Joe Wilson and His Mates

  I. Spuds, and a Woman's Obstinacy.

  Ever since we were married it had been Mary's great ambition to have abuggy. The house or furniture didn't matter so much--out there in theBush where we were--but, where there were no railways or coaches, andthe roads were long, and mostly hot and dusty, a buggy was the greatthing. I had a few pounds when we were married, and was going to getone then; but new buggies went high, and another party got hold of asecond-hand one that I'd had my eye on, so Mary thought it over and atlast she said, 'Never mind the buggy, Joe; get a sewing-machine and I'llbe satisfied. I'll want the machine more than the buggy, for a while.Wait till we're better off.'

  After that, whenever I took a contract--to put up a fence or wool-shed,or sink a dam or something--Mary would say, 'You ought to knock a buggyout of this job, Joe;' but something always turned up--bad weather orsickness. Once I cut my foot with the adze and was laid up; and, anothertime, a dam I was making was washed away by a flood before I finishedit. Then Mary would say, 'Ah, well--never mind, Joe. Wait till we arebetter off.' But she felt it hard the time I built a wool-shed anddidn't get paid for it, for we'd as good as settled about anothersecond-hand buggy then.

  I always had a fancy for carpentering, and was handy with tools. I madea spring-cart--body and wheels--in spare time, out of colonial hardwood,and got Little the blacksmith to do the ironwork; I painted the cartmyself. It wasn't much lighter than one of the tip-drays I had, but itWAS a spring-cart, and Mary pretended to be satisfied with it: anyway, Ididn't hear any more of the buggy for a while.

  I sold that cart, for fourteen pounds, to a Chinese gardener who wanteda strong cart to carry his vegetables round through the Bush. It wasjust before our first youngster came: I told Mary that I wanted themoney in case of extra expense--and she didn't fret much at losingthat cart. But the fact was, that I was going to make another try fora buggy, as a present for Mary when the child was born. I thought ofgetting the turn-out while she was laid up, keeping it dark from hertill she was on her feet again, and then showing her the buggy standingin the shed. But she had a bad time, and I had to have the doctorregularly, and get a proper nurse, and a lot of things extra; so thebuggy idea was knocked on the head. I was set on it, too: I'd thought ofhow, when Mary was up and getting strong, I'd say one morning, 'Go roundand have a look in the shed, Mary; I've got a few fowls for you,' orsomething like that--and follow her round to watch her eyes when she sawthe buggy. I never told Mary about that--it wouldn't have done any good.

  Later on I got some good timber--mostly scraps that were given tome--and made a light body for a spring-cart. Galletly, the coach-builderat Cudgeegong, had got a dozen pairs of American hickory wheels up fromSydney, for light spring-carts, and he let me have a pair for cost priceand carriage. I got him to iron the cart, and he put it throughthe paint-shop for nothing. He sent it out, too, at the tail of TomTarrant's big van--to increase the surprise. We were swells then fora while; I heard no more of a buggy until after we'd been settled atLahey's Creek for a couple of years.

  I told you how I went into the carrying line, and took up a selection atLahey's Creek--for a run for the horses and to grow a bit of feed--andshifted Mary and little Jim out there from Gulgong, with Mary's youngscamp of a brother James to keep them company while I was on the road.The first year I did well enough carrying, but I never cared for it--itwas too slow; and, besides, I was always anxious when I was away fromhome. The game was right enough for a single man--or a married one whosewife had got the nagging habit (as many Bushwomen have--God help 'em!),and who wanted peace and quietness sometimes. Besides, other smallcarriers started (seeing me getting on); and Tom Tarrant, thecoach-driver at Cudgeegong, had another heavy spring-van built, and putit on the roads, and he took a lot of the light stuff.

