The Adventures of Louis de Rougemont
CHAPTER XIV
An eventful meeting--Civilisation at last--Rage and despair--A whiteman's tracks--Yamba's find--Good Samaritans--Bitter disappointment--Brunoas guardian--A heavy burden--A strange invitation--The mysteriousmonster--"Come, and be our chief"--I discover a half-caste girl--The fateof Leichhardt--"In the valley of the shadow"--A sane white man--Gibson isdying--Vain efforts--Unearthly voices.
When we had been on the march southwards about nine months there came oneof the most important incidents in my life, and one which completelychanged my plans. One day we came across a party of about eightnatives--all young fellows--who were on a punitive expedition; and asthey were going in our direction (they overtook us going south), wewalked along with them for the sake of their company. The countrythrough which we were passing at that time is a dreary, undulatingexpanse of spinifex desert, with a few scattered and weird-looking palms,a little scrub, and scarcely any signs of animal life. The further eastwe went, the better grew the country; but, on the other hand, when wewent westward we got farther and farther into the dreary wastes. At thespot I have in my mind ranges loomed to the south--a sight which cheeredme considerably, for somehow I thought I should soon strike civilisation.
Had not the blacks we were with taken us to some wells we would havefared very badly indeed in this region, as no water could be found exceptby digging. I noticed that the blacks looked for a hollow depressionmarked by a certain kind of palm, and then dug a hole in the gravel andsandy soil with their hands and yam-sticks. They usually came upon watera few feet down, but the distance often varied very considerably.
We were crossing the summit of a little hill, where we had rested for abreathing space, when, without the least warning I suddenly beheld, a fewhundred yards away, in the valley beneath, _four while men on horseback_!I think they had a few spare horses with them, but, of course, all that Isaw were the four white men. I afterwards learned that, according to ourrespective routes, we would have crossed their track, but they would nothave crossed ours. They were going west. They wore the regulation dressof the Australian--broad sombrero hats, flannel shirts, and rather dirtywhite trousers, with long riding-boots. I remember they were movingalong at a wretched pace, which showed that their horses were nearlyspent. Once again, notwithstanding all previous bitter lessons, myuncontrollable excitement was my undoing. "Civilisation at last!" Iscreamed to myself, and then, throwing discretion to the winds, I gavethe war-whoop of the blacks and rushed madly forward, yelling myselfhoarse, and supremely oblivious of the fantastic and savage appearance Imust have presented--with my long hair flowing wildly out behind, and myskin practically indistinguishable from that of an ordinary black-fellow.My companions, I afterwards discovered, swept after me as in a furiouscharge, _for they thought I wanted to annihilate the white men at sight_.Naturally, the spectacle unnerved the pioneers, and they proceeded torepel the supposed attack by firing a volley into the midst of us. Theirhorses were terrified, and reared and plunged in a dangerous manner,thereby greatly adding to the excitement of that terrible moment. Theroar of the volley and the whizz of the shots brought me to my senses,however, and although I was not hit, I promptly dropped to the groundamidst the long grass, as also did Yamba and the other blacks. Like aflash my idiotic blunder came home to me, and then I was ready to dashout again alone to explain; but Yamba forcibly prevented me from exposingmyself to what she considered certain death.
The moment the horsemen saw us all disappear in the long grass theywheeled round, changing their course a little more to the south--they hadbeen going west, so far as I can remember--and their caravan crawled offin a manner that suggested that the horses were pretty well done for. Onour part, we at once made for the ranges that lay a little to the south.Here we parted with our friends the blacks, who made off in an east-south-easterly direction.
The dominant feeling within me as I saw the white men ride off was one ofuncontrollable rage and mad despair. I was apparently a pariah, with thehand of every white man--when I met one--against me. "Well," I thought,"if civilisation is not prepared to receive me, I will wait until it is."Disappointment after disappointment, coupled with the incessantpersuasions of Yamba and my people generally, were gradually reconcilingme to savage life; and slowly but relentlessly the thought crept into mymind that _I was doomed never to reach civilisation again_, and soperhaps it would be better for me to resign myself to the inevitable, andstay where I was. I would turn back, I thought, with intense bitternessand heart-break, and make a home among the tribes in the hills, where wewould be safe from the white man and his murderous weapons. And Iactually _did_ turn back, accompanied, of course, by Yamba. We did notstrike due north again, as it was our intention to find a permanent homesomewhere among the ranges, at any rate for the ensuing winter. It wasout of the question to camp where we were, because it was much too cold;and besides Yamba had much difficulty in finding roots.
