PART III

PROMISCUOUS WANDERINGS

IN THE AUSTRALIAN BACK-BLOCKS

Australia has attracted much attention from all quarters during the last

few years, but to most people the vast interior is still a _terra

incognita_; and even on the streets of Sydney or Melbourne the

appearance of a copper-skinned back-blocker excites as much comment as

might a being from another planet. The man from "out west" cares little

for the opinion of the townsman, however; and if his carriage be not so

graceful as that of those whom he so unceremoniously jostles on the

pavements of Bourke Street or the "Block," he gets over the ground more

quickly; and if his speech be ungrammatical, it is at least expressive,

and only used when absolutely necessary.

The back-blocks, generally, are the western division of Queensland and

New South Wales; and although in some parts of the former State the

hardy squatter has established himself well out into the great desert,

the country inside the "run" of his domain is probably unprospected, and

outside entirely unexplored. In this almost boundless tract of country,

where the bush merges into the silent desert, the back-blocker has his

home, and, indifferent to the flight of time and the struggle and

worries attending existence in the outside world, he leads a life of

untrammelled independence.

Only occasionally does a stranger come among these sons of freedom; and

if he once sees "where the pelican builds its nest," or experiences the

strange fascination of the desert camp-fire circle, he will not soon

leave them. The new-comer may be fresh from the old home-land, an

outcast from continental Europe, or a wanderer from the crowded cities

on the Australian coast-line; but in all cases he is welcomed, and soon

he speaks in the same quaint dialect, forgets his past, and becomes a

child of fortune.

"But how do you manage to exist? This place would not support a rabbit,"

I said to an assembly of those men one evening in Queensland. I had

struck their camp while endeavouring with a companion to cycle from

Spencer Gulf to the Gulf of Carpentaria; and our surprise may be

imagined when, hundreds of miles from the nearest settlement, as we

thought, their camp-fire suddenly appeared in front of us. There were

about twelve men in the party, and, as it was just sundown, we naturally

camped beside them, and, prompted by the somewhat elaborate preparations

being made for supper, I had put my question.

"Oh, not too bad," a tall and gaunt Queenslander answered. "We keeps a

team of our own always on the move with stores from the nearest

township."

"But that must cost a lot of money so far out as this. How do you

earn----?"

"We can always make tucker shootin' kangaroos and emus for their skins;

an' if any man wants a cheque bad, for a spell or anything, he can

always go shearing inside country. Of course we takes turns at opalling,

if we strikes a good show; an' if thar's any new gold discoveries, we

git there quick an' lively."

"But you can never make a fortune at work so uncertain?"

"Lor'! mate, but you is hard to please. Here, Charlie; you lend a hand

here; this stranger's fresh, an' I is no good pitchin'----" Charlie

stepped forward, and at once relieved his comrade of the burden of

conversation.

[Illustration: AN EMU'S NEST.]

"You reckons we can't make no money?" he said. "Well, I reckons ye is

wrong. How about old Tyson, the millioner? An' how about Gilgai Charlie

sitting over there?--my handle is Vic Charlie, cos' I comes from

Victoria--he made four thousan' clear outen his opal claim only last

week; an', darn it all, mate! there's Shandy Bill, that little fellow on

yer left, he made ten ounces yesterday jes' by dry-blowing in a pan----"

"Ten ounces! of copper?"

"No--of gold; an' Long Tom here shot one hundred and twenty-three

kangaroos at ninepence each----"

"Did you say that your companion found gold?"

"I reckon I did, stranger, an' what's more, we has all dropped on to

gold."

"What! There is no gold so far west as this."

"So we was told, mate. Them as is supposed to know, say there can be no

gold west of the ranges; but you can allow that this push knows gold

when they see it, an'--but show it to him, Shandy." Shandy instantly

detached a leather pouch from his belt, and without a word put it into

my hands.

"That is gold without doubt," I said, handing it back; "I know by the

weight." Vic Charlie seemed surprised at my knowledge of the metal, but

he said nothing.

"Does you know much about minerals?" inquired an elderly man who had

been listening intently to the conversation.

"I have prospected in most countries," I answered, "and ought to know

all that is worth knowing by this time, for the experience was about all

I did get."

"Tucker!" sang out some one. "Git table-covers for the visitors, an'

look lively." My own companion, while I was talking, had been engaged in

similar fashion in the centre of another group, and I smiled to see how

intensely interested were his listeners. _He_ was not seeking

information, I knew, but from the unconscious ejaculations which

frequently arose from his audience, I guessed that he was imparting

some; and his selections were invariably strange and wonderful. The cry

of "Tucker," however, created a diversion, and during the half-hour that

followed, all apparently had but one object in view, and being blessed

with a healthy appetite, that same object was very pleasing to me. I was

placed between a gentleman called Dead-broke Peter and one dubbed Silent

Ted. I afterwards discovered that Peter had been a member of the New

Zealand Parliament, but Long Tom introduced him simply as the best

talker in camp. I suppose it was to balance matters that the thoughtful

Tom placed Ted on my other side, for _he_ never spoke.

"He is a first-class cook an' a most extraordinar' thinker, though,"

said Tom; and as Ted's corrugated but wonderfully expressive face beamed

at the compliment, I saw that a tongue to him was quite unnecessary. The

night was very dark, and as the fitful fire-flashes lit up the

surrounding gloom and cast fantastic shadows of the squatting men on the

sands behind them, the scene was indeed weird. Towards the end of the

meal Dead-broke Peter began a conversation, at first very general in

character, and which I easily sustained without interrupting my study of

the men around; but before I realised that Peter was a man with a past,

I found myself floundering in the subject of astronomy hopelessly beyond

my depths.

"Yes," I said, endeavouring to collect my senses, "it is wonderful how

the science has advanced, but I cannot understand how you have made the

heavens a clock."

"Oh, that is a simple matter," he replied. "Canopus sets behind Warrego

plains at half-past nine at present; take that fact for your unit, and

then the positions of the Cross will indicate plainly, even to minutes,

the divisions of the night. But look at that poor snake crawling out of

the hollow stump beside you; that means a cyclonic disturbance is

approaching----"

"Great Scot! That's a black snake. Look out, boys!" I cried, springing

to my feet. Ted, who had been drinking in every word spoken, quietly

reached over, and catching the wriggling creature by the tail, skilfully

swung it round his shoulder and brought its head forcibly against the

log. The snake must have been killed instantly: but its long body

quivered convulsively for a moment, and then with a sudden jerk shot

backwards and coiled tightly round Ted's arm. To my surprise, none of

his comrades troubled even to look at Ted during this performance: all,

with the exception of Peter and himself, were absorbing the words of my

very Scotch companion, who was relating with powerful dramatic effect

some peculiar experiences of his in other parts of the world. But

evidently Ted did not expect any attention, for without uttering a sound

he arose, shook his encumbrance into the fire, and sat down again, with

a look on his face that plainly said to us, "Go on! What have you

stopped for?"

Peter politely directed my gaze to a nine-inch centipede that was

prospecting across my boots, and then launched into a discourse on

theological matters, which in time led into the supernatural, and

finally narrowed down to a discussion on the mysterious rites of the

aborigines' Bora.

"Little Bob, that tall man sitting next your companion, has had much

experience among the natives of the north," Peter said, "and if you

could only get him to talk he could tell some marvellous tales."

I looked over to the other side of the fire, and saw that Little Bob was

the individual who had asked the extent of my mineral knowledge. "I have

heard some tall stories of their corroborrees, Ghingis, and Bunyips," I

answered; "but no white man has ever seen anything that could not be

easily explained."

"Think not? Perhaps you are right, but my experience leads me to think

differently. There is a Bunyip's pool seventeen miles from here--in

fact, we get our water from it; but there is not a man in this camp who

would go near it at night for--well for anything. And as for the

corroborrees, there are men here who have actually gone through a series

of them, and if you stay with us, or travel northwards, you will

probably see some for yourself."

Peter's words interested me greatly, so, careful not to interrupt his

flow of eloquence, I soon became as silent as the gentleman on my left,

and was rewarded by hearing a most wonderful account of the dreaded

Bunyip--that strange mysterious creature, half fish and half fiend, the

very sight of which, it is said, means death to the unfortunate

beholder. I had often heard of this "dweller in the waters" from

half-caste aborigines in New South Wales, and knew that it was supposed

to live in the subterranean pools which abound throughout the Australian

interior; but I never imagined that white men could be so firmly

convinced of its existence as were my present companions.

"It's in the Brumbie's water-hole, you can bet your life," said a

strangely deformed man, who had joined our group when the name was

mentioned.

"How do you know? Have you seen it?" I inquired.

"No, an' doesn't want to; but Jack Ford did."

"And where is he?"

"Ask Sam Wilkins. He's the only glory prospector here."

"What has he to do with it?"

"Lor'! stranger, if he doesn't know where Jack went, no one here does.

Jack was as fine a mate as iver I met; but whether he staked off a

claim up aloft, or pegged out in the other place, I'm darned if I knows.

He saw the Bunyip one full moon, an' croaked the next day."

I now noticed that all the men had gathered round our little group, and

before I could further question the speaker, Long Tom broke in. "Is ye

in a hurry to git up to the Gulf country?" he said.

"Not particularly," I answered.

"Yer mate tells us you is a great mineralogist?"

"Oh, no,--not great; but I know a little of the science."

"Does ye know what that is?" Tom opened a sack as he spoke and took out

a greenish mass of something.

"That is copper sulphide. Where did you get it?"

"Mate, if it's any good, there's hundreds and thousands o' tons o' it

lyin' on top not mor'n fifty mile from here. But what is this?"

