An Adventure in the Bush
by Samuel Sidney (uncredited).
Originally published in Household Words (Bradbury & Evans) vol.1 #6 (04 May 1850).
Travelling in the Bush one rainy season, I put up for the night at a small weather-bound inn, perched half way up a mountain range, where several Bush servants on the tramp had also taken refuge from the down-pouring torrents. I had had a long and fatiguing ride over a very bad country, so, after supper, retired into the furthest corner of the one room that served for 'kitchen, and parlour, and all,' and there, curled up in my blanket, in preference to the bed offered by our host, which was none of the cleanest; with half-shut eyes, I glumly puffed at my pipe in silence, allowing the hubble-bubble of the Bushmen's gossip to flow through my un-noting ears.
Fortunately for my peace, the publican's stock of rum had been some time exhausted, and as I was the latest comer, all the broiling and frying had ceased, but a party sat round the fire, evidently set in for a spell at 'yarning.' At first the conversation ran in ordinary channels, such as short reminiscences of old world rascality, perils in the Bush. Till at length a topic arose which seemed to have a paramount interest for all. This was the prowess of a certain Two-Handed Dick the Stockman.
'Yes, yes; I'll tell you what it is, mates,' said one; 'this confounded reading and writing, that don't give plain fellows like you and me a chance;—now, if it were to come to fighting for a living, I don't care whether it was half-minute time and London rules, rough and tumble, or single stick, or swords and bayonets, or tomahawks,—I'm dashed if you and me, and Two-Handed Dick, wouldn't take the whole Legislative Council, the Governor and Judges—one down 'tother come on. Though, to be sure, Dick could thrash any two of us.'
I was too tired to keep awake, and dozed off, to be again and again disturb ed with cries of 'Bravo, Dick!' 'That's your sort!' 'Houray, Dick!' all signifying approval of that individual's conduct in some desperate encounter, which formed the subject of a stirring narrative.
For months after that night this idea of Two-Handed Dick haunted me, but the bustle of establishing a new station at length drove it out of my head.
I suppose a year had elapsed from the night when the fame of the double-fisted stockman first reached me. I had to take a three days' journey to buy a score of fine-woolled rams, through a country quite new to me, which I chose because it was a short cut recently discovered. I got over, the first day, forty-five miles comfortably. The second day, in the evening, I met an ill-looking fellow walking with a broken musket, and his arm in a sling. He seemed sulky, and I kept my hand on my double-barrelled pistol all the time I was talking to him; he begged a little tea and sugar, which I could not spare, but I threw him a fig of tobacco. In answer to my questions about his arm, he told me, with a string of oaths, that a bull, down in some mimosa flats, a day's journey a-head, had charged him, flung him into a water-hole, broken his arm, and made him lose his sugar and tea bag. Bulls in Australia are generally quiet, but this reminded me that some of the Highland black cattle imported by the Australian Company, after being driven off by a party of Gully Rakees (cattle stealers), had escaped into the mountains and turned quite wild. Out of this herd, which was of a breed quite unsuited to the country, a bull sometimes, when driven off by a stronger rival, would descend to the mimosa flats, and wander about, solitary and dangerously fierce.
It struck me as I rode off, that it was quite as well my friend's arm and musket had been disabled, for he did not look the sort of man it would be pleasant to meet in a thicket of scrub, if he fancied the horse you rode. So, keeping one eye over my shoulder, and a sharp look-out for any other traveller of the same breed, I rode off at a brisk pace. I made out afterwards that my foot friend was Jerry Jonson, hung for shooting a bullock-driver, the following year.
At sun-down, when I reached the hut where I had intended to sleep, I found it deserted, and so full of fleas, I thought it better to camp out; so I hobbled out old Grey-tail on the best piece of grass I could find which was very poor indeed.
The next morning when I went to look for my horse he was nowhere to be found. I put the saddle on my head and tracked him for hours, it was evident the poor beast had been travelling away in search of grass. I walked until my feet were one mass of blisters; at length, when about to give up the search in despair, having quite lost the track on stony ground, I came upon the marks quite fresh in a bit of swampy ground, and a few hundred yards further found Master Grey-tail rolling in the mud of a nearly dry water-hole as comfortably as possible. I put down the saddle and called him; at that moment I heard a loud roar and crash in a scrub behind me, and out rushed at a terrific pace a black Highland bull charging straight at me. I had only just time to throw myself on one side flat on the ground as he thundered by me. My next move was to scramble among a small clump of trees, one of great size, the rest were mere saplings.
