In the Wool Shed

At last shearing came; and with the shearers there was an old native, whom they had nicknamed Chowbok—though, I believe, his real name was Kahabuka. He was a sort of chief of the natives, could speak a little English, and was a great favourite with the missionaries. He did not do any regular work with the shearers, but pretended to help in the yards, his real aim being to get the grog, which is always more freely circulated at shearing-time: he did not get much, for he was apt to be dangerous when drunk; and very little would make him so: still he did get it occasionally, and if one wanted to get anything out of him, it was the best bribe to offer him. I resolved to question him, and get as much information from him as I could. I did so. As long as I kept to questions about the nearer ranges, he was easy to get on with—he had never been there, but there were traditions among his tribe to the effect that there was no sheep-country, nothing, in fact, but stunted timber and a few river-bed flats. It was very difficult to reach; still there were passes: one of them up our own river, though not directly along the river-bed, the gorge of which was not practicable; he had never seen any one who had been there: was there not enough on this side? But when I came to the main range, his manner changed at once. He became uneasy, and began to prevaricate and shuffle. In a very few minutes I could see that of this too there existed traditions in his tribe; but no efforts or coaxing could get a word from him about them. At last I hinted about grog, and presently he feigned consent: I gave it him; but as soon as he had drunk it he began shamming intoxication, and then went to sleep, or pretended to do so, letting me kick him pretty hard and never budging.

At last shearing time came. Among the shearers was an old native nicknamed Chowbok, though I believe his real name was Kahabuka. He was a sort of chief of the natives. He spoke a little English and was a great favourite with the missionaries. He did no regular work with the shearers, but pretended to help in the yards. His real aim was to get grog, which was always passed around more freely at shearing time. He did not get much, because he was apt to be dangerous when drunk, and very little made him drunk. Still, he did get grog occasionally, and it was the best bribe if one wanted to get anything out of him. I decided to question him and get as much information as I could. As long as I asked about the nearer ranges, he was easy to talk to. He had never been there, but his tribe had traditions about them. These said there was no land suitable for sheep, only stunted trees and a few flats along the riverbeds. The ranges were very difficult to reach, but there were passes. One led up our own river, though not directly along the riverbed, because the gorge was impassable. He had never seen anyone who had been there. Was there not enough land on this side? But when I asked about the main range, his manner changed at once. He became uneasy and began to evade my questions. Within a few minutes, I could see that his tribe had traditions about the main range too. But no amount of effort or coaxing could get a word from him about them. At last I hinted at offering him grog, and soon he pretended to agree. I gave him the grog, but as soon as he had drunk it, he began pretending to be drunk. Then he went to sleep, or pretended to. He let me kick him pretty hard without moving.

I was angry, for I had to go without my own grog and had got nothing out of him; so the next day I determined that he should tell me before I gave him any, or get none at all.

I was angry because I had gone without my own drink and gotten nothing out of him. So the next day, I decided he would have to tell me before I gave him any more. Otherwise, he would get none.

Accordingly, when night came and the shearers had knocked off work and had their supper, I got my share of rum in a tin pannikin and made a sign to Chowbok to follow me to the wool-shed, which he willingly did, slipping out after me, and no one taking any notice of either of us. When we got down to the wool-shed we lit a tallow candle, and having stuck it in an old bottle we sat down upon the wool bales and began to smoke. A wool-shed is a roomy place, built somewhat on the same plan as a cathedral, with aisles on either side full of pens for the sheep, a great nave, at the upper end of which the shearers work, and a further space for wool sorters and packers. It always refreshed me with a semblance of antiquity (precious in a new country), though I very well knew that the oldest wool-shed in the settlement was not more than seven years old, while this was only two. Chowbok pretended to expect his grog at once, though we both of us knew very well what the other was after, and that we were each playing against the other, the one for grog the other for information.

When night came, the shearers stopped work and ate supper. I took my share of rum in a tin cup and signaled to Chowbok to follow me to the wool-shed. He willingly slipped out after me, and no one noticed either of us. At the wool-shed, we lit a tallow candle and stuck it in an old bottle. Then we sat on the wool bales and began to smoke. A wool-shed is a spacious building, laid out somewhat like a cathedral. It has aisles on either side, full of sheep pens, and a large nave. The shearers work at the far end of the nave, and there is another space for wool sorters and packers. A wool-shed always refreshed me with its appearance of age, which was precious in a new country. Yet I knew perfectly well that the oldest wool-shed in the settlement was no more than seven years old. This one was only two. Chowbok pretended to expect his grog at once. But we both knew perfectly well what the other wanted. We were each playing against the other, he for grog and I for information.

