BRISBANE--TRAVELS IN THE "NEVER NEVER" LAND.
I went on board the _Black Swan_ on taking leave of the captain and my
other friends on the schooner, and after an uneventful passage arrived
in Brisbane. Times had altered greatly in Queensland, for the worse I
thought, since I was there last. The rich people had grown richer, and
the poor poorer. It is sad at the present day to walk about the town and
look at all the semi-destitute people whom one sees on every side, and
then think of the "booms" which used to be a few years ago. My objects
in coming to Brisbane were many. I had now, as I thought, sufficient
capital to establish myself in a small way at my trade, and I intended
to look out for a suitable place near town where I might begin. I was
also on the look-out for a wife; but that was only in a general sense,
and when all is said, I believe that what I considered most important
was to enjoy myself. In any case, with over three hundred pounds in the
bank I felt pretty independent and considered myself entitled to spend
all I could earn so long as I could keep this nest-egg safe. The town
was busy, work was plentiful, but although I went about every night and
spent all I earned, yet I by no means liked Brisbane. I do not propose
to criticise the inhabitants thereof in a general way, but so far as it
concerns my narrative at this point I must say a few words. I was very
unsuccessful in finding any girl whom I thought might suit me for a
wife, and who, at the same time, herself approved of me for a husband.
The reason, as I understood it, was this: Brisbane was, and is, crammed
full of young women who are glad to stand in a shop from morning to
night for half-a-crown a week and find themselves. Whether such girls
can or cannot make a cup of tea I do not know, but my general impression
of them was that they would rather not, if they could avoid it. Then as
for servant-girls, it is a common delusion to believe that they are well
off in Brisbane; the fact is that the majority of people who keep a
servant both overwork her and use her as a coat-of-arms wherewith to set
themselves off, and one never by any chance reads a book either in
Australia or elsewhere in which a servant is spoken of as possessed of
even common sense. Of course, the better class of girls will revolt at
contemptuous treatment, and they are, therefore, scarce in Brisbane, and
have always been. In the bush of course it is different: there the
servant is not spoken of as the "slavey" and thought of as a fool, and
as a consequence they are neither the one nor the other. But a tradesman
in Brisbane has no opportunity whatever of meeting any young woman
outside these circles, because the greatest possible social distinction
exists between such people as, say a bank clerk, or even a grocer's
clerk, and a tradesman or a labourer; so is it between a music-teacher,
shop-girl, dressmaker, or a servant. I found it so, and that had a great
deal to do with my dislike to Brisbane; but, apart from that, I had been
so used to the free life of the bush, and more lately then to the
changing scenes among the South Sea Islands, that I could not endure for
long the everyday life of the shop and the boarding-house, and the
boarding-house and the shop. I therefore engaged myself as carpenter to
a squatter who had a large station on the Darling Downs, and right glad
was I when I shook the dust of Brisbane off my feet again. But before
leaving this city I should like to speak about the last piece of work I
did there, because it is in such striking contrast to the state of the
carpenter's trade at the present time. One Saturday morning when I came
to work, my employer asked me to put a few tools in my basket and go out
to his private house to perform certain work there. As I crossed Queen
Street a man came running after me and asked me if I wanted a job of
carpenter's work. I said "No." When I came a little further up, along
George Street, a publican came running out of his door, smiling all over
his face, saying I was the very man he wanted, as he could see by the
basket I carried that I was a carpenter. I told him I was not open to
engagement; but he would not take "no" for an answer. After a long
conversation in the street, in which he implored me to do just this
little job for him that he wanted, while I explained that I was on my
road to work for which I already was engaged. I was on the point of
cutting it short by going away, when he asked me in any case to come
into his hotel and have a glass of beer. When I came in he renewed the
attack in this way--he asked me just to oblige him by looking at the
work and telling him what it was worth. He then showed me a large
shutter which stood under a rough window opening in the yard, and told
me that all he wanted was for a man to fit this shutter to the opening
and put hinges on it; he had the hinges. Now, what was it worth? I saw
that he intended me to do it if he could get me, but I by no means
wanted to. I said it was worth thirty shillings at the least: "All
right," cried he, "do it, and I will give you thirty shillings."
I was caught now, so I gave in. I took my saw out and fitted the
shutter, screwed the hinges, and took my thirty shillings, all in less
than an hour. This is eleven or twelve years ago. I have not worked in
Brisbane since, but I know a friend of mine who two years ago put a
shilling advertisement in the papers for a carpenter to do a few days'
work, and in less than half an hour after the paper was out he had
thirty-two applicants! I was now working on one of the largest stations
on the Darling Downs. I had only come there in a roving sort of way,
under a six months' agreement which was made in Brisbane, and I had no
intention whatever of staying longer, but although the wages were less
than what I could earn in Brisbane, or in any other town, I thought I
should like to see a large sheep station, and I was told by the agent in
town that I should be sure to like it. The property itself covered I do
not know how many square miles, divided into paddocks, and in each or
most of these paddocks stood a house in which the boundary rider and his
family lived. The duty of this man is not fatiguing; he has to look out
that the fences are in good repair and report to the head station when
anything is out of order. Therefore his day's work is generally done
when after breakfast he has been jogging round the boundary fence. For
this work the wages are about thirty-five pounds sterling a year with
double rations, a free house, use of cow, &c. These boundary riders are
by no means the only employees on the station. There were general
labourers, carriers, blacksmiths, wheelwrights, storekeepers,
carpenters, and a host of people who came and went without my knowing
they did so, but the whole formed quite a little township at the head
station. Once a year, when the wool was clipped off the two hundred
thousand sheep there, it was an extra busy time. Then the shearers would
arrive, sixty in number, and with all their assistants they would make
nearly a hundred persons. Besides these there were the washers, who
washed the sheep by elaborate machinery. There would be so many people
that I do not know how the "boss" knew them all. Every one of them
earned good money, although in various degrees. The shearers earned
three shillings and sixpence for every score of sheep they could shear.
