CHAPTER VIII.

Gold—Hostile natives—Flight by night—The great battle—Clubs—Fists—New Forest wrestling—“Old Joe.”

Though our foresters were looked upon and treated as brothers by the Waigonda tribe, signs were not wanting to show that some of the neighbouring blacks, who had been present at the Boorah, were envious of their position, and of the goods which they possessed, and an incident happened before long to prove this in an unpleasant way.

The brothers had gone on a distant hunting expedition by themselves; they eventually reached a country of dry gullies which they knew of old. Resting after their long march, Tim happened to scrape in the sand for water under the roots of a tree, when he suddenly called to his brother with a startled exclamation.

“What’s up?” answered Mat, running up, thinking he had been bitten by a snake.

“Look here, if this ain’t gold, I never saw a sovereign!” cried Tim, as he displayed a water-worn piece of the precious metal.

Mat could hardly believe his eyes, and whilst yet examining the nugget, Tim brought forth another from under the bank of the dried-up watercourse in which he was standing.

Both brothers now fell to with pointed stakes to dig in the sand, and, before another hour had passed, had unearthed several nuggets of various sizes.

At length this “pocket” of treasure ceased, and their digging-sticks came on to hard rock, which, at length, laying bare and following up the creek, they discovered was milky white, with distinct veins of gold running through it.

“Why, the gully is full of gold! our fortune’s made!” panted Tim, as he sat down to rest, and surveyed the beautiful rock beneath him.

“So it might be if we were away from here, Tim; as it is, it’s not so much use to us as if ’twas a lot of lead; all the same, we’ll take the bearings of the gully, and as it’s late, and we’ve lost the best of the day digging, we’ll camp to-night with the Tinguras, they seemed friendly enough with the Waigondas, though Dromoora says they’re thieves.”

The brothers marked the trees slightly, took up their spoils, and moved away from the “golden valley,” as they christened the spot, and by sundown were at the camp in question, which they intended to make their headquarters for a few days.

Upon arriving they showed the blacks one of the nuggets they had found, but these merely remarked that such “stones” had often been found by them, and that they were of no use.

It struck them that this tribe did not receive them very cordially upon this occasion, for they made uncalled-for remarks, said there was no food in the camp for strangers, never showed them where they might sleep, and behaved generally in a rough and uncouth manner.

However, this behaviour did not trouble our lads, they merely took the precaution to load their gun that night; this weapon, together with ammunition, being their constant companion, when away from home.

Next evening the brothers were engaged a few yards from their sleeping-quarters, when a black fellow took the opportunity to steal up, with the intention of taking the gun, which was lying under their ’possum rug, not having the respect for that weapon which the Waigondas had, but coveting it on account of the beautiful engravings upon the locks. Jumper had always considered the weapon as under his especial charge, and no sooner had the black stretched out his arm to take it than his wrist was seized in the dog’s powerful grip.

Howling and yelling, the native tried to shake off the dog, but Jumper, who owed more than one grudge for insults put upon him by black skins, took this opportunity to make his teeth meet in the bony wrist, nor would he let go, until another black fellow, coming to the rescue, hit him a violent blow on the head with his club.

Mat and Tim hurrying up at the uproar which ensued, found their faithful dog lying half stunned and bleeding on the ground, whilst the blacks were “jabbering” together in angry knots about the camp, casting fierce glances towards them, and handling their weapons in a menacing manner.

Before he appeared in view Mat distinctly caught the words, “Kill all three.”

Upon seeing that the white men were calmly sitting down with their gun, the natives, who had heard some rumours of the death-dealing powers of the “Teegoora,” appeared to quiet down, and retired in a body, discussing matters in an undertone.

But the brothers had lived long enough amongst these tribes to know them and their ways, and turning to his brother, Mat said, in a quiet tone, “They mean murder to-night.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” was Tim’s reply, as he attended to the dog’s wound. “We’ll clear out.”

So directly it was dark enough to slip away unobserved, the brothers, carrying gun and Jumper, glided silently out of the camp, and, taking a “bee line” for the Waigonda country, never paused from a long, slinging trot, until they drew up at midnight at a water-hole.

