Then up spoke Mat,—
“We will not obey you in this, Dromoora; I and my brother will be in the front rank fighting the enemy, with wooden weapons; if we are all driven in, we will retreat to the gun, and when you give the order, but not before, we will make it speak. If we are both killed, which is not very likely, you will save the thunder-stick, and our books, and fly with them to the white man.”
This speech was received with grunts of satisfaction; and the chief answered in the name of the rest,—
“So be it. We have taught you how to use our own weapons; you are brave men; when I call the word ‘Teegoora,’ but not before, give forth the death-dealing noise, it will end the fight.”
Terebare and other of the women, before retiring to their hiding-places, proceeded to decorate the white men, under the eyes of the chief. When this was completed, Tim very truthfully remarked,—
“That their own mother would never know them.”
In truth our foresters, both men of splendid physique, presented a noble, and at the same time somewhat strange appearance.
At this period they were only a shade lighter in colour than their black brethren; their hair had been cut moderately close to their heads, by means of tomahawks, and now it was adorned with heavy plumes of the black and scarlet feathers of the parrot; beards black, and reaching down over their chests; bodies painted with white, yellow, and red ochre, in all sorts of grotesque patterns; their appearance was calculated to inspire awe even amongst the natives themselves; whilst, to complete their terrible appearance, Terebare insisted on tying to the forehead of each one of the damaged old books saved from the wreck, in such a manner that at each movement the leaves opened and shut.
The natives gathered round the brothers when their toilet was completed, and could not forbear a shout, and even a short corroboree for the occasion.
This, however, only lasted a few seconds, for the enemy were now reported as being near, and every warrior at once got into position.