An average day's work is from fifty to a hundred sheep. Then the
wool-packers, who pressed the wool into bales, had also piecework, and
this was a favourite job reserved as a reward for old hands. They earned
at it a pound or more a day. This was of course for a short time only
out of the year, but when one station is done shearing another generally
begins, and the men can, therefore, keep on for at least six months at a
stretch with very little lost time. The tradesmen on the station seemed
all part and parcel of the station, old identities, who had made their
homes there years before and did not intend to shift. I heard it
whispered that the squatter meant to try and break through the monopoly
that some of the old hands had created, and that some new blood might be
infused, and I believe that I had been engaged to hang as the sword of
Damocles over the other carpenters' heads, but I refused the _role_. The
head carpenter was an old, worn-out man with a large family. He had been
there seventeen years. He had one hundred pounds a year and double
rations, with a free house, wood, water, and many little perquisites. I
daresay he had saved a little money, but any one may easily understand
that a man over fifty years of age, with a large family and a settled
home where he has been for seventeen years, does not like the prospect
of change and to have to make a new start in life. Such a billet as that
of tradesman on a station is much sought after, and in many respects is
incomparably better than the position occupied in town by a married man
who works for wages. But neither the one nor the other suited my
ambition. If I had been doomed to choose between the two, I think I
should, after all, have taken the lot of the man in town, for he is more
independent if he is poorer. It is all very well to work for a master
when one is young, but as one gets on for thirty years of age he likes
to be his own master. At least that was my opinion. There seemed to me
something so forbidding in the ringing of the large bell on the station.
It would ring at a quarter to six on a morning for all hands to get out
of bed and dress. Then it rang at six o'clock for starting work. It rang
for dinner, and it rang when we were to start again. It was all correct
enough; I have no fault to find with it, I cannot suggest anything
better, but all the same I did not like it.
My work on the station was otherwise both pleasant and independent
enough. A great deal of it consisted in making and hanging gates for the
various paddocks. These would be made at home in the shop and afterwards
carted out to their places. Then I would get a labourer with me and we
would drive off in a spring-cart from one gate to the other, and hang
them. It was a regular journey across the paddocks, and involved about a
fortnight's trip every time.
The man who earned the most money of all the employees on the station
was the shearers' cook. The shearers had a large house to themselves and
managed their own housekeeping, inasmuch as they engaged and paid their
own cook and bought and paid for anything they liked to eat, so that
they should not grumble over the provisions. But that object has never
yet been attained with shearers, either with the lot on this station or
any other set of shearers I have ever seen. They are the most frightful
grumblers, and who is so fit an object for their displeasure as their
servant--their own servant, the cook? One thing, they pay him well. The
wages of a shearers' cook is the shearing price of a score of sheep per
week, or three-and-sixpence a week for every shearer. You will therefore
see that in a large shearing shed like this, with sixty shearers, the
cook earned ten guineas per week besides his food. But for this money he
had to do more than an ordinary man can do, and take more insults than
an ordinary dog would tolerate. First of all, the shearers always insist
on having their table spread with good things, puddings and cake every
day. He had also to bake bread, chop wood, fetch water, keep the hut
clean, and in short everything else that was wanted. Nobody but the
very smartest men can do it. But his work is not everything. When the
bell rings for meal-time, I have seen shearers come out of the shed,
making for the hut, howling at the same time: "I wonder if that ---- of
a cook has got that ---- breakfast ready!" Everything has to stand ready
for them to "rush;" and even if it does, yet one seldom hears other
conversation than such as: "I say, cook, do you call them ---- peas
boiled? D---- you! If I had my way you should be kicked out!"
But as the majority only can dismiss their cook, he is not sent away
notwithstanding, and it is quite understood that it is part of his duty
to assume a respectful demeanour towards his employers. Yet, unless a
cook is a good fighting man, it is not a billet that I would recommend
any friend of mine to come all the way from Denmark to fill.
When I had been on the station for six months I took a trip in the train
to the surrounding towns of Dalby, Toowoomba, Warwick, and Stanthorpe,
with a view to seeing if there was an opening for permanent business in
my line. It did not seem to me that the prospect was good enough for
more than a bare living, because bad times seemed suddenly to have set
in, and competition for work and contracts requiring small capital was
very keen. I therefore went back to the station again and bought two
horses, intending to go out west. I had my three hundred pounds safe in
a Brisbane bank, and I did not mean now to work for any employer, but
to keep my eyes open as I came along and to take any opportunities for
contracts that might come in my way and for which I could obtain a
reasonable price.
I started from Roma, which is a town lying about 350 miles west of
Brisbane and 200 miles from the station on which I then was located. It
was fearfully dry weather when I started and there was not a blade of
grass anywhere for the horses. I made long stages of thirty to forty
miles a day, but how the horses endured it I do not know. When I camped
out at night I would have to tie the horses to a tree alongside of me,
as there was nothing for them in the bush to eat, and they would have
rambled away never to be found again if I had let them go. All the food
it was possible for me to provide for them was a little bread which I
bought at the inns on the road at intervals of seventy or eighty miles,
and in the mornings when I got up I would take a pillow-case I had and a
knife and walk about in places where the ground was inaccessible to
horses, such as the brinks of a gully or between large stones; there I
would manage to find some dry, withered stuff, wherewith I filled the
pillow-case and shared it between them. It was all I could do, and when
I arrived in Roma they were both very far gone for hunger, and there, in
town even, there was nothing for them either--the last bushel of corn
had been sold for two pounds sterling. I fed them on bread, but even
that seemed like a forbidden thing. People appeared to regard the
proceeding with evil eyes. Flour was scarce and getting more scarce.
There was no prospect of rain, and soon all would have to starve! In St.
