But first Jacoby was sent out to reconnoitre. No cat, no flying squirrel could glide more noiselessly through an Australian forest than this faithful fellow. Still he seemed an unconsciously long time gone. Just as Craig and Archie were getting seriously uneasy the tinkle, tinkle of the bell-bird was heard. This was the signal agreed upon, and presently after, Jacoby himself came silently into their midst.
“The child?” was Archie’s first question.
“Baâl mumhill piccaninny, belong a you. Pidney you.”
“The child is safe,” said Craig, after asking a few more questions of this Scotch Myell black.
“Safe? and they are holding a corroboree and drinking. There is little time to lose. They may sacrifice the infant at any time.”
Craig struck a light as he spoke, and every man examined his arms.
“The moon will rise in an hour. Let us go on. Silent as death, men! Do not overturn a stone or break a twig, or the poor baby’s life will be sacrificed in a moment.”
They now advanced slowly and cautiously, guided by Jacoby, and at length lay down almost within pistol-shot of the place where the horrid corroboree was going on.
Considering the noise—the shrieking, the clashing of arms, the rude chanting of songs, and awful din, of the dancers and actors in this ugly drama—to maintain silence might have seemed unnecessary; but these blacks have ears like wolves, and, in a lull of even half a second, would be sharp to hear the faintest unusual noise.
Craig and Archie, however, crept on till they came within sight of the ceremonies.