Chapter II: Emu Royal

Berty Wake sat under the trees and waited. Around him rose gigantic ridges of bare rock, rent and torn in quaint shapes, representing towers, peaks, and spires; riven cliffs, dells, moss-grown and webbed and festooned with finest drapery of ferns and wild flowers.

It seemed a long time to the anxious child, straining his eyes, watching for the return of the friendly jackass. Then in utter weariness the little watcher became drowsy, his heavy eyelids closed, and he slept.

How long he remained asleep he could not tell. Something touched his face and he awoke.

Standing before him he saw a fine, strong emu—full-grown, with a soft crimson saddle fixed between its wings, and a bridle on its head and round its beak glittering with precious stones.

The boy rubbed his eyes to make certain he was awake, and touched the huge bird with his finger. The talking jackass seemed commonplace in comparison with this wonderful picture. However, Berty had little time to indulge in his astonishment, for Jack the Rover, from the thick branches of the tree, commanded him to mount the curious steed.

“I can’t ride an emu. I shall fall off,” cried poor Berty in some alarm.

“Why, I thought an Australian could ride anything,” echoed the jackass, with a loud peal of laughter. “Don’t be afraid, my little man: Emu Royal is a safe animal and warranted not to buck.”

Emu Royal bowed in a stately way at the compliment, and Berty Wake, over-coming his surprise, caught hold of the silken reins and sprang upon its back.

“Ha-ha-ha! Ho-ho-ho! Isn’t it funny?” laughed the jackass from the tree-top. “Now on we go. I’ll lead the way, and do you follow me, Emu Royal. Quick march!”

No bush-bred horse ever sped over the ground so easily and speedily as Emu Royal. At first poor Berty had some difficulty in keeping his seat, the mode of transit was so queer and unusual, but he soon became accustomed to the long swinging stride of the gigantic bird, who seemed to know his way through the intricate windings of the scrub without any aid whatever from Jack the Rover; for that knowing blade sailed smoothly on the wing high overhead, and appeared to have no other purpose in life than to scare the young parrots from their nests with his demoniacal laughter.

They went swiftly along, every bump and jolt and bound of the strange steed seemed to say, “Berty Wake’s going home. The lost is found—Berty’s coming home.”

Hills and plains, lakes, and forests of trees appeared and went by them like a drifting cloud.

Then, suddenly, they emerged into a quiet dell, ringed in by tall gum-trees, where the grass was emerald green, and soft to the tread as a carpet of velvet pile. Here, without the least warning, the emu gave a sudden spring in the air, and lightly deposited our little hero on the broad of his back on the sward; and before Berty was aware of what had happened, Emu Royal had vanished from his sight.

The boy rose to his feet and looked about him; there was no one in view, not even the laughing jackass. Then he laughed in childish glee and clapped his hands.

“Why, this is Fir Tree Hollow,” he said, half laughing, half crying. “Don’t I know every bush and sapling in it? And there’s the sheep track leading to the river, and the dray road that winds round the back of our fence. Why, I’m at home again. Coo-ee! Coo-ee!!”

A reply came to his call in the shape of a shrill neigh from a neighbouring copse.

“Gracious me! That’s our old mare. I know her dear old whinny out of a hundred. Coo-ee!”

And the child ran scampering off, and came forth presently, leading by the forelock a roan quadruped which showed ample signs of recognition.

“Where have you been hiding yourself?” cried Berty, fondling the pony. “Don’t you know I’ve been hunting for you everywhere and got lost, eh?”

Another neigh, and the roan rubs its cold nose up and down the little fellow’s shoulder.

“Ah, none of that, you old Greasehorn, I’ve had some trouble to find you; but ‘better late than never’ as dad says. Now won’t they be pleased to see me? and shan’t I be glad to see them?”

Vaulting on the back of the pony, the pair jog along the wheel track towards the station. Turning a bend in the track, boy and pony come in view of a party of men, tired to death, and who have been out hunting for the lost one.

A loud, glad shout of recognition, and the next moment poor little Berty is in the strong arms of his father, whose voice is husky with emotion as he mutters a prayer of thankfulness intermingled with his passionate kisses.

“Where did you get to, my son?”

“Oh, a long way, mother. It was the laughing jackass who found me.”

