"Ye vig'rous swains! while youth ferment your blood,
And purer spirits swell the sprightly flood,
Now range the hills."
POPE.
On the third day after the Fergusons' arrival, Bob Smithers, believing
the river had sufficiently subsided to admit of their travelling,
organized their party preparatory to their departure; and selected from
his own men one of the most useful and experienced bushmen to accompany
them, and in conjunction with Joey, to take charge of the pack-horses,
follow them over the runs, and guard their camp. They started; and, for
the first day, followed the course of the Gibson river, which for nearly
thirty miles bounded the Brompton run. At this point its waters were
joined by a tributary creek, and here was situated one of the
out-stations. It was the intention of Bob Smithers to reach this place
before dark; and, owing to the heavy nature of the ground, from its
excessive saturation, it was with no little difficulty this portion of
the journey was performed. However, they reached the shepherd's hut; and
unburdening their horses, they hobbled them and turned them out to
graze, while they camped themselves for the night.
The hut, where they made their halt, was on a par with others of the
same pretensions, though in no way superior. It was built of slabs split
from the log, and freely ventilated on all sides; though in the roof,
which was covered with bark, it was perfectly impervious to the weather.
The internal arrangements, as might be expected, were as rough as the
building itself; against the wall, in each side of the hut, were roughly
put up, with battens and saplings, two clumsy-looking receptacles,
containing the blankets, and intended for the nocturnal tenancy of the
two occupants of the habitation. A box belonging to one of the men, and
a rough bench built against the other unoccupied wall, and serving for a
table, an iron pot for boiling meat, two tin quart pots in which to make
their tea, two pint ones and dishes of the same metal, a two-gallon keg
containing water, and which in an inverted position at times had to do
duty as a stool, and two suspended bags containing tea and sugar,
completed the furniture of the place. In front of the door a large log
had been rolled, and was burning with lively force, emitting a lurid
glare on the surrounding group; while on its end untouched by the fire,
sat the hut-keeper, with his companion standing near him, and their
visitors stretched on the ground awaiting the completion of the culinary
operations of Bob Smithers' man.
The position of these guardians of the fleece is usually monotonous and
dreary in the extreme; and those located here were a fair sample of the
general herd. There was a shepherd and a hut-keeper. The duty of the
former was to lead out the flocks daily at dawn, to follow and tend them
while depasturing, and protect them from the depredations of the blacks,
or the molestations of the native dogs; for which purpose in very remote
districts, such as this, they are provided with guns. The hut-keeper, on
the other hand, remains all day at the hut, resting from his vigils and
preparing the meals of himself and coadjutor, in readiness for the
latter's return at dusk with his charge; which are forthwith penned and
handed over to the safe keeping of the other, who watches them during
the night.
These men remain in this happy state of seclusion and ignorance of the
proceedings of the world, from which they are thus (by their voluntary
act of expatriation) excluded, from year's end to year's end; except at
shearing time, when they bring their flocks to the head station to be
shorn; and the only being with whom they have any intercourse, is the
man who brings them their weekly supply of rations. When "old hands,"
they in general pass their lives in a lethargic existence; having no
apparent thought of past, present, or future; but breathe on in a dreamy
obliviousness, until at the expiration of perhaps one or two years,
their wages having accumulated to an amount somewhat considerable, they
leave their employment to proceed to the nearest public-house and plunge
into a course of drinking. After the endurance of a week's delirium,
madness, and unconsciousness, they generally find themselves, when
robbed of the greater portion of their hard-got earnings, thrust upon
the world penniless, wretched, dispirited, and sick, to seek employment
and re-enact the same scenes of solitary penance and wild debauchery.
It is true the denizens of these out-stations are not always such
characters; occasionally "fresh arrivals," or as they are called "new
chums," may be hired by the squatter's agents in town and sent up to
the station, whence they are frequently removed to these outposts; but
when such is the case, they are generally of a more sociable
disposition, and take an early opportunity of being removed to the
comfort and social intercourse of the head station. Though in this
removal they entail more constant and arduous occupation, they willingly
embrace the labour, and leave the indolence of their vacated posts, to
be enjoyed by some "old hand" whose mind has been broken by the
depressing influence of constant punishment, and whose hopes have been
blighted by a constant penal servitude. As this class of men is happily
disappearing from the country, and giving place to steady and
persevering immigrants, the charge of an out-station, when not in the
hands of one with the old leaven of improvidence unexterminated,
necessarily becomes the probationary lot of a "new chum."
