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

To Put In; Another Had Six Calves Ready To Be Weaned; And A Third

Friend Had A Horse Which He Could Spare For A Spell.  All These Were

Willing To Put In Their Stock,  And They Would Not Charge Me Anything.

They Were Three More Of The Simple Natives.

I Would Rather Buy Forty Cows Than One Horse,  Because,  Even Allowing

For The Cow's Horns,  The Horse Has So Many More Points.  I Wanted A

Good Cow,  A Quiet Milker,  And A Farmer Named Ruffy Offered To Sell Me

One.  He Was Very Rough Indeed,  Both In Words And Work.  He Showed Me

The Cow,  And Put Her In The Bail With A Big Stick; Said She Was As

Quiet As A Lamb,  And Would Stand To Be Milked Anywhere Without A

Leg-Rope.  "Here Tom," He Roared To His Son,  "Bring A Bucket,  And

Come And Milk Daisy Without The Rope,  And Show The Gentleman What A

Quiet Beast She Is."  Tom Brought A Bucket,  Placed The Stool Near The

Cow,  Sat Down,  And Grasped One Of The Teats.  Daisy Did Not Give Any

Milk,  But She Gave Instead Three Rapid Kicks,  Which Scattered Tom,

The Bucket,  And The Stool All Over The Stockyard.  I Could Not Think

Of Anything That It Would Be Safe To Say Under The Circumstances,  So

I Went Away While The Farmer Was Picking Up The Fragments.

Government Officers In The Bush.

"Satan Finds Some Mischief Still

For Idle Hands To Do."

Although I Had To Attend At Three Courts On Three Days Of Each Week,

My Duties Were Very Light,  And Quite Insufficient To Keep Me Out Of

Mischief; It Was Therefore A Matter Of Very Great Importance For Me

To Find Something Else To Do.  In Bush Townships The Art Of Killing

Time Was Attained In Various Ways.  Mr. A. Went On The Street With A

Handball,  And Coaxed Some Stray Idler To Join Him In A Game.  He Was

A Young Man Of Exceptional Innocence,  And Died Early,  Beloved Of The

Gods.  Mr. B. Kept A Pair Of Sticks Under His Desk In The Court

House,  And Made A Fencing School Of The Space Allotted To The Public.

Some Of The Police Had Been Soldiers,  And Were Quite Pleased To Prove

Their Skill In Arms,  And Show How Fields Were Won.  As A Result There

Were More Breaches Of The Peace Inside The Court Than Outside.  Mr.

C. Tried To While Away His Lonely Hours By Learning To Play On A

Violin,  Which He Kept Concealed In A Corner Between A Press And The

Wall Of His Office.  He Executed Music,  And Doubled The Terrors Of

The Law.  Intending Litigants Stood Transfixed With Horror When They

Approached The Open Door Of His Office,  And Listened To The Wails And

Long-Drawn Screeches Which Filled The Interior Of The Building; And

Every Passing Dog Sat Down On Its Tail,  And Howled In Sympathetic

Agony With The Maddening Sounds.

But The Majority Of The Officials Condemned To Live In The Dreary

Townships Tried To Alleviate Their Misery By Drinking And Gambling.

The Police Magistrate,  The Surveyor,  The Solicitor,  The Receiver Of

Revenue,  The Police Inspector,  And The Clerk Of Courts,  Together With

One Or Two Settlers,  Formed A Little Society For The Promotion Of

Poker,  Euchre,  And Other Little Games,  Interspersed With Whiskies.

It Is Sad To Recall To Mind The Untimely End At Which Most Of Them

Arrived.  Mr. D. Was Found Dead On The Main Road; Mr. E. Shot Himself

Through The Head; Mr. F. Fell Asleep In The Bush And Never Woke; And

Mr. G. Was Drowned In A Waterhole.  One Officer Was Not Quite So

Unfortunate As Some Of His Friends.  His Score At The Crook And Plaid

Became So Long That He Began To Pass That Hotel Without Calling.

Polly,  The Venerable Landlady,  Took Offence At Such Conduct,  And Was

Daily On The Watch For Him.  When She Saw Him Passing,  Which He

Always Did At A Rapid Pace,  She Hobbled To The Door,  And Called After

Him,  "Hey,  Hey!"  Then The Gentleman Twirled His Cane,  Whistled A

Lively Tune,  Looked Up,  First To The Sky,  And Then To The Right And

Left,  But Never Stopped,  Or Looked Back To Polly Behind Him.  At Last

His Creditors Became So Troublesome,  And His Accounts So

Inexplicable,  That He Deserted The Public Service,  And Took Refuge

Across The Murray.

Mr. H. Fell Into The Habit Of Borrowing His Collections To Pay His

Gambling Debts.  He Was Allowed A Certain Number Of Days At The

Beginning Of Each Month To Complete His Returns,  And Send In His

Cash.  So He Made Use Of The Money Collected During The Days Of Grace

To Repay Any Sums He Had Borrowed From The Public Cash During The

Preceding Month.  But The Cards Were Against Him.  One Morning An

Inspector Of Accounts From Melbourne Appeared Unexpectedly In His

Office.

