wildbirds.
But now they were nearing the home of Frank's cousins. They inquiredone day at an inn if the Thompsons lived near.
"Certainly," said the man. "Jack," calling to an old black, "show thesegentlemen where the Thompsons live."
"I'll go and prepare dem," said Jack.
And off he went. He was back again in half an hour, and then led theway through the wood.
"What sort of people are they?" asked Frank of Jack, the guide.
"Oh! ever so nice, _beautiful_ people, b-be-beautiful?"
"The old gentleman is my uncle," continued Frank.
"Oh!" said the guide, "he is a beautiful old man. Bea-utiful!"
Now there were two families named Thompson, one white and the otherblack; the family old Jack took them to was the black; but judge of theamusement of Frank's friends when old Jack, standing stick in hand onthe right of the group, introduced them to the Thompsons at home. Ofcourse Chisholm, on the spot, demanded an introduction to Frank'sprettiest cousin, who was nursing a pickaninny [a baby], and Fred mustgo up and shake hands with the old man and call him uncle, and Lyell,not to be outdone in politeness, squatted down beside the old "jin," hiswife, and got into conversation right pleasantly. Poor Frank hardlyknew what to do, but when Jack said the old couple liked grogs, he sentfor some, and Jack shared it with the Thompsons, and there was suchlaughing and merriment, and talking and fun, that it isn't any wonderthat after they had left, Lyell laughingly declared he never rememberedspending such a pleasant time in his life.
Frank found the right Thompsons next day, and nicer nor braver boysnever lived.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
THE COROBORY--NATIVE ARMS--QUIET LIFE IN THE AUSTRALIAN BUSH--CHISHOLMAND EROS--A DAY WITH THE KANGAROO HOUNDS.
A corobory is a war dance by native savages. Our heroes had thepleasure of gazing at more than one, before they finally left Australiain search of new adventures. But very terrible those savages look,dancing madly round the fire in the depths of the gloomy forest, andwildly brandishing their war weapons, their boomerangs, their woomeras,their waddies, and their spears, while the flickering flames light uptheir naked painted bodies, and their yells and cries re-echo throughthe woods.
Very expert are these New Hollanders with the use of the few weaponsthey carry. They can hurl their spears with terrible effect for ahundred yards or more, with the assistance of the woomera, a piece ofwood which is retained in the hand, and acts as a lever. The boomerangis apparently a magical instrument. Its actions, when thrown by thehand of a native, are marvellous; the thing does his bidding as if itwere one of the fabled genii under the control of a magician.
The uncle and cousins of Frank were right glad to see him and hisfriends. They did not know how kind to be to them.
"You see," said Mr Thompson, "you find us all in the rough."
"But I'll be bound all in the right as well," said Lyell.
"Well, well, well," he said to Frank, "who would have thought of seeingyou out here, and do you know, my boy, I would hardly have known you,you are wonderfully changed."
"Well," replied Frank, laughing heartily at his uncle's pleasantry,"seeing that I was only a year and a half old when you left England, youcannot wonder there is a little change."
"How do you like your welcome?" Frank asked of Chisholm on the morningof the second day.
"It's a Highland welcome, Frank; a Highland welcome."
Chisholm thought he could not say more than that.
Old Mr Thompson was greatly amused at the mistake of Jack, the nativeguide, and their adventure with the other Thompsons, but he added hereally believed Jack had done it on purpose, for the humour of theAustralian native is of a very strange order, but none the less genuinefor all that.
The house where our heroes now found themselves billeted was somewhatafter the bungalow stamp--a widely-spread comfortable house, all on oneflat, but it was altogether pleasant to live in. The gardens around itformed one of its principal charms; so cool they were, so green, soshady and scented.
Frank and Lyell and Fred went everywhere about the great farm; a farm sobig, so wide, and wild, that it not only took days and days to rideacross; but when they went out of a morning, with their horses andkangaroo hounds, they never knew what might turn up before theyreturned. It might be a warragh hunt [the wild dog of the interior], ora scamper after the emu or kangaroo, or they might settle down to hoursand hours of quiet fishing, or try to shoot the _ornithorynchusparadoxus_. Then there were wild-fowl in abundance, quails and snipeand pigeons, and all were just tame enough to afford what might becalled decent sport.
