# In Bad Company, and other Stories/A Dry Time

A DRY TIME
As I ride, as I ride,
With a full heart for my guide.
Browning.
The moon has waxed and waned, yet one may not, in 1883, recall with the poet
The lonesome October
Of a most immemorial year,
inasmuch as that month in these Southern wilds is for the most part a gleesome, companionable time, rich in flower-birth and fruit-promise. None the less, if the windows of heaven be not the sooner opened, the present year of our Lord will be aught but immemorial in the chronicles of the land.
Surely the blessed dews of heaven, the rain for which in these arid wastes all Nature cries aloud, will not long be denied. How clearly can we realise the force of the strong Saxon of the Vulgate, 'And the famine was sore in the land.'
Here now exists the same hopeless, long-protracted absence of all moisture which drove the Patriarch to ' travel 'with his flocks and herds, viz. camels and she-asses, his sons and their families, from dried-out Canaan to the rich 'frontage' of the Nile.
Here, as then, in that far historic dawn, is dust where grass grew and water ran. Strange birds crowd the scanty pools, while among the great hordes of live stock, reared in plenteous seasons, the strong are lean and sad-eyed, the weak are perishing daily with increasing rapidity.
The hand of man, which has done so much to reclaim these wondrous wastes, is powerless against Nature's cruel fiat. None can do more than wait and pray ; for the end must come, when the days shorten and the nights grow cold, even in this ​summer land; and utter, unredeemed ruin is the goal towards which many of the proprietors have perforce turned their eyes these many weary months past.
The fair but fleeting promise of the bygone month has been unredeemed. Only a few days of the threatening sun have sufficed to wither the tender herbage, the springing plantlets which essayed to cover the baked soil. The broad road seems that veritable way to Avernus, so bare, sun-scorched, adust is it, for hundreds of leagues. Far away one may note its swaying deflections, and hold a parallel course, guided solely by the well-nigh continuous dust-line of the waggon-trains.
Yet, maugre the terrors of the time, certain feathered inhabitants have their provision secured to them. How else trip and flit from myall twig to pine bough, bright-eyed and fearless, this pair of delicious tiny doves? The most exquisitely formed and delicately lovely of all the Columba family, they are, perhaps, the smallest—not larger than the brown bush-quail. Not half the size of the crested pigeon, there is a family resemblance in the fairy pink legs, the pointed tail, the bronze bars of the wing-feathers, the tones of the soft, azure breast. By no means a shy bird, as if conscious that few fowlers could be cruel to the hurt of so delicate a thing of beauty, so rare a feathered gem, in these stern solitudes.
Not that all the tribes of the air can be described as beautiful and harmless. Riding slowly through a belt of timber, musing, it may be, on the undeserved sorrows of the lower animals, I am suddenly and violently assaulted—'bonneted,' as the humorous youth of the period has it. I clutch my hat just in time to save it from being knocked off. There are two round holes near the brim, which I had not previously observed, and a cock magpie is flying back to his station on a tree hard by, much satisfied in his mind. It is a well-known habit of this bold, aggressive bird in the breeding season. He keeps watch, apparently, the live-long day, hard by the nest, and, pledged to drive away intruders, is no respecter of persons. Long years since, the present writer was similarly attacked; when essaying to lift his hat some hours afterwards, and finding resistance, he discovered that the bird's beak had penetrated the felt and inflicted a smart cut. Blood had actually been shed, and, having dried, caused adhesion. The ​'piping crow,' as ornithologically the magpie of the colonies is designated, is not truly a magpie at all. He is carnivorous and insectivorous. Withal a handsome bird, with glossy raven breast and back, and most melodious, flute-like carol, at earliest morn and eve. He is easily tamed, and in captivity learns to talk, to whistle, and even to swear with clearness and accuracy—more particularly the last accomplishment. As a member of the household, he exhibits great powers of adaptation, has the strongest conviction as to his rank and position, despises children, whose undefended legs he pecks, and will engage in desperate combat with dog or cat, turkey or gamecock. An Australian naturalist of eminence gives his testimony to the courage with which a tame bird of the species relieved the tedium of a homeward-bound voyage by its constant duels with such gamecocks as the coops produced.
Feeding in the open plain, and in a leisurely way inspecting the sparse vegetation with an eye to grasshoppers, strolls a bustard with his mate. This noble game-bird, the wild turkey of the colonists, is fully equal, perhaps superior, in flavour to his tame congener. Longer in neck and limb, crane-like of head, the plumage presents several points of resemblance which justifies his title to the name. He has also the trick of strutting with drooped wings and outspread tail before the female. Shy and difficult of approach by the sportsman on foot, he is easily circumvented by riding or driving around in circles, gradually narrowing, when an easy shot is gained.
