They that sit in Darkness: a story of the Australian Never-Never

Front matter

• A STORY OF THE AUSTRALIAN NEVER-NEVER BY John Mackie AUTHOR OF "THE DEVIL'S PLAYGROUND", " SINNERS TWAIN". Xon&on 1897 HUTCHINSON & CO. 34 PATERNOSTER ROW PRINTED AT N1ME0UEN (HOLLAND) HV H. C. X. THIEME OF N1MKGUEN (HOLLAND) AND '11 SHOE LANE, LONDON, B.C. London, 1897. My dear Hornung, As you, like myself, have boiled your billy in the Australian bush, and as I have always found your stories of the old life so refreshing, allow me to dedicate this book to you. Believe me, Yours vensincerely, John Mackie. E. W. Hornung, Esq.

Preface

As it is a far cry from the Great Lone Land of North America to the lonelier Never-Never of tropical Australia, perhaps it may be as well to say something explanatory. In my wayward youth, when necessity and an irrepressible love of adventure made me a wanderer in strange places, I figured, in a humble way, as a pioneer of civilisation in the wild country it has been my endeavour to describe in these pages. I was the first white man to build a house and settle on the Van Alphen river in the far Northern Territory, and it was there I supported life, for weeks together, on crows, hawks, snakes and currajong roots. That was before I became, among other things, a gold-digger in Queensland, and a Mounted Policeman on the frontier in North America. JOHN MACKIE. London. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAG E I. KILLED BY THE BLACKS I II.

LOST, AN IDENTITY 1 2 HI. THE WOMAN AND THE SERPENT 30 IV. ALONG THE TRACK 40 V. ODD ACQUAINTANCES 47 VI. ODDER EXPERIENCES 54 VII. "WHICH WOULD YOU PREFER?" /O VIII. THE SKELETON IN THE CAMP 84 IX. THE FORESHADOWING OF MOMENTOUS EVENTS ... 98 X. AN UGLY INCIDENT II5 XI. A BACK-BLOCK SHANTY 1 29 XII. THE MAJESTY OF THE LAW 1 47 XIII. A MYSTERIOUS WITNESS 1 66 XIV. THE BLACKS SHOW UP 1 84 XV. IN THE HEART OF THE NEVER-NEVER 1 93 XVI. A WOMAN'S PLUCK 212 XVII. "DEARER THAN LIFE ITSELF" X CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE XVIII. DALY HANDS IN HIS CHECKS 240 XIX. A TERRIBLE TEN MINUTES 263 XX. A LAND OF DARKNESS 277 XXI. CAUGHT IN THEIR OWN TRAP 284 XXII. "FOR NOW THAT I AM BLIND — " 294 XXUI. JACK MAKES SOME EXPLANATIONS 305 XXIV. "THE DARKEST HOUR IS NEAREST THE DAWN". . . 3 13 XXV. DAWN THEY THAT SIT IN DARKNESS.

Chapter I. Killed By The Blacks

In July '85 I was ' down on my luck ' and a wanderer in the wild Never-Never of tropical Australia, by the comparatively untenanted shores of the Carpentarian Gulf. But though mid-winter in that land of Topsy-turvydom, the thermometer stood all day at ninety in the shade, and the relentless sun blazed down like a ball of fire from a cloudless steel-blue sky. In that year the Russian Bear was trying to grapple with the Lion before Herat. Britain was waiting, with nerves in a painful state of tension, for news of poor doomed Gordon in beleaguered Khartoum. The rebel Louis Riel was playing his last card on the prairies of the Canadian North- West, preparatory to being strung up by a wise and paternal government behind the Mounted Police barracks at Regina; and a host of events, too numerous to mention, were keeping things lively generally on our little planet.

