Camels
It was not till next morning that the boys saw that the tornado had
completely upset their plans. During the few terrible minutes of the
storm, and for an hour afterwards, till sleep finally claimed them
again, excitement drove all thoughts of the future clean away. But
when they awoke late next morning, and looked out at the sky, which was
blue and without a cloud, and across the sandy street at the collection
of iron station buildings and the train by which they had arrived and
which still stood waiting, and saw, beyond and around everything, the
tremendous stretches of yellow sand already blazing in the heat, the
affairs of the night seemed only a dream.
The reality of things was suddenly brought home to them when Peter came
into the room with a cheery, "Good morning! How're you getting on?"
Both boys were feeling fine and said so, and then their friend told
them: "You'd better hurry on a bit. The train starts back for town in
about an hour."
Sax was using the towel at the time, and when he heard what Peter said,
he stopped rubbing his face and looked at him in surprise.
"Back to town!" he exclaimed. "But we don't want to go back to town.
We're going on to Oodnadatta."
"Going on to Oodnadatta, are you?" asked Peter, with a smile. "And how
are you going to get there?"
"Why, by train, of course," broke in Vaughan. Then suddenly the events
of the night appeared to him in a new light. "That is--of course--if
it's running," he stammered.
"It's not running," said Peter. "And you take it from me, it won't run
for a month or two. The tornado smashed the Dingo Creek bridge and
tore up the line this side of it, too. Besides, the Long Cutting's
full of sand. It'll take them a couple of weeks to clean that out."
The boys were too much amazed to speak. They looked at one another in
blank dismay. They were indeed in a fix. Drover Stobart waiting for
them in Oodnadatta, and here they were in Hergott Springs, and no
chance of getting out of it for a month or two. Whatever were they to
do?
Their bushman friend did not leave them long in uncertainty. He was a
simple-hearted kindly man, and he could see by the boys' faces what
they were thinking about. So he interrupted their gloomy thoughts by
suggesting:
"See here. I don't know who you lads are, and you don't know much
about me. But I've got to get to Oodnadatta some way or another.
There's a plant of horses and niggers waiting for me up there. I'll
fix up something. Would you care to come along with me?"
The boys' faces instantly showed their eager pleasure, and the man did
not need their words of thanks to assure him that he was doing them a
good turn.
"Thanks _awfully_!" they exclaimed. "Thank you _very_ much, Mr.----"
"My name's Peter," said the man. "And there's no 'Mister' about me.
What shall I call you two?"
"This is Vaughan," said Stobart, pointing to his friend. "My name's
Stobart."
"Stobart! Stobart!" said Peter in surprise. "Anything to do with Boss
Stobart?"
Sax had never heard his father's nickname, so he answered in a puzzled
tone, "Boss Stobart?"
"Yes, bless you. Boss Stobart. And a fine man too. The best drover
that ever crossed a horse in this country. Don't I know it too? We
punched cattle together for ten years, did the Boss and me."
Sax's face beamed with delight. "That's my father," he said proudly.
Peter's big hand shot out in greeting. "So you're Boss Stobart's son,
are you? Well, well, you seem a fine lad, and you've sure got a fine
father." He also shook hands with Vaughan, and added: "So we're to be
mates, are we? You leave things to me. I'll let you know about it
when I've fixed things up."
Peter was busy all morning and the boys had time to look around the
township. It seemed very small to them in comparison with the vast
plains which stretched away on all sides of it. They felt sure that if
once they got away out of sight of the scattered houses, they would
never be able to find them again, for Hergott Springs is only a very
tiny spot on the face of the desert. They watched the train go back
the way it had come the day before, and then walked up to the end of
the station yard to see the wrecked water-tank. Flocks of goats
wandered about the township, picking up and eating bits of rubbish,
just like stray dogs. They found that this was why the mutton they had
eaten for tea and breakfast was so tough; for, because sheep cannot
thrive in that part of the country, goats are kept and killed for meat.
Camels interested them very much. These tall, awkward, smelly, grey
beasts stalked along with such dignity that it was almost impossible to
believe them capable of the hard work they do. Through following a
string of camels, tied together from nose-line to tail, the boys came
to a collection of buildings outside the town proper. This was Afghan
Town, where the black-skinned camel-drivers lived. They watched some
camels kneeling down in the sand and being loaded with bags of flour
and sugar, chests of tea, and cases of jam and tinned meat. These
bulky packages were roped to the saddle till it appeared as if the poor
beast underneath would never be able to get up. But, one after the
other, they stood up when the time came, and stalked away, swaying
gently from side to side as they pad-padded silently across the soft
sand.
