Missing Friends: Being the Adventures of a Danish Emigrant in Queensland (1871-1880)Weitemeyer, Thorvald Peter Ludwig
History
Missing Friends: Being the Adventures of a Danish Emigrant in Queensland (1871-1880)
Weitemeyer, Thorvald Peter Ludwig
Queensland -- Description and travel
in my opinion, the man who would see another die outside his door if he
had it in his power to save him, might also add such small particulars
to the tale as would make his case strong and interesting--especially as
there was a lady in the case. I had doubtless committed a crime which,
according both to the spirit and the letter of Queensland law as among
the greatest for which a criminal is punished. Just imagine how the case
might have appeared in court. There the old grey-bearded super, the
worthy pioneer, and the interesting, inoffensive old lady, who in a
fainting condition, would tell her horrible tales; here a fat, bouncing
Crown Prosecutor; and lastly the two loafers in the dock, whom nobody
knew or would have believed. As after events proved, the super was
either too much of a gentleman or too much of a coward, as he neither
came out and remonstrated with me nor prosecuted me afterwards.
Six weeks after this event happened I was an employer of over a dozen
men, and as time went on I was looked upon as a rising man in that town
toward which I was now going, and no one thought themselves too good to
know me. Among my acquaintances was this same super. He did not at all
recollect me from this adventure; but one day I reminded him, and told
him what I thought about him.
Begging the reader's pardon for this digression, I will return to where
we still sat in the road. While I, for the above-named reasons, perhaps
not clearly defined in my mind, was anxious to be off, and my travelling
companion was writhing with pain before me, an accident happened which I
at the time thought one of the greatest possible misfortunes. My best
horse--my saddle-horse--got drowned in the river. It came about in this
way: ever since the flood the air had been thick with countless millions
of sand-flies; it was so bad that one could scarcely exist unless when
sitting with the head over a fire enveloped in smoke. The horses
suffered fearfully from their attacks, and just then they both became as
it were quite maddened, and galloped straight for the river. I managed
to catch the one, but the other, as if it premeditated suicide, jumped
right in, and being hobbled could not well drown just then, but was
swept down the current and away. Next morning we had eaten all our
provisions and were as hungry as ever. The river, however, was falling
fast. I got on the one horse and tried the river in several places, but
nowhere was it so low that the horse could walk across. I could get
across myself on the horse, but it reared and bucked when the other man
tried to climb on it too; as he could not ride he began his lamentations
again, imploring me not to leave him behind. I had no idea of doing
that, but it cost me not a little trouble to think out what was best to
do. Unfortunately neither of us could swim, and as he was of very short
stature, the river would have to fall until he could walk over almost
dry-footed before he would dare to attempt it. I was a head taller than
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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