Part 19

It was the first of the kind the Irish boy had ever seen, and, as he pulled the struggling ray into the shallows and exposed its body, he was struck mute for a few seconds with astonishment, and not a little alarm, at its uncanny appearance. Dropping his line in the excitement, he half turned to the boys, and, pointing to the floundering fish, exclaimed, "Begorrah! 'tis th' div-vil himsilf. Saints presarve us, but if yen's not he'es ta-ale! Or, ma'be 'tis th' dhragon phwat Father Daly towld us about at Mass larsht Sun-day."

"He'll be a drag-off in a moment," cried Joe, making a clutch at the line, for the brute was wriggling into the deeper water. The next minute the ray was smacking the earth with his flappers, and whipping it with his tail.

"Phwat be th' crathure, anny ways, Sahndy?"

"It's a stingaree, Denny. Mind you don't touch its tail, or you will find out to your cost that it's the dragon, black angel, an' 'th' owld bhoy,' all mixed up like an Irish stew. Run for the tommy, an' we'll whip it off."

"And does it bite wid its ta-ale loike a schn-ake, bhoys?"

"No, you precious duffer! it's got a spike near the tip that it rams into you like a needle, an' then look out! Yellow Billy trod on one once when he was havin' a bogey down below Tareela, in the river--they make a hole in the mud an' lie there--an', by jings! he was ravin' mad in twenty minutes. The doctor had to shove a syringe into his arm, and squirt laudnaum, or somethin', to quiet him down. There!" flourishing the tomahawk, "that's off, clean as a whistle!"

"My word!" continued Sandy, a moment later, "we'll keep the tail for Harry. He promised Bill Evans, the jockey, to get one for him if he could. He's goin' to ride White's horse at the Armidale races, an' he's the laziest o' mokes he reckons. Bill says it'll be only by sheer floggin' that he'll fetch him along. Says if he only had a stingaree-tail whip[#] he could do the trick."

[#] The sting-ray tail is sometimes used for this purpose. It is a cruel instrument of flagellation in the hands of an unfeeling rider.

"This is not schnapper fishin'," interjected Joe. "My word! the stingaree'll make stunnin' bait. Put a bit on your hook, Denny, it may entice 'em."

Sandy cut off a slice from the flapper and baited Denny's hook with it. The line had hardly reached the bottom ere it was seized by a fish--a monster. The fish did not rush, he bored; the resistance was of a sullen nature. Joe came to Denny's help, and between them they drew the fish to land. It proved to be a huge rock cod, or groper, as it is more commonly called, scaling close upon a hundredweight.

"A jolly groper, by dad! We're in luck all right," exclaimed Tom. "We'll have groper steak for supper to-night; besides, we can pickle one half of this cove and dry the other."

Their luck had changed in more respects than one. The ray and the groper seemed to be avants courier for the school-schnapper, which now began to bite freely.

For the next two hours the boys were kept well employed, landing near upon forty fish, varying from three to twelve pounds in weight. The tide now began to ebb, and after that there were no more bites. It was just as well, for by this time they had caught as many fish as they could cure. Counting the groper, they had nigh upon three hundredweight. The weight of these when scaled and cleaned would be reduced by at least one-fourth, leaving about two hundred and fifty pounds of choice fish.

"What's bes' thing to do now, Joe?"

"W-e-l-l--er--I dunno. Oh, I say, how'd a jolly swim go down?"

"Spiffin'! A swim, a feed, an' then start cleanin' the fish an' gettin' 'em ready for smokin' an' saltin'. 'Bout noon I reckon it is."

"Come on, Denny," cried Joe, as they walked down to a sloping beach a little back from the Point; "come an' have a dip in the briny."

"Bedad, thin, that same will Oi not. 'Twu'd be threadin' on wan iv these stinkin'-rays Oi'd be. Oi can seem to feel th' brute's dirty pisen fangs already in me leg. No, no, thanks be, Oi'm not takin' th' wather tra-atement at prisint. Oi'll go an' start the foire so as to be ready f'r yees; that is, if th' sharks div not ma-ake mince-ma-ate of yees."

Was it a premonition which caused a cold, tingling thrill to run along Joe's nervous system, from tip to toe; to be followed by the creeps, which made goose-flesh of his smooth skin? Disagreeable as the sensation is to the lad for the time, it lasts but for a moment, and in less than no time, so to speak, he is revelling in the glories of the crisp, emerald-tinted wavelets of the Bay.

