Project Gutenberg Australia
a treasure-trove of literature
treasure found hidden with no evidence of ownership

The Evaporation of M’Phee

Edward S. Sorenson

We were travelling on the camel pads, that’s Nat M’Phee and I,
      With one water-bag to our conjointed name;
And, as you may easily understand, those camel pads were dry,
      So that water-bag was pretty soon the same.
            ‘Twas a longish journey yet,
            To the first place that was wet,
      Still old Nathan took it lightly, he was game.

When my tongue began to duplicate its ordinary size,
      Could not talk about the weather any more;
When my throat was ‘bout as fiery as the sand grains on the rise,
      And I’d very little energy in store;
            Nat was placid as could be,
            While his tongue was wagging free,
      And his look was just as happy as before.

You may take my affidavy that I couldn’t comprehend
      How the circumstances should affect me so;
I was as much experienced on the dry roads as my friend;
      And he had by far the bigger drum in tow.
            He was mostly just behind,
            For he didn’t seem to mind,
      If we never got to where we had to go.

We had tramped till nearly sundown, and were on the final mile
      ‘Fore I noticed any difference in his stride;
He was staggering just a trifle, but he still could talk and smile,
      Though his speech was thicker now than dugong hide.
            I admired his Spartan grit,
            Though I nearly took a fit
      When I snift the breath of “Mackay” at my side.

There was no illicit still about, nor any sign of pub,
      Yet the smell of alcohol did fairly hum;
‘Twas as plain as are the wheeltracks of a waggon through a scrub,
      Nat M’Phee was absolutely full of rum!
            Where he’d got it knocked me flat,
            ‘Twasn’t in his shirt or hat,
      And I couldn’t hear a gurgle in his drum.

He uncorked the water-holder, and he turned the nozzle down;
      He invited me to test it with my nose;
He declared he’d seen no bottle since he’d left the pub in town,
      And no moisture did his billycan disclose.
            “ ‘Tis the awful heat an’ drought,”
            Said M’Phee, “that’s dry’n’ me out,
      An’ you smell the ‘vaporation, I suppose.”

                         *     *     *     *     *
You have seen the black-soil country at the breaking of the drought;
      “How the rain’s absorbed without the least cessation.
So M’Phee poured in the whisky like a friendly waterspout
      At the shanty, where we stopped for inspiration.
            And he soaked until his clay
            Had absorbed and stored away
      A reserve against his next evaporation.

This site is full of FREE ebooks - Project Gutenberg Australia