Cover art
[Frontispiece: With incredible difficulty Yellow Billy
managed to pass his whip thong twice round the brute's
neck—See p. [188]. (missing from book)]
PALS
YOUNG AUSTRALIANS
IN SPORT AND ADVENTURE
BY
JOSEPH BOWES
WITH EIGHT FULL-PAGE COLOURED ILLUSTRATIONS
BY JOHN MACFARLANE
LONDON: JAMES GLASS
28 NEWGATE STREET
1910
CONTENTS
CHAP.
- [By Way of Introduction]
- [The Bushrangers]
- [A Desperate Encounter]
- [The Great Match]
- [The Big Flood]
- [On the Face of the Waters]
- [The Death of the Forest Monarch]
- [What the Tree held]
- [The Rescue]
- [The Return]
- [The Breaking Up]
- [Down the River]
- [Off for the Holidays]
- [Christmas Fun and Frolic]
- [A Bush Ride and its Consequences]
- [The Dingo Raid]
- [Dingo *v.* Emu: A Fight to a Finish]
- [The Chase and its Sequel]
- [Concerning Wild Horses]
- [The Brumby Hunt]
- [The Warrigal's Strategy]
- [How Yellow Billy broke the Warrigal]
- [A Day's Shoot]
- [The Corrobberie]
- [In the Bushrangers' Caves]
- [The Explorers]
- [A Respite]
- [The Camp by the Sea]
- [At the Mercy of the Sea-Tiger]
- [In and About the Camp]
- [Off to the Gold Diggings]
- [How they struck Gold]
- [Bullion and Bushranger]
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
[With incredible difficulty Yellow Billy managed to pass his whip thong twice round the brute's neck] (missing from book) . . . Frontispiece
[Suddenly the Forest Monarch topples, lurches, staggers and falls with a mighty crash]
[The emu failed to elude the panther-like spring]
[Retreating one moment and advancing the following, uttering war-cries]
[The huge brute lashed the water into foam, and swam round and round in a circle]
["We've struck it rich, I do believe," cried the stockman]
[Behind the lantern came a voice that more than the lantern, or even pistol, cowed them: "*Stop! Hands up!*"] (missing from book)
The grey gums by the lonely creek
The star-crowned height,
The wind-swept plain, the dim blue peak,
The cold white light,
The solitude spread near and far
Around the camp-fire's tiny star,
The horse-bell's melody remote,
The curlew's melancholy note,
Across the night.
GEORGE ESSEX EVANS
PALS
CHAPTER I
BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION
"Happy season of virtuous youth, when shame is still an impassable barrier, and the sacred air cities of hope have not shrunk into the mean clay hamlets of reality; and man by his nature is yet infinite and free."—CARLYLE.
"Comin' over to-night, Tom?"
"By jings! I'd like to, Joe, but dad said this morning he was going to shell corn to-night. You know what that means. What's on?"
"Oh! Sandy's stayin' in for the night; so I thought of gettin' Jimmy Flynn an' Yellow Billy so's we could have bushrangers, an' stick up the coach by moonlight. If they can't come, Sandy an' I'll go 'possumin' in the slaughter-house paddock."
"I say! what a jolly lark the bushranging'd be. How'd you manage it, Joe?"
"We've planned that out all right. We'd get Jimmy Flynn's billy-goat cart an' the billies. He'd be mailman, an' it'd be gold-escort day. Yellow Billy'd be the trooper; he's got a pistol, you know. He'd ride the roan steer he's broken in. Then you, Sandy, an' I'd be Ben Bolt's gang. We'd do a plant in a lonely spot along the road an' surprise 'em. I'd tackle Billy, you'd look after Jimmy, Sandy 'd collar the mailbags and gold boxes, and then scoot with the loot. I think it'd be better to shoot Billy, so's to make it a bit more real; that's what Ben Bolt'd do."
"But, Joe, where'd we get the guns?"
"I'd get father's. You'd have to make believe with a nulla-nulla. We could stick a boomerang in our belts, it'd look like pistols in the dark."
"But I say, Joe, ole chap, you wouldn't really shoot Billy?" said Tom in a tone that savoured both of fear and scepticism.
"You're a precious muff, Hawkins! I was just kidding you. No, you stupid, it's all gammon. The noise the powder 'll make 'll scare the seven senses outer Billy."
"By golly! it'll be crummie enough. Put it off till to-morrow, Joe, an' I'll come."
"Can't be done, my boy. Sandy'll not be here, for one thing. Besides, I have to pull father down to Yallaroi Bend to-morrow. It's his service night there. Sorry you can't come, Tom. We'll have to do our best without you."
"Oh Moses! to think that I can't join!" groaned Tom. "Look here, Joe, I—I'll do a sneak. I'll be here somehow, you may bet your Sunday breeks," continued the eager lad, as he stepped into the little "flat-bottom" boat which had brought him over.
"Joe!" he shouted when he had rowed some distance from the shore. "I'll give a cooee if I can get, an' two cooees if the way's blocked. So don't start till you hear."
"Right-o!"
The place where these boys lived, moved, and had their being was a district famed for its fertility, on one of the northern rivers in New South Wales.
The river itself had many of the elements of nobility and beauty as, taking its rise in the snowy heights of the New England ranges, it clove its way eastward, finally debouching into the blue waters of the Pacific. The river-flats formed magnificent stretches of arable lands; too rich, indeed, for such cereals as wheat and oats, for their rank growth rendered them liable to the fatal rust.
Here, however, was the home of the maize, the pumpkin, the sweet potato, the orange, the lemon, the plantain. Here too, the natural sequence, in a way, of the prolific corn and the multitudinous pumpkin, were reared and flourished the unromantic pig.
Fed on pumpkins, with skim milk for beverage, topped off with corn, the Australian grunter—whether as delicious, crisp bacon, or posing as aristocratic ham—produces flesh with a flavour fit to set before a king.
Away from the river-flats the land becomes undulating and ridgy, and well grassed for cattle runs. In the scrub belts, running back from the river and its affluents into the hilly country, are to be found valuable timbers, hard and soft; especially that forest noble, the red cedar.
Cattle runs of large extent exist in the back-blocks, formed in the early days by that class of men to whom Australia owes so much; the men who to-day are vilified by those not worthy to black their boots: the hardy, adventurous, courageous, indomitable pioneer, who more often than not laid down his life and his fortune in the interest of Colonial expansion and occupation.
At intervals along the river-banks are small settlements, dignified by the name of townships. Tareela, the principal village, skirted both sides of the river, and was connected by a ferry. Here were located the Government offices for the district, together with the stores, hotels, school, etc.
Joe Blain, the minister's son, was the leader of the village lads. He had two pals, who were inseparable from him: Sandy M'Intyre, the squatter's son, whose father owned Bullaroi, a cattle station situated a few miles from the town, and Tom Hawkins, a farmer's son, the youngest of the trio. These boys gave tone and direction to the fun and frolic of the settlement. Of them it is sufficient to say at present that they were not pedestal lads.
