We Of The Never-Never

by Jeanie “Mrs. Aeneas” Gunn

CONTENTS

To The Public Prelude Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 and Last

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Map A Night Camp in the Never-Never The Homestead “So Long, Chaps!” (The Fizzer Leaving The Katherine) One Of The Bullock Waggons The Line Party Camps William Neaves, Born At Woolongong White-Ant Hills The Quiet Stockman Handling A Kicker

To The Public

It is with the full consent of the bush-folk that this one year of their lives—the year of 1902—is given to the world.

“Tell ’em anything you like,” they said, one and all, unconsciously testifying to their single-heartedness. And in the telling I have striven to give that year as I found it.

At every turn the bush-folk have helped me; verifying statements and furnishing details required with minute exactness; while I am indebted to Mr. W. Holtze, Mr. G. G. Jaensch, “Mine Host,” and the Quiet Stockman for the photographic plates with which this book is illustrated.

Jeannie Gunn.

Hawthorn, October 1907.

Prelude

We—are just some of the bush-folk of the Never-Never.

Distinct in the foreground stand:

The Măluka, The Little Missus, The Sanguine Scot, The Head Stockman, The Dandy, The Quiet Stockman, The Fizzer, Mine Host, The Wag, Some of our Guests, A few black “boys” and lubras, A dog or two, Tam-o’-Shanter, Happy Dick, Sam Lee, and last, but by no means least, Cheon—the ever-mirthful, ever-helpful, irrepressible Cheon, who was crudely recorded on the station books as cook and gardener.

The background is filled in with an ever-moving company—a strange medley of Whites, Blacks, and Chinese; of travellers, overlanders, and billabongers, who passed in and out of our lives, leaving behind them sometimes bright memories, sometimes sad, and sometimes little memory at all.

And All of Us, and many of this company, shared each other’s lives for one bright, sunny year, away Behind the Back of Beyond, in the Land of the Never-Never; in that elusive land with an elusive name—a land of dangers and hardships and privations yet loved as few lands are loved—a land that bewitches her people with strange spells and mysteries, until they call sweet bitter, and bitter sweet. Called the Never-Never, the Măluka loved to say, because they, who have lived in it and loved it Never-Never voluntarily leave it. Sadly enough, there are too many who Never-Never do leave it. Others—the unfitted—will tell you that it is so called because they who succeed in getting out of it swear they will Never-Never return to it. But we who have lived in it, and loved it, and left it, know that our hearts can Never-Never rest away from it.

We Of The Never-Never

Chapter 1

To begin somewhere near the beginning, the Măluka—better known at that time as the new Boss for the Elsey—and I, his “missus,” were at Darwin, in the Northern Territory, waiting for the train that was to take us just as far as it could—one hundred and fifty miles—on our way to the Never-Never. It was out of town just then, up-country somewhere, billabonging in true bush-whacker style, but was expected to return in a day or two, when it would be at our service.

Jack, the Quiet Stockman, was out at the homestead, “seeing to things” there. The Sanguine Scot, the Head Stockman, and the Dandy, were in at the Katherine, marking time, as it were, awaiting instructions by wire from the Măluka, while some of the Company “put finishing touches” to their New Year celebrations. And every one, with, of course, the exception of those in Darwin, was blissfully unconscious of even the existence of the Măluka’s missus. Knowing the Măluka by repute, however, every one was agreed that the “Elsey had struck it lucky,” until the telegraph wire, whispering the gossip of Darwin to the Katherine, whispered that the “new Boss for the Elsey had been and gone and married a missus just before leaving the South, and was bringing her along with him.” Then the Sanguine Scot was filled with wrath, the Company with compassion, while the Dandy’s consternation found relief in a dismayed “Heavens above!” (The Dandy, by the way, was only a dandy in his love of sweet, clean clothes and orderly surroundings. The heart of the man had not a touch of dandyism in it.) The Head Stockman was absent in his camp. Had he been present, much might have been said on the “advantages of having a woman about the place.” The Wag, however, retained his usual flow of speech and spirits.

“Buck up, chaps!” he chuckled encouraging! “They’re not all snorters, you know. You might have the luck to strike one of the ‘ministering angel variety.’ ”

But the Sanguine Scot had been thinking rapidly, and with characteristic hopefulness, felt he had the bull by the horns. “We’ll just have to block her, chaps; that’s all,” he said. “A wire or two should do it”; and, inviting the Dandy “to come and lend a hand,” led the way to the telegraph office; and presently there quivered into Darwin the first hint that a missus was not wanted at the Elsey.

“Would advise leaving wife behind till homestead can be repaired,” it said; and, still confident of success, Mac felt that “ought to do the trick.” “If it doesn’t,” he added, “we’ll give her something stronger.”

We in Darwin, having exhausted the sight-seeing resources of the little town, were wishing “something interesting would happen,” when the message was handed to the Măluka.

“This may do as a stopgap,” he said, opening it, adding as he read it, “It looks brimful of possibilities for interested onlookers, seeing it advises leaving the wife behind.” The Măluka spoke from experience, having been himself an interested onlooker “down south,” when it had been suggested there that the wife should be left behind while he spied out the land; for although the Măluka knew most of the Territory, he had not yet been to the Elsey Cattle Station.

Preferring to be “the interested onlooker” myself this time, when we went to the telegraph office it was the Măluka who wired: “Wife coming, secure buggy”, and in an incredibly short space of time the answer was back: “No buggy obtainable.”

Darwin looked interested. “Mac hasn’t wasted much time in making inquiries,” it said.

“Or in apologies or explanations,” the Măluka added shortly, and sent in reply: “Wife can ride, secure suitable mount.”