The Australian Emigrant/Chapter 5
CHAPTER V.
The fare paid, our adventurers inquired of the captain what would be their best way of proceeding, and where they should deposit their luggage?
"Why," he said, "as to the matter of the luggage, get that put into some merchant's store; and, of course, at first you will stop at an inn—you haven't a tent. Suppose you try The Lamb.—Take care of your friend, there," he added to Hugh, as he pointed to Weevel:—poor fellow! he is uncommon green to be sure, and there's sharp customers in the settlement.—I'm a most afraid we shall have to put up a reglar quod here soon for some of 'em."
The luggage was piled on the bank, and Weevel directed to stand sentry over it, whilst Hugh and Slinger went in search of a conveyance of some kind, and to engage store-room. Weevel commenced his watchful duties by seating himself upon a box and mournfully examining his miserable self in the looking-glass in his hat; the result of the scrutiny seemed only to increase his wretchedness, and with a piteous sigh the unfortunate gentleman buried his face in his hands, and in that attitude remained.
Hugh's first object was, to find out the merchant upon whom his bill was drawn. He tried in vain to discover something like a street, but the houses and stores were spread about as if they had been each built as it best suited the whim of the proprietor. After some inquiry, they obtained from a colonist these rather peculiar directions:—"Carry the setting sun upon your left shoulders and the rising moon behind, and go straight on eend until you run your noses agin a post and rail fence—that's Binns's." Hugh looked in the man's face—there was no doubt he was seriously intending to direct the inquirers correctly and to the best of his abilities. Seeing they were new comers and rather puzzled to comprehend the instructions given, the goodnatured colonist set their faces in the direction he wished them to go, and went his way. After twenty minutes spent in tumbling over logs and such like impediments, our two friends were delighted to see before them a fence, and on a large board nailed against a tree "Binns, General Merchant." They soon discovered the store, and were fortunate in finding the owner within.
Having transacted their business, the merchant sent his horse and dray with them to bring up the boxes, previously exacting a promise that they would return with Weevel and dine. On reaching the wharf they found Weevel in nearly the same position in which they had left him—in fact he was asleep. A small party of natives had stationed themselves around him and were regarding his singular appearance in silent wonderment. The spectators were partially covered by opossum rugs, and the portions of their bodies which were exposed were rudely painted with a white substance, the effect of which upon the black ground struck the new comers as peculiarly hideous.
One of the natives, a young man who had bisected his body by a broad white line and dotted himself according to the latest fashion on all parts of his body, came towards the dray, made an obeisance to the white men, and said,—
"Dat your white man sit down dere?"
"Yes:" said Hugh.
"Tick—dat fellow" said Benbo, giving an explanation of his meaning by signs, which Hugh translated into "sick."
"No."
"Drunk?"
"No."
Hugh noticed a brass plate with an inscription dangling from the neck of the black fellow, and was regarding it attentively, when the wearer said —
"What name me?"
" Benbo, chief of the weirabee," said Hugh, reading it on the brass plate.
"Yock-ki, clever, white man:—me Benbo:—me like white man, and tea, and sugar, and bacca, and bread—all berry good. What name you?" inquired Benbo of Hugh.
"Raymond."
"Eigh—Mitter Ramon—berry good name dat."
"Name you? " said Benbo, addressing Slinger.
"Slinger."
"Telinger—Mitter Telinger," stuttered Benbo in a vain effort to pronounce the s, and producing a sound something between a sneeze and a cough.—"No good name dat—Ramon berry good."[1]
"Ahoy! Weevel," said Slinger, arousing him from his nap by a smart rap on his back. Poor Weevel jumped on his legs as if he had been electrified. His face was almost as ugly as any of his sable contemplators. He saw nothing but the blacks grinning around him. Feeling assured that murder could be their only object, he seized on a portmanteau and laid about him with the valour of desperation.
"Yock-ki!—Berry drunk, white fellow," said the chief of the little party, as he retreated beyond the reach of Weevel and his weapon.
"Help!—Murder!!—Murder!!!" screeched Weevel:—"Raymond!—Slinger! Oh where are you?"
"Here we are," said Slinger, giving him a slight prick behind with a spear taken from the hands of a native. "What is the row?"