At this time a noted bushranger and his mate were raiding the settlements. All police pursuit was futile, owing to the resourcefulness of the 'rangers. They had a keen knowledge of the open country and the mountain ranges. Furthermore, they were generally mounted on blood horses, usually "borrowed" from the surrounding station studs.
These men had many sympathisers among the lawlessly inclined, and, strange to say, among law-abiding settlers. The "bush-telegraph" was an institution in those days. Certain friends of the 'rangers kept them posted up in the movements of the police, sometimes by word of mouth, at others by writings on paper or bark, which were deposited in rock crevices or in tree hollows, known only to the initiated. Sometimes a young lad, or even a girl, would ride scores of miles across country to give them warning.
The police were not wanting in bush lore or courage, and in the end invariably ran their quarry to earth. But an outlaw often had a long career in crime, owing to the aid given, ere he was trapped. Thanks to closer settlement, the advance of education, and the general use of the electric telegraph, bushranging has become a matter of history. The species is now to be found only in the stage melodrama, the itinerating waxwork show, or embalmed in literature.
CHAPTER II
"THE BUSHRANGERS
"Poins: Tut! our horses they shall not see. I'll tie them in the wood; our visors we will change after we leave them; and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce to immask our noted outward garments.
"Prince: But I doubt they will be too hard for us."
SHAKESPEARE, Henry IV.
After leaving Tom Hawkins, or, to put it more correctly, after Tom had paddled away in his punt, Joe Blain proceeded to look up Jimmy Flynn, the blacksmith's apprentice, and Yellow Billy, a half-caste youth, whose father followed the occupation of a timber-getter in the ranges. Yellow Billy was generally employed as yard boy at the Travellers' Best Inn, and a rough time he often had, especially when the timber-getters were dissolving their hard-earned gold in alcohol.
One of Billy's duties was to milk the cows and tend the calves. Among the latter was a yearling steer, which he broke in and rode on the quiet. Many an hour's frolic the boys had in the moonlight in riding the steer. This animal had a good slice of the rogue in its composition, with a propensity for buck-jumping. When in a certain mood it would be as stubborn as a donkey and as savage as a mule.
After standing, say for some minutes, never budging, in spite of thwackings and tail-twistings, it would suddenly take to buck-jumping. Oh, my, couldn't it buck! Woe betide the unlucky rider when it was in this mood. Torn from his hold—a rope round its brisket—one moment behold him sprawling over its back, the next whirling through space, finally deposited with more force than elegance on the turf. All this, however, was great fun for the boys, who encouraged the brute in its bucking moods, each mounting in turns, to lie prone sooner or later on mother earth, amid the uproarious laughter of his fellows.
Billy was the exception. He was a born rider. Unable to shift him from its back, the brute became quite docile in his hands, and kept its tricks for the others.
Jimmy and Billy were ready and willing to fill their parts in the bill. The former, at "knock off," went out to the town common to round his goats, and Billy promised to be ready, "steered," so to speak, by the time appointed.
The road fixed upon was the track that led out from the township to a large sawmill, distant about six miles. It was a solitary road, passing through a scrub-belt, crossing several minor creeks, threading its way over a rocky ridge, winding through a rather wild defile, and ending at the mill; the sort of place, indeed, to present numerous opportunities for the criminal enterprise on hand. A spot where one could get "nice and creepy," as Joe said to Yellow Billy, much to that young man's disquiet.
The plan of campaign was simple enough. Joe, Tom, and Sandy were to set out as soon as possible after sundown and choose their spot for attack; while Jimmy was to drive the Royal Billy-goat Mailcart, with Trooper Yellow Billy a little in advance, as per custom.
The embryo bushrangers, unfortunately, had only one horse between them; the one Sandy rode to school. Mr. Blain's horse, on which the boys counted, was being used by the minister to take him to a moonlight service some distance out from the river. It was settled, therefore, that the three boys should bestride Sandy's stout cob, which was well able to carry these juvenile desperadoes.
"Mother!" shouted Joe, as he strode into the house in the late afternoon, from the wood-pile, where he had been chopping the next day's supply, "we're going to have grand fun to-night."
"What sort of fun, my son?"
"Bushranging along the sawmill road. Can I go mother? We've got such a grand plot."
"Well, I don't mind; but don't be out late."
"S'pose I can have the gun?"
"The g-u-n!"
"Yes, mother. No need to fear. It's all play."
"Well, don't load it."
"Only with powder to make a bang."
"I don't like the idea, my boy. Gun accidents often happen in play. You remember Jim Andrews——"
"Oh yes, mother, but that's different! It was loaded."
In the end, owing to the boy's importunity, Mrs. Blain reluctantly consented.
Early tea being duly dispatched, the boys made the necessary preparations for their dark deed. Joe produced a pair of knee-boots, the some time property of his father. He made them fit by sticking rags into the toes. He thrust his trousers' legs into the boot-tops, and wound a red scarf round his waist, through which he stuck a boomerang and nulla-nulla. A 'possum-skin cap adorned his head. His final act was to fasten on a corn-tassel moustache, and to strap his gun across his back. The broad effect of the costume was to make this youthful outlaw a cross, as it were, between Robinson Crusoe and a Greek brigand.
Indeed he quite terrified his two sisters, as he suddenly entered the sitting-room to the accompaniment of a blood-curdling yell. This the girls match with a shriek that wakes up the sleeping baby, bringing the mother in with a rush.
For a moment Mrs. Blain, seeing Joe in the half-light, thought some ruffian had entered.
"It's very thoughtless and wrong of you, Joe, to frighten your sisters. I—I—I'm quite angry with you——"
"Very sorry, mater," said Joe, with a serio-comic air. "I only meant to give them a start."
The girls, however, began to laugh, Joe looked such an oddity. They turned the tables on him by quizzing him most unmercifully. At last our young hero was very glad to beat a retreat to the backyard, where he found Sandy busy in saddling the horse.
Joe's confederate had roughened himself as much as circumstances permitted. In lieu of a skin cap he tied a big handkerchief round his hat, and stuck a couple of turkey-tail feathers through it. He had manufactured a brace of pistols out of short lengths of bamboo, with corn-cobs, stuck in bored holes at an angle, to form the stocks. These, with a boomerang and nulla-nulla slung at either side, and a short spear fixed in his belt at the back and standing over his head, made him in appearance more like a red Indian than a Colonial free-booter.
"All ready, Hawkeye?"
"Yes, ole pal. The mustang is waiting, and the brave will vault into the saddle at Thundercloud's word of command," answered Hawkeye in bastard Cooperese. Fenimore of that ilk was Sandy's favourite author.
"Hast thou heard the signal of Red Murphy?" said Joe, falling into the strain of speech.
"No, Thundercloud. No sound from our brither of the hither shore hath been borne on the wings of the wind across the——"
"Oh, stow that rot, Sand—Hawkeye! I wonder?——"
"Yon's the cry of the chiel," broke in the would-be brave, as at that moment the cooee of Tom Hawkins, alias Red Murphy, rose in the still air, faint from the distance, but distinct.
