THE CYCLONE.
The cyclone was heralded by a week of stifling hot weather. As a general
rule it isn't hot up here, the thermometer rarely climbing to 90 deg.,
and then only on an odd day in November; but that week was awful. From
being unable to work, it got to be an effort to move. The nights too
were hot, a most unusual circumstance. Every day the sky would bank up
with heavy, hard-edged clouds, leaving just an inverted saucer of smoky
blue at the zenith, through which the sun appeared at noon, strong
enough to throw a shadow, but not bright enough to make your eyes water
looking at him. The birds, after their morning carol, were silent, and
by noon each day the stillness was weird. Nature seemed to be waiting
for something; there was not even a breath of wind to stir the lifeless
trees. We got to have a feeling that we ought to talk in whispers, a
creepy sensation--almost of fear. Occasionally there was a faint far-off
air-tremor, rather than sound, of thunder. On the fifth day Len, Terry
and I were lying about the barn, too languid to move, when, about noon,
there was a sudden change. It got quickly cold and the sky to the
South-East banked up, tier upon tier, with blue-black clouds. The zenith
was covered, and the clouds commenced rushing across it, rapidly
whirling and dissolving as they went, in rather an awe-inspiring
fashion.
"It's coming, blokes, whatever it is," said Terry quietly.
On the word, like a bucket suddenly tipped over us, a deafening roar of
rain on the roof, ceasing in two minutes as suddenly as it came, and
dying hissingly away up the paddock. Silence again. Then, in the
distance, a sound like a slowly-expelled breath, only continuous, and
rapidly getting louder as it drew nearer. A few minutes later, and with
a rush and a roar, wind and rain were on us. There was not much force in
the wind--just about half a gale--but it was its sudden shock that was
rather startling. Wind about S.E., and a good deal of thunder and
lightning, which gave us the idea at first that it was only a heavy
thunderstorm. It kept the same force pretty well until 5 p.m., when it
shifted to South, and commenced to show us what it really could do.
Crash after crash from the scrub near-by showed how the wind was testing
the trees.
Just at this time two swaggies, who had come up the Range, banged at the
door. We let them in, soaked and shivering, nearly in a state of
collapse with long exposure to the driving rain. We gave them hot tea
and dry togs, and while they were getting warm again we, nearly naked
(so as not to wet any clothes!), went outside and gathered a big pile of
firewood, to keep a roaring blaze going all night.
By half-past six it was blowing a heavy gale, and the old barn was
creaking and straining like a ship at sea. We put a big back log on the
fire, piled her up to keep going all night, and were just going to turn
in, when there was a hammering on the door, which we had well secured
against its being blown in. We fell over each other scrambling to see
who the devil it was, and discovered two neighbouring bachelor
selectors, who had been camped in a tent pitched inside a rough shed
half a mile away. A dead tree had come down fair across their camp with
the two of them in it--a miracle of an escape. They just pulled
themselves out of the wreckage, and, with their lives in their hands,
crossed through the scrub in the dark to Braun's. They didn't seem to
think anything of it--sort of "all in the day's work" idea. It was nine
o'clock by the time they had finished tea, and the hurricane was going
full bore.
The hoarse roar of the wind drowned every other sound. A huge dead elm
came down just astern of the barn, missing the end by about four feet,
and we never heard it; indeed, we never knew anything about it till
morning. The rain was driving in fine spray, wetting everything, so we
rigged the swaggies' "fly," and the seven of us crowded under it like
sardines in a tin, managing to keep just about damp.
None of us slept though, being too much concerned about the possibility
of the barn coming about our ears. However, it weathered the gale
triumphantly. At midnight, in a furious squall, the wind veered to S.W.,
and the door got the full force of it. It gave, the top hinge went, and
inside she came on top of us. Away went the tent, split in half, and in
about two ups we and everything we possessed were soaked through. It
took the lot of us about ten minutes to re-secure the door, and we spent
the rest of the night huddled round the fire, the furious back draught
blowing smoke and flame in all directions.
About 3.30 a.m. the wind shifted again to about W.N.W. and blew harder
than ever. The barn swayed perceptibly, but the corner posts were three
feet in the ground, and went solid up to the roof, and that saved us.
It was daylight now, and we could see the clearing. What a difference!
It looked as if a titanic steam-roller had been all over it: weeds, dead
trees, bushes, all levelled flat. We, who a few hours ago had to part
the bushes to get in the door almost, now had a clear view of the whole
clearing. It would have cost Braun pretty well L50 to do the work the
wind did gratis for him that night in his clearing.
At about 7 a.m. there was a lull, and shortly after it became clear that
the storm's back was broken, the unbroken grey pall of sky commencing to
break up into clouds and scud. The wind slowly veered to N.N.W.,
lessening in force all the time, but kept at hard gale till after
midnight, when it died down rapidly, and by 3 a.m. it was calm, sky
clear, and stars shining brightly.
While the gale was on I slipped down to see the creek, and found the
little brawling stream transformed into a raging torrent twenty feet
deep. Even while I looked, the bank higher up gave way, and for a
hundred feet or so slid roaring into the current.
After the weather cleared up I went across to my own clearing, to find
numberless little water-courses all over the place, and the grass!
well--you could fairly hear it growing. In a week (say, five weeks after
sowing), it was good enough to have turned stock on to, had I possessed
any.
I went in towards the line, thinking to get a job clearing wreckage
somewhere, but there were too many willing volunteers already at it.
Most of the roads were blocked by falling timber, and everybody had
suffered more or less, either by loss of stock, or through having their
buildings unroofed.
I took the opportunity, while in town, to interview the local
storekeeper with a view to credit, which he willingly granted on
explaining my position. The country storekeeper! Go where you will, one
of the principal topics of conversation is sure to be the iniquities of
the local storekeeper. But we couldn't do without him. By extending a
liberal credit he enables one to stay on the farm until one's footing is
secure, and if his prices are a bit stiff, it ought to be remembered how
many bad debts he contracts, and what a risky thing it is to give credit
to a comparatively unknown man. If it be true that the farmer is the
country's backbone, it is equally true that the storekeeper is the one
who stiffens that backbone till it can stay erect of itself, and often
prevents it from breaking. I know. I'm one of the vertebrae, and I'd
often have been dislocated but for old "Stores."