CHAPTER XVIII.

Our hero visits the old Waigonda country once more—The overlanding—The Golden Gully—The last sight of Dromoora.

Our hero, having seen his twin brother comfortably off, and well provided for by the liberality of the squire, decided to start at once with Dromoora and Terebare to the northern wild country, the land of the Waigonda tribe.

Tom had often expressed a wish to accompany him, whenever he made up his mind to go, and Mat gladly accepted his offer now that he was actually organizing the little expedition. The squire said that he would get an extra hand or two to help him during the absence of “his boys,” and remarked how glad he was that there were at least _two_ white men for such a long “overlanding.”

So they started—a party of six—for two of the station blacks joined the little band; these were partly to aid in looking after two extra pack-horses, which were laden with useful and handsome articles destined for the Waigondas, and chosen by the chief and his wife. There was no occasion to take a buggy this time, for our natives had learnt to ride during their life at Bulinda Creek: besides this, a wheeled vehicle would have been utterly useless in the wilder districts.

On the last evening of their stay at the Creek Mat had bidden farewell to Annie in her little garden, whither they had resorted to water the plants as usual, he had also requested her to take charge of his old book for him, saying that instead of taking _that_ with him on his journey, he had a great favour to ask of her, namely, to give him a little lock of her hair that he might carry it with him.

Before Annie could open her lips to reply to this request, Mrs. Bell came running out of the house which the two were approaching, and, calling sharply to her daughter, said,—

“Come, it’s nigh time for you to be a-bed, you’re always about that garden now.”

Annie laughed and went in, and Mat saw her no more that night.

The next morning when the family were collected on the verandah to see the little party of adventurers off, Annie stole softly up to Mat, placing a tiny paper packet in his hand. Our hero grasped it, and the hand that held it, and whispered,—

“I can go through anything now, Annie.”

And when shortly afterwards he turned from the “Apple-tree” ridge, to have a last look at the _station_, so he informed Tom, he saw a little white handkerchief being waved from _her_ corner of the verandah, and our forester went on his way rejoicing.

Mat had kept to his promise of not speaking to Annie of the one absorbing thought that lay deep in his manly bosom; he had reasoned this matter so far out that he had concluded that it was best to take this overland trip, away from her sweet presence, away from the constant round of station-work. During the long days and nights in the silent bush he could commune with himself.

Besides, Mat was aware that there was always a certain amount of danger amongst the districts whither he was bound; and, again, there was a double feeling of honour, so to speak, in his conduct, he had given his promise to Annie’s parents, and he knew that she would have the opportunities of attending many gay parties during his absence, so that, reasoned Mat, “she will see plenty of other men besides me. At all events, it shall never be said by others that I stood in her way.”

Mrs. Bell had noticed the little farewell tribute which Annie had given Mat, and determined to “have it out” with her daughter, who was still earnestly gazing at the distant cloud of dust made by the receding horsemen.

“Annie, come here,” called Mrs. Bell, but Annie took no notice of this appeal beyond saying,—

“In a moment, when they are out of sight.”

“Yes, but they are out of sight, besides Tom will be back in a few months.”

“Tom!” replied Annie in a tone which implied that _he_ did not enter into the subject of her thoughts; “yes, I suppose they will come back; but how I wish we could write to them, or they to us; it’s a dangerous journey, mother, many have told me so.”

Annie had been correctly informed, for in the enormous stretch of country between Bulinda Creek and the scene of Mat’s shipwreck, many events had taken place, and though around the Waigonda country the natives had not been disturbed, yet south of that many collisions had taken place between the white and the black man; much country had been taken up; the new settlers had had their cattle speared, and even one or two of the camps of these white men had been destroyed, and themselves murdered. It was a very old story, which had been often repeated, as new colonies were taken up, from south to north of the entire continent. The black man looked upon any one, whether black or white in colour, who encroached upon his territory, as an enemy, and dealt with him accordingly, and the white man avenged the murders of his countrymen by shooting the natives.

