"Till taught by pain,
Men really know not what good water's worth."
BYRON.
The reader will remember Tom Rainsfield's journey to town had been
delayed for some time beyond when he had originally intended to start
owing to the precarious state of Eleanor's health; consequently, when he
took his departure, it was necessary for him to use speed in his
travelling.
The summer had by that time considerably advanced, and the country had
suffered much from the continued drought that had prevailed for months.
Rain was anxiously and hopingly looked for, and a pluvial visitation
would have been hailed by the entire population with satisfaction. Tom,
as he journeyed, saw this desideratum more plainly than before leaving
home; for, as he mounted on to the extensive plains contiguous to the
source of the Gibson river, the parched bare soil became perfectly
uncomfortable to travel on.
These plains were of fine black alluvial soil, so thinly timbered as to
have hardly a tree visible within range of the eye. They were covered
with grass, which, when the earth contained any moisture, flourished
luxuriantly, and would at times stand waving like an agrarian picture of
cereal plenty, so abundant as to impede the progress of the equestrian
traveller. But now a "change had come o'er the spirit of the dream," and
the herbous mass lay scorched and dry on the arid ground, offering no
nutriment to the browsing kine, and only requiring a single spark to
generate a grand combustion.
Much has been said and written of the burning prairies of America, and
of the bush-fires of Australia; and we may remark, it is in such places
as these plains where they originate. Though not so extensive and
destructive in their course of devastation as those fearful
conflagrations in the western hemisphere, the bush-fires are still
frequently of sufficient magnitude to be perfectly irresistible; and
occurring as they usually do in the heart of a settled country, they are
rendered more dangerous to human life and property. How they originate
often remains a mystery. Of course carelessness frequently gives rise to
them; though at the same time they have been known to occur in parts
where neither whites nor blacks ever tread; and too often, when the
destroying element rages over and sweeps away a homestead or a farm, the
work is attributed to the incendiarism of some inoffensive blacks, who
are made to suffer at the hands of the whites.
Tom Rainsfield journeyed on his course over these plains that looked
like a vast neglected hay-field; except in parts where water had lodged
and formed temporary ponds or "water-holes." There it presented an area
of black mud, baked hard by the power of the sun, and had absorbed so
much of its heat as to render it even painful for a horse to stand upon.
Tom rode under vertical rays, keeping as much as possible on the
withered grass (as being more comfortable than the sun-absorbing and
reflecting road), without the companionship of a fellow traveller to
relieve the monotony and solitude of the way; and not daring to indulge
in the consolation of a pipe, lest a stray spark should ignite the
inflammable material at his feet. Miles and miles of this weary and
trying travelling were passed, and Tom was not sorry when the track
entered a country less open, and he once more rode through bush land.
Here, too, the ground, though partially sheltered from the sun's rays,
was equally devoid of feed and moisture. Not a blade of grass was to be
seen, nor a drop of water in the creeks and water-holes. For himself,
notwithstanding that his thirst was insatiable, Tom cared little; he
could manage to do without a drink until he reached the end of his day's
stage; but it was for the faithful animal that carried him that he
anxiously scrutinized every spot likely to contain the smallest
reservoir of the much coveted liquid. But his researches were all
unavailing; as yet no water could he find; until at one point on the
road, when he had almost given up the search as hopeless, he spied a
large swamp filled with reeds, in which a herd of cattle lay almost
concealed, apparently cooling themselves in the water. Here then he had
no doubt he should find what he and his horse had so much desired; and
hastening on to the black adamantine margin of what had formerly been a
large lagoon, he witnessed a sight that struck him with dismay. Not one
drop of water was visible in the extensive basin, and the cattle which
he had imagined were luxuriating in a natural refrigerator, were dead
and immovable.
Such scenes are common under similar circumstances; and at times, while
the country is suffering from the effects of a drought, to see cattle
"bogged" in a water-hole is only thought of as a necessary consequence
fully expected, and therefore hardly to be deplored. Still when
witnessed by one who may be seeking that which is essential to life, to
allay a thirst which may be consuming, it is enough to make the heart of
such sink within him; and, though Tom was hardly in so reduced a
predicament, yet he could not gaze on the unfortunate animals without
some unpleasant admixture of perturbation and concern.
