On the fronliers of the nation live the women of the west.
George Essex Evans.
The two-roomed house is built of round timber, slabs, and stringy-bark, and floored with split slabs. A big, bark kitchen standing at one end is larger than the house itself, veranda included.
Bush all round-bush with no horizon, for the country is flat. No ranges in the distance. The bush consists of stunted, rotten, native apple-trees. No undergrowth. Nothing to relieve the eye save the darker green of a few sheoaks which are sighing above the narrow, almost waterless, creek. Nineteen miles to the nearest house.
The drover, an ex-squatter, is away with sheep. His wifeand children are left here alone.
Four ragged, dried-up-looking children are playing about the house. Suddenly, one of them yells, "Snake! Mother, here"s a snake!"The gaunt, sun-browned bushwoman dashes from the kitchen, snatches her baby from the ground, holds it on herleft hip, and reaches for a stick. "Where is it?""Here! Gone into the wood-heap!" yells the eldest boy-asharp-faced, excited urchin of eleven. " Stop there, mother!
I"ll have him. Stand back! I"ll have him!"
"Tommy, come here, or you"ll be bitten. Come here atonce when I tell you!"
The youngster comes reluctantly, carrying a stick bigger than himself. Then he yells triumphantly, "There it goes- under the house!" and darts away with club uplifted. At the same time, the big, black, yellow-eyed dog-of-all-breeds, who has shown the wildest interest in the proceedings, breaks his chain, and rushes after the snake. He is a moment late, however, and his nose reaches the crack in the slabs just as the end of its tail disappears. Almost at the same moment, the boy"s club comes down and skins the aforesaid nose. Alligator takes small notice of this, and proceeds to undermine the building; but he is subdued, after a struggle, and chained up. They cannot afford to lose him.
The drover"s wife makes the children stand together near the dog-house while she watches for the snake. She gets two small dishes of milk, and sets them down near the wall to tempt it to come out; but an hour goes by, and it does not show itself.
It is near sunset, and a thunder-storm is coming. The children must be brought inside. She will not take them into the house, for she knows the snake is there, and may, at anymoment, come up through the cracks in the rough, slab floor; so she carries several armfuls of firewood into the kitchen, and then takes the children there. The kitchen has no floor, or, rather, an earthen one-called a " ground floor" in this part of the bush. There is a large, roughly-made table in the centre of the place. She brings the children in, and makes them get on this table. They are two boys and two girls-mere babies. She gives them some supper, and then, before it gets dark, she goes into the house and snatches up some pillows and bed-clothes-expecting to see or lay her hand on the snake at any minute. She makes a bed on the kitchen table for the children, and sits down beside it to watch all night.
She has an eye on the corner and a green sapling club laid in readiness on the dresser by her side; also her sewing basket and a copy of The Young Ladies" Journal. She has brought the dog into the room.
Tommy turns in under protest, but says he"ll lie awake all night and smash that snake; he has his club with him under the bed-clothes.
Near midnight. The children are all asleep, and she sits there still, sewing and reading by turns. From time to time she glances round the floor and wall-plate, and whenever she hears a noise she reaches for the stick. The thunder- storm comes on, and the wind, rushing through the cracks in the slab wall, threatens to blow out her candle. She places it on a sheltered part of the dresser, and fixes upa newspaper to protect it. At every flash of lightning, the cracks between the slabs gleam like polished silver. The thunder rolls, and the rain comes down in torrents.
Alligator lies at full length on the floor, with his eyes turned towards the partition. She knows, by this, that the snake is there. There are large cracks in that wall, opening under the floor of the dwelling-house.
She is not a coward, but recent events have shattered her nerves. A little son of her brother-in-law was lately bitten by a snake, and died. Besides, she has not heard from her husband for six months, and is anxious about him.
He was a drover, and started squatting here when they were married. The drought ruined him. He had to sacrifice the remnant of his flock and go droving again. He intends to move his family into the nearest town when he comes back; and in the meantime his brother, who lives along the main road, comes over about once a month with provisions. The wife has still a couple of cows, one horse, and a few sheep. The brother- in-law kills one of the latter occasionally, gives her what she needs of it, and takes the rest in return for other provisions.
