CHAPTER IX.

After the battle—Burial rites—The Waigonda wish to make chiefs of the white men—Our “twins” leave with Dromoora and Terebare for the south.

When the brothers returned to Dromoora they found that chief lying on the ground, surrounded by Terebare and her maidens, who had not joined in the pursuit.

These were weeping and wailing, supposing him to be dead; but Tim brought a gourd of water and poured it over his face and head. This act aroused Terebare, and she quickly procured some young shoots of the rough-leaved fig, then making poultices of the milky juice, applied them to her lord’s wounds.

“I knew he warn’t dead,” said Tim; as, after the lapse of a few minutes, the wounded man commenced to breathe heavily. “But I expect they’d ’av gone on howling till he _was_, unless we’d flung the water over ’im.”

The brothers then helped to place the chief in a little arbour of boughs, which was erected for him, and left him there in the hands of his wife.

The whole of that night were the Waigonda lamenting their dead, the howls of the jins being specially erie and dismal.

It was noticed with surprise by the brothers that, notwithstanding the length of time that the fight had lasted, and the numerous crushing blows given, they could not find more than a score bodies on the battlefield; but it was explained to them that many of the Tinguras, stricken down apparently to death, had so far recovered that they had crawled away, most probably to die later on; and, besides this, that many more of the enemy had been clubbed to death by the Waigondas, when caught in the nets.

Next day the natives proceeded to burn their own dead, reserving the body of a youth for a feast. After the bodies were burnt, the ashes were tied up in pieces of bark and put carefully away; whilst portions of the defunct Tinguras were divided into thin strips and portioned out amongst the tribe, Mat and Tim each receiving a share of the two blacks who had fallen to their gun.

As they were supposed to receive these relics with great pride and solemnity, they wrapt them up with extreme care and gravity in the presence of the black, and, as carefully, a few days afterwards, left them within reach of the dingoes or wild dogs.

This is how it happened that Jumper appeared so opportunely on the scene of battle.

Before the fight commenced he had been tied up, but fancying, no doubt, that his masters were in distress during the uproar which ensued, he had bitten through the cord, or rather vine, which held him, had made his way to Tim, whose voice he heard, and had fastened on the very black who had struck him a day or two previously, when guarding his master’s gun.

The native whom Mat had thrown so heavily was found moaning near a water-hole, to which he had dragged himself, his spine being injured.

As soon as he was discovered, he was brought up by the Waigondas to be butchered by Mat, as they said that they had reserved that honour for him; but on being told that white men were not such cowards as to kill a helpless prisoner, one of the natives jumped up and said that _he_ would willingly club him then and there.

The brothers insisted that the life of the prisoner should be spared, but it was not until Mat threatened them with the gun if they attempted to carry out their threat, that they agreed to spare the life of their enemy for the present.

Shortly afterwards he was brought up before a council of the elders, who told him that he was not to be killed because the white men so wished it, that that being the case he should be cared for until he recovered, when he was to go back to the remnant of his tribe, and to tell them and certain other tribes that the first time they molested man, woman, or child of the Waigondas, the white men would at once come and crush the whole lot by thunder.

The effect of this speech was to cause the prisoner to tremble violently, for when lying helpless in the grass he had been a witness of the death of Dromoora’s assailants, and, as he acknowledged, had nearly then and there died of fright at the reports of the weapon, and the result of the discharges.

Our foresters tended the man carefully, as the Waigondas would have nothing to say to him, yet the Tingura man never showed the slightest sign of gratitude for this conduct, but scowled, at Mat more especially, to the last, and at length departed, cured, but with a look of hatred in his eyes.

As soon as he was sufficiently recovered, Dromoora sent for the brothers, having heard that they wished to get rid of their war-paint. When they appeared before him, he thus addressed them,—

“Two such brave men, who have saved our tribe, must be made chiefs, and for this ceremony join in a ‘Corroboree’ of triumph as well.”

