After the battle—Burial rites—The Waigonda wish to make chiefs
of the white men—Our “twins” leave with Dromoora and Terebare
for the south.
When the brothers returned to Dromoora they found that chief lying on
the ground, surrounded by Terebare and her maidens, who had not joined
in the pursuit.
These were weeping and wailing, supposing him to be dead; but Tim
brought a gourd of water and poured it over his face and head. This
act aroused Terebare, and she quickly procured some young shoots
of the rough-leaved fig, then making poultices of the milky juice,
applied them to her lord’s wounds.
“I knew he warn’t dead,” said Tim; as, after the lapse of a few
minutes, the wounded man commenced to breathe heavily. “But I expect
they’d ’av gone on howling till he _was_, unless we’d flung the water
over ’im.”
The brothers then helped to place the chief in a little arbour of
boughs, which was erected for him, and left him there in the hands of
his wife.
The whole of that night were the Waigonda lamenting their dead, the
howls of the jins being specially erie and dismal.
It was noticed with surprise by the brothers that, notwithstanding the
length of time that the fight had lasted, and the numerous crushing
blows given, they could not find more than a score bodies on the
battlefield; but it was explained to them that many of the Tinguras,
stricken down apparently to death, had so far recovered that they had
crawled away, most probably to die later on; and, besides this, that
many more of the enemy had been clubbed to death by the Waigondas,
when caught in the nets.
Next day the natives proceeded to burn their own dead, reserving the
body of a youth for a feast. After the bodies were burnt, the ashes
were tied up in pieces of bark and put carefully away; whilst portions
of the defunct Tinguras were divided into thin strips and portioned
out amongst the tribe, Mat and Tim each receiving a share of the two
blacks who had fallen to their gun.
As they were supposed to receive these relics with great pride and
solemnity, they wrapt them up with extreme care and gravity in the
presence of the black, and, as carefully, a few days afterwards, left
them within reach of the dingoes or wild dogs.
This is how it happened that Jumper appeared so opportunely on the
scene of battle.
Before the fight commenced he had been tied up, but fancying, no
doubt, that his masters were in distress during the uproar which
ensued, he had bitten through the cord, or rather vine, which held
him, had made his way to Tim, whose voice he heard, and had fastened
on the very black who had struck him a day or two previously, when
guarding his master’s gun.
The native whom Mat had thrown so heavily was found moaning near a
water-hole, to which he had dragged himself, his spine being injured.
As soon as he was discovered, he was brought up by the Waigondas to be
butchered by Mat, as they said that they had reserved that honour for
him; but on being told that white men were not such cowards as to kill
a helpless prisoner, one of the natives jumped up and said that _he_
would willingly club him then and there.
The brothers insisted that the life of the prisoner should be spared,
but it was not until Mat threatened them with the gun if they
attempted to carry out their threat, that they agreed to spare the
life of their enemy for the present.
Shortly afterwards he was brought up before a council of the elders,
who told him that he was not to be killed because the white men so
wished it, that that being the case he should be cared for until he
recovered, when he was to go back to the remnant of his tribe, and to
tell them and certain other tribes that the first time they molested
man, woman, or child of the Waigondas, the white men would at once
come and crush the whole lot by thunder.
The effect of this speech was to cause the prisoner to tremble
violently, for when lying helpless in the grass he had been a witness
of the death of Dromoora’s assailants, and, as he acknowledged, had
nearly then and there died of fright at the reports of the weapon, and
the result of the discharges.
Our foresters tended the man carefully, as the Waigondas would
have nothing to say to him, yet the Tingura man never showed the
slightest sign of gratitude for this conduct, but scowled, at Mat more
especially, to the last, and at length departed, cured, but with a
look of hatred in his eyes.
As soon as he was sufficiently recovered, Dromoora sent for the
brothers, having heard that they wished to get rid of their war-paint.
When they appeared before him, he thus addressed them,—
“Two such brave men, who have saved our tribe, must be made chiefs,
and for this ceremony join in a ‘Corroboree’ of triumph as well.”
