Pals: Young Australians in Sport and Adventure
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Title: Pals: Young Australians in Sport and Adventure
Creator: Joseph Bowes
Illustrator: John Macfarlane
Release date: December 8, 2013 [eBook #44369]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/44369
Credits: Produced by Al Haines
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PALS: YOUNG AUSTRALIANS IN SPORT AND ADVENTURE ***
Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover art]
*[Frontispiece: With incredible difficulty Yellow Billy
managed to pass his whip thong twice round the brute's
neck--*_*See p.*_* 188. (missing from book)]*
PALS
YOUNG AUSTRALIANS
IN SPORT AND ADVENTURE
BY
JOSEPH BOWES
_WITH EIGHT FULL-PAGE COLOURED ILLUSTRATIONS
BY JOHN MACFARLANE_
LONDON: JAMES GLASS
28 NEWGATE STREET
1910
*CONTENTS*
CHAP.
I. By Way of Introduction
II. The Bushrangers
III. A Desperate Encounter
IV. The Great Match
V. The Big Flood
VI. On the Face of the Waters
VII. The Death of the Forest Monarch
VIII. What the Tree held
IX. The Rescue
X. The Return
XI. The Breaking Up
XII. Down the River
XIII. Off for the Holidays
XIV. Christmas Fun and Frolic
XV. A Bush Ride and its Consequences
XVI. The Dingo Raid
XVII. Dingo *v.* Emu: A Fight to a Finish
XVIII. The Chase and its Sequel
XIX. Concerning Wild Horses
XX. The Brumby Hunt
XXI. The Warrigal's Strategy
XXII. How Yellow Billy broke the Warrigal
XXIII. A Day's Shoot
XXIV. The Corrobberie
XXV. In the Bushrangers' Caves
XXVI. The Explorers
XXVII. A Respite
XXVIII. The Camp by the Sea
XXIX. At the Mercy of the Sea-Tiger
XXX. In and About the Camp
XXXI. Off to the Gold Diggings
XXXII. How they struck Gold
XXXIII. Bullion and Bushranger
*LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS*
With incredible difficulty Yellow Billy managed to pass his whip thong
twice round the brute's neck (missing from book) . . . _Frontispiece_
Suddenly the Forest Monarch topples, lurches, staggers and falls with a
mighty crash
The neighbours saw, far out on the wild, wreckage-strewn waters, a tiny
boat with four slight figures
The emu failed to elude the panther-like spring
Retreating one moment and advancing the following, uttering war-cries
The huge brute lashed the water into foam, and swam round and round in a
circle
"We've struck it rich, I do believe," cried the stockman
Behind the lantern came a voice that more than the lantern, or even
pistol, cowed them: "*Stop! Hands up!*" (missing from book)
The grey gums by the lonely creek
The star-crowned height,
The wind-swept plain, the dim blue peak,
The cold white light,
The solitude spread near and far
Around the camp-fire's tiny star,
The horse-bell's melody remote,
The curlew's melancholy note,
Across the night.
GEORGE ESSEX EVANS
*PALS*
*CHAPTER I*
*BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION*
"Happy season of virtuous youth, when shame is still an impassable
barrier, and the sacred air cities of hope have not shrunk into the mean
clay hamlets of reality; and man by his nature is yet infinite and
free."--CARLYLE.
"Comin' over to-night, Tom?"
"By jings! I'd like to, Joe, but dad said this morning he was going to
shell corn to-night. You know what that means. What's on?"
"Oh! Sandy's stayin' in for the night; so I thought of gettin' Jimmy
Flynn an' Yellow Billy so's we could have bushrangers, an' stick up the
coach by moonlight. If they can't come, Sandy an' I'll go 'possumin' in
the slaughter-house paddock."
"I say! what a jolly lark the bushranging'd be. How'd you manage it,
Joe?"
"We've planned that out all right. We'd get Jimmy Flynn's billy-goat
cart an' the billies. He'd be mailman, an' it'd be gold-escort day.
Yellow Billy'd be the trooper; he's got a pistol, you know. He'd ride
the roan steer he's broken in. Then you, Sandy, an' I'd be Ben Bolt's
gang. We'd do a plant in a lonely spot along the road an' surprise 'em.
I'd tackle Billy, you'd look after Jimmy, Sandy 'd collar the mailbags
and gold boxes, and then scoot with the loot. I think it'd be better to
shoot Billy, so's to make it a bit more real; that's what Ben Bolt'd
do."
"But, Joe, where'd we get the guns?"
"I'd get father's. You'd have to make believe with a nulla-nulla. We
could stick a boomerang in our belts, it'd look like pistols in the
dark."
"But I say, Joe, ole chap, you wouldn't really shoot Billy?" said Tom in
a tone that savoured both of fear and scepticism.
"You're a precious muff, Hawkins! I was just kidding you. No, you
stupid, it's all gammon. The noise the powder 'll make 'll scare the
seven senses outer Billy."
"By golly! it'll be crummie enough. Put it off till to-morrow, Joe, an'
I'll come."
"Can't be done, my boy. Sandy'll not be here, for one thing. Besides,
I have to pull father down to Yallaroi Bend to-morrow. It's his service
night there. Sorry you can't come, Tom. We'll have to do our best
without you."
"Oh Moses! to think that I can't join!" groaned Tom. "Look here, Joe,
I--I'll do a sneak. I'll be here somehow, you may bet your Sunday
breeks," continued the eager lad, as he stepped into the little
"flat-bottom" boat which had brought him over.
"Joe!" he shouted when he had rowed some distance from the shore. "I'll
give a cooee if I can get, an' two cooees if the way's blocked. So
don't start till you hear."
"Right-o!"
The place where these boys lived, moved, and had their being was a
district famed for its fertility, on one of the northern rivers in New
South Wales.
The river itself had many of the elements of nobility and beauty as,
taking its rise in the snowy heights of the New England ranges, it clove
its way eastward, finally debouching into the blue waters of the
Pacific. The river-flats formed magnificent stretches of arable lands;
too rich, indeed, for such cereals as wheat and oats, for their rank
growth rendered them liable to the fatal rust.
Here, however, was the home of the maize, the pumpkin, the sweet potato,
the orange, the lemon, the plantain. Here too, the natural sequence, in
a way, of the prolific corn and the multitudinous pumpkin, were reared
and flourished the unromantic pig.
Fed on pumpkins, with skim milk for beverage, topped off with corn, the
Australian grunter--whether as delicious, crisp bacon, or posing as
aristocratic ham--produces flesh with a flavour fit to set before a
king.
Away from the river-flats the land becomes undulating and ridgy, and
well grassed for cattle runs. In the scrub belts, running back from the
river and its affluents into the hilly country, are to be found valuable
timbers, hard and soft; especially that forest noble, the red cedar.
Cattle runs of large extent exist in the back-blocks, formed in the
early days by that class of men to whom Australia owes so much; the men
who to-day are vilified by those not worthy to black their boots: the
hardy, adventurous, courageous, indomitable pioneer, who more often than
not laid down his life and his fortune in the interest of Colonial
expansion and occupation.
At intervals along the river-banks are small settlements, dignified by
the name of townships. Tareela, the principal village, skirted both
sides of the river, and was connected by a ferry. Here were located the
Government offices for the district, together with the stores, hotels,
school, etc.
Joe Blain, the minister's son, was the leader of the village lads. He
had two pals, who were inseparable from him: Sandy M'Intyre, the
squatter's son, whose father owned Bullaroi, a cattle station situated a
few miles from the town, and Tom Hawkins, a farmer's son, the youngest
of the trio. These boys gave tone and direction to the fun and frolic
of the settlement. Of them it is sufficient to say at present that they
were not pedestal lads.
At this time a noted bushranger and his mate were raiding the
settlements. All police pursuit was futile, owing to the
resourcefulness of the 'rangers. They had a keen knowledge of the open
country and the mountain ranges. Furthermore, they were generally
mounted on blood horses, usually "borrowed" from the surrounding station
studs.
These men had many sympathisers among the lawlessly inclined, and,
strange to say, among law-abiding settlers. The "bush-telegraph" was an
institution in those days. Certain friends of the 'rangers kept them
posted up in the movements of the police, sometimes by word of mouth, at
others by writings on paper or bark, which were deposited in rock
crevices or in tree hollows, known only to the initiated. Sometimes a
young lad, or even a girl, would ride scores of miles across country to
give them warning.
The police were not wanting in bush lore or courage, and in the end
invariably ran their quarry to earth. But an outlaw often had a long
career in crime, owing to the aid given, ere he was trapped. Thanks to
closer settlement, the advance of education, and the general use of the
electric telegraph, bushranging has become a matter of history. The
species is now to be found only in the stage melodrama, the itinerating
waxwork show, or embalmed in literature.
*CHAPTER II*
*"THE BUSHRANGERS*
"_Poins_: Tut! our horses they shall not see. I'll tie them in the
wood; our visors we will change after we leave them; and, sirrah, I have
cases of buckram for the nonce to immask our noted outward garments.
"_Prince_: But I doubt they will be too hard for us."
SHAKESPEARE, Henry IV.
After leaving Tom Hawkins, or, to put it more correctly, after Tom had
paddled away in his punt, Joe Blain proceeded to look up Jimmy Flynn,
the blacksmith's apprentice, and Yellow Billy, a half-caste youth, whose
father followed the occupation of a timber-getter in the ranges. Yellow
Billy was generally employed as yard boy at the Travellers' Best Inn,
and a rough time he often had, especially when the timber-getters were
dissolving their hard-earned gold in alcohol.
One of Billy's duties was to milk the cows and tend the calves. Among
the latter was a yearling steer, which he broke in and rode on the
quiet. Many an hour's frolic the boys had in the moonlight in riding
the steer. This animal had a good slice of the rogue in its
composition, with a propensity for buck-jumping. When in a certain mood
it would be as stubborn as a donkey and as savage as a mule.
After standing, say for some minutes, never budging, in spite of
thwackings and tail-twistings, it would suddenly take to buck-jumping.
Oh, my, couldn't it buck! Woe betide the unlucky rider when it was in
this mood. Torn from his hold--a rope round its brisket--one moment
behold him sprawling over its back, the next whirling through space,
finally deposited with more force than elegance on the turf. All this,
however, was great fun for the boys, who encouraged the brute in its
bucking moods, each mounting in turns, to lie prone sooner or later on
mother earth, amid the uproarious laughter of his fellows.
Billy was the exception. He was a born rider. Unable to shift him from
its back, the brute became quite docile in his hands, and kept its
tricks for the others.
Jimmy and Billy were ready and willing to fill their parts in the bill.
The former, at "knock off," went out to the town common to round his
goats, and Billy promised to be ready, "steered," so to speak, by the
time appointed.
The road fixed upon was the track that led out from the township to a
large sawmill, distant about six miles. It was a solitary road, passing
through a scrub-belt, crossing several minor creeks, threading its way
over a rocky ridge, winding through a rather wild defile, and ending at
the mill; the sort of place, indeed, to present numerous opportunities
for the criminal enterprise on hand. A spot where one could get "nice
and creepy," as Joe said to Yellow Billy, much to that young man's
disquiet.
The plan of campaign was simple enough. Joe, Tom, and Sandy were to set
out as soon as possible after sundown and choose their spot for attack;
while Jimmy was to drive the Royal Billy-goat Mailcart, with Trooper
Yellow Billy a little in advance, as per custom.
The embryo bushrangers, unfortunately, had only one horse between them;
the one Sandy rode to school. Mr. Blain's horse, on which the boys
counted, was being used by the minister to take him to a moonlight
service some distance out from the river. It was settled, therefore,
that the three boys should bestride Sandy's stout cob, which was well
able to carry these juvenile desperadoes.
"Mother!" shouted Joe, as he strode into the house in the late
afternoon, from the wood-pile, where he had been chopping the next day's
supply, "we're going to have grand fun to-night."
"What sort of fun, my son?"
"Bushranging along the sawmill road. Can I go mother? We've got such a
grand plot."
"Well, I don't mind; but don't be out late."
"S'pose I can have the gun?"
"The g-u-n!"
"Yes, mother. No need to fear. It's all play."
"Well, don't load it."
"Only with powder to make a bang."
"I don't like the idea, my boy. Gun accidents often happen in play.
You remember Jim Andrews----"
"Oh yes, mother, but that's different! It was loaded."
In the end, owing to the boy's importunity, Mrs. Blain reluctantly
consented.
Early tea being duly dispatched, the boys made the necessary
preparations for their dark deed. Joe produced a pair of knee-boots,
the some time property of his father. He made them fit by sticking rags
into the toes. He thrust his trousers' legs into the boot-tops, and
wound a red scarf round his waist, through which he stuck a boomerang
and nulla-nulla. A 'possum-skin cap adorned his head. His final act
was to fasten on a corn-tassel moustache, and to strap his gun across
his back. The broad effect of the costume was to make this youthful
outlaw a cross, as it were, between Robinson Crusoe and a Greek brigand.
Indeed he quite terrified his two sisters, as he suddenly entered the
sitting-room to the accompaniment of a blood-curdling yell. This the
girls match with a shriek that wakes up the sleeping baby, bringing the
mother in with a rush.
For a moment Mrs. Blain, seeing Joe in the half-light, thought some
ruffian had entered.
"It's very thoughtless and wrong of you, Joe, to frighten your sisters.
I--I--I'm quite angry with you----"
"Very sorry, mater," said Joe, with a serio-comic air. "I only meant to
give them a start."
The girls, however, began to laugh, Joe looked such an oddity. They
turned the tables on him by quizzing him most unmercifully. At last our
young hero was very glad to beat a retreat to the backyard, where he
found Sandy busy in saddling the horse.
Joe's confederate had roughened himself as much as circumstances
permitted. In lieu of a skin cap he tied a big handkerchief round his
hat, and stuck a couple of turkey-tail feathers through it. He had
manufactured a brace of pistols out of short lengths of bamboo, with
corn-cobs, stuck in bored holes at an angle, to form the stocks. These,
with a boomerang and nulla-nulla slung at either side, and a short spear
fixed in his belt at the back and standing over his head, made him in
appearance more like a red Indian than a Colonial free-booter.
"All ready, Hawkeye?"
"Yes, ole pal. The mustang is waiting, and the brave will vault into
the saddle at Thundercloud's word of command," answered Hawkeye in
bastard Cooperese. Fenimore of that ilk was Sandy's favourite author.
"Hast thou heard the signal of Red Murphy?" said Joe, falling into the
strain of speech.
"No, Thundercloud. No sound from our brither of the hither shore hath
been borne on the wings of the wind across the----"
"Oh, stow that rot, Sand--Hawkeye! I wonder?----"
"Yon's the cry of the chiel," broke in the would-be brave, as at that
moment the cooee of Tom Hawkins, alias Red Murphy, rose in the still
air, faint from the distance, but distinct.
"A single cooee! Rippin! he's comin'. Let's mount and wait at the
landing."
Hardly had the boys reached the river-bank ere Red Murphy appeared,
attired much as the others, with the addition of an old blunderbuss
belonging to his father.
"It's all right, boys! Hurroar! Dad broke the handle of the
corn-sheller this evening, and sent me over with it to the blacksmith's.
I'm to wait till it's mended. Wait a jiff an' I'll be with you," cried
he, as he ran to the smithy, returning as fast as his legs could bring
him, with the news that the broken handle could not be repaired under
three hours owing to other urgent work.
Joe rapidly detailed the plan, informing Tom, at the same time, that his
name and character were to be that of Red Murphy, one of the
blood-thirstiest and most rapacious cut-throats in the Colonies.
*CHAPTER III*
*A DESPERATE ENCOUNTER*
"_Falstaff_: I am a rogue if I were not at half-sword with a dozen of
them two hours together. I have 'scaped by miracle. I am eight times
thrust through the doublet; four through the hose; my buckler cut
through; my sword hacked like a handsaw _ecce signum_. I never dealt
better since I was a man; all would not do."--SHAKESPEARE, _Henry IV_.
Joe had barely made his explanations before the rumbling of the
approaching cart was heard. It was the Royal Mail starting on its
adventurous trip.
"Time to be off, pals!" cried the leader. "Now then, Hawkeye, whip 'em
up."
Off started the trio, Thundercloud, Hawkeye, and Red Murphy; each
delivering a blood-curdling yell which rang up and down the street, as
they passed through it at a smart canter. It had never fallen to the
lot of horse, before, to bear upon its back at the same time three such
ferocious outlaws, bent on so diabolical an errand. Behind them, and at
a slower pace, came the Royal Mail goatcart, drawn by four strong
billies, skilfully driven by coachman Jimmy, and attended by Trooper
Billy astride his cud-chewing steed.
After leaving the township the road skirted the river for a mile or so,
then, crossing a plank bridge, bore away to the hills. The silver moon
shone from the clear sky through the pure air, making the tree shadows
as they lay across the road to resemble fallen timber. The nocturnal
'possum, having ventured to the ground to feed upon the tender grass,
scudded up the trees, frightened by the rumbling vehicle and the baaing
steeds. The thud of paddy-melon[#] and wallaby could be distinctly
heard, as they smote the earth in their jumping movements; while from
the heights of some lofty tree the mopoke[#] tolled his mournful cry.
[#] "Paddy-melon," a small marsupial or pouch-bearing mammal.
[#] "Mopoke," the Australian crested goat-sucker.
The coach had now passed the three-mile creek, and still there was no
sound of disturbing element. The coachman and trooper, having
intelligence to the effect that the 'rangers were "out," and had
threatened to "stick" up the gold-escort, were on the _qui vive_. They
surmised that the attack would come in the scrub-belt, and about the
spot where the creek intersected. Here the tall, overhanging trees,
interlaced as they were with a thick vinous growth, effectually barred
the moon's rays.
It was the ideal spot for ambush, and the hearts of the boys beat
faster, and a nervous apprehension amounting to fear seized them, as
they passed among the shadows. Everything had a distorted appearance,
and again and again they trembled, as it were, on the verge of attack.
They had chatted freely until the darkness of the scrub closed in upon
them. Under its oppression, and by reason of the dread uncertainty,
what had before seemed to be only a prime lark now presented itself as a
grim reality.
They drove on slowly now, conversing only in whispers, for the night
silences, the deepening shadows, and the unseen before them, all
contributed to the mental mood which affected the boys. The creek banks
and bed, save for a solitary moon-ray which silvered the rippling water,
were enwrapped in thick darkness. Pulling up at the brink, the boys
held a short conversation.
"Goin' ter cross, Jimmy?"
"I--I--s'pose so, Billy. Measly black ahead, ain't it?"
"You're not frightened, are you?"
"Wot! me? No fear! Y'are yourself!"
"I like that! Wot's to be frightened of?"
Yet the boys, if truth be told, were a good deal alarmed by the unwonted
darkness and stillness.
"Well, s'pose we'd better be gettin' on. Don't care how soon we git
outer this hole. You cross ahead, Billy, an' do a bit o' scoutin'.
I'll wait here till you git up the bank on the other side."
Yellow Billy didn't like the prospect, and would have proposed turning
back, but was afraid of being called a coward. Therefore, despite an
apprehension of the darkness, accentuated by his aboriginal strain, and
very much against his will, the half-caste plunged down the creek bed,
and mounted the other side without let or hindrance, greatly to his
surprise and relief.
But where are the 'rangers?
Of them the darkness gave no token and the silence is unbroken. Jimmy
had some difficulty in getting his leaders to tackle the creek. It was
only after he left the cart, seized their heads, and half-dragged them
into the water that he effected his purpose. The scrub thinned out
shortly after passing the creek, and the spirits of the boys rose with
the increasing moonlight.
"They missed a grand charnce at the crick, Billy!"
"By dad, they did that! I wonder where they are. P'raps they've given
us the slip."
The road took a sudden turn just here, leading over a rocky ridge. At a
farther sharp turn, under the lee of a bank, a big log lay across the
road.
"Hello, here's a go, Jimmy! You'll have to drive round. No! you can't
do that. Wait a moment an' I'll----"
"Bail up!"
The cry, crisp and startling, rang out, as three figures darted from the
shadow of a huge tree which stood near. Thundercloud, the leader of the
band of bushrangers, pointed his gun at the driver. Hawkeye made a dash
at the trooper, while Red Murphy seized hold of the leading billies.
"Hands up!" cried Thundercloud in the highest style of bushranging.
"Your money or your life!"
Trooper Billy was not disposed to yield without a struggle, and at the
first cry he whipped out his pistol, firing at his aggressor point
blank, missing the leader but hitting his confederate, Hawkeye, who
tumbled down with a loud squeal, as unlike an Indian war-whoop as it is
possible to imagine. Simultaneously, Thundercloud discharged his gun at
Jimmy the coachman, who, instead of putting his hands up at the
challenge, began to lash the billies, and had just turned them off the
log, when--pop, crash! went the two weapons.
And now the unforeseen occurred. The steer and the billies bolted!
Down the ridge and along the road they dashed at breakneck speed; the
steer roaring and kicking, the four strong billies baaing, and neither
driver nor rider could control the brutes. Away they scurried along the
rough bush-track, the cart bumping and rocking over the ruts; every jump
of the trap bringing a fresh bleat from the fear-stricken goats.
After racing along for nearly a mile and finding his steed unmanageable,
getting frightened too, Yellow Billy slipped over the stern, and by good
luck dropped upon his feet. It was different with Jimmy, who gallantly
hung on to the billies. The creek was what he most feared, and it was
very close now. He had, however, got a pull on the beasts, and they
were slackening a little, but, as ill-luck would have it, on going down
a gully one of the wheels caught a tree root, and in a jiffy capsized
the cart, sending the driver head over heels into a clump of bracken.
