Little cared we for wind or weather,When Youth and I lived "there" together.
Little cared we for wind or weather,When Youth and I lived "there" together.
Little cared we for wind or weather,When Youth and I lived "there" together.
Little cared we for wind or weather,
When Youth and I lived "there" together.
So away.Vogue la galère.The dray, with Joe Burge and his wife, and Chase, the deerhound, went on ahead, while I, with Mr. Cunningham, a new companion, who had dwelt in those parts before my arrival, was to follow a day or two later with the herd.
I had made a small exploring expedition a short time before in company with an old stockman; he, for a consideration, had guided me to a tract of unoccupied country. And to this new territory our migration was now tending. This experienced stock-rider—"an old hand from the Sydney side,"as such men were then called in Victoria—was a great character, and a most original personage. He accompanied the dray, so that all might be in readiness for our arrival. Not that much could be done. But my all-accomplished chief servitor, the most inventive and energetic pioneer possible, would be sure to make some "improvements" even in the short interval before we arrived.
Our first day's journey was most difficult. The cattle were loath to leave the spot to which they had become accustomed, and were troublesome to drive. However, with two good stock-whips, and the aid of Dora the cattle-dog, we got along, and reached Rosebrook, on the Moyne, close to Belfast. Mr. Roderick Urquhart, as manager for Mr. James Atkinson, was then in charge. He received us most hospitably. The cattle were put into the stock-yard for the night. My companion rode on to town, intending to rejoin me early in the morning.
One may judge of the difficulty in "locating" tenants upon agricultural land in those early days from the fact that Mr. Urquhart was then supplying the first farmers on the Belfast survey with rations. For the first year or two this plan was pursued; after that they were able, doubtless, to keep themselves and pay the moderate rent under which they sat. Not that the Port Fairy "survey" was so fertile as that of Farnham Park—much of it was wet and undrained, much stony, and but fit for pasture; but it comprehended the greater part of the town of Belfast, and £5000 would not be considered dear now for 5000 acres, chiefly of first-class pasture land, comprising, besides a seaport town, anexhaustless quarry of limestone, a partially navigable river, and a harbour.
I slept ill that night, oppressed by my responsibilities. At midnight I heard the continuous lowing, or "roaring" in stock-riders' vernacular, which denoted the escape of my cattle from the yard. Dressing hastily, I stumbled in pitch darkness through the knee-deep mud. It was even as I feared—the rails were down, trampled in the mud; the cattle were out and away. My anxiety was great. The paddock was insecure. If they got out of it there was endless re-mustering, delay, and perhaps loss.
I could do nothing on foot. I heard the uneasy brutes trampling and bellowing in all directions. I went to bed sad at heart, and, like St. Paul's crew at Malta, "wished for the dawn."
With the earliest streak of light I caught my horse, and galloped round the paddock without a sight of the missing animals. In despair I turned towards the shore of the large salt-water lagoon which made one side of the enclosure. In the grey light I fancied I saw a dark mass at the end of a cape, which stretched far into it. I rode for it at full speed, and discovered my lost "stock-in-trade" all lying down in the long marshy grass. They had struck out straight for their last known place of abode, but had been blocked by the deep water and the unknown sea—as doubtless the lagoon appeared to them in the darkness.
Shortly after breakfast we resumed our journey, and made St. Kitts, a cattle station some ten or twelve miles on the western side of Belfast. TheMessrs. Aplin were there, having taken it up a year before. The stock-yard was more substantial, as became a cattle station. Our hosts were cultured and refined people, not long from England; like myself, enthusiastic about pastoral pleasures and profits. All our work lay ahead. How bright was the outlook! how dim and distant the shoals and quicksands of life's sea! We sat long into the night, talking a good deal of shop, not wholly unmingled with higher topics. I remember we decided that cattle stations were to improve in value, and ultimately lead to a competence. How little could we foresee that the elder brother was to die as resident magistrate at Somerset—an unborn town in an unknown colony—and the younger, after nearly thirty years' unsuccessful gold-mining, from Suttor's Mill to Hokitiki, was to make a fortune in tin at Stanthorpe! That the writer—bah! "Fate's dark web unfolded, lying," did not keep him from the soundest sleep that night; and we again made a successful morning start.
The start was good, but the day was discouraging. The cattle were safe enough in the new yard, though rather bedraggled after twelve hours of mud up to their knees. However, there was water enough where they were going to wash them up to the horns, and the grass was magnificent. The rain came down in a way that was oppressive to our spirits. The sky was murky; the air chilling. Our whips soon became sodden and ineffective. My companion had a bad cold, which deprived him of all of his voice and most of his temper. The dog Dora would hardly bark. Worse than all, the trackwas difficult to find. We drove hard for hours, doubting much whether we had not lost our way. My comrade was sure of it. And
It was about the filthy closeOf a most disgusting day,
It was about the filthy closeOf a most disgusting day,
It was about the filthy closeOf a most disgusting day,
It was about the filthy close
Of a most disgusting day,
as a somewhat irreverent poetaster hath it, when we disputed in the gathering gloom as to whether or not we were miles distant from Dunmore—our port of refuge—or had really hit off the right track. My friend, in hoarse boding tones, commenced to speculate as to how we should pass the night under a steady rainfall, and how many miles off, in different directions, the cattle would be by morning. My answer was simple but effective—"There's the horse-paddock!" It was even so. Straining my eyes, I had caught sight through the timber of a two-railed sapling fence. It was enough. Paddocks were not then five miles square, and as likely to be twenty miles from the homestead as one. Dear labour and limited credit militated against reckless outlay in posts and rails. A 100-acre enclosure for horses and working bullocks was all that was then deemed necessary. To see the paddock was to see the house.
A considerable "revulsion of feeling" took place with both of us as we slogged the tired cattle round the fence and came in view of the old Dunmore homestead, then considered one of the best improved in the district. To be sure, it would not make much show now beside Burrabogie or Groongal, let alone Ercildoune or Trawalla, and a few others in the west. But then some of the shepherd kings thoughtit no dishonour to sleep in a watch-box for a month at a time, and a slab gunyah with a fold of hurdles was held to be sufficient improvement for a medium sheep station. At Dunmore there were three substantial slab huts with huge stone chimneys, apisé-work dairy, a loose-box for Traveller, the son of Camerton, as well as a large milking-yard and cowshed. A great dam across the River Shaw provided an ornamental sheet of water.
The season was, as I have stated, verging on midwinter. The day was wet. The drove of milkers passing and repassing had converted the ground outside of the huts, which were protected by the paddock fence, into a sea of mud, depth from one foot to two feet. Through this we approached the yard. If I live to be a hundred I shall never forget the sight which now met my astonished eyes. A gentleman emerged from the principal building in conspicuously clean raiment, having apparently just arrayed himself for the evening meal. He proceeded calmly to wade through the mud-ocean until he reached the yard, where he took down the clay-beplastered rails, leaving the gate open for our cattle. I declare I nearly fainted with grateful emotion at this combination of self-sacrifice with the loftiest ideal of hospitality. We had never met before either; but long years of after-friendship with James Irvine only enabled me to perceive that it was the natural outcome of a generous nature and a heart loyal to every impulse of gentle blood.