George, which is another town 150 miles south of Roma, I was told a
perfect famine was raging. For fear of being misunderstood by people who
do not know much about Queensland, I would say that want of money had
nothing to do with this state of things, it was only the want of rain
which prevented teams from travelling and supplies from coming forward.
I left Roma again. There was nothing to do there, scarcely a prospect of
getting enough to eat. I rambled away with my two horses out west, and I
am now anxious, for obvious reasons, not to particularize too closely
where I went.
It had now become of more importance to me to save the lives of my
horses than to find anything to do for myself. I travelled for a month
or more at slow stages, and was now right away in the "Never Never"
country. Occasionally I would find a little for the horses to eat, but
very often it was scanty fare they had. I arrived at a station where
shearing was in full swing, and as both grass and water seemed more
plentiful there than I had seen it for hundreds of miles, I turned the
horses out for a month's spell, while I made myself comfortable in my
tent and occupied myself by reading such literature as I could borrow
from the shearers on the station.
Among the shearers was a man with whom I grew to be on very friendly
terms. He was a big, strong, good-looking young fellow, about thirty
years of age, and seemed to me at all times so polite and well-informed
that I was always seeking his company. What interested me most in him
was a peculiarly sad expression in his face, and I often wondered at the
cause of it. When the shearing was over all the shearers went in a body
to the nearest hotel, as is customary, to have a jollification. It
happened to be located the way I had come, so, though they did not
actually pass me, I saw them ride away, and thought it rather shabby of
my acquaintance not to come and say good-bye to me. I was mistaken,
however, as I shortly afterwards saw him coming up to the tent on a
really good horse and leading another.
"Well," said I, "are you off? I thought you had left with the others;
how is it you did not?"
"No," said he, "I know my weakness. If I had gone with them I should
probably have got on the spree and drunk all I possess. But I am now
already pretty well-to-do, because I have a cheque for over thirty
pounds and these two horses besides. All I want is just another shed,
and then I will make tracks for Ipswich where my people live."
"But," said I, "there is a public-house this way too."
"Ah, yes," cried he, and winked, "but they do not catch me this time. I
have worked for the publicans for seven years, but I will never enter
such a place again."
With that we parted, and two or three days after I got my horses up and
followed along the same road that he had taken. About noon I came to the
hotel. I did not intend to go in because the money I had with me was
getting scarce and I did not wish to draw on what I had in the bank. I
carried, too, all sorts of necessaries on my horses and wanted for
nothing. But when the publican saw me passing the door, he came running
out.
"Good-morning, young fellow; good-morning. By Jove, that is a splendid
horse you have there. Are you travelling far? Surely you don't mean to
take your horses along in this weather. Why it is too hot for a white
man, too hot entirely. Come in and have a bit of dinner; it is all
ready. I won't charge you; I never charged a b---- man for a feed yet. I
do not think it right, do you?"
Pressed in this way, I went inside; but my suspicions that was a
robbers' den in disguise were aroused, and if I had not felt sure of
myself I should probably have preferred to dash the spurs into the
horses and tear away; but although I thanked him for his hospitality and
agreed with him that it was very wrong to charge a man for food, yet I
made up my mind that he would have to be clever to outwit me. On the
verandah sat a forbidding-looking man on his swag, and I saw at once
that he was a poor swagsman who need have no fear of being robbed. In
the bar were three men standing drinking, but yet moderately sober. The
publican began to bustle about behind the bar. I kept one eye on him and
one on the horses. Scarcely five minutes had elapsed before a
blackfellow made his appearance outside, and began to lead my horses
away. I went outside and took them from him.
"Are you taking my horses away?" cried I; "don't do it again." I used a
little more persuasion, but it does not look well in print.
"Master said I take him Yarraman along-a-paddock," whined the
blackfellow.
Now the publican came out again.
"What is the matter?" cried he. "I told him to take and give the horses
a feed; they look as if they needed it."
"Not at all," said I; "they have had a month's spell, and I can scarcely
hold them."
"All right, you know best. Are you going to have a drink?"
"Yes," I said, "I don't mind."
"What is it going to be?"
"Rum," said I.
"Right you are. I almost thought you were a teetotaler."
I watched him closely, and saw he picked out a particular glass, and
before I let him fill it I took my handkerchief up and wiped it
carefully all around the inside. I looked at him and he at me while I
did it. I also noticed that he tapped the compound from the ordinary
cask, and I was therefore not afraid to swallow it, nor did it do me any
harm. The reason I was so careful to wipe the glass was that I knew it
to be a common trick of dishonest publicans, when they see a man coming
along the road whom they wish to catch, to take a dirty pipe and blow
some of the thick, foul-smelling stuff that it contains into an empty
glass, and then have it ready for the customer. A very little dose will
make the strongest man intoxicated for the whole day, and if it is not
nicely adjusted, but just a speck too much, it will knock a man down in
a dead swoon for many hours. I had been told this on the gold diggings
by more than one person at the time I kept shanty there myself, and I
knew that there were people who travelled about the country selling to
publicans the secrets of tricking and falsifying spirits. I, therefore,
knew pretty well where to look for danger, and where I might take the
risk; but now dinner was announced, and we all went into the
dining-room. On the floor of the room I saw a man who was lying there
smeared all over with blood and filth. Still I recognized him at once as
my friend the shearer. I went up and shook him until I got a little life
into him, and he sat up and recognized me. "Hullo," bawled he, "is that
you? Ain't I a fool? Publican, give me my horses, I want to go with this
young fellow. I am going away this afternoon. Don't go away without me."
"All right," said the publican; "I will see to get the black boy to
find your horses for you, but he says one has got out of the paddock."