Mat and his brother, who hated this everlasting foolery, as they
termed a “Corroboree,” begged to be excused from taking part in it, on
account of their bodies being so bruised and stiff from the effects of
the late strife, and for the same reason requested that the ceremony
of making them chiefs might be deferred.
The chief said there was reason in their request, and continued,—
“If it had not been for you, oh! brave brothers, Dromoora and his
tribe would have been swept away, I will give you all I have, anything
you want, if you will give me the ‘stick’ and tell me its secret.”
When Dromoora had sent for the brothers, they had partly suspected
that the conversation would take this turn, and had therefore agreed
upon their answer.
So Mat replied,—
“You, oh, noble chief, and your brave tribe, have saved _our_ lives
from the beginning, ever since we landed on your coast. We were able
to fight and kill in this battle because we knew things that the
Tingura did not, and because we possessed the Teegoora ‘stick.’ _We_
have also a favour to ask. You shall have a ‘thunder-stick,’ and be
taught the secret; you shall have iron tomahawks, and many other
beautiful things, if you will take us to where we can meet the white
man.”
“That cannot be,” answered Dromoora, “the strange white men might kill
me.”
“_Then_,” eagerly broke in Mat, “let your tribe keep me as prisoner,
till you return safely—take only my brother with you.”
This idea seemed to strike the chief, and saying he would talk it over
with the elders, the conversation terminated.
“That’s very pretty of you saying you’d stay while I went,” said Tim,
as the brothers walked towards their hut, “but I don’t stir without
you, not a step.”
After some farther discussing the pros and cons of the matter, our
foresters received a summons to attend the elders.
They found the whole of their friends seated upon the ground, awaiting
them.
Upon their making their appearance, the chief at once proceeded to
cross-examine the brothers as to their wishes, telling them that he
utterly declined to have anything to do with their going west, as the
tribes in that direction were very hostile and treacherous.
Mat answered this by saying that they had long wished to go to the
_south_, as they were convinced that there were white men there, many
moons distant.
The chief said that he would go nowhere were it not for the fact that
the brothers held the power of life and death in their hands; would
they kill a white man if he attempted to murder him, Dromoora?
To this question the brothers answered together,—
“Without the slightest hesitation.”
After much desultory talk it was agreed that both brothers might go
with the chief, who should also be accompanied by his wife, if they
promised to bring the two natives back again unharmed, under care of
white men armed with “thunder-sticks;” and, further, that all the
tribe should receive presents, which Dromoora would choose, and that
no member of the tribe would be harmed.
To these terms Mat joyfully agreed, with the proviso that amongst the
presents there should be only one Teegoora “stick,” and _that_ for the
chief, and that to him alone would they impart the secret.
Our foresters were so overjoyed at this decision that they wished
to start off at once; but Dromoora said he should not be ready for
ten days’ time, holding up the fingers of both hands to express the
number; so they were forced to curb their impatience, occupying
themselves during the _now_ long days in looking through the small
stock of belongings which they had managed to keep all these long
years, and throwing away such as would no longer be necessary.
At length the eventful day arrived, and gathering up their weapons
of wood, “old Joe,” the nuggets, and the remains of their library,
the white men started with Jumper and the two natives; without much
leave-taking between the travellers and the rest of the tribe,
excepting that they shouted messages to each other until out of
hearing.
The little band commenced working their route by the sun and
coast-line by day, and the stars by night, when they happened to
travel late.
They avoided the neighbourhood of all tribes by the way, and journeyed
but slowly, Tim and the chief having scarcely recovered the effects
of their wounds, so that at first they did not cover much ground, for
having Jumper to guard them, they were enabled to sleep every night
far later than they would otherwise have done, and the sun was often
high in the heavens before they resumed their march next morning.
During the daytime they were also much detained by having to procure
food, but in spite of all hindrances to a quick progress, the spirits
of our foresters were buoyed by the glorious hope of once again
joining their own kind, and hearing something of that outside world
which had been a blank to them for many weary years.
Every description of country they passed over that it was possible to
conceive.