"Why, that is native silver; and that conglomeration in Ted's hand is an

ironstone formation carrying gold----"

"Say, mate," interrupted Little Bob, "does ye know what this is?" He

held in the palm of his hand a mixture resembling tea in appearance, but

which after tasting I knew could not be that substance, "Ah! ye is

bested, mate, an' I is glad," continued Bob. "I knows ye is honest now,

an' don't skite when ye doesn't know."

"Thank you; but what is it?"

"Pidcherie, stranger. Money can't buy it. It comes from the Mullagine

swamps; an' gold nor lead wouldn't make a black fellow part with it.

Swallow that, an' you can dance in the fire an' not feel nothin'; cut

yourself in little bits an' you'll think it fun. Only the niggers knows

what it is, an' no white men barrin' us back boys has iver got any----"

"Time for that again, Little Bob," cried Long Tom, "The question just

now is, Will the stranger jine us? Yous can git two shares an' we does

all the work," he added, turning to me.

"But, Mr.--that is--Peter here knows more than I do. He----"

"Him!" snorted Tom. "Mate, he's the most onreasonable man in camp. When

he starts talking we can't stop him; an' when he is stopped, darn me if

we can start him." I turned to see how my late entertainer took these

words, but he was lying back on the sand--asleep. Finally, after much

quaint reasoning, the men persuaded us to try our luck with them, at

least for a time. "Yous can leave us when you like, if it doesn't pay,"

was Tom's summing up; but as he had just told me of a sand-patch in

which tucker could be made by dry-panning, and of a "darned curious

country across the Cooper" which was on fire with opal lying on the

surface, I thought that the adventure was well worth any risk in that

direction. We were still talking when the Southern Cross dipped behind

the Grey Ranges; but before we stretched ourselves on the sand to rest

it was decided that I and three others should set out in the morning to

inspect the opal formations beyond the Cooper, and pending our report as

to its value, the others would keep up the funds by kangaroo-shooting

and dry-blowing for gold.

Next morning with the first faint streaks of dawn we were ready. Mac and

I had our cycles, which we stripped of all their previous accoutrements,

and Kangaroo George and Gilgai Charlie rode two of the finest horses in

Queensland.

"Be good boys," cried Long Tom, as we prepared to move off after

breakfast.

"There is a willy-willy coming soon, so watch where you camp," warned

Dead-broke Peter; and without more ado we plunged into a clump of

gidgyas, and in a few minutes burst out on the ironshot plain. Neither

George nor Charlie was inclined to waste his wisdom on the desert air,

and even Mac found it advisable to keep his mouth closed when the fine

clouds of sand began to rise. For hours we headed due west, dining at

noon, in the open, on a piece of damper and some cold mutton, washed

down with an extremely sparing amount of muddy fluid from our

water-bags, and then going on again. Before sundown we reached a

dried-up creek, where, after scraping in the sand among the roots of a

solitary lime-tree, we found sufficient liquid for the horses, which we

then hobbled and went into camp, fully forty miles from our

starting-point. The sun was now racing down on the western horizon, and

the desert around seemed like a sea of gold. The day had been

oppressively hot, and consequently we expected that night would be kept

lively by the many pests. Nor were we mistaken. Just as our surroundings

became blurred in the shadows of night a dingo's dismal howl broke the

strange stillness, and then the blood-curdling shrieks of some

laughing-jackasses in the tree above irritated us almost beyond

endurance. The mosquitoes next joined in, sinking their sawlike suckers

deep into our sun-blistered skin; and when the mournful "morepork" added

its depressing note, the desert orchestra was completed.

"I reckon there's a storm comin'," remarked George, as he assisted a

small death-adder into the fire.

"For onysake let it come, then," growled Mac. "A dinna see what ye've

got to complain aboot. Da----darn it!!"

"Is ye bit, Scottie?" inquired Charlie. "Lor'! there's a centipede on

your neck. It feels like red-hot coal, doesn't it?" he added

sympathetically.

"No," groaned Mac; "it's a rale cooling sensation; but, here, feel for

yersel'." He poised the creature on a twig as he spoke, and skilfully

landed it on Charlie's back, and the yell that followed might have

awakened a Bunyip, had there been such a monster within five miles.

"Shut up! darn ye, Charlie!" roared George, lifting a nicely browned

damper from the ashes; "ye has set the black fellows' ghosts off again.

Lor'! just listen to 'em."

"Hurry up with that damper, George," I interrupted--"that is, if there's

no snakes in it."

"There's many things worse than snakes, boss," innocently replied

George; "they is prime, if ye roast 'em an' has got any salt----"

"Haud yer tongue, man, or A'll mak' a corroborree o' ye," roared the

hungry Mac, and I had to interfere hastily to prevent bloodshed.

The memory of that night's tortures still haunts me. The desert was

alive with all sorts of reptiles and insects, and from my companions, as

they rolled sleeplessly in the sand, many short but heartfelt

expressions arose which I dare not repeat. At sunrise we set out again,

and all day travelled westward over country similar to that which we had

already passed, camping at night on an "Ana" branch or backwater of the

famous Cooper, and enduring another night of misery.

"I reckon we should be near the Ghingi's opal now," said George as we

resumed our journey on the third day; "but say, boss, what's wrong with

the ole sun? or is it the willy-willy?" There certainly was reason for

George's question, for the sun as it shot up over the edge of the plains

seemed merely a dull red ball; but the gem-shot haze which danced

between showed the cause, and I realised that a cloud formed of minute

particles of sand was partly obscuring it from view.

"We'll get across the main river and look for shelter," I said, "for

evidently this storm has been working up for some days." We crossed the

"Ana" channel and proceeded slowly, for the ground was now broken up as

if by volcanic agencies. I was anxious to see the Cooper, the great

inland sea of the early pioneers, but to my astonishment no water was

yet in evidence as far as the eye could reach; so, leading our steeds,

we picked our way over the cleft and burnt ironstone.

"These is the Ghingi's holes," said Charlie, as we came to some

unusually large and deep chasms, "an' keep your eyes open, for there

should be opal here."

"Whaur has that patent river got tae, I wunner," muttered Mac. "I never

had muckle faith in Australian rivers, an' I doot the nearest water-hole

in the way we're goin' is the Indian Ocean."

"Say, boss," suddenly said George, "how far is it to the war?"

"Oh, South Africa is about seven thousand miles from here. Are you

thinking of going?"

"Well, some of the boys was talking that way; but none o' us knew the

country, nor if the track was to sunrise or sundown."

"Africa is west from here, George."

"Is ther enuff water for horses on the trail?"

"Why, man! you cross the ocean."

"Well, I reckon old Joy here can cross anything; but it beats me to know

how a fellow can carry tucker. I s'pose there is plenty stations on the

road, though?" I looked at George in amazement, and Mac grinned with

delight.

"Maybe they wouldn't want us, Kangaroo," put in Charlie; "but I reckon

we can ride anything as has feet, an' shoot----"

"Lie down flat, mates!" shouted George; "here's the willy-willy."

I turned and saw a huge black wall gyrating wildly towards us. A roar

like that of thunder filled the air, followed by a sound as of waves

breaking upon a rocky beach. A fierce blast of back-drawn sand struck my

face, and as I threw myself down I felt as if drowning for a moment;

then a hail of stones, scrub, and sand rushed over me, tearing my

clothes to shreds, and penetrating my skin like shot, while a thick

blackness blotted out everything around. I lay still, conscious that a

deposit of sand was fast covering me; but I also felt that the

suffocating tension was already becoming less severe, and next minute a

current of moist cool air, delightfully soothing to my sand-blasted

skin, swept over the desert, and I sat up. It was still dark; but the

awful vortex had passed, and away to the west I could still hear the

indescribable rumbling sound of the flying boulders among the Ghingi

holes.

"Is we all here?" sounded Charlie's voice close beside me, and I felt

relieved when I heard the muffled responses of my comrades, for I knew

that if caught in the centre of such a storm we had just escaped,

nothing living could withstand it. I groped for my cycle, and moistened

my throat with the damp sand that now filled the water-bag, noticing, as

some of the contents spilled down my neck, that the temperature must

have fallen considerably, for the accident caused me to shiver.

"Ye talk aboot gaun into the Australian interior," spoke Mac dolorously,

as he in turn swallowed a mouthful, "but I'm thinkin' that a lot o'

Australia has gone into mine."

"Never mind, Mac," I replied, as we all crawled towards each other,

"here comes the first rain we have had since leaving Adelaide, and if

the horses are all right, so are we."

"I reckon they is O.K.," said Charlie; "they knows more than most

people, them horses."

While he was speaking we cast off our scanty garments and revelled in

the refreshing drops; but rain in the back-blocks is worth more than its

weight in gold, and this shower only lasted about a minute, and passed

on in the wake of the willy-willy. Shortly afterwards the darkness

rolled away to the west like a huge receding screen, and near us we saw

the two horses rolling on the ground with evident enjoyment. But I did

not ask my companions how it was that our four-footed friends had

escaped so lightly, for my attention was attracted by a scintillating

streak of something on the edge of a small hole, and as my eyes became

used to the now blinding glare of the sun, I saw that the whole surface

of the desert was literally blazing with small points of colour.

"Lor'!" exclaimed my Australian comrades simultaneously, "we has struck

the very place after all."

"Ay, mon," said Mac wrathfully; "an' hoo did ye no' ken that afore?"

"'Cos the opal was dead," replied George, "an' the rain has made it

'live again."

Mac looked suspiciously at the speaker; but Charlie added that "dead"

and "live" were terms used in speaking of dull opal that could be made

to flash as if alive by the application of water. This explained why we

had not seen the gems before, and without troubling to inquire where the

Cooper had gone, or how--if Charlie and George were correct--we had got

to the other side of it, we attacked the ironstone boulders with our

small hand-picks.

"Every gibber's got an opal heart," remarked George, smashing a large

boulder to fragments.

