GEORGE ESSEX EVANS

*PALS*

*CHAPTER I*

*BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION*

"Happy season of virtuous youth, when shame is still an impassable

barrier, and the sacred air cities of hope have not shrunk into the mean

clay hamlets of reality; and man by his nature is yet infinite and

free."--CARLYLE.

"Comin' over to-night, Tom?"

"By jings! I'd like to, Joe, but dad said this morning he was going to

shell corn to-night. You know what that means. What's on?"

"Oh! Sandy's stayin' in for the night; so I thought of gettin' Jimmy

Flynn an' Yellow Billy so's we could have bushrangers, an' stick up the

coach by moonlight. If they can't come, Sandy an' I'll go 'possumin' in

the slaughter-house paddock."

"I say! what a jolly lark the bushranging'd be. How'd you manage it,

Joe?"

"We've planned that out all right. We'd get Jimmy Flynn's billy-goat

cart an' the billies. He'd be mailman, an' it'd be gold-escort day.

Yellow Billy'd be the trooper; he's got a pistol, you know. He'd ride

the roan steer he's broken in. Then you, Sandy, an' I'd be Ben Bolt's

gang. We'd do a plant in a lonely spot along the road an' surprise 'em.

I'd tackle Billy, you'd look after Jimmy, Sandy 'd collar the mailbags

and gold boxes, and then scoot with the loot. I think it'd be better to

shoot Billy, so's to make it a bit more real; that's what Ben Bolt'd

do."

"But, Joe, where'd we get the guns?"

"I'd get father's. You'd have to make believe with a nulla-nulla. We

could stick a boomerang in our belts, it'd look like pistols in the

dark."

"But I say, Joe, ole chap, you wouldn't really shoot Billy?" said Tom in

a tone that savoured both of fear and scepticism.

"You're a precious muff, Hawkins! I was just kidding you. No, you

stupid, it's all gammon. The noise the powder 'll make 'll scare the

seven senses outer Billy."

"By golly! it'll be crummie enough. Put it off till to-morrow, Joe, an'

I'll come."

"Can't be done, my boy. Sandy'll not be here, for one thing. Besides,

I have to pull father down to Yallaroi Bend to-morrow. It's his service

night there. Sorry you can't come, Tom. We'll have to do our best

without you."

"Oh Moses! to think that I can't join!" groaned Tom. "Look here, Joe,

I--I'll do a sneak. I'll be here somehow, you may bet your Sunday

breeks," continued the eager lad, as he stepped into the little

"flat-bottom" boat which had brought him over.

"Joe!" he shouted when he had rowed some distance from the shore. "I'll

give a cooee if I can get, an' two cooees if the way's blocked. So

don't start till you hear."

"Right-o!"

The place where these boys lived, moved, and had their being was a

district famed for its fertility, on one of the northern rivers in New

South Wales.

The river itself had many of the elements of nobility and beauty as,

taking its rise in the snowy heights of the New England ranges, it clove

its way eastward, finally debouching into the blue waters of the

Pacific. The river-flats formed magnificent stretches of arable lands;

too rich, indeed, for such cereals as wheat and oats, for their rank

growth rendered them liable to the fatal rust.

Here, however, was the home of the maize, the pumpkin, the sweet potato,

the orange, the lemon, the plantain. Here too, the natural sequence, in

a way, of the prolific corn and the multitudinous pumpkin, were reared

and flourished the unromantic pig.

Fed on pumpkins, with skim milk for beverage, topped off with corn, the

Australian grunter--whether as delicious, crisp bacon, or posing as

aristocratic ham--produces flesh with a flavour fit to set before a

king.

Away from the river-flats the land becomes undulating and ridgy, and

well grassed for cattle runs. In the scrub belts, running back from the

river and its affluents into the hilly country, are to be found valuable

timbers, hard and soft; especially that forest noble, the red cedar.

Cattle runs of large extent exist in the back-blocks, formed in the

early days by that class of men to whom Australia owes so much; the men

who to-day are vilified by those not worthy to black their boots: the

hardy, adventurous, courageous, indomitable pioneer, who more often than

not laid down his life and his fortune in the interest of Colonial

expansion and occupation.

At intervals along the river-banks are small settlements, dignified by

the name of townships. Tareela, the principal village, skirted both

sides of the river, and was connected by a ferry. Here were located the

Government offices for the district, together with the stores, hotels,

school, etc.

Joe Blain, the minister's son, was the leader of the village lads. He

had two pals, who were inseparable from him: Sandy M'Intyre, the

squatter's son, whose father owned Bullaroi, a cattle station situated a

few miles from the town, and Tom Hawkins, a farmer's son, the youngest

of the trio. These boys gave tone and direction to the fun and frolic

of the settlement. Of them it is sufficient to say at present that they

were not pedestal lads.

At this time a noted bushranger and his mate were raiding the

settlements. All police pursuit was futile, owing to the

resourcefulness of the 'rangers. They had a keen knowledge of the open

country and the mountain ranges. Furthermore, they were generally

mounted on blood horses, usually "borrowed" from the surrounding station

studs.

These men had many sympathisers among the lawlessly inclined, and,

strange to say, among law-abiding settlers. The "bush-telegraph" was an

institution in those days. Certain friends of the 'rangers kept them

posted up in the movements of the police, sometimes by word of mouth, at

others by writings on paper or bark, which were deposited in rock

crevices or in tree hollows, known only to the initiated. Sometimes a

young lad, or even a girl, would ride scores of miles across country to

give them warning.

The police were not wanting in bush lore or courage, and in the end

invariably ran their quarry to earth. But an outlaw often had a long

career in crime, owing to the aid given, ere he was trapped. Thanks to

closer settlement, the advance of education, and the general use of the

electric telegraph, bushranging has become a matter of history. The

species is now to be found only in the stage melodrama, the itinerating

waxwork show, or embalmed in literature.

*CHAPTER II*

*"THE BUSHRANGERS*

"_Poins_: Tut! our horses they shall not see. I'll tie them in the

wood; our visors we will change after we leave them; and, sirrah, I have

cases of buckram for the nonce to immask our noted outward garments.

"_Prince_: But I doubt they will be too hard for us."

SHAKESPEARE, Henry IV.

After leaving Tom Hawkins, or, to put it more correctly, after Tom had

paddled away in his punt, Joe Blain proceeded to look up Jimmy Flynn,

the blacksmith's apprentice, and Yellow Billy, a half-caste youth, whose

father followed the occupation of a timber-getter in the ranges. Yellow

Billy was generally employed as yard boy at the Travellers' Best Inn,

and a rough time he often had, especially when the timber-getters were

dissolving their hard-earned gold in alcohol.

One of Billy's duties was to milk the cows and tend the calves. Among

the latter was a yearling steer, which he broke in and rode on the

quiet. Many an hour's frolic the boys had in the moonlight in riding

the steer. This animal had a good slice of the rogue in its

composition, with a propensity for buck-jumping. When in a certain mood

it would be as stubborn as a donkey and as savage as a mule.

After standing, say for some minutes, never budging, in spite of

thwackings and tail-twistings, it would suddenly take to buck-jumping.

Oh, my, couldn't it buck! Woe betide the unlucky rider when it was in

this mood. Torn from his hold--a rope round its brisket--one moment

behold him sprawling over its back, the next whirling through space,

finally deposited with more force than elegance on the turf. All this,

however, was great fun for the boys, who encouraged the brute in its

bucking moods, each mounting in turns, to lie prone sooner or later on

mother earth, amid the uproarious laughter of his fellows.

Billy was the exception. He was a born rider. Unable to shift him from

its back, the brute became quite docile in his hands, and kept its

tricks for the others.

Jimmy and Billy were ready and willing to fill their parts in the bill.

The former, at "knock off," went out to the town common to round his

goats, and Billy promised to be ready, "steered," so to speak, by the

time appointed.

The road fixed upon was the track that led out from the township to a

large sawmill, distant about six miles. It was a solitary road, passing

through a scrub-belt, crossing several minor creeks, threading its way

over a rocky ridge, winding through a rather wild defile, and ending at

the mill; the sort of place, indeed, to present numerous opportunities

for the criminal enterprise on hand. A spot where one could get "nice

and creepy," as Joe said to Yellow Billy, much to that young man's

disquiet.

The plan of campaign was simple enough. Joe, Tom, and Sandy were to set

out as soon as possible after sundown and choose their spot for attack;

while Jimmy was to drive the Royal Billy-goat Mailcart, with Trooper

Yellow Billy a little in advance, as per custom.

The embryo bushrangers, unfortunately, had only one horse between them;

the one Sandy rode to school. Mr. Blain's horse, on which the boys

counted, was being used by the minister to take him to a moonlight

service some distance out from the river. It was settled, therefore,

that the three boys should bestride Sandy's stout cob, which was well

able to carry these juvenile desperadoes.

"Mother!" shouted Joe, as he strode into the house in the late

afternoon, from the wood-pile, where he had been chopping the next day's

supply, "we're going to have grand fun to-night."

"What sort of fun, my son?"

"Bushranging along the sawmill road. Can I go mother? We've got such a

grand plot."

"Well, I don't mind; but don't be out late."

"S'pose I can have the gun?"

"The g-u-n!"

"Yes, mother. No need to fear. It's all play."

"Well, don't load it."

"Only with powder to make a bang."

"I don't like the idea, my boy. Gun accidents often happen in play.

You remember Jim Andrews----"

"Oh yes, mother, but that's different! It was loaded."

In the end, owing to the boy's importunity, Mrs. Blain reluctantly

consented.

Early tea being duly dispatched, the boys made the necessary

preparations for their dark deed. Joe produced a pair of knee-boots,

the some time property of his father. He made them fit by sticking rags

into the toes. He thrust his trousers' legs into the boot-tops, and

wound a red scarf round his waist, through which he stuck a boomerang

and nulla-nulla. A 'possum-skin cap adorned his head. His final act

was to fasten on a corn-tassel moustache, and to strap his gun across

his back. The broad effect of the costume was to make this youthful

outlaw a cross, as it were, between Robinson Crusoe and a Greek brigand.

Indeed he quite terrified his two sisters, as he suddenly entered the

sitting-room to the accompaniment of a blood-curdling yell. This the

girls match with a shriek that wakes up the sleeping baby, bringing the

mother in with a rush.

For a moment Mrs. Blain, seeing Joe in the half-light, thought some

ruffian had entered.

"It's very thoughtless and wrong of you, Joe, to frighten your sisters.

I--I--I'm quite angry with you----"

"Very sorry, mater," said Joe, with a serio-comic air. "I only meant to

give them a start."

The girls, however, began to laugh, Joe looked such an oddity. They

turned the tables on him by quizzing him most unmercifully. At last our

young hero was very glad to beat a retreat to the backyard, where he

found Sandy busy in saddling the horse.

Joe's confederate had roughened himself as much as circumstances

permitted. In lieu of a skin cap he tied a big handkerchief round his

hat, and stuck a couple of turkey-tail feathers through it. He had

manufactured a brace of pistols out of short lengths of bamboo, with

corn-cobs, stuck in bored holes at an angle, to form the stocks. These,

with a boomerang and nulla-nulla slung at either side, and a short spear

fixed in his belt at the back and standing over his head, made him in

appearance more like a red Indian than a Colonial free-booter.

"All ready, Hawkeye?"

"Yes, ole pal. The mustang is waiting, and the brave will vault into

the saddle at Thundercloud's word of command," answered Hawkeye in

bastard Cooperese. Fenimore of that ilk was Sandy's favourite author.

"Hast thou heard the signal of Red Murphy?" said Joe, falling into the

strain of speech.

"No, Thundercloud. No sound from our brither of the hither shore hath

been borne on the wings of the wind across the----"

"Oh, stow that rot, Sand--Hawkeye! I wonder?----"

"Yon's the cry of the chiel," broke in the would-be brave, as at that

moment the cooee of Tom Hawkins, alias Red Murphy, rose in the still

air, faint from the distance, but distinct.

"A single cooee! Rippin! he's comin'. Let's mount and wait at the

landing."

Hardly had the boys reached the river-bank ere Red Murphy appeared,

attired much as the others, with the addition of an old blunderbuss

belonging to his father.

"It's all right, boys! Hurroar! Dad broke the handle of the

corn-sheller this evening, and sent me over with it to the blacksmith's.

