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- Колин Маккалоу
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The
wind
was
still
howling
,
the
smell
of
burning
was
everywhere
.
Night
had
fallen
,
but
the
western
sky
was
lit
to
unholy
brilliance
and
lowering
smoke
was
beginning
to
make
them
cough
.
Not
long
afterward
they
saw
the
first
flames
,
vast
tongues
leaping
and
writhing
a
hundred
feet
into
the
smoke
,
and
a
roaring
came
to
their
ears
like
a
huge
crowd
overexcited
at
a
football
game
.
The
trees
on
the
western
side
of
the
timber
ringing
the
Home
Paddock
caught
and
went
up
in
a
solid
sheet
of
fire
;
as
Meggie
watched
petrified
from
the
homestead
veranda
she
could
see
little
pygmy
silhouettes
of
men
outlined
against
them
,
jumping
and
cavorting
like
anguished
souls
in
Hell
.
"
Meggie
,
will
you
get
in
here
and
stack
those
plates
on
the
sideboard
,
girl
!
We
're
not
at
a
picnic
,
you
know
!
"
came
her
mother
's
voice
.
She
turned
away
reluctantly
.
Two
hours
later
the
first
relay
of
exhausted
men
staggered
in
to
snatch
food
and
drink
,
gather
up
their
waning
strength
to
go
back
and
fight
on
.
For
this
had
the
station
women
toiled
,
to
make
sure
there
was
stew
and
damper
bread
,
tea
and
rum
and
beer
aplenty
,
even
for
three
hundred
men
.
In
a
fire
,
everyone
did
what
he
or
she
was
best
equipped
to
do
,
and
that
meant
the
women
cooked
to
keep
up
the
superior
physical
strength
of
the
men
.
Case
after
case
of
liquor
emptied
and
was
replaced
by
new
cases
;
black
from
soot
and
reeling
with
fatigue
,
the
men
stood
to
drink
copiously
and
stuff
huge
chunks
of
damper
into
their
mouths
,
gobble
down
a
plateful
of
stew
when
it
had
cooled
,
gulp
a
last
tumbler
of
rum
,
then
out
again
to
the
fire
.
In
between
trips
to
the
cookhouse
Meggie
watched
the
fire
,
awed
and
terrified
.
In
its
way
it
had
a
beauty
beyond
the
beauty
of
anything
earthly
,
for
it
was
thing
of
the
skies
,
of
suns
so
far
away
their
light
camp
coldly
,
of
God
and
the
Devil
.
The
front
had
galloped
on
eastward
,
they
were
completely
surrounded
now
and
Meggie
could
pick
out
details
the
undefined
holocaust
of
the
front
did
not
permit
.
Now
there
were
black
and
orange
and
red
and
white
and
yellow
;
a
tall
tree
in
black
silhouette
rimmed
with
an
orange
crust
that
simmered
and
glowered
;
red
embers
floating
and
pirouetting
like
frolicsome
phantoms
in
the
air
above
,
yellow
pulsations
from
the
exhausted
hearts
of
burned-out
trees
;
a
shower
of
spinning
crimson
sparks
as
a
gum
exploded
;
sudden
licks
of
orange-and-white
flames
from
something
that
had
resisted
until
now
,
and
finally
yielded
its
being
to
the
fire
.
Oh
,
yes
,
it
was
beautiful
in
the
night
;
she
would
carry
the
memory
of
it
all
her
life
.
A
sudden
increase
in
the
wind
velocity
sent
all
the
women
up
the
wistaria
boughs
onto
the
silver
iron
roof
muffled
in
bags
,
for
all
the
men
were
out
in
the
Home
Paddock
.
Armed
with
wet
bags
,
their
hands
and
knees
scorched
even
through
the
bags
they
wore
,
they
beat
out
embers
on
the
frying
roof
,
terrified
the
iron
might
give
way
under
the
coals
,
drop
flaming
pieces
down
into
the
wooden
struts
below
.
But
the
worst
of
the
fire
was
ten
miles
eastward
on
Beel-Beel
.
Drogheda
homestead
was
only
three
miles
from
the
eastern
boundary
of
the
property
,
it
being
closest
to
Gilly
.
Beel-Beel
adjoined
it
,
and
beyond
that
farther
east
lay
Narrengang
.
When
the
wind
picked
up
from
forty
to
sixty
miles
an
hour
the
whole
district
knew
nothing
but
rain
could
prevent
the
fire
burning
on
for
weeks
,
and
laying
waste
to
hundreds
of
square
miles
of
prime
land
.
Through
the
worst
of
the
blaze
the
houses
by
the
creek
had
endured
,
with
Tom
like
a
man
possessed
filling
his
tank
truck
,
hosing
,
filling
again
,
hosing
again
.
But
the
moment
the
wind
increased
the
houses
went
up
,
and
Tom
retreated
in
the
truck
,
weeping
.
"
You
'd
better
get
down
on
your
knees
and
thank
God
the
wind
did
n't
pick
up
while
the
front
was
to
the
west
of
us
,
"
said
Martin
King
.
"
If
it
had
,
not
only
would
the
homestead
have
gone
,
but
us
as
well
.
God
Jesus
,
I
hope
they
're
all
right
on
Beel-Beel
!
"
