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Over the Sliprails-Part7_Henry Lawson(1867-1922)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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seemed by his work to have regarded the original plan with a contempt

only equalled by his disgust at the work of the last carpenter but one.



The wheel was boxed in, mostly with round sapling-sticks fastened to the frame

with bunches of nails and spikes of all shapes and sizes, most of them bent.



The general result was decidedlypicturesque in its irregularity,

but dangerous to the mentalwelfare of any passenger who was foolish enough



to try to comprehend the design; for it seemed as though every carpenter

had taken the opportunity to work in a little abstract idea of his own.



The way they "dock" a Darling River boat is beautiful for its simplicity.

They choose a place where there are two stout trees about



the boat's length apart, and standing on a line parallel to the river.

They fix pulley-blocks to the trees, lay sliding planks down into the water,



fasten a rope to one end of the steamer, and take the other end through

the block attached to the tree and thence back aboard a second steamer;



then they carry a rope similarly from the other end through the block

on the second tree, and aboard a third boat. At a given signal



one boat leaves for Wentworth, and the other starts for the Queensland border.

The consequence is that craft number one climbs the bank



amid the cheers of the local loafers, who congregate and watch the proceedings

with great interest and approval. The crew pitch tents, and set to work



on the hull, which looks like a big, rough shallow box.

. . . . .



We once travelled on the Darling for a hundred miles or so

on a boat called the `Mud Turtle' -- at least, that's what WE called her.



She might reasonably have haunted the Mississippi fifty years ago.

She didn't seem particular where she went, or whether she started again



or stopped for good after getting stuck. Her machinery sounded

like a chapter of accidents and was always out of order, but she got along



all the same, provided the steersman kept her off the bank.

Her skipper was a young man, who looked more like a drover than a sailor,



and the crew bore a greater resemblance to the unemployed

than to any other body we know of, except that they looked



a little more independent. They seemed clannish, too,

with an unemployed or free-labour sort of isolation. We have an idea



that they regarded our personal appearance with contempt.

. . . . .



Above Louth we picked up a "whaler", who came aboard for

the sake of society and tobacco. Not that he hoped to shorten his journey;



he had no destination. He told us many reckless and unprincipled lies,

and gave us a few ornamental facts. One of them took our fancy,



and impressed us -- with its beautiful simplicity, I suppose. He said:

"Some miles above where the Darlin' and the Warrygo runs inter each other,



there's a billygong runnin' right across between the two rivers and makin'

a sort of tryhangular hyland; 'n' I can tel'yer a funny thing about it."



Here he paused to light his pipe. "Now," he continued, impressively,

jerking the match overboard, "when the Darlin's up, and the Warrygo's LOW,



the billygong runs from the Darlin' into the WARRYGO; AND,

when the Warrygo's up 'n' the Darlin's down, the waters runs



FROM the Warrygo 'n' inter the Darlin'."

What could be more simple?



The steamer was engaged to go up a billabong for a load of shearers

from a shed which was cutting out; and first it was necessary



to tie up in the river and discharge the greater portion of the cargo

in order that the boat might safelynegotiate the shallow waters.



A local fisherman, who volunteered to act as pilot, was taken aboard,

and after he was outside about a pint of whisky he seemed to have



the greatest confidence in his ability to take us to hell, or anywhere else --

at least, he said so. A man was sent ashore with blankets and tucker



to mind the wool, and we crossed the river, butted into the anabranch,

and started out back. Only the Lord and the pilot know how we got there.



We travelled over the bush, through its branches sometimes,

and sometimes through grass and mud, and every now and then



we struck something that felt and sounded like a collision.

The boat slid down one hill, and "fetched" a stump at the bottom



with a force that made every mother's son bite his tongue or break a tooth.

The shearers came aboard next morning, with their swags



and two cartloads of boiled mutton, bread, "brownie", and tea and sugar.

They numbered about fifty, including the rouseabouts.






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