Frederick Winslow Taylor - "Shop Management"

Merwin Webster - "The Short Line War"

Jonathan Swift - "A Tale of a Tub"

Goldsworthy Lowes Dickinson - "The Greek View of Life"

Australia Felix

H >> Henry Handel Richardson (1870 1946) >> Australia Felix




But this was not his plan. Making as though he headed for the open, he
suddenly dashed off at right angles, and, with a final sprint, brought
up dead against a log-and-canvas store which stood on rising ground. His
adversary was so close behind that a collision resulted; the digger's
feet slid from under him, he fell on his face, the other on top. In
their fall they struck a huge pillar of tin-dishes, ingeniously built up
to the height of the store itself. This toppled over with a crash, and
the dishes went rolling down the slope between the legs of the police.
The dog chained to the flagstaff all but strangled himself in his rage
and excitement; and the owner of the store came running out.

"Purdy! . . . you! What in the name of . . .?"

The digger adroitly rolled his captor over, and there they both sat,
side by side on the ground, one gripping the other's collar, both too
blown to speak. A cordon of puffing constables hemmed them in.

The storekeeper frowned. "You've no licence, you young beggar!"

And: "Your licence, you scoundrel!" demanded the leader of the troop.

The prisoner's rejoinder was a saucy: "Now then, out with the cuffs,
Joe!"

He got on his feet as bidden; but awkwardly, for it appeared that in
falling he had hurt his ankle. Behind the police were massed the
diggers. These opened a narrow alley for the Camp officials to ride
through, but their attitude was hostile, and there were cries of: "Leave
'im go, yer blackguards! . . . after sich a run! None o yer bloody quod
for 'im!" along with other, more threatening expressions. Sombre and
taciturn, the Commissioner waved his hand. "Take him away!"

"Well, so long, Dick!" said the culprit jauntily; and, as he offered his
wrists to be handcuffed, he whistled an air.

Here the storekeeper hurriedly interposed: "No, stop! I'll give bail."
And darting into the tent and out again, he counted five one-pound notes
into the constable's palm. The lad's collar was released; and a murmur
of satisfaction mounted from the crowd.

At the sound the giver made as if to retire. Then, yielding to a second
thought, he stepped forward and saluted the Commissioner. "A young
hot-head, sir! He means no harm. I'll send him up in the morning, to
apologise."

("I'll be damned if you do!" muttered the digger between his teeth.)

But the Chief refused to be placated. "Good day, doctor," he said
shortly, and with his staff at heel trotted down the slope, followed
till out of earshot by a mocking fire of "Joes." Lingering in the rear,
the youthful sympathiser turned in his saddle and waved his cap.

The raid was over for that day. The crowd dispersed; its members became
orderly, hard-working men once more. The storekeeper hushed his frantic
dog, and called his assistant to rebuild the pillar of tins.

The young digger sat down on the log that served for a bench, and
examined his foot. He pulled and pulled, causing himself great pain, but
could not get his boot off. At last, looking back over his shoulder he
cried impatiently: "Dick!... I say, Dick Mahony! Give us a drink, old
boy! . . . I'm dead-beat."

At this the storekeeper--a tall, slenderly built man of some seven or
eight and twenty--appeared, bearing a jug and a pannikin.

"Oh, bah!" said the lad, when he found that the jug held only water.
And, on his friend reminding him that he might by now have been sitting
in the lock-up, he laughed and winked. "I knew you'd go bail."

"Well! . . . of all the confounded impudence. . . ."

"Faith, Dick, and d'ye think I didn't see how your hand itched for your
pocket?"

The man he called Mahony flushed above his fair beard. It was true: he
had made an involuntary movement of the hand--checked for the rest
halfway, by the knowledge that the pocket was empty. He looked
displeased and said nothing.

"Don't be afraid, I'll pay you back soon's ever me ship comes home,"
went on the young scapegrace, who very well knew how to play his cards.
At his companion's heated disclaimer, however, he changed his tone. "I
say, Dick, have a look at my foot, will you? I can't get this damned
boot off."

The elder man bent over the injury. He ceased to show displeasure.
"Purdy, you young fool, when will you learn wisdom?"

"Well, they shouldn't hunt old women, then--the swine!" gave back
Purdy; and told his tale. "Oh, lor! there go six canaries." For, at his
wincing and shrinking, his friend had taken a penknife and ripped up the
jackboot. Now, practised hands explored the swollen, discoloured ankle.

When it had been washed and bandaged, its owner stretched himself on the
ground, his head in the shade of a barrel, and went to sleep.

