Reckless and desperate, he takes the course again, feeling weaker by two days' hard walking—footsore, hungry—above all, thirsty, to the verge14 of delirium15. Let us hope that he falls in with a belated boundary rider who shows him an endless-seeming 19wire fence, which he commands him to follow, till he meets the jackaroo sent with a water-bag to meet him. If this good angel (not otherwise angelic-seeming) 'drops across' him, well and good; if not so, or he does not 'cut the tracks' of a station team, or the lonely mailman going a back road, God help him! Soon will the crows gathering17 expectant round a pair of eagles, telegraph to the sharp-eyed scouts18 of the wilderness19 that they may ride over and see the dried-up, wasted similitude of what was once a man.
No such tragedy was likely to be enacted20 in the case of our two shearers. They were fairly mounted. They had food and water to spare. Bill was an experienced bushman, and both men had been along this track before. So they followed the winding22 trail traced faintly on the broad green sheet of spring herbage, sometimes almost invisible—or wholly so, where an old sheep camp had erased23 the hoof-or wheel-marks—turning to the right or the left with confident accuracy, until they 'picked up' the course again. Wading24 girth-deep through the subsidiary watercourses—billabongs, cowalls, and such—bank high in this year of unusual rain and plenty (they are synonymous in riverine Australia, 'arida nutrix'), and scaring the water-fowl, which floated or flew in countless25 flocks.
That gigantic crane, the brolgan (or native companion), danced his quadrille in front of them, 'advance, retire, flap wing, and set to partner,' before he sailed away to a region unfrequented by the peaceful-seeming but dangerous intruder. Crimson-winged, French grey galah parrots fluttered around them in companies, never very far out of shot; the small speckled doves, loveliest of the columba tribes, rose whirring in bevies27, while the
swift-footed 'emu' over the waste
Speeds like a horseman that travels in haste.
To the inexperienced European traveller beholding28 this region for the first time, all-ignorant of the reverse side of the shield, what a pastoral paradise it would have seemed! Concealed29 from his vision the dread30 spectres of Famine, Death, Ruin, and Despair, which the shutting-up of the windows of Heaven for a season, has power to summon thereon.
This was a good year, however, in pastoral parlance31. 20Thousands of lambs born in the autumnal months of April and May were now skipping, fat and frolicsome32, by the sides of the ewes, in the immense untended flocks. They had been but recently marked and numbered, the latter arithmetical conclusion being obtained by the accurate if primitive33 method of counting the heaps of severed34 tails, which modern sheep-farming exacts from the bleeding innocents. The percentage ranged from ninety to nearly a hundred, an almost abnormally favourable35 result.
How different from the famine years of a past decade, still fresh in men's minds, when every lamb was killed as soon as born 'to save its mother's life,' and in many stations one-half of the ewes died also, from sheer starvation; when immense migratory36 flocks, like those of the 'mesta' of their Spanish ancestors, swept over the land, destroying, locust-like, every green thing (and dry, too, for that matter), steering37 towards the mountain plateaux, which boast green grass and rill-melodies, the long relentless38 summer through—that summer which, on lower levels, had slain39 even the wild creatures of the forest and plain, inured40 from countless ages to the deadly droughts of their Austral home.
When the kangaroos by the thousand die,
It's rough on the travelling sheep,
as 'Banjo' sings.
This station, when reached, presented a different appearance from North Yalla-doora. The prairie-like plain, far as the eye could reach, was bisected by a wide and turbid41 stream, flowing between banks, now low and partly submerged, now lofty and precipitous; occasionally overhanging as if cut away by the angry waters, in one of the foaming42 floods which, from time to time, alternated with seasons when the shallow stream trickled43 feebly over the rock-bars in the river-bed.
The buildings were large, but less complete in appearance than those of Yalla-doora. An air of feverish44 energy pervaded45 the whole establishment, which seemed to denote that time was more valued than finish, for the pressing work in hand. The windings46 of the river could be distinctly marked by the size of the great eucalypts which fringed the banks, refusing to grow away from its waters. How often had they been hailed with joy by the weary wayfarer, athirst even unto death, who 21knows that his trials are over, when from afar he sights the 'river timber.' And now, the signs of the campaign were visible. Men rode in at speed from distant parts of the immense area known as Tandara 'run.' From the far horizon came nearer and yet nearer the lines of unladen waggons47, with long teams of lagging horses or even bullocks, from twelve to twenty in number.
