We of the Never Never
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Jeanie Mrs. Aeneas Gunn >> We of the Never Never
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For a few days the man rested, and then, just when work--hard
work--was the one thing needful, Dan came in for a consultation,
and with him a traveller, the bearer of a message from our kind,
great-hearted chief to say that work was waiting for the mate at the
line party. Our chief was the personification of all that is best
in the bush-folk (as all bushmen will testify to his memory)--
men's lives crossed his by chance just here and there, but at those
crossing places life have been happier and better. For one long
weary day the mate's life had run parallel with our chief's,
and because of that, when he left us his heart was lighter than
ever we had dared to hope for. But this man was not to fade quite
out of our lives, for deep in that loyal heart the Maluka had been
enshrined as "one in ten thousand."
CHAPTER XVII
The bearer of the chief's message had also carried out all extra
mail for us, and, opening it, we found the usual questions of the
South folk.
"Whatever do you do with your time?" they all asked. "The monotony
would kill me," some declared. "Every day must seem the same,"
said others: every one agreeing that life out-bush was stagnation,
and all marvelling that we did not die of ennui.
"Whatever do you do with your time?" The day Neaves's mate left
was devoted to housekeeping duties--"spring-cleaning," the Maluka
called it, while Dan drew vivid word-pictures of dogs cleaning
their own chains. The day after that was filled in with preparations
for a walk-about, and the next again found us camped at Bitter
Springs. Monotony! when of the thirty days that followed these
three every day was alike only in being different from any other,
excepting in their almost unvarying menu: beef and damper and tea
for a first course, and tea and damper and jam for a second.
They also resembled each other, and all other days out-bush,
in the necessity of dressing in a camp mosquito net. "Stagnation!"
they called it, when no day was long enough for its work, and almost
every night found us camped a day's journey from our breakfast camp.
It was August, well on in the Dry, and on a cattle station in
the Never-Never "things hum" in August. All the surface waters
are drying up by then, and the outside cattle--those scattered
away beyond the borders--are obliged to come in to the permanent
waters, and must be gathered in and branded before the showers
scatter them again.
We were altogether at the Springs: Dan, the Dandy, the Quiet
Stockman, ourselves, every horse-"boy" that could be mustered,
a numerous staff of camp "boys" for the Dandy's work, and an almost
complete complement of dogs, Little Tiddle'ums only being absent,
detained at the homestead this time with the cares of a nursery.
A goodly company all told as we sat among the camp fires, with our
horses clanking through the timber in their hobbles: forty horses
and more, pack teams and relays for the whole company and riding
hacks, in addition to both stock and camp horses for active
mustering; for it requires over two hundred horses to get through
successfully a year's work on a "little place like the Elsey."
Every one of the company had his special work to attend to;
but every one's work was concerned with cattle, and cattle only.
The musterers were to work every area of country again and again,
and the Dandy's work began in the building of the much-needed
yard to the north-west.
We breakfasted at the Springs all together, had dinner miles
apart, and all met again at the Stirling for supper. Dan
and ourselves dined also at the Stirling on damper and "push"
and vile-smelling blue-black tea. The damper had been carried
in company with some beef and tea, in Dan's saddle-pouch; the tea
was made with the thick, muddy, almost putrid water of the fast-drying
water hole, and the "push" was provided by force of circumstances,
the pack teams being miles away with the plates, knives, and forks.
Out-bush we take the good with the bad as we find it; so we sat
among towering white-ant hills, drinking as little of the tea as
possible and enjoying the damper and "push" with hungry relish.
Around the Stirling are acres of red-coloured, queer-shaped
uncanny white ant hills, and camped among these we sat, each
served with a slice of damper that carried a smaller slice of beef
upon it, providing the "push" by cutting off small pieces of the
beef with a pen-knife, and "pushing" them along the damper to
the edge of the slice, to be bitten off from there in hearty
mouthfuls.
No butter, of course. In Darwin, eight months before we had
tasted our last butter on ship-board, for tinned butter, out-bush,
in the tropics, is as palatable as castor oil. The tea had been
made in the Maluka's quart-pot, our cups having been carried
dangling from our saddles, in the approved manner of the bush-folk.
We breakfasted at the Springs, surrounded by the soft forest
beauty; ate our dinner in the midst of grotesque ant-hill scenery,
and spent the afternoon looking for a lost water-hole.
