_BURLEY NEW FARM._
There was so much to be done before things could be got "straight" on
the new station, that the days and weeks flew by at a wonderful pace.
I pity the man or boy who is reduced to the expedient of killing
time. Why if one is only pleasantly and usefully occupied, or
engaged in interesting pursuits, time kills itself, and we wonder
where it has gone to.
If I were to enter into a minute description of the setting-up of the
stock and agricultural farm, chapter after chapter would have to be
written, and still I should not have finished. I do not think it
would be unprofitable reading either, nor such as one would feel
inclined to skip. But as there are a deal of different ways of
building and furnishing new places the plan adopted by the three
friends might not be considered the best after all. Besides,
improvements are taking place every day even in Bush-life. However,
in the free-and-easy life one leads in the Bush one soon learns to
feel quite independent of the finer arts of the upholsterer.
In that last sentence I have used the adjective "easy;" but please to
observe it is adjoined to another hyphenically, and becomes one with
it--"free-and-easy." There is really very little ease in the Bush.
Nor does a man want it or care for it--he goes there to work.
Loafers had best keep to cities and to city life, and look for their
_little_ enjoyments in parks and gardens by day, in smoke-filled
billiard-rooms or glaringly-lighted music-halls by night, go to bed
at midnight, and make a late breakfast on rusks and soda-water. We
citizens of the woods and wilds do not envy them. We go to bed with
the birds, or soon after. We go to sleep, no matter how hard our
couches may be; and we do sleep too, and wake with clear heads and
clean tongues, and after breakfast feel that nothing in the world
will be a comfort to us but work. Yes, men work in the Bush; and,
strange to say, though they go there young, they do not appear to
grow quickly old. Grey hairs may come, and Nature may do a bit of
etching on their brows and around their eyes with the pencil of time,
but this does not make an atom of difference to their brains and
hearts. These get a trifle tougher, that is all, but no older.
Well, of the three friends I think Archie made the best Bushman,
though Bob came next, then Harry, who really had developed his powers
of mind and body wonderfully, which only just proves that there is
nothing after all, even for a Cockney, like rubbing shoulders against
a rough world.
A dozen times a week at least Archie mentally thanked his father for
having taught him to work at home, and for the training he had
received in riding to hounds, in tramping over the fields and moors
with Branson, in gaining practical knowledge at the barnyards, and
last, though not least, in the good, honest, useful groundwork of
education received from his tutor Walton.
There was something else that Archie never failed to feel thankful to
heaven for, and that was the education his mother had given him.
Remember this: Archie was but a rough, harum-scarum kind of a British
boy at best, and religious teaching might have fallen on his soul as
water falls on a duck's back, to use a homely phrase. But as a boy
he had lived in an atmosphere of refinement. He constantly breathed
it till he became imbued with it; and he received the influence also
second-hand, or by reflection, from his brother Rupert and his sister.
Often and often in the Bush, around the log-fire of an evening, did
Archie speak proudly of that beloved twain to his companions. His
language really had, at times, a smack of real, downright innocence
about it, as when he said to Bob once: "Mind you, Bob, I never was
what you might call good. I said, and do say, my prayers, and all
the like of that; but Roup and Elsie were so high above me that,
after coming in from a day's work or a day on the hill, it used to be
like going into church on a week-day to enter the green parlour. I
felt my own mental weakness, and I tried to put off my soul's
roughness with my dirty boots in the kitchen."
But Archie was now an excellent superintendent of work. He knew when
things were being well done, and he determined they should be.
Nothing riled him more than an attempt on the part of any of the men
to take advantage of him.
They soon came to know him; not as a tyrant, but simply as one who
would have things rightly done, and who knew when they were being
rightly done, even if it were only so apparently simple a matter as
planting a fence-post; for there is a right way and a wrong way of
doing that.
The men spoke of him as the young Boss. Harry being ignored in all
matters that required field-knowledge.
"We don't want nary a plumbline," said a man once, "when the young
Boss's around. He carries a plumbline in his eye."
Archie never let any man know when he was angry; but they knew
afterwards, however, that he had been so from the consequences. Yet
with all his strictness he was kind-hearted, and very just. He had
the happy gift of being able to put himself in the servant's place
while judging betwixt man and master.
