Volume Two—Chapter Twenty Four.
The Yarra-Yarra.
Soon after my return from Callao, I accompanied two acquaintances, upon a hunting expedition up the Yarra-Yarra.
There is some beautiful scenery along the banks of this river—beautiful, as curves of shining water, bordered by noble forms of vegetable life, can make it.
There is some pleasure to be found in a hunting excursion in Australia—although it does not exactly consist in the successful pursuit of game.
In the morning and afternoon, when your shadow is far prolonged over the greensward—and you breathe the free genial atmosphere of that sunny clime—an exhilarating effect is produced upon your spirits, a sort of joyous consciousness of the possession of youth, health, and happiness. To breathe the evening atmosphere of Australia is to become inspired with hope. If despair should visit the soul of one, to whom fate has been unkind, it will come in the mid-day hours; but even then, the philosopher may find a tranquil contentment by lying under the shade of a “she oak,” and imbibing the smoke of the Nicotian weed.
One of my companions in the chase chanced to have—living about twenty miles up the river—an acquaintance, who had often invited him to make a visit to his “station.”
Our comrade had decided to accept the invitation—taking the two of us along with him, though we were in no haste to reach our destination—so long as we could find amusement by the way.
The squatters, living on their “stations”—at a distance from large towns, or assemblages of the digging population—are noted for their hospitality. They lead, in general, a lonely life; and, for this reason, visitors with whom they can converse, and who can bring them the latest news from the world of society, are ever welcome.
Both the climate and customs of Australia make visitors less troublesome to their hosts, than in almost any other part of the world.
The traveller is usually provided with his own blankets, carried in a roll; and these, wrapped around him in the open air, he prefers to the best bed his host could provide for him.
All that we should require from our comrade’s acquaintance would be his company, with plenty of substantial food; and with this last article the squatters of Australia are abundantly supplied.
Not wishing to make a toil, of an excursion intended for amusement, we had purchased an old horse, on which we had packed our blankets, with a few articles of food to sustain us, till we should reach the station of the squatter.
We might have accomplished the journey in a single day; but walking twenty miles within twelve hours, was too much like work; and, on the first night, after leaving Melbourne, we had only made about half the distance!
We had sauntered leisurely along, and spent at least three or four hours under the shade of the trees growing by the side of the road.
This style of travelling appeared to suit the old horse, as much as his masters. It was an animal that had seen its best days; and seemed averse to any movement that called for a high degree of speed. Like most of his kind, in the colonies, he was as much at home in one place as another; and, wherever we stopped for repose, he appeared to think that the halt was made for his especial accommodation.
We did not make much effort to undeceive him. He had seen hard times; and we were, probably, the best masters that had ever owned him.
On the second morning, shortly after resuming our journey, we observed some hills, thickly covered with timber—at some distance to the right of our road. We diverged from the direct path—to see whether we could not find a kangaroo, or some other harmless creature, possessing a happy existence, that might be put an end to.
This undertaking was a success—so far as the kangaroos were concerned—since we were not able to do injury to any of these creatures.
We caught a glimpse of two or three of them, at a distance; but, after roaming about the timbered ranges for several hours, we did not succeed to get within killing distance of any of them.
We returned to the bank of the river—just in time to form our bivouac, before the night fell upon us—having accomplished during the day, about four miles in the direction in which we intended going!
“I am a little disgusted with hunting,” said one of my companions, whose name was Vane. “I move that in the morning we keep on to the station; and see what amusement is to be found there.”
This proposition was carried, by a majority of three. The horse, being indifferent on the subject, was permitted to remain neutral.
“What amusement shall we find at your friend’s house?” asked Vane of my other companion—who was the one acquainted with the squatter we were on the way to visit.
“Well, I suppose we can have some hunting there,” replied the individual thus interrogated; and who always answered, in a polite manner, to the name of “Cannon.”
“No, thank you!” said Vane. “We’ve had enough of that sort of thing to-day. I don’t want any more of it.”
“But at the station we shall be provided with horses,” suggested Cannon; “and, when we get sight of a kangaroo, we can run the animal down.”
“That makes a difference,” said Vane; “and I don’t mind trying it for a day. But is there no other amusement, to be had at your friend’s house?”
“Not that I know of—unless you make love to my friend’s pretty daughter.”
“Ah! that would be amusement,” exclaimed Vane, evidently a little stirred by the communication.
“Is she good-looking?” he asked.
“Yes, extremely good-looking. But, remember, comrades,” continued Cannon, “I will allow no serious love-making.”
“Give yourself no uneasiness about that,” rejoined Vane. “In love affairs, I am never serious. Are you?” he asked, turning to me.
“Yes, very serious,” I answered, thinking of Lenore.
“Then you will never be successful,” said Vane.
I passed half-an-hour in a fruitless endeavour to comprehend the philosophy of this remark, after which I fell asleep.
Next morning, we resumed our route for the squatters’ station; and had got about three miles along the road, when we came to a plain, entirely destitute of timber. Upon this plain was a drove of about a hundred horses. They remained motionless, with heads erect, and nostrils spread, until we had approached within fifty yards of them. They then turned, and galloped off at the top of their speed.
At this moment, a change suddenly showed itself in the demeanour of our old roadster. We had been driving him before us, for the last mile or two, with great difficulty; but, on seeing his congeners take to flight, he suddenly threw up his head; and, either calling out to the drove that he was coming, or to us that he was going, he started towards them. Before we could get hold of his bridle, he was beyond reach—going at a rate that promised soon to place him among the foremost of the herd.
We had supposed that our hack belonged to some “serious family” of horses; and that the natural sedateness of his disposition had been augmented by years of toil and starvation. We were never more disappointed, than on seeing him forsake us in the fashion he did. A two-year old could not have gone more gaily.
Cannon and Vane started off in pursuit of him; but, as I had a little more experience in colonial horses, than either of my companions, I bade good-bye both to our roadster and my roll of blankets; and, stretching myself under the shade of a tree, I resolved to await their return.
I did wait. One hour passed, then another, and a third; and still my companions did not come back.
“I am a fool for remaining here,” reflected I. “The squatters station cannot be more than five miles distant; and they have probably gone there? The herd of horses undoubtedly belongs to it; and my companions have followed them home?”
Influenced by these conjectures, I once more rose to my feet; and continued the journey, that had been so unexpectedly interrupted.