WHEN we arrived at Bimerah, we had, roughly speaking, completed an in and out journey of 1,300 miles from Normanton; therefore we felt not only entitled to, but thoroughly1 inclined for a spell. And a more comfortable and hospitable2 resting-place than Bimerah could not possibly have been chosen in the whole length and breadth of the continent. Long, cool, creeper-covered verandahs, in which to idle away warm mornings, an artistic3 drawing-room, a piano (hitherto an unknown luxury), good cooking, and last, but by no means least, female society. The lady of the house was an ideal hostess, and one cannot say too much in favour of the wife who follows her lord and master into such exile; for the country around Bimerah is lonely and uninteresting to the last degree. Endless mirage-covered plains, and stern forbidding mountains stretching away to the south-east, constitute the only view. The keynote to it all is Desolation.
When we arrived the drought had laid her finger on Bimerah with crushing results, and the cares and anxieties of the manager were endless. Fortunately he was a man of philosophic4 temperament5, who did his level best, and knew that no man could possibly do more. To add to his worries, however, shearing6 was in full progress, in a rough shed constructed of uprights and boughs7, about a mile from the station house.
Shearing brings together a strange collection of men, not only of shearers and rouseabouts (as the additional helpers are called), but of itinerant8 vagabonds generally. Let me instance some. On the day following our arrival, just about sundown, three men make their appearance walking and leading a pack-horse. They say they are acrobats9, and they style themselves the Royal Western Queensland Circus Company.
In the evening they give an exhibition of their skill before the shearers in the stockyard, under the glare of blazing torches. Though a poor enough exhibition, the enthusiasm it evokes10 is extraordinary. Next morning they break camp, and disappear again over the plains towards the next station, thirty miles distant, to repeat the performance. And this life, they say, they have been leading for many years.
No sooner are they out of sight than another little band of wayfarers11 puts in an appearance. This one consists of a police trooper, a prisoner, and a black tracker. The prisoner rides between his two captors, and is securely handcuffed. On interrogating12 the officer in charge, he says he is taking him to Longreach (distant about a hundred miles), for trial, having already brought him nearly a hundred, watching him continually, and sleeping handcuffed to him at night. They pull up near the stockyard for lunch, after which they requisition fresh horses, and again wind their dismal13 way across the plains. There is no false shame about the prisoner, he only appears sulky and says he wishes they’d give him ‘a bit better moke, and he’d give’em a run for their money, anyhow!’ But they have met his like before, and decline to furnish him with the necessary opportunity.
The great festival on an Australian station is the arrival of the mail, weekly, fortnightly, or monthly, as the case may be. At Bimerah it arrives weekly, the mail-coach being a buckboard buggy drawn14 by five strong horses. Anxiously is it looked for, and many are the surmises15 as to its fate if it does not run up to proper time! After the bags are opened, the entire station becomes a letter and paper reading community for hours.
But everything must come to an end, even a pleasant rest, and at length we are reluctantly compelled to bid our hospitable friends ‘goodbye,’ and once more take up our march. The ladies of the family set out the same morning, driving themselves, to attend a dance at a neighbouring station some fifty miles away. They think no more of the distance than an English lady would of paying an afternoon call in the next street.
Leaving Bimerah, our track lies along the foot of, and eventually across, the Johnstone Range, over open downs and dense16 mulga ridges17, to a miserable18 little apology for a township, called Stonehenge. The route is uninteresting to the last degree, and we notice with regret that, however much we may have enjoyed the hospitality of Bimerah, Cyclops and Polyphemus do not show any signs of having benefited by it too.
How and why Stonehenge received its name must ever remain a mystery. It is as like the real Stonehenge as a log hut is like the Tower of London, but at least I will do it the justice to say, that, next to Boulia and Windorah, it is the hottest and the least desirable township through which we had the misfortune to pass. It contains about ten houses, of which perhaps two are grog shanties19, the balance being made up of a police hut, a couple of stores, a butcher’s and blacksmith’s shop, and two or three private dwellings20.
Though we were only there a few minutes, Mr. Pickwick found time to make himself objectionable to the dogs of the place, a number of whom clustered round the buggy and barked defiance21 at him as he sat on the top of the luggage. In a moment of mistaken enthusiasm he missed his footing and fell overboard, to dangle22 by his chain six inches, off the ground, the prey23 and derision of his enemies. When we rescued him, and set him back in his place, he sported flies with a melancholy24 air for hours afterwards. His pride had received a fall, as well as his body.
In spite of the blandishments of the inhabitants we were not to be persuaded to remain in Stonehenge, but pushed on over another spur of the range, to our old friend the Thompson River, in whose dry bed we were eventually obliged to camp, contenting ourselves with the thick pea-soup like water we were lucky enough to find in a solitary25 pool there.
It was a dreary26 spot, made up of dead timber, dried flood wreck27, and Polyganum. As usual Mr. Pickwick did not seem at all happy in his mind; the mosquitoes must have found out his map of Asia, and bitten him there, for he moaned so diligently28 all night that we were compelled to argue with him at repeated intervals29.
