CHAPTER XI
"LO, THE POOR INDIAN!"
I mind the time when first I came A stranger to the land. HENRY LAWSON.
The house was unusually quiet. It was New Year's Day, and every man onthe place, and most of the maids, had gone off to a bush race meeting,ten miles away. Even Mrs. Brown had allowed herself to be persuaded togo and, arrayed in her best silk gown, had climbed laboriously into thehigh double buggy, driven by Dave Boone, and departed, waving to Noraha stout reticule that looked, Wally said, as though it containedsausages! Only Mary, the housemaid, remained. Mary was a prim soul, anddid not care for race meetings. She had remarked that she would stay athome and "crocher"!
Mr. Linton and the boys had ridden away after lunch. A valuable bullhad slipped down the side of a steep gully and injured himself, andbush surgery was required. David Linton was rather notable in thisdirection, and he had seen to it that Jim had had a thorough course ofveterinary training in Melbourne. Together they made, the squatterremarked, a very respectable firm of practitioners! Cecil and Wallywere ready to perform unskilled labour as required, and it was quitepossible that their help might be needed, since no men were available.So the picnic planned for the afternoon had had to be abandoned, andNorah was left somewhat desolate, since she could not take part in the"relief expedition."
"Hard on you, old girl," Jim had said; "but it can't be helped."
"No, of course it can't," Norah replied. She was well trained in theemergencies of the country, and would probably have been perfectlycheerful had this particular one only been something that would nothave excluded her. As it was, however, it was certainly disappointing,and she felt somewhat "at a loose end" as she watched the four rideoff. There seemed nothing for her to do. It was beyond doubt that beinga girl had its drawbacks.
Within, the silence of the house was depressing, and the rooms seemedmuch too large. Norah saw to one or two odd jobs, fed some chickens,talked for a while to Fudge, the parrot, who was a companionable bird,with a great flow of eloquence on occasions, wrote a couple ofletters--always a laborious proceeding for the maid of the bush--andfinally arrived at the decision that there was nothing to do. In thekitchen Mary sat and "crochered" placidly at a fearful and wonderfulset of table mats. Norah watched her for a while, with a great scornfor the gentle art that could produce such monstrosities. Then shepractised for half an hour, and at length, taking a book, sauntered offto read by the creek.
Meanwhile Mary worked on contentedly, unconscious of outer things,dreaming, perhaps, such dreams as may come to any one who makescrocheted table mats of green and yellow. Now and then she rose toreplenish the fire, returning to her needle in the far-away corner ofthe great kitchen, where Mrs. Brown's cane armchair always stood. Sheglanced up in surprise after a while, when a shadow fell across thedoorway. Then, for Mary was a girl with "nerves," she jumped up with alittle scream.
An Indian hawker stood there--a big, black-bearded fellow, in dustyclothes that had once been white, and on his head a turban of fadedpink. His heavy pack hung from his shoulder, but as the girl looked, heslipped it to the ground, and stood erect, with a grunt of relief. Thenhe grinned faintly at Mary, who had promptly put the table betweenthem, and asked the hawker's universal question:
"Anything to-day, Meesis?"
The Hindu hawker is still a figure to be met frequently in theBush--where he is, indeed, something of an institution. "Remote fromtowns he runs" a race that no poetical licence can stretch to completethe quotation by calling "godly." He carries a queer mixture of goods--akind of condensed bazaar-stall from his native land, with silks andcottons, soaps, scents, boot laces and cheap jewellery, all packed intoa marvellously small space; and so he tramps his way through Australia.No life can be lonelier. His stock of English is generally barelyenough to enable him to complete his deals; the free and independentAustralian regards him as "a nigger," and despises him accordingly;while the Hindu, in his turn, has in his inmost soul a scorn far deeperfor his scorners--the pride of tradition and of caste. It is the castethat keeps him rigidly to himself, since, as a rule, he can touch nofood that others have handled. He sits apart, over his own tiny fire,baking his unappetising little cakes; and in many cases even the shadowof a passer-by falling across his cookery is held to defile it beyondpossibility of his eating it. As a rule he has but one idea in life--tomake enough money to carry him back to end his days in comfort by thewaters of the Ganges.
There are certain well recognized hawkers in many districts--men whohave kept for a long time to a particular beat, and may be regarded asfairly regular, and likely to turn up at each place at their routethree or four times a year. Such men have generally arrived at thedignity of a pack-horse--no unmixed benefit in the eyes of peopledriving, since most of the country horses are reduced to frenzy by thesight of the lean screw with his immense white pack--the hawker ismerciless to his horse--led by the "black" man in flapping clothes andgay turban. Still the regular hawkers are a more respectable class ofmen, and their visits are often eagerly welcomed by the housewife inthe lonely country, many miles from a township, who finds herselfconfronted with such problems as the necessity for lacing Johnny'sSunday boots with strips of green hide, or the more serious one of adearth of trouser-buttons for his garments.
It is the casual hawker who is looked on with disfavour, and strikesterror to the heart of many women. He has very frequently no money andless principle; and being without reputation to sustain in thedistrict, is careless of his doings along a route that he probably doesnot intend to visit again. He knows perfectly well that women andchildren are afraid of him, and as a rule is very willing to work uponthat fear--though the sight of a man, or of a dog with character, issufficient to make him the most servile of his race. But where he meetsa lonely woman he is a very apparition of terror.
There was one hawker who came regularly to Billabong; a cheery oldfellow, well known and respected, whose caste was not strict enough toprevent his refusing the station hospitality, and whose appearance wasalways welcome. He had been coming so long that he knew them all well,and took an almost affectionate interest in Jim and Norah, alwaysbringing some little gift for the latter. The men liked him, for he hadbeen known to "turn to" and work at a bush fire "as hearty as if heweren't a fat little image av a haythen," said Murty O'Toole; Norah wasalways delighted when old Ram Das came up the track, his unwieldy bodyon two amazingly lean legs. Even Mary would not have been scared at hisappearance.
But this was not Ram Das--this Indian who stood looking at her with thatqueer little half-smile, so different from the old man's wide andcheerful grin. It was a strange man, and a terrible one in Mary'ssight. She gaped at him feebly across the table, and he watched herwith keen, calculating eyes. Presently he spoke again, this time alittle impatiently.
"You ask-a meesis annything to-day?"
"Nothin' to-day," said Mary, quickly and nervously.
"You ask-a meesis."
"She don't want anything," the girl quavered.
"You ask-a."
"I tell you she don't want anything--there ain't any missis," Mary said.He looked at her unbelievingly, and broke into a speech of brokenEnglish that was quite unintelligible to the frightened girl behind thetable. Then, as she did not answer him, he came a few steps nearer.
It was more than enough for Mary. She gave a terrified shriek and ranfor the nearest cover--the half-open door of the back kitchen behindher. She banged it violently as she dashed through. There was no lockon the door, so she could not stay there--but the window stood open, andMary went through it with all the nimbleness of fear. She came out intothe yard where the way lay clear to the house; and across the spacewent Mary, cometwise, a vision of terror and flying cap strings, eachmoment expecting to hear pursuing feet. Puck, the Irish terrier,sleeping peacefully on the front verandah, leapt to his feet at thesudden bang of the back door, and came dashing through the house insearch of the cause. Mary, half sobbing, welcomed him with fervour.
"Good dog, Puck!
" she said. She reconnoitred through the nearestwindow.
The Indian had come out of the kitchen, and now stood on the backverandah, his dark face working. He looked uncertainly about him. Thenthe back door opened a few inches--just so far that an enthusiasticIrish terrier could squeeze through--and Mary's voice came.
"Good dog, Puck!--sool 'im!"
The door banged again, and the heavy lock shot home. Mary flew back tothe window, shutting and locking it frantically. She watched.
Puck wasted no time. He dashed at the hawker, with every fightinginstinct aroused, and the Hindu leaped back quickly, seizing with onehand a broom that leaned against the wall. He met the terrier'sonslaught with a savage blow that sent the little dog head over heelsyards away. Puck picked himself up and came again like a whirlwind.Then Mary screamed again, for the Hindu dropped the broom, andsomething flashed in the sunlight--a long knife that came swiftly fromsome hiding place in his voluminous draperies. He crouched to meet thedog, his eyes gleaming, his lips drawn back from his teeth.
Puck was no fool. He arrested himself almost in midair, and plantedhimself just out of the hawker's reach, his whole enraged little body avision of defiance, and barked madly. The Indian moved backwards,uttering a flood of furious speech, while for each step that he movedthe terrier advanced another. Then Mary's heart gave a sudden leap; forthe hand that held the knife suddenly went behind him as he reached forhis pack and swung it to his shoulder. Puck was nearly upon him in themoment that the knife no longer menaced, but the Hindu was quick; andagain the little dog drew back, rending the air with his barking.Slowly the man backed off the verandah and along the path to the yardgate, Puck following every step, loathing with all his fury that unfairadvantage of gleaming steel that kept him from his enemy. The Hindubacked through the gate, and slammed it in the terrier's face, spittinga volley of angry words as he went. Mary flung the window open andcalled her protector anxiously, lest he should find some means of exitand leave her alone; and Puck came back a few steps, turning again tobark at his retreating foe. The tall form in the dusty clothes wentslowly down the track. Mary watched him out of sight. Then she fled toher own room, locked herself in securely, and went, very properly, intohysterics.
