CHAPTER IV.
GAINING COLONIAL EXPERIENCE
Having returned to the ship after the incidents related in the last chapter, and having somewhat soothed my agitated feelings, and changed my apparel, Thorkill and I were under the necessity again of returning on shore; which we did, and had no difficulty in finding the depôt or place prepared for the reception of the immigrants. I had yet scarcely noticed anything on land, but we saw now at a glance that the town was very small, or perhaps it would be more correct to say that the town was large but thinly inhabited. In Queensland we generally estimate the size of a place by the number of public-houses which it contains, and in Bowen there were three of these institutions. Grass was growing luxuriantly enough in the main street, and altogether it did not, as we came along, strike us that people here seemed remarkably busy. But when we came down to the depôt, the scene was changed.
The depôt was a large building, or series of buildings, without particularly good accommodation, but it had the advantage that there was plenty of room for everybody. I felt quite glad to again see the familiar faces of the other immigrants, although we had only been separated a few hours. There was a large kitchen attached to the place, and a vast quantity of bread and beef and potatoes had been left there, more than could possibly be eaten by those present. Two or three butchers among the immigrants, too, were quite in their element here, cutting up the bullocks, and all the girls seemed to have formed themselves into a committee in order to dress the meat in various appetizing ways. But what seemed the most encouraging feature of all was to see thirty or forty saddle-horses "hung up" outside the fence and their owners walking about among the men offering them engagements. The girls were also in great request. A number of English ladies stood about the yard, or went in and out of the kitchen. They all seemed to want the girls who were doing the cooking, and what between the English ladies who kept trying to attract their attention, their own sweethearts—who had now the first opportunity since they left Hamburg to speak to them—and the preparation of food for six hundred and odd people, they certainly had enough to do. It was comical to watch them. Among the men the scene was but one degree less animated. They might, I am sure, all have been engaged that first day if they had liked. A number were engaged, and over and over again were offers made to them of further engagements, until at last they turned their backs to the Englishmen who seemed almost to implore some of them to sign agreements. They were all offered the same terms—thirty pounds for twelve months, and rations. The girls got only twenty or twenty-five pounds a year, but there seemed to be very little difference between the agreements. The Queenslanders would go for the biggest and most able looking of the men first, and when they had secured them, engage the others with the same terms. I saw my "boss" down there, and went home with him for supper. I was received with the greatest kindness by his family, and he himself could not have looked more friendly if I had been a long-lost relation. He proved to be a contractor, and had also a carpenter's shop and showroom attached to his place. He took me into the shop and showed me several things, and asked me could I make this or that? There was nothing in the shop that a boy who had served two years of his life in Copenhagen could not make, but when I said "yes," he seemed greatly pleased with me, and patted me on the back. We could not understand each other very much. After tea, I was shown into a neat room, where stood a nice bed, a chest of drawers, table, chair, &c. This was to be my abode.
My "boss," however, returned at once and gave me to understand that he wished me to go with him up to town, and have a general look round. He gave me first of all a pound sterling, which had the effect of greatly raising my spirits. Then he took me from the one public-house to the other, and that made me still more hilarious, especially as he would not allow me to change my pound; and at last he took me to a store, where a German presided behind the counter over a lot of ready-made clothes. Through the German as interpreter, he told me that he would advise me to buy some new clothes after the Queensland pattern, and that he would advance sufficient of my wages to cover the cost. I bought then white trousers, a crimean shirt, a big slouch hat, and a red belt, and put all on at once. This is the orthodox Queensland costume in the bush, but in my own eyes I looked a regular masquerader, as I now swaggered down among the immigrants in my new transformation. I was quite a hero among them at once, being able to boast of my splendid appointment, and I believe I had to relate twenty times that evening what I had had for my supper at my master's place. I might, perhaps, tell it to the reader, because it seemed to me at that time most astonishing, although it really—with very little variation—is the ordinary food everybody eats all over the country, as soon as one comes away from the single man's hut in the bush.
