We of the Never Never
J >>
Jeanie Mrs. Aeneas Gunn >> We of the Never Never
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 | 7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13 |
14 |
15 |
16 |
17 |
18 |
19
While the Quiet Stockman had been busy rearranging his ideas
of womankind, a good many things had been going wrong at the
homestead. Sam began by breaking both china cups, and letting
the backbone slip out of everything in his charge.
Fowls laid-out and eggs became luxuries. Cream refused to rise
on the milk. It seemed impossible to keep meat sweet. Jimmy lost
interest in the gathering of firewood and the carrying of water; and
as a result, the waterbutts first shrank, then leaked, and finally lay
down, a medley of planks and iron hoops. A swarm of grasshoppers
passed through the homestead, and to use Sam's explicit English:
"Vegetable bin finissem all about"; and by the time fresh seeds
were springing the Wet returned with renewed vigour, and flooded out
the garden. Then stores began to fail, including soap and kerosene,
and writing-paper and ink threatened to "peter out." After that
the lubras, in a private quarrel during the washing of clothes,
tore one of the "couple of changes" of blouses sadly; and the mistress
of a cattle-station was obliged to entertain guests at times
in a pink cambric blouse patched with a washed calico flour-bag;
no provision having been made for patching. Then just as we were
wondering what else could happen, one night, without the slightest
warning, the very birds migrated from the lagoon, carrying away
with them the promise of future pillows, to say nothing of a mattress,
and the Maluka was obliged to go far afield in search
of non-migrating birds.
Dan wagged his head and talked wise philosophy, with these disasters
for the thread of his discourse; but even he was obliged to own
that there was a limit to education when Sam announced that "Tea
bin finissem all about." He had found that the last eighty-pound
tea-chest contained tinware when he opened it to replenish his
teacaddy. Tea had been ordered, and the chest was labelled tea
clearly enough, to show that the fault lay in Darwin; but that
was poor consolation to us, the sufferers.
The necessities of the bush are few; but they are necessities;
and Billy Muck was sent in to the Katherine post-haste, to beg,
borrow, or buy tea from Mine Host. At the least a horseman would
take six days for the trip, irrespective of time lost in packing up;
but knowing Billy's untiring, swinging stride, we hoped to see him
within four days.
Billy left at midday, and we drank our last cup of tea at supper;
the next day learned what slaves we can be to our bodies. Because
we lacked tea, the interest went out of everything. Listless
and unsatisfied, we sat about and developed headaches, not thirsty--
for there was water in plenty but craving for the uplifting
influence of tea. Never drunkards craved more intensely for strong
drink! Sam made coffee; but coffee only increased the headaches
and cravings, and so we sat peering into the forest, hoping for
travellers; and all we learnt by the experience was that tea is
a necessary of life out-bush.
On the second evening a traveller came in from the south track.
"He wouldn't refuse a woman, surely," every one said, and we
welcomed him warmly.
He had about three ounces of tea. "Meant to fill up here meself,"
he said in apology, as, with the generosity of a bushman, he offered
it all unconditionally. Let us hope the man has been rewarded,
and has never since known what it is to be tealess out-bush!
We never heard his name, and I doubt if any one of us would know
the man again if we saw him. All we saw was a dingy tuckerbag,
with its one corner bulging heart-shaped with tea!
We accepted one half, for the man had a three-days, journey
before him, and Sam doled it out so frugally that we spent two
comparatively happy days before fixing our attention on the
north track, along which Billy would return.
In four and a half days he appeared, carrying a five-pound tea-tin
on his head, and was hailed with a yell of delight. We were
all in the stockyard, and Billy, in answer to the hail, came there.
Dan wanted a "sniff of it right off," so it was then and there opened;
but as the lid flew back the yell of delight changed to a howl
of disappointment. By some hideous mistake, Billy had brought RAISINS.
Like many philosophers, Dan could not apply his philosophy to himself.
"It's the dead finish," he said dejectedly; "never struck anything
like it before. Twice over too," he added. "First tinware and now
this foolery "; and he kicked savagely at the offending tin, sending
a shower of raisins dancing out into the dust.
Every one but Dan was speechless, while Billy, not being a slave
to tea-drinking, gathered the raisins up, failing to see any cause
for diisappointment, particularly as most of the raisins fell
to his share for his prompt return.
Hle also failed to see any advantage in setting out again for
the Katherine. "Might it catch raisins nuzzer time," he said,
logically enough.