Several days later, as we were plodding steadily along, away from theranges that I have spoken of as lying to the south, Yamba, whose eyeswere usually everywhere, suddenly gave a cry and stood still, pointing tosome peculiar and unmistakable footprints in the sandy ground. These,she confidently assured me, were those of a white man _who had lost hisreason_, and was wandering aimlessly about that fearful country. It was,of course, easy for her to know the white man's tracks when she saw them,but I was curious how she could be certain that the wanderer had lost hisreason. She pointed out to me that, in the first place, the tracks hadbeen made by some one wearing boots, and as the footprints straggledabout in a most erratic manner, it was clearly evident that the wearercould not be sane.
Even at this time, be it remembered, I was burning with rage against thewhites, and so I decided to follow the tracks and find the individual whowas responsible for them. But do not be under any misapprehension. Myintentions were not philanthropic, but revengeful. I had become a black-fellow myself now, and was consumed with a black-fellow's murderouspassion. At one time I thought I would follow the whole party, and killthem in the darkness with my stiletto when opportunity offered.
The new tracks we had come upon told me plainly that the party hadseparated, and were therefore now in my power. I say these thingsbecause I do not want any one to suppose I followed up the tracks of thelost man with the intention of rendering him any assistance. For nearlytwo days Yamba and I followed the tracks, which went in curious circlesalways trending to the left. At length we began to come upon variousarticles that had apparently been thrown away by the straggler. First ofall, we found part of a letter that was addressed to some one (I think)in Adelaide; but of this I would not be absolutely certain. What I doremember was that the envelope bore the postmark of Ti Tree Gully, S.A.
The writer of that letter was evidently a woman, who, so far as I canremember, wrote congratulating her correspondent upon the fact that hewas joining an expedition which was about to traverse the entirecontinent. I fancy she said she was glad of this for his own sake, forit would no doubt mean much to him. She wished him all kinds of gloryand prosperity, and wound up by assuring him that none would be betterpleased on his return than she.
The country through which these tracks led us was for the most part amere dry, sandy waste, covered with the formidable spinifex or porcupinegrass. Yamba walked in front peering at the tracks.
Presently she gave a little cry, and when she turned to me I saw that shehad in her hand the sombrero hat of an Australian pioneer. A littlefarther on we found a shirt, and then a pair of trousers. We next cameupon a belt and a pair of dilapidated boots.
At length, on reaching the crest of a sandy hillock, we suddenly beheldthe form of a naked white man lying face downwards in the sand below us.As you may suppose, we simply swooped down upon him; but on reaching himmy first impression was that _he was dead_! His face was slightly turnedto the right, his arms outstretched, and his fingers dug convulsively inthe sand. I am amused now when I remember how great was our emotion onapproaching this u
nfortunate. My first thought in turning the man overon to his back, and ascertaining that at last he breathed, was one ofgreat joy and thankfulness.
"Thank God," I said to myself, "I have at last found a whitecompanion--one who will put me in touch once more with the great worldoutside." The burning rage that consumed me (you know my object infollowing the tracks) died away in pity as I thought of the terribleprivations and sufferings this poor fellow must have undergone beforebeing reduced to this state. My desire for revenge was forgotten, and myonly thought now was to nurse back to health the unconscious man.
First of all I moistened his mouth with the water which Yamba alwayscarried with her in a skin bag, and then I rubbed him vigorously, hopingto restore animation. I soon exhausted the contents of the bag, however,and immediately Yamba volunteered to go off and replenish it. She wasabsent an hour or more, I think, during which time I persisted in mymassage treatment--although so far I saw no signs of returningconsciousness on the part of my patient.
