Trooper to the Southern Cross

by Angela Mackail Thirkell

  I’ll never forget the night Stone was so dead to the world that it was all Hobson and I could do to hold him upright against the boat deck railing while the Old Man stood and yarned to us about the stars. Celia came out strong with some first-class ideas about stars which she said she had learned at school, surprising the Old Man considerably. Stone was very grateful afterwards, as he said he would have felt quite mortified to be discovered in such a condition by the Merchant Service. He was a good old sort and we used to meet him at balls at Government House subsequently, but he left the navy and took up land, and I haven’t heard of him for donkey’s years.

  The atmosphere was pretty thick on board those days, as you may well imagine. What with the diggers half mutinous and at daggers drawn with the crew, measles in the first class, a colonel that couldn’t command and an adjutant that everyone laughed at, no refrigerator, not enough kiddies’ food, and not knowing where our revolvers were, we had our troubles. I may add that the water was being rationed and half the women weren’t on speaking terms, but these were just frills as you might say.

  Smith, the Indian army chap, was making pretty good running with some of the ladies. He was that kind of man that seems to have a certain attraction for women, though this is not a type that appeals to me much. Personally I do not see that a man has any call to mess about with women. I have had many good girl pals in my time, both at school and at the University, and later, but we were just pals, and none of this love-making business with married women. I must admit, though, it is not always the man’s fault. Some women, in spite of having a good husband and a home, seem to wish to carry on with flirtations even after they are married. Of course I like a woman to be friendly, and it is nice to know some cultivated and humorous women who can take a joke and yet talk seriously about such subjects as the wool sales, or the Sydney Harbour bridge. But I have a great feeling of respect for married women and find the English men somewhat wanting in a feeling of reverence.

  But Smith was in trouble, poor chap, and one cannot blame him. Anyone who is taking as much dope as he was is hardly normal. For two or three days he was always with the French girl, the one I mentioned in the three-berth cabin. Then they had some sort of a row and he began to run after Mrs Dicky. She was a clever little woman with her wits about her, and she gave the office to Celia, and those two were together morning, noon and night, so that Smith could never get Mrs Dicky to himself. You would think I might have found it a bit of a nuisance always to have Mrs Dicky around with Celia, but what with the two surgeries and one thing and another I hardly had a free moment all day and was only too glad for Celia to have a pal and amuse herself. Jack Howe’s wife was with them too a good bit, but Smith hadn’t much time for her. He had never seen her play poker, or he would have had more interest in her.

  9 – The Rabbit’s Funeral

  We were now due to arrive at Fremantle in two days. It was hot and damp and things were unpleasant all round. I am no drinker myself, but to drink nothing but ginger beer and lemonade does a man no good, besides being bloating. The diggers had got through the beer they brought on at Colombo and were in a sullen and disobliging state.

  It was a hot sunny day when I came up on deck before breakfast, and the first thing I noticed was the sun was in the wrong place. I am pretty observant in many ways and there is very little that goes on that escapes me, though I am not one to make a song about it. And when you have been used to see the sun rising on one side of the ship, it comes as somewhat of a shock to find it rising on the other. I find it somewhat difficult to describe my exact sensations at this sight. When first I stepped out on deck it struck me that the outlook was a little different to ordinary. Somehow things did not look quite similar. I have often noticed that the light makes a great difference to things. Take for instance Sydney Harbour. It looks at early morning quite other to what it does at sunset, this being owing to the sunlight coming from the east rather than from the west. In like manner a patch of bush by evening light will almost appear a different place than it is at midday.

  I puzzled over this for a bit, in the way one does when he is not giving his mind to a thing, but it was not for several seconds that the idea dawned on me that it was not the sun that was acting differently to usual, but the boat. The only feasible explanation was that the boat had turned round in the night, though this I could hardly believe. Just then Stone came along. He being a sailor, I asked him what was happening.

  ‘See here, old son,’ I said, ‘am I mad, or is the ship mad, or has the world gone upside down?’

