University of Virginia Library

Eight o'clock saw them all arrive
In harness for a rabbit drive,
At the front door, then breakfast o'er
And luncheon packed and to the fore,
Kit with her feet in cowhide laced,
And with her Norfolk jacket's waist
Encircled with a cartridge belt,
And with a slouched man's hat of felt
Pressed down upon her golden hair,
As though quite ignorant how fair,
Was the face hidden underneath.

Hall had besought that Lachlan Smith
Should somehow be refused a gun,
If only in apparent fun,
After his feats of yesterday.
And Will descried an easy way
By screwing both the nipples out
From his gunlock to save all doubt,
Which Smith did not discover till
He fired both barrels and heard—nil.
Of course all present sympathised,
And search-parties were organised
To find the nipples (safe and sound
In Will's watch-pocket, so not found).
Will to crown everything explained,
That now no other gun remained,
So that, unless they were found out,
Lachlan perforce must go without.
This left seven guns, for Chesterfield
Liked in a modest way to wield
His central fire, and Kit could kill
Almost as certainly as Will,
And Mr Forte came out to-day.

The shooting, some ten miles away,
On broken ‘stony rises’ lay,
And as the rabbits were so thick
That one could kill them with a stick
Not seldom, stores of cartridges
Were half the battle, and horses
Were wanted for the men to ride
As ‘stops’ to head the rabbit-tide
Which poured before the guns in flood.
So no one of the party rode.
But Will and Albert Hall and Kit,
Left over from the waggonette
And buggy, took their quarters up
In a spring-waggon full to top
With ammunition, guns, and lunch,
And fodder for the nags to munch.
Kit drove because her favourite grey
Was needed for the shafts to-day,
Will by her ready to assist
In case its mettle tried her wrist,
And Hall in futile search for ease
Among the guns and cartridges.
Phil drove the buggy, Margaret
Being his partner, Maud not yet
Having forgiven the neglect
He'd offered to her self-respect,
And Mr Forte the waggonette,
With Lil and the Professor set
Upon the box-seat, Lil was tasked
To do just what she would have asked,
If she had ventured to, to ride
Her father and his guest beside.

Arrived, the ladies took their seat
Beneath some rocks to 'scape the heat,
First looking round to see that they
Had no snake-neighbour in the way,
While Kit and all the gentlemen
Were starting off on their campaign
With horsemen on their left and right
And horsemen in the front to fright
The rabbits back, who broke away.
Kit fired the first shot of the day,
A true one—followed in a breath
By all except poor Lachlan Smith
Who first discovered his ill-luck
When on void blocks his hammers struck.
There is not much variety
In shooting rabbits where they lie
As thick as negroes in the hold
Of a slave-schooner used of old.
The chief of the excitement lay
In watching columns break away
In desperation, closely packed,
Between the horsemen though they cracked
Their stock-whips loud as musket-shots,
And covered all the likely spots,
Or when a serpent's angry hiss
Caused some one in a start to miss
Only to turn upon his foe
And end him with a shot or blow.
Serpents were too abundant far,
As on the ‘Rises’ oft they are,
Mostly not large but venomous.
One of them was so curious
(Quite six feet long and rather thin,
With bright canary-coloured skin),
That Mr Forte when it was dead,
Fixing it just behind the head,
In cleft-stick, gave it to a man
To carry back to the spring-van,
Meaning to send it up to town
To the museum. ‘Black’ and ‘Brown’
‘Tiger’ and ‘whip’ and ‘copperhead’
‘Carpet’ and ‘Diamond,’ the dread
‘Death-Adder's’ self he'd chanced to spy
In some part of the colony
At one time or another—none
Of the same colour as this one.

A battue in an English wood
Of pheasants trained to take their food
From Keeper's hands has less excuse
Than rabbit-drives, which have their use.
For rabbits are as dire a foe
As the wolves stamped out long ago,
And battues are as merciful
As arsenic or traps which pull
Their limbs off but don't kill outright.

A rabbit drive presents a sight
Which those who in the dear old land
Shoot only, scarce can understand.
When once the line begins to drive
The ground seems verily alive
And one incessant roar of guns
Tells how the tale of slaughter runs.
Now your gunbarrel follows fast
A rabbit as in frantic haste
Along the jutting rocks he flies
Which bound and break the distant rise,
And now you hunch your back to bring
Your fire upon them as they spring
Right at your feet, now wheel sharp round
On one which short reprieve had found
By lying close till you had passed
Now right, now left, until at last
Your cartridges away you've shot
Or find your barrels grown too hot
To hold with comfort. You let lie
Your rabbits just where they may die.
No one would for a minute stop
To pick the mangled vermin up
But leave them for the hawks and ‘cats’
And ants that haunt their habitats,—
So vast a difference it makes
When the supply demand o'ertakes.

Luncheon suggested, none demurred
But hailed it as a welcome word.
The sun was hot, the ground was rough
The tussocks plentiful and tough,
And they had had three hours or more
Of walking without rest. Will bore
The palm for shooting. Chesterfield
Least deftly did his weapon wield.
Kit was astonished much to see
How steadily and sturdily
Cobham strode on (But Will told her
That as a rule the English were
Great walkers—better walkers far
Than average Australians are),
And what fine shots he sometimes made
Though he missed often. She displayed
Some skill herself and Mr Forte
Still shot well and enjoyed the sport.

At lunch the shooters quenched their thirst
With various liquors. Beer was first
In favour, claret next. But Will
And Mr Forte prepared to fill
With oatmeal-water, which they said
Was the best drink for health and head
When one was hot. While Phil endured
Water with only whiskey cured.

Lunch over, the Professor went
To chat with Lil, with whom he spent
The smoking hour, soon joined by Kit,
Who feared an amatory fit
From Phil and sought to give redress
For her enforced obtrusiveness
By telling Lil how good a shot
And how enduring and what not
Her friend had proved, while Phil blew forth
In gusty puffs of smoke his wrath.