Then we had dinner--that is, I had a good meal; but the drunken shearer
could not touch food, and presented a terrible picture of sickness and
misery. By this time I was not on good terms with the publican; but I
did not care. I only studied how I could get the other poor fellow away,
and I could not as yet see any way. As soon as we came from the table he
staggered into the bar and called for drinks for all hands. The publican
then called his wife, four or five children, a seamstress, the
servant-girl, myself, the man in the yard, the black boy, the bushman I
had seen, the traveller on the verandah, who had had no dinner, and
himself, and they all had their drinks! It was a shilling a glass. Then
the shearer asked him to be kind and let him have the balance of his
cheque, which, it appeared, he had given the publican to change for him
when he came; but that good Samaritan simply told him that he would not
do such a thing, as he was too drunk to take care of money. When he went
away he should have it. The shearer, who was getting more intoxicated
again after this last glass, hung over the counter, and, in a plaintive
sort of way, cried, "I am a ---- fool! Never mind, let's have another.
Here, fill 'em up again."
I could do no good, so I went away without paying for my dinner. I met
the shearer two years after, when he told me all about it. It appeared
that he had tried to pass the place in the same manner as I, and that
the publican had persuaded him to come in. He had not liked to take his
dinner for nothing, and had given the publican the cheque he had for
changing. He had been promised the money in half an hour, but was
shortly after intoxicated, and had never been able to get either the
horses or the money again. After having been in the state I saw him for
about three weeks, the publican presented him with a bill, from which it
appeared that he owed him for "refreshments" more than the amount of the
cheque added to the value of horses, saddles, and bridles. The publican
had, therefore, kept the horses, but had kindly given him a bottle of
grog to take with him on the road when he went away! This process is
called in bush parlance, "lambing down," and is going on every day, year
after year!
I had not gone far from the hotel before I saw a man coming after me. He
called me to stop, which I did, and when he came closer I perceived that
it was the man who had been sitting on his swag in the verandah at the
hotel. He said he had come after me because he had neither rations nor
money, and did not know how to get along the road unless I would be good
enough to let him travel with me. He wanted to go to ---- station, and
try to get some shearing to do. It happened that I intended to turn off
the road about half a mile further on, and that according to the place
to which he said he was going we should travel in almost opposite
directions, and I told him so. I said also that if he was pushed I would
help him with a few rations, but that I had not time to accommodate the
pace of the horses to his walk, as I had already been travelling for a
much longer time than I liked. Of course he said he would be glad of
anything, and so I got off the horse and had a fire lighted, by which we
made some tea, and he had his dinner out of my provisions. After the
meal he suddenly made up his mind that he might as well go the same road
as I, and try to get a job at a station which we should pass some forty
miles from where we then stood. I did not like this much, because he
seemed to me a man whose company I should not appreciate, but, as the
loneliness of the bush always appeared to me to engender a sort of
fellowship towards whoever is there, I did not find it easy nor did I
deem it right to say I would have nothing to do with him. On the
contrary, I said that we would push on together then for the day, and
that I would walk while he put his swag on my saddle-horse. In this way
we now went several miles, and my travelling companion had very little
to say. He seemed to know the road to perfection, and about four o'clock
in the afternoon he suggested that we should camp at a certain spot at
which we had arrived, but about a hundred yards off the road. I
objected. I said he was free himself to camp or not as he chose, but if
he wanted to travel with me he would have to walk a good deal further,
as I had by no means come as far yet as I considered a day's journey
required. After that we started again, but my new friend seemed
frightfully morose, and had not a word to say. As the horse he held was
a better leader than mine he gradually forged ahead of me, and try as I
would I could not keep up with him. I was just wishing myself well rid
of him when I saw him suddenly turn off the road, leading the horse
after him, and although I called again and again, he neither turned
round nor answered me until he came to a deep water-hole about a mile
off the road. Here he took the load off the horse, and hobbled it out. I
was not only angry, but I was also to a certain extent afraid. I had
already agreed with myself that I could not lie down to sleep alongside
of him; but what, of all things, did he mean by leading me to this
place? As soon as I came up I asked him what he meant, and how he dared
to take my horse off the road. I had taken the bridle belonging to the
saddle-horse to go and catch it again, for I intended now at all hazards
to get rid of him. At this juncture he came towards me.
"Here is grass, and here is water," cried he, "and out of this spot
shall neither I nor any ---- German or ---- Dutchman come to-night. Let
go that bridle!"
Then he grasped the bridle. You know the old proverb that "There is a
time when patience ceases to be a virtue," and in my opinion that time
had now arrived. I had not been so long in Queensland without learning
to defend myself, so I closed with him. What a fearful struggle we had!
As far as I was concerned, I felt as if it was a struggle for life, and
I fought accordingly. Now we were up, now down. Sometimes I was on the
top of him and sometimes I was under, but whatever happened I must not
give in, because I felt sure I should receive small mercy if I did. At
last I had him. My hands were round his throat, and my knees on his
chest, while I felt his hands slide powerless off me. It was not victory
yet. If I let him go he might renew the attack, so I pressed his throat
until he was nearly black in the face, and I sat on him as heavily as I
could, because I was angry, and when at last I let him go, it was not
before I thought I had taken all his fighting humour out of him. While I
loaded my horse again I called him all the names I thought it probable
would insult him most, in case he might have any honour and shame in
him, and at last I threw his swag at his head and cried, "There, you old
loafer!"
Then I got on the horse and rode away; nor did I stop that night before
I had put fully twenty miles between him and me.
I was now following down the ---- River, towards the town of ----, which
I was anxious to reach as soon as possible. The weather had so far
continued fearfully dry, and the heat was every day intense, but when I
was within ninety miles of the township it began to rain. It rained as
if it intended to make up for a two years' drought. The river I followed
was nothing but a dry sand-bed when the rain began, but in three or four
days it became a roaring torrent. I saw that we were in for a
first-class flood and became anxious, as the country on which I was
camped seemed to me very flat. Just as I had made up my mind that such
was the case I met a party of stockmen, or, more correctly, they came to
my tent. They had been out helping to shift some shepherds and their
sheep to rising ground, and they assured me that the place I was in
would be flooded. As they directed me to what they thought a safe spot,
I shifted my tent at once to that place. It was a low, narrow ridge
about a mile from the river. Here I prepared myself to weather it out.
