Dromoora and his wife willingly consented to this plan, as they were much frightened at the enormous tracks of the strange beast which Mat had pointed out.
Whilst it was still light, Mat spied the camp of the white men, situated near a lagoon. What first met his eye was a tent, a solitary figure, and smoke proceeding from a good-sized fire near it.
The sensation was new to him—the first white men, the first signs of civilized life, that he had seen for many a year—and as he gazed he shook in every limb as he considered how best to approach the camp.
Having made up his mind, he first proceeded to hide his weapons, then walked boldly up to within fifty yards, and gave a loud whistle to announce his presence. He had noticed two men sitting by the fire now that he was so much nearer.
The strangers, on hearing the whistle, looked round, then, seeing, as they supposed, a strange black fellow, instantly snatched up their guns.
Mat, expecting this movement, cried, “Don’t shoot! White man!”
“Come, I know better than that; you are a black who has learned English!” shouted one of the men. “A step nearer, and we shoot. Put down your gun,”—for Mat had retained this weapon—“and then come here!”
Mat complied with this request, and placed his gun against a tree; then, seeing that he was unarmed, the strangers allowed him to approach.
In a few words Mat told his story, how he had been shipwrecked, together with his brother, up north, had lived for many years with the blacks, and was now journeying south with his friends and brother.
“Well, this beats creation,” said one of the young men whom Mat was addressing. “You’re a regular Crusoe, only without the clothes. Come and sit down, and tell us more about it.”