The agonies of thirst--A ghastly drink--I ask Yamba to kill me--My
ministering angel--How Yamba caught opossum--The water witch--A barometer
of snakes--The coming deluge--The plunge into the Rapids--A waste of
waters--A fearful situation--Barking alligators--English-speaking
natives--A ship at last--I abandon hope--The deserted settlement.
By this time I began to feel quite delirious; I fear I was like a baby in
Yamba's hands. She knew that all I wanted was water, and became almost
distracted when she could not find any for me. Of herself she never
thought. And yet she was full of strange resources and devices. When I
moaned aloud in an agony of thirst, she would give me some kind of grass
to chew; and although this possessed no real moisture, yet it promoted
the flow of saliva, and thus slightly relieved me.
Things grew worse and worse, however, and the delirium increased. Hour
after hour--through the endless nights would that devoted creature sit by
my side, moistening my lips with the dew that collected on the grass. On
the fifth day without water I suffered the most shocking agonies, and in
my lucid moments gave myself up for lost. I could neither stand nor
walk, speak nor swallow. My throat seemed to be almost closed up, and
when I opened my eyes everything appeared to be going round and round in
the most dizzy and sickening manner. My heart beat with choking
violence, and my head ached, so that I thought I was going mad. My
bloodshot eyes (so Yamba subsequently told me) projected from their
sockets in the most terrifying manner, and a horrible indescribable
longing possessed me to kill my faithful Bruno, in order to drink his
blood. My poor Bruno! As I write these humble lines, so lacking in
literary grace, I fancy I can see him lying by my side in that glaring,
illimitable wilderness, his poor, dry tongue lolling out, and his piteous
brown eyes fixed upon me with an expression of mute appeal that added to
my agony. The only thing that kept him from collapsing altogether was
the blood of some animal which Yamba might succeed in killing.
Gradually I grew weaker and weaker, and at last feeling the end was near,
I crawled under the first tree I came across--never for a moment giving a
thought as to its species,--and prepared to meet the death I now
fervently desired. Had Yamba, too, given up, these lines would never
have been written. Amazing to relate, she kept comparatively well and
active, though without water; and in my most violent paroxysm she would
pounce upon a lizard or a rat, and give me its warm blood to drink, while
yet it lived. Then she would masticate a piece of iguana flesh and give
it to me in my mouth, but I was quite unable to swallow it, greatly to
her disappointment. She must have seen that I was slowly sinking, for at
last she stooped down and whispered earnestly in my ear that she would
leave me for a little while, and go off in search of water. Like a dream
it comes back to me how she explained that she had seen some birds
passing overhead, and that if she followed in the same direction she was
almost certain to reach water sooner or later.
I could not reply; but I felt it was a truly hopeless enterprise on her
part. And as I did not want her to leave me, I remember I held out my
tomahawk feebly towards her, and signed to her to come and strike me on
the head with it and so put an end to my dreadful agonies. The heroic
creature only smiled and shook her head emphatically. She took the
proffered weapon, however, and after putting some distinguishing marks on
my tree with it, she hurled it some distance away from me. She then
stooped and propped me against the trunk of the tree; and then leaving my
poor suffering dog to keep me company, she set out on her lonely search
with long, loping strides of amazing vigour.
It was late in the afternoon when she took her departure; and I lay there
hour after hour, sometimes frantically delirious, and at others in a
state of semi-consciousness, fancying she was by my side with shells
brimming over with delicious water. I would rouse myself with a start
from time to time, but, alas! my Yamba was not near me. During the long
and deathly stillness of the night, the dew came down heavily, and as it
enveloped my bed, I fell into a sound sleep, from which I was awakened
some hours later by the same clear and ringing voice that had addressed
me on that still night on my island sand-spit. Out upon the impressive
stillness of the air rang the earnest words: "_Coupe l'arbre_! _Coupe
l'arbre_!"
I was quite conscious, and much refreshed by my sleep, but the message
puzzled me a great deal. At first I thought it must have been Yamba's
voice, but I remembered that she did not know a word of French; and when
I looked round there was no one to be seen. The mysterious message still
rang in my ears, but I was far too weak to attempt to cut the tree
myself, I lay there in a state of inert drowsiness until, rousing myself
a little before dawn, I heard the familiar footsteps of Yamba approaching
the spot where I lay. Her face expressed anxiety, earnestness, and joy.