And as if to bear out the truth regarding the eternal fitness of things, each little group of performers in these various acts was under the delusion that its particular play was the biggest affair of the kind, just then, upon the boards of this world's stage. Wordsworth's village worthy and Æsop's cock do not stand alone. It seems from all time to have been a delusion peculiar to each individual member of the human race that he or she is the particular body round which all things of heaven and earth resolve them selves, and for whom they have been especially created. It is not always in the full glare of the public foot-lights that the most telling acts in the drama of man are rehearsed: it is as often behind the scenes — in the dark and but little known places of the earth. This was the year of, perhaps, the greatest gold rush that Australia had ever seen since gold had first been discovered on the island continent ; and I, Richard Parker — commonly called Dick — your humble servant, by a remarkable accident was false to the traditions of a never-failing bad luck for once, in not being one of its victims.

When the discovery of gold was reported in the unexplored Kimberley district in Western Australia, and the cry went up that the veritable land of Ophir had been found at last, it was then from every civilised and uncivilised part of Australia, from New Zealand, Tasmania, from the African diamond fields, from the gold-diggings of California, from the Old Country itself, and from every spot on earth where nomadic man wrests a living from Mother Earth that men flocked to the new El Dorado. There had been a lull in the discovery of new gold-fields for some years, and the rolling-stone species had become weary of their respective locations. But now all this was changed: here was the new Tom Tidler's ground. The very uncertainty of the site of those supposed gold discoveries: even the almost insur mountable difficulties in getting there, only seemed to make men — such is the perversity of human nature— the more anxious to start out for them.

For Kimberley, which was only a name, lay beyond interminable, trackless forests, which could scarcely be said to have known the foot of a white man, and where the wily cannibal black lurked with his spear to surprise the unwary. Gold diggers are like sheep : let one of them start out for a ' duffer ' rush, and all the others will follow him blindly. A little gold had been found certainly, but that was when the wet season had left a few shallow pools among the rocks. When these waters dried up, those who had managed to get there found that nothing was left for them but to return empty handed, and with a terrible experience. Most of those who did not return, did not stay behind from choice but dire necessity — their bleaching bones remained : an eloquent warning to those whose greed for gold was greater than their prudence.

My mate Jack and I were on our way to this rush. But at the time of which I write, had I possessed all the gold in Australia it would have been gladly given by me in exchange for a drink of water, a sedative, an opiate, or anything that would have soothed or sent me to sleep for ever; for my body was in the clutches of that demon of the Gulf, the fever and ague ! and yet, there — within a hundred yards of me — was the creek which I could not reach. My body was consumed by a fierce heat which even water could not cool, and my head was a chaos of wild, insane fancies — a prey to the morbid imaginings of my own wretched self. The prodigal of swineherd fame spoken of in the New Testament had a rosy time of it compared to the one his modern representative was having now. I lay half hidden in the long grass, under a thicker group than usual of ti-trees, some little distance off the track.

I had been making my way to the creek (it was unwise to camp too near it in that part of the country, for fear of the wild blacks), when the fever overcame me, so staggering to this little piece of shade I had sunk to the ground. It is impossible to tell how long I lay, for when delirium seized me all track of time was lost. There was a consciousness of possessing an individuality ; but as to whether I had lain only a few hours or a week, did not trouble me in the very least. My comrade, Jack Tyndall, had left the camp shortly before me to look for the horses. I neither knew nor cared if he had got them or not, or whether he might not now be looking for me. It was too far to cooee for help, even if he could have been of any service. Besides, the wild blacks had been 'playing-up' in that locality: coming down from the ranges some few miles off, spearing horses and cattle which hap pened to straggle from the travelling mobs, and in one or two instances even killing some of the drovers.

Scrubby Creek was dangerous: so much so indeed, that we had taken the bells off our horses, in order that they might not attract the attention of the savages. However, they did not trouble me much just then, for in the brief periods of con sciousness which intervened between the attacks of delirium, it struck me that it would be rather a happy release than otherwise to get knocked on the head with a nulla-nulla, or run through the heart with a spear. I had passed through the various stages peculiar to the fever-stricken patient. First,. the dreadful chills and shivering fits, when nothing could keep me warm ; then the deadly sickness and the wild fever heat which made me feel as if being jacked in front of a furnace; after that, physical exhaustion in which my senses were in a comatose state.

