Three Elephant Power and other stories(托马斯哈特本顿政参议院的讲话)
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Three Elephant Power and Other Stories
1
Three Elephant Power
and Other Stories
Andrew Barton
`Banjo' Paterson [Australian Poet, Reporter --
1864-1941.]
Three Elephant Power and Other Stories
2
Three Elephant Power
"Them things," said Alfred the chauffeur, tapping the speed indicator
with his fingers, "them things are all right for the police. But, Lord, you
can fix 'em up if you want to. Did you ever hear about Henery, that used to
drive for old John Bull -- about Henery and the elephant?"
Alfred was chauffeur to a friend of mine who owned a very powerful
car. Alfred was part of that car. Weirdly intelligent, of poor physique, he
might have been any age from fifteen to eighty. His education had been
somewhat hurried, but there was no doubt as to his mechanical ability. He
took to a car like a young duck to water. He talked motor, thought motor,
and would have accepted -- I won't say with enthusiasm, for Alfred's motto
was `Nil admirari' -- but without hesitation, an offer to drive in the greatest
race in the world. He could drive really well, too; as for belief in himself,
after six months' apprenticeship in a garage he was prepared to vivisect a
six-cylinder engine with the confidence of a diplomaed bachelor of
engineering.
Barring a tendency to flash driving, and a delight in persecuting slow
cars by driving just in front of them and letting them come up and enjoy
his dust, and then shooting away again, he was a respectable member of
society. When his boss was in the car he cloaked the natural ferocity of his
instincts; but this day, with only myself on board, and a clear run of a
hundred and twenty miles up to the station before him, he let her loose,
confident that if any trouble occurred I would be held morally responsible.
As we flew past a somnolent bush pub, Alfred, whistling softly, leant
forward and turned on a little more oil.
"You never heard about Henery and the elephant?" he said. "It was
dead funny. Henery was a bushwacker, but clean mad on motorin'. He was
wood and water joey at some squatter's place until he seen a motor-car go
past one day, the first that ever they had in the districk.
"`That's my game,' says Henery; `no more wood and water joey for
me.'
"So he comes to town and gets a job off Miles that had that garage at
Three Elephant Power and Other Stories
3
the back of Allison's. An old cove that they called John Bull -- I don't
know his right name, he was a fat old cove -- he used to come there to hire
cars, and Henery used to drive him. And this old John Bull he had lots of
stuff, so at last he reckons he's going to get a car for himself, and he
promises Henery a job to drive it. A queer cove this Henery was -- half
mad, I think, but the best hand with a car ever I see."
While he had been talking we topped a hill, and opened up a new
stretch of blue-grey granite-like road. Down at the foot of the hill was a
teamster's waggon in camp; the horses in their harness munching at their
nose-bags, while the teamster and a mate were boiling a billy a little off to
the side of the road. There was a turn in the road just below the waggon
which looked a bit sharp, so of course Alfred bore down on it like a
whirlwind. The big stupid team-horses huddled together and pushed each
other awkwardly as we passed. A dog that had been sleeping in the shade
of the waggon sprang out right in front of the car, and was exterminated
without ever knowing what struck him.
There was just room to clear the tail of the waggon and negotiate the
turn. Alfred, with the calm decision of a Napoleon, swung round the bend
to find that the teamster's hack, fast asleep, was tied to the tail of the
waggon. Nothing but a lightning-like twist of the steering-wheel prevented
our scooping the old animal up, and taking him on board as a passenger.
As it was, we carried off most of his tail as a trophy on the brass of the
lamp. The old steed, thus rudely awakened, lashed out good and hard, but
by that time we were gone, and he missed the car by a quarter of a mile.
During this strenuous episode Alfred never relaxed his professional
stolidity, and, when we were clear, went on with his story in the tone of a
man who found life wanting in animation.
"Well, at fust, the old man would only buy one of these little eight-
horse rubby-dubbys that go strugglin' up 'ills with a death-rattle in its
throat, and all the people in buggies passin' it. O' course that didn't suit
Henery. He used to get that spiked when a car passed him, he'd nearly go
mad. And one day he nearly got the sack for dodgin' about up a steep 'ill in
front of one o' them big twenty-four Darracqs, full of 'owlin' toffs, and not
lettin' 'em get a chance to go past till they got to the top. But at last he
Three Elephant Power and Other Stories
4
persuaded old John Bull to let him go to England and buy a car for him.
