The Tale of Timber Town

“But,” said the man of horses, “I happened to be riding home late that night, and, I assure you, there was not a breath of wind; the sea was as smooth as glass.”

“That might be,” retorted the little man, who was now pacing up and down in front of his adversary in a most excited fashion. “That might be, but there is a lot of surge and swell about a steamer, especially in the neighbourhood of the screw, and it is very possible, I may say highly probable, that the missing bags were lost as the mail was being passed up the side.”

“But how would that affect the incoming mail?” asked the other. “Did that drop over the side, too?”

“No, sir,” said the diminutive man, drawing himself up to his full height. “There is nothing to prove that the incoming mail was anything but complete. We are honest people in Timber Town, sir. I do not believe we have in the entire community men capable of perpetrating so vile a crime.” He turned to the Father of Timber Town for corroboration. “I appeal to you, Mr. Crewe; to you, sir, who have known the town from its inception.”

Mr. Crewe drew his pipe from his mouth, and said, with great deliberation, “Well, that is, ah – that is a very difficult question. I may say that though Timber Town is remarkably free from crime, still I have known rascals here, and infernal dam’ rascals, too.”

The little man fairly bristled with indignation at this remark. He was about to refute the stigma laid on his little pet town, when the door opened and in walked Scarlett, dressed still in his travel-stained clothes, and with his beard unshorn.

His appearance was so strange, that the little argumentative man believed an intruder, of low origin and objectionable occupation, had invaded the sacred precincts of his club.

“I beg your pardon, but what does this mean, sir?” he asked; immense importance in his bearing, gesture, and tone. “You have made some mistake, sir. I should like to know if your name has been duly entered in the visitors’ book, and by whom, sir?”

Taking no notice of these remarks, Jack walked straight across the room, and held out his hand to Mr. Crewe. The white-haired old gentleman was on his feet in a moment. He took the proffered hand, and said, with a politeness which was as easy as it was natural, “What is it I can do for you, sir? If you will step this way, we can talk quite comfortably in the ante-room.”

Jack laughed. “I don’t believe you know me,” he said.

“’Pon my honour, you’re right. I don’t,” said Mr. Crewe.

Jack laughed again, a thing which in a non-member almost caused the pompous little man to explode with indignation.

“I’m the fellow, you know, who went to look for the new gold-field,” said Jack, “and by the lord! I’ve found it.”

“Scarlett! Is it you?” exclaimed old Mr. Crewe. “You have got it? My dear sir, this is good news; this is excellent news! You have found the new gold-field? This is really remarkable, this is indeed most fortunate! This is the happiest day I have seen for a long while!”

“Eh? What? what?” said Cathro, who was on his feet too. “Is it rich?”

“Rich?” said Jack. Taking a bank deposit-receipt from his pocket, he handed it to Cathro.

“Good God!” cried he, eyeing the figures on the paper, “it’s a fortune.”

Mr. Crewe had his gold spectacles upon his nose and the paper in his hand in a moment. “Three thousand one hundred and eighty-seven pounds!” he exclaimed. “Well, well, that is luck! And where’s your mate, Scarlett? Where is Moonlight?”

“He’s on the claim.”

“On the claim? Then there’s still gold in sight?”

“We’ve but scratched the surface,” said Jack. “This is only the foretaste of what’s to come.”

The important little man, who had eagerly listened to all that had been said, was hovering round the group, like an excited cock sparrow.

“Really!” he exclaimed, “this is most interesting, very interesting indeed. A remarkable event, Mr. Crewe, a most remarkable event. Do me the honour, sir, to introduce me to your friend.”

“Mr. Tonks, Scarlett,” said the old gentleman. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Tonks.”

Jack greeted the little man politely, and then turning to Cathro, said, “We’ve pegged off four men’s claims; so, Cathro, you’ll have to turn digger, and go back with me to the field.”

“But my dear sir,” replied Cathro, whose shrivelled form betokened no great physical strength, “my dear Scarlett, am I to do pick-and-shovel work? Am I to trundle a barrow? Am I to work up to my waist in water, and sleep in a tent? My dear sir, I cannot dig; to beg I am ashamed.”