Mat and his brother, who hated this everlasting foolery, as they termed a “Corroboree,” begged to be excused from taking part in it, on account of their bodies being so bruised and stiff from the effects of the late strife, and for the same reason requested that the ceremony of making them chiefs might be deferred.

The chief said there was reason in their request, and continued,—

“If it had not been for you, oh! brave brothers, Dromoora and his tribe would have been swept away, I will give you all I have, anything you want, if you will give me the ‘stick’ and tell me its secret.”

When Dromoora had sent for the brothers, they had partly suspected that the conversation would take this turn, and had therefore agreed upon their answer.

So Mat replied,—

“You, oh, noble chief, and your brave tribe, have saved _our_ lives from the beginning, ever since we landed on your coast. We were able to fight and kill in this battle because we knew things that the Tingura did not, and because we possessed the Teegoora ‘stick.’ _We_ have also a favour to ask. You shall have a ‘thunder-stick,’ and be taught the secret; you shall have iron tomahawks, and many other beautiful things, if you will take us to where we can meet the white man.”

“That cannot be,” answered Dromoora, “the strange white men might kill me.”

“_Then_,” eagerly broke in Mat, “let your tribe keep me as prisoner, till you return safely—take only my brother with you.”

This idea seemed to strike the chief, and saying he would talk it over with the elders, the conversation terminated.

“That’s very pretty of you saying you’d stay while I went,” said Tim, as the brothers walked towards their hut, “but I don’t stir without you, not a step.”

After some farther discussing the pros and cons of the matter, our foresters received a summons to attend the elders.

They found the whole of their friends seated upon the ground, awaiting them.

Upon their making their appearance, the chief at once proceeded to cross-examine the brothers as to their wishes, telling them that he utterly declined to have anything to do with their going west, as the tribes in that direction were very hostile and treacherous.

Mat answered this by saying that they had long wished to go to the _south_, as they were convinced that there were white men there, many moons distant.

The chief said that he would go nowhere were it not for the fact that the brothers held the power of life and death in their hands; would they kill a white man if he attempted to murder him, Dromoora?

To this question the brothers answered together,—

“Without the slightest hesitation.”

After much desultory talk it was agreed that both brothers might go with the chief, who should also be accompanied by his wife, if they promised to bring the two natives back again unharmed, under care of white men armed with “thunder-sticks;” and, further, that all the tribe should receive presents, which Dromoora would choose, and that no member of the tribe would be harmed.

To these terms Mat joyfully agreed, with the proviso that amongst the presents there should be only one Teegoora “stick,” and _that_ for the chief, and that to him alone would they impart the secret.

Our foresters were so overjoyed at this decision that they wished to start off at once; but Dromoora said he should not be ready for ten days’ time, holding up the fingers of both hands to express the number; so they were forced to curb their impatience, occupying themselves during the _now_ long days in looking through the small stock of belongings which they had managed to keep all these long years, and throwing away such as would no longer be necessary.

At length the eventful day arrived, and gathering up their weapons of wood, “old Joe,” the nuggets, and the remains of their library, the white men started with Jumper and the two natives; without much leave-taking between the travellers and the rest of the tribe, excepting that they shouted messages to each other until out of hearing.

The little band commenced working their route by the sun and coast-line by day, and the stars by night, when they happened to travel late.

They avoided the neighbourhood of all tribes by the way, and journeyed but slowly, Tim and the chief having scarcely recovered the effects of their wounds, so that at first they did not cover much ground, for having Jumper to guard them, they were enabled to sleep every night far later than they would otherwise have done, and the sun was often high in the heavens before they resumed their march next morning.

During the daytime they were also much detained by having to procure food, but in spite of all hindrances to a quick progress, the spirits of our foresters were buoyed by the glorious hope of once again joining their own kind, and hearing something of that outside world which had been a blank to them for many weary years.

Every description of country they passed over that it was possible to conceive.

