After a short intense silence the Wag "thought he'd be getting along,"
and as he moved off the Maluka laughed. "Oh, missus, missus!" and Mac
blurted out the whole tale of the edict - concluding rather ambiguously by
saying: "Don't you go thinking it's made any difference to any of us,
because it hasn't. We're not saints, but we're not pigs, and, besides, it
was a pleasure."
I doubted if it was much pleasure to Tam-o-Shanter; but forgetting he was
sober by compulsion, even he had begun to feel virtuous; and when he
heard he had been called a "sober, decent little man," he positively
swaggered; and on the fourth morning walked jauntily past the Cottage and
ventured a quiet good-morning - a simple enough little incident in itself;
but it proved Tam's kinship with his fellowmen. For is it not the
knowledge that some one thinks well of us that makes us feel at ease in
that person's company?
Later in the same day, the flood having fallen, it was decided that it
would be well to cross the horses in the rear of a boat, and we were all
at the river discussing preparations, when Tam electrified the community
by joining the group.
In the awkward pause that followed his arrival he passed a general remark
about dogs - there were several with us - and every one plunged into dog
yarns, until Tam, losing his head over the success of his maiden speech,
became so communicative on the subject of a dog-fight that he had to be
surreptitiously kicked into silence.
"Looks like more rain," Mac said abruptly, hoping to draw public
attention from the pantomime. "Ought to get off as soon as possible, or
we'll be blocked at the King."
The Katherine seized on the new topic of conversation, and advised
"getting out to the five-mile overnight," declaring it would "take all
day to get away from the Settlement in the morning." Then came another
awkward pause, while every one kept one eye on Tam, until the Maluka
saved the situation by calling for volunteers to help with the horses,
and, Tam being pressed into the service, the boat was launched, and he
was soon safe over the far side of the river.
Once among the horses, the little man was transformed. In the quiet,
confident horseman that rode down the gorge a few minutes later it would
have been difficult to recognise the shy, timid bushman. The saddle had
given him backbone, and it soon appeared he was right-hand man, and, at
times, even organiser in the difficult task of crossing horses through a
deep, swift-running current.
As the flood was three or four hundred yards wide and many feet deep, a
swim was impossible without help, and every horse was to be supported or
guided, or dragged over in the rear of the boat, with a halter held by a
man in the stern.
It was no child's play. Every inch of the way had its difficulties. The
poor brutes knew the swim was beyond them; and as the boat, pulling
steadily on, dragged them from the shallows into the deeper water, they
plunged and snorted in fear, until they found themselves swimming, and
were obliged to give all their attention to keeping themselves afloat.
Some required little assistance when once off their feet; just a slow,
steady pull from the oars, and a taut enough halter to lean on in the
tight places. But others rolled over like logs when the full force of the
current struck them, threatening to drag the boat under, as it and the
horse raced away down stream with the oarsmen straining their utmost.
It was hard enough work for the oarsmen; but the seat of honour was in
the stern of the boat, and no man filled it better than the transformed
Tam. Alert and full of resource, with one hand on the tiller, he leaned
over the boat, lengthening or shortening rope for the halter, and
regulating the speed of the oarsmen with unerring judgment; giving a
staunch swimmer time and a short rope to lean on, or literally dragging
the faint-hearted across at full speed; careful then only of one thing:
to keep the head above water. Never again would I judge a man by one of
his failings.
There were ten horses in all to cross, and at the end of two hours' hard
pulling there was only one left to come - old Roper.
Mac took the halter into his own hands there was no one else worthy -
and, slipping into the stern of the boat, spoke first to the horse and
then to the oarsmen; and as the boat glided forward, the noble, trusting
old horse - confident that his long-tried human friend would set him no
impossible task - came quietly through the shallows, sniffing questions at
the half-submerged bushes.
"Give him time!" Mac called. "Let him think it out," as step by step
Roper followed, the halter running slack on the water. When almost out
of his depth, he paused just a moment, then, obeying the tightening rope,
lifted himself to the flood and struck firmly and bravely out.
Staunchly he and Mac dealt with the current: taking time and approaching
it quietly, meeting it with taut rope and unflinching nerve, drifting for
a few breaths to judge its force; then, nothing daunted, they battled
forward, stroke after stroke, and won across without once pulling the
boat out of its course.
Only Roper could have done it; and when the splendid neck and shoulders
appeared above water as he touched bottom, on the submerged track, he was
greeted with a cheer and a hearty, unanimous "Bravo! old chap!" Then Mac
returned thanks with a grateful look, and, leaping ashore, looked over
the beautiful, wet, shining limbs, declaring he could have "done it on
his own," if required.
