DENISON GETS A BERTH ASHORE
After many years as supercargo, 'blackbirder'{*} and trader in the SouthSeas, Tom Denison one day found himself in Sydney with less than tenshillings in his pocket, and with a strong fraternal yearning to visithis brother, who was a bank manager in North Queensland and a verygood-natured man. So he sent a telegram, 'Tired of the sea. Can youfind me a billet ashore?' An answer soon came, 'Yes, if you canmanage poultry farm and keep books. If so, will wire passage money andexpenses.'
* A 'backbirder' is the term applied to any person engaged in the Polynesian labour traffic.
Denison pondered over the situation. He had seen a lot of poultry inhis time--in coops on board the _Indiana_ and the _Palestine_; and oneCaptain 'Bully' Hayes, with whom he had once sailed as supercargo, hadtold him a lot of things about game fowls, to which birds the genial'Bully' had a great leaning--but was not sure that he was good at books.In fact, the owners of the _Palestine_ had said that his system ofbook-keeping had driven the senior partner to drink, and they alwayssent a 'Manual of Book-keeping' on board every time the ship sailed fromSydney. At the same time Denison was touched by the allusion to passagemoney and expenses, and felt that making entries about the birth ofclutches of chickens and ducklings, and the number of eggs sold,would be simple enough--much easier than the heartbreaking work of asupercargo, when such customers as Flash Harry of Apia or Fiji Bill ofApamama would challenge the correctness of their grog bills, and offerto fight him instead of paying. And then, he thought, it would be simplydelightful to sit in a room in a quiet farmhouse and hear the gentlemoaning of calves and the cheerful cackle of exultant hens, as he wroteitems in a book about eggs and things, and drink buttermilk, insteadof toiling in the ill-smelling trade-room on board the _Palestine_,bottling off Queensland rum and opening tierces of negrohead tobacco,while the brig was either standing on her head or rolling her soul out,and Packenham the skipper was using shocking language to everyone ondeck.
So he sent a 'collect' telegram to his brother, and stated that hethoroughly understood all branches of poultry and book-keeping.
On the voyage up to Cooktown he kept to himself, and studied 'Pip andIts Remedy,' 'Warts and the Sulphur Cure,' 'Milligan on Roup in Ducks,'and other valuable works; so that when the steamer reached the port andhe met his brother, the latter was deeply impressed with the profoundknowledge he displayed of the various kinds of poultry diseases, andsaid he felt sure that Denison would 'make the thing pay.' The poultryfarm, he said, belonged to the bank, which had advanced money to theformer proprietor, who had most unjustifiably died in _delirium tremens_at Cooktown Hospital a few months ago, leaving the farm to the care ofsome aboriginals, and his estate much in debt to the good, kind bank.
On the following evening Denison was driven out to the place by hisbrother, who took advantage of the occasion to point out to the youththe beauties of a country life, away from the temptations of cities.Also he remarked upon the folly of a young man spending the bloom of hisyears among the dissolute natives of the South Seas; and then casuallyinquired if the women down there were pretty. Then the younger Denisonbegan to talk, and the elder brother immediately pulled up the horsefrom a smart trot into a slow walk, saying there was no need to rushalong on such a hot night, and that he liked to hear about the customsof foreign countries. About ten o'clock they reached their destination,and the elder brother, without getting out of the trap and entering thehouse, hurriedly bade Tom good-bye and drove off as quickly as possible,fearing that if he stayed till the morning, and the youth saw the placeby daylight, the latter would become a fratricide.
The occupants of the farm were, the new manager found, three blackfellows and two 'gins,'{*} all of whom were in a state of stark nudity;but they welcomed him with smiles and an overpowering smell of ants, thewhich latter is peculiar to the Australian nigger. One of the bucks, whowhen Denison entered was sleeping, with three exceedingly mangy dogs, inthe ex-proprietor's bunk--a gorgeous affair made of a badly-smellingnew green hide stretched between four posts, at once got up and gave himpossession of the couch; and Denison, being very tired, spread his rugover the hide and turned in, determined not to grumble, and make thething pay, and then buy a place in the Marquesas or Samoa in a fewyears, and die in comfort. During the night the mosquitoes worried himincessantly, until one of the coloured ladies, who slept on the groundin the next room, hearing his petulant exclamations, brought him a dirtypiece of rag, soaked in kerosene, and told him to anoint his hair, faceand hands with it. He did so, and then fell asleep comfortably.