When Mrs. Bell saw that her daughter was really grieved, and that her last words were spoken in a choking tone, she said,—

“They can’t write, dear, of course, there’s no post up there, but we will try to forget for the time; and you will have plenty to amuse _you_, I’m sure. Just think of the engagements we have; why, as you know, I’ve a tray full of _minor_ invitations. Then, look at the grander ones; there’s—where shall I begin? Let me see; first, the trip to the ‘Heads’ with the Governor in his special steamer; his nephew, of course, will be there, that _will_ be a picnic; then there’s _another_ grand picnic at ‘Rose Bay’ with the Gilletts—Lord Roulette is a great friend of theirs, you know—‘Manly Beach’ afterwards, and a ball at—”

“Oh; yes, I know,” interrupted Annie impatiently, “how you can remember it all I can’t think, I’m tired of all those people and places, and prefer home life, riding with my father and—my garden.”

“That garden again! why, I declare you have gone gardening mad, Annie, at least lately you have; since Mat has been interfering in it you have thought of nothing but flower-raising.”

“Perhaps now he has made it tidier I take more interest in it,” replied her daughter, and feeling that she was reddening slightly under the solid stare of her mother, added, “And I’m going there now to put in some seeds.” And so escaped further questions for the time.

Matters were dreary enough at the station now. Bell without “his boys;” Annie having no one to confide in, for she saw plainly that in one sense, in her sense, Mat was not now in her mother’s good graces.

Parson Tabor was the only one to cheer up the spirits of the little party.

As an outsider, he had for some time been conversant with the feelings of all parties, and though he had so far been made a confidant of Mat’s secret, that he guessed the state of our hero’s feelings, yet he followed his fast rule of making it no business of his, unless specially appealed to by the elders. Yet somehow he was always taking Mat’s part when the conversation happened to bring in his name, or touch upon the absent ones, and it was wonderful to see how both Bell and his daughter brightened up on hearing the good man speak in this strain.

Annie had always been fond of horses, and was an accomplished horsewoman, and to help pass the days, which seemed long to her now, she took regular rides with her father.

She, mounted on her favourite, Robin Hood, which Mat had broken in as a colt, and left behind for her special use; and Bell bestriding his own especial fancy, a confidential weight-carrier, sure and steady.

Upon one of these occasions, it chanced that father and daughter had ridden many miles around the run, and, approaching home again, came across one of the numerous small lagoons which lay to the north of the station.

The day had been intensely hot, scarcely a breath of wind moved the leaves of the stately Eucalypti, but over this lagoon hung a group of the drooping Myall, affording such shade that the squire proposed to dismount and rest themselves and their horses.

Bell, having found a comfortable resting-place, lit a pipe, stretched himself out and prepared for a rest, or, as he called it, a “Bange.”

He had not taken many puffs at his pipe when, turning his head, he found Annie busy with her sketching-block, a tiny one, which she carried in the pouch of her saddle.

“Why, Annie, what on earth are you going to sketch here?” said he. “Not that old scaly Moreton Bay ash on the opposite bank, surely?”

“No, father, you know I cannot sketch; but I am going to _try_ and draw Robin Hood as he crops the grass there, and, if it is anything like, send it to Mat.”

“Why, you foolish little thing, there’s no post to where Mat has gone!”

“Then I will keep it until he returns, and give it him _then_.”

“I suspect, my girl, that you are keeping that little _heart_ of yours until he returns.”

The colour mounted into Annie’s face as she heard these words from the squire’s lips, and, hastily putting down the drawing materials, and gazing with wide-open appealing eyes at her parent, she exclaimed,—

“Father, my good daddy, why did you say that? Would you be very, _very_ angry?”

“There, lassie, don’t cry!” said Bell. “It has been my earnest wish for many a day; and when Mat spoke—I mean I am getting old, and long have I hoped that you would be wedded to one of the most honest, upright, and, by Jove! manly fellows I have ever met.”

“You have made me so happy,” whispered Annie, who had now thrown herself into her father’s arms and was silently weeping on his neck. “I knew that _you_ would not be against me, nor against _him_.”

“There, my dear,” said the squire, as he gently disengaged himself from her embrace. “Let us keep this to ourselves until that young rover returns home.”

“I _must_ kiss your dear, kind old face again, dad.”

“That will do, lassie,” laughed Bell, as he submitted to half a dozen little smacks administered in quick succession over his rugged face. “Go on with your drawing, and let me smoke in peace.”

“I cannot finish it now, father; let us go home!” and Annie packed up her drawing materials and called Robin.

