The Geological Spieler

"The Geological Spieler" by Henry Lawson is a collection of poems and stories that reflect the rugged Australian landscape and the experiences of its people. Lawson, recognized for his unique voice in Australian literature, weaves themes of identity, struggle, and resilience into his writing, often drawing on the natural environment and the hardships of life in the outback. The work captures both the beauty and challenges of the Australian experience, highlighting Lawson's deep connection to the land and his keen observance of its cultural narratives.

• Short story

								
  There's nothing so interesting as Geology, even to common and
  ignorant people, especially when you have a bank or the side of a
  cutting, studded with fossil fish and things and oysters that were
  stale when Adam was fresh to illustrate by. (Remark made by
  Steelman, professional wanderer, to his pal and pupil, Smith.)

The first man that Steelman and Smith came up to on the last embankment,
where they struck the new railway line, was a heavy, gloomy, labouring
man with bowyangs on and straps round his wrists. Steelman bade him the
time of day and had a few words with him over the weather. The man of
mullock gave it as his opinion that the fine weather wouldn't last, and
seemed to take a gloomy kind of pleasure in that reflection; he said
there was more rain down yonder, pointing to the southeast, than the
moon could swallow up--the moon was in its first quarter, during which
time it is popularly believed in some parts of Maoriland that the
south-easter is most likely to be out on the wallaby and the weather
bad. Steelman regarded that quarter of the sky with an expression
of gentle remonstrance mingled as it were with a sort of fatherly
indulgence, agreed mildly with the labouring man, and seemed lost for a
moment in a reverie from which he roused himself to inquire cautiously
after the boss. There was no boss, it was a co-operative party. That
chap standing over there by the dray in the end of the cutting was their
spokesman--their representative: they called him boss, but that was only
his nickname in camp. Steelman expressed his thanks and moved on towards
the cutting, followed respectfully by Smith.

Steelman wore a snuff-coloured sac suit, a wide-awake hat, a pair of
professional-looking spectacles, and a scientific expression; there was
a clerical atmosphere about him, strengthened, however, by an air as of
unconscious dignity and superiority, born of intellect and knowledge.
He carried a black bag, which was an indispensable article in his
profession in more senses than one. Smith was decently dressed in sober
tweed and looked like a man of no account, who was mechanically devoted
to his employer's interests, pleasures, or whims.

The boss was a decent-looking young fellow, with a good face--rather
solemn--and a quiet manner.

“Good day, sir,” said Steelman.

“Good day, sir,” said the boss.

“Nice weather this.”

“Yes, it is, but I'm afraid it won't last.”

“I am afraid it will not by the look of the sky down there,” ventured
Steelman.

“No, I go mostly by the look of our weather prophet,” said the boss with
a quiet smile, indicating the gloomy man.

“I suppose bad weather would put you back in your work?”

“Yes, it will; we didn't want any bad weather just now.”

Steelman got the weather question satisfactorily settled; then he said:

“You seem to be getting on with the railway.”

“Oh yes, we are about over the worst of it.”

“The worst of it?” echoed Steelman, with mild surprise: “I should have
thought you were just coming into it,” and he pointed to the ridge
ahead.

“Oh, our section doesn't go any further than that pole you see sticking
up yonder. We had the worst of it back there across the swamps--working
up to our waists in water most of the time, in midwinter too--and at
eighteenpence a yard.”

“That was bad.”

“Yes, rather rough. Did you come from the terminus?”

“Yes, I sent my baggage on in the brake.”

“Commercial traveller, I suppose?” asked the boss, glancing at Smith,
who stood a little to the rear of Steelman, seeming interested in the
work.

“Oh no,” said Steelman, smiling--“I am--well--I'm a geologist; this is
my man here,” indicating Smith. “(You may put down the bag, James, and
have a smoke.) My name is Stoneleigh--you might have heard of it.”

The boss said, “Oh,” and then presently he added “indeed,” in an
undecided tone.

There was a pause--embarrassed on the part of the boss--he was silent
not knowing what to say. Meanwhile Steelman studied his man and
concluded that he would do.

“Having a look at the country, I suppose?” asked the boss presently.

“Yes,” said Steelman; then after a moment's reflection: “I am travelling
for my own amusement and improvement, and also in the interest of
science, which amounts to the same thing. I am a member of the Royal
Geological Society--vice-president in fact of a leading Australian
branch;” and then, as if conscious that he had appeared guilty of
egotism, he shifted the subject a bit. “Yes. Very interesting country
this--very interesting indeed. I should like to make a stay here for a
day or so. Your work opens right into my hands. I cannot remember seeing
a geological formation which interested me so much. Look at the face of
that cutting, for instance. Why! you can almost read the history of the
geological world from yesterday--this morning as it were--beginning
with the super-surface on top and going right down through the different
layers and stratas--through the vanished ages--right down and back
to the pre-historical--to the very primeval or fundamental geological
formations!” And Steelman studied the face of the cutting as if he could
read it like a book, with every layer or stratum a chapter, and every
streak a note of explanation. The boss seemed to be getting interested,
and Steelman gained confidence and proceeded to identify and classify
the different “stratas and layers,” and fix their ages, and describe the
conditions and politics of man in their different times, for the boss's
benefit.

“Now,” continued Steelman, turning slowly from the cutting, removing
his glasses, and letting his thoughtful eyes wander casually over the
general scenery--“now the first impression that this country would leave
on an ordinary intelligent mind--though maybe unconsciously, would be
as of a new country--new in a geological sense; with patches of an older
geological and vegetable formation cropping out here and there; as for
instance that clump of dead trees on that clear alluvial slope there,
that outcrop of limestone, or that timber yonder,” and he indicated a
dead forest which seemed alive and green because of the parasites. “But
the country is old--old; perhaps the oldest geological formation in the
world is to be seen here, the oldest vegetable formation in Australasia.
I am not using the words old and new in an ordinary sense, you
understand, but in a geological sense.”

The boss said, “I understand,” and that geology must be a very
interesting study.

Steelman ran his eye meditatively over the cutting again, and turning to
Smith said:

“Go up there, James, and fetch me a specimen of that slaty outcrop you
see there--just above the coeval strata.”

It was a stiff climb and slippery, but Smith had to do it, and he did
it.

“This,” said Steelman, breaking the rotten piece between his fingers,
“belongs probably to an older geological period than its position would
indicate--a primitive sandstone level perhaps. Its position on that
layer is no doubt due to volcanic upheavals--such disturbances, or

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