He was to do a year in the shops, and pick up all the wrinkles, and get a
car for the old man. Bit better than wood and water joeying, wasn't it?"
Our progress here was barred by our rounding a corner right on to a
flock of sheep, that at once packed together into a solid mass in front of us,
blocking the whole road from fence to fence.
"Silly cows o' things, ain't they?" said Alfred, putting on his
emergency brake, and skidding up till the car came softly to rest against
the cushion-like mass -- a much quicker stop than any horse-drawn vehicle
could have made. A few sheep were crushed somewhat, but it is well
known that a sheep is practically indestructible by violence. Whatever
Alfred's faults were, he certainly could drive.
"Well," he went on, lighting a cigarette, unheeding the growls of the
drovers, who were trying to get the sheep to pass the car, "well, as I was
sayin', Henery went to England, and he got a car. Do you know wot he
got?"
"No, I don't."
"'E got a ninety," said Alfred slowly, giving time for the words to soak
in.
"A ninety! What do you mean?"
"'E got a ninety -- a ninety-horse-power racin' engine wot was made
for some American millionaire and wasn't as fast as wot some other
millionaire had, so he sold it for the price of the iron, and Henery got it,
and had a body built for it, and he comes out here and tells us all it's a
twenty mongrel -- you know, one of them cars that's made part in one
place and part in another, the body here and the engine there, and the
radiator another place. There's lots of cheap cars made like that.
"So Henery he says that this is a twenty mongrel -- only a four-
cylinder engine; and nobody drops to what she is till Henery goes out one
Sunday and waits for the big Napier that Scotty used to drive -- it
belonged to the same bloke wot owned that big racehorse wot won all the
races. So Henery and Scotty they have a fair go round the park while both
their bosses is at church, and Henery beat him out o' sight -- fair lost him -
- and so Henery was reckoned the boss of the road. No one would take
Three Elephant Power and Other Stories
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him on after that."
A nasty creek-crossing here required Alfred's attention. A little girl,
carrying a billy-can of water, stood by the stepping stones, and smiled
shyly as we passed. Alfred waved her a salute quite as though he were an
ordinary human being. I felt comforted. He had his moments of relaxation
evidently, and his affections like other people.
"What happened to Henry and the ninety-horse machine?" I asked.
"And where does the elephant come in?"
Alfred smiled pityingly.
"Ain't I tellin' yer," he said. "You wouldn't understand if I didn't tell
yer how he got the car and all that. So here's Henery," he went on, "with
old John Bull goin' about in the fastest car in Australia, and old John, he's
a quiet old geezer, that wouldn't drive faster than the regulations for
anything, and that short-sighted he can't see to the side of the road. So
what does Henery do? He fixes up the speed-indicator -- puts a new face
on it, so that when the car is doing thirty, the indicator only shows fifteen,
and twenty for forty, and so on. So out they'd go, and if Henery knew there
was a big car in front of him, he'd let out to forty-five, and the pace would
very near blow the whiskers off old John; and every now and again he'd
look at the indicator, and it'd be showin' twenty-two and a half, and he'd
say:
"`Better be careful, Henery, you're slightly exceedin' the speed limit;
twenty miles an hour, you know, Henery, should be fast enough for
anybody, and you're doing over twenty-two.'
"Well, one day, Henery told me, he was tryin' to catch up a big car that
just came out from France, and it had a half-hour start of him, and he was
just fairly flyin', and there was a lot of cars on the road, and he flies past
'em so fast the old man says, `It's very strange, Henery,' he says, `that all
the cars that are out to-day are comin' this way,' he says. You see he was
passin' 'em so fast he thought they were all comin' towards him.
"And Henery sees a mate of his comin', so he lets out a notch or two,
and the two cars flew by each other like chain lightnin'. They were each
doin' about forty, and the old man, he says, `There's a driver must be
travellin' a hundred miles an hour,' he says. `I never see a car go by so fast
Three Elephant Power and Other Stories
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in my life,' he says. `If I could find out who he is, I'd report him,' he says.
`Did you know the car, Henery?' But of course Henery, he doesn't know,
so on they goes.
"The owner of the big French car thinks he has the fastest car in
Australia, and when he sees Henery and the old man coming, he tells his
driver to let her out a little; but Henery gives the ninety-horse the full of
the lever, and whips up alongside in one jump. And then he keeps there
just half a length ahead of him, tormentin' him like. And the owner of the
French car he yells out to old John Bull, `You're going a nice pace for an
old 'un,' he says. Old John has a blink down at the indicator. `We're doing
twenty-five,' he yells out. `Twenty-five grandmothers,' says the bloke; but
Henery he put on his accelerator, and left him. It wouldn't do to let the old
man get wise to it, you know."
