We of the Never Never
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Jeanie Mrs. Aeneas Gunn >> We of the Never Never
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In that one swift, sidelong glance every movement had been photographed
on Jackeroo's mind, to be reproduced later on for the entertainment
of the camp with that perfect mimicry characteristic of the black folk.
And it was always so. Just as they had "beck-becked" and bumped
in their saddles with the Chinese drovers, so they imitated every
action that caught their fancy, and almost every human being that
crossed their path--riding with feet outspread after meetmg one
traveller; with toes turned in, in imitation of another; flopping,
or sitting rigidly in their saddles, imitating actions of hand
and turns of the head; anything to amuse themselves, from riding
side-saddle to climbing trees.
Jackeroo being "funny man" in the tribe, was first favourite
in exhibitions; but we could get no further pantomine that night,
although we heard later from Bett Bett that "How the missus climbed
a tree" had a long run.
The next day passed branding the cattle, and the following as we
arrived within sight of the homestead, Dan was congratulating
the Maluka on the "missus being without a house," and then he
suddenly interrupted himself "Well, I'm blest! " he said.
"If we didn't forget all about bangtailing that mob for her
mattress."
We undoubtedly had, but thirty-three nights, or thereabouts,
uith the warm, bare ground for a bed, had made me indifferent
to mattresses, and hearing that Dan became most hopeful of
"getting her properly educated yet.
Cheon greeted us with his usual enthusiasm, and handed the Maluka
a letter containing a request for a small mob of bullocks within
three weeks.
"Nothing like keeping the ball rolling,", Dan said, also waxing
enthusiastic, while the South-folk remained convinced that life
out-bush is stagnation.
CHAPTER XIX
Dan and the Quiet Stockman went out to the north-west immediately,
to "clean up there" before getting the bullocks together;
but the Maluka, settling down to arrears of bookkeeping, with
the Dandy at his right hand, Cheon once more took the missus
under his wing feeding her up and scorning her gardening efforts
"The idea of a white woman thinking she could grow water-melons,"
he scoffed, when I planted seeds, having decided on a carpet
of luxuriant green to fill up the garden beds until the shrubs grew.
The Maluka advised "waiting," and the seeds coming up within
a few days, Cheon, after expressing surprise, prophesied an early
death or a fruitless life.
Billy Muck, however, took a practical interest in the water-melons,
and to incite him to water them in our absence, he was made
a shareholder in the venture. As a natural result, the Staff,
the Rejected, and the Shadows mmediately applied for shares--
pointing out that they too carried water to the plants--
and the water-melon beds became the property of a Working Liability
Company with the missus as Chairman of Directors.
The shadows were as numerous as ever, the rejected on the increase,
but the staff was, fortunately, reduced to three for the time being;
or, rather, reduced to two, and increased again to three:
Judy had been called "bush" on business, and the Macs having got out
in good time.
Bertie's Nellie and Biddie had been obliged to resign and go with
the waggons, under protest, of course, leaving Rosy and Jimmy's
Nellie augmented by one of the most persistent of all the shadows--
a tiny child lubra, Bett-Bett.
Most of us still considered Bett-Bett one of the shadows but she
persisted that she was the mainstay of the staff. "Me all day
dust 'im paper, me round 'im up goat" she would say. "Me sit
down all right".
She certainly excelled in "rounding-up goat," riding the old Billy
like a race-horse; and with Rosy filling the position of housemaid
to perfection, Jimmy's Nellie proving invaluable in her vigorous
treatment of the rejected and the wood-heap gossip filling in odd
times, life so far as it was dependent on black folk--was running
on oiled wheels: the house was clean and orderly, the garden
flourished; and as the melons grew apace, throwing out secondary
leaves in defiance of Cheon's prophecies, Billy Muck grew more
and more enthusiastic, and, usurping the position of Chairman
of the Directors, he inspired the shareholders with so much zeal
that the prophecies were almost fulfilled through a surfeit
of watering. But Cheon's attitude towards the water-melons
did not change, although he had begun to look with favour upon
mail-matter and station books, finding in them a power that
could keep the Maluka at the homestead.
For two full weeks after our return from the drovers' camp our
life was exactly as Cheon would have it--peaceful and regular,
with an occasional single day "out-bush"; and when the Maluka
in his leisure began to fulfil his long-standing promise
of a defence around my garden, Cheon expressed himself well-pleased
with his reform.