The two men, with whom our travellers found themselves located, were
something of the first mentioned class; and, to give our readers some
idea of their characters, we will venture to encroach upon their
patience, by recounting an epitome of the conversation that was started
after the evening repast.
"Have you been long in this part of the country?" asked John of the
shepherd.
"Why no, sir, I ain't been so very long," replied the man; "I've got
about three months to make up my year with Mr. Smithers. I came over
from New England, and agreed for twelve months, and I like this country
far better than the south, it ain't so cold nor so wet."
"Then, I suppose, you will retain your place, and renew your engagement
when your year is up?"
"Well, you see, sir, I don't exactly know about that 'ere; after being
up in the bush a while one likes to get down the country a bit, just to
see what's going on, and to spend one's money."
"But, my good man, what necessity is there for you to go away from the
station? If you want to see any change, I've no doubt Mr. Smithers would
find you employment at the head station; and you might allow your wages
to accumulate, until you had sufficient to purchase some sheep of your
own."
"I don't know about that, sir; I expect it would be a precious long time
before I would have enough to buy a flock of sheep: and besides, if I
had any, I wouldn't know what to do with them; I shouldn't be allowed to
graze 'em on other folk's runs; and, after slaving away for I don't know
how long, I reckon I should just be swindled out of 'em in the end, and
be as poor and 'miserable as a bandicoot' after all: besides, I'd rather
not have the bother with them, but just have my spree, and 'knock down
my pile,' as usual."
"But, my good fellow, if you were possessed of a flock of sheep, you
could, by paying a rent, be allowed to depasture it on some squatter's
run; and as to being swindled out of your property, the law of the land
would protect you from that."
"I don't know nothing about the law of the land, sir; but I know as how
a mate of mine, who served with a master on the Barwan for five years,
and was paid his wages in sheep, took his flock to a piece of country he
had bought from his master and set his self up. He hadn't been at that
game though for more nor two years, when a flood on the river took off
half his sheep, and his old master brought him in a bill for some
hundreds of pounds for stores and things my mate had got, and he wanted
to be paid right off. Now, my mate couldn't pay him; so he had to give
him up his sheep and go shepherding again. So you see, sir, I may just
as well spend my money when I get it, as let myself be cheated out of it
at the end."
"Your friend's case was certainly a hard one, but he seemed to be the
victim of misfortune more than of an exacting master; but that does not
show, because he did not succeed, that you or any other industrious man
should fail. Take my advice and try it; refrain from taking your wages,
let them accumulate in the hands of your employer, and when they have
reached such a sum as to be of service to you, ask him to invest it, and
I am sure you will have no cause to complain; besides, remember as you
get old, if you have no friends to care for you and you are destitute as
you are now, you will starve."
"That's just it, you see, sir; if I go to save money now (but I know I
can't, for I never could), if I dies I've got no one to give it to. I've
got no friends, leastwise I don't know of none; and I am sure when I
knew there was something coming to me, I would want to spend it; while
as long as I live, I can always earn enough to keep me."
"But you say you've never attempted to save your wages; you cannot tell
how you may be influenced until you make the attempt."
"There is no use of my trying, sir, I am sure I never could; and I may
just take my money when it is due me, and have my spree."
"I can't understand how it is you persist in being so prodigal. What
extraordinary influence is it that induces you to spend your earnings as
soon as you get them?"
"Well, I don't know, sir, unless it is we get 'em too seldom. You see,
when we work for a year and don't get no money perhaps all that time,
when we do have our wages all in a lump, it seems such a lot we don't
think how hard it cost us to get it; and we don't know what to do with
it, so we just spend it. If we got paid, you see, as people down in the
towns, at the end of the week, and had to keep ourselves, we might get
into the way for saving a little now and then; but as it is, we never
know how to do it, and I expect we never shall. You see we ain't like
those fellows who let their old women look after their money, who tell
'em it is all gone, while all the time they've got it put away in their
old stocking."
"Well, why don't you get married, and have an old woman, as you call it;
and by her means you may make yourself more happy, and be enabled, after
a time, to become your own master?"