I'm to wait till it's mended. Wait a jiff an' I'll be with you," cried

he, as he ran to the smithy, returning as fast as his legs could bring

him, with the news that the broken handle could not be repaired under

three hours owing to other urgent work.

Joe rapidly detailed the plan, informing Tom, at the same time, that his

name and character were to be that of Red Murphy, one of the

blood-thirstiest and most rapacious cut-throats in the Colonies.

*CHAPTER III*

*A DESPERATE ENCOUNTER*

"_Falstaff_: I am a rogue if I were not at half-sword with a dozen of

them two hours together. I have 'scaped by miracle. I am eight times

thrust through the doublet; four through the hose; my buckler cut

through; my sword hacked like a handsaw _ecce signum_. I never dealt

better since I was a man; all would not do."--SHAKESPEARE, _Henry IV_.

Joe had barely made his explanations before the rumbling of the

approaching cart was heard. It was the Royal Mail starting on its

adventurous trip.

"Time to be off, pals!" cried the leader. "Now then, Hawkeye, whip 'em

up."

Off started the trio, Thundercloud, Hawkeye, and Red Murphy; each

delivering a blood-curdling yell which rang up and down the street, as

they passed through it at a smart canter. It had never fallen to the

lot of horse, before, to bear upon its back at the same time three such

ferocious outlaws, bent on so diabolical an errand. Behind them, and at

a slower pace, came the Royal Mail goatcart, drawn by four strong

billies, skilfully driven by coachman Jimmy, and attended by Trooper

Billy astride his cud-chewing steed.

After leaving the township the road skirted the river for a mile or so,

then, crossing a plank bridge, bore away to the hills. The silver moon

shone from the clear sky through the pure air, making the tree shadows

as they lay across the road to resemble fallen timber. The nocturnal

'possum, having ventured to the ground to feed upon the tender grass,

scudded up the trees, frightened by the rumbling vehicle and the baaing

steeds. The thud of paddy-melon[#] and wallaby could be distinctly

heard, as they smote the earth in their jumping movements; while from

the heights of some lofty tree the mopoke[#] tolled his mournful cry.

[#] "Paddy-melon," a small marsupial or pouch-bearing mammal.

[#] "Mopoke," the Australian crested goat-sucker.

The coach had now passed the three-mile creek, and still there was no

sound of disturbing element. The coachman and trooper, having

intelligence to the effect that the 'rangers were "out," and had

threatened to "stick" up the gold-escort, were on the _qui vive_. They

surmised that the attack would come in the scrub-belt, and about the

spot where the creek intersected. Here the tall, overhanging trees,

interlaced as they were with a thick vinous growth, effectually barred

the moon's rays.

It was the ideal spot for ambush, and the hearts of the boys beat

faster, and a nervous apprehension amounting to fear seized them, as

they passed among the shadows. Everything had a distorted appearance,

and again and again they trembled, as it were, on the verge of attack.

They had chatted freely until the darkness of the scrub closed in upon

them. Under its oppression, and by reason of the dread uncertainty,

what had before seemed to be only a prime lark now presented itself as a

grim reality.

They drove on slowly now, conversing only in whispers, for the night

silences, the deepening shadows, and the unseen before them, all

contributed to the mental mood which affected the boys. The creek banks

and bed, save for a solitary moon-ray which silvered the rippling water,

were enwrapped in thick darkness. Pulling up at the brink, the boys

held a short conversation.

"Goin' ter cross, Jimmy?"

"I--I--s'pose so, Billy. Measly black ahead, ain't it?"

"You're not frightened, are you?"

"Wot! me? No fear! Y'are yourself!"

"I like that! Wot's to be frightened of?"

Yet the boys, if truth be told, were a good deal alarmed by the unwonted

darkness and stillness.

"Well, s'pose we'd better be gettin' on. Don't care how soon we git

outer this hole. You cross ahead, Billy, an' do a bit o' scoutin'.

I'll wait here till you git up the bank on the other side."

Yellow Billy didn't like the prospect, and would have proposed turning

back, but was afraid of being called a coward. Therefore, despite an

apprehension of the darkness, accentuated by his aboriginal strain, and

very much against his will, the half-caste plunged down the creek bed,

and mounted the other side without let or hindrance, greatly to his

surprise and relief.

But where are the 'rangers?

Of them the darkness gave no token and the silence is unbroken. Jimmy

had some difficulty in getting his leaders to tackle the creek. It was

only after he left the cart, seized their heads, and half-dragged them

into the water that he effected his purpose. The scrub thinned out

shortly after passing the creek, and the spirits of the boys rose with

the increasing moonlight.

"They missed a grand charnce at the crick, Billy!"

"By dad, they did that! I wonder where they are. P'raps they've given

us the slip."

The road took a sudden turn just here, leading over a rocky ridge. At a

farther sharp turn, under the lee of a bank, a big log lay across the

road.

"Hello, here's a go, Jimmy! You'll have to drive round. No! you can't

do that. Wait a moment an' I'll----"

"Bail up!"

The cry, crisp and startling, rang out, as three figures darted from the

shadow of a huge tree which stood near. Thundercloud, the leader of the

band of bushrangers, pointed his gun at the driver. Hawkeye made a dash

at the trooper, while Red Murphy seized hold of the leading billies.

"Hands up!" cried Thundercloud in the highest style of bushranging.

"Your money or your life!"

Trooper Billy was not disposed to yield without a struggle, and at the

first cry he whipped out his pistol, firing at his aggressor point

blank, missing the leader but hitting his confederate, Hawkeye, who

tumbled down with a loud squeal, as unlike an Indian war-whoop as it is

possible to imagine. Simultaneously, Thundercloud discharged his gun at

Jimmy the coachman, who, instead of putting his hands up at the

challenge, began to lash the billies, and had just turned them off the

log, when--pop, crash! went the two weapons.

And now the unforeseen occurred. The steer and the billies bolted!

Down the ridge and along the road they dashed at breakneck speed; the

steer roaring and kicking, the four strong billies baaing, and neither

driver nor rider could control the brutes. Away they scurried along the

rough bush-track, the cart bumping and rocking over the ruts; every jump

of the trap bringing a fresh bleat from the fear-stricken goats.

After racing along for nearly a mile and finding his steed unmanageable,

getting frightened too, Yellow Billy slipped over the stern, and by good

luck dropped upon his feet. It was different with Jimmy, who gallantly

hung on to the billies. The creek was what he most feared, and it was

very close now. He had, however, got a pull on the beasts, and they

were slackening a little, but, as ill-luck would have it, on going down

a gully one of the wheels caught a tree root, and in a jiffy capsized

the cart, sending the driver head over heels into a clump of bracken.

The incident gave fresh impetus to the runaways, who rushed on baaing;

dashing at length down the steep incline of the creek, the cart righted

itself as it tumbled adown the gradient. They tore over the stream and

up the bank, finally leaving the track, and getting boxed up in the

scrub.

After lying in a stunned condition for a few minutes, Jimmy scrambled

up. But the moment he put his weight on his right foot he let out a

yell, caused by the terrific pain that shot through his ankle. It was

unbearable, and he tumbled down in an almost fainting condition.

Meanwhile the outlaws stood aghast at the unexpected and startling turn

of events. Thundercloud was the first to recover his speech.

"Great Caesar! who would have dreamt of a bolt? Just listen to the

brutes!" as the animals tore along, baaing and roaring in a way possible

only to frightened billies and calves.

"I--I--didn't know he'd loaded his pistol. I--I--I thought for sure I

was a goon coon," gasped Hawkeye, who, after lying for a minute under

the impression that he was mortally wounded, got up, rubbing his face

and head, half terrified as his hands became wet with flowing blood, and

only reassured after Joe had declared that the blood was from his nose.

As a matter of fact, he had sustained a smart blow upon his prominent

feature with the pistol wad; his cheeks, also, were scorched with the

powder flare.

Red Murphy, who had just grasped the billies' heads when the guns were

fired, was thrown down in their mad rush, and had his shins severely

barked on the rocky ground.

"Drat the brutes! Oh, I say, here's a go! Listen to the beggars!

Ain't they footin' it?"

"To horse! to horse, pals!" cried Thundercloud, making hasty strides to

a patch of scrub where they had tied up the horse. In a few seconds the

three were mounted and away with a swinging canter, adding their yells

to the cries of the beasts. They were soon up to the spot where Jimmy

had come to grief, when, thundering down the gully, the horse made a shy

at the prostrate coachman, shooting off Thundercloud and Red Murphy.

They scrambled up quickly, none the worse for their spill. Hawkeye

immediately reined in his steed and rejoined his dismounted companions.

The boys were greatly concerned to find Jimmy in this condition. The

affair began to assume a serious aspect. They were no longer outlaws and

police: they were pals, and Jimmy was suffering intense pain from his

sprained ankle. After a short consultation the boy was placed on the

horse, which was led by Sandy. The others followed behind, making a

somewhat mournful spectacle. In due course they reached the goatcart,

now in possession of Yellow Billy, who had disentangled the team and was

waiting for the others to come along. The steer meanwhile continued his

career at headlong speed, until he pulled up at the milking yards in an

exhausted condition. Mrs. Blain, as the hours sped by, began to get

concerned at the non-return of the boys. Concern deepened into anxiety.

She became a prey to evil imaginings, as do all our dear mothers. They

are lost! ... Some dreadful accident has happened! ... That gun! ...

Their legs, arms, necks, are broken! And so on and on, running over the

whole gamut of catastrophy.

She goes out to scan the streets, and listens with strained ears for

some enheartening sound of footsteps. Lights are out in the village.

Even the dogs are sleeping. No shuffle of advancing feet; no rattle of

wheels as they grind in the ruts: no sound, indeed, is borne upon the

night wind save the mystic noises of the flowing river, which fill the

air with a deep undertone. Above this, at intervals, come the splashing

sounds of the jumping fish; the smooth splash of the falling mullet, the

tail flutter of the rising perch. The wood-duck's soft quack-quack, and

the red-bill's chuckle, are to be heard as they move among the sedges.

No landward sound!

Stay! a dark shadow swiftly steals along the earth like a spirit of evil

omen, and passes through the house, across the street, as it strikes the

walls. While from above comes a wail as that of a lost soul.

The poor woman quivers and shivers at the unwonted sight and sound. She

knows not that the apparition is the shadow of a black swan, which is

sailing high up in the heavens; it crosses the moon, and utters its

melancholy note as it wings its flight to the feeding grounds. The

mother is now on the outskirts of the town, under the shadows of the

trees. Every leaf is a tongue; every tongue whispers--Something! which

dries the throat and fills the ears with heart-thumps. "Why did I? ...

That gun! ... What will father? ... Why don't they come? ... Which

track? ... Hark! Yes, 'tis the galloping hoofs ... Oh, God! it is the

steer! ... Riderless! ... This way, then.... On, on, on! ... At last!

..."

"Cheer up, mother ... no harm done ... Jimmy had a bit of a buster an'

sprained his ankle.... Scold us, mother, but--don't cry!"

The hour is verging on midnight as five weary lads, four billies, one

horse, and one thankful woman straggled into the silent township. All

romance, for the moment, had gone out of bushranging.

*CHAPTER IV*

*THE GREAT MATCH*

"God bless the grilling days of cricket!

They're gone but I shall bless them ever,

For good it is to guard a wicket

By sudden wrist and big endeavour."

NORMAN GALE.

"There's a breathless hush in the close to night,

Ten to make and the match to win,

A bumping pitch and a blinding light,

An hour to play and the last man in."

HENRY NEWBOLT.

"Hawkins, stand out!"

"Please, sir, I wasn't doin' nothin'!"

"No, you wasn't doin' nothin', but you have been talking all morning,

you tiresome boy! Write out 'disobedient' three hundred times after

school."

The fact is, Tom was relating the bushranging episode to a schoolmate,

and, like Tom Sawyer, he "laid over" considerably in his recital. While

in the act of enlarging he was brought to book in this peremptory

fashion by the master, and had to do penance with as little relish as

most boys.

"Sorry you can't come out and play, Tom," said Joe Blain, poking his

head into the empty schoolhouse after dismissal.

"It's a beastly shame! What are you fellows up to?"

"Goin' to practise for the Dingdongla match. After that we'll have a

swim."

"Oh, rot it!" grunted the chagrined prisoner.

