The Drover's Wife

"The Drover's Wife" is a short story by Australian writer Henry Lawson, first published in 1892. The narrative focuses on the life of a resilient woman living in the Australian outback, left alone to care for her children while her husband is away droving cattle. The story vividly depicts her struggles against the harsh environment, isolation, and the constant threats posed by nature, including a lurking snake. Through this portrayal, Lawson explores themes of survival, endurance, and the often-overlooked strength of women in a patriarchal society. The tale captures the essence of Australian identity and the challenges of rural life in the 19th century.

• Short story

								
The two-roomed house is built of round timber, slabs, and stringy-bark,
and floored with split slabs. A big bark kitchen standing at one end is
larger than the house itself, veranda included.

Bush all round--bush with no horizon, for the country is flat. No
ranges in the distance. The bush consists of stunted, rotten native
apple-trees. No undergrowth. Nothing to relieve the eye save the darker
green of a few she-oaks which are sighing above the narrow, almost
waterless creek. Nineteen miles to the nearest sign of civilization--a
shanty on the main road.

The drover, an ex-squatter, is away with sheep. His wife and children
are left here alone.

Four ragged, dried-up-looking children are playing about the house.
Suddenly one of them yells: “Snake! Mother, here's a snake!”

The gaunt, sun-browned bushwoman dashes from the kitchen, snatches her
baby from the ground, holds it on her left hip, and reaches for a stick.

“Where is it?”

“Here! gone into the wood-heap!” yells the eldest boy--a sharp-faced
urchin of eleven. “Stop there, mother! I'll have him. Stand back! I'll
have the beggar!”

“Tommy, come here, or you'll be bit. Come here at once when I tell you,
you little wretch!”

The youngster comes reluctantly, carrying a stick bigger than himself.
Then he yells, triumphantly:

“There it goes--under the house!” and darts away with club uplifted.
At the same time the big, black, yellow-eyed dog-of-all-breeds, who
has shown the wildest interest in the proceedings, breaks his chain
and rushes after that snake. He is a moment late, however, and his nose
reaches the crack in the slabs just as the end of its tail disappears.
Almost at the same moment the boy's club comes down and skins the
aforesaid nose. Alligator takes small notice of this, and proceeds to
undermine the building; but he is subdued after a struggle and chained
up. They cannot afford to lose him.

The drover's wife makes the children stand together near the dog-house
while she watches for the snake. She gets two small dishes of milk and
sets them down near the wall to tempt it to come out; but an hour goes
by and it does not show itself.

It is near sunset, and a thunderstorm is coming. The children must be
brought inside. She will not take them into the house, for she knows
the snake is there, and may at any moment come up through a crack in the
rough slab floor; so she carries several armfuls of firewood into
the kitchen, and then takes the children there. The kitchen has no
floor--or, rather, an earthen one--called a “ground floor” in this part
of the bush. There is a large, roughly-made table in the centre of the
place. She brings the children in, and makes them get on this table.
They are two boys and two girls--mere babies. She gives them some
supper, and then, before it gets dark, she goes into the house, and
snatches up some pillows and bedclothes--expecting to see or lay her
hand on the snake any minute. She makes a bed on the kitchen table for
the children, and sits down beside it to watch all night.

She has an eye on the corner, and a green sapling club laid in readiness
on the dresser by her side; also her sewing basket and a copy of the
Young Ladies' Journal. She has brought the dog into the room.

Tommy turns in, under protest, but says he'll lie awake all night and
smash that blinded snake.

His mother asks him how many times she has told him not to swear.

He has his club with him under the bedclothes, and Jacky protests:

“Mummy! Tommy's skinnin' me alive wif his club. Make him take it out.”

Tommy: “Shet up, you little---! D'yer want to be bit with the snake?”

Jacky shuts up.

“If yer bit,” says Tommy, after a pause, “you'll swell up, an' smell,
an' turn red an' green an' blue all over till yer bust. Won't he,
mother?”

“Now then, don't frighten the child. Go to sleep,” she says.

The two younger children go to sleep, and now and then Jacky complains
of being “skeezed.” More room is made for him. Presently Tommy says:
“Mother! listen to them (adjective) little possums. I'd like to screw
their blanky necks.”

And Jacky protests drowsily.

“But they don't hurt us, the little blanks!”.

Mother: “There, I told you you'd teach Jacky to swear.” But the remark
makes her smile. Jacky goes to sleep. Presently Tommy asks:

“Mother! Do you think they'll ever extricate the (adjective) kangaroo?”

“Lord! How am I to know, child? Go to sleep.”

“Will you wake me if the snake comes out?”

“Yes. Go to sleep.”

Near midnight. The children are all asleep and she sits there still,
sewing and reading by turns. From time to time she glances round the
floor and wall-plate, and, whenever she hears a noise, she reaches for
the stick. The thunderstorm comes on, and the wind, rushing through the
cracks in the slab wall, threatens to blow out her candle. She places it
on a sheltered part of the dresser and fixes up a newspaper to protect
it. At every flash of lightning, the cracks between the slabs gleam like
polished silver. The thunder rolls, and the rain comes down in torrents.

Alligator lies at full length on the floor, with his eyes turned towards
the partition. She knows by this that the snake is there. There are
large cracks in that wall opening under the floor of the dwelling-house.

She is not a coward, but recent events have shaken her nerves. A little
son of her brother-in-law was lately bitten by a snake, and died.
Besides, she has not heard from her husband for six months, and is
anxious about him.

He was a drover, and started squatting here when they were married. The
drought of 18-- ruined him. He had to sacrifice the remnant of his flock
and go droving again. He intends to move his family into the nearest
town when he comes back, and, in the meantime, his brother, who keeps a
shanty on the main road, comes over about once a month with provisions.
The wife has still a couple of cows, one horse, and a few sheep. The
brother-in-law kills one of the latter occasionally, gives her what she
needs of it, and takes the rest in return for other provisions. She is
used to being left alone. She once lived like this for eighteen months.
As a girl she built the usual castles in the air; but all her girlish
hopes and aspirations have long been dead. She finds all the excitement
and recreation she needs in the Young Ladies' Journal, and Heaven help
her! takes a pleasure in the fashion-plates.

Her husband is an Australian, and so is she. He is careless, but a good
enough husband. If he had the means he would take her to the city and
keep her there like a princess. They are used to being apart, or at
least she is. “No use fretting,” she says. He may forget sometimes that
he is married; but if he has a good cheque when he comes back he will
give most of it to her. When he had money he took her to the city
several times--hired a railway sleeping compartment, and put up at the
best hotels. He also bought her a buggy, but they had to sacrifice that
along with the rest.

The last two children were born in the bush--one while her husband was

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