We had a hard fight: for more than two hours he had tried to put me off with lies but had carried no conviction; during the whole time we had been morally wrestling with one another and had neither of us apparently gained the least advantage; at length, however, I had become sure that he would give in ultimately, and that with a little further patience I should get his story out of him. As upon a cold day in winter, when one has churned (as I had often had to do), and churned in vain, and the butter makes no sign of coming, at last one tells by the sound that the cream has gone to sleep, and then upon a sudden the butter comes, so I had churned at Chowbok until I perceived that he had arrived, as it were, at the sleepy stage, and that with a continuance of steady quiet pressure the day was mine. On a sudden, without a word of warning, he rolled two bales of wool (his strength was very great) into the middle of the floor, and on the top of these he placed another crosswise; he snatched up an empty wool-pack, threw it like a mantle over his shoulders, jumped upon the uppermost bale, and sat upon it. In a moment his whole form was changed. His high shoulders dropped; he set his feet close together, heel to heel and toe to toe; he laid his arms and hands close alongside of his body, the palms following his thighs; he held his head high but quite straight, and his eyes stared right in front of him; but he frowned horribly, and assumed an expression of face that was positively fiendish. At the best of times Chowbok was very ugly, but he now exceeded all conceivable limits of the hideous. His mouth extended almost from ear to ear, grinning horribly and showing all his teeth; his eyes glared, though they remained quite fixed, and his forehead was contracted with a most malevolent scowl.

We had a hard fight. For more than two hours, he had tried to put me off with lies, but he had not convinced me. All that time, we had been wrestling with each other in spirit, and neither of us seemed to gain the slightest advantage. At last, though, I became sure that he would eventually give in. With a little more patience, I would get his story out of him. On a cold winter day, you may churn and churn in vain, with no sign of butter forming. I had often had to do this myself. At last, you can tell by the sound that the cream has gone to sleep. Then suddenly the butter comes. In the same way, I had churned at Chowbok until I saw that he had reached the sleepy stage, so to speak. With steady, quiet pressure, I would win. Suddenly, without a word of warning, he rolled two bales of wool into the middle of the floor. He was very strong. He placed another bale crosswise on top of them. Then he snatched up an empty wool pack, threw it over his shoulders like a cloak, and jumped onto the top bale. There he sat. In a moment, his whole form changed. His high shoulders dropped. He set his feet close together, heel to heel and toe to toe. He held his arms and hands close against his body, with his palms along his thighs. He held his head high but perfectly straight, and his eyes stared directly ahead. But he frowned horribly, and his expression was positively devilish. At the best of times, Chowbok was very ugly, but now he was more hideous than anyone could imagine. His mouth stretched almost from ear to ear in a horrible grin, showing all his teeth. His eyes glared, though they remained fixed, and his forehead was drawn into a deeply malicious scowl.

I am afraid my description will have conveyed only the ridiculous side of his appearance; but the ridiculous and the sublime are near, and the grotesque fiendishness of Chowbok’s face approached this last, if it did not reach it. I tried to be amused, but I felt a sort of creeping at the roots of my hair and over my whole body, as I looked and wondered what he could possibly be intending to signify. He continued thus for about a minute, sitting bolt upright, as stiff as a stone, and making this fearful face. Then there came from his lips a low moaning like the wind, rising and falling by infinitely small gradations till it became almost a shriek, from which it descended and died away; after that, he jumped down from the bale and held up the extended fingers of both his hands, as one who should say “Ten,” though I did not then understand him.

I fear my description has conveyed only the ridiculous side of his appearance. But the ridiculous and the sublime are close together. The grotesque, devilish look on Chowbok’s face came close to the sublime, if it did not reach it. I tried to be amused, but I felt a creeping sensation at the roots of my hair and all over my body. As I looked at him, I wondered what he could possibly be trying to express. He stayed like that for about a minute, sitting bolt upright, stiff as a stone, and making that frightening face. Then a low moan came from his lips, like the wind. It rose and fell by the smallest degrees until it was almost a shriek. Then it sank and died away. After that, he jumped down from the bale and held up all the fingers on both hands, as if to say “Ten,” though I did not understand him then.