Suddenly the boys were startled by a most terrifying sound a little
distance away. It was a bubbling roar, such as a bullock would make if
he tried to bellow when he was drowning. They looked in the direction
it came: from, and saw a big bull camel, blowing its bladder out of its
mouth and lashing with its tail. They went over and found the animal
standing in a little paddock fenced with strong stakes. The boys had
never seen such a tremendous camel before. Its body and fore legs were
thick and heavy, but its hind legs were trim and shapely, and reminded
them of the hind-quarters of a greyhound. Its neck was broad and flat,
and looked very strong, while its head, with the bloodshot eyes and the
horrid red bladder hanging from the mouth, was not nice to see. It
stood there with its fore feet fastened together by a chain, its hind
ones spread wide apart, twitching its tail about, and roaring with a
rumbling gurgle, either in rage or challenge. It was a sight to strike
terror into anybody's heart.
Presently two Afghans came up and began to talk in English. "Ah!" said
one, a little man, dressed in the blouse and baggy pantaloons of his
native country, his face looking very cruel. "Ah! That's old Abul, is
it? I've not seen him for ten years. He used to try and play tricks
with me, did Abul, but I taught him his lessons; didn't I, Abul? I
taught him not to play with _me_." He laughed at the remembrance of
the cruelties he had practised on that camel ten years ago.
"He's a good camel," replied the other man. "He belongs to me. He's a
very good camel. He doesn't want to be beaten. He works well. I can
do anything I like with him." He began to climb over the fence, but
the first speaker stopped him.
"What are you going to do?" he asked excitedly. "You must not go in
there. He is a bad camel, I tell you. Abul is not safe. I know him.
I was his master ten years ago."
"I'm only going to take off his hobbles," said the other man.
"Well, do not go in like that. I used to throw a rope and tie him up
before I went near him. He is a bad camel, I tell you. But _I_ taught
him his lessons." He laughed again, and Sax shuddered as he looked at
the man's cruel face.
But the present owner was not afraid. He had been kind to Abul. He
went up to the great grey beast and stood beside it, looking very small
indeed. The camel could have killed the man without any difficulty
whatever, but, instead of that, it bent its head and looked at him and
allowed its master to rub it between the ears.
The Afghan outside the fence was very excited. He muttered to himself,
and now and again shouted to his fellow-countryman: "Look out! Look
out, I tell you! That is only his way. It is all his bluff. Oh, he
is a very bad camel! Look out, I tell you!"
The man inside the paddock took no notice of these warnings, for they
were quite unnecessary. He stooped down and unfastened the hobbles
from the animal's fore feet, and stood up again with them in his hand,
and walked towards the fence where his companion was standing. The
camel stalked after him.
Then an absolutely unexpected thing happened. When Abul was about ten
yards from the fence, he made a sudden rush and grabbed his former
owner by the coat. It was all so quick that no one knew what had
occurred till they saw the huge camel walking round his enclosure with
the screaming man dangling from his mouth. The old camel was going to
have his revenge. He remembered his tormentor of ten years ago, and
was going to kill him.
Suddenly there came a sound of tearing cloth. The coat had torn. The
man sprawled on the ground for a moment, and then scrambled to his
feet. He made a dash for the fence, but the camel was too quick for
him. The terrified Afghan started to run and, as there was no way of
escape, he had to run round and round the paddock with the camel at his
heels. For a moment or two there was silence. The spectators were too
much amazed to speak, and the unfortunate man himself was using all his
breath in his effort to evade his pursuer. Abul could easily have
caught him, but it looked as if the animal wanted to play with the
cruel man, for he kept just behind him, whereas, if he had stretched
out his neck, he could have grabbed him at any time.
A crowd of Afghans and aboriginals were quickly drawn to the spot, but
they were far too excited to think of doing anything to help. The man
was doomed. The death would be a cruel one, but the man had deserved
it. Sax, however, was a clear-headed boy, and though the whole affair
was more terrifying to him than to the others, because he was not used
to camels, a plan at once suggested itself to him.
The proper entrance to the paddock was a strong iron gate. Shouting
out for Vaughan to follow him, Sax ran to the gate. The Afghan had now
run three times round the little paddock, and as he came round the
fourth time, nearly exhausted, the boy called out to him. Just as the
running man drew level with the gate Sax swung it open. The man fell
through it and lay gasping on the sand, but the camel shot past it
before it saw that it had lost its prey. The boys slammed the gate
shut again. Abul turned and glared at them. It was about to break
down the fence, which it could easily have done, when other camel-men
arrived on the scene, and drove it back with sticks and savage dogs.