"I've often thought I wouldn't mind that sort o' thing, sir; but where
do you think I would get a young woman as'd look at the likes of me?
When they comes out to this country, specially when they gets up here
into the bush, they're so mighty saucy, they cocks up their noses at
fellers likes us; and besides, you know masters don't care to have men
with what they calls 'incumberances.'"
"No doubt there is some truth in that; but if you by your thriftiness
can possess yourself of a little money, and be in a position to
establish yourself, you'd have no difficulty, I should say, in inducing
some industrious girl to accept you; take my advice now, and try."
"All right, sir, I will," replied the man; after which the conversation
took another turn, and the party very shortly separated.
As they were leaving the fire, Bob Smithers remarked to John that all
his advice to the man would be lost in five minutes. He told him it was
impossible to instil prudence into the minds of such; "their whole
enjoyment," he said, "is in having their spree. They perceive no
pleasure in hoarding money to provide comforts in their old age; the
very thought of it is distasteful to them, and as to that fellow
(pointing to the man John had been conversing with), if he succeeded in
passing the year without drawing his wages, some of his mates would tell
him he was a fool; and thinking so himself, he would not rest until he
had been paid and gone through his course of drunkenness."
"I am aware," said John, "such is his present feeling; and I have met
with many like him, but have succeeded in persuading, not a few, to
practise a life of frugality; and I am convinced, with a little
admonition, that that man could be induced to adopt a similar course."
"Well, perhaps, he could," replied Smithers; "but, for my part, if those
fellows feel inclined to spend their money foolishly, I don't think it
is our interest to prevent them. If we induced all the men in the
country to save their wages, or take them in sheep, we would have the
colony overrun with a set of "stringy bark squatters," who would be so
infesting our lands that our runs would be cut up into innumerable small
parts, just to serve vagabonds."
"You must admit," replied John, "that if a provident spirit were to be
infused into the people, it would be the means of stocking the country
by an industrious and thrifty population; and be far more beneficial to
the colony than allowing the lands to remain in the hands of a few
wealthy squatters."
"Oh, pooh! pooh!" cried Smithers; "but I'm not going to argue with you;
we had better start in the morning soon after daylight; so, now, let's
take a snooze." With this the young men entered the hut, and, rolling
themselves in their blankets, settled for sleep; which they enjoyed
uninterruptedly until an early hour in morning. They then arose; and,
after taking a matin ablution in the creek, returned to the hut to
partake of their breakfast, which was being prepared by Joey; while Bob
Smithers' stock-man brought in the horses.
It may, no doubt, appear strange to the reader that horses should be
turned out loose in the bush, with only the simple precaution of
"hobbling" their fore-feet, without the danger of the animals being lost
to their owners; but such is rarely to be apprehended, except in the
case of some incorrigible beasts who are not to be trusted. We certainly
have known horses, so hobbled, make off in a sort of shambling gallop,
by drawing up the two confined feet together, and progressing in short
leaps; but, in general, a horse so turned out at night, after a day's
hard ride, has a sort of tacit understanding with his master that he is
to be at hand when required: or at least his natural instinct prompts
him to make the most use of his leisure time, and occupy the period of
his release in diligently administering to his own wants, and satisfying
the calls of hunger and exhausted nature; and if searched for at
daybreak, before having had time to wander, he is generally found in a
convenient proximity to "the camp." Such was the case in the present
instance.
When the horses were saddled and ready for a start, the party mounted,
and the cavalcade moved off. The country they intended to visit was
situated on the main river, some considerable distance further down its
course; but, owing to the numerous creeks that mingled their waters with
the main stream, it was impossible for them to follow the bank of the
river without meeting with many interruptions and impediments. They
therefore traced up the creek; and, by means of their compass, they
shaped their course so as to either head all the creeks, or so far reach
their sources, as to be enabled to cross them without difficulty. This
circuitous route necessarily occupied more time than what would have
been required under more auspicious circumstances; and the still heavy
nature of the ground, from its late pluvial visitation, rendered the
journey extremely tedious; while it prevented them from reaching
Strawberry Hill, the only station on the river below Brompton, that
night. This run had been sold to the present occupants by Bob Smithers,
and had been taken possession of by them some eighteen months
previously. It had been Smithers' intention to have made this place
their quarters for that night; but finding it could not be reached
before dark, and there being situated in the line a deep and awkward
river called the Wombi, running into the Gibson, and for which he
preferred daylight to cross, he determined to keep higher up the Wombi,
and camp on its bank where the country was open and flat.
