by Carol Norton
Produced by Al Haines.
Cover art]
*[Frontispiece: With incredible difficulty Yellow Billy managed to pass his whip thong twice round the brute's neck--*_*See p.*_* 188. (missing from book)]*
PALS
YOUNG AUSTRALIANS IN SPORT AND ADVENTURE
BY
JOSEPH BOWES
_WITH EIGHT FULL-PAGE COLOURED ILLUSTRATIONS BY JOHN MACFARLANE_
LONDON: JAMES GLASS 28 NEWGATE STREET 1910
*CONTENTS*
CHAP.
I. By Way of Introduction II. The Bushrangers III. A Desperate Encounter IV. The Great Match V. The Big Flood VI. On the Face of the Waters VII. The Death of the Forest Monarch VIII. What the Tree held IX. The Rescue X. The Return XI. The Breaking Up XII. Down the River XIII. Off for the Holidays XIV. Christmas Fun and Frolic XV. A Bush Ride and its Consequences XVI. The Dingo Raid XVII. Dingo *v.* Emu: A Fight to a Finish XVIII. The Chase and its Sequel XIX. Concerning Wild Horses XX. The Brumby Hunt XXI. The Warrigal's Strategy XXII. How Yellow Billy broke the Warrigal XXIII. A Day's Shoot XXIV. The Corrobberie XXV. In the Bushrangers' Caves XXVI. The Explorers XXVII. A Respite XXVIII. The Camp by the Sea XXIX. At the Mercy of the Sea-Tiger XXX. In and About the Camp XXXI. Off to the Gold Diggings XXXII. How they struck Gold XXXIII. Bullion and Bushranger
*LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS*
With incredible difficulty Yellow Billy managed to pass his whip thongtwice round the brute's neck (missing from book) . . . _Frontispiece_
Suddenly the Forest Monarch topples, lurches, staggers and falls with amighty crash
The neighbours saw, far out on the wild, wreckage-strewn waters, a tinyboat with four slight figures
The emu failed to elude the panther-like spring
Retreating one moment and advancing the following, uttering war-cries
The huge brute lashed the water into foam, and swam round and round in acircle
"We've struck it rich, I do believe," cried the stockman
Behind the lantern came a voice that more than the lantern, or evenpistol, cowed them: "*Stop! Hands up!*" (missing from book)
The grey gums by the lonely creek The star-crowned height, The wind-swept plain, the dim blue peak, The cold white light, The solitude spread near and far Around the camp-fire's tiny star, The horse-bell's melody remote, The curlew's melancholy note, Across the night.
GEORGE ESSEX EVANS
*PALS*
*CHAPTER I*
*BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION*
"Happy season of virtuous youth, when shame is still an impassablebarrier, and the sacred air cities of hope have not shrunk into the meanclay hamlets of reality; and man by his nature is yet infinite andfree."--CARLYLE.
"Comin' over to-night, Tom?"
"By jings! I'd like to, Joe, but dad said this morning he was going toshell corn to-night. You know what that means. What's on?"
"Oh! Sandy's stayin' in for the night; so I thought of gettin' JimmyFlynn an' Yellow Billy so's we could have bushrangers, an' stick up thecoach by moonlight. If they can't come, Sandy an' I'll go 'possumin' inthe slaughter-house paddock."
"I say! what a jolly lark the bushranging'd be. How'd you manage it,Joe?"
"We've planned that out all right. We'd get Jimmy Flynn's billy-goatcart an' the billies. He'd be mailman, an' it'd be gold-escort day.Yellow Billy'd be the trooper; he's got a pistol, you know. He'd ridethe roan steer he's broken in. Then you, Sandy, an' I'd be Ben Bolt'sgang. We'd do a plant in a lonely spot along the road an' surprise 'em.I'd tackle Billy, you'd look after Jimmy, Sandy 'd collar the mailbagsand gold boxes, and then scoot with the loot. I think it'd be better toshoot Billy, so's to make it a bit more real; that's what Ben Bolt'ddo."
"But, Joe, where'd we get the guns?"
"I'd get father's. You'd have to make believe with a nulla-nulla. Wecould stick a boomerang in our belts, it'd look like pistols in thedark."