"A single cooee! Rippin! he's comin'. Let's mount and wait at the landing."
Hardly had the boys reached the river-bank ere Red Murphy appeared, attired much as the others, with the addition of an old blunderbuss belonging to his father.
"It's all right, boys! Hurroar! Dad broke the handle of the corn-sheller this evening, and sent me over with it to the blacksmith's. I'm to wait till it's mended. Wait a jiff an' I'll be with you," cried he, as he ran to the smithy, returning as fast as his legs could bring him, with the news that the broken handle could not be repaired under three hours owing to other urgent work.
Joe rapidly detailed the plan, informing Tom, at the same time, that his name and character were to be that of Red Murphy, one of the blood-thirstiest and most rapacious cut-throats in the Colonies.
CHAPTER III
A DESPERATE ENCOUNTER
"Falstaff: I am a rogue if I were not at half-sword with a dozen of them two hours together. I have 'scaped by miracle. I am eight times thrust through the doublet; four through the hose; my buckler cut through; my sword hacked like a handsaw ecce signum. I never dealt better since I was a man; all would not do."—SHAKESPEARE, Henry IV.
Joe had barely made his explanations before the rumbling of the approaching cart was heard. It was the Royal Mail starting on its adventurous trip.
"Time to be off, pals!" cried the leader. "Now then, Hawkeye, whip 'em up."
Off started the trio, Thundercloud, Hawkeye, and Red Murphy; each delivering a blood-curdling yell which rang up and down the street, as they passed through it at a smart canter. It had never fallen to the lot of horse, before, to bear upon its back at the same time three such ferocious outlaws, bent on so diabolical an errand. Behind them, and at a slower pace, came the Royal Mail goatcart, drawn by four strong billies, skilfully driven by coachman Jimmy, and attended by Trooper Billy astride his cud-chewing steed.
After leaving the township the road skirted the river for a mile or so, then, crossing a plank bridge, bore away to the hills. The silver moon shone from the clear sky through the pure air, making the tree shadows as they lay across the road to resemble fallen timber. The nocturnal 'possum, having ventured to the ground to feed upon the tender grass, scudded up the trees, frightened by the rumbling vehicle and the baaing steeds. The thud of paddy-melon[#] and wallaby could be distinctly heard, as they smote the earth in their jumping movements; while from the heights of some lofty tree the mopoke[#] tolled his mournful cry.
[#] "Paddy-melon," a small marsupial or pouch-bearing mammal.
[#] "Mopoke," the Australian crested goat-sucker.
The coach had now passed the three-mile creek, and still there was no sound of disturbing element. The coachman and trooper, having intelligence to the effect that the 'rangers were "out," and had threatened to "stick" up the gold-escort, were on the qui vive. They surmised that the attack would come in the scrub-belt, and about the spot where the creek intersected. Here the tall, overhanging trees, interlaced as they were with a thick vinous growth, effectually barred the moon's rays.
It was the ideal spot for ambush, and the hearts of the boys beat faster, and a nervous apprehension amounting to fear seized them, as they passed among the shadows. Everything had a distorted appearance, and again and again they trembled, as it were, on the verge of attack. They had chatted freely until the darkness of the scrub closed in upon them. Under its oppression, and by reason of the dread uncertainty, what had before seemed to be only a prime lark now presented itself as a grim reality.
They drove on slowly now, conversing only in whispers, for the night silences, the deepening shadows, and the unseen before them, all contributed to the mental mood which affected the boys. The creek banks and bed, save for a solitary moon-ray which silvered the rippling water, were enwrapped in thick darkness. Pulling up at the brink, the boys held a short conversation.
"Goin' ter cross, Jimmy?"
"I—I—s'pose so, Billy. Measly black ahead, ain't it?"
"You're not frightened, are you?"
"Wot! me? No fear! Y'are yourself!"
"I like that! Wot's to be frightened of?"
Yet the boys, if truth be told, were a good deal alarmed by the unwonted darkness and stillness.
"Well, s'pose we'd better be gettin' on. Don't care how soon we git outer this hole. You cross ahead, Billy, an' do a bit o' scoutin'. I'll wait here till you git up the bank on the other side."
Yellow Billy didn't like the prospect, and would have proposed turning back, but was afraid of being called a coward. Therefore, despite an apprehension of the darkness, accentuated by his aboriginal strain, and very much against his will, the half-caste plunged down the creek bed, and mounted the other side without let or hindrance, greatly to his surprise and relief.
But where are the 'rangers?
Of them the darkness gave no token and the silence is unbroken. Jimmy had some difficulty in getting his leaders to tackle the creek. It was only after he left the cart, seized their heads, and half-dragged them into the water that he effected his purpose. The scrub thinned out shortly after passing the creek, and the spirits of the boys rose with the increasing moonlight.
"They missed a grand charnce at the crick, Billy!"
"By dad, they did that! I wonder where they are. P'raps they've given us the slip."
The road took a sudden turn just here, leading over a rocky ridge. At a farther sharp turn, under the lee of a bank, a big log lay across the road.
"Hello, here's a go, Jimmy! You'll have to drive round. No! you can't do that. Wait a moment an' I'll——"
"Bail up!"
The cry, crisp and startling, rang out, as three figures darted from the shadow of a huge tree which stood near. Thundercloud, the leader of the band of bushrangers, pointed his gun at the driver. Hawkeye made a dash at the trooper, while Red Murphy seized hold of the leading billies.
"Hands up!" cried Thundercloud in the highest style of bushranging. "Your money or your life!"
Trooper Billy was not disposed to yield without a struggle, and at the first cry he whipped out his pistol, firing at his aggressor point blank, missing the leader but hitting his confederate, Hawkeye, who tumbled down with a loud squeal, as unlike an Indian war-whoop as it is possible to imagine. Simultaneously, Thundercloud discharged his gun at Jimmy the coachman, who, instead of putting his hands up at the challenge, began to lash the billies, and had just turned them off the log, when—pop, crash! went the two weapons.
And now the unforeseen occurred. The steer and the billies bolted! Down the ridge and along the road they dashed at breakneck speed; the steer roaring and kicking, the four strong billies baaing, and neither driver nor rider could control the brutes. Away they scurried along the rough bush-track, the cart bumping and rocking over the ruts; every jump of the trap bringing a fresh bleat from the fear-stricken goats.
After racing along for nearly a mile and finding his steed unmanageable, getting frightened too, Yellow Billy slipped over the stern, and by good luck dropped upon his feet. It was different with Jimmy, who gallantly hung on to the billies. The creek was what he most feared, and it was very close now. He had, however, got a pull on the beasts, and they were slackening a little, but, as ill-luck would have it, on going down a gully one of the wheels caught a tree root, and in a jiffy capsized the cart, sending the driver head over heels into a clump of bracken.
The incident gave fresh impetus to the runaways, who rushed on baaing; dashing at length down the steep incline of the creek, the cart righted itself as it tumbled adown the gradient. They tore over the stream and up the bank, finally leaving the track, and getting boxed up in the scrub.
