Adventures of Working Men. From the Notebook of a Working Surgeon

“’Tain’t wolf this time, master; ’tain’t, indeed,” cried the man earnestly; and then, seeing Harris’s smile of incredulity, he relapsed into a look of sullen injury, and stood leaning upon his rifle-barrel.

“Here, come along,” said Samson.

“Load up first, master,” said Tom. “’Tis true, indeed,” he exclaimed, once more seeking to obtain credence for his story. “I saw scores. Ask Teddy here.”

Now Teddy – or, as he was known in his tribe, Bidgeebidgee – stood spear in hand, showing his white teeth, and apparently listening intently, from the way in which his nostrils expanded and twitched. That something was amiss was evident, for, leaning his spear against the wall, he now took off the ragged blue shirt he wore, unfastened his girdle, and set free a formidable-looking waddy, or club, before throwing himself flat upon the ground to listen.

Samson paused, startled, and though uncharged, he involuntarily cocked his piece as Teddy, the black shepherd, leaped up and exclaimed —

“Black fellows all a-coming – one – two – ten hundred.”

The next instant he threw himself into an attitude of attack, poising his spear for hurling at the first who should cross the threshold.

“Get out,” exclaimed Samson, recovering himself; “here have I lived now two years and only seen a party or two of the poor wretches begging, and – ”

“But they burned Riley’s hut, and butchered his wife and children,” said Tom, earnestly.

“Don’t believe it,” said Samson, sturdily, “only a bugbear made up by some of them pioneering chaps to frighten new-comers from going up country and taking claims, so that they may have best choice themselves.”

“Wallace’s boy’s head was battered in,” said Tom.

“Gammon,” said Samson, who, however, could not help looking uneasily towards the black.

“Then there was Ellis’s poor gal; you know how they served her.”

“Hold your tongue, will you?” growled Samson; “do you want to frighten the women to death?” and as he spoke he clapped his hand over his convict servant’s mouth, and glanced uneasily towards the door which led into the interior of the hut – one that was unusually large, for during Samson’s pleasant sojourn in this smiling wilderness, matters had prospered with him, and bit by bit he had added to his dwelling, and found himself compelled to make fresh arrangements for his flocks and ever-multiplying herds.

“Did you call?” said a pleasant voice, and then the door opened, and Samson’s comely wife made her appearance.

“No,” said Samson, “I didn’t call, but – ”

“Here a come,” said Teddy, and all present heard the rapid beat of feet, audible to the black’s keen sense some time before. Tom cocked and raised his rifle; Samson snatched down a revolver from a hook over the fireplace, knocking down and breaking a little china group of the children in the wood, an ornament brought from the far-off English home.

But the next moment arms were lowered, and Teddy’s spear was not thrown, for two men, whose faces were known to all present, dashed panting into the hut.

“Look out,” one of them gasped, “the blacks are out.”

“Now then, master!” cried Tom triumphantly.

“Don’t see nothing blacker about than your face, neighbour,” said Samson dryly, as he turned to one of his visitors. “Ain’t neither of you killed, are you?”

The man did not answer, but turning up the sleeve of his woollen shirt to the elbow, showed a long, jagged but superficial scratch from the upper joint to the wrist, with here the blood drying fast, there still standing in beads upon the lips of the wound.

“I might have been,” said the new-comer grimly, “if the fellow who threw the spear that made that long scratch had been truer in his aim. The blacks are out strong, well armed, and in their war-paint; and if you don’t want them in here, Samson Harris, you’d better shut that door.”

Half-grudgingly, the squatter made two steps towards the door; then he stopped for he caught sight of his wife, standing with blanched and drawn face, holding tightly her two children. She did not speak; but, as their eyes met, her lips parted to form one word which the father read in an instant. Thought after thought rushed lightning-like through his brain; all the old colonists’ tales and their horrors seemed to force themselves upon him; the burning of Riley’s hut, and the cruel butchery of wife and children, and the other barbarities said to have been committed; the child of a squatter named Wallace beaten to death with clubs; the death of the blooming daughter of one Ellis. A mist seemed to swim before his eyes for an instant; but the next he had shouted, “Come on, such of you as are men;” for he had again encountered the agonised face of his wife – again interpreted that one word her lips had parted to form, and he dashed to the hut-door; but only to be grasped tightly by his convict servant, Tom.

