HOW TOM LIT A FIRE ON MISTY HEAD, AND WHAT CAME OF IT
Restraining his desire to put his horse into a gallop, Tom went steadily
along for the first eight or ten miles, riding as near as possible to
the water's edge, where the sand was hard, though by this time the tide
was rising, and he knew that in another hour he would have to leave the
beach entirely and pick up a cattle-track, which ran through the thick
scrub, a few hundred yards back from high-water mark. Although the sun
was still very hot, a south-easterly breeze had sprung up, and its
cooling breath fanned the boy's heated face, and gave an added zest to
the happiness of his spirits, for he was happy enough in all conscience.
Here was he, he thought, only thirteen years of age, and the
participator in the rescue of a shipwrecked crew, the full tale of whose
disaster had yet to be told. Where, he wondered, did the Bandolier sail
from, and whither was she bound, when she ran ashore at Middleton Reef?
Oh, how heavenly it would be to-morrow, when he, and his father, and
Jack were back at home, listening to the story of the wreck! And what
strange-looking, tattooed sailors were those with the reddish-brown
skins, and the straight jet-black hair like Red Indians? South Sea
Islanders, of course! but of what Islands? And how long would they stay
at Port Kooringa? Oh, how beautiful it would be if they could not get
away for a long time, so that he might make friends with them all!
Perhaps some of the brown men with the tattooed arms and legs would
teach him to talk their language, and tell him about their island homes,
where the palm trees grew thickly on the beaches, and the canoes floated
upon the deep blue waters of the reef-encircled lagoons! Perhaps
Captain Casalle might take a liking to him, and--he bent over his saddle
and flushed with pleasure at the mere thought--and take him away when he
got another ship. Oh, he did so hope that his father and the captain
would become friends; then it would be so much easier (the 'it' being
his father's consent to his becoming a sailor).
And so with such thoughts as these chasing quickly through his
imagination, he was at last recalled to the present by the sound of
splashing about his horse's feet, as the spent rollers sent every now
and then thin, clear sheets of water swashing gently up the sand.
'Come, Peter, old chap,' he said, patting his willing horse on the neck,
'we must get up out of this on to the track, it's getting too soft;' and
jumping off, he led the animal straight up over the loose, yielding sand
which lay between the water's edge and the fringe of the scrub. Taking
a drink from his canvas water-bag as he reached the end of the sand, he
mounted again, and was soon riding along the track, which ran through a
forest of native apple, whose thick umbrageous canopies of dark green
shut out the sunlight so effectually, that the sudden transition made it
appear as if he had moved from light to semi-darkness. From the leafy
crowns of the trees, and stretching across or hanging in giant loops
upon the ground, or swinging high above, was a network of great snaky
vines, black, brown, and mottled, and so full of water that, as Tom well
knew, he had but to cut off a four-foot length to obtain a full quart of
the clear though astringent liquid. Now and then, as his horse's
shoeless feet disturbed the loose carpet of fallen leaves, a frightened
wallaby would bound away with heavy thumping leaps into the still
gloomier shadows on the left, or down towards the ocean, whose softened
and lulling murmur sounded as if the shore on which its waves curled and
broke were miles and miles away, instead of scarce more than a stone's
throw; though now and then, when the sea breeze rustled the dome of
green above, it sang its never-ending song in louder tone. Sometimes
there came a whirr of wings, as with harsh screaming notes a flock of
green and golden parrakeets, intent upon feeding on the ripe wild
apples, would flash by, and their cries perhaps be answered by the
long-drawn-out note of a stock-whip bird.
The end of the first belt of scrub at last, and Tom emerged out into the
open again--a wide stretch of dried-up swamp, along the seaward margin
of which the track led in a waving line of white, hardened clay. Far
back on the other side were clumps of tall, melancholy swamp gums, and
beyond these the thickly timbered spurs of the coast range, standing out
clearly and sharply in the blaze of the sinking sun.