In Those Days There Were No Railways And No Telegraphs.  Their

Introduction Was An Offensive Nuisance To Us.  The Good Old Times

Will Never Come Again,  When We Could Regulate Our Own Hours Of

Attendance,  Take Unlimited Leave Of Absence,  And Relieve Distress By

Having Recourse To The Government Cash.  When Grimes Was

Auditor-General Every Officer Was A Gentleman And A Man Of Honour.

In The Bush No Bank Account Was Kept,  As There Was No Bank Within

Fifty Or A Hundred Miles; And It Was An Implied Insult To Expect A

Gentleman To Produce His Cash Balance Out Of His Pocket.  As A Matter

Of Courtesy He Expected To Be Informed By Letter Two Or Three Weeks

Beforehand When It Was Intended To Make An Official Inspection Of His

Books,  In Order That He Might Not Be Absent,  Nor Taken Unawares.

When The Inspector Appeared,  Mr. H. Did Not Lose His Presence Of

Mind,  Or Show Any Signs Of Embarrassment.  He Said He Was Glad To See

Him (Which Was A Lie),  Hoped He Had Had A Pleasant Journey Through

The Bush; Asked How Things Were Going On In Melbourne,  And Made

Enquiries About Old Friends There.  But All The While He Was

Calculating Chances.  He Had Acquired The Valuable Habit Of The

Gambler And Speculator,  Of Talking About One Thing While He Was

Thinking About Another.  His Thoughts Ran On In This Style:  "This

Fellow (He Could Not Think Of Him As A Gentleman) Wants To See My

Cash; Haven't Got Any; Must Be Near Five Hundred Pounds Short By This

Time; Can't Borrow It' No Time To Go Round' Couldn't Get It If I Did'

Deuced Awkward; Shall Be Given In Charge; Charged With Larceny Or

Embezzlement Or Something; Can't Help It' Better Quit Till I Think

About It."  So Apologising For His Absence For A Few Minutes On

Urgent Business,  He Went Out,  Mounted His Horse,  And Rode Away To The

Mountains.

The Inspector Waited Five Minutes,  Ten Minutes,  Twenty Minutes.  He

Made Enquiries,  And Finding That Mr. H. Had Gone Away,  He Examined

The Books And Vouchers,  And Concluded That There Should Be A Cash

Balance Of More Than Four Hundred Pounds Payable To Revenue.  He

Looked About The Office For The Cash,  But Did Not Find Any.  Then The

Police Began To Look For Mr. H.,  But Week After Week Passed By,  And

Mr. H. Was Neither Seen Nor Heard Of.

There Were Only Two Ways Of Leaving South Gippsland That Could Be

Considered Safe; One Was By Sea From Port Albert,  The Other By The

Road Over The Mountains.  If Anyone Ventured To Desert The Beaten

Track,  And Tried To Escape Unseen Through The Forest,  He Was Likely

To Be Lost,  And To Be Starved To Death.  The Only Man Ever Known To

Escape Was An Eccentric Farmer,  A "Wandering Outlaw Of His Own Dark

Mind," As Byron So Darkly Expressed It.  He Deserted His Wife One

Morning In A Most Systematic Manner,  Taking With Him His Horse And

Cart,  A Supply Of Provisions,  And All The Money He Was Worth.  A

Warrant For His Arrest Was Issued,  And The Police Were On The

Look-Out For Him At All The Stations From Port Albert To Melbourne,

But They Never Found Him.  Many Weeks Passed By Without Any Tidings

Of The Man Or His Team,  When One Day He Drove Up To His Own Gate,

Unhitched His Horse,  And Went To Work As Usual.  On Enquiry It Was

Found That He Had Gone All The Way To Sydney Overland,  On A Visit To

An Old Friend Living Not Far From That City.  It Was Supposed That He

Had Some Reason For His Visit When He Started,  But If So,  He Lost It

By The Way,  For When He Arrived He Had Nothing Particular To Say.

After A Few Days' Rest He Commenced His Return Journey To South

Gippsland,  And Travelled The Whole Distance Without Being Observed By

The Watchful Police.  When Asked About His Travels,  His Only Remark

Was,  "Splendid Horse; There He Is Between The Shafts; Walked Twelve

Hundred Miles; Never Turned A Hair; Splendid Horse; There He Is."

But Mr. H. Lacked The Intellect Or The Courage To Perform A Similar

Fool's Errand Successfully.  He Rode Up To The Police Station At

Alberton,  And Finding From The Officer In Charge That He Was Wanted

On A Warrant,  He Supplied That Want.  He Stated That He Had Been On A

Visit,  For The Benefit Of His Health,  To A Friend In The Mountains,  A

Rail-Splitter,  Who Had Given Him Accommodation In His Hut On

Reasonable Terms.  He Had Lived In Strict Retirement.  For A Time He

Was In Daily And Nightly Fear Of The Appearance Of The Police Coming

To Arrest Him; Every Sound Disturbed Him.  In About Ten Days He Began

To Feel Lonely And Disappointed Because The Police Did Not Come;

Neither They Or Anybody Else Seemed To Be Looking For Him,  Or To Care

Anything About Him.  Heroic Self-Denial Was Not His Virtue,  And He

Felt No Call To Live The Life Of A Hermit.  He Was Treated With

Undeserved Neglect,  And At The End Of Four Weeks He Resolved That,  As

The Police Would Not Come To Him,  He Would Go To The Police.

He Unburdened His Mind,  And Made A Confession To The Officer Who Had

Him In Charge.  He Explained How He Had Taken The