Joe Wilson and His Mates

by Henry Lawson

  A Wild Irishman.

  About seven years ago I drifted from Out-Back in Australia toWellington, the capital of New Zealand, and up country to a little towncalled Pahiatua, which meaneth the 'home of the gods', and is situatedin the Wairarappa (rippling or sparkling water) district. They have apretty little legend to the effect that the name of the district was notoriginally suggested by its rivers, streams, and lakes, but by thetears alleged to have been noticed, by a dusky squire, in the eyes ofa warrior chief who was looking his first, or last--I don't rememberwhich--upon the scene. He was the discoverer, I suppose, now I come tothink of it, else the place would have been already named. Maybe thescene reminded the old cannibal of the home of his childhood.

  Pahiatua was not the home of my god; and it rained for five weeks.While waiting for a remittance, from an Australian newspaper--which, Ianxiously hoped, would arrive in time for enough of it to be left (afterpaying board) to take me away somewhere--I spent many hours in thelittle shop of a shoemaker who had been a digger; and he told me yarnsof the old days on the West Coast of Middle Island. And, ever and anon,he returned to one, a hard-case from the West Coast, called 'The Flourof Wheat', and his cousin, and his mate, Dinny Murphy, dead. And everand again the shoemaker (he was large, humorous, and good-natured) mademe promise that, when I dropped across an old West Coast digger--nomatter who or what he was, or whether he was drunk or sober--I'd ask himif he knew the 'Flour of Wheat', and hear what he had to say.

  I make no attempt to give any one shade of the Irish brogue--it can't bedone in writing.

  'There's the little red Irishman,' said the shoemaker, who was Irishhimself, 'who always wants to fight when he has a glass in him; andthere's the big sarcastic dark Irishman who makes more trouble andfights at a spree than half-a-dozen little red ones put together;and there's the cheerful easy-going Irishman. Now the Flour was acombination of all three and several other sorts. He was known from thefirst amongst the boys at Th' Canary as the Flour o' Wheat, but no oneknew exactly why. Some said that the right name was the F-l-o-w-e-r, notF-l-o-u-r, and that he was called that because there was no flower onwheat. The name might have been a compliment paid to the man's characterby some one who understood and appreciated it--or appreciated it withoutunderstanding it. Or it might have come of some chance saying of theFlour himself, or his mates--or an accident with bags of flour. He mighthave worked in a mill. But we've had enough of that. It's the man--notthe name. He was just a big, dark, blue-eyed Irish digger. He workedhard, drank hard, fought hard--and didn't swear. No man had ever heardhim swear (except once); all things were 'lovely' with him. He wasalways lucky. He got gold and threw it away.

  'The Flour was sent out to Australia (by his friends) in connection withsome trouble in Ireland in eighteen-something. The date doesn't matter:there was mostly trouble in Ireland in those days; and nobody, thatknew the man, could have the slightest doubt that he helped thetrouble--provided he was there at the time. I heard all this from a manwho knew him in Australia. The relatives that he was sent out to weresoon very anxious to see the end of him. He was as wild as they madethem in Ireland. When he had a few drinks, he'd walk restlessly to andfro outside the shanty, swinging his right arm across in front of himwith elbow bent and hand closed, as if he had a head in chancery, andmuttering, as though in explanation to himself--

  '"Oi must be walkin' or foightin'!--Oi must be walkin' or foightin'!--Oimust be walkin' or foightin'!"

  'They say that he wanted to eat his Australian relatives before he wasdone; and the story goes that one night, while he was on the spree, theyput their belongings into a cart and took to the Bush.

  'There's no floury record for several years; then the Flour turned up onthe west coast of New Zealand and was never very far from a pub. keptby a cousin (that he had tracked, unearthed, or discovered somehow) at aplace called "Th' Canary". I remember the first time I saw the Flour.

  'I was on a bit of a spree myself, at Th' Canary, and one evening I wasstanding outside Brady's (the Flour's cousin's place) with Tom Lyons andDinny Murphy, when I saw a big man coming across the flat with a swag onhis back.

