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Updated: June 29, 2025
Suddenly he caught sight, as he thought, of the worthy drover's broad-built figure, moving in a different direction to what he had expected at a pretty quick rate. This made Jack exert himself to overtake him. By the time he came up with the chase, he found that he had been following a stranger.
After six days, Jethro and Lyman drove over Charlestown bridge and into the crooked streets of Boston, and at length arrived at a drover's hotel, or lodging-house that did not, we may be sure, front on Mount Vernon Street or face the Mall. Lyman proceeded to get drunk, and Jethro to sell the hides and other merchandise which Lyman had hauled for him.
Someone spoke softly in Berthe's ear and she turned and saw a sturdy fellow of about twenty-five, wearing a blue blouse, a red handkerchief round his neck, and a drover's cap; he was a well-built, powerful man, and in spite of his humble dress, had an intelligent face and an almost distinguished manner. Berthe responded amiably, and a few commonplace remarks were exchanged between the two.
He herded them like oxen there, and naught Was lacking but the drover's lusty cries. Consider now the plight of Ould Sayyd, The big-jawed one. He gained ten thousand francs, And lost them all at gambling. Naught remains Except the benches and some coffee-grounds. The leader of musicians, wholly daft, Whose beard is whiter than the whitest wool, Has gone to Paris gay to see the sights.
He had heard a sound a sound which was like his own native tongue to the drover's son the crack of a stock-whip. "I'm sure I heard a whip," he exclaimed excitedly. "I'm dead sure I did. Hark!" Both boys sprang to their feet and listened intently. From out that advancing mass of brown dust sounds could be heard.
Outside them and through them ran raddled sheep bleating their fear. Emigrants, Mr Power said. Huuuh! the drover's voice cried, his switch sounding on their flanks. Huuuh! out of that! Thursday, of course. Tomorrow is killing day. Springers. Cuffe sold them about twentyseven quid each. For Liverpool probably. Roastbeef for old England. They buy up all the juicy ones.
Unable to awe Sally Drover's spirit, she would grow piteous. "For God's sake let me go I can't stand it. Let me go to hell that's where I belong. What do you bother with me for? I've got a right." Once the doctor had to be called. He shook his head but his eye met Miss Grower's, and he said nothing. "I'll never be able to pull out, I haven't got the strength," she told Hodder, between sobs.
My father drove a flock of ewes up into Sussex that year, and as he went along the drover's track over the high downs thereabout he could see this drilling actually going on the accoutrements of the rank and file glittering in the sun like silver. The grand query with us was, Where would my gentleman land?
A case is mentioned in Blackwood's Magazine of October 1817, where a lady walking along a London street had her bag snatched from her by a drover's dog. The animal, apparently without any master, was noticed lying, seemingly asleep, by the pavement-side, but on the approach of the lady it sprang suddenly up, snatched from her hand what is described as her "ridicule," and made off at full gallop.
So does a dog a drover's dog, waiting for his master outside a butcher's shop, and evidently thinking about those sheep he has had upon his mind for some hours and is happily rid of. He seems perplexed respecting three or four, can't remember where he left them, looks up and down the street as half expecting to see them astray, suddenly pricks up his ears and remembers all about it.
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