THE MEN WHO BREAK THE TRAIL.

Otago Witness, Issue 2289, 13 January 1898, Page 49

THE MEN WHO BREAK THE TRAIL.

By Tuiioe.

The darkling lands of the mighty earth are alive to the hurrying tread Of the western Heke's hustling scouts, who ever

march at the head, l?or the roving band of the hidden land, which

rolled from east to west, Has turned from the edge of the outer world to

seek the souths unrest. There's never wave on the heaving sea but the

■white spray hurries past ; There's never spray that leads the way but the

b'g wave follows fast — But the big wave follows fa&t and free, the roving

scouts to save ; And the men who break the trail for us are the

spray of the westering wave. The spray is flying far and wide, the spray is

drifting low, From the blinding sands of Zumlandto the realm

of the blinding snow— To the smokeless teas of the new-born south, where the whaler huriies t.orth ; By shore and bay they seek the way the kuaka goes forth ; In pej.ee and wrath they sally forth to the ways of the outer world, And never their anchors grip the sand and never

their sails are furled, Ann never the rust bites into the axe of the men

who clear the \v y, And never they fail to hue a trail to the light of

the coming day. 3?rom many a lonely forest, on many a western

breeze, • Their camp fire emoke is drifting out across the

shiples-s seas. The gleaming rays have burnt a way o'er jungle, swamp, and busb, And through the tangled chapparal the forest racgers push. % Their camp fires bright have seared the night from lands of the long-<-oughfc main, No moie beneath the Southern Cross shall the

right wha'e swarm again. Their tents ttand white on every hand against the

■unknown gloom, And dark across the world of ice their silent

picquets loom. Each fearless scout; is pushing out beyond the

hanging sky, And faint across the new-born lands we hear their

maichiug cry : They're shearing in the southern lands, they're trading in the no th, Fiom the hidden depths of Mother Earth they

drag theeoM god forth. They're carving out four empires with axe and spade and brand ; They run the long-tailed gaum from Maine to

Maoriland. They're camped way b ick of fifty-five to slay the

nimble se<»l ; They'll wire back for their bLnkets when they lift the trail to Sheol. They're reaching f<>r the Au&tral pole and fighting

for the north ; While o'er the realm of Tapeka they brave the

Fir& God's wrath, for many lauds have known them, by many seas

they cc-nie ; O'er Isnd and sea. they're marching free with never

beat <>f drum. From th* Hidden Laud of Tane that gave our

ns»Hoix birth The mighi-v v>ava of the western Heke is surging round the- earth. Tbey have broken the trail -they are camped on The trail,, aud- never a trailleoa land Bnt shall spriag into life throoch war and strife ftt the feign of the Breakers' Band. You can hol-1 the trcul to the Gieat Thirst Land

by the whitening bones thty'va leffc As tbey sauk t > div 'aeath tha braz-n. thy, of life and hope bereft ; 3?or some are humping blaey on the dreary

western plains. Or whaling down the Darling and whaling up

agaim — Sundo-w&ers watching for the rays to gild the

station roof, A hidebound crew to the jjekeroo and the

squatter's stern repraof ; And s-ome astride the brertk-beam ride, to pierce

the Golden West, No " ciossti* sailor " planks & dime to thebrakey's

mild request. The " haad-o-t. touu»t " turna to graft, and ends

hii* wesry j*uriity Unloading t>ctn.oners in the dives of Dupont, Clay, and Keatney. You'll find them runuiag empires from Rapanui

to Sulu, With, a mortgage on the Gowyaid and the R-ef at

Honolulu. The Efwbary Coast at 'Fiisco, weU-known to over-

landers, Is tlxa paradise of Trailess and Pacific Slope High-

binders ; While some are teaching th& heathen hyrunSj for

heaven b-i^ soul to fie ; And some, to tho soug of the' Winchester, are bidding him ris&aud (,et ; And tome, I ween, are ever keen to fan the war-

god's breai h ; "White some by the Eire of P*whera are drifting

dowa to deitb_ So dawn the trail as the old camps fail fly the

fir&t-boro sous of man, ITor the Stone Age men may never again be found

in the marching van. It's fore and back on the wallaby track with

billy, tint, ami bwag ; And so f<ire th<>y who clear the way for the ever-

marching flag. Their hard-gr-if fc cheques they're lambing down in many a hopeless uell, And w-hal the trailers' end may be no man but he

may tell. The Ileinga's rugged shore they seek beneath the

changing sky ; ITrora the golden sands of Maoriland to the palm

graves of Hawaii The spiteful song of the forty-five is music in

their ear 3. Not theirs to turn the stiicken cheek, not theirs

the coward fears ; They march -with Wilson of the south, with

Ouster of the north ; [From the hidden lauds of Maui they drive the

hea-then forth. Beach-combing through the sunlit isles that fleck the Southei n Seas The Homeless Ilapu wanders on to every ■\vay-

