I had not been long out from Scotland before, after some experience in and around Adelaide, I found that I would get more wages in the country. So I made enquiry at a labor office, kept by Mr. Malcolm, in Hindley-street. About this time there was a great demand for good willing servant-girls. Mr. Malcolm told me that he wanted two young girls for a sheep-station in the South-East, near Bordertown. The station was called Wirrega, and was owned by a Mr. Binney. I was not well posted up in the geography of the country, and when I was told that we would go to our destination in a steamboat, the Penola, I took it for granted that it would be like going from Glasgow to the seaside. I was quite willing to go provided that he found another girl to go with me. In a day or two he sent for me to say that he had found a companion for me. She was to be the needlewoman, and I would be the laundress. Our employer paid our passage-money, and we signed an agreement to stop for a year.

We got our little trunks ready, and Mr. Malcolm came to see us off at the railway-station. We found our way to the steamboat, hoping that we would reach our journey's end that night. But, to our disgust, we had to spend the night on board. Luckily it was in the month of November and was not cold. The next day we landed at Robe. The landlord of the Robe Hotel sent on board for us, as he had instructions to take charge of us until we were sent for. We were surprised, for we thought that our journey was over when we stepped off the boat. However, there was nothing to complain of at the hotel, and our employer was paying our expenses. But we were anxious to get to work, for we had but little money, and, of course, our wages would not begin till we reached the station. It was the shearing season, and the wool was brought to Robe from all the country round. We used to sit on the jetty and watch the loaded ships going out.

We had been there for two weeks before a man called to say that he was instructed to take us girls back with him. We had been told that it would take us three or four weeks to get to the station from Robe, and that our way lay through a wilderness of sand. What we had seen of bullock-drivers made us shudder lest they should send for us to travel under their tender care.

We came downstairs to interview the man. How vividly I can see him even now. He was ragged and covered with dust. His hair was projecting through the top of his hat, and he had a whip in his hand. We asked him what conveyance we were to travel by. He replied, "In a carriage and six," meaning the bullock-dray.

At this information both of us began to cry bitterly. We refused to go, and thought of returning to Adelaide by the steamer, but my companion told me we would be put in prison if we did that. We made such a scene that the landlord and his wife came out to see what was the matter. When he learned the state of affairs he comforted us and told us he would write to Mr. Binney; so we awaited the result of his letter. A week later, on a Saturday evening, a strange-looking vehicle, drawn by wild horses, came into the yard. This was to be our conveyance. As the driver was a pleasant, respectable, married man, and promised to take as much care of us as he would of his own daughter we were much relieved in our minds, but the difficulties of the road and the savage aspect of our team still caused us dismay.

Early on Sunday morning we started, for we were told that if the horses had a whole day's rest no power on earth would get them into harness again. They had never been stabled, and as they pranced, foaming at the mouth and making the sparks fly from the cobblestones, they attracted much attention from a large crowd of onlookers. As they bounded out of the yard we held tight to the seat and said our prayers, for we thought we had not many more minutes to live.

Twelve miles of good road brought us to a small hotel called The Stone Hut. Here we halted for a few seconds, and then made a dive into a sea of wild ferns that extended as far as the eye could reach. Suddenly, without any warning, the vehicle stopped with a crash, and our driver disappeared from our astonished sight. We had struck the hidden root of an old tree. Presently he reappeared from under the feet of the horses, and congratulated us on having sufficient pluck and presence of mind to hold the reins.

After this incident all went well, and at about 8 o'clock we arrived at a sheep station, where many men were shearing and where no white women had ever been before. The shearers took out the horses and brought us some tea in a pannikin. Our vehicle was turned upside down and covered over with rugs. Under that rude shelter we spent a sleepless night.

The next day's journey took us through a wilderness of sand. Now and then a few blacks would appear from behind a hill and fly precipitately at the sight of us. About 9 o'clock that night we reached the home station, fatigued and dusty. Mr. Binney was in Melbourne, so Mrs. Binney met us and gave us a good scolding for the trouble we had caused in order to have us brought from Robe. But she was Scotch, and we were Scotch, and so our explanations were soon accepted.

When the morning came I found myself in the Australian bush. Another young girl, who was housemaid, took me with her. Her father and mother were at the station as house cooks. They consoled me by telling me that I would like being there when I got used to it. Truth to tell, I was anxious to begin my year's service, and so was up betimes. Numerous wild birds, among which I distinguished the magpie, deafened me with a bewildering clamor.

With very mingled feelings I went to the laundry. It was built of wood, but had many of the usual conveniences. The water I had to draw up from a well by a windlass.

The family consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Binney and five children—three sons and two daughters. In addition there were a sister of Mr. Binney, acting as governess to the children, and a Mr. John Binney, a cousin of the owner, who was manager or overseer of the station. The comfortable dwelling-house was one storey in height, and was built of stone. There were several outbuildings and a large store, where all sorts of things were kept for sale to the employes of the station. The place looked like a little village.

