It was indeed a terrible sight the two friends gazed upon. On the
ground where the fight had furiously raged lay scores of dead blacks in
all attitudes, just as they had fallen. It made them shudder to look
at the scene. The terrific nature of the blows dealt was apparent, for
most of the dead had their skulls fractured, and their features were
ghastly and distorted. Their weapons lay near them, and Edgar picked
up the club which the powerful black who fought the Enooma chief had
used. It was a great weight, and fully three feet long, and capable of
dealing a fearful blow, even in a weak man’s hands. The end was covered
with blood and hair, showing that the Curracoo had killed many enemies
before he was slain.
‘You will bury these men?’ asked Edgar.
‘The Enooma must have burial,’ said Yacka; ‘the Curracoo are not fit to
be hidden away;’ and he struck a fallen black, who still showed signs
of life, over the head with his club.
‘That was a cowardly thing to do,’ said Edgar.
‘They are not fit to live,’ said Yacka, and went on.
‘What a brute he is, after all!’ said Will, in a low voice. ‘He is no
better than the others.’
‘He is a savage at heart,’ said Edgar, ‘and we must make allowances for
him.’
‘If he kills defenceless men like that,’ said Will, ‘I would not give
much for our lives if he felt disposed to turn upon us.’
‘He will not do that,’ said Edgar. ‘We are his friends, these men his
enemies. Had the Curracoo won, they would have treated the Enooma in
the same way. This savage warfare is the same the world over, I expect.
It is a horrible sight.’
‘Over a hundred killed,’ said Yacka, with a savage smile; ‘and we have
many prisoners.’
‘Shall you kill the prisoners?’ asked Edgar.
‘Yes; and leave them as a warning to the tribe.’
‘How will they be put to death?’ asked Edgar, who had read of the
tortures inflicted by savages in Africa and elsewhere.
‘That will be decided,’ said Yacka. ‘The Enooma know how to kill their
enemies.’
After a gruesome tramp over the battle-field, they returned to the
camp. The victorious Enooma were already commencing to celebrate their
triumph.
Edgar saw a group of prisoners, about forty or fifty in number, bound
with thongs made of some kind of reed or long grass. They all looked
terror-stricken, and evidently knew what was in store for them.
‘Poor wretches!’ said Will. ‘It would be a kindness to shoot them.’
‘We must not interfere,’ said Edgar. ‘It would be risking our lives to
do so. Even Yacka would not stand that.’
‘You saw a dance at Yanda,’ said Yacka. ‘You will see a genuine war
dance soon.’
Towards night the big men of the tribe assembled round Yacka, and all
squatted on the ground.
‘They are deciding the fate of the prisoners,’ said Will. ‘I hope it
will not be very awful.’
The consultation did not last long, and Yacka came towards them. He
seemed pleased at the prospect before him, and laughed harshly.
‘It is good,’ he said. ‘All die a dog’s death.’
‘Will they be hanged?’ asked Will.
‘Some,’ said Yacka. ‘Wait and see.’
There were many trees near the camp, and they had big white branches a
good height from the ground. Ten of the Curracoos were brought forward
and thrown down under the trees. They were then raised feet first, and
bound with their heads downwards round the trunks of the trees. Others
were drawn up, feet foremost, over the branches, and left hanging with
their heads touching the feet of the others.
Edgar protested to Yacka, but he took no notice. The black was looking
at the fearful scene with savage delight. There was no mercy to be got
out of Yacka, so Edgar did not speak to him again.
Other blacks were brought to these trees, cast down on their faces, and
spears were driven through their backs, pinning them to the ground in
such a manner that they could not get free. Their cries were fearful,
and made the place seem like a hell upon earth. Some of the cruelties
were too fearful to relate, and yet Yacka watched it all with fiendish
glee. When the last prisoner had been tortured and left to die a
lingering death, Yacka was satisfied.
‘We cannot trust you after what we have seen,’ said Edgar. ‘We shall go
back. Guide us to Alice Springs; if not, we must risk it, and go alone.’