We topped a big hill, and Alfred cut off the engine and let the car
swoop, as swiftly and noiselessly as an eagle, down to the flat country
below.
"You're a long while coming to the elephant, Alfred," I said.
"Well, now, I'll tell you about the elephant," said Alfred, letting his
clutch in again, and taking up the story to the accompaniment of the
rhythmic throb of the engine.
"One day Henery and the old man were going out a long trip over the
mountain, and down the Kangaroo Valley Road that's all cut out of the side
of the 'ill. And after they's gone a mile or two, Henery sees a track in the
road -- the track of the biggest car he ever seen or 'eard of. An' the more he
looks at it, the more he reckons he must ketch that car and see what she's
made of. So he slows down passin' two yokels on the road, and he says,
`Did you see a big car along 'ere?'
"`Yes, we did,' they says.
"`How big is she?' says Henery.
"`Biggest car ever we see,' says the yokels, and they laughed that silly
way these yokels always does.
"`How many horse-power do you think she was?' says Henery.
"`Horse-power,' they says; `elephant-power, you mean! She was three
elephant-power,' they says; and they goes `Haw, haw!' and Henery drops
Three Elephant Power and Other Stories
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his clutch in, and off he goes after that car."
Alfred lit another cigarette as a preliminary to the climax.
"So they run for miles, and all the time there's the track ahead of 'em,
and Henery keeps lettin' her out, thinkin' that he'll never ketch that car.
They went through a town so fast, the old man he says, `What house was
that we just passed,' he says. At last they come to the top of the big 'ill, and
there's the tracks of the big car goin' straight down ahead of 'em.
"D'you know that road? It's all cut out of the side of the mountain, and
there's places where if she was to side-slip you'd go down 'undreds of
thousands of feet. And there's sharp turns, too; but the surface is good, so
Henery he lets her out, and down they go, whizzin' round the turns and
skatin' out near the edge, and the old cove sittin' there enjoyin' it, never
knowin' the danger. And comin' to one turn Henery gives a toot on the 'orn,
and then he heard somethin' go `toot, toot' right away down the mountain.
"'Bout a mile ahead it seemed to be, and Henery reckoned he'd go
another four miles before he'd ketch it, so he chances them turns more
than ever. And she was pretty hot, too; but he kept her at it, and he hadn't
gone a full mile till he come round a turn about forty miles an hour, and
before he could stop he run right into it, and wot do you think it was?"
I hadn't the faintest idea.
"A circus. One of them travellin' circuses, goin' down the coast; and
one of the elephants had sore feet, so they put him in a big waggon, and
another elephant pulled in front and one pushed behind. Three elephant-
power it was, right enough. That was the waggon wot made the big track.
Well, it was all done so sudden. Before Henery could stop, he runs the
radiator -- very near boiling she was -- up against the elephant's tail, and
prints the pattern of the latest honeycomb radiator on the elephant as clear
as if you done it with a stencil.
"The elephant, he lets a roar out of him like one of them bulls bellerin',
and he puts out his nose and ketches Henery round the neck, and yanks
him out of the car, and chucks him right clean over the cliff, 'bout a
thousand feet. But he never done nothin' to the old bloke."
"Good gracious!"
"Well, it finished Henery, killed him stone dead, of course, and the old
Three Elephant Power and Other Stories
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man he was terrible cut up over losin' such a steady, trustworthy man.
`Never get another like him,' he says."
We were nearly at our journey's end, and we turned through a gate into
the home paddocks. Some young stock, both horses and cattle, came
frisking and cantering after the car, and the rough bush track took all
Alfred's attention. We crossed a creek, the water swishing from the wheels,
and began the long pull up to the homestead. Over the clamour of the
little-used second speed, Alfred concluded his narrative.
"The old bloke advertised," he said, "for another driver, a steady,
reliable man to drive a twenty horse-power, four-cylinder touring car.
Every driver in Sydney put in for it. Nothing like a fast car to fetch 'em,
you know. And Scotty got it. Him wot used to drive the Napier I was tellin'
you about."
"And what did the old man say when he found he'd been running a
racing car?"