When Yamba returned with the water, I tried to make the prostrate manswallow some of it, and I even smeared him with the blood of an opossumwhich my thoughtful helpmate had brought back with her. But for a longtime all my efforts were in vain, and then, dragging him to the foot of agrass-tree, I propped him up slightly against it, wetted his shirt withwater and wound it round his throat. Meanwhile Yamba threw water on himand rubbed him vigorously.
At last he uttered a sound--half groan, half sigh (it thrilled me throughand through); and I noticed that he was able to swallow a few drops ofwater. The gloom of night was now descending on that strange wildernessof sand and spinifex, so we prepared to stay there with our helplesscharge until morning. Yamba and I took it in turns to watch over him andkeep his mouth moistened. By morning he had so far revived that heopened his eyes and looked at me. How eagerly had I anticipated thatlook, and how bitter was my disappointment when I found that it was amere vacant stare in which was no kind of recognition! Ever hopeful,however, I attributed the vacant look to the terrible nature of hissufferings. I was burning to ply him with all manner of questions as towho he was, where he had come from, and what news he had of the outsideworld; but I restrained myself by a great effort, and merely perseveredin my endeavours to restore him to complete animation. When the morningwas pretty well advanced the man was able to sit up; and in the course ofa few days he was even able to accompany us to a water-hole, where weencamped, and stayed until he had practically recovered--or, at any rate,was able to get about.
But, you may be asking, all this time, did the man himself say nothing?Indeed, he said much, and I hung upon every syllable that fell from hislips, but, to my indescribable chagrin, it was a mere voluble jargon ofstatements, which simply baffled and puzzled me and caused me pain. Ourcharge would stare at us stolidly, and then remark, in a vulgar Cockneyvoice, that he was quite _sure_ we were going the wrong way. By thistime, I should mention, we had re-clothed him in his trousers and shirt,for he had obviously suffered terribly from the burning sun.
Many days passed away before I would admit to myself that this unhappycreature was a hopeless imbecile. I was never absent from his side dayor night, hoping and waiting for the first sane remark. Soon, however,the bitter truth was borne in upon us that, instead of having foundsalvation and comfort in the society of a white man, we were merelysaddled with a ghastly encumbrance, and were far worse off than before.
We now set off in the direction of our old tracks, but were not able totravel very fast on account of the still feeble condition of the whitestranger. Poor creature! I pitied him from the bottom of my heart. Itseemed so terrible for a man to lapse into a state of imbecility afterhaving survived the dreadful hardships and adventures that had befallenhim. I tried over and over again to elicit sensible replies to myquestions as to where he came from; but he simply gibbered and babbledlike a happy baby. I coaxed; I threatened; I persuaded; but it was allin vain. I soon found he was a regular millstone round myneck--particularly when we were on the "walk-about." He would suddenlytake it into his head to sit down for hours at a stretch, and nothingwould induce him to move until he did so of his own accord.
Curiously enough, Bruno became very greatly attached to him, and was hisconstant companion. Of this I was extremely glad, because it relieved meof much anxiety. You will understand what I mean when I tell you that,in spite of all our endeavours, our mysterious companion would go off byhimself away from our track; and at such times were it not for Bruno--whomhe would follow anywhere--we would often have had much trouble inbringing him back again. Or he might have been speared before a strangetribe could have discovered his "sacred" (idiotic) condition.
At length we reached a large lagoon, on the shores of which we stayed forabout two years. This lagoon formed part of a big river at flood-time,but the connecting stretches of water had long since dried up for manymiles both above and below it. The question may be asked, Why did Isettle down here? The answer is, that our white companion had becomesimply an intolerable burden. He suffered from the most exhaustingattacks of dysentery, and was quite helpless. It was, of course, myintention to have continued my march northward to my old home in theCambridge Gulf district, because by this time I had quite made up my mindthat, by living there quietly, I stood a better chance of escape tocivilisation by means of some vessel than I did by attempting to traversethe entire continent. This latter idea was now rendered impossible, onaccount of the poor, helpless creature I had with me. Indeed, so greatan anxiety was he to me and Yamba, that we decided we could go nowhere,either north or south, until he had become more robust in health.Needless to say, I never intrusted him with a weapon.
I had found a sheath-knife belonging to him, but I afterwards gave itaway to a friendly chief, who was immensely proud of it.