Oh I'm so glad to see you," said Weevel, recovering his courage, but panting with the exertion and excitement he had undergone.—"Fearful contest!—dreadful death!—Oh dear! Oh dear!—What a place to live in!—you fall asleep for a few moments, and when you awake find yourself at the mercy of—devils." This last word was pronounced sotto voce, as the bare possibility of the "devils" understanding so much English flashed across the discreet Weevel's mind.
In the fracas the looking-glass hat had fallen to the ground. It had not escaped the notice of the natives, who passed it 
"Oh!" groaned Weevel, growing very pale, "I'm wounded;" and he laid his hand tenderly upon the part;— I remember feeling a stab in the heat of the conflict.—Oh dear!— Oh!"
"Where is he wounded?" said Hugh to Slinger.
"Oh, behind of course:" said Slinger, with a smile: "Weevel will never be hurt anywhere else, excepting by pure accident. I touched him up gently with a spear just now to bring him to his senses." Turning to Weevel, he said, "You are all right: you will never come to any harm as long as you can show such pluck as you have just done."
"Did I?" said Weevel;—"well, I think I did too:—rely upon it, Mr. Slinger, there's nothing like calmness in an emergency—nothing:" and as Weevel recovered from his fright he became proportionably valiant in words:—"I rather astonished them, I think, although single handed and unarmed.
A tribe of savages would have cowed an ordinary man: Eh Mr. Slinger?" But the difficulties of Mr. Weevel's position were not at an end, for although his person had escaped material injury, his trousers had been considerably damaged, and this new calamity disturbed him not a little,—"I can't get out another pair—what am I to do? and where is my hat?" Alas! it had disappeared, and so had the blacks.
Whilst Mr. Weevel was bemoaning his forlorn and helpless condition, a figure emerged from the scrub attired in the faded uniform of a Captain of Marines, its head covered with a hat marvellously like Mr. Weevel's. As it approached nearer, it was discovered to be Benbo the native, who, having been presented by some military colonist with the red rags, always took the earliest opportunity of appearing in them before strangers. He approached with a majestic step, as if treading on the necks of emperors, and taking the hat from his head, which was literally plastered with fat and ornamented with kangaroos' teeth tied to the hair in little bunches, placed it respectfully upon that of its owner, and then, by way of fitting it properly, subjected him to the process known in England as "bonneting." — "Berry good hat," he said,—"black fellow only look—not teal." Weevel stood transfixed, whilst Hugh and Slinger were convulsed with laughter.
"What for you laugh?" said Benbo—"look at my coat," and he drew himself up with all the dignity of injured rank. He evidently expected some homage to be paid to his outward man; a failing not altogether peculiar to savages.
Having loaded the dray with their luggage and left the driver in charge, the party proceeded to the store, where Mr. Binns was ready to receive them. Mr. Weevel was introduced to the worthy merchant, but he was ill at ease, lest the unfortunate state of his trousers should be discovered. The three accompanied the proprietor of the store to a portion of it which was partitioned off, and where they were introduced to Mrs. Binns, a lady-like person, and one evidently unused to the kind of life she was then leading; she received the visitors kindly, apologised for the dearth of accommodation, and requested them to be seated on divers boxes and large cases with which the floor was covered. At every breeze, little jets of fine sand poured in with the sunshine, through the interstices of the weather-boards. Had there been no apertures for windows, the light, from a hundred imperfections in the woodwork, would have been sufficiently strong for most purposes. The store was deficient of any flooring boards, and the ground over which it was built was covered with a yellow sickly-looking grass very pleasant to walk on, and reminding Mr. Binns, as he assured his wife with a smile, of the old carpets they had left at home—in England. This was rather an unlucky allusion—it was received with a sigh. Against the sides of the store, hung upon stout nails, were sundry articles, all however coming under the category of useful—certainly not one was ornamental. There were several guns and pistols, a few native weapons, a sugar-bag cunningly suspended from the roof-tree, an arrangement very necessary but not altogether effectual, to protect its contents from the ravages of a small species of ant everywhere found in Australia. Several bags of flour were similarly disposed of to save them from the rats and other vermin. There was something so very homely and comfortable in the appearance presented by some sides of English bacon which hung aloft, that our friends instinctively paused to inspect them: they hung amidst the articles which surrounded them the chef d'œuvres of the collection.
Mr. Weevel was quite overcome as he regarded the spectacle before him, and the question arose in his mind whether the fate of an English pig was not preferable to that of a Port Philip colonist. How he wished he could be instantaneously transported to the land from whence that bacon came!