  The second year I made a rise--out of 'spuds', of all the things in theworld. It was Mary's idea. Down at the lower end of our selection--Marycalled it 'the run'--was a shallow watercourse called Snake's Creek, drymost of the year, except for a muddy water-hole or two; and, just abovethe junction, where it ran into Lahey's Creek, was a low piece of goodblack-soil flat, on our side--about three acres. The flat was fairlyclear when I came to the selection--save for a few logs that had beenwashed up there in some big 'old man' flood, way back in black-fellows'times; and one day, when I had a spell at home, I got the horses andtrace-chains and dragged the logs together--those that wouldn't splitfor fencing timber--and burnt them off. I had a notion to get the flatploughed and make a lucern-paddock of it. There was a good water-hole,under a clump of she-oak in the bend, and Mary used to take her stoolsand tubs and boiler down there in the spring-cart in hot weather, andwash the clothes under the shade of the trees--it was cooler, andsaved carrying water to the house. And one evening after she'd done thewashing she said to me--

  'Look here, Joe; the farmers out here never seem to get a new idea: theydon't seem to me ever to try and find out beforehand what the market isgoing to be like--they just go on farming the same old way and puttingin the same old crops year after year. They sow wheat, and, if it comeson anything like the thing, they reap and thresh it; if it doesn't,they mow it for hay--and some of 'em don't have the brains to do that intime. Now, I was looking at that bit of flat you cleared, and it struckme that it wouldn't be a half bad idea to get a bag of seed-potatoes,and have the land ploughed--old Corny George would do it cheap--andget them put in at once. Potatoes have been dear all round for the lastcouple of years.'

  I told her she was talking nonsense, that the ground was no good forpotatoes, and the whole district was too dry. 'Everybody I know hastried it, one time or another, and made nothing of it,' I said.

  'All the more reason why you should try it, Joe,' said Mary. 'Just tryone crop. It might rain for weeks, and then you'll be sorry you didn'ttake my advice.'

  'But I tell you the ground is not potato-ground,' I said.

  'How do you know? You haven't sown any there yet.'

  'But I've turned up the surface and looked at it. It's not rich enough,and too dry, I tell you. You need swampy, boggy ground for potatoes. Doyou think I don't know land when I see it?'

  'But you haven't TRIED to grow potatoes there yet, Joe. How do youknow----'

  I didn't listen to any more. Mary was obstinate when she got an ideainto her head. It was no use arguing with her. All the time I'd betalking she'd just knit her forehead and go on thinking straight ahead,on the track she'd started,--just as if I wasn't there,--and it used tomake me mad. She'd keep driving at me till I took her advice or lost mytemper,--I did both at the same time, mostly.

  I took my pipe and went out to smoke and cool down.

  A couple of days after the potato breeze, I started with the team downto Cudgeegong for a load of fencing-wire I had to bring out; and afterI'd kissed Mary good-bye, she said--

  'Look here, Joe, if you bring out a bag of seed-potatoes, James and Iwill slice them, and old Corny George down the creek would bring hisplough up in the dray and plough the ground for very little. We couldput the potatoes in ourselves if the ground were only ploughed.'

  I thought she'd forgotten all about it. There was no time to argue--I'dbe sure to lose my temper, and then I'd either have to waste an hourcomforting Mary or go off in a 'huff', as the women call it, and bemiserable for the trip. So I said I'd see about it. She gave me anotherhug and a kiss. 'Don't forget, Joe,' she said as I started. 'Think itover on the road.' I reckon she had the best of it that time.

  About five miles along, just as I turned into the main road, I heardsome one galloping after me, and I saw young James on his hack. I got astart, for I thought that something had gone wrong at home. I remember,the first day I left Mary on the creek, for the first five or six milesI was half-a-dozen times on the point of turning back--only I thoughtshe'd laugh at me.

  'What is it, James?' I shouted, before he came up--but I saw he wasgrinning.

  'Mary says to tell you not to forget to bring a hoe out with you.'

  'You clear off home!' I said, 'or I'll lay
the whip about your younghide; and don't come riding after me again as if the run was on fire.'