The noble beast threw up his head from the grass that he was cropping, fixed his great, calm eye upon his mistress, and then, walking solemnly up, commenced “nuzzling” his nose into her hand.

“Why, how you must have petted the rascal!” said the squire, who had watched these proceedings with an amused smile.

“Yes, I often stroke his head, and kiss that pink spot on his soft, velvety nose; but I expect that his affection is all cupboard love, for, you see, he is sniffing about for the bread and salt which I am in the habit of giving him.”

As soon as the squire had finished his smoke he mounted Annie on to her horse, when she said, “Now, dad, I must have a good gallop,” and, without waiting to see if her father was in the saddle, she spoke to Robin, who no sooner found that his head was directed towards the Creek than he flew homewards as hard as he could gallop.

Together girl and horse cleared the home-paddock fence, and pulled up breathless at the verandah, followed a few minutes later by the squire, who remarked,—

“I never saw you go like that, Annie; I really cannot keep up with you another time. I hope that you enjoyed your ride!”

“Father, I shall _never_ forget it!” said our heroine, as she flew up the steps to her own room.

From this period both Annie and her father seemed to find the time pass more quickly and cheerfully. A “something” had been removed between them which caused her to seek her father’s companionship for a daily ride with eagerness, whilst most of the evenings she devoted to her garden; and the squire, when he could find the time, wended his way to Sydney on business connected with the station, and matters concerning the publication of our forester’s journal or narrative, which Annie had finished reading with great delight.

We must now follow our hero and his little party on their trip northwards.

Before starting, Mat had pointed out to Tom, on an outline map, his proposed route as near as he could guess. Placing his finger on a spot high up on the north-eastern coast, he said,—

“I should fancy the wreck took place within fifty miles of this line, which, you see, is marked seventeenth degree of south latitude. It must be a good bit over eight hundred miles from here the way that we shall have to go; but, by hitting off Moreton Bay, we can surely find a vessel which will carry us and our horses some way north, and so give us a rest.”

At first, after leaving the Creek, they pursued their way through the more settled districts for some weeks, sleeping either at stations or camping out, as time or fancy suited, and, reaching Brisbane, were lucky enough to find a schooner there, which they hired, the captain of the boat saying that he knew the northern coast up to a certain point, and so far he would take them.

On the evening of the sixth day the skipper anchored at the mouth of a fair-sized river, and declared that he could not risk his vessel further, so our party reached the shore, when the tide was suitable, by swimming their horses; their food, ammunition, and fancy articles being taken in the ship’s boat.

They found, upon coming ashore, that they had landed amidst dense mangrove-swamps, and for many hours had to cut their way through these scrubs, until they at last emerged into higher ground, which consisted of palm-tree scrubs, with a thick undergrowth of vines and rattan-cane.

The difficulty of getting their horses through this wilderness of trees was enormous, and when at length a suitable spot was found, they determined to rest a whole day to recruit themselves and their tired animals, and to repair the packs which carried their goods.

They, however, found time for hunting and fishing as well, and Tom said that it was the most sporting district that he had ever been into.

They caught numbers of fish—eels, bream, and a species of perch which ran up to twenty pounds’ weight and more, as far as they could guess.

In the palm-scrubs were quantities of scrub-turkeys, and another smaller species of bird somewhat resembling the domestic fowl, and, as they had no lack of powder, the camp was well supplied.

This river reminded Mat and the chief of the one they had crossed on their way south which was so full of crocodiles, but they saw none of these reptiles which fact Dromoora explained by saying that they did not often frequent mouths of rivers so near to the salt water.

But delightful as this camp proved, Mat was anxious to push on; so, after having enjoyed a thoroughly good spell, they crossed the river, and then kept a north-westerly direction, hugging the coast-line as much as the great mangrove scrubs and swamps would allow.

Three of our party being perfect scouts, and all being good bushmen, they were enabled to avoid anything like a near approach to strange natives, as they agreed that a collision with them would be most disastrous to all concerned.

At length, after many weeks of monotonous travelling, and after following a large river almost to its source, they entered on to a large salt-bush plain, which was bounded on the horizon by a range of hills terminating in a solitary mountain.