Arriving at the "Dingo plains," a place so named from the number of
those animals which frequented it, they halted for the night, intending
to camp and cross the river in the morning. They would thus, by making
this detour, keep high above Strawberry Hill; and Smithers therefore
purposed taking his companions round the back and lower boundaries of
the run they wished to see; thence through its extent to its other
extreme on the Gibson river; making occasional deviations to the
principal water courses and eminences, from which a good view of the
country could be obtained; and thence to return. Smoking their pipes
over their fire, Bob detailed these plans to the young men, who
perfectly agreed with their judiciousness, and determined to put them in
practice on the following day. They then fell into a desultory
conversation; through which we will not trouble the reader by following;
but merely remark that it was principally upon the occupants of the
station on the river, the character of the blacks in the neighbourhood,
and the likelihood of annoyance from the dingos. That these latter were
numerous it was pretty evident; for the travellers more than once had
intimation, of a close proximity to their camp, of a tribe of those
canine aborignals, who prefer the enjoyment of a pristine independence
to the blessings of civilisation, except in so far as that civilisation
can be made subservient to their comfort and sustenance.
The dingo, or as it is generally called, the native dog, occupies in the
social scale, much the same position in the southern hemisphere, as the
fox does in the northern; and also approaches more nearly to that animal
in semblance and character than any other known. Its colour is generally
of a dark sandy or reddish brown, with hair rather long, a bushy
low-hanging tail, long ears, which except while being pursued he usually
keeps erect, pointed snout, and sharp piercing eyes. He is stupid and
cowardly; generally creeping along with a slinking gait to surprise his
prey, which he usually siezes by the throat. He is easily frightened,
and deterred from his purpose by the simplest contrivances; and is
quite devoid of that cunning which characterizes his antipodean
prototype. His course of destruction has been known to be arrested by an
ordinary four-wire fence, through which he could have easily passed;
though he sat on the exterior of the enclosure, moaning piteously at the
flock within; while his mental obtuseness failed to percieve a means of
ingress. To sheep he is most destructive; and if a flock is so
carelessly tended as to admit of his insinuating himself, the havoc he
makes is frightful: for not content with fastening on one, he will snap,
tear, worry, and mangle possibly half the flock; and passing from one to
another, with the rapidity of thought, the mortality that results from
his visit is truly disastrous. He never barks like a domesticated dog,
but yelps and howls; and at night when he sounds his note, it is taken
up by the entire pack, and made to resound with a mournful cadence over
the face of the country. As they sit on their haunches, with their
noses extended in an elevation to the sky, chorusing their lachrymose
and supplicatory lamentations, the effect is one of the most dismal that
can be conceived.
To society such as this the young men had a decided objection; and
concluding, that if they did not take steps to disperse their nocturnal
visitors (who treated them to numerous appeals which were anything but
euphonic), they would stand a very poor chance of enjoying any rest.
Besides the probability that a keen appetite might induce the dogs to
extend their favours to the horses, it was also a matter of prudence to
insist upon their removing themselves to some more distant location; and
to support this with a forcible argument, the travellers got their guns
in readiness, and moved away in silence into the darkness.
Our friends were not left long to ascertain in what direction to expect
a recontre, for a fresh eructation of the metrical whine gave them
sufficient notice. The black boy soon descried the disturbers of their
peace by the glitter of a host of canine optics, and directed his
masters and their friend where to fire. This they did; and the effect of
their shots was instantly apparent, from the excessive yelping that
greeted their ears, and satisfied them that some, at least, of their
annoyers had got something to remember; while they were gratified to
listen to the fast receding sounds of these "mercurial inhabitants of
the plain." The dogs quickly "made themselves scarce," nor did they
afterwards attempt to reduce the distance they had placed between
themselves and the travellers; who, upon the establishment of quiet, and
after supplying fresh material to their fire, nestled themselves in
their blankets around the cheerful blaze, and stretched themselves to
sleep under the "starlit canopy of heaven."
