A New Chum's First Skirmish. (For the Free Lance) [By 149.]

Free Lance, Volume II, Issue 63, 14 September 1901, Page 18

A New Chum's First Skirmish. (For the Free Lance ) [By 149.]

I WAS bitting on my bunk, made from two sacks and somo saplings, alternately trying to read "Robberj Undei xlrms" and w ondenng if ever I should see anything but the dreary she-oak country, the skeleton merino sheep, and the distant sandhills. Whether I was for ever doomed to the exile in a broken-down hut on a South Australian station, with an unalterable menu of mutton and damper, or whether I should one day take my place again in the living, throbbing world of civilisation. I had just read a letter from my paternal relative, which pointedly ad- \ lsed me to stay where I was, as the house in Gloucestershire was not large enough to contain father and son, had picked up the whole of my library, and was reading it, when the door of the bark shanty was darkened. I had never seen a blackfellow. Evidently the apparition m the doorway was one. The ebony grotesque was clearly quite at home. In his left hand ho carried a quarter-dozen of boomerangs, in his right a couple of ill-made spears. His countenance bulged cruelly above the eyes, and his legs were marvels of thinness. In his full, bloodshot eyes was the light of confidence, and his preternatural stilness boded no good. Imagine the surprise I, as a, "new chum," felt to hear this image address me in English that was a good deal better than that spoken by the county folk of England. "Good day, boss You gib it tucker, damper, tchugar?" Like all Englishmen, I believe in the superiority of the race, and did not believe in pandering to the demands of the first aboriginal who came by. "No boy (I believed that to bo the coriect style of addressing aboriginals), I have no damper, and you can clear out." 'By cnpes, young pfella, you'm no gib it damper, mine take it," and he made tracks towards the limestone "chimney" outside, where I had learnt the art of making the detestable mess bushmen exist on. • • I crept to the door to wa,tch the man. He advanced noiselessly to the campoven, raised the lid, lifted the damper, shook his emu feather kilt, and sped like the wind My precious damper' Seizing the Snider iifle the "bass" had lent me I got a bead" on the blackfellow, fired, and sta\od the flight of that damper. Almost simultaneously mv bark humpy was filled with spears, a, boomerang giazed lm head, and a singe rifle-bark-ed out a, challenge, the bullet splinterin in\ "tuckei" box. Seemed to me as if the monotony of bu&h life had broken. I peered through the crannies of my hut, and fired recklessly at what may have been blackfellows but what were probably stumps. Suddenly I felt a ierk^ pain in my left leg, threw my rifle down, and gave up The blackfe'llow with the rifle had made good shooting. Perhaps I should lose my life as well as mv damper I s.ink down on the bunk. Visions of home, of sisteis brothers a Glostershiie college, floated before me and I collapsed. "By enpes, \ouhg fellow them blasted dagos nearly did for you, but how the hell dye get the bulletP" asked a \oice, that sounded far away I opened my eyes Jack Winstanlev the crack-shot of the South, was st .Hiding alongside' me 'T bowled ovei two of them blacks, the otheis is gone I didn't see m^rifle." Jack probed fur the. bullet and found it in the bone of mv leg. It was a Winchester tioin his own rifle' Jack explained that lie lwul come o\er the ridge to ha\ c a look at vei " when he saw the hidden blacks throwing spears at the- hut, had fired at the damper thief who was in a line with the, hut, with the result that he had hit the hut, and — incidentally me Somehow I did not "blackguard" Jack. Bettor a hole in the leg than :\ hole in the ground J,u k came- next da.\ , and pitched his t<>nt alongside my humpy He said it w .isn't safe foi ,1 "new chum" kid to h\o b\ himself, and as (he leg wanted a nurse, and Jack wa.s willing I thought he was right.

When stoimy wind and wintry blast, Affect mankind with hacking cough, They think Lonbumption'b come at last 'Twill not be long befoie they'ie off. onie people go to mountain heights And others wheie the skiet= aie bluei ; But what will soon put thrni to lights, Ib W. E. W<JUUb' GltlAl I'MTLItVIM CUUL