It must be near one or two o"clock. The fire is burning low. Alligator lies with his head resting on his paws, and watches the wall. He is not a very beautiful dog to look at, and the light shows numerous old wounds where the hair will not grow. He is afraid of nothing on the face of theearth or under it. He will tackle a bullock as readily as he will tackle a flea. He hates all other dogs-except kangaroo- dogs-and has a marked dislike to friends or relations of the family. They seldom call, however. He sometimes makes friends with strangers. He hates snakes, and has killed many, but he will be bitten some day and die; most snake- dogs end that way.
Now and then the bushwoman lays down her work and watches, and listens, and thinks. She has few pleasures to think of as she sits here alone by the fire, on guard against a snake. All days are much the same to her; but on Sunday afternoons she dresses herself, tidies the children, smartens- up baby, and goes for a lonely walk along the bush-track, pushing an old perambulator in front of her. She does this every Sunday. She takes as much care to make herself and the children look smart as she would if she were going to "do the block" in the city. There is nothing to see, however, and not a soul to meet. You might walk for twenty miles along this track without being able to fix a point in your mind, unless you are a bushman.
It must be near daylight now. The room is very close and hot because of the fire. Alligator still watches the wall from time to time. Suddenly he becomes greatly interested; he draws himself a few inches nearer the partition, and a thrill runs through his body. The hair on the back of his neckbegins to bristle, and the battle-light is in his yellow eyes. She knows what this means, and lays her hand on the stick. The lower end of one of the partition slabs has a large crack on both sides. An evil pair of small, bright, bead-like eyes glisten at one of these holes. The snake-a black one-comes slowly out, about a foot, and moves its head up and down. The dog lies still, and the woman sits as one fascinated.
The snake comes out a foot farther. She lifts her stick, and the reptile, as though suddenly aware of danger, sticks his head in through the crack on the other side of the slab, and hurries to get his tail round after him. Alligator springs, and his jaws come together with a snap. He misses this time, for his nose is large and the snake"s body close down in the angle formed by the slabs and the floor. He snaps again as the tail comes round. He has the snake now, and tugs it out eighteen inches. Thud, thud, comes the woman"s club on the ground. Alligator pulls again. Thud, thud. Alligator pulls some more. He has the snake out now-a black brute, five feet long. The head rises to dart about, but the dog has the enemy close to the neck. He is a big, heavy dog, but quick as a terrier. The eldest boy wakes up, seizes his stick, and tries to get out of bed; but his mother forces him back with a grip of iron. Thud, thud-the snake"s back is broken in several places. Thud, thud-its head is crushed, and Alligator"s nose skinned again.
She lifts the mangled reptile on the point of her stick,carries it to the fire, and throws it in; then piles on the wood, and watches the snake burn. The boy and the dog watch too. She lays her hand on the dog"s head, and all the fierce, angry light dies out of his yellow eyes. The younger children are quieted, and presently go to sleep. The boy stands for a moment in his shirt, watching the fire. Presently he looks up to her, sees the tears in her eyes, and, throwing his arms round her neck, exclaims: " Mother, I"ll never go droving."And she hugs him to her breast, and kisses him; and they sit thus together while the sickly daylight breaks over the bush.
- Henry Lawson
Author.-Henry Lawson (1867-1922), perhaps the best-known Australian writer, was born in New South Wales. He worked with his father, who was a farmer and contractor, and he afterwards roamed from town to town as a house-painter, often on foot, over many parts of Australia. Among his prose works are While the Billy Boils, On the Track and Over the Slip-rail (short sketches), Joe Wilson and His Mates, The Children of the Bush. Among his poems, perhaps the best known are In the Days When the World was Wide; When I was King; For Australia; My Army, Oh, My Army; and Faces in the Street.
General Notes.-Where is the scene laid? Draw a plan of the house. What is the season? Who are the characters? This is a sombre story, with little relief. Is it a true picture of bush loneliness? Discuss this, andthink of some of the joys of a bush life.