“Let me go!” he shouted, “are you mad?” and he dealt the man a heavy blow in the chest, and sent him staggering back, shouting – “Hold him, hold him!”

“Let me go, Anderson – Jones!” cried Samson, again struggling to reach the door, but held back by the new-comers. “Are you mad, are you men, when poor Mary is out there in the scrub?”

The wounded man gave more of a yell than a cry, as Samson Harris uttered those words, and, loosing his hold of the father, he made for the door himself, but only to fall heavily, tripped up by the waddy the black shepherd had cunningly placed between his legs.

The fall was heavy; but as he went down two spears darted through the open door, and stuck quivering one in the floor, the other in the table. The next moment the door was dashed to by Teddy, and its rough wooden bar laid across.

“Better there, than through you, Master Anderson,” said Tom, dragging the quivering spear out of the table, and passing it to Teddy.

The young man did not speak; but his eyes glared, and the curls of his black beard seemed to move and writhe as his features worked. Then, grasping the rifle he held in his hand, he turned to Samson Harris, saying in a husky voice —

“Are you ready?”

Samson forced a bullet down upon the powder of the rifle he was now engaged in charging, and nodded his head by way of reply.

There was no opposition made now, and as Samson and Anderson prepared to make a dash out to reach the scrub, Tom the convict, Anderson’s companion, and the black made as if to accompany them.

“No,” said Samson hoarsely, “stay and protect them,” and he pointed to his wife and the two astonished children. “Now open the door.”

At his words, Teddy threw the door widely open, but before any one could pass through, he dashed it to again, while as he did so, Samson groaned, for, “thud – thud – thud” came the sound of three spears as they stuck in the stout woodwork, one passing right through; and he knew that had they stood in the doorway, it would have been to their death.

“Frank Anderson,” said Samson in a low voice, holding out his hand, “I always set my face against your coming here, for I didn’t think you were in earnest, my boy; and now – now – if it’s to come to that – ” and he pointed to the spears, his voice shaking a little the while, “I should like to make friends first, though I have gone on against you. Frank Anderson, I beg your pardon!”

The young man groaned, as he took the proffered hand, and then in the same low voice he whispered —

“But Mary, when did she go? Which way?”

“Heaven forgive me,” exclaimed the wretched father, “and I’d forgotten her till she showed me my duty,” and he nodded towards his trembling wife. “She took the pail and went to the cows, half – three-quarters of an hour ago.”

“But we must go to her,” whispered the young man.

“Then you’ll have to go with your skin as full of spears as a porkypine’s back, master,” said Tom, who had crept closer to them. “There; hark at that!” he exclaimed, as a burst of yells arose. “There’s a good two hundred of the black devils dancing about.”

“It would be madness to go,” said Samson, “and like sacrificing three more lives; but she may have hid herself, and escaped.”

The young man shuddered, and then raised his rifle, for a spear came crashing through the window, but happily without striking any one.

“Here,” said Samson, rousing up, “lend a hand?” and with the help of those present, he half carried his wife and two children up a short ladder to a roughly-formed loft, full of wool fleeces, and formed in the low-pitched roof.

“There, creep under them,” he cried, “and first pull up the ladder. Now hide yourselves there, you’ll be safe for the present.”

“Look out,” shouted Tom, as Mrs Harris dragged up the ladder, and its last rounds were beyond reach, while at the warning cry, Teddy the black and Anderson discharged spear and rifle at a couple of blacks who appeared at the inner door, having climbed in by one of the windows. Then ensued a sharp struggle, in which desperate blows were given on either side, and the inner room was cleared; but not before three of the savage assailants lay writhing upon the floor, their life-blood staining the white boards of the plain bed-chamber.

It was a dangerous task, and more than one spear flew through the window as the bodies were hoisted up and thrown through: then the opening was barricaded as well as those of the other little front windows of the hut, and one or two stood at each, ready to meet the next assault.