'Come, Peter, my boy, it's getting cooler now, and you shall have a
drink when we get to the Rocky Waterholes, behind Misty Head;' and
Peter, tough old stock horse, to whom fifty miles, with such a light
weight and easy-handed rider as was Tom, was a matter of no hardship,
shook his clean-cut head, and giving an answering snort, set off at a
steady swift canter, glad to be free of the curse of pestering flies,
which in the sunlight hung about his nostrils, and crept into the
corners of his big black eyes. An hour later, and just as the sun had
sunk, a blazing ball of yellow, behind the purpling range, Tom drew rein
at a spot known as the Rocky Waterholes--a series of small deep pools of
limpid water at the back of a headland, whose high bold front rose stark
from the sea. He had still five and twenty miles to ride before
reaching the cattle-camp at Kooringa Cape, where he expected to find his
father and Jack--unless, indeed, he met them returning driving the
missing cattle, which was hardly likely, without they had met with them
near a great fresh-water swamp at the back of Misty Head. Anyway, he
thought, he would give Peter a bit of a spell for half an hour. If his
father and Jack were already returning, they would be almost sure to
stop at the Rocky Waterholes, and wait till the tide fell again--which
would be towards dawn--instead of trying to drive the cattle along the
track through the scrub in the darkness, and run the risk of some of
them breaking away, and being lost.
Leading Peter up to one of the Waterholes, he let him drink his fill,
and unbuckling the ends of the bridle, turned the animal adrift to feed
upon the sweet grass and juicy 'pig-face' growing lower down. Then a
sudden inspiration came to Tom. He would light a fire on the top of
Misty Head; it would only take a few minutes, and if his father and Jack
happened to be near, they would be sure to come and see who had lit it,
and thus he could not possibly miss them.
The landward side of the head was mostly covered with a dense thicket,
resembling the English privet, but as it did not reach higher than his
waist, Tom forced his way through, and with some difficulty reached the
summit--a little cleared space less than half an acre in extent, and
free of scrub, but covered with coarse, dry grass about a foot high,
swaying and rustling to the wind, which as the sun set had freshened.
Lower down, on both sides, were a number of thick, stunted honeysuckles;
and feeling his way very cautiously--for a slip meant a fall of two
hundred feet or more into the sea below--Tom began to collect some of
the dead branches, and then returned with them to the top. Once he had
lit a fire, he would have light enough to show him where to find a
thicker log or two, for there were many dead honeysuckles about, he
knew, as the place was familiar to him. Pulling up some of the dried
grass, and placing some twigs on the top, he struck a match and lit the
heap. It blazed up crisply, and in a few minutes he could see his
surroundings clearly.
'That's all right,' said Tom to himself; 'now for some big logs, and
then I'll be off.'
Fifty feet away the gnarled and rugged branches of a dead and fallen
honeysuckle stood revealed in the firelight, and he walked toward it.
Taking hold of one of the largest branches, he began to drag it towards
the fire, when he felt a smart puff of wind, and then heard an ominous
crackle behind him, and then followed a sudden blaze of light--the long
grass around the fire had caught, and a puff of wind had carried the
flames to the scrub! Too late to avert the disaster, Tom dropped the log
with a cry of terror, for he knew what a bush-fire at that dry time of
the year meant; and, most of all, he dreaded the anger of his father for
his carelessness. For a moment or two he stood gazing at the result of
his folly; and then a cry of alarm broke from his lips as another
eddying gust of wind came, and the flames answered with a roar as they
swept through the scrub with a speed and fury that told Tom that in a
few minutes they would be leaping and crashing into the timber on the
other side of the Rocky Waterholes, and thence into the ranges beyond.
And then, too, not only was his own retreat cut off, but the fire on the
summit was eating its way to windward, and unless he could find some
place of retreat on the sea-face or sides of the head, he stood a very
good chance of becoming a victim to his own stupidity. As he looked
about, undecided whether to try to get in advance of the flames by
forcing his way through the dense jungle of the north side, down to the
water, and then clambering along the rocks to where he had left his
horse, or get over the edge of the cliff to a place of safety, there
came another bursting roar, and a huge wall of flame sprang up and leapt
and crashed through the gums and other lofty trees which grew close to
the landward side of the Waterholes--the bush itself had caught. And as
Tom gazed in guilty fear at the scene of devastation, he saw his horse
break through the stunted herbage above the beach on the north side and
gallop down to the water, where he stopped, terrified at the sudden rush
of fire, and, no doubt, wondering what had become of his master.
The sight of the horse standing there on the beach in full glare of the
flames, which now were lighting up the sea and hiding the land beyond in
dense volumes of blood-red smoke, as the wind carried them inland,
filled the boy's heart with a new fear--for his father and Jack.
