“Not a bit of it,” said Mr. Swallow.
“Sorrow, Sin, and Sand,” repeated Mr. Bell.
Jack was puzzled and amused by their free and easy, confidential way, which was still a little ceremonious. Slightly ceremonious, and in their shirt-sleeves, so to speak. The same with their curious, Cockney pronunciation, their accurate grammar and their slight pomposity. They never said “you,” merely “y’“ — ”That’s what y’are.” And their drawling, almost sneering manner was very odd, contrasting with the shirt-sleeves familiarity, the shabby clothes and the pleasant way they had of nodding at you when they talked to you.
“Yes, yes, Mr. Grant,” continued Mr. Bell, while Jack wished he wouldn’t Mister him — ”A gentleman without discernment induced certain politicians in the British Cabinet to invest in these vast areas. This same gentleman got himself created King of Groperland, and came out here with a small number of fool followers. These fool followers, for every three quid’s worth of goods they brought with them, were given forty acres of land apiece — ”
“Of sand,” said Mr. George.
“ — and a million acres of fine promises,” continued Mr. Bell unmoved. “Therefore the fool followers, mostly younger sons of good family, anxious to own property — ”
“In parties of five females to one male — Prrrh!” snorted Mr. George.
“ — came. They were informed that the soil was well adapted to the cultivation of tobacco! Of cotton! Of sugar! Of flax! And that cattle could be raised to supply His Majesty’s ships with salt beef — and horses could be reared to supply the army in India — ”
“With Kangaroos and Wallabies.”
“ — the cavalry, that is. So they came and were landed in the sand — ”
“And told to stick their head in it, so they shouldn’t see death staring at ‘em.”
“ — along with the goods they had brought.”
“A harp!” cried Mr. George. “My mother brought a harp and a Paisley shawl and got five hundred acres for ‘em — estimated value of harp being twenty guineas. She’d better have gone straight to heaven with it.”
“Yes, sir!” continued Mr. Bell, unheeding.
“No, sir!” broke in Mr. George. “Do you wish me unborn?”
Mr. Bell paused to smile, then continued:
“Mr. Grant, sir, these gentle ladies and gentlemen were dumped in the sand along with their goods. Well, there were a few cattle and sheep and horses. But what else? Harps. Paisley shawls. Ornamental glass cases of wax fruit, for the mantelpiece; family Bibles and a family coach, sir. For that family coach, sir, the bringer got a thousand acres of land. And it ended its days where they landed it, on the beach, for there wasn’t an inch of road to drive it over, nor anywhere to drive it to. They took off its wheels and there it lay. I myself have sat in it.”
“Ridden in his coach,” smiled Mr. George.
“My mother,” continued Mr. Bell, “was a clergyman’s daughter. I myself was born in a bush humpy, and my mother died shortly after — ”
“Of chagrin! Of chagrin!” muttered Mr. George.
“We will draw a veil over the sufferings of those years — ”
“Oh, but we made good! We made good!” put in Mr. Swallow comfortably. “What are you grousing about? We made good. There you sit, Bell, made of money, and grousing, anybody would think you wanted a loan of two bob.”
“By the waters of Babylon there we sat down — ” said Mr. George.
“Did we! No we didn’t. We rowed up the Swan River. That’s what my father did. A sturdy British yeoman, Mr. Grant.”
“Where did he get the boat from?” asked Mr. Bell.
“An old ship. I was a baby, sir, in a tartan frock. Remember it to this day, sitting in my mother’s lap. My father got that boat off a whaler. It had been stove in, and wasn’t fit for the sea. But he made it fit for the river, and they rowed up the Swan — my father and a couple of ‘indented’ servants, as we called them. We landed in the Upper Swan valley. I remember that camp fire, sir, as well as I remember anything.” “Better than most things,” put in Mr. George.
“We cleared off the scrub, we lifted the stones into heaps, we planted corn and wheat — ”
“The babe in the tartan frock steering the plough.”
