The Workers and the Idlers of the BushIf the Australian Bush is melancholy, neither are the figures one meets in its solitudes very gay. The shepherd, or boundary rider, as he is called, is the most important of these, and he is not unpicturesque as he sits loosely on horseback, with limply-hanging reins, and wearing a large soft hat, generally inclined over his eyes to shade them from the brilliant sun-shine. His business is to inspect the fences and barriers of a station, and so his days are passed in solitary riding. He—in fact every Bushman—is a splendid rider, although he may not look smart in the saddle. Australian horses are only half broken, and there are hundreds of them that would put the antics of Buffalo Bill's buck-jumpers into the shade. '' A sad-looking figure is the " sundowner," who, as his name implies, turns up at sundown and claims the hospitality of the squatter. He is supplied with rations and a shelter for the night. Next morning he goes on his way if there is no work for him, and directs his steps towards some neighbouring station, where he will meet with the same kindness. He is always on the move. Sometimes there is work which he can do, and he stops to earn a few shillings; but more often he is not wanted, and he tramps through the Bush, forgotten, lost in its immense solitudes. On his back are all his goods and chattels:
a blue blanket, and a tin-can called a billy, which, with his pipe, generally form his whole impedimenta. As spring advances, you meet the more lively figure of the shearer, with his two horses, one to carry him, another to carry his baggage. He is seldom alone, but rides in companies of three or four. This man is in comparatively affluent circumstances, since he can earn from one to two pounds a day. The squatter pays a pound for the shearing of each hundred sheep, and there are some shearers so clever at the work that they can shear two hundred a day. When you meet him, he is on his way to some station where he has been engaged for the shear-ing, and he has perhaps twenty or thirty pounds in his pocket. You think, perhaps, that he is going to carry that money to the bank, so as to be able one day to buy a little land and do some farming on his own account. Do not be so sure of it; as likely as not, he will take it to some public-house that he finds on his road, and there he will stay until all the money has gone down his throat. The tavern-keeper is on the look-out for him, and it is he who will be the richer for the man's labour. The shearer, finding his pockets empty, wonders how it is he has no money, and makes up his mind to strike for higher pay next season. Another figure you will meet — and he too on horseback, always on horseback or driving—is the minister. The good man is going to some squatter's station to pray with the family, who are too far removed from the nearest town to come often to service in church or chapel. He wears a moustache and rabbit-paw whiskers, in the Australian fashion, and he is white with dust from head to foot. Presently it is the doctor you pass, who is perhaps going on a fifty or sixty mile journey through the Bush to attend an urgent case. Here is the wife of some ordinary farmer. She is returning from the town, where she has been making purchases. She is on horseback, but in ordinary walking dress. Her packages are strapped to the saddle. With her left hand she holds the reins, while with the right she holds a sunshade or umbrella, to shelter her from sun or rain. Every one you chance to meet in the Bush salutes you, not by inclining the head in the ordinary way, but by a side movement, without any smile or gesture of the hand. Beggars on HorsebackEvery one rides in Australia, the shop boy, the post-man, the telegraph boy, the lamplighter, the beggar even.
I remember having been accosted one day near Musselbrook by a man on horseback, who asked for alms.
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