In the Days When the World was Wide and Other Verses

The Fire at Ross’s Farm


Henry Lawson

THE SQUATTER saw his pastures wide
    Decrease, as one by one
The farmers moving to the west
    Selected on his run;
Selectors took the water up
    And all the black soil round;
The best grass-land the squatter had
    Was spoilt by Ross’s Ground.

Now many schemes to shift old Ross
    Had racked the squatter’s brains,
But Sandy had the stubborn blood
    Of Scotland in his veins;
He held the land and fenced it in,
    He cleared and ploughed the soil,
And year by year a richer crop
    Repaid him for his toil.

Between the homes for many years
    The devil left his tracks:
The squatter pounded Ross’s stock,
    And Sandy pounded Black’s.
A well upon the lower run
    Was filled with earth and logs,
And Black laid baits about the farm
    To poison Ross’s dogs.

It was, indeed, a deadly feud
    Of class and creed and race;
But, yet, there was a Romeo
    And a Juliet in the case;
And more than once across the flats,
    Beneath the Southern Cross,
Young Robert Black was seen to ride
    With pretty Jenny Ross.

One Christmas time, when months of drought
    Had parched the western creeks,
The bush-fires started in the north
    And travelled south for weeks.
At night along the river-side
    The scene was grand and strange—
The hill-fires looked like lighted streets
    Of cities in the range.

The cattle-tracks between the trees
    Were like long dusky aisles,
And on a sudden breeze the fire
    Would sweep along for miles;
Like sounds of distant musketry
    It crackled through the brakes,
And o’er the flat of silver grass
    It hissed like angry snakes.

It leapt across the flowing streams
    And raced o’er pastures broad;
It climbed the trees and lit the boughs
    And through the scrubs it roared.
The bees fell stifled in the smoke
    Or perished in their hives,
And with the stock the kangaroos
    Went flying for their lives.

The sun had set on Christmas Eve,
    When, through the scrub-lands wide,
Young Robert Black came riding home
    As only natives ride.
He galloped to the homestead door
    And gave the first alarm:
‘The fire is past the granite spur,
    ‘And close to Ross’s farm.’

‘Now, father, send the men at once,
    They won’t be wanted here;
Poor Ross’s wheat is all he has
    To pull him through the year.’
‘Then let it burn,’ the squatter said;
    ‘I’d like to see it done—
I’d bless the fire if it would clear
    Selectors from the run.’

‘Go if you will,’ the squatter said,
    ‘You shall not take the men—
Go out and join your precious friends,
    And don’t come here again.’
‘I won’t come back,’ young Robert cried,
    And, reckless in his ire,
He sharply turned his horse’s head
    And galloped towards the fire.

And there, for three long weary hours,
    Half-blind with smoke and heat,
Old Ross and Robert fought the flames
    That neared the ripened wheat.
The farmer’s hand was nerved by fears
    Of danger and of loss;
And Robert fought the stubborn foe
    For the love of Jenny Ross.

But serpent-like the curves and lines
    Slipped past them, and between,
Until they reached the bound’ry where
    The old coach-road had been.
‘The track is now our only hope,
    There we must stand,’ cried Ross,
‘For nought on earth can stop the fire
    If once it gets across.’

Then came a cruel gust of wind,
    And, with a fiendish rush,
The flames leapt o’er the narrow path
    And lit the fence of brush.
‘The crop must burn!’ the farmer cried,
    ‘We cannot save it now,’
And down upon the blackened ground
    He dashed the ragged bough.

But wildly, in a rush of hope,
    His heart began to beat,
For o’er the crackling fire he heard
    The sound of horses’ feet.
‘Here’s help at last,’ young Robert cried,
    And even as he spoke
The squatter with a dozen men
    Came racing through the smoke.

Down on the ground the stockmen jumped
    And bared each brawny arm,
They tore green branches from the trees
    And fought for Ross’s farm;
And when before the gallant band
    The beaten flames gave way,
Two grimy hands in friendship joined—
    And it was Christmas Day.

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