Large undulating prairies covered with rich grass and interspersed
with running streams, across miles of dry and stony ranges, now
cutting their way through dense and seemingly endless scrubs, where
the heat was like a furnace, then out again across a complete network
of great sandy beds of rivers, which in flood-time were roaring
torrents, as denoted by the drift-wood hanging thirty and forty feet
high in the trees on both banks.
At length they came to a river which was so different to any they
had yet seen that, though it was mid-day when they arrived on its
banks, they determined to “spell” there a few days and explore the
neighbourhood.
This river was running with a blue and sparkling stream, numerous
islets peeped up amongst its waterfalls and cascades, its banks were
clothed with dense and lofty palm-tree scrubs.
Wondering how it was that this special strip of country should be
blessed with a large running river when all the others were dry, or
nearly so, our travellers started to explore its source.
They found, after many miles of rough walking, that it was fed by many
springs which issued from the foot of a good-sized mountain amongst
some Basaltic rocks. Judging from experience in other places, the
chief said that these springs would never fail, probably never _had_
done so.
Our party caught plenty of fish in this river, amongst which were many
large eels, and a specially good eating fish which resembled a great
silvery perch, with an eye the colour of a ruby.
The country on the banks of this river consisted of rich black soil,
covered with wild bananas and other tropical growth, and carpeted with
a wealth of wild flowers. Besides all this there were numerous signs
of game. Traces of small fires both up and down the valley showed that
it was a favourite hunting-ground of the natives.
But this paradise of a country had two drawbacks, one of which was
that the river swarmed with crocodiles, and the scrubs were full of
stinging trees.
This gigantic nettle was well known to our party, and therefore they
never came into contact with it, but its pungent smell and handsome
blossom seemed to pervade every scrub; and as Jumper had a narrow
escape from the jaws of a crocodile, the travellers found themselves
rather disappointed with the district on the third day of their
sojourn, and so decided to continue their journey southwards.
Three months had they thus crawled through the bush, when one day,
trudging along through a sandy scrub, they descried two natives
digging yams on the plain beyond.
“You hide here whilst I go and talk to them,” said Dromoora, and the
next moment he and Terebare were off to interview the strangers.
They were away an unusually long time, and returned at length bearing
an emu, which the chief had stalked and speared.
Throwing down the bird, he informed his companions that the two
strange natives belonged to a tribe lying far to the west, and that,
as far as he could understand their language, he understood them to
say, that white men were camped a day’s journey to the west, men who
use thunder, and killed ducks with it.
“_Then_,” exclaimed Mat, “let us first have a feast of emu, and then
be off west also, as soon as possible.”
However, by the time they had finished their repast, the day had worn
to its close; and Tim feeling twinges of rheumatism again, the little
party decided to camp where they were.
When they looked out next day, they saw several more strange natives
on the plain, so that in going west they had to make a considerable
détour to avoid them.
That evening they came on the tracks of unshod horses, as Mat joyfully
pointed out, telling his dark friends at the same time that when the
white man’s camp was reached, they must stay behind, and that Tim had
better remain with them, as he was still a bit leg-weary.
Dromoora and his wife willingly consented to this plan, as they were
much frightened at the enormous tracks of the strange beast which Mat
had pointed out.
Whilst it was still light, Mat spied the camp of the white men,
situated near a lagoon. What first met his eye was a tent, a solitary
figure, and smoke proceeding from a good-sized fire near it.
The sensation was new to him—the first white men, the first signs of
civilized life, that he had seen for many a year—and as he gazed he
shook in every limb as he considered how best to approach the camp.
Having made up his mind, he first proceeded to hide his weapons, then
walked boldly up to within fifty yards, and gave a loud whistle to
announce his presence. He had noticed _two_ men sitting by the fire
now that he was so much nearer.
The strangers, on hearing the whistle, looked round, then, seeing, as
they supposed, a strange black fellow, instantly snatched up their
guns.
Mat, expecting this movement, cried, “Don’t shoot! White man!”
