ON THE WAY TO THE "RUN"
IT was a bright morning when they left Sydney to go to the station,
taking the train early in the day, for there was a railway ride of
several hours before them, as well as a long drive.
"Now you are going to see something of Australian life," said Mr.
McDonald. "Life in Sydney or Melbourne is very little different from
that in Liverpool or Glasgow. On the big stations it is much the same as
on the country places at home, but my station is typical of Australia."
"Is it in the Bush, Uncle?" asked Fergus.
"Hear the laddie talking like an old squatter," laughed Mr. McDonald.
"Yes and no. You see the Australians who live in the cities consider all
the rest of the continent the Bush, but to those who live in the
grazing and farming districts the country inland is the Bush or the
'Back Country.' Our run is beautifully situated just on the edge of the
Dividing Range, and we are lucky enough to have a river running through
one side, so that the run is seldom dry."
"What is the Dividing Range?" asked Fergus, who was determined to
understand everything he heard. If he did not, it was not because he did
not ask questions enough about it.
"The Dividing Range is the high land which separates the east and west
of the continent and runs from north to south along the coast. It is
sometimes called the Australian Alps, and some of the peaks are 7,000
feet high. The eastern part of Australia runs in a long strip of fertile
ground along the coast. West of this are the mountains and beyond them
is a high plateau which slopes down to the plains of Central Australia.
This central portion is an almost unknown country. There are no great
rivers and little rain. The land is terribly dry and very hot. Many who
have gone to explore it have never returned and no one knows their fate.
Perhaps they have died of thirst, perhaps they have been killed by the
Blacks. This part of the country is called 'Never, Never Land.'"
"Uncle Angus," asked Fergus, as his uncle paused. "When you came to your
station were you a squatter?"
His uncle's hearty laugh rang out. "No, my boy, but I bought my run from
a squatter," he answered. "The days of squatters were about over when I
came out. What do you know about squatters?"
"I don't know anything," answered Fergus. "Only I have heard the name
and thought maybe you would tell us about them."
"In the old times, before Australia had started in the trade, the wool
from the sheep on the runs was very important to her," said Mr.
McDonald. "Men would come out to the country, and, not having very much
money, they could perhaps buy a small homestead and stock it, but little
more. They would have to have large tracts of land to pasture their
sheep, but had not money enough to buy the land. They therefore settled
down and took what they needed without permission, and so were called
'squatters.' The Government did not interfere with them, because the
wool from their sheep was needed and because the country was so big
there seemed land enough for everyone. In time the matter was arranged
by the Government's dividing the back country into grazing districts,
which all the squatters might use by paying a yearly rent."
"How did the squatters keep their sheep from other people?" Fergus
inquired.
"Every flock had its shepherd, who led it wherever food and water were
to be found," was the answer. "The life of a shepherd was a lonely one.
He had to watch the sheep and lambs and see that the dingoes[4] did not
get at them. The shepherd never saw any other people except the man who
brought his supplies from the station. His dogs were his only friends,
and often these shepherd dogs are marvels of intelligence and loyalty.
For a time the squatters prospered and some of them grew immensely
wealthy. These were called 'Wool Kings' and lived on their stations
extravagantly, building houses such as you saw at Wuurna-wee-weetch.
"But sheep raising is not all plain sailing in Australia. Rabbits were
brought into the country, and these proved to be a regular plague,
destroying the grass, so that the Government passed a law that squatters
must help to exterminate them, which put them to a great expense.
"When I came here twenty years ago, I got my station from a squatter who
had worked it for years and had made enough to sell out and go to
Sydney, where it had always been his ambition to live. I have worked
hard and been successful. When you see our station I think you will want
to stay in this country instead of trying to find gold in 'Never, Never
Land,'" he said to his brother-in-law.
"Perhaps I shall, but I have no money to buy a station and I can't be a
squatter now," said Mr. Hume.
Their way lay through a beautiful semi-tropical country. The train moved
through fertile valleys, fine woodland and green vales, and bridged cool
mountain streams. When their stopping place was reached and they
alighted from the train to find a comfortable cart and good horses
awaiting them, Fergus exclaimed, "It doesn't seem to me that travelling
in Australia is very hard work."
"Wait till you get to the Bush," said his uncle. "And have to tramp it
with your swag[5] upon your back, make your own supper over a twig
fire, stir your tea in a billy[6] with a eucalyptus twig, and roll up in
a blanket to sleep, waking up to find a dukite snake taking a nap on
your breast,--that's real Australia for you."
"I like your kind better," said Jean with a shudder, but Fergus said
boastingly,
"Well, I'm not afraid of the Bush."
"Wait and see," said his father as they drove through the gate which led
into Mr. McDonald's run.
It was a beautiful station and well suited for the sheep farming from
which the owner had made his money. The land lay in a triangle, on two
sides of which was a considerable stream while the main road formed the
third boundary. The land was fenced with stout rail fences while the
paddocks were fenced with wire.
The house was built of stone, of one story, with a broad veranda running
around all four sides, shaded in vines and looking on a garden in which
gorgeous-hued flowers bloomed in brilliant beauty. There was an air of
great comfort about the place. Hammocks were slung in the porches and
easy chairs were placed invitingly about.
