“The brown Indian marks with murderous aim.”—_Goldsmith._
Late next day they fell upon converging tracks and indications that the
wild creatures of the region walked steadily in one direction, mostly
discovered and collated by Doorival. Keeping the average direction, they
came towards evening upon a noble, full-fed flowing stream, running
north-easterly, and abounding in fish and wild-fowl.
“Hurrah!” shouted Guy Waldron, “this is something like a river. What a
glorious reach that is! We ought to christen it, for I swear no white
man ever saw it before; what shall we call it? I make you a present of
the lake, by which to immortalize any of your fair friends; but I should
like to name this river; or I’ll toss up, whichever you like.”
“I will accept the lake, which I hereby call Lake Maud—we will provide
the champagne on a future occasion. What shall you call the river?”
“I shall call it the Marion, after my dear old mother. Heaven knows
whether she will ever see her wild boy again. I should like to have my
head in the old lady’s lap again, as I used to do when I was a
schoolboy, and she used to talk to me in her gentle way, and charm all
the perversity out of me. I wonder what sets me thinking of the blessed
saint now.”
“It won’t do you any harm, Guy,” said Jack, kindly. “Mine died when I
was a little chap, but I shall never forget her, it seems like
yesterday. And now, what about making tracks for civilization—save the
mark—the day after to-morrow? We may run the river down to-morrow to see
if the country gets worse or better, and then we must head for the
nearest place the mail passes and send in our tenders—the sooner the
better.”
“All right. I should like a month here; but one can’t be too spry about
the tenders; there are always such a lot of rascally landsharks on the
look-out for anything like good new country. They might have got a scrap
or two of information out of old Blockham, from which basis they are
quite capable of tendering for all the available country within a
thousand miles of him.”
“Quite true,” said Jack. “I’m glad you see it in that light. I’ve heard
of many a pioneer who has had the hard work of years snatched away from
him by tenders suspiciously close to, but little in advance of, his own.
How the information was supplied Heaven only knows, but it has been done
before now. Didn’t old Ruthven get Yap-yap and Marngah, all that country
side? and didn’t Westrope, who discovered it, lose heart and migrate to
California, disgusted with Australia, and wroth with the whole civil
service from the messengers to the minister?”
Their exploration fully confirmed the previous high estimate of the
quality of the country. Following the river downward, they came from
time to time upon unusually broad, deep reaches, equal to a three years’
drought without serious diminution. The plains retained their character,
and were rich in saline herbage, intermingled with the best kinds of
fattening grasses. There was room for half-a-dozen stations of the
largest size; and as far as they could see there was no appearance of
the country “falling off”—that is, changing into the apparently verdant
but utterly worthless spinifex, or the endless scrubs which multiply
labour and decrease profits. No; the Raak country was as good as good
could be, perfect in quality, and more than sufficient in quantity. They
rested contented, and decided to make back to the settlements with
morning light. With that end in view they shaped their course in such
fashion as to strike the Great Scrub, which they had penetrated after
leaving Mr. Blockham’s, at a point more in the direct line to the
settled country, whence they might send in their tenders for their
principality with the smallest possible loss of time.
By cutting off corners, and making use of their previous experience,
they managed to reach the border of this jungle tract late on the
following evening.
All that day and the previous night the boy Doorival had been uneasy and
watchful. Had they not known his exceptional courage, they would have
attributed his uneasiness to the causeless fear and general apprehension
so often exhibited by aboriginals when in strange territory. More than
once he pointed out a thin column of smoke rising at no great distance
from them. Sometimes one was observable on one flank, sometimes on the
other, or in their rear. And as they rode forward it seemed that these
tiny vaporous phenomena were rather less distant than in the earlier
part of the day.
“You see that one?” said the boy, in a low, broken voice, indicative of
dread. “Black fellow talk along that one smoke. One black fellow ’long a
hill see you, _he_ make smoke. ’Nother one black fellow see that one
smoke, _he_ make ’um smoke, tell ’nother one black fellow ‘all right.’
By and by, I believe, we see ’um, and no mistake. I think keep watch,
all hands, ’long a camp to-night.”
“Very well, Doorival,” said Jack, “we shall all sleep with one eye open.
Help will tell us when they are pretty close up, and we have plenty of
cartridges all ready for the first round.”
