Their natural audacity, however, soon returned. At present they were masters of the situation; with their breech-loaders they could shoot down a score of the natives, helpless in the cavern below, if so inclined. But, with all their horror of the scene, affairs did not seem to justify armed intervention just then.
Contenting themselves with being spectators only, they watched the doings in the cave, at times having to stifle a cough brought on by a puff of smoke from the burning wood fires. For a time the repast below went on with the usual accompaniments of a blacks' camp, but as it came to an end it was evident that some extraordinary occurrence was going to take place. Gradually the old men mustered together around Columbus, and the other blacks proceeded to combine all the fires into one large one near the wall of the cavern. The added blaze gave to view a huge figure on the rock; it was the semblance of a human form, but the head, instead of being represented round, was grotesquely shaped liked a triangle. At the foot of the painting was a rock, and while the rank and file of the natives grouped themselves in a circle around the fire, Columbus and some others retired into the darkness out of sight of the watchers. The chant of a corroboree now commenced, and the blacks slowly circled round the fire for a short time, suddenly ceasing and breaking into a half ring, with the open part towards the grim figure painted on the wall. Then Columbus and the others appeared, supporting between them a striking and venerable figure—an old, old man, with snow-white hair and beard, bent so double that, as he hobbled along supporting himself on two short sticks, he appeared like some strange animal walking on four legs. This decrepit being was carefully helped and guided to the stone beneath the figure, and seated thereon; then the others squatted on the ground, the blacks in the half ring remaining quietly standing.
The old man seated on the block was now full in view of the whites above, and the brilliant rays of the fire fell directly on him. Brown and Morton turned to each other with the same smothered exclamations on their lips:
"By Jove, it's a white man!"
Almost as dark as the savages around, painted like them with a hideous red smear on the forehead and a white triangle on the breast, the experienced whites yet felt sure that before them they saw one of their own race. Apparently the venerable being was either blind or nearly so, and he kept turning his face restlessly from side to side. From the half circle of blacks then arose a shout or chant that sounded like the repetition of "Mur! Fee! Mur! Fee!"
"Hullo! we're amongst countrymen," whispered Brown; "that sounds awfully like Murphy."
A terrible noise now commenced like a hundred mad gongs let loose. Four blacks came forward, beating furiously with clubs on what appeared to be sheets of metal. At the sound the old man on the rock smiled and leant forward, and, stretching forth his trembling hands, appeared to say something.
At this Columbus arose, and, followed by the gong-beaters, went over to the throng of trembling captives. After a short inspection he selected a young gin and pulled her along by the hand towards the old man, followed still by the gong-beaters. The poor wretch seemed stupefied with fear, and when in front of the stone she sank down, trembling visibly. Columbus drew back, and the gong-beaters, dancing madly round, made a still more deafening din. Suddenly one of them, instead of striking his gong, dealt the unfortunate creature a terrible blow on the head, the other gong-beaters followed his example, and in an instant the wretched gin lay dead on the ground.
The effect of this scene on the whites above was maddening. Charlie had his gun to his shoulder, but Morton stopped him in time. The gin was killed before interference was possible.
"Come away," said Brown; "let's have a confab. I'm sick of watching those brutes."