I told her I did not mind how long I remained among the blacks so long as she was with me; and I tried to persuade her, with all the eloquence I could muster, that, far from dying, she would return to civilisation with me, so that I might spread abroad to the whole world the story of her devotion and her virtues.As she continued merely to smile pityingly, I changed my tone and dwelt upon the past.I went through the whole story of my life, from the time she was cast upon the desert island in the Sea of Timor, and at the recital of all the hardships and dangers, joys and troubles, which we had passed through together, she broke down also, and we wept long and bitterly in one another's arms.
By this time she had become a convert to Christianity, but this was entirely a matter of her own seeking.She had such implicit belief in my wisdom and knowledge, that she begged me to tell her all about my religion in order that she might adopt it as her own.
Like most converts, she was filled with fiery zeal and enthusiasm, and tried to soften the approaching terror by telling me she was quite happy at the thought of going, because she would be able to look after me even more than in the past."How different it would have been with me," she used to say, "had I remained with my old tribe.I should still be under the belief that when I died my highest state would be to be turned into an animal; but now I know that a glorious future awaits us, and that in due time you will join me in heaven."Yamba did not suffer any physical pain, nor was she actually confined to her bed until four days before her death.As the various tribes knew the love and admiration I had for her, the fact that she lay dying spread rapidly, and crowds of natives flocked to my mountain home.
Widespread sympathy was expressed for me; and all kinds of tender consideration were evinced by these savages.All day long an incessant stream of women-folk kept coming to the hut and inquiring after my dying wife.
It seemed to be Yamba's sole anxiety that I should be well equipped for the journey back to civilisation.She would rehearse with me for hours the various methods adopted by the black-fellows to find water; and she reminded me that my course at first was to be in a southerly direction until I came to a region where the trees were blazed, and then I was to follow the track that led westward.She had elicited this information for me from the blacks with remarkable acuteness.
These last days seemed to pass very quickly, and one night the dying woman had a serious relapse.Hitherto she had always addressed me as "Master," but now that she stood in the Valley of the Shadow she would throw her arms about my neck and whisper softly, "Good-bye, MY HUSBAND.Good-bye, I am going--going--going.
I will wait for you--there."
For myself I could not seem to realise it.Sometimes I would rise up with the sole intention of finding out whether this frightful thing was or was not a ghastly dream.Then my memory would go back over the long years, and every little instance of unselfishness and devotion would rise before my mind.As I looked at the prostrate and attenuated form that lay silent on the couch of eucalyptus leaves, I felt that life was merely the acutest agony, and that Imust immediately seek oblivion in some form or the other, or lose my reason.It seemed, I say, impossible that Yamba could cease to be.It seemed the cruellest and most preposterous thing that she could be taken from me.
Frantically I put my arms around her and actually tried to lift her on to her feet, begging of her to show how robust she was as in the days of yore.I whispered into her ears all the memories of the past, and the poor creature would endeavour to respond with a series of feeble efforts, after which she sank back suddenly and breathed a last pitiful sigh.
Language is utterly futile to describe my horror--my distraction.
I felt as I imagined a man would feel after amputation of all his members, leaving only the quivering and bleeding trunk.I felt that life held no more joy, no more hope; and gladly would I have welcomed death itself as a happy release from the wretchedness of living.In my delirium of grief I often besought the repulsive savages about me to spear me where I stood.
Upon this subject I can dwell no more, because of what followed Ihave only the vaguest recollection.
For days I seemed to live in a kind of dream, and was not even sure that the people I met day by day were real beings.As to my awful loss, I am sure I did not realise it.What I did realise, however, was the necessity for immediate action.Like a dream to me also is the memory of the sincere grief of my blacks and their well-meant endeavours to console me.The women kept up a mournful howl, which nearly drove me crazy, and only strengthened my resolve to get away from that frightful place.So dazed did I become, that the blacks concluded some strange spirit must have entered into me.
They seemed to take it for granted that I left all arrangements for the funeral to them; the sole idea that possessed me being to complete my arrangements for the great journey I had before me.Itold the natives frankly of my intention, and immediately forty of them volunteered to accompany me on my travels as far as I chose to permit them to come.I readily accepted the kindly offer, partly because I knew that alone I should have gone mad; and partly also because I instinctively realised that with such a bodyguard I would have nothing to fear either from human foes or the tortures of thirst.
I left everything.I cut off my long hair with my stiletto and distributed it among the natives to be made into bracelets, necklaces, and other souvenirs; and then I departed with little ceremony from the place where I had spent so many years of weird and strange exile.Most of my belongings I gave away, and I think I turned my back upon my mountain home with little or no regret.
My dress consisted solely of the usual covering of emu skin; whilst attached to a belt round my waist were my tomahawk and stiletto.