Dan became despondent at the thought. "They're fools enough for
anything," he said. I tried to cheer him up on the law of averages,
as Goggle-Eye was sent off with instructions to travel "quick-fellow,
quick-fellow, big mob quick-fellow," and many promises of reward
if he was back in "four fellow sleeps."
For two more days we peered into the forest for travellers but
none appeared, and Dan became retrospective. "We might have
guessed this 'ud happen," he said, declaring it was a "judgment on
the missus" for chucking good tea away just because a fly got into
it. Luck's cleared right out because of it, missus," he said;
"and if things go on like this Johnny'll be coming along one
of these days." (Dan was the only one of us who could joke
on the matter.)
"Luck's smashed all to pieces," he insisted later, when he found
that the first pillow was finished; but at sundown was inclined
to think it might be "on the turn again," for Goggle-Eye appeared
on the north track, stalking majestically in front of a horseman.
"Me bin catch traveller," he said triumphantly, claiming his
rewards, "Me bin come back two fellow sleep"; and before we
could explain that was hardly what we had meant, the man had
ridden up.
"Heard you were doing a famish here, sitting with your tongues
hanging out," he laughed, "so I've brought you a few more raisins."
And dismounting, he drew out from a pack-bag a long calico bag
containing quite ten pounds of tea.
"You struck the Wag's tin," he said, explaining the mistake, as
every one shouted for Sam to boil a kettle instantly, and with
the tea came a message from the Wag himself:
"I'll trouble you for my raisins "; and we could almost hear the Wag's
slow, dry chuckle underlying the words.
Mine Host also sent a message, saying he would "send further supplies
every opportunity, to keep things going until the waggons came
through," and underlying his message we felt his kindly consideration.
As a further proof of his thoughtfulness we found two china cups
imbedded in the tea. He had heard of Sam's accident. Tea in china cups!
and as much and as strong as we desired. But in spite of Mine Host's
efforts to keep us going, twice again, before the waggons came,
we found ourselves begging tea from travellers.
Our energies revived with the very first cup of tea, and we went
for our usual evening stroll through the paddocks, with all our old
appreciation; and on our return found the men stretched out on the
grass beyond the Quarters, optimistic and happy, sipping at
further cups of tea. (Sam's kettle was kept busy that night.)
The men's optimism was infectious, and presently the Maluka
"supposed the waggons would be starting before long."
It was only March, and the waggons had to wait till the Wet lifted;
but just then every one felt sure that "the Wet would lift early
this year."
"Generally does with the change of moon before Easter," the traveller
said, and, flying off at a tangent, I asked when Easter was,
unwittingly setting the homestead a tough problem.
Nobody "could say for certain." But Dan "knew a chap once who
could reckon it by the moon" and the Maluka felt inspired to work
it out. "It's simple enough," he said. "The first Friday--
or is it Sunday?--after the first full moon, AFTER the twenty-first
of March."
"Twenty-fifth, isn't it?" the Dandy asked, complicating matters
from the beginning.
The traveller reckoned it'd be new moon about Monday or Tuesday,
which seemed near enough at the time; and full moon was fixed
for the Tuesday or Wednesday fortnight from that.
"That ought to settle it," Dan said; and so it might have if any
one had been sure of Monday's date; but we all had different
convictions about that, varying from the ninth to the thirteenth.
After much ticking off of days upon fingers, with an old
newspaper as "something to work from," the date of the full moon
was fixed for the twenty-fourth or twenty-fifth of March, unless
the moon came in so late on Tuesday that it brought the full to the
morning of the twenty-sixth.
"Seems getting a bit mixed," Dan said, and matters were certainly
complicated.
If we were to reckon from the twenty-first, Easter was in March,
but if from the twenty-fifth, in April--if the moon came in on
Monday, but March in either case if the full was on the twenty-sixth.
Dan suggested "giving it best." "It 'ud get anybody dodged," he said,
hopelessly at sea; but the Maluka wanted to "see it through."
"The new moon should clear most of it up," he said; "but you've
given us a teaser this time, little 'un."
The new moon should have cleared everything up if we could
have seen it, but the Wet coming on in force again, we saw
nothing till Thursday evening, when it was too late to calculate
with precision.
Dan was for having two Easters, and "getting even with it that
way"; but Sam unexpectedly solved the problem for us.
"What was the difficulty?" he asked, and listened to the explanation
attentively. "Bunday!" he exclaimed at the finish, showing he had
fully grasped the situation. Of course he knew all about Bunday!
Wasn't it so many weeks after the Chinaman's New Year festival?
And in a jargon of pidgin-English he swept aside all moon discussions,
and fixed the date of "Bunday" for the twenty-eighth of March,
"which," as Dan wisely remarked, "proved that somebody was right,"
but whether the Maluka or the Dandy, or the moon, he forgot
to specify. "The old heathen to beat us all too," he added,
"just when it had got us all dodged." Dan took all the credit
of the suggestion to himself. Then he looked philosophically
on the toughness of the problem: "Anyway," he said, "the missus
must have learnt a bit about beginning at the beginning of things.
Just think what she'd have missed if any one had known when Easter
was right off! "
"What she'd have missed indeed. Exactly what the townsman misses,
as long as he remains in a land where everything can be known
right off."
But a new idea had come to Dan. "Of course," he said, "as far as
that goes, if Johnny does turn up she ought to learn a thing or two,
while he's moving the dining-room up the house"; and he decided
to welcome Johnny on his return.
He had not long to wait, for in a day or two Johnny rode into
the homestead, followed by a black boy carrying a cross-cut saw.
This time he hailed us with a cheery:
"NOW we shan't be long."
CHAPTER X
It had taken over six weeks to "get hold of little Johnny ";
but as the Dandy had prophesied, once he started, he "made things
hum in no time."
"Now we shan't be long," he said, flourishing a tape measure;
and the Dandy was kept busy for half a day, "wrestling with
the calculating."
That finished, the store was turned inside out and a couple of
"boys " sent in for "things needed," and after them more "boys"
for more things; and then other "boys" for other things, until
travellers must have thought the camp blacks had entered into a
walking competition. When everything necessary was ordered, "all
hands" were put on to sharpen saws and tools, aml the homestead
shrieked and groaned all day with harsh, discordant raspings.
Then a camp was pitched in the forest, a mile or so from the homestead;
a sawpit dug, a platform erected, and before a week had passed an
invitation was issued, for the missus to "come and see a tree
felled." Laying thee foundation-stone," the Maluka called it.
Johnny of course welcomed us with a jovial "Now we shan't be long,"
and shouldering a tomahawk, led the way out of the camp into
the timber.
House-hunting in town does not compare favourably with timber-hunting
for a house, in a luxuriant tropical forest. Sheltered from the sun
and heat we wandered about in the feathery undergrowth, while
the Maluka tested the height of the giant timber above us with shots
from his bull-dog revolver bringing down twigs and showers of leaves
from the topmost branches, and sending flocks of white cockatoos
up into the air with squawks of amazement.
Tree after tree was chosen and marked with the tomahawk,
each one appearing taller and straighter and more beautiful than
any of its fellows until, finding ourselves back at the camp,
Johnny went for his axe and left us to look at the beauty around
us.
"Seems a pity to spoil all this, just to make four walls to shut
the missus in from anything worth looking at," Dan murmured as
Johnny reappeared. "They won't make anything as good as this
up at the house." Johnny the unpoetical hesitated, perplexed.
Philosophy was not in his line. "'Tisn't too bad," he said,
suddenly aware of the beauty of the scene, and then the tradesman
came to the surface. "I reckon MY job'll be a bit more on the
plumb, though," he chuckled, and, delighted with his little joke,
shouldered his axe and walked towards one of the marked trees,
while Dan speculated aloud on the chances a man had of "getting
off alive" if a tree fell on him.
"Trees don't fall on a man that knows how to handle timber,"
the unsuspecting Johnny said briskly; and as Dan feared that
"fever was her only chance then," he spat on his hands, and,
sending the axe home into the bole of the tree with a clean,
swinging stroke, laid the foundation-stone--the foundation-stone
of a tiny home in the wilderness, that was destined to be
the dwellingplace of great joy, and happiness, and sorrow.
The Sanguine Scot had prophesied rightly. There being "time
enough for everything in the Never-Never," there was time for
"many pleasant rides along the Reach, choosing trees for timber."
But the rides were the least part of the pleasure. For the time
being, the silent Reach forest had become the hub of our little
universe. All was life and bustle and movement there. Every day
fresh trees uere felled and chopping contests entered into by
Johnny and the Dandy; and as the trees fell in quick succession,
black boys and lubras armed with tomahawks, swarmed over them,
to lop away the branches, before the trunks were dragged by
the horses to the mouth of the sawpit. Every one was happy and
light-hearted, and the work went merrily forward, until a great pile
of tree-trunks lay ready for the sawpit.
Then a new need arose: Johnny wanted several yards of strong string,
and a "sup" of ink, to make guiding lines on the timber for his saw;
but as only sewing cotton was forthcoming, and the Maluka refused
to part with one drop of his precious ink, we were obliged to go down
to the beginning of things once more: two or three lubras were set
to work to convert the sewing-cotton into tough, strong string,
while others prepared a substitute for the ink from burnt water-lily
roots.
The sawing of tbe tree-trunks lasted for nearly three weeks,
and the Dandy, being the under-man in the pit, had anything but
a merry time. Down in the pit, away from the air, he worked;
pulling and pushing, pushing and pulling, hour after hour, in
a blinding stream of sawdust.
When we offered him sympathy and a gossamer veil, he accepted
the veil gratefully, but waved the sympathy aside, saying it was
"all in the good cause." Nothing was ever a hardship to the Dandy,
excepting dirt.
Johnny being a past-master in his trade, stood on the platform
in the upper air, guiding the saw along the marked lines; and as he
instructed us all in the fine art of pit-sawing, Dan decided that the
building of a house, under some circumstances, could be an
education in itself.
"Thought she might manage to learn a thing or two out of it,"
he said. "The building of it is right enough. It all depends what
she uses it for when Johnny's done with it."
As the pliant saw coaxed beams, and slabs, and flooring boards
out of the forest trees I grew to like beginning at the beginning
of things, and realised there was an underlying truth in Dan's
whimsical reiteration, that "the missus was in luck when she
struck this place"; for beams and slabs and flooring boards
wrested from Nature amid merrymaking and philosophical discourses
are not as other beams and slabs and flooring boards. They are
old friends and fellow-adventurers, with many a good tale to tell,
recalling comical situations in their reminiscences with
a vividness that baffles description.
Perhaps those who live in homes with the beginning of things
left behind in forests they have never seen, may think chattering
planks a poor compensation for unpapered, rough-boarded walls
and unglazed window frames. Let them try it before they judge;
remembering always, that before a house can be built of old
friends and memories the friends must be made and the memories
lived through.
But other things beside the sawing of timber were in progress,
Things were also "humming" in the dog world. A sturdy fox-terrier,
Brown by name, had been given by a passing traveller to the Maluka,
given almost of necessity for Brown--as is the way with fox-terriers
at times--quietly changed masters, and lying down at the Maluka's
feet, had refused to leave him. The station dogs resented his
presence there, and persecuted him as an interloper; and being
a peace-loving dog, Brown bore it patiently for two days, hoping,
no doubt, the persecution would wear itself out. On the third day,
however, he quietly changed his tactics--for sometimes the only
road to peace is through fighting--and, accepting their challenge,
took on the station dogs one by one in single combat.
Only a full-sized particularly sturdy-looking fox-terrier against
expert cattle dogs; and yet no dog could stand against him. One
by one he closed with them, and one by one they went before
him; and at the end of a week he was "cock of the walk," and lay
down to enjoy his well-earned peace. His death-stroke was a
flashing lunge, from a grip of a foreleg to a sharp, grinding grip of
the enemy's tongue. How he managed it was a puzzle, but sooner
or later he got his grip in, to let go at the piercing yell of defeat
that invariably followed. But Brown was a gentleman, not a bully,
and after each fight buried the hatchet, appearing to shake hands
with his late adversary. No doubt if he had had a tail he would
have wagged it, but Brown had been born with a large, perfectly
round, black spot, at the root of his tail, and his then owner,
having an eye for the picturesque, had removed his white tail
entirely, even to its last joint, to allow of no break in the spot;
and when the spirit moved Brown to wag a tail, a violent stirring of
hairs in the centre of this spot betrayed his desire to the
world. It goes without saying that Brown did not fight the
canine women-folk; for, as some one has said, man is the only
animal that strikes his women-folk.
Most of the battles were fought in the station thoroughfare,
all of them taking on the form of a general melee. As soon as
Brown closed with an enemy, the rest of the dogs each sought
an especial adversary, hoping to wipe out some past defeat;
while the pups, having no past to wipe out, diverted themselves
by skirmishing about on the outskirts of the scrimmage, nipping
joyously at any hind quarters that came handy, bumping into
other groups of pups, thoroughly enjoying life, and accumulating
material for future fights among themselves.
Altogether we had a lively week. To interfere in the fights only
prolonged them; and, to add to the general hubbub, the servant
question had opened up again. Jimmy's Nellie, who had been
simmering for some time, suddenly rebelled, and refused to
consider herself among the rejected.