In the swamp as many as fifty cattle had sought shelter from the heat
and moisture for their thirsty tongues. But having waded through the
mud, into which they had sank to their middles, they had possibly
satisfied themselves for the moment with a concoction of glutinous soil
and vapid lukewarm water; but, from their exhausted strength, had not
been able to extricate themselves from their miry bondage, and had
consequently died in their captivity. The mud at the time of Tom's visit
had perfectly hardened, and he traversed the whole bed of the swamp, in
the vain hope of finding some friendly hole in which a few welcome drops
might be found for his worn-out steed. But his search was fruitless, and
he was at last reluctantly compelled to relinquish it, from the attacks
of myriads of flies, who were disturbed at their bovine repast. He at
length continued his journey with a worn-out horse and a fagged and
jaded spirit, and was not a little grateful, as evening gathered its
shades around, to espy the glimmer of a light from the station which was
his night's destination.
Tom's further progress was equally tedious and trying. The whole country
seemed parched up, and it was with the greatest difficulty he could push
on at all; and as the fatigue to himself and his horse necessitated him
to make his day's stages much shorter than he desired, it was the sixth
day from his leaving Strawberry Hill that he entered the village of
Waverley on the Brisbane river.
When we call this a village it is only out of courtesy that we are
guilty of such a misnomer. For though, by the government plan of the
township, it looks a well-arranged and thriving place, we must state,
notwithstanding that building allotments had from time to time been put
up at auction by the government, and we may add found purchasers, and
that the existence of a public-house, rejoicing in the high-sounding
title of the Royal Hotel, lent an imposing air to the place,--the
gracefully tinted Queen Street, Albert Street, Prince of Wales Street,
etc. etc., of the elaborate survey office map, only existed in the mind
of the surveyor, and the imagination of the land-jobber. The said
thriving thoroughfares remained in a state of primeval grandeur; having
their boundaries marked, for the convenience of inquisitive seekers
after information, by small pegs driven into the ground, and whose sole
object seemed to be to lie concealed and bewilder those who might desire
to find them.
By the foresaid plan this town or village (or, as the Americans would
say, this city) of Waverley was laid out with considerable taste. The
streets were all broad and at right angles; with a market reserve;
grants for church sites to various denominations of Christians; and a
broad quay facing the river, either for commercial purposes or for a
promenade for the inhabitants. But in reality the whole of the
architecture of the place was comprised in the sole habitation, the
Royal Hotel; which was built near the bank of the river, with a rough
fence enclosing three sides of a piece of ground that ran down to the
water's edge. This constituted the paddock for the horses of weary
travellers; and, judging from the dilapidated and generally insecure
state of the fence, argued the rare occurrence of a quadrupedal
occupancy. However, the sight of these little imperfections gave Tom no
concern, as he was confident his animal would not attempt, in the state
of fatigue to which he was reduced, to go roaming; and what gladdened
his heart more than anything was the sight of what he had long been
unacquainted with, fresh water. It was therefore with a considerable
amount of mental relief that he rode up to the unpretending hostlery. He
alighted at a door before which stood a post suspending a nondescript
lamp of antideluvian construction, and bearing from its appearance
questionable evidence of its ever having been submitted to the ordeal of
beaconing the path of the weary traveller. On the same post was affixed
a board on which the sign of the house was very plainly executed in
Roman character; informing, and we think very necessarily so, the
occasional visitor there was to be had accommodation for man and beast.
The road leading to the Royal Hotel was not the one usually taken by
travellers from the interior to Brisbane. But Tom had chosen it to
avoid the more frequented track; knowing that in the present state of
the country travelling on the latter would be much more difficult and
troublesome. Therefore he had come by this secluded spot; intending to
cross the river, and travel down by the northern bank to Brisbane, while
the usual route was through the thriving and populous town of Ipswich,
and down the southern side of the Brisbane river.