Far from fat and well-liking were these necessary beasts of draught48, but sure to leave the station frolicsome and obese49 after a few weeks' depasturing upon the giant herbage which for a hundred leagues in every direction waved in vast meads like ripening50 corn. An assemblage of tents and hastily constructed shelters on a 'point' of the river proclaims the 'camp' or temporary abode51 of the expectant shearers and rouseabouts, wool-pressers, ordinary hands, and general utility men, upon every large run at shearing52 time, but more especially on so exceptionally important a property as that of Tandara.
'By George! there's a big roll up on Steamer Point this time,' said Bill. 'I've shorn here twice, and never seen as many afore. There won't be stands for half of 'em when the roll's called.'
'No more there will,' said Stoate, as he looked in the direction of the populous53 camp, where much talk and argument seemed to be going on. 'And them that wrote and got their names put down months back won't have a rosy54 time of it neither.'
'Why not?' queried55 Bill. 'Ain't they done right to come and shear21 when they promised last year, and got the cove2 to keep places for them?'
'Oh, I didn't mean that, though I don't hold, mind you, with taking places such a dashed long time before shearin's on. It's hard on a chap, when he comes to a shed after travellin' three or four 'underd mile, to be told that all the stands is took up. But there'll be a big row all the same.'
'How's that?'
'Why, Drench56 the delegate told me, the last place we stopped at, that orders had come up that if the boss wouldn't give in to the Shearers' union agreement the men were to be called off the board.'
'Hunter won't stand it,' said Bill. 'You take my word. He's always been a good employer; no man can deny that. 22Good wages, good rations57, and pays cash on the nail when the men want it. Don't even give cheques, and that blocks the publican, because a chap can pay as he goes, and needn't hand his cheque over the bar counter. But I know what he'll say to the delegate, or any other man that tells him he's not to be boss in his own shed.'
'What'll that be?' asked Stoate, with a sidelong look, half of curiosity, half of concealed malice58.
'He'll tell 'em to go to hell and mind their own business, and leave him to look after his; that he'll see the union and every one connected with it d—d first before he'll give up the right to manage his own property in his own way.'
'We'll show him different—that is, the union will,' said Stoate, correcting himself hastily. 'His property! Who made it? who dug the tanks and put up the fences, and shepherded the sheep afore they was paddocked? and built the blooming shed, as is an emblem59 of tyranny, to my thinking—when every man ought to have his five 'underd or a thousand ewes of his own, and a neat little place to shear 'em in? His property! I say it's our property. We made it—with the labour of our 'ands—and we ought to have the biggest say in the managin' of it.'
'What about buyin' the sheep and cattle, and the horses, and the payin' of wages this year?' said Bill. 'Suppose they come o' theirselves, "kinder growed," as the nigger gal26 says in that book about slavery in America, as Jenny read out to me last winter.'
'Wages be hanged!' retorted the disciple60 of Henry George and Bellamy. 'Our labour makes the fund out of which they pays their bloomin' wages, as they call 'em—infernal skinflints, as they are. It's dashed easy for them as gets the profits of our hard earnin's to dribble61 a trifle back, hardly enough to keep us in workin' order, like them team 'orses as is just turned out—a bite of chaff62, and that's about all.'
'Well, only for the chaff, they'd be deaders the first dry season—down from weakness for a week or two, with their eyes picked out by the crows, and the ants eatin' 'em alive. I've seen the wild "brumbies" like that. I expect they ought to go on strike for stable keep, and three feeds of oats a day?'
'Men and 'orses is different—you can't compare 'em, in the way of their rights.'
23'No; I know you can't,' answered Bill. 'The horses are a dashed sight the straightest crowd of the two. Howsomever, we shan't agree on them points, if we talk till Christmas. You take your way, and I'll take mine. But look here, Stoate, if there's goin' to be any of this burnin' and smashin' racket, as I've heard tell of, I'm not on. Mind that—don't you make any mistake! I've a bit of property of my own, as I've worked hard for, and I'm not goin' to hurt another man's savin's, union or no union, for all the Labour delegates in Australia, and so I tell you.'
Stoate did not speak for a few moments, then his eyes once more assumed the covert63 look of malice which they had worn before, as he said slowly—
'That means that you're not game to stand up for the rights of your horder, and you'll act the spy on the men as does.'