"He don't know now. Scotty never told 'im. Why should he? He's
drivin' about the country now, the boss of the roads, but he won't chance
her near a circus. Thinks he might bump the same elephant. And that
elephant, every time he smells a car passin' in the road, he goes near mad
with fright. If he ever sees that car again, do you think he'd know it?"
Not being used to elephants, I could not offer an opinion.
Three Elephant Power and Other Stories
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The Oracle
No tram ever goes to Randwick races without him; he is always fat,
hairy, and assertive; he is generally one of a party, and takes the centre of
the stage all the time -- collects and hands over the fares, adjusts the
change, chaffs the conductor, crushes the thin, apologetic stranger next
him into a pulp, and talks to the whole compartment as if they had asked
for his opinion.
He knows all the trainers and owners, or takes care to give the
impression that he does. He slowly and pompously hauls out his race book,
and one of his satellites opens the ball by saying, in a deferential way:
"What do you like for the 'urdles, Charley?"
The Oracle looks at the book and breathes heavily; no one else
ventures to speak.
"Well," he says, at last, "of course there's only one in it -- if he's
wanted. But that's it -- will they spin him? I don't think they will. They's
only a lot o' cuddies, any'ow."
No one likes to expose his own ignorance by asking which horse he
refers to as the "only one in it"; and the Oracle goes on to deal out some
more wisdom in a loud voice.
"Billy K---- told me" (he probably hardly knows Billy K---- by sight)
"Billy K---- told me that that bay 'orse ran the best mile-an'-a-half ever
done on Randwick yesterday; but I don't give him a chance, for all that;
that's the worst of these trainers. They don't know when their horses are
well -- half of 'em."
Then a voice comes from behind him. It is that of the thin man, who is
crushed out of sight by the bulk of the Oracle.
"I think," says the thin man, "that that horse of Flannery's ought to run
well in the Handicap." The Oracle can't stand this sort of thing at all. He
gives a snort, wheels half-round and looks at the speaker. Then he turns
back to the compartment full of people, and says: "No 'ope."
The thin man makes a last effort. "Well, they backed him last night,
anyhow."
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"Who backed 'im?" says the Oracle.
"In Tattersall's," says the thin man.
"I'm sure," says the Oracle; and the thin man collapses.
On arrival at the course, the Oracle is in great form. Attended by his
string of satellites, he plods from stall to stall staring at the horses. Their
names are printed in big letters on the stalls, but the Oracle doesn't let that
stop his display of knowledge.
"'Ere's Blue Fire," he says, stopping at that animal's stall, and swinging
his race book. "Good old Blue Fire!" he goes on loudly, as a little court
collects. "Jimmy B----" (mentioning a popular jockey) "told me he
couldn't have lost on Saturday week if he had only been ridden different. I
had a good stake on him, too, that day. Lor', the races that has been
chucked away on this horse. They will not ride him right."
A trainer who is standing by, civilly interposes. "This isn't Blue Fire,"
he says. "Blue Fire's out walking about. This is a two-year-old filly that's
in the stall ----"
"Well, I can see that, can't I," says the Oracle, crushingly. "You don't
suppose I thought Blue Fire was a mare, did you?" and he moves off
hurriedly.
"Now, look here, you chaps," he says to his followers at last. "You wait
here. I want to go and see a few of the talent, and it don't do to have a
crowd with you. There's Jimmy M---- over there now" (pointing to a
leading trainer). "I'll get hold of him in a minute. He couldn't tell me
anything with so many about. Just you wait here."
He crushes into a crowd that has gathered round the favourite's stall,
and overhears one hard-faced racing man say to another, "What do you
like?" to which the other answers, "Well, either this or Royal Scot. I think
I'll put a bit on Royal Scot." This is enough for the Oracle. He doesn't
know either of the men from Adam, or either of the horses from the great
original pachyderm, but the information will do to go on with. He rejoins
his followers, and looks very mysterious.
"Well, did you hear anything?" they say.
The Oracle talks low and confidentially.
"The crowd that have got the favourite tell me they're not afraid of
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ThreeElephantPowerandOtherStories1ThreeElephantPowerandOtherStoriesAndrewBarton`Banjo'Paterson[AustralianPoet,Reporter--1864-1941.]ThreeElephantPowerandOtherStories2ThreeElephantPower"Themthings,"saidAlfredthechauffeur,tappingthespeedindicatorwithhisfingers,"themthingsareallrightforthepolice.But,Lor...
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