173
Just after sunrise one calm bright morning, the little expedition started—Sydney, Harry, Donald, and King Dick-a-Dick’s heir-apparent, “Prince Chummy,” on horseback, and in charge of a small mob of horses and another of cattle, and two old hands in charge of the bullock-dray that carried the baggage, stores, tools, nails, horseshoes, arms, ammunition4, &c. “Jawing Jim” and “Handsome Bob” were the sobriquets5 by which these two old hands were known—both given on the lucus a non lucendo principle, since Jim scarcely ever opened his mouth, and Bob was nearly as black, and not nearly so good-looking, as Prince Chummy. Jim was a Staffordshire man, and Bob was a Cockney. They were both good bushmen, but they had both been sent out for burglary, and therefore they may seem to have been strange guards for the commissariat-waggon, though the spirit-cask had another cask outside it as a precaution against furtive6 tapping. But for one thing, they were pretty well under the eye of the rest of the party; and for another, each watched the other like duplicated Japanese officials. There was a long-standing rivalry7 between them. Each sneered8 at the other’s home exploits. When Jem did open his lips to any one except his bullocks, it was generally to launch some sarcasm9 at Bob, but in a tongue-fight he was rarely a match for the ugly Londoner, whose lonely bush life had not cured him of his Cockney glibness11.
174
All the Wonga-Wonga-ites mustered12 to see the little party off—Mr. Lawson riding with it for a mile or two. There was a little confusion at starting. A young imported bull strolled up, angrily snuffing and pawing, as if jealous of the superior size of the bullocks; and just as they had begun to obey Jim’s very strong language and oft-cracked long whip, the little bull took a mean advantage, made a mad flank charge on the middle yoke13, and threw the whole line into disorder14. Thereupon Bob, who had made himself comfortable on the flour-sacks in the dray, began to chaff15 his comrade, in his own elegant style, on his clumsiness.
175
“Call yourself a bullock-driver?” Bob was saying, when an old shoe that Mrs. Jones had thrown after Harry hit Bob in the face.
He was going to abuse Mrs. Jones then, but Jim growled16 out,
“Doan’t get inta a scoat, lahd! It hit thee wheer tha ken’t be hoort,” and Handsome Bob had to subside17 into his flour-sack couch again, silenced for once.
With much cracking of whips, trampling18 of hoofs19, clanking of chains, jingling20 of tin pots, grinding of wheels, and creaking of pole and yokes21, the expedition at last fairly got under way. We watched it go down the rise, across the flat, and through the slip-panels that led into the bush beyond; and then, when we could see nothing but the dust above the tree-tops, Mrs. Lawson and Mrs. M‘Intyre, who was visiting at Wonga-Wonga, went into their bed-rooms—perhaps to pray for their boys’ safety.
176
I saw them start, but can only relate their adventures from what I heard of them when the boys came back.
The settled country through which they passed would have seemed wild enough to most English people, accustomed to hedged-in little fields, fitting like patches in a patchwork22 quilt, with roads and lanes curving between them, and railways running over them in the most rural places. In this “settled country” there were miles without a fence, and our pioneers generally camped out at night; although, when they came to a public, or an “accommodation-house,” with a paddock, about sundown, they would have a night between sheets for a change, and when they chanced to halt near a head-station at nightfall, they could make sure of hearty23 hospitality, although not always of a bed. As they went on, the country seemed wilder and wilder to their eyes, although perhaps we should not have seen much difference.
177
When I went out to New South Wales, I expected, from what I had read in guide-books, to see capital convict-made roads running through the colony everywhere. What I found was a tolerable bit of road reaching as far as Parramatta (not twenty miles from Sydney), but beyond that there was nothing that we should call a road in England. Deep ruts running right across the road; grey logs that the mail-cart used to bump over, and black jagged tree-stumps that it used to graze against; the smoothest bits of road like a ploughed field; unbridged creeks24; “corduroy” causeways of tree-trunks across swampy26 places;—that is what I remember of Australian up-country roads in dry weather; and in wet weather they were chains of ponds, with marsh27 that swallowed you to the ankle, and bog28 that gobbled you above the knee, intervening; and bogged29 blue-bloused dray-drivers sitting here and there on the tops of their loads of wool-bales, smoking in sullen30 resignation, like mariners31 in the tops of gradually-sinking wrecks32.
