Arthur Upfield - Death of a Swagman

“Bit of a gamble,” ventured another of the group. “Bet an even quid no rain holds up the planting.”

“That’ll do me,” agreed the other. “And the winner spends the quid on a glass wreath for old Ted. He’d appreciate a wreath bought with a bet. Ah! Here comes Jason and his turnout.”

Originally the massive body of this hearse had rested upon a horse-drawn chassis, but it had been transferred to the chassis of a motor truck and now was grossly out of proportion. In the roof of black wood was the figure of a woman lying in an attitude of grief prostrate, whilst the once-silvered guide rails now were masked with white ribbon. In front of the hearse body, and dwarfed by its size and magnificence, was the low engine bonnet and the driving seat without back or roof.

Down from this roofless and backless driving seat stepped Mr Jason. He was wearing a top hat of nineteenth-century vintage, the crepe about its middle failing to obliterate its emphatic waist. His frock coat was faintly green down the back and over the shoulders and its hem came two inches below the baggy knees of trousers that had been built for evening wear. The trousers were slightly short for thewearer, and the rear hem of each leg rested with persistent confidence on the top of the rear tag of each elastic-sided boot.

With solemn aspect Mr Jason surveyed the gathered people before striding to the gate and entering the hut.

The driver stayed in his seat. He was a young man with a harelip and deformed body. He wore engineer’s overalls and stared directly away over the engine bonnet, the butt of a rolled cigarette between his lips. A cloth cap, worn peak foremost in deference to the occasion, was none too free of grease.

“Gonnarain, Tom?” asked one of the wagerers.

Young Jason surveyed the sky, rolled his cigarette end to the opposite side of his mouth, spat without removing it, and replied:

“If she does we’re allgonna get bogged.”

Further discussion on the chances of rain was prevented by the appearance at the door of the hut of a clergyman wearing a black cloth gown. After him came bearers bringing out the mortal remains of Edward Bennett, which they placed on trestles in the front yard. The people drew nearer to the fence, the personal mourners, the bearers, and Mr Jason and the clergyman groupingthemselves about the casket. From a book the clergyman began to read the first part of the burial service in a high nasal whine, the end of his every sentence higher still in tone.

Not much more than thirty years old, he would have benefited by physical exercise. He looked flabby when his build and years should have suggested hardness of flesh and resilience of muscle. His pale eyes appeared dark in an unwholesome, square face at present devoid of all expression.

Distant thunder preceded the closing of his book with a sound equally significant. Mr Jason signed with his hands to the bearers, stood back, and then stalked ahead of them out through the gate and to the rear of the hearse. There, with dramatic deliberation, he swung open the glass-panelled doors, stepped to one side, and in his full and rich voice directed the bearers when sliding the casket into the glass interior. He closed the doors with the slow deliberation with which he had opened them.

People began to walk over to the cars. Bony counted five. The minister got into one and was followed by two men. Mrs Fanning and husband boarded another, and a tall, angular woman wearing a Merry Widow hat and a tightly fitting grey costume was escorted by two young boys to yet another car. Mr Jason, standing beside the hearse, waited. He waited until the parson’s car was drawn up behind the hearse and the other cars behind it, and not before he was satisfied that all were in order of procedure did he get up beside the driver of the hearse.

Even then he did not at once sit down. By standing he could look back over the top of the hearse for a final inspection of the mourners' cars. Then, without haste, he surveyed the silent crowd. Being apparently satisfied, he touched the driver’s leg with a foot, and the driver started the engine. Thereupon Mr Jason turned to the front, raised his right hand on high, maintained it there as though he were an orchestra leader, and finally brought it smartly to his side. That was the signal for all drivers to let in the clutch and so begin the last journey for old Bennett. Mr Jason sat down, obviously having enjoyed the drama of the ceremony.

In low gear the procession moved away toward the road to the accompaniment of a long and loud roll of celestial drums.

The small crowd began silently to drift from the tin shack to the only street, silently, for old Bennett had been a sterling character and his generation had been great in Australia.

Unnoticed, Bony walked with the others, now and then glancing ahead to observe the hearse reach the road and turn eastward on to the earth track and so begin the downward run to the cemetery one mile from the township. Once on that road, the pace quickened, so that when Bony reached the end of the street the trails of dust raised by the vehicles hid all within a rising red cloud.

Haste certainly was indicated by the weather portents.

On reaching the police station fence, he stood with blowlamp and paint scraper in either hand, and gazed down the main street to see the Walls of China lying clay-white beneath a vast ink-black cloud from which rain already seemed to be eating up the northern extremity of the gigantic sand wall. The dust cloud raised by the funeral cortege hung steadily in the air above the track, and then abruptly from its left flank dust billowed as the vehicles turned left off the track into the cemetery. Gleeson, who came to stand beside the detective, said:

“They’ll have to make it snappy or they’ll get caught in the rain, and it would be no time, in rain like it is over there, before that track becomes a bog soft enough to stick up a rabbit.”

“Like that, is it?”

“Worst bit of road in the district. What did you think of old Jason?”

“I like him better as a mortician than a magistrate. Look, the edge of the storm is drawing near to the cemetery. Observe how the colour of the Walls of China is changing just in front of the rain.”

“Makes ’emlook like a purple carpet all tuckered up, doesn’t it!”Gleeson said. “I never get tired of looking at that range of sand. It always seems different. Ah…”

Out to the road came the first of the returning vehicles, others coming on fast after it in the misty edge of the rainstorm. Lightning flickered and darted to earth apparently immediately behind the last vehicle to leave the cemetery. Thunder began in a single splitting crack and continued in a prolonged roll, shaking the earth on which stood the township. Above Merino the face of the cloud mass threatened to topple forward and smother the township with snow and ice. From the breadth of a man’s hand southward of it the sky seemed to be without height.

Men were called from the hotel, and they moved to the middle of the street to obtain a less obstructed view of the oncoming motor vehicles.

“Bet a level pound that the doctor gets back to town first,” called one of thegroup.

The ghost of a smile came to Gleeson’s mouth.

“If it wasn’t against the law to bet in a public place,” he said, “I’d back the hearse if I could be sure it was first to clear the cemetery and reach the road.”

Bony chuckled.

“We are inside the station fence, and therefore we stand on government property, not a public place,” he pointed out. “I am having ten shillings on theJasons against the rest of the field, under any circumstances.”

“Well, sir, if you set such an example, who the heck am I to quibble about the side of a fence… or ten bob?” replied the constable. “Sure, I’ll take you.”