The incident gave fresh impetus to the runaways, who rushed on baaing;
dashing at length down the steep incline of the creek, the cart righted
itself as it tumbled adown the gradient. They tore over the stream and
up the bank, finally leaving the track, and getting boxed up in the
scrub.
After lying in a stunned condition for a few minutes, Jimmy scrambled
up. But the moment he put his weight on his right foot he let out a
yell, caused by the terrific pain that shot through his ankle. It was
unbearable, and he tumbled down in an almost fainting condition.
Meanwhile the outlaws stood aghast at the unexpected and startling turn
of events. Thundercloud was the first to recover his speech.
"Great Caesar! who would have dreamt of a bolt? Just listen to the
brutes!" as the animals tore along, baaing and roaring in a way possible
only to frightened billies and calves.
"I--I--didn't know he'd loaded his pistol. I--I--I thought for sure I
was a goon coon," gasped Hawkeye, who, after lying for a minute under
the impression that he was mortally wounded, got up, rubbing his face
and head, half terrified as his hands became wet with flowing blood, and
only reassured after Joe had declared that the blood was from his nose.
As a matter of fact, he had sustained a smart blow upon his prominent
feature with the pistol wad; his cheeks, also, were scorched with the
powder flare.
Red Murphy, who had just grasped the billies' heads when the guns were
fired, was thrown down in their mad rush, and had his shins severely
barked on the rocky ground.
"Drat the brutes! Oh, I say, here's a go! Listen to the beggars!
Ain't they footin' it?"
"To horse! to horse, pals!" cried Thundercloud, making hasty strides to
a patch of scrub where they had tied up the horse. In a few seconds the
three were mounted and away with a swinging canter, adding their yells
to the cries of the beasts. They were soon up to the spot where Jimmy
had come to grief, when, thundering down the gully, the horse made a shy
at the prostrate coachman, shooting off Thundercloud and Red Murphy.
They scrambled up quickly, none the worse for their spill. Hawkeye
immediately reined in his steed and rejoined his dismounted companions.
The boys were greatly concerned to find Jimmy in this condition. The
affair began to assume a serious aspect. They were no longer outlaws and
police: they were pals, and Jimmy was suffering intense pain from his
sprained ankle. After a short consultation the boy was placed on the
horse, which was led by Sandy. The others followed behind, making a
somewhat mournful spectacle. In due course they reached the goatcart,
now in possession of Yellow Billy, who had disentangled the team and was
waiting for the others to come along. The steer meanwhile continued his
career at headlong speed, until he pulled up at the milking yards in an
exhausted condition. Mrs. Blain, as the hours sped by, began to get
concerned at the non-return of the boys. Concern deepened into anxiety.
She became a prey to evil imaginings, as do all our dear mothers. They
are lost! ... Some dreadful accident has happened! ... That gun! ...
Their legs, arms, necks, are broken! And so on and on, running over the
whole gamut of catastrophy.
She goes out to scan the streets, and listens with strained ears for
some enheartening sound of footsteps. Lights are out in the village.
Even the dogs are sleeping. No shuffle of advancing feet; no rattle of
wheels as they grind in the ruts: no sound, indeed, is borne upon the
night wind save the mystic noises of the flowing river, which fill the
air with a deep undertone. Above this, at intervals, come the splashing
sounds of the jumping fish; the smooth splash of the falling mullet, the
tail flutter of the rising perch. The wood-duck's soft quack-quack, and
the red-bill's chuckle, are to be heard as they move among the sedges.
No landward sound!
Stay! a dark shadow swiftly steals along the earth like a spirit of evil
omen, and passes through the house, across the street, as it strikes the
walls. While from above comes a wail as that of a lost soul.
The poor woman quivers and shivers at the unwonted sight and sound. She
knows not that the apparition is the shadow of a black swan, which is
sailing high up in the heavens; it crosses the moon, and utters its
melancholy note as it wings its flight to the feeding grounds. The
mother is now on the outskirts of the town, under the shadows of the
trees. Every leaf is a tongue; every tongue whispers--Something! which
dries the throat and fills the ears with heart-thumps. "Why did I? ...
That gun! ... What will father? ... Why don't they come? ... Which
track? ... Hark! Yes, 'tis the galloping hoofs ... Oh, God! it is the
steer! ... Riderless! ... This way, then.... On, on, on! ... At last!
..."
"Cheer up, mother ... no harm done ... Jimmy had a bit of a buster an'
sprained his ankle.... Scold us, mother, but--don't cry!"
The hour is verging on midnight as five weary lads, four billies, one
horse, and one thankful woman straggled into the silent township. All
romance, for the moment, had gone out of bushranging.
*CHAPTER IV*
*THE GREAT MATCH*
"God bless the grilling days of cricket!
They're gone but I shall bless them ever,
For good it is to guard a wicket
By sudden wrist and big endeavour."
NORMAN GALE.
"There's a breathless hush in the close to night,
Ten to make and the match to win,
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play and the last man in."
HENRY NEWBOLT.
"Hawkins, stand out!"
"Please, sir, I wasn't doin' nothin'!"
"No, you wasn't doin' nothin', but you have been talking all morning,
you tiresome boy! Write out 'disobedient' three hundred times after
school."
The fact is, Tom was relating the bushranging episode to a schoolmate,
and, like Tom Sawyer, he "laid over" considerably in his recital. While
in the act of enlarging he was brought to book in this peremptory
fashion by the master, and had to do penance with as little relish as
most boys.
"Sorry you can't come out and play, Tom," said Joe Blain, poking his
head into the empty schoolhouse after dismissal.
"It's a beastly shame! What are you fellows up to?"
"Goin' to practise for the Dingdongla match. After that we'll have a
swim."
"Oh, rot it!" grunted the chagrined prisoner.
"Say, Tom, don't forget to come along to-night an' help pick the team."
"I'll be there, never fret."
"Well, so-long. Wire in, and keep your pecker up."
Dingdongla was an up-river settlement; Tareela a down-river town. The
latter named was the older and more substantial place, being the
headquarters of the shipping. As a consequence it was instinct with the
superior air generally to be met with in places of metropolitan
pretensions. In schools, too, the down-river town had the advantage.
Its school building was of sawn timber, with a shingle roof.
Furthermore, it possessed two teachers, and pine desks. While, on the
other hand, the up-river academy was constructed of roughly adzed slabs
and a bark roof.
For the Dingdonglas to be thrashed in cricket by the Tareelians was not
considered to be a disgrace. _Per contra_, their victory was a splendid
achievement, and a great humiliation to their opponents. The latter was
fairly beaten by the former last season, and naught would restore their
prestige save the administration of an unmitigated licking. So, at
least, thought the match Committee, as they conned names, and analysed
the merits of the candidates on the name list.
Needless to say, Joe, Tom, and Sandy headed the list of certainties.
Yellow Billy came next; for though a very irregular attendant at school,
he was a tremendous swiper when he got his eye in. Billy had dragged
more than one match out of the fire.
Saturday morning broke fair. Shortly after an early breakfast a
cavalcade of about twenty youthful horsemen, followed by two teachers in
a gig, were scampering along the bush road to Dingdongla, distant about
nine miles up the river. Oh, the merry, merry days of youth! Those are
the days of the superlative mood.
It was a merry, roaring, romping, racing crowd of youngsters that tore
along the bush track. They jumped fallen timber and gullies; chased the
flying marsupial; and spurted in couples for short lengths. There were
minor accidents, 'tis true. Pincher Putnan's horse, in a fit of
pig-jumping, broke a girth, sending Pincher and saddle to mother earth.
Yellow Billy's half-broken brumby fairly bolted in a race, cleared off
the road, and rushed through a belt of timber at breakneck speed,
towards his native haunts in the Nulla ranges. It was only the superb
horsemanship of the half-caste that saved him from being dashed against
the trees in the headlong flight.
In due time Dingdongla is reached. The horses are turned out in a maize
stubble paddock, where is a fine picking, and the boys stroll on to the
ground to have a look at the pitch.
"Whatyer think of the pitch, Joe?"
"You'll have to keep your eye skinned for shooters Rody. The ball'll
keep very low. Must keep a straight bat and forward play."
The stumps, like much of the material, were home-made. The Dingdonglas
had only one "spring handle"; the others were chopped out of beech
boards. The Tareelians were not much better off for material. They, it
is true, had two "spring handles,"--more or less battered,--and could
boast a pair of wicket gloves, but for the rest were like their
opponents, sans leggings and gloves. That, however, was a small item;
for every boy who possessed boots doffed them, rolling his trouser legs
to the knees and his shirt sleeves to the elbows.
"Got all your men, Wilson?" said Joe to the Dingdonglas' captain.
"Yes, they're all here. May as well toss for innin's, Joe."
"Right you are," responds Joe, ejecting a jet of saliva on a piece of
flat wood. "Shall I toss, or you?"
"You toss, Joe."
"Call you!" cried Blain, tossing the board with a twirl skywards. "Wet
or dry?"
"Wet!" called Wilson, as the wood spun in the air.
"Dry!" exclaimed Joe, as it lay on the ground with its dry side
uppermost. "We've won, and go in."
"Tom," said he a moment later, "you and Yellow Billy go in first, an'
you take the strike."
The batsmen were soon in their places, and the Dingdongs in the field.
The innings opened fairly well for the Tareelians. Yellow Billy got
quickly to work, and laid on the wood to some purpose; Tom playing
carefully the while.
Facing the Dingdonglas' swift bowler, after a smart short-hit run Billy
sent a well-pitched ball for four, a rattling, straight-hit drive. But
in trying to repeat the stroke off the next ball he misjudged, and,
skying the sphere, was easily caught.
"One wicket for twenty!" of which the half-caste contributed fifteen.
After this the troubles of the batsmen set in. The Dingdongs were
strong in bowling talent, and possessed a local Spofforth, whose
lightning deliveries shot and kicked in a marvellous fashion. Joe,
going in fifth man, stayed the "rot" for a while, but was foolishly run
out by his mate.
The Tareelians were all out in an hour for the small total of
forty-seven. If the down-river boys were despondent over this score,
the up-rivers were correspondingly jubilant. Going to the wickets with
plenty of confidence, they rattled up ninety-nine before the last wicket
fell; the captain carrying out his bat for a well-earned forty-two.
Adjournment for lunch was now made. We call it lunch by courtesy. It
was a big bush feed. This repast was served in the schoolhouse, the
rough desks being converted into tables, which were literally covered
with good things.
The Dingdonglas' mothers were determined that, whoever won, the boys of
both sides should have a rippin' feed. A stuffed sucking-pig, whose
savoury odour filled the room, lay at one end. Roast wild duck and a
cold pigeon-pie balanced it at the other. An immense round of spiced
beef, standing in the centre of the long table, seemed to say: "You may
cut and come again." Potatoes and pumpkins smoked in big tin bowls, and
all the available space was filled with cakes, puddings, and pies.
Needless to say, the onslaught was terrific. They were all sloggers at
tuck. Meats, puddings, cakes, tea, and ginger-beer disappeared like
magic.
All good things mundane, however, come to an end; especially when the
good thing happens to be a dinner. And now, after divers whisperings and
nudgings, up stood Captain Joe, amid the cheers of his side.
Joe was silent a moment, nervously looking up and down the board, and
heartily wishing himself at the bottom of the deep blue sea. "Mr.
Chairman" (addressing the local schoolmaster), "I--we--that is--us
fellows from Tareela asked me to tell you--I mean to say,
that--that--that--a--it gives us much pleasure--er--er--oh, hang it
all!--I--I mean--er--this is the jolliest blow in the way of tuck we've
ever had." Joe subsided to the rattle of the knives on the bare board.
As soon as the noise ceased, Tom Hawkins jumped up and called: "Three
cheers for the Dingdonglas!" which were heartily given.
Half an hour's lounge, and the battle began afresh.
"We've got fifty-two to wipe out before we start even, boys. We can do
it, and score plenty more to win the game, if we keep our heads.
Anyway, we must have a big try. Billy an' I'll go in first; Tom next,
and then Pincher. The order of the rest of you depends on the way
things turn out."
"Look here, Billy," continued the captain, as the two batsmen walked to
the wickets. "They've got two slashing bowlers, but if we can manage to
knock 'em out they've no one else of much account. Get your eye well in
before you do any slogging."
"All right, Joe! Do me best."
"Your best means steady play and a big score. I'll take the strike."
If Joe was nervous in public speech it was not observable in action. He
played Ginger Smith's fast deliveries with confidence, punishing the
loose balls and blocking the straight ones. Billy, too, was playing
with unwonted caution, and the score, though slowly, was surely mounting
up; until after half an hour's play it stood at twenty-five, with no
wickets down. There were no boundaries, and every hit was run out.
"Oh, glory, what a swipe!"
Yellow Billy had got hold of one of Ginger's leg balls with a mighty
lunge. The ball seemed as if it would go on for ever, and finally
rolled into a gutter. They ran six for it.
There was great cheering among the Tareelians. Mr. Simpson, who umpired,
forgot for a moment his impartial office. Flinging his hat into the
air, he cried, "Bravo, Billy!"
"Thirty-one an' none out. Only twenty-one to get level!"
The boys were now scoring faster; singles, twos, threes were coming with
great rapidity. Joe made his first four, a sweet, square cut.
"Forty-nine an' no wickets down!"
Joe faced the new bowler. The local demon had begun to bowl wildly, and
was relieved.
"They'll never bowl them!" cried young Ben Wilde, as Joe took block for
the new-comer--a lad with a reputation for slow left-hand twisters. The
first ball was pitched on the leg stump; just the ball for Joe's
favourite leg glance.
It went for two.
"Only one to make us even!" shouted Tom to his captain. The second ball
was pitched in exactly the same spot, and Joe proceeded to treat it in
the same fashion. The sphere, however, had a little more twist on it
than its predecessor, and, breaking on to the left bail, flicked it off.
There was a great chorus of disappointment among the Tareelians, and
hearty cheers from their opponents, as the captain's wicket fell. His
twenty-one, got by true cricket, was worth twice that number by reason
of the spirit of confidence he had infused.
Billy and Tom carried the score to seventy-three, when the latter was
caught for ten. Pincher fell a victim to a very simple ball from an
under-hand lob bowler, after making seven. Sandy gave the bowlers some
trouble, and got into double figures before he retired. All this while
Billy was scoring well, and, when Sandy's wicket fell, had made fifty
runs. All the boys scored less or more; and when the innings closed had
compiled a total of one hundred and thirty-seven, of which Billy made
seventy-one and not out. This was a grand achievement, and the
half-caste was carried off the ground amid great applause.
This left the Dingdongs eighty-six runs to win, which they failed to do
by seventeen runs, Sleepy Sam stumping no less than three off young
Ben's slow lobs.
There was great cheering as the victorious cricketers rode in the dusk
of the evening through the main street of Tareela, after a grand day's
fun.
*CHAPTER V*
*THE BIG FLOOD*
"The day is cold and dark and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall;
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary."
LONGFELLOW.
Drip, drip, drip!
Croak, croak, c-r-o-a-k!
Quack-quack, quack-quack!
"Heigho!" grunted Tom Hawkins, as he turned over sleepily in bed. "Is
it ever goin' to stop rainin'?"
For some days a steady rain had been falling, soaking the ground. Every
gully was a rivulet, and every depression a lake.
"Tom!" cried a feminine voice from an interior room. "Get up!"
"Bother those frogs an' ducks!" muttered the lad, full of sleep in the
grey of the early morning. "Like ter choke 'em! waking fler----"
"Tom!" cried a masculine voice, as a hand rattled the door of the lad's
bedroom, and a boot gave a drum-like accompaniment on the lower panel.
"Git up this minit an' run the cows in, or I'll----"
But Tom had jumped out of bed as nimbly as one of the frogs, between
whose croak and his father's bass voice he seemed unable, in his sleepy
condition, to discriminate.
"All right, father! I'm dressing," shouted Tom, as the word "dowsing"
fell on his ear. There had been times in master Tom's past when a
sudden application of cold water was deemed necessary to expedite his
slow movements.
"Dad's too mighty smart! Thought I'd nick him with that button,"
growled Tom, as he stuck his legs into his pants; said button being an
iron tee snip, fastened so as to act as a bolt.
"Jemima! ain't it dark! Must be very early," muttered the reluctant
boy, as he strove to lace his boots. "Drat it! Shan't wear 'em; too
wet."
"My crikey!" cried he as he stood outside. "Must have been rainin' cats
an' dogs, an' lakes an' seas."
His moleskins were rolled up to his thighs, while a cornsack, hooded at
the bottom, and stuck on to his head like a nun's veil, gave him fair
protection from the driving showers.
"I wonder if it's goin' to be a flood?" The thought was not unpleasant
to the lad. It produced, indeed, a certain exaltation of spirits,
forcibly expressed in Tom's vernacular by, "Ge-willikins! but won't we
have fun!"
Heavily laden clouds, in interminable succession, were drifting from the
sea, forming, as they swung overhead in batches, an endless series of
smart showers. It had been an exceptionally wet week, and for the
preceding twenty-four hours had rained without ceasing.
The cows depastured in a paddock that ran back from a creek to the
timbered country. The creek itself was bank high and running strongly.
It was only by climbing along the branches of a dead limb, which spanned
the water, that Tom managed to reach the kine.
It was no small task to get them to face the stream. Small as was the
creek in width, it was deep enough to make a swim, and the roaring,
turbid, and muddy stream frightened the creatures. But for the fact
that the calves were in a pen at the milking yard all Tom's efforts
would have been futile. Their mooing and baaing, however, made a loud
appeal to the maternal breast. Finally, when the old red poley, the
mother of twins, made a plunge, the rest followed.
During the morning the river rose steadily, and large quantities of
drift-wood passed down the stream. With the rubbish was a good deal of
heavy timber, and--what Tom had predicted--pumpkins. This was an
indication that the river up-stream had overflowed its banks in places,
and was sweeping the low-lying farm lands. Tom spent the morning in
fishing out the floating vegetables that came within reach of his hooked
pole. Meanwhile the rain continued, and looked as though it might last
for forty days and nights.
"I'll pull over to the township this afternoon," remarked Mr. Hawkins at
the midday meal. "I'm anxious about this rise. Looks as if we're goin'
to have an old man flood. Might get some information about the state of
things up-river. If I leave it till to-morrow 'twill be a tough job
gettin' acrost, as the timber's comin' down pretty thick now, an'll be
worse by an' by."
"Be sure'n bring tea and flour back with you. No knowing how long the
rise'll last."
"Can I go with you, father?"
"Yes; I'll require you to steer. It'll be a pretty stiff job, I
reckon."
The crossing was not without peril. The current ran fierce and strong.
The landing-place on the other side was protected, in a measure, by a
headland up-stream. Out from the influence of that, however, the boatmen
felt the full force of the current. The water seethed and foamed. The
violence of its rush created great whirlpools, which accentuated the
difficulty of keeping the boat's head up-stream. Logs and driftwood
patches had to be dodged, and, what with fighting the current and
outflanking the timber, by the time the river was crossed the boat had
drifted quite half a mile down-stream. On gaining the other side they
found a shore eddy, in which they were able to paddle up-stream with
ease, until they came to a point of land about two hundred yards below
the town wharf. As they lost the eddy here, and would have to encounter
the full force of the flood when round the point, Mr. Hawkins wisely
determined to tie up the boat in the slack water.
When Hawkins arrived at the store, where many of the townsfolk had
congregated, he was informed that news had been brought down by the
mailman that morning to the effect that heavy rains were falling at the
head of the river, and that when the New England waters came down in
full force the river might rise to the "high flood" marks.
Cooees could now be heard from the settlers in the low-lying portions,
adjacent to the township. They proceeded from those who had neglected
to move before being surrounded, and who were without boats. The police
were busily engaged in rescuing families by boat. Many townsfolk were
engaged on the same merciful errand.
All through the day the waters, fed by the flooded creeks, continued to
rise, and as evening approached anxiety deepened. Things were so
serious that Mr. Hawkins, whose farm, be it said, was situated on
comparatively low-lying lands, acting upon the advice of his friends,
returned home almost at once. After hoisting the most valuable of his
possessions to the rafters, and securing them there, he returned to the
township with his family; gaining it as dusk was deepening into dark.
The family was distributed among neighbours, Tom and one of his sisters
being quartered at Mr. Blain's.
A group of men and boys throughout the day had lined the bank of the
river, in the vicinity of the Government wharf, which was submerged.
They were engaged in gauging its rate of advance by pine laths scaled to
inches.
Towards evening the wind, veering from east to south-east, increased in
violence. Laden with torrential showers, it smote the earth in great
gusts, streaming through roofs and walls, and taxing the ingenuity of
housekeepers to find dry spots for beds.
The wind and flood waters, travelling in opposite directions, conflicted
with great violence. The roaring, boastful wind, as it lashed the
racing, defiant waters into angry waves, and the universe-filling sounds
of the seething, surging flood-waters, as they wrestled with and
overbore all opposing forces, made storm music, compared with which the
artifices of man touch the infinitely puny. Darkness and the blinding
rain had driven most of the river watchers indoors. A few, however,
braved the elements, among them the minister and the lads.
Whatever effect the flood may have had on others, the dominant feeling
in Mr. Blain's mind was that of solicitude. As the rain continued, deep
concern merged into alarm. There were few on the river who knew as
intimately as he the general havoc of a flood. The executive head of
the Flood-relief Committee for many years, he had been the chief
instrument in administering doles to flood victims. In many cases the
utmost relief was as a drop of succour in the ocean of need.
"If the rise continues for another twenty-four hours, as it is doing
now, it will beat the 'sixty-four flood, and, if so, God help our
down-river friends," remarked the minister after examining Joe's gauge
by the aid of a lantern.
The '64 flood was the highest known to white men up to the present. The
settlers still retained a vivid recollection of its disastrous effects.