The bull having missed his mark, turned again, and first revenged himself by tossing my saddle up in the air, until fortunately it lodged in some bushes; then, having smelt me out, he commenced a circuit round the trees, stamping, pawing, and bellowing frightfully. With his red eyes and long sharp horns he looked like a demon; I was quite unarmed, having broken my knife the day before; my pistols were in my holsters, and I was wearied to death. My only chance consisted in dodging him round the trees until he should be tired out. Deeply did I regret having left my faithful dogs Boomer and Bounder behind.
The bull charged again and again, sometimes coming with such force against the tree that he fell on his knees, sometimes bending the saplings behind which I stood until his horns almost touched me. There was not a branch I could lay hold of to climb up. How long this awful game of 'touchwood' lasted, I know not; it seemed hours; after the first excitement of self-preservation passed off, weariness again took
possession of me, and it required all the instinct of self-preservation to keep me on my feet; several times the bull left me for a few seconds, pacing suddenly away, bellowing his malignant discontent; but before I could cross over to a better position he always came back at full speed. My tongue clave to the roof of my mouth, my eyes grew hot and misty, my knees trembled under me, I felt it impossible to hold out until dark. At length I grew desperate, and determined to make a run for the opposite covert the moment the bull turned towards the water-hole again. I felt sure I was doomed, and thought of it until I grew indifferent. The bull seemed to know I was worn out, and grew more fierce and rapid in his charges, but just when I was going to sit down under the great tree and let him do his worst, I heard the rattle of a horse among the rocks above, and a shout that sounded like the voice of an angel. Then came the barking of a dog, and the loud reports of a stockwhip, but the bull with his devilish eyes fixed on me, never moved.
Up came a horseman at full speed; crack fell the lash on the black bull's hide; out spirted the blood in a long streak. The bull turned savagely—charged the horseman. The horse wheeled round just enough to baffe him—no more—again the lash descended, cutting like a long flexible razor, but the mad bull was not to be beaten off by a whip: he charged again and again; but he had met his match; right and left, as needed, the horse turned, sometimes pivotting on his hind, sometimes on his fore-legs.
The stockman shouted something, leapt from his horse, and strode forward to meet the bull with an open knife between his teeth. As the beast lowered his head to charge, he seemed to catch him by the horns. There was a struggle, a cloud of dust, a stamping like two strong men wrestling—I could not see clearly; but the next moment the bull was on his back, the blood welling from his throat, his limbs quivering in death.
The stranger, covered with mud and dust, came to me, saying as unconcernedly as if he had been killing a calf in a slaughter-house, 'He's dead enough, young man; he won't trouble anybody any more.'
I walked two or three paces toward the dead beast; my senses left me—I fainted.
When I came to myself, my horse was saddled, bridled, and tied up to a bush. My stranger friend was busy flaying the bull.
'I should like to have a pair of boots out of the old devil,' he observed, in answer to my enquiring look, 'before the dingoes and the eagle hawks dig into his carcase.'
We rode out of the flats up a gentle ascent, as night was closing in. I was not in talking humour; but I said, 'You have saved my life.'
'Well, I rather think I have' but this was muttered in an under tone; 'it's not the first I have saved, or taken either, for that matter.'
I was too much worn out for thanking much, but I pulled out a silver hunting-watch and put it into his hand. He pushed it back, almost roughly, saying, 'No, Sir, not now; I shalln't take money or money's worth for that, though I may ask something some time. It's nothing, after all. I owed the old black devil a grudge for spoiling a blood filly of mine; beside, though I didn't know it when I rode up first, and went at the beast to take the devil out of myself as much as anything,—I rather think that you are the young gentleman that ran through the Bush at night to Manchester Dan's hut, when his wife was bailed up by the Blacks, and shot one-eyed Jackey, in spite of the Governor's proclamation.'
'You seem to know me,' I answered; 'pray may I ask who you are, if it is a fair question, for I cannot remember ever having seen you before.'
'Oh, they call me "Two-handed Dick," in this country.'
The scene in the roadside inn flashed on my recollection. Before I could say another word, a sharp turn round the shoulder of the range we were traversing, brought us in sight of the fire of a shepherd's hut. The dogs ran out barking; we hallooed and cracked our whips, and the hut-keeper came to meet us with a fire-stick in his hand.
'Lord bless my heart and soul! Dick, is that thee at last? Well, I thought thee were't never coming;' cried the hut-keeper, a little man, who came limping forward very fast with the help of a crutch-handled stick. 'I say, Missis, Missis, here's Dick, here's Two-handed Dick.'
