Presently He Came Alone, Saying That Poor Misery Was
Done For And Could Move No Further, So He Had Left Him.
I felt sure that
that was the case, since Breaden would not have come without him if there
had been any possibility of getting him further.
Nevertheless, I could
not bear to leave my faithful and favourite camel to die by slow degrees,
and returned on Breaden's tracks. I took with me a brandy-bottle full of
Epsom salts and water, for from Breaden's account of his way of going on
I felt sure that poor Misery had eaten some poisonous plant. Four miles
back I found him lying apparently dead in the shade of a tree, or where
the shade would have been had there been any foliage; he knew me and
looked up when I spoke to and patted him, and rested his head in my lap
as I sat down beside him; but no amount of coaxing could get him on his
legs. Having administered the salts, which he evidently enjoyed, I
proceeded to bleed him by slitting his ear; my knife, however, was not
sharp enough, (for everything becomes dulled in this sand) to do the job
properly, and he bled but little. I could do nothing but wait, so taking
a diminutive edition of Thackeray from my pocket, for I had foreseen this
long wait, I read a chapter from "Vanity Fair." Presently I got him on
his legs and he walked for about thirty yards, then down he went in a
heap on the ground; another wait, and more "Vanity Fair." Then on again,
and down again, and so on hour after hour. Soon nothing but brutal
treatment would make him stir, so I hardened my heart and used a stick
without mercy. What a brute I felt as he turned his great eyes
reproachfully upon me! "Never mind, Misery, old chap, it must be done to
save your life!" At last I reached a ridge within one hundred yards of
the camp, and here Breaden met me, bringing with him four gallons of
water and the welcome news that the others had captured two bucks who had
shown a well three miles north.
This water saved Misery's life, and was just in time. We reached camp as
the camels were reloaded and ready to start for the well under the
guidance of the two bucks. Both of these were fair-sized men, and one
stood six feet at least, though from the method of doing the hair in a
bunch at the top of the head they appear taller than they really are.
Godfrey and Warri had tracked them right into their camp and surprised a
family of numerous gins, young and old, several picaninnies, and three
bucks, one of whom was stone blind. They were preparing their evening
meal, and amongst the spoils of the chase there were opossums, whose
tracks on one of two large gum-trees not far off we afterwards saw. I had
always associated opossums with good country; however, here they were. Of
the natives, some fled as soon as Godfrey and Warri approached, whilst
the men were uncommonly anxious to dispute this unceremonious visit to
their camp. They were on the point of active hostilities when Charlie
rode up on Satan, and they then thought better of it. Even so they were
not persuaded to accompany the white men back to camp without
considerable difficulty. The smaller man managed to escape; the other we
afterwards christened Sir John, because he was so anxious to make us dig
out old dry wells, so that presumably they should be ready for the next
rain. There seemed to us to exist a certain similarity between his views
and those of the Government, which is ever ready to make use of the
pioneer's labours where it might be justly expected to expend its own.
This fellow was most entertaining, and took a great interest in all our
belongings. I, coming last, seemed to excite keen delight, though he was
naturally a little shy of his captors; he patted me on the chest, felt my
shirt and arms, and was greatly taken by a tattoo on one of them.
Grinning like any two Cheshire cats, he showed his approval by "clicking"
his tongue with a side shake of the head, at the same time snapping his
thumb and finger. Breaden, too, came in for Sir John's approval, and was
similarly patted and pulled about.
Godfrey had taken a rather handy-looking tomahawk from the buck, made
from the half of a horseshoe, one point of which was ground to a pretty
sharp edge - a primitive weapon, but distinctly serviceable. Unlike our
friend at Family Well, this man had not even a shell to wear, and beyond
an unpleasantly scented mixture of fat and ashes, with which he was
smeared, was hampered by no sort of clothing whatever. As usual, he was
scarred on the chest and forehead, and wore his hair in a mop, held back
by a band of string. His teeth were a picture, not only clean and white,
which is usual, but uncommonly small and sharp, as one of us found!
Leaving him to the main party to take on to the well, I and Warri
remained behind to bring Misery on - and a nice job we had too. I thought
of waiting and packing water back to him, but in that case he would have
fallen an easy victim to the natives, who were bound to be prowling
about, nor could one of us be spared to watch him. So he had to be beaten
and hauled and dragged, by stages of twenty yards at a time, over the
ridges. After darkness fell we had to follow the tracks with a firestick
until we had the fire at camp to guide us. This we reached about 9.30
p.m., fairly tired out, but satisfied that the poor, patient sufferer's
life was saved.
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