Luckily, the township covered a piece of high ground, and though the low
parts were covered in a moderate flood, the higher portions were some
feet above the highest flood-mark. It was in the farming settlements
that danger lurked.
"If this yere flood beats 'sixty-four, it'll be as you say, Parson;
good-bye to many up-river an' down-river folk."
Mr. Blain's words had impressed both men and boys. Suddenly Joe, who was
in the midst of the group, sang out lustily--
"Hurrah! wind's changed!"
"What's that?" shouted back Mr. Blain excitedly.
"Don't you feel it?" cried the boy, as he swung his arms windmill
fashion.
"Yes; thank God! The lad's right," continued he. "The wind's chopping.
Don't you feel it, men? Ah! there's a decided puff from the north-east."
"Take my word for it," said the ferryman, an old sailor, "the wind'll be
blowing west afore morning."
"Pray God it may!" ejaculated the minister, and many a silent prayer was
uttered.
"Now, boys, let us return home. We can do no good standing here. We'll
come back in an hour or so."
"Listen!" exclaimed Tom, as the boys splashed through the water on their
way home. Laying his hand on Joe's shoulder, he cried, "Do you hear
that?"
"Don't hear anything but the roar of the river," replied Joe, as he
stood in a listening attitude. "What was it?"
"Hark! there it is again. A cooee. Seems to come from up the river,
near the Bend. Some un's in trouble."
"Now, boys, make haste and get in out of the rain," cried Mr. Blain, who
had hurried along.
"Some one's crying out for help at the Bend," shouted Joe.
The minister paused on hearing this. A moment later the cry came out of
the night: faint, because of the distance and the turmoil of sounds, yet
clear and convincing.
"Great God! some poor soul in dire straits, and no help possible before
morning!"
It would have been worse than madness to attempt any rescue till
daylight. To traverse the flood, even in daytime, anywhere near the
Bend, were a hazardous experiment, owing to the enormous vortices caused
by the current striking a high bluff on the near side, at the elbow.
The waters whirled like a merry-go-round under full steam, and boiled
with an upward heave, in a fashion similar to the mud springs of
Tiketere. None but the stoutest boat and most experienced rowers could
dodge these seething cauldrons, which caught into their cold and cruel
embrace trees, fencing, stock; anything material, in fact. The heaviest
logs and tree-lengths were as wisps of straw under the influence of the
mighty suction. To attempt the traverse at night were as foolhardy and
impossible as that of shooting Niagara in an open boat.
A little group stood with the Blains, listening to the weird cry.
"Who d'yer think it c'd be, sir?" said one of the men, turning to the
minister.
"Not any of the Bend families. We had word this afternoon saying that
they had retreated to the high land before the waters reached them. God
help the poor soul, whoever it is, for vain is the help of man!"
Throughout the live-long night the cry went up at intervals, like that
of the minute-gun of a distressed vessel. Shortly before daybreak it
ceased.
No man or woman in the township slept that night. A strict watch was
kept on the river, so as to be ready for any emergency. The waters
continued to advance, but at a much slower rate. Men and women
cudgelled their brains to individualise the wailing cry. Most were
agreed that it was a woman's cry, though some held it to be that of a
child. Sometimes the voice was ghoulish, and made the flesh to creep
and the heart to flutter. Then an intensely human note would prevail,
full of anguish and terror, and women wept and stopped their ears, while
strong men choked in the throat.
They would go out at intervals and send back a heartening cry; it was
all that could be done. There were many others throughout that fearful
night who were engulfed in the flood, in various parts of the river,
and, swan-like, wailed their death-song in the wild waste.
Shortly after midnight the rain ceased, and the wind, which had been
chopping and changing for the past few hours, settled finally in the
west. This proved a conspicuous advantage. It no longer checked the
flood-waters as when in the east, and there was now good hope that they
would recede ere long, as the rise was almost imperceptible.
[Illustration: "Suddenly the Forest Monarch topples, lurches, staggers
and falls with mighty crash."--_See p._ 43.]
When day had dawned a wild, weird scene was revealed. The town had
become an island. On all sides the flood-waters stretched out, covering
gardens and farms, and completely blotting out the fair landscape. On
the riverside the turgid stream tore along in its hurry, bearing on its
dirty, foam-crested bosom, as its spoils, the household gods, farm
stock, and produce of many a settler. Horses, cattle, pigs, goats, dogs,
fowls: these, swept off by the encroaching waters, and carried over
fences into the stream, struggled, vainly for the most part, in the
rapid, death-dealing current. Haystacks, barns, wood-frame buildings
intact, floated in the torrential waters, sooner or later crashing into
the great trees that bore down-stream, making utter shipwreck.
*CHAPTER VI*
*ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS*
"The floods have lifted up, O Lord, the floods have lifted up their
voice; the floods lift up their waves."--Ps. xciii. 3.
"Where's the dad, girls?" shouted Joe Blain early in the morning, after
the events recorded in the previous chapter, dashing into the room as he
yelled.
"Here!" came a voice from the back verandah. Running to the spot
indicated by the monosyllable, the lad in breathless accents delivered
himself to his paternal relative in this fashion--
"Please, dad, can Tom, Billy, Jimmy, and I have the boat to paddle out
on the back-water?"
"Um--er--well, as long as you keep in the slack water I suppose you may;
but be very careful, my boy."
"Yes, dad; we'll be careful enough. It's all slack water you know,
'cept where the river water comes in; but that's a long way up, an'
we'll be paddlin' mostly about this end of the slack."
An explanation is needed here in order that the reader may intelligently
follow the course of events (some of them dramatic enough, and even
tragic) which transpired in the course of this eventful cruise.
It has already been stated that the flood waters so surrounded Tareela
as to convert the township into an island. It was so practically.
Accurately speaking it formed a peninsula, with the narrowest of necks.
On the river side there was a broad expanse of boiling, foaming,
hurrying waters, narrowing here and there, where the banks rose above
their usual height, but stretching far and wide where the river-flats
intervened; sometimes touching the horizon, as it were. On the other
side lay a body of water, as far removed from motion as the tumultuous
stream was instinct with it. There it lay, a wide extent of placid,
coffee-coloured water, broken at its surface by fence tops, belts of
trees, and partially submerged houses. This great stretch was almost
currentless, and the debris that floated on its bosom appeared
stationary; though, as a matter of fact, there was a slight outward
drift.
The secret of its placidity lay in the fact that the river waters, when
they reached a certain height, backed up a blind gully that ran almost
parallel with the stream for some distance, then swerved from the river,
and widened out till it became a depression of considerable magnitude.
This, in turn, merged into a swamp, contiguous to the township on its
western side. Low-lying and occupied lands surrounded the swamp for
some distance. The town end of these flats, which the river water
backing up through the gully had submerged, making a long reach of
stagnant waters, formed the area of the boys' row.
The minister's boat was a light yet staunchly built vessel, and belonged
to the skiff variety. Her capabilities were to be put to the utmost
test. Several of the town boats were moving on the face of the still
waters, their occupants busily engaged in capturing the flotsam. The
owners of houses, in particular, were anxiously conning their submerged
property, or gathering together floating domestic articles. In this way
a good deal of house property was recovered.
The boys found enjoyment in the novelty of the cruise. They pulled two
oars, taking turns at the rowing. Of the non-rowers, one acted as
steersman and the other as bowman for the capture of the flood spoils.
Several melons and pumpkins were picked up, but they were not troubling
about these. For one reason, they did not want to be encumbered with
spoil of that kind, and for another they were keen on pulling about the
flooded houses. Their chief and most interesting rescue was a cat and
two kittens, which had found an ark of refuge on a barn door.
"I say, boys, we'll have a go at these oranges," said Joe, who was
steering, as they were passing a small orangery which was half
submerged. This proposal received hearty and unanimous assent.
Accordingly Joe selected the most promising tree, and deftly ran
alongside its outer branches.
"Look out for snakes!" cried he.
There was abundant cause for warning, for each tree contained a number
of serpents, some of which are very deadly. These reptiles were flooded
out of their holes in the ground, and from hollow logs and stumps, and
made for the trees or any floating timber that offered refuge.
Fortunately the snakes were more or less benumbed with the cold,
consequently they were the reverse of lively. Had it been otherwise, to
have made fast to the tree would have been foolhardy to a degree.
Agreeably to Joe's warning, every eye was skinned and on the look out.
Indeed, the tree was fairly swarming with snakes of many sorts and
sizes; though for the most part they consisted of "tree" and "carpet"
varieties; one of the latter, lying across the top, being fully ten feet
in length. These two mentioned varieties are not venomous. The farmers,
for the most part, look with a friendly eye upon the carpet species; so
called by reason of its tawny and black markings. The carpet snake in
summer time is the best of all mousers and ratters. It winds its
sinuous way into places impossible to even puss or terrier; and is
always a welcome visitor to settlers' barns. There it becomes a pet,
and will live on terms of friendship with its primal foe.
There were snakes of a very different order in the orange tree. Among
them the "tiger," most aggressive and poisonous of all the genus. There
were also specimens of the black and the brown snakes. All these are
cobras, and therefore very deadly.
The snakes, as related, were all more or less torpid with cold, and not
pugnaciously inclined. The boys, however, were very careful not to
disturb them. There was plenty of golden fruit upon the tree, and it
was in prime condition. The fruit was neatly cut off the stems by
strokes of the paddle blade. When a sufficient quantity was thus
plucked, and lay bobbing in the water, they were poked out from the tree
by the same means, and secured. The boat lay off a little distance from
the tree while the crew indulged in a feed of the luscious fruit. A
visit was then paid to a plantain grove, and a quantity, both of green
and ripe fruit, was secured.
"Where away now, Joe?" said Tom Hawkins, who was crouched in the bow.
"I vote," replied the one addressed, who in this, as in everything else,
was leader of the band,--"I vote we pull up opposite Commodore Hill and
have a look at the river." The boy forgot for the moment the promise
made to his father to keep mainly about the town end of the back-water.
Commodore Hill was well up the river, and on the other side. The
flooded gully by which the water obtained entrance, it has been
explained, ran parallel with the river for some distance; in some places
being not more than a few yards therefrom. The boys were curious to see
the river stretch above the Bend; also to note the numbers of
flooded-out settlers who might be camped in that vicinity. Accordingly
the boat's bow is turned, and her course shaped in that direction. By
this time the river had fallen several feet, and, as a consequence,
there was an outward drift of the slack waters, making a gentle current.
"'Member, Joe, what your dad said about takin' the boat into the
stream."
"Think I've forgot, stupid!"
"Thought I'd remind you, anyhow," replied the bowman. As a matter of
fact, Tom had an uneasy feeling that his mate would not be content when
they got to the mouth to remain there without having a dash at the
stream.
"Listen to me; I ain't goin' to run any risks. We won't go to the mouth
entrance. What we'll do is this: work up to the swamp end, have a look
round, and come back again."
With this defined object in view the boat continued its voyage, helped
by the current, which, the farther up they proceeded, became stronger,
as was to be expected.
But one thing had happened of which the boys were in entire ignorance.
And this particular happening was to produce startling and unexpected
effects. At a certain spot in the gully, and at a point where it began
to deviate from the general stream, there was a branch gully, which bore
inwards to within a few yards of the river's brink. When the water was
at its highest in the river, that in the lagoon was much higher at this
point, inasmuch as the back-water was at the same level as at the
entrance, some two miles higher up; the difference in height being the
river's fall in that distance. Roughly speaking, the water there was
about ten feet higher than that in the river.
The rush of the stream on the river side had caused the bank to give way
about this point during the night, and the lagoon, or back-waters,
forced themselves into the river through the new channel, which widened
considerably as a consequence. On nearing this place the boys became
conscious of a quickening of the current.
"My golly, Joe! this big current," said Yellow Billy, who, with Jimmy,
was at the oars. "Must be goin' twenty mile."
"Twenty mile! you goose. We're goin' six or seven and that's mighty
fast."
"I say, Joe," called Jimmy a second later, the boys having ceased
rowing, for there was no further need, "bes' run her ashore, or we'll be
carried out. By gosh, she's tearing away!"
"All right, mates, keep cool. There's the old mahogany ahead, we'll tie
up there; we'll be there in a minute."
Yes, the boys would need all their coolness, for Joe was reckoning
without up-to-date knowledge, and that made all the difference in the
world. Rounding a clump of trees at this moment, or ever they were
aware the boat fairly sucked into the channel of furiously rushing and
tumultuously heaping waters that were finding their level by the newly
made short-cut.
"Oh! oh! I--I say!" shouted Tom. "We're being swept into the river!
Back water!"
Joe, quicker than the others, had hit the situation, and turned the
boat's nose to a clump of bushes, but before the rowers could pick up
their oars to help him the boat had swept past. Tom, it is true, made a
frantic grasp at the bough, but the way on the boat was so strong that
the branch, when the full force of the current bore on her at her
momentary check, snapped like a pipe-stem, and the little craft was fair
in the turgid stream, which had now the velocity of a water-race. The
incident of the half-arrest, however, had turned her head up-stream,
which was a providential thing. The river break-away was at most three
hundred yards away. To turn the boat into the perpendicular sides of
the channel was to court destruction; for, be it said, the maddened
waters had excavated the banks until they rose sheer from the water's
edge.
The necessities of the case came like an inspiration to Joe. The boat
was drifting, as we have said, stern first, the advantage of which will
be seen. Save Joe, whom the sense of responsibility braced to immediate
action, the boys were speechless with consternation. One look at their
blanched faces was sufficient. They were certainly alive to the dangers
of the situation.
"Pull, boys! pull with all your might! We'll keep her head up. This'll
check her speed a bit. It'll give her steerage way too, and save her
gettin' broadside on."
The pullers put every ounce of strength into their strokes, and this was
very helpful. The final rush into the cross-current was a most critical
moment, and might easily have resulted in disaster. This was averted
only by Joe's coolness and dexterity.
"Oars out!" cried he as the boat swept into the angry and turbulent
river. Save for shipping some water, and drenching the crew with spray,
the little craft weathered the river plunge. An involuntary "Oh!" came
from the boys as the boat shot the rapids and soused into the river.
Immediately she came under the influence of two currents; that going
outward from the chute, and the swift down-river stream.
This effect was to take them instantly well out toward the centre of the
flood, with a strong drift which carried the boat into the vicinity of
the Bend. The river bend gave the current a direction which set across
to the other side. This diagonal movement was accelerated by the chute
waters, which retained their impetus, in a measure, for a considerable
distance.
Downward then, and cross-wise to the northern bank, the frail craft
sped, the sport and play of the watery element. Dangers stood, or
rather, drifted thick around the adventurers. Picture for a moment a
tiny vessel, some fifteen feet over all, whose timbers are of the
proverbial egg-shell thickness, shot into an angry, bubbling cauldron,
whose tumultuous waters heaved and swirled, hissed and roared, in
inarticulate sound and motion.
That, in itself, were an experience of sufficient magnitude to quicken
the blood, test the nerves, and try the courage of the hardiest
waterman. Add to the perils of that situation a thousand floating
dangers, any one of which might crush that tiny, drifting cockle-shell
out of existence, and you have the position which faced and surrounded
the affrighted lads on the demon-ridden waters.
*CHAPTER VII*
*THE DEATH OF THE FOREST MONARCH*
"There's the white-box and pine on the ridges afar,
Where the iron-bark, blue-gum, and peppermint are;
There's many another, but dearest to me,
And king of them all is the stringy-bark tree."
HENRY LAWSON.
As several years had intervened between the present and the last flood
of considerable dimension, every creek, gully, and river-flat of the
upper reaches were contributing their quota of fallen timber, which in
the interval had encumbered the earth. In addition, the flood-waters
had torn many a giant eucalyptus, roots and all, from its earthhold, and
had borne it on its heaving and rebellious bosom, a mere plaything of
its vengeful humour.
Up to the present a monarch of the forest, whose rugged bole bears
indubitable evidence of its antiquity, stands skywards with its head in
the clouds. The Philistines are upon it. Its innumerable roots,
lateral and vertical, hold with frantic clutch to mother earth, as it
grimly wrestles with its Gargantuan foe. But the earth, which for years
innumerable has mothered the forest lord, furnishing his daily portion
of meat and drink, nourishing and cherishing him till he bulks in girth
and height as Saul among the prophets, proving faithful in every tussle
with wind and flood heretofore, now turns traitor. The soil dissolves
in the swirling waters as they ravish the earth. Above and underneath
the roots it melts, and is carried away in the thickening stream. The
hold of the old monarch is weakening. His limbs are trembling. His
strong body, that has withstood the pressure of a thousand fights with
the hereditary foe, vibrates and sways now, as his remorseless
antagonist grips him in cruel embrace.
His old comrades higher up, who have fallen earlier in this battle of
giants, come drifting along, battered and torn; veritable shipwrecks,
dismantled and broken. One floating leviathan, flood-driven, sweeps
onward full upon his writhing form ... a violent shock and shudder that
runs from root to topmost leaf ... a last wrestle, strong, heroic, and
pitiful! ... Then, betrayed and spent, under the last straw, as it were,
of the fateful impact of his wrecked mate--now converted into a
battering-ram--the grand old hero-king yields. His foe has sought and
found, like one in the olden time, his vulnerability in his heel.
Overborne at last, but not yet broken, he shakes his lofty head in the
quiver of mortal spasm. Suddenly he topples, lurches, staggers, and
falls with a mighty crash, which is, indeed, a resounding death-cry.
Striking the enemy with a last, concentrated, savage blow, he splits her
bosom, and sends great spurts of her muddy blood, spray-like, a hundred
feet in air. But the wound heals as speedily as delivered, and from
thence he passes quickly, in company with his defeated brothers, an
inert mass of strewn wreckage, to form, farther down upon the skurrying
waters, a floating barricade of death-dealing timbers. And so on and
on, till the blue sea is reached, where it is heaved to and fro, a
rudderless hulk upon the bosom of the ocean; until it is stranded at
last as flotsam and jetsam upon the beach.
By skilful manipulation of oars and rudder the boys managed to evade the
timber masses. The numerous whirlpools constituted a great danger.
Once or twice they were almost sucked under as they circled in a vortex.
Their position was extremely perilous. The greatest danger lay from
contact with the isolated logs and tree-trunks that sped down with great
velocity, appearing and disappearing in the vicious eddies, rotating
with the swirling stream, and popping up porpoise-like in unexpected
quarters. On one occasion, in dodging a mass of driftwood, they ran
right on to a big tree. Fortunately the tree was sinking at the time of
impact under the influence of an under-current, and, at Joe's sharp
command, the rowers rushed the boat across the submerged tree-bole.
Scarcely had they crossed the line ere the submarine monster rolled
upward, till at least half its length was out of the water. It was a
narrow squeak. To have been caught on its rising movement would have
meant utter shipwreck.
It has been stated that owing to the river bend, and from other causes,
the current set diagonally across to the other side. Drawing thus
towards the farther shore, the boat's crew neared a timbered point,
below which the water expanded over the low-lying country for miles. So
far only the thickly fringed timber belts could be seen. It was
questionable if they could find any dry earth. In all likelihood,
however, even should there not be any landing-place, they would find
protection from the current behind the thick wood. As they got close in
to the scrubby portion the boys saw, to their great disappointment, that
the land was still submerged. They had hoped to find a patch of earth.
All they can do now is to shelter behind the timber.
"Pull, boys, pull hard!" cried Joe, the while he turned the boat's nose
towards a rear clump. His quick eye discerned an eddy formed by a point
higher up. Rowing into this, the boat was eased in its downward track,
and after getting well in behind the clump they were able to make
headway against the stream, finally fastening to a big she-oak almost in
still water. Here they were out of the tract of the current and the
perils of the driftwood.
What a relief to the half-dazed and frightened boys!
Captain Joe, be it said, though fearful enough while in the roaring
waters, kept all his wits about him. Often as his heart jumped into his
mouth he as quickly swallowed it again. More than once his
resourcefulness saved the boat from certain disaster.
"Thank God!" exclaimed he, as Tom tied the painter to a strong limb, and
the boat rode easy.
"It was a touch and go, lads. Don't cry, Jimmy!" as that lad, yielding
to a feeling of reaction, burst into tears. Tom was not much better, and
furtively wiped his eyes under the pretence of blowing his nose. In a
few minutes the boys were themselves again. The roar and rush of the
waters filled their oars and souls as they lay at anchor. So deafening
were the sounds that it was only by shouting they could hear one
another.
Stretching inland, and reaching to the distant hills, nothing was to be
seen but a waste of waters, with here and there a bushy hillock, a
miniature island. What remained of the settlers' houses looked like so
many Noah's arks. Moving figures could be seen on one which lay a long
way off. They were the unfortunate owners, who, by delaying their
retreat until too late, were driven on to the very ridge pole for
safety. Fortunately they were in still water; so at least it seemed
from the distance; consequently their position was not alarming. Tree
marks showed the river to be falling at a fairly rapid rate.
"Now then, boys, let's hold a council of war!"
"Wot's that, Joe?"
"It's what they say in soldiering when the generals get into a fix,"
chipped in Tom.
"Oh, gollies! let us get home as quick as possible. If we don't they'll
think we're drownded an'----"
"Look here, Jimmy, stow that rot! If we start talking in that fashion,
we'll get unnerved. Billy, you first! Tell us what you think about the
situation."
"Long's we're here we're safe. There's a 'possum in the spout above us.
I'll climb up and get 'im for tucka."
"We can't cook 'possum in the boat, Billy. No dry wood; no matches.
You're right enough about safety, though. These trees have borne the
brunt of the flood stream at its highest, and things are getting easier.
Jimmy, what do you think of it?"
"I--I--I dunno. Oh, my poor m-other!" cried Jimmy, whose emotions again
overpowered him.
