Babes in the Bush

‘Not at all; the sharper the contrast, the more easily is the change made. Besides, on such occasions mine is a well-organised expedition. I take my cook, my groom, my four-in-hand. What do you say? Come with me for the first week or two. I can promise you a chop broiled to perfection. I must show you my “reversible griller,” of which I am the proud inventor.’

Here the door was loudly knocked at, and being opened without further ceremony, disclosed the serious countenance of Wullie Teviot, apparently out of breath.

‘Maister Hamilton and gentlemen a’,’ he said, ‘I’m no in a poseetion to do my errand respectfully the noo, but hae just breath to warn ye that there’s a muckle bush-fire comin’ fast frae the direction o’ Maister Effingham’s. I trust we’ll no be the waur o’t.’

This ended migratory speculations abruptly. Each man started to his feet. Hamilton left the room to secure a horse and order out his retainers, Wilfred to try and make out whether the heavy spreading cloud on the horizon was across his boundary.

‘I and my man will go with Hamilton,’ quoth O’Desmond. ‘Effingham had better make for home, and see how it is likely to affect him.’

Hamilton was dashing down the paddock on a bare-backed horse by this time, to run up the hacks, and also one for the spring-cart, to be loaded with spare hands for the scene of action, besides that invaluable adjunct in a bush fire, a cask of water.

‘I hardly like leaving,’ said Wilfred; ‘it looks selfish.’

‘Don’t mind about the sentiment,’ said O’Desmond. ‘If your run is afire you will need to help Dick Evans and his party. I’ll be bound the old fellow is half-way there already. He is not often caught napping.’

Then Wilfred mounted too, and sped away, galloping madly towards the great masses of ever-increasing smoke-cloud. It proved to be farther off than he expected. He had ridden far and fast, when he reached the border where he could hear the crackling of the tender leaflets, and watched the red line which licked up so cleanly all dry sticks and bush, with every stalk and plant and modest tuft of grass. He then found that the chief duty, not so much of meeting the enemy, as of guiding and persuading him to turn his fiery footsteps in a different direction, was being satisfactorily performed by Richard Evans and his assistants. Guy, in wild delight at being made lieutenant of the party, was dashing ever and anon into the centre of the smoke and flame, and dealing blows with his bough like a Berserker.

‘Head it off, lads,’ Dick was saying when Wilfred rode up. ‘It’s no use trying to stop it in the long grass; edge it off towards the ranges. There it may burn till all’s blue.’

‘Why, Dick,’ said he to his trustworthy veteran, ‘how did you manage to get here so quickly? They’ve only just seen it at Benmohr.’

‘They’ll find it out pretty quick, sir, if there’s a shift of wind to-night. It don’t need much coaxing our way, but it means Benmohr, with a southerly puff or two. If it gets into that grassy bit by the old stock-yard, it will burn at the rate of fifty mile an hour.’

Hour after hour did they work by the line of fire, ere Dick’s vigilance could permit any kind of halt or relaxation. It was exciting, not unpleasant work, Wilfred thought, walking up and down the red-gleaming line of tongues of fire which licked up so remorselessly the tangled herbage, the lower shrubs, the dead flower-stalks, and all scattered branches of the fallen trees.

The night was dark, sultry, and still. As ever and anon the fire caught some tall, dead tree, and running up it, seized the hollow trunk, holding out red signals from each limb and cavity, high up among the branches, the effect against the sombre sky, the dull, massed gloom of the mountain, was grandly effective. In the lurid scene the moving figures upon whose faces the fierce light occasionally beat, seemed weird and phantasmal. Patiently did the wary leader watch the line of fire, which had been extinguished on the side next to the lower lands, now casting back a half-burned log far within the blackened area, and anon beating out insidious tussocks of dried grass, ignited by a smouldering ember.

When once the defensive line had been subdued, it was easily kept under by sweeping the half-burned grass and sticks back from the still inflammable herbage into the bared space now devoid of fuel. But care was still needed, as ever and again a half-burned tree would crash down across the line, throwing forth sparks and embers, or perhaps lighting up a temporary conflagration.