Scarlett threw back his head, and laughed. “Oh, that’s nothing,” he said. “It’s the getting there with a 70lb. swag on your back that’s the trouble. The country is a mass of ranges; the bush is as thick as a jungle, and there’s nothing but a blazed track to go by. But your claim is waiting for you. What do you intend doing with it?”

The attenuated Cathro sank on a couch despairingly. “I think I’ll sell it,” he said. “I’ll sell it to Tonks here, I’ll sell it for £1000 down, and be content with small profits and quick returns.”

The little man, important that he should be referred to as good for so substantial an amount, strutted up and down, like a bantam on whom the eyes of the fowl-yard rested. However, the gentleman, dressed for riding, was beforehand with him.

“It’s an open offer, I suppose,” he said.

“Certainly,” replied Cathro. “I don’t care who gets my claim, so long as I get the money.”

“Then it’s concluded,” said the horsey man. “I buy the claim.”

“Done,” said Cathro. “The matter is closed. The claim is yours. Now, that’s how I like to do business; just a straight offer and a prompt acceptance. Scarlett, this is Mr. Chesterman. He takes my place. You can take him over the ranges and along the blazed track: no doubt, you’ll find him a better bushman than myself. Chesterman is accustomed to carry a 70lb. swag; he’ll make an excellent beast of burden. I wish you luck, Chesterman.”

“But don’t you think,” said Mr. Crewe, turning to the horsey man, “don’t you think you’re rather hasty in buying for such a large sum a property you have never seen?”

“I’ve been on several gold-fields,” said Chesterman, “and I have had good luck on all of them. My method has always been to act on the first information of a discovery. A field is always richest at the beginning of the rush, and I know by experience that the picked claims, on a new field that yields such results as this does on the first washing, are worth having. I start to-morrow. Is it possible to get a horse through?”

“No,” replied the pioneer, “not the slightest chance of it. Until a track is cut, it will be quite impossible; but if you’re good in the bush you can follow the blaze, when once you have struck it.”

At this moment, there entered the room a very imposing person. He was quite six feet high, and broad in proportion; his frank and open face was adorned with a crisp, gold-coloured beard. He was dressed in a rough, grey, tweed suit, and carried a newspaper in his hand. Big men are not usually excitable, but the blue eyes of this Hercules were ablaze with suppressed emotion. In a voice that sounded like a cathedral bell, he said, without preface or introduction, so that the room rang again, “Listen. ‘Gold discovery in the Eastern ranges. There has arrived in town a lucky digger who is said to have sold, this morning, some 800 ounces of gold to the Kangaroo Bank. It is understood that the precious metal came from a new gold-field on Bush Robin Creek, which lies somewhere Eastward of the Dividing Range. From accounts received, it would appear that a field of unequalled richness has been opened up, and that a phenomenal rush to the new El Dorado will shortly set in. All holders of Miners’ Rights are entitled to peg off claims.’ Gentlemen, I have been to the Kangaroo Bank,” continued the giant, “and I have seen the gold myself. It is different from any sold here hitherto, barring some 70 ounces, which were brought in a few weeks ago, from the same locality. So, you see, we have had a gold rush created at our very doors. I propose that all the men present form themselves into a committee to wait upon the local representative of the Minister for Mines – that, I take it, would be the Commissioner for Lands – and urge the construction of a graded track to the new field.”

“A very good suggestion,” said Mr. Crewe, “a very good suggestion. For if you want to get these Government people to do anything, by Jupiter, you need to commence early. We’ll go along, if you are willing, gentlemen; we’ll go in a body to the Red Tape Office, and see what can be done. But before we go, let us drink the health of Mr. Scarlett, here. He has done remarkably well in bringing this discovery to light, and I ask you to drink to his continued good luck, at my expense, gentlemen, entirely at my expense.”

The steward of the club, a thin, dark man, with black eyes which were watchful and merry, went quietly round the room, which was now filled with men, and took their orders. Then he disappeared.

“I think, gentlemen,” continued Mr. Crewe, “that, as the oldest colonist present, I may be allowed to express an opinion. I think I may say, without fear of contradiction, that I have watched the development of many gold-fields in my time, and have benefited by not a few; and, gentlemen, from the description given by our friend, here, this new field is likely to prove the richest of them all. By far the best thing is for the younger men amongst us to go and prove the thing. I should recommend a party being formed under the guidance of Mr. Scarlett, and that it should start as soon as possible. I would go myself if I were a few years younger, and I will go so soon as the track is cut. I shall see the field myself. But I am really too old to contend with supple-jacks and ‘lawyers’ and the thick undergrowth of the bush. I should only be in your way. I should only be a nuisance.”