Tom Rainsfield entered the inn; and having his horse taken round by the
landlord to a bark shed designated a stable, where he preferred tending
the animal himself, rather than leaving him to the tender mercies of a
stranger, he gave him a drink of water and a feed of corn; and then
placing some bush hay at his disposal, left him to practise his
mastication, and make the most of his time. Having thus arranged for the
comforts of his steed Tom next thought of himself; so strolling into
the house, while something was preparing to satisfy the cravings of his
inward man, he walked into "the bar," to indulge in a pipe with
something cheering, and amuse himself by a little conversation with the
landlord. He entered the precincts of that _quarterre_ devoted to the
worship of the rosy god, and where the ministering spirit presided,
stationed behind a primitive sort of counter or bench, and at whose back
stood two kegs with taps and sundry bottles arranged on a shelf. These
(whatever their contents) appeared to be the stock-in-trade of the
establishment; excepting a large cask which stood in a corner, and which
by its appearance indicated spirituous contents, from whose bulk
probably the smaller kegs were from time to time replenished. Into this
sanctum then walked our friend Tom Rainsfield, and after calling for a
drink, and desiring the landlord in bush fashion to join him, he lit his
pipe; and taking his seat on the counter entered into the following
dialogue.
"I shouldn't think you did much business here?"
"Oh, pretty fair, sir."
"Why, there doesn't appear to be many who frequent this room. I should
have thought it would have hardly been worth your while to have kept a
house in this place."
"Nor more it would if I lived by gents a-stopping at my house; for I
don't get one of 'em a month. But you see them as pays me is the
sawyers; there are lots of 'em about these parts, cutting timber on the
hills and in the scrubs; and when they get their logs down into the
river they mostly stop here a while drinking before they raft the timber
over the flats on their way down to the mills. Then when they come back
they generally stop a while on the spree before they go to work. So, you
see, I makes a pretty good thing out of 'em; besides you see I keeps
rations here as well as grog, and sell them to the fellers when they run
short and ain't got no money."
"But don't you often lose your money? I suppose they have none when they
go to town with their rafts, and very little when they come back; that
is even if they ever do come back; then I suppose you lose your score."
"Oh, I manage to get it; precious few ever 'bilk' me, for I know my
marks pretty well, and them as I fancy won't come back I get to pay me
in timber; and I brand the logs with my own brand, and give some of the
fellers I can trust so much a hundred feet to raft them down for me. But
mostly the chaps come back before they have spree'd away all their
money. So I gets my share, as they pay me then what they owe me, and
have another go in until they 'knock down their pile.'"
"And how much do their 'piles' consist of?"
"Well, I couldn't say anything regular. I have had as much as a hundred
pounds 'knocked down' by one man at a time." And as the man said this he
smiled and heaved a sigh that seemed to say those were prosperous times
for him. True enough it was that he had had as large a sum of money paid
to him by one man; but as to the amount being actually spent, or an
equivalent even in liquor supplied, is extremely doubtful; but to follow
them in their conversation, Tom remarked:
"And then they return to their work, I suppose, quite penniless?"
"Oh, yes, it is very few of them ever have any money when they get back
to the scrubs; they have no use for it there, so they spend it like
men."
"Like fools you mean."
"No I don't. What is the use of the poor man saving his money? he can't
do anything with it; he can't buy any land to settle on; and he doesn't
care to save up his money to be robbed of it or lose it; he works hard
enough to get it, and so likes to spend it himself."
"That is certainly one idea why working men should spend their hard-got
earnings. I should have imagined that men who had laboured hard, and
were living in the bush and scrubs in all sorts of discomfort, would
have had some desire to better their condition, and would have
accumulated means accordingly."
"Not a bit of it, sir! they couldn't do anything with their money when
they got it."
"Could they not buy a piece of land and commence farming? Here, for
instance, the land seems excellently adapted for agricultural purposes."
"They can't get none, sir. The government folks won't sell any to the
poor man, leastwise the poor man can't buy none, and if he wants any he
is forced to buy it off the 'jobbers,' who generally screw him so much
that it doesn't pay. So the fellers prefer keeping to the scrubs cutting
timber; 'cos then they are not bound to work for sharpers, and can just
please themselves."
