the year. The
shearers have a separate union from the rouseabouts, and there is a
good deal of ill feeling between the two classes. When the shearers
want a spell I have known them declare by a majority vote that the
sheep were "wet," though there had not been any rain for months! There
is a law that says that shearers must not be asked to shear "wet"
sheep, as it is supposed to give them a peculiar disease. The
rouseabouts do not mind these "slow-down" strikes, as they get paid
anyway, but the shearers are very bitter when these have a dispute with
the boss and strike, for it cuts down their earnings, probably just
when they wanted to finish the shed so as to get a "stand" at the
commencement of shearing near by.

When the war broke out the problem of the government was how to collect
the volunteers from these outback towns for active service. It would
cost from fifty to one hundred dollars per head in railway fare to
bring them into camp.

The outbacker, however, solved the problem without waiting for the
government to make up its mind. They just made up their swags and
"humped the bluey" [2] for the coast. That is how the remarkable
phenomenon of the human snowball marches commenced.

Simultaneously from inland towns in different parts of Australia men
without the means of paying their transportation to Sydney or Melbourne
simply started out to walk the three or four hundred miles from their
homes to the nearest camp. In the beginning there would just be half a
dozen or so, but as they reached the next township they would tell
where they were bound, and more would join. Passing by boundary
riders' and prospectors' huts, they would pick up here and there
another red-blood who could not resist the chance of being in a real
ding-dong fight. Many were grizzled and gray, but as hard as nails,
and no one could _prove_ that they were over the age for enlistment,
for they themselves did not know how old they were!

[Illustration: From inland towns . . . men without the means of paying
their transportation . . . started out to walk the three or four
hundred miles . . . to the nearest camp.]

"Said the squatter, 'Mike, you're crazy, they have
soldier-men a-plenty!
You're as grizzled as a badger, and you're sixty year or so!'
'But I haven't missed a scrap,' says I, 'since I was
one-and-twenty,
And shall I miss the biggest? You can bet your
whiskers--No!!'" [3]

Presently the te