"Take care, then," I warned, "or you will break it too."

"Then how is we to do it, boss?" inquired Charlie, poising his pick in

mid-air. "Does ye think it will come out if we whistle on it?"

I did not; nor to this day have I found how to get that opal out intact.

We tried every method that could be devised, but without success, for

each time we broke the outer casing the more brittle core was also

shattered by the blow. Patiently and laboriously we chipped the

ironstone, only to find that the gem was in powder form when we reached

it. We then tried roasting the stones, carrying them to a small clump of

stunted gidgyas for that purpose; but found then, that although the

shell broke with less hammering, the "life" of the opal was destroyed by

the heat, and a dull lump of glass-like substance was all our reward.

For two days we wandered among the Ghingi holes trying specimens

continually, but with the same results, and at last I was convinced that

further work under the circumstances was useless. The horses were now

beginning to suffer for want of proper food, and I saw that the water

question would also trouble us as soon as the pools formed by the

willy-willy shower had evaporated. Cooper's creek as a flowing stream

had ceased to exist. Probably its waters, or all that seven years'

drought had left of them, had gone to feed that strange tide which ebbs

and flows so mysteriously under the heart of the great Lone Land; but in

its old channels we saw only dead and dying creatures of the desert, and

the banks were simply a nursery for fever germs.

"I reckon we'll have to give it best," at length said Gilgai Charlie,

and I could see no alternative.

"If sufficient rain came, we might be able to bring a team out," I said,

"and cart a load of boulders back to Eromango. If we could not there get

the ironstone dissolved with acid, we could at least send them to

Brisbane and get them cut."

"That's all right, boss," spoke George, "but I reckon we might as well

look for gold nuggets droppin' from the sky as enough water for a

team." And I knew he was right.

[Illustration: "LEICHARDT'S" TREE.

THE LAST TRACE FOUND OF THE GREAT EXPLORER WHO ATTEMPTED

TO CROSS THE INTERIOR AND WAS NEVER HEARD OF AGAIN.]

We thought of striking across to the central ranges of South Australia

to prospect the ruby formations there, but we found, when we reached the

end of the broken ground, that our course lay through a belt of soft

sand in which our wheels sank over the rims; and having neither

sufficient water nor stores to risk walking for an unknown distance, we

were forced to abandon the attempt. On the afternoon of the third day we

started on the back track, and that night camped on the Ana pool. We

made our old camp by the "soak" the next night, and at noon, the day

following, struck the camps of those of our comrades who had gone

dry-blowing.

"Well, mates, don't worry. It doesn't matter anyhow, for we'll git it

some day, if we doesn't peg out," was the general comment when they had

heard our story; and then the billy was boiled.

I was much surprised to see that gold was present in the sands of the

desert; and even although the quantity was small, and only in patches

widely apart, the fact afforded much food for thought. The process of

dry-blowing adopted by the men was extremely simple, consisting of

dropping the sand from one pan raised above the head to another resting

on the ground, then reversing the positions of the pans and repeating

the operation. In action, most of the sand and other light material was

carried away or diverted by the wind; but the gold--if any--in

accordance with the law of gravitation, dropped straight. When the bulk

was thus reduced until only the precious metal and the heavier

ironstones were left, the contents were put aside, and another panful

proceeded with in the same manner. Finally the collected matter was

thrown on an improvised inclined plane that had bars of wood fastened

across its surface. In rolling down, the ironstone pebbles cleared

these ripples and fell to the ground; but the gold, being too heavy to

do likewise, was caught in the angles, and afterwards carefully removed

by the operator. The work was very slow and laborious, and often

attended with very disappointing results. "But," said Dead-broke Peter,

while explaining this to me, "we sometimes strike a patch that pays

well."

"Can you explain why there is _any_ gold here?" I asked. "There are no

auriferous reefs which could shed it nearer than eight hundred miles,

and, according to all geologists, the entire desert is the deposit of

the ocean."

"That may be," Peter replied, "but I have conclusive proof that there is

a gold-bearing reef not more than a quarter of a mile from where we

stand. I have no doubt that the rocks carrying it once reared themselves

above the surrounding sea; but that was--well--before our time; and now

they are too deep for us to reach."

I suggested that if the men had some mechanical appliance which could

treat the sand in large quantities, they might do well with the surface

deposit. "Perhaps," Peter said indifferently; "but there would be too

much worry attached." And seeing that Silent Ted had dinner ready, we

changed the subject.

Long Tom and four of the men had gone out emu-and kangaroo-shooting, and

were not expected back for a week, and knowing that neither Mac nor I

could be of any special service to the men at dry-blowing, we at length

resolved to proceed to the Gulf, as was our original intention.

Our companions were very sorry when we announced this; but I told them

we had come out expressly to study the aborigines at home, and that when

we had done so we might come back.

"You'll see them before you go far," said Shandy Bill.

"An' don't go foolin' near a corroborree, Scottie," warned Little Bob;

"'cos if ye does thar will be a funeral, as sure as them currants in

that damper there is only ants."

Dead-broke Peter was evidently qualifying for a Silent Ted reputation,

for it was only when kicked repeatedly by that individual that he roused

himself, and in effect said, "Remember, if you happen to get into

trouble, that the various corroborrees are only stages in the grand

Bora; and that the signs used in their working have a wonderful

resemblance to those of a certain society to which I see you belong."

This information was startling, to say the least of it; but Peter had

again fallen into his listless attitude, and could not be induced to say

more: so, after receiving many messages, written and verbal, to despatch

from the first settlement reached, we departed.

Eight days later we crossed the north Cooper (here called the Thomson

river) at Jundah--it was in flood here(!)--and in another four days we

reached Winton. From this unique township we made good time northwards

through a well-watered country, which, although in the tropics, is

blessed with a pleasant climate; and while running down the Flinders

river had our first adventure with the natives. The Australian

aboriginal is believed to be the lowest form of humanity extant; but

there are many things in his philosophy of which the white man has not

dreamt. He fights with nature for his very existence, his food being the

crawling creatures of the earth and what he wrests from other animals;

and even then he is haunted with an eternal dread of devouring demons,

who--according to his belief--are for ever seeking his destruction. His

Bora is his only safeguard against these Ghingis and Bunyips; and it is

in matters pertaining to the observance of its various corroborrees

that he has achieved such triumphs over nature, and performs feats that,

to the white man, are entirely inexplicable.

An ordinary corroborree is merely a meeting that may be summoned by the

chief or elders of any tribe; but those relating to the Bora are a

series of religious ceremonials culminating in a weird fire-test, which

all young warriors must undergo before attaining to the state of

manhood. This fire-test, with various modifications, is also practised

by the New Guineans and South Sea Islanders; but with the latter it now

seems to have degenerated into a performance for the priests alone; and

in the Fiji Isles a form of fire-walking is still observed, chiefly for

the benefit of the sensation-loving tourist. Among the Australian

aborigines, however, the working of the Bora is the chief object of

their existence, and with them the tests are very real indeed. The

fire-test is worked by a procession of aspiring natives marching round

on a path which leads through the centre of many fires. A figure in the

fanciful attire of some strange monster apparently controls the

movements of the warriors by the motion of some object which he swings

rapidly round his head, and which produces a humming sound not unlike

that of a steam-siren. The performance is followed by a warlike display

supposed to strike terror to the heart of the dreaded Bunyip, and if

that creature could see the grotesquely garbed warriors as we saw

them--hiding in the mulga scrub with our bicycles lying beside us--I

have no doubt that it would speedily take itself off to some less

dangerous-looking part of the globe.

It is supposed that no white men have ever witnessed the higher

corroborrees; but that belief is erroneous, for during our journey

northwards we met several backblockers on the wallaby to the opal

district who were quite familiar with the entire ceremony, and some,

like little Bob, had even taken part in them, of course not willingly.

The aborigines are very scarce now, and happily, perhaps for us, most of

our adventures with them tended more to be ludicrous than exciting, and

in due course we arrived at Normanton, the chief town in the Gulf

country.

A month later we landed at Brisbane from the ss. _Peregrine_, and in two

days were completely tired out and disgusted with the artificialities of

city life. The Queensland contingent of the Imperial Bushmen was to

embark in the afternoon for South Africa, and we joined the cheering

throng that lined Queen Street to see the men ride past. I have seen the

Scots Greys in Edinburgh, but the men of "England's last hope" were not

like them. Their smart dresses hung loosely on their angular frames, and

their tanned faces were in vivid contrast to those of the Brisbanites.

They were all tall, and sat in their saddles in a style that was

certainly not military, and their faces wore an absent-minded

expression. I knew, however, that fever would have no effect on these

men, that they could stand any hardship, that an earthquake could not

unhorse them, and that every time those eyes with the far-away look

glanced along the rifle-barrel something would drop somewhere. A shout

from Mac interrupted my musings, and knowing that he always had some

reason for what he did, I followed him through the densely-packed crowd,

and found him in the act of hauling a trooper from his horse.

"It's Kangaroo George!" he yelled, "an' he's dreamin'!"

"Hallo, Scottie!" suddenly said the roused warrior; "did yous see the

nigs?"

"Hang the niggers!" roared Mac; "it's you I want tae ken aboot.

Hoo----?"

"I see you have got on to the South African trail after all, George," I

said, grasping his hand.

"Close up there, men!" roared the sergeant.

"Darn it! Dead-broke, doesn't ye see who is here?" remonstrated another

familiar voice, and next instant I was shaking hands with Sergeant

Dead-broke Peter--I never knew his other name. There was now a general

confusion owing to the men having to lead their horses down to the wharf

where the transport _Maori King_ was waiting to receive them, and by

adopting tactics not unknown nearer home Mac and I got down with the

troopers.

