*CHAPTER XIII*
*The Bush Contingent*
'Armed year--year of the struggle! No dainty rhymes or sentimental love verses for you, terrible year. Year that suddenly sang by the mouths of the round-lipped cannon-- I repeat you, hurrying, crashing, sad, distracted year.'
Cameron was in Sydney again--the first time for seven long years. He hadcome down almost a month before the date upon which the Utopia wasadvertised as due, with the desperate hope of getting something to dothat might yield him enough money to buy a new suit.
Up on the selection he wore soft shirts and old tweed trousers almostall the time.
When it came to a question of finding him starched shirts and a decentsuit and hat in which to face his wife, Hermie and Miss Browne werenonplussed.
Finally they discovered one suit that had not been taken, piecemeal, towork in; but the moths had also discovered it. Sponge and press anddarn as Hermie might, it still looked disreputable; the shirts wereragged, there was no hat that was not hopelessly spoiled with the sunand dust and rain.
It forced itself upon Cameron that there was but one thing to do--hemust borrow a few pounds from some one.
And there was but one man he knew who would lend it to him--MortimerStevenson. Hermie had never told her secret. He groomed Tramby up alittle, and put on a linen coat and hat, and set out in the direction ofCoolooli. He hoped he might not meet the father; he was quite consciousof the fact that the business-like, successful old man looked upon himas a shiftless beggar. They knew each other slightly; Stevenson hadridden in two or three times when passing the selection, and stayed foran hour or two talking stock and crops and the war. Once or twiceCameron had been for dinner to Coolooli while shearing was on, and therewere chances to learn successful methods. But he shrank with all hissoul from encountering the old man this morning.
Two or three aboriginal women were coming back from a journey to thehouse, cloths full of stores and broken food slung over their shoulder.Stevenson forty years ago had had to break up a big camp of them on theland he had just taken up, and drive them farther west. Ever since hehad not felt justified in refusing food to any of their colour.
Cameron stopped the women, to ask if they had seen Mortimer riding awaythat morning.
'I say, Mary,' he said, 'you been see that one Mr. Mortimer?'
'Ba' al mine see 'im that one young pfeller Stevenson walk about,' saidthe most ancient of the women. 'Old pfeller Stevenson 'im up there.You gib it tik-a-pen, you gib it plenty pfeller 'bacca.'
Cameron threw her a bit of precious tobacco, which she proceeded at onceto cut up and cram into her unsavoury-looking pipe. Then he rode on;Mortimer might by chance have gone out somewhere on the run before thewomen had reached the station. Half a mile nearer to the house asundowner had been put on to mending a fence. At present he was smokingand looking at it occasionally.
'Going up to volunteer, mate?' he said, as Cameron rode through a gate.
Cameron disclaimed the honour.
'Take a tip and do it,' the fellow said. 'The old chap is off his nutjust now, and is jolly well flinging his money round--him as was tooclose to give a fellow tucker without turning him on to axe-sharpeningfirst. You'll get your fare to Sydney and a moke and pocket of tinhanded over to you afore you've finished of telling him you want tojoin.'
Cameron inquired good-humouredly why under such exceptionalcircumstances he himself did not volunteer.
He grinned. 'Guv'nor's knowed me on and off for twenty year,' he said,and fell to looking at the work before him again. 'Seems to think I'vehad too much bush experience. Had a try on, of course, but MisterMortimer he put the stopper on me. I'm cursing my luck for not waitingtill he'd gone.'
'Gone!' said Cameron; 'why, where's he going?'
'He went larst Monday--you must be a just-come not to know,' the mansaid; 'he's goin' off to glory along o' the Swaggies Army.'
Cameron turned his horse's head and rode slowly back to the selection.
He took a picture or two, and tried to sell them in Wilgandra, but theywere still frameless, and he only raised a pound by the sale of both.
It was his neighbour Daly who helped him most; he saved him his fiftyshilling railway ticket by sending him to Sydney in charge of a dozentrucks of sheep.
Landed there after the almost intolerable journey, he tried desperatelyfor work--even beat up an old friend or two, who looked askance at hisshabby appearance. One offered him a pound which he could ill spare,having fallen on hard times himself, the other wrote him half a dozenuseless recommendations to various business men.
Cameron hung around the quay in a sort of fascination; no pilot boatwent out but he did not tremble, no great ship came round Bradley's Headbut he felt it bore his wife on board. The transports sent from theCape for the Bush Contingent--The Atlantian and the Maplemore--werealready anchored out in the stream, the great numbers painted on theirsides adding an unusual note to the shipping on the smiling harbour.Launches and heavily weighed boats bearing timber for the horse-boxeswere continually putting off from the quay to cross the intermediatestretch of water to where they lay.
The bustle and movement woke Cameron to life again, and the knowledgethat he must do something, if it were only to take a header into theplentiful water; not here at the quay where a thousand eyes would see,but from one of the quiet bays or headlands the harbour has so many of.