“Yes, sir, later on. — Our flocks prospered, our land bore fruit, our family flourished — ”
“On milk and honey — ”
“Oh, cry off, Swallow!” ejaculated Mr. Bell. “Your father fought flood and drought for forty odd years. The floods of ‘62 broke his heart, and the floods in ‘72 ruined you. And this is ‘82, so don’t talk too loud.”
“Ruined! When was I ever ruined?” cried Mr. Swallow. “Sheep one-hundred-and-ten per cent — for some herds, as you know, gentlemen, throw twins and triplets. Cattle ninety per cent, horses fifty: and a ready market for ‘em all.”
“Pests,” Mr. Bell was saying, “one million per cent. Rust destroys fourteen thousand acres of wheat crop, just as the country is getting on its feet. Dingoes breed 135 per cent, and kill sheep to match. Cattle run wild and are no more seen. Horses cost the eyes out of your head before you can catch ‘em, break ‘em, train ‘em and ship ‘em to the Indian market.”
“Moth and rust! Moth and rust!” murmured Mr. George absently.
III
Jack, with the uncomfortable philosophy of youth, sat still and let the verbal waters rage. Until he was startled by a question from Mr. George.
“Well, sir, what were you sent out for?”
This was a colonial little joke at the “Establishment” identity’s expense. But unfortunately it hit Jack too. He had been sent out, really, because he was too tiresome to keep at home. Too fond of “low” company. Too often a frequenter of the stables. Too indifferent to the higher claims of society. They feared a waster in the bud. So they shipped the bud to the antipodes, to let it blossom there upside down.
But Jack was not going to give himself away.
“To go on the land, sir,” he replied. Which was true. But what had his father said in the letter? He flushed and looked angry, his dark blue eyes going very dark, “I was expelled from school,” he added calmly. “And I was sent down from the Agricultural College. That’s why I have come out a year before my time. But I was coming — to go on the land — anyway — ”
He ended in a stammer. He rather hated adults; he definitely hated them in tribunal.
Mr. George held up his hand deprecatingly.
“Say nothing! Say nothing! Your father made no mention of anything. Tell us when you know us, if y’like. But you aren’t called on to indict yourself. — That was a silly joke of mine. Forget it. — You came to go on the land, as your father informs me. — I knew your father, long before you were born. But I knew your mother better.”
“So did I,” said Mr. Swallow. “And grieved the day that ever a military gentleman carried her away from Western Australia. She was one of our home-grown flowers, was Katie Reid, and I never saw a Rose of England that could touch her.”
Jack now flushed deeper than ever.
“Though,” said Mr. George slyly, “if you’ve got a prank up y’r sleeve, that you can tell us about — come on with it, my son. We’ve none of us forgotten being shipped to England for a schooling.”
“Oh well!” said Jack. He always said “Oh well!” when he didn’t know what to say. “You mean at the Agricultural College? Oh well! — Well, I was the youngest there, stable-boy and harness-cleaner and all that. Oh well! You see there’d been a chivoo the night before. The lads had a grudge against the council; because they gave us bread and cheese, and no butter, for supper, and cocoa with no milk. And we weren’t just little nippers. We were — Oh well! Most of the chaps were men, really — eighteen — nineteen — twenty. As much as twenty-three. I was the youngest. I didn’t care. But the chaps were different. There were many who had failed at the big entrance exams for the Indian Civil, or the Naval or Military, and they were big, hungry chaps, you c
an bet — ”
“I should say so,” nodded Mr. George approvingly.
“Well, there was a chivoo. They held me on their shoulders and I smashed the Principal’s windows.”
You could see by Jack’s face how he had enjoyed breaking those windows.
“What with?” asked Mr. George.
“With a wooden gym club.”
“Wanton destruction of property. Prrrh!”
“The boss was frightened. But he raised Old Harry and said he’d go up to town and report us to the council. So he ordered the trap right away, to catch the nine o’clock train. And I had to take the trap round to the front door — ”
Here Jack paused. He didn’t want to go further.
“And so — ” said Mr. George.
“And so, when I stepped away from the horse’s head, the Principal jerked the reins in the nasty way he had and the horse bolted.”
“Couldn’t the fellow pull her up? Man in a position like that ought to know how to drive a horse.”
