We of the Never Never

J >> Jeanie Mrs. Aeneas Gunn >> We of the Never Never

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"Chase him away!" he yelled. "You'll kill me between you!
I never struck such a place! Is it a circus or a Wild West Show?"

Gravely the Maluka accepted the bottle, and with the same mock
gravity answered Brown of the Bulls. "It is neither, my man,"
he said; neither a circus, nor a Wild West Show. This is the land
the poets sing about, the land where dull despair is king."

Brown of the Bulls naturally wished "some of the poets were
about now," and Dan, having joined the house party, found a fitting
opportunity to air one of his pet grievances

" I've never done wishing some of them town chaps that write
bush yarns 'ud come along and learn a thing or two," he said.
"Most of 'em seem to think that when we're not on the drink
we're whipping the cat or committing suicide." Rarely had Dan
any excuse to offer for those "town chaps," who, without
troubling to learn "a thing or two," first, depict the bush as
a pandemonium of drunken orgies, painted women, low revenge,
remorse, and suicide; but being in a more magnanimous mood than
usual, as the men-folk flocked towards the Quarters he waited
behind to add, unconscious of any irony: "Of course, seeing it's
what they're used to in town, you can't expect 'em to know any
better."

Then in the Quarters "Luck to our neighbour" was the toast--
"luck," and the hope that all his ventures might be as successfully
carried through as his practical joke. After that the Maluka
gravely proposed "Cheon," and Cheon instantly became statuesque
and dignified, to the further diversion of Brown of the Bulls--
gravely accepting a thimbleful for himself, and, as gravely,
drinking his own health, the Maluka just as gravely "clinking
glasses" with him. And from that day to this when Cheon wishes
to place the Maluka on a fitting pedestal, he ends his long, long
tale with a triumphant: "Boss bin knock glass longa me one time."

Happy Dick and Peter fil]ed in time for the Quarters until sundown,
when Cheon announced supper there with an inspired call of "Cognac!"
And then, as if to prove that we are not always on the drink,
or "whipping the cat, or committing suicide," that we can love
and live for others besides self, Neaves' mate came down from
the little rise beyond the slip-rails, where he had spent his day
carving a headstone out of a rough slab of wood that now stood
at the head of our sick traveller's grave.

Not always on the drink, or whipping the cat, or comrmitting
suicide, but too often at the Parting of the Ways, for within
another twelve hours the travellers, Happy Dick, the Line Party,
Neaves' mate, Brown of the Bulls, and Mac, had all gone or were
going their ways, leaving us to go ours--Brown back to hold his
bulls at the Red Lilies until further showers should open up all
roads, and Mac to "pick up Tam." But in the meantime Dan had
become Showman of the Showers.

"See anything?" he asked, soon after sun-up, waving his hands
towards the northern slip-rails, as we stood at the head of the
thoroughfare speeding our parting guests; and then he drew
attention to the faintest greenish tinge throughout the homestead
enclosure--such a clean-washed-looking enclosure now.

"That's going to be grass soon," he said, and, the sun coming
out with renewed vigour after another shower, by midday he had
gathered a handful of tiny blades half an inch in length with
a chuckling "What did I tell you?"

By the next midday, grass, inches tall, was rippling all around
the homestead in the now prevalent northwest breeze, and Dan
was preparing for a trip out-bush to see where the showers had fallen,
and Mac and Tam coming in as he went out, Mac greeted us with
a jocular: "The flats get greener every year about the Elsey."

"Indeed!" we said, and Mac, overcome with confusion, spluttered
an apology: "Oh, I say! Look here! I didn't mean to hit off
at the missus, you know!" and then catching the twinkle in Tam's
eyes, stopped short, and with a characteristic shrug "reckoned
he was making a fair mess of things."