"An' has ye not a word for Shandy Bill?" suddenly spoke another voice at

my side.

"An' Sam Wilkins?" said a quiet-looking trooper.

"An' me--Corporal Vic Charlie?" cried the one who had remonstrated with

his sergeant.

"Is the whole camp here?" I cried surprisedly, while Mac muttered

strange words anent the results of shaving on a person's appearance.

"No; only five," answered Vic Charlie. "Gilgai and Little Bob came down

too; but they were too old, an' they is goin' out west again to-night

when they see us away."

"I say, boss," whispered George to me, "you knows the trail, doesn't

ye?"

"Fairly well, George," I replied; "you see the Southern Cross all the

way."

"Then can you give us a notion how far out our first camp is?"

"You don't camp at all. You travel night and day--that is, unless the

propellor shaft or something else breaks."

"Lor!" was all George's comment, but his face spoke volumes.

[Illustration: A FAMOUS MINE IN THE GULF COUNTRY.]

We stayed with our old comrades until the last moment arrived; and then,

in company with Gilgai Charlie and the giant Little Bob, who had joined

us on the wharf, went and dined. These two worthies were, as they said,

already "full up with the city," and when the western express left that

night it had on board four men and four cycles booked through for

Cunnamulla _en route_ to the opal fields. Twenty-eight hours afterwards

we landed at the western terminus, and taking advantage of the full moon

and the hard camel-pads leading farther west, we made sixty miles before

morning.

ON THE OPAL FIELDS OF WHITE CLIFFS

There are many strange places and peoples in this world, and of those

the opal fields and opal miners of White Cliffs, New South Wales, are

good examples. The opal district is situated sixty miles N.N.W. of

Wilcannia, a somewhat remarkable township on the Darling River, and the

men who make gem-hunting their profession number over two thousand. Of

this amount, less than a half belong to some branch of the Anglo-Saxon

race, the remainder being a mixture of all nationalities, of which

Germans are the most numerous. The township of White Cliffs stands in a

hollow in the centre of the "workings," but it is merely a collection of

galvanised iron drinking saloons and stores; the population living out

on their claims, some in tents, some in their horizontal excavations or

"drives"; and others with only the sky for a roof. When it is stated

that the town also contains a Warden's residence, a hospital, and a good

substantial prison--there is as yet no church--that most of the stores

are run by Chinamen, and that the Jew gem-buyers form the aristocracy,

the description of the town is complete. The fields, however, at present

extend for three miles round the town, and in all probability will

stretch further out on the great western desert when some means of

providing sufficient water for the miners is devised. But the opal has

been proved to exist in such vast quantities within the three miles

radius, that there is as yet no need for any one to go further out.

The methods employed in searching for opal are extremely simple.

Briefly, this consists of sinking a shaft, or, if the claim happens to

be located on a slope, tunnelling into the ground until a seam of

gem-carrying matrix is encountered; from which the opal is then

separated by means of a small "gouging" pick or other tool. These layers

exist at various parallel levels from the surface down to forty feet,

but no "paying" opal has yet been struck at greater depths. It is highly

probable, however, that this is because the task of further sinking with

the primitive means of pick, spade, and windlass, the only appliances

used, becomes at this point somewhat difficult, and the men, knowing the

value of the shallower levels, prefer spending their energies on another

shaft in fresh country. The matrix in which the gem is found consists of

a hard silicious conglomeration, usually thickly impregnated with

ironstone. The opal is embedded in this material in the form of thin

sheets, which, however large they may be while in the formation, can

only be removed in divisions of about the size of a five shilling piece.

Opal is of all colours and shades, but unfortunately for the miner a

piece of exquisitely coloured blue, green, or red stone is considered

absolutely valueless if not accompanied with the vivid scintillating

flash which denotes its "lifeness." Tons upon tons of this worthless

stuff, "Potch," as it is called, are daily thrown out of the shafts by

disgusted opallers, for in common with most things in this world, the

bad is very plentiful, in fact it is almost impossible to get away from

it; but the gem or "live" opal is correspondingly rare. Nevertheless,

fortunes are frequently made here by the merest chance, and perhaps to

a greater degree than elsewhere is a man justified by results in

believing that some day he will "send his pick through a fortune." As

said before, the miners are of nearly all the races of mankind, and many

incongruous partnerships are formed for the holding and working of a

two, three, or four men's claim; but on the whole, good fellowship rules

throughout the camps, and an American negro, a half-caste Chinaman, or a

Turk, stands by the windlass of a canny Scot, a Frenchman, or a Hindu.

There are no disputes between capital and labour in White Cliffs, every

man is his own master, and follows out his own usually erratic

inclinations, unless sometimes when, after a lucky find, he imbibes too

much of a certain commodity falsely-labelled Scotch, and consequently

the police exercise a slight control over his movements.

There are no surface indications to guide one in searching for opal, and

as the most experienced "gouger" knows no more where the gem may be than

the latest new chum, all work is done on chance. To such a strange state

of mind has the desert environment reduced those men of the back-blocks,

that they look upon the grim side of circumstances with indifference,

and magnify the trivialities of life into a proportion which to the

stranger suggests a land of Burlesque. But soon he, too, catches the

mysterious infection, unconsciously he is overwhelmed by the influence

of his surroundings, and he ceases to see anything remarkable either in

his own doings or in those of his fellows. An observer, while he

retained his own mental equilibrium, might see instances of this strange

perversion in almost every man in White Cliffs; but, perhaps, my own

experiences there may serve to give some fair examples.

My claim was staked about a mile from the town on a small stretch of

rising ground which at some time in the Earth's history formed the banks

of the lake, in the old bed of which White Cliffs now stands. For

comrades I had a powerful Scotsman and two Australians, while the claims

around us were worked by an American and a native of Mauritius, known as

Black George, a German and an Englishman--the latter being termed the

"Parson," a New Zealander and a Swede, and several other single miners,

the chief being one called Satan. We were all good friends, and nightly

gathered round a common camp-fire to discuss things in general.

Silent Ted and Emu Bill, my two Australian comrades, were perhaps the

most experienced prospectors on the field; the one had a very thoughtful

cast of countenance, and never spoke, and the other was a splendid

specimen of the Australian pioneer, but when he spoke it was chiefly in

short, crisp words, of decided colonial origin, which Mac said would

have qualified him "A1 for the position of a Clyde stevedore." Together

they had crossed the divide between the Darling River and Cooper's

Creek, and occasionally, when the moon was full, and the Southern Cross

dipping behind the Great Barrier Ranges, Bill would tell of a land where

fire-flashing opal burst through the surface sands, and shone in

dazzling streaks of every imaginable colour from every wind-swept ledge.

Ted would eagerly follow his comrade's words, and his wonderful face

would light up with genuine admiration when Bill's word-pictures were

powerfully descriptive. But he was too sympathetic, and frequently,

alas! got into trouble because of that.

"Shut up, Ted!" Bill would suddenly cry, pausing in the middle of his

narrative. "Is it you that's tellin' this yarn or me?"

At these rough words the silent one would slowly turn a reproachful

glance upon the speaker which said as plainly as words, "Why, Bill, I

did not speak."

"I knows that," would come the unhesitating answer, "but your face does,

an' it's been an' got to the end of this story afore me."

This was in a manner true, and sometimes when Bill, as Hoskins the

American said, was "long-winded in getting to the point," we had but to

look at Ted's face for the _dénoûement_.

"But how vas it you came away unt leave all dat opal? There must be

millions there," our German friend would say when Bill's narrative was

concluded.

"I reckon there is, Kaiser," the _raconteur_ would answer, "but the

country is full o' darned crows an' willy-willys, an' ye can't sleep no

how with the sand-flies an' snakes an' 'skeeturs. Water, did ye say? No,

there ain't none."

However much Ted and Bill may have ignored the absence of the precious

fluid, that was the only consideration with most of their listeners, and

had there been any water, some of us, at least, would have gone out West

at once and chanced everything else.

One evening Bill was unusually eloquent in his discourse on the

lavishness with which Nature had gifted the desert, and as all our

claims had been yielding but poor returns for the last week or so, we

paid more attention to his words than we had been in the habit of doing.

"I wouldn't mind having a try out back," said Scottie, "if there were a

railway, or if we had fleein' machines."

"Couldn't we go as we are?" lisped the Parson, "we may work here for

ever, and not better ourselves."

Bill gave vent to some sarcastic remarks anent the last speaker's powers

of endurance, but otherwise made no comment.

[Illustration: BORING FOR OPAL INDICATIONS.]

"Bill says the surface is ironshot," continued the Parson blandly, "and,

as I saw a team come into town to-day with about two dozen bicycles for

sale, I thought----"

"Man, ye are a thinker, Parson," cried Scottie, "I'll gang away wi' ye

the morn if ye like--that is if the machines are no ow'r dear."

"I think we ought to get them, no matter what they cost," I remarked,

"for if we do go out they would enable us to cross right over to the

Cooper at a pinch, if they did not break down, and the ground was

passable."

"Well, I guess I am one of the crowd that goes," announced Hoskins.

"Unt me," cried the German.

"I reckon we is all going," said Bill, looking round the camp-fire for

corroboration. "Int you, Satan?"

"Of course I is," answered the individual addressed, a

corrugated-skinned specimen of humanity. "I is goin' where Scottie an'

the Parson goes; but where in tarnation is ye goin', and what for?"

"Cooper's Creek, for opal," roared Scottie.

"Opal," repeated Satan vacantly. Then his eyes kindled suddenly, and he

exclaimed, "Lor', I forgot to tell ye, boys, I has been haulin' the

stuff out by the sackful these last two weeks."

"What!" yelled all in chorus, springing to their feet, and even the

stoical Ted stopped in the act of lighting his pipe to gaze at Satan.