  ‘You and the world are all right,’ he said. ‘It’s the ship that is wrong. Haven’t you heard?’

  ‘Heard what?’ I said.

  ‘Damaged steering gear, or propeller, I don’t yet know which,’ he said. ‘Wait a bit and you’ll see she’s going round in circles.’ Sure enough, the poor ‘Rudolstadt’ was making a big sweep right round, and by the time the breakfast bugle went, the sun was shining on the right side again. I went down to breakfast, but no one seemed to have any idea of what had happened. They were all eating away as cheerfully as if we had been full steam ahead. Anyway it didn’t seem to be my job to call attention to the fact that we would probably be delayed in getting to Fremantle, so I said nothing. Celia and Mrs Dicky were just finishing their breakfast, so I told them to look out when they got on deck and see if they saw anything funny.

  When I got on deck again I found them both sitting aft with Mrs Jerry and the kids. Celia started in to roar me up for pulling their legs, when young Dick who was perched up on the rail, sang out:

  ‘Why is the boat going all crooked, Uncle Tom?’

  ‘How do you mean, crooked?’ said Mrs Jerry. ‘I hope to goodness we aren’t going all on one side again.’

  For I quite forgot to mention that halfway between Aden and Colombo the stokers had had words over something and didn’t trim the coal properly. Consequently we were two days with a good list to port, which amused the kids, but no one else saw the joke, especially the stewards who had to carry plates and dishes all on the slant. The trouble was soon got over, but it was not one which we wished to recur.

  Took, Uncle Tom,’ said young Dick, pointing behind the boat.

  We all got up to have a look, and I haven’t seen a sight like that since we were dodging submarines in the early days of the War. I have a wonderful feeling for the poetical side of life at times, and much appreciate nature, and somehow the long line of a ship’s wake seems to me somewhat like the furrow made by a big tractor plough in the wheat country. But anyone who had driven a tractor like the wake we saw would have lost his job quick and lively. It was more like a snake, one of those big ones you see away in the bush, or a corkscrew. For the second time that day I began to wonder if I was seeing straight, but there was no getting away from the fact. The ‘Rudolstadt’ wasn’t going round in circles now, but she was a sick boat, and was altering her course every few moments till, as already stated, it reminded me of nothing so much as dodging submarines in the Mediterranean.

  Leaving Celia and the kids, I made my way to the smoke-room, thinking I might find Jerry there, as indeed I did. He had been down in the engine-room having a yarn with Schultz. He said what old Schultz had said about the Germans and the hot-water pipes was nothing to what he was saying about the Germans and the propeller. He was putting the fear of God into all his staff and working full speed to try to patch things up, so Jerry told us, but he wouldn’t know for some hours if he could fix things up the way we would get to Fremantle on time, or even under our own power.

  I need hardly say that when I got down to the surgery I learnt through Higgins that the news was all over the men’s quarters and they were laying money on when we’d get to Fremantle. A lot of them were pretty fed up about the whole affair, and it hadn’t improved their tempers. I saw the Old Man once, looking like the Hymn of Hate, but it didn’t seem to me a good moment for having a yarn with him.

  I was kept pretty busy in the surgery that morning w
ith small casualties, as some of the engine-room hands working on the propeller shaft had got a bit knocked about. There was an unpleasant incident when I was treating one of the crew for a smashed finger, when Cavanagh came in with a couple of sergeants. It was a bit of a joke with those guards. They knew they couldn’t do much with the prisoners, and the prisoners knew it too, so they all got on pretty well. But if Cavanagh came up to the surgery for treatment he liked to do things properly, so he always got a couple of the guard to bring him, arguing that as they had got him crimed they ought to do their bit in giving him an escort. He had been having an argument with young Casey, and not realizing that Casey was a lightweight boxer, he had got his face knocked about and I was attending to it for him. I was busy at the store cupboard, getting out some fresh strapping, and I missed the beginning of the discussion, but it seems that Cavanagh had passed some remark about the engineers being a lazy lot of swine.