  'Well, you needn't get shirty with me!' he said. '*I* don't want to haveanything to do with a hoe.' And he rode off.

  I DID get thinking about those potatoes, though I hadn't meant to. Iknew of an independent man in that district who'd made his money outof a crop of potatoes; but that was away back in the roaring'Fifties--'54--when spuds went up to twenty-eight shillings ahundredweight (in Sydney), on account of the gold rush. We might getgood rain now, and, anyway, it wouldn't cost much to put the potatoesin. If they came on well, it would be a few pounds in my pocket; if thecrop was a failure, I'd have a better show with Mary next time she wasstruck by an idea outside housekeeping, and have something to grumbleabout when I felt grumpy.

  I got a couple of bags of potatoes--we could use those that wereleft over; and I got a small iron plough and a harrow that Little theblacksmith had lying in his yard and let me have cheap--only abouta pound more than I told Mary I gave for them. When I took advice, Igenerally made the mistake of taking more than was offered, or addingnotions of my own. It was vanity, I suppose. If the crop came on well Icould claim the plough-and-harrow part of the idea, anyway. (It didn'tstrike me that if the crop failed Mary would have the plough and harrowagainst me, for old Corny would plough the ground for ten or fifteenshillings.) Anyway, I'd want a plough and harrow later on, and I mightas well get it now; it would give James something to do.

  I came out by the western road, by Guntawang, and up the creek home; andthe first thing I saw was old Corny George ploughing the flat. AndMary was down on the bank superintending. She'd got James with thetrace-chains and the spare horses, and had made him clear off everystick and bush where another furrow might be squeezed in. Old Cornylooked pretty grumpy on it--he'd broken all his ploughshares but one, inthe roots; and James didn't look much brighter. Mary had an old felthat and a new pair of 'lastic-side boots of mine on, and the boots werecovered with clay, for she'd been down hustling James to get a rottenold stump out of the way by the time Corny came round with his nextfurrow.

  'I thought I'd make the boots easy for you, Joe,' said Mary.

  'It's all right, Mary,' I said. 'I'm not going to growl.' Those bootswere a bone of contention between us; but she generally got them offbefore I got home.

  Her face fell a little when she saw the plough and harrow in the waggon,but I said that would be all right--we'd want a plough anyway.

  'I thought you wanted old Corny to plough the ground,' she said.

  'I never said so.'

  'But when I sent Jim after you about the hoe to put the spuds in, youdidn't say you wouldn't bring it,' she said.

  I had a few days at home, and entered into the spirit of the thing. WhenCorny was done, James and I cross-ploughed the land, and got a stump ortwo, a big log, and some scrub out of the way at the upper end and addednearly an acre, and ploughed that. James was all right at most Bushwork:he'd bullock so long as the novelty lasted; he liked ploughing orfencing, or any graft he could make a show at. He didn't care forgrubbing out stumps, or splitting posts and rails. We sliced thepotatoes of an evening--and there was trouble between Mary and Jamesover cutting through the 'eyes'. There was no time for the hoe--andbesides it wasn't a novelty to James--so I just ran furrows and theydropped the spuds in behind me, and I turned another furrow over them,and ran the harrow over the ground. I think I hilled those spuds, too,with furrows--or a crop of Indian corn I put in later on.

  It rained heavens-hard for over a week: we had regular showers allthrough, and it was the finest crop of potatoes ever seen in thedistrict. I believe at first Mary used to slip down at daybreak to seeif the potatoes were up; and she'd write to me about them, on the road.I forget how many bags I got; but the few who had grown potatoes in thedistrict sent theirs to Sydney, and spuds went up to twelve and fifteenshillings a hundredweight in that district. I made a few quid out ofmine--and saved carriage too, for I could take them out on the waggon.Then Mary began to hear (through James) of a buggy that some one had forsale cheap, or a dogcart that somebody else wanted to get rid of--andlet me know about it, in an offhand way.