Nevertheless, some of the “boys” felt sufficiently sore about it to want to get even with me, so they invited me to go rabbit shooting. This is a joke that is frequently worked off on a “new chum,” rabbits out there being looked upon as vermin. Nobody dreams of shooting them, for sport at all events.
But I, of course, knew nothing of all this. I thought it awfully kind of them, and accepted the offer with alacrity. We motored out into the bush on Saturday night after my show, slept in the car, and when day dawned I found myself surrounded by millions of rabbits. They covered the earth to the horizon as far as the eye could reach; they were gathered in myriads against the wire fences; the car had even run over quite a number of them. And so tame were they, I was able to kick them out of my way. I never saw such a sight before, or imagined any such; no, not in my wildest dreams. The other members of the party were in fits of laughter. “Go on!” they cried. “Have a shot. See if you can hit one.”
Of course to shoot them was not sport, in the sense that we in England understand the word. Nevertheless I killed half a dozen or so. I couldn’t help it. Then I wandered away from my companions into the bush, looking for something else to shoot that would be really worth while.
Presently I heard a loud “Ha! Ha! Ha!” from somewhere behind me. I wheeled quickly but could see no one. “Some of the boys having a lark with me,” I thought, and walked wearily on in the direction whence the sound had seemed to come.
Presently another peal of loud laughter rang out, this time from the bush away off on my right rear. Again I wheeled, and was just in time to catch sight of a bird, about the size of a magpie, flitting from one gum tree to another, and from whose throat the sound had evidently emanated.
I knew then at once what it was, for I had often heard the bird described. The laughing jackass, a big kind of kingfisher peculiar to Australia! It is also known as the cuckaburro, which is probably a corrupt native rendering of the name bestowed upon the bird by the early voyagers from Spain, “burro” being, of course, the colloquial Spanish for “donkey.” Yet another name for it amongst Australian backwoodsmen is the “settler’s clock,” because it invariably starts to utter its peculiar gurgling laugh precisely at dawn and dusk each day.
These birds, by the way, are strictly preserved, it being forbidden to kill them under heavy penalties. One reason for this is that they kill the snakes, which are the pest of the farmers out there. This feat the bird performs by darting upon the reptile and carrying it aloft in its talons, afterwards dropping it on the ground from a considerable height. It then flies down and pecks out the snake’s eyes, leaving it, if not already dead, to perish miserably.
But unfortunately I was not aware of this, and I followed the bird up some distance, and eventually shot it. Possibly I should not have been so keen on getting it, for there was nothing strikingly remarkable about it, but for the fact that the wretched thing seemed to my excited imagination to be bent upon mocking me with its irritating raucous laugh. Every time I got within range, and raised my gun to my shoulder, he would emit another loud “Ha! ha! ha!” and fly off to another tree.
These tactics he repeated perhaps a dozen times, and when at last, hot, angry, and thirsty, I succeeded in bagging him, he had led me such a dance that I had not the remotest idea where I was, or in which direction to seek the other members of the party. I was, in fact, bushed; and wild visions of my fate if I did not succeed in attracting the attention of my friends rushed into my throbbing brain.
In vain I “cooeed,” and fired off my gun again and again. There was neither answering shout, nor shot, nor any sign of human life or habitation; only all around and about me the waterless, foodless, shadeless bush. I was beginning to get really frightened, for I had fired away my last cartridge, when greatly to my relief I heard in the far distance a faint call, and by “cooee-ing” back, and following the answering sounds, I was at length able to rejoin my friends.