“Now, Jim,” says the man who has previously spoken to one of the others, as they ride over the sound-deadening sand, “we’ll have a camp for a couple of hours, and then we’ll proceed to give these cursed niggers something to let ’em know we’re not to be trifled with. Curse their black hides, I’ve tried kindness, and I’ve tried the other thing; but curse me if it ain’t less trouble to clear ’em off first thing,—I’ve always found it so, instead of having to shoot ’em in compartments afterwards.” He laughs a short, hard, hac! hac! as he finishes, to which his companion responds with,—
“My trouble’s about shooting of ’em hither way, curse their livers; all in the day’s work. Safe to light up yet, capting?”
“Not yet,” replies the “boss;” “round the sand-hill it’ll be all right,” and soon the party emerging from the brushwood, where a dark, spinifax-covered sand-hill overhangs an empty water-hole, pipes are lit, and the horses given in charge of the “boys;” the whites lying down for a spell, for they have ridden many weary miles that day.
Let us return to the village. Whilst we have been away, two braves have arrived at the water-hole with a message-stick for the head man of the village from the Eta-booka branch of the tribe. This curious means of communication consists of a piece of wood about five inches long—the half of a split length of a small branch. On the flat side a number of transverse notches have been cut with some rather blunt tool, probably a flint-knife. The larger cuts denote the names of men and places; the smaller are symbols of sentences. The message, which is soon read, is to the effect that Eta-booka people have seen the white strangers whose approach has alarmed the Paree-side villagers; and finishes by proposing a “meeting of the clans” for the next day. A reply message is determined on, manufactured, and despatched by the trusty runners, who start homewards with rapid feet, happy in the possession of a small piece of ochre each, with which they intend to beautify themselves at the “full dress” meeting to be held.
The thought of combination and safety on the morrow now sends the villagers, tired with the excitement of late events, to their gunyahs on the hill; and soon slumbering, they do not see the fateful fall of myriads of Ditchiecoom aworkoo, shooting stars, that takes place at one o’clock. Deder-re-re is restless, however, in his smoke-filled wurley; and, half awake, dreams he is on one of his distant expeditions, and that the southern night-owl is screeching to its mate, as it flits past him on its ghostly wings. Suddenly he wakes. He listens, with upraised head. Yes, there is no mistaking it; the cry he heard in his dreams comes to his ears once more. Creek-e-whie, creek-e-whie, this time from the back of the hill. It is answered by a somewhat similar call from the water-hole below. A southern bird up here; and two of them. Trained hunter-warrior that he is, Deder-re-re takes in the situation in an instant. Foes are at hand, probably the dreaded white devils; and are surrounding the camp, signalling their position to each other, before the final attack, by imitating the cries of a night-bird. Smiling to himself at the foolish mistake of the enemy in using the note of a bird foreign to the district, he prepares for action. A touch and a whispered word to the wife of his bosom, and he slinks out of the gunyah, crawling on noiseless hands and knees to warn his fellows in the other huts. His sharp sense of hearing, made doubly powerful now that all his savage heart holds dear is in peril, distinguishes the crushing of branches close by. Only white men could be the cause of that, he instinctively guesses. A passing dingo or emu would brush by the branches, and a black foe would make no noise whatever. It is too late for resistance. He must alarm the camp openly and effectively at once, and perhaps his loved ones may escape in the general excitement. A bright idea, heroic as ingenious, suddenly strikes him. If he can get the enemy down by the river flat to chase him, and at the same time make noise enough to wake his brethren, perhaps the majority of the latter will be able to reach the water-hole, their only chance of escape, through the gap thus formed in the circle of foes. With a fearful yell, he therefore springs to his feet, and bounds down the rocky side of the hill, sending a rattling avalanche of stones all round him as he goes, and reaches the flat below. Here the white “boss,” having arranged his men, is taking up his position for potting the black fellows as they make for the water, as his long experience in taking up “new country,” and knocking down the inhabitants thereof, has taught him they are sure to do. The cool-headed white man hears Deder-re-re’s yell, and can just see him as he bounds past the smouldering fire towards him. A snap-shot rings through the air, and the black fellow, springing upwards, falls dead upon the red-hot embers, crushing and fanning them into a sudden blaze, that shows the dark, flying forms of the villagers rushing towards the water-hole. Now ring the short, sharp carbine shots through the still morning air! Now whistling swan-shot from fowling pieces buzz through the falling leaves! Wild shrieks, deep groans, the scream of frightened birds, the plunge of swimmers in the water, and all the fearful turmoil of a night surprise! Where lately the silent brushwood hooded over its dark image in the lake, the leaves blush ruddily with the sudden blaze of bursting stars of flame, as the white men fire upon the swimmers in the water-hole.
Then comparative quiet again. The opening scene in the act of bloodshed is almost as soon over as begun, and then the fearful work of despatching the wounded commences. The whites leave this job to their black accomplices, and retire to the gunyahs on the hill, to mount guard over those who are giving the coup de grâce to the unfortunate wretches writhing on the flat below. Well do they know that their “boys” will miss no opportunity of painting those already dripping tomahawks of a still deeper tint. Brought from a far-off district, and believing it to be perfectly legitimate for them to kill their black brethren if belonging to another tribe, their savage natures, moreover, trained to the awful work, they glory in a scene like this. The rapid and sickening thud, thud of their small axes, right and left, at last ceases as the early blush of dawn begins to break behind the weird hill to the eastward. The mangled bodies of some thirty men, women, and children lie here and there amongst the broken bushes and half-burnt gunyahs; and the wild duck skimming down on to the once more placid bosom of the little lake, rise again with frightened squeaks on seeing the ghastly objects on its red-frothed banks.
“Didn’t do so badly,” says the white man whom the others address as “boss,” as he looks down from the rugged hill. “Got more than half the black devils. But I’ll bet their friends won’t come near this water-hole, at any rate, for a few years to come. No spearing of ‘fats’ here, when they come down for a ‘nip.’” Then turning his jolly, sensual face towards one of the other men, as they shoulder arms and prepare to return to their horses, he asks, with a laugh, “What did you do with the little gin you caught?”
“Give her ter Nero (one of the ‘boys’) when we was tired of each other. She’s begun a long ‘doss’ (sleep),” he continues, with a grin that puckers up one side of his cruel face, winking at the “boss” at the same time with a bloodshot eye; “guess she’s tired with the fun she had. Saw her lying precious still jess now, heac! heac!”
The two other white men are gone on in advance a little bit with the “boys,” being glad to quit the place. Now that the excitement is over, they begin to find it unpleasant. They have not seen enough frontier service with squatters yet to harden their hearts sufficiently to joke at the scene of a holocaust, although when the water-hole is left behind a mile or two their fast succumbing consciences will be asleep.
“Yarraman (horses) come this way,” suddenly cries one of the boys, and throwing himself upon the ground to listen adds, “Two fellow Yarraman (two horses) come pretty quick.”