Then he pulled himself together again, recognised it was want of foodthat had begot such cowardice in him, and spent his last shilling on agood meal. After that he tramped out to Randwick to the camp, and askedfor Private Mortimer Stevenson.
The sentry jerked his head in a certain direction, and Cameron made hisway to where some ten thousand perhaps of Sydney's citizens, women andchildren, had crowded, as they crowded almost every afternoon, for thenovelty of seeing the bushmen drill.
It was an odd, unmilitary spectacle. Uniforms were not yet served out,and there seemed no regularity as to height. Here a sunburnt fellowfrom 'out back' drilled in a tattered flannel shirt and a pair ofancient moleskins that had seen several hard shearing seasons. Next tohim was some wealthy squatter's son in a well-cut light grey suit, thena rough fellow with a beard half a foot long, moleskins again, and anold red handkerchief tied round his throat, then a lad, a finewell-grown fellow in the white flannels he played tennis in on hisfar-off station. None of the pomp, the _eclat_ of militarism wasthere--not even the discipline; the men gossiped cheerfully with eachother even while they stood in their ranks, they laughed at the girls inthe crowd--even threw kisses to them. They were a fine,independent-looking lot, and you knew at a glance at them that theywould think no more of carrying their lives in their hands than mostpeople think of carrying umbrellas. But you marvelled how they were toassume in so few weeks' time the well-groomed, spick-and-span, automaticappearance you had hitherto associated with the word soldiers.
Cameron watched the different squads for a little time, and felt proudof Mortimer when he found girls and men were pointing him out andsaying. 'That one, look! the fourth from the end; he's asplendid-looking fellow, isn't he?' 'See that fourth chap, that's thesort of man we want to represent us.'
But the drilling and the hoarse cries of the hardworked sergeants seemedendless, and Cameron wandered on and watched the riding and shootingtests which separated the genuine bushmen from the counterfeits, whoswarmed here, as easily as the winnow separates the grain from thechaff. At last the squads broke up, and the men mixed with the crowd orwent off, mopping their steaming faces, to their tents or the canteen.
Mortimer broke loose from the men around him, and went instantly toCameron, whom he had quickly seen while drilling. He carried him offdirect to his tent.
'I'm awfully sorry to have kept you waiting so long,' he said. 'Here,try this deck-chair, it's more comfortable than that bench. And whatwill you have to drink? Oh, I know, you like lemon squash.'
He turnedto a rough-looking fellow at the door. 'Go down to the canteen, Brady,like a good fellow, and get a jug of lemon squash. Here's the money.'He turned back to Cameron. 'I'd have given anything to get away when Isaw you, but you can guess what it is out there.'
'Yes, yes,' said Cameron, 'it doesn't matter; it was all interesting. Ihave been looking about.'
Mortimer gave him a sharp look.
'Is all well up there?' he said. 'It isn't often you come down.'
'Nothing's wrong,' said Cameron, 'I came down to meet my wife, that'sall.'
'Of course, of course,' said Mortimer; 'stupid of me. I was readingabout it only this morning in the paper--about the big welcome thecitizens intend to give your little girl. There is to be a launch--theGovernment launch, isn't it?--and the mayor and no end of people aregoing up the harbour to meet her.'
'Are they?' said Cameron.
'You've been consulted about it, surely?' said Mortimer warmly.'They're not doing all this without referring to you?'
Cameron straightened himself a little.
'I've had no fixed address since I came down,' he said. 'They'veoverlooked me, I suppose, because they don't know I exist; I hardly do,you know.'
'Are any of the others down with you?' asked Mortimer--'Bart or Roly orany of them?'
'Oh no,' said Cameron. 'Some one has to mind the landed propertyagainst my return.'
'And are they all well?' pursued Mortimer. 'Roly--wasn't Roly looking alittle thin before I left?'
'Oh no,' Cameron said, 'he's right enough. The girls feel the life morethan he and Bart. My eldest girl seemed very off colour when I left?'
'Not typhoid?' burst out Mortimer. 'I saw in the paper it had brokenout in Wilgandra----'
'Oh no, we're too far for that. Nothing but the heat. Was that Timon Isaw among the horses?'
'Yes, I brought him and the governor's favourite roan down--he made mehave him.'
'Mortimer--I'm compelled to ask--I cannot do without--mywife--Challis--suit--make them ashamed----' Cameron's voice choked.
'Confound that Brady!' said Mortimer, springing up and upsetting hischair; 'takes as long to get a lemon squash as if I'd sent him to townfor it. If it had been a bottle of whiskey, now, no delay then; mightcome in for a spare glass himself. You r'mber Brady, rouseabout up atCoolooli, gives a home-touch to see him about. He volunteered the sametime as I. I say, I'm off duty now for the rest of the day--may as wellcome back to town and have a bit of spree. Brooks, I say Brooks, go andsee if there's a spare cab, there's a good fellow.' Another coin wentinto another rough fellow's hand.