178
At last, however, our pioneers came to the end of even such roads as these, and had to trust to rare cattle-paths, the sun, the compass, and “gumption” for guidance. They had reached the march-land on which the white man, who has grown nearly as wild, meets the black man who has not been tamed, and shoots him or poisons him with strychnine-damper for spearing his flocks and herds33, and sometimes gets speared by him in return. On the last run our pioneers crossed they met a stockman who was herding34 cattle with pistols in his holsters and a carbine in his hand. A strange wild-looking fellow was this stockman. He wore a rain-blackened, sun-bronzed, cabbage-tree hat, with a jetty, greasy35 cutty pipe stuck into the discoloured band; a faded, stained, white-seamed red shirt, buckled36 round him with a chapped brown belt; and tattered37 moleskin trousers falling in vandyked fringes over rusty38 gaping39 boots. One of his stirrup-leathers was made of knotted green hide. His face was just the colour of his hat—the little of it that could be seen peeping through a foot or two of coarse black hair like a guardsman’s bearskin. He had lived so long by himself that, when he first began to talk to the new-comers, he stammered40 like a bashful girl. He soon recovered his tongue, however, and the first thing he asked for was tobacco. They were smoking tea on that station, owing to the long time the drays that were bringing them fresh stores had been delayed upon the road. When Sydney gave the man a fig10 or two of colonial tobacco, and another of glossy42 Barrett’s twist, he pounced43 upon them as if he could scarcely believe his eyes. The American negrohead he put away jealously in his trousers-pocket for special occasions, and then began to slice and rub up the dull-green saltpetery colonial tobacco, as if he was famishing for want of a “proper smoke.” As it spluttered in his pipe he told the strangers some strange tales about the blacks. They had sighted them several times before this; but, as the blacks had always bounded off like so many kangaroos as soon as they were sighted, our pioneers had begun to think that they would not have much to fear from them.
180
“Don’t you believe it,” said the stockman. “They’ll be on ye when you’re least lookin’ for ’em, the sneaking44 divils!”
This is one of the stories he told about the blacks, and from it you will see that white men can be quite as bloodthirsty in those wild parts:
“When we come up here, two er the chaps that the cove41 hired was brothers. I niver seen brothers so fond er each other as them two young fellers was. Strappin’ young fellers, though they was new to this kind er work. They’d been knockin’ about, an’ was glad to git anythin’ to do, I guess. Wal, one day Tom—that was the youngest—was down by the creek25 yonder, lookin’ arter a duck, or summat er that. Me an’ Fred—that was the eldest—was up on the rise beyont, lookin’ arter the bullocks. All of a suddent we heerd a cooey.
181
“‘That’s Tom,’ says Fred. I didn’t want him to tell me. It worn’t a bit like a black feller’s.
“‘He’s come to grief,’ says I, for it sounded like that, an’ down we galloped46 to the creek full pelt47. Jist as we got into the scrub we heard another cooey, an’ presently another, fainter an’ fainter like. Wal, we hunted about, an’ onder a grass tree we found poor Tom with a spear stickin’ into him.
“‘Mother—poor old gal45!’ he says, when we come up to him, an’ Fred was kneelin’ by his side. I guess he was the old gal’s pet, and Fred had promised to look arter him when they come out, or summut er that. Anyhow Fred looked like a very divil.
182
“‘Which way?’ says he, lookin’ about an’ cockin’ his gun. ‘Who was it, Tom?’ says he, with his face as white as ashes.
“Poor Tom had jist breath enough left to say ‘Black Swan,’ an’ then the blood bubbled out er his mouth, an’ he was dead, an’ his brother a-blubberin’ over him like a gal over her sweetheart. I let him blubber for a bit to ease hisself, but he was ser long about it that I gives him a nudge with my foot. ‘Come,’ says I, ‘Fred, git up—that ain’t no good,’ says I.
“‘No,’ says he, jumpin’ up, ‘that ain’t no good—but you hear me, Tom!’ An’ then he clinched48 his fist like the playactors, an’ swore that, if he iver cotched Black Swan, he’d cut him in two with a cross-cut saw.
“‘Sarve him right,’ says I, ‘but there ain’t much chance er that.’
183
“Black Swan was a black divil we’d called so ’cos of his gallus long neck. Wal, we cotched Tom’s horse, and Fred took the corpse49 back on it to the station, and buried his brother close ahind our hut. I can’t say I relished50 that azactly, nor the way Fred ’ud go an’ sit by the grave arter sundown, mumblin’ to hisself as if he was silly. He’d been a jolly chap afore that—not half as jolly as Tom, though. The hut was like a dead place when he was gone. All that Fred seemed to care about was to get a pop at the blacks. Wal, one day when we’d had a scrimmage with ’em, Fred hit Black Swan in the knee. He was a-hoppin’ off, boohooin’ like a babby, a one leg, but Fred was down on him in no time. I ’spected he’d blow his brains out right off, an’ have done wi’ him. But Fred knocked him down with the butt-end er his gun, an’ tied his hands an’ feet, an’ lugged51 him back to our hut, an’ kicked him into the skillion ahind.
“‘What are you going to do with that poor divil, Fred?’ says I, when we was havin’ our smoke arter supper.
“‘Niver you mind,’ says he.
