Читать книгу Short Stories Volume 3 - John Arthur Barry - Страница 10

Table of Contents

Harry Richards and Bob, his brother, had just finished a good year on Garuda Station, good, that is to say, in a financial sense. Working like horses and living like blacks, they had put up over thirty miles of fencing, besides getting through a few blocks of ring-barking. Thus, just before Christmas, they had earned a very respectable cheque, and on the strength of it the pair determined to put into execution a long-talked-of, long-thought-of plan—nothing less, in fact, than a visit to the capital. Both of them bred and brought up in the outer bush, completely ignorant of the world that lay beyond the little township thirty miles distant from the station upon which they had worked for so long, the undertaking seemed to them one of no small moment and consequence.

Primarily, they had resolved to go "as they were," their only preparations consisting of washing an extra pair of "moles" and a couple of cotton shirts, and rolling the lot up in a blue blanket. But on the station storekeeper representing to them that in such guise they would probably be arrested by the first policeman as vagrants, they allowed themselves to be persuaded into buying—at station rates—a slop suit of tweed each and two little hard black hats. The former bore many vestiges of "silver fish;" the latter were hopelessly out of date—and all were palpable misfits. Stiff colored shirts, and elastic-side boots three sizes too small completed their misery. But the store keeper pronounced them "regular toffs, and fit to do the block;" and though only dimly guessing what he meant, they took some comfort from his verdict. In their working clothes Bob and Harry were a strapping pair of young natives, broad-chested, and lean-flanked, all bone, muscle, and sinew, sharp-featured, keen-eyed; ignorant of most things; suspicious; without any pronounced vices or virtues; orphans—the product of a Scotch shepherd and a native-born bushwoman. They could neither read nor write; but they possessed a certain inheriter paternal shrewdness, of which the Garuda storekeeper had many times vainly endeavored to get the better when measuring up their work. Only in the last deal had he ever been able to score. Also, he had transformed them into a pair of scarecrows.

In common with the majority of Australian natives, the brothers were endowed with more than an average share of stolidity. It took, indeed, all that was presently to happen to them to make them show visible astonishment. Thus, when at the terminus the engine came shrieking and panting into the station, they merely swore, and nudged each, other, although it was their first sight of a locomotive. The sum demanded for their fares appeared an enormous extortion. A quarter of a mile of fencing would hardly cover it. To the dismay of the other passengers, the first thing they did was to take off their boots, and with long sighs of relief expose their naked feet. They had, perhaps fortunately, withstood all persuasion as to socks; and in their new footgear was no room for the "Prince Alberts," or bandages of old cottons shirts, they usually wore inside their huge No. 10 bluchers.

Some wag had told them that if they once lost sight of their carriage before it arrived at its destination they, would infallibly be left behind. By the same joker's advice they had laid in a big stock of provisions—bread and cheese, and beer—contained in an immense old carpet bag that had belonged to the storekeeper's grandfather, and that now served as larder and wardrobe for the pair. By other travellers their proceedings were watched with eager, subdued interest; subdued, because doubtful how far chaff or protest would be safe with the owners of those great bony, scarred, hairy hands and muscular arms already causing seams to burst and gape in the ancient coats.

But at last the long five-hundred mile journey was at an end, and, stiff and bewildered, Harry and Bob were deposited upon the Redfern platform. Presently, following a stream of people, they found themselves in a tram, out of which they never thought of stirring till it reached its journey's end at Bent-street.

"Jack the Sailor," bullock-driver at Garuda, had told them of an "A1 tip-top place to stop at" in Kent-street..

"Say, mate," asked Bob of the guard, as they alighted, "is this Kent-street?"

"No, it ain't," replied the guard, grinning delightedly, as he took the pair in at a glance, "but if you keeps on to the Quay an' then turns to the left, an' keeps on agyne, you'll come to it in time. What 'otel might you be puttin' up at?"

"Number 399," replied Bob, slowly, consulting a grimy slip of paper upon which the figures were very legibly printed.

"Grosvenor, that is," said the guard. "All right, you cawn't mike a mistake. Keep to the left till you sees it in front o' ye;" and, jumping on to his tram, off he went.