I could see and hear, but could not properly understand nor think, far less act. My delusions again, born of the delirium, were painfully vivid. Here are two: I was reading a book, — at least in the spirit — (one has such experiences in dreams) but cannot now remember what it was about. Still, there it was in front of me, the clearly cut print standing out from the snowy paper with unusual distinctness. At first I read without much mental effort; but that book had a curious trick. When I had finished one line, and was about to begin another, that which had just been read took its place, and thus, in a manner that was painful and maddening, the same words repeated themselves over and over again. I either was unable or had not will-power enough to stop reading altogether. Then suddenly the book horror ceased, and lo, it was a native village in Cey lon !

The quaint little bamboo and thatched houses crowded one another in the narrow streets, and the picturesque, mild-mannered natives sat in front of their tiny shops, which were innocent of fronts, and worked at all sorts of primitive trades. They tapped with tiny hammers on gleaming, tinkling metal ; they carved with a patience that seemed hardly human, on silver and ebony, brass and ivory. There was a babel of strange sounds and tongues: a sickly heavy odour as of sandal-wood or spices in the air : a sense of novelty — as of the new old-world that it was, and an ever-changing dream of bewildering colours. Dark-skinned people swarmed everywhere like bees. I remember having a curious half-hearted desire to go round the corner of the next street and visit the shrine of Buddha. This can only be ac counted for by the fact that my brain must have conjured up some former scene and was rehearsing a half-forgotten experience.

But a laughing-jackass with its loud, absurd cackle broke the spell, calling back my wandering senses to the horrors of the present, and to the fact that someone was coming along the trail. It was a swagsman; he was tall and dark, and, at first sight, so like Jack that had it been possible for me to have moved or called, I would most assuredly have sung out to him; as it was, I lay in a sort of trance. From my shaded vantage ground he could be seen plainly enough: a typical swagsman, not different from thousands of others one may see all over Aus tralia, with slouch hat, shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, moleskin pants, belt and small sized revolver round his waist, a blue blanket slung col lar-wise over his right shoulder, and a billy-can carried in his left hand. He passed within sixty yards from where I lay, trudging along wearily, looking neither to the right nor left.

When he had gone some fifty yards farther, past that part of the trail opposite me, he threw down his swag under a great shady blood-wood tree. I must have gone to sleep or become unconscious again, for on coming to my senses a strange drama was being enacted before my eyes. There was such an air of unreality about it all that I fancied myself the victim of some optical illusion, and therefore did not act with that promptness the occasion called for. Had I done so the lonely wilderness might not have been this poor fellow's last camping ground, and the strange sequence of after-events might never have been penned by me. He sat under the shade of a tree, reading ; before him was a small fire, upon which his billy rested. He had taken off his boots and hat, and was enjoying a pipe. But behind the tree against which he leaned was a naked black-fellow with a long, cruel-looking barbed spear raised in one hand ; so motionless was he that he might have been carved out of a solid block of ebony.

Close behind him again, wriggling along the ground like reptiles, and sneaking upon all fours like animals, were about half a dozen savages with spears and nulla-nullas in their hands. Travel ling up the creek they had noticed the fire, and were now reconnoitring the unsuspecting man ! Yes ; they could manage him ; they might have thought twice about it had he stood there facing them with a rifle or revolver in his hands. I tried to cry out so as to warn him of his danger ; but my throat and tongue were so dry that only a hoarse, gurgling sound escaped from my lips. By an almost superhuman effort I drew my revolver and crawled forward a few feet on my hands and knees. I had just gathered together my scattered senses, and was in the act of resting my revolver against a tree, and surprising the aggressors by the unexpected fire, when there arose a hoarse shout.