184
“Wal, it worn’t no business o’ mine, an’ so I turned in. Next mornin’ the black was gone, an’ Fred didn’t show. Then I guessed what was up, an’ told the cove. Him and me rode down to the place where poor Tom was skewered52, an’ there, right afore the grass tree, was the black, lashed53 atween two planks54, an’ sliced through as neat as you’d cut a sangwidch. Fred niver showed arter that, an’ I worn’t sorry to be rid er his company, though, arter all, it were on’y a black feller.”
Prince Chummy was far less affected55 by this horrid56 story than Harry and Donald were. There is not much love lost between black fellows of different tribes; the tribes are not united by any feeling of common patriotism57; but native Australian lads have the same kind of liking58 for the blacks that a young squire59 has for his peasant foster-brother.
“The cowardly English cur!” cried Harry, indignantly. “If they’d fought fair with spears and womeras, the Englishman would precious soon have cut his lucky.”
185
But before he left his brother’s station, Harry had learnt to think somewhat more harshly of the blacks.
When Sydney’s party had left that last run, and crossed a wide stretch of dry scrub country, they struck a creek shaded by red gum-trees, and ran it down until they came to what was, for Australia, a fine river. Fig trees and pines—all kinds of trees—laced together with creepers and wild vine, grew thick along the river’s banks. They were pink and purple and crimson60 and yellow with wild flowers, and big white water-lilies with huge green leaves almost paved the water inshore. There were wild fowl61, too, in the river; and scores upon scores of pigeons, bronzewings, and green and purple wompoos, were feasting on the wild figs62 and cherries, and making them patter down like rain. Besides a host of little birds, there were snowy cockatoos and flashing parrots and lories galore, and sometimes a paddymelon was seen.
186
“Just won’t we blaze away, Donald!” cried Harry, in ecstasy63.
But what pleased Sydney more was the grassy64, light-timbered land, that stretched like a wild park for miles on both sides of the river. He determined65 to seek no farther, and as soon as he had pitched his camp, he was in the saddle again, and off to mark out his run. He scored the bark of a tree from which he started with his initials, and then rode a dozen miles or more, and slashed66 another tree with his tomahawk. In that free-and-easy fashion he took possession of all the land between the trees for ten miles on both sides of the river. Then he galloped into camp again, and scribbled67 off a rough description of the district he had taken up for the Crown Lands Office, using the dray for his writing-desk. With this specification68 Prince Chummy was sent back upon their tracks to the nearest post-office. It was by no means certain that Prince Chummy would return, although he did seem so fond of his young master, since black fellows are very fickle69; but he could best be spared from the station when hard work had to be done—that being an occupation not at all to a black fellow’s taste. He might safely be trusted to post the letter, since Sydney had made him believe that it would come back to tell of him if he didn’t.
187
Whilst he was away Sydney and Jim and Bob set to work at timber-felling and splitting, whilst Harry and Donald in turns mounted guard over the stores or looked after the cattle. Before Prince Chummy got back, a store had been run up, and a hut for Sydney and the boys, and another for the men, and the stockyard was nearly finished. Masters and men fared very much alike. In neither hut was there any superfluous70 furniture. The bedsteads were bullocks’ hides stretched on posts driven into the ground. All this time not a black had been seen at Pigeon Park, as Sydney had christened his station. They came often enough afterwards, as you will read in my next chapter; but in this I have only room to tell how they first made their appearance there.
188
One evening the cattle and horses had been driven into a grassy horseshoe peninsula made by the winding71 river, not far from the huts. Sydney and the men had knocked off work, and were sitting, smoking, on their verandahs, and the boys were out with their guns. Presently Harry cried out,
“Hark! I can hear a horse galloping72 yonder. Perhaps it’s Chummy come back. Let’s go and meet him.”
189
When Donald put his ear down to the ground, he heard the hoofs quite plainly, and agreed to go. As a rule, young Australians think it is necessary to ride when they set out anywhither of set purpose. They will take the trouble of running a horse up from a flat almost a mile off in order to ride a mile. But if the boys had gone back then for their horses, the chances were that the horseman, whoever it was, would get to the station almost as soon as they did; so they trotted73 off on foot. In a few minutes the rider topped a rise, and though the setting sunlight bathed him in bright blood, they could make out that it was Chummy. He reined74 in as he drew near the boys in a place in which there was a belt of scrub on both sides. He was grinning, and shouting back greetings to his young friends, when from the scrub on both sides whizzed a flight of spears. Poor Chummy, bristled75 like a porcupine76, fell forward on his horse’s neck, clutching the mane with the rigid77 grasp of death, and the fear-maddened horse, which had been wounded in the neck itself, rushed past the boys like a whirlwind. Out of the scrub darted78 a score or two of darkies, dancing and jabbering79, “Wah! wah! wah!” like angry apes, and advancing on the boys with brandished80 spears and wildly-waved boomerangs and waddies.