Another night's mud for the poor cattle. But I reflected that the next day would see them enfranchised, and on their own "run." So, dismissing thesubject from my mind, I followed my chivalrous host to the guests' hut—a snug, separate building, where we made our simple toilettes with great comfort and satisfaction. After some cautious walking on a raised pathway we gained the "house," where I was introduced to Messrs. Campbell and Macknight—for the firm was a triumvirate.
Dwelling in a drought-afflicted district across the border, where for months the milk question had been in abeyance, or feebly propped up by the imported Swiss product, and where butter is not, how it refreshes one to recall the great jug of cream which graced that comfortable board, the pats of fresh butter, the alluring short-cake, the baronial sirloin. How we feasted first. How we talked round the glowing log-piled fire afterwards. How we slept under piles of blankets till sunrise.
Mrs. Teviot, the housekeeper, peerless old Scottish dame that she was (has not Henry Kingsley immortalised her?); for how many a year did she provide for the comforts of host and guest unapproachably, unimpeachably. How indelibly is that evening imprinted on my memory. Marked with a white stone in life's not all-cheerful record. On that evening was commenced a friendship that only closed with life, and which knew for the whole of its duration neither cloud nor misgiving. If a man's future is ever determined by the character of his associates and surroundings at a critical period of life, my vicinity to Dunmore must have powerfully influenced mine. In close, almost daily, association with men of high principle, great energy, early culture, and refined habits, I could not fail to gainsignal benefit, to imbibe elevated ideas, to share broad and ennobling ideas of colonisation.
As soon as we could see next morning the cattle were let out and "tailed" on the thick, rich pasturage, which surrounded every homestead in those good old days. After breakfast I set out to find my station; that is, the exact spot where it had pleased my retainers to camp. I found them about seven miles westward of Dunmore, on a cape of lightly-timbered land which ran into the great Eumeralla marsh; a corresponding point of the lava country, popularly known as The Rocks, jutted out to meet it. On this was a circular pond-like depression, where old Tom, my venerable guide and explorer, had in a time of drought once seen a dingo drinking. He had christened it the Native Dog Hole—a name which it bears to this day. And at the Doghole-point had my man Joe Burge commenced to fell timber for a brush-yard, put up the walls of a sod hut, unpacked such articles as would not suffer from weather, and generally commenced the first act of homestead occupation. I was greeted with enthusiasm. And as Old Tom the stock-rider was at once despatched to Dunmore to bring over the cattle, with Mr. Cunningham, my friend and travelling companion, I hobbled out my charger and proceeded to inspect my newly-acquired territory.
Pride and successful ambition swelled my breast on that first morning as I looked round on my run. My run! my own station! How fine a sound it had, and how fine a thing it was that I should have the sole occupancy—almost ownership—of about 50,000 acres of "wood and wold," mere and marshland, hill and dale. It was all my own—after a fashion—that is, I had but to receive my squatting license, under the hand of the Governor of the Australias, for which I paid ten pounds, and no white man could in any way disturb, harass, or dispossess me. I have that first license yet, signed by Sir Charles Fitzroy, the Governor-General. It was a valuable document in good earnest, and many latter-day pastoralists with a "Thursday to Thursday" tenure would be truly glad to have such another. There were no free-selectors in those days. No one could buy land except at auction when once the special surveys had been abrogated. There were no travelling reserves, or water reserves, or gold-fields, or mineral licenses, or miners' rights, orany of the new-fangled contrivances for letting the same land to half a dozen people at one and the same time.
There was nothing which some people would consider to be romantic or picturesque in the scenery on which I gazed. But the "light which never was on sea or shore"was there, to shed a celestial glory over the untilled, unfenced, half-unknown waste. Westward stretched the great marshes, through which the Eumeralla flowed, if, indeed, that partially subterranean stream could be said to run or flow anywhere. Northward lay the lava-bestrewn country known as the Mount Eeles rocks, a mass of cooled and cracked lava now matted with a high thick sward of kangaroo grass, but so rough and sharp were the piles and plateaux of scoria that it was dangerous to ride a horse over it. For years after we preferred to work it on foot with the aid of dogs.
On the south lay open slopes and low hills, with flats between. On these last grew the beautiful umbrageous blackwood, or native hickory, one of the handsomest trees in Australia. At the back were again large marshes, with heathy flats and more thickly-timbered forests. Over all was a wonderful sward of grass, luxuriant and green at the time I speak of, and quite sufficient, as I thought, for the sustenance of two or three thousand head of mixed cattle.
There were no great elevations to be seen. It was one of the "low countries" in a literal sense. The only hill in view was that of Mount Eeles, which we could see rising amid the lava levels a few miles to the north-west. The marshes were for the mostpart free from timber. But a curious formation of "islands," as the stock-rider called them, prevailed, which tended much to the variety and beauty of the landscape.
These were isolated areas, of from ten to one hundred acres, raised slightly above the ordinary winter level of the marshes. The soil on these "islands" was exceptionally good, and, from the fact of their being timbered like the ordinary mainland, they afforded an effective contrast to the miles of water or waving reeds of which the marshes consisted. They served admirably also for cattle camps. To them the cattle always retired at noonday in summer, and at night in winter and spring-time. One "island," not very far from our settlement, was known as "Kennedy's island," the gallant ill-fated explorer who had surveyed a road to the town of Portland some years before my arrival having made his camp there. How far he was to wander from the pleasant green west country, only to die by the spear of a crouching savage, within sight of the ship that had been sent to bring him safely home after his weary desert trail!
We didn't know anything of the nature of dry country in those days. All the land I looked upon was deep-swarded, thickly-verdured as an English meadow. Wild duck swam about in the pools and meres of the wide misty fen, with its brakes of tall reeds and "marish-marigolds"—"the sword-grass and the oat-grass and the bulrush by the pool." Overhead long strings of wild swan clanged and swayed. There were wild beasts (kangaroo and dingoes), Indians (blacks, whose fires in "The Rocks" wecould see), a pathless waste, and absolute freedom and independence. These last were the most precious possessions of all. No engagements, no office work, no fixed hours, no sums or lessons of any kind or sort. I felt as if this splendid Robinson Crusoe kind of life was too good to be true. Who was I that I should have had this grand inheritance of happiness immeasurable made over to me? What a splendid world it was, to be sure! Why did people ever repine or complain? I should have made short work of Mr. Mallock, and have settled the argument "Is life worth living?" had it then arisen between us, with more haste than logic. Action, however, must in colonisation never fail to accompany contemplation. To which end I returned to our camp, just in time to partake of the simple, but appetising, meal which Mrs. Burge had prepared for us.
Cold corned beef, hot tea, and a famous fresh damper, the crust of which I still hold to be better than any other species of bread whatever, when accompanied, as in the case referred to, with good, sweet, fresh butter. How splendid one's appetite was after hours spent in the fresh morning air. How complete the satisfaction when it all came to an end.
Then commenced a council of war, in which Joe Burge was a leading spokesman. "Old Tom can look after the cattle. Mr. Cunningham and I will go and fell a tree. I know one handy that'll run out nigh on a hundred slabs, and if you'll bring up the bullocks and dray to the stump, sir, to-night, we'll have a load of slabs ready to take home."
What was the next thing that was necessary to be done?
