WIDOW SMITH’S PIG OR “BARKIS IS WILLIN’”
AT Belmont, our next door neighbour, Mrs. Rebecca Smith, lived
a quarter of a mile away, but this was thought little of in the
Australian bush, where, frequently, your nearest neighbour lives five
miles off. Mrs. Smith was a buxom, good-looking widow, and she knew it.
She had a good weatherboard house and a large patch of freehold land,
with a nice well-kept vegetable patch, and she kept a good number of
pigs, which were noted for their size and quality.
Now there was one pig in particular that she took a great pride in,
though, at the same time, it was the plague of her life. It was very
fond of roaming, and would not confine itself to the large paddock
where the stye was placed, but preferred other people’s patches,
especially if they happened to be vegetable patches. It would travel
miles away from home at times; a gate was no obstacle to it--it would
burrow under it in no time--and it was really surprising what a small
hole it would squeeze itself through.
Mrs. Smith’s garden was alongside the main road leading from Newcastle,
New South Wales, to the Wallsend coal mines. The fence of the garden
was a low one, and everyone passing could see how clean and tidy
she kept it. A good number of people passed by on horseback and in
vehicles, and whenever Mrs. Smith heard anybody coming along, she would
stand at the door facing the road and smilingly bid them good-day. The
widow was about forty, strong, healthy, and fair to look on--her fine,
fat, round arms were a sight to see--and many a man passed the cottage
just to catch a glimpse of the bonny widow standing at the door.
Now, one Saturday evening this torment of a pig got out of the
stockyard, burrowed under the fence, and got into the widow’s garden
patch, where it made terrible havoc of the beds. It turned up a lot
of vegetables, took a bite of a dozen water melons, tore the bark off
several fig-trees, and bit the stem of a lovely passion-fruit vine
right through, killing the plant.
The following morning--Sunday--when Mrs. Smith saw the damage that had
been done, she vowed there and then that the pig should die. But it
could not be found anywhere, until about ten o’clock she heard it in
the bush at the back of the house. She immediately sent her two young
sons and a workman to drive it into the stockyard, and when they had
done so, Mrs. Smith told her son to get his rifle and shoot the pig at
once. The boy slipped into the house, and returned with the gun in his
hands, and made over towards the pig, who was crunching some turnip.
“Shoot him in the head, Willie,” cried the widow, as she stood in the
gateway to prevent the pig from escaping.
As the boy approached, the pig looked up, and, seeing the shining
barrel pointing at his head, scented danger, and turned right-about
ready to bolt. Just then the boy fired, and the shot entered the pig
at the wrong end. With a piercing squeal and a grunt, it made a dart
for the gate, turning the boy head over heels in its mad rush. Mrs.
Smith, seeing the pig coming straight for the gate, and having no time
to close it, spread out her legs to block the passage with her skirts.
(Mrs. Smith made her own clothes and put good material into them). The
pig, nothing daunted by Mrs. Smith’s presence, made a dash between her
legs, his snout ripped a hole in the skirt, his head went through, and
Mrs. Smith was jerked off her feet, the skirt being bridled over the
pig’s head. The widow fell flat on her face on the pig’s back, with her
head to its tail. Finding herself being dragged along, she threw her
arms around the pig’s body and clipped its neck with her legs, and held
on like grim death, a second Mazeppa.
On dashed the pig squealing, Mrs. Smith screeching, the boys and the
workman yelling as they raced after them. The pig, thinking to escape
his pursuers, left the road and struck into the bush, and soon the
covering was torn off Mrs. Smith’s back by the bushes. But still the
pig rushed on, and still Mrs. Smith held on to the pig, and by this
time quite a number of people had started to follow.
Now, there was no church or chapel at Belmont, but a sprinkling of
people used to gather together and hold a Methodist meeting in a little
school-room where a one-legged schoolmaster taught the children of the
district reading, writing and arithmetic. On Sunday one of the men read
Spurgeon’s sermons out of a book, and each in turn, as the spirit moved
them, prayed loud and long for forgiveness of their sins which were
few, and of their neighbour’s, which were many.
On this particular Sunday morning a local preacher had come from Minmi
to hold service in the little schoolroom. He had opened the Good Book,
wiped his face, coughed, and given out his text: “Repent ye, for the
kingdom of heaven is at hand.” He paused for a moment to let the words
take effect. Then, in a sterner and more determined tone, he repeated
the text: “Repent ye, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” There was
silence for a moment.
Then an unearthly noise was heard outside. Pig squealing, women
screeching, men shouting. Everyone in the meeting was on his feet in
an instant. If this was the kingdom of heaven--well, they all seemed
mighty scared to meet it. The preacher especially--for he dropped the
Book and made for the door first.
As they all got outside, the pig dashed past with Mrs. Smith on its
back, holding on for dear life, and I do not know which was making
the most noise--Mrs. Smith, or the pig. Few of the neighbours could
recognise the rider as she dashed past, for they were not acquainted
with the features presented to view, but they all took up the chase,
the preacher taking the lead.
The pig was making a bee-line for the tea-tree scrub about a quarter of
a mile from the school-house; but to get to the scrub it had to cross
a small creek about ten yards wide and three feet deep. As soon as
it took the water the weight of its rider turned it completely over,
and so released the skirt from its head. But before it could get away
Mrs. Smith had seized its leg and held its head under water until help
arrived, when one of the men despatched it, and a trap was sent for to
take it home.
And so ended Mrs. Smith’s Sunday morning ride on the pig. But there
was a sequel to it. The local preacher, who witnessed the famous ride,
was apparently struck with the widow’s proportions where visible, and
became very attentive and solicitous for her welfare. He walked home
with her and left his sermon for a future day, sympathising with her in
her trouble, and pouring soothing unction on her outraged feelings in a
true Methodistic manner. The widow was so pleased with his sympathy and
attention that she invited him to stay to dinner, which invitation the
preacher was very pleased to accept.
During dinner the preacher made himself so very agreeable that the
widow Smith opened her heart to him and told him how very lonely it was
for her at times, since her poor husband died.
“But the dear man left me a good home and fifty acres of freehold
land, so I must not complain,” she added; “only sometimes I do feel it
lonesome.”
And the preacher took it all in with an eye to future events. He had
a nice little store at Minmi, but no land, and he thought how nice it
would be if the two were joined together as one concern.
He did not stay late that day, as he had twenty-seven miles to ride
through the bush to his home at Minmi, but he asked permission to come
again, and this was freely granted.
Very frequently afterwards the preacher was seen riding down to Widow
Smith’s homestead. It was a case of “Barkis is willing” on both sides.
Although his first view of the widow had been a hasty view, still it
had impressed the preacher so much that he soon persuaded her to change
her name, and the little store at Minmi knew him no more.
I had now been with Mr. Williams at Belmont about twelve months when
the old restless spirit began to take possession of me again. The sea
was calling me, with its wild days of stress and storm, or hardships
and peril, and would not be denied.
When I told Mr. Williams he did his best to dissuade me, but the
call had come, so packing up my belonging’s, which included a good
testimonial from Mr. Williams and a beautiful Bible from Miss Williams,
I said good-bye, and set out for Newcastle, hoping to get a ship from
that port.