190
“I did feel funky81 then, and no mistake, Mr. Howe,” Harry afterwards told me; “but, you see, if we’d shown the white feather then, it would have been all up with us. So we turned round and stared at the blacks.
“‘We must pepper them,’ I said to Donald.
“‘Ay, lad; but ane at a time, and then load whilst the ither is firin’,’ says Donald.
“He’s a cool customer, is Donald, with his t’anes and t’ithers. We hadn’t much time to talk, for I saw one of the beggars just going to let drive at us, so I up with my gun and let drive at him. I was loaded with duck-shot, and though it scattered82, I must have spoilt his beauty, for the blood came streaming down his face. It was queer to see how scared the big beggars were—over six foot some of ’em were. They couldn’t have been much used to powder. They all of them stopped short when they saw the blood, as if they’d all been shot.
191
“‘Don’t wait for me,’ I said to Donald, when I was going to load again; but, though he gave ’em both his barrels pretty quick when he saw how things were, he only marked ’em behind. They’d all turned, and before you could say ‘Jack Robinson’ they’d vanished in the scrub. Syd and the men weren’t long in rushing up, I promise you; but there was nothing left for them to do. Poor old Chummy was as dead as a doornail by that time. We buried him before we went to bed, with some of the spear-heads still sticking in him. We couldn’t have got ’em out without tearing him all to bits. I suppose the beggars had got it into their heads that he’d brought us, and so wanted to finish him off first. It’s strange the down black fellows have on black fellows. Poor old Chummy! And yet, after all, if you think of it, you can’t blame the beggars. I can’t see what right we whites have to this country. If you were to get up at night and see a fellow helping83 himself to your swag, you’d do your best, I guess, to shoot him if he wouldn’t bundle out. And that’s how the blacks must feel when they see us taking up their country. It sounds soft, and yet I can’t help half wishing sometimes that they were as ’cute and as plucky84 as the Maories. They won’t stand nonsense, for all your English red-coats; though the soldiers and settlers between them might eat up every Maori, if they could only catch ’em and kill ’em. There’s enough of ’em to do it.”
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1
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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squatter
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| n.擅自占地者 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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sobriquets
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| n.绰号，诨名( sobriquet的名词复数 ) | |
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furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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rivalry
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| n.竞争，竞赛，对抗 | |
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sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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fig
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| n.无花果(树) | |
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glibness
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| n.花言巧语；口若悬河 | |
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mustered
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| v.集合，召集，集结（尤指部队）( muster的过去式和过去分词 )；（自他人处）搜集某事物；聚集；激发 | |
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yoke
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| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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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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subside
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| vi.平静，平息；下沉，塌陷，沉降 | |
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trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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jingling
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| 叮当声 | |
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yokes
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| 轭( yoke的名词复数 )； 奴役； 轭形扁担； 上衣抵肩 | |
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patchwork
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| n.混杂物；拼缝物 | |
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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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creeks
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| n.小湾( creek的名词复数 )；小港；小河；小溪 | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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swampy
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| adj.沼泽的，湿地的 | |
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marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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bog
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| n.沼泽；室...陷入泥淖 | |
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bogged
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| adj.陷于泥沼的v.（使）陷入泥沼， （使）陷入困境( bog的过去式和过去分词 )；妨碍，阻碍 | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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mariners
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| 海员，水手（mariner的复数形式） | |
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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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herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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herding
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| 中畜群 | |
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greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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buckled
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| a. 有带扣的 | |
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tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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pounced
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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gal
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| n.姑娘，少女 | |
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galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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pelt
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| v.投掷，剥皮，抨击，开火 | |
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clinched
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| v.（尤指两人）互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的过去式和过去分词 )；解决（争端、交易），达成（协议） | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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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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lugged
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| vt.用力拖拉（lug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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skewered
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| v.（用串肉扦或类似物）串起，刺穿( skewer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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figs
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| figures 数字，图形，外形 | |
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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slashed
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| v.挥砍( slash的过去式和过去分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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scribbled
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| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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specification
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| n.详述；[常pl.]规格，说明书，规范 | |
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fickle
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| adj.(爱情或友谊上)易变的，不坚定的 | |
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superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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reined
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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bristled
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| adj. 直立的，多刺毛的 动词bristle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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porcupine
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| n.豪猪， 箭猪 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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jabbering
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| v.急切而含混不清地说( jabber的现在分词 )；急促兴奋地说话；结结巴巴 | |
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brandished
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| v.挥舞( brandish的过去式和过去分词 )；炫耀 | |
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funky
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| adj.畏缩的，怯懦的，霉臭的；adj.新式的，时髦的 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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plucky
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| adj.勇敢的 | |
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