Good old fellow! How cheerful I felt when at last I went away. I laughed to myself, too, at his important self-confident air. If he has kept his land and sold beer to this day, I am sure he can smoke his pipe now with great complacency—unless, indeed, riches, a circumstance over which he had no control, have spoiled him.
In the hotel in which I stayed were several other lodgers, among them an elderly man with a long beard and a most fatherly air. He became daily more friendly to me, and at the end of the first week he told me he was himself a Dane, and that he had been in the Colonies a great many years. He said he had watched me with growing interest; that he generally was chary of offering his friendship to anybody, but that he now was satisfied that I was a respectable, well-meaning youth, and that his heart went out towards me. Of course the least I, under the circumstances, could do was to accept his proffered friendship in the same spirit in which it was offered, and I told him frankly all my business, and how I was still smarting under the insult I had received on my first arrival in Townsville to such a degree that from day to day I could not bring myself to ask for work again, and how, I added, my bit of money was going fast. He, on his part, gave me to understand that he was not a rich man, although several times he had made his fortune. "But," said he, "I never let the left hand know what the right hand is doing. Sometimes, as for instance now, I run myself quite short; it does not matter, I can always make enough for myself as long as God gives me strength."
I went with him to church on the Sunday, although I did not understand a word of what the parson said, but my ancient friend had already acquired a sort of proprietorship over me, and as he seemed to be intensely religious, it imparted a kind of holy feeling to me to sit near him. After church, he lectured me on religion very severely, and all the time I knew him he prayed devoutly both morning and evening. A few days after, he told me he had taken a contract from one of the storekeepers in town to cut hay. He said that a man could cut a load of hay in a day, and that he was to get thirty shillings a load for it. He would now, said he, have to buy a horse and dray, and would also have to look out for a partner. I asked him if he thought I might do, and said that if I could not work as much as he I should not expect the same pay, but that I was confident that I would not be far behind.
"Well, I might do;" he would like to have me for a partner, but he understood that I had very little money. It would be necessary for his partner to have at least thirty pounds, as the horse and dray alone would cost forty pounds, and we should have to buy tools and to keep ourselves in rations for some time. I was very sorry that I had got only something like eight pounds. "All right;" he would take me if I would do the best I could. He had already an offer for a horse and dray. Then we set about buying a tent and a lot of rations in a store, also scythes and one thing and another necessary for the job. My partner advised me that we should not pay for it just then, as we were to deliver hay for the money. The same day we left with all our things packed in our swags, and went into the bush about four miles, where there was plenty of long grass suitable for haymaking, and there we pitched our tent.
Here I worked for a couple of months with the utmost eagerness. It was a time of long summer days, and from daylight to dark was I at it, doing my level best. My partner had bought a horse and a dray, and was taking hay into town every day, but he did not work much at home. Of course, as he said, he was getting to be old, and could not work as formerly; but then he did all the business, and, according to his estimate, we earned a couple of pounds every day. As for me, I worked contented and happy, although we had not yet taken any money for the hay and I had given my partner every sixpence I possessed to help in buying the horse and dray. We lived very frugally, too—at least, I did; my partner had his dinner in town, but that was only a necessity when he was bringing hay in—because, as he said, he did not believe in all this gorging and over-feeding which was customary in these latter days. As for smoking tobacco, he was much against it, and declared it to be not only a wicked but a dirty habit; so, to please him, I had given up the pipe. I made breakfast for him in the morning, and was at work before he rose. I had supper ready for him when he came home at night, and I never spared myself or gave a thought to the unequal distribution of work between us.
One evening my partner did not come home. I was very anxious, picturing to myself all sorts of dreadful calamities which might have happened to him. In the morning I went into the town to the storekeeper, whom I understood bought the hay, but I could get no satisfaction there. They had not seen him for a week, they said, and only bought hay occasionally. I thought they did not understand me, and I went to another storekeeper, and got a similar answer. As I stood quite bewildered in the street, I saw the horse and dray coming past, and a stranger driving. On inquiry, I learnt that the man who was driving had bought the whole concern the day before for thirty-five pounds. While we were yet talking one of my countrymen came up and wanted to know about the horse and cart too, and, to make a long story short, it appeared that my mate had borrowed, on one pretext and another, from the Danes in town nearly a hundred pounds in small sums. He had also bought the horse and dray with a very small cash deposit, and sold them for cash, got paid for all the hay we had cut, and owing for our rations in one of the stores besides, he had cleared out. Benevolent-looking old hypocrite, when I found it all out, I felt as if I could have–never mind—what is the good? say no more. I had not got a copper. I went up to the hotel where I had been staying before I had started haymaking, and began to pour out my tale of woe to the publican, with no other object than to get sympathy. The publican looked absent-minded, then he smiled: he always thought old – had a "smart look" about him. "And so he has done all of you new chums, eh! Say it again. How was it he did it? You are too soft for this country."