The savage had been too quick for me. Down came the spear, entering the poor fellow's back ! With an agonised cry, and before the cannibals had time to follow up their advantage, he snatched up his revolver, leapt to his feet, and fired it point-blank in the face of the savage who had dealt the treacherous blow. Then he reeled, with the spear still protruding from his back, threw out his hands, and fell forward on his face. At the same moment, like a number of hideous puppets, the black-fellows sprang from the long grass. Singling out the nearest one I fired my Colt's, which was as good as a rifle, and he dropped like a bullock when it is pithed in the yard, — accounts were squared with him anyhow. The savage whom the swagsman shot, literally had the roof of his skull blown off. Jumping up I fired wildly enough at the others who stood for a moment as if paralysed by the unexpected attack.

Suddenly there rang out a shot in another direction, and the upraised arm of a black-fellow dropped helpless by his side. And now could be heard the dull thud of hoofs as a horse man came galloping through the sandy scrub. I looked around, but need not have been surprised as Jack, mounted on old Eclipse, dashed up. This settled the matter; the stand these savages made was but a poor one. I received a smart rap on the shoulder that knocked me over as cleanly as a nine-pin, and Jack's horse was speared in the neck. Jack, however, charged in upon them with such effect that, before I could get on my legs again, they scuttled off like so many iguanas to a belt of scrub, into which they dived, and that was the last we saw of them. It was useless trying to follow. " The deuce take such visitors, Dick !

" was my mate's characteristic speech, as jumping from his horse he extracted the stone spear-head from its neck — luckily not a dangerous wound. This done, he was turning his attention to me, when, seeing the prostrate form of the swagsman, his manner changed. " Hello ! " he exclaimed, " that chap's done for ! " How well I remember the scene that followed, The sun was just going down, and in a few minutes darkness would close over a land where the heart of Nature ever throbbed on tirelessly through the warm tropical night. What an old-world stillness there was in that sad-voiced pre- Adamite forest ! Throughout the dim aisles of the glaucous-hued gum trees there seemed to brood an air of mystery. Somewhere in the unseen depths of a clump of golden-wattle that weird nocturnal bird the morpoke began to chant its gloom-inspiring monotones — it had begun soon.

It was a fitting music for such a melancholy scene : a very requiem of sadness. Hard by, a group of tree-ferns, cycas-palms and pandanus palms with their delicate feathery fronds silhouetted blackly against the sky, put one in mind of the nodding plumes on a hearse. And on the ground, face downwards, with outstretched arms, and the cruel spear still protruding from his back, was the hapless white man, his old gray shirt stained with his life's blood. He had camped for the last time. I never knew anyone who could act so quickly, and know just exactly how to do the right thing as Jack. With a quick, steady hand he broke off the spear within six inches of the wound, so that he could turn the poor fellow over. But just before Jack caught hold of his body, and I took the feet, he tore up the grass once or twice with his hands, and then lay still.

We knew what that meant only too well. We stood in the solemn presence of Death. In the stillness the chant of the morpoke sounded like a funeral knell. "It's all up with him," said Jack in an awed voice, as he instinctively took off his hat. Although the attack of fever was fast leaving me, I was weaker than a kitten and staggered to my feet. "Sit down on the grass, Dick," said my mate; " there's no fear of the niggers coming back ; but keep a look-out anyhow." Jack was always con siderate, no matter what happened. Then in his strong arms he lifted the dead man tenderly, and turned him over on his back so that we might see his face. I gave a little cry and looked at Jack. What had struck me had evidently struck him, too; nor was there any wonder that when I had first seen him coming along the track I mistook him for my mate.

He was, literally speaking, alas! the dead image of Jack. "I never had a brother," said Jack; "but if I had one, should say that here he was. It gives a fellow a shock to look upon the dead presentment of himself." Then as if a veil had been drawn across the heavens, the tropical night set in; but soon the Southern Cross and other stars shone out; then the three-quarter moon arose, and the white-limbed gum trees assumed a spectral significance. The great nocturnal insect and animal life of the Australian Bush awoke, and there was a chorus in every con ceivable note and tone, from trumpet-toned basses to shrill piping trebles. Everything was grotesque, melancholy and monstrous in this weird, antediluvian world. In dreams perhaps, or pictures of a bygone age, we may have seen something resembling such a scene, but never anywhere else.

