The agonies of thirst—A ghastly drink—I ask Yamba to kill me—My ministering angel—How Yamba caught opossum—The water witch—A barometer of snakes—The coming deluge—The plunge into the Rapids—A waste of waters—A fearful situation—Barking alligators—English-speaking natives—A ship at last—I abandon hope—The deserted settlement.

By this time I began to feel quite delirious; I fear I was like a baby in Yamba’s hands. She knew that all I wanted was water, and became almost distracted when she could not find any for me. Of herself she never thought. And yet she was full of strange resources and devices. When I moaned aloud in an agony of thirst, she would give me some kind of grass to chew; and although this possessed no real moisture, yet it promoted the flow of saliva, and thus slightly relieved me.

Things grew worse and worse, however, and the delirium increased. Hour after hour—through the endless nights would that devoted creature sit by my side, moistening my lips with the dew that collected on the grass. On the fifth day without water I suffered the most shocking agonies, and in my lucid moments gave myself up for lost. I could neither stand nor walk, speak nor swallow. My throat seemed to be almost closed up, and when I opened my eyes everything appeared to be going round and round in the most dizzy and sickening manner. My heart beat with choking violence, and my head ached, so that I thought I was going mad. My bloodshot eyes (so Yamba subsequently told me) projected from their sockets in the most terrifying manner, and a horrible indescribable longing possessed me to kill my faithful Bruno, in order to drink his blood. My poor Bruno! As I write these humble lines, so lacking in literary grace, I fancy I can see him lying by my side in that glaring, illimitable wilderness, his poor, dry tongue lolling out, and his piteous brown eyes fixed upon me with an expression of mute appeal that added to my agony. The only thing that kept him from collapsing altogether was the blood of some animal which Yamba might succeed in killing.

Gradually I grew weaker and weaker, and at last feeling the end was near, I crawled under the first tree I came across—never for a moment giving a thought as to its species,—and prepared to meet the death I now fervently desired. Had Yamba, too, given up, these lines would never have been written. Amazing to relate, she kept comparatively well and active, though without water; and in my most violent paroxysm she would pounce upon a lizard or a rat, and give me its warm blood to drink, while yet it lived. Then she would masticate a piece of iguana flesh and give it to me in my mouth, but I was quite unable to swallow it, greatly to her disappointment. She must have seen that I was slowly sinking, for at last she stooped down and whispered earnestly in my ear that she would leave me for a little while, and go off in search of water. Like a dream it comes back to me how she explained that she had seen some birds passing overhead, and that if she followed in the same direction she was almost certain to reach water sooner or later.

I could not reply; but I felt it was a truly hopeless enterprise on her part. And as I did not want her to leave me, I remember I held out my tomahawk feebly towards her, and signed to her to come and strike me on the head with it and so put an end to my dreadful agonies. The heroic creature only smiled and shook her head emphatically. She took the proffered weapon, however, and after putting some distinguishing marks on my tree with it, she hurled it some distance away from me. She then stooped and propped me against the trunk of the tree; and then leaving my poor suffering dog to keep me company, she set out on her lonely search with long, loping strides of amazing vigour.

It was late in the afternoon when she took her departure; and I lay there hour after hour, sometimes frantically delirious, and at others in a state of semi-consciousness, fancying she was by my side with shells brimming over with delicious water. I would rouse myself with a start from time to time, but, alas! my Yamba was not near me. During the long and deathly stillness of the night, the dew came down heavily, and as it enveloped my bed, I fell into a sound sleep, from which I was awakened some hours later by the same clear and ringing voice that had addressed me on that still night on my island sand-spit. Out upon the impressive stillness of the air rang the earnest words: “Coupe l’arbre! Coupe l’arbre!”

I was quite conscious, and much refreshed by my sleep, but the message puzzled me a great deal. At first I thought it must have been Yamba’s voice, but I remembered that she did not know a word of French; and when I looked round there was no one to be seen. The mysterious message still rang in my ears, but I was far too weak to attempt to cut the tree myself, I lay there in a state of inert drowsiness until, rousing myself a little before dawn, I heard the familiar footsteps of Yamba approaching the spot where I lay. Her face expressed anxiety, earnestness, and joy.