It should be stated that Schnapper Point did not extend into the Bay at right angles to the beach. It inclined northward, and at the spot where the boys were bathing was not more than two hundred yards from the beach.

"Say, chaps," shouted Joe, who was some distance out, "I'm going to swim over to the main beach."

So saying, he swam slowly towards the other side, enjoying to its fullest extent the luxury of the exercise. He had covered about a third of the distance when he heard a great commotion behind him.

Denny, who had been attending to the fire, had his attention attracted by a moving object in the sea. Gazing intently thereon for a moment, he left his occupation and ran swiftly towards the boys.

"Look, bhoys! look at that gra-ate fish sa-alin' in forninst the Point. Troth, it's a monsther groper, Oi'm thinkin'! Glory! but he'es a gra-ate big bullock-groper!"

So saying, Denny came towards the boys with a puzzled air, as though his description of the object to which he was pointing did not exactly determine its species.

"Whereaway, Denny?" exclaimed Sandy, who was paddling in the surf, standing up and gazing in the direction indicated. "A bullock-groper. That's a new creature surely. Never heard----Hello! why, it's a---- Hi, hi! Joe! Joe!" shouted the lad in a wildly excited state. "Joe, there's a big shark roundin' the Point an' coming this way. Come back, quick! quick!"

Joe, who was almost on a level with the water, was unable to locate the enemy as quickly as the others. It was not until he began to tread water that his eye caught the moving object. In a flash he realised his danger, for it was a large tiger-shark, the man-eater of the sea. Not even the man-eater of the jungle, roused through the blood-lust to a killing frenzy, could be more merciless to his victim than this cold-blooded, pitiless, silent tiger of the seas.

Terrible as was the shock, his courage survived. He conned the situation, and formed his judgment in a moment. The shark was eighty yards or so above him, swimming parallel with Schnapper Point beach, and within thirty yards or so of it. As far as he could judge the fish was ignorant of his presence, but were he to return to his companions he could not expect to escape its vigilant eyes; would be crossing its bow, so to speak; and, were it in an attacking mood, would not have the ghost of a show.

His only hope of escape lay in keeping along his course, getting to the farther shore in the smallest number of minutes possible. All this cogitation did not cover twenty seconds, and the boy resumed his swim with the utmost vigour.

Had not something happened to divert the shark from its course nothing alarming would have occurred, for Joe was rapidly widening the distance, and every stroke was improving his chances. The boys on shore, with the hope of frightening the monster away altogether, began to make a great clatter; pelting the shark at the same time. No more fatal policy could have been adopted. The only result of their tactics was to divert the shark from its course, and to drive it out in the direction of their comrade.

Almost as soon as the brute's course was changed it sighted the swimmer. This it indicated by giving two or three strong strokes with its powerful tail, and gliding at a rapid rate in the wake of the lad. Joe was made acquainted with this change of course by the frantic cries of his mates. Throwing his head over his shoulder for a moment, he saw the shark heading directly for him. He knew in that moment that unless the miraculous happened his hours were numbered, and in a few seconds--or minutes at most--his body would be mangled by this pitiless sea-tiger. Yet, although this terrible result appeared an absolute certainty to the fleeing youth, he did not lose his head, but swam with a strong and steady stroke. There is such a thing as hoping against hope. He would not surrender life; it must be torn from him. Joe's home upbringing, with his father's daily chapter and prayer, sent his thoughts heavenwards in this his moment of extreme peril: "What time I am afraid I will put my trust in Thee."

Here was the situation. Joe was about sixty yards from the beach, while the relentless pursuer was within thirty yards of him. His mates were powerless to aid him, and were racing round to the spot where he intended to land as swiftly as their legs could carry them.

The shark glided within a few yards of the lad, and then swam round him, while conning him. This the boy felt to be simply the preliminary, yet every stroke was taking him nearer the shore. The water should be even now shoaling. Might he dare to sound it? But, alas! the enemy seems to understand this, and gives a cunning look as it half-raises its body from the water, and scrutinises its helpless victim preparatory to making its final swoop.