I was on the point of leaving, when a man came in and asked me if I was old –'s partner. I said "yes." Would I be so good as to pay this bill for two pounds odd shillings at once, or if I did not he would make me into sausages. This was too much. I know myself to be good-natured, and I told him so, but if he had any evil designs on me, why I would pull his nose. We had a long conversation on this matter, and at last he agreed not to annihilate me there and then, and I on my part declared myself satisfied if he would give me his pipe and tobacco and let me have a good long smoke as a sort of proof to me that he bore me no ill-will. When peace was thus restored, he became very friendly, and explained to me that he had misunderstood the matter before, and that he was very sorry for me, but that he would yet make my partner pay us all if I would only leave it to him and go home. "Only leave it to him"? I had nothing else to do but to go home, because in the camp there was at least a bit to eat. So home I went. But what a change had now come about in my fortune! Not only the loss of the money—although that was serious enough, but there was the shock to my faith in human nature! Who could I put faith in after this? I began in a sort of mechanical way to cut hay again just to get away from my thoughts. Then I threw the tools as far as I could, and went to lie down in the tent with my mind in a state of blank. Where would I go, and what should I do next? After a while, the man who had wanted me to pay a bill came and posted a bill on a tree. He inquired of me if I had a horse, and seemed very sorry for me when I told him "no." He informed me also that I must not remove anything, as to do so would be stealing. I understood sufficient of the proceedings to know that he also would be very "smart" if he could, and he was scarcely gone, before a man came with another summons, which was pasted underneath the first. This would never do, thought I. Was I to allow myself to be made a cricket-ball of by every one who chose to play with me. I must be "smart" too, and as soon as I got the idea, it struck me as an immense joke. Would it have been wicked, thought I, if I had been able to work a double game on the old swindler who had taken me in? They seemed to show respect for the swindler, and contempt for the dupe; but then there was the risk of cheating honest people, and that I could never do. No, that must not be. But talking about cheating and stealing, as the fellows who had posted the summonses on the trees had done, now they were trying to get paid their score out of the few things which were left in the camp without regard to me, and had the impudence to tell me that I must not remove anything. Bosh! Was it not paid for with my own money? Certainly all there might not fetch ten shillings, but who had a better right or more need of it than I? So, as the first step in "smartness," I remembered that possession amounts to nine points of the law, and for the rest I would in my mind keep a sort of profit and loss account, and I began at once by writing down my present score and leaving open the opposite page for such circumstances as the future might have in store. Dangerous thoughts, I admit, but this is the truth, and having found a weapon in this determination, it did not take me ten minutes to make up my mind what to do.
There was a settler living not far away from where we had been cutting hay. This man always seemed to me to have a friendly air about him as he would come past occasionally, and he had always made a point of stopping to speak to me at such times. He had several times invited me to come and visit him, but I had never yet done so. I now thought I would go and see him and ask him his advice, whether he thought that I had a right to claim what there was in the camp, and if so, try to induce him to buy what there was. I accordingly went over to his place and told him all about my trouble. He was an Irishman. "Bad luck to the ould offinder!" cried he, "and so he has run away. This is an awful wurld. Ah, me lad, take my advice, never have anything to do with them Germans. Well, never mind, you are a German too, but that one was worse than a native dog anyhow, and so he was."
I asked him what he thought about the things in the camp, whether I might have them: there was an axe, besides two scythes, a bucket, billy, frying-pan, some old blankets and other articles, and then there was the tent. "Oh, that was all right." I could bring it all over to his place, and he would swear to any one that it was his, and he would like to see the man who would dispute it. I might come too, he said, and live with him until I got something to do. He would do much more than that, only that he had no money. This seemed to suit me in every respect, and I began at once carrying over all that was in the tent to my new friend's place; but the tent itself I let stand for any one to fight about as they thought fit, or for the Government to inherit—I did not care which. The next few days I passed with the Irishman. He was not married, and lived quite alone on this piece of land which he had taken up as a selection. The hut had only one room, and the absence of that refining influence which is generally supposed to pervade a place where women live, was painfully apparent. The Irishman knew this very well, for he had always a way of excusing the rampant disorder in the hut by saying "that the Missis was not at home, bad luck."