After lying in a stunned condition for a few minutes, Jimmy scrambled up. But the moment he put his weight on his right foot he let out a yell, caused by the terrific pain that shot through his ankle. It was unbearable, and he tumbled down in an almost fainting condition.
Meanwhile the outlaws stood aghast at the unexpected and startling turn of events. Thundercloud was the first to recover his speech.
"Great Cæsar! who would have dreamt of a bolt? Just listen to the brutes!" as the animals tore along, baaing and roaring in a way possible only to frightened billies and calves.
"I—I—didn't know he'd loaded his pistol. I—I—I thought for sure I was a goon coon," gasped Hawkeye, who, after lying for a minute under the impression that he was mortally wounded, got up, rubbing his face and head, half terrified as his hands became wet with flowing blood, and only reassured after Joe had declared that the blood was from his nose. As a matter of fact, he had sustained a smart blow upon his prominent feature with the pistol wad; his cheeks, also, were scorched with the powder flare.
Red Murphy, who had just grasped the billies' heads when the guns were fired, was thrown down in their mad rush, and had his shins severely barked on the rocky ground.
"Drat the brutes! Oh, I say, here's a go! Listen to the beggars! Ain't they footin' it?"
"To horse! to horse, pals!" cried Thundercloud, making hasty strides to a patch of scrub where they had tied up the horse. In a few seconds the three were mounted and away with a swinging canter, adding their yells to the cries of the beasts. They were soon up to the spot where Jimmy had come to grief, when, thundering down the gully, the horse made a shy at the prostrate coachman, shooting off Thundercloud and Red Murphy. They scrambled up quickly, none the worse for their spill. Hawkeye immediately reined in his steed and rejoined his dismounted companions.
The boys were greatly concerned to find Jimmy in this condition. The affair began to assume a serious aspect. They were no longer outlaws and police: they were pals, and Jimmy was suffering intense pain from his sprained ankle. After a short consultation the boy was placed on the horse, which was led by Sandy. The others followed behind, making a somewhat mournful spectacle. In due course they reached the goatcart, now in possession of Yellow Billy, who had disentangled the team and was waiting for the others to come along. The steer meanwhile continued his career at headlong speed, until he pulled up at the milking yards in an exhausted condition. Mrs. Blain, as the hours sped by, began to get concerned at the non-return of the boys. Concern deepened into anxiety. She became a prey to evil imaginings, as do all our dear mothers. They are lost! ... Some dreadful accident has happened! ... That gun! ... Their legs, arms, necks, are broken! And so on and on, running over the whole gamut of catastrophy.
She goes out to scan the streets, and listens with strained ears for some enheartening sound of footsteps. Lights are out in the village. Even the dogs are sleeping. No shuffle of advancing feet; no rattle of wheels as they grind in the ruts: no sound, indeed, is borne upon the night wind save the mystic noises of the flowing river, which fill the air with a deep undertone. Above this, at intervals, come the splashing sounds of the jumping fish; the smooth splash of the falling mullet, the tail flutter of the rising perch. The wood-duck's soft quack-quack, and the red-bill's chuckle, are to be heard as they move among the sedges. No landward sound!
Stay! a dark shadow swiftly steals along the earth like a spirit of evil omen, and passes through the house, across the street, as it strikes the walls. While from above comes a wail as that of a lost soul.
The poor woman quivers and shivers at the unwonted sight and sound. She knows not that the apparition is the shadow of a black swan, which is sailing high up in the heavens; it crosses the moon, and utters its melancholy note as it wings its flight to the feeding grounds. The mother is now on the outskirts of the town, under the shadows of the trees. Every leaf is a tongue; every tongue whispers—Something! which dries the throat and fills the ears with heart-thumps. "Why did I? ... That gun! ... What will father? ... Why don't they come? ... Which track? ... Hark! Yes, 'tis the galloping hoofs ... Oh, God! it is the steer! ... Riderless! ... This way, then.... On, on, on! ... At last! ..."
"Cheer up, mother ... no harm done ... Jimmy had a bit of a buster an' sprained his ankle.... Scold us, mother, but—don't cry!"
The hour is verging on midnight as five weary lads, four billies, one horse, and one thankful woman straggled into the silent township. All romance, for the moment, had gone out of bushranging.
CHAPTER IV
THE GREAT MATCH
"God bless the grilling days of cricket!
They're gone but I shall bless them ever,
For good it is to guard a wicket
By sudden wrist and big endeavour."
NORMAN GALE.
"There's a breathless hush in the close to night,
Ten to make and the match to win,
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play and the last man in."
HENRY NEWBOLT.
"Hawkins, stand out!"
"Please, sir, I wasn't doin' nothin'!"
"No, you wasn't doin' nothin', but you have been talking all morning, you tiresome boy! Write out 'disobedient' three hundred times after school."
The fact is, Tom was relating the bushranging episode to a schoolmate, and, like Tom Sawyer, he "laid over" considerably in his recital. While in the act of enlarging he was brought to book in this peremptory fashion by the master, and had to do penance with as little relish as most boys.
"Sorry you can't come out and play, Tom," said Joe Blain, poking his head into the empty schoolhouse after dismissal.
"It's a beastly shame! What are you fellows up to?"
"Goin' to practise for the Dingdongla match. After that we'll have a swim."
"Oh, rot it!" grunted the chagrined prisoner.
"Say, Tom, don't forget to come along to-night an' help pick the team."
"I'll be there, never fret."
"Well, so-long. Wire in, and keep your pecker up."
Dingdongla was an up-river settlement; Tareela a down-river town. The latter named was the older and more substantial place, being the headquarters of the shipping. As a consequence it was instinct with the superior air generally to be met with in places of metropolitan pretensions. In schools, too, the down-river town had the advantage. Its school building was of sawn timber, with a shingle roof. Furthermore, it possessed two teachers, and pine desks. While, on the other hand, the up-river academy was constructed of roughly adzed slabs and a bark roof.
For the Dingdonglas to be thrashed in cricket by the Tareelians was not considered to be a disgrace. Per contra, their victory was a splendid achievement, and a great humiliation to their opponents. The latter was fairly beaten by the former last season, and naught would restore their prestige save the administration of an unmitigated licking. So, at least, thought the match Committee, as they conned names, and analysed the merits of the candidates on the name list.
Needless to say, Joe, Tom, and Sandy headed the list of certainties. Yellow Billy came next; for though a very irregular attendant at school, he was a tremendous swiper when he got his eye in. Billy had dragged more than one match out of the fire.
Saturday morning broke fair. Shortly after an early breakfast a cavalcade of about twenty youthful horsemen, followed by two teachers in a gig, were scampering along the bush road to Dingdongla, distant about nine miles up the river. Oh, the merry, merry days of youth! Those are the days of the superlative mood.