He slept till sundown, through all the traffic of a busy afternoon.

Some half-a-hundred customers came and went. The greater number of them
were earth-stained diggers, who ran up for, it might be, a missing tool,
or a hide bucket, or a coil of rope. They spat jets of tobacco-juice,
were richly profane, paid, where coin was scarce, in gold-dust from a
match-box, and hurried back to work. But there also came old harridans--as
often as not, diggers themselves--whose language outdid that of the
males, and dirty Irish mothers; besides a couple of the white women who
inhabited the Chinese quarter. One of these was in liquor, and a great
hullabaloo took place before she could be got rid of. Put out, she stood
in front of the tent, her hair hanging down her back, cursing and
reviling. Respectable women as well did an afternoon's shopping there.
In no haste to be gone, they sat about on empty boxes or upturned
barrels exchanging confidences, while weary children plucked at their
skirts. A party of youngsters entered, the tallest of whom could just
see over the counter, and called for shandygaffs. The assistant was for
chasing them off, with hard words. But the storekeeper put, instead, a
stick of barley-sugar into each dirty, outstretched hand, and the imps
retired well content. On their heels came a digger and his lady-love to
choose a wedding-outfit; and all the gaudy finery the store held was
displayed before them. A red velvet dress flounced with satin, a pink
gauze bonnet, white satin shoes and white silk stockings met their
fancy. The dewy-lipped, smutty-lashed Irish girl blushed and dimpled, in
consulting with the shopman upon the stays in which to lace her ample
figure; the digger, whose very pores oozed gold, planked down handfuls
of dust and nuggets, and brushed aside a neat Paisley shawl for one of
yellow satin, the fellow to which he swore to having seen on the back of
the Governor's lady herself. He showered brandy-snaps on the children,
and bought a polka-jacket for a shabby old woman. Then, producing a
bottle of champagne from a sack he bore, he called on those present to
give him, after: "'Er most Gracious little Majesty, God bless 'er!" the:
"'Oly estate of materimony!" The empty bottle smashed for luck, the
couple departed arm-in-arm, carrying their purchases in the sack; and
the rest of the company trooped to the door with them, to wish them joy.

Within the narrow confines of the tent, where red-herrings trailed over
moleskin-shorts, and East India pickles and Hessian boots lay on the top
of sugar and mess-pork; where cheeses rubbed shoulders with tallow
candles, blue and red serge shirts, and captain's biscuits; where
onions, and guernseys, and sardines, fine combs, cigars and bear's-grease,
Windsor soap, tinned coffee and hair oil, revolvers, shovels and
Oxford shoes, lay in one grand miscellany: within the crowded store, as
the afternoon wore on, the air grew rank and oppressive. Precisely at
six o'clock the bar was let down across the door, and the storekeeper
withdrew to his living-room at the back of the tent. Here he changed his
coat and meticulously washed his hands, to which clung a subtle blend of
all the strong-smelling goods that had passed through them. Then, coming
round to the front, he sat down on the log and took out his pipe. He
made a point, no matter how brisk trade was, of not keeping open after
dark. His evenings were his own.

He sat and puffed, tranquilly. It was a fine night. The first showy
splendour of sunset had passed; but the upper sky was still aflush with
colour. And in the centre of this frail cloud, which faded as he watched
it, swam a single star.




Chapter II

With the passing of a cooler air the sleeper wakened and rubbed his
eyes. Letting his injured leg lie undisturbed, he drew up the other knee
and buckled his hands round it. In this position he sat and talked.

He was a dark, fresh-coloured young man, of middle height, and broadly
built. He had large white teeth of a kind to crack nuts with, and the
full, wide, flexible mouth that denotes the generous talker.

"What a wind-bag it is, to be sure!" thought his companion, as he smoked
and listened, in a gently ironic silence, to abuse of the Government. He
knew--or thought he knew--young Purdy inside out.

But behind all the froth of the boy's talk there lurked, it seemed, a
purpose. No sooner was a meal of cold chop and tea over than Purdy
declared his intention of being present at a meeting of malcontent
diggers. Nor would he even wait to wash himself clean of mud.

His friend reluctantly agreed to lend him an arm. But he could not
refrain from taking the lad to task for getting entangled in the
political imbroglio. "When, as you know, it's just a kind of sport to
you."

Purdy sulked for a few paces, then burst out: "If only you weren't so
damned detached, Dick Mahony!"

"You're restless, and want excitement, my boy--that's the root of the
trouble."

"Well, I'm jiggered! If ever I knew a restless mortal, it's yourself."