Next morning when I got up, I saw the river much nearer than the evening
before. During the day it rose on all sides, and before evening again I
was a complete prisoner on about ten acres of land, while the water
roared and hissed on all sides of me as far as the eye could reach. This
state of affairs lasted about three weeks. Anything more appallingly
lonely than to sit there in the tent, and look out on the awe-inspiring
sight of the flood with its swiftly running, destructive water cannot be
conceived. As I had but little room for exercise in my prison I could
not sleep at night, and so I would sit and sing or play on the flute,
and think of all sorts of things. The waters did not go down at the
same time as the rain ceased, and I had it all to myself some beautiful
moonlight nights. I had heard the stockmen speak about an old shepherd
who, with his sheep, was camped on a sort of island, which was formed by
the river opposite the place I was in, and about a mile and a half
distant. He was, therefore, my nearest neighbour. I could hear him at
night sometimes felling trees for exercise, and occasionally he would
answer me when I cooeed. Little did it matter to him whether the flood
was on or not. At ordinary times he would probably never see any one for
weeks or months, as no one could have any business there excepting the
ration-carrier once a week, and the shepherd, as a rule, did not see
him, as he was away with his sheep when the carrier arrived in his hut.
I used to speculate as to who he was--an old man, with wife and family
dead, perhaps. What a sad existence! Or, worse still, an old bachelor,
crusty and tired. Surely he would have some one he longed to see, and
who longed for him! How many years, thought I, had he been there, or in
places like that? What did he do with his money when he got it once a
year? Would he go with it to the nearest hotel, and as he saw other men
wonder why they were not as glad to see him as he to see them? Would he
purchase their good-will with grog? What else could he do, or was he
likely to do? Anyhow, when it was all spent, and he would get angry when
people would have no more to do with him, would he be kicked out? Would
he then come back here for another year? What else could he do? I have,
among shepherds, seen many men who must have been what is called well
educated. They count in their ranks both lawyers and parsons, but
disappointed and embittered silence is generally the stamp of them all.
Sometimes the reverse is the case; then they will talk as if they could
never stop. I like solitude myself to a certain extent, but it must
surely be an unnatural life for any man to lead quite alone in the bush.
When at last the floods subsided I had the greatest trouble in making my
way, because there would be the most treacherous boggy holes where one
least expected them. I had also fared hard on very short rations, so as
to make what I had last until I could purchase more, and when I started
away from my camping-place I had only one more loaf of bread; all the
rest was gone. I was, therefore, very sorry to hear at the nearest
station that they would sell me nothing whatever, and when I came to the
next one again it was just as bad. I travelled for some days in this
way, and had had scarcely what would make half a meal for each day, when
at last I arrived at a place only twenty-four miles from town where I
should have to cross the river--if I could--so as to get on the main
road leading into the settlement. It was about ten o'clock in the
morning when I neared this place. It was only a small cattle station,
but I thought that whatever happened I must try to get some rations
here. I came along at a pretty brisk gallop, but when I was about twenty
chains from the houses which formed the place my horses shied violently
at a man who was lying in the middle of the road. I was, on the spur of
the moment, put out of temper, and began to rate the fellow for choosing
his camping-place there.
"Oh, let me lie!" he cried. "Accursed be the day I came to Queensland! I
have laid myself down to die here. Shall I not be allowed to lie? Leave
me alone. O God, O God!"
I looked closer at him. It seemed that he was in earnest, and the wonder
was that he was not dead already, as he was lying there in the terrible
sun without the least attempt to get into the shade. He was a short,
slightly built man and had a terribly emaciated, woe-begone face. It
took a long time and much persuasion before I could get him to tell me
what was the matter. Then he said he was dying from hunger. "Pshaw," I
said, "right here in front of the station! I am hungry too, but in half
an hour I shall be back to you with something to eat."
He laughed bitterly. "Have you got it with you?" said he. "No; but I
have money, and I will buy some up here." "You might save yourself the
trouble to ask for it," said he; "you will get nothing." "Why," cried I,
"I will tell them that a man is dying with hunger outside the door."
"They know it. The squatter hunted me yesterday when I told him that I
could not cross the river or get further without food. Oh, accursed
Queensland, and the day I saw it first! Let me lie; I only want to die."
I could not understand it, and I came to the conclusion that it must be
the man's own fault, and that the people on the station had no idea
about the despairing state he was in. I looked at the river. It was
swollen yet, and not fordable on foot, but I had no fear but that I
could get over with the horses, and I was, therefore, in a position to
promise him that he should be with me in town that same evening. On
hearing that he brightened up a little, but I was myself so hungry that
I thought I would go up to the station and get some food for both of us.
I therefore hobbled out the pack-horse after the swag was off him, and
rode up to the place, promising my despairing friend to be back to him
with all possible speed. When I came into the yard my horse made a dead
stop outside an old stable. I got off, and looking into the stable saw
another man lying on his face in one of the stalls. "Halloa," thought I,
"it appears that all the people here are off their legs!" and I sang out
to him, asking him whether he was dying of hunger too. "No; but I am
blind," said he. "Who is that?" I told him I was a traveller, and that I
just wanted to buy a few rations. "It is not you who were here
yesterday?" inquired he. "No," said I, "that poor fellow is lying out in
the road, and says he is dying for hunger. Surely it has not come to
that!" "I was awfully sorry for that man yesterday," cried he, "and
only that I cannot see at all, for I got the sand-blight a fortnight
ago, I should have given him something." Then, as with a sudden
inspiration, he said, "Are you his mate?" No, I was not his mate, I was
only sorry for him and very hungry myself. "Will you swear you will give
him the half of what I will give you?" Yes, I would swear. "All right!