"Rum languidge these blokes 'ave down, 'ere," remarked Harry.

"D—rum," replied his brother, "I'd two minds to punch that feller in the jaw fer grinnin' like 'e did. What's them things in the lagoon yonder? steamhers an' ships, I s'pose, same as I heard Jack tell on oncest or twice!"

They had by this time come out on to Circular Quay, and stood there open-mouthed and eyed, staring at the scene, impressed, but lacking words, bar an oath or two, to register its effect upon them.

"You'll find the Three Nines a all right shop to camp in," had said Jack the Sailor, "I've stopped there often, years ago, when I uster ship outer Sydney. Ole Mother Ruckles kep' it in them days. P'raps she's pegged out now. The 'ouse 'll be there all the same, though. It ain't a swell place, o' course. But there's better tucker an' less bugs than in any o' the rest o' the shops 'roun' that district. Cheap too; an' lively. You bet! You'll see life there, my sons, an' won't 'ave no time to grow blue-mouldy. You ask any sailor-man where the Three Nines is—one less'n a thousan', you savee. 'Owever, I'll put it down, so's you shan't make any mistake; an', if so be's the old woman's kickin' yet, just you tell 'er as I sent you."

But when, after much wandering and questioning, the pair at length reached the grimy door of No. 999, they found no hostess, but were received by a low-set, black-browed customer, who curtly informed them that Mother Ruckles had long ago ceased to kick; but that if they wanted board and lodging, and could pay for it, why they would be made welcome to the best of everything in Sydney. Not sailors, o' course. That was easy seen. Oh, bushmen, were they? Why, then, they'd come to the right place for comfort. That house made a specialty of the class. Did be know "Jack the Sailor?" Well, he should smile.

Actually, he did more, he laughed outright and loudly. So, too, did three or four other squalid looking individuals sitting on dirty benches in the dirty verandah. Everybody, it seemed, knew Jack, and loved him, and wanted to know all about him, and were willing to drink his health as soon as the newcomers felt inclined to pay their footing. Which, in due course, they did, but grudgingly, because, according to bush ethics, a dozen drinks was "coming it too strong for one shout."

However, Tom Caine, "Black Tom," as he was generally called about the shipping, made much of his new and curious guests, and that very night gave a "shivoo" in their honor attended by many Kent-street nymphs, the like of whom never in their wildest dreams could they have conceived. An American darkey played the concertina, whilst , a Dane beat an old piano, and a Greek tootled on the flute, and the fun was fast and furious. And Bob and Harry, each with a nymph on his knee and a glass at his elbow, realised that, indeed, as Jack the Sailor had prophesied, they were seeing life in Sydney. But the pair were not popular. They took their fun without abandon. Even in the most unrestrained flights of the jovial Company to which they had been admitted they preserved a saturnine gravity that jarred on the happy-go-lucky outward and homeward bounders that frequently Black Tom's. Perhaps this was due to some faint strain of Calvinism inherited from the Scotch shepherd. Nor were they at all free with the money that it was now known Bob carried in the double waistband of his trousers, and that the nymphs were for ever trying openly and secretly, but vainly, to get at. Nor did they drink as one should when on pleasure bent; kept their heads, too, when their friends were stretched out "paralytic;" more than once had been heard to say in their peculiar language that "no man who couldn't chew tacks would ever get upsides" with them, and altogether disgusted Black Tom, who had promised himself, as he put it, "a real soft snap with the busbies." And they bulked so tall and lithe and strong that nobody felt inclined to meddle with them. Nor ever had Tom, even on the hungriest homeward bounder, seen such, appetites as the twain possessed. They stuck together, too, like the Siamese twins. When ever you saw Harry, Bob was alongside him or within call.

"Ain't gettin' very much change out er us, are they, Bob?" chuckled Harry, "if we are chummies down 'ere."

"Poor, muchy lot, these city blokes," assented the younger brother, with a grin. "An' them sailors don't know enough to keep warm. An' Black Tom's as soft as any of 'em. I took im down for three quid at euchre last night. Bust me if I don't believe we cud soon live 'ere on our earnin's! An' them chaps at Garuda blowin' 'bout spielers an' forties, and all sorts of fairy tales! Yah, let 'em try to gammon us!"

