The Book Of The Bush - George Dunderdale (tharntype novel english .txt) 📗
- Author: George Dunderdale
Book online «The Book Of The Bush - George Dunderdale (tharntype novel english .txt) 📗». Author George Dunderdale
"WHY, WHERE IS THE MILLER?" SAID HIS FRIEND.
"THAT IS TRUE! I MUST LOOK OUT FOR ONE," SAID ISAAC; AND HE SET HIMSELF TO
CONSIDER HOW THE DEFICIENCY SHOULD BE SUPPLIED.
HE MIGHT EASILY HAVE MADE THE MINIATURE FIGURE OF A MAN; BUT THEN IT WOULD
NOT HAVE BEEN ABLE TO MOVE ABOUT, AND PERFORM THE DUTIES OF A MILLER. AS
CAPTAIN LEMUEL GULLIVER HAD NOT YET DISCOVERED THE ISLAND OF LILLIPUT,
ISAAC DID NOT KNOW THAT THERE WERE LITTLE MEN IN THE WORLD, WHOSE SIZE WAS
JUST SUITED TO HIS WINDMILL. IT SO HAPPENED, HOWEVER, THAT A MOUSE HAD
JUST BEEN CAUGHT IN THE TRAP; AND, AS NO OTHER MILLER COULD BE FOUND, MR.
MOUSE WAS APPOINTED TO THAT IMPORTANT OFFICE. THE NEW MILLER MADE A VERY
RESPECTABLE APPEARANCE IN HIS DARK GRAY COAT. TO BE SURE, HE HAD NOT A
VERY GOOD CHARACTER FOR HONESTY, AND WAS SUSPECTED OF SOMETIMES STEALING A
PORTION OF THE GRAIN WHICH WAS GIVEN HIM TO GRIND. BUT PERHAPS SOME
TWO-LEGGED MILLERS ARE QUITE AS DISHONEST AS THIS SMALL QUADRUPED.
AS ISAAC GREW OLDER, IT WAS FOUPriest, And Became A
Schoolmaster. I Was Then A Solitary "Hatter."
Next Day A Man Came Up The Gully With A Sack On His Back With
Something In It Which He Had Found In A Shaft. He Thought The Shaft
Had Not Been Dug Down To The Bedrock, And He Would Bottom It. He
Bottomed On A Corpse. The Claim Had Been Worked During The Previous
Summer By Two Men. One Morning There Was Only One Man On It; He Said
His Mate Had Gone To Melbourne, But He Had In Fact Killed Him During
The Night, And Dropped Him Down The Hole. The Police Never Hunted
Story 4 (Among The Diggers In 1853.) Pg 72Out That Murderer; They Were Too Busy Hunting Us.
I Was Not Long Alone. A Beggarly Looking Young Man Came A Few Days
Later, And Said:
"I Hear You Have Lost Your Mate Philip, And My Mates Have All Gone
Away And Taken The Tent With Them; So I Want To Ask You To Let Me
Stay In Your Tent Until I Can Look Round A Bit."
This Young Man's Name Was David Beswick, But He Was Known Simply As
"Bez." He Was A Harmonious Tailor From Manchester; He Played The
Violoncello, Also The Violin; Had A Good Tenor Voice, And A Talent
For The Drama. He, And A Man Named Santley From Liverpool, Had Taken
Leading Parts In Our Plays And Concerts On Shipboard. Scott, The
Artist, Admired Bez; He Said He Had The Head, The Features, And The
Talent Of A Shakespeare. He Had A Sketch Of Bez In His Portfolio,
Which He Was Filling With Crooked Trees, Common Diggers, And Ugly
Blackamoors. I Could See No Shakespeare In Bez; He Was Nothing But A
Dissipated Tailor Who Had Come Out In The Steerage, While I Had
Voyaged In The House On Deck. I Was, Therefore, A Superior Person,
And Looked Down On The Young Man, Who Was Seated On A Log Near The
Fire, One Leg Crossed Over The Other, And Slowly Stroking His
Elizabethan Beard. I Said:
"Yes, Philip Has Left Me, But I Don't Want Any Partner. I Understand
You Are A Tailor By Trade, And I Don't Think Much Of A Tailor."
