The Bushman — Life in a New Country

by Edward Wilson Landor

The half-way house was often so crowded that some of the guests had to sleep upon the dining-table, the sofas, and the floor. At early dawn it was usually cleared of its visitors, who would push on to breakfast at Mahogany Creek; or if going to York, at St. Roman's Well, distant some fifteen miles. It was here that we breakfasted, sitting upon the grass, whilst with our camp-kettle we boiled our chocolate, and enjoyed our morning meal exceedingly.

York is a scattered hamlet of good farm-houses. The country is highly interesting. A lofty hill, or mountain, called Mount Bakewell, confines the view on one side, and below it is the river Avon, a broad stream in winter, but in summer consisting only of deep pools in various parts of its course. The neighbourhood is beautifully wooded, and has the appearance of a park. In the centre of the hamlet a modest-looking, white-washed church "rears its meek fane." Nothing could be more peaceful and serene than the whole aspect of the place.

At my brother's farm, comprising 4,000 acres, the property of R. H. Bland, Esq., Protector of Natives, we found a hearty reception, and a very pleasant dwelling-house. For several days it was filled with young men who had come from various parts of the colony to attend the races.

These gentlemen were most of them young men of good family, and well educated, who having only a small patrimony, and having been brought up to no trade or profession, had come out to a colony in the hope of acquiring landed estates, and of founding in this part of the world a family of their own. In the meantime they had to drive their teams, shear their sheep, thresh their corn, and exhibit their skill in husbandry; whilst their houses were as ill arranged and uncomfortable as could be expected from the superintendence of bachelors who thought more of their stables than of the appearance of their rooms. They care more about good horses than good cooks, and in most cases prefer doing without kitchen stuff rather than be troubled with a garden.

Freedom of discourse and ease of manner characterize the social meetings of our bachelor aristocracy "over the hills."

Dinner is only to be obtained by dint of incessant shouting to the slave (frequently an Indian Coolie) who presides in the detached kitchen, and brings in the viands as fast as he "dishes up." The roast mutton gradually cools upon the table while Mooto is deliberately forking the potatoes out of the pot, and muttering curses against his master, who stands at the parlour-door, swearing he will wring his ears off if he does not despatch. In order to moderate the anguish of stomach experienced by the guests, the host endeavours to fill up the time by sending the sherry round. The dinner is at length placed upon the table, and Mooto scuffles out of the room whilst his master is busy carving, lest he should be compelled to wait, an occupation less agreeable than that to which he returns, and which engages most of his time—sitting on an upturned box before the fire, and smoking his pipe. Here, piously thanking Vishnu and Brama for such good tobacco, he puffs away, heedless of the shouts of his suzerain, who has just discovered there are only eight plates for twelve people. One of the guests volunteers a foray into Mooto's territory, chiefly for the sake of relieving his own feelings by making that worthy acquainted with the opinion he entertains of him, and returns to his seat with cold plates and a tranquillized mind.

When the villain lacquey has smoked his pipe, he brings in the cheese, and clears away. No unnecessary feelings of delicacy restrain the guests from reviling him seriatim as he removes the platters; and he retires to his own den and the enjoyment of a pound of boiled rice with undisturbed equanimity, leaving the others to boil the kettle and concoct egg-flip, which, together with wine, brandy, cigars, and pipes, enables the party to get through the afternoon. Some remain at the table, drinking out of wine-glasses, tumblers, or pannikins (every vessel which the house contains being put in requisition), and talking loudly about their horses, or making bets for the next day's races; others having thrown off their coats, and flung their persons upon a sofa, with their feet on a window-sill, puff away in meditative silence, only joining occasionally in the conversation; whilst two or three walk up and down the verandah, in solemn consultation as to the best mode of hedging, having unhappily backed a colt for the Margaux Cup that turns out to be a dunghill.

I trust my good friends over the hills will not think I am making an ungrateful return for much hospitality by this rough and imperfect sketch. Heaven knows they are a worthy, kind-hearted, hospitable set of good fellows as ever drew a cork or made egg-flip; but I must say some of the bachelor establishments are rather in a rude and primitive state at present.

Those houses which are fortunate enough to possess a presiding genius in the gentle and attractive form of Woman are very differently ordered. English neatness and English comforts pervade the establishment, and the manners and customs of well-regulated society are never forgotten.

It is a pleasant sight in the evening to watch the cattle driven into the stock-yard by the native boy, who has been with them all day in the bush. Some of the old cows go steadily enough in the right direction, but others, and especially the young heifers, are continually bunting one another, and trying to push their next neighbours into the ditch. Several, tempted by a pleasant field of barley, have leapt over a broken rail, and are eating and trampling down all before them. But soon they are perceived by the dusky herdsman, who incontinently shrieks like one possessed by demons, and rushing after the stray kine with a bough hastily picked up, chases and belabours them up and down the field (the gate of which he has never thought of opening), until he has done as much mischief as possible to the crop. Somebody then opens the gate for him, and the cattle are at length secured in the yard.