As It Was, The
Missiles Nearly All Fell Short, Seeing Which The Warriors Dropped Their
Arms And Took To Their Heels, Running Directly For The Spot Where Ferdinand
And Larry Lay In Ambush.
Both Dunmore and myself fired our carbines over
the heads of the retreating Myalls (wild blacks), which completed their
Panic, and one of them, rushing recklessly forward, was captured by the
troopers, and brought by them in triumph to the camp, amidst the yells and
jabbering of the gins and piccaninnies.
After half an hour or so, seeing that no harm was intended to them, the
women came out of the water, and we were very much pleased to find that
they readily understood Lizzie. On being addressed by her, the warrior,
who had hitherto maintained a sullen and defiant attitude, became
conversational, and readily replied to all the questions put to him by
Dunmore. Unlike most of the blacks, he appeared to be very little
frightened at the situation in which he found himself, and seemed
instinctively to know that all danger was past. On being questioned
regarding the shipwrecked crew, he denied all knowledge of any vessel
having been lost, but said at once that a white man had lived with this
tribe for many moons, though he was dead now. This rather astonished us,
and we asked if any relics were still in the camp, upon which one of the
gins produced an old sheath-knife, worn down nearly to nothing by constant
sharpening; half a dozen horn buttons, one of them still sewn to a fragment
of moleskin; and an empty tin match-box.
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