage, holding up one side of the gown to show her little bare white + foot in a slipper; and in the other hand she carried her tooth-brush and + bath-brush, and soap—like this—so's we all could see 'em; + trying to make out she was too particular to use soap after anyone else. + She could afford to buy her own soap, anyhow; it was hardly ever wet. + </p> + <p> + “Well, she'd go into the bathroom and turn on the tap and shower; when she + got about three inches of water in the bath, she'd step in, holding up her + gown out of the water, and go slithering and kicking up and down the bath, + like this, making a tremendous splashing. Of course she'd turn off the + shower first, and screw it off very tight—wouldn't do to let that + leak, you know; she might get wet; but she'd leave the other tap on, so as + to make all the more noise.” + </p> + <p> + “But how did you come to know all about this?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the servant girl told me. One morning she twigged her through a + corner of the bathroom window that the curtain didn't cover.” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to have been pretty thick with servant girls.” + </p> + <p> + “So do you with landladies! But never mind—let me finish the yarn. + When she thought she'd splashed enough, she'd get out, wipe her feet, wash + her face and hands, and carefully unbutton the two top buttons of her + gown; then throw a towel over her head and shoulders, and listen at the + door till she thought she heard some of the men moving about. Then she'd + start for her room, and, if she met one of the men-boarders in the passage + or on the stairs, she'd drop her eyes, and pretend to see for the first + time that the top of her dressing-gown wasn't buttoned—and she'd + give a little start and grab the gown and scurry off to her room buttoning + it up. + </p> + <p> + “And sometimes she'd come skipping into the breakfast-room late, looking + awfully sweet in her dressing-gown; and if she saw any of us there, she'd + pretend to be much startled, and say that she thought all the men had gone + out, and make as though she was going to clear; and someone 'd jump up and + give her a chair, while someone else said, 'Come in, Miss Brown! come in! + Don't let us frighten you. Come right in, and have your breakfast before + it gets cold.' So she'd flutter a bit in pretty confusion, and then make a + sweet little girly-girly dive for her chair, and tuck her feet away under + the table; and she'd blush, too, but I don't know how she managed that. + </p> + <p> + “I know another trick that women have; it's mostly played by private + barmaids. That is, to leave a stocking by accident in the bathroom for the + gentlemen to find. If the barmaid's got a nice foot and ankle, she uses + one of her own stockings; but if she hasn't she gets hold of a stocking + that belongs to a girl that has. Anyway, she'll have one readied up + somehow. The stocking must be worn and nicely darned; one that's been worn + will keep the shape of the leg and foot—at least till it's washed + again. Well, the barmaid generally knows what time the gentlemen go to + bath, and she'll make it a point of going down just as a gentleman's + going. Of course he'll give her the preference—let her go first, you + know—and she'll go in and accidentally leave the stocking in a place + where he's sure to see it, and when she comes out he'll go in and find it; + and very likely he'll be a jolly sort of fellow, and when they're all + sitting down to breakfast he'll come in and ask them to guess what he's + found, and then he'll hold up the stocking. The barmaid likes this sort of + thing; but she'll hold down her head, and pretend to be confused, and keep + her eyes on her plate, and there'll be much blushing and all that sort of + thing, and perhaps she'll gammon to be mad at him, and the landlady'll + say, 'Oh, Mr. Smith! how can yer? At the breakfast table, too!' and + they'll all laugh and look at the barmaid, and she'll get more embarrassed + than ever, and spill her tea, and make out as though the stocking didn't + belong to her.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + No Place for a Woman + </h2> + <p> + He had a selection on a long box-scrub siding of the ridges, about half a + mile back and up from the coach road. There were no neighbours that I ever + heard of, and the nearest “town” was thirty miles away. He grew wheat + among the stumps of his clearing, sold the crop standing to a Cockie who + lived ten miles away, and had some surplus sons; or, some seasons, he + reaped it by hand, had it thrashed by travelling “steamer” (portable steam + engine and machine), and carried the grain, a few bags at a time, into the + mill on his rickety dray. + </p> + <p> + He had lived alone for upwards of 15 years, and was known to those who + knew him as “Ratty Howlett”. + </p> + <p> + Trav'lers and strangers failed to see anything uncommonly ratty about him. + It was known, or, at least, it was believed, without question, that while + at work he kept his horse saddled and bridled, and hung up to the fence, + or grazing about, with the saddle on—or, anyway, close handy for a + moment's notice—and whenever he caught sight, over the scrub and + through the quarter-mile break in it, of a traveller on the road, he would + jump on his horse and make after him. If it was a horseman he usually + pulled him up inside of a mile. Stories were told of unsuccessful chases, + misunderstandings, and complications arising out of Howlett's mania for + running down and bailing up travellers. Sometimes he caught one every day + for a week, sometimes not one for weeks—it was a lonely track. + </p> + <p> + The explanation was simple, sufficient, and perfectly natural—from a + bushman's point of view. Ratty only wanted to have a yarn. He and the + traveller would camp in the shade for half an hour or so and yarn and + smoke. The old man would find out where the traveller came from, and how + long he'd been there, and where he was making for, and how long he + reckoned he'd be away; and ask if there had been any rain along the + traveller's back track, and how the country looked after the drought; and + he'd get the traveller's ideas on abstract questions—if he had any. + If it was a footman (swagman), and he was short of tobacco, old Howlett + always had half a stick ready for him. Sometimes, but very rarely, he'd + invite the swagman back to the hut for a pint of tea, or a bit of meat, + flour, tea, or sugar, to carry him along the track. + </p> + <p> + And, after the yarn by the road, they said, the old man would ride back, + refreshed, to his lonely selection, and work on into the night as long as + he could see his solitary old plough horse, or the scoop of his + long-handled shovel. + </p> + <p> + And so it was that I came to make his acquaintance—or, rather, that + he made mine. I was cantering easily along the track—I was making + for the north-west with a pack horse—when about a mile beyond the + track to the selection I heard, “Hi, Mister!” and saw a dust cloud + following me. I had heard of “Old Ratty Howlett” casually, and so was + prepared for him. + </p> + <p> + A tall gaunt man on a little horse. He was clean-shaven, except for a + frill beard round under his chin, and his long wavy, dark hair was turning + grey; a square, strong-faced man, and reminded me of one full-faced + portrait of Gladstone more than any other face I had seen. He had large + reddish-brown eyes, deep set under heavy eyebrows, and with something of + the blackfellow in them—the sort of eyes that will peer at something + on the horizon that no one else can see. He had a way of talking to the + horizon, too—more than to his companion; and he had a deep vertical + wrinkle in his forehead that no smile could lessen. + </p> + <p> + I got down and got out my pipe, and we sat on a log and yarned awhile on + bush subjects; and then, after a pause, he shifted uneasily, it seemed to + me, and asked rather abruptly, and in an altered tone, if I was married. A + queer question to ask a traveller; more especially in my case, as I was + little more than a boy then. + </p> + <p> + He talked on again of old things and places where we had both been, and + asked after men he knew, or had known—drovers and others—and + whether they were living yet. Most of his inquiries went back before my + time; but some of the drovers, one or two overlanders with whom he had + been mates in his time, had grown old into mine, and I knew them. I notice + now, though I didn't then—and if I had it would not have seemed + strange from a bush point of view—that he didn't ask for news, nor + seem interested in it. + </p> + <p> + Then after another uneasy pause, during which he scratched crosses in the + dust with a stick, he asked me, in the same queer tone and without looking + at me or looking up, if I happened to know anything about doctoring—if + I'd ever studied it. + </p> + <p> + I asked him if anyone was sick at his place. He hesitated, and said “No.” + Then I wanted to know why he had asked me that question, and he was so + long about answering that I began to think he was hard of hearing, when, + at last, he muttered something about my face reminding him of a young + fellow he knew of who'd gone to Sydney to “study for a doctor”. That might + have been, and looked natural enough; but why didn't he ask me straight + out if I was the chap he “knowed of”? Travellers do not like beating about + the bush in conversation. + </p> + <p> + He sat in silence for a good while, with his arms folded, and looking + absently away over the dead level of the great scrubs that spread from the + foot of the ridge we were on to where a blue peak or two of a distant + range showed above the bush on the horizon. + </p> + <p> + I stood up and put my pipe away and stretched. Then he seemed to wake up. + “Better come back to the hut and have a bit of dinner,” he said. “The + missus will about have it ready, and I'll spare you a handful of hay for + the horses.” + </p> + <p> + The hay decided it. It was a dry season. I was surprised to hear of a + wife, for I thought he was a hatter—I had always heard so; but + perhaps I had been mistaken, and he had married lately; or had got a + housekeeper. The farm was an irregularly-shaped clearing in the scrub, + with a good many stumps in it, with a broken-down two-rail fence along the + frontage, and logs and “dog-leg” the rest. It was about as lonely-looking + a place as I had seen, and I had seen some out-of-the-way, God-forgotten + holes where men lived alone. The hut was in the top corner, a two-roomed + slab hut, with a shingle roof, which must have been uncommon round there + in the days when that hut was built. I was used to bush carpentering, and + saw that the place had been put up by a man who had plenty of life and + hope in front of him, and for someone else beside himself. But there were + two unfinished skilling rooms built on to the back of the hut; the posts, + sleepers, and wall-plates had been well put up and fitted, and the slab + walls were up, but the roof had never been put on. There was nothing but + burrs and nettles inside those walls, and an old wooden bullock plough and + a couple of yokes were dry-rotting across the back doorway. The remains of + a straw-stack, some hay under a bark humpy, a small iron plough, and an + old stiff coffin-headed grey draught horse, were all that I saw about the + place. + </p> + <p> + But there was a bit of a surprise for me inside, in the shape of a clean + white tablecloth on the rough slab table which stood on stakes driven into + the ground. The cloth was coarse, but it was a tablecloth—not a + spare sheet put on in honour of unexpected visitors—and perfectly + clean. The tin plates, pannikins, and jam tins that served as sugar bowls + and salt cellars were polished brightly. The walls and fireplace were + whitewashed, the clay floor swept, and clean sheets of newspaper laid on + the slab mantleshelf under the row of biscuit tins that held the + groceries. I thought that his wife, or housekeeper, or whatever she was, + was a clean and tidy woman about a house. I saw no woman; but on the sofa—a + light, wooden, batten one, with runged arms at the ends—lay a + woman's dress on a lot of sheets of old stained and faded newspapers. He + looked at it in a puzzled way, knitting his forehead, then took it up + absently and folded it. I saw then that it was a riding skirt and jacket. + He bundled them into the newspapers and took them into the bedroom. + </p> + <p> + “The wife was going on a visit down the creek this afternoon,” he said + rapidly and without looking at me, but stooping as if to have another look + through the door at those distant peaks. “I suppose she got tired o' + waitin', and went and took the daughter with her. But, never mind, the + grub is ready.” There was a camp-oven with a leg of mutton and potatoes + sizzling in it on the hearth, and billies hanging over the fire. I noticed + the billies had been scraped, and the lids polished. + </p> + <p> + There seemed to be something queer about the whole business, but then he + and his wife might have had a “breeze” during the morning. I thought so + during the meal, when the subject of women came up, and he said one never + knew how to take a woman, etc.; but there was nothing in what he said that + need necessarily have referred to his wife or to any woman in particular. + For the rest he talked of old bush things, droving, digging, and old + bushranging—but never about live things and living men, unless any + of the old mates he talked about happened to be alive by accident. He was + very restless in the house, and never took his hat off. + </p> + <p> + There was a dress and a woman's old hat hanging on the wall near the door, + but they looked as if they might have been hanging there for a lifetime. + There seemed something queer about the whole place—something + wanting; but then all out-of-the-way bush homes are haunted by that + something wanting, or, more likely, by the spirits of the things that + should have been there, but never had been. + </p> + <p> + As I rode down the track to the road I looked back and saw old Howlett + hard at work in a hole round a big stump with his long-handled shovel. + </p> + <p> + I'd noticed that he moved and walked with a slight list to port, and put + his hand once or twice to the small of his back, and I set it down to + lumbago, or something of that sort. + </p> + <p> + Up in the Never Never I heard from a drover who had known Howlett that his + wife had died in the first year, and so this mysterious woman, if she was + his wife, was, of course, his second wife. The drover seemed surprised and + rather amused at the thought of old Howlett going in for matrimony again. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + I rode back that way five years later, from the Never Never. It was early + in the morning—I had ridden since midnight. I didn't think the old + man would be up and about; and, besides, I wanted to get on home, and have + a look at the old folk, and the mates I'd left behind—and the girl. + But I hadn't got far past the point where Howlett's track joined the road, + when I happened to look back, and saw him on horseback, stumbling down the + track. I waited till he came up. + </p> + <p> + He was riding the old grey draught horse this time, and it looked very + much broken down. I thought it would have come down every step, and fallen + like an old rotten humpy in a gust of wind. And the old man was not much + better off. I saw at once that he was a very sick man. His face was drawn, + and he bent forward as if he was hurt. He got down stiffly and awkwardly, + like a hurt man, and as soon as his feet touched the ground he grabbed my + arm, or he would have gone down like a man who steps off a train in + motion. He hung towards the bank of the road, feeling blindly, as it were, + for the ground, with his free hand, as I eased him down. I got my blanket + and calico from the pack saddle to make him comfortable. + </p> + <p> + “Help me with my back agen the tree,” he said. “I must sit up—it's + no use lyin' me down.” + </p> + <p> + He sat with his hand gripping his side, and breathed painfully. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I run up to the hut and get the wife?