Possum

by Mary Grant Bruce

CHAPTER XVIII

THE REGATTA

Cuninghame wore an air of unwonted festivity. There were flags flying from the stores and hotels, and from many of the private houses; little pennons fluttering at the mastheads of the sailing-boats that were dotted all along the shore. All over the lagoon could be seen other boats, arriving: yachts, motor-launches, smart skiffs, skiffs that were not smart, and ancient tubs bound from every little lake settlement or lonely farm. For this was the day on which Cuninghame burst into clouds of glory, and drew unto itself crowds that turned it into something between a whirlpool and an excited ant-heap. It is only on one day in the year that Cuninghame holds its regatta, and the occasion is one to be treated with respect.

New Year's Day had been fixed originally for the great event: but the Clerk of the Weather had been singularly tactless, and had ushered in the New Year with such deluges of rain that hurried telegrams had been sent to Sale and Bairnsdale and other district towns, postponing the regatta; and hundreds of would-be excursionists had unpacked their luncheon-baskets and remained at home. But to-day was to make amends for all disappointments. Rain had fallen, just enough to clear the air and secure the very perfection of autumn weather, while laying the dust on the roads for the folk who rode and drove. The sands were dry and firm: the hummocks shone white against the sky, across the lagoon. There was just enough breeze for sailing—enough to dot the lake with tiny wavelets, gleaming and dancing in the sun. Just to look at that blue, restless surface was enough to set the heart dancing, too.

The Macleods came early, since Garth's impatience was a thing not to be gainsaid. He had never seen a regatta, and the stories told him by the young O'Connors had set him dreaming of nothing else for weeks past. Soon after breakfast he arrayed himself, emerging from his room shining and speckless in white duck, with white sand-shoes and bare brown legs, and a white felt hat held in readiness. After which, his attitude began with sublime patience, which collapsed after a time and merged into trenchant inquiries as to why people couldn't be ready as soon as he was, and lugubrious certainty that they were missing all the best of the fun. Eventually they found themselves driving into the township quite an hour earlier than they had thought of starting, while Horrors, on Jane, jogged in the rear, and wondered how soon he might begin to eat the enormous packet of lunch with which he had been provided.

Early as they were, the O'Connors were before them. It was a day of which no young O'Connor was willing to miss a minute. What was it to them that the regatta itself did not really begin—save for a few sailing races, which nobody noticed—until one o'clock? Was there not all the unusual stir and bustle of the town to see?—the gay shops, decked for the occasion with brave displays of fruit and sweets and cakes, to tempt hungry picnickers; the gallant array of boats, glistening with new paint and varnish, and as bright as "elbow-grease" would make them: the crowds arriving from all the countryside by land and water—people they knew, to greet and by whom to be greeted—schoolfellows, curiously unfamiliar in their best clothes—school teachers, even more curiously human and approachable, and not at all suggesting the week-day discipline of desk and ruler? Not a yard of the esplanade was without its excitements. There were the summer visitors from the houses that were shuttered and gloomy all the winter, and from the tiny cottages under the hummocks across the lagoon, owned by people from Sale and Bairnsdale, who lived a camping existence from Christmas until Easter, with the breakers pounding almost at their back doors. These considered themselves part and parcel of the place, as indeed they were, and looked with something of disparagement at the folk from Melbourne and Sydney who filled the hotels, and who might never come again, and who, at the best, lived a luxurious and pampered life, and did not know the joys of a picnic existence, with no servants and no worries—every one working in the same way, and every one ready for every kind of fun, from big surf-bathing parties or moonlight swims in the lake, to rushing over the hummocks in a body to lend a hand with the hauling of a shoal of salmon brought in through the breakers. Then there were other visitors—blacks from the Lake Tyers Mission Station; principally lithe young men keen on taking part in the regatta, with a sprinkling of older men, and a few young women and boys. They moved here and there among the crowd on noiseless bare feet.

Never had the O'Connor family looked so resplendent. Nick, to begin with, was a majestic figure in his best suit, with a "boiled" shirt, and a tartan tie which appeared only on great occasions. Bertha and Polly were in fresh washing frocks, and the boys in suits of blue-striped galatea, very smart and summer-like. But 'Possum, in Aileen's Christmas gift of the dress that was like the inside of a shell, tall and slender, her face half-eager and half-shy, was an unfamiliar figure at whom many people turned to glance. Never before had 'Possum been to a regatta, and her inward excitement was almost as keen as Garth's. "The kids always went," she had told Aileen. "I didn't. The old dungarees didn't seem to fit in."

To-day no one "fitted in" better than 'Possum: and Nick O'Connor found himself casting glances of pride at his brood, while mothers from "up the lake" gazed upon the O'Connor tribe with blank amazement, and came to the conclusion that Nick must have found a gold-mine on the farm. "Not that the whole lot of them dresses ain't cheaper than my Albert's plush," said one matron, regarding her son's green sailor suit of that opulent material, with its lace collar. "But it ain't exactly that—on'y they look like toffs!"

They all lunched together at the buggies, in the shade of some gum trees—hurriedly, for the children wanted to see the steamers come in from Sale and Bairnsdale, with their big crowds of excursionists. The first far-off hoot came just as they had finished, and they hurried to the packed wharf. Across the lagoon, at the Entrance wharf, the steamer was discharging a throng of the people to whom regattas are nothing, but the open sea and the Ninety-Mile Beach everything—townsfolk, weary of the long summer, and longing for the sands and the clean breeze from the ocean. They pressed up the steps leading to the hummocks, a black swarm. Then the steamer came slowly across the little strip of water to Cuninghame, her decks still dark with people. She was gaily decked with flags, and on her bows could be seen girls in light summer frocks, like a fluttering garden. Faint at first, but gradually growing louder and louder, a band was playing a swinging waltz: the music chimed in with the plash of the water as the boat slackened speed and churned her way to the wharf. Impatient boys sprang ashore without waiting for the gangway to be lowered; then the great plank came down and the excursionists trooped across it, gay and chattering; some laden with rugs and luncheon-hampers, while others had prudently saved time by lunching on board during the long trip through the lakes—a plan fraught with danger, since people were crowded like sardines in a tin, and an unwary movement of a neighbour was apt to send tea-cups flying. But then no one ever minded such insignificant occurrences on a lake excursion. When you rise at six o'clock, drive some miles to a boat that starts at eight, with a five hours' water-journey each way, for the sake of three hours on the beach,—what is a spilt tea-cup?

The regatta went along merrily, after the manner of regattas: wildly interesting to those directly concerned, and of mild excitement to outsiders. There were yacht races, in which the boats departed into the horizon, and were promptly forgotten by the spectators; fishermen's boat-races, which drew a crowd at the finish; and skiff-races, which, being shorter, held the attention all the time, and evoked great cheering from the backers of the competitors. Tom entered for one of the latter combats, but was ignominiously defeated by a young fisherman and a black fellow from Lake Tyers, behind whom he paddled in meekly, much to Garth's disgust.