It was a merry, roaring, romping, racing crowd of youngsters that tore along the bush track. They jumped fallen timber and gullies; chased the flying marsupial; and spurted in couples for short lengths. There were minor accidents, 'tis true. Pincher Putnan's horse, in a fit of pig-jumping, broke a girth, sending Pincher and saddle to mother earth. Yellow Billy's half-broken brumby fairly bolted in a race, cleared off the road, and rushed through a belt of timber at breakneck speed, towards his native haunts in the Nulla ranges. It was only the superb horsemanship of the half-caste that saved him from being dashed against the trees in the headlong flight.
In due time Dingdongla is reached. The horses are turned out in a maize stubble paddock, where is a fine picking, and the boys stroll on to the ground to have a look at the pitch.
"Whatyer think of the pitch, Joe?"
"You'll have to keep your eye skinned for shooters Rody. The ball'll keep very low. Must keep a straight bat and forward play."
The stumps, like much of the material, were home-made. The Dingdonglas had only one "spring handle"; the others were chopped out of beech boards. The Tareelians were not much better off for material. They, it is true, had two "spring handles,"—more or less battered,—and could boast a pair of wicket gloves, but for the rest were like their opponents, sans leggings and gloves. That, however, was a small item; for every boy who possessed boots doffed them, rolling his trouser legs to the knees and his shirt sleeves to the elbows.
"Got all your men, Wilson?" said Joe to the Dingdonglas' captain.
"Yes, they're all here. May as well toss for innin's, Joe."
"Right you are," responds Joe, ejecting a jet of saliva on a piece of flat wood. "Shall I toss, or you?"
"You toss, Joe."
"Call you!" cried Blain, tossing the board with a twirl skywards. "Wet or dry?"
"Wet!" called Wilson, as the wood spun in the air.
"Dry!" exclaimed Joe, as it lay on the ground with its dry side uppermost. "We've won, and go in."
"Tom," said he a moment later, "you and Yellow Billy go in first, an' you take the strike."
The batsmen were soon in their places, and the Dingdongs in the field. The innings opened fairly well for the Tareelians. Yellow Billy got quickly to work, and laid on the wood to some purpose; Tom playing carefully the while.
Facing the Dingdonglas' swift bowler, after a smart short-hit run Billy sent a well-pitched ball for four, a rattling, straight-hit drive. But in trying to repeat the stroke off the next ball he misjudged, and, skying the sphere, was easily caught.
"One wicket for twenty!" of which the half-caste contributed fifteen.
After this the troubles of the batsmen set in. The Dingdongs were strong in bowling talent, and possessed a local Spofforth, whose lightning deliveries shot and kicked in a marvellous fashion. Joe, going in fifth man, stayed the "rot" for a while, but was foolishly run out by his mate.
The Tareelians were all out in an hour for the small total of forty-seven. If the down-river boys were despondent over this score, the up-rivers were correspondingly jubilant. Going to the wickets with plenty of confidence, they rattled up ninety-nine before the last wicket fell; the captain carrying out his bat for a well-earned forty-two.
Adjournment for lunch was now made. We call it lunch by courtesy. It was a big bush feed. This repast was served in the schoolhouse, the rough desks being converted into tables, which were literally covered with good things.
The Dingdonglas' mothers were determined that, whoever won, the boys of both sides should have a rippin' feed. A stuffed sucking-pig, whose savoury odour filled the room, lay at one end. Roast wild duck and a cold pigeon-pie balanced it at the other. An immense round of spiced beef, standing in the centre of the long table, seemed to say: "You may cut and come again." Potatoes and pumpkins smoked in big tin bowls, and all the available space was filled with cakes, puddings, and pies. Needless to say, the onslaught was terrific. They were all sloggers at tuck. Meats, puddings, cakes, tea, and ginger-beer disappeared like magic.
All good things mundane, however, come to an end; especially when the good thing happens to be a dinner. And now, after divers whisperings and nudgings, up stood Captain Joe, amid the cheers of his side.
Joe was silent a moment, nervously looking up and down the board, and heartily wishing himself at the bottom of the deep blue sea. "Mr. Chairman" (addressing the local schoolmaster), "I—we—that is—us fellows from Tareela asked me to tell you—I mean to say, that—that—that—a—it gives us much pleasure—er—er—oh, hang it all!—I—I mean—er—this is the jolliest blow in the way of tuck we've ever had." Joe subsided to the rattle of the knives on the bare board. As soon as the noise ceased, Tom Hawkins jumped up and called: "Three cheers for the Dingdonglas!" which were heartily given.
Half an hour's lounge, and the battle began afresh.
"We've got fifty-two to wipe out before we start even, boys. We can do it, and score plenty more to win the game, if we keep our heads. Anyway, we must have a big try. Billy an' I'll go in first; Tom next, and then Pincher. The order of the rest of you depends on the way things turn out."
"Look here, Billy," continued the captain, as the two batsmen walked to the wickets. "They've got two slashing bowlers, but if we can manage to knock 'em out they've no one else of much account. Get your eye well in before you do any slogging."
"All right, Joe! Do me best."
"Your best means steady play and a big score. I'll take the strike."
If Joe was nervous in public speech it was not observable in action. He played Ginger Smith's fast deliveries with confidence, punishing the loose balls and blocking the straight ones. Billy, too, was playing with unwonted caution, and the score, though slowly, was surely mounting up; until after half an hour's play it stood at twenty-five, with no wickets down. There were no boundaries, and every hit was run out.
"Oh, glory, what a swipe!"
Yellow Billy had got hold of one of Ginger's leg balls with a mighty lunge. The ball seemed as if it would go on for ever, and finally rolled into a gutter. They ran six for it.
There was great cheering among the Tareelians. Mr. Simpson, who umpired, forgot for a moment his impartial office. Flinging his hat into the air, he cried, "Bravo, Billy!"
"Thirty-one an' none out. Only twenty-one to get level!"
The boys were now scoring faster; singles, twos, threes were coming with great rapidity. Joe made his first four, a sweet, square cut.
"Forty-nine an' no wickets down!"
Joe faced the new bowler. The local demon had begun to bowl wildly, and was relieved.
"They'll never bowl them!" cried young Ben Wilde, as Joe took block for the new-comer—a lad with a reputation for slow left-hand twisters. The first ball was pitched on the leg stump; just the ball for Joe's favourite leg glance.
It went for two.
"Only one to make us even!" shouted Tom to his captain. The second ball was pitched in exactly the same spot, and Joe proceeded to treat it in the same fashion. The sphere, however, had a little more twist on it than its predecessor, and, breaking on to the left bail, flicked it off.
There was a great chorus of disappointment among the Tareelians, and hearty cheers from their opponents, as the captain's wicket fell. His twenty-one, got by true cricket, was worth twice that number by reason of the spirit of confidence he had infused.
Billy and Tom carried the score to seventy-three, when the latter was caught for ten. Pincher fell a victim to a very simple ball from an under-hand lob bowler, after making seven. Sandy gave the bowlers some trouble, and got into double figures before he retired. All this while Billy was scoring well, and, when Sandy's wicket fell, had made fifty runs. All the boys scored less or more; and when the innings closed had compiled a total of one hundred and thirty-seven, of which Billy made seventy-one and not out. This was a grand achievement, and the half-caste was carried off the ground amid great applause.
