That night I heard the engines moving again in a way that showed me Schultz had patched things up, and when we woke up the sun was on the right side. Routine went on much as usual that day. Cavanagh and his friend never came near the surgery, from which I gathered that they didn’t want it to be known that they were casualties. I got word later through young Casey that Cavanagh was very sorry for himself and could hardly see out of his eyes, and Heenan was groaning and being sick all the time. Under any other circumstances I would have gone to see them, but I didn’t officially know that they were sick, and I was only too glad that the pair of them couldn’t get into mischief for the present. Casey got some Epsom salts from Bird’s orderly and said he had given them both a good dose to keep them quiet that night. He never smiled as he said it, but I could see pretty plainly that he knew that the diggers were up to some devilry that night, and wanted me to know that two of the ringleaders would be out of action.
The only other event of a long worrying day was that the diggers held a sale of work in aid of themselves. The work consisted chiefly of anything they had borrowed from their cobbers. It was open for officers from three to four, and to the troops afterwards. Jerry and I went down, and the first thing Jerry saw was some of his war souvenirs the diggers had pinched at Devonport. He fairly hit the roof and wanted to fight the lot of them, but the diggers were very fond of him and they made the fellow that pinched them give them back. Jerry gave him a quid, so there was quite good feeling. After four o’clock all the diggers came to see what of their own property was to be seen, and it was mostly a free fight after that. Some got their own things back and some borrowed some of other people’s.
Old Colonel Picking had what he called an officers’ meeting that morning, but it might as well have been a mothers’ meeting. Andy wasn’t there, and as a matter of fact I happen to know he was locked in Colonel Picking’s cabin, owing to a threat from the diggers to throw him overboard. This was a decent act of old Picking and made up in some way for his general inefficiency.
We had pretty certain information that the diggers meant to raid the crew’s quarters that night, but no way of stopping them. Picking had seen the Old Man, who wouldn’t believe him. Stone and Anstruther said they must keep their ratings out of it if possible, but they would join in themselves with the greatest of pleasure. Finally we came to the conclusion that the most we could do was to have good officers on guard at all doors leading from the first-class decks to the men’s quarters and hope for the best. Father Glennie had so put the fear of the Church into his lambs that we got several revolvers back, though they were mostly useless, the diggers having considerably damaged the mechanism before returning them, which put the laugh on the padre. But this wasn’t really a bad thing. If no one had firearms we were less likely to have serious casualties.
Well, I can’t tell you much about that night, for poor old Higgins was pretty bad, and I and Father Glennie were up most of the night with him. I heard a certain amount of noise going on but it was all away from us, and so long as the diggers didn’t start killing each other in our quarters again I felt they could go to hell as far as I was concerned. Catchpole had promised to stay up and let me know if anything serious occurred, so that I could go to Celia.
As far as we could make out a party of diggers did raid the crew’s quarters, but the crew were ready for them, and after knives and bottles had been freely used the diggers retreated in some confusion. The loss of Cavanagh and Heenan had weakened the morale of the mutinous party and Father Glennie had frightened some of his flock. There was only one attempt to get into our quarters, from the door near the lower deck surgery, but Howe, Stanley and Hobson kept them off with the threat of shooting. If the diggers had been properly drunk they wouldn’t have been stopped by a little thing like that, but the beer had come to an end some days before. What was also in our favour was that the electric lights failed again, and no one really wants a free fight in the dark.
About two o’clock in the morning I decided I could safely leave Higgins. I was pretty dead to the world after the crack I’d had on my head the night before, and longing to hit my pillow. Father Glennie looked like a ghost. He was one of those men that just get along with willpower, having very little physique. I daresay he found religion a help too. I left him in charge and went off to bed.
I opened the cabin door very softly, in case Celia was asleep. But she turned on the light by the berth and sat straight up in bed, pointing a revolver at me.
‘What’s up, kiddie’ I said. ‘Who gave you a gun? Put it down, and don’t shoot your old man.’
Celia took one look at me and dropped the revolver on the ground. I noticed it made no noise. I picked it up, and it was an india-rubber water pistol.