The quick-eyed steward, who, by a method of memory known only to himself, had retained in his mind the correct list of the strange and various liquors ordered, now appeared with a gigantic tray, on which he bore a multitude of glasses. These he deftly handed round, and then all present rose to their feet.

“Mr. Scarlett,” said the Father of Timber Town. “I ask you to drink his health and continued good luck.”

The ceremony over, Jack stood up.

“It’s awfully good of you,” he said, “to give me the credit of this new ‘find,’ but as a matter of fact I have had little to do with it. The real discoverer is the man who came in from the bush, some six weeks ago, and painted the town red. After doing him justice, you should pay your respects to my mate, Moonlight, who is more at home in the bush than he is in town. To him you owe the declaration of the new field. I shall be returning in a day or two, and I shall be glad to take with me any of you who care to come. I promise you a rough journey, but there is good gold at the end of it.”

He raised his glass to his lips, drained it, and sat down.

“We must organise,” said the giant who had read from the newspaper, “we must form ourselves into some sort of a company, for mutual strength and support.”

The notion of so big a man calling upon his fellows for help did not seem to strike anybody as peculiar, if not pathetic.

“Chair, chair,” cried the pompous Mr. Tonks. “I propose that Mr. Crewe be placed in the chair.”

“Hear, hear.”

“Unity is strength.”

“Limited liability – ”

“Order! ORDER!”

“Let me have my say.”

“Sit down, old fellow; nobody wants to hear you.”

Amid this babel of voices, old Mr. Crewe rose, and waited for the attention of his audience.

When every eye was riveted on him, he said, “Though I discerned the importance of this discovery, I was not prepared, gentlemen, for the interest you have so warmly expressed. It is a fact that this is the commencement of a new era in the history of Timber Town. We are about to enter upon a new phase of our existence, and from being the centre of an agricultural district, we are to become a mining town with all the bustle and excitement attendant upon a gold rush. Under the mining laws, each of you has as much right as my friend Scarlett, here, to a digger’s claim upon this field, provided only that you each obtain a Miner’s Right and peg off the ground legitimately. But I understand that the desire is to unite for mutual benefit. That is to say, you desire to pool your interests and divide the proceeds. The first thing, then, is for each man to peg off his claim. That done, you can work the properties conjointly under the supervision of a committee, pay the gross takings into a common account, and divide the profits. In this way the owner of a duffer claim participates equally with the owner of a rich one. In other words, there is less risk of failure – I might say, no risk at all – but also much temptation. Such a scheme would be quite impossible except amongst gentlemen, but I should imagine that where men hold honour to be more precious than money, none will risk his good name for a little gold. First, it must be the association of working miners; secondly, a company of gentlemen. Unless a man feels he can comply with these two conditions, he had best stand aside.”

“It would be too late for a man to think of backing out,” interrupted the bearded Hercules, “after he had turned thief by performing the Ananias trick of keeping back part of his gains: that man would probably leave the field quicker than he went, and poorer.”

“Or possibly he might not leave it at all,” interjected Chesterman.

“However that might be,” continued Mr. Crewe, “the object of all present is, I understand, to act in unison. There will be hundreds of diggers on the field before very long, and in many cases claims will be jumped and gold will be stolen, in spite of the Warden and the constabulary. You will be wise, therefore, to co-operate for mutual protection, if for no other reason.”

“Name, title?”

“What shall the association be called?”

A dozen names were suggested by as many men. Some were offered in jest, some in earnest; but none met with approval. When the tempest of voices was past, Mr. Crewe said, “The association must have a name; certainly, it must have a name. It is not to be a company, registered under the Act. It is not to be a syndicate, or a trust. It is simply a league, composed of gentlemen who intend to stand beside each other, and divide the profits of their enterprise. If you cannot consolidate your claims, you must work them individually. I shall therefore suggest that you call yourselves The Timber Town Gold League. Your articles of agreement can be drawn up in half-an-hour, and you can all sign them before you leave this room.” Here Scarlett whispered to Mr. Crewe, who scrutinised his hearers, and then said, “To be sure; certainly. Whilst Bulstrode, here, who is a lawyer and should know his business, is drawing up the document, Scarlett asks you to drink to the prosperity of the new league.”