The Dandy was to build his yard at this hole when it was
found, but the difficulty was to find it. The Sanguine Scot had
"dropped on it once," by chance, but lost his bearing later on.
All we knew was that it was there to be found somewhere in that
corner of the run--a deep permanent hole, "back in the scrub
somewhere," according to the directions of the Sanguine Scot.
Of course the black boys could have found it; but it is the habit
of black boys to be quite ignorant of the whereabouts of all lost
or unknown waters, for when a black fellow is "wanted" he is looked
for at water, and in his wisdom keeps any "water" he can a secret
from the white folk, an unknown "water" making a safe hiding-place
when it suits a black fellow to obliterate himself for a while.
Eventually we found our hole, after long wanderings and futile
excursions up gullies and by-ways, riding always in single file,
with the men in front to break down a track through scrub
and grass, and the missus behind on old Roper.
"Like a cow's tail," Dan said, mentally reviewing the order
of the procession, as, after dismounting, we walked round our
find--a wide-spreading sheet of deep, clay--coloured water, snugly
hidden behind scrubby banks.
As we clambered on, two bushmen all in white, a dog or two,
and a woman in a holland riding-dress, the Maluka pointed out
the inaptness of the simile.
"A cow's tail," he said, "is wanting in expression and takes no
interest in its owner's hopes and fears," and suggested a dog's tail
as a more happy comparison. "Has she not wagged along behind her
owner all afternoon?" he asked, "drooping in sympathy whenever
his hopes came to nothing; stiffening expectantly at other times,
and is even now vibrating with pleasure in this his hour of triumph."
Bush-folk being old fashioned, no one raised any objection to
the term "owner," as Dan chuckled over the amendment.
After thinking the matter well out, Dan decided he was "what
you might call a tail-less tyke." "We've had to manage without
any wagging, haven't we, Brown, old chap?" he said, unconscious
of the note in his voice that told of lonely years and vague
longings.
As Brown acknowledged this reference to himself, by stirring
the circle of hairs that expressed his sentiments to the world,
Dan further proved the expansiveness of the Maluka's simile.
"You might have noticed," he went on, "that when a dog does
own a tail he generally manages to keep it out of the fight
somehow." (In marriage as Dan had known it, strong men had
stood between their women and the sharp cuffs and blows of life;
"keeping her out of the fight somehow.") Then the procession
preparing to re-form, as the Maluka, catching Roper, mounted me
again, Dan completely rounded off the simile. "Dogs seem able to
wrestle through somehow without a tail," he said, " but I reckon
a tail 'ud have a bit of a job getting along without a dog."
As usual, Dan's whimsical fancy had burrowed deep into the heart
of a great truth; for, in spite of what "tails" may say, how few
there are of us who have any desire to "get along without the dog."
We left the water-hole about five o'clock, and riding into
the Stirling camp at sundown, found the Dandy there, busy at the
fire, with a dozen or so of large silver fish spread out on green
leaves beside him.
"Good enough!" Dan cried at the first sight of them, and the Dandy
explained that the boys had caught "shoals of 'em" at his dinner-camp
at the Fish Hole, assuring us that the water there was "stiff
with 'em." But the Dandy had been busy elsewhere. "Good enough!"
Dan had said at the sight of the fish, and pointing to a billy
full of clear, sweet water that was just thinking of boiling,
the Maluka echoed the sentiment if not the words.
"Dug a soakage along the creek a bit and got it," the Dandy
explained; and as we blessed him for his thoughtfulness, he lifted
up a clean cloth and displayed a pile of crisp Johnny cakes.
"Real slap up ones," he assured us, breaking open one of the crisp,
spongy rolls. It was always a treat to be in camp with the Dandy:
everything about the man was so crisp and clean and wholesome.
As we settled down to supper, the Fizzer came shouting through
the ant-hills, and, soon after, the Quiet Stockrnan rode into camp.
Our Fizzer was always the Fizzer. "Managed to escape without help?"
he shouted in welcome as he came to the camp fire, alluding
to his promise "to do a rescue"; and then he surveyed our supper.
"Struck it lucky, as usual," he declared, helping himself to a couple
of fish from the fire and breaking open one of the crisp Johnny cakes.
"Can't beat grilled fish and hot rolls by much, to say nothin'
of tea." The Fizzer was one of those happy, natural people who
always find the supply exactly suited to the demand.