Then look in that other stall there under the bags and you will find a
piece of bread, but remember he is to have the half." "Yes, yes," cried
I, while I looked under the bags and found about half a pound of stale
bread. "But are you really so very hard up here? Surely you must have
plenty of beef." "So we have," said he, "but I have been blind for two
weeks and cannot kill a beast if we run out, and the super himself is a
bad hand. We are nearly out of flour and everything else, and there is a
party of fencers cut off by the flood that we expect in now every day.
We must keep something for them; still, that super is a skunk, or he
would have given the man a piece of beef, but he won't give anything or
sell either, so there is an end to it. You might save yourself the
trouble of asking him. Are you gone?" "No," said I, "I am here yet. I am
only looking at an old grey-bearded man who is coming out of the house
and putting a saddle on a horse." "That is he." "Is he the only one at
the place besides yourself?" "Yes, unless you reckon the old woman in
the kitchen." "Could I not get round her after he is away?" "Not you;
you will get nothing out of either of them."
I then went up to the squatter and saluted him. Would he kindly sell a
few rations? "No, I will do nothing of the sort," cried he. "You do not
know how short we are here. I have got no rations." "But," said I, "you
surely do not know that there is a man lying out there on the road who
says that he is dying of hunger. Just sell me a piece of beef." "Dying
of hunger. Ha! ha! ha! that is too good. Why, he is a regular loafer. He
was here for rations a fortnight ago, and he was here yesterday. Let him
go into town. I cannot keep him."
"That is all very well," said I, "and I cannot pretend to say what the
man is. But how can you get to town, when you cannot cross the river? He
told me he has been lying about in all this rain and flood, and the
wonder to me is that he is not dead already." "Is that your horse?"
inquired he, pointing to where I left it standing. "Yes." "Well, then,
just take my advice and get into town yourself." "And won't you sell me
a piece of meat?" "No." "Not if a man were dying of hunger?" "Don't talk
to me about dying of hunger. It is too rich, it is indeed!
Good-morning." With that he rode away, and left me standing there
meditating upon what he had said and at free liberty to decide in my own
mind whether, after all, I had any right to expect people in a place
like that to provide the necessaries of life for travellers.
But one cannot argue with the stomach, and, ravenously hungry as I was,
my sympathy was with myself and with the man whom I left out on the
road, and I therefore thought I would make one more attack, this time on
the old woman in the kitchen, who, during my conversation with the
super, had twice come round the corner to empty slops, and who, I
suppose, as a mark of the respect in which she held me, had thrown them
so close to me that it had sprinkled me all over. She did not look very
hospitable, but I had at that time great faith in my power to charm the
fair sex, or, as Englishmen less gallantly call them, the weaker sex. I,
therefore, wreathed my face in smiles and put myself into the most
graceful position I could assume, while I knocked at the kitchen door.
No one answered my knock, so I went inside, still retaining my charming
appearance. On the other side of the kitchen stood a row of saucepans
with something cooking in them, which emitted an odour that did not go
far to prove the theory of want raging in the place. Here is my luck
again, thought I, I will get a good meal at last. The old lady now came
running in from one of the rooms--a most forbidding object to make love
to! "You can't get no rations here," cried she. "Clear out of the
kitchen!" Then she took up a piece of firewood and struck at me with it.
How could any one expect me to look happy under the circumstances? I
knew I was getting to look ugly. Then I pulled out my large knife and
rolled my eyes in my head. That seemed to please her. She now only
mildly protested, while I took the lid off one of the saucepans and
lifted out five or six pounds of meat, with which I made my escape. When
I came out with this to the traveller on the road his joy was a pleasure
to look at. He could not understand how I had got it. So weak was he
that he cried like a baby.
The tea, of which I had yet a supply, was made, and then the feast
began. I counselled him not to eat too much, but between the two of us
there was scarcely anything left when we were both satisfied. Then he
began to tell me his story, of which I can only give the general
outlines as I have forgotten the details; but a more terrible tale of
misery I had never heard, and any one who will fill in the picture for
himself might easily understand that he must have suffered almost enough
to justify him in lying down to die at last, when all hope seemed gone.
He said that travelling along he had been overtaken by the flood, and
had camped by himself in a similar place to the one where I had been a
prisoner, only with this difference--that he had had no tent. He had
managed to keep a log on fire all the time, and had hung his blanket
over a pole to form a fly, but of course he had been as wet all the time
as if he had been hauled out of the sea. By the time the water went down
he had eaten every scrap of provision he had, but had nevertheless
reached this station about a fortnight since. Here, as already stated,
they would neither sell nor give him anything. He could not cross the
river to get into town, so, in a terrible condition from hunger, he had
turned back in another direction, some twenty miles or more to where
there was another small station. The country was all flooded on his way,
and for five miles in one stretch he had waded through water to his
shoulders, only being able to know the direction in which he wanted to
go by following along a fence, the top of the posts of which were out of
water. I forget how long it took him to reach this place, but when he
did arrive there it was only to be told that he could get nothing. Being
apparently the sort of man who would bend his neck to any stroke of
misfortune, he had meekly turned away, he did not know himself whither,
when by good luck as the issue proved, he had fainted when close to the
house. A man had then come out and given him something to eat, besides a
little to take with him, and had told him that twenty-five miles in
another direction was a place where he could procure supplies. He had
gone thither, but as the people there had proved but one degree more
merciful than their neighbours, they had only kept him alive a couple of
days, and then started him back here to where I found him. All his money
was seven shillings. The squatter here, as already stated, would neither
sell nor give him anything, and as he saw he could not cross the river
for several days on foot, not being able to swim, he had laid himself
down to die when I arrived on the scene. While he told me all this, he
was gradually getting very sick. The sweat hung in large drops on his
pale face, and he threw himself about writhing in agony. I need scarcely
say, perhaps, that he had eaten with less moderation than he ought. I
bustled about him, trying or wishing to do him good, but I did not know
how. I was also very anxious for us both to be off, because I heard the
squatter fire a gun in the yard, and I concluded that he had come back
and that the old woman had told him what had happened perhaps, or most
likely drawn on her imagination at the same time. As the bishop said
when he saw a criminal on the road to the scaffold: "But for the grace
of God, there go I." The reader of this truthful narrative may decide
for himself who deserved hanging most--the squatter or I; but whatever
the opinion may be, I had undoubtedly committed robbery under arms, and,
in my opinion, the man who would see another die outside his door if he
had it in his power to save him, might also add such small particulars
to the tale as would make his case strong and interesting--especially as
there was a lady in the case. I had doubtless committed a crime which,
according both to the spirit and the letter of Queensland law as among
the greatest for which a criminal is punished. Just imagine how the case
might have appeared in court. There the old grey-bearded super, the
worthy pioneer, and the interesting, inoffensive old lady, who in a
fainting condition, would tell her horrible tales; here a fat, bouncing
Crown Prosecutor; and lastly the two loafers in the dock, whom nobody
knew or would have believed. As after events proved, the super was
either too much of a gentleman or too much of a coward, as he neither
came out and remonstrated with me nor prosecuted me afterwards.