waid breeze. 3Trom Fiji west to Singapore, from the Horn to

the Golden Gate, !No man may stay the Breaker's way, no woman

bid him wait, For he is bound for the stamping ground of the

restless overland, To join tho Wandering Legion in the Never-never

Land. But death is ever at their side in camp and on the

trail ; Though never a man in that reckless band before

the shade shall quail. And some go down to meet their end on Kiwa's

heaviDg wave, In quest of the long-sought Kura they sink to an

ocean grave. In ques>t of the Golden Kura that never man may

see They sink to vest in the opening west, where the roaring forties he. They sink and die on the arid veldt when the

merry Maxim jams. And the water-jacket glows again to the trooper's questing hand. 'Tis thus the sods of the western wave break out

tha openifig trail Till the hand runs clear on the bandoleer or the

growling Gatling3 fail. The battle cry of days gone by they lift with

dying breath. And then upon that weary host clang to the gates

of Death. Now they of the Homeless Hapu are camped

without the pale, Wo more across the lances comes fcbeir kinsmen's

cheery hail. The clamour of the outside world shall never

reach them here— -Skzy march with Progress iv the van auJ Scieuce > in the rea&.

And well they know that far away, across the ocean foam, There lies a land— a seabound laucl— their fathers knew as home. 'Tis where the homo guard lives at ease, nor knows the wider life That trains the overlander to the love of stir and strife ; But a3 the restless wave rolls on across the opening wo ild The banners of the marching west on every shore unfurled. Tis when they see the homesteads smoke drift o'er the daikening sky, And the clouds that grey the Trailer's way m wrath are drawing nigh They know full well the time has come to shift camp once again, And get back on the outside track that cuts the western plain. The tents are struck— they push ahead; the wilderness afar Lies clear and bright in the camp fire light where the Homeless Hapus are. When the lauds of world-old darkness are quick to the ruing sun, And the men who break the trail for us their life-Ljng work have done, They'll pieice the realm of Further Out, to find themselves among The tribes they left iv the hidden west in the days when the world was young. So, then, the last camp fire they'll light upon the widening trail. And sling the blackened billy in the shadow-laden vale ; While thoughts of hrme aud days gone by their fleeting spirits rend, With never a wail they camp on the trail and wait for thi c»ming end !

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were huge jngs of fresh sour cider and thick lumps of dark bread. One of the pipers was young, with a pleasing, bright face ; the other was old, and had long grey hair falling upon his shoulders. His clean-cut, sensitive face was upturned to the leafy trees. He was blind.

All about beneath the branches of the noble oaks were tables laden with white china cups, from which the men and women were drinking, seated upon benches. Carts lined with straw, their shafts tilted, encumbered the open spaces, and the ground was wet with cider drippings from the huge oaken casks. The young women walked about arm in arm or sat apart talking with those who fringed the wall, the young men shyly watchiog them, or engaging in clumsy feats of strength tho better to impress the maidens. Small children, solemn of countenance and clad exactly like their elders, payed soberly about the wheels of the carts, and here and there old, very old, men, with long hair and baggy white sheepskin breeches, stood gravely talking or lightiDg their pipas with brands from tho fires kept alight for the purpess, exchanging experiences aa to the harvest, or discussing the price of wheat with great vehemence.

A warning scream came from the pipes, and couples began to form for the gavotte. Before us came Nannie Ro&el, the prettiest girl for miles about— so the mayor said, with a roll of his head and a clicking noise with his tongue. " Good-day to you, Nannie," he exclaimed, with a wave of his fat hand at the girl. " And you too, Alanik," to a youag fellow in ths costume of Le Fouet, who stepped forward and proudly took her hand. "Send the day that you two shall ba man and wiEe, and that is my wish to you." The young girl blushed and tossed her head, but she smiled upon the handsome fellow who

and turned and twisted, and swung each other through the figures of the dance. Tnen all at once there arose a shout and many uncouth exclamations. As the mayor pushed his way through the throng, followed by the successful couple — who were no other than Nmnic and Alanik — they marched to the space before the piperp, and the mayor, in a few Breton gutturals, congratulated the happy pair, handing the girl, who was panting breathlessly, a crown of tinsel and flowers, which she immediately placed upon her coiffe, and to the shinipg-faced young fellow he presented a huge red silk handkerchief or sash — I could not make out which. Now the cider ran in streams from the casks, and there was a great rattling of cups upon the tables to the health of the happy winners. The girls upon the turf walls began a sort of sweet chant with a melancholy refrain, which was taken up by all the peasants, and to the mslody of these wild note 3 the fete in the woods came to an end. Already the fat horaes were being reharnessed to the high carved carts, into which the woman and children were climbing. From the tower of the church beyond the wood came the jangle of bells. The sky was melting into a deep orange in the west, and above in the clear blue Bhone a few early stars. At the Calvary beside the road the peasants bad gathered, and stood or knelt for the final prayer of the pardon, and even above the clang of. the bells sounded the note of .the whippoGrwill. So wa leEfc them, and it was night when we reached the town. — Harper's Magazine.