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “No.” He spoke painfully. “No!” Then, as if the words were jerked out of + him by a spasm: “She ain't there.” + </p> + <p> + I took it that she had left him. + </p> + <p> + “How long have you been bad? How long has this been coming on?” + </p> + <p> + He took no notice of the question. I thought it was a touch of rheumatic + fever, or something of that sort. “It's gone into my back and sides now—the + pain's worse in me back,” he said presently. + </p> + <p> + I had once been mates with a man who died suddenly of heart disease, while + at work. He was washing a dish of dirt in the creek near a claim we were + working; he let the dish slip into the water, fell back, crying, “O, my + back!” and was gone. And now I felt by instinct that it was poor old + Howlett's heart that was wrong. A man's heart is in his back as well as in + his arms and hands. + </p> + <p> + The old man had turned pale with the pallor of a man who turns faint in a + heat wave, and his arms fell loosely, and his hands rocked helplessly with + the knuckles in the dust. I felt myself turning white, too, and the sick, + cold, empty feeling in my stomach, for I knew the signs. Bushmen stand in + awe of sickness and death. + </p> + <p> + But after I'd fixed him comfortably and given him a drink from the water + bag the greyness left his face, and he pulled himself together a bit; he + drew up his arms and folded them across his chest. He let his head rest + back against the tree—his slouch hat had fallen off revealing a + broad, white brow, much higher than I expected. He seemed to gaze on the + azure fin of the range, showing above the dark blue-green bush on the + horizon. + </p> + <p> + Then he commenced to speak—taking no notice of me when I asked him + if he felt better now—to talk in that strange, absent, far-away tone + that awes one. He told his story mechanically, monotonously—in set + words, as I believe now, as he had often told it before; if not to others, + then to the loneliness of the bush. And he used the names of people and + places that I had never heard of—just as if I knew them as well as + he did. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't want to bring her up the first year. It was no place for a + woman. I wanted her to stay with her people and wait till I'd got the + place a little more ship-shape. The Phippses took a selection down the + creek. I wanted her to wait and come up with them so's she'd have some + company—a woman to talk to. They came afterwards, but they didn't + stop. It was no place for a woman. + </p> + <p> + “But Mary would come. She wouldn't stop with her people down country. She + wanted to be with me, and look after me, and work and help me.” + </p> + <p> + He repeated himself a great deal—said the same thing over and over + again sometimes. He was only mad on one track. He'd tail off and sit + silent for a while; then he'd become aware of me in a hurried, half-scared + way, and apologise for putting me to all that trouble, and thank me. “I'll + be all right d'reckly. Best take the horses up to the hut and have some + breakfast; you'll find it by the fire. I'll foller you, d'reckly. The + wife'll be waitin' an'——” He would drop off, and be going + again presently on the old track:— + </p> + <p> + “Her mother was coming up to stay awhile at the end of the year, but the + old man hurt his leg. Then her married sister was coming, but one of the + youngsters got sick and there was trouble at home. I saw the doctor in the + town—thirty miles from here—and fixed it up with him. He was a + boozer—I'd 'a shot him afterwards. I fixed up with a woman in the + town to come and stay. I thought Mary was wrong in her time. She must have + been a month or six weeks out. But I listened to her.... Don't argue with + a woman. Don't listen to a woman. Do the right thing. We should have had a + mother woman to talk to us. But it was no place for a woman!” + </p> + <p> + He rocked his head, as if from some old agony of mind, against the + tree-trunk. + </p> + <p> + “She was took bad suddenly one night, but it passed off. False alarm. I + was going to ride somewhere, but she said to wait till daylight. Someone + was sure to pass. She was a brave and sensible girl, but she had a terror + of being left alone. It was no place for a woman! + </p> + <p> + “There was a black shepherd three or four miles away. I rode over while + Mary was asleep, and started the black boy into town. I'd 'a shot him + afterwards if I'd 'a caught him. The old black gin was dead the week + before, or Mary would a' bin alright. She was tied up in a bunch with + strips of blanket and greenhide, and put in a hole. So there wasn't even a + gin near the place. It was no place for a woman! + </p> + <p> + “I was watchin' the road at daylight, and I was watchin' the road at dusk. + I went down in the hollow and stooped down to get the gap agen the sky, + so's I could see if anyone was comin' over.... I'd get on the horse and + gallop along towards the town for five miles, but something would drag me + back, and then I'd race for fear she'd die before I got to the hut. I + expected the doctor every five minutes. + </p> + <p> + “It come on about daylight next morning. I ran back'ards and for'ards + between the hut and the road like a madman. And no one come. I was running + amongst the logs and stumps, and fallin' over them, when I saw a cloud of + dust agen sunrise. It was her mother an' sister in the spring-cart, an' + just catchin' up to them was the doctor in his buggy with the woman I'd + arranged with in town. The mother and sister was staying at the town for + the night, when they heard of the black boy. It took him a day to ride + there. I'd 'a shot him if I'd 'a caught him ever after. The doctor'd been + on the drunk. If I'd had the gun and known she was gone I'd have shot him + in the buggy. They said she was dead. And the child was dead, too. + </p> + <p> + “They blamed me, but I didn't want her to come; it was no place for a + woman. I never saw them again after the funeral. I didn't want to see them + any more.” + </p> + <p> + He moved his head wearily against the tree, and presently drifted on again + in a softer tone—his eyes and voice were growing more absent and + dreamy and far away. + </p> + <p> + “About a month after—or a year, I lost count of the time long ago—she + came back to me. At first she'd come in the night, then sometimes when I + was at work—and she had the baby—it was a girl—in her + arms. And by-and-bye she came to stay altogether.... I didn't blame her + for going away that time—it was no place for a woman.... She was a + good wife to me. She was a jolly girl when I married her. The little girl + grew up like her. I was going to send her down country to be educated—it + was no place for a girl. + </p> + <p> + “But a month, or a year, ago, Mary left me, and took the daughter, and + never came back till last night—this morning, I think it was. I + thought at first it was the girl with her hair done up, and her mother's + skirt on, to surprise her old dad. But it was Mary, my wife—as she + was when I married her. She said she couldn't stay, but she'd wait for me + on the road; on—the road....” + </p> + <p> + His arms fell, and his face went white. I got the water-bag. “Another turn + like that and you'll be gone,” I thought, as he came to again. Then I + suddenly thought of a shanty that had been started, when I came that way + last, ten or twelve miles along the road, towards the town. There was + nothing for it but to leave him and ride on for help, and a cart of some + kind. + </p> + <p> + “You wait here till I come back,” I said. “I'm going for the doctor.” + </p> + <p> + He roused himself a little. “Best come up to the hut and get some grub. + The wife'll be waiting....” He was off the track again. + </p> + <p> + “Will you wait while I take the horse down to the creek?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—I'll wait by the road.” + </p> + <p> + “Look!” I said, “I'll leave the water-bag handy. Don't move till I come + back.” + </p> + <p> + “I won't move—I'll wait by the road,” he said. + </p> + <p> + I took the packhorse, which was the freshest and best, threw the + pack-saddle and bags into a bush, left the other horse to take care of + itself, and started for the shanty, leaving the old man with his back to + the tree, his arms folded, and his eyes on the horizon. + </p> + <p> + One of the chaps at the shanty rode on for the doctor at once, while the + other came back with me in a spring-cart. He told me that old Howlett's + wife had died in child-birth the first year on the selection—“she + was a fine girl he'd heered!” He told me the story as the old man had told + it, and in pretty well the same words, even to giving it as his opinion + that it was no place for a woman. “And he 'hatted' and brooded over it + till he went ratty.” + </p> + <p> + I knew the rest. He not only thought that his wife, or the ghost of his + wife, had been with him all those years, but that the child had lived and + grown up, and that the wife did the housework; which, of course, he must + have done himself. + </p> + <p> + When we reached him his knotted hands had fallen for the last time, and + they were at rest. I only took one quick look at his face, but could have + sworn that he was gazing at the blue fin of the range on the horizon of + the bush. + </p> + <p> + Up at the hut the table was set as on the first day I saw it, and + breakfast in the camp-oven by the fire. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Mitchell's Jobs + </h2> + <p> + “I'm going to knock off work and try to make some money,” said Mitchell, + as he jerked the tea-leaves out of his pannikin and reached for the billy. + “It's been the great mistake of my life—if I hadn't wasted all my + time and energy working and looking for work I might have been an + independent man to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Joe!” he added in a louder voice, condescendingly adapting his language + to my bushed comprehension. “I'm going to sling graft and try and get some + stuff together.” + </p> + <p> + I didn't feel in a responsive humour, but I lit up and settled back + comfortably against the tree, and Jack folded his arms on his knees and + presently continued, reflectively: + </p> + <p> + “I remember the first time I went to work. I was a youngster then. Mother + used to go round looking for jobs for me. She reckoned, perhaps, that I + was too shy to go in where there was a boy wanted and barrack for myself + properly, and she used to help me and see me through to the best of her + ability. I'm afraid I didn't always feel as grateful to her as I should + have felt. I was a thankless kid at the best of times—most kids are—but + otherwise I was a straight enough little chap as nippers go. Sometimes I + almost wish I hadn't been. My relations would have thought a good deal + more of me and treated me better—and, besides, it's a comfort, at + times, to sit and watch the sun going down in the bed of the bush, and + think of your wicked childhood and wasted life, and the way you treated + your parents and broke their hearts, and feel just properly repentant and + bitter and remorseful and low-spirited about it when it's too late. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, well!... I generally did feel a bit backward in going in when I came + to the door of an office or shop where there was a 'Strong Lad', or a + 'Willing Youth', wanted inside to make himself generally useful. I was a + strong lad and a willing youth enough, in some things, for that matter; + but I didn't like to see it written up on a card in a shop window, and I + didn't want to make myself generally useful in a close shop in a hot dusty + street on mornings when the weather was fine and the great sunny rollers + were coming in grand on the Bondi Beach and down at Coogee, and I could + swim.... I'd give something to be down along there now.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchell looked away out over the sultry sandy plain that we were to + tackle next day, and sighed. + </p> + <p> + “The first job I got was in a jam factory. They only had 'Boy Wanted' on + the card in the window, and I thought it would suit me. They set me to + work to peel peaches, and, as soon as the foreman's back was turned, I + picked out a likely-looking peach and tried it. They soaked those peaches + in salt or acid or something—it was part of the process—and I + had to spit it out. Then I got an orange from a boy who was slicing them, + but it was bitter, and I couldn't eat it. I saw that I'd been had + properly. I was in a fix, and had to get out of it the best way I could. + I'd left my coat down in the front shop, and the foreman and boss were + there, so I had to work in that place for two mortal hours. It was about + the longest two hours I'd ever spent in my life. At last the foreman came + up, and I told him I wanted to go down to the back for a minute. I slipped + down, watched my chance till the boss' back was turned, got my coat, and + cleared. + </p> + <p> + “The next job I got was in a mat factory; at least, Aunt got that for me. + I didn't want to have anything to do with mats or carpets. The worst of it + was the boss didn't seem to want me to go, and I had a job to get him to + sack me, and when he did he saw some of my people and took me back again + next week. He sacked me finally the next Saturday. + </p> + <p> + “I got the next job myself. I didn't hurry; I took my time and picked out + a good one. It was in a lolly factory. I thought it would suit me—and + it did, for a while. They put me on stirring up and mixing stuff in the + jujube department; but I got so sick of the smell of it and so full of + jujube and other lollies that I soon wanted a change; so I had a row with + the chief of the jujube department and the boss gave me the sack. + </p> + <p> + “I got a job in a grocery then. I thought I'd have more variety there. But + one day the boss was away, sick or something, all the afternoon, and I + sold a lot of things too cheap. I didn't know. When a customer came in and + asked for something I'd just look round in the window till I saw a card + with the price written up on it, and sell the best quality according to + that price; and once or twice I made a mistake the other way about and + lost a couple of good customers. It was a hot, drowsy afternoon, and + by-and-bye I began to feel dull and sleepy. So I looked round the corner + and saw a Chinaman coming. I got a big tin garden syringe and filled it + full of brine from the butter keg, and, when he came opposite the door, I + let him have the full force of it in the ear. + </p> + <p> + “That Chinaman put down his baskets and came for me. I was strong for my + age, and thought I could fight, but he gave me a proper mauling. + </p> + <p> + “It was like running up against a thrashing machine, and it wouldn't have + been well for me if the boss of the shop next door hadn't interfered. He + told my boss, and my boss gave me the sack at once. + </p> + <p> + “I took a spell of eighteen months or so after that, and was growing up + happy and contented when a married sister of mine must needs come to live + in town and interfere. I didn't like married sisters, though I always got + on grand with my brothers-in-law, and wished there were more of them. The + married sister comes round and cleans up the place and pulls your things + about and finds your pipe and tobacco and things, and cigarette portraits, + and “Deadwood Dicks”, that you've got put away all right, so's your mother + and aunt wouldn't find them in a generation of cats, and says: + </p> + <p> + “'Mother, why don't you make that boy go to work. It's a scandalous shame + to see a big boy like that growing up idle. He's going to the bad before + your eyes.' And she's always trying to make out that you're a liar, and + trying to make mother believe it, too. My married sister got me a job with + a chemist, whose missus she knew. + </p> + <p> + “I got on pretty well there, and by-and-bye I was put upstairs in the + grinding and mixing department; but, after a while, they put another boy + that I was chummy with up there with me, and that was a mistake. I didn't + think so at the time, but I can see it now. We got up to all sorts of + tricks. We'd get mixing together chemicals that weren't related to see how + they'd agree, and we nearly blew up the shop several times, and set it on + fire once. But all the chaps liked us, and fixed things up for us. One day + we got a big black dog—that we meant to take home that evening—and + sneaked him upstairs and put him on a flat roof outside the laboratory. He + had a touch of the mange and didn't look well, so we gave him a dose of + something; and he scrambled over the parapet and slipped down a steep iron + roof in front, and fell on a respected townsman that knew my people. We + were awfully frightened, and didn't say anything. Nobody saw it but us. + The dog had the presence of mind to leave at once, and the respected + townsman was picked up and taken home in a cab; and he got it hot from his + wife, too, I believe, for being in that drunken, beastly state in the main + street in the middle of the day. + </p> + <p> + “I don't think he was ever quite sure that he hadn't been drunk or what + had happened, for he had had one or two that morning; so it didn't matter + much. Only we lost the dog. + </p> + <p> + “One day I went downstairs to the packing-room and saw a lot of phosphorus + in jars of water. I wanted to fix up a ghost for Billy, my mate, so I + nicked a bit and slipped it into my trouser pocket. + </p> + <p> + “I stood under the tap and let it pour on me. The phosphorus burnt clean + through my pocket and fell on the ground. I was sent home that night with + my leg dressed with lime-water and oil, and a pair of the boss's pants on + that were about half a yard too long for me, and I felt miserable enough, + too. They said it would stop my tricks for a while, and so it did. I'll + carry the mark to my dying day—and for two or three days after, for + that matter.