Six weeks after this event happened I was an employer of over a dozen
men, and as time went on I was looked upon as a rising man in that town
toward which I was now going, and no one thought themselves too good to
know me. Among my acquaintances was this same super. He did not at all
recollect me from this adventure; but one day I reminded him, and told
him what I thought about him.
Begging the reader's pardon for this digression, I will return to where
we still sat in the road. While I, for the above-named reasons, perhaps
not clearly defined in my mind, was anxious to be off, and my travelling
companion was writhing with pain before me, an accident happened which I
at the time thought one of the greatest possible misfortunes. My best
horse--my saddle-horse--got drowned in the river. It came about in this
way: ever since the flood the air had been thick with countless millions
of sand-flies; it was so bad that one could scarcely exist unless when
sitting with the head over a fire enveloped in smoke. The horses
suffered fearfully from their attacks, and just then they both became as
it were quite maddened, and galloped straight for the river. I managed
to catch the one, but the other, as if it premeditated suicide, jumped
right in, and being hobbled could not well drown just then, but was
swept down the current and away. Next morning we had eaten all our
provisions and were as hungry as ever. The river, however, was falling
fast. I got on the one horse and tried the river in several places, but
nowhere was it so low that the horse could walk across. I could get
across myself on the horse, but it reared and bucked when the other man
tried to climb on it too; as he could not ride he began his lamentations
again, imploring me not to leave him behind. I had no idea of doing
that, but it cost me not a little trouble to think out what was best to
do. Unfortunately neither of us could swim, and as he was of very short
stature, the river would have to fall until he could walk over almost
dry-footed before he would dare to attempt it. I was a head taller than
he, and as the day went on I kept walking in the river and trying it
with a long pole to find the shallowest place. The current was very
strong, but the water was falling fast, and tired out by my companion's
lamentations and the whole misery of the situation, I told him that we
would a couple of hours before sundown try to cross the river or die. It
was a dangerous undertaking, because not only was the water still very
deep, and I had only a general idea of it being fordable, but the
current was so strong that I did not know whether I should be able to
keep on my feet when I came to the deepest part. First of all I wrote a
few words in pencil to the manager of the bank in which I had my money,
telling him what to do with my account in case I should not claim it.
After having put it into an envelope, because I always carried these
things, I gave it to my fellow-traveller, and without letting him know
what it contained, exacted from him a promise that he should post it in
case I got drowned. It was the least he could do certainly, because as a
reward I said he might have all the rest of my belongings, always
supposing, of course, that I should have no further use for them. Then I
helped him on to the horse, and told him just to sit still until he saw
me safe on the other side, and that the horse would come to me when I
called it as long as he did not pull it about. Having done all this, I
took off all my clothes and strapped them on to the pack-saddle, and
lifted the whole burden on to my head so as to give me extra weight. I
also got a pole about fifteen feet in length to stand against, and then
I faced the river. The river was not very broad--I should say about
three chains. From the side where I was it gradually sloped towards its
deepest part which was near the other side, and there was at least one
chain in width where I did not exactly know the depth more than that
the horse so far had had to swim across earlier in the day when I had
tried it. The river was still falling every hour, and I was determined
for both of us to get across then. I waded into the water, and it all
went well until I came to the middle. Somehow I thought I must have got
to shallower ground than where I had tried it before. The water rushed
round my sides, and every time I had to lift the pole and put it forward
it took me all my strength to do it. The last step forward had brought
me into still deeper water, and my strength seemed exhausted--perhaps it
would be more correct to say that to hold the pole in position and keep
myself on my feet demanded as much force as I ever had. I seemed to
stand dancing on the top of the big toe while I could feel with the
other foot that it was still deeper in front of me. I pressed on the
pole to keep me down, but I felt that I had neither strength nor pluck
enough to shift it either forwards or backwards, nor even to keep
standing where I was very long. Yet how tantalizing; in front of me,
just another step, and I might grasp the boughs of a large tree hanging
out over the water. And must I die there?
As in a panorama my whole life seemed to pass before me in review: At
home--my schoolmates, I saw them all--then Hamburg--the emigrant
ship--Thorkill--the gold-diggings--the South Seas--Brisbane--all along
this miserable journey and back where I stood. I turned my head and
looked behind me to where the Englishman sat on my horse. He laughed
loud an unpleasant ha! ha! ha! ha! It was his way to cheer me on, but it
jarred on my ear. My heart began to beat as if it would burst. Have you
travelled so far, I thought, and have you seen and suffered so many
things on purpose only to drown in this muggy stream? Never! I gathered
myself together for a supreme effort. I threw the pole from me, rushed
forward, rolled, lost the saddle, but grasped a bough, and the next
moment I climbed up the other side, when I fainted for the first and
only time in all my life. When I recovered the other man had come over
and stood alongside of me with my horse. We intended to travel all
night, so as to be in town as soon as possible, and my friend seemed
quite gay at the prospect before us. Where we stood, however, was only
on a sort of by-road, and I understood that the main road to ---- was a
couple of miles distant. I, therefore, suggested to my companion that he
should walk off as fast as he could, while I was pulling myself a little
together, and that I would overtake him on the horse before it got dark.