"Didn't I tell you to stow that water-cart business? Dry up, or I'll
jolly well tan your hide for you, you soft milksop!"
Joe's severity was partly assumed. He was fighting himself about home
thoughts. He knew the folly of giving way at this crisis to such a
natural sentiment.
"You, Tom! You've a notion, I'm sure," said Joe to his chum.
"My opinion, chaps, is that we ought to be very thankful for bein' where
we are, an' stay here a bit anyways. It'd be madness to attempt to
recross the river. What's to prevent us pullin' over there?" pointing
to a hillock nearly a mile away inland.
"Tom's right, boys. We must make up our minds, hard as it is, to camp
on this side to-day. It'd be easy enough to do as Tom says, row over to
that island. Supposin', though, the water went down a lot during the
night; we might have to drag the boat over a lot of mud to get to the
river-bank to-morrow. Bes' stay where we----"
"S-s-h! Listen a moment, Joe," interjected Tom from the bow of the
boat. "What noise's that?"
"Don't hear anythin' 'cept the river. What sort o' noise, Tom?"
"I heered it, Joe," said Yellow Billy. "Bear cryin', I bin thinkin'.
Heer it now."
All the boys could hear the sounds now, faint enough, yet distinct above
the flood roar.
"Bear, I 'speck! Have a good look round, boys."
All eyes were bent in the direction of the sound. They scanned the
trees for that strange, pouch-bearing--half bear, half sloth--animal
called the native bear. Strictly speaking, it is neither bear nor
sloth, being a perfectly harmless, tailless marsupial of the koala
genus. Its cry is intensely, and often pathetically, human.
For some time the search was unrewarded; while ever and anon a cry,
strangely like an infant's wail, came to the ears of the searchers.
"P'r'aps, after all, it's only the wind in the river oaks; or is it
a----"
"Look, boys! look, look!" cried Tom excitedly. "What's that over at
the edge of the timber, up there in a fork?"
"Whereaway, Tom?"
"See the clump beyond the back-water, out in the stream?"
"M--y-e-s, I see. Why, yes, my word! I do believe it's a----"
*CHAPTER VIII*
*WHAT THE TREE HELD*
"Thereafter grew the wind; and chafing deaths
In distant waters, sent a troubled cry
Across the slumbrous forest; and the chill
Of coming rain was on the sleeper's brow."
HENRY KENDALL.
"James!" exclaimed Mrs. Blain to her husband during this eventful
morning, "it's dinner-time and those lads are not back. I hope nothing
has happened."
"What do you expect could have happened, you dear old fidget? I'm going
to the post, however, and I'll have a look round."
Could Mr. Blain have beheld the lads at this particular time, the calm
of his deep nature would have been broken up in a fashion rare to his
experience; for at this moment the boat and its occupants are being
borne on the rapids, presently to be flung upon the riotous and
foam-crested waves of the river.
In moving along the street the minister met several persons who had been
out on the back-water during the morning. All had seen the boys at one
time or another. One of the latest in, who had been farther up than most
of the others, had passed the boys on his return not long before. They
were then heading up the swamp way.
"Don't fear, Mr. Blain, the boys know how to take care of themselves.
Dinner's calling 'em loudly enough by this time, I wager ye."
Dinner-time came and went, but no boys. As the afternoon wore on the
mother's fears deepened until they became well-nigh unendurable. The
minister, rowed by two of the neighbours, set out to find the truants
and fetch them back.
"Don't lose faith, dear! They're up to some prank, the thoughtless
scamps! I'll fetch them home none the worse, to laugh at your fears."
Following Tom's index-finger, the boys fastened their eyes upon a clump
of river oaks that stood on the edge of the woods.
High up in a fork of one of the largest trees, they could see what
looked at first like a huge bundle of clothes fluttering in the wind.
After a short while the bundle seemed to take a somewhat definite shape.
"What in the name of goodness is it all? Seems like a lot of old
clothes jammed in the tree forks. Are you sure that the squall, or
squeak, or squeal, or whatever it was, came from that direction?"
"Yes, I think so," replied Tom. "Listen, there it's again!" A thin,
treble cry rose faintly above the din of the flood waters.
"See a woman's foot!"
The speaker was the half-caste, whose eyesight, owing to his half-wild
nature, was much keener than his fellows'.
"A woman's foot, Billy! What do you mean? You don't mean to say
really, that----!"
"See hand too! Look along bark. See fingers!"
Thus directed, the three boys looked, and saw, though but indistinctly,
what appeared to be a hand grasping the tree-trunk, a foot, also, was
revealed at intervals by the fluttering garment.
After a short, staring silence, a flood of mental light broke upon Joe.
"I see now. Why, it's the poor soul we heard cooeeing last night!"
Yes, there had been plenty of speculation in the village as to who it
could be, and exactly where the voice came from. None of those who
heard the piteous wail that was borne across the floods in the black and
wild darkness of that night would forget it for many a long day to come.
The mystery is now solved. The boys are horror-stricken at the sight
and its sequent thought. They are now convinced that a woman is fixed
in the tree. Without reasoning the matter out, they identify her as the
one whose cry over night produced such a sensation in the township, and
to locate which the police boat with a strong crew had started out at
daybreak, but without success.
_Is she alive or dead_? The strange cry did not seem to be that of a
woman. There was something so eerie, so shocking in the thought, that
the lads were fear-possessed for some moments. Joe, as usual, recovered
himself first.
"It's a woman sure enough! It's a human being, at any rate. An', boys,
we've got to rescue her if she is alive. The cry can only come from her,
I'm sure, so that there must be some life left still. How to do it I
can't just see at this moment. We must think a bit."
Think a bit they did. Camped as they were at the lower end of the
timber, it would be a matter of comparative ease to work up through the
trees in the slack water, till they arrived opposite to the clump that
stood out in the stream. There the real difficulties would begin. The
rush of waters was still so strong, and the space for the play of the
boat so small, that it became evident the rescue would be accompanied by
some alarming risks.
One of two things must be done: either wait until the waters receded
sufficiently to enable the rescuers to wade to the clump, or make an
immediate dash.
"How long d'you think it'd be before we could wade across, Joe?"
"Dunno, Billy. Beckon there's eight or nine foot of water out there.
Might be less. At any rate it'd be hours."
"Hours!" cried Tom. "An' s'posin' that poor creature's still alive?"
"That settles it!" exclaimed Joe, rising in his seat in excitement.
"Boys, what's to be done must be done quickly."
Seemingly all were agreed. At least no objection was offered to this
proposal, or, rather, mandate. So it was resolved, after some
cogitation, to pull the boat through the timber to a point some distance
higher up than the isolated clump. From thence the course would be
outwards until the river current was met; an estimated distance of a
hundred yards. The boat was to be headed against the current when in
the stream influence. A vigorous row would be necessary to neutralise
the current, to be modified so as to allow the craft to drift slowly
down-stream. Then, when opposite the clump, a dash for the tree whereon
the unfortunate woman was lying was to be made.
Inasmuch as this tree was almost in the centre of the group, and the
stream still ran with violence, it was easy to see that without skilful
management, and some luck, the boat might be stove in against a
tree-bole; or, worse still, might be impaled upon a submerged snag. Any
accident, such as missing way at a critical moment, or the snapping of
an oar blade, might be fraught with the most disastrous consequences.
During the short conference Jimmy Flynn had kept silence. Towards the
end, as Joe set forth the attendant dangers, he became considerably
perturbed. After sundry wrigglings and contortions, rubbing of hands
and licking of lips, these visual twistings found voice.
"I say, Joe! don't--er--yer think that--er--we'd better wait a bit?"
"Why?" chorused the boys.
"Oh--I--I dunno. Well--er--p'raps some other boat'll come over from the
township d'reckly an'--an'----"
"And s'pose no boat comes along?"
"Well, then, I--I--er--vote--that we--er----"
"By jing! Jimmy," interposed Tom, with a jeer, "who'd 'a' thought you'd
'a' showed the white feather!"
"White feather yourself, Hawkins!" returned the fearful but now angry
boy.
"Jimmy!" broke in Yellow Billy unexpectedly, for as a rule the
half-caste was taciturn--the taciturnity of modesty in his case. Billy,
while carrying some of the defects of aboriginal descent, was a
kind-hearted and easily contented lad. "Jimmy!" said he, in a soft,
quiet tone, "s'pose your mother was over there?"
Jimmy Flynn, who was sitting with a sullen, hang-dog expression,
quivered as though he had received an electric shock. There was within
him a consciousness of the truth of Tom's term. He was a coward, and
the very notion of it angered him, and at the same time made him
resentful. He shrank from the undertaking. None of the boys were in
love with it, for that matter. Jimmy only, among the four, allowed his
fear to overmaster him.
These few words of Billy, uttered in a quiet, even tone, went straight
to the boy's heart. His sullen brows lifted. The angry resentment which
had disfigured his face vanished. Straightening his bent figure, he
seized the oar lying by his side. Then, squaring his shoulders, as he
inclined forward to grip the water, he said quietly, "Let her go."
Immediately on releasing the boat Joe steered her in a semicircular
course, keeping out back where the standing timber was thinnest. The
boys pulled slowly, for there was always the danger of snags. They were
in fairly slack water, and so had no need to exert themselves; besides
which, it were wise to husband their strength for the supreme moment.
Tom and Jimmy, both expert oarsmen, were the rowers. Yellow Billy was
stationed in the bow, with instructions to keep a keen look out for
snags. He was armed with a stout pole in order that he might fend the
boat on any critical occasion, or when the rudder might be inoperative.
It formed a very useful instrument in Billy's practised hands, and
enabled him to ward off the craft from many dangers that did not appear
until the boat was almost upon them. As it was there were several
ominous scrapes, as the boat rasped over submerged branches. Fortunately
they reached the point determined upon without any accident.
They paused here a moment before leaving the slack water for the swiftly
running stream.
"Now, boys," said Joe, after a brief survey, "sit steady, and pull for
all you're worth. Mind you, no flurry. Keep an even stroke. Got the
painter coiled, Billy?"
"All right, Joe."
"Pull then, boys, and stick to it like grim death to a diseased nigger."
The boat having got good way on, Joe headed her out a little, when she
immediately encountered the current.
"Lay to it, my lads, lay to it!"
The boys "lay to" with such vigour that the rapid current was
counterbalanced, and she hung in the stream, neither making headway nor
drifting.
"Easy a little, my hearties! We must let her drift down gradually.
Mustn't let her get out of hand, though."
In swinging the boat into the channel Joe kept her nose up-stream, and
as near the slack water as possible. The boys easing a trifle at Joe's
command, the current became the stronger of the two forces, and the
little craft drifted slowly. Blain eagerly scanned the clump for an
opening. This cluster, it may be remarked, was about two hundred yards
long and fifty or so wide. In some parts the timber was thickly
scattered, in others the trees were bunched together.
The boat is now about fifty yards above the tree containing the supposed
woman.
"That's right, chaps, keep up as you're doin'! We must drift very
slowly lest we miss the chance of popping in. It's too thick to venture
in here. It's thinnin' out, though," exclaimed Joe, as the boat neared
the point abreast the tree.
"Here's an opening, I do believe. Be ready, Billy! Pull, lads! pull,
pull! Look out all!"
The boat lay anglewise, so that the current worked upon her quarter.
Seeing a fair opening, Joe urged the rowers to do their utmost. So hard
did they pull that the current, playing upon her quarter as she hung a
few minutes stationary, forced her through the gap and towards the tree.
The manoeuvre was splendidly executed. The boat was now within five
yards or so of the tree, the boys putting every ounce of strength into
their strokes. A minute or less now and they will either be fast to the
tree or drifting down on to a solid block of timber just below.
Yellow Billy, who had crouched in the bow, now rose up quietly, rope in
hand, ready to act promptly in the decisive moment. By good fortune a
limb projected about five feet above the water, and branched out some
distance from the tree. Joe worked the boat straight up-stream, and
then called on the rowers to ease the barest trifle. The craft swung
very slowly down, until she was fairly under the limb.
"Sling the painter over the branch an' make fast, Billy!" cried Joe, as
the stern drifted under. "Pull now, you beggars, a last spurt!"
Billy whipped the rope round the limb, and made fast in a flash; the
rowers, by a few desperate strokes, keeping the boat stationary.
"Hold her there a second. Let the loop lie loose an' edge it to the
trunk, Billy!"
Joe thus worked the boat over until she was just at the rear of the
tree.
"Ease her off gently now, boys. Steady still! A wrench might snap the
painter."
The boys accordingly eased off gradually, and finally stopped.
"Two of you come aft, it'll ease the strain."
This done, the boat, which by burying her nose deep in the water was
straining heavily on the rope, trimmed herself, and offered but the
minimum resistance to the racing waters.
The tree-bole, which presented a somewhat broad surface, divided the
waters, creating a narrow zone of neutral water in its wake. In this
eddying area the boat rode securely, making it an easy matter for the
bowman to keep her nose up against the tree.
And now each boy bent an upward glance to the fork.
*CHAPTER IX*
*THE RESCUE*
"Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me--
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods."
TENNYSON'S _Ulysses_.
Fortunately the she-oak was one of the largest of its kind, and forked
out into four branches twenty feet or so from the ground. This formed a
rough cage, in which one could be held very securely if not comfortably.
In this fork, partially covered with a blanket, was huddled the form of
a human creature, presumably a woman; one hand stretched along the trunk
as in a painful grip, the legs hanging loosely. There was no movement
of limb or body. What if she were dead?
A sudden chill accompanied this thought. The situation was decidedly
uncanny, and bred awesome, not to say fearsome, feelings.
Four boys in a boat! Out on the flood-wastes, and in a particularly
perilous position! The insistent noises of the rushing tide; the hollow
moan of the wind in the foliage of the she-oaks; shut out from all help;
missed now at home, and _that thing above_!
All these combined to create a creeping chill in each boy, which in a
manner half-paralysed them.
Joe, as usual, recovered more quickly than the others. Gazing at the
object above awhile, and then examining the trunk of the tree with his
eyes, he broke the spell of silence.
"Take my place, Tom. Some un's got to go at once to that poor soul
aloft. Pray God we're in time to save her. Keep her up tight against
the trunk, Jimmy, an' I'll swing on to the limb."
Suiting his action to the word, Joe clambered on to the limb, and from
thence proceeded to climb the tree.
The woman was fixed at the junction of the forks, and her feet and legs
hung loosely down on each side of a minor fork. One arm, as before
described, was wound round the main limb, while the other firmly grasped
her breast. Her head was supported in the V of a branch.
On mounting to the spot, Joe raised himself higher by grasping two of
the tree-forks, and, twisting his legs round the trunk, steadied himself
while he gazed into the face of the dead. It was the first time in his
life that he had looked upon death. The set expression that met his
gaze, so full of anguish, so pitifully pleading, fairly shocked him out
of his self-possession. Little wonder at his turning sick and faint.
He clutched the branch frantically as he swayed a moment, and beads of
cold sweat stood thick upon his forehead. Indeed, so near fainting was
he that his sight began to fade, and the whole world receded from him.
Strange noises buzzed in his ears. Bringing all the reserve forces of
his will to the front, he was beginning to gain the ascendency over his
weakness, when a strange cry startled him into full consciousness.
"Why! she's not dead after all, thank God!" The thought of life made
all the difference to Joe. In a moment his vision is as clear as ever,
and his spirits rise high at the sounds of life. "Yes, see!" whispered
the lad, "there's a movement of the breast. Hurrah, boys!"
cried he to his comrades, looking down and waving with one hand at the
same time. "She's not dead after all!"
The boys at this set up a hearty shout indicative of their relief and
joy.
"Oh yes!" he muttered reassuringly to himself as he took the second
look, "the poor creature's alive. Her eyes are half open. Her chest is
heaving. Wake up, ma'am! Rescue is at hand. Me an' the boys in the
boat below are goin' to take you down an' row you across to the
township."
The woman made no response to this appeal and plan of salvation. "Is
she really alive?" The eyes are half closed and seemingly peering; the
form is rigid, the face immobile. There was naught of that expression
in this countenance that Joe, from hearsay, was wont to associate with
death--the peace that passeth understanding. Yet as the lad gazed at
this apparently inanimate object there was a movement of the body. The
blanket, bunched into many folds across the breast, stirred visibly.
Again that eerie, inarticulate cry!
Disengaging one hand from the tree, the boy stretched it forth to the
woman's breast, which, covered as it was with the clothes, had all the
seeming of life and movement.
Joe was in the very act of removing a fold of the blanket, when
suddenly, and without the slightest warning, there rose up into the
lad's face an angry, hissing, venomous snake, the deadliest of its kind.
Its beady eyes glittered; its forked tongue shot in and out with
inconceivable rapidity; its sibilant hiss was accompanied with a musky
odour, sickening in the extreme; its head and body for half its length
were erect, and bent forward from the neck, vibrating and swaying in a
rhythmic movement. The reptile was within striking distance. In
another second that almost invisible death-stroke will be dealt;
invisible, that is, by reason of its lightning-like speed.
But this deadly intention is defeated by an involuntary movement on
Joe's part. This young man, for the briefest of brief moments, clung to
the tree with a rigid grasp; eyes staring in amazement and terror, with
mouth wide open in automatic gape. Any attempt to defend himself were
useless in the most absolute sense of that term. In another tick,
before he can move a hand, these poison fangs will be deep buried in his
horror-stricken face, so temptingly near. The only hope for the lad lay
in doing a disappearing trick. And this happened. Had it been
premeditated, however swiftly, the time taken to make up his mind, and
to telegraph the resolution formed in the brain to the nerve cells and
muscles, would have been sufficient for the lightning stroke to fall.
What really happened was this: the apparition of the red-bellied, black
snake simply petrified Joe. An awful, blood-curdling, hair-raising,
galvanic shock of abject terror, contradictory as it may seem, paralysed
the lad. Simultaneously with that he is falling through space, an inert
mass, to be soused into the water with a splash that sent the spray
flying over the boat's crew.
At the moment of the splash, Joe's mind, will, and nerve were restored
to their normal activity. The instinct of self-preservation, so strong
in all healthy natures, especially boys', did for the lad in an
infinitesimal fraction of time as much and as effectively as though he
had taken, say, half an hour to plan his procedure.
He had, however, in escaping Scylla fallen into Charybdis. As soon as
Joe reached the water he made for the boat. Fortunately he did not fall
into it, or this story might never have been told. He fell into the
stream, some two or three yards away from the skiff. Quickly as he was
carried down-stream he managed by violent efforts to reach the boat at
the stern. Tom clutched him frantically by the shirt collar, enabling
the swimmer to get his hands on the gunwale. Joe, thus helped,
clambered into the boat or ever the boat's crew had recovered from their
consternation.
"Oh, Moses!" exclaimed, or rather gasped, he, "that--was--a go. Whew!"
"My goodness! How'd yer come to fall kersplosh like that?"
"Why!" pointing up. "See! there's the beast. See him crawling out
there?"
The boys, looking up, descried the snake winding its sinuous way along a
lateral bough that grew up above the forks. The disturbed and excited
snake, having reached the limb, wound its course till it reached a clump
of bushy branches on the limb's extremity. On this it coiled itself,
save the head and neck, which stood erect in vigilant attitude.
"Oh, crikey! was that _there_ on--in the body's--the woman's body?"
"Yes, Jimmy; right in the blanket on her breast. 'Twas that brute moving
under the blanket that I thought was _her_ breathing. Oh, my!" again
exclaimed the youth, with a shudder, as he thought of the imminence of
the danger which confronted him a moment before.
"Is--it--her--dead, Joe?" asked Tom after an interval of silence.
"No doubt of it, boys."
"Wonder if the snake bit her?"
"May have. Anyway the poor thing is dead all right."
"What's bes' thing to do now?"
"W-e-ll, I d-o-n't know----"
Again that shrill wailing cry!
"_Can't_ be the woman!" said Joe excitedly. "Why, she's as dead as a
herrin'!"
"I have it, boys!" shouted Tom, as he jumped up excitedly and cut a
caper. "It's the darned ole cat!"
A look of great relief passed over each countenance at the thought.
Tom, meanwhile, lifted up the locker lid, disclosing the rescued cat,
which, together with her two bairns, were stowed in the locker shortly
after being saved from the flood. The animals were snuggled together on
a cornsack, and looked the very picture of contentment. The kittens were
dining baby fashion, and the mother's purr declared the very excess of
maternal rapture.
On seeing the boys, pussy gave a low, affectionate miaow, and made a
sympathetic movement of the tail, as if to say: "Thank you a thousand
times, young gentlemen, for the good deed which we never, never shall
forget." And then, motherlike, proceeded to "lick" her offspring.
"It's not the cat, Tom."
"Well, what on earth, water, or air is it?"
The mystery is insoluble. As the boys look down upon the happy and
contented felines, they one and all reject Tom's confident affirmation
of a moment before. If not the cat, what then?
Again the tiny, shrill cry arose, but not from the cat's mouth. It came
from the tree above, and as the startled youths looked up they saw the
overhanging end of the blanket agitated.
"Why, why--the poor thing must really be alive after all, chaps.
There's something more up there than I've discovered; so here's up
again!"
Acting on this impulse, Joe again ascended the tree. Those below watched
intently, their feelings strained to the utmost tension. As soon as our
hero got to his former position in the forks, he received another shock.
It was sudden as the other, but not so disastrous. An inarticulate and
involuntary cry brought fresh alarm to his pals, who all the while were
staring up, too frightened to ask any questions. The boy, despite the
second shock, still clung to the tree. The woman was dead beyond all
doubt, but death is counterbalanced by life. A brief and astonished
survey, and the boy leans over the limb and speaks quietly to those
below--
"The woman's dead, boys, but _there's a baby here_. It's tied to her
breast. It's alive!"