‘What’s this in aid of?’ I said.
‘To frighten them, if they came,’ said the poor kid, and then she began to howl till I thought she’d never stop. She had got an idea I was down among the diggers and would be knocked on the head and thrown overboard. She had been lying in bed, hearing all the noise and shouting, and had got it into her head the diggers would come to our cabin, and she was going to scare them with a water pistol she had borrowed from young Dick. Can you beat it? just think of the pluck of that kid lying there imagining heaven knows what, thinking she could stop anyone coming in with a water pistol. I could have kicked myself for not letting her know I was all right, but I had to keep dark about Higgins, and to tell the truth I was so worried about him that I had clean forgotten Celia. Then it all came out how frightened she had been ever since Colombo, and when she saw the ‘Ormolu’ and thought how we might have been on her, safe and comfortable, it quite got her down. I showed her the bump on my head, which gave her something to think about and cheered her up wonderfully.
There is perhaps something to be said for the R.C. custom of parsons not being married. It would make them worry less about danger and similar things, knowing they have no one at home to be anxious. I would have enjoyed the scrap in the bathroom twice as much if I hadn’t remembered Celia and not wished to be carried out stiff. On the other hand it must be quite dispiriting for an R.C. padre, say at the end of a hard day’s work, with perhaps several services, and a funeral, and having to deal with drunks and larrikins, not to find his little missis at home with a nice tea all ready for him. But we can’t all have everything.
11 – Good old Aussie once more
I am now coming near the end of my story. We had had a rotten deal, but we got some fun out of it too. When we sighted Fremantle the worst was over, for we were in touch with Defence then and the diggers couldn’t play up the way they had been doing. It only remains to tell how we got home.
Next morning Fremantle was actually in sight. It was late summer, or very early autumn, and there must have been bush fires up in the hills, for we could smell the gums right out at sea. More than one of us felt quite sentimental at seeing the good old bush again. It was after twelve, midday, that we tied up, having made pretty good going since Schultz got the machinery going. Of course everyone was wild to go ashore, but there was a lot to be done first. Old Colonel Bird got busy with the medical authorities, and before anyone left the ship a stretcher came on board and poor old Higgins was taken away to hospital. I had carried him to the first-class surgery while everyone was on deck, hanging over the rail and pointing out things to each other, and the stretcher-bearers fetched him from there, so no one knew where he had been for the last thirty-six hours. His pals were much upset about it, and they scrounged round and collected his kit, borrowing anything they needed to make it up, so that he left the ship with more property than he brought on board. The digger is wonderfully decent to a sick cobber, and there is nothing he won’t do for him.
Presently we heard that there would be twenty-four hours leave for most of us, except for those on duty. Old Doc Bird was very keen to get up to Perth and see his sister, whom he hadn’t seen for forty years, so I said I’d stay on board. The Fairchilds were going up to Perth wit
h the kiddies, so Celia was to go along with them and I was to join them at the hotel the next day if I could get away. I was a bit disappointed not to show Celia her first sight of Aussie, but reflecting that I’d have the rest of my life to do it in, I soon recovered. Doc Bird said he daresaid he’d have had enough of his sister by breakfast time, and if so he’d come back and relieve me.
Several of our passengers were leaving us to go home by the Transcontinental, among them Captain Smith, the Browns and their kiddies, and the Peels, the ones that had had the measles. We had no business to let them leave the boat really, but the kiddies had had it so lightly that the spots didn’t show, and it seemed a shame to keep them on board, especially as their mother was a real wowser, never happy unless she had a grouse against someone. Besides, if the health officers at Fremantle didn’t notice, I felt there was no reason for me to interfere. No use keeping a dog and barking yourself.
I saw Smith before he went, but I don’t think he knew a thing about what had happened. Whether he pulled himself straight or not I can’t say, as that was the last I saw of him. I never lost any sleep about him.