All the night through, the men kept watch and ward beside the boundary. The strangeness of the scene compensated Wilfred and Guy for the loss of their natural rest as well as for the severity of the exertion. As they watched the flame-path hewing its way unchecked up the rugged mountain-side, lighting up from time to time with wondrous clearness every crag, bush, and tree, to the smallest twig – a nature picture, clear, brilliant, unearthly, framed in the unutterable blackness of the night, it seemed as if they were assisting at some Walpurgis revel; as if in the lone woods, at that mystic hour, the forms of the dead, the spectres of the past, might at any moment arise and mingle with them.

As they lay stretched on the dry sward, in the intervals of rest, they watched the gradual progress of the flame through the rugged, chasm-rifted, forest-clothed mountain. With every ascent gained, the flame appeared to hoist a signal of triumph over the dumb, dark, illimitable forest which surrounded them. Finally, when like a crafty foe it had climbed to the highest peak, the fire, there discovering upon a plateau a mass of brushwood and dry herbage, burst out in one far-seen, wide-flaming beacon, at once a Pharos and a Wonder-sign to the dwellers at a lower elevation.

The bush fire had been fought and conquered. It only remained for Dick and a few to go back on the following day and make sure that the frontier was safe; that no smouldering logs were ready to light up the land again as soon as the breeze should have fanned them sufficiently. The main body of the fire had gone up the mountain range, where no harm could be done; where, as Dick said, as soon as the first rain came, the grass would be all up again, and make nice, sweet picking for the stock in winter.

The Benmohr people had not been quite so lucky; the wind setting in that direction, the flames had come roaring up to the very homestead, burning valuable pasture and nearly consuming the establishment. As it was, the garden gate caught fire. The farm and station buildings were only preserved by the desperate efforts of the whole force of the place, led on by Argyll and Hamilton, who worked like the leaders of a forlorn hope. After the fight was over and the place saved, Charlie Hamilton, utterly exhausted with the heat and exertion, dropped down in a faint, and had to be carried in and laid on a bed, to the consternation of Mrs. Teviot, who thought he was dead.

It was now the last week of March, and all things looked as bad as they could be. Not a drop of rain worth mentioning had fallen since the spring. The small rivers which ran into Lake William had ceased to flow, and were reduced each to its own chain of ponds. That great sheet of water was daily receding from its shores, shallowing visibly, and leaving islands of mud in different parts of its surface, unpleasantly suggestive of total evaporation. Strange wild-fowl, hitherto unknown in the locality – notably the ibis, the pelican, and the spoonbill – had appeared in great flocks, disputing possession with the former inhabitants. The flats bordering upon the lake, once so luxuriantly covered with herbage, were bare and dusty as a highroad. The constant marching in and out of the cattle to water had caused them to be fed down to the last stalk. Apparently there was no chance of their renewal. The herd, though still healthy and vigorous, was beginning to lose condition; if this were the case now, what tale would the winter have to tell? The yield of milk had so fallen off that merely sufficient was taken for the use of the house. The ground was so hard that it was impossible to plough for the wheat crop, even if there had been likelihood of the plant growing after the seed was sown.

Andrew was clearly of the opinion that Australia much resembled Judea, and that for some good reason the Lord had seen fit to pour down His wrath upon the land, which was now stricken with various plagues and grievous trials.

‘I’m no sayin’,’ he said, ‘that the sin o’ the people has been a’thegither unpardonable and forbye ordinair’. There’s nae doot a wheen swearin’ and drinkin’ amang thae puir ignorant stock-riders and splitter bodies. Still, they’re for the maist pairt a hard delvin’, ceevil people, that canna be said to eat the bread o’ idleness, and that’s no wilfu’ in disobeyin’ the Word, siccan sma’ hearin’ as they hae o’t. I’m lyin’ in deep thocht on my bed nicht after nicht, wearyin’ to find ae comfortin’ gleam o’ licht in this darkness o’ Egypt.’

‘It’s a bad look-out, Andrew,’ said Guy, to whom Andrew was confiding his feelings, as he often did to the lad when he was troubled about the well-doing of the community. ‘And it will be worse if the cattle die after next winter. Whatever shall we do? We shall never get such a lot of nice, well-bred ones together again. What used the Jews to do in a season like this, I wonder, for they got it pretty bad sometimes, you know, when Jacob sent all his sons into Egypt?’

