UNEARTHLY GROANS — AND A CORPSE

GRUESOME NIGHT ON A MAILMAN'S COACH

In the outback, the mailman is a link with the outside world, and in his travels he has countless strange experiences, but few can tell as eerie a story as 'Far North' tells about a man whose death in a mailman's coach was followed by fearsome groaning.

Sick bushmen often linger in the bush, hoping to get better, without having the slightest idea what they arc suffering from. This man was no exception. His death was attributed to beri-beri. and he died on the mail coach. He had been working on a station near the Queensland border, and for sometime complained of not feeling "too goo."

One day he said, "Look at my fingers." We saw the nails were chalky white, and slowly this ghastly whiteness crept up his fingers. He still worked on, and not until his ankles began to swell did he think of going down.

He was almost 400 miles from the railway, and the mail coach left the station once a week, meeting the up-coming coach at a terminus halfway, where mails were exchanged. By the time he reached the first, and only, bush town nearly 100 miles on the track, the swelling in his legs had become so acute that his lower garments were useless, and the largest outfit procurable was far too small. The coach contained, besides the sick man, the driver and a blackfellow, who was 'horse boy.' The horses were very weak owing to a prolonged drought, and it was necessary to drive long after dark to reach water for the team.

The day they were due to meet the upcoming coach at the terminus was exceptionally hot, and in the afternoon black clouds with muttering thunder drifted up from the west. A few drops of rain fell and the sick man said, 'I hope you get a good rain, but I'll never see it.' He was very ill then, and the driver was a worried man, as his horses were then knocked up and there was still six miles between him and the terminus. The blackfellow was sent on to tell the driver of the 'up coach' to continue on instead of camping at the meeting place.

Darkness came on and the overcast sky made the bush exceptionally dark, and it was lit only at intervals by distant lightning. The sick man was dying, and the driver, after waiting for the end, hobbled out his knocked up horses. It is always best to hobble knocked-up horses in open country, because they will then eat anything around them. If they are free they will walk miles looking for something better and fail to find it.

After many hours' waiting, the non-arrival of the expected coach became another anxiety, as he was also the mail contractor. He was not a nervous man, but his situation was eerie enough. What was he to do with the dead man? He had no means of burying him. Could he legally bury him if he had? He certainly could not take him on in the coach, and he could hardly leave him by the roadside. What had be come of the other coach? Had there been a breakdown, or an accident to the driver? They were not pleasant thoughts. He had had a long day, and it is not easy work driving knocked-up horses.

Dead Man Groaning?

He made his bed at last a little distance from the coach, and tried to forget his troubles in sleep. But he had not long turned in before he was startled by a loud, long groan in the direction of the coach, and he thought. 'That man is not dead.' He went to the corpse, and, striking a match, saw no movement. He felt the body, and it was deathly cold.

He was nervous now, and picking up his bed, went further away, but not to sleep. He had scarcely thrown his rugs on the sand when the same prolonged groan sounded in the darkness. He again went to the dead man and touched his hand — which solved nothing, and served to increase his nervousness. He had by this time given up hope of the other coach coming, as it was impossible to see the track, owing to the darkness, intensified by the mulga scrub, which prevented him from getting any distance away from his uncanny surroundings.

All night, at long intervals, the groans continued, and after a night that seemed an age, dawn broke, and another groan coming from directly over the coach, led him to one of his horses that, in the act of rolling, had thrust his hind leg between the two front legs and over the hobble chain, and had been held in that painful position all night. Had the driver taken his bed to the opposite side of the coach he would have found the source of the groans hours before.

Daylight brought much relief. The other coach came along, having been delayed also by the excessive heat and knocked-up horses. Soon after came the greatest relief of all, when two men appeared on camels. One represented a Government department, and was a justice of the peace. After the usual formality, the dead man was wrapped in his rugs and decently buried, the camel men having the necessary tools to dig the grave.

In that one nights ordeal the coach driver's hair had turned grey, not from actual fright, but from worry. The driver of a bush mail is expected by the bush people to be everything from driver to nurse and undertaker, and his coach to be a general utility vehicle, including ambulance and hearse.— "FAR NORTH."

May I Come With You My Pretty Maid?