"God help me!" cries the youth, with a dry sob; his last moment has come. In that supreme moment--as in the case of drowning men--the whole past came before him. Home, parents, sisters, brothers, pals! There, almost within arm's-length, is his merciless foe; while there is still quite a stretch of water between him and the beach.

The great, cold-blooded, insatiable fish is poised for the final spring. A single second now, and----

Instead of falling upon its victim, the huge brute lashed the water into foam, and swam round and round in a circle. What had really happened Joe knew not. He no longer swam shorewards, but, half stupefied, watched the "flurries" of the frenzied fish as it lashed the water in rage or pain.

Then he heard a great splashing shorewards, and a voice shouting encouraging words. Turning in that direction, the boy beheld, with unutterable joy, Harry, rifle in hand, rushing through the water to him. In a few seconds the stockman is abreast Joe, the water being only up to his arm-pits. Pointing the rifle at the fish, which was circling in blind fashion, but a few yards off, the rifleman--for it was he, under God, who worked the miracle--drove a bullet through the shark's brain.

"My word! 'twas a touch-and-go, old feller!" exclaimed the man, as he put an arm round the boy--who had, in a sense, collapsed--and drew him to the shore. "There now, Joey, me brave boy. Y're all right, ain't ye? Y're not the chap ter faint, I know. Here's the others," as the rest dashed up, breathless; the Irish boy fairly crying with excitement.

They could do nothing for a while but look at Joe as he sat leaning against a mangrove--where Harry had placed him--making a brave but weak effort to smile. The reaction had set in, and the boy felt it was only by the most resolute exercise of his will that he kept from swooning.

Tom, who was blowing like the proverbial grampus, stuttered at last: "Let's m-make tr-racks h-home, b-boys. I-I'd rather be b-b-bailed up by a thousand 'r-rangers, than w-w-w-one of th-hose sea-devils. Oh! the sight of the m-monster as he r-rose to make a d-dive at p-poor Joe! Y-yes, let's c-clear."

"Clear, be hanged! What are you drivelling about, you jolly idiot?" It was just the tonic Joe needed. "We're not goin' to let a thing like this spoil our sport, not by a long shot. I'm all right. Was a bit knocked out for a few minutes, I will confess. Tell you what, boys; I'll never be nearer death till my last moment comes. That I am alive is due, first to God, an' then to ole Harry, here. 'Twas a great shot, that first one of yours. 'Nother second later an' 'twould have been too late. Ugh! don't believe I'll ever get the green glitter of the thing's eyes outer my mind. Tell you what, I'll jolly well punch the first cove that hints at goin' home. I vote we go back an' scale an' gut the jolly fish."

"Bedad, thin, it's a plucky wan y'are, Joe, me bhoy! Y're th' mahn f'r me money ivry toime. But, ye'll not do a sthroke iv wark till yees have a feed. Faith, Oi'll do a sthreak an' get th' billy boilin' f'r a pipin' hot cup o' tay. It's what we all want; Joe in particular." Suiting his action to the word, the cook strode off in quick time to prepare the lunch.

Meanwhile the dead shark had drifted into the shallows until it stranded on the beach. The party now made a closer examination of the brute. The first shot, fired from the bank as the creature raised itself, had caught it in the throat; the second passed through the eye to the brain.

"Why, it's a tiger-shark!" exclaimed Harry; "twelve foot if he's an inch. Thought 'twas a blue-nose at fust; they're bad enough, but this joker's the worst kind that swims the sea. My word, Joe, it'd been all U P if this chap'd once got 'is teeth intil yer."

"Budgeree, budgeree, you bin shootem shark? Him murry bad p-feller. Catchem plendy black p-feller; eaten. This p-feller live longa Point plendy years."

The group, which had been intently gazing at the carcass, turned round in a startled manner on bearing these guttural sounds. Immediately behind them was a cluster of aboriginals, five in number, who had stolen silently upon the scene.

"Hello, Cock-eye! that you?" cried Harry, as he surveyed the blacks. "Where you bin sittin' down, eh?"

"Cedar Crik. We bin come longa here get fis' for choppers."

"Oh, the timber-getters, hey! Well, you seem ter know this ole boss. You bin see 'im afore?"

"Plendy times. Bin often try catch 'im. He kill-ee mine sister. He too much lika dingo; no take bait."

"Well, you can git even with this joker, Cock-eye. He eat your people; now you chaps gobble 'im up."