But alas for the pride that goeth before a fall!

* * * * * *

"Bob!" groaned Harry, miserably, as he lifted an aching head, and stared around him with bulging, amazed eyes. "I'm 'ere, Harry," moaned Bob, from the opposite side, "least ways my 'ead is! Where are we? In hell, or where." But Bob made no reply. He was busy taking in his surroundings. He lay in a bunk, one of a double tier that ran round a place something like the Garuda men's hut, only much smaller. On the walls hung clothes that swung and rustled; chests were lashed to the floor at intervals; In the dim light he could see his brother's white face peering at him over the side of the bunk opposite. But the motion—the horrible, puzzling, sickening motion—now a slow roll sideways, then an abrupt jerk into the air, followed immediately by a downward plunge! And the noises—the creaking and groaning—all awed him; mingled as they were with other sounds of wind and water roaring and swirling not far away! Harry had suggested hell. But hell was hot. He knew that much. But this place was cold, if anything. Suddenly his eye caught sight of, under his head, the big carpet bag. When he saw it last in their room at the Three Nines it had been stuffed full of purchases picked up at street stalls and in "Paddy's Market." Now it was collapsed and empty. With a sharp spasm of recollection, he felt the double waistband of his trousers. The patch he had so laboriously sewn on to plant their money in had been cut away, and the forty odd £1-notes had disappeared. With a howl he sprang up, only to be knocked back again by a severe blow from a sharp iron beam.

"Now, then, you——loafers!" all at once exclaimed a sharp, stern voice. "How long are you going to lie back, eh? Don't ye think it's about a fair thing? Come along, now; show a leg!" And, so saying, a tall, broad, black bearded man grabbed Bob's leg and fairly hauled him out of his bunk on to a chest, thence on to the floor and along through an open door into the air. Returning, he performed the same operation for Harry. "There now," remarked the man threateningly, as the pair staggered to their feet, and stared around them, dumb with amazement, "None o' your shammin'! Turn to and do your duty, and you'll be all right. But by G—d, if you don't you'll be darn wrong! Bosun," he shouted, "lead the hose along this way!"

On every side, as far as the eye could reach, stretched more water than the brothers had deemed it possible the world contained. It was early morning, a bright breezy morning in the Southern Ocean, and the white horses flung their manes merrily to a strong, cool westerly. Overhead towered pile upon pile of bellying canvas to heights that made their aching eyes reel to follow it. At every turn strange sights met their gaze; objects they had no names for; articles whose uses they could not even guess at. Under foot the heavy planks seemed striving incessantly to throw them, as they staggered helplessly, and clutched at ropes, and slipped and slid on trembling legs, like two newly-born calves. All at once men appeared; much the same kind of men as they had mated with at the "Three Nines;" they dragged something along with them; another minute, and a great stream of cold salt water played remorselessly upon their bodies as, breathless and drenched, they slipped into the lee-scuppers. Such was the brothers' introduction to the ship British Empire, from Newcastle to Valparaiso, coal laden, which, having put into Sydney for a new topmast, had there lost a couple of her hands. These Black Tom had undertaken to supply, and had done so in thoroughly traditional style.

