LOST IN THE BUSH—AUSTRALIAN HORSES.
“Another of the gentlemen,” wrote Harry in his notebook, “told us a story about a young woman, with a child in her arms and an older child at her side, being lost in the bush.” She had been on a visit to an acquaintance who lived about four miles away, and was to start for home in the afternoon of a certain Friday, having gone there in the forenoon of the same day. She did not reach home in the evening, and it was thought at first that she had concluded to remain until Saturday. Not until Sunday did her husband go to the house where she had been visiting, and there he ascertained that she had left the place on Friday afternoon, as agreed, and carried no provisions except a pound of butter which she was taking home for her husband.
“It was at once concluded,” said the gentleman, “that she had missed her way and been lost in the bush; and when one is thus lost, it is very hard to find the way out again. The general features of the landscape are so similar that it is very difficult to distinguish one part from another, and the alarm and perplexity natural on finding oneself in such a situation increases the danger which attends it by robbing the wanderer of the presence of mind which is so necessary in such an emergency. When the sun is obscured by clouds the most experienced traveler is liable to stray and become lost, and even when the sun is shining it is not every one who can take advantage of its position to guide him out of trouble. The course of the streams in a well-watered country is of great use in guiding an inexperienced traveler, but Australian streams, like most others, wind about a great deal, and make the road along their banks a very long one.
“It was the rainy season of the year when this woman was lost, and the streams were flooded. If she had followed the creek which would have led her to her home, she would have been compelled to keep to the high ground on either side of its valley, as the low, flat land was covered with water. The weather was cold and wet and the winds were keen and piercing. There was not the least supply of nourishment to be obtained in the bush, and when we heard late on Monday what had happened, we all felt that the unhappy wanderers must have perished from hunger and cold. Still, there was a possibility that they might yet survive, and, as it was too late for us to start that day, we determined to set out on Tuesday morning in search of them. We sent off to the nearest police station and obtained the assistance of several blacks who had been trained to the police service. You have probably heard about the wonderful skill of these people in following a track, and as soon as they arrived on the ground we set them at work.
“All day Tuesday these native trackers sought diligently to find traces of the missing ones, but none could be discovered. Then on Wednesday morning we renewed the search, covering as much ground as possible and examining it with the greatest care, occasionally discharging a revolver in the hope that its sound might be heard, and frequently shouting the Australian ‘coo-ee,’ which can be heard at a great distance. We returned home completely discouraged and gave up the wanderers for dead, being satisfied that any further search would be useless.
“But on reaching home we heard news that gave us encouragement. A woodchopper returning from his work told us that he found on a hill, some distance away, a rude mia-mia or wind shelter made of the branches of a wild cherry tree. He said it was not like those usually put up by the blacks, nor were there any traces of fire near it, which would certainly have been the case if it had been a native mia-mia. We started at once, under the guidance of the workman, to inspect the place for ourselves, and on examining the shelter carefully we felt sure that it had been put up by the lost woman. A few pieces of a Melbourne newspaper were lying on the ground and a strip of calico had been fastened to the bushes, evidently in the hope of attracting attention.
“We collected these little articles carefully and took them to the husband, who instantly identified the strip of calico as belonging to a gown his wife had worn, and he also remembered that she had taken a Melbourne newspaper with her. He was greatly excited at the sight of the articles, and so were we. It was too late to do anything that day; in fact, it was dark before we reached home, and so we made all preparations for an early start on Thursday morning. We were on the way soon after daylight, and the native trackers expressed the fullest confidence in their ability to find the missing wanderers, now that they were able to start on the track.
“We first went to the mia-mia, or wind shelter, and then took a course to the northeast, walking over a succession of low ranges and shallow gullies where the water often reached up to our knees. The trackers were much disappointed, as the amount of water which spread over the country made it impossible for them to follow the trail. We passed through thick scrubs and prickly plants, and over sharp rocks which were rough walking even for men; what must they have been for the woman and her children?
“We continued our search for several hours, and had almost resolved to give it up, when one of our party fired at a kangaroo which he had disturbed, and which fled before us. The animal fell wounded, and as we were advancing towards it, we thought we heard a distant coo-ee. We stood still to listen, and faintly, yet quite distinctly, it was repeated. We walked on with great eagerness in the direction whence the sound appeared to come, and every little while we coo-eed and waited for an answer to assure us that we were on the right track. We did not get an answer every time, and when we did it was not a strong one; but there was no mistaking the sound, and we realized each time that we were getting nearer the spot where it was made.