But even the demands of station books and accumulated mail-matter
can be satisfied in time, and Dan reporting that he was
"getting going with the bullocks," Cheon found his approval had
been premature; for, to his dismay, the Maluka abandoned the
fence, and began preparations for a trip "bush." "Surely the missus
was not going?" he said; and next day we left him at the homestead,
a lonely figure, seated on an overturned bucket, disconsolate
and fearing the worst.
Cheon often favoured an upside-down bucket for a seat. Nothing
more uncomfortable for a fat man can be imagined, yet Cheon sat
on his rickety perch, for the most part chuckling and happy.
Perhaps, like Mark Tapley, he felt it a "credit being jolly"
under such circumstances.
By way of contrast, we found Dan and Jack optimistic and happy,
with some good bullocks in hand, a record branding to report
for the fortnight's work, and a drover in camp of such a delightful
turn of mind that he was inclined to look upon every bullock
mustered as "just the thing." He was easily disposed of,
and within a week we were back at the homestead.
We had left Cheon sad and disconsolate, but he met us, filled
with fury, and holding a sack of something soft in his arms.
"What's 'er matter?" he spluttered, almost choking with rage.
"Me savey grow cabbage "; and he flung the sack at our feet
as we stood in the homestead thoroughfare staring at him in wonder.
"Paper yabber!" he added curtly, passing a letter to the Maluka.
It was a kindly, courteous letter from our Eastern neighbour,
who had "ventured to send a cabbage, remembering the homestead
garden did not get on too well." (His visits had been in Sam's day).
"How kind!" we said, and not understanding Cheon's wrath, the Maluka
opened the bag, and passed two fine cabbages to him after duly
admiring them.
They acted on Cheon like a red rag on a bull. Flinging them
from him, he sent them spinning across the stony ground with two
furious kicks, following them up with further furious kicks as we
looked on in speechless amazement. "What's 'er matter?" he growled,
as, abandoning the chase with a final lunge, he stalked indignantly
back to us; and as the unfortunate cabbages turned over and lay still
on their tattered backs, he began to explain his wrath. Was he not
paid to grow cabbages, he asked, and where had he failed that we
should accept cabbages from neighbours? Cabbages for ourselves,
but insults for him! Then, the comical side of his nature coming
to the surface as unexpectedly as his wrath, he was overcome
with laughter, and clung to a verandah post for support, while
still speechless, we looked on in consternation, for laughing was
a serious matter with Cheon
"My word, me plenty cross fellow," he gasped at intervals and finally
led the way to the vegetable garden, where he cut an enormous cabbage
and carried it to the store to weigh it. The scale turned at twelve
pounds, and, sure of our ground now, we compared its mighty heart
to the stout heart of Cheon--a compliment fully appreciated by his
Chinese mind; then, having disparaged the tattered results
to his satisfaction, we went to the house and wrote a letter of thanks
to our neighbour, giving him so vivid a word-picture of the reception
of his cabbages that he felt inspired to play a practical joke
on Cheon later on. One thing is very certain--everyone enjoyed
those cabbages including even Cheon and the goats.
Of course we had cabbage for dinner that day, and the day
following, and the next day again, and were just fearing that
cabbage was becoming a confirmed habit when Dan coming in with
reports we all went bush again, and the spell was broken. "A pity
the man from Beyanst wasn't about," Dan said when he heard of
the daily menu.
It was late in September when Dan came in, and four weeks slipped
away with the concerns of cattle and cattle-buyers and cattle-duffers,
and as we moved hither and thither the water-melons leafed
and blossomed and fruited to Billy's delight, and Cheon's undisguised
amazement and the line party, creeping on, crept first into our
borders and then into camp at the Warlochs, and Happy Dick's visits,
dog-fights, and cribbage became part of the station routine.
Now and then a traveller from "inside" passed out, but as the roads
"inside" were rapidly closing in, none came from the Outside going in,
and because of that there were no extra mails, and towards the end
of October we were wondering how we were "going to get through
the days until the Fizzer was due again," when Dan and Jack came
in unexpectedly for a consultation.
"Run clean out of flour," Dan announced, with a wink and a mysterious
look towards the black world, as he dismounted at the head
of the homestead thoroughfare then, after inquiring for the "education
of the missus" he added, with further winks and mystery, that it
only needed a nigger hunt to round off her education properly
but it was after supper before he found a fitting opportunity
to explain his winks and mystery. Then, joining us as we lounged
in the open starry space between the billabong and the house,
he chuckled: "Yes, it just needs a nigger hunt to make her education
a credit to us."