The blacks are inordinately fond of shark's flesh, and--cannibal as this sea-tiger is--no question of sentiment may stand between these primitive men and a gorge.

"I say, Harry, cut that dorsal fin off for me, there's a good man, before these niggers tackle it. I'd like to keep that."

After a considerable amount of hacking, the stockman managed to separate the fin, and, leaving the blacks in undisturbed possession of the carcass, they returned to the Point, to feed, and to finish their work.

*CHAPTER XXX*

*IN AND ABOUT THE CAMP*

"O mellow air! O sunny light! O Hope and Youth that pass away! Inscribe in letters of delight Upon each heart one golden day-- To be there set When we forget There is a joy in living yet!" G. E. EVANS.

The fish cleaning occupied the best part of the afternoon; and when the party reached camp, about sunset, they were dog-tired; inclined for little else than supper and sleep.

"But you haven't told us how it came to pass that you were just on the spot to prevent the shark scoffing Joe," exclaimed Tom to Harry. "We didn't expect you back for hours."

"Niver had such a thing 'appen afore, I give yer my word. Lost me way in the dashed scrub; carn't understand it nohow. As a rule yer carn't lose me in a scrub; can feel me way be day or night. Instinct, they calls it. Ole Dumaresque says ter me one day, when we'd bin ridin' fer hours through heavy pine country after some strayed heifers, gettin' caught in the dark long afore we makes the homestead: 'How do you manage to tack an' criss-cross this beastly country without track or compass; not even a star to guide you? It fair beats me, my man. Why, I'd 'a' bin lost a dozen times over but fer you. You always seem ter be goin' wrong, yet always come out right.'

"'Carn't explain it, sir,' ses I. 'I jist do it.

"'It's all instinct,' ses 'e. 'It's like wot the dingoes an' blacks 'ave.'

"Instinct or no instinct, I got bushed all right ter day. There's something erbout it I carn't understand. 'Twasn't that I was careless, an' takin' no notice. I 'ad worked through the scrub a distance of four mile or so when, all of a suddent, I ses ter meself, ses I, 'Where the dickens am I?' Well, as soon as I put the question to meself I knows I was bushed, an' fer the fust time in me life I begins ter feel quite creepy like. I didn't know which way ter go. At larst I starts out in a direction that seemed the likeliest, but, somehow, I cud make no headway. Something seemed ter clog me feet, an' I was allers gettin' mixed up with vines an' brushwood.

"'Dash it all,' ses I, 'this won't do. Don't believe I'm goin' the right way, after all. Believe this ere way's leadin' me back to the Bay, an' I wants ter git through this blarmy scrub ter the forest, fer 'oppers' tails. I'll righterbout face, danged if I won't!' So round I turns, an' as soon as I started I got on fust clarss. Didn't git mixed up an' stumble as afore, but gits through the brushwood as slick as a bandicoot. 'Mus' be nearly through the belt,' ses I, after goin' fer an' hour or so. 'Mus' git the rifle ready, fer I might sight a kangy any moment now.' So I unslings the rifle from me back an' puts the gun in its place, an' stops a minit ter load 'er--the rifle I mean. I'd jist finished when I heers voices shoutin', an' then a great yellin', as if somethin' orful was 'appenin'. So orf I rushes through the scrub, an' comes out on the beach. I was knocked inter a heap, I gives yer me word; fer there before me was the sea, an' I thought I was on t'other side of the scrub altogether. Then, in a flash, I sees wot was really 'appenin'. Jist afore me very eyes was Joe. He was strugglin' in the water not more'n a hundred yards away, an' that 'er brute seemed as if it was jist a-fallin' on 'im. Why, I fired the rifle a'most without pintin' it. Somethin' seemed ter say, 'If yer waits ter aim yell be too late.' Be gosh! I'm thinkin' 'twas the Almighty Hisself directed that shot."

"If ye'd not losht your enstink, as ye calls it, ye'd be moiles an' moiles awa-ay at th' toime th' shark was goin' to gobble Joe up, wuddent ye?"

"In course I wud."

"Well, don't ye think th' good God had a hand in losin' ye in th' scrub?"

"It's wot yer father'd call an answer ter prayer," replied the stockman, turning to Joe as he spoke.

