The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1886-04-17
Select Story.
THE "LADY GODIVA."


From Chambers Journal.
1t happened that one summer, few
years ago, 1 found myself travelling up the
Barwon River, just where it commences to
form the boundary between Queensland
and New South Wales. The weather was
terribly hot and feed for horses scarce, so
that l was only too glad to accept the invi-
tation of hospitable settler, an old acquain-
lance in digging days gone by, to stay and
"spell' for week or two, while my horses
put on little condition in his we'll -grassed
paddocks. The country round about at
that time, even on the river frontages, was
very sparsely settled, and comparatively
young people could remember when the
blacks were chad" Dingoes, kangaroos,
wild cattle and 'brombees,' or wild horses,
roamed the great scrubs in thousands; and,
with respect to broken-in and branded in
dividuals of the latter two species, the laws
of meum and tuum seemed to be very
lightly regarded among the pioneers of the
border, and for a settler to put in an ap-
pearance at his neighbor's killing yard
while the operation Of converting bullock
into beef was going on was deemed the
very height of bad manners-inexcusable,
indeed, unless perhaps in the newest of
new chums, at least till the hide was off
and the brand cut out.
My friend had only recently taken up
ground on the river; but his next and
nearest neighbor, old Tom Dwyer, who
resided about fve-and-twenty miles away,
was a settler of many years standing; and
it was from him that, toward the end OF
my stay with the Brays, came an invitation
to the wedding festivities of his only
daughter, who was to be married to a
young cousin, also Dwyer, who followed
the occupation of drover.
As Bray and myself rode away in the
cool of the morning-.he womenkind and
children having set out by moonlight the
night before in spring cart-he gave me
slight sketch Of the people whose hearty
invitation we were accepting.
ga rum lot, said my old friend-a fine
specimen of the bushman digger type of
Australian born colonist, hardy, brave and
intelligent, who had, after many years Of
rowing, eventful life, at last settled down to
make himself a home in the wilderness
"a rum lot, these Dwyers. Not bad neigh
bors by no means, at least not to me. l
speak as l find; but people do say that
they come it rather too strong sometimes
with the squatters' stock, and that young
Jim-him as is goin' to get switched-and
old Tom, his uncle, do work the oracle
atween EN- l mind, not so long ago,
young Jim he starts up north somewhere
with about a score head O. mixers and
their calves, and when he comes back again
in about six months he fetched along with
him over 300 head o cattle! Increase,
he called 'em-ha, ha! A very smart lad
is Jim Dwyer; but the squatters are getting
carefuller now; and I'm afraid, if he don't
mind, that he'll find himself in the logs
some O these fine days. He's got a nice
bit O. place over the river, on the New
South Wales side, has Jim, just in front o
Fort Dwyer, as they call they old mans
camp. You could Almost chuck stone
from one house to the other"
So conversing, after about three hours
steady riding through open box forest
country, fat and monotonous, we arrived at
"Fort Dwyer" Deewyer, as pronounced
thereabouts-a long, low building, con-
structed of huge, roughly squared logs of
nearly ireproof red coolabah, or swamp
gum, and situated on theverge of the steep
clay bank, twenty feet below which glided
sullenly along the sluggish Barwon, then
nearly half a "banker"
A hearty welcome greeted US, and the
inevitable ''square face" of spirits was at
once produced, to which my companion did
Justice while pledging the health of the
company with brief "Well, here's luck,
lads!" For my own part, not daring to
tackle the half pannikinful of fiery Mackay
rum so pressingly offered, with the assur-
ance that it was ''the finest thing out after
warm ride" 1 paid my respects to an
immense cask of honey beer which stood
under canopy of green boughs, thus runn-
ing some risk of losing caste as bushman
by appropriating "the women's swankey,
as old Dwyer contemptuously termed it,
while insisting on "tempering" my drink
with ''just the least taste in life, sir," of
Port Mackay, of about As o. p. strength.
There must have been fully 100 people
assembled, and the open space just in front
of the house was crowded with buggies,
springcarts, wagonettes, and even drays;
but the great center of attraction was the
stock yard, where Jim Dwyer was breaking
in to the side-saddle mare, bought in one
of his recent trips "up north, and intend
ed as present for his bride, of whom l
caught glimpse as she sat on. an empty
kerosene tin, with her sleeves rolled up,
busily engaged in plucking poultry, fair
type of the bush-maiden, tall and slender,
with good, though sharply cut features,
deeply Drowned by the sun, laughing dark
eyes, perfect teeth-a rare gift among
young Australians as much at home
so old Bray assured Neon horseback
cutting out "scrubbers" OF ssbrombees" as
was her husband-elect himself
The rails of the great stockyard were
crowded with tall, cabbage-tree-hatted
booted and spurred "Cornstalks" and "Ba
mana men" (natives of New South Wales
and Queensland respectively; and loud
were their cries of admiration as young
Dwyer, on the beautiful and, to my eyes
nearly thoroughbred black mare, cantered
round and round, while fourishing an ole
riding skirt about her fanks.
"Shell do, Jim-quiet as a sheep
"My word! she'll carry Annie flying.
"What did yer give for him Jim 2
GA reg'lar star, an no mistaker' greeted
the. young man, as, lightly jumping off, h
unbuckled tie girths and put the saddl
on the slip rails.