第68章

The girls in sun-bonnets--I advise the blacks--Fatal excitement--Last moments--The catastrophe--I cannot realise it--A fearful contrast--"Only a withered flower"--Bruno's grief--Steering by the ant-hills--Avoiding the forests--Myriads of rats--The flowing of the tide--Rats and the native children--Clouds of locusts--Fish from the clouds.

The weeks gradually grew into months, and still we were apparently no nearer civilisation than ever.Again and again we made expeditions to see whether it were possible for the girls to reach Port Darwin overland; but, unfortunately, I had painted for them in such vivid colours the tortures of thirst which I had undergone on my journey towards Cape York, that they were always afraid to leave what was now their home to go forth unprovided into the unknown.

Sometimes a fit of depression so acute would come over them, that they would shut themselves up in their room and not show themselves for a whole day.

We had a very plentiful supply of food, but one thing the girls missed very much was milk,--which of course, was an unheard-of luxury in these regions.We had a fairly good substitute, however, in a certain creamy and bitter-tasting juice which we obtained from a palm-tree.This "milk," when we got used to it, we found excellent when used with the green corn.The corn-patch was carefully fenced in from kangaroos, and otherwise taken care of;and I may here remark that I made forks and plates of wood for my fair companions, and also built them a proper elevated bed, with fragrant eucalyptus leaves and grass for bedding.For the cold nights there was a covering of skin rugs, with an overall quilt made from the wild flax.

The girls made themselves sun-bonnets out of palm-leaves; while their most fashionable costume was composed of the skins of birds and marsupials, cunningly stitched together by Yamba.During the cold winter months of July and August we camped at a more sheltered spot, a little to the north, where there was a range of mountains, whose principal peak was shaped like a sugar-loaf.

I frequently accompanied the warriors on their fighting expeditions, but did not use my stilts, mainly because we never again met so powerful an enemy as we had battled with on that memorable occasion.My people were often victorious, but once or twice we got beaten by reason of the other side having drawn first blood.My natives took their reverses with a very good grace, and were never very depressed or inclined to view me with less favour because of their want of success.We were always the best of friends, and I even ventured gradually to wean them from cannibalism.

I knew they ate human flesh, not because they felt hungry, but because they hoped to acquire the additional valour of the warrior they were eating.I therefore diplomatically pointed out to them that, in the first place, all kinds of dreadful diseases which the dead man might have had would certainly be communicated to them, and in this I was providentially borne out by a strange epidemic.

The second consideration I mentioned was that by making anklets, bracelets, and other ornaments out of the dead braves' hair, they could acquire for themselves in a much more efficacious manner the valour and other estimable qualities of the departed warrior.

Whilst I was on this subject I also advised them strongly and impressively never wantonly to attack white men, but rather to make friendly advances towards them.I often wonder now whether explorers who follow in my track will notice the absence of cannibalism and the friendly overtures of the natives.

Two half painful, half merry years, passed by.We had seen several ships passing out at sea, and on more than one occasion Yamba and I, taught by previous lessons, had jumped into our canoe and pulled for many miles in the direction of the sail, leaving the girls watching us eagerly from the shore.But it was always useless, and we were compelled to return without having accomplished our purpose; we merely inflicted additional pain on ourselves.

I now come to what is possibly the most painful episode of my career, and one which I find it impossible to discuss, or write about, without very real pain.Even at this distance of time Icannot recall that tragic day without bitter tears coming into my eyes, and being afflicted with a gnawing remorse which can never completely die in my heart.Do not, I beg of you, in considering my actions, ask me why I did not do this, or that, or the other.

In terrible crises I believe we become almost mechanical, and are not responsible for what we do.I have often thought that, apart from our own volition, each set of nerves and fibres in our being has a will of its own.