It was evident the landlord of the Royal Hotel did not classify himself
in the category of those astute blades whom he designated by so cutting
an epithet; though Tom's opinion on that head somewhat differed from
"mine host's." He considered him a swindler of no ordinary magnitude,
though merely a type of his class. He was one of those locusts who
fattened on the hard working and reckless classes of colonial labourers;
who when they are plundering their victims, even under the guise of
friendship, dissuade them from frugality; expatiating on the numerous
sources of fraud (excepting of course their own) to which "the poor men"
would be exposed; and by their vile persuasions and chicanery too often
succeeding in eliminating from the minds of those with whom they come in
contact all notions of providence; and confirming them in their reckless
and dissipated lives. These bush publicans are the cause of immense
misery and depravity, and cannot be too harshly stigmatized for the
enormity of their infamies.
Tom being informed that the edibles prepared for him were awaiting his
operations discontinued his dialogue, and adjourned to his epicurean
repast; at which satisfactory occupation we may leave him uninterrupted.
As his next day's stage would only be some five and twenty miles he
determined to delay his departure until the afternoon so as to give his
weary horse some additional rest; and it was therefore past noon on the
following day when he mounted his nag and left the village of Waverley.
In leaving the inn he traversed the bank of the river for some few
hundred yards on his way to the flats where he was to cross when he
overtook a man that apparently had preceded him from the inn, and they
both went on together. The flats at this time were almost dry; for the
water in the river had long ceased to run, and at the particular spot to
which we allude, which was in ordinary times used as a ford, it could
have been crossed dry-shod, while above and below it the river remained
simply currentless pools. As Tom rode down to the bed of the river he
was struck with the immense number of logs that laid scattered about,
some on the banks, some in the river above, and some below, where a
small boat was moored, and a party of sawyers and raftmen camped. To
this party Tom's companion evidently belonged, and had apparently been
despatched to the public-house by his mates, as he was returning with
two suspicious-looking protuberances on each side of his bosom. These,
to outward appearance, very much resembled the outlines of bottles that
had been thrust into the ample folds of his blue shirt for convenience
and security of carriage. While trudging on the road alongside of Tom
Rainsfield the fellow gave evidence of a loquacious turn of mind by
commencing a conversation and inquiring if Tom was travelling to
Brisbane. Upon being informed by our friend that that was his
destination, and that he had come by way of Waverley to avoid the main
road on account of its desolate, dry, and feedless state, he remarked
with a whimsical smile: "I suppose you think that 'ere Waverley a fine
town?"
"It seems a very good site for a township," replied Tom. "There is good
land in the vicinity, and abundance of water. I daresay in the course of
a few years it will be a flourishing place."
"Not a bit of it, sir," said the man; "it never will be nothing. That
'ere house of Tom Brown's, 'The Royal,' as he calls it, will be the only
house in it for many a day, unless there be another public. Lor' bless
you, sir, that place of his even wouldn't be nothing if it wasn't for us
sawyers; we keeps old Brown alive, and he knows it."
"Well, my good friend," asked Tom, "what is to prevent others settling
in the town besides Tom Brown?"
"Why, what would be the good of it?" asked the other; "there would be
nothing for them to live upon. All the trade that's done is with us
sawyers, and there isn't more than Old Brown can do himself. Besides,
you see, most of the land that has been sold in the village has been
bought by the swells, who keep it to make money of it when some one
should want to buy."
"I have no doubt," said Tom, "the land in the vicinity will eventually
be sold for farming, and then the growth of the village arising from the
trade that will ensue will be rapid."
"Ah! there it is, sir. You see the squatters have got all the land now
for their sheep to feed on, and a poor man as has got a pound or two,
and wants a few acres, can't get 'em no how."
"But the government is continually putting up land for sale," said Tom;
"and if any man desired to avail himself of the opportunity surely he
could attend the sales and effect a purchase."
