Rio Grande's Last Race & Other Verses Part 2

Islands where sh.e.l.l was in plenty lying in pa.s.sage and bay, Islands where divers could gather hundreds of sh.e.l.l in a day: But the lumbering Dutch, with their gunboats, hunted the divers away.

Joe Nagasaki, the 'tender', finding the profits grow small, Said, 'Let us go to the Islands, try for a number one haul!

If we get caught, go to prison -- let them take lugger and all!'

Kanzo Makame, the diver -- knowing full well what it meant -- Fatalist, gambler, and stoic, smiled a broad smile of content, Flattened in mainsail and foresail, and off to the Islands they went.

Close to the headlands they drifted, picking up sh.e.l.l by the ton, Piled up on deck were the oysters, opening wide in the sun, When, from the lee of the headland, boomed the report of a gun.

Once that the diver was sighted pearl-sh.e.l.l and lugger must go.

Joe Nagasaki decided -- quick was the word and the blow -- Cut both the pipe and the life-line, leaving the diver below!

Kanzo Makame, the diver, failing to quite understand, Pulled the 'haul up' on the life-line, found it was slack in his hand; Then, like a little brown stoic, lay down and died on the sand.

Joe Nagasaki, the 'tender', smiling a sanctified smile, Headed her straight for the gunboat -- throwing out sh.e.l.ls all the while -- Then went aboard and reported, 'No makee dive in three mile!

'Dress no have got and no helmet -- diver go sh.o.r.e on the spree; Plenty wind come and break rudder -- lugger get blown out to sea: Take me to j.a.panee Consul, he help a poor j.a.panee!'

So the Dutch let him go, and they watched him, as off from the Islands he ran, Doubting him much, but what would you? You have to be sure of your man Ere you wake up that nest-full of hornets -- the little brown men of j.a.pan.

Down in the ooze and the coral, down where earth's wonders are spread, Helmeted, ghastly, and swollen, Kanzo Makame lies dead: Joe Nagasaki, his 'tender', is owner and diver instead.

Wearer of pearls in your necklace, comfort yourself if you can, These are the risks of the pearling -- these are the ways of j.a.pan, 'Plenty more j.a.panee diver, plenty more little brown man!'

The City of Dreadful Thirst

The stranger came from Narromine and made his little joke -- 'They say we folks in Narromine are narrow-minded folk.

But all the smartest men down here are puzzled to define A kind of new phenomenon that came to Narromine.

'Last summer up in Narromine 'twas gettin' rather warm -- Two hundred in the water-bag, and lookin' like a storm -- We all were in the private bar, the coolest place in town, When out across the stretch of plain a cloud came rollin' down,

'We don't respect the clouds up there, they fill us with disgust, They mostly bring a Bogan shower -- three rain-drops and some dust; But each man, simultaneous-like, to each man said, "I think That cloud suggests it's up to us to have another drink!"

'There's clouds of rain and clouds of dust -- we'd heard of them before, And sometimes in the daily press we read of "clouds of war": But -- if this ain't the Gospel truth I hope that I may burst -- That cloud that came to Narromine was just a cloud of thirst.

'It wasn't like a common cloud, 'twas more a sort of haze; It settled down about the streets, and stopped for days and days, And not a drop of dew could fall and not a sunbeam shine To pierce that dismal sort of mist that hung on Narromine.

'Oh, Lord! we had a dreadful time beneath that cloud of thirst!

We all chucked-up our daily work and went upon the burst.

The very blacks about the town that used to cadge for grub, They made an organised attack and tried to loot the pub.

'We couldn't leave the private bar no matter how we tried; Shearers and squatters, union-men and blacklegs side by side Were drinkin' there and dursn't move, for each was sure, he said, Before he'd get a half-a-mile the thirst would strike him dead!

'We drank until the drink gave out, we searched from room to room, And round the pub, like drunken ghosts, went howling through the gloom.

The shearers found some kerosene and settled down again, But all the squatter chaps and I, we staggered to the train.

'And, once outside the cloud of thirst, we felt as right as pie, But while we stopped about the town we had to drink or die.

But now I hear it's safe enough, I'm going back to work Because they say the cloud of thirst has shifted on to Bourke.

'But when you see those clouds about -- like this one over here -- All white and frothy at the top, just like a pint of beer, It's time to go and have a drink, for if that cloud should burst You'd find the drink would all be gone, for that's a cloud of thirst!'