In her trembling hands she bore a big lily leaf containing two or three ounces of life-giving water. This I drank with gasping eagerness, as you may suppose. My delirium had now entirely left me, although I was still unable to speak. I signed to her to cut the tree, as the voice in my dream had directed me. Without a word of question Yamba picked up the tomahawk from where she had hurled it, and then cut vigorously into the trunk, making a hole three or four inches deep. It may seem astonishing to you, but it surprised me in no wise when out from the hole there trickled a clear, uncertain stream of water, under which Yamba promptly held my fevered head. This had a wonderfully refreshing effect upon me, and in a short time I was able to speak feebly but rationally, greatly to the delight of my faithful companion. As, however, I was still too weak to move, I indulged in another and far sounder sleep. I do not know the scientific name of that wonderful Australian tree which saved my life, but believe it is well known to naturalists. I have heard it called the “bottle tree,” from the shape of the trunk. All through that terrible night, while Yamba was far away searching for water, Bruno had never left my side, looking into my face wistfully, and occasionally licking my body sympathetically with his poor, parched tongue. Whilst I was asleep the second time, Yamba went off with the dog in search of food, and returned with a young opossum, which was soon frizzling in an appetising way on a tripod of sticks over a blazing fire. I was able to eat a little of the flesh, and we obtained all the water we wanted from our wonderful tree. Of course, Yamba was unacquainted with the fact that water was stored in its interior. As a rule, her instinct might be depended upon implicitly; and even after years of her companionship I used to be filled with wonder at the way in which she would track down game and find honey. She would glance at a tree casually, and discern on the bark certain minute scratches, which were quite invisible to me, even when pointed out. She would then climb up like a monkey, and return to the ground with a good-sized opossum, which would be roasted in its skin, with many different varieties of delicious roots.

When I had quite recovered, Yamba told me she had walked many miles during the night, and had finally discovered a water-hole in a new country, for which she said we must make as soon as I was sufficiently strong. Fortunately this did not take very long, and on reaching the brink of the water-hole we camped beside it for several days, in order to recuperate. I must say that the water we found here did not look very inviting—it was, in fact, very slimy and green in colour; but by the time we took our departure there was not a drop left. Yamba had a method of filtration which excited my admiration. She dug another hole alongside the one containing the water, leaving a few inches of earth between them, through which the water would percolate, and collect in hole perfectly filtered.

At other times, when no ordinary human being could detect the presence of water, she would point out to me a little knob of clay on the ground in an old dried-up water-hole. This, she told me, denoted the presence of a frog, and she would at once thrust down a reed about eighteen inches long, and invite me to suck the upper end, with the result that I imbibed copious draughts of delicious water.

At the water-hole just described birds were rather plentiful, and when they came down to drink, Yamba knocked them over without difficulty. They made a very welcome addition to our daily bill of fare. Her mode of capturing the birds was simplicity itself. She made herself a long covering of grass that completely enveloped her, and, shrouded in this, waited at the edge of the water-hole for the birds to come and drink. Then she knocked over with a stick as many as she required. In this way we had a very pleasant spell of rest for four or five days. Continuing our journey once more, we pushed on till in about three weeks we came to a well-wooded country, where the eucalyptus flourished mightily and water was plentiful; but yet, strange to say, there was very little game in this region. Soon after this, I noticed that Yamba grew a little anxious, and she explained that as we had not come across any kangaroos lately, nor any blacks, it was evident that the wet season was coming on. We therefore decided to steer for higher ground, and accordingly went almost due north for the next few days, until we reached the banks of a big river—the Roper River, as I afterwards found out—where we thought it advisable to camp. This would probably be sometime in the month of December.

One day I saw a number of small snakes swarming round the foot of a tree, and was just about to knock some of them over with my stick, when Yamba called out to me excitedly not to molest them. They then began to climb the tree, and she explained that this clearly indicated the advent of the wet season. “I did not wish you to kill the snakes,” she said, “because I wanted to see if they would take refuge in the trees from the coming floods.”