"Well," Replied Bez, "I Don't Think Much Of Him Myself, So I Have
Dropped The Business. I Am Now A Sailor. You Know Yourself I Sailed
From Liverpool To Melbourne, And, Anyhow, There's Only The Difference
Of A Letter Between A Tailor And A Sailor."
There Was A Flaw Somewhere In The Argument, But I Only Said, "'Valeat
Quantum Valere Potest.'" Bez Looked Solemn; A Little Latin Goes A
Long Way With Some People. He Was An Object Of Charity, And I Made
Him Feel It.
"In The First Place This Tent Is Teetotal. No Grog Is To Come Inside
It. There Is To Be No Mining Partnership. You Can Keep All The Gold
You Get, And I Shall Do The Same. You Must Keep All Trade Secrets,
And Never Confess You Are A Tailor. I Could Never Hold Up My Head
Among The Diggers If They Should Discover That My Mate Was Only The
Ninth Part Of A Man. You Must Carry To The Tent A Quantity Of Clay
And Rocks Sufficient To Build A Chimney, Of Which I Shall Be The
Architect. You Will Also Pay For Your Own Tucker, Chop Wood, Make
The Fire, Fetch Water, And Boil The Billy." Bez Promised Solemnly To
Abide By These Conditions, And Then I Allowed Him To Deposit His Swag
In The Tent.
The Chimney Was Built In Three Days, And We Could Then Defy The
Weather, And Dispense With The Umbrella. Bez Performed His Part Of
The Contract Well. He Adopted A Rolling Gait And The Frown Of A
Pirate; He Swore Naval Oaths Strong Enough To Still A Hurricane.
Among His Digging Outfit Was A Huge Pick; It Was A Two-Man Pick, And
Story 4 (Among The Diggers In 1853.) Pg 73He Carried It On His Shoulder To Suggest His Enormous Strength. He
Threw Tailordom To The Winds; When A Rent Appeared In His Trousers He
Closed It With Pins, Disdaining The Use Of The Needle, Until He
Became So Ragged That I Ordered Him Into Dock For Repairs.
One Day In Passing Philip's School I Peeped In At The Flap Of The
Tent. He Had Already Acquired The Awe-Inspiring Look Of The
Schoolmaster. He Was Teaching A Class Of Little Boys, Whose
Wandering Eyes Were Soon Fixed On My Face, And Then Philip Saw Me.
He Smiled And Blushed, And Came Outside. He Said He Was Getting
Along Capitally, And Did Not Want To Try Digging Any More. He Had
Obtained A Small Treatise Called "The Twelve Virtues Of A Good
Master," And He Was Studying It Daily In Order To Qualify Himself For
His New Calling. He Had Undertaken To Demonstrate One Of Euclid's
Propositions Every Night By Way Of Exercising His Reasoning
Faculties. He Was Also Making New Acquaintances Amongst Men Who Were
Not Diggers--Doctors, Storekeepers, And The Useful Blacksmiths Who
Pointed Our Picks With Steel. He Had Also Two Or Three Friends At
The Governmnt Camp, And I Felt Inclined To Look Upon Him As A Traitor
To The Diggers' Cause But Although He Had Been A Member Of The Party
Of Young Irelanders, He Was The Most Innocent Traitor And The Poorest
Conspirator I Ever Heard Of. He Could Keep Nothing From Me. If He
Had Been A Member Of Some Secret Society, He Would Have Burst Up The
Secret, Or The Secret Would Have Burst Him.