“Come, I know better than that; you are a black who has learned
English!” shouted one of the men. “A step nearer, and we shoot. Put
down your gun,”—for Mat had retained this weapon—“and then come here!”
Mat complied with this request, and placed his gun against a tree;
then, seeing that he was unarmed, the strangers allowed him to
approach.
In a few words Mat told his story, how he had been shipwrecked,
together with his brother, up north, had lived for many years with the
blacks, and was now journeying south with his friends and brother.
“Well, this beats creation,” said one of the young men whom Mat was
addressing. “You’re a regular Crusoe, only without the clothes. Come
and sit down, and tell us more about it.”
“Will you first let me bring up two of the blacks who have befriended
us all these years?”
“Yes, if they are unarmed, and their tribe does not come with them.”
Mat gave a reassuring answer, and then went back for the chief and his
wife, whom he shortly returned with, introducing his brother at the
same time.
Our foresters were soon comfortably seated at the fire, revelling
in the long-forgotten luxuries of tea, sugar, and tobacco, their
hearts too full to speak, and, as Tim observed, “he did not know
_how_ to think even, it was so like a dream.” Our heroes, in fact,
felt prostrated with joy. They wished, in this supreme first hour of
_real_ liberty, to hear _no_ news, to ask _no_ questions; which their
new acquaintances observing, simply put another “billy” of tea on the
fire, and very thoughtfully left them to meditate undisturbed.
The evening had closed in, when two black boys belonging to the camp
came up.
Dromoora could not make out these “boys” at all, dressed, as they
were, in gaudy-coloured flannel shirts and moleskins. He hailed them
in every dialect he knew, but all to no purpose; they only stared at
him, and more still did they stare at the brothers, whom, however,
they told their masters at once “were white fellow, only all the same
black fellow.”
The strangers, seeing that Tim suffered from rheumatism, had
thoughtfully rigged him up a kind of tent, or “lean to,” of canvas,
in a sheltered spot at the back of the camp, his two native friends
sleeping in the same part, and carrying on their own and Tim’s cooking
there.
Mat stayed with his hosts, and slept by their open fire.
Before going to sleep this first night, one of them said to him,
“Now that you have collected your thoughts a bit, tell me more about
yourselves, and we’ll let you know what _we_ are doing up here. By
the way, if you had not dropped across us, you would have wandered a
lot further before finding anything like a station.”
However, Mat had not much more to tell, for the brothers had agreed,
on first discovering the strangers, that, though they would of course
relate their adventures in a general way, yet that many particulars
and incidents of their past lives they would withhold until they knew
more of their new comrades.
So Mat soon brought his story to a conclusion, being also anxious to
hear the strangers’ account of themselves, and of colonial matters
generally.
As Mat’s narrative was brought to a close, the younger stranger
knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and said,—
“Now I’ll tell you about ourselves. My name is Carew, and my mate’s
name is Terry. We came out about two years ago, as ‘new chums,’ to a
station on the ‘Downs,’ but—well, there wasn’t much going on, and it
didn’t suit, so we are looking out for a bit of country up here for
ourselves; and Burns, that’s the boss—”
“Burns!” interrupted Mat, “why, that’s the man I had a letter to, I do
believe.”
“Now you mention it,” continued Carew, “I remember Burns said that he
_had_ been expecting a new chum out years ago; he often referred to
it. The ship was called the _Austral_, I think. She was signalled off
Hobart Town, and has never been heard of from that day to this. I see
it all; you must be the man whom he was looking out for. I remember
now, he said that steamers were sent everywhere to look for the ship.
I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll lend you one of our boys to put you
on the direct track for Burns’ station, and you shall take a second
letter to him. My eye, _won’t_ he be astonished!
“By-the-bye, the other chap, who’s always in that tent, and generally
drunk, looks a bad lot, drunk or sober; I can’t tell you anything
about him, excepting that his name is Boyd, he has an awful scar on
his face, caused in some drunken row probably; we came across him on
the road, riding a thoroughbred-looking horse—stolen I expect; he
forced his company on us, and we shall be glad when he goes, and now I
vote we turn in.”
