'nless yer got a fairish big tree in front of yer.'
Upon this discouraging statement, the product of 'a city's smoke and steam' – under-sized, untended from childhood, grown to manhood, untaught save in precocious villainy – slunk into the background, while from the centre of a group emerged the man who had posed as the 'President of the Council,' and thus addressed the crowding shearers: —
'Bring out Bill Hardwick and them other "scabs." We'll have 'em in front when the shootin' begins. It'll do 'em good to feel what their friends' tyranny's brought the people to.'
The sentry was directed to quit his post, and a score of eager hands competed for the privilege of dragging out the weary, famished men, and rushing with them to the river-bank, while with slow, reverberating strokes the measured beat of the paddles was heard, as the dimly-lighted hull of the steamer showed amid the ebon darkness – the throbbing of her overpowered engines sounding like the heart-beats of some monstrous creature, slow-emerging from the channels of a prehistoric morass.
'Boat ahoy!' shouted the President, with an accent telling of a seaman's experiences. 'Heave to, and let us have a look at your passenger list.'
'Who the hell are you, anyway?' was returned in answer – the intonation confirming the Sydney-sider's information. 'What's my passenger list to you? I'm bound to Moorara, and the men on board hev' their passage paid – that's all I've to look to. Full steam ahead!'
A derisive laugh was the only answer from the river-bank. But the skipper's complacency was of short duration, as a violent shock almost dislodged him from the bridge, and made every bit of loose timber, or unsecured deck cargo, rock and rattle again. The Dundonald had gone full speed against a wire rope, or rather against two twisted together, which had been feloniously taken from a punt higher up the river, because the misguided lessee had carried across free labourers.
A yell of exultation burst from the excited crowd, now fully determined to board the obnoxious steamer, while a voice from their midst, after commanding silence, called out, 'Steamer ahoy!'
'Well, what is it? What do you want, stopping me on a voyage? You'd as well take care; I'm a quiet man, but a bad one to meddle with.'
'We want those infernal traitors you've got aboard.'
'And suppose I won't give up my passengers?'
'Then we'll burn yer bloomin' boat, and roast them and you along with it. Don't yer make no mistake.'
'Then you'd better come and do it.'
At this defiance, a chorus of yells and execrations ascended through the warm, still air, as a hundred men dashed into the tepid waters of the smooth stream, the slow current of which hardly sufficed to bear them below the steamer's hull. Like a swarm of Malay pirates, they clambered on the low rail of the half barge, half steamer, which had done her share in carrying the wool-crop of the limitless levels so many times to the sea. But her last voyage had come. The crew stubbornly resisted. Many a man fell backward, half stunned by blows from marline-spikes and gun-stocks – though as yet only a few shots were fired – and more than one of the rioters narrowly escaped death by drowning. But the 'free labourers,' disordered by the suddenness of the onslaught, fought but half-heartedly. Outnumbered by ten to one, they were driven back, foot by foot, till they were forced aft, almost to the rail, before the skipper yielded.
A few shots had been fired from the bank before the charge through the water was made, in the pious hope of hitting the captain or one of the crew; better still, a free labourer. They were promptly returned, and one of the men nearest the leader fell, shot through the body. But at that moment the leader's strident voice was heard. 'Stop firin'; I'll shoot the next man that holds up a gun. Let's catch 'em alive and deal with 'em and their blasted boat afterwards. There's enough of yer to eat 'em!'
When the surrender was imminent, the skipper had one of the boats lowered – a broad-beamed, serviceable, barge-like affair, in which great loads had been conveyed in the flooded seasons – and putting a white cloth on to the end of his rifle-barrel, called for a parley. It was granted.
'See here, yer darned pirates! I want a word or two. There's a ton of powder on board, and the man you wounded with your cowardly first shoot is sitting on a chair beside a coil of fuse, with a sperm candle and a box of matches. It's a sure thing he won't live, and he don't love the men that took his life, foul and coward-like. I'm to fire this revolver twice for a signal, and next minute we'll all go to hell together, sociable like. Jump into the boat, men, and take your guns, some grub, and a tarpaulin. Those that like may stay with me – I stop with the ship.'
If there's anything that undisciplined men fear, it is an explosion of gunpowder. They did not know for certain whether there was any on board. But if there was, there was no time to lose. A panic seized them, one and all. The crew descended into the boat in good order, obeying the captain's commands. His cool, decided voice imposed upon the rioters. They tumbled into the river by scores – knocking over their comrades and even striking them, like men in a sinking vessel, under the influence of fear – until the last man had reached the bank, when they even ran some distance in their terror before they could rid themselves of the fear of hearing too late the thunderous roar of the explosion, and being hurled into eternity in an instant.
The free labourers, on the other hand, from having assisted in the navigation of the steamer in her slow voyage from Echuca, had made themselves acquainted with every nook and cranny and pound of cargo on the boat. They knew that there was no magazine, nor any powder, and, divining the captain's ruse, made for the opposite bank with all convenient speed. Those who could swim, lost no time; and those who could not, escaped into the bush, undisturbed by the privateering crowd that had been so valorous a few minutes before.
When the boat returned and not before, the captain descended with deliberation, remarking, 'Now, lads, we've got a clear track before us. There ain't no powder, there ain't no wounded man, and I reckon them long-shore skunks will find themselves in an all-fired mess when the police come. There's a big body of 'em only ten miles from here, at Moorara Station. We'll just make camp and have a snack – some of us want it pretty bad. We'll build fires to warm those that's wet – wood's plenty. Leave 'em burning and make down river so's to warn the police under Colonel Elliot. The Union army won't cross before morning, for fear of the old tub blowing up and making a scatteration among 'em.'
The programme was carried out. The night was of Egyptian darkness. Supper was hastily disposed of. The fires were freshly made up, and shortly afterwards the whole contingent took the down-river road and by daylight were miles away from the scene of the encounter.
The unusually large body of police which had been ordered up by the Government, to join with another force on the Darling, had made rendezvous at Moorara, having heard from a scout that mischief, rather above the ordinary limit, was being enacted near Poliah. When, next morning, the captain and crew of the Dundonald, with the greater portion of the free labourers, arrived, a strong sensation was aroused. This was an unparalleled outrage, and, if unchecked, meant the commencement of Civil War, plain and undisguised.
What horrors might follow! A guerilla band, with its attendant crimes – murder, pillage, outrage! Such a band of reckless desperadoes, armed and mounted, like a regiment of irregular horse, was sufficient to terrorise the country; gathering on the march, till every criminal in the land that could steal a horse and a gun would be added to their ranks in a surprisingly short time.
Once launched on such a campaign of crime, the country would be ravaged before a military force could be organised. The proverbial snowball may be arrested at the first movement, but after gathering velocity, it descends the mountain-side with the force and fury of the avalanche.
The colonel in command of the Volunteers was a soldier to whom border raids in wild lands, with a wilder foe, was not unfamiliar. 'Boot and saddle' was sounded. Without a moment's unnecessary delay, the troop was in full marching order along the 'river road,' a well-marked trail, heading for Poliah.
The night was still dark, but comparatively cool. No inconvenience was felt as the men trotted briskly along and joked as to the sort of battle in which they would engage.
'Bless yer, they won't fight, not if there was another thousand of 'em,' said a grizzled sergeant, 'and