"No, sir, they couldn't," said the man; "for, you see, suppose I'm
working here in the bush and want to buy a bit of ground, how am I to
know when there is any for sale? They will perhaps mark out a few farms
near Brisbane, or Ipswich, and put 'em for sale, and they are sold off,
or leastwise the best of 'em, before I or any of my mates know anything
about it; or if so be as how I should get to hear of it and go to the
sale, there's so many people wanting 'em, perhaps gents who maybe live
in town, and want paddocks for their horses, that they will give better
prices than I can give; so, you see, I don't get half a chance. If I
want a bit of land to farm I think I ought to be able to get it anywhere
I like just as easy as the squatter can get his country. Axing your
pardon, sir, I suppose you're a squatter?"
"That's true, my good man," replied Tom; "but I think myself that the
restrictions on the land are vastly injurious to the country, though I
doubt, even if every facility was given to the working man to procure
land if he would avail himself of the opportunity; and, instead of being
of benefit to him in the way intended, I question if the land would not
fall into the hands of 'jobbers.' Such a state of things is equally, if
not more, to be deprecated than the present system of permitting it to
remain in the possession of the squatters; for now it is made available
for pasturage; whereas then it would be allowed to lie unproductive
until such a time as the speculator could see an opportunity of a
profitable realization."
"There would be plenty of us would buy lands and settle on them," said
the man, "if we only had the chance. Now if you like, sir, I'll just
tell you a case."
Tom, though he knew all the man said was perfectly true, offered no
objection to the narrative, being desirous of eliciting from him his
notions on the subject, which was a much vexed one in the whole colony,
and purposely encouraged him to launch as deeply into it as he thought
fit.
"It is about my brother, sir," said the man, "so I know it is quite
true, and you may believe it. We both came to this country together
about seven years ago, and took to cutting timber and rafting because it
paid well those times; and we made plenty of money, though we spent it
as fast as we got it. But somehow my brother didn't join much with the
other fellows, for he always was a steady chap, but took to saving his
money, and 'you may believe me,' it wasn't long before he had got 'a
pile,' of more than two hundred pounds. Now, sir, you see, when Bill
(that was his name) had saved all that money nothing would do him but he
must have a bit of ground and commence farming. There was a talk then of
some land being marked out somewhere near this 'ere town of Waverley; so
Bill thought he would like to have a few acres hereabouts better than
anywhere else. He asked some one who knew all about that sort of thing
how he should go about it to buy some, and the chap told him that he
ought to go to Brisbane and ask of the surveyors. So off he went to what
they call the survey office, and told the big-wig there that he wanted
to buy some land. Now this card showed him a lot of plans of where, he
said, they had land for sale; and Bill looks at 'em and took directions,
and went into the bush to have a look at 'em. But he found 'em to be no
good; they was only lots that had been left at the government sales,
when all the best pieces had been sold, and the ironbark ranges and
quartzy or barren gravelly country left; so he wouldn't buy any of 'em,
and told the chap in the office that he wanted some at Waverley; but he
told him he couldn't have none there as it wasn't surveyed.
"Now the party Bill stopped with put him up to a wrinkle how he would
get the land he wanted to be surveyed 'cos he knew how to manage it. He
got up a requisition, or made an application, to have some lands on the
Brisbane river at Waverley surveyed and put up for sale, and sent it to
the government, as he said that was the sure way to get it. But it was
no go; the survey chaps told him that all the land thereabouts was
leased to squatters, and they couldn't touch it; but, says they, if you
want a nice piece of country there is some out here on the river, about
five miles away, that we are going to measure off into farms directly,
and they will just suit you; so, says they to my brother, just you go
out and have a look at them. Well, Bill went to look at 'em, and, sure
enough, they was first-rate land, so he said to himself I'll have a farm
there, and that's settled. But he was all wrong; for he didn't get a
farm there an' nowhere else as I shall tell you.
"When he came back, after having see'd the land, he went to the office
and told the people that that place would just suit him, and he would
take a farm and buy it right off. But they laughed at him, and told him
that he couldn't buy it before it was surveyed, but that in a short
time, a week or so at most, they would have it all right and ready for
sale; so Bill thought he might make the best of it and wait. A couple
of weeks passed and he went to them, but it was not done; so he waited
another week or two, and went back again, when they told him that they
had had no time to see to it, but were going to do so very shortly. So
he waited another month, and then enquired, when they had the cheek to
tell him that they were obliged to put it off for they could not attend
to it at all, having so much work to do at other places; but that if he
would come back to town in about three months it would be all ready for
sale.