"Say, Tom, don't forget to come along to-night an' help pick the team."

"I'll be there, never fret."

"Well, so-long. Wire in, and keep your pecker up."

Dingdongla was an up-river settlement; Tareela a down-river town. The

latter named was the older and more substantial place, being the

headquarters of the shipping. As a consequence it was instinct with the

superior air generally to be met with in places of metropolitan

pretensions. In schools, too, the down-river town had the advantage.

Its school building was of sawn timber, with a shingle roof.

Furthermore, it possessed two teachers, and pine desks. While, on the

other hand, the up-river academy was constructed of roughly adzed slabs

and a bark roof.

For the Dingdonglas to be thrashed in cricket by the Tareelians was not

considered to be a disgrace. _Per contra_, their victory was a splendid

achievement, and a great humiliation to their opponents. The latter was

fairly beaten by the former last season, and naught would restore their

prestige save the administration of an unmitigated licking. So, at

least, thought the match Committee, as they conned names, and analysed

the merits of the candidates on the name list.

Needless to say, Joe, Tom, and Sandy headed the list of certainties.

Yellow Billy came next; for though a very irregular attendant at school,

he was a tremendous swiper when he got his eye in. Billy had dragged

more than one match out of the fire.

Saturday morning broke fair. Shortly after an early breakfast a

cavalcade of about twenty youthful horsemen, followed by two teachers in

a gig, were scampering along the bush road to Dingdongla, distant about

nine miles up the river. Oh, the merry, merry days of youth! Those are

the days of the superlative mood.

It was a merry, roaring, romping, racing crowd of youngsters that tore

along the bush track. They jumped fallen timber and gullies; chased the

flying marsupial; and spurted in couples for short lengths. There were

minor accidents, 'tis true. Pincher Putnan's horse, in a fit of

pig-jumping, broke a girth, sending Pincher and saddle to mother earth.

Yellow Billy's half-broken brumby fairly bolted in a race, cleared off

the road, and rushed through a belt of timber at breakneck speed,

towards his native haunts in the Nulla ranges. It was only the superb

horsemanship of the half-caste that saved him from being dashed against

the trees in the headlong flight.

In due time Dingdongla is reached. The horses are turned out in a maize

stubble paddock, where is a fine picking, and the boys stroll on to the

ground to have a look at the pitch.

"Whatyer think of the pitch, Joe?"

"You'll have to keep your eye skinned for shooters Rody. The ball'll

keep very low. Must keep a straight bat and forward play."

The stumps, like much of the material, were home-made. The Dingdonglas

had only one "spring handle"; the others were chopped out of beech

boards. The Tareelians were not much better off for material. They, it

is true, had two "spring handles,"--more or less battered,--and could

boast a pair of wicket gloves, but for the rest were like their

opponents, sans leggings and gloves. That, however, was a small item;

for every boy who possessed boots doffed them, rolling his trouser legs

to the knees and his shirt sleeves to the elbows.

"Got all your men, Wilson?" said Joe to the Dingdonglas' captain.

"Yes, they're all here. May as well toss for innin's, Joe."

"Right you are," responds Joe, ejecting a jet of saliva on a piece of

flat wood. "Shall I toss, or you?"

"You toss, Joe."

"Call you!" cried Blain, tossing the board with a twirl skywards. "Wet

or dry?"

"Wet!" called Wilson, as the wood spun in the air.

"Dry!" exclaimed Joe, as it lay on the ground with its dry side

uppermost. "We've won, and go in."

"Tom," said he a moment later, "you and Yellow Billy go in first, an'

you take the strike."

The batsmen were soon in their places, and the Dingdongs in the field.

The innings opened fairly well for the Tareelians. Yellow Billy got

quickly to work, and laid on the wood to some purpose; Tom playing

carefully the while.

Facing the Dingdonglas' swift bowler, after a smart short-hit run Billy

sent a well-pitched ball for four, a rattling, straight-hit drive. But

in trying to repeat the stroke off the next ball he misjudged, and,

skying the sphere, was easily caught.

"One wicket for twenty!" of which the half-caste contributed fifteen.

After this the troubles of the batsmen set in. The Dingdongs were

strong in bowling talent, and possessed a local Spofforth, whose

lightning deliveries shot and kicked in a marvellous fashion. Joe,

going in fifth man, stayed the "rot" for a while, but was foolishly run

out by his mate.

The Tareelians were all out in an hour for the small total of

forty-seven. If the down-river boys were despondent over this score,

the up-rivers were correspondingly jubilant. Going to the wickets with

plenty of confidence, they rattled up ninety-nine before the last wicket

fell; the captain carrying out his bat for a well-earned forty-two.

Adjournment for lunch was now made. We call it lunch by courtesy. It

was a big bush feed. This repast was served in the schoolhouse, the

rough desks being converted into tables, which were literally covered

with good things.

The Dingdonglas' mothers were determined that, whoever won, the boys of

both sides should have a rippin' feed. A stuffed sucking-pig, whose

savoury odour filled the room, lay at one end. Roast wild duck and a

cold pigeon-pie balanced it at the other. An immense round of spiced

beef, standing in the centre of the long table, seemed to say: "You may

cut and come again." Potatoes and pumpkins smoked in big tin bowls, and

all the available space was filled with cakes, puddings, and pies.

Needless to say, the onslaught was terrific. They were all sloggers at

tuck. Meats, puddings, cakes, tea, and ginger-beer disappeared like

magic.

All good things mundane, however, come to an end; especially when the

good thing happens to be a dinner. And now, after divers whisperings and

nudgings, up stood Captain Joe, amid the cheers of his side.

Joe was silent a moment, nervously looking up and down the board, and

heartily wishing himself at the bottom of the deep blue sea. "Mr.

Chairman" (addressing the local schoolmaster), "I--we--that is--us

fellows from Tareela asked me to tell you--I mean to say,

that--that--that--a--it gives us much pleasure--er--er--oh, hang it

all!--I--I mean--er--this is the jolliest blow in the way of tuck we've

ever had." Joe subsided to the rattle of the knives on the bare board.

As soon as the noise ceased, Tom Hawkins jumped up and called: "Three

cheers for the Dingdonglas!" which were heartily given.

Half an hour's lounge, and the battle began afresh.

"We've got fifty-two to wipe out before we start even, boys. We can do

it, and score plenty more to win the game, if we keep our heads.

Anyway, we must have a big try. Billy an' I'll go in first; Tom next,

and then Pincher. The order of the rest of you depends on the way

things turn out."

"Look here, Billy," continued the captain, as the two batsmen walked to

the wickets. "They've got two slashing bowlers, but if we can manage to

knock 'em out they've no one else of much account. Get your eye well in

before you do any slogging."

"All right, Joe! Do me best."

"Your best means steady play and a big score. I'll take the strike."

If Joe was nervous in public speech it was not observable in action. He

played Ginger Smith's fast deliveries with confidence, punishing the

loose balls and blocking the straight ones. Billy, too, was playing

with unwonted caution, and the score, though slowly, was surely mounting

up; until after half an hour's play it stood at twenty-five, with no

wickets down. There were no boundaries, and every hit was run out.

"Oh, glory, what a swipe!"

Yellow Billy had got hold of one of Ginger's leg balls with a mighty

lunge. The ball seemed as if it would go on for ever, and finally

rolled into a gutter. They ran six for it.

There was great cheering among the Tareelians. Mr. Simpson, who umpired,

forgot for a moment his impartial office. Flinging his hat into the

air, he cried, "Bravo, Billy!"

"Thirty-one an' none out. Only twenty-one to get level!"

The boys were now scoring faster; singles, twos, threes were coming with

great rapidity. Joe made his first four, a sweet, square cut.

"Forty-nine an' no wickets down!"

Joe faced the new bowler. The local demon had begun to bowl wildly, and

was relieved.

"They'll never bowl them!" cried young Ben Wilde, as Joe took block for

the new-comer--a lad with a reputation for slow left-hand twisters. The

first ball was pitched on the leg stump; just the ball for Joe's

favourite leg glance.

It went for two.

"Only one to make us even!" shouted Tom to his captain. The second ball

was pitched in exactly the same spot, and Joe proceeded to treat it in

the same fashion. The sphere, however, had a little more twist on it

than its predecessor, and, breaking on to the left bail, flicked it off.

There was a great chorus of disappointment among the Tareelians, and

hearty cheers from their opponents, as the captain's wicket fell. His

twenty-one, got by true cricket, was worth twice that number by reason

of the spirit of confidence he had infused.

Billy and Tom carried the score to seventy-three, when the latter was

caught for ten. Pincher fell a victim to a very simple ball from an

under-hand lob bowler, after making seven. Sandy gave the bowlers some

trouble, and got into double figures before he retired. All this while

Billy was scoring well, and, when Sandy's wicket fell, had made fifty

runs. All the boys scored less or more; and when the innings closed had

compiled a total of one hundred and thirty-seven, of which Billy made

seventy-one and not out. This was a grand achievement, and the

half-caste was carried off the ground amid great applause.

This left the Dingdongs eighty-six runs to win, which they failed to do

by seventeen runs, Sleepy Sam stumping no less than three off young

Ben's slow lobs.

There was great cheering as the victorious cricketers rode in the dusk

of the evening through the main street of Tareela, after a grand day's

fun.

*CHAPTER V*

*THE BIG FLOOD*

"The day is cold and dark and dreary;

It rains, and the wind is never weary;

The vine still clings to the mouldering wall;

But at every gust the dead leaves fall,

And the day is dark and dreary."

LONGFELLOW.

Drip, drip, drip!

Croak, croak, c-r-o-a-k!

Quack-quack, quack-quack!

"Heigho!" grunted Tom Hawkins, as he turned over sleepily in bed. "Is

it ever goin' to stop rainin'?"

For some days a steady rain had been falling, soaking the ground. Every

gully was a rivulet, and every depression a lake.

"Tom!" cried a feminine voice from an interior room. "Get up!"

"Bother those frogs an' ducks!" muttered the lad, full of sleep in the

grey of the early morning. "Like ter choke 'em! waking fler----"

"Tom!" cried a masculine voice, as a hand rattled the door of the lad's

bedroom, and a boot gave a drum-like accompaniment on the lower panel.

"Git up this minit an' run the cows in, or I'll----"

But Tom had jumped out of bed as nimbly as one of the frogs, between

whose croak and his father's bass voice he seemed unable, in his sleepy

condition, to discriminate.

"All right, father! I'm dressing," shouted Tom, as the word "dowsing"

fell on his ear. There had been times in master Tom's past when a

sudden application of cold water was deemed necessary to expedite his

slow movements.

"Dad's too mighty smart! Thought I'd nick him with that button,"

growled Tom, as he stuck his legs into his pants; said button being an

iron tee snip, fastened so as to act as a bolt.

"Jemima! ain't it dark! Must be very early," muttered the reluctant

boy, as he strove to lace his boots. "Drat it! Shan't wear 'em; too

wet."

"My crikey!" cried he as he stood outside. "Must have been rainin' cats

an' dogs, an' lakes an' seas."

His moleskins were rolled up to his thighs, while a cornsack, hooded at

the bottom, and stuck on to his head like a nun's veil, gave him fair

protection from the driving showers.

"I wonder if it's goin' to be a flood?" The thought was not unpleasant

to the lad. It produced, indeed, a certain exaltation of spirits,

forcibly expressed in Tom's vernacular by, "Ge-willikins! but won't we

have fun!"

Heavily laden clouds, in interminable succession, were drifting from the

sea, forming, as they swung overhead in batches, an endless series of

smart showers. It had been an exceptionally wet week, and for the

preceding twenty-four hours had rained without ceasing.

The cows depastured in a paddock that ran back from a creek to the

timbered country. The creek itself was bank high and running strongly.

It was only by climbing along the branches of a dead limb, which spanned

the water, that Tom managed to reach the kine.

It was no small task to get them to face the stream. Small as was the

creek in width, it was deep enough to make a swim, and the roaring,

turbid, and muddy stream frightened the creatures. But for the fact

that the calves were in a pen at the milking yard all Tom's efforts

would have been futile. Their mooing and baaing, however, made a loud

appeal to the maternal breast. Finally, when the old red poley, the

mother of twins, made a plunge, the rest followed.