Yacka was dumfounded. He could not understand the reason of their
distrust in him. He had acted according to the customs of his tribe,
and knew, had the Curracoo won, the Enooma would have been treated in
a similar way. It was the fortune of war. The Enooma had gained the
victory; why should the white men mistrust him because the tribe had
taken their just revenge?
‘Yacka is your friend,’ said the black. ‘You have come to no harm. We
make war in our own way. You kill many men with big guns. I have seen
them fired. They kill many at one shot. It is more terrible than our
wars.’
‘We do not torture prisoners,’ said Edgar. ‘You are no better than
these savages.’
‘I am the son of Enooma,’ said Yacka; ‘therefore I am the head of them.
The head guides the body. I am the chief, the king, and I am above them
all.’
‘You are as cruel as they are,’ said Edgar. ‘If you are the King of the
Enooma, why did you not kill these men at once, not torture them?’
‘It is the will of Enooma,’ said Yacka, ‘and she must be obeyed.’
‘The White Spirit would never allow men to be tortured,’ said Edgar.
‘There is no White Spirit over the Enooma; it is a black spirit, and
full of evil.’
‘You saved Yacka’s life,’ said the black, ‘and he is grateful. If my
tribe know you call Enooma a black spirit, Yacka could not save you.
Follow me. It is not far. Yacka will lead you back when you have looked
upon the White Spirit, and seen the gold and beautiful stones.’
The agonized groans of the tortured blacks sounded terrible, and Edgar
said:
‘Kill these men, and we will go with you.’
Yacka hesitated, and Edgar, noticing it, said:
‘I took your hand in friendship; now it is stained in blood. Kill these
men, and I will forgive you, and the White Spirit will be glad.’
‘It shall be,’ said Yacka, and moved away towards the camp.
How he prevailed upon the tribe he did not say, but the tortured men
were killed, and their groans ceased, much to Edgar’s relief.
After this experience, there was no telling what might happen if
another encounter took place with a hostile tribe, and the Enooma were
defeated. Yacka, however, had no intention of proceeding alone, and
Edgar and Will found the tribe was to accompany them. Marching many
miles a day in the company of a tribe of warlike blacks was a novel
experience. Edgar had many opportunities of noting how they lived and
their habits. He soon learned that the Enooma were excellent marksmen,
and could throw a spear with as great accuracy as he could shoot. They
used their boomerangs dexterously.
Yacka was an adept at throwing this peculiar weapon, which is almost
in the shape of a half crescent, and is made of very hard wood, smooth
and shaved down to a sharp edge on the inside curve. Yacka could throw
his boomerang high into the air, until it appeared a mere speck, and it
came down in a series of curves until it fell at his feet. No matter
how far he threw the boomerang, it invariably returned to him.
The first time Edgar attempted throwing a boomerang he was rather
astonished. Instead of going high into the air, it gave a few curves,
then flew rapidly backwards, and Edgar had to duck his head quickly to
avoid a blow.
‘It is not so easy as it looks,’ he said to Will. ‘Have a try?’
Will took the weapon and tried, with no better result; in fact, he came
off worse than Edgar, for he got a severe blow on the shin. The blacks
were amused at the white men’s clumsy attempts to throw the boomerang,
and their grins of satisfaction exasperated Edgar.
‘They imagine we can do nothing in this line,’ he said to Will. ‘We
must undeceive them, or they will have a very poor opinion of us. We
have not many shots to spare; but it may be as well to show them how
deadly a gun is.’
Edgar explained to Yacka that it was not fair the blacks should have it
all their own way.
‘Throw your boomerang, and I’ll engage to hit it in the air,’ said
Edgar.
Yacka did not care to risk his own boomerang, which was carved in a
fantastic manner, so he took another, and, after telling the blacks
what Edgar was about to do, he flung it into the air.
As it came circling down Edgar fired and hit it, but it did not split
with the shot; the marks, however, were plainly visible, and the blacks
were not only terrified at the noise, but amazed at the result. It was
Will’s turn next, and he elected to try his luck with the revolver.