As soon as the big mountain was sighted the chief and his wife broke into a corroboree of joy, and Mat was as delighted as his two friends at seeing the termination of their journey within sight, for this mountain was situated in the Waigonda country. It was long before this range of hills, which had appeared comparatively near, was reached; but when they at length found themselves in their _own_ country, Mat and his two friends went forward, the others forming a camp and guarding the horses, for our natives knew that they could never approach their tribe on these terrible-looking animals.

The first members of the tribe who appeared to them were a party of jins digging yams, who no sooner saw them than they fled in terror. But Dromoora said, “Do not attempt to stop them! they will go home:” which sure enough they did, for, following up their trail, our party of three found themselves within sight of a cluster of black fellows, all gazing towards the supposed danger.

Dromoora then gave a peculiar call known to his tribe, upon hearing which all those who were in the Waigonda camp sprang forth to welcome their long-absent friends, and with joyous shouts escorted them to their fires.

Messengers were then despatched to bring in all the blacks who were out hunting, whilst Terebare brought up Tom, and introduced him and the Bulinda Creek natives.

When all were assembled, the usual feasting, dancing, and corroboree were gone through, and after Dromoora and Mat had detailed all their adventures to numerous knots of natives, Mat left the chief to give his impressions of the white man and his wonderful ways, whilst he superintended the unpacking of the pack-horses, having first assured his friends that the big “kangaroos” would not injure them; they were, however, hardly satisfied about this until, their chief being free from his numerous questioners, they prevailed upon him to mount one of the terrible “kangaroos.” When, however, they saw him sitting in the saddle, their fears gave way to immoderate laughter, and every man, woman, and child was brought up to see their beloved chief in such a novel position.

Mat, during this spectacle, was engaged counting over the presents, or “spoil” as he called it, to see that nothing was broken, and beyond the fact that one or two of the numerous mirrors were cracked, he found nothing damaged, calling to Dromoora in the midst of his task, he said,—

“I told the Waigondas long ago that there should be only one gun, or “teegoora” amongst them, but you have brought two besides the one I gave you.”

“Yes, oh, white chief,” answered Dromoora, “but I got these two fighting: I never wished to tell you how, but I will now. I killed those two white men, who would have killed you when you were fighting the robber.”

“Then,” said Mat, “keep them, but never use them to kill white or black men with, but only to shoot game.”

“I promise,” returned Dromoora, “I will only use them against men in defence of our lives.”

Leaving the chief and his wife to distribute the much-prized presents, Mat and Tom mounted their horses, took a few provisions and tools, and started on a visit to the “Golden Gully.” Our forester taking a straight line to the place, they soon reached the valley, and proceeded to work.

Tom, who had previously had some experience on diggings, after working for some hours in the dry watercourse, called his companion, and said, “I have found these few small nuggets, and there is gold, I expect, in this sand, and you have some too, I see,” as Mat produced a few nuggets also, “but this I’m pretty sure is ‘a poor man’s diggings.’ I will tell you what I mean; you would have to take all this sand and shingle away to the nearest water, and wash it in a ‘cradle,’ and even then the gold would not last long, for _here_ is where the real quantity of the ore is, in these rocks of hard white quartz, up the creek.”

Then taking Mat to the spot, he explained that this gold-bearing quartz which was rich in veins of ore, might be almost endless.

“But then, you see,” he continued, “_this_ part where all the gold is, is not ‘a poor man’s diggings;’ to win this gold means erecting machinery, costing thousands of pounds, on the spot; and what would it cost even if it were possible to land it on the coast, to transport it hither? It cannot be done, Mat; some future day, when the country is opened up, there is no doubt that it will be done; but _we_ can’t do it, mate.”

Mat saw the truth of Tom’s argument, and at once agreed to take what they could find, but not to waste any more time there, adding, “No doubt Tim and I got most of the loose gold, excepting the small stuff which could only be found by using the cradle and water as you say.”

Upon their return to the camp, they found the whole tribe laughing and dancing round their “toys,” axes, large and small, beads, and gaudy handkerchiefs. The whole of the “spoil” was taken out every morning to be examined, and fresh wonders were discovered in the treasures every moment. Dromoora had had to explain the secret powers of the thunder-sticks till he was tired.

Mat returned for a few days to his wild, savage life, chiefly to show Tom the various methods employed in hunting the game, as pursued by really wild blacks, and Tom took such a fancy to the life, that he wished to stay on for some weeks, but Mat insisted that they had already stayed long enough, that it would not be fair to the squire to delay, as station matters required their presence at the Creek, and that they really _must not_ leave the ladies any longer by themselves. To which Tom replied that his mother and sister were perfectly well able to take care of themselves, and besides that they had the squire and parson to look after them.