Jack watched their faces closely. On his own face was that subtle look of innocence, which veiled a look of life-and-death defiance.
“The reins weren’t buckled into the bit, sir. No man could drive that horse,” he said quietly.
A look of amusement tinged with misgiving spread over Mr. George’s face. But he was a true colonial. He had to hear the end of a story against powers-that-be.
“And how did it end?” he asked.
“I’m sorry,” said Jack. “He broke his leg in the accident.”
The three Australians burst into a laugh. Chiefly because when Jack said, “I’m sorry,” he really meant it. He was really sorry for the hurt man. But for the hurt Principal he wasn’t sorry. As soon as the Principal was on the ground with a broken leg, Jack saw only the hurt man, and none of the office. And his heart was troubled for the hurt man.
But if the mischief was to do again, he would probably do it. He couldn’t repent. And yet his feelings were genuinely touched. Which made him comical.
“You’re a corker!” said Mr. George, shaking his head with new misgiving.
“So you were sent down,” said Mr. Bell. “And y’r father thought he’d better ship you straight out here, eh? Best thing for you, I’ll be bound. I’ll bet you never learned a ha’porth at that place.”
“Oh well! I think I learned a lot.”
“When to sow and when to reap and a latin motto attached!”
“No, sir, not that. I learned to vet.”
“Vet?”
“Well sir, you see, the head groom was a gentleman veterinary surgeon and he had a weakness, as he called it. So when he was strong he taught me to vet, and when he had his attacks, I’d go out with the cart and collect him at a pub and bring him home under the straw, in return for kindness shown.”
“A nice sort of school! Prrrh! Bah!” snorted Mr. George.
“Oh, that wasn’t on the curriculum, sir. My mother says there’ll be rascals in heaven, if you look for them.”
“And you keep on looking, eh? — Well — I wouldn’t, if I were you. Especially in this country, I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t go vetting any more for any drunken groom in the world, if I were you. Nor breaking windows, nor leaving reins unbuckled either. And I’ll tell you for why. It becomes a habit. You get a habit of going with rascals, and then you’re done. Because in this country you’ll find plenty of scamps, and plenty of wasters. And the sight of them is enough — nasty, low-down lot. — This is a great big country, where an honest man can go his own way into the back of beyond, if he likes. But the minute he begins to go crooked, or slack, the country breaks him. It breaks him, and he’s neither fit for God nor man any more. You beware of this country, my boy, and don’t try to play larks with it. It’s all right playing a prank on an old fool of a fossil out there in England. They need a few pranks played on them, they do. But out here no! Keep all your strength and all your wits to fight the bush. It’s a great big country, and it needs men, men, not wasters. It’s a great big country, and it wants men. You can go your way and do what you want: take up land, go on a sheep station, lumber, or try the goldfields. But whatever you do, live up to your fate like a man. And keep square with yourself. Never mind other people. But keep square with yourself.”
Jack, staring out of the window, saw miles of dull dark-green scrub spreading away on every side to a bright sky-line. He could hear his mother’s voice:
“Earn a good opinion of yourself and never mind the world’s opinion. You know when there’s the right glow inside you. That’s the spirit of God inside you.”
But this “right glow” business puzzled him a little. He was inclined to believe he felt it while he was smashing the Principal’s window-glass, and while he was “vetting” with the drunken groom. Yet the words fascinated him: “The right glow inside you — the spirit of God inside you.”
He sat motionless on his seat, while the Australians kept on talking about the colony. — ”Have y’patience? Perseverance? Have ye that? — She wants y’ and y’ offspring. And the bones y’ll leave behind y’. All of y’ interests, y hopes, y’ life, and the same of y’ sons and sons’ sons. An’ she doesn’t care if y’ go nor stay, neither. Makes no difference to her. She’s waiting, drowsy. No hurry. Wants millions of yer. But she’s waited endless ages and can wait endless more. Only she must have men — understand? If they’re lazy derelicts and ne’er-do-wells, she’ll eat ‘em up. But she’s waiting for real men — British to the bone — ”
“The lad’s no more than a boy, yet, George. Dry up a bit with your men — British to the bone.”