The two men picked their steps across the Flat and up the opposite
hillside, young Purdy Smith limping and leaning heavy, his lame foot
thrust into an old slipper. He was at all times hail-fellow-well-met
with the world. Now, in addition, his plucky exploit of the afternoon
blazed its way through the settlement; and blarney and bravos rained
upon him. "Golly for you, Purdy, old 'oss!" "Showed 'em the diggers'
flag, 'e did!" "What'll you take, me buck? Come on in for a drop o' the
real strip-me-down-naked!" Even a weary old strumpet, propping herself
against the doorway of a dancing-saloon, waved a tipsy hand and cried:
"Arrah, an' is it yerrself, Purrdy, me bhoy? Shure an' it's bussin' ye
I'd be afther--if me legs would carry me!" And Purdy laughed, and
relished the honey, and had an answer pat for everybody especially the
women. His companion on the other hand was greeted with a glibness that
had something perfunctory in it, and no touch of familiarity.

The big canvas tent on Bakery Hill, where the meeting was to be held,
was already lighted; and at the tinkle of a bell the diggers, who till
then had stood cracking and hobnobbing outside, began to push for the
entrance. The bulk of them belonged to the race that is quickest to
resent injustice--were Irish. After them in number came the Germans,
swaggering and voluble; and the inflammable French, English, Scotch and
Americans formed a smaller and cooler, but very dogged group.

At the end of the tent a rough platform had been erected, on which stood
a row of cane seats. In the body of the hall, the benches were formed of
boards, laid from one upturned keg or tub to another. The chair was
taken by a local auctioneer, a cadaverous-looking man, with never a
twinkle in his eye, who, in a lengthy discourse and with the single
monotonous gesture of beating the palm of one hand with the back of the
other, strove to bring home to his audience the degradation of their
present political status. The diggers chewed and spat, and listened to
his periods with sang-froid: the shame of their state did not greatly
move them. They followed, too, with composure, the rehearsal of their
general grievances. As they were aware, said the speaker, the
Legislative Council of Victoria was made up largely of Crown nominees;
in the election of members the gold-seeking population had no voice
whatsoever. This was a scandalous thing; for the digging constituent
outnumbered all the rest of the population put together, thus forming
what he would call the backbone and mainstay of the colony. The labour
of THEIR hands had raised the colony to its present pitch of prosperity.
And yet these same bold and hardy pioneers were held incapable of
deciding jot or tittle in the public affairs of their adopted home.
Still unmoved, the diggers listened to this recital of their virtues.
But when one man, growing weary of the speaker's unctuous wordiness,
discharged a fierce: "Why the hell don't yer git on to the bloody
licence-tax?" the audience was fire and flame in an instant. A riotous
noise ensued; rough throats rang changes on the question. Order
restored, it was evident that the speech was over. Thrown violently out
of his concept, the auctioneer struck and struck at his palm--in vain;
nothing would come. So, making the best of a bad job, he irately sat
down in favour of his successor on the programme.

This speaker did not fare much better. The assemblage, roused now, jolly
and merciless, was not disposed to give quarter; and his obtuseness in
dawdling over such high-flown notions as that population, not property,
formed the basis of representative government, reaped him a harvest of
boos and groans. This was not what the diggers had come out to hear. And
they were as direct as children in their demand for the gist of the
matter.

"A reg-lar ol' shicer!" was the unanimous opinion, expressed without
scruple. While from the back of the hall came the curt request to him to
shut his "tater-trap."

Next on the list was a German, a ruddy-faced man with mutton-chop
whiskers and prominent, watery eyes. He could not manage the letter "r."
In the body of a word where it was negligible, he rolled it out as
though it stood three deep. Did he tackle it as an initial, on the other
hand, his tongue seemed to cleave to his palate, and to yield only an
"l." This quaint defect caused some merriment at the start, but was soon
eclipsed by a more striking oddity. The speaker had the habit of, as it
were, creaking with his nose. After each few sentences he paused, to
give himself time to produce something between a creak and a snore--an
abortive attempt to get at a mucus that was plainly out of reach.

The diggers were beside themselves with mirth.

"'E's forgot 'is 'ankey!"

"'Ere, boys, look slippy!--a 'ankey for ol' sausage!"