"Beautiful! and English too," said Mr. Binns to Weevel, as he proceeded to cut some rashers for dinner—"I hope it will not grow rusty."
Mr. Weevel's comprehension of the properties of rust in bacon were, to say the least, original: observing the flitches were hung upon iron, he suggested that probably silver hooks instead would effectually prevent anything like rust.
"All this is very rough" said Mr. Binns, as he was preparing to cook a portion of their dinner; "but these are little matters we must put up with for a time. I shall be able to treat you better when my new store is finished, and when we can get a servant."
The dinner went off excellently, considering that the plates and drinking vessels were of tin, and the viands quite new to the guests.—Kangaroo-tail soup, &c. with rashers of bacon, formed the principal part of the fare; to which ample justice was done: bread, and a few—a very few, vegetables completed the repast.
"Mr. Weevel," said Mrs. Binns, "may I trouble you to drop that blind over the window—the sun annoys me."
To do this Mr. Weevel would have to turn his back upon the company, but he said "Yes—Oh yes—certainly Ma'am," and he edged away to the window.—Alas! the blind was hitched. "Get on the box," said Hugh, who was enjoying his confusion," then you can reach it." Up Mr. Weevel mounted, and the state of matters became quite perceptible. A suppressed titter announced the discovery of the catastrophe, in the midst of which the victim hurriedly descended from his elevated position, rushed over to Mr. Binns, and made a most heartrending appeal to his feelings—recounting the agony he had experienced, the state of mind he was now in, and lastly apologising for entering the presence of a lady in such a state.
"Stuff and nonsense," said the host; "come with me and I'll rig you out in two minutes." They left the dining place for a short time, and when Mr. Weevel returned his extremities were enveloped in a garment about twice too large for him. "We are not so particular here Sir," said Mr. Binns, "and don't think much of a thing of that kind.—Don't make yourself at all uneasy," he said, as Mr. Weevel requested permission to get his boxes in from the dray, which was now arrived, for the purpose of obtaining some fresh clothing. The evening passed pleasantly, and the emigrants obtained a good deal of information about the colony. In reply to an enquiry from Mr. Binns what their intentions were, Mr. Weevel replied immediately, that he intended to get away from the colony as quickly as possible. As Hugh and Slinger had no definite idea in what branch of trade it was best to engage, they requested advice upon the subject. Mr. Binns recommended laying out a portion of their small capital in the purchase of land in the township, which was increasing in value daily. There would be a good opportunity shortly as a Government sale of allotments was advertised to take place; before leaving, Raymond and Slinger requested Mr. Binns to purchase for them to the extent of £200, provided he considered the price favorable.
As it was dark when the period arrived for them to leave their kind host accompanied them to the door of the most respectable Inn of which the settlement could boast. This was a weather-boarded house of one story, containing four rooms besides a bar. The place was crowded by rough-looking men drinking and smoking. On looking into three of the rooms they appeared quite full of people, and the smell of spirits and tobacco pervaded the whole place. "O how dreadful!" said Weevel:— "Oh dear!— Oh dear!"
Hugh shouted aloud for the waiter, who, in about ten minutes appeared smoking a short pipe, and announced his presence by exclaiming, "Now then what's the row?"
"Can we be accommodated with a private room?" Hugh asked.
"Private, ha! ha! ha!—No: I should rayther say not. We don't keep private rooms—this is a public house."
"I see it is," said Hugh.
"You can have three shake-downs," continued the waiter "if you want to stop here tonight, we shall clear the house soon, and I don't think more than two places are taken in the back sleeping apartment."
"What is a shake-down?" said Hugh.
"A shake-down—why bless me, you are innocent!" said the waiter.—"New chums, I spose:" and placing his hand familiarly on Hugh's shoulder, he led him into a room about eight feet square. The floor was spread from one end to the other with blankets." There, my lad," said the condescending waiter, "that's a shake-down, and an uncommon comfortable kind of a thing too—when you are tired, mind—when you are tired."
Slinger and Weevel had now entered.—"What!" exclaimed the latter, "are five men to sleep there?" pointing to the ground.
"And why not?" said the waiter—"it is comfortable coiling, I can tell you—you musn't be proud here."
"But I will pay for a separate bed," said Weevel, producing a sovereign.
