The Story of the Oracle
"We young fellows," said "Sympathy Joe" to Mitchell, after tea,
in their first camp west the river -- "and you and I ARE young fellows,
comparatively -- think we know the world. There are plenty of young chaps
knocking round in this country who reckon they've been through it all
before they're thirty. I've met cynics and men-o'-the-world,
aged twenty-one or thereabouts, who've never been further than
a trip to Sydney. They talk about `this world' as if they'd knocked around
in half-a-dozen other worlds before they came across here --
and they are just as off-hand about it as older Australians are
when they talk about this colony as compared with the others. They say:
`My oath! -- same here.' `I've been there.' `My oath! -- you're right.'
`Take it from me!' and all that sort of thing. They understand women,
and have a contempt for 'em; and chaps that don't talk as they talk,
or do as they do, or see as they see, are either soft or ratty.
A good many reckon that `life ain't blanky well worth livin'';
sometimes they feel so blanky somehow that they wouldn't give a blank
whether they chucked it or not; but that sort never chuck it.
It's mostly the quiet men that do that, and if they've got any complaints
to make against the world they make 'em at the head station.
Why, I've known healthy, single, young fellows under twenty-five
who drank to drown their troubles -- some because they reckoned the world
didn't understand nor appreciate 'em -- as if it COULD!"
"If the world don't understand or appreciate you," said Mitchell solemnly,
as he reached for a burning stick to light his pipe -- "MAKE it!"
"To drown THEIR troubles!" continued Joe, in a tone of impatient contempt.
"The Oracle must be well on towards the sixties; he can take his glass
with any man, but you never saw him drunk."
"What's the Oracle to do with it?"
"Did you ever hear his history?"
"No. Do you know it?"
"Yes, though I don't think he has any idea that I do. Now, we were talking
about the Oracle a little while ago. We know he's an old ass;
a good many outsiders consider that he's a bit soft or ratty,
and, as we're likely to be mates together for some time
on that fencing contract, if we get it, you might as well know
what sort of a man he is and was, so's you won't get uneasy about him
if he gets deaf for a while when you're talking, or does funny things
with his pipe or pint-pot, or walks up and down by himself
for an hour or so after tea, or sits on a log with his head in his hands,
or leans on the fence in the gloaming and keeps looking
in a blank sort of way, straight ahead, across the clearing.
For he's gazing at something a thousand miles across country, south-east,
and about twenty years back into the past, and no doubt he sees himself
(as a young man), and a Gippsland girl, spooning under the stars
along between the hop-gardens and the Mitchell River.
And, if you get holt of a fiddle or a concertina, don't rasp or swank too much
on old tunes, when he's round, for the Oracle can't stand it.
Play something lively. He'll be down there at that surveyor's camp
yarning till all hours, so we'll have plenty of time for the story --
but don't you ever give him a hint that you know.
"My people knew him well; I got most of the story from them --
mostly from Uncle Bob, who knew him better than any. The rest leaked out
through the women -- you know how things leak out amongst women?"
Mitchell dropped his head and scratched the back of it. HE knew.
"It was on the Cudgegong River. My Uncle Bob was mates with him
on one of those `rushes' along there -- the `Pipeclay', I think it was,
or the `Log Paddock'. The Oracle was a young man then, of course,
and so was Uncle Bob (he was a match for most men). You see the Oracle now,
and you can imagine what he was when he was a young man.
Over six feet, and as straight as a sapling, Uncle Bob said,
clean-limbed, and as fresh as they made men in those days;
carried his hands behind him, as he does now, when he hasn't got the swag --
but his shoulders were back in those days. Of course he wasn't
the Oracle then; he was young Tom Marshall -- but that doesn't matter.
Everybody liked him -- especially women and children.
He was a bit happy-go-lucky and careless, but he didn't know anything
about `this world', and didn't bother about it; he hadn't `been there'.
`And his heart was as good as gold,' my aunt used to say.
He didn't understand women as we young fellows do nowadays,
and therefore he hadn't any contempt for 'em. Perhaps he understood,
and understands, them better than any of us, without knowing it.
Anyway, you know, he's always gentle and kind where a woman or child
is concerned, and doesn't like to hear us talk about women as we do sometimes.
"There was a girl on the goldfields -- a fine lump of a blonde,
and pretty gay. She came from Sydney, I think, with her people,
who kept shanties on the fields. She had a splendid voice,
and used to sing `Madeline'. There might have been one or two bad women
before that, in the Oracle's world, but no cold-blooded, designing ones.
He calls the bad ones `unfortunate'.
"Perhaps it was Tom's looks, or his freshness, or his innocence, or softness
-- or all together -- that attracted her. Anyway, he got mixed up with her
before the goldfield petered out.