But if our Fizzer was just our Fizzer, the Quiet Stockman was
changing every day. He was still the Quiet Stockman, and always
would be, speaking only when he had something to say, but he
was learning that he had much to say that was worth saying, or,
rather, much that others found worth listening to; and that
knowledge was squaring his shoulders and bringing a new ring into
his voice.
Around the camp fires we touched on any subject that suggested
itself, but at the Stirling that night, four of us being Scotch,
we found Scotland and Scotchmen an inexhaustible topic,
and before we turned in were all of Jack's opinion, that "you
can't beat the Scots." Even the Dandy and the Fizzer were converted;
and Jack having realised that there are such things as Scotchwomen--
Scotch-hearted women--a new bond was established between us.
No one had much sleep that night, and before dawn there was no
doubt left in our mind about the outside cattle coming in.
It seemed as though every beast on the run must have come in
to the Stirling that night for a drink. Every water-hole out-bush
is as the axis of a great circle, cattle pads narrowing into it
like the spokes of a wheel, from every point of the compass,
and along these pads around the Stirling mob after mob of cattle
came in in single file, treading carelessly, until each old bull
leader, scenting the camp, gave its low, deep, drawn-out warning
call that told of danger at hand. After that rang out, only
an occasional snapping twig betrayed the presence of the cattle
as they crept cautiously in for the drink that must be procured
at all hazards. But after the drink the only point to be considered
was safety, and in a crashing stampede they rushed out into the timber.
Till long after midnight they were at it, and as Brown and I
were convirced that every mob was coming straight over our net,
we spent an uneasy night. To make matters worse, just as the camp
was settling down to a deep sleep after the cattle had finally
subsided, Dan's camp reveille rang out.
It was barely three o'clock, and the Fizzer raised an indignant
protest of: "Moonrise, you bally ass."
"Not it," Dan persisted, unfortunately bent on argument;
"not at this quarter of the moon, and besides it was moonlight
all evening," and, that being a strong peg to hang his argument on,
investigating heads appeared from various nets. "Seem to think
I don't know dawn when I see it," Dan added, full of scorn
for the camp's want of observation; but before we had time
to wither before his scorn, Jack turned the tables for us
with his usual quiet finality. "That's the west you're looking
at," he said. "The moon's just set"; and the curtain of Dan's
net dropped instantly.
"Told you he was a bally ass," the Fizzer shouted in his delight,
and promising Dan something later on, he lay down to rest.
Dan, however, was hopelessly roused. "Never did that before,"
gurgled out of his net, just as we were dropping off once more;
but a withering request from the Dandy to "gather experience
somewhere else," silenced him till dawn, when he had the wisdom
to rise without further reveille.
After breakfast we all separated again: the Dandy to his
yard-building at the Yellow Hole, and the rest of us, with
the cattle boys, in various directions, to see where the cattle
were, each party with its team of horses, and carrying in its
packs a bluey, an oilskin, a mosquito net, a plate, knife,
and fork apiece, as well as a "change of duds" and a bite of tucker
for all: the bite of tucker to be replenished with a killer when
necessary, the change of duds to be washed by the boys also
when necessary, and the plate to serve for all courses, the fastidious
turning it over for the damper and jam course.
The Maluka spent one day with Dan beyond the "frontgate"--
his tail wagging along behind as a matter of course--another day
passed boundary-riding, inspecting water-holes, and doubling
back to the Dandy's camp to see his plans; then, picking up the
Quiet Stockman, we struck out across country, riding four abreast
through the open forest-lands, and were camped at sundown, in
the thick of the cattle, miles from the Dandy's camp, and thirty
miles due north from the homestead. "Whatever do you do with
your time?" asked the South folk.
Dan was in high spirits: cattle were coming in everywhere,
and another beautiful permanent "water" had been discovered
in unsuspected ambush. To know all the waters of a run is
important; for they take the part of fences, keeping the cattle in
certain localities; and as cattle must stay within a day's
journey or so of water, an unknown water is apt to upset a man's
calculations.
As the honour of finding the hole was all Dan's, it was named
DS. in his honour, and we had waited beside it while he cut his
initials deep into the trunk of a tree, deploring the rustiness
of his education as he carved. The upright stroke of the D
was simplicity itself, but after that complications arose.
"It's always got me dodged which way to turn the darned thing,"
Dan said, scratching faint lines both ways, and standing off
to decide the question. We advised turning to the right, and the D
was satisfactorily completed, but S proved the "dead finish,"
and had to be wrestled with separately.
