Where the local newspapers had regular subscribers along the banks, it was George’s custom to tie the paper round a stone (he kept a small pile of ballast for’ard for the purpose), and threw it ashore as the steamer slid by. He had become so expert at this practice that he could generally land a newspaper or a small package right at the farmer’s door.
Most of the farm houses were built on the river’s brink. Cool, comfortable-looking weatherboard cottages, surrounded by shade and fruit trees with maize paddocks, banana groves, or cane fields behind them. As the Greenwich steered past she would give a blast of her whistle, and the farmer, or his wife, or his boy, or often his pretty daughter, would come out and pick up the package and wave pleasantly to the skipper and his crew.
The skipper, with one hand to the wheel and one eye on the river, would wave back, and George and Bill and Sam mostly kissed their hands, in the case of a lady, and smiled cheerfully.
The skipper’s eye caught the waving of a handkerchief at the edge of a cane field on the opposite bank, and crossed to pick up a passenger and a consignment of produce. So they worked down the river. It was almost dark when the steamer tied up at the wharf, where she stayed for the night.
Donald, his duties over for the day, took his tucker basket and went ashore. His fancy went ahead of him, along the street of the little river town. He saw the wife standing at the front door, and in the lamplight behind her a white cloth laid for two, and a child’s chair drawn up to the table.
And Donald forgot that he was tired.
Sam and Bill went ashore also, and left George to mind the ship.
George, being a bachelor, slept in the after-cabin on the transoms, and tuckered for himself aboard.
His chief amusement was fishing; mostly with heavy lines for dog sharks and “jews.”