This left the Dingdongs eighty-six runs to win, which they failed to do by seventeen runs, Sleepy Sam stumping no less than three off young Ben's slow lobs.
There was great cheering as the victorious cricketers rode in the dusk of the evening through the main street of Tareela, after a grand day's fun.
CHAPTER V
THE BIG FLOOD
"The day is cold and dark and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall;
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary."
LONGFELLOW.
Drip, drip, drip!
Croak, croak, c-r-o-a-k!
Quack-quack, quack-quack!
"Heigho!" grunted Tom Hawkins, as he turned over sleepily in bed. "Is it ever goin' to stop rainin'?"
For some days a steady rain had been falling, soaking the ground. Every gully was a rivulet, and every depression a lake.
"Tom!" cried a feminine voice from an interior room. "Get up!"
"Bother those frogs an' ducks!" muttered the lad, full of sleep in the grey of the early morning. "Like ter choke 'em! waking fler——"
"Tom!" cried a masculine voice, as a hand rattled the door of the lad's bedroom, and a boot gave a drum-like accompaniment on the lower panel. "Git up this minit an' run the cows in, or I'll——"
But Tom had jumped out of bed as nimbly as one of the frogs, between whose croak and his father's bass voice he seemed unable, in his sleepy condition, to discriminate.
"All right, father! I'm dressing," shouted Tom, as the word "dowsing" fell on his ear. There had been times in master Tom's past when a sudden application of cold water was deemed necessary to expedite his slow movements.
"Dad's too mighty smart! Thought I'd nick him with that button," growled Tom, as he stuck his legs into his pants; said button being an iron tee snip, fastened so as to act as a bolt.
"Jemima! ain't it dark! Must be very early," muttered the reluctant boy, as he strove to lace his boots. "Drat it! Shan't wear 'em; too wet."
"My crikey!" cried he as he stood outside. "Must have been rainin' cats an' dogs, an' lakes an' seas."
His moleskins were rolled up to his thighs, while a cornsack, hooded at the bottom, and stuck on to his head like a nun's veil, gave him fair protection from the driving showers.
"I wonder if it's goin' to be a flood?" The thought was not unpleasant to the lad. It produced, indeed, a certain exaltation of spirits, forcibly expressed in Tom's vernacular by, "Ge-willikins! but won't we have fun!"
Heavily laden clouds, in interminable succession, were drifting from the sea, forming, as they swung overhead in batches, an endless series of smart showers. It had been an exceptionally wet week, and for the preceding twenty-four hours had rained without ceasing.
The cows depastured in a paddock that ran back from a creek to the timbered country. The creek itself was bank high and running strongly. It was only by climbing along the branches of a dead limb, which spanned the water, that Tom managed to reach the kine.
It was no small task to get them to face the stream. Small as was the creek in width, it was deep enough to make a swim, and the roaring, turbid, and muddy stream frightened the creatures. But for the fact that the calves were in a pen at the milking yard all Tom's efforts would have been futile. Their mooing and baaing, however, made a loud appeal to the maternal breast. Finally, when the old red poley, the mother of twins, made a plunge, the rest followed.
During the morning the river rose steadily, and large quantities of drift-wood passed down the stream. With the rubbish was a good deal of heavy timber, and—what Tom had predicted—pumpkins. This was an indication that the river up-stream had overflowed its banks in places, and was sweeping the low-lying farm lands. Tom spent the morning in fishing out the floating vegetables that came within reach of his hooked pole. Meanwhile the rain continued, and looked as though it might last for forty days and nights.
"I'll pull over to the township this afternoon," remarked Mr. Hawkins at the midday meal. "I'm anxious about this rise. Looks as if we're goin' to have an old man flood. Might get some information about the state of things up-river. If I leave it till to-morrow 'twill be a tough job gettin' acrost, as the timber's comin' down pretty thick now, an'll be worse by an' by."
"Be sure'n bring tea and flour back with you. No knowing how long the rise'll last."
"Can I go with you, father?"
"Yes; I'll require you to steer. It'll be a pretty stiff job, I reckon."
The crossing was not without peril. The current ran fierce and strong. The landing-place on the other side was protected, in a measure, by a headland up-stream. Out from the influence of that, however, the boatmen felt the full force of the current. The water seethed and foamed. The violence of its rush created great whirlpools, which accentuated the difficulty of keeping the boat's head up-stream. Logs and driftwood patches had to be dodged, and, what with fighting the current and outflanking the timber, by the time the river was crossed the boat had drifted quite half a mile down-stream. On gaining the other side they found a shore eddy, in which they were able to paddle up-stream with ease, until they came to a point of land about two hundred yards below the town wharf. As they lost the eddy here, and would have to encounter the full force of the flood when round the point, Mr. Hawkins wisely determined to tie up the boat in the slack water.
When Hawkins arrived at the store, where many of the townsfolk had congregated, he was informed that news had been brought down by the mailman that morning to the effect that heavy rains were falling at the head of the river, and that when the New England waters came down in full force the river might rise to the "high flood" marks.
Cooees could now be heard from the settlers in the low-lying portions, adjacent to the township. They proceeded from those who had neglected to move before being surrounded, and who were without boats. The police were busily engaged in rescuing families by boat. Many townsfolk were engaged on the same merciful errand.
All through the day the waters, fed by the flooded creeks, continued to rise, and as evening approached anxiety deepened. Things were so serious that Mr. Hawkins, whose farm, be it said, was situated on comparatively low-lying lands, acting upon the advice of his friends, returned home almost at once. After hoisting the most valuable of his possessions to the rafters, and securing them there, he returned to the township with his family; gaining it as dusk was deepening into dark. The family was distributed among neighbours, Tom and one of his sisters being quartered at Mr. Blain's.
A group of men and boys throughout the day had lined the bank of the river, in the vicinity of the Government wharf, which was submerged. They were engaged in gauging its rate of advance by pine laths scaled to inches.
Towards evening the wind, veering from east to south-east, increased in violence. Laden with torrential showers, it smote the earth in great gusts, streaming through roofs and walls, and taxing the ingenuity of housekeepers to find dry spots for beds.
The wind and flood waters, travelling in opposite directions, conflicted with great violence. The roaring, boastful wind, as it lashed the racing, defiant waters into angry waves, and the universe-filling sounds of the seething, surging flood-waters, as they wrestled with and overbore all opposing forces, made storm music, compared with which the artifices of man touch the infinitely puny. Darkness and the blinding rain had driven most of the river watchers indoors. A few, however, braved the elements, among them the minister and the lads.
Whatever effect the flood may have had on others, the dominant feeling in Mr. Blain's mind was that of solicitude. As the rain continued, deep concern merged into alarm. There were few on the river who knew as intimately as he the general havoc of a flood. The executive head of the Flood-relief Committee for many years, he had been the chief instrument in administering doles to flood victims. In many cases the utmost relief was as a drop of succour in the ocean of need.