Communications were constantly kept up between the station and the
railway, by means of waggons, or drays and saddle-horses. Among the
servants were several young blacks. These were useful in many ways,
and faithful enough; but required keeping in their places. To be in
any way familiar with them was to lose their respect, and they were
not of much consequence after that. When completed, the homestead
itself was certainly not devoid of comfort, though everything was of
the homeliest construction; for no large amount of money was spent in
getting it up. A Scotchman would describe it as consisting of "twa
butts and a ben," with a wing at the back. The capital letter L,
laid down longways thus will give you some notion of its shape.
There were two doors in front, and four windows, and a backdoor in
the after wing, also having windows. The wing portion of the house
contained the kitchen and general sitting-room; the right hand
portion the best rooms, ladies' room included, but a door and passage
communicated with these and the kitchen.
This house was wholly built of sawn wood, but finished inside with
lath and plaster, and harled outside, so that when roofed over with
those slabs of wood, such as we see some old-English church steeples
made of, called "shingles," the building was almost picturesque. All
the more so because it was built on high ground, and trees were left
around and near it.
The kitchen and wing were _par excellence_ the bachelor apartments,
of an evening at all events.
Every thing that was necessary in the way of furnishing found its way
into the homestead of Burley New Farm; but nothing else, with the
exception of that of the guests'-room. Of this more anon.
The living-house was completed first; but all the time that this was
being built men were very busy on the clearings, and the sites were
mapped out for the large wool-shed, with huge adjoining yards, where
the sheep at shearing-time would be received and seen to.
There were also the whole paraphernalia and buildings constituting
the cattle and horse-yards, a killing and milking-yard; and behind
these were slab huts, roofed with huge pieces of bark, rudely but
most artistically fixed, for the men.
These last had fire-places, and though wholly built of wood, there
was no danger of fire, the chimneys being of stone.
Most of the yards and outhouses were separate from each other, and
the whole steading was built on elevated ground, the store-hut being
not far from the main or dwelling-house.
I hardly know what to liken the contents of this store, or the inside
of the place itself, to. Not unlike perhaps the half-deck or
fore-cabin of a Greenland ship on the day when stores are being doled
out to the men. Or, to come nearer home, if ever the reader has been
in a remote and rough part of our own country, say Wales or Scotland,
where gangs of navvies have been encamped for a time, at a spot where
a new line of railway is being pushed through a gully or glen.
Just take a peep inside. There is a short counter of the rudest
description, on which stand scales and weights, measures and knives.
Larger scales stand on the floor, and everywhere around you are heaps
of stores, of every useful kind you could possibly name or imagine,
and these are best divided into four classes--eatables, wearables,
luxuries, and tools.
Harry is at home here, and he has managed to infuse a kind of
regularity into the place, and takes a sort of pride in knowing where
all his wares are stored. The various departments are kept separate.
Yonder, for instance, stand the tea, coffee, and cocoa-nibs, and near
them the sugar of two kinds, the bags of flour, the cheeses (in
boxes), the salt (in casks), soda, soap, and last, but not least, the
tobacco and spirits; this last in a place by vtself, and well out of
harm's way. Then there is oil and candles--by-and-bye they will make
these on the farm--matches--and this brings us to the
luxuries--mustard, pepper of various sorts, vinegar, pickles, curry,
potted salmon, and meats of many lands, and bags of rice. Next there
is a small store of medicines of the simplest, not to say roughest,
sorts, both for man and beast, and rough bandages of flannel and
cotton, with a bundle of splints.
Then comes clothing of all kinds--hats, shirts, jackets, boots,
shoes, &c. Then tools and cooking utensils; and in a private
cupboard, quite away in a corner, the ammunition.
It is unnecessary to add that harness and horse-shoes found a place
in this store, or that a desk stood in one corner where account-books
were kept, for the men did not invariably pay down on the nail.
I think it said a good deal for Sarah's courage that she came right
away down into the Bush with her "little man," and took charge of the
cooking department on the station, when it was little, if any, better
than simply a camp, with waggons for bedrooms, and a morsel of canvas
for gentility's sake.
But please to pop your head inside the kitchen, now that the
dwelling-house has been up for some little time. Before you reach
the door you will have to do a bit of stepping, for outside nothing
is tidied up as yet. Heaps of chips, heaps of stones and sticks and
builders' rubbish, are everywhere. Even when you get inside there is
a new smell--a limy odour--to greet you in the passage, but in the
kitchen itself all is order and neatness. A huge dresser stands
against the wall just under the window. The legs of it are a bit
rough to be sure, but nobody here is likely to be hypercritical; and
when the dinner-hour arrives, instead of the vegetables, meat, and
odds-and-ends that now stand thereon, plates, and even knives and
forks, will be neatly placed in a row, and Sarah herself, her cooking
apron replaced by a neater and nattier one, will take the head of the
table, one of the boys will say a shy kind of grace, and the meal
will go merrily on.