I have not mentioned Chisholm as taking much part in these sportingadventures, and must I tell you why? "Well, he was very fond of a gameof whist, and also of smoking under the honeysuckles and the greenmimosa trees; and Frank's uncle was such a genuine old fellow, andFrank's aunt such a delightful, and kindly, thoroughly English lady.Oh! but I feel that I am only beating about the bush, so I must confessthe truth at once, though for Chisholm's sake I'd rather have concealedit. One of Frank's cousins there was a young and charming girl; and--and--and Chisholm had fallen over head and ears in love. It is withmuch reluctance I tell it; and it is strange, too, that one by one myheroes, my mighty hunters, whose hearts, like their sinewy arms, oughtto have been hearts of oak or steel, should fall into the power of thesaucy little god Eros. But it is the truth, and there is no gettingaway from it. As soon, however, as Chisholm knew and felt he wasconquered at last, he confessed the same to his companions.
"But I'm not going to make any engagement, you know," he added. "I'venever been in love before, so I don't know much about it; but if I'm notcured by the time we get back to old England, why then I'll return tothis lovely place just to see if Edith will know me again."
Sly Chisholm! He felt sure that he would not be forgotten.
Many, many miles from the farm where lived the Thompsons, on a certainday there was to be a grand meet, and thitherwards went our heroes withFrank's cousins, starting on the day before. What a difference, theythought, from an English meet, where after an early breakfast one canmount his horse and ride leisurely away, along well-paved roads andgreen lanes to the appointed rendezvous, and after a scamper of hoursreturn to a comfortable dinner. Here there were no roads; their way layacross the plains, through the deep dark forest, over lofty mountains,and through rivers; and it was very late ere they arrived at theircamping-ground. Then their saddles were their pillows, a blanket thebed, and the star-spangled dome of heaven their roof-tree.
But they were none the less fresh next morning, and were early astir; itwould be a delightful day, they felt sure of that, for the sun wasalready up, and there was hardly a cloud in all the mild blue sky.Neither too hot nor too cold: it was quite a hunter's morning. Thescenery, too, through which they rode all day was ever varying, but everbeautiful. Frank said when the day was done, and they once morestretched their tired limbs around the camp-fire, that he had neverenjoyed himself so much in his life.
"What, not down in Wales?" said Fred, quietly.
"Circumstances alter cases," said Frank.
The hunters on this occasion mustered strongly, there being a field oflittle under fifty, principally settlers and settlers' sons. Theybrought their own dogs--strong-built hounds, just suited for the wildwork they have to accomplish. More and more exciting grew the chase asthe day wore on; and it ended in such a finale as can only be witnessedin one country in the world, and that is Australia. Kangaroos, wildhorses, bullocks, emus, hounds and men, mixed in apparently inextricableconfusion.
Now it was all very well for Frank to boast about the grand day he hadenjoyed. He had been lucky: his horse and he seemed made for eachother. He was in at the death. Fred was not; but Fred's horse was.Chisholm and his horse were both there; but, alas for glory! Chisholm'shorse's heels were all in the air, and Chisholm himself--why, he wasdown under somewhere.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
PART VII--THE PAMPAS.
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SWALLOWED UP IN THE FOREST--BUENOS AYRES--AWAY TO THE WILDS--A COLONY OFHIGHLANDERS--FRANK TO THE FORE.
There is no word in the world your true British sailor better knows themeaning of than that little noun _duty_. Lyell's time was up; he musthurry back to Sydney, and thence to England, by very quickest boat; andso he did, and his last words to our heroes were these:--
"Don't think of returning without having a look at the Pampas; to besure you might go straight to San Francisco and away home by train andsteamer. That would be going round the world in one sense--a landsman'snot a sailor's sense. Whenever I meet a man who says he has been roundthe world, I just pull him up sharp by asking him some such question as,`Did you ever drink tea in Pay-San-Du?' That usually settles