Ten minutes later Mallard was at the hall door giving instructions to
the reporter.
“Hurry back as fast as you can, Winthrop, and tell Mr. Flynn to rash
the special through. And as fast as any farther news come in rap
out another. Get all the boys you can, and distribute the specials
everywhere--anywhere. Chuck some over into the cemetery--they'll make
the dead 'get up and holler.' Tell the boys that they are not to make
any charge--get the foreman to head it 'Special! Gratis! (Any one
newsboy who makes a charge for this special will be immediately
dismissed.)' See? And tell the boys they will get five shillings each
extra in the morning. I'll be down in another twenty minâtes or so. Go
on, Winthrop, loop!”
Mr. Winthrop, who was as excited as Mallard himself, “looped,” and the
editor returned to the dining-room with a galley-proof slip in his hand.
Every one, of coarse, saw by his face that something had occurred.
“I won't sit down again, Mrs. Trappème, if you and the other ladies
will excuse me, for I have to hurry back to the office to attend to some
important business. There is great news.” Then, bending down, he placed
his hand on Grainger's shoulder, and whispered, “You must come with me,
old man. There is glorious news from Chinkie's. I'll tell you all about
it in a minute, as soon as we are outside. Make your apologies and let
us go,” and then going over to Mrs. Trappème, he handed her the proof to
read to her guests and hurried out with Grainger, leaving every one in
the room eager to learn what had occurred.
“Oh, dear me!” began Mrs. Lee-Trappème, adjusting her pince-nez, which
always interfered with her sight.
“SPECIAL. 'TOWNSVILLE CHAMPION.'
“WRECK.
“9 P.M., May 2nd. “Authentic news has just reached the
_Champion_ office that the mail steamer _Flintshire_ was
wrecked on the Great Barrier Beef three days ago (the 5th).
All the crew and passengers--200 in number-were saved, and
are now on their way to Townsville. [Further particulars
later.]”
“DREADFUL MASSACRE BY THE NOTORIOUS BLACK OUTLAWS.
“The Clonourry mail, which has been delayed by floods,
brings news of a terrible massacre perpetrated by the ootlaw
black ex-troopers Sandy and Daylight. A party of five miners
who were camped at a lagoon near Dry Creek were surprised
and murdered in their sleep by the two outlaws and a number
of myall blacks. The bodies were found by the mail man.
Inspector Lamington and a patrol of Native Polioe leave to-
morrow to punish the murderers. Detailed particulars of the
affair will be given in to-morrow's issue--Mudoch, the mail
man, being too exhausted to stand the test of a long
interview to-night.”
“WONDERFUL GOLD DISCOVERY NEAR CHINKIN'S FLAT.
“A NEW EL DORADO. “MR. GRAINGER
AND HIS PARTNERS THE LUCKY MEN.
“By the Clonourry mail, which brought intelligence of the
tragedy at Dry Creek, also comes most pleasurably exciting
news. The 'Ever Victorious Grainger,' as his many friends
often designate him, some months ago sent out a prospecting
party to try the country near the headwaters of Banshee
Greek, with the result that probably the richest alluvial
field in Australia has been discovered. Over 2,000 os. of
gold--principally in nuggets ranging from 100 oz. to 2 oz.--
have already been taken by Mr. Grainger's party. Warden
Charteris, accompanied by an escort of white and black
polioe, leaves for the place to-morrow night. The news of
this wonderfully rich field has been two weeks reaching
Townsville owing to the flooded condition of the country
between Banshee Creek and Chinkie's Flat.
“Mr. Grainger is at present in this city on a short visit.
His good fortune will benefit the country at large as well
as himself and his energetic partners.”
“Dear me, how very exciting to be getting gold so easily!” said Mrs.
Trappème, as she laid the proof on the table; “your brother will be
delighted, Miss Grainger.”
“He will be pleased, of course,” absented Myra. “He always had a belief
that a rich alluvial gold-field would be discovered in the Banshee
Creek country. He sent this particular prospecting party away nearly two
months ago.”
“What a hawwid story about the murdered diggahs!” said Mr. Assheton to
Myra. “Did it occur neah where you were living, Miss Graingah?”
“About a hundred miles further westward, towards the Minerva Downs
district. These two men, Sandy and Daylight, have committed quite a
number of murders during the past two years. They killed five or six
poor Chinese diggers on the Cloncurry Road last year. They are both well
armed, and it is almost impossible to capture them, as they retreat to
the ranges whenever pursued.”
“They are a most ferocious and desperate pair,” said Mr. Wooler, who
then told their story, which was this:--
Some two or three years previously Sandy and Daylight, who belonged to
one of the Native Police camps in the Gulf district,{*} had, while out
on patrol, urged one of their comrades to join with them in murdering
their white officer and then absconding. The other man refused, and,
later on in the day, secretly told the officer that he was in great
danger of being shot if he rode on ahead of the patrol as usual. As soon
as the party returned to camp the two traitors were quietly disarmed,
handcuffed, and then chained to a log till the morning. During the night
they managed to free themselves (aided, no doubt, by the trooper who was
detailed to guard them), killed the man who had refused to join them by
cleaving his skull open with a blow from a tomahawk, and then decamped
to the ranges with their rifles and ammunition. They found a refuge and
safe retreat with the savage myalls (wild blacks) inhabiting the granite
ranges, and then began a career of robbery and murder. Small parties of
prospectors found it almost impossible to pursue their vocation in the
“myall country,” for the dreaded ex-troopers and their treacherous and
cannibal allies were ever, on the watch to cut them off. In the course
of a few months, by surprising and killing two unfortunate Chinese
packers, the desperadoes became possessed of their repeating rifles
and a lot of ammunition, and the old single-shot police carbines were
discarded for the more effective weapons. Sandy, who was the leader, was
a noted shot, and he and his companion now began to haunt the
vicinity of isolated mining camps situated in country of the roughest
description. Parties of two or three men who had perhaps located
themselves in some almost inaccessible spot would go on working for a
few weeks in apparent security, leaving one of their number to guard
the camp and horses, and on returning from their toil would find their
comrade dead or severely wounded, the camp rifled of everything it
contained, and the horses speared; and the hardy and adventurous
pioneers would have to retreat to one of the main mining camps, situated
perhaps fifty miles away, with nothing left to them but the hard-won
gold they had saved and their mining tools, but ready and eager to
venture forth again.