Dan never joined us in the evenings without an invitation,
although he was not above putting himself in the way of one.
Whenever he felt inclined for what he called "a pitch with the boss
and missus" he would saunter past at a little distance, apparently
bound for the billabong, but in reality ready to respond
to the Maluka's "Is that you, Dan?" although just as ready to saunter
on if that invitation was not forthcoming--a happy little
arrangement born of that tact and delicacy of the bush-folk that
never intrudes on another man's privacy.
Dan being just Dan rarely had need to saunter on; and as he
sewed down on the grass in acceptance of this usual form of
invitation, he wagged his head wisely, declaring" she had got on
so well with her education that it 'ud be a pity not to finish
her off properly." Then dropping his bantering tone, he reported a
scatter-on among the river cattle.
"I wasn't going to say anything about it before the "boys," he said,
"but it's time some one gave a surprise party down the river";
and a "scatter-on" meaning "niggers in," Maluka readily agreed
to a surprise patrol of the river country, that being forbidden
ground for blacks' camps.
"It's no good going unless it's going to be a surprise party,"
Dan reiterated; and when the Quiet Stockman was called across
from the Quarters, he was told that "there wasn't going to be
no talking before the boys."
Further consultations being necessary, Dan feared arousing
suspicion, and to ensure his surprise party, and to guard against
any word of the coming patrol being sent out-bush by the station
"boys," he indulged in a little dust-throwing, and there was much
talking in public about going "out to the north-west for the boss
to have another look round there," and much laying of deep plans
in private.
Finally, it was decided that the Quiet Stockman and his "boys"
were to patrol the country north from the river while we were to keep
to the south banks and follow the river down to the boundaries
in all its windings, each party appointed to camp at the Red Lily
lagoons second night out, each, of course, on its own side
of the river. It being necessary for Jack to cross the river
beyond the Springs, he left the homestead half a day before us--
public gossip reporting that he was "going beyond the Waterhouse
horse mustering," and Dan finding dust-throwing highly diverting,
shouted after him that he "might as well bring some fresh relays
to the Yellow Hole in a day or two," and then giving his attention
to the packing of swags and pack-bags, "reckoned things were just
about fixed up for a surprise party."
CHAPTER XX
At our appointed time we left the homestead, taking the north-west
track for over a mile to continue the dust-throwing; and for
the whole length of that mile Dan reiterated the "advantages
of surprise parties," and his opinion that "things were just
about properly fixed up for one"; and when we left the track
abruptly and set off across country at right angles to it, Sambo's
quick questioning, suspicious glance made it very evident that he,
for one, had gleaned no inkling of the patrol, which naturally
filled Dan with delight.
"River to-night, Sambo," he said airily, but after that one swift
glance Sambo rode after us as stolid as ever--Sambo was always
difficult to fathom--while Dan spent the afternoon congratulating
himself on the success of his dust-throwing, proving with many
illustrations that "it's the hardest thing to spring a surprise on
niggers. Something seems to tell 'em you're coming," he explained.
"Some chaps put it down to second-sight or thought-reading."
When we turned in Dan was still chuckling over his cute handling
of the trip. "Bluffed 'em this time all right," he assured us,
little guessing that the blacks at the "Red Lilies," thirty miles
away, and other little groups of blacks travelling down the river
towards the lagoons were conjecturing on the object of the Maluka's
visit--"something having told them we were coming."
The "something" however, was neither second-sight nor thought-reading,
but a very simple, tangible "something." Sambo had gone for a
stroll from our camp about sundown, and one of Jack's boys had gone
for a stroll from Jack's camp, and soon afterwards two tell-tale
telegraphic columns of smoke, worked on some blackfellow
dot-dash-system, had risen above the timber, and their messages
had also been duly noted down at the Red Lilies and elsewhere,
and acted upon. The Maluka was on the river, and when the Maluka
was about, it was considered wisdom to be off forbidden ground;
not that the blacks feared the Maluka, but no one cares about vexing
the goose that lays the golden eggs.
On stations in the Never-Never the blacks are supposed to camp either
in the homesteads, where no man need go hungry, or right outside
the boundaries on waters beyond the cattle, travelling in or out
as desired, on condition that they keep to the main travellers'
tracks--blacks among the cattle having a scattering effect on the herd,
apart from the fact that "niggers in" generally means cattle-killing.