I lay down on the ground. Jack said: "Keep your eyes about you, old man, and I'll go and shift our old camp; it's only a few hundred yards off. I I It won't do, you know, to leave this poor fellow's body unprotected. We'll bury him to-morrow morn ing," and catching his horse he rode off. But within the next twelve hours a remarkable thing was to happen — something on which hinge many after-events in this history.

Chapter II. Lost, An Identity

When Jack left, I rose from the ground. It would be unwise to lie down; for although it was ex tremely unlikely that the blacks would come back, still, it would not do to be caught napping. Besides, how could one rest with that awful thing lying there in the moonlight, draped in what once had been his blanket, and was now his shroud? A few paces farther off lay two of the murderers — ghastly, hideous objects they were as they lay all of a heap on the ground. But I did not mind them so much, having seen that sort of thing before, and even on a larger scale — when, for instance, the myalls* murdered Percy's black boy on Settlement Creek, and several of us went out to square accounts with them. Jack soon came back with the horses and hobbled them out, remarking : " When you're in nigger country they say you shouldn't hobble horses — it spoils their chances of getting away if the niggers come after them ; but considering what has occurred, I'll risk it, — shan't have much time to go horse-hunting in the morning, you see." * Wild blacks.

The murdered man's billy was now boiling on the fire. I was about to lift it off and put on our own, when Jack stopped me. " Leave it where it is, " he said, " I'll put in the tea. What was good enough for him is good enough for us; he won't have lighted that fire for nothing. — Dick, just think, if I hadn't been after those confounded horses, and you had not been sick, he might have been our guest now, instead of us being his. And, look here, old chap, take a big dose of Ayer's Fever cure now that the fever has left you ; after a bit you can have a pannikin of tea. It's no use asking you to eat anything just now, but I'll put on some dried apples and rice, and, maybe in a few hours' time you'll be able to peck a little. In the meantime, lie down, and try to get some sleep; I'll keep a look-out.

I want a big smoke and a good think anyhow." Jack was one of the best hearted and most unselfish men I ever met, despite the sometimes careless and seemingly brusque way he had of talking. We had been utter strangers to each other only a few months before. He was what may be termed a good all-round fellow, though many con sidered him unduly reserved on occasions, but that was because he never went about volunteering uncalled-for information regarding himself. If some men in that Gulf country had taken a leaf from Jack's book they might have proved better company, for some of the reminiscences which one was frequently obliged to listen to were neither of an edifying nor reassuring nature. In the attacks of fever from which I had suffered my mate had always been kindness itself to me ; doing the right thing at the right time ; anticipating my desires, and never troubling me with those useless services which only worry a man.

There is often more harm done by well-meant but silly expressions of sympathy and annoying attentions, than by an utter absence of nursing. " Lie down and get some sleep," he repeated. I rolled myself in my blanket on a clear spot some little distance from the fire. Then, what with the exhaustion caused by the fever and the abatement of the excitement, I was soon in a deep sleep. It is impossible to say how long this sleep lasted, but when I awoke there was Jack pacing backwards and forwards under the gum trees, like a sentry ; every now and again, however, he would stop suddenly, — it was not difficult to see he was exercised over something or other. At last he moved towards me; I did not think about it just then, but after wards came to the conclusion that it was to find out whether I was awake or not ; as it was, I lay perfectly still.

Then he went over to where the dead man lay. He lifted the blanket gently and looked upon that still, white face. After some little time he searched the pockets; took some loose money out of one of them — silver, I could hear it jingle — but put it back again. Jack was not one of that sort anyhow; — if my immortal soul had been a transferable commodity, I would have trusted him with that. Then he examined the dead man's swag. He undid a packet, wrapped in what at that distance seemed oil-cloth, and, as I thought, took something from it; but it was impossible to be certain of this as his back was to me, and one could not see too clearly by moonlight. Then from his own pocket he drew a bundle of letters, and deliberately tied them up in the oil-cloth he had temporarily appropriated. Things began to look mysterious.