Two sisters had just left a country church on a short walk home, when they were joined by an unwelcome youth. Reaching the garden gate, they asked him if he would wait a moment, as they had a present for him. They went into their house and called their mother. 'Mother,' they said, 'there is a little starving boy outside the gate; please, do take the poor mite some thing to eat.' The mother — kind old soul — cut some thick slices of bread, spread them liberally with jam, and carried them down to the waiting 'little boy.' Exit the young man. — 'D.'

Romance That Came To Nothing

A minor mystery of thirty years ago has just been partly cleared up, though there will be regrets in one woman's heart as long as she lives. Aunt Martha was a gay young lady in those days who could have had the heart and hand of any young man for miles round. Her choice fell on Tom ——, and both families approving, the courtship was proceeding in the usual way.

There was to be a ball some distance from her home, and Tom did not know whether he would be able to call for Aunt Martha, but promised to write and let her know if he could, or if not what means he had arranged for her getting there. The letter was due to arrive on a Wednesday, the ball being on Friday, but no letter came. Aunt was naturally upset, and refused to listen to those who said that no letter meant that Tom would come for her. She secured a seat in a neighbor's buggy, and in case Tom should come took her evening clothes and spent the whole afternoon at these people's place.

Now Tom had gone to some inconvenience to be able to take his girl himself, and was not overpleased when he found that she was not at home, it was too late to call at the place where she had gone, as the people might have started, so he drove to the ball by himself. The meeting of the couple, both with tempers somewhat frayed, was likely to lead to fireworks— and it did.

Tom declared that he had written, and Aunt Martha said that no letter had come. Very soon they were accusing each other of telling lies. Angry words and home truths flew back and forth. The end of it was that Aunt Martha said that she never wished to see him again, and Tom declared that he was pleased to hear it, and would do his best to oblige her.

Tom Never Married

Tom went to Western Australia soon afterwards. He never married. A few years ago we saw the notice of his death in the paper. Aunt Martha married and also settled far from home. Time flowed on. Her family grew up and married and her husband died. A few weeks ago she came to visit me in her old home. While she was with us we went to a clearing sale, and I bought some feather mattresses. The tickings were worn and needed washing, but Aunt Martha declared that she would soon put the feathers into new covers for me. An old mattress was opened and sewn to the new ticking; then the contents of the one were, tipped into the other. The ticking of one mattress was very worn, and when we went to lift it a great tear appeared and a cascade of feathers fell over the floor. Feathers — and something else.

Roughly creased and somewhat worn, addressed by a man now dead to the woman now gazing at it, the disputed letter had at last turned up. It bore neither stamp nor postmark, but its non-arrival had been the cause of parting Aunt Martha and her lover. How the letter got into the mattress will never be known, but this is my theory:—

The post office in those days was kept by a couple with a large family. The house was always up side down, and the mother always worried. If she was busy when Tom called she probably put the letter and the money for a stamp aside till she had occasion to go to the room used for a post office, which was some distance from the house. She may have been filling the mattress with feathers, in which case the ticking would be lying open. A young child may have picked up the letter when the mother's back was turned and put it among the feathers. — 'Mymee.'

Too Efficient For Publicity Job

Some years ago the advance agent of a travelling vaudeville show was suddenly taken ill, and had to let the arrangements for a tour of the show drop while he went into hospital. The manager was placed in an awkward position when he received a telegram announcing the trouble, as the troupe was working in a town where it was impossible to secure a substitute, while the delay in getting up an experienced man from the city would have upset all arrangements. He therefore called the players together and pointed out that one turn would have to go and the performer try his hand at a little advance organising for a week or two.

A young artist named Brown volunteered for the job, and promptly set off. He made excellent arrangements for halls and ground to pitch a tent where accommodation was not available, secured quarters in advance at different hotels for the artists, and saw all the local printers along the route for handbill printing and a little advance publicity in the local papers.

His job done, as he thought, he rejoined the troupe and reported everything settled to the manager. The company completed its season at the town it was in and packed up to move on to the next destination. At the last minute, it transpired that Brown had overlooked the players' personal luggage, for the transportation of which he should have arranged. As it was, things turned out extremely awkwardly, for it happened to be a Sunday when the troupe had to move and the goods office at the local railway station was shut.