But the German was not sensitive to ridicule. He had something to say,
and he was there to say it. Fixing his fish-like eyes on a spot high up
the tent wall, he kept them pinned to it, while he mouthed out
blood-and-thunder invectives. He was, it seemed, a red-hot revolutionist;
a fierce denouncer of British rule. He declared the British monarchy to be
an effete institution; the fetish of British freedom to have been
"exbloded" long ago. What they needed, in this grand young country of
theirs, was a "republic"; they must rid themselves of those shackles
that had been forged in the days when men were slaves. It was his sound
conviction that before many weeks had passed, the Union Jack would have
been hauled down for ever, and the glorious Southern Cross would wave in
its stead, over a free Australia. The day on which this happened would
be a never-to-be-forgotten date in the annals of the country. For what,
he would like to know, had the British flag ever done for freedom, at
any time in the world's history? They should read in their school-books,
and there they would learn that wherever a people had risen against
their tyrants, the Union Jack had waved, not over them, but over the
British troops sent to stamp the rising out.

This was more than Mahony could stomach. Flashing up from his seat, he
strove to assert himself above the hum of agreement that mounted from
the foreign contingent, and the doubtful sort of grumble by which the
Britisher signifies his disapproval.

"Mr. Chairman! Gentlemen!" he cried in a loud voice. "I call upon those
loyal subjects of her Majesty who are present here, to join with me in
giving three cheers for the British flag. Hip, hip, hurrah! And, again,
hip, hip, hurrah! And, once more, hip, hip, hurrah!"

His compatriots followed him, though flabbily; and he continued to make
himself heard above the shouts of "Order!" and the bimming of the
chairman's bell.

"Mr. Chairman! I appeal to you. Are we Britons to sit still and hear our
country's flag reviled?--that flag which has ensured us the very
liberty we are enjoying this evening. The gentleman who has been pleased
to slander it is not, I believe, a British citizen. Now, I put it to
him: is there another country on the face of the earth, that would allow
people of all nations to flock into a gold-bearing colony on terms of
perfect equality with its own subjects?--to flock in, take all they can
get, and then make off with it?" a point of view that elicited forcible
grunts of assent, which held their own against hoots and hisses.
Unfortunately the speaker did not stop here, but went on: "Gentlemen! Do
not, I implore you, allow yourselves to be led astray by a handful of
ungrateful foreigners, who have received nothing but benefits from our
Crown. What you need, gentlemen, is not revolution, but reform; not
strife and bloodshed, but a liberty consistent with law and order. And
this, gentlemen,----"

("You'll never get 'em like that, Dick," muttered Purdy.)

"Not so much gentlemening, if YOU please!" said a sinister-looking man,
who might have been a Vandemonian in his day. "MEN'S what we are--that's
good enough for us."

Mahony was nettled. The foreigners, too, were pressing him.

"Am I then to believe, sir, what I frequently hear asserted, that there
are no gentlemen left on the diggings?"

("Oh lor, Dick!" said Purdy. He was sitting with his elbows on his
knees, clutching his cheeks as though he had the toothache.)

"Oh, stow yer blatherskite!"

"Believe what yer bloody well like!" retorted the Vandemonian fiercely.
"But don't come 'ere and interrupt our pleasant and h'orderly meetings
with YOUR blamed jaw."

Mahony lost his temper. "I not interrupt?--when I see you great hulks
of men--"

("Oh, lor!" groaned Purdy again.)

"--who call yourselves British subjects, letting yourselves be led by
the nose, like the sheep you are, by a pack of foreigners who are basely
accepting this country's hospital'ty?"

"Here, let me," said Purdy. And pushing his way along the bench he
hobbled to the platform, where several arms hoisted him up.

There he stood, fronting the violent commotion that had ensued on his
friend's last words; stood bedraggled, mud-stained, bandaged, his
cabbage-tree hat in his hand. And Mahony, still on his feet, angrily
erect, thought he understood why the boy had refused to wash himself
clean, or to change his dress: he had no doubt foreseen the possibility
of some such dramatic appearance.

Purdy waited for the hubbub to die down. As if by chance he had rested
his hand on the bell; its provoking tinkle ceased. Now he broke into one
of the frank and hearty smiles that never fail to conciliate.

"Brother diggers!"

The strongly spoken words induced an abrupt lull. The audience turned to
him, still thorny and sulky it was true, but yet they turned; and one
among them demanded a hearing for the youngster.