Mac would never be other than our impetuous brither Scot, distinct
from all other men, for the bush never robs her children of their
individuality. In some mysterious way she clean-cuts out the
personality of each of them, and keeps it sharply clean-cut;
and just as Mac stood apart from all men, so Tam also stood apart,
the quiet self-reliant man, though, we had seen among the horses,
for that was the real man; and as Mac built castles, and made
calculations, Tam put his shoulder to the drudgery, and before
Mac quite knew what had happened, he was hauling logs and
laying foundations for a brumby trap in the south-east country,
while Bertie's Nellie found herself obliged to divide her attention
between the homestead and the brumby camp.

As Mac hauled and drudged, the melons paid their first dividend;
half-past eleven four weeks drew near; "Just-So Stories" did all
they could, and Dan coming in found the Quiet Stockman away back
in the days of old, deep in a simply written volume of Scottish
history.

Dan had great news of the showers, but had to find other audience
than Jack, for he was auay in a world all his own, and, bent over
the little volume, was standing shoulder to shoulder with his Scottish
fathers, fighting with them for his nation. All evening he followed
where they led, enduring and suflering, and mourning with them
and rejoicing over their final victory with a ringing "You can't beat
the Scots," as the little volume, coming to with a bang, roused
the Quarters at midnight.

"You can't beat the Scots, missus!" he repeated, coming over
in the morning for "more of that sort,"all unconscious how true
he was to type, as he stood there, fiushed with the victories
of his forefathers, a strong, young Scot, with a newly conquered
world of his own at his feet.

As we hunted for "more of that sort," through a medley of odds
and ends, the Quiet Stockman scanned titles. and dipped here
and there into unknown worlds, and Dan coming by, stared open-eyed.

"You don't say he's got the whole mob mouthed and reined and schooled
in all the paces?" he gasped; but Jack put aside the word of praise.
"There's writing and spelling yet," he said, and Dan, with his
interest in booklearning reviving, watched the square chin setting
squarer, and was bewildered. "Seems to have struck a mob of brumbies,"
he commented.

But before Jack could "get properly going" with the brumbies,
two travellers rode into the homestead, supporting between them
a third rider, a man picked up ofl the track delirious with fever,
and foodless; and at the sight of his ghastly face our hearts stood
still with fear. But the man was one of the Scots another Mac of
the race that loves a good fight, and his plucky heart stood by him
so well that within twenty-four hours he was Iying contentedly
in the shade of the Quarters, looking on, while the homestead shared
the Fizzer's welcome with Mac and Tam and a traveller or two.

Out of the south came the Fizzer, lopping once more in his saddle,
with the year's dry stages behind him, and the set lines all
gone from his shoulders, shouting as he came: "Hullo! What ho!
Here's a crowd of us!" but on his return trip the Fizzer was a man
of leisure, and we had to wait for news until his camp was fixed
up.

"Now for it!" he shouted, at last joining the company, and Mac felt
the time was ripe for his jocular greeting and, ogling the Fizzer,
noticed that "The flats get greeener every year about the Elsey."

But the Fizzer was a dangerous subject to joke with. "So I've noticed,"
he shouted as, improving on Mac's ogle, he singled him out
from the company, then dropping his voice to an insinuating drawl
he challenged him to have a deal.

Instantly the Sanguine Scot became a Canny Scot, for Mac prided himself
on a horse-deal. And as no one had yet got the better of the Fizzer
the company gathered round to enjoy itself.

"A swop," suggested the Fizzer, and Mac agreeing with a "Right ho!"
a preliminary hand-shake was exchanged before "getting to business";
and then, as each made a great presence of mentally reviewing his team.
each eyed the other with the shrewdness of a fighting cock.

"My brown mare!" Mac offered at last, and knowing the staunch little
beast, the homestead wondered what Mac had up his sleeve.

We explained our suspicions in asides to the travellers, but the
Fizzer seemed taken by surprise. "By George!" he eaid. "She's
a stunner! I've nothing fit to put near her excepting that upstanding
chestnut down there."