“Don’t toll at me, Bell. — I’ve been here since ‘31, so let me speak. Came in old sailing-ship, ‘Rockingham’ — wrecked on coast — left nothing but her name, township of Rockingham. Nice place to fish. — Was sent back to London to school, ‘41 — in another sailing-vessel and wasn’t wrecked this time. ‘Shepherd,’ laden colonial produce. — The first steam vessel didn’t come till ‘45 — the ‘Driver.’ Wonderful advancement. — Wonderful advancement in the colony too, when I came back. Came back a notary. — Couple of churches, Mill Street Jetty, Grammar School opened, Causeway built, lot of exploration done. Eyre had legged it from Adelaide — all in my time, all in my time — ”
IV
Jack felt it might go on forever. He was becoming stupefied. Mercifully, the train jerked to a standstill beside a wooden platform, that was separated from a sandy space by a picket fence. A porter put his hand to his mouth and yelled, “Perth,” just for the look of the thing — because where else could it be? They all burst out of the train. The town stood up in the sand: wooden houses with wooden platforms blown over with sand.
And Mr. George was still at it. — ”Yes, Bell, wait for the salty sand to mature. Wait for a few of us to die — and decay! Mature — manure, that’s what’s wanted. Dead men in the sand, dead men’s bones in the gravel. That’s what’ll mature this country. The people you bury in it. Only good fertilizer. Dead men are like seed in the ground. When a few more like you and me, Bell, are worked in — ”
CHAPTER II
THE TWIN LAMBS
I
Jack was tired and a little land-sick, after the long voyage. He felt dazed and rather unhappy, and saw as through a glass, darkly. For he could not yet get used to the fixed land under his feet, after the long weeks on the steamer. And these people went on as if they were wound up, curiously oblivious of him and his feelings. A dream world, with a dark glass between his eyes and it. An uneasy dream.
He waited on the platform. Mr. George had again disappeared somewhere. The train was already backing away. It was evening, and the setting sun from the west, where the great empty sea spread unseen, cast a radiance in the etherealized air, melting the brick shops and the wooden houses and the sandy places in a sort of amethyst glow. And again Jack saw the magic clarity of this new world, as through a glass, darkly. He felt the cool snap of night in the air, coming strange and crude out of the jewel s
ky. And it seemed to him he was looking through the wrong end of a field-glass, at a far, far country.
Where was Mr. George? Had he gone off to read the letter again, or to inquire about the draft on the bank? Everyone had left the station, the wagonette cabs had driven away. What was to be done? Ought he to have mentioned an hotel? He’d better say something. He’d better say —
But here was Mr. George, with a serious face, coming straight up to say something.
“That vet,” he said, “did he think you had a natural gift for veterinary work?”
“He said so, sir. My mother’s father was a naval surgeon — if that has anything to do with it.”
“Nothing at all. — I knew the old gentleman — and another silly old fossil he was, too. — But he’s dead, so we’ll make the best of him. — No, it was your character I wanted to get at. — Your father wants you to go on a farm or station for twelve months, and sends a pound a week for your board. Suppose you know — ?”
“Yes — I hope it’s enough.”
“Oh, it’s enough, if you’re all right yourself — I was thinking of Ellis’ place. I’ve got the twins here now. They’re kinsmen of yours, the Ellises — and of mine, too. We’re all related, in clans and cliques and gangs, out here in this colony. Your mother belongs to the Ellis clan. — Well, now. Ellis’ place is a fine home farm, and not too far. Only he’s got a family of fine young lambs, my step-sister’s children into the bargain. And y’see, if y’re a wolf in sheep’s clothing — for you look mild enough — why, I oughtn’t be sending you among them. Young lasses and boys bred and reared out there in the bush, why — . Come now, son y’ father protected you by silence. — But you’re not in court, and you needn’t heed me. Tell me straight out what you were expelled from your Bedford school for.”
Jack was silent for a moment, rather pale about the nose.
Complete Works of D.H. Lawrence Page 385