"Now Bill was bent upon having one of them farms, so, instead of letting
the surveyor chaps, and the farms too, go to--where-ever they liked for
their humbugging, he came back to the bush to work for the three months,
and then went to town again to look after the land. But when he went to
the office even then the fellers hadn't surveyed it; and instead of
telling him like men that they were only humbugging him, and never
intended to do it at all, they commenced their little games again, and
told him that the surveyors were then at work on a particular job, but
that as soon as they were done there they would go to the land he was
waiting for. Well, sir, it's no good my telling you all the ins and outs
of it; but the long and the short of it is they kept Bill in a string
for six months, and then they didn't do the work, and I don't know if it
is done now; so, you see, that's how us poor men can't get any land."
"I believe what you complain of is perfectly true," said Tom. "The
system is much to be deplored, but I hope it will shortly be improved.
Unless a man is on the spot, and can wait for an opportunity, such as
when a sale occurs, there is certainly very little chance for him; and
men that are employed in the bush very rarely if ever have that chance."
"Just so, sir," said the man.
"And what did your brother do with his money after having so much of it
and his time wasted in looking after this land?"
"Ah, sir! there is what makes me curse the land, and the surveyors, and
all the lot, for it killed Bill, and there never was a better feller
breathing. I'll tell you how it was, sir. I told you Bill was a steady
chap; he never used to drink, anyhow not to spree, you know; but, you'll
guess, no man could stop at a public-house for six months doing nothing
without getting on the spree. Bill used to walk up and down on the
verandah at the public where he stopped, and smoke his pipe, while he
thought how them fellers at the survey office were a-treating of him,
and he got miserable like in his spirits. So when fellows got to know
him, and used to come into the house, they'd ask him to take a nobbler
with them; and somehow, you see, though he didn't do nothing of the sort
at first, he was soon glad to get some one to join him in a drink, and
being at it all day, you know, he used to get very drunk at times; so he
went on until at last he was always drunk. Now Bill all this time had
been keeping his money by him, so that he would be ready, when he
wanted it, to buy his farm. So, what with always having plenty of money
'to shout' for other fellers (for you know, sir, he was a stunning
feller to shout when he got a little bit screwed), and the lots of
fellers as always stuck to him when they knew he got 'tin,' he very soon
got 'cleared out;' and one day, after a tremendous spree, when he had
been drunk for more than a week, he got 'the horrors,' and started to
come home to the scrub. I never saw him after that, sir; for he got
drowned in one of the creeks on the road, and was found by some shingle
splitters soon afterwards without a shilling in his pocket; so that's
what he got, poor fellow, for trying to turn farmer. Now you see, sir,
we don't see the good of doing like that; so we never trouble ourselves
about saving any money, and we are a deal better off, and a happier,
than them as do."
Tom did not attempt to refute the sophistry of this argument as he was
aware that it would be useless. He knew that the case of this man's
brother was by no means a solitary one; for not only had the suicidal
policy of the colonial government with regard to the disposal of the
waste lands been instrumental in the destruction of numerous victims
similar to this unsophisticated sawyer; but it was absolutely driving
that entire class of men into reckless extravagance and dissipation.
Whereas a liberal land policy would not only have engendered a spirit of
providence, but have offered an inducement, and have proved a stimulus,
to the country's settlement by a thriving rural population.
But the ministerial Solons of the country could not be induced to view
the subject in that light; hence this deplorable state of morality and
improvidence, which unfortunately pervades the great bulk of the country
population. In urban localities the evil is not so severely felt, as a
steady and industrious mechanic, with his accumulated savings, is
enabled to purchase a town allotment (which allotments are just
frequently enough thrust into the market by the government as to keep
the demand in excess of the supply), and to build on it a house, which
he erects by degrees, as his means admit. Thereby, in course of a short
time, he gathers round him in the land of his adoption a comfortable
little freehold property. Thus it is, nearly all the town workmen who
are possessed of any savings convert them into something substantial;
but for the bushmen no such opportunity exists; and hence it follows,
that the towns-people are generally industrious, steady, and frugal,
while those of the bush are too frequently the reverse.