“We reached the edge of a gully thickly overgrown with tangled scrub about twelve feet high. We pressed forward through this scrub, wading occasionally through the water, and pushing aside the last bushes, found ourselves at the edge of a small open plain. There we saw, standing at a little distance, a gaunt, ragged woman with a child in her arms. As she caught sight of us she turned and fled; either she mistook us for black fellows, or the surprise and relief of obtaining help had turned her brain. We shouted loudly to her to stop, and as our voices fell on her ear she stood still and we approached. She looked at us with a half-crazed expression in her eager, gleaming eyes; her cheeks were thin and sunken, and her whole appearance was one of great wretchedness.
“We gave her some tea which she drank greedily, and it revived her somewhat. Seeing that she had only one of her children with her, the youngest, we asked where the other was, and she led us to a large, hollow tree in which she placed the little girl. The poor child’s feet were so cruelly cut and blistered that she could no longer walk, and the mother, hoping to reach home and find help, had thought best to leave her and travel on with the other child. She had built up the opening of the tree with logs and brush-wood in the hope of protecting the child against the attacks of the wild dogs, but when her preparations were complete the little girl wept so piteously that the distracted mother could not consent to leave her alone. So she made up her mind to stay there and die with her children.
“Just as she had reached this conclusion she heard the report of the rifle, and with all her remaining strength she uttered the coo-ee which brought relief to her. She did not faint or lose her self-possession, and she astonished us all by her strength. She would not wait to allow us to send for a dray or other conveyance, but insisted that she could walk with us; it was a walk of seven miles, but she went on bravely, carrying her boy, who would not leave her arms. The men by turns carried the little girl, and offered to take the boy, but she would not give him up.
“She solemnly declared that neither she nor the children had found anything to eat during the time they were in the bush. On the first night, she divided the pound of butter between the children, and ate nothing herself. Her only sustenance for the whole time had been water, and it was the only sustenance of the children after the butter was consumed. Every morning they had begun to wander, hoping to reach home before night; and every night, as the darkness closed in, they huddled together, cold, and hungry, and footsore, on the wet ground, and with no shelter except a few scanty bushes.
“The children slept fairly well, but the mother said she listened through the greater part of every night, hearing the howling of the wild dogs around them, and constantly dreading their attacks. She said she heard the report of our rifles on the first day of our search, but unhappily the wind was blowing directly from us towards her, and consequently we were unable to hear her answering calls, though she had strained her voice to the utmost to make herself heard. She had been almost frantic with despair, knowing that help was so near at hand and yet beyond her reach. She thought, and we agreed with her, that another day in the bush would have ended their lives, or at any rate that of the little girl.”
As the narrator paused, Harry asked if the woman recovered her health and strength completely.
“She recovered her strength very soon,” was the reply, “but her mind was affected by her exposure and sufferings, and she was never quite herself again, mentally. The children recovered completely after a few weeks of nourishment, and the little girl who was so near dying in that hollow tree has since grown up and married.”
“I think it is time for a story of less mournful character,” said one of the party.
“By all means,” said another; “let us have one.”
“Well, here it is,” was the reply.
“At the station of a wealthy squatter a party assembled one evening for a good time and a supper. There were young men and young women, as well as men and women who were not altogether young, who had been invited for miles around, and they had a jolly time, you may well believe me. Some of the young fellows, wishing to have some fun, disguised themselves in rough clothes, blackened their faces, and frowzed up their hair in the roughest kind of way. Then they suddenly appeared at the door of the large room, and the cry of ‘Bushrangers!’ was raised. Some of the ladies fainted in alarm, and all were more or less frightened. The joke was not kept up very long, as the counterfeit bushrangers were not good impersonators, and were speedily detected by their friends. There was a great deal of fun and laughter over the trick that had been played, and then the performers in the scheme resumed their ordinary dress and continued in the games with the others.
“An hour or so later, rough voices were heard outside of the house, and soon there appeared in the doorway six or eight rough-looking men with begrimed faces, untrimmed hair, and very shabby-looking garments, who entered the hall with a very determined manner. Some of the party burst out laughing, and exclaimed, ‘Bushrangers again!’ declaring that they would not be fooled a second time. Some of the others had an instinctive perception that this time the bushrangers were real ones.”
The narrator paused, and Harry asked if that was the case.
“It was exactly,” was the reply. “The men were notorious bushrangers who had been troubling that part of the country for some time. The robbers drew revolvers and ordered the men to ‘bail up!’ (hold up their hands) which they did in a hurry, and then they were commanded to stand in a row with their faces next to the wall.