Under the bunk were two bags of corn piled up in the cobs, in another corner lay some turnips and seed-potatoes; we boiled the corned beef and the tea in the one billy, and if the billy was full of meat or potatoes, when we wanted to make tea, it was only the work of a second to topple it all out into the bunk and fill the billy up with water for the tea. I am sure I now ask my friend's pardon for repaying his hospitality by describing these matters, but as I hope this history of my life will be published, it may possibly be read by young ladies, and I cannot resist the temptation to show them the faithful picture of a bachelor's den in the Queensland bush. If it were a singular instance I should not think it worth relating, but it is not; it would be more correct to say it is the general rule.
Every day I went into town and looked out for something to do, but I found great difficulty. Work was plentiful, but wherever I inquired if they wanted a carpenter, their first question was about my tools. I had no tools, and they would not engage me. One evening I was in town on purpose to speak to a contractor who had told me to call at his private residence at nine o'clock with a view to engaging me. As I was walking about trying to kill the time, I found myself standing down on the wharf, where I had come ashore the first day I landed in Townsville. I was watching the little steamer that used to run between the town and the bay, and which now seemed to be getting steam up, and in a vague sort of way I wondered whether the steamer out in the bay was going north or south, so I asked one of the sailors. "North," said he; "they go to Batavia, but they call at the pearl fisheries at Cape Somerset. Are you going?"
I had, of course, never thought of it till that moment, but as he said "pearl fisheries" it struck me that it must be a delightful occupation to sit fishing for pearls, and that it would be worth running a risk to try to get to that place. Besides, it would be a splendid adventure. So I said, "Yes, I am going." "Have you been there before?" said he; "perhaps you are a diver?"
"Yes, I was a diver." I found out next that I should just have time to go out to my camp in the bush, to collect my swag and be back in time for the steamer. I ran all the way there and back, laughing to myself all the time, because there seemed to myself such a splendid uncertainty about how the adventure would turn out. I had got no money, but it only troubled me so far as perhaps it might make it impracticable to get on board. Anyhow, I meant to have a hard try for it. When I came back I stood watching the little steamer until the moment they were about to cast off. Then with a hue and cry I rushed on board.
As we sailed down the river the captain said to me, "Are you the diver?" "No savey." "Are you going up to the pearl fisheries?" "No savey." "Have you got a ticket?" "No savey." "Dang that fellow! Are you–Deutcher?" "No savey." "Well, if you 'no savey,' all I can tell you is that you shall not get on board the steamer without a ticket. You savey swim?"
"Oh yes, I savey swim belong de pearl all de time?" "Oh, well, I think you had better go back with us again, because they will only give you to the sharks up there, if you try any tricks on them."
Here the conversation was interrupted by the captain having to attend to the ship, and I scrambled out of his way. It did not take long before we were out alongside the large steamer, and so as it was very close I watched my opportunity and climbed up the side and on board. There was a large coil of rope lying on the deck, and into that I crept without a thought for the morrow. I heard the ship getting under weigh and then I slept, if not the sleep of the just, at least without dreams.
Next day was Sunday. I only woke up as the sun was shining in my face, and then I got up and looked around me. We were steaming along the coast; there seemed to be nobody about but the sailors. I had a walk about the deck and a wash at the pump. Nobody spoke to me for some time, until the steward came and in a most natural way told me breakfast was ready. "Good!" He is a sensible man, thought I, and I went below and had a good meal. As soon as I had well finished, the mate came in and asked me for my ticket. I had formed no particular plan of campaign, but I felt so self-confident and happy, that I was perfectly convinced within myself that it would be impossible for any one to be out of temper with me. It is necessary to bear this in mind to believe what follows. Mirth is catching, and is irresistible when natural, but nothing but the genuine article will do here. So now the mate came up to me and said, "Ticket." I laughed and cried "No ticle." He looked rather surprised at me, and held out his hand saying, "Ticket." "Oh," cried I, laughing, while I grasped his hand, "Ticket—oh I savey you give me ticket?"
"Oh, this won't do," said he, although I could perceive my mirth was working on him. "Money, money or ticket"—at the same time he took out half a crown and showed it me. I tried to take the half-crown from him and patted him on the shoulder, saying, "Good fellow you," and when he would not give it me, I told him he was too much gammon for me altogether. At last I got him to laugh properly, and then he said I was too much gammon for him too, but that now I should have to go off with him to the captain, because he could not give me a free passage and could make neither head nor tail of me in the bargain.