To build a house.
At present we were living under a dray. Now, a dray is not so bad a covering at night, when extremely sleepy and tired, but in daylight it is valueless. And if it rains—and in the west it often did, and I am informed does still, though not so hard as it did then—the want of a permanent shelter makes itself felt.
The walls of a sod hut were indeed already up. Clean-cut black cubes, rather larger than bricks, when new and moist, make a neat, solid wall. In little more than a day we had a thatched roof completed, so that we were able to have our evening meal in comfort, and even luxury. A couple of fixed bedsteads were placed at opposite corners, in which Mr. Cunningham and I arranged our bedding. Joe Burge and his wife still slept under the "body" of the dray, while Old Tom had a separate section allotted to him under the pole.
But the "hut," of split slabs, with wall-plate top and bottom, and all the refinements of bush carpentry, was to be the real mansion. And at this we soon made a commencement. I say we, because I drove the bullocks and carted the slabs to the site we had pitched on, besides doing a bit of squaring and adzing now and then.
Joe Burge and Mr. Cunningham (who was an experienced bushman, and half a dozen other things to boot) soon "ran out" slabs enough, and fitted the round stuff, most of which I carted in, preferring that section of industry to the all-day, every-day work of splitting. Old Tom looked after the cattle. They needed all his attention for a while, displaying, asthey did, a strong desire to march incontinently back to the banks of the Merai.
In two or three weeks the hut was up. How I admired it! The door, the table, the bedsteads, the chairs (three-legged stools), the washstand, were all manufactured by Joe Burge out of the all-sufficing "slab" of the period. A wooden chimney with an inner coating of stone-work worked well without smoking. The roof was neatly thatched with the tall, strong tussock-grass, then so abundant.
Our dwelling transcended that of the lowland Scot, who described his as "a lairge hoose wi' twa rooms intil't," inasmuch as it boasted of three. One was the atrium—being also used as a refectory—and chief general apartment. The rest of the building was bisected by a wooden partition, affording thus two bedrooms. One of these was devoted to Joe Burge and family, the other I appropriated. Mr. Cunningham and Old Tom slept in the large room, where—firewood being plentiful—they kept up a roaring fire, and had rather the best of it in the cold nights which then commenced to visit us.
Excepting a stock-yard, there now remained next to nothing to do, and being rather overmanned for so small a station, Mr. Cunningham, with my free consent, elected to take service with the Dunmore firm, with whom he remained for some years after. I had now attained the acme of worldly felicity. I had always longed to have a station of my own. Now I had one. I had daily work of the kind that exactly suited me. I went over to Dunmore and spent a pleasant evening every now and then, rubbing up my classics and having a little "good talk." Ihad a few books which I had brought up with me in the dray—Byron, Scott, Shakespeare (there was no Macaulay in those days), with half a score of other authors, in whom there waspabulum mentisfor a year or two. I had, besides, the run of the Dunmore library—no mean collection.
So I had work, recreation, companionship, and intellectual occupation provided for me in abundant and wholesome proportion. What else could cast a shadow over my prosperous present and promising future? Well, there was one factor in the sum which I had not reckoned with. "The Amalekite was then in the land," and with the untamed, untutored pre-Adamite it appeared that I was fated to have trouble.
The aboriginal blacks on and near the western coast of Victoria—near Belfast, Warrnambool, and Portland—had always been noted as a breed of savages by no means to be despised. They had been for untold generations accustomed to a dietary scale of exceptional liberality. The climate was temperate; the forests abounded in game; wild-fowl at certain seasons were plentiful; while the sea supplied them with fish of all sorts and sizes, from a whale (stranded) to a whitebait. No wonder that they were a fine race, physically and otherwise—the men tall and muscular, the women well-shaped and fairly good-looking. To some even higher commendation might with truth be applied.
One is often tempted to smile at hearing some under-sized Anglo-Saxon, with no brain power to spare, assert gravely the blacks of Australia were the lowest race of savages known to exist, theconnecting link between man and the brute creation, etc. On the contrary, many of the leading members of tribes known to the pioneer squatters were grandly-formed specimens of humanity, dignified in manner, and possessing an intelligence by no means to be despised, comprehending a quick sense of humour, as well as a keenness of perception, not always found in the superior race.
Unfortunately, before I arrived and took up my abode on the border of the great Eumeralla mere, there had been divers quarrels between the old race and the new. Whether the stockmen and shepherds were to blame—as is always said—or whether it was simply the ordinary savage desire for the tempting goods and chattels of the white man, cannot be accurately stated. Anyhow, cattle and sheep had been lifted and speared; blacks had been shot, as a matter of course; then, equally so, hut-keepers, shepherds, and stockmen had been done to death.
Just about that time there was a scare as to the disappearance of a New South Wales semi-civilised aboriginal named Bradbury. He was a daring fellow, a bold rider, and a good shot. As he occasionally stayed at the native camp, and had now not been seen for a month, it began to be rumoured that he had agreed to accept the leadership of the outlawed tribes against the whites. In such a case the prospects of the winter, with thinly-manned homesteads eight or ten miles apart, looked decidedly bad.
However, the discovery of poor Bradbury's bones a short time afterwards set that matter at rest. He always took his gun with him, distrusting—and withgood reason—his trans-Murray kin. On this occasion they "laid for him," it seems, and by means of a sable Delilah, who playfully ran off with his double-barrel, took him at a disadvantage. He fought desperately, we were told, even with a spear through his body, but was finally overpowered. Just before they had killed and chopped up a hut-keeper, and at Mount Rouse they had surprised and killed one of Mr. Cox's men, the overseer—Mr. Brock—only saving himself by superior speed of foot, for which he was noted.
I was recommended by my good friends of Dunmore and others of experience to keep the blacks at a distance, and not to give them permission to come about the station.
Being young and foolish—or, let me say, unsuspicious—I chose to disregard this warning and to take my own way. I thought the poor fellows had been hardly treated. It was their country, after all. A policy of conciliation would doubtless show them that some of the white men had their good at heart.
To the westward of our camp lay the great tract of lava country before mentioned. This had been doubtless an outflow in old central-fire days from the crater of Mount Eeles. Now, cooled, hardened, cracked, and decomposed, it annually produced a rich crop of grass. It was full of ravines, boulders, masses of scoria, and had, besides, a lakelet in the centre. It was many miles across, and extended from Mount Eeles nearly to the sea.
It was not particularly easy to walk in. And, as for riding, one day generally saw the end of the most high-couraged, sure-footed horse. As a natural covert for savages it could not be surpassed.
In this peculiar region our "Modocs lay hid." We could see the smoke of their camp fires in tolerable number, but had no means of seeing or having speech of them. One day, however, having probably sent out a scout previously who had made careful examination of us while we were totally unconscious of any such supervision, they debouched from the rocks and came up to camp. They sent a herald in advance, who held up a green bough. Then, "walking delicately," they came up, in number nearly fifty. I was at home, as it happened, as also was the old stockman. How well I remember the day and the scene!
We all carried guns in those days, as might the border settlers in "Injun" territory.
