<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X. <br/><span class="cheaderfont">A WILD SCENE.</span></SPAN></h2>
<p>Yanda Station was situated in a wild country, and
when Edgar Foster arrived there he thought he had
never seen such a dreary spot. Accustomed to the
green fields of old England and her charming rural
landscapes, Edgar found the barren plains and scraggy
trees monotonous. Instead of miles upon miles of
green, undulating pasture-land, he saw brown, hard-baked
ground, the stunted grass growing in patches,
and looking parched and dry for want of water.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum">[93]</span></p>
<p>Although the first glimpse of Yanda disenchanted
Edgar of the ideas he had formed of ‘up-country’
scenes, the reception he met with from the station
hands reconciled him to the prospect before him.
Captain Fife had written to Benjamin Brody, the
manager at Yanda, informing him who Edgar Foster
was, and how he had behaved at the wreck of the
<em>Distant Shore</em>. He also stated that Edgar was the
son of the famous cricketer, Robert Foster. This was
quite sufficient to ensure Edgar a hearty reception,
and his arrival was quite an event on the station.</p>
<p>Ben Brody was a born colonial, a man accustomed
to take the rough with the smooth of life and weld
them into an even existence. Brody’s temper was
none of the best, but he kept it under control. He
was a sober man in the accepted sense of the word;
that is, he never took more liquor than he could conveniently
carry. There was no better rider at Yanda
than Ben Brody, and the toughest buck-jumper
generally found he had met his match when Brody
got on to his back.</p>
<p>Fearless and determined, he was the very man to
manage the somewhat mixed lot of hands on Yanda
Station. They had some ‘queer customers’—Brody’s
expression—on Yanda. It was a wild country, and
far out of the beaten track. The wonder to most
people who took the trouble to think about such an
outlandish place as Yanda was how it was kept going,
for they would never have been so rash as to argue
that Yanda paid its way.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum">[94]</span></p>
<p>But Yanda, thanks to good management, did pay
its way, and Captain Fife and others were perfectly
satisfied with their investment. Yanda was bought
cheap at a time when station property in the far
West was going begging, and the installation of Ben
Brody as manager had resulted in its turning out a
good bargain. Brody was a great believer in sheep,
but he had not much faith in cattle on Yanda. The
hands firmly believed that Ben Brody had been reared
from a very early age upon lean mutton, and that the
taste for any other kind of meat was foreign to
him.</p>
<p>Ben Brody had a horror of fat sheep. He preferred
sheep “all wool,” because wool was worth considerably
more than flesh. The slaughtering of a bullock
at Yanda was the signal for much joy on the part of
the hands. When Ben Brody received the news that
Edgar Foster would arrive on a certain day at Yanda,
he resolved to duly celebrate the event, just to give
the ‘new chum’ a better idea of the country.</p>
<p>‘What’s come over Brody?’ asked Will Henton.
‘He’s actually ordered the slaughtering of a bullock.
I am overwhelmed with joy.’</p>
<p>Will Henton was a young fellow who discovered
town life too fast for him, so had found his way to
Yanda, and turned out a useful man.</p>
<p>‘There’s a new hand coming,’ said Harry Noke.
‘Brody’s told me about him. He’s the young fellow
who rescued that little lass at the wreck of the <em>Distant
Shore</em>, and he’s a son of Robert Foster the cricketer.’</p>
<p><span class="pagenum">[95]</span></p>
<p>‘No!’ said Will Henton. ‘You can’t mean it.
