"But, my poor mistaken man," said Mr. Mayburn, "what in the world can these savages do with money in this houseless wilderness?"
"That's our affair," answered Bill. "So open your bank, old fellow, and leave it to intelligible fellows like me to transact your gold into brandy."
"In the first place, Bill," replied Arthur, "I think it is my duty to remind you of the fatal consequences of highway robbery, and to beseech you to return to your duty, and endeavor to retrieve your error. In the next place, you cannot possibly benefit by your extortion, for we are literally and truly without money. We have letters of credit on Calcutta, and we could certainly obtain money at Melbourne, but only by our personal application at that place. We have been already stripped by one of the black tribes, of every article of property we possessed, and we are now wholly destitute. This is the exact truth. Now I suggest to you that your wisest plan would be to leave us to pursue our way unmolested; unless you or your misguided brother will accompany us to the settlement of Mr. Deverell, with whom, I think, we have sufficient influence to induce him to pardon your offence."
"Who would be the fools then?" answered the man. "No, sir, your oratorio makes no depression on me. If you haven't got money, you're worth money. You must march in the arrear of your captivators to our quarters. You shall then write a letter, which I shall dedicate to you. I never travel without my writing impediments; and one of my 'cute black fellows, as is conservant in English, shall be dispersed away to your friend Mr. Deverell, who must confiscate to me cash or stuff for your ransom; and when I see my brandy and cigars, you are disfranchised."
It was useless to attempt opposition to the mandates of the imperious and conceited bush-ranger, and the disconsolate captives reluctantly followed the man, surrounded by such a troop of natives as precluded all hopes of escape, and exposed to the insults and plunder of these savages, who wrested from them their spears and bows. Wilkins had contrived to secret his knife under his vest, and thus saved it. They had not proceeded far before they were joined by a band of women, revolting in appearance and manner, who crowded round them, rudely examined their garments, and freely possessed themselves of such as they could conveniently snatch away. Margaret looked round for Baldabella to assist her in remonstrating with these harpies, and was surprised to see that she had disappeared.
Margaret then remembered that, on the previous night, the woman had selected a thicket considerably apart from the rest, as a sleeping-place for herself and her child, and she concluded that at the first alarm of the invaders, the poor woman had escaped, her dread of her fellow-countrymen overcoming even her allegiance to her friends. After all, Margaret considered it was as well; there were two less to be anxious for, and she had no fears for the native on her own soil: she would certainly find food, and would probably wait and watch for the release of the captives.
The unpleasant march of the prisoners extended to nearly three miles; then, descending a low hill, they arrived at a lovely wooded valley, where, on the banks of a little creek, or streamlet, stood a number of rough bark huts. A herd of cattle were feeding on the grassy plain, and some horses, hobbled, to prevent them straying, were mingled with them. Naked children were rolling on the grass, shouting and laughing; women were busy bruising nuts, or making nets; and some aged men were seated in the sun with their knees raised to their heads, looking stupid and half dead.
It was the first scene of pastoral life that the travellers had beheld in Australia, and would have had a certain charm to them had they been in a position to enjoy it. But the thoughts of their captivity engrossed their minds, and they contemplated with uneasiness the fierce and threatening countenances of the lawless men who surrounded them, and who drove them forward like the cattle they had so villainously obtained, and lodged them in a large bark hut which stood at the extremity of the scattered hamlet. This rude shelter was wholly open in front, and filthily dirty inside; but they were thankful for any shelter that divided them from the coarse and abandoned robbers; and, flinging themselves on the ground, the disconsolate captives reflected silently on their perilous situation, while their captors, assembled before the rude prison, seemed earnestly discussing, as Arthur concluded, the means of making the most profit of their destitute prisoners.
After some minutes had elapsed, they were favored with a visit from the audacious and ignorant convict Bill, who addressed them with his usual pompous air, saying,—
"Gentlemen, we have dissented on dispersing one of your gang along with our embarrasser to Deverell, that he may be incensed into the right of the thing. We set you up as worth a hundred pound, hard cash, for the lot; but if we concentrate to take stuff, we shall exhort two hundred. Things is bad to sell in the bush. We expectorate a chap in a day or two as is intentionable to buy our stock, and then you must keep close quarters, for when my colloquies get their brandy they are always a bit umbrageous."