I went on working for about six weeks, by which time I had some twenty acres brushed and two or three felled—not so bad for a new hand. Then one day I had a good long think over my affairs. It was mid-May, and my licence to occupy would not be issued before September. Until I had that document I would not be able to borrow from the Agricultural Bank, and my slender resources were reduced to about £20. Right here I made one of the biggest mistakes in my life. I ought to have stayed on, working away and cutting expenses (one could live very comfortably on ten shillings a week those times); then in July gone down to the sugar mills below the range in the Mulgrave Valley, coming back at the end of the year to burn off, with a good cheque in my pocket, never being more than twenty miles away. Instead of that, I came to the decision to go South and get away to sea again for six months or so. Unfortunately, I didn't know anything about the Mills, and didn't like to palm myself off as an expert mill hand. I thought even the "rat-gangers" had to be skilled men. Afterwards I was one of a rat-gang myself for a while, and found one only had to be expert at "dodging Pompey." However, I had to learn by experience, so I let a contract to young Len to fall what I had brushed at thirty-five shillings an acre, paid him £16 in advance as bona fides, and the end of May found me in Townsville, dead broke, wondering if I'd have to tramp the way down to Newcastle, and how the devil I was to earn the cash to pay Len for the balance of my falling.
CHAPTER X.
Colonial Experience.
It was the first time in my life I had been "stoney," and I didn't like it a little bit—especially in Townsville, where there was so little doing at that time. I went down to the wharf, with some hazy idea of being able to stow away aboard one of the boats. Walking along pretty disconsolately, I came on a Liverpool tramp just completing discharging. "Ten to one," thought I, "she's bound for Newcastle. If only—well, here goes. They can only chuck me ashore." So I went aboard, saw the mate, and explained my position. He was kindness itself.
"Wait till I see the old man," he said. A few minutes' wait, then, "Come along. Skipper wants to see you."
I went up with him, and found the "old man" in the chart-house. A stoutish, good-natured man, with pince-nez and a black spade beard.
"Ah! good day, Mr.—er—thank you!—Senex. Have you your papers? Let me see them please." A short investigation; then to the mate, "All right, Mr. Andrews, make your own arrangements."
"Thanks, sir," said he. Then to me, as the skipper nodded and we left the chart-house: "Good enough, old chap. You'll take the settee in my room till we hit Newcastle. Run up town for your duds. We're sailing just after lunch."
I wrung his hand. Talk about thankful! I didn't waste much time up town, and got back aboard inside the hour. She was a happy ship, as is always the case when the skipper is a decent sort, and it was quite a holiday trip. Always having been a good hand with palm and needle, I managed to make myself useful during the passage. Arrived in Newcastle, I ceased to be a gentleman of leisure, and started that soul-wearying business—looking for a job. Nothing doing! So I borrowed a few pounds from the ship's tailor (I found now the advantage of always having dealt square when I was mate before) and went down to Sydney. Same thing there.