Meanwhile, at the creek, Norah was nodding sleepily over her book. Itwas hot, and naturally a lazy day; everything seemed sleepy, from thecows lying about under the willows on the banks to the bees droningoverhead. Tait, near her, was snoring gently. Even the water belowseemed to be rippling more lazily than usual; the splash of a leapingfish made an unusual stir in the stillness. Moreover, her book was notcalculated to keep her awake. It was poetry, and Norah's soul did notincline naturally to poetry, unless it were one of Gordon's stirringrhymes, or something equally Australian in character. This was quitedifferent, but it had been Cecil's Christmas gift, and it had seemed toNorah that politeness required her to study it.
"It's the rummiest stuff!" said the Bush damsel, hopelessly. She turnedto the cover, a dainty thing of pale blue and gold. "William Morris?Didn't we have a stockman once called Bill Morris? But I'm prettycertain he never wrote this. The name's the same, though!" thoughtNorah, uncertainly. She turned back, and read anew, painstakingly:
No meat did ever pass my lips Those days. (Alas! the sunlight slips From off the gilded parclose dips, And night comes on apace.)
"Then I'm positive it wasn't our Bill Morris, 'cause I never saw astockman who was a vegetarian. But what's a parclose? I'll have to askCecil; but then he'll think me such a duffer not to know, and he'll beso awfully patronizing. But what on earth does it all mean?"
She closed the book in despair, let her eyelids droop, and nodded alittle, while the book in its blue and gold cover slipped from her kneeto the grass. It was much easier to go to sleep than to read WilliamMorris. What a long time Dad and the boys were, doctoring Derrimut! Itwas certainly dull.
A quick bark from Tait startled her. The collie had jumped up, and wasbristling with wrath at an unusual spectacle coming through the treestowards her--a tall man, with a face of dusky bronze, surmounted by apink turban. His face was working angrily, and he muttered as hewalked, slowly, as if the pack on his shoulder were heavy. When Taitbarked he started for a moment, but then came on steadily--a collie israrely as formidable as an Irish terrier.
Norah paled a little. She was not timid, but no Australian girl takesnaturally to an encounter with a Hindu and there was no doubt that thisman was in a very bad temper. The place was lonely, too, and out ofsight of the house, even if she had not been painfully conscious thatthere was not a man on the place should she need help. Still, there wasnothing to be gained by running. She backed against the tree, keepingone hand on Tait's collar as the man came up.
"What do you want?"
He stopped, and the pack slipped to the grass. Then he broke into aflood of rapid speech in his own tongue, gesticulating violently;occasionally indicating the house with a sweep of his hand in thatdirection. As he talked he worked himself up to further wrath--his voicerose almost to a shout sometimes, and his face was not pleasant to see.Once or twice he held his left hand out, and Norah saw that it wasbandaged.
For a minute or two she was badly frightened. Then, watching him, shesuddenly came to the conclusion that she had nothing to fear--that hewas telling her something he wanted her to know. She listened, tryinghard to catch some word in the flood of fluent foreign speech, andtwice she thought she made out the name of Ram Das. Then he finishedabruptly with almost the one word of Hindustani she knew, since it wasone the old hawker had taught her. "SUMJA," ("Do you understand?") hehurled at her.
Norah shook her head.
"No, I don't 'SUMJA,'" she said: but her tone was friendly, and some ofthe anger melted from the Indian's face, and was succeeded by a quickrelief. "Can't you speak English? You know Ram Das--Ram Das?" sherepeated, hoping that the name might convey something to him. To herimmense relief, the effect was instantaneous.
"Know Ram Das," said the man, struggling for words. "Him--him." He sweptthe horizon vaguely with his hand.
"I know Ram Das," Norah put in. "Him good man."
The Hindu nodded violently. His face was natural again, and suddenly hesmiled at her. "You a meesis?" he asked. "Ram Das say l'il meesis."
"I'm little meesis," Norah said promptly. It was the old man's titlefor her. "Did Ram Das send you?"
"Him send me," said the man, with evident pleasure in finding the word.He struggled again for English, but finally gave it up, and held outhis left hand to her silently.
"Why, you're hurt!" Norah said. "Is that why Ram Das sent you?"
He nodded again, and began to unroll the long strip of cotton stuffround his hand and wrist. It took a long time, and at last he had to godown to the water and bathe the stiffened rag before it would comeaway. Then he came back to Norah and held it out again--a long, hideousgash right up the wrist, torn and swollen and inflamed.
"Oh!" said Norah, drawing back a pace, instinctively. "You poor fellow!How did you do it?"
"Barb wire," said the Indian, simply. "Three days. Him bad. Ram Das,him say you help." With this stupendous effort of eloquence he becamespeechless again, still holding the torn wrist out to her.
"I should think so!" said Norah, forgetting everything in the sight ofthat cruel wound. "Come on up to the house quickly!" She turned to leadthe way, but the man shook his head.
"Woman there," he stammered.