Bill's grey eyes blazed out with so sudden a light, as he made a half movement to jump off his horse, that Stoate involuntarily tightened64 his rein65, and touched his leg-weary steed with the one spur of which he made constant use. But Bill resumed his saddle seat, and putting strong constraint66 on himself, replied: 'I'm that game as I'll give you a crack on the "point," as 'll stop your blowin' for a bit, if you'll get down and put your hands up. You're a light weight, and not very fit, or I'd knock some of the gas out'n yer now if you'd stand up to me. Not as you would—you're a deal better at talkin' than fightin', let alone workin'. But you and me's mates no more, mind that. You clear out with your moke, and make your own camp, and don't you come anigh me never again, or I'll give you what for, in a style you'll remember till the shearin' after next.' And so saying, Bill touched up his horse, and went off at a hand gallop67, with his pack-horse—which by this time had learned to follow his companion steed—after him. Mr. Stoate regarded this action on the part of his whilom companion with baleful eye and resentful feeling, which at length found vent68 in these memorable69 words—
'You're very flash, Bill Hardwick, with your fresh 'oss and yer packer. S'pose you think you've left me in a hole, all for a few words on these blarsted, hungry, grinding squatters; but I've seen better coves71'n you straightened afore 24to-day. And by——! I'll be even with yer before the year's out, as sure as my name's Janus Stoate!'
After which pious72 resolve, Mr. Stoate jogged sullenly73 onward75 to the head station, where his sense of the dignity of labour did not prevent him from joining a crowd of men, who were in turn receiving the ordinary bush dole—viz. a pound or two of fresh beef or mutton, in addition to a pint76 pannikin of flour. As there were at least forty or fifty men who received these components77 of two substantial meals—supper and breakfast—it may be guessed what a daily contribution the squatter70 was required to make toward the support of the nomadic78 labourer of the period.
With respect to that universally recognised Australian institution, the 'travellers' hut,' to which Mr. Stoate betook himself, on receiving his free supper and breakfast materials, an explanation may not be out of place. In the good old times, 'before the war,' in the pre-union days, and when owing to the smaller size of pastoral properties the hands required were necessarily fewer, the chance labourer was made free of the 'men's hut.' In those Arcadian days the men's cook prepared his meals, and he sat at meat with the permanent employés.
This was all very well, when one or two casual guests at the outside were wont79 to arrive in an evening. But when, in consequence of the growth of population, and the increase of stock, the units were turned into scores, with a possibility of hundreds, the free hospitality had to be restricted.
Complaints were made by the permanent hands that the pilgrim was in the habit of picking up unconsidered trifles, when the men had gone to work after breakfast, and absconding80 with the same. The cook, too, expostulated, inasmuch as the 'traveller,' after availing himself copiously81 of the meals set before him, generally took the precaution of loading himself with 'cooked food' sufficient for the next day or two, whereby he, the cook, was kept baking and boiling all day and half the night, in addition to his ordinary work.
For some or all of these reasons, the 'travellers' hut' was decided82 upon. A roomy and substantial structure, placed near the creek or dam, as the case might be, at a certain distance from the other buildings, to which all future travellers not being gentlefolk, coming with introductions to the 25overseer's quarters, or 'the big house,' were relegated83. 'Bunks84' or sleeping-places, a table, and stools were mostly provided; also a load of firewood, an axe85, a frying-pan, bucket, and iron pot.
Wayfarers86 henceforth came under the obligation to cook for themselves. The frying of chops, the boiling of beef and the baking of cakes—operations, with which every bushman is familiar, not being considered to be hardships worth speaking of. The stock of firewood was kept up, it being found that, in default, the uninvited guests felt no delicacy88 in burning the interior fittings, or even the doors and window frames. To this sanctuary89, Mr. Stoate, in place of his former comfortable camp with Hardwick, was fain to betake himself. It was half a mile 'down the creek,' and he cursed freely at being told by the overseer that he must turn out his horse in the 'strangers' paddock,' another half-mile farther, and on no account to put him into the homestead horse-paddock.
'I'm not going to have all the feed ate up that I've saved for the station horses,' said that functionary90, in decided tones, 'and so I tell you. You shearers and rouseabouts think it's nothing, I suppose, to find grass for a hundred or two horses, and a mob of bullocks big enough to stock a small run. But you'll have to pay for your grass one of these fine days, if you don't mind your eye.'
