Our hero visits the old Waigonda country once more—The
overlanding—The Golden Gully—The last sight of Dromoora.
Our hero, having seen his twin brother comfortably off, and well
provided for by the liberality of the squire, decided to start at once
with Dromoora and Terebare to the northern wild country, the land of
the Waigonda tribe.
Tom had often expressed a wish to accompany him, whenever he made up
his mind to go, and Mat gladly accepted his offer now that he was
actually organizing the little expedition. The squire said that he
would get an extra hand or two to help him during the absence of “his
boys,” and remarked how glad he was that there were at least _two_
white men for such a long “overlanding.”
So they started—a party of six—for two of the station blacks joined
the little band; these were partly to aid in looking after two extra
pack-horses, which were laden with useful and handsome articles
destined for the Waigondas, and chosen by the chief and his wife.
There was no occasion to take a buggy this time, for our natives had
learnt to ride during their life at Bulinda Creek: besides this,
a wheeled vehicle would have been utterly useless in the wilder
districts.
On the last evening of their stay at the Creek Mat had bidden farewell
to Annie in her little garden, whither they had resorted to water the
plants as usual, he had also requested her to take charge of his old
book for him, saying that instead of taking _that_ with him on his
journey, he had a great favour to ask of her, namely, to give him a
little lock of her hair that he might carry it with him.
Before Annie could open her lips to reply to this request, Mrs. Bell
came running out of the house which the two were approaching, and,
calling sharply to her daughter, said,—
“Come, it’s nigh time for you to be a-bed, you’re always about that
garden now.”
Annie laughed and went in, and Mat saw her no more that night.
The next morning when the family were collected on the verandah to see
the little party of adventurers off, Annie stole softly up to Mat,
placing a tiny paper packet in his hand. Our hero grasped it, and the
hand that held it, and whispered,—
“I can go through anything now, Annie.”
And when shortly afterwards he turned from the “Apple-tree” ridge,
to have a last look at the _station_, so he informed Tom, he saw
a little white handkerchief being waved from _her_ corner of the
verandah, and our forester went on his way rejoicing.
Mat had kept to his promise of not speaking to Annie of the one
absorbing thought that lay deep in his manly bosom; he had reasoned
this matter so far out that he had concluded that it was best to
take this overland trip, away from her sweet presence, away from the
constant round of station-work. During the long days and nights in the
silent bush he could commune with himself.
Besides, Mat was aware that there was always a certain amount of
danger amongst the districts whither he was bound; and, again, there
was a double feeling of honour, so to speak, in his conduct, he had
given his promise to Annie’s parents, and he knew that she would have
the opportunities of attending many gay parties during his absence, so
that, reasoned Mat, “she will see plenty of other men besides me. At
all events, it shall never be said by others that I stood in her way.”
Mrs. Bell had noticed the little farewell tribute which Annie had
given Mat, and determined to “have it out” with her daughter, who
was still earnestly gazing at the distant cloud of dust made by the
receding horsemen.
“Annie, come here,” called Mrs. Bell, but Annie took no notice of this
appeal beyond saying,—
“In a moment, when they are out of sight.”
“Yes, but they are out of sight, besides Tom will be back in a few
months.”
“Tom!” replied Annie in a tone which implied that _he_ did not enter
into the subject of her thoughts; “yes, I suppose they will come back;
but how I wish we could write to them, or they to us; it’s a dangerous
journey, mother, many have told me so.”
Annie had been correctly informed, for in the enormous stretch of
country between Bulinda Creek and the scene of Mat’s shipwreck, many
events had taken place, and though around the Waigonda country the
natives had not been disturbed, yet south of that many collisions had
taken place between the white and the black man; much country had been
taken up; the new settlers had had their cattle speared, and even
one or two of the camps of these white men had been destroyed, and
themselves murdered. It was a very old story, which had been often
repeated, as new colonies were taken up, from south to north of the
entire continent. The black man looked upon any one, whether black or
white in colour, who encroached upon his territory, as an enemy, and
dealt with him accordingly, and the white man avenged the murders of
his countrymen by shooting the natives.
