THE GROG SHANTY.

New Zealand Times, Volume XXX, Issue 4611, 31 December 1875, Page 3

THE GROG SHANTY.

(By an “ Old Chum ’’ in the Queenslander.) “ Going to have a storm to-night, and consequently a wet camp.” How often this happens to the Australian traveller need not be told to the Australian reader. Not a night, wet or dry, passes that hundreds of men, aye, and women and children, are not lying under the trees, with the heavens for a mosquito-net, and a pile of grass or leaves for a bed. On a pleasant night, with equally pleasant company, plenty of good cheer, and no fear of an attack from wild blacks, this sort of camping out is far from unpleasant; but let a heavy storm come on, let the ration bag be empty, and the position is, to say the least, unenviable. It is on occasions like this that the faint glimmering light which indicates the proximity of the grog shanty is hailed with delight, and all haste is made to reach the welcome shelter. The welcome shelter in question very often is a mere shelter. The grog shanty is not intended to be a refuge for man and beast, although the greater the beast (figuratively) who claims its doubtful hospitalities, the more welcome he to the dispenser thereof. The sale of intoxicating liquors is legal and legitimate in, these colonies, but there is a small drawback attendant on the realisation of large profits in the grog-selling line. The Government demand payment of a certain sum annually for a license. Now, this annual payment is looked upon by some noble spirits as an interference with the rights conferred on the Anglo-Norman by Magna Charta and they sternly resent the infringement of the charta by selling unlicensed liquor. To imbibe a glass of liquor it is not necessary that a man should be provided with more space than is absolutely necessary for the purposes of squaring the elbow, throwing back the head,

and emptving the fiery compound down the throat. It may, therefore, be well imagined that the grog shanty is merely large enough to contain a long box on blocks as a counter, a little standing room in front, and sufficient room for the rum keg or brandy-case behind. We will scan the rise, progress, and fall of the shanty. .Vnd first, what locality would most naturally be pitched on by the law-breaking shanty-keeper which shall combine three great desiderata —a good drinking mob, secrecy i.e., immunity from police supervision,—and ease of access from the depots of liquors? Obviously the neighborhood o£_ a new diggings, or a thriving pastoral district. An agricultural district is not so suitable because as soon as fanners are settled the lona fide publican settles amongst them, and the sly grog shantv, as it is familiarly called, cannot stand.