"You can't have it for money—that's a fact," said the waiter; and hearing more gold chinking in Weevel's pocket, he said, "I'll show one-pound notes agin your sovereigns with you any day." Mr. Weevel with dignity declined. "Money is plenty here," continued the waiter;—" a man is nobody if he can't do this;" and he put his hand in his pocket and produced a handful of notes as if they had been so much waste paper.
"I shouldn't wonder," whispered Slinger, "if they are all flash.—Let me see them again, Mr. Waiter, will you?"
The waiter
"Said nothing to indicate a doubt,
But put his thumb upon his nose, and spread his fingers out,"
and left the room.
"That is a specimen I suppose," said Hugh, "of a colonial servant—vastly familiar, impudent, and independent—and what a room too!"
"I declare," said Slinger, "it is worse than our cabin: we had a half-inch deal board between us there, but here" in bounced two rough-looking fellows smoking short black pipes, and talking and laughing most uproariously.
"New chums," said one in a more subdued tone of voice to the other:—" We are to be bedfellows to night, I suppose," he continued," turning round to the others.
"We don't know about that," said Hugh, somewhat out of temper.
"Well, if you arn't, strangers, will you just turn out of this, 'cause the house has been cleared of all but those who remain for the night: that's all—now out you go."
"I think," said Hugh, "as strangers, we might expect some slight show of civility from those who, from their appearance, must be used to this kind of life. I, for one, am not accustomed to be spoken so freely to."
"Nor I for another," said his partner "Raymond and Slinger for ever." At this stage of the proceedings Slinger edged up towards Hugh, whilst Weevel took up a position close by the door.
"Tell you what, strangers," said the first speaker, "I'm just as ready for a row as most men, but new chums ain't a fair match for me, they ain't up to the ways of the woods.—I didn't mean no offence; if I had, I shouldn't stop now. You see the bush arn't exactly the place to finish one's education in—it don't put on the polish: but it makes a man tough in the hide, I tell you, and rough in the skin, but it's all right beneath. We are like the stringy bark-trees of our forests, mortal rough to look at outside, but sound within—like them we can stand anything and thrive under it too. Now, if you want a row, say the word, I'm quite agreeable, if you don't, give us your hands, I'm agreeable either way. Which shall it be, a jolly row or a jolly night of it? But I see you mean to shake down with us—that's right—we'll enjoy ourselves:" as a preliminary, the two bushmen commenced undressing and rolling up their several articles of clothing to serve for pillows. Their example was soon followed by the remainder of the party. Then they all laid down in such order as appeared most convenient, but Weevel still gave preference to the place nearest the door.
"There," said the former speaker, "now we are all snug, we'll have a song to begin with, and here goes 'Hurrah for the Bushman's Life, it is the best of any,'" and he was proceeding with his entertainment, when Weevel said innocently,
"I thought we came here to sleep."
"Did you?" said the singer.
"Yes," said Weevel.
"Well, then go to sleep, and never interrupt a good song," and he made a second attempt, and succeeded in bellowing through a lot of words, and a tune probably to the initiated, but certainly our travellers could not discover the least resemblance to one.
His companion now produced a black bottle and tendered it to Hugh who lay next him. He was going to take a sip, when a toast was demanded and as Hugh hesitated, one of the bushmen, taking the bottle from his hand, said, "now I'll give you something which I know you will drink, heartily—'Here's destruction to all our bedfellows but the humans.'"
"Bless me!" said Weevel—"mosquitoes?"
"No, worse than mosquitoes."
"What then—centipedes, scorpions, snakes?—it must be snakes said poor Weevel."
"No."
"What then? oh do tell."
" Soldiers, that's what they are. Why this is the haunted room we are in—there's a nest of 'em under the floor—nobody sleeps here who can help it. Look here," said he, "here's one." It was a red ant upwards of an inch in length—"that's a soldier, and he prods hard too," and applying his lighter pipe to the intruder, he scorched it to death. The bottle was now passed to Hugh, and after drinking the toast he passed it to his friends who followed his example. The bushmen smoked a pipe or two, gave some preliminary growls, and then they all fell asleep.
Hugh was soon roused by a sting, which made him start. He discovered the cause to be in the shape of a "soldier." Having destroyed it, he fell asleep, but was shortly awakened by Weevel's starting up and groaning. He saw this persecuted individual get out and proceed to dress himself in a fantastic fashion:—he put on his trousers and tied the legs of them round his ankles, then he put on his coat and fastened it tightly at the wrists.