Large undulating prairies covered with rich grass and interspersed with running streams, across miles of dry and stony ranges, now cutting their way through dense and seemingly endless scrubs, where the heat was like a furnace, then out again across a complete network of great sandy beds of rivers, which in flood-time were roaring torrents, as denoted by the drift-wood hanging thirty and forty feet high in the trees on both banks.

At length they came to a river which was so different to any they had yet seen that, though it was mid-day when they arrived on its banks, they determined to “spell” there a few days and explore the neighbourhood.

This river was running with a blue and sparkling stream, numerous islets peeped up amongst its waterfalls and cascades, its banks were clothed with dense and lofty palm-tree scrubs.

Wondering how it was that this special strip of country should be blessed with a large running river when all the others were dry, or nearly so, our travellers started to explore its source.

They found, after many miles of rough walking, that it was fed by many springs which issued from the foot of a good-sized mountain amongst some Basaltic rocks. Judging from experience in other places, the chief said that these springs would never fail, probably never _had_ done so.

Our party caught plenty of fish in this river, amongst which were many large eels, and a specially good eating fish which resembled a great silvery perch, with an eye the colour of a ruby.

The country on the banks of this river consisted of rich black soil, covered with wild bananas and other tropical growth, and carpeted with a wealth of wild flowers. Besides all this there were numerous signs of game. Traces of small fires both up and down the valley showed that it was a favourite hunting-ground of the natives.

But this paradise of a country had two drawbacks, one of which was that the river swarmed with crocodiles, and the scrubs were full of stinging trees.

This gigantic nettle was well known to our party, and therefore they never came into contact with it, but its pungent smell and handsome blossom seemed to pervade every scrub; and as Jumper had a narrow escape from the jaws of a crocodile, the travellers found themselves rather disappointed with the district on the third day of their sojourn, and so decided to continue their journey southwards.

Three months had they thus crawled through the bush, when one day, trudging along through a sandy scrub, they descried two natives digging yams on the plain beyond.

“You hide here whilst I go and talk to them,” said Dromoora, and the next moment he and Terebare were off to interview the strangers.

They were away an unusually long time, and returned at length bearing an emu, which the chief had stalked and speared.

Throwing down the bird, he informed his companions that the two strange natives belonged to a tribe lying far to the west, and that, as far as he could understand their language, he understood them to say, that white men were camped a day’s journey to the west, men who use thunder, and killed ducks with it.

“_Then_,” exclaimed Mat, “let us first have a feast of emu, and then be off west also, as soon as possible.”

However, by the time they had finished their repast, the day had worn to its close; and Tim feeling twinges of rheumatism again, the little party decided to camp where they were.

When they looked out next day, they saw several more strange natives on the plain, so that in going west they had to make a considerable détour to avoid them.

That evening they came on the tracks of unshod horses, as Mat joyfully pointed out, telling his dark friends at the same time that when the white man’s camp was reached, they must stay behind, and that Tim had better remain with them, as he was still a bit leg-weary.

Dromoora and his wife willingly consented to this plan, as they were much frightened at the enormous tracks of the strange beast which Mat had pointed out.

Whilst it was still light, Mat spied the camp of the white men, situated near a lagoon. What first met his eye was a tent, a solitary figure, and smoke proceeding from a good-sized fire near it.

The sensation was new to him—the first white men, the first signs of civilized life, that he had seen for many a year—and as he gazed he shook in every limb as he considered how best to approach the camp.

Having made up his mind, he first proceeded to hide his weapons, then walked boldly up to within fifty yards, and gave a loud whistle to announce his presence. He had noticed _two_ men sitting by the fire now that he was so much nearer.

The strangers, on hearing the whistle, looked round, then, seeing, as they supposed, a strange black fellow, instantly snatched up their guns.

Mat, expecting this movement, cried, “Don’t shoot! White man!”