'D'ye think a man's to walk all over the bloomin' bush, lookin' for work and carrying oats and hay with him, if he's got a moke?' growled91 Stoate. 'The squatters have got all the blessed country, and they grudge92 a pore man a mouthful of food, and every blade of grass his horse eats.'
'A poor man!' said the overseer. 'What sort of a poor man d'ye call yourself, Stoate? Your cheque last year, what with fencing and shearing, was over forty pounds for three months' work. You've neither wife, chick nor child (not in this country, anyhow). What have you done with your money? Spent it in town; now you come up here crawling and begging for the bread you eat, and doing all the harm you can to the men you're living on. Why don't you keep a pound or two for the road, like Bill Hardwick and other chaps? Then you needn't be beholden to any one; and if you like to talk rot to the men that are fools enough to trust you, that's their look-out. But to come here and to every station along 26the river begging for food and trying to harm the men you're living on is mean, d—d mean, and treacherous93 to boot. If the boss was of my way of thinking, he'd never let you inside a shed of his, or pay you another pound for shearing, and now you know my mind,—take your grub.'
And then Mr. Macdonald, an athletic94 Australian Scot, who towered above the short though wiry Londoner as does a mastiff above a lurcher, poured the pannikin of flour into the 'tucker bag' which Stoate held out, and cutting off a lump of fat mutton tossed it contemptuously at him.
Stoate caught the meat before it fell, and looked at the overseer with evil passions writ95 plain in his sullen74 face and snaky eye, as he said: 'You might come to be sorry for this some day, boss, big as you are!'
'Yes, you sneaking96 hound, I know what that means. But I've got old Harry97 Bower98 (who used to shepherd here long ago, before he turned bushranger) as night-watchman at the shed, in case some of you dogs that disgrace the Shearers' union take a fancy to light it up. He was a man when he took to the bush. You'd do it and fellows like you, only you haven't the pluck. He's got a double-barrelled gun, and swears by his God he'll use it if he catches any curs sneaking about the shed after dark. The grass is too green to burn for a month or two, but if I come across you near a bush fire, after shearing, I'll shoot you like a crow. So take that with you—and do your worst.'
Mr. Macdonald, though a born Australian, had inherited, it will be seen, the characteristic 'perfervidum ingenium.'
It seemed imprudent of him to speak so openly before the crowd of shearers and 'bona-fide travellers,' so called. But a bold, declared policy is sometimes more diplomatic than a halting, opportunist one. The men knew that war was declared, given certain acts of aggression99 or intimidation100 on their part. Severe sentences would unquestionably follow—if convictions were secured before the courts. On the whole, though they did not fear him, they respected him more for his openness and decided action.
'He's a man that hits out straight from the shoulder,' said one young fellow. 'I like that sort. You know where you have 'em. I don't hold with all this union racket. It does more harm than good, to my mind. The most of these 27delegates is reg'lar blatherskites, as I wouldn't trust to carry a pound note across the street. Pretty coves to make laws for the likes of us.'
'I'm dashed sorry I ever had any truck with this union crowd,' said his mate, as they walked away. 'I'd never no call to complain, as I know. If I didn't like a man's ways in his shed, I didn't shear there. There's plenty more. I don't fancy free men like us shearers bein' under one man's thumb, and him lookin' out for himself all the time. It's too much of the monkey for me, and I'm not goin' to stand it after this season, no matter what comes of it.'
The minor101 troubles having been surmounted102, the roll-call read over, the rouseabouts settled and contented—each man in receipt of twenty-five shillings per week, with everything found on a scale of liberality, not to say profuseness103, huts, cooks, wood and water, beef and mutton, tea and sugar, vegetables—everything reasonable and unreasonable104, in fact, that the heart of bushman could desire.
The shearers, in number nearly a hundred, were apparently placated105 by being allowed to shear for the first time at Tandara under 'union Rules,' a copy of which was posted up in a prominent part of the shed, setting forth87 that on certain points of dispute, if such should arise, the Delegate, that important, dignified106 personage, should have the power of joint107 decision with the shed manager. Wool had gone down nearly one-half in price, fat sheep as much or more; but holding to a modern doctrine108 that wages were not to be regulated by profits, and that Labour and not Capital provided the wage-fund, the same rate of payment per hundred sheep as was paid in more prosperous times had been exacted by the shearers' representatives. This was agreed to under protest, though considered inequitable by the proprietors109 of North Yalla-doora and other representative sheds as the lesser110 evil, compared with that of a delayed shearing and perhaps ruined wool clip. A truly serious matter.