Of course no man ever hopes to keep his blacks absolutely obedient
to this rule; but the judicious giving of an odd bullock at not too rare
intervals, and always at corroborree times, the more judicious winking
at cattle killing on the boundaries, where cattle scaring is not all
disadvantage, and the even more judicious giving of a hint, when
a hint is necessary, will do much to keep them fairly well in hand,
anyway from openly harrying and defiant killing, which in humanity
is surely all any man should ask.
The white man has taken the country from the black fellow,
and with it his right to travel where he will for pleasure or food,
and until he is willing to make recompense by granting fair
liberty of travel, and a fair percentage of cattle or their equivalent
in fair payment--openly and fairly giving them, and seeing that
no man is unjustly treated or hungry within his borders--
cattle killing, and at times even man killing by blacks,
will not be an offence against the white folk.
A black fellow kills cattle because he is hungry and must be fed
with food, having been trained in a school that for generations
has acknowledged "catch who catch can" among its commandments;
and until the long arm of the law interfered, white men killed
the black fellow because they were hungry with a hunger that
must be fed with gold, having been trained in a school that
for generations has acknowledged "Thou shalt not kill" among
its commandments; and yet men speak of the "superiority"
of the white race, and, speaking, forget to ask who of us
would go hungry if the situation were reversed, but condemn
the black fellow as a vile thief, piously quoting--
now it suits them--from those same commandments, that men
"must not steal," in the same breath referring to the white man's
crime (when it finds them out) as "getting into trouble over
some shooting aflair with blacks." Truly we British-born
have reason to brag of our "inborn sense of justice."
The Maluka being more than willing to give his fair percentage,
a judicious hint from him was generally taken quietly and for
the time discreetly obeyed, and it was a foregone conclusion
that our "nigger hunt" would only involve the captured with general
discomfiture; but the Red Lilies being a stronghold of the tribe,
and a favourite hiding-place for "outsiders," emergencies were apt
to occur "down the river," and we rode out of camp with rifles
unslung and revolvers at hand.
Dan's sleep had in no wise lessened his faith in the efficiency
of dust-throwing, and as we set out he "reckoned" the missus
would "learn a thing or two about surprise parties this trip."
We all did, but the black fellows gave the instruction.
All morning we rode in single file, following the river through miles
of deep gorges, crossing here and there stretches of grassy country
that ran in valleys between gorge and gorge, passing through deep
Ti Tree forests at times, and now and then clambering over towering
limestone ridges that blocked the way, with, all the while,
the majestic Roper river flowing deep and wide and silent
on our left, between its water-lily fringed margins. It would take
a mighty drought to dry up the waters of tbe Territory--permanent,
we call them, sure of our rivers and our rains. Almost fifty miles
of these deep-flowing waterways fell to our share; thirty-five miles
of the Roper, twelve in the Long Reach, besides great holes scattered
here and there along the beds of creeks that are mighty rivers
in themselves "during the Wet." Too much water, if anything,
was the complaint at the Elsey, for water everywhere meant cattle
everywhere.
For over two hours we rode, prying into and probing all sorts
of odd nooks and crannies before we found any sign of blacks,
and then, Roper giving the alarm, every one sat to attention.
Roper had many ways of amusing himself when travelling through bush,
but one of his greatest delights was nosing out hidden black fellows.
At the first scent of "nigger" his ears would prick forward,
and if left to himself, he would carry his rider into an unsuspected
nigger camp, or stand peering into the bushes at a discomfited black
fellow, who was busy trying to think of some excuse to explain his
presence and why he had hidden.
As Roper's ears shot forward and he turned aside towards a clump
of thick-set bushes, Dan chuckled in expectation, but all Roper
found was a newly deserted gundi camp, and fresh tracks travelling
eastwards--tracks left during the night--after our arrival
at the river, of course.
Dan surveyed the tracks, and his chuckles died out, and, growing
sceptical of the success of his surprise party, he followed them
for a while in silence, Sambo riding behind, outwardly stolid,
but no doubt, inwardly chuckling.
Other eastward-going tracks a mile or so farther on made Dan
even more sceptical, and further tracks again set him harking
back to his theory of "something always telling 'em somehow,"
and, losing interest in nigger-hunts, he became showman of the Roper
river scenery.