Brown hired a lorry, piled all the luggage on it, and dashed down to the station and interviewed the station master. 'I want to send as much of this as possible through as passengers' luggage,' he told the official, 'and the rest will have to come on by goods train. I know that you're not supposed to handle a transaction like this on Sunday, but perhaps you would stretch a point in my favor, just for the once.'

Stationmaster Obliges

The stationmaster agreed to meet Brown, provided the latter bought the passengers' tickets immediately and gave him a hand to handle the luggage, as there happened to be no porters on duty. Brown was delighted, and told the stationmaster not to worry about man-handling any stuff. He personally stowed every trunk and suitcase in the luggage office and then offered to assist with the weighing. 'I don't think that will be necessary,' the stationmaster told him. 'Allowing for the eighteen permissible passengers' luggage weights, that stuff won't show any excess. It must be as light as a feather the way you were throwing it around!'

All went well until the members of the troupe went to collect their luggage at the station where they got off. The manager was then met with a bill for £15 for excess passenger luggage. Brown could throw no light on the point and the stationmaster was requested to get in touch with the dispatching station and find out where the trouble had arisen. He went to the telephone and returned with a sympathetic grin.

'The other stationmaster tells me that he let this stuff through as a favor. He weighed it after it had been checked in and found that it was hopelessly over the odds. He's still wondering how on earth your Mr. Brown gave him such a false impression by the easy way he was manipulating trunks that two porters could hardly lift!'

The manager of the troupe went white with rage. 'There's one thing about this episode,' he snapped. 'It will teach me a lesson. Never as long as I live, will I give the job of advance agent to a Strong Man again.' — 'Warrigal.'

Toss Of Coin Saved Outback Mates £120

A few years ago a mate and myself had come into Chillago, in North Queensland, with a fair amount of money between us. We'd been working hard and living a bit rough for several months, so thought we'd sample the comforts of a hotel for a day or two, before trucking our horses and going to where we had intended.

After hobbling out our horses and packing our gear away in a shed placed at our disposal by a chap we knew, we walked into the town to see about accommodation. We tried two hotels, but they were full up. But on enquiring at the third one we were told we might be able to get fixed up if we called back later. It was pay day at the smelters, and on arriving back at the hotel to see about rooms, the bar was crowded, and not being able to locate the woman we saw previously, we walked out again.

'It looks like a full house,' said my mate, 'and anyway. I'd just as soon camp down at the shed as be kept awake half the night with the row of those drunks.' It didn't matter much to me where we slept, so pulling out a coin I tossed it in the air, after intimating that 'heads the shed, tails the pub.'

When the coin stopped rolling and head showed uppermost, my mate suggested we go and have a meal and get back to the shed. This we did.

Fire After Midnight

It was sometime after midnight when we were awakened by someone calling out 'Fire.' Slipping on our clothes as quickly as possible, we made for where the big blaze was, and on drawing nearer we were surprised to find it was the hotel at which we had a chance of securing beds. The fire had taken control, and one woman was burnt to death. Those sleeping in the hotel just managed to escape in their night attire, and several men who were employed at the smelters and who had been paid that day, were unable to even get their money from under their pillows or from where it might have been placed, before rushing out.

I could not help feeling in my pocket to see if my money was there. Between us, my mate and I had about £120 in notes, and it is certain that had the toss of the coin decided the hotel for us, we would have been numbered amongst the unlucky ones who lost their hard-earned money. We decided Chillago was an unlucky place, so we left in the morning.— 'Up North.'

Different From Hum-Drum Wills

Many years ago a resident of a country town sent the following to a local newspaper purporting it to be his genuine last will and testament:—

'I made my will today, and I flatter myself that it is somewhat different from the usual humdrum of such documents. To my next door neighbor, Brown, I have left the earth; he always wanted it, and I was glad to bequeath it to him. To White, who told me I had a good chance of making £2,000 if I invested £100 in his invention, I have left my chance; I hope he utilises it. To Black, who always thought my wife too fine a woman for a duffer like myself, I bequeath my wife; after takes her I hope the Lord will have mercy on him, because I know she won't. To Maude, whom I once met at Mount Gambler, I have left my blessings in memory of one rainy day when I only saw sunshine; I cannot give Maude's other name, because don't know it. That is all. Some people fill their wills with bequests of money. I was not obliged to do that. The modern pirates who supply me and mine with the necessities of life have rendered it unnecessary.'— Tanta-Tyga.