For the same reason the union Rules had been accepted by several proprietors, though much against the grain, and the woolshed ticketed for the first time as a 'union Shed.' This was done under the impression that a feeling of loyalty111 to the principles which professed112 to guide the Shearers' union would ensure steady and continuous work.
28It was a concession113 to expediency114, unwillingly115 made by Mr. Hunter and others at the last moment, in the hope of 'getting the shearing over quickly'—a matter involving great gain or loss. The latter, in this particular era of low prices of wool and stock of all kinds, cattle and horses, as well as sheep, approaching the margin116 of ruin, ominously117 close. 'If the fellows shear decently and behave themselves, I don't care what they stick up in the shed, or what they call their confounded union. They shore well enough for me and Anderson last year, so I shall go on with them as long as they treat me well. You might as well do so, too.'
This had been the reasoning of Mr. M'Andrew, one of Mr. Hunter's neighbours, a shrewd, somewhat self-seeking man of the world. And it had a savour of argument about it. 'What did it matter,' he had said, 'how other squatters looked at the question? All they had to think of was to get their own work properly done, and let every man mind his own business. He was not sure that the Pastoral Association did much good. It only set the men and masters more at odds118 with each other. A great deal of this ill-feeling and strike had been brought on by such proprietors as old Jackson, M'Slaney, and Pigdon. Men notoriously hard and grasping in their dealings with their employés—cutting down wages, the price of shearing and contract bush work, in every way possible; feeding, housing, and paying their people badly, while charging exorbitant119 prices for necessaries—flour, meat, shears120, tobacco—all things, in fact, which they could not carry with them and were bound to buy from the station store. These pastoralists were primarily responsible for the dissatisfaction which had led to the strikes and rioting. For his part, as he had always acted fairly and squarely with his men, as everybody knew, it was not to be expected that he should be compelled to pay up for a contest which he had no share in bringing on.'
This had seemed fair reasoning to that class of men who are glad of any excuse to avoid paying cash out of pocket and to the avowal121 of a decided policy. But there were other squatters equally averse122 to unnecessary outlay123, who, possessing more forecast and logical acumen124, refused on principle to make terms with the shearers' or any other union. They had stated their grounds of dissent125 from the policy of opportunism, 29and, what was more important, acted upon them with courage and consistency126.
'This station,' said Archibald Douglas Kinross, 'chiefly freehold land, with the sheep depasturing thereon, is my property, as the law stands at present. And I claim the right of every Briton to manage his own affairs in his own way. To employ persons to do my work—my work, you understand, not any one else's—as I shall choose, in my own way and after my own taste. If any section of workmen does not wish to work for me, they are at liberty not to do so. I leave them absolute freedom in that respect; but if they accept my pay and my employment, they must do my work as I choose—not as they choose—all socialistic sophistry127 notwithstanding.
'Australia still contains men willing to work for high wages and good food, and to do what they are told by a fair employer, and if I am threatened or my property injured by lawless ill-disposed persons, I shall appeal to that statute129 under which law and order have hitherto, in Australia, been vindicated130. Moreover I, Archie Kinross, am not going to place myself under the heel of any body of men calling themselves by one name or another. Once concede Trade unions their right to coerce131 the individual, and farewell to that freedom which has so long been the Briton's boast.
'Every man who had the misfortune to acquire or inherit property would, as the so-called unions gained power by cowardly subservience132 or mistaken reasoning, be at the mercy of an irresponsible, ignorant, perhaps more or less unprincipled committee, anxious to blackmail133 those more fortunately placed than themselves.
'They would be told how many servants they were to employ, and what they were to pay them; feed, clothe, and otherwise provide for them. Not improbably, other concessions134 would be gradually exacted. The whole result being reached in a state of modified communism, certain to end in bloodshed and revolution. A social upheaval135, which all history tells us is the invariable precursor136 of a military despotism.'
After ever so much trouble, worry and anxiety, arising from the offensively independent and even obstructive attitude of the shearers at all the sheds in the Lower Darling and elsewhere in New South Wales, a start was made at Tandara.
30Jack Macdonald, bitterly aggrieved137 that his employers should have given in, was almost out of his mind with the irritating, puerile138 demands and objections which he had to meet.
