Next arrives a flock of two thousand sheep, driven by white shepherds. On coming to the entrance of the fold-yard, they stop and hesitate, refusing to enter. All is uncertainty and confusion, the rearmost urged forward by the shout of the men and the barking of the dogs, who run from side to side, thrusting their noses into the soft white fleeces, press into the mass; great is the scuffle, the rush, and the pattering of feet over the loose pebbles of the yard. At length, a hardy and determined ram in the vanguard gives a leap of ten feet through the open gateway, and the others hustle through after him, every one leaping as he had done, and all congratulating themselves on having thus cleverly eluded the designs of some unseen enemy.
I do not intend to give an account of the races, though they afforded more amusement probably than is common at Epsom or Ascot. Every one knew everybody and everybody's horse; and as the horses were generally ridden by gentlemen, there was no doubt of fair play. There was an accident, as usual, in the hurdle-race; but not being fatal, it did not interrupt the sports. Large groups of the natives, sitting on the ground, or standing leaning on their spears, gave increased effect to the picturesque scenery. Some clumps of forest-trees still occupied the centre of the course, and through these you caught glimpses of coloured jackets and jockey-caps as they flashed by. The green side of Mount Bakewell was spotted with sheep, and above them frowned a forest of dark trees.
A loaf of bread stuck upon a spear was a mark and a prize for native dexterity. The dusky savages forming a line in front, and clustering eagerly upon one another behind, took their turns to throw at the coveted target; and every time that a spear left the womera, or throwing-stick, and missed the mark, a shrill yell burst simultaneously from the mass, relieving the excitement which had been pent up in every breast. But when a successful spear struck down the loaf, trebly wild and shrill was the yell that rent the air.
The York and Northam districts afford a vast quantity of land suitable for all kinds of grain. The sheep and cattle runs are excellent, but they are now fully stocked, and new settlers must direct their steps to the southward, the Dale and Hotham districts affording scope and verge enough for many a flock and herd. Our own sheep were generally kept at a squatting station on the Hotham, some sixty or seventy miles south of York. Thither, after the races, we drove to inspect the flock. There was no road, and only an endless succession of trees, and of gently rising and falling country. How my brother and his men used to manage to hit upon the site of the location is more than I can conjecture. People accustomed to the bush seem to acquire, like the natives, the faculty of knowing exactly the direction, position, and distance of the spot they want to reach.
On the way, we fell in with one of those extraordinary nests constructed by that singular bird called by the natives the Now. Mr. Gould's description of a similar bird in New South Wales, the Brush Turkey 'Talegalla Lathami' does not exactly tally with that which we should give of the Now. His description is as follows:—"For some weeks previous to laying its eggs, the Brush turkey collects together an immense mass of vegetable matter, varying from two to four cart-loads, with which it forms a pyramidal heap; in this heap it plants its eggs about eighteen inches deep, and from nine to twelve inches apart. The eggs are always placed with the large ends upwards, being carefully covered, and are then left to hatch by the heat engendered by the decomposition of the surrounding matter. The heaps are formed by the labours of several pairs of birds. The eggs are white, about three inches and three quarters long by two and a half in diameter, and have an excellent flavour."
Of this bird, Professor Owen observes, "On comparing the osteology of the 'Talegalla' with that of other birds, it exhibits all the essential modifications which characterize the gallinaceous tribe; and among the Rasores, it most nearly resembles the genera Penelope and Crax."
The Now of Western Australia does not build its nest of vegetable substances, but collects together an immense heap of earth, sand, and small stones, into the form of a broad cone, four or five feet high in the centre, and about ten feet across. Directly in the centre it either leaves or subsequently hollows out a hole large enough to admit itself, into which it descends and deposits its eggs. The powerful summer sun heats the earth sufficiently to hatch the eggs, and the young birds come forth active and able to provide for themselves. Not the least astonishing part to me is, how they manage to scramble out of that deep hole. The natives declare that the hen frequently visits the nest, and watches the progress of incubation, and then when the young ones are hatched, they get upon her back, and she scrambles out with her family about her.
This bird is about the size of a pheasant, has long legs, and a very deep breast-bone. It runs fast. Each nest is supposed to be built by a single bird, but it is believed that other birds may occupy them in succeeding seasons.
In the afternoon of the second day after leaving York, we descended into a broad valley, abounding with grass and scattered gum-trees. A large flock of sheep were being driven towards the bottom of the valley, where we could discern signs of human habitation.
On arriving, we found a hut built of piles or stakes interwoven with boughs, before the door of which was a fire with a large pot upon it, from which a powerful steam arose that was evidently very grateful to a group of natives seated around. Two families seemed to compose this group, consisting of a couple of men, four women, and five or six children of various ages. As we drew nigh, the whole party, without rising, uttered a wild scream of welcome, accompanied by that loud laughter which always seems to escape so readily from this light-hearted and empty-headed people.