The suggested ceremony necessitated more speeches, but when they were finished the lawyer read the articles of association. Strangely enough, they were devoid of legal technicalities, and consisted of four clearly-worded clauses, destitute of legal fiction, to which all present readily subscribed their names.

That done, they drank to the prosperity of The Timber Town Gold League.

CHAPTER XXII

Women’s Ways

Scarlett had a day upon his hands while his gold-seeking confreres of the League made their preparations for the journey to Bush Robin Creek. To loiter about the town meant that he would be pestered with questions regarding the locality of the new “field,” which, until his friends’ “claims” were pegged off, it was desirous to keep secret. He decided, therefore, to re-visit the scene of the wreck of The Mersey Witch.

On a mount, lent him by Chesterman, he was on his way to the Maori pa, before the town was stirring. The road, which he had never traversed before, wound its tortuous way along the shore for some eight miles, and then struck inland across the neck of a wooded peninsula, on the further side of which the rugged and rocky shore was fringed with virgin forest. He had reached the thick and shady “bush” which covered the isthmus, where the dew of the morning still lay cool on leaf and frond, and the great black boles of the forest giants stood sentinel amid the verdant undergrowth, when he overtook a girl who was walking towards the pa.

Her dress was peculiar; she wore a short Maori mat over her shoulders, and a blue petticoat fell from waist to ankle, while her head and feet were bare.

Jack reined in his horse, and asked if he was on the road which led to the pa, when the girl turned her merry, brown face, with its red lips and laughing, brown eyes, and said in English as good as his own, “Good morning. Yes, this is the road to the pa. Why, you were the last person I expected to see.” She held up her hand to him, to greet him in European fashion.

“Amiria!” he exclaimed. “How are you? It’s quite appropriate to meet you here – I’m on my way to the wreck, to see how the old ship looks, if there is anything of her left. How far is it to the pa?”

“About two miles.”

“What brings you so far, at this time of the morning?”

“You passed a settler’s house, half-a-mile back.”

“Yes, a house built of slabs.”

“I have been there to take the woman some fish – our people made a big haul this morning.”

Jack dismounted, and, hooking his arm through the bridle, he walked beside the Maori girl.

“Why didn’t you ride, Amiria?”

“My horse is turned out on the hills at the back of the pa, and it’s too much trouble to bring him in for so short a ride. Besides, the walk won’t hurt me: if I don’t take exercise I shall lose my figure.” She burst into a merry laugh, for she knew that, as she was then dressed, her beauty depended on elasticity of limb and sweetness of face rather than upon shape and fashion.

“I’ll show you the wreck,” she said. “It lies between us and the pa. It looks a very harmless place in calm weather with the sun shining on the smooth sea. The tide is out, so we ought to be able to reach the wreck without swimming.”

They had come now to the edge of the “bush,” and here Scarlett tied his horse to the bough of a tree; and with Amiria he paced the soft and sparkling sands, to which the road ran parallel.

The tide was low, as the girl had said, and the jagged rocks on which the bones of the ship lay stranded, stood black and prominent above the smooth water. The inner reefs were high and dry, and upon the slippery corrugations of the rocks, covered with seaweed and encrusted with shell-fish, the two walked; the Maori girl barefooted and agile, the Englishman heavily shod and clumsy.

Seeing the difficulty of Scarlett’s advance, Amiria held out her hand to him, and so linked they approached the sea. A narrow belt of water separated them from the reef on which the wreck lay, and to cross this meant immersion.

“The tide is not as low as I thought,” said Amiria. “At low spring-tide you can walk, almost dry-shod, to the other side.”

“I’m afraid we can’t reach it without a ducking,” said Scarlett.

“But you can swim?”

Scarlett laughed. “It’s hardly good enough to ride home in wet clothes.” He divined Amiria’s meaning, but pretended otherwise.

Then she laughed, too. “But I have a plan,” she said. Without a word more, she threw off her flax cape and dropped into the water. A few strokes and she had reached the further reef. “It will be all right,” she cried, “I think I can ferry you across on a raft.”