This was uttered in a shrill, hysterical sort of scream. Out came 'Missis' at the top of her speed, and began hugging Dick as he was getting off his horse, her arms reached a little above his waist, laughing and crying, both at the same time, while her husband kept fast hold of the Stockman's hand, muttering, 'Lord, Dick, I'm so glad to see thee.' Meanwhile the dogs barking, and a flock of weaned lambs just penned, ba'aing, made such a riot, that I was fairly bewildered. So, feeling myself one too many, I slipped away, leading off both the horses to the other side the hut, where I found a shepherd, who showed me a grass paddock to feed the nags a bit before turning them out for the night. I said to him, 'What is the meaning of all this going on between your mate and his wife, and the big Stockman?'
'The meaning, Stranger; why, that's Two-handed Dick, and my mate is little Jemmy that he saved, and Charley Anvils at the same time, when the Blacks slaughtered the rest of the party, near on a dozen of them.'
On returning, I found supper smoking on the table, and we had made a regular 'Bush' meal. The Stockman then told my adventure, and, when they had exchanged all the news, I had little difficulty in getting the hut-keeper to the point I wanted; the great difficulty lay in preventing man and wife from telling the same story at the same time. However, by judicious management, I was able to gather the following account of Two-handed Dick's Fight and Ride.
'When first I met Dick he was second Stockman to Mr. Ronalds, and I took a shepherd's place there; it was my second place in this country, for you see I left the Old Country in a bad year for the weaving trade, and was one of the first batch of free emigrants that came out, the rest were chiefly Irish. I found shepherding suit me very well, and my Missis was hut-keeper. Well, Dick and I got very thick; I used to write his letters for him, and read in an evening and so on. Well, though I undertook a shepherd's place I soon found I could handle an axe pretty well. Throwing the shuttle gives the use of the arms, you see, and Dick put into my head that I could make more money if I took to making fences; I sharpening the rails and making the mortice-holes, and a stranger man setting them. I did several jobs at odd times, and was thought very handy. Well, Mr. Ronalds, during the time of the great, drought five years ago, determined to send up a lot of cattle to the North, where he had heard there was plenty of water and grass, and form a Station there. Dick was picked out as Stockman; a young gentleman, a relation of Mr. Ronalds, went as head of the party, a very foolish, conceited young man, who knew very little of Bush life, and would not be taught. There were eight splitters and fencers, besides Charley Anvils, the blacksmith, and two bullock drivers.
'I got leave to go because I wanted to see the country and Dick asked. My missis was sorely against my going. I was to be storekeeper, as well as do any farming; and work if wanted.
'We had two drays, and were well armed. We were fifteen days going up before we got into the new country, and then we travelled five days; sometimes twenty-four hours without water; and sometimes had to unload the drays two or three times a day, to get over creeks. The fifth day we came to very fine land; the grass met over our horses' necks, and the river was a chain of water-holes, all full, and as clear as crystal. The kangaroos were hopping about as plentiful as rabbits in a warren; and the grass by the river side had regular tracks of the emus, where they went down to drink.
'We had been among signs of the Blacks too, for five days, but had not seen anything of them, although we could hear the devils cooing at nightfall, calling to each other. We kept regular watch and watch at first—four sentinels, and every man sleeping with his gun at hand.
'Now, as it was Dick's business to tail (follow) the cattle, five-hundred head, I advised him to have his musket sawed off in the barrel, so as to be a more handy size for using on horse-back. He took my advice; and Charley Anvils made a very good job of it, so that he could bring it under his arm when hanging at his back from a rope sling, and fire with one hand. It was lucky I thought of it, as it turned out.
'At length the overseer fixed on a spot for the Station. It was very well for water and grass, and a very pretty view, as he said, but it was too near a thicket where the Blacks would lie in ambush, for safety. The old Bushmen wanted it planted on a neck of land, where the waters protected it all but one side, and there a row of fence would have made it secure.
'Well, we set to work, and so on had a lot of tall trees down. Charley put up his forge and his grindstone, to keep the axe sharp, and I staid with him. Dick went tailing the cattle, and the overseer sat on a log and looked on. The second day a mob of Blacks came down on the opposite side of the river. They were quite wild, regular myals, but some of our men with green branches, went and made peace with them. They liked our bread and sugar; and after a short time we had a lot of them helping to draw rails, fishing for us, bringing wild honey, kangaroos, rats, and firewood, in return for butter and food, so we began to be less careful about our arms. We gave them iron tomahawks, and they soon found out that they could cut out an opossum from a hollow in half-an-hour with one of our tomahawks, while it took a day with one of their own stone ones.
