Having Seen Them Early That Morning And
Knowing That They Had Had No Drink, I Felt Sure They Would Return,
And so
had patiently waited, crouched in the rock hole, waist deep in water.
This, perhaps, did not improve its
Flavour, but emu meat was worth
procuring at the small cost of tainting the water with the taste of
clothes. Presently I heard the drumming of the approaching birds, and,
cautiously looking up, found them attentively examining the bucket and
pannikin, I had left on the rock. They made such a quaint, pretty picture
that unless we had really wanted meat, I should not have disturbed them.
Had I been so inclined I could have shot several as they were bunched
together within a few feet of me; one, however, was sufficient, and as he
fell the rest streamed away up the slope with tremendous speed. This bird
we cut into strips of meat which we dried in the sun.
To celebrate this addition to our larder, we held a concert that night,
and took it in turns to be the audience. Luck had rather a good voice,
and treated me to French songs; his favourite started, "J'ai souvent
parcouru le monde, les forets et les grandes savannes - - " This was always
loudly applauded. My songs were not a great success - in fact an audience
of one is all I can manage, that is if I am stronger, or fleeter of foot
than he is. Luck was polite enough to say he enjoyed my rendering of
"The Scottish Cavalier." Then we used to read aloud to each other by the
light of the camp-fire. I did most of the reading, for my mate's English
was not as clear as it might have been.
Athletic sports, too, we used to indulge in, feats of strength, and so
forth, in most of which Luck was too good for me, but I always beat him at
cock-fighting, which was rather a sore point. In fact, considering that we
were alone and had been so for many weeks, and were a long way into the
interior, "outside the tracks" by a good many score of miles, we managed
to be fairly cheerful on the whole. I do not like writing about my
companion's crotchets, because it seems unfair, since one's own
shortcomings never find the light unless the other man writes a book too.
By freely conceding that sometimes I must have been a horrible nuisance
to him, I feel absolved in this matter. When Luck used to get sulky fits,
he really was most trying; for two or three days he wouldn't speak, and
for want of company I used to talk to the camels; at the end of that time,
when I saw signs of recovery, I used to address him thus, "Well, Bismarck,
what's it all about?" Then he would tell me how I had agreed to bake a
damper, and had gone off and done something else, leaving him to do it, or
some such trivial complaint. After telling me about it, he would regain
his usual cheerfulness. "Bismarck" was a sure draw, and made him so angry
that he had to laugh as the only way out of it without fighting someone.
Luck, you see, was from Alsace, and did not care about the Germans.
CHAPTER III
FROM MOUNT SHENTON TO MOUNT MARGARET
But to continue our journey. We left Mount Grant on May 8th, travelling
South-West, and once away from the hills came again into sand and
spinifex. From absence of feed we tied the camels down two nights running.
The second night we had a visit from a native gentleman, and by his tracks
in the morning we saw that he had been quite close to our heads at one
time.
On the 10th a great change occurred in the country, and on passing through
a thicket, we found a great wall of rock (decomposed granite) barring
further progress. Following along the wall we came upon a gap, and,
entering, reached a nice little plain of saltbush, surrounded by rocks and
cliffs. This remarkable gap in the apparently extensive wall of rock we
christened the "Desert's Gate," for we hourly expected to see better
country. The next day we cut some recent horse tracks, the first signs of
prospectors we had seen since April 15th, and following them back, hoping
for water, came to an empty rock-hole amongst some rough hills of black
slate, and in places, blows of quartz. No colours of gold could be found,
nor signs of water, to induce us to stay longer prospecting. On the 12th
we crossed a narrow salt lake and bade adieu to the sand and spinifex. To
commemorate this longed-for day, we afterwards composed numerous poems(?)
illustrating our daily life in the desert. The one considered by us the
best, I beg to submit to the indulgent reader.
SPINIFEX AND SAND.
I will sing you a lay of W.A.
Of a wanderer, travelled and tanned
By the sun's fierce ray, through the livelong day
In the Spinifex and Sand.
At the day's first dawn, in earliest morn,
As a soldier obeys a command,
From his blanket he's torn, still weary and worn,
By the Spinifex and Sand.
Unrested still, he must put on the billy,
And eat of the meat that is canned,
He must take his full fill, he must face willy-nilly
The Spinifex and the Sand.
Then he gets on the tracks and sights the arched backs
Of his camels of true South Aus. brand,
And with saddle and sack he must hasten to pack
For the Spinifex and Sand.
From the start until night, till he's sick of the sight,
There seem to dance hand in hand
A lady so bright, and a green-armoured knight,
The Spinifex and the Sand.
He turns to his mate with "It gets a bit late,"
His mate, he just answers offhand -
"It's the same soon or late, we'll camp 't any rate
In the Spinifex and Sand."
As the night drags along, a weird-looking throng
Fills his dreams of a far-off land,
And a voice loud and strong chants the same ceaseless song,
Of the SPINIFEX AND THE SAND.
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