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diff --git a/1313-h/1313-h.htm b/1313-h/1313-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f15ed64 --- /dev/null +++ b/1313-h/1313-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5976 @@ +<?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> + Over the Sliprails, 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> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1313 ***</div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + OVER THE SLIPRAILS + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Henry Lawson + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h4> + Author of “While the Billy Boils”, “When the World was Wide and Other + Verses”, “On the Track”, “Verses: Popular and Humorous”, &c. + </h4> + <p> + <br /><br /> [Note on text: Italicized words or phrases are capitalised.<br /> + Some obvious errors have been corrected.] <a name="link2H_PREF" + id="link2H_PREF"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Preface + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Of the stories in this volume many have already appeared + in the columns of [various periodicals], while several + now appear in print for the first time. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + H. L. + Sydney, June 9th, 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>OVER THE SLIPRAILS</b> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> The Shanty-Keeper's Wife </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> A Gentleman Sharper and Steelman Sharper </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> An Incident at Stiffner's </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> The Hero of Redclay </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> The Darling River </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> A Case for the Oracle </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> A Daughter of Maoriland </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> New Year's Night </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> Black Joe </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> They Wait on the Wharf in Black </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> Seeing the Last of You </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> Two Boys at Grinder Brothers' </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> The Selector's Daughter </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> Mitchell on the “Sex” and Other “Problems” + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> The Master's Mistake </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> The Story of the Oracle </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> 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> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + OVER THE SLIPRAILS + </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 Shanty-Keeper's Wife + </h2> + <p> + There were about a dozen of us jammed into the coach, on the box seat and + hanging on to the roof and tailboard as best we could. We were shearers, + bagmen, agents, a squatter, a cockatoo, the usual joker—and one or + two professional spielers, perhaps. We were tired and stiff and nearly + frozen—too cold to talk and too irritable to risk the inevitable + argument which an interchange of ideas would have led up to. We had been + looking forward for hours, it seemed, to the pub where we were to change + horses. For the last hour or two all that our united efforts had been able + to get out of the driver was a grunt to the effect that it was “'bout a + couple o' miles.” Then he said, or grunted, “'Tain't fur now,” a couple of + times, and refused to commit himself any further; he seemed grumpy about + having committed himself that far. + </p> + <p> + He was one of those men who take everything in dead earnest; who regard + any expression of ideas outside their own sphere of life as trivial, or, + indeed, if addressed directly to them, as offensive; who, in fact, are + darkly suspicious of anything in the shape of a joke or laugh on the part + of an outsider in their own particular dust-hole. He seemed to be always + thinking, and thinking a lot; when his hands were not both engaged, he + would tilt his hat forward and scratch the base of his skull with his + little finger, and let his jaw hang. But his intellectual powers were + mostly concentrated on a doubtful swingle-tree, a misfitting collar, or + that there bay or piebald (on the off or near side) with the sore + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + Casual letters or papers, to be delivered on the road, were matters which + troubled him vaguely, but constantly—like the abstract ideas of his + passengers. + </p> + <p> + The joker of our party was a humourist of the dry order, and had been + slyly taking rises out of the driver for the last two or three stages. But + the driver only brooded. He wasn't the one to tell you straight if you + offended him, or if he fancied you offended him, and thus gain your + respect, or prevent a misunderstanding which would result in life-long + enmity. He might meet you in after years when you had forgotten all about + your trespass—if indeed you had ever been conscious of it—and + “stoush” you unexpectedly on the ear. + </p> + <p> + Also you might regard him as your friend, on occasion, and yet he would + stand by and hear a perfect stranger tell you the most outrageous lies, to + your hurt, and know that the stranger was telling lies, and never put you + up to it. It would never enter his head to do so. It wouldn't be any + affair of his—only an abstract question. + </p> + <p> + It grew darker and colder. The rain came as if the frozen south were + spitting at your face and neck and hands, and our feet grew as big as + camel's, and went dead, and we might as well have stamped the footboards + with wooden legs for all the feeling we got into ours. But they were more + comfortable that way, for the toes didn't curl up and pain so much, nor + did our corns stick out so hard against the leather, and shoot. + </p> + <p> + We looked out eagerly for some clearing, or fence, or light—some + sign of the shanty where we were to change horses—but there was + nothing save blackness all round. The long, straight, cleared road was no + longer relieved by the ghostly patch of light, far ahead, where the + bordering tree-walls came together in perspective and framed the ether. We + were down in the bed of the bush. + </p> + <p> + We pictured a haven of rest with a suspended lamp burning in the frosty + air outside and a big log fire in a cosy parlour off the bar, and a long + table set for supper. But this is a land of contradictions; wayside + shanties turn up unexpectedly and in the most unreasonable places, and + are, as likely as not, prepared for a banquet when you are not hungry and + can't wait, and as cold and dark as a bushman's grave when you are and + can. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the driver said: “We're there now.” He said this as if he had + driven us to the scaffold to be hanged, and was fiercely glad that he'd + got us there safely at last. We looked but saw nothing; then a light + appeared ahead and seemed to come towards us; and presently we saw that it + was a lantern held up by a man in a slouch hat, with a dark bushy beard, + and a three-bushel bag around his shoulders. He held up his other hand, + and said something to the driver in a tone that might have been used by + the leader of a search party who had just found the body. The driver + stopped and then went on slowly. + </p> + <p> + “What's up?” we asked. “What's the trouble?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's all right,” said the driver. + </p> + <p> + “The publican's wife is sick,” somebody said, “and he wants us to come + quietly.” + </p> + <p> + The usual little slab and bark shanty was suggested in the gloom, with a + big bark stable looming in the background. We climbed down like so many + cripples. As soon as we began to feel our legs and be sure we had the + right ones and the proper allowance of feet, we helped, as quietly as + possible, to take the horses out and round to the stable. + </p> + <p> + “Is she very bad?” we asked the publican, showing as much concern as we + could. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, in a subdued voice of a rough man who had spent several + anxious, sleepless nights by the sick bed of a dear one. “But, God + willing, I think we'll pull her through.” + </p> + <p> + Thus encouraged we said, sympathetically: “We're very sorry to trouble + you, but I suppose we could manage to get a drink and a bit to eat?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, “there's nothing to eat in the house, and I've only got + rum and milk. You can have that if you like.” + </p> + <p> + One of the pilgrims broke out here. + </p> + <p> + “Well of all the pubs,” he began, “that I've ever—” + </p> + <p> + “Hush-sh-sh!” said the publican. + </p> + <p> + The pilgrim scowled and retired to the rear. You can't express your + feelings freely when there's a woman dying close handy. + </p> + <p> + “Well, who says rum and milk?” asked the joker, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “Wait here,” said the publican, and disappeared into the little front + passage. + </p> + <p> + Presently a light showed through a window, with a scratched and fly-bitten + B and A on two panes, and a mutilated R on the third, which was broken. A + door opened, and we sneaked into the bar. It was like having drinks after + hours where the police are strict and independent. + </p> + <p> + When we came out the driver was scratching his head and looking at the + harness on the verandah floor. + </p> + <p> + “You fellows 'll have ter put in the time for an hour or so. The horses is + out back somewheres,” and he indicated the interior of Australia with a + side jerk of his head, “and the boy ain't back with 'em yet.” + </p> + <p> + “But dash it all,” said the Pilgrim, “me and my mate——” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” said the publican. + </p> + <p> + “How long are the horses likely to be?” we asked the driver. + </p> + <p> + “Dunno,” he grunted. “Might be three or four hours. It's all accordin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, look here,” said the Pilgrim, “me and my mate wanter catch the + train.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush-sh-sh!” from the publican in a fierce whisper. + </p> + <p> + “Well, boss,” said the joker, “can you let us have beds, then? I don't + want to freeze here all night, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the landlord, “I can do that, but some of you will have to + sleep double and some of you'll have to take it out of the sofas, and one + or two 'll have to make a shakedown on the floor. There's plenty of bags + in the stable, and you've got rugs and coats with you. Fix it up amongst + yourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “But look here!” interrupted the Pilgrim, desperately, “we can't afford to + wait! We're only 'battlers', me and my mate, pickin' up crumbs by the + wayside. We've got to catch the——” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” said the publican, savagely. “You fool, didn't I tell you my + missus was bad? I won't have any noise.” + </p> + <p> + “But look here,” protested the Pilgrim, “we must catch the train at Dead + Camel——” + </p> + <p> + “You'll catch my boot presently,” said the publican, with a savage oath, + “and go further than Dead Camel. I won't have my missus disturbed for you + or any other man! Just you shut up or get out, and take your blooming mate + with you.” + </p> + <p> + We lost patience with the Pilgrim and sternly took him aside. + </p> + <p> + “Now, for God's sake, hold your jaw,” we said. “Haven't you got any + consideration at all? Can't you see the man's wife is ill—dying + perhaps—and he nearly worried off his head?” + </p> + <p> + The Pilgrim and his mate were scraggy little bipeds of the city push + variety, so they were suppressed. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” yawned the joker, “I'm not going to roost on a stump all night. + I'm going to turn in.” + </p> + <p> + “It'll be eighteenpence each,” hinted the landlord. “You can settle now if + you like to save time.” + </p> + <p> + We took the hint, and had another drink. I don't know how we “fixed it up + amongst ourselves,” but we got settled down somehow. There was a lot of + mysterious whispering and scuffling round by the light of a couple of + dirty greasy bits of candle. Fortunately we dared not speak loud enough to + have a row, though most of us were by this time in the humour to pick a + quarrel with a long-lost brother. + </p> + <p> + The Joker got the best bed, as good-humoured, good-natured chaps generally + do, without seeming to try for it. The growler of the party got the floor + and chaff bags, as selfish men mostly do—without seeming to try for + it either. I took it out of one of the “sofas”, or rather that sofa took + it out of me. It was short and narrow and down by the head, with a leaning + to one corner on the outside, and had more nails and bits of gin-case than + original sofa in it. + </p> + <p> + I had been asleep for three seconds, it seemed, when somebody shook me by + the shoulder and said: + </p> + <p> + “Take yer seats.” + </p> + <p> + When I got out, the driver was on the box, and the others were getting rum + and milk inside themselves (and in bottles) before taking their seats. + </p> + <p> + It was colder and darker than before, and the South Pole seemed nearer, + and pretty soon, but for the rum, we should have been in a worse fix than + before. + </p> + <p> + There was a spell of grumbling. Presently someone said: + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe them horses was lost at all. I was round behind the + stable before I went to bed, and seen horses there; and if they wasn't + them same horses there, I'll eat 'em raw!” + </p> + <p> + “Would yer?” said the driver, in a disinterested tone. + </p> + <p> + “I would,” said the passenger. Then, with a sudden ferocity, “and you + too!” + </p> + <p> + The driver said nothing. It was an abstract question which didn't interest + him. + </p> + <p> + We saw that we were on delicate ground, and changed the subject for a + while. Then someone else said: + </p> + <p> + “I wonder where his missus was? I didn't see any signs of her about, or + any other woman about the place, and we was pretty well all over it.” + </p> + <p> + “Must have kept her in the stable,” suggested the Joker. + </p> + <p> + “No, she wasn't, for Scotty and that chap on the roof was there after + bags.” + </p> + <p> + “She might have been in the loft,” reflected the Joker. + </p> + <p> + “There was no loft,” put in a voice from the top of the coach. + </p> + <p> + “I say, Mister—Mister man,” said the Joker suddenly to the driver, + “Was his missus sick at all?” + </p> + <p> + “I dunno,” replied the driver. “She might have been. He said so, anyway. I + ain't got no call to call a man a liar.” + </p> + <p> + “See here,” said the cannibalistic individual to the driver, in the tone + of a man who has made up his mind for a row, “has that shanty-keeper got a + wife at all?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe he has.” + </p> + <p> + “And is she living with him?” + </p> + <p> + “No, she ain't—if yer wanter know.” + </p> + <p> + “Then where is she?” + </p> + <p> + “I dunno. How am I to know? She left him three or four years ago. She was + in Sydney last time I heard of her. It ain't no affair of mine, anyways.” + </p> + <p> + “And is there any woman about the place at all, driver?” inquired a + professional wanderer reflectively. + </p> + <p> + “No—not that I knows on. There useter be a old black gin come + pottering round sometimes, but I ain't seen her lately.” + </p> + <p> + “And excuse me, driver, but is there anyone round there at all?” enquired + the professional wanderer, with the air of a conscientious writer, + collecting material for an Australian novel from life, with an eye to + detail. + </p> + <p> + “Naw,” said the driver—and recollecting that he was expected to be + civil and obliging to his employers' patrons, he added in surly apology, + “Only the boss and the stableman, that I knows of.” Then repenting of the + apology, he asserted his manhood again, and asked, in a tone calculated to + risk a breach of the peace, “Any more questions, gentlemen—while the + shop's open?” + </p> + <p> + There was a long pause. + </p> + <p> + “Driver,” asked the Pilgrim appealingly, “was them horses lost at all?” + </p> + <p> + “I dunno,” said the driver. “He said they was. He's got the looking after + them. It was nothing to do with me.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + “Twelve drinks at sixpence a drink”—said the Joker, as if + calculating to himself—“that's six bob, and, say on an average, four + shouts—that's one pound four. Twelve beds at eighteenpence a bed—that's + eighteen shillings; and say ten bob in various drinks and the stuff we + brought with us, that's two pound twelve. That publican didn't do so bad + out of us in two hours.” + </p> + <p> + We wondered how much the driver got out of it, but thought it best not to + ask him. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + We didn't say much for the rest of the journey. There was the usual man + who thought as much and knew all about it from the first, but he wasn't + appreciated. We suppressed him. One or two wanted to go back and “stoush” + that landlord, and the driver stopped the coach cheerfully at their + request; but they said they'd come across him again and allowed themselves + to be persuaded out of it. It made us feel bad to think how we had allowed + ourselves to be delayed, and robbed, and had sneaked round on tiptoe, and + how we had sat on the inoffensive Pilgrim and his mate, and all on account + of a sick wife who didn't exist. + </p> + <p> + The coach arrived at Dead Camel in an atmosphere of mutual suspicion and + distrust, and we spread ourselves over the train and departed. + </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 Gentleman Sharper and Steelman Sharper + </h2> + <p> + Steelman and Smith had been staying at the hotel for several days in the + dress and character of bushies down for what they considered a spree. The + gentleman sharper from the Other Side had been hanging round them for + three days now. Steelman was the more sociable, and, to all appearances, + the greener of the two bush mates; but seemed rather too much under the + influence of Smith, who was reserved, suspicious, self-contained, or + sulky. He almost scowled at Gentleman Sharper's “Good-morning!” and “Fine + day!”, replied in monosyllables and turned half away with an uneasy, + sullen, resentful hump of his shoulder and shuffle of his feet. + </p> + <p> + Steelman took Smith for a stroll on the round, bald tussock hills + surrounding the city, and rehearsed him for the last act until after + sundown. + </p> + <p> + Gentleman Sharper was lounging, with a cigar, on the end of the balcony, + where he had been contentedly contemplating the beautiful death of day. + His calm, classic features began to whiten (and sharpen) in the frosty + moonlight. + </p> + <p> + Steelman and Smith sat on deck-chairs behind a half-screen of ferns on the + other end of the balcony, smoked their after-dinner smoke, and talked in + subdued tones as befitted the time and the scene—great, softened, + misty hills in a semicircle, and the water and harbour lights in + moonlight. + </p> + <p> + The other boarders were loitering over dinner, in their rooms, or gone + out; the three were alone on the balcony, which was a rear one. + </p> + <p> + Gentleman Sharper moved his position, carelessly, noiselessly, yet + quickly, until he leaned on the rail close to the ferns and could overhear + every word the bushies said. He had dropped his cigar overboard, and his + scented handkerchief behind a fern-pot en route. + </p> + <p> + “But he looks all right, and acts all right, and talks all right—and + shouts all right,” protested Steelman. “He's not stumped, for I saw twenty + or thirty sovereigns when he shouted; and he doesn't seem to care a damn + whether we stand in with him or not.” + </p> + <p> + “There you are! That's just where it is!” said Smith, with some logic, but + in a tone a wife uses in argument (which tone, by the way, especially if + backed by logic or common sense, makes a man wild sooner than anything + else in this world of troubles). + </p> + <p> + Steelman jerked his chair half-round in disgust. “That's you!” he snorted, + “always suspicious! Always suspicious of everybody and everything! If I + found myself shot into a world where I couldn't trust anybody I'd shoot + myself out of it. Life would be worse than not worth living. Smith, you'll + never make money, except by hard graft—hard, bullocking, + nigger-driving graft like we had on that damned railway section for the + last six months, up to our knees in water all winter, and all for a paltry + cheque of one-fifty—twenty of that gone already. How do you expect + to make money in this country if you won't take anything for granted, + except hard cash? I tell you, Smith, there's a thousand pounds lost for + every one gained or saved by trusting too little. How did Vanderbilt and——” + </p> + <p> + Steelman elaborated to a climax, slipping a glance warily, once or twice, + out of the tail of his eye through the ferns, low down. + </p> + <p> + “There never was a fortune made that wasn't made by chancing it.” + </p> + <p> + He nudged Smith to come to the point. Presently Smith asked, sulkily: + </p> + <p> + “Well, what was he saying?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought I told you! He says he's behind the scenes in this gold boom, + and, if he had a hundred pounds ready cash to-morrow, he'd make three of + it before Saturday. He said he could put one-fifty to one-fifty.” + </p> + <p> + “And isn't he worth three hundred?” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't I tell you,” demanded Steelman, with an impatient ring, and + speaking rapidly, “that he lost his mail in the wreck of the 'Tasman'? You + know she went down the day before yesterday, and the divers haven't got at + the mails yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.... But why doesn't he wire to Sydney for some stuff?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm——! Well, I suppose I'll have to have patience with a born + natural. Look here, Smith, the fact of the matter is that he's a sort of + black-sheep—sent out on the remittance system, if the truth is + known, and with letters of introduction to some big-bugs out here—that + explains how he gets to know these wire-pullers behind the boom. His + people have probably got the quarterly allowance business fixed hard and + tight with a bank or a lawyer in Sydney; and there'll have to be enquiries + about the lost 'draft' (as he calls a cheque) and a letter or maybe a + cable home to England; and it might take weeks.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Smith, hesitatingly. “That all sounds right enough. But”—with + an inspiration—“why don't he go to one of these big-bug boomsters he + knows—that he got letters of introduction to—and get him to + fix him up?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Lord!” exclaimed Steelman, hopelessly. “Listen to him! Can't you see + that they're the last men he wants to let into his game? Why, he wants to + use THEM! They're the mugs as far as he is concerned!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh—I see!” said Smith, after hesitating, and rather slowly—as + if he hadn't quite finished seeing yet. + </p> + <p> + Steelman glanced furtively at the fern-screen, and nudged Smith again. + </p> + <p> + “He said if he had three hundred, he'd double it by Saturday?” + </p> + <p> + “That's what he said,” replied Steelman, seeming by his tone to be losing + interest in the conversation. + </p> + <p> + “And... well, if he had a hundred he could double that, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. What are you driving at now?” + </p> + <p> + “If he had twenty——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, God! I'm sick of you, Smith. What the——!” + </p> + <p> + “Hold on. Let me finish. I was only going to say that I'm willing to put + up a fiver, and you put up another fiver, and if he doubles that for us + then we can talk about standing in with him with a hundred—provided + he can show his hundred.” + </p> + <p> + After some snarling Steelman said: “Well, I'll try him! Now are you + satisfied?”... + </p> + <p> + “He's moved off now,” he added in a whisper; “but stay here and talk a bit + longer.” + </p> + <p> + Passing through the hall they saw Gentleman Sharper standing carelessly by + the door of the private bar. He jerked his head in the direction of + drinks. Steelman accepted the invitation—Smith passed on. Steelman + took the opportunity to whisper to the Sharper—“I've been talking + that over with my mate, and——” + </p> + <p> + “Come for a stroll,” suggested the professional. + </p> + <p> + “I don't mind,” said Steelman. + </p> + <p> + “Have a cigar?” and they passed out. + </p> + <p> + When they returned Steelman went straight to the room he occupied with + Smith. + </p> + <p> + “How much stuff have we got, Smith?” + </p> + <p> + “Nine pounds seventeen and threepence.” + </p> + <p> + Steelman gave an exclamation of disapproval with that state of financial + affairs. He thought a second. “I know the barman here, and I think he + knows me. I'll chew his lug for a bob or may be a quid.” + </p> + <p> + Twenty minutes later he went to Gentleman Sharper's room with ten pounds—in + very dirty Bank of New Zealand notes—such as those with which bush + contractors pay their men. + </p> + <p> + Two mornings later the sharper suggested a stroll. Steelman went with him, + with a face carefully made up to hear the worst. + </p> + <p> + After walking a hundred yards in a silence which might have been ominous—and + was certainly pregnant—the sharper said: + </p> + <p> + “Well... I tried the water.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” said Steelman in a nervous tone. “And how did you find it?” + </p> + <p> + “Just as warm as I thought. Warm for a big splash.” + </p> + <p> + “How? Did you lose the ten quid?” + </p> + <p> + “Lose it! What did you take me for? I put ten to your ten as I told you I + would. I landed 50 Pounds——” + </p> + <p> + “Fifty pounds for twenty?” + </p> + <p> + “That's the tune of it—and not much of a tune, either. My God! If + I'd only had that thousand of mine by me, or even half of it, I'd have + made a pile!” + </p> + <p> + “Fifty pounds for twenty!” cried Steelman excitedly. “Why, that's grand! + And to think we chaps have been grafting like niggers all our lives! By + God, we'll stand in with you for all we've got!” + </p> + <p> + “There's my hand on it,” as they reached the hotel. + </p> + <p> + “If you come to my room I'll give you the 25 Pounds now, if you like.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's all right,” exclaimed Steelman impulsively; “you mustn't think + I don't——” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right. Don't you say any more about it. You'd best have the + stuff to-night to show your mate.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps so; he's a suspicious fool, but I made a bargain with him about + our last cheque. He can hang on to the stuff, and I can't. If I'd been on + my own I'd have blued it a week ago. Tell you what I'll do—we'll + call our share (Smith's and mine) twenty quid. You take the odd fiver for + your trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “That looks fair enough. We'll call it twenty guineas to you and your + mate. We'll want him, you know.” + </p> + <p> + In his own and Smith's room Steelman thoughtfully counted twenty-one + sovereigns on the toilet-table cover, and left them there in a pile. + </p> + <p> + He stretched himself, scratched behind his ear, and blinked at the money + abstractedly. Then he asked, as if the thought just occurred to him: “By + the way, Smith, do you see those yellow boys?” + </p> + <p> + Smith saw. He had been sitting on the bed with a studiously vacant + expression. It was Smith's policy not to seem, except by request, to take + any interest in, or, in fact, to be aware of anything unusual that + Steelman might be doing—from patching his pants to reading poetry. + </p> + <p> + “There's twenty-one sovereigns there!” remarked Steelman casually. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “Ten of 'em's yours.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank yer, Steely.” + </p> + <p> + “And,” added Steelman, solemnly and grimly, “if you get taken down for + 'em, or lose 'em out of the top-hole in your pocket, or spend so much as a + shilling in riotous living, I'll stoush you, Smith.” + </p> + <p> + Smith didn't seem interested. They sat on the beds opposite each other for + two or three minutes, in something of the atmosphere that pervades things + when conversation has petered out and the dinner-bell is expected to ring. + Smith screwed his face and squeezed a pimple on his throat; Steelman + absently counted the flies on the wall. Presently Steelman, with a yawning + sigh, lay back on the pillow with his hands clasped under his head. + </p> + <p> + “Better take a few quid, Smith, and get that suit you were looking at the + other day. Get a couple of shirts and collars, and some socks; better get + a hat while you're at it—yours is a disgrace to your benefactor. + And, I say, go to a chemist and get some cough stuff for that churchyarder + of yours—we've got no use for it just now, and it makes me + sentimental. I'll give you a cough when you want one. Bring me a syphon of + soda, some fruit, and a tract.” + </p> + <p> + “A what?” + </p> + <p> + “A tract. Go on. Start your boots.” + </p> + <p> + While Smith was gone, Steelman paced the room with a strange, worried, + haunted expression. He divided the gold that was left—(Smith had + taken four pounds)—and put ten sovereigns in a pile on the extreme + corner of the table. Then he walked up and down, up and down the room, + arms tightly folded, and forehead knitted painfully, pausing abruptly now + and then by the table to stare at the gold, until he heard Smith's step. + Then his face cleared; he sat down and counted flies. + </p> + <p> + Smith was undoing and inspecting the parcels, having placed the syphon and + fruit on the table. Behind his back Steelman hurriedly opened a leather + pocketbook and glanced at the portrait of a woman and child and at the + date of a post-office order receipt. + </p> + <p> + “Smith,” said Steelman, “we're two honest, ignorant, green coves; + hard-working chaps from the bush.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “It doesn't matter whether we are or not—we are as far as the world + is concerned. Now we've grafted like bullocks, in heat and wet, for six + months, and made a hundred and fifty, and come down to have a bit of a + holiday before going back to bullock for another six months or a year. + Isn't that so, Smith?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “You could take your oath on it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it doesn't matter if it is so or not—it IS so, so far as the + world is concerned. Now we've paid our way straight. We've always been + pretty straight anyway, even if we are a pair of vagabonds, and I don't + half like this new business; but it had to be done. If I hadn't taken down + that sharper you'd have lost confidence in me and wouldn't have been able + to mask your feelings, and I'd have had to stoush you. We're two + hard-working, innocent bushies, down for an innocent spree, and we run + against a cold-blooded professional sharper, a paltry sneak and a coward, + who's got neither the brains nor the pluck to work in the station of life + he togs himself for. He tries to do us out of our hard-earned little + hundred and fifty—no matter whether we had it or not—and I'm + obliged to take him down. Serve him right for a crawler. You haven't the + least idea what I'm driving at, Smith, and that's the best of it. I've + driven a nail of my life home, and no pincers ever made will get it out.