  This was not pleasing to the engineer, who told Cavanagh it was no pleasure to him and his mates to sweat their guts out in a blanky Hun boat to get a lot of illegitimate Australians back to their blanky homes. You will understand that these were not the exact words he used, which were indeed quite offensive. But Cavanagh was quite annoyed and some very fierce language was exchanged. I told the guards they’d better take Cavanagh away.

  ‘All right, Doc, I’m going home,’ Cavanagh said, ‘but don’t you be surprised if you hear some news from the crew’s quarters before long.’

  I only laughed at him, for he looked like nothing on earth with his face covered with strapping, but it was nothing to laugh about really, as you will hear.

  It was about midday when I got on deck again. There was a little crowd over where we usually sat, so I went up to have a look. Celia saw me and came to meet me.

  ‘I’m glad you’ve come, Tom,’ she said. ‘Captain Smith has been very queer all morning and I think he has been drinking. Mrs Dicky can manage him as a rule, but she can’t do anything with him today. Mrs Howe is there too, but he is behaving in such an extraordinary way that we don’t know what to do. And if we try to go away he begs us to stay, and says he will jump into the sea.’

  When I heard that I knew there was no danger. Once a fellow starts in to talk about suicide, you may bet your life he won’t do anything about it. The ones that do kill themselves are the ones that keep quiet and cheerful, and one morning you wake up to find them with their throats cut, or all curled up through drinking disinfectant.

  ‘What sort of a way is he behaving?’ I asked.

  Celia became a rather pretty pink colour.

  ‘He said he would show us some curios,’ she said, ‘and when he began to tell us how he got them, he got rather funny. All about India and China it was and we aren’t sure if we ought to understand or not, so we are glad you came.’

  That did get my goat. If a man has no more natural respect for women than to talk in a way which may cause them discomfort, he deserves a good hiding. I like a good broad story myself, especially if there is genuine humour in it, which is a thing that always appeals to me, but I wouldn’t tell one to Celia, or anyway not the sort she oughtn’t to understand. Though my little missis is no wowser and can take a joke very well.

  All the same it was going to be a bit awkward, for you can’t exactly knock a man down on hearsay, and after all Smith might have been only pulling their legs. However I thought I’d better go and see.

  Now, to explain exactly what happened, Smith was standing with his back to the rail. Mrs Dicky and Mrs Howe were facing him as he was showing them some kind of curio, Celia joined them again, and I think Mrs Jerry was there, and the nice French girl, Mrs Stanley. As I have before mentioned I am a good height, and could easily see over the heads of the women on to Smith’s hand. As I came up he said to Mrs Dicky:

  ‘Here’s some Chinese carving, something you’ll like, Mrs Dicky,’ and held out his hand for her to see.

  Well, I’ve done physiology and I’ve done Cairo pretty thoroughly, and I’ve read a bit about Indian carvings and temple pictures, but anything like that little carving I’ve never seen. Mrs Dicky and Mrs Howe were nearest him, so that Celia and Mrs Jerry couldn’t see for the moment. Mrs Dicky was a good little sport and up to most things, but she went quite white and gasped. I was going to interfere when Mrs Howe put out her hand and said as cool as you please:

  ‘Oh, do let me see it, Captain Smith.’

  He gave it to her, smiling in a stupid sort of way. I suppose he thought she’d get a nasty shock, and he was in that state of mind when to frighten anyone would give him sincere pleasure. Those dope fiends sometimes get like that. It is also called Sadism, after a French vicomte or something of the sort called de Sade. His life, which I have read with great interest from a medical point of view, is certainly not suitable for all, but it throws much light on many things.

  Mrs Howe took the carving in her hand. You’d have sworn it was some artistic carving of a flower or a bird, the way she looked at it as if she were pleased and interested. Then she dropped it into the sea.

  ‘Oh, dear, I’ve dropped it,’ she said. ‘I hope it doesn’t matter.’