Perhaps at that moment they were between Misty Head and the range. If
so, then they were in imminent danger, for he knew that, unless they
were near the beach, they would be cut off and perish, for now the wind,
as if to aid in the work of destruction, was blowing strongly. A prayer
that they might be far away at Kooringa Cape rose to his lips, and then,
as he saw Peter still standing and looking about in expectancy, he, like
a brave lad, pulled himself together. He would climb down the north
side of the head, before the fire, which was steadily working downward
to the water, cut him off from the mainland altogether, and kept him
there until morning. Force his way down through the close scrub he
could not, for the rapidly creeping flames, feeding upon the dried
leaves and undergrowth, would overtake him before he was halfway down;
but there was, he knew, a break in the density of the scrub, caused by a
zigzag and narrow cleft in the side of the head, reaching from near the
summit to the boulders of blacktrap rock at the foot. A few minutes'
search showed him the most suitable spot from where to begin the
descent, and guided by the light of the fire--which revealed every leaf
and stone as clearly as if it were broad daylight--he soon reached the
top of the cleft, which for the first fifty or sixty feet ran eastwards
towards the beach, and then made a sudden and downward turn to the sea.
The sides, though terribly rugged, afforded him excellent facilities for
descent, as, besides the jutting stones which protruded out of the soil,
tough vines and short strong shrubs gave him good support.
'Easier than I imagined,' said Tom to himself, thinking of the pride he
would have in relating his feat to Jack in the morning; 'now here's the
beginning of the straight up-and-down part.' Grasping the thin stem of
a small stumpy tree, with prickly leaves, known to the boys as
'bandy-leg,' he peered over. Suddenly he felt that the tree was
yielding at the roots; he flung out his left hand for further support,
and clutched a vine about as thick as a lead pencil. It broke, and,
with a gasp of terror, poor Tom pitched headlong down, bounding from
side to side, and crashing through the stunted herbage, till he struck
the bottom, where he lay stunned and helpless, and bleeding from a
jagged cut on the back of his head.
[Illustration: HE STRUCK THE BOTTOM, WHERE HE LAY STUNNED AND BLEEDING.]
For some time he lay thus, and then, as returning consciousness came, he
groaned in agony; for, besides the wound on his head, the fingers of his
left hand were crushed, and he felt as if the arm were half torn from
the socket. Wiping the dust and rubble, with which he was nearly
blinded, from his face, he drew himself up into a sitting position, and
began to feel his left arm from the shoulder down, fearing from the
intense pain that one or more bones were broken; but in a few moments he
found he could bend it. Groping about carefully--for the spot where he
had fallen was in darkness, though he could discern the sea, not far
below, still gleaming dully from the light of the fire--he found that
the soil and rocks about him were quite dry and warm to the touch;
evidently, therefore, he was some distance from the base of the head and
above high-water mark. Slowly and painfully he crawled towards the
opening, and discovered that he was about twenty feet over the water,
just at the point where all vegetation ceased and bare rock began.
Already he was feeling thirst, and had he been able to use his left arm,
he would have climbed down to the sea and swum round to the beach, where
he felt sure that Peter was still awaiting him, with the water-bag
hanging to the saddle dees. He leant his back against a rock, for now a
deadly sickness came over him, and he went off into a long faint.
* * * * *
Ten miles away, and camped near a grassy headland known as the Green
Bluff, was a party of eleven men, three of whom were watching the red
glow of Misty Head; the rest were lying upon the grass, sleeping the
sleep of exhausted nature. The three who watched were Mr. Wallis, Jack,
and the black stockman, Wellington; those who slept were the first mate
and seven of a boat's crew of the Bandolier. Only a few hours
previously the latter had made the coast at the mouth of a small
fresh-water creek, running into the sea at the Green Bluff, and were
discovered there by Jack, who was tailing some cows and calves on the
bank, whilst his father and Wellington were looking for the rest of the
missing cattle further up the creek. The moment Jack heard the
officer's story, he ran to the pack-horse, which was quietly standing
under the shade of a mimosa, unshipped the packs (containing cooked
beef, damper, and tea and sugar) and lit a fire, whilst one of the
sailors filled the big six-quart billy with water from the creek. Then,
picking up his father's shot-gun which was carried on the pack-horse, he
loaded it with ball, jumped on his horse again, cut off a cow with a
year-old calf from the rest of the mob, drove them a little apart from
the others, and sent a bullet into the calf's head. Without wasting
time to skin the animal, the half-famished seamen set about cutting up
and cooking it (having first devoured the piece of cooked beef and
damper). Then waving his hand to the officer, and telling him that he
would be back with his father in an hour or less, Jack set of at a
gallop in search of him. The officer, a tall, hatchet-faced New
Englander, nodded his head--his mouth being too full to speak--and then
turned his hollow eyes with a look of intense satisfaction and
solicitude upon the frizzling and blood-stained masses of veal.