In addition to our other troubles ‘The Bolivar’ was becoming a source of constant anxiety to us: the crack in her pole was spreading ominously30, her wheels had to be continually taken off and soaked in water, while it was necessary to insert leather washers in the wheel boxes, on an average, once every day, to prevent her going completely to pieces.
When, next morning, We resumed our march, it was only to observe with alarm that our horses were not only more tucked up than ever, but that they were growing exceedingly leg-weary. Indeed, considering the work they had accomplished31, and the heat and the scanty32 food and water on which they had done it, it was not to be wondered at that they showed signs of failing. For this reason our progress was necessarily slow, while our minds were filled with the gravest apprehensions33. The country was growing unmistakably poorer ahead. For miles and miles only parched34 earth met the eye, not a blade of grass could be discovered, and whenever creeks36 or waterholes were met with, nothing but a dry heat-cracked surface presented itself.
For five hours we toiled37 on in this hopeless fashion, as miserable as a pair of bandicoots. At the end of that time we had barely completed a distance of fourteen miles. Then, seeing that our animals absolutely could go no further, we were compelled, whether we liked it or not, to call a halt; this meant a dry camp, or in other words a camp without water. Grass as usual was woefully scanty, and next morning we were compelled for our animals’ sakes, as well as our own, to drive them on with blows and abuse in the hope of finding something better. However, towards midday things brightened up, for we struggled on as far as Carella Cattle Station, to turn loose on the banks of a lovely sheet of water, nearly a mile long by fifty yards wide, round which a little grass, but very little, grew. Our gratitude38 for the water, and the joy of the poor horses, can better be imagined than described. Even Mr. Pickwick grew excited, and that fact may be set down as one of the most remarkable39 circumstances of the whole journey.
After a day’s rest we pushed on again, at a walking pace, reaching the township of Jundali towards sundown, with our animals, this time, hopelessly knocked up.
Jundah is another abominable40 hole, but it has one redeeming41 feature, it is situated42 on a splendid permanent waterhole of the Thompson River; a waterhole many miles long, and of considerable depth. The township itself consists of a few wooden houses, two or three third-rate grog shanties, a couple of stores, and a commodious43 district police station. When we arrived, the heat, the flies, the sand, and the dust were in full possession. Without losing time we hunted up the police station, and instituted inquiries44 as to the state of the country ahead. The report was not hopeful. The sergeant45 told us that, in the recollection of the oldest inhabitant, the district had never passed through such an awful season. In response to our questions as to which route he would advise us to pursue, he seemed most doubtful, but eventually recommended us to attempt the track via Windorah to Cooper’s Creek35, thence by Innaminka into South Australia. Obtaining from his store a bag of coarse native hay, we returned to the township and purchased two half bushels of oats and bran, for which we paid the enormous price of twenty-five shillings. Then, seeking a convenient spot on the river bank, we fixed46 up camp, watered and fed our exhausted47 horses, and deliberated as to our future movements.
We could not help seeing that to attempt anything further, with only our present enfeebled animals to depend upon, would be worse than madness, so we determined48 to lay out some of our now very much reduced capital on the purchase of two fresh steeds, if anything worth having in the equine way could be obtained in Jundah, where everything was starving. At first, indeed, this did seem unlikely, but eventually we managed to get two sorry wrecks49, in but little better condition than our own. We paid the extortionate sum asked for them, and led them down to the river bank, where we gave them a hearty50 feed of bran and oats, and camped them with Messrs. Cyclops and Polyphemus, who did not regard them with any too much favour.
The waterhole, we were pleased to discover, teemed51 with fish, so, pressing into our service a tame black fellow from a camp hard by, we soon had two or three members of the finny tribe grilling52 on the embers. In spite of their insipid53 and muddy flavour we relished54 them immensely. Hunger is a piquant55 sauce, and we had had nothing worth eating for two or three days past.
As we turned into our blankets, thick clouds were rising into the sky, thunder soon followed, and with it every sign of a wet night. This, we reflected dismally56, would mean heavy tracks upon the morrow. However, we need not have worried ourselves, it was only a false alarm: in the morning all the clouds had disappeared.
With the first streaks57 of day we were on the road again, driving our new purchases, and dragging our faithful friends Cyclops and Polyphemus behind us.
As I have mentioned before, it was Mr. Pickwick’s custom to journey on the rolls of swags and stores, secured to the back of our seat by a short chain. When we had been travelling half an hour or so, I chanced to look round, and was surprised to find that he had disappeared. We searched among the packages, but not a sign of him could we discover, then his dangling58 chain caught our eyes, and on pulling it in, Mr. Pickwick appeared at the other end. He had been hanging for nearly half-an-hour, the weight of his body on the collar preventing him from singing out. Beyond being a trifle more melancholy, however, he did not seem to mind it much, but spent the remainder of the morning sporting flies on his bald patch with his accustomed equanimity59.