During the morning the river rose steadily, and large quantities of

drift-wood passed down the stream. With the rubbish was a good deal of

heavy timber, and--what Tom had predicted--pumpkins. This was an

indication that the river up-stream had overflowed its banks in places,

and was sweeping the low-lying farm lands. Tom spent the morning in

fishing out the floating vegetables that came within reach of his hooked

pole. Meanwhile the rain continued, and looked as though it might last

for forty days and nights.

"I'll pull over to the township this afternoon," remarked Mr. Hawkins at

the midday meal. "I'm anxious about this rise. Looks as if we're goin'

to have an old man flood. Might get some information about the state of

things up-river. If I leave it till to-morrow 'twill be a tough job

gettin' acrost, as the timber's comin' down pretty thick now, an'll be

worse by an' by."

"Be sure'n bring tea and flour back with you. No knowing how long the

rise'll last."

"Can I go with you, father?"

"Yes; I'll require you to steer. It'll be a pretty stiff job, I

reckon."

The crossing was not without peril. The current ran fierce and strong.

The landing-place on the other side was protected, in a measure, by a

headland up-stream. Out from the influence of that, however, the boatmen

felt the full force of the current. The water seethed and foamed. The

violence of its rush created great whirlpools, which accentuated the

difficulty of keeping the boat's head up-stream. Logs and driftwood

patches had to be dodged, and, what with fighting the current and

outflanking the timber, by the time the river was crossed the boat had

drifted quite half a mile down-stream. On gaining the other side they

found a shore eddy, in which they were able to paddle up-stream with

ease, until they came to a point of land about two hundred yards below

the town wharf. As they lost the eddy here, and would have to encounter

the full force of the flood when round the point, Mr. Hawkins wisely

determined to tie up the boat in the slack water.

When Hawkins arrived at the store, where many of the townsfolk had

congregated, he was informed that news had been brought down by the

mailman that morning to the effect that heavy rains were falling at the

head of the river, and that when the New England waters came down in

full force the river might rise to the "high flood" marks.

Cooees could now be heard from the settlers in the low-lying portions,

adjacent to the township. They proceeded from those who had neglected

to move before being surrounded, and who were without boats. The police

were busily engaged in rescuing families by boat. Many townsfolk were

engaged on the same merciful errand.

All through the day the waters, fed by the flooded creeks, continued to

rise, and as evening approached anxiety deepened. Things were so

serious that Mr. Hawkins, whose farm, be it said, was situated on

comparatively low-lying lands, acting upon the advice of his friends,

returned home almost at once. After hoisting the most valuable of his

possessions to the rafters, and securing them there, he returned to the

township with his family; gaining it as dusk was deepening into dark.

The family was distributed among neighbours, Tom and one of his sisters

being quartered at Mr. Blain's.

A group of men and boys throughout the day had lined the bank of the

river, in the vicinity of the Government wharf, which was submerged.

They were engaged in gauging its rate of advance by pine laths scaled to

inches.

Towards evening the wind, veering from east to south-east, increased in

violence. Laden with torrential showers, it smote the earth in great

gusts, streaming through roofs and walls, and taxing the ingenuity of

housekeepers to find dry spots for beds.

The wind and flood waters, travelling in opposite directions, conflicted

with great violence. The roaring, boastful wind, as it lashed the

racing, defiant waters into angry waves, and the universe-filling sounds

of the seething, surging flood-waters, as they wrestled with and

overbore all opposing forces, made storm music, compared with which the

artifices of man touch the infinitely puny. Darkness and the blinding

rain had driven most of the river watchers indoors. A few, however,

braved the elements, among them the minister and the lads.

Whatever effect the flood may have had on others, the dominant feeling

in Mr. Blain's mind was that of solicitude. As the rain continued, deep

concern merged into alarm. There were few on the river who knew as

intimately as he the general havoc of a flood. The executive head of

the Flood-relief Committee for many years, he had been the chief

instrument in administering doles to flood victims. In many cases the

utmost relief was as a drop of succour in the ocean of need.

"If the rise continues for another twenty-four hours, as it is doing

now, it will beat the 'sixty-four flood, and, if so, God help our

down-river friends," remarked the minister after examining Joe's gauge

by the aid of a lantern.

The '64 flood was the highest known to white men up to the present. The

settlers still retained a vivid recollection of its disastrous effects.

Luckily, the township covered a piece of high ground, and though the low

parts were covered in a moderate flood, the higher portions were some

feet above the highest flood-mark. It was in the farming settlements

that danger lurked.

"If this yere flood beats 'sixty-four, it'll be as you say, Parson;

good-bye to many up-river an' down-river folk."

Mr. Blain's words had impressed both men and boys. Suddenly Joe, who was

in the midst of the group, sang out lustily--

"Hurrah! wind's changed!"

"What's that?" shouted back Mr. Blain excitedly.

"Don't you feel it?" cried the boy, as he swung his arms windmill

fashion.

"Yes; thank God! The lad's right," continued he. "The wind's chopping.

Don't you feel it, men? Ah! there's a decided puff from the north-east."

"Take my word for it," said the ferryman, an old sailor, "the wind'll be

blowing west afore morning."

"Pray God it may!" ejaculated the minister, and many a silent prayer was

uttered.

"Now, boys, let us return home. We can do no good standing here. We'll

come back in an hour or so."

"Listen!" exclaimed Tom, as the boys splashed through the water on their

way home. Laying his hand on Joe's shoulder, he cried, "Do you hear

that?"

"Don't hear anything but the roar of the river," replied Joe, as he

stood in a listening attitude. "What was it?"

"Hark! there it is again. A cooee. Seems to come from up the river,

near the Bend. Some un's in trouble."

"Now, boys, make haste and get in out of the rain," cried Mr. Blain, who

had hurried along.

"Some one's crying out for help at the Bend," shouted Joe.

The minister paused on hearing this. A moment later the cry came out of

the night: faint, because of the distance and the turmoil of sounds, yet

clear and convincing.

"Great God! some poor soul in dire straits, and no help possible before

morning!"

It would have been worse than madness to attempt any rescue till

daylight. To traverse the flood, even in daytime, anywhere near the

Bend, were a hazardous experiment, owing to the enormous vortices caused

by the current striking a high bluff on the near side, at the elbow.

The waters whirled like a merry-go-round under full steam, and boiled

with an upward heave, in a fashion similar to the mud springs of

Tiketere. None but the stoutest boat and most experienced rowers could

dodge these seething cauldrons, which caught into their cold and cruel

embrace trees, fencing, stock; anything material, in fact. The heaviest

logs and tree-lengths were as wisps of straw under the influence of the

mighty suction. To attempt the traverse at night were as foolhardy and

impossible as that of shooting Niagara in an open boat.

A little group stood with the Blains, listening to the weird cry.

"Who d'yer think it c'd be, sir?" said one of the men, turning to the

minister.

"Not any of the Bend families. We had word this afternoon saying that

they had retreated to the high land before the waters reached them. God

help the poor soul, whoever it is, for vain is the help of man!"

Throughout the live-long night the cry went up at intervals, like that

of the minute-gun of a distressed vessel. Shortly before daybreak it

ceased.

No man or woman in the township slept that night. A strict watch was

kept on the river, so as to be ready for any emergency. The waters

continued to advance, but at a much slower rate. Men and women

cudgelled their brains to individualise the wailing cry. Most were

agreed that it was a woman's cry, though some held it to be that of a

child. Sometimes the voice was ghoulish, and made the flesh to creep

and the heart to flutter. Then an intensely human note would prevail,

full of anguish and terror, and women wept and stopped their ears, while

strong men choked in the throat.

They would go out at intervals and send back a heartening cry; it was

all that could be done. There were many others throughout that fearful

night who were engulfed in the flood, in various parts of the river,

and, swan-like, wailed their death-song in the wild waste.

Shortly after midnight the rain ceased, and the wind, which had been

chopping and changing for the past few hours, settled finally in the

west. This proved a conspicuous advantage. It no longer checked the

flood-waters as when in the east, and there was now good hope that they

would recede ere long, as the rise was almost imperceptible.

[Illustration: "Suddenly the Forest Monarch topples, lurches, staggers

and falls with mighty crash."--_See p._ 43.]

When day had dawned a wild, weird scene was revealed. The town had

become an island. On all sides the flood-waters stretched out, covering

gardens and farms, and completely blotting out the fair landscape. On

the riverside the turgid stream tore along in its hurry, bearing on its

dirty, foam-crested bosom, as its spoils, the household gods, farm

stock, and produce of many a settler. Horses, cattle, pigs, goats, dogs,

fowls: these, swept off by the encroaching waters, and carried over

fences into the stream, struggled, vainly for the most part, in the

rapid, death-dealing current. Haystacks, barns, wood-frame buildings

intact, floated in the torrential waters, sooner or later crashing into

the great trees that bore down-stream, making utter shipwreck.

*CHAPTER VI*

*ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS*

"The floods have lifted up, O Lord, the floods have lifted up their

voice; the floods lift up their waves."--Ps. xciii. 3.

"Where's the dad, girls?" shouted Joe Blain early in the morning, after

the events recorded in the previous chapter, dashing into the room as he

yelled.

"Here!" came a voice from the back verandah. Running to the spot

indicated by the monosyllable, the lad in breathless accents delivered

himself to his paternal relative in this fashion--

"Please, dad, can Tom, Billy, Jimmy, and I have the boat to paddle out

on the back-water?"

"Um--er--well, as long as you keep in the slack water I suppose you may;

but be very careful, my boy."

"Yes, dad; we'll be careful enough. It's all slack water you know,

'cept where the river water comes in; but that's a long way up, an'

we'll be paddlin' mostly about this end of the slack."

An explanation is needed here in order that the reader may intelligently

follow the course of events (some of them dramatic enough, and even

tragic) which transpired in the course of this eventful cruise.

It has already been stated that the flood waters so surrounded Tareela

as to convert the township into an island. It was so practically.

Accurately speaking it formed a peninsula, with the narrowest of necks.

On the river side there was a broad expanse of boiling, foaming,

hurrying waters, narrowing here and there, where the banks rose above

their usual height, but stretching far and wide where the river-flats

intervened; sometimes touching the horizon, as it were. On the other

side lay a body of water, as far removed from motion as the tumultuous

stream was instinct with it. There it lay, a wide extent of placid,

coffee-coloured water, broken at its surface by fence tops, belts of

trees, and partially submerged houses. This great stretch was almost

currentless, and the debris that floated on its bosom appeared

stationary; though, as a matter of fact, there was a slight outward

drift.

The secret of its placidity lay in the fact that the river waters, when

they reached a certain height, backed up a blind gully that ran almost

parallel with the stream for some distance, then swerved from the river,

and widened out till it became a depression of considerable magnitude.

This, in turn, merged into a swamp, contiguous to the township on its

western side. Low-lying and occupied lands surrounded the swamp for

some distance. The town end of these flats, which the river water

backing up through the gully had submerged, making a long reach of

stagnant waters, formed the area of the boys' row.

The minister's boat was a light yet staunchly built vessel, and belonged

to the skiff variety. Her capabilities were to be put to the utmost

test. Several of the town boats were moving on the face of the still

waters, their occupants busily engaged in capturing the flotsam. The

owners of houses, in particular, were anxiously conning their submerged

property, or gathering together floating domestic articles. In this way

a good deal of house property was recovered.

The boys found enjoyment in the novelty of the cruise. They pulled two

oars, taking turns at the rowing. Of the non-rowers, one acted as

steersman and the other as bowman for the capture of the flood spoils.

Several melons and pumpkins were picked up, but they were not troubling

about these. For one reason, they did not want to be encumbered with

spoil of that kind, and for another they were keen on pulling about the

flooded houses. Their chief and most interesting rescue was a cat and

two kittens, which had found an ark of refuge on a barn door.

"I say, boys, we'll have a go at these oranges," said Joe, who was

steering, as they were passing a small orangery which was half

submerged. This proposal received hearty and unanimous assent.

Accordingly Joe selected the most promising tree, and deftly ran

alongside its outer branches.

"Look out for snakes!" cried he.

There was abundant cause for warning, for each tree contained a number

of serpents, some of which are very deadly. These reptiles were flooded

out of their holes in the ground, and from hollow logs and stumps, and

made for the trees or any floating timber that offered refuge.

Fortunately the snakes were more or less benumbed with the cold,

consequently they were the reverse of lively. Had it been otherwise, to

have made fast to the tree would have been foolhardy to a degree.