Towards sunset, Mr. Wallis, Jack, and Wellington came cantering down
along the bank of the creek, and the genial, kind-hearted squatter,
though the advent of the shipwrecked men meant the abandonment of his
search for the rest of the cattle, and the loss of much valuable time,
sprang from his horse, and shook hands warmly with the officer, as he
congratulated him upon his safe arrival.
'You must camp here with us to-night,' he said, 'and perhaps to-morrow
as well, or at least until such time as you and your men are
sufficiently recovered to walk to Port Kooringa. In the morning,
however, I shall send my black boy on in advance, and he will meet us
with some more provisions. For the present we can manage--the creek is
alive with fish, fresh beef is in plenty'--pointing to the grazing mob
of cows and calves,--'and you and your men, above all things, need rest.
Now, tell me, do you smoke?'
'Smoke, mister?' and the man's voice shook; 'ef I get a smoke I'll just
be in heaven. But I can't do it here, with those poor men a-looking at
me. Every one of them is as good a man as me, although I did hev ter
belt the life out of them sometimes.'
Mr. Wallis slipped his pipe, tobacco pouch, and a box of matches into
the officer's hand. 'Go down to the creek and lie down there and
smoke,' he said with a smile; 'I wish I had more tobacco for your men.'
As the mate crept away like a criminal, clutching the precious pipe and
tobacco in his gaunt, sun-baked hand, Wellington cried out, and pointed
towards Misty Head--
'Hallo! look over there! Big feller fire alonga Misty Head.'
Mr. Wallis turned and watched, and as he saw the lurid flames and huge
volumes of smoke rise, and then sweep quickly down the incline of the
head, toward the dark line of bush beyond, he could not repress a groan
of vexation and anger, for he knew that, with such a strong breeze, the
whole coast would be aflame in a few hours, and hundreds of miles of
country on Kooringa Run be swept in its devastating course, and cause
him to lose some thousands of pounds. Then in addition to this, and of
more importance to his generous mind--for money itself held no sway on a
nature such as his--was the fact that he and the shipwrecked seamen
would have to make their way to Port Kooringa along the beach as the
tide served, for they could not for some days traverse the burnt-out
country at the back of the many headlands and capes, as the ground would
be a furnace covered with ashes.
Towards midnight, Wellington, who was on watch, roused his master, and
reported that the fire was rapidly travelling towards the Green Bluff,
and would be upon them in an hour. This was serious, for there was no
beach to which they could retreat on either side of the bluff for many
miles, and the country on the opposite side of the little creek was,
though free from scrub, clothed in long grass, which a single flying
spark would set ablaze.
Awakening the officer, he explained the situation to him, and suggested
a way of escaping from the danger which menaced them by taking to the
boat, putting to sea, and making direct for Port Kooringa at once.
Tired as were the mate and his men, they at once acquiesced. The cattle
and horses were driven across the creek, and left to take care of
themselves, the boat's water-breaker filled, and the saddles and other
gear were placed in the boat, only just in time, for already the heat of
the flames was getting oppressive. There was but little surf at the
mouth of the creek, and the instant the boat had passed through it, the
ragged sail was set, and she slipped through the water.
'Don't go too close to Misty Head,' said Mr. Wallis to the officer;
'there is always a strong tide-rip there.'
The officer altered the boat's course.
Poor Tom, just as the daylight broke, saw her sail pass about a mile
off. He stood up and shouted till he was hoarse; and then, when he
realized that she was too far off for him to be heard, or even seen in
such a position, sat down and wept, forgetting his bodily pain in his
anguish of spirit.
But, as the sun rose, his thirst became overpowering, and rising to his
feet with a prayer for strength upon his lips, he began to make his way
along the foot of the rocks. His arm was less painful now, but three of
his fingers were black, swollen, and useless, and the wound in his head
every now and then made him faint. When half-way to the beach, he saw
that the water was sufficiently shallow for him to wade ashore on the
clear, sandy bottom, instead of toiling over the rocks, so getting down
at a spot where it was not over his knees, he first immersed his whole
body and then bathed his head and face. The stinging, smarting
sensation caused him fresh pain, but he set his teeth and bore it
manfully, knowing that the salt water would do the cut on his head more
good than harm, even though it made it bleed afresh.