They had approached within a couple of miles of a long cape of scrub
which stretched out into the open country, as a promontory into the sea,
when it suddenly became apparent that they had entered upon a different
description of travelling. They found a wide expanse of deep sand, level
as the blown beaches of the sea, embellished in large patches here and
there with the pink flowering mesembryanthum, which looked like a great
bright flag cast down on the mimic shore, but deep and toilsome for the
horses, so that an active footman could have run as fast as the
struggling, floundering quadrupeds. Here, in this unexpected trap,
suddenly appeared two large bodies of blacks, who converged, as if by
preconcerted signal, and followed closely upon their tracks. They did
not make any pretence of attack, but followed patiently in the wake of
the party, as if more in the hope that the horses might sink exhausted
in the sand, and so place the party at their mercy, than with the
intention of forcing an engagement.
John Redgrave and his companions had ridden hard that day in order to
reach the point now in front of them, and, ignoring the possibility of
any change of country, had not perhaps exercised sufficient caution in
so doing. Now they saw their error. The horses toiled, stumbled, and
staggered in the deep, yielding sand, while nearer and still nearer came
the savage horde, following up, with wolf-like obstinacy, their
faltering footsteps. At length, when the timber was distant about a
mile, the expedition held a council of war.
“I wonder, if we get into the cover, whether there is any chance of the
fellows following us further,” said Waldron. “My horse is nearly done,
thanks to my unfair weight; but I don’t like to leave him behind.”
“Plain black fellows never go ’long a scrub,” asserted Doorival; “we get
’long a timber they stop and turn round. Too much afraid of debil-debil;
but I believe they catch us before that; they close up now.”
“How can we stop them?” demanded Guy. “I can’t go faster to save my
life.”
“I’ll show you,” said Jack, dismounting; “you lead my horse on slowly,
and be ready to wait for me as I come up. I’ll manage to stop them.”
“But you are going to certain death,” said Waldron. “I can’t stand
that.”
“Not at all,” said Jack, coolly; “you take my orders: I’m first officer,
you know. Walk on quietly, and leave me here.”
Jack remained where he was, and permitted Waldron and Doorival to go
slowly forward. He looked carefully to his rifle, and as the array of
natives came rather confusedly along he picked out a conspicuous-looking
personage in the lead and fired. The unfortunate savage threw up his
arms and dropped dead in his tracks. Another fell, desperately wounded,
and yet another to the third shot. The mass of pursuers became confused
at this sudden onslaught. They halted, appeared irresolute, and finally
made a flank movement, and suffered our travellers to pursue their way
in peace.
Jack quickly rejoined his men, who had stopped at the first shot; they
then dismounted, and, leading their weary horses, made good their way to
the cover, where they found firm ground and a sheltered nook, wherein
they rested for the night, thankful to believe that they would remain
unmolested by the dismayed contingent of the tribes of Raak.
“It was unfortunate that we should be compelled to draw first blood,”
said Jack, as they kept midnight watch, “but it was unavoidable. If one
horse had fallen we should have had the whole mob upon us at once,
without the faintest chance of escape.”
“What made you think of that particular style of defence?”
“I happened to know two explorers,” answered Jack, “who saved themselves
in a similar emergency long ago. Only that they were in very wet, marshy
country. Shirley told me he had never known it fail; and he being an
unquestioned authority I determined to try it.”
“Well, there’s nothing like experience,” said Guy, reflectively. “I
should never have thought of it, though I was just preparing to sell my
life dearly, as the writing fellows call it. To-morrow we shall be well
across this belt of scrub, and I suppose we may consider the war-path
business over.”
“I trust so,” answered his comrade; “we have plenty of obstacles and
troubles before us yet without that. I must say I shall be glad to see
the first bush inn again, unsatisfactory halting-places as they are,
notwithstanding.”
“That tribe give us fits when we go back to Raak again,” observed
Doorival, with decision. “How many men you take, Misser Redgrave?”
“Plenty of men, plenty of guns, Doorival,” said Guy Waldron; “don’t you
be afraid. You must tell them all about that if they don’t touch the
cattle we’ll be the best friends they ever had.”
“I not afraid,” said the boy, proudly. “You nebber see me frighten,
Misser Waldron!”
“Well, I never did,” admitted Guy; “you are as plucky a little beggar as
I ever saw of your age, white or black.”