"Come on," cried he; "to the captain you go."
My whole frame shook with laughter. I do not know why, I simply relate the fact. It seemed to me so strange and comical that I was now here, a regular loafer, a sort of criminal, and unemployed, a—what not, not knowing where I was going and not caring; and what would this blessed captain do with me, or think of me? On we came, the mate and I, up to the quarter-deck. There was a good-looking man of thirty odd years of age reclining at his ease in a sort of chair, more in a lying than a sitting posture. He was playing with the hand of a lady who was sitting alongside of him, and they looked so affectionately at one another that I made sure at once they were not husband and wife! Besides these, the only other person on deck was the man at the wheel. On we came, and the mate presented me as a stowaway. I saluted the lady and the captain airily, and he spoke to me, but I paid no attention to what he was saying. I was looking at the lady and thinking of my adventure in Bowen, the first time I saluted a lady in Queensland. My sides shook with laughter until I saw the lady in the same condition; then I exploded. The lady, the captain, the mate, and the man at the wheel all followed suit! I beat my chest and called on all the saints to give me strength to stop, but I could not, and we all kept laughing until, from utter exhaustion, the lady and the captain were lying back in their chairs with averted faces, the mate was hanging over the gunwale, and I was lying on my elbow on the deck, regularly sick. Every time the captain or any of them were looking at me they made me laugh again. At last the captain, after several attempts to speak to me cried, "Go away, go away; I speak to you by and by."
I had not been gone half an hour before I was called back again. The lady was this time sitting with her back to me. The captain said, "What have you got to say for yourself?"
I somehow felt sure that it was all right, and that the lady was going to say a good word for me, or had done so already. Anyhow I altered my tactics, and told them how it was that I had no money, and how I somehow, perhaps recklessly, but on the spur of the moment, had got on board. When I had finished speaking I felt very foolish, and as the lady turned round and looked at me, I blushed up to the roots of my hair, and felt very much ashamed. Then the captain said, "And what do you want to do at Cape Somerset?"
I did not know. "Have you no money?" "No." "No friends there?" "No." "You have been very foolish."
After a while he said: "There will be nothing for you to do at Cape Somerset and as little at Batavia. The only thing I can do for you is to put you ashore at Cardwell, here, on the coast. There is a settlement there and some sugar plantations up the river. I will do that for you, if you like."
I thanked him very much, and said I did not know what to do with myself. "All right, you can hold yourself in readiness to go ashore."
A couple of hours afterwards, the steamer was very close to land, and I saw some houses on the beach. A boat was lowered and manned by sailors, and I was told to get in. But so benevolent did the captain prove, that they bundled in after me a lot of flour, tea, sugar, and meat, also a tent. I felt completely crushed: I sat in the boat and dared not look around; only after they put me ashore I waved my handkerchief, and there, yes, they were waving their handkerchiefs back to me. There seemed to be a big lump in my throat. Was I in love? Perhaps I was, I do not know, but I felt very sure that if just then I had thought that I could have obliged either the captain or the lady on board by drowning myself, I would have done it. They had put me ashore in a place where the houses which formed the settlement were hidden from my view, and I was glad of it, because I did not want to see everybody. I found a little stream of water close by, then I pitched the tent and laid myself down outside, looking after the smoke of the steamer as long as I could see the slightest sign of it. An unspeakable longing for home, a craving for sympathy, was all over me. I suppose most people have felt the same emotion. I did not go up to town for two or three days after; I remained lying on the beach all day looking out over the sea, and half the night I would walk up and down thinking, or, perhaps it would be more correct to say, feeling all sorts of things.
If we would all only always remember the value of a kind word, or a little genuine sympathy, how much better the world would be! Who shall say what I might have been to-day, or into what channels my mind might have been led, if the captain had acted towards me as he would have been quite justified in doing—that is, if he had given me in charge of the police when we came to a shore, and if I had been just a week or two in the lock-up? I had been wronged in Townsville, and afterwards I had received the impression that it was a case of each man for himself without fear or favour. What this impression would have led to if it had not been in this happy way checked in the very beginning, is hard to say, but when at last I bent my steps towards the dozen or two of houses which formed the township of Cardwell, it was with a resolution to do my best, but not to sail again under false colours.