V
As the time for returning from camp drew near, Jack dwelt more and more on this question of the future—of taking up land. He wished so often that life could always be a matter of camping, land-clearing, kangaroo hunting, shearing, and generally messing about. But deep underneath himself he knew it couldn’t: not for him at least. Plenty of fellows lived all their life messing from camp to camp and station to station. But himself—sooner or later he would have to bite on to something. He’d have to plunge in to that cold water of responsible living, some time or other.
He asked Tom about it.
“You must make up y’ mind what you want to go in for, cattle, sheep, horses, wheat, or mixed farming like us,” said Tom. “Then you can go out to select. But it’s no good before you know what you want.”
Jack was surprised to find how little information he got from the men he mixed with. They knew their jobs: teamsters knew about teams, and jobs on the mill; the timber workers knew hauling and sawing; township people knew trading; the general hands knew about hunting and bush-craft and axe handling; and farmers knew what was under their nose, but nothing of the laws of the land, or how he himself was to get a start.
At last he found a small holder who went out as a hired man after he had put in the seed on his own land. And this, apparently, was how Jack would have to start. The man brought out various grubby Government papers, and handed them over.
Jack had a bad time with them: Government reports, blue books, narratives of operations. But he swotted grimly. And he made out so ‘much:
1. Any reputable immigrant over 21 years could procure 50 acres of unimproved rural Crown land open for selection; if between the ages of 14 and 21, 25 acres.
2. Such land must be held by “occupation certificate,” deemed transferable only in case of death, etc.
3. The occupation certificate would be exchanged for a grant at the end of five years, or before that time, providing the land had been enclosed with a substantial fence and at least a quarter cultivated. But if at the end of the five years the above conditions, or any of them, had not been observed, the lots should revert to the Crown.
4. Country land was sub-divided into agricultural and pastoral, either purchasable at the sum of 10/- an acre, or leased: the former for eight years at the nominal sum of 1/- an acre, with the right of purchase, the latter for one year at annual rental of 2/- per hundred acres, with presumptive renewal; or five pounds per 1000 acres with rights.
Jack got all this into his mind, and at once loathed it. He loathed the thought of an “occupation certificate.” He loathed the thought of being responsible to the Government for a piece of land. He almost loathed the thought of being tied to land at all. He didn’t want to own things; especially land, that is like a grave to you as soon as you do own it. He didn’t want to own anything. He simply couldn’t bear the thought of being tied down. Even his own unpacked luggage he had detested.
But he started in with this taking-up land business, so he thought he’d try an easy way to get through with it.
“Dear Father,
“I could take up land on my own account now if you sent a few hundred pounds for that purpose per Mr. George. He would pay the deposit and arrange it for me. I have my eye on one or two improved farms falling idle shortly down this Gum Valley district, which is very flourishing. When they fall vacant on account of settlers dropping them, they can be picked up very cheap.
“I hope you are quite well, as I am at present
“Your affec. son
Jack.”
Jack spent his sixpence on this important document, and forgot all about it. And in the dead end of the hot summer, just in the nick of time, he got his answer:
Sea View Terrace,
Bournemouth.
2. 2. ’83,
Dear Jack:
“Thank you for your most comprehensive letter of 30/11/82. It is quite impossible for me to raise several hundreds of pounds, or for the matter of that, one hundred pounds, in this offhand manner. I don’t want to be hard on you, but we want you to be independent as soon as possible. We have so many expenses, and I have no intention of sinking funds in the virgin Australian wild, at any rate until I see a way clear to getting some return for my money, in some form of safe interest accruing to you at my death.—You must not expect to run before you can walk. Stay where you are and learn what you can till your year is up, and then we will see about a jackeroo’s job, at which your mother tells me you will earn £1. a week, instead of our having to pay it for you.
“We all send felicitations
Your affectionate father
G. B. Grant.”
But this is running ahead.—It is not yet Christmas, 1882.