In her trembling hands she bore a big lily leaf containing two or three
ounces of life-giving water. This I drank with gasping eagerness, as you
may suppose. My delirium had now entirely left me, although I was still
unable to speak. I signed to her to cut the tree, as the voice in my
dream had directed me. Without a word of question Yamba picked up the
tomahawk from where she had hurled it, and then cut vigorously into the
trunk, making a hole three or four inches deep. It may seem astonishing
to you, but it surprised me in no wise when out from the hole there
_trickled a clear_, _uncertain stream of water_, under which Yamba
promptly held my fevered head. This had a wonderfully refreshing effect
upon me, and in a short time I was able to speak feebly but rationally,
greatly to the delight of my faithful companion. As, however, I was
still too weak to move, I indulged in another and far sounder sleep. I
do not know the scientific name of that wonderful Australian tree which
saved my life, but believe it is well known to naturalists. I have heard
it called the "bottle tree," from the shape of the trunk. All through
that terrible night, while Yamba was far away searching for water, Bruno
had never left my side, looking into my face wistfully, and occasionally
licking my body sympathetically with his poor, parched tongue. Whilst I
was asleep the second time, Yamba went off with the dog in search of
food, and returned with a young opossum, which was soon frizzling in an
appetising way on a tripod of sticks over a blazing fire. I was able to
eat a little of the flesh, and we obtained all the water we wanted from
our wonderful tree. Of course, Yamba was unacquainted with the fact that
water was stored in its interior. As a rule, her instinct might be
depended upon implicitly; and even after years of her companionship I
used to be filled with wonder at the way in which she would track down
game and find honey. She would glance at a tree casually, and discern on
the bark certain minute scratches, which were quite invisible to me, even
when pointed out. She would then climb up like a monkey, and return to
the ground with a good-sized opossum, which would be roasted in its skin,
with many different varieties of delicious roots.
When I had quite recovered, Yamba told me she had walked many miles
during the night, and had finally discovered a water-hole in a new
country, for which she said we must make as soon as I was sufficiently
strong. Fortunately this did not take very long, and on reaching the
brink of the water-hole we camped beside it for several days, in order to
recuperate. I must say that the water we found here did not look very
inviting--it was, in fact, very slimy and green in colour; but by the
time we took our departure there was not a drop left. Yamba had a method
of filtration which excited my admiration. She dug another hole
alongside the one containing the water, leaving a few inches of earth
between them, through which the water would percolate, and collect in
hole perfectly filtered.
At other times, when no ordinary human being could detect the presence of
water, she would point out to me a little knob of clay on the ground in
an old dried-up water-hole. This, she told me, denoted the presence of a
frog, and she would at once thrust down a reed about eighteen inches
long, and invite me to suck the upper end, with the result that I imbibed
copious draughts of delicious water.
At the water-hole just described birds were rather plentiful, and when
they came down to drink, Yamba knocked them over without difficulty. They
made a very welcome addition to our daily bill of fare. Her mode of
capturing the birds was simplicity itself. She made herself a long
covering of grass that completely enveloped her, and, shrouded in this,
waited at the edge of the water-hole for the birds to come and drink.
Then she knocked over with a stick as many as she required. In this way
we had a very pleasant spell of rest for four or five days. Continuing
our journey once more, we pushed on till in about three weeks we came to
a well-wooded country, where the eucalyptus flourished mightily and water
was plentiful; but yet, strange to say, there was very little game in
this region. Soon after this, I noticed that Yamba grew a little
anxious, and she explained that as we had not come across any kangaroos
lately, nor any blacks, it was evident that the wet season was coming on.
We therefore decided to steer for higher ground, and accordingly went
almost due north for the next few days, until we reached the banks of a
big river--the Roper River, as I afterwards found out--where we thought
it advisable to camp. This would probably be sometime in the month of
December.
One day I saw a number of small snakes swarming round the foot of a tree,
and was just about to knock some of them over with my stick, when Yamba
called out to me excitedly not to molest them. They then began to climb
the tree, and she explained that this clearly indicated the advent of the
wet season. "I did not wish you to kill the snakes," she said, "because
I wanted to see if they would take refuge in the trees from the coming
floods."
Up to this time, however, there had not been the slightest indication of
any great change in the weather. Many months must have elapsed since
rain had fallen in these regions, for the river was extremely low between
its extraordinarily high banks, and the country all round was dry and
parched; but even as we walked, a remarkable phenomenon occurred, which
told of impending changes. I was oppressed with a sense of coming evil.