In making for the shores of the big lagoon we had to traverse someextremely difficult country. In the first place, we encountered a seriesof very broken ridges, which in parts proved so hard to travel over thatI almost gave up in despair. At times there was nothing for it but tocarry on my back the poor, feeble creature who, I felt, was now intrustedto my charge and keeping. I remember that native chiefs frequentlysuggested that I should leave him, but I never listened to this advicefor a moment. Perhaps I was not altogether disinterested, becausealready my demented companion was looked upon as a kind of minor deity bythe natives. I may here remark that I only knew two idiots during thewhole of my sojourn. One of these had fallen from a tree through abranch breaking, and he was actually maintained at the expense of thetribe, revered by all, if not actually worshipped.
But the journey I was just describing was a fearful trial. Sometimes wehad to traverse a wilderness of rocks which stood straight up andprojected at sharp angles, presenting at a distance the appearance of aseries of stony terraces which were all but impassable. For a long timeour charge wore both shirt and trousers, but eventually we had to discardthe latter--or perhaps it would be more correct to say, that the garmentwas literally torn to shreds by the spinifex. At one time I had it in mymind to make him go naked like myself, but on consideration I thought itadvisable to allow him to retain his shirt, at any rate for a time, ashis skin was not so inured to the burning sun as my own.
We had to provide him with food, which he accepted, of course, withoutgratitude. Then Yamba had always to build him a shelter wherever wecamped, so that far from being an invaluable assistance and a companionhe was a burden--so great that, in moments of depression, I regretted nothaving left him to die. As it was, he would often have gone to his deathin the great deserts were it not for the ever-vigilant Bruno. Still, Ialways thought that some day I would be able to take the man back tocivilisation, and there find out who he was and whence he had come. AndI hoped that people would think I had been kind to him. At first Ithought the unfortunate man was suffering from sunstroke, and that incourse of time he would regain his reason. I knew I could do very littletowards his recovery except by feeding him well. Fortunately
the nativesnever called upon him to demonstrate before them the extraordinary powerswhich I attributed to him. Indeed his strange gestures, antics, andbabblings were sufficient in themselves to convince the blacks that hewas a creature to be reverenced. The remarkable thing about him was thathe never seemed to take notice of any one, whether it were myself, Yamba,or a native chief. As a rule, his glance would "go past me," so tospeak, and he was for ever wandering aimlessly about, chattering andgesticulating.
We placed no restrictions upon him, and supplied all his wants, givinghim Bruno as a guide and protector. I must say that Yamba did not likethe stranger, but for my sake she was wonderfully patient with him.
It was whilst living on the shores of this lagoon that I received a veryextraordinary commission from a neighbouring tribe. Not long after myarrival I heard a curious legend, to the effect that away on the otherside of the lagoon there was an "evil spirit" infesting the waters, whichterrified the women when they went down to fill their skins. Well,naturally enough, the fame of the white man and his doings soon gotabroad in that country, and I was one day invited by the tribe inquestion to go and rid them of the evil spirit. Accordingly, accompaniedby Yamba, and leaving Bruno to look after our helpless companion, we setoff in response to the invitation, and in a few days reached the camp ofthe blacks who had sent for me. The lagoon was here surrounded by afinely-wooded country, slightly mountainous. Perhaps I ought to havestated that I had already gleaned from the mail-men, or runners, who hadbeen sent with the message, that the waters of the lagoon in the vicinityof the camp had long been disturbed by some huge fish or monster, whosevagaries were a constant source of terror. The dreaded creature wouldcome quite close inshore, and then endeavour to "spear" the women withwhat was described as a long weapon carried in its mouth. This, then,was the evil spirit of the lagoon, and I confess it puzzled me greatly. Ithought it probable that it was merely a large fish which had descendedin a rain-cloud among countless millions of others of smaller species. Ilooked upon the commission, however, as a good opportunity for displayingmy powers and impressing the natives in that country--I always had theutmost confidence in myself. Before setting out I had spent some littletime in completing my preparations for the capture of the strangemonster.