"It are a fact, mates," continued that gentleman apologetically, "I

reckon I has near got a waggon-load dumped out by now. Lor', what's the

racket, mates?"

Few heard his last words, for as the full literal import of what he had

just said began to dawn on the assembly, a stampede took place down the

hill towards the shaft; but another surprise was in store. While some

were rummaging in Black George's tent for candles to explore the long

drive in Satan's claim, and others were sliding down his windlass rope,

a series of sounds broke out round our deserted fire, the fervour of

which made Hoskins say, "Hallo, boys, how is Bill not here?"

"I is here, darn ye!" came the muffled response from the darkness;

"that's Ted that's shouting," which information made it clear to all

that Silent Ted in his excitement had placed the blazing mulga stump in

his mouth and thrown away his pipe.

I had known Ted for a long time, but that was only the second occasion

on which I had heard the sound of his voice. A few seconds later we had

crowded into Satan's drive, and after crawling over a heap of mullock

that blocked the passage to within one foot of the roof, we found

ourselves in the chamber where, from the presence of his pick and other

implements, we knew he had recently been working. In a moment the

candles were lit, and then a cry of wonder burst from all. We were

standing in what might have been an Aladdin's palace, and the walls

danced and flashed in the gloom as if alive. The roof was simply one

blaze of ever-changing orange and green, and through the whole would

dart spasmodically a "living" flash of fiery red. Clearly Satan had

struck it, for there must have been several thousand pounds' worth of

opal exposed, whatever amount may have been hidden behind. Bill was the

first to break the silence of admiration, which had fallen over all, and

he only said one word. It was characteristic and expressive, but quite

unprintable; and slowly we filed out again and clambered up the rope to

the surface. When we got back to our camp we found Ted, Satan, and the

Swede sitting in silent meditation round the fire. Probably Ted would

have accompanied us, had it not been for the fact that he, being cook,

had to look after a mysterious compound of flour and other substances

commonly known as damper, which every evening was prepared among the

ashes.

"Well, boy, you have struck it, an' no mistake," called out Ford, the

New Zealander, to Satan as we approached. "You're a millionaire now."

"Get awa' frae this fire, you unceevilised heathen," roared Scottie, in

virtuous indignation. "A man that wouldna' tell his mates when he struck

a ton of opal is nae frien' o' mine; get awa' before a dae ye damage."

"Come Scottie," began the Parson, but Mac would have none of him.

"Don't Scottie me," he bellowed, "Ye--ye----" Then seeing the look of

pain on the face of the would-be peacemaker he calmed down and said,

"Weel, ye shouldna anger me. I'll alloo ony man to judge if----"

"Lor', Scottie, what is ye sayin'?" interrupted Satan anxiously; "I

forgot all about the darned stuff. I has no mate, and if you will come

and help spend it you can have the half."

"Mein Gott," cried Kaiser, "I vil be your mate for von quarter."

"Satan," began Mac, "A'm sorry A spoke, but A can see ye're no fit to

be left alane, among so mony Germans and foreign heathen. Sell yer opal,

lad, and bank the money in Sydney. The coach leaves the morn's nicht."

"I'll be darned if I do. I never went and left my mates yet, an' I ain't

goin' to start now," exclaimed Satan doggedly.

And then I explained that he had already done sufficient to merit our

blessing by discovering the layer of opal at the forty-four feet level.

"It in all probability extends throughout all our claims at that depth,"

I said, "so you had better go down to Sydney and dispose of yours before

the news leaks out. Otherwise there will be so much of the opal for

sale locally when we all strike it that the buyers may be frightened."

Ultimately we convinced Satan that he should go down to the coast, for

it was evident he needed a change, and he could now well afford it.

Shortly afterwards the party broke up for the night, and soon the camps

were wrapt in slumber, each man dreaming, doubtless, of the opal he

would get on the morrow four feet beneath the floor of his lowest drive.

In the morning the Parson, Kaiser, and Mac went over to assist Satan in

working out the opal showing in his claim, and in the evening he

departed with twenty pounds weight of first-grade opal tied securely in

sacks so as to excite no suspicion. The news of the deep-level find soon

spread, and at noon of the day following Satan's departure our little

community was the centre of a "rush," which by evening had swelled into

a great canvas settlement stretching right across the white glistening

lake-bed towards the township.

That evening our usual camp-fire circle was increased by the addition of

over a hundred hardened fortune-seekers eager to obtain any information

as to the levels, depths, and formations of the country, which,

obviously, only we who had shafts already sunk were able to supply.

"It are the forty-four feet level seam we has struck," Bill answered to

all inquiries, "an' it likely spreads out all over the flat there,

though I 'spects it turns into Potch before it goes far."

"I reckon we'll chance that," was the general response, and next day the

many heaps of upturned sand that grew in proportion as we looked, showed

that the new arrivals were fast doing so.

Meanwhile, the buyers were greatly agitated. They had heard exaggerated

reports concerning the find of the "forty-four," and had arranged among

themselves to beat down the prices of the opal to £4 an ounce. It,

therefore, surprised them to find the days passing and no one offering

to sell any opal; and one morning two of their fraternity repegged

Satan's abandoned claim, evidently with the intention of investigating

matter for themselves. As we had been endeavouring by various

subterfuges to keep this claim intact, some of us having even altered

our boundaries the better to do so, we were much chagrined at this

brilliant move on their part, but marvelled how they had come to know

that it was not legally manned. However, the claim was worked out, and

as the two new holders knew as little about the practical part of mining

for opal as we knew of the value of the gem, we consoled ourselves with

the reflection that, after all, we might be able to turn their proximity

to account.

Thus it was that every evening a well-packed sack was carefully hoisted

from each of the shafts of the surrounding claim-holders, and a rumour

spread abroad that a new Sydney syndicate was buying opal by the ton.

Our two Hebrew friends, by dint of persistent effort, gradually

insinuated themselves into our good graces, and one day astonished us by

announcing that they were capitalists, and would purchase our claims if

the terms were reasonable. At this straightforward way of doing

business, so foreign to the nature of their compatriots, I felt that we

had greatly wronged them, and as they said, truly enough, that they did

not know what our claims contained, and that their offer was merely a

part of honest speculation, the Parson and I were much worried over

certain matters.

"I reckon I vote for selling," said Bill one evening as we held a

meeting to consider the proposal. "The money will pay ex's for a trip

West, an' darn 'em! they're Jews anyhow."

"A'm wi' ye, Bill," cried Mac, and one by one all signified their

approval of the sentiments expressed until only the Parson and I were

left.

"Of course I will not vote against my partner, Kaiser," began the

Parson, "but really there is nothing in our cl----" He stopped abruptly,

for, from the shadows of our mullock-heap, stepped a stranger. There

seemed something familiar about his gait as he crossed the fire-lit

zone, and sat down on the empty kerosene tin on which Satan used to sit,

but I could not recollect whom he resembled. For a moment no one spoke;

the stranger's amazing coolness had taken our breath away. He was

dressed in, presumably, the latest style of Sydney clothing, but even in

the dim light I could see that his garments hung loosely on his person.

Evidently he had just arrived in White Cliffs, and had not yet been in a

willy-willy (sand-storm).

"Look here, ma man, hae ye a ticket?" said Mac at length.

"If ye is a new chum ye will get tucker in that tent there," said Bill,

"but----"

"Lor', mates! What does ye mean? Doesn't ye not know me?" interrupted

the stranger. "I is Satan----"

"Golly! an' so it is, but--but where's your whiskers," cried Black

George, holding a lighted match in the stranger's face.

"Satan, ye deevil, gie's yer hand," roared Scottie, "A'm rael glad to

see ye."

"Oh, mates, I is glad to git back, I is," began our old friend. "I

hasn't had a proper feed since I left, an' I has been disgraced. I went

to a theatre in Sydney an' there was a fight on the stage, an' because I

jumped up an' jined in socially like, the police came in an' started on

me. I couldn't fight them all, for there war' mor'n a dozen, an' next

day the judge, a very decent old gentleman, told me to git from Sydney,

for it war' full o' sharks. I gitted to Melbourne, but, oh, Lor'! mates,

don't none of you never go there----"

[Illustration: THE BELLE OF THE BUSH.

A SALVATION ARMY CONVERT IN WHITE CLIFFS.]

"But your opal, Satan? What did you get for it?" I broke in.

"Oh, that darned stuff? Mates, it weren't worth much after all. There

war' two young fellows in the Wilcannia coach with me, an' they told me

that it war' no good. They war' Jews of course; but they went down all

the way with me an' took me round all the buyers in Sydney, an' none o'

them would look at it. I didn't know what to do; and I was mighty glad

when the two Jews gave me two hundred pounds for the lot. I spent the

money as quick as I could, an' here I is back again, an'---- But has ye

got no tucker?"

For full five minutes the air was filled with the most powerful words in

at least four different languages, during which entertainment Satan

unconcernedly ate the piece of damper which Ted had handed to him.

"I suppose you do not remember the names of your two kind friends,

Satan?" I said, passing him the tea billy.

"No, but they both wears a chain with a most 'culiar pendant, something

like what the Parson showed us one night."

"Ah!" I cried. "Gentlemen, our business is settled. We will sell our

claims to-morrow: we cannot refuse the kindly, disinterested offer of

Satan's two benefactors."

"But I reckon the price has risen, hasn't it?" inquired Bill.

"Yes," answered the Parson grimly. "Satan's opal was worth £8,000."

Next morning the two Hebrews came out from town a full hour earlier than

usual, and without more ado the Parson, as spokesman, informed them

that having considered everything and being desirous of going out West,

we were willing to sell our joint claims for three thousand pounds in

cash.

"But two tousant was the agreement," remonstrated one.