The chestnut was standing near the creek-crossing, and every one
knowing him well, and sure of that "something" up Mac's sleeve,
feared for the Fizzer as Mac's hand came out with a "Done!"
and the Fizzer gripped it with a clinching "Right ho!"

Naturally we waited for the denouement, and the Fizzer appearing
unsuspicious and well-pleased with the deal, we turned our attention
to the Sanguine Scot.

Mac felt the unspoken flattery, and with an introductory cough,
and a great show of indifference, said: "By the way! Perhaps I should
have mentioned it, but the brown mare's down with the puffs since
the showers," and looked around the company for approval.

But the Fizzer was filling the homestead with shoutings: "Don't
apologise," he yelled. "That's nothing! The chestnut's just broken
his leg; can't think how he got here. This'll save me the trouble of
shooting him." Then dropping back to that chuckling drawl, and
re-assuming the ogle, he added:
"The--flats--get--greener--every--year--about--the Elsey,"
and with a good-humoured laugh Mac asked if "any other gentleman
felt on for a swop.'

Naturally, for a while the conversation was all of horse deals,
until, Happy Dick coming in, it turned as naturally
to dog-fights. as Peter and Brown stalked aggressively about the
thoroughfare.

Daily we hinted to Happy Dick that Peter's welcome was wearing out,
and daily Happy Dick assured us that he "couldn't keep him away nohow."
But then Happy Dick's efforts to keep him away were peculiar,
taking the form of monologues as Peter trotted beside him towards
the homestead--reiterations of:

"We're not the sort to say nuff, are we, Peter? We'll never say
die, will we, Peter? We'll win if we don't lose, won't we, Peter?"
Adding, after his arrival at the homestead, a subdued "S--SS-s, go
it, Peter!" whenever Brown appeared in the thoroughfare.

But the homestead's hour of triumph was at hand, for as the afternoon
wore on, Happy Dick found the very best told recital a poor substitute
for the real thing, and thirsting for a further "Peter's latest,"
hissed: "S--s--ss, go it, Peter!" once too often. For, well, soon
afterwards--figuratively speaking--Peter was carried off the field
on a stretcher.

True, Brown had only one sound leg left to stand on, but by propping
the other three carefully against it, he managed to cut a fairly
triumphant figure. But Brown's victory was not to be all advantage
to the homestead, for never again were we to hear "Peter's latest."

"Can't beat the Elsey for a good dog-fight! Can you, Peter?"
the Fizzer chuckled, as Peter lay licking his wounds at Happy Dick's
feet; but the Quarters, feeling the pleasantry ill-timed, delicately
led the conversation to cribbage, and at sun-up next morning
Happy Dick "did a get" to his work, with bulging pockets, leaving
the Fizzer packing up and declaring that "half a day at the Elsey
gave a man a fresh start."

But Dan also was packing up--a "duplicate" brought in by the Fizzer
having necessitated his presence in Darwin, and as he packed up
he assured us he would be back in time for the Christmas celebrations,
even if he had to swim for it but before he left he paid a farewell
visit to the Christmas dinner. "In case of accidents," he explained,
"mightn't see it again. Looks like another case of one apiece,"
he added, surveying with interest the plumpness of six young pullets
Cheon was cherishing under a coop.

"Must have pullet longa Clisymus," Cheon had said, and all readily
agreeing, "Of course!" he had added "must have really good Clisymus";
and another hearty "Of course" convincing him we were at one with him
in the matter of Christmas, he entered into details.

"Must have big poodinn, and almond, and Clisymus cake, and mince pie,"
he chuckled, and then after confiding to us that he had heard
of the prospective glories of a Christmas dinner at the Pine Creek "Pub.,"
the heathen among us urged us to do honour to the Christian festival.