When Mrs. Bell saw that her daughter was really grieved, and that her
last words were spoken in a choking tone, she said,—
“They can’t write, dear, of course, there’s no post up there, but we
will try to forget for the time; and you will have plenty to amuse
_you_, I’m sure. Just think of the engagements we have; why, as you
know, I’ve a tray full of _minor_ invitations. Then, look at the
grander ones; there’s—where shall I begin? Let me see; first, the trip
to the ‘Heads’ with the Governor in his special steamer; his nephew,
of course, will be there, that _will_ be a picnic; then there’s
_another_ grand picnic at ‘Rose Bay’ with the Gilletts—Lord Roulette
is a great friend of theirs, you know—‘Manly Beach’ afterwards, and a
ball at—”
“Oh; yes, I know,” interrupted Annie impatiently, “how you can
remember it all I can’t think, I’m tired of all those people and
places, and prefer home life, riding with my father and—my garden.”
“That garden again! why, I declare you have gone gardening mad, Annie,
at least lately you have; since Mat has been interfering in it you
have thought of nothing but flower-raising.”
“Perhaps now he has made it tidier I take more interest in it,”
replied her daughter, and feeling that she was reddening slightly
under the solid stare of her mother, added, “And I’m going there now
to put in some seeds.” And so escaped further questions for the time.
Matters were dreary enough at the station now. Bell without “his
boys;” Annie having no one to confide in, for she saw plainly that in
one sense, in her sense, Mat was not now in her mother’s good graces.
Parson Tabor was the only one to cheer up the spirits of the little
party.
As an outsider, he had for some time been conversant with the feelings
of all parties, and though he had so far been made a confidant of
Mat’s secret, that he guessed the state of our hero’s feelings, yet
he followed his fast rule of making it no business of his, unless
specially appealed to by the elders. Yet somehow he was always taking
Mat’s part when the conversation happened to bring in his name, or
touch upon the absent ones, and it was wonderful to see how both Bell
and his daughter brightened up on hearing the good man speak in this
strain.
Annie had always been fond of horses, and was an accomplished
horsewoman, and to help pass the days, which seemed long to her now,
she took regular rides with her father.
She, mounted on her favourite, Robin Hood, which Mat had broken in as
a colt, and left behind for her special use; and Bell bestriding his
own especial fancy, a confidential weight-carrier, sure and steady.
Upon one of these occasions, it chanced that father and daughter had
ridden many miles around the run, and, approaching home again, came
across one of the numerous small lagoons which lay to the north of the
station.
The day had been intensely hot, scarcely a breath of wind moved the
leaves of the stately Eucalypti, but over this lagoon hung a group of
the drooping Myall, affording such shade that the squire proposed to
dismount and rest themselves and their horses.
Bell, having found a comfortable resting-place, lit a pipe, stretched
himself out and prepared for a rest, or, as he called it, a “Bange.”
He had not taken many puffs at his pipe when, turning his head, he
found Annie busy with her sketching-block, a tiny one, which she
carried in the pouch of her saddle.
“Why, Annie, what on earth are you going to sketch here?” said he.
“Not that old scaly Moreton Bay ash on the opposite bank, surely?”
“No, father, you know I cannot sketch; but I am going to _try_ and
draw Robin Hood as he crops the grass there, and, if it is anything
like, send it to Mat.”
“Why, you foolish little thing, there’s no post to where Mat has gone!”
“Then I will keep it until he returns, and give it him _then_.”
“I suspect, my girl, that you are keeping that little _heart_ of yours
until he returns.”
The colour mounted into Annie’s face as she heard these words from the
squire’s lips, and, hastily putting down the drawing materials, and
gazing with wide-open appealing eyes at her parent, she exclaimed,—
“Father, my good daddy, why did you say that? Would you be very,
_very_ angry?”
“There, lassie, don’t cry!” said Bell. “It has been my earnest wish
for many a day; and when Mat spoke—I mean I am getting old, and long
have I hoped that you would be wedded to one of the most honest,
upright, and, by Jove! manly fellows I have ever met.”
“You have made me so happy,” whispered Annie, who had now thrown
herself into her father’s arms and was silently weeping on his neck.
“I knew that _you_ would not be against me, nor against _him_.”
“There, my dear,” said the squire, as he gently disengaged himself
from her embrace. “Let us keep this to ourselves until that young
rover returns home.”
“I _must_ kiss your dear, kind old face again, dad.”
“That will do, lassie,” laughed Bell, as he submitted to half a dozen
little smacks administered in quick succession over his rugged face.
“Go on with your drawing, and let me smoke in peace.”
“I cannot finish it now, father; let us go home!” and Annie packed up
her drawing materials and called Robin.
The noble beast threw up his head from the grass that he was cropping,
fixed his great, calm eye upon his mistress, and then, walking
solemnly up, commenced “nuzzling” his nose into her hand.
