The Book of the Bush by George Dunderdale (christmas read aloud .TXT) 📕

blacks were wearing the stolen shirts, a fourth had put on the lilac dress, and they were strutting around to display their brave apparel just like white folks. The savage man retains all finery for his own personal adornment, and never wastes any of it on his despicable wife, but still Captain Leebrace had some doubt in the matter. He whispered to his men, "I don't like to shoot at a gown; there may be a lubra in it, but I'll take the middle fellow in the shirt, and you take the other two, one to the right, the other to the left; when I say one, two, three, fire."

The order was obeyed and when the smoke cleared away the print dress was gone, but all the rest of the plunder was recovered on the spot. The shirts were stripped off the bodies of the blacks; and after they had been rinsed in a water-hole, they were found to have been not much damaged, each shirt having only a small bullet hole in it. It was in this way that the lilac dress escaped, and was found in the canoe at the Old Port; the blackfellow who wore it had taken it off and put it under his knees in the bottom of his canoe, and when the white men's boat came after him, he was in so great a hurry to hide himself in the scrub that he left the dress behind.

Next day there was a sudden alarm in the camp at the Old Port. Clancy and Dick the Devil came running toward the beach, full of fear and excitement, screaming, "The blacks, the blacks, they are coming, hundreds of them, and they are all naked, and daubed over white, and they have long spears."

The men who had guns-Campbell, Shay, and Davy-fetched them out of their huts and stood ready to receive the enemy; even McClure, although very weak, left his bed and came outside to assist in the fight. The fringe of the scrub was dotted with the piebald bodies of the blacks, dancing about, brandishing their spears, and shouting defiance at the white men. They were not in hundreds, as the boys imagined, their number apparently not exceeding forty; but it was evident that they were threatening death and destruction to the invaders of their territory. None, however, but the very bravest ventured far into the cleared space, and they showed no disposition to make a rush or anything like a concerted attack.

Campbell, after watching the enemy's movements for some time, said, "I think it will be better to give them a taste of the nine-pounder. Keep a look-out while I load her."

He went into his store to get the charge ready. He tied some powder tightly in a piece of calico and rammed it home. On this he put a nine-pound shot; but, reflecting that the aim at the dancing savages would be uncertain, he put in a double charge, consisting of some broken glass and a handful of nails.

He then thrust a wooden skewer down the touch-hole into the powder bag below, primed and directed the piece towards the scrub, giving it, as he judged, sufficient elevation to send the charge among the thickest of the foe. As this was the first time the gun had been brought into action, and there was no telling for certain which way it would act, Campbell thought it best to be cautious; so he ordered all his men to take shelter behind the store. He then selected a long piece of bark, which he lighted at the fire, and, standing behind an angle of the building, he applied the light to the touch-hole. Every man was watching the scrub to see the effect of the discharge. There was a fearful explosion, succeeded by shrieks of horror and fear from the blacks, as the ball and nails and broken glass went whistling over their heads through the trees. Then there was a moment of complete silence. Campbell, like a skilful general, ordered his men to pursue at once the flying foe, in order to reap to the full the fruits of victory, and they ran across the open ground to deliver a volley; but on arriving at the scrub no foe was to be seen, either dead or alive. The elevation of the artillery had been too great, and the missiles had passed overhead; but the result was all that could be hoped for, for two months afterwards not a single native was visible.

Two victories had been gained by the pioneers, and it was felt that they deserved some commemoration. At night there was a feast around the camp fire; it was of necessity a frugal one, but each member of the small community contributed to it as much as he was able. Campbell produced flour enough for a large damper, a luxury unseen for the last eight weeks; McClure gave tea and sugar; Davy brought out a box full of eggs and a dozen mutton birds; Scutt and Pateley furnished a course of roast flathead; Clancy and Dick the Devil, the poor pirates, gave all the game they had that day killed, viz., two parrots and a wattle bird. The twelve canoes, the spoils of victory, were of little value; they were placed on the camp fire one after another, and reduced to ashes.

The warriors sat around on logs and boxes enjoying the good things provided and talking cheerfully, but they made no set speeches. Dinner oratory is full of emptiness and they had plenty of that every day. They dipped pannikins of tea out of the iron pot.

When Burke and Wills were starving at Cooper's Creek on a diet of nardoo, the latter recorded in his diary that what the food wanted was sugar; he believed that nardoo and sugar would keep him alive. The pioneers at the Old Port were convinced that their great want was fat; with that their supper would have been perfect.