Early on the next morning the journey was resumed; and for three days,
with very little variety, they traversed the run, of which we need say
nothing; except that the country answered the expectations of the
Fergusons, who were pleased with its appearance, and returned with Bob
Smithers to complete the purchase at Brompton. Here preliminaries were
soon effected. Mr. Ferguson's agents in Sydney had been instructed by
him to honour any drafts drawn by his son, and to transact any business
he might require; therefore John at once drew upon them for the amount
of this purchase, and placed himself in communication respecting the
other arrangements; forwarding the note of sale from Smithers, and an
obligation from him to sign the necessary deeds of transfer when they
were ready for execution. He then took his leave of the family,
intending to go down to Moreton Bay, whence a steamer plied to Sydney,
and on thence to superintend his business there and select the
necessaries for forming the station; at the same time that his brother
and Joey returned to New England, to wait there until John had so far
perfected his plans, as to be able to bring up his supplies and prepare
the station for the reception of the sheep.
It is unnecessary to trace the peregrinations of John Ferguson, or to
tire the reader with a detail of William's every day life at Acacia
creek; we will simply say that in the course of about six weeks John
returned to Brisbane, and wrote to his brother to muster their sheep and
start with them for the station as soon as possible. He stated that he
had engaged drays to take up their loading, and that he intended to
precede them himself; so that he would in all probability reach the
station some weeks before either the supplies or the sheep, and would
engage some bush carpenters as he went up, to prepare the place for
their reception. To carry out this intention, he made all speed for his
destination; and arriving at Alma, the nearest township to his place, on
the fourth day, he there engaged two men, to whom he gave directions to
meet him at Brompton, and pushed on himself for that station.
Alma and Brompton lay about equidistant from his own place; but his
inability to describe sufficiently clearly to the understanding of the
men the _locale_ of the new station, and his rations having been left at
the latter place, it was necessary for him to proceed there first. Upon
his appearance at Mr. Smithers', he was welcomed with much cordiality;
and every assistance was given him by the kind proprietor, though he had
been quite disinterested in the arrangements between Bob and the
Fergusons. Yet such was his kindly disposition, that considerations of
interest weighed very little with him, and he freely and kindly tendered
any aid that lay in his power. He recommended John to go over to the
run, and, if he had not done so already, to select a site for his
station; and for that purpose he offered him the services of one of his
own men; while he promised to have the carpenters directed to the place
whenever they made their appearance.
The run had been originally called Fern Vale by Bob Smithers, when he
tendered for it to the government; and John Ferguson, who thought he
could not improve upon it, had allowed it to retain that name. The part
of it which had attracted Bob's attention, and induced him to so
christen it, was a gently undulating valley opening to the Gibson river,
as the crow flies, a few miles below Strawberry Hill. The north side of
the valley was partially covered with the fern plant (which suggested
the name); and here, it struck John, would be a good site for his
station, and he consequently determined to visit it first.
On the following morning, in company with the man, whose assistance had
been so kindly given him by Mr. Smithers, John rode over to the run, and
reaching the valley we have mentioned camped for the night. In the
morning, at the first sight of his position, he was convinced no better
situation could be found; so gave up the idea of any further
prospecting, and prepared for the carpenters, by marking out the sites
for the house, huts, and yards.
Down the valley, which we have said opened out to the river, meandered a
beautiful little limpid stream; on the upper side of the vale, and
receding from the banks of the river, rose a gentle acclivity, which
pointed itself out as the spot on which to erect the house; while on the
flat below was every convenience for the huts and yards. Above this
point the river took a considerable bend, making on the other side a
deep pocket, which was low and apparently subject to flooding. It was
covered by a dense scrub, over which, from the elevated position John
had chosen for his domicile, he could catch a glimpse of Strawberry
Hill; which, though on the same side of the river as Fern Vale, and some
distance round, appeared, when looking across the head of the stream,
not very far off.
The carpenters shortly making their appearance, all were soon in a state
of animation; and, before long, the crash of falling timber, the echo
of the axe in felling, and the mallet in splitting the logs for the
fences, resounded through the wood, where hitherto solitude had held
undisputed sway; and, long before the arrival of the flocks or the
supplies, substantial stock-yards had been erected, as well as huts for
the shepherds, and a commodious store-house. The construction of the
dwelling-house, being a matter of a secondary consideration, it was
necessarily left to the last; and the whole party set to work busily to
put up a large shed for shearing, and storing the wool when ready for
packing.