For three days they pursued their course through the interminable scrub,
occasionally suffering for want of water, and at other times rendered
anxious by the idea that they had mistaken their course, and perhaps
struck the barren, waterless thicket at a point where it was broader
than they had imagined, in which case they might be a week or even a
fortnight before they threaded its ofttimes fatal maze. On the fourth
day they sent Doorival ahead to see if he could find any indication of a
change of landscape, which would fortify them in the idea that they had
not been mistaken in their calculations.
To their great joy their messenger returned before sunset with the
welcome intelligence that he had seen open country ahead, and they would
reach it early next morning.
A small supply of water being discovered, the little party camped, full
of sanguine anticipation of the morrow, looking upon the worst of the
journey as past, and already fancying themselves restored to
civilization and free to enter upon the first stage of their successful
discovery.
Their camp-fire was rather larger than usual that night. Some of the
minor precautions were dispensed with. No sign of native trails had been
seen lately, and after their repulse of the Raak army they felt
themselves equal to any ordinary skirmishing party.
The partners talked long as they sat and smoked by the fire. Guy was
unusually excited with the confirmation of their reckoning and the
expectation of a trip to the metropolis for the presentation of their
tenders, in the names of Redgrave and Waldron, for so many blocks upon
either bank of the river Marion, with others, including, of course, Lake
Maud and Mount Stangrove.
“It’s full of magnificent sensations, this _rôle_ of successful
explorer, Redgrave,” he said. “Nothing comes up to it that I ever felt
before, especially when you see plainly before you the unmistakable
profits and advantages. It comprehends so much beside discovery; it’s
the creation, as it were, of a colony of one’s very own.”
“It’s a grand thing in its way,” agreed Jack, with less enthusiasm,
recalling one great enterprise which had looked as fair and yet failed
so fatally. “But, as I said before, many things have to be done yet; and
I’m getting old enough, I fear, to dread the proverbial slip.”
“I know,” interrupted Guy, with eager scorn; “but there _can’t_ be a
break-down in our case—it’s morally impossible. They _must_ accept our
tenders. We can’t have any difficulty in selling some of our spare
blocks for cash enough to put on store cattle. How glorious it will be
to see them pitching into that lovely saltbush by the lake! I know my
governor would send me out two or three thousand pounds if he knew I had
a real partner and a real station—a country-side of my own.”
“It all looks very well, old fellow,” said Jack, “and I feel with you
that nothing in the ordinary run of events can prevent our forming a
fine property out of our discovery, which is entirely confined to our
own knowledge. You had better go straight in with the tenders as soon as
we reach the region of her Majesty’s mails, and I will stay at any
convenient township till I hear from you.”
“But why not come down with me?” demanded Guy. “I have lots of tin to
carry us on for a few months, and a spell in town would do you no harm.”
“I have made no vow,” said Jack, “but I have taken a solemn
resolution”—and a strange light came into his eyes as he spoke, and into
his heart a thrill as he thought of Juandah and his last words to Maud
Stangrove—“a resolution not to resume my position in society until I do
so as the man who has achieved a success; I must return a leader, a
conqueror, or my old comrades shall see me no more. My barque must sail
up the harbour with flags flying and prizes towed astern, or lie a
battered hull for wind and wave to hold revel over.”
“Ha!” said Guy, “stands the case thus? So we are too proud to bend to
the breeze until the wind changes? Well, I understand the feeling; only
you must put me up to all the ways of your Lands Department, or else I
shall get sold or nobbled, or ‘had,’ and then where will the prize-money
come from?”
“It is all simple enough,” said Redgrave. “You will leave with
everything cut and dry, and in writing. You will be able to manage
advances and so on down below, and I shall be all the more handy to go
and take delivery of the first lot of store cattle.”
“By Jove!” said Waldron, excitedly, “I feel as if I were behind them at
this very moment.”
As he spoke the dog Help rose slowly and, looking out into the darkness,
growled in a low, fierce tone, while Doorival, converted suddenly into a
statue, expressive of the act of listening, with an intensity apparent
in every nerve and muscle, raised his hand in silent warning. Each man
felt for his arms, and placed himself in full and perfect readiness for
the reception of whatever enemy might appear. The night was intensely
dark. Within a few feet of the fire the thicket was altogether composed
of Egyptian darkness. It might have been solitary as the great desert,
it might have contained an army with banners, for all that could be
seen: still evil was abroad, they doubted not. The dog, whose tongue
never lied, growled yet more menacingly. From Doorival at length came
the interpretation of the faint sounds of the desert.
