The drought was productive of all kinds of curious and remarkable incidents. The emus came in great flocks to the drinking-trough, and some of them were so far gone that they fell dead only a few yards from the fount of life. I picked up a great number of these huge birds, and made their skins into useful bed coverings, rugs, and even articles of clothing. When this terrible visitation was at its height Yamba made a curious suggestion to me. Addressing me gravely one night she said, “You have often told me of the Great Spirit whom your people worship; He can do all things and grant all prayers. Can you not appeal to Him now to send us water?” It was a little bit awkward for me, but as I had often chatted to my wife about the Deity, and told her of His omnipotence and His great goodness to mankind, I was more or less obliged to adopt this suggestion. Accordingly she and I knelt down together one night in our dwelling, and offered up an earnest prayer to God that He would send water to the afflicted country. Next morning that which seemed to me a miracle had been wrought. Incredible though it may appear, all the creeks, which until the previous night had been mere dry watercourses for an untold number of months, were rippling and running with the much-needed water, and we were saved all further anxiety, at any rate for the time. There may be, however, some scientific explanation of this extraordinary occurrence.
No sooner had we recovered from the delight caused by this phenomenally sudden change than the rain came—such rain! and the tremendous tropical downpour lasted for several weeks. The country soon reverted to something like its normal appearance.
The bush fires were extinguished, and even my lagoon came into existence again.
Talking about bush fires, we often saw them raging madly and sublimely in the mountains. They would burn for weeks at a stretch, and devastate hundreds of miles of country. For ourselves, we always prepared for such emergencies by “ringing” our dwelling—that is to say, laying bare a certain stretch of country in a perfect circle around us. Often we were almost choked by the intense heat which the wind occasionally wafted to us, and which, combined with the blazing sun and scarcity of water, rendered life positively intolerable.
I now wish to say a few words about Bruno—a few last sorrowful words—because at this period he was growing feeble, and, indeed, had never been the same since the death of Gibson. Still, I was constantly making use of his sagacity to impress the blacks. My usual custom was to hide some article (such as my tomahawk), near the house in Bruno’s presence, and then start off on a tramp accompanied by the blacks.
After we had gone a few miles I would suddenly call a halt, and pretend to my companions that I had forgotten something. Then I would order Bruno to go back and fetch it, with many mysterious whisperings. The dear, sagacious brute always understood what I wanted him to do, and in the course of perhaps an hour or two he would come and lay the article at my feet, and accept the flattering adulation of my black companions with the utmost calmness and indifference. Bruno never forgot what was required of him when we encountered a new tribe of blacks. He would always look to me for his cue, and when he saw me commence my acrobatic feats, he too would go through his little repertoire, barking and tumbling and rolling about with wonderful energy.
His quaint little ways had so endeared him to me that I could not bear to think of anything happening to him. On one occasion, when going through a burning, sandy desert, both he and I suffered terribly from the hot, loose sand which poured between our toes and caused us great suffering. Poor Bruno protested in the only way he could, which was by stopping from time to time and giving vent to the most mournful howls. Besides, I could tell from the gingerly way he put his feet down that the burning sand would soon make it impossible for him to go any farther. I therefore made him a set of moccasins out of kangaroo skin, and tied them on his feet. These he always wore afterwards when traversing similar deserts, and eventually he became so accustomed to them that as soon as we reached the sand he would come to me and put up his paws appealingly to have his “boots” put on!
But now age began to tell upon him; he was getting stiff in his limbs, and seldom accompanied me on hunting expeditions. He seemed only to want to sleep and drowse away the day. He had been a splendid kangaroo hunter, and took quite an extraordinary amount of pleasure in this pursuit. He would run down the biggest kangaroo and “bail him up” unerringly under a tree; and whenever the doomed animal tried to get away Bruno would immediately go for his tail, and compel him to stand at bay once more until I came up to give the coup de grâce. Of course, Bruno received a nasty kick sometimes and occasionally a bite from a snake, poisonous and otherwise. He was not a young dog when I had him first; and I had now made up my mind that he could not live much longer. He paid but little attention in these days to either Yamba or myself, and in this condition he lingered on for a year or more.
One morning I went into the second hut—which we still called Gibson’s, by the way, although he had never lived there—when to my dismay and horror (notwithstanding that I was prepared for the event), I beheld my poor Bruno laid out stiff and stark on the little skin rug that Gibson had originally made for him. I do not think I knew how much I loved him until he was gone. As I stood there, with the tears coursing down my cheeks, all the strange events of my wondrous career seemed to rise before my mind—events in which poor dead Bruno always took an active part. He was with me on the wreck; he was with me on the island; he was with me in all my wanderings and through all my sufferings and triumphs. He got me out of many a scrape, and his curious little eccentricities, likes, and dislikes afforded me never-ending delight. But now he was gone the way of all flesh; and although I had expected this blow for many months, I do not think this mitigated my poignant grief. Yamba, too, was terribly grieved at his death, for she had become most devotedly attached to him and he to her. I rolled the body of the faithful creature in a kind of preservative earth and then in an outer covering of bark. This done I laid him on a shelf in one of the caves where the wild dogs could not get at him, and where the body of Gibson, similarly treated, had also been placed.