Mother and father exchange glances.

“The child has had a touch of the sun,” says the latter, stroking Berty’s curls.

“Where did the jackass find you, boy?”

“Under a big gum-tree such a long, long way off,” responds the child, extending his arms. “Then he brought a emu—such a big fellow, with a saddle and bridle, you know—and he brought me all the way to Fir Tree Hollow.”

Stephen Wake shakes his head.

“Put him to bed, wife,” he says quietly; “the poor child is not himself. A good night’s sleep will set him all right again.”

And Berty Wake slept well. In the early morning, however, he arose and went out into the stable yard, where the laughing jackass nodded on his perch.

“Hallo! Jack the Rover,” he said, saluting the bird.

The laughing jackass opened its sleepy eye and gazed meditatively at the boy for a few moments, then broke out into its hearty guffaw: “Ha-ha-ha! Ho-ho-ho!!”

HOP-O’-MY-THUMB.

Every one who knew Tiny Thumbcake loved him. He was one of eleven brothers and sisters, and the smallest mite that was ever born in the land of the cornstalk.

Tiny, though very diminutive in body, was nevertheless a hardy fellow who could run and jump like a kangaroo; moreover, he possessed the gift of knowing the language of all animals and birds, and these nicknamed him “Hop-o’-my-thumb.”

The Thumbcakes were poor people, and Tiny, who loved the wild bush, determined to try his fortune as a pioneer squatter. In conversation with an old wallaby, who used to pay him periodical visits, Tiny learned that there was a vast district owned by a giant aborigine named “Slubber,” where no white man had ever been and which was supposed by everybody to be a dreary wilderness without river, or lake, or anything to sustain life in the way of game. Tiny Thumbcake, or as we shall call him, Hop-o’-my-thumb, was both surprised and delighted at the news imparted to him by the wallaby—namely, that the Unknown Country, ruled over by Slubber the Giant, was both beautiful and fertile, and one of the finest climates under the Southern Cross.

And so in due time, guided by the faithful wallaby, our hero came to the country of Slubber, and took up his abode in a rich and well-watered valley, beside a high mountain, and here he formed a fine station for rearing cattle and sheep. For a whole year our little man remained hard at work unmolested.

One fine summer day a scarlet and green parrot alighted near where the little squatter was at work on his orchard fence.

“Good-day, Hop-o’-my-thumb,” said the bird.

“Good-day, my friend,” returned the wee man, politely raising his hat and bowing. “I’m glad to see you. What can I do for you, eh?”

“Nothing at present, thank you. I was sent by King Stork to warn you that Slubber the Giant is on his way here to destroy you,” answered the parrot.

Poor Hop-o’-my-thumb, though not wanting in pluck, became much disturbed at the news. “Are you quite certain of what you say?” he asked of the parrot.

“Oh, quite,” rejoined the messenger decidedly. “King Stork and the giant are great friends. He heard Slubber say that he would slay you or any white riff-raff who dared to set foot in his territory, and saw him start off straightway down the mountain to carry out his threat, therefore I posted off to warn you.”

“Thank you very much,” said poor Hop-o’-my-thumb. “Slubber is a big, selfish wretch. I have as much right to make a home here as he has, and I mean to show him I am not at all afraid of his bullying.”

“Bravo!” cried the parrot, flapping his wings in glee. “You’re a lad of mettle, and I’m glad you intend to try and take the blackfellow down a peg. Do you know, he is the most vile beast living and a great liar. Don’t trust him a bit. If he finds he cannot kill you with his huge waddy, or spear you unawares, he will want to parley with you, and take you on his knee, in friendly fashion. Be careful, Hop, my boy. Don’t let the wretch lay a finger on you, if you can help it”.

“Thank you, I’ll take every precaution,” said Hop-o’-my-thumb coolly.

“We all like you very much, my dear little Hop,” added the bird kindly; “what is more, we are determined to help you against Slubber if we can. Your friend Jack, the wallaby, is waiting behind yonder ridge, with some possum friends and one or two native bears, in case you need assistance. Hark! Do you hear that noise? That’s the giant; he hasn’t lost much time on the road. Look! Yonder he comes.”