"There was no agreement," replied the Parson. "Candidly I can't imagine

why you wish to have the claims, for opal seems to have fallen in the

market, but if you still desire them that sum is our price until we hear

from other possible purchasers."

While he was speaking, Mac and Hoskins were assiduously painting the

address of a famous Sydney firm of jewellers on a well-roped candle-box,

and after eyeing them intently for a minute, Aaron ---- said--

"Vell den, we don't cares, we is speculative business men. No, we do not

want to see your drives. Ha, ha! we vas not built to go through

rabbit-holes. Here is de money, sign this papers all of you, an' come

and dine with us in the Australian Thirst saloon."

The above is the history of the finding of the "forty-four" feet level,

and the selling of "Block 91." The money was equally divided among the

men interested, after which most of them pegged out fresh claims

elsewhere, but Bill, Ted, Satan, Black George, Scottie, the Parson, and

I, procured bicycles and water-bags, and started off on our Western

prospecting trip that same afternoon. It is unnecessary to repeat the

details of our journey. The country was at first a hard, sandy plain

dotted here and there with sparse growths of the ubiquitous mulga scrub,

and occasionally broken by outcrops of silver lodes; but as we advanced,

all forms of vegetation disappeared, and on the third day we found

ourselves on an undulating sea of ironshot sand bounded only by the

horizon. We had not as yet seen any signs of surface opal formations,

and of course had no intention of sinking shafts to investigate, in the

heart of such a desert. On the fourth day we calculated that we had now

reached a point one hundred and forty miles west from White Cliffs, and

that night we camped on the edge of a dry clay-pan and considered the

advisability of returning. Bill and Ted, however, persisted that we had

not yet gone far enough to see the place of which they had spoken so

often, and although I could not understand how they had managed to

travel such a distance, nor how they knew whether we had passed their

farthest-out camp or not, I had implicit faith in the correctness of

their observations.

"I reckon we has to go 'bout thirty miles yet. We was jest a day off

here," said Bill.

"You must have been quite close to Lake Frome then," I said.

"Never seed it, nor knowed of it, nor don't believe there ever was any

lake in this part o' the world," replied Bill, and I wondered greatly,

seeing that Lake Frome was distinctly marked across our path on the

Government map in my possession. We had no fire that night, there being

nothing that would burn within at least a day's journey, and

consequently our supper was not of a tempting nature.

"Well, men, I don't know that I care to be responsible for taking you

further west," I announced. "How much water is left in the bags?"

"There war' six gallons between them all after supper," answered Satan,

"but Ted took a drink since then."

"Let us try another day yet," advised the Parson, "we can go back over

our tracks in two days, and the opal might only be an hour ahead."

All expressed their approval of these remarks, so soon after, we scraped

the top off the hard sand and went to sleep. The pests were unusually

energetic that night, and several times we were awakened by their

voraciousness. The Parson and Black George seemed to be affected even

more so than the others, but it must have been an exceptionally large

and active centipede that bit our dusky comrade in three places before

he could discard his garments. At any rate, his yells aroused four

evil-eyed crows from their dreams of the gorge they expected to have

soon, and a skulking dingo also started in affright, emitting as it

retreated a blood-curdling howl, that instantly brought us all to our

feet.

"Lor'! nigger! Has ye not never been bit before?" cried Satan in a

reproving tone of voice, as he cast a sand-snake from under him.

"Who does ye expect can sleep with you on the corroborree, Nig? Darn it!

An' you a black fellow too. I reckon you oughten 'pologise," grumbled

Bill.

George's answer was picturesque, but three bleeding wounds on his back

showed where the venomous creature had got in its work on him. He was a

hardy piece of humanity, however, and after the Parson had lanced the

rapid swelling flesh and applied ammonia, he went to sleep again.

Shortly afterwards the Parson himself rose to his feet with an

exclamation of annoyance, and began kicking up his sandy sleeping place.

"What's wrong?" I inquired.

"I don't know. There seems to be a boulder or something hard under me.

Hallo! What's this--Great Scott! Opal!"

Again the party sprang up, and as the glistening stone was rolled out on

the surface and examined by match-light, many and various were the

comments made on the poor Parson's ignorance, for the boulder which had

sought out the soft corners of his body was a mass of green copper

sulphide.

"And has this material no value?" asked the object of the unkind

remarks.

"None; it's worse than potch," roared Bill. "See, Scottie's got more.

Lor'! it's everywhere."

"It is really worth a considerable amount," I said, "but the expense of

treating it properly out here would be too much for us. That is an

outcrop, and to all appearance it is one of the richest ever

discovered."

We slept no more that night, and before sunrise started off across the

clay-pan. The surface was smooth and hard, and with the aid of a slight

breeze which arose with the sun we skimmed along at an almost incredible

pace.

"Hallo, Ted! There's our old stakes," suddenly yelled Bill, steering for

the crest of a broken piece of ground, and following in his tracks, we

soon were standing round a broken pick-handle standing upright in the

ground and on which was inscribed: "C.B. and S.T. Pros. Claim. Corner

Peg."

"How on earth did you manage to lead us here, Bill?" cried the Parson

wonderingly.

"Easy enough; this is the same season as when we were out, so we jest

ran the ole sun down an' at night ye can always git the bearin's from

the Cross."

The Parson's surprise might have been greater had he known that my

compass had been useless since the second day out, and that but for a

few haphazard observations taken, Bill had been our only guide.

Meanwhile Ted had unstrapped a pick and set to work, and before I had

fully realised that we stood on what--in the rainy season, if such a

season existed in those parts--was an island in the centre of Lake

Frome, and that it was its salt-encrusted bed we had been crossing since

morning, he handed me a piece of some scintillating substance,

inquiring, by the shape of his face, my opinion as to its value.

"Why, that's opalised wood," I exclaimed. "But what have we struck now?"

"The opal we told ye about, of course," grunted Bill. "The sand's blown

over it, and Ted's dug it up again; that's all."

Truly we had encountered a marvellous formation. Great masses of fiery

and orange opal were uncovered on every side, and for a day we did

nothing but gather the best. It was evident that a forest had at one

time occupied the site of the lake, for most of the opal showed the

grains of wood throughout its structure, and many opalised leaves were

found embedded in a matrix which looked uncommonly like bark. This

latter fact was most puzzling, for the trees with bark in Australia are

few indeed. We pegged out seven prospector's claims, and after a final

look round prepared to move, our intention being to arrange for suitable

transport for stores and water, and then come back.

"Ye talk about the effeeciency o' the steam engine," muttered Scottie,

as he examined the liquid contents of our bags, "but it's far oot o'

date now, for we've each got to run a hundred miles a day on a pint o'

water, and if onything can beat this----"

"No doubt your remarks are the result of much study, Mac," I said,

working out an elaborate calculation on the sand, "but we are not more

than ninety miles from civilisation straight ahead, and if we care to

travel over what remains of the lake by moonlight and the ground

continues passable after that, we will strike the South Australian

railway somewhere near Beltana siding to-morrow afternoon."

And so it proved. We reached the S.A. line on the following afternoon,

and an hour after sundown stopped the Port Augusta-bound train by

kindling a fire in the middle of the track. Thirty-six hours later we

found ourselves parading Rundle Street, Adelaide, in quest of some of

Scottie's friends who resided there.

[Illustration: THE DINGOE OR NATIVE DOG.]

A week later I was in Sydney, and while crossing on the _Kirribilli_

from Circular Quay to Milsons Point I came face to face with Aaron----.

"How vas you?" he cried effusively.

"As usual," I replied. "How are the claims turning out?"

"Oh, not too bad," he answered, but his flushed face told another story;

"but tell me," he continued, "who vas it bought your opal in Sydney?"

"No one. We sent no opal to Sydney."

"But the boxes and sacks----?"

"Were filled with potch."

"An'--an' the forty-four feet level is--but ah! you make mistake; I

bought five tousant pound of its opal before I saw you."

"Yes, I know, but you bought all that ever came from that depth. It was

merely a pocket; we discovered that much two days after Satan, your old

friend, left White Cliffs. It was in his claim, probably because it

happened to be the lowest lying. We might not have sold our claims to

you but for the fact that Satan returned, and--well, you know two

hundred pounds is not fair value for five thousand."

Aaron's rage was great, but he afterwards paid six hundred sovereigns

for the opal we had brought down from Lake Frome. We did not go back

there, a shower of rain came on and flooded the lake, and after chasing

the elusive gem over the greater part of Queensland with more or less

success, our party reformed and set out on a gold-prospecting trip to

British New Guinea.

PROSPECTING IN BRITISH NEW GUINEA

The life of the prospector in New Guinea is not fraught with many

pleasures, but in my experience, oftener than elsewhere, he enjoys that

exquisite sensation which attends the unexpected finding of gold, and

here the dreary monotony of life in the Australian interior is exchanged

for conditions more congenial to his wandering nature.

British New Guinea is to most people the least-known part of our empire;

but there are few valleys in its dark interior in which the prospector

has not "chipped" some quartz formation, or "panned" some sand from the

river's bed. The British flag was first planted in Eastern New Guinea by

Captain, now Admiral, John Moresby, of H.M.S. _Basilisk_, in 1872. This

officer, whilst employed in superintending the pearl shell fisheries in

Torres Straits, learnt that adventurers, both American and French, were

contemplating expeditions and occupation of the then unknown shores of

Eastern New Guinea.

The captain of the _Basilisk_, being aware of the great strategical

importance of these coasts to Australia, resolved to forestall any such

attempt, and fortunately succeeded in securing for England the whole of

Eastern New Guinea and its adjacent islands. Ultimately, however, a

large part of his labour was lost owing to the retrograde policy of the

times, when Germany was allowed to seize so considerable a part of

North-Eastern New Guinea without opposition.