I listened intently when Yamba requested me to do so, but at first all I
could hear was a curious rumbling sound, far away in the distance. This
noise gradually increased in volume, and came nearer and nearer, but
still I was utterly unable to account for it. I also noticed that the
river was becoming strangely agitated, and was swirling along at ever-
increasing speed. Suddenly an enormous mass of water came rushing down
with a frightful roar, in one solid wave, and then it dawned upon me that
it must have already commenced raining in the hills, and the tributaries
of the river were now sending down their floods into the main stream,
which was rising with astonishing rapidity. In the course of a couple of
hours it had risen between thirty and forty feet. Yamba seemed a little
anxious, and suggested that we had better build a hut on some high ground
and remain secure in that locality, without attempting to continue our
march while the rains lasted; and it was evident they were now upon us.
We therefore set to work to construct a comfortable little shelter of
bark, fastened to a framework of poles by means of creepers and climbing
plants. Thus, by the time the deluge was fairly upon us, we were quite
snugly ensconced. We did not, however, remain in-doors throughout the
whole of the day, but went in and out, hunting for food and catching game
just as usual; the torrential rain which beat down upon our naked bodies
being rather a pleasant experience than otherwise. At this time we had a
welcome addition to our food in the form of cabbage-palms and wild honey.
We also started building a catamaran, with which to navigate the river
when the floods had subsided. Yamba procured a few trunks of very light
timber, and these we fastened together with long pins of hardwood, and
then bound them still more firmly together with strips of kangaroo hide.
We also collected a stock of provisions to take with us--kangaroo and
opossum meat, of course; but principally wild honey, cabbage-palm, and
roots of various kinds. These preparations took us several days, and by
the time we had arranged everything for our journey the weather had
become settled once more. Yamba remarked to me that if we simply drifted
down the Roper River we should be carried to the open sea; nor would we
be very long, since the swollen current was now running like a mill-race.
Our catamaran, of course, afforded no shelter of any kind, but we carried
some sheets of bark to form seats for ourselves and the dog.
At length we pushed off on our eventful voyage, and no sooner had we got
fairly into the current than we were carried along with prodigious
rapidity, and without the least exertion on our part, except in the
matter of steering. This was done by means of paddles from the side of
the craft. We made such rapid progress that I felt inclined to go on all
night, but shortly after dusk Yamba persuaded me to pull in-shore and
camp on the bank until morning, because of the danger of travelling at
night among the logs and other wreckage that floated about on the surface
of the water.
We passed any number of submerged trees, and on several of these found
snakes coiled among the branches. Some of these reptiles we caught and
ate. About the middle of the second day we heard a tremendous roar
ahead, as though there were rapids in the bed of the river. It was now
impossible to pull the catamaran out of its course, no matter how hard we
might have striven, the current being absolutely irresistible. The banks
narrowed as the rapids were reached, with the result that the water in
the middle actually became _convex_, so tremendous was the rush in that
narrow gorge. Yamba cried out to me to lie flat on the catamaran, and
hold on as tightly as I could until we reached smooth water again. This
she did herself, seizing hold of the dog also.
Nearer and nearer we were swept to the great seething caldron of boiling
and foaming waters, and at last, with a tremendous splash we entered the
terrifying commotion. We went right under, and so great was the force of
the water, that had I not been clinging tenaciously to the catamaran I
must infallibly have been swept away to certain death. Presently,
however, we shot into less troubled waters and then continued our course,
very little the worse for having braved these terrible rapids. Had our
craft been a dug-out boat, as I originally intended it to be, we must
inevitably have been swamped. Again we camped on shore that night, and
were off at an early hour next morning. As we glided swiftly on, I
noticed that the river seemed to be growing tremendously wide. Yamba
explained that we were now getting into very flat country, and therefore
the great stretch of water was a mere flood. She also prophesied a
rather bad time for us, as we should not be able to go ashore at night
and replenish our stock of provisions. Fortunately we had a sufficient
supply with us on the catamaran to last at least two or three days
longer. The last time we landed Yamba had stocked an additional quantity
of edible roots and smoked meats, and although we lost a considerable
portion of these in shooting the rapids, there still remained enough for
a few days' supply.
In consequence of the ever-increasing width of the river, I found it a
difficult matter to keep in the channel where the current was, so I gave
up the steering paddle to Yamba, who seemed instinctively to know what
course to take.