Half way down the mountain-side a gigantic blackfellow, tall as a tree, and with a great woolly head (not unlike the big ball that is hoisted at noon on the flagstaff at the Observatory), came thundering down the stony ridges in tremendous leaps and bounds, and at the same time roaring out a hoarse shout of vengeance. He was quite nude, save for a segment of covering round his middle, and he brandished aloft a monstrous waddy, which was large enough to have felled an elephant.

“Where is that insignificant rascal who has dared to enter the domain of Slubber?” cried the angry monster, striding into the valley and confronting our hero, who did not flinch in the least before his dreaded enemy.

“Now, mite, what hast thou to say ere I slay thee?” cried the giant, at the same time whirling his club round his head with a noise like thunder.

“Try it,” said Hop-o’-my-thumb, keenly watching every movement of his adversary.

“Insolent atom, take that,” and Slubber aimed a blow at the little fellow, which if it had taken effect would have crushed our hero into a pulp; but Hop-o’-my-thumb nimbly avoided the giant’s bludgeon, and getting between the monster’s legs, gave him a cut with a sharp adze he had been using, which made Slubber roar with pain. It might have gone hard with the brave wee squatter at this moment, for the giant, reaching down, was about to clutch his small assailant, when the parrot came to the rescue. He flew full butt against Slubber’s face and nearly blinded him, and Hop-o’-my-thumb, taking full advantage of the bird’s help, gave his ugly foe such a slashing about his legs that the giant fell broadcast on his back, which made the ground tremble like an earthquake.

Seeing the unexpected and stout resistance made by our little hero, Slubber the Giant was fain to call a parley.

“Thou art very strong for so small a man,” cried he ruefully, and at the same time rubbing his smarting shins. “What sayest thou, wilt thou do me a service? And in return thou and thine shall have this valley of sweet waters for thy pains, to do with it what ye will.”

“What is the service you want to be performed?” said Hop-o’-my-thumb.

“Come nearer, and I will tell thee.”

“No, not an inch,” cried the little fellow stoutly. “You are near enough, my friend. Tell me what I am to do. I can hear you.”

“Oh, very well,” responded Slubber sullenly. “Know, then, that I have a wife.”

“I wish I had one,” interrupted Hop-o’-my-thumb.

“Thou shalt have mine with pleasure,” retorted the giant quickly.

The little squatter laughed. “Nay,” he said, “it is against the law to take anything belonging to another. Well, you were saying you have a wife.”

“True, I have a wife and, I may add, one of the most inquisitive of her sex,” added the giant in quite a humble tone, which contrasted strangely with his previous bombast. “Know, then, O mite, King Stork propounded three riddles to my wife, each one full of mystery, and my life is plagued out of me day and night by her to find an answer to these problems. Now, if thou canst find the secret of these things the land is thine for all time.”

“What are the riddles?” inquired Hop-o’-my-thumb.

The giant reflected a moment and then replied,—

“The first is: What is the most wonderful animal in the world? Second: What shoemaker makes shoes without leather, but uses instead earth, water, air, and fire, and where each of his customers wears two pairs at a time? Third: What is seen in the sky, also in the water, and sometimes on men’s breasts which, being reversed, is the name for the very worst kind of vermin? Come now, O thou bull ant, canst thou explain these enigmas?”

Poor Hop-o’-my-thumb seemed dismayed for a moment. He wanted to conciliate the giant, but how was he to frame a reply to these three difficult questions? In the midst of his cogitations he bethought him of his friend the wallaby.

“If Slubber will give me a little time, I believe I can answer the questions,” said the little man with confidence. The giant assented readily.

Hop-o’-my-thumb, guided by the parrot, sought out the old wallaby, to whom he confided his trouble.

“Nothing easier, my boy,” said the animal, stroking his head with his paw. “A word in your ear. These riddles are the secrets of our King and must not be made known to every one.”

Then the old wallaby whispered what Hop-o’-my-thumb wanted to know, and the latter, smiling, went back to the giant Slubber.

“Well, hast thou the answers, mite?” he said.

“Oh yes,” replied our hero cautiously, “but how am I to know you will keep your word with me?”

The giant laughed. Then he lay full length upon the sward, and plucking a long hair from his beard laid it across his nose. “Will that condition satisfy you?” he said in a rage, for Slubber knew he dare not break that form of oath.