* Gulf of Carpentaria.
One day, so the clergyman related, a man named Potter was travelling
from Burketown to Port Denison, and camped beside a small water-hole to
rest until the morning. After unsaddling and hobbling out the horse he
had been riding, and unloading the pack-horse, he threw his packbags at
the foot of a Leichhardt tree, lit a fire, and began to boil a billy of
tea. He knew that he was in dangerous country, and that it was unwise of
him to light a fire, but being of a reckless disposition, and having a
firm belief in his luck, he took no further precaution beyond opening
the flap of his revolver pouch.
He had just taken out a piece of damper and some salt meat, which, with
the hot tea, were to be his supper, when he was startled to hear some
one address him by name, and looking up, he saw a powerfully-built black
fellow with a long black beard and smiling face standing a dozen yards
or so away. He was all but nude, but round his waist was buokled a broad
leather police belt with two ammunition pouches; in his right hand he
carried a repeating rifle.
“Don't you know me, Mr. Potter?” he said in excellent English.
Potter recognised him at once, and the two shook hands.
“Why, you're Sandy! Have you left the police?” (He knew nothing of what
had occurred.)
“Yes,” was the reply, “I skipped,” and carelessly putting his rifle
down, he asked Potter if he had any tobacco to spare.
“Yes, I can give you a few plugs,” and going to his saddle bags he
produced four square plugs of tobacco, which he handed to his visitor,
who took them eagerly, at once produced a silver-mounted pipe (probably
taken from some murdered digger) filled it, and began to smoke and talk.
“My word, Mr. Potter,” he said with easy familiarity, “it is a good
thing for you that I knew you,” and he showed his white, even teeth in a
smile. “But I haven't forgot that when I got speared on the Albert River
five years ago you drove me into Burketown in your buggy to get a doctor
for me.” (He had formerly been one of Potter's stockmen, and had been
badly wounded in an encounter with wild blacks.)
Potter made some apparently careless reply. He knew that Sandy, though
an excellent stockman, had always had a bad record, and indeed he had
been compelled to dismiss him on account of his dangerous temper. He
heard later on that the man had joined the Black Police, and a deserter
from the Black Police is in nine cases out of ten an unmitigated
villain.
Then Sandy became communicative, and frankly told his involuntary host
part--but part only--of his story, and wound up by saying--
“You must not sleep here to-night. There is a big mob of myalls camped
in the river-bed three miles away from here. If they see you, they'll
kill you for certain between now and to-morrow night, when you are going
through some of the gorges. You must saddle up again, and I'll take you
along another track and leave you safe.”
Tired as the horses were, Potter took Sandy's advice, and the two
started at sunset, the blackfellow leading. They travelled for some
hours, and then again camped--this time without a fire. Sandy remained
till daylight, and during a further conversation boasted that he had
enough gold in nuggets to allow him to have “a fine time in Sydney or
Melbourne,” where he meant to make his way some day “when things got
a bit quiet and people thought he was dead.” In proof of his assertion
about the gold he gave Potter a two ounce nugget he picked out from
several others which were carried in one of his ammunition pouches.
Before they parted Potter gave him--at his particular request--one of
the two blankets he carried, and then Sandy and he shook hands, and the
blackfellow, rifle in hand, disappeared, and left his former master to
continue his journey.
“What a hawwid chawacter!” said Mr. Assheton, when the clergyman had
concluded his story. “Why don't the police exert themselves and catch or
shoot the fellow?”
“It is such very difficult country,” explained Myra, “and, in fact, has
not yet all been explored.”
The ladies rose, and Myra and Sheila, pleading fatigue, went to their
rooms--or rather to Myra's--leaving Mrs. and Miss Trappème and Mrs.
Wooler to, as Sheila said, “Tear me to pieces. But I could not let that
woman insult me without retaliating.”
“Of course you did right. She's an odious creature.”
Grainger returned alone about eleven o'clock. He tapped at Myra's door,
and asked her if she was asleep.
“No. Miss Carolan is here; we've been having a lovely talk.”
“Well, go to bed, and have a lovely sleep. I want to see you both,
especially Miss Carolan, very early in the morning. We can all go out on
the beach before breakfast.”
“Very well, Ted. Has Mr. Mallard come in?”
“No. He will not be here for another half-hour or more. Good-night.”
Mrs. Trappème had heard his voice, and quietly opened the door of her
own sitting-room, where she and Juliette (Mrs. Wooler had gone) had been
discussing Sheila's delinquencies.
“Well!” gasped the mother to her daughter, as she softly closed the door
again. “What on earth _is_ going on, I should like to know! Did you hear
that--'I want to see you both very early, especially Miss Garolan'? What
_is_ there going on? I must go and see Mrs. Wooler in the morning and
tell her. And on the beach too! Why can't they be more open?”
Master Mordaunt, who was in the corner devouring some jelly and pastry
given to him by his fond mother, looked up and said, with distended
cheeks--
“Ain't the beach open enough?”
“Hold your tongue, you horrid little animal,” said the irate Juliette.