For myself I was open-mouthed with astonishment. Chowbok rolled the bales rapidly into their place, and stood before me shuddering as in great fear; horror was written upon his face—this time quite involuntarily—as though the natural panic of one who had committed an awful crime against unknown and superhuman agencies. He nodded his head and gibbered, and pointed repeatedly to the mountains. He would not touch the grog, but, after a few seconds he made a run through the wool-shed door into the moonlight; nor did he reappear till next day at dinner-time, when he turned up, looking very sheepish and abject in his civility towards myself.

I stood with my mouth open in astonishment. Chowbok quickly rolled the bales back into place. He stood before me, shuddering as if he were terribly afraid. His face showed horror, and this time he was not pretending. He looked as if he had committed a terrible crime against unknown, superhuman powers and was naturally panicking. He nodded, spoke incoherently, and pointed repeatedly toward the mountains. He would not touch the grog. After a few seconds, he ran out of the wool shed into the moonlight. He did not reappear until dinner the next day. When he turned up, he looked very sheepish and was extremely humble and polite toward me.

Of his meaning I had no conception. How could I? All I could feel sure of was, that he had a meaning which was true and awful to himself. It was enough for me that I believed him to have given me the best he had and all he had. This kindled my imagination more than if he had told me intelligible stories by the hour together. I knew not what the great snowy ranges might conceal, but I could no longer doubt that it would be something well worth discovering.

I had no idea what he meant. How could I? All I could be sure of was that his meaning was true and filled him with awe. It was enough for me to believe that he had given me the best he had and all he had. This stirred my imagination more than hours of stories I could understand would have done. I did not know what the great snowy mountain ranges might hide, but I could no longer doubt that whatever it was would be well worth discovering.

I kept aloof from Chowbok for the next few days, and showed no desire to question him further; when I spoke to him I called him Kahabuka, which gratified him greatly: he seemed to have become afraid of me, and acted as one who was in my power. Having therefore made up my mind that I would begin exploring as soon as shearing was over, I thought it would be a good thing to take Chowbok with me; so I told him that I meant going to the nearer ranges for a few days’ prospecting, and that he was to come too. I made him promises of nightly grog, and held out the chances of finding gold. I said nothing about the main range, for I knew it would frighten him. I would get him as far up our own river as I could, and trace it if possible to its source. I would then either go on by myself, if I felt my courage equal to the attempt, or return with Chowbok. So, as soon as ever shearing was over and the wool sent off, I asked leave of absence, and obtained it. Also, I bought an old pack-horse and pack-saddle, so that I might take plenty of provisions, and blankets, and a small tent. I was to ride and find fords over the river; Chowbok was to follow and lead the pack-horse, which would also carry him over the fords. My master let me have tea and sugar, ship’s biscuits, tobacco, and salt mutton, with two or three bottles of good brandy; for, as the wool was now sent down, abundance of provisions would come up with the empty drays.

For the next few days, I kept my distance from Chowbok and showed no wish to question him further. When I spoke to him, I called him Kahabuka, which pleased him greatly. He seemed to have become afraid of me and acted as though he were in my power. I had decided to begin exploring as soon as shearing was over, and I thought it would be good to take Chowbok with me. So I told him I meant to spend a few days prospecting in the nearer ranges, and that he was to come too. I promised him grog every night and suggested we might find gold. I said nothing about the main range, because I knew it would frighten him. I planned to take him as far up our own river as I could, and follow it to its source if possible. Then I would either go on alone, if I felt brave enough, or return with Chowbok. As soon as shearing was over and the wool had been sent off, I asked for time off and got it. I also bought an old packhorse and pack saddle, so I could take plenty of provisions, blankets, and a small tent. I was to ride ahead and find places to ford the river. Chowbok was to follow, leading the packhorse, which would also carry him across the fords. My master let me have tea and sugar, ship’s biscuits, tobacco, and salt mutton, along with two or three bottles of good brandy. Now that the wool had been sent down, plenty of provisions would come up with the empty drays.

Everything being now ready, all the hands on the station turned out to see us off, and we started on our journey, not very long after the summer solstice of 1870.

Everything was ready, and all the workers on the station came out to see us off. We set out on our journey not long after the summer solstice of 1870.