  I’ve seen some pretty good poker players in my time. Once when I was fossicking round near the osmiridium fields in Tasmania one vacation, I saw a man called Pete Barker, though his real name I believe was Joe Stevens or Stevenson, lose all the cash he’d got and all the osmiridium he’d found in six months, and his swag and his bluey. But he bluffed the whole gang in the end on three sevens and a pair of Jacks and got the lot back. But Mrs Howe had them all beat. She just looked as if she had dropped a cigarette overboard accidentally and wanted another.

  Smith went a nasty purple colour, and I judged the women had about done their whack by then and it was time a man took over the job. So I said:

  ‘Tough luck, Skipper. Come and have a drink on me.’

  He came along in a dazed sort of way and I took him to his cabin and gave him a hypodermic and I got Higgins to keep an eye on him till he went off. After that he just lay in his cabin and filled himself up with dope, and I didn’t see the sense of interfering, because you can’t break a man of doping in two days, especially when you have no military authority over him. The two chaps who were in his cabin were good sorts and they took it in turns to sit with him and listen to what he had to say. From the little I heard I should say he could have given de Sade a pretty good handicap in some ways. I was a bit uneasy as to what he might say about Mrs Henley, but after I’d heard half an hour of his talk I realized that if his lady friends had been lined up, it would have been not unlike the opening of David Jones’s sale in Sydney. I was glad of this, as I had a great respect for Mrs Henley who showed much common sense in turning him down.

  That afternoon there was to be a boxing contest, down in the well deck forward, between some of the diggers and some of the naval ratings. We were expecting young Casey to do pretty well, and but for the fact that he had skinned one of his knuckles on Cavanagh’s teeth, he was in tip-top form. I roared him up well and truly for wasting his good skin on an Aussie when he could have a naval rating to practise on. It would certainly have been more pleasant for all if the ship had been going straight, as it was very upsetting for the boxers not to know where the sun would be next.

  The boxing was timed for 3.30 p.m. After lunch most of us were below helping with the preparations. Celia and Mrs Howe were reading on deck, almost alone. Mrs Jerry was in her cabin reading to the kids, and Mrs Dicky was getting over some hysterics that she’d had after Smith’s departure. I didn’t see what happened, but I got it all from Celia, and in a way I’m glad I wasn’t there or there might have been murder.

  Celia said she and Mrs Howe were sitting reading quietly, when they heard a bit of a row forward, where the steps outside the smoke-room go down to the troops’ deck. But being by now quite used to rows they took no notice. The row, as I afterwards found when the man came round to the surgery to have a broken rib set, was the sentry being h
elped none to courteously down the steps by a mob of diggers. They were in a kind of pro- cession, with black bands round their arms, carrying something and singing a sad song, when Celia who is very musical says was called ‘The place where the old horse died’. They all came marching slowly along, singing this sad song till they got to where Celia was. She didn’t know whether to be frightened, or to think it was a lark, poor kid. Mrs Howe asked what it was all about.

  The procession stopped and no one seemed to know what to say. They were all nudging each other the way kids do when they know they’ve taken the tap out of the water tank and none of them likes to be the first to mention it. Then young Casey said:

  ‘It’s the funeral, mum.’

  ‘What funeral?’ Mrs Howe said.

  ‘The rabbit’s, mum.’

  Then they all started in to explain that they hadn’t been any too pleased with the rations lately, and today there was some rabbit that was the limit. Of course some Australians are particular about eating rabbits and won’t look at them. This is after all only prejudice, as a rabbit is very nice in a pie with plenty of fat bacon, though I admit boiled rabbit is one of those things which no one would wish to think about again. When I was a kid the people in Melbourne and Sydney wouldn’t eat rabbit unless they were really poor, but now you see them in all the good delicatessen shops. About the lowest thing you could do was to push a barrow around the suburbs of Sydney, shouting ‘Rab-bee, rab-bee’. C. J. Dennis has some poetry about that, I think.

  But as far as this rabbit went it does not seem to have been entirely prejudice, for Casey very kindly offered Celia and Mrs Howe to smell it. Celia said when he took the lid off the dish they were carrying, that was quite enough. She and Mrs Howe just got up and went away. Also they were a bit scared of the mob.