In her trembling hands she bore a big lily leaf containing two or three ounces of life-giving water.This I drank with gasping eagerness, as you may suppose.My delirium had now entirely left me, although I was still unable to speak.I signed to her to cut the tree, as the voice in my dream had directed me.Without a word of question Yamba picked up the tomahawk from where she had hurled it, and then cut vigorously into the trunk, making a hole three or four inches deep.It may seem astonishing to you, but it surprised me in no wise when out from the hole there TRICKLED A CLEAR, UNCERTAIN STREAM OF WATER, under which Yamba promptly held my fevered head.This had a wonderfully refreshing effect upon me, and in a short time I was able to speak feebly but rationally, greatly to the delight of my faithful companion.As, however, Iwas still too weak to move, I indulged in another and far sounder sleep.I do not know the scientific name of that wonderful Australian tree which saved my life, but believe it is well known to naturalists.I have heard it called the "bottle tree," from the shape of the trunk.All through that terrible night, while Yamba was far away searching for water, Bruno had never left my side, looking into my face wistfully, and occasionally licking my body sympathetically with his poor, parched tongue.Whilst I was asleep the second time, Yamba went off with the dog in search of food, and returned with a young opossum, which was soon frizzling in an appetising way on a tripod of sticks over a blazing fire.I was able to eat a little of the flesh, and we obtained all the water we wanted from our wonderful tree.Of course, Yamba was unacquainted with the fact that water was stored in its interior.As a rule, her instinct might be depended upon implicitly; and even after years of her companionship I used to be filled with wonder at the way in which she would track down game and find honey.She would glance at a tree casually, and discern on the bark certain minute scratches, which were quite invisible to me, even when pointed out.
She would then climb up like a monkey, and return to the ground with a good-sized opossum, which would be roasted in its skin, with many different varieties of delicious roots.
When I had quite recovered, Yamba told me she had walked many miles during the night, and had finally discovered a water-hole in a new country, for which she said we must make as soon as I was sufficiently strong.Fortunately this did not take very long, and on reaching the brink of the water-hole we camped beside it for several days, in order to recuperate.I must say that the water we found here did not look very inviting--it was, in fact, very slimy and green in colour; but by the time we took our departure there was not a drop left.Yamba had a method of filtration which excited my admiration.She dug another hole alongside the one containing the water, leaving a few inches of earth between them, through which the water would percolate, and collect in hole perfectly filtered.
At other times, when no ordinary human being could detect the presence of water, she would point out to me a little knob of clay on the ground in an old dried-up water-hole.This, she told me, denoted the presence of a frog, and she would at once thrust down a reed about eighteen inches long, and invite me to suck the upper end, with the result that I imbibed copious draughts of delicious water.
At the water-hole just described birds were rather plentiful, and when they came down to drink, Yamba knocked them over without difficulty.They made a very welcome addition to our daily bill of fare.Her mode of capturing the birds was simplicity itself.She made herself a long covering of grass that completely enveloped her, and, shrouded in this, waited at the edge of the water-hole for the birds to come and drink.Then she knocked over with a stick as many as she required.In this way we had a very pleasant spell of rest for four or five days.Continuing our journey once more, we pushed on till in about three weeks we came to a well-wooded country, where the eucalyptus flourished mightily and water was plentiful; but yet, strange to say, there was very little game in this region.Soon after this, I noticed that Yamba grew a little anxious, and she explained that as we had not come across any kangaroos lately, nor any blacks, it was evident that the wet season was coming on.We therefore decided to steer for higher ground, and accordingly went almost due north for the next few days, until we reached the banks of a big river--the Roper River, as I afterwards found out--where we thought it advisable to camp.
This would probably be sometime in the month of December.
