Over There with the Australians | Page 9

. men without the means of paying
their transportation . . . started out to walk the three or four hundred
miles . . . to the nearest camp.]
"Said the squatter, 'Mike, you're crazy, they have soldier-men a-plenty!
You're as grizzled as a badger, and you're sixty year or so!' 'But I
haven't missed a scrap,' says I, 'since I was one-and-twenty, And shall I
miss the biggest? You can bet your whiskers--No!!'" [3]
Presently the telegraph-wires got busy, and the defense department in
Melbourne rubbed its eyes and sat up. As usual, the country was bigger
than its rulers, and more men were coming in than could be coped with.

The whole country was a catchment of patriotism--a huge
river-basin--and these marching bands from the far-out country were
the tributaries which fed the huge river of men which flowed from the
State capitals to the concentration camps in Sydney and Melbourne.
The leading newspapers soon were full of the story of these men from
the bush who could not wait for the government to gather them in, and
none should deny them the right to fight for their liberties.
Strange men these, as they tramped into a bush township, feet tied up in
sacking, old felt hats on their heads, moleskins and shirt, "bluey," or
blue blanket, and "billy," or quart canister, for boiling tea slung over
their backs, all white from the dust of the road.
Old Tom Coghlan was there. He had lived in a boundary hut for twenty
years, only seeing another human being once a month, when his rations
were brought from the head station. His conversation for days, now that
he was with companions, would be limited to two distinctive grunts,
one meaning "yes," the other "no." But on the station he had been
known to harangue for hours a jam-tin on a post, declaiming on the
iniquities of a capitalist government. Those who heard him as they hid
behind a gum-tree declared his language then was that of a college man.
Probably he was the scion of some noble house--there are many of
them out there in the land where no one cares about your past.
Here, too, was young Bill Squires, who had reached the age of
twenty-one without having seen a parson, and asked a bush missionary
who inquired if he knew Jesus Christ: "What kind of horse does he
ride?"
Not much of an army, this band. They would not have impressed a
drill-sergeant. To many even in those towns they were just a number of
sundowners. [4] They would act the part, arriving as the sun was setting
and, throwing their swags on the veranda of the hotel, lining up to the
bar, eyeing the loungers there to see who would stand treat. Only the
eye of God Almighty could see that beneath the dust and rags there
were hearts beating with love for country, and spirits exulting in the
opportunity offering in the undertaking of a man-size job. Perhaps a
Kitchener would have seen that the slouch was but habit and the

nonchalance merely a cloak for enthusiasm, but even he would hardly
have guessed that these were the men who would win on Gallipoli the
praise of the greatest British generals, who called them "the greatest
fighters in the world." Soon the news of these bands "on the wallaby"
[4] at the call of country caught the imagination of the whole nation.
Outback was terra incognita to the city-bred Australian, but that these
men who were coming to offer their lives should walk into the city
barefoot could not be thought of. The government was soon convinced
that the weeks, and, in some cases, months that would be occupied in
this long tramp need not be wasted. Military training could be given on
the way, and they might arrive in camp finished soldiers.
So the snowball marches were at last recognized and controlled by the
government. Whenever as many as fifty had been gathered together,
instructors, boots, and uniforms were sent along, and the march partook
of a military character. No longer were they sundowners; they marched
into town at the end of the day, four abreast, in proper column of route,
with a sergeant swinging his cane at the head, sometimes keeping step
to the tune of mouth-organs. The uniforms were merely of blue
dungaree with white calico hats, but they were serviceable, and all
being dressed alike made them look somewhat soldierly. The sergeants
always had an eye open for more recruits, and every town and station
they passed through became a rallying-point for aspirants to the army.
Their coming was now heralded--local shire councillors gathered to
greet them, streets were beflagged, dinners were given--always, at
every opportunity, appeals were made for more recruits. Sometimes, to