What motive could Jack have in thus transferring his own property to the lifeless body of another? It was as if he wished to lose his identity, or merge it into that of someone else. That he had some motive and a strong one, too, there could be little doubt; but that it was neither to work any villainy, nor to impersonate anyone for mercenary ends was a certainty. But after having been in the Gulf country for some years, to which comparatively safe and remote part of Australia all the 'wanted' men, and others 'on the cross', had migrated, and during that time having witnessed many extraordinary proceedings, I had ceased to be surprised at anything. Still, I felt as if guilty of a mean action in watching him. I turned over on my side, and in a short time must have dozed off again. It may have been only a few minutes later when I awoke with a start.

"Jack," I cried, "it must be close on morning now — you've let me lie too long. Listen, don't you hear anything? " There was no mistaking the sound: it was the deep, full tone of a 'bull-frog' bell. Judging from its wavering, mellow pitch it must have been about three miles distant. " That's lucky, " said Jack ; " somebody travelling — can't be with bullocks or we'd have passed them — must be horses. You see, it's eighteen miles from the last water ; they've only been able to make half the distance and have turned out ; they'll come on first thing in the morning; lucky for us if they have tools in the waggon, for then we can dig a decent grave; they will be here shortly after daybreak, you'll see." "Now, Jack, turn in," I insisted; "you've got to rest, you know." Jack knew me to be as obstinate as a mule when I took it into my head, and so did what he was told.

The attack of fever had passed, and being intermittent, it would leave me fairly well for one day at least. Jack lay down in his blanket, and in a few minutes was evidently in the land of dreams. Oh, those wondrously beautiful Australian dawns, just before the pale lemon-glow struggles into the eastern sky, and everything is still ! The nocturnal world has ceased its mighty chorus of strange sounds ; and still sleeping is that other world which loves the light — the organ-magpie with its beautiful song, gay-coloured birds with their whistling and screech ing, and the seething myriads of insects with their bewildering monotones. The 'possum has stopped its shuddering croon from the hollow tree, and only a giddy and belated frog at intervals feebly asserts itself. Suddenly, with a loud cackling laugh, the go-go-burra awakes — 'Ha! ha! ha!' he shrieks from a high gum tree. 'Ha! ha! ha!' answers his mate from a neighbouring bough.

A gray kan garoo hops past in the wan light. The air is com paratively cool and pleasant until the sun shows over the tree-tops like the fierce white fire one sees through a furnace door. A thin, pale mist arises from the sandy soil, soon to be dissipated in its rays; and then a steadily growing, indescribable buzz and hum proclaim a rejuvenation of the insect world. A predatory and mean-spirited dingo startles one for a moment by howling hysterically. A flock of shrieking parrots and parrakeets fly past to water. The tropical day has begun. Jack still slept. The horses could be seen quietly feeding through the trees. I lit a fire, and was about to go down to the creek to fill the billy, when a horseman galloped up. " Good morning, mates," he said cheerily, with an unmistakeably Scotch accent.

Then, observing the dead blacks lying on the ground, he pulled up with a queer look on his face, and gave a low, prolonged whistle. I pointed to the body of the murdered man, whose shape showed under the blanket with that rigid angularity which there is no mistaking. " Preserve us ! " he exclaimed, jumping off his horse and shaking me by the hand. He had taken in the situation at a glance. " I'm mighty sorry for you, mate ; but I see you've made them pay for it. I rode on before the waggon ; they'll be here in half an hour to have breakfast — when did they attack you? As there's women in the party I suppose, mate, you won't mind me just hiding that ugly sight?" Catching up a tomahawk he cut one or two leafy branches and covered up the dead black-fellows. " They would not care to see them, you know, " he explained.