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Steely, what's the matter with you?” + </p> + <p> + Steelman rose, took up the pile of ten sovereigns, and placed it neatly on + top of the rest. + </p> + <p> + “Put the stuff away, Smith.” + </p> + <p> + After breakfast next morning, Gentleman Sharper hung round a bit, and then + suggested a stroll. But Steelman thought the weather looked too bad, so + they went on the balcony for a smoke. They talked of the weather, wrecks, + and things, Steelman leaning with his elbows on the balcony rail, and + Sharper sociably and confidently in the same position close beside him. + But the professional was evidently growing uneasy in his mind; his side of + the conversation grew awkward and disjointed, and he made the blunder of + drifting into an embarrassing silence before coming to the point. He took + one elbow from the rail, and said, with a bungling attempt at carelessness + which was made more transparent by the awkward pause before it: + </p> + <p> + “Ah, well, I must see to my correspondence. By the way, when could you + make it convenient to let me have that hundred? The shares are starting up + the last rise now, and we've got no time to lose if we want to double it.” + </p> + <p> + Steelman turned his face to him and winked once—a very hard, tight, + cold wink—a wink in which there was no humour: such a wink as + Steelman had once winked at a half-drunken bully who was going to have a + lark with Smith. + </p> + <p> + The sharper was one of those men who pull themselves together in a bad + cause, as they stagger from the blow. But he wanted to think this time. + </p> + <p> + Later on he approached Steelman quietly and proposed partnership. But + Steelman gave him to understand (as between themselves) that he wasn't + taking on any pupils just then. + </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> + An Incident at Stiffner's + </h2> + <p> + They called him “Stiffner” because he used, long before, to get a living + by poisoning wild dogs near the Queensland border. The name stuck to him + closer than misfortune did, for when he rose to the proud and independent + position of landlord and sole proprietor of an out-back pub he was + Stiffner still, and his place was “Stiffner's”—widely known. + </p> + <p> + They do say that the name ceased not to be applicable—that it fitted + even better than in the old dingo days, but—well, they do say so. + All we can say is that when a shearer arrived with a cheque, and had a + drink or two, he was almost invariably seized with a desire to camp on the + premises for good, spend his cheque in the shortest possible time, and + forcibly shout for everything within hail—including the Chinaman + cook and Stiffner's disreputable old ram. + </p> + <p> + The shanty was of the usual kind, and the scenery is as easily disposed + of. There was a great grey plain stretching away from the door in front, + and a mulga scrub from the rear; and in that scrub, not fifty yards from + the kitchen door, were half a dozen nameless graves. + </p> + <p> + Stiffner was always drunk, and Stiffner's wife—a hard-featured + Amazon—was boss. The children were brought up in a detached cottage, + under the care of a “governess”. + </p> + <p> + Stiffner had a barmaid as a bait for chequemen. She came from Sydney, they + said, and her name was Alice. She was tall, boyishly handsome, and + characterless; her figure might be described as “fine” or “strapping”, but + her face was very cold—nearly colourless. She was one of those + selfishly sensual women—thin lips, and hard, almost vacant grey + eyes; no thought of anything but her own pleasures, none for the man's. + Some shearers would roughly call her “a squatter's girl”. But she “drew”; + she was handsome where women are scarce—very handsome, thought a + tall, melancholy-looking jackeroo, whose evil spirit had drawn him to + Stiffner's and the last shilling out of his pocket. + </p> + <p> + Over the great grey plain, about a fortnight before, had come “Old Danny”, + a station hand, for his semi-annual spree, and one “Yankee Jack” and his + mate, shearers with horses, travelling for grass; and, about a week later, + the Sydney jackeroo. There was also a sprinkling of assorted swagmen, who + came in through the scrub and went out across the plain, or came in over + the plain and went away through the scrub, according to which way their + noses led them for the time being. + </p> + <p> + There was also, for one day, a tall, freckled native (son of a + neighbouring “cocky”), without a thought beyond the narrow horizon within + which he lived. He had a very big opinion of himself in a very small mind. + He swaggered into the breakfast-room and round the table to his place with + an expression of ignorant contempt on his phiz, his snub nose in the air + and his under lip out. But during the meal he condescended to ask the + landlord if he'd noticed that there horse that chap was ridin' yesterday; + and Stiffner having intimated that he had, the native entertained the + company with his opinion of that horse, and of a certain “youngster” he + was breaking in at home, and divers other horses, mostly his or his + father's, and of a certain cattle slut, &c.... He spoke at the + landlord, but to the company, most of the time. After breakfast he + swaggered round some more, but condescended to “shove” his hand into his + trousers, “pull” out a “bob” and “chuck” it into the (blanky) hat for a + pool. Those words express the thing better than any others we can think + of. Finally, he said he must be off; and, there being no opposition to his + departure, he chucked his saddle on to his horse, chucked himself into the + saddle, said “s'long,” and slithered off. And no one missed him. + </p> + <p> + Danny had been there a fortnight, and consequently his personal appearance + was not now worth describing—it was better left alone, for the + honour of the bush. His hobby was that he was the “stranger's friend”, as + he put it. He'd welcome “the stranger” and chum with him, and shout for + him to an unlimited extent, and sympathise with him, hear of jobs or a + “show” for him, assure him twenty times a day that he was his friend, give + him hints and advice more or less worthless, make him drunk if possible, + and keep him so while the cheque lasted; in short, Danny would do almost + anything for the stranger except lend him a shilling, or give him some + rations to carry him on. He'd promise that many times a day, but he'd + sooner spend five pounds on drink for a man than give him a farthing. + </p> + <p> + Danny's cheque was nearly gone, and it was time he was gone too; in fact, + he had received, and was still receiving, various hints to that effect, + some of them decidedly pointed, especially the more recent ones. But Danny + was of late becoming foolishly obstinate in his sprees, and less disposed + to “git” when a landlord had done with him. He saw the hints plainly + enough, but had evidently made up his mind to be doggedly irresponsive. It + is a mistake to think that drink always dulls a man's feelings. Some + natures are all the more keenly sensitive when alcoholically poisoned. + </p> + <p> + Danny was always front man at the shanty while his cheque was fresh—at + least, so he was given to understand, and so he apparently understood. He + was then allowed to say and do what he liked almost, even to mauling the + barmaid about. There was scarcely any limit to the free and easy manner in + which you could treat her, so long as your money lasted. She wouldn't be + offended; it wasn't business to be so—“didn't pay.” But, as soon as + your title to the cheque could be decently shelved, you had to treat her + like a lady. Danny knew this—none better; but he had been treated + with too much latitude, and rushed to his destruction. + </p> + <p> + It was Sunday afternoon, but that made no difference in things at the + shanty. Dinner was just over. The men were in the mean little parlour off + the bar, interested in a game of cards, and Alice sat in one corner + sewing. Danny was “acting the goat” round the fireplace; as ill-luck would + have it, his attention was drawn to a basket of clean linen which stood on + the side table, and from it, with sundry winks and grimaces, he gingerly + lifted a certain garment of ladies' underwear—to put the matter + decently. He held it up between his forefingers and thumbs, and cracked a + rough, foolish joke—no matter what it was. The laugh didn't last + long. Alice sprang to her feet, flinging her work aside, and struck a + stage attitude—her right arm thrown out and the forefinger pointing + rigidly, and rather crookedly, towards the door. + </p> + <p> + “Leave the room!” she snapped at Danny. “Leave the room! How dare you talk + like that before me-e-ee!” + </p> + <p> + Danny made a step and paused irresolutely. He was sober enough to feel the + humiliation of his position, and having once been a man of spirit, and + having still the remnants of manhood about him, he did feel it. He gave + one pitiful, appealing look at her face, but saw no mercy there. She + stamped her foot again, jabbed her forefinger at the door, and said, + “Go-o-o!” in a tone that startled the majority of the company nearly as + much as it did Danny. Then Yankee Jack threw down his cards, rose from the + table, laid his strong, shapely right hand—not roughly—on + Danny's ragged shoulder, and engineered the drunk gently through the door. + </p> + <p> + “You's better go out for a while, Danny,” he said; “there wasn't much harm + in what you said, but your cheque's gone, and that makes all the + difference. It's time you went back to the station. You've got to be + careful what you say now.” + </p> + <p> + When Jack returned to the parlour the barmaid had a smile for him; but he + didn't take it. He went and stood before the fire, with his foot resting + on the fender and his elbow on the mantelshelf, and looked blackly at a + print against the wall before his face. + </p> + <p> + “The old beast!” said Alice, referring to Danny. “He ought to be kicked + off the place!” + </p> + <p> + “HE'S AS GOOD AS YOU!” + </p> + <p> + The voice was Jack's; he flung the stab over his shoulder, and with it a + look that carried all the contempt he felt. + </p> + <p> + She gasped, looked blankly from face to face, and witheringly at the back + of Jack's head; but that didn't change colour or curl the least trifle + less closely. + </p> + <p> + “Did you hear that?” she cried, appealing to anyone. “You're a nice lot o' + men, you are, to sit there and hear a woman insulted, and not one of you + man enough to take her part—cowards!” + </p> + <p> + The Sydney jackeroo rose impulsively, but Jack glanced at him, and he sat + down again. She covered her face with her hands and ran hysterically to + her room. + </p> + <p> + That afternoon another bushman arrived with a cheque, and shouted five + times running at a pound a shout, and at intervals during the rest of the + day when they weren't fighting or gambling. + </p> + <p> + Alice had “got over her temper” seemingly, and was even kind to the humble + and contrite Danny, who became painfully particular with his “Thanky, + Alice”—and afterwards offensive with his unnecessarily frequent + threats to smash the first man who insulted her. + </p> + <p> + But let us draw the curtain close before that Sunday afternoon at + Stiffner's, and hold it tight. Behind it the great curse of the West is in + evidence, the chief trouble of unionism—drink, in its most selfish, + barren, and useless form. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + All was quiet at Stiffner's. It was after midnight, and Stiffner lay + dead-drunk on the broad of his back on the long moonlit verandah, with all + his patrons asleep around him in various grotesque positions. Stiffner's + ragged grey head was on a cushion, and a broad maudlin smile on his red, + drink-sodden face, the lower half of which was bordered by a dirty grey + beard, like that of a frilled lizard. The red handkerchief twisted round + his neck had a ghastly effect in the bright moonlight, making him look as + if his throat was cut. The smile was the one he went to sleep with when + his wife slipped the cushion under his head and thoughtfully removed the + loose change from about his person. Near him lay a heap that was Danny, + and spread over the bare boards were the others, some with heads pillowed + on their swags, and every man about as drunk as his neighbour. Yankee Jack + lay across the door of the barmaid's bedroom, with one arm bent under his + head, the other lying limp on the doorstep, his handsome face turned out + to the bright moonlight. The “family” were sound asleep in the detached + cottage, and Alice—the only capable person on the premises—was + left to put out the lamps and “shut up” for the night. She extinguished + the light in the bar, came out, locked the door, and picked her way among + and over the drunkards to the end of the verandah. She clasped her hands + behind her head, stretched herself, and yawned, and then stood for a few + moments looking out into the night, which softened the ragged line of + mulga to right and left, and veiled the awful horizon of that great plain + with which the “traveller” commenced, or ended, the thirty-mile “dry + stretch”. Then she moved towards her own door; before it she halted and + stood, with folded arms, looking down at the drunken Adonis at her feet. + </p> + <p> + She breathed a long breath with a sigh in it, went round to the back, and + presently returned with a buggy-cushion, which she slipped under his head—her + face close to his—very close. Then she moved his arms gently off the + threshold, stepped across him into her room, and locked the door behind + her. + </p> + <p> + There was an uneasy movement in the heap that stood, or lay, for Danny. It + stretched out, turned over, struggled to its hands and knees, and became + an object. Then it crawled to the wall, against which it slowly and + painfully up-ended itself, and stood blinking round for the water-bag, + which hung from the verandah rafters in a line with its shapeless red + nose. It staggered forward, held on by the cords, felt round the edge of + the bag for the tot, and drank about a quart of water. Then it staggered + back against the wall, stood for a moment muttering and passing its hand + aimlessly over its poor ruined head, and finally collapsed into a + shapeless rum-smelling heap and slept once more. + </p> + <p> + The jackeroo at the end of the verandah had awakened from his drunken + sleep, but had not moved. He lay huddled on his side, with his head on the + swag; the whole length of the verandah was before him; his eyes were wide + open, but his face was in the shade. Now he rose painfully and stood on + the ground outside, with his hands in his pockets, and gazed out over the + open for a while. He breathed a long breath, too—with a groan in it. + Then he lifted his swag quietly from the end of the floor, shouldered it, + took up his water-bag and billy, and sneaked over the road, away from the + place, like a thief. He struck across the plain, and tramped on, hour + after hour, mile after mile, till the bright moon went down with a bright + star in attendance and the other bright stars waned, and he entered the + timber and tramped through it to the “cleared road”, which stretched far + and wide for twenty miles before him, with ghostly little dust-clouds at + short intervals ahead, where the frightened rabbits crossed it. And still + he went doggedly on, with the ghastly daylight on him—like a + swagman's ghost out late. And a mongrel followed faithfully all the time + unnoticed, and wondering, perhaps, at his master. + </p> + <p> + “What was yer doin' to that girl yesterday?” asked Danny of Yankee Jack + next evening, as they camped on the far side of the plain. “What was you + chaps sayin' to Alice? I heerd her cryin' in her room last night.” + </p> + <p> + But they reckoned that he had been too drunk to hear anything except an + invitation to come and have another drink; and so it passed. + </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 Hero of Redclay + </h2> + <p> + The “boss-over-the-board” was leaning with his back to the wall between + two shoots, reading a reference handed to him by a green-hand applying for + work as picker-up or woolroller—a shed rouseabout. It was terribly + hot. I was slipping past to the rolling-tables, carrying three fleeces to + save a journey; we were only supposed to carry two. The boss stopped me: + </p> + <p> + “You've got three fleeces there, young man?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Notwithstanding the fact that I had just slipped a light ragged fleece + into the belly-wool and “bits” basket, I felt deeply injured, and + righteously and fiercely indignant at being pulled up. It was a fearfully + hot day. + </p> + <p> + “If I catch you carrying three fleeces again,” said the boss quietly, + “I'll give you the sack.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll take it now if you like,” I said. + </p> + <p> + He nodded. “You can go on picking-up in this man's place,” he said to the + jackeroo, whose reference showed him to be a non-union man—a + “free-labourer”, as the pastoralists had it, or, in plain shed terms, “a + blanky scab”. He was now in the comfortable position of a non-unionist in + a union shed who had jumped into a sacked man's place. + </p> + <p> + Somehow the lurid sympathy of the men irritated me worse than the + boss-over-the-board had done. It must have been on account of the heat, as + Mitchell says. I was sick of the shed and the life. It was within a couple + of days of cut-out, so I told Mitchell—who was shearing—that + I'd camp up the Billabong and wait for him; got my cheque, rolled up my + swag, got three days' tucker from the cook, said so-long to him, and + tramped while the men were in the shed. + </p> + <p> + I camped at the head of the Billabong where the track branched, one branch + running to Bourke, up the river, and the other out towards the Paroo—and + hell. + </p> + <p> + About ten o'clock the third morning Mitchell came along with his cheque + and his swag, and a new sheep-pup, and his quiet grin; and I wasn't too + pleased to see that he had a shearer called “the Lachlan” with him. + </p> + <p> + The Lachlan wasn't popular at the shed. He was a brooding, unsociable sort + of man, and it didn't make any difference to the chaps whether he had a + union ticket or not. It was pretty well known in the shed—there were + three or four chaps from the district he was reared in—that he'd + done five years hard for burglary. What surprised me was that Jack + Mitchell seemed thick with him; often, when the Lachlan was sitting + brooding and smoking by himself outside the hut after sunset, Mitchell + would perch on his heels alongside him and yarn. But no one else took + notice of anything Mitchell did out of the common. + </p> + <p> + “Better camp with us till the cool of the evening,” said Mitchell to the + Lachlan, as they slipped their swags. “Plenty time for you to start after + sundown, if you're going to travel to-night.” + </p> + <p> + So the Lachlan was going to travel all night and on a different track. I + felt more comfortable, and put the billy on. I did not care so much what + he'd been or had done, but I was green and soft yet, and his presence + embarrassed me. + </p> + <p> + They talked shearing, sheds, tracks, and a little unionism—the + Lachlan speaking in a quiet voice and with a lot of sound, common sense, + it seemed to me. He was tall and gaunt, and might have been thirty, or + even well on in the forties. His eyes were dark brown and deep set, and + had something of the dead-earnest sad expression you saw in the eyes of + union leaders and secretaries—the straight men of the strikes of '90 + and '91. I fancied once or twice I saw in his eyes the sudden furtive look + of the “bad egg” when a mounted trooper is spotted near the shed; but + perhaps this was prejudice. And with it all there was about the Lachlan + something of the man who has lost all he had and the chances of all he was + ever likely to have, and is past feeling, or caring, or flaring up—past + getting mad about anything—something, all the same, that warned men + not to make free with him. + </p> + <p> + He and Mitchell fished along the Billabong all the afternoon; I fished a + little, and lay about the camp and read. I had an instinct that the + Lachlan saw I didn't cotton on to his camping with us, though he wasn't + the sort of man to show what he saw or felt. After tea, and a smoke at + sunset, he shouldered his swag, nodded to me as if I was an accidental but + respectful stranger at a funeral that belonged to him, and took the + outside track. Mitchell walked along the track with him for a mile or so, + while I poked round and got some boughs down for a bed, and fed and + studied the collie pup that Jack had bought from the shearers' cook. + </p> + <p> + I saw them stop and shake hands out on the dusty clearing, and they seemed + to take a long time about it; then Mitchell started back, and the other + began to dwindle down to a black peg and then to a dot on the sandy plain, + that had just a hint of dusk and dreamy far-away gloaming on it between + the change from glaring day to hard, bare, broad moonlight. + </p> + <p> + I thought Mitchell was sulky, or had got the blues, when he came back; he + lay on his elbow smoking, with his face turned from the camp towards the + plain. After a bit I got wild—if Mitchell was going to go on like + that he might as well have taken his swag and gone with the Lachlan. I + don't know exactly what was the matter with me that day, and at last I + made up my mind to bring the thing to a head. + </p> + <p> + “You seem mighty thick with the Lachlan,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what's the matter with that?” asked Mitchell. “It ain't the first + felon I've been on speaking terms with. I borrowed half-a-caser off a + murderer once, when I was in a hole and had no one else to go to; and the + murderer hadn't served his time, neither. I've got nothing against the + Lachlan, except that he's a white man and bears a faint family resemblance + to a certain branch of my tribe.” + </p> + <p> + I rolled out my swag on the boughs, got my pipe, tobacco, and matches + handy in the crown of a spare hat, and lay down. + </p> + <p> + Mitchell got up, re-lit his pipe at the fire, and mooned round for a + while, with his hands behind him, kicking sticks out of the road, looking + out over the plain, down along the Billabong, and up through the mulga + branches at the stars; then he comforted the pup a bit, shoved the fire + together with his toe, stood the tea-billy on the coals, and came and + squatted on the sand by my head. + </p> + <p> + “Joe! I'll tell you a yarn.” + </p> + <p> + “All right; fire away! Has it got anything to do with the Lachlan?” + </p> + <p> + “No. It's got nothing to do with the Lachlan now; but it's about a chap he + knew. Don't you ever breathe a word of this to the Lachlan or anyone, or + he'll get on to me.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. Go ahead.” + </p> + <p> + “You know I've been a good many things in my time. I did a deal of + house-painting at one time; I was a pretty smart brush hand, and made + money at it. Well, I had a run of work at a place called Redclay, on the + Lachlan side. You know the sort of town—two pubs, a general store, a + post office, a blacksmith's shop, a police station, a branch bank, and a + dozen private weatherboard boxes on piles, with galvanized-iron tops, + besides the humpies. There was a paper there, too, called the 'Redclay + Advertiser' (with which was incorporated the 'Geebung Chronicle'), and a + Roman Catholic church, a Church of England, and a Wesleyan chapel. Now you + see more of private life in the house-painting line than in any other—bar + plumbing and gasfitting; but I'll tell you about my house-painting + experiences some other time. + </p> + <p> + “There was a young chap named Jack Drew editing the 'Advertiser' then. He + belonged to the district, but had been sent to Sydney to a grammar school + when he was a boy. He was between twenty-five and thirty; had knocked + round a good deal, and gone the pace in Sydney. He got on as a boy + reporter on one of the big dailies; he had brains and could write rings + round a good many, but he got in with a crowd that called themselves + 'Bohemians', and the drink got a hold on him. The paper stuck to him as + long as it could (for the sake of his brains), but they had to sack him at + last. + </p> + <p> + “He went out back, as most of them do, to try and work out their + salvation, and knocked round amongst the sheds. He 'picked up' in one shed + where I was shearing, and we carried swags together for a couple of + months. Then he went back to the Lachlan side, and prospected amongst the + old fields round there with his elder brother Tom, who was all there was + left of his family. Tom, by the way, broke his heart digging Jack out of a + cave in a drive they were working, and died a few minutes after the + rescue. [*] But that's another yarn. Jack Drew had a bad spree after that; + then he went to Sydney again, got on his old paper, went to the dogs, and + a Parliamentary push that owned some city fly-blisters and country papers + sent him up to edit the 'Advertiser' at two quid a week. He drank again, + and no wonder—you don't know what it is to run a 'Geebung Advocate' + or 'Mudgee Budgee Chronicle', and live there. He was about the same build + as the Lachlan, but stouter, and had something the same kind of eyes; but + he was ordinarily as careless and devil-may-care as the Lachlan is grumpy + and quiet. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * See “When the Sun Went Down”, in “While the + Billy Boils”.— +</pre> + <p> + “There was a doctor there, called Dr. Lebinski. They said he was a Polish + exile. He was fifty or sixty, a tall man, with the set of an old soldier + when he stood straight; but he mostly walked with his hands behind him, + studying the ground. Jack Drew caught that trick off him towards the end. + They were chums in a gloomy way, and kept to themselves—they were + the only two men with brains in that town. They drank and fought the drink + together. The Doctor was too gloomy and impatient over little things to be + popular. Jack Drew talked too straight in the paper, and in spite of his + proprietors—about pub spieling and such things—and was too + sarcastic in his progress committee, town council, and toady reception + reports. The Doctor had a hawk's nose, pointed grizzled beard and + moustache, and steely-grey eyes with a haunted look in them sometimes + (especially when he glanced at you sideways), as if he loathed his fellow + men, and couldn't always hide it; or as if you were the spirit of morphia + or opium, or a dead girl he'd wronged in his youth—or whatever his + devil was, beside drink. He was clever, and drink had brought him down to + Redclay. + </p> + <p> + “The bank manager was a heavy snob named Browne. He complained of being a + bit dull of hearing in one ear—after you'd yelled at him three or + four times; sometimes I've thought he was as deaf as a book-keeper in + both. He had a wife and youngsters, but they were away on a visit while I + was working in Redclay. His niece—or, rather, his wife's niece—a + girl named Ruth Wilson, did the housekeeping. She was an orphan, adopted + by her aunt, and was general slavey and scape-goat to the family—especially + to the brats, as is often the case. She was rather pretty, and lady-like, + and kept to herself. The women and girls called her Miss Wilson, and + didn't like her. Most of the single men—and some of the married + ones, perhaps—were gone on her, but hadn't the brains or the pluck + to bear up and try their luck. I was gone worse than any, I think, but had + too much experience or common sense. She was very good to me—used to + hand me out cups of tea and plates of sandwiches, or bread and butter, or + cake, mornings and afternoons the whole time I was painting the bank. The + Doctor had known her people and was very kind to her. She was about the + only woman—for she was more woman than girl—that he'd brighten + up and talk for. Neither he nor Jack Drew were particularly friendly with + Browne or his push. + </p> + <p> + “The banker, the storekeeper, one of the publicans, the butcher (a popular + man with his hands in his pockets, his hat on the back of his head, and + nothing in it), the postmaster, and his toady, the lightning squirter, + were the scrub-aristocracy. The rest were crawlers, mostly pub spielers + and bush larrikins, and the women were hags and larrikinesses. The town + lived on cheque-men from the surrounding bush. It was a nice little place, + taking it all round. + </p> + <p> + “I remember a ball at the local town hall, where the scrub aristocrats + took one end of the room to dance in and the ordinary scum the other. It + was a saving in music. Some day an Australian writer will come along + who'll remind the critics and readers of Dickens, Carlyle, and Thackeray + mixed, and he'll do justice to these little customs of ours in the little + settled-district towns of Democratic Australia. This sort of thing came to + a head one New Year's Night at Redclay, when there was a 'public' ball and + peace on earth and good will towards all men—mostly on account of a + railway to Redclay being surveyed. We were all there. They'd got the Doc. + out of his shell to act as M.C. + </p> + <p> + “One of the aristocrats was the daughter of the local storekeeper; she + belonged to the lawn-tennis clique, and they WERE select. For some reason + or other—because she looked upon Miss Wilson as a slavey, or on + account of a fancied slight, or the heat working on ignorance, or on + account of something that comes over girls and women that no son of sin + can account for—this Miss Tea-'n'-sugar tossed her head and refused + Miss Wilson's hand in the first set and so broke the ladies' chain and the + dance. Then there was a to-do. The Doctor held up his hand to stop the + music, and said, very quietly, that he must call upon Miss So-and-so to + apologise to Miss Wilson—or resign the chair. After a lot of fuss + the girl did apologise in a snappy way that was another insult. Jack Drew + gave Miss Wilson his arm and marched her off without a word—I saw + she was almost crying. Some one said, 'Oh, let's go on with the dance.' + The Doctor flashed round on them, but they were too paltry for him, so he + turned on his heel and went out without a word. But I was beneath them + again in social standing, so there was nothing to prevent me from making a + few well-chosen remarks on things in general—which I did; and broke + up that ball, and broke some heads afterwards, and got myself a good deal + of hatred and respect, and two sweethearts; and lost all the jobs I was + likely to get, except at the bank, the Doctor's, and the Royal. + </p> + <p> + “One day it was raining—general rain for a week. Rain, rain, rain, + over ridge and scrub and galvanised iron and into the dismal creeks. I'd + done all my inside work, except a bit under the Doctor's verandah, where + he'd been having some patching and altering done round the glass doors of + his surgery, where he consulted his patients. I didn't want to lose time. + It was a Monday and no day for the Royal, and there was no dust, so it was + a good day for varnishing. I took a pot and brush and went along to give + the Doctor's doors a coat of varnish. The Doctor and Drew were inside with + a fire, drinking whisky and smoking, but I didn't know that when I started + work. The rain roared on the iron roof like the sea. All of a sudden it + held up for a minute, and I heard their voices. The doctor had been + shouting on account of the rain, and forgot to lower his voice. 'Look + here, Jack Drew,' he said, 'there are only two things for you to do if you + have any regard for that girl; one is to stop this' (the liquor I suppose + he meant) 'and pull yourself together; and I don't think you'll do that—I + know men. The other is to throw up the 'Advertiser'—it's doing you + no good—and clear out.' 'I won't do that,' says Drew. 