'And so the time passed very pleasantly. We worked away. The young men and gins worked for us. The chiefs adorned themselves with the trinkets and clothes we gave them, and fished and hunted, and admired themselves in the river.
'Dick never trusted them; he stuck to his cattle; he warned us not to trust them, and the overseer called him a bloodthirsty murdering blackguard for his pains.
'One day, the whole party were at work, chopping and trimming weather-boards for the hut; the Blacks helping as usual. I was turning the grindstone for Charley Anvils, and Dick was coming up to the dray to get some tea, but there was a brow of a hill between him and us; the muskets were all piled in one corner. I heard a howl, and then a scream—our camp was full of armed Blacks. When I raised my head, I saw the chief, Captain Jack we called him, with a broad axe in his hand, and the next minute he had chopped the overseer's head clean off; in two minutes all my mates were on the ground. Three or four came running up to us; one threw a spear at me, which I half parried with a pannikin I was using to wet the grindstone, but
it fixed deep in my hip, and part of it I believe is there still. Charley Anvils had an axe in his hand, and cut down the first two fellows that came up to him, but he was floored in a minute with twenty wounds. They were so eager to kill me, that one of them, luckily, or I should not have been alive now, cut the spear in my hip short off. Another, a young lad I had sharpened a tomahawk for a few days before, chopped me across the head; you can see the white hair. Down I fell, and nothing could have saved us, but the other savages had got the tarpaulin off, and were screaming with delight, plundering the drays, which called my enemies off. Just then, Dick came in sight. He saw what was the matter; but although there were more than a hundred black devils, all armed, painted, bloody, and yelling, he never stopped or hesitated, but rode slap through the camp, fired bang among them, killing two, and knocking out the brains of another. As he passed by a top rail, where an axe was sticking, he caught it up. The men in the camp were dead enough; the chief warriors had made the rush there, and every one was pierced with several spears, or cut down from close behind by axes in the hands of the chiefs. We, being further off, had been attacked by the boys only. Dick turned towards us, and shouted my name; I could not answer, but I managed to sit up an instant; he turned towards me, leaned down, caught me by the jacket, and dragged me on before him like a log. Just then Charley, who had crept under the grindstone, cried "Oh, Dick, don't leave me!" As he said that, a lot of them came running down, for they had seen enough to know that, unless they killed us all, their job would not be half-done. As Dick turned to face them, they gave way and flung spears, but they could not hurt him; they managed to get between us and poor Charley. Dick rode back a circuit, and dropped me among so me bushes on a hill, where I could see all. Four times he charged through and through a whole mob, with an axe in one hand and his short musket in the other. He cut them down right and left, as if he had been mowing; he scared the wretches, although the old women kept screeching and urging them on, as they always do. At length, by help of his stirrup leather, he managed to get Charley up behind him. He never could have done it, but his mare fought, and bit, and turned when he bid her, so he threw the bridle on her neck, and could use that terrible left arm of his. Well, he came up to the hill and lifted me on, and away we went for three or four miles, but we knew the mare could not stand it long, so Dick got off and walked. When the Blacks had pulled the drays' loads to pieces, they began to follow us, but Dick never lost heart'—
'Nay, mate,' interrupted Dick, 'once I did; I shall never forget it, when I came to put my last bullet in, it was too big.'
'Good heavens,' I exclaimed, 'what did you do?'
'Why, I put the bullet in my mouth, and kept chawing and chawing it, and threatening the black devils all the while until at last it was small enough, and then I rammed it down, and dropped on my knee and waited until they came within twenty yards, and then I picked off Captain Jack, the biggest villain of them all.'
Here Dick, being warmed, continued the story:—'We could not stop; we marched all evening and all night, and when the two poor creturs cried for water, as they did most of the night, as often as I could I filled my boots, and gave them to drink. I led the horse, and travelled seventy miles without halting for more than a minute or two. Toward the last they were as helpless as worn-out sheep. I tied them on. We had the luck to fall in with a party travelling just when the old mare was about giving in, and then we must all have died for want of water. Charley Anvils had eighteen wounds, but, except losing two fingers, is none the worse. Poor Jemmy, there, will never be fit for anything but a hut-keeper; as for me, I had some
scratches—nothing to hurt; and the old mare lost an ear. I went back afterwards with the police, and squared accounts with the Blacks.
'And so you see, Stranger, the old woman thinks I saved her old man's life, although I would have done as much for any one; but I believe there are some gentlemen in Sydney think I ought to have been hung for what I did. Anyhow, since that scrimmage in the Bush, they
always call me "TWO-HANDED DICK."