Fern Vale; or, the Queensland Squatter. Volume 3

by Colin Munro

"Not a bit of it, sir! they couldn't do anything with their money when they got it."

"Could they not buy a piece of land and commence farming? Here, for instance, the land seems excellently adapted for agricultural purposes."

"They can't get none, sir. The government folks won't sell any to the poor man, leastwise the poor man can't buy none, and if he wants any he is forced to buy it off the 'jobbers,' who generally screw him so much that it doesn't pay. So the fellers prefer keeping to the scrubs cutting timber; 'cos then they are not bound to work for sharpers, and can just please themselves."

It was evident the landlord of the Royal Hotel did not classify himself in the category of those astute blades whom he designated by so cutting an epithet; though Tom's opinion on that head somewhat differed from "mine host's." He considered him a swindler of no ordinary magnitude, though merely a type of his class. He was one of those locusts who fattened on the hard working and reckless classes of colonial labourers; who when they are plundering their victims, even under the guise of friendship, dissuade them from frugality; expatiating on the numerous sources of fraud (excepting of course their own) to which "the poor men" would be exposed; and by their vile persuasions and chicanery too often succeeding in eliminating from the minds of those with whom they come in contact all notions of providence; and confirming them in their reckless and dissipated lives. These bush publicans are the cause of immense misery and depravity, and cannot be too harshly stigmatized for the enormity of their infamies.

Tom being informed that the edibles prepared for him were awaiting his operations discontinued his dialogue, and adjourned to his epicurean repast; at which satisfactory occupation we may leave him uninterrupted. As his next day's stage would only be some five and twenty miles he determined to delay his departure until the afternoon so as to give his weary horse some additional rest; and it was therefore past noon on the following day when he mounted his nag and left the village of Waverley.

In leaving the inn he traversed the bank of the river for some few hundred yards on his way to the flats where he was to cross when he overtook a man that apparently had preceded him from the inn, and they both went on together. The flats at this time were almost dry; for the water in the river had long ceased to run, and at the particular spot to which we allude, which was in ordinary times used as a ford, it could have been crossed dry-shod, while above and below it the river remained simply currentless pools. As Tom rode down to the bed of the river he was struck with the immense number of logs that laid scattered about, some on the banks, some in the river above, and some below, where a small boat was moored, and a party of sawyers and raftmen camped. To this party Tom's companion evidently belonged, and had apparently been despatched to the public-house by his mates, as he was returning with two suspicious-looking protuberances on each side of his bosom. These, to outward appearance, very much resembled the outlines of bottles that had been thrust into the ample folds of his blue shirt for convenience and security of carriage. While trudging on the road alongside of Tom Rainsfield the fellow gave evidence of a loquacious turn of mind by commencing a conversation and inquiring if Tom was travelling to Brisbane. Upon being informed by our friend that that was his destination, and that he had come by way of Waverley to avoid the main road on account of its desolate, dry, and feedless state, he remarked with a whimsical smile: "I suppose you think that 'ere Waverley a fine town?"

"It seems a very good site for a township," replied Tom. "There is good land in the vicinity, and abundance of water. I daresay in the course of a few years it will be a flourishing place."

"Not a bit of it, sir," said the man; "it never will be nothing. That 'ere house of Tom Brown's, 'The Royal,' as he calls it, will be the only house in it for many a day, unless there be another public. Lor' bless you, sir, that place of his even wouldn't be nothing if it wasn't for us sawyers; we keeps old Brown alive, and he knows it."

"Well, my good friend," asked Tom, "what is to prevent others settling in the town besides Tom Brown?"

"Why, what would be the good of it?" asked the other; "there would be nothing for them to live upon. All the trade that's done is with us sawyers, and there isn't more than Old Brown can do himself. Besides, you see, most of the land that has been sold in the village has been bought by the swells, who keep it to make money of it when some one should want to buy."