Cameron found himself driving back to town by Stevenson's side before hehad collected his thoughts--or even had his lemon squash.
Half the way Mortimer rattled on about the day's work in camp, thetransports, provisions for the comfort of the horses, the prospect ofthe contingent's success.
'By the way,' he said all at once, 'I want you to do me a favour. Thegovernor's been too free with his cash for me--not safe to have too muchabout, you know--tempt some poor devil. D'ye mind taking some of it andlooking after it for me--just for a year or two till I get back? Useit, you know; you might use it now instead of drawing any out of yourown account, then when I come home you can pay me back. Awfully obligedit you will; had a couple of pounds stolen out of my tent yesterday, andhave been going about with fifty pounds on me since. I'll get you tolook after thirty of it; the governor's cabled no end of money to a bankin Durban for me, for fear I'll run short.'
Half a dozen crisp notes were thrust into Cameron's hands, and Mortimer,hot and red in the face, was rattling on again about the horse-boxes forthe voyage, and how they should have been made this way, and not thatway, and about the wisdom of telling the men to bring their own saddles,and about that egregious ass the public, who seemed to think the Bushmenwere so thin-skinned that they could not bear a word of command, unlessit was put in the form of a polite request.
'Isn't it tommy-rot?' said Mortimer. 'We're not a pack of sensitivegirls. We enjoy the discipline, and recognise we have to be licked intosome sort of order, unless we want to remain a mob.'
Cameron was very quiet, but he gripped Mortimer's hand on parting, andcleared his throat to try to say something.
But the young volunteer found he must be off in violent haste.
'By George,' he said, 'haven't another minute; promised the colonel I'dgo out and kick up a row about the horse-boxes,' and his big loosefigure plunged back to the waiting cab. 'You'll come and see me off,all right, so long'; and the cab woke to life and moved smartly off, tolose itself in the stream of vehicles going towards the quay.
Cameron, a lump in his throat, turned towards the General Post Office,to see if there were further news from the little contingent at home.The last letters from Bart had been disquieting; Small, the butcher, itseemed, had transferred the mortgage he held on the selection to old Mr.Stevenson. 'And Daly says,' Bart had written, 'it's about the worstthing that could have happened, Stevenson's so close-handed. Small oftenused to give you time, but he says Stevenson never will.' A secondletter followed. Stevenson had foreclosed, but was willing for a yearor two, until a tenant he had in view was ready to occupy, that Cameronshould remain on the place. In the meantime, however, he, Stevenson,must be at liberty to make any alteration or improvement he saw fit tothe property.
The present letter was excited in tone. 'After all, dad,' the boy wrote,'I believe it's the best thing that could have happened. The place islooking up no end, there are quite ten men at work on it, so the chancesare the mater and Challis won't quite die of the shock of seeing it.And what do you think? You know that calf we gave Hermie two years ago?Well, I never knew there was good blood in it, did you? It's the lastthing you'd think to look at it. But that Stevenson knows a thing ortwo. He comes down here and pokes about pretty often, and he saw it,and what did you think? Offered me ten pounds down for it! I couldn'tbelieve my ears. Don't you remember I tried to sell it when you wereill, and Small offered two for it? But I wasn't going to let on I wasso green as not to know it was a good sort, and I said straight that wecould not let it go under fifteen. He looked at me in that queer, sharpway of his, and he poked at the calf a bit, and then said, "Say twelveten." But I'd got my mettle up by that. I knew if a close-handed, hardchap like that offered twelve ten, it must be worth quite twenty-five.I just turned round and went on digging up the potatoes for dinner andsaid, "Fifteen pounds," for all the world like Small does at the sales.He went round to Dimple and began poking at her again, and examining herlike anything, and then he said, "Fourteen pounds, sonny." I'd gotenough potatoes out for Miss Browne by then, so I put them in the basketand just said, "Good morning, sir," and pretended to be going.
'Then he began laughing fit to kill himself, and in between the laughshe said, "Fifteen," and I said, just like Small, "She's yours, andyou've got a bargain." And he laughed again, and said, "I have." Ihope you're not vexed, dad, at me doing this on my own. I've beenfeeling very anxious ever since, for she must have been a reallyvaluable little thing--he's not the man to be deceived; they say he'sthe best judge of stock in the country. I told Daly about it, and hewanted to know if Stevenson was drunk at the time. He doesn't drink atall, does he? But I thought you'd agree that the fifteen would be moreuse to us now than twenty-five later, and that's why I closed with him.I'm sending five down in this, thinking it will come in usefully foryou. And Hermie and Miss Browne have gone off to Wilgandra to get newdresses and cups and sheets and whips of other things with the rest. Youshould have seen their list. The mater and Challis'll think we're noend of swells after all.'
The Wonder-Child: An Australian Story Page 13