Dromoora and his wife felt more at home after they had been for a few
hours in the company of their dark brethren. They even, at length,
summoned up courage to stroke the horses, causing much laughter by
asking what the big kangaroos ate? whether the white men ate _them_?
And many remarks of a like nature, all of which were interpreted to
the strangers.
After they had spelled for three days, the camp was broken up; Carew
and Terry to go north, the brothers and their party south.
Carew had packed a horse with rations for the brothers, giving them
some “notes” as well, so that they would be able to purchase clothes,
in time to be decently rigged out before they entered the district of
the Darling Downs.
Mat thanked his newly-found friends for their generosity, and promised
to repay the money as soon as he could make a little; he then gave
them directions where to find some of the good cattle country, through
which he had lately been travelling. The parties bid good-bye,
mutually pleased with each other, and a quarter of an hour later the
camp was lost to sight.
On the way south, our party conversed with each other concerning their
late acquaintances.
“I only saw the third white man once, the first morning, and then only
for a second,” remarked Mat.
“But _I_ saw him again,” said Dromoora. “One evening I was lying very
still, and he crawled to the opening of his tent to get a better light
from the fire, so that he might look at some of those yellow stones,
like yours. I suppose all white men have them?”
“Did he?” asked Tim in a startled tone, “Let’s count the nuggets.”
Forthwith the dilly bag was opened, and several of the lumps of gold
were found to be missing!
Yet this loss did not affect our foresters much, for they knew where
more was to be found; besides, were they not “Homeward bound.”
For weeks more our little party journeyed on, happy and contented,
the brothers realizing that they were _really_ leaving their lonely
life behind them, and knowing that their guide was taking them
straight to their destination, for the black told them one day that
they were getting near a small store, pointing to the tracks of drays
and bullocks.
Having reached this building, our party had to go through so many
examinations as to who they were, and from what part of the world
they hailed, that it was a long time before they could be rigged out
in clothes. Dromoora said he knew all about shirts and trousers, and
declined to be burdened with anything but a straw hat and a thin
cotton shirt, the former of which he ended by giving to his wife.
A looking-glass proved as great an object of interest to the brothers
as it did to the natives.
Keeping along a well-marked track, after quitting the store, they came
to a fenced-in country; and, guided by the barking of dogs, found
themselves at Burns’ Station.
Walking up to the house, Mat, who acted as spokesman, was confronted
by a tall and dissipated-looking man, who was lounging in a canvas
chair, smoking and reading.
This individual’s first words were not encouraging, as putting down
his paper, he stared at Mat, and drawled out,—
“What do _you_ want? I don’t require any hands now, certainly not a
half-caste.”
But Mat’s answer in right good English considerably astonished Mr.
Burns.
“My name is Stanley, I was bringing out a letter to you some years ago
from a more civil-tongued fellow than yourself, and that’s your own
brother, only I and my brother here got wrecked, were the only two
saved, and we’ve lived with the blacks up north ever since; how long I
don’t know, as I’ve lost all tally, but a great number of years.”
Before the conclusion of this speech, Burns had started from his chair
and was critically examining the speaker.
“Well, I be hanged!” he cried, as soon as he could grasp the fact
that he was addressing one of the only two survivors of the ill-fated
_Young Austral_; for he guessed that was the ship. “I didn’t mean to
speak roughly, only I’ve been so bothered lately; that’s your brother
there, I’ll go bail by the likeness. But come in, come in, and let’s
talk all about it; fetch the niggers up too, I beg your pardon, I mean
the _natives_. You shall all have a good square meal before anything
else.”
Burns’ manner completely changed as he ordered in the dinner, and bade
them all be seated. Mat then gave his host Carew’s letter, and whilst
he was reading it, our travellers were only too glad to be left to
enjoy their meal, having fasted since early morning.
Burns reappeared after the lapse of a few minutes, with a bottle of
grog, saying,—
“Now you’ve about finished, let me hear something of your doings.”
So Mat gave him an outline of the history that he had related to
Carew.