The thin blue smoke of the discharged pieces floated slowly upwards, and seemed to wreathe about over the trampled blood-stains, when a cry came from Tom the convict, and almost at the same instant the report of his piece, summoned help to the back half-kitchen, half wash-house, whose little window was the only opening in the rear of the house.

The help was needed, for about a score of the blacks had dashed up to the opening, and were trying to force their way in; but a well kept up fire from rifle and revolver drove them back, with several of their number bleeding, upon the ground.

“It’s of no use to be merciful,” exclaimed Anderson. “They must be shot down, or we shall be all butchered. Take a steady aim, sir, for your wife and children’s sake; but I’d keep two or three shots left in my revolver for the last.”

Samson Harris turned and glared at the wild countenance of the young man by his side, as if to ask what he meant, but the look was unnoticed, for, as if thirsting for blood, Anderson kept on loading and firing whenever one of their enemies offered his body as a fair mark.

At every shot that took effect, there was a wild yelling, above which might be heard the shrieking and wailing of the gins as some famous warrior of the tribe slackened his muscles, let fall spear, waddy, shield, or boomerang, that he should hurl no more; but, in spite of their losses, the attack was kept up now on one side, now on the other, spear after spear flying through the little windows, or sticking in the bedding with which they were barricaded, to be dragged out and sent flying back by Teddy the black, who in his excitement had reduced his costume still farther, only wanting a little yellow, red, and white paint to emulate the warrior uniform of his enemies.

But at last the evening had set in, for the short twilight was past, and the stars were looking down calmly upon the scene of the afternoon’s bloodshed. Though but shortly before, dusky figure after dusky figure might have been seen gliding from tree to tree, or darting across some open spot, yelling and brandishing spear or club, now all was silent, save at times the distant lowing of some of Samson’s cattle or the bleating of sheep. Now and again, too, would come the barking and howling of the dogs that had been driven away by the fierce native onslaught – one of those raids made upon the settlers, whom they looked upon as usurping their land.

Samson Harris seemed utterly prostrated by his agony of soul, for again and again – almost incessantly – he kept picturing to himself the child he accused himself of neglecting, struggling in the hands of the blacks. He would have gone to seek her now, mad as the act would have been, in the darkness of the night, surrounded as they were by enemies, but for the prayers of his wife; and their only hope seemed to be that poor Mary had taken the alarm and sought for refuge in the scrub, which extended for some, distance in one direction. This, he knew, would be but an act of folly if she had been seen, for they would have tracked her footsteps to the place of refuge with the greatest of ease; their prayer was that she might have taken the alarm in time. Anderson and his companion had had a very narrow escape at the station they occupied some few miles from Samson’s home; but a bold front and a daring charge had enabled them to combine their forces, so, as Anderson had hoped, to be of some protection to Mary Harris, for whom he had, in spite of her father’s opposition, long entertained a warm feeling of admiration.

There was a chance that, under cover of the darkness, Mary might thread her way amongst the blacks and reach the hut; and in this hope Anderson stood at the open door watching the night through hour after hour, his senses on the stretch. More than once, too, with Teddy for companion, he walked for some little distance round the hut; but stumbling over the body of one of their enemies, he fell amongst the bushes with so loud a crash that he was glad to retreat, and stand watching once more at his post.

An inspection after the afternoon’s struggle had proved that, beyond a few scratches, the defenders of the hut had escaped unharmed; and but for the fearful anxiety which oppressed all present, they would hopefully have looked for the morning, ready to meet their enemy again with renewed courage. Provisions they had in plenty to sustain them, if needs were, for weeks. Ammunition, too, showed no sign of running short, till Samson opened a little keg, to find that the powder it should have contained was powder no more, but one hard mass, into which it had been turned by the dripping from the roof. The bad news was conveyed from one to the other, and in grim silence the men examined their powder-flasks, to find that he who was most wealthy possessed but two charges beyond the one in his rifle.

“Will they attack again to-morrow?” was the oft-repeated question. One thought they would for revenge, and never rest content until all within the hut were destroyed; another was of opinion that they would be too demoralised, and that the morning light would find them all miles away; but this last supposition was too fall of hope to be believed in. Anderson and Harris rarely spoke, but while the others, fearless in the knowledge that the natives never attack by night, slept heavily, they watched on, repeating to themselves, as they pictured the solemn silence of the vast woods around, the camp of the natives, and their savage cruelties, the same words over and over again —

“Where was Mary?”