Yacka fastened one of the blacks’ loin-cloths to a tree, doubling it
into a small space. These cloths were made of thick skin, probably
kangaroo, and when doubled it offered strong resistance to a bullet.
Will fired at twenty paces. The bullet passed through the skin and
flattened against the tree. On seeing this, the blacks regarded the
revolver with much interest, but would not handle it.
The Enooma blacks were athletic fellows, and could run, jump, and
wrestle in a manner that surprised Edgar, who knew a good deal about
such sports.
In his Redbank days Edgar had run his hundred yards in even time, and
he was in splendid condition now.
One of the Enooma, called Ouwana, they noticed was a fine runner, and
Will suggested Edgar should try his speed against him.
Yacka, as usual, arranged matters.
Ouwana was a tall, lithe-limbed black, about twenty years old, and with
a less repulsive cast of countenance than many of his tribe. He was
quite willing to run Edgar, and Will measured out the distance as near
as he could stride it.
Yacka acted as starter, the signal being a loud clap of the hands, and
Will was judge. The blacks grew quite excited over the race.
Yacka’s hands met with a crack like a pistol, and, trained as he had
been to start smartly, Edgar gained a slight advantage. He ran his
best, but before he had gone fifty yards it was a hopeless case, as
Ouwana passed him like a flash, and simply won hands down.
Edgar was amazed, not so much at being beaten, as by the easy way in
which it was done.
‘He’s a champion,’ said Edgar.
‘He would be good enough to win one of those big handicaps we saw
advertised in the Sydney paper before we left Yanda. How much was the
prize money?’
‘About six hundred pounds, I think,’ said Will; ‘I wish we had Ouwana
there.’
‘So do I,’ said Edgar; ‘it would be rare fun to see the black fellow
“down” the cracks.’
The days passed quickly, and Edgar and Will had no thought of time.
They did not even know what month it was, and were dead out of their
reckoning as regards the days of the week.
What surprised them most was the fertile nature of the country. They
had passed across a vast sandy plain, and taken some days to do it,
but ever since they left it behind they had been tramping over what
Edgar knew would not only be excellent sheep country, but would also
carry cattle. Grass was plentiful--not brown, dry grass, but green and
juicy--proving there had either been recent rain, or there was plenty
of moisture in the earth.
It was not a flat, dull, and uninteresting country, for there were
hills and valleys, and trees and shrubs, and beautiful wild flowers and
blossoming trees were found in many places. Wild berries and fruits
they found, and running streams of water, which seemed to find their
source in the many caves with which the mountains were honeycombed. In
some of these streams, which at times were sufficiently large to be
called rivers, crocodiles were found, both large and small. The larger
crocodile was voracious, and it was not safe to bathe when any of them
showed their ugly heads, but the smaller species was harmless, and
never ventured to attack them.
The Enooma blacks were fond of the water, and often risked their lives
bathing and swimming where crocodiles were to be seen.
Ouwana was especially venturesome, and often speared a crocodile in the
water.
Yacka said he had seen Ouwana fight a crocodile, with a shortened spear
like a dagger, for the mere excitement of the sport.
Edgar managed to further earn the goodwill of the blacks by saving
Ouwana’s life.
The black dived into the stream, and was swimming in the centre, when a
huge crocodile appeared close beside him. The hideous creature opened
its monster jaws, showing great ugly teeth, and in another moment
would have ended Ouwana’s career. Edgar luckily had his gun with him,
and, taking a steady aim with the barrel used for ball, fired. The
crocodile sank like a stone.
Ouwana was unaware of his danger, and at first thought Edgar had fired
at him. This roused all the ferociousness in the black’s nature, and it
would have gone hard with Edgar had Yacka not come up and explained.
When Ouwana found out what Edgar had done he showed his repentance for
doubting him, and his thankfulness for his delivery from a fearful
death, by kneeling down and putting both arms round Edgar’s legs. He
then looked up into his face with such sorrowful eyes that Edgar patted
his woolly head, much as he would have done that of a big dog.