PART II CHAPTER IV BUSH HORSES In order to make a striking contrast between half-wild horses-such as are common in our English colonies or on the prairies in North and South America-and the well-groomed and wellcorned horses in our best stables at home, I will give a short sketch of Bush Life in Northern Queensland, afterwards giving in detail the routine of stable-management in a high-class stud. Without understanding the leading features of the locality in which semi-wild horses are bred in, it is almost impossible to comprehend how and why they are treated so casually. But their value is comparatively very little, and they are treated accordingly. The Bush, as it is known to squatters and station hands, varies considerably. Roughly speaking, Australian scenery is divided into thick scrub and open plain, both stretching immense distances, and overpowering the brain of the new arrival with a sense of the vastness of Nature. The runs are usually partitioned by barbed wire fencing, and the only other indications of civilisation are the rails of the wooden stock-yard of the head cattle station, or the large wool sheds of the sheep runs close to the Boss's house, built in the bungalow style. Now and again travellers on the main road pass huge flocks of sheep, or large "mobs" of cattle, that are being driven towards a newly purchased run, or else in a southerly direction for the consumption of citizens in the large towns. No rougher life is known than that of these drivers of stock "on the road," who seldom move more than a few miles a day, and camp out in all weathers. Though many books have been written upon Australasia, more especially by globe-trotters, their authors have usually omitted to accurately describe the Bush life, which has very much monotony and a few compensating pleasures. The freedom, the absence of conventionalities, the rough-and-ready hospitality, have only been lightly touched upon. Narrators have overlooked, or never sufficiently appreciated, the spirited love of adventure which has prompted men to shake off many of the trammels of civilisation, and to seek a livelihood in remote regions, inhabited but a few years ago solely by the aboriginal, the dingo, and the 'possum. After a hasty inspection of both sheep and cattle stations, the literary tourist has pined after the flesh-pots of Melbourne and Sydney, or the Western world; and so untravelled minds have acquired but slight knowledge of colonial upcountry life, and have, consequently, sighed over the fate of relatives and friends who eke out an existence in what seem unfavourable conditions. Some few years ago five or six men were lolling back on canvas deck-chairs, puffing their tobacco smoke out of the head station verandah, and staring at the vast expanse of bush which lay in front of them. Though the architectural structure of the wooden building did not call forth admiration, still the hut they sat in had an appearance of homeliness, and was not altogether unpicturesque. It was strongly constructed of unpainted wooden planks, and raised two feet from the ground on piles. A corrugated iron roof seemed a mere matter of form, for the rain had not fallen for months; though unquestionably when it does come it makes up for lost time. The main entrance looked out across the gigantic plains, covered with coarse yellow tufts of grass. Near the back door a large river-bed skirted the edge of the scrub, thickly wooded with tall, white, gum trees. The slatternly servant shared a small hut with her drunken husband, and near to the river bank the tame Australian aboriginals made their rough camp and lay huddled up in blankets close to a blazing fire. On off days, when there was no particular work to do, it was good fun racing towards the nearest Bush township, composed of a few public-houses and general stores. In point of distance this nearest approach to civilisation was only a mile off; yet many an hour was spent catching a horse and saddling it, in preference to walking in a tropical climate. But, though loafing with the consent of the manager was permissible during a slack time, any slowness at certain busy seasons of the year was severely censured in language more forcible than polite. When the Boss gave orders for all hands to start off on a long expedition, in order to bring the cattle away from the farthest end of the run, all packed their swag, and, after a hurried breakfast, lit their pipes and adjourned to the stock-yard, taking with them their saddles and bridles. The Bush horses, which had already been driven up, galloped wildly round the enclosure, raising clouds of dust from the sandy plain. They laid back their ears significantly, and, swerving round, suddenly came to a standstill, suspiciously sniffing the air. Whenever a black boy stealthily and coaxingly approached them with a bridle, they would start off on a fresh stampede, squealing, biting, and kicking furiously at one another. The sharp cracks from the long stock-whips kept the horses in the corner of the yard, and eventually each one was caught in turn, the bridle slipped quickly on, and led out. Next, the heavy saddles, weighing two stone a-piece, were put on also very quietly, and the girths tightened up. Immediately the horses felt the weight of their riders they started bucking, and their repeated efforts were often rewarded by a horseman falling prostrate amid roars of unsympathetic laughter. Strange as it may appear, station hands and squatters grow fond of the Bush, and are in sympathy with those who value fresh air and manly exercise above comfort and monetary considerations. It is not a run replete with every luxury that I am about to describe. Country seats exist around Melbourne and Sydney. But green tennis-courts, well-groomed hackneys, and young ladies fashionably dressed are seldom if ever met within a radius of 200 miles from the Gulf of Carpentaria. When an old settler speaks of the Flinders River and the adjoining district, he sums it up drily as a "holy terror." He knows that Northern Queensland must have altered considerably if it has ceased to be a land of drought, snakes, and mosquitoes, where the Bushmen do not necessarily bear the names of their childhood, are half-blinded by sandy blight, and pestered with flies, fleas, and the "Barcoo rot." Fresh mounts were driven on ahead with the pack-horses, and the expedition kept up a slow canter of about six miles an hour. After halting to escape the extreme heat, a camp was made at a suitable "billy-bong," or water hole. Dead boughs were collected and a fire lit. Saddles were taken off, and the horses hobbled and left to their own devices. A "billy," or tin pot, was soon boiling with water for the tea, and the salt beef was unpacked, while an amateur cook made a "damper" (a rough kind of loaf) in the hot ashes. When the meal was over pipes were lit, and the bushmen rolling themselves in coarse, coloured blankets, put their toes towards the fire, and soon fell asleep underneath the stars. In the morning, after a beef and damper breakfast, a black boy drove up the hobbled horses, each man caught and saddled his own mount, and they continued the journey until the cattle were sighted. There |