For a long time the officers of the Empire would not believe but that Bob and Harry were "shamming green." And during this period of incredulity their lot was a hard one indeed, and kicks far more plentiful than halfpence, both fore and aft. In the natural course of things they would have retaliated savagely, but their novel and bewildering surroundings dazed and cowed them; whilst their stupendous inferiority to the smallest and weakest of the men whom ashore they had regarded as "soft," put any attempt at self-assertion out of the question. Even the very ship's boys abused, them with impunity as they scrubbed and scoured, waited upon the inmates of the fo'c'sle, day and night were obliged to hold themselves ready at everybody's beck and call, thankful for the few rags that could be spared them from the seamen's own scanty outfits. One desire animated both their souls, was almost the only subject upon which, they conversed—revenge upon Black Tom should they ever be lucky enough to return to their native land again. What shape this should take there was no uncertainty about in their minds. They would kill him. And how their half savage hearts yearned with inarticulate yearnings for the wild freedom of the bush again; once more to have the scent of the flowering scrub in their nostrils, to hear the screaming of the crimson-breasted galahs feeding on the nardoo flats; feel the grip of the western soil underfoot, the western sun overhead, and know that they were slaves no longer! No longer despised and bullied "bushies," at the mercy of all hands on this most grotesque and restless fabric, condemned, apparently, to wander for ever the merest sport of the elements, and of whose complicated working they had been unable to master the simplest detail! But, free once again, free to wreak vengeance upon their betrayer, and then, if needs be, suffer the penalty. Thus they thought their bitter thoughts and cursed their luck, and sulked with a sour, dour sulkiness that kept their noses to the grindstone more than otherwise might have been the case. And what the end of their story would have been it is hard to say, but that the Fates intervened, and in their usual high-handed manner took part in the game.

Thus, one night, when nearly half-way across the South Pacific, the Empire was run into by a big cargo boat bound to New Zealand from South American ports.

Bob and Harry, hearing the smash, ran up, thinking that perhaps at last they had reached the longed for land. But all they could see was a dark mass grinding and cutting into their ship amidst a babel of cries, oaths, groans, and escaping steam, whilst from aloft yards and masts were falling and crashing with a dreadful noise of rending steel and timber. Above their heads, and apparently belonging to the thing that was doing all the terrible mischief, hung a tangle of iron ropes and spars.

Shouting "She's sinking!" a man rushed past them and began to furiously clamber and drag himself up these. Without well knowing why, the brothers followed him.

They were dazed, stunned, and appalled by the fear of the unknown and the dreadful noises of the night as they swung and swarmed up the wire stays shouting and yelling, and helping and pulling each other with the passion of despair. Then, all at once, they felt strong hands grasp them and lug them inboard, and heard a voice ask, "How many?" and another reply, "Only three, sir, off our head-gear. And she's gone down. But the boats may pick up more."

But the boats did not. Of all the Empire's company two seamen and the despised "bushies" alone were saved. On board the Monmouth Castle they were well treated. And two of the firemen being ill their places in the stokehole were offered to Bob and Harry as far as Auckland, and thence, if they wished, to the next port of call, Sydney. They accepted joyfully, and worked with the fierce energy born of long repression and endurance. They also took the opportunity of half-killing their rescued mates—who on the Empire had reduced tormenting them to a science. If they could have served all those others likewise they would have been pleased. However, they were drowned, and so now beyond their reach. As for Black Tom—!

It was a lovely morning as the Castle turned in between the Heads of Port Jackson and threaded her way slowly up the harbor. The brothers had just come off their last shift, and were watching the scene with a sharp, eager, anticipatory stare. Nearer inshore a coasting steamer, up by the nose and down by the stern, was making for her wharf. Nearly abreast of the Castle a big topsail schooner was coming along with wind and tide; just behind her raced a fore-and-after, both of them apparently homeward bound. As the Castle overtook the schooner an oath from Harry drew his brother's attention, and following the direction of his gaze he saw Black Tom on the first vessel's fo'c's'le-head. And that he had seen and recognised them there could be no doubt, for, as the Castle passed, he waved his hand, and so close was he that they almost thought they could catch the derisive grin on his dark face.

"We've got 'im now!" exclaimed Bob grimly. "An' when we've finished with 'im he won't put away no more 'bushies!'"

But even as he spoke the schooner came up in the wind and went about on the other tack. She was outward bound!

Also, when they got ashore they found that the Three Nines had long changed hands.

* * * * * *

"My word!" exclaimed the Garuda storekeeper.

"You fellows must have had a high old time of it! Five months of town on a bit of a cheque like that! I wish to goodness you'd tell the secret of how you did it."

But the brothers kept their mouths stubbornly shut. And they took a long contract of fencing. Also, at every chance they got they quarrelled and fought with Jack the Sailor until they made Garuda too hot for him, and he left. And it was noticed that, henceforth, on whatever station they might be they devoted all their energies to serving any seafarers they could discover in similar fashion.