“Hang that fire,” he said, at last, “I think we big fools for making it;
black fellow coming to rush the camp; I hear ’em stick break just now.”
Not a sound had fallen upon the less delicate organs of the two men, and
Redgrave, but for the corroboration of Help’s evidence, would have felt
almost inclined to discredit Doorival’s information.
“Sticks break all night in the bush,” he said, “still there’s something
up by the old dog’s bristles. If it were a dingo he would walk out to
meet it; but you see he cowers close by us. Listen again.”
“Your hear ’em now?” said Doorival, in a hoarse whisper, as a very faint
but continuous murmur of voices came in on the breeze. “Black fellow—no
mistake.”
“Every man to his tree,” said Guy. “I vote we clear out to the rear of
the fire, so that we may deliver a converging fire upon the scoundrels
when they come near the light. I call it devilish unhandsome to try and
pot us now we are so near civilized society. However, they’ll get it
hot, that’s one comfort.”
“It was a strange experience,” Redgrave thought, as he coolly picked out
the largest available tree where none were very big, and with Guy
awaited the attack. In utter desolation of that nameless solitude, with
the hour midnight, and the faint but distinct sounds as of the light
tread and hushed voices of the advancing savages, Redgrave felt as if
they were enacting a scene in some weird drama, and were awaiting the
Demon with whose intercourse their fate was interwoven.
That they would come off victorious, with the advantage of preparation
and the immense superiority of fire-arms, he never doubted. Still the
blacks had the advantage of numbers, and of that instinctive cunning
which renders the savage man no mean antagonist.
The noises ceased; for some minutes, an unpleasant period of suspense,
they awaited the onset. Then the dog suddenly burst into a loud, fierce
bark, as the still, warm midnight air was rent by a storm of yells; and
a shower of spears, apparently from every point of the compass, covered
the fire and every foot of ground within some distance with thirsty
spear-points.
A double volley, fired low and carefully in the direction of the
thickest spears apparently had some effect, as a sudden cry, promptly
checked, implied. For some time this curious interchange of missiles
took place. Whenever the blacks pressed forward, desirous of discovering
the exact hiding-place of the daring white men, a steady discharge
repulsed them. The whites were well supplied with ammunition, and the
rapidity with which they loaded and fired deceived the attacking party.
More than one man of note had fallen, and they became less eager in the
attack upon a party so well prepared, so skilled in defence. Apparently
a last attack was ordered. Some kind of flank movement was evidently
arranged, and some of the boldest of the fighting men of the tribe
ordered to the front. The spears commenced to fall very closely among
the resolute defence corps. They appeared as if thrown from a shorter
distance. Guy could have sworn that the spear which whizzed so closely
by his head, as he leaned over to fire in the direction of a
suspiciously opaque body, was thrown from behind yon small clump of
mulga. With the decision of intelligence, or the recklessness of
despair, the dog Help suddenly rushed out and assaulted what appeared to
be a man at the base of the clump referred to. Guy dashed forward to the
smouldering fire, and seizing a fire-stick threw it in the direction of
the combat where the dog was baying savagely, and occasional blows and
spear-thrusts showed that a fight _à l’outrance_ was proceeding. The
brand blazed up for a moment, just sufficient to display the burly form
of a savage warrior engaged in the ignoble contest. With practical
quickness Guy took a snap shot and sent a bullet through the broad
chest, the arms of which at once collapsed.
In the excitement of the moment Guy moved forward, displaying the whole
of his grand and lofty figure in the uncertain light. A score of spears
from the concealed enemy hurtled around him with the suddenness of a
flight of arrows. One of the puny-looking missiles—they were reed
spears, tipped with bone—pierced his arm, another struck him in the
side. Snapping the former short off, and carelessly drawing forth the
other, the wounded man stalked back to his cover, from whence he, with
Jack and Doorival, kept up a ceaseless fusillade. So deadly was the fire
that their assailants dared not approach more nearly the desperate
strangers, who fought so hard and shot so straight. From time to time a
yell, a smothered cry, proclaimed that a shot had taken effect.
The explorers took advantage of a pause in the attack to draw together
and hold converse.