Samarai has now eclipsed Port Moresby as the chief port of the

possession. It is built, or rather erected, upon a small island at the

extreme south-east of the mainland, and is in direct communication with

Cooktown in Queensland and the Australian capitals. From Samarai

coasting-steamers run regularly to the mouths of the Mambare, Kumusi,

and Gira rivers on the northeastern coast, and in the upper reaches and

sources of these rivers are the great gold deposits, the origin of which

has completely baffled the mineralogist and geologist to explain. The

men there do not trouble themselves as to its origin, however, and while

the river-beds continue to yield a sure and steady quantity of gold to

the ordinary miner, and the mountain gorges or creeks provide

sensational "finds" for the more daring prospector, no one cares whether

the presence of the precious metal is in accordance with the views of

geologists or otherwise.

"It is a fact that the bottom is on top," said an old pioneer. "But then

the outcrops are all inside the darned mountains, so we are quits."

The township of Tamata is the most important centre of the New Guinean

goldfields, but the Yodda Valley camp rivals it closely, and it is

expected that some of the new camps at the base of Mount Albert Edward

will in time surpass them both. The fierce, unreasoning hostility of the

natives renders prospecting at any distance from the settlements an

extremely dangerous occupation, as the writer, who has had several

experiences among the cannibalistic tribes of the lower ranges, can

testify. As a rule, however, the prospector scorns all such dangers,

and if he escapes the dreaded fever, trusts to his rifle for protection

and his luck for fortune, and straightway proceeds to cut a path into

some unknown river valley.

The famous Yodda Valley, where men at first made fifty ounces of gold

(equivalent to £180 per day), was discovered in such manner, and if the

stories of some of the prospecting parties who crossed New Guinea in all

directions were given to the world, doubtless a "rush" would set in

towards the deadly fever-swamps, unparalleled in the world's history

both for its general extent and the amount of victims. Round the

campfires at night, enveloped in their smoke to escape the many pests,

the men of the various settlements regularly gather to discuss the

latest news from the coast, and to consider the many strange reports of

"great strikes" constantly circulated by the friendly natives.

Frequently a party is organised to go and prove the truth of any such

report, and when in turn word is sent back that the chances are good, a

general exodus often takes place, all setting out for the new fields

with light hearts and high hopes.

Miners cannot stay in New Guinea for more than one season at a time;

they are forced by repeated attacks of the various fevers to leave their

work and take a "spell" in the southern parts of Australia or New

Zealand. In my opinion lack of proper food is the prime cause of these

fevers, as it is only when the men are "run down" that the kuri-kuri

breaks out among them. The stores are floated as far as possible up the

rivers in oil-launches and whale-boats, and then transported overland to

the camps by native carriers in the employment of the diggers. The

majority of the miners are Australians; but in most prospecting parties

there is usually a Scotsman and an Irishman, and not infrequently a

German.

In the party with which I was associated there were two typical

Australian prospectors, one German, one Irishman, and, including myself,

two Scots. We also had six native carriers and two dogs. My Scottish

comrade said that "the dugs were as guid as ony twa men"; but however

that might apply to the whites, it was at least unfair to our dusky

"boys," who were Fly River natives, and only cost one shilling each for

wages per day. We all had had experience on other goldfields, and each

man was fever-proof, which in New Guinea means impregnated with quinine.

"Doc," the Irishman, was a Dublin University man of some repute. He had

been in turn a member of a famous North Polar expedition, and an officer

in the American Philippino campaign. Mac had been everywhere, but his

accent seemed to become more pronounced the farther from home he

wandered. The two Australians, Emu Bill and Starvation Sam, were good

specimens of the wandering Anglo-Saxon. Bill was one of the pioneers of

Coolgardie, but if he were addressed by his real name, William Hambley,

he would probably not recognise it. Sam was the son of a governor of a

not unknown "'link' in our chain of Empire"; but as he adopted his

cognomen to hide his identity, and no one would dream of calling him

anything else, perhaps I will be excused from going further into his

family history. He was six feet five inches in height, had been in his

time soldier, sailor, missionary, pearler, outlaw, and mail-carrier,

from which description all Queenslanders and South Sea travellers will

immediately recognise him. Our German companion was a first-class

mineralogist and an excellent comrade--and cook; but he deeply resented

the appellation of Kaiser, which Mac bestowed upon him.

"I am not Cherman," he would say. "I vas been as mooch English as you,

Scodie."

"A ken that fine, Kaiser," Mac would answer. "A'm Scotch frae Dundee."

We left Tamata with the intention of prospecting the Owen Stanley

ranges, and among the miners in general were considered to be the most

experienced and best-equipped prospecting party that ever essayed that

venture. Our journey for the first week was, allowing for the nature of

the country--uneventful. A crocodile gripped one of our carriers while

crossing the Ope River, but making a combined attack on the huge

saurian, we forced it to relax its hold, and finally, as Bill remarked,

"Ther' war one inseck less in the darned country." Another day we were

attacked by myriads of bees, and, despite our face-nets, they inflicted

much pain upon all. The New Guinean bee does not sting, in the strictest

sense of the word; it has an intense craving for salt, and, obeying some

instinct, it fastens into the skin and raises great blisters thereon by

its peculiar suction action. At lunch-time we carefully made a pile of

dry brushwood, and shook a small packet of salt over it. Instantly the

bees left us and followed the salt down through the loose heap, and then

with a chuckle of delight, and a grunt of satisfaction from Kaiser, Mac

applied a lighted match. Doc said that Mac chased the only bee that

escaped for over half a mile, but at any rate we were not troubled

further that day.

Continuing our journey, which at first had been through the swampy and

pestilential morass formed by the Ope River's periodical overflow, we at

length crossed the "divide" between the Ope and Kumusi waters, and

travelled through a country in which brilliantly-hued creepers blazed

from the tree-tops, and luxuriant vegetation flourished everywhere.

Gaudy-plumaged parrots, cockatoos, and birds of paradise flitted

overhead, making the forest resound with their deafening chatter.

Snakes of nearly all varieties started from the dense under-growths as

we approached, and our dogs had plenty of exercise in chasing these

undesirables. They in turn were the hunted when near rivers, and many a

narrow escape Mac and his charges had from the enormous and impregnable

crocodiles that infested the banks of all streams.

[Illustration: CROCODILE'S JAWS.]

There were several native villages in the district which we now

traversed, but having had previous experience of the treacherous nature

and cannibalistic proclivities of most of the tribes in that quarter, we

avoided them, and altered our course when we struck a native pad or

track. We knew that our tracks must be seen, however, and nightly

expected a visit from the warriors, who, fearing only the Government

police, looked upon prospecting parties as the lawful prey allowed them

by a considerate Government. We were not disappointed. One night, when

camped near the Kumusi, and about thirty miles from the Yodda Valley

camps, the long-expected attack came, and, to Mac's intense disgust, we

did not stay to argue the point, but departed hurriedly and

ignominiously. Two days later we reached the Yodda, and camped for some

time, to try our luck and hear the latest reports from the mountains. A

day previous to our arrival a strong party had set out to prospect Mount

Scratchley, and while we were camped a famous pioneering company arrived

from the interior, and reported the discovery of vast gold deposits in

the gullies of the higher ranges. Several of the members showed some

peculiar stones which they had taken from the mountain ravines, and one

veteran, in whom Sam recognised an old comrade, hinted mysteriously that

the nuggets and slugs which they had with them came from a lava deposit

at the source of the Gira, in German territory. While Doc and I noted

that significant fact for future reference, Kaiser was more interested

in the stones.

"Dat is vat is called zircon," he whispered to me, as he placed a pebble

on his tongue. "Gott! it is over twenty carats," he continued excitedly.

"Ask him ver it vas come from."

"Why not ask him yourself?" I suggested jokingly, but the reproachful

look he gave me made me regret that I had spoken. Kaiser's race, in most

British colonies, is always suspected of underhand dealing. On my

inquiring of the owner where he had found the stones, he placed them in

my hands.

"In some creeks in the back ranges," he answered. "You can have them

all. I ain't going to carry them further."

"But look," I said, chipping the edge of one, and disclosing a

translucent mass of pale straw colour, in which a tinge of port wine

danced according to the manner in which the stone was held.

"I don't care," he replied. "I is a gold-miner, an' I knows that every

ounce of gold is worth £3 17s. 6d.; but that is darned stuff only Jews

will buy, and I'll throw them away if you don't want them."

I had no spare money--the prospector never has--and as he refused to

take a new Winchester rifle and my silver-mounted revolver, I did not

know what to give him in return.

"Ye'll need all yer pop-guns where ye are goin'," he said. "I is going

down to South Aus. with my pile; but say, if ye has any fruit-salt, or

sugar, or quinine to spare, I an' the boys would be ontarnally obliged

to ye."

I gave him a bottle of quinine tabloids, and another of saccharine, and,

as few of the miners had ever heard of the latter substance, and of

course seldom carried sugar, their delight was a treat to see. We

entertained them to dinner, and next morning they started for the

Kumusi River, _en route_ for the coast, Samarai, and Australia. At the

same time we picked up their old tracks and steered for the distant peak

of Mount Scratchley.

Our progress was now necessarily slow, for, in addition to being in a

hostile country, through which Sir William Macgregor and his native

police was the only armed force that had ever passed, we had to carry on

prospecting operations. Three days out, our first "strike" was made. We

bridged a deep river in the usual manner, by felling a tree across from

bank to bank, and after we had crossed, Kaiser, who was an enthusiastic

botanist, descended into the channel to examine a curious growth on an

under branch.

"Come on, Kaiser," shouted Mac; "there's nae gold doon there."