There was a big mail waiting for us, but only two letters for me. My family had lost interest in me during the War. If the Mater had been alive, she would have written. She was a great little hand at writing letters. I could have wished I had a larger mail when I saw everyone else with stacks of letters, but then I hate writing letters myself, so why blame others? I had a letter from Sis, giving me a lot of news about a crowd of people I’d never heard of, and a cheery letter from little Moses Colquhoun, the one that got his pants peppered at Gaba Tepe. How he had kept track of me, or found out I was on this ship, I don’t know. Anyway this was to wish me the best, congratulate me on my marriage and tell me to look him up as soon as I came to Sydney. This I did, and as I told you earlier, he proved himself a real good pal.
The diggers were all ready to take what is called French leave but it wasn’t so easy for them here, with quarantine, and sentries from shore at all the gangways. However, finally they got off, and such of us as were left on board were well and truly pleased to be rid of them for a few hours.
Just as it was getting dark, Colonel Picking sent for me. Why he didn’t send for Major Barrett I don’t know, as he was his second in command, but somehow the Major, though mind you he was a nice old chap, didn’t seem to cut any ice and we would have done just as well without him. You may have noticed that I have not mentioned him much. That is because he never did anything. He would come to the meetings and just sit there till they were over. If he hadn’t been senior Major he would never have been heard of. What Picking wanted to tell me was that the crew had walked off the ship and said they wouldn’t come back till the prisoners had been trans-shipped.
‘I don’t blame them,’ I said.
But all Picking could say was what should we do? I was about fed up with that remark of his, so I said there was an officer in charge of disembarkation at Fremantle and why didn’t he ask him. It wasn’t a doctor’s business anyway. So presently they got hold of Captain Lewis, the officer in charge ashore, and I left them to it. I shall not go into details, especially as I do not know all that occurred, but what happened in the end was that we were held up for three days at Fremantle while telegrams passed between Picking and Lewis on the one hand and Defence at Melbourne on the other, the result being a nice long holiday ashore for most of us. There was also the best free fight I’ve ever seen between the diggers and the crew. It took place on the wharf, the onlookers joining in according to fancy. The big arc lights were on, and Hobson and I leant over the railing and saw everything comfortably, and the casualties were taken to hospital, so we had no trouble.
Next day Doc Bird turned up bright and early. He said his sister had been like a small belly-ache when she was a kid, and she was a larger one now, and I could take all the leave I liked. So Hobson and I got a taxi and drove up to Perth. In those days it was a taxi, or a slow dirty little train, but now I believe they have motor buses running every half hour.
Well, we had a bonzer time in Perth. The lot of us hired two cars and we went right up into the hills for the day, as far as the big new dam at Mundaring, taking the kids and their nurse. It was great to be out in the bush again. There were a few fires here and there. You’d see some little flames through the trees, looking for all the world like a bush of those azaleas. The air was as clean as creation and the smell of the gums was good-oh. We had lunch at Mundaring and a good sleep on the hot grass, while the kiddies paddled. I must say though that the ring-barked trees ail around had not a very pleasing effect. It was the same at Mount Lyell, where looking down south from the entrance to the mine you saw nothing but dead white gums as far as you could see. What they do is they ring-bark the trees which gradually kills them. Then they run a fire through, and after that the young growth makes splendid food for cattle. But it always seems a waste of good timber to me, besides spoiling the natural look of the place.
I had always promised Celia a good drink when we got ashore, so we had Minchinbury’s sparkling hock that night at the hotel. Coming straight off a dry ship it went to the kid’s head and she made us all laugh. So then we left Dick and Mary with their nurse, and all wandered out to one of those little open-air theatres they have in Perth in the hot weather, and saw quite a good variety show.