“Then,” said Hop-o’-my-thumb, “the most wonderful animal in the world is a pig; for it is first killed and then cured.”

“Good!” cried Slubber.

“The next,” continued Hop-o’-my-thumb, “is—What shoemaker makes shoes without leather? Why, a horseshoer, for he uses earth, air, water, fire, in shaping his wares, and each of his customers wears two pairs.”

“Bravo! Let me embrace you,” entreated the giant.

“No you don’t,” responded the little man, with a grin. “Now for your third question. What is seen in the sky, the water, and sometimes on men’s breasts? A star, of course. Reverse the spelling of star and it is rats. Are you satisfied?”

And Slubber, the black giant, wended his way home over the mountain again, a wiser man; and ever after Hop-o’-my-thumb lived in peace.

A MAGIC WHISTLE.

Here are low green hills and sharply outlined ridges strewn with great white blocks of quartz, gleaming in the morning sunlight. Adown the long eastern slope for miles there is a vista of park-like forest, where the wallaroo and kangaroo leap and gambol on the greensward; where green and gold parrots chatter and scream; where wild bees are humming to the morn, and where the eagle soars calm and peerless in the sapphire firmament.

One solitary figure dots this glorious landscape—a handsome, well-formed boy, with a swag upon his back, tramping slowly along the narrow track like unto one who would fain rest and eat. There is not the sign of any habitation in view; nothing but the matchless sunshine and the hills and valleys gleaming beneath in one great halo of golden glory.

Towards evening our traveller, emerging upon a lonely glade, threw off his swag and cast himself upon the soft sward and so fell asleep. When he awoke it was night, the dark blue canopy overhead was ablaze with stars. Looking round he was greatly astonished to observe the space before him aglow with a soft, subdued light, which was neither from the sun, the moon, nor the stars, but was produced by countless glow-worms and fire-flies combined, and who had formed broad festoons from tree to tree and so lit up the dell by enchantment.

Damper—for so was the wayfarer named, on account of his fondness for that Australian made cake—rubbed his eyes in great surprise, and also gave himself one or two severe punches to make certain that he was awake. The poor lad was without father or mother, and had tramped about the bush since he could walk, doing odd jobs for cockatoos (small farmers) and such-like; but a sight like this had never met his view before. His first impulse was to call out, but his voice refused its office; for at that moment he beheld a troop of black mites, no larger than his finger, march from out the gloom beyond into the radius of the light. They were all sheathed in mail armour and came onward with quick and regular step, four a-breast, their shields and spears flashing and sparkling like so many rare jewels in the sun. They ranged themselves in regular order, shoulder to shoulder, on one side of the dell.

Then there came a second squad, equally tiny in stature, but bravely attired in cloth of gold, with miniature swords clashing and banners waving; and these formed up on the sward, opposite the first troop.

And lo! as Damper gazed in consternation, there appeared a third group; white people these, not so tall as a lady’s thimble, without weapons, and robed in the most quaint fashions imaginable: some were clad in gossamer from head to heel; many had cloaks spun from wild bees’ wings; others were donned in all the gaudy colours of the dragon fly; and one and all of them appeared dancing mad.

Now here, now there; in and out; up and down; in whirling mazes, they moved like the sun flashes on some bright instrument, and too quick sometimes for the eye to follow their evolutions. It was altogether a fantastic scene, and one that the eye of mortal man is rarely permitted to look upon.

For some time poor Damper was beside himself with fear. Fortunately he remained very still and quiet, and was enabled to see everything that took place, without the elves being in the least degree aware of the mortal’s close proximity.

The antic gambols were so strange and grotesque that Damper had no definite idea how long they continued, or who piped the music for the occasion. One thing was clear to him, however, that the whole scene vanished as suddenly as it appeared, leaving only two of the fairy assembly, who without more ado came and perched themselves upon Damper’s swag, and began a conversation. This pair, it was evident, were the King and Queen of Elfland, who, after discussing several affairs of State, spoke of a magic whistle, hidden away among the roots of a certain tree in the dell.