What a slice of luck! He’s sure to play cricket well,
and we’re short of a man or two.’</p>
<p>‘You know the reason of the slaughter now,’ said
Harry. ‘I must confess beef will be a change from
Brody’s everlasting mutton.’</p>
<p>‘We must give young Foster a good reception,’
said Will.</p>
<p>‘He deserves it,’ said Harry, ‘and he’ll be able to
spin us some yarns about the wreck.’</p>
<p>‘Plucky young beggar,’ said Will. ‘I’m open to
bet you a trifle he can box.’</p>
<p>‘You’re mad on boxing,’ said Harry. ‘It would be
a blessing if some disguised fighting-man came here
to knock the conceit out of you.’</p>
<p>The hands at Yanda talked the matter of Edgar’s
arrival over, and agreed to make things pleasant for
him; occasionally they made matters rather rough
for a new hand, until he paid a substantial
footing.</p>
<p>So it came about that there was much feasting and
rejoicing when Edgar arrived, and he thought them a
set of jolly good fellows.</p>
<p>‘The hospitality makes up for the barrenness of the
land,’ thought Edgar.</p>
<p>There were a good many blackfellows about
Yanda, and they were as keen on the scent of fresh-killed
meat as a hound after a fox. Towards night,
when the feasting was over, and Ben Brody, Edgar,
and several of the hands were sitting on the wide<span class="pagenum">[96]</span>
veranda running round the homestead, dusky forms
were seen advancing across the open plain.</p>
<p>‘Have you black men about here?’ asked Edgar in
some surprise.</p>
<p>‘Thousands of ’em,’ said Brody, without moving a
muscle of his face.</p>
<p>Edgar looked at him, smiling, and said:</p>
<p>‘They must be pretty tame if there are thousands
of them. I suppose when you first arrived here you
brought an army to conquer the country.’</p>
<p>‘We’ll say hundreds,’ said Brody; ‘I must have
been thinking of sheep.’</p>
<p>‘Mutton again!’ whispered Will to Harry Noke.
‘He lives on mutton, consequently he thinks of
sheep.’</p>
<p>‘How many hundred blacks have you on Yanda?’
said Edgar, who had been somewhat prepared for Ben
Brody’s exaggerations by Wal Jessop.</p>
<p>‘Well, really, I couldn’t say for certain,’ replied
Brody; ‘I’ve not had ’em mustered lately. When
we’ve a bit of spare time I’ll have ’em counted for you.’</p>
<p>‘Thanks,’ said Edgar; ‘it is always interesting to
ascertain what likelihood there is of the original inhabitants
of a country becoming extinct.’</p>
<p>A roar of laughter greeted Edgar’s reply, and Will
Henton said:</p>
<p>‘The young un’s a bit too much for you, Brody.
You had better not spin him any of those well-seasoned
aboriginal yarns of yours, for I fancy they
won’t wash.’</p>
<p><span class="pagenum">[97]</span></p>
<p>‘You swallowed some of them, anyway,’ said Ben
Brody.</p>
<p>‘Merely to oblige you,’ said Will.</p>
<p>Ben Brody glared at him, and then said:</p>
<p>‘Meat is bad for you, Will; I must in future
restrict you to a mutton diet.’</p>
<p>‘What are these fellows coming for?’ asked Edgar,
as about thirty blacks, including a few females,
advanced to within a dozen yards or so of the
veranda.</p>
<p>‘They are on the war-path,’ said Will Henton.
‘The slaughtering of a bullock at Yanda is an
event of such magnitude that even the natives
of the country assemble to give thanks on the
occasion.’</p>
<p>‘Never mind his chaff,’ said Ben Brody to Edgar;
‘you will have plenty of it if you remain here very
long. Would you care to see these fellows dance,
hold a “corroboree” as they call it?’</p>
<p>‘Yes,’ said Edgar, ‘I should very much like to
see it.’</p>
<p>‘Then you shall. They have not given us anything
in that line lately,’ said Brody.</p>
<p>He called a big, powerful-looking black, and spoke
to him, and made signs.</p>
<p>‘I’ve promised them a good square meal if they
give us a dance,’ said Brody.</p>
<p>Edgar thought it a wild scene as he looked at the
dusky forms in the moonlight. As far as he could
see the endless plain stretched out before him. The<span class="pagenum">[98]</span>
white, gaunt trees were ghostly and weird, and the
hum of many insects was in the air.</p>
<p>In a few minutes Edgar heard a low, crooning
sound, which gradually swelled into a hoarse roar,
and then, with a loud shout from their leader, the
black fellows commenced to dance. They stamped
upon the hard ground with bare feet until the sound
became like the tramp of soldiers. Having worked
themselves up to a proper pitch of excitement, the
wild fellows threw their limbs about in the most
extraordinary fashion. Some of them leaped high
into the air, and the women sat and clapped their
hands and beat them on the ground.</p>
<p>The black men whirled their arms, and waved
heavy sticks over their heads. Their faces became
most repulsive. Most of them had thick, curly black
hair, which hung down in shaggy locks. Their noses
were big, coarse, and wide, and their cheek-bones
high, while their mouths were of great size, and their
lips thick.</p>
<p>As Edgar watched them dancing in this strange
fashion in the moonlight he thought it was the
wildest scene he had ever looked upon.</p>
<p>‘Do they never get tired?’ he asked, as the dance
continued, and the efforts of the blacks did not relax.</p>
<p>‘They have great powers of endurance,’ said Ben
Brody. ‘You see the big fellow there, to the right?