Agreeably to Joe's warning, every eye was skinned and on the look out.

Indeed, the tree was fairly swarming with snakes of many sorts and

sizes; though for the most part they consisted of "tree" and "carpet"

varieties; one of the latter, lying across the top, being fully ten feet

in length. These two mentioned varieties are not venomous. The farmers,

for the most part, look with a friendly eye upon the carpet species; so

called by reason of its tawny and black markings. The carpet snake in

summer time is the best of all mousers and ratters. It winds its

sinuous way into places impossible to even puss or terrier; and is

always a welcome visitor to settlers' barns. There it becomes a pet,

and will live on terms of friendship with its primal foe.

There were snakes of a very different order in the orange tree. Among

them the "tiger," most aggressive and poisonous of all the genus. There

were also specimens of the black and the brown snakes. All these are

cobras, and therefore very deadly.

The snakes, as related, were all more or less torpid with cold, and not

pugnaciously inclined. The boys, however, were very careful not to

disturb them. There was plenty of golden fruit upon the tree, and it

was in prime condition. The fruit was neatly cut off the stems by

strokes of the paddle blade. When a sufficient quantity was thus

plucked, and lay bobbing in the water, they were poked out from the tree

by the same means, and secured. The boat lay off a little distance from

the tree while the crew indulged in a feed of the luscious fruit. A

visit was then paid to a plantain grove, and a quantity, both of green

and ripe fruit, was secured.

"Where away now, Joe?" said Tom Hawkins, who was crouched in the bow.

"I vote," replied the one addressed, who in this, as in everything else,

was leader of the band,--"I vote we pull up opposite Commodore Hill and

have a look at the river." The boy forgot for the moment the promise

made to his father to keep mainly about the town end of the back-water.

Commodore Hill was well up the river, and on the other side. The

flooded gully by which the water obtained entrance, it has been

explained, ran parallel with the river for some distance; in some places

being not more than a few yards therefrom. The boys were curious to see

the river stretch above the Bend; also to note the numbers of

flooded-out settlers who might be camped in that vicinity. Accordingly

the boat's bow is turned, and her course shaped in that direction. By

this time the river had fallen several feet, and, as a consequence,

there was an outward drift of the slack waters, making a gentle current.

"'Member, Joe, what your dad said about takin' the boat into the

stream."

"Think I've forgot, stupid!"

"Thought I'd remind you, anyhow," replied the bowman. As a matter of

fact, Tom had an uneasy feeling that his mate would not be content when

they got to the mouth to remain there without having a dash at the

stream.

"Listen to me; I ain't goin' to run any risks. We won't go to the mouth

entrance. What we'll do is this: work up to the swamp end, have a look

round, and come back again."

With this defined object in view the boat continued its voyage, helped

by the current, which, the farther up they proceeded, became stronger,

as was to be expected.

But one thing had happened of which the boys were in entire ignorance.

And this particular happening was to produce startling and unexpected

effects. At a certain spot in the gully, and at a point where it began

to deviate from the general stream, there was a branch gully, which bore

inwards to within a few yards of the river's brink. When the water was

at its highest in the river, that in the lagoon was much higher at this

point, inasmuch as the back-water was at the same level as at the

entrance, some two miles higher up; the difference in height being the

river's fall in that distance. Roughly speaking, the water there was

about ten feet higher than that in the river.

The rush of the stream on the river side had caused the bank to give way

about this point during the night, and the lagoon, or back-waters,

forced themselves into the river through the new channel, which widened

considerably as a consequence. On nearing this place the boys became

conscious of a quickening of the current.

"My golly, Joe! this big current," said Yellow Billy, who, with Jimmy,

was at the oars. "Must be goin' twenty mile."

"Twenty mile! you goose. We're goin' six or seven and that's mighty

fast."

"I say, Joe," called Jimmy a second later, the boys having ceased

rowing, for there was no further need, "bes' run her ashore, or we'll be

carried out. By gosh, she's tearing away!"

"All right, mates, keep cool. There's the old mahogany ahead, we'll tie

up there; we'll be there in a minute."

Yes, the boys would need all their coolness, for Joe was reckoning

without up-to-date knowledge, and that made all the difference in the

world. Rounding a clump of trees at this moment, or ever they were

aware the boat fairly sucked into the channel of furiously rushing and

tumultuously heaping waters that were finding their level by the newly

made short-cut.

"Oh! oh! I--I say!" shouted Tom. "We're being swept into the river!

Back water!"

Joe, quicker than the others, had hit the situation, and turned the

boat's nose to a clump of bushes, but before the rowers could pick up

their oars to help him the boat had swept past. Tom, it is true, made a

frantic grasp at the bough, but the way on the boat was so strong that

the branch, when the full force of the current bore on her at her

momentary check, snapped like a pipe-stem, and the little craft was fair

in the turgid stream, which had now the velocity of a water-race. The

incident of the half-arrest, however, had turned her head up-stream,

which was a providential thing. The river break-away was at most three

hundred yards away. To turn the boat into the perpendicular sides of

the channel was to court destruction; for, be it said, the maddened

waters had excavated the banks until they rose sheer from the water's

edge.

The necessities of the case came like an inspiration to Joe. The boat

was drifting, as we have said, stern first, the advantage of which will

be seen. Save Joe, whom the sense of responsibility braced to immediate

action, the boys were speechless with consternation. One look at their

blanched faces was sufficient. They were certainly alive to the dangers

of the situation.

"Pull, boys! pull with all your might! We'll keep her head up. This'll

check her speed a bit. It'll give her steerage way too, and save her

gettin' broadside on."

The pullers put every ounce of strength into their strokes, and this was

very helpful. The final rush into the cross-current was a most critical

moment, and might easily have resulted in disaster. This was averted

only by Joe's coolness and dexterity.

"Oars out!" cried he as the boat swept into the angry and turbulent

river. Save for shipping some water, and drenching the crew with spray,

the little craft weathered the river plunge. An involuntary "Oh!" came

from the boys as the boat shot the rapids and soused into the river.

Immediately she came under the influence of two currents; that going

outward from the chute, and the swift down-river stream.

This effect was to take them instantly well out toward the centre of the

flood, with a strong drift which carried the boat into the vicinity of

the Bend. The river bend gave the current a direction which set across

to the other side. This diagonal movement was accelerated by the chute

waters, which retained their impetus, in a measure, for a considerable

distance.

Downward then, and cross-wise to the northern bank, the frail craft

sped, the sport and play of the watery element. Dangers stood, or

rather, drifted thick around the adventurers. Picture for a moment a

tiny vessel, some fifteen feet over all, whose timbers are of the

proverbial egg-shell thickness, shot into an angry, bubbling cauldron,

whose tumultuous waters heaved and swirled, hissed and roared, in

inarticulate sound and motion.

That, in itself, were an experience of sufficient magnitude to quicken

the blood, test the nerves, and try the courage of the hardiest

waterman. Add to the perils of that situation a thousand floating

dangers, any one of which might crush that tiny, drifting cockle-shell

out of existence, and you have the position which faced and surrounded

the affrighted lads on the demon-ridden waters.

*CHAPTER VII*

*THE DEATH OF THE FOREST MONARCH*

"There's the white-box and pine on the ridges afar,

Where the iron-bark, blue-gum, and peppermint are;

There's many another, but dearest to me,

And king of them all is the stringy-bark tree."

HENRY LAWSON.

As several years had intervened between the present and the last flood

of considerable dimension, every creek, gully, and river-flat of the

upper reaches were contributing their quota of fallen timber, which in

the interval had encumbered the earth. In addition, the flood-waters

had torn many a giant eucalyptus, roots and all, from its earthhold, and

had borne it on its heaving and rebellious bosom, a mere plaything of

its vengeful humour.

Up to the present a monarch of the forest, whose rugged bole bears

indubitable evidence of its antiquity, stands skywards with its head in

the clouds. The Philistines are upon it. Its innumerable roots,

lateral and vertical, hold with frantic clutch to mother earth, as it

grimly wrestles with its Gargantuan foe. But the earth, which for years

innumerable has mothered the forest lord, furnishing his daily portion

of meat and drink, nourishing and cherishing him till he bulks in girth

and height as Saul among the prophets, proving faithful in every tussle

with wind and flood heretofore, now turns traitor. The soil dissolves

in the swirling waters as they ravish the earth. Above and underneath

the roots it melts, and is carried away in the thickening stream. The

hold of the old monarch is weakening. His limbs are trembling. His

strong body, that has withstood the pressure of a thousand fights with

the hereditary foe, vibrates and sways now, as his remorseless

antagonist grips him in cruel embrace.

His old comrades higher up, who have fallen earlier in this battle of

giants, come drifting along, battered and torn; veritable shipwrecks,

dismantled and broken. One floating leviathan, flood-driven, sweeps

onward full upon his writhing form ... a violent shock and shudder that

runs from root to topmost leaf ... a last wrestle, strong, heroic, and

pitiful! ... Then, betrayed and spent, under the last straw, as it were,

of the fateful impact of his wrecked mate--now converted into a

battering-ram--the grand old hero-king yields. His foe has sought and

found, like one in the olden time, his vulnerability in his heel.

Overborne at last, but not yet broken, he shakes his lofty head in the

quiver of mortal spasm. Suddenly he topples, lurches, staggers, and

falls with a mighty crash, which is, indeed, a resounding death-cry.

Striking the enemy with a last, concentrated, savage blow, he splits her

bosom, and sends great spurts of her muddy blood, spray-like, a hundred

feet in air. But the wound heals as speedily as delivered, and from

thence he passes quickly, in company with his defeated brothers, an

inert mass of strewn wreckage, to form, farther down upon the skurrying

waters, a floating barricade of death-dealing timbers. And so on and

on, till the blue sea is reached, where it is heaved to and fro, a

rudderless hulk upon the bosom of the ocean; until it is stranded at

last as flotsam and jetsam upon the beach.

By skilful manipulation of oars and rudder the boys managed to evade the

timber masses. The numerous whirlpools constituted a great danger.

Once or twice they were almost sucked under as they circled in a vortex.

Their position was extremely perilous. The greatest danger lay from

contact with the isolated logs and tree-trunks that sped down with great

velocity, appearing and disappearing in the vicious eddies, rotating

with the swirling stream, and popping up porpoise-like in unexpected

quarters. On one occasion, in dodging a mass of driftwood, they ran

right on to a big tree. Fortunately the tree was sinking at the time of

impact under the influence of an under-current, and, at Joe's sharp

command, the rowers rushed the boat across the submerged tree-bole.

Scarcely had they crossed the line ere the submarine monster rolled

upward, till at least half its length was out of the water. It was a

narrow squeak. To have been caught on its rising movement would have

meant utter shipwreck.

It has been stated that owing to the river bend, and from other causes,

the current set diagonally across to the other side. Drawing thus

towards the farther shore, the boat's crew neared a timbered point,

below which the water expanded over the low-lying country for miles. So

far only the thickly fringed timber belts could be seen. It was

questionable if they could find any dry earth. In all likelihood,

however, even should there not be any landing-place, they would find

protection from the current behind the thick wood. As they got close in

to the scrubby portion the boys saw, to their great disappointment, that

the land was still submerged. They had hoped to find a patch of earth.

All they can do now is to shelter behind the timber.

"Pull, boys, pull hard!" cried Joe, the while he turned the boat's nose

towards a rear clump. His quick eye discerned an eddy formed by a point

higher up. Rowing into this, the boat was eased in its downward track,

and after getting well in behind the clump they were able to make

headway against the stream, finally fastening to a big she-oak almost in

still water. Here they were out of the tract of the current and the

perils of the driftwood.

What a relief to the half-dazed and frightened boys!

Captain Joe, be it said, though fearful enough while in the roaring

waters, kept all his wits about him. Often as his heart jumped into his

mouth he as quickly swallowed it again. More than once his

resourcefulness saved the boat from certain disaster.

"Thank God!" exclaimed he, as Tom tied the painter to a strong limb, and

the boat rode easy.

"It was a touch and go, lads. Don't cry, Jimmy!" as that lad, yielding

to a feeling of reaction, burst into tears. Tom was not much better, and

furtively wiped his eyes under the pretence of blowing his nose. In a

few minutes the boys were themselves again. The roar and rush of the

waters filled their oars and souls as they lay at anchor. So deafening

were the sounds that it was only by shouting they could hear one

another.

