From Chart House To Bush Hut Part 9

Music, more or less sweet, is discoursed by an accordion. The M.C., who usually takes his duties very seriously, bellows his orders at intervals. Perhaps it is "S'lect y'r pa-ardners f'r a walce." Then is Bill seen slouching shamefacedly up to Ethel or Maude, "'Ow erbout gittin' up with us f'r this one?" Maude giggles, squirms, and finally says, "Oh, all right." They go through the dance amid a fire of such witticisms as, "'Ello, Bill, when's it comin' orf?" or, "Nar then, Mord, I'll tell y'r mar!" Bill, not a very brilliant controversialist, contents himself with, "Ah! garn!" while Maude, with high disdain, answers, "D'y' think I'd 'ave him? Pooh!" So poor Bill feels sat on.

Now and then you see big men like Pardy bending nearly double, painfully "treading the mazy" with bits of kids of twelve or thereabout, as there are often not ladies enough to go round. Now and again the chatter of voices is stilled and we hear, "Mr. Ransome will oblige the comp'ny with a song." Mr. Ransome forthwith proceeds to oblige, in a voice hoa.r.s.e from long and fervent swearing at refractory bullocks, and is inclined to crack on the high notes. He gives us "Eileen Alannah." Later on, Mr.

Furney also obliges. He is short and spare, and, to the great astonishment of his audience, renders "Let me like a soldier fall," in a roaring ba.s.so that makes the roof rattle.

As eleven o'clock strikes certain of us slide off, collect sticks, build a fire, and suspend a kerosene tin of water over the blaze. When that is boiled there is a general yell of "Supper," and hampers, which the ladies have generously provided, are opened, and their hidden wealth of sandwiches and cake revealed. The community have by general levy long ago acc.u.mulated a large stock of crockery, specially for such ceremonies at the present. The catering is all arranged beforehand. Mrs. A. brings tea, sugar and milk. Mrs. B. some sandwiches, and so on. There is always more than the company can a.s.similate, and this surplus it is the custom to divide among any far-out bachelors who may be present--a gift most acceptable, as I know from experience.

One notices that the gentlemen, no matter how rough in their work-a-day world, are naturally chivalrous, and take care to see every lady provided for before commencing to imbibe tea themselves.

It is midnight now, and those who have plenty of cows, and little a.s.sistance, slide off home. The others resume dancing with more vigour than ever. Mr. Daney obliges with several songs. He is a bit of a dandy, got up to kill in a chocolate-coloured suit, dark blue waistcoat and cerise tie. He has rather a pimply face, a perpetual grin and damp-looking, wispy, straw-coloured hair. He is nervous and continuously wipes his hands on a handkerchief held for the purpose. He is a fair tenor, much inclined to tremolo. His first number, "To a manshun in the cit-e-e-e," etc., is received with much applause, which moves him to a second effort, "Please, Mr. Conductor, don-putmeyoff the ter-rain,"

which is also taken kindly. Rubbing his hands harder than ever, he comes up to us, a broad smile on his rather weak face, "Ah! I'm makin' myself popular, ain't I?" Poor "Algy's" songs always run to sugary sentiment, so of course, "Don't go down in the mine, daddy," is his closing piece.

Give him his due though, he could work; but, being easily bamboozled, it was usually for someone else, with little profit to himself. He was also an excellent hand among the cows.

About 3 a.m. the party breaks up, and you see the hurricane lamps, like dancing fireflies, disappearing in the scrub, many of the people to go right on milking as soon as their glad rags are off, and get a few hours' sleep after breakfast.

Another time, perhaps at the annual break-up of the school just before Christmas, all hands a.s.semble at the school-house for a picnic. The school reserve is like a miniature saddling paddock at race time. The ladies are all there, clad in their best; scores of happy, laughing kiddies romping round, also togged up, and the men folk in soberer hues, but all in their best. All forget their worries and try to pretend they are children again; and the onlooker smiles at the sight of bearded men and stout ladies playing "Jolly Miller," "Puss-in-the-corner," and so on, until he finds the infectious spirit of the day seize him, and he too joins in.

The schoolmaster presently puts the children through their paces under the parents' eagle eyes, and prizes are distributed--not without some murmurs and vague insinuations of favouritism from the mothers of the unsuccessful. Plenty of cash having been collected by weeks of busy canva.s.sing, the winners obtain substantial rewards at running, jumping, climbing, etc. The ladies, as usual, provide the more solid portion of the bountiful spread, but there are always plenty of lollies, fruit and aerated waters besides.

Usually a bloke with a camera happens along some time in the afternoon, and then for a few minutes everyone loses his or her individuality, and combines in one hideous smirk with the conventional idea of looking pleasant. The long warm day draws to a close, and the kids, tired out, start off home, some to early bed, others to change hurriedly into muddy duds and milk cows. The milking is rushed through this evening, and the elders re-congregate at the school for a dance, which lasts until the "wee sma' hours ayont the twal!"