The very afternoon I arrived I went down to the shores of the lagoon withall the natives, and had not long to wait before I beheld what wasapparently a huge fish careering wildly and erratically hither andthither in the water. On seeing it the natives appeared tremendouslyexcited, and they danced and yelled, hoping thereby to drive the creatureaway. My first move was in the nature of an experiment--merely with theobject of getting a better view of the monster. I endeavoured to anglefor it with a hook made out of a large piece of sharpened bone. I thenproduced large nets made out of strips of green hide and stringy-barkrope. Placing these on the shores of the lagoon, I directed Yamba tobuild a little bark canoe just big enough to hold her and me.
At length we embarked and paddled out a few hundred yards, when we threwthe net overboard. It had previously been weighted, and now floated sothat it promptly expanded to its utmost capacity. No sooner had we donethis than the invisible monster charged down upon us, making a tremendouscommotion in the water. Neither Yamba nor I waited for the comingimpact, but threw ourselves overboard just as the creature's whitesawlike weapon showed itself close to the surface only a few yards away.We heard a crash, and then, looking backward as we swam, saw that thelong snout of the fish had actually pierced both sides of the canoe,whilst his body was evidently entangled in the meshes of the net. Sodesperate had been the charge that our little craft was now actually aserious encumbrance to the monster. It struggled madly to free itself,leaping almost clear of the water and lashing the placid lagoon into aperfect maelstrom.
Several times the canoe was lifted high out of the water; and then thefish would try to drag it underneath, but was prevented by its greatbuoyancy. In the meantime Yamba and I swam safely ashore, and watchedthe struggles of the "evil spirit" from the shore, among a crowd offrantic natives.
We waited until the efforts of the fish grew feebler, and then put off inanother bark canoe (the celerity with which Yamba made one was somethingamazing), when I easily despatched the now weakened creature with mytomahawk. I might here mention that this was actually the first timethat these inland savages had seen a canoe or boat of any description, sothat naturally the two I launched occasioned endless amazement.
Afterwards, by the way, I tried to describe to them what the sea waslike, but had to give it up, because it only confused them, and was quitebeyond their comprehension. When we dragged the monster ashore, with itselongated snout still embedded in the little canoe, I saw at a glancethat the long-dreaded evil spirit of the lagoon was a huge sawfish, fullyfourteen feet long, its formidable saw alone measuring nearly five feet.This interesting weapon I claimed as a trophy, and when I got back towhere Bruno and his human charge were, I exhibited it to crowds ofadmiring blacks, who had long heard of the evil spirit. The great fishitself was cooked and eaten at one of the biggest _corroborees_ I hadever seen. The blacks had no theory of their own (save the superstitiousone), as to how it got into the lagoon; and the only supposition I canoffer is, that it must have been brought thither, when very small andyoung, either by a rain-cloud or at some unusually big flood time.
So delighted were the blacks at the service I had done them, that theypaid me the greatest compliment in their power by offering me achieftainship, and inviting me to stay with them for ever. I refused theflattering offer, however, as I was quite bent on getting back toCambridge Gulf.
On returning to my friends on the other side of the lagoon I learned forthe first time that there was a half-caste girl living among them; andsubsequent inquiries went to prove that her father was a white man whohad penetrated into these regions and lived for some little time at leastamong the blacks--much as I myself was doing. My interest in the matterwas first of all roused by the accidental discovery of a cairn five feetor six feet high, made of loose flat stones. My experience was such bythis time that I saw at a glance this cairn was not the work of a native.Drawings and figures, and a variety of curious characters, were faintlydiscernible on some of the stones, but were not distinct enough to belegible.
On one, however, I distinctly traced the initials "L. L.," which hadwithstood the ravages of time because the stone containing them was in aprotected place.
Naturally the existence of this structure set me inquiring among theolder natives as to whether they ever remembered seeing a white manbefore; and then I learned that perhaps twenty years previously a manlike myself _had_ made his appearance in those regions, and had died afew months afterwards, before the wife who, according to custom, wasallotted to him had given birth to the half-caste baby girl, who was nowa woman before me. They never knew the white stranger's name, nor wherehe had come from. The girl, by the way, was by no means good-looking,and her skin was decidedly more black than white; I could tell by herhand, however, that she was a half-caste.