We had been informed that the Eumeralla people, when that station was first taken up by Mr. Hunter for Hughes and Hoskins, of Sydney, always took their guns into the milking-yard with them, for fear of a surprise. The story went that one day a sudden attack "was" made. While the main body was engaged, a wing of the invading force made a flank movement, and bore down upon the apparently undefended homestead. There, however, they were confronted by Mr. William Carmichael, a neighbour of Falstaffian proportions, who stood in the doorway brandishing a rusty cutlass which he had discovered. Whether the blacks were demoralised by the appearance of the fattest man they had ever seen, or awestricken at the fierceness of his bearing, is not known, but they wheeled and fled just as their main army had concluded to fall back on Mount Eeles.
Of Messrs. Gorrie and M'Gregor (uncle and nephew), who were chief among the Eumeralla pioneers, having come down with the original herd of ITH cattle, with which the run was first occupied,many tales are told. The former, a stalwart, iron-nerved, elderly Scot, was the envied possessor of a rifle of great length of barrel and the deadliest performance. The coolness of its owner under fire (of spears) was a matter of legendary lore.
In a raid upon the heathen, shortly after an unprovoked murder on their part, two aboriginals bolted out of their cover immediately in front of Mr. Gorrie. Running their best, and leaping from side to side as they went, the nearer one made frantic signs to the effect that the other man was the real culprit.
"Bide a wee," quoth the calm veteran, as the barrel of the old rifle settled to its aim. "Bide a wee, laddie, and I'll sort ye baith." Which the legend goes on to say he actually did, disposing of the appellant at sight, and knocking over the other before he got out of range ofla longue carabine.
One day Mr. M'Gregor was returning through disturbed country. While discovering "Injun sign" to be tolerably plain and recent, his horse at speed fell under him, and rolled over, a tremendous cropper. He picked himself up, and, going over to the motionless steed, found that he was stone dead—he had broken both forelegs and his neck. A moment's thought, and he picked up the saddle and bridle, and, thus loaded, ran the seven or eight miles home at a pace which Deerfoot would have respected.
Things went on prosperously for some months. "The hut," a substantial and commodious structure, arose in all its grandeur. It boasted loopholes on either side of the huge, solid chimney, built out of the cube-shaped basaltic blocks which lay around inprofusion. So we were prepared for a siege. A stock-yard was the next necessity; to split and put up this important adjunct, without which we had no real title to call ourselves a cattle station, was imperative. "Four rails and a cap," as the description ran, of the heavy substantial fence then thought necessary for the business, were to be procured. The white-gum timber, though good enough in a splitting sense for slabs, was not the thing for stock-yard work. So, as we knew by report from the "Eumeralla people" that there was a tract of stringy-bark forest about eight miles south of us towards the coast, we determined to get our timber there. The bushman who had put up the Eumeralla huts—one Tinker Woods, an expatriated gipsy, it was said, whom therefore I regarded with great interest—had marked some trees which would serve to guide us. Joe Burge thought he could manage the rest.
The "round stuff" we could cut close about. But the heavy rails, nine feet in length, from three to five inches thick, and as straight as a board paling, we had to get from the forest. As Mr. Cunningham had gone, and the old stockman, Tom, had quite enough to do minding the cattle, the work fell on Joe Burge and myself.
This is how it was managed. At daylight we started one Monday morning, taking the dray and team, with maul and wedges, crosscut saw and axes, bedding, blankets, and a week's rations, not forgetting the guns. When we got to the forest, after finding the Tinker's Tree (it bore the name years after)—an immense stringy bark, with a section of the outside wood split down to see if the grain was free—wesoon pitched upon a "good straight barrel," and set to work. Joe cut a good-sized "calf" in it first, and then we introduced the crosscut. I had got through a reasonable amount of manual exercise, and had more than one spell, when the tall tree began to sway, and, as we drew back to the right side of the stump, came crashing down, flattening all the lighter timber in its way.
"Now, sir," quoth Joe, "you give me a hand to crosscut the first length. There'll be two more after that. Them I'll do myself, and now we'll have a pot of tea. You can take the team home, and come back the day after to-morrow. I'll have a load of rails ready for you."
We had our meal in great comfort and contentment. Then I started off to drive the team back. At sunset I saw the thatched roof of our hut. I had walked sixteen miles there and back, besides helping to fell our tree, and unyoking the team afterwards.
I slept soundly that night. I drove the team back to the forest on the day named, and found Joe perfectly well and contented, having split up the whole of the tree into fine, straight, substantial rails, thirty of which were put upon the dray. After helping to cut down another tree, I departed on my homeward journey.
On Saturday the same proceedings took place, andda capountil all the rails were split and drawn in. Joe must have felt pretty lonely at night, camped in a bark gunyah, with the black pillars of the stringy-bark trees around him, and not a soul within reach or ken. But he was not of a nervous temperament—by wood or wold, land or sea, on footor horseback, hand-to-hand fight, sword or pistol, it was all one to Joe. He was afraid of nothing and nobody. And when, years after, his son returned from India with the Queen's Commission and the Victoria Cross, I knew where the bold blood had come from. Towards the end of our wood-ranging, a rumour got abroad that the blacks had "broken out" and commenced to spear cattle. They had, moreover, "intromitted with the Queen's lieges," as Dugald Dalgetty would have said. Mr. Cunningham, riding through the greenwood at Dunmore, had had three spears thrown at him by blacks, one of which went through his hat. They then (he averred) disappeared into an "impenetrable scrub." Neighbours talked of arming and going out in force to expostulate, if this kind of thing was to go on.
I told Joe of this, and brought a message from Mrs. Burge to say that Old Tom, who knew the blacks well, was getting anxious, that he must not stay away any longer, but had better come home with me.
Joe agreed generally, but said there was one lovely, straight tree that hemustrun out, and if I would help him fell this, he would come directly it was finished. I tried to persuade him, but it was useless. So we "threw" the tree, and loaded up. I started home again alone.
Now the tree was a large tree; the load heavier than usual. My departure was late in consequence, and the moon rose before I had half finished my homeward journey. To add to my trouble I got into a soft spot in the marsh road, and in the altercation one of my leaders, a hot-tempered animal, sluedround and "turned his yoke." Gentlemen who have driven teams will understand the situation. The bows were by this manœuvre placed on the tops of the bullocks' necks, the yoke underneath, and the off-side bullock became the near-side one. I was nearly in despair. I dared not unyoke them, because they, being fresh, would have bolted and left me helpless. So I compromised, and started the team, finding that by keeping pretty wide of my leaders and behaving with patience they would keep the track. The road was moderately open, and they knew they were going home.
At one part of the road I had to pass between two walls of ti-tree, a tall kind of scrub through which I could not see, and which looked in the moonlight very dark and eerie. I began to think about the blacks, and whether or no they might attack us in force. At that very moment I heard a wild shrill cry, which considerably accelerated the circulatory system.
I sprang to the gun, which lay alongside of the rail, just within the side-board of the dray. "I will sell my life dearly," I said to myself; "but oh! if it must be—shall I never see home again?" As I pulled back the hammer another cry, hardly so shrill—much more melodious, indeed, to my ears—sounded, and a flock of low-flying dark birds passed over my head. It was the cry of the wild swan! I was not sorry when I saw the hut fire, and drew up with my load near the yard. I had some trouble with my leader, the off-side bullock not caring to let me approach him, as is the manner of his kind. But I got over the difficulty, and dealt out retributivejustice by letting him and his mate go in their yoke, and postponing further operations to daylight.