Up to this time, however, there had not been the slightest indication of any great change in the weather. Many months must have elapsed since rain had fallen in these regions, for the river was extremely low between its extraordinarily high banks, and the country all round was dry and parched; but even as we walked, a remarkable phenomenon occurred, which told of impending changes. I was oppressed with a sense of coming evil. I listened intently when Yamba requested me to do so, but at first all I could hear was a curious rumbling sound, far away in the distance. This noise gradually increased in volume, and came nearer and nearer, but still I was utterly unable to account for it. I also noticed that the river was becoming strangely agitated, and was swirling along at ever-increasing speed. Suddenly an enormous mass of water came rushing down with a frightful roar, in one solid wave, and then it dawned upon me that it must have already commenced raining in the hills, and the tributaries of the river were now sending down their floods into the main stream, which was rising with astonishing rapidity. In the course of a couple of hours it had risen between thirty and forty feet. Yamba seemed a little anxious, and suggested that we had better build a hut on some high ground and remain secure in that locality, without attempting to continue our march while the rains lasted; and it was evident they were now upon us.

We therefore set to work to construct a comfortable little shelter of bark, fastened to a framework of poles by means of creepers and climbing plants. Thus, by the time the deluge was fairly upon us, we were quite snugly ensconced. We did not, however, remain in-doors throughout the whole of the day, but went in and out, hunting for food and catching game just as usual; the torrential rain which beat down upon our naked bodies being rather a pleasant experience than otherwise. At this time we had a welcome addition to our food in the form of cabbage-palms and wild honey. We also started building a catamaran, with which to navigate the river when the floods had subsided. Yamba procured a few trunks of very light timber, and these we fastened together with long pins of hardwood, and then bound them still more firmly together with strips of kangaroo hide. We also collected a stock of provisions to take with us—kangaroo and opossum meat, of course; but principally wild honey, cabbage-palm, and roots of various kinds. These preparations took us several days, and by the time we had arranged everything for our journey the weather had become settled once more. Yamba remarked to me that if we simply drifted down the Roper River we should be carried to the open sea; nor would we be very long, since the swollen current was now running like a mill-race. Our catamaran, of course, afforded no shelter of any kind, but we carried some sheets of bark to form seats for ourselves and the dog.

At length we pushed off on our eventful voyage, and no sooner had we got fairly into the current than we were carried along with prodigious rapidity, and without the least exertion on our part, except in the matter of steering. This was done by means of paddles from the side of the craft. We made such rapid progress that I felt inclined to go on all night, but shortly after dusk Yamba persuaded me to pull in-shore and camp on the bank until morning, because of the danger of travelling at night among the logs and other wreckage that floated about on the surface of the water.

We passed any number of submerged trees, and on several of these found snakes coiled among the branches. Some of these reptiles we caught and ate. About the middle of the second day we heard a tremendous roar ahead, as though there were rapids in the bed of the river. It was now impossible to pull the catamaran out of its course, no matter how hard we might have striven, the current being absolutely irresistible. The banks narrowed as the rapids were reached, with the result that the water in the middle actually became convex, so tremendous was the rush in that narrow gorge. Yamba cried out to me to lie flat on the catamaran, and hold on as tightly as I could until we reached smooth water again. This she did herself, seizing hold of the dog also.

Nearer and nearer we were swept to the great seething caldron of boiling and foaming waters, and at last, with a tremendous splash we entered the terrifying commotion. We went right under, and so great was the force of the water, that had I not been clinging tenaciously to the catamaran I must infallibly have been swept away to certain death. Presently, however, we shot into less troubled waters and then continued our course, very little the worse for having braved these terrible rapids. Had our craft been a dug-out boat, as I originally intended it to be, we must inevitably have been swamped. Again we camped on shore that night, and were off at an early hour next morning. As we glided swiftly on, I noticed that the river seemed to be growing tremendously wide. Yamba explained that we were now getting into very flat country, and therefore the great stretch of water was a mere flood. She also prophesied a rather bad time for us, as we should not be able to go ashore at night and replenish our stock of provisions. Fortunately we had a sufficient supply with us on the catamaran to last at least two or three days longer. The last time we landed Yamba had stocked an additional quantity of edible roots and smoked meats, and although we lost a considerable portion of these in shooting the rapids, there still remained enough for a few days’ supply.

In consequence of the ever-increasing width of the river, I found it a difficult matter to keep in the channel where the current was, so I gave up the steering paddle to Yamba, who seemed instinctively to know what course to take.