He Had Some Friends Among The Diggers. The Big Gum Tree In Front Of
The Church Tent Soon Became A Kind Of Trysting Place On Sundays, At
Which Men Could Meet With Old Acquaintances And Shipmates, And
Convicts Could Find Old Pals. Amongst The Crowd One Sunday Were Five
Men Belonging To A Party Of Six From Nyalong; The Sixth Man Was At
Home Guarding The Tent. Four Of The Six Were Irish Catholics, And
They Came Regularly To Mass Every Sunday; The Other Two Were
Englishmen, Both Convicts, Of No Particular Religion, But They Had
Married Catholic Immigrants, And Sometimes Went To Church, But More
Out Of Pastime Than Piety. One Of These Men, Known As John Barton--
He Had Another Name In The Indents--Stood Under The Gum Tree, But
Not Praying; I Don't Think He Ever Thought Of Praying Except The Need
Of It Was Extreme. He Was Of Medium Height, Had A Broad Face, Snub
Nose, Stood Erect Like A Soldier, And Was Strongly Built. His Small
Ferrety Eyes Were Glancing Quickly Among The Faces Around Him Until
They Were Arrested By Another Pair Of Eyes At A Short Distance. The
Owner Of The Second Pair Of Eyes Nudged Two Other Men Standing By,
And Then Three Pairs Of Eyes Were Fixed On Barton. He Was Not A
Coward, But Something In The Expression Of The Three Men Cowed Him
Completely. He Turned His Head And Lowered It, And Began To Push His
Way Among The Crowd To Hide Himself. After Mass, Philip Found Him In
His Tent, And Suspecting That He Was A Thief Put His Hand On A
Medium-Sized Colt's Revolver, Which He Had Exchanged For His Duelling
Pistols, And Said:
"Well, My Friend, And What Are You Doing Here?"
"For God's Sake Speak Low," Whispered Barton. "I Came In Here To
Hide. There Are Three Men Outside Who Want To Kill Me."
Story 4 (Among The Diggers In 1853.) Pg 74
"Three Men Who Want To Kill You, Eh? Do You Expect Me To Believe
That Anybody Among The Crowd There Would Murder You In Broad
Daylight? My Impression Is, My Friend, That You Are A Sneaking
Thief, And That You Came Here To Look For Gold. I'll Send A Man To
The Police To Come And Fetch You, And If You Stir A Step I'll Shoot
You."
"For Goodness' Sake, Mate, Keep Quiet. I Am Not A Burglar, Not Now At
Any Rate. I'll Tell You The Truth. I Was A Government Flagellator,
A Flogger, You Know, On The Sydney Side, And I Flogged Those Three
Men. Couldn't Help It, It Was My Business To Do It. I Know They Are
Looking For Me, And They Will Follow Me And Take The First Chance To
Murder Me. They Are Most Desperate Characters. One Of Them Was
Insubordinate When He Was Assigned Servant To A Squatter, And The
Squatter, Who Was On Horseback, Gave Him A Cut With His Stockwhip.
Then This Man Jumped At His Master, Pulled Him Off His Horse, Dragged
Him To The Wood-Heap, Held His Head On The Block, Seized The Axe, And
Was Just Going To Chop His Master's Head Off, When Another Man
Stopped Him. That Is What I Had To Flog Him For, And Then He Was
Sent Back To Sydney. So You Can Just Think What A Man Like That
Would Do. When My Time Was Up I Went As A Trooper To The Nyalong
District Under Captain Foster, The Commissioner, And After A While I
Settled Down And Married An Immigrant Woman From Tipperary, A
Cae OUGHT TO BE IN
HIS BED, I HAVE NO MORE TO SAY. BUT YOU WILL THINK OF THIS, SAM, WHEN I AM
DEAD AND GONE!"
SO THE POOR OLD MAN (PERHAPS WITH A TEAR IN HIS EYE, BUT CERTAINLY WITH
SORROW IN HIS HEART) SET FORTH TOWARDS UTTOXETER. THE
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