Mrs. Burge was most anxious about her husband, and inveighed against his foolishly putting his life in jeopardy for a few rails. Old Tom laughed, and said as long as Joe had a good gun he was a match for all the blacks in the country, if they did not take him by surprise.
"We're going to have a bit of trouble with these black varment now," he said, filling his pipe in a leisurely way. "Once they've started killing cattle they won't leave off in a hurry. More by token, they might take a fancy to tackle the hut some day when we're out."
"You leave me a gun, then," said Mrs. Burge, "and I'll be able to frighten 'em a bit if I'm left by myself. But sure, I hardly think they'd touch me after all the flour and bits of things I've given the lubras."
"They're quare people," said the old stockman, meditatively; "there's good and bad among 'em, but the divil resave the blackfellow I'd trust nearer than I could pull the trigger on him, if he looked crooked."
I said little, being vexed that my policy of conciliation had been of no avail. I roused myself, however, out of a reverie on the curious problem afforded by original races of mankind, foredoomed to perish at the approach of higher law.
"They have not touched any of our cattle yet," I said; "that shows they have some feeling of gratitude."
"I wouldn't say that," answered the old man."I missed a magpie steer to-day, and I didn't see that fat yellow cow with the white flank. Thim's a pair that's always together, and I seen all the leading mob barrin' the two."
"We must have a hunt for them to-morrow," I said, "and the sooner Joe comes in the better, Mrs. Burge."
"Yes, indeed," said that resolute matron, casting a glance at the cradle where lay a plump infant not many weeks old; "and is there any other man in the country that would risk his life for a load of stock-yard rails? Not but it's elegant timber; only he might think of me and the baby."
The argument was a good one, so next day I went out and forcibly brought away Joe and a final cargo of rails, though to the last he asserted "that we were spoiling the yard for the sake of another week's splitting."
I may here state that we got our stock-yard up in due time. It was seven feet high, and close enough—a rat could hardly get through. My share was chiefly the mortising of the huge posts, which afforded considerable scope for amateur execution, by reason of their size and thickness. If the yard is still standing—and nothing less than a stampede of elephants would suffice to level it—I could pick out several of "my posts" with unerring accuracy. "God be with those days," as the Irish idiom runs; they were happy and free. I should like to be drafting there again—if the clock could be put back. But life's time-keeper murmurs sadly with rhythmic pendulum, "Never—for ever: for ever—never!"
All of a sudden war broke out. The reasons forthis last resource of nations none could tell. The whites only wished to be let alone. They did not treat the black brother unkindly. Far from it. There were other philanthropists in the district besides myself, notably Mr. James Dawson, of Kangatong, then known as Cox's Heifer Station, distant about twenty miles to the east. Then, as now, my old friend and his amiable family were most anxious to ameliorate his condition. They fed and clothed the lubras and children. They even were sufficiently interested to make a patient study of the language, and to acquire a knowledge of tribal rites, ceremonies, and customs, which has lately been embodied in a valuable volume, praised even by the super-criticalSaturday Review. It is a fact, not altogether without bearing on the historical analysis of pioneer squatting, that four of us—rude colonists, as most English writers persist in believing all Australian settlers to be—were, in greater or less degree, authors.
Charles Macknight had a logically clear and trenchant way of putting things. As a political and social essayist he attracted much attention during the latter years of his life. His theories of stock-breeding, culled from contemporary journals, are still prized and acted upon by experienced pastoralists. Of the two brothers Aplin, the elder was a lover of scientific research, and, having a strong natural taste for geology, addressed himself to it with such perseverance that he became second only to Mr. Selwyn, the late Victorian Government geologist, a man of European reputation, and was himself enabled to fill the position of Governmentgeologist for Northern Queensland. His brother Dyson was a poet of by no means ordinary calibre. Mr. Dawson's book is now before the public, and the present writer has more than one book or two to his credit, which the public have been good enough to read, and reviewers to praise.
Before I begin my history of the smaller Sepoy Rebellion, I must introduce Mr. Robert Craufurd, younger, of Ardmillan, a brother of the late Lord Ardmillan. This gentleman dwelt at Eumeralla East, a subdivision of the original run, which, in my time, was the property of the late Mr. Benjamin Boyd. The river divided the two runs. Messrs. Gorrie and M'Gregor had acquired Eumeralla West, with its original homestead and improvements, by what we should call in the present day something very like "jumping." However, I had no better claim to the Doghole-point, which was a part of the old Eumeralla run—as indeed was Dunmore and all the country within twenty or thirty miles—if the original occupant of that station was to be believed. The commissioner—the gallant and autocratic Captain Fyans—settled the matter, as was the wont of those days, by his resistlessfiat. He "gave" Messrs. Gorrie and M'Gregor the western side of the Eumeralla, with the homestead and the best fattening country. He restricted Mr. Boyd to the eastern side of the river, giving him his choice, however. That was the reason why Tinker Woods had to build new huts; and he eventually allotted to me Squattlesea Mere, and its dependencies, as far as the Doghole-point, though my friend, Bob Craufurd, on behalfof his employer, strove stoutly to have me turned out.
Mr. Craufurd, like other cadets of good family, had somewhat swiftly got rid of the capital which he imported, and, for lack of other occupation, accepted the berth of manager of Eumeralla East for Mr. Boyd, and a very good manager he was. A fine horseman, shrewd, clear-headed, and energetic on occasion, he did better for that enterprising ill-fated capitalist than he ever did for himself. He and the Dunmore people were old friends and schoolfellows. So, it may be guessed that we often found it convenient to exchange our somewhat lonely and homely surroundings for the comparative luxury and refinement of Dunmore. What grand evenings we used to have there!
He was a special humourist. I often catch myself now laughing at one of "Craufurd's stories"—an inveterate practical joker, a thorough sportsman, a fair scholar, and scribbler ofjeux d'esprit, he was the life and soul of our small community. He once counterfeited a warrant, which he caused to be served on Mr. Cunningham for an alleged shooting of a blackfellow. Even that bold Briton turned pale (and a more absolutely fearless man I never knew) when he found himself, as he supposed, within the iron gripe of the law.
We were all pretty good shots. For one reason or other the gun was rarely a day out of our hands. We were therefore in a position to do battle effectively for our homesteads and means of subsistence if these were assailed. Between my abode and the sea was but one other run—a cattle station. Sheepwere in the minority in those days. It was occupied by two brothers—the Messrs. Jamieson—Scots also; they seemed to preponderate in the west. Their run rejoiced in the aspiring title of Castle Donnington. It was rather thickly timbered, possessed a good deal of limestone formation, and had a frontage to Darlot's Creek, an ever-flowing true river which there ran into the sea.
Mr. Learmonth had taken up Ettrick and Ellangowan, a few miles higher up on the same creek, about the same time that I "sat down" on the Lower Eumeralla. This gentleman, since an officer of high rank in the volunteer force, had lately come from Tasmania, whence he brought some valuable blood mares, with which he founded a stud in after years. The cattle run comprised a good deal of lava country. It was there that Bradbury, the civilised aboriginal before mentioned, met his death. All the land that lay between Eumeralla proper and the sea, a tract of country of some twenty or thirty miles square, had been probably from time immemorial a great hunting-ground and rendezvous for the surrounding tribes. It was no doubt eminently fitted for such a purpose. It swarmed with game, and in the spring was one immense preserve of every kind of wild fowl and wild animal that the country owned.