"Can't see why they don't name a chap with something that's
easily wrote," Dan said, as we rode forward, with our united team
of horses and boys swinging along behind us, and M and T and O
were quoted as examples. "Reading's always had me dodged,"
he explained. "Left school before I had time to get it down
and wrestle with it."
"There's nothing like reading and writing," the Quiet Stockman
broke in, with an earnestness that was almost startling; and as
he sat that evening in the firelight poring over the "Cardinal's
Snuff-box," I watched him with a new interest.
Jack's reading was very puzzling. He always had the same book--
that "Cardinal's Snuff-box"--and pored over it with a strange
persistence, that could not have been inspired by the book.
There was no expression on his face of lively interest or pleasure,
just an intent, dogged persistence; the strong, firm chin set as
though he were colt-breaking. Gradually, as I watched him that
night, the truth dawned on me: the man was trying to teach himself
to read. The "Cardinal's Snuff-box"! and the only clue to the
mystery, a fair knowledge of the alphabet learned away in a childish
past. In truth, it takes a deal to "beat the Scots," or, what
is even better, to make them feel that they are beaten.
As I watched, full of admiration, for the proud, strong character
of the man, he looked up suddenly, and, in a flash, knew that
I knew. Flushing hotly, he rose, and "thought he would turn in ";
and Dan, who had been discussing education most of the evening,
decided to "bottle off a bit of sleep too for next day's use,"
and opened up his swag.
"There's one thing about not being too good at the reading
trick," he said, surveying his permanent property: "a chap doesn't
need to carry books round with him to put in the spare time."
"Exactly," the Maluka laughed. He was Iying on his back, with an
open book face downwards on his chest, looking up at the stars.
He always had a book with him, but, book-lover as he was,
it rarely got farther than his chest when we were in camp.
Life out-bush is more absorbing than books.
"Of course reading's handy enough for them as don't lay much
stock on education," Dan owned, stringing his net between his
mosquito-pegs, then, struck with a new idea, he "wondered why
the missus never carries books round. Any one 'ud think she
wasn't much at the reading trick herself," he said. "Never see
you at it, missus, when I'm round."
"Lay too much stock on education," I answered, and, chuckling,
Dan retired into his net, little guessing that when he was "round,"
his own self, his quaint outlook on life, and the underlying
truth of his inexhaustible, whimsical philosophy, were infinitely
more interesting than the best book ever written.
But the Quiet Stockman seemed perplexed at the answer. " I thought
reading 'ud learn you most things," he said, hesitating beside
his own net; and before we could speak, the corner of Dan's net
was lifted and his head reappeared. "I've learned a deal of things
in my time," he chuckled, " but READING never taught me none
of 'em." Then his head once more disappeared, and we tried
to explain matters to the Quiet Stockman. The time was not yet
ready for the offer of a helping hand.
At four in the morning we were roused by a new camp reveille
of Star-light. "Nothing like getting off early when mustering's
the game," Dan announced. By sun-up the musterers were away,
and by sundown we were coming in to Bitter Springs, driving
a splendid mob of cattle before us.
The Maluka and I had had nothing to do with the actual gathering
in of the mob, for the missus had not "shaped" too well at her
first muster and preferred travelling with the pack teams when
active mustering was in hand. Ignominious perhaps, but safe,
and safety counts for something in this world; anyway, for the
poor craven souls. Riding is one thing; but crashing through timber
and undergrowth, dodging overhanging branches, leaping fallen
logs, and stumbling and plunging over crab-holed and rat-burrowed
areas, to say nothing of charging bulls turning up at unexpected
corners, is quite another story.
"Not cut out for the job," was Dan's verdict, and the Maluka
covered my retreat by saying that he had more than enough to do
without taking part in the rounding up of cattle. Had mustering
been one of a manager's duties, I'm afraid the house would have
"come in handy" to pack the dog away in with its chain.
As the yard of the Springs came into view, we were making plans
for the morrow, and admiring the fine mattress swinging before us
on the tails of the cattle; but there were cattle buyers at the Springs
who upset all our plans, and left no time Ior the bang-tailing
of the mob in hand.
The buyers were Chinese drovers, authorised by their Chinese masters
to buy a mob of bullocks. "Want big mob," they said. "Cash!
Got money here," producing a signed cheque ready for filling in.