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + I fell asleep at this point, and left Mitchell's cattle pup to hear it + out. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Bill, the Ventriloquial Rooster + </h2> + <p> + “When we were up country on the selection, we had a rooster at our place, + named Bill,” said Mitchell; “a big mongrel of no particular breed, though + the old lady said he was a 'brammer'—and many an argument she had + with the old man about it too; she was just as stubborn and obstinate in + her opinion as the governor was in his. But, anyway, we called him Bill, + and didn't take any particular notice of him till a cousin of some of us + came from Sydney on a visit to the country, and stayed at our place + because it was cheaper than stopping at a pub. Well, somehow this chap got + interested in Bill, and studied him for two or three days, and at last he + says: + </p> + <p> + “'Why, that rooster's a ventriloquist!' + </p> + <p> + “'A what?' + </p> + <p> + “'A ventriloquist!' + </p> + <p> + “'Go along with yer!' + </p> + <p> + “'But he is. I've heard of cases like this before; but this is the first + I've come across. Bill's a ventriloquist right enough.' + </p> + <p> + “Then we remembered that there wasn't another rooster within five miles—our + only neighbour, an Irishman named Page, didn't have one at the time—and + we'd often heard another cock crow, but didn't think to take any notice of + it. We watched Bill, and sure enough he WAS a ventriloquist. The + 'ka-cocka' would come all right, but the 'co-ka-koo-oi-oo' seemed to come + from a distance. And sometimes the whole crow would go wrong, and come + back like an echo that had been lost for a year. Bill would stand on + tiptoe, and hold his elbows out, and curve his neck, and go two or three + times as if he was swallowing nest-eggs, and nearly break his neck and + burst his gizzard; and then there'd be no sound at all where he was—only + a cock crowing in the distance. + </p> + <p> + “And pretty soon we could see that Bill was in great trouble about it + himself. You see, he didn't know it was himself—thought it was + another rooster challenging him, and he wanted badly to find that other + bird. He would get up on the wood-heap, and crow and listen—crow and + listen again—crow and listen, and then he'd go up to the top of the + paddock, and get up on the stack, and crow and listen there. Then down to + the other end of the paddock, and get up on a mullock-heap, and crow and + listen there. Then across to the other side and up on a log among the + saplings, and crow 'n' listen some more. He searched all over the place + for that other rooster, but, of course, couldn't find him. Sometimes he'd + be out all day crowing and listening all over the country, and then come + home dead tired, and rest and cool off in a hole that the hens had + scratched for him in a damp place under the water-cask sledge. + </p> + <p> + “Well, one day Page brought home a big white rooster, and when he let it + go it climbed up on Page's stack and crowed, to see if there was any more + roosters round there. Bill had come home tired; it was a hot day, and he'd + rooted out the hens, and was having a spell-oh under the cask when the + white rooster crowed. Bill didn't lose any time getting out and on to the + wood-heap, and then he waited till he heard the crow again; then he + crowed, and the other rooster crowed again, and they crowed at each other + for three days, and called each other all the wretches they could lay + their tongues to, and after that they implored each other to come out and + be made into chicken soup and feather pillows. But neither'd come. You + see, there were THREE crows—there was Bill's crow, and the + ventriloquist crow, and the white rooster's crow—and each rooster + thought that there was TWO roosters in the opposition camp, and that he + mightn't get fair play, and, consequently, both were afraid to put up + their hands. + </p> + <p> + “But at last Bill couldn't stand it any longer. He made up his mind to go + and have it out, even if there was a whole agricultural show of prize and + honourable-mention fighting-cocks in Page's yard. He got down from the + wood-heap and started off across the ploughed field, his head down, his + elbows out, and his thick awkward legs prodding away at the furrows behind + for all they were worth. + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to go down badly and see the fight, and barrack for Bill. But I + daren't, because I'd been coming up the road late the night before with my + brother Joe, and there was about three panels of turkeys roosting along on + the top rail of Page's front fence; and we brushed 'em with a bough, and + they got up such a blessed gobbling fuss about it that Page came out in + his shirt and saw us running away; and I knew he was laying for us with a + bullock whip. Besides, there was friction between the two families on + account of a thoroughbred bull that Page borrowed and wouldn't lend to us, + and that got into our paddock on account of me mending a panel in the + party fence, and carelessly leaving the top rail down after sundown while + our cows was moving round there in the saplings. + </p> + <p> + “So there was too much friction for me to go down, but I climbed a tree as + near the fence as I could and watched. Bill reckoned he'd found that + rooster at last. The white rooster wouldn't come down from the stack, so + Bill went up to him, and they fought there till they tumbled down the + other side, and I couldn't see any more. Wasn't I wild? I'd have given my + dog to have seen the rest of the fight. I went down to the far side of + Page's fence and climbed a tree there, but, of course, I couldn't see + anything, so I came home the back way. Just as I got home Page came round + to the front and sung out, 'Insoid there!' And me and Jim went under the + house like snakes and looked out round a pile. But Page was all right—he + had a broad grin on his face, and Bill safe under his arm. He put Bill + down on the ground very carefully, and says he to the old folks: + </p> + <p> + “'Yer rooster knocked the stuffin' out of my rooster, but I bear no + malice. 'Twas a grand foight.' + </p> + <p> + “And then the old man and Page had a yarn, and got pretty friendly after + that. And Bill didn't seem to bother about any more ventriloquism; but the + white rooster spent a lot of time looking for that other rooster. Perhaps + he thought he'd have better luck with him. But Page was on the look-out + all the time to get a rooster that would lick ours. He did nothing else + for a month but ride round and enquire about roosters; and at last he + borrowed a game-bird in town, left five pounds deposit on him, and brought + him home. And Page and the old man agreed to have a match—about the + only thing they'd agreed about for five years. And they fixed it up for a + Sunday when the old lady and the girls and kids were going on a visit to + some relations, about fifteen miles away—to stop all night. The + guv'nor made me go with them on horseback; but I knew what was up, and so + my pony went lame about a mile along the road, and I had to come back and + turn him out in the top paddock, and hide the saddle and bridle in a + hollow log, and sneak home and climb up on the roof of the shed. It was a + awful hot day, and I had to keep climbing backward and forward over the + ridge-pole all the morning to keep out of sight of the old man, for he was + moving about a good deal. + </p> + <p> + “Well, after dinner, the fellows from roundabout began to ride in and hang + up their horses round the place till it looked as if there was going to be + a funeral. Some of the chaps saw me, of course, but I tipped them the + wink, and they gave me the office whenever the old man happened around. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Page came along with his game-rooster. Its name was Jim. It wasn't + much to look at, and it seemed a good deal smaller and weaker than Bill. + Some of the chaps were disgusted, and said it wasn't a game-rooster at + all; Bill'd settle it in one lick, and they wouldn't have any fun. + </p> + <p> + “Well, they brought the game one out and put him down near the wood-heap, + and rousted Bill out from under his cask. He got interested at once. He + looked at Jim, and got up on the wood-heap and crowed and looked at Jim + again. He reckoned THIS at last was the fowl that had been humbugging him + all along. Presently his trouble caught him, and then he'd crow and take a + squint at the game 'un, and crow again, and have another squint at gamey, + and try to crow and keep his eye on the game-rooster at the same time. But + Jim never committed himself, until at last he happened to gape just after + Bill's whole crow went wrong, and Bill spotted him. He reckoned he'd + caught him this time, and he got down off that wood-heap and went for the + foe. But Jim ran away—and Bill ran after him. + </p> + <p> + “Round and round the wood-heap they went, and round the shed, and round + the house and under it, and back again, and round the wood-heap and over + it and round the other way, and kept it up for close on an hour. Bill's + bill was just within an inch or so of the game-rooster's tail feathers + most of the time, but he couldn't get any nearer, do how he liked. And all + the time the fellers kept chyackin Page and singing out, 'What price yer + game 'un, Page! Go it, Bill! Go it, old cock!' and all that sort of thing. + Well, the game-rooster went as if it was a go-as-you-please, and he didn't + care if it lasted a year. He didn't seem to take any interest in the + business, but Bill got excited, and by-and-by he got mad. He held his head + lower and lower and his wings further and further out from his sides, and + prodded away harder and harder at the ground behind, but it wasn't any + use. Jim seemed to keep ahead without trying. They stuck to the wood-heap + towards the last. They went round first one way for a while, and then the + other for a change, and now and then they'd go over the top to break the + monotony; and the chaps got more interested in the race than they would + have been in the fight—and bet on it, too. But Bill was handicapped + with his weight. He was done up at last; he slowed down till he couldn't + waddle, and then, when he was thoroughly knocked up, that game-rooster + turned on him, and gave him the father of a hiding. + </p> + <p> + “And my father caught me when I'd got down in the excitement, and wasn't + thinking, and HE gave ME the step-father of a hiding. But he had a lively + time with the old lady afterwards, over the cock-fight. + </p> + <p> + “Bill was so disgusted with himself that he went under the cask and died.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Bush Cats + </h2> + <p> + “Domestic cats” we mean—the descendants of cats who came from the + northern world during the last hundred odd years. We do not know the name + of the vessel in which the first Thomas and his Maria came out to + Australia, but we suppose that it was one of the ships of the First Fleet. + Most likely Maria had kittens on the voyage—two lots, perhaps—the + majority of which were buried at sea; and no doubt the disembarkation + caused her much maternal anxiety. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + The feline race has not altered much in Australia, from a physical point + of view—not yet. The rabbit has developed into something like a + cross between a kangaroo and a possum, but the bush has not begun to + develop the common cat. She is just as sedate and motherly as the mummy + cats of Egypt were, but she takes longer strolls of nights, climbs + gum-trees instead of roofs, and hunts stranger vermin than ever came under + the observation of her northern ancestors. Her views have widened. She is + mostly thinner than the English farm cat—which is, they say, on + account of eating lizards. + </p> + <p> + English rats and English mice—we say “English” because everything + which isn't Australian in Australia, IS English (or British)—English + rats and English mice are either rare or non-existent in the bush; but the + hut cat has a wider range for game. She is always dragging in things which + are unknown in the halls of zoology; ugly, loathsome, crawling abortions + which have not been classified yet—and perhaps could not be. + </p> + <p> + The Australian zoologist ought to rake up some more dead languages, and + then go Out Back with a few bush cats. + </p> + <p> + The Australian bush cat has a nasty, unpleasant habit of dragging a long, + wriggling, horrid, black snake—she seems to prefer black snakes—into + a room where there are ladies, proudly laying it down in a conspicuous + place (usually in front of the exit), and then looking up for approbation. + She wonders, perhaps, why the visitors are in such a hurry to leave. + </p> + <p> + Pussy doesn't approve of live snakes round the place, especially if she + has kittens; and if she finds a snake in the vicinity of her progeny—well, + it is bad for that particular serpent. + </p> + <p> + This brings recollections of a neighbour's cat who went out in the scrub, + one midsummer's day, and found a brown snake. Her name—the cat's + name—was Mary Ann. She got hold of the snake all right, just within + an inch of its head; but it got the rest of its length wound round her + body and squeezed about eight lives out of her. She had the presence of + mind to keep her hold; but it struck her that she was in a fix, and that + if she wanted to save her ninth life, it wouldn't be a bad idea to go home + for help. So she started home, snake and all. + </p> + <p> + The family were at dinner when Mary Ann came in, and, although she stood + on an open part of the floor, no one noticed her for a while. She couldn't + ask for help, for her mouth was too full of snake. By-and-bye one of the + girls glanced round, and then went over the table, with a shriek, and out + of the back door. The room was cleared very quickly. The eldest boy got a + long-handled shovel, and in another second would have killed more cat than + snake; but his father interfered. The father was a shearer, and Mary Ann + was a favourite cat with him. He got a pair of shears from the shelf and + deftly shore off the snake's head, and one side of Mary Ann's whiskers. + She didn't think it safe to let go yet. She kept her teeth in the neck + until the selector snipped the rest of the snake off her. The bits were + carried out on a shovel to die at sundown. Mary Ann had a good drink of + milk, and then got her tongue out and licked herself back into the proper + shape for a cat; after which she went out to look for that snake's mate. + She found it, too, and dragged it home the same evening. + </p> + <p> + Cats will kill rabbits and drag them home. We knew a fossicker whose cat + used to bring him a bunny nearly every night. The fossicker had rabbits + for breakfast until he got sick of them, and then he used to swap them + with a butcher for meat. The cat was named Ingersoll, which indicates his + sex and gives an inkling to his master's religious and political opinions. + Ingersoll used to prospect round in the gloaming until he found some + rabbit holes which showed encouraging indications. He would shepherd one + hole for an hour or so every evening until he found it was a duffer, or + worked it out; then he would shift to another. One day he prospected a big + hollow log