Stretching inland, and reaching to the distant hills, nothing was to be

seen but a waste of waters, with here and there a bushy hillock, a

miniature island. What remained of the settlers' houses looked like so

many Noah's arks. Moving figures could be seen on one which lay a long

way off. They were the unfortunate owners, who, by delaying their

retreat until too late, were driven on to the very ridge pole for

safety. Fortunately they were in still water; so at least it seemed

from the distance; consequently their position was not alarming. Tree

marks showed the river to be falling at a fairly rapid rate.

"Now then, boys, let's hold a council of war!"

"Wot's that, Joe?"

"It's what they say in soldiering when the generals get into a fix,"

chipped in Tom.

"Oh, gollies! let us get home as quick as possible. If we don't they'll

think we're drownded an'----"

"Look here, Jimmy, stow that rot! If we start talking in that fashion,

we'll get unnerved. Billy, you first! Tell us what you think about the

situation."

"Long's we're here we're safe. There's a 'possum in the spout above us.

I'll climb up and get 'im for tucka."

"We can't cook 'possum in the boat, Billy. No dry wood; no matches.

You're right enough about safety, though. These trees have borne the

brunt of the flood stream at its highest, and things are getting easier.

Jimmy, what do you think of it?"

"I--I--I dunno. Oh, my poor m-other!" cried Jimmy, whose emotions again

overpowered him.

"Didn't I tell you to stow that water-cart business? Dry up, or I'll

jolly well tan your hide for you, you soft milksop!"

Joe's severity was partly assumed. He was fighting himself about home

thoughts. He knew the folly of giving way at this crisis to such a

natural sentiment.

"You, Tom! You've a notion, I'm sure," said Joe to his chum.

"My opinion, chaps, is that we ought to be very thankful for bein' where

we are, an' stay here a bit anyways. It'd be madness to attempt to

recross the river. What's to prevent us pullin' over there?" pointing

to a hillock nearly a mile away inland.

"Tom's right, boys. We must make up our minds, hard as it is, to camp

on this side to-day. It'd be easy enough to do as Tom says, row over to

that island. Supposin', though, the water went down a lot during the

night; we might have to drag the boat over a lot of mud to get to the

river-bank to-morrow. Bes' stay where we----"

"S-s-h! Listen a moment, Joe," interjected Tom from the bow of the

boat. "What noise's that?"

"Don't hear anythin' 'cept the river. What sort o' noise, Tom?"

"I heered it, Joe," said Yellow Billy. "Bear cryin', I bin thinkin'.

Heer it now."

All the boys could hear the sounds now, faint enough, yet distinct above

the flood roar.

"Bear, I 'speck! Have a good look round, boys."

All eyes were bent in the direction of the sound. They scanned the

trees for that strange, pouch-bearing--half bear, half sloth--animal

called the native bear. Strictly speaking, it is neither bear nor

sloth, being a perfectly harmless, tailless marsupial of the koala

genus. Its cry is intensely, and often pathetically, human.

For some time the search was unrewarded; while ever and anon a cry,

strangely like an infant's wail, came to the ears of the searchers.

"P'r'aps, after all, it's only the wind in the river oaks; or is it

a----"

"Look, boys! look, look!" cried Tom excitedly. "What's that over at

the edge of the timber, up there in a fork?"

"Whereaway, Tom?"

"See the clump beyond the back-water, out in the stream?"

"M--y-e-s, I see. Why, yes, my word! I do believe it's a----"

*CHAPTER VIII*

*WHAT THE TREE HELD*

"Thereafter grew the wind; and chafing deaths

In distant waters, sent a troubled cry

Across the slumbrous forest; and the chill

Of coming rain was on the sleeper's brow."

HENRY KENDALL.

"James!" exclaimed Mrs. Blain to her husband during this eventful

morning, "it's dinner-time and those lads are not back. I hope nothing

has happened."

"What do you expect could have happened, you dear old fidget? I'm going

to the post, however, and I'll have a look round."

Could Mr. Blain have beheld the lads at this particular time, the calm

of his deep nature would have been broken up in a fashion rare to his

experience; for at this moment the boat and its occupants are being

borne on the rapids, presently to be flung upon the riotous and

foam-crested waves of the river.

In moving along the street the minister met several persons who had been

out on the back-water during the morning. All had seen the boys at one

time or another. One of the latest in, who had been farther up than most

of the others, had passed the boys on his return not long before. They

were then heading up the swamp way.

"Don't fear, Mr. Blain, the boys know how to take care of themselves.

Dinner's calling 'em loudly enough by this time, I wager ye."

Dinner-time came and went, but no boys. As the afternoon wore on the

mother's fears deepened until they became well-nigh unendurable. The

minister, rowed by two of the neighbours, set out to find the truants

and fetch them back.

"Don't lose faith, dear! They're up to some prank, the thoughtless

scamps! I'll fetch them home none the worse, to laugh at your fears."

Following Tom's index-finger, the boys fastened their eyes upon a clump

of river oaks that stood on the edge of the woods.

High up in a fork of one of the largest trees, they could see what

looked at first like a huge bundle of clothes fluttering in the wind.

After a short while the bundle seemed to take a somewhat definite shape.

"What in the name of goodness is it all? Seems like a lot of old

clothes jammed in the tree forks. Are you sure that the squall, or

squeak, or squeal, or whatever it was, came from that direction?"

"Yes, I think so," replied Tom. "Listen, there it's again!" A thin,

treble cry rose faintly above the din of the flood waters.

"See a woman's foot!"

The speaker was the half-caste, whose eyesight, owing to his half-wild

nature, was much keener than his fellows'.

"A woman's foot, Billy! What do you mean? You don't mean to say

really, that----!"

"See hand too! Look along bark. See fingers!"

Thus directed, the three boys looked, and saw, though but indistinctly,

what appeared to be a hand grasping the tree-trunk, a foot, also, was

revealed at intervals by the fluttering garment.

After a short, staring silence, a flood of mental light broke upon Joe.

"I see now. Why, it's the poor soul we heard cooeeing last night!"

Yes, there had been plenty of speculation in the village as to who it

could be, and exactly where the voice came from. None of those who

heard the piteous wail that was borne across the floods in the black and

wild darkness of that night would forget it for many a long day to come.

The mystery is now solved. The boys are horror-stricken at the sight

and its sequent thought. They are now convinced that a woman is fixed

in the tree. Without reasoning the matter out, they identify her as the

one whose cry over night produced such a sensation in the township, and

to locate which the police boat with a strong crew had started out at

daybreak, but without success.

_Is she alive or dead_? The strange cry did not seem to be that of a

woman. There was something so eerie, so shocking in the thought, that

the lads were fear-possessed for some moments. Joe, as usual, recovered

himself first.

"It's a woman sure enough! It's a human being, at any rate. An', boys,

we've got to rescue her if she is alive. The cry can only come from her,

I'm sure, so that there must be some life left still. How to do it I

can't just see at this moment. We must think a bit."

Think a bit they did. Camped as they were at the lower end of the

timber, it would be a matter of comparative ease to work up through the

trees in the slack water, till they arrived opposite to the clump that

stood out in the stream. There the real difficulties would begin. The

rush of waters was still so strong, and the space for the play of the

boat so small, that it became evident the rescue would be accompanied by

some alarming risks.

One of two things must be done: either wait until the waters receded

sufficiently to enable the rescuers to wade to the clump, or make an

immediate dash.

"How long d'you think it'd be before we could wade across, Joe?"

"Dunno, Billy. Beckon there's eight or nine foot of water out there.

Might be less. At any rate it'd be hours."

"Hours!" cried Tom. "An' s'posin' that poor creature's still alive?"

"That settles it!" exclaimed Joe, rising in his seat in excitement.

"Boys, what's to be done must be done quickly."

Seemingly all were agreed. At least no objection was offered to this

proposal, or, rather, mandate. So it was resolved, after some

cogitation, to pull the boat through the timber to a point some distance

higher up than the isolated clump. From thence the course would be

outwards until the river current was met; an estimated distance of a

hundred yards. The boat was to be headed against the current when in

the stream influence. A vigorous row would be necessary to neutralise

the current, to be modified so as to allow the craft to drift slowly

down-stream. Then, when opposite the clump, a dash for the tree whereon

the unfortunate woman was lying was to be made.

Inasmuch as this tree was almost in the centre of the group, and the

stream still ran with violence, it was easy to see that without skilful

management, and some luck, the boat might be stove in against a

tree-bole; or, worse still, might be impaled upon a submerged snag. Any

accident, such as missing way at a critical moment, or the snapping of

an oar blade, might be fraught with the most disastrous consequences.

During the short conference Jimmy Flynn had kept silence. Towards the

end, as Joe set forth the attendant dangers, he became considerably

perturbed. After sundry wrigglings and contortions, rubbing of hands

and licking of lips, these visual twistings found voice.

"I say, Joe! don't--er--yer think that--er--we'd better wait a bit?"

"Why?" chorused the boys.

"Oh--I--I dunno. Well--er--p'raps some other boat'll come over from the

township d'reckly an'--an'----"

"And s'pose no boat comes along?"

"Well, then, I--I--er--vote--that we--er----"

"By jing! Jimmy," interposed Tom, with a jeer, "who'd 'a' thought you'd

'a' showed the white feather!"

"White feather yourself, Hawkins!" returned the fearful but now angry

boy.

"Jimmy!" broke in Yellow Billy unexpectedly, for as a rule the

half-caste was taciturn--the taciturnity of modesty in his case. Billy,

while carrying some of the defects of aboriginal descent, was a

kind-hearted and easily contented lad. "Jimmy!" said he, in a soft,

quiet tone, "s'pose your mother was over there?"

Jimmy Flynn, who was sitting with a sullen, hang-dog expression,

quivered as though he had received an electric shock. There was within

him a consciousness of the truth of Tom's term. He was a coward, and

the very notion of it angered him, and at the same time made him

resentful. He shrank from the undertaking. None of the boys were in

love with it, for that matter. Jimmy only, among the four, allowed his

fear to overmaster him.

These few words of Billy, uttered in a quiet, even tone, went straight

to the boy's heart. His sullen brows lifted. The angry resentment which

had disfigured his face vanished. Straightening his bent figure, he

seized the oar lying by his side. Then, squaring his shoulders, as he

inclined forward to grip the water, he said quietly, "Let her go."

Immediately on releasing the boat Joe steered her in a semicircular

course, keeping out back where the standing timber was thinnest. The

boys pulled slowly, for there was always the danger of snags. They were

in fairly slack water, and so had no need to exert themselves; besides

which, it were wise to husband their strength for the supreme moment.

Tom and Jimmy, both expert oarsmen, were the rowers. Yellow Billy was

stationed in the bow, with instructions to keep a keen look out for

snags. He was armed with a stout pole in order that he might fend the

boat on any critical occasion, or when the rudder might be inoperative.

It formed a very useful instrument in Billy's practised hands, and

enabled him to ward off the craft from many dangers that did not appear

until the boat was almost upon them. As it was there were several

ominous scrapes, as the boat rasped over submerged branches. Fortunately

they reached the point determined upon without any accident.

They paused here a moment before leaving the slack water for the swiftly

running stream.

"Now, boys," said Joe, after a brief survey, "sit steady, and pull for

all you're worth. Mind you, no flurry. Keep an even stroke. Got the

painter coiled, Billy?"

"All right, Joe."

"Pull then, boys, and stick to it like grim death to a diseased nigger."

The boat having got good way on, Joe headed her out a little, when she

immediately encountered the current.

"Lay to it, my lads, lay to it!"

The boys "lay to" with such vigour that the rapid current was

counterbalanced, and she hung in the stream, neither making headway nor

drifting.

"Easy a little, my hearties! We must let her drift down gradually.

Mustn't let her get out of hand, though."

In swinging the boat into the channel Joe kept her nose up-stream, and

as near the slack water as possible. The boys easing a trifle at Joe's

command, the current became the stronger of the two forces, and the

little craft drifted slowly. Blain eagerly scanned the clump for an

opening. This cluster, it may be remarked, was about two hundred yards

long and fifty or so wide. In some parts the timber was thickly

scattered, in others the trees were bunched together.

The boat is now about fifty yards above the tree containing the supposed

woman.