“Then the bushrangers ordered the ladies to provide them with refreshments, while one was commanded to sit at the piano and entertain them with music. No one was allowed to leave the room except under the escort of a bushranger, for fear that word would be sent to the police.
“The scoundrels ate and drank freely, and then took possession of all the watches, jewelry, money, and other valuables in the possession of the party. After making their collection they left the place. Word was sent to the police as soon as possible, but as the police station was several miles away, the information was of no practical value.”
“Were the scoundrels ever caught?” inquired Ned.
“Yes, they were eventually caught and hanged,” was the reply. “They troubled that region for some time. The inhabitants dared not pursue them, for fear of their vengeance, though all wanted to be rid of them. Four men came from Melbourne with authority for taking these robbers, dead or alive, and with the promise of a large reward. It was impossible to keep their errand a secret, and none of the people dared give them any assistance in consequence of their dread of what the bushrangers might do if they heard of it. I know of one instance where these four men applied to a squatter for a night’s lodging and supper. He dared not let his family know about the men being there, but lodged them in an out-building, and with his own hands carried the food to them for their supper.”
“And did these four men capture the bushranger gang?” queried Harry.
“Not by any means,” was the reply. “They were riding one day along the road, when they suddenly found themselves face to face with the bushrangers. A fight followed as a matter of course, and every one of the four was killed. When the corpses were discovered, one of them was found in a kneeling posture, as though he had died in the act of begging for mercy. A ten-pound bank note was found sticking in a wound in his breast, and evidently the bushrangers put it there, to show that in this instance, at least, their object was revenge and not plunder.
“That the bushrangers were a bad lot,” continued the gentleman, “no one will deny, but in many instances they showed chivalry and appreciation of bravery. It was rare, indeed, that they ill-treated women or children, and it was also very rarely the case that they committed murder except in self-defense or for revenge. This led a good many sentimental people to regard them rather in the light of dashing heroes than that of downright criminals. You have probably heard of Captain Melville, have you not?” he asked, turning to Harry and Ned.
The youths nodded, and said the name of that famous bushranger was familiar to them.
“Well, it once happened,” said their informant, “that Captain Melville had in his power a man whom, of all others, he had most occasion to dread,—an officer of high standing in the police force, at that time engaged in pursuit of the robber, whom he declared he would take alive or dead. This officer was riding one day alone and slightly armed, when he suddenly met Melville with his entire gang. The police uniform readily told the rank of the officer, and it happened that Melville and several of his men were familiar with the officer’s face.
“He was immediately surrounded and disarmed; his hands were tied behind his back, and his captives took him triumphantly to their camp. When the camp was reached, the prisoner was bound to a wagon wheel while his captors held a counsel to decide what to do with him. The officer was noted for his courage, and when Melville came near him, he was taunted by his captive for his cowardice in taking him at the time when he was defenseless and alone.
“Melville became angry at the taunt, and, walking towards his prisoner, he placed a loaded revolver at his head and said, ‘Say another word and I’ll blow your brains out.’
“‘You dare not do it,’ replied the officer, and he looked with an unflinching eye at the robber.
“Melville’s eyes glared, and probably the slightest show of fear on the part of the officer would have provoked a fatal shot.
“Melville held the pistol at the prisoner’s head for a few seconds and then lowered it, saying, as he did so, ‘You are too brave a man to be shot,’ and then he turned and walked away. The officer afterwards managed to escape and reach Melbourne safely. The supposition is that he was assisted in escaping by one of the bushrangers who was tired of life on the road and desirous of leaving it. The officer was able to promise him immunity from punishment in return for his service in aiding the latter’s escape.”
“That reminds me of a story I heard not long ago,” said Harry.
“A lawyer in Australia was once defending a man whose family antecedents and record were anything but good. Ignoring this, he made a most touching plea about the gray-haired parents in England waiting to celebrate Christmas with their returned wanderer. The jury found the man guilty, however, and the judge, after sentencing him, remarked that the learned counsel would have his wish; the convicted client was going to the same prison where father and mother were already serving sentences. Their Christmas would be passed under the same roof.”