“Come, I know better than that; you are a black who has learned English!” shouted one of the men. “A step nearer, and we shoot. Put down your gun,”—for Mat had retained this weapon—“and then come here!”

Mat complied with this request, and placed his gun against a tree; then, seeing that he was unarmed, the strangers allowed him to approach.

In a few words Mat told his story, how he had been shipwrecked, together with his brother, up north, had lived for many years with the blacks, and was now journeying south with his friends and brother.

“Well, this beats creation,” said one of the young men whom Mat was addressing. “You’re a regular Crusoe, only without the clothes. Come and sit down, and tell us more about it.”

“Will you first let me bring up two of the blacks who have befriended us all these years?”

“Yes, if they are unarmed, and their tribe does not come with them.”

Mat gave a reassuring answer, and then went back for the chief and his wife, whom he shortly returned with, introducing his brother at the same time.

Our foresters were soon comfortably seated at the fire, revelling in the long-forgotten luxuries of tea, sugar, and tobacco, their hearts too full to speak, and, as Tim observed, “he did not know _how_ to think even, it was so like a dream.” Our heroes, in fact, felt prostrated with joy. They wished, in this supreme first hour of _real_ liberty, to hear _no_ news, to ask _no_ questions; which their new acquaintances observing, simply put another “billy” of tea on the fire, and very thoughtfully left them to meditate undisturbed.

The evening had closed in, when two black boys belonging to the camp came up.

Dromoora could not make out these “boys” at all, dressed, as they were, in gaudy-coloured flannel shirts and moleskins. He hailed them in every dialect he knew, but all to no purpose; they only stared at him, and more still did they stare at the brothers, whom, however, they told their masters at once “were white fellow, only all the same black fellow.”

The strangers, seeing that Tim suffered from rheumatism, had thoughtfully rigged him up a kind of tent, or “lean to,” of canvas, in a sheltered spot at the back of the camp, his two native friends sleeping in the same part, and carrying on their own and Tim’s cooking there.

Mat stayed with his hosts, and slept by their open fire.

Before going to sleep this first night, one of them said to him, “Now that you have collected your thoughts a bit, tell me more about yourselves, and we’ll let you know what _we_ are doing up here. By the way, if you had not dropped across us, you would have wandered a lot further before finding anything like a station.”

However, Mat had not much more to tell, for the brothers had agreed, on first discovering the strangers, that, though they would of course relate their adventures in a general way, yet that many particulars and incidents of their past lives they would withhold until they knew more of their new comrades.

So Mat soon brought his story to a conclusion, being also anxious to hear the strangers’ account of themselves, and of colonial matters generally.

As Mat’s narrative was brought to a close, the younger stranger knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and said,—

“Now I’ll tell you about ourselves. My name is Carew, and my mate’s name is Terry. We came out about two years ago, as ‘new chums,’ to a station on the ‘Downs,’ but—well, there wasn’t much going on, and it didn’t suit, so we are looking out for a bit of country up here for ourselves; and Burns, that’s the boss—”

“Burns!” interrupted Mat, “why, that’s the man I had a letter to, I do believe.”

“Now you mention it,” continued Carew, “I remember Burns said that he _had_ been expecting a new chum out years ago; he often referred to it. The ship was called the _Austral_, I think. She was signalled off Hobart Town, and has never been heard of from that day to this. I see it all; you must be the man whom he was looking out for. I remember now, he said that steamers were sent everywhere to look for the ship. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll lend you one of our boys to put you on the direct track for Burns’ station, and you shall take a second letter to him. My eye, _won’t_ he be astonished!

“By-the-bye, the other chap, who’s always in that tent, and generally drunk, looks a bad lot, drunk or sober; I can’t tell you anything about him, excepting that his name is Boyd, he has an awful scar on his face, caused in some drunken row probably; we came across him on the road, riding a thoroughbred-looking horse—stolen I expect; he forced his company on us, and we shall be glad when he goes, and now I vote we turn in.”