“Why, how you must have petted the rascal!” said the squire, who had
watched these proceedings with an amused smile.
“Yes, I often stroke his head, and kiss that pink spot on his soft,
velvety nose; but I expect that his affection is all cupboard love,
for, you see, he is sniffing about for the bread and salt which I am
in the habit of giving him.”
As soon as the squire had finished his smoke he mounted Annie on to
her horse, when she said, “Now, dad, I must have a good gallop,” and,
without waiting to see if her father was in the saddle, she spoke to
Robin, who no sooner found that his head was directed towards the
Creek than he flew homewards as hard as he could gallop.
Together girl and horse cleared the home-paddock fence, and pulled
up breathless at the verandah, followed a few minutes later by the
squire, who remarked,—
“I never saw you go like that, Annie; I really cannot keep up with you
another time. I hope that you enjoyed your ride!”
“Father, I shall _never_ forget it!” said our heroine, as she flew up
the steps to her own room.
From this period both Annie and her father seemed to find the time
pass more quickly and cheerfully. A “something” had been removed
between them which caused her to seek her father’s companionship for
a daily ride with eagerness, whilst most of the evenings she devoted
to her garden; and the squire, when he could find the time, wended
his way to Sydney on business connected with the station, and matters
concerning the publication of our forester’s journal or narrative,
which Annie had finished reading with great delight.
We must now follow our hero and his little party on their trip
northwards.
Before starting, Mat had pointed out to Tom, on an outline map, his
proposed route as near as he could guess. Placing his finger on a spot
high up on the north-eastern coast, he said,—
“I should fancy the wreck took place within fifty miles of this line,
which, you see, is marked seventeenth degree of south latitude. It
must be a good bit over eight hundred miles from here the way that we
shall have to go; but, by hitting off Moreton Bay, we can surely find
a vessel which will carry us and our horses some way north, and so
give us a rest.”
At first, after leaving the Creek, they pursued their way through the
more settled districts for some weeks, sleeping either at stations or
camping out, as time or fancy suited, and, reaching Brisbane, were
lucky enough to find a schooner there, which they hired, the captain
of the boat saying that he knew the northern coast up to a certain
point, and so far he would take them.
On the evening of the sixth day the skipper anchored at the mouth of
a fair-sized river, and declared that he could not risk his vessel
further, so our party reached the shore, when the tide was suitable,
by swimming their horses; their food, ammunition, and fancy articles
being taken in the ship’s boat.
They found, upon coming ashore, that they had landed amidst dense
mangrove-swamps, and for many hours had to cut their way through these
scrubs, until they at last emerged into higher ground, which consisted
of palm-tree scrubs, with a thick undergrowth of vines and rattan-cane.
The difficulty of getting their horses through this wilderness of
trees was enormous, and when at length a suitable spot was found, they
determined to rest a whole day to recruit themselves and their tired
animals, and to repair the packs which carried their goods.
They, however, found time for hunting and fishing as well, and Tom
said that it was the most sporting district that he had ever been into.
They caught numbers of fish—eels, bream, and a species of perch which
ran up to twenty pounds’ weight and more, as far as they could guess.
In the palm-scrubs were quantities of scrub-turkeys, and another
smaller species of bird somewhat resembling the domestic fowl, and, as
they had no lack of powder, the camp was well supplied.
This river reminded Mat and the chief of the one they had crossed on
their way south which was so full of crocodiles, but they saw none of
these reptiles which fact Dromoora explained by saying that they did
not often frequent mouths of rivers so near to the salt water.
But delightful as this camp proved, Mat was anxious to push on; so,
after having enjoyed a thoroughly good spell, they crossed the river,
and then kept a north-westerly direction, hugging the coast-line as
much as the great mangrove scrubs and swamps would allow.
Three of our party being perfect scouts, and all being good bushmen,
they were enabled to avoid anything like a near approach to strange
natives, as they agreed that a collision with them would be most
disastrous to all concerned.
At length, after many weeks of monotonous travelling, and after
following a large river almost to its source, they entered on to a
large salt-bush plain, which was bounded on the horizon by a range of
hills terminating in a solitary mountain.
As soon as the big mountain was sighted the chief and his wife broke
into a corroboree of joy, and Mat was as delighted as his two friends
at seeing the termination of their journey within sight, for this
mountain was situated in the Waigonda country. It was long before this
range of hills, which had appeared comparatively near, was reached;
but when they at length found themselves in their _own_ country,
Mat and his two friends went forward, the others forming a camp and
guarding the horses, for our natives knew that they could never
approach their tribe on these terrible-looking animals.