A reminiscence arises here of the regal sport of hawking enjoyed in connection with a bird of this species. Hard hit with double B, he found it difficult to rise above the tall grass of the marshy plain where he had been stalked, though gradually gaining strength. As he cleared the reed-tops, a wedge-tailed eagle (the eagle-hawk of the colonists) swooped down from airy heights and dashed at the huge bird like a merlin at a thrush. Very nearly did the 'lammergeier' make prize of him, but the long sweep of the bustard's wing kept him ahead. Presently he got 'way on,' assisted by a slight breeze. Down the wind went hawk and quarry, neck and neck, so to speak, while the sportsman put his horse to speed, going straight across country, with head up and eyes fixed on the pair, as they gradually rose higher in the sky. Ever and anon the eagle would make a dash at the wounded bird, but ​whether the temporary shock had only staggered him, or that it was nature's last effort, the edible one soared away far and fast, eventually disappearing from our gaze.
While on the subject of hawking, there is little doubt that the 'aguila' referred to might be trained to fly at the larger game—turkeys, geese, kangaroo, and emu—while the smaller falcons, which are sufficiently plentiful, might be equally effective in pursuit of the traditional heron. The beautiful blue crane of the colonists (Ardea Australis) is found in every streamlet and marsh, as also the spoonbill, the white crane (snowy of hue, and with curious fringing wing-feathers), not forgetting the bittern.
Young Australia, gentle or simple, might find worse employment than riding forth in the fresh morn of the early summer, with hawk on wrist, inhaling even this faintest flavour of the romance of the great days of chivalry.
On the broad, still reaches of the river, or the wide sheets of water artificially conserved, behold we the pelican, in no wise differing in appearance from the traditional dweller in the wilderness. Whether the Australian is unselfishly prodigal in the matter of heart's blood in favour of her young is difficult of proof, forasmuch as no living man, apparently, ever sets eyes on a youthful pelican. In the untrodden deserts which surround the heart of the continent is popularly deemed to lie the haunt of the brooding bird; and an Australian poetess has mourned the fate of the gallant brothers—bold and practised explorers—last seen on their way to the unknown, half-mystic region, 'where the pelican builds her nest.'
As the hot breath of the fast-coming summer proves yet more deadly to every green thing, the pelican flocks sail coastward in great numbers from their failing streams and marshes. With them comes the beautiful black swan—'rara avis in terra,' but here an everyday sight—graceful, with scarlet beak, wreathed neck, and 'pure cold webs'; the wild, musical note clanging from the soaring, swaying files cleaving the empyrean. Rarely -seen waders and swimmers are of the contingent if the 'weather holds dry'—a wayworn, far-travelled host, priceless to the naturalist could he but observe them.
Let but the stern drought continue unbroken, all-heedless of man and his great army of dependants, through the brief ​spring, the long summer—till the days shorten and (even here) the nights grow cold—unprecedented losses must occur in certain localities. Still, hope is not dead. The dry zone is restricted in area. Outside and around it, what the shepherds term 'fine storms' have refreshed the pastures. Even yet there is corn in Egypt. There is grass and to spare beyond the Queensland border. Thither will many a sorely-oppressed proprietor send a section of flock or herd, availing himself of the time-honoured institution of 'travelling for feed.' Such, neither more nor less, was the last resort of those grand historic sheiks of the desert, even Abraham and Lot, when 'the land was not able to bear them'; and to such an alternative must the latter-day, salt-bush sheik turn in his need, or see his live stock perish before his eyes, in thousands and ten thousands.
He will improvise a nomadic establishment with dray and tent, shepherds and cooks, stock-riders and bullock-drivers, horses and cattle, everything save camels, needed in a patriarchal migration. Even these last ungainly thirst-defiers are now bred in Australia. Hard by the tropic he will pass into a land of grass prairies and flooded streams—the promised land of the desert-worn hosts. He will here find himself—'most ingenious paradox'—in a region where live stock are high-priced, but where 'country' is cheap. He will rent, perhaps purchase another run. The drought which drove him forth may so and in such manner make his fortune yet. Let us hope so, in all sympathy and good fellowship. There he will reach his haven of rest. He may sell out again, or decide to cast in his fortunes with the newer colony, but in any case he will remain there until, as far as King Sol is concerned, 'this tyranny be over-past.'