“It’s _something_ to know how to work yer way in the dark,” said Mat, as he put down the dog.

The fact was that the brothers were as good bushmen as the blacks, and in one respect even better, in that they were accustomed to travel at night whenever there was any reason to do so, whereas the blacks had a great horror of moving after dark.

Mat and Tim had hit off the very pool of water which they had intended to, and now meant to take a rest, eat something, and bathe the dog’s head.

They felt, now that they were so far safe, that a whole night’s start would enable them to reach the country of their friends before the Tinguras could overtake them.

The rest refreshed them all, more especially Jumper. The brothers had carried him, up to this point, by turns, but when they started again they found that he could follow fast enough to keep up with them.

Thus the little party of fugitives continued through the night, going at a more leisurely pace during the greater part of the next day, and towards evening had gained the new camp which their Waigonda friends had formed.

No sooner were the brothers in sight than their friends turned out with shouts of joy to receive them; but upon hearing the reason of their sudden appearance—for they had not expected them for some days later—they looked grave, and without more ado hastily summoned a council of war, for they told Mat that the black which had been bitten by Jumper was the chief of the tribe, a revengeful brute, who would be sure to come, with all his fighting-men, after them, and that, so far, it was lucky they had got into camp when they did.

“And they _will_ come,” said Dromoora, after he had commanded silence. “We must fight, and we shall be glad to fight them; but you white men must kill with the ‘thunder-stick,’ for they number two to our one.”

So the brothers consulted together, and resolved to do as the chief had requested, and use the gun, but only at the last moment, their intention being to fight the enemy fairly with their own wooden weapons, in the use of which they were proficient. But they resolved that if they saw that the Waigondas were driven back, and that the day was almost lost, then and only _then_, at the chief’s command, would they show the power of “Teegoora.”

So they informed the chief and his warriors of their decision, adding that the “thunder-stick” was already prepared to strike and kill.

At this news the blacks expressed their deep sense of gratitude with many guttural exclamations, and hoped, they said, that the white men would “thunder” all the enemy dead, for that this tribe had often molested them, and had even stolen their women.

Mat replied to these remarks by requesting his friends to give him all the lead which they had kept after stripping it from the wreck. This they joyfully agreed to do; and the brothers went away to cut up slugs, and see that “Old Joe” was prepared to back them up at a critical moment.

Whilst thus employed, Dromoora informed them that he and his wife would have the honour of decorating them for the battle.

Scouts had already been sent out to bring in all stragglers, whilst the men and women in camp were busily engaged in trimming up spears and other weapons, and preparing food and filling many gourds with water.

The brothers soon cut up a goodly heap of slugs, divided their one canister of powder into exact loads, and freshly chipped the flints of “Old Joe.” They had now reason to congratulate themselves that they had never wasted this powder, and that, besides that, they could rely upon its strength, having often tested its fitness.

By nightfall all preparations were completed to give the enemy a warm reception.

None of the scouts had reported the appearance of any of them yet; and as three sentries were to be on the alert all night, Dromoora said that they might sleep in camp tranquilly, for that no attack would take place before early dawn.

Besides carefully arming themselves, Mat and Tim had, with the help of the natives, prepared a cunningly-devised trap, in the shape of concealed kangaroo nets, the use of which we shall see further on.

In one respect Mat’s nature was a peculiar one, or, as _he_ thought, peculiar to himself _only_; and this was, that he would shake like a leaf when _waiting_ for a foe. It had always been the same. Once, when a boy, a burly lad had tripped him up purposely on the ice. Mat walked to the bank of the pond, took off his coat, and told the bully to “come on.” But the bigger boy had walked away, having forgotten the circumstance. Mat still remained, sending a messenger to say he was ready. When this was known, a crowd of his companions collected around to see the fun. The other lad was a long time coming, and it was noticed, to the astonishment of all, that, during the whole time of this “waiting,” Mat was trembling in every limb. But the village lads better understood their mate when, a few minutes later, after half a dozen rounds, they saw his antagonist lying, stunned and bleeding, on the ice, having been knocked clean off the bank by one of Mat’s terrific “facers.”