When they arrived back at the hotel for dinner, they found that Peter
was looking for them. "Where've you been all the morning?" he asked.
The boys told him about their wanderings around the town, and about the
bull camel which had nearly killed the Afghan.
"That must be Sultan Khan," said Peter. "I heard last night that he
had come back into the country. The police kicked him out ten years
ago for being cruel to his camels. It's a pity the bull didn't get
him."
Sax looked crestfallen. It was not nice to hear that the man whom he
had just saved from a most terrible death would have been better left
to die. But Peter reassured him at once.
"Of course I don't mean that really," he said. "You did fine. It's
what any decent white man would have tried to do. But I suppose you're
dead scared of camels now."
The man went on to explain that he had arranged to travel north with a
string of camels which was leaving the township the same afternoon.
They would go as far as Dingo Creek and wait there for the train which
was being sent down from Oodnadatta. "That's the best arrangement I
can make," said Peter. "If you'd care to come along, now's your
chance. You won't have much to do with camels, anyway. But don't mind
saying if you'd rather not."
Both boys protested that they weren't a bit scared of camels and that
they were anxious to go right away; so, after dinner, they got their
belongings together and followed Peter to the outskirts of the town.
Here they found a line of fifty camels kneeling in the sand ready to
start.
Most of them were heavily loaded with stores for Oodnadatta which had
come up on the same train as the boys had travelled by. More than a
score of men had helped to unload the trucks that morning, and to
arrange the bags and cases and bales ready for being roped to the
camel-saddles. The boys were very much amused by the antics of three
or four calf-camels. They looked like big lambs on stilts, except that
their necks were longer. They frisked about and did not seem at all
afraid; but when Vaughan tried to stroke one of them, it bumped into
him and knocked him over, which made everybody laugh.
The man in charge of the camels was not an Afghan; he was an Indian
named Becker Singh, a big, handsome, intelligent man, and he wore the
same rough sort of clothes and hat as any Australian in the back
country. He showed Peter the two camels he had chosen for the boys,
and, after testing them himself, the bushman showed his two friends how
to arrange their blankets on the iron framework of the saddle in order
to make a comfortable seat, how to mount, and the easiest way to sit.
"Don't you try to do anything," he told them. "Just get your feet into
the stirrups and sit loosely."
This was good advice and saved the boys the usual discomfort which
comes to those who ride a camel for the first time. They had no need
to guide their camels, for all the animals were tied one behind the
other. When everything was ready, Becker walked slowly down the long
line, giving a final inspection to each of his charges, then whistled
in a peculiar way.
All the camels stood up at once. To the boys, this was the most
uncomfortable part of their experience, for a camel has four distinct
movements in getting up or down, and, unless the rider is used to them,
they are rather startling. But once their mounts were really up, the
rest was plain sailing. They swayed gently forward and back with each
stride of the camel and enjoyed the motion very much, and could see
over the country from their high position much better than they could
from horseback or on foot.
The three days' journey to the Dingo Creek Bridge was accomplished
without any accident, though the new method of travel and the new
country passed through were full of interest to the two boys. Each
evening the long line of stately animals was coiled round in a big
circle at the camping-place, and the camels were made to kneel down
while their loads were unroped and their saddles taken off. Then the
black boys who were helping Decker Singh hobbled the camels and drove
them off to pick up what food they could find during the night. In the
morning the same boys brought them in and made them kneel in the right
places to be loaded again for the day.
To have their meals and to sleep near the packs was a novelty which the
boys very much enjoyed. The blazing fire with the billies catching the
flame, the meal of bread and meat, the hour or two afterwards when they
lolled on the sand while Peter smoked and told yarns, and then the cool
quiet night with the myriad stars above them; these things made the
boys forget the little discomforts they were bound to encounter.
On the second day, towards the middle of the afternoon, a black dot
appeared on the horizon, growing bigger and bigger as they approached
it. The sun beat down on the bare plains and made the whole landscape
quiver with heat, so that things in the distance looked blurred and it
was impossible to tell what they were. In this instance the object
proved to be a group of date-palms growing round a pool made by a
bore-pipe. On all sides of this little oasis stretched the barren
desert, and it was quite easy to believe that no man had been able to
live in that part of the country before this bore had been put down.
Peter told them that the pipe went straight down into the earth for
several thousand feet. Water was struck suddenly. One day, when the
men were boring as usual, a noise came up the pipe like sea waves in a
blow-hole of rock, a sort of gurgling roar accompanied by a rush of
air. Then a column of water, as thick as a man's leg and as strong as
a bar of iron, shot up straight into the air and turned over at the top
like a gigantic umbrella. The water struck the bore staging with such
tremendous force that it smashed a hole clean through a two-inch board
as if a shell had crashed into it, and it wrenched the other boards
from their supports and flung them for a hundred yards, just a useless
mass of splintered wood. The man who was on the platform at the time
heard the water coming and jumped for his life. He was not a moment
too soon. If he had hesitated, he would have been blown to pieces.