A Chinese buyer always pays "cash" for a mob--by cheque--generally
taking care to withdraw all cash from the bank before the cheque
can be presented, and, as a result, a dishonoured cheque is returned
to the station, reaching the seller some six or eight weeks after
the sale. Six or eight weeks more then pass in demanding explanations,
and six or eight more obtaining them, and after that just as many
more as Chinese slimness can arrange for before a settlement is
finally made. "Cash," the drover repeated insinuatingly at the Maluka's
unfathomable "Yes ?" Then, certain that he was inspired, added,
"Spot Cash!"
But already the Maluka had decided on a plan of campaign and,
echoing the drover's "Spot Cash," began negotiations for a sale;
and within ten minutes the drovers retired to their camp, bound
to take the mob when delivered, and inwardly marvelling at the Maluka's
simple trust.
Dan was appalled at it; but, always deferential where the Maluka's
business insight was concerned, only "hoped he knew that them chaps
needed a bit of watching."
"Their cash does," the Maluka corrected, to Dan's huge delight;
and, leaving the musterers to go on with their branding work,
culling each mob of its prime bullocks as they mustered, he set
about finding some one to "watch the cash," and four days later
rode into the Katherine Settlement, with Brown and the missus,
as usual, at his heels.
We had spent one week out-bush, visiting the four points of
the compass, half a day at the homestead packing a fresh swag;
three days riding into the Katherine, having found incidental
entertainment on the road, and on the fourth day were entering
into an argument by wire with Chinese slimness. "The monotony
would kill me," declared the townsfolk.
On the road in we had met the Village Settlement homeward bound--
the bonnie baby still riding on its mother's knee, and smiling out
of the depths of its sunbonnet; but every one else was longing
for the bush. Darwin had proved all unsatisfying bustle and fluster,
and the trackless sea, a wonder that inspired strange sickness
when travelled over.
For four days the Maluka argued with Chinese slimness before
he felt satisfied that his cash was in safe keeping while the Wag
and others did as they wished with our spare time. Then, four days
later, again Cheon and Tiddle'ums were hailing us in welcome
at the homestead.
But their joy was short-lived, for as soon as the homestead
affairs had been seen to, and a fresh swag packed, we started
out-bush again to look for Dan and his bullocks, and, coming on
their tracks at our first night camp, by following them up next
morning we rode into the Dandy's camp at the Yellow Hole well
after midday, to find ourselves surrounded by the stir and bustle
of a cattle camp.
"Whatever do you do with your time?" ask the townsfolk, sure that
life out-bush is stagnation, but forgetting that life is life
wherever it may be lived.
CHAPTER XVIII
Only three weeks before, as we hunted for it through scrub and bush
and creek-bed, the Yellow Hole had been one of our Unknown Waters,
tucked snugly away in an out-of-the-way elbow of creek country,
and now we found it transformed into the life-giving heart
of a bustling world of men and cattle and commerce. Beside it stood
the simple camp of the stockman--a litter of pack-bags, mosquito-nets,
and swags; here and there were scattered the even more simple camps
of the black boys; and in the background, the cumbrous camp
of the Chinese drovers reared itself up in strong contrast to the camps
of the bushfolk--two fully equipped tents for the drovers themselves
and a simpler one for their black boys. West of the Yellow Hole
boys were tailing a fine mob of bullocks, and to the east other
"boys" were "holding" a rumbling mob of mixed cattle, and while
Jack and Dan rode here and there shouting orders for the "cutting out"
of the cattle, the Dandy busied himself at the fire, making tea
as a refresher, before getting going in earnest, the only restful,
placid, unoccupied beings in the whole camp being the Chinese
drovers. Not made of the stuff that "lends a hand" in other people's
affairs, they sat in the shade of their tents and looked on,
well pleased that men should bustle for their advantage. As we
rode past the drovers they favoured us with a sweet smile of welcome,
while Dan met us with a chuckle of delight at the sweetness
of their smile, and as Jack took our horses--amused both
at the drovers' sweetness and Dan's appreciation of it--the Dandy
greeted us with the news that we had "struck it lucky, as usual,"
and that a cup of tea would be ready in " half a shake."
Dan also considered we had "struck it lucky," but from a different
point of view, for he had only just come into camp with the mixed
cattle, and as the bullocks among them more than completed
the number required, he suggested the drovers should take delivery
at once, assuring us, as we drank the tea, that he was just about
dead sick of them "little Chinese darlings."
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