CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
CHAPTER XXIV
CHAPTER XXV AND LAST
PRELUDE
We—are just some of the bush-folk of the Never-Never.
Distinct in the foreground stand:
The Maluka, The Little Missus, The Sanguine Scot, The Head Stockman, The
Dandy, The Quiet Stockman, The Fizzer, Mine Host, The Wag, Some of our
Guests, A few black “boys” and lubras, A dog or two, Tam-o’-Shanter,
Happy Dick, Sam Lee, and last, but by no means least, Cheon—the ever-
mirthful, ever-helpful, irrepressible Cheon, who was crudely recorded on
the station books as cook and gardener.
The background is filled in with an ever-moving company—a strange medley
of Whites, Blacks, and Chinese; of travellers, overlanders, and
billabongers, who passed in and out of our lives, leaving behind them
sometimes bright memories, sometimes sad, and sometimes little memory at
all.
And All of Us, and many of this company, shared each other’s lives for
one bright, sunny year, away Behind the Back of Beyond, in the Land of
the Never-Never; in that elusive land with an elusive name—a land of
dangers and hardships and privations yet loved as few lands are loved—a
land that bewitches her people with strange spells and mysteries, until
they call sweet bitter, and bitter sweet. Called the Never-Never, the
Maluka loved to say, because they, who have lived in it and loved it
Never-Never voluntarily leave it. Sadly enough, there are too many who
Never-Never do leave it. Others—the unfitted—will tell you that it is so
called because they who succeed in getting out of it swear they will
Never-Never return to it. But we who have lived in it, and loved it, and
left it, know that our hearts can Never-Never rest away from it.
WE OF THE NEVER-NEVER
CHAPTER I
To begin somewhere near the beginning, the Maluka—better known at that
time as the new Boss for the Elsey—and I, his “missus,” were at Darwin,
in the Northern Territory, waiting for the train that was to take us
just as far as it could—one hundred and fifty miles—on our way to the
Never-Never. It was out of town just then, up-country somewhere,
billabonging in true bush-whacker style, but was expected to return in a
day or two, when it would be at our service.
Jack, the Quiet Stockman, was out at the homestead, “seeing to things”
there. The Sanguine Scot, the Head Stockman, and the Dandy, were in at
the Katherine, marking time, as it were, awaiting instructions by wire
from the Maluka, while some of the Company “put finishing touches” to
their New Year celebrations. And every one, with, of course, the
exception of those in Darwin, was blissfully unconscious of even the
existence of the Maluka’s missus. Knowing the Maluka by repute, however,
every one was agreed that the “Elsey had struck it lucky,” until the
telegraph wire, whispering the gossip of Darwin to the Katherine,
whispered that the “new Boss for the Elsey had been and gone and married
a missus just before leaving the South, and was bringing her along with
him.” Then the Sanguine Scot was filled with wrath, the Company with
compassion, while the Dandy’s consternation found relief in a dismayed
“Heavens above!” (The Dandy, by the way, was only a dandy in his love of
sweet, clean clothes and orderly surroundings. The heart of the man had
not a touch of dandyism in it.) The Head Stockman was absent in his
camp. Had he been present, much might have been said on the “advantages
of having a woman about the place.” The Wag, however, retained his usual
flow of speech and spirits.
“Buck up, chaps!” he chuckled encouraging! “They’re not all snorters,
you know. You might have the luck to strike one of the ‘ministering
angel variety.’”
But the Sanguine Scot had been thinking rapidly, and with characteristic
hopefulness, felt he had the bull by the horns. “We’ll just have to
block her, chaps; that’s all,” he said. “A wire or two should do it”;
and, inviting the Dandy “to come and lend a hand,” led the way to the
telegraph office; and presently there quivered into Darwin the first
hint that a missus was not wanted at the Elsey.
“Would advise leaving wife behind till homestead can be repaired,” it
said; and, still confident of success, Mac felt that “ought to do the
trick.” “If it doesn’t,” he added, “we’ll give her something stronger.”
We in Darwin, having exhausted the sight-seeing resources of the little
town, were wishing “something interesting would happen,” when the
message was handed to the Maluka.
“This may do as a stopgap,” he said, opening it, adding as he read it,
“It looks brimful of possibilities for interested onlookers, seeing it
advises leaving the wife behind.” The Maluka spoke from experience,
having been himself an interested onlooker “down south,” when it had
been suggested there that the wife should be left behind while he spied
out the land; for although the Maluka knew most of the Territory, he had
not yet been to the Elsey Cattle Station.
Preferring to be “the interested onlooker” myself this time, when we
went to the telegraph office it was the Maluka who wired: “Wife coming,
secure buggy”, and in an incredibly short space of time the answer was
back: “No buggy obtainable.”
Darwin looked interested. “Mac hasn’t wasted much time in making
inquiries,” it said.
“Or in apologies or explanations,” the Maluka added shortly, and sent in
reply: “Wife can ride, secure suitable mount.”
But the Sanguine Scot’s fighting blood was up, and almost immediately
the wire rapped out: “No side-saddle obtainable. Stock horses all
flash”; and the onlookers stared in astonishment.
“Mac’s in deadly earnest this time,” they said, and the Maluka, with a
quiet “So am I,” went back to the telegraph.
Now, in the Territory everybody knows everybody else, but particularly
the telegraph people; and it often happens that when telegrams of
general interest are passing through, they are accompanied by
confidential asides—little scraps of harmless gossip not intended for
the departmental books; therefore it was whispered in the tail of the
last message that the Katherine was watching the fight with interest was
inclined to “reckon the missus a goer,” and that public sympathy was
with the stockman—the Katherine had its women-folk and was thankful; but
the Katherine knew that although a woman in a settlement only rules her
husband’s home, the wife of a station-manager holds the peace and
comfort of the stockmen in the hollow of her hand.