Dromoora and his wife felt more at home after they had been for a few hours in the company of their dark brethren. They even, at length, summoned up courage to stroke the horses, causing much laughter by asking what the big kangaroos ate? whether the white men ate _them_? And many remarks of a like nature, all of which were interpreted to the strangers.

After they had spelled for three days, the camp was broken up; Carew and Terry to go north, the brothers and their party south.

Carew had packed a horse with rations for the brothers, giving them some “notes” as well, so that they would be able to purchase clothes, in time to be decently rigged out before they entered the district of the Darling Downs.

Mat thanked his newly-found friends for their generosity, and promised to repay the money as soon as he could make a little; he then gave them directions where to find some of the good cattle country, through which he had lately been travelling. The parties bid good-bye, mutually pleased with each other, and a quarter of an hour later the camp was lost to sight.

On the way south, our party conversed with each other concerning their late acquaintances.

“I only saw the third white man once, the first morning, and then only for a second,” remarked Mat.

“But _I_ saw him again,” said Dromoora. “One evening I was lying very still, and he crawled to the opening of his tent to get a better light from the fire, so that he might look at some of those yellow stones, like yours. I suppose all white men have them?”

“Did he?” asked Tim in a startled tone, “Let’s count the nuggets.”

Forthwith the dilly bag was opened, and several of the lumps of gold were found to be missing!

Yet this loss did not affect our foresters much, for they knew where more was to be found; besides, were they not “Homeward bound.”

For weeks more our little party journeyed on, happy and contented, the brothers realizing that they were _really_ leaving their lonely life behind them, and knowing that their guide was taking them straight to their destination, for the black told them one day that they were getting near a small store, pointing to the tracks of drays and bullocks.

Having reached this building, our party had to go through so many examinations as to who they were, and from what part of the world they hailed, that it was a long time before they could be rigged out in clothes. Dromoora said he knew all about shirts and trousers, and declined to be burdened with anything but a straw hat and a thin cotton shirt, the former of which he ended by giving to his wife.

A looking-glass proved as great an object of interest to the brothers as it did to the natives.

Keeping along a well-marked track, after quitting the store, they came to a fenced-in country; and, guided by the barking of dogs, found themselves at Burns’ Station.

Walking up to the house, Mat, who acted as spokesman, was confronted by a tall and dissipated-looking man, who was lounging in a canvas chair, smoking and reading.

This individual’s first words were not encouraging, as putting down his paper, he stared at Mat, and drawled out,—

“What do _you_ want? I don’t require any hands now, certainly not a half-caste.”

But Mat’s answer in right good English considerably astonished Mr. Burns.

“My name is Stanley, I was bringing out a letter to you some years ago from a more civil-tongued fellow than yourself, and that’s your own brother, only I and my brother here got wrecked, were the only two saved, and we’ve lived with the blacks up north ever since; how long I don’t know, as I’ve lost all tally, but a great number of years.”

Before the conclusion of this speech, Burns had started from his chair and was critically examining the speaker.

“Well, I be hanged!” he cried, as soon as he could grasp the fact that he was addressing one of the only two survivors of the ill-fated _Young Austral_; for he guessed that was the ship. “I didn’t mean to speak roughly, only I’ve been so bothered lately; that’s your brother there, I’ll go bail by the likeness. But come in, come in, and let’s talk all about it; fetch the niggers up too, I beg your pardon, I mean the _natives_. You shall all have a good square meal before anything else.”

Burns’ manner completely changed as he ordered in the dinner, and bade them all be seated. Mat then gave his host Carew’s letter, and whilst he was reading it, our travellers were only too glad to be left to enjoy their meal, having fasted since early morning.

Burns reappeared after the lapse of a few minutes, with a bottle of grog, saying,—

“Now you’ve about finished, let me hear something of your doings.”

So Mat gave him an outline of the history that he had related to Carew.