THE SUNDOWNER.

Mataura Ensign, Volume 17, Issue 17, 12 October 1894, Page 2

THE SUNDOWNER.

* ' Move on ! We dou'c want sundowners here. Go tOtthe,pub.' _„ v The words were harshly utt Ored by a •latternly woman, Btanding at the door of- a poor cottage on the outskirts of the settlement, ■>■. ' : She stood with arms akmib% regardiag the tramp with a look of angry ■corn. She had not lost all liacea of j comeliness, but now ber faoe was hard and careworn* Her mouth was. tigbly drawn at the corners, aud her great dark eye£ were restless, dilating, and vicious; Her face and neckand bare muscular arms were bronz d by if c stir!. She wore i a coaimon,' ill-fitting gOW-V and a white sun-bonnet c;vered heir head. She had tha Uoi and air of a wom-m who had known much sorrow and suffering. A man rode up, and checked bis horse at the garden gate. ' Oh, Mr Hick*/ eaid the woman, '•have you seen my Sally ? I sent her away an hour ago to bring in the cows, aad ahe hasn't come back.' ' No, Mrs Wilkins, I haven't set eyes on her. I've come from away yonder near Picton. My word, the roads are just awful—-up to the girths in water, and some of the bridges are carried away. Going to hive more rain, top. Good afternoon !' He plunged the spurs into his boree'a flinks, aod galloped away towards the town. The tramp had lingered irresolutely, gazing with a wistful look towards the cottage. « Well, didn't I tell you to clear ?' said the woman. 'I've nothing for you here. It's as much as I can do to get enough to eat for myself. Vamose, of I'll sec the dogs on yer.' He turned ssida without a word, gazed for a moment aciow the loDg treeless valley, covered with patchta of coarse tussocks, noted the grey watery mist creeping dowa the distant hills, and, with an audib'e sigh, went on hie way. He waß a pitiable-looking creature. His tall figute was bent, hid face wan and pale, his eyes bleared, his beard matted and grizzled, and his long hair, almost hidden beneath the drooping brim of a greasy ' billycock ' bat, un. kempt. A blue 'jumper,' a pair of moleskin trousers, and rusty Blucher-?, through which his stockingless toes protouted, made up tbe attire of a colonial tfatn p. He c<uried all his worJly belongings in a. 'jawag.' or rolled blanket, in tbe form of a huge horse collar, worn over bis left shoulder and across his <&iSst aM baok, after the fa'Bhion of a rifleman's cartridge belt. , Aa he shamb'cd away from the cottage, dragging hia feet painfully, *■ though- they were lead, the woman continued to watch bim with a look of suspicion. 'Another of thoae drunken, loafing , tramps,' she muttered. « I f*ncy I've seen him hanging round here before.' She shaded her eyes with her hands, and scanned the brown tussooked plain. Feeling the patter of a few drops of rain ehe shifted her hands to her mouth fttubeU wise, and uttered a long and prolonged ' Coo-ee !' The man puzzled for an instant and glanced back, but he knew tbe call was not for him. Tbere was no answering ory. The woman repeated the signal, and the echoes died away in the die tance, and only the dull roar and Wrangle of the fl >oded live r was Leard. ' Won't I give it her, tha ! .'B all, when I get hold of the little hussy, 1 growled the woman, as she went in out of the shower. Mrs Wilkins was one ot the numerous olass of 'grass widows ' wbo abound among the nomadic population of the colonies. Her husband, a confirmed drunkard, sfter dissipating their little property, had gone away yeara ago, and had n-aver since been heard of, Tbe wife, lived oa the proceeds of the railk and butler derived from a few cows, and the sale of eggs, She was a sturdy, industrious woman, aod though ber domestic troubles and her constant struggle with poverty bad spoiled her temper, ' Mother Wilkins' was greatly respected by her neighbors. Down in the little town of Blenheim the people were stricken with the dread of impending disaster. There had been heavy rain for several d*>ys, and now, after a few hours' of treacherous sun. Shine, the sky had beooma dark and threatening. The unpaVed streets and footpaths were covered with a thick layer of gluey mud. The last storm had overflowed the gutters, and ca«t up bapks of yellow sludge at the very doors of the stores and dwelling-houses. The generai aspect of tbe town was dreary and melancholy. Many of the country jfaads were impassable; the farmers were cut off from their market ; btfeioess was at a standstill. Tbe people Icitfed time with spfcuiatiens on the weither, and discussing the reports tha*; had ccme in from the out-districts. Groups of idlers sat on the counters and played euchre or 'Yankee Grab' for drinks. Blenheim was a squatters' town. No surveyor in his sane senses would have Seleoted such a tite as that for a settle. mm*. 1 It Jay in the hollow of a valley, in the midsl) of a vast sheep ruu, aud it -had grown up by accident. The owner of the run, a wealthy absentee residing in London, refused to cut up any more land for building sites. The town, theraforc*, made no progress. Situated between the confluence of two rivers, Blenheim was subject to severe periodical floods. Whenever an Qnusualiy wet season occurred, the s d|stant mountain torrents poured down ip) the rivers, aod the flood, backing .dp ftlb' their jaactiozf, overspread the adjacent low -lying connf.ry, forming one vmh lake. An enormous dam had been iuilt serosa the head of the valley to protect the town. ' Looks like coming down like oats and dogP,' said the boat of ' The Bushman's ließr,' going to the door and scanning the sky for the hundredth time. Black as yer hat all round.' 'Hang my luck!' growled 'The Kingaroo,' a lanky ahearer, throwing down tbe dice box witb a bang. « Who $i_9 4-"-— fe&9 ftn y 9b»U6d &si\m