On and on we went, until at length the whole country as far as the eye
could reach was one vast sea, extending virtually to the horizon; its
sluggish surface only broken by the tops of the submerged trees. One day
we sighted a number of little islets some distance ahead, and then we
felt we must be nearing the mouth of the river. The last day or two had
been full of anxiety and inconvenience for us, for we had been simply
drifting aimlessly on, without being able to land and stretch our cramped
limbs or indulge in a comfortable sleep. Thus the sight of the islands
was a great relief to us, and my ever-faithful and considerate companion
remarked that as we had nothing to fear now, and I was weary with my
vigil of the previous night, I had better try and get a little sleep.
Accordingly I lay down on the catamaran, and had barely extended my limbs
when I fell fast asleep. I awoke two or three hours later, at mid-day,
and was surprised to find that our catamaran was not moving. I raised
myself up, only to find that we had apparently drifted among the tops of
a ring of trees rising from a submerged island. "Halloa!" I said to
Yamba, "are we stuck?" "No," she replied quietly, "but look round."
You may judge of my horror and amazement when I saw outside the curious
ring of tree-tops, scores of huge alligators peering at us with horrid
stolidity through the branches, some of them snapping their capacious
jaws with a viciousness that left no doubt as to its meaning. Yamba
explained to me that she had been obliged to take refuge in this peculiar
but convenient shelter, because the alligators seemed to be swarming in
vast numbers in that part of the river. She had easily forced a way for
the catamaran through the branches, and once past, had drawn them
together again. The ferocious monsters could certainly have forced their
way into the inclosure after us, but they didn't seem to realise that
such a thing was possible, apparently being quite content to remain
outside. Judge, then, our position for yourself--with a scanty food
supply, on a frail platform of logs, floating among the tree-tops, and
literally besieged by crowds of loathsome alligators! Nor did we know
how long our imprisonment was likely to last. Our poor dog, too, was
terribly frightened, and sat whining and trembling in a most pitiable way
in spite of reassuring words and caresses from Yamba and myself. I
confess that I was very much alarmed, for the monsters would occasionally
emit a most peculiar and terrifying sound--not unlike the roar of a lion.
Hour after hour we sat there on the swaying catamaran, praying fervently
that the hideous reptiles might leave us, and let us continue our journey
in peace. As darkness began to descend upon the vast waste of waters, it
occurred to me to make a bold dash through the serried ranks of our
besiegers, but Yamba restrained me, telling me it meant certain death to
attempt to run the gantlet under such fearsome circumstances.
Night came on. How can I describe its horrors? Even as I write, I seem
to hear the ceaseless roars of those horrible creatures, and the weird
but gentle lappings of the limitless waste that extended as far as the
eye could reach. Often I was tempted to give up in despair, feeling that
there was no hope whatever for us. Towards morning, however, the
alligators apparently got on the scent of some floating carcasses brought
down by the floods, and one and all left us. Some little time after the
last ugly head had gone under, the catamaran was sweeping swiftly and
noiselessly down the stream again.
We made straight for a little island some distance ahead of us, and found
it uninhabited. Black and white birds, not quite so large as pigeons,
were very plentiful, as also were eggs. Soon my Yamba had a nice meal
ready for me, and then we lay down for a much-needed rest. After this we
steered for a large island some nine or ten miles distant, and as we
approached we could see that this one _was_ inhabited, from the smoke-
signals the natives sent up the moment they caught sight of us.
As we came nearer we could see the blacks assembling on the beach to meet
us, but, far from showing any friendliness, they held their spears poised
threateningly, and would no doubt have thrown them had I not suddenly
jumped to my feet and made signs that I wished to sit down with them--to
parley with them. They then lowered their spears, and we landed; but to
my great disappointment neither Yamba nor I could understand one word of
their language, which was totally different from the dialect of Yamba's
country. Our first meeting was conducted in the usual way--squatting
down on our haunches, and then drawing nearer and nearer until we were
able to rub noses on one another's shoulders. I then explained by means
of signs that I wanted to stay with them a few days, and I was
inexpressibly relieved to find that my little passport stick (which never
left my possession for a moment), was recognised at once, and proved most
efficacious generally. After this I became more friendly with my hosts,
and told them by signs that I was looking for white people like myself,
whereupon they replied I should have to go still farther south to find
them. They took us to their camp, and provided us with food, consisting
mainly of fish, shell-fish, and roots. So far as I could ascertain,
there were no kangaroo or opossum on the island. After two or three
days, I thought it time to be continuing our journey; but feeling
convinced that I must be in the vicinity of the Cape York
Peninsula--instead of being on the west coast of the Gulf of
Carpentaria--I decided not to go south at all, but to strike due north,
where I felt certain Somerset Point lay; and I also resolved to travel by
sea this time, the blacks having presented me with a very unsubstantial
"dug-out" canoe. Leaving behind us the catamaran that had brought us so
many hundreds of miles, we set out on our travels once more--taking care,
however, never to lose sight of the coast-line on account of our frail
craft. We passed several beautiful islands, big and little, and on one
that we landed I came across some native chalk drawings on the face of
the rock. They depicted rude figures of men--I don't remember any
animals--but were not nearly so well done as the drawings I had seen in
caves up in the Cape Londonderry district.
