The Book Of The Bush by George Dunderdale (books to read to improve english .TXT) 📕

"WHY, WHERE IS THE MILLER?" SAID HIS FRIEND.

"THAT IS TRUE! I MUST LOOK OUT FOR ONE," SAID ISAAC; AND HE SET HIMSELF TO

CONSIDER HOW THE DEFICIENCY SHOULD BE SUPPLIED.

HE MIGHT EASILY HAVE MADE THE MINIATURE FIGURE OF A MAN; BUT THEN IT WOULD

NOT HAVE BEEN ABLE TO MOVE ABOUT, AND PERFORM THE DUTIES OF A MILLER. AS

CAPTAIN LEMUEL GULLIVER HAD NOT YET DISCOVERED THE ISLAND OF LILLIPUT,

ISAAC DID NOT KNOW THAT THERE WERE LITTLE MEN IN THE WORLD, WHOSE SIZE WAS

JUST SUITED TO HIS WINDMILL. IT SO HAPPENED, HOWEVER, THAT A MOUSE HAD

JUST BEEN CAUGHT IN THE TRAP; AND, AS NO OTHER MILLER COULD BE FOUND, MR.

MOUSE WAS APPOINTED TO THAT IMPORTANT OFFICE. THE NEW MILLER MADE A VERY

RESPECTABLE APPEARANCE IN HIS DARK GRAY COAT. TO BE SURE, HE HAD NOT A

VERY GOOD CHARACTER FOR HONESTY, AND WAS SUSPECTED OF SOMETIMES STEALING A

PORTION OF THE GRAIN WHICH WAS GIVEN HIM TO GRIND. BUT PERHAPS SOME

TWO-LEGGED MILLERS ARE QUITE AS DISHONEST AS THIS SMALL QUADRUPED.

AS ISAAC GREW OLDER, IT WAS FOUPriest,  And Became A

Schoolmaster.  I Was Then A Solitary "Hatter."

Next Day A Man Came Up The Gully With A Sack On His Back With

Something In It Which He Had Found In A Shaft.  He Thought The Shaft

Had Not Been Dug Down To The Bedrock,  And He Would Bottom It.  He

Bottomed On A Corpse.  The Claim Had Been Worked During The Previous

Summer By Two Men.  One Morning There Was Only One Man On It; He Said

His Mate Had Gone To Melbourne,  But He Had In Fact Killed Him During

The Night,  And Dropped Him Down The Hole.  The Police Never Hunted

Out That Murderer; They Were Too Busy Hunting Us.

I Was Not Long Alone.  A Beggarly Looking Young Man Came A Few Days

Later,  And Said:

"I Hear You Have Lost Your Mate Philip,  And My Mates Have All Gone

Away And Taken The Tent With Them; So I Want To Ask You To Let Me

Stay In Your Tent Until I Can Look Round A Bit."

This Young Man's Name Was David Beswick,  But He Was Known Simply As

"Bez."  He Was A Harmonious Tailor From Manchester; He Played The

Violoncello,  Also The Violin; Had A Good Tenor Voice,  And A Talent

For The Drama.  He,  And A Man Named Santley From Liverpool,  Had Taken

Leading Parts In Our Plays And Concerts On Shipboard.  Scott,  The

Artist,  Admired Bez; He Said He Had The Head,  The Features,  And The

Talent Of A Shakespeare.  He Had A Sketch Of Bez In His Portfolio,

Which He Was Filling With Crooked Trees,  Common Diggers,  And Ugly

Blackamoors.  I Could See No Shakespeare In Bez; He Was Nothing But A

Dissipated Tailor Who Had Come Out In The Steerage,  While I Had

Voyaged In The House On Deck.  I Was,  Therefore,  A Superior Person,

And Looked Down On The Young Man,  Who Was Seated On A Log Near The

Fire,  One Leg Crossed Over The Other,  And Slowly Stroking His

Elizabethan Beard.  I Said:

"Yes,  Philip Has Left Me,  But I Don't Want Any Partner.  I Understand

You Are A Tailor By Trade,  And I Don't Think Much Of A Tailor."