"If the rise continues for another twenty-four hours, as it is doing now, it will beat the 'sixty-four flood, and, if so, God help our down-river friends," remarked the minister after examining Joe's gauge by the aid of a lantern.
The '64 flood was the highest known to white men up to the present. The settlers still retained a vivid recollection of its disastrous effects. Luckily, the township covered a piece of high ground, and though the low parts were covered in a moderate flood, the higher portions were some feet above the highest flood-mark. It was in the farming settlements that danger lurked.
"If this yere flood beats 'sixty-four, it'll be as you say, Parson; good-bye to many up-river an' down-river folk."
Mr. Blain's words had impressed both men and boys. Suddenly Joe, who was in the midst of the group, sang out lustily—
"Hurrah! wind's changed!"
"What's that?" shouted back Mr. Blain excitedly.
"Don't you feel it?" cried the boy, as he swung his arms windmill fashion.
"Yes; thank God! The lad's right," continued he. "The wind's chopping. Don't you feel it, men? Ah! there's a decided puff from the north-east."
"Take my word for it," said the ferryman, an old sailor, "the wind'll be blowing west afore morning."
"Pray God it may!" ejaculated the minister, and many a silent prayer was uttered.
"Now, boys, let us return home. We can do no good standing here. We'll come back in an hour or so."
"Listen!" exclaimed Tom, as the boys splashed through the water on their way home. Laying his hand on Joe's shoulder, he cried, "Do you hear that?"
"Don't hear anything but the roar of the river," replied Joe, as he stood in a listening attitude. "What was it?"
"Hark! there it is again. A cooee. Seems to come from up the river, near the Bend. Some un's in trouble."
"Now, boys, make haste and get in out of the rain," cried Mr. Blain, who had hurried along.
"Some one's crying out for help at the Bend," shouted Joe.
The minister paused on hearing this. A moment later the cry came out of the night: faint, because of the distance and the turmoil of sounds, yet clear and convincing.
"Great God! some poor soul in dire straits, and no help possible before morning!"
It would have been worse than madness to attempt any rescue till daylight. To traverse the flood, even in daytime, anywhere near the Bend, were a hazardous experiment, owing to the enormous vortices caused by the current striking a high bluff on the near side, at the elbow. The waters whirled like a merry-go-round under full steam, and boiled with an upward heave, in a fashion similar to the mud springs of Tiketere. None but the stoutest boat and most experienced rowers could dodge these seething cauldrons, which caught into their cold and cruel embrace trees, fencing, stock; anything material, in fact. The heaviest logs and tree-lengths were as wisps of straw under the influence of the mighty suction. To attempt the traverse at night were as foolhardy and impossible as that of shooting Niagara in an open boat.
A little group stood with the Blains, listening to the weird cry.
"Who d'yer think it c'd be, sir?" said one of the men, turning to the minister.
"Not any of the Bend families. We had word this afternoon saying that they had retreated to the high land before the waters reached them. God help the poor soul, whoever it is, for vain is the help of man!"
Throughout the live-long night the cry went up at intervals, like that of the minute-gun of a distressed vessel. Shortly before daybreak it ceased.
No man or woman in the township slept that night. A strict watch was kept on the river, so as to be ready for any emergency. The waters continued to advance, but at a much slower rate. Men and women cudgelled their brains to individualise the wailing cry. Most were agreed that it was a woman's cry, though some held it to be that of a child. Sometimes the voice was ghoulish, and made the flesh to creep and the heart to flutter. Then an intensely human note would prevail, full of anguish and terror, and women wept and stopped their ears, while strong men choked in the throat.
They would go out at intervals and send back a heartening cry; it was all that could be done. There were many others throughout that fearful night who were engulfed in the flood, in various parts of the river, and, swan-like, wailed their death-song in the wild waste.
Shortly after midnight the rain ceased, and the wind, which had been chopping and changing for the past few hours, settled finally in the west. This proved a conspicuous advantage. It no longer checked the flood-waters as when in the east, and there was now good hope that they would recede ere long, as the rise was almost imperceptible.
"Suddenly the Forest Monarch topples, lurches, staggers and falls with mighty crash."—See p. [43].
When day had dawned a wild, weird scene was revealed. The town had become an island. On all sides the flood-waters stretched out, covering gardens and farms, and completely blotting out the fair landscape. On the riverside the turgid stream tore along in its hurry, bearing on its dirty, foam-crested bosom, as its spoils, the household gods, farm stock, and produce of many a settler. Horses, cattle, pigs, goats, dogs, fowls: these, swept off by the encroaching waters, and carried over fences into the stream, struggled, vainly for the most part, in the rapid, death-dealing current. Haystacks, barns, wood-frame buildings intact, floated in the torrential waters, sooner or later crashing into the great trees that bore down-stream, making utter shipwreck.
CHAPTER VI
ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS
"The floods have lifted up, O Lord, the floods have lifted up their voice; the floods lift up their waves."—Ps. xciii. 3.
"Where's the dad, girls?" shouted Joe Blain early in the morning, after the events recorded in the previous chapter, dashing into the room as he yelled.
"Here!" came a voice from the back verandah. Running to the spot indicated by the monosyllable, the lad in breathless accents delivered himself to his paternal relative in this fashion—
"Please, dad, can Tom, Billy, Jimmy, and I have the boat to paddle out on the back-water?"
"Um—er—well, as long as you keep in the slack water I suppose you may; but be very careful, my boy."
"Yes, dad; we'll be careful enough. It's all slack water you know, 'cept where the river water comes in; but that's a long way up, an' we'll be paddlin' mostly about this end of the slack."
An explanation is needed here in order that the reader may intelligently follow the course of events (some of them dramatic enough, and even tragic) which transpired in the course of this eventful cruise.
It has already been stated that the flood waters so surrounded Tareela as to convert the township into an island. It was so practically. Accurately speaking it formed a peninsula, with the narrowest of necks. On the river side there was a broad expanse of boiling, foaming, hurrying waters, narrowing here and there, where the banks rose above their usual height, but stretching far and wide where the river-flats intervened; sometimes touching the horizon, as it were. On the other side lay a body of water, as far removed from motion as the tumultuous stream was instinct with it. There it lay, a wide extent of placid, coffee-coloured water, broken at its surface by fence tops, belts of trees, and partially submerged houses. This great stretch was almost currentless, and the débris that floated on its bosom appeared stationary; though, as a matter of fact, there was a slight outward drift.
The secret of its placidity lay in the fact that the river waters, when they reached a certain height, backed up a blind gully that ran almost parallel with the stream for some distance, then swerved from the river, and widened out till it became a depression of considerable magnitude. This, in turn, merged into a swamp, contiguous to the township on its western side. Low-lying and occupied lands surrounded the swamp for some distance. The town end of these flats, which the river water backing up through the gully had submerged, making a long reach of stagnant waters, formed the area of the boys' row.