The locality decided upon, four posts are placed in the ground, a few slabs are set upright against t.‘ic sapling wall-plate, or else bark is substituted for slabs, and a few sheets of bark are thrown on the top as a roof. A porter case is elevated on a couple of blocks of wood to form a counter, and, lo ! the grog shanty is ready to be stocked. It generally happens that the enterprising architect has about cash sufficient to lay in a stock of say ten gallons of the most fiery 32 o.p. rum. With this he commences business, and lays the foundation of his fortunes. This rum, however, is not to be sold in its natural state. The object of the shanty-keeper is to manipulate it in such a manner that the thirsty soul who imbibes a first glass of it shall thirst still more, and shall in an incredibly short space of time become oblivions of passing events, to the eventual profit of the spirited proprietor. It is in this peculiar manipulation that the secret of success in shanty-keeping lies. Pull up with me at the door of this shanty. We will ride no further to-night, and we shall have an opportunity of studying the modus operandi for transferring the cash from the pockets of the thirsty votaries of Bacchus here assembled to those of the self-dubbed landlord. There he stands—or lounges rather —picking his teeth with his sheath knife. Not a pleasant-looking customer, eh ? Wait a bit ! You don’t see him to perfection yet. Dirty, you say ? Eather. He can’t afford to waste time washing himself or his clothes. He carries on his clothes the stains of many a drunken spree, and on his face the marks of drink and greed. An ugly picture he is, with his drink-sodden face, his unkempt hair, his dirty grimy hands and nails, his bare feet and filthy clothes. “ Good evening mates! Going to camp ? Best have a nip first. I’ll put you right. There’s some gentlemen inside as is going to make a nioht of it—going to knock down their cheques. Come on here chaps ; these two gentlemen’s goin’ to shout.” We have not signified our intention either of drinking or of experiencing the pleasure of paying for drinks for the half-drunken crew who emerge from the stifling den to hooray the fresh arrivals. However, there is no help for it—we are in the hands of the Philistines—we submit. We have come a long distance, a storm is brewing, and a camp-out not to be thought of. Our main anxiety consists in a precious parcel containing a thousand ounces of gold, which lies securely in a valise. Nothing like boldness. We enter the little den which we find to consist of two wretched divisions called rooms, with a sloppy slab table in each. With admirable sany froid, but with quaking hearts, we remove our saddles and carelessly throw them—valise, gold and all—in a corner of the room, and see with satisfaction the grimy shanty-keeper throw a lot of other saddles over them. Now for a common scene in such places. We are invited to drink, and have the privilege of paying for the invitation. Bound and round goes the fiery beverage, the first comers becoming more uproarious and quarrelsome as the fumes of the poisoned rum rise into their brains. My friend, I am thankful that you are a pugilist. In the happy centre of civilisation I view your biceps development with scorn. You have a big arm, and can use it—so can a navvy. There, I don’t envy your superior development. But here, I hail that arm as the Greeks hailed that of Achilles. I feel that there are occasions on which the possession of such a limb, and of the ability to arrange it in certain artistic positions, is a boon not to be sneered at, and this is one of those occasions. Our surroundings are 'seven huge, halfdrunken swagsmen, and a villainous cut-throat-looking grog-seller, and we have a thousand ounces of gold in the comer. Round goes the drink, louder rise the voices, till a huge brute raises himself and swinging a monstrous fist brings it to a position exactly one inch from my friend’s nose. “Yes!” he roars, “talk about ruining the country ! It’s adjective swells like you as ruins the adjective country.” With admirable presence of mind and rare coolness, my friend (I’ll call him S. for convenience of narration) requests the “ gentleman ” to remove his fist, as- he objects to its dirt and odor. “I’ll put my adjective fist where I adjective well please. I’ve a mind to knock yer adjective head off.” S. raised his hand very quickly, and the big bully sprawled on the ground, declining to get up. I fully expect a row, but before the rest recover from their astonishment S. sweeps the pint pots and the rum from the table, quietly remarks that he means to camp on the table, and requests them to remove to the next room. Coolness and pluck go a long way. We slept on that table unmolested, in spite of sundry threats and mutterings from the now thoroughly drunken crew. This is merely an incident en passent, and is substantially true. It might have had a different termination, but a row would not have paid the proprietor of the place, so he plied the liquor and pacified the men. But it is not from the “ swells” that the shanty-keeper ever expects to draw money. He rather avoids them, and professes perfect inability to supply any such with a glass of liquor, should they call at his humpy. It is the lucky digger, the shepherd with a. cheque, or the dissipated, broken-down gentleman, who has just received a hundred or so from a confiding parent in the old country, who bring grist to this unscrupulous cormorant’s mill. Let these once enter his den, and the hocussed liquor will keep them in a half-maddened state as long as he thinks fit. When he considers that sufficient time has elapsed to cause them to have only a very hazy idea of the locality and the time they have spent there, he coolly informs them that they have spent all they brought. If they came with horse and saddle he takes good care to have them just sufficiently sober some day to make out a sale-note to him of these. He presents them with a bottle of rum and turns them off penniless, to seek for work again, when perhaps they will return to him and the process will he repeated. The probable amount of money the liquor really supplied would represent does not probably amount to one-tenth of what is charged by this leech. But are such fools, you say, in the country, ■ to permit themselves to be swindled in this atrocious manner. Scores, my dear sir; scores, hundreds, thousands. Take this other true story in evidence: —A shepherd ou one of the Queensland stations worked well and faithfully for six months. He spent no money, but hoarded all his wages. One morning, returning from the nearest town, the overseer met him trudging away to the same town. On inquiring where he was off to—- “ Oh ! I’m going to town. I shall give my cheque to Mr. M. (naming a publican there), and Mr. M. will take me by the hand and say, ‘ How do you do, John ? I am glad to see you again.' Then he will take me into the parlor and ask me what I will drink, and he will treat me like a gentleman.” “Until your money’s gone,” quoth the overseer, “ and then “ And then he will tell me to go away; but I shall be satisfied. Mr. M. will have been very civil and polite to mo.” Thus for a short period of hollow good-fel-lowship, this hard-working man is proud to be permitted to fill a publican’s money-bags.

No wonder the grog shanty does not lack victims. And so, the ball rolls on. The victims fall into the mesh. The hocussed grog doe.s its devilish work. The original ten gallons have swelled to a hogshead. The keeper of the shanty has plundered his victims till he is rich, and lo ! he turns comparatively honest, and pays for a bush publican’s license. Many years’ licenses has he got out of the murdered souls, who, in their lonely graves in the bush, are waiting, patiently waiting, to rise and witness against those who lured them to destruction body and soul. Ah ! honest publican ! you look the world in the face now. The world does’nt not know your past deeds. Those death-stricken victims of your lust and avarice will testify some day against you and your (forgotten) grog shop.