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

MELANCHOLY MICHAEL JOHNSON! HOW SAD A THING IT WAS, THAT HE SHOULD BE

FORCED TO GO, IN HIS SICKNESS, AND TOIL FOR THE SUPPORT OF AN UNGRATEFUL

SON, WHO WAS TOO PROUD TO DO ANY THING FOR HIS FATHER, OR HIS MOTHER, OR

HIMSELF! SAM LOOKED AFTER MR. JOHNSON, WITH A SULLEN COUNTENANCE, TILL HE

WAS OUT OF SIGHT.

BUT WHEN THE OLD MAN S FIGURE, AS HE WENT STOOPING ALONG THE STREET, WAS

NO MORE TO BE SEEN, THE BOY S HEART BEGAN TO SMITE HIM. HE HAD A VIVID

IMAGINATION, AND IT TORMENTED HIM WITH THE IMAGE OF HIS FATHER, STANDING

IN THE MARKET-PLACE OF UTTOXETER AND OFFERING HIS BOOKS TO THE NOISY CROWD

AROUND HIM, SAM SEEMED TO BEHOLD HIM, ARRANGING HIS LITERARY MERCHANDISE

UPON THE STALL IN SUCH A WAY AS WAS BEST CALCULATED TO ATTRACT NOTICE.

HERE WAS ADDISON S SPECTATOR, A LONG ROW OF LITTLE VOLUMES; HERE WAS

POPE S TRANSLATION OF THE ILIAD AND ODYSSEY; HERE WERE DRYDEN S POEMS, OR

THOSE OF PRIOR. HERE, LIKEWISE, WERE GULLIVER S TRAVELS, AND A VARIETY OF

LITTLE GILT-COVERED CHILDREN S BOOKS, SUCH AS TOM THUMB, JACK THE

GIANT-QUELLER, MOTHER GOOSE S MELODIES, AND OTHERS WHICH OUR

GREAT-GRANDPARENTS USED TO READ IN THEIR CHILDHOOD. AND HERE WERE SERMONS

FOR THE PIOUS, AND PAMPHLETS FOR THE POLITICIANS, AND BALLADS, SOME MERRY

AND SOME DISMAL ONES, FOR THE COUNTRY PEOPLE TO SING.

SAM, IN IMAGINATION, SAW HIS FATHER OFFER THESE BOOKS, PAMPHLETS, AND

BALLADS, NOW TO THE RUDE YEOMEN, WHO PERHAPS COULD NOT READ A WORD, NOW TO

THE COUNTRY SQUIRES, WHO CARED FOR NOTHING BUT TO HUNT HARES AND

FOXES, NOW TO THE CHILDREN, WHO CHOSE TO SPEND THEIR COPPERS FOR

SUGAR-PLUMS OR GINGERBREAD, RATHER THAN FOR PICTURE-BOOKS. AND IF MR.

JOHNSON SHOULD SELL A BOOK TO MAN, WOMAN, OR CHILD, IT WOULD COST HIM AN

HOUR S TALK TO GET A PROFIT OF ONLY SIXPENCE.

"Fore Starting He Called Me Aside,  And Told Me

He Was Going To The Melbourne Hospital To Undergo An Operation.  He

Had A Tumour On One Leg Above The Knee,  For Which He Had Been Treated

In Dublin,  And Had Been Advised To Come To Australia,  In The Hope

That A Change Of Climate And Occupation Might Be Of Benefit,  But He

Had Already Walked Once From Bendigo To Melbourne,  And Now He Was

Obliged To Go Again.  He Did Not Like To Start Without Letting

Someone Know His Reason For Leaving Us.  I Felt Full Of Pity For

Scott,  For I Thought He Was Going To His Death Alone In The Bush,  And

I Asked Him If He Felt Sure That He Could Find His Way.  He Showed Me

His Pocket Compass And A Map,  And Said He Could Make A Straight

Course For Melbourne.  He Had Always Lived And Worked Alone,  But

Whenever We Moved He Accompanied Us Not Wishing To Be Quite Lost

Amongst Strangers.  He Arrived At The Hospital,  But He Never Came Out

Of It Alive.

Dan Gave Me His Money To Take Care Of While He And Bez Were Living On

Rum From The Dray,  And I Gave Out As Little Cash As Possible In Order

To Promote Peace And Sobriety.  One Night Dan Set Fire To My Tent In

Order To Rouse His Banker.  I Dragged Bez Outside The Tent And

Extinguished The Fire.  There Was Bloodshed Afterwards--From Dan's

Nose--And His Account Was Closed.  After A While Some Policemen In

Plain Clothes Came Along And Examined The Dray.  They Found Fourteen

Kegs Of Rum In It,  Which They Seized,  Together With Four Horses And

The Dray.

I Worked For Seven Months In Various Parts Of The Ovens District

Until I Had Acquired The Value In Gold Of My Vanished Twenty-Dollar

Pieces; That Was All My Luck.  During This Time Some Of Us Paid The

L2 License Fee For Three Months.  We Were Not Hunted By The Military.

Four Or Five Troopers And Officials Rode Slowly About The Diggings

And The Cry Of "Joey" Was Never Raised,  While A Single Unarmed

Constable On Foot Went Amongst The Claims To Inspect Licenses.  He

Stayed With Us Awhile,  Talking About Digging Matters.  He Said The

Police Were Not Allowed To Carry Carbines Now,  Because A Digger Had

Been Accidentally Shot.  He Was A Very Civil Fellow,  And His Price,

If I Remember Rightly Was Half-A-Crown.  Yet The Digger Hunting Was

Continued At Ballarat Until It Ended In The Massacre Of December 3rd

1854.