'In old days he would have knocked down the ringleader, and told the sympathisers to "go to the devil"—that they need never show up at this shed or station again. Never should they get a pound of mutton or a pannikin of flour from the store, if they were dying of hunger; that they were ungrateful dogs, and here—at Tandara of all places, known for the most liberal station in the whole blooming district for pay and rations, where useless old hands were pensioned and kept on at make-believe work, when no one else would have had them on the place; where more expensive improvements—huts, fencing, tanks, wells, and stock-yards—had been made and put up, than on any station from the Queensland border to the sea. And now, what had come of it all?
'Where was the gratitude139 of the working-man, who, with his fellows, had been fed, lodged140, and supported in good seasons and bad—when wool was down and money was scarce, and half the squatters on the verge of ruin? When the shed was down with influenza141 last year, didn't the wife and daughters of the "boss," who happened to be staying over shearing that year, make jelly, sago puddings and cakes, all sorts of blooming luxuries for the men that were going to die (by their own account), and couldn't hold their heads up?
'And now, because labour was scarce, owing to the Coolgardie goldfield having broken out, and the season coming on early, with the burr and grass seeds ripening every day, they must try and ruin their best friends, the squatters—threatening to strike for this and that—faulting the meat, the bread, the sugar, the tea, every mortal thing (far better than ever they'd been used to), and all at the bidding of a fellow like Stead, a man that had been educated at the expense of the State, people putting their hands in their pockets to pay for his schooling142. And this is the first use he makes of it. It was enough to make a man feel ashamed of the colony he was born in, ashamed of being an Australian native, enough to make him clear out to South Africa, where the Boers and blackfellows were said to be no great things, but couldn't be such sneaks143 and dogs and thieves as his countrymen here.'
Jack16 Macdonald repeated this unreserved statement of 31opinion so often, for the benefit of all whom it might concern, that he began to know it by heart, and half thought of standing128 for the district, when the next election came round. However, the men liked him, and didn't mind his hard words, knowing that they held the key of the position, and that he was powerless if he wanted his sheep shorn. He couldn't afford to kick them out, however much he might wish so to do. All the sheds in the district were short of men, and if the shearers left in a body, the year's clip would suffer ruinous loss and injury. So they turned up their noses at the beautiful, fat, well-cooked mutton,—said 'they wanted more chops.' To which Macdonald sarcastically144 replied 'that he supposed they must grow a new breed of sheep, all chops.' In spite of their five meals a day, early breakfast, tea and 'brownie' at eleven o'clock, dinner at one, afternoon tea at four o'clock, and supper at half-past six, they were not satisfied, and, indeed, would not have gone without a second supper at 9 P.M. if the cook had not refused point-blank, and being a fighting man of some eminence145, invited the deputation to 'step outside and put up their hands,' one after the other.
However, as before mentioned, a start was made, and though the quality of shearing was no great things, and Mr. Stoate, duly elected Shearers' Delegate, produced his appointment and walked up and down the shed, with great dignity, carefully ignoring Macdonald, and ostentatiously writing or telegraphing to W. Stead, Esq., President of the A.S.U., Wagga Wagga,[1] N.S. Wales, some kind of progress was made, and the super's face began to lose its saturnine146 expression. The weather, which in the early days of spring had been showery and unfavourable, changed for the better, and the heaviest of the flocks having been shorn, 'big tallies'—a hundred and thirty, and even one hundred and fifty or sixty—began to be made.
1. Pronounced 'Waūg?h Waūg?h.'
The discontented shearers even, whose minds had been unsettled by specious147, communistic talk, prophesying148 a general distribution of property among the wage-earners, according to the gospel of Bellamy, commenced to be more or less satisfied. Visions of the big cheque, to which each man was adding now (prospectively) at the rate of from a pound to thirty-five shillings a day, commenced to float in the air. 32All was comparative peace and joy. Macdonald, it is true, had a trifling149 altercation150 with Mr. Janus Stoate one Friday afternoon, during which the last-named gentleman received a telegram, which he put into his pocket, after reading it, with a sneering151 smile. 'You'll know directly who's master on this floor—you, the hired servant of a capitalist, as is livin' on the blood of these pore ignorant chaps; or me, that's been elected by the workers of the land to see as they gets justice from their grindin' employers.'
Macdonald made one step towards the insolent152 underling, as might the second mate of a north sea whale-ship, if cook or fo'c's'le hand dared withstand him, while the wrathful glitter in his eye caused the offender153 to alter his tone. But the thought of the shearing, now three-parts through, being delayed on his account, was even a stronger controlling force.
