The Birmingham age-herald. [volume] (Birmingham, Ala.) 1902-1950, 1906-08-19

! square miles, and into their gloomy
| depths the bushman plunges without
guide or compass to direct him; his pack
| horses and saddle horses his sole COM
panions. Most of the trails which today
lead to rich gold fields were "blazed''
| by these brave men, many of whom
sought relief for domestic troubles in
those vast soitudes and found rest in
the graves which their successors dug
| for them. When the earth gives up its
! dead there will arise from the Australian
| bush many a brave and noble hearted
| fellow whose parched tongue was unable
to call on God in his expiring moments.
The remarkable thing about a BUSH
man is his instinct to find his way
through the bush and out of it. Every
one Knows that dogs and horses, and per-
haps other animals, will return whence
they came, although not by retracing their
steps. This is called animal instinct,
and the bushman acquires this gift aft
er a short residence in the forest With
out it he would perish the first day or
| two, as he would soon be lost and to be
| lost in the Australian bush is next to
being lost eternally. The awful, terrible,
stunning thought that rushes through a
mans mind when, lghtning-like, it
| flashes upon him that he is lost, no words
| can describe.
Inc man Is pursuing mis- way, pldcluly
| communing with himself; the silence Is
profound; the glare of light softened by
the umbragious canopy through which 1t
streams; the intense heat of a tropical
sun has driven every bird and insect to
shelter. In his self-communings he has
wandered himself; wandered, he doesn't
know in what direction but never heed
ing; until suddenly he awakes from his
revere; stops stock still. LOST Cod
Coo-ee; coo-eei o God; coo-e-e-ei' No
answer. There's not a human being with
In a hundred miles, much less hearing
distance You may lie down, poor fellow;
you are only one more added to the list.
Hunger comes; that's nothing. Thirst
comes; ah. now you suffer. Dreams, de-
llrious dreams of wells of cold water
beyond reach; of river rushing along the
bottom OF ravines thousand feet deep;
of iced lemonade that tastes like sand
and sawdust. Slowly he opens his eyes
and sees the expectant buzzards impa-
tiently awaiting their prey. They circle
around the tree tops; he watches them
until his brain swims and his eyes close
And this is to be the end of It; this
miserable death; I wouldn't have cared
had I died to some purpose-but to die
like this" Again he sleeps and dreams,
delirious dreams; of home and friends
and youth and her-the cause of his being
here. Again he wakes, to find the sun
no longer overhead, long shadows stretch
between the trees; gentle little wind
is blowing; the buzzards are hungry
they have waited all day; they circle
around and around. each time coming
little nearer One, more impatient
makes a swoop and Just touches him
with the tip of its wing. Not yet you
cursed devils. not yet" he says, spring
Ing to his feet and. in his frenzy, shak-
ing his two hrsts at the affrighted birds.
Had you been patient; had you waited
little longer, you would have had your
supper. but now, never" 1t is two hours
yet until sunset; he plunges forward
anywhere, somewhere; keeps plunging
through the long grass and over dry
creeks; up steep banks, straight forward
he goes Stumbles. falls, rises again and
plunges on when. lo he reaches clear
ing. an avenue cut through the forest;
looks up and sees-a wire, a telegraph
wire. Follow 1t in either direction, you
are bound to reach somewhere. The
next day at sunset he reaches a sta
ton" having walked. in his frenzy and
passion over sixty miles from where he
left his good friends--the buzzards.