"That's right, chaps, keep up as you're doin'! We must drift very

slowly lest we miss the chance of popping in. It's too thick to venture

in here. It's thinnin' out, though," exclaimed Joe, as the boat neared

the point abreast the tree.

"Here's an opening, I do believe. Be ready, Billy! Pull, lads! pull,

pull! Look out all!"

The boat lay anglewise, so that the current worked upon her quarter.

Seeing a fair opening, Joe urged the rowers to do their utmost. So hard

did they pull that the current, playing upon her quarter as she hung a

few minutes stationary, forced her through the gap and towards the tree.

The manoeuvre was splendidly executed. The boat was now within five

yards or so of the tree, the boys putting every ounce of strength into

their strokes. A minute or less now and they will either be fast to the

tree or drifting down on to a solid block of timber just below.

Yellow Billy, who had crouched in the bow, now rose up quietly, rope in

hand, ready to act promptly in the decisive moment. By good fortune a

limb projected about five feet above the water, and branched out some

distance from the tree. Joe worked the boat straight up-stream, and

then called on the rowers to ease the barest trifle. The craft swung

very slowly down, until she was fairly under the limb.

"Sling the painter over the branch an' make fast, Billy!" cried Joe, as

the stern drifted under. "Pull now, you beggars, a last spurt!"

Billy whipped the rope round the limb, and made fast in a flash; the

rowers, by a few desperate strokes, keeping the boat stationary.

"Hold her there a second. Let the loop lie loose an' edge it to the

trunk, Billy!"

Joe thus worked the boat over until she was just at the rear of the

tree.

"Ease her off gently now, boys. Steady still! A wrench might snap the

painter."

The boys accordingly eased off gradually, and finally stopped.

"Two of you come aft, it'll ease the strain."

This done, the boat, which by burying her nose deep in the water was

straining heavily on the rope, trimmed herself, and offered but the

minimum resistance to the racing waters.

The tree-bole, which presented a somewhat broad surface, divided the

waters, creating a narrow zone of neutral water in its wake. In this

eddying area the boat rode securely, making it an easy matter for the

bowman to keep her nose up against the tree.

And now each boy bent an upward glance to the fork.

*CHAPTER IX*

*THE RESCUE*

"Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me--

Death closes all: but something ere the end,

Some work of noble note, may yet be done,

Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods."

TENNYSON'S _Ulysses_.

Fortunately the she-oak was one of the largest of its kind, and forked

out into four branches twenty feet or so from the ground. This formed a

rough cage, in which one could be held very securely if not comfortably.

In this fork, partially covered with a blanket, was huddled the form of

a human creature, presumably a woman; one hand stretched along the trunk

as in a painful grip, the legs hanging loosely. There was no movement

of limb or body. What if she were dead?

A sudden chill accompanied this thought. The situation was decidedly

uncanny, and bred awesome, not to say fearsome, feelings.

Four boys in a boat! Out on the flood-wastes, and in a particularly

perilous position! The insistent noises of the rushing tide; the hollow

moan of the wind in the foliage of the she-oaks; shut out from all help;

missed now at home, and _that thing above_!

All these combined to create a creeping chill in each boy, which in a

manner half-paralysed them.

Joe, as usual, recovered more quickly than the others. Gazing at the

object above awhile, and then examining the trunk of the tree with his

eyes, he broke the spell of silence.

"Take my place, Tom. Some un's got to go at once to that poor soul

aloft. Pray God we're in time to save her. Keep her up tight against

the trunk, Jimmy, an' I'll swing on to the limb."

Suiting his action to the word, Joe clambered on to the limb, and from

thence proceeded to climb the tree.

The woman was fixed at the junction of the forks, and her feet and legs

hung loosely down on each side of a minor fork. One arm, as before

described, was wound round the main limb, while the other firmly grasped

her breast. Her head was supported in the V of a branch.

On mounting to the spot, Joe raised himself higher by grasping two of

the tree-forks, and, twisting his legs round the trunk, steadied himself

while he gazed into the face of the dead. It was the first time in his

life that he had looked upon death. The set expression that met his

gaze, so full of anguish, so pitifully pleading, fairly shocked him out

of his self-possession. Little wonder at his turning sick and faint.

He clutched the branch frantically as he swayed a moment, and beads of

cold sweat stood thick upon his forehead. Indeed, so near fainting was

he that his sight began to fade, and the whole world receded from him.

Strange noises buzzed in his ears. Bringing all the reserve forces of

his will to the front, he was beginning to gain the ascendency over his

weakness, when a strange cry startled him into full consciousness.

"Why! she's not dead after all, thank God!" The thought of life made

all the difference to Joe. In a moment his vision is as clear as ever,

and his spirits rise high at the sounds of life. "Yes, see!" whispered

the lad, "there's a movement of the breast. Hurrah, boys!"

cried he to his comrades, looking down and waving with one hand at the

same time. "She's not dead after all!"

The boys at this set up a hearty shout indicative of their relief and

joy.

"Oh yes!" he muttered reassuringly to himself as he took the second

look, "the poor creature's alive. Her eyes are half open. Her chest is

heaving. Wake up, ma'am! Rescue is at hand. Me an' the boys in the

boat below are goin' to take you down an' row you across to the

township."

The woman made no response to this appeal and plan of salvation. "Is

she really alive?" The eyes are half closed and seemingly peering; the

form is rigid, the face immobile. There was naught of that expression

in this countenance that Joe, from hearsay, was wont to associate with

death--the peace that passeth understanding. Yet as the lad gazed at

this apparently inanimate object there was a movement of the body. The

blanket, bunched into many folds across the breast, stirred visibly.

Again that eerie, inarticulate cry!

Disengaging one hand from the tree, the boy stretched it forth to the

woman's breast, which, covered as it was with the clothes, had all the

seeming of life and movement.

Joe was in the very act of removing a fold of the blanket, when

suddenly, and without the slightest warning, there rose up into the

lad's face an angry, hissing, venomous snake, the deadliest of its kind.

Its beady eyes glittered; its forked tongue shot in and out with

inconceivable rapidity; its sibilant hiss was accompanied with a musky

odour, sickening in the extreme; its head and body for half its length

were erect, and bent forward from the neck, vibrating and swaying in a

rhythmic movement. The reptile was within striking distance. In

another second that almost invisible death-stroke will be dealt;

invisible, that is, by reason of its lightning-like speed.

But this deadly intention is defeated by an involuntary movement on

Joe's part. This young man, for the briefest of brief moments, clung to

the tree with a rigid grasp; eyes staring in amazement and terror, with

mouth wide open in automatic gape. Any attempt to defend himself were

useless in the most absolute sense of that term. In another tick,

before he can move a hand, these poison fangs will be deep buried in his

horror-stricken face, so temptingly near. The only hope for the lad lay

in doing a disappearing trick. And this happened. Had it been

premeditated, however swiftly, the time taken to make up his mind, and

to telegraph the resolution formed in the brain to the nerve cells and

muscles, would have been sufficient for the lightning stroke to fall.

What really happened was this: the apparition of the red-bellied, black

snake simply petrified Joe. An awful, blood-curdling, hair-raising,

galvanic shock of abject terror, contradictory as it may seem, paralysed

the lad. Simultaneously with that he is falling through space, an inert

mass, to be soused into the water with a splash that sent the spray

flying over the boat's crew.

At the moment of the splash, Joe's mind, will, and nerve were restored

to their normal activity. The instinct of self-preservation, so strong

in all healthy natures, especially boys', did for the lad in an

infinitesimal fraction of time as much and as effectively as though he

had taken, say, half an hour to plan his procedure.

He had, however, in escaping Scylla fallen into Charybdis. As soon as

Joe reached the water he made for the boat. Fortunately he did not fall

into it, or this story might never have been told. He fell into the

stream, some two or three yards away from the skiff. Quickly as he was

carried down-stream he managed by violent efforts to reach the boat at

the stern. Tom clutched him frantically by the shirt collar, enabling

the swimmer to get his hands on the gunwale. Joe, thus helped,

clambered into the boat or ever the boat's crew had recovered from their

consternation.

"Oh, Moses!" exclaimed, or rather gasped, he, "that--was--a go. Whew!"

"My goodness! How'd yer come to fall kersplosh like that?"

"Why!" pointing up. "See! there's the beast. See him crawling out

there?"

The boys, looking up, descried the snake winding its sinuous way along a

lateral bough that grew up above the forks. The disturbed and excited

snake, having reached the limb, wound its course till it reached a clump

of bushy branches on the limb's extremity. On this it coiled itself,

save the head and neck, which stood erect in vigilant attitude.

"Oh, crikey! was that _there_ on--in the body's--the woman's body?"

"Yes, Jimmy; right in the blanket on her breast. 'Twas that brute moving

under the blanket that I thought was _her_ breathing. Oh, my!" again

exclaimed the youth, with a shudder, as he thought of the imminence of

the danger which confronted him a moment before.

"Is--it--her--dead, Joe?" asked Tom after an interval of silence.

"No doubt of it, boys."

"Wonder if the snake bit her?"

"May have. Anyway the poor thing is dead all right."

"What's bes' thing to do now?"

"W-e-ll, I d-o-n't know----"

Again that shrill wailing cry!

"_Can't_ be the woman!" said Joe excitedly. "Why, she's as dead as a

herrin'!"

"I have it, boys!" shouted Tom, as he jumped up excitedly and cut a

caper. "It's the darned ole cat!"

A look of great relief passed over each countenance at the thought.

Tom, meanwhile, lifted up the locker lid, disclosing the rescued cat,

which, together with her two bairns, were stowed in the locker shortly

after being saved from the flood. The animals were snuggled together on

a cornsack, and looked the very picture of contentment. The kittens were

dining baby fashion, and the mother's purr declared the very excess of

maternal rapture.

On seeing the boys, pussy gave a low, affectionate miaow, and made a

sympathetic movement of the tail, as if to say: "Thank you a thousand

times, young gentlemen, for the good deed which we never, never shall

forget." And then, motherlike, proceeded to "lick" her offspring.

"It's not the cat, Tom."

"Well, what on earth, water, or air is it?"

The mystery is insoluble. As the boys look down upon the happy and

contented felines, they one and all reject Tom's confident affirmation

of a moment before. If not the cat, what then?

Again the tiny, shrill cry arose, but not from the cat's mouth. It came

from the tree above, and as the startled youths looked up they saw the

overhanging end of the blanket agitated.

"Why, why--the poor thing must really be alive after all, chaps.

There's something more up there than I've discovered; so here's up

again!"

Acting on this impulse, Joe again ascended the tree. Those below watched

intently, their feelings strained to the utmost tension. As soon as our

hero got to his former position in the forks, he received another shock.

It was sudden as the other, but not so disastrous. An inarticulate and

involuntary cry brought fresh alarm to his pals, who all the while were

staring up, too frightened to ask any questions. The boy, despite the

second shock, still clung to the tree. The woman was dead beyond all

doubt, but death is counterbalanced by life. A brief and astonished

survey, and the boy leans over the limb and speaks quietly to those

below--

"The woman's dead, boys, but _there's a baby here_. It's tied to her

breast. It's alive!"

Just then, as if to demonstrate the truthfulness of the statement, the

babe lifted up its voice once more in a feeble cry. The scene in that

tree Joe never will forget; the like he will not see again though he

rival Methuselah in age. The only thing he can yet see is a little hand

and arm, which have wriggled from the covering. Moving cautiously along

the branch to the converging point, leaning on one fork, and placing his

feet against another so as to stiffen himself, the boy was able to use

his two hands. He first, and not without an inward tremor, removed the

dead hand which lay upon the blanket, the stiffened fingers still

clutching the clothes and holding them to the breast. The last thought

and the last act of the exhausted and dying woman was to succour and to

defend her little one.

Straightening the arm so that it lay by her side, Joe opened the blanket

from where the little hand stuck up. There, on the breast of the dead,

she lay, a sweet-faced baby girl! The little one's face was puckered

up, 'tis true, and there were tears upon her pale cheeks. The cries and

tears were not the symbols of pain, they were those of hunger. Joe

could plainly see that all the mother's thoughts were for the child. It

was snugly folded in the blanket end; then tied to her waist by a

handkerchief passed round the body. The remainder of the blanket was

then arranged so as to thoroughly protect the child from the inclement

weather.