"That certainly was a melancholy end for your brother," said Tom to his
companion, resuming the conversation that had lapsed for a few minutes.
"Yes, sir, it was; and if Bill, poor fellow, had just been content to
stick to the scrub like us he would most likely have been 'still to the
fore.' You see, sir, we live a jolly life; are quite contented, and
spend our money while we've got it. Now those fellows over there,"
continued the man as he pointed to the sawyer's camp, in sight of which
they had just arrived, "not one of 'em would give up his life to go and
work in town if you paid him ever so high wages."
"I've no doubt their mode of life is fascinating; but still I should
think the heavy drinking in which they indulge sometimes impairs their
health and constitution."
"Not a bit, sir! We never feel anything the worse for a spree, nor in
anyways sick; 'cos you see we work hard, and most always live in the
bush; so we are always healthy."
"I've no doubt that will preserve you in a great measure; but still you
must be perfectly aware that, even if you never experience any
deleterious effects, you continually leave yourself destitute; and if
anything in the way of sickness should happen to you, so as to
incapacitate you for work, you would not only starve, but die from
neglect and want of proper treatment.
"Don't you believe it, sir! There would be no fear of my wanting
anything. Do you think if one of my mates was sick now that I wouldn't
share with him what money I'd got, or that I wouldn't look after him as
if he was my brother? In course I would, and if I got sick my mates
would do the same for me."
By this time Tom and his companion had half crossed the bed of the
river; and noticing the plans the men had adopted to get their timber
over the flats, Tom commenced a fresh interrogation to elicit from his
travelling concomitant some information on the usual mode of procedure.
As the subject may have some degree of interest to a few of our readers
we will give in our own words the substance of the dialogue, craving
permission to premise it by a remark or two on the general life and
movements of sawyers.
They are a class of men who exist during the greater portion of the year
in the bush and scrubs bordering on the rivers and creeks, where they
unceasingly and uninterruptedly practise their vocations. They generally
work in gangs, either on equal shares or on wages to one of their
number, who may be more thoughtful than the rest; and one who,
notwithstanding a fair share of dissipation, may have accumulated,
possibly through the influence of a thrifty wife, some considerable
means. The classes of timber most in demand, and therefore most sought
for by these men, are cedar and pine; which are procured separately, in
certain localities, in great abundance. This local segregation of the
woods is a characteristic of the Australian bush, and more than anything
else tends to create that monotony which is everywhere perceptible. It
causes the eye of the traveller to weary as he looks continually on the
leafless bare-looking trunks of the blue gum (which without intermission
meets his gaze for miles and miles on the lonely road) or the
sombre-looking ironbark that with equal pertinacity monopolizes the
ranges. Rarely, if ever, will an admixture of timbers be found to any
extent; and, consequently, those sawyers who cut pine leave the cedar
scrubs to be visited by the others; and _vice versa_.
The timber is usually cut in the dry season; and the trees after being
cleared of their limbs and foliate appendages, and denuded of their
bark, are drawn by the means of a bullock team to the nearest creek or
river, where they are deposited until such time as the rains
sufficiently swell the streams to float them from their resting-places.
With an iron brand in the shape of a punch, and a hammer, each cutter on
the end of every log indelibly marks his own property; and as the logs
are removed from their beds by the rising current, a staple is driven
into each. Through this a chain is passed, when the whole are collected
into one raft, and securely moored to wait, in their transit down the
stream, the pleasure of the proprietor. The time usually chosen to raft
the timber is when the rivers are moderately high after rains; or, in
the parlance of the upper part of the country, when there is "a flood,"
and in the lower, when there is "a fresh" in the river. They are then
started in their downward course either by the directing aid of a small
boat (if the ascent of the stream is practicable for it) or under the
guidance of some of the party; who make a firm footing for themselves on
their floating platform, by sheets of bark and foliage. They then trust
themselves to the current, while they guide the course of the raft with
poles until they come to flats. When the rivers are to any extent
swollen, or (as it is said in the country) "running," the rafts usually
pass over without difficulty; but if the water is low, and the flats
barely covered, the passage is necessarily not so easily effected, and
frequently impossible. Such then was the case at the Waverley flats at
the time of which we write. And it was with the water almost at the
lowest ebb that the party Tom saw had been endeavouring to float over
their raft; the process for which they had adopted we now propose to
explain.