The flow is not so strong nowadays, but it still reaches the top of the
pipe and flows over, and enables men and cattle to live in a country
which used to be a waterless desert.
A quarter of a mile north of the date-palms was a sand-hill with what
appeared like a few bushes on it. Sax was looking at this hill when he
saw a coil of smoke rising up out of one of the bushes. He was so
surprised that he called his friend's attention to it.
"I say, Boof," he exclaimed. "'D'you see that smoke over there? There
must be a camp or something."
Peter heard the remark and laughed. "D'you know what that is?" he
asked.
"Why, bushes, of course," replied Sax.
"And what d'you reckon it is?" asked Peter again, turning to Vaughan.
Young Vaughan looked intently at the sand-hill where the smoke was
coming from. He heard a dog bark, and then thought he saw a little
black human figure crawl out of one of the bushes, followed by another
and bigger figure. It was all so far away that he wasn't sure that he
had seen correctly, so he answered with hesitation; "It looks as if
there were people in those bushes. They don't live there, do they,
Peter?"
"They're not bushes," explained the man. "They're what we call
'wurlies'. They're sort of little huts the blacks live in. You'll see
quite enough of them before you've been in this country long, I promise
you."
The boys wanted to go over at once and see, so Peter good-naturedly
went with them.
The wurlies were made from branches pulled from the ragged trees which
grew around, and stuck in the sand with their tops brought together.
This framework was covered with bits of old bag or blanket. The whole
thing was the shape of a pudding-basin turned upside down, and was not
more than three feet high in the middle or four feet wide at the bottom.
"Do they really live in there?" asked Sax.
"Sure thing," said Peter. "They crawl in through that hole and curl
themselves up like dogs."
As he finished speaking, a shaggy head appeared at one of the holes.
The hair was stuck together in greasy plaits and hung down to the man's
shoulders. He looked up at the visitors, half in and half out of the
wurley, and on his hands and knees just like an animal. His face and
body were black and very dirty, and his head and chest were so thickly
covered with hair that the only features which stood out from the
matted tangle were a pair of very bright eyes and a flat, shining nose.
Peter said something which the lads did not understand, and the man
came out and stood upright. He was quite naked and very thin. His
legs seemed to be the same thickness all the way up, and his knees
looked like big swollen knuckles. But his whole appearance gave the
impression that he could move very quickly if he wanted to, with the
graceful speed of a greyhound. The woman and child whom Vaughan had
seen from the distance had run away like startled rabbits as the white
men came up, and the camp of six or seven wurlies seemed deserted
except for this one miserable specimen of humanity. Bits of clothing,
tins, pieces of decaying food, and all sorts of dirt were strewn around
the camp and gave out such an unpleasant smell that the boys turned
away in disgust.
"What's the matter?" asked Peter.
"How horribly dirty he is," said Vaughan. "Aren't some of them clean?"
"Oh yes," replied Peter. "Most boys who work on stations are made to
use soap. That's because they work with white men, or with decent
chaps like Becker Singh. His boys aren't bad. But you leave them
alone for a week, and they'll be just as bad as that old buck there.
Don't you ever forget--" he added earnestly, "don't you ever forget
that that's the real nigger you've just seen. And don't you have too
much to do with them."
"There's not much fear of that," said Sax.
"Well, don't you forget it, that's all," repeated Peter. "Many a good
lad has gone to the dogs through having too much to do with niggers."
They reached the Dingo Creek on the morning of the fourth day. The
bridge was a complete wreck. It was almost impossible to believe that
wind could have done so much damage. The whole thing had been lifted
off the stanchions, twisted as easily as if it had been a ribbon of
paper, and then thrown down into the soft sand of the creek bed. The
steel stanchions leaned this way and that; one of them had been torn up
from its concrete foundation, and another had been screwed about till
it looked like a gigantic corkscrew. The bridge must have been caught
by the very centre of the tornado.
The camels did not stop at the creek. They travelled on for a couple
of miles to where a railway engine and a few trucks were waiting.
These had been sent down from Oodnadatta with a break-down gang of men,
and were returning next day. Peter decided to stay and help Becker
with the camels as far as Oodnadatta, but, at his advice, the two boys
went on by train, and so it came about that they completed their broken
journey in the same way in which it had begun.