"Brother diggers! We are met here to-night with a single purpose in
view. Brother diggers! We are not met here to throw mud at our dear old
country's flag! Nor will we have a word said against her most gracious
Majesty, the Queen. Not us! We're men first, whose business it is to
stand up for a gallant little woman, and diggers with a grievance
afterwards. Are you with me, boys?--Very well, then.--Now we didn't
come here to-night to confab about getting votes, or having a hand in
public affairs--much as we want 'em both and mean to have 'em, when the
time comes. No, to-night there's only one thing that matters to us, and
that's the repeal of the accursed tax!" Here, such a tempest of applause
broke out that he was unable to proceed. "Yes, I say it again," he went
on, when they would let him speak; "the instant repeal! When that's been
done, this curse taken off us, then it'll be time enough to parlez-vous
about the colour of the flag we mean to have, and about going shares in
the Government. But let me make one thing clear to you. We're neither
traitors to the Crown, nor common rebels. We're true-blue Britons, who
have been goaded to rebellion by one of the vilest pieces of tyranny
that ever saw the light. Spies and informers are everywhere about us.
Mr. Commissioner Sleuth and his hounds may cry tally-ho every day, if
'tis their pleasure to! To put it shortly, boys, we're living under
semi-martial law. To such a state have we free-born men, men who came
out but to see the elephant, been reduced, by the asinine stupidity of
the Government, by the impudence and knavishness of its officials.
Brother diggers! When you leave the hall this evening, look over at the
hill on which the Camp stands! What will you see? You will see a blaze
of light, and hear the sounds of revelry by night. There, boys, hidden
from our mortal view, but visible to our mind's eye, sit Charley Joe's
minions, carousing at our expense, washing down each mouthful with good
fizz bought with our hard-earned gold. Licence-pickings, boys, and tips
from new grog-shops, and the blasted farce of the Commissariat! We're
supposed--"

But here Mahony gave a loud click of the tongue--in the general howl of
execration it passed unheard--and, pushing his way out of the tent, let
the flap-door fall to behind him.




Chapter III

He retraced his steps by the safe-conduct of a full moon, which showed
up the gaping black mouths of circular shafts and silvered the water
that flooded abandoned oblong holes to their brim. Tents and huts stood
white and forsaken in the moonlight: their owners were either gathered
on Bakery Hill, or had repaired to one of the gambling and dancing
saloons that lined the main street. Arrived at the store he set his
frantic dog free, and putting a match to his pipe, began to stroll up
and down.

He felt annoyed with himself for having helped to swell the crowd of
malcontents; and still more for his foolishness in giving the rein to a
momentary irritation. As if it mattered a doit what trash these
foreigners talked! No thinking person took their bombast seriously; the
authorities, with great good sense, let it pass for what it was--a
noisy blowing-off of steam. At heart, the diggers were as sound as good
pippins.

A graver consideration was Purdy's growing fellowship with the rebel
faction. The boy was too young and still too much of a fly-by-night to
have a black mark set against his name. It would be the more absurd,
considering that his sincerity in espousing the diggers' cause was far
from proved. He was of a nature to ride tantivy into anything that
promised excitement or adventure. With, it must regretfully be admitted,
an increasing relish for the limelight, for theatrical effect--see the
cunning with which he had made capital out of a bandaged ankle and dirty
dress! At this rate, and with his engaging ways, he would soon stand for
a little god to the rough, artless crowd. No, he must leave the diggings
--and Mahony rolled various schemes in his mind. He had it! In the
course of the next week or two business would make a journey to
Melbourne imperative. Well, he would damn the extra expense and take the
boy along with him! Purdy was at a loose end, and would no doubt rise
like a fish to a fly at the chance of getting to town free of cost.
After all, why be hard on him? He was not much over twenty, and, at that
age, it was natural enough--especially in a place like this--for a lad
to flit like a butterfly from every cup that took his restless fancy.

Restless? . . . h'm! It was the word Purdy had flung back at him,
earlier in the evening. At the time, he had rebutted the charge, with a
glance at fifteen months spent behind the counter of a store. But there
was a modicum of truth in it, none the less. The life one led out here
was not calculated to tone down any innate restlessness of temperament:
on the contrary, it directly hindered one from becoming fixed and
settled. It was on a par with the houses you lived in--these flimsy
tents and draught-riddled cabins you put up with, "for the time being"--
was just as much of a makeshift affair as they. Its keynote was change.
Fortunes were made, and lost, and made again, before you could say Jack
Robinson; whole townships shot up over-night, to be deserted the moment
the soil ceased to yield; the people you knew were here to-day, and gone
--sold up, burnt out, or dead and buried--to-morrow. And so, whether
you would or not, your whole outlook became attuned to the general
unrest; you lived in a constant anticipation of what was coming next.
Well, he could own to the weakness with more justification than most. If
trade continued to prosper with him as it did at present, it would be no
time before he could sell out and joyfully depart for the old country.

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