"No doubt it took a long while for the facts to work into Tom's head
that a girl might sing like she did and yet be thoroughly unprincipled.
The Oracle was always slow at coming to a decision, but when he does
it's generally the right one. Anyway, you can take that for granted,
for you won't move him.
"I don't know whether he found out that she wasn't all
that she pretented to be to him, or whether they quarrelled,
or whether she chucked him over for a lucky digger. Tom never had any luck
on the goldfields. Anyway, he left and went over to the Victorian side,
where his people were, and went up Gippsland way. It was there
for the first time in his life that he got what you would call
`properly gone on a girl'; he got hard hit -- he met his fate.
"Her name was Bertha Bredt, I remember. Aunt Bob saw her afterwards.
Aunt Bob used to say that she was `a girl as God made her' -- a good,
true, womanly girl -- one of those sort of girls that only love once.
Tom got on with her father, who was packing horses through the ranges
to the new goldfields -- it was rough country and there were no roads;
they had to pack everything there in those days, and there was money in it.
The girl's father took to Tom -- as almost everybody else did --
and, as far as the girl was concerned, I think it was
a case of love at first sight. They only knew each other
for about six months, and were only `courting' (as they called it then)
for three or four months altogether, but she was that sort of girl
that can love a man for six weeks and lose him for ever,
and yet go on loving him to the end of her life -- and die with his name
on her lips.
"Well, things were brightening up every way for Tom, and he and his sweetheart
were beginning to talk about their own little home in future,
when there came a letter from the `Madeline' girl in New South Wales.
"She was in terrible trouble. Her baby was to be born in a month.
Her people had kicked her out, and she was in danger of starving.
She begged and prayed of him to come back and marry her,
if only for his child's sake. He could go then, and be free;
she would never trouble him any more -- only come and marry her
for the child's sake.
"The Oracle doesn't know where he lost that letter, but I do.
It was burnt afterwards by a woman, who was more than a mother to him
in his trouble -- Aunt Bob. She thought he might carry it round
with the rest of his papers, in his swag, for years, and come across it
unexpectedly when he was camped by himself in the bush and feeling dull.
It wouldn't have done him any good then.
"He must have fought the hardest fight in his life when he got that letter.
No doubt he walked to and fro, to and fro, all night, with his hands
behind him, and his eyes on the ground, as he does now sometimes.
Walking up and down helps you to fight a thing out.
"No doubt he thought of things pretty well as he thinks now:
the poor girl's shame on every tongue, and belled round the district
by every hag in the township; and she looked upon by women
as being as bad as any man who ever went to Bathurst in the old days,
handcuffed between two troopers. There is sympathy, a pipe and tobacco,
a cheering word, and, maybe, a whisky now and then, for the criminal
on his journey; but there is no mercy, at least as far as women are concerned,
for the poor foolish girl, who has to sneak out the back way
and round by back streets and lanes after dark, with a cloak on
to hide her figure.
"Tom sent what money he thought he could spare, and next day
he went to the girl he loved and who loved him, and told her the truth,
and showed her the letter. She was only a girl -- but the sort of girl
you COULD go to in a crisis like that. He had made up his mind
to do the right thing, and she loved him all the more for it.
And so they parted.
"When Tom reached `Pipeclay', the girl's relations,
that she was stopping with, had a parson readied up,
and they were married the same day."
"And what happened after that?" asked Mitchell.
"Nothing happened for three or four months; then the child was born.
It wasn't his!"
Mitchell stood up with an oath.
"The girl was thoroughly bad. She'd been carrying on with God knows
how many men, both before and after she trapped Tom."
"And what did he do then?"
"Well, you know how the Oracle argues over things, and I suppose
he was as big an old fool then as he is now. He thinks that,
as most men would deceive women if they could, when one man
gets caught, he's got no call to squeal about it; he's bound,
because of the sins of men in general against women,
to make the best of it. What is one man's wrong counted against
the wrongs of hundreds of unfortunate girls.
"It's an uncommon way of arguing -- like most of the Oracle's ideas --
but it seems to look all right at first sight.
"Perhaps he thought she'd go straight; perhaps she convinced him
that he was the cause of her first fall; anyway he stuck to her
for more than a year, and intended to take her away from that place
as soon as he'd scraped enough money together. It might have gone on
up till now, if the father of the child -- a big black Irishman
named Redmond -- hadn't come sneaking back at the end of a year.
He -- well, he came hanging round Mrs. Marshall while Tom was away at work --
and she encouraged him. And Tom was forced to see it.
"Tom wanted to fight out his own battle without interference, but the chaps
wouldn't let him -- they reckoned that he'd stand very little show
against Redmond, who was a very rough customer and a fighting man.