We also landed from time to time on the mainland, and spoke with the
chiefs of various tribes. They were all hostile at first. On one
occasion we actually met one or two blacks who spoke a few words of
English. They had evidently been out with pearlers at some time in their
lives, but had returned to their native wilds many years before our
visit. I asked them if they knew where white men were to be found, and
they pointed east (Cape York), and also indicated that the whites were
many moons' journey away from us. I was sorely puzzled. A glance at a
map of Australia will enable the reader to realise my great blunder.
Ignorant almost of Australian geography I fancied, on reaching the
western shores of the Gulf of Carpentaria, that I had struck the Coral
Sea, and that all I had to do was to strike north to reach Somerset, the
white settlement I had heard about from the pearlers. I felt so
confident Cape York lay immediately to the north, that I continued my
course in that direction, paddling all day and running in-shore to camp
at night. We lived mainly on shell-fish and sea-birds' eggs at this
time, and altogether life became terribly wearisome and monotonous. This,
however, was mainly owing to my anxiety.
About a fortnight after leaving the mouth of the Roper River we came to a
place which I now know to be Point Dale. We then steered south into a
beautiful landlocked passage which lies between the mainland and Elcho
Island, and which at the time I took to be the little strait running
between Albany Island and Cape York. I steered south-west in
consequence; and after a time, as I did not sight the points I was on the
look-out for, I felt completely nonplused. We landed on Elcho Island and
spent a day or two there. Being still under the impression that Cape
York was higher up, I steered west, and soon found myself in a very
unpleasant region. We explored almost every bay and inlet we came
across, but of course always with the same disheartening result.
Sometimes we would come near being stranded on a sandbank, and would have
to jump overboard and push our craft into deeper water. At others, she
would be almost swamped in a rough sea, but still we stuck to our task,
and after passing Goulbourn Island we followed the coast. Then we struck
north until we got among a group of islands, and came to Croker Island,
which goes direct north and south. Day after day we kept doggedly on,
hugging the shore very closely, going in and out of every bay, and
visiting almost every island, yet never seeing a single human being. We
were apparently still many hundreds of miles away from our destination.
To add to the wretchedness of the situation, my poor Yamba, who had been
so devoted, so hardy, and so contented, at length began to manifest
symptoms of illness, and complained gently of the weariness of it all.
"You are looking," she would say, "for a place that does not exist. You
are looking for friends of whose very existence you are unaware." I
would not give in, however, and persuaded her that all would be well in
time, if only she would continue to bear with me. Both of us were
terribly cramped in the boat; and by way of exercise one or the other
would occasionally jump overboard and have a long swim. Whenever we
could we landed at night.
One morning, shortly after we had begun our usual trip for the day, and
were rounding a headland, I was almost stupefied to behold in front of me
the masts of a boat (which I afterwards found to be a Malay proa), close
in-shore. The situation, in reality, was between Croker's Island and the
main, but at the time I thought that I had at length reached Somerset. I
sprang to my feet in a state of the greatest excitement. "Thank God!
thank God!" I shouted to Yamba; "we are saved at
last!--saved--saved--saved!" As I shouted, I pulled the canoe round and
made for the vessel with all possible despatch. We very soon came up
with her, and found her almost stranded, in consequence of the lowness of
the tide. I promptly clambered aboard, but failed to find a soul. I
thought this rather strange, but as I could see a hut not very far away,
close to the beach, I steered towards it. This little dwelling, too, was
uninhabited, though I found a number of trays of fish lying about, which
afterwards I found to be _beche-de-mer_ being dried and smoked. Suddenly,
while Yamba and I were investigating the interior of the hut, a number of
Malays unexpectedly appeared on the scene, and I then realised I had had
the good fortune to come across a Malay _beche-de-mer_ expedition.
