There was no spark of life in the
poor old fellow. What a blow! What an awful shock! What a calamity! I sat
dazed, unable to realise what had happened, until roused by a shout from
below: "Is he hurt? - badly? - not DEAD!" "As a stone," I answered; and
that was what we felt in our hearts, a dull weight, pressing all sense or
strength from us.
How to describe that sad scene? Poor old Charlie! one of the best and
truest men that God ever blessed with life; such a fine manly character;
so honest and generous - a man whose life might stand as an example for
any in the land to follow; from whose mouth I never heard an oath or
coarse word, and yet one whose life was spent amongst all classes, in all
corners of Australia; such a true mate, and faithful, loyal
companion - here his body lay, the figure of strength and power, he who had
been most cheerful of us all. It seemed so hard, to die thus, the journey
done, his share in the labour so nobly borne and patiently executed; the
desert crossed, and now to be cut off on the edge of the land of promise!
Ah well, it was better so than a lingering death in the desert, a swift
and sudden call instead of perhaps slow tortures of thirst and
starvation! Poor Charlie! the call of death is one that none of us may
fail to heed; I only pray that when I am summoned to the "great unknown"
I may be as fit to meet my Maker as you were.
It was easy to see how the accident had happened; the marks on the rock
and the gun were soon deciphered. He was carrying the gun by the muzzle
balanced on his shoulder, the stock to the rear; on climbing down a steep
place, his heels - his boots had iron heel plates - slipped, he fell with
his back to the rock; at the same time the gun was canted forward, fell
right over, striking the hammer of one barrel on the rock at his feet - the
cartridge exploded, and the charge entered his body just below the heart.
Death must have been instantaneous and painless, for on his face was a
peaceful smile, and he had never moved, for no blood was showing except
near the wound. An accident that might have happened to any one, not
through carelessness, for the gun was half-cock, but because his time had
come.
We buried him between the rocks and the river at the foot of a large gum
tree. No fine tombstone marked his grave, only a rough cross, and above
him I carved his initials on the tree, C. W. S. 30.11.96.
There we laid him to rest in silence, for who was I that I should read
holy words over him? "Goodbye, Charlie, old man, God bless you!" we
said, as in sorrow we turned away. The tragedy had been so swift, so
unexpected, that we were all unmanned; tears would come, and we wept as
only men can weep. A few months past I heard that a brass plate sent by
Charlie's brothers had arrived, and had been placed on the tree by Warden
Cummins, as he had promised me.
In due course we reached the telegraph line, without enthusiasm or
interest, and turned along the road to Hall's Creek with hardly a word.
Stony hills and grass plains and numerous small creeks followed one
another as our march proceeded, and that night, the first in December, we
experienced a Kimberley storm. The rain started about 2 a.m., and in
twenty minutes the country was a sea of water; our camp was flooded, and
blankets and packs soaked through and through. The next morning every
creek was running a banker and every plain was a bog. However, the camels
behaved well and forded the streams without any fuss. That day we met
some half-civilised natives, who gave us much useful information about
Hall's Creek. With them we bartered a plug of tobacco for a kangaroo
tail, for we wanted meat and they a smoke. They had just killed the
animal, and were roasting it whole, HOLUS-BOLUS, unskinned and undressed.
We saw several mobs of grey kangaroos feeding in the timber - queer,
uncanny beasts, pretty enough when they jump along, but very quaint when
feeding, as they tuck their great hind legs up to try and make them match
the fore.
On December 4th we arrived at Hall's Creek; the first man we met was
Sergeant Brophy, of the Police - the first white face we had seen since
July 21st. At Hall's Creek at last, after a somewhat prolonged journey of
1,413 miles, counting all deviations.
CHAPTER XV
WELLS EXPLORING EXPEDITION
The first news that we heard was of the disaster that the expedition
under Mr. L. A. Wells had met with. Two of his party were missing, and it
was feared that they had met with some serious mishap. Fortunately Hall's
Creek can boast of telegraphic communication with Derby and Wyndham on
the coast, and from thence to Perth; so that I lost no time in letting
Wells know of our arrival, that we had seen no traces of the lost men,
and that we were ready to do whatever he, who knew all particulars of the
matter, should think best. When I told Breaden that I had put my camels
and party at Wells' disposal, he said at once that he was ready to go,
but that in his opinion the camels were not fit to do another week's
journey; Godfrey, too, was as ready. Indeed it would have been strange if
we, who had so lately come through the desert, and knew its dangers, had
not been eager to help the poor fellows in distress, although from the
first we were morally certain there could be no hope for them; the only
theory compatible with their being still alive, was that they were camped
at some water easy of access, and were waiting for relief, keeping
themselves from starvation by eating camel-flesh.
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