Untying the handkerchief, the lad folded it in a peculiar fashion like

as he had seen the black gins do. Carefully lifting the babe, he laid it

in the widest part, made it secure to the body under the arms, and

placed it on his back, bringing the ends of the wrapper together. round

his neck.

This done, he prepared for the descent. It was easily accomplished,

even with the incumbrance of the child. Landing safely in the boat,

which was kept well up to the tree, Joe placed her in the stern on the

locker seat, where the little one lay squirming and crying piteously.

The news of the baby variously affected the boys. Jimmy Flynn, whose

baby sister had died a few months before, looked very tenderly upon this

nameless waif.

"Make a place on the floor for it, Joe," said he. "It'll lie there more

comfortably, an' it'll be more like a cradle."

The advice was good. The coats, which the boys shed soon as they

entered upon the expedition in the morning, made a soft bed for the

little one. The wee mite was evidently about nine months old. For all

its adventure and exposure it seemed to have suffered little, and now in

its cry is only voicing the pleadings of its empty stomach. It was

adequately, though very plainly dressed, and through all the rain of the

preceding night had kept dry. Fortunately, too, the snake which had

been curled up in one of the blanket folds had not come into actual

contact with the child. There were only two things required to bring it

to a condition of happy contentment: nursing and feeding.

Capable as this quartet of Australian lads were in many ways, in this

they were novices. So it was with a look of ashamed helplessness that

they gazed at the new passenger, as she lay in the bottom of the boat on

her back, kicking her heels in the air at a great rate, and doubling her

dimpled hands first into her eyes and then into her mouth. The cry went

forth without ceasing, its only variation being the peculiar noise

caused by an intermittent sucking of her diminutive fists.

By a happy thought of Jimmy the hunger difficulty was overcome. The

boys had picked up a fine lot of oranges, as well as some dozens of

plantains, in the back-water. After they had eaten a quantity they

stowed the balance away in the bow locker, and completely forgot them in

the exciting events which followed. Jimmy suddenly remembered the

fruit. Selecting a fine specimen, he quickly peeled and quartered it.

Then, seeding some of the quarters, he put one in baby's fist, guiding

the same to her mouth. The sweet, juicy orange was simply nectar to the

famished child. It sucked as only a hunger-bitten baby can. The boys

were highly amused at the way in which she mouthed the skin, and the

difficulty Jimmy encountered in unlocking her little fingers order to

substitute a full for an empty quarter. It indeed a happy solution; an

admirable recipe for tears and squalls. As long as baby had an orange

quarter it was peaceful. After a little while Jimmy took the little one

on his knee, giving furtive glances towards the others as he did so.

The boys, however, under all the sad circumstances forebore to chaff.

Substituting, at length, a ripe plantain for an orange section, the babe

was taken to the seventh heaven of gastronomic bliss.

[Illustration: "The neighbours saw, far out on the wild, wreckage-strewn

waters, a tiny boat with four slight figures."--_See p._ 69]

And the while above them in the she-oak, whose thread-like leaves make

mournful music to the wind, lies the mother who has sacrificed her life

for that of the babe. There is no doubt of this. The poor woman must

have been exposed to the winds and waves long before she reached the

tree refuge. How she got there was never known. She had almost denuded

herself to protect the babe. Little wonder that at some moment of that

awful night vigil the vital spark should have quitted its terror-haunted

tenement.

*CHAPTER X*

*THE RETURN*

"See the conquering hero comes!

Sound the trumpet, beat the drums."

After baby's hunger was satisfied the boys' attention was given to their

immediate surroundings.

"What are we goin' to do about _her_?" asked Tom, pointing upward as he

spoke.

"It's simply impossible for us to do anything. If she were alive we

would take any risk. But as things are it is beyond our power to shift

the body, it is jammed so tightly. The only thing left for us to do is

to inform the police when we get to the other side."

"What'll we do now, Joe?"

"Get back to our former anchorage first. River's goin' down pretty

fast, I reckon; and it'll be all dry about here before morning if it

recedes at the same rate. The current is not nearly so strong as it was

when we came over, and that will make it easier for us to get out of the

clump. There's no need for us to go back by the same course. We can take

a slant across to that red gum, and when we're there we're out of the

stream."

The exit from the cluster of trees was very well managed, and in a few

minutes from the time of casting adrift from the she-oak the boat was

out of the clump and across the narrow stream into the slack water.

They continued on to their former camping place, and hitched on to the

tree.

This gallant attempt at rescue, though not accomplishing what was in the

minds of the boys, was not altogether a failure. Indeed, it was the

reverse of that. Though but little time is consumed in reading the

account of this episode, it covered a goodly portion of the day. By the

time the boys had made fast to their former anchorage, the slanting

sun-rays proclaimed the advance of eventide.

"Let's have a confab, chaps, on what's best to be done. I don't s'pose

any of us is wanting to stick here all night. What d'you say, Tom?"

"I say pull over to the hillock on the other side of the slack. See!

the water's retreated from the high ground. We could camp there, I dare

say, easy enough, and get home early to-morrow morning. I don't think

we ought to tackle the river to-night. I bet you it'd be a measly,

tricky trip. So I vote to do as I said."

"What d'you say, Billy?"

"I say same as Tom. Plenty dry land over there. Might get matches in

that house behind the hill. I'll pull 'possum outa spout, an' we'll

roast 'im an' make bully feed."

Billy, as indeed were all the boys, was beginning to feel desperately

hungry.

"What have you got to say, Jimmy?"

Jimmy Flynn, who had been gazing wistfully across the flood waters,

turned round slowly as Joe put the question to him. "Oh, Joe! can't we

get home to-night? The river isn't so bad as when we crost up at the

Bend. There's not nearly so much timber goin' down now. 'Sides, it's

easier crossing down here to what it was above. I give a straight vote

for--home!"

"Bravo! Well done, Jimmy! You're a brick. It's just the word, an'

we're the coves to do it. It's my vote too, my hearties. We've half an

hour of sun left: say an hour before it's right dark. I reckon 'twill

be about two mile an' a half from here to Tareela. It won't be near as

difficult as up by the Bend. Yes, we'll do it, boys; an' the sooner the

better. Then there's the blessed little baby, you know! Some of us

would have to mind her in the night, an' what about your beauty sleep

then? I reckon the kiddie would be too much for the whole boilin' of

us. And I've a notion that too much fruit'll be worse for her than none

at all. S'pose she gets the jim-jams! And, lastly, as father says when

he's preaching, what about the old folks at home?"

There was no need to say anything further.

"I'm game, for one," said Tom.

"I'm game, for two," said Billy.

"I'm game, for three," said Jimmy.

"Put me down for the fourth," said Joe.

"Now, boys, that's settled. We'll tackle the river straight away; for

better or for worse, as dad says in the marriage ceremony. And I say,

chaps, let's ask God to help us."

Though there was no audible form of expression, the spirit of prayer was

in each boy's heart. He who sat above the floods heard and answered.

"Billy and Jimmy are to take the oars. We want the best men at the

paddles. Now then, Tom, let the painter go an' keep the pole handy for

driftwood."

The painter is slipped, and the boat's head is turned riverwards. She

is soon out of the slack, and feels the full force of the flood. The

starting-point was nearly a mile and a half above the township, so that

there was a liberal margin for drift. The river was quite a mile wide.

There was still a quantity of driftwood, and many difficulties beset

them which made delicate steering and skilful management incumbent.

When they had travelled about half the distance, Tom, who was eagerly

conning the other shore, gave a shout, pointing at the same time to a

headland above the village.

"Some 'un's waving! See 'em, over there!"

Mrs. Blain was the first to spy the advancing boat. The boys' mothers

had been trapsing the lagoon shore and river-side for hours, in a

semi-demented manner. The minister and the others had returned after a

fruitless errand. The police, with a strong crew in the Government

whale-boat, were scouring the shores in the vicinity of the Bend, and

had not returned. The disappearance of the boys had seemed most

mysterious until the break-away was discovered. Then the accident as it

really happened was immediately conjectured. The profoundest sensation

was created in the village, for the boys were dearly loved by all.

The feelings of the poor parents may be but faintly imagined. Great was

the relief, therefore, when Mrs. Blain, whose eyes were devouring the

flood waters in her frantic eagerness to discover some hopeful sign,

suddenly screamed out in an alarming manner, gesticulating wildly as she

did so, and acting to outward seeming in a frenzied fashion. Other

searchers, scattered along the river-bank, hearing the piercing cry, and

seeing the untoward gestures of the joy-possessed woman, came running

towards her, thinking for the moment that she had lost her reason.

"See, see!" screamed she, pointing to a distant spot on the waters.

"They're saved, they're saved! God be praised, our lovely boys are

returning all safe; yes, one, two, three, four--the darlings."

Looking in the direction indicated, the neighbours saw, far out on the

wild, impetuous, wreckage-strewn waters, a tiny boat with four slight

figures running the blockade; threading their course between the

thousand objects which intervene and threaten destruction.

The good news is now shouted from end to end of the township, and in a

few minutes the river-bank is lined with exultant and yet anxious

spectators. For the joy of the discovery of the lads is almost quenched

at times by sights of the perils of the passage.

The mothers of Joe, Tom, and Jimmy are grouped together, wrought up to

such a pitch of anxiety as to be well-nigh silent. They noted every

danger and counted every oar-stroke. The gallant rowers lifted their

blades in the twilight, as the last rays sparkled on the flowing waters.

Beyond a landward look the boys had no time to bestow upon the excited

spectators. Eye and mind, in close conjunction, are continuously

engaged in evading danger and maintaining the boat's position.

"We'll make the point," exclaimed Joe, after an interval of silence.

"We'll make the point, all right. Keep her steady, lads," turning the

boat's nose, as he spoke, well up stream, at an angle inclining

shorewards. "Now, pull like a prize crew for five minutes an' we're

there. We're out of the driftwood as it is."

The rowers needed no further stimulus. They bent to the oars like old

salts.

"Capital! just the stroke! Keep it up! Hear 'em cheering!"

The cheering spurred on the boys, and in less than five minutes they

landed in the midst of a wildly excited and loud-cheering crowd. And

wasn't there a hugging and kissing, and hand-shaking and back-slapping!

Just as the women were up to their necks in it, to use a homely figure,

some one happened to glance at the boat. The glance extorted a scream.

"A baby, a darling baby! See, see, see! a little baby in the boat!"

A moment's dazed surprise, and every one crowded to the boat. Joe, who

had not moved far from the boat's nose, and who only waited for the

violence of the welcome to abate a little that he might call attention

to the precious freight, waved the jostling crowd back, and in a few

words related the incident of the rescue.

A great wave of feeling passed over the crowd as he spoke. The women

wept copiously as the scene was conjured us, and strong men

unconsciously shed briny tears as the story reached its culminating

point of the discovery of the helpless and orphaned babe, bound to the

dead breast of her who had thus made the great sacrifice of motherhood.

While Joe was reciting the story of the rescue, Jimmy Flynn held on to

his mother's arm and whispered excitedly into her ear. The narrator had

hardly finished ere Mrs. Flynn stepped forward to his side and faced the

crowd. Ordinarily, this woman was undemonstrative and shy. Now she is

unconscious of any timidity. The moment was an inspired one; to produce

which Jimmy's whisperings had played an important part.

"Mr. Blain, and friends all, give me the darling baby. It'll take the

place of the one God took from me last month. The clothes'll fit----"

The bereft mother could get no further. Any woman who has lost a child

will tell you why.

"My friends, you all know Mrs. Flynn, as I know her. If it were a matter

of choosing between you, I should still say that no one in the town is

better fitted for the sacred duty of mothering this little flood-driven

stranger. None of us can say to whom the child belongs; whether there is

a father or near relations. But until it is claimed by those who can

prove the right to do so, the very best of all possible arrangements,

and one I regard as providential, will be for Mrs. Flynn to take this

baby to nourish and cherish it."

The murmurs of assent were unanimous. Joe, without any more delay,

stepped into the boat, and, picking up the child--which all this time

looked round, wondering in its baby way at this ado--put the little one

into its foster-mother's hands.

The river baby was evidently delighted beyond measure to receive a warm

motherly embrace; judging, at any rate, by the way it gooed and crowed.

As soon as she could get through the admiring throng, Mrs. Flynn

hastened home, and before long the baby, washed and dressed anew, was

filling its "little Mary" with sweet new milk.