with a lot of holes in it, and more going down underneath. The + indications were very good, but Ingersoll had no luck. The game had too + many ways of getting out and in. He found that he could not work that + claim by himself, so he floated it into a company. He persuaded several + cats from a neighbouring selection to take shares, and they watched the + holes together, or in turns—they worked shifts. The dividends more + than realised even their wildest expectations, for each cat took home at + least one rabbit every night for a week. + </p> + <p> + A selector started a vegetable garden about the time when rabbits were + beginning to get troublesome up country. The hare had not shown itself + yet. The farmer kept quite a regiment of cats to protect his garden—and + they protected it. He would shut the cats up all day with nothing to eat, + and let them out about sundown; then they would mooch off to the turnip + patch like farm-labourers going to work. They would drag the rabbits home + to the back door, and sit there and watch them until the farmer opened the + door and served out the ration of milk. Then the cats would turn in. He + nearly always found a semi-circle of dead rabbits and watchful cats round + the door in the morning. They sold the product of their labour direct to + the farmer for milk. It didn't matter if one cat had been unlucky—had + not got a rabbit—each had an equal share in the general result. They + were true socialists, those cats. + </p> + <p> + One of those cats was a mighty big Tom, named Jack. He was death on + rabbits; he would work hard all night, laying for them and dragging them + home. Some weeks he would graft every night, and at other times every + other night, but he was generally pretty regular. When he reckoned he had + done an extra night's work, he would take the next night off and go three + miles to the nearest neighbour's to see his Maria and take her out for a + stroll. Well, one evening Jack went into the garden and chose a place + where there was good cover, and lay low. He was a bit earlier than usual, + so he thought he would have a doze till rabbit time. By-and-bye he heard a + noise, and slowly, cautiously opening one eye, he saw two big ears + sticking out of the leaves in front of him. He judged that it was an extra + big bunny, so he put some extra style into his manoeuvres. In about five + minutes he made his spring. He must have thought (if cats think) that it + was a whopping, old-man rabbit, for it was a pioneer hare—not an + ordinary English hare, but one of those great coarse, lanky things which + the bush is breeding. The selector was attracted by an unusual commotion + and a cloud of dust among his cabbages, and came along with his gun in + time to witness the fight. First Jack would drag the hare, and then the + hare would drag Jack; sometimes they would be down together, and then Jack + would use his hind claws with effect; finally he got his teeth in the + right place, and triumphed. Then he started to drag the corpse home, but + he had to give it best and ask his master to lend a hand. The selector + took up the hare, and Jack followed home, much to the family's surprise. + He did not go back to work that night; he took a spell. He had a drink of + milk, licked the dust off himself, washed it down with another drink, and + sat in front of the fire and thought for a goodish while. Then he got up, + walked over to the corner where the hare was lying, had a good look at it, + came back to the fire, sat down again, and thought hard. He was still + thinking when the family retired. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Meeting Old Mates + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I. + + Tom Smith +</pre> + <p> + You are getting well on in the thirties, and haven't left off being a fool + yet. You have been away in another colony or country for a year or so, and + have now come back again. Most of your chums have gone away or got + married, or, worse still, signed the pledge—settled down and got + steady; and you feel lonely and desolate and left-behind enough for + anything. While drifting aimlessly round town with an eye out for some + chance acquaintance to have a knock round with, you run against an old + chum whom you never dreamt of meeting, or whom you thought to be in some + other part of the country—or perhaps you knock up against someone + who knows the old chum in question, and he says: + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you know Tom Smith's in Sydney?” + </p> + <p> + “Tom Smith! Why, I thought he was in Queensland! I haven't seen him for + more than three years. Where's the old joker hanging out at all? Why, + except you, there's no one in Australia I'd sooner see than Tom Smith. + Here I've been mooning round like an unemployed for three weeks, looking + for someone to have a knock round with, and Tom in Sydney all the time. I + wish I'd known before. Where'll I run against him—where does he + live?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he's living at home.” + </p> + <p> + “But where's his home? I was never there.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'll give you his address.... There, I think that's it. I'm not sure + about the number, but you'll soon find out in that street—most of + 'em'll know Tom Smith.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks! I rather think they will. I'm glad I met you. I'll hunt Tom up + to-day.” + </p> + <p> + So you put a few shillings in your pocket, tell your landlady that you're + going to visit an old aunt of yours or a sick friend, and mayn't be home + that night; and then you start out to hunt up Tom Smith and have at least + one more good night, if you die for it. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + This is the first time you have seen Tom at home; you knew of his home and + people in the old days, but only in a vague, indefinite sort of way. Tom + has changed! He is stouter and older-looking; he seems solemn and settled + down. You intended to give him a surprise and have a good old jolly laugh + with him, but somehow things get suddenly damped at the beginning. He + grins and grips your hand right enough, but there seems something wanting. + You can't help staring at him, and he seems to look at you in a strange, + disappointing way; it doesn't strike you that you also have changed, and + perhaps more in his eyes than he in yours. He introduces you to his mother + and sisters and brothers, and the rest of the family; or to his wife, as + the case may be; and you have to suppress your feelings and be polite and + talk common-place. You hate to be polite and talk common-place. You aren't + built that way—and Tom wasn't either, in the old days. The wife (or + the mother and sisters) receives you kindly, for Tom's sake, and makes + much of you; but they don't know you yet. You want to get Tom outside, and + have a yarn and a drink and a laugh with him—you are bursting to + tell him all about yourself, and get him to tell you all about himself, + and ask him if he remembers things; and you wonder if he is bursting the + same way, and hope he is. The old lady and sisters (or the wife) bore you + pretty soon, and you wonder if they bore Tom; you almost fancy, from his + looks, that they do. You wonder whether Tom is coming out to-night, + whether he wants to get out, and if he wants to and wants to get out by + himself, whether he'll be able to manage it; but you daren't broach the + subject, it wouldn't be polite. You've got to be polite. Then you get + worried by the thought that Tom is bursting to get out with you and only + wants an excuse; is waiting, in fact, and hoping for you to ask him in an + off-hand sort of way to come out for a stroll. But you're not quite sure; + and besides, if you were, you wouldn't have the courage. By-and-bye you + get tired of it all, thirsty, and want to get out in the open air. You get + tired of saying, “Do you really, Mrs. Smith?” or “Do you think so, Miss + Smith?” or “You were quite right, Mrs. Smith,” and “Well, I think so too, + Mrs. Smith,” or, to the brother, “That's just what I thought, Mr. Smith.” + You don't want to “talk pretty” to them, and listen to their wishy-washy + nonsense; you want to get out and have a roaring spree with Tom, as you + had in the old days; you want to make another night of it with your old + mate, Tom Smith; and pretty soon you get the blues badly, and feel nearly + smothered in there, and you've got to get out and have a beer anyway—Tom + or no Tom; and you begin to feel wild with Tom himself; and at last you + make a bold dash for it and chance Tom. You get up, look at your hat, and + say: “Ah, well, I must be going, Tom; I've got to meet someone down the + street at seven o'clock. Where'll I meet you in town next week?” + </p> + <p> + But Tom says: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dash it; you ain't going yet. Stay to tea, Joe, stay to tea. It'll be + on the table in a minute. Sit down—sit down, man! Here, gimme your + hat.” + </p> + <p> + And Tom's sister, or wife, or mother comes in with an apron on and her + hands all over flour, and says: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you're not going yet, Mr. Brown? Tea'll be ready in a minute. Do stay + for tea.” And if you make excuses, she cross-examines you about the time + you've got to keep that appointment down the street, and tells you that + their clock is twenty minutes fast, and that you have got plenty of time, + and so you have to give in. But you are mightily encouraged by a winksome + expression which you see, or fancy you see, on your side of Tom's face; + also by the fact of his having accidentally knocked his foot against your + shins. So you stay. + </p> + <p> + One of the females tells you to “Sit there, Mr. Brown,” and you take your + place at the table, and the polite business goes on. You've got to hold + your knife and fork properly, and mind your p's and q's, and when she + says, “Do you take milk and sugar, Mr. Brown?” you've got to say, “Yes, + please, Miss Smith—thanks—that's plenty.” And when they press + you, as they will, to have more, you've got to keep on saying, “No, + thanks, Mrs. Smith; no, thanks, Miss Smith; I really couldn't; I've done + very well, thank you; I had a very late dinner, and so on”—bother + such tommy-rot. And you don't seem to have any appetite, anyway. And you + think of the days out on the track when you and Tom sat on your swags + under a mulga at mid-day, and ate mutton and johnny-cake with + clasp-knives, and drank by turns out of the old, battered, leaky billy. + </p> + <p> + And after tea you have to sit still while the precious minutes are wasted, + and listen and sympathize, while all the time you are on the fidget to get + out with Tom, and go down to a private bar where you know some girls. + </p> + <p> + And perhaps by-and-bye the old lady gets confidential, and seizes an + opportunity to tell you what a good steady young fellow Tom is now that he + never touches drink, and belongs to a temperance society (or the + Y.M.C.A.), and never stays out of nights. + </p> + <p> + Consequently you feel worse than ever, and lonelier, and sorrier that you + wasted your time coming. You are encouraged again by a glimpse of Tom + putting on a clean collar and fixing himself up a bit; but when you are + ready to go, and ask him if he's coming a bit down the street with you, he + says he thinks he will in such a disinterested, don't-mind-if-I-do sort of + tone, that he makes you mad. + </p> + <p> + At last, after promising to “drop in again, Mr. Brown, whenever you're + passing,” and to “don't forget to call,” and thanking them for their + assurance that they'll “be always glad to see you,” and telling them that + you've spent a very pleasant evening and enjoyed yourself, and are awfully + sorry you couldn't stay—you get away with Tom. + </p> + <p> + You don't say much to each other till you get round the corner and down + the street a bit, and then for a while your conversation is mostly + common-place, such as, “Well, how have you been getting on all this time, + Tom?” “Oh, all right. How have you been getting on?” and so on. + </p> + <p> + But presently, and perhaps just as you have made up your mind to chance + the alleged temperance business and ask Tom in to have a drink, he throws + a glance up and down the street, nudges your shoulder, says “Come on,” and + disappears sideways into a pub. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + “What's yours, Tom?” “What's yours, Joe?” “The same for me.” “Well, here's + luck, old man.” “Here's luck.” You take a drink, and look over your glass + at Tom. Then the old smile spreads over his face, and it makes you glad—you + could swear to Tom's grin in a hundred years. Then something tickles him—your + expression, perhaps, or a recollection of the past—and he sets down + his glass on the bar and laughs. Then you laugh. Oh, there's no smile like + the smile that old mates favour each other with over the tops of their + glasses when they meet again after years. It is eloquent, because of the + memories that give it birth. + </p> + <p> + “Here's another. Do you remember——? Do you remember——?” + Oh, it all comes back again like a flash. Tom hasn't changed a bit; just + the same good-hearted, jolly idiot he always was. Old times back again! + “It's just like old times,” says Tom, after three or four more drinks. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + And so you make a night of it and get uproariously jolly. You get as + “glorious” as Bobby Burns did in the part of Tam O'Shanter, and have a + better “time” than any of the times you had in the old days. And you see + Tom as nearly home in the morning as you dare, and he reckons he'll get it + hot from his people—which no doubt he will—and he explains + that they are very particular up at home—church people, you know—and, + of course, especially if he's married, it's understood between you that + you'd better not call for him up at home after this—at least, not + till things have cooled down a bit. It's always the way. The friend of the + husband always gets the blame in cases like this. But Tom fixes up a yarn + to tell them, and you aren't to “say anything different” in case you run + against any of them. And he fixes up an appointment with you for next + Saturday night, and he'll get there if he gets divorced for it. But he + MIGHT have to take the wife out shopping, or one of the girls somewhere; + and if you see her with him you've got to lay low, and be careful, and + wait—at another hour and place, perhaps, all of which is arranged—for + if she sees you she'll smell a rat at once, and he won't be able to get + off at all. + </p> + <p> + And so, as far as you and Tom are concerned, the “old times” have come + back once more. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + But, of course (and we almost forgot it), you might chance to fall in love + with one of Tom's sisters, in which case there would be another and a + totally different story to tell. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + II. + + Jack Ellis +</pre> + <p> + Things are going well with you. You have escaped from “the track”, so to + speak, and are in a snug, comfortable little billet in the city. Well, + while doing the block you run against an old mate of other days—VERY + other days—call him Jack Ellis. Things have gone hard with Jack. He + knows you at once, but makes no advance towards a greeting; he acts as + though he thinks you might cut him—which, of course, if you are a + true mate, you have not the slightest intention of doing. His coat is + yellow and frayed, his hat is battered and green, his trousers “gone” in + various places, his linen very cloudy, and his boots burst and innocent of + polish. You try not to notice these things—or rather, not to seem to + notice them—but you cannot help doing so, and you are afraid he'll + notice that you see these things, and put a wrong construction on it. How + men will misunderstand each other! You greet him with more than the + necessary enthusiasm. In your anxiety to set him at his ease and make him + believe that nothing—not even money—can make a difference in + your friendship, you over-act the business; and presently you are afraid + that he'll notice that too, and put a wrong construction on it. You wish + that your collar was not so clean, nor your clothes so new. Had you known + you would meet him, you would have put on some old clothes for the + occasion. + </p> + <p> + You are both embarrassed, but it is YOU who feel ashamed—you are + almost afraid to look at him lest he'll think you are looking at his + shabbiness. You ask him in to have a drink, but he doesn't respond so + heartily as you wish, as he did in the old days; he doesn't like drinking + with anybody when he isn't “fixed”, as he calls it—when he can't + shout. + </p> + <p> + It didn't matter in the old days who held the money so long as there was + plenty of “stuff” in the camp. You think of the days when Jack stuck to + you through thick and thin. You would like to give him money now, but he + is so proud; he always was; he makes you mad with his beastly pride. There + wasn't any pride of that sort on the track or in the camp in those days; + but times have changed—your lives have drifted too widely apart—you + have taken different tracks since then; and Jack, without intending to, + makes you feel that it is so. + </p> + <p> + You have a drink, but it isn't a success; it falls flat, as far as Jack is + concerned; he won't have another; he doesn't “feel on”, and presently he + escapes under plea of an engagement, and promises to see you again. + </p> + <p> + And you wish that the time was come when no one could have more or less to + spend than another. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + P.S.—I met an old mate of that description once, and so successfully + persuaded him out of his beastly pride that he borrowed two pounds off me + till Monday. I never got it back since, and I want it badly at the present + time. In future I'll leave old mates with their pride unimpaired. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Two Larrikins + </h2> + <p> + “Y'orter do something, Ernie. Yer know how I am. YOU don't seem to care. + Y'orter to do something.” + </p> + <p> + Stowsher slouched at a greater angle to the greasy door-post, and scowled + under his hat-brim. It was a little, low, frowsy room opening into Jones' + Alley. She sat at the table, sewing—a thin, sallow girl with weak, + colourless eyes. She looked as frowsy as her surroundings. + </p> + <p> + “Well, why don't you go to some of them women, and get fixed up?” + </p> + <p> + She flicked the end of the table-cloth over some tiny, unfinished articles + of clothing, and bent to her work. + </p> + <p> + “But you know very well I haven't got a shilling, Ernie,” she said, + quietly. “Where am I to get the money from?” + </p> + <p> + “Who asked yer to get it?” + </p> + <p> + She was silent, with the exasperating silence of a woman who has + determined to do a thing in spite of all reasons and arguments that may be + brought against it. + </p> + <p> + “Well, wot more do yer want?” demanded Stowsher, impatiently. + </p> + <p> + She bent lower. “Couldn't we keep it, Ernie?” + </p> + <p> + “Wot next?” asked Stowsher, sulkily—he had half suspected what was + coming. Then, with an impatient oath, “You must be gettin' ratty.” + </p> + <p> + She brushed the corner of the cloth further over the little clothes. + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn't cost anything, Ernie. I'd take a pride in him, and keep him + clean, and dress him like a little lord. He'll be different from all the + other youngsters. He wouldn't be like those dirty, sickly little brats out + there. He'd be just like you, Ernie; I know he would. I'll look after him + night and day, and bring him up well and strong. We'd train his little + muscles from the first, Ernie, and he'd be able to knock 'em all out when + he grew up. It wouldn't cost much, and I'd work hard and be careful if + you'd help me. And you'd be proud of him, too, Ernie—I know you + would.” + </p> + <p> + Stowsher scraped the doorstep with his foot; but whether he was “touched”, + or feared hysterics and was wisely silent, was not apparent. + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember the first day I met you, Ernie?” she asked, presently. + </p> + <p> + Stowsher regarded her with an uneasy scowl: “Well—wot o' that?” + </p> + <p> + “You came into the bar-parlour at the 'Cricketers' Arms' and caught a push + of 'em chyacking your old man.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I altered that.” + </p> + <p> + “I know you did. You done for three of them, one after another, and two + was bigger than you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes! and when the push come up we done for the rest,” said Stowsher, + softening at the recollection. + </p> + <p> + “And the day you come home and caught the landlord bullying your old + mother like a dog——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I got three months for that job. But it was worth it!” he reflected. + “Only,” he added, “the old woman might have had the knocker to keep away + from the lush while I was in quod.... But wot's all this got to do with + it?” + </p> + <p> + “HE might barrack and fight for you, some day, Ernie,” she said softly, + “when you're old and out of form and ain't got no push to back you.” + </p> + <p> + The thing was becoming decidedly embarrassing to Stowsher; not that he + felt any delicacy on the subject, but because he hated to be drawn into a + conversation that might be considered “soft”. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, stow that!” he said, comfortingly. “Git on yer hat, and I'll take yer + for a trot.” + </p> + <p> + She rose quickly, but restrained herself, recollecting that it was not + good policy to betray eagerness in response to an invitation from Ernie. + </p> + <p> + “But—you know—I don't like to go out like this. You can't—you + wouldn't like to take me out the way I am, Ernie!” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? Wot rot!” + </p> + <p> + “The fellows would see me, and—and——” + </p> + <p> + “And... wot?” + </p> + <p> + “They might notice——” + </p> + <p> + “Well, wot o' that? I want 'em to. Are yer comin' or are yer ain't? Fling + round now. I can't hang on here all day.” + </p> + <p> + They walked towards Flagstaff Hill. + </p> + <p> + One or two, slouching round a pub. corner, saluted with “Wotcher, + Stowsher!” + </p> + <p> + “Not too stinkin',” replied Stowsher. “Soak yer heads.” + </p> + <p> + “Stowsher's goin' to stick,” said one privately. + </p> + <p> + “An' so he orter,” said another. “Wish I had the chanst.” + </p> + <p> + The two turned up a steep lane. + </p> + <p> + “Don't walk so fast up hill, Ernie; I can't, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Liz. I forgot that. Why didn't yer say so before?” + </p> + <p> + She was contentedly silent most of the way, warned by instinct, after the + manner of women when they have gained their point by words. + </p> + <p> + Once he glanced over his shoulder with a short laugh. “Gorblime!” he said, + “I nearly thought the little beggar was a-follerin' along behind!” + </p> + <p> + When he left her at the door he said: “Look here, Liz. 'Ere's half a quid. + Git what yer want. Let her go. I'm goin' to graft again in the mornin', + and I'll come round and see yer to-morrer night.” + </p> + <p> + Still she seemed troubled and uneasy. + </p> + <p> + “Ernie.” + </p> + <p> + “Well. Wot now?” + </p> + <p> + “S'posin' it's a girl, Ernie.” + </p> + <p> + Stowsher flung himself round impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, for God's sake, stow that! Yer always singin' out before yer hurt.... + There's somethin' else, ain't there—while the bloomin' shop's open?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Ernie. Ain't you going to kiss me?... I'm satisfied.” + </p> + <p> + “Satisfied! Yer don't want the kid to be arst 'oo 'is father was, do yer? + Yer'd better come along with me some day this week and git spliced. Yer + don't want to go frettin' or any of that funny business while it's on.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Ernie! do you really mean it?”—and she threw her arms round his + neck, and broke down at last. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + “So-long, Liz. No more funny business now—I've had enough of it. + Keep yer pecker up, old girl. To-morrer night, mind.” Then he added + suddenly: “Yer might have known I ain't that sort of a bloke”—and + left abruptly. + </p> + <p> + Liz was very happy. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Mr. Smellingscheck + </h2> + <p> + I met him in a sixpenny restaurant—“All meals, 6d.—Good beds, + 1s.” That was before sixpenny restaurants rose to a third-class position, + and became possibly respectable places to live in, through the + establishment, beneath them, of fourpenny hash-houses (good beds, 6d.), + and, beneath THEM again, of THREE-penny “dining-rooms—CLEAN beds, + 4d.” + </p> + <p> + There were five beds in our apartment, the head of one against the foot of + the next, and so on round the room, with a space where the door and + washstand were. I chose the bed the head of which was near the foot of + his, because he looked like a man who took his bath regularly. I should + like, in the interests of sentiment, to describe the place as a miserable, + filthy, evil-smelling garret; but I can't—because it wasn't. The + room was large and airy; the floor was scrubbed and the windows cleaned at + least once a week, and the beds kept fresh and neat, which is more—a + good deal more—than can be said of many genteel private + boarding-houses. The lodgers were mostly respectable unemployed, and one + or two—fortunate men!—in work; it was the casual boozer, the + professional loafer, and the occasional spieler—the + one-shilling-bed-men—who made the place objectionable, not the + hard-working people who paid ten pounds a week for the house; and, but for + the one-night lodgers and the big gilt black-and-red bordered and “shaded” + “6d.” in the window—which made me glance guiltily up and down the + street, like a burglar about to do a job, before I went in—I was + pretty comfortable there. + </p> + <p> + They called him “Mr. Smellingscheck”, and treated him with a peculiar kind + of deference, the reason for which they themselves were doubtless unable + to explain or even understand. The haggard woman who made the beds called + him “Mr. Smell-'is-check”. Poor fellow! I didn't think, by the look of + him, that he'd smelt his cheque, or anyone else's, or that anyone else had + smelt his, for many a long day. He was a fat man, slow and placid. He + looked like a typical monopolist who had unaccountably got into a suit of + clothes belonging to a Domain unemployed, and hadn't noticed, or had + entirely forgotten, the circumstance in his business cares—if such a + word as care could be connected with such a calm, self-contained nature. + He wore a suit of cheap slops of some kind of shoddy “tweed”. The coat was + too small and the trousers too short, and they were drawn up to meet the + waistcoat—which they did with painful difficulty, now and then + showing, by way of protest, two pairs of brass buttons and the ends of the + brace-straps; and they seemed to blame the irresponsive waistcoat or the + wearer for it all. Yet he never gave way to assist them. A pair of burst + elastic-sides were in full evidence, and a rim of cloudy sock, with a hole + in it, showed at every step. + </p> + <p> + But he put on his clothes and wore them like—like a gentleman. He + had two white shirts, and they were both dirty. He'd lay them out on the + bed, turn them over, regard them thoughtfully, choose that which appeared + to his calm understanding to be the cleaner, and put it on, and wear it + until it was unmistakably dirtier than the other; then he'd wear the other + till it was dirtier than the first. He managed his three collars the same + way. His handkerchiefs were washed in the bathroom, and dried, without the + slightest disguise, in the bedroom. He never hurried in anything. The way + he cleaned his teeth, shaved, and made his toilet almost transformed the + place, in my imagination, into a gentleman's dressing-room. + </p> + <p> + He talked politics and such things in the abstract—always in the + abstract—calmly in the abstract. He was an old-fashioned + Conservative of the Sir Leicester Deadlock style. When he was moved by an + extra shower of aggressive democratic cant—which was seldom—he + defended Capital, but only as if it needed no defence, and as if its + opponents were merely thoughtless, ignorant children whom he condescended + to set right because of their inexperience and for their own good. He + stuck calmly to his own order—the order which had dropped him like a + foul thing when the bottom dropped out of his boom, whatever that was. He + never talked of his misfortunes. + </p> + <p> + He took his meals at the little greasy table in the dark corner + downstairs, just as if he were dining at the Exchange. He had a chop—rather + well-done—and a sheet of the 'Herald' for breakfast. He carried two + handkerchiefs; he used one for a handkerchief and the other for a + table-napkin, and sometimes folded it absently and laid it on the table. + He rose slowly, putting his chair back, took down his battered old green + hat, and regarded it thoughtfully—as though it had just occurred to + him in a calm, casual way that he'd drop into his hatter's, if he had + time, on his way down town, and get it blocked, or else send the messenger + round with it during business hours. He'd draw his stick out from behind + the next chair, plant it, and, if you hadn't quite finished your side of + the conversation, stand politely waiting until you were done. Then he'd + look for a suitable reply into his hat, put it on, give it a twitch to + settle it on his head—as gentlemen do a “chimney-pot”—step out + into the gangway, turn his face to the door, and walk slowly out on to the + middle of the pavement—looking more placidly well-to-do than ever. + The saying is that clothes make a man, but HE made his almost respectable + just by wearing them. Then he'd consult his watch—(he stuck to the + watch all through, and it seemed a good one—I often wondered why he + didn't pawn it); then he'd turn slowly, right turn, and look down the + street. Then slowly back, left-about turn, and take a cool survey in that + direction, as if calmly undecided whether to take a cab and drive to the + Exchange, or (as it was a very fine morning, and he had half an hour to + spare) walk there and drop in at his club on the way. He'd conclude to + walk. I never saw him go anywhere in particular, but he walked and stood + as if he could. + </p> + <p> + Coming quietly into the room one day, I surprised him sitting at the table + with his arms lying on it and his face resting on them. I heard something + like a sob. He rose hastily, and gathered up some papers which were on the + table; then he turned round, rubbing his forehead and eyes with his + forefinger and thumb, and told me that he suffered from—something, I + forget the name of it, but it was a well-to-do ailment. His manner seemed + a bit jolted and hurried for a minute or so, and then he was himself + again. He told me he was leaving for Melbourne next day. He left while I + was out, and left an envelope downstairs for me. There was nothing in it + except a pound note. + </p> + <p> + I saw him in Brisbane afterwards, well-dressed, getting out of a cab at + the entrance of one of the leading hotels. But his manner was no more + self-contained and well-to-do than it had been in the old sixpenny days—because + it couldn't be. We had a well-to-do whisky together, and he talked of + things in the abstract. He seemed just as if he'd met me in the Australia. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + “A Rough Shed” + </h2> + <p> + A hot, breathless, blinding sunrise—the sun having appeared suddenly + above the ragged edge of the barren scrub like a great disc of molten + steel. No hint of a morning breeze before it, no sign on earth or sky to + show that it is morning—save the position of the sun. + </p> + <p> + A clearing in the scrub—bare as though the surface of the earth were + ploughed and harrowed, and dusty as the road. Two oblong huts—one + for the shearers and one for the rouseabouts—in about the centre of + the clearing (as if even the mongrel scrub had shrunk away from them) + built end-to-end, of weatherboards, and roofed with galvanised iron. + Little ventilation; no verandah; no attempt to create, artificially, a + breath of air through the buildings. Unpainted, sordid—hideous. + Outside, heaps of ashes still hot and smoking. Close at hand, “butcher's + shop”—a bush and bag breakwind in the dust, under a couple of sheets + of iron, with offal, grease and clotted blood blackening the surface of + the ground about it. Greasy, stinking sheepskins hanging everywhere with + blood-blotched sides out. Grease inches deep in great black patches about + the fireplace ends of the huts, where wash-up and “boiling” water is + thrown. + </p> + <p> + Inside, a rough table on supports driven into the black, greasy ground + floor, and formed of flooring boards, running on uneven lines the length + of the hut from within about 6ft. of the fire-place. Lengths of single + six-inch boards or slabs on each side, supported by the projecting ends of + short pieces of timber nailed across the legs of the table to serve as + seats. + </p> + <p> + On each side of the hut runs a rough framework, like the partitions in a + stable; each compartment battened off to about the size of a manger, and + containing four bunks, one above the other, on each side—their ends, + of course, to the table. Scarcely breathing space anywhere between. + Fireplace, the full width of the hut in one end, where all the cooking and + baking for forty or fifty men is done, and where flour, sugar, etc., are + kept in open bags. Fire, like a very furnace. Buckets of tea and coffee on + roasting beds of coals and ashes on the hearth. Pile of “brownie” on the + bare black boards at the end of the table. Unspeakable aroma of forty or + fifty men who have little inclination and less opportunity to wash their + skins, and who soak some of the grease out of their clothes—in + buckets of hot water—on Saturday afternoons or Sundays. And clinging + to all, and over all, the smell of the dried, stale yolk of wool—the + stink of rams! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + “I am a rouseabout of the rouseabouts. I have fallen so far that it is + beneath me to try to climb to the proud position of 'ringer' of the shed. + I had that ambition once, when I was the softest of green hands; but then + I thought I could work out my salvation and go home. I've got used to hell + since then. I only get twenty-five shillings a week (less station store + charges) and tucker here. I have been seven years west of the Darling and + never shore a sheep. Why don't I learn to shear, and so make money? What + should I do with more money? Get out of this and go home? I would never go + home unless I had enough money to keep me for the rest of my life, and + I'll never make that Out Back. Otherwise, what should I do at home? And + how should I account for the seven years, if I were to go home? Could I + describe shed life to them and explain how I lived. They think shearing + only takes a few days of the year—at the beginning of summer. They'd + want to know how I lived the rest of the year. Could I explain that I + 'jabbed trotters' and was a 'tea-and-sugar burglar' between sheds. They'd + think I'd been a tramp and a beggar all the time. Could I explain ANYTHING + so that they'd understand? I'd have to be lying all the time and would + soon be tripped up and found out. For, whatever else I have been I was + never much of a liar. No, I'll never go home. + </p> + <p> + “I become momentarily conscious about daylight. The flies on the track got + me into that habit, I think; they start at day-break—when the + mosquitoes give over. + </p> + <p> + “The cook rings a bullock bell. + </p> + <p> + “The cook is fire-proof. He is as a fiend from the nethermost sheol and + needs to be. No man sees him sleep, for he makes bread—or worse, + brownie—at night, and he rings a bullock bell loudly at half-past + five in the morning to rouse us from our animal torpors. Others, the + sheep-ho's or the engine-drivers at the shed or wool-wash, call him, if he + does sleep. They manage it in shifts, somehow, and sleep somewhere, + sometime. We haven't time to know. The cook rings the bullock bell and + yells the time. It was the same time five minutes ago—or a year ago. + No time to decide which. I dash water over my head and face and slap + handfuls on my eyelids—gummed over aching eyes—still blighted + by the yolk o' wool—grey, greasy-feeling water from a cut-down + kerosene tin which I sneaked from the cook and hid under my bunk and had + the foresight to refill from the cask last night, under cover of warm, + still, suffocating darkness. Or was it the night before last? Anyhow, it + will be sneaked from me to-day, and from the crawler who will collar it + to-morrow, and 'touched' and 'lifted' and 'collared' and recovered by the + cook, and sneaked back again, and cause foul language, and fights, maybe, + till we 'cut-out'. + </p> + <p> + “No; we didn't have sweet dreams of home and mother, gentle poet—nor + yet of babbling brooks and sweethearts, and love's young dream. We are too + dirty and dog-tired when we tumble down, and have too little time to sleep + it off. We don't want to dream those dreams out here—they'd only be + nightmares for us, and we'd wake to remember. We MUSTN'T remember here. + </p> + <p> + “At the edge of the timber a great galvanised-iron shed, nearly all roof, + coming down to within 6ft. 6in. of the 'board' over the 'shoots'. Cloud of + red dust in the dead timber behind, going up—noon-day dust. Fence + covered with skins; carcases being burned; blue smoke going straight up as + in noonday. Great glossy (greasy-glossy) black crows 'flopping' around. + </p> + <p> + “The first syren has gone. We hurry in single files from opposite ends of + rouseabouts' and shearers' huts (as the paths happen to run to the shed) + gulping hot tea or coffee from a pint-pot in one hand and biting at a junk + of brownie in the other. + </p> + <p> + “Shed of forty hands. Shearers rush the pens and yank out sheep and throw + them like demons; grip them with their knees, take up machines, jerk the + strings; and with a rattling whirring roar the great machine-shed starts + for the day. + </p> + <p> + “'Go it, you——tigers!' yells a tar-boy. 'Wool away!' 'Tar!' + 'Sheep Ho!' We rush through with a whirring roar till breakfast time. + </p> + <p> + “We seize our tin plate from the pile, knife and fork from the candle-box, + and crowd round the camp-oven to jab out lean chops, dry as chips, boiled + in fat. Chops or curry-and-rice. There is some growling and cursing. We + slip into our places without removing our hats. There's no time to hunt + for mislaid hats when the whistle goes. Row of hat brims, level, drawn + over eyes, or thrust back—according to characters or temperaments. + Thrust back denotes a lucky absence of brains, I fancy. Row of forks going + up, or jabbing, or poised, loaded, waiting for last mouthful to be bolted. + </p> + <p> + “We pick up, sweep, tar, sew wounds, catch sheep that break from the pens, + jump down and pick up those that can't rise at the bottom of the shoots, + 'bring-my-combs-from-the-grinder-will-yer,' laugh at dirty jokes, and + swear—and, in short, are the 'will-yer' slaves, body and soul, of + seven, six, five, or four shearers, according to the distance from the + rolling tables. + </p> + <p> + “The shearer on the board at the shed is a demon. He gets so much a + hundred; we, 25s. a week. He is not supposed, by the rules of the shed, + the Union, and humanity, to take a sheep out of the pen AFTER the bell + goes (smoke-ho, meals, or knock-off), but his watch is hanging on the + post, and he times himself to get so many sheep out of the pen BEFORE the + bell goes, and ONE MORE—the 'bell-sheep'—as it is ringing. We + have to take the last fleece to the table and leave our board clean. We go + through the day of eight hours in runs of about an hour and 20 minutes + between smoke-ho's—from 6 to 6. If the shearers shore 200 instead of + 100, they'd get 2 Pounds a day instead of 1 Pound, and we'd have twice as + much work to do for our 25s. per week. But the shearers are racing each + other for tallies. And it's no use kicking. There is no God here and no + Unionism (though we all have tickets). But what am I growling about? I've + worked from 6 to 6 with no smoke-ho's for half the wages, and food we + wouldn't give the sheep-ho dog. It's the bush growl, born of heat, flies, + and dust. I'd growl now if I had a thousand a year. We MUST growl, swear, + and some of us drink to d.t.'s, or go mad sober. + </p> + <p> + “Pants and shirts stiff with grease as though a couple of pounds of soft + black putty were spread on with a painter's knife. + </p> + <p> + “No, gentle bard!—we don't sing at our work. Over the whirr and roar + and hum all day long, and with iteration that is childish and irritating + to the intelligent greenhand, float unthinkable adjectives and adverbs, + addressed to jumbucks, jackaroos, and mates indiscriminately. And worse + words for the boss over the board—behind his back. + </p> + <p> + “I came of a Good Christian Family—perhaps that's why I went to the + Devil. When I came out here I'd shrink from the man who used foul + language. In a short time I used it with the worst. I couldn't help it. + </p> + <p> + “That's the way of it. If I went back to a woman's country again I + wouldn't swear. I'd forget this as I would a nightmare. That's the way of + it. There's something of the larrikin about us. We don't exist + individually. Off the board, away from the shed (and each other) we are + quiet—even gentle. + </p> + <p> + “A great-horned ram, in poor condition, but shorn of a heavy fleece, picks + himself up at the foot of the 'shoot', and hesitates, as if ashamed to go + down to the other end where the ewes are. The most ridiculous object under + Heaven. + </p> + <p> + “A tar-boy of fifteen, of the bush, with a mouth so vile that a + street-boy, same age (up with a shearing uncle), kicks him behind—having + proved his superiority with his fists before the shed started. Of which + unspeakable little fiend the roughest shearer of a rough shed was heard to + say, in effect, that if he thought there was the slightest possibility of + his becoming the father of such a boy he'd——take drastic + measures to prevent the possibility of his becoming a proud parent at all. + </p> + <p> + “Twice a day the cooks and their familiars carry buckets of oatmeal-water + and tea to the shed, two each on a yoke. We cry, 'Where are you coming to, + my pretty maids?' + </p> + <p> + “In ten minutes the surfaces of the buckets are black with flies. We have + given over trying to keep them clear. We stir the living cream aside with + the bottoms of the pints, and guzzle gallons, and sweat it out again. + Occasionally a shearer pauses and throws the perspiration from his + forehead in a rain. + </p> + <p> + “Shearers live in such a greedy rush of excitement that often a strong man + will, at a prick of the shears, fall in a death-like faint on the board. + </p> + <p> + “We hate the Boss-of-the-Board as the shearers' 'slushy' hates the + shearers' cook. I don't know why. He's a very fair boss. + </p> + <p> + “He refused to put on a traveller yesterday, and the traveller knocked him + down. He walked into the shed this morning with his hat back and thumbs in + waistcoat—a tribute to man's weakness. He threatened to dismiss the + traveller's mate, a bigger man, for rough shearing—a tribute to + man's strength. The shearer said nothing. We hate the boss because he IS + boss, but we respect him because he is a strong man. He is as hard up as + any of us, I hear, and has a sick wife and a large, small family in + Melbourne. God judge us all! + </p> + <p> + “There is a gambling-school here, headed by the shearers' cook. After tea + they head-'em, and advance cheques are passed from hand to hand, and + thrown in the dust until they are black. When it's too dark to see with + nose to the ground, they go inside and gamble with cards. Sometimes they + start on Saturday afternoon, heading 'em till dark, play cards all night, + start again heading 'em Sunday afternoon, play cards all Sunday night, and + sleep themselves sane on Monday, or go to work ghastly—like dead + men. + </p> + <p> + “Cry of 'Fight'; we all rush out. But there isn't much fighting. Afraid of + murdering each other. I'm beginning to think that most bush crime is due + to irritation born of dust, heat, and flies. + </p> + <p> + “The smothering atmosphere shudders when the sun goes down. We call it the + sunset breeze. + </p> + <p> + “Saturday night or Sunday we're invited into the shearers' hut. There are + songs that are not hymns and recitations and speeches that are not + prayers. + </p> + <p> + “Last Sunday night: Slush lamps at long intervals on table. Men playing + cards, sewing on patches—(nearly all smoking)—some writing, + and the rest reading Deadwood Dick. At one end of the table a Christian + Endeavourer endeavouring; at the other a cockney Jew, from the hawker's + boat, trying to sell rotten clothes. In response to complaints, direct and + not chosen generally for Sunday, the shearers' rep. requests both apostles + to shut up or leave. + </p> + <p> + “He couldn't be expected to take the Christian and leave the Jew, any more + than he could take the Jew and leave the Christian. We are just amongst + ourselves in our hell. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + “Fiddle at the end of rouseabouts' hut. Voice of Jackeroo, from upper bunk + with apologetic oaths: 'For God's sake chuck that up; it makes a man think + of blanky old things!' + </p> + <p> + “A lost soul laughs (mine) and dreadful night smothers us.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Payable Gold + </h2> + <p> + Among the crowds who left the Victorian side for New South Wales about the + time Gulgong broke out was an old Ballarat digger named Peter McKenzie. He + had married and retired from the mining some years previously and had made + a home for himself and family at the village of St. Kilda, near Melbourne; + but, as was often the case with old diggers, the gold fever never left + him, and when the fields of New South Wales began to blaze he mortgaged + his little property in order to raise funds for another campaign, leaving + sufficient behind him to keep his wife and family in comfort for a year or + so. + </p> + <p> + As he often remarked, his position was now very different from what it had + been in the old days when he first arrived from Scotland, in the height of + the excitement following on the great discovery. He was a young man then + with only himself to look out for, but now that he was getting old and had + a family to provide for he had staked too much on this venture to lose. + His position did certainly look like a forlorn hope, but he never seemed + to think so. + </p> + <p> + Peter must have been very lonely and low-spirited at times. A young or + unmarried man can form new ties, and even make new sweethearts if + necessary, but Peter's heart was with his wife and little ones at home, + and they were mortgaged, as it were, to Dame Fortune. Peter had to lift + this mortgage off. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless he was always cheerful, even at the worst of times, and his + straight grey beard and scrubby brown hair encircled a smile which + appeared to be a fixture. He had to make an effort in order to look grave, + such as some men do when they want to force a smile. + </p> + <p> + It was rumoured that Peter had made a vow never to return home until he + could take sufficient wealth to make his all-important family comfortable, + or, at least, to raise the mortgage from the property, for the sacrifice + of which to his mad gold fever he never forgave himself. But this was one + of the few things which Peter kept to himself. + </p> + <p> + The fact that he had a wife and children at St. Kilda was well known to + all the diggers. They had to know it, and if they did not know the age, + complexion, history and peculiarities of every child and of the “old + woman” it was not Peter's fault. + </p> + <p> + He would cross over to our place and talk to the mother for hours about + his wife and children. And nothing pleased him better than to discover + peculiarities in us children wherein we resembled his own. It pleased us + also for mercenary reasons. “It's just the same with my old woman,” or + “It's just the same with my youngsters,” Peter would exclaim boisterously, + for he looked upon any little similarity between the two families as a + remarkable coincidence. He liked us all, and was always very kind to us, + often standing between our backs and the rod that spoils the child—that + is, I mean, if it isn't used. I was very short-tempered, but this failing + was more than condoned by the fact that Peter's “eldest” was given that + way also. Mother's second son was very good-natured; so was Peter's third. + Her “third” had a great aversion for any duty that threatened to increase + his muscles; so had Peter's “second”. Our baby was very fat and heavy and + was given to sucking her own thumb vigorously, and, according to the + latest bulletins from home, it was just the same with Peter's “last”. + </p> + <p> + I think we knew more about Peter's family than we did about our own. + Although we had never seen them, we were as familiar with their features + as the photographer's art could make us, and always knew their domestic + history up to the date of the last mail. + </p> + <p> + We became interested in the McKenzie family. Instead of getting bored by + them as some people were, we were always as much pleased when Peter got a + letter from home as he was himself, and if a mail were missed, which + seldom happened—we almost shared his disappointment and anxiety. + Should one of the youngsters be ill, we would be quite uneasy, on Peter's + account, until the arrival of a later bulletin removed his anxiety, and + ours. + </p> + <p> + It must have been the glorious power of a big true heart that gained for + Peter the goodwill and sympathy of all who knew him. + </p> + <p> + Peter's smile had a peculiar fascination for us children. We would stand + by his pointing forge when he'd be sharpening picks in the early morning, + and watch his face for five minutes at a time, wondering sometimes whether + he was always SMILING INSIDE, or whether the smile went on externally + irrespective of any variation in Peter's condition of mind. + </p> + <p> + I think it was the latter case, for often when he had received bad news + from home we have heard his voice quaver with anxiety, while the old smile + played on his round, brown features just the same. + </p> + <p> + Little Nelse (one of those queer old-man children who seem to come into + the world by mistake, and who seldom stay long) used to say that Peter + “cried inside”. + </p> + <p> + Once, on Gulgong, when he attended the funeral of an old Ballarat mate, a + stranger who had been watching his face curiously remarked that McKenzie + seemed as pleased as though the dead digger had bequeathed him a fortune. + But the stranger had soon reason to alter his opinion, for when another + old mate began in a tremulous voice to repeat the words “Ashes to ashes, + an' dust to dust,” two big tears suddenly burst from Peter's eyes, and + hurried down to get entrapped in his beard. + </p> + <p> + Peter's goldmining ventures were not successful. He sank three duffers in + succession on Gulgong, and the fourth shaft, after paying expenses, left a + little over a hundred to each party, and Peter had to send the bulk of his + share home. He lived in a tent (or in a hut when he could get one) after + the manner of diggers, and he “did for himself”, even to washing his own + clothes. He never drank nor “played”, and he took little enjoyment of any + kind, yet there was not a digger on the field who would dream of calling + old Peter McKenzie “a mean man”. He lived, as we know from our own + observations, in a most frugal manner. He always tried to hide this, and + took care to have plenty of good things for us when he invited us to his + hut; but children's eyes are sharp. Some said that Peter half-starved + himself, but I don't think his family ever knew, unless he told them so + afterwards. + </p> + <p> + Ah, well! the years go over. Peter was now three years from home, and he + and Fortune were enemies still. Letters came by the mail, full of little + home troubles and prayers for Peter's return, and letters went back by the + mail, always hopeful, always cheerful. Peter never gave up. When + everything else failed he would work by the day (a sad thing for a + digger), and he was even known to do a job of fencing until such time as + he could get a few pounds and a small party together to sink another + shaft. + </p> + <p> + Talk about the heroic struggles of early explorers in a hostile country; + but for dogged determination and courage in the face of poverty, illness, + and distance, commend me to the old-time digger—the truest soldier + Hope ever had! + </p> + <p> + In the fourth year of his struggle Peter met with a terrible + disappointment. His party put down a shaft called the Forlorn Hope near + Happy Valley, and after a few weeks' fruitless driving his mates jibbed on + it. Peter had his own opinion about the ground—an old digger's + opinion, and he used every argument in his power to induce his mates to + put a few days' more work in the claim. In vain he pointed out that the + quality of the wash and the dip of the bottom exactly resembled that of + the “Brown Snake”, a rich Victorian claim. In vain he argued that in the + case of the abovementioned claim, not a colour could be got until the + payable gold was actually reached. Home Rule and The Canadian and that + cluster of fields were going ahead, and his party were eager to shift. + They remained obstinate, and at last, half-convinced against his opinion, + Peter left with them to sink the “Iawatha”, in Log Paddock, which turned + out a rank duffer—not even paying its own expenses. + </p> + <p> + A party of Italians entered the old claim and, after driving it a few feet + further, made their fortune. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + We all noticed the change in Peter McKenzie when he came to “Log Paddock”, + whither we had shifted before him. The old smile still flickered, but he + had learned to “look” grave for an hour at a time without much effort. He + was never quite the same after the affair of Forlorn Hope, and I often + think how he must have “cried” sometimes “inside”. + </p> + <p> + However, he still read us letters from home, and came and smoked in the + evening by our kitchen-fire. He showed us some new portraits of his family + which he had received by a late mail, but something gave me the impression + that the portraits made him uneasy. He had them in his possession for + nearly a week before showing them to us, and to the best of our knowledge + he never showed them to anybody else. Perhaps they reminded him of the + flight of time—perhaps he would have preferred his children to + remain just as he left them until he returned. + </p> + <p> + But stay! there was one portrait that seemed to give Peter infinite + pleasure. It was the picture of a chubby infant of about three years or + more. It was a fine-looking child taken in a sitting position on a + cushion, and arrayed in a very short shirt. On its fat, soft, white face, + which was only a few inches above the ten very podgy toes, was a smile + something like Peter's. Peter was never tired of looking at and showing + the picture of his child—the child he had never seen. Perhaps he + cherished a wild dream of making his fortune and returning home before + THAT child grew up. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + McKenzie and party were sinking a shaft at the upper end of Log Paddock, + generally called “The other end”. We were at the lower end. + </p> + <p> + One day Peter came down from “the other end” and told us that his party + expected to “bottom” during the following week, and if they got no + encouragement from the wash they intended to go prospecting at the “Happy + Thought”, near Specimen Flat. + </p> + <p> + The shaft in Log Paddock was christened “Nil Desperandum”. Towards the end + of the week we heard that the wash in the “Nil” was showing good colours. + </p> + <p> + Later came the news that “McKenzie and party” had bottomed on payable + gold, and the red flag floated over the shaft. Long before the first load + of dirt reached the puddling machine on the creek, the news was all round + the diggings. The “Nil Desperandum” was a “Golden Hole”! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + We will not forget the day when Peter went home. He hurried down in the + morning to have an hour or so with us before Cobb and Co. went by. He told + us all about his little cottage by the bay at St. Kilda. He had never + spoken of it before, probably because of the mortgage. He told us how it + faced the bay—how many rooms it had, how much flower garden, and how + on a clear day he could see from the window all the ships that came up to + the Yarra, and how with a good telescope he could even distinguish the + faces of the passengers on the big ocean liners. + </p> + <p> + And then, when the mother's back was turned, he hustled us children round + the corner, and surreptitiously slipped a sovereign into each of our dirty + hands, making great pantomimic show for silence, for the mother was very + independent. + </p> + <p> + And when we saw the last of Peter's face setting like a good-humoured sun + on the top of Cobb and Co.'s, a great feeling of discontent and loneliness + came over all our hearts. Little Nelse, who had been Peter's favourite, + went round behind the pig-stye, where none might disturb him, and sat down + on the projecting end of a trough to “have a cry”, in his usual methodical + manner. But old “Alligator Desolation”, the dog, had suspicions of what + was up, and, hearing the sobs, went round to offer whatever consolation + appertained to a damp and dirty nose and a pair of ludicrously doleful + yellow eyes. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + An Oversight of Steelman's + </h2> + <p> + Steelman and Smith—professional wanderers—were making back for + Wellington, down through the wide and rather dreary-looking Hutt Valley. + They were broke. They carried their few remaining belongings in two + skimpy, amateurish-looking swags. Steelman had fourpence left. They were + very tired and very thirsty—at least Steelman was, and he answered + for both. It was Smith's policy to feel and think just exactly as Steelman + did. Said Steelman: + </p> + <p> + “The landlord of the next pub. is not a bad sort. I won't go in—he + might remember me. You'd best go in. You've been tramping round in the + Wairarapa district for the last six months, looking for work. You're going + back to Wellington now, to try and get on the new corporation works just + being started there—the sewage works. You think you've got a show. + You've got some mates in Wellington, and they're looking out for a chance + for you. You did get a job last week on a sawmill at Silverstream, and the + boss sacked you after three days and wouldn't pay you a penny. That's just + his way. I know him—at least a mate of mine does. I've heard of him + often enough. His name's Cowman. Don't forget the name, whatever you do. + The landlord here hates him like poison; he'll sympathize with you. Tell + him you've got a mate with you; he's gone ahead—took a short cut + across the paddocks. Tell him you've got only fourpence left, and see if + he'll give you a drop in a bottle. Says you: 'Well, boss, the fact is + we've only got fourpence, but you might let us have a drop in a bottle'; + and very likely he'll stand you a couple of pints in a gin-bottle. You can + fling the coppers on the counter, but the chances are he won't take them. + He's not a bad sort. Beer's fourpence a pint out here, same's in + Wellington. See that gin-bottle lying there by the stump; get it and we'll + take it down to the river with us and rinse it out.” + </p> + <p> + They reached the river bank. + </p> + <p> + “You'd better take my swag—it looks more decent,” said Steelman. + “No, I'll tell you what we'll do: we'll undo both swags and make them into + one—one decent swag, and I'll cut round through the lanes and wait + for you on the road ahead of the pub.” + </p> + <p> + He rolled up the swag with much care and deliberation and considerable + judgment. He fastened Smith's belt round one end of it, and the + handkerchiefs round the other, and made a towel serve as a shoulder-strap. + </p> + <p> + “I wish we had a canvas bag to put it in,” he said, “or a cover of some + sort. But never mind. The landlord's an old Australian bushman, now I come + to think of it; the swag looks Australian enough, and it might appeal to + his feelings, you know—bring up old recollections. But you'd best + not say you come from Australia, because he's been there, and he'd soon + trip you up. He might have been where you've been, you know, so don't try + to do too much. You always do mug-up the business when you try to do more + than I tell you. You might tell him your mate came from Australia—but + no, he might want you to bring me in. Better stick to Maoriland. I don't + believe in too much ornamentation. Plain lies are the best.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the landlord's name?” asked Smith. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind that. You don't want to know that. You are not supposed to + know him at all. It might look suspicious if you called him by his name, + and lead to awkward questions; then you'd be sure to put your foot into + it.” + </p> + <p> + “I could say I read it over the door.” + </p> + <p> + “Bosh. Travellers don't read the names over the doors, when they go into + pubs. You're an entire stranger to him. Call him 'Boss'. Say 'Good-day, + Boss,' when you go in, and swing down your swag as if you're used to it. + Ease it down like this. Then straighten yourself up, stick your hat back, + and wipe your forehead, and try to look as hearty and independent and + cheerful as you possibly can. Curse the Government, and say the country's + done. It don't matter what Government it is, for he's always against it. I + never knew a real Australian that wasn't. Say that you're thinking about + trying to get over to Australia, and then listen to him talking about it—and + try to look interested, too! Get that damned stone-deaf expression off + your face!... He'll run Australia down most likely (I never knew an + Other-sider that had settled down over here who didn't). But don't you + make any mistake and agree with him, because, although successful + Australians over here like to run their own country down, there's very few + of them that care to hear anybody else do it.... Don't come away as soon + as you get your beer. Stay and listen to him for a while, as if you're + interested in his yarning, and give him time to put you on to a job, or + offer you one. Give him a chance to ask how you and your mate are off for + tobacco or tucker. Like as not he'll sling you half a crown when you come + away—that is, if you work it all right. Now try to think of + something to say to him, and make yourself a bit interesting—if you + possibly can. Tell him about the fight we saw back at the pub. the other + day. He might know some of the chaps. This is a sleepy hole, and there + ain't much news knocking round.... I wish I could go in myself, but he's + sure to remember ME. I'm afraid he got left the last time I stayed there + (so did one or two others); and, besides, I came away without saying + good-bye to him, and he might feel a bit sore about it. That's the worst + of travelling on the old road. Come on now, wake up!” + </p> + <p> + “Bet I'll get a quart,” said Smith, brightening up, “and some tucker for + it to wash down.” + </p> + <p> + “If you don't,” said Steelman, “I'll stoush you. Never mind the bottle; + fling it away. It doesn't look well for a traveller to go into a pub. with + an empty bottle in his hand. A real swagman never does. It looks much + better to come out with a couple of full ones. That's what you've got to + do. Now, come along.” + </p> + <p> + Steelman turned off into a lane, cut across the paddocks to the road + again, and waited for Smith. He hadn't long to wait. + </p> + <p> + Smith went on towards the public-house, rehearsing his part as he walked—repeating + his “lines” to himself, so as to be sure of remembering all that Steelman + had told him to say to the landlord, and adding, with what he considered + appropriate gestures, some fancy touches of his own, which he determined + to throw in in spite of Steelman's advice and warning. “I'll tell him + (this)—I'll tell him (that). Well, look here, boss, I'll say you're + pretty right and I quite agree with you as far as that's concerned, but,” + &c. And so, murmuring and mumbling to himself, Smith reached the + hotel. The day was late, and the bar was small, and low, and dark. Smith + walked in with all the assurance he could muster, eased down his swag in a + corner in what he no doubt considered the true professional style, and, + swinging round to the bar, said in a loud voice which he intended to be + cheerful, independent, and hearty: + </p> + <p> + “Good-day, boss!” + </p> + <p> + But it wasn't a “boss”. It was about the hardest-faced old woman that + Smith had ever seen. The pub. had changed hands. + </p> + <p> + “I—I beg your pardon, missus,” stammered poor Smith. + </p> + <p> + It was a knock-down blow for Smith. He couldn't come to time. He and + Steelman had had a landlord in their minds all the time, and laid their + plans accordingly; the possibility of having a she—and one like this—to + deal with never entered into their calculations. Smith had no time to + reorganise, even if he had had the brains to do so, without the assistance + of his mate's knowledge of human nature. + </p> + <p> + “I—I beg your pardon, missus,” he stammered. + </p> + <p> + Painful pause. She sized him up. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, missus—I—the fact is—will you give me a bottle of + beer for fourpence?” + </p> + <p> + “Wha—what?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean——. The fact is, we've only got fourpence left, and—I've + got a mate outside, and you might let us have a quart or so, in a bottle, + for that. I mean—anyway, you might let us have a pint. I'm very + sorry to bother you, missus.” + </p> + <p> + But she couldn't do it. No. Certainly not. Decidedly not! All her drinks + were sixpence. She had her license to pay, and the rent, and a family to + keep. It wouldn't pay out there—it wasn't worth her while. It + wouldn't pay the cost of carting the liquor out, &c., &c. + </p> + <p> + “Well, missus,” poor Smith blurted out at last, in sheer desperation, + “give me what you can in a bottle for this. I've—I've got a mate + outside.” And he put the four coppers on the bar. + </p> + <p> + “Have you got a bottle?” + </p> + <p> + “No—but——” + </p> + <p> + “If I give you one, will you bring it back? You can't expect me to give + you a bottle as well as a drink.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, mum; I'll bring it back directly.” + </p> + <p> + She reached out a bottle from under the bar, and very deliberately + measured out a little over a pint and poured it into the bottle, which she + handed to Smith without a cork. + </p> + <p> + Smith went his way without rejoicing. It struck him forcibly that he + should have saved the money until they reached Petone, or the city, where + Steelman would be sure to get a decent drink. But how was he to know? He + had chanced it, and lost; Steelman might have done the same. What troubled + Smith most was the thought of what Steelman would say; he already heard + him, in imagination, saying: “You're a mug, Smith—Smith, you ARE a + mug.” + </p> + <p> + But Steelman didn't say much. He was prepared for the worst by seeing + Smith come along so soon. He listened to his story with an air of gentle + sadness, even as a stern father might listen to the voluntary confession + of a wayward child; then he held the bottle up to the fading light of + departing day, looked through it (the bottle), and said: + </p> + <p> + “Well—it ain't worth while dividing it.” + </p> + <p> + Smith's heart shot right down through a hole in the sole of his left boot + into the hard road. + </p> + <p> + “Here, Smith,” said Steelman, handing him the bottle, “drink it, old man; + you want it. It wasn't altogether your fault; it was an oversight of mine. + I didn't bargain for a woman of that kind, and, of course, YOU couldn't be + expected to think of it. Drink it! Drink it down, Smith. I'll manage to + work the oracle before this night is out.” + </p> + <p> + Smith was forced to believe his ears, and, recovering from his surprise, + drank. + </p> + <p> + “I promised to take back the bottle,” he said, with the ghost of a smile. + </p> + <p> + Steelman took the bottle by the neck and broke it on the fence. + </p> + <p> + “Come on, Smith; I'll carry the swag for a while.” + </p> + <p> + And they tramped on in the gathering starlight. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + How Steelman told his Story + </h2> + <p> + It was Steelman's humour, in some of his moods, to take Smith into his + confidence, as some old bushmen do their dogs. + </p> + <p> + “You're nearly as good as an intelligent sheep-dog to talk to, Smith—when + a man gets tired of thinking to himself and wants a relief. You're a bit + of a mug and a good deal of an idiot, and the chances are that you don't + know what I'm driving at half the time—that's the main reason why I + don't mind talking to you. You ought to consider yourself honoured; it + ain't every man I take into my confidence, even that far.” + </p> + <p> + Smith rubbed his head. + </p> + <p> + “I'd sooner talk to you—or a stump—any day than to one of + those silent, suspicious, self-contained, worldly-wise chaps that listen + to everything you say—sense and rubbish alike—as if you were + trying to get them to take shares in a mine. I drop the man who listens to + me all the time and doesn't seem to get bored. He isn't safe. He isn't to + be trusted. He mostly wants to grind his axe against yours, and there's + too little profit for me where there are two axes to grind, and no stone—though + I'd manage it once, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “How'd you do it?” asked Smith. + </p> + <p> + “There are several ways. Either you join forces, for instance, and find a + grindstone—or make one of the other man's axe. But the last way is + too slow, and, as I said, takes too much brain-work—besides, it + doesn't pay. It might satisfy your vanity or pride, but I've got none. I + had once, when I was younger, but it—well, it nearly killed me, so I + dropped it. + </p> + <p> + “You can mostly trust the man who wants to talk more than you do; he'll + make a safe mate—or a good grindstone.” + </p> + <p> + Smith scratched the nape of his neck and sat blinking at the fire, with + the puzzled expression of a woman pondering over a life-question or the + trimming of a hat. Steelman took his chin in his hand and watched Smith + thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “I—I say, Steely,” exclaimed Smith, suddenly, sitting up and + scratching his head and blinking harder than ever—“wha—what am + I?” + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Am I the axe or the grindstone?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! your brain seems in extra good working order to-night, Smith. Well, + you turn the grindstone and I grind.” Smith settled. “If you could grind + better than I, I'd turn the stone and let YOU grind, I'd never go against + the interests of the firm—that's fair enough, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Ye-es,” admitted Smith; “I suppose so.” + </p> + <p> + “So do I. Now, Smith, we've got along all right together for years, off + and on, but you never know what might happen. I might stop breathing, for + instance—and so might you.” + </p> + <p> + Smith began to look alarmed. + </p> + <p> + “Poetical justice might overtake one or both of us—such things have + happened before, though not often. Or, say, misfortune or death might + mistake us for honest, hard-working mugs with big families to keep, and + cut us off in the bloom of all our wisdom. You might get into trouble, + and, in that case, I'd be bound to leave you there, on principle; or I + might get into trouble, and you wouldn't have the brains to get me out—though + I know you'd be mug enough to try. I might make a rise and cut you, or you + might be misled into showing some spirit, and clear out after I'd stoushed + you for it. You might get tired of me calling you a mug, and bossing you + and making a tool or convenience of you, you know. You might go in for + honest graft (you were always a bit weak-minded) and then I'd have to wash + my hands of you (unless you agreed to keep me) for an irreclaimable mug. + Or it might suit me to become a respected and worthy fellow townsman, and + then, if you came within ten miles of me or hinted that you ever knew me, + I'd have you up for vagrancy, or soliciting alms, or attempting to levy + blackmail. I'd have to fix you—so I give you fair warning. Or we + might get into some desperate fix (and it needn't be very desperate, + either) when I'd be obliged to sacrifice you for my own personal safety, + comfort, and convenience. Hundreds of things might happen. + </p> + <p> + “Well, as I said, we've been at large together for some years, and I've + found you sober, trustworthy, and honest; so, in case we do part—as + we will sooner or later—and you survive, I'll give you some advice + from my own experience. + </p> + <p> + “In the first place: If you ever happen to get born again—and it + wouldn't do you much harm—get born with the strength of a bullock + and the hide of one as well, and a swelled head, and no brains—at + least no more brains than you've got now. I was born with a skin like + tissue-paper, and brains; also a heart. + </p> + <p> + “Get born without relatives, if you can: if you can't help it, clear out + on your own just as soon after you're born as you possibly can. I hung on. + </p> + <p> + “If you have relations, and feel inclined to help them any time when + you're flush (and there's no telling what a weak-minded man like you might + take it into his head to do)—don't do it. They'll get a down on you + if you do. It only causes family troubles and bitterness. There's no + dislike like that of a dependant. You'll get neither gratitude nor + civility in the end, and be lucky if you escape with a character. (You've + got NO character, Smith; I'm only just supposing you have.) There's no + hatred too bitter for, and nothing too bad to be said of, the mug who + turns. The worst yarns about a man are generally started by his own tribe, + and the world believes them at once on that very account. Well, the first + thing to do in life is to escape from your friends. + </p> + <p> + “If you ever go to work—and miracles have happened before—no + matter what your wages are, or how you are treated, you can take it for + granted that you're sweated; act on that to the best of your ability, or + you'll never rise in the world. If you go to see a show on the nod you'll + be found a comfortable seat in a good place; but if you pay the chances + are the ticket clerk will tell you a lie, and you'll have to hustle for + standing room. The man that doesn't ante gets the best of this world; + anything he'll stand is good enough for the man that pays. If you try to + be too sharp you'll get into gaol sooner or later; if you try to be too + honest the chances are that the bailiff will get into your house—if + you have one—and make a holy show of you before the neighbours. The + honest softy is more often mistaken for a swindler, and accused of being + one, than the out-and-out scamp; and the man that tells the truth too much + is set down as an irreclaimable liar. But most of the time crow low and + roost high, for it's a funny world, and you never know what might happen. + </p> + <p> + “And if you get married (and there's no accounting for a woman's taste) be + as bad as you like, and then moderately good, and your wife will love you. + If you're bad all the time she can't stand it for ever, and if you're good + all the time she'll naturally treat you with contempt. Never explain what + you're going to do, and don't explain afterwards, if you can help it. If + you find yourself between two stools, strike hard for your own self, Smith—strike + hard, and you'll be respected more than if you fought for all the world. + Generosity isn't understood nowadays, and what the people don't understand + is either 'mad' or 'cronk'. Failure has no case, and you can't build one + for it.... I started out in life very young—and very soft.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + “I thought you were going to tell me your story, Steely,” remarked Smith. + </p> + <p> + Steelman smiled sadly. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class="mynote"> + <h2> + About the author: + </h2> + <p> + Henry Lawson was born near Grenfell, New South Wales, Australia on 17 + June 1867. Although he has since become Australia's most acclaimed + writer, in his own lifetime his writing was often “on the side”—his + “real” work being whatever he could find. His writing was frequently + taken from memories of his childhood, especially at Pipeclay/Eurunderee. + In his autobiography, he states that many of his characters were taken + from the better class of diggers and bushmen he knew there. His + experiences at this time deeply influenced his work, for it is + interesting to note a number of descriptions and phrases that are + identical in his autobiography and in his stories and poems. He died at + Sydney, 2 September 1922. He is most famous for his short stories. + </p> + <p> + “On the Track” and “Over the Sliprails” were both published at Sydney in + 1900, the prefaces being dated March and June respectively—and so, + though printed separately, a combined edition was printed the same year + (the two separate, complete works were simply put together in one + binding); hence they are sometimes referred to as “On the Track and Over + the Sliprails”. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + An incomplete Glossary of Australian terms and concepts which may prove + helpful to understanding this book: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Anniversary Day: Alluded to in the text, is now known as Australia + Day. It commemorates the establishment of the first English + settlement in Australia, at Port Jackson (Sydney Harbour), on 26 + January 1788. + + Billy: A kettle used for camp cooking, especially to boil water for + tea. + + Cabbage-tree/Cabbage-tree hat: A wide-brimmed hat made with the + leaves of the cabbage tree palm (Livistona australis). It was a + common hat in early colonial days, and later became associated with + patriotism. + + Gin: An aboriginal woman; use of the term is analogous to “squaw” + in N. America. May be considered derogatory in modern usage. + + Graft: Work; hard work. + + Humpy: (Aboriginal) A rough or temporary hut or shelter in the bush, + especially one built from bark, branches, and the like. A gunyah, + wurley, or mia-mia. + + Jackeroo/Jackaroo: At the time Lawson wrote, a Jackeroo was a “new + chum” or newcomer to Australia, who sought work on a station to + gain experience. The term now applies to any young man working as a + station hand. A female station hand is a Jillaroo. + + Jumbuck: A sheep. + + Larrikin: A hoodlum. + + Lollies: Candy, sweets. + + 'Possum/Possum: In Australia, a class of marsupials that were + originally mistaken for the American animal of the same name. They + are not especially related to the possums of North and South + America, other than being marsupials. + + Public/Pub.: The traditional pub. in Australia was a hotel with a + “public” bar—hence the name. The modern pub has often (not always) + dispensed with the lodging, and concentrated on the bar. + + Push: A group of people sharing something in common; Lawson uses the + word in an older and more particular sense, as a gang of violent + city hoodlums. + + Ratty: Shabby, dilapidated; somewhat eccentric, perhaps even + slightly mad. + + Selector: A free selector, a farmer who selected and settled land + by lease or license from the government. + + Shout: To buy a round of drinks. + + Sliprails/slip-rails: movable rails, forming a section of fence, + which can be taken down in lieu of a gate. + + Sly grog shop or shanty: An unlicensed bar or liquor-store, + especially one selling cheap or poor-quality liquor. + + Squatter: A person who first settled on land without government + permission, and later continued by lease or license, generally to + raise stock; a wealthy rural landowner. + + Station: A farm or ranch, especially one devoted to cattle or sheep. + + Stoush: Violence; to do violence to. + + Tea: In addition to the regular meaning, Tea can also mean a light + snack or a meal (i.e., where Tea is served). In particular, Morning + Tea (about 10 AM) and Afternoon Tea (about 3 PM) are nothing more + than a snack, but Evening Tea (about 6 PM) is a meal. When just + “Tea” is used, it usually means the evening meal. Variant: Tea- + time. + + Tucker: Food. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Also: a hint with the seasons—remember that the seasons are + reversed from those in the northern hemisphere, hence June may be + hot, but December is even hotter. Australia is at a lower latitude + than the United States, so the winters are not harsh by US + standards, and are not even mild in the north. In fact, large parts + of Australia are governed more by “dry” versus “wet” than by Spring- + Summer-Fall-Winter. +</pre> + <p> + (Alan Light, Monroe, North Carolina, March 1998.) + </p> + <br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of On the Track, by Henry Lawson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ON THE TRACK *** + +***** This file should be named 1231-h.htm or 1231-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/3/1231/ + +Produced by Alan R. Light, and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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