The fishermen were exceedingly surprised at seeing Yamba and me; but when
they found I could speak their language a little they evinced every sign
of delight, and forthwith entertained us most hospitably on board their
craft, which was a boat of ten or fifteen tons. They told me they had
come from the Dutch islands south of Timor, and promptly made me an offer
that set my heart beating wildly. They said they were prepared to take
me back to Kopang, if I wished; and I, on my part, offered to give them
all the pearl shells left on my little island in the Sea of Timor--the
latitude of which I took good care not to divulge--on condition that they
called there. They even offered Yamba a passage along with me; but, to
my amazement and bitter disappointment, she said she did not wish to go
with them. She trembled as though with fear. She was afraid that when
once we were on board, the Malays would kill me and keep her.
One other reason for this fear I knew, but it in no way mitigated my
acute grief at being obliged to decline what would probably be my only
chance of returning to civilisation. For this I had pined day and night
for four or five years, and now that escape was within my grasp I was
obliged to throw it away. For let me emphatically state, that even if
civilisation had been but a mile away, I would not have gone a yard
towards it without that devoted creature who had been my salvation, not
on one occasion only, but practically every moment of my existence.
With passionate eagerness I tried to persuade Yamba to change her mind,
but she remained firm in her decision; and so, almost choking with bitter
regret, and in a state of utter collapse, I had to decline the offer of
the Malays. We stayed with them, however, a few weeks longer, and at
length they accompanied me to a camp of black fellows near some lagoons,
a little way farther south of their own camp. Before they left, they
presented me with a quantity of _beche-de-mer_, or sea-slugs, which make
most excellent soup. At the place indicated by the Malays, which was in
Raffles Bay, the chief spoke quite excellent English. One of his wives
could even say the Lord's Prayer in English, though, of course, she did
not know what she was talking about. "Captain Jack Davis," as he called
himself, had been for some little time on one of her Majesty's ships, and
he told me that not many marches away there was an old European
settlement; he even offered to guide me there, if I cared to go. He
first led me to an old white settlement in Raffles Bay, called, I think,
Fort Wellington, where I found some large fruit-trees, including ripe
yellow mangoes. There were, besides, raspberries, strawberries, and Cape
gooseberries. Needless to remark, all this made me very happy and
contented, for I felt I must now be getting near the home of some white
men. I thought that, after all, perhaps Yamba's refusal to go with the
Malays was for the best, and with high hopes I set out with Captain Davis
for another settlement he spoke of. This turned out to be Port
Essington, which we reached in two or three days. Another cruel blow was
dealt me here.
You can perhaps form some idea of my poignant dismay and disappointment
on finding that this dreary-looking place of swamps and marshes was quite
deserted, although there were still a number of ruined brick houses,
gardens, and orchards there. The blacks told me that at one time it had
been one of the most important penal settlements in Australia, but had to
be abandoned on account of the prevalence of malarial fever arising from
the swamps in the neighbourhood. I came across a number of graves, which
were evidently those of the exiled settlers; and one of the wooden
headstones bore the name of Captain Hill (I think that was the name). I
have an idea that the fence round this old cemetery still remained. There
was food in abundance at this place--raspberries, bananas, and mangoes
grew in profusion; whilst the marshes were inhabited by vast flocks of
geese, ducks, white ibis, and other wild-fowl. Indeed in the swamps the
birds rose in such prodigious numbers as actually to obscure the face of
the sun. Here for the first time I saw web-footed birds perched in
trees.
The blacks had a very peculiar method of catching water-fowl. They would
simply wade through the reeds into the water almost up to their necks,
and then cover their heads with a handful of reeds. Remaining perfectly
still, they would imitate the cry of different wild-fowl. Then at a
convenient opportunity, they would simply seize a goose or a duck by the
leg, and drag it down under the water until it was drowned. The number
of water-fowl caught in this way by a single black fellow was truly
astonishing.
After having remained a fortnight at Port Essington itself, we returned
to Raffles Bay, where Yamba and I made a camp among the blacks and took
up our residence among them; for Captain Davis had told me that ships
called there occasionally, and it was possible that one might call soon
from Port Darwin. The vessels, he added, came for buffalo meat--of which
more hereafter. I had decided to remain among these people some little
time, because they knew so much about Europeans, and I felt sure of
picking up knowledge which would prove useful to me.