Saltbush Bill, J. P.

An Evening in Dandaloo

  It was while we held our races—
  Hurdles, sprints and steeplechases—
   Up in Dandaloo,
  That a crowd of Sydney stealers,
  Jockeys, pugilists and spielers
  Brought some horses, real heelers,
   Came and put us through.

  Beat our nags and won our money,
  Made the game by no means funny,
   Made us rather blue;
  When the racing was concluded,
  Of our hard-earned coin denuded
  Dandaloonies sat and brooded
   There in Dandaloo.

       .    .    .    .    .

  Night came down on Johnson's shanty
  Where the grog was no means scanty,
   And a tumult grew
  Till some wild, excited person
  Galloped down the township cursing,
  “Sydney push have mobbed Macpherson,
   Roll up, Dandaloo!”

  Great St. Denis! what commotion!
  Like the rush of stormy ocean
   Fiery horsemen flew.
  Dust and smoke and din and rattle,
  Down the street they spurred their cattle
  To the war-cry of the battle,
   “Wade in, Dandaloo!”

  So the boys might have their fight out,
  Johnson blew the bar-room light out,
   Then, in haste, withdrew.
  And in darkness and in doubting
  Raged the conflict and the shouting,
  “Give the Sydney push a clouting,
   Go it, Dandaloo!”

  Jack Macpherson seized a bucket,
  Every head he saw he struck it—
   Struck in earnest, too;
  And a man from Lower Wattle,
  Whom a shearer tried to throttle,
  Hit out freely with a bottle,
   There in Dandaloo.

  Skin and hair were flying thickly,
  When a light was fetched, and quickly
   Brought a fact to view—
  On the scene of the diversion
  Every single, solid person
  Come along to help Macpherson—
   All were Dandaloo!”

  When the list of slain was tabled,
  Some were drunk and some disabled,
   Still we found it true.
  In the darkness and the smother
  We'd been belting one another;
  Jack Macpherson bashed his brother
   There in Dandaloo.

  So we drank, and all departed—
  How the “mobbing” yarn was started
   No one ever knew—
  And the stockmen tell the story
  Of that conflict fierce and gory,
  How we fought for love and glory
   Up in Dandaloo.

  It's a proverb now, or near it—
  At the races you can hear it,
   At the dog-fights, too!
  Every shrieking, dancing drover
  As the canines topple over
  Yells applause to Grip or Rover,
   “Give him 'Dandaloo'!”

  And the teamster slowly toiling
  Through the deep black country, soiling
   Wheels and axles, too,
  Lays the whip on Spot and Banker,
  Rouses Tarboy with a flanker—
  “Redman!  Ginger!  Heave there!  Yank her!
   Wade in, Dandaloo!”