Mat then gave a full account of the wreck, of the subsequent escape, and of life amongst his black friends.
He added that he reckoned that as near as he could put it the wreck happened in about seventeen degrees south latitude.
That which interested his audience more especially was his account of the habits of the wild blacks; and as the chief and his wife were led forward by the brothers, tremendous cheers went up from the people; who were already aware in what manner these two natives, together with their tribe, had befriended the white men.
It so happened that Dromoora had been told, upon the occasion of their being cheered on board the steamer, that when the white man “corroboreed” he must take his hat off; so remembering his lesson, or rather knowing that it had something to do with his hat, and not having that article on his head, he seized it from the chair where it had been placed, with one hand; whilst with the other he dragged his wife’s from off her head, throwing them both into the air; then shouting, “White fellow, corroboree,” he was proceeding to force his “jin” to beat two chairs together, when he was promptly seized by the brothers and conveyed to a seat.
Mat continued his lecture for a good hour after this occurrence, and finally concluded by stating that their trade consisted of breaking-in horses, and that they looked forward to carrying it on in the country which had given them such a kind reception.
Mat brought his lecture to a conclusion amidst enthusiastic cheers, and the four guests of the evening were preparing to retire, when a crowd of squatters jumped on to the platform, amongst them the jovial looking individual with the white beard, who elbowed his way up to Mat, and said, with outstretched hand,—
“Don’t you remember the squire, Mat? a bit grey about the muzzle, eh?”
“Why, my good old master,” eagerly replied our forester, as gazing earnestly at him, he recognized the well-known features of years gone by.
“Here, Tim,” he continued, as he wrung Bell’s hand; “here’s the squire I so often told you of.”
“And my daughter, Annie,” added the squatter “I don’t suppose you will remember her either.” And Mat certainly did not at first recognize the young lady who now came forward, holding out her hand,—and small blame to him.