On a shelf, slightly raised above the floor, stand rows of clean
saucepans, stewpans, and a big, family-looking business of a
frying-pan; and on the wall hang bright, shining dish-covers, and a
couple of racks and shelves laden with delf.
A good fire of logs burns on the low hearth, and there, among ashes
pulled on one side for the purpose, a genuine "damper" is baking,
while from a movable "sway" depends a chain and crook, on which
latter hangs a pot. This contains corned beef--very well, call it
salt if you please. Anyhow, when Sarah lifts the lid to stick a fork
into the boiling mess an odour escapes and pervades the kitchen quite
appetizing enough to make the teeth of a Bushman water, if he had
done anything like a morning's work. There is another pot close by
the fire, and in this sweet potatoes are boiling.
It is a warm spring day, and the big window is open to admit the air,
else poor Sarah would be feeling rather uncomfortable.
What is "damper"? It is simply a huge, thick cake or loaf, made from
extremely well-kneaded dough, and baked in the hot ashes of the
hearth. Like making good oat cakes, before a person can manufacture
a "damper" properly, he must be in a measure to the manner born.
There is a deal in the mixing of the dough, and much in the method of
firing, and, after all, some people do not care for the article at
all, most useful and handy and even edible though it be. But I
daresay there are individuals to be found in the world who would turn
up their noses at good oat cake. Ah, well, it is really surprising
what the air of the Australian Bush does in the way of increasing
one's appetite and destroying fastidiousness.
But it is near the dinner-hour, and right nimbly Sarah serves it up;
and she has just time to lave her face and hands, and change her
apron, when in comes Bob, followed by Archie and Harry. Before he
sits down Bob catches hold of Sarah by both hands, and looks
admiringly into her face, and ends by giving her rosy cheek a kiss,
which resounds through the kitchen rafters like the sound of a
cattle-man's whip.
"I declare, Sarah lass," he says heartily, "you are getting prettier
and prettier every day. Now at this very moment your lips and cheeks
are as red as peonies, and your eyes sparkle as brightly as a young
kangaroo's; and if any man a stone heavier than myself will make bold
to say that I did wrong to marry you on a week's courtship, I'll kick
him over the river and across the creek. 'For what we are about to
receive, the Lord make us truly thankful. Amen.' Sit in, boys, and
fire away. This beef is delightful. I like to see the red juice
following the knife; and the sweet potatoes taste well, if they don't
look pretty. What, Sarah, too much done? Not a bit o' them."
* * * * * *
The creek that Bob talked about kicking somebody across was a kind of
strath or glen not very far from the steading, and lying below it,
green and luxuriant at present. It wound away up and down the
country for miles, and in the centre of it was a stream or river or
burn, well clothed on its banks with bush, and opening out here and
there into little lakes or pools. This stream was--so old Bushmen
said--never known to run dry.
[Illustration: "In the centre of the glen was a stream, well clothed
on its banks with bush, and opening out here and there into little
lakes or pools."]
In the winter time it would at times well merit the name of river,
especially when after a storm a "spate" came down, with a bore
perhaps feet high, carrying along in its dreadful rush tree-trunks,
rocks, pieces of bank--everything, in fact, that came in its way, or
attempted to withstand its giant power. "Spates," however, our
heroes hoped would come but seldom; for it is sad to see the ruin
they make, and to notice afterwards the carcases of sheep and cattle,
and even horses, that bestrew the haughs, or banks, and give food to
prowling dingoes and birds of the air, especially the ubiquitous crow.
The ordinary state of the water, however, is best described by the
word stream or rivulet, while in droughty summers it might dwindle
down to a mere burn meandering from pool to pool.
The country all around was plain and forest and rolling hills. It
was splendidly situated for grazing of a mixed kind. But our three
friends were not to be content with this, and told off the best part
of it for future agricultural purposes. Even this was to be but a
nucleus, and at this moment much of the land then untilled is
yielding abundance of grain.
Not until the place was well prepared for them were cattle bought and
brought home. Sheep were not to be thought of for a year or two.
With the cattle, when they began to arrive, Winslow, who was soon to
pay the new settlement a visit, sent up a few really good stockmen.
And now Archie was to see something of Bush-life in reality.