The Camp Fire
(Written by a Queensland Drover.)
The stockman's tea was over, the damper
stowed away,
And to stretch our weary limbs around tihe
fire we lay;
Put on another log my boys--a good big
one--that's right,
Make up a galley fire, for I fear we'll have
it cold to-night;
And before you light that pipe of yours,
just feel in my valise,
You'll find a flask of good three star,
there's just a nip apiece.
No thank you boss --I'd rather not, no
brandy, sir, for me.
Why, Ned, how's this--you never drink?
I've seen you tempted oft,
And when you chance to take a drink, it's
always something soft,
I once was wild, the stockman said, as any
man could be,
And many a hard earn't cheque knocked
down, just in a drunkeon spree;
But things have changed and now I look
on drink with dread and fear.
Were I my story to relate, 'twould move
you to a tear.
To tell us someihing of his life, we on him
did prevail,
And gather close around the fire to hear the
stookman's tale,
The hardy stockman heaved a sigh,--his
face was sad and wan ;
He knocked the ashes from his pipe, and
then the tale began ;
Three years ago or nearly so--how fast the
lime rolls by !--
We wenit across the Western plain, my
brother Ben and I;
My brother Ben--it is of him I mean to
speak the most.
He was a fine and manly lad, as the country
round could boast
But with his manly virtues he one great
failing had ;
Now that was drinking--the cursed drink,
I've seen him raging mad.
But after that he'd sober down a steady
chap was he ;
He earned his cheque and sent it home--
not knocked it down like me,
We'd charge of a snob of cattle with other
stockmen--three,
And trav'ling in the summer time--right
jolly times had we.
One night we camp'd the cattle upon some
rinsing ground,
We had them steadied for the night and lit
the fire around ;
Then to have a merrry time, I for the grog
did call ;
And I was myself I found, the worst
amongst them all ;
My brother too join'd in the fun, and
many a song he sang.
We made the screaming curlews fly, while
thus our voices rang;
But Ben, he would not drink, altho' we
press'd him hard,
To all our soft entreaties he paid not the
least regard,
Come Ben, said I, don't be so mean--to
stand the odd man out;
I've often seen you drink your whack when
the liquor's been about,
But Ned you know I've tasted none these
three long years, he said,
And will you know how crazed I go when
it gets into my head.
Pooh ! Nonsense, man, the night is cold--
only take one glass ;
One, only one, the chorus chimed, while
round the grog they pass'd.
He yielded to that fatal hour, which makes
me sad to think,
For none in this wide world but I, could
make my brother drink ;
Glass alter glass--for each of us we drank
Till weary with the night's carcourse--in a
drunken sleep I sank ;
How long ! slept I cannot tell, but I woke
to sleep no more,
The distant thunder broke my rest--a storm
was gathering o'er ;
I rose and stirred the dying fre, and tried
to rouse the men,
And looking round with beating heart--I
missed my brother Ben,
I snatched my whip up from the ground
--my horse was standing near,
And as I to the saddle sprang, my heart
stood still with fear ;
Just then the vivid lightning's flash lit up
the gloomy plain,
I saw Ben riding madly there, and all was
dark again,
I called aloud, hold hard awhile--my volce
was deep and hollow,
Ha ! ha ! he cried, to death I ride--come
on, you dare not follow !
He then rode for some timbered land with
darksome gloom o'er head ;
And as I spurr'd with rapid stride my gallant stock horse sped,
I tried to grasp Ben's bridle-rein, the horse
swerv'd from the track,
Went flyiing away like a fawn at play, with
a madman on his back.
Alas ! the horse with jerking rein he tried
his head to free,
And rearing back his rider threw against a
fallen' tree ;
Dismounting I was by his side--I raised
his drooping head,
And gazed into his face,--I could not thihk
him dead ;
But the dawning of the coming day what a
sight to me revealed !
Those blue eyes were forever closed, with
blood the lips were seal'd,
Oh ! will hear this message to my poor
aged mother,
The death of her beloved son, my dear and
only brother !
it was I his murderer--Oh, from the
thought I shrink !
Struck down bereft ot intellect, by that
coursed drink.
On yonder mountain's sloping side, a lonely
grane you'll see,
O'erhung with grass and drooping moss,
beneath a cedar tree ;
No mantle cross, no monument, his lonely
grave does mark--
We rudely cut that precious name Deep in
the growing bark.
Warroo, Queensland,
May 1st, 1881,
Notes
From the NSW paper the Kiama Independent, and Shoalhaven Advertiser Tuesday 14 June 1887 p. 4.