‘I mind weel, Maister Guy,’ said the old man solemnly. ‘And ye see he had faith that the Lord would provide for him and his sons and dochters. And though they were sair afflicted before the time of deliverance came, they were a’ helped and saved in the end. He that brocht ye a’ here nae doot will provide. Pray and trust in Him, Maister Guy, and dinna forget what ye learned at your mither’s knee, hinny, the God-fearin’ lady that she ever was. We must suffer tribulation, doubtless; but dinna fear – oh, dinna lose faith, my bairn, and we shall sing joyful songs i’ the ootcome!’

As the season wore on, and the rainless winter was succeeded by the hopeless spring, with drying winds and cloudless days, it seemed as if the tribulation spoken of by Andrew was indeed to be sharp, to the verge of extermination.

Not only were great losses threatened by the destruction of the stock, but the money question was commencing to become urgent. For the past year no sales of stock had been possible. Few had the means of keeping the stock they were possessed of. They were not likely to add to their responsibility by buying others, at however tempting a price. As there was no milk, there was naturally no butter, cheese, or the wherewithal to fatten the hogs for bacon. These sources of income were obliterated. Having no produce to sell, it became apparent that the articles necessary to be bought were suddenly enhanced in value. Flour rose from twelve and fifteen to fifty, seventy, finally, one hundred pounds per ton. Not foreseeing this abnormal rise, Wilfred had sold their preceding year’s crop, as usual, as soon as it reached a better price than ordinary, merely retaining a year’s supply of flour. That being exhausted, he was compelled, sorely against the grain, to purchase at these famine rates. Rice, which could be imported cheaply, was largely mingled with the flour, as a matter of economy. The bread was scarcely so palatable, but by the help of Jeanie’s admirable baking, little difference was felt.

Mr. Rockley confided that he felt deeply reluctant to charge him and other friends such high prices for the necessaries of life. The difficulties of carriage, however, were now amazing. Numbers of the draught cattle had perished, and fodder was obliged to be carried by the teams on their journeys, enhancing the cost indefinitely.

‘The fact is,’ said that unreserved merchant, ‘I am losing on all sides. The smaller farmers in my debt have no more chance of paying me, before the rain comes, than if they were in gaol. Everybody purchases the smallest quantity of goods that they can do with, and I have great difficulty in buying in Sydney at prices which will leave any margin of profit. But you come in and dine with us this evening. I’ve got a bottle of claret left, in spite of the hard times. And keep up your spirits, my boy! We shall come out of this trouble as we’ve done through others. This country wasn’t meant for faint-hearted people, was it? If all comes right, we shall be proud of having stuck to the ship manfully, eh? If not, it’s better to give three cheers when she goes down, than to whine and snivel. Come along in. I’ve done with business for the day.’

And so Wilfred, who had ridden to Yass in a state of despondency, went in and was comforted, as happened to him many a time and often, under that hospitable roof. The dinner was good though the times were bad, while Rockley’s claret was unimpeachable, as of old. Mrs. Rockley and Christabel were more than usually warm and sympathetic of manner. As he sat in the moonlight with Rockley and the ladies (who had joined them), and heard from his host tales of previous hard seasons and how they had been surmounted, he felt his heart stir with unwonted hope and a resolve to fight this fight to the end.

‘I’ve seen these seasons before,’ said the energetic optimist, ‘and I’ve always remarked that they were followed by a period of prosperity. Think of the last drought we had, and what splendid seasons followed it! This looks as bad as anything can look, but if I could get long odds, I wouldn’t mind betting that before 1840 we’re crowded with buyers, and that stock, land, and city property touch prices never reached before. Look forward, Wilfred, my boy, look forward! There’s nothing to be done without it, in a new country, take my word.’

‘You must admit that it’s hard to see anything cheering just at present.’

‘Not at all, not at all,’ said his host, lighting another cigar. ‘Christabel, go in and sing something. It’s all a matter of calculation. Say that half your cattle die – mind you, you’ve no business to let ’em die, if you can help it – hang on by your eyelids, that’s the idea – but say half of ’em do die, why, the moment the rain comes the remainder are twice as valuable as they were before, perhaps more than that, if a new district is discovered. By the way, there is a report of a new settlement down south; if it comes to anything, see what a rush there’ll be for stock, to take over on speculation. That’s the great advantage of a new country; if one venture goes wrong, there are a dozen spring up for you to choose from.’