Halting, with an effort, he glared for a few seconds at the contemptible154 creature, that yet had such power of annoyance155, as if he could crush him with his heel. Then with studiously calm and measured tones, he said: 'You'd do great things if you were able, Mr. Delegate Stoate. If I had my way, I'd have you shot and nailed up on a barn door, as they do your namesakes in the old country. That's the only way to treat varmint, and it's a pity it isn't done here.'
The man received this little compliment with an attempt at cynical156 self-possession, which his shifty, malignant157 gaze belied158, as the small eyes gleamed with reptilian159 malice. 'I'll learn yer,' he hissed160 out, 'to talk to the people's chyce as if he was the dirt under yer feet.' 'Men of the Australian Shearers' union,' he said, raising his voice to a shrill161 cry, 'listen to me, and drop them shears—every man Jack of yer. D'ye know what's in this bloomin' tallagram? A strike's ordered. D'ye hear?—a strike! Here's the wire from the Head Centre at Wagga.
'"By order of the President and Council of the Australian Shearers' union. Every shed in the Darling district, union or non-union, is hereby commanded to come out and stop working instantly on receiving this notice from the Delegate of the Branch, under penalty of being reported to the Council of the union at Headquarters.
Signed by me, W. Stead,
At Wagga Wagga, this 30th September 189-."'
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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3
profuse
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| adj.很多的，大量的，极其丰富的 | |
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4
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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5
clumps
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| n.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的名词复数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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6
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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7
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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8
landmark
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| n.陆标，划时代的事，地界标 | |
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9
wayfarer
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| n.旅人 | |
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10
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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11
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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12
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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13
variance
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| n.矛盾，不同 | |
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14
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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15
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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16
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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17
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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18
scouts
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| 侦察员[机，舰]( scout的名词复数 )； 童子军； 搜索； 童子军成员 | |
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19
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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20
enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21
shear
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| n.修剪，剪下的东西，羊的一岁；vt.剪掉，割，剥夺；vi.修剪，切割，剥夺，穿越 | |
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22
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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23
erased
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| v.擦掉( erase的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；清除 | |
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24
wading
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的现在分词 ) | |
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25
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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26
gal
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| n.姑娘，少女 | |
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27
bevies
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| n.（尤指少女或妇女的）一群( bevy的名词复数 )；（鸟类的）一群 | |
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28
beholding
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| v.看，注视( behold的现在分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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29
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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30
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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31
parlance
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| n.说法；语调 | |
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32
frolicsome
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| adj.嬉戏的，闹着玩的 | |
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33
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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34
severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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35
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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36
migratory
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| n.候鸟，迁移 | |
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37
steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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38
relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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39
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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40
inured
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| adj.坚强的，习惯的 | |
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41
turbid
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| adj.混浊的，泥水的，浓的 | |
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42
foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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43
trickled
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| v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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44
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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45
pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
windings
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| （道路、河流等）蜿蜒的，弯曲的( winding的名词复数 )； 缠绕( wind的现在分词 )； 卷绕； 转动（把手） | |
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47
waggons
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| 四轮的运货马车( waggon的名词复数 )； 铁路货车； 小手推车 | |
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48
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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49
obese
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| adj.过度肥胖的，肥大的 | |
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50
ripening
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的现在分词 )；熟化；熟成 | |
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51
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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52
shearing
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| n.剪羊毛，剪取的羊毛v.剪羊毛( shear的现在分词 )；切断；剪切 | |
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53
populous
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| adj.人口稠密的，人口众多的 | |
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54
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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55
queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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56
drench
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| v.使淋透，使湿透 | |
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57
rations
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| 定量( ration的名词复数 )； 配给量； 正常量； 合理的量 | |
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58
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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59
emblem
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| n.象征，标志；徽章 | |
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60
disciple
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| n.信徒，门徒，追随者 | |
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61
dribble
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| v.点滴留下，流口水；n.口水 | |
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62
chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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63
covert
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| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
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64
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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65
rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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66
constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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67
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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68
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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69
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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70
squatter
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| n.擅自占地者 | |
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71
coves
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| n.小海湾( cove的名词复数 )；家伙 | |
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72
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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73
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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74
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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75
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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76
pint
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| n.品脱 | |
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77
components
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| （机器、设备等的）构成要素，零件，成分； 成分( component的名词复数 )； [物理化学]组分； [数学]分量； （混合物的）组成部分 | |
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78
nomadic