Other stories were told during the course of the evening, but we have no room for any more of them. When the last story was given, the youths looked at their watches and were surprised to find the hour so late. They immediately retired to their room and slept soundly, or at least Ned did. Harry said he was disturbed somewhat by dreams of snakes, bushrangers, unruly cattle, and horses, and of being lost in the bush. Evidently the disturbance was not serious, as he was out at an early hour with Ned to investigate the place and learn the peculiarities of an up-country station in Australia. Here is what he wrote concerning what he saw and heard before the announcement of breakfast:—
“The sights and sounds were not altogether unlike those of a farm in New England, but there were many more of them, in consequence of the greater size of the station. A farm in New England covering two or three hundred acres of ground would be considered a large one. This station covers an area ten miles square, or one hundred square miles. They have five thousand head of cattle upon it and more than one hundred horses. Most of the cattle, in fact, nearly all of them, are fully half wild. The domesticated ones comprise a few yokes of oxen and a small herd of milch cows, and even the cows are nowhere near as tame as the same animals would be in New England. We went out to the milking yard and witnessed the operation of milking three or four cows which had been driven in from the paddock. Not one of the creatures would stand quietly to be milked, as a well-mannered cow should do, and each one had to be driven, led, or pulled into a frame or cage something like the frame in which oxen are shod. When the cow was thoroughly secured in this way, with one fore leg tied up so that she could not lift either of her hind legs, the milkmaid, who was a big, rough-looking man, proceeded to milk the animal. When the operation was concluded, another cow was brought up and put through the same process.
“I asked if they had any cows that would stand peaceably and submit to the milking process. They answered me that they had such cows occasionally, but not often; and the man with whom I talked seemed to be rather proud of the circumstance, that Australian cows were more high-spirited than American ones.
“The stockmen had had their breakfast and were about starting for their daily rounds. Some fifty or sixty horses had been driven in from a paddock and enclosed in a yard large enough for five times their number. A man went into the yard to select his horse for the day’s riding, and having singled out the animal, he made several ineffectual attempts to capture him. When he approached the group, it divided and started off for a different part of the yard. Then the man was joined by another, and the horses at once concluded that it was time for their fun to cease. They submitted quietly to being bridled and saddled, and one after another they were led out of the yard as soon as this operation was complete.
“One of the stockmen remarked that he would like to see one of us youngsters go in there and get a horse.
“I replied that I had heard too many stories of the character of Australian horses to induce me to make the attempt.
“You are very wise not to do so,” he answered. “They would have fun with you by the hour, and then you would not be able to lay hands on one of them. Whenever we get a new chum that is a green hand, we have a jolly time seeing him work. He goes inside with one of the black boys, and between them they manage to get a horse off into a corner. Then the new chum takes his bridle over his arm and approaches the horse, talking to him all the time. Australian horses don’t understand that sort of thing, and you might as well talk to the surf on the sea-coast as to one of them. Just as the new chum gets up to within about four feet of the horse’s neck, the beast spins around on his hind legs, and is off like a shot. He kicks and prances, and sometimes he lies down and rolls, and all the time he is saying to himself, ‘What a jolly time I am having.’
“Then the new chum and the black fellow try it on again, and with the same result. All the old hands sit around the fence and have a good laugh, and we let the new chum keep at it until our sides are sore. After awhile we agree that we have had enough of it, and then we turn in and catch the horse and saddle him in about half no time.
“But there is more fun to come,” continued the stockman, “and that is when the new chum tries to ride. He gets into the saddle, and just as he gets fairly seated the horse begins to buck-jump. Perhaps you don’t know what buck-jumping is?”
“I have heard of it,” I said. “In fact, I have seen what was said to be a very good performance of it, and that was in Buffalo Bill’s show.”
“How high up in the air did the horses throw the fellows in the show?”
“Oh, a little ways,” I answered; “enough to pitch them out of the saddles and bring them to the ground.”
“Oh, nonsense,” said the stockman; “you wait till you see an Australian horse send a new chum up into the air. I’ve seen a fellow tossed up so high that he didn’t look bigger than a dog. He must have gone up fifty feet, at least, and he came down astraddle of the horse again.”
The man said this with all possible gravity, but I thought I could see a twinkle at the corner of his eye. I smiled politely, as I did not want to contradict him, and, at the same time, did not wish him to believe that I swallowed his preposterous story.
“Some of our horses,” he continued, “will stand still and allow themselves to be saddled, and then they will take a long breath, swell themselves up with air, burst the girths, and throw the saddle up at least twenty feet above them, and all this in one motion.”
“Seems to me, I have heard of something of the kind in America,” I remarked. “As I remember the story, they first fed the horse with self-raising flour, and then gave him a pail of water to drink.”
The man stood silent for a moment, and then said, “You’ll do, youngster; you ought to stay in Australia.”