The Man from Snowy River Part 10

By next week's _RIVERINE_ I saw my friend had been A bit too cunning.

I read: 'The racehorse Strife And jockey William Fife Disqualified for life -- Suspicious running.'

But though they spoilt his game, I reckon all the same I fairly ought to claim My friend a white 'un.

For though he wasn't straight, His deeds would indicate His heart at any rate Was 'a all right 'un'.

The Boss of the 'Admiral Lynch'

Did you ever hear tell of Chili? I was readin' the other day Of President Balmaceda and of how he was sent away.

It seems that he didn't suit 'em -- they thought that they'd like a change, So they started an insurrection and chased him across the range.

They seemed to be restless people -- and, judging by what you hear, They raise up these revolutions 'bout two or three times a year; And the man that goes out of office, he goes for the boundary _QUICK_, For there isn't no vote by ballot -- it's bullets that does the trick.

And it ain't like a real battle, where the prisoners' lives are spared, And they fight till there's one side beaten and then there's a truce declared,

And the man that has got the licking goes down like a blooming lord To hand in his resignation and give up his blooming sword, And the other man bows and takes it, and everything's all polite -- This wasn't that kind of a picnic, this wasn't that sort of a fight.

For the pris'ners they took -- they shot 'em; no odds were they small or great, If they'd collared old Balmaceda, they reckoned to shoot him straight.

A lot of bloodthirsty devils they were -- but there ain't a doubt They must have been real plucked 'uns -- the way that they fought it out, And the king of 'em all, I reckon, the man that could stand a pinch, Was the boss of a one-horse gunboat. They called her the 'Admiral Lynch'.

Well, he was for Balmaceda, and after the war was done, And Balmaceda was beaten and his troops had been forced to run, The other man fetched his army and proceeded to do things brown, He marched 'em into the fortress and took command of the town.

Cannon and guns and horses troopin' along the road, Rumblin' over the bridges, and never a foeman showed Till they came in sight of the harbour, and the very first thing they see Was this mite of a one-horse gunboat a-lying against the quay, And there as they watched they noticed a flutter of crimson rag, And under their eyes he hoisted old Balmaceda's flag.

Well, I tell you it fairly knocked 'em -- it just took away their breath, For he must ha' known if they caught him, 'twas nothin' but sudden death.

An' he'd got no fire in his furnace, no chance to put out to sea, So he stood by his gun and waited with his vessel against the quay.

Well, they sent him a civil message to say that the war was done, And most of his side were corpses, and all that were left had run; And blood had been spilt sufficient, so they gave him a chance to decide If he'd haul down his bit of bunting and come on the winning side.

He listened and heard their message, and answered them all polite, That he was a Spanish hidalgo, and the men of his race _MUST_ fight!

A gunboat against an army, and with never a chance to run, And them with their hundred cannon and him with a single gun: The odds were a trifle heavy -- but he wasn't the sort to flinch, So he opened fire on the army, did the boss of the 'Admiral Lynch'.

They pounded his boat to pieces, they silenced his single gun, And captured the whole consignment, for none of 'em cared to run; And it don't say whether they shot him -- it don't even give his name -- But whatever they did I'll wager that he went to his graveyard game.

I tell you those old hidalgos so stately and so polite, They turn out the real Maginnis when it comes to an uphill fight.

There was General Alcantara, who died in the heaviest brunt, And General Alzereca was killed in the battle's front; But the king of 'em all, I reckon -- the man that could stand a pinch -- Was the man who attacked the army with the gunboat 'Admiral Lynch'.

A Bushman's Song

I'm travellin' down the Castlereagh, and I'm a station hand, I'm handy with the ropin' pole, I'm handy with the brand, And I can ride a rowdy colt, or swing the axe all day, But there's no demand for a station-hand along the Castlereagh.

So it's shift, boys, shift, for there isn't the slightest doubt That we've got to make a shift to the stations further out, With the pack-horse runnin' after, for he follows like a dog, We must strike across the country at the old jig-jog.