p_!.b f een? Here, landlord, I'm stuck again. Give us unochtr dose of your fine old kerosene.' . 4 Shouldn't wonder if we don't have another flood like we had in '76,' remarked ** Tommy tbe Shing'er ' eagely. 'Just the same kind of weather all over. My word, that was a eoefzer ! No* hVfl >od wasn't a patch on it. Theie was six feet o' water iv thia bar. D'ye mind that tin.*-, Masher ?' ' My blooming oath ! — will I evor forget it? Bos*, and missus, and three kid*, was drowned up there at the crossing—best boss I ever worked for. Why, I was two days perched like a possum on the roof of tbe woolshed, 'epec»<itt' every minute as it ud break up. My colonial ! don't I remember it.' 'Here's thumping luck, boys,' said 'The Kanzaror,' tuang off a neat whisky, and wiping hits mouth with tbe back of bis band. * Ln's bave a shilling in and the winner shout next time.' " ' Ain't no danger of another flood,' broke in Yankee Joe. VThe dam'd bren put up eir.ee then.' s Don't you be too cocksure o' tbat,' said The Sbingler. ' Listen ! dyer bear that? That's the roar o' the waters at the junction. My word, it's a sight werth seeing. Tbo two big floods grapple and fight, each other there, and one o' them goes back for a rest, and races about all over the country, and then cocoe back agio, bringing down hundreds of big tws and ca-tle an-l the^p. Hal.'o ! who's this 1 1 It's Holmee,' eaid The Kiogaroo. •Hfc'd Clifford's boundary lider. Look at his saddle- The water's been right over the seat.' The new-comer fastened the reins carelt ssly to tho ring in tbe post, and sauntered into the bar. Water was dripping from his clothes, and formed a puddle on the floor. * Halloo, mate.. Here, give it a mm*-." He flung down a greasy bank-noto on the counter, aud began to fill hid pipe. ' Anything up V asked The Kangaroo. • Yt-s, the flood's up, over the girths, and there's a big pile o' logs and dead sheep banked up behind the bridge. My word, when it goe3 you'll havo to hok oui for Equalls down he*e.' The news spread through the town like wildfire, creating gener- 1 cocsternat:on, The fey peojle who were rich enough to Hvo in two-storey buildings begin moving their furniture to the upper .bore ; the storekeepers piled their goods on the counters and upper shelves ; and tbe hest of ' The Buahman's Rest* got up a fresh kupply cf spirits from the collar. He knew lhat a big flocd meant ' a big drunk.' Suddenly The Kangaroo paused in the act of throwing, and held tbe dice box p. ised in bis hand. There was a noise of shouting in tbe street?. ' There's a le&k in the dam I* yelled a man, rushing past with a shovel on his shoulder. In another moment hundreds of men -Were raoing up the valley towards the spot wbere a yellow watery thread was slowly oozing through lhe embankment, and winding down like a monstrous serpent towards the town. They clustered about tbe weak spot like a Swarm of ants, piling up timber aod earth against the breach, fighting the watery demon with a desperate eaergy. The leak grew eui.l'er arjd smaller, dying away into a thin trickling thread, and soon it ceieed ikltcg -ther. The men sent up a about of triampb, and desisted from their labor. ' Narrow thave, wasn't it?' remarked The Shangler. 'My God! What's that.?' Suddenly came a sullen boom, like muffld roar of dis'ant gure, followed by a sound of crashing timber and tho surg-'ng of torrent', swellirg into a m sjhty roar. 1 The bridge baS pone !' was the cry that went up, ahd the men rushed a^ay down ihe valley, whero their wives and little ones were. AU tbat day there had been a desperate trial of strength between «he bridge ard tbe rising flood. The s'rong timbers o* the structure had groaned under the pressure of a great mass of ponderous logs and trees up. rooted by the wafers and carried down by the torrent. Bnt elowly and surely the wat. rs had been gaining in strength, every fresh tree increasing; tbe fearful Strain. Lik* a giant, ths flood was only mustering all its power for tbe final tff>r», Suddenly the bridge trembled and shook like a thing of life, ond the gr-;et tangled mass of debris pressed forward with relentless force. The bridge swayed to and fro, bent like an arrow • there wis a sound of rending and tearing, followed by a loud crash ac it snapped in the centre, and broke away from its f.stenings. Then tbe great wall of water rolled onward with resistless fury, sweeping before it confused piles of wreckage, gaunt blaok logs minghd in fantastic masse?, like living leviathans of the deep grappliog in horrible conflict, carcases of sheep and cattle and . horses, shattered houses, and furniture. ( As the yellow wjH of water, crested with yeast foam, came rolling mnjesti- , eally oo wxrds, soma ofthe m**n seemed fascinated by the spectacle, and had to be dragged along by their friends. It ■ surged up against the dam, leaped over t*ie fi'-iil barrier, throwing up a cloud ' of spray, and ih»n, b-acker-ed by the i malting earth, swept over the broad ex- j pan so and crept down into the town, . covering it to a depth of four or five feet, and completely submerging some of che houses in the low-lying parts. There was high jinks in Blenheim that nigbt. The people held a kind of { Oiruiva 1 , pulling up and down tbe main streets in boats or canoes, singing ■ songs and choruses, aDd exchanging rude bandiage. There is a kind of reck- ( less hilarity even in dfst*air. j Outside 'The Bushman's Itost' ■• tbere waa a flotilla ci boats and rafts. ] Whisky flowed almost as freely as the ] Witer. A foolhardy fellow was drowned j in diving into the cellar to fish up more ( spirits. They drank everyhing they c could hy hands on. Upstairs the stipendiary Mctrate, witl} tbo local .