Among the Rocks there were innumerable caves, depressions, and hiding-places of all kinds, in which the natives had been used to find secure retreat andsafe hiding in days gone by. Whether they could not bear to surrender to the white man these cherished solitudes, or whether it was the shortsighted, childish anxiety to possess our goods and chattels, can hardly ever be told. Whatever the motive, it was sufficient, as on all sides at once came tales of wrong-doing and violence, of maimed and slaughtered stock, of homicide or murder.
Next day we saw the greater part of the cattle, but those particular ones that Old Tom had missed were not to be found anywhere. We were turning our horses' heads homewards when I noticed the eaglehawks circling around and above a circular clump of ti-tree scrub in a marsh. While we looked a crow flew straight up from the midst of the clump, and we heard the harsh cry of others. The same thought evidently was in all our minds, as we rode straight for the place, and forced our horses between the thick-growing, slender, feathery points. In the centre, amid the tall tussac grass, lay the yellow heifer with the white flank, stone dead. A spear-hole was visible beneath the back ribs. Exactly on the corresponding portion of the other side was another, proving that, strange as it may seem, a spear had been driven right through her body. After Old Tom had concluded his exclamations and imprecations, which were of a most comprehensive nature, we agreed that the campaign had been opened in earnest, and that we knew what we had to expect. "We'll find more to-morrow," said the old man. "Onest they'll begin like this, they'll never lave off till thim villains, Jupiter and Cocknose, is shot, anyway."
These strangely-named individuals had been familiar to our ears ever since our arrival. "Jupiter" was supposed to have a title to the head chieftainship of the tribe which specially affected the Rocks and the neighbourhood of the extinct volcano. Cocknose had been named by the early settlers from the highly unclassical shape of the facial appendage. He was known to be a restless, malevolent savage. Again on the war trail next morning, we tried beating up and down among the paths by which the cattle went to water, at the lower portion of the great marsh. It may be explained that the summer of 1844 was exceptionally dry, and much of the surface water having disappeared, the cattle were compelled to walk in Indian file through the ti-tree, in many places more than ten feet in height, to the deeper portion of the marsh, where water was still visible.
Here Joe Burge hit off a trail, which seemed likely to solve the mystery. "Here they've been back and forward, and pretty thick too," he said, getting off and pointing to the track of native feet, plain enough in the swamp mud.
"Cattle been here," said the old stockman, "and running too. Look at thim deep tracks. The thieves of the world, my heavy curse on them!"
As we followed on the trail grew broader and more plain. A few head of cattle had evidently been surrounded—two or more bullocks, we agreed, and several cows and calves, heading now in this direction, now in that. Presently half of a broken spear was picked up. We followed the track to a thick brake of reeds nearly opposite to a jutting cape of the lavacountry. There we halted. A new character was legible in the cipher we had been puzzling out.
"They've thrown him here," said the old man. "Here's where he fell down. There's blood on that tuft of grass; and here's the mark of the side of him in the mud. They've cut him up and carried him away into the Rocks, bit by bit—hide and horns, bones and mate. The divil resave the bit of Magpie ever we'll see again. There's where they wint in."
Sure enough we saw a plainly-marked track, with a fragment of flesh, or a blood-stain, showing the path by which they had carried in a slaughtered animal. Further we could not follow them, as the lava downs were at this spot too rough for horses, and we might also have been taken at a disadvantage. So, on the second evening, we rode home, having found what we went out to seek, certainly, but not elated by the discovery.
It now became a serious question how to bear ourselves in the face of the new state of matters. If the blacks persisted in a guerilla warfare, besides killing many of the best of our cattle, they would scatter and terrify the remainder, so that they would hardly stay on the run; besides which, they held us at a disadvantage. They could watch our movements, and from time to time makesortiesfrom the Rocks, and attack our homesteads or cut us off in detail. In the winter season much of the forest land became so deep and boggy that, even on horseback, if surprised and overmatched in numbers, there would be very little chance of getting away. By this time the owners of the neighbouring stations were fully aroused to the necessity of concerted action.We had reached the point when "something must be done." We could not permit our cattle to be harried, our servants to be killed, and ourselves to be hunted out of the good land we had occupied by a few savages.
Our difficulty was heightened by its being necessary to behave in a quasi-legal manner. Shooting blacks, except in manifest self-defence, had been always held to be murder in the Supreme Courts of the land, and occasionally punished as such.
Now, there were obstacles in the way of taking out warrants and apprehending Jupiter and Cocknose, or any of their marauding braves, in the act. The Queen's writ, as in certain historic portions of the west of Ireland, did not run in those parts. Like all guerillas, moreover, their act of outrage took place sometimes in one part of a large district, sometimes in another, the actors vanishing meanwhile, and reappearing with puzzling rapidity.
We went now well armed. We were well mounted and vigilantly on guard. The Children of the Rocks were occasionally met with, when collisions, not all bloodless, took place.
Their most flagrant robbery was committed on Mr. John Cox's Mount Napier station, whence a flock of maiden ewes was driven, and the shepherd maltreated. These young sheep were worth nearly two pounds per head, besides being impossible to replace. Mr. Cox told me himself that they constituted about a third of his stock in sheep at the time. He therefore armed a few retainers and followed hot on the trail.
He had unusual facilities for making successful pursuit. In his house lived a tame aboriginal named Sou'wester, who had a strong personal attachment for Mr. Cox. Like most of his race, he had the true bloodhound faculty when a man-hunt was in question. He led the armed party, following easily the trampling of the flock in the long grass until they reached the edge of the Rocks.
Into this rugged region the flock had been driven. Before long Sou'wester's piercing eye discovered signs of their having been forced along the rocky paths at the point of the spear.
It was evident to him that they were making for the lake, which was in the centre of the lava country.
By and by he pointed out that, by the look of the tracks, they were gaining upon the robbers. And shortly too sure an indication of the reckless greed and cruelty of the savage was furnished.
Passing round an angular ridge of boulders, suddenly they came upon about a hundred young sheep, which had been left behind. "But why are they all lying down?" said one of the party.
The tracker paused, and, lifting a hind-leg of one of the helpless brutes, showed without speech that the limb was useless.
The robbers had dislocated the hind-legsas a simple preventive of locomotion; to insure their being in the same place when it should please their captors to return and eat them.
"I never felt so wolfish in my life," said Mr. Cox to me, afterwards, "as when I saw the poor things turn up their eyes reproachfully as they lay, as if imploring our assistance."
A few more miles brought them up with the main body. They opened fire upon the tolerably large body of blacks in possession, directly they came within range.
"It was the first time I had ever levelled a gun at my fellow-man," John Cox remarked. "I did so without regret or hesitation in this instance. I never remember having the feeling that I could not miss so strong in me—except in snipe-shooting. I distinctly remember knocking overthreeblacks, two men and a boy, with one discharge of my double barrel."
