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The Drover's wife The two-roomed
house is built of round timber, slabs, and stringy-hark, and
floored with split slabs. A big, hark kitchen standing at
one end is larger than the house itself, verandah included.
Bush all round - bush with no horizon, for the country is
flat. No ranges in the distance. The bush consists of
stunted, rotten, native apple-trees. No undergrowth. Nothing
to relieve the eye save the darker green of a few sheoaks
which are sighing above the narrow, almost waterless, creek.
Nineteen miles to the nearest house.
The drover, an ex-squatter, is away with sheep. His wife
and children are left here alone.
Four ragged, dried-up-looking children are playing about
the house. Suddenly, one of them yells, "Snake! Mother,
here's a snake!"
The gaunt, sun-browned bushwoman dashes from the kitchen,
snatches her baby from the ground, holds it on her left hip
and reaches for a stick.
"Where is it?"
"Here! Gone into the wood-heap!" yells the eldest boy - a
sharp-faced, excited urchin of eleven. "Stop there, mother!
I'll have him. Stand hack! I'll have him!"
"Tommy, come here, or you'll be bitten. Come here at once
when I tell you!"
The youngster comes reluctantly, carrying a stick bigger
than himself. Then he yells triumphantly, "There it goes -
under the house!" and darts away with club uplifted. At the
same time, the big, black, yellow-eyed dog-of-all-breeds,
who has shown the wildest interest in the proceedings,
breaks his chain and his nose reaches the crack in the slabs
just as the end of its tail disappears. Almost at the same
moment, the boy's club comes down and skins the aforesaid
nose. Alligator takes small notice of this and proceeds to
undermine the building; but he is subdued, after a struggle
and chained up. They cannot afford to lose him.
The drover's wife makes the children stand together near
the dog-house while she watches for the snake. She gets two
small dishes of milk and sets them down near the wall to
tempt it to come out; but an hour goes by, and it does not
show itself.
It is near sunset, and a thunderstorm is coming. The
children must be brought inside. She will not take them into
the house, for she knows the snake is there and may, at any
moment, come up through the cracks in the rough, slab floor;
so she carries several armfuls of firewood into the kitchen,
and then takes the children there. The kitchen has no floor,
or, rather, an earthen one - called a "ground floor" in the
centre of the place. She brings the children in and makes
them get on this table. They are two boys and two girls -
mere babies. She gives them some supper and then, before it
gets dark, she goes into the house and snatches up some
pillows and bed- clothes - expecting to see or lay her hand
on the snake at any minute. She makes a bed on the kitchen
table for the children, and sits down beside it to watch all
night.
She has an eye on the corner and a green sapling club
laid in readiness on the dresser by her side; also her
sewing basket and a copy of The YoungLadies'Journal.
She has brought the dog into the room.
Tommy turns in under protest, but says he'll lie awake
all night and smash that snake; he has his club with him
under the bed-clothes.
Near midnight. The children are all asleep and she sits
there still, sewing and reading by turns. From time to time
she glances round the floor and wall-plate and whenever she
hears a noise, she reaches for the stick. The thunderstorm
comes on and the wind, rushing through the cracks in the
slab wall, threatens to blow out her candle. She places it
on a sheltered part of the dresser and fixes up a newspaper
to protect it. At every flash of lightning, the cracks
between the slabs gleam like polished silver. The thunder
rolls and the rain comes down in torrents.
Alligator lies at full length on the floor, with his eyes
turned towards the partition. She knows, by this, that the
snake is there. There are large cracks in that wall, opening
under the floor of the dwelling-house.
She is not a coward, but recent events have shattered her
nerves. A little son of her brother-in-law was lately bitten
by a snake and died. Besides, she has not heard from her
husband for six months and is anxious about him.
He was a drover and started squatting here when they were
married. The drought ruined him. He had to sacrifice the
remnant of his flock and go droving again. He intends to
move his family into the nearest town when he comes hack;
and in the meantime his brother, who lives along the main
road, comes over about once a month with provisions. The
wife has still a couple of cows, one horse and a few sheep.
The brother-in- law kills one of the latter occasionally,
gives her what she needs of it and takes the rest in return
for other provisions.
It must be near one or two o'clock. The fire is burning
low. Alligator lies with his head resting on his paws and
watches the wall. He is not a very beautiful dog to look at
and the light shows numerous old wounds where the hair will
not grow. He is afraid of nothing on the face of the earth
or under it. He will tackle a bullock as readily as he will
tackle a flea. He hates all other clogs - except
kangaroo-dogs - and has a marked dislike to friends or
relations of the family. They seldom call, however. He
sometimes makes friends with strangers. He hates snakes and
has killed many, but he will be bitten some day and die;
most snake-dogs end that way.
Now and then the bushwoman lays down her work and watches
and listens and thinks. She has few pleasures to think of as
she sits here alone by the fire, on guard against a snake.
All days are much the same to her; but on Sunday afternoons,
she dresses herself, tidies the children, smartens-up baby
and goes for a lonely walk along the bush track, pushing an
old perambulator in front of her. She does this every
Sunday. She takes as much care to make herself and the
children look smart as she would if she were going to "do
the block" in the city. There is nothing to see, however,
and not a soul to meet. You might walk for twenty miles
along this track without being able to fix a point in your
mind, unless you are a bushman.
It must be near daylight now. The room is very close and
hot because of the fire. Alligator still watches the wall
from time to time. Suddenly, he becomes greatly interested;
he draws himself a few inches nearer the partition and a
thrill runs through his body. The hair on the back of his
neck begins to bristle, and the battle-light is in his
yellow eyes. She knows what this means and lays her hand on the stick. The
lower end of one of the partition slabs has a large crack on
both sides. An evil pair of small, bright, bead-like eyes glisten
at one of these holes. The snake - a black one - comes slowly
out, about a foot and moves its head up and down. The dog
lies still and the woman sits as one fascinated.
The snake comes out a foot farther. She lifts her stick
and the reptile, as though suddenly aware of danger, sticks his
head in through the crack on the other side of the slab and
hurries to get his tail round after him. Alligator springs and his
jaws come together with a snap. He misses this time, for his
nose is large and the snake's body close down in the angle
formed by the slabs and the floor. He snaps again as the tail
comes round. He has the snake now and tugs it out eighteen
inches. Thud, thud, comes the woman's club on the ground.
Alligator pulls again. Thud, thud. Alligator pulls some more.
He has the snake out now - a black brute, five feet long. The
head rises to dart about, but the dog has the enemy close to
the neck. He is a big, heavy dog, but quick as a terrier. The
eldest boy wakes up, seizes his stick and tries to get out of
bed; but his mother forces him back with a grip of iron. Thud,
thud - the snake's back is broken in several places. Thud,
thud - its head is crushed and Alligator's nose skinned again.
She lifts the mangled reptile on the point of her stick,
carries it to the fire and throws it in; then piles on the wood
and watches the snake burn. The boy and the dog watch too.
She lays her hand on the dog's head and all the fierce, angry
light dies out of his yellow eyes. The younger children are
quieted and presently go to sleep. The boy stands for a
moment in his shirt, watching the fire. Presently he looks up
to her, sees the tears in her eyes and, throwing his arms round
her neck exclaims: "Mother, I'll never go droving."
And she hugs him to her breast and kisses him; and
they sit thus together while the sickly daylight breaks over the bush.
End |