It all sounds simple enough in the telling, but go and live in the Bush a short time, and then see how you will enjoy these unceremonious little reunions; and contrast that feeling with the blase indifference with which, when living in town, you attended a theatre or some other entertainment. Towns? Not on your life! Give me the great, quiet, hospitable Bush. The life is more natural, less strained--more human.

CHAPTER XVIII.

BURNING OFF.

It was time to burn-off. Since Braun's paddock would inevitably go when I fired, Braun himself, with philosophic acceptance of the fact, had dismantled the old barn and told me to go ahead. However, he had rented his paddock to old Pardy for a few months, and that nuisance had his bullocks there.

Like a d.a.m.ned a.s.s, I went to give him notice that I intended to burn.

Cripes! Wasn't there a storm! "---- ---- it!! You burn, and see what I'll do. Only bit of (sanguinary) gra.s.s I can get in the (luridly fiery improper) district, and now ---- ----!!!"

I reminded him of the possibility that rain might come any day, and the Rainy Season was due to burst on us in a fortnight. No use. The old cow wouldn't hear of any compromise. If I burnt he'd blanky well burn _me_.

"Selfish old rotter!" I muttered, and retired in dudgeon. I, of course, wasn't selfish. I went to see old Paddy, and took him and Barker into my confidence.

"Yer a fool," said Paddy. "If yer don't fire now, yer'll lose yer charnst, and then yer'll be ----'d (ruined). Fat lot Pardy'll care ef y'are! 'E's only got a few bullocks, and they won't starve. Whips o'

gra.s.s on th' road, and ef y' don't git y'r burn, y'll be like Barney's bull. Don't say nothin'. Just burn." Sensible advice.

Then Barker: "Well, me little frogs whisker" (I winced), "if I was you, I'd burn, and if thar-role snake's ears" (I writhed) "ses owt, just scruff 'im." Not so good, this, I thought, seeing that Pardy weighed fifteen stone, and I nine and a half.

However, in spite of their opinion, I pusillanimously decided to hold off for a fortnight, and then fire without notice. They agreed to come and help me, but opined they wouldn't be wanted, as it would be raining before then. A week went by with only a light thunderstorm; then the sky commenced banking up every night, to the southward. On the tenth day the bank came up to the zenith, with mutterings of thunder in the distance.

Off I went to Barker's camp, and got there sweating.

"Come on, blokes; I'm burnin' to-morrow. Blast Pardy. We'll burn the gra.s.s round the hut to-night."

"Too late, I'm feared," said Paddy, looking at the sky. "But we'll come, anyhow. Got 'ny tucker?"

"Whips," I answered; "just fetch your blankets."

We went back on the run, reaching my place at dusk, and, arming ourselves with green bushes, fired the gra.s.s round the humpy. The sun being off it, it went slowly, and was easily kept within bounds. In an hour we had the hut standing safely in a burnt patch of about a couple of acres. Then tea and bunk. But there was no sleep for me. The sky remained overcast, and the wind cold. I was in and out like a jack-in-the-box all night. About 2 a.m. there was a few minutes' slight drizzle, and my heart sank. At first streak of dawn ("sparrow-crack," in the vernacular) we were out, choked down some breakfast, then crossed into Braun's and drove Pardy's bullocks into a timber track in the scrub, cooping them up safely with a few bits of barb wire across the entrance. The morning was misty.

"Um!" said old Paddy. "Might be fine after all. That mizzle las' night won' 'urt. Wasn' 'nough ter but damp the top stuff; 'n if the sun comes out bright and 'ot bye and bye, it'll make the bark split on the big logs, 'n yer'll git all the better burn f'r it."

How anxiously I waited! At eight o'clock out sprang the sun in full strength. Nine--ten--then eleven o'clock came, and the day was one of the hottest I have ever felt up here. Half-past eleven!

"Now, me little frogs' ears," said Barker. "A few buckets of water ready at the hut; then away she goes a million!"

We got the water, then went up to the scrub, running along the edge of the falling and lighting up all round as we went, as quick as possible.

Then back to the hut, fired all the gra.s.s round the burnt patch, and stopped there to watch the building. Before long we wished we hadn't stopped, but by that time we daren't try to cross the burning gra.s.s, roaring away in the daytime. It wasn't too bad the first half-hour.

There was just the thin blue reek from the crackling gra.s.s, and in the background the thicker smoke, rapidly increasing, from the scrub. Every now and again a darting tongue of dark crimson flame, with a fresh volume of oily black smoke, told that the line of fire was quickly joining up round the clearing. A little while longer, then, as the air inside the sixty-acre patch got heated and rarified, a strong breeze rose, setting into the fire from all sides, and going upward in the heated area, as through a funnel. At once a steady m.u.f.fled roar was audible, and some trees left standing in the falling had quite big branches torn off and whirled aloft.

The falling was now fired all over by flying sparks, and the fire speedily a.s.sumed the appearance of a huge waterspout of thick oily black smoke sky-high, shot with innumerable flickering tongues of crimson flame. It roared like a t.i.tanic engine under tremendous steam pressure.