The track we followed could not be called, even by its most enthusiastic admirers, a good one; for this reason and on account of the heavy sand, and the hard pulling it entailed60 upon the horses, we were compelled to walk more than three parts of the day’s distance. This in itself was the reverse of inspiriting, but we had worse things in store for us. The new horses were not a success; they were as weak as kittens and as slow as crabs61. The heat was terrible; our thermometer, at midday, totalled 112° in the shade. Lovely mirages62 accompanied us; extensive visions of beautiful lakes, perfect in every way, even to the detail of wild fowl63 and overhanging trees. They certainly presented more agreeable pictures than the barren, burnt-up country through which we were, in reality, travelling. But though we ought to have been grateful, somehow we were not.
Talking of mirages reminds me that I once heard a story of some sheep which followed an exquisite64 lake from Queensland into Western Australia, trying to come up to it for a drink. The brother of the man who told me this was a superintendent65 in a Sunday school, and held a responsible government position; like George Washington, he boasted he had never told a lie!
Our camp that night was a wretched one (it seems my lot to chronicle nothing but wretched camps); the new horses were inclined to stray, what water we had was bad, and added to these drawbacks the mosquitoes were most assiduous in their attentions. The mosquito is an egotistical insect who, not content with being aware of his own existence, wants everybody else to be aware of it too. (This definition is placed at the disposal of the scientific world for use in catalogues, and may be used free of charge by charitable institutions.)
Shortly after five o’clock a.m. we broke camp and departed, driving our new purchases. The heat, as soon as the sun rose, was almost overpowering, and, as on the previous day, the route was villanously sandy, entailing66 the heaviest of heavy pulling. Before our midday camp was reached, we were obliged to make a change in horses, the Jundah animals being quite knocked up. We passed no travellers now, and, with the exception of the dead and dying stock in the waterholes, saw no animals whatsoever67. Nothing seemed to flourish in this region, save the black crow, who followed us through each day’s march, saying continually —
‘Caw — caw! When’ll ye die? Caw — caw! When’llyedie?’
Once more we had a vile68 camp, once more grass was scarce, and once more we had to content ourselves with stagnant69 green filth70 in place of water. Not a particle of food could our horses obtain with the exception of parched mulga leaves, and even to secure these we had to cut down a number of trees.
To chronicle such deprivations71 is dispiriting, let us therefore skip the next march, and simply say that by noon on the day following, a desolate72 collection of still more desolate habitations had appeared before us, and we knew that we were in sight of Windorah.
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1
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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philosophic
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| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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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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boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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itinerant
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| adj.巡回的；流动的 | |
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acrobats
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| n.杂技演员( acrobat的名词复数 )；立场观点善变的人，主张、政见等变化无常的人 | |
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evokes
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| 产生，引起，唤起( evoke的第三人称单数 ) | |
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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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interrogating
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| n.询问技术v.询问( interrogate的现在分词 )；审问；（在计算机或其他机器上）查询 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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surmises
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的第三人称单数 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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shanties
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| n.简陋的小木屋( shanty的名词复数 )；铁皮棚屋；船工号子；船歌 | |
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dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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dangle
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| v.(使)悬荡，(使)悬垂 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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diligently
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| ad.industriously;carefully | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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ominously
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| adv.恶兆地，不吉利地；预示地 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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creeks
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| n.小湾( creek的名词复数 )；小港；小河；小溪 | |
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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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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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redeeming
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| 补偿的，弥补的 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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commodious
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| adj.宽敞的；使用方便的 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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wrecks
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| n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 )；（事故中）遭严重毁坏的汽车（或飞机等）；（身体或精神上）受到严重损伤的人；状况非常糟糕的车辆（或建筑物等）v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 )；使（船舶）失事，使遇难，使下沉 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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teemed
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| v.充满( teem的过去式和过去分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
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grilling
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| v.烧烤( grill的现在分词 )；拷问，盘问 | |
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insipid
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| adj.无味的，枯燥乏味的，单调的 | |
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relished
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| v.欣赏( relish的过去式和过去分词 )；从…获得乐趣；渴望 | |
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piquant
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| adj.辛辣的，开胃的，令人兴奋的 | |
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dismally
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| adv.阴暗地，沉闷地 | |
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streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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equanimity
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| n.沉着，镇定 | |
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entailed
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| 使…成为必要( entail的过去式和过去分词 )； 需要； 限定继承； 使必需 | |
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crabs
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| n.蟹( crab的名词复数 )；阴虱寄生病；蟹肉v.捕蟹( crab的第三人称单数 ) | |
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mirages
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| n.海市蜃楼，幻景( mirage的名词复数 ) | |
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fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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entailing
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| 使…成为必要( entail的现在分词 )； 需要； 限定继承； 使必需 | |
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whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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stagnant
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| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
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70
filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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71
deprivations
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| 剥夺( deprivation的名词复数 )； 被夺去； 缺乏； 匮乏 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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