"Well," Replied Bez,  "I Don't Think Much Of Him Myself,  So I Have

Dropped The Business.  I Am Now A Sailor.  You Know Yourself I Sailed

From Liverpool To Melbourne,  And,  Anyhow,  There's Only The Difference

Of A Letter Between A Tailor And A Sailor."

There Was A Flaw Somewhere In The Argument,  But I Only Said,  "'Valeat

Quantum Valere Potest.'"  Bez Looked Solemn; A Little Latin Goes A

Long Way With Some People.  He Was An Object Of Charity,  And I Made

Him Feel It.

"In The First Place This Tent Is Teetotal.  No Grog Is To Come Inside

It.  There Is To Be No Mining Partnership.  You Can Keep All The Gold

You Get,  And I Shall Do The Same.  You Must Keep All Trade Secrets,

And Never Confess You Are A Tailor.  I Could Never Hold Up My Head

Among The Diggers If They Should Discover That My Mate Was Only The

Ninth Part Of A Man.  You Must Carry To The Tent A Quantity Of Clay

And Rocks Sufficient To Build A Chimney,  Of Which I Shall Be The

Architect.  You Will Also Pay For Your Own Tucker,  Chop Wood,  Make

The Fire,  Fetch Water,  And Boil The Billy."  Bez Promised Solemnly To

Abide By These Conditions,  And Then I Allowed Him To Deposit His Swag

In The Tent.

The Chimney Was Built In Three Days,  And We Could Then Defy The

Weather,  And Dispense With The Umbrella.  Bez Performed His Part Of

The Contract Well.  He Adopted A Rolling Gait And The Frown Of A

Pirate; He Swore Naval Oaths Strong Enough To Still A Hurricane.

Among His Digging Outfit Was A Huge Pick; It Was A Two-Man Pick,  And

He Carried It On His Shoulder To Suggest His Enormous Strength.  He

Threw Tailordom To The Winds; When A Rent Appeared In His Trousers He

Closed It With Pins,  Disdaining The Use Of The Needle,  Until He

Became So Ragged That I Ordered Him Into Dock For Repairs.

One Day In Passing Philip's School I Peeped In At The Flap Of The

Tent.  He Had Already Acquired The Awe-Inspiring Look Of The

Schoolmaster.  He Was Teaching A Class Of Little Boys,  Whose

Wandering Eyes Were Soon Fixed On My Face,  And Then Philip Saw Me.

He Smiled And Blushed,  And Came Outside.  He Said He Was Getting

Along Capitally,  And Did Not Want To Try Digging Any More.  He Had

Obtained A Small Treatise Called "The Twelve Virtues Of A Good

Master," And He Was Studying It Daily In Order To Qualify Himself For

His New Calling.  He Had Undertaken To Demonstrate One Of Euclid's

Propositions Every Night By Way Of Exercising His Reasoning

Faculties.  He Was Also Making New Acquaintances Amongst Men Who Were

Not Diggers--Doctors,  Storekeepers,  And The Useful Blacksmiths Who

Pointed Our Picks With Steel.  He Had Also Two Or Three Friends At

The Governmnt Camp,  And I Felt Inclined To Look Upon Him As A Traitor

To The Diggers' Cause But Although He Had Been A Member Of The Party

Of Young Irelanders,  He Was The Most Innocent Traitor And The Poorest

Conspirator I Ever Heard Of.  He Could Keep Nothing From Me.  If He

Had Been A Member Of Some Secret Society,  He Would Have Burst Up The

Secret,  Or The Secret Would Have Burst Him.