At That Time I Was At Colac,  And While Dr. Ignatius Was Absent,  I Had

The Charge Of His Household,  Which Consisted Of One Old Convict Known

As "Specs," Who Acted In The Capacity Of Generally Useless,  Received

Orders Most Respectfully,  But Forgot Them As Much As Possible.  He

Was A Man Of Education Who Had Gone Astray In London,  And Had Fallen

On Evil Days In Queensland And Sydney.  When Alone In  The Kitchen He

Consoled Himself With Curses.  I Could Hear His Voice From The Other

Side Of The Slabs.  He Cursed Me,  He Cursed The Doctor,  He Cursed The

Horses,  The Cat,  The Dog,  And The Whole World And Everything In It.

It Was Impossible To Feel Anything But Pity For The Man,  For His Life

Was Ruined,  And He Had Ruined It Himself.  I Had Also Under My Care A

Vegetable Garden,  A Paddock Of Cape Barley,  Two Horses,  Some Guinea

Fowls,  And A Potato Patch.  One Night The Potatoes Had Been

Bandicooted.  To All The Early Settlers In The Bush The Bandicoot Is

Well Known.  It Is A Marsupial Quadruped Which Lives On Bulbs,  And

Ravages Potato Patches.  It Is About Eighteen Inches In Length From

The Origin Of Its Tail To The Point Of Its Nose.  It Has The Habits

Of A Pickpocket.  It Inserts Its Delicate Fore Paws Under The Stalks

Of The Potato,  And Pulls Out The Tubers.  That Morning I Had

Endeavoured To Dig Some Potatoes; The Stalks Were There,  But The

Potatoes Were Gone.  I Stopped To Think,  And Examined The Ground.  I

Soon Discovered Tracks Of The Bandicoot,  But They Had Taken The Shape

Of A Small Human Foot.  We Had No Small Human Feet About Our

Premises,  But At The Other Side Of The Fence There Was A Bark Hut

Full Of Them.  I Turned Toward The Hut Suspiciously,  And Saw The

Bandicoot Sitting On A Top-Rail,  Watching Me,  And Dangling Her Feet

To And Fro.  She Wore Towzled Red Hair,  A Short Print Frock,  And A

Look Of Defiance.  I Went Nearer To Inspect Her Bandicoot Feet.  Then

She Openly Defied Me,  And Said:

"You Need Not Look So Fierce,  Mister.  I Have As Much Right To Sit On

This Rail As You Have."

"Lilias," I Replied,  "You Won't Sit There Long.  You Bandicooted My

Potatoes Last Night,  And You've Left The Marks Of Your Dirty Feet On

The Ground.  The Police Are Coming To Measure Your Feet,  And Then

They Will Take You To The Lock-Up."

I Gazed Across The Barley Paddock For The Police,  And Lilias Looked

As Well.  There Was A Strange Man Approaching Rapidly,  And The

Bandicoot's Courage Collapsed.  She Slid From The Fence,  Took To

Flight,  And Disappeared Among The Tussocks Near The Creek.

The Stranger Did Not Go To The Garden Gate,  But Stood Looking Over

The Fence.  He Said:  "Is Dr. Ignatius At Home?"

"No,  He Is Away Somewhere About Fiery Creek,  And I Don't Think He'll

Return Until Saturday."

The Stranger Hung Down His Head And Was Silent.  He Was A Young Man

Of Small Frame,  Well Dressed For Those Days,  But He Had O Luggage.

He Looked So Miserable That I Pitied Him.  He Was Like A Hunted

Animal.  I Said:

"Are You A Friend Of Dr. Ignatius?"

"Yes,  He Knows Me Well.  My Name Is Carr; I Have Come From Ballarat."

"I Knew Various Men Had Left Ballarat.  One Had Arrived In Geelong On

December 4th,  And Had Consulted Dr. Walshe About A Bullet Between His

Knuckles,  Another Was Hiding In A House At Chilwell.*  He Had Lost

One Arm,  And The Government Were Offering 400 Pounds For Him,  So He

Took Outdoor Exercise Only By Night,  Disguised In An Inverness Cape.

"There Was A Chance For Me To Hear Exciting News From The Lips Of A

Warrior Fresh From The Field Of Battle,  So I Said:

"If You Would Like To Stay Here Until The Doctor Returns You Will

Be Welcome."

*[Footnote]  Peter Lalor.

He Was My Guest For Four Days.  He Said That He Went Out With The

Military On The Morning Of December 3rd,  And Was The First Surgeon

Who Entered The Eureka Stockade After The Fight Was Over.  He Found

Twelve Men Dead In It,  And Twelve More Mortally Wounded.  This Was

About All The Information He Vouchsafed To Give Me.  I Was Anxious

For Particulars.  I Wanted To Know What Arms He Carried To The Fray,

Whether He Touched Up His Sword On The Grind-Stone Before Sallying

Forth,  How Many Men Or Women He Had Called Upon To Stand In The Name

Of Her Gracious Majesty Queen Victoria,  How Many Skulls He Had

Cloven,  How Many Diggers He Had "Slewed," And How Many Peaceful

Prisoners He Had Brought Back To The Government Camp.  On All These

Points He Was Silent,  And During His Stay With Me He Spoke As Little

As Possible,   Neither Reading,  Writing,  Nor Walking About.  But There

Was Something To Be Learned From The Papers.  He Had Been A Witness

At The Inquest On Scobie,  Killed By Bentley And Two Others,  And

Principally On His Evidence Bentley