Next day we kept ringing up the ship, but there was no news of her leaving. At last Doc Bird rang me up to say we were due to leave at noon next day, so the following morning we all went down early, as I didn’t want to take advantage of the Doc’s kindness. He told me the guard was to be composed entirely of officers till we got to Melbourne, and we were not to stop at Adelaide because of possible further trouble there with the crew. Mrs Jerry was as savage as a meat axe, because she didn’t know whether she would try to make a dash for the Transcontinental which left the next day, or go on to Melbourne and take the train back. Finally she decided to leave the ship, so she raised hell to get permission and to get her luggage. Somehow she got all her trunks brought out and packed. I never thought she would have time, but she said she had lived long enough on the ‘Rudolstadt’ to know that if it was scheduled to leave at noon it would be lucky to get away before midnight, and so it was. There wasn’t another woman who could have got around the baggage master and had all her trunks got up out of the luggage room, but when Mrs Jerry had made up her mind you had to get out or get under. We all said goodbye with many regrets and I gave the kiddies each an English sovereign that I had managed to get hold of early in the War. We often have the kids over to us in the holidays, and Celia sometimes goes over to the Fairchilds for a trip. I can’t get away much at present, but I am taking a partner, and then I’ll get a spell from time to time.
I missed Jerry greatly for the rest of the voyage, also Mrs Dicky, who was a nice bright little soul. We had no further troubles except an unpleasant feeling among everyone. The officers had revolvers issued to them at Fremantle, so we had no difficulty in keeping a proper guard going. Old Picking made the officers hold a court-martial on the ringleaders and they pronounced all sorts of sentences, but they knew it was all eyewash. I kept out of it and stuck to the surgery. We had plenty more patent food in, and I spent my time trying to fatten up those poor little kiddies, who certainly did me credit after a week in the Bight. Apart from an appendicitis case which old Doc Bird cut up on the third day out, we had little else to do but weigh the babies and check the stores.
Some hopeful chaps thought there would be an armed guard at Melbourne, and the prisoners would be taken off in irons, but they were expecting a shipping strike, or a train strike or something in Victoria and hadn’t any time for us. No, the diggers who lived in Victoria or Tasmania just went ashore quite peacefully or otherwise, and that was all.
The night before we got to Sydney I was down in the lower deck surgery, shutting up shop, when Father Glennie came in with Cavanagh.
‘Here’s a friend of ours who owes you an apology,
Major,’ he said.
‘That’s all right, Padre,’ I said, ‘I’m big enough to look after myself.’
‘See here, Mr Bowen,’ said Cavanagh, ‘if I’d known that bastard Higgins was a pal of yours, I wouldn’t have stoushed him, see?’
‘Right-oh, Cavanagh,’ I said, ‘and I’m glad I stoushed your pal Heenan, and I only wish I’d hit him a bit harder.’
Cavanagh grinned, and we shook hands and he went away.
‘I’m sorry we’ll be saying good-bye, Padre,’ I said. ‘Perhaps we’ll meet again. I haven’t thanked you decently for looking after poor old Higgins. It makes me feel pretty small, I can tell you.’
‘If I did God’s work as you do, Major, I’d be a better man,’ he said.
This made me feel my name was mud, so I looked out of the window.
‘All right, Padre,’ I said, ‘you’re one of the best.’
‘I shall pray for you my son,’ he said.
Well, I don’t know that I wanted to be prayed for, but he was doing the decent thing as he saw it, so I thanked him and said I was sorry I couldn’t reciprocate.
‘Think of me sometimes when you’ve been up all night with a patient, or a woman having a kid,’ he said, ‘and that will do as well.’
We shook hands like old friends and I’ve never seen or heard of Father Glennie again. If ever he reads this book and remembers the way he kept the sergeant in his cabin, he will know he isn’t forgotten.
One last occurrence happened which I must not omit to mention, having said earlier that I would do so. You may remember that Celia had a picture with the medieval name of ‘Melencolia’ by some Boche artist, which she was wonderfully fond of. Well, the customs weren’t bothering the returned diggers, but one of their men who came aboard in Sydney Harbour wanted to know what the picture was. Celia had it done up carefully and carried it in her hand so that the glass wouldn’t get broken, and I suppose he thought it was something very valuable. Anyway he made a bit of a fuss about it, and wanted to know what it was worth, and whether she meant to sell it and so forth, till Celia got a bit fed up, especially having to untie it and tie it up again. So she said:
Trooper to the Southern Cross Page 16