He Had Some Friends Among The Diggers.  The Big Gum Tree In Front Of

The Church Tent Soon Became A Kind Of Trysting Place On Sundays,  At

Which Men Could Meet With Old Acquaintances And Shipmates,  And

Convicts Could Find Old Pals.  Amongst The Crowd One Sunday Were Five

Men Belonging To A Party Of Six From Nyalong; The Sixth Man Was At

Home Guarding The Tent.  Four Of The Six Were Irish Catholics,  And

They Came Regularly To Mass Every Sunday; The Other Two Were

Englishmen,  Both Convicts,  Of No Particular Religion,  But They Had

Married Catholic Immigrants,  And Sometimes Went To Church,  But More

Out Of Pastime Than Piety.  One Of These Men,  Known As John Barton--

He Had Another Name In The Indents--Stood Under The Gum Tree,  But

Not Praying; I Don't Think He Ever Thought Of Praying Except The Need

Of It Was Extreme.  He Was Of Medium Height,  Had A Broad Face,  Snub

Nose,  Stood Erect Like A Soldier,  And Was Strongly Built.  His Small

Ferrety Eyes Were Glancing Quickly Among The Faces Around Him Until

They Were Arrested By Another Pair Of Eyes At A Short Distance.  The

Owner Of The Second Pair Of Eyes Nudged Two Other Men Standing By,

And Then Three Pairs Of Eyes Were Fixed On Barton.  He Was Not A

Coward,  But Something In The Expression Of The Three Men Cowed Him

Completely.  He Turned His Head And Lowered It,  And Began To Push His

Way Among The Crowd To Hide Himself.  After Mass,  Philip Found Him In

His Tent,  And Suspecting That He Was A Thief Put His Hand On A

Medium-Sized Colt's Revolver,  Which He Had Exchanged For His Duelling

Pistols,  And Said:

"Well,  My Friend,  And What Are You Doing Here?"

"For God's Sake Speak Low," Whispered Barton.  "I Came In Here To

Hide.  There Are Three Men Outside Who Want To Kill Me."

"Three Men Who Want To Kill You,  Eh?  Do You Expect Me To Believe

That Anybody Among The Crowd There Would Murder You In Broad

Daylight?  My Impression Is,  My Friend,  That You Are A Sneaking

Thief,  And That You Came Here To Look For Gold.  I'll Send A Man To

The Police To Come And Fetch You,  And If You Stir A Step I'll Shoot

You."

"For Goodness' Sake,  Mate,  Keep Quiet. I Am Not A Burglar,  Not Now At

Any Rate.  I'll Tell You The Truth.  I Was A Government Flagellator,

A Flogger,  You Know,  On The Sydney Side,  And I Flogged Those Three

Men.  Couldn't Help It,  It Was My Business To Do It.  I Know They Are

Looking For Me,  And They Will Follow Me And Take The First Chance To

Murder Me.  They Are Most Desperate Characters.  One Of Them Was

Insubordinate When He Was Assigned Servant To A Squatter,  And The

Squatter,  Who Was On Horseback,  Gave Him A Cut With His Stockwhip.

Then This Man Jumped At His Master,  Pulled Him Off His Horse,  Dragged

Him To The Wood-Heap,  Held His Head On The Block,  Seized The Axe,  And

Was Just Going To Chop His Master's Head Off,  When Another Man

Stopped Him.  That Is What I Had To Flog Him For,  And Then He Was

Sent Back To Sydney.  So You Can Just Think What A Man Like That

Would Do.  When My Time Was Up I Went As A Trooper To The Nyalong

District Under Captain Foster,  The Commissioner,  And After A While I

Settled Down And Married An Immigrant Woman From Tipperary,  A

Cae OUGHT TO BE IN

HIS BED, I HAVE NO MORE TO SAY. BUT YOU WILL THINK OF THIS, SAM, WHEN I AM

DEAD AND GONE!"

SO THE POOR OLD MAN (PERHAPS WITH A TEAR IN HIS EYE, BUT CERTAINLY WITH

SORROW IN HIS HEART) SET FORTH TOWARDS UTTOXETER. THE