'Then shoot + yourself,' said the Doctor. '(There's another flask in the cupboard). You + know what this hole is like.... She's a good true girl—a girl as God + made her. I knew her father and mother, and I tell you, Jack, I'd sooner + see her dead than....' The roof roared again. I felt a bit delicate about + the business and didn't like to disturb them, so I knocked off for the + day. + </p> + <p> + “About a week before that I was down in the bed of the Redclay Creek + fishing for 'tailers'. I'd been getting on all right with the housemaid at + the 'Royal'—she used to have plates of pudding and hot pie for me on + the big gridiron arrangement over the kitchen range; and after the third + tuck-out I thought it was good enough to do a bit of a bear-up in that + direction. She mentioned one day, yarning, that she liked a stroll by the + creek sometimes in the cool of the evening. I thought she'd be off that + day, so I said I'd go for a fish after I'd knocked off. I thought I might + get a bite. Anyway, I didn't catch Lizzie—tell you about that some + other time. + </p> + <p> + “It was Sunday. I'd been fishing for Lizzie about an hour when I saw a + skirt on the bank out of the tail of my eye—and thought I'd got a + bite, sure. But I was had. It was Miss Wilson strolling along the bank in + the sunset, all by her pretty self. She was a slight girl, not very tall, + with reddish frizzled hair, grey eyes, and small, pretty features. She + spoke as if she had more brains than the average, and had been better + educated. Jack Drew was the only young man in Redclay she could talk to, + or who could talk to a girl like her; and that was the whole trouble in a + nutshell. The newspaper office was next to the bank, and I'd seen her hand + cups of tea and cocoa over the fence to his office window more than once, + and sometimes they yarned for a while. + </p> + <p> + “She said, 'Good morning, Mr. Mitchell.' + </p> + <p> + “I said, 'Good morning, Miss.' + </p> + <p> + “There's some girls I can't talk to like I'd talk to other girls. She + asked me if I'd caught any fish, and I said, 'No, Miss.' She asked me if + it wasn't me down there fishing with Mr. Drew the other evening, and I + said, 'Yes—it was me.' Then presently she asked me straight if he + was fishing down the creek that afternoon? I guessed they'd been down + fishing for each other before. I said, 'No, I thought he was out of town.' + I knew he was pretty bad at the Royal. I asked her if she'd like to have a + try with my line, but she said No, thanks, she must be going; and she went + off up the creek. I reckoned Jack Drew had got a bite and landed her. I + felt a bit sorry for her, too. + </p> + <p> + “The next Saturday evening after the rainy Monday at the Doctor's, I went + down to fish for tailers—and Lizzie. I went down under the banks to + where there was a big she-oak stump half in the water, going quietly, with + an idea of not frightening the fish. I was just unwinding the line from my + rod, when I noticed the end of another rod sticking out from the other + side of the stump; and while I watched it was dropped into the water. Then + I heard a murmur, and craned my neck round the back of the stump to see + who it was. I saw the back view of Jack Drew and Miss Wilson; he had his + arm round her waist, and her head was on his shoulder. She said, 'I WILL + trust you, Jack—I know you'll give up the drink for my sake. And + I'll help you, and we'll be so happy!' or words in that direction. A + thunderstorm was coming on. The sky had darkened up with a great + blue-black storm-cloud rushing over, and they hadn't noticed it. I didn't + mind, and the fish bit best in a storm. But just as she said 'happy' came + a blinding flash and a crash that shook the ridges, and the first drops + came peltering down. They jumped up and climbed the bank, while I perched + on the she-oak roots over the water to be out of sight as they passed. + Half way to the town I saw them standing in the shelter of an old stone + chimney that stood alone. He had his overcoat round her and was sheltering + her from the wind....” + </p> + <p> + “Smoke-oh, Joe. The tea's stewing.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchell got up, stretched himself, and brought the billy and pint-pots to + the head of my camp. The moon had grown misty. The plain horizon had + closed in. A couple of boughs, hanging from the gnarled and blasted timber + over the billabong, were the perfect shapes of two men hanging side by + side. Mitchell scratched the back of his neck and looked down at the pup + curled like a glob of mud on the sand in the moonlight, and an idea struck + him. He got a big old felt hat he had, lifted his pup, nose to tail, + fitted it in the hat, shook it down, holding the hat by the brim, and + stood the hat near the head of his doss, out of the moonlight. “He might + get moonstruck,” said Mitchell, “and I don't want that pup to be a + genius.” The pup seemed perfectly satisfied with this new arrangement. + </p> + <p> + “Have a smoke,” said Mitchell. “You see,” he added, with a sly grin, “I've + got to make up the yarn as I go along, and it's hard work. It seems to + begin to remind me of yarns your grandmother or aunt tells of things that + happened when she was a girl—but those yarns are true. You won't + have to listen long now; I'm well on into the second volume. + </p> + <p> + “After the storm I hurried home to the tent—I was batching with a + carpenter. I changed my clothes, made a fire in the fire-bucket with + shavings and ends of soft wood, boiled the billy, and had a cup of coffee. + It was Saturday night. My mate was at the Royal; it was cold and dismal in + the tent, and there was nothing to read, so I reckoned I might as well go + up to the Royal, too, and put in the time. + </p> + <p> + “I had to pass the Bank on the way. It was the usual weatherboard box with + a galvanised iron top—four rooms and a passage, and a detached + kitchen and wash-house at the back; the front room to the right (behind + the office) was the family bedroom, and the one opposite it was the living + room. The 'Advertiser' office was next door. Jack Drew camped in a + skillion room behind his printing office, and had his meals at the Royal. + I noticed the storm had taken a sheet of iron off the skillion, and + supposed he'd sleep at the Royal that night. Next to the 'Advertiser' + office was the police station (still called the Police Camp) and the + Courthouse. Next was the Imperial Hotel, where the scrub aristocrats went. + There was a vacant allotment on the other side of the Bank, and I took a + short cut across this to the Royal. + </p> + <p> + “They'd forgotten to pull down the blind of the dining-room window, and I + happened to glance through and saw she had Jack Drew in there and was + giving him a cup of tea. He had a bad cold, I remember, and I suppose his + health had got precious to her, poor girl. As I glanced she stepped to the + window and pulled down the blind, which put me out of face a bit—though, + of course, she hadn't seen me. I was rather surprised at her having Jack + in there, till I heard that the banker, the postmaster, the constable, and + some others were making a night of it at the Imperial, as they'd been + doing pretty often lately—and went on doing till there was a blow-up + about it, and the constable got transferred Out Back. I used to drink my + share then. We smoked and played cards and yarned and filled 'em up again + at the Royal till after one in the morning. Then I started home. + </p> + <p> + “I'd finished giving the Bank a couple of coats of stone-colour that week, + and was cutting in in dark colour round the spouting, doors, and + window-frames that Saturday. My head was pretty clear going home, and as I + passed the place it struck me that I'd left out the only varnish brush I + had. I'd been using it to give the sashes a coat of varnish colour, and + remembered that I'd left it on one of the window-sills—the sill of + her bedroom window, as it happened. I knew I'd sleep in next day, Sunday, + and guessed it would be hot, and I didn't want the varnish tool to get + spoiled; so I reckoned I'd slip in through the side gate, get it, and take + it home to camp and put it in oil. The window sash was jammed, I remember, + and I hadn't been able to get it up more than a couple of inches to paint + the runs of the sash. The grass grew up close under the window, and I + slipped in quietly. I noticed the sash was still up a couple of inches. + Just as I grabbed the brush I heard low voices inside—Ruth Wilson's + and Jack Drew's—in her room. + </p> + <p> + “The surprise sent about a pint of beer up into my throat in a lump. I + tip-toed away out of there. Just as I got clear of the gate I saw the + banker being helped home by a couple of cronies. + </p> + <p> + “I went home to the camp and turned in, but I couldn't sleep. I lay think—think—thinking, + till I thought all the drink out of my head. I'd brought a bottle of ale + home to last over Sunday, and I drank that. It only made matters worse. I + didn't know how I felt—I—well, I felt as if I was as good a + man as Jack Drew—I—you see I've—you might think it soft—but + I loved that girl, not as I've been gone on other girls, but in the + old-fashioned, soft, honest, hopeless, far-away sort of way; and now, to + tell the straight truth, I thought I might have had her. You lose a thing + through being too straight or sentimental, or not having enough cheek; and + another man comes along with more brass in his blood and less sentimental + rot and takes it up—and the world respects him; and you feel in your + heart that you're a weaker man than he is. Why, part of the time I must + have felt like a man does when a better man runs away with his wife. But + I'd drunk a lot, and was upset and lonely-feeling that night. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but Redclay had a tremendous sensation next day! Jack Drew, of all + the men in the world, had been caught in the act of robbing the bank. + According to Browne's account in court and in the newspapers, he returned + home that night at about twelve o'clock (which I knew was a lie, for I saw + him being helped home nearer two) and immediately retired to rest (on top + of the quilt, boots and all, I suppose). Some time before daybreak he was + roused by a fancied noise (I suppose it was his head swelling); he rose, + turned up a night lamp (he hadn't lit it, I'll swear), and went through + the dining-room passage and office to investigate (for whisky and water). + He saw that the doors and windows were secure, returned to bed, and fell + asleep again. + </p> + <p> + “There is something in a deaf person's being roused easily. I know the + case of a deaf chap who'd start up at a step or movement in the house when + no one else could hear or feel it; keen sense of vibration, I reckon. + Well, just at daybreak (to shorten the yarn) the banker woke suddenly, he + said, and heard a crack like a shot in the house. There was a loose + flooring-board in the passage that went off like a pistol-shot sometimes + when you trod on it; and I guess Jack Drew trod on it, sneaking out, and + he weighed nearly twelve stone. If the truth were known, he probably heard + Browne poking round, tried the window, found the sash jammed, and was + slipping through the passage to the back door. Browne got his revolver, + opened his door suddenly, and caught Drew standing between the girl's door + (which was shut) and the office door, with his coat on his arm and his + boots in his hands. Browne covered him with his revolver, swore he'd shoot + if he moved, and yelled for help. Drew stood a moment like a man stunned; + then he rushed Browne, and in the struggle the revolver went off, and Drew + got hit in the arm. Two of the mounted troopers—who'd been up + looking to the horses for an early start somewhere—rushed in then, + and took Drew. He had nothing to say. What could he say? He couldn't say + he was a blackguard who'd taken advantage of a poor unprotected girl + because she loved him. They found the back door unlocked, by the way, + which was put down to the burglar; of course Browne couldn't explain that + he came home too muddled to lock doors after him. + </p> + <p> + “And the girl? She shrieked and fell when the row started, and they found + her like a log on the floor of her room after it was over. + </p> + <p> + “They found in Jack's overcoat pocket a parcel containing a cold chisel, + small screw-wrench, file, and one or two other things that he'd bought + that evening to tinker up the old printing press. I knew that, because I'd + lent him a hand a few nights before, and he told me he'd have to get the + tools. They found some scratches round the key-hole and knob of the office + door that I'd made myself, scraping old splashes of paint off the brass + and hand-plate so as to make a clean finish. Oh, it taught me the value of + circumstantial evidence! If I was judge I wouldn't give a man till the + 'risin' av the coort' on it, any more than I would on the bare word of the + noblest woman breathing. + </p> + <p> + “At the preliminary examination Jack Drew said he was guilty. But it + seemed that, according to law, he couldn't be guilty until after he was + committed. So he was committed for trial at the next Quarter Sessions. The + excitement and gabble were worse than the Dean case, or Federation, and + sickened me, for they were all on the wrong track. You lose a lot of life + through being behind the scenes. But they cooled down presently to wait + for the trial. + </p> + <p> + “They thought it best to take the girl away from the place where she'd got + the shock; so the Doctor took her to his house, where he had an old + housekeeper who was as deaf as a post—a first class recommendation + for a housekeeper anywhere. He got a nurse from Sydney to attend on Ruth + Wilson, and no one except he and the nurse were allowed to go near her. + She lay like dead, they said, except when she had to be held down raving; + brain fever, they said, brought on by the shock of the attempted burglary + and pistol shot. Dr. Lebinski had another doctor up from Sydney at his own + expense, but nothing could save her—and perhaps it was as well. She + might have finished her life in a lunatic asylum. They were going to send + her to Sydney, to a brain hospital; but she died a week before the + Sessions. She was right-headed for an hour, they said, and asking all the + time for Jack. The Doctor told her he was all right and was coming—and, + waiting and listening for him, she died. + </p> + <p> + “The case was black enough against Drew now. I knew he wouldn't have the + pluck to tell the truth now, even if he was that sort of a man. I didn't + know what to do, so I spoke to the Doctor straight. I caught him coming + out of the Royal, and walked along the road with him a bit. I suppose he + thought I was going to show cause why his doors ought to have another coat + of varnish. + </p> + <p> + “'Hallo, Mitchell!' he said, 'how's painting?' + </p> + <p> + “'Doctor!' I said, 'what am I going to do about this business?' + </p> + <p> + “'What business?' + </p> + <p> + “'Jack Drew's.' + </p> + <p> + “He looked at me sideways—the swift haunted look. Then he walked on + without a word, for half a dozen yards, hands behind, and studying the + dust. Then he asked, quite quietly: + </p> + <p> + “'Do you know the truth?' + </p> + <p> + “'Yes!' + </p> + <p> + “About a dozen yards this time; then he said: + </p> + <p> + “'I'll see him in the morning, and see you afterwards,' and he shook hands + and went on home. + </p> + <p> + “Next day he came to me where I was doing a job on a step ladder. He + leaned his elbow against the steps for a moment, and rubbed his hand over + his forehead, as if it ached and he was tired. + </p> + <p> + “'I've seen him, Mitchell,' he said. + </p> + <p> + “'Yes.' + </p> + <p> + “'You were mates with him, once, Out Back?' + </p> + <p> + “'I was.' + </p> + <p> + “'You know Drew's hand-writing?' + </p> + <p> + “'I should think so.' + </p> + <p> + “He laid a leaf from a pocketbook on top of the steps. I read the message + written in pencil: + </p> + <p> + “'To Jack Mitchell.—We were mates on the track. If you know anything + of my affair, don't give it away.—J. D.' + </p> + <p> + “I tore the leaf and dropped the bits into the paint-pot. + </p> + <p> + “'That's all right, Doctor,' I said; 'but is there no way?' + </p> + <p> + “'None.' + </p> + <p> + “He turned away, wearily. He'd knocked about so much over the world that + he was past bothering about explaining things or being surprised at + anything. But he seemed to get a new idea about me; he came back to the + steps again, and watched my brush for a while, as if he was thinking, in a + broody sort of way, of throwing up his practice and going in for + house-painting. Then he said, slowly and deliberately: + </p> + <p> + “'If she—the girl—had lived, we might have tried to fix it up + quietly. That's what I was hoping for. I don't see how we can help him + now, even if he'd let us. He would never have spoken, anyway. We must let + it go on, and after the trial I'll go to Sydney and see what I can do at + headquarters. It's too late now. You understand, Mitchell?' + </p> + <p> + “'Yes. I've thought it out.' + </p> + <p> + “Then he went away towards the Royal. + </p> + <p> + “And what could Jack Drew or we do? Study it out whatever way you like. + There was only one possible chance to help him, and that was to go to the + judge; and the judge that happened to be on that circuit was a man who—even + if he did listen to the story and believe it—would have felt + inclined to give Jack all the more for what he was charged with. Browne + was out of the question. The day before the trial I went for a long walk + in the bush, but couldn't hit on anything that the Doctor might have + missed. + </p> + <p> + “I was in the court—I couldn't keep away. The Doctor was there too. + There wasn't so much of a change in Jack as I expected, only he had the + gaol white in his face already. He stood fingering the rail, as if it was + the edge of a table on a platform and he was a tired and bored and sleepy + chairman waiting to propose a vote of thanks.” + </p> + <p> + The only well-known man in Australia who reminds me of Mitchell is Bland + Holt, the comedian. Mitchell was about as good hearted as Bland Holt, too, + under it all; but he was bigger and roughened by the bush. But he seemed + to be taking a heavy part to-night, for, towards the end of his yarn, he + got up and walked up and down the length of my bed, dropping the sentences + as he turned towards me. He'd folded his arms high and tight, and his face + in the moonlight was—well, it was very different from his careless + tone of voice. He was like—like an actor acting tragedy and talking + comedy. Mitchell went on, speaking quickly—his voice seeming to + harden: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + “The charge was read out—I forget how it went—it sounded like + a long hymn being given out. Jack pleaded guilty. Then he straightened up + for the first time and looked round the court, with a calm, disinterested + look—as if we were all strangers and he was noting the size of the + meeting. And—it's a funny world, ain't it?—everyone of us + shifted or dropped his eyes, just as if we were the felons and Jack the + judge. Everyone except the Doctor; he looked at Jack and Jack looked at + him. Then the Doctor smiled—I can't describe it—and Drew + smiled back. It struck me afterwards that I should have been in that + smile. Then the Doctor did what looked like a strange thing—stood + like a soldier with his hands to Attention. I'd noticed that, whenever + he'd made up his mind to do a thing, he dropped his hands to his sides: it + was a sign that he couldn't be moved. Now he slowly lifted his hand to his + forehead, palm out, saluted the prisoner, turned on his heel, and marched + from the court-room. 'He's boozin' again,' someone whispered. 'He's got a + touch of 'em.' 'My oath, he's ratty!' said someone else. One of the traps + said: + </p> + <p> + “'Arder in the car-rt!' + </p> + <p> + “The judge gave it to Drew red-hot on account of the burglary being the + cause of the girl's death and the sorrow in a respectable family; then he + gave him five years' hard. + </p> + <p> + “It gave me a lot of confidence in myself to see the law of the land + barking up the wrong tree, while only I and the Doctor and the prisoner + knew it. But I've found out since then that the law is often the only one + that knows it's barking up the wrong tree.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + Mitchell prepared to turn in. + </p> + <p> + “And what about Drew,” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he did his time, or most of it. The Doctor went to headquarters, but + either a drunken doctor from a geebung town wasn't of much account, or + they weren't taking any romance just then at headquarters. So the Doctor + came back, drank heavily, and one frosty morning they found him on his + back on the bank of the creek, with his face like note-paper where the + blood hadn't dried on it, and an old pistol in his hand—that he'd + used, they said, to shoot Cossacks from horseback when he was a young dude + fighting in the bush in Poland.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchell lay silent a good while; then he yawned. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, well! It's a lonely track the Lachlan's tramping to-night; but I + s'pose he's got his ghosts with him.” + </p> + <p> + I'd been puzzling for the last half-hour to think where I'd met or heard + of Jack Drew; now it flashed on me that I'd been told that Jack Drew was + the Lachlan's real name. + </p> + <p> + I lay awake thinking a long time, and wished Mitchell had kept his yarn + for daytime. I felt—well, I felt as if the Lachlan's story should + have been played in the biggest theatre in the world, by the greatest + actors, with music for the intervals and situations—deep, strong + music, such as thrills and lifts a man from his boot soles. And when I got + to sleep I hadn't slept a moment, it seemed to me, when I started wide + awake to see those infernal hanging boughs with a sort of nightmare idea + that the Lachlan hadn't gone, or had come back, and he and Mitchell had + hanged themselves sociably—Mitchell for sympathy and the sake of + mateship. + </p> + <p> + But Mitchell was sleeping peacefully, in spite of a path of moonlight + across his face—and so was the pup. + </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> + The Darling River + </h2> + <p> + The Darling—which is either a muddy gutter or a second Mississippi—is + about six times as long as the distance, in a straight line, from its head + to its mouth. The state of the river is vaguely but generally understood + to depend on some distant and foreign phenomena to which bushmen refer in + an off-hand tone of voice as “the Queenslan' rains”, which seem to be held + responsible, in a general way, for most of the out-back trouble. + </p> + <p> + It takes less than a year to go up stream by boat to Walgett or Bourke in + a dry season; but after the first three months the passengers generally go + ashore and walk. They get sick of being stuck in the same sort of place, + in the same old way; they grow weary of seeing the same old “whaler” drop + his swag on the bank opposite whenever the boat ties up for wood; they get + tired of lending him tobacco, and listening to his ideas, which are + limited in number and narrow in conception. + </p> + <p> + It shortens the journey to get out and walk; but then you will have to + wait so long for your luggage—unless you hump it with you. + </p> + <p> + We heard of a man who determined to stick to a Darling boat and travel the + whole length of the river. He was a newspaper man. He started on his + voyage of discovery one Easter in flood-time, and a month later the + captain got bushed between the Darling and South Australian border. The + waters went away before he could find the river again, and left his boat + in a scrub. They had a cargo of rations, and the crew stuck to the craft + while the tucker lasted; when it gave out they rolled up their swags and + went to look for a station, but didn't find one. The captain would study + his watch and the sun, rig up dials and make out courses, and follow them + without success. They ran short of water, and didn't smell any for weeks; + they suffered terrible privations, and lost three of their number, NOT + including the newspaper liar. There are even dark hints considering the + drawing of lots in connection with something too terrible to mention. They + crossed a thirty-mile plain at last, and sighted a black gin. She led them + to a boundary rider's hut, where they were taken in and provided with + rations and rum. + </p> + <p> + Later on a syndicate was formed to explore the country and recover the + boat; but they found her thirty miles from the river and about eighteen + from the nearest waterhole deep enough to float her, so they left her + there. She's there still, or else the man that told us about it is the + greatest liar Out Back. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + Imagine the hull of a North Shore ferry boat, blunted a little at the ends + and cut off about a foot below the water-line, and parallel to it, then + you will have something shaped somewhat like the hull of a Darling + mud-rooter. But the river boat is much stronger. The boat we were on was + built and repaired above deck after the different ideas of many bush + carpenters, of whom the last seemed by his work to have regarded the + original plan with a contempt only equalled by his disgust at the work of + the last carpenter but one. The wheel was boxed in, mostly with round + sapling-sticks fastened to the frame with bunches of nails and spikes of + all shapes and sizes, most of them bent. The general result was decidedly + picturesque in its irregularity, but dangerous to the mental welfare of + any passenger who was foolish enough to try to comprehend the design; for + it seemed as though every carpenter had taken the opportunity to work in a + little abstract idea of his own. + </p> + <p> + The way they “dock” a Darling River boat is beautiful for its simplicity. + They choose a place where there are two stout trees about the boat's + length apart, and standing on a line parallel to the river. They fix + pulley-blocks to the trees, lay sliding planks down into the water, fasten + a rope to one end of the steamer, and take the other end through the block + attached to the tree and thence back aboard a second steamer; then they + carry a rope similarly from the other end through the block on the second + tree, and aboard a third boat. At a given signal one boat leaves for + Wentworth, and the other starts for the Queensland border. The consequence + is that craft number one climbs the bank amid the cheers of the local + loafers, who congregate and watch the proceedings with great interest and + approval. The crew pitch tents, and set to work on the hull, which looks + like a big, rough shallow box. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + We once travelled on the Darling for a hundred miles or so on a boat + called the 'Mud Turtle'—at least, that's what WE called her. She + might reasonably have haunted the Mississippi fifty years ago. She didn't + seem particular where she went, or whether she started again or stopped + for good after getting stuck. Her machinery sounded like a chapter of + accidents and was always out of order, but she got along all the same, + provided the steersman kept her off the bank. + </p> + <p> + Her skipper was a young man, who looked more like a drover than a sailor, + and the crew bore a greater resemblance to the unemployed than to any + other body we know of, except that they looked a little more independent. + They seemed clannish, too, with an unemployed or free-labour sort of + isolation. We have an idea that they regarded our personal appearance with + contempt. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + Above Louth we picked up a “whaler”, who came aboard for the sake of + society and tobacco. Not that he hoped to shorten his journey; he had no + destination. He told us many reckless and unprincipled lies, and gave us a + few ornamental facts. One of them took our fancy, and impressed us—with + its beautiful simplicity, I suppose. He said: “Some miles above where the + Darlin' and the Warrygo runs inter each other, there's a billygong runnin' + right across between the two rivers and makin' a sort of tryhangular + hyland; 'n' I can tel'yer a funny thing about it.” Here he paused to light + his pipe. “Now,” he continued, impressively, jerking the match overboard, + “when the Darlin's up, and the Warrygo's LOW, the billygong runs from the + Darlin' into the WARRYGO; AND, when the Warrygo's up 'n' the Darlin's + down, the waters runs FROM the Warrygo 'n' inter the Darlin'.” + </p> + <p> + What could be more simple? + </p> + <p> + The steamer was engaged to go up a billabong for a load of shearers from a + shed which was cutting out; and first it was necessary to tie up in the + river and discharge the greater portion of the cargo in order that the + boat might safely negotiate the shallow waters. A local fisherman, who + volunteered to act as pilot, was taken aboard, and after he was outside + about a pint of whisky he seemed to have the greatest confidence in his + ability to take us to hell, or anywhere else—at least, he said so. A + man was sent ashore with blankets and tucker to mind the wool, and we + crossed the river, butted into the anabranch, and started out back. Only + the Lord and the pilot know how we got there. We travelled over the bush, + through its branches sometimes, and sometimes through grass and mud, and + every now and then we struck something that felt and sounded like a + collision. The boat slid down one hill, and “fetched” a stump at the + bottom with a force that made every mother's son bite his tongue or break + a tooth. + </p> + <p> + The shearers came aboard next morning, with their swags and two cartloads + of boiled mutton, bread, “brownie”, and tea and sugar. They numbered about + fifty, including the rouseabouts. This load of sin sank the steamer deeper + into the mud; but the passengers crowded over to port, by request of the + captain, and the crew poked the bank away with long poles. When we began + to move the shearers gave a howl like the yell of a legion of lost souls + escaping from down below. They gave three cheers for the rouseabouts' + cook, who stayed behind; then they cursed the station with a mighty curse. + They cleared a space on deck, had a jig, and afterwards a fight between + the shearers' cook and his assistant. They gave a mighty bush whoop for + the Darling when the boat swung into that grand old gutter, and in the + evening they had a general all-round time. We got back, and the crew had + to reload the wool without assistance, for it bore the accursed brand of a + “freedom-of-contract” shed. + </p> + <p> + We slept, or tried to sleep, that night on the ridge of two wool bales + laid with the narrow sides up, having first been obliged to get ashore and + fight six rounds with a shearer for the privilege of roosting there. The + live cinders from the firebox went up the chimney all night, and fell in + showers on deck. Every now and again a spark would burn through the “Wagga + rug” of a sleeping shearer, and he'd wake suddenly and get up and curse. + It was no use shifting round, for the wind was all ways, and the boat + steered north, south, east, and west to humour the river. Occasionally a + low branch would root three or four passengers off their wool bales, and + they'd get up and curse in chorus. The boat started two snags; and towards + daylight struck a stump. The accent was on the stump. A wool bale went + overboard, and took a swag and a dog with it; then the owner of the swag + and dog and the crew of the boat had a swearing match between them. The + swagman won. + </p> + <p> + About daylight we stretched our cramped limbs, extricated one leg from + between the wool bales, and found that the steamer was just crayfishing + away from a mud island, where she had tied up for more wool. Some of the + chaps had been ashore and boiled four or five buckets of tea and coffee. + Shortly after the boat had settled down to work again an incident came + along. A rouseabout rose late, and, while the others were at breakfast, + got an idea into his head that a good “sloosh” would freshen him up; so he + mooched round until he found a big wooden bucket with a rope to it. He + carried the bucket aft of the wheel. The boat was butting up stream for + all she was worth, and the stream was running the other way, of course, + and about a hundred times as fast as a train. The jackeroo gave the line a + turn round his wrist; before anyone could see him in time to suppress him, + he lifted the bucket, swung it to and fro, and dropped it cleverly into + the water. + </p> + <p> + This delayed us for nearly an hour. A couple of men jumped into the row + boat immediately and cast her adrift. They picked up the jackeroo about a + mile down the river, clinging to a snag, and when we hauled him aboard he + looked like something the cat had dragged in, only bigger. We revived him + with rum and got him on his feet; and then, when the captain and crew had + done cursing him, he rubbed his head, went forward, and had a look at the + paddle; then he rubbed his head again, thought, and remarked to his mates: + </p> + <p> + “Wasn't it lucky I didn't dip that bucket FOR'ARD the wheel?” + </p> + <p> + This remark struck us forcibly. We agreed that it was lucky—for him; + but the captain remarked that it was damned unlucky for the world, which, + he explained, was over-populated with fools already. + </p> + <p> + Getting on towards afternoon we found a barge loaded with wool and tied up + to a tree in the wilderness. There was no sign of a man to be seen, nor + any sign, except the barge, that a human being had ever been there. The + captain took the craft in tow, towed it about ten miles up the stream, and + left it in a less likely place than where it was before. + </p> + <p> + Floating bottles began to be more frequent, and we knew by that same token + that we were nearing “Here's Luck!”