We stood the man from Narromine a pint of half-and-half; He drank it off without a gasp in one tremendous quaff; 'I joined some friends last night,' he said, 'in what THEY called a spree; But after Narromine 'twas just a holiday to me.'

And now beyond the Western Range, where sunset skies are red, And clouds of dust, and clouds of thirst, go drifting overhead, The railway-train is taking back, along the Western Line, That narrow-minded person on his road to Narromine.

Saltbush Bill's Gamec.o.c.k

'Twas Saltbush Bill, with his travelling sheep, was making his way to town; He crossed them over the Hard Times Run, and he came to the Take 'Em Down; He counted through at the boundary gate, and camped at the drafting yard: For Stingy Smith, of the Hard Times Run, had hunted him rather hard.

He bore no malice to Stingy Smith -- 'twas simply the hand of fate That caused his waggon to swerve aside and shatter old Stingy's gate; And, being only the hand of fate, it follows, without a doubt, It wasn't the fault of Saltbush Bill that Stingy's sheep got out.

So Saltbush Bill, with an easy heart, prepared for what might befall, Commenced his stages on Take 'Em Down, the station of Rooster Hall.

'Tis strange how often the men out back will take to some curious craft, Some ruling pa.s.sion to keep their thoughts away from the overdraft; And Rooster Hall, of the Take 'Em Down, was widely known to fame As breeder of champion fighting c.o.c.ks -- his 'forte' was the British Game.

The pa.s.sing stranger within his gates that camped with old Rooster Hall Was forced to talk about fowls all night, or else not talk at all.

Though droughts should come, and though sheep should die, his fowls were his sole delight; He left his shed in the flood of work to watch two gamec.o.c.ks fight.

He held in scorn the Australian Game, that long-legged child of sin; In a desperate fight, with the steel-tipped spurs, the British Game must win!

The Australian bird was a mongrel bird, with a touch of the jungle c.o.c.k; The want of breeding must find him out, when facing the English stock; For British breeding, and British pluck, must triumph it over all -- And that was the root of the simple creed that governed old Rooster Hall.

'Twas Saltbush Bill to the station rode ahead of his travelling sheep, And sent a message to Rooster Hall that wakened him out of his sleep -- A crafty message that fetched him out, and hurried him as he came -- 'A drover has an Australian Bird to match with your British Game.'

'Twas done, and done in a half a trice; a five-pound note aside; Old Rooster Hall, with his champion bird, and the drover's bird untried.

'Steel spurs, of course?' said old Rooster Hall; 'you'll need 'em, without a doubt!'

'You stick the spurs on your bird!' said Bill, 'but mine fights best without.'

'Fights best without?' said old Rooster Hall; 'he can't fight best unspurred!

You must be crazy!' But Saltbush Bill said, 'Wait till you see my bird!'

So Rooster Hall to his fowlyard went, and quickly back he came, Bearing a clipt and a shaven c.o.c.k, the pride of his English Game.

With an eye as fierce as an eaglehawk, and a crow like a trumpet call, He strutted about on the garden walk, and cackled at Rooster Hall.

Then Rooster Hall sent off a boy with word to his cronies two, McCrae (the boss of the Black Police) and Father Donahoo.

Full many a c.o.c.kfight old McCrae had held in his empty Court, With Father D. as a picker-up -- a regular all-round Sport!

They got the message of Rooster Hall, and down to his run they came, Prepared to scoff at the drover's bird, and to bet on the English Game; They hied them off to the drover's camp, while Saltbush rode before -- Old Rooster Hall was a blithesome man, when he thought of the treat in store.

They reached the camp, where the drover's cook, with countenance all serene, Was boiling beef in an iron pot, but never a fowl was seen.

'Take off the beef from the fire,' said Bill, 'and wait till you see the fight; There's something fresh for the bill-of-fare -- there's game-fowl stew to-night!

For Mister Hall has a fighting c.o.c.k, all feathered and clipped and spurred; And he's fetched him here, for a bit of sport, to fight our Australian bird.

I've made a match that our pet will win, though he's hardly a fighting c.o.c.k, But he's game enough, and it's many a mile that he's tramped with the travelling stock.'

The cook he banged on a saucepan lid; and, soon as the sound was heard, Under the dray, in the shadows hid, a something moved and stirred: A great tame Emu strutted out. Said Saltbush, 'Here's our bird!'