Just then, as if to demonstrate the truthfulness of the statement, the
babe lifted up its voice once more in a feeble cry. The scene in that
tree Joe never will forget; the like he will not see again though he
rival Methuselah in age. The only thing he can yet see is a little hand
and arm, which have wriggled from the covering. Moving cautiously along
the branch to the converging point, leaning on one fork, and placing his
feet against another so as to stiffen himself, the boy was able to use
his two hands. He first, and not without an inward tremor, removed the
dead hand which lay upon the blanket, the stiffened fingers still
clutching the clothes and holding them to the breast. The last thought
and the last act of the exhausted and dying woman was to succour and to
defend her little one.
Straightening the arm so that it lay by her side, Joe opened the blanket
from where the little hand stuck up. There, on the breast of the dead,
she lay, a sweet-faced baby girl! The little one's face was puckered
up, 'tis true, and there were tears upon her pale cheeks. The cries and
tears were not the symbols of pain, they were those of hunger. Joe
could plainly see that all the mother's thoughts were for the child. It
was snugly folded in the blanket end; then tied to her waist by a
handkerchief passed round the body. The remainder of the blanket was
then arranged so as to thoroughly protect the child from the inclement
weather.
Untying the handkerchief, the lad folded it in a peculiar fashion like
as he had seen the black gins do. Carefully lifting the babe, he laid it
in the widest part, made it secure to the body under the arms, and
placed it on his back, bringing the ends of the wrapper together. round
his neck.
This done, he prepared for the descent. It was easily accomplished,
even with the incumbrance of the child. Landing safely in the boat,
which was kept well up to the tree, Joe placed her in the stern on the
locker seat, where the little one lay squirming and crying piteously.
The news of the baby variously affected the boys. Jimmy Flynn, whose
baby sister had died a few months before, looked very tenderly upon this
nameless waif.
"Make a place on the floor for it, Joe," said he. "It'll lie there more
comfortably, an' it'll be more like a cradle."
The advice was good. The coats, which the boys shed soon as they
entered upon the expedition in the morning, made a soft bed for the
little one. The wee mite was evidently about nine months old. For all
its adventure and exposure it seemed to have suffered little, and now in
its cry is only voicing the pleadings of its empty stomach. It was
adequately, though very plainly dressed, and through all the rain of the
preceding night had kept dry. Fortunately, too, the snake which had
been curled up in one of the blanket folds had not come into actual
contact with the child. There were only two things required to bring it
to a condition of happy contentment: nursing and feeding.
Capable as this quartet of Australian lads were in many ways, in this
they were novices. So it was with a look of ashamed helplessness that
they gazed at the new passenger, as she lay in the bottom of the boat on
her back, kicking her heels in the air at a great rate, and doubling her
dimpled hands first into her eyes and then into her mouth. The cry went
forth without ceasing, its only variation being the peculiar noise
caused by an intermittent sucking of her diminutive fists.
By a happy thought of Jimmy the hunger difficulty was overcome. The
boys had picked up a fine lot of oranges, as well as some dozens of
plantains, in the back-water. After they had eaten a quantity they
stowed the balance away in the bow locker, and completely forgot them in
the exciting events which followed. Jimmy suddenly remembered the
fruit. Selecting a fine specimen, he quickly peeled and quartered it.
Then, seeding some of the quarters, he put one in baby's fist, guiding
the same to her mouth. The sweet, juicy orange was simply nectar to the
famished child. It sucked as only a hunger-bitten baby can. The boys
were highly amused at the way in which she mouthed the skin, and the
difficulty Jimmy encountered in unlocking her little fingers order to
substitute a full for an empty quarter. It indeed a happy solution; an
admirable recipe for tears and squalls. As long as baby had an orange
quarter it was peaceful. After a little while Jimmy took the little one
on his knee, giving furtive glances towards the others as he did so.
The boys, however, under all the sad circumstances forebore to chaff.
Substituting, at length, a ripe plantain for an orange section, the babe
was taken to the seventh heaven of gastronomic bliss.
[Illustration: "The neighbours saw, far out on the wild, wreckage-strewn
waters, a tiny boat with four slight figures."--_See p._ 69]
And the while above them in the she-oak, whose thread-like leaves make
mournful music to the wind, lies the mother who has sacrificed her life
for that of the babe. There is no doubt of this. The poor woman must
have been exposed to the winds and waves long before she reached the
tree refuge. How she got there was never known. She had almost denuded
herself to protect the babe. Little wonder that at some moment of that
awful night vigil the vital spark should have quitted its terror-haunted
tenement.
*CHAPTER X*
*THE RETURN*
"See the conquering hero comes!
Sound the trumpet, beat the drums."
After baby's hunger was satisfied the boys' attention was given to their
immediate surroundings.
"What are we goin' to do about _her_?" asked Tom, pointing upward as he
spoke.
"It's simply impossible for us to do anything. If she were alive we
would take any risk. But as things are it is beyond our power to shift
the body, it is jammed so tightly. The only thing left for us to do is
to inform the police when we get to the other side."
"What'll we do now, Joe?"
"Get back to our former anchorage first. River's goin' down pretty
fast, I reckon; and it'll be all dry about here before morning if it
recedes at the same rate. The current is not nearly so strong as it was
when we came over, and that will make it easier for us to get out of the
clump. There's no need for us to go back by the same course. We can take
a slant across to that red gum, and when we're there we're out of the
stream."
The exit from the cluster of trees was very well managed, and in a few
minutes from the time of casting adrift from the she-oak the boat was
out of the clump and across the narrow stream into the slack water.
They continued on to their former camping place, and hitched on to the
tree.
This gallant attempt at rescue, though not accomplishing what was in the
minds of the boys, was not altogether a failure. Indeed, it was the
reverse of that. Though but little time is consumed in reading the
account of this episode, it covered a goodly portion of the day. By the
time the boys had made fast to their former anchorage, the slanting
sun-rays proclaimed the advance of eventide.
"Let's have a confab, chaps, on what's best to be done. I don't s'pose
any of us is wanting to stick here all night. What d'you say, Tom?"
"I say pull over to the hillock on the other side of the slack. See!
the water's retreated from the high ground. We could camp there, I dare
say, easy enough, and get home early to-morrow morning. I don't think
we ought to tackle the river to-night. I bet you it'd be a measly,
tricky trip. So I vote to do as I said."
"What d'you say, Billy?"
"I say same as Tom. Plenty dry land over there. Might get matches in
that house behind the hill. I'll pull 'possum outa spout, an' we'll
roast 'im an' make bully feed."
Billy, as indeed were all the boys, was beginning to feel desperately
hungry.
"What have you got to say, Jimmy?"
Jimmy Flynn, who had been gazing wistfully across the flood waters,
turned round slowly as Joe put the question to him. "Oh, Joe! can't we
get home to-night? The river isn't so bad as when we crost up at the
Bend. There's not nearly so much timber goin' down now. 'Sides, it's
easier crossing down here to what it was above. I give a straight vote
for--home!"
"Bravo! Well done, Jimmy! You're a brick. It's just the word, an'
we're the coves to do it. It's my vote too, my hearties. We've half an
hour of sun left: say an hour before it's right dark. I reckon 'twill
be about two mile an' a half from here to Tareela. It won't be near as
difficult as up by the Bend. Yes, we'll do it, boys; an' the sooner the
better. Then there's the blessed little baby, you know! Some of us
would have to mind her in the night, an' what about your beauty sleep
then? I reckon the kiddie would be too much for the whole boilin' of
us. And I've a notion that too much fruit'll be worse for her than none
at all. S'pose she gets the jim-jams! And, lastly, as father says when
he's preaching, what about the old folks at home?"
There was no need to say anything further.
"I'm game, for one," said Tom.
"I'm game, for two," said Billy.
"I'm game, for three," said Jimmy.
"Put me down for the fourth," said Joe.
"Now, boys, that's settled. We'll tackle the river straight away; for
better or for worse, as dad says in the marriage ceremony. And I say,
chaps, let's ask God to help us."
Though there was no audible form of expression, the spirit of prayer was
in each boy's heart. He who sat above the floods heard and answered.
"Billy and Jimmy are to take the oars. We want the best men at the
paddles. Now then, Tom, let the painter go an' keep the pole handy for
driftwood."
The painter is slipped, and the boat's head is turned riverwards. She
is soon out of the slack, and feels the full force of the flood. The
starting-point was nearly a mile and a half above the township, so that
there was a liberal margin for drift. The river was quite a mile wide.
There was still a quantity of driftwood, and many difficulties beset
them which made delicate steering and skilful management incumbent.
When they had travelled about half the distance, Tom, who was eagerly
conning the other shore, gave a shout, pointing at the same time to a
headland above the village.
"Some 'un's waving! See 'em, over there!"
Mrs. Blain was the first to spy the advancing boat. The boys' mothers
had been trapsing the lagoon shore and river-side for hours, in a
semi-demented manner. The minister and the others had returned after a
fruitless errand. The police, with a strong crew in the Government
whale-boat, were scouring the shores in the vicinity of the Bend, and
had not returned. The disappearance of the boys had seemed most
mysterious until the break-away was discovered. Then the accident as it
really happened was immediately conjectured. The profoundest sensation
was created in the village, for the boys were dearly loved by all.
The feelings of the poor parents may be but faintly imagined. Great was
the relief, therefore, when Mrs. Blain, whose eyes were devouring the
flood waters in her frantic eagerness to discover some hopeful sign,
suddenly screamed out in an alarming manner, gesticulating wildly as she
did so, and acting to outward seeming in a frenzied fashion. Other
searchers, scattered along the river-bank, hearing the piercing cry, and
seeing the untoward gestures of the joy-possessed woman, came running
towards her, thinking for the moment that she had lost her reason.
"See, see!" screamed she, pointing to a distant spot on the waters.
"They're saved, they're saved! God be praised, our lovely boys are
returning all safe; yes, one, two, three, four--the darlings."
Looking in the direction indicated, the neighbours saw, far out on the
wild, impetuous, wreckage-strewn waters, a tiny boat with four slight
figures running the blockade; threading their course between the
thousand objects which intervene and threaten destruction.
The good news is now shouted from end to end of the township, and in a
few minutes the river-bank is lined with exultant and yet anxious
spectators. For the joy of the discovery of the lads is almost quenched
at times by sights of the perils of the passage.
The mothers of Joe, Tom, and Jimmy are grouped together, wrought up to
such a pitch of anxiety as to be well-nigh silent. They noted every
danger and counted every oar-stroke. The gallant rowers lifted their
blades in the twilight, as the last rays sparkled on the flowing waters.
Beyond a landward look the boys had no time to bestow upon the excited
spectators. Eye and mind, in close conjunction, are continuously
engaged in evading danger and maintaining the boat's position.
"We'll make the point," exclaimed Joe, after an interval of silence.
"We'll make the point, all right. Keep her steady, lads," turning the
boat's nose, as he spoke, well up stream, at an angle inclining
shorewards. "Now, pull like a prize crew for five minutes an' we're
there. We're out of the driftwood as it is."
The rowers needed no further stimulus. They bent to the oars like old
salts.
"Capital! just the stroke! Keep it up! Hear 'em cheering!"
The cheering spurred on the boys, and in less than five minutes they
landed in the midst of a wildly excited and loud-cheering crowd. And
wasn't there a hugging and kissing, and hand-shaking and back-slapping!
Just as the women were up to their necks in it, to use a homely figure,
some one happened to glance at the boat. The glance extorted a scream.
"A baby, a darling baby! See, see, see! a little baby in the boat!"
A moment's dazed surprise, and every one crowded to the boat. Joe, who
had not moved far from the boat's nose, and who only waited for the
violence of the welcome to abate a little that he might call attention
to the precious freight, waved the jostling crowd back, and in a few
words related the incident of the rescue.
A great wave of feeling passed over the crowd as he spoke. The women
wept copiously as the scene was conjured us, and strong men
unconsciously shed briny tears as the story reached its culminating
point of the discovery of the helpless and orphaned babe, bound to the
dead breast of her who had thus made the great sacrifice of motherhood.
While Joe was reciting the story of the rescue, Jimmy Flynn held on to
his mother's arm and whispered excitedly into her ear. The narrator had
hardly finished ere Mrs. Flynn stepped forward to his side and faced the
crowd. Ordinarily, this woman was undemonstrative and shy. Now she is
unconscious of any timidity. The moment was an inspired one; to produce
which Jimmy's whisperings had played an important part.
"Mr. Blain, and friends all, give me the darling baby. It'll take the
place of the one God took from me last month. The clothes'll fit----"
The bereft mother could get no further. Any woman who has lost a child
will tell you why.
"My friends, you all know Mrs. Flynn, as I know her. If it were a matter
of choosing between you, I should still say that no one in the town is
better fitted for the sacred duty of mothering this little flood-driven
stranger. None of us can say to whom the child belongs; whether there is
a father or near relations. But until it is claimed by those who can
prove the right to do so, the very best of all possible arrangements,
and one I regard as providential, will be for Mrs. Flynn to take this
baby to nourish and cherish it."
The murmurs of assent were unanimous. Joe, without any more delay,
stepped into the boat, and, picking up the child--which all this time
looked round, wondering in its baby way at this ado--put the little one
into its foster-mother's hands.
The river baby was evidently delighted beyond measure to receive a warm
motherly embrace; judging, at any rate, by the way it gooed and crowed.
As soon as she could get through the admiring throng, Mrs. Flynn
hastened home, and before long the baby, washed and dressed anew, was
filling its "little Mary" with sweet new milk.
*CHAPTER XI*
*THE BREAKING-UP*
"With trumping horn and juvenile huzzas,
At going home to spend their Christmas days,
And changing Learning's pains for Pleasure's toys."
TOM HOOD.
Out through the gateway of the National School, on one sultry afternoon
in late December, tumbled a pack of noisy boys and scarcely less noisy
girls; the while they kicked up a fine dust, yelling in an uproarious
fashion. Were you, a stranger, to ask the cause of this demonstration
of voice and capering limbs, you would be answered by a score of voices
in rousing chorus--
"Hip, hip, hurray for Christmas Day!
School's broke up, hip, hip, hurray!"
However strongly one might be disposed to question the quality of the
couplet as he listened to the trumpetings of this cluster of children,
he would cheerfully admit the gusto of the proceedings as the juveniles
issued pell-mell.
If truth be told, the master was no less pleased than the youngsters
when the actual moment of dismissal came. Like all schools, this
particular one was infected for weeks previously with a spirit of
restlessness, which made it well-nigh impossible to secure the undivided
attention of the children. There was no disposition for serious study,
and Simpson, who was a wise teacher, attempted no coercive measures.
Natural history was presented in its most attractive forms. Grammar and
arithmetic were for the most part tabooed, and instead of puzzling
refractory brains with arithmetical and grammatical abstractions, the
children lived in the jungles of India, crossed Sahara, took a trip to
the Booties, wandered into Arctic circles, or, what was equally
exciting, made transcontinental trips in company with Sturt, Burke and
Wills, Leichhardt, and other great Australian explorers.
Many were the schemes unfolded and plans laid by the boys during the
last schooldays. The holidays would not be an undiluted playtime to any
one of the boys. Many of the lads would work hard on the farms; their
parents, bearing in mind the old adage of Satan and idle hands, will
take good care to anticipate the sinister designs of that interfering
old gentleman. The wood pile stood as an unfailing object of labour.
Sheds were awaiting the whitewash brush. Fowl houses loomed expectant.
Fences demanded attention. These, and many other duties about house and
farm, were put off till the "holidays."
There were other anticipations, however, far more highly coloured and
bewitching than these. Charm the schoolboy never so wisely, his
thoughts, with a dogged obstinacy or triumphant breakaway, return to the
delectable things of the groves, streams, mountains, and plains. Horse,
gun, dog, rod, bat, duck, quail, pigeon; perch, bream, mullet; kangaroo,
wallaby, dingo, brumby, scrubber! These are the sources and instruments
of pleasure; things that people the imagination, and make an earthly
paradise.
Sobering down, after an unusual indulgence in larks to mark the
auspicious event, Joe, Tom, and Sandy, separating from the others,
sauntered to the slip-rail entrance of the school horse-paddock. Joe
and Tom, at the express request of Mrs. M'Intyre, are to spend the
holidays with Sandy on the station. Here all kinds of fun and alluring
adventure are promised the lads. How well that promise was redeemed let
the sequel bear witness.
"Now then, you fellows, don't forget that you are to be at Bullaroi on
the morning of Christmas Eve without fail."
"I say, ole boss, what does eve mean?"
"Eve! Why, a--er--short for evening, I s'pose. What makes you ask,
Joe?"
"Well, if Christmas Eve is evening, how can we be there in the
mornin'?--you savee?"
"You're mighty smart, Blain, but did you ever know an evening that
didn't have a morning to it?"
"Oh--ah--yes, I see. We're to come out on the morning of the evening.
Sure it's an Irishie ye ought to be instead of a Scotchie."
"Scotchie or no Scotchie," replied Sandy, who was the essence of
good-humour, "ye're not to be later than ten o'clock of the forenoon of
the day before Christmas. There! Will that fit you, you pumpkin-headed
son of a bald-bellied turnip?"
"Thanks, M'Intyre; I'm sure my father'll be delighted when I tell him
the respectful titles you've given him," returned Joe, with mock
sarcasm.
"He'll no dispute the title of his son's head, anyhow," flung back the
Scotch lad, as, bridle in hand, he strolled on to round up his steed.
This parthian shot nettled Joe, but the answer he would have given
remained unuttered, for at this moment his eldest sister appeared and
beckoned to him in an emphatic manner, at the same time calling upon him
to hurry. So, contenting himself with levelling Midshipman Easy's
masonic sign at the retreating lad, he hurried along towards his sister.
"Father wants you to go down the river with him in the boat."
"Where's it to?"
"Down to Beacon Point. Tom Tyler's had a bad accident, and they've sent
for the doctor; but he's away. He was called out to a bad case at Dingo
Creek head station, and is not expected to be back till midday
to-morrow. So they've asked father to go down, and you've to hurry
along. Father's waiting down at the boat for you."
Mr. Blain was waiting at the boat with everything that was required for
the trip. As soon as the lad was in, he pushed off, and, taking the
stern oar, with Joe at the bow, father and son started on their
twelve-mile pull.
In answer to the boy's question the minister gave some details of the
accident, and, further, informed the lad that it was his intention to
call at Mrs. Robinson's, distant about five miles from Tareela.
They had now settled down to a steady stroke, and as the sun was on its
westering wheel, and the sting out of its slanting rays, the row became
enjoyable. Mr. Blain was a sort of newsletter to the settlers, and in
his trips up-stream and down-stream was frequently hailed and made the
target of questioning from the riverbank.
Robinsons' was reached a little before sunset, where they were made
abundantly welcome. Some years previously Mr. Robinson met his death by
one of those accidents all too common in new settlements. Felling scrub
timber is a risky performance. It so happened that in felling a stout
fig tree, Robinson failed to notice some lawyer vines that, hanging from
the high branches, had attached themselves to the bare limbs of an
adjacent dead tree.
Standing at the base and watching the toppling fig tree, as it slowly
swayed preparatory to its final crash, he was unaware that the
cable-like vines were retarding its progress. Gathering way, however,
the falling tree brought a strain upon the vine, and tore away a heavy
limb of the dead tree. This falling upon the axe-man, killed him
instantly.
The widow was blest with a family of boys and girls who were true grit.
Misfortune breaks some people--it makes others. The latter was the
truth in this case.
In all the trying times Mrs. Robinson underwent, the minister was her
friend and counsellor.
*CHAPTER XII*
*DOWN THE RIVER*
"When the full moon flirts with the perigee tide,
On a track of silver away we ride,--
Oh, glorious times we have together,
My boat and I in the summer weather."
ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.
The boat was sighted from Robinsons' some time before its nose grated on
the shingle at the landing-place.
Isaac, the younger son, a giant in stature and a prime favourite with
Joe, was at the landing-stage. Seizing the bow what time it touched
land, he half lifted, half dragged the boat two-thirds of her length out
of the water, and made her fast to an old stump.
"Mother's so glad you've come, sir. She wants to talk with you about
that boy of Maguire's, who's bin givin' us a lot of trouble."
"Won't be able to stay long, Ike. We've got to be at Beacon Point to
night. We just put in for a cup of tea and a bite. Mother's inside, I
suppose? I'll go in and have a chat with her."
"You'll find her in the kitchen, sir. When we saw you roundin'
Piccaniny Point we knew you'd be here for tea, and mother's lookin'
after things."
"I hope she won't go to any trouble. A mouthful is all we want."
"Well, you know mother, sir. She feels that nothin' is near good
enough."
"Any pancakes for tea, Ike?"
"Pancakes! Why, of course. That's what mother's makin' now. She knew
that'd be the first thing you'd be askin' fur, Joe."
"Rather, Ike!" said Joe, pursing his mouth and drawing in his breath
with the peculiar, half-whistling, unwriteable sound which boys
instinctively make when visions of goodies arise. More especially when
such goodies come within measurable distance of consumption.
Master Joe had a healthy boy's appetite. The rowing exercise gave
additional spice to his hunger. Pancake was at that moment the gate of
entry to the boy's very material heaven.
"Tea won't be ready fur a few minutes, Joe. Let's go down to the barn.
I was just goin' to rub some more mixture inter the skins when I seen
your boat roundin' the point. Sorry you're goin' on, my son. When I
seen you on the river I ses to meself, ses I, 'By George! Joey an' I'll
have a great night at the 'possums.' I wish to goodness you'd been
stayin'. There'll be a grand moon ter night, an it's very temptin'."