On the strength of our supposed affinity, she was offered to me as awife, and I accepted her, more as a help for Yamba than anything else;she was called Luigi. Yamba, by the way, was anxious that I shouldpossess at least half-a-dozen wives, partly because this circumstancewould be more in keeping with my rank; but I did not fall in with theidea. I had quite enough to do already to maintain my authority amongthe tribe at large, and did not care to have to rule in addition half-a-dozen women in my own establishment. This tribe always lingers in mymemory, on account of the half-caste girl, whom I now believe to havebeen the daughter of Ludwig Leichhardt, the lost Australian explorer. Mr.Giles says: "Ludwig Leichhardt was a surgeon and botanist, whosuccessfully conducted an expedition from Moreton Bay to Port Essington,on the northern coast. A military and penal settlement had beenestablished at Port Essington by the Government of New South Wales, towhich colony the whole territory then belonged. At this settlement--theonly point of relief
after eighteen months' travel--Leichhardt and hisexhausted party arrived.
"Of Leichhardt's sad fate, in the interior of Australia, no certaintidings have ever been heard. I, who have wandered into and returnedalive from the curious regions he attempted and died to explore, haveunfortunately never come across a single record, nor any remains ortraces of the party."
Leichhardt started on his last sad venture with a party of eight,including one or two native black-boys. They had with them about twentyhead of bullocks broken in to carry pack loads. "My first and secondexpeditions," says Giles, "were conducted entirely with horses, but inall subsequent journeys I was accompanied by camels." His object, likethat of Leichhardt, was to force his way across the thousand miles ofcountry that lay untrodden and unknown between the Australian telegraphline and the settlements upon the Swan River. And Giles remarks that theexploration of 1000 miles in Australia is equal to at least 10,000 mileson any other part of the earth's surface--always excepting the Poles.
I continued residing on the shores of the lagoon in the hope that mypatient would eventually get better, when I proposed continuing myjourney north. I was still quite unable to understand his babblings,although he was for ever mentioning the names of persons and placesunknown to me; and he constantly spoke about some exploring party. Henever asked me questions, nor did he get into serious trouble with thenatives, being privileged. He never developed any dangerous vices, butwas simply childlike and imbecile.
Gradually I had noticed that, instead of becoming stronger, he was fadingaway. He was constantly troubled with a most distressing complaint, andin addition to this he would be seized with fits of depression, when hewould remain in his hut for days at a time without venturing out. Ialways knew what was the matter with him when he was not to be seen.Sometimes I would go in to try and cheer him up, but usually it was ahopeless effort on my part.
Of course he had a wife given him, and this young person seemed toconsider him quite an ordinary specimen of the white man. Indeed, shewas vastly flattered, rather than otherwise, by the attentions lavishedupon her husband by her people. One reason for this treatment was thatshe was considered a privileged person to be related in any way to onewhom the natives regarded as almost a demi-god. She looked after himtoo, and kept his hut as clean as possible. One morning somethinghappened. The girl came running for me to go to her hut, and there laythe mysterious stranger apparently stretched out for dead. I soonrealised that he was in a fit of some kind.
I now approach the momentous time when this unfortunate man recovered hissenses. When he regained consciousness after the fit Yamba and I werewith him, and so was his wife. I had not seen him for some days, and wasmuch shocked at the change that had taken place. He was ghastly pale andvery much emaciated. I knew that death was at hand. Just as he regainedconsciousness--I can see the picture now; yes, we were all around hisfragrant couch of eucalyptus leaves, waiting for him to open his eyes--hegazed at me in a way that thrilled me strangely, and _I knew I waslooking at a sane white man_. His first questions were "Where am I? Whoare you?" Eager and trembling I knelt down beside him and told him thelong and strange story of how I had found him, and how he had now beenliving with me nearly two years. I pointed out to him our faithfulBruno, who had often taken him for long walks and brought him backsafely, and who had so frequently driven away from him deadly snakes, andwarned him when it was time to turn back. I told him he was in thecentre of Australia; and then I told in brief my own extraordinary story.I sent Yamba to our shelter for the letter I had found in his tracks, andread it aloud to him. He never told me who the writer of it was. Helistened to all I had to tell him with an expression of amazement, whichsoon gave place to one of weariness--the weariness of utter weakness. Heasked me to carry him outside into the sun, and I did so, afterwardssquatting down beside him and opening up another conversation. _He thentold me his name was Gibson_, _and that he had been a member of the GilesExpedition of_ 1874. From that moment I never left him night or day. Hetold me much about that expedition which I can never reveal, for I do notknow whether he was lying or raving. Poor, vulgar, Cockney Gibson! Heseemed to know full well that he was dying, and the thought seemed toplease him rather than otherwise. He appeared to me to be too tired, tooweary to live--that was the predominant symptom.