My uncle Bob, who was there still, fixed it up this way:
The Oracle was to fight Redmond, and if the Oracle got licked
Uncle Bob was to take Redmond on. If Redmond whipped Uncle Bob,
that was to settle it; but if Uncle Bob thrashed Redmond, then he was also
to fight Redmond's mate, another big, rough Paddy named Duigan.
Then the affair would be finished -- no matter which way the last bout went.
You see, Uncle Bob was reckoned more of a match for Redmond
than the Oracle was, so the thing looked fair enough -- at first sight.
"Redmond had his mate, Duigan, and one or two others of the rough gang
that used to terrorise the fields round there in the roaring days of Gulgong.
The Oracle had Uncle Bob, of course, and long Dave Regan, the drover --
a good-hearted, sawny kind of chap that'd break the devil's own buck-jumper,
or smash him, or get smashed himself -- and little Jimmy Nowlett,
the bullocky, and one or two of the old, better-class diggers
that were left on the field.
"There's a clear space among the saplings in Specimen Gully,
where they used to pitch circuses; and here, in the cool of a summer evening,
the two men stood face to face. Redmond was a rough, roaring,
foul-mouthed man; he stripped to his shirt, and roared like a bull,
and swore, and sneered, and wanted to take the whole of Tom's crowd
while he was at it, and make one clean job of 'em. Couldn't waste time
fighting them all one after the other, because he wanted to get away
to the new rush at Cattle Creek next day. The fool had been
drinking shanty-whisky.
"Tom stood up in his clean, white moles and white flannel shirt
-- one of those sort with no sleeves, that give the arms play.
He had a sort of set expression and a look in his eyes
that Uncle Bob -- nor none of them -- had ever seen there before.
`Give us plenty of ---- room!' roared Redmond; `one of us
is going to hell, now! This is going to be a fight to a ---- finish,
and a ---- short one!' And it was!" Joe paused.
"Go on," said Mitchell -- "go on!"
Joe drew a long breath.
"The Oracle never got a mark! He was top-dog right from the start.
Perhaps it was his strength that Redmond had underrated,
or his want of science that puzzled him, or the awful silence of the man
that frightened him (it made even Uncle Bob uneasy). Or, perhaps,
it was Providence (it was a glorious chance for Providence),
but, anyway, as I say, the Oracle never got a mark, except on his knuckles.
After a few rounds Redmond funked and wanted to give in,
but the chaps wouldn't let him -- not even his own mates -- except Duigan.
They made him take it as long as he could stand on his feet.
He even shammed to be knocked out, and roared out something about
having broken his ---- ankle -- but it was no use. And the Oracle!
The chaps that knew thought that he'd refuse to fight,
and never hit a man that had given in. But he did. He just stood there
with that quiet look in his eyes and waited, and, when he did hit,
there wasn't any necessity for Redmond to PRETEND to be knocked down.
You'll see a glint of that old light in the Oracle's eyes even now,
once in a while; and when you do it's a sign that you or someone
are going too far, and had better pull up, for it's a red light on the line,
old as he is.
"Now, Jimmy Nowlett was a nuggety little fellow, hard as cast iron,
good-hearted, but very excitable; and when the bashed Redmond
was being carted off (poor Uncle Bob was always pretty high-strung,
and was sitting on a log sobbing like a great child from the reaction),
Duigan made some sneering remark that only Jimmy Nowlett caught,
and in an instant he was up and at Duigan.
"Perhaps Duigan was demoralised by his mate's defeat,
or by the suddenness of the attack; but, at all events, he got a hiding, too.
Uncle Bob used to say that it was the funniest thing he ever saw in his life.
Jimmy kept yelling: `Let me get at him! By the Lord, let me get at him!'
And nobody was attempting to stop him, he WAS getting at him all the time --
and properly, too; and, when he'd knocked Duigan down,
he'd dance round him and call on him to get up; and every time
he jumped or bounced, he'd squeak like an india-rubber ball, Uncle Bob said,
and he would nearly burst his boiler trying to lug the big man on to his feet
so's he could knock him down again. It took two of Jimmy's mates
all their time to lam him down into a comparatively reasonable state of mind
after the fight was over.
"The Oracle left for Sydney next day, and Uncle Bob went with him.
He stayed at Uncle Bob's place for some time. He got very quiet,
they said, and gentle; he used to play with the children,
and they got mighty fond of him. The old folks thought his heart was broken,
but it went through a deeper sorrow still after that and it ain't broken yet.
It takes a lot to break the heart of a man."
"And his wife," asked Mitchell -- "what became of her?"
"I don't think he ever saw her again. She dropped down pretty low
after he left her -- I've heard she's living somewhere quietly.