"By gum, ain't it just! It'd be simply, rippin'. 'Member last time I
was down? That was a grand bit of sport we had. Forty-seven was it, or
forty-nine? I know it took a dashed long time to skin 'em."
"Forty-seven it was. We'd do over fifty to-night."
"Well, as mother says, 'What can't be cured must be endured.' By dad!
that's a grand wallaby skin! Where'd you get it?"
"Got it larst night." Ike had the Colonial drawl to perfection. "I was
up at the top end of the scrub cultivation paddick, mooseying around
after some cockatoos that'd bin skinnin' the corn. It was just about
dusk, an' I was waitin' in the corner for the cockies, as I knew they'd
soon be leavin' fur their roosts, an' my bes' charnse at 'em was on the
wing. They're so 'tarnal cute, yer know, yer carn't git 'em on the
corn."
"I know. Didn't I try my best to stalk 'em the last time I was down,
Ike! I got three altogether, you 'member, an' you said it'd be a crest
apiece to take home to the girls."
"Waal, as I was sayin', I'd sarcumvented the ole boss cockie, which was
keeping watch in the dead gum-tree that stood in the middle of the
patch, an' was posted in the middle of the corner expectin' them ter fly
over every minit. But ole Pincher, who was chevyin' about, starts this
ere boss outer the pumpkin vines; they're death on pumpkins, yer know.
The dorg made a dash at 'im, an', by jings! he did streak. Greased
lightnin' wasn't in it with 'im. I tried to draw a bead on 'im, but,
what with the dusk an' the bushes an' stumps, I couldn't get a good
line. I banged away one barril, but was yards off, I reckon.
"Pincher, he disappeared in a brace of shakes, an' I made sure the
vermin ud get through a 'ole in the fence. I was makin' for 'ome, 'cause
the cockies, yer know, 'ad all gone. All of a suddent I heers a yelp,
an' knew ole Pinch 'ad somehow 'eaded 'im. Reckon 'e missed the 'ole,
or the dorg'd never got near 'im. Anyhow, 'e was a-streakin' a bit now,
an' Pinch at 'is 'eels. He was makin' fur the maize agen. I lined 'im
this time all right, though it was a longish shot; about sixty-five I
reckon; an' dropped 'im clean at the very edge."
"It's a prime pelt, anyway."
"Yaas, 'e was a grand ole buck fur a wally; about the biggest I've got
this season."
"How many skins have you taken, Ike?"
"Two more'n I'd 'ave six dozen."
"Gettin' a good price for 'em?"
"Waal, Jack Croft, 'e offered me nine shillin' a dozen fur 'em. There
are about twenty kangaroos among 'em. Jack reckoned it was a stiff
price, an' 'e sed 'e'd not offer anythin' near it but fur the kangaroo
skins, which 'e 'ad a fancy fur."
"Old Jack can put it on, you know."
"Oh, I know Jack all right! Me an' 'im's 'ad dealin' afore. Jacky's
not too bad, but 'e knows 'ow to draw the long bow. Anyway, ole Eb
Dowse's boat'll be along nex' week. He's sent word ter say as 'e'd do a
deal with me fur 'em."
"Better wait an' see what Eb'll shell out for 'em, Ike, I reckon.
German Harry, up the river, says he can always knock a shillin' a dozen
more out of Eb than Jack."
"I ain't hurryin', Joe."
Just then the welcome supper cooee reached their ears. The boys lost no
time in getting to the supper-table. Joe instinctively eyed the
contents. Cold streaky bacon; a big dish of fried pumpkin and potatoes;
a mountain of home-made bread, sliced; a basin of prime butter; Cape
gooseberry jam galore, and amber-tinted honey in the comb. What more
could any hungry lad desire?
Mary Robinson, a great tease, caught Joe's glance, and said, with an
amused smile, "No pancakes to-night, Joe."
Joe was abashed for the fraction of a second. Quickly rallying, he
laughingly said, "Tell another, Mary, while your mouth's hot."
"Very well, my boy! If you don't believe me ask our black tom-cat. He
chased a mouse into the batter and upset the bowl; so there!"
"Mary, Mary!" remonstrated Mrs. Robinson. "There's only a grain of
truth in the pound of fiction she's giving you, Joe. The cat, it is
true, did chase a mouse; but it did not jump into the batter, nor was
the bowl upset. The pancakes are cooked, with currans in 'em; just the
sort you like; and they're keeping hot by the fire."
"Thanks awfully, Mrs. Robinson; I believe _you_ anyway. As for Mary,
she's like Sandy M'Intyre's old, toothless sheep-dog."
"How's that, Joe?" interjected Ike.
"Bark's worse than her bite."
"My stars! what originality, what refinement! Sandy's razor is not in it
with master Joe Blain for sharpness. I'll remember this, though, the
next time you ask me to go out to the scrub with you for passion fruit.
Anyhow, there's no resemblance between you and Sandy's wonderful
barker."
"_Indeed!_"
"No; your bark's noisy enough, but your bite's a hundred times
worse--especially when pancakes are about."
With this "Roland" Mary ran out to the kitchen to get the teapot.
Joe made a royal repast, topping off with the hot pancakes at a rate
which caused his father to dryly remark: "Too much pancake won't help
the boat along, my boy."
Tea finished, the visitors prepare to continue their voyage. With Ike's
powerful assistance the boat is shoved into the water, and her nose
pointed down-stream. In due time Beacon Point is reached.
*CHAPTER XIII*
*OFF FOR THE HOLIDAYS!*
"Boyhood is the natural time for abundant play and laughter, without
which rarely does high health touch young cheeks with its rose-bloom, or
knit bones strongly for the fighting and the toiling that awaits
them."--JOSEPH H. FLETCHER.
"Now then, Norah, look slippy with breakfast! It's half-past six, an'
Sandy's to be here at seven. Said he'd leave the station at five with
the spare horse for me."
"Begorrah! at the rate breakfast's cookin' it'll be midnight before it's
ready. 'Tis the bastliest wood that niwer was."
"Time the fish was fryin', Norah."
"Fish, bedad! For two pins ye wuddent have anny fish. The thrubble
Oi've had wid thim! Phwat for did youse lave thim in the bag all night?
If ye'd put thim out on the dish, ye spalpeen, Oi'd have seen thim and
claned thim long ba-fore Oi wint to bed. 'Sted of which it's tuk me two
morchial hours to scale the brutes, they was that dry and hard. Be
Saint Pathrick, they scales was loike porky-pine's pricklies!"
"Sorry, Norah; my fault as usual," remarked Joe good-humouredly.
"Father called out to turn the horse from the lucerne just as I reached
the back door. So I threw the bag down on the steps to chase the moke,
an' clean forgot 'em when I came back."
"Well, Oi'll forgive ye wanst more, which makes about a million
tousandth toime; but, moind ye, 'tis----"
"All serene, Norah! Oh, I say, Norry, I'd nearly forgotten it! Paddy
Lacey asked me yesterday to tell you that they want you to go to the
Hibernian picnic on Boxing Day. They've chartered the _Firefly_, an'
are goin' down to the Bar."
"God's truth! 'tis only gammoning me ye are, Masther Joe. It's a young
thrick ye be, indade, with yure Hayburnion picnacs."
"It's as true as true, Norah. No make-up this time. An' oh! I say,
d'you know what Jimmy Flynn tole Tom Hawkins?"
"Nawthin' good, bedad!"
"Ain't it! Well, opinions differ. At any rate he was goin' to set a
line on Friday night, an' as he was roundin' the point he hears
somewheres ahead of him a noise between a smack an' a crack. Then comes
a bit of a squeal, an' a woman's voice sings out: 'Don't, stop it!'
Then there was another smack-crack, an' just as he got round the corner
he sees a couple, for all the world like you and Paddy, sittin' on a
log. No, 'twas Paddy that was on the log, an' you were on Paddy's----"
"Ye loi-in spalpeen! Oi'll pull yure tongue from betune yure teeth,"
screamed Norah, as, blushing furiously, she chased the nimble Joe out of
the kitchen right into the arms of Sandy M'Intyre, as he was coming up
the back doorstep.
"Hello, Sandy!"
"Hello, Joe! What's row inside? Norah givin' you the rounds of the
kitchen as usual, eh?"
"Only jiggin' her about Paddy Lacey, an' got her _paddy_ up a bit.
You're up to time, Sandy, ole man. By jing! I see you've brought Curlew
in. Am I to ride him? My word! it is good of your governor to let me.
I thought you'd a brought the piebald."
"So I intended, but he was limpin' when he was run into the stockyard;
so father says, 'Take Curlew.'"
Curlew was Mr. M'Intyre's favourite horse, and Joe was highly honoured
in being allowed to ride this mettlesome but lovely paced steed.
Just then breakfast appeared. After a substantial meal Joe brought out
his father's valise and strapped it to the saddle.
"All ready, Sandy? Good-bye, mother. Good-bye, father. Good-bye,
girls!"
And so, with kisses and cautions from the family, the boys mounted their
steeds and cantered down the street to the punt, on their way to
Bullaroi, as Mr. M'Intyre's station was called.
Across the river the boys were joined by Tom Hawkins, who was to
accompany them. Tom, who was mounted on a brisk pony, greeted them with
a cheery cry as the punt reached the shore. A jollier trio of young
Australians could not be found than this chattering, capering band, who
on that brilliant morning raced along the bush track.
Plans of fun and frolic were projected during the ride, including
astounding adventures that would have taken half a year to carry out.
In anticipation the lads were already having tip-top fun. Tom's riotous
imagination, especially, made the spoils of the gun, the rod, and the
chase to assume brobdingnagian proportions.
In due course they pulled up at the slip-rails marking the Bullaroi
boundary line. Thence to the white gate seen in the distance, and which
fronted the homestead, a mad race ensued. In this Curlew was first, the
rest nowhere. Indeed, Curlew became so excited by the gallop and the
shrill shoutings of the riders that Joe, who had made no attempt to pull
him till the horse was almost on the gate, found it impossible to stop
his steed, which was full of running. Before the boy fully realised it,
Curlew was soaring through the air, clearing the gate by at least a
couple of feet. Joe, parting from the "pigskin," was sailing through
space on his own account, leaving a foot or two between his sit-down and
the saddle seat.
Joe, though a fair rider, was not a practised steeple-chaser. He was
not a horseman, as were Sandy and Tom, who were to the manner born.
Little wonder, then, that his heart rose with the horse and his rider,
and for some brief moments palpitated furiously in his mouth. That
mysterious and natural law of the universe called gravitation was on
hand, however, and saved the situation.
Curlew's hoofs struck the ground on the descending curve as lightly as a
cat. Joe's legs, which in this aerial flight had assumed the shape of
an inverted V, came plop into the saddle at the right moment. But his
body was thrown forward, his hands clutching frantically at the horse's
neck and mane. In this condition, unable to recover his equilibrium,
with but the loss of his hat, the rider is carried over the intervening
distance to the stables, amid loud laughter from the station people, who
had been attracted by the shouting of the boys.
Sandy cleared the gate in pursuit of Joe, but failed to catch him. Tom
was obliged to haul up and open the gates, as the jump was too high for
his pony. Thus the rider of Curlew came in a winner, and all three
dismounted amid laughter and teasings.
"Weel, Joseph, my lad," said Mr. M'Intyre, who possessed a pawky humour,
"Johnny Gilpin couldna hae done the trick better. You kep' up wi'
Curlew, anyway. I thocht he was goin' to leave ye behind. Ma certie
it's deeficult to say which is the winner, you or the horse. We'll juist
ca' it neck an' neck."
"Take no heed to him, Joe," said Mrs. M'Intyre. She saw through the
lad's apparent good-humour a sense of humiliation at his unhorsemanlike
entry. "You did well to stick to him, not knowing his intention. But
come away in, boys; ye'll be ready for something to eat after that ride.
We're right glad to see you. Sandy was so excited last night at the
prospect of your coming that I am sure he didn't sleep a wink. Why, he
had the horses saddled at dawn, and was off without a bite if I hadn't
stopped him and made him drink a cup of coffee."
The day was a busy one on the station. Every one was engaged in
finishing off jobs and cleaning up. For during Christmas week, and
until after New Year's Day, only that which was absolutely necessary in
the way of work was expected.
During the previous week drafting and mustering had been the all
absorbing work on the run. That finished, and a mob of "fats"
despatched overland to Maitland to catch the Christmas market, the last
few days were occupied in culling "boilers" and in branding calves. On
this particular day all the available hands were engaged in tidying up;
the whitewash bucket being in great request.
Willy and Jacky, the aboriginal boys, together with an Irish
lad,--Norah's brother, in fact,--were enrolled as whitewash artists.
Their special work consisted in converting dingy looking hen-roosts,
dog-kennels, pigsties, milking sheds, and the like into a brilliant
white. Meanwhile two of the men, with rough brooms made of stiff
brushes, were sweeping the ground within a fair radius of the house.
Inside, the housework was prosecuted with great vigour. Two gins were
set to work with the scrubbing brush; while in the kitchen, where Mrs.
Mac and the two elder daughters were domiciled, Christmas cooking went
on apace. There was, indeed, such a weighing of flour and raisins, such
a slicing of candied peel, such a dressing of flesh and fowl as to make
Ah Fat, the cook, fairly amazed, and to wonder how in the name of
Confucius the oven was to stand the cooking strain that was being
brought upon it. While from the kitchen an odoriferous perfume was
wafted across the yard, assaulting all noses, and breeding high
anticipation, most pleasurable from the standpoint of creature comforts.
Mr. M'Intyre, no patron of idleness either in man or boy, took the lads
early in the day into the harness room, and set them to the task of
cleaning the saddle and harness ware. Saddles, girths, bridles, various
sets of light and heavy harness, required attention. All leather was to
be well cleaned and oiled, stirrups and bits to be burnished, and broken
straps to be repaired.
The pals threw themselves, _con amore_, into the work. It was hard to
say which moved the more briskly, tongues or hands. The afternoon was
well advanced before the last piece of steel and electro silver was
polished, the last girth and surcingle refitted, and the whole placed on
their respective brackets. This task finished, the boys felt that they
had earned the promised reward--a glorious swim. Within a couple of
hours of sunset the whole of the outside work was accomplished, and, for
the time being, each employe was a free agent.
The homestead faced a large affluent of the river, which was known as
Crocodile Creek. Why the creek was so named was a sort of a mystery.
No species of the saurian tribe was ever known to infest its waters.
The name may have been given to it through some fancied resemblance in
its course to the aforesaid reptile.
Crocodile Creek formed a fine frontage to Bullaroi run, being distant
from the homestead about a quarter of a mile. Immediately opposite, the
creek widened out into a fine sheet of water some three miles long, and
varying in width from one hundred to one hundred and fifty yards. There
was a particular spot which stood about seven or eight feet above the
water. Here Mr. M'Intyre had a spring-board constructed. The water was
fully twelve feet deep at the jump off, and, added to other advantages,
formed an ideal spot for bathing purposes.
Having finished their allotted tasks, the lads came bounding out of the
harness-room and across the yard to the house, shouting, as they
capered, "Who's for a swim?" The stockmen certainly looked, and no
doubt felt, that the one thing above all others necessary for their ease
and comfort after the stable and the house-yard cleaning operations was
a plunge into the cool, sweet waters of the creek. If they were
semi-black by reason of their employment, it was no less true that the
black boys, Willy and Jacky, were semi-white.
Dennis Kineavy, the Irish lad, was the "broth of a bhoy," and all three
were cram full of impishness. No sooner were the finishing touches of
whitewash decoration given, than Denny, sneaking up behind Willy and
Jacky, who stood off a little from the hen-roost admiring their artistic
handicraft--with capacious brush well charged with the sediment of his
bucket--smote them in quick succession across the bare shoulders and
breech, and then, with an Irish yell, darted round the stable.
Surprised for the moment, but nothing loath, the black boys snatched
their buckets, wielded their brushes, and, shouting their native
war-cry, dashed off in hot pursuit; Denny dodged them successfully for a
while, but was at length outflanked, and then ensued a battle royal
which only ceased when the supplies of ammunition (whitewash) were
exhausted.
It was at the tail-end of the fray that Sandy and his mates came racing
along with the cry of, "Swim O! Swim O!"
Boys and men, black and white, were all ready and willing, nay, eager,
for a jolly bogey.[#] There was a rush by the whites for towels; then,
in quick procession, the motley band made for the water.
[#] "Bogey," native name for bathe.
After a plunge and a short swim to get rid of the dust and muck, an
impromptu carnival was arranged. First of all came the long dive. This
meant a run along the spring-board and a dive straight out. The diver
in each case, when reaching the surface, had to tread water, keeping as
nearly as possible to the spot of emergence.
Tom Hawkins led off, the others followed in order at twenty seconds'
interval. The blacks, by reason of their native abilities in this
direction, were made to do the dive with arms interlocked, Siamese twin
fashion. The darkies were the whippers-in of this diving procession.
Tom, who led off, faltered in his stride when leaving the spring-board.
He rose to the surface at about thirty feet from the bank. Joe, who
followed, dived a good ten feet farther out than Tom. Sandy, however,
when he shot up through the water, was fully fifty feet from the shore.
Both of the stockmen beat Joe, but were behind Sandy.
Then came the blacks, side by side. With an even, measured, and springy
stride they raced down the board, which was wide enough to admit of this
manoeuvre. They took the water without a splash, like a pair of frogs,
leaving scarce a ripple. It was naturally thought that by being coupled
in this way matters would be evened. It was the general opinion that
they would fail to reach Sandy's limit, and probably not get beyond
Joe's. The boys eagerly awaited their reappearance, watching the water
closely for some sign. After what appeared to be an interminable period
they were startled by a double cooee, and, lo! the twins, so to speak,
had risen at least twenty feet beyond Sandy, or seventy feet from the
shore.
Somersault diving followed the long distance trial. In thia Harry the
stockman, who had been a circus rider and acrobat in his youthful days,
outshone all the others.
Then came the exciting game of "catch the devil." Willy was chosen
devil. It was his business to dive off the spring-board and run the
gauntlet, the others being scattered in the water. To catch the
aboriginal seemed a comparatively easy matter, all things considered.
He was, however, a superb swimmer and trickster, diving and dodging like
a cormorant. A dozen times surrounded, he marvellously eluded his
pursuers. The game was at its height, and there was no knowing how long
the "devil" would remain at large, when the station bell rang out a
lusty summons to supper.
This brought the carnival to an instant conclusion. And now each swimmer
scrambled for the shore, and soon the whole company, with clean bodies
and healthy appetites, were hieing along the track. When the boys
reached home they found a new arrival in the person of a young
Englishman. This gentleman was out on a business tour, and, being
anxious to see something of station life, was recommended to Mr.
M'Intyre by a mutual friend. Mrs. M'Intyre's hospitality was proverbial,
and Neville, for such was the "new chum's" name, was heartily made
welcome.
The day had been a long one, and, supper ended, the boys were quite
resigned to go to bed, or at least to the bedroom. The noises
therefrom, after their retirement, were very suggestive of prime larks,
and continued long after lights were out. The pals were domiciled, to
their great delight, in a big spare room, which contained a double bed
and a single one. Joe and Tom shared the former, while Sandy camped on
the latter, which was, indeed, his stretcher brought in for the
occasion.
Silence reigned supreme at length within, and without was broken only by
the hoarse croaking of the frogs, an occasional call from a night owl,
and the weird wail of the curlew.
*CHAPTER XIV*
*CHRISTMAS FUN AND FROLIC*
"It was the time when geese despond
And turkeys make their wills;
The time when Christians to a man
Forgive each other's bills.
It was the time when Christmas glee
The heart of childhood fills."
BRUNTON STEPHENS.
Daylight had barely broken. The only stir in the household is that
produced by Joe, whose slumber had been disturbed by the persistent
crawling of flies across his face.
There are three things in animated nature which run each other very
closely for the supremacy in downright tenacity to purposeful
cussedness. Pig, Hen, Fly--these three! And of the three, the
cussedest and most exasperatingly tenacious to its rooted purpose of
squeezing in between one's eyelids, sinking a well in the corner of
one's eye, or climbing the inside walls of one's nose, is the Australian
species of the common house-fly.
It is possible at times to circumvent the "gintilman wot pays the rint,"
and persuade him to return through the same hole in the fence which gave
him escape, by appearing to be anxious to drive him out on to the plain.
That is pig strategy; or rather, strategy with a pig. He is beaten, so
to speak, by the law of contrairy. When all resources fail in
persuading the hen that the flour-bin, or the linen basket, is not
specially constructed to suit her convenience in the daily duty of egg
producing, one can at the last resort requisition the services of Madame
la Guillotine.
But neither strategy nor tactics, neither force nor fraud, avail
anything when the early fly, with recruited energies and fiendish
intent, starts on her mission of seeking whom and what she may annoy.
She--it is quite safe to put the insect in the feminine gender--can be
neither coaxed, persuaded, shoo'd, deceived, frightened, nor driven from
her prey. The fly always wins--in the end.
Driven from Blanket Bay on this eventful Christinas morning by the
incorrigible fly, Joe proceeded at once to reverse the Golden Rule, and
promptly made war upon his mates on that morning which, of all the days
in the year, makes for peace and goodwill among men.
Tom had sought refuge from the fly in the bed-clothes, and muffled nasal
monotones made a sonorous chorale. On the other hand, Sandy, impervious
to all impious fly assaults, lay on his back, mouth wide open, breathing
heavily and steadily. Sandy was of the pachydermatous order. Neither
mosquito nor fly troubled him. The flies evidently found his eyes to be
a dry patch, while they were unable to obtain a permanent foothold at
his nostrils owing to the intermittent, horse-like snorts which blew
them as from the mouth of a blunderbuss. But they heavily fringed his
mouth, eating with manifest relish their bacilli breakfast.