  '"B' God, there's the Flour o' Wheat comin' this minute," says DinnyMurphy to Tom, "an' no one else."

  '"B' God, ye're right!" says Tom.

  'There were a lot of new chums in the big room at the back, drinking anddancing and singing, and Tom says to Dinny--

  '"Dinny, I'll bet you a quid an' the Flour'll run against some of thosenew chums before he's an hour on the spot."

  'But Dinny wouldn't take him up. He knew the Flour.

  '"Good day, Tom! Good day, Dinny!"

  '"Good day to you, Flour!"

  'I was introduced.

  '"Well, boys, come along," says the Flour.

  'And so we went inside with him. The Flour had a few drinks, and thenhe went into the back-room where the new chums were. One of them wasdancing a jig, and so the Flour stood up in front of him and commencedto dance too. And presently the new chum made a step that didn't pleasethe Flour, so he hit him between the eyes, and knocked him down--fairan' flat on his back.

  '"Take that," he says. "Take that, me lovely whipper-snapper, an' laythere! You can't dance. How dare ye stand up in front of me face todance when ye can't dance?"

  'He shouted, and drank, and gambled, and danced, and sang, and foughtthe new chums all night, and in the morning he said--

  '"Well, boys, we had a grand time last night. Come and have a drink withme."

  'And of course they went in and had a drink with him.

  *****

  'Next morning the Flour was walking along the street, when he met adrunken, disreputable old hag, known among the boys as the "Nipper".

  '"Good MORNING, me lovely Flour o' Wheat!" says she.

  '"Good MORNING, me lovely Nipper!" says the Flour.

  'And with that she outs with a bottle she had in her dress, and smashedhim across the face with it. Broke the bottle to smithereens!

  'A policeman saw her do it, and took her up; and they had the Flour as awitness, whether he liked it or not. And a lovely sight he looked, withhis face all done up in bloody bandages, and only one damaged eye and acorner of his mouth on duty.

  '"It's nothing at all, your Honour," he said to the S.M.; "only apin-scratch--it's nothing at all. Let it pass. I had no right to speakto the lovely woman at all."

  'But they didn't let it pass,--they fined her a quid.

  'And the Flour paid the fine.

  'But, alas for human nature! It was pretty much the same even in thosedays, and amongst those men, as it is now. A man couldn't do a womana good turn without the dirty-minded blackguards taking it for grantedthere was something between them. It was a great joke amongst the boyswho knew the Flour, and who also knew the Nipper; but as it was carriedtoo far in some quarters, it got to be no joke to the Flour--nor tothose who laughed too loud or grinned too long.

  *****

  'The Flour's cousin thought he was a sharp man. The Flour got "stiff".He hadn't any money, and his credit had run out, so he went and gota blank summons from one of the police he knew. He pretended that hewanted to frighten a man who owed him some money. Then he filled it upand took it to his cousin.

  '"What d'ye think of that?" he says, handing the summons across the bar."What d'ye think of me lovely Dinny Murphy now?"

  '"Why, what's this all about?"

  '"That's what I want to know. I borrowed a five-pound-note off of him afortnight ago when I was drunk, an' now he sends me that."

  '"Well, I never would have dream'd that of Dinny," says the cousin,scratching his head and blinking. "What's come over him at all?"

  '"That's what I want to know."

  '"What have you been doing to the man?"

  '"Divil a thing that I'm aware of."

  'The cousin rubbed his chin-tuft between his forefinger and thumb.

  '"Well, what am I to do about it?" asked the Flour impatiently.

  '"Do? Pay the man, of course?"

 
'"How can I pay the lovely man when I haven't got the price of a drinkabout me?"

  'The cousin scratched his chin.

  '"Well--here, I'll lend you a five-pound-note for a month or two. Go andpay the man, and get back to work."