Watching the long night through, with straining eyes constantly directed at every spot that seemed never so little darker than the night itself. Bush, tree, farming implement, all in their turn were magnified into enemies, performing the same duty as the inmates of the hut, and waiting to spy out their weakness and the best place for the morrow’s assault. But as the night wore on, and the watchful stars still shed their peaceful light, a change came over the wakeful ones, and objects that had before been looked upon as enemies, were taken for the figure of her whose absence had created such a void in more than one heart. But though Anderson started hopefully again and again, and roused the sleeping black by his side, there was no rustling, gliding step, no eager light form of the young girl, who, with beating heart, had threaded her way amidst her sleeping enemies, and now bounded towards the hut for shelter.

Anderson groaned, and could have torn his hair, as, disappointed, feverish, and restless, he once more walked round the hut, listening attentively for some sound where all was still in the vast region around, even to solemnity. But in vain; and could he have done so, he might have sought in sleep that rest and refreshing his jaded body needed.

Morning at last: first, the pale pearly grey; then the far-up faint pink tinge; then the blushing, glowing clouds; then the gorgeous golden arrows darting to the zenith; and lastly, as if with a bound, came the glorious sun himself, to beam upon the earth with smiles, as though all were peace, and sorrow a thing unknown. But there was neither rest nor peace, for with a series of frantic yells the blacks again showed themselves, crying, leaping, dancing, shouting, partly to alarm their enemies, partly to work themselves up to the fighting pitch. Their faces were streaked with a kind of red ochre and pipe-clay, while upon the bark shields they carried, grotesquely-hideous human faces were depicted, to intimidate those whom they attacked. Nude, save for the opossum-skin strip knotted loosely round their loins, they once more came boldly up to their attack upon the hut, hurling spear and boomerang – that singular weapon, which, failing to strike the object aimed at, returns to the thrower’s hand.

There was nothing for it, so far as the inmates were concerned, but to fire till the last bullet and grain of powder should be expended, and then trust to such weapons as they could muster for close quarters, giving up being a question never once mooted; and now, as shot after shot was fired, it was pitiful to see the effect in the bright red spot or long gash in the flesh, where a bullet had struck obliquely. But when fighting in defence of life, men have but little compunction for those who would rob them of the gift, and it was with a grim feeling of satisfaction that savage after savage was seen to fall, till a tall, daring fellow, who had dashed up to the hut, clapped his hand to his chest, leaped in the air, and fell motionless, when Anderson threw down his rifle, saying, “That’s the last charge.”

A gloomy silence ensued. Men gazed from one to the other; then fixed long and anxious looks upon those who had been their leaders in the fight, as if expecting them to hit upon some plan of escape from the death that seemed imminent. Now they swept the approaches to the hut, in hopes that some strong party of settlers might be on the way to them, either bound for a new station, or, knowing that they were attacked, with a mission for their rescue. But in a place where a fresh face was not seen once in three months, they knew well that such succour was next to impossible.

Mrs Harris, patient, and calmer than any one present, still lay with her little ones hidden in the wool-loft; but as from time to time, when she came to the edge, her eye met that of Anderson, there was a mutual reading of the agony each suffered, hidden though it was beneath the semblance of stoicism.

The stillness that had followed upon the excitement of the fight seemed at length to have grown unbearable: men felt that treachery was at work somewhere, and momentarily expected an attack from some unguarded part. They grew distrustful, and more than once Anderson caught himself going from window to window, to see that a proper watch was kept where he anticipated danger.

At length, half-maddened by the mental pain he suffered, Anderson cast himself despairingly upon the floor of the hut, turning his face from those around, that they might not see its workings.

The young man’s action was not without its effect; for his companion, the friend who had escaped with him from the blacks’ assault upon the previous day, now broke the silence, saying, in utter forgetfulness of the woman and children —

“It’s all over, my lads: we may as well shake hands all round, and make a rush of it, right into the black mob, as stop here and be burnt out like squirrels in a tree. I can’t hear this standing still any longer.”

