Fern Vale; or, the Queensland Squatter. Volume 3

by Colin Munro

A few days after the event we have just narrated the rain that had been so long threatening at last appeared with one of those terrific thunder-storms which the colonies are in the summer visited with; and speedily the whole surface of the country became deluged. The arid and thirsty soil drank in the moisture, and almost spontaneously shot forth its herbage. The flock was then enabled to luxuriate on the tender grasses and, notwithstanding the deluging rains, to pursue its journey with more comfort than it had experienced for some considerable time previously.

For a week the rain continued with unabating violence when John Ferguson and his flock struck the course of the Gibson river near Brompton. The river was "bank high" at the time, rolling its swollen volume on in sullen impetuosity; while the ground around was so saturated and swampy that the travelling of the sheep was exceedingly tedious; and their owner began to feel anxious lest their course should be altogether impeded. He, however, managed to push on past Brompton, when the weather happily moderated; and though still overcast, and rainy-looking, the actual fall of water ceased. The respite was made good use of by John Ferguson, who pushed on as rapidly as he could, and he arrived at the Wombi without any interruption; but there he met with a check he had little anticipated. He fully expected the bridge would be level with the water or even covered, and thought that he might have to wait for the river to fall; but the volume of water had considerably subsided and left no trace of the structure he and his neighbours had erected. It had in fact been washed away by the flood, and he was made painfully aware that the only course open to him was to wait until the swollen current became sufficiently reduced to make it practicable to swim over his sheep. With that object he camped his party and flock on the bank of the Wombi.

For some days they waited in this position; but the river, notwithstanding that the rain had ceased, fell very slowly; while the surrounding gloominess plainly indicated an additional visitation of wet as not far distant. In conjunction with this the sheep began to show signs of foot-rot; and John, becoming anxious to get them home, considered it better under the circumstances to attempt a passage of the river at once. Acting on this decision he removed the flock to the old crossing-place and attempted the transit.

Two of his men had, by the aid of a horse, swam the river, and a large number of the sheep had either crossed or were struggling in the current, when a noise was heard that struck our hero with dismay. The distant roll of thunder, combined with the roar of battle, would convey but an imperfect idea of its nature. Distinct and more distinctly came the sound and, while the darkened atmosphere lent its gloom to the mighty convulsion that seemed to rend the earth, the cause of the noise seemed to approach nearer and nearer. Though John had never seen the sudden rising of a river he had heard of such phenomena, and guessed that the sound that he then heard was the harbinger of such an event. He therefore used all his exertions, with those of Joey and the white man that had remained with him on the upper bank of the Wombi, to prevent the remainder of the sheep from following their fellows into the water. They were with difficulty diverted from the stream; and those that had already crossed, being driven by the men as far as possible from the influence of the tide, John waited with an intense anxiety to watch the fate of those that would of a certainty be overtaken by the current.

The flood was in the Gibson river, and its cause can be easily explained in a few words. Towards its source the rain had been continuous, and the water-holes and surcharged swamps being filled to repletion, had burst their bounds and added their immense volumes to the already swollen stream. This imparted a force and impetuosity even greater than the current had previously possessed, and forced the water in one immense body down its course. On and on it swept like the monstrous rolling surge of the ocean, carrying to inevitable ruin everything that it overtook in its passage. John stood on an elevation sufficiently high to enable him to watch the progress of the destructive fluid; and, with his gaze alternately directed to it and his sheep still swimming in the stream at his feet, he calculated their chances of reaching the bank in safety. For this, however, he had little time, for the progress of the flood was quicker than that of his thoughts; and the sudden rise in the Gibson, as the deluge approached, caused a similar one in the Wombi. As the main body in the river swept past, it flooded the minor stream with its back current, sending the reversed tide, seething and swelling, up its narrow channel, and carrying with it some hundreds of the swimming sheep, most of which were drowned in their vain struggles with the element.

Unfortunate as this was John gave vent to no vain regrets, but at once decided how he would act. He knew that the brunt of the flood was over, and that the water would speedily fall in the river. He therefore determined to camp where he was for the night, and in the morning to send on the portion of his flock on the opposite side of the river, while he waited with the remainder until the flood should have so far receded as to permit his crossing them with safety. He communicated his plans to both sections of his party, while Joey lit a fire and prepared a camp.

Towards midnight, when everything was hushed in the nocturnal stillness, Joey came softly to his master, who was stretched in his blanket before the fire on the damp ground, and awoke him from his sleep. John, when he was aroused, instantly started up in the full expectation of some fresh misfortune, and hastily demanded of Joey what was the matter.

"You no hear, massa?" replied Joey; "you listen. The black fellows come back again and make great noise."

John listened attentively for some moments, and unmistakably distinguished the sounds of blacks' voices, though what was the purport of the noise he could not conjecture. It was evident to him they had returned to the neighbourhood and, from the sounds he heard, in considerable numbers. But where could they be camped? he asked himself; surely not at their old ground in the scrub, he thought; for the noise plainly indicated a closer proximity. In fact, it sounded to him as if it emanated from somewhere about Strawberry Hill, if not from that very place. Then John's thoughts led him to make the enquiry what could bring them across the Gibson; if they had any object in visiting Strawberry Hill; and if so, what that object could be? His thoughts, once led into such a channel, were not long in picturing a gloomy catalogue of probable causes. A remembrance of Rainsfield's cruelties was too indelibly impressed upon his mind to be forgotten, and the scene he had witnessed at the blacks' camp on the night previous to their departure was instantly conjured up in all its horrors. Though the disappearance of the blacks for months had momentarily dimmed his memory to the pangs he then witnessed and felt, they were instantly remembered when his mind reverted to the subject; and he vividly recollected the ebullition of evil passions that had been kindled in the breasts of some of the survivors and relatives of the victims. In his fancy he heard anew the threat of revenge that was uttered against Rainsfield; and he began to entertain the belief that the blacks were at the station of Strawberry Hill, and had come there for the purpose of wreaking vengeance on their destroyer and his family at a time when they would imagine their visitation least expected.

At the same time, however, he could not bring his mind to imagine that the blacks would be bold enough to attack the whole station, being confident the knowledge of the superior prowess of the whites would deter them, besides their dread of fire-arms, which, they would know at least all the men on the station would possess. He had no doubt, either, but that Rainsfield, having incurred the enmity of the aborigines, would take every precaution against surprisal, and believed that he could, with the assistance of one or two of his men, preserve himself against the assaults of a hundred of the blacks. But still John Ferguson could not divest his mind of some degree of apprehension, which (notwithstanding his endeavours to calm the perturbation his train of thoughts had led him to experience) still lingered there, and dark forebodings disturbed his brain.