So it was on this eventful night before the great battle. Mat said to his brother, “It’s no good, I can’t sleep; feel just as I did before the bloodhound came at me.” And in fact he passed most of the night pacing, with short, quick steps, amongst the fires.

The sun had scarcely risen next morning when two of the scouts came rushing into camp to say that the hostile tribe was coming in full war-paint, singing their war-chant, and that they might be expected by the time that the sun was high in the heavens; further, that there were no women with them, and only a couple of lads accompanied the warriors.

Dromoora, on hearing this, ordered all the women and children to disappear and hide in the scrub, and at the same time asked our foresters to accompany them, “for,” said he, “if you are killed, we cannot use the ‘thunder-stick,’ as you only know its secret; besides, they will all try to kill _you_ first.”

Then up spoke Mat,—

“We will not obey you in this, Dromoora; I and my brother will be in the front rank fighting the enemy, with wooden weapons; if we are all driven in, we will retreat to the gun, and when you give the order, but not before, we will make it speak. If we are _both_ killed, which is not very likely, you will save the thunder-stick, and our books, and fly with them to the white man.”

This speech was received with grunts of satisfaction; and the chief answered in the name of the rest,—

“So be it. We have taught you how to use our own weapons; you are brave men; when I call the word ‘Teegoora,’ but not before, give forth the death-dealing noise, it will end the fight.”

Terebare and other of the women, before retiring to their hiding-places, proceeded to decorate the white men, under the eyes of the chief. When this was completed, Tim very truthfully remarked,—

“That their own mother would never know them.”

In truth our foresters, both men of splendid physique, presented a noble, and at the same time somewhat strange appearance.

At this period they were only a shade lighter in colour than their black brethren; their hair had been cut moderately close to their heads, by means of tomahawks, and now it was adorned with heavy plumes of the black and scarlet feathers of the parrot; beards black, and reaching down over their chests; bodies painted with white, yellow, and red ochre, in all sorts of grotesque patterns; their appearance was calculated to inspire awe even amongst the natives themselves; whilst, to complete their terrible appearance, Terebare insisted on tying to the forehead of each one of the damaged old books saved from the wreck, in such a manner that at each movement the leaves opened and shut.

The natives gathered round the brothers when their toilet was completed, and could not forbear a shout, and even a short corroboree for the occasion.

This, however, only lasted a few seconds, for the enemy were now reported as being near, and every warrior at once got into position.

But long before the hostile band appeared one of their youths, as forerunner, hailed a Waigonda scout, and signified that he wished to speak.

Dromoora sent a young man to ask him what he wanted, and this was the answer brought back,—

“We, the tribe of Tingura, have come openly, not creeping in upon you, and we intend to kill you all if you do not give up the white men, their dog, and the white men’s stick.”

“Tell the messenger,” bellowed the enraged Waigonda chief, as soon as he could get over this audacious threat, “that neither white men nor stick will be given up—that the Tingura may prepare to lay their bones here; that we shall take all their women, and that we have long wished to see how the cowardly, thieving dingoes will fight.”

When Dromoora’s message was conveyed to the enemy, who were now quite close, tremendous yells, mingled with derisive cries could be heard, accompanied by the thunder of rushing feet, and the next moment, as it seemed, a whole flight of boomerangs entered the camp.

These were dodged or warded off by the yelamans (or shields), and Dromoora and his warriors rushed forth to meet the foe, and with clubs and spears the battle commenced in earnest.

For the first few minutes Mat and Tim had their attention entirely engaged in warding off or dodging the numerous blows aimed at them, and whilst so engaged had not received a scratch, though more than one assailant had felt the power of their arms.

At the very first onset, by sheer weight of numbers, the friendlies were driven temporarily back a few steps, when Mat, who towered above most of his assailants, caught sight of a stoutly-built black fellow, wearing an enormous head-dress of emu feathers, fighting his way through friends and foes to get at him. At the same moment he recognized Tim’s voice, roaring out in English above the awful din,—

“Look out! the devil who the dog bit.”

And he it was, sure enough, with his wrist bound up with some animal’s skin, and with fury gleaming out of his deep-set eyes.