  'And the Flour went and found Dinny Murphy, and the pair of them had ahowling spree together up at Brady's, the opposition pub. And the cousinsaid he thought all the time he was being had.

  . . . . .

  'He was nasty sometimes, when he was about half drunk. For instance,he'd come on the ground when the Orewell sports were in full swing andwalk round, soliloquising just loud enough for you to hear; and justwhen a big event was coming off he'd pass within earshot of somecommittee men--who had been bursting themselves for weeks to work thething up and make it a success--saying to himself--

  '"Where's the Orewell sports that I hear so much about? I don't seethem! Can any one direct me to the Orewell sports?"

  'Or he'd pass a raffle, lottery, lucky-bag, or golden-barrel business ofsome sort,--

  '"No gamblin' for the Flour. I don't believe in their little shwindles.It ought to be shtopped. Leadin' young people ashtray."

  'Or he'd pass an Englishman he didn't like,--

  '"Look at Jinneral Roberts! He's a man! He's an Irishman! England hasto come to Ireland for its Jinnerals! Luk at Jinneral Roberts in themarshes of Candyhar!"

  *****

  'They always had sports at Orewell Creek on New Year's Day--exceptonce--and old Duncan was always there,--never missed it till the day hedied. He was a digger, a humorous and good-hearted "hard-case". They allknew "old Duncan".

  'But one New Year's Eve he didn't turn up, and was missed at once."Where's old Duncan? Any one seen old Duncan?" "Oh, he'll turn upalright." They inquired, and argued, and waited, but Duncan didn't come.

  'Duncan was working at Duffers. The boys inquired of fellows who camefrom Duffers, but they hadn't seen him for two days. They had fullyexpected to find him at the creek. He wasn't at Aliaura nor Notown. Theyinquired of men who came from Nelson Creek, but Duncan wasn't there.

  '"There's something happened to the lovely man," said the Flour of Wheatat last. "Some of us had better see about it."

  'Pretty soon this was the general opinion, and so a party started outover the hills to Duffers before daylight in the morning, headed by theFlour.

  'The door of Duncan's "whare" was closed--BUT NOT PADLOCKED. The Flournoticed this, gave his head a jerk, opened the door, and went in. Thehut was tidied up and swept out--even the fireplace. Duncan had "liftedthe boxes" and "cleaned up", and his little bag of gold stood on ashelf by his side--all ready for his spree. On the table lay a cleanneckerchief folded ready to tie on. The blankets had been folded neatlyand laid on the bunk, and on them was stretched Old Duncan, with hisarms lying crossed on his chest, and one foot--with a boot on--restingon the ground. He had his "clean things" on, and was dressed except forone boot, the necktie, and his hat. Heart disease.

  '"Take your hats off and come in quietly, lads," said the Flour. "Here'sthe lovely man lying dead in his bunk."

  'There were no sports at Orewell that New Year. Some one said that thecrowd from Nelson Creek might object to the sports being postponed onold Duncan's account, but the Flour said he'd see to that.

  'One or two did object, but the Flour reasoned with them and there wereno sports.

  'And the Flour used to say, afterwards, "Ah, but it was a grand time wehad at the funeral when Duncan died at Duffers."

  . . . . .

  'The Flour of Wheat carried his mate, Dinny Murphy, all the way in fromTh' Canary to the hospital on his back. Dinny was very bad--the man wasdying of the dysentery or something. The Flour laid him down on a sparebunk in the reception-room, and hailed the staff.

  '"Inside there--come out!"

  'The doctor and some of the hospital people came to see what was thematter. The doctor was a heavy swell, with a big cigar, held up in frontof him between two fat, soft, yellow-white fingers, and a dandy littlepair of gold-rimmed eye-glasses nipped onto his nose with a spring.

  '"There's me lovely mate lying there dying of the dysentry," says theFlour, "and you've got to fix him up and bring him round."

  'Then he shook his fist in the doctor's face and said--

  '"If you let that lovely man die--look out!"