The Oracle's been sending someone money ever since I knew him,
and I know it's a woman. I suppose it's she. He isn't the sort of a man
to see a woman starve -- especially a woman he had ever had
anything to do with."
"And the Gippsland girl?" asked Mitchell.
"That's the worst part of it all, I think. The Oracle went
up North somewhere. In the course of a year or two his affair
got over Gippsland way through a mate of his who lived over there,
and at last the story got to the ears of this girl, Bertha Bredt.
She must have written a dozen letters to him, Aunt Bob said.
She knew what was in 'em, but, of course, she'd never tell us.
The Oracle only wrote one in reply. Then, what must the girl do
but clear out from home and make her way over to Sydney --
to Aunt Bob's place, looking for Tom. She never got any further.
She took ill -- brain-fever, or broken heart, or something of that sort.
All the time she was down her cry was -- `I want to see him!
I want to find Tom! I only want to see Tom!'
"When they saw she was dying, Aunt Bob wired to the Oracle to come --
and he came. When the girl saw it was Tom sitting by the bed,
she just gave one long look in his face, put her arms round his neck,
and laid her head on his shoulder -- and died. . . . Here comes
the Oracle now."
Mitchell lifted the tea-billy on to the coals.
-THE END-
Henry Lawson's short story: The Story of the Oracle
An Australian story from Over the Sliprails collection
A glossary of Australian terms and concepts
which may prove helpful to understanding this story:
Billy: Any container used to boil water, especially for tea;
a special container designed for this purpose.
Bunyip: [pronounced bun-yup] A large mythological creature,
said by the Aborigines to inhabit watery places. There may be
some relation to an actual creature that is now extinct.
Lawson uses an obsolete sense of the term, meaning "imposter".
Gin: An aboriginal woman; use of the term is analogous to "squaw"
in N. America. May be considered derogatory in modern usage.
Goanna: Any of various lizards of the genus Varanus (monitor lizards)
native to Australia.
Graft: Work; hard work.
Gunyah: (Aboriginal) A rough or temporary hut or shelter in the bush,
especially one built from bark, branches, and the like.
A humpy, wurley, or mia-mia. Variant: Gunya.
Jackeroo/Jackaroo: At the time Lawson wrote, a Jackaroo was a "new chum"
or newcomer to Australia, who sought work on a station to gain experience.
The term now applies to any young man working as a station hand.
A female station hand is a Jillaroo.
Jimmy Woodser: A person who drinks alone; a drink drunk alone.
Larrikin: A hoodlum.
Lorry: A large, low wagon without sides, used for heavy loads.
Mia-mia: (Aboriginal) A rough or temporary hut or shelter in the bush,
especially one built from bark, branches, and the like.
A humpy, wurley, or gunyah.
Native bear: A koala.
Pa: A Maori village.
'Possum/Possum: In Australia, a class of marsupials that were
originally mistaken for the American animal of the same name.
They are not especially related to the possums of North and South America,
other than being marsupials.
Public/Pub.: The traditional pub. in Australia was a hotel
with a "public" bar -- hence the name. The modern pub has often
(not always) dispensed with the lodging, and concentrated on the bar.
Push: A group of people sharing something in common; Lawson uses the word
in an older and more particular sense, as a gang of violent city hoodlums.
Ratty: Shabby, dilapidated; somewhat eccentric, perhaps even slightly mad.
Selector: A free selector, a farmer who selected and settled land
by lease or license from the government.
Shout: To buy a round of drinks.
Skillion: A lean-to or outbuilding.
Sliprails/slip-rails: movable rails, forming a section of fence,
which can be taken down in lieu of a gate. "Over the Sliprails",
the title of this volume, might be translated as "Through the Gate".
Squatter: A person who first settled on land without government permission,
and later continued by lease or license, generally to raise stock;
a wealthy rural landowner.
Station: A farm or ranch, especially one devoted to cattle or sheep.
Stoush: Violence; to do violence to.
Tea: In addition to the regular meaning, Tea can also mean
a light snack or a meal (i.e., where Tea is served).
In particular, Morning Tea (about 10 AM) and Afternoon Tea (about 3 PM)
are nothing more than a snack, but Evening Tea (about 6 PM) is a meal.
When just "Tea" is used, it usually means the evening meal.
Variant: Tea-time.
Tucker: Food.
Whare: [pronounced war-ee] A Maori term for a hut or similar dwelling.
Also: a hint with the seasons -- remember that the seasons are reversed
from those in the northern hemisphere, hence June may be hot,
but December is even hotter. Australia is at a lower latitude
than the United States, so the winters are not harsh by US standards,
and are not even mild in the north. In fact, large parts of Australia
are governed more by "dry" versus "wet" than by Spring-Summer-Fall-Winter.
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