I introduced Yamba to him, and we did everything we possibly could tocheer him, but he gradually sank lower and lower. I would say, "Cheerup, Gibson. Why, when you are able to walk we will make tracksstraightway for civilisation. I am sure you know the way, for now youare as right as I am." But nothing interested the dying man. Shortlybefore the end his eyes assumed a strained look, and I could see he wasrapidly going. The thought of his approaching end was to me a relief; itwould be untrue if I were to say otherwise. For weeks past I had seenthat the man could not live, and considering that every day brought itsbattle for life, you will readily understand that this poor helplesscreature was a terrible burden to me. He had such a tender skin that atall times I was obliged to keep him clothed. For some little time hisold shirt and trousers did duty, but at length I was compelled to makehim a suit of skins. Of course, we had no soap with which to wash hisgarments, but we used to clean them after a fashion by dumping them downinto a kind of greasy mud and then trampling on them, afterwards rinsingthem out in water. Moreover, his feet were so tender that I always hadto keep him shod with skin sandals.
His deathbed was a dramatic scene--especially under the circumstances.Poor Gibson! To think that he should have escaped death after thosefearful waterless days and nights in the desert, to live for two yearswith a white protector, and yet then die of a wasting and distressingdisease!
He spent the whole day in the open air, for he was very much better whenin the sun. At night I carried him back into his hut, and laid him inthe hammock which I had long ago slung for him. Yamba knew he was dyingeven before I did, but she could do nothing.
We tried the effect of the curious herb called "pitchori," but it did notrevive him. "Pitchori," by the way, is a kind of leaf which the nativeschew in moments of depression; it has an exhilarating effect upon them.
On the last day I once more made up a bed of eucalyptus leaves and rugson the floor of Gibson's hut. Surrounding him at the last were hiswife--a very good and faithful girl--Yamba, myself, and Bruno--who, bythe way, knew perfectly well that his friend was dying. He kept lickingpoor Gibson's hand and chest, and then finding no response would nestleup close to him for half-an-hour at a time. Then the affectionatecreature would retire outside and set up a series of low, melancholyhowls, only to run in again with hope renewed.
Poor Gibson! The women-folk were particularly attached to him because henever went out with the men, or with me, on my various excursions, butremained behind in their charge. Sometimes, however, he would follow atour heels as faithfully and instinctively as Bruno himself. For the pasttwo years Bruno and Gibson had been inseparable, sleeping together atnight, and never parting for a moment the whole day long. Indeed, I amsure Bruno became more attached to Gibson than he was to me. And soGibson did not, as I at one time feared he would, pass away into theGreat Beyond, carrying with him the secret of his identity. Looking athim as he lay back among the eucalyptus leaves, pale and emaciated, Iknew the end was now very near.
I knelt beside him holding his hand, and at length, with a great effort,he turned towards me and said feebly, "Can you hear anything?" Ilistened intently, and at last was compelled to reply that I did not."Well," he said, "I hear some one talking. I think the voices of myfriends are calling me." I fancied that the poor fellow was wandering inhis mind again, but still his eyes did not seem to have that vacant gazeI had previously noticed in them. He was looking steadily at me, andseemed to divine my thoughts, for he smiled sadly and said, "No, I knowwhat I am saying. I can hear them singing, and they are calling me away.They have come for me at last!" His thin face brightened up with a slow,sad smile, which soon faded away, and then, giving my
hand a slightpressure, he whispered almost in my ear, as I bent over him, "Good-bye,comrade, I'm off. You will come too, some day." A slight shiver, andGibson passed peacefully away.