—Bourke, we mean. And this + reminds us. + </p> + <p> + When the Brewarrina people observe a more than ordinary number of bottles + floating down the river, they guess that Walgett is on the spree; when the + Louth chaps see an unbroken procession of dead marines for three or four + days they know that Bourke's drunk. The poor, God-abandoned “whaler” sits + in his hungry camp at sunset and watches the empty symbols of Hope go by, + and feels more God-forgotten than ever—and thirstier, if possible—and + gets a great, wide, thirsty, quaking, empty longing to be up where those + bottles come from. If the townspeople knew how much misery they caused by + their thoughtlessness they would drown their dead marines, or bury them, + but on no account allow them to go drifting down the river, and stirring + up hells in the bosoms of less fortunate fellow-creatures. + </p> + <p> + There came a man from Adelaide to Bourke once, and he collected all the + empty bottles in town, stacked them by the river, and waited for a boat. + What he wanted them for the legend sayeth not, but the people reckoned he + had a “private still”, or something of that sort, somewhere down the + river, and were satisfied. What he came from Adelaide for, or whether he + really did come from there, we do not know. All the Darling bunyips are + supposed to come from Adelaide. Anyway, the man collected all the empty + bottles he could lay his hands on, and piled them on the bank, where they + made a good show. He waited for a boat to take his cargo, and, while + waiting, he got drunk. That excited no comment. He stayed drunk for three + weeks, but the townspeople saw nothing unusual in that. In order to become + an object of interest in their eyes, and in that line, he would have had + to stay drunk for a year and fight three times a day—oftener, if + possible—and lie in the road in the broiling heat between whiles, + and be walked on by camels and Afghans and free-labourers, and be locked + up every time he got sober enough to smash a policeman, and try to hang + himself naked, and be finally squashed by a loaded wool team. + </p> + <p> + But while he drank the Darling rose, for reasons best known to itself, and + floated those bottles off. They strung out and started for the Antarctic + Ocean, with a big old wicker-worked demijohn in the lead. + </p> + <p> + For the first week the down-river men took no notice; but after the + bottles had been drifting past with scarcely a break for a fortnight or + so, they began to get interested. Several whalers watched the procession + until they got the jimjams by force of imagination, and when their bodies + began to float down with the bottles, the down-river people got anxious. + </p> + <p> + At last the Mayor of Wilcannia wired Bourke to know whether Dibbs or + Parkes was dead, or democracy triumphant, or if not, wherefore the + jubilation? Many telegrams of a like nature were received during that + week, and the true explanation was sent in reply to each. But it wasn't + believed, and to this day Bourke has the name of being the most drunken + town on the river. + </p> + <p> + After dinner a humorous old hard case mysteriously took us aside and said + he had a good yarn which we might be able to work up. We asked him how, + but he winked a mighty cunning wink and said that he knew all about us. + Then he asked us to listen. He said: + </p> + <p> + “There was an old feller down the Murrumbidgee named Kelly. He was a bit + gone here. One day Kelly was out lookin' for some sheep, when he got lost. + It was gettin' dark. Bymeby there came an old crow in a tree overhead. + </p> + <p> + “'Kel-ley, you're lo-o-st! Kel-ley, you're lo-o-st!' sez the crow. + </p> + <p> + “'I know I am,' sez Kelly. + </p> + <p> + “'Fol-ler me, fol-ler me,' sez the crow. + </p> + <p> + “'Right y'are,' sez Kelly, with a jerk of his arm. 'Go ahead.' + </p> + <p> + “So the crow went on, and Kelly follered, an' bymeby he found he was on + the right track. + </p> + <p> + “Sometime after Kelly was washin' sheep (this was when we useter wash the + sheep instead of the wool). Kelly was standin' on the platform with a + crutch in his hand landin' the sheep, when there came a old crow in the + tree overhead. + </p> + <p> + “'Kelly, I'm hun-gry! Kel-ley, I'm hun-ger-ry!' sez the crow. + </p> + <p> + “'Alright,' sez Kelly; 'be up at the hut about dinner time 'n' I'll sling + you out something.' + </p> + <p> + “'Drown—a—sheep! Drown—a—sheep, Kel-ley,' sez the + crow. + </p> + <p> + “'Blanked if I do,' sez Kelly. 'If I drown a sheep I'll have to pay for + it, be-God!' + </p> + <p> + “'Then I won't find yer when yer lost agin,' sez the crow. + </p> + <p> + “'I'm damned if yer will,' says Kelly. 'I'll take blanky good care I won't + get lost again, to be found by a gory ole crow.'” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + There are a good many fishermen on the Darling. They camp along the banks + in all sorts of tents, and move about in little box boats that will only + float one man. The fisherman is never heavy. He is mostly a withered + little old madman, with black claws, dirty rags (which he never changes), + unkempt hair and beard, and a “ratty” expression. We cannot say that we + ever saw him catch a fish, or even get a bite, and we certainly never saw + him offer any for sale. + </p> + <p> + He gets a dozen or so lines out into the stream, with the shore end + fastened to pegs or roots on the bank, and passed over sticks about four + feet high, stuck in the mud; on the top of these sticks he hangs bullock + bells, or substitutes—jam tins with stones fastened inside to bits + of string. Then he sits down and waits. If the cod pulls the line the bell + rings. + </p> + <p> + The fisherman is a great authority on the river and fish, but has usually + forgotten everything else, including his name. He chops firewood for the + boats sometimes, but it isn't his profession—he's a fisherman. He is + only sane on points concerning the river, though he has all the + fisherman's eccentricities. Of course he is a liar. + </p> + <p> + When he gets his camp fixed on one bank it strikes him he ought to be over + on the other, or at a place up round the bend, so he shifts. Then he + reckons he was a fool for not stopping where he was before. He never dies. + He never gets older, or drier, or more withered looking, or dirtier, or + loonier—because he can't. We cannot imagine him as ever having been + a boy, or even a youth. We cannot even try to imagine him as a baby. He is + an animated mummy, who used to fish on the Nile three thousand years ago, + and catch nothing. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + We forgot to mention that there are wonderfully few wrecks on the Darling. + The river boats seldom go down—their hulls are not built that way—and + if one did go down it wouldn't sink far. But, once down, a boat is + scarcely ever raised again; because, you see, the mud silts up round it + and over it, and glues it, as it were, to the bottom of the river. Then + the forty-foot alligators—which come down with the “Queenslan' + rains”, we suppose—root in the mud and fill their bellies with + sodden flour and drowned deck-hands. + </p> + <p> + They tried once to blow up a wreck with dynamite because it (the wreck) + obstructed navigation; but they blew the bottom out of the river instead, + and all the water went through. The Government have been boring for it + ever since. I saw some of the bores myself—there is one at + Coonamble. + </p> + <p> + There is a yarn along the Darling about a cute Yankee who was invited up + to Bourke to report on a proposed scheme for locking the river. He arrived + towards the end of a long and severe drought, and was met at the railway + station by a deputation of representative bushmen, who invited him, in the + first place, to accompany them to the principal pub—which he did. He + had been observed to study the scenery a good deal while coming up in the + train, but kept his conclusions to himself. On the way to the pub he had a + look at the town, and it was noticed that he tilted his hat forward very + often, and scratched the back of his head a good deal, and pondered a lot; + but he refrained from expressing an opinion—even when invited to do + so. He guessed that his opinions wouldn't do much good, anyway, and he + calculated that they would keep till he got back “over our way”—by + which it was reckoned he meant the States. + </p> + <p> + When they asked him what he'd have, he said to Watty the publican: + </p> + <p> + “Wal, I reckon you can build me your national drink. I guess I'll try it.” + </p> + <p> + A long colonial was drawn for him, and he tried it. He seemed rather + startled at first, then he looked curiously at the half-empty glass, set + it down very softly on the bar, and leaned against the same and fell into + a reverie; from which he roused himself after a while, with a sorrowful + jerk of his head. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, well,” he said. “Show me this river of yourn.” + </p> + <p> + They led him to the Darling, and he had a look at it. + </p> + <p> + “Is this your river?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” they replied, apprehensively. + </p> + <p> + He tilted his hat forward till the brim nearly touched his nose, scratched + the back of his long neck, shut one eye, and looked at the river with the + other. Then, after spitting half a pint of tobacco juice into the stream, + he turned sadly on his heel and led the way back to the pub. He invited + the boys to “pisen themselves”; after they were served he ordered out the + longest tumbler on the premises, poured a drop into it from nearly every + bottle on the shelf, added a lump of ice, and drank slowly and steadily. + </p> + <p> + Then he took pity on the impatient and anxious population, opened his + mouth, and spake. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, fellows,” he drawled, jerking his arm in the direction of the + river, “I'll tell you what I'll dew. I'll bottle that damned river of + yourn in twenty-four hours!” + </p> + <p> + Later on he mellowed a bit, under the influence of several drinks which + were carefully and conscientiously “built” from plans and specifications + supplied by himself, and then, among other things, he said: + </p> + <p> + “If that there river rises as high as you say it dew—and if this was + the States—why, we'd have had the Great Eastern up here twenty years + ago”——or words to that effect. + </p> + <p> + Then he added, reflectively: + </p> + <p> + “When I come over here I calculated that I was going to make things hum, + but now I guess I'll have to change my prospectus. There's a lot of loose + energy laying round over our way, but I guess that if I wanted to make + things move in your country I'd have to bring over the entire American + nation—also his wife and dawg. You've got the makings of a glorious + nation over here, but you don't get up early enough!” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + The only national work performed by the blacks is on the Darling. They + threw a dam of rocks across the river—near Brewarrina, we think—to + make a fish trap. It's there yet. But God only knows where they got the + stones from, or how they carried them, for there isn't a pebble within + forty miles. + </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> + A Case for the Oracle + </h2> + <p> + The Oracle and I were camped together. The Oracle was a bricklayer by + trade, and had two or three small contracts on hand. I was “doing a bit of + house-painting”. There were a plasterer, a carpenter, and a plumber—we + were all T'othersiders, and old mates, and we worked things together. It + was in Westralia—the Land of T'othersiders—and, therefore, we + were not surprised when Mitchell turned up early one morning, with his + swag and an atmosphere of salt water about him. + </p> + <p> + He'd had a rough trip, he said, and would take a spell that day and take + the lay of the land and have something cooked for us by the time we came + home; and go to graft himself next morning. And next morning he went to + work, “labouring” for the Oracle. + </p> + <p> + The Oracle and his mates, being small contractors and not pressed for + time, had dispensed with the services of a labourer, and had done their + own mixing and hod-carrying in turns. They didn't want a labourer now, but + the Oracle was a vague fatalist, and Mitchell a decided one. So it passed. + </p> + <p> + The Oracle had a “Case” right under his nose—in his own employ, in + fact; but was not aware of the fact until Mitchell drew his attention to + it. The Case went by the name of Alfred O'Briar—which hinted a mixed + parentage. He was a small, nervous working-man, of no particular colour, + and no decided character, apparently. If he had a soul above bricks, he + never betrayed it. He was not popular on the jobs. There was something sly + about Alf, they said. + </p> + <p> + The Oracle had taken him on in the first place as a day-labourer, but + afterwards shared the pay with him as with Mitchell. O'Briar shouted—judiciously, + but on every possible occasion—for the Oracle; and, as he was an + indifferent workman, the boys said he only did this so that the Oracle + might keep him on. If O'Briar took things easy and did no more than the + rest of us, at least one of us would be sure to get it into his head that + he was loafing on us; and if he grafted harder than we did, we'd be sure + to feel indignant about that too, and reckon that it was done out of + nastiness or crawlsomeness, and feel a contempt for him accordingly. We + found out accidentally that O'Briar was an excellent mimic and a bit of a + ventriloquist, but he never entertained us with his peculiar gifts; and we + set that down to churlishness. + </p> + <p> + O'Briar kept his own counsel, and his history, if he had one; and hid his + hopes, joys, and sorrows, if he had any, behind a vacant grin, as Mitchell + hid his behind a quizzical one. He never resented alleged satire—perhaps + he couldn't see it—and therefore he got the name of being a cur. As + a rule, he was careful with his money, and was called mean—not, + however, by the Oracle, whose philosophy was simple, and whose sympathy + could not realise a limit; nor yet by Mitchell. Mitchell waited. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + O'Briar occupied a small tent by himself, and lived privately of evenings. + When we began to hear two men talking at night in his tent, we were rather + surprised, and wondered in a vague kind of way how any of the chaps could + take sufficient interest in Alf to go in and yarn with him. In the days + when he was supposed to be sociable, we had voted him a bore; even the + Oracle was moved to admit that he was “a bit slow”. + </p> + <p> + But late one night we distinctly heard a woman's voice in O'Briar's tent. + The Oracle suddenly became hard of hearing, and, though we heard the voice + on several occasions, he remained exasperatingly deaf, yet aggressively + unconscious of the fact. “I have got enough to do puzzling over me own + whys and wherefores,” he said. Mitchell began to take some interest in + O'Briar, and treated him with greater respect. But our camp had the name + of being the best-constructed, the cleanest, and the most respectable in + the vicinity. The health officer and constable in charge had complimented + us on the fact, and we were proud of it. And there were three young + married couples in camp, also a Darby and Joan; therefore, when the voice + of a woman began to be heard frequently and at disreputable hours of the + night in O'Briar's tent, we got uneasy about it. And when the constable + who was on night duty gave us a friendly hint, Mitchell and I agreed that + something must be done. + </p> + <p> + “Av coorse, men will be men,” said the constable, as he turned his horse's + head, “but I thought I'd mention it. O'Briar is a dacent man, and he's one + of yer mates. Av coorse. There's a bad lot in that camp in the scrub over + yander, and—av coorse. Good-day to ye, byes.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + Next night we heard the voice in O'Briar's tent again, and decided to + speak to Alf in a friendly way about it in the morning. We listened + outside in the dark, but could not distinguish the words, though I thought + I recognised the voice. + </p> + <p> + “It's the hussy from the camp over there; she's got holt of that fool, and + she'll clean him out before she's done,” I said. “We're Alf's mates, any + way it goes, and we ought to put a stop to it.” + </p> + <p> + “What hussy?” asked Mitchell; “there's three or four there.” + </p> + <p> + “The one with her hair all over her head,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Where else should it be?” asked Mitchell. “But I'll just have a peep and + see who it is. There's no harm in that.” + </p> + <p> + He crept up to the tent and cautiously moved the flap. Alf's candle was + alight; he lay on his back in his bunk with his arms under his head, + calmly smoking. We withdrew. + </p> + <p> + “They must have heard us,” said Mitchell; “and she's slipped out under the + tent at the back, and through the fence into the scrub.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchell's respect for Alf increased visibly. + </p> + <p> + But we began to hear ominous whispers from the young married couples, and + next Saturday night, which was pay-night, we decided to see it through. We + did not care to speak to Alf until we were sure. He stayed in camp, as he + often did, on Saturday evening, while the others went up town. Mitchell + and I returned earlier than usual, and leaned on the fence at the back of + Alf's tent. + </p> + <p> + We were scarcely there when we were startled by a “rat-tat-tat” as of + someone knocking at a door. Then an old woman's voice INSIDE the tent + asked: “Who's there?” + </p> + <p> + “It's me,” said Alf's voice from the front, “Mr. O'Briar from Perth.” + </p> + <p> + “Mary, go and open the door!” said the old woman. (Mitchell nudged me to + keep quiet.) + </p> + <p> + “Come in, Mr. O'Breer,” said the old woman. “Come in. How do you do? When + did you get back?” + </p> + <p> + “Only last night,” said Alf. + </p> + <p> + “Look at that now! Bless us all! And how did you like the country at all?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't care much for it,” said Alf. We lost the thread of it until the + old woman spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “Have you had your tea, Mr. O'Breer?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, thank you, Mrs. O'Connor.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you quite sure, man?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite sure, thank you, Mrs. O'Connor.” (Mitchell trod on my foot.) + </p> + <p> + “Will you have a drop of whisky or a glass of beer, Mr. O'Breer?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll take a glass of beer, thank you, Mrs. O'Connor.” + </p> + <p> + There seemed to be a long pause. Then the old woman said, “Ah, well, I + must get my work done, and Mary will stop here and keep you company, Mr. + O'Breer.” The arrangement seemed satisfactory to all parties, for there + was nothing more said for a while. (Mitchell nudged me again, with + emphasis, and I kicked his shin.) + </p> + <p> + Presently Alf said: “Mary!” And a girl's voice said, “Yes, Alf.” + </p> + <p> + “You remember the night I went away, Mary?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Alf, I do.” + </p> + <p> + “I have travelled long ways since then, Mary; I worked hard and lived + close. I didn't make my fortune, but I managed to rub a note or two + together. It was a hard time and a lonesome time for me, Mary. The + summer's awful over there, and livin's bad and dear. You couldn't have any + idea of it, Mary.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Alf.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't come back so well off as I expected.” + </p> + <p> + “But that doesn't matter, Alf.” + </p> + <p> + “I got heart-sick and tired of it, and couldn't stand it any longer, + Mary.” + </p> + <p> + “But that's all over now, Alf; you mustn't think of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Your mother wrote to me.” + </p> + <p> + “I know she did”—(very low and gently). + </p> + <p> + “And do you know what she put in it, Mary?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Alf.” + </p> + <p> + “And did you ask her to put it in?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't ask me, Alf.” + </p> + <p> + “And it's all true, Mary?” + </p> + <p> + There was no answer, but the silence seemed satisfactory. + </p> + <p> + “And be sure you have yourself down here on Sunday, Alf, me son.” + (“There's the old woman come back!” said Mitchell.) + </p> + <p> + “An' since the girl's willin' to have ye, and the ould woman's willin'—there's + me hand on it, Alf, me boy. An' God bless ye both.” (“The old man's come + now,” said Mitchell.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + “Come along,” said Mitchell, leading the way to the front of the tent. + </p> + <p> + “But I wouldn't like to intrude on them. It's hardly right, Mitchell, is + it?” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right,” said Mitchell. He tapped the tent pole. + </p> + <p> + “Come in,” said Alf. Alf was lying on his bunk as before, with his arms + under his head. His face wore a cheerful, not to say happy, expression. + There was no one else in the tent. I was never more surprised in my life. + </p> + <p> + “Have you got the paper, Alf?” said Mitchell. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. You'll find it there at the foot of the bunk. There it is. Won't you + sit down, Mitchell?” + </p> + <p> + “Not to-night,” said Mitchell. “We brought you a bottle of ale. We're just + going to turn in.” + </p> + <p> + And we said “good-night”. “Well,” I said to Mitchell when we got inside, + “what do you think of it?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think of it at all,” said Mitchell. “Do you mean to say you can't + see it now?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm dashed if I can,” I said. “Some of us must be drunk, I think, or + getting rats. It's not to be wondered at, and the sooner we get out of + this country the better.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you must be a fool, Joe,” said Mitchell. “Can't you see? ALF THINKS + ALOUD.” + </p> + <p> + “WHAT?” + </p> + <p> + “Talks to himself. He was thinking about going back to his sweetheart. + Don't you know he's a bit of a ventriloquist?” + </p> + <p> + Mitchell lay awake a long time, in the position that Alf usually lay in, + and thought. Perhaps he thought on the same lines as Alf did that night. + But Mitchell did his thinking in silence. + </p> + <p> + We thought it best to tell the Oracle quietly. He was deeply interested, + but not surprised. “I've heerd of such cases before,” he said. But the + Oracle was a gentleman. “There's things that a man wants to keep to + himself that ain't his business,” he said. And we understood this remark + to be intended for our benefit, and to indicate a course of action upon + which the Oracle had decided, with respect to this case, and which we, in + his opinion, should do well to follow. + </p> + <p> + Alf got away a week or so later, and we all took a holiday and went down + to Fremantle to see him off. Perhaps he wondered why Mitchell gripped his + hand so hard and wished him luck so earnestly, and was surprised when he + gave him three cheers. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, well!” remarked Mitchell, as we turned up the wharf. + </p> + <p> + “I've heerd of such cases before,” said the Oracle, meditatively. “They + ain't common, but I've hear'd of such cases before.” + </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> + A Daughter of Maoriland + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A sketch of poor-class Maoris +</pre> + <p> + The new native-school teacher, who was “green”, “soft”, and poetical, and + had a literary ambition, called her “August”, and fondly hoped to build a + romance on her character. She was down in the school registers as Sarah + Moses, Maori, 16 years and three months. She looked twenty; but this was + nothing, insomuch as the mother of the youngest child in the school—a + dear little half-caste lady of two or three summers—had not herself + the vaguest idea of the child's age, nor anybody else's, nor of ages in + the abstract. The church register was lost some six years before, when + “Granny”, who was a hundred, if a day, was supposed to be about + twenty-five. The teacher had to guess the ages of all the new pupils. + </p> + <p> + August was apparently the oldest in the school—a big, ungainly, + awkward girl, with a heavy negro type of Maori countenance, and about as + much animation, mentally or physically, as a cow. She was given to + brooding; in fact, she brooded all the time. She brooded all day over her + school work, but did it fairly well. How the previous teachers had taught + her all she knew was a mystery to the new one. There had been a tragedy in + August's family when she was a child, and the affair seemed to have cast a + gloom over the lives of the entire family, for the lowering brooding cloud + was on all their faces. August would take to the bush when things went + wrong at home, and climb a tree and brood till she was found and coaxed + home. Things, according to pa gossip, had gone wrong with her from the + date of the tragedy, when she, a bright little girl, was taken—a + homeless orphan—to live with a sister, and, afterwards, with an + aunt-by-marriage. They treated her, 'twas said, with a brutality which + must have been greatly exaggerated by pa-gossip, seeing that unkindness of + this description is, according to all the best authorities, altogether + foreign to Maori nature. + </p> + <p> + Pa-gossip—which is less reliable than the ordinary washerwoman kind, + because of a deeper and more vicious ignorance—had it that one time + when August was punished by a teacher (or beaten by her sister or + aunt-by-marriage) she “took to the bush” for three days, at the expiration + of which time she was found on the ground in an exhausted condition. She + was evidently a true Maori or savage, and this was one of the reasons why + the teacher with the literary ambition took an interest in her. She had a + print of a portrait of a man in soldier's uniform, taken from a copy of + the 'Illustrated London News', pasted over the fireplace in the whare + where she lived, and neatly bordered by vandyked strips of silvered + tea-paper. She had pasted it in the place of honour, or as near as she + could get to it. The place of honour was sacred to framed representations + of the Nativity and Catholic subjects, half-modelled, half-pictured. The + print was a portrait of the last Czar of Russia, of all the men in the + world; and August was reported to have said that she loved that man. His + father had been murdered, so had her mother. This was one of the reasons + why the teacher with the literary ambition thought he could get a romance + out of her. + </p> + <p> + After the first week she hung round the new schoolmistress, dog-like—with + “dog-like affection”, thought the teacher. She came down often during the + holidays, and hung about the verandah and back door for an hour or so; + then, by-and-bye, she'd be gone. Her brooding seemed less aggressive on + such occasions. The teacher reckoned that she had something on her mind, + and wanted to open her heart to “the wife”, but was too ignorant or too + shy, poor girl; and he reckoned, from his theory of Maori character, that + it might take her weeks, or months, to come to the point. One day, after a + great deal of encouragement, she explained that she felt “so awfully + lonely, Mrs. Lorrens.” All the other girls were away, and she wished it + was school-time. + </p> + <p> + She was happy and cheerful again, in her brooding way, in the playground. + There was something sadly ludicrous about her great, ungainly figure + slopping round above the children at play. The schoolmistress took her + into the parlour, gave her tea and cake, and was kind to her; and she took + it all with broody cheerfulness. + </p> + <p> + One Sunday morning she came down to the cottage and sat on the edge of the + verandah, looking as wretchedly miserable as a girl could. She was in rags—at + least, she had a rag of a dress on—and was barefooted and + bareheaded. She said that her aunt had turned her out, and she was going + to walk down the coast to Whale Bay to her grandmother—a long day's + ride. The teacher was troubled, because he was undecided what to do. He + had to be careful to avoid any unpleasantness arising out of Maori + cliquism. As the teacher he couldn't let her go in the state she was in; + from the depths of his greenness he trusted her, from the depths of his + softness he pitied her; his poetic nature was fiercely indignant on + account of the poor girl's wrongs, and the wife spoke for her. Then he + thought of his unwritten romance, and regarded August in the light of + copy, and that settled it. While he talked the matter over with his wife, + August “hid in the dark of her hair,” awaiting her doom. The teacher put + his hat on, walked up to the pa, and saw her aunt. She denied that she had + turned August out, but the teacher believed the girl. He explained his + position, in words simplified for Maori comprehension, and the aunt and + relations said they understood, and that he was “perfectly right, Mr. + Lorrens.” They were very respectful. The teacher said that if August would + not return home, he was willing to let her stay at the cottage until such + time as her uncle, who was absent, returned, and he (the teacher) could + talk the matter over with him. The relations thought that that was the + very best thing that could be done, and thanked him. The aunt, two + sisters, and as many of the others, including the children, as were within + sight or hail at the time—most of them could not by any possible + means have had the slightest connection with the business in hand—accompanied + the teacher to the cottage. August took to the flax directly she caught + sight of her relations, and was with difficulty induced to return. There + was a lot of talk in Maori, during which the girl and her aunt shuffled + and swung round at the back of each other, and each talked over her + shoulder, and laughed foolishly and awkwardly once or twice; but in the + end the girl was sullenly determined not to return home, so it was decided + that she should stay. The schoolmistress made tea. + </p> + <p> + August brightened from the first day. She was a different girl altogether. + “I never saw such a change in a girl,” said the young schoolmistress, and + one or two others. “I always thought she was a good girl if taken the + right way; all she wanted was a change and kind treatment.” But the stolid + old Maori chairman of the school committee only shrugged his shoulders and + said (when the schoolmistress, woman-like, pressed him for an opinion to + agree with her own), “You can look at it two ways, Mrs. Lorrens.” Which, + by the way, was about the only expression of opinion that the teacher was + ever able to get out of him on any subject. + </p> + <p> + August worked and behaved well. She was wonderfully quick in picking up + English ways and