In the throes of fever--A ghastly discovery--Pitiful relics--Acritical moment--Yamba in danger--A blood bath--A luxury indeed--Signs of civilisation--The great storm--Drifting, drifting--Yamba's mysterious glee--A dreadful shock--"Welcome home!"--My official protectors--Myself as a cannibal war chief--Preparations for battle--A weird apparition--Generosity to the vanquished--The old desire.
I had not been established in this camp many days, however, before I was struck down, for the first time, with a terrible attack of malarial fever, probably produced by the many hours I had spent wading in the swamps at Port Essington.There were the usual symptoms--quick flushings and fever heats, followed by violent fits of shivering, which no amount of natural warmth could mitigate.My faithful Yamba was terribly distressed at my condition, and waited upon me with most tender devotion; but in spite of all that could be done for me, I grew gradually weaker, until in the course of a few days I became wildly delirious.The blacks, too, were very good to me, and doctored me, in their quaint native way, with certain leaves and powders.All to no purpose, however; and for several days I was even unable to recognise my Yamba.Then the fever subsided somewhat, and I was left as weak and helpless as a little child.
It was some time before I quite recovered from the fever; and I was frequently seized with distressing fits of shivering.I also experienced an overwhelming desire for a drink of milk; why, I am unable to say.Therefore, when some of the blacks told me that wild buffalo were to be found in the neighbourhood--beasts which had formerly belonged to settlers, but were now run wild--Iresolved, when sufficiently strong, to try and capture one of the cows for the sake of its milk.Captain Davis ridiculed the idea, and assured me that it was only possible to slay one with a rifle;but I determined to see what I could do.
Yamba, of course, accompanied me on my expedition, and her bushmanship was altogether quite indispensable.We came upon buffalo tracks near a large water-hole, and here we each climbed a gum-tree and awaited the arrival of our prey.We waited a long time, but were at length rewarded by seeing a big cow buffalo and her calf wandering leisurely in our direction.My only weapons were a lasso made out of green kangaroo hide, fixed to the end of a long pole; and my bow and arrows.I slid down the tree a little way, and when the calf was near enough, I gently slipped the noose over its neck, and promptly made it a prisoner under the very nose of its astonished mother, who bellowed mournfully.My success so elated Yamba that she, too, slid down from her hiding-place, and was making her way over to me and the calf, when suddenly an enormous bull, which we had not previously seen, rushed at her at full speed.Yamba instantly realised her danger, and swarmed up a tree again like lightning, just as the great brute was upon her.Icalled out to her to attract the attention of the old bull whilst Iattended to the mother and calf.I dropped my pole to which the lasso was attached, and allowed the little one to walk quickly away with it; but, as I anticipated, the trailing shaft soon caught between the stumps of some trees, and made the calf a more secure prisoner than ever.It was a curious repetition of the story of the two whales.The mother walked round and round, and appeared to be in the greatest distress.She never left her little one's side, but continued to bellow loudly, and lick the calf to coax it away.
Quietly sliding down my tree, I made my way to where Yamba was still holding the attention of the bull--a fiery brute who was pawing the ground with rage at the foot of her tree.I had fitted an arrow to my bow, and was preparing to shoot, when, unfortunately, the bull detected the noise of my approach, and rushed straight at me.I confess it was rather a trying moment, but I never lost my head, feeling confident of my skill with the bow--which I had practised off and on ever since I had left school at Montreux.I actually waited until the charging monster was within a few paces, and then I let fly.So close was he that not much credit is due to me for accurate aim.The arrow fairly transfixed his right eye, causing him to pull up on his haunches, and roar with pain.
Yamba, full of anxiety, hurried down her tree; but she had scarcely reached the ground when the baffled bull wheeled and charged her, with more fury than ever.She simply glided behind a tree, and then I showed myself and induced the bull to charge me once more.
Again I waited until he was almost upon me, and then I sent another arrow into his other eye, blinding him completely.On this, the poor brute brought up sharp, and commenced to back in an uncertain way, bellowing with pain.I forgot all my fever in the excitement, and rushing upon the beast with my tomahawk, I dealt him a blow on the side of the head that made him stagger.I brought him to the earth with two or three more blows, and a few minutes later had administered the coup-de-grace.No sooner was the big bull dead than I determined to test the efficacy of a very popular native remedy for fever--for shivering fits still continued to come upon me at most awkward times, usually late in the day.No matter how much grass poor Yamba brought me as covering, I never could get warm, and so now I thought I would try some animal heat.