"Why Weevel!" exclaimed Hugh, "what are you about?"
"I have been fearfully stung—I am being eaten alive!—what a shocking fate mine will be to record.—Oh dear!—Oh dear! I hope this contrivance will protect me;" and he lay down again, but not to sleep. As soon as day dawned, he roused his party, and they disturbed the two bushmen, who lit a pipe apiece and got under the blankets again.
"Well mates," said one, "how about the sogers, eh?—but I see you are off. If any of you should ever be in the Westernport district, I shall be glad to see you at my station, so would my friend: we are neighbours, we only live four miles apart."
"You are very kind," said Hugh; "we may meet again: but you forget your names are unknown to us."
"I'm Ruffin," said one.
"And I'm Rugsby," said the other.
"Well, good morning, Ruffin and Rugsby," said Slinger, laughing; "you are a great deal better fellows than you look — Good bye—good bye," they said; "and thank you for the compliment."
The three having breakfasted, and perambulated the town for an hour or two, bethought them to go on board the " Big Ann," and say good bye to the captain and officers, as she sailed in a few days. Weevel had all his luggage taken to the boat in which they had made arrangements to go down to the bay. They pulled alongside the vessel and hailed her, but received no answer. Hugh clambered up the side by a rope which hung over, and not seeing any person astir, he knocked at the mate's cabin door, who appeared partly shaved.
"Ah my boys! how are you?" said Mr. Moriarty, in his hearty way.—"Come down to say good bye, eh?"
"Yes" said Hugh, "Slinger and I have; but we have brought you a passenger for England. Poor Mr. Weevel has seen enough of the colony to make him quite disgusted with it: but I thought you had left the ship to take care of herself — we could'nt see a soul moving."
"Why where are my men, then?" said the mate evidently startled:—"Turn out there, forred!—turn out you lazy skulks you!" This command met with no response. The mate went to the forecastle—returned in a minute, and exclaimed, " Every mother's son of 'em gone by jingo—bolted with their kits, and here we are without a single foremast man left, and none to be got here for love or money." It was too true, all the men had deserted in the night, leaving only the black cook behind them. They had taken with them their clothes in one of the ship's boats, and probably were by this time some miles in the country and engaged at exorbitant wages.
Weevel, however, tried to make an arrangement, whereby he was to live on board the ship all the time she remained in harbour, and then proceed in her to Calcutta, and from thence home. As there appears a prospect of losing sight of our friend, it may be as well to say, that however the Weevel species may thrive in a country like England, Australian air does not agree with them, and generally changes their habits, or drives them away. We must do Mr. Weevel the justice to state, that he returned the borrowed trousers to Mr. Binns, and appeared on the occasion dressed in the most elaborate manner; but we regret to record, that the effect he intended to have produced was quite lost, for on passing a gang of Government men[2] at work, he was hailed with such enquiries as—
"What were you transported for?"
"Did Government find you your toggery?"
We will not recount the adventures which befel the partners for the first two years spent in the colony, as during that period they seldom left the town, which had assumed a more compact and substantial appearance. The land which Mr. Binns had purchased for them at £20 the half acre allotment, had increased so greatly in value, that the same was now worth from £500 to £700, with its value still on the increase. The firm of Raymond and Co. made other good speculations, and so far all was prosperity.
One day about this time Slinger brought a packet for Hugh from the Post Office, containing information of the greatest importance. We have before said, Miss Leslie's property which was large, was in the hands of her guardian, Jarroll. By the letters now received, it appeared that this Jarroll had been detected in forging a will, and had been actually committed to take his trial for the crime. The evidence was said to be quite clear against him: and now came the part of the news which principally affected Hugh. For some months before the discovery of the "honest" lawyer's villany, Miss Leslie had been subjected to the persecutions of his son, and on complaining, was rather blamed than otherwise for not receiving his addresses. This made her most unhappy, and immediately on receiving intelligence of the suspicion which attached to her guardian, she sought and received the protection of old Mr. Raymond, with whom, so ran the letters, "she would reside for the present." Such was the state of matters in England according to Hugh's first advices. The next mail which arrived, contained a circumstantial account of Jarroll's trial, conviction, and sentence to transportation for life.
The deeds of Amy Leslie's property were not to be found, nor would he give any account of them. Upon this subject as well as all others he preserved a dogged silence.