"Must have top-fellow Clisymus longa Elsey," he said, and even more
heartily we agreed, "of course," giving Cheon carte blanche to order
everything as he wished us to have it. We were there to command,"
we assured him; and accepting our services, Cheon opened the ball
by sending the Dandy in to the Katherine on a flying visit to do
a little shopping, and, pending the Dandy's return we sat down
and made plans.

The House and the Quarters should join forces that day, Cheon
suggested, and dine under the eastern verandah "No good two-fellow
dinner longa Clisymus," he said. And the blacks, too, must be
regaled in their humpy. "Must have Vealer longa black fellow
Clisymus," Cheon ordered, and Jack's services being bespoken
for Christmas Eve, to "round up a Vealer," it was decided to add
a haunch of "Vealer" to our menu as a trump card--Vealers being
rarities at Pine Creek. Our only regret was that we lived too far
from civilisation to secure a ham. Pine Creek would certainly have
a ham; but we had a Vealer and faith in Cheon, and waited expectantly
for the Dandy, sure the Elsey would "come out top-fellow."

And as we waited for the Dandy, the Line Party moved on to our northern
boundary, taking with it possible Christmas guests; the Fizzer came in
and went on, to face a "merry Christmas with damper and beef served
in style on a pack-bag," also regretting empty mail-bags--
the Southern mail having been delayed en route. Tam and the Sanguine
Scot accepted invitations to the Christmas dinner; and the Wet broke
in one terrific thunderclap, as the heavens, opening, emptied a deluge
over us.

In that mighty thunderclap the Wet rushed upon us with a roar
of falling waters, and with them Billy Muck appeared at the house
verandah dripping like a beaver, to claim further credit.

"Well?" he said again, "Me rainmaker, eh ?" and the Maluka shouted
above the roar and din:

"You're the boy for my money, Billy! Keep her going!" and Billy
kept her going to such purpose that by sun-up the billabong
was a banker, Cheon was moving over the face of the earth with
the buoyancy of a child's balloon, and Billy had five inches of rain
to his credit. (So far, eleven inches was the Territory record for
one night). Also the fringe of birds was back at the billabong,
having returned with as little warning as it had left, and once more
its ceaseless chatter became the undertone of the homestead.

At sun-up Cheon had us in his garden, sure now that Pine Creek
could not possiLly outdo us in vegetables and the Dandy coming
in with every commission fulfilled we felt ham was a mere detail.

But Cheon's cup of happiness was to brim over that day, for after
answering every question hurled at him, the Dandy sang cheerfully:
"He put in his thumb and pulled out a plum," and dragged forth
a ham from its hiding-place, with a laughing, "What a good boy am I."

With a swoop Cheon was on it, and the Dandy, trying to regain it,
said, "Here, hold hard! I've to present it to the missus with
a bow and the compliments of Mine Host." But Cheon would not part
with it, and so the missus had the bow and the compliments,
and Cheon the ham.

Lovingly he patted it and asked us if there ever was such a ham?
or ever such a wonderful man as Mine Host? or ever such a fortunate
woman as the missus? Had any other woman such a ham or such
a friend in need? And bubbling over with affection for the whole
world, he sent Jackeroo off for mistletoe, and presently the ham,
all brave in Christmas finery, was hanging like a gay wedding-bell
in the kitchen doorway. Then the kitchen had to be decorated,
also in mistletoe, to make a fitting setting for the ham, and after
that the fiat went forth. No one need expect either eggs or cream
before "Clisymus"--excepting, of course, the sick Mac--he
must be kept in condition to do justice to our "Clisymus" fare.

What a week it was--all festivities, and meagre fare, and whirring
egg-beaters, and thunderstorms, and downpours, and water-melon
dividends, and daily visits to the vegetable patch; where Happy Dick
was assured, during a flying visit, that we were sure of seven
varieties of vegetables for "Clisymus."