Damper, although he understood and could hear every word uttered by their Majesties, paid little heed to what they said until the topic of the whistle began. Then he listened greedily. He soon learned that whoever had possession of this simple instrument held the wand of a magician over animal, bird, or man, and that if he pleased to pipe, man, bird, or animal within its sound must needs dance.

The hiding-place of this wonderful instrument was very minutely described by the King, so that when the royal pair had taken their departure, Damper determined to become possessed of it When day broke our hero arose and began his search. He had no difficulty in finding the tree, and he soon found the whistle. It was a stout reed, about six inches long, with a mouthpiece of pure gold.

Numbers of birds, from the wren to a stork, were about and around, singing their morning song. To test the efficacy of his prize, Damper placed the whistle to his mouth and began to play. The effect was indeed wonderful. Not a bird but suddenly ceased its song and began to hop and dance about in the most absurd and comical manner, that our hero had to cease playing in order to laugh.

“Oh! I think you will just be of some service to me,” he said, putting the whistle in his pocket. Then he shouldered his swag and continued his journey.

He had not proceeded far when there approached from the opposite direction a very fat woman in a covered van with her husband, who was a very little man. He was on foot, driving the horse. The woman seemed in a bad temper, and was abusing her companion soundly.

Damper stopped the cart and asked the dame for a little food. “Go on with you for an idle vagabond!” she cried, shaking her huge fist at the boy. “There are far too many of your sort about the country already. I only wish we were near a township so that I might have the pleasure of sending you to the lock-up, you loafing rascal.”

Such uncalled-for abuse roused Damper’s ire. Without uttering a word in reply he took out his whistle and began to blow. Instantly the fat dame leapt from the trap into the road and began whirling round and round with all her might, and anon throwing herself into such ridiculous postures that the little man, her husband, and even the horse began to laugh; but their laugh was of short duration, for they also were drawn into the dance, and the pony being securely harnessed upset the conveyance and scattered its contents all over the sward.

In the meantime the unfortunate woman, puffing and blowing like a grampus, cut some very extraordinary capers under the irresistible spell of the whistle. What seemed to be part of a wild Highland reel merged into the antics of a sort of Maori war-dance, and it was wonderful to note the agility displayed by so stout a person.

The piper himself felt too indignant to laugh, otherwise the good dame’s gambols would have been of brief duration. Not before all the breath had been jolted out of her anatomy did she plead for parley. Then in gasps she called out to him to “stop for mercy’s sake, and she would give him all the tucker in the cart.”

Our hero was by no means a bad-hearted fellow. When he saw the woman had been punished for her very rude behaviour he put the whistle aside, and assisted to raise the pony and restore the goods to the trap. Afterwards they dined together and parted on friendly terms.

Arriving late that night at a farmhouse on the billabong, Damper craved a night’s shelter, which was given him. In the morning he asked for work.

“What can you do?” said the farmer.

“Oh, anything almost. I can make you dance,” answered Damper.

“Yes. And, by George, you’ll find I’ll make you dance, my lad, if you talk to me like that!” retorted the farmer angrily; and so poor Damper was compelled to hump his swag farther afield.

The weather was fine, however, and the lad’s heart light; so he went singing along the bush track, until he was suddenly brought to a stand-still by a gruff command, “To bail up!” Right across the track he saw a big, bearded bushranger, splendidly mounted, who, seeing he was but a youth, put back his revolvers and dismounted.

Before the ruffian could approach him, however, Damper pulled out his whistle and began to play. Instantly the man and horse began their capers with one accord, and it was not until the robber had fallen exhausted on the track that our hero ceased whistling.

“I pray thee put by that dreadful thing,” said the panting outlaw, “and I will fill thy pouch with gold.”

“Not a bit of it,” said Damper resolutely; “my terms are that you hand over to me every item of your ill-gotten treasure, horse included, else you shall dance for it, my honey.”

The robber commencing to curse and swear, Damper placed the whistle to his mouth again.

“Stop! Stop! I yield to thy terms, boy,” cried the other imploringly.

“Very well. Hand over your revolver. Now that belt round your waist. Now take off your boots and depart in double-quick time.”

The bushranger did not need to be told twice. He fled away into the bush and was lost to sight in a moment.

Damper found the robber’s belt filled with gold. He mounted the horse and rode away. And no lad in the whole continent was happier than he was that day.

“COCKY.”