This old black horse I'm riding -- if you'll notice what's his brand, He wears the crooked R, you see -- none better in the land.

He takes a lot of beatin', and the other day we tried, For a bit of a joke, with a racing bloke, for twenty pounds a side.

It was shift, boys, shift, for there wasn't the slightest doubt That I had to make him shift, for the money was nearly out; But he cantered home a winner, with the other one at the flog -- He's a red-hot sort to pick up with his old jig-jog.

I asked a cove for shearin' once along the Marthaguy: 'We shear non-union here,' says he. 'I call it scab,' says I.

I looked along the shearin' floor before I turned to go -- There were eight or ten dashed Chinamen a-shearin' in a row.

It was shift, boys, shift, for there wasn't the slightest doubt It was time to make a shift with the leprosy about.

So I saddled up my horses, and I whistled to my dog, And I left his scabby station at the old jig-jog.

I went to Illawarra, where my brother's got a farm, He has to ask his landlord's leave before he lifts his arm; The landlord owns the country side -- man, woman, dog, and cat, They haven't the cheek to dare to speak without they touch their hat.

It was shift, boys, shift, for there wasn't the slightest doubt Their little landlord G.o.d and I would soon have fallen out; Was I to touch my hat to him? -- was I his bloomin' dog?

So I makes for up the country at the old jig-jog.

But it's time that I was movin', I've a mighty way to go Till I drink artesian water from a thousand feet below; Till I meet the overlanders with the cattle comin' down, And I'll work a while till I make a pile, then have a spree in town.

So, it's shift, boys, shift, for there isn't the slightest doubt We've got to make a shift to the stations further out; The pack-horse runs behind us, for he follows like a dog, And we cross a lot of country at the old jig-jog.

How Gilbert Died

There's never a stone at the sleeper's head, There's never a fence beside, And the wandering stock on the grave may tread Unnoticed and undenied, But the smallest child on the Watershed Can tell you how Gilbert died.

For he rode at dusk, with his comrade Dunn To the hut at the Stockman's Ford, In the waning light of the sinking sun They peered with a fierce accord.

They were outlaws both -- and on each man's head Was a thousand pounds reward.

They had taken toll of the country round, And the troopers came behind With a black that tracked like a human hound In the scrub and the ranges blind: He could run the trail where a white man's eye No sign of a track could find.

He had hunted them out of the One Tree Hill And over the Old Man Plain, But they wheeled their tracks with a wild beast's skill, And they made for the range again.

Then away to the hut where their grandsire dwelt, They rode with a loosened rein.

And their grandsire gave them a greeting bold: 'Come in and rest in peace, No safer place does the country hold -- With the night pursuit must cease, And we'll drink success to the roving boys, And to h.e.l.l with the black police.'

But they went to death when they entered there, In the hut at the Stockman's Ford, For their grandsire's words were as false as fair -- They were doomed to the hangman's cord.

He had sold them both to the black police For the sake of the big reward.

In the depth of night there are forms that glide As stealthy as serpents creep, And around the hut where the outlaws hide They plant in the shadows deep, And they wait till the first faint flush of dawn Shall waken their prey from sleep.

But Gilbert wakes while the night is dark -- A restless sleeper, aye, He has heard the sound of a sheep-dog's bark, And his horse's warning neigh, And he says to his mate, 'There are hawks abroad, And it's time that we went away.'

Their rifles stood at the stretcher head, Their bridles lay to hand, They wakened the old man out of his bed, When they heard the sharp command: 'In the name of the Queen lay down your arms, Now, Dunn and Gilbert, stand!'

Then Gilbert reached for his rifle true That close at his hand he kept, He pointed it straight at the voice and drew, But never a flash outleapt, For the water ran from the rifle breech -- It was drenched while the outlaws slept.

Then he dropped the piece with a bitter oath, And he turned to his comrade Dunn: 'We are sold,' he said, 'we are dead men both, But there may be a chance for one; I'll stop and I'll fight with the pistol here, You take to your heels and run.'