But alas for human certainty! Even then swarms of grasshoppers
were speeding towards us, and by sundown were with us.

ln vain Cheon and the staff, the rejected, Bett-Bett every shadow
and the missus, danced war-dances in the vegetable patch,
and chivied and chased, and flew all ways at once; the grasshoppers
had found green stuff exactly to their liking, and coming in clouds,
settled, and feasted, and flew upwards, and settled back, and feasted,
and swept on, leaving poor Cheon's heart as barren of hope
as the garden was of vegetables. Nothing remained but pumpkins,
sweet potatoes, and Cheon's tardy watermelons, and the sight
of the glaring blotches of pumpkins filled Cheon with fury.

"Pumpee-kin for Clisymus!" he raved, kicking furiously at the hideous
wens. Not if he knew it! and going to some stores left in our care
by the Line Party, he openly stole several tins of preserved
vegetables. "Must have vegetable longa Clisymus," he said, feeling
his theft amply justified by circumstances, but salved his conscience
by sending a gift of eggs to the Line Party as a donation towards
its "Clisymus."

Then finding every one sympathetic, he broached a delicate subject.
By some freak of chance, he said, the missus was the only person
who had succeeded in growing good melons this year, and taking her
to the melon beds, which the grasshoppers had also passed by,
he looked longingly at three great fruits that lay like mossy green
boulders among the rich foliage. "Just chance," he reiterated,
and surely the missus would see that chance also favoured our
"Clisymus." "A Clisymus without dessert would be no Clisymus at all,"
he continued, pressing each fruit in turn between loving hands
until it squeaked in response. "Him close up ripe, missus.
Him sing out!" he said, translating the squeak.

But the missus appeared strangely inattentive, and in desperation
Cheon humbled himself and apologised handsomely for former scoffings.
Not chance, he said, but genius! Never was there white woman
like the missus! "Him savey all about," he assured the Maluka.
"Him plenty savey gardin." Further, she was a woman in a thousand!
A woman all China would bow down to! Worth ninety-one-hundred pounds
in any Chinese matrimonial market. "A valuable asset," the Maluka
murmured.

It was impossible to stand against such flattery. Billy Muck
was hastily consulted, and out of his generous heart voted two
of the mossy boulders to the white folk, keeping only one for
"black fellow all about. "Poor old Billy! He was to pay dearly
for his leaning to the white folk.

Nothing was amiss now but Dan's non-appearance; and the egg-beater
whirring merrily on, by Christmas Eve, the Dandy and Jack,
coming in with wild duck for breakfast and the Vealer, found
the kitchen full of triumphs and Cheon wrestling with an immense
pudding. "Four dozen egg sit down," he chuckled, beating at
the mixture. "One bottle port wine, almond, raisin, all about,
more better'n Pine Creek all right "; and the homestead taking a turn
at the beating "for luck," assured him that it "knocked spots
off Pine Creek."

"Must have money longa poodin'!" Cheon added, and our wealth lying
also in a cheque book, it was not until after a careful hunt
that two threepenny bits were produced, when one, with a hole
in it, went in "for luck," and the other followed as an omen
for wealth.

The threepenny bits safely in, it took the united efforts of the
homestead to get the pudding into a cloth and thence into a boiler,
while Cheon explained that it would have been larger if only we
had had a larger boiler to hold it. As it was, it had to be boiled
out in the open, away from the buildings, where Cheon had constructed
an ingenious trench to protect the fire from rain and wind.

Four dozen eggs in a pudding necessitates an all-night boiling,
and because of this we offered to share "watches" with Cheon,
but were routed in a body. "We were better in bed," he said.
What would happen to his dinner if any one's appetite failed for want
of rest? There were too few of us as it was, and, besides, he would
have to stay up all night in any case, for the mince pies were yet
to be made, in addition to brownie and another plum-pudding for the
"boys," to say nothing of the hop-beer, which if made too soon
would turn with the thunder and if made too late would not "jump
up" in time. He did not add that he would have trusted no mortal
with the care of the fires that night.