It is necessary at some point to have a boat to assist the raftmen in
their guidance of the unwieldy mass, and one is usually kept by them for
that purpose at the highest point to which it can be conveniently
brought. After escaping all impediments the boat takes the raft in tow;
and, as it progresses on the stream and comes within the action of
tides, on the occasion of each flowing, the party have to draw their
raft into the bank, and camp until the return of the ebb. In their
journey to the mills rarely more than three or four of the party,
including the proprietor if not a joint stock affair, accompany the
timber; while the remainder pursue their occupation of cutting.
The party that was camped at the Waverley flats consisted of five
individuals in all. They had been working in shares for some months
collecting the raft they then had with them, and were all accompanying
it to the mills to sell it and have the proceeds equally distributed.
But the season having been an unusually dry one they had here met with
an effectual check, and had no alternative but to wait for rain.
When they first reached the flats the water was just running over them,
but not sufficiently deep to admit of the passage of their property; so
the fellows had recourse to the expedient of forming "a race" to effect
their purpose, and this they had accomplished in the following way: A
few of the logs were drawn up and arranged longitudinally from either
bank of the river in an oblique direction to a focus in the centre of
the flat; from this point the logs were arranged parallel to one another
right across the bank to the deep water below. They were then all firmly
staked into the soil, and the interstices between and below them were
packed so as to perfect a dam or barrier to the water. The result of
this plan as is evident was that the water flowing over the flat was
confined to the narrow channel between the parallel logs, and thereby
attained a higher elevation and a swifter current. To the mouth of this
impromptu canal, then, the sawyers brought the logs one by one, and they
were made, with very little guiding, to shoot through the passage with
speed and precision. After getting nearly a hundred of the logs in this
manner over the impediment, the water continuing to fall, eventually
left them with not even sufficient to make their sluice available; so,
with fully half their raft fixed above the flat, the men were compelled
to be idle until they had sufficient water to float the remainder over.
Tom had expressed surprise to his companion that he and his mates did
not proceed with the timber that had passed the flat, and leave some of
their companions behind to watch for the flood in the river, and secure
the others as they should descend. He pointed out that by that means
they would, in all probability, have got their first raft down to the
mills, and had time to return before the rains came on. But this, his
companion told him, the sawyers were afraid to risk, because, he said,
if the river rose rapidly, which they fully expected, they would want
all their number on the spot, otherwise they might lose half the timber.
Besides, in the absence of their boat, it would be an impossibility to
secure any of the logs if they should be washed over. "And then," he
continued, "we have been expecting the rain to commence every day for
weeks past." So it was deemed advisable by the whole party to await the
rising of the river; and, even watchful as they were, they fully
expected that if the flood came upon them at all suddenly, they would
lose a considerable number of the logs.
After crossing the river (or rather the bed of it), and leaving the
sawyers' party, Tom Rainsfield leisurely pursued his journey; and, after
riding for about twenty miles or so, he could perceive, by the nature of
the country and the occasional appearance of "improvements," that he was
approaching the town of Brisbane. Towards dark the road led him through
lines of fences, and past a few cottages and cultivated fields, and
thence by detached buildings, until he finally entered the town and put
up at his hotel not at all dissatisfied at the completion of his
journey. The country, even to town, had equally suffered by the drought.
Hardly a vestige of herbage was to be seen on the whole surface of the
ground, and the mortality amongst the beasts was fearful, and painfully
perceptible from the fulsome malaria in the atmosphere. Tom's horse was
reduced to a perfect shadow, and was so weak that when he reached the
inn he could hardly drag one foot after another, and certainly could not
have existed another day with a continuation of his privations. Hence
Tom was additionally delighted when he drew rein at the Crown Hotel, and
permitted his weary and faithful animal to be led away to the stables,
while he proceeded to refresh himself in a manner most pleasant after
his own fatigues.