I’ve known him go ninety miles between sunset and
sunrise without so much as a halt. They are
treacherous fellows, some of them, but Yacka is a<span class="pagenum">[99]</span>
cut above the others. He’s a strange fellow. He
hails from South Australia, and the blacks around
here seem afraid of him. Strange to say, he speaks
English well, and is far better looking than the
others. My own impression is that there’s a bit of
white blood in his veins, although his skin is black.
Eh, Yacka, come here!’ he shouted.</p>
<p>The black, who was standing alone looking at the
dancers, who were now slowing down, stepped quickly
on to the veranda without an effort.</p>
<p>‘This is Yacka,’ said Brody to Edgar, and then
turning to the black, he said: ‘A new hand, only
arrived to-day. You’ll be able to show him a thing
or two about Yanda, I reckon.’</p>
<p>Yacka nodded and, holding out his hand towards
Edgar, said:</p>
<p>‘He says true. I know much about this country.
Much about other country far off. Ah, you shake
my hand! Good fellow! Yacka your friend.’</p>
<p>Edgar had taken the black’s proffered hand, giving
it a hearty shake; this he did without a moment’s
hesitation.</p>
<p>‘You’ve made friends with Yacka,’ said Brody;
‘that is the way he tests a man. I’ve known fellows
come here and refuse to shake hands with Yacka.
Not a blessed black in the whole tribe would help
the man who declined Yacka’s hand. I dare say
it’s quite as clean as a good many white men’s
hands.’</p>
<p>‘I like the look of him,’ said Edgar, ‘and how well<span class="pagenum">[100]</span>
he talks! Have you ever tried to make him work as
a hand on the station?’</p>
<p>‘Bless you, he wouldn’t demean himself to work
like these fellows, and if he did they’d buck against
it,’ said Brody.</p>
<p>‘Quite right, too,’ said Harry Noke; ‘we don’t
want a lot of infernal blacks doing station work;
they are good for nothing but thieving and every sort
of iniquity.’</p>
<p>‘Perhaps white men have driven them to it,’ said
Edgar; ‘I dare say they managed very well before
Australia was discovered by Captain Cook.’</p>
<p>‘You cannot make these black fellows understand
what civilization means,’ said Brody.</p>
<p>‘Rum,’ grunted a quiet-looking man, who had
scarcely spoken during the evening.</p>
<p>‘When Jim Lee offers a remark, which you may
have observed is seldom,’ said Brody, ‘it is generally
to the point. Undoubtedly rum and civilization go
hand in hand where the blacks are concerned. Apart
from rum, however, the beggars are too infernally
stupid to learn anything.’</p>
<p>‘Yacka seems fairly intelligent,’ said Edgar.</p>
<p>‘I make an exception of Yacka,’ said Ben. ‘He’s
sharp enough, and the way he carves emu eggs and
boomerangs is a caution. The ideas that chap can
put on an emu egg beat creation. But he’s a
thorough wild man, although he does talk English
well, and has ideas above his fellows. You could no
more get Yacka to conform to our idea of civilized<span class="pagenum">[101]</span>
behaviour than you could train a monkey to keep
out of mischief. Yacka is full of mischief, but it’s
a humorous sort of mischief, and does not do much
harm.’</p>
<p>‘Yacka’s the only useful black we have around
here,’ said Will Henton. ‘He’s a splendid fag in the
cricket field, and when he’s extra good we let him
handle a bat. He shapes well, too, and I’m inclined
to think Yacka might be developed into a decent
cricketer. He rides well, and that’s more than the
other fellows do; and when he’s handled my gun
I’ve seen him make some fair shots. The rummy
part of the business is that Yacka won’t be civilized,
as Ben says, and you can’t get him to leave the
camp.’</p>
<p>Edgar Foster thought a good deal about Yacka
that night, and resolved to try and make friends
with him, and learn something of his past life, which
he felt sure would be interesting.</p>
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