He did add, however, that it would be as well to dispatch
the Vealer over night, and that an early move (about fowl-sing-out)
would not be amiss; and, always obedient to Cheon's will, we all
turned in, in good time, and becoming drowsy, dreamed of "watching"
great mobs of Vealers, with each Vealer endowed with a plum-pudding
for a head.

CHAPTER XXIII

At earliest dawn we were awakened by wild, despairing shrieks,
and were instinctively groping for our revolvers when we remembered
the fatted fowls and Cheon's lonely vigil, and turning out, dressed
hastily, realising that Christmas had come, and the pullets had sung
their last "sing-out."

When we appeared the stars were still dimly shining, but Cheon's
face was as luminous as a full moon, as, greeting each and all
of us with a "Melly Clisymus," he suggested a task for each
and all. Some could see about taking the Vealer down from the
gallows; six lubras were "rounded up" for the plucking of the
pullets, while the rest of us were sent out, through wet grass
and thicket, into the cold, grey dawn, to gather in "big, big mob
bough and mistletoe," for the beautifying of all things.

How we worked! With Cheon at the helm, every one was of necessity
enthusiastic. The Vealer was quartered in double-quick time,
and the first fitful rays of sunlight found their way to the Creek
crossing to light up an advancing forest of boughs and mistletoe
clumps that moved forward on nimble black legs.

In a gleaming, rustling procession the forest of green boughs
advanced, all crimson-flecked with mistletoe and sunlight,
and prostrated itself around us in mighty heaps at the head
of the homestead thoroughfare. Then the nimble black legs becoming
miraculously endowed with nimble black bodies and arms, soon
the gleaming boughs were piled high upon the iron roof of the
Eastern verandah to keep our impromptu dining-hall cool and
fresh. High above the roof rose the greenery, and over the edge
of the verandah, throughout its length, hung a deep fringe of green,
reaching right down to the ground at the posts; everywhere
among the boughs trailed long strands of bright red mistletoe,
while within the leafy bower itself hanging four feet deep from
the centre of the high roof one dense elongated mass of mistletoe
swayed gently in the breeze, its heaped-up scarlet blossoms
clustering about it like a swarm of glorious bees.

Cheon interrupted the decorations with a call to "Bressfass!
Duck cully and lice," he sang boldly, and then followed in
a doubtful, hesitating quaver: "I--think--sausage. Must have sausage
for Clisymus bress-fass," he said emphatically, as he ushered us
to seats, and we agreed with our usual "Of course!" But we found
fried balls of minced collops, which Cheon hastened to explain
would have been sausages if only he had had skins to pack them into.

"Him close up sausage!" he assured us, but that anxious quaver
was back in his voice, and to banish all clouds from his loyal old
heart, we ate heartily of the collops, declaring they were sausages
in all BUT skins. Skins, we persuaded him, were merely appendages
to sausages, barriers, in fact, between men and delectable feasts;
and satisfied that we were satisfied, he became all beams once
more, and called our attention to the curried duck.

The duck discussed, he hinted that dinner was the be all
and end all of "Clisymus," and, taking the hint, we sent
the preparations merrily forward.

Every chair and stool on the run was mustered; two tables were
placed end to end beneath that clustering, mistletoe and covered
with clean white tablecloths--remembering the story of the rags
and hobble rings we refrained from serviettes--the hop-beer was
set in canvas water bags to keep it cool; and Cheon pointing out
that the approach from the kitchens was not all that could be
desired, an enormous tent-fly was stretched away from the roof
of the verandah, extending it half-way to the kitchen, and further
greenery was used, decorating it within and without to make it a
fitting passage-way for the transport of Cheon's triumphs.
Then Cheon's kitchen decorations were renewed and added to;
and after that further suggestions suggested and attended to.
Everything that could be done was done, and by eight o'clock
all was ready for Cheon's triumphs, all but our appetites
and time of day.

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