It was a common sight to see a man with his wife and children living in a sort of gipsy van. The husband would be employed in "grubbing," or clearing timber off the land. When the contract was completed the family would pack up their goods in the van and journey to another station. At stated times the families of some permanent employes, who lived a few miles away, would come in on horseback for their rations. Our employers, and, in fact, everybody about us, were very gentle and considerate in their dealing with us.

At first I was afraid of the blacks, of whom there were a great many about the house. They all had nicknames, and had been trained to be very useful. One morning I plucked up courage to venture near their "wurlies." I shall never forget the scene. A number of little black babies were crawling about in the wet, dewy grass, and the sunlight was glistening on their naked little backs. But the children were afraid of us, and would creep under the bushes when they saw us coming. We used all go to see their "corrobories." Sometimes they would be away for days fighting with another tribe, but no strange blacks ever came to attack them. They were fond of showing us their implements of war, of which they had a great variety. I was surprised to hear them talk in fairly good English, and sometimes with a broad Scotch accent. Even the children spoke English well.

They were remarkably agile, too. They would mount perfectly wild horses that would have succeeded in killing a white man. As soon as they were fairly mounted they would fly in the air like rockets, but, like cats, they always landed on their feet. They were splendid mimics, and used their powers of imitation to play many tricks. Some of them would go off among the bushes and imitate the hens. This would bring out the old cook with her basket. When she found the trick that had been played on her she would be very cross, much to the delight of the blacks. But sometimes they would do her a good turn. If she wanted a wild turkey she had only to tell them so, and one of the blacks would dress himself up with boughs and lie down where the wild turkeys came to drink. When the unsuspecting bird came close to what he imagined was a bush a black hand would shoot out and grab him by the leg. So, after all, it paid the cook to be friendly with the blacks.

This was an ideal place for a naturalist. The blacks used to bring in a wonderful variety of eggs, and the place was famed for its bird-life. We had many pets. In fact, what with tame kangaroos, opossums, and emus the place resembled a menagerie. I made a pet of an emu, which used to wait for me at the laundry door every morning. I dressed it up in an old pinafore, and it was so pleased that it followed me wherever I went.

In the early days the wild dogs had been a great pest. Wild cats were numerous, but no one minded them much. At the end of the laundry there was a slab hut, where they kept the beef and mutton hanging. The cats would come here in dozens when all was dark and quiet. If a light was brought they would immediately scamper off. They were beautiful creatures, partly black and partly white.

I marvelled at the bravery of the men who opened up the interior. Mr. John Binney, Mr. Clark, and Mr. McLeod were the first white men to form settlements on that great expanse of country. With so many hostile blacks around they must have had a fearful time. Mrs. Binney showed us a tree, in the trunk of which Mr. Binney used to hide from the blacks. Our nearest neighbors were ten miles away, and the Tatiara township was about sixteen miles from the station. The police had their quarters at Tatiara, which, in those days, was composed of huts. I went there once, and found only one substantial building. It was an hotel. Once in every three months a bush missionary held services in this hotel. We all went to these services, some on horseback and some driving.

The months passed on, and I grew to like the life. Everybody was busy, for there was plenty to do. The lowing of the cattle, driven in for branding, became familiar music to my ears. But, isolated as we were, and simple and rough as the life was, I could not complain of any monotony. Sometimes a hawker would visit us with a large van drawn by a team of bullocks. He would camp for days, and do a brisk trade as a general provider of the wants of the little community. He found good customers among the blacks, for they earned a little money during shearing-time.

Nor were we entirely devoid of the amusements of town-life. More than once a travelling Christy Minstrel Company came to the station. The performers would stay all night and give a theatrical show in the laundry, which I gave up to them for the purpose. From miles around the place station-hands would come to see the show.

The young girl, who went up with me and myself got on nicely together. In the light of added years I can look back now and feel grateful for the hard training I went through then and the lessons those early days taught me. Sometimes we caught glimpses of the many mysteries of the silent bush. The presence of troopers and black-trackers about the station would tell us that something unusual had happened. It might be that the dead body of a man had been found a little way from the station. A consultation of all hands would be held, and the unknown would receive a decent burial, while efforts would be made to discover his identity. When any of the station-hands died they were buried in a little enclosure near the station. If they had lived far out on the boundary of the run they were buried near their huts.

What the blacks did with their dead puzzled us. Mr. Binney insisted that they must be buried, and the dusky relatives would obey. But, shortly afterwards, the graves would be rifled, and the corpses would mysteriously disappear. I asked a very old lubra to tell me what was done with the dead, and she horrified me by replying, "Big one, cookem on sticks."

While I was there Mr. Binney sent a mob of horses to Adelaide. Some of the blacks went with them to help the drovers. They came back by water. Then it was amusing to hear them describe what they had seen in Adelaide. They called the steamboat "Big one wheelbarrow." They said that something pulled them along with "tether ropes on the big one water."