Sou'wester had a good innings that day, which he thoroughly enjoyed. He fired right and left, raging like a demoniac. One huge black, wounded to death, hastened his own end by dragging out his entrails, meanwhile praising up the weapons of the white man as opposed to those of the black. Sou'wester cut short his death-song by blowing out his brains with the horse-pistol of the period.
A few of the front-rankers were shot on this occasion; but most of the others saved themselves by precipitately taking to the lake.
After this nothing happened for a while, until one day a good-sized party was discovered killing a bullock of Messrs. Jamieson, near Ettrick. The brothers Jamieson and Major Learmonth—then unknown to martial fame—went out to dispute title. The scene was in a reed-brake—the opposing force numerous. Spears began to drop searchingly amid and around the little party. It looked like another Isandula, and the swart foe crept ominously close, and yet more close, from tree to tree.
Then a spear struck William Jamieson in the forehead—a rough straw hat alone saving his brain. The blood rushed down, and, dripping on his gun, damped the priming.
Things looked bad. A little faltering had lost the fight.
But the Laird of Ettrick shot the savage dead who threw the spear, and under cover of this surprise he and Robert Jamieson carried their wounded comrade safely out of the field.
Among other experiments for the benefit of the tribe, I had adopted a small black boy. He was formally handed over to me by his grand-uncle, who informed me that his name was Tommy, and adjured me to "kick him plenty." With this thoughtful admonition from his only surviving male relative I did not trouble myself to comply, though it occurred to me subsequently that it was founded upon a correct analysis of boy nature generally, and of Master Tommy's in particular. So he was a good deal spoiled, and, though occasionally useful with the cattle, did pretty much as he liked, and vexed the soul of good Mrs. Burge continually.
One night, when we had been on the run all day and had found the cattle much disorganised, we noticed an unusual number and brilliancy of fires at the black camp in the Rocks. We could generally see their fires in the distance at night, and could judge of the direction of the camp, though, owing to the broken nature of the ground, we did not seek to follow them up, unless when making areconnaissance en force.
On this particular night, however, somethingmore than usual appeared to be going on. The dogs, too, were uneasy, and I could see that Old Tom appeared to be perturbed and anxious.
"I wouldn't be putting it past them black divils to be makin' a rush some night and thryin' to burn the hut on us," he said gloomily. "If we lave them there, atin' and roastin' away at shins of beef and the hoighth of good livin', as they have now, they'll think we're afraid, and there'll be no houldin' them. Ye might get the gintlemen from Dunmore, and Peter Kearney, and Joe Betts, and Mr. Craufurd, from Eumeralla, and give them a fright out of that before they rise on us in rale arnest."
"No, Tom," I said; "I should not think that just or right. I believe that they have been killing our cattle, but I must catch them in the act, and know for certain what blacks they are, before I take the law into my own hands. As to driving them away from the Rocks, it is their own country, and I will not attack them there till they have done something in my presence to deserve it."
"Take your own way," said the old man, sullenly. He lit his pipe, and said no more.
That night, about midnight, the dogs began to bark in a violent and furious manner, running out into the darkness and returning with all the appearance of having seen something hostile and unusual. We turned out promptly, and, gun in hand, went out some distance into the darkness. The night was of a pitchy Egyptian darkness, in which naught was visible a hand's breadth before one. Once we heard a low murmur as of cautious voices, but it ceased. Suddenly the black boy, Tommy, who had crept afew yards farther, came tearing back past us, and raced into the hut, where, apparently in an agony of fear, he threw himself down among the ashes of the fireplace, ejaculating, "Wild blackfellow, wild blackfellow!" to the great discomposure of Mrs. Burge.
We fired off a gun to let them know that we were prepared, and separating so that we surrounded the hut on three sides of a front, and could retreat upon it if hard pressed, awaited the attack.
It was rather an exciting moment. The dark midnight, the intense stillness, broken only by the baying of the dogs and the "mysterious sounds of the desert"; the chance of a rush of the wild warriors, who, if unchecked at the onset, would obliterate our small outpost—all these ideas passed through my mind in quick succession as we stood to our guns, and shouted to them to come on.
"But none answered." They probably came near, under cover of the darkness, and, true to their general tactics, declined to make an attack when the garrison was prepared. Had they caught us napping, the result might have been different. This view of the subject was confirmed by something which happened a little while afterwards, and gave us a most apposite text on which to enlarge in our memorials to the Government. I happened to be away with Old Tom on a journey which took us more than a week. When I returned, "wonderful ashes had fallen on our heads," as Hadji Baba phrases it. Our homestead had been surprised and taken by the enemy. They had held possession of the hut for an hour or more, and cleared it of all that they regarded as valuable. Blood had notbeen spilled, but "it was God's mercy," Mrs. Burge said, "that she, and Joe, and the precious baby had not all been killed and murdered, and eaten, and all the cattle driven into the Rocks." I began to think that I would never go away again—certainly not for a few years—if adventures of this sort were possible in my absence. After a little blowing off of steam, on Old Tom's part, I gathered from the calmer narrative of Joe Burge the substance of the affair.
On the third day after our departure Joe and his wife were in the milking-yard finishing the morning's work, when suddenly Mrs. Burge, looking towards the road, exclaimed, "Good God! the hut's full of blacks!" Realising that her infant lay in his cradle in the front room, she rushed down, in spite of Joe's command to stay where she was while he confronted the enemy.
"Sure, isn't the child there?" she said. "And whether or not, mayn't you and I be as well killed together?"
Joe, having no sufficiently effective answer at hand, was fain to follow his more impetuous helpmate with what speed he might. When they arrived on the scene, they found about twenty or thirty blacks briskly engaged in pillaging the hut. They were passing and repassing from out the doorway, handing to one another provisions and everything which attracted their cupidity.
Mrs. Burge, in her own words, first "med into the big room, and the first thing I seen was thisprecious baby on the floor, and him with the cradle turned upside down over him. It's a mercy he wasn't smothered! I jostled the blackfellows, but none of them took any notice of me. When I got outside, who should I see but that little villain Tommy coming out of the dairy with something in his hand. I put down the child and riz the tin milk-dish off the meat-block and hit him over the top of the head with it. Down he drops like a cock. I caught hold of him by the hair, and tried to hold him down, but he was too slippery for me, and got up again. I thought worse of the ungrateful little villain than all the rest. Many's the good drink of milk he had in that same dairy, and now he comes an' lades on the blacks to rob the hut, and perhaps kill poor Joe, that never did him anything but good, and me and the baby."