On and on we went, until at length the whole country as far as the eye could reach was one vast sea, extending virtually to the horizon; its sluggish surface only broken by the tops of the submerged trees. One day we sighted a number of little islets some distance ahead, and then we felt we must be nearing the mouth of the river. The last day or two had been full of anxiety and inconvenience for us, for we had been simply drifting aimlessly on, without being able to land and stretch our cramped limbs or indulge in a comfortable sleep. Thus the sight of the islands was a great relief to us, and my ever-faithful and considerate companion remarked that as we had nothing to fear now, and I was weary with my vigil of the previous night, I had better try and get a little sleep. Accordingly I lay down on the catamaran, and had barely extended my limbs when I fell fast asleep. I awoke two or three hours later, at mid-day, and was surprised to find that our catamaran was not moving. I raised myself up, only to find that we had apparently drifted among the tops of a ring of trees rising from a submerged island. “Halloa!” I said to Yamba, “are we stuck?” “No,” she replied quietly, “but look round.”

You may judge of my horror and amazement when I saw outside the curious ring of tree-tops, scores of huge alligators peering at us with horrid stolidity through the branches, some of them snapping their capacious jaws with a viciousness that left no doubt as to its meaning. Yamba explained to me that she had been obliged to take refuge in this peculiar but convenient shelter, because the alligators seemed to be swarming in vast numbers in that part of the river. She had easily forced a way for the catamaran through the branches, and once past, had drawn them together again. The ferocious monsters could certainly have forced their way into the inclosure after us, but they didn’t seem to realise that such a thing was possible, apparently being quite content to remain outside. Judge, then, our position for yourself—with a scanty food supply, on a frail platform of logs, floating among the tree-tops, and literally besieged by crowds of loathsome alligators! Nor did we know how long our imprisonment was likely to last. Our poor dog, too, was terribly frightened, and sat whining and trembling in a most pitiable way in spite of reassuring words and caresses from Yamba and myself. I confess that I was very much alarmed, for the monsters would occasionally emit a most peculiar and terrifying sound—not unlike the roar of a lion. Hour after hour we sat there on the swaying catamaran, praying fervently that the hideous reptiles might leave us, and let us continue our journey in peace. As darkness began to descend upon the vast waste of waters, it occurred to me to make a bold dash through the serried ranks of our besiegers, but Yamba restrained me, telling me it meant certain death to attempt to run the gantlet under such fearsome circumstances.

Night came on. How can I describe its horrors? Even as I write, I seem to hear the ceaseless roars of those horrible creatures, and the weird but gentle lappings of the limitless waste that extended as far as the eye could reach. Often I was tempted to give up in despair, feeling that there was no hope whatever for us. Towards morning, however, the alligators apparently got on the scent of some floating carcasses brought down by the floods, and one and all left us. Some little time after the last ugly head had gone under, the catamaran was sweeping swiftly and noiselessly down the stream again.

We made straight for a little island some distance ahead of us, and found it uninhabited. Black and white birds, not quite so large as pigeons, were very plentiful, as also were eggs. Soon my Yamba had a nice meal ready for me, and then we lay down for a much-needed rest. After this we steered for a large island some nine or ten miles distant, and as we approached we could see that this one was inhabited, from the smoke-signals the natives sent up the moment they caught sight of us.

As we came nearer we could see the blacks assembling on the beach to meet us, but, far from showing any friendliness, they held their spears poised threateningly, and would no doubt have thrown them had I not suddenly jumped to my feet and made signs that I wished to sit down with them—to parley with them. They then lowered their spears, and we landed; but to my great disappointment neither Yamba nor I could understand one word of their language, which was totally different from the dialect of Yamba’s country. Our first meeting was conducted in the usual way—squatting down on our haunches, and then drawing nearer and nearer until we were able to rub noses on one another’s shoulders. I then explained by means of signs that I wanted to stay with them a few days, and I was inexpressibly relieved to find that my little passport stick (which never left my possession for a moment), was recognised at once, and proved most efficacious generally. After this I became more friendly with my hosts, and told them by signs that I was looking for white people like myself, whereupon they replied I should have to go still farther south to find them. They took us to their camp, and provided us with food, consisting mainly of fish, shell-fish, and roots. So far as I could ascertain, there were no kangaroo or opossum on the island. After two or three days, I thought it time to be continuing our journey; but feeling convinced that I must be in the vicinity of the Cape York Peninsula—instead of being on the west coast of the Gulf of Carpentaria—I decided not to go south at all, but to strike due north, where I felt certain Somerset Point lay; and I also resolved to travel by sea this time, the blacks having presented me with a very unsubstantial “dug-out” canoe. Leaving behind us the catamaran that had brought us so many hundreds of miles, we set out on our travels once more—taking care, however, never to lose sight of the coast-line on account of our frail craft. We passed several beautiful islands, big and little, and on one that we landed I came across some native chalk drawings on the face of the rock. They depicted rude figures of men—I don’t remember any animals—but were not nearly so well done as the drawings I had seen in caves up in the Cape Londonderry district.