“Redgrave, old fellow,” said Guy, in tones which were strangely altered,
“I fancy that I’ve lost more blood than shows, or else I’m hard hit, for
I feel deuced faint and queer.”
“You don’t mean it, Guy; surely you can’t be serious in thinking those
two needle punctures could stop you.”
“The one in the arm _is_ only a scratch, though it makes one wince; but
this confounded one in the flank has bitten more deeply, and I don’t
know what to say about it.”
“Then there is nothing for it,” said Jack, decisively, “but to beat a
retreat. If these black devils think you are badly hurt nothing will
stop their rush when they choose to make it. We must take stars for our
guide, and move steadily back, keeping our course as well as we can.”
“And what about the horses?”
“They must be left to their fate; we should risk our lives, and perhaps
lose them, if we attracted notice now by trying to catch them.”
“Pacha and all?” asked Guy, incredulously.
“I believe I could almost suffer my hand to be hacked off rather than
lose him if it were optional,” confessed Jack; “but we must choose
between life and death: the time is short.”
Having communicated the decision to Doorival, and pointed out the
direction, that young person selected a star, and, marching with eyes
steadfastly fixed upon it, the others followed him.
They were not pursued, probably because they were near the boundary of
the tribe that had assailed them. No people while unmolested are more
punctilious in preserving a proper attitude to friends and foes than the
untaught aborigines. They respect the hunting-grounds of their
neighbours in the most conscientious manner, and are always ready to
hunt up an outlaw or criminal who has taken refuge in the territory of a
foreign tribe. Such was one element of safety upon which the little
party reckoned, and by great good fortune it did not fail them.
By the merest chance it happened that the spot where the unlucky
camp-fire had been lighted was within a short distance of the ancient
and scarcely-observed tribal boundary. So that when John Redgrave with
his wounded comrade and their henchman abandoned their position they
were unwittingly in perfect safety before they had left the scene of the
conflict three miles behind them. It afterwards transpired that the
second chief of the tribe had been mortally wounded in the last volley.
The excitement and grief caused by his fall aided the retreating party
in their silent flight.
All the night through they travelled slowly but steadily onward, having
for their pilot the untiring Doorival, and for their guidance one
friendly star.
As day broke, and the red dawn stole soft and blushing over the gray
plain and duller foliage, they found themselves upon a pine-clothed
sand-hill, from whence they could survey the landscape in all
directions. By the clear dawn-light each man was enabled to scan the
face of his comrade. The pale and changed countenance of the once gay
and volatile Guy Waldron struck Redgrave with a feeling of wonder and
dread.
“Well, it seems that we are clear of these highly patriotic ‘burghers of
this desert city,’” said he, with an attempt at his old manner, though
the pained and fixed expression of his features belied the jesting
words. “Do you think there is a medical practitioner within hail,
Redgrave? though I fear me he would come late.”
“Good God!” said Jack, “you don’t say—you can’t think, old man, you are
_really_ hurt. I thought it was a mere scratch. Let us look and see;
surely something can be done.”
“’Tis not ‘as deep as a draw-well, or as wide as a church-door,’ as
Mercutio says, but I am really afraid that I shall see the old hall no
more, not even the modified home of a club smoking-room. It’s
hard—deuced hard, isn’t it, to die by the hand of miserable savages, in
a place only to be vaguely guessed at as within certain parallels; just
when we had hit the white too.”
“Don’t think of that, my dear old boy,” said Jack, gently, “you lie down
and have a sleep, and perhaps we shall find that you have over-rated the
damage.”
They made a fire; Jack and the boy Doorival kept watch, while the
sore-fatigued and wounded man slept. No sound of fear or conflict smote
upon their ears, as toil-worn and saddened, they passed the mournful
hours. Towards evening Guy Waldron stirred, but moaned with fresh and
increasing pain.
“Where am I?” he asked, as he looked around, with eyes which incipient
delirium had begun to brighten. “Oh, here, on this miserable
sand-hill—and dying—dying. Yes, I know that I am going fast. Do you
know, Redgrave, that I dreamed I was back in the old place in
Oxfordshire, and I saw my mother and the girls. I wish—I wish you could
have met my people, but that’s over—as plain as I see you and Doorival.
Don’t cry, you young scamp. Mr. Redgrave will look after you, won’t you?
Well, I thought the governor looked quite gracious, and said I was just
in time for the hunting season. Every one was so jolly glad to see me,
and then I woke and felt as if another spear was going slap through me.