As the smoke bellied out overhead and slowly overspread the sky, the sunlight faded, and gave place to a dim yellow twilight, which had an inexpressibly depressing effect on the spirits--a sort of "something going to happen" feeling. The strong draught whirled and eddied the smoke clouds round, nearly suffocating us in the hut, but, with streaming eyes and mouths covered by cloths, we kept a sharp look-out, extinguis.h.i.+ng any sparks that alighted on or near the house. At one time it struck awe to our hearts to see a billowing cloud of flame, like a crimson cloth being shaken out, some sixty feet right overhead.

In the midst of it all there came a wild yell from Braun's, "Hay! Hay!!

Hay!!! You in that 'ut there. I see yer. Wer's me bullicks?" and there was Pardy dancing excitedly about on the creek bank. "Oh, lemme get atchyer. You wait, you Senex, yer ---- cow. I'll burst yer fer firin'!"

"Yer bullocks" (cough, cough) "are all right. They're" (cough) "penned up in Ellison's" (cough) "track. Can't get out," I wheezed, eyes, nose and lungs full of smoke. "Fire caught by acci" (cough) "dent."

"Accident!! Acci-oh, Gord! If I cud ---- Blanky good job fer you me bullicks is safe, but t'wont keep me 'ands off o' yer fer burnin' me gra.s.s. Accident!!! Yer COW! I'll ---- you ----," and just here the gra.s.s suddenly caught at his feet and went roaring past him. He took to his heels up the paddock, and we saw him no more. A minute or two later and the fire leaped on to the old barn, and the poor old place, my first home in the bush, disappeared in a whirling gust of flame.

About 4 p.m. we managed to dodge away, our heads feeling like pumpkins, the worst of the fire being over, and by six o'clock it had died down, leaving a charred black waste, with innumerable twinkling lights all over it, which, in the gathering dusk, gave the impression of a city seen in the distance by night. For weeks after our eyes were blurred, and match or lamp flame was surrounded by a broad blue halo. Barker's eyes, always weak, were bleeding profusely long before we left the hut.

The sole remains of Braun's old barn were one charred post and a few little heaps of nails, and his paddock was as clean and bare as a billiard table. A week later, covered with the new green shoot, it looked lovely, and has never had a weed in it since.

I kept carefully out of Pardy's way for a week or so, but he soon cooled down, for on the evening of the day after I fired the rain came suddenly, like a tank emptied on the roof, as it does in the tropics, and kept up continuously for thirty-six hours. In a week there was "feed for dogs" all over the district, but it was a near go for my burn. I set to work sowing my paddock carefully and well, finished the job by mid-January, and by the end of the month the gra.s.s was shooting well, giving every promise of the last being every bit as good a paddock as my first burn. My luck was "in" then.

CHAPTER XIX.

WARDSMAN AND DECKHAND.

At the beginning of February I took up my duties as wardsman at the hospital. The young lady, who had been patiently waiting some ten years or so for me in Melbourne, had written to say that she thought we would be better struggling along together, and she was willing to rough it with me, even if she had to live in a tent. So I told her to have all ready for New Year, 1915, and in the meantime I would devote the whole of 1914 to making a cheque.

With this end in view I would do the light graft at the hospital until the end of May, then, conquering the feeling of dislike, go down to the Richmond again, and try for a job as deckhand aboard one of the tugboats hauling punts of cane up and down the river--technical work, not too hard and well paid. So I communicated with the manager at the mill, explaining that I was a fully qualified sailorman, and received a reply that if I would guarantee to stop the full season he would guarantee me a berth. So that was all right.

I soon fell in with the hospital routine, though continued close companions.h.i.+p with sickness, and sometimes death, had a depressing effect on my sensitive, rather highly-strung nerves.

We always had a Chinaman or two, and it made my gorge rise to see the pretty white nurses attending to some of the specimens, though the was.h.i.+ng of 'em fell to me (ugh!). I remember one dreadful old morphia fiend, about seventy, who was brought in dying, and who pa.s.sed out next day. I was detailed to watch him die, and perform the necessary offices immediately after death, but being called away for a few minutes, I missed his actual pa.s.sing. When I returned he was lying there, his gla.s.sy eyes, shrivelled monkey face and dropped jaws, exposing the long yellow decayed fangs, making a perfectly dreadful sight; and even in that minute or two the horrible flies----. G.o.d! the mere sound of a blowfly has made me feel sick ever since then.

There was another old fellow named Ah Chi who also pa.s.sed out, and in connection with whose death the matron made a peculiar "mistake in ident.i.ty." His son had told her to ring up No. 16 when old Ah Chi pa.s.sed in his checks. She rang up No. 60--a business house presided over by a gentleman named Archibald Davidson. I imagine his surprise, and presumably pleasure, on hearing through the telephone a sweet feminine voice, "Is that Archie?" One could imagine the said Archie tumbling over himself to do the polite, and wondering if he should address the fair unknown as "Yes, pet; you're the one."

The sweet voice continues: "Hospital. Matron speaking. Look here, Archie; your father died last night, and as the weather's so hot you'd better make arrangements for the funeral at once."