The minister's boat was a light yet staunchly built vessel, and belonged to the skiff variety. Her capabilities were to be put to the utmost test. Several of the town boats were moving on the face of the still waters, their occupants busily engaged in capturing the flotsam. The owners of houses, in particular, were anxiously conning their submerged property, or gathering together floating domestic articles. In this way a good deal of house property was recovered.
The boys found enjoyment in the novelty of the cruise. They pulled two oars, taking turns at the rowing. Of the non-rowers, one acted as steersman and the other as bowman for the capture of the flood spoils. Several melons and pumpkins were picked up, but they were not troubling about these. For one reason, they did not want to be encumbered with spoil of that kind, and for another they were keen on pulling about the flooded houses. Their chief and most interesting rescue was a cat and two kittens, which had found an ark of refuge on a barn door.
"I say, boys, we'll have a go at these oranges," said Joe, who was steering, as they were passing a small orangery which was half submerged. This proposal received hearty and unanimous assent. Accordingly Joe selected the most promising tree, and deftly ran alongside its outer branches.
"Look out for snakes!" cried he.
There was abundant cause for warning, for each tree contained a number of serpents, some of which are very deadly. These reptiles were flooded out of their holes in the ground, and from hollow logs and stumps, and made for the trees or any floating timber that offered refuge. Fortunately the snakes were more or less benumbed with the cold, consequently they were the reverse of lively. Had it been otherwise, to have made fast to the tree would have been foolhardy to a degree.
Agreeably to Joe's warning, every eye was skinned and on the look out. Indeed, the tree was fairly swarming with snakes of many sorts and sizes; though for the most part they consisted of "tree" and "carpet" varieties; one of the latter, lying across the top, being fully ten feet in length. These two mentioned varieties are not venomous. The farmers, for the most part, look with a friendly eye upon the carpet species; so called by reason of its tawny and black markings. The carpet snake in summer time is the best of all mousers and ratters. It winds its sinuous way into places impossible to even puss or terrier; and is always a welcome visitor to settlers' barns. There it becomes a pet, and will live on terms of friendship with its primal foe.
There were snakes of a very different order in the orange tree. Among them the "tiger," most aggressive and poisonous of all the genus. There were also specimens of the black and the brown snakes. All these are cobras, and therefore very deadly.
The snakes, as related, were all more or less torpid with cold, and not pugnaciously inclined. The boys, however, were very careful not to disturb them. There was plenty of golden fruit upon the tree, and it was in prime condition. The fruit was neatly cut off the stems by strokes of the paddle blade. When a sufficient quantity was thus plucked, and lay bobbing in the water, they were poked out from the tree by the same means, and secured. The boat lay off a little distance from the tree while the crew indulged in a feed of the luscious fruit. A visit was then paid to a plantain grove, and a quantity, both of green and ripe fruit, was secured.
"Where away now, Joe?" said Tom Hawkins, who was crouched in the bow.
"I vote," replied the one addressed, who in this, as in everything else, was leader of the band,—"I vote we pull up opposite Commodore Hill and have a look at the river." The boy forgot for the moment the promise made to his father to keep mainly about the town end of the back-water.
Commodore Hill was well up the river, and on the other side. The flooded gully by which the water obtained entrance, it has been explained, ran parallel with the river for some distance; in some places being not more than a few yards therefrom. The boys were curious to see the river stretch above the Bend; also to note the numbers of flooded-out settlers who might be camped in that vicinity. Accordingly the boat's bow is turned, and her course shaped in that direction. By this time the river had fallen several feet, and, as a consequence, there was an outward drift of the slack waters, making a gentle current.
"'Member, Joe, what your dad said about takin' the boat into the stream."
"Think I've forgot, stupid!"
"Thought I'd remind you, anyhow," replied the bowman. As a matter of fact, Tom had an uneasy feeling that his mate would not be content when they got to the mouth to remain there without having a dash at the stream.
"Listen to me; I ain't goin' to run any risks. We won't go to the mouth entrance. What we'll do is this: work up to the swamp end, have a look round, and come back again."
With this defined object in view the boat continued its voyage, helped by the current, which, the farther up they proceeded, became stronger, as was to be expected.
But one thing had happened of which the boys were in entire ignorance. And this particular happening was to produce startling and unexpected effects. At a certain spot in the gully, and at a point where it began to deviate from the general stream, there was a branch gully, which bore inwards to within a few yards of the river's brink. When the water was at its highest in the river, that in the lagoon was much higher at this point, inasmuch as the back-water was at the same level as at the entrance, some two miles higher up; the difference in height being the river's fall in that distance. Roughly speaking, the water there was about ten feet higher than that in the river.
The rush of the stream on the river side had caused the bank to give way about this point during the night, and the lagoon, or back-waters, forced themselves into the river through the new channel, which widened considerably as a consequence. On nearing this place the boys became conscious of a quickening of the current.
"My golly, Joe! this big current," said Yellow Billy, who, with Jimmy, was at the oars. "Must be goin' twenty mile."
"Twenty mile! you goose. We're goin' six or seven and that's mighty fast."
"I say, Joe," called Jimmy a second later, the boys having ceased rowing, for there was no further need, "bes' run her ashore, or we'll be carried out. By gosh, she's tearing away!"
"All right, mates, keep cool. There's the old mahogany ahead, we'll tie up there; we'll be there in a minute."
Yes, the boys would need all their coolness, for Joe was reckoning without up-to-date knowledge, and that made all the difference in the world. Rounding a clump of trees at this moment, or ever they were aware the boat fairly sucked into the channel of furiously rushing and tumultuously heaping waters that were finding their level by the newly made short-cut.
"Oh! oh! I—I say!" shouted Tom. "We're being swept into the river! Back water!"
Joe, quicker than the others, had hit the situation, and turned the boat's nose to a clump of bushes, but before the rowers could pick up their oars to help him the boat had swept past. Tom, it is true, made a frantic grasp at the bough, but the way on the boat was so strong that the branch, when the full force of the current bore on her at her momentary check, snapped like a pipe-stem, and the little craft was fair in the turgid stream, which had now the velocity of a water-race. The incident of the half-arrest, however, had turned her head up-stream, which was a providential thing. The river break-away was at most three hundred yards away. To turn the boat into the perpendicular sides of the channel was to court destruction; for, be it said, the maddened waters had excavated the banks until they rose sheer from the water's edge.
The necessities of the case came like an inspiration to Joe. The boat was drifting, as we have said, stern first, the advantage of which will be seen. Save Joe, whom the sense of responsibility braced to immediate action, the boys were speechless with consternation. One look at their blanched faces was sufficient. They were certainly alive to the dangers of the situation.
"Pull, boys! pull with all your might! We'll keep her head up. This'll check her speed a bit. It'll give her steerage way too, and save her gettin' broadside on."
The pullers put every ounce of strength into their strokes, and this was very helpful. The final rush into the cross-current was a most critical moment, and might easily have resulted in disaster. This was averted only by Joe's coolness and dexterity.