"Bring up a sample, anyhow," Bill added, throwing him a gold-pan; and

laughingly we all passed on, leaving our inquisitive comrade to follow

at his leisure. Shortly afterwards Doc shot a wild pig, and, as all

prospectors adopt the rule of dining when opportunity offers, a halt was

called for that purpose. During cooking operations Kaiser arrived,

carrying Bill's gold-pan. Bill took the dish from his hands with the

intention of replacing it in its former position on a carrier's back;

but, to his loudly and vigorously expressed astonishment, he found that

his comrade had followed his instructions, and actually carried about

two pounds of sand from the river's bed.

"Lor', but ye is green, Kaiser!" he remarked, preparing to throw the

sand out.

"Haud on a wee," Mac cried, seizing his arm; "it's aye whaur ye dinna

expect to find gold that ye get it. Noo, I dinna think there's ony

there, so try it."

Bill looked at Mac in thoughtful silence for a minute.

"I reckon it's worth trying, anyhow," cried Sam. "Pitch it here, an'

I'll pan it."

Bill did so, and Sam walked over to a creek near. Shortly after we were

all startled by his shout. "Did you salt" (add gold to) "this dirt,

Scottie?" he roared.

"Get oot, man, an' no mak' a fool o' yersel'!" Mac answered, walking

over. "Hallo! Come here lads," he continued; "we've struck it!"

In a moment six excited men were round the pan, to which Sam was still

imparting a gentle concentric motion, and, to our unbounded amazement,

every movement of the dish still increased the comet-like tail of deep

red gold in the ripple of the pan.

"Well, I'll be jiggered!" said the two Australians simultaneously.

"I'll be d--darned!" remarked Mac, with great feeling.

"Mine Gott! Tree ounce stuff!" cried Kaiser.

"Better come and have dinner," suggested Doc.

I do not remember what I said; but even our "boys" babbled away in

unintelligible but excited language. Of course we returned to the

river--one of the Kumusi head-waters--and by sundown had tested the

sands at various points for a distance of two miles on both sides of our

bridge. Kaiser, meanwhile, had set to work with his pan, and when we

returned to our camping-ground he had about half an ounce of coarse gold

to show for his efforts.

Next day we pegged out six prospectors' claims along both banks of the

stream, including, of course, as much of the alluvial land on either

side as our claims would allow. For several days afterwards we devoted

some time to the most promising bars and deposits; but, as we had

neither the tools nor the material for constructing sluice-boxes, our

methods were restricted to simply washing the "dirt" in our pans. On

the fourth day Mac threw down his pan, ejaculating at the same time the

most-used word in his fairly-extensive vocabulary.

"What is the matter, Mac?" I cried, from the opposite bank.

"I dinna see hoo I shood hae tae work like a Clyde steevedore," he

answered, "when ony man wi' the sma'est scienteefic abeelities could get

as much gold in hauf an hoor as the lot o' us can in a day."

"Explain, Mac. Have you an idea?"

"Ay, thousands o' them. But what's tae hinder us frae taking a wheen

split bamboos an' stringing them thegether like a sheet o' galvanised

iron----"

"Nothing. We have our axes. But what----?"

"Turn the affair upside down and lean it against the bank there. Some o'

us could throw the sand on tae the thing and Kaiser could keep it goin'

wi' enough water tae wash the sand awa.'"

"But the bamboo is too smooth. The gold would be carried over the edges

with the sand."

"Pit a hale bamboo in atween every twa split yins, an' if the gold could

rise ow'r that it wad be too licht for savin' ony way."

"All right, Mac," I responded. "You make the affair, and if it works we

will appoint you our chief engineer."

Mac did not answer. He knew that all his appointments merely meant so

much additional work left to him as a matter of course; and even as

things were, he never had "ony time for meeditaishun." He made his

corrugated inclined plane, however, and as all his comrades, excepting

Kaiser, laughed at his idea, he worked it himself for the first day.

That evening, as we sat in the smoke of our camp-fire, Doc remarked,

"Well, boys, I made about an ounce to-day, but I can't say that I care

much about the work."

"I reckon I is good for an ounce too," said Bill.

Sam was cook, Kaiser camp-guard, and I had been writing up my log, so we

had nothing to say. Mac evidently--like an Australian bushman--believed

that silence was golden, for it was only after being asked several times

that he spoke. "Ah, weel," he said reflectively, "there's some folk in

this weary world content tae work awa' frae morn till nicht for a paltry

three pounds seventeen an' saxpence worth" (one ounce of gold), "but I'm

no ane o' them."

"Mac is home-sick," Doc laughed.

"Has your patent turned out a duffer?" inquired Sam.

"I reckon Scottie is keeping back his gold from his mates," said Bill

aggrievedly.

"How much did you get, Mac?" I interrupted soothingly, for Mac had been

my companion in many a journey, and I understood his nature well.

"I dinna ken," he answered, handing me a fair-sized pouch; "aboot hauf a

pun', I think."

"What!" roared the men, springing to their feet.

"Lor, Scottie! Does ye mean----?"

"Eight ounces exactly," I announced. "Mac has made £30 for one day's

work."

"Scodland for ever!" shouted Kaiser from the midst of a cloud of native

tobacco-smoke, and the others echoed his sentiments. Next day all hands

assisted at Mac's machine, which showed in its construction many signs

of that gentleman's ingenuity; but it had not been designed to bear the

strain now put upon it, and after a few hours' work the bamboo ripples

fell away. However it may apply in other circumstances, it is a

recognised law among prospectors that misfortunes never come singly,

therefore we were not surprised that afternoon when the river suddenly

came down "a banker" (in flood) and carried away all our preparations

for a new machine. Doc, who was of a philosophical nature, went out

shooting when it became apparent that no further work could be done that

day. When he returned to camp I saw from his face that the last of our

misfortunes had not yet been reached.

"The Papangis and Babagas are out," he said quietly.

"That means----?" I said.

"That we'd better git, quick an' lively too," interrupted Bill.

"This creek runs into a large river about three miles down," continued

Doc, "and there is a palisaded village near the junction. I saw some

canoes drawn up on the banks, and from their design and peculiar

ornamentation I at once guessed who their owners were. There were also

some bearing the symbol of the Sizuretas; but probably they were those

taken from that tribe when the great massacre occurred. I did not see

any natives, and as I was quite close to the palisades I therefore

concluded that they did not wish to be seen, and you can all guess what

that means."

Doc's words caused great consternation, and when our "boys" gathered

that they were in the country of the dreaded Papangi they set up a

wailing. "Papangi no good. Hims eat poor black devils. Stick head on

pouri dubus" (sorcerer's house), cried one, on whom we had bestowed the

title of King George.

"Dinna you be frichtened, ma man," said Mac consolingly. "If ony o' the

Papangi heathens come near enough I'll gie them sic a feed o' lead that

their ghosts'll hae indegeestion." King George did not understand all

that Mac said; but he brightened up considerably at his words, and at

once began to infuse spirit into his companions. Mac was always

delighted at the prospect of a fight; but as these tribes had only a

month previously murdered and eaten most of the inhabitants of

Angerita, the chief village of the Sizuretas, and afterwards

successfully given battle to the Warden of the Northern Division and his

police, who had gone to punish them, we thought discretion the better

part of valour, and prepared to move, much to Mac's disgust.

"Are ye gaun to rin awa' again?" he bellowed indignantly. "Let's get ma

gun, an I'll gang an' fecht them ma'sel."

"An' your head vas look vell on pole-top, Scottie," said Kaiser as he

struck our tent.

"We will fight if we can get a good camping-ground where they can't get

behind us," I said, and with that Mac had to be content.

In a marvellously short space of time our carriers were loaded and

across the stream, after which we cast our bridge adrift and started up

the north bank, intending to follow the river to its source, and then

prospect for the lode from which the gold was shed. The sun had just

disappeared as we began our march. We had not stayed for supper, and

perhaps this fact had something to do with the depressing influence that

seemed to rest upon all. Animal life had suddenly become very active;

and to feel a coiling, writhing object among the feet, or to tread upon

some nameless amphibious creature, was anything but a pleasant

sensation.

The moon shone brightly for the first two hours, and we travelled much

faster than is usual in New Guinea. Our dogs, however, seemed conscious

of some impending danger that was not yet apparent to us; and it grieved

Mac sorely to see how his dumb charges hung so closely to his person,

and how spiritless they had become.

"I fancy we should have stayed and risked a fight," Doc said at length,

as we paused at the mouth of a narrow ravine through which the stream

rushed furiously. "Our boys will never face that."

"Can't we get over the top?" I suggested; but Bill and Sam, who had been

reconnoitring, said our only possible course was to traverse the stream

and trust to there being no pools. This prospect was not very pleasing.

We did not know the length of the ravine, nor what animals might have

their homes in its depths, and our nerves were already at high tension.

The moon was now obscured with banks of dark clouds that had suddenly

shot up from beneath Mount Victoria, and the birds of night, before so

noisy, were now strangely silent. The atmosphere had also become

oppressively close, and we had to throw down our loads, from sheer

physical inability to longer sustain them.

"It's a 'buster' comin'," Sam gasped; "git up the flies--quick!" A flash

of lightning lit up the valley as he spoke, and a terrific thunder-clap

reverberated through the ravine. A minute of what felt unnatural silence

passed, during which we all struggled with our long canvas "fly," and

then the storm burst. We had got our flour-and rice-sacks under cover,

and following Kaiser's example, crawled in under the folds beside them.

The rain was the heaviest I have ever experienced, and soon we were

drenched to the skin, even through the thick canvas. Suddenly one of the

dogs started up, and instinctively fearing some new calamity, I gripped

his nostrils tightly, while Doc crawled to the edge of our covering.

"It's them," he whispered. "They are on the other bank; Heaven help us

if we are discovered!"

"Let me oot!" growled Mac; "I'm no gaun to be speared like a rabbit in a

hole."