Puslapio vaizdai
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paddles becomes closer, they leisurely make for one of the banks, or fly lazily into a dead tree overhanging the river. The pelican is not an elegant bird, especially when standing on the bank; but there is a certain grace in its movements in the water, and an expression of wisdom and confiding innocence, as, with neck slanting backwards, and big beak and pouch resting upon it, it pursues its harmless occupations, that appeal to us for mercy. For myself, the quality of mercy is subject to less strain after I have acquired my seventh bird. I have killed much more than I can carry, and more than can be comfortably skinned either to-day or to-morrow. We find that a charge of number four shot in the head of the bird is as effectual as the heavier ammunition, and that there is always time to complete the work with a second barrel if the first fails. Sometimes the dying pelican opens its strong bill-it is a foot long-and in its agony seizes the bow of the dingy when it touches the mass of white and black feathers circling in the crimson-tinged water; but its clumsy construction renders it very defenceless.

The river opens out at intervals into expanses of water which are to all intents and purposes a chain of lakes. They are so shallow that a channel has to be staked for even the flat-bottomed "Alabama," which only draws a few inches of water once in the midst of what seems to be a sheet of water, in which a small fleet can ride at anchor, we run aground, and have to jump overboard to drag her clear of a sandbank. Arrived at Cootharaba, we find that we might have saved ourselves a good deal of trouble and discussion on the question of supplies, since, this being the headquarters of the Firm, there is a store at which we may procure anything we require, be it clothes, medicine, bakery, butchery, and grocery, or ironmongery. Here, again, cordial hospitality is offered us, and here, again, we maintain an invincible front against seducing influences.

The Firm, however, kindly places a first-rate four-oared boat at our disposal, and a couple of men attached to the mill undertake, not only to pilot us to the spot where we are recommended to erect our tent, but to assist us in putting it up. This is indeed a happy thought, for the day being far spent, and there being no moon, we shall have to hurry considerably if we would be under canvas by nightfall. So, straightway, our baggage is transferred to the gig and an attendant punt, the spritsail is hoisted, and away we go across the main lake of the Cootharaba, or, as it is more generally termed, the Noosa chain, the water rippling musically from the bows, the evening shades deepening upon the hills and darkening the woods, and all the world, so far as we can perceive it, holding a solemn silence that

no one for a time cares to break. Oars are necessary to get through a narrow waterway overhung with creepers and scrub trees and foddered with thickets of reeds in the heyday of verdant life. The sun here rarely falls upon the water, which accordingly seems black in comparison with the open sand-coloured lake over which we have sailed. While the Cootharaba sawmills, jetty, stacks of timber, and workmen's cottages were in sight, though before we struck sail they had diminished to Lilliputian size, we seemed to be in the society of our fellows; but this quarter of a mile of shaded waterway brings us to what is actually an arm of the main lake, but what appears to us to be a distinct lake hemmed in by impenetrable woods; and it induces the feeling that at last we are alone.

The sun has little of its fiery journey to complete when our gig grates upon the sandy shelf, where we land, to form camp upon a gentle eminence not more than two hundred yards distant. The spot is cleared, nicely grassed, and at its back and on either side the open forest closes in. The lakeward view, as we first look upon it, beautified with violet tints, the surface of the water unruffled as glass, fascinates us all; and we stand upon the shore in silent admiration. But for this we have no time now. The three bales of canvas and blankets, the axes and tomahawks, the quart pots and pannikins are as speedily as may be taken up to the clearing, each working with a will. Then, the two Cootharaba men who have accompanied us shoulder their axes and disappear in search of tentpoles, while we unpack the bales, spread out the tent, and scatter the blankets abroad. Number One, by virtue of past experience in the bush, is appointed cook to the expedition; and as, by this time, we are possessed of the hunger proverbially assigned to hunters, we watch his movements with watering mouths, and greedily listen to his theories upon frying in oil, a process in which he confesses himself an adept.

The back of the tent is protected by a gum-tree, in the fork of which one end of the sapling which forms the ridge-pole finds a secure resting-place. There is an abundance of young timber at hand, and we do not hesitate to sacrifice the strong young Eucalypti. Before we have done with them, a dozen have been felled; and we are very proud of our tent when it is finished. The ridge and side poles and forked uprights quite justify the confidence reposed in them the canvas stretches admirably to its place, is firmly secured, and is finally covered by the fly which is to temper the sun's rays or keep out the rain. We walk around our habitation in the dusk, tighten a rope here and hammer in a peg there, and, surveying the

whole a space or two removed, pronounce it very good. The Cootharaba men bid us good-night, and depart in their punt. I, appointed admiral of the fleet by unanimous consent, accompany them to the shore, haul up our gig, secure the painter to a log conveniently protruding from the water, carry the sail, mast, and sprit on shore, unship the rudder, and, generally speaking, make the navy ship-shape. Up the slope the camp-fire throws ruddy gleams upon Number One bending over his frying-pan and Number Two surveying a steaming billy of tea through his eye-glass. background is peopled with weird shadows which seem to dance around the snow-white tent; it is only, as I know full well, the effect of the blazing fire upon the trees; but it, nevertheless, fills the brain. with fancies.