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| adj.流浪的；游牧的 | |
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79
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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80
absconding
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| v.（尤指逃避逮捕）潜逃，逃跑( abscond的现在分词 ) | |
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81
copiously
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| adv.丰富地，充裕地 | |
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82
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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83
relegated
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| v.使降级( relegate的过去式和过去分词 )；使降职；转移；把…归类 | |
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84
bunks
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| n.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的名词复数 )；空话，废话v.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的第三人称单数 )；空话，废话 | |
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85
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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86
wayfarers
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| n.旅人，（尤指）徒步旅行者( wayfarer的名词复数 ) | |
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87
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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88
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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89
sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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90
functionary
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| n.官员；公职人员 | |
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91
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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92
grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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93
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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94
athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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95
writ
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| n.命令状，书面命令 | |
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96
sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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97
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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98
bower
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| n.凉亭，树荫下凉快之处；闺房；v.荫蔽 | |
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99
aggression
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| n.进攻，侵略，侵犯，侵害 | |
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100
intimidation
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| n.恐吓，威胁 | |
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101
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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102
surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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103
profuseness
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| n.挥霍 | |
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104
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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105
placated
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| v.安抚，抚慰，使平静( placate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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107
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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108
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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109
proprietors
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| n.所有人，业主( proprietor的名词复数 ) | |
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110
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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111
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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112
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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113
concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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114
expediency
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| n.适宜；方便；合算；利己 | |
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115
unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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116
margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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117
ominously
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| adv.恶兆地，不吉利地；预示地 | |
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118
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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119
exorbitant
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| adj.过分的；过度的 | |
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120
shears
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| n.大剪刀 | |
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121
avowal
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| n.公开宣称，坦白承认 | |
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122
averse
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| adj.厌恶的；反对的，不乐意的 | |
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123
outlay
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| n.费用，经费，支出；v.花费 | |
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124
acumen
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| n.敏锐，聪明 | |
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125
dissent
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| n./v.不同意，持异议 | |
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126
consistency
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| n.一贯性，前后一致，稳定性；(液体的)浓度 | |
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127
sophistry
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| n.诡辩 | |
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128
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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129
statute
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| n.成文法，法令，法规；章程，规则，条例 | |
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vindicated
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| v.澄清（某人/某事物）受到的责难或嫌疑( vindicate的过去式和过去分词 )；表明或证明（所争辩的事物）属实、正当、有效等；维护 | |
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coerce
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| v.强迫，压制 | |
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132
subservience
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| n.有利，有益；从属（地位），附属性；屈从，恭顺；媚态 | |
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133
blackmail
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| n.讹诈，敲诈，勒索，胁迫，恫吓 | |
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134
concessions
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| n.（尤指由政府或雇主给予的）特许权( concession的名词复数 )；承认；减价；（在某地的）特许经营权 | |
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135
upheaval
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| n.胀起，(地壳)的隆起；剧变，动乱 | |
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136
precursor
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| n.先驱者；前辈；前任；预兆；先兆 | |
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137
aggrieved
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| adj.愤愤不平的，受委屈的；悲痛的；（在合法权利方面）受侵害的v.令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式)；令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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138
puerile
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| adj.幼稚的，儿童的 | |
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139
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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140
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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141
influenza
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| n.流行性感冒，流感 | |
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142
schooling
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| n.教育；正规学校教育 | |
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143
sneaks
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| abbr.sneakers (tennis shoes) 胶底运动鞋（网球鞋）v.潜行( sneak的第三人称单数 )；偷偷溜走；（儿童向成人）打小报告；告状 | |
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144
sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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145
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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146
saturnine
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| adj.忧郁的，沉默寡言的，阴沉的，感染铅毒的 | |
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specious
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| adj.似是而非的；adv.似是而非地 | |
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148
prophesying
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| v.预告，预言( prophesy的现在分词 ) | |
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149
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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150
altercation
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| n.争吵，争论 | |
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151
sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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152
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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153
offender
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| n.冒犯者，违反者，犯罪者 | |
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154
contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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155
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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156
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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157
malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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158
belied
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| v.掩饰( belie的过去式和过去分词 )；证明（或显示）…为虚假；辜负；就…扯谎 | |
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159
reptilian
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| adj.（像）爬行动物的；（像）爬虫的；卑躬屈节的；卑鄙的n.两栖动物；卑劣的人 | |
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160
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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161
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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