Said Joe Burge—"I went into the hut quiet-like, and seeing the old woman's monkey was up, after she got outside, gave her a strong push as if I was angry, and sent her back to the milking-yard. She wouldn't go at first, and I made believe to hit her and be very angry with her. This seemed to please the blacks, and they grinned and spoke to one another about it, I could see. I saw them carry out all the tea, sugar, and flour they could find. As far as I could make out, they were not set upon killing me or her. They seemed rather in a good humour, but I knew enough of blacks to see that the turn of a straw might make them change their tune. One fellow had my double gun, which was loaded; he did not know much about the ways of a gun, which was lucky for us. He held up the gun towards me,and pulled the trigger. The hammers were up, but there were no caps on. I had taken them off the night before. When the gun wouldn't go off, he says, 'no good, no good,' and laughed and handed it to another fellow, who held it in one hand like a fire-stick. I saw they were out for a day's stealing only. I thought it was better not to cross them. They were enough to eat us if it came to that. So I helped them to all they wanted, and sent them away in good humour with themselves and me. By and by down comes the wife from the milking-yard, and she rises an awful pillaloo when she sees what they had took. About a hundredweight of sugar, a quarter-chest of tea, a half-bag of flour, clothes, and, worse than all, two or three silver spoons, with the wife's initials on, which she looked on as something very precious. Master Tommy, who had put up the job to my thinking, cleared out with them. I saw them making a straight board for the rocks, toward the lake. I guessed they would camp there that night. As soon as they were well out of sight I catches the old mare and ripped over pretty quick to Dunmore. I saw Mr. Macknight, and told him, and he promised to make up a party next morning and follow them up, and see whether something might not be recovered.
"Next morning, soon after sunrise, he, and Mr. Irvine, and Mr. Cunningham, and their stockman, all came riding up to the place. They left their horses in our paddock, and we went off on foot through the swamp, and over to the nearest point of the rocks.
"We had all guns but me. Mr. Macknight andMr. Irvine had rifles, Mr. Cunningham and the Dunmore stockman double-barrels. It was bad walking through the rocks, but after a mile or two I hit off their tracks by finding where they had dropped one or two little things they had stolen. The grass was so long and thick that they trod it down like as they were going through a wheat-field, so we could see how they had gone by that.
"Well, after four or five miles terrible hard walking, we came in sight of the lake, and just on a little knob on the left-hand side, with a bit of flat under it, was the camp. I crept up, and could see them all sitting round their fires, and yarning away like old women, laughing away now and then. By George, thinks I, you'll be laughing on the wrong side of your mugs directly.
"Well, I crept back and told the party, and we all began to sneak on them quietly, so as to be close on them before they had any notion of our being about, when Mr. Cunningham, who was a regular bull-dog for pluck, but awful careless and wild-like, trips over a big stone, tumbling down among the rocks, drops his gun, and then swears so as you could hear him a mile off.
"All the dogs in the camp—they're the devil and all to smell out white men—starts a barkin'. The blacks jumps up, and, catching sight of the party, bolts away to the lake like a flock of wild duck. We gave 'em a volley, but it was a long shot, and our folks was rather much in a hurry. I didn't see no one tumble down. Anyway, between divin' in the lake, getting behind the big basalt boulders on the shore of the lake, and getting right away, whenwe got up the camp was bare of everything but an old blind lubra that sat there with a small child beside her, blinkin' with her old eyes, and grinnin' for all the world like one of the Injun idols I used to see in the squire's hall at home. Just as we got up, one fellow bolted out from behind a rock, and went off like a half-grown forester buck. Mr. Cunningham bangs away at him, and misses him; then flings down his gun, and chivies after him like a schoolboy. He had as much chance of catching him as a collie dog has of running down an emu.
"I couldn't hardly help bustin' with laughin'; there was Mr. Cunningham, who was tremendous strong, but rather short on the leg, pounding away as if he thought he'd catch him every minute, and the blackfellow, a light active chap, spinning over the stones like a rock-wallaby—his feet didn't hardly seem to touch the ground. Then Mr. Macknight was afraid Mr. Cunningham might run into an ambush or something of that kind. 'Mr. Cunningham, Mr. Cunningham, come back! I order you to come back!' Howsoever, Mr. Cunningham didn't or wouldn't hear him; but, after awhile, the blackfellow runs clean away from him, and he come back pretty red in the face, and his boots cut all to pieces. We rummaged the camp, and found most of the things that were worth taking back. The flour, and tea, and sugar they had managed to get rid of. Most likely sat up all night and ate 'em right off. Blacks feed like that, I know.
"But we got the gun and a lot of other things that were of value to us, as well as my wife's silver spoons, which she never stopped talkin' about, so Iwas very glad to fall across 'em. After stopping half an hour we made up all the things that could be carried, and marched away for home. It was a long way, and we were pretty well done when we got there. However, my old woman gave us a first-rate tea, and I caught the horses, and the gentlemen rode home. There's no great harm done, sir, that I know of, but it might have been aplaguy sight worse; don't you think so, sir?"
I could not but assent to the proposition. The caprice of the savage had apparently turned their thoughts from blood revenge, though they "looted" the establishment pretty thoroughly. Another time worse might easily happen. We determined to keep good watch, and not to trust too much to the chapter of accidents.
After half a ream of foolscap had been covered with representations to the Governor, in which I proudly hoped to convey an idea that our condition was much like that of American border settlers when Tecumseh and Massasoit were on the war-path, a real live troop of horse was despatched to our assistance. First came two of the white mounted police from Colac; then a much more formidable contingent, for one morning there rode up eight troopers of the native police, well armed and mounted, carbine in sling, sword in sheath, dangling proper in regular cavalry style. The irregular cavalry force known as the Native Police was then in good credit and acceptation in our colony. They had approved themselves to be highly effective against their sable kinsmen. The idea originated in Victoria, if I mistake not, and was afterwards developed in NewSouth Wales, still later in Queensland. Mr. H. E. Pulteney Dana and his brother William were the chief organisers and first officers in command. They were principally recruited from beyond the Murray, and occasionally from Gippsland. They were rarely or never used in the vicinity of their own tribes. Picked for physique and intelligence, well disciplined, and encouraged to exercise themselves in athletic sports when in barracks, they were by no means to be despised as adversaries, as was occasionally discovered by white as well as black wrongdoers.
Mounted on serviceable, well-conditioned horses, all in uniform, with their carbines slung, and steel scabbards jingling as they rode, they presented an appearance which would have done no discredit to Hodson or Jacob's Horse. Buckup, as non-commissioned officer, rode slightly in front, the others following in line. As I came out of the hut door the corporal saluted. "We been sent up by Mr. Dana, sir, to stop at this station a bit. Believe the blacks been very bad about here."
The blacks! This struck me as altogether lovely and delicious. How calm and lofty was his expression! I answered with decorum that they had, indeed, been very bad lately—speared the cattle, robbed the hut, etc.; that yesterday we had seen the tracks of a large mob of cattle, which had been hunted in the boggy ground at the back of the run for miles.
"They only want a good scouring, sir," quoth Buckup, carelessly, as he gave the order to dismount.
As they stood before me I had a good opportunityof observing their general appearance. Buckup was a fine-looking fellow, six feet high, broad shouldered and well proportioned, with a bold, open cast of countenance, set off with well-trimmed whiskers and moustache. He was a crack hand with the gloves, I heard afterwards, and so good a wrestler that he might have come off in a contest with Sergeant Francis Stewart, sometimes called Bothwell, nearly as satisfactorily as did Balfour of Burley. Tallboy, so called from his unusual height, probably, was a couple of inches taller, but slender and wiry looking; while Yapton was a middle-sized, active warrior, with a smooth face, a high nose, heavy, straight hair, and a grim jaw. I thought at the time he must be very like an American Indian. The others I do not particularly recall, but all had a smart, serviceable look, as they commenced to unsaddle their horses and pile their arms and accoutrements, preparatory to making camp in a spot which I had pointed out to them.