The

Our first camp meal is in every way a success. It is eaten outside the tent. A solitary candle emits its feeble ray within. An empty box, in which some odds and ends had been packed, is our only table, and around this we lie or lounge upon the blankets not yet arranged for the night. Each man provides his own plate, pannikin, knife and fork, according to stipulation beforehand; and I am regarded by my comrades as disgustingly luxurious, and utterly unworthy of rank amongst bushmen, because I have taken extra pains in these matters. For example, they bring common tin ware; my plate and cup are of enamelled metal, whose glossy black and white certainly looks gorgeous by the side of their tin goods, which never seem to be thoroughly clean, and which do not feel happy in contact with knife and fork. The disgust of Numbers One and Two is increased when the conviction is forced upon them that I have exercised a wise discretion, combining economy in the long run with superior accommodation from the outset. From my handbag I also produce a neat circular leather case, five inches long, and two inches and a half in diameter, a lucky investment in a Brisbane pawnshop; for, to the envy of the beholders, it yields a dainty electro-plated, ivory-handled knife, fork, and spoon, a corkscrew, and an ivory box whose unscrewed ends reveal perforated shields, through which to sprinkle pepper or salt at will. Knife, fork, and spoon shut up on the clasp-knife principle, and, as an inner lining to the receptacle, there comes forth, as a clincher, a handy drinkingcup. The three-pronged steel forks and murderous-looking sheathknives of the others are felt to be contemptible alongside these elegant appointments.

The cook expects a modicum of praise for his first effort, and since Number Two and I are conscious that for the next week we are

in his power, we liberally baste him with flattery. And he merits it all. He dishes up in a strip of bark a dozen potatoes, hot from the ashes, and jackets intact; upon the regulation tin plate, crisp rashers of bacon, toasted upon pointed sticks; in their native tin, prime sheeps' tongues preserved to perfection; and in the everlasting "billy," darkcoloured tea, than which there is no better in the world. He has learnt the true trick of brewing quart-pot tea. Every bushman is supposed to be able to make quart-pot tea, just as every cook is supposed to be able to cook a mutton chop; but in both cases it too often ends with supposition. Our tea is the correct tap-clear, fragrant, and refined. It is easily made. Fill your "billy" with water (the lake below served our purpose); place it against a red-hot log till it boils; cast in a handful of tea, and, before it has time to simmer, pour upon the whole a table-spoonful of cold water. Then cover the top of the billy with the drinking-cup which fits into it, and let it stand, while in another cup you dissolve the sugar which is to sweeten the whole. The dash of cold water sends the leaves in a body to the bottom, and clears the beverage, and if tea thus made does not please the wayfaring man, let him be relegated to water dipped from a hole habitually infused with gumleaves.

That first camp meal is a truly regal refection. The loaf is being continually passed from hand to hand; the savoury rashers disappear at once; not a potatoe is 'left, and their jackets are scraped clean; the sheeps' tongues are reduced to the last layer; the quart pot is emptied, replenished from an outlying bucket, and boiled again in a trice. We heave sighs of repletion and content, fill our pipes and kindle them with a piece of burning stick, turn over lazily upon our blankets, and commune with the silver-pointed deep blue dome overhead. Probably we never knew so well as now the force of the familiar words-" pipe of peace." We smoke the veritable, the real original pipe of peace, without speaking to each other. The cook breaks the spell.

Having abandoned ourselves to fleshly delights, we must needs follow the fashion and grumble at the bill. If we repeat this performance, how long will our stores last? The cook dives into the sack-bag in which we had thrust the bread purchased at the Firm's general store, sounds another bag containing potatoes, checks off upon his fingers the tinned provisions, and declares that, if we are not prepared to live upon the produce of our fishing-rods and guns, we shall devour our supplies in a couple of days. Who cares? Let to-morrow take care of itself. Wherefore we solace ourselves with another pipe-semi-peace this time—and then bestir ourselves. We

clean our knives and forks by sticking them in the sandy soil-a simple and easy operation which not only cleanses the implements thoroughly, but gives them a high polish and keeps the edges and points in good working condition; arrange our blankets, two pairs each to lie upon, one pair for coverlids, and one ditto for pillow; and taking a final draught from the quart pot, and another long look upon the splendour of the night, settle down superbly tired and supremely satisfied. We talk ourselves to sleep in passing the following resolutions:

Resolved-That each man, while this camp doth last, may do what seemeth good in his own eyes; only that Number One doeth all the cooking, and Number Two hangeth out the blankets every morning, or spreadeth them upon the grass when the sun hath dried the same.

Resolved-That each camper removeth the refuse of his meals to a convenient distance from the camp, cleaneth his own utensils immediately after every meal, and taketh turns in the hewing of wood and drawing of water.

Resolved-That the camp-fire be kept burning day and night, and that every man passing casteth upon it a log when it requireth replenishment.

Resolved-That the cook acteth as bedmaker to the camp. Resolved-That the camp be kept in faultless tidiness. Resolved-That the camp to-morrow sendeth or fetcheth a blackfellow to fag miscellaneously and execute all the heavy work.

Resolved-That as Number One is snoring, and Number Two fast asleep (risking a severe cold by sleeping without his eye-glass), this meeting do now adjourn.-Adjourned accordingly. Tableau.

Number One is undoubtedly equal to his work. Daylight is faint in the tent when I awake from a grand sleep, but the cook is out and about. The fire is blazing, and the billy on the boil. Number Two must have missed something and found it during the night, for he now lies asleep wearing his eye-glass. It is as lovely a Sunday morning as sun ever shone upon, and we resolve, barring certain works of necessity which must be performed, to observe it as a day of rest. Just as the sun begins to clear the dappled sky, and the first breath of morning to ruffle, as with a coming shadow, the further end of the lake, Number Two with his eye-glass strolls down to the camp-fire, and joins us in paying our devotions to the quart pot. The works of necessity in which we agree to embark, and finish before breakfast, are a rearrangement of the tent, and the skinning of two pelicans shot on our passage across the main lake on the previous evening.

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