But--I had not got a stitch of clothes to put on! and I had to ask him
to let me have some of his. Then he began to talk while he pulled his
swag open. He had only two shirts and two pairs of breeches that he had
paid fourteen shillings for in Liverpool, but of course I should have
them. Were they worth ten shillings? Was the shirt worth five shillings?
I would not get the like under eight shillings. If I thought it was too
much, I might have the breeches he had on for five shillings.
I was completely amazed. Was this the man for whom I had risked my life,
and as nearly as possible lost it? For whom--call it what you like--I
had begged and taken by force at the station what I thought necessary to
save his life? For whom I had lost my horse which had carried me so many
hundred miles, and the saddle and all my clothes? Here I sat as naked as
the day I was born, all to save his life, and my reward was to see him
in front of me; but he had not perception enough to know that he owed me
anything. The money I had--three or four pounds--I had on purpose taken
out of the swag before I crossed the river, and given to him so that it
might not be unnecessarily lost. I had, therefore, that, but I wondered
whether he would give me any clothes without money if I had none, or
whether, if so, I would have to force them from him. I asked him, and
said, "What if I have no money?" "Oh, but you have," said he; "I saw in
your purse you have plenty of money." Then I bought the clothes and paid
him what he asked for his breeches, for which he had given fourteen
shillings in Liverpool. I bought his shirt also for five shillings, and
a dirty, nasty towel he had was thrown in as a present for me to wind
round my head instead of a hat.
Then he went away quite happy, asking me not to be long behind, as he
was to ride half-way on my horse, and I dressed myself in my new
clothes. I did look a terrible picture. The breeches were six inches too
short, the shirt would not button round my throat, I had neither socks
nor boots--and then the towel as a turban round the head! The horse
fairly snorted at me with terror. I sat where I was till it was nearly
dark. I had no wish to see the other fellow any more. But I made a vow,
never, if it was possible to avoid it, would I travel like this again.
But I was in dejected spirits--not, I believe, so much for what money
value I had lost, or for any fear that I could not put a stop to this
sort of travelling about almost whenever I liked, but for the conduct of
that man. As I rode along I kept saying to myself, "It shall be a
valuable lesson." Still, I fear that that sort of lessons are generally
more sad than valuable.
It was now all but dark, and when I had ridden so far as to make me
wonder that there was no sign of the main road yet, I got off the horse
and began to look closely at the track along which I had come. I then
found that it was only a cattle track, and that the horse must have left
the right road without my noticing it. Then I began to run the tracks of
the horse back again. But the tracks were confusing, crossing and
recrossing each other so much that I lost my cue, and by the time it was
quite dark I stood in dense brigalow scrub and had to acknowledge myself
lost. I tied the horse to a tree and sat down alongside. It was no use
to walk about further before daylight. I had a general idea where the
town was lying, but I knew there were no houses or people living between
where I was and there. I was also afraid that if I did not strike the
road I might pass the town within half a mile and not know it. As for
making back for the river and station, that would be out of the
question, because it would have made me no better off. But on the whole
I was not afraid that I should be unable to find my way somewhere, the
question was really--how long could I keep up without food? The idea
occurred to me that I could at all events eat the horse as a last
extremity, but I drove the thought away as soon as it came. To be there,
and look up at the horse--my only friend--and to think that I intended
to kill it, seemed to me both criminal and impossible. I sat the whole
night smoking my pipe and waiting for the sun to rise so that I might
take the bearings of the country, and make up my mind in which direction
I would look for the road and town.
At sunrise I started, leading the horse after me, because it was no use
now to follow the cattle tracks, and where I had to go was through the
brigalow, where I had quite work enough to do in twining in and out
among the trees and the brambles. As the day wore on I came into country
a little more open, but yet I could not ride among the trees. The sun
shone with terrible force, and the sand-flies followed us in clouds.
There was a ringing sound in my ears. I kept arranging and rearranging
the towel on my head; still, I feared that I had sunstroke, or that
something serious was the matter with me. The air seemed full of
phantoms--vicious-looking creatures. Then I saw a whole army of ladies
and gentlemen riding past, jeering me and lolling out their tongues at
me. I knew it was delusions, and I kept walking as fast and, as it
proved, as straight as possible, but still I felt myself laughing,
crying, and yelling at all these phantoms or at the unoffending horse.
"Shoeskin," cried I to the horse, "you old dog, do you know that it was
to save you from hunger's dread that I went on this journey? And now you
have enough to eat, while I must die of hunger! but to-night I will kill
you--do you know that? Oh, Peter, Peter! is it not strange, so vicious
as you have got to be? Holloa, is that a frying-pan over there on that
log? So it is; and full of fried eggs and potatoes. Good luck. Look at
him eating it all. Stop, you rascal! No, it is a woman. Do you call
yourself a lady? You are no woman at all; only a devil. It is all
devilry. Peter, take no notice." About noon I had a bath in a water-hole
I came to, and ate some snails I found in the water. After that I felt
somewhat better, and shortly after I came on to the road. I became quite
collected in my mind at once, and jumping on to the horse tore away at
full gallop for the town, which proved to be only five or six miles
distant. As I came riding up the street at a sharp trot I knew myself to
be quite sane, but I had a suspicion that I looked very much the other
way with the towel round my head and the short tartan plaid breeches.