Oh, how hard it is to die when a fellow is young and has all the world
before him! I don’t want to whine over it; but it seems such awful bad
luck, doesn’t it now?”
“I wish I had been hit instead,” groaned Jack. “I’m used to bad luck,
and it seems only the order of nature with me. Try and sleep again,
there’s a good fellow.”
“I shall never sleep again—except the long sleep,” answered Guy,
mournfully. “I feel my head going, and I shall begin to rave before
long. So we may as well have our last talk. When I’m gone send my watch
and these things—they are not of any great value—to my agents in Sidney,
and ask them to send them to my people. They know my address—and,
Doorival, come here.”
The boy came, with deepest sorrow in every feature, and knelt down by
his master’s side.
“Will you go home to my father, my house across the big sea, and tell
them how I was struck with a spear in a fight, and all about me.”
“I go, Misser Walron,” said the boy, cheerfully. “I tell your people.”
“You not afraid of big one water, and big canoe?”
“Me not afraid,” said the boy, proudly. “I go anywhere for _you_—you
always say, Doorival afraid of nothing.”
“All right, Doorival; you were always a game chicken. I should have made
a man of you if I had lived. Mr. Redgrave will give you new clothes when
you go down the country, and put you on board ship. Mind you are a good
boy, and remember what I told you, when you go to my country, and see
father belonging to me. Now good-night.”
The boy threw himself on his face beside the dying man, and with many
tears kissed his hand, and then, raising himself, walked to a tree at
some distance and sat with his head upon his knees, in an attitude of
the deepest dejection.
“Look here, old fellow,” continued Guy, “there’s a hundred or two to my
credit at the agents’. I’ll scrawl an order in your favour. You take it
and do what you can for the honour of the firm, and my share of the
profits, if there be any, in time to come, can go to my sisters. It will
remind them of poor Guy. I shall die happier if I think they will get
something out of it when I’m gone. Let the boy take all my traps home in
the ship with him. It will comfort the girls and the old people at home,
who have seen the last of their troublesome Guy. I wish you all the luck
going; and some day, when you are thinking of the first draft of fat
cattle, remember poor Guy Waldron, who would have rejoiced to knock
through all the rough work along with you; but it cannot be. Somebody
gets knocked over in every battle, and it’s my luck, and that’s all
about it. Good-bye, Redgrave, old fellow. I’m done out of my share of
hut-building, stock-yard-making, and all the rest of it. I feel that as
much as anything. Give me your hand—my eyes are growing dim.”
All the long night John Redgrave and the boy watched patiently and
tenderly by the dying man. Shortly before daylight there was a period of
unusual stillness. Jack lighted a torch and took one look at the still
face which he had learned to love. The features still wore the calm air
habitual to the man. The parted lips bore recent traces of a smile. The
square jaw was set and slightly fallen—Guy Waldron was dead!—dead in
this melancholy desert, thousands of miles from any one of his own name
or kindred.
John Redgrave closed the fearless blue eyes, which still bore unchanged
their steadfast look of truth or challenge. He covered the still face,
placed by his side the arm, carelessly thrown, as in life’s repose,
above the head, and, casting himself on the sand beside the dead, was
not ashamed to weep aloud.
How well-nigh impossible to realize was it that, but one short night
before, that clay-cold form had been full of glowing life, high hope,
and generous speech. A fitting representative of the old land, which has
sent forth so many heroes, conquering and to conquer. The darling of an
old ancestral home—the deeply-loved son of a gallant father. The
long-looked-for, dreamed-of wanderer, a demi-god in the eyes of his
sisters. And now, there lay all that was left of Guy Waldron—lonely and
unmarked in death amid that solitary waste, as a crag fallen from the
brow of their scarce-named peak, as a tree that sways softly but heavily
to its fall amid the crashing undergrowth of the desert woodlands.
* * * * *
That night John Redgrave and the wailing Doorival buried him at the foot
of a mighty sighing pine, covering up their traces as completely as the
boy’s woodcraft enabled them to do, and marking the spot in a sure but
unobtrusive manner, so that in days to come the burying-place of Guy
Waldron should not be suffered to remain undistinguished. This duty
being performed, Jack gathered up the small personal treasures of the
dead man, and long before dawn, steering by the southern stars, they
pursued their mournful progress towards the settlements.