But though he looked from face to face, no man answered him, but on the whole avoided his gaze, and watched on at the dusky figures of the savages as they moved incessantly to and fro. When, seeing that his words were of none effect, he coolly laid aside his rifle, rolled up his shirt sleeve, and opening a large knife, began to rub and sharpen it upon the hearthstone.

The mental anxiety was frightful; for, let alone the thoughts of poor Mary’s fate, it was as though death were about to descend upon the watchers from moment to moment, while they were debarred from making a single struggle for life.

The morning fled, and noon came; and still there was no further attack, and wounded figures had been seen to struggle and gradually stiffen into the rigidity of death within their sight; others to crawl by slow degrees into the shelter of the bushes, unheeded by their savage companions. But still no further attack was made, it seeming evident that the blacks were holding a consultation amongst themselves in the shelter of the trees and bushes but a short distance off.

Now a black figure would glide into sight, and look menacingly towards the hut before darting out of sight once more. Then there was a long interval before another was seen; and then eyes were strained amongst the trees in vain for a sight of their enemies.

The heat had been excessive, and the small supply of water within the hut being exhausted, the men began to suffer terribly, what little they had having been nobly given up to Mrs Harris and the children. All at once, though, Teddy seized a pail, and, lolling out his tongue like a thirsty dog, began to pant and to make signs that he should be let out to fetch water – signs that were quite unnecessary, for he had no difficulty in making himself understood in his master’s language.

But Harris was immovable, and ordered him back. The black’s fidelity had been too often tried, and Samson felt that he could not afford to risk the loss of one faithful servant at a time like this. So Teddy put down the pail upon seeing his master’s mood, seized again waddy and spear, and, panting and tongue-lolling, took his place at one of the windows to watch again for his enemies.

His face was a study as he stood there watching: his eyes half closed, mouth twitching, and nostrils working. He was evidently perplexed, and more than once made a movement as if to climb out of the window; but at length his face changed into a fixed immobility, and he seemed waiting till his master should command.

Hour after hour passed by, and all was still silent. From watching, Samson took to examining the powder-keg once more. But it all seemed turned to a solid mass, till with a hatchet he knocked off hoop after hoop, cleared away the little staves, and struck the block heavily with the hatchet, to find, when the shell was broken, that within were some pounds of uninjured powder, at the sight of whose grimy grains men’s hearts rose, and rifles were loaded, and flasks eagerly filled.

In readiness once more, they waited the next attack; but the sun had long begun to descend, and for hours they had neither heard a yell nor seen a single figure gliding from amongst the trees.

“Um all gone,” cried the black shepherd suddenly; “here Juno.”

And in effect, frisking and playing about in front of the hut, one of Samson’s dogs had made its appearance, whining and howling till it was admitted; but fearing that the blacks might still be within reach, Samson kept his companions within doors, only yielding to the appeal of Teddy that he might go out and see.

Teddy glided like a great snake out of the back window, and was soon lost to sight; but before long a horse or two, some sheep, and the cows came bleating and lowing about the hut, affording abundant proof that the savages, of whom they had a wholesome dread – fleeing rapidly at the sight of their spears – had departed.

And now began the search for Mary, all present knowing that sooner or later they must find her, living or dead; though almost all felt, as they set about their search with heavy hearts, that the wailing mother’s fears were not without cause.

In case of a surprise, they all kept together, fearing to shout, but encouraging the dog to hunt around, when suddenly Anderson’s rifle rose to his shoulder, and he was about to fire, but perceived just in time that the black figure rapidly approaching was that of Teddy the shepherd.

“All gone right ’way,” he said, nodding his head sagaciously as he pointed out the faintly-marked trail made by the departing savages, while he was loud in his declarations that they were “too much fright, come back never – ever.” When asked what he thought about the missing girl, he only shook his head, and would not answer till pressed, when his reply was, “No know – try find;” and bending down, he began to scan every footprint in the direction she would have been likely to take, till darkness put a stop to the search, and all save Samson and Anderson returned to the hut.