There was one old lubra called "Kitty, the postman." When Mr. Binney first came into that part of the country, Kitty showed him where to get water for his oxen, and on that spot he began his life as a sheep-farmer. Kitty would carry letters for him to his friends as far away as thirty miles. He could always depend on her honesty and efficiency, so she became a privileged character. She must have been of a great age when I saw her, for she remembered well the time when no white man could be seen in the land. She had free entry to any of the buildings, and loved to smoke her pipe in the men's hut, for all the aboriginies, both men and women, smoked. She told me that the blacks did not hate the white men so much as they did the blacks of other tribes.

The cook at the men's hut was frequently visited by "sundowners." He told me that many of these stated that they were sons of doctors or clergymen, and were well educated men. I had a strange experience with a "traveller." One evening, when our candles were lit for the evening meal, a boundary rider brought in a woman whom he found wandering about by herself. There was a vacant place by me and she sat down. As she had a sunbonnet on I could not see her face well. Every visitor that came so late would stop all night, so the question arose "Where was she to sleep?" Not one of us was willing to share our room with her, so Mrs. Binney said she must sleep in the laundry. I took here there and she sat down while I prepared her bed. In order to see her face I put a lighted candle close to her, but she immediately blew it out. Then she took out a pipe and began to smoke. From a glimpse I caught of her features I thought she looked like a man. So I went to tell Mrs. Binney. As the laundry was full of valuable clothes I thought something might be stolen, or the place might be set fire to by the sparks from the stranger's pipe. I was really afraid of her; and so it was decided that she was not to sleep in the laundry. The needlewoman came with me, and we told her that she might sleep in an unused hut beyond the fence. In a voice like thunder she said, "Show me where I am to sleep." The hut had no door or glass in the window, so I pinned my apron over the window, and then we fled in terror.

She did not wait for breakfast, but went away in the early morning with one of our teamsters—the man who had found her. When they had gone about six miles she jumped out of the dray, and ran into the bush. The driver went on to Tatiara and told the police. After that I was worried by troopers and blacktrackers. The questions they asked me would have filled a book. They picked up the tracks near Wellington, but lost them again. They all thought, as I did, that our strange visitor was a man dressed in woman's clothing.

But there were pleasanter incidents than these. The arrival of "her Majesty's Royal Mail" was looked forward to with eagerness by all. The coach was a queer-looking vehicle, with a large "V.R." painted on it. The horses were changed at the station, and the coach went on to Tatiara township, calling at other stations both coming and going. How quickly "mail day" seemed to come round again. Bushranging had been prevalent, but the coach had always luckily escaped molestation. I like looking back after all this time.

It seemed lonely, for we were far from the sight of anybody we knew, and visitors were scarce. The needlewoman and I used lo take the children out amongst the tall gum trees. We had no perambulator, but there was a little Scotch pony for the baby to sit on. The foliage of the trees was dense, and they were close together, but we could always find the tracks. One day we went a long way, and the little pony stepped into what seemed to be a circle of snakes. He stood still, and so did we, for we were too frightened to move. The snakes fairly leaped from the ground and bounded in amongst the young bushes. I never ventured so far into the woods again, but I saw more snakes after that. A dog was a very good protector, for by his barking he would always show us where the snakes were. The housemaid, whom I have alluded to, found a snake under her pillow one night when she was going to bed. We shared the same room, but I am happy to say I never saw a snake in the room. The bedroom was right outside the house, and there was nothing to hinder the snakes from entering it, so that it may easily be imagined that we were careful where we stepped.

Our time was passing away. We could see by the preparations at the woolshed that the shearing season was near. The loneliness and silence of the bush gave place to the bustle and hum of human beings hurrying about. There were supposed to be altogether about a hundred men in and about the sheds, and where all the people came from was a mystery to me. What with woolclassing and woolwashing and woolsorting and the packing the wool into great bales ready to send to England there was a lot of work. In the middle of it all came the surveyors with a staff of men to cut up the land in allotments, as Mr. Binney's lease had nearly expired. Now the train to Melbourne runs through what were then desolate wilds.

They wanted me to stop for another year, but I would not. Mrs. Binney said I was the only girl who had ever left the station without getting married. I told her I had a suitor somewhere else. The young girl who went up with me was married to a "cockatoo" farmer. I hope she has been happy, for she was a nice girl. I have been a wife now for 26 years. Life is full of changes. It was not stated in the agreement I made that Mr. Binney should pay our expenses back to Adelaide. I had not thought of that when I was engaged to go the South-East. I thought the journey was such a short one that we could come and go when we liked. It was settled that I would return by the mail coach and wait at the hotel for my trunk, which was to be sent by the wool-dray. There was no other choice for me. By this time I was well acquainted with the driver of the mail, as he used to have lunch with us sometimes. He was a middle-aged man with a wife and family, and was understood to be reliable. So far I had trusted everybody, for I was young and happy, and I did not feel the least afraid.