We also landed from time to time on the mainland, and spoke with the chiefs of various tribes. They were all hostile at first. On one occasion we actually met one or two blacks who spoke a few words of English. They had evidently been out with pearlers at some time in their lives, but had returned to their native wilds many years before our visit. I asked them if they knew where white men were to be found, and they pointed east (Cape York), and also indicated that the whites were many moons’ journey away from us. I was sorely puzzled. A glance at a map of Australia will enable the reader to realise my great blunder. Ignorant almost of Australian geography I fancied, on reaching the western shores of the Gulf of Carpentaria, that I had struck the Coral Sea, and that all I had to do was to strike north to reach Somerset, the white settlement I had heard about from the pearlers. I felt so confident Cape York lay immediately to the north, that I continued my course in that direction, paddling all day and running in-shore to camp at night. We lived mainly on shell-fish and sea-birds’ eggs at this time, and altogether life became terribly wearisome and monotonous. This, however, was mainly owing to my anxiety.

About a fortnight after leaving the mouth of the Roper River we came to a place which I now know to be Point Dale. We then steered south into a beautiful landlocked passage which lies between the mainland and Elcho Island, and which at the time I took to be the little strait running between Albany Island and Cape York. I steered south-west in consequence; and after a time, as I did not sight the points I was on the look-out for, I felt completely nonplused. We landed on Elcho Island and spent a day or two there. Being still under the impression that Cape York was higher up, I steered west, and soon found myself in a very unpleasant region. We explored almost every bay and inlet we came across, but of course always with the same disheartening result. Sometimes we would come near being stranded on a sandbank, and would have to jump overboard and push our craft into deeper water. At others, she would be almost swamped in a rough sea, but still we stuck to our task, and after passing Goulbourn Island we followed the coast. Then we struck north until we got among a group of islands, and came to Croker Island, which goes direct north and south. Day after day we kept doggedly on, hugging the shore very closely, going in and out of every bay, and visiting almost every island, yet never seeing a single human being. We were apparently still many hundreds of miles away from our destination. To add to the wretchedness of the situation, my poor Yamba, who had been so devoted, so hardy, and so contented, at length began to manifest symptoms of illness, and complained gently of the weariness of it all. “You are looking,” she would say, “for a place that does not exist. You are looking for friends of whose very existence you are unaware.” I would not give in, however, and persuaded her that all would be well in time, if only she would continue to bear with me. Both of us were terribly cramped in the boat; and by way of exercise one or the other would occasionally jump overboard and have a long swim. Whenever we could we landed at night.

One morning, shortly after we had begun our usual trip for the day, and were rounding a headland, I was almost stupefied to behold in front of me the masts of a boat (which I afterwards found to be a Malay proa), close in-shore. The situation, in reality, was between Croker’s Island and the main, but at the time I thought that I had at length reached Somerset. I sprang to my feet in a state of the greatest excitement. “Thank God! thank God!” I shouted to Yamba; “we are saved at last!—saved—saved—saved!” As I shouted, I pulled the canoe round and made for the vessel with all possible despatch. We very soon came up with her, and found her almost stranded, in consequence of the lowness of the tide. I promptly clambered aboard, but failed to find a soul. I thought this rather strange, but as I could see a hut not very far away, close to the beach, I steered towards it. This little dwelling, too, was uninhabited, though I found a number of trays of fish lying about, which afterwards I found to be bÊche-de-mer being dried and smoked. Suddenly, while Yamba and I were investigating the interior of the hut, a number of Malays unexpectedly appeared on the scene, and I then realised I had had the good fortune to come across a Malay bÊche-de-mer expedition.