Dromoora and his tribe, upon hearing Mat’s decision to return immediately, implored him to remain and be their chief.

To refuse this request, when he saw their urgent appeals, went to Mat’s heart, but he was obliged to harden his feelings, and also to show some diplomacy in refusing them.

But Mat had a powerful and steadfast friend in Dromoora, with whom he had been conferring apart, and when the tribe gathered round him to hear his decision, he thus addressed them,—

“I have brought your chief and Terebare back safely. I have brought the things I promised. Now I ask you to let me go back; there are bad white men about my friends at home. The chief will tell.”

Mat had told Dromoora, of what that chief was well aware, that though the gang of the bushranger was broken up, that some of them had escaped over the border into Victoria, and though it was not likely that they would return into New South Wales, yet it was always possible; but he had _not_ told Dromoora many other things, which the faithful chief took upon himself to explain to the assembled tribe, for, after giving a rapturous account of Mat’s doings in general, and a specially detailed account of the gallant fight with Magan, the whole scene of which he acted to the life, and to the death, by making another black fellow personate the bushranger, he concluded,—

“Our white chief, who won the white girl in a hard and fair fight, claims that he should be rewarded by taking her as his wife to his ‘gunyah.’”

This speech was received with loud bursts of pleasure, mingled with cries of “Such would be the reward of a black warrior; such shall be the reward of the white chief.”

Tom, to whom this language was Greek, asked Mat to interpret it, and the meaning of the shouts, which our hero very conveniently and truthfully did, by telling him that they were making a great deal too much of his fight with Magan. “But then, you see, they do love a good fight.”

So the Waigondas agreed that Mat should start whenever he felt so inclined, and before another white man “should come along and steal his girl,” and from that moment of their decision, they made many little preparations to render the southern journey comfortable by collecting for the travellers all the best roots and fruits they could find.

Mat made them a feeling speech on the morning of his departure. When the whole tribe were assembled once more, he said,—

“Oh Chief, and Terebare, and men of the Waigondas, you saved my brother’s life and mine; you cherished us as brothers for many years. The white man does not forget; the white man learns from a book of the Great Spirit that he should try to do unto others as he is done by. If you ever foresee troubles with strange men, send a messenger to me, Dromoora knows the quickest way; and if ever the white man threatens to take your country, show him this paper if you can. I have had it written by the white man’s ink which never fades; this is what it says on many pieces, so that you may all have them:

“Dromoora, and his whole tribe of Waigondas saved the lives of the two brothers Stanley, and cared for them as brothers, for many years. I ask you to carry out their precept, and do unto _them_ as ye shall wish that they do unto you; as they did to me.—MAT STANLEY, Bulinda Creek, Sydney.”

Before our hero, Tom, and the two Creek blacks started south, one of the Waigondas came to him bearing an enormous shell, saying,—

“The beast that you used to tell us of, that nearly killed your brother; we found it when fishing once, it was dead and open. Many tides we looked for it.”

“That shall go to my brother, some day,” said Mat, as he thanked the man; and one pack-horse was told off to carry the monster south.

“They won’t believe it, Tom,” said our forester; “unless I carry it home; at least the one who’s going to print my book won’t.”

When the white men turned their faces homewards the chief and his whole tribe accompanied them as far as the boundaries of the Waigonda country, then the black men silently sat down to view them over the next hill, and when Mat turned round for a last wave of the hand he saw his old chief with his arm round Terebare, seated on a stone, the attitude of despair.

The tears rose in his eyes as he witnessed this spectacle, which Tom observing, said soothingly,—

“Never mind, old man, you might see them again, some day.”

“Yes, in heaven, I hope,” responded our forester in a choking voice, as he turned his face southwards.

But at nightfall, when they camped, Mat was himself again, and could talk of nothing but Bulinda Creek, and the delights of that distant station. He was further cheered that evening by the arrival of a young black fellow whom the chief had sent, as the youngster wished to go to the white man’s home with Mat; he proved to be a valuable addition to the party as a scout, and our hero was pleased to have him as a connecting link with his old tribe of the Waigonda.