In a jiffy the bed-clothes are whipped off the slumbering lads, and in
less than no time the latter, pillows in hand, make common cause against
the aggressor. Joe puts up a gallant fight, but the odds are too much
for him; he is driven into a corner at last and unmercifully pelted.
This prelude to the day's enjoyment concluded, the pals jump into their
clothes and proceed to execute the second item on the day's programme,
namely, a horseback scamper through the bush before breakfast.
Oh, the glory of it! Out from the confines of four walls into the open
spaces of the world when night is merging into day; to move in the dawn
of a new day; to stand enwrapped in its pearl-grey mantle ere the
mounting sun has turned its soft shades to rosy brilliance; to inhale
the spicy breeze which, during the night watches, having extracted the
perfumes of the forest flowers, comes heavily freighted o'er gully and
range, and diffuses the sweet odours as the reward of the early riser.
And then--to watch the daily miracle of sunrise!
"See! the dapple-grey coursers of the morn
Beat up the light with their bright silver hoofs
And chase it through the sky."
Sandy, on old Rufus, kept for that work, soon rounds-up and yards
several steeds from the horse-paddock. From these three are picked and
saddled; and ere the rising sun has walked "o'er the dew of yon high
eastern hills," the lads are scampering through bush and brake, o'er
dale and hill. They chivy the silent kangaroo through the lush grass;
have a glorious burst after a belated dingo; rouse screaming parrots and
paroquets from their matutinal meal off the honey blossoms of box and
apple trees; pulling up at last on the summit of a dome-shaped, treeless
hill, from whence, with the bloom of the morning still upon it, the
landscape extends in a vast stretch of undulation, broken at irregular
intervals by silver ribbons of creek and river.
Belts of scrub and forest, rich pasturages and arable lands, are dotted
here and there, with minute spots from which rise slender threads of
smoke indicating settlers' houses; while away in the background are the
purple hills and the blue mountains.
Boys are not usually considered to be impressionable creatures on the
aesthetic side of things. Herein we wrong them. They may not
attitudinise, nor spout poetry when under the supreme touches of nature,
for the boy is too natural to be theatrical. But, without doubt, the
morning and evening glories of dear old mother earth do touch their
sense of beauty; and though these impressions may seem to be effaced by
other and more sordid things, nevertheless they linger through the long
years, called up from time to time in sweet association with days that
are no more.
The lads, while they rested their steeds, stood in silent and wondering
gaze, broken at last by Tom, who, pointing across the intervening spaces
to the broadest of the many silver threads, exclaimed, "Tender's
Tareela!" Many miles away, as the crow flies, lay the river village, a
small cluster of dots, a few of which glistened in the sunlight. These
shining spots indicated the "superior" houses that sported corrugated
iron roofs, new in those days. For the most part the "roof-trees" were
shingle or bark.
And now, homeward bound, the horsemen slither down the hillside, plunge
into a pine scrub, to emerge therefrom on the border of a small plain,
and chase a mob of brumbies grazing thereon. They, with snorting
nostrils and waving manes, headed by a notorious grey stallion--of whom
more anon--dash up a ravine into the fastnesses of the scrub, and,
though followed some distance by the reckless riders, vanish from sight
with a celerity possible only to wild bush-horses.
Skirting now the banks of the Crocodile, they disturb flocks of teal,
widgeon, water-hen, and other aquatic birds. At length they give a view
halloo, for the old homestead is in sight. This scares a flock of
cockatoos that are camping in the river gums, after an early morning's
poaching expedition to the adjacent maize-fields, and brings out the
station dogs with a babble of barking, as they pound up the track with a
final spurt.
"Breakfast ready, Ah Fat?" sings out Sandy, as the boys come rushing
into the kitchen from the stables.
"Leddy? Tes, allee globble upee! Missee say no kleep anyling for bad
boy. Lockee allee glub." Ah Fat's twinkling, humorous eyes redeemed
his hatchet face and stolid countenance.
"It's all right, fellows. He's only pokin' borak at us," said Sandy,
giving the Celestial a familiar slap. "Come along, I'm as hungry as a
hunter. They've only started, I know."
The family were seated, heads were bent, and Mr. M'Intyre was saying the
long Scotch grace, when the boys burst into the room with a fine
clatter. The rude intrusion brought a severe remonstrance from that
gentleman when the exercise was concluded. Mrs. M'Intyre--always ready
to defend the boys and to champion them, to condone their faults and to
extol their virtues, in which she was wise or otherwise, as the reader
may decide--broke in with a Christmas greeting. For a minute there was a
fusillade of "Merry Christmas to you and many of them!"
"Now, boys, take your seats before breakfast's cold."
On proceeding to their places the boys stood stock still, for there,
resting against their respective chairs, stood three brand-new,
double-barrel shot-guns.
"Weel, bairns!" exclaimed Mr. M'Intyre, with quiet amusement, surveying
the amazed boys as they gazed at the weapons. "What are ye frichtened
at? Is it snakes y're lukin' upon? Why dinna ye sit doon to yure
food?"
"Oh, father! mother!" cried Sandy at last, picking up his gun, pleasure
beaming from his face. "This is what Harry meant when he said last
night he'd brought out a parcel from the town that'd come by steamer."
Then with a rush, Joe and Tom at his heels, he danced round the abashed
Scotchman, and gave him a hug, repeating the dose with interest on Mrs.
M'Intyre. It was hard for the boys to settle down to breakfast and
dislodge their eyes from the weapons. What their souls coveted most was
a gun. The clamant claims of hunger, however, are not to be
disregarded; so, stacking their guns in a corner, the boys did ample
justice to a generous meal.
"Did you have a pleasant ride this morning, boys?" inquired Mrs.
M'Intyre. "You've not been out on the run before, Tom, have you?"
"No, ma'am. We'd a good time, though!"
"How far did you go, Sandy?"
"To the top of Bald Hummock, mother."
"Splendid view from the top, is it not, Joe?"
"Not bad, Mrs. M'Intyre."
"That's a negative descreeption o' ane o' the graundest sichts the hale
deestric' can boast," said Mr. M'Intyre, with emphasis.
Joe became conscious of the banality.
"An' why did ye no' tak' Mr. Neville wi' you, boys? Ye did wrang no' to
invite him to ride wi' you. I think ye owe him an apologee, Saundy."
"I'm very sorry," said the lad, turning in some confusion to Mr.
Neville. "If I'd thought----"
"Oh, I shouldn't have dreamed of going out at such an early hour, my
lad," replied Neville loftily. He had a somewhat affected accent and a
superior air. "I nevvah exert myself before breakfast. Besides, I am
not sure that I should find a safe escort in a parcel
of--er--schoolboys. With the young ladies, now," he continued, fixing
his monocle and bestowing a patronising stare upon Sandy's sisters,
Maggie and Jessie, "I--I--should be delighted to go for a bush ride, as
I think these equestrian expeditions are called in Awestralia, in the
cool of the afternoon."
"We don't call them even bush rides out here, Mr. Neville," answered
Jessie saucily. She resented patronage. "We call 'em spins. Boys, I
vote we all go for a spin this afternoon. Let's ride as far as Ben
Bolt's cave. It'll be something interesting to show Mr. Neville. Ben
Bolt's a famous bushranger hereabouts, you know, and the cave is a
favourite rendezvous for his gang, as well as a safe hiding-place. At
least, it was so until a few months ago, when the police and black
trackers discovered it, and nearly nabbed him. Fancy having a
bushranger's camp on the Bullaroi boundary! But Ben never uses it now.
So let's ride out to it. Are you game, boys?"
"Game!" snorted Sandy. "What's to be game about? The main thing is,
will Mr. Neville care for an eighteen-mile spin? If not, we could go
for a short ride down the Crocodile."
"Please don't question my ability, boy!" retorted the new chum, who
resented the implication contained in Sandy's remark. "I find,"
continued he, addressing his host, "you good people out heah seem to
think that Awestralia is the only place where horseback riding is
indulged in----"
"We ride steers also, an' billies too," slyly interjected Joe, with a
wink at the girls.
"And we read that they ride donkeys and--er--hobby-horses in England,"
chipped in Jessie, whose eyes sparkled with mischief.
"Good for you, ole Jess! Let 'em bring out their English fox-hunters
an' steeple-chasers that they brag so much about, and we'll give 'em a
dingo run, or a go at cutting out scrubbers,[#] an' see how they'd be
with their pretty coats an' breeches, at the tail of the hunt!"
[#] Wild, unbranded cattle, frequenting scrub country,
"Are ye addressing the English nation or oor guest, Saundy?"
M'Intyre could be caustic when he willed. He had no liking for
Australian blow, and hit at it as he would hit at a snake, whenever
occasion arose. He now turned the laugh against his son, Jess laughing
loudest of all.
"It's settled, then, that we ride out to the cave this afternoon?" said
Maggie, with an inquiring eye on Neville.
"I'm shore 'twill be a pleasant jaunt, Miss M'Intyre," replied the
Englishman. "I shall have pleasure in acting as your escort. But
this--er--famous--er--notorious--er--highwayman, is it--er--safe? I
mean--er--I'm thinking of the--er--ladies, you know."
"What's to be afraid of?" quoth Jessie. To her, risk meant spice, an
added zest. Her whole heart went out to the life of the open air and
the pleasures of the chase. Her greatest delight was in a mad scamper
through the bush behind the dogs, in the kangaroo hunt.
"Don't be alarmed, Mr. Neville; Mag and I'll protect you should
the--er--famous--notorious--bushranger--highwayman turn up," went on the
audacious minx. "I'd dearly love to see Ben Bolt. I think he's a lot
better than many who run him down. Oh my! wouldn't it be fun if we
surprised him in the cave? I'd----"
"Stop, Jess; cease your blether!" said Mr. M'Intyre sternly. "The mon
may no' be as black as he's pented, but he's no' an honest mon.
Misguided he may be to an extent, and no' a'thegither answerable for
some of the steps in his doonward career, but a creeminal for a' that,
whom the country were weel rid o'. But as for the reesk, there's na
reesk in ridin' to the cave. The Sub-Inspector telt me a few days ago
that Ben Bolt's gone o'er the border. News is to hand to the effect
that he stuck up a Chinaman on the Brisbane road. So the cave's safe
enough."
"That's settled, then," broke in Maggie. "If we leave here about four
o'clock 'twill be early enough, and will give us plenty of time to get
back by dark."
"Maidie, my pet," said Mrs. M'Intyre to her little three-year-old, a
dainty, precocious miss, "what are you staring at? It's rude to stare
at any one like that."
"Oh, muzzer!" exclaimed the child, turning her bright eyes mother-wards
for a moment and then fixing them with a fascinated gaze upon the
Englishman.
"What is it that interests you, little girl?" remarked Neville in a
patronising tone. "Is it the colour of my tie?"
Maidie shook her curly head, and, without removing her eyes from Mr.
Neville's face, leaned towards Jessie, who sat next to her, and
whispered, "The genkilmun's got somesin' on his fevvers."
Suspended from the tip of one of Neville's incipient moustaches was a
yellow string of egg-yolk. Jess had observed this for some time, with a
tendency to hilarity whenever it caught her eye. Maidie's comical
description added fuel to the fire of the girl's merriment, sending her
into convulsive laughter. She answered looks of interrogation by
pointing to the dangling egg thread, and saying as well as circumstances
permitted, "Maidie says--ha--ha--ha!--that Mr. Fevv--he--he--he!--Mr.
Neville's got egg on his--fev--feathers." This explanatory and
ludicrous mixture created a general explosion among the young folk. The
situation, however, was promptly ended by Mrs. M'Intyre, who discreetly
rose on seeing that the guest did not join in the general laugh.
There was nothing much for the men-folk to do; but the boys were burning
to try their new fowling-pieces, The squatter, seeing their intent,
directed them to use their skill on the cockatoos and king parrots that
were devastating the maize crop.
These birds, especially the former, proved wily customers, so that not
many opportunities offered for testing the guns. Enough was done,
though, to prove that the guns were no "slouches," and great things were
predicted when the lads should "know" their respective weapons.
"Whatyer think of the new chum, Joe?" said Sandy to Blain, as they sat
on a log under a low-spreading wattle tree, on the look out for a flying
shot.
"Goes thirteen to the dozen, ole man, don't he? Knows a lot more'n us,
he reckons, and can't help showin' it."
"Yes, he can't stand us chaps at no price. By George! Jess's got his
measure, and Mag too, for that matter. They'll take his nibs down a peg
or two before he goes, I bet tuppence."
"Little Maidie fitted him all right," chipped in Tom.
"Fevvers--ha--ha!--yes, goose feathers."
It was evident that the visitor was not in favour with the young people.
He had struck a false note. No one can be quicker than boys to detect
superciliousness and to resent it. The patronising air is to them the
unforgivable sin. Henceforth Neville went by the name of "Fevvers"
among the boys, to the great amusement of the girls, who, unfortunately
for the Englishman, had assigned him a place in prig-dom.
Neville, it must be confessed, was a bit of a prig; but at heart he was
not at all a bad fellow, and there came a time not far ahead when
respect supplanted contempt in the pals, and the ridiculous nickname was
dropped; while he on his part discontinued the use of the irritating
comparison, "the way we do things in England," which at the beginning he
was for ever introducing.
The household was enjoying a siesta after the typical Christmas dinner
which was partaken of at midday. Stillness reigned within the house,
save the cracking of house timbers under the influence of the heat.
This seductive calm and the sweet sleep of the girls was at length
rudely broken by Sandy, who in the exercise of a brother's privilege
shook the door violently as he shouted, "Now then, lazies, get up and
dress! It's half-past three."
"Bother you, Sandy, you _are_ a nuisance!" sleepily complained Jessie.
"I--I--was having _such_ a lovely dream. Neptune was just on the heels
of a blue flyer,[#] and I was galloping alongside him. The chase led us
to Blind-fall Gully, and we three took the jump together, and were
almost landed on the other side when you thumped the door. I thought at
first it was the thud of Kangie's tail, but no! there she was flying
through----"
[#] Maiden kangaroo, a very fast runner.
"That comes of eating too much plum-duff an' mince-pie, my girl. But I
say, you two, look slippy, or you'll be too late. I told Jacky to
saddle Nigger for you, Jess. What'll you take, Mag? Rainbow or Sultan?
They're both up."
"Don't care, Sandy. I'll take Sultan, I think. No, I'll take Rainbow.
Wait a moment, p'r'aps----"
"Oh! stop your silly nonsense. I'll put the saddle on Sultan," shouted
the impatient boy, as he made off through the house to the stockyard.
"Say, Sandy!" cried out Jess, who was now wide awake. "Have you roused
Mr.--er--Fevvers yet?"
"'Ssh! mother'll hear you," exclaimed the boy warningly, as he returned
to the door. "He didn't have a snooze. Says it's unbusinesslike to
sleep in the daytime. Says they never do that in England. England be
blowed, say I. An' whatyer think? Harry offered him the loan of his
leggin's, but he wouldn't have 'em. Says they smell of the stockyard,
ha--ha! Says they don't wear 'em in England. Listen! He's got on a
pair of white duck britches, an' my crikey! they won't be white any
longer. He asked Harry for his fourteen-foot stockwhip. Says he was
told an 'Awestralian' horse would never budge without one. Only dad was
there I'd 'a' put his saddle on Dick Swiveller, an' by jing! we'd 'a'
had some sport. We'll knock fun out of him as it is, I reckon. But look
alive, girls, or y'll be left behind."
*CHAPTER XV*
*A BUSH RIDE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES*
"Then hey for boot and horse, lad!
And round the world away;
Young blood will have its course, lad!
And every dog his day."
KINGSLEY.
The weather in Australia at Christmas is not ideal for riding parties.
Midsummer heat and dust, together with hordes of flies, largely
countervail the delights of the saddle.
The enthusiastic party that cantered along the tracks leading from the
Bullaroi homestead on this particular Christmas, with one exception,
made small bones about either dust or heat. Neville, however, was
irritated by the dust which the horses' feet knocked up. Nor would he
seek alleviation as did the others by leaving the track at every
opportunity. The victim of prejudice and conventionality, expressed in
terms of cussedness, he obstinately stuck to the dusty track. The boys
and Jessie frisked here and there, making short cuts, jumping gullies
and logs, and generally enjoying themselves. They raised, it is true,
clouds of dust, to the annoyance of the new chum, as they pounded along
the track on their return to the others, after having forged ahead some
distance; behaving, in short, like gambolling dogs. Mag would have
dearly loved the frolic, but hospitality's demands made it imperative
that she--the eldest--should partner the guest.
Neville was no rider. His knowledge of the ways of the horse was of the
most elementary kind. Had he had the common sense to have admitted that
palpable fact, many of his painful experiences, and indeed tortures,
would have been minimised, if not altogether avoided.
Like all inexperienced riders, he responded to every movement of the
horse. He had no sense of balance. He held the reins shoulder high, and
was for ever jerking them. When his body was not stiffly straight it
inclined forward. The inevitable result was made abundantly manifest in
chafed limbs and aching bones. With Neville, as with most new-chum
riders, the trousers legs _would_ work up from the bottom, displaying a
section of calf, to the great amusement of the boys, who baa'd most
vehemently at such times.
This, however, must be reckoned for grace in Neville: he made no
complaint, nor admitted any discomfort. He was forward in his
criticisms of the boys' style of riding: their seats were un-English and
cowboy.
No greater contrast between the riders could well be imagined than that
which the new chum and the pals presented. Theirs was to the manner
born, to be confounded neither with cowboy nor military. While there is
an utter absence of stiffness in the Australian style, there is at the
same time nothing bordering on the truculent as affected by the cowboy.
The movements are willowy and rhythmic. Horse and man are one and
indivisible. This means to both the minimum of work with the maximum of
ease.
How far removed from this attainment was poor Neville! His figure was
of the ramrod pattern for the first few miles--ultra military, so to
speak. His feet, well through the stirrups, inclined outwards at a
sharp angle; his left arm, held at right angle as rigid as a semaphore,
gripped the reins; while his right clutched the stockwhip with tenacious
grasp. The steed, a fair pacer in experienced hands, in his became a
veritable jogger. He rose and fell in springless fashion with every
motion of the horse.
It was not in Neville's power to maintain that iron rigidity, and so he
gradually inclined forward. His back became bowed, and his nose at
times was in imminent danger of the horse's head. His arms, too, hung
listlessly at either side, until at last his appearance resembled
nothing so much as a doubled-up Guy Fawkes perched on a rail. Yet his
dogged spirit, essentially British, half courage, half cussedness, bore
him up.
Nearing the caves, the party, with the exception of Neville and his
companion, raced ahead, and by the time that the latter arrived were
cooling off beneath the shade of some coolibahs.
And now disaster of such a character as to shake from him the last
remains of superiority and propriety, overwhelming him in the depths of
humiliation, overtook poor Neville. These mortifying results were
brought about by his attempted gallantry.
The selected camp, as related, was beneath the grateful shade of a
cluster of coolibah[#] trees that grew on the banks of a mountain
stream, close to the mouth of the caves. Seeing that Maggie was about
to dismount unassisted, the youth exclaimed in eager tones, "Wait a
moment, Miss M'Intyre!" and so saying, threw himself from his horse in
order to do the gallant by helping his companion down, "as they do in
England."
[#] Water gum trees.
Sad to say, however, so cramped and stiff were his limbs, especially his
nether extremities, that the instant he touched ground his legs doubled
in a powerless condition, and he fell prone to the earth.
Unfortunately, the ground at the spot where he tumbled down began to
slope towards the creek. In his frantic efforts to rise quickly to his
feet he overbalanced himself, and began to roll down the incline. He
saved himself for a second, and the impending disaster might have been
averted but for the confounded stockwhip, which led to his undoing in a
most effectual way. This weapon, which he still held in his clenched
right hand, got entangled with his legs by some means, lasso fashion,
bringing him smartly to the ground again in a fresh attempt to rise.
The sloping bank at this point became almost precipitous: with a rapid
turn over-and-over, he rolled down the steep gradient, crashed through
an undergrowth of bushes and bracken that fringed the perpendicular bank
of the creek, and shot out into its clear, deep waters.
This unrehearsed performance, taking less time to act than to relate,
brought a powerful shriek from Maggie, who, arrested in her intention to
dismount unaided by Neville's proffered aid, beheld from her horse the
undignified collapse of her escort, with its quickly succeeding acts of
comedy and tragedy.
The others, who were witnesses of this performance, hugely enjoyed it,
giving a loud hurrah as the new chum splashed into the creek. There was
one exception. Sandy, who was on his way to the creek with the billy
can, and who realised in a moment that the discomfited Englishman had
fallen into a deep pool,--the very spot where he had often fished for
big perch,--threw away the billy and rushed to the spot where the
unfortunate man had fallen in. Only that day had Neville declared that
"my water exercises have been confined to the house bath."
Beyond the agitated surface there were no signs of their visitor in the
water. Without pause, the lad took a header to the bottom, which was at
least ten feet from the top, discerned the sunken man kicking and
clawing, hauled him to the surface, and towed him to the bank. Here
willing hands were ready to grip the victim of this misadventure and
pull him to land.
As soon as he was dragged to safety, the cause of his abject
helplessness in the water was revealed. The stockwhip had so encircled
his legs as to prevent the free use of them, besides which the shock of
the whole accident had to an extent numbed his senses.
In sooth he was a sorry sight as he lay on the turf. The immersion did
not cover more than half a minute; it was long enough, though, to take
him to the verge of unconsciousness and to fill his lungs and stomach
with water. The boys speedily unwound the whip, and subjected Neville
to some rough but wholesome treatment, during which process the water
was rapidly ejected from his interior regions.
The girls, as soon as Neville was landed, discreetly withdrew.