The first members of the tribe who appeared to them were a party of
jins digging yams, who no sooner saw them than they fled in terror.
But Dromoora said, “Do not attempt to stop them! they will go home:”
which sure enough they did, for, following up their trail, our party
of three found themselves within sight of a cluster of black fellows,
all gazing towards the supposed danger.
Dromoora then gave a peculiar call known to his tribe, upon hearing
which all those who were in the Waigonda camp sprang forth to welcome
their long-absent friends, and with joyous shouts escorted them to
their fires.
Messengers were then despatched to bring in all the blacks who were
out hunting, whilst Terebare brought up Tom, and introduced him and
the Bulinda Creek natives.
When all were assembled, the usual feasting, dancing, and corroboree
were gone through, and after Dromoora and Mat had detailed all their
adventures to numerous knots of natives, Mat left the chief to give
his impressions of the white man and his wonderful ways, whilst he
superintended the unpacking of the pack-horses, having first assured
his friends that the big “kangaroos” would not injure them; they were,
however, hardly satisfied about this until, their chief being free
from his numerous questioners, they prevailed upon him to mount one of
the terrible “kangaroos.” When, however, they saw him sitting in the
saddle, their fears gave way to immoderate laughter, and every man,
woman, and child was brought up to see their beloved chief in such a
novel position.
Mat, during this spectacle, was engaged counting over the presents, or
“spoil” as he called it, to see that nothing was broken, and beyond
the fact that one or two of the numerous mirrors were cracked, he
found nothing damaged, calling to Dromoora in the midst of his task,
he said,—
“I told the Waigondas long ago that there should be only one gun, or
“teegoora” amongst them, but you have brought two besides the one I
gave you.”
“Yes, oh, white chief,” answered Dromoora, “but I got these two
fighting: I never wished to tell you how, but I will now. I killed
those two white men, who would have killed you when you were fighting
the robber.”
“Then,” said Mat, “keep them, but never use them to kill white or
black men with, but only to shoot game.”
“I promise,” returned Dromoora, “I will only use them against men in
defence of our lives.”
Leaving the chief and his wife to distribute the much-prized presents,
Mat and Tom mounted their horses, took a few provisions and tools,
and started on a visit to the “Golden Gully.” Our forester taking
a straight line to the place, they soon reached the valley, and
proceeded to work.
Tom, who had previously had some experience on diggings, after working
for some hours in the dry watercourse, called his companion, and said,
“I have found these few small nuggets, and there is gold, I expect,
in this sand, and you have some too, I see,” as Mat produced a few
nuggets also, “but this I’m pretty sure is ‘a poor man’s diggings.’ I
will tell you what I mean; you would have to take all this sand and
shingle away to the nearest water, and wash it in a ‘cradle,’ and
even then the gold would not last long, for _here_ is where the real
quantity of the ore is, in these rocks of hard white quartz, up the
creek.”
Then taking Mat to the spot, he explained that this gold-bearing
quartz which was rich in veins of ore, might be almost endless.
“But then, you see,” he continued, “_this_ part where all the gold
is, is not ‘a poor man’s diggings;’ to win this gold means erecting
machinery, costing thousands of pounds, on the spot; and what would it
cost even if it were possible to land it on the coast, to transport it
hither? It cannot be done, Mat; some future day, when the country is
opened up, there is no doubt that it will be done; but _we_ can’t do
it, mate.”
Mat saw the truth of Tom’s argument, and at once agreed to take what
they could find, but not to waste any more time there, adding, “No
doubt Tim and I got most of the loose gold, excepting the small stuff
which could only be found by using the cradle and water as you say.”
Upon their return to the camp, they found the whole tribe laughing and
dancing round their “toys,” axes, large and small, beads, and gaudy
handkerchiefs. The whole of the “spoil” was taken out every morning
to be examined, and fresh wonders were discovered in the treasures
every moment. Dromoora had had to explain the secret powers of the
thunder-sticks till he was tired.
Mat returned for a few days to his wild, savage life, chiefly to show
Tom the various methods employed in hunting the game, as pursued by
really wild blacks, and Tom took such a fancy to the life, that he
wished to stay on for some weeks, but Mat insisted that they had
already stayed long enough, that it would not be fair to the squire to
delay, as station matters required their presence at the Creek, and
that they really _must not_ leave the ladies any longer by themselves.