McClure was dying of consumption as everybody knew but himself; he could not believe that he had come so far from home only to die, and he joined the revellers at the camp fire. He said to kindly enquirers that he felt quite well, and would soon regain his strength. Before that terrible journey over the mountains he had been the life and soul of the Port. He could play on the violin, on the bagpipes-both Scotch and Irish-and he was always so pleasant and cheerful, looking as innocent as a child, that no one could be long dispirited in his company, and the most impatient growler became ashamed of himself.

McClure was persuaded to bring out his violin once more-it had been long silent-and he began playing the liveliest of tunes, strathspeys, jigs, and reels, until some of the men could hardly keep their heels still, but it is hard to dance on loose sand, and they had to be contented with expressing their feelings in song. Davy sang "Ye Mariners of England," and other songs of the sea; and Pateley Jim gave the "Angel's Whisper," followed by an old ballad of the days of Robin Hood called "The Wedding of Aythur O'Braidley," the violin accompanying the airs and putting the very soul of music into every song.

But by degrees the musician grew weary, and began to play odds and ends of old tunes, sacred and profane. He dwelt some time on an ancient "Kyrie Eleeson," and at last glided, unconsciously as it were, into the "Land o' the Leal."

I'm wearin' away, Jean, Like snaw wreaths in thaw, Jean, I'm wearin' awa, Jean, To the Land o' the Leal.

There's nae sorrow there, Jean, There's nae caul or care, Jean, The days aye fair, Jean, I' the Land of the Leal.

At last McClure rose from his seat, and said, "I'll pit awa the fiddle, and bid ye a good nicht. I think I'll be going hame to my mither the morn."

He went into his tent. It was high tide, and there was a gentle swish of long low waves lapping the sandy beach. The night wind sighed a soothing lullaby through the spines of the she-oak, and his spirit passed peacefully away with the ebb. He was the first man who died at the Old Port, and he was buried on the bank of the river where Friday first saw its waters flowing towards the mountain.

Thirty years afterwards I saw two old men, Campbell and Montgomery, pulling up the long grass which had covered his neglected grave.


GLENGARRY IN GIPPSLAND.

Jack Shay was not sorry to leave the Old Port. The nocturnal feast made to celebrate the repulse of the blackfellows could not conceal the state of famine which prevailed, and he was pleased to remember that he had brought plenty of flour, tea, and sugar as far as the Thomson river. Davy had no saddle, but John Campbell lent him one for the journey, and also sold him shot and powder on credit. So early in the morning the two men took a "tightener" of roast eggs, and commenced their journey on McMillan's track, each man carrying his double-barrelled gun, ready loaded, in his hand. By this time the sight of a gun was a sufficient warning to the blackfellows to keep at a safe distance; the discharge of the nine-pounder had proved to them that the white man possessed mysterious powers of mischief, and it was a long time before they could recover courage enough to approach within view of the camp at the Old Port. On the second day of their journey Davy and Shay arrived at the Thomson, and found the mob of cattle and the men all safe. They built a hut, erected a stockyard, and roughly fixed the boundaries of the station by blazed trees, the bank of the river, and other natural marks.

There were three brothers Imlay in the Twofold Bay district-John, Alexander, and George-the latter residing at the Bay, where he received stores from Sydney, and shipped return cargoes of station produce and fat cattle for Hobarton. Two stations on the mountains were managed by the other two brothers, and their brand was III., usually called "the Bible brand." When the station on the Thomson was put in working order, the Imlays exchanged it for one owned by P. P. King, which was situated between their two stations in the Monaro district. The Gippsland station was named Fulham, and was managed by John King. Jack Shay returned to the mountains, and Davy to the Old Port.

Soon afterwards the steamer 'Corsair' arrived from Melbourne, bringing many passengers, one of whom was John Reeve, who took up a station at Snake Ridge, and purchased the block of land known as Reeve's Survey. The new settlers also brought a number of horses, and Norman McLeod had twenty bullocks on board. The steamer could not reach the port, and brought-to abreast of the Midge Channel. The cattle and horses were slung and put into the water, four at a time, and swam to land, but all the bullocks disappeared soon afterwards and fled to the mountains.

Next the brig 'Bruthen' arrived from Sydney, chartered by the Highland chief Macdonnell, of Glengarry. In the days of King William III. a sum of 20,000 pounds was voted for the purpose of purchasing the allegiance of the Glengarry of that day, and of that of several other powerful chiefs. On taking the oath of loyalty to the new