By this time the camp-fire--around which the group had been sitting--was burning low, and the party was quite ready for bed after the exciting and tirng adventures of the day.

The campers were astir at an early hour next morning, to make the final preparations for curing the fish. After filling both barrels, there was a quantity available for smoking. To carry out this object a sapling frame, about four feet square and seven feet high, was constructed, and enclosed with bushes, leaving an opening at the top and bottom. The fish were hung by stout cords, and a fire kindled on the earth inside the curing shed. Some green wood was used with the dry, to produce a fair, volume of smoke; and so the curing went on apace.

Leaving Denny in charge of the camp, the others spent the afternoon shooting over a chain of lagoons that lay back from the beach a couple of miles or so. The ducks were plentiful, and they returned to the camp well laden. They passed the two following days shooting and fishing, both fins and feathers being exceedingly plentiful. By this time they judged the fish to be cured, and packed it in a maize bag.

"Tell you what, boys! S'pose we ride over to the Pilot Station to-day? It'll be a change, won't it?"

The others received Joe's suggestion with ready approval, and before long were racing along the beach towards the Pilot Station. This was situated at the mouth of the river, and consisted of the residences of the pilot and the boat's crew.

It should be said that at the mouth of every Australian river flowing into the Pacific is a sand-bar. These sand barriers frequently shift their position, owing to tidal and other ocean influences. This makes entrance and exit to be a somewhat dangerous proceeding, and many a craft has come to grief on these treacherous sands. To reduce this danger to a minimum a pilot station exists at each river entrance. The pilot is generally a sea-captain with a large experience of these treacherous bars. It is his duty, weather permitting, to take daily soundings so as to locate the exact position of the bank, and by means of signals to apprise incoming and outgoing vessels of the position and depth of water on the bar; also, when required, to pilot the vessel over the dangerous spot.

Captain Craig, the pilot, was an old salt, with nearly half a century's experience of the eastern rivers of Australia. He received the boys very kindly, and, after offering them refreshment, took them to the signal station and look-out. When he had explained the methods of signalling, he allowed them to look through a very fine telescope. He was justly proud of this instrument, it having been presented to him by a company of passengers for his gallantry and seamanship in extricating his vessel from a rocky shore in a hurricane.

The time had now arrived for taking the bar soundings. Much to the boys' delight Captain Craig invited them to accompany him in the life-boat, and a few minutes later the crew were pulling the party from the miniature cove to the bar.

The water here, owing to the bar formation, was generally in a turbulent condition. Although it was a calm day, they found the boat exceedingly lively as she moved to and fro over the bar while soundings were being taken. They experienced sundry disagreeable qualms, and a certain screwed-up feeling in the region of the "bread-basket." The clacking tongues of the youngsters grew suspiciously quiet, and Tom's ruddy cheeks paled to an exceedingly bilious complexion. Had you quizzed these boys upon their sickly looks, they would have protested with might and main against the insinuation of mal-de-mer. Nevertheless they were mighty glad when the pilot, after half an hour's sounding, having accomplished his purpose, turned the boat's nose in the direction of home. Once out of the troubled waters, the sick feeling passed away, and at the solicitation of the lads "for a pull," the pilot good-naturedly allowed them to row to the landing-place.

Before leaving, the pals recited the story of the shark adventure, ending in the death of the tiger shark. Captain Craig listened with great interest, and not a little excitement, to this narration.

"You have had the narrowest of escapes, Joe Blain, and have very much to be thankful for," exclaimed he. "That shark was a most notorious character. He has roamed the Bay for years and years, and has destroyed many human lives. Innumerable efforts for his capture have been put forth by the fishermen, and by my own men, but in vain. Often sighted and fished for, he has resisted the many lures set for him. Again and again, when enclosed in their nets, he has broken through, and has long been their despair. Now, however, thanks to a good Providence, and to the clever shot of your friend here, this dreadful man-eater has been removed." Advancing to the stockman, the pilot shook him warmly by the hand, and thanked him in the name of the community.

As the party rode home in the cool of the evening, they decided to break camp next morning, in order to carry out their original intention of paying a visit to the old diggings.

*CHAPTER XXXI*

*OFF TO THE GOLD DIGGINGS*

"The mountain air is cool and fresh, Unclouded skies bend o'er us, Broad placers, rich in hidden gold, Lie temptingly before us." SWIFT.