housework. True, she was awkward and not over cleanly in + some things, but her mistress had patience with her. Who wouldn't have? + She “couldn't do enough” for her benefactress; she hung on her words and + sat at her footstool of evenings in a way that gladdened the teacher's + sentimental nature; she couldn't bear to see him help his wife with a + hat-pin or button—August must do it. She insisted on doing her + mistress' hair every night. In short, she tried in every way to show her + gratitude. The teacher and his wife smiled brightly at each other behind + her back, and thought how cheerful the house was since she came, and + wondered what they'd do without her. It was a settled thing that they + should take her back to the city with them, and have a faithful and + grateful retainer all their lives and a sort of Aunt Chloe for their + children, when they had any. The teacher got yards of copy out of her for + his “Maori Sketches and Characters”, worked joyously at his romance, and + felt great already, and was happy. She had a bed made up temporarily + (until the teacher could get a spring mattress for her from town) on the + floor in the dining-room, and when she'd made her bed she'd squat on it in + front of the fire and sing Maori songs in a soft voice. She'd sing the + teacher and his wife, in the next room, to sleep. Then she'd get up and + have a feed, but they never heard her. + </p> + <p> + Her manners at the table (for she was treated “like one of themselves” in + the broadest sense of the term) were surprisingly good, considering that + the adults of her people were decidedly cow-like in white society, and + scoffed sea-eggs, shell-fish, and mutton-birds at home with a gallop which + was not edifying. Her appetite, it was true, was painful at times to the + poetic side of the teacher's nature; but he supposed that she'd been + half-starved at home, poor girl, and would get over it. Anyway, the copy + he'd get out of her would repay him for this and other expenses a + hundredfold. Moreover, begging and borrowing had ceased with her advent, + and the teacher set this down to her influence. + </p> + <p> + The first jar came when she was sent on horseback to the town for + groceries, and didn't get back till late the next day. She explained that + some of her relations got hold of her and made her stay, and wanted her to + go into public-houses with them, but she wouldn't. She said that SHE + wanted to come home. But why didn't she? The teacher let it pass, and + hoped she'd gain strength of character by-and-bye. He had waited up late + the night before with her supper on the hob; and he and his wife had been + anxious for fear something had happened to the poor girl who was under + their care. He had walked to the treacherous river-ford several times + during the evening, and waited there for her. So perhaps he was tired, and + that was why he didn't write next night. + </p> + <p> + The sugar-bag, the onion-basket, the potato-bag and the tea-chest began to + “go down” alarmingly, and an occasional pound of candles, a pigeon, a + mutton-bird (plucked and ready for Sunday's cooking), and other little + trifles went, also. August couldn't understand it, and the teacher + believed her, for falsehood and deceit are foreign to the simple natures + of the modern Maoris. There were no cats; but no score of ordinary cats + could have given colour to the cat theory, had it been raised in this + case. The breath of August advertised onions more than once, but no human + stomach could have accounted for the quantity. She surely could not have + eaten the other things raw—and she had no opportunities for private + cooking, as far as the teacher and his wife could see. The other Maoris + were out of the question; they were all strictly honest. + </p> + <p> + Thefts and annoyances of the above description were credited to the + “swaggies” who infested the roads, and had a very bad name down that way; + so the teacher loaded his gun, and told August to rouse him at once, if + she heard a sound in the night. She said she would; but a heavy-weight + “swaggie” could have come in and sat on her and had a smoke without waking + her. + </p> + <p> + She couldn't be trusted to go a message. She'd take from three to six + hours, and come back with an excuse that sounded genuine from its very + simplicity. Another sister of hers lay ill in an isolated hut, alone and + uncared for, except by the teacher's wife, and occasionally by a poor pa + outcast who had negro blood in her veins, and a love for a white loafer. + God help her! All of which sounds strange, considering that Maoris are + very kind to each other. The schoolmistress sent August one night to stay + with the sick Maori woman and help her as she could, and gave her strict + instructions to come to the cottage first thing in the morning, and tell + her how the sick woman was. August turned up at lunch-time next day. The + teacher gave her her first lecture, and said plainly that he wasn't to be + taken for a fool; then he stepped aside to get cool, and, when he + returned, the girl was sobbing as if her heart would break, and the wife + comforting her. She had been up all night, poor girl, and was thoroughly + worn out. Somehow the teacher didn't feel uncomfortable about it. He went + down to the whare. August had not touched a dishcloth or broom. She had + slept, as she always did, like a pig, all night, while her sister lay and + tossed in agony; in the morning she ate everything there was to eat in the + house (which, it seemed, was the Maori way of showing sympathy in sickness + and trouble), after which she brooded by the fire till the children, + running out of school, announced the teacher's lunch hour. + </p> + <p> + August braced up again for a little while. The master thought of the + trouble they had with Ayacanora in “Westward Ho”, and was comforted, and + tackled his romance again. Then the schoolmistress fell sick and things + went wrong. The groceries went down faster than ever, and the house got + very dirty, and began to have a native smell about it. August grew fat, + and lazy, and dirty, and less reliable on washing-days, or when there was + anything special to do in the house. “The savage blood is strong,” thought + the teacher, “and she is beginning to long for her own people and free + unconventional life.” One morning—on a washing-day, too, as it + happened—she called out, before the teacher and his wife were up, + that the Maoris who supplied them with milk were away, and she had + promised to go up and milk the cow and bring the milk down. The teacher + gave her permission. One of the scholars usually brought the milk early. + Lunch time came and no August, no milk—strangest of all, only half + the school children. The teacher put on his hat, and went up to the pa + once more. He found August squatted in the midst of a circle of relations. + She was entertaining them with one of a series of idealistic sketches of + the teacher's domestic life, in which she showed a very vivid imagination, + and exhibited an unaccountable savage sort of pessimism. Her intervals of + absence had been occupied in this way from the first. The astounding + slanders she had circulated concerning the teacher's private life came + back, bit by bit, to his ears for a year afterwards, and her character + sketches of previous teachers, and her own relations—for she spared + nobody—would have earned a white woman a long and well-merited term + of imprisonment for criminal libel. She had cunningly, by straightforward + and unscrupulous lying, prejudiced the principal mother and boss woman of + the pa against the teacher and his wife; as a natural result of which the + old lady, who, like the rest, was very ignorant and ungrateful, “turned + nasty” and kept the children from school. The teacher lost his temper, so + the children were rounded up and hurried down to school immediately; with + them came August and her aunt, with alleged explanations and excuses, and + a shell-fish. The aunt and sisters said they'd have nothing to do with + August. They didn't want her and wouldn't have her. The teacher said that, + under those circumstances, she'd better go and drown herself; so she went + home with them. + </p> + <p> + The whole business had been a plot by her nearest relations. They got rid + of the trouble and expense of keeping her, and the bother of borrowing in + person, whenever in need of trifles in the grocery line. Borrowing + recommenced with her dismissal; but the teacher put a full stop to it, as + far as he was concerned. Then August, egged on by her aunt, sent a + blackguardly letter to the teacher's wife; the sick sister, by the way, + who had been nursed and supplied with food by her all along, was in it, + and said she was glad August sent the letter, and it served the + schoolmistress right. The teacher went up to the pa once more; an hour + later, August in person, accompanied, as usual, by a relation or two, + delivered at the cottage an abject apology in writing, the composition of + which would have discouraged the most enthusiastic advocate of higher + education for the lower classes. + </p> + <p> + Then various petty annoyances were tried. The teacher is firmly convinced + that certain animal-like sounds round the house at night were due to + August's trying to find out whether his wife was as likely to be haunted + as the Maoris were. He didn't dream of such a thing at the time, for he + did not believe that one of them had the pluck to venture out after dark. + But savage superstition must give way to savage hate. The girl's last + “try-on” was to come down to the school fence, and ostentatiously sharpen + a table-knife on the wires, while she scowled murderously in the direction + of the schoolmistress, who was hanging out her washing. August looked, in + her dark, bushy, Maori hair, a thoroughly wild savage. Her father had + murdered her mother under particularly brutal circumstances, and the + daughter took after her father. + </p> + <p> + The teacher called her and said: “Now, look here, my lady, the best thing + you can do is to drop that nonsense at once” (she had dropped the knife in + the ferns behind her), “for we're the wrong sort of people to try it on + with. Now you get out of this and tell your aunt—she's sneaking + there in the flax—what I tell you, and that she'd better clear out + of this quick, or I'll have a policeman out and take the whole gang into + town in an hour. Now be off, and shut that gate behind you, carefully, and + fasten it.” She did, and went. + </p> + <p> + The worst of it was that the August romance copy was useless. Her lies + were even less reliable and picturesque than the common Jones Alley hag + lie. Then the teacher thought of the soft fool he'd been, and that made + him wild. He looked like a fool, and was one to a great extent, but it + wasn't good policy to take him for one. + </p> + <p> + Strange to say, he and others had reason to believe that August respected + him, and liked him rather than otherwise; but she hated his wife, who had + been kind to her, as only a savage can hate. The younger pupils told the + teacher, cheerfully and confidently, that August said she'd cut Mrs. + Lorrens' throat the first chance she got. Next week the aunt sent down to + ask if the teacher could sell her a bar of soap, and sent the same old + shilling; he was tired of seeing it stuck out in front of him, so he took + it, put it in his pocket, and sent the soap. This must have discouraged + them, for the borrowing industry petered out. He saw the aunt later on, + and she told him, cheerfully, that August was going to live with a + half-caste in a certain house in town. + </p> + <p> + Poor August! For she was only a tool after all. Her “romance” was briefly + as follows:—She went, per off-hand Maori arrangement, as + 'housekeeper' in the hut of a labourer at a neighbouring saw-mill. She + stayed three months, for a wonder; at the expiration of which time she put + on her hat and explained that she was tired of stopping there, and was + going home. He said, 'All right, Sarah, wait a while and I'll take you + home.' At the door of her aunt's house he said, 'Well, good-bye, Sarah,' + and she said, in her brooding way, 'Good-bye, Jim.' And that was all. + </p> + <p> + As the last apparent result of August's mischief-making, her brother or + someone one evening rode up to the cottage, drunk and inclined to bluster. + He was accompanied by a friend, also drunk, who came to see the fun, and + was ready to use his influence on the winning side. The teacher went + inside, brought out his gun, and slipped two cartridges in. “I've had + enough of this,” he said. “Now then, be off, you insolent blackguards, or + I'll shoot you like rabbits. Go!” and he snapped his jaw and the breech of + his gun together. As they rode off, the old local hawk happened to soar + close over a dead lamb in the fern at the corner of the garden, and the + teacher, who had been “laying” for him a long time, let fly both barrels + at him, without thinking. When he turned, there was only a cloud of dust + down the track. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + The teacher taught that school for three years thereafter, without a + hitch. But he went no more on Universal Brotherhood lines. And, for years + after he had gone, his name was spoken of with great respect by the + Maoris. + </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> + New Year's Night + </h2> + <p> + It was dark enough for anything in Dead Man's Gap—a round, warm, + close darkness, in which retreating sounds seemed to be cut off suddenly + at a distance of a hundred yards or so, instead of growing faint and + fainter, and dying away, to strike the ear once or twice again—and + after minutes, it might seem—with startling distinctness, before + being finally lost in the distance, as it is on clear, frosty nights. So + with the sounds of horses' hoofs, stumbling on the rough bridle-track + through the “saddle”, the clatter of hoof-clipped stones and scrape of + gravel down the hidden “siding”, and the low sound of men's voices, + blurred and speaking in monosyllables and at intervals it seemed, and in + hushed, awed tones, as though they carried a corpse. To practical eyes, + grown used to such a darkness, and at the nearest point, the passing + blurrs would have suggested two riders on bush hacks leading a third with + an empty saddle on its back—a lady's or “side-saddle”, if one could + have distinguished the horns. They may have struck a soft track or level, + or rounded the buttress of the hill higher up, but before they had time to + reach or round the foot of the spur, blurs, whispers, stumble and clatter + of hoofs, jingle of bridle rings, and the occasional clank together of + stirrup irons, seemed shut off as suddenly and completely as though a + great sound-proof door had swung to behind them. + </p> + <p> + It was dark enough on the glaringest of days down in the lonely hollow or + “pocket”, between two spurs, at the head of a blind gully behind Mount + Buckaroo, where there was a more or less dusty patch, barely defined even + in broad daylight by a spidery dog-legged fence on three sides, and a thin + “two-rail” (dignified with the adjective “split-rail”—though rails + and posts were mostly of saplings split in halves) running along the + frontage. In about the middle of it a little slab hut, overshadowed by a + big stringy-bark shed, was pointed out as Johnny Mears's Farm. + </p> + <p> + “Black as—as charcoal,” said Johnny Mears. He had never seen coal, + and was a cautious man, whose ideas came slowly. He stooped, close by the + fence, with his hands on his knees, to “sky” the loom of his big shed and + so get his bearings. He had been to have a look at the penned calves, and + see that all slip-rails were up and pegged, for the words of John Mears + junior, especially when delivered rapidly and shrilly and in injured + tones, were not to be relied upon in these matters. + </p> + <p> + “It's hot enough to melt the belly out of my fiddle,” said Johnny Mears to + his wife, who sat on a three-legged stool by the rough table in the little + whitewashed “end-room”, putting a patch of patches over the seat of a pair + of moleskin knickerbockers. He lit his pipe, moved a stool to the side of + the great empty fireplace, where it looked cooler—might have been + cooler on account of a possible draught suggested by the presence of the + chimney, and where, therefore, he felt a breath cooler. He took his fiddle + from a convenient shelf, tuned it slowly and carefully, holding his pipe + (in his mouth) well up and to one side, as if the fiddle were an + inquisitive and restless baby. He played “Little Drops o' Brandy” three + times, right through, without variations, blinking solemnly the while; + then he put the violin carefully back in its box, and started to cut up + another pipeful. + </p> + <p> + “You should have gone, Johnny,” said the haggard little woman. + </p> + <p> + “Rackin' the horse out a night like this,” retorted Johnny, “and startin' + ploughin' to-morrow. It ain't worth while. Let them come for me if they + want me. Dance on a night like this! Why! they'll dance in——” + </p> + <p> + “But you promised. It won't do you no good, Johnny.” + </p> + <p> + “It won't do me no harm.” + </p> + <p> + The little woman went on stitching. + </p> + <p> + “It's smotherin' hot,” said Johnny, with an impatient oath. “I don't know + whether I'll turn in, or turn out, under the shed to-night. It's too d——d + hot to roost indoors.” + </p> + <p> + She bent her head lower over the patch. One smoked and the other stitched + in silence for twenty minutes or so, during which time Johnny might be + supposed to have been deliberating listlessly as to whether he'd camp out + on account of the heat, or turn in. But he broke the silence with a clout + at a mosquito on the nape of his neck, and a bad word. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you wouldn't swear so much, Johnny,” she said wearily—“at + least not to-night.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her blankly. + </p> + <p> + “Why—why to-night? What's the matter with you to-night, Mary? What's + to-night more than any other night to you? I see no harm—can't a man + swear when a mosquito sticks him?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I was only thinking of the boys, Johnny.” + </p> + <p> + “The boys! Why, they're both on the hay in the shed.” He stared at her + again, shifted uneasily, crossed the other leg tightly, frowned, blinked, + and reached for the matches. “You look a bit off-colour, Mary. It's the + heat that makes us all a bit ratty at times. Better put that by and have a + swill o' oatmeal and water, and turn in.” + </p> + <p> + “It's too hot to go to bed. I couldn't sleep. I'm all right. I'll—I'll + just finish this. Just reach me a drink from the water-bag—the + pannikin's on the hob there, by your boot.” + </p> + <p> + He scratched his head helplessly, and reached for the drink. When he sat + down again, he felt strangely restless. “Like a hen that didn't know where + to lay,” he put it. He couldn't settle down or keep still, and didn't seem + to enjoy his pipe somehow. He rubbed his head again. + </p> + <p> + “There's a thunderstorm comin',” he said. “That's what it is; and the + sooner it comes the better.” + </p> + <p> + He went to the back door, and stared at the blackness to the east, and, + sure enough, lightning was blinking there. + </p> + <p> + “It's coming, sure enough; just hang out and keep cool for another hour, + and you'll feel the difference.” + </p> + <p> + He sat down again on the three-legged stool, folded his arms, with his + elbows on his knees, drew a long breath, and blinked at the clay floor for + a while; then he twisted the stool round on one leg, until he faced the + old-fashioned spired wooden clock (the brass disc of the pendulum moving + ghost-like through a scarred and scratched marine scene—Margate in + England—on the glass that covered the lower half) that stood alone + on the slab shelf over the fireplace. The hands indicated half-past two, + and Johnny, who had studied that clock and could “hit the time nigh enough + by it,” after knitting his brows and blinking at the dial for a full + minute by its own hand, decided “that it must be getting on toward nine + o'clock.” + </p> + <p> + It must have been the heat. Johnny stood up, raking his hair, turned to + the door and back again, and then, after an impatient gesture, took up his + fiddle and raised it to his shoulder. Then the queer thing happened. He + said afterwards, under conditions favourable to such sentimental + confidence, that a cold hand seemed to take hold of the bow, through his, + and—anyway, before he knew what he was about he had played the first + bars of “When First I Met Sweet Peggy”, a tune he had played often, twenty + years before, in his courting days, and had never happened to play since. + He sawed it right through (the cold hand left after the first bar or two) + standing up; then still stood with fiddle and bow trembling in his hands, + with the queer feeling still on him, and a rush of old thoughts going + through his head, all of which he set down afterwards to the effect of the + heat. He put the fiddle away hastily, damning the bridge of it at the same + time in loud but hurried tones, with the idea of covering any eccentricity + which the wife might have noticed in his actions. “Must 'a' got a touch o' + sun,” he muttered to himself. He sat down, fumbled with knife, pipe, and + tobacco, and presently stole a furtive glance over his shoulder at his + wife. + </p> + <p> + The washed-out little woman was still sewing, but stitching blindly, for + great tears were rolling down her worn cheeks. + </p> + <p> + Johnny, white-faced on account of the heat, stood close behind her, one + hand on her shoulder and the other clenched on the table; but the clenched + hand shook as badly as the loose one. + </p> + <p> + “Good God! What is the matter, Mary? You're sick!” (They had had little or + no experience of illness.) “Tell me, Mary—come now! Has the boys + been up to anything?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Johnny; it's not that.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it then? You're taken sick! What have you been doing with + yourself? It might be fever. Hold up a minute. You wait here quiet while I + roost out the boys and send 'em for the doctor and someone——” + </p> + <p> + “No! no! I'm not sick, John. It's only a turn. I'll be all right in a + minute.” + </p> + <p> + He shifted his hand to her head, which she dropped suddenly, with a + life-weary sigh, against his side. + </p> + <p> + “Now then!” cried Johnny, wildly, “don't you faint or go into disterricks, + Mary! It'll upset the boys; think of the boys! It's only the heat—you're + only takin' queer.” + </p> + <p> + “It's not that; you ought to know me better than that. It was—I—Johnny, + I was only thinking—we've been married twenty years to-night—an'—it's + New Year's Night!” + </p> + <p> + “And I've never thought of it!” said Johnny (in the afterwards). “Shows + what a God-forgotten selection will make of a man. She'd thought of it all + the time, and was waiting for it to strike me. Why! I'd agreed to go and + play at a darnce at Old Pipeclay School-house all night—that very + night—and leave her at home because she hadn't asked to come; and it + never struck me to ask her—at home by herself in that hole—for + twenty-five bob. And I only stopped at home because I'd got the hump, and + knew they'd want me bad at the school.” + </p> + <p> + They sat close together on the long stool by the table, shy and awkward at + first; and she clung to him at opening of thunder, and they started apart + guiltily when the first great drops sounded like footsteps on the gravel + outside, just as they'd done one night-time before—twenty years + before. + </p> + <p> + If it was dark before, it was black now. The edge of the awful storm-cloud + rushed up and under the original darkness like the best “drop” + black-brushed over the cheap “lamp” variety, turning it grey by contrast. + The deluge lasted only a quarter of an hour; but it cleared the night, and + did its work. There was hail before it, too—big as emu eggs, the + boys said—that lay feet deep in the old diggers' holes on Pipeclay + for days afterwards—weeks some said. + </p> + <p> + The two sweethearts of twenty years ago and to-night watched the retreat + of the storm, and, seeing Mount Buckaroo standing clear, they went to the + back door, which opened opposite the end of the shed, and saw to the east + a glorious arch of steel-blue, starry sky, with the distant peaks showing + clear and blue away back under the far-away stars in the depth of it. + </p> + <p> + They lingered awhile—arms round each other's waists—before she + called the boys, just as they had done this time of night twenty years + ago, after the boys' grandmother had called her. + </p> + <p> + “Awlright, mother!” bawled back the boys, with unfilial independence of + Australian youth. “We're awlright! We'll be in directly! Wasn't it a + pelterer, mother?” + </p> + <p> + They went in and sat down again. The embarrassment began to wear off. + </p> + <p> + “We'll get out of this, Mary,” said Johnny. “I'll take Mason's offer for + the cattle and things, and take that job of Dawson's, boss or no boss”—(Johnny's + bad luck was due to his inability in the past to “get on” with any boss + for any reasonable length of time)—“I can get the boys on, too. + They're doing no good here, and growing up. It ain't doing justice to + them; and, what's more, this life is killin' you, Mary. That settles it! I + was blind. Let the jumpt-up selection go! It's making a wall-eyed bullock + of me, Mary—a dry-rotted rag of a wall-eyed bullock like Jimmy + Nowlett's old Strawberry. And you'll live in town like a lady.” + </p> + <p> + “Somebody coming!” yelled the boys. + </p> + <p> + There was a clatter of sliprails hurriedly thrown down, and clipped by + horses' hoofs. + </p> + <p> + “Insoide there! Is that you, Johnny?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” (“I knew they'd come for you,” said Mrs. Mears to Johnny.) + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to come, Johnny. There's no get out of it. Here's Jim Mason + with me, and we've got orders to stun you and pack you if you show fight. + The blessed fiddler from Mudgee didn't turn up. Dave Regan burst his + concertina, and they're in a fix.” + </p> + <p> + “But I can't leave the missus.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right. We've got the school missus's mare and side-saddle. She + says you ought to be jolly well ashamed of yourself, Johnny Mears, for not + bringing your wife on New Year's Night. And so you ought!” + </p> + <p> + Johnny did not look shame-faced, for reasons unknown to them. + </p> + <p> + “The boys couldn't find the horses,” put in Mrs. Mears. “Johnny was just + going down the gully again.” + </p> + <p> + He gave her a grateful look, and felt a strange, new thrill of admiration + for his wife. + </p> + <p> + “And—there's a bottle of the best put by for you, Johnny,” added Pat + McDurmer, mistaking Johnny's silence; “and we'll call it thirty bob!” + (Johnny's ideas were coming slowly again, after the recent rush.) “Or—two + quid!—there you are!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want two quid, nor one either, for taking my wife to a dance on + New Year's Night!” said Johnny Mears. “Run and put on your best bib and + tucker, Mary.” + </p> + <p> + And she hurried to dress as eager and excited, and smiling to herself as + girlishly as she had done on such occasions on evenings before the bright + New Year's Night twenty years ago.—For a related story, see “A Bush + Dance”, in “Joe Wilson and His Mates”.—A. L., 1998.— + </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> + Black Joe + </h2> + <p> + They called him Black Joe, and me White Joe, by way of distinction and for + the convenience of his boss (my uncle), and my aunt, and mother; so, when + we heard the cry of “Bla-a-ack Joe!” (the adjective drawn out until it + became a screech, after several repetitions, and the “Joe” short and + sharp) coming across the flat in a woman's voice, Joe knew that the missus + wanted him at the house, to get wood or water, or mind the baby, and he + kept carefully out of sight; he went at once when uncle called. And when + we heard the cry of “Wh-i-i-te Joe!” which we did with difficulty and + after several tries—though Black Joe's ears were of the keenest—we + knew that I was overdue at home, or absent without leave, and was probably + in for a warming, as the old folk called it. On some occasions I postponed + the warming as long as my stomach held out, which was a good while in + five-corner, native-cherry, or yam season—but the warming was none + the cooler for being postponed. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes Joe heard the wrong adjective, or led me to believe he did—and + left me for a whole afternoon under the impression that the race of Ham + was in demand at the homestead, when I myself was wanted there, and + maternal wrath was increasing every moment of my absence. + </p> + <p> + But Joe knew that my conscience was not so elastic as his, and—well, + you must expect little things like this in all friendships. + </p> + <p> + Black Joe was somewhere between nine and twelve when I first met him, on a + visit to my uncle's station; I was somewhere in those years too. He was + very black, the darker for being engaged in the interesting but uncertain + occupation of “burning off” in his spare time—which wasn't + particularly limited. He combined shepherding, 'possum and kangaroo + hunting, crawfishing, sleeping, and various other occupations and + engagements with that of burning off. I was very white, being a sickly + town boy; but, as I took great interest in burning off, and was not + particularly fond of cold water—it was in winter time—the + difference in our complexions was not so marked at times. + </p> + <p> + Black Joe's father, old Black Jimmie, lived in a gunyah on the rise at the + back of the sheepyards, and shepherded for my uncle. He was a gentle, + good-humoured, easy-going old fellow with a pleasant smile; which + description applies, I think, to most old blackfellows in civilisation. I + was very partial to the old man, and chummy with him, and used to slip + away from the homestead whenever I could, and squat by the campfire along + with the other piccaninnies, and think, and yarn socially with Black + Jimmie by the hour. I would give something to remember those conversations + now. Sometimes somebody would be sent to bring me home, when it got too + late, and Black Jimmie would say: + </p> + <p> + “Piccaninnie alonga possum rug,” and there I'd be, sound asleep, with the + other young Australians. + </p> + <p> + I liked Black Jimmie very much, and would willingly have adopted him as a + father. I should have been quite content to spend my days in the scrub, + enjoying life in dark and savage ways, and my nights “alonga possum rug”; + but the family had other plans for my future. + </p> + <p> + It was a case of two blackfellows and one gin, when Black Jimmie went + a-wooing—about twelve years before I made his acquaintance—and + he fought for his bride in the black fashion. It was the last affair of + that kind in the district. My uncle's brother professed to have been + present at the fight, and gave me an alleged description of it. He said + that they drew lots, and Black Jimmie put his hands on his knees and bent + his head, and the other blackfellow hit him a whack on the skull with a + nulla nulla. Then they had a nip of rum all round—Black Jimmie must + have wanted it, for the nulla nulla was knotted, and heavy, and made in + the most approved fashion. Then the other blackfellow bent his head, and + Jimmie took the club and returned the whack with interest. Then the other + fellow hit Jimmie a lick, and took a clout in return. Then they had + another drink, and continued thus until Jimmie's rival lost all heart and + interest in the business. But you couldn't take everything my uncle's + brother said for granted. + </p> + <p> + Black Mary was a queen by right, and had the reputation of being the + cleanest gin in the district; she was a great favourite with the + squatters' wives round there. Perhaps she hoped to reclaim Jimmie—he + was royal, too, but held easy views with regard to religion and the + conventionalities of civilisation. Mary insisted on being married properly + by a clergyman, made the old man build a decent hut, had all her children + christened, and kept him and them clean and tidy up to the time of her + death. + </p> + <p> + Poor Queen Mary was ambitious. She started to educate her children, and + when they got beyond her—that is when they had learnt their letters—she + was grateful for any assistance from the good-natured bush men and women + of her acquaintance. She had decided to get her eldest boy into the + mounted police, and had plans for the rest, and she worked hard for them, + too. Jimmie offered no opposition, and gave her no assistance beyond the + rations and money he earned shepherding—which was as much as could + be expected of him. + </p> + <p> + He did as many husbands do “for the sake of peace and quietness”—he + drifted along in the wake of his wife, and took things as easily as her + schemes of reformation and education would allow him to. + </p> + <p> + Queen Mary died before her time, respected by all who knew or had heard of + her. The nearest squatter's wife sent a pair of sheets for a shroud, with + instructions to lay Mary out, and arranged (by bush telegraph) to drive + over next morning with her sister-in-law and two other white women in the + vicinity, to see Mary decently buried. + </p> + <p> + But the remnant of Jimmie's tribe were there beforehand. They tore the + sheets in strips and tied Mary up in a bundle, with her chin to her knees—preparing + her for burial in their own fashion—and mourned all night in + whitewash and ashes. At least, the gins did. The white women saw that it + was hopeless to attempt to untie any of the innumerable knots and double + knots, even if it had been possible to lay Mary out afterwards; so they + had to let her be buried as she was, with black and white obsequies. And + we've got no interest in believing that she did not “jump up white woman” + long ago. + </p> + <p> + My uncle and his brother took the two eldest boys. Black Jimmie shifted + away from the hut at once with the rest of his family—for the + “devil-devil” sat down there—and Mary's name was strictly “tabooed” + in accordance with aboriginal etiquette. + </p> + <p> + Jimmie drifted back towards the graves of his fathers in company with a + decreasing flock of sheep day by day (for the house of my uncle had fallen + on times of drought and depression, and foot-rot and wool rings, and + over-drafts and bank owners), and a few strips of bark, a dying fire, a + black pipe, some greasy 'possum rugs and blankets, a litter of kangaroo + tails, etc., four neglected piccaninnies, half a score of mangy mongrels, + and, haply, a “lilly drap o' rum”, by night. + </p> + <p> + The four little Australians grew dirtier and more shy and savage, and ate + underdone kangaroo and 'possum and native bear, with an occasional treat + of oak grubs and goanna by preference—and died out, one by one, as + blacks do when brought within the ever widening circle of civilisation. + Jimmie moved promptly after each death, and left the evil one in + possession, and built another mia-mia—each one being less + pretentious than the last. Finally he was left, the last of his tribe, to + mourn his lot in solitude. + </p> + <p> + But the devil-devil came and sat down by King Jimmie's side one night, so + he, too, moved out across the Old Man border, and the mia-mia rotted into + the ground and the grass grew there. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + I admired Joe; I thought him wiser and cleverer than any white boy in the + world. He could smell out 'possums unerringly, and I firmly believed he + could see yards through the muddiest of dam water; for once, when I + dropped my boat in, and was not sure of the spot, he fished it out first + try. With cotton reels and bits of stick and bark he would make the model + of a station homestead, slaughter-yards, sheep-yards, and all complete, + working in ideas and improvements of his own which might have been put + into practice with advantage. He was a most original and interesting liar + upon all subjects upon which he was ignorant and which came up + incidentally. He gave me a very interesting account of an interview + between his father and Queen Victoria, and mentioned casually that his + father had walked across the Thames without getting wet. + </p> + <p> + He also told me how he, Joe, had tied a mounted trooper to a verandah post + and thrashed him with pine saplings until the timber gave out and he was + tired. I questioned Jimmie, but the incidents seemed to have escaped the + old king's memory. + </p> + <p> + Joe could build bigger woodheaps with less wood than any black or white + tramp or loafer round there. He was a born architect. He took a world of + pains with his wood-heaps—he built them hollow, in the shape of a + break-wind, with the convex side towards the house for the benefit of his + employers. Joe was easy-going; he had inherited a love of peace and + quietness from his father. Uncle generally came home after dark, and Joe + would have little fires lit at safe distances all round the house, in + order to convey an impression that the burning off was proceeding + satisfactorily. + </p> + <p> + When the warm weather came, Joe and I got into trouble with an old hag for + bathing in a waterhole in the creek in front of her shanty, and she + impounded portions of our wardrobe. We shouldn't have lost much if she had + taken it all; but our sense of injury was deep, especially as she used + very bad grammar towards us. + </p> + <p> + Joe addressed her from the safe side of the water. He said, “Look here! + Old leather-face, sugar-eye, plar-bag marmy, I call it you.” + </p> + <p> + “Plar-bag marmy” meant “Mother Flour-bag”, and ration sugar was decidedly + muddy in appearance. + </p> + <p> + She came round the waterhole with a clothes prop, and made good time, too; + but we got across and away with our clothes. + </p> + <p> + That little incident might have changed the whole course of my existence. + Plar-bag Marmy made a formal complaint to uncle, who happened to pass + there on horseback about an hour later; and the same evening Joe's latest + and most carefully planned wood heap collapsed while aunt was pulling a + stick out of it in the dark, and it gave her a bad scare, the results of + which might have been serious. + </p> + <p> + So uncle gave us a thrashing, without the slightest regard for racial + distinctions, and sent us to bed without our suppers. + </p> + <p> + We sought Jimmie's camp, but Joe got neither sympathy nor damper from his + father, and I was sent home with a fatherly lecture “for going alonga that + fella,” meaning Joe. + </p> + <p> + Joe and I discussed existence at a waterhole down the creek next + afternoon, over a billy of crawfish which we had boiled and a piece of + gritty damper, and decided to retire beyond the settled districts—some + five hundred miles or so—to a place that Joe said he knew of, where + there were lagoons and billabongs ten miles wide, alive with ducks and + fish, and black cockatoos and kangaroos and wombats, that only waited to + be knocked over with a stick. + </p> + <p> + I thought I might as well start and be a blackfellow at once, so we got a + rusty pan without a handle, and cooked about a pint of fat yellow + oak-grubs; and I was about to fall to when we were discovered, and the + full weight of combined family influence was brought to bear on the + situation. We had broken a new pair of shears digging out those grubs from + under the bark of the she-oaks, and had each taken a blade as his own + especial property, which we thought was the best thing to do under the + circumstances. Uncle wanted those shears badly, so he received us with the + buggy whip—and he didn't draw the colour line either. All that night + and next day I wished he had. I was sent home, and Joe went droving with + uncle soon after that, else I might have lived a life of freedom and + content and died out peacefully with the last of my adopted tribe. + </p> + <p> + Joe died of consumption on the track. When he was dying uncle asked: “Is + there anything you would like?” + </p> + <p> + And Joe said: “I'd like a lilly drap o' rum, boss.” + </p> + <p> + Which were his last words, for he drank the rum and died peacefully. + </p> + <p> + I was the first to hear the news at home, and, being still a youngster, I + ran to the house, crying “Oh, mother! aunt's Joe is dead!” + </p> + <p> + There were visitors at our place at the time, and, as the eldest child of + the maternal aunt in question had also been christened Joe—after a + grandfather of our tribe (my tribe, not Black Joe's)—the news caused + a sudden and unpleasant sensation. But cross-examination explained the + mistake, and I retired to the rear of the pig-sty, as was my custom when + things went wrong, with another cause for grief. + </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> + They Wait on the Wharf in Black + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Seems to me that honest, hard-working men seem to accumulate + the heaviest swags of trouble in this world.”—Steelman. + + Told by Mitchell's Mate. +</pre> + <p> + We were coming back from West Australia, steerage—Mitchell, the + Oracle, and I. I had gone over saloon, with a few pounds in my pocket. + Mitchell said this was a great mistake—I should have gone over + steerage with nothing but the clothes I stood upright in, and come back + saloon with a pile. He said it was a very common mistake that men made, + but, as far as his experience went, there always seemed to be a + deep-rooted popular prejudice in favour of going away from home with a few + pounds in one's pocket and coming back stumped; at least amongst rovers + and vagabonds like ourselves—it wasn't so generally popular or + admired at home, or in the places we came back to, as it was in the places + we went to. Anyway it went, there wasn't the slightest doubt that our + nearest and dearest friends were, as a rule, in favour of our taking away + as little as we could possibly manage with, and coming back with a pile, + whether we came back saloon or not; and that ought to settle the matter as + far as any chap that had the slightest consideration for his friends or + family was concerned. + </p> + <p> + There was a good deal of misery, underneath, coming home in that steerage. + One man had had his hand crushed and amputated out Coolgardie way, and the + stump had mortified, and he was being sent to Melbourne by his mates. Some + had lost their money, some a couple of years of their life, some their + souls; but none seemed to have lost the heart to call up the quiet grin + that southern rovers, vagabonds, travellers for “graft” or fortune, and + professional wanderers wear in front of it all. Except one man—an + elderly eastern digger—he had lost his wife in Sydney while he was + away. + </p> + <p> + They sent him a wire to the Boulder Soak, or somewhere out back of White + Feather, to say that his wife was seriously ill; but the wire went wrong, + somehow, after the manner of telegrams not connected with mining, on the + lines of “the Western”. They sent him a wire to say that his wife was + dead, and that reached him all right—only a week late. + </p> + <p> + I can imagine it. He got the message at dinner-time, or when they came + back to the camp. His mate wanted him to sit in the shade, or lie in the + tent, while he got the billy boiled. “You must brace up and pull yourself + together, Tom, for the sake of the youngsters.” And Tom for long intervals + goes walking up and down, up and down, by the camp—under the brassy + sky or the gloaming—under the brilliant star-clusters that hang over + the desert plain, but never raising his eyes to them; kicking a tuft of + grass or a hole in the sand now and then, and seeming to watch the + progress of the track he is tramping out. The wife of twenty years was + with him—though two thousand miles away—till that message + came. + </p> + <p> + I can imagine Tome sitting with his mates round the billy, they talking in + quiet, subdued tones about the track, the departure of coaches, trains and + boats—arranging for Tom's journey East, and the working of the claim + in his absence. Or Tom lying on his back in his bunk, with his hands under + his head and his eyes fixed on the calico above—thinking, thinking, + thinking. Thinking, with a touch of his boyhood's faith perhaps; or + wondering what he had done in his long, hard-working married life, that + God should do this thing to him now, of all times. + </p> + <p> + “You'd best take what money we have in the camp, Tom; you'll want it all + ag'in' the time you get back from Sydney, and we can fix it up + arterwards.... There's a couple o' clean shirts o' mine—you'd best + take 'em—you'll want 'em on the voyage.... You might as well take + them there new pants o' mine, they'll only dry-rot out here—and the + coat, too, if you like—it's too small for me, anyway. You won't have + any time in Perth, and you'll want some decent togs to land with in + Sydney.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + “I wouldn't 'a' cared so much if I'd 'a' seen the last of her,” he said, + in a quiet, patient voice, to us one night by the rail. “I would 'a' liked + to have seen the last of her.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you been long in the West?” + </p> + <p> + “Over two years. I made up to take a run across last Christmas, and have a + look at 'em. But I couldn't very well get away when 'exemption-time' came. + I didn't like to leave the claim.” + </p> + <p> + “Do any good over there?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, things brightened up a bit the last month or two. I had a hard pull + at first; landed without a penny, and had to send back every shilling I + could rake up to get things straightened up a bit at home. Then the eldest + boy fell ill, and then the baby. I'd reckoned on bringing 'em over to + Perth or Coolgardie when the cool weather came, and having them somewheres + near me, where I could go and have a look at 'em now and then, and look + after them.” + </p> + <p> + “Going back to the West again?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes. I must go for the sake of the youngsters. But I don't seem to + have much heart in it.” He smoked awhile. “Over twenty years we struggled + along together—the missus and me—and it seems hard that I + couldn't see the last of her. It's rough on a man.” + </p> + <p> + “The world is damned rough on a man sometimes,” said Mitchell, “most + especially when he least deserves it.” + </p> + <p> + The digger crossed his arms on the rail like an old “cocky” at the fence + in the cool of the evening, yarning with an old crony. + </p> + <p> + “Mor'n twenty years she stuck to me and struggled along by my side. She + never give in. I'll swear she was on her feet till the last, with her + sleeves tucked up—bustlin' round.... And just when things was + brightening and I saw a chance of giving her a bit of a rest and comfort + for the end of her life.... I thought of it all only t'other week when + things was clearing up ahead; and the last 'order' I sent over I set to + work and wrote her a long letter, putting all the good news and + encouragement I could think of into it. I thought how that letter would + brighten up things at home, and how she'd read it round. I thought of lots + of things that a man never gets time to think of while his nose is kept to + the grindstone. And she was dead and in her grave, and I never knowed it.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchell dug his elbow into my ribs and made signs for the matches to + light his pipe. + </p> + <p> + “An' yer never knowed,” reflected the Oracle. + </p> + <p> + “But I always had an idea when there was trouble at home,” the digger went + on presently, in his quiet, patient tone. “I always knowed; I always had a + kind of feeling that way—I felt it—no matter how far I was + away. When the youngsters was sick I knowed it, and I expected the letter + that come. About a fortnight ago I had a feeling that way when the wife + was ill. The very stars out there on the desert by the Boulder Soak seemed + to say: 'There's trouble at home. Go home. There's trouble at home.' But I + never dreamed what that trouble was. One night I did make up my mind to + start in the morning, but when the morning came I hadn't an excuse, and + was ashamed to tell my mates the truth. They might have thought I was + going ratty, like a good many go out there.” Then he broke off with a sort + of laugh, as if it just struck him that we might think he was a bit off + his head, or that his talk was getting uncomfortable for us. “Curious, + ain't it?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Reminds me of a case I knowed,——” commenced the Oracle, after + a pause. + </p> + <p> + I could have pitched him overboard; but that was a mistake. He and the old + digger sat on the for'ard hatch half the night yarning, mostly about queer + starts, and rum go's, and curious cases the Oracle had knowed, and I think + the Oracle did him a lot of good somehow, for he seemed more cheerful in + the morning. + </p> + <p> + We were overcrowded in the steerage, but Mitchell managed to give up his + berth to the old digger without letting him know it. Most of the chaps + seemed anxious to make a place at the first table and pass the first + helpings of the dishes to the “old cove that had lost his missus.” + </p> + <p> + They all seemed to forget him as we entered the Heads; they had their own + troubles to attend to. They were in the shadow of the shame of coming back + hard up, and the grins began to grow faint and sickly. But I didn't forget + him. I wish sometimes that I didn't take so much notice of things. + </p> + <p> + There was no mistaking them—the little group that stood apart near + the end of the wharf, dressed in cheap black. There was the eldest single + sister—thin, pale, and haggard-looking—that had had all the + hard worry in the family till her temper was spoilt, as you could see by + the peevish, irritable lines in her face. She had to be the mother of them + all now, and had never known, perhaps, what it was to be a girl or a + sweetheart. She gave a hard, mechanical sort of smile when she saw her + father, and then stood looking at the boat in a vacant, hopeless sort of + way. There was the baby, that he saw now for the first time, crowing and + jumping at the sight of the boat coming in; there was the eldest boy, + looking awkward and out of place in his new slop-suit of black, shifting + round uneasily, and looking anywhere but at his father. But the little + girl was the worst, and a pretty little girl she was, too; she never took + her streaming eyes off her father's face the whole time. You could see + that her little heart was bursting, and with pity for him. They were too + far apart to speak to each other as yet. The boat seemed a cruel long long + time swinging alongside—I wished they'd hurry up. He'd brought his + traps up early, and laid 'em on the deck under the rail; he stood very + quiet with his hands behind him, looking at his children. He had a strong, + square, workman's face, but I could see his chin and mouth quivering under + the stubbly, iron-grey beard, and the lump working in his throat; and one + strong hand gripped the other very tight behind, but his eyelids never + quivered—only his eyes seemed to grow more and more sad and + lonesome. These are the sort of long, cruel moments when a man sits or + stands very tight and quiet and calm-looking, with his whole past life + going whirling through his brain, year after year, and over and over + again. Just as the digger seemed about to speak to them he met the + brimming eyes of his little girl turned up to his face. He looked at her + for a moment, and then turned suddenly and went below as if pretending to + go down for his things. I noticed that Mitchell—who hadn't seemed to + be noticing anything in particular—followed him down. When they came + on deck again we were right alongside. + </p> + <p> + “'Ello, Nell!” said the digger to the eldest daughter. + </p> + <p> + “'Ello, father!” she said, with a sort of gasp, but trying to smile. + </p> + <p> + “'Ello, Jack, how are you getting on?” + </p> + <p> + “All right, father,” said the boy, brightening up, and seeming greatly + relieved. + </p> + <p> + He looked down at the little girl with a smile that I can't describe, but + didn't speak to her. She still stood with quivering chin and mouth and + great brimming eyes upturned, full of such pity as I never saw before in a + child-face—pity for him. + </p> + <p> + “You can get ashore now,” said Mitchell; “see, they've got the gangway out + aft.” + </p> + <p> + Presently I saw Mitchell with the portmanteau in his hand, and the baby on + his arm, steering them away to a quiet corner of the shed at the top of + the wharf. The digger had the little girl in his arms, and both hers were + round his neck, and her face hidden on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + When Mitchell came back, he leant on the rail for a while by my side, as + if it was a boundary fence out back, and there was no hurry to break up + camp and make a start. + </p> + <p> + “What did you follow him below that time for, Mitchell?” I asked + presently, for want of something better to say. + </p> + <p> + Mitchell looked at me out of the corners of his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to score a drink!” he said. “I thought he wanted one and + wouldn't like to be a Jimmy Woodser.” + </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> + Seeing the Last of You + </h2> + <p> + “When you're going away by boat,” said Mitchell, “you ought to say + good-bye to the women at home, and to the chaps at the last pub. I hate + waiting on the wharf or up on deck when the boat's behind time. There's no + sense in it, and a lot of unnecessary misery. Your friends wait on the + wharf and you are kept at the rail to the bitter end, just when they and + you most want a spell. And why? Some of them hang out because they love + you, and want to see the last of you; some because they don't like you to + see them going away without seeing the last of you; and you hang out + mostly because it would hurt 'em if you went below and didn't give them a + chance of seeing the last of you all the time—and you curse the boat + and wish to God it would start. And those who love you most—the + women-folk of the family—and who are making all the fuss and + breaking their hearts about having to see the last of you, and least want + to do it—they hang out the longest, and are the most determined to + see it. Where's the sense in it? What's the good of seeing the last of + you? How do women manage to get consolation out of a thing like that? + </p> + <p> + “But women get consolation out of queer things sometimes,” he added + reflectively, “and so do men. + </p> + <p> + “I remember when I was knocking about the coasts, an old aunt of mine + always persisted in coming down to see the last of me, and bringing the + whole family too—no matter if I was only going away for a month. I + was her favourite. I always turned up again in a few months; but if I'd + come back every next boat it wouldn't have made the slightest difference + to her. She'd say that I mightn't come back some day, and then she'd never + forgive herself nor the family for not seeing me off. I suppose she'll see + the end of me yet if she lives long enough—and she's a wiry old lady + of the old school. She was old-fashioned and dressed like a fright, they + said at home. They hated being seen in public with her; to tell the truth, + I felt a bit ashamed, too, at times. I wouldn't be, now. When I'd get her + off on to the wharf I'd be overcome with my feelings, and have to retire + to the privacy of the bar to hide my emotions till the boat was going. And + she'd stand on the end of the pier and wave her handkerchief and mop her + old eyes with it until she was removed by force. + </p> + <p> + “God bless her old heart! There wasn't so much affection wasted on me at + home that I felt crowded by hers; and I never lost anything by her seeing + the last of me. + </p> + <p> + “I do wish the Oracle would stop that confounded fiddle of his—it + makes you think over damned old things.” + </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> + Two Boys at Grinder Brothers' + </h2> + <p> + Five or six half-grown larrikins sat on the cemented sill of the big + window of Grinder Bros.' Railway Coach Factory waiting for the work bell, + and one of the number was Bill Anderson—known as “Carstor Hoil”—a + young terror of fourteen or fifteen. + </p> + <p> + “Here comes Balmy Arvie,” exclaimed Bill as a pale, timid-looking little + fellow rounded the corner and stood against the wall by the door. “How's + your parents, Balmy?” + </p> + <p> + The boy made no answer; he shrank closer to the entrance. The first bell + went. + </p> + <p> + “What yer got for dinner, Balmy? Bread 'n' treacle?” asked the young + ruffian; then for the edification of his chums he snatched the boy's + dinner bag and emptied its contents on the pavement. + </p> + <p> + The door opened. Arvie gathered up his lunch, took his time-ticket, and + hurried in. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Balmy,” said one of the smiths as he passed, “what do you think of + the boat race?” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said the boy, goaded to reply, “that it would be better if + young fellows of this country didn't think so much about racin' an' + fightin'.” + </p> + <p> + The questioner stared blankly for a moment, then laughed suddenly in the + boy's face, and turned away. The rest grinned. + </p> + <p> + “Arvie's getting balmier than ever,” guffawed young Bill. + </p> + <p> + “Here, Carstor Hoil,” cried one of the smiths' strikers, “how much oil + will you take for a chew of terbaccer?” + </p> + <p> + “Teaspoonful?” + </p> + <p> + “No, two.” + </p> + <p> + “All right; let's see the chew, first.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you'll get it. What yer frighten' of?... Come on, chaps, 'n' see Bill + drink oil.” + </p> + <p> + Bill measured out some machine oil and drank it. He got the tobacco, and + the others got what they called “the fun of seein' Bill drink oil!” + </p> + <p> + The second bell rang, and Bill went up to the other end of the shop, where + Arvie was already at work sweeping shavings from under a bench. + </p> + <p> + The young terror seated himself on the end of this bench, drummed his + heels against the leg, and whistled. He was in no hurry, for his foreman + had not yet arrived. He amused himself by lazily tossing chips at Arvie, + who made no protest for a while. “It would be—better—for this + country,” said the young terror, reflectively and abstractedly, cocking + his eye at the whitewashed roof beams and feeling behind him on the bench + for a heavier chip—“it would be better—for this country—if + young fellers didn't think so much about—about—racin'—AND + fightin'.” + </p> + <p> + “You let me alone,” said Arvie. + </p> + <p> + “Why, what'll you do?” exclaimed Bill, bringing his eye down with feigned + surprise. Then, in an indignant tone, “I don't mind takin' a fall out of + yer, now, if yer like.” + </p> + <p> + Arvie went on with his work. Bill tossed all the chips within reach, and + then sat carelessly watching some men at work, and whistling the “Dead + March”. Presently he asked: + </p> + <p> + “What's yer name, Balmy?” + </p> + <p> + No answer. + </p> + <p> + “Carn't yer answer a civil question? I'd soon knock the sulks out of yer + if I was yer father.” + </p> + <p> + “My name's Arvie; you know that.” + </p> + <p> + “Arvie what?” + </p> + <p> + “Arvie Aspinall.” + </p> + <p> + Bill cocked his eye at the roof and thought a while and whistled; then he + said suddenly: + </p> + <p> + “Say, Balmy, where d'yer live?” + </p> + <p> + “Jones' Alley.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “Jones' Alley.” + </p> + <p> + A short, low whistle from Bill. “What house?” + </p> + <p> + “Number Eight.” + </p> + <p> + “Garn! What yer giv'nus?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm telling the truth. What's there funny about it? What do I want to + tell you a lie for?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, we lived there once, Balmy. Old folks livin'?” + </p> + <p> + “Mother is; father's dead.” + </p> + <p> + Bill scratched the back of his head, protruded his under lip, and + reflected. + </p> + <p> + “I say, Arvie, what did yer father die of?” + </p> + <p> + “Heart disease. He dropped down dead at his work.” + </p> + <p> + Long, low, intense whistle from Bill. He wrinkled his forehead and stared + up at the beams as if he expected to see something unusual there. After a + while he said, very impressively: “So did mine.” + </p> + <p> + The coincidence hadn't done striking him yet; he wrestled with it for + nearly a minute longer. Then he said: + </p> + <p> + “I suppose yer mother goes out washin'?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “'N' cleans offices?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “So does mine. Any brothers 'n' sisters?” + </p> + <p> + “Two—one brother 'n' one sister.” + </p> + <p> + Bill looked relieved—for some reason. + </p> + <p> + “I got nine,” he said. “Yours younger'n you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Lot of bother with the landlord?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, a good lot.” + </p> + <p> + “Had any bailiffs in yet?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, two.” + </p> + <p> + They compared notes a while longer, and tailed off into a silence which + lasted three minutes and grew awkward towards the end. + </p> + <p> + Bill fidgeted about on the bench, reached round for a chip, but + recollected himself. Then he cocked his eye at the roof once more and + whistled, twirling a shaving round his fingers the while. At last he tore + the shaving in two, jerked it impatiently from him, and said abruptly: + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Arvie! I'm sorry I knocked over yer barrer yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you.” + </p> + <p> + This knocked Bill out the first round. He rubbed round uneasily on the + bench, fidgeted with the vise, drummed his fingers, whistled, and finally + thrust his hands in his pockets and dropped on his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Arvie!” he said in low, hurried tones. “Keep close to me goin' + out to-night, 'n' if any of the other chaps touches yer or says anything + to yer I'll hit 'em!” + </p> + <p> + Then he swung himself round the corner of a carriage “body” and was gone. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + Arvie was late out of the shop that evening. His boss was a sub-contractor + for the coach-painting, and always tried to find twenty minutes' work for + his boys just about five or ten minutes before the bell rang. He employed + boys because they were cheap and he had a lot of rough work, and they + could get under floors and “bogies” with their pots and brushes, and do + all the “priming” and paint the trucks. His name was Collins, and the boys + were called “Collins' Babies”. It was a joke in the shop that he had a + “weaning” contract. The boys were all “over fourteen”, of course, because + of the Education Act. Some were nine or ten—wages from five + shillings to ten shillings. It didn't matter to Grinder Brothers so long + as the contracts were completed and the dividends paid. Collins preached + in the park every Sunday. But this has nothing to do with the story. + </p> + <p> + When Arvie came out it was beginning to rain and the hands had all gone + except Bill, who stood with his back to a verandah-post, spitting with + very fair success at the ragged toe of one boot. He looked up, nodded + carelessly at Arvie, and then made a dive for a passing lorry, on the end + of which he disappeared round the next corner, unsuspected by the driver, + who sat in front with his pipe in his mouth and a bag over his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + Arvie started home with his heart and mind pretty full, and a stronger, + stranger aversion to ever going back to the shop again. This new, + unexpected, and unsought-for friendship embarrassed the poor lonely child. + It wasn't welcome. + </p> + <p> + But he never went back. He got wet going home, and that night he was a + dying child. He had been ill all the time, and Collins was one “baby” + short next day. + </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> + The Selector's Daughter + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I. +</pre> + <p> + She rode slowly down the steep siding from the main road to a track in the + bed of the Long Gully, the old grey horse picking his way zig-zag fashion. + She was about seventeen, slight in figure, and had a pretty freckled face + with a pathetically drooping mouth, and big sad brown eyes. She wore a + faded print dress, with an old black riding skirt drawn over it, and her + head was hidden in one of those ugly, old-fashioned white hoods, which, + seen from the rear, always suggest an old woman. She carried several + parcels of groceries strapped to the front of the dilapidated side-saddle. + </p> + <p> + The track skirted a chain of rocky waterholes at the foot of the gully, + and the girl glanced nervously at these ghastly, evil-looking pools as she + passed them by. The sun had set, as far as Long Gully was concerned. The + old horse carefully followed a rough bridle track, which ran up the gully + now on one side of the watercourse and now on the other; the gully grew + deeper and darker, and its sullen, scrub-covered sides rose more steeply + as he progressed. + </p> + <p> + The girl glanced round frequently, as though afraid of someone following + her. Once she drew rein, and listened to some bush sound. “Kangaroos,” she + murmured; it was only kangaroos. She crossed a dimmed little clearing + where a farm had been, and entered a thick scrub of box and stringy-bark + saplings. Suddenly with a heavy thud, thud, an “old man” kangaroo leapt + the path in front, startling the girl fearfully, and went up the siding + towards the peak. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my God!” she gasped, with her hand on her heart. + </p> + <p> + She was very nervous this evening; her heart was hurt now, and she held + her hand close to it, while tears started from her eyes and glistened in + the light of the moon, which was rising over the gap ahead. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if I could only go away from the bush!” she moaned. + </p> + <p> + The old horse plodded on, and now and then shook his head—sadly, it + seemed—as if he knew her troubles and was sorry. + </p> + <p> + She passed another clearing, and presently came to a small homestead in a + stringy-bark hollow below a great gap in the ridges—“Deadman's Gap”. + The place was called “Deadman's Hollow”, and looked like it. The “house”—a + low, two-roomed affair, with skillions—was built of half-round slabs + and stringy-bark, and was nearly all roof; the bark, being darkened from + recent rain, gave it a drearier appearance than usual. + </p> + <p> + A big, coarse-looking youth of about twenty was nailing a green kangaroo + skin to the slabs; he was out of temper because he had bruised his thumb. + The girl unstrapped the parcels and carried them in; as she passed her + brother, she said: + </p> + <p> + “Take the saddle off for me, will you, Jack?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, carnt yer take it off yerself?” he snarled; “carnt yer see I'm busy?” + </p> + <p> + She took off the saddle and bridle, and carried them into a shed, where + she hung them on a beam. The patient old hack shook himself with an energy + that seemed ill-advised, considering his age and condition, and went off + towards the “dam”. + </p> + <p> + An old woman sat in the main room beside a fireplace which took up almost + the entire end of the house. A plank-table, supported on stakes driven + into the ground, stood in the middle of the room, and two slab benches + were fixtures on each side. The floor was clay. All was clean and + poverty-stricken; all that could be whitewashed was white, and everything + that could be washed was scrubbed. The slab shelves were covered with + clean newspapers, on which bright tins, and pannikins, and fragments of + crockery were set to the greatest advantage. The walls, however, were + disfigured by Christmas supplements of illustrated journals. + </p> + <p> + The girl came in and sat down wearily on a stool opposite to the old + woman. + </p> + <p> + “Are you any better, mother?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Very little, Mary, very little. Have you seen your father?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder where he is?” + </p> + <p> + “You might wonder. What's the use of worrying about it, mother?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose he's drinking again.” + </p> + <p> + “Most likely. Worrying yourself to death won't help it!” + </p> + <p> + The old woman sat and moaned about her troubles, as old women do. She had + plenty to moan about. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder where your brother Tom is? We haven't heard from him for a year + now. He must be in trouble again; something tells me he must be in trouble + again.” + </p> + <p> + Mary swung her hood off into her lap. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you worry about it, mother? What's the use?” + </p> + <p> + “I only wish I knew. I only wish I knew!” + </p> + <p> + “What good would that do? You know Tom went droving with Fred Dunn, and + Fred will look after him; and, besides, Tom's older now and got more + sense.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you don't care—you don't care! You don't feel it, but I'm his + mother, and——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, for God's sake, don't start that again, mother; it hurts me more than + you think. I'm his sister; I've suffered enough, God knows! Don't make + matters worse than they are!” + </p> + <p> + “Here comes father!” shouted one of the children outside, “'n' he's + bringing home a steer.” + </p> + <p> + The old woman sat still, and clasped her hands nervously. Mary tried to + look cheerful, and moved the saucepan on the fire. A big, dark-bearded + man, mounted on a small horse, was seen in the twilight driving a steer + towards the cow-yard. A boy ran to let down the slip-rails. + </p> + <p> + Presently Mary and her mother heard the clatter of rails let down and put + up again, and a minute later a heavy step like the tread of a horse was + heard outside. The selector lumbered in, threw his hat in a corner, and + sat down by the table. His wife rose and bustled round with simulated + cheerfulness. Presently Mary hazarded— + </p> + <p> + “Where have you been, father?” + </p> + <p> + “Somewheers.” + </p> + <p> + There was a wretched silence, lasting until the old woman took courage to + say timidly: + </p> + <p> + “So you've brought a steer, Wylie?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” he snapped; the tone seemed defiant. + </p> + <p> + The old woman's hands trembled, so that she dropped a cup. Mary turned a + shade paler. + </p> + <p> + “Here, git me some tea. Git me some TEA!” shouted Mr. Wylie. “I ain't + agoin' to sit here all night!” + </p> + <p> + His wife made what haste her nervousness would allow, and they soon sat + down to tea. Jack, the eldest son, was sulky, and his father muttered + something about knocking the sulks out of him with an axe. + </p> + <p> + “What's annoyed you, Jack?” asked his mother, humbly. + </p> + <p> + He scowled and made no answer. + </p> + <p> + The younger children—three boys and a girl—began quarrelling + as soon as they sat down. Wylie yelled at them now and then, and grumbled + at the cooking, and at his wife for not being able to keep the children + quiet. It was: “Marther! you didn't put no sugar in my tea.” “Mother, + Jimmy's got my place; make him move.” “Mawther! do speak to this Fred.” + “Oh! father, this big brute of a Harry's kickin' me!” And so on. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + II. +</pre> + <p> + When the miserable meal was over, Wylie got a rope and a butcher's knife, + and went out to slaughter the steer; but first there was a row, because he + thought—or pretended to think—that somebody had been using his + knife. He lassoed the beast, drew it up to the rails, and slaughtered it. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, Jack and his next brother took an old gun, let the dogs loose, + and went 'possum shooting. + </p> + <p> + Presently Wylie came in again, sat down by the fire, and smoked. The + children quarrelled over a boy's book; Mrs. Wylie made weak attempts to + keep the peace, but they took no notice of her. Suddenly her husband rose + with an oath, seized the novel, and threw it behind the fire. + </p> + <p> + “Git to bed! git to bed!” he roared at the children; “git to bed, or I'll + smash your brains with the axe!” + </p> + <p> + They got to bed. It was made of saplings and bark, covered with three + bushel-bags full of straw and old pieces of blanket sewn together. The + children quarrelled in bed till their father took off his belt and “went + into” them, according to promise. There was a sudden hush, followed by a + sound like a bird-clapper; then howls; then a peaceful calm fell upon that + happy home. + </p> + <p> + Wylie went out again, and was absent an hour; on his return he sat by the + fire and smoked sullenly. After a while he snatched the pipe from his + mouth, and looked impatiently at the old woman. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! for God's sake, git to bed,” he snapped, “and don't be asittin' there + like a blarsted funeral! You're enough to give a man the dismals.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Wylie gathered up her sewing and retired. Then he said to his + daughter: “You come and hold the candle.” + </p> + <p> + Mary put on her hood and followed her father to the yard. The carcase lay + close to the rails, against which two sheets of bark had been raised as a + break-wind. The beast had been partly skinned, and a portion of the hide, + where a brand might have been, was carefully turned back. Mary noticed + this at once. Her father went on with his work, and occasionally grumbled + at her for not holding the candle right. + </p> + <p> + “Where did you buy the steer, father?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Ask no questions and hear no lies.” Then he added, “Carn't you see it's a + clear skin?” + </p> + <p> + She had a keen sense of humour, and the idea of a “'clear skin' steer” + would have amused her at any other time. She didn't smile now. + </p> + <p> + He turned the carcase over; the loose hide fell back, and the light shone + on a distinct brand. White as a sheet went Mary's face, and her hand + trembled so that she nearly let the candle fall. + </p> + <p> + “What are you adoin' of now?” shouted her father. “Hold the candle, carn't + you? You're worse than the old woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Father! the beast is branded! See!—— What does PB stand for?” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Beggar, like myself. Hold the candle, carn't you?—and hold + your tongue.” + </p> + <p> + Mary was startled again by hearing the tread of a horse, but it was only + the old grey munching round. Her father finished skinning, and drew the + carcase up to a make-shift “gallows”. “Now you can go to bed,” he said, in + a gentler tone. + </p> + <p> + She went to her bedroom—a small, low, slab skillion, built on to the + end of the house—and fell on her knees by the bunk. + </p> + <p> + “God help me! God help us all!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + She lay down, but could not sleep. She was nervously ill—nearly mad, + because of the dark, disgraceful cloud of trouble which hung over her + home. Always in trouble—always in trouble. It started long ago, when + her favourite brother Tom ran away. She was little more than a child then, + intensely sensitive; and when she sat in the old bark school she fancied + that the other children were thinking or whispering to each other, “Her + brother's in prison! Mary Wylie's brother's in prison! Tom Wylie's in + gaol!” She was thinking of it still. They were ever with her, those + horrible days and nights of the first shadow of shame. She had the same + horror of evil, the same fearful dread of disgrace that her mother had. + She had been ambitious; she had managed to read much, and had wild dreams + of going to the city and rising above the common level, but that was all + past now. + </p> + <p> + How could she rise when the cruel hand of disgrace was ever ready to drag + her down at any moment. “Ah, God!” she moaned in her misery, “if we could + only be born without kin—with no one to disgrace us but ourselves! + It's cruel, God, it's cruel to suffer for the crimes of others!” She was + getting selfish in her troubles—like her mother. “I want to go away + from the bush and all I know.... O God, help me to go away from the bush!” + Presently she fell asleep—if sleep it may be called—and dreamt + of sailing away, sailing away far out on the sea beyond the horizon of her + dread. Then came a horrible nightmare, in which she and all her family + were arrested for a terrible crime. She woke in a fright, and saw a + reddish glare on the window. Her father was poking round some logs where + they had been “burning-off”. A pungent odour came through a broken pane + and turned her sick. He was burning the hide. + </p> + <p> + Wylie did not go to bed that night; he got his breakfast before daylight, + and rode up through the frosty gap while the stars were still out, + carrying a bag of beef in front of him on the grey horse. Mary said + nothing about the previous night. Her mother wondered how much “father” + had given for the steer, and supposed he had gone into town to sell the + hide; the poor soul tried to believe that he had come by the steer + honestly. Mary fried some meat, and tried to eat it for her mother's sake, + but could manage only a few mouthfuls. Mrs. Wylie also seemed to have lost + her appetite. Jack and his brother, who had been out all night, made a + hearty breakfast. Then Jimmy started to peg out the 'possum skins, while + Jack went to look for a missing pony. Mary was left to milk all the cows, + and feed the calves and pigs. + </p> + <p> + Shortly after dinner one of the children ran to the door, and cried: + </p> + <p> + “Why, mother—here's three mounted troopers comin' up the gully!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my God!” cried the mother, sinking back in her chair and trembling + like a leaf. The children ran and hid in the scrub. Mary stood up, + terribly calm, and waited. The eldest trooper dismounted, came to the + door, glanced suspiciously at the remains of the meal, and abruptly asked + the dreaded question: + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Wylie, where's your husband?” + </p> + <p> + She dropped the tea-cup, from which she had pretended to be drinking + unconcernedly. + </p> + <p> + “What? Why, what do you want my husband for?” she asked in pitiful + desperation. SHE looked like the guilty party. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you know well enough,” he sneered impatiently. + </p> + <p> + Mary rose and faced him. “How dare you talk to my mother like that?” she + cried. “If my poor brother Tom was only here—you—you coward!” + </p> + <p> + The youngest trooper whispered something to his senior, and then, stung by + a sharp retort, said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, you needn't be a pig.” + </p> + <p> + His two companions passed through into the spare skillion, where they + found some beef in a cask, and more already salted down under a bag on the + end of a bench; then they went out at the back and had a look at the + cow-yard. The younger trooper lingered behind. + </p> + <p> + “I'll try and get them up the gully on some excuse,” he whispered to Mary. + “You plant the hide before we come back.” + </p> + <p> + “It's too late. Look there!” She pointed through the doorway. + </p> + <p> + The other two were at the logs where the fire had been; the burning hide + had stuck to the logs in places like glue. + </p> + <p> + “Wylie's a fool,” remarked the old trooper. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + III. +</pre> + <p> + Jack disappeared shortly after his father's arrest on a charge of horse + and cattle-stealing, and Tom, the prodigal, turned up unexpectedly. He was + different from his father and eldest brother. He had an open good-humoured + face, and was very kind-hearted; but was subject to peculiar fits of + insanity, during which he did wild and foolish things for the mere love of + notoriety. He had two natures—one bright and good, the other sullen + and criminal. A taint of madness ran in the family—came down from + drunken and unprincipled fathers of dead generations; under different + conditions, it might have developed into genius in one or two—in + Mary, perhaps. + </p> + <p> + “Cheer up, old woman!” cried Tom, patting his mother on the back. “We'll + be happy yet. I've been wild and foolish, I know, and gave you some awful + trouble, but that's all done with. I mean to keep steady, and by-and-bye + we'll go away to Sydney or Queensland. Give us a smile, mother.” + </p> + <p> + He got some “grubbing” to do, and for six months kept the family in + provisions. Then a change came over him. He became moody and sullen—even + brutal. He would sit for hours and grin to himself without any apparent + cause; then he would stay away from home for days together. + </p> + <p> + “Tom's going wrong again,” wailed Mrs. Wylie. “He'll get into trouble + again, I know he will. We are disgraced enough already, God knows.” + </p> + <p> + “You've done your best, mother,” said Mary, “and can do no more. People + will pity us; after all, the thing itself is not so bad as the everlasting + dread of it. This will be a lesson for father—he wanted one—and + maybe he'll be a better man.” (She knew better than that.) “YOU did your + best, mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Mary! you don't know what I've gone through these thirty years in the + bush with your father. I've had to go down on my knees and beg people not + to prosecute him—and the same with your brother Tom; and this is the + end of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Better to have let them go, mother; you should have left father when you + found out what sort of a man he was; it would have been better for all.” + </p> + <p> + “It was my duty to stick by him, child; he was my husband. Your father was + always a bad man, Mary—a bad man; I found it out too late. I could + not tell you a quarter of what I have suffered with him.... I was proud, + Mary; I wanted my children to be better than others.... It's my fault; + it's a judgment.... I wanted to make my children better than others.... I + was so proud, Mary.” + </p> + <p> + Mary had a sweetheart, a drover, who was supposed to be in Queensland. He + had promised to marry her, and take her and her mother away when he + returned; at least, she had promised to marry him on that condition. He + had now been absent on his latest trip for nearly six months, and there + was no news from him. She got a copy of a country paper to look for the + “stock passings”; but a startling headline caught her eye: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + IMPUDENT ATTEMPT AT ROBBERY UNDER ARMS. + —— + “A drover known to the police as Frederick Dunn, alias Drew, + was arrested last week at——” + </pre> + <p> + She read to the bitter end, and burned the paper. And the shadow of + another trouble, darker and drearier than all the rest, was upon her. + </p> + <p> + So the little outcast family in Long Gully existed for several months, + seeing no one save a sympathetic old splitter who would come and smoke his + pipe by the fire of nights, and try to convince the old woman that matters + might have been worse, and that she wouldn't worry so much if she knew the + troubles of some of our biggest families, and that things would come out + all right and the lesson would do Wylie good. Also, that Tom was a + different boy altogether, and had more sense than to go wrong again. “It + was nothing,” he said, “nothing; they didn't know what trouble was.” + </p> + <p> + But one day, when Mary and her mother were alone, the troopers came again. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Wylie, where's your son Tom?” they asked. + </p> + <p> + She sat still. She didn't even cry, “Oh, my God!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be frightened, Mrs. Wylie,” said one of the troopers, gently. “It + ain't for much anyway, and maybe Tom'll be able to clear himself.” + </p> + <p> + Mary sank on her knees by her mother's side, crying “Speak to me, mother. + Oh, my God, she's dying! Speak for my sake, mother. Don't die, mother; + it's all a mistake. Don't die and leave me here alone.” + </p> + <p> + But the poor old woman was dead. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + Wylie came out towards the end of the year, and a few weeks later he + brought home a—another woman. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + IV. +</pre> + <p> + Bob Bentley, general hawker, was camping under some rocks by the main + road, near the foot of Long Gully. His mate was fast asleep under the + tilted trap. Bob stood with his back to the fire, his pipe in his mouth, + and his hands clasped behind him. The fire lit up the undersides of the + branches above; a native bear sat in a fork blinking down at it, while the + moon above him showed every hair on his ears. From among the trees came + the pleasant jingle of hobble-chains, the slow tread of hoofs, and the + “crunch, crunch” at the grass, as the horses moved about and grazed, now + in moonlight, now in the soft shadows. “Old Thunder”, a big black dog of + no particular breed, gave a meaning look at his master, and started up the + ridge, followed by several smaller dogs. Soon Bob heard from the hillside + the “hy-yi-hi, whomp, whomp, whomp!” of old Thunder, and the + yop-yop-yopping of the smaller fry—they had tree'd a 'possum. Bob + threw himself on the grass, and pretended to be asleep. There was a sound + as of a sizeable boulder rolling down the hill, and presently Thunder + trotted round the fire to see if his master would come. Bob snored. The + dog looked suspiciously at him, trotted round once or twice, and as a last + resource gave him two great slobbery licks across the face. Bob got up + with a good-natured oath. + </p> + <p> + “Well, old party,” he said to Thunder, “you're a thundering old nuisance; + but I s'pose you won't be satisfied till I come.” He got a gun from the + waggonette, loaded it, and started up the ridge; old Thunder rushing to + and fro to show the way—as if the row the other dogs were making + wasn't enough to guide his master. + </p> + <p> + When Bob returned with the 'possums he was startled to see a woman in the + camp. She was sitting on a log by the fire, with her elbows on her knees + and her face in her hands. + </p> + <p> + “Why—what the dev—who are you?” + </p> + <p> + The girl raised a white desperate face to him. It was Mary Wylie. + </p> + <p> + “My father and—and the woman—they're drinking—they + turned me out! they turned me out.” + </p> + <p> + “Did they now? I'm sorry for that. What can I do for you?... She's mad + sure enough,” he thought to himself; “I thought it was a ghost.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” she wailed, “I don't know. You're a man, and I'm a + helpless girl. They turned me out! My mother's dead, and my brothers gone + away. Look! Look here!” pointing to a bruise on her forehead. “The woman + did that. My own father stood by and saw it done—said it served me + right! Oh, my God!” + </p> + <p> + “What woman? Tell me all about it.” + </p> + <p> + “The woman father brought home!... I want to go away from the bush! Oh! + for God's sake take me away from the bush!... Anything! anything!—you + know!—only take me away from the bush!” + </p> + <p> + Bob and his mate—who had been roused—did their best to soothe + her; but suddenly, without a moment's warning, she sprang to her feet and + scrambled to the top of the rock overhanging the camp. She stood for a + moment in the bright moonlight, gazing intently down the vacant road. + </p> + <p> + “Here they come!” she cried, pointing down the road. “Here they come—the + troopers! I can see their cap-peaks glistening in the moonlight!... I'm + going away! Mother's gone. I'm going now!—Good-bye!—Good-bye! + I'm going away from the bush!” + </p> + <p> + Then she ran through the trees towards the foot of Long Gully. Bob and his + mate followed; but, being unacquainted with the locality, they lost her. + </p> + <p> + She ran to the edge of a granite cliff on the higher side of the deepest + of the rocky waterholes. There was a heavy splash, and three startled + kangaroos, who had been drinking, leapt back and sped away, like three + grey ghosts, up the ridge towards the moonlit peak. + </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> + Mitchell on the “Sex” and Other “Problems” + </h2> + <p> + “I agree with 'T' in last week's 'Bulletin',” said Mitchell, after + cogitating some time over the last drop of tea in his pannikin, held at + various angles, “about what they call the 'Sex Problem'. There's no + problem, really, except Creation, and that's not our affair; we can't + solve it, and we've no right to make a problem out of it for ourselves to + puzzle over, and waste the little time that is given us about. It's we + that make the problems, not Creation. We make 'em, and they only smother + us; they'll smother the world in the end if we don't look out. Anything + that can be argued, for and against, from half a dozen different points of + view—and most things that men argue over can be—and anything + that has been argued about for thousands of years (as most things have) is + worse than profitless; it wastes the world's time and ours, and often + wrecks old mateships. Seems to me the deeper you read, think, talk, or + write about things that end in ism, the less satisfactory the result; the + more likely you are to get bushed and dissatisfied with the world. And the + more you keep on the surface of plain things, the plainer the sailing—the + more comfortable for you and everybody else. We've always got to come to + the surface to breathe, in the end, in any case; we're meant to live on + the surface, and we might as well stay there and look after it and + ourselves for all the good we do diving down after fish that aren't there, + except in our imagination. And some of 'em are very dead fish, too—the + 'Sex Problem', for instance. When we fall off the surface of the earth it + will be time enough to make a problem out of the fact that we couldn't + stick on. I'm a Federal Pro-trader in this country; I'm a Federalist + because I think Federation is the plain and natural course for Australia, + and I'm a Free-tectionist because I'm in favour of sinking any question, + or any two things, that enlightened people can argue and fight over, and + try, one after the other, for fifty years without being able to come to a + decision about, or prove which is best for the welfare of the country. It + only wastes a young country's time, and keeps it off the right track. + Federation isn't a problem—it's a plain fact—but they make a + problem out of every panel they have to push down in the rotten old + boundary fences.” + </p> + <p> + “Personal interests,” suggested Joe. + </p> + <p> + “Of course. It's personal interest of the wrong sort that makes all the + problems. You can trace the sex problem to people who trade in unhealthy + personal interests. I believe in personal interests of the right sort—true + individualism. If we all looked after ourselves, and our wives and + families—if we have any—in the proper way, the world would be + all right. We waste too much time looking after each other. + </p> + <p> + “Now, supposing we're travelling and have to get a shed and make a cheque + so's to be able to send a few quid home, as soon as we can, to the missus, + or the old folks, and the next water is twenty miles ahead. If we sat down + and argued over a social problem till doomsday, we wouldn't get to the + tank; we'd die of thirst, and the missus and kids, or the old folks, would + be sold up and turned out into the streets, and have to fall back on a + 'home of hope', or wait their turn at the Benevolent Asylum with bags for + broken victuals. I've seen that, and I don't want anybody belonging to me + to have to do it. + </p> + <p> + “Reminds me that when a poor, deserted girl goes to a 'home' they don't + make a problem of her—they do their best for her and try to get her + righted. And the priests, too: if there's anything in the sex or any other + problem—anything that hasn't been threshed out—they're the men + that'll know it. I'm not a Catholic, but I know this: that if a girl + that's been left by one—no matter what Church she belongs to—goes + to the priest, they'll work all the points they know (and they know 'em + all) to get her righted, and, if the chap, or his people, won't come up to + the scratch, Father Ryan'll frighten hell out of 'em. I can't say as much + for our own Churches.” + </p> + <p> + “But you're in favour of socialism and democracy?” asked Joe. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I am. But the world won't do any good arguing over it. The + people will have to get up and walk, and, what's more, stick together—and + I don't think they'll ever do that—it ain't in human nature. + Socialism, or democracy, was all right in this country till it got + fashionable and was made a fad or a problem of. Then it got smothered + pretty quick. And a fad or a problem always breeds a host of parasites or + hangers-on. Why, as soon as I saw the advanced idealist fools—they're + generally the middle-class, shabby-genteel families that catch + Spiritualism and Theosophy and those sort of complaints, at the end of the + epidemic—that catch on at the tail-end of things and think they've + caught something brand, shining, new;—as soon as I saw them, and the + problem spielers and notoriety-hunters of both sexes, beginning to hang + round Australian Unionism, I knew it was doomed. And so it was. The + straight men were disgusted, or driven out. There are women who hang on + for the same reason that a girl will sometimes go into the dock and swear + an innocent man's life away. But as soon as they see that the cause is + dying, they drop it at once, and wait for another. They come like bloody + dingoes round a calf, and only leave the bones. They're about as + democratic as the crows. And the rotten 'sex-problem' sort of thing is the + cause of it all; it poisons weak minds—and strong ones too + sometimes. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you could make a problem out of Epsom salts. You might argue as to + why human beings want Epsom salts, and try to trace the causes that led up + to it. I don't like the taste of Epsom salts—it's nasty in the mouth—but + when I feel that way I take 'em, and I feel better afterwards; and that's + good enough for me. We might argue that black is white, and white is + black, and neither of 'em is anything, and nothing is everything; and a + woman's a man and a man's a woman, and it's really the man that has the + youngsters, only we imagine it's the woman because she imagines that she + has all the pain and trouble, and the doctor is under the impression that + he's attending to her, not the man, and the man thinks so too because he + imagines he's walking up and down outside, and slipping into the corner + pub now and then for a nip to keep his courage up, waiting, when it's his + wife that's doing that all the time; we might argue that it's all force of + imagination, and that imagination is an unknown force, and that the + unknown is nothing. But, when we've settled all that to our own + satisfaction, how much further ahead are we? In the end we'll come to the + conclusion that we ain't alive, and never existed, and then we'll leave + off bothering, and the world will go on just the same.” + </p> + <p> + “What about science?” asked Joe. + </p> + <p> + “Science ain't 'sex problems'; it's facts.... Now, I don't mind + Spiritualism and those sort of things; they might help to break the + monotony, and can't do much harm. But the 'sex problem', as it's written + about to-day, does; it's dangerous and dirty, and it's time to settle it + with a club. Science and education, if left alone, will look after sex + facts. + </p> + <p> + “You can't get anything out of the 'sex problem', no matter how you argue. + In the old Bible times they had half a dozen wives each, but we don't know + for certain how THEY got on. The Mormons tried it again, and seemed to get + on all right till we interfered. We don't seem to be able to get on with + one wife now—at least, according to the 'sex problem'. The 'sex + problem' troubled the Turks so much that they tried three. Lots of us try + to settle it by knocking round promiscuously, and that leads to actions + for maintenance and breach of promise cases, and all sorts of trouble. Our + blacks settle the 'sex problem' with a club, and so far I haven't heard + any complaints from them. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + “Take hereditary causes and surrounding circumstances, for instance. In + order to understand or judge a man right, you would need to live under the + same roof with him from childhood, and under the same roofs, or tents, + with his parents, right back to Adam, and then you'd be blocked for want + of more ancestors through which to trace the causes that led to Abel—I + mean Cain—going on as he did. What's the use or sense of it? You + might argue away in any direction for a million miles and a million years + back into the past, but you've got to come back to where you are if you + wish to do any good for yourself, or anyone else. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes it takes you a long while to get back to where you are—sometimes + you never do it. Why, when those controversies were started in the + 'Bulletin' about the kangaroos and other things, I thought I knew + something about the bush. Now I'm damned if I'm sure I could tell a + kangaroo from a wombat. + </p> + <p> + “Trying to find out things is the cause of all the work and trouble in + this world. It was Eve's fault in the first place—or Adam's, rather, + because it might be argued that he should have been master. Some men are + too lazy to be masters in their own homes, and run the show properly; some + are too careless, and some too drunk most of their time, and some too + weak. If Adam and Eve hadn't tried to find out things there'd have been no + toil and trouble in the world to-day; there'd have been no bloated + capitalists, and no horny-handed working men, and no politics, no + freetrade and protection—and no clothes. The woman next door + wouldn't be able to pick holes in your wife's washing on the line. We'd + have been all running about in a big Garden of Eden with nothing on, and + nothing to do except loaf, and make love, and lark, and laugh, and play + practical jokes on each other.” + </p> + <p> + Joe grinned. + </p> + <p> + “That would have been glorious. Wouldn't it, Joe? There'd have been no + 'sex problem' then.” + </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> + The Master's Mistake + </h2> + <p> + William Spencer stayed away from school that hot day, and “went swimming”. + The master wrote a note to William's father, and gave it to William's + brother Joe to carry home. + </p> + <p> + “You'll give that to your father to-night, Joseph.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Bill waited for Joe near the gap, and walked home with him. + </p> + <p> + “I s'pose you've got a note for father.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Joe. + </p> + <p> + “I s'pose you know what's in it?” + </p> + <p> + “Ye—yes. Oh, why did you stop away, Bill?” + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean to say that you're dirty mean enough to give it to father? + Hey?” + </p> + <p> + “I must, Will. I promised the master.” + </p> + <p> + “He needn't never know.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, he will. He's coming over to our place on Saturday, and he's + sure to ask me to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + Pause. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Joe!” said Bill, “I don't want to get a hiding and go without + supper to-night. I promised to go 'possuming with Johnny Nowlett, and he's + going to give me a fire out of his gun. You can come, too. I don't want to + cop out on it to-night—if I do I'll run away from home again, so + there.” + </p> + <p> + Bill walked on a bit in moody, Joe in troubled, silence. + </p> + <p> + Bill tried again: he threatened, argued, and pleaded, but Joe was firm. + “The master trusted me, Will,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Joe,” said Bill at last, after a long pause, “I wouldn't do it to you.” + </p> + <p> + Joe was troubled. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't do it to you, Joe.” + </p> + <p> + Joe thought how Bill had stood up and fought for him only last week. + </p> + <p> + “I'd tear the note in bits; I'd tell a hundred lies; I'd take a dozen + hidings first, Joe—I would.” + </p> + <p> + Joe was greatly troubled. His chest heaved, and the tears came to his + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I'd do more than that for you, Joe, and you know it.” + </p> + <p> + Joe knew it. They were crossing the old goldfield now. There was a shaft + close to the path; it had fallen in, funnel-shaped, at the top, but was + still thirty or forty feet deep; some old logs were jammed across about + five feet down. Joe suddenly snatched the note from his pocket and threw + it in. It fluttered to the other side and rested on a piece of the old + timber. Bill saw it, but said nothing, and, seeing their father coming + home from work, they hurried on. + </p> + <p> + Joe was deep in trouble now. Bill tried to comfort and cheer him, but it + was no use. Bill promised never to run away from home any more, to go to + school every day, and never to fight, or steal, or tell lies. But Joe had + betrayed his trust for the first time in his life, and wouldn't be + comforted. + </p> + <p> + Some time in the night Bill woke, and found Joe sitting up in bed crying. + </p> + <p> + “Why, what's the matter, Joe?” + </p> + <p> + “I never done a mean thing like that before,” sobbed Joe. “I wished I'd + chucked meself down the shaft instead. The master trusted me, Will; an' + now, if he asks me to-morrow, I'll have to tell a lie.” + </p> + <p> + “Then tell the truth, Joe, an' take the hidin'; it'll soon be over—just + a couple of cuts with the cane and it'll be all over.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, it won't. He won't never trust me any more. I've never been caned + in that school yet, Will, and if I am I'll never go again. Oh! why will + you run away from home, Will, and play the wag, and steal, and get us all + into such trouble? You don't know how mother takes on about it—you + don't know how it hurts father! I've deceived the master, and mother and + father to-day, just because you're so—so selfish,” and he laid down + and cried himself to sleep. + </p> + <p> + Bill lay awake and thought till daylight; then he got up quietly, put on + his clothes, and stole away from the house and across the flat, followed + by the dog, who thought it was a 'possum-hunting expedition. Bill wished + the dog would not be quite so demonstrative, at least until they got away + from the house. He went straight to the shaft, let himself down carefully + on to one of the old logs, and stooped to pick up the note, gleaming white + in the sickly summer daylight. Then the rotten timber gave way suddenly, + without a moment's warning. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + They found him that morning at about nine o'clock. The dog attracted the + attention of an old fossicker passing to his work. The letter was gripped + in Bill's right hand when they brought him up. They took him home, and the + father went for a doctor. Bill came to himself a little just before the + last, and said: “Mother! I wasn't running away, mother—tell father + that—I—I wanted to try and catch a 'possum on the ground.... + Where's Joe? I want Joe. Go out, mother, a minute, and send Joe.” + </p> + <p> + “Here I am, Bill,” said Joe, in a choking, terrified voice. + </p> + <p> + “Has the master been yet?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Bend down, Joe. I went for the note, and the logs gave way. I meant to be + back before they was up. I dropped it down inside the bed; you watch your + chance and get it; and say you forgot it last night—say you didn't + like to give it—that won't be a lie. Tell the master I'm—I'm + sorry—tell the master never to send no notes no more—except by + girls—that's all.... Mother! Take the blankets off me—I'm + dyin'.” + </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> + The Story of the Oracle + </h2> + <p> + “We young fellows,” said “Sympathy Joe” to Mitchell, after tea, in their + first camp west the river—“and you and I ARE young fellows, + comparatively—think we know the world. There are plenty of young + chaps knocking round in this country who reckon they've been through it + all before they're thirty. I've met cynics and men-o'-the-world, aged + twenty-one or thereabouts, who've never been further than a trip to + Sydney. They talk about 'this world' as if they'd knocked around in + half-a-dozen other worlds before they came across here—and they are + just as off-hand about it as older Australians are when they talk about + this colony as compared with the others. They say: 'My oath!—same + here.' 'I've been there.' 'My oath!—you're right.' 'Take it from + me!' and all that sort of thing. They understand women, and have a + contempt for 'em; and chaps that don't talk as they talk, or do as they + do, or see as they see, are either soft or ratty. A good many reckon that + 'life ain't blanky well worth livin''; sometimes they feel so blanky + somehow that they wouldn't give a blank whether they chucked it or not; + but that sort never chuck it. It's mostly the quiet men that do that, and + if they've got any complaints to make against the world they make 'em at + the head station. Why, I've known healthy, single, young fellows under + twenty-five who drank to drown their troubles—some because they + reckoned the world didn't understand nor appreciate 'em—as if it + COULD!” + </p> + <p> + “If the world don't understand or appreciate you,” said Mitchell solemnly, + as he reached for a burning stick to light his pipe—“MAKE it!” + </p> + <p> + “To drown THEIR troubles!” continued Joe, in a tone of impatient contempt. + “The Oracle must be well on towards the sixties; he can take his glass + with any man, but you never saw him drunk.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the Oracle to do with it?” + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever hear his history?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Do you know it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, though I don't think he has any idea that I do. Now, we were talking + about the Oracle a little while ago. We know he's an old ass; a good many + outsiders consider that he's a bit soft or ratty, and, as we're likely to + be mates together for some time on that fencing contract, if we get it, + you might as well know what sort of a man he is and was, so's you won't + get uneasy about him if he gets deaf for a while when you're talking, or + does funny things with his pipe or pint-pot, or walks up and down by + himself for an hour or so after tea, or sits on a log with his head in his + hands, or leans on the fence in the gloaming and keeps looking in a blank + sort of way, straight ahead, across the clearing. For he's gazing at + something a thousand miles across country, south-east, and about twenty + years back into the past, and no doubt he sees himself (as a young man), + and a Gippsland girl, spooning under the stars along between the + hop-gardens and the Mitchell River. And, if you get holt of a fiddle or a + concertina, don't rasp or swank too much on old tunes, when he's round, + for the Oracle can't stand it. Play something lively. He'll be down there + at that surveyor's camp yarning till all hours, so we'll have plenty of + time for the story—but don't you ever give him a hint that you know. + </p> + <p> + “My people knew him well; I got most of the story from them—mostly + from Uncle Bob, who knew him better than any. The rest leaked out through + the women—you know how things leak out amongst women?” + </p> + <p> + Mitchell dropped his head and scratched the back of it. HE knew. + </p> + <p> + “It was on the Cudgegong River. My Uncle Bob was mates with him on one of + those 'rushes' along there—the 'Pipeclay', I think it was, or the + 'Log Paddock'. The Oracle was a young man then, of course, and so was + Uncle Bob (he was a match for most men). You see the Oracle now, and you + can imagine what he was when he was a young man. Over six feet, and as + straight as a sapling, Uncle Bob said, clean-limbed, and as fresh as they + made men in those days; carried his hands behind him, as he does now, when + he hasn't got the swag—but his shoulders were back in those days. Of + course he wasn't the Oracle then; he was young Tom Marshall—but that + doesn't matter. Everybody liked him—especially women and children. + He was a bit happy-go-lucky and careless, but he didn't know anything + about 'this world', and didn't bother about it; he hadn't 'been there'. + 'And his heart was as good as gold,' my aunt used to say. He didn't + understand women as we young fellows do nowadays, and therefore he hadn't + any contempt for 'em. Perhaps he understood, and understands, them better + than any of us, without knowing it. Anyway, you know, he's always gentle + and kind where a woman or child is concerned, and doesn't like to hear us + talk about women as we do sometimes. + </p> + <p> + “There was a girl on the goldfields—a fine lump of a blonde, and + pretty gay. She came from Sydney, I think, with her people, who kept + shanties on the fields. She had a splendid voice, and used to sing + 'Madeline'. There might have been one or two bad women before that, in the + Oracle's world, but no cold-blooded, designing ones. He calls the bad ones + 'unfortunate'. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it was Tom's looks, or his freshness, or his innocence, or + softness—or all together—that attracted her. Anyway, he got + mixed up with her before the goldfield petered out. + </p> + <p> + “No doubt it took a long while for the facts to work into Tom's head that + a girl might sing like she did and yet be thoroughly unprincipled. The + Oracle was always slow at coming to a decision, but when he does it's + generally the right one. Anyway, you can take that for granted, for you + won't move him. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know whether he found out that she wasn't all that she pretented + to be to him, or whether they quarrelled, or whether she chucked him over + for a lucky digger. Tom never had any luck on the goldfields. Anyway, he + left and went over to the Victorian side, where his people were, and went + up Gippsland way. It was there for the first time in his life that he got + what you would call 'properly gone on a girl'; he got hard hit—he + met his fate. + </p> + <p> + “Her name was Bertha Bredt, I remember. Aunt Bob saw her afterwards. Aunt + Bob used to say that she was 'a girl as God made her'—a good, true, + womanly girl—one of those sort of girls that only love once. Tom got + on with her father, who was packing horses through the ranges to the new + goldfields—it was rough country and there were no roads; they had to + pack everything there in those days, and there was money in it. The girl's + father took to Tom—as almost everybody else did—and, as far as + the girl was concerned, I think it was a case of love at first sight. They + only knew each other for about six months, and were only 'courting' (as + they called it then) for three or four months altogether, but she was that + sort of girl that can love a man for six weeks and lose him for ever, and + yet go on loving him to the end of her life—and die with his name on + her lips. + </p> + <p> + “Well, things were brightening up every way for Tom, and he and his + sweetheart were beginning to talk about their own little home in future, + when there came a letter from the 'Madeline' girl in New South Wales. + </p> + <p> + “She was in terrible trouble. Her baby was to be born in a month. Her + people had kicked her out, and she was in danger of starving. She begged + and prayed of him to come back and marry her, if only for his child's + sake. He could go then, and be free; she would never trouble him any more—only + come and marry her for the child's sake. + </p> + <p> + “The Oracle doesn't know where he lost that letter, but I do. It was burnt + afterwards by a woman, who was more than a mother to him in his trouble—Aunt + Bob. She thought he might carry it round with the rest of his papers, in + his swag, for years, and come across it unexpectedly when he was camped by + himself in the bush and feeling dull. It wouldn't have done him any good + then. + </p> + <p> + “He must have fought the hardest fight in his life when he got that + letter. No doubt he walked to and fro, to and fro, all night, with his + hands behind him, and his eyes on the ground, as he does now sometimes. + Walking up and down helps you to fight a thing out. + </p> + <p> + “No doubt he thought of things pretty well as he thinks now: the poor + girl's shame on every tongue, and belled round the district by every hag + in the township; and she looked upon by women as being as bad as any man + who ever went to Bathurst in the old days, handcuffed between two + troopers. There is sympathy, a pipe and tobacco, a cheering word, and, + maybe, a whisky now and then, for the criminal on his journey; but there + is no mercy, at least as far as women are concerned, for the poor foolish + girl, who has to sneak out the back way and round by back streets and + lanes after dark, with a cloak on to hide her figure. + </p> + <p> + “Tom sent what money he thought he could spare, and next day he went to + the girl he loved and who loved him, and told her the truth, and showed + her the letter. She was only a girl—but the sort of girl you COULD + go to in a crisis like that. He had made up his mind to do the right + thing, and she loved him all the more for it. And so they parted. + </p> + <p> + “When Tom reached 'Pipeclay', the girl's relations, that she was stopping + with, had a parson readied up, and they were married the same day.” + </p> + <p> + “And what happened after that?” asked Mitchell. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing happened for three or four months; then the child was born. It + wasn't his!” + </p> + <p> + Mitchell stood up with an oath. + </p> + <p> + “The girl was thoroughly bad. She'd been carrying on with God knows how + many men, both before and after she trapped Tom.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did he do then?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you know how the Oracle argues over things, and I suppose he was as + big an old fool then as he is now. He thinks that, as most men would + deceive women if they could, when one man gets caught, he's got no call to + squeal about it; he's bound, because of the sins of men in general against + women, to make the best of it. What is one man's wrong counted against the + wrongs of hundreds of unfortunate girls. + </p> + <p> + “It's an uncommon way of arguing—like most of the Oracle's ideas—but + it seems to look all right at first sight. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he thought she'd go straight; perhaps she convinced him that he + was the cause of her first fall; anyway he stuck to her for more than a + year, and intended to take her away from that place as soon as he'd + scraped enough money together. It might have gone on up till now, if the + father of the child—a big black Irishman named Redmond—hadn't + come sneaking back at the end of a year. He—well, he came hanging + round Mrs. Marshall while Tom was away at work—and she encouraged + him. And Tom was forced to see it. + </p> + <p> + “Tom wanted to fight out his own battle without interference, but the + chaps wouldn't let him—they reckoned that he'd stand very little + show against Redmond, who was a very rough customer and a fighting man. My + uncle Bob, who was there still, fixed it up this way: The Oracle was to + fight Redmond, and if the Oracle got licked Uncle Bob was to take Redmond + on. If Redmond whipped Uncle Bob, that was to settle it; but if Uncle Bob + thrashed Redmond, then he was also to fight Redmond's mate, another big, + rough Paddy named Duigan. Then the affair would be finished—no + matter which way the last bout went. You see, Uncle Bob was reckoned more + of a match for Redmond than the Oracle was, so the thing looked fair + enough—at first sight. + </p> + <p> + “Redmond had his mate, Duigan, and one or two others of the rough gang + that used to terrorise the fields round there in the roaring days of + Gulgong. The Oracle had Uncle Bob, of course, and long Dave Regan, the + drover—a good-hearted, sawny kind of chap that'd break the devil's + own buck-jumper, or smash him, or get smashed himself—and little + Jimmy Nowlett, the bullocky, and one or two of the old, better-class + diggers that were left on the field. + </p> + <p> + “There's a clear space among the saplings in Specimen Gully, where they + used to pitch circuses; and here, in the cool of a summer evening, the two + men stood face to face. Redmond was a rough, roaring, foul-mouthed man; he + stripped to his shirt, and roared like a bull, and swore, and sneered, and + wanted to take the whole of Tom's crowd while he was at it, and make one + clean job of 'em. Couldn't waste time fighting them all one after the + other, because he wanted to get away to the new rush at Cattle Creek next + day. The fool had been drinking shanty-whisky. + </p> + <p> + “Tom stood up in his clean, white moles and white flannel shirt—one + of those sort with no sleeves, that give the arms play. He had a sort of + set expression and a look in his eyes that Uncle Bob—nor none of + them—had ever seen there before. 'Give us plenty of——room!' + roared Redmond; 'one of us is going to hell, now! This is going to be a + fight to a——finish, and a——short one!' And it + was!” Joe paused. + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” said Mitchell—“go on!” + </p> + <p> + Joe drew a long breath. + </p> + <p> + “The Oracle never got a mark! He was top-dog right from the start. Perhaps + it was his strength that Redmond had underrated, or his want of science + that puzzled him, or the awful silence of the man that frightened him (it + made even Uncle Bob uneasy). Or, perhaps, it was Providence (it was a + glorious chance for Providence), but, anyway, as I say, the Oracle never + got a mark, except on his knuckles. After a few rounds Redmond funked and + wanted to give in, but the chaps wouldn't let him—not even his own + mates—except Duigan. They made him take it as long as he could stand + on his feet. He even shammed to be knocked out, and roared out something + about having broken his——ankle—but it was no use. And + the Oracle! The chaps that knew thought that he'd refuse to fight, and + never hit a man that had given in. But he did. He just stood there with + that quiet look in his eyes and waited, and, when he did hit, there wasn't + any necessity for Redmond to PRETEND to be knocked down. You'll see a + glint of that old light in the Oracle's eyes even now, once in a while; + and when you do it's a sign that you or someone are going too far, and had + better pull up, for it's a red light on the line, old as he is. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Jimmy Nowlett was a nuggety little fellow, hard as cast iron, + good-hearted, but very excitable; and when the bashed Redmond was being + carted off (poor Uncle Bob was always pretty high-strung, and was sitting + on a log sobbing like a great child from the reaction), Duigan made some + sneering remark that only Jimmy Nowlett caught, and in an instant he was + up and at Duigan. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps Duigan was demoralised by his mate's defeat, or by the suddenness + of the attack; but, at all events, he got a hiding, too. Uncle Bob used to + say that it was the funniest thing he ever saw in his life. Jimmy kept + yelling: 'Let me get at him! By the Lord, let me get at him!' And nobody + was attempting to stop him, he WAS getting at him all the time—and + properly, too; and, when he'd knocked Duigan down, he'd dance round him + and call on him to get up; and every time he jumped or bounced, he'd + squeak like an india-rubber ball, Uncle Bob said, and he would nearly + burst his boiler trying to lug the big man on to his feet so's he could + knock him down again. It took two of Jimmy's mates all their time to lam + him down into a comparatively reasonable state of mind after the fight was + over. + </p> + <p> + “The Oracle left for Sydney next day, and Uncle Bob went with him. He + stayed at Uncle Bob's place for some time. He got very quiet, they said, + and gentle; he used to play with the children, and they got mighty fond of + him. The old folks thought his heart was broken, but it went through a + deeper sorrow still after that and it ain't broken yet. It takes a lot to + break the heart of a man.” + </p> + <p> + “And his wife,” asked Mitchell—“what became of her?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think he ever saw her again. She dropped down pretty low after he + left her—I've heard she's living somewhere quietly. The Oracle's + been sending someone money ever since I knew him, and I know it's a woman. + I suppose it's she. He isn't the sort of a man to see a woman starve—especially + a woman he had ever had anything to do with.” + </p> + <p> + “And the Gippsland girl?” asked Mitchell. + </p> + <p> + “That's the worst part of it all, I think. The Oracle went up North + somewhere. In the course of a year or two his affair got over Gippsland + way through a mate of his who lived over there, and at last the story got + to the ears of this girl, Bertha Bredt. She must have written a dozen + letters to him, Aunt Bob said. She knew what was in 'em, but, of course, + she'd never tell us. The Oracle only wrote one in reply. Then, what must + the girl do but clear out from home and make her way over to Sydney—to + Aunt Bob's place, looking for Tom. She never got any further. She took ill—brain-fever, + or broken heart, or something of that sort. All the time she was down her + cry was—'I want to see him! I want to find Tom! I only want to see + Tom!' + </p> + <p> + “When they saw she was dying, Aunt Bob wired to the Oracle to come—and + he came. When the girl saw it was Tom sitting by the bed, she just gave + one long look in his face, put her arms round his neck, and laid her head + on his shoulder—and died.... Here comes the Oracle now.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchell lifted the tea-billy on to the coals. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + From the original advertisements (March, 1900), books by the same author + </h2> + <h4> + When the World was Wide & Other Verses + </h4> + <h5> + By Henry Lawson, Author of “While the Billy Boils”. + </h5> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ninth Thousand. With photogravure portrait and vignette title. + Crown 8vo, cloth, gilt top, 5s.; post free, 5s. 5d. +</pre> + <p> + Mr. R. Le Gallienne, in The Idler: “A striking volume of ballad poetry. A + volume to console one for the tantalising postponement of Mr. Kipling's + promised volume of sea ballads.” + </p> + <p> + Weekly Chronicle, Newcastle (Eng.): “Swinging, rhythmic verse.” + </p> + <p> + Sydney Morning Herald: “The verses have natural vigour, the writer has a + rough, true faculty of characterisation, and the book is racy of the soil + from cover to cover.” + </p> + <p> + Melbourne Age: “'In the Days when the World was Wide and Other Verses', by + Henry Lawson, is poetry, and some of it poetry of a very high order.” + </p> + <p> + Otago Witness: “It were well to have such books upon our shelves... they + are true History.” + </p> + <p> + New Zealand Herald: “There is a heart-stirring ring about the verses.” + </p> + <p> + Bulletin: “How graphic he is, how natural, how true, how strong.” + </p> + <p> + While the Billy Boils: Australian Stories. + </p> + <p> + By Henry Lawson. + </p> + <p> + Author of “In the Days when the World was Wide”. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Twelfth Thousand. With eight plates and vignette title by F. P. Mahony. + Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d.; paper cover, 2s. 6d. (postage, 6d.) + + Also in two parts (each complete in itself), in picture covers, at 1s.; + post free, 1s. 3d. each (Commonwealth Series). +</pre> + <p> + The Academy: “A book of honest, direct, sympathetic, humorous writing + about Australia from within is worth a library of travellers' tales. Mr. + Lawson shows us what living in the bush really means. The result is a real + book—a book in a hundred. His language is terse, supple, and richly + idiomatic.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. A. Patchett Martin, in Literature (London): “A book which Mrs. + Campbell Praed, the Australian novelist, assured me made her feel that all + she had written of bush life was pale and ineffective.” + </p> + <p> + The Spectator: “In these days when short, dramatic stories are eagerly + looked for, it is strange that one we would venture to call the greatest + Australian writer should be practically unknown in England. Short stories, + but biting into the very heart of the bushman's life, ruthless in truth, + extraordinarily dramatic, and pathetically uneven....” + </p> + <p> + The Times: “A collection of short and vigorous studies and stories of + Australian life and character. A little in Bret Harte's manner, crossed, + perhaps, with that of Guy de Maupassant.” + </p> + <p> + [The Announcements at the end of this section give alternate titles for + two of Lawson's works, to wit: “On the Track” is given as such, but “Over + the Sliprails” is given as “By the Sliprails”, and the combined work “On + the Track and Over the Sliprails” is given as “By Track and Sliprails”. Of + course, only “On the Track” had actually been printed at the date of the + advertisement, so it might be theorized that these had been working + titles, afterwards discarded, whose inclusion here was overlooked.—A. + L., 1998.] + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- 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”. The opposite occurred with “Joe Wilson and His Mates”, + which was later divided into “Joe Wilson” and “Joe Wilson's Mates” + (1901). All of these works are now online, as well as one book of + Lawson's verse, “In the Days When the World was Wide” (1896). + </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"> + Billy: Any container used to boil water, especially for tea; a + special container designed for this purpose. + + Bunyip: [pronounced bun-yup] A large mythological creature, said + by the Aborigines to inhabit watery places. There may be some + relation to an actual creature that is now extinct. Lawson uses an + obsolete sense of the term, meaning “imposter”. + + Gin: An aboriginal woman; use of the term is analogous to “squaw” + in N. America. May be considered derogatory in modern usage. + + Goanna: Any of various lizards of the genus Varanus (monitor + lizards) native to Australia. + + Graft: Work; hard work. + + Gunyah: (Aboriginal) A rough or temporary hut or shelter in the + bush, especially one built from bark, branches, and the like. A + humpy, wurley, or mia-mia. Variant: Gunya. + + Jackeroo/Jackaroo: At the time Lawson wrote, a Jackaroo 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. + + Jimmy Woodser: A person who drinks alone; a drink drunk alone. + + Larrikin: A hoodlum. + + Lorry: A large, low wagon without sides, used for heavy loads. + + Mia-mia: (Aboriginal) A rough or temporary hut or shelter in the + bush, especially one built from bark, branches, and the like. A + humpy, wurley, or gunyah. + + Native bear: A koala. + + Pa: A Maori village. + + '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. + + Skillion: A lean-to or outbuilding. + + Sliprails/slip-rails: movable rails, forming a section of fence, + which can be taken down in lieu of a gate. “Over the Sliprails”, + the title of this volume, might be translated as “Through the Gate”. + + 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. + + Whare: [pronounced war-ee] A Maori term for a hut or similar + dwelling. +</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 R. Light, Monroe, North Carolina, April 1998.) + </p> + <p> + A number of obvious errors were corrected, after being compared against + other editions. The original edition was the primary source. + </p> + <br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> + <div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1313 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |