COLONIAL EXPERIENCE.
It was the first time in my life I had been "stoney," and I didn't like
it a little bit--especially in Townsville, where there was so little
doing at that time. I went down to the wharf, with some hazy idea of
being able to stow away aboard one of the boats. Walking along pretty
disconsolately, I came on a Liverpool tramp just completing discharging.
"Ten to one," thought I, "she's bound for Newcastle. If only--well, here
goes. They can only chuck me ashore." So I went aboard, saw the mate,
and explained my position. He was kindness itself.
"Wait till I see the old man," he said. A few minutes' wait, then, "Come
along. Skipper wants to see you."
I went up with him, and found the "old man" in the chart-house. A
stoutish, good-natured man, with pince-nez and a black spade beard.
"Ah! good day, Mr.--er--thank you!--Senex. Have you your papers? Let me
see them please." A short investigation; then to the mate, "All right,
Mr. Andrews, make your own arrangements."
"Thanks, sir," said he. Then to me, as the skipper nodded and we left
the chart-house: "Good enough, old chap. You'll take the settee in my
room till we hit Newcastle. Run up town for your duds. We're sailing
just after lunch."
I wrung his hand. Talk about thankful! I didn't waste much time up
town, and got back aboard inside the hour. She was a happy ship, as
is always the case when the skipper is a decent sort, and it was
quite a holiday trip. Always having been a good hand with palm and
needle, I managed to make myself useful during the passage. Arrived
in Newcastle, I ceased to be a gentleman of leisure, and started that
soul-wearying business--looking for a job. Nothing doing! So I borrowed
a few pounds from the ship's tailor (I found now the advantage of
always having dealt square when I was mate before) and went down to
Sydney. Same thing there.
Oh! those weary, weary days, tramping round and trying to keep my
appearance sufficiently smart. I always hated towns in general, and from
that time loathed Sydney in particular, as being associated with my
period of submersion. From sneaking furtively into sixpenny hash-joints
I got to going in brazenly, and the day I spent my last sixpence I
plumbed the depths by pocketing some slabs of bread off the table. I
think I ought to say here that I was surprised at the quality and
quantity of the grub these places dispense. Don't know how they do it at
the price. I'll bet there's any amount of men bless them--as I did--when
down on one's luck.
That night I slept out in the open. I was really down now. Next morning
I did what I ought to have done at once instead of wasting the time
looking for an "officah's" job--went down to the wharves after an A.B.'s
berth, and got it inside two hours. I kept the job until I got enough to
pay Len for my falling. The ship was a collier running round to South
Australian ports from Newcastle. Never once did she hit Melbourne, where
the only girl in the world was, which was a sad disappointment; but
still we lived well, had good times, and made good money--indeed, more
than I was formerly getting as a deep-water mate.
Only one exciting incident occurred in the time I spent aboard, and that
was one awful night in a heavy South-Easter off Montague Island, when
some spare spars on the fore deck broke adrift. With the decks full of
water, these charged up and down like battering rams, and started the
bridge-deck bulkhead and fore-hatch coaming before we got them
secured--a job which took all hands most of the night.
I left her early in October, sent Len his cash, then, as I wanted to try
and get some cockeying experience and, if possible, learn to milk before
I returned home, I took a trip to the Richmond, having heard a lot of
this splendid district.
Do you think I could get employment? Not on your life! I tramped on,
trying place after place, offering to work for tucker just for
experience, which only succeeded in arousing suspicion. Finally I
drifted into Broadwater Sugar Mill, and became a member of the Rat-gang.
Now indeed were the mighty fallen with a vengeance! It was L1 a week and
tucker then, and the barracks were great barns, sub-divided into sties
by walls of corrugated iron, whitewashed, depressing, hideous as the
walls of Hell. There was a large element of Sydney tagrag and bobtail
there, and one had an uncomfortable sort of feeling that one was in a
species of chain-gang.
Yet even that place had compensations, and I have happy recollections of
glorious Sundays spent lying naked on the splendid curve of beach
between Evans Head and the Richmond entrance basking in the life-giving
Australian sunlight, and every few minutes taking a header into the
blue-green foam-capped breakers bursting on the sand.
I endured being in the Rat-gang until I had enough to pay my way North;
then one glad day, when the sun seemed to shine once more, I turned my
back on the place, and, with L5 in my pocket, cheerfully shouldered
"Matilda," and turned my face towards Byron Bay. I had entered that mill
a crusted Tory. I left it, well--I won't say an I.W.W. (not being quite
a lunatic), but certainly a fervid Labourite.
I enjoyed that walking tour. Between Ballina and Byron Bay one gets some
beautiful land and sea-scapes. I guess the bloke who rushes round in a
motor car never has time to appreciate half of what he goes to see.
Tramping along on Shanks's pony one can stop and admire occasionally. I
lay under the beam of Cape Byron light that night, slept like a top, and
was up early next day to try and make Murwillumbah by dark. Didn't do
it.
I crossed the lovely little Brunswick River by punt, and made the pace
along the fine road winding up the height of land between the river and
Crabbe's Creek. About half-way up, with a rock-wall overhead and a
precipitous drop of some 300 feet below--no fence either--a trap
overtook me, containing a little girl and a middle-aged lady. She pulled
up, offered me a welcome lift, and I climbed aboard. There was a
vixenish, sore-mouthed mare pulling us, and all went well until we
reached the top of the rise. Here the old lady tightened her grip on the
reins for the descent, and instantly the brute in the shafts shook her
head, pranced about a bit, and at last fairly bolted down the long
winding road, the trap swaying and skidding along behind. I shut my eyes
at every curve. The old girl kept her head though, and with pale lips
spoke quietly to the four-legged demon that was racing us to
destruction. Then came a four-chain straight, with oblivion beyond, the
road curving in so sharply that, looking down on it, one seemed to be
going straight over the bump. I never felt so scared before in all my
experience of close calls at sea, for I had always had to be flying
round; while here I could only sit tight and do nothing, as I didn't
know "B from a bull's foot" about a horse, so couldn't offer assistance.
I was aroused from the contemplation of a sinful past by a snapped
command from the lady. "Lean well in towards me!" I obeyed. The horse's
head came level with the turn. She threw her whole weight on the
starboard line, and we whipped round the curve like a shot, skidding
fully six feet broadside on towards the edge, and--we were safe, for a
long, straight, gentle grade led down to the level, and the frisky
beast, having shot her bolt, so to speak, became amenable to discipline
before we reached it. I left the trap near Crabbe's Creek station,
paying the old lady a compliment on her splendid nerve. Cripes! There
wasn't six inches between our wheel and the edge as we swung round that
corner!
I got along at a good pace now, as rain was threatening and it was
getting dusk, keeping my weather eye open for a likely place to camp.
Presently a "tick-gate" barred the way, and just beyond was the tent of
a road maintenance man, where I craved shelter for the night. With
typical Australian hospitality he not only granted it at once, but
insisted on my sharing his tucker as well. I was glad of the shelter
that night, for the rain poured in torrents, and I slept all the sounder
for the row it made outside.
Next morning I left my hospitable host and made tracks for the Tweed.
Passed through Murwillumbah, a pretty little rather sleepy town, about
noon, and boarded a boat for the Heads, being instantly asked for my
fare, and regarded with dark suspicion while I was forking it out. Got
down to the Heads at 4 p.m., getting a glimpse of boiling white surf on
the bar as we shot out of the swift current into a quiet little dock,
where we disembarked, and once more my ready foot pressed the soil of
Queensland.