Down into the depths of gorges he led us, through ferny nooks,
and over the sandy stretches at the base of the mighty clefts
through which the river flows; and as we rode, he had us leaning
back in our saddles, in danger of cricking our necks, to look up at
lofty heights above us, until a rocky peninsula running right into
the river, after we had clambered up its sides like squirrels,
he led the way across its spiky surfaced surmmit, and soon we were
leaning forward over our horses' necks in danger of taking somersaults
into space, as we peered over the sides of a precipice at the river
away down beneath us. "Nothing like variety," Dan chuckled;
and a few minutes later again we were leaning well back in our saddles
as the horses picked their way down the far side of the ridge,
old Roper letting himself down in his most approved style; dropping
from ledge to ledge as he went, stepping carefully along their length,
he would pause for a moment on their edges to judge distance, then,
gathering his feet together, he would sway out and drop a foot
or more to the next ledge. Riding Roper was never more thau sitting
in the saddle and leaving al] else to him. Wherever he went there
was safety, both for himself and his rider whether galloping between
trees or beneath over-hanging branches, whether dropping down
ridges with the surefootedness of a mountain pony, or picking his
way across the treacherous "springy country." No one knew better
than he his own limits, and none better understood "springy
country." CareIully he would test suspicious-looking turf with
a cautious fore-paw, and when all roads proved risky, in his own
unmistakable language he would advise his rider to dismount
and walk over, having shown plainly that the dangerous bit was
not equal to the combined weight of korse and man. When Roper
advised, wise men obeyed.
But gorges and ridges were not all Dan had to show us. Twice in
our thirty-five miles of the Roper--about ten miles apart--
wide-spreading rocky arches completely span the river a foot
or so beneath its surface, forming natural crossing-places;
for at them the full volume of water takes what Dan called
a "duck-under," leaving only smoothly flowing shallow streams,
a couple of hundred yards wide, running over the rocky bridgeways.
The first "duck-under" occurs in a Ti Tree valley, and, marvelling
at the wonder of the rippling streamlet so many yards wide
and so few in length, with that deep, silent river for its source
and estuary--we loitered in the pleasant forest glen, until Dan,
coming on further proofs of a black fellow's "second-sight"
along the margins of the duck-under, he turned away in disgust,
and as we followed him through the great forest he treated us
to a lengthy discourse on thought-reading.
The Salt Creek, coming into the Roper with its deep, wide estuary,
interrupted both Dan's lecture and our course, and following
along the creek to find the crossing. we left the river,
and before we saw it again a mob of "brumbies" had lured us into
a "drouth" that even Dan declared was the "dead finish."
Brumby horses being one of the problems of the run, and the destruction
of brumby stallions imperative, as the nigger-hunt was apparently off,
the brumby mob proved too enticing to be passed by, and for an hour
and more it kept us busy, the Maluka and Dan being equally
"set on getting a stallion or two."
As galloping after brumbies when there is no trap to run them into
is about as wise as galloping after a flight of swallows, we
followed at a distance when they galloped, and stalked them
against the wind when they drew up to reconnoitre: beautiful,
clean-limbed, graceful creatures, with long flowing manes and tails
floating about them, galloping freely and swiftly as they drove
the mares before them, or stepping with light, dancing tread
as they drew up and faced about, with the mares now huddled
together behind them. Three times they drew up and faced about
and each time a stallion fell before the rifles, then, becoming
more wary, they led us farther and farther back, evading the rifles
at every halt, until finally they galloped out of sight, and beyond
all chance of pursuit. Then, Dan discovering he had acquired
the "drouth," advised "giving it best" and making for the
Spring Hole in Duck Creek.
"Could do with a drop of spring water," he said, but Dan's luck
was out this trip, and the Spring Hole proved a slimy bog "alive
with dead cattle," as he himself phrased it. Three dead beasts lay
bogged on its margin, and held as in a vice, up to their necks
in slime and awfulness stood two poor living brutes. They turned
piteous terrified eyes on us as we rode up, and then Dan and the
Maluka firing in mercy, the poor heads drooped and fell and the bog
with a sickening sigh sucked them under.
As we watched, horribly fascinated, Dan indulged in a soliloquy--
a habit with him when ordinary conversation seemed out of place.
"'Awful dry Wet we're having,' sez he," he murmured, "'the place
is alive with dead cattle.' 'Fact,' sez he, 'cattle's dying
this year that never died before.'" Then remarking that "this sort
of thing"wasn't "exactly a thirst quencher," he followed up the creek
bank into a forest of cabbage-tree palms--tall, feathery-crested palms
everywhere, taller even that the forest trees; but never a sign
of water.
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