With renewed courage--for the cool water had revived him wonderfully--he
waded along cheerfully, his thoughts now turning to his father and Jack,
for whom he was not at all alarmed, knowing that both of them were too
good bushmen to be caught by a bush fire, no matter how suddenly it had
come upon them. If they were camped at Kooringa Cape, there was no
danger for them at all, as a few miles this side of it there was a wide
tidal river, and if they had been anywhere near the Rocky Waterholes
when the fire started they would have sought safety on one of the small
islands in the Big Swamp. Anyway he would be home to-morrow, or the
next day, if he had to keep to the beach--and no doubt would meet some
one coming to look for him; for unless Peter had met his father's party,
the animal was bound to make for home, and be seen by some person. Then
that boat! Of course it must have been the missing boat from the
Bandolier--no other boat would be coming down the coast, surely! Oh, if
he were only home to know! But a drink first before he decided what to
do.
Stepping out of the water on to the hard dry sand, Tom ascended the
bank, and then a cry of dismay escaped from him--the Rocky Waterholes
were surrounded by a belt of blazing logs, and it was impossible for him
to approach within a hundred yards, and the holes themselves were not to
be seen!
Tom returned to the beach to consider. He _must_ get a drink, and there
was none to be had on the way back home, except from the thick vines in
the scrub through which he had ridden the previous morning. But was
there any scrub left? As far as he could see to the southward, the coast
was still burning, and even if the scrub where the vines grew had
escaped, he could not cut one, for he had lost his knife when he fell.
Well, he must try and get along the beach and round the cliffs, further
on, to the creek at the Green Bluff. There was always deep running water
there; and now he began to think of nothing else--he must get a drink,
or he could never attempt to walk all the way to Port Kooringa. Oh, if
he could but get to the creek quickly! he thought, as, taking off his
boots and socks, which were filled with coarse gritty sand, he tied them
together with the laces, and set out along the hard beach. If it were
only five miles of such easy walking as the first two, he would soon
reach there; but the remaining three were the trouble--three miles of
rocky shore, under a blazing sun, and with his head making him feel
strange and faint.
Never once halting, the lad kept steadily on, trying hard not to lose
courage, for every minute he felt his strength failing him, and a
strange buzzing noise was in his ears, and the yellow sand seemed to
dance and twist about and sink away from his feet. Oh for a drink, a
drink! A long drink would set him right again, he kept repeating to
himself; there was nothing really much the matter with him except his
head.
At last he came to the end of the beach, put on his boots, and began to
climb over the first point of rocks. This took him much longer than he
anticipated, and he slipped and fell heavily once or twice. Then came a
succession of small deep bays, the shores of which were covered with
smooth loose pebbles, giving way to every step, and terribly exhausting
to walk over. Then again another point--a flat reef of rocks running
out some distance into the sea, dangerous, slippery, and covered with a
greasy green weed, and awash at high water. Tom had never before walked
along this part of the coast, and at any other time its wild loneliness
would have pleased his Nature-loving imagination--now it appalled and
terrified the poor boy, who, though he did not know it, was rapidly
becoming physically exhausted from the injury to his head, which was
more serious than he imagined.
Once over the wide stretch of smooth rocks, he took heart again; Green
Bluff, now black and smoking, seemed quite near. Another little bay,
and then another, and panting and half frantic with excitement and
thirst, Tom stumbled blindly over the loose stones and gravel, which
were heaped up in ridges on the narrow foreshore. Surely, he asked
himself, there could not be many more of these dreadful stony winding
bays, backed up by steep walls of rock. Once more a high point
obstructed him; and now an insensate rage took possession of him. With
blazing eyes, and parched and cracking lips, he sprang at the great
boulders, slipping and falling again and again, to rise with bleeding
hands and face, a dazed determination in his whirling brain to get to
the water at the Green Bluff in spite of everything. Trembling in every
limb, he succeeded in getting round--and then stopped, his face white
with horror: on the opposite side of the bay a long stretch of cliff
rose sheer up from the deep blue water at its base. And then a sudden
blackness shut out the world, and he sank down upon the shingle in
despair.