On the Track | Page 8

Stick a feather in his cap, And call him
Maccaroni!
All the camps seem to be singing to-night: Ring the bell, watchman!
Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring, for the good news Is now on the wing! Good
lines, the introduction: High on the belfry the old sexton stands,
Grasping the rope with his thin bony hands! . . . Bon-fires are blazing
throughout the land . . . Glorious and blessed tidings! Ring! Ring the
bell!
. . . . .
Granny Mathews fails to coax her niece into the kitchen, but persuades
her to sing inside. She is the girl who learnt `sub rosa' from the bad girl

who sang "Madeline". Such as have them on instinctively take their
hats off. Diggers, &c., strolling past, halt at the first notes of the girl's
voice, and stand like statues in the moonlight: Shall we gather at the
river, Where bright angel feet have trod? The beautiful -- the beautiful
river That flows by the throne of God! -- Diggers wanted to send that
girl "Home", but Granny Mathews had the old-fashioned horror of any
of her children becoming "public" -- Gather with the saints at the river,
That flows by the throne of God!
. . . . .
But it grows late, or rather, early. The "Eyetalians" go by in the frosty
moonlight, from their last shift in the claim (for it is Saturday night),
singing a litany.
"Get up on one end, Abe! -- stand up all!" Hands are clasped across the
kitchen table. Redclay, one of the last of the alluvial fields, has petered
out, and the Roaring Days are dying. . . . The grand old song that is
known all over the world; yet how many in ten thousand know more
than one verse and the chorus? Let Peter McKenzie lead: Should auld
acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to min'? And hearts echo
from far back in the past and across wide, wide seas: Should auld
acquaintance be forgot, And days o' lang syne?
Now boys! all together! For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang
syne, We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne. We twa hae
run about the braes, And pu'd the gowans fine; But we've wandered
mony a weary foot, Sin' auld lang syne. The world was wide then. We
twa hae paidl't i' the burn, Frae mornin' sun till dine: the log fire seems
to grow watery, for in wide, lonely Australia -- But seas between us
braid hae roar'd, Sin' auld lang syne. The kitchen grows dimmer, and
the forms of the digger-singers seemed suddenly vague and
unsubstantial, fading back rapidly through a misty veil. But the words
ring strong and defiant through hard years: And here's a hand, my
trusty frien', And gie's a grup o' thine; And we'll tak' a cup o' kindness
yet, For auld lang syne.
. . . . .
And the nettles have been growing for over twenty years on the spot
where Granny Mathews' big bark kitchen stood.

A Vision of Sandy Blight

I'd been humping my back, and crouching and groaning for an hour or
so in the darkest corner of the travellers' hut, tortured by the demon of
sandy blight. It was too hot to travel, and there was no one there except
ourselves and Mitchell's cattle pup. We were waiting till after sundown,
for I couldn't have travelled in the daylight, anyway. Mitchell had tied a
wet towel round my eyes, and led me for the last mile or two by
another towel -- one end fastened to his belt behind, and the other in
my hand as I walked in his tracks. And oh! but this was a relief! It was
out of the dust and glare, and the flies didn't come into the dark hut, and
I could hump and stick my knees in my eyes and groan in comfort. I
didn't want a thousand a year, or anything; I only wanted relief for my
eyes -- that was all I prayed for in this world. When the sun got down a
bit, Mitchell started poking round, and presently he found amongst the
rubbish a dirty-looking medicine bottle, corked tight; when he rubbed
the dirt off a piece of notepaper that was pasted on, he saw "eye-water"
written on it. He drew the cork with his teeth, smelt the water, stuck his
little finger in, turned the bottle upside down, tasted the top of his
finger, and reckoned the stuff was all right.
"Here! Wake up, Joe!" he shouted. "Here's a bottle of tears."
"A bottler wot?" I groaned.
"Eye-water," said Mitchell.
"Are you sure it's all right?" I didn't want to be poisoned or have my
eyes burnt out by mistake; perhaps some