Long windows clear to the floor opened into the living rooms and a wide
hallway ran through the middle of the house. On one side was a drawing
room, at the other, dining room and living room. The guests caught
glimpses of books and music as they were ushered into their cool
bedrooms. These opened on to the veranda and were cool and pleasant,
with gay chintz and white hangings. What a delightful visit the children
had at the run! It was perhaps pleasanter for them than for the grown
folk, for Sandy, Mr. and Mrs. McDonald's only child, a boy of ten, was a
perfect imp of mischief, and he led his two cousins into everything that
he could think of. Fergus was not far behind, and Jean trudged after
the boys, growing strong and rosy in the Australian sunshine.
"Australia is making the greatest change in Jean," said her mother to
Mrs. McDonald one day, as they sat upon the veranda. "At home she was so
shy she would scarcely look at any one. She seemed delicate and I was
worried for fear she would never learn to take care of herself in this
world."
"She will grow up into the most self-reliant kind of a girl in the
Bush," said her sister. "She is a dear little girl and I think there is
plenty of strength of character under her shy little ways."
"I wonder what the three are doing now," said Jean's mother. "It has
been some time since we heard a shriek of any kind--oh--what is that?"
for as she spoke there came a scream so loud and piercing from the
shrubbery that both women sprang to their feet and rushed across the
lawn.
Midway between the house and the garden they met the three children,
both boys holding Jean's hands and helping her to run to the house,
while the little girl, her face covered with blood and tears, was trying
not to cry.
"Jean's hurt," cried Sandy.
"So I should judge," said his mother, trying to keep calm, while both
boys began to talk at once, so that no one could understand a word they
said.
Mrs. Hume gathered Jean in her arms and carried her quickly to the
house, where she washed the little, tear-stained face. The child's lip
was terribly cut and she was badly frightened, but not seriously hurt,
and as she cuddled down in her mother's arms she sighed,
"Nice mother! I don't mind being hurt when you are here to fix me up."
"Tell me what happened, dear," said her mother, as she stroked the fair
hair.
"We were playing," Jean said. "The boys had sticks and we heard a queer
rustle in the bushes. Sandy said it was a snake and beat the bushes to
drive him out. It ran out just in front of Fergus and I thought it would
bite him, and I didn't want anything to happen to my brother so I ran up
behind him just as he swung his stick over his shoulder to hit the
snake. He hit me in the mouth, but of course he didn't mean to, Mother.
I screamed because it hurt me so, and then I tried not to cry because I
knew it would worry you. It doesn't hurt so badly now, Mother."
"I'm sorry it hurts at all, darling," her mother held her close. "You
were a good child and brave not to cry. Crawl up in the hammock now and
take a nap, and you will feel better when you wake up."
"I hope Fergus and Sandy won't do anything very interesting while I am
asleep," the little girl murmured drowsily, as she dropped off to
sleep.
Fergus and Sandy undoubtedly would. They were very kind to Jean, but
there was no doubt that they found the little girl a clog upon their
movements. Fergus was used to taking care of her, but Sandy had no
sisters and he sometimes wished the little cousin would not tag quite so
much.
"You can't really do anything much when a girl is tagging around," he
said to his mother, but that long-suffering woman proved strangely
unsympathetic.
"I think I shall keep Jean always if her being here keeps you out of
mischief," she said with a smile, and Sandy answered,
"Well, keep Fergus too, then."
No sooner was Jean asleep than the boys decided the time had come for
them to carry out a plan long since formed, but laid aside for a
convenient season. At one side of the run was a little lake, formed
where one of the boundary streams was dammed. A windmill carried water
from this to a platform and upon this were iron tanks from which pipes
carried water through the house. The boys had decided to climb to the
top of the reservoir and slide down the pipes, which seemed to them
would be an exciting performance. The climbing up was not difficult and
Sandy took the first slide.
"It's great fun," he shouted. "Let me have another!" as he clambered up
again.
"It's my turn," cried Fergus, astride of the pipe.
"Let me. You wait," said Sandy, who was used to playing alone and not to
having any-one dispute with him.
"I tell you it's my turn!" Fergus' temper rose. "You don't play fair."
There was a scramble and a cry, both boys lost their balance and fell,
and the sound of breaking glass crashed through the air.
Both mothers rushed to the scene to find two pairs of arms and legs
waving wildly from the hot-bed, while broken glass was scattered hither
and yon.
"You dreadful boys, you have fallen right into the flower beds and
broken the glass! Are you badly hurt?" cried Mrs. McDonald, as each
mother dragged out a son.
Very crestfallen were the boys as they stood up, their faces covered
with scratches and Sandy's hand badly cut.
"What were you doing?" asked both mothers sternly.
"Sliding down the water pipe," said Sandy.
"Quarrelling," said Fergus.
"Nice way to spend the morning," said Mr. McDonald, who appeared at that
moment from the stables. "Go and get washed up and we'll see if you have
any broken glass in your cuts."
When the damages were repaired neither boy was found to be much hurt,
but Jean begged so hard that they should not be punished, that the two
were let off for that time.
"The next piece of mischief you get into you'll be sent to bed for a day
to rest up and think it over," said Sandy's father, and the boys assured
him that they would never, never do anything again as long as they
lived.
FOOTNOTES:
[4] Wild dogs.
[5] Name given to the pack carried on the back.
[6] Bucket for water, carried by Australians.