We said there was no vacancy on the staff for her, and she
immediately set herself to create one, by pounding and punching
at the staff in private. Finding this of no avail, she threatened
to "sing" Maudie dead, also in private, unless she resigned.
Maudie proving unexpectedly tough and defiant, Nellie gave up all
hope of creating a vacancy, and changing front, adopted
a stone-walling policy. Every morning, quietly and doggedly,
she put herself on the staff, and every morning was as quietly
and doggedly dismissed from office.
Doggedness being an unusual trait in a black fellow, the homestead
became interested. "Never say die, little 'un," the Maluka laughed
each morning; but Dan was inclined to bet on Nellie.
"She's got nothing else to do, and can concentrate all her thoughts
on it," he said, "and besides, it means more for her."
It meant a good deal to me, too, for I particularly objected to
Jimmy's Nellie partly because she was an inveterate smoker and
a profuse spitter upon floors; partly because--well to be quite
honest--because a good application of carbolic soap would have
done no harm; and partly because she appeared to have a passion
for exceedingly scanty garments, her favourite costume being a
skirt made from the upper half of a fifty-pound calico flour bag.
Her blouses had, apparently, been all mislaid. Nellie, unconscious
of my real objections, daily and doggedly put herself on the staff,
and was daily aml doggedly dismissed. But as she generally managed
to do the very thing that most needed doing, before I could find her
to dismiss, Dan was offering ten to one on Nellie by Easter time.
"Another moon'll see her on the staff," he prophesied, as we
prepared to go out-bush for Easter.
The Easter moon had come in dry and cool, and at its full the Wet
lifted, as our traveller had foretold. Only a bushman's personal
observation, remember, this lifting of the Wet with the full
of the Easter moon, not a scientific statement; but by an insight
peculiarly their own, bushmen come at more facts than most men.
Sam did his best with Bunday, serving hot rolls with mysterious
markings on them for breakfast, and by midday he had the homestead
to himself, the Maluka and I being camped at Bitter Springs
and every one else being elsewhere. Our business was yard-inspection,
with Goggle-Eye as general factotum. We, of course, had ridden out,
but Goggle-Eye had preferred to walk. "Me all day knock up longa
horse," he explained striding comfortably along beside us.
Several exciting hours were spent with boxes of wax matches, burning
the rank grass back from the yard at the springs (at Goggle-Eye's
suggestion the missus had been pressed into the service); and then
we rode through the rank grass along the river, scattering matches
as we went like sparks from an engine. As soon as the rank grass
seeds it must be burnt off, before the soil loses its moisture,
to ensure a second shorter spring, and everywhere we went now
clouds of dense smoke rose behind us.
That walk about with the Maluka and "Gadgerrie" lived like a red-letter
day in old Goggle-Eye's memory; for did he not himself strike
a dozen full boxes of matches?
Dan was away beyond the northern boundary, going through the cattle,
judging the probable duration of "outside waters" for that year,
burning off too as he rode. The Quiet Stockman was away beyond
the southern boundary, rounding up wanderers and stragglers among
the horses, and the station was face to face with the year's work,
making preparations for the year's mustering and branding--for with
the lifting of the Wet everything in the Never-Never begins to move.
"After the Wet" rivers go down, the north-west monsoon giving
place to the south-east Trades; bogs dry up everywhere, opening
all roads; travellers pass through the stations from all points of
the compass--cattle buyers, drovers, station-owners, telegraph
people--all bent on business, and all glad to get moving after the
long compulsory inaction of the Wet; and lastly that great yearly
cumbrous event takes place: the starting of the "waggons," with
their year's stores for Inside.
The first batch of travellers had little news for us. They had
heard that the teams were loading up, and couldn't say for certain,
and, finding them unsatisfactory, we looked forward to the coming
of the "Fizzer," our mailman, who was almost due.
Eight mails a year was our allowance, with an extra one now
and then through the courtesy of travellers. Eight mails a year
against eight hundred for the townsfolk. Was it any wonder that
we all found we had business at the homestead when the Fizzer
was due there ?
When he came this trip he was, as usual, brimming over with news:
personal items, public gossip, and the news that the horse teams
had got most of their loading on, and that the Macs were getting
their bullocks under way. Two horse waggons and a dray for far
"inside," and three bullock waggons for the nearer distances,
comprised the "waggons" that year. The teamsters were Englishmen;
but the bullock-punchers were three "Macs"--an Irishman, a Highlander,
and the Sanguine Scot.
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 | 7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13 |
14 |
15 |
16 |
17 |
18 |
19