Now, I knew enough of the customs of the blacks to realise that, being a stranger among them, they would on request provide me with additional wives during my stay,--entirely as a matter of ceremonial etiquette; and it suddenly occurred to me that I might make very good use of this custom by putting in an immediate demand for the two white women--if they existed.You see, I wanted an interview with them, in the first place, to arrange the best means of getting them away.I confess I was consumed with an intense curiosity to learn their history--even to see them.I wondered if they could tell me anything of the great world now so remote in my mind.As a matter of courtesy, however, I spent the greater part of the day with the chief, for any man who manifests a desire for women's society loses caste immediately; and in the evening, when the fact of my presence among the tribe had become more extensively known, and their curiosity aroused by the stories that Yamba had taken care to circulate, I attended a great corroboree, which lasted nearly the whole of the night.As I was sitting near a big fire, joining in the chanting and festivities, Yamba noiselessly stole to my side, and whispered in my ear that SHE HAD FOUND THETWO WHITE WOMEN.
I remember I trembled with excitement at the prospect of meeting them.They were very young, Yamba added, and spoke "my" language--I never said "English," because this word would have conveyed nothing to her; and she also told me that the prisoners were in a dreadful state of misery.It was next explained to me that the girls, according to native custom, were the absolute property of the chief.He was seated not very far away from me, and was certainly one of the most ferocious and repulsive-looking creatures I have ever come across,--even among the blacks.He was over six feet high, and of rather a lighter complexion than his fellows,--almost like a Malay.The top of his head receded in a very curious manner, whilst the mouth and lower part of the face generally protruded like an alligator's, and gave him a truly diabolical appearance.I confess a thrill of horror passed through me, as Irealised that two doubtless tenderly reared English girls were in the clutches of this monster.Once I thought I must have been dreaming, and that the memories of some old story-book I had read years ago were filling my mind with some fantastic delusion.For a moment I pictured to myself the feelings of their prosaic British relatives, could they only have known what had become of the long-lost loved ones--a fate more shocking and more fearful than any ever conceived by the writer of fiction.Of course, my readers will understand that much detail about the fate of these poor creatures must be suppressed for obvious reasons.But should any existing relatives turn up, I shall be only too happy to place at their disposal all the information I possess.
Presently, I grasped the whole terrible affair, and realised it as absolute fact! My first impulse was to leap from the corroboree and go and reassure the unhappy victims in person, telling them at the same time that they might count on my assistance to the last.
It was not advisable, however, to withdraw suddenly from the festivities, for fear my absence might arouse suspicion.
The only alternative that presented itself was to send a note or message of some kind to them, and so I asked Yamba to bring me a large fleshy leaf of a water-lily, and then, with one of her bone needles, I pricked, in printed English characters, "A FRIEND ISNEAR; FEAR NOT." Handing this original letter to Yamba, Iinstructed her to give it to the girls and tell them to hold it up before the fire and read the perforations.This done, I returned to the corroboree, still displaying a feigned enthusiasm for the proceedings, but determined upon a bold and resolute course of action.I must say though, that at that particular moment I was not very sanguine of getting the girls away out of the power of this savage, who had doubtless won them from some of his fellows by more or less fair fighting.
I made my way over to where the chief was squatting, and gazed at him long and steadily.I remember his appearance as though it were but yesterday that we met.I think I have already said he was the most repulsive-looking savage I have ever come across, even among the Australian blacks.The curious raised scars were upon this particular chief both large and numerous.This curious form of decoration, by the way, is a very painful business.The general practice is to make transverse cuts with a sharp shell, or stone knife, on the chest, thighs, and sometimes on the back and shoulders.Ashes and earth are then rubbed into each cut, and the wound is left to close.Next comes an extremely painful gathering and swelling, and a little later the earth that is inside is gradually removed--sometimes with a feather.When the wounds finally heal up, each cicatrice stands out like a raised weal, and of these extraordinary marks the blacks are inordinately proud.
But to return to the chief who owned the girls.I must say that, apart from his awful and obviously stubborn face, he was a magnificently formed savage.
I commenced the conversation with him by saying, I presumed the usual courtesy of providing a wife would be extended to me during my stay.As I anticipated, he readily acquiesced, and I instantly followed up the concession by calmly remarking that I should like to have the two white women who were in the camp sent over to my "little place." To this suggestion he gave a point-blank refusal.
I persisted, however, and taunted him with deliberately breaking the inviolable rules of courtesy; and at length he gave me to understand he would think the matter over.