  'The doctor was startled. He backed off at first; then he took a puff athis cigar, stepped forward, had a careless look at Dinny, and gave someorder to the attendants. The Flour went to the door, turned half roundas he went out, and shook his fist at them again, and said--

  '"If you let that lovely man die--mind!"

  'In about twenty minutes he came back, wheeling a case of whisky in abarrow. He carried the case inside, and dumped it down on the floor.

  '"There," he said, "pour that into the lovely man."

  'Then he shook his fist at such members of the staff as were visible,and said--

  '"If you let that lovely man die--look out!"

  'They were used to hard-cases, and didn't take much notice of him, buthe had the hospital in an awful mess; he was there all hours of the dayand night; he would go down town, have a few drinks and a fight maybe,and then he'd say, "Ah, well, I'll have to go up and see how me lovelymate's getting on."

  'And every time he'd go up he'd shake his fist at the hospital ingeneral and threaten to murder 'em all if they let Dinny Murphy die.

  'Well, Dinny Murphy died one night. The next morning the Flour met thedoctor in the street, and hauled off and hit him between the eyes, andknocked him down before he had time to see who it was.

  '"Stay there, ye little whipper-snapper," said the Flour of Wheat; "youlet that lovely man die!"

  'The police happened to be out of town that day, and while they werewaiting for them the Flour got a coffin and carried it up to thehospital, and stood it on end by the doorway.

  '"I've come for me lovely mate!" he said to the scared staff--or as muchof it as he baled up and couldn't escape him. "Hand him over. He's goingback to be buried with his friends at Th' Canary. Now, don't be sneakinground and sidling off, you there; you needn't be frightened; I'vesettled with the doctor."

  'But they called in a man who had some influence with the Flour, andbetween them--and with the assistance of the prettiest nurse on thepremises--they persuaded him to wait. Dinny wasn't ready yet; there werepapers to sign; it wouldn't be decent to the dead; he had to beprayed over; he had to be washed and shaved, and fixed up decent andcomfortable. Anyway, they'd have him ready in an hour, or take theconsequences.

  'The Flour objected on the ground that all this could be done equally aswell and better by the boys at Th' Canary. "However," he said, "I'llbe round in an hour, and if you haven't got me lovely mate ready--lookout!" Then he shook his fist sternly at them once more and said--

  '"I know yer dirty tricks and dodges, and if there's e'er a pin-scratchon me mate's body--look out! If there's a pairin' of Dinny's toe-nailmissin'--look out!"

  'Then he went out--taking the coffin with him.

  'And when the police came to his lodgings to arrest him, they found thecoffin on the floor by the side of the bed, and the Flour lying in it onhis back, with his arms folded peacefully on his bosom. He was asdead drunk as any man could get to be and still be alive. They knockedair-holes in the coffin-lid, screwed it on, and carried the coffin, theFlour, and all to the local lock-up. They laid their burden down on thebare, cold floor of the prison-cell, and then went out, locked the door,and departed several ways to put the "boys" up to it. And about midnightthe "boys" gathered round with a supply of liquor, and waited, andsomewhere along in the small hours there was a howl, as of a strongIrishman in Purgatory, and presently the voice of the Flour was heard toplead in changed and awful tones--

  '"Pray for me soul, boys--pray for me soul! Let bygones be bygonesbetween us, boys, and pray for me lovely soul! The lovely Flour's inPurgatory!"

  'Then silence for a while; and then a sound like a dray-wheel p
assingover a packing-case.... That was the only time on record that the Flourwas heard to swear. And he swore then.

  'They didn't pray for him--they gave him a month. And, when he cameout, he went half-way across the road to meet the doctor, and he--to hiscredit, perhaps--came the other half. They had a drink together, andthe Flour presented the doctor with a fine specimen of coarse gold for apin.

  '"It was the will o' God, after all, doctor," said the Flour. "It wasthe will o' God. Let bygones be bygones between us; gimme your hand,doctor.... Good-bye."

  'Then he left for Th' Canary.'