"It's all right," Norah told him. "Come along."
"Small dog," said the Hindu, unhappily. "Them afraid of me." He pointedtowards the house. "Been there."
"Oh-h!" said Norah, suddenly comprehending. She knew Mary. Then shelaughed. "You come with me; it's all right." She led the way, and thehawker followed her. A few yards further on, Norah bethought herself ofsomething, and turned back.
"You must have that covered up," she told him. "No, not with that awfulrag again," with a faint shudder. She took out her handkerchief andwrapped it lightly round the man's wrist. "That'll do for thepr
esent--come on."
Puck, still in a state of profound indignation in the back yard, wasthrown into a paroxysm of fury at the sight of his enemy returning.Norah had to chain him up before the Hindu would come inside the gate.Then she led the way to the kitchen and called Mary.
No Mary answered, so Norah went about her preparations alone--a bigbasin of hot water, boracic acid--standby of the Bush--soft rags, andointment from the "hospital drawer" Mrs. Brown kept always ready. Sheshuddered a little as she began to bathe the wound, while the Indianwatched her with inscrutable face, never flinching, though the pain wasno small thing. It was done at last--cleansed, anointed, and carefullybandaged. Then he smiled at her gratefully.
"Ram Das him say you good," he said. "Him truth!"
Norah laughed, somewhat embarrassed.
"Hungry?" she asked. "You take my food?"
It was always a delicate question, since the Hindu is easily offendedover a matter of caste. This man, however, was evidently as independentas Ram Das, for he nodded, and when Norah brought him food, fell towork upon it hungrily.
Thus it was that Mary, brought from the hysterical sanctuary of herroom by the pressing sense of the necessity of looking after thekitchen fire, and coming back to her duties like a vestal of old, foundher dreaded enemy cheerfully eating in the kitchen, while Norah satnear and carried on a one-sided conversation with every appearance offriendliness, with Tait sleepily lying beside her--at which astonishingspectacle Mary promptly shrieked anew. The Hindu rose, smilingnervously.
"Come here, you duffer, Mary!" said Norah, who by this time had arrivedat something of an understanding of the previous happenings. "He's astame as tame. Why, old Ram Das sent him!"
"Miss Norah, he's got a knife on him!" said Mary, in a sepulchralwhisper. "I saw it with me own eyes. He nearly killed Puck with it!"
"Well, Puck was trying to kill him," said Norah, "and I guess if youhad a wrist like his, you'd defend yourself any way you could, if Puckwas at you! He's terribly sorry he frightened you--you didn't understandhim, that was all. Ram Das sent him to have his wrist fixed up, and hisname's Lal Chunder, and he's quite a nice man!"
"H'm!" said Mary doubtfully, relaxing so far as to enter the kitchen,but keeping a respectful distance from the hawker, who took no furthernotice of her, going on with his meal. "I don't 'old with them blackcreechers in any shape or form, Miss Norah, an' it's my belief he'dkill us all in our beds as soon as wink! Scarin' the wits out of one,with his pink top-knot arrangement--such a thing for a man to wear!Gimme white Orstralia!"
"Look out, he'll hear you!" said Norah, laughing. "He--"
"What talk is this?" said a cheerful voice; and Ram Das, very plump,very hot and very beaming, came in at the kitchen door, and stoodlooking at them. "I sent this young man to the li'l meesis, for that hewas hurt and in pain, and I know the fat woman is kind, and has thebrassic-acid." He glanced at Lal Chunder's bandaged wrist, and shot aquick question at him in their own tongue, to which the otherresponded. The old man turned back to Norah, not without dignity.
"We thank the l'il meesis," he said. "Lal Chunder is as my son: hecannot speak, but he will not forget."
"Oh, that's all right," said Norah, turning a lively red. "It wasn'tanything, really, Ram Das--and his wrist was terribly sore. You'll bothcamp here to-night, won't you? And have some tea--I'm sure you want it,it's so hot."
"It will be good," said Ram Das, gratefully, sitting down. Then voicesand the sound of hoofs and the chink of bits came from outside; andpresently Mr. Linton and the boys came in, hot and thirsty.
Cecil's eyebrows went up as he beheld his cousin carrying a cup to thestout old Hindu.
"It's the most extraordinary place I was ever at," he told himselflater, dressing for dinner, in the seclusion of his own room. From thegarden below came shouts and laughter, as Jim engaged Norah and Wallyin a strenuous set on the tennis court. "Absolutely no class limitswhatever, and no restrictions--why, she kept me waiting for my secondcup while she looked after that fat old black in the dirty whiteturban! As for the boys--childish young hoodlums. Well, thank goodnessI'm not condemned to Billabong all my days!" With which serenereflection Mr. Cecil Linton adjusted his tie nicely, smoothed arefractory strand of hair in his forelock, and went down to dinner.
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