In the morning we generally had fried steak, white bread, and butter. No beer or schnapps are ever put on the table in this country, but instead of that one drinks tea by the quart at every meal. At dinner-time the ordinary menu will be some sort of roast meat and vegetables, with a pudding after. At supper one will get more meat and vegetables, and more bread and butter and tea. It is all very good, but there is a frightful sameness about it. I used at first to long for one of those plain yet delicious dishes which the Danish housewives make at home. But I do not believe English people would eat it, if it were put before them. They seem to think that anything which is not a solid junk of roast beef must be un-English. I have almost come to the same way of thinking myself. But that evening in the depôt we did not criticise the bill of fare. The immigrants all thought they were going to fare in the same sumptuous way. Poor fellows, they did not, as a rule.
Next day, Thorkill came to me with sparkling eyes, and told me he had been so fortunate. A gentleman from Port Mackay, a sugar planter, had engaged him and twenty-five others, all for thirty pounds a year, and they were to sail again for the plantation next day. He understood it was not far away. We might be able to see one another occasionally. He had told the planter that he had studied agriculture, and the planter had said he was a good fellow.
"These—Englishmen—are—so—kind,—I—am sure—he—is—a—nice—man. Perhaps he will make something of me by and by, when I can talk English."
Poor Thorkill; I see him in a single man's hut on a plantation among twenty-five others, or with his hoe on his shoulder coming and going to the fields. He went away the next day, and I fully expected he would have written to me, but he did not. I did not know his address, and I did not hear of him again until three years after, when I met him on the diggings.
As many of the immigrants were going away—they did not themselves know where—in another day or two, it was suggested by some one that there should be a theatrical display at the depôt in the evening; and the idea was taken up with enthusiasm by some of the leading spirits among us. It had, before I arrived that morning, been agreed that the play should be a French pantomime. For the information of any one who might never have seen anything of the kind, let me say that it was a one act farce, in which the persons act by pantomime alone. Cassander is an old man; his daughter Columbine loves Harlequin, a young man who always dances about Columbine when Cassander does not see them. Then there was Pierrot, the foolish but funny man-of-all-work, who is set to catch Harlequin, but is always "bested"; and the staid old lover whom Cassander wishes Columbine to marry. Not much rehearsal was needed to play the piece, and the dresses were also easily made up on short notice. It had further been decided in my absence that I was to play Harlequin, but I objected very much. At last I was forced into it in a manner, because I was a pretty fair dancer at that time, and they had nobody else. What consoled me greatly was, that I was to wear a black mask, so that I knew that if my feelings should get the better of me while on the stage, that I might make as many faces behind the mask as I liked. The whole town was to be invited, and we gave five shillings to the bell-crier to announce through the streets that some renowned artists had arrived at the depôt, and were going to give a grand performance that night at seven o'clock.
We worked away hard that day in rehearsals, fitting of dresses, stage making, quarrelling, and in a few other things which are indispensable on such occasions. In the evening the whole building was crammed full of English people; there were even some ladies. Our own people had all back seats. Everything went well. Our orchestra consisted of three violinists. There were scores of musicians among us, but these were the best, and were used to play together. Then the blanket which served for a curtain went up, and we began to act our parts. Everything went well excepting that Pierrot, whose face was chalked over, began to perspire very much, and the chalk came off; but that was nothing. It was reserved for me to spoil the whole proceeding. It came about this way: the fellow who played Columbine was a big, flabby-looking chap, and he looked very nasty indeed in women's clothes. As it was my part to dance about Columbine and make love to him—or her—as you please, I had also to snatch kisses from him about a dozen times during the evening, but of course I understood he knew sufficient of acting not to inflict the punishment of real kissing on me. The first time, however, when my turn came, he turned his face full upon me, and the osculation could be heard all over the room. This happened two or three times, and every time people laughed and applauded; but it made me regularly wild. So as he tried it again I tore the mask off my face before I had time to think, and cried: "Look here, if you do that again I won't play." That brought the house down with great applause and homeric laughter; but I got so upset over it that it was impossible for me to go on the stage again, and the play came to an abrupt end.