The man got close enough to Mat to hurl two heavy spears at him; but our forester was now in his element. Never taking his steady eye off that of his adversary, he received the first spear on his shield, and the second, which followed instantaneously, he escaped by springing high into the air.

Recognizing the fact that two great braves had met to fight to the death, friends and foes in the immediate vicinity suspended their struggles for the moment, to watch the combatants.

After, as we have seen, escaping the spears, Mat rushed upon his opponent before he could raise his club, and, profiting by a lesson which he had learnt at home, namely, the use of his fists, he dropped his shield, and at the same moment feinted with his left. These tactics, evidently new to the black fellow, somewhat disconcerted him, and for one instant he was irresolute; that moment proved fatal to him, for Mat brought down his club with terrific force on the mass of plumes.

Down went the Tingura chief half stunned, but the thick, stiff feathers of the emu had deadened the force of the blow, and he was up and on his feet again, club in hand, but before he could raise the weapon Mat repeated the blow behind his ear, driving in his skull.

On seeing the chief fall to rise no more, the friendlies gave a loud shout, whilst the enemy yelled with rage, and the fight waxed fiercer than ever.

Mat was well aware that there was a concerted effort to kill him at any price. Yet for the moment, having seen the power of his arm, and never having thought that the white men could fight them with their own weapons, the enemy held aloof, until, amidst loud Tingura cries, another warrior advanced upon him. At the same moment, in an effort to defend himself from a side blow, Mat’s club was dashed from him.

Our forester was now unarmed, but to the astonishment of his enemies and admiration of his friends, this fact seemed not to discourage him in the very least.

Striking out right and left with his fists, he felled a couple of his immediate opponents, with a bound was over their prostrate forms, and had this fresh warrior in his grasp, when, wrenching his club from him as he seized him, but disdaining to use it, he threw it high overhead to where he judged his Waigonda friends would be.

It now became a question of brute force between the white man and the black, the advantage being slightly on the side of Mat as a wrestler. Had the native been brought up in the same school as our forester, the issue would have been doubtful as to which would have come off the victor; for two finer proportioned men it would have been difficult to find.

Although the battle was raging before and behind them, again were the two combatants left to themselves for the time being. Mat had seized his man by the wrist in disarming him, but at once found that the black could twist this wrist round and round like an eel, no matter how firmly he grasped it; the thin muscular arm was too slippery to hold _still_. So, changing his tactics as the fellow “screwed” away from him, Mat let go suddenly, got a partial grip round his loins, and for a brief moment held him as in a vice; but a sudden wrench, and again Mat’s hands partially slipped. Owing to this final exertion the Tingura fell, dragging Mat with him. There they rolled together in the thick dust, locked in a deadly embrace; but the black, not relishing this kind of fighting, by a violent effort was on his legs again, yet still in the partial embrace of our forester.

Thus for an instant stood the two gladiators, with quivering limbs, their muscles standing out like cords ready to burst, when Mat got a full grip, this time round the loins of the Tingura, and with one tremendous heave, aided by his knee, threw him completely over his shoulder, and left him, stunned and bleeding, a good three yards behind him.

The chief cause of Mat being at length able to give his man this deadly fall was the fact that when they rolled together on the ground he was enabled to secure a handful of _grit_, and thus secure a firm grip of the black’s skin. He had never before attempted to _hold_ a black fellow, and he now realized that when he tried to, there was a natural sort of grease in the native skin which prevented him. He had thus, during the struggle, been watching for an opportunity to grab some sand; an effort which we have seen he succeeded in.

Our forester was now pretty well exhausted, and had it not been that the Waigonda formed round him, and covered his retreat towards the “thunder-stick,” he must have been either struck down or made prisoner.

Tim, meantime, with Dromoora and the rest of the tribe, had been bravely fighting against overwhelming odds. They were being driven slowly but surely back to the point at which they had previously determined to make their final stand, but it looked as though they could not be forced to reach it, so stubborn was their defence. Thinking by means of a bold dash to finish the battle, the Tingura made a rush, and Tim found himself separated from his tribe.