*HHi'aM'_HßaH______a_-_nßHßßllßßaHHHaßSßlß____l__i____i lawyer, doctor, and editor, played euchre, and drank ginger wine by the tumblerful. Some settlers in the out districts were drowned. One or two drunken men in the town floundered into deep holes, and their corpses were found in the mud when the waters drained off. Poor Mother Wilkins was mad w.th grief. Neither little S*l!y nor the cows had come home. She bad lost her daughter und her only means of living. The woman crouched by the fire and wrung her hands. It is a peculiarity with these floods that they subside with wonderful rapidity. In twenty-four hours the only marks of the ianundation were a thick deposit of sludge, the bloated carcases of sheep and cattle, and heaps of logs and debris. A search party scouring the country for the bodies of the; drowned, found Sally Wilkins .securely bound to the fork of a tree above the level of the flood. She was wrapped in an o'd blue fc blanket, and way half dead with frigh and exposure. An old man in a blue jumper and moleskin trousers was fastened to a branch of the tree by his belt, and lay all huddled up. He was dead. Tbey applied restoratives to the child, and listened to her ston*. Sbe had taken shelter under the treo from (he storm. She saw a great dheet of water advaucing over (he valley, and died ! out for help. She saw the old man limping towards ber ; he lifted her into the trte, and climbed up after her. The water roso rapidly ali about them. When tbe darkness oame, the old man took the fastenings from his -* swag,' wrapped her in the blanket, and tied her to the tree in order to save ber from falling into the water. He was ill, and could not speak. There was something thit mado a noise in his throat. She thought he prayed, and then he foil as'eep, and never wokp. They bore the child and the old man down the val ley • 'I fi must be the tramp that passed h*3rf ,' naid Mother Wilkins. ' He's goue on a long wallaby track this tim 9,' B*id The Kangaroo. * Poor fellow V said the woman, witb a touch of pity, bb the Sbingler drew aside the blanket. She g z d for an ics ant on the thin, pallid fact , ihe glassy blue ey of, and mat td hair. Then she held her breath, and an expression of intense horror covered her features. I ' Grest God ! It's my Jack !' she 'screamed, throwing up her arms, and falling in a fcWOon. The Coroner's jury found tbat John Wilkins had come to his death through ' Starvation aod exposure.' — ' Westminster Budget.'