‘Do you think it would be a good idea to take away part of the stock, and try and find a new station?’

‘I really believe it would; and if I were a young man to-morrow it’s the very thing that I would go in for. We have not explored a tenth part of the boundless – I say boundless – pasture lands of this continent. No doubt there are millions of acres untouched, as good as we have ever occupied.’

‘But are they not so far off as to be valueless?’

‘No land that will carry sheep or cattle, or grow grain, can be valueless in Australia for the next century to come. And with the increase of population, all outer territories will assume a positive value as soon as the present depression is over.’

While in Yass, Wilfred consulted their good friend and adviser, Mr. Sternworth, who had indeed, by letter, when not able to visit them personally, not ceased to cheer and console during the disheartening season.

‘This is a time of trial, my dear Wilfred,’ he said, ‘that calls out the best qualities of a man, in the shape of courage, faith, and self-denial. It is the day of adversity, when we are warned not to faint. I can fully enter into your distress and anxiety, while seeing the daily loss and failure of all upon which you depended for support. It is doubly hard for you, after a term of success and progress. But we must have faith – unwavering faith – in the Supreme Ruler of events, and doubt not – doubt not for one moment, my boy – but that we shall issue unharmed and rejoicing out of this tribulation.’

Among their neighbours, unusual preparations were made to lighten the impending calamity. Unnecessary labourers were discharged. The daily work of the stations was, in great measure, done by the proprietors. The Teviots were the only domestic retainers at Benmohr; they, of course, and Dick Evans were a part of the very composition of the establishments, and not to be dispensed with. The D’Oyleys discharged their cook and stock-rider, performing these necessary duties by turns, week alternate.

Fred Churbett retained his married couple and stock-rider, declaring that he would die like a gentleman; that he could pay his way for two years more; after which, if times did not mend, he would burn the place down, commit suicide decently, and leave the onus on destiny. He could not cook, neither would he wash clothes. He would be as obstinate as the weather.

O’Desmond made full preparations for a migration in spring, if the weather continued dry and no rain fell in September. There would be a slight spring of grass then, rain or no rain. He would take advantage of it, to depart, like a patriarch of old, not exactly with his camels and she-asses, but with his cattle and brood mares, his sheep and his oxen, his men-servants and his maid-servants – well perhaps not the latter, but everything necessary to give a flavour of true colonisation to the movement. And he travelled in good style, with such observances and ceremony as surrounded Harry O’Desmond in all that he did, and made him the wonder and admiration of less favoured individuals.

He had his waggonette and four-in-hand, the horses of which, corn-fed at the commencement, would, after they got on to the grasses of the great interior levels, fare well and indeed fatten on the journey. A roomy tent, as also a smaller one for his body-servant, cook, and kitchen utensils, shielded him and his necessaries from the weather. Portable bath and dining-table, couch, and toilette requisites were available at shortest notice; while a groom led his favourite hackney, upon which he mounted whenever he desired to explore a mountain peak or an unknown valley. The cottage was handed over to the charge of the gardener and his wife, old servants of the establishment. And finally, the long-expected rain not appearing in September, he departed, like a Spanish conquistador of old, to return with tales of wondrous regions, of dusky slaves, of gold, of feather-crowned Caciques, and palm-fanned isles, or to leave his whitening bones upon mountain summit or lonely beach.

It was believed among his old friends that Harry O’Desmond would either return successful, with hardly-won territory attached to his name, or that he would journey on over the great desert, which was supposed then to form the interior of the continent, until return was hopeless.

His servants would be faithful unto death. None would ever question his order of march. And if he were not successful in founding a kingdom, to be worked as a relief province for Badajos, he would never come back at all. Some day there would be found the traces of a white man’s encampment, amid tribes of natives as yet unknown – the shreds of tents, the waggonette wheels, the scattered articles of plate, and the more ordinary utensils of the white man. From beneath a spreading tree would be exhumed the bones of the leader of the party. Such would be the memorials of a pioneer and explorer, who was never known to turn back or confess himself unsuccessful.

As to the labour question, Dick Evans and his wife were indispensable now, more than ever, as the brothers had resolved not to remain in statu quo. Wilfred had determined to organise an expedition, and to take the greater part of the herd with him. In such a case it would have been suicidal to deprive themselves of Dick’s services, as, of course, he would be only too eager to make one of the party. He cheerfully submitted to a diminution of wages, stating that as long as he and the old woman had a crust of bread and a rag to their backs they would stand by the captain and the family.