“Stock horses all flash,” the Sanguine Scot said, and then went out and
apologised to an old bay horse. “We had to settle her hash somehow,
Roper, old chap,” he said, stroking the beautiful neck, adding tenderly
as the grand old head nosed into him: “You silly old fool! You’d carry
her like a lamb if I let you.”
Then the Maluka’s reply came, and Mac whistled in amazement. “By
George!” he said to those near him, “she IS a goer, a regular goer”; and
after much careful thought wired an inane suggestion about waiting until
after the Wet.
Darwin laughed outright, and an emphatic: “Wife determined, coming
Tuesday’s train,” from the Maluka was followed by a complete breakdown
at the Katherine.
Then Darwin came in twos and threes to discuss the situation, and while
the men offered every form of service and encouragement, the women-folk
spoke of a woman “going bush” as “sheer madness.” “Besides, no woman
travels during the Wet,” they said, and the Maluka “hoped she would
prove the exception.”
“But she’ll be bored to death if she does reach the homestead alive,”
they prophesied; and I told them they were not very complimentary to the
Maluka.
“You don’t understand,” they hastened to explain. “He’ll be camping out
most of his time, miles away from the homestead,” and I said, “So will
I.”
“So you think,” they corrected. “But you’ll find that a woman alone in a
camp of men is decidedly out of place”; and I felt severely snubbed.
The Maluka suggested that he might yet succeed in persuading some
suitable woman to come out with us, as maid or companion; but the
opposition, wagging wise heads, pursed incredulous lips, as it declared
that “no one but a fool would go out there for either love or money.” A
prophecy that came true, for eventually we went “bush” womanless.
The Maluka’s eyes twinkled as he listened. “Does the cap fit, little
’un?” he asked; but the women-folk told him that it was not a matter for
joking.
“Do you know there is not another white woman within a hundred-mile
radius?” they asked; and the Maluka pointed out that it was not all
disadvantage for a woman to be alone in a world of men. “The men who
form her world are generally better and truer men, because the woman in
their midst is dependent on them alone, for companionship, and love, and
protecting care,” he assured them.
“Men are selfish brutes,” the opposition declared, rather irrelevantly,
looking pointedly at the Maluka.
He smiled with as much deference as he could command. “Also,” he said,
“a woman alone in a world of men rarely complains of their selfishness”;
and I hastened to his assistance. “Particularly when those men are
chivalrous bushmen,” I began, then hesitated, for, since reading the
telegrams, my ideas of bush chivalry needed readjustment.
“Particularly when those men are chivalrous bushmen,” the Maluka agreed,
with the merry twinkle in his eyes; for he perfectly understood the
cause of the sudden breakdown. Then he added gravely: “For the average
bushman will face fire, and flood, hunger, and even death itself, to
help the frail or weak ones who come into his life; although he’ll
strive to the utmost to keep the Unknown Woman out of his environments
particularly when those environments are a hundred miles from anywhere.”
The opposition looked incredulous. “Hunger and death!” it said.
“Fiddlesticks!” It would just serve them right if she went; and the men
folk pointed out that this was, now, hardly flattering to the missus.
The Maluka passed the interruption by without comment. “The Unknown
Woman is brimful of possibilities to a bushman,” he went on; “for
although she MAY be all womanly strength and tenderness, she may also be
anything, from a weak timid fool to a self-righteous shrew, bristling
with virtue and indignation. Still,” he added earnestly, as the
opposition began to murmur, “when a woman does come into our lives,
whatever type she may be, she lacks nothing in the way of chivalry, and
it rests with herself whether she remains an outsider or becomes just
One of Us. Just One of Us,” he repeated, unconsciously pleading hard for
the bushman and his greatest need—“not a goddess on a pedestal, but just
a comrade to share our joys and sorrows with.”
The opposition wavered. “If it wasn’t for those telegrams,” it said. But
Darwin, seeing the telegrams in a new light, took up the cudgels for the
bushmen.
“Poor beggars,” it said, “you can’t blame them. When you come to think
of it, the Unknown Woman is brimful of possibilities.” Even then, at the
Katherine, the possibilities of the Unknown Woman were being tersely
summed up by the Wag.
“You’ll sometimes get ten different sorts rolled into one,” he said
finally, after a long dissertation. “But, generally speaking, there’s
just three sorts of ’em. There’s Snorters—the goers, you know—the sort
that go rampaging round, looking for insults, and naturally finding
them; and then there’s fools; and they’re mostly screeching when they’re
not smirking—the uncertain-coy-and-hard-to-please variety, you know,” he
chuckled, “and then,” he added seriously, “there’s the right sort, the
sort you tell things to. They’re A1 all through the piece.”
The Sanguine Scot was confident, though, that they were all alike, and
none of ’em were wanted; but one of the Company suggested “If she was
little, she’d do. The little ’uns are all right,” he said.
But public opinion deciding that “the sort that go messing round where
they know they’re not wanted are always big and muscular and snorters,”
the Sanguine Scot was encouraged in his determination to “block her
somehow.”
“I’ll block her yet; see if I don’t,” he said confidently. “After all
these years on their own, the boys don’t want a woman messing round the
place.” And when he set out for the railway along the north track, to
face the “escorting trick,” he repeated his assurances. “I’ll block her,
chaps, never fear,” he said; and glowering at a “quiet” horse that had
been sent by the lady at the Telegraph, added savagely, “and I’ll begin
by losing that brute first turn out.”