She pointed out to me that, in the first place, the tracks had been made by some one wearing boots, and as the footprints straggled about in a most erratic manner, it was clearly evident that the wearer could not be sane.
Even at this time, be it remembered, I was burning with rage against the whites, and so I decided to follow the tracks and find the individual who was responsible for them.But do not be under any misapprehension.My intentions were not philanthropic, but revengeful.I had become a black-fellow myself now, and was consumed with a black-fellow's murderous passion.At one time Ithought I would follow the whole party, and kill them in the darkness with my stiletto when opportunity offered.
The new tracks we had come upon told me plainly that the party had separated, and were therefore now in my power.I say these things because I do not want any one to suppose I followed up the tracks of the lost man with the intention of rendering him any assistance.
For nearly two days Yamba and I followed the tracks, which went in curious circles always trending to the left.At length we began to come upon various articles that had apparently been thrown away by the straggler.First of all, we found part of a letter that was addressed to some one (I think) in Adelaide; but of this I would not be absolutely certain.What I do remember was that the envelope bore the postmark of Ti Tree Gully, S.A.
The writer of that letter was evidently a woman, who, so far as Ican remember, wrote congratulating her correspondent upon the fact that he was joining an expedition which was about to traverse the entire continent.I fancy she said she was glad of this for his own sake, for it would no doubt mean much to him.She wished him all kinds of glory and prosperity, and wound up by assuring him that none would be better pleased on his return than she.
The country through which these tracks led us was for the most part a mere dry, sandy waste, covered with the formidable spinifex or porcupine grass.Yamba walked in front peering at the tracks.
Presently she gave a little cry, and when she turned to me I saw that she had in her hand the sombrero hat of an Australian pioneer.
A little farther on we found a shirt, and then a pair of trousers.
We next came upon a belt and a pair of dilapidated boots.
At length, on reaching the crest of a sandy hillock, we suddenly beheld the form of a naked white man lying face downwards in the sand below us.As you may suppose, we simply swooped down upon him; but on reaching him my first impression was that HE WAS DEAD!
His face was slightly turned to the right, his arms outstretched, and his fingers dug convulsively in the sand.I am amused now when I remember how great was our emotion on approaching this unfortunate.My first thought in turning the man over on to his back, and ascertaining that at last he breathed, was one of great joy and thankfulness.
"Thank God," I said to myself, "I have at last found a white companion--one who will put me in touch once more with the great world outside." The burning rage that consumed me (you know my object in following the tracks) died away in pity as I thought of the terrible privations and sufferings this poor fellow must have undergone before being reduced to this state.My desire for revenge was forgotten, and my only thought now was to nurse back to health the unconscious man.
First of all I moistened his mouth with the water which Yamba always carried with her in a skin bag, and then I rubbed him vigorously, hoping to restore animation.I soon exhausted the contents of the bag, however, and immediately Yamba volunteered to go off and replenish it.She was absent an hour or more, I think, during which time I persisted in my massage treatment--although so far I saw no signs of returning consciousness on the part of my patient.
When Yamba returned with the water, I tried to make the prostrate man swallow some of it, and I even smeared him with the blood of an opossum which my thoughtful helpmate had brought back with her.
But for a long time all my efforts were in vain, and then, dragging him to the foot of a grass-tree, I propped him up slightly against it, wetted his shirt with water and wound it round his throat.
Meanwhile Yamba threw water on him and rubbed him vigorously.
At last he uttered a sound--half groan, half sigh (it thrilled me through and through); and I noticed that he was able to swallow a few drops of water.The gloom of night was now descending on that strange wilderness of sand and spinifex, so we prepared to stay there with our helpless charge until morning.Yamba and I took it in turns to watch over him and keep his mouth moistened.By morning he had so far revived that he opened his eyes and looked at me.How eagerly had I anticipated that look, and how bitter was my disappointment when I found that it was a mere vacant stare in which was no kind of recognition! Ever hopeful, however, Iattributed the vacant look to the terrible nature of his sufferings.I was burning to ply him with all manner of questions as to who he was, where he had come from, and what news he had of the outside world; but I restrained myself by a great effort, and merely persevered in my endeavours to restore him to complete animation.When the morning was pretty well advanced the man was able to sit up; and in the course of a few days he was even able to accompany us to a water-hole, where we encamped, and stayed until he had practically recovered--or, at any rate, was able to get about.
But, you may be asking, all this time, did the man himself say nothing? Indeed, he said much, and I hung upon every syllable that fell from his lips, but, to my indescribable chagrin, it was a mere voluble jargon of statements, which simply baffled and puzzled me and caused me pain.Our charge would stare at us stolidly, and then remark, in a vulgar Cockney voice, that he was quite SURE we were going the wrong way.By this time, I should mention, we had re-clothed him in his trousers and shirt, for he had obviously suffered terribly from the burning sun.