To which Tom replied that his mother and sister were perfectly well
able to take care of themselves, and besides that they had the squire
and parson to look after them.
Dromoora and his tribe, upon hearing Mat’s decision to return
immediately, implored him to remain and be their chief.
To refuse this request, when he saw their urgent appeals, went to
Mat’s heart, but he was obliged to harden his feelings, and also to
show some diplomacy in refusing them.
But Mat had a powerful and steadfast friend in Dromoora, with whom he
had been conferring apart, and when the tribe gathered round him to
hear his decision, he thus addressed them,—
“I have brought your chief and Terebare back safely. I have brought
the things I promised. Now I ask you to let me go back; there are bad
white men about my friends at home. The chief will tell.”
Mat had told Dromoora, of what that chief was well aware, that
though the gang of the bushranger was broken up, that some of them
had escaped over the border into Victoria, and though it was not
likely that they would return into New South Wales, yet it was always
possible; but he had _not_ told Dromoora many other things, which the
faithful chief took upon himself to explain to the assembled tribe,
for, after giving a rapturous account of Mat’s doings in general, and
a specially detailed account of the gallant fight with Magan, the
whole scene of which he acted to the life, and to the death, by making
another black fellow personate the bushranger, he concluded,—
“Our white chief, who won the white girl in a hard and fair fight,
claims that he should be rewarded by taking her as his wife to his
‘gunyah.’”
This speech was received with loud bursts of pleasure, mingled with
cries of “Such would be the reward of a black warrior; such shall be
the reward of the white chief.”
Tom, to whom this language was Greek, asked Mat to interpret it,
and the meaning of the shouts, which our hero very conveniently and
truthfully did, by telling him that they were making a great deal too
much of his fight with Magan. “But then, you see, they do love a good
fight.”
So the Waigondas agreed that Mat should start whenever he felt so
inclined, and before another white man “should come along and steal
his girl,” and from that moment of their decision, they made many
little preparations to render the southern journey comfortable by
collecting for the travellers all the best roots and fruits they could
find.
Mat made them a feeling speech on the morning of his departure. When
the whole tribe were assembled once more, he said,—
“Oh Chief, and Terebare, and men of the Waigondas, you saved my
brother’s life and mine; you cherished us as brothers for many years.
The white man does not forget; the white man learns from a book of the
Great Spirit that he should try to do unto others as he is done by. If
you ever foresee troubles with strange men, send a messenger to me,
Dromoora knows the quickest way; and if ever the white man threatens
to take your country, show him this paper if you can. I have had it
written by the white man’s ink which never fades; this is what it says
on many pieces, so that you may all have them:
“Dromoora, and his whole tribe of Waigondas saved the lives of the two
brothers Stanley, and cared for them as brothers, for many years. I
ask you to carry out their precept, and do unto _them_ as ye shall
wish that they do unto you; as they did to me.—MAT STANLEY,
Bulinda Creek, Sydney.”
Before our hero, Tom, and the two Creek blacks started south, one of
the Waigondas came to him bearing an enormous shell, saying,—
“The beast that you used to tell us of, that nearly killed your
brother; we found it when fishing once, it was dead and open. Many
tides we looked for it.”
“That shall go to my brother, some day,” said Mat, as he thanked the
man; and one pack-horse was told off to carry the monster south.
“They won’t believe it, Tom,” said our forester; “unless I carry it
home; at least the one who’s going to print my book won’t.”
When the white men turned their faces homewards the chief and his
whole tribe accompanied them as far as the boundaries of the Waigonda
country, then the black men silently sat down to view them over the
next hill, and when Mat turned round for a last wave of the hand he
saw his old chief with his arm round Terebare, seated on a stone, the
attitude of despair.
The tears rose in his eyes as he witnessed this spectacle, which Tom
observing, said soothingly,—
“Never mind, old man, you might see them again, some day.”
“Yes, in heaven, I hope,” responded our forester in a choking voice,
as he turned his face southwards.
But at nightfall, when they camped, Mat was himself again, and could
talk of nothing but Bulinda Creek, and the delights of that distant
station. He was further cheered that evening by the arrival of a young
black fellow whom the chief had sent, as the youngster wished to go
to the white man’s home with Mat; he proved to be a valuable addition
to the party as a scout, and our hero was pleased to have him as a
connecting link with his old tribe of the Waigonda.