Merriment had dissolved into pity.
"Poor Mr. Neville! I'm _so_ sorry. Isn't it a shame, Mag?"
"Seems like a dream; it all happened so quickly and unexpectedly. I'm
afraid father'll be very angry about it. The poor fellow was going to be
so gallant, too. 'Permit me to assist you,' he said, and the next
moment----"
Here the whole scene comes up so vividly and comically that, strive as
she may, Maggie cannot withhold laughter of a somewhat hysterical kind.
And so, between laughter and tears, the two girls superintended the
billy-boiling and tea-making business.
Meanwhile the lads, stripping Neville under the lee of the bank, wrung
his clothes, and then re-dressed him, bringing him up to the fire little
the worse for his cold douche. The girls quickly recognised the finer
qualities of Neville's character, which broke through the crust of his
artificiality in the hour of adversity.
"I'm very sorry to have caused this trouble, Miss M'Intyre. No one's to
blame but myself. Your brother and his mates have been exceedingly kind
to me. Indeed, I owe a debt to your brother that I can never repay, for
without doubt he saved my life. I was utterly helpless with that
wretched whip curled around me."
Indeed, it was true. The accident might easily have had a fatal
termination, and the thought of it (for all that Neville cut such a
grotesque figure in his shrunken clothes) drove the last remains of
latent hilarity away. Maggie assured the forlorn-looking youth that no
thanks were due to any one; that all deplored the accident, and were
thankful that the finale inclined rather to the comic than the tragic.
"Take this pannikin of hot tea, Mr. Neville. Father says that whisky's
not in it with tea for recruiting one's jaded energies."
As there was no need for starting on the return ride awhile, the three
boys, leaving the girls and Neville at the camp, proceeded to the caves.
The caves, three in number, were connected with one another by narrow
entrances. The outermost one had an inlet through a narrow crevice.
This opening was concealed from the casual eye by a sentinel-like
boulder which stood directly opposite, and about eighteen inches in
advance of the wall of rock. It was a squeeze for any one above the
average size to get through.
Before its occupation by the bushrangers the outer cave, by evident
signs, formed a favourite wallaby haunt. These had been disturbed and
hunted by the bushrangers, who from time to time, according to police
report, used it as a hiding-place. They had often lain there when the
district was filled with troopers. On one occasion, as was afterwards
known, Ben Bolt and his mate, a youth of eighteen years, lay concealed
for weeks. The boy had been badly wounded in the thigh during a brush
with the police in the New England ranges. Ben Bolt, who was
passionately attached to him, by incredible labour and consummate
skill--for the pursuing police were on their tracks all the
time--brought his wounded mate to the caves in order that he might lie
in safety until his sores were healed.
Sandy was the only one of the lads who knew anything about the caves.
In company with his father he had visited them a few weeks previously.
He therefore acted as a guide to the party.
The fissure, a mere crack in the limestone rock, extended in tortuous
fashion for some distance. Lengthening out and making a curve, it
suddenly broadened into a chamber of respectable dimensions. At the
entrance of the crevice Sandy had lit a candle, one being sufficient for
the cramped passage. Before entering the cave proper, all three candles
brought for that purpose were lit.
The cave was bat-inhabited. Large numbers of these uncanny creatures,
which were clinging to the roof and sides, disturbed and dazzled by the
light, flew about in aimless fashion, often striking the boys in their
uncertain flight. Numbers of them fastened on to their clothes and
limbs with their claw-like pinions.
Joe and Tom, to whom this was a new experience, were uneasy and a good
bit scared. Their nervousness increased when the fluttering nocturnals
more than once extinguished the lights.
"You must do as I do, boys!" sang out Sandy, who was in advance, as they
walked cautiously over the uneven and stone-littered floor. Sandy had
removed his hat and held it over the candle. This, while it darkened
all above, gave ample light on the floor space, and protected the candle
from the nocturnals. The others thereupon followed suit, and soon
reached the opening on the opposite side that led to the second chamber.
This narrow passage made a stiff ascent for some yards, inclining to the
left, and then extending like a funnel. Sandy was proceeding very
cautiously, for the opening into the interior cave was made at about ten
feet from its floor. A rough ladder of lawyer vines hung from the
opening in the wall to the basement. Down this the boys speedily
slipped, and found themselves in a dome-like space, bigger by far than
any room, barn, or church that they had seen. The atmosphere was very
chill, and the continual drip of falling water made a monotonous sound.
A narrow, clear stream of running water flowed along one side,
disappearing in a floor crack near the far corner.
Contrary to what one would have expected, the lime crystals were few,
and for the most part small; not to be mentioned in the same breath with
the matchless statuary of the far-famed Jenolan Caves. On the ground,
however, were some interesting stalagmites, whose grotesque figures
highly amused the boys. At the first sight, though, a fearsome feeling
possessed them. They were children of the sun, and this new and cryptic
experience in the cold, dark, vaulted chamber quickened their pulses and
shortened their breaths.
Everything seemed to have a ghostly appearance to the pals. It was a
fitting abode for spectral creatures, and they had a feeling that at any
moment such might appear. This sensation, however, was of short
duration. A few minutes' familiarity with their surroundings dissipated
it, and the lads moved freely in their investigations.
"Didn't you say there was another cave adjoining this, Sandy?"
"Yes, I'll show it to you in a few minutes."
While the question was being asked and answered, Sandy was peering into
a crevice immediately behind a huge stalagmite, and in a dark corner of
the cave.
"This looks as if it might open out somewhere, but the opening's jammed
with a big limestone boulder."
"Let's have a pull at it," said Tom, as he leaned forward to take hold
of a projecting point.
"No go, Tom. Look at its weight! See how tightly it's wedged! You'll
never budge that. It'll need a crowbar to shift it. Come along, boys,
and we'll take a peep at the other cave, just to say we've seen it; then
we must make tracks back."
Sandy, however, bore in mind this sealed chamber which was destined
later to yield important and far-reaching results. He made for a low,
narrow aperture in the wall, at a far corner, which opened directly into
a vault-like ceil--a small bedroom or pantry, as the case might be.
"Here's where the rangers camped," said Sandy, when the boys had
struggled through. "Here's their beds, an' there's where they had their
fire."
A couple of sheets of stringy-bark, placed stretcher-fashion on crossed
sapling frames, formed the sleeping-bunks of the outlaws. On these were
placed a quantity of bracken which made a comfortable resting-place for
men who more often than not slept upon the ground.
"I say, Sandy," remarked Joe, after standing a moment in deep thought,
"this is an all-right place for hidin' in, but where'd they keep the
mokes? That's what beats me."
"It beats more'n you. It beats father. It beats the police. Yes, they
can't get a clue. Must have had the horses handy, too; for when the
police got into the cave the time they tracked 'em here, the rangers
couldn't have been gone more'n a few minutes, 'cause a fire was still
burning in Ben Bolt's room, as they call it. The bobbies have searched
inside and outside and all over the ridge for another opening, but can't
find it."
"They've clean bunged the p'lice, the cute beggars!" exclaimed Tom, with
a grin. "Wonder if they'll ever come back again. Ole Ben's a game un.
They say he wears a reversible suit of different colours. An' sometimes
he straps up a leg an' fastens a wooden peg on it an' stumps along, led
by a dog on a string like a blind beggar."
"He's always bluffin' the police, anyway," said Joe. "The Sub-Inspector
was at our place about a month ago, telling father how he an' the others
were fooled not so long ago."
"Tell us, Joe."
"Well, 'twas like this. A bushman on a piebald horse rode up to the
police camp out Kean's swamp way, bearing a note from Sub-Inspector
Garvie, ordering them to cross the ranges an' get into Walcha secretly,
as he possessed reliable information to the effect that Ben Bolt
intended to stick up the bank two days later.
"It appears this same man called at the Sub's quarters earlier in the
day, who was laid up with a sprained leg. This chap told how he'd been
in Ben Bolt's company two nights previously. The ranger and his
mate--the same boy as was wounded--came upon him as he lay by his fire
in the evening, and asked permission to camp alongside. They pretended
to be stockmen in search of strayed heifers, and made out that they had
come across their tracks just at nightfall. As it was a goodish way to
the station, they would be glad to sleep by his fire and get after the
cattle at dawn.
"The man said that as soon as he spotted 'em he knew 'em, but he was too
frightened to let on. He gave 'em some grub, an' then lay down in his
blanket. As soon as they had scoffed the prog they lay down too, on the
off side of the fire.
"The man didn't go to sleep, though he pretended to. By an' by the two
men began to talk in low tones. He could hear 'em, though, pretty well,
and found out that they were goin' to stick up the Walcha bank. The
date they named was four days from that night. Although the chap lay as
if he were dead he didn't sleep a wink. Just before daylight the coves
saddled their horses, which had been short-hobbled, and singing out,
'So-long,' they galloped off.
"'And what prompted you to bring this information?' said the Sub.
"'Well, if you cop the rangers,' he answered, 'I shall expect something
substantial for supplying these particulars.'
"'As for that, you'll get your share. And now you can do something
further that'll help you in the matter of reward. Take this note to
Sergeant Henessey, who is camping with four police and a tracker in the
foothills, at the head of Kean's swamp.'
"The Sub-Inspector, who had hastily written a note of instruction to the
Sergeant, handed it to the man, who said his name was Sam Kelly. Sam
promised to deliver it by daybreak; which he did. As soon as the
Sergeant read it, he roused up the men, and after a hasty meal it was
'Saddle up.' A few minutes later the troopers were on their way to cop
the rangers. Now listen: that very day, towards evening, the Port
Macquarie mail was stuck up!"
"My eye!" said Sandy, "weren't the p'lice sold! Fancy ole Ben goin'
into the lion's den with his information an' then takin' the letter out
to the camp, an' none of 'em cute enough to twig 'im! He's a downy cove
is Ben. Ain't he, Joe?"
"They say," concluded Joe, "that the piebald he rode was his favourite
horse, the blood-bay he calls Samson."
"But how was it he turned him piebald?"
"_Painted patches of pipeclay on him!_"
"Now, then," exclaimed Sandy, pulling out his watch, "we've only a few
minutes left, an' we mustn't be late, as Mr. Neville won't be able to
ride fast."
"Poor old Fevvers!" exclaimed Tom reminiscently. "This hasn't been much
of a treat for him."
*CHAPTER XVI*
*THE DINGO RAID*
"What's up, old horse? Your ears you prick,
And your eager eyeballs glisten.
'Tis the wild dog's note, in the tea-tree thick,
By the river to which you listen.
* * * * *
Let the dingo rest, 'tis all for the best;
In this world there's room enough
For him and you and me and the rest,
And the country is awful rough."
ADAM LINDSAY GORDON.
"Here's a fine how-d'ye-do!" exclaimed Mr. M'Intyre wrathfully, as he
strode into the house, one hot morning shortly after the events recorded
in the previous chapter. "Why sic rubbish were ever created passes
understanding!"
The irate squatter, contrary to his usual habit, clattered through the
hall and out on to the front verandah, slamming the door most vigorously
as he made his exit.
"Whatever's stung dad this morning, Jess?" remarked Maggie to her
sister, as their excited parent made his noisy intrusion.
"Something bad, you may be sure, to cause dad to parade in that fashion.
I expect the blacks have been performing. They madden father at times
by their 'want o' intellect,' as he calls it."
"I'll--I'll cut the livers out o' them, the sneakin' hounds! Rot 'em,
I'll pizen every faither's son o' the dirty vermin!"
"Oh, father!" cried Jessie, "you surely are not going to poison the poor
things?"
"Pizen 'em, that am I! Pizen's ower guid for them, thieving brutes that
they are! 'Puir things,' as you ca' the wretches," continued he
sarcastically, "I'll hae the life o' the hale o' them, if it tak's a'
the pizen in Tareela!" barked the exasperated man.
"Then you're no father of mine!" blazed out Jessie. "What have the poor
boys done that you should threaten such dreadful----"
"W-h-a-t!"
"Why, poor Willy and Jacky: what have they done that you should----"
"What on earth is the lassie haverin' aboot?" roared Mr. M'Intyre to
Maggie.
"The blacks, father. Didn't you say that you were going to poison them?
But I don't believe it for a----"
"The blacks! Wha's talkin' o' blacks? It's the reds, the blessed
dingoes, wha've been playin' havoc wi' the calves. The blacks? Ma
certie!" continued he, as the humour of the situation seized him,
forcing a smile. Turning to his daughter, he exclaimed, "Ye're a fine
bairn, I maun say, to be accusin' yer ain faither o' _black_ murder!"
"Forgive me, dad!" cried the impulsive girl, as she threw her arms round
his neck; "I never thought of the dingoes. I--I--I made sure the black
boys had been up to tricks, and never dreamed----"
"There, there, that's enough, my lassie! It's a case of
'misunderconstumbling,' as Denny Kineavy would say. But it's enough to
make ane feel wild and gingery. Eleeven fine yearlin's killed! It's
the wantonness mair than the actual loss that vexes me: though the
latter is bad enough, for some o' the best, of course, are sacrificeed
to their slaughterin' instincts."
That evening, in conference with his chief stockman, Mr. M'Intyre laid
his plans for the extermination of the pack of dingoes which had just
given an exhibition of their destructive powers. In this particular
instance the brutes had driven a number of yearling calves, weaners,
into a blind gully. Having boxed them up in this _cul de sac_, the
rapacious dogs found them an easy prey.
The Australian wild dog is a combination of several very excellent
qualities--from the canine standpoint, that is. He possesses more
sagacity than any other wild thing of the bush. Keen of sight, quick at
scent, subtle of wit, noiseless in tread and bark, tenacious to rooted
purpose, he pursues and stalks his quarry, whether bird or beast, with
all the odds in his favour.
There he stands, this indigenous dog, with a great, broad forehead, his
eyes narrowing in sinister expression; well set in body, showing big
sinews and a good muscular development; strong jaws, with teeth like
ivory needles; white in paw and tail-tip, bright yellow everywhere else,
save the chocolate-coloured streak running along the spine from neck to
tail. There he stands: but that is a figure of speech, for a more
restless animal than this same dog does not exist.
Australian cattle-dogs have a world reputation, and the very best are
they which by crossing inherit a strain of dingo nature. That which
makes the dingo so hated by stock owners--who pursue him
relentlessly--is the killing lust which possesses him. Were he to
simply kill for food, and be satisfied with a victim that would furnish
enough for present needs, settlers would be far more tolerant of him.
The plain truth about him is that his predatory instinct is so strong as
to practically intoxicate him. The sight of a flock of sheep or a bunch
of calves makes him "see red," and then he simply runs amok. One
snap--he does not bite in the ordinary sense--of his steel-like jaws is
enough. The mouthful of flesh and muscle is torn out in an instant, and
the victim invariably dies of shock. One dingo in a sheepfold will kill
fifty sheep in a few minutes.
These dogs are more troublesome in bad than in good seasons. When the
cattle get low in condition and weak, they become a comparatively easy
prey, then the cunning of the dingoes becomes manifest. They will
select their victim and drive it towards a water-hole or swamp. In dry
times these are mere puddles and exceedingly boggy. The object of the
canine drovers is to reduce the bullock to helplessness by bogging it.
The drive will sometimes take hours, and no experienced drover could do
the work more cleverly. Finally, when their quarry is down in the mire
and practically helpless, he is tackled and bitten to death. In good
seasons, when the cattle are strong, Mr. Dingo, save for an occasional
foray on the calves, has to content himself with his natural
diet--kangaroos, 'possums, and emus.
Fortunately, there was at the station at this time an eccentric bushman
who combined the work of horse-breaking and dingo-trapping. Nosey
George was reputed to have a sense of smell equal to that of the dingo
itself. Certainly, his slouching gait made it often appear as if he were
"nosing" the tracks of the game. But in truth he owed his prowess as a
trapper to a pair of eyes that knew no dimness. At first sight of
Nosey, one saw nothing but his nose. But when you noticed his eyes you
forgot the nose, and lived in the presence of a pair of eyes that
sparkled like diamonds, or as searchlights that permitted nothing to
escape their scrutiny.
Nosey's feats of tracking were really marvellous. On one occasion he
got on to the trail of a dingo bitch which had raided his hen-roost, and
followed it for twelve miles, mostly through scrubby and rocky country
that was criss-crossed with innumerable tracks of bush vermin. For all
that, this human sleuth-hound tracked Mrs. Dingo to a cave in the
mountains where she had five pups, and returned with six scalps.
The dingo trapper rode out early the next morning in company with Harry
the stockman and the boys to the scene of the slaughter, there to devise
means, for which he had received _carte blanche_ from Mr. M'Intyre, for
the capture of the raiders.
The weaners' paddock was about three miles from the house, and had an
area of five thousand acres. Most of the enclosure consisted of plain,
but a corner of it contained a belt of scrub; and it was in this corner,
where the weaners camped for warmth in the night-time, that the drive
and slaughter had been made. The beasts, most of them, lay huddled,
showing evidence of mangling; others had struggled out of the gully into
the scrub. After gazing awhile at the slain, Tom Hawkins broke the
silence--
"I say, Nosey, ain't this a go? Poor brutes!"
"Here, you kid," cried the trapper, turning sharply on Tom, "who gave
you leave to call me names? Like yer blessed cheek! How'd yer like me
ter call yer monkey-face? If yer had a decent nose, I'd tweak it fer
yer."
Nosey, who was very sensitive on this question of nickname, and had had
many a fight over the same, made such a menacing move towards Tom that
the lad shrank back in fear.
"That'll do, George," said Sandy. "Leave the boy alone. He didn't mean
anything. It's what everybody calls you."
"I'm not goin' to let brats of boys miscall me, anyhow. Don't know why
the boss sent you blokes, for all the good y'are!" growled the grumpy,
cross-grained, but not really bad-hearted old man. "Youse better be
keepin' quiet, anyways, till me an' Harry has a look round."
"Let him be," whispered Harry. "If you get his dander up he's as likely
as not to chuck the whole blame thing. He always jibs at that name;
carn't stand it from kids nohow."
Nosey, or to be respectful, George, now proceeded to examine the
surroundings of the carcasses. Bending forward until his protuberant
nose almost touched the earth, the trapper moved his eyes swiftly, now
concentrating on twig or grass-blades, now wildly roving and
all-comprehensive. The rest of the party were following at his heels,
when he turned round and fiercely waved them back.
"All right, Nos--George!" sang out Joe. "I see; you want to keep the
tracks clear. We'll stay here till you've finished."
Drawing on one side, the group watched the proceedings with great
interest. The ground was hard and stony; quite unimpressionable and
barren of sign to the pals' untutored sight, yet to this man of the
woods, who was ignorant of the alphabet, the rough earth surface was
all-revealing, and made known to him in unmistakable characters the
story of the attack.
Having at length concluded his investigations, the trapper straightened
his back and moved to where the others stood. Producing his knife and a
plug of tobacco, he began to shred a pipeful, making no remark to the
expectant onlookers.
"Reckon we'll have to drag it out o' the old un," said Harry to Joe in a
low tone. Then raising his voice, the stockman began to question the
man.
"Had a good look round, George?"
Nod.
"Ain't missed anything worth seeing, I bet?"
Head-shake.
"Whatyer make of it?"
"Razorback pack," replied the old man of frugal speech, as he cleaned
out his pipe.
"Razorback pack? You surely don't mean it! Why, that is a matter of
twelve mile or so!"
"Suppose it is; what of that?"
"Oh, I say!" exclaimed Harry dubiously, yet not wishful to offend the
old man's susceptibilities. "Of course you know best, George. How many
of 'em do you consider they'd be?"
"Five dorgs an' two bitches."
"Good gracious, Nosey!" cried Tom the unlucky, the next moment beating a
rapid retreat as the dog-trapper made a vicious dart at his caudal
appendage, finally coming to grief over a fallen log which lay in the
line of retreat. The pursuing foe, even, had to stop and join in the
laugh raised at the ludicrous figure which Tom cut as he lay, head down,
heels up.
"Beg pardon, George!" he cried breathlessly the next moment, as he
recovered his original position. "It slipped out, old fellow. I--I
didn't mean it."
"Come, now, George, that's handsome. You must accept the apology,"
interjected Joe.
The trapper nodded assent, and the incident passed.
"How _do_ you know what pack it is, George? Blest if I can understand
how you find out all these things! First you tell us the sex an' then
where they come from."
"Tell it by their paws."
"By their paws! How on earth can you tell they've come all the way from
Razorback by their paw marks? Mightn't it be the turkey scrub lot?"
"It carn't be, an' isn't, 'cause I knows the pack."
"How's that?"
"Got two of the vermin in the traps six months ago over at the
mountains, an' a cove wot got away left two toe nails of his near
hind-foot in the trap."
"Too fly for poison, eh?"
"'Twould be a waste of good strychnine over the rubbage," replied the
trapper, waxing more communicative. "They know a bait better than a
Christun. 'Sides, I tried them over at Razorback. Got plenty o' cats,
gohanners, an' crows; an', be gosh! laid out one of my own cattle
puppies, but ne'er a dingo."
"The traps'll fetch 'em, won't they, George?"
George returned no answer, but "smoled" a cryptic smile. Mounting their
steeds, the party turned in the direction of home. Mr. M'Intyre
received the trapper's report without interruption, and then consulted
as to the best way to work their destruction.
"Hunting them is out of the question," said the squatter in reply to a
remark of his son that it would be grand sport hunting them. "We'd only
ruin the horses in that country and miss most o' the dingoes. Na! the
traps are the best an' safest. If ony ane can catch 'em in that
fashion, George is the mon. I leave the hale matter in his hands. He
kens best what to do to circumvent the brutes; so go your own way to
work, George. What aboot traps? Have ye enough?"
"Got seven or eight, dunno for sure. Ough
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