‘If we could only get through the winter,’ he said, ‘I shouldn’t have no fear but we’d box about down south with the cattle till we dropped on a run for them. There’s a lot of fine country beyond the Snowy, if we’d only got a road over the mountains to it. But it’s awful rough, and the blacks would eat up a small party like ours. I don’t hardly like the thoughts of tacklin’ it. But what I’m afraid on is, that if the winter comes on dry we’ll have no cattle to take. They’re a-gettin’ desprit low now, and the lake’s as good as dried up.’

The outlook was gloomy indeed when even the sanguine Dick Evans could make no better forecast. But Wilfred was the sailing-master, and it did not become him to show hesitation.

‘We must do our best, and trust in God, Dick,’ he said. ‘This is a wonderful country for changes; one may come in the right direction yet.’

As for Andrew and Jeanie, they would not hear of taking any wages until times improved. They had cast in their lot with the family, and Jeanie would stay with her mistress and the girls, who were dear to her as her own children, as long as there was a roof to shelter them.

Andrew fully recognised it as a ‘season of rebuke and blasphemy.’ He who ordered the round world had, for inscrutable reasons, brought this famine upon them. Like the children of Israel, he doubted but they would have to follow the advice given in 1 Kings xviii. 5: ‘And Ahab said to Obadiah, Go into the land, unto all fountains of water, and unto all brooks; peradventure we may find grass to save the horses and mules alive, that we lose not all the beasts.’

‘And did they?’ asked Guy.

‘Nae doot; as maist like we shall do gin we use the same means as gracious Elijah. No that I’m free to testify that I conseeder the slayin’ o’ the prophets o’ Baal a’thegither a needcessity. It wad have been mair wiselike on the pairt o’ Elijah to have disestablished their kirk and garred them lippen a’ their days to the voluntary principle. But let that flee stick to the wa’; dinna doot, laddie, that ae day the heavens will be black wi’ clouds, and there will be a great rain.’

Perhaps the one of the whole party most to be pitied was Howard Effingham. With the eagerness of a sanguine nature, he had become fixed in the idea that the prosperity with which they had commenced was to be continuous. Inspired with that belief he had, as we have seen, commenced to indulge himself with the reproduction, on a small scale, of the pleasant surroundings of the old country. He had fancied that the production of cattle, cheese, butter, bacon, and cereals would go on almost automatically henceforth, with a moderate amount of exertion on Wilfred’s part and of supervision on his own. It was not in his nature to be absorbed in the money-making part of their life; but in the acclimatisation of birds, beasts, and fishes, in the organisation of the Hunt Club, in the greyhound kennel, and in the stable his interest was unfailing, and his energy wonderful.

Now, unfortunately, to his deep regret and mortification, he saw his beloved projects rendered nugatory, worthless, and in a manner contemptible, owing to this woeful season.

What was likely to become of the fish if the lake dried up, as it showed every disposition to do? How was one to go forth fowling and coursing when every spare moment was utilised for some purpose of necessity?

As for the hounds, some arrangement would have to be made about feeding and exercising these valuable animals. The horseflesh was wanting, the time was not to be spared, the meat and meal were not always forthcoming. Terrible to imagine, the kennel was commencing to be an incubus and an oppression!

In the midst of this doubt and uncertainty a letter came from a well-known sportsman, Mr. Robert Malahyde, keenest of the keen, offering to take charge of the hounds until the season became more tolerable. His district was not so unfavourably situated as the neighbourhood of Yass, and from his larger herds and pastures he would be able to arrange the ‘boiler’ part of the management more easily than Mr. Effingham.

A meeting of the subscribers was quickly called, when it was agreed that the hounds be sent to Mummumberil till the seasons changed.

As for the pheasants and partridges, which had flourished so encouragingly during the first season, the curse of the time had fallen even on them. The native cat (dasyurus) had increased wonderfully of late. Berries and grass seeds were scanty in this time of famine. In consequence, the survival of the fittest, coupled with acts of highly natural selection, ensued. The native cats selected the young of the exotic birds, but few of the adult game seemed likely to survive this drought.