"But I say, Joe, ole chap, you wouldn't really shoot Billy?" said Tom ina tone that savoured both of fear and scepticism.
"You're a precious muff, Hawkins! I was just kidding you. No, youstupid, it's all gammon. The noise the powder 'll make 'll scare theseven senses outer Billy."
"By golly! it'll be crummie enough. Put it off till to-morrow, Joe, an'I'll come."
"Can't be done, my boy. Sandy'll not be here, for one thing. Besides,I have to pull father down to Yallaroi Bend to-morrow. It's his servicenight there. Sorry you can't come, Tom. We'll have to do our bestwithout you."
"Oh Moses! to think that I can't join!" groaned Tom. "Look here, Joe,I--I'll do a sneak. I'll be here somehow, you may bet your Sundaybreeks," continued the eager lad, as he stepped into the little"flat-bottom" boat which had brought him over.
"Joe!" he shouted when he had rowed some distance from the shore. "I'llgive a cooee if I can get, an' two cooees if the way's blocked. Sodon't start till you hear."
"Right-o!"
The place where these boys lived, moved, and had their being was adistrict famed for its fertility, on one of the northern rivers in NewSouth Wales.
The river itself had many of the elements of nobility and beauty as,taking its rise in the snowy heights of the New England ranges, it cloveits way eastward, finally debouching into the blue waters of thePacific. The river-flats formed magnificent stretches of arable lands;too rich, indeed, for such cereals as wheat and oats, for their rankgrowth rendered them liable to the fatal rust.
Here, however, was the home of the maize, the pumpkin, the sweet potato,the orange, the lemon, the plantain. Here too, the natural sequence, ina way, of the prolific corn and the multitudinous pumpkin, were rearedand flourished the unromantic pig.
Fed on pumpkins, with skim milk for beverage, topped off with corn, theAustralian grunter--whether as delicious, crisp bacon, or posing asaristocratic ham--produces flesh with a flavour fit to set before aking.
Away from the river-flats the land becomes undulating and ridgy, andwell grassed for cattle runs. In the scrub belts, running back from theriver and its affluents into the hilly country, are to be found valuabletimbers, hard and soft; especially that forest noble, the red cedar.
Cattle runs of large extent exist in the back-blocks, formed in theearly days by that class of men to whom Australia owes so much; the menwho to-day are vilified by those not worthy to black their boots: thehardy, adventurous, courageous, indomitable pioneer, who more often thannot laid down his life and his fortune in the interest of Colonialexpansion and occupation.
At intervals along the river-banks are small settlements, dignified bythe name of townships. Tareela, the principal village, skirted bothsides of the river, and was connected by a ferry. Here were located theGovernment offices for the district, together with the stores, hotels,school, etc.
Joe Blain, the minister's son, was the leader of the village lads. Hehad two pals, who were inseparable from him: Sandy M'Intyre, thesquatter's son, whose father owned Bullaroi, a cattle station situated afew miles from the town, and Tom Hawkins, a farmer's son, the youngestof the trio. These boys gave tone and direction to the fun and frolicof the settlement. Of them it is sufficient to
say at present that theywere not pedestal lads.
At this time a noted bushranger and his mate were raiding thesettlements. All police pursuit was futile, owing to theresourcefulness of the 'rangers. They had a keen knowledge of the opencountry and the mountain ranges. Furthermore, they were generallymounted on blood horses, usually "borrowed" from the surrounding stationstuds.
These men had many sympathisers among the lawlessly inclined, and,strange to say, among law-abiding settlers. The "bush-telegraph" was aninstitution in those days. Certain friends of the 'rangers kept themposted up in the movements of the police, sometimes by word of mouth, atothers by writings on paper or bark, which were deposited in rockcrevices or in tree hollows, known only to the initiated. Sometimes ayoung lad, or even a girl, would ride scores of miles across country togive them warning.
The police were not wanting in bush lore or courage, and in the endinvariably ran their quarry to earth. But an outlaw often had a longcareer in crime, owing to the aid given, ere he was trapped. Thanks tocloser settlement, the advance of education, and the general use of theelectric telegraph, bushranging has become a matter of history. Thespecies is now to be found only in the stage melodrama, the itineratingwaxwork show, or embalmed in literature.