She walked over the sharp rocks as though her feet were impervious, and clambering through a great rent in the vessel’s side, she disappeared.

When next Jack caught sight of her she was perched on the top of the battered poop, whence she called, “I’ll roll a cask over the rocks, and get you across. There’s a big chest in the saloon that belongs to you.”

She disappeared again, and when Jack next saw her, she was rolling a huge barrel with difficulty towards the channel.

“It’s a quarter-full of sand,” she cried, “and when you stand it on its end it is ballasted. You’ll be able to come over quite dry.”

Launching the cask, she pushed it before her as she swam, and soon clambered up beside Scarlett.

“It’s bunged, I see,” said he.

“I did it with a piece of wood,” said she.

Then, booted and spurred, Jack placed himself cross-legged on the cask, and so was ferried across the intervening strip of water.

The main deck of the vessel was washed away, but the forecastle and poop remained more or less intact. The ship, after settling on the rock, had broken her back, and the great timbers, where the copper sheathing and planks had been torn away, stood up like naked ribs supporting nothing.

Walking upon an accumulation of sand and debris, the Maori girl and Jack passed from the hold to what was left of the main deck, and entered the saloon. All the gilding and glory had departed. Here a cabin door lay on the floor, there the remains of the mahogany table lay broken in a corner. A great sea-chest, bearing Scarlett’s name upon its side, stood in the doorway that led to the captain’s cabin. Full of sand, the box looked devoid of worth and uninviting, but Scarlett, quickly taking a piece of board, began to scoop out the sodden contents. As he stooped, a ray of sunlight pierced the shattered poop-deck and illumined his yellow hair. Attracted by the glitter, Amiria put out her hand and stroked his head.

Jack looked up.

“Isn’t that a bit familiar?” he asked.

Amiria laughed. “Not from the girl who saved you. If I hadn’t pulled you out of the water, it might seem a great thing to touch you, but I know you so well that really it doesn’t matter.”

Jack buried his head in the chest. This relationship between preserver and preserved was new to him: he hardly knew what to make of it. But the humour of the situation dawned on him, and he laughed.

“By George, I’m at your mercy,” he said, and, standing up, with his back still towards her, he laughed again. “You’ve appropriated me, just as your people appropriated the contents of this box and the rest of the wreckage. You’ll have to be put in charge of the police for a little thief.” And again his laugh rang through the ruined saloon.

Remarking that the girl made no reply to this sally, he glanced towards her, to find that she had turned her back upon him and was sobbing in a corner. Leaving his task of clearing out the sea-chest, he went towards her, and said, “I’m awfully sorry, Amiria, if I’ve said anything that hurt your feelings. I really didn’t mean to.” He had yet to learn that a Maori can bear anything more easily than laughter which seems to be derisive.

As the girl continued to cry, he placed his hand upon her shoulder. “Really, Amiria, I meant nothing. I would be the last person on earth to hurt your feelings. I don’t forget what I owe you. I can never repay you. If I have been clumsy, I ask your pardon.” He held up her head, and looked into her tear-stained face. “You’ll forgive me, won’t you?”

The girl, her still untutored nature half-hidden beneath a deceptive covering of Pakeha culture, broke into a torrent of Maori quite unintelligible to the white man, but as it ended in a bright smile bursting out from behind her tears, he knew that peace was made.

“Thank you,” he said; “we’re friends again.”

In a moment, she had thrown her arms about him and had burst into a rhapsody in her native tongue, and, though he understood not one word of it, he knew intuitively that it was an expression of passionate affection.

The situation was now more awkward than before. To rebuff her a second time would be to break his word and wound her more deeply than ever. So he let this new burst of feeling spend itself, and waited for her to return to her more civilised self.

When she did, she spoke in English. “You mustn’t judge me by the Pakeha girls you know. My people aren’t like yours – we have different ways. White girls are cold and silent when they feel most – I know them: I went to school with them – but we show our feelings. Besides, I have a claim on you which no white girl has. No white girl would have pulled you out of the surf, as I did. And if I showed I cared for you then, why shouldn’t I show it now? Perhaps the Pakeha would blame me, but I can’t always be thinking of your ritenga. In the town I do as the white woman does; out here I follow the Maori ritenga. But whichever ritenga it is, I love you; and if you love me in return, I am the happiest girl in the kainga.”