The fishermen were exceedingly surprised at seeing Yamba and me; but when they found I could speak their language a little they evinced every sign of delight, and forthwith entertained us most hospitably on board their craft, which was a boat of ten or fifteen tons. They told me they had come from the Dutch islands south of Timor, and promptly made me an offer that set my heart beating wildly. They said they were prepared to take me back to Kopang, if I wished; and I, on my part, offered to give them all the pearl shells left on my little island in the Sea of Timor—the latitude of which I took good care not to divulge—on condition that they called there. They even offered Yamba a passage along with me; but, to my amazement and bitter disappointment, she said she did not wish to go with them. She trembled as though with fear. She was afraid that when once we were on board, the Malays would kill me and keep her.

One other reason for this fear I knew, but it in no way mitigated my acute grief at being obliged to decline what would probably be my only chance of returning to civilisation. For this I had pined day and night for four or five years, and now that escape was within my grasp I was obliged to throw it away. For let me emphatically state, that even if civilisation had been but a mile away, I would not have gone a yard towards it without that devoted creature who had been my salvation, not on one occasion only, but practically every moment of my existence.

With passionate eagerness I tried to persuade Yamba to change her mind, but she remained firm in her decision; and so, almost choking with bitter regret, and in a state of utter collapse, I had to decline the offer of the Malays. We stayed with them, however, a few weeks longer, and at length they accompanied me to a camp of black fellows near some lagoons, a little way farther south of their own camp. Before they left, they presented me with a quantity of bÊche-de-mer, or sea-slugs, which make most excellent soup. At the place indicated by the Malays, which was in Raffles Bay, the chief spoke quite excellent English. One of his wives could even say the Lord’s Prayer in English, though, of course, she did not know what she was talking about. “Captain Jack Davis,” as he called himself, had been for some little time on one of her Majesty’s ships, and he told me that not many marches away there was an old European settlement; he even offered to guide me there, if I cared to go. He first led me to an old white settlement in Raffles Bay, called, I think, Fort Wellington, where I found some large fruit-trees, including ripe yellow mangoes. There were, besides, raspberries, strawberries, and Cape gooseberries. Needless to remark, all this made me very happy and contented, for I felt I must now be getting near the home of some white men. I thought that, after all, perhaps Yamba’s refusal to go with the Malays was for the best, and with high hopes I set out with Captain Davis for another settlement he spoke of. This turned out to be Port Essington, which we reached in two or three days. Another cruel blow was dealt me here.

You can perhaps form some idea of my poignant dismay and disappointment on finding that this dreary-looking place of swamps and marshes was quite deserted, although there were still a number of ruined brick houses, gardens, and orchards there. The blacks told me that at one time it had been one of the most important penal settlements in Australia, but had to be abandoned on account of the prevalence of malarial fever arising from the swamps in the neighbourhood. I came across a number of graves, which were evidently those of the exiled settlers; and one of the wooden headstones bore the name of Captain Hill (I think that was the name). I have an idea that the fence round this old cemetery still remained. There was food in abundance at this place—raspberries, bananas, and mangoes grew in profusion; whilst the marshes were inhabited by vast flocks of geese, ducks, white ibis, and other wild-fowl. Indeed in the swamps the birds rose in such prodigious numbers as actually to obscure the face of the sun. Here for the first time I saw web-footed birds perched in trees.

The blacks had a very peculiar method of catching water-fowl. They would simply wade through the reeds into the water almost up to their necks, and then cover their heads with a handful of reeds. Remaining perfectly still, they would imitate the cry of different wild-fowl. Then at a convenient opportunity, they would simply seize a goose or a duck by the leg, and drag it down under the water until it was drowned. The number of water-fowl caught in this way by a single black fellow was truly astonishing.

After having remained a fortnight at Port Essington itself, we returned to Raffles Bay, where Yamba and I made a camp among the blacks and took up our residence among them; for Captain Davis had told me that ships called there occasionally, and it was possible that one might call soon from Port Darwin. The vessels, he added, came for buffalo meat—of which more hereafter. I had decided to remain among these people some little time, because they knew so much about Europeans, and I felt sure of picking up knowledge which would prove useful to me.