* 'Gin,' or 'lubra'--the female Australian aboriginal.
Early in the morning he rose and inspected the place (which I forgotto say was twenty miles from Cooktown, and on the bank of the EndeavourRiver). He found it to consist of two rusty old corrugated ironbuildings, vaguely surrounded by an enormous amount of primaevaldesolation and immediately encompassed by several hundred dead cattle(in an advanced state of putrefaction) picturesquely disposed about theoutskirts of the premises. But Denison, being by nature a cheerful man,remembered that his brother (who was pious) had alluded to a drought,and said that rain was expected every day, as the newly-appointed Bishopof North Queensland had appointed a day of general humiliation andprayer, and that poultry-rearing was bound to pay.
The stock of poultry was then rounded up by the black-fellows for hisinspection--thirty-seven dissolute-looking ducks, ninety-three degradedand anaemic female fowls, thirteen spirit-broken roosters, and elevenapathetic geese. Denison caught one of the ducks, which immediatelyendeavoured to swallow his fore-finger, under the impression it was foodof some sort.
'Jacky,' he said to the leading coloured gentleman, 'my brother told methat there were five hundred ducks here. Where are they?'
Jacky said that the ducks _would_ go on the river and that 'plentyfeller big alligator eat 'em up.'
'Then where are the seven hundred and fifty laying hens?'
Jacky scratched his woolly head and grinned. 'Goanner' eat some, snakeeat some, some die, some run away in bush, hawk eat some. By ------,this feller duck and fowl altogether dam fool.' "
During the following week Denison found that Jacky had not deviated fromthe truth--the alligators did eat the ducks, the tiger and carpet-snakesand iguanas did crawl about the place at night-time and seize anyluckless fowl not strong enough to fly up to roost in the branch of atree, the hawks did prefer live poultry to long-deceased bullock, andthose hens physically capable of laying eggs laid them on an ironstoneridge about a mile away from the house. He went there one day, foundnine eggs, and saw five death adders and a large and placid carpetsnake. Then he wrote to his brother, and said that he thought the placewould pay when the drought broke up, but he did not feel justified intaking L3, 10s. a week from the bank under the present circumstances,and would like to resign his berth, as he was afraid he was about to getan attack of fever.
A few days later he received an official letter from the bank, signed'C. Aubrey Denison, Manager,' expressing surprise at his desire togive up the control of a concern that was 'bound to pay,' and forthe management of which the bank had rejected twenty-three otherapplications in his favour, and suggesting that, as the poultry werenot thriving, he might skin the carcases of such cattle as died in thefuture, and send the hides to Cooktown--'for every hide the bankwill allow you 2s. 6d. nett.' With the official letter was a privatecommunication from the Elder Brother telling him not to be disheartenedso quickly--the place was sure to pay as soon as the drought broke up;also that as the river water was bad, and tea made from it was notgood for anyone with fever, he was sending up a dozen of whisky bythe mailman next week. Again Denison was touched by his brother'sthoughtfulness, and decided to remain for another week at least. Butat night-time he thought a good deal about the dear old _Palestine_ andHarvey Packenham, her skipper.
While awaiting with considerable anxiety the arrival of the mailman,Denison passed the time in killing tiger-snakes, cremating the deadcattle around the place,
bathing in the only pool in the river safe fromalligators, and meditating upon the advantages of a berth ashore. Butwhen the mailman arrived (four days late) with only five bottles ofwhisky, and said in a small, husky voice that the pack-horse had fallenand broken seven bottles, he felt a soured and disappointed man, andknew that he was only fit for the sea. The mailman, to whom he expressedthese sentiments, told him to cheer up. It was loneliness, he said, thatmade him feel like that, and he for _his_ part 'didn't like to see noman feelin' lonely in the bloomin' bush.' Therefore he would keep himcompany for a few days, and let the sanguinary mail go to Hades.
He did keep him company. And then, when the whisky was finished, he badeDenison good-bye, and said that any man who would send 'his own bloomin'brother to perish in such a place was not fit to live himself, and oughtto be flamin' well shown up in the bloomin' noospapers.' At daybreaknext morning Denison told the coloured ladies and gentlemen to eat theremaining poultry; and, shouldering his swag, tramped it into Cooktownto 'look for a ship.'