One assailant, who rushed at him with a “waddy,” he knocked down with his right fist, receiving the intended blow from the club on his shield. Whilst still staggering from the shock of this, another native hit him a crushing blow on the ribs, which knocked Tim down. The black was in the act of raising his club again to give him a finishing blow on the head when a yellow form seemed to spring out of the long grass, hurl itself on to the native’s back, and by sheer weight bear him to the earth, and there fix its teeth firmly in his throat. Mat, having been a witness of this act, rushed to the spot, and shouting, “Cheer up, Tim, I’ll put this brute out of his misery,” finished the Tingura by a blow on the head, which, seeing that Jumper had torn the savage’s throat open, was the most humane act to perform.

But though fortune had so far befriended the brothers, yet she had not altogether acted in like manner with Dromoora and the rest of his tribe.

The Tinguras were so enraged at the unexpected opposition, that with a savage yell the only surviving chief gathered his men round him, and determined to annihilate the Waigondas by their still overpowering numbers.

They had succeeded in driving Dromoora and all his fighting-men into the timber, where “throwing weapons” were of no avail, so that each side relied on their clubs only.

Many fell at this spot, both friends and foes. Blows were given and received which would have rendered any white man _hors de combat_; not so these wild men. During this last struggle Mat saw more than one knocked down apparently dead, and the next instant this man would be on his legs again, fighting more fiercely than ever.

The yells and shrieks were positively appalling. Mat and his brother, who was on his legs again, had never heard or read of anything to resemble this last effort for victory.

The blacks, both friends and foes, seemed literally to increase in stature as they sprang from side to side to avoid each other’s blows, whilst the countenances of the combatants were positively fiendish.

At this period of the battle it was evident that the Tingura were doing their utmost to kill Dromoora, and in their efforts to accomplish this did not now attack the brothers to the extent that these latter had anticipated.

But numbers told; many of the Waigondas had dropped in that clump of timber, never to rise again, whilst a devoted band rallied round their beloved chief.

The brothers were in an agony of doubt, and Mat had more than once said, “I’ll shoot!” as he handled the gun, which he had snatched from its hiding-place; but Tim had begged him to wait for Dromoora’s command.

At last Mat said, “I’ll wait no longer!”

As he uttered these words, two blacks, one of whom was the last survivor of the Tingura chiefs, sneaked suddenly round a large tree, behind the group of Waigonda warriors, and, with a fierce war-whoop, threw themselves on Dromoora, who, wounded as he already had been in the earlier part of the battle, was no match for this sudden onslaught.

One black had already knocked him against the tree by a blow, which was luckily partly fended off by the shield of the chief; the other was in the act of striking him with a heavy wooden sword, when Dromoora, holding his hands high over his head, shouted,—

“Teegoora!!!”

Mat had _seen_ the signal coming, and, thundering out a loud British “Hurrah!” to call off the attention of the attacking party, in one bound he was up to the combatants, and, holding “old Joe” out at arm’s length, he simply blew off the head of one of his chief’s assailants, and with the remaining barrel scattered the entrails of the other, as he stooped from the shock of the explosion. This happened in the very nick of time, for Dromoora at the same instant fainted from wounds and exhaustion, thus making it appear to all excepting the brothers that all three men had been shot.

“Quick!” sang out Mat, as soon as he had fired; “quick, powder and lead!”

But there was no need for such haste to load.

With the reports of the gun the weapons of the attacking party fell from their hands, and, without looking for a way, they fled in a frenzy of terror.

Our foresters had calculated on this final panic, had foretold it to their friends, and had laid their plans accordingly.

At the signal of the double report up jumped a number of youths from the grass, and, aided by the jins, “rounded up” and drove the greater part of their bewildered enemies in a body towards a previously prepared cutting in the scrub, whilst Mat on one side and Tim and Jumper on the other, kept them from breaking away.

When Mat saw the fugitives fairly entering the cleared path, he gave a loud war-whoop, and fired a dose of slugs at their retreating forms, which, owing to the distance, did not wound them; but it had the desired effect; for, never looking for any impediment that might be in